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hunny-bean · 11 months

Note

Hello, I have a Matt x reader x Frank castle smut request. Frank tells Matt what he does with you after his patrol, how tight you are and how good your pussy tastes. Frank takes Matt to his apartment and the two have a lot of fun with the reader. They use the reader like a sex doll. Despite the years with Frank, the reader is too tight and Matt is too big.

In High Demand

Pairing: Frank Castle x Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt's been overworking himself. Frank knows someone who can help him relax.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit Sexual Content, Threesome, Oral Sex (M and F Receiving), Unprotected P in V, Praise and Degradation, An Obscene Amount of Dialogue, The Reader is Very Slutty (I'm Sorry. . . No I'm Not).

A/N: Well, I'm officially out of the frying pan and into the fire. Of course, by fire, I mean threesome. I'm sorry this took so long for me to finish. I'm a bit of a slow editor. If you have any constructive criticism, I will absorb ALL of it happily. I'm trying to improve my writing skills as much as I can. Also, I'm always taking requests! XOXO.

Read on AO3

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"I really appreciate you helping me out with this, Frank."

Frank looked up from where he was sitting with his back against the brick barrier. "Yeah, well, I owed you one," he replied, "and I'm not a huge fan of being in debt."

The two vigilantes were resting on a vacant rooftop, listening closely for any signs of danger. Hearing nothing, Matt figured the "Devil of Hell's Kitchen" had driven everyone with something to fear from him back inside. He declared his nightly patrol a success. As soon as he switched off attack mode, he felt the exhaustion hit him, and he slumped down on the wall next to Frank.

"So, you're saying you did all this to balance the scales?" Matt asked incredulously.

"Just about," Frank muttered, scratching a little blood stain off the knife Matt let him borrow. "And I only beat up one guy, so it's not like I actually had to work for it."

"I'd say you worked hard enough. I mean, you did make it all night without killing anyone."

"There you go again with that self-righteous bullshit," Frank groaned. "What I don't get is why you would ask someone you constantly feel the need to babysit for help."

Taking a deep breath in, Matt forced himself to stand, getting ready for the walk back to his apartment.

"You were convenient," he explained. "I knew your skills and I knew where to find you. Also, you're not nearly as lethal without all your guns."

"Well, fuck you too," Frank grumbled. He waited for Matt to take a few steps towards the ladder before chucking the knife he was holding directly at the back of his head. He watched it spiral through the air, perfectly on course, only to land gingerly in Matt's hand. It was almost like the knife changed its trajectory at the last second, but Frank knew that wasn't the case. Besides, it's not like he actually wanted to hit him. He didn't even think that was possible.

Matt turned back in his direction. Even through the mask, Frank could feel the raised eyebrow. He ignored it. Hopping up, he made his way over so the two of them could walk together.

"Okay, but why ask for help at all?" Frank pressured. "It's obvious you can handle yourself, and you've never asked before."

"You know as well as anyone how unpredictable these streets can be," Matt began. "You're right, most nights I can handle myself, but. . . I wasn't so sure about tonight. I wanted someone there, just in case."

He was about to start climbing down the ladder, but Frank's voice stopped him before he could.

"Something tells me you're not gonna be so sure about tomorrow, either."

"What?"

"Come on, Red. Look at yourself. You're practically dead on your feet," Frank pointed out. "It's three in the goddamn morning, you just fought like fourteen people, and now, what? You're going home to get your two hours of sleep before work?"

"Four."

"That's still not enough, and you know it."

"I'll be fine," Matt asserted.

"No one can do that every night and be fine."

"Why do you care?"

"Because unlike some people, I actually respect what you do around here, and I don't wanna find out what this shithole would look like without you," Frank raved. There was a long silence after that, both men startled by the declaration.

"You won't."

Matt began his descent, ready to end their conversation. Frank, it seemed, had other plans.

"If you were fine, you wouldn't be taking the ladder," he called down after him.

Matt paused, resting his head against the metal rung in front of him. He was really starting to get aggravated by Frank's incessant concerns. The most annoying part was that he was right. Matt would usually make it home from patrol in two minutes flat, his feet touching nothing but rooftops. He picked a shorter building with a ladder tonight because he feared his body was too sore to make the jumps. To say it had been a rough week would be an understatement.

'You have nothing to prove,' he repeated in his head like a mantra. It worked at first; he made it another three steps down, but then he heard Frank's stupid voice again.

"Why won't you just admit that you're burnt out?"

Matt gritted his teeth, unable to hide his frustration any longer. He gave up on avoiding conflict and began climbing back up to the roof to be on the same level as Frank.

"I am not burnt out," he growled.

There was an awkward pause as Frank looked Matt up and down, thinking. He carefully considered his slumped posture and his shoulders racked with tension. Matt couldn't see him, but he could feel Frank's eyes examining him, and it made him uncomfortable. He was about to say something, but Frank broke the silence before he could.

"When's the last time you got laid?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"I'm sorry-"

"You're not a virgin, are you?"

"What? No!"

"So how long's it been?"

Matt wasn't sure how to feel about the sudden shift in the argument. he kinda felt like he was in a train headed towards a cliff that suddenly veered off course. He was safe from the fall, but who knew what lay ahead of him now?

"Why the hell would you want to know that?" he asked.

"Just answer the question."

"Uhh, a few months? I don't kn-"

He was interrupted again by Frank letting out a low, impressed whistle.

"That's even worse than I thought," Frank said.

"You've thought about this?" Matt asked, horrified.

"No, jesus christ, man, it's obvious. You're all tense 'n shit. You look like you haven't relaxed in a while, that's all."

Matt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask. "I think we should go," he mumbled.

"I think you should get some."

"Ok, well it's not like you've got someone waiting for you at home either," Matt snapped.

Frank looked at Matt quizzically, letting out a surprised chuckle.

"What?" Matt asked, exasperated.

"Nothing," Frank responded. "It's just that you really are off your game."

"What are you talking about?"

"There is someone waiting for me at home right now."

"Bullshit."

"I thought you could, like, smell it on me or something," Frank speculated.

Now that he mentioned it, Matt did notice something different about Frank's unique smell. There was a slightly sweeter scent intertwined with his typical smoke and rosewood. He knew Frank wasn't lying, but for some reason he didn't want to believe it.

"I didn't hear anyone else inside when I came to get you," he added.

"She was out with some friends. She should be home by now."

"You realize how made up that sounds, right?"

"Cut the crap. You know it's true."

"Yeah, I know," Matt conceded. "She your girlfriend?"

"Yeah. . . At least, I think she is."

"Do you go out on dates often?" Matt supplied. He made a 'come on' gesture to encourage Frank to follow as he started down the ladder once more.

"I don't exactly know what counts as a date in your world, but I think we do." Frank inhaled sharply as he almost lost his footing on a loose bar.

"Wait, does she know who you are? The terms of your agreement-"

"I remember all the terms, thanks," Frank muttered. "I didn't tell her. She figured it out pretty quick though. Maybe I should grow a beard or somethin'."

"Do you love her?" Matt asked when they reached the bottom. The two of them started off in the same direction for their homes, taking only the deserted back alleys they were all too familiar with.

"Well I've only known her for three months," Frank answered, dusting little flakes of rust off his black jacket, "but I think I'm really starting to. She might just be the prettiest, sweetest girl I've ever known."

"That's a good sign. Okay, one last thing: Does she sleep with other people?"

Frank suddenly looked like he was remembering something funny. "Only if I ask her to," he smirked.

Matt was pretty sure his brain short-circuited, and he stopped dead in his tracks. "The correct answer would have been no," he deadpanned. "Why the hell would you ask someone to do that?"

"Well, Red, there's this thing you should know about my girl. I know she seems all cute and innocent at first, but she's actually the biggest slut I've ever met."

"Okay, TMI," Matt complained. Naturally, Frank ignored him. They began walking again, talking more about Frank's secret girlfriend.

"I'm telling you, man, she's perfect," he bragged. The night we met, I found her blowing some guy behind a bar."

Matt had to admit, that was a little amusing. "And what?" he asked, "you just went up to them and started hitting on her?"

"Not exactly," Frank laughed. "I was just walking home, and the guy she was with thought I said somethin' to him or some shit, 'cause he came over to me and started tryin' to pick a fight, right? Well, anyway, I knocked him out cold. Save the lecture, he was a dick wad and he wasn't even that drunk. But this girl, she thought it was hot, can you believe that? So, she starts hitting on me, saying I look strong and dangerous, 'cause apparently she's into that. She kept asking me to take her back to my place, and she was obviously hammered, so I did, just to keep her safe, you know? Almost immediately, she passes out on my bed, too tired to even try to fuck me anymore. Luckily, when she woke up, she remembered everything that happened, and I gave her my number in case she ever needed me to punch somebody else for her."

"And did she?" Matt prompted. He didn't actually care that much, but it was a decent story and it was definitely helping him keep his mind off his injuries.

"Yeah, two days later," Frank grinned. "She wasn't calling for a bodyguard, though. When I picked up, she told me she hadn't been able to stop thinking about me and was wondering if we could talk for a while so she could 'satisfy her curiosity'."

"She sounds very forward."

"You've got no idea. She's absolutely shameless, especially when she's drunk. You know, when she called me, she spent the whole conversation trying to pretend like she wasn't getting herself off."

"Wait, what?!"

"So, I had to sit there for an hour and listen to her try not to moan, and she's usually pretty good at staying quiet, but sometimes she gets so fuckin' wet that she just can't."

"That's disturbing," Matt lied, and was once again ignored.

"It's real easy for her to cover up the noises coming from her mouth, right? But the other ones. . . not so much. So, the whole time, I was just on my couch talking to her, and I was going absolutely insane 'cause I could hear what she was doing. After a little while, I just snapped and I told her if she wanted to hear my voice that badly, she could come over and I'd help her out."

"And?. . ."

"And she did."

"You slept with her the second time you met?"

"Yep. And the third, and the forth. . . probably the first eight times we got together. I mean, we were just goin' at it like every single night. It was amazing. She's so fuckin' tight, like tighter than most virgins. And she's damn good with her mouth. Like, the first time she sucked me off I almost saw your God. I don't think there's a single thing she can't do. Not much she won't do either."

"Really, dude. Stop."

"Whatever, man. I realized I actually liked her when she spent a full weekend at my place. We went out for lunch and played cards and watched a movie. She was just so smart and funny and I couldn't stand the thought of her leaving," Frank reminisced.

"So, is that when you asked her out?"

"No, that was when I asked her to move in with me."

Matt didn't even know where to start unpacking that. Before he could say anything, Frank stopped walking in front of a tall staircase behind a brick building.

"This is me," he announced.

"Hold on, you still haven't answered my question," Matt reminded him. "Why did you ask her to sleep with someone else?"

"Oh, yeah," Frank mused. "About a month ago, I went out for drinks with this old friend of mine, and was going on and on about how he hadn't gotten laid since his divorce. He seemed about her type, so I took him back to our place and had her take care of him for me."

"And she did it, just like that?"

"I told you she was great, didn't I?" Frank beamed.

"And neither of you cared?" That was something Matt was having trouble comprehending. He'd always been pretty possessive in his relationships, and the thought of sharing his partner was completely foreign to him.

"I am not a selfish man, Red. Anyone who dies without experiencing that pussy has never truly lived."

"Good to know."

Frank leaned casually against the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So, uh. . . you interested?"

It look Matt a moment to process what he was being asked, and when he did, he didn't know how to feel. On the one hand, he didn't want to take any more help from Frank, especially not for something like this. He didn't want to come between a happy couple, either, even by invite. On the other hand, it had been a while, and the girl that had been described to him sounded remarkably satisfying. He began to realize that Frank was right: He seriously needed to get laid.

Frank decided Matt had been thinking a little too long.

"Do you like eating pussy?"

Matt was startled out of his inner turmoil. "You can't just fucking ask someone that," he hissed.

"Why not? You seem like you would," Frank stated nonchalantly.

"Fine. Yes, I do."

"Good. I'm tellin' you right now, there ain't a woman in all of New York that tastes sweeter than my baby. You get between her legs, you come out knowing things you didn't think were possible, swear to God."

"I find that hard to believe," Matt scoffed.

"I mean it. I could spend hours down there. I did once, actually, 'till we both passed out. . . But I guess you'll just have to find out for yourself, won't you? Come on, man. You really need this."

"I don't know, it just doesn't sound like such a good idea."

Frank rolled his eyes. "We're all adults, we can have a little fun. If you want, you can come up to get your dick sucked and then head home. It doesn't have to be a big thing."

"You seem very adamant about this," Matt noted.

"Well, I do aim to please," Frank quipped. "I'm talking about you and her. I think my girl would have a lot of fun with you."

"What makes you say that?"

"You're pretty easy on the eyes, you know. Also, she seems to have a thing for jaded middle-aged vigilantes. So, what do you say? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Murdock."

Matt sighed, and reached up to rub the back of his neck. For the life of him, he couldn't seem to remember any of his reasons for saying no.

"Alright," he decided.

Frank's face broke into a wolfish grin, and he began ascending the staircase towards the window at the very top of the building. Matt followed close behind him, wincing at the pain in his sides as he climbed. When the two men got to the top, Frank knocked four times at the glass.

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You had just finished changing into one of Frank's old t-shirts when you heard the familiar rattling of the window pane. You dried your hands on the bathroom towel and smiled as you went to let your boyfriend back inside.

Using that word was strange to you, but still it made you giddy with excitement. You never thought you would meet someone wonderful enough to settle down with, but finally you had. Frank was the most perfect man you'd ever known. He understood you in ways no one else could, and with him, you were satisfied. That was a miracle in and of itself.

You slid open the creaky window with a hard push, and watched as Frank hopped through it with a gracefulness that contrasted sharply with his bulky exterior. He seemed completely unharmed, as per usual, but you had still been worried about him. There was always that small chance he would come home covered in his own blood and full of broken bones. You were about to tear into him for not leaving a note when you noticed the red figure slipping in behind him.

"Hey, sweetheart, you remember me telling you about Matt, don't you?" Frank asked, cradling your face in his hands and giving you a sweet hello kiss.

"Is this him?" you responded, giving the new arrival a once-over.

"Yeah, this is him. Hey, Red, why don't you introduce yourself."

Matt stepped up to you and offered his hand for you to shake.

"Hi, I'm Matt. Frank's already told me all about you," he said cheerfully, almost like he knew something you didn't.

Frank stepped up behind you, resting his hand on your lower back and leaning in to tell you something.

"If you're up for it, I'm gonna need you to do me a favor, alright?" he mumbled. You could tell Matt heard everything. You remembered what Frank had told you about him and his unique talents.

You turned towards Frank, sliding your hands under his jacket and leaning in close.

"By that, do you mean you're gonna need me to do him a favor?" you wondered. Frank tucked your hair behind your ear and twirled it idly around his fingers.

"He's pretty high strung right now. I figured he might need a little somethin' special to relax."

"I'm perfectly capable of getting laid on my own, Frank," Matt butted in. Frank ignored him.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look today?"

You laughed. "Yes, about twelve times this morning. You don't need to flatter me, I'll do it."

"You're amazing," Frank marveled, giving you another chaste kiss before turning to address Matt.

"How about you start by taking that stupid helmet off. Let my baby see what she's working with."

A small thrill ran through you when you heard Frank address you as his. You watched as Matt pulled his mask off, revealing the rest of his face. He looked a little nervous but you couldn't see why. He was absolutely gorgeous. His messy hair from the suit only added to the effects of his boyish charm. You noticed he did look rather tired, but that did nothing to dull his handsome features. You could tell you were gonna have a lot of fun with this one.

"He's even prettier than you," you joked.

Frank swatted you lightly on the ass and pushed you in Matt's direction. "Watch it," he growled playfully.

You stalked over to Matt and kissed him lightly on the cheek before pulling him over to the couch.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" you asked gently.

Matt swallowed thickly, trying to adjust to his situation. "Yeah, I'm okay," he responded. You hoped he'd settle in soon. There was something about him that told you he could be a lot of fun when he warmed up. Then again, that was what you were there for.

"What do you want?"

"I'm not exactly sure. Really, I can just go if-"

"No!" you interrupted. "I don't want you to go, I want to make you feel better. I'm okay with whatever you want, promise."

Matt seemed to be struggling to come up with what to say. Honestly, you were feeling a little nervous too, even though there was no reason to be. Suddenly, you realized what the issue was.

"Hey, Frank?" you called out. He came over to the two of you holding a couple of beers in one hand. He passed one to Matt, who accepted it gratefully.

You waited until he was next to you before admitting your problem to him. "I think we feel a little weird because we don't have any rules. Could you maybe. . . tell us what to do?" you asked.

Frank nodded, sitting down in the ratty old armchair next to the couch.

"Why don't you ask me what you wanna do with him, and I'll give you the go-ahead. Sound good, baby?"

You looked over at Matt who seemed to have relaxed some. You definitely found the source of the problem. All you needed was permission.

"Can I kiss him?" you asked.

Frank's eyes were sparkling with his newfound control. "You can kiss him all you want, sugar."

You slid closer to Matt, turning his head towards yours. "Stop me if you get uncomfortable," you whispered, and then leaned in to press your lips to his. Matt groaned and immediately deepened the kiss, eagerly exploring your mouth with his tongue. It was obvious now how much he needed this.

He tasted good in a way you couldn't explain, and you didn't want to pull away until you'd figured out what it was. You could feel the throbbing in your core picking up with every passing moment. Your breath caught when you felt Matt reach up to run his fingers through your hair. Wanting to move things along, you climbed into his lap so you could be pressed against him, chest-to-chest.

"Pull her hair. She likes that," Frank suggested.

Matt complied, tugging gently, then harder when he felt you shiver against him. Leave it to Frank to know exactly what you want and when you want it. You pulled back from the kiss to look at your moderator, rolling your hips hesitantly to gauge his reaction. He nodded, and you watched him palm himself roughly through his pants. That was all the encouragement you needed.

Returning to the kiss, you began grinding down hard against him, hoping that he could feel your movements through his thick suit. Matt reacted in a way that showed you he certainly could, gasping and grabbing onto your hips to push up against you. You moaned when one particularly hard thrust allowed you to feel the outline of his cock through your clothes.

"Oh, what the fuck," you breathed, pulling away from the kiss in shock. There was no way in hell he was that big. You settled your weight fully on his lap, gently rocking back in forth to feel more of him. You had to make sure that you weren't just imagining things. You weren't. He was absolutely fucking huge. You weren't sure how he was supposed to fit inside you, but dammit if you weren't excited to find out.

Matt seemed amused by your reaction to your recent discovery. He could smell the sudden increase in your arousal that accompanied the feeling of you getting wetter. You felt his hands tighten on your hips, holding you still as he grinded up against you. Every thrust was deep and dirty, inciting the growing heartbeat between your legs. It felt like he was showing off, or using his knowledge of a secret you had to tease you.

"Feel something you like, baby?" Frank asked from the sidelines.

"Uh-huh," You responded inattentively. You were too focused on the feeling of Matt's bulge rubbing against you to say much more than that.

"Why don't you head on down to the bedroom, alright sweetheart? We'll meet you there in a minute," Frank urged.

Reluctantly, Matt released you and you wandered down the hall to wait for the two men to come join you.

Frank waited for you to be out of earshot before moving to the couch next to Matt. They sat for a second, sipping at their drinks before Frank spoke.

"I know you have a fuck ton of ideas about how you should treat a woman, but I'm gonna need you to forget that shit before I take you back there, okay? I'm doing this for you, but if you don't make this good for her, I will kick you out, got it? She's not interested in your kindness tonight. She wants you to treat her like an object. Like a dumb whore you're just using to get off. I know you've got a dark side in there somewhere, Red. I need you to tell me right now if you think you can use it."

Matt never expected that to be something that would intrigue him. It had always seemed so cruel and taboo. . . but if it was what you wanted. . .

"I can."

"Good." Frank stood up and began walking towards the bedroom. After a few steps, he remembered something and turned back around. "Also, what the hell, man? I'm not letting you fuck her without stretching her out first. I know I said you could hurt her, but I don't want you to make her bleed."

When they made it to the bedroom, they found you laying back against the pillows, gently teasing your clit through your panties. When they came through the doorway, you pulled your hand away, looking up at Frank shyly. He raised an eyebrow at you, scoffing at your innocent expression.

"You couldn't wait two minutes?" He sighed. "I'm not gonna embarrass you in front of our guest, baby, but next time you might not be so lucky."

"I'm sorry," you whined.

"No you're not." Frank came around the bed to sit next to you and directed Matt to sit down on your other side. "I think it's about time to take this off, what do you think?" Frank asked, tugging on the hem of your (his) shirt. You nodded, and he pulled it over your head, leaving you completely naked save for your soft cotton panties.

"What do you want right now, baby? His mouth or his fingers?" Frank offered, turning your head towards him. You were a little confused that those were your only options. Weren't you supposed to be making Matt feel good? Confusion aside, you still couldn't choose. They both sounded very appealing.

"Damn, Red. You must've done a good job back there. She's already having trouble thinking," he teased, flicking you gently on the forehead. "Why don't you use both?" he suggested.

Matt smiled, beginning to understand how Frank expected him to treat you. "If she's all fuzzy from a little kiss, are you sure she'd be able to handle both?"

"I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?"

You weren't sure what it was, but when Frank talked about you like you weren't there, a combination of arousal and safety washed over you. It always seemed to put you in a different headspace.

Matt climbed on top of you, finding your lips again as he slid your underwear down past your knees for you to kick off. He pulled your legs apart and began tracing your folds gently with his fingertips. Every touch was a completely new sensation. Matt was experimenting, figuring out where you were most sensitive, which motions you preferred and how hard he had to rub your clit to make you whimper.

He circled his fingers around your entrance, dipping into you just enough to feel you pulse and tighten around him, trying to pull him deeper. Right before you started begging, he pushed two of his fingers all the way in, curling them to explore your soft walls. It didn't take long for you to gasp and melt into the pillows as he brushed against your sweet spot. You hid your face in his neck, whining as he assaulted it over and over while bringing his thumb up to massage your clit.

Frank shushed you gently from his spot on the bed, reaching over to stroke your hair as you shook from the intense stimulation. You felt yourself dripping down Matt's fingers, and you could hear the wet sounds you were making as he fucked them in and out of your tight heat.

He pulled you right up to the edge before you heard Frank tell him to stop.

"Not yet," he muttered. "She'll get worn out after the third one, so you should probably make 'em count."

You huffed as Matt pulled his fingers out, earning you a proud and dangerous smirk. He gave you another sweet kiss as an apology.

"Sorry, angel. I don't make the rules," he reminded you.

Any disappointment you felt was soon replaced by the image of Matt sliding down the bed to get between your legs and pull them over his shoulders. Almost as an afterthought, he brought his hand up to his mouth to taste the palm you had drenched. As soon as his tongue touched his skin, you saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. His eyes darkened to look almost predatory, and he tightened his grip on your thighs. He glanced in Frank's direction, silently begging for his permission to proceed.

You didn't see Frank's approval, but you knew exactly when Matt got it because he dove into your cunt like it was a fucking desert oasis. In a lot of ways, it was. He wasted no time with teasing, instead shoving his tongue inside of you as deep as he could get it. Your vision went blurry as your eyes rolled back in your head. Grasping desperately at his hair, you pulled him harder against you until you were worried you would hurt him, but he barely seemed to notice.

He drew his tongue out to give your soaked pussy a few hungry licks, drinking up everything that dripped out of you. The wet noises he created with every suck or swipe of his tongue were enough to have your face flushed with embarrassment and excitement.

Feeling ignored, Frank grabbed your jaw, pulling you into a fervent kiss. He dislodged one of your hands from Matt's hair, guiding it over to rub at his clothed erection. You squeezed him through his pants, humming happily when you felt him twitch and grind up into your palm. Deftly, you undid his button and zipper, tugging his pants down just enough to slip your fingers under the waistband of his underwear. You didn't do anything else until he said it was okay.

"You want it, baby?" he murmured against your lips. You nodded, pushing your hand farther in, but you just barely managed to brush against it before he grabbed your wrist. He broke the kiss to look you in the eye, moving his hand from your jaw to gently hold your neck.

"You gotta use your words, sweetheart. You know that," he crooned.

"Please, can I touch it?" you sighed, moaning when Matt started stroking your clit again. Frank used his grip on your wrist to pull your hand deeper in until you could firmly grab his aching cock. You began tugging it slowly as it pulsed and hardened further in your grasp. You swiped the pad of your thumb over his slit and felt him drip onto your fingers, easing the glide of your palm.

You felt yourself getting close again when Matt stuffed his fingers back inside you and sucked hard at your clit. This time, no one stopped you from falling over the edge. You sobbed as your release rushed through you, tightening your thighs around Matt's head and your hand around Frank's cock. Matt groaned against you, savoring the scent and the taste of your satisfaction. Frank hissed at the added pressure, thrusting up into your fist which was slick with his precum.

The two men reluctantly pulled away from you as you came down from your high, giving you time to catch your breath. They returned to their positions on either side of you, stroking your hair or your shoulders as you refocused on reality.

"You were right," Matt announced, breathing almost as heavily as you were.

Frank smirked, looking over you to assess Matt's disheveled state. "Yeah? 'Bout what, exactly?" he asked.

"Everything," He admitted dreamily. To anyone who didn't know the effect you had on fortunate men, he might seem drunk or high. You supposed he kinda was.

"You were talking about me?" you whispered, hiding your face in Frank's neck. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

"I was just braggin' about how good you are, baby," he promised.

Matt laughed quietly at Frank's statement like it was an inside joke no one else would understand.

"He said a lot more than that," Matt disclosed to you. "He said you were the biggest slut he'd ever met. Honestly, he would not shut up about how tight you were, or how good you tasted. I thought he was exaggerating, but I think you just proved me wrong."

You smiled into Frank's shoulder, enjoying the attention. He tapped you lightly on the hip to get you to focus on him.

"I believe you were just given a compliment," he signaled.

Taking the hint, you rolled over to face Matt, angling his face towards you to give him a soft kiss as a thank you.

You looked down to where he was straining against the fabric of his suit. A small wet spot was becoming more visible at the tip of his swollen bulge. You caught yourself before you stared for too long, worried you might start salivating if you let your mind wander far enough.

"That looks uncomfortable," you pointed out. "You should probably take it off before it starts hurting you."

Matt agreed, standing up beside the bed to start stripping off his clothes. If he were dressed normally, you would offer to help, but you didn't even know where to begin with that thing.

"I'm sure she wants to return the favor," Frank advised Matt. "I'll go ahead get her stretched out while you use her mouth, alright?"

When Matt was in just his boxers, you tugged him back down to take your spot in the middle and climbed on top of him. Frank had stood up to finish taking off his own clothes, and when he was done, he kneeled behind you on the bed to get you in the right position.

You found yourself face-to-face with Matt's thinly veiled hard-on and your ass up high for Frank to take you from behind. He slid three of his fingers inside you, pumping them in and out a few times to see how relaxed you already were. As soon as you had freed Matt from his final barricade, Frank pulled his fingers out and shoved his cock inside you in one smooth thrust. You moaned loudly at the sudden intrusion, wincing at the stretch but enjoying it nonetheless. Frank gave you a moment to gather your bearings before he began to move.

"Focus on him, baby. He's the one you're supposed to be paying attention to," Frank directed. That was easier said than done when you were being relentlessly fucked from behind, but you had been wanting to get your mouth on him for a while now, and you weren't gonna pass up the opportunity.

Now that you were seeing him in person, Matt's size was almost intimidating. You were glad Frank took it upon himself to stretch you out first, because you were sure you'd be feeling it in your stomach when it was time to switch. His head looked tight and angry, and you watched as a small bead of clear fluid welled out of the tip and ran down the side. You leaned in to catch it with your tongue, whining softly at the taste.

"There you go, sweetheart," Frank praised.

You licked a long stripe up the underside, stopping when you got to the top to suckle gently at the head. You wrapped your hand around the base to stroke him firmly as you focused on taking the first few inches comfortably. It was already stretching your mouth quite a bit and your jaw was aching from trying to force yourself down on it. Before long, your spit was dripping onto your fingers and sliding down to settle at the base, creating slick sounds as you tugged at his length.

You moaned around him when Frank gave a particularly pointed thrust, nailing your spot dead-on. Provoked by your reaction, he repeated the same motion until your eyes rolled back in your head and you could no longer focus on the task at hand.

"Come on, pretty girl. You can take more than that," Frank fussed. "If you want his help, you can ask for it. Don't be shy, baby."

You were reluctant to ask because you wanted to prove yourself to Matt, but you didn't think you would be able to take more on your own. Usually, you were pretty good relaxing your throat, but there was no way you could swallow even half of him without choking. If you wanted to make him feel good, you would need him to take over and force you to blow as much of him as he wanted.

You pulled off of his cock teasingly, hollowing out your cheeks on the way up and swirling your tongue around the tip. You gave it one more little kiss before resuming your strokes, looking up at him to see which motions garnered the best reactions.

"Please," you whined, using your other hand to guide his to your hair.

"Please what, sweet girl?" Matt asked, petting you gently where you placed his hand. You swallowed your pride, giving in completely to both of them. You no longer had anything to prove. You were ready to be used however they saw fit, not caring about anything except making them feel good.

"Please, fuck my mouth."

"Aww, is it too big for you?" Matt consoled, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "Do you need my help, angel? You're already being fucked on one end, is that not enough?" he mocked, tightening his grip on your hair.

He knocked your hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own so he could rub it across your lips. You opened your mouth for him, and he slowly pulled your head down, forcing you to take him in until you choked. He held you there for a moment, groaning and thrusting up into the wet heat of your mouth before letting you take a breath. He continued like that for a while, guiding your head up and down, forcing you to go deeper each time until you couldn't take anymore.

Behind you, Frank wedged a finger in beside his cock, grunting at the added friction. You gasped at the new stretch, your release slamming into you unexpectedly. You arched your back and pushed into the feeling as he deftly attacked your sweet spot. Frank grinned at your reaction, smacking your ass once to watch you jump and hear your muffled yelp.

"I'm just tryin' to get you loosened up. I didn't mean for you to like it that much, you slut," he teased affectionately. He slipped in another finger, curling them to tug gently at your entrance until he felt that you were ready.

He took his fingers away, giving you a few more hard thrusts before he slid his cock out too, leaving you completely empty. He left a sweet kiss at the base of your spine, letting you know you had done a good job, and moved around you to talk to Matt.

"She's ready for you, if you're interested," Frank informed cockily. He watched how Matt was thoroughly fucking your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with every thrust, pulling you down to meet him half-way. You were doing much better than Frank had expected you to. It looked like your mind was somewhere far away, and you were just letting Matt use your mouth as a cocksleeve.

He started slowing down his movements, letting you up further and further, until you were back to just sucking at his head while he gently stroked your cheek with his thumb. Finally, he pulled you off of him with a soft, wet pop, edging out from under you so he could switch places with Frank. You whined at your sudden emptiness, burying your face in Frank's stomach as he took Matt's vacant spot.

"Is she always this desperate?" Matt asked, replacing Frank behind you. Frank laughed, caressing your head softly as you began mouthing and licking at his abs.

"Pretty much. Actually, she's doing better than she usually is. I think she's just upset that she didn't get you to finish."

"Really? She likes that part?"

"Oh, she loves it. Some days, she even asks me to pull out so I can come in her mouth. Ain't that right, baby?"

You nodded into his hip, sucking a dark bruise into his v-line.

"Why don't you go ahead and finish me off," Frank suggested to you. "I'm sure it'll make you feel better."

He grabbed himself around the base, enticingly pressing the wet head against the seam of your lips. Without hesitation, you took him into your mouth and swallowed him all the way down. You moaned lowly, purring at the feeling of being able to take him comfortably down your throat. He wasn't small by any means, but he was more familiar and significantly less jaw-breaking that Matt.

"Fuck, baby," Frank groaned, tugging at your hair. You were content just to stay like that for a while, holding his heavy length on your tongue and feeling him subtly grind his tip against the back of your throat. With your head still, you could feel every little twitch and taste yourself in every drop that leaked down your throat.

"You wanna move at all?" Frank asked, his muscles tight with restraint. In response, you nuzzled your nose against his skin, swallowing around him in the hopes that he'd let you stay there.

"No? You just like having your sweet little holes filled, huh? That's fine, sugar. You don't have to move an inch, but I'm gonna need more than that if you wanna make me come. Do you wanna make me come, baby?"

You hummed your assent, the vibrations sending a shiver up Frank's spine.

"Then suck," he commanded, and you obeyed. You used as much suction as you could manage, creating a satisfying friction without all the typical motions. You teased the underside of his cock with the flat of your tongue, listening to his quiet grunts as you drew him closer to the edge.

Behind you, Matt was listening to the sound of your wet cunt dripping onto the bedsheets. He kneaded your ass and thighs in his hands, ensuring that you were fully relaxed before trying to fuck you. Soon, he was nestling his cock between your soaked folds, lining himself up with your tight entrance.

He rubbed the small of your back as he began pushing himself in. He was met with an alarming amount of resistance, and he didn't even get the first inch in before you were clenching down around him and letting out a pained whimper. He pulled back, afraid he would tear something if he carried on.

"Frank, it's not gonna fit," Matt told him. Frank huffed, too busy chasing his own pleasure to think about problem-solving.

"It'll fit, just keep going," he reassured. "She likes the stretch. Hurry up and fuck her already."

"If I tried, I would break her," Matt warned. "Why don't we test out a different position?"

"Fine. Hang on for just a second."

Frank tightened his grip on your hair, whispering a quick apology before pulling you halfway off of him. He gave you no warning before he was slamming back in, forcing a surprised squeak out of your chest as he ruthlessly fucked your mouth. Barely a minute passed before Frank's thrusts grew sloppy and more desperate. His cock pulsed wildly against your tongue, and he let out a guttural groan as he came hard down your throat. You eagerly swallowed every drop that spilled out of him, waiting for him to soften a bit before releasing him from your mouth. Laving sweetly at the sides, you cleaned him up as best you could before he pushed your head away from oversensitivity.

"Alright," Frank mumbled, scooting over so you could take his spot in the middle. "On your back, baby."

You flipped over to face Matt, opening your legs so he could settle in between them.

"Pretty slut," he commended, leaning in to kiss you as he lined up with your needy hole once more. "We're gonna make it fit, alright? Don't you worry your cute little head about it."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he began pushing his hips towards yours, his thick cockhead stretching you out obscenely. You winced at the pain, trying to force yourself to relax, but it wasn't working. Matt grunted at the vice grip you had on him, but he didn't advance further until he felt you could handle more.

From beside you, Frank played with your hair and kissed your neck in all your favorite spots until he had taken your mind off the pain. When Matt felt you unclench, he gave you another inch, once again stopping to allow you time to adjust. He continued on like that for a while, feeding his cock into your pussy in small increments until he was completely buried inside you.

As soon as the pain subsided, feeling something that deep was absolutely incredible. You felt yourself get wetter when you realized you could just barely make out the outline of his length poking through your tummy. It was evident to both of you from the very start that this wasn't gonna last long.

"Holy shit, you're squeezing me so tight," Matt groaned, starting a series of very shallow thrusts to get you used to the feeling. "This is what you were made for, sweetheart. You feel so fuckin' good," he praised. Slowly, he began picking up speed, fucking you harder and deeper like he couldn't control it anymore. You felt so full, you figured it was a miracle that he was even able to get half-way in. You couldn't stop the noises that Matt punched out of you with every heightened thrust. Because of his immense size, there was never a moment when he wasn't rubbing directly against your most sensitive areas.

Matt could sense that you were getting close, and he knew he wouldn't be far behind you. He started snapping his hips into yours impossibly harder, spurred on by the prospect of your impending release.

"You gonna come on my cock, angel? It's okay, you can come," Matt encouraged. He heard you cry out and smelled the sudden spike in your arousal. He knew he had you right on the edge. "Come for me sweetheart," he breathed.

You almost screamed as you came, your body arching up off the bed, every muscle tightening and trembling as your pleasure coursed through them. Matt cursed at the feeling of your walls clenching and fluttering around him. He let out a subdued moan as he fucked into you three more times before coming deep inside you. You felt the comforting warmth dripping down your thighs when he slipped out and collapsed on the bed beside you.

When you came down from your high, the night's exertion finally caught up with you. You cuddled into Frank's chest, and he pulled you closer, murmuring to you about how good you were for them. Matt slotted his body into place behind yours, leaving kisses on the back of your neck and stroking your side gently.

"Thank you," he whispered, and before you could respond, he was already asleep. You were about to follow suit, but a thought popped into your head, keeping you awake.

"Is this gonna be a one-time-thing?" you asked Frank, opening your eyes to see his face. He didn't seem surprised by your question. Honestly, he seemed like he'd been expecting it.

"It doesn't have to be," he responded. "If he's ever up for it again, I'd be fine with it."

You nodded, closing your eyes again and starting to drift off to sleep. You passed out in less than a minute, but not before you heard Frank say something that, in the morning, you thought must have been a dream. Nevertheless, it was nice to pretend it was real.

"I love you, baby."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

#frank castle fanfiction #punisher #frank castle smut #frank castle #frank castle x reader #jon bernthal #jon bernthal x reader #jon bernthal smut #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock smut #charlie cox #frank castle x matt murdock x reader

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hintsofhoney · 1 year

Text

Radio and the Rain

Pairing(s): Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When a bad storm forces you and Dean apart on a hunt, he realizes just how much you mean to him.

Tags: 18+, smut, making love, p in v, all that jazz... nothing too crazy

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Hello, I'm back after almost 6 months. Moving across the country (again) among other big life events (all good ones!) gave me the worst writer's block of all time, but thanks to my friends (@soaringeag1e & @emoryhemsworth), writing this fic per their suggestion (based off Radio and the Rain by Chris Young) is what finally pulled me out of it! Beta'd by my angels @wayward-dreamer and @makeadealwithdean. Alright, hope you all enjoy, and I promise I'll be back again with more things soon!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

“Y/N!” Dean calls out, doubtful that you can hear him over the sound of the rain coming down as he tries to ignore the panic building inside him. His hair is stuck to his forehead from the downpour, water droplets streaming down his face as he tries to shield himself from the weather. It’s no use. He’s soaked to the bone – he’s not sure he could have worn enough layers to keep him dry, not in this storm – and the darkness of the forest seems to go on forever. He could have sworn there was a town nearby – some light pollution would be really helpful right about now – but he seems to be shit out of luck. Thunder booms above him, almost deafening, and he keeps on what he hopes is the right path, his heart rate steadily increasing. He needs to find you.

“Y/N!” he yells again after another minute passes. If he’s soaked, he can’t imagine what you must be. He remembers what you’re wearing; skinny jeans, a thin green t-shirt, a black faux leather jacket, hunting boots. Normally, he doesn’t complain about your refusal to wear more layers, but right now, ‘I told you so’ is on the tip of his tongue. He would need a large amount of hands to count how many times he’s told you to prepare for anything , and that a flimsy t-shirt and jacket weren’t gonna cut it, but in your defense, this storm came out of nowhere. He had to give you that, at least.

“Dean!” he whips his head around at the faint sound of his name making its way through the rain, and yells yours out once more before making his way towards your voice. His eyes are adjusted enough to the dark to where he can make out silhouettes of fallen trees ahead of him, stepping over them with little caution as you call out to him again. He has to make sure you’re okay. He has to get to you.

“I’m here, Y/N!” he yells, “Where are you!?”

“Dean!”

He hears it, clear as day from behind him. He turns around in time to see the outline of your soaked body appearing from behind the trees.

“Y/N!” He rushes to you, taking your cold hand in his, and you can’t tell if he’s relieved or angry to see you – or a little bit of both. You should have listened to him when he told you splitting up was a bad idea, but completing the hunt had been the only thing on your mind, Dean’s lectures about safety be damned. “Jesus, you’re freezing,” he comments, like he isn’t an icicle himself. He wants to say, ‘I told you splitting up was a bad idea’, but he holds his tongue. He can lecture you later.

He grabs you firmly by the shoulders, looking you up and down. “Are you okay?”

With the rain pouring down, he sounds like he’s whispering, even though you can tell he’s only a decibel away from full-on screaming. Lightning strikes in the distance, and you’re able to get a clear view of his face for a brief moment. Water streaming down his clenched jaw, hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, worried green eyes searching yours. They land on your cheek, which you think is bleeding thanks to the branch that smacked you in the face a few minutes ago, and you roll your eyes at his over-concern.

“I’m fine, Dean. It’s just a scratch.”

“C’mon,” he replies gruffly, pulling you into his coat in an attempt to shield you from the rain. “Baby’s got a first aid kit in the back.”

Ten minutes of walking later and you can make out Baby’s silhouette parked on the road on the other side of some trees. The rain seems to have gotten even worse – if that’s even possible – and the thought of being underneath some type of roof (Baby’s was just as good as any) where you’d have an opportunity to get dry was getting your tired legs through the last bit of your trek out of the muddy woods.

Your first step onto the dirt road comes with more rain as you come out from under the umbrella of trees. Dean opens the back door for you, ushering you inside and telling you not to worry about your shoes (something that he was usually a stickler about; he liked a clean car). To your surprise, he gets in behind you, quickly closing the door before the backseat can get even more wet. He leans over the front bench, fishing his keys out of his pocket, before starting the ignition and turning on the heat. The radio comes on as Baby starts up, and he lets it play as he opens the glove box and pulls out a flashlight, before sitting back and reaching underneath the driver’s seat for the first aid kit.

“Hold this,” he orders, turning on the light and handing it to you, the brightness of the bulb causing you both to squint as your eyes adjust.

“Dean, I told you, I’m fine,” you reiterate with an exhausted sigh, watching as he opens the white box in his lap.

“Shine it on your face, I need to get a better look.”

You roll your eyes, pointing the flashlight on your cheek, allowing Dean to grab the underside of your chin as he moves your head to the side and examines the damage.

“Needs to be cleaned,” he announces, letting you go and pulling out a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and gauze from the kit. You watch as he unscrews the cap and flips the bottle over, letting the cloth absorb some of the liquid before flipping it back and closing it. “This is gonna sting.”

He says that every time, and you chuckle softly in response. “Yeah, not my first time.”

He doesn’t even crack a smile. He grabs underneath your chin again, dabbing your wound with the cloth, and you’re too focused on his mood to even notice the sting. A minute passes by, and you’re sure it’s clean by now, but he seems to be on autopilot, jaw clenched and eyes both focused in on what he’s doing and glazed over at the same time.

“Dean,” you say gently, placing your free hand on top of his, stilling his movements and pulling him out of his trance. “I think it’s clean.”

Silence, except for the rain and the radio, which is quietly playing Is This Love by Whitesnake (not usually what this station plays, but it’s 2 a.m. and you figure they probably save the sappy 80s songs for this time of night).

And then, “You can’t do that.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head. “Do what?”

“Scare me like that. I didn’t – I thought –” he shakes his head, dropping his hand and placing the gauze back in the kit, along with the rubbing alcohol, before closing it and shoving it back under the seat. “Just – you can’t do that.”

“Dean, the storm came out of nowhere. We’ve split up on hunts so many –”

“And it’s never my idea!” he interrupts.

“What do you want me to say, Dean!? ‘I’m sorry that God decided to flood the earth again while we were out hunting werewolves’!? I am fine , okay? I can handle –”

He cups your face in his cold hands, careful to avoid the fresh cut on your cheek. “I don’t doubt that you can handle yourself. But I can’t lose you, do you get that?” His face is inches away from yours, and the flashlight slips out of your hands and onto the floor as your breath catches in your throat. The radio starts playing the all-too familiar beginning chords of Night Moves , and you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod. Dean tucks a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers.

“I know,” you reply breathily. You place your hand over his again. “You won’t, De.”

The corner of his mouth lifts up into a brief half smile – one that you would have missed had you not been watching his every move. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip with a feather-light touch, and all you can hear is the radio and the rain.

“Your lips are freezing,” he comments, not-so-subtly (in true Dean fashion).

“Shame there’s no way to warm them,” you whisper back, biting back a smile.

“Hm,” he smirks, leaning in. “I can think of a way.”

You close your eyes as his lips meet yours, instantly sending warmth back into your body. Night Moves is still playing, and you ignore the irony as you kiss him back like not freezing to death depends on it. It’s not your first kiss with Dean, but it’s the first one that feels like it really means something, like you could be more than just friends who hook up occasionally. His hands move from your face to your jacket, unzipping it before he helps peel it off your body, your wet skin making everything a thousand times harder. He carelessly throws it into the front seat before his lips move to your neck and he works on getting his own top layer off. He finds your sweet spot right under your ear, one that sends warm shivers down your spine, and then his hands are back on your body, finding their way underneath your soaked shirt, trailing up your sides. His palms feel warm against your skin, and you don’t know if it’s the heat blasting through the vents or the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but you’ve never been hotter.

The two of you separate for a few seconds and tug off the remainder of your clothes, everything landing in a nice pile on the front seat — muddy boots included. The cleanliness of his car is the last thing Dean is concerned about right now.

You feel a lot more comfortable naked — meaning, you’re only wet where you want to be now — and you lean back in the seat, your head resting against the door, as Dean hovers over you, taking you in. The flashlight on the ground was your only source of light with the moonlight blocked out by the storm still raging outside.

“You’re beautiful,” he states, not like an opinion, but like it’s an undeniable fact. Like if you were to look up ‘beautiful’ in the dictionary right now you’d find a picture of your face.

You smile. “Thank you.”

His finger traces your jaw bone, his thumb gently outlines the scrape on your cheek. “I don’t think it’s gonna scar,” he says. You love it when he’s like this: pure and unfiltered, saying exactly what he’s thinking when he’s thinking it.

You chuckle softly. “Good. Be real ugly if it did.”

His expression turns serious. “No it wouldn’t.” He states that like it’s a fact too, and you have no choice but to accept it.

“Okay. It would be pretty badass, I guess,” you concede.

He smiles and nods, leaning down to kiss you softly, quickly, before pulling back and whispering, “Yeah, it would.”

He trails his kisses down your jaw, neck, collarbone, and you catch the next song on the radio — Feels Like the First Time — and roll your eyes and try not to laugh because of course . You’re brought back to the present when Dean’s mouth wraps around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the hardened bud as your hands instantly come to grip his wet hair.

“Fuck,” you breathe, back arching off the leather seat, and he chuckles softly before releasing you with a ‘pop’.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes again, but they quickly close as he moves to give your right nipple some attention, gently pinching the other between his thumb and pointer finger. Your moans cause his cock to twitch, and you feel it against your inner thigh, imagining what it must look like right now.

“Please,” you beg, and you both know exactly what for. He gladly returns his lips to yours, before nestling himself comfortably (or as comfortable as one can get in the backseat of a ‘67 Chevy) between your legs, still damp and sticky from the rain. He kisses you hard as he enters you slowly, and you moan into his mouth as you adjust to his size. Nothing’s ever felt so good.

“Jesus,” he breathes, pulling away momentarily and bracing himself with one hand on the fogged up window as he bottoms out and stays there, looking down at you like you’re the only thing that matters to him, and right now, you are. “Mm, fuck .” He starts to move, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck, his hot breath and soft groans doing nothing to help stall the tightening coil in your abdomen. “‘m never letting you out of my sight again,” he whispers.

All you can do is nod; he feels so good, you never want him to stop.

“Can’t fuckin’ lose you,” he mumbles, his face coming to hover above yours as he cups your unscathed cheek with his free hand. “You hearin’ me?” He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

You nod again, a little more aggressively this time. “I know, Dean. You won’t,” you reassure him through unsteady breaths. It’s your turn to shake your head. “You won’t.”

You hadn’t noticed his thrusts speeding up, too lost in your emotions until he hits a spot that you didn’t even know you had.

“Oh, fuck ,” you hiss, arching your back. “Fuck, right there.”

He listens, picking up the pace ever so slightly, his lips on your neck again, his heavy pants in your ear. “Shit, sweetheart, you feel so good.” He’s breathing so hard it’s barely audible, but you hear it clear as day, and it’s what brings you to the edge.

“Fuck, Dean, I’m gonna —”

“Me too, me too.”

And then you’re tensing underneath him as a wave of pleasure washes over you, his cock twitching inside you as he fills you up, and he’s holding himself up on trembling forearms, desperately trying not to collapse on top of you as the exhaustion from the day finally hits you both like a tidal wave. Through heavy breathing you notice that it’s still pouring outside — probably deeming you stuck here on this no name road until it lets up — and that You Shook Me All Night Long is playing on the radio, and you can’t help but giggle softly and shake your head.

“What?” he questions, confused.

“I think both the weather and the radio are demanding that we go again.”

TAGLIST(S)

If you signed up for my taglist but don’t see your name below, it’s because Tumblr won’t let me tag you!

FOREVERS: @writercole // @makeadealwithdean // @slamminmine // @impala1967dwinchester // @wayward-dreamer // @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan // @deandreamernp // @kitkatd7 // @thewritersaddictions // @foxyjwls007 // @kyjey // @boeshaneboy // @besas-stuff // @babypink224221 // @stoneyggirl2 // @440mxs-wife // @sexyvixen7 // @samsgirl93 // @alwayssnivellus // @simpfoegeorge // @ajordan2020

SUPERNATURAL: @deans-baby-momma // @cookiechipdough // @roonyxx // @jassackles // @roseblue373 // @redbarn1995

DEAN WINCHESTER: @perpetualabsurdity // @lyarr24 // @solarrexplosion // @rach5ive // @akshi8278 // @pink-sparkly-witch // @emoryhemsworth // @whore4romance // @themerc-with-a-mouth

You can join my taglist(s) here!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction

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discokicks · 10 months

Text

BAD IDEAS (ON THE SAME PAGE) — JAMIE TARTT

a fic inspired by bad idea right by olivia rodrigo!

masterlist! song inspo! AO3!

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: football star jamie tartt is an asshole. he’s the one ex of yours that your friends always hated, one that you now all joke about, and one you haven’t spoken to in four years. however, after a chance encounter, the two of you reconnect, and he leaves you with his new number and a hundred questions about his reformed personality. but seeing him tonight would be a bad idea, right?

word count & rating: 11k (wowza), M! (18+! minors get away or i’ll narc on you to your guardians)

warnings: SMUUUUUUT, porn with plot, lots of suggestive language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sprinkling of a handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kids), angst, mentions of alcohol, probable secondhand embarrassment, exes reuniting (it needs a warning sometimes), jamie tartt was an asshole and is now just a prick (in the best way possible), reader is a physio, major fluff, and swearing. also reader is american (bc the author is too. sorry </3)

authors note: well. i wrote it. olivia wrote this song for teenage girls in their twenties (me) only and i immediately thought of this fic the second i heard it. i'm calling this an exercise in smut writing before i embark on my aces (my roy kent series for my new friends) eventual-smut-adventure, so this evolved into something i wasn’t expecting but i had so much fucking fun writing it. god, i love jamie tartt. also! this is my first smut fic at this type of level, so go easy on me. hope you all enjoy. love you all tons! -mags

There are two universal truths in life.

The first is that the coffee shop you frequent on your way to work will and will always have the best cold brew you’ve ever tasted. The second is that Jamie Tartt will and will always be a massive fucking prick, and you’ll never see him again for as long as you live.

These are two things you live by, and while they may seem rather mundane or petty in the grand scheme of things, they are the only truths you can count on these days. Especially when everything else is so up in the air.

However, the universe doesn’t seem to believe in these things as blindly as you do, and this becomes evident the moment that you step into the shop on a gloomy Wednesday morning. Because these two truths (well, they’re fucking bald-faced lies now aren’t they, huh?) are broken within approximately two minutes of each other with seven words.

It began when you greeted Natalia, the barista who was here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday before your shift at the clinic with a wide smile. As soon as she saw your face, her expression turned apologetic, albeit a bit dazed.

“You’re gonna hate me,” she says, putting her hands on either side of the register. Your brows shot up at her words. “We just ran out of cold brew.”

Your face falls. “You’re kidding.”

“We were low on it this morning,” she starts to explain, “our stupid night-shifters didn’t prep enough last night. And it’s been selling like crazy today.”

“Seriously?” you nearly whine. “I might cry.”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” she apologizes, but she doesn’t sound too apologetic. Natalia’s eyes keep shifting to your left, the dazed look in her eye never faltering. Then, she says the fated seven words. “But he took the last of it.”

You turn your head in the direction she’s been looking, and your blood runs completely cold. You think you could drop dead and go to hell at this very moment, and it’d be a better existence than what awaits you in the next five minutes. And while this all may sound dramatic, you don’t care.

You don’t care because Jamie fucking Tartt is standing across from you, newly long hair peeking out from beneath his hood. He’s engrossed in whatever’s on his phone, fingers flying back and forth like he’s texting.

You think you could run. You’re pretty sure you could successfully make a break for it and leave Natalia high and dry without him seeing you. It’d be an easy exit, and you’d never have to see him again.

But then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks up. And the second he meets your gaze, his face falls in what you can imagine was a similar fashion to yours.

Fuck.

Luckily, Natalia is none the wiser. She barely notices your expression, and with Jamie by the pick-up area, she can’t see the way he’s looking at you. So, instead of questioning you, she straight-up giggles.

“I know,” she practically squeals. “I was totally going to save you the last of it, but he asked for it. And I mean, c’mon. It’s Jamie Tartt. I couldn’t possibly say no to him.”

You tragically know that feeling all too well. Knowing you probably would have had a snappier, more cutting response to that if you weren’t in the most debilitating phase of shock, you settle for a quiet, “It’s okay.” You nod at her, brushing it off in an attempt to be casual. “I can settle for an espresso today.”

Natalia nods, tapping it into her register. “Same size as usual?”

“Yeah,” you say, not completely sure what you’re agreeing to. You glance over again at Jamie and find that he’s still standing there, staring at you, and you immediately blink away. “That’s fine.”

The rest of the transaction feels as though it takes a millennium and three seconds all at once. You’re still caught off guard by the time Natalia gives you your receipt with a dazed look in your eye that now matches hers.

However, yours isn’t because you just saw your favorite Richmond player or your favorite reality show villain. It’s because you’ve just seen your ex-boyfriend and you’re about to walk over and stand next to him for a prolonged period of time.

Nothing about this scenario feels real. You hadn’t seen him in four years. Not since things ended as ugly as they had, with him leaving you sobbing outside of a club at three in the morning, letting you know that things were over between you two. And he hadn’t even given you a reason. It was just that he wasn’t ‘feeling’ it anymore.

You saw in a tabloid about three months later that he was now seeing Keeley Jones (yeah, having to compete with that did not sit well with you at all) and had drawn your assumptions from there. Whether or not he’d been seeing her behind your back or had broken up with you to be with her, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You were in your anger stage of the break-up and only knew one thing.

Jamie Tartt was a massive fucking prick, and you’d sooner walk on a bed of nails before you saw him again.

But now here he was. And there were no nails to be found.

You avoid eye contact as you pass him to wait for your coffee. There’s a piece of you that wants to say hi and play it cool, just to put on a show for him about how unaffected you were by everything that had happened. The other piece of you hopes that not a word is said for your entire time here.

Unfortunately, neither of those happen.

Jamie slides over to be near you, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands are stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket, and you wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t.

Instead, you can feel the ‘play it cool’ part of you rise up to the surface. You could do this. You could feign indifference. Fuck him, you could be cool.

You glance over at him and see that he’s pressing his lips together, eyes shifting around the coffee shop. It’s crazy how familiar you still are with his tells to know he’s desperately looking for a way to say something.

You say it for him. “Hi,” you say simply. Cool and unaffected.

It’s as if the one word alone makes him flinch. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Hi—” He clears his throat after his greeting comes out cracked, and he stuffs his hands further in his pockets. “Hey.”

The awkwardness of this moment is killing you, and it’s taking everything in you to pretend like it's not. As you search for something else to say, you land on, “You took my cold brew.”

You can see his brows shoot up out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, fuck, did I?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I come in here every morning. Friends with the barista. Said she was going to save me the last of it, but…” You trail off and finally look at him. “She couldn’t say no to Jamie Tartt, apparently.”

You want to jump up and down about how well you’re doing right now. Maybe you are over him. Maybe you’ve finally moved past this shit, and seeing him once more is all you needed to solidify that. Maybe—

The second he chuckles softly with an apologetic smile, your confidence in those things shoots down. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Since when do you drink cold brew, anyway?” you ask, frustrated with the fact that he’s fucking laughing in front of you. “You were always a like, caramel macchiato or frappuccino asshole.”

The names make him laugh harder, shaking his head. “Don’t like those anymore,” he responds. “Sugar hurts me teeth. Tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “My fucking coffee.”

That chuckle continues with a shrug. “I’m sorry.” he says again. Then he pauses. “But it’s not like your name was on it, or anythin’.”

Your face draws blank, and immediately, Jamie can tell he’s made a misstep. And it’s not that you’re angry about the joke, it’s just the… everything. Him. The situation. Everything you can remember that you wonder if he bothers to remember too.

Before you can walk away, you feel his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats for a third time, turning you so that you’ll look at him. Your pissed-off expression meets his easy smile and it only fuels your anger more. “I was jokin’. I’m sorry I took your coffee. We can get ‘em to put your name on it if you want.”

“Whatever,” you mutter. It’s not the most mature thing you could have said, but frankly, you don’t care. You just want to get your consolation espresso and get the hell out of here. “What are you even doing over here anyway?”

You’re not sure why you ask it. You don’t know why you keep the conversation going. Jamie looks just as surprised as you are. “I moved over here a couple weeks ago,” he answers. “Got sick of the old place.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you reply. By the way that Jamie snorts, you know he recalls just how much you hated his apartment when you knew him. It screamed twenty-two-year-old AFC-money shithead and you would tease him about it constantly. “Was the empty beer bottle sculpture finally giving you mold poisoning?”

He chuckles again. “That came down shortly after we stopped talking.”

“Oh, so I was just lucky enough to see it in its final days?”

“Oi,” he says, pointing at you. “That thing was fuckin’ impressive and you know it.”

“Impressive in a dorm,” you shoot back. “Not a seven million pound flat.”

He bows his head in a guilty manner. “You remember that, huh?”

“Hard not to,” you answer. “You never stopped talking about it.”

He at least has the decency to wince at that one. “I know,” he says earnestly. It makes you look at him. He shrugs once more. “I wanted to impress ya.”

He did impress you. But not with things like that. He’d impress you when you watched him play, he’d impress you when he made you laugh, and he’d impress you on the rare occasion that he’d just be himself in front of you. Not some asshole footballer. Just him.

But you don’t say that. You say, “That wasn’t the way.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Got that now.” He rocks back on his heels again, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever he wants to. “I was a proper fucking dick to you, wasn’t I?”

That almost makes you fall over. Did he just say that? Did he actually just admit that? Out loud, here, for everyone to hear? Accountability? Unprompted? From Jamie Tartt?

You want to glance around to see if Rod Sterling’s going to emerge from the bathroom to narrate the next couple of minutes of your life, but are too shocked to do so.

Your surprise must show in your eyes, because Jamie laughs to himself. “Yeah. Wild, innit?” He shakes his head. “On a bit of an apology tour this year. Trying to build back some bridges, or whatever.”

The nod you give him is slow, still reeling from all of this. “Right,” you say lamely. “Building bridges.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you and for a brief moment, you think he may just mean it. The sincerity in his eyes is clear. “I was terrible to you. And I’m sorry.”

Whatever you were expecting when you stepped into this coffee shop on this rainy Wednesday, it certainly wasn’t this. And you certainly weren’t expecting your first time reuniting with him to go this way— with him apologizing to you. The actual words ‘I’m sorry’ just left his mouth.

You genuinely don’t know who this is. Because it’s certainly not the Jamie you knew.

You saw flashes of this guy. Quiet moments during your short-lived relationship, typically when it was just the two of you. It’s the type of guy you always knew he could be if he tried. The type of guy you pushed him to be.

(Your friends always taunted you about having the ever-horrendous I-can-fix-him gene, and they never quite let go of it. But it’s not like it wasn’t true.)

Those flashes are why you held out for as long as you did. If it were anyone else, any other asshole who treated you the way he did, you would have dropped them in a second. But he wasn’t like that. Not always, at least.

It was terrible to think like that. You’d been in a low spot when you’d met him and had taken even lower when he left you. You’d recovered tenfold from that and now knew your worth.

But as he stands in front of you, apologizing, genuinely apologizing, and looking at you like that, you start to question it.

No! the logical part of your brain practically screams. Don’t you fucking dare.

You’re keen to listen to that for the time being. It hardens you. And all you can do is nod at him again. “Well, uh—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You cough awkwardly. “Yeah. You were. Terrible to me. And, uh… thank you. For saying that.”

So much for playing it cool. You want to slam your head up against the wall but hold yourself back from doing so.

He nods at you, opening his mouth to say something else before he’s interrupted by one of the baristas calling your name. His cold brew’s sitting on the counter too, something the two of you clearly missed in the middle of your conversation.

When you reach for your drink, he grabs his too. He’s still staring at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he wants to say something. When you go to move around him, he stops you.

“Look, I just—” You look up at him expectantly, and his shoulders deflate. “I know you probably want nothin' to do with me. But, I just… I want to talk to you.”

Your espresso is hot in your hands. “Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

That’s when he says your name. Your actual name. Not the nickname that everyone calls you, not a pet name that he used to use, he says your name. And it makes you stop in your tracks.

It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking dumb that your fucking name can send you back to the day you first met him and were completely taken with him. You hate it. And you hate the way it makes your walls come crumbling down.

“Please,” he begs. “Can we… Can I at least give you my number? It’s a new one, but I-I think I’ve still got yours. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But just so you can… I don’t know? Think about it?”

You wouldn’t know if he still had your number. You blocked him ages ago. But you doubt it.

However, the more you think about it, the more you consider it. It’s the product of your resolve falling and well, everything else about him now. You think about it.

If you allowed him to give you his number, the ball would be in your court. You could do what you wanted with it. You could text him, you could tell him to fuck off, you could ignore him. It was up to you.

And you don’t know if that’s worse or better.

You decide on better. The second you sigh, Jamie knows he’s got you. A wide grin breaks out on his face as you hand him your phone. “I’ll think about it,” you mutter.

That’s good enough for him. He gives your phone back to you, new number inserted and new contact created. You’re glad he didn’t search for his old one. That one just says ASSHOLE in big capital letters with about a million gun emojis.

(That was done by your previous roommates in an effort to get you to move on from him. You thought it was a bit overdramatic. You were never one for emojis.)

He’s smiling when he holds his coffee out for you. You stare at him blankly, thinking he’s attempting to cheers you. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Take it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Trade with me,” he clarifies and your expression turns to one of shock. “C’mon. You said it’s yours anyway, right?” When you don’t move he rolls his eyes. “Offer’s only good for another second. Me arm’s getting tired.”

At that, you sigh rather dramatically and grumble to yourself, trying not to act pleased by the gesture. You hand him your coffee and he gives you his. “Thanks,” you say. It was kind of him.

His grin returns and he nods at you. “Alright,” he says. After a slightly awkward beat, he steps back from you. “It was good to see you, Doc. Really.” You’re taken back by how genuine his voice sounds and say nothing in return. “I’ll talk to you later?”

He says it as a question, hopeful and well-meaning. “Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally. “Maybe.”

That too, is good enough for him. Because he sends you one more smile, then walks out of the coffee shop with your espresso in hand.

You’re still reeling from the interaction when you glance down at his your cold brew and see Natalia’s handwriting. She’s made it just as you like it, down to the milk and everything.

But below it is a small drawing. It’s a tiny shark fin with a #9 written inside, with little lettering circling around it.

Doo-doo-do-doo-do-do-doo.

You’re fucked.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” is the question that your best friend and former roommate Leah screams at you over drinks at a busy rooftop bar. So busy, in fact, that barely anyone looks over at the two of you.

You’d made the mistake of telling Leah that not only had you run into Jamie on Wednesday, but you’d let him give you his number.

And you’d texted him after hours of deliberation.

It was something innocent, something you’d thought way too much about, but innocent still. You weren’t sure if you were ready to actually talk to him, but there was something about texting him that wasn’t so scary. Your guard was clearly still up, evident by how dry you were in your messages, and you were keeping your distance. You never texted back too quickly, didn’t ask many questions, and often left him on read.

(Yeah, you’d turned your read receipts on for him. What about it?)

Your first text was a simple enough question, something that you’d been genuinely wondering about since you saw him. It was open enough for a conversation but not too forward. how’d you know my coffee order?

His response came in minutes later. Is that yours? Good taste. It was shortly followed up with, That espresso you drink was fucking disgusting though.

And that was that. That was how you started texting your ex again. That’s how you reconnected yourself with Jamie Tartt. That’s how you knew it was over for you.

And that’s how you’re pretty sure you’re about to kill your best friend.

Leah’s eyes were wild, somehow angry yet still disbelieving yet intrigued. But the intrigue was very minimal. Very minimal. It was hidden well by how pissed off she was at you.

She had every right to be pissed at you. She was the one who always warned you about him. She’d straight-up nursed you back to health when you broke up. She was the one who had to hear about him 24 hours a day until you were finally over him.

Leah had had a year of peace. And now you were killing her for good.

“You’re kidding, right?” she follows up with. Her grip on your arm is tight. “Please tell me your kidding.”

“Leah…” Your voice is weak.

It tells her everything she needs to know. “Oh, my God! Oh, my. God.” She puts her face in her hands. “You’re insane. You’re fucking losing it and we need to have you checked out right now.”

“I’m completely sentient and in control of my own body.”

“Are you sure?”

You sip at your cocktail. “I reset a knee today. I’m pretty sure.”

“I think you might need to reconsider,” she says. “Because you just told me that not only are you talking to Jamie Tartt again, but you were the one who instigated it!”

You deserve this verbal beatdown and you know it. But all you can do is shrug. “Technically, he gave me his number. He’s the one who instigated it.”

“I’m gonna throw my fucking drink in your face,” Leah threatens, gripping her glass in warning.

You roll your eyes at her. “Nothing’s gonna happen,” you say, even though you know you’re probably lying. Leah knows this too. “We’ve just been texting a little. It’s nothing serious.”

“Yeah, sure,” she deadpans. “Right. And even if I did believe you, what happens if it does? What happens if you get back in your weird, scary Jamie phase and he kills you again? I can’t deal with that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you assure her, and this time it’s more confident. Because you know you won’t. Not this time. Not if anything happens.

You’d met Jamie when you were twenty-two. You were in your first year of your Masters program, slightly lost as in your move to London to finish your journey to become a physical therapist. Or a physio, as they called it here. Whatever. You couldn’t keep up with the names.

You were shadowing a physio at the clinic you now worked at, assisting him as a part of your internship at one of the football tournaments the clinic worked at. It was a ton of big-wig footballers, some names you recognized, others you didn’t. But it didn’t matter. They were precious fucking cargo and you were so paranoid about screwing up that you barely registered who they were when you worked on them.

That was, until a twenty-two-year-old Jamie Tartt sprained his ankle and plopped himself down on your doctor’s bench. He looked at you, you assisted him, and you were wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn’t even notice he was flirting with you.

You didn’t realize until he asked you out. And the rest was history, for better or for worse.

You were surprised he went for you. You knew who Jamie was, what type of girls he liked to be seen with. They were singers and models and actresses. They weren’t you.

(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you liked him so much. Because he chose you. You didn’t like to think about that phase of your life.)

But after six months of seeing him, he ended things out of nowhere. Right when you’d settled on the idea that despite it all, you might be in love with him. And that was that.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until this week.

“Not gonna happen my ass,” Leah scoffs, bringing you back into the conversation at hand.

A sigh of frustration leaves your lips. “Listen, I know it’s a bad idea;” you tell her. “I know it is. But, I don’t know. There was something different about him, Leah. He was just… like not someone I recognized.”

“Maybe because his hair is fucking long and stupid now.” She brings her glass to her lips. “His highlights look horrendous.”

“I actually like his hair like this,” you admit, earning yet another eye roll. “Listen. I’m not saying he’s changed. He probably hasn’t. But I…” You trail off with a shrug. “I don’t know. What if he has?”

Leah’s looking at you like you’re the dumbest person she’s ever met in her life. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” she asks incredulously. “Babe, he was a prick to you. Like, category-five, prestige-level twat. Like, worst boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“I know,” you repeat. “And I said nothing’s going to happen. But if it does, and it goes south, I give you full permission to say I-told-you-so for the rest of my life, alright?”

Leah bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. “Whatever,” she says. After a moment, she glances over at you. “I’m just looking out for you, y’know. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And I definitely don’t want him to be the reason for that hurt again.”

You grab her hand. “I know,” you say once more. “And I love you for it. But if I’m gonna be stupid, I’m fully aware of when I’m gonna do it. And it’s gonna be my own fault.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you before Leah nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay. Fine. Your fucking funeral.”

“I’ll let you give the eulogy and allow you to call me a dumb bitch for ten minutes straight.”

“Sold,” Leah says, pointing at you. That slight intrigue you previously saw in her eye returns. “Okay, now that I’ve yelled at you, you need to tell me everything.”

And so you do. You tell her how he took your coffee, how you nearly threw up the second you saw him, how you played it cool until you didn’t. How he apologized to you. Joked around with you. Apologized some more. And then he gave you his coffee.

You despise how excited you sound about it. Again, you’re trying to play it cool, but the people that know you the best can always see right through you. You’re excited about it. Excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to be excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to look down at your phone after you and Leah order another drink. Your heart stops when you see he’s texted you.

It’s a bad idea to open the message when Leah excuses herself to go to the bathroom. What are you up to tonight?

It’s past midnight on a Saturday and he’s texting you. It’s still preseason for him, so he might be drunk, he may not be. You’re three drinks deep and aren’t sure if you are.

It’s a bad idea to respond to him. getting drinks with a friend. You keep it dry.

It’s a bad idea to not look down at your phone until you finish the drinks you ordered. Because now, you’re definitely drunk and looking at it all with new eyes.

Would you want to hang out tonight? No pressure.

It’s a bad idea to consider it.

But it’s a worse idea to agree.

text me your new address. i can be there by 1:30.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re knocking on Jamie’s door, intertwining your fingers together when you realize you’re shaking.

The second you do it, you regret it. You’re no longer feeling the effects of your drinks. It wore off on the Uber ride over here. And everything seems like a terrible idea now.

God, what were you doing? He treated you like that and the second you see him again, you go running back? He was an asshole. He’d made you question everything about yourself, he’d made you cry, he’d made you experience every fucking emotion in the book and all it took is one text for you to be back on his doorstep?

Your roommate was right. This was a horrendous idea and you were an idiot.

However, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because Jamie Tartt’s opening his door and he’s got a stupid fucking smile on his face. And the second you see it, you know there’s no turning back.

“Hey,” he says as he opens the door. “You alright, love?”

You clench your jaw at the name, at his smile, about how casual he’s being, about everything. “Hey,” you say, avoiding his eyes to look around his flat.

It’s a complete 180 from what he had when he first joined Richmond and what he had when you knew him. It’s a bit less mojo-dojo-casa-house-looking and something more mature. While you can still tell that a twenty-something guy definitely lives here, it’s decorated well, it’s put together, and it’s clean. No beer bottle sculptures in sight. He’s even got a fucking candle burning on his counter. Who the fuck is this and what did he do with the guy you knew?

Jamie follows you as you enter, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “You find the place okay?”

His question snaps you out of your flat-induced haze. “Yeah,” you reply. You clear your throat. “This is nice.”

That same, stupid smile returns, but it looks a bit nervous. “Yeah. I told you it was a bit different, huh?” he chuckles. He walks toward his island, rounding it as he speaks. “Needed a fresh start or whatever. The old one was gettin’... old.” He watches you as you nod, continuing to look around. “You still in the same place with the same people?”

“Uh, no. Different place. No people,” you answer. You’ve stayed on your side of the counter, actively keeping your distance. “Willa moved to New York last year and Leah moved with her boyfriend. We live in the same building, though, which is nice.”

The small talk is fucking killing you. You’re not even sure if he cared to remember your previous roommates' names, so this all could be pointless. You can’t believe you’re here. You can’t believe you’re actually standing here, talking to him about the past.

But as you finish speaking, he nods like he’s listening. Maybe he is listening. Maybe he does remember.

“I’ll have to see that sometime,” he ends up saying, and the implication of it makes your head spin. He wants to see you again. Or he just learned small talk common courtesy. Whatever it is, it’s driving you insane. You have so many questions for him, so many things to say, and as he wipes his hands on his pants again and nods over to his kitchen, he asks, “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got—”

“Why did you invite me here, Jamie?” The question comes spilling out of you, rushed as if it were waiting on the tip of your tongue and simply couldn’t stand to stay in any longer. Jamie stops in his tracks to blink at you. The look on his face encourages you to go on. “I mean, I know I texted you first. But why… why did you text me tonight? Why’d you—” You grimace, trying to find the right words. “Why’d you give me your number?”

He’s silent for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. But his eyes haven’t left you. “Because I wanted you here,” he finally says. You cross your arms over your chest as he takes a step toward you. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you.”

You want to say that you’ve been driven crazy all week because you feel same, but decide against it. Instead, you look away from him and scoff. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you, and your heart stops with every step he takes. “I felt like I was goin’ insane. I didn’t…” For a flash of a second, he looks shy. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. And I didn’t think you’d actually text me. I mean, I hoped you would, but…”

He’s right in front of you, but you still refuse to look at him. Your gaze has shifted to the floor. “I shouldn’t have,” you mutter.

The asshole has the nerve to chuckle, but it’s nervous. Your stomach churns. You’re not sure if you’ve ever heard him nervous. “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “I don’t deserve it.” He pauses and your throat starts to tighten. “I didn’t deserve you.”

That makes you look at him. Either he’s actually apologetic about everything, or he’s gotten really good at knowing everything you want to hear. “No. You didn’t.”

His fingers tentatively brush your arm and you allow him to take your hand. “I know,” he says. “I was a fucking prick. I get that now. I should never have… done that shit to ya.” You’re close enough to him now that if you moved an inch, his forehead would be up against yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. The action makes your throat tighten. “And I can’t fix it. But I…” He trails off again and looks you dead in the eye once he has the words. “I want to make it up to you.”

Your resolve is getting weaker and you hate yourself for it. You lean back against the counter, like that will put space between you two. “Jamie…”

“Please,” he whispers. His forehead finally meets yours. You can feel his breath on your lips. You don’t pull away. “Let me make it up to you.”

The last front you have standing weakly presents itself. “If you think,” you begin, breath shuddering as his hand meets your neck, “that one 2 AM hookup is going to make up for what you did, I—”

“I know it won’t,” he says, and it sounds like he does know. “But I want it to be a start.” The fingers on your neck are now tracing your jaw. And they tighten when he says, “Let me show you just how sorry I am, yeah? Let me make it fucking good for you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. That last front dissolves the second he says that, and your logic flips on itself. You came over here for a reason. You knew what this was. At least you got an overdue apology. Whether or not he meant it, is still up in the air, but if he’s promising things like that, then you might as well get something out of it.

You struggle to get a word out, so you nod against his hand. “O-Okay,” you finally stammer out. The way he’s looking at you gives you enough confidence to say, “Fine. Make it up to me.”

Jamie’s lips curl into a smirk and say, “As you wish,” before they’re on yours.

He’s softer than you remember. His lips aren’t chapped, he isn’t as aggressive with it, and he isn’t as rushed. Everything about him feels more mature and you struggle to understand how fast he could have changed in four years. But you’re not complaining. Not when he’s kissing you like this, with more practice and passion than you can ever recall.

His hand unlocks from yours to slide it up your sweatshirt, and it’s surprisingly warm against your back. Still, you shiver from the contact and you can feel him smirk once more against your lips.

The action alone prompts you to fork a hand in his hair and tug at it slightly, reveling in the soft sound that escapes him. Everything about him comes back to you at once, and you’ve never been happier to know that the same things still get him. If he wants to play it like that, you can keep up.

His hands drop to grab your thighs and lift you onto the counter, breaking the kiss momentarily. Your chest is heaving up and down, lips swollen and wet. Jamie appears to be in the same boat. “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding even more out of breath than you. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, nose rubbing against it as he makes his way down. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Meant to tell you that at the shop.”

You’re too caught up in it all to play it cool, especially as he works at that one spot on your neck. “You look— fuck, you look good too. The long hair suits you.”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree breathily. “Looked like a prick with the old cut.”

You feel his teeth dig into your skin at that one, and you hiss. “You liked that prick,” he reminds you.

You were in love with that prick, but you ignore that thought. “I liked a lot of things about him,” you respond. While it’s honest, the accidental double meaning of it isn’t lost on you.

It’s certainly not lost on Jamie. “Yeah?” he asks again. He lifts his head to look at you, hand creeping up your leg. “What’d you like?” You grip his arm as it rises beneath your sweatshirt once more. “C’mon love. Tell me what you want.”

You hate the way your breath hitches the second his fingers meet your back. You know what you want. You want to see what he’s learned since you last had him. What he’s like four years later. What’s changed, what’s stayed the same. But you’re too embarrassed and much too proud to ask.

Instead, you decide to say, much too shyly for your liking, “You know what I want.”

He hums in agreement, other hand creeping dangerously close to the inside of your thigh. “I do, don’t I?” he murmurs. “Bet I know everything ya want. But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Oh my, God,” you say under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice. The asshole fucking laughs at you. “I want you to make good on your promise. This seems far from it.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Just making sure we’re still, y’know. On the same page.” He glances at you. “Right?”

You blink at him. You’re not sure you could have been clearer about what page you’re on. But that’s not what surprises you. What surprises you is the seriousness in his eyes. How he’s searching for assurance in yours. And you know that if, for whatever godly reason, you wanted to stop, he’d pull away immediately, despite how worked up he clearly is.

It's the bare fucking minimum, but it's more than you’re used to getting.

So, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Definitely on the same page.”

The grin he breaks out to is nothing short of breathtaking. “Good.”

“But—” you suddenly say, stopping him from leaning in once more. He freezes beneath your touch, brows furrowing. “This is… This is a one-time thing. You’re…” You trail off to find the word. “You’re apologizing to me. That’s all this is.”

His smile falters, dropping momentarily before returning with a bit less radiance. It’s his turn to nod. “Okay,” he says, fingers now toying with the edge of your sweatshirt. “Gotta make it count, then.”

And with that, Jamie presses his lips back to yours, grabbing you securely and pulling you off the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist, grabbing the sides of his face, like that’ll stable you against him.

This time, it’s more desperate. It’s more tongues and teeth, more force and intention behind each movement. He’s setting the pace, but you’re keeping up tenfold. While it’d been four years, you’re not sure if he’d ever kissed you like this. He’s passionate instead of aggressive. While he knows what he wants, he’s definitely not just going to take it. He may be leading but he’s listening to you. And that stirs something inside you that you haven’t felt in a long time.

That much is clear, because you unconsciously let out a quiet sound against his lips. You can feel him smiling once more as he walks you slowly to wherever the hell his bedroom is. You’re caught up in him. And by the way he’s gripping you, you can tell he’s just as caught up in you.

So much so, that he completely loses track of where he’s going and accidentally slams you into his doorframe. You yelp, more because of shock than pain, and pull away to glare at him.

Jamie’s already apologizing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Still gettin’ used to this place.”

“Well, figure out how to navigate better,” you respond, verging on a pout as you rub the back of your head.

“I’m sorry!” he repeats. He’s still got you against the doorframe. “It’s hard to see with your big head in me face. And I can’t kiss ya with, like, my eyes open. It’d be freaky.”

“I’ll give you a pass for that one,” you reply dryly. “Be weird instead of giving me a concussion.”

He’s walking you toward the bed when he mutters, “I’ll give you something, alright.”

Your back meets the mattress and you try to ignore the way he held his hand behind your head when he laid you down. You have under a second to adjust before he’s on top of you. The desperation returns and it almost takes your breath away.

He’s essentially straddling you, tugging at the waist of your leggings before he leaves one last kiss on your lips. He finally gets to pull your sweatshirt off, something he’d clearly been dying to rid you of since he first kissed you. You lift your arms up to help him, finding that you quickly start to do the same to him. You hear him chuckle as you attempt to get it up his back.

“I got it, love, hold on,” he says softly, tossing your hoodie to the side to take off his own. Your eyes immediately go to his chest and stomach and you refrain from reaching out to touch him. When you look up at him, you expect him to be smirking. However, he’s doing the exact opposite.

Jamie’s looking down at you like he can’t fucking believe you’re real. It’s jarring, seeing him like this, but you figure he’s in the same headspace as you and is still struggling to process that this is happening. It doesn’t matter, because before you can question it, he’s moving to press a kiss to your collarbone.

Your hand falls into his hair as he works his way down, mouthing the area of your chest. He pauses before he gets to the bra you’re wearing. His eyes flick up to yours. “Can I—”

You’re nodding before he can even get the words out, shifting to make it easier for him. He discards it to the floor with the rest. When he looks back at you, he releases a shaky breath and just stares.

He stares so intently that you begin to get self-conscious. “What?” you ask.

The question takes Jamie out of his trance. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “I just— I… Fuck. I forgot how beautiful you were.”

That spreads a warmth through you, one that pulls at your core. As you feel your face heat, you realize you have nothing to say to that. Luckily, he’s already moving on.

Jamie’s different. Really different. And you don’t realize how different he is until you start looking at him like you are right now. You were trying to convince yourself when you told Leah that he’d changed, you’ll admit that. But right now, you think you may have been telling the truth.

He grabs the waist of your leggings once more, lifting your legs to pull them off. You can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips as he struggles to do so. He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Missed that.”

“What?” you ask again.

“Your laugh,” he replies. “Missed that more than you know.”

The sweet words hit you like a bullet. The vulnerability in his voice is what gets you. Goddammit, when did he get so fucking nice? It drives you insane. But it also makes you quietly admit, “I think I’ve got an idea.”

With your leggings now gone, Jamie’s smile turns fonder. Gentler. He presses a kiss to your leg but says nothing in response. He simply places your legs down, eyes flicking down. He lifts his hand to trace down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your panties. The feeling makes you flinch.

He hooks a finger in the band, and your hips buck up to encourage him. His other hand spreads across your hip in a poor effort to keep you still. “Easy,” he murmurs.

You huff out a breath. “You can—” Your breath hitches as two of his fingers push into your underwear. “Fuck, you can take them off.”

His lips quirk up. “Well, thank you for the permission,” he says. “But not yet. I wanna take it slow with ya.”

Your mouth parts. “Why?”

“Because it’s been years since I’ve seen you,” he answers, moving up to kiss you softly. He speaks against your lips as he says, “And I’ve apparently only got one shot to do this right. So I’m gonna make this last.”

You roll your eyes at his terribly disguised jab. “You’re a dick,” you mutter against him.

“And you’re—” He cuts himself off and a gasp escapes your lips as he cups your core and rubs his palm against it. “Fuck, love. You’re really fucking wet.” He’s positioned on you so that you can feel him getting harder against you thigh. “This all for me, yeah?”

His voice is cocky, while still sounding awestruck. The remaining dignity you have left makes you roll your eyes, albeit a bit embarrassed. “It’s for whoever doesn’t take their fucking time to give me what I want,” you bite.

Jamie draws back from you with a full smirk on his face. “That so?” he asks. The hand against you starts creeping up to the band of your panties. “And what is it that you want? You still haven’t told me.”

You scoff. “I told you.”

He pulls your underwear down your legs and the air around you suddenly makes you realize just how exposed you are. You told yourself you’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this again. But here you were.

His fingers brush against the inside of your thigh, and you shiver once more. “No,” he tells you gently. “You didn’t. You just said you wanted me to keep my promise. You didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

He’s moving closer and closer to the place you want him and you don’t know if you can take it anymore. You shift uncomfortably, as if that will cease the ache. But you know only one thing will.

So, you give him the answer he’s been waiting for this entire time. “You.” His gaze meets yours. “I want you, Jamie. Please.”

That breathtaking grin returns. “Just because you asked so nicely.”

And then he puts his mouth on you without warning.

You spasm at the contact, crying out as he uses both arms to hold you still. The second you calm down, one hand leaves your thigh and you feel him work two fingers into you. Fuck. He didn’t know that before.

And it’s not like he was ever bad in bed when you two were together. You’re not sure you would have stayed with him if that were the case. It’s just… he’s better now. He’s hitting everything nearly perfectly, not stumbling like he used to. He’s more confident. More assured. He knows what he’s doing.

And it’s fucking hot.

The sounds that fill his room are downright obscene. He’s gripping one side of you to keep you in place, splitting you open on his knuckles with the other. His mouth zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that honestly has you close already.

“F-fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, Jamie. Don’t st— shit. Don’t stop. Please.”

Of course, the fucking shit he is, stops. He grins up at you, but continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out. “You sound so fucking pretty begging like that,” he tells you. He’s just as out of breath as you are. He feels you clench around his fingers at the praise and it only eggs him on further. “Look so pretty too. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Jamie,” you whine again. He’s going too slow. Teasing. It’s not fucking fair. He’s supposed to be the one apologizing to you. “I need— Ngh. I need—”

“What do you need?” he asks. “Tell me.”

You think you’d kill him if you weren’t completely incapacitated. “More,” you manage to get out, wincing as he continues at his slow pace. You’re close. Embarrassingly close. “Just fucking more. Please. I’m—” You interrupt yourself with a moan as he shoves his fingers deeper into you.

“I know,” he nearly coos. “I’ve got you.”

And got you he does. Because not only does he pick up the pace, he stretches you with a third finger. The sting of it is momentary, and it subsides as soon as he bends down and swipes your clit with his tongue.

Your back arches. “Jesus fucking— Jamie. Oh, my God.”

He’s good. Of course, he’s fucking good. He’s Jamie Tartt. You’re not sure he’s ever been bad at anything physical in his life. Emotionally was another story. But that story didn’t matter right now. Not when he’s got you like this, and you’re teetering over the edge.

He pulls away from you, breath tickling your core as he speaks. “C’mon,” he chides. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you, love?” He takes your breathy silence as confirmation and nods to himself. “Yeah. You just need—”

He removes one finger and crooks the rest a certain way, deeper than before. Your heart may stop beating. He’s done something he did to you time and time again, something that he was actually really fucking good at, something he knew you liked years ago. When he looks up at you, he searches your eyes. And by the way they roll back, he knows he’s struck gold.

The smirk returns and he continues to work his fingers into you, smirk growing each time he hears you say his name. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it. That’s still it.”

You could finish at any moment. The telltale heat is rising in your stomach, and you’re just waiting for the cord to snap. And then, as if your muscle memory takes over, you reach out for his arm.

But instead of letting you do it like before, he does something completely different. He intertwines his free hand with the back of yours and guides it to your stomach. And then he presses on your hand.

The pressure builds. You’re barely able to make any noise. And then—

“C’mon,” Jamie repeats. “Come for me, angel. I wanna see it.”

The cord snaps, and you do as you’re told. You come. Hard.

Jamie talks you through it, fingers still moving to coax your climax out of you. You’re sure you look pathetic, crying out and thrashing around in his bed, but you don’t care. You can barely fucking see right now.

It’s been a while for you. Or at least been a while since you’ve had anything that good. And it completely strips away any sort of attitude or frustration you had before.

When you finally come back down, you laugh softly, shaking your head and throwing your arm over your face. “Fuck,” you say through a chuckle.

You feel him shift, moving up the bed to hover over you once more. When he removes your arm from your eyes, you see that he’s smiling. “Nobody’s ever laughed after I’ve done that,” he tells you, a faux pout pulling at his lips. He bends down to press them to yours and you can taste yourself. “It better be a good fuckin’ sign.”

You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss. “Very good sign,” you assure him. It’s muffled against him, but you think he gets the point.

It’s then that you catch him by surprise and flip the two of you over, straddling him in a way that makes him release a breathy sound that you’d missed dearly. But, something feels off.

Your glance down at him, expecting to feel or see fabric once you reach his leg. But there’s not much. Only what feels like boxer shorts. It catches you off guard. When did he take off his—

It doesn’t matter. It’s easier for you now. Especially as your fingers move across his abdomen, biting back a grin at the way he shudders. He looks up at you from his pillow.

“What are you doing?” he asks leadingly.

You shrug innocently, fingers toying with the band hanging low on his hips. “Returning the favor,” you reply.

Jamie makes a noise of disapproval, placing a hand on your thigh like that’ll stop you. “I’m supposed to be the one making it up to you,” he states, but his voice gets less firm as you cup him through the fabric. “Fuck. Y-You don’t owe me anythin’. No favors.”

You shake your head, pulling at his boxers so that he springs free from inside. Your eyes travel back to his as you reach out and gently grab his cock, staring down at him with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure?”

He looks pained. You don’t know why. You’re offering a way to take him out of his misery. But still, he shakes his head and moves his arm from your leg to your back.

He takes his turn to flip you over next. He swears under his breath as he does so, shaking his head when you land on your back.

“I told you,” he says, taking his boxers all the way off now. “It’s about you. Not me.” He shakes his head again, but this time it’s a bit more frustrated. When he speaks, it’s mostly to himself. “Can’t believe I just fuckin’ said no to that.”

A snort escapes you. “You’re a changed man, Jamie Tartt,” you joke.

He shrugs before placing his arms on either side of you. His voice teeters on teasing and earnest. “I’ve been trying to tell ya that.”

You’re not sure if it’s him, or the situation, or the sex, but you think you believe him. It makes your chest heavy. But you can’t admit that. You won’t let yourself. So, you keep that feeling tucked away, way in the back of your mind for safekeeping. You know it’s better like that. For your emotional sake, at least.

You allow yourself to prop yourself up on your elbow and kiss him instead of responding to that, bringing him in closer. You can feel the length of him press against your stomach, and his groan vibrates against your lips.

He pulls away, grinding into you. The heat of your body is making him go wild. “Can I—”

You know what he wants. And you want it too. “Please,” you say.

He nods, moving to angle himself against you. You glance down to watch him, heat flooding your face as he strokes himself before glancing up at you. You nod in return, giving him the confirmation he needs. Jamie grins.

He slides in you slowly. The stretch is mild but grows as he hovers over you once more. It’s easy to adjust, having been warmed up moments before. But for Jamie, it’s not as easy.

He bottoms out almost immediately, tensing over you. His head bows, chin falling to his chest. “Fuck,” he curses. It’s quiet but straight-up sinful. “God, fucking— you’re so—” You grip onto his bicep as he steadies himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just— i-it’s been a minute. And you’re f-fucking tight. Jesus.”

You don’t mind. He feels good like this, despite the fact he’s not moving. Your hand travels from his arm to his hair, tucking a piece of it behind his ear before settling on his jaw. “It’s alright,” you tell him. “We’ve got time.”

Jamie’s eyes snap open at that, but he’s not looking at you like you thought he would. You were expecting a cheeky sort of smile, a smirk, something in that realm. But he’s not. He’s looking at you like…

It’s something you can’t define. Something you’ve never seen before. It churns your stomach yet makes your heart race. Neither of you says a word.

He just dips down to kiss you again and slowly begins to move inside you. Your lips part in a gasp, and he slides his tongue in your mouth. Your back arches into him.

Before you know it, he's breaking from you and is breathing heavy against your neck. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re just— fuck. You…” He trails off, mouth hovering over your collarbone. “You drive me f-fucking mad. God, everything about you. Y-you don’t even know, do you?”

The pace picks up. He’s thrusting into you harder now and your nails dig into his back. You hear him hiss at the contact, but neither of you seem to care. “Fuck.” It’s all you can say. “Fuck, Jamie.”

He’s clearly not done talking. “How’d I-I fuck this up? Huh?” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. His mouth is on your chest now and the feeling runs through you like fire. “Fucking idiot. Didn’t know what I had. Can’t believe I let you go.”

You clench around him and it throws him off kilter. You watch his jaw clench, hand beside you gripping the pillow you’re on. “You w-were an idiot.” Your agreement is much less effective when it’s closed out by a high-pitched moan.

“I know. Fuck, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Deserved better.” He continues to slam into you. “I wanna gi—” A strangled sound erupts from his lips. “Give you better. You’re so—” When he shakes his head, he looks wrecked. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Something about that sends a shock to your system. It makes you cry out and you can feel it. Your legs tremble around him. You’re close again. You’re really fucking close.

He kisses you once more, deeper than before. It’s more frantic. Everything about him is more erratic. You can tell he’s getting there too. “Couldn’t stop,” he manages to get out, hot against your lips. “Couldn’t s-stop thinking about you. I missed you.”

You clench around him again, the admission inching you closer. “Shit,” you say. “Fuck, Jamie, keep going.”

And keep going he does. His hand moves down your stomach, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into it and that sends you into a fucking tailspin. He swallows the sound you make.

“Missed you,” he says again, but it’s more helpless. Jamie fucking whimpers. “God, I f-fucking missed you, angel. Missed you so fucking much, I—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says because you come the second he makes that sound. It’s white-hot. Blinding. Your legs twitch around him and you claw at him as he continues to rub your clit. You’re loud, but you don’t give a shit. It seems to spur him on.

He’s not far behind you. He spills into you with a groan, stomach flexing as he heaves over you, twitching inside of you. You’re still recovering from your own high as you open your eyes to watch him. You catch his expression for a moment before he’s collapsing into you.

You release a soft ‘oof’ at the sudden weight of him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and neither do you. You just breathe together. But after a moment you allow yourself to put a hand in his hair.

“You’re fucking heavy,” you tell him, but there’s not much bite in it.

You feel him chuckle. “Give me second,” he says. “Not as fuckin’ agile as I used to be. Took a lot out of me, alright?”

You roll your eyes but continue to run your fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-six and like, the face of the AFC,” you tell him. “Richmond might have to shorten your contract if you’re dying after that.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Take that up with me Chairwoman then.”

You can’t help but laugh as you push him off of you, wincing as you feel him slip out. He lands with the same noise you did. “If she heard you complaining like that, she’d be on my side.”

Jamie grins at you, joining in on your laughter. He shifts toward you, grabbing your hand to play with your fingers. “You’re probably right. Shouldn’t be complainin’,” he says. He lifts your hand to his lips. “Not when you’re here.”

They’re sweet words. The casualty of them makes your heart swell. But that anxiety about him returns. One time thing, you tell yourself. Apology. One time. That’s all.

You pull your hand back softly and he glances over at you. There’s a hint of worry in his eyes, like that one movement set off alarm bells in his head. You give him an uneasy smile.

Before you can move to get up or say anything or do something, he’s talking. And you have to refrain from wincing.

“I know…” He looks away from you. Shy. “I know you said one time,” he says, as if he can read your fucking mind. “And that’s… That’s okay. I get that, yeah? But I—” Jamie wipes a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling. “I meant what I said. I missed ya. Really.”

You missed him too. But your walls have been rising back up since he started talking again. “I don’t know what you want me to do with that,” you tell him, only partially lying.

You feel like an asshole when he winces. Maybe you were being an asshole. Maybe it was finally your turn to do so.

“Just…” He finally looks at you. “If you ever… don’t want this to be just a one-time thing.” He waves it off in an attempt to look casual. You know he’s anything but. “You’ve got my number. Or whatever.”

The timidness in his voice makes your resolve soften. Even if you don’t see him again, you suppose you can let him down easy. He’s been kind enough tonight to deserve that. You nod at him as you sit up. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”

It’s only slightly awkward as you get out of his bed and search for your clothes. He asks if he can call you an Uber home and you reject it, letting him know that you’ve got one on the way.

You can feel his eyes on you as you dress, ignoring the way they burn into you. You can tell he’s searching for something to say, or something to talk to you about but doesn’t know what.

You’re half-dressed before he can shoot himself in the foot and say something stupid. “Hey,” he finally says. You glance over your shoulder at him after you slip your sweatshirt on. “I’m really glad you texted me.”

The nice streak you’re riding on continues and you offer a small but genuine smile in return. “Me too,” you admit, ignoring the way that his own soft smile pulls at your heartstrings.

Before you leave his room, you offer one more admission. You stop in the doorframe he hit you against, lips curling further upward. “It was really good to see you, Jamie.”

He props himself up on his elbow, smile growing. “Good,” he says, nodding. Then, like a prick, he winks at you. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You physically cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes and you hear him laugh to himself as you walkdown his hall. “Goodbye, asshole.”

He shouts a tired-sounding ‘bye!’ when you slip your shoes on, shaking your head as you look around his apartment once more. The candle on his counter is still burning, smelling of amber moss and palo santo.

You blow it out before you leave, knowing he’ll forget.

And as you do so, you feel yourself regress. Or grow. You’re not quite sure which one.

But it makes you curse under your breath and leave his flat immediately.

There is one more universal truth you forgot to mention.

And that’s that the second you think you’re over Jamie Tartt, he comes back into your life and flips everything on its head. And it’s the only truth that’s been confirmed to you all week.

Because the second you arrive home and see that you have a text waiting for you, your heart picks up. You hate the way you get excited to see it.

I had a really good time tonight.

And the second he comes back into your life, you’re reminded that you’re not over him. Not even in the slightest. And it’s fucking debilitating.

me too.

And you know your friends are going to kill you the second you follow up with.

i’m free friday if you want to grab a drink.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt fanfiction #bad ideas #the one who's not a loser but THEE loser #discowrites

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corazondebeskar-reads · 5 months

Text

ain't no rest for the wicked - chapter three

ain't no rest for the wicked series

three: been sinnin' in this city

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

Tess Servopoulos x f!reader x Joel Miller

words: 5.7k

summary: Tess and Joel go AWOL for a while, but return with a gift.

warnings: dark-ish Joel and Tess, smuggler!Joel, smuggler!Tess, boston QZ, QZ life, poorly negotiated d/s-style dynamics, poor communication, enthusiastic consent, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v, degradation, stalking, canon-typical violence, threesome, cum eating, light rope bondage, cloth gag, spanking, punishment, sub drop, aftercare, strap-on, anal sex, rimming, light angst, edging, orgasm denial

IMPORTANT NOTE: I have updated the warnings on the masterlist to reflect that this has a bittersweet (imo) ending. It's not a happily ever after. Please feel free to DM me if you want to know spoilers before you decide if you will continue reading.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Soon” doesn’t quite happen. It’s a month before you hear from them.

Honestly, you had forced yourself to accept that it was over. Maybe Joel coming over alone was crossing a line.

Not that it stops you from looking over your shoulder or getting your hopes up when you come home. But there isn’t even a moment where you feel watched from afar. You consider drawing a line of flour across your threshold, but you have a feeling it’d be undisturbed when you get back, no matter if they came or not.

The disappointment sits bitter at the base of your throat.

That is, until you get home one evening, soaked from head to toe in sleet, and Tess is in your apartment.

When you walk in, you’re too busy trying to get your soaked boots and coat off with minimal sludge on your floor to notice. But when you do, you jerk so fast you nearly slide on the wet floor, falling back against the door.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, trying to recover from the embarrassing screech.

“Joel was right. You really ain’t got a sense of your surroundings, huh?”

“Not in my own home! M’not supposed to have to—“

She smirks.

Not that you notice; too distracted by where she’s lounging. It’s your bed but also it very much is not.

Your mattress is set up on a wooden frame. It’s not fancy, just unstained boards, but it looks well-crafted and sturdy.

“Um,” you say.

“Gonna come try it out?”

“What?”

“Don’t you like it, sunflower?”

“I-I do, I’m just—“

“I told you, we’ll take care of you.” The smirk is gone, now. She’s startlingly serious.

“You said when I’m at yours,” you say.

“Did Joel not take care of you while he was here?”

“No, he did, I—“

She sits up and grabs your wrist, tugging you over. You follow easily, acquiescing when she pulls you on the bed and manhandles you…

(womanhandles you? Are you failing feminism? Where does the movement stand at the end of the world?)

… until you’re laying beside her with your head on her stomach.

“Isn’t this more comfortable?” she says.

She’s so soft, and she smells so good. You’re a little unfocused between taking deep breaths and curling your arm around her waist. “Yes, ma’am,” you say.

She grins. “Good girl.”

For a moment, you are both content to lay there. It really is comfortable. Soon, though, you’re pressing absentminded kisses to her stomach and nuzzling her breasts.

She rubs her hand up and down your back.

Your hand twitches near the hem of her shirt. “Um,” you mumble, anxious fingers fiddling with the folded fabric.

She lifts just enough to tug it off, going after yours in nearly the same motion. Your mouth waters.

She snaps your bra strap. “Off.”

You scramble to obey, not even bothering to unhook it but yanking the old, worn cotton over your head and tossing it to the floor.

She grins at your over-eagerness, but you barely notice, unabashedly focused on her tits.

“Please,” you whisper.

She nods, and before she can voice the answer, you find yourself clinging to her.

Huh.

Funny.

You had meant to latch your mouth around her nipple, but you’re practically climbing her to get close.

Her skin against yours feels like heaven. The creeping loneliness that burrowed into your bones hurts more than ever. At the same time, though, it’s beginning to bleed out.

She gasps softly as your nails dig into her side. Not enough to hurt but enough that she seems to recognize your desperation.

“I know, sunflower. I’m sorry,” she murmurs, holding you tight, just on the right side of painful. But you need it. The twinge in your ribs is giving you more comfort than you’ve known in weeks.

You nuzzle into her chest, placing kisses across her skin that swiftly shift from soft to sloppy. You suck and lick at any inch you can reach, finally mouthing your way to her breasts. Every brush scatters sparks across your shoulders and between your ribs, leaving you shuddering and gasping against her.

She moans as you lave at each hardened bud, and holds your head with an unforgiving grip when you suckle at one. Her back arches, pushing the fat of her breast into your face.

You don’t mind. Oxygen doesn’t seem super important right now. Her other hand has captured one of your own nipples, and she pinches and tugs harshly, her moans drawn out when you whimper against her.

She laughs, and it’s on the edge of cruel, but you’re unbothered.

“Look at you,” she teases. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?”

You hadn’t even realized, but you’ve thrown a leg over hers and are rocking your hips against her thigh.

“M’sorry,” you pant, after pulling off her breast with a lewd pop. You go to move away.

“Don’t stop; it’s cute,” she says, guiding you by the back of your head to her other breast.

Heat spreads across your face but also through your spine until it pools between your thighs. Fuck it, your brain decides, before it turns off for the day.

You’re gasping as you mouth at her, your panties dragging against your clit as you grind.

She slides her hands down and tugs at them, and you quickly lift and help her wiggle them off before sliding down to dispose of hers.

You had planned on returning to her tits and maybe trying to make out, but now that you’re down here, making out with her pussy seems like a much better idea.

You press a soft kiss to her thigh and look up at her, but she surprises you and reaches her hand out to pull you back up.

She guides you, pushing and pulling your pliant limbs where she likes. You let go of the knots anxiety tied to hold you stiff and quiet, a tug behind your ribcage urging you to give in, give up, give everything to Tess.

Something hazy and lax trickles through your veins—it doesn’t go unnoticed, either.

“There you go,” she croons as you gaze up at her.

You didn’t even really notice her laying you down or getting on top of you, but you don’t think about it for long because her knee slides up to your core, grinding until it pushes against your clit.

She catches your moan in a kiss just as she settles her cunt against your thigh.

The feeling of her heat on your leg sends your hips canting against the relentless pressure of her knee. As you squirm and buck, your thigh moves against her, and she moans, biting at your lips until they part with a gasp.

She’s less rough with you than Joel but no less commanding. Her hands grip true and firm, and one winds its way around your neck to squeeze at the sides as she kisses you. You can’t tell which makes you dizzier, but either way, you writhe beneath her just the way she intended.

“I know you’re his,” she murmurs against your swollen lips. “But you’re mine, too, ain’tcha?”

You nod frantically, or at least to the best of your ability, trapped as you are. She eases up a little to let you gasp. You manage to squeak out a “yes, ma’am,” before she increases the pressure again. You’re squirming now, each wriggle of your body bringing you together in a rush of warm, wet ecstasy.

“That’s right,” she says before releasing your throat and focusing her attention on grinding against you. “You wanna cum, sunflower?” Her finger tweaks your nipple.

You reach for her breasts with one hand, the other settling on her thigh, where she’s spread across you. “Want you to,” you pant.

“Oh, I plan on it,” she says. Her smirk is intoxicating, and so is the way her hair falls around her face while she looks down at you. “But you’re gonna cum now.”

Her voice permits no choice, and she jerks her knee against your cunt. The shock and delicious pain of it have you obeying immediately, with her not far behind.

She, at least, has the sense of mind to cover your mouth with her hand. When she’s coming down from her high, she slides it slightly to cover your nose, too.

“Cum again, baby,” she says.

You cling to her with bruising fingers as you cum, and everything goes fuzzy and gray. She pulls her hand away at the last second, rolling her hips against your leg until she cums again, too.

“Please,” you sob.

She doesn’t need you to explain, just rolls back until you can pull your leg out from under her and lunge, burying your face between her thighs.

Her nails scratch against your scalp, and she gasps when you suck on her swollen clit. She lets you lick and draw two more orgasms out of her before she pulls you away from her cunt.

“No more,” she scolds when you whine. “I don’t wanna be sore tomorrow when you come over.”

“Oh, am I coming over tomorrow?” you tease.

“Well, I just said you were, didn’t I? Don’t be late.”

You frown, something too close to a pout, when she rises from the bed and pulls her clothes back on.

“I know,” she says softly, pinching your chin. “You be good and get some sleep, okay? You’re gonna need it.”

She pauses, looking at your bathroom door. “You really got mice in there on purpose?”

You bury your face in your hands and nod. “I can scare ‘em off if you need it.”

She snorts and shakes her head, something almost fond in her eyes, something that will haunt you. “Nah, leave ‘em be.” With one last kiss to your forehead, she slips out of the door.

You hesitate, but get up and lock all the locks behind her.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting Joel to be outside your work. He isn’t, though. You hesitate for a minute, wondering if it means you shouldn’t go over after all.

In the end, your cunt makes the call, and you find your way to their apartment successfully. Look at that, you think. You were paying attention, after all. They never need to know you knocked on two wrong doors first.

Tess opens the third door and smiles. You flush immediately and give her a soft smile back, slipping inside and toeing off your boots. Once you set your bag by the door, you sink onto your knees. It’s all you could think about at work, and you don’t have the strength to fight the urge.

She ruffles your hair. “Look how good you are, pretty girl.”

Your eyes close briefly at the praise, and you look up at her. The fluorescent yellow bulb is obscured behind her head, warmth framing her like a halo.

“Unfortunately, Joel’s not been so good today, sunflower. You’re going to help me remind him how, okay?”

She gives you a hand and doesn’t let go after you stand, leading you into the bedroom. You freeze, though, when you see Joel tied to the bedposts with short lengths of rope and a bandana shoved in his mouth.

He squeezes his eyes tight when he sees you like he can block out the way your eyes are wide and brows furrowed. The shame burns across his body, but more than that, he aches to wipe the concern off your face.

So, he opens his eyes and forces himself into something calm. Accepting. He twitches two fingers against his bond to beckon you.

“Go ahead,” Tess gives you a little shove.

Logically, you know he submits to her. You’ve seen it. But it’s never been like this, never been him restrained or suffering.

He’s usually more like a devoted beast, content to kiss the hand that feeds.

Either way, you go to him and obediently duck so he can cup your face to the best of his ability. You press a kiss to his palm before looking to Tess.

“Someone here decided he couldn’t wait and jerked himself off in the shower this morning, even though you were comin’ over,” she says.

You look at Joel, baffled by the way you almost feel… hurt? It doesn’t make sense, but Tess’s tone seemed to imply you should.

She laughs at the look on your face. “Told ya,” she says to Joel. She comes up behind you, one arm slung across your collarbone and the other hand curling under your chin to grip your jaw. “Little slut’s disappointed.”

You, as always, burn for her amusement.

“Ain’t that right? You woulda been willing to help him out, huh?” she asks. Her grip on your jaw jerks your head up and down even as you’re whimpering, “Yes, ma’am.”

He spits the bandana out. “Told you, I wouldn’t have lasted. Had to take the edge off.”

Oh, she knows. She had come home last night and stroked his cock while telling him all about her visit. She hadn’t let him cum, then, either.

“That’s not for you to decide,” she says, letting you go so she can stuff his mouth full again. “Guess you gotta learn.”

She turns to you. “Climb up and get comfortable between his legs.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He growls. You look sad, and he doesn’t like it. It doesn’t suit you.

Tess catches his eye and looks you over. “Hey,” she says, a hand on your shoulder. “You trust me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” And you mean it, more than you realized.

“Then stop feelin’ bad for him and help him out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you murmur and climb up onto the bed, finding a home for yourself between his thighs. The dark hair tickles your nose when you press a kiss to the inside of his leg, nuzzling your cheek against it.

You’re not stupid, but you think you might be an idiot. You know what this is. And what it isn’t. But the way your chest warms at being close, at being allowed to see him vulnerable, at being coddled a little by the both of them—well, it’s dangerous.

When Tess rubs a hand over your back and whispers “good girl,” in your ear, you decide you don’t care. So what if your foolish heart is collateral? How many times since the world ended have you gotten to feel anything? You don’t need forever; you just need whatever you have in these moments.

So you’ll take it and swallow it up, bottle it inside for when you need something soft and warm at the end of a bad day.

Unfortunately, all the thinking about things that aren’t has you jittering your right leg. It’s tucked under you and jostles your whole body a little. Your head rests on Joel’s thigh, a torturous inch from his leaking cock.

But you know better. And so you wait.

She takes her sweet time, letting him watch you watch precum leak down. The longer she leaves you there in silence, the more the buzzing in your brain fades to a gentle breeze. Your leg stops its fussing, and you breathe deeper, easier. His thigh is wide and warm, and you’re close enough to smell the deep musk of him.

It makes your mouth water and your mind quiet. She comes back over, and you shudder when her fingers trip up the length of your spine until they come to rest on the back of your neck.

“Go real slow,” she says. “Just kisses and licks, for now.”

You’re in a haze; the world narrowed to her voice and his cock. First, you wipe his leaking slit clean with the broad stripe of your tongue before kissing it softly. He groans, but it settles into a whine when you kiss down the underside until you reach his balls.

They’re hanging at a bit of an awkward angle for you to reach, so you shift to sink lower, steadying yourself with a hand on each of his thighs. You don’t think you’ve ever gotten to properly appreciate him like this, to feel the velvet skin against your cheek as you nuzzle in.

Tess’s hand stays steady on the back of your neck, tethering you to the world without having to focus on the threadbare sheets or the clangs and shouts from the open window.

You’re not sure how long you spend like that, wrapping your tongue around wherever you can reach without actually taking him into your mouth. He’s twitching here and there, rewarding you with tiny tastes of him as you go.

She tugs on your neck, pulling you back. You whine, but he whimpers louder. She lets both of you sit and catch your breath for a moment before she’s pushing you down again.

“Just the tip,” she tells you with a playful wink at Joel.

You wrap your lips around it and can’t help but suck hard. His hips jerk up, but Tess is faster, pulling you out of his reach.

“Hold still,” she says, swatting at his thigh. “Be grateful for what you’re getting.”

She waits until he nods before pushing you back down. You try to be gentler, a softer, pulsing pressure, but he’s squirming beneath you, and you’re aching to have him deeper, sliding just a little further onto his shaft.

Tess yanks you by the neck away from him and fixes you with a stern scowl.

“I’m sorry! I’ll be good,” you cry.

“You better be,” she warns and pushes you back down.

By the time she lets you bury him in your throat, your knees are aching, and Joel is shaking with the effort to hold still. You don’t like the way he gasps and struggles; each sound sending a hairline fracture through something in your chest.

You don’t need to look to know he has tears in his eyes. You can hear it in the ragged breaths and grit of his teeth.

The sun has set. It has to have been at least an hour, maybe two, since this all started.

He lets out a wounded sound, and your own follows.

“Hey,” Tess’s voice cuts through Joel’s whimpers. She tugs at you gently, and you pull off.

“Why’re you crying, sunflower?” she says.

You don’t know how she knew it wasn’t from choking on his cock. It wasn’t like you hadn’t gotten teary before. You weren’t even really sure you were crying. But now that she’s asked, your chest feels tight.

Joel’s focused on you, too, throbbing cock forgotten for a moment.

“I’m okay,” you say, but it’s hardly convincing after it breaks on a sobbing gasp. “I-I—“

She gets on the bed and pulls you into her lap, where you curl around her and begin to cry in earnest. With one hand, she’s able to tug one of Joel’s free, and he’s more than capable of undoing the other.

He sits up on his knees and hovers, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. Tess cradles you and whispers soothing nothings.

Joel finally reaches out and puts his hand on the back of your neck, cupping close. He doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

When you feel his hand on you, unmistakably Joel, both in the breadth of his grip and considering you know where both of Tess’s hands are, you peek up to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and the chest-wracking gasps take over again. “I’m sorry.”

You’re clinging; you know you are. But it feels all wrong, all jumbled in your chest, like instead of finishing the puzzle, someone just jammed the pieces together until they stuck, no matter the damage.

“Why’re you sorry, huh? You did exactly as you were told,” he says, thumb rubbing over the nape of your neck.

“I don’t know, I feel sad,” you mumble into Tess’s shoulder.

Tess rubs her hand between your shoulder blades. “That was too confusing for you, huh? Put you in a weird place? Like you betrayed him a little bit?”

You nod, rubbing your hand over your clavicle. “Feels wrong.”

“I’m sorry, sunflower.” She kisses your forehead. “You need him to forgive you?”

Your throat is cinched around stone. All you can do is nod.

“Hey, c’mere,” Joel says and pulls you from her lap to his.

You curl up with your face buried in the crook of his arm.

“Ain’t nothin’ to forgive,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head.

Your inhale sounds mortifyingly like a sob.

Tess shakes her head and raises an eyebrow at him, knowing he gets the same way. “You need to show her. Prove it. Let her earn it.”

“That what ya need? Need your own punishment, remember your place?”

You nod frantically against his collarbone.

“Okay, sweet girl. I can do that.”

Once you’ve settled and the tears subsided, he pries you away and tilts your chin up to look at him. “Lay across my lap.”

You remember his threat from your apartment, and for whatever reason, warmth spreads from your chest to your toes.

He helps you shift into position, arranging you how he wants. A broad hand splays across your hips while the other grips you by the jaw.

“Look at you. You’re just a little girl who needs a spanking, huh?” His grip intensifies, craning your neck.

“Yes sir,” you cry.

“Say it.”

“I—I’m just a little girl who needs a spanking.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“‘Cause you’ll take care of me.”

It’s not the answer any of you expected. Tess gives a low whistle. Joel’s grip on your jaw slackens just a little.

His other hand comes up to brush against your cheek. He clears his throat, and when he speaks, it’s softer, quieter. “That’s right. I’m gonna take care of ya.”

Your lip quivers, and you don’t know why. Everything is suddenly in stereo sound. Your scalp stings. The brush of his dry finger scrapes against the apple of your cheek. There’s a crack opening somewhere, maybe your throat, maybe your stomach.

Tess runs a hand through Joel’s hair, and he releases your jaw, broad palm finding purchase on the upturned curve of your back.

“Jus’ relax ‘n let me take care of ya,” he rumbles.

The first hit is soft. A test. You don’t flinch when he lifts his hand to strike you again.

The third one stings, and you huff out a breath but hold steady. His hand on your back seems to be supporting your entire spine, given that the rest of you feels like it may melt into the horrible carpet. Another stain in their apartment, but at least this one will bring good memories. You hope.

You might have spent more on the thought, but the next smack lands hard and heavy, and you yelp, nails digging into his calf where they cling for stability. Physical and mental.

“Shh, you’re alright,” he says, rubbing his thumb back and forth where it lays.

The next hit is hard again. And the next. And the three after that.

You’re wriggling in his lap now, not trying to escape but simply squirming after each spank as if you could douse the fire he’s started.

He rubs your ass where his palm had just bounced from, and you suck in a soft hiss.

“I want to give you five more,” he says. “Can you take it?”

You don’t even think about it. “Yes, sir,” you say, shuddering.

His hand cracks down hard before you can brace yourself, and you whimper, kicking your feet a little and squirming.

The next one pushes the tears over the edge as you cry out, writhing a little.

“Good girl, you’re doing so good, darlin’,” he croons.

You want nothing more than to believe him. The words sink beneath your skin, and you expect them to itch like all praise. But they don’t.

The next three aren’t as harsh. At least, you think they aren’t? You’re feeling kind of sleepy. Or dizzy. Maybe both.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you up seated in his lap. “You took that so well. So good for us, baby.”

Tess hands you a glass of water and kisses the top of your head. She kisses Joel’s, too.

“Y’did good, sweet boy,” she tells him.

You sip at the water while they kiss, something silent passing overhead. You don’t try to catch it; it’s not for you.

You feel quiet. Like sitting there in Joel’s lap, drinking your water is the only thing in your life. Nothing buzzes behind your skull; nothing sends you jittering and twitching and bouncing. It’s… well, it’s quiet.

“Alright, I think you’ve both earned a reward,” Tess says.

Joel looks up at her.

She grins. “I’m going to fuck you while you fuck her.”

His grip on your waist tightens. “Can I…”

“Yes, I’ll let you come, baby,” she says. “I think you learned your lesson. And you’ve done such a good job with our girl there.”

You’re leaning against his chest, now, listening to the rumble of his voice. You’re not really sure what they’re talking about, but you think maybe you’re going to get fucked now. Which sounds great. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut.

“Hey,” he jostles you a little. “You awake enough to fuck?”

“Mhm.”

He nudges you again, and you blink up at him. “I’m awake,” you whine, nuzzling into his neck and setting your teeth gently against the tendon in protest.

“Didn’t you just get spanked?” he scolds. “You need another round?”

“No,” you mumble, even though maybe your pussy is saying yes. But you’re starting to think she doesn’t have your best interests in mind. “I dunno. Maybe later.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Lay down,” he says, pushing slowly at your shoulder. You whine and cling with your arms around his neck. He wants you to move? It seems so cruel.

You tell him so, and he rolls his eyes before slipping an arm under your knees and standing up. You squeak.

You try to bury your face further into Joel, but he dumps you unceremoniously on the bed.

You pout, and he smirks as he prowls, trapping you between his knees and bringing your arms up over your head.

“You wanna keep up the attitude? I don’t have to let you cum tonight,” he says as he cages you in.

You whimper, less at his words than at the way you’re throbbing. “I’ll be good,” you whisper.

“Wanna try that again?”

“I’ll be good, sir.”

He kisses your forehead, still looming over you. “Yeah, you will.”

“You want her to help get you ready, baby?” Tess says.

“Oh fuck,” Joel whispers. He looks down at you. “Ever eaten ass, princess?”

You can’t help the moan that slips out, nodding. “Not in a long time.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Y’keep sayin’ that. How long was it for ya, before us?”

You flush and suddenly can’t look at him. “Like. Years. Too long.”

“Don’t gotta be shy about it, sunflower,” Tess says. “We were just curious.”

Mortifyingly, you realize that means they talked about you when you weren’t there. Of course, they did, but you didn’t think it really went beyond “Hey did you like that” and “Do we want to fuck her again?”

“Oh god,” you whisper.

“C’mon and put that mouth to better use,” Joel says, rolling his eyes. He tugs you down further on the mattress before kneeling at the top of the bed, knees bracketing your head.

You don’t waste time, leaning forward to first lick at his balls before dragging your tongue back. You can’t help but nip at his butt. He pinches at your breast in return, and you grin as you drag your tongue in circles, coming close but never quite touching where he needs you.

He gasps when you finally lick across his hole, soaking him in your saliva but only using soft, light touches. He grinds down onto your face, forcing you to devote your attention to him, kissing and licking until your face is covered in your own spit from how buried in him you are.

It’s your turn to gasp when, just as you press the tip of your tongue inside him, Tess slides two fingers into your cunt and curls them. Having regained control of the situation, Joel gropes at your breasts, tugging your nipples until they’re stretched almost too painfully, and you don’t really recognize the wet sounds above you right away.

You almost cum when you realize they’re making out as they toy with you. Tess works you open with three fingers now as you twirl your tongue in tight circles. She pulls her hand free and breaks the kiss just to shove her fingers into his mouth. He sucks and licks your slick from her, and when she pulls her hand away, they both move in tandem without speaking a word.

He moves down off the bed to bury his face between your legs, bent at the waist so she can work lubed-up fingers into his ass. He moans against your clit, and you writhe under the weight of his strong arm across your hips.

He smacks your hip. “Cum,” he growls, pinching your clit and licking as deep as he can inside you. You do, crying out just a little too loud and wincing at the sound.

“Don’t,” Tess scolds. “Let us hear you, sunflower.”

“B-but—”

“You think we give a fuck about the neighbors?” She pulls back from Joel and slaps his ass. “C’mon, give her your cock now.”

He taps your thigh and jerks his head toward the top of the bed. You scoot back a little.

“Ready, sunflower? You want me t’fill you up?” His fist is wrapped around the base of his cock.

“Please, sir,” you say, spreading your legs wide and tilting your hips up.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs. Once he’s settled on top of you, Tess grabs him by the hair.

“Just the tip, baby,” she says. “Let me fuck you into her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says while you moan.

He notches himself at your slit and gently pushes until the head of his cock is nestled inside you. His hands are balled into fists where they cage you in, and his chest heaves with the effort. After all the wretched edging earlier, he’s not actually sure he can hold back.

“Good boy,” Tess murmurs.

It helps, at least until he hears the vibrator click to life inside her. She moans and adjusts the harness a little before she slaps his ass and pushes in agonizingly slow.

It doesn’t stay slow. She drags it out just until you both are desperate before grabbing his hips and shoving the rest of her strap in. It knocks him forward to split you open.

You think you might actually die this time. How is it that she keeps coming up with even better ways to fuck?

You expect him to try to take control, but he lets her set the unforgiving rhythm, fucking herself on the cock held tight inside her by the harness and taking Joel apart with the other half. Each time her hips crash into him, he rocks into you.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel grunts, leaning down to bite at your tits so you writhe and whine beneath him.

You grip one of his biceps and reach up for Tess with the other hand. She entwines your fingers, grinning as you grip on desperately. Joel’s teeth have found your neck, leaving marks for you to find later.

You’re not sure how many times you cum. Or Tess, for that matter. Joel manages two. When Tess takes pity on him for the first, he breaks apart so hard that he buries his face in your tits, biting down and leaving hot tears behind. She fucks him through it, and he never goes fully soft, still twitching and throbbing inside you.

When he starts to protest from the overstimulation, she clicks her tongue at him. “No. Another.”

“I can’t,” he whimpers.

“Yeah, you can. Don’t you want him to cum again, sunflower?”

“Uh-huh,” is all you manage as the breath gets knocked out of you on each thrust.

“Be a good boy and cum for me again,” she says. She lets go of your hand to wrap hers around his throat.

You moan, remembering the way she held yours just yesterday.

He gets a glint in his eye even as they glaze over a little, and slides his hand up to do the same to you.

“Fuck, look at you,” Tess says, eyes flicking between you. “Both bein’ so good for me.”

It’s really all it takes. Joel starts to cum first, and when you feel him jerk inside you, this orgasm forcing some of his first load out to pool on the sheet, you snap, warmth flooding you as you tremble beneath them.

All of it sends Tess over the edge, too, and she reaches out to stroke your cheek as she cums, her other hand still loosely cupping Joel’s neck.

Joel’s shaking as he holds himself over you carefully, waiting as Tess gently pulls out. He follows, concern in his wrinkles as you wince.

“M’ok,” you mumble.

Tess goes to head to the bathroom for a towel but he stops her, grabbing her hand and bringing it to his lips. He jerks his head to the bed, and she sighs but crawls beside you to let him handle cleanup.

You watch him, brow furrowed just a little. He should be more tired than either of you.

“He likes to take care of me,” she says. “Of both of us. Sometimes, we just gotta let him.” She tucks an arm under you, and you roll to wrap your arm around her waist.

Tess insists they walk you home that night. “But will you make it back before curfew?” you try to protest.

“Y’ain’t gotta worry about us,” Joel cuts in gruffly. “We’re the ones that gotta worry about you.”

You bite your lip but don’t argue. There’s no point once they’ve decided something, anyway.

Something about it feels off, like you’re in someone else’s skin, but then she slips her hand into yours. Joel trails behind you, scowl firmly locked in place as he shoots dark looks around.

You draw the line at them coming into the building. It feels sickeningly silly, like you’re playing pretend in dangerous waters. Your firm “no” doesn’t stop Tess from kissing your cheek or Joel from rubbing your shoulder before you go inside.

You’d always been fine by yourself before, but your new bed feels cold and lonely.

next chapter

*title from "HandClap" by Fitz and the Tantrums

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x tess servopoulos #joel miller x reader x tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos x you #tess servopolous x joel miller x you #tess servopolous x joel miller #tess servopoulos x reader x joel miller #tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopoulos x f!reader #the last of us smut #the last of us fic #tlou smut

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mxtives · 1 year

Text

where she goes

pairing: miguel o’hara x f!reader

rating: mature

word count: 3.6k+

cw: nsfw | 18+, roommates w/ sexual tension, arousal, biting, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, rough sex, praise, unprotected, p in v

story summary: miguel has finally had enough of you walking around the apartment half naked. so he catches you off guard this time.

notes: I haven’t even watched the movie yet so if there’s any spoilers, they’re v minor. this is also my first tumblr post n I have no idea how to work this 😭 it messed up all my formatting when I brought it over from ao3, where I first posted it. either way I hope it’s still enjoyable

song I named the fic after bc I have no creativity :D

He pressed harder against your backside, bringing your hips flush to the marble counter. By this point you were certain that he wasn't trying to hide the heat just below his waist band. "Your-"

"Don't move," he spoke gruffly, just above a whisper. You stilled as his arms encircled your waist and he leaned his head into the crook of your shoulder, inhaling deeply. He exhaled just as heavily, fingers gripping your sides like his life depended on it.

"Miguel-!" You started, trying to turn your head to face him. One of his hands flew to your jaw, gripping your chin tightly and forcing your gaze forward toward the wall where you could see the shadow of his overwhelmingly large figure stretching across the cabinets before you. "Stop that," he mumbled it against your neck, following up with a harsh bite. You felt his fangs sink into your skin, not deep enough to draw blood but enough to leave an impression. Miguel O'Hara was here. It brought a loud whine from your throat and he lifted his head from your neck in response.

"You can't be prancing around in my apartment in this getup," Miguel grunted, lips against your ear. His hand began to travel, from your waist upward, bringing the hem of your tank with it. "For fucks sake," he said, tugging your tank down harshly. The collar dipped, exposing more of your chest along the way.

"But it's just us in here..." you trailed off as you felt his fingers creep under your tank, now pressing against the base of your ribcage.

"Exactly. Do you even know-!" He cut himself off with a heavy sigh. "Oh you don't know. You don't know at all," he said darkly. His hand didn't stop. Soon it was pressed between your breasts. You swallowed weekly, wanting so badly to look up and see the look on Miguel's face.

"You know what I'm gonna do next, right?" He asked, hands finally coming to a halt. Goosebumps rose across your skin, you lost confidence in your voice, only nodding in response. "Hm? You know what I'm gonna do? And you want it?" He asked again, shifting his hips to where you could feel him even more through your thin spandex shorts.

"Mhm," you hum desperately, not trusting your voice. He only grunted, and the hand on your chin drifted down to your throat, where he gripped firmly enough for you to feel a slight pressure. "Say it."

"Yes," you breathed out, lips trembling as you tucked them into your mouth.

"Good."

His hand left your body for a brief moment, leaving your skin feeling cold in the absence of his touch. After a second and what sounded like a huff from behind you, he was touching you again. All over, his hands trailed from your shoulders to your chest, gripping and massaging in a way that made you mewl. Your waist to your lower back, pushing against it with a large palm. Pushing your stomach further into the counter almost painfully. He rubbed his cock against your ass and you flinched unsuspectingly as you felt his lips on the back of your neck, sucking softly as he massaged your ass with his right hand.

"Mm," he groaned in your ear, a low sound—almost like a growl, from the back of his throat. The heat from your stomach pooled into your panties, and you pushed your ass further against the bulge in his pants. His hand landed down on your ass with a loud clap in response, making you yelp and squirm as pain erupted over the surface of your skin. "Don't move just yet," he growled in your ear.

When his left hand found the waistband of your shorts, you didn't make any attempt to stop him. How long has this been going on? This pent up sexual frustration between the two of you. Countless times has Miguel imagined taking your pants off, slipping your panties down your legs and licking at your cunt until you cried. Bending you over the washing machine and fucking you senseless, every week when you fold clothes past midnight wearing your skimpy fucking 'pyjamas' that hide next to nothing. What he would do to just touch you. Get familiar with the feeling of your skin against his, moulding your figure to his, and learning every surface of your body until he had it all memorized. And now he had all the access he ever wanted, because you gave it to him.

"Can I take these off?" He asked, fingers already dipping past your waistband. You nodded rapidly, barely sighing out a yes. You had barely nodded once before he was yanking the shorts harshly down your legs, jolting you in the process.

Miguel was in a dangerous position. The curve of your ass mesmerized him and he was all so absorbed he almost forgot that he was presently in this moment. He swallowed thickly, bringing his attention away from your backside and to your tank. You had already began to tug the hem upwards before he joined you, pulling the top over your head in one smooth motion.

The removal of your shirt left your hair slightly messy, and Miguel felt his length strain against his slacks as he began to imagine what it'd look like once he was done with you.

You heard the metallic clink of a belt, followed by a zipper and a little bit of shuffling before something heavy was resting against your ass. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you tried to gauge the size of him. Even with his thighs no longer flush to yours, he easily grazed the center of your back. You tried to turn again. Miguel didn't stop you this time, and instead pressed his lips against yours as soon as they were within reach. You sighed into his lips, bringing your arms around his neck.

His shoulders were firm beneath your palms, muscles moving fluidly as he moved to cup your ass. He tugged your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up onto the island counter, making space for himself between your legs. His lips were warm against yours, and you squeezed your eyes shut as he cupped your throat again. His tongue was warm when it pressed against yours, and you couldn't help but moan into his mouth, clenching your fingers against his back. You could compare kissing him to swinging between buildings, jumping from a skyscraper. That adrenaline rush that you loved, you found it all over again in his lips.

"Fuck," he cursed lowly as he pulled away. You tried to chase after him but he was already making his way down your throat with his lips. And he kept moving downwards, until he sunk to his knees and his face was lined up with your navel. Then you finally clued in on what he was about to do.

"Oh, you don't have to..." you trailed off. He was shaking his head, the look on his face indicating no sign of swaying.

"I want to. Of course, you can say no," he uttered, gaze piercing yours. You were basically leaking onto the counter as you stared at the broad man from above. The sight of his hulking figure between your legs, face just inches away from where you ached most, fingers gripping either thigh with enough force to leave bruises. It had your stomach coiling. In fear of what noises you might make should you open your mouth, you placed your hand in his hair instead, just barely nudging him towards you.

The corner of his lip lifted—you think it did, just enough to look like a smirk and not a second later, his face was buried in your pussy.

The long striped he licked from your entrance to your clit had your toes curling, arm going rigid below you. "Oh, fuck," you moaned. His soft brown locs peaked from between your fingers as you gripped at his hair, anchoring yourself while he licked at your cunt like he hadn't eaten in days. When he sucked particularly hard at your clit, you couldn't help but try to clench your thighs closed around his head, but his strong grip kept them where he wanted and he grunted against you in protest. "I'm not done with you," he looked up at you briefly, giving you a glimpse at the mess you'd made of his face. You bit your lip as your clit throbbed, holding in a moan and instead gripped at his hair, looking up at the ceiling through bleary eyes. Miguel let out a delicious moan in response to the tug at his scalp, and the heat in your stomach coiled tighter.

"Ah!" You yelped as you felt him pinch at your inner thigh. "Eyes on me," he murmured against you. The vibration against your clit made you shudder as you snapped your eyes back down to him. He was already looking at you, and for some reason, the intensity in his eyes made your face flush as you struggled to maintain eye contact.

You felt a finger prod at your entrance, Miguel was still looking at you, one brow raised in question. He wanted to know if he could keep going, and you thought of what a stupid idea it would be to say no. You nodded softly at him, urging him on. Slowly, his middle finger presses against you and slips inside with little resistance. Your mouth falls open and you can barely voice a moan when his finger bottoms out inside you. Miguel can feel your cunt flutter and pulse as it stretches around his finger, he can feel every ridge inside your plush walls as you squeeze him tight.

“Mm, oh fuck,” you cried out, fingers gripping at his hair for purchase. This was nothing like it felt to have your own fingers inside you. It was nowhere near close. His fingers were long, thick, and every brush of his knuckles had you jolting around him.

Your stomach felt tighter and hotter as he only fed the fire, curling his finger just barely as he slid it in and out of you. With one quirk of his digit, he was brushing directly against your sweetest spot, and he kept doing so. Over and over again.

“Can you—fuck, can you add another,” you we’re seeing stars. You had never been stimulated like this. Everything felt different with him. Everything felt more. And so you begged him to put another finger in you, knowing that nothing would ever make you feel the way he was. The earlier embarrassment was long gone, you were far too overwhelmed with the sensation he was giving you to care.

When he brings his eyes back to yours, he adds a second finger and glides his tongue over your clit, he feels you clench be wildly around his fingers. He moans along with you, even smiling softly as he watched your face scrunch in pleasure.

Miguel’s fingers begin to move faster, his knuckles slapping against your cunt lewdly as his tongue continues to toy with your clit. It was wet and messy and the sounds you were making only had him moving faster.

“I-I’m-! Miguel!” your jaw was slack as you stammered.

When he brought his thumb up to replace his tongue and rub circles at your clit, you felt the pressure build inside you, the swelling and consuming warmth of your orgasm rock violently against you, your jaw going slack as you fought to keep your eyes from rolling back. Your legs attempted again to close and shut him out, trembling with the shocks of your orgasm. Miguel grunted as he watched you shudder with each pass of his tongue and fingers. If not for your hips canting away from his lips, he might have never stopped, lost in the way you looked as you orgasmed above him.

You were out of breath, but you could've sworn you heard the muttering of what could've been beautiful, fuck or just good girl over your harsh breaths.

Miguel was above you again, swiping a hand over his lips, tongue snaking out to catch what was left of your juices. Your stomach was coiling all over again at the way he was looking at you. Yet, before you could even tell him how good you felt, you were in his arms again.

"Oh!" You barely gasped out before his lips were back on yours. They slid against yours with a renewed fervour, bitting and nibbling at your lips aggressively. His length rested hot against your stomach, and it almost freaked you out how he was so heavy on your navel.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard," he panted against your lips. "Miguel," you breathed. You felt his length twitch against you. Miguel cursed under his breath, looking down where his dick rubbed against your dripping sex.

No longer feeling patient, you wiggled a hand down between your bodies and wrapped a hand around his length. Miguel sighed above you, tensing as you pumped him once, twice. You shifted your hips closer to his, dragging his tip along your swollen folds.

"Go slow," you advised with a soft whisper, still in the afterglow of your last orgasm.

"Yeah, fuck, I don't wanna rip you in half,"

And then you were easing him into your entrance.

"Cariño," Miguel groaned out as he sunk into you. His eyes were still trained on where you two met, as were yours. You were biting your lip, hard. The stretch wasn't nearly as painful as it could be given your previous orgasm, and the pressure felt good, you felt full. The pressure is delicious, stretching and aching, and exhilarating, intoxicating, and all you can think is how much you've been longing for this. The sharp sensation of something far too big pushing inside you, the way he mutters fuck, your name and a plethora of other curses.

"You're squeezing me tight," he breathes against your temple, sounding like he was under deep strain. "I wish you knew the things I've thought about you at night," he groaned as he canted his hips once softly.

You let out a moan, a mix between a grunt and an embarrassingly loud mewl that you cannot possibly believe came from your mouth. "M-me too," you felt so full you could barely speak. It was a grosse understatement to say you thought about him here and there, but it was all you could muster in the moment that he started to move his hips.

"Yeah?" His teeth are at your neck again, licking in time with his thrusts and leaving marks wherever he could reach. "Good. 'Cause you're all I can think about,"

Your stomach stirs at his words, clenching around him as he moves inside you, once, twice, and a third time, particularly harsh.

Miguel doesn't last long before he's hoisting you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and trapping himself within you. Your breath hitches as the movement seats him inexplicably deep inside you, forcing your chest high in the air as if trying to escape the intrusion.

"I wanna take you to bed," He's already walking away as he says so, walking swiftly with you in his arms as if he was holding a sack of feathers. With every step, you jostled against his length, every footfall pushing him in and out of you and up against your womb. Your hands were in his hair and your lips tucked tightly into your mouth, holding back your many sounds of pleasure.

Before you could even reach for the light switch, Miguel was whisking you away, depositing you on the bed like you weighed nothing and holding himself above you, arms pulled taught as he strained to keep himself still. His eyes strayed across every surface of your skin in the dim room, and his hands followed his gaze, trailing up your sides, your arms, your hips. "Fuck, look at you," he mutters, eyes low and dark. You want to cower away from his gaze, use your hands to make a feeble attempt to cover yourself up, but something in his eyes tells you that he wouldn't stand for that.

"C'mere," he's on your lips again, still buried inside you. Just a minute ago, he was pushing deeper inside you than you thought was possible, and now there's this gentle sliding of lips and tongues, Miguel is nibbling at you and his hands hold the sides of your face, the back of your head, and suddenly your neck. His hand covers the blossoming hickeys on your skin and your head begins to empty itself of anything but the thought of him.

"I want to kiss you everywhere," he mutters against your mouth, weakly kissing at the corner of your lips. You couldn't muster a response, instead placing a palm flat against his lower stomach. You needed him to move again. Your core was aching so badly for him, it almost made you want to cry.

"Move," you breathed out, one hand wrapping around his own that was gripping your throat. Miguel's lips formed a weak smirk, peering down at you a lust filled gaze.

"C'mon cariño," he was thrusting again now, softly, in and out of your cunt. The arm he'd been leaning on begins to shake visibly. "You must know by now," Your neck craned in his grip, tipping your head back against the pillow as your core began to heat up all over again. "Know what?"

"How hard it's been to keep my hands off you. Fuck, how much I've wanted this, wanted you, almost since the very beginning," His eyes are glazed, muscles taught as he peers down at you through heavy lids. Your chest begins to rise and fall dramatically, short of breath and short of words. Your knuckles go pale as you fist the sheets, while Miguel moves his supporting hand to grip at your hip, fingers practically piercing your skin. You shudder as he cants his hips with new rhythm, thrusting harder and deeper into you. He tells you how beautiful you are, how he wants to feel all of you, kiss you and fuck you for hours. You cling to his arms as you feel the spasms rise, your body rocking with each of his sharp thrusts.

He slips out, and back in again while his hand explored the small of your back, pulling you into him. Your head fell back against the pillow, a mewl escaping your lips as his thrusts turned fast and consuming, forcing tremors of pleasure up your spine.

"You gonna come sweetheart?" His thumb was tracing your bottom lip, hand still tight around your neck. You nodded wordlessly, eyes focused on the vague image of his face through blurry eyes. You couldn't muster very many words in your fucked out state. "Say it," Miguel said firmly, his hand shifting back to your hip to find more purchase.

You had both of your hands gripping his wrist now. "I’m gonna come," your eyes were watering. "P-please," you gasped out between thrusts.

He was smirking. "Good girl," Then the hand on your throat returned to your hip, gripping tightly as he began to piston his hips into yours at an unforgiving pace. Your chest jolted with every thrust and Miguel couldn't seem to draw his gaze away from your blissed out face. You cried out, back arching away from the bed, legs locking around his waist to bring him impossibly closer to you.

"C'mon cariño," he coaxed you and the spasms started, the heat in your stomach exploding across your body. "Miguel," his name left your lips with a moan as your hips rose from the bed to meet his thrusts, eyes screwing shut as the sensation washed over your body, your legs twitching.

"That's it cariño, good girl," He voice came out strained, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm while chasing after his own. Everything was still blurry when you heard him make a crude noise, shuddering as he pumped hard and muttered nonsense into your neck. You felt his orgasm, his trembling arms as he spilled inside you and his hips came to a halt. A new shiver ripped through your spine as he filled you, and you couldn't stop a smile from growing on your lips. You both panted heavily, the air hot around you as sweat slicked your bodies.

"Fuck," Miguel grunted as he slipped out of you and leaned over your twitching body. His palms ran the length of you thighs, smoothing over the goosebumps erupting on your skin. You took a moment to catch your breath, looking up at his face in the pale light of the moon. He looked handsome even when his face shined with sweat.

"Good?" He whispered, eyes on yours as you gazed at him silently. It took you a moment to nod, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. Whether he was confirming that you were okay, or if the sex was good, you weren't sure, but the answer to both was yes. You leaned into the hands that were caressing your skin gently.

"Yes," you voiced it out loud, pushing yourself up slowly with two weak arms. "That was amazing," you sighed out. You made a move to draw your legs to yourself, meaning to head to the washroom, but a hand on your waist stopped you.

Oh.

When your gaze fell curiously back to Miguel's blank face, you realized, upon looking down, that he was still painfully hard. "I'm not done with you," he said lowly, just like before, pushing you back towards the bed with a hand on your shoulder. "Yeah, I should've known better," you smiled weakly. Miguel chuckled, his figure looming over you becoming all too familiar. "You should've. It's gonna be a long night."

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #smut #my writing #mxtives #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #Spotify

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rhoorl · 7 months

Text

Are You On Mute | Part Two

Pairing: Benny Miller x Female Reader

Word Count: 3k Part 1 | Part 2 AO3 Link

Benny Miller Masterlist

Summary: These two are back again but this time the tables are turned.

Warning: Smut, with some plot? Established relationship. Oral (m receiving), unprotected P in V (practice safe sex IRL), Benny Miller comes with his own warning. Blink and you'll miss a Papi reference (I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me). A/N: I had thots, this is what came from them. I have also only read through this once and am deciding to post it so I’m going to go crawl in a hole and hope it sounds coherent. K love you byeeee

“Babe, I’m going to be late,” you giggle as Benny comes up behind you, pressing you into the bathroom counter. He wraps his arms around your waist and nibbles your ear, his stubble lightly scratching against your skin. You tilt your head exposing more of your neck, inviting him to trail kisses down, which he eagerly does.

“Say there’s traffic,” his mouth barely leaves your throat as he starts to snake his hand up to pull on the zipper at the front of your blouse.

“Uh uh,” you grab his hand, turning around in his arms. “We can’t babe, I can’t be late today, I have to interview someone first thing.”

Today was one of your most dreaded days of the week, an in-office day. Although most days were busy, the days you were in the office were ratcheted up a level. Everyone wanted to take advantage of being in person to meet or chit-chat. And today was no exception with several people from your New York office in town for the week. On top of that, you were interviewing for an assistant. After several rounds, you think you finally found the one. You blocked off your calendar first thing so you had time to review their resume once.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, your menace of a boyfriend had caused you to run behind and rush through getting ready this morning. You already knew he would be in a mood to see you all dressed up for work, so you set your alarm a little extra early to account for some morning activities – which took place on your bed and on the bathroom counter. Now, as you’re putting on the final touches of your makeup, it appears he’s trying for round three.

“You’re in super boss lady mode today, babe, I can’t help myself,” he pushes out his bottom lip in a pout and lays it on thick with some puppy dog eyes to boot.

You playfully roll your eyes and pop up on your tip toes to give him a kiss, “I have to finish getting ready, you’ve distracted me enough.” You give one more kiss and turn on your heels to grab your blazer out of the closet along with your heels. His breath hitches when he sees the heels you picked out, remembering the last time you wore them … for him.

“Fuck. You're wearing those?” He follows you down the hall.

“Oh, these?” You innocently dangle them in front of you. “I think they match my outfit, don't you think?” You give a little wiggle as you do a turn for him.

He closes the distance between you, walking you against the wall, pressing himself against you. “You know what you're fuck me heels do to me,” he growls in your ear, sending a delicious tingle down your spine.

“I know, Papi, that's why I'm wearing them,” you whisper in his ear, biting it, before moving out of his grasp and down to the kitchen with a smirk.

He's left there resting his head against the wall, “Goddamn, I’m marrying her,” he says to himself before pushing himself off the wall. He trails you like a lost puppy, while you skitter about getting your bag together and packing a few snacks.

“You gonna be home today?” You look over your shoulder as you pour some coffee into a travel mug.

He sighs, realizing you’re very much serious about having to leave. “Uh, yeah. I’m gonna go to the gym soon after you leave and then we have a couple of calls for some new clients.”

“Oh yeah, you all have that big one today, right?” You turn to see him nod as he throws his hair in a bun, that menace. “That would be so awesome if you guys got it, babe.”

“Yeah, it’d be the biggest yet for sure.”

“What time’s your call?”

“Uh, not sure, Will has it all on his calendar, he just tells me when to dial in,” he smiles as you shake your head.

“You have a shitty memory, Benny Miller.” You wrap your arms around his waist and give him another kiss.

“Except about you, I remember everything about my girl.” His kiss is more urgent, his grip on your waist tightening as you open your mouth and let his tongue start to explore. You can’t help the moan that comes out as you press yourself closer to him.

Behind you, Will clears his throat, causing you to jump a bit. You laugh into Benny’s chest as he brings one of his large hands to cup the back of your head, cradling you against him. You're embarrassed that his brother has once again caught you two.

“Sorry to interrupt.” You can hear the smirk in Will’s voice as he walks into the kitchen.

“H-hey, Will, I was ah just about to go,” you secure the lid of your travel mug and slip on your heels, seeing Benny tense up a bit at the sight of you all dressed up.

“Have a good day! Love you, baby,” Benny calls after you as you hurry out the door.

“Love you too!” you yell back as you close the door. “Good luck today!”

_____________________

The morning has gone by painfully slow. Your interview, however, was the one bright spot. The candidate was amazing and you already told HR to make the offer quickly so you don't lose them. You're checking emails before heading to your next meeting when your phone buzzes.

Benny: I miss you

You: Aw bun, I miss you too. How was the gym?

Benny: Pretty good, my second favorite way to get sweaty 😉

You bite your lower lip, shaking your head. He knows what he's doing. As you try and think of a witty response you get another text. A mirror selfie from the gym locker room. He’s got his black basketball shorts on with no shirt and his sweaty hair half up in a bun. You press your thighs together, remembering how it felt to run your hands through his hair this morning.

You: It’s not fair to send me that while I’m at work.

Benny: I don’t know what you mean. 😇

You roll your eyes when an idea pops into your head. Well, two can play that game.

You quickly get up to close your office door, locking it for good measure, and head back to your desk. You undo the zipper at the front of your blouse down to where your bra is visible – the lacy blue one that Benny loves so much.

Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath you lean back in your chair, propping your legs up on your desk and crossing your ankles. You hitch your skirt up a little bit too. It was tricky to try and angle it so he could see both your chest and your legs but you managed.

You take a few shots and look through them, trying to not nitpick how you look. You know Benny is going to be beside himself when he gets this photo since it’s your first time doing something like this from the office. It was easier to surprise him with a sexy photo or video when you were working from home. Zipping your blouse back up and straightening your skirt, you pick a photo and send it to him and then put your phone face down on your desk and head out.

_______________________

You come back from your meeting and smile when you see you have several texts from Benny.

Benny: Holy shit. What did I do to deserve that?

Benny: You look sexy as fuck. Can’t I be your assistant?

Benny: How am I supposed to concentrate now?

Then, your mouth goes dry when the latest one comes in.

Benny: Fuck, look what you did. Wish you were here to take care of me…

He sends you a photo of himself sitting on the couch, and you let out a shaky breath seeing how hard his dick is through his shorts.

“Hey, we're all going to T Flats for lunch, wanna come?” Renee pops into your office startling you.

“Ah, n-no, I gotta run home real quick. Family stuff, something ah, came up,” you let out a nervous laugh. “But, next week I'll definitely go with you all!”

“Suit yourself, more tacos for the rest of us!”

As soon as she leaves you grab your purse and rush out.

_______________________

Will’s Jeep is gone when you arrive at the house, but Benny’s car is there. You can only assume Will decided to go into the office for these calls. Well, you know why he takes every opportunity to be there, it was a day Miranda was in the office. You make a point to ask Benny about that later, but for now, you are on a mission and he is your target.

You hear his low voice coming from the bedroom as soon as you walk in. Since he left the door open, he can see you coming down the hallway. He sits up with a smirk, tilting his head and arching his eyebrows as you take off your blazer and leave it in the hallway.

You run your tongue along your bottom lip as you undo the zipper of your blouse stopping just under your bra as you lean against the door frame. He looks a bit dumbfounded to see you and fumbles with his phone, putting it on speaker before placing it on the nightstand and rushing over to you

“Are you on mute?” you raise your eyebrows, hands on your hips.

“Yes ma’am, I am,” he kisses you, one hand reaching for your ass and the other cupping your face. It's urgent but soft and caring at the same time.

You pull back, “Well, I don’t want to distract you while you’re on your call,” you tut, feigning an innocent look.

“Please fucking distract me, babe. Fuck you look so good…so beautiful,” he kisses you again, running his hand down your side.

“Who’s this call with?”

“Just the guys, we got the job, babe!” He smiles into your kiss.

You pull back, beaming, “What? That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, they loved my idea and they want us to start as soon as we can, so Will is trying to sort out the schedule.”

“Mmm, well, I think some congratulations are in order then,” you wink, taking him by the hand and leading him back towards the bed. “Sit down.”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he nods and gets on the bed. From the phone on the nightstand, you hear Santiago going on and on about who knows what, with Will chiming in occasionally.

You go to slip your shoes off and he stops you. “I don't know what you've got planned in that pretty head of yours, but the heels stay on,” he says a bit more firmly, causing the slick to start to pool between your legs.

The bed dips as you rest on your knee next to Benny’s hip before swinging your other leg over to straddle him. He’s grinning ear to ear and you can start to feel him get hard.

You lean forward, kissing along his chin over to his ear where you whisper, “I’ve been thinking about you all morning.”

His grip on your thighs tightens as you move down to his neck, sucking lightly against where his neck meets his shoulder. You press against his chest so he lays all the way down as you trail kisses down over his T-shirt until you reach his waist, pausing to look up at him through your eyelashes. He smirks and lets out a shaky breath as you start to move his shirt up with your teeth.

“S-shit, baby.” He whimpers as you run your tongue up his abs, tracing the ridges of his lean stomach muscles. “What’d I do you deserve this?”

You move further up towards his chest and start to swirl around his nipple just as you hear, “Ben? Ben you there?”

“Fuck,” he says, scrambling to get the phone from the nightstand and flipping himself off mute. “Ah, s-sorry, yea, ha sorry, I couldn’t find the damn mute button,” he winks at you.

It’s Frankie asking him something but you aren’t paying attention. Benny responds to Frankie’s question and you hesitate about whether or not to stop, you’re looking at him with a soft smile. He gets so excited and so passionate talking about this stuff, and it frankly turns you on more than it should given the topic.

He’s trying to avoid your gaze as he talks, but he can’t stop touching you. He runs his hand up and down your thigh, before stopping to thread his fingers through yours. He pulls your hand up to his face, placing a gentle kiss on the inside of your wrist as Santiago asks a question.

You decide to tease him a little by starting to slowly grind against him. It feels good, but you know it’s going to feel a lot better once you can get his pants off. Remembering how he’s distracted you at work before too, you decide to give him a little payback. You lay him back on the bed, undo the rest of your zipper, and take off your shirt, throwing it on the side of the bed.

His breath hitches as he sees your bra. Your skirt has bunched up at this point and you move off the bed to slip it off. His eyes follow you as you get up and slowly let the skirt fall to the floor. His eyes bulge as he sees the matching panties you have on. You do a little turn just to make sure he gets a full view of everything.

“Baby, Jesus Christ, you’re killing me,” he laughs.

“Babe, are you muted?”

“Yeah, look,” he shows you the phone, the mute button turned on.

“Good,” you give him a devilish smirk before you climb back on top of him. “How much longer do you have for your call?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, hopin’ Pope shuts up soon so I can fuck my girl,” he laughs, his hands coming back to your waist, moving down to feel the silk of your panties as you straddle him again. He closes his eyes, steadying his breath as he clears his throat hearing his name called again to answer a question.

As he’s talking, you tease him again, bringing your hands behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra. You hold the material in front of you, looking down at Benny who’s biting his lip. He takes a deep breath and continues talking so you decide to slowly move your bra down your front. He goes to sit up and you push his chest back down shaking your head.

You can tell he’s getting frustrated by the incessant follow-ups, all he wants to do is end this call. He’s balling up his fist, bucking up against you out of instinct which makes a giggle escape as you cover your mouth, your eyes going wide.

“What was that?” You hear Will ask.

“No-nothing, I didn’t hear anything,” Benny manages to say as he covers his mouth, trying not to laugh.

Pope chimes in with another question and you move off the bed onto your knees so you can pull Benny’s shorts down. He springs free and your mouth starts to water as you kiss up his thigh.

The conversation on the phone has moved on to something about scheduling or invoices or something, you hear Will dominating the conversation. Benny puts the phone back on mute, tosses it somewhere on the bed, and pushes himself up on his elbows to look at you.

“You look so pretty,” he presses up further, cupping your face and bringing you up to kiss him.

“Lay back, Ben. Let me take care of you.”

He does as you say and you lightly use your thumb and forefinger to grasp around his length as you take his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit, collecting what’s waiting for you. Benny lets out a shaky breath and you look up at him as you relax your throat and take him all the way down to the base which elicits a groan. You guide him in and out of your mouth, your hand there to help give a little extra pressure just the way he likes it.

His hips buck up into your mouth and you hear his whimpers as he tells you how beautiful you look and praises you for how good you’re making him feel. You smile as you continue taking him in and out, moans coming out from the depths of your throat.

“I need to feel you, baby,” he rasps.

You pull him all the way out with a loud pop and shuffle up to take your underwear off. He grabs your wrists and shakes his head, “No time, just here,” he pulls you up, moving your underwear to the side and guiding you down onto him. You both let out groans that sound sinful as he rests his head back on the bed.

You start to grind, leaning forward over him, an angle you preferred because not only did his dick feel amazing, but he was able to play with your breasts too. He takes one in his mouth, teasing your nipple with the flick of his tongue as the other alternates between gentle kneading and a more forceful grasp.

“I’m not going to last long baby, you’re so fucking hot,” he manages despite his labored breathing. “You close?”

You bring your forehead against his and nod, “Yeah, I, ah, yeah.”

In a move that happens quickly, he flips you onto your back and starts to thrust harder.

“Ben? Goddammit, what the fuck is up with you?” Pope chastizes.

The phone is just above your head and you grab it and unmute.

“Sorry, B-Ben, is a little busy right now boys. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

You hang up the phone and Benny stills, his mouth hanging open wide in shock at what you did. “Holy fucking shit, that was amazing.”

“Where were we? I need to get back to work.”

“Yes ma’am.”

#benny miller x female reader #benny miller smut #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller #the thots thotted and this is what happened

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tiannasfanfic · 1 year

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Jumpstart

Eddie Munson x Reader (Smut)

| Eddie & Steddie Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: Getting older is unavoidable, and neither are some of the unpleasant things that come along with it. But being married to Eddie Munson means mid life doesn't have to be a crisis.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Author Note: Afab reader, they/them pronouns used (if any). Older!Eddie x Older!Reader (late 30's to late 40's, but unspecified in story). Established Relationship. Fluff and smut, with a dash of Hurt/Comfort. No gendered language used when discussing Reader's menopause symptoms.

CW: Menopause symptoms (brief mentions physical and emotional changes, difficulties staying wet, hot flashes, nausea); older amab having difficulties with erections; feelings of being unprepared for midlife changes; brief tangent about differences in men's and women's healthcare; Smut (p in v, dirty talk, praise, begging kink).

Word Count: 4,548

Eddie Munson Taglist: @eddie-swhore

“Damnit.”

Eddie’s voice was soft, talking more to himself than to you as he knelt behind you. He had one hand resting on your upturned ass, the other wrapped around the base of his cock to line it up with your entrance.

You felt him readjust himself to angle his hips a little differently. You shifted around some on your knees and elbows, getting into a better position yourself.

He then proceeded to try again.

You felt the head of his cock start to glide up and down along your slit. Eddie took extra care to circle the tip around your clit slowly, sending small bursts of electricity up through your center. The feeling not as intense as it could be, but still pleasurable enough to be enjoyable, and caused a small moan to leave you.

After several of these long, slow passes through your folds, you felt the tip pause right at your center. Eddie began to press the head of his cock directly against your entrance, pushing with a little extra force in order to finally push himself inside you.

You felt the pressure, bit your lip in anticipation of the feeling of him stretching you out…

Then nothing.

Eddie let go of his cock then. It drooped down from the position he had been holding it and the shaft rubbed against your inner thigh.

“I’m sorry, Princess,” Eddie said, leaning over to kiss you on the shoulder blade. “It looks like we’re gonna need some help tonight.”

That explained the damnit. He knew how much you’d rather not have to use lube. It didn’t feel quite the same to you, no matter how much a brand claimed theirs would.

You turned your head to watch him over your shoulder as he shuffled over a bit so he could lean over and reach over to the nightstand.

“Is it me being difficult, or you?” you asked, genuinely curious because sometimes you couldn’t tell the difference just by feel alone.

“You this time,” he said, pulling open the bottom drawer of the nightstand.

“Figures,” you said, chuckling as you watched Eddie pull the bottle of lube from the drawer.

He didn’t say anything, just chuckled and gave a good natured “mmhmm” in return. After squirting a generous amount of the lube into his palm, he wrapped his hand around his hard length and began to stroke it.

This was something that only recently started happening to you within the last year or so. It wasn’t anything abnormal, or even worrisome, or a sign of some larger problem. It was a natural part of getting older that was just a normal part of your life now.

And it was also something else you got to add to the ever-growing list of Shit No One Ever Warned You About.

While adding something to that list always came with a certain amount of annoyance, this one actually made you angry.

Turn your television to any station and you’ll soon be assaulted by ad after ad spreading awareness about erectile dysfunction and/or low testosterone. But have you ever heard anything about how your cooch may start going dry in the middle of sex, no matter how much you may want your husband to rail the fuck out of you?

Nope. Not one peep. Not even from other people you knew who had been assigned female at birth and had gone through this stuff already. Sure, they would talk about it once you mentioned it finally having experienced a new symptom yourself, but there was no preparation beforehand. No forewarning, no “hey, look out for this,” no nothing.

At times, it really felt like nobody cared what happened later in life for those of you were born with ovaries and a uterus, even from others with them. Once you all were out of your childbearing years, it seemed like society expected you to quietly disappear until needed as grandmothers or crazy spinster aunts. So long as the men in Indiana could get help being “the red-blooded Alpha American males they were meant to be” again, no one gave a shit what the other people might be going through.

Oh, how you hated that particular radio ad.

The silver lining in all this was that you had Eddie. He was such a loving and supportive partner through all of the messy changes you had been going through. Even on the days when your emotions were a bit rough around the edges, he figured out how to smooth them down for you. For that alone you felt like he deserved Time’s Man of the Year award.

Not only was he just an amazing, sympathetic, partner, but he was also an empathetic one. He knew what you were going through in his own way.

Despite the close similarities in your ages, Eddie actually began to experience his own changes a couple years before yours started. Part of that included some difficulty getting hard and/or staying hard. It didn’t always happen but became more common as time went on. There was no way to predict it beforehand, though you did notice it seemed to happen more when you had to stop for any reason, even just to quickly change positions. And, sadly, once Little Eddie decided he had lost interest, there was virtually nothing either of you could do to make him cooperate again.

While you both practically had the commercials for Viagra memorized by this point, medications were not something that could be done. Eddie had no problem with seeking out help, but the cost of the prescription alone was extremely prohibitive, much less the cost of the doctor’s appointment needed to get one.

One thing was for sure though. On the nights when his cock went on strike, as Eddie himself always phrased it, he made sure you were never left unsatisfied. He was always extra attentive, his normal mix of praise and degradation switching to pure praise for you. There was no edging, no overstimulation, just one orgasm after another as he worshiped your body with his fingers and tongue.

With all of the extra attention he gave you, you never had any fears that he wasn’t staying hard due to a lack of interest in you. Eddie made damn sure of that. The one time that inner demonic voice did pop up, you asked him about it just to be sure. He answered your question by making you squirt all over your vibrator multiple times.

Then your body started changing. And once that began, it felt like you were going through a complete upheaval. From your cycle to your emotions, everything started to feel completely different. And then, to top everything off, you started having some difficulty getting wet, which eventually progressed to having problems staying wet.

Just like with Eddie’s, it didn’t happen all the time. It was a purely random, but a fairly common, occurrence. He was always incredibly understanding about it, even perfectly willing to stop and take care of himself later on if you weren’t in the mood to continue. You never let that happen though, always wanting to get him off yourself instead. No matter if it was with your mouth or your hands, you never wanted to leave Eddie unsatisfied either.

And that was how things continued until one of your friends suggested trying some lube.

While the two of you had lube and used it for other sexual acts, it hadn’t occurred to either of you that it might really help with your dryness. You both felt silly about that afterwards once you’d tried it and found that it worked like a charm.

But, on some nights, even giving your body the extra help to get Eddie inside you still wasn’t enough to get you going. You would certainly be in the mood get utterly wrecked, but your cunt would be a cunt and not contribute anything worthwhile to the experience except for the warm hole.

When this happened, you always encouraged Eddie to keep going and finish himself off. There was no use in trying to make you cum at that point, a fact you both were well aware of. Any attempt would just leave you sore, uncomfortable and no closer to orgasm than before. But him continuing to fuck you wasn’t an unpleasant experience. The lube made his hard length glide smoothly through your delicate center. The careful, steady pace he kept was neither too hard nor too soft, too fast nor too slow. He always took his time, even if it took him longer to cum, because he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for you too.

When your body wasn’t aroused, you discovered that your inner walls weren’t as sensitive, decreasing a lot of the sensations you would normally feel while having sex. That wasn’t to say it was unpleasant. Far from it. You loved having him inside you, even then. With Eddie’s slow, steady pace, and sometimes a little extra lube, you’d soon find yourself opened up to him completely without any sort of discomfort. If you had to describe it, you would say it felt more like an inner massage rather than sex. It still felt good and was even relaxing.

However, the one thing that made the whole experience worth it was getting to focus all of your attention on Eddie.

Usually when you were having sex, by the time his cock finally entered you, you would already be so fucked out that you couldn’t focus on anything else but the feeling of him finally being inside you. But now, during these times when each thrust wasn’t hurtling you closer to an earth-shattering orgasm, you got to notice little things you never had the chance to pay attention to before.

The way Eddie bites his bottom lip when he’s lining himself up to you. The way little tremors run through his body as the head of his cock finally pushes into your cunt. The way his eyes close and his jaw goes slack when he bottoms out. The way the muscle lines of his chest and abdomen flex with every thrust of his hips. The way he groans when he’s getting closer to orgasm, just before his thrusting picks up speed. The way his breathing grows just as erratic as his thrusting. The way his eyes roll back in his head when he cums. The way he’s fucked out and breathless when he collapses on top of you. The way he squeezes your body so very close to his until he can move again.

You didn’t know if it was possible to have mental orgasms, but it sure felt like you did as you watched Eddie in awestruck wonder as he used your body for his own pleasure. It was intensely intimate in its own way. Even if you didn’t get off physically, you were still left feeling satisfied and in bliss as your trembling lover laid in your arms, coming down from his own orgasmic high.

Presently, you watched over your shoulder as Eddie added a bit more lube to his cock before placing the bottle on the nightstand. He resumed stroking his shaft, making sure the hard length was evenly coated with the semi thick liquid.

Once he had come back over to you and repositioned himself behind you, you arched your back so it would push your ass further into the air. You then proceeded to give it a little shake and grinned back at him.

Eddie chuckled, giving your ass a little slap then a squeeze with his free hand.

“Still so needy for me,” he said, scooching forward a bit more in order to line himself up with you again. “Not even wet but you still want to be filled by my cock.”

Eddie could call you the needy one all he wanted, but you both knew the truth. He was far more needy than you ever were. When he needed to be inside you, he might also need you to beg for it first, for example, or he might decide he needs to make you cum three times before he needs to fuck you.

But, even still, between his choice of words and the loving, yet lustful tone of his voice, a small wave of pleasurable tingles washed over you. You bit down on your bottom lip, unable to stop yourself from blushing at how much he sounded like he wanted you.

Sadly, there was no response to Eddie’s words from downstairs despite how the rest of your body was reacting.

“What can I say?” you asked, then gasped softly as you felt the head of his cock starting to push into you. “I just fucking love how you feel inside me, no matter what.”

Eddie didn’t reply with words, he just made a soft humming sound of approval.

Once the head of his cock was nestled just inside your entrance, he stopped moving for a moment to let your body relax around him. Then he began a slow, shallow thrusting, at first working you open with just the head of his cock. Soon though, he began sinking a bit further and further into you with each inward thrust.

He only paused once after starting, and that was to check in with you briefly. When you verbally confirmed you were okay, he resumed that same slow and careful thrusting until he was almost fully inside you.

There was a longer pause now, both to check in with you again and to let your body adjust. Even with everything you did before during foreplay and the aid of the lube, your body still wasn’t fully ready to take him. It didn’t hurt but wasn’t exactly comfortable either. Not at first, at least, during these first few moments with his hard length resting inside you.

Soon, Eddie began to slowly, but carefully, do half rolls with his hips. He wasn’t pulling out more than halfway before sliding back in to not overwhelm you, gradually working you open. As your muscles relaxed, the head of his cock naturally probed deeper with each inward thrust.

When he was finally able to bottom out, the head of his cock pushed against that one hard to reach spot deep inside you that made always made you gasp.

Instead of gasping though, you moaned as a small and unexpected wave of pleasure washed over your body.

While it didn’t happen every time Eddie fucked you through a literal dry spell, sometimes he could hit that spongey spot just right and it was like he crossed your wires to jump start your body.

This was one of those times.

“Fuck, Eddie, just like that,” you managed to gasp after he did it again, resulting in another loud moan. “That, keep doing that!”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

It only took a few more thrusts against your most sensitive of spots before you felt heat finally start to build inside you. It quickly spread outward through your whole body, then finally settled between your legs. Your gasps and heavy breathing gave way to moans and whimpers. It wasn’t long before you could feel a texture change between your inner walls and his cock as your own wetness was added. The sensitivity of your inner walls increased, making the drag of his cock through you feel even better.

Finally, your body was responding properly to your husband’s attention.

Eddie could feel it too, your natural slick taking away some of the artificial feeling of the lube and making your cunt feel more like you again.

“That’s it,” he softly groaned down at you, keeping the same steady pace as one hand left your ass to softly rub up and down the center of your back for a moment. “That’s my girl. Let’s get that pretty cunt all nice and wet for me.”

Just as he intended, Eddie’s words went straight to your core. You felt your inner walls twitch around him for the first time tonight, which made him groan at the feeling. Hearing Eddie voice his pleasure in turn only made you wetter.

Now that you were closer to your normal state of arousal, Eddie picked up speed for just a few moments, making your moans come out higher pitched, before slowing back down to his previous pace.

“Gotta say,” he panted as his hands softly kneaded your ass cheeks. “I love how it feels when your cunt starts getting wet around me.”

“Yeah?” you asked, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder again.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, then pulled his cock out to the tip before slowly sheathing it back in you, making you both groan deeply. “It’s like- fuck! It’s like your body just starts fucking begging for my cock.”

While the two of you didn’t get as rough as you used to when you were younger, some of the lower impact kinks had carried over through the years. One of these was begging. No matter how many years went by, Eddie still absolutely loved to hear you beg for his cock. It made sense that he would interpret your body suddenly becoming responsive in this way.

Before he could start going faster and fuck you senseless, you stretched one hand above you to grab one of the pillows at the head of the bed. Seeing this, Eddie stopped for a moment so you could pull it down under your head and make yourself more comfortable.

After placing the pillow where you wanted it, you laid your upper half down on the bed, keeping your ass in the air. One of Eddie’s hands softly stroked your body, caressing up and down your side as you arranged your arms under the pillow then laid your head on it. You gave a little shake of your ass to let him know when you were ready.

He resumed at a careful pace, thrusting into you way more gently than normal. After slowly building back up to his previous speed, he gradually began going faster, giving you plenty of time to adjust with each increase.

Now you could feel that your body was completely back to its normal state, where every thrust was now intensely pleasurable. Your cunt now dripped with your own wetness, making the lube from earlier run down your inner thighs as Eddie fucked it out of you.

But not only that, you felt that coil in your belly start to tighten, the first sign of a building orgasm.

“Fuck, Eddie, harder!” you cried, your eyes squeezed shut.

“Gonna cum for me tonight, baby?” he asked, groaning as you nodded frantically into the pillow in response. “Fuck yes. Music to my ears.”

Now he no longer held back. With sharp thrusts of his hips, Eddie slammed his cock deep inside you. You moaned loudly, clutching onto the mattress under the pillow now. He gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back into him with every thrust. The head of his cock pushed deep into you, delightfully rubbing against all of your most sensitive areas.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he said, then groaned as you clenched around him at the praise.

You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, but not fast enough. You didn’t think either of you would make it at this pace. Since both of you had similar issues where your bodies could simply loose interest halfway through, you two had gotten really good at shorter sessions. You had been going for a while now and there was the very real chance that if you both didn’t finish soon, neither of you would get to.

“Eddie,” you gasped between moans. “Please.”

Without a word, Eddie shifted his position one last time, then pounded into you in that way you both loved. You cried his named and gasped curses, and he answered with grunted praise and breathy moans. One of his hands slid around your body and down between your legs, his fingers extending to rub the lips of your cunt around the shaft of his cock. When his fingers were slick with a mix of lube and your wetness, he dragged them down your folds to start rubbing circles around your clit.

“Fuck!” you screamed into your pillow, the force of his thrusts pushing your face into it.

As your cunt started to twitch around his cock, Eddie rubbed his fingers around your clit faster. He continued thrusting his cock into you, but his movements were starting to grow erratic as his own orgasm approached.

“C’mon, baby,” he panted, the hand he still on your hip griping onto it tightly. “Need to feel you cum first.”

The circles around your clit grew smaller and smaller until the pads of his fingers were circling directly over the throbbing nub. You nearly screamed in pleasure at the sensation. His fingers were so slick there was no friction, the tips of his fingers gliding easily back and forth over it.

At the position you were in, you couldn’t exactly move too much, but that didn’t stop you from trying to buck your hips forward into his hand. When Eddie felt this, he added a bit more pressure to your clit with his fingers.

Between the attention on your clit and his cock hitting deep into you, you were soon coming undone. When the coil snapped, you cried out his name and your cunt clamped down around his cock. You could feel yourself getting wetter just from your orgasm, so wet that Eddie actually slipped out of you as you were cresting over the edge. He cursed loudly, quickly reaching between you two to push himself back into your cunt.

His thrusting was the same hard and fast pace it was before, almost restarting your orgasm as he chased his own now. You felt yourself getting pushed over the edge again and your body trembled under his. The cry of pleasure that left your lips sounded closer to a sob as the feeling washed over you like a wave.

“Fuck, that’s it, fuck, fuck!” Eddie cried, slamming himself into you.

With a one last thrust so hard it made you squeak, his cock began to unload inside you, shooting his cum deep into your cunt.

His movements gradually slowed, and he continued to gently fuck you until hips finally came to a stop, his cock fully sheathed in you still. Your moans softened into breathless whimpers, finally settling into a heavy pattern of breathing.

It took a moment, but Eddie was finally able to pull out of you, then moved over so he could lay next to you on the bed. You turned to face him, and he slipped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest.

The two of you laid like that for quite a while, not talking but just enjoying being in each other’s arms. Eddie softly ran his hands and fingertips over your body, lovingly caressing you while he nuzzled the side of your head.

While he was always tender after sex, he always put in so much extra care after times like this where your body started off being unresponsive to his touch. Regardless of how it ended, with you being able to cum from it, Eddie knew how it started. You had only been doing this for him. In his eyes, you would’ve gotten nothing out of it had your body not decided to play along.

It still amazed him that you were still willing to do that, were willing to suggest it even since he certainly never would’ve had that idea on his own. He was always perfectly willing to stop anytime you couldn’t get wet, his needs always secondary to your comfort. Continuing to fuck you if you weren’t aroused was usually the last thing on his mind. Indeed, it had taken quite a bit of convincing for him to do it the first few times. He only became okay with the idea once he saw it wouldn’t hurt you.

Little did Eddie realize that’s exactly why you were so adamant that you make sure he’s taken care of. He never asks for it, never expects it even. He always took your lead on anything sexual that could cause you unintended discomfort. He even took no for an answer and would completely drop the subject immediately once the word was said, even in his body language.

As a result, in your eyes, Eddie Munson was more than deserving of all the best orgasms you could provide him.

After you two had been laying there for quite a while, another feeling of heat began to start in the lower part of your belly, but this one was quite different than the heat you felt earlier. It quickly spread through your body like a wildfire, finally settling in your stomach, twisting it around until you were nauseous.

You quickly scrambled away from Eddie, the normally comforting warmth of his body suddenly way too much for you. Swinging your feet to the floor, you sat up and leaned over, your forearms on your knees and your head dangling down. Despite the heat you felt all over, a cold, clammy sweat broke out from the top of your head.

The bed shifted around behind you, then you felt Eddie come sit next to you. He was close, but not touching you, since he recognized what was happening. You closed your eyes, feeling him watching you, but you didn’t mind.

It took a couple minutes, but the nausea eventually faded a little bit after the heat started to recede to somewhere back inside your abdomen.

You slowly sat back up and took a deep breath. It sounded a bit shaky as you let it out, a fact Eddie immediately picked up on. He placed one hand at the center of your back and started rubbing it in comforting circles.

“Bad one this time?” he asked softly, and you nodded. “Want me to help you get to the shower?”

You thought about it for a second. This was definitely one of those times where you needed one immediately after sex. The combination of lube, your wetness, your cum and his had coated your cunt and the skin of your inner thighs. But you shook your head. When the hot flashes were bad enough to make you sick like that, they also made you feel very weak for a while afterwards.

“Not just yet,” you said. “My legs are feeling shaky after that one.”

“I would hope so,” he said, grinning at you playfully as he puffed out his chest with pride. “That was some pretty good fucking work, if I do say do myself.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as you playfully slapped his arm.

It never failed, no matter how badly these hormonal changes made you feel, Eddie could always make you feel a bit better.

When he left the room to get you a cold, wet washcloth for the back of your neck, you couldn’t help but wonder again why they were called “hot flashes” anyway. Calling them that was a huge understatement, like if you were to call the fires of hell a mere barbecue pit.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson one shot

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years

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Pink Scarf - PART 17 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXX. Verbal Abuse. Assault, both sexual and physical. Blood. Violence. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 10k

A/N: PREPARE YOURSELVES, cuz this is an INTENSE roller coaster ride, y'all. Also, PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. I'm not gonna say much else, other than this is a beast and I cannot wait to hear the unhinged responses after. And thank you for your patience!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

“You need me?” you question him, honestly taken aback by the sentiment, even though he has said it before. It’s just still so hard for you to believe that a man like this needs a woman like you. Running your fingers through the soft, damp hair at the nape of his neck, you look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, baby, I do. I really do,” Elvis says, wrapping his arms tight around you and pulling you close. His head buries in your neck, in your hair, breathing you in.

“Show me,” you whisper in his ear, surprised by your own boldness. But his declarations have you some kind of way and that coil is still like hot coals smoldering in your belly. You feel his body stiffen against you, knowing that he is even more stubborn than you and doesn’t want to give in to you just yet.

You run your hands over his exposed chest and under the deep V of the fabric, grazing over his nipple with your fingernails. He twitches and jumps under your touch, despite his efforts to stay neutral.

“I need you,” you breathe, pitching your voice up the slightest bit as you look into his eyes. And you do. You desperately need him, in every way. If you could crawl inside of him, you would. You need to believe his promises are true, that he will take care of you and be everything you need. You need him to show you.

This must read on your face, because he cannot seem to mask his response this time, his azure eyes widening and pupils dilating.

“Take care of me,” you say, your voice nearly a whine.

That’s the ticket. “Fuck, okay…yeah, let me take care of ya,” Elvis breathes in your mouth as his lips find yours, your sins forgotten for the moment, if not forgiven completely. His lips devour yours and your hands can’t get enough of him, starved from before when he had you tied up. They roam over his chest, wind around his neck and into his hair before scraping down his back and clawing at his waist.

Elvis pulls back for a moment and surveys the space in the room. You can see his wheels turning, then how his lips curve up in a smile as he figures out how he wants you. He leaves you hanging for a moment as he pulls a chair right in front of a huge, floor length mirror. Sitting in the chair, his legs spread wide, he beckons you to him.

“Come sit on my lap, baby,” he purrs at you, and you immediately obey, settling on one of his strong thighs and burying your head into that deliciously long neck of his. The salt of his sweat stains your lips. His strong scent surrounds you, magnifying your need for him. You suddenly feel very small in his arms in addition to that need. He seems to sense this, letting you first cuddle into him a bit before winding his large hand below your jaw and peppering kisses down your neck.

“Gonna be a good girl and do as I tell ya?” Elvis asks, his voice low and gravely as he grabs your chin.

You nod. He truly fucked the fight right out of you before, over there against the wall.

“That’s my girl. Now turn and face the mirror for me,” he says, guiding your hips to swivel in his lap. He pulls your dress up and over your waist, leaving you in your lacy panties. You feel a little self-conscious looking at yourself perched on his lap like this, your cheeks a flaming shade of red. You are very close to the mirror, too close. But you watch as your eyes go wide when he grabs your inner thighs, spreading them open with his large hands while sliding his strong thighs in between to keep yours apart.

The lacy fabric of your already-soaked underwear strains as he massages your legs from your knees to your hips. The groping shoots fire through you and you press back into his lap, encouraging him to continue. When he ghosts over your core, it steals your breath away, and you are so incredibly ready for whatever he has to give you.

“Let get these off,” he says, tapping your clit over your panties and causing you to jump with the sensation. Nearly frantic, you shuck them down and off with lightning speed, along with your heels. Elvis chuckles, spreading you open even further when you sit back in his lap. Your muscles strain with the stretch, but you don’t care.

“Be a good girl and put your feet up on the mirror for me,” he instructs, and albeit confused, you do as you’re told. “Nice and wide for me, honey. Yeah, just like that.” He scoots your hips down a bit as you adjust and cradles your upper body with his, his head resting over your shoulder, looking at you both in the mirror. You are completely exposed and utterly vulnerable before him once again.

“Now look at that,” he breathes almost reverently, “You’re stunning, in every way.” You both watch in the mirror as he runs his fingers down your face, your jaw, then over your body. You shiver in his lap, earning his famous lopsided smile in return.

Elvis gets more serious as his fingers reach your core. “But ain’t this the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in your ear, running his pointer finger ever-so-lightly over your folds as you watch. The combination of sensation and the visual you are not used to seeing has you squirming in his lap, aching. He locks his other arm around your pelvis, pressing you against him and immobilizing you.

“Be good, baby. You promised,” he says in your ear, and you watch yourself nod furiously, stilling. He commences his lecture. “I wantcha to see what I see, baby. Look at how pretty and red you are for me like this, all slick and swollen and needy,” he says, watching intently, hungrily, as his finger grazes your lower lips, up one side and down the other. You whine and grip his arm for purchase, feeling like he is calling all the blood in your body to gather in your cunt. It feels heavy and pulsing, burning with need for him.

Elvis brushes up to your clit. “Hmm, one of my favorite little spots,” he hums, circling it softly, making you keen as you lean back into him. Then, obscenely, he uses his first two fingers to spread your lips apart. “Christ, baby, look at that,” he says, voice filled with lust and awe, “You’re fuckin’ weeping for me.”

Your eyes travel down to your exposed hole, and sure enough, you are literally dripping with arousal, both yours and his. It glistens as it gathers, a slow, eager little drop sliding out. You cannot stifle the low moan that escapes your lips at the erotic nature of this little show, your pussy buzzing with heat and want, on display for all to see.

Elvis senses you need more, and he lets your folds wrap around his long middle finger, dragging it up and down through your slick as you watch.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, thankful for the friction, your hips automatically rolling for him.

“Touch yourself, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he says, moving your hand over your mound and guiding your fingers in slow circles over your clit before he returns to rubbing in between your slick lower lips. The wonderful combination makes your eyes flutter closed and your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Nuh uh! Eyes open!” Elvis nudges you, and your eyes pop open. “I want you to watch yourself come, baby. I need you to see what I see.” He smiles, and it’s almost boyish in its mischievousness.

It’s not going to take much, considering how primed that coil was before you even sat down, and how strangely erotic this whole scene is. How it’s making you feel lightheaded and buzzy and hot all over. You begin to work your clit furiously, watching as Elvis runs his fingers over then through your sopping, swollen folds. When he dips one long finger, then another into your weeping hole while you watch, the string of curses that leaves your lips is utterly filthy.

Your senses are overloading, which you imagine was his intention. The sight of you swallowing his fingers so needily, so readily, your arousal shining, the wet suckling sound coming from your cunt as he expertly works his fingers in and out of you pushes you headlong to the edge. Coupled with this and your barrage on your clit, you hit your climax hard with a loud cry, pressing your heels into the mirror with such force, you’re afraid you might crack it.

“Look, look, look, baby,” he pants, forcing your focus back to him, back to what he’s doing to you. “Look at how you flutter around me!” He’s right; you watch, mesmerized as your hole clenches at his fingers through your orgasm, and fuck if that isn’t amazingly hot.

You whimper at the sight, shuddering and panting at the exertion. He chooses that moment to curl his fingers, pressing that special spot inside you that is only his, and another wave of pleasure shoots through you so strongly that you lose your breath. You crest the hill again, stars shooting through you, forgetting that you ever came here to break this off, to run away from him.

There is a wild, desperate look in your eyes that you’ve never seen before as you writhe against him in your ecstasy, keeping you fucking down onto his fingers even though you are sore from before. You can’t stop the waves that keep crashing over you, engulfing every inch of you as you watch it happen before your eyes.

And Elvis looks gorgeous, those blue eyes flashing with his magnetic sexual energy, his pouty lips open and pink and panting right along with you. He is hard again, his length pressing into your spine through his suit as you furiously roll on his fingers, and you can feel him begin to shudder underneath you. You know he gets off on watching and this is quite the show. You rock your hips more deliberately now, feeling the length of him slide between your ass cheeks, and he groans.

“Am I gonna make you come in your pants, E? Gonna make a mess for me?” you mewl seductively, wanting to push him over the edge, too. “You like watching me get off on your fingers, don’t you?”

“Jesus, baby, yes,” he moans, “but I need to watch you come again. Come with me, honey.”

You’re not sure you can. You are overstimulated and over stretched and near hysterical with pleasure. Your heart is thrumming so fast you can barely breathe.

“You can do it. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, baby. Watch me take care of you,” he pants heavy in your ear, his eyes glassy, unable to take his eyes off your pussy. He moves his hips in tandem with yours now, then without warning, slides a third finger inside you.

Your eyes are glued to the mirror, seeing just how well you take him. You automatically adjust to him, and he works you as only he knows how. You work your clit and grit your teeth as you feel that coil poised to spring again.

“E-El-El-vis…F-f-fuckkk!” you cry breathlessly, coming completely undone around him again.

“Oh, fuck, honey…GodDAMN!” he groans into you simultaneously as he slams his hips up with a violent shudder that matches your own. You can feel the heat pulse under you, dampening the fabric of his suit.

But you continue to shake and shiver on top of him, your orgasm ripping through you, stealing everything you have left, draining every ounce of energy from your reserves, which isn’t much considering the insanity of the last 24 hours. You sense much too late that your body cannot keep up. Your heart is too fast, your breathing too labored, and your muscles too weak.

You shouldn’t be surprised, then, when your body goes limp, the blood drains from your head with a cold rush, and the world goes dim and then black.

“Y/n! Y/n! Jesus, Satnin, c-come on baby, w-w-wake up!” you hear Elvis’ panicked voice from far away, but you are so very tired and just want to sleep, thinking maybe it’s a dream.

…no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I lo…The faraway echo of long-ago words in this too familiar panicked voice fades away like a dream. You slip back into darkness.

It’s the piercing fear in his voice when he calls your name again that has you finally coming back into yourself. You blink a few times, willing the world to come back into focus, confused.

“O-oh, shit. Oh, t-thank God,” Elvis breathes. He is right above you, his eyes bright and flooded with fear, near tears.

“Wh—what happened?” you murmur, feeling buzzy and strange, and like things aren’t moving fast enough.

“You scared the shit outta me is w-what happened!” he looks down at you, now placed on the couch, his eyes quickly shifting from fear to anger. “You—you just fuckin’ collapsed!”

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what happened. You’d come here to break up with him, to tell him you were leaving…then you argued. Then you fucked. The mirror.

Oh, god, had you passed out from coming too hard?

You start to giggle at that, uncontrollably.

“Baby, what the fuck? It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Elvis fumes, leaning over you.

That just makes you laugh more. “I came…s-so h-hard I p-passed out!” you hiccup out.

“That’s not normal!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

Another peal of laughter at the absurdity of it rolls through you. He’s not wrong, but whatever is happening to you seems to be overpowering your sense of self-control.

“Are you on something?” he asks suddenly, grabbing your jaw to get you to focus. He looks over you carefully and then a flash of horror comes over him at what you assume is the thought that he’s somehow taken advantage of you.

“N-no, of course not,” you finally manage to get out. You are shivering now though, and suddenly freezing. “S-something’s not r-right,” you finally chatter out.

“No shit,” Elvis mumbles, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. “Baby, when was the last time you ate?” he asks.

You blink at that, trying to run through the last day in your mind, but all the days have been running together. You honestly don’t know.

“I-It’s been at least a day, I think,” you finally eek out. “Maybe l-longer?”

“’Maybe longer?’ Goddammit, y/n, you can’t just go without fuckin’ eating!” he yells, getting up from the couch and storming over to the phone at the other end of the room. You hear him ordering someone to bring food immediately as you attempt to sit up, but your dizziness has you lying back down quickly.

Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t in a constant swarm of emotional and physical upheaval for the last week, I would remember to eat, but who’s fault is that?

Elvis slams down the phone and paces back over to you. “When was the last time you slept, y/n?” he angrily asks now, his eyes a churning gray-blue, as he pulls your dress down modestly and throws one of his plush robes over you.

“Um, on the r-roof,” you get out.

“Christ, that was barely sleep,” he mumbles, obviously frustrated as he continues to pace the room. “You have to take better care of yourself, y/n!” he erupts.

You recoil a bit but are touched by his anger, knowing it is fueled by concern. But you are also annoyed because it isn’t all your fault.

“Well, I’ve been a b-bit busy,” you manage.

“Not that fuckin’ busy!”

He’s not getting it. You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes.

“Th-this is part of the problem, E. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, I’ve been so s-stressed, I don’t know which way is up…” you shiver out.

He halts. Your words must be sinking in because the blood drains from his face and you’re suddenly afraid he might pass out.

“This is because of me,” he finally says. The way he phrases it, you’re not sure if it’s a question or statement.

“It’s not—” you start, not wanting him to spiral more than he already is.

“Goddammit, you’ve been tellin’ me you’re strugglin’, and I been yammerin’ at you to trust me to take care of you and then I did the opposite. Shit,” he curses. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Elvis deflates onto the couch next to you and pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids.

You are too tired to respond other than to brush the errant tear that runs down his cheek with your thumb. You wish you could see this sensitive side of him more often.

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna get some food in ya, then I’m sending Jerry with you upstairs so you can rest—”

You open your mouth to argue.

“There’ll be none of that,” he hushes you. “There’s no way you’re doin’ the show tonight. And Jerry’ll get you woken up before we come up after the show, and everybody’ll be none the wiser.” He gives you a stern look.

There’s no point in fighting him or telling him how his plan could go wrong. You’re still confused exactly how things with Jack are going to be handled or if anything Elvis said while fucking your brains out earlier was going to come to fruition, but you’re not in the frame of mind to try and solve that this minute. So instead you just nod.

The food comes, somehow all of your favorites. He knows my favorite foods? runs through your mind, but you are too hungry to dwell on it. Then, as he instructed, you head upstairs with Jerry, who without judgement, sends you into Elvis’ suite to rest. You think your mind won’t possibly let you sleep, but between the food and your exhaustion, you drift off before your head hits the pillow.

Circle G Ranch, February 1967

You wake up early, your eyes blinking out the dull winter morning light streaming through the window. Well, it’s not early for normal standards, but in Elvis’ world, most haven’t even gone to bed yet, you think, looking at the clock. You being awake now is likely due to the fact you couldn’t keep up with the partying last night and had excused yourself much sooner than usual to go to bed.

It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Being at Elvis’ newly acquired ranch in Mississippi has been a welcome change of scenery yet is still a little disorienting. You are used to Memphis, and even occasionally California, but this place is new for you all.

Completely dissatisfied and not having any semblance of control with his career, Elvis recently decided that he wanted a place in the country, a place where they could all come to relax and ride the horses he’d bought for all the men and their wives. A place where they could work the land and have a little fun. And you wonder if he just wanted to feel a little normal for once, thinking that a ranch would do that for him, that it could give him the control he so desperately craved. That maybe it might bring him some of that happiness and zest for life that had been bled out of him for all these years, turning him into someone you barely recognized.

So, Circle G Ranch was purchased, and you’d all arrived to take in its splendor and fresh air. And it was working. Elvis seemed happier here than he’d been in a very long time, the sparkle beginning to return in those expressive eyes of his. And when Elvis was happy, everyone else was allowed to be happy too, theoretically.

You think maybe all that horseback riding and fresh air is part of the reason you were so tired last night. Turning over, you notice that Jack hasn’t come to bed. Your heart sinks, though out here in the middle of the country, it’s not like he can get in too much trouble. It’s just likely the guys are still awake.

Either way, there is an emptiness in your chest that misses your husband. Each time he leaves with Elvis, less of the man you knew returns. You are hoping that some leisure time on the ranch will help him, too. There is less temptation out here, and more opportunities for you two to spend time together.

Unfortunately, he has not been very receptive to that so far, opting to hang with the guys more than you. But considering that he has been drinking more, part of you is glad for it. If the last couple of years have shown you anything, it’s that Jack is a mean drunk, just like his father.

With that thought, you decide to get up instead of dwelling on things you cannot change. As you get dressed, you hear the door of the trailer slam.

“Jack? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” he replies belligerently. The tone of his voice tells you immediately all you need to know. Your heart speeds up as a warning discomfort blooms in your chest. You steel yourself before walking out into the living area.

“Morning, sweetie. Want me to make you some breakfast?” you ask in a light and easy voice. If nothing else, food might help sober him some.

Jack’s response is a grunt in the affirmative, and then he shoots you a glare, his brown eyes dull but cutting all the same. You have no idea what you may have done to upset him, but he is obviously not happy with you. The tightness in your chest increases and you force a smile, not wanting to set him off. If you act like everything is fine, he might forget what is bothering him. It happens that way sometimes and is generally the best-case scenario when he’s like this.

“Okay, I’ll get that started,” you smile, and he settles with a huff on the couch. Scurrying off to the kitchen, your smile falls and you get to cooking as quickly as possible. Steak and eggs, you think. That’s his favorite and will help clear his head.

Your mind races as you cook, trying to find a reason for his ire. You dissect every moment from the day and night before but cannot pinpoint anything in particular that you might have done to make him upset. This has you feeling uneasy, on eggshells. If you knew what you’d done, you could apologize and make up for it before things get out of hand, but it occurs to you that he might be too far gone for that anyway.

Lost in your thoughts, it takes until you smell the meat smoking to realize you may have cooked it too long. You are hoping he is too drunk to notice. With renewed focus, you plate your breakfasts and walk to the tiny table.

“Soup’s on, babe!” you say in a cheerful sing-song voice. Part of you cringes inside to hear yourself like this.

He grunts off the sofa and stumbles to the table, plopping down with a screech of the chair. You keep yourself from wincing at the sound, wanting to stay as sunny as possible as you begin to cut into the meat. You’re unable to keep from looking up at him to check his body language, his affect, as he begins shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth without so much as a word to you.

You pick at your own breakfast, your appetite low because you feel so on edge. You can sense the tension in the room and know better than to speak at this point.

“What the fuck is this?” Jack grumbles, throwing his knife and fork clattering onto the plate.

You look up quickly, your heartbeat skipping. He’s fuming now, his eyes bloodshot and narrowed at you, his scar an angry red with the flush on his cheeks. You don’t have time to piece together whatever has happened before he continues, his voice shaking low with anger.

“First, you embarrass me by taking off in the middle of everyone having a good time last night. Everybody asking, ‘What’s wrong with her, is she okay?’ blah, blah, blah,” he says with a mocking venom that sends a chill right down your spine. “And now you can’t even make me a decent breakfast. Can’t even get that right,” he growls, pounding on the table.

The table rattles and you start to shake a little, frozen to the spot. You realize that maybe Jack is more than just drunk, that maybe he took something on top of it that has him worse than usual.

“I…I’m sorry, I was just tired from all the activity yesterday, and I can make you a new—” you sputter out quickly, but still unable to move, trapped in his furious gaze.

“I don’t wanna hear your fuckin’ excuses, you stupid bitch!” he screams, exploding out of his seat, the chair toppling over behind him with a clatter. “What I want is a fuckin’ steak that’s not cooked to death!” he roars, then picks up his plate and hurls it over the table near your head. You barely have time to register what’s happening, leaning out of the way at the last second on pure instinct, and the plate careens into the wall behind you with a crash, sending food and ceramic flying everywhere.

Your brain misfires and your heart leaps to your throat, the terror in your veins pulsing through you so intensely that all you can do is turn and run. You have to escape because you don’t know what he’s gonna do, he’s never thrown anything at you before, and he’s yelled, yes, but not done anything to hurt you, and oh, god, you have to get out, get out, GET OUT.

You fly past Jack, his rage too consuming and his senses too dull to catch you as you go, and you are out the door of the trailer in a flash, not stopping to see if he’s following you. No, all you can think is you have to get away, you have to escape, and you fly through the rows of trailers housing the other men and their wives. Your heart slams against your ribcage, fueling your body forward as you sprint down the dirt road towards the barn in the distance. Your socks stick to the cold ground as you run but you don’t care—all you need is to get to the horses. You’re not sure why, but you just know that if you can get to the horses, you’ll be safe.

You run and run, only hearing the crash of the plate in your ear, feeling the splatter as it shatters behind you. Only hearing Jack’s screams, “You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch!” You don’t even register the tears burning down your cheeks as you finally reach the barn, flinging open the door with what little strength you have left and frantically looking in the stalls for the horse that Elvis gave you.

Moonbeam. You finally see her near the other end of the barn, her gray and white coloring standing out in the sea of darker equines. You skid to a stop in front of her. Knowingly, as if she can sense your distress and your need for her large, calming presence, she turns and pokes her head out of the stall, nuzzling your tear-stained face.

“Oh. Oh,” you gasp, completely out of breath from the exertion. You cling onto Moonbeam’s strong neck, her coat soft and warm under your shaking arms. Your chest heaves, desperately trying to take in air. If you could, you would jump right on Moonbeam’s back and ride as fast and as far as you can, but she is not saddled, and you have no idea how to get her ready.

The light tap on your shoulder sends you flailing into the stall door with a shriek.

He’s found me he’s found me he’s found me, is all that runs through your head, though if you were anywhere near logical, you’d know that Jack was in no state to chase you all the way to the barn.

“Hey! Hey, y/n, it’s okay! Honey, it’s just me!” You turn toward the warm, familiar voice and are met with concerned deep blue eyes, a far cry from Jack’s bloodshot and brown glaring ones.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to huff out as you look at Elvis, your muscles starting to burn and shake. Your heart is still beating too fast.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Elvis says worriedly but gently, looking over you, seeming to sense how on edge you are. He goes to touch your shoulder, but you reflexively shirk backwards, knocking your elbow into the door with a thud. He quickly backs away a step, putting his hands up in a non-threatening way.

You suddenly slam into the present moment, realizing that you must look insane. Your hair is windblown, you are makeup-less with tears streaking down your face. It’s the dead of winter and you are without a coat or shoes, your socks dirty and torn and bloody from your sprint. You have food splattered down your left side, and you are gasping for air like you’re drowning.

“Y/n, I need you to tell me if you’re okay,” Elvis says, quiet and calm, as if talking to a spooked horse.

You glance over his shoulder, suddenly afraid that Jack could stumble through the barn door at any moment. Wide-eyed and frantic, you look back at Elvis. You realize he’s between you and the door and that gives you some comfort. Jack would have to get through Elvis to get to you, and while you know you’re not in your right mind, you are completely certain that Elvis wouldn’t let Jack hurt you.

With this relieving thought and your adrenaline beginning to wane, you suddenly feel extraordinarily tired as well as embarrassed that Elvis is seeing you like this. You realize he’s waiting for an answer, but you cannot speak. You don’t want to bother Elvis with any of this, so you nod your head, bobbing it up and down quickly.

Elvis tilts his head and looks at you perceptively. Of course you’re not okay, and Elvis reads it all over your face and appearance. You finally give up under his watchful gaze, shaking your head. It falls back against the door behind you, and you choke back a sob. Your exhausted body shakes with cold and the remnants of your fear, and you slide down the door, unable to support yourself any longer.

“Oh, shit, okay. Honey, it’s okay,” Elvis coos at you, stepping quickly to your side but not wanting to touch you and invade your space, lest you freak out again. Instead, he slides down the door with you, letting you lean into him for support. And you do. As you reach the cold, straw-covered ground, you lean your head onto his shoulder, his warmth radiating comfortingly into your side. You begin to shiver.

“Here, baby,” he says, taking off his thick coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Immediately, you feel calmer, as the heat and his distinctly Elvis scent of musk and Old Spice, coupled with the woodsmoke from last night’s campfire surrounds you like a blanket.

You both sit in silence for a while as your body comes back down from the fear of Jack’s outburst. He’s yelled at you before, even called you names, but he’d never gotten so close to actually physically hurting you.

He must’ve been on something, you think. Jack would never hurt me.

I should’ve been more careful with the breakfast. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve stayed up last night with him. The thoughts run through your head, as though if you examine them enough, you can possibly avoid setting him off in the future.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elvis asks quietly, sensing the wheels turning in your head as only he can.

Humiliated, you shake your head vehemently. Elvis does not need to know the specifics of your marriage. He does not need to know of your failures.

But part of you wants to tell him he’s created a monster.

Without Elvis, Jack might never have gone into the bottle. Without Elvis, he wouldn’t be taking other shit that makes him fly off the handle at any moment. Without Elvis, without Elvis, without Elvis…

You are too exhausted for blame and anger right now, though, so you bury it instead. It is what it is.

Elvis doesn’t push you, though you can tell he wants to know everything. You can practically feel that he’s quelling some deep instinct to protect you, his muscles tensing and releasing, his jaw working. But maybe he begins to piece it all together himself because he remains quiet. You are safe now, and that’s what matters, right?

And perhaps it is your heightened emotions, but you suddenly crave the nearness of the man who used to be your best friend. The man that, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, time and circumstance somehow stole from you when you weren’t looking.

So you lean into him, into his strength and sensitivity and his unique power to draw you to him, even when part of you wants to blame him for everything. Even after all these years of confusing behavior and emotional distance, you can’t begin to imagine your world without Elvis Presley in it.

And now you sit here on the cold floor of a horse barn in the middle of the Mississippi countryside in the dead of winter, wondering how in the hell your life became this.

Jerry wakes you gently with a whisper and a poke on your shoulder but you startle anyway, pulled out of the dream violently with a gasp.

“Sorry, y/n, but everyone is on their way up soon. EP told me to wake you,” he says apologetically.

The room is dark, and you are still exhausted, but you are somewhat grateful to be pulled out of that dream-memory. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and a sick feeling in your stomach. You can’t help but chastise yourself for letting Jack grovel the way he did after he’d sobered up that day, for how you forgave him so easily because it certainly was not the last time he went crazy like that on you.

“Thank you, Jerry. I’ll be right out,” you say blearily. You blink the sleep from your eyes and stagger into the bathroom to make yourself presentable.

Anger at Jack festers like an open wound, but the dream has also reminded you of your anger towards Elvis about all of it. That makes you feel uneasy, especially coupled with that nagging feeling that he is hiding something from you. You don’t want to feel angry at Elvis, but some of his actions over the years have contributed to your overall dissatisfaction with your life.

You didn’t fully realize until now how upset it had made you that he just stopped being your best friend one day. You still don’t understand all of it, though you feel like these unearthed memories are trying to get you there. But it doesn’t change the fact that both he and Jack abandoned you in different ways. And this pisses you off.

Fucking men, you think, touching up your makeup and straightening your dress. Your unease deepens when you realize you are going to face the group very soon and you have absolutely no idea what Elvis is going to do or even if he will do anything. Is he just going to pull you to his side and tell Jack to go fuck himself? Is he going to act like it never happened at all? You’re not sure which is worse.

Your stomach churns and you desperately need to talk to Elvis before he does something stupid. Panic rises, but you slam it back down, willing yourself to just be normal for the time being.

Be normal. What a laugh. As if any of this is remotely normal.

Steeling yourself, you head out to the living room just as people start walking through the door. Sandy finds you immediately, giving you a concerned and questioning look. You can’t tell if she’s surprised to see you or not, but you turn from her, still annoyed that she ratted you out (even if it was in an attempt to help you).

As the room fills and bustles, something is itching at you, poking at the corners of your mind. You think maybe it is paranoia. It feels as though Red keeps shooting knowing, snide looks your way. You can’t help but examine everyone around you, searching for signs that they know. You squirm in your skin, unable to get comfortable.

It doesn’t help that Jack slides in behind you when you aren’t looking, wrapping his arms around you a little too tight. He reeks of whiskey and cigar smoke so badly you choke. “Where you been, treasure?” Jack asks a little too pointedly, suspiciously, as if he knows something is up. Your heart plummets and you resist the urge to push him away but can’t help but try to worm your way out of his clutches as Elvis strolls in the room.

Elvis’ intense eyes find you immediately, and you watch his jaw clench as he keeps himself in check. You manage to slip out of Jack’s grasp and Elvis relaxes a bit, distracted by one of the guys. It seems like he doesn’t want to make a scene over the two of you in front of the group, which has you breathing a sigh of relief.

What doesn’t have you relieved is that Jack is once again all over you as everyone finds a seat. You feel trapped as the conversation begins to flow, wanting nothing more than to go hide in Elvis’ room, far away from the fumbling hands of your husband. His hands are heavy on you, creeping up your thigh, drawing circles on your shoulder with his fingertips. It used to be a comforting gesture, but now it feels possessive.

He knows. Maybe Red already told him, you panic. Your heart gallops in your chest and you try not to lose it.

No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he knew, right? Jack is a few drinks in at this point, and the more he drinks, the louder he generally gets. Though based on his hands, you think that he is feeling something else altogether.

You can feel Elvis’ jealous eyes bore on you as Jack touches you, but you are caught between a rock and a hard place. If you shirk your husband’s advances to obviously, it will seem strange and garner attention, but if you don’t, you fear Elvis will give you both away. And you aren’t ready for that, not before the two of you come up with a cohesive plan.

If you are going to leave Jack (no, when you leave Jack, you remind yourself), you certainly don’t want to do it in the middle of an afterparty with the whole gang listening in.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” you finally whisper, excusing yourself with a forced smile, needing to escape Jack’s clutches. “You need anything?” you ask.

“Oh, I need something alright,” Jack breathes sloppily in your ear, attempting to be seductive and failing. But it has an edge to it that worries you.

“You’re hilarious, babe,” you say as sweet as you can while standing to make your escape. Jack takes the moment to grope your ass and you can almost feel the wave of irritation coming off Elvis from across the room. “I’ll get you a drink,” you sputter out, sliding out of Jack’s grasp, shooting Elvis a quick, warning glance to not do anything stupid. Then you scurry away as fast as you can without seeming strange.

Instead of heading to the kitchen, you make a beeline for the bathroom, desperately needing a moment away from all the eyes you feel are on you tonight, wanting things from you that you cannot give.

Fucking men, you think again, closing the door behind you.

To your shock, it doesn’t close. Jack pushes in and your heart drops into your stomach. The look in his dark and muddled eyes bodes nothing good.

“Hey, treasure,” he slurs with that disturbing edge to his voice, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a sloppy, whisky-tinged kiss. You try rather unsuccessfully to not cringe at the feel of his lips on yours.

Maybe he’s too drunk to notice, you hope.

“I thought you were going to get drinks,” Jack says suspiciously. He locks the door behind you, warning bells exploding in your brain for a multitude of reasons, one being Elvis breaking the door down, another being whatever Jack expects of you.

“I had to pee first, babe,” you say as evenly as possible, “Now get so I can!” You playfully swat him on the shoulder, as you’ve done a million times before in your life together, but this time is different. This time, Jack’s chocolate eyes blacken as he grabs your wrist.

Your breath catches, and your heart starts to speed up as Jack’s hand tightens. “Honey, you’re hurting me. Let go,” you whisper.

His dark eyes rake over your body with what you think is lust, but it is tainted with something frightening. “Oh, I think you came in here because you wanted something else,” he says, backing you into the vanity. “You know, some of the guys are saying that you’re stepping out on me. Can you believe that?” His head buries in your neck, his lips dragging roughly against your skin.

Fucking Red.

“W-What? That’s ridiculous,” you manage to eek out, trying to lean away from his touch, but there is nowhere for you to go. Your heart is in your throat, but before you can say anything else in your defense, he’s changing the subject.

“You’re wearing this scarf again?” Jack questions because it impedes his barrage of his mouth on your neck. He unties it and you watch the pink and black silk flutter to the floor.

“It goes with my outfit,” you reply. You attempt to push him away but get nowhere, his broad chest stubbornly immobile. “Seriously, Jack, I need to pee,” you whine now, hoping that will do the trick. Every nerve in your body is on alert as he kisses your skin, as he presses into you. You can feel the bulge in his pants growing, poking into your pelvis.

Every fiber of your being wants out of this enclosed space, a space that only a moment ago felt like a refuge but now feels like a prison. You don’t want this, and if Elvis finds out, there will be hell to pay. But Jack is too far gone to listen and too strong for you to move.

Jack picks you up easily and places you on the counter, his hands pushing the unyielding fabric of your dress up your thighs so he can spread them open and step between them. It feels cold—nothing like the warmth and passion you felt when Elvis did the same thing earlier.

“I told ‘em, ‘Not my treasure. She knows her place. Besides, who else would want her anyway?’” he laughs cruelly, grinding into you. The words cut, as he intended, and you become fully aware that you are in trouble. Your stomach rolls, nausea consuming you.

“Jack, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to do this right now. You’re too drunk,” you protest, pushing your palms into his chest to try and put space between you.

But he seems to take your protests as being coy, or perhaps he just doesn’t care, and chuckles darkly into your neck. “Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick the other night.” He lathes his tongue against your collarbone, causing an icy shiver down your spine that he interprets as positive, smiling on your skin. His hands roam to your back and unzip your dress.

You squirm, but it only serves to assist in his attempt to undress you, his hands roughly pulling down your sleeves and bra straps.

He stops abruptly, to your relief. “What are those?” Jack asks, suddenly on edge, his tone changing completely. He pulls back from you and for that you are grateful but confused.

“What’s what?” you reply as he stares at your chest, his eyes narrowing, the lust being replaced fully by anger.

Jack is on you in a flash, too fast for you to register what’s happening and then he’s yanking down the front of your dress, your bra, exposing your breast.

“Jesus Jack! What are you doing?!” you shriek, trying to pull away as he manhandles you, but you have nowhere to go.

“What the fuck are those?” He pulls you roughly off the counter and spins you around to the mirror, pointing to the series of purple welts on your breasts.

Oh, fuck.

“I…uh…I…,” you sputter incoherently. Your brain misfires, too panicked to think of anything clever or even anything at all. There’s no logical explanation for the dark bruises other than them being what they are. Your mind flashes back to the other night, how Elvis had claimed you, his pouty mouth suckling your skin roughly as he’d fucked you into oblivion on the couch.

You hadn’t even thought to cover them with makeup, since Jack hadn’t seen you naked in eons.

“You stupid fucking slut! Who are you screwing?!” Jack screams, ballistic, swinging you back around to face him.

You’ve never seen him this angry, his face and scar turning beet red, his eyes like daggers. But this reaction is rich coming from him, which triggers your own anger as much as your fear.

“Really, Jack? You barely come home and when you do you smell of cheap perfume, but me, I’m the slut?!” you yell back at him, your body shaking all over, as you pull up your bra and dress. You certainly hadn’t planned to do this here, now, but you’d known in your heart for days that this was coming.

The vein in his forehead pulses dangerously, and he looks like he truly wants to hurt you. He grabs your wrists painfully as you try and zip up your dress. You’ve never seen him look at you this way, even in his worst moments, and it send a shudder of fear through you. “You’re my goddamn wife! Nobody touches my wife!” he yells, his spit flying in your face, ignoring your reasoning completely, too far gone.

Then, he unlocks the door and yanks it open so hard it slams into the wall with a crash, and then pulls you into the hallway, dragging you behind him.

“Jack, stop. You’re hurting me!” you say, trying to wrench out of his iron grasp. “What’re you doing? This isn’t the place for this,” you hiss frantically, scared of what he might do or say next.

Jack manhandles you into the living area where people are conversing and laughing at someone’s jokes, and roughly pushes you into the middle of the room.

The laughter dies out quickly as all eyes turn towards you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and heat burns your cheeks. You are furious and scared and now embarrassed, the back of your dress undone in front of everyone. You watch as Sandy’s eyes widen, immediately gleaning what’s happening, and she starts to stand, but Jerry grabs her arm to stop her.

You rub at your raw wrists, but you don’t turn to look at Elvis, who is behind you. That would give it all away, and for now you at least have control over that.

“Who is it, huh? Who are you fucking? All of them?” Jack shouts at you in front of the group, pointing aimlessly at the men. There are confused and alarmed glances on most faces, though Sandy, Jerry, and Red all attempt to cover their knowledge with surprise. Some are better than others at concealing it, but Jack is too busy looking at you to see them.

“Hey, man, cool it,” Elvis says from behind you, trying to be nonchalant and deescalate the situation, but you can hear in his voice the effort it’s taking him to be calm.

Jack whirls you around roughly by the arm to face Elvis, as though he’s trying to shame you at court in front of the king. Elvis looks at you, unable to hide his concern and budding fury completely, and you shake your head the smallest amount, for only him to see, telling him to lay low and not give himself away. You may be fucked, but this can still be contained, at least until Jack has calmed down and not everyone is watching.

“This ain’t your problem, EP!” Jack yells. It’s as though the most obvious has escaped Jack’s rage-addled mind, since he’s not even considering Elvis when he’s the biggest threat of all.

But one doesn’t yell at Elvis. Not without repercussions.

“The hell it isn’t, not when you come in here drunk and hot like this, fixin’ to ruin everyone’s mood,” Elvis warns, standing slowly. He’s not yelling yet, but his eyes are starting to turn hard and dark. Elvis can be incredibly patient, but if his temper turns, it won’t be pretty. And he was already done with Jack before this wretched display. The tension in the room thickens to a heightened degree, leaving everyone on edge.

So hot with fear and embarrassment and anger, you think you might burst into flames right here. Your heart is thundering against your ribcage and you can barely breathe. Your legs itch to run, but you are surrounded by prying eyes, trapped between the two most important men in your life.

Jack is incensed, fuming, and not backing down. He’s gearing up for a fight, which is bad. His grip on your arm tightens and you can’t help but wince. You watch as Elvis takes a step towards you both and you shoot him a look to stay put.

“Jack, stop this,” you say as calmly as you can. “Let’s just take a breath and talk somewhere else and let the party go on.”

Jack’s chest heaves and he turns on you. “Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he snarls.

Then his fist brutally collides with your face.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion after that. The pain is instant, radiating through your cheek and your jaw, up into your eye socket. The metal of his rings snag at the corner of your mouth and scrape your face. Shock and disbelief course through you as the air rushes out of your lungs and hot tears spring to your eyes. The momentum of his strike sends you careening to the floor, and you manage to throw your hands out to catch yourself just before you hit the carpet.

A stunned silence falls over the group.

He hit me. He fucking hit me, you think in disbelief, through the pain, through the ringing in your ears.Jack had never, ever laid a hand on you before. You reach your hand up to your face, and it comes away bright red, bloody, your lip split. You can’t hold back the choked, shaking sob that escapes your lips.

Everything explodes at once.

The roar that comes from Elvis is like nothing you’ve heard before. The anger he’d shown you is but a fraction of what you see now as he crosses the room, a menacing bull after a matador. He strides so quickly and fiercely with those long legs of his that Jack barely has time to register what is happening before Elvis punches him square in the jaw, then rapidly again right in the nose. You can hear the sickening break of it which turns your stomach. Or maybe it’s your own pain doing that, you’re not sure at this point.

Elvis doesn’t even say anything, so blacked out with rage that he can’t even speak. You watch from the floor as Jack stumbles back and his eyes widen in shock, then confusion.

“EP? What the—?” Jack starts to say, holding his nose as it starts to bleed down his face, but before he can get it out, Elvis has him by the throat. Those long fingers wrap around and begin to squeeze as Elvis walks Jack back into the wall. Shocked, you watch from the floor as Jack’s face begins to turn red and he begins to sputter, clawing at Elvis’ hand and arm. True fear begins to play over Jack’s features.

Suddenly, the guys are all yelling and rushing around you. Sandy’s hands yank you up and back out of the fray, and you feel dizzy, swaying on your feet. You’re not sure how, but she manages to get you on the couch, zipping up your dress in a flash, and then examines your injuries.

“Are you okay? Y/n, are you okay?” she asks frantically, but with the commotion in the room and the fuzzy white noise in your head, she feels a million miles away. Your eyes are locked on the insane sight in front of you, freezing you with shock.

The guys are desperately trying to pull Elvis off Jack, but his hand is like a vise around Jack’s throat. He’s strangling him, truly choking him because you can see Jack’s face start to go purple and his eyes begin to roll back.

Three of the guys are on Elvis’ back now while Red chops at his arms, trying to break his hold on Jack’s throat unsuccessfully.

Oh my god, if Elvis kills him, I’ll lose them both and it’ll be all my fault, you realize.

You rise to your feet, ignoring Sandy’s protests, ignoring the dizziness and throbbing in your head, and you somehow, through pure will, push yourself through the throng of men to Elvis’ side.

“Elvis! Elvis, you have to stop this,” you say firmly, staring into his beautiful, terrifying face. His eyes are black and unyielding, almost unrecognizable. His jaw is so clenched in his murderous fury that you think he’ll crack his teeth. You’re not even sure if he can hear you because he doesn’t give any indication that he can, but you have to get him to stop.

“Baby, you can’t do this. You’re killing him. You can’t kill him. Satnin, I can’t lose you and if you do this, we’ll both be lost,” you murmur, pleading in his ear for only him to hear, hoping against hope it gets through to him.

You watch Elvis blink a few times, as if waking briefly from his trance, his shoulders relaxing just enough that when Red slams down on his arms again, they give way. Jerry pulls you backwards with a yelp, as Jack coughs, sucking in deep, rattling breaths as he slumps down the wall.

You do not go to him.

Elvis’ lapse in rage is short lived, for he sees Red and turns on him quickly with another roar, throwing brutal punches. You see on Red’s face that he knows exactly why Elvis is coming for him. A few punches land hard, and you hear more of the crack of flesh on flesh. You can’t help but smile a little inside at Red getting what’s coming to him, but horrified at yourself, you push that thought right out of your brain.

But there is a reason Red is Elvis’ bodyguard. He’s tough and scrappy and much more prepared for a fight than Jack was. You can see he doesn’t want to hurt Elvis but blocks and dodges some of his punches more readily. Four of the Mafia surround Elvis now, grabbing his arms, his waist, holding him back from Red, holding him down.

Elvis struggles against them and lets out one last terrifying primal cry before they get him subdued, pushing him to his knees. His chest heaves as they continue to hold his arms, his chin lowered, those lethal blue eyes peering out from under the black hair falling in his face. They still home in on Jack and Red, who are licking their wounds at the other end of the living room.

Adrenaline courses through you, your heart threatening to pound through your ribs, the blood rushing in your ears, as you watch four men have to hold down the man you love to keep him from killing the men that hurt you. And you aren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. A small part of you is frightened by this side of Elvis, how he is gone so deep into his rage that the man you know is barely there at all. And you can’t help but feel responsible for this turn in him.

But another part of you feels vindicated and relieved and almost proud of his defense of you. Part of you swells with so much love for him that you want to fall to your knees and kiss him as if your life depended on it.

“You sonofabitch. You fucking wife-stealing asshole,” Jack rasps out bitterly at Elvis, cowering on the floor with Red and a couple of the other men surrounding him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” some of the guys cry, having to hold Elvis back from going ballistic again. His glare at Jack is so fierce, you think the look alone might kill him from across the room.

But you don’t stop to find out because you wrench out of Jerry’s grasp and somehow make it over to Jack before your brain catches up with your body. You don’t even have time to think twice before your hand pulls back and slaps open-handed across Jack’s cheek, the smack reverberating in your ears and stinging through your hand and up your arm.

But you don’t care.

Silence falls over the room once more. Jack stares up at you wide-eyed, with shocked indignation.

“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” you seethe, now fully infuriated that the man you once loved had hurt you so badly, in so many ways. “You lost me a long time ago, and Elvis had nothing to do with it, you cheating, lying, drunken bastard!” You lean over into his face, your voice low and biting, “And don’t you ever, ever, lay your hands on me again, or next time I won’t stop him from tearing you apart.”

You watch the mixture of surprise and contempt and fear play over Jack’s features for a moment before stepping back. You look back at Elvis and see his lip curl into a sly grin.

And then it all hits you at once. All your mistakes. Everyone staring at you in shock. Your dirty laundry aired out for all to see. The blood and pain bruising on your face, your head pounding, your vision hazy. The mortifying violence that has occurred in your name. Your lover almost murdering your husband.

Oh, god.

Suddenly, vertigo hits you hard and you are so dizzy that the room swims and sways in front of you. The bile rises so quickly that you don’t even have time to process what is happening before you are hurling your dinner onto the shag carpet.

Something is quite wrong, you realize. All your anger and doubts and regrets and love drain from you with a tingling coolness, and everything and everyone feels very far away, their cries muffled by the pain in your head. Then you fall into a dark oblivion, leaving the pain and consequences of your actions far, far behind, and you wonder fleetingly if it was all worth it.

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pinky-ghostface · 4 months

Text

Two Valentines Day Surprises

summary: It's Valentine's Day, a very important holiday to Alphonse and his Boo, but Seth is across the country and can't get back to them in time. Alphonse wants to cheer the reader up with a sweet surprise, but neither of them are prepared for the true surprise meant for them.

content/warnings: nsfw, femdom, pegging, strap on blowjob, deepthroating, nipple play, mmf threesome, hair pulling, p in v sex, afab gn!reader (no mention of boobs but they are referred to once as "a cruel mistress")

word count: 4.2k

wanna read it on ao3?:

A/N: I actually began this a couple years ago but finally decided to finish it😁 and things have def changed in the canon since I started. I think I thought after the Jessie/Derek situation Seth wouldn't want to settle down just yet in the little town he wasn't wanted in so long ago and would want to explore his freedom after prison and like, go on cryptid hunts or smth😚 so.. ig this is a semi AU where he does odd jobs across the country and experiences everything the road has to offer a lonely cowboy like him lol. and definitely listening to Orville Peck. also frequently communicating w Alphonse and SugarBoo bc they luv each otherrr🥰 and sometimes taking a break from his nomadic life to visit them. enjoy!

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

As I pushed my key into the lock of my front door, I heard a muttered curse from inside my home. Confused, I opened the door and peered into the kitchen to see my boyfriend’s very shapely, and completely bare, ass with just two thin strips of fabric tied behind his waist and neck to feign at covering him. “Al? I didn’t think you were coming over so soon?”

He whirled around, revealing that he was wearing nothing but my favorite apron. “Oh! Hey, boo! Uhh, what time is it… I guess I thought I’d have more time for your surprise, heh.” He grinned at me sheepishly.

“Surprise? Thought we were just gonna do dinner and a movie at home.” My eyes slid over his body as I took off my coat.

He smiled and moved closer so that he could loosely circle his arms around my hips. “I know, but I could tell you were kind of bummed about Seth not being here for Valentine’s Day, and I wanted to do somethin’ nice and romantic for you to cheer you up.”

I smiled a little sadly and leaned my head into his shoulder. It was hard not seeing our other partner every day, but we both understood how important traveling and going on adventures was to him. We texted and called often, and Alphonse and I had been together long enough before Seth crashed back into Al’s life and cannonballed into mine that we were more than okay on our own. We talked about him daily, and on days when one of us missed him a little too much the other would be there to reminisce, joke, cuddle, and comfort until the ache went away.

“But I guess that didn’t really work out, huh?” Al said, interrupting my thoughts.

I furrowed my brow. “What do you mean?...oh.” I looked over his shoulder at the rest of my kitchen for the first time since walking in. I guessed I hadn’t smelled the burnt cupcakes that were sitting dejectedly on the stovetop. They were black on top and red goo was periodically dripping over the sides of the muffin tin.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “You’re lucky I already cleaned up the spilled cake mix from the walls, the eggs I dropped, the… exploded buttercream frosting.” He shuddered. “Sorry, baby. I kind of messed up your kitchen for nothing. I don’t think those abominations can be saved.”

I smiled up at him and brought my hand to his cheek. “Al, it’s fine. Really. It won’t take too long to scrub out the muffin tray, so we can have even more time together tonight. I’m glad you came over early!”

He pulled me closer and buried his head in the crook of my neck, whining. “I know, but I had, like, a whole thing planned out! I was gonna make a bunch of red velvet cupcakes for you so you could take a break from baking for once, and turn the lights down and do the ‘rose petals on the floor going to the bath’ thing and meet you in the bathroom with the cupcakes like this,” he gestured to himself with one arm, his face still in my neck. “And I was gonna feed you your cupcakes in the bath and give you a back rub and maybe even try to call Brown Eyes if he hadn’t left his rest stop yet…”

“Babe,” I said, halting his rambling. “We can still do all that, even without the baked surprise. I mean, I was pretty surprised just coming home to this, anyway.” I ran a finger underneath the apron ribbon on his waist. ‘I have so many treats already in the fridge for us, you have no idea. We’re gonna have a great Valentine’s Day.”

He held me tighter and nodded but said nothing for a moment. After a few seconds, I heard him sigh through his nose. “I just miss him, y’know? This was supposed to be the first Valentine’s we all spent together. It just sucks we didn’t tell him we wanted to do something sooner so he could have time to get up here. I wanted to make it up to you a little bit.”

Oh. I turned my head to look at him so that he was forced to take his head off my shoulder, and I wound my arms more fully around his waist, he and I chest-to-chest and my face looking up at his pouting one. “Alphonse, you don’t have anything to make up to me. I know this isn’t what we were picturing, but it isn’t either of our faults, and I’m still prepared to have an awesome, romantic, sexy Valentine’s Day with you. Seth should be stopping for the night near New Mexico in a couple hours; we can talk to him then. Until then we can have plenty of fun on our own, right?”

Al smiled and leaned in even closer so our lips were just barely touching. “Yeah,” he breathed. “That sounds good. Now we’ve got more time to spoil each other, anyway. We don’t need that crybaby to have fun.”

I laughed against his mouth. “Careful. You looked about ready to cry, yourself when I walked in.” His lips curved up playfully for a moment before quickly leaning in to kiss me. My hands gripped his waist more firmly in surprise, and he tightened his arms even further around me, pressing us fully together so his hands could move up my back. My left hand drifted downward to shamelessly squeeze his bare ass cheek. As my fingertips drew closer inward, they brushed something… plastic?

I broke the kiss to look up at him in shock. I was met with cocked eyebrows and a toothy grin in silent response. “That would be the other part of your surprise. You’ve been puttin’ out vibes that you wanted to take control lately, and I thought tonight would be the perfect time to make a night of it.”

I gasped in elation, smiling wildly, and kissed him hard for a moment. As I pulled away, I gave him a light swat on the butt and told him, “Get the strap.”

“Yes, Boss!” he said, still grinning, but instead of moving past me to reach the bedroom, he turned around and retrieved my bubblegum pink strap on dildo and harness from behind the coffee pot on a nearby counter.

Naughty boy, he’d planned out more than I’d thought.

He handed it to me, smug as ever. I undressed quickly and performed the awkward, yet familiar dance of shimmying into the harness. Al and I exchanged one more lingering, messy kiss before he took a step back and sank to his knees.

My eyebrows quirked in surprise as I gazed down at him, amused and loving. “Aw, you wanna choke on my strap, baby?” I teased. He smoothed his hands up my thighs, half-lidded eyes never leaving their gaze. “You know I’d love nothing more,” he mumbled against the tip. He took it into his mouth, sucking softly, and worked his way to the base quickly. As the tip hit the back of his throat, he pushed on, gagging slightly. I raked my nails through the hair on the back of his head, grabbing a handful to help him down. He choked loudly, and his hands tightened on the backs of my thighs, nearly making my knees buckle. A strand of drool hung down, reaching his chest, and he moaned deeply through his nose as he continued to deepthroat me. By now his cheeks were rosy flushed and tears were begging to fall from their perch on his long, dark lashes. “So pretty,” I murmured, pushing my fingers through his bright, slightly bleach-damaged hair more gently now, softly scratching his scalp. He looked up at me with an expression that could only be described as adoring, and I loved him for it. “My good boy.”

“Mmm…” he groaned at the praise.

I tugged him off my strap and squeezed his shoulder, telling him to get up. When he got on his feet, he kissed me hard, wet mouth exploring mine, our teeth clashing a bit. He held on to me tightly and I embraced him, enjoying his being so desperate already. It was really no surprise he had such an oral fixation with all the lollipops he sucked on all day.

With my arms around his waist and hands rubbing his lower back, I turned my face upwards so my lips could brush his ear and whisper: “Since you’ve done such a good job of getting my cock wet, I’d guess you were ready to let me bend you over that table and make you see tweety birds.”

He lifted his head up from my shoulder and smiled dopily. “If I had to guess, I’d say you were onto somethin’, boo.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead to mine to whisper to me huskily. “I want you to mess me up.”

With that confirmation, I pulled him with me toward my kitchen table, kissing him all the while. I turned us so his back was to the table and ran my hands up his chest, to his shoulders, to his neck, and gently began to tug at the bow holding the apron up. “I have been dying to tear this off you since the second I walked in,” I huffed hurriedly.

Alphonse leaned down so our faces were even and looked at me with dark, dilated eyes. “Well, I promise not to keep you waiting if you promise not to tease.” I laughed and gripped his chin harshly. “Al, sweetheart, you’re really not in a position to be making deals like that.” I slowly pulled at the ribbon string in my hand until the bow loosened, and the light fabric that sparsely covered him fell off his defined chest, spilling around the attractive “v” of his hips and exposing his dark happy trail. “If you want me to give you what you need, you’ll need to accept that I can do anything I want to you.” I leaned in to nibble and suck at his neck, and he sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth. My other hand teased down the top of his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest, and paused to tweak a nipple. He yelped a bit, and when I let go of his chin, his head rolled back. My hand continued down to his hard cock, his raspy breaths keeping time with slow, languid strokes while his hips tried to buck up into my fist. I circled his tip with my thumb lightly, teasingly.

“You’re a cruel mistress, you know that?” he said to the ceiling. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love it, but it’s true. And as for what position I’m s’posed to be in, I’ll let you worry about that.” He opened one eye and looked at me. “You know I’ve never objected to you doing anything you wanted to me before.”

“Hmm,” I mused, finishing a necklace of hickies across his clavicle. “Well, if that’s the case…” I grabbed his hips and turned him around quickly. He grunted in surprise and planted his hands on the table quickly to catch himself. He looked back at me with wide yet delighted eyes. “You wouldn’t mind if I finish what you started, would you?” I held the base of his plug in my fingertips, twisting it just a little, for emphasis.

“Hah!... “Course not, Boss. You know I’m yours to play with however you please.” he said, a bit strained, and leaned even farther over the table. “Good,” I whispered, and eased the buttplug out of him. He exhaled slowly and forcefully, and eased his back into an arch. I placed it on the counter next to me. I smoothed one hand up his spine, admiring the pale expanse of his back and the cute pink bow still tied around his waist. With the other, I lined my pink dildo up to his hole and slowly, slowly, began to push in. “Mm!” Alphonse cried, stifled. I eased in carefully, rubbing his back and cooing at him the whole time.

Once completely inside, Al moaned loudly and pushed his hips back more to try and grind on my cock. To his disappointment, I almost completely pulled out of him. But before he could protest, I swiftly pushed in all the way, rubbing against his prostate.

“Fuck, ohh, christ,” he choked out. I laughed a little at his reaction and kept fucking him the same way: slow and hard.

I took the time to admire him- his fluffy hair mussed up, his cheek smooshed into the table, his eyebrows drawn together wantonly, and deep, rhythmic moans falling from them. My eyes drifted lower, loving the way the sheer of sweat on his lean back made his skin shine. Even lower, that bubble butt was still making me lose focus, rippling from the force of my hips meeting it with every thrust.

And with every thrust, the base of the dildo ground into my clit, making me drive forward more quickly, more harshly, chasing the sweet sensation. I unknowingly gave Alphonse exactly what he wanted, it seemed, because he melted beneath me. His knees nearly gave out and he looked back at me, panting slightly. “Does that feel good, baby?” I grinned at him. “Nnghh,” he replied, letting his head fall back down.

The building pleasure below and seeing his sweet expression gave me an idea for something else I wanted from him.

I slowed down and pumped into him a few more times, then pulled out gingerly; he whined in confusion and tried to turn around. I leaned over him fully and put my lips next to his ear. “I want to ride your dick so I can see your pretty face when you come in me.” He picked his head up again, leaving behind a small pool of saliva, and grinned tiredly and replied, “If I can walk to the couch, you can make this already good Valentine’s Day a great one, boo.”

When I pulled him up, the apron fell off him completely and he hugged me around my neck, leaning most of his weight on me. It must have looked funny, this lanky guy hanging off me, half-carrying him to the living room, and shoving him backwards onto my couch. He fell with little effort and a small oof. He looked up at me as I wriggled out of the harness, kicked it aside, and moved to straddle his thighs, and he said breathlessly, “Come take what’s yours.”

His dick was flushed pink and leaking against his stomach. So pretty. I took it in my hand and stroked it slowly, and at the same time leant forward and kissed him firmly. “I intend to,” I whispered against his lips, to which he smiled and squeezed my hips in his hands. I lifted my hips and guided his cock to my hole, and slowly sank down, moaning. I was already so wet from fucking him, and he slid in so easily. As the backs of my thighs met his hips, he threw his head back and let out a long, low sound through parted lips. With one hand on his chest and the other beside his head, I began to rock slowly, murmuring praise to him all the while. His hands slid up my body and he was begging me to go faster between whimpers, so I gently took his wrists in both my hands and pinned them on either side of his head on the armrest. He flexed his arms, but didn’t try to break free. His eyes were squeezed shut as I sucked on his neck, leaving a new rainbow of hickies.

As I worked my way up to his jawline, I heard him suck in a harsh breath and he tried to sit up quickly. I blurted his name, confused, and sat back to look at him. His wide-eyed gaze was fixed behind me, towards the door, and I heard a low chuckle. Before I could turn around in surprise, or get myself off my man’s dick so I could fight off an intruder, a warm, rough hand curled around my waist and a familiar face leaned its chin on my shoulder.

“Well, ain’t this a pretty sight to come home to,” a deep voice drawled. He may have also said something teasing us for having so much fun without him, but Alphonse or I’d have no way of knowing because once I- ahem- removed him, we were all over Seth, hugging him and asking how on earth he made it all the way here. Once we’d settled in a pile, all of us kind of sitting on everyone else, he began to explain.

“You knuckleheads really thought I’d miss Valentine’s Day?” he laughed between kisses. “I’m no dummy, I know how y’all feel about it. I just thought I’d surprise you and tell you I was farther away than I was, but I’ve been making my way back to you for the last five days.” He had one arm around my shoulders and cupped Alphonse’s face with the other. “I thought when I got back y’all would be moping around, missin’ me. Instead, I come home to you both screwing like jackalopes without a care in the world.” he teased, pouting.

Alphonse huffed. “What, we’re just supposed to spend our favorite holiday cryin’ our eyes out over you? That ain’t fair!”

“Mmm, I think he just means he missed being included in our cuddle puddle,” I purred and leaned my head on Al’s shoulder.

“That, or the idea of you two being horny-sad thinkin’ of me keeps me warm on lonely nights.”

I glared at Seth. “You aren’t helping.”

He laughed. “No, but I love the look on my bubblegum prince’s face when he’s trying to be mad at me.” He leaned in close so he was an inch from Al’s flustered face. “But really he’s dyin’ to be put right back on his back so I can really show him how much I missed him.”

The poor man’s blush deepened, and he grumbled a little.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around Seth’s shoulders, pulling him back so we were both staring at Al. “I think he needs us, don’t you agree? Maybe you could help me put him back in his place.”

“Oh, no, sugar, this here’s your battle. As much as I’d love to beat the brat out of him, I’m too tired to really give it my all. I’d prefer to hang back and take a more… supporting role.” He smooched the side of my neck and leaned back.

Grinning at Al, I put my hand on his chest and started to push him back down like he was. “Well, baby? You gonna put up a fight now that you know big bad Seth’s not gonna force you to sit pretty for me?”

He shook his head and grabbed my hand to kiss it. “I’m his brat, but I’ll always behave for you, boo.”

Seth chuckled and moved to straddle Al’s thighs behind me. “Well, he knows what’s good for him, that’s for sure.”

Alphonse began to reply. “Shut up, man- agh!”

I yanked his hair sharply. “Maybe not. But we can correct that together some other time. Right now, I only care about enjoying the rest of my evening the way I’d dreamed of spending it, with both my boys.”

He whimpered softly. “Yes, Boss.”

Seth was so close to me I could feel his chest pressed against my back. He rested his chin on my shoulder again. “I always love to watch you work, sugar,” he breathed flirtily against my ear. He reached around me for Alphonse’s cock, and the second he touched it Al let out a huge sigh. He pumped it up and down in his fist a few times, surely enjoying the way his pearly precum dripped over the pink tip. I lifted my hips up so Seth could help me guide it in, and sank down, more easily this time and no less pleasurable. I could feel Seth smirking against my neck as he held onto my hip with one hand and held Al’s hand with the other.

Al was already settled back into our former rhythm with his free hand gripping the side of my thigh, head thrown back against the armrest and eyes closed in bliss, moaning with each bounce of my hips. “So glad you’re here, Seth,” he panted. “Mm! Ahh, I missed you so, fuck, so much. I really did.”

Seth let go of Al’s hand to trail it up his stomach teasingly. “Aww, Al. Well, I had to come take care of you, didn’t I?” Al’s back arched to meet his touch. I’d do the same; we were both so starved for his affection. Seth smoothed his hand back down Alphonse’s torso, all the way to where our bodies met, and ran both hands all the way up my body to my shoulders, forcing me to lean back against his warm, broad chest. “Take care of both of you,” he purred. And without warning, he brushed his fingers over my nipples, sending electricity running through my body, especially my clit. I moaned his name loudly and threw my head back to rest on his shoulder. He continued to circle my nipples lightly, and my hips began to move faster even though my legs were starting to burn. Alphonse flexed his hands on my thighs and began babbling brokenly and bucking up into me at the increased sensation. Seth grabbed my hips to help me bounce and at the same time left a wet trail of tender kisses across the back of my neck and shoulders- not skimping on the teeth, either.

“Fuck, please!” Alphonse cried, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

“What do you need, baby?” I panted. I was getting close.

“Aah, m’gonna cum, please Boss, can I cum? Pleeease…”

I was about to reply when Seth spoke. “Not ‘til our sugar does.” And he began to rub my clit quickly with wet fingers. My back arched hard in shock and ecstasy so that I could hardly move at all, but they both helped me move on Al’s cock, moving faster, rubbing harder, pushing me through pulsing, all-consuming pleasure… until I fell from the threshold, rocking against Al’s cock frantically while he called my name, and falling against Seth’s chest once more into strong, safe arms. Al moaned sharply once more, and a warmth filled me and sent another wave through me. Once I opened my eyes again, Seth laid me down next to (on top of) Al and knelt down beside the couch, smiling down at us.

“Seth, honey... I missed you so much too. I’m so glad you could be here, tonight wouldn’t have been the same without you,” I said as I tucked Al’s head under my chin.

“Me too, babe. Although it seemed to me y’all were gettin’ on just fine on your own…” he glanced at the strap on discarded next to the coffee table.

Al laughed wearily. “Sure, but I ain’t this fucked out unless the both of you were involved in messin’ me up.”

“How’re you feeling, by the way? That looked like it took a lot out of you.” I said, squeezing him tight.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “It was a lot, but like… so good. Y’know. I’m really good.”

“Mhm, don’t I know it.” Seth remarked. “Once sugar here works that magic, you’re a goner.” He leaned over Alphonse to kiss me, his tongue sliding over mine.

Alphonse let out a long sigh. “Guess I’m the one who needs the bath now.”

Seth huffed a chuckle into my mouth and broke away to look at him questioningly.

“I was gonna run a bath for us so we could spoil each other and eat cupcakes in it.”

“Not like that last part was gonna happen,”I snickered.

“Hey!”

Seth gasped. “You tried to make cupcakes? I was wondering who got stabbed over that stovetop when I came in.”

“Boo said it wasn’t that bad!”

I giggled, knowing their bickering was loving. “If you two are done, I think we should get on with the rest of our night. All of us are hungry and probably sore, and I know I want to spend more time cuddling in our actual bed now Seth’s here.”

Al grinned. “Yeah, you’re right.” He looked up at Seth. “I’ve been waitin’ to get my hands on you for a long time now, Brown Eyes. We gotta take advantage of a night like tonight.”

“I agree,” Seth murmured. “We’re not gonna do a thing but enjoy each other’s company.” Then he kissed him, long and deep. After they parted, he stood up, grunting. “I’m gonna go draw that bath y’all were talking about so you can rest. I’ll be back for you in a minute, so don’t go anywhere.”

“Say draw one more time,” I pleaded, smirking.

“Draw-er,” he obliged. “And don’t go teasing me about it, neither.”

“Us? Never.” Al smiled deviously. Seth stared sternly at us, then winked and turned to the bathroom. Alphonse nuzzled deeper into my arms and sighed contently. I planted a kiss into his hair and thought about how lucky I must be to have two amazing boyfriends to cherish and surprise me everyday.

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

A/N: I loved writing this sm and I hope you enjoyed reading it! I hope to do more stuff like this, and soon. this is actually my first fanfic (first inspired by Valentine's Day with your Submissive Boyfriend audio rp by SweetKinkAudio on p*rnhub) and I'd love any criticism or advice if you're willing to give me any💖💖💖 happy valentine's day!!

taglist: @dizzy-n-busy

#yuurivoice #yuurivoice alphonse #yuurivoice seth #fanfic #yuurivoice bittersweet #alphonse yuurivoice #seth yuurivoice #ao3

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mayajadewrites · 5 months

Text

Moth to a Flame: Levi Ackerman x Reader

C H A P T E R S E V E N: W A L L

chapter summary: You and Levi reach a point of no return. You need closure, and he needs to make a decision.

ao3

The boiling hot water hit your skin like grenades. The water trickled down your body, cleansing you temporarily of the filth you're feeling. You wish your thoughts were clouded with Levi. You wish you could have all of your attention solely on Jean.

Levi Ackerman proved that to be difficult.

It's your first day back at training since your injury, and Captain Levi did not let you have it easy. Showers after training are your favorite – you can scrub away all of the sweat, dirt, blood, and tears from your body.

You wrapped a towel around your body, slipping on your shower shoes. Its times like this when you wonder if there is anywhere else out there. Could you ever live a normal life? Is there a place where there are advances in technology?

The bathroom was only a few doors down from your room, so you could get away with just walking back in a towel.

Once you enter the hallway, you hear Commander Erwin and Levi discussing something in the hallway. Or, someone.

"She did great today, I'm impressed." Levi spoke. "It's almost like her leg was never injured."

"That's good to hear, Levi. I won't put her on the next mission, though."

"Thank you." Levi nodded.

Excuse me?

"But come the next mission, she's on. I can't lose any more bodies than I need to." Erwin gave Levi a pat on the shoulder.

"Yes, sir."

Why the hell was Levi worried about you like this? You signed up to be a soldier. Not sit around while your comrade's risk their lives.

Someone said your name, interrupting your thoughts.

"Jean! Hi." You fake smile, trying to act like you weren't just eavesdropping on a conversation between the Commander and the Captain.

"Why are you in the hallway? In a towel?"

"Since my room is so close to the bathroom, I usually just change in there." You realize this is the closest Jean has gotten to seeing you naked. Your tits were pressed together, creating cleavage. Jean's eyes bounced from your chest to your eyes, unsure of where to look. "Sorry, I'm gonna go change now." You kiss his cheek before running into your room.

"Wait-"

It was too late. You ran into your room, locking the door behind you.

Mikasa was reading a book when you walked in. "Did Jean just catch you in a towel?" She giggled.

"Yes, I was leaving the bathroom and he passed by. How did you know?"

"I can hear his nervous ass voice from a mile away." Her eyes went back to her book. Sasha was out, presumably with Connie, since you just saw Jean. The room the 3 of you shared seemed too quiet without her.

"Knock, knock." Someone said, while also pounding on the door. It was Jean – the only person that would knock while also saying he's knocking.

You put on a white long sleeve and pants quickly, answering the door soon after.

"Hi again." You smile.

"Are you okay? You're acting weird." Jean tilted his head.

"I'm fine, I just didn't want to be caught in the hallway half naked." You half-lie. The important part is that it's a half-truth too.

"Uh, okay." He shrugs. "You wanna go on a walk?"

"Sure." You agree, sliding your shoes on before following Jean outside.

The weather is getting colder, so you opt to walk inside. You and Jean walk around the headquarters, filling the air with small talk.

"Can I ask you something?" Jean asked.

"Of course."

"Why... why haven't we had sex yet?" He said it so... bluntly.

"I didn't know that you wanted to do it sooner." You stop walking, looking up at him. "We haven't talked about it either."

"Well, I mean, usually after like 3 weeks it just happens. With you... nothing."

"I'm not sure what to say to that." You cross your arms over your chest.

"I'm saying, I want to have sex with you. I want to do everything with you." Jean put his hands on your shoulders. "I'm sorry I just blurted that out, but it's been on my mind."

"Okay, well, I can't right now. I'm on my period." You lie. You had your period last week. "But now that I know, it's on soon, Kirstein." You smile, pecking his lips softly.

"Goodnight." Jean kissed you back, thankfully you were at the crossroads from his room to yours.

Jean's conversation was weighing on you. You've been putting off having sex with him for awhile for multiple reasons – 1. You didn't want to do it for the wrong reasons. 2. You want to be sure that you want Jean. 3. Your mind is still stuck on Levi.

Your nightly routine, tossing and turning, was no different today.

A sigh escapes your lips as you get up and quietly leave your room, careful not to wake up Sasha or Mikasa.

When you leave your room, you almost shit your pants.

Levi is standing out side your door.

"Could you get any creepier?!" You put your hand on your chest, trying to calm yourself down. "Why are you here?"

"I knew you would be getting up soon and coming to see me. It's been awhile, I'm due for a visit." Levi closed the door for you.

"I've been avoiding you for a reason, Levi." You turn your head to the side, avoiding eye contact with his heart stopping eyes.

"We both know you cannot stay away from me. Like a moth to a flame."

"I wish I could stop thinking about you, actually."

"Why's that?" Levi leaned against the wall, whispering.

"I'm not discussing this here."

"So let's go to my office." Levi's hands go into his pockets, leading the way to his room. You roll your eyes and follow him, observing his stature. So muscular and poised. You could almost see the muscles from outside his clothes.

"Now," Levi locked his door. "What were you saying?"

"You are in my thoughts daily. I wake up and I think about you. When I'm going to sleep, well trying to sleep, I think of you. I thought I was over you which is why I started seeing Jean. Now, I'm not so sure."

"Mm." Levi nodded as he leaned back in his chair.

"You are the most infuriating person to be in love with."

"In love with?" His eyebrow raised.

"Forget that I said that. I didn't mean it." You lie.

Levi got up from his chair, hovering his body of yours. "One thing you've never been good at is lying." He put his hands on either side of you, scanning your body with his eyes. "Which is why I never believed you about anything you said about Kirstein."

"I- what do you mean?"

He leaned into your ear, his breath warming your earlobe. "When I asked you to tell me things about him. You only told me lies. I know he doesn't know how to fuck you. If you did fuck him, I know you were thinking of me the entire time."

You stayed silent.

"I have no doubt in my mind that you liked the idea of him. Liked the idea of a man other than me consuming your life. But you will always come back to me." Levi's finger lifted your chin, his eyes meeting yours. "If anything, you're loyal."

"I wish I wasn't. I wish I could've gotten over you as fast as you got over me."

"Who said I ever got over you?"

"You left ME Levi. You didn't want to see me anymore. YOU made the decision for US. YOU wanted to hide me from everyone. I told you I would leave the scouts for you. I want to see the world. I want to have a family, a life, all that good shit. YOU didn't."

"I've been in love with you since I saw you on your first day." Levi caressed your cheek with his finger. "I broke things off with you because I love you so much. It was hurting me watching you have to stay hidden because of stupid fucking rules. And I didn't want you to give up your oath for me."

Levi's words resulted in silence. Your thoughts were everywhere – so it was as real for him as it was for you?

Levi took a breath. "If you want me to leave you alone forever, I will. Walk out that door and I'll do just that."

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi ackerman aot #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfic #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman fanfiction #aot

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preciouslandmermaid · 1 year

Text

and i'll break all my rules for you (joel x gn!reader)

note: Reader is only 4 years younger than Joel. GN!Reader & they/them pronouns used where needed, but otherwise no other terms are used. Takes place prior to the video game & tv-show (pre-canon).

(Not beta read, no use of Y/N). 💛 Feedback/reblogs always appreciated 💛

summary: You are paired with Joel for a smuggling run to the Massachusetts General Hospital outside of Boston. Despite Joel’s initial stoicism and penchant for antisocial behavior–you find yourself breaking all your own rules for him.

warnings: canon-typical violence, mature language, mild hurt/comfort, mentions of drug use/addiction, a sprinkle of quiet yearning

🍄🍄 READ ON AO3 🍄🍄

“They’re a doctor, Joel.” Tess says, “a real one.”

“Non-military?” He asks dubiously.

You settle your hands on your hips, “I’m not a narc if that’s what you’re asking.”

Joel scoffs, “thought most of you were snatched up by FEDRA. How’d you get out?” His tone is sharp-edged and suspicious. Maybe even accusatory if you listen close.

You bristle. This smuggler has no right prying into your past. Rule #1 of staying alive: you don’t let people get close (and most people in the QZ know how to follow that one).

“I got lucky.”

“Joel.” Tess folds her arms across her chest, “we need them.” She gives him a weighted look. There are a thousand words in that single look. It speaks to their trust, their history, and you instinctively look away. You let Joel and Tess silently discuss your ability to run this job.

Eventually, he bends against the category-five force of nature that is Theresa "Tess" Servopoulos and says a gruff; “Alright.”

Joel isn’t a talker. And that suits you just fine. You don’t need words to complete this job unless those words are “Look out, someone’s gonna shoot you in the face.” Although, you rather like to think you’d be quick on the trigger if someone did try and shoot your face. (Getting shot would break Rule #2 on your guide to survival).

You make your way through the tunnels with your heart in your throat. Your sweat pools in the middle of your back. Your shirt sticks to your spine and beneath the straps of your backpack. It’s been minutes, you think, but it feels like hours.

You’ve never been outside of the QZ.

You open your mouth to ask Joel what to expect and then snap your jaw shut. He’s not a talker and you’ll see for yourself soon enough. You remember the world before it ended. You remember movie theaters, bad karaoke, and smoke-filled restaurants. You remember brightly lit grocery stores, loud playgrounds, and quiet libraries. You thought it would never end. You thought there would always be cars, concrete, and pop music.

So much for that. You bite the inside of your check. Now we’ve got FEDRA and ration cards and a fungal infection that desires full-scale invasion.

Joel says, “watch your head.”

He holds a rotted plank up and you crouch beneath it. When you pass him, your nostrils twitch with the scent of his body odor, but it doesn’t smell gross. Which is surprising considering showers are a rarity and you’ve stood in line for jobs with your nose and mouth plugged to block the stench.

The thought is quickly forgotten when you step outside for the first time in twenty years.

You exhale, “Holy shit.”

The world is a jungle. A cacophony of concrete and lush, vibrant wilderness. There is decay, there is destruction, you can see the iron gridwork of collapsed buildings like they’re its ribcage. But there is also beauty. The sky has never felt more open. It’s bluer, you think, than you’ve ever remembered. A shade of blue reserved for summer afternoons when you were small. The overgrowth of plant life sprawls like tiny capillaries over walls and chain link fences and through gaps in the rubble. The sunlight cuts through open rooftops and reflects rainbows off the broken windows.

You glance sidelong at Joel. He rubs his mouth with his hand. And although he’s looking at the horizon, you doubt the view has any effect on him. You suspect he’s mentally planning your next steps.

As if to prove you right, Joel points to a narrow alleyway, “we’ll take this route.”

You shift the weight of your backpack and nod.

~~~~~~~~~~

You shimmy through narrow alleyways and climb across wooden planks. It takes several minutes before it finally hits you. You’re surrounded by silence. The QZ always contains some level of background noise whether it’s FEDRA and their trucks, or people talking, or crackling fires. You hear every step you and Joel take, every rustle of the breeze through the buildings, every shift of your clothing, every beat of your heart. You stare at the back of his head. His hair is thick and streaked thinly with silver strands.

“Is it always like this?” You ask.

“Is it like what?”

“Like this.” You fall into step beside him and wave your arm, “this quiet.”

He glances at you. The furrowed line between his eyebrows deepens. “Could be quieter.” It’s a pointed yet passive aggressive statement.

You bite the inside of your cheek. It’s quiet enough, you figure, to ask the question that’s been gnawing at your stomach since yesterday morning.

You ask, “what is your problem with me?”

Joel shifts his shoulders in an almost-stretch. “I don’t have a problem with you, doc. I just…” He glances sidelong at you, then away, his scowl etches into the lined grooves of his face. “It’s odd, alright? It’s odd that a doctor doesn’t work for FEDRA.”

He sniffs. “I don’t trust it.”

I don’t trust you. That’s what he means to say, and you’re not even surprised by it. You don’t trust him either. You trust him to complete this job. You trust him to survive (with or without you). You don’t bother trying to give him explanations as to how you’ve avoided FEDRA’s grasp. Truly, it was pure, dumb luck. You fell through the cracks. An authoritative regime liked to shoot first and ask questions later and their bureaucracy was shit. FEDRA wasn’t asking folks for their resume, and it was easy enough to lie once you were in the QZ. You’d rather be a coward and survive, then a hero and get yourself killed.

That’s why you had rule #3: Always run if shit goes sideways.

You shrug, “There are other medical professionals hiding out in the QZ. Not everyone jumped at the chance to be a FEDRA dog.”

Joel doesn’t reply.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel explains quietly that you’ve got to cut through the library to reach the hospital. You’re not thrilled about the enclosed space, but what can you do?

The air is rich with gray dust motes and dead fungal cells. You and Joel step quietly (so silently a librarian would be proud!) through the dilapidated shelves and collapsed aisles. The magazines on the front desk are rotted into pulp. It smells of decay and damp mold and soggy newspapers. Many of the tables and chairs are snapped in half, chewed by termites, or broken by passing survivors for kindling or weapons.

The large hole in the ceiling has allowed every element of weather to permeate the library into a tomb of dead literature. If you close your eyes, you can imagine the ink running rivers through the aisles, around fallen rubble, and spilling down the stone steps. The children’s section of the library is muted in color. All the bright stuffed animals are chewed, stuffing crawls out of their eye sockets, and vibrant plastic toys are covered in grime.

You touch a shelf in passing, letting your fingertips graze the water-logged spine, and imagine the pages crumbling within. Your heart squeezes like a vice.

Mechanical textbooks, poetry, and biographies, and books on tape and DVDs–gone. As if they never existed. And now children are taught in FEDRA schools, taught to shoot, and taught the FEDRA-version of history.

Something snags in your chest, and you instinctively turn your face away from Joel’s so he can’t see. Your eyes prick with tears. You’ve seen bodies piled to burn, you’ve seen civilians shot down in the street, you’ve seen horrors upon horrors and lost everyone you’ve ever loved. You shouldn’t be crying over dead, lost books.

But it feels like a piece of humanity that is irrevocably lost.

The future opens like a black void, like a pit, like the mouth of hell beneath your feet. What’s the point in completing this job? You ought to just take the meager supplies you have and keep walking into the abyss. Maybe you’ll find something better or maybe you’ll be eaten–consumed–by the infected. Maybe that would be better than this. This pretense of a life worth living. It wasn’t even life. It was purely survival. Your breath stutters and you clear your throat despite the sharp, cold glass lodged inside of it.

“Hey,” Joel’s tone mirrors that of a cowboy trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Where’d you go?” He steps in front of you, snapping his fingers and it breaks your zoned-out focus on the books. You shake your head.

“‘M fine.” Your words string together like a children’s beaded bracelet.

“Keep your head on straight, doc.” He admonishes. “We’re almost there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hell breaks loose in the sound of a scream.

It doesn’t make sense that raiders should be here so close to the QZ. But, they are. Joel grabs your arm and jerks you sideways into one of the cavernous divots formed by two bookshelves that fell into one another. You crouch-walk through the make-shift tunnel with cold, stagnant water dripping onto your head and shoulders from the shelves.

The raiders run through the library while hollering profanities at one another. Their faces are covered by gas masks or simple cloth face-masks and ski goggles. You count the footsteps and watch the elongated shadows cross over the mossy walls. It’s a small group. Hopefully they just run through and keep going.

Joel’s breath is warm on your cheek, “there’s three,” he whispers.

You nod minutely to signal that you’ve heard him, but you don’t trust your voice to speak. He cranes his neck to peer around the shelf and you watch the tendons shift on his dusky throat. He glances over his shoulder toward you and lifts his index finger to his lips. His dark eyes are pensive, hard, and focused. Like two chips of dark amber, like pieces of obsidian.

You wait, listening, your body crouched and muscles stiffening. The raiders have moved to the south section of the library. You can hear them rifling through things–furniture is moved, either smashed or kicked over, and book pages flap wetly as they are tossed aside.

Joel leans close in again. So close you feel his body heat radiating from him. You smell his sweat again. Your heart threatens to break free from your ribs.

He whispers into your ear, “this place is already picked clean which means they’re probably looking for an old stash. If we take the second floor we can sneak past ‘em.”

You carefully follow Joel’s steps. He’s drawn his revolver, but you keep your own piece holstered at your hip. Your palms are slick, and you don’t trust yourself to hold a gun properly. If these raiders see you–you’re going to run. No question about it.

Joel grimaces, his face taught in concentration, as his shoulder slowly pushes open a rusted, stairwell doorway. Every sound he makes feels like a gunshot, like a noose tightening around your throat. You glance around, paranoid and cautious, before Joel makes a quiet sound in his throat.

You meet his eyes. He flicks them into the created narrow space of the doorway. He wants you to go first. You angle your body to the side, your chest brushes against Joel’s as you pass, and side-step through the door. The touch doesn’t even register until after you’re in the clear and even then–your mind cannot process anything beyond the potential for death, the threat of the raiders.

Your sticky palm holds the door handle and Joel follows you into the stairwell. You muffle your relieved sigh behind your fist. You climb the stairwell like mice trying to avoid an angry housecat. The stairwell is metal and rusted, but it holds your weight and doesn’t creak too much. Joel takes the lead.

His eyes are constantly checking you. They are brief, passing glances. You’re not sure who is more paranoid at this point–you or him. Although, it’s probably you.

You keep checking over your shoulder as if the raiders will appear like ghosts behind you. What will you do if they find you? Where can you run to in this cramped, tinnitus-dangerous stairwell?

Your foot slips as the rusted step gives way. Just your luck, right? You swallow your gasp of alarm, your shout of terror, and your arms windmill to regain your balance.

Joel’s hand shoots out and catches you effortlessly by the wrist. He pulls you forward with surprising, wiry strength and onto the step he’s standing upon. Your cheeks burn. He releases your wrist, nods, and you keep moving.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun has almost fully set by the time you manage to escape the library. The sounds of the raiders on the floor below echoes in your eardrums. Joel led you through the destroyed second floor (which was arguably worse for wear than the first floor). He guided you over wooden planks, and through bookshelves, until you finally climbed out through a broken window and onto the roof.

The warm air tastes so, so sweet.

You plant your hands on your knees, breathing heavily, your sweat drips down your face and over your spine in sticky, moist rivers.

Joel taps your shoulder and signals with a tilt of his head that you need to keep going. At this rate, you’ll reach the hospital by nightfall. Not an ideal situation, but what choice do you have? You have a job to do. You can’t turn away and run back to the QZ with your tail between your legs. The job runs bigger than just you and Joel, and you steal a moment to wonder if Tess told him the details. You push the thought from your mind. There is no use in speculating about Joel and Tess’s relationship. Once the job was done you’d never work together again unless fate played its tricky hand.

Your flashlights cut sharp, white lines through the deserted and overgrown streets. The hospital is derelict and dark. It poses like a forgotten specter over the street. Alongside the destroyed cars and police vehicle, there is an overturned and torched ambulance near the ER entrance. If you were to shine your flashlight into those cars, or the doorway, you have no doubt in your mind that you would find corpses. A chill shivers across your damp skin. You hope there are no infected inside, but it’s a risk you’ll have to take.

You lead Joel around the side of the building and shine your flashlight up toward a broken window. Wordlessly, he situates himself near the brick wall and laces his fingers to hold your foot. You grunt in unison as Joel boosts you into the window. You awkwardly grip the window ledge, avoiding a large piece of glass, and shimmy your torso up and over.

You land and grumble, “fuck.” Your boots crunch on scattered, broken glass.

A quick cursory glance around the room reveals two skeletons sitting upright in their beds. Their clothes and blankets have rotted and are pocketed with moth-eaten holes. Their eye-sockets bloom with dead and ashen fungus that spreads like spidery roots across the wall behind them and stretches toward the ceiling. Their wrists and ankles are secured to the beds with thick, leather clasps. You shine your flashlight over their bodies and golden, empty bullet casings glitter on the floor. Shot dead. There’s no telling when they died–were they shot on day zero? Or did some scavenger pass through and shoot them out of fear or pity?

You take off your coat, bundle it into your arms, and sweep away some of the glass. You pull a rope from your backpack, tying it on a metal bedpost, before you drop it to Joel. The hewn rope cuts into your palms and fingers like woven splinters as you hold it steady.

You release a silent sigh of relief when Joel crests over the window and joins you. Something akin to relief uncoils in your stomach when you see him. It’s not like you expected him to bail or anything. Joel doesn’t strike you as that kind of guy. However, being alone in the hospital, even for a few seconds…is unnerving. You are safer with him beside you. It’s not sentiment or tender, warm feelings creating that thought. It’s pure, survival-based logic.

“The stash is just across the hall.” You whisper.

Joel nods gruffly.

You pull your pistol from its holster and force your arms not to shake as you walk toward the door. It creaks. The hinges are flecked with rust. A constellation of acrid, gray dust plumes and swirls in front of your face. Your flashlight beam bounces over fallen IV poles, and wheelchairs, and gurneys. And corpses. Dozens of corpses. You listen, and breathe, and push the door infinitesimally wider. The hospital yawns and stretches and rises like an old alley cat to meet you. A hundred memories tug at your shirtsleeve and beg for your attention. You tell yourself you cannot indulge in reflection. You must focus on the task at hand. You have to survive this.

You tentatively step across the hallway with your heart lodged in your throat. The ten or so steps it takes to cross the hall feel like a hundred. You are only aware that Joel is following because you can hear his breath. You intentionally mirror him - his inhale and exhale - and a semblance of calm radiates across your worried nerves.

The closet winces open.

The handle of a mop barrels toward you. You inhale sharply through your nostrils.

You catch it before it hits the floor.

Your eyes lift to Joel’s, and he gives you a look that seems to say– “Nice one.” You cannot decide if his look is sarcastic or not. You weasel yourself into the janitor closet and push your fingers behind the plastic bottles of glass-cleaner. You bite the inside of your cheek. What if it’s gone? You don’t know what you’ll do. You don’t know what you’ll say to Tess.

After some blind searching, your fingertips finally touch a plastic bag taped to the underside of the shelf.

Thank fuck.

You tuck the bag of mixed pills into your backpack. You quietly slip from the closet and dip your chin toward Joel.

He raises both eyebrows then whispers, “is it all there?”

“I think so.”

You and Joel return to the first room. Together, you brace the door with whatever spare furniture you can find. Two chairs meant for visitors. An IV pole. Two cheap, wooden nightstands. You hate how flimsy it looks. How vulnerable. An infected could easily break through that.

“That's all we got.” Joel says. “I ain’t risking moving the beds.”

You massage your hand over your neck, “yeah, no shit.”

“We’ll move at first light.”

“Fine.” You remove a ration from your bag. A sense of unease and doubt gnaws at your empty stomach. “Joel…?”

“Hm?”

He looks over at you with an inquisitive, yet chagrined expression. He hears the question in your tone, maybe even wants to answer, but likely hates all this talking. Realistically, you think you and Joel have said less than 50 words to each other. You tear a corner of the ration off with your teeth. It’s chewy and gritty and too salty.

“We’re good here, right?” You ask slowly, your voice sounding far too small for your liking, “I can’t shake the feeling that the raiders followed us.”

Joel shifts his weight. He is silent for a few seconds, his face closed off, his gaze on the fungal skeletons eternally resting in their deathbeds.

Finally, he says; “I’ll keep watch.” He glances at you, “get some rest.”

You doubt you’ll manage anything more than a few fretful minutes, but it’s better than nothing. You don’t want to be jumpy and anxious from a lack of sleep. At this sudden thought, you try to catch Joel’s eyes again.

“What about you?”

He shrugs one shoulder, “I’ll be fine.”

His answer annoys you. You’ve spent the entire day climbing through rubble and avoiding raiders. You brought him to the hospital. You got the stash. You followed through on your end of the bargain and yet…

“You really don’t trust me huh?”

Joel snorts, “not really, no.”

Offended, you cross your arms, “have I done something specifically or is that just your general asshole attitude to everyone?” You ask, snappish.

You know it’s hypocritical. You know it is. You can’t help it. Whether it’s adrenaline wearing off, or hunger, or tiredness that is the cause for your tone doesn’t really matter. Your skin itches with restlessness. Hasn’t Joel been paying attention? You’re not a smuggler like him. You’ve never been outside the walls! You risked your life for this job.

Joel cuts you with his dark gaze. “It’s my attitude toward everyone, yeah.” He replies coldly. “But especially to so-called doctors who somehow aren’t dead or with FEDRA.”

You roll your eyes.

“Oh sorry!” You pat your pockets dramatically, “I don’t have my credentials on me.”

He sighs. The weight on his shoulders deepens. He pinches his brow. Your harsh flashlight illuminates his torso and face in blue-white. His flashlight emits a halo of light. The dark, spidery-fungus frames Joel like two membranous wings. For a passing moment, he appears like a martyr, a patron saint of little patience and years of quiet agony.

“I trust Tess.” He says, “she said we needed you because you knew where this stash was…but you wouldn’t say how you knew…and you wouldn’t tell her where it was or why you needed to go. So, I’m standing here, and I’m thinking that I could’ve done this job with Tess. And if I did then we’d be back in the QZ by now.”

He continues, “you’re inexperienced, you’re jumpy, and it’s a miracle you haven’t stepped on a network yet.”

You flinch.

“So, yeah, doc. I’m having trouble trusting you considering you haven’t done a damn thing to earn it.”

You turn away from him. You’re too old to be sulking, but dammit (and damn him!) you are. Did watching his back not count for anything? Your success in moving stealthily? The fact that you didn’t lose your fucking cool at any point?! Your nostrils flare. You won’t jump over hoops and climb mountains to earn his trust. And why should you?! He’s kept you alive at this point but the same could be said for you. You don’t expect his whole trust, not even half of it, but you expected something. A shred of trust. A scrap.

You settle against your backpack as a pillow and zip up your coat all the way to your chin. The minutes unhurriedly pass in awkward, tense silence.

You realize, bitterly, that you trust him. It’s not fair that he doesn’t trust you in return. A second realization crawls into your mind. And it’s somehow worse than the first.

The fact that you trust Joel (just a little bit!) means that you’ve let him in. You care what happens to him. You want him to survive. Hell, he’s not even a friend! Yet, you don’t see him as baggage or a liability. You don’t see him as a simple asset to your own survival. And yet….and yet…he’s earned a tiny, tiny piece of your trust.

You’ve broken rule number one: don’t let people get close. You always assumed that rule functioned in a primarily receptive way. As in, other people getting close to you and not the other way around. Your eyebrows draw together in annoyance and frustration. Silence stubbornly stretches onward while Joel watches the door and you watch him.

Quietly, you admit, “I used to work here. Not during the outbreak, though. Like, years earlier.” You stubbornly close your eyes to hide Joel’s face from your view, “an ex-resident told me about the pills. She wasn’t able to…obtain…them before they fired her.”

You flick your tongue across your dry lips.

“We were friends.”

You wonder what happened to her. You wonder if she’s alive in some other QZ. You wonder if she’s clean, or if she’s happy. Finally, you wonder if she’s dead. You try to remember the color of her eyes and are met with a void. An empty lot where a memory lived and then was evicted by your mind to make room for something else.

“She asked me to get them for her…but I never did.” You clear your throat, “we stopped being friends after that.”

Rule number one is officially and monumentally fucking broken.

Joel is so goddamn quiet that you suddenly fear he hasn’t been listening. Your eyes snap open. Joel is looking at you–his brow furrowed, his lips gently parted. You’ve seen this expression on his face before. He’s pensive and calm. Usually, this look is reserved for when he’s planning routes of escape.

He asks softly, “you thought she’d come back for it?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, “she was technically banned from the hospital, but she could’ve had someone else do it or…” Your eyes trail upward to the spore-marked ceiling, “gone herself wearing a disguise or something? I don’t know.” You say while laughing weakly.

“And that’s why you wanted to come.” He guesses.

You nod. “I knew there was a chance that I could be wrong. I didn’t want to risk anyone else for that.”

Joel’s mouth thins, “just me.”

“Yeah,” you smile, “just you.”

You sense the fragile truce between Joel and yourself. Satisfied, you close your eyes again and try to settle into a semblance of rest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel shakes your shoulder. Hard. Your mouth instinctively opens to groan or wince and Joel’s hand snaps over your mouth. You groggily blink at him, tugging at his coat sleeve, glaring, but Joel’s expression is pleading. His eyes are big, and sorrowful, and deep, dark brown like roasted coffee. His index finger presses to his lips. You tilt your head and try to speak against his hand. His fingers press a little harder into the meat of your cheek.

A clicking noise echoes down the hallway.

A sour taste of fear floods your senses. Your grip on Joel’s forearm tightens and your eyes widen as if they could somehow absorb all visual stimuli and discover a way out of this new mess. Joel slowly pulls his hand away from your mouth. His eyes side-glance to the window. You’re lucky you had the foresight to clean up some of the glass after your first entry.

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You establish a new knot onto the hospital bed leg and toss the rope out of the window.

Joel jerks his chin to the blossoming, rosy dawn that spills like silk into the room. You peel your jacket from your shoulders and drape it over the broken glass on the windowsill. You’d rather not accidentally slice open an artery while there’s a clicker loose in the building. You squeeze the rope in your hands. Rule #3: Always run if shit goes sideways. You throw your leg over the ledge.

The rope pulls taunt against the bedpost. The metal scrapes against the linoleum. You and Joel share an identical ‘Oh, fuck!’ expression.

The clicker runs through the hallways and knocks over who-knows-what along the way. Always run, always run…You freeze on the ledge. Joel moves toward you. Unthinking, unbidden, your hand drops the rope and grabs Joel by the arm.

You pull him. The world tilts sideways. A sense of vertigo rushes through your body before the ground hits you. All air is forced from your lungs in a painful, tense wheeze. A field of twinkling white stars dance in front of your eyes. Your ribs ache. You suspect more than one of them is bruised from Joel’s weight falling onto yours.

Did it count as breaking rule number three? You ran, but you ensured Joel’s safety as well as your own. Joel lifts you to your feet. His grip is steady and sure.

“C’mon.” He whispers urgently before pulling you with him.

Who are you kidding? Rule number three is definitely broken.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You have the shittiest luck in all of Boston. You and Joel make it nearly halfway to the library (which you are planning to go around) before a raider literally runs into you. His body collides with yours, but he’s faster on the draw with his weapon.

His heavy automatic gun swivels and points to you and Joel.

“Hold it!” There’s a tremor of terror in his voice. You glance around. He’s alone. That’s weird. The raider is wearing a FEDRA issue body vest, camouflage pants, boots, and a visorless motorcycle helmet. His ammunition is strapped over his chest like he’s in a bad 80s action movie.

His watery brown eyes notice the backpacks, “Drop your bags! And any weapons!”

“Easy.” You say, your arms raised, “we’re just passing through. This doesn’t have to get violent.”

“You’re right!” He snaps, “it doesn’t! So, drop the fucking bags and whatever else you have!”

You’re not sure what exactly clues you into the raiders’ next move. Maybe his eyes flick to Joel for a nanosecond. Maybe, you think, he sees Joel as a bigger threat (which is rather misogynistic of him but whatever).

Your feet move before your brain has time to catch up.

The bullet bites into the meat of your leg and you eat a face-full of dirt and gravel. The tiny, jagged rocks burn as they scrape across your skin and rip your palms and chin. You try to pinpoint the pain radiating through your body and roll painfully onto your back. Your lungs are wheezing for air. You prod your jeans with your fingertips to find the bullet entry point. Thank God. The femoral artery and vein isn’t punctured. You’d be dead otherwise.

Your wet bloodied fingers crawl along your thigh and finally find the hole. The relief is minor compared to the pain you’re in. You dig your finger and press against the bullet hole in an agonizing, guttural cry. It feels like a clean shot, but you can’t be sure. Your rule number two (don’t get fucking shot!) has been officially broken. And you did it to save Joel. Your world goes blurry with pain and tears. The muted gray scenery takes a moment to re-focus.

And when it does–you see Joel on top of the raider. His knuckles bloom carnation red. His chest heaves with labored, deep breaths.

“Good.” You murmur, “my risky move paid off.”

“Your risky move nearly got you killed.” He snaps before crouching beside you.

“That’s a weird way to say thank you.” You apply firm pressure to your bullet wound, “he was gonna shoot you.” Weirdly, the thought makes you want to laugh. You bite down on the hysterics bubbling inside your chest. It’s adrenaline. Your body is in shock. You tell this information to yourself like a meteorologist explaining the weather. It helps a little.

Joel scowls. “I had it handled, doc.” His hands shake as he digs through his bag. You decide not to draw attention to it.

Your eyebrow ticks upward toward your hairline, “were you going to glower him to death?”

“Enough.” He holds a rolled bandage in his hand, “let me see.”

“I can walk.” You start to protest and flinch when he reaches for you. “We gotta move out of here.”

“You need your hands.” Goddamn, you think, Joel is a stubborn sonofabitch. You reluctantly pull your hand away from your thigh.

“Clean through?” He asks while wrapping your thigh in gauze.

You wince. The pressure is necessary to halt the bleeding, but it still fucking hurts. “I think so. Yeah. Yeah, hopefully. ” A clean shot without any gun shrapnel or broken bones will be a miracle.

He says, “we’ll get a better look at it later.” You look away from your wrapped leg and meet Joel’s dark gaze. He holds your stare for a beat longer than you expected. You’ve never had much time to look at him–really look at him–and you realize he’s got a handsome, weathered, and tired face. Something inside your chest flutters.

You look away before he does. “Yeah, alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Wincing and breathing heavily, you manage to limp your way through the streets and caved-in buildings. You cling to Joel for support when needed until he finds a safe spot to rest. You help him push an old refrigerator in front of a doorway and black spots dance in front of your vision. The pain radiates through your leg like fire. Your face glistens with sweat.

But before you can topple over, Joel catches your shoulder in his familiar, steady grip. One moment he was standing on the opposite side of the fridge and the next moment he was next to you.

He murmurs, “easy now.” And guides you to sit down and extend your leg. You breathe harshly through your nostrils and squeeze your eyes shut.

“We have to stop the bleeding.”

You hear Joel’s bag unzipping, “I know.”

“There’s a kit in my bag.”

“Okay.” You hear your bag being unzipped. “I see it.” He says.

“Apply pressure and…” You realize distantly that you’re slurring your words, “sterilize the needle…”

“I know.”

You feel his hands on your thigh. His palms and fingers encircle the painful space. You can feel the heat of him, the heat of his touch, his bodily warmth. Your eyelashes flutter open. Joel is so close…his head is bowed, his expression grim and focused, and a little sheen of sweat dappled his wrinkled forehead. Joel pours disinfectant onto his hands and briskly rubs them together. Your blood-soaked bandage is pulled away.

He shines a flashlight into the pulsing, wet wound. Some of your blood has clotted around the entry point in thick, dark red clumps. Your fingers twitch. You want to clean and care for it yourself. You want to stitch it up. But, that would risk too much infection. Your hands aren’t clean. You have to trust Joel and trust that the injury won’t kill you.

“Here, bite down on this.” He says while handing you a faded, colorless cloth bandana. You shove the fabric into your mouth and bite down at the first sharp sting of the needle poking through your skin.

You reach out and clutch Joel’s shoulder for support. Your fingertips dig into his muscles. Your arm trembles as you squeeze him. Your vision goes soft and blurry with tears. The needle bites and bites and bites until your skin is pulled together again. Your sense of time is completely distorted as you walk between worlds on the verge of passing out while crying out in pain.

Joel mutters quietly, “don’t worry. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you here. You’re gonna be alright.”

You think you mumble, “I know.” but you can’t be sure.

When Joel is finished, and the wound is wrapped, the strangest thing suddenly happens. Neither of you move. Your hand remains on his tense shoulder. His hands are applying unnecessary additional pressure to your thigh. Your ragged breath syncs to his. Your eyes burn with tears and sweat that’s dripped from your brow.

Something magnetic draws your gaze to his. He watches you with intensity and something else–something hot and sharp and dark.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask breathlessly.

“You did a stupid thing.” He deadpans.

“He was going to shoot you.” You enunciate every word.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do!” You rush out, your eyes bright from exertion, “I saw it in his face. He was going to shoot you and then me because it would’ve been easier to rob us.”

Joel replies, “he was a scared kid.”

“Fine!” You spit out, “maybe he wasn’t going to shoot us. Maybe he was just going to alert his buddies and then they’d rob us, or kill us, or capture us for their sick amusement. Either way, I don’t regret it Joel, and neither should you!”

The skin under Joel’s collar flushes red, “You got shot!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not dead!”

Joel jerks away from you as if you’ve slapped him. His hands leave your leg, and he pulls the pocket of pills and tiny, injection vials from your bag. You scowl at his coldness, his distance. He scowls at the plastic baggie.

“I recognize some of these…”

You sigh and lean your head against the wall, “not everything in there is for pain.”

“What else is there?” He says while holding a tiny vial of morphine close to his face, “besides this I mean.”

“Antibiotics.” You say, “my friend would sell them…y’know…to people who couldn’t afford it ‘cause of the scam known as the American healthcare system.”

He nods absentmindedly while procuring some pills for you. And he passes his water bottle to you as well. You take both pills (after visually confirming that one was a low-dosage pain medication, and the other was a general antibiotic). You sit in silence while watching the tense rise and fall of Joel’s shoulder out of the corner of your eye.

You say, “I’m not sorry, Joel.”

Joel chuckles under his breath, “yeah, I know.”

He shifts his body and settles next to you with a loud, heavy sigh. His hands are smeared with your blood, the color bright like red poppies or dark like fresh cherries, depending on the angle of the light.

“We have to wait till nightfall to re-enter QZ…” He says and although there’s gruffness to his tone you think you hear warmth in it too (or its the drugs). “In the meantime, you ought to rest.”

“Mhm, yeah, alright.”

Your head lolls sideways and your temple lands on Joel’s warm, solid shoulder. To your surprise and secret delight–he doesn’t push you away. He doesn’t relax or lean into you either. Instead, he’s more like a warm statue. But you don’t mind. You broke all your goddamn rules for him, and you can afford to be a little self-indulgent after the past two days. It won’t kill you.

You’re going to have to establish some new rules once you return to the QZ. (And yes, rule number two should probably remain the same).

Your thoughts drift and carry you into a dreamless, gray void.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Joel folds his arms across his chest, unsmiling, and watching you. Turns out–you are a doctor. (Or at least, you were before the known world ended). You crouch beside a sick kid–obviously the kid is not infected, but sick with something that looks like pneumonia based on how hard the kid is trying to breathe. Their skin is glassy with sweat and every few seconds they cough like they’re going to lose a lung.

Tess gravitates to his side. Her hands slide into the back pockets of her jeans.

She says, “I didn’t even think to consider they were getting the drugs to help other people. I figured it was just more opioids.”

Joel sniffs, “yeah.”

“Did they tell you anything?”

He frowns and shakes his head, “not much.”

“Well, they’re honest. They gave me our agreed upon cut and then some extra.” She glances sidelong at Joel, “would you work with them again?”

He watches you as you talk quietly with someone’s mother. Your expression is smooth and there’s a practiced and comfortable ease in the way you move, the way you talk. Outside the QZ, he considered you a goddamn liability. A nuisance. But, then you took a bullet for him. You dragged him out of a window to flee from a clicker. You risked your life to help these civilians (who probably don’t deserve it). You lean against your cane and walk toward him and Tess.

Joel rubs his jaw and his stubble is scratchy and rough beneath the pads of his fingers. He recalls the weight of your head on his shoulder. He recalls your eyes bright with strain, wide with fear, sparkling with amusement, and narrowed in annoyance. He wants to answer Tess’ question before you reach him.

“Yeah,” answers Joel, “I would.”

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