claire.

it had been nothing more than an ad in the newspaper:

iso roommate. one bed and bathroom available. two men looking for a no-fuss roommate.

you couldn't quite promise the no-fuss part for very long, but you hoped they wouldn't notice your bump right away, your stained tee shirt stretched only a little over it as you waited in the lobby of their building, your duffel sat beside you.

you'd called from a payphone and set up a time to come meet them, your last few dollars spent on a taxi across town. there was no way you'd have been able to walk it, not with your feet already swelling until your shoes pinched around them, so you'd bitten the bullet and paid the fare, praying the entire ride that they would accept you.

you remembered perfectly how it happened: you were sitting on the chaise in the fancy, marble floored apartment building lounge when the elevator dinged and two handsome men walked out. you'd stood immediately, assuming they had to be the ones you were meant to meet, and they made it only a few steps before stopping dead in their tracks when they saw you.

their eyes ever so slowly, and in perfect sync, fell down your body and settled on your swollen belly.

you remembered how your pulse jumped, how your eyes stung, how quickly you were ready to beg and plead and tell them your ex had kicked you out and you had nowhere to go. ready to explain that you were job hunting, that you were searching, that you would pay them rent as soon as you possibly could, that you weren't trying to take advantage of anybody—but then—

"where are you getting your prenatal care?" one of them asked. the taller one.

no hey, hi, how are ya? or how do we know you're not a serial killer? or can you pay security deposit?

"i—" it caught you so off guard that you almost forgot how to answer. "i'm… not."

"why not?"

"i… don't have insurance," you explained. and then, figuring it best not to lie, let the rest tumble out in a rush: "i'm trying to find a job right now, but you can't fill out an application without an address, and I can't wait for emails or callbacks without a cell phone, and most people take one look at me and know that, well, one day i'm gonna pop and be unavailable for work for at least a week or two and—"

the taller one shook his head, holding both hands up.

that was it, you knew it. done. get out. you can't even pay us rent, you freeloader.

the shorter one, the one with gorgeous graying curls and a stubble covered face, round shoulders under his shirt and sweet hazel eyes, looked between his taller company and you before his gaze dropped to the duffel sitting on the couch behind you.

"is that all you have, sweetheart?"

you nodded.

they looked at each other again, and words like burden, freeloader, needy swept through your brain, already bracing to hear every one of them all the way to the door when they kicked you out. it wouldn't be anything new—you'd heard worse from your shitty ex, anyway.

instead, they found each other's eyes and seemed to have an entire wordless conversation in the span of a few seconds.

"i'm jack, this is robby. let's get you upstairs."

the shorter one—jack—said it while passing behind you to grab your bag.

your mouth fell open.

"wait—wha—?" you gasped.

robby came up beside you, taller up close than he'd looked across the lobby, dark hair, thick beard, one arm lifting behind you without quite touching. his hand hovered near your shoulder blade, guiding you forward while leaving you room to pull away. "come with us."

it was a voice that sounded like gravel dipped in honey and stirred into warm tea. comforting, authoritative, tired. you only stared at him.

"are you…sure?"

jack pressed the elevator button and robby kept ushering you forward. and suddenly you were standing between two strangers inside a mirrored elevator, your entire life hanging off jack's shoulder while the doors slid shut behind you. the ride up was silent as you watched the numbers climb up and up and up.

'how far along are you?' robby asked then. you turned toward him and realized how close the three of you had gotten in the small space, how much room their bodies took up around yours.

"i'm not really certain," you admitted, your hand settling over your belly. "i haven't even gotten a scan yet. i don't know what she looks like."

"she?" jack asked. when you looked at him, he was smiling.

your mouth finally gave in and did the same. you shrugged. "it's just a feeling. a hunch."

jack looked down at your stomach, then back at you. "well, we're gonna take very good care of you and miss peanut."

and now—months later—you were on your back with your belly nearly double the size it had been that first day, jack's thick cock rocking slowly in and out of you until your eyes fell closed and your mouth dropped open.

"this should help you go into labor, baby," jack murmured, the words breaking around a low moan.

"oh, jackie, it feels so good…"

jack’s hips kept moving in slow, measured strokes, one hand braced beside your head while the other slid beneath the heavy curve of your belly, taking some of the weight from you. you let out another little sound when he pressed deeper, your fingers tightening around his wrist.

“that’s it,” he murmured, watching your face. “been carrying her around all morning, huh? let me do some of the work.”

you nodded, breath catching when he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“feels better?”

“mhm.”

"gonna give mike a try too, baby?"

you nodded, eyes fluttering open to find him waiting patiently beside the bed. you reached for him immediately, making little grabby hands that pulled an amused smile from his mouth.

your body was overtired lately, carrying all that extra weight becoming more exhausting by the day, and getting off your feet that morning had felt close to bliss. you'd tried making them a big breakfast, figuring there wouldn't be many quiet mornings like this left once peanut came, but robby had taken one look at your ankles and jack had seen how you kept bracing yourself against the counter, and that had been the end of that.

somehow, you'd gotten the luck of a four leaf clover with the two men whose newspaper ad you'd answered. two doctors for roommates, both of them working strange enough hours that sometimes you went an entire day barely seeing either of them and had the whole penthouse to yourself, and sometimes they were both home at once and the day unfolded exactly like this. breakfast and coffee in the morning, a few hours tangled together on the couch with books open in your laps, one of them eventually getting fresh with his hands or his mouth until whatever you'd been reading was forgotten, and the three of you ending up back in bed.

it hadn't always been like this, though.

it took you a while to feel less like a stray trying to become an indoor cat, waiting for the day somebody realized they'd made a mistake bringing you home. you kept trying to earn your place long after they'd stopped asking anything from you—offering to cook, clean, pay them back somehow. Meanwhile they seemed far more interested in getting you to your ob appointments and making sure you took your prenatals in the evening when you were the least nauseous.

they rubbed your feet, worked the tension out of your shoulders, jack sang off key to the baby while robby pretended he wasn't listening, then got caught doing the exact same thing when he thought you were sleeping.

and you'd been right, by the way. there really was a sweet little girl growing inside you.

they talked about her constantly after that first scan together, both of them fascinated by her and by you. how you'd grown a spine, a heart, a brain, and ten little fingers from scratch. they talked about you like it was the most impressive thing they'd ever seen despite both of them having spent their entire adult lives saving people in the emergency department.

and they talked about after, too. how you wouldn't have to lift a finger while you recovered. how somebody would always be there. how excited they were to meet her, feed her, carry her around the apartment at three in the morning if that was what she needed.

you weren't entirely sure when being roommates stopped explaining what the three of you were.

and the sex had crept in almost the same way everything else had.

there had already been so much touching by then that the first kiss didn't feel like it came from nowhere. robby's hand at your back when you stood. jack rubbing your swollen feet across his lap. falling asleep against one of them on the couch. kissing their cheeks when they left for work, then their mouths when one of those kisses accidentally landed too close and neither of you pulled away.

the first time you'd actually offered yourself to them had been after a long shift they worked together, both of them coming through the door looking completely wrecked. you'd try to lighten their moods by teasing that since they still wouldn't take your money, maybe you could find another way to earn your rent.

the joke had died off pretty quickly because by then, none of you really wanted it to be a joke.

there had been a conversation before anything happened, and another after, because robby especially refused to let you turn it into something you owed them. you lived there because they wanted you there. peanut lived there because they wanted her there. whatever happened between the three of you had to be because you wanted that too.

and you did.

very much so.

and maybe the point of no return was actually earlier than that, when you'd been caught calling them peanut's daddies without thinking. it was almost just a little whisper to yourself, anyway, when you'd be folding clothes or putting away dishes, thinking they were out of earshot.

your daddies buy you too many onesies, peanut. you'd whispered. and when you'd looked up from your laundry, you saw two tired attending physicians in the doorway, their mouths fallen open and their eyes wide. their faces had gone soft almost immediately, neither of them correcting you.

after that, it slipped out more often. from your mouth and from theirs.

your daddies are here, peanut, do you wanna say hi?

your daddy jack bought you another blanket.

gonna kick for daddy mikey, peanut?

and every time, they got that same look. something tender softening their faces, something warm whenever their eyes lifted to your belly back at you.

it was nothing short of perfect, what the three of you had. more than you could have ever wanted or imagined for yourself and your little girl.

your brain was brought back to the present when robby slotted himself between your legs now, one hand running along the outside of your thigh, hiking it up around his hips.

"you're so wet for us, baby. this all for me and jack, hm?"

you nodded, hands closing around his arms when he pressed into you. the stretch pulled a gasp from your throat, your thighs tightening around his body as he sat back on his haunches to watch himself.

"sh, sh, sh. s'okay," he murmured, eyes flicking up to your face. "take it like a good girl. gonna make you feel so much better."

and he usually did. both of them did.

somehow, being filled by one of them lately seemed to soothe half the things pregnancy had decided to inflict on you. the cramps eased afterward. your lower back loosened. even the headaches sometimes faded once they had you boneless against the mattress with one of them rubbing your belly and the other bringing you water.

"peanut's gonna be here any day," robby murmured, settling into a rhythm that had your fingers tightening around his arms. "wanna take care of you, baby. gonna let us take care of you?"

"yes, mikey—oh god, just like that—"

jack had moved up to lay beside you, one hand spreading over the heavy curve of your belly while his mouth found your neck.

"what a good girl," he murmured against your skin. "takin' him so well. he's big, huh?"

you nodded, your face pinching when robby pushed deep again.

"that's it, that's it," jack encouraged, lifting his head to look down at you. "oh, mike, i think she's close. look at her."

the other's eyes stayed fixed on your face.

"yeah, i can feel her tightening around me. fuck, baby." his hand slid beneath your thigh up to your knee to hold you open for him. "you gonna come for your daddies, huh?"

"yes, yes, yes—"

"yes, what, darling?" jack asked, his hand moving from your belly to your jaw, turning your face toward him before he pressed a wet kiss against your mouth.

"yes, daddy, oh, please, please, please—"

"there you go," jack murmured against your lips. "let mikey feel it. he loves when you come for him. i love it too. we love you, sweetheart, c'mon—"

your lips started to wobble before the rest of you gave in, love and pleasure and sheer relief piling together until the orgasm finally crested. it tightened through your thighs and pulled hard through your hips, your pussy clenching around robby while the rhythm of his hips stuttered against you.

he groaned at the same time you cried out, and jack followed only moments later—his cock spilling warm across your belly while his mouth still pressed against yours.

robby stayed between your thighs, heaving in breaths. jack's hand remained spread over your stomach, thumb moving across the stretched skin.

then peanut kicked directly beneath his palm, and he sat up just enough to look down.

"oh, now you wake up."

you laughed weakly, still trying to catch your breath.

robby's hand moved over the other side of your belly.

"she says get me the heck outta here," he chuckled.

"gladly," you chuckled, folding your arm across your eyes. "you'll be wishing you hadn't said that when you're up at three in the morning with a crying baby, by the way."

"mmm, don't think so," robby groaned, finally easing down onto the other side of you. he reached for the tissues on the nightstand, cleaning jack's spend from your skin before tossing them toward the wastebasket beside the bed. "i've worked enough night shifts. at least this one'll be cute."

"you say that now."

"and i'll say it at three."

jack bent to kiss the top of your belly, his mouth pressing there before he whispered, "good morning, peanut."

your hand went automatically to his hair, fingers lacing through the mess of curls while another little movement rolled beneath your skin.

"she likes your voice," you murmured.

'like mother like daughter,' robby chuckled.

you laughed together again, quieter this time, your body sinking deeper into the mattress while the two of them settled in on either side of you. robby's palm stayed cupped around the curve of your belly, jack's cheek resting just beneath your ribs, both of them waiting for another kick like they had nowhere else in the world to be.

Going to shoot pool at the bar was Frank’s idea of a fun, relaxing fortieth birthday celebration. Peter tried to talk him into dinner, trying out the new reclining theatre seats at the cinema—literally anything other than having to surround himself with old, angry drunks who cared far too much about some numbered balls on a table. You didn’t have any qualms with it, though. It was just another excuse for you and your boyfriend, Peter, to get out of your stuffy apartment, still not quite over the way your brand new AC unit broke ten days into the New York summer heat. 

Plus, no one really had any complaints when they watched you bend over the pool table, aiming your pool stick with careless precision after one too many beers. Peter’s eyes were glued to your ass, desperate to find out the color of your panties every time your tight-fitting denim skirt lifted in the back. 

Frank did all he could to not let his gaze wander, forcing his attention to stray every time he saw your ass perked up in the air when you arched your back over the side of the table. But every time you turned to him, frowning up at him with your big, round eyes, after missing your shot, it took every ounce of his feeble self-restraint to not melt completely. 

He’d always had a soft spot for you, but seeing you like this—with a hazardous amount of liquid courage pumping through his system and your short skirt barely fitting over the curve of your ass—he couldn’t tame the twisted desires that penetrated his mind.

“Frank,” you whined innocently, growing irritated that you were losing, missing your target for the nth time.

The muscle in his jaw tensed at your pleading tone, but he forced a cheeky grin. “I told you, darling. You can’t beat me.”

He was positioned on a bar stool, one leg propped on the rod between the legs of the stool, and the other lazily spread. His hands were resting on top of his pool stick when you caught the slur in his cocky tone.

Your eyes rolled, gaze sluggishly moving to your boyfriend, who was taking up the stool on the other side of the table that split him and Frank, sipping on his beer and chuckling at you. 

Shoulders sagging, you glanced back at Frank. “Well, can you help me?”

He nearly choked on his drink. “Help you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, frowning over at the pool table. “Help me aim better.” 

Frank’s gaze shot to Peter, not necessarily looking for approval, just curious to know what his reaction would be. Tilting back the rest of his beer, Peter just swirled the empty bottle.

“I’m gonna go get another,” he announced nonchalantly, placing his hand on the small of your back as he passed between you and Frank. He eyed you softly, like he always did. “You need one, angel?”

You shook your head. “No, I‘m good,” you told him, nodding over at your bottle on the table that was still full. 

He nodded, effortlessly kissing your temple with a quick peck before carrying on to the bar. 

For a moment, you just observed him. The way he had a lazy stride, like there was something weighing him down with each footstep. His hair was growing out, curling at the ends in a way that made you want to tangle your fingers in it, and the T-shirt he was wearing was a little too tight around his biceps, the fabric bunching over the ridges of his muscles.

When Peter left the area, shimmying through the thick crowd to the bar, your longing gaze danced back over to Frank. 

“So—” you rested your chin on the tip of your pool stick, smirking up at him “—you gonna help me, or what?”

Frank licked his lips, pushing himself off his stool with a huff. He took one last long gulp of his beer before closing the space between the two of you. 

“Let me see this thing,” he said, voice gruff and lazy from the number of beers he’d downed. You let him take the pool stick from you, your eyes glued on his profile as he studied it. “Your problem’s your focus. You can’t let your eyes off your target.” The front of your body grazed his, the sharp outline of his belt buckle scraping your stomach, as he repositioned himself. “Here. Let me show you.”

You chewed on your bottom lip to simmer the excitement that coursed through your veins when he offered his guidance. 

His hand slowly moved to your back, gently nudging for you to return to your position against the pool table, the same position that had become permanently engrained in the back of his dark mind. 

Holding the pool stick at your side, you slowly slid the tip of it onto the table, slipping it between your fingers. In order to get a better view of the path needed to hit the white ball onto your striped number seven, your top half lowered to the table. 

Frank was right there with you, a reluctant inch separating him from your arched back. 

A snicker spilled out of you, registering his hesitance, but he ignored it. His thoughts were too busy trying to strengthen his self-restraint. 

“You gotta lower the tip. If you hit the top of the ball, it’ll spin against you,” he explained, voice gruff and too close to your ear. 

You raised the hand that was balancing the hilt of the stick, your tongue grazing your bottom lip in concentration. “Like this?”

“Uh-uh,” he grunted, head shaking. 

Huffing in frustration, your muscles sagged. “Can you just show me? I don’t get what you mean.”

You knew exactly what he meant, but your body was writhing in nervous flutters with him close, but not close enough to satisfy the craving you had. 

He exhaled heavily, standing up and leaning down over top of you. Achingly slow, his hands slid down your arms to guide your grip in the correct position. “Just like—” his hips dug into your backside, hand forcing its way into the grip you had on the stick “—that.”

“Oh.” You stifled your smirk. 

The move you made next was careless. Beneath him, you arched your back further, ass sticking up to where his hips were. 

A ragged breath came out Frank, his jaw screwed tight enough to splinter. “Don’t do that,” he breathed, a fragile warning. 

You giggled, smirking at the power you suddenly had over him. He wasn’t making any move to shift away from you. The small motion you added with your hips, pressing harder against his growing bulge, was just a taunt. 

“I saw you watching me,” you told him, voice barely above a whisper. 

When his dark eyes flashed to yours, you blinked slowly. 

The way you batted your lashes was enough to break the mental chains holding him back. He didn’t respond. 

He wasn’t able to deny the way he’d been silently haunting the corner of the pool room, eyes transfixed on you each time you bent over the side of the table, imagining what it would feel like for him to bend you over in front of him, having his way with you.

You bought your lips up to his ear. “Don’t worry, Frank,” you whispered. “I won’t tell.”

Frank’s thoughts spiralled, frozen and glued to you despite how wrong it felt. 

You were his friend’s girlfriend. You were half your age. It was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, he repeated in his head like a pointless mantra. 

He shook his head, forcing himself out of his own head, and loosened the grip he had on you. With shaky steps, he slowly backed off of you. 

Your head followed him, the same smirk eating away at your full lips that he couldn’t take his eyes off of. 

“That’s fine.” You sighed, returning your attention to the pool stick and then down to your target. “I think I got it now.”

Your back was still arched in a way that felt illicit, the curve of your spine making a shape Frank knew would forever be stuck in his deepest, darkest thoughts. Your skirt had rode up from where he’d been pressed against you and when you sunk back, fixing your aim just before shooting, he saw it. The swollen mound between your legs that was clung with red, lacey panties, leaving little to the imagination. 

It was barely a glimpse, he thought he’d made it all up in his mind for a moment. 

When the tip of your chalked pool stick slammed into the white ball, you bit down on your lip with apprehension, hoping you wouldn’t miss again. 

Peter walked back through the crowd with a fresh beer when the striped number seven ball clattered into the corner pocket, his attention immediately falling on his overly-enthused girlfriend. 

Guilt immediately crashed through Frank’s chest. He could barely look at Peter, knowing he had just felt the outline of his girlfriend’s curvaceous figure on his body, felt the softness of your skin against his calloused hands, drowning in the worst thoughts about you. 

“You make it in?” Peter asked you with a proud look on his chiseled features. His tongue sunk into his jaw, coughing out a laugh.

You nodded, jumping up and down with excitement. “Frank helped me.”

Frank’s heart hammered in his chest when Peter’s gaze met his. The younger guy just smirked at him, though, raising a curious brow. “Good man.”

There wasn’t a good thing about himself, Frank thought. 

He suddenly had a desire to suppress the awful things he was feeling, knowing another Corona wouldn’t do the trick. 

He huffed and told you and Peter, “I’m gonna get a drink,” before exiting the pool room in quick strides. 

But you caught the way he adjusted his hardened length when his back turned to the two of you.

When Frank eventually returned to the pool room, nursing an old fashioned and grieving his shredded dignity, Peter was sitting back on his stool, legs spread, peering over at Frank while sipping his beer with his arm slung around you from your standing position next to him. 

You tilted your head up at your boyfriend, whispering something Frank couldn’t make out from his distance. It wasn’t until he returned to his side of the bar table, setting his drink down and stuffing his wadded dollar bills into his wallet from paying the bartender, that he heard your small voice tell Peter, “he wants it, trust me.”

Frank’s eyes twitched, curious gaze flashing up to you and Peter, whose lips were smirking around the rim of his glass beer bottle at whatever his girlfriend was telling him. 

You inched away from Peter so you could see his face better. Your brows raised inquisitively, searching for approval. He tilted his chin, nodding with a soft smile. 

Peter slid off his stool, adjusting his grip on his pool stick before going over to the table. He was aiming for the solid number two, back turned to you and Frank, when Frank slid back on his stool with uncertainty running through his thoughts. 

Frank understood something had shifted while he’d been at the bar, but he just couldn’t figure out what it was. 

You made your way around the table cautiously, slowly stepping closer to Frank. 

When those big, round, puppy dog eyes of yours flashed up to him again, his chest heaved. It wasn’t until your hands fell on his knees—slowly crawling their way up his thick, muscular, jean-clad thighs—that he felt the closest he’d ever been to a cardiac arrest. 

“Wha—What are you doin’?” Frank asked, leaning as far back in his seat that he could, as if that would somehow mark him safe from the way he craved your wondrous touch. 

You grinned up at him, finger nails digging into the impenetrable muscle of his thigh. “It’s okay, Frank. Peter doesn’t mind.”

His brows stitched together. “The hell you mean?”

Ignoring his confusion, you slid your petite frame between his spread legs, hands moving from the tops of his thighs to his rock-hard abdomen, feeling the outline of his rigid, toned stomach beneath his T-shirt. 

With your eyes exploring along with your touch, you could feel his shaky nerves, the invisible currents of electricity coursing the warmth of his skin. 

“Do you like this?” you whisper, eyes flicking up to his dark, dilated pupils. “You like me touching you?”

Your name spilled from his lips, caught somewhere between a plea and a warning. 

He should have backed off, politely told you that you were taking it too far, warned you of how much chaos could ensue because of your reckless actions. But he didn’t. Because he did like it. He liked it so much, he exhaled through gritted teeth when your hand snaked up his chest further, your head tilting so your nose brushed his sharp jaw, lips grazing the smooth skin of his neck.

“This isn’t right,” he managed to say, resisting the urge to grab your waist and bring you closer to him. 

You pulled away just enough to look at him. “If it feels good, it can’t be wrong, Frank.”

Your small hands moved to his much larger ones that were resting at his side, guiding them to where you knew he wanted them to be. One placed on your waist, the other on your chest. 

You maintained eye contact with him the whole time as his warm palm pressed against the exposed skin of your chest, right above the hem of your tank-top. 

“Do you feel that?” you asked, hoping he could feel the rushing rate of your heart—an example of how badly you wanted him. 

He brought his bottom lip between his teeth, exhaling through his nose. His hand subconsciously tightened around your waist, sinking deeper into your skin. 

“Yeah,” he muttered just as some newfound sense of bravery overcame him. 

He moved the hand that was pressed to your chest, gripping yours and moving it to the bulge forming in his suddenly too-tight jeans. 

He cocked a brow. “Do you feel that?”

Your eyes dropped to his lap splayed before you, hand moving along the outline of his hardened dick. A curious moan vibrated in your throat, sizing him up. 

There was always something about Frank that enticed you. Always so closed-off and angry with the world. But the more time you spent with him—thanks to his friendship with Peter—you saw there was much more to him than that. 

His guarded walls broke slowly. It took him time to realize you weren’t a threat. You often helped stitch up his cuts when you found yourself at his warehouse by the harbor with Peter, knowing all too well how the two of them avoided hospitals like the plague. His lifestyle would scare most people, but it didn’t phase you. If anything, it just worried you the same way it did with Peter. The threat of something going wrong, something hurting either one of them, kept you up at night. 

It wasn’t until a couple months ago that something changed. Frank no longer looked at you as Peter’s little girlfriend, a risk personified, that knew too much about them. Instead, he started seeing you for what you were. Tough, quick-witted, a little too reckless for your own good. Fucking gorgeous.

He would pretend not to be phased when he would barge into your shared apartment with Peter, finding you on the couch in nothing but a big T-shirt and shorts that were short enough to be classified as panties. When you would purposefully brush your ass against him when shimming past him in the slim hall of his kitchen, he’d have to teach himself how to breathe again. 

The night he accidentally walked in on you getting out of the shower when Peter told him the bathroom was free, not knowing, he nearly lost himself. The sight of your naked body, your curves perfectly shaped before him, and the way you didn’t immediately rush to grab your towel and scream at him to get out. All of it resided in the back of his mind. 

He would think about you often, especially at night when he was restless and tossing back and forth in bed. Sometimes, at a weak point, he’d touch himself to the thought of you. Thinking of what you’d look like with your hands on him. 

It was all wrong, though, he knew that. 

He would never do anything to purposefully hurt Peter, despite their constant bickering and bullshit. You belonged to Peter, not him. But a creative imagination didn’t harm anyone. 

However, now that he had you in front of him, palming his dick in a way that he never could have imagined in his wildest dreams, his resilience was wavering. 

Peter’s solid number two ball fell into the pocket with what felt like an ear-piercing crash. It really wasn’t anything but a soft thud, but it felt like sirens going off in the back of Frank’s mind. 

Straightening his posture, Peter’s eyes moved to where you were standing between Frank’s legs. Something in the air thickens, no one making any move to stop what was happening, but no one urging it on either. 

Your hand grips his bulge, lips pursed with needy anticipation. “Do you wanna come back to the apartment with us?”

Frank’s dick twitched beneath your touch. “Us?”

The realization dawned on him the minute his dark eyes trailed over to Peter, who was watching the two of you with an odd fixation. One hand was propped on the edge of the pool table, shouldering his weight, while a faint smirk spread on his lips.

“He likes it,” you whispered to Frank, noticing his apprehension.

That kinky bastard, Frank thought. Of course.

Frank’s jaw muscle ticked when he looked back down at you, riddled with confusion but suddenly incredibly intrigued. “What exactly is it that he likes, darling?”

With your back still turned to Peter, you carefully pull yourself up on your tip-toes, lips moving to the side of Frank’s neck. Before pressing a sloppy kiss on the skin, you breathe out a quick, “This.” Your hand continues working his erection, desperately wanting him to get over his hesitation and understand your need for him. For both of them.

Your free hand takes his, bringing it down to the hem of your skirt between the two of you. You push his big hand under the denim fabric, telling him exactly where you wanted him without having to utter a word.

The second his fingers grazed the outline of your warmth, a shudder rolled through your body. The soft movement—the sharp breath against his skin—caused a barely audible grunt to escape his tight throat. 

He took his time, lowering his fingers agonizingly slow, until they were met with the damp, puddled patch of your arousal between your quivering thighs. It was a miracle you were still standing, completely losing your strength with his touch. 

A shallow breath came from his parted lips when he allowed himself to rub a gentle circle around the wetness, wanting so badly to know what you felt like beneath your drenched panties.

For a moment, he forgot Peter was still standing a few feet away from the two of you. He forgot the two of you were at a bar. He forgot it was his turn at the table. He forgot his own fucking name. He forgot everything. 

The only thing he could think of was the feeling of you this close to him, the delicate shape of your folds beneath your panties, the firm grip you had on his dick.

“Come on,” you whispered, pulling away from him slightly. You were reaching your breaking point. Your desire to feel more—to have more—was eating you alive. “Come with us.”

Frank’s lethargic vision shot to Peter, who made slow strides over to the two of you. Completely unphased by what was unfolding before him, he set his pool stick against the wall with the row of others and picked up his beer off the table.

Peter took a swig of it, then another, and looked over at Frank. “Don’t be a pussy, Frank.”

“Yeah, Frank—” you drawled, backing away from him with a cheeky grin, “—don’t be a pussy.” It sounded like a teasing jest, but it was pure desperation in your voice. 

Earning a chuckle from Peter, who reached out to grab your hand and drag you towards him, you fell into his grasp like it was second nature. His arm held you in, wrapped around your waist as the both of you studied Frank.

Frank dragged a hand down his face, trying to think about how he got himself in this position. 

“This is so fucked up.” His eyes darted over at Peter. “You’re okay with this shit?” he asked, still reeling in disbelief.

Peter tilted his head with a taunting expression on his face. “You mean am I okay with you touching my girlfriend like that?” His voice was sharp, almost accusing, but you knew he was messing with Frank. He was always messing with Frank. As soon as Frank’s expression hardened, your boyfriend coughed out a laugh. “Yes, Frank. I’m okay with it.”

Still simmering in Frank’s silence, your boyfriend pulled his wallet out of his pocket without disengaging the way he was holding you. “Don’t leave her hanging, man.”

Your index finger’s nail was between your teeth, biting down with a sloppy little grin on your face when Frank raked you over once more with his dark eyes. 

For a long moment, the two of you just stared at each other. You knew Frank was still trying to figure out if the two of you were pulling some evil little trick on him, but the way your heart was thumping with enthusiastic anticipation, you didn’t care.

All you wanted was for him to agree, so the three of you could go home and you could find some relief from the agonizing desperation pooling between your legs. 

It took five minutes, if that, for Peter to close out his tab and for Frank to get his shit together long enough to leave the bar. 

By the time the three of you walked out into the warm, mid-August night air, you debated having one of them hail a taxi so you could get back home quicker. But Frank and Peter had a weird thing with public transportation. They didn’t trust anyone, let alone some potentially ill-intented taxi driver. 

Some nights, when the streets were quiet and there was no one around to question it, Peter would swing you home with his organic web, laughing every time you burrowed your head into the crook of his neck or screamed when he got a little too fast with it. 

You wondered what Frank did to get places quickly. He had some big, armored truck once, but Peter told you he wrecked that during some eventful run-in with a “bad guy.” His words, of course.

Walking home was seemingly Peter’s motive this evening. One of his arms was lazily draped over your shoulder, his other hand was stuffed in the front pocket of his jeans. 

Frank walked a few steps behind you, matching your pace with precision.

You noticed him do that a lot. Whenever the three of you would walk the streets, Peter was always at your side, and Frank was always right behind you. 

Initially, you assumed it was his way of keeping you safe. It definitely was, but now you found yourself wondering if he just wanted to watch the way your ass shook when you walked. 

Frank had lit a cigarette from his crushed pack of Marlboro reds. He took a long drag, blowing a cloud of smoke that floated between you and Peter, causing your boyfriend to snap his head around with an annoyed expression. 

“Are you smoking?” he gaped, face scrunched. 

The older man shrugged, flicking ash on the concrete mid-stride.

Peter scoffed. “Since when do you smoke?” 

“Only do it in high-stress situations,” Frank told him with a comically calm tone.

You craned your neck to look back at him, laughing. “Awe, are you stressed, Frankie?” Your bottom lip poked out just to tease him, the streetlamp reflecting off your shiny lipgloss. 

Frank wanted to taste it. “A bit,” he grumbled. 

You slowly slipped yourself out of Peter’s grasp, causing both men to halt in their tracks. They always stayed extremely close when out in public. You never really thought about anything with them. What could possibly go wrong when New York’s beloved Spider-man and the man the news called The Punisher were at your side?

Turning on your heels, you reached out and grabbed Frank’s belt buckle. He was so tall compared to you, it was right within your reach. You intended to pull him into you, but he was completely immovable, the action only caused you to stumble forwards into him. 

Chuckling at your own actions, you peered up at Frank. “You don’t need to be stressed.”

“Yeah?” he tilted his head down at you, absolutely at a loss of willpower with you on him. “Why’s that?”

“Because—” laughter spilled out of you “—we’re gonna have so much fun.”

He blew out a cloud of smoke, angling it away from your face, and reeled.

He wanted to be hesitant. Hesitance would be a completely logical feeling. It would be entirely normal for him to feel a bit of apprehension about the plan you’d concocted to have them both, given that wasn’t something Frank had ever partook in.

But he wasn’t hesitant. Not anymore, at least.

Beyond his confusion regarding what exactly it was that he was getting himself into, it was complete and utter lust that coursed through him. Lust for you. 

He wanted you in all the ways he’d imagine when he was laying in bed at night, fucking himself with his own hand, or in the shower with his forehead pressed to the tile, picturing it was your pretty, glossy lips around his cock.

Peter could sense it. He wasn’t fucking stupid—he saw the way Frank always looked at you, like he wanted to devour you. He had just been waiting for it to all come to a head. 

He called it sharing. Sounded innocent and less vulgar that way. He liked sharing you, knowing it was him that you always chose. It was him that you were completely devoted to—always would be. 

You were hesitant when he’d talked about it one day, asking him, “Isn’t that cheating?” He’d laughed at you and countered with, “Not if I’m giving it to you, too, angel.”

There was some deep, dark part of him that sprung to life when you were being fucked by someone else, trembling with pleasure, and the only name you moaned was his. Because you were his.

Walking up the stairs to your apartment because the elevator was under maintenance for the third time this month, felt like a chore. But your footsteps were eager.

Both men were on your trail as you skipped up the echoing stairwell, their attention trained on the view they had up your skirt. 

“The red ones, angel?” Peter joked, playfully lifting the back of your skirt. “Must be a special occasion.”

Frank’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight, earning a taunting laugh from your boyfriend. Peter turned to the man next to him, smirking devilishly just as you swatted his hand away.

“You like what you see, old man?” Peter asked, nudging Frank’s side.

You briefly glanced back at him, curious to what his answer would be. He just rolled his eyes. 

“Playing hard to get, Frankie?” you probed, finally reaching your floor. 

He tilted his chin up, towering over you. “Never that, darling.”

Peter pulled the stairwell door wide and your gaze hung on Frank as you backed into the hallway. 

There wasn’t a single light on in the apartment when the three of you walked through. It was unbearably hot, very little airflow in the small place due to the broken AC failing to combat the summer heat. You kicked off your shoes, inching further into the apartment to flip on the lamp by the couch. 

Peter tossed his keys on the kitchen counter, raking a hand through his dark waves.

Frank had been inside your apartment countless times, but, for some reason, it all felt new to him. The colors on the thrifted rug in the living room seemed brighter, the humming of the refrigerator felt louder, and the smell was visceral. It smelled like the candle you always kept burning, the same one you’d bought Frank to keep at his place after stating it smelled “like death” one time.

But over all the vibrance, sounds, and smells, was the tension brewing. It was sharp enough to cut, weighing on your shoulders like a tangible object.

Peter rounded the couch, falling back on the center cushion. 

A second passed of more silence before he cocked his head up at Frank. He furrowed his brows. “You just gonna stand there like some creep?”

Frank rolled his eyes. “The fuck you want me to do, Pete? I just walked in the door.”

Your boyfriend shifted on the couch, finding a more comfortable view of you where you were standing in the center of the living room.

He tilted his head, ushering Frank to come closer. “Kiss her.”

Peter was a very matter-of-fact person. Usually, Frank was, too. There was a zero tolerance policy regarding bullshit in their friendship. 

But, for a moment, Frank genuinely thought Peter was bullshitting. 

“You just gonna watch, or some shit?” Frank asked him, unsure.

Your boyfriend’s head lulled back, laughter spilling out of him. “You think I’m just gonna sit back and watch you fuck my girl, like some cuck?”

Frank shrugged. “I don’t know what your freaky ass is into.”

The back and forth between the two of them was becoming unbearable. Your core was aching with an insatiable need. All the talk was causing you to fluster, growing desperate and needy.

It seemed Frank felt the same. In three quick strides, he was right up against you, peering down at you from his height.

“You want me to kiss you?” he asked you.

Your lips curled. “Amongst other things.”

It was like lightning. That was what it felt like when his lips crashed onto yours. It was soft at first, a slow, deep peck. He pulled away for half a second, studying your face, before colliding back with you. 

The second time his lips met yours, there was a newfound sense of hunger in his movements. 

His lips parted, tongue running along your lips, begging to get through so he could taste you. When you let him in, your tongues tangled around each other's. teeth grazing. 

It was a desperate kiss, sloppy and wet, but it had you completely folding. 

The minute your fruit-flavoured lipgloss met Frank’s tastebuds, he was lost. He was lost in the kiss, lost in you. God, he wanted to be in you. 

Your arms draped his shoulders, interlocking around his neck to force him down, keeping him as close to you as possible. His hands wandered about your body, reaching around to grip your ass. 

He pulled your skirt up without a thought, hands gripping the flesh of your ass with a throaty grunt. The skin was so soft and plump in his touch, he felt a shudder roll through his body.

His hands reached down to your thighs, picking you up off the floor with such effortless ease. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to the couch without breaking the kiss. 

Peter’s jaw was taut with tension, watching every move you made with such precision, it was borderline obsession.

He stood up, giving Frank the space to lay you down on the cushions. But your legs were still so tightly bound around him, it forced him down on top of you. 

You reached down to the hem of his shirt, silently begging him to remove it. 

In response, he broke the kiss, standing up off the couch to shrug it off, while you situated yourself on the couch. 

“You, too,” you said to Peter between shaky breaths, gesturing to his shirt.

Your boyfriend tore off his T-shirt in one swift motion, kneeling down to crawl on top of you the same way Frank had. 

Propping himself up with hands next to your head, he peered down at you and smirked. “You, too, angel.”

You rolled your eyes at his show. “You do it.”

Peter obliged, digging his fingers under the hem of your tank-top and lifting it over your head, leaving your top half completely exposed. You never wore a bra, especially when it was as hot as it was outside. 

Neither of the two men admiring the way your perky tits sat seemed to have any qualms about it. 

You took a second to eye the two of them, reeling over their tanned, muscular chests. Your brain lapsed over the sight of the hair trailing down Frank’s prominent V-line. You wanted so badly to see what he had under his pants. Analyzing his hardened bulge, your heartrate quickened. 

Both of them stood over you on the couch, shirtless and writhing in anticipation. 

Peter unbuttoned his jeans first, prompting Frank to follow suit. 

Frank thought undressing himself next to Peter would have been more uncomfortable. But neither of them thought twice about it, coming to the joint understanding that this wasn’t about them. It was about you. 

“Come here, angel,” Peter mumbled to you.

You complied, sitting up on the couch, and folding your legs beneath yourself. 

Sitting back on your calves, you watched with eagerness as Peter stepped out of his boxers. His painfully hard dick slapped his lower stomach during the movement, causing a puddle of desire in your needy center. 

He took a step closer until his shins met the couch, his cock right in front of your face. Your hands trailed up his bare legs until they reached his length, stroking it once in your hand before bringing your tongue to the hilt, giving it one, long lick up to the tip. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” Peter moaned, gathering your hair in his fist. “Show Frank how good you can suck my dick, angel.” 

The deepness of his voice rattled your nerves as you took him in your mouth. Your throat tightened around his tip, a gag tearing from your throat as you tried to take as much of him as possible. You continued bobbing your head, saliva dripping down your chin. What you couldn’t fit in your mouth, you worked in a matching rhythm with your sticky, wet hand. 

Peter’s eyes were stuck on you, watching your eyes water when he pulled your hair and pumped himself in your mouth. His jaw went slack, breathing ragged at the absolute pleasure you were giving him. 

“Fuck…” he groaned, pulling your hair harder, just like he knew you wanted him to. 

You pulled away from him, panting heavily, but still working him with your hand. Swallowing hard, your eyes shifted to Frank who was completely lost in the performance you were giving. 

Peter laughed, but it came out more like a moan. “Your turn, old man.”

Frank moved closer to the couch, his erection begging to break free of his tight-fitting boxers. You continued working Peter with one hand while the other worked to get Frank undressed.

He noticed your intent, pushing them off until they fell at his ankles. When his dick finally broke free, a deep moan tore from his throat. 

Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of it. 

Peter had a big dick, there was no denying that, but Frank’s was a devious competitor. It was girthy in a way that had you concerned, but just as formidable in length. 

You wasted no more time. You wanted to feel him in your mouth. Really, you wanted to see if you could fit him in your mouth. 

Peter pulled away from your grasp around his saturated cock, giving you the ability to focus completely on Frank.

He watched you try to take Frank in his entirety, gagging when you neared the base of him. His eyes fixed on the way your throat tightened, knowing exactly how it felt when you did that. 

Frank’s fingers ran coursed through your tangled mess of hair, gathering it all up in a fist so he could see your face while you choked on his dick.

It was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen. 

The thought dawned on him suddenly—the reason why Peter always called you his angel. That was what you were. Some heaven-sent creature. 

Your lips suctioned around his girthy shaft, gripping onto his hips as he pumped himself in your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed, tongue running circles around his tip each time you could reach it. 

“Holy… fuck…” Frank panted, tugging on your hair.

His teeth chattered, his nervous system pumping with adrenaline and something akin to pure euphoria. 

He wasn’t going to last long with your mouth around him, he knew that. He had dreamt of this moment for so long, he could barely trust that this was his true reality. He must have been dreaming, he’d thought.

He felt his release coming, it was so fast, he pulled out of your mouth with a pop and drew in a sharp wince. He had to halt his breathing for the longest moment, chest caved, in order to hold himself back from cumming all over you. 

You brought the back of your hand to your mouth, wiping the mess you’d become away. 

“Lay down, angel,” Peter said, leading you to slip off your knees and situate yourself on the couch, your back flush with the soft cushions. 

He climbed onto the couch at your feet, dick throbbing with desperation. Your eyes noticed the bead of pre-cum at his pink tip, wanting so desperately to lick it up. 

His hands moved to the waist band of your denim skirt, undoing the button and pulling the zipper down. “Lift up,” he instructed. 

Your hips bucked, giving him the space he needed to pull your skirt down. He brought your panties with it, slipping both off in one quick stride and discarding them on the living room floor. 

“Mm,” Peter sounded, gaze fixed on your exposed pussy. “Look at how wet we got her, Frank.” 

You were growing irritable. “Please touch me,” you pleaded, hands wandering to your tits, massaging the plump muscle and pinching your pebbled nipples. “Please.”

Peter’s fingers trailed your folds, smirking down at just how drenched they became from your arousal. It was pitiful, really, the way you were squirming against the couch, panting and quivering under his touch. 

He noticed it. Hell, he could smell it. 

Ever since his arachnid DNA had started betraying him, attempting to dominate his human form, his senses had been heightened. In situations like this, it became worse. He could hear your heart beat like it was his own, make out the miniscule beads of sweat running down your temple, and smell your arousal. The sweet, salty scent had him folding under your intoxicating pleas. 

His fingers entered you unannounced. He gave your walls time to adjust around them, grunting at the wet sounds that filled the quiet room as your needy flesh suctioned him in. 

Frank moved to the couch, positioning himself on his knees above your head.

“Fuck, angel,” Peter moaned, pumping his fingers in and out of you. 

Your head tilted back, back arching off the couch at the all-consuming pleasure. Your hand reached up to Frank’s dick without thinking. You just needed to do something with your hands. 

He sat up on his knees, watching the faces you made as Peter fucked you with his fingers and the way you stroked his dick. 

“Yeah. Just like that, baby,” Frank muttered, gripping the back of the couch. “God, yes. Just… like that.”

Peter used one hand to continue pumping you, adding two fingers to your tight, drenched entrance. With the other, his thumb moved in gentle circles over your swollen clit. 

The overstimulation was too much. You felt your vision blurring, body twitching. Your legs clenched around Peter’s hand. 

“Uh-uh,” Peter warned. He moved his hand from your clit for less than a second, just long enough to drape one of your legs over his broad shoulder. “Keep those legs open for me.”

Your head dug into the couch cushion, your strokes on Frank’s cock becoming sloppy. 

“Oh, God,” you cried out, nails digging into the fabric of the couch. “I’m–I’m gonna—”

“Good girl,” Peter coaxed, not slowing his rhythm. “Cum for me. Show Frank how good you feel.”

His words were the last piece you needed to hit your release. Your jaw went slack, ragged pants escaping you. Your hips bucked against Peter’s hand as your orgasm flushed out of you. 

“Fuck—you look so good like that,” Frank mumbled, brows pinched together, teeth chewing at his bottom lip, as he watched you.

“So do you,” you chuckled, still quivering from your high that you were already to chase again. 

Peter pulled his fingers out of you slowly, immediately bringing them to his mouth. Watching him suck on your arousal like that was the most attractive thing you’d ever seen. You gasped at the sight.

“Fuck, Frank—” Peter sucked his finger once more “—you gotta taste her, man.”

Frank chuckled. “I got a better idea.” He sat back on his knees. “Turn my way, baby.”

Every muscle in your body felt like jelly. It was so soon after your orgasm, everything that touched your skin—the fabric of the couch, your hair falling down your back, Frank’s hands gripping your thigh—was enough to send you over the edge.

Turned around on the couch, Frank’s fingers dug into the skin of your exposed hips. With one swift movement, he pulled you closer to him. 

You didn’t give a second to adjust himself before your hand reached out and grabbed his throbbing cock as soon as you were close enough to do so. You aligned the tip of him to your quivering entrance. 

The second his sensitive tip touched the wetness of your folds, he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Let me see that mouth, angel,” Peter said, sitting up on his knees behind you. 

Your head fell back on the couch, chin tilting until his tip aligned with your swollen lips. You welcomed the way he slid through, immediately suctioning around him. You pumped the rest of him with one hand, the other gripped the couch. 

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunted.

Frank held your hips up, thrusting into you once. The movement tore a moan from your stuffed throat. 

“Fuck—You feel so good,” Frank stammered, reeling in the way your tight walls clung to him.

He pulled away slowly, but not entirely. He had just the tip in when he pounded into you again, reeling in the way you cried out in pleasure against Peter’s dick when he did it.

Peter watched the way Frank thrusted into you repeatedly. He couldn’t get enough of the way your body shook, squirming all over the place, with your mouth full of him. 

Your tits bounced the harder Frank pounded into you, each movement bringing you closer and closer to that high you so desperately wanted to reach again. You could tell he was there, too. You felt the way his thick length twitched inside of you. His head was lulled back, eyes screwed shut as he held you against him, angling and fucking you the exact way he always wanted to. 

You wanted so desperately to be able to see him. You wanted to see the way his chiseled chest was moving up and down with quick pants every time you clenched around his cock. You wanted to see the way he admired your swollen cunt every time he looked down, witnessing the wreckage he was giving you. 

“Faster,” Peter said, his tone gruff and eager from the way you were sucking him.

Frank’s eyes shot up to him. He didn’t stop his motions inside you when he tilted his head. “What?”

“Fuck her faster—rougher. It’s what she likes.”

You pulled your mouth off Peter’s dick, working him with your hand so you could finally get a glimpse of Frank. His eyes narrowed on your boyfriend, annoyed more than anything. 

“Come here,” Frank ordered, crooking his finger. 

He remained inside you as you sat up further on the couch. He reached out, grabbing you by the throat. It wasn’t a cruel grab. It was the most delicate way you’d ever been touched. You wanted it harder, though. 

The smirk that appeared on your mess of a face was a devilish one. 

Frank sat back on his calves, bringing you to straddle him with his hand still clung to your throat. 

“You like that?” Frank probed, squinting up at you as you grinded your hips. He was so deep inside you, you could feel the exact spot he was hitting in your core. “You like when I choke you like that?”

You nodded, biting down on your lip as your hips moved in circular motions on top of him. The friction it brought to your clit had you moaning incoherently, eyes rolling back in your head as squirmed in fast, desperate motions on top of him. 

“Say it. Say you like this shit,” Frank grunted through his gritted teeth, barely holding on.

Your head lulled back, eyes fluttering closed. “I like it, I lo—”

A gasp tore from your throat when his hands suddenly moved to your hips, lifting you and slamming you down on him unforgivingly. He had a desperate, hungry look on his face. 

“Holy… fucking… shit,” you panted, falling back on the couch, causing your back to arch and hips rise above your head level.

All of the blood was rushing to your head as he pounded into you relentlessly. 

He knew that Peter knew you better than anyone. Peter knew exactly what you liked, how you liked it, and where you liked it at. That was fine. 

Frank was just determined to give you more to like. 

He wanted to fuck you in a way that you were going to beg Peter to mimic the next time he had you all to himself. He wanted you to not be able to cum again without remembering the way he had you splayed out in front of him, becoming a flexible mess with his cock buried so deep inside you, it almost hurt. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned again the second Frank’s fingers started working on your clit. “Yes, Frank. Just like that—Please.”

The moment Frank’s name slipped off your tongue, Peter sprung off the couch. 

“My turn,” he said, but it came out aggressive. 

Frank slowed inside of you. Part of him wanted to keep going. He wanted to be the one to make you cum all over his dick, but he knew better than to fuck with Peter like that—not when it came to you, even if his thoughts contradicted him.

When Frank slid out of you, you winced. The sudden emptiness was agonizing. 

Your eyes fluttered up to Frank’s, immediately seeing the way his features hardened when Peter picked you up, twisting you around so that your back was flush with his. 

Peter sat on the couch the same place he’d been before, allowing you to face Frank as he slowly inserted his pulsating length inside you from behind. 

You knew what he was doing. You knew he wanted Frank to see him fuck you in all the ways he knew you liked. Peter wanted Frank to see you come apart for him, forcing Frank to remember who you belonged to when it was all said and done.

Peter’s fist clenched around your hair, pulling you flush to him as he pounded in you with just the right kind of force. Your head fell back on his shoulder, back arched in a deviously seductive way. Your ass slapped against his waist everytime he thrusted deep inside of you, incoherent and muffled cries of pleasure spewing out of you the quicker he got. 

Frank sat back on the couch, legs spread before him.

With a great deal of effort, you lifted your head off of your boyfriend’s shoulder so that you could see Frank, gasping when your eyes immediately met his. 

He wasn’t watching the way Peter was fucking you—he wasn’t entertained by the way your tits were bouncing, or the way your ass was clapping against his friend’s skin. He was entertained by you. 

Your eyes honed in on him. Peter’s moans echoed behind you, but you couldn’t look away from the way Frank’s hand moved to his still-saturated cock, stroking himself and looking at you in a way that made you want to crawl on top of him. 

His nostrils flared, chest rising and falling as he pumped himself at a relentless pace. 

You kept your attention on him as your hand wandered to your clit, moving in quick motions over the swollen flesh. 

His stare was so intense, it felt like he was seeing through you. Combined with the stimulation on your clit and the way Peter was pounding into you, your release came quick. It was an entirely new high, watching the way Frank’s face scrunched as yours did, his fingers digging into the back of the couch as his cum squirted from the tip of his throbbing, slick-sounding cock.

You were breathless, permanently engraving the sight in your memory.

“Fuck, yes,” Peter moaned. Sitting back further on the couch and letting you ride him with your back still turned to him. His hand collided with your ass, drawing a breathy moan from your throat. “Doing so good, angel.”

Even with his release littering his flexed stomach, Frank’s eyes stayed on you. It was just taunting at that point. 

Peter sat up on his knees, forcing you down on the couch in an attempt to drive his dick further inside you. You kept yourself up on your arms, realizing you’d fallen right over Frank’s semi-hard dick. 

His tongue ran along his top row of teeth, wondering what Peter’s little angel was going to do next. 

Arching your back, giving your boyfriend the perfect angle to thrust into you with vicious momentum, you bowed your head dangerously close to the small puddles of Frank’s white cum.

When your tongue shot out, lapping up the salty remnants of his release, he drew in a sharp, piercing breath. 

“Oh, shit…” he drawled, watching you lick up and swallow his seed. 

Peter gripped your hips, nails digging into your skin as his thrusts became sloppy and untimed. 

He knew what you were doing. There wasn’t a thing you did that Peter didn’t catch.

“Come here,” he grunted, pulling your hair and forcing your back to collide with his rigid front again. 

He was getting pissed off, you knew that. 

You liked that.

Your head fell back on his shoulder again, his lips pressing to your flushed ear. “You’re mine,” he hissed, thrusts becoming just cruel. 

A smirk spread on your face.

“Tell him,” Peter demanded, bringing his hand to your throat and squeezing. “Tell him who you belong to.”

“You,” you managed to get out despite Peter’s grip threatening your airways. “I… belong to… you.”

He gripped tighter. “Louder.”

“I belong… to… you,” you said, nearly shouting as your vision spotted and walls clenched around him.

“Mm,” Peter moaned in your ear. “You gonna cum for me again, aren’t you, angel?”

You couldn’t manage a response, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Peter laughed. “Watch her, Frank—I know you want to,” he taunted. “Watch her cum all over my dick.”

Frank did, of course. But he wasn’t worried about whose dick she was coming on. In that creative imagination of his, it was his dick inside you. Now that he knew what it felt like, there wasn’t anything holding him back.

A pleasured cry spilled from your lips, your body convulsing in Peter’s grasp. 

“Good girl,” he cooed, never once relenting. “You want me to fill you up now, angel?”

You nodded, every nerve in your body frazzled. “Please.”

Peter’s head dug into the crook of your neck, his teeth biting down on the delicate skin there in an attempt to hold back the guttural screams threatening to depart from him. It was an absolute miracle he had lasted this long inside you. He wanted to finish the second he entered you, but he wanted Frank to sit and watch him work you in all the ways he wanted.

Sharing was a kind way of putting it, he thought back. It wasn’t exactly sharing, what he was doing. He just wanted to show you off. He wanted the third person in the room with the two of you to watch how he took control of you, making you become completely undone for him. He wanted them to see what he could do to you—the ways he could fuck you, the pleasure he could give you. 

He wanted to watch them try, just like he had let Frank try. Then, he wanted them to watch him do it even better.

His teeth sunk in deeper as he pounded in you one last time before his warmth spread inside you. 

You felt the exact moment he came. The feeling was almost as good as your own release. 

He rode out his high, his cock twitching inside of you until there was nothing more he could release inside you. 

When he pulled out of you with a squelching sound, his gaze fixed on the sight of his cum leaking out of you. 

“God, I love that shit,” he mumbled. 

He slowly fell back on his calves, repositioning himself to where you could lay back against him, giving you time to collect yourself before he helped clean you up.

Your gaze immediately flashed to Frank when you rested back against Peter’s chest, squeezing your thighs together to keep from leaking all over the couch.

Frank was sprawled on the couch, one leg hanging off the edge and the other bent up, spread out shamelessly before the two of you. 

“You okay, Frank?” Peter asked, his tone returning to his usual, calm self. 

Frank coughed out a laugh and shook his head. 

“What?” Peter countered, smirking. “That not a good enough birthday present for you?”

“A card will do good next year,” Frank jested, combing a hand through his dark hair.

Peter hummed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The clock on your wall ticks past midnight, its soft rhythm in the back of your head. You've been pacing the living room for almost an hour, unable to settle after the reports running through the streets- another brutal night for the punisher: bodies found in places, blood on the streets. These few years of knowing Frank, you'd seen enough darkness in this city to know the moment when worry twisted into something that kept you from sleeping. Especially when it involved him. And it was happening now.

The first aid kit sat ready on the kitchen counter, stocked with everything he might need. You told yourself it was just habit. But deep down, you know it wasn't. It was months of attachment and building love that had you waiting like this.

Before you know it, he knocks three repeated bangs that rattle the door in its frame. Your heart beats against your ribs- you know that knock. You cross the room quickly, your bare feet slapping against the cool wood as you hurry towards the door, then throw it open without checking who it is. Of course, it’s frank who fills the doorway, rain dripping down his bleeding face and off his black jacket as he clutches his front in pain.

Blood streaks his temple, and his posture tells you that his pain is fresh. His shoulders are hunched, and it breaks you, seeing him in so much pain, but his fists are still clenched like he's ready for anything.

He doesn't wait doe you to invite him in, he just steps inside, tracking mud across your rug with his boots. The door slams shut behind him, sealing the two of you in the dim glow of your lamps. Your cozy apartment- with its mismatched couch and bookcases suddenly feels invaded, and it makes your chest tighten. This is your space-he's come here, bleeding and broken, like always, waiting for you to fix him. And the worst thing is you wouldn't want it any other way. You need him to need you like this.

"Frank," you say, as you hurriedly move toward the kit. "Shit- are you okay?” Your breath hitches, “Just- sit down before you bleed all over my floor.” You sigh as you look through the kit. “God, why do you do this shit to yourself?” you frown, hurt at seeing him in this state. Hurt is an understatement, his pain is your pain now.

He ignores your suggestion, and shrugs off his jacket with a grunt. You can tell he’s hurting. It hits the chair with a wet slap, revealing his dark shirt underneath, which is torn and stained dark red across his ribs. His deep eyes sweep the room once, then lock on you. You gasp softly at the state of his chest. For a split second, something vulnerable flickers in his eyes, buried fast under layers of anger and not caring. Only for a second though. "Didn't come here for a damn lecture. Or your pity." he sighs, looking away.

You frown in confusion, but grab the antiseptic and gauze anyway, anger already simmering low in your stomach. Months of this. Months of him showing up half fucking dead, letting you patch him up, then vanishing like you don’t mean shit. You'd fallen for him in these months- in the rare times his hand would brush yours for a beat too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke of the past. You’ve become hopelessly in love with a man who carries revenge like it’s armour. But tonight, something feels different. You aren't in the mood for his shit.

"Pity? That's funny" you say calmly, balancing the gauze along with other things in your arms. You step closer, about to reach for the hem of his shirt. "You show up at my door looking like this, and I'm meant to ignore it?" You sigh, closing your eyes before opening them and taking a deep breath to calm down. “Just let me help, Frank. Stop being stubborn and sit down."

“Whatever” he sighs, hovering above the chair, watching you ask you walk over. Something about you just makes him feel different. You make him want to be different. You reach your hand forward and whisper, “Just let me help.”

That seems to ignite something in him. He catches your wrist before you can touch his shirt, his grip firm but gentle. Rainwater drips from his hair onto your floor and god, is he is sight to see. "I can handle my own shit.” he begins, not even raising his voice, which throws you off. “Don't need you playing nurse like I'm some stray dog.”

Strangely, the words sting, but you pull your hand free. "I've been here for months helping you and sitting through your silences when you disappear. And you call it playing nurse?" Your voice rises, sharp with frustration that had been building too long. "Just let me look- you're bleeding through your shirt, for fuck's sake."

He doesn't move, towering over you in your own kitchen, watching your gentle face twisted into frustration, deep down he wants to be gentle with you, tell you it’s okay, and thank you darlin. But he can’t. Who will it be helping to get you more attached to eachother? Instead he stays silent, the air thick with the tang of blood and rain. Finally, he let you peel the fabric aside. The slice is deep enough to need stitches, and you aren’t sure you can do them without him flinching.

Your hands work quickly, cleaning the edges of his wound with the antiseptic that makes him hiss through his teeth. Your touch is meant to be clinical, but your fingers linger on the scarred skin around his wound, feeling the heat of him. God, you love him. Even like this. Especially like this.

But the sadness doesn't fade. It coils tighter as your hand shakes, holding the needle to his skin. You begin stitching him up, the once quiet room filled with groans and cursing. Frank tilts his head back in pain, with a groan of, “Ah fuck.”

You gently wrap a bandage around the stitched up wound, trying to be soft despite your frustration. "There. Now tell me why you came if you're just gonna push me away again."

Frank straightens up, wincing, and paces a little in the small space. The rain lashes harder against the windows, mirroring the tension between you. "That's what this is." he chuckles. "You wanna collect people who are broken. Fix them." His voice is flat, rough as concrete. Your eyes water instantly at the accusation, hot tears pricking unbidden. It hits like a slap, after all the nights you'd stayed, all the quiet ways you'd shown you cared.

He notices the glistening in your eyes, the way your lashes clump together with moisture. Internally, Frank curses himself to hell.

Christ frank, you piece of shit. She’s standing there heartbroken because of you.

The thing is, he loves you hopelessly, like a drowning man loves air, but he’s gutting you to save you. He needs to push harder. Make you see you deserve better than him. Than his suffering and pain. But his face stays the same, no crack in his armor. No softness.

"And they all leave eventually," he goes on, relentless. "Even the ones who don't die first." Your eyes are glistening, you're trying so hard not to cry- but his words are killing you. "Maria did what she could with what I was. You? You're young. Got years ahead of you, and they don't have to end in blood darlin’."

For fucks sake, why does his brain work like this?

"You gotta leave, or I drag you down with me. That's the truth. Being strong means cutting this off before it poisons you too." He shakes his head, looking down before dragging his palm down his face in frustration. He's still pacing back and forth.

Tears are spilling down your cheeks, but your anger is stronger. You swipe them away angrily, stepping infront of him to block his pacing. You wish he would just listen, just reason.

"You show up here bleeding and expect me to just fix you and send you off?" Your voice climbs and you're shouting now, echoing off the apartment walls. "I'm not collecting anyone- I'm here because I care- more than you fucking know. I see you under all this rage. I see you as the man who fights for innocent people, even when it costs you everything." You feel hysterical, flailing your hands around, trying to get something into that thick skull of his. "Let me help carry it, stop acting like being a man means suffering alone."

He looms closer, his dark eyes blazing. "You don't know the half of what I carry. Sweetheart, I push because I don't want to hurt you. Strong is handling my war alone. Not leaning on some kid who has a life ahead of her."

"Kid?" You shout louder, shoving at his chest with both hands. He doesn't budge, but the contact sends sparks through you- anger and that hopeless pull. "I'm not some fucking teenager. I've sat with you when you had nothing. Don't you fucking dare dismiss me like that." Your voice cracks with raw emotion, tears streaming freely now. The apartment suddenly feels smaller and you can't breathe. "If I'm such a burden, why the fuck do you keep coming back?"

The argument spirals back and forth. You pace after him, pouring out your heart. How his silence hurts more than words, how his rare touches leave your heart aching. Frank counters in that low, gravelly rumble talking about the blood on his hands, the enemies who’d target anyone close to him. "Darlin, I’m too old for this fantasy you're spinning. You'll wake up and see.”

“Fantasy?” You yelled, voice hoarse but fierce, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I’ve bled worry for you every time you’ve vanished! I’ve cleaned wounds that should’ve killed normal men! I know your pain, Frank, and I still choose to stand here and reason with you.”

He grabbed your wrists again, holding them steady against his bandaged ribs. His heartbeat thunders under your palms betraying the uncaring mask he’s put on. Inside, the love claws at him. You’re everything. Your fire, your stubbornness, the way you see him. He’s in love with you so deeply it terrifies him. But you’re young. He’ll ruin you.

Push her away you bastard. Save her.

“Why do you care so much?” he finally growls, the question shooting out of his mouth like a bullet. Your face drops. “Why the hell do you keep doing this to yourself- to me?”

The moment swells, emotions fill the room. Your chest heaves, tears burning down your cheeks. All the months of swallowed feelings explode suddenly. “What the fuck do you want me to say, Frank? That I’m in love with you? That seeing you like this kills me? That I would do anything for you, even stand here and shout because I can’t fucking walk away?”

His lips part as you shout, but nothing can leave his mouth. He watches you spit words out furiously as you cry, and all he can say softly is, “darlin’-” while he is still holding your soft hands against his chest.

“Don’t fucking call me that” you cry, face screwed up in anger and sadness as you try to get out of his clasp, but you can’t. “For months, every goddamn time you fucking showed up like this, every scar I’ve touched- it was love! And it hurts like hell because you won’t let it in! It makes me feel like a fucking idiot Frank. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Your words echo like a gunshot in the quiet apartment. Silence fills the air right after. His grip tightens slightly on your wrists, his plain expression slipping for a heartbeat. His eyes widen with raw pain and his jaw clenches against the shoot of emotion that goes up his chest. That same agonising love roars inside him, matching the depth of yours. He loves you achingly, you’re a light in his shitty world. But that only makes him have to push you further. You’re too young, too good. He’d destroy that light.

He releases you slowly, stepping back like your confession burned him. “Look, you’re not thinking straight,” he says, his voice edged with frustration, as he forces the words out like it hurts. “What do you know about love? You’re young. This isn’t love- it’s just attachment. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you sweetheart, full of possibilities.” He looks at your tear stained face as you stand in front of him, and his heart breaks at your sweet face. “I know what love is- you don’t. Love breaks you. I’m pushing you away because I don’t wanna drag you into my hell.” A heavy sigh escapes him, and his shoulders slump, showing how defeated he is.

All the while, you shake your head, violent tears still running down your face. “You think this doesn’t break me Frank?” You swipe furiously at your eyes, not wanting to cry anymore. He already thinks you’re a kid and you can’t add on to that. “You pushing me away hurts, no matter why you do it. My heart aches because of you.”

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face again in frustration. He doesn’t know what to do in this shitty situation, he cares for you so much, but he just can’t risk it. “I can’t have this conversation.” he says calmly, turning around, a hand on the back of his neck.

“Of course.” you scoff bitterly. “Why am I even surprised.”

He shakes his head, broad back still to you as he scratches his neck and says defeatedly, “Just cut it out.” Your breath hitches in disbelief, you just can’t understand how someone can be so fucking stubborn. “You’re too young and that’s the end of that.” he says, but his words kill him too.

You feel your blood boiling again, and you don’t know whether to cry or shout or hit him. “Fuck you frank.” You finally say, fighting back the endless tears. “Fuck you for hiding behind that, using my age as an excuse.” You sniffle, moving your hair out of your face. Frank turns back to face you, his broad chest glistening ever so slightly, and it’s like he’s punched in the gut again when he sees your beautiful face crying. You see his expression falter, and his eyes sadden. “What are you so fucking afraid of?” you finally whisper demandingly, watching his broad figure move towards the glass table besides his chair and lean over it.

As he hovers over the table, he slouches forward, holding himself up with his muscular arms, his head lowered. “Just stop it” he sighs, defeated. He’s trying so hard to bottle it all in. He calls your name softly in protest, begging you to end this conversation.

But you won’t accept that shitty response. “No, answer me.” you demand.

“I said cut it out please.” he groans, and it’s like he’s holding himself back from something.

You shake your head, “No, why are you so fucking scared to let me in?” you shout.

And abruptly, you hear a shatter. Your eyes search for Frank and you forget everything. Once they find him, all you can see is red. The table beside him is in pieces, and his hand is in a fist, blood dripping onto the empty frame, and the floor. “Frank.” you gasp, your breath hitching.

“Because I care about you too much.” he roars, and you realise you’re terrified of him in the moment. “Everyone I love dies. ‘Cuz of me.” he shouts, wincing as he holds his bleeding hand in the air. “If anything happened to you I’d never fucking forgive myself for it.”

Your lips part, and you want to talk but you’re left with no words in your mouth. No air in your lungs. The only thing you can say is the cursed name that’s had a hold of you all these months. “Frank…” you gasp, walking towards him. He turns his head, eyes threatening to spill tears, but he doesn’t shout or dismiss you, or even walk away.

You move your hands to his bare chest, trying to be careful with his stitches, and his now bleeding hand. “Frank,” you say again softly, “look at me.”

And how could he ever deny that soft voice of yours? You’re the only light in his life at the moment, the only thing he thinks of besides pain and hurt and regret. You’re his only escape. He turns his face to you, looking down at your doe eyes and croaks out, “I can’t lose you too.” with a soft shake of his head.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to gather yourself together. “You won’t Frank,” you say softly, taking hold of his forearm and guiding him to sit back down on the chair. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, almost to yourself more than him. He sits down, yearning for you as he watches you sit infront of him, pulling out more bandages and things of the sort.

He’s so tired. So tired of being himself, of pushing you away, of regretting his choices. You’re all he wants, and he’s selfish enough to know it, but that doesn’t mean he’ll take any action. No, you deserve better. You deserve someone young who can give you what you want. Someone who is capable of loving and caring.

He groans as you pulls the shards of glass out of his hand, putting them to the side with a clink. You work gently of course, but with the you-shaped wound in his heart, everything is too much to bear today. He nearly cries when you pour alcohol over his hand, throwing his head back with a low wail. “Shh, I’m sorry.” you whisper, hushing him gently.

He straightens himself up as you grab some bandages, watching your slender fingers work quickly to unravel it. Eventually, you put your hand out, asking for his in return. Slowly but surely, he gives you his wounded hand, grunting as you start wrapping it up. He stares at you carefully as you finish the task, and strangely, raises his hand to his head, with yours still holding his. His eyes flick to your face without you seeing, then with a tilt of his face, he presses the most gentle kiss to your hand. “Thank you.” he croaks, and a pang of emotion shoots through your heart.

“That’s not fair,” you say softly, not moving your eyes away from his. He lets go of your hand slowly, like he’s suddenly aware of what he’s done, and whispers, “I know.” You nod your head disappointedly, turning away and walking out the room, your footsteps growing more distant.

You don’t know what to do, or what you can do, but lock yourself in the bathroom to stop and breathe. Because God knows you haven’t been breathing properly with him here, like this. He curses quietly to himself as he hears you leave, wondering what the fuck is wrong with himself, why he’s doing this to you- to himself.

Once you’ve locked the bathroom door, you turn to the mirror and give yourself a shitty smile. You breathe slowly, feeling stupid for letting a man do this to you. Except he’s not just a man, he’s Frank and you care for him, maybe you even lo- yeah. But your emotions are stronger and before you know, you’re sniffling, gently dabbing at the mascara under your eyes. The past hour has been insanity. And you’ve witnessed scarier things of course, but this? Finally telling Frank how you feel?

You’d only just stopped crying too, but now you’re hovering over the sink, hot tears dribbling down your face again, silently this time.

Franks head perks up, and he can hear you shuffling around the bathroom. He doesn’t stand get up to check, but he can hear you sniffling. Not only is he angry at himself for being the reason for your tears again, but the worst thing is, you’re alone in the bathroom, trying to hide it. You’re in there trying to be silent. He doesn’t want you to feel like you have no one, because you have him. He would do anything for you. He’d die for you, live for you, even live for you.

He wishes he could tell you that. Tell you what he wants most in this world is to be yours and live with your beautiful heart everyday. But he can’t get close to you, closer than he already is, because he’ll hurt you. He can never protect the ones he loves, and if anything happens to you, he won’t see the point of living anymore.

Before he can realise what he’s doing, he’s stood up, and his feet have led him to the bathroom door. He lifts his hand to knock, before stopping himself and letting it fall to his side, too conscious of his own every move now. He squeezes his eyes shut in concentration, then calls your name, trying hard to sound softer. “You alright?”

You sniffle an unconvincing “Yeah,” and he furrows his eyebrows in frustration with himself. “You sure darlin’?” he calls back, and your heart clenches.

“I’ll be two secs,” you say, carefully pressing your finger to the corner of your eye, drying up rogue tears. You smile again at yourself in the mirror, tucking your hair behind your ears, and stepping towards the door. It clicks open, and Frank is greeted with your red raw face.

“I’m sorry.” he says, eyes flickering as he looks over you. He wants to talk, but his mouth is glued together. You shrug, wiping your eye again, acting like it’s no big deal. Like he isn’t breaking your heart by just standing there. “Frank, it’s whatever.”

He shakes his head, and he’s quickly filled with emotion too. “No, it’s not.” You look up at him, eyebrows furrowed a little, patiently waiting for him to talk. His mouth opens, and your heart patters in anticipation. But it just closes. You nod, feeling like a fucking idiot again, stepping to the side, and walking away. He freezes, standing in the empty door frame, eyes hovering over the spot you left.

Frank remains rooted to the spot long after you’ve brushed past his bare torso. The doorway feels too small for all the things neither of you can say. You make it halfway down the hall before you hear him move behind you. “Hey,” his voice is quiet, almost uncertain. You stop, but you don’t turn around. “Please,” he whispers, the word hitting harder than it should. You look back slowly, and Frank’s still standing there, shoulders tense, hands hanging uselessly by his sides.

“What?” you ask, and the exhaustion in your voice surprises even yourself. His jaw tightens. Then loosens. Then tightens again. You almost laugh at the repetitiveness of it. “That’s exactly what I mean.” you sigh, shaking your head, and his eyebrows pull together. “You keep looking at me like you wanna say something.” you shrug exasperatedly. “And then you just- dont?”

He glances away, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks genuinely stuck. Not awkward, scared. The realization only makes your chest hurt more. “Forget it,” you mumble, about to turn away.

“Wait” he says, the reply coming fast enough to stop you. You freeze as he takes a step forward and soon enough, you’re stood in front of eachother. He raises a hand and lets it rest on the side of your face. “Oh god,” he sighs, and you can’t help but nuzzle your cheek into his warm hand. He lets his hand slide lower, smoothing over the line of your jaw, then gently moving it higher, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “Darlin’,” he groans, as you look up at him with those pleading eyes.

He moves his hand to the back of your neck, fingers laced between your hair, the other hand creeping to the small of your back. Frank pulls you closer, and for a moment you’re relieved, this is all you’ve been thinking about for the past few months. But it’s not fair for you, when this isn’t even real.

His lips brush over your hairline, but he doesn’t kiss you. He just lets you feel him, loving you without having to say it. “I’m so sorry baby.” he sighs, softly tilting your head back to look at him, hand still in your hair. “I only push you away to keep you safe. I can’t live without you- I can’t risk losing you.”

“But you won’t lose me Frank,” you sniffle, “I already said, I’m not going anywhere.” He laughs bitterly, shaking his head as he looks away.

“You don’t know that sweetheart. The world fucks over everyone, even if they’re good.” He looks back down at you, eyes skimming over your soft lips, your glistening eyes.

“I know Frank, but you can’t live in fear.” You press yourself against his bare skin again, inhaling his comforting scent. “You have to try. Is your fear stronger than the love you have?” you ask him, desperation dripping off every word. He’s silent, reflecting on your words, before he shakes his head.

“No,” he says firmly, lowering his face, letting his lips meet yours. The kiss is desperate, like he’s been holding back forever. You groan into it, splitting your lips to let his tongue slide wetly over your bottom one. His hand is still on the back of your head, keeping it safe as he walks you both to the nearest wall, pressing your body against it. He devours you, need pouring out of his mouth, out of every part of his body.

Frank presses his calloused hands against the wall, trapping you between the cold surface and his muscular chest. His mouth trails to your jaw, peppering wet kisses along it, moving down to your neck. You moan as he kisses you passionately, his lips on your collarbone now. He’s exploding with desire, needing to love every part of you. His hand hooks beneath the hem of your sleep shirt carefully, and once you whine, “please” he slips it off, lifting your arms to get it over your head.

“My sweet girl,” he moans in awe, his mouth loving every bit of you now, jaw grazing over your chest, creeping lower over the fabric of your bra. “I’m so sorry,” he mutters. He presses a kiss to your breast over the lace, lowering himself to lick and nibble down your sides, over the flat of your stomach.

“You’re an angel baby,” he whispers, hands on your soft thighs as his mouth trails lower. He’s on his knees, looking up at you with those deep brown eyes as you slip your fingers through his short hair. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Please Frank,” you whimper, and he doesn’t waste any time.

“i know baby, I know,” he coos, hands moving up, caressing your skin beneath your sleep shorts. “I’m gonna take care a’ya okay?”

You nod desperately, brows knitting together as he starts to pull your little shorts down your legs. His eyes flick up to yours again as he hooks his thick finger into the side of your panties, making sure you’re okay with everything. He drags them down slowly, with excruciating care, then stuffs them in the back of his jeans as you look down at him.

He’s level with your core now, hands on the back of your plush thighs as he pushes his soft lips to your inner thighs. “Frank” you gasp, and he continues dragging his lips over your thighs. His stubble grazes the skin of your inner thigh, sending a wave of shock through you as you whine, needing him closer.

His breath is hot against your skin as he chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you. “Easy, baby. I got you.” Gently, he squeezes the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you steady as he finally moves his mouth higher. Slowly, his tongue drags a hot trail up your slit, savoring the your sweetness with a deep groan that makes your knees buckle. You cry out, fingers tightening in his short hair as he licks again, a little firmer this time, circling your clit with the flat of his tongue before sucking it gently between his lips.

“Oh god- Frank,” you moan, hips twitching toward his mouth. He doesn’t pull away. Instead he keeps lapping at you, tongue flicking and swirling to explore every fold while his calloused hands keep you pinned to the wall. His stubble scrapes deliciously against your inner thighs with every movement, making your back arch even more. He looks up at you through dark lashes, eyes heavy with adoration as he watches your lashes flutter and your chest heave.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmurs against your core, the words muffled as he slides a thick finger inside you, curling it till your face is screwed up. “Let me hear how good it feels.” he coaxes, adding second finger and pumping slowly, his tongue working at your clit in devastating strokes. Your thighs tremble around his face, pleasure hot in your belly as he worships you, completely lost in the taste and sound of your pleasure.

You haven’t came yet, but he moves back, pressing a kiss to your clit and pulling back. You whine, breathless and needing release, but he just stands back up on his feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You deserve better than a wooden floor baby” he says gently, tilting his head as he strokes your cheek. “Could you show me to your bedroom? Is that okay sweetheart?”

You nod bashfully, unsticking yourself from the wall as he watches your beautiful body. He presses a paw to your lower back, respecting your bare body, and follows you as you start walking towards your bedroom. He’s right behind you, his expression softening at the sight of your room. It’s sweet and warm, just like you. Your bedding is white and pure, a few stuffed animals scattered around it. Your bedside table has a book in it, with a cute little alarm clock, and a photo frame of your family. The walls are decorated with more pictures, and posters too. He can’t hurt you, not when you’re still young and pure and have a beautiful life to live.

“Thank you for letting me in your room darlin’, it’s beautiful” he smiles, rubbing your back. You shrug sheepishly, cheeks flushed as you mumble, “mhm.”

“C’mere,” he whispers, pulling you close again, but then hoisting you up, hands holding your thighs steadily. “Let me show you how sorry I am.” You wrap your legs around his waist, throwing your hands over his neck as you’re almost skin to skin, besides that damn scrap of fabric you have over your breasts. Before you know it, he’s loving on you again, lips all over your neck, under your ear. He’s whispering apologies into your neck, telling you how much he needs you, and how sorry he is. He forgets about his stitches, ignores the pain of you rubbing against them because his pleasure overpowers it.

He takes a few steps towards your bed, carefully leaning forward to place you on your back. “Oh babydoll,” he croaks, looking at you like you’re a gift for him splayed out on the bed, an angel of some sort. “You’re so beautiful.”

He places his hands on both sides of you again, leaning down to kiss you passionately, like he can’t live away from the taste of your mouth. His hand trails down your body, then skims back up, hovering over your chest. “Can I see you fully, baby?” he asks. Once you nod, he lifts your torso ever so slightly, so he can unclip your bra, and throws it off to the side. His lips part in awe as he sees the soft swell of your breasts, and he runs his hand across them both. “You gotta have the most perfect tits I’ever seen sweetheart.”

You can’t do much but blush again, and then moan when his mouth is leaving wet trails over your chest. “I think they need some lovin’ too” he coos, hand cupping a breast and beginning to knead, the other one tucking your hair behind your ear. “That okay sweet girl? That feel good?”

You whine “mhm” desperately, unable to form words with how overwhelmed you are with need. “I’ll make you feel so good doll, don’t you worry your little head,” he says, pulling away, hands trailing to his belt. You watch his muscles flex as he works at the clasp, then pulls it off, unbuttoning his jeans now. You don’t know how you managed to control yourself to not pounce at him till now, while he’s been walking around your house all night, shirtless.

He’s bare now besides his boxers, and those are only on in respect for you. You shift yourself up a little, head on your pillows and he climbs into your soft bed, his chest hovering over yours again. “Tell me what you want sweet girl. I’ll give you anything you ask.” he coos, brushing your cheek with his thumb again.

“I need to feel you,” you whimper, and he nods, lifting you up and sitting you onto his lap. He presses another gentle kiss to your hairline, cherishing you so softly.

“Are you sure doll?” he asks, making you know that you can take it slow. “You’re still young, we don’t have to rush.” You shake your head firmly.

“I’m sure Frank, I want you to make love to me- please.” you say, leaning further into him, your skin pressed warmly together. You’re careful not to press against his stitches, so as not to hurt him. He groans, hands resting over the swell of your soft ass cheeks while you straddle him.

“Alright, since you’re saying it so sweetly.” he smiles, tilting his head to look at your shy face. “Just like this?” he asks, looking down at the two of you, bodies pressed together.

“Yeah,” you agree, as he admires your beauty, “I wanna feel you while we do it.” He smiles softly at your words, nodding as he gives you another gentle kiss, this time on the side of your mouth. He lays you back, freeing himself to pull off his boxers, then moves back beside you, his back pressed against your headboard. His cock rests stiff and sore on his thigh, and he gently pulls you onto his lap. You can feel his need under you, but he doesn’t rush anything, only goes with what you want.

You gasp when your hot need finally meets his, and he lets out a low groan, feeling you wet against him. “Whenever you wanna start,” he whispers, like it hurts to speak, and places his manly hands on the sides of your waist. You nod, lifting your hips so he can free himself, and he takes his cock into his hand, breath stuttering as he groans. “Okay, now sweetheart?” he asks, affection on every word that leaves his mouth.

“Please Frank, I want you so badly,” you whine, and he nods, one hand beneath your ass, the other guiding himself to your entrance.

“Alright baby, shh shh sh” he whispers, sliding his sore tip back and forth against the slick of your pussy. His eyes meet yours again and he says lowly, “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?”, checking to make sure you’re ready. He knows realistically- it’ll hurt. He doesn’t have much of an ego, but it’s obvious he’s big, and he knows that without proper care, you’ll end up sore and gaping afterwards.

His mouth falls open with a low groan as he finally slips inside you, gently pushing you down onto his dick, inch by aching inch. “There’s my girl,” he croaks, caressing your sides as you finally sink into him fully, plush ass against his thighs. “Fuck- you feel amazing doll.”

You moan at the feeling of being overwhelmingly filled, needing something to be your anchor. All you can do is press your hands against his chest, careful not to move the bandages right below. You shudder in pleasure, and Frank tells you softly, “I’m gonna move now sweetheart.” He starts to buck his hips up into yours, and your eyes close in pleasure.

“Oh god,” you moan, feeling him deeper at every buck of his hips. Frank groans throughout it, whether because of the pain beneath his chest, or this pleasure- you don’t know. You lean forward, wanting to feel his body around yours, and he gets the memo. Carefully, he leans forward, off the headboard so that he can hold you. His big, bear arms wrap around your torso, and he ignores the shooting pain beneath the bandages. “I want my pretty girl in my arms,” he says quietly, only for you to hear, stroking your back as he keeps you covered with his arms.

You grind back and forth a little, trying to make it easier for him. The friction on your clit is driving you insane, and all you can think of is to keep moving to reach that pleasure. “You’re doing so well f’me,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “My best girl.”

His words go straight to your core. All you wanted was to be his girl, and now- you just might be. You keep grinding, chasing your high as he makes love to you, hands caressing your back. “I can’t lose you,” he croaks into your ear as you move, “you’re my whole life.”

“Frank.” You moan as you feel the pleasure building, your body loosening with contentment, knowing you’re safe here- with him. “I’ll always be here, I promise.” His manly arms squeeze around you even tighter, like he can’t risk letting go of you.

You moan helplessly, on the verge of release, and Frank can tell. “That’s it, we’ll get you there” he reassures, helping you grind on him. He leans further into you, holding you skin to skin as his cock drags up and down your walls, filling you completely. He leaves wet trails all along your neck with his mouth, your hair tangled around his face. Neither of you can think of anything, just the feeling of eachothers bodies.

“Frankie,” you moan crudely, your hips slacking, “mm- I’m so close.” He nods understandingly, pushing your bodies forward to rest you on your back, making sure not to pull out. He strokes your forehead with his thumb, softly dragging his lips along your jaw as he whispers, only for you to hear.

Frank keeps a thick arm braced beneath your back as he gently lowers you down, never once slipping from your heat. The shift changes the angle instantly- deeper and fuller. You gasp sharply, legs falling open around his hips. He follows you down, covering you with his broad body like a warm shield, careful of the bandages on his chest but refusing to let even an inch of space come between you.

“Easy, baby, that’s it,” he murmurs, voice low with adoration. His forehead rests against yours, eyes locked on your face like he’s memorizing every bit of you. One of his big hands slide down to grip the back of your thigh, spreading you wider for him. “Gonna take care of you now. Just let me make you feel good.”

He starts moving again, slow at first, but eventually building with purpose. He fucks you deeply, thrusts dragging his cock against that spot inside you over and over. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked pussy fills the room, but Frank doesn’t seem to notice anything except you. His free hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly across your bottom lip.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Wanna watch my pretty girl come apart for me.”

You try to keep your eyes open, but it’s hard when every thrust punches the breath out of you. He’s so thick and deep, hitting places that make your back arch off the mattress. Frank groans softly each time you flutter around him, praise dripping off his every word.

“Attagirl, you’re taking me so well.” He leans down to kiss you, his tongue slowly tongue sliding against yours in time with his hips. When he pulls back, his voice is wrecked. “That’s my baby. Let it build, okay? I gotcha.”

His pace quickens just enough, still loving and controlled, but relentless. He angles his hips to grind against your clit with every thrust, the coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing perfectly against your sensitive bundle of nerves. The pressure inside you coils tighter faster than you expected. “Frank- frankie-” you whimper, hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your throat. “Come on, angel. Come for me. You’re so close, I can feel it.” He reaches between your bodies, calloused thumb finding your clit and circling it with firm strokes. The sensation of his thick cock driving into you deep, and his thumb working at you shatters the little control you had left.

Your orgasm crashes over you hard. A broken cry tears from your throat as your body seizes up, thighs shaking around his waist. Waves of pleasure rip through you intensely, your pussy clenching desperately around his length. Frank keeps moving through it, fucking you through every pulse, his voice keeping you conscious.

“There she is, that’s my girl” he coos, stroking your cheek through it, “keep going, baby, let me feel it all.” His thrusts grow a little sharper, chasing the way you grip him, but his hands ate gentle, stroking your sides, cradling your face, whispering endless praise against your skin. “I’ve gotcha. I’ve always gotcha.”

Even as you break down around him, Frank doesn’t stop moving. He rides out every aftershock with you, slowly, kissing the tears of overwhelming pleasure that escape the corners of your eyes.

When you finally start to come down, body lump and exhausted, he stays buried inside you to the hilt and holds you close, murmuring loving words into your hair. “You did so good f’me.”

You whine like a desperate animal, brain mush from the pleasure. Softly, his thumb brushes beneath your eye again, collecting the stray tears. “I’m sorry for pushing you away baby.” Your breath hitches as you’re caught off guard by his words. “You’ve only been good to me sweetheart, you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“It’s okay Frank,” you say quietly, “you were just trying to keep me safe.” He nods as you speak, but you can tell he disagrees. He inhales deeply, clearly upset with himself.

“But I wasn’t, was I? I was only hurting you more.”

“Frank,” you start. You know he’s right, and that his actions weren’t logical at all, but you also know he’s sorry now, and that there’s no changing the past. You don’t want him to dwell on things that have already happened. You’re good now, you wanna keep it that way.

He cuts you off, shaking his head. “No baby, I was wrong.” He sighs, still holding himself above you, he’d crush you if he fell. “I’m gonna spend every day making it up to you, okay? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay Frank, it’ll be okay,” you reassure him, moving the back of your hand across his cheek.

He leans down, kissing your mouth softly, before moving back. Gently, he starts to pull out, hushing you as you moan at the feeling of being empty. “Easy baby, easy.” He flops down onto your side, dick still hard, his tip blazing red.

“Frank,” you say, a little shocked, leaning onto your side, “you didn’t cum.” He shakes his head, dismissing the sentence.

“Wasn’t about me, s’bout you doll.” You frown, sitting up as you watch him, selflessly just laying on his back. “What baby?” he chuckles, looking at you pouting, “it’s not important.”

“Of course it’s important!” You protest, sitting there with your arms crossed. He just chuckles, sighing relievedly, knowing how much he loves his girl. He lies there on his back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, a thick arm draped over his eyes, cock still heavy and against his stomach, glistening from you. He looks completely content just having taken care of you. But that’s not fair.

You crawl to him slowly, thighs still weak. He lifts his arm just enough to peek at you when the mattress dips under your weight. “Baby?” he murmurs, voice rough. You don’t answer with words. Instead you lean down and press a soft, open mouthed kiss to the underside of his cock. Frank’s breath catches hard, and before he can say anything, you drag your tongue up the full length of him, them taking him into your mouth.

A deep groan rumbles out of his chest the second the wet heat of your mouth envelopes him. His hips twitch upward instinctively before he catches himself. “Fuck-”

You don’t let him protest. You want to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. One of your hands wrap around the thick base he barely fit inside you earlier, stroking with slow bobs of your head. Your tongue swirls around the tip as you suck gently, then firmer when his groan turns into curse words.

Frank’s hand finds the back of your head, not pushing, just resting there, fingers threading through your hair like he needs something to hold onto. “Jesus Christ, baby- you don’t have to-” You hum around him, taking him deeper and relaxing your throat as best as you can. The vibration makes his thighs tense and his other hand fists the sheets beside him.

You pull off just long enough to look up at him, your lips shiny with him. “I want to, Frank. I want you to cum.” His eyes are dark and whatever he was going to say dies in his throat when you sink back down, working him with eager strokes. You pour every bit of love and gratitude you feel for this man who just spent his time making sure you came apart first.

His breathing grows ragged, hips starting to rock up into your mouth despite his desperate effort to stay still. “Ohh- you’re so good, angel. So good to me.”

You moan around his length, the praise making heat bloom low in your belly again. His groans turn deeper, and mofe desperate, the hand in your hair tightening “Baby- I’m gonna-” he warns, voice wrecked. You pull away, taking him in your hand and working him until he’s shaking.

Frank comes undone with a groan that seems to rip out of his soul, his hips stuttering as thick pulses of cum spill across his stomach. You keep touching him through it til he’s trembling and panting beneath you, whispering your name between shaky breaths.

When he finally starts to soften, you pull away, pressing a gentle kiss to his abs before crawling up his body. Frank immediately hauls you against his side, arm wrapping around you like he never wants to let go. His heart is hammering under your cheek.

“Christ, doll,” he rasps, pressing kisses to the top of your head, your temple, anywhere he can reach really. You nuzzle your face in his side, wishing you could just melt into him. You breathe together, heartbeats synchronised as you lay on your soft bed. “Hey,” he whispers softly, “you okay?”

You nod a quiet “mhm”, opening your eyes and giving him a small smile before you nuzzle your head back into him. “Of course I am.” But despite the calmness of the moment, he can’t stop thinking about what just happened before.

“I’m sorry for everything” he says quietly, almost ashamed, “you didn’t deserve none’a the shit I put you through.” His words throw you off guard slightly, your brain still caught up in the softness of this moment.

“Frank, it’s okay-”

You got to protest, but he doesn’t let you. “I pushed you away when I shoulda been grateful you even wanted to help me." He runs a rough hand through your hair again, letting it rest on your back. "You deserved more than that. You deserve love and gentleness." He sighs softly, the next words hesitant to leave his mouth. "I know I'm not exactly the epitome of that, but I'm gonna try."

"Frank," you call softly, hand smoothing over his bandages carefully, down to his stomach. "Thank you." But he just sighs, like he's still disappointed with himselt.

"I hurt you, and I'm gonna make it up to you every single day, if you let me."

“I know Frankie," you whisper, kissing his side, "you're a good man, you're just stubborn. He chuckles softly, nodding at your words as he circles his thumb on your back.

"Yeah baby, I'm a stubborn bastard. And a stupid one, pushing your sweetness away like that." He sighs again, but the weight is lifted slightly off his shoulders. He feels like he can breathe again. A quiet moment passes as he watches your face, lashes fluttering in the moonlight shining through your window, the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

"You know I love you?" he says quietly, breaking the silence filling the room.

Your heart patters softly at his confession, not because you didn't know, but more because you're surprised he's admitted it to himself. "I love you too Frank" you breathe, closing your eyes against him. "I promise you won't lose me."

“I know I won’t baby. Not if I can help it.”

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, holding you a little closer. For a moment, neither of you says anything, content to listen to the quiet hum of the night. "Good,” you murmur, a small smile in your voice.

As you’re wrapped in each other's warmth, the weight of your old fears feels a little bit lighter, and before long, sleep finds you both. You drift off, Franks arm still steadily around you, keeping you close to him.

the following morning you'd woken up early, before the sun had even rise to make him a warm meal.

the snow had been falling for days, making it hard for you to reach the military base. you clutched the lunchbox to your chest, your fingers numb from the fierce wind. 

here you were now, fidgeting with your hands, as you slowly approached the base. you had been here before, once, when simon forgot some urgent documents in his office at home and asked you to deliver them.  

the guard at the gate barely glanced at you before exclaiming "training yard's to the left," he said, his voice bored "lieutenant is probably there."

you thanked him with a whisper and made your way through the gates. 

you spotted some recruits as you came to the proximity of the field.

"excuse me," you called softly, clearing your throat. "i'm looking for lieutenant riley."

a young soldier turned, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, probably wondering what were you doing in a place like that. he was taller than you, double your size, but not as big as simon, and his piercing eyes made you shiver. 

"and you must be?" the soldier sneered, his tone dripping with arrogance. "do you think anyone can meet him?"

"i-i'm here to bring him his lunch," you said, showing him the bag that was held tight to your chest.

the soldier turned around, exchanging a glance with his friend. "his lunch? you his personal errand girl?"

the other recruit laughed, joining the teasing. "im sure lieutenant doesn't need a little thing like you bringing him food. he's got proper food here. not whatever home cooked rubbish you've got in there."

your cheeks flushed, heat rising to your face. "it's not uhm... like that. he forgot it this morning. i just wanted to-" you began to stutter, avoiding their mocking gaze. 

"you wanted to what? speak louder won't ya?" the first soldier stepped closer, leaning down to reach your eye level "a stupid girl who can't even make a simple sentence without stuttering wants to see him? you think you're special?"

"i-i'm his wife," you managed to say but you could feel your eyes begin to well up.

the soldiers stared at you for a moment, then burst into laughter. the sound was loud and mocking, echoing through the corridors. "right," the first one said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "and i'm the captain. nice try, love. lieutenant riley doesn't have a wife. everyone knows that."

you wanted to correct him but got quickly interrupted.

"look, sweetheart," the second recruit cut in, "we don't have time for this. he's a busy man." he gestured vaguely to the gates "you need to leave. now."

"b-but I'm telling you the truth," you said, your voice trembling. "i'm n-not lying."

the first soldier rolled his eyes. "you're not authorised to be here," he said, his voice hardening. "if you don't leave on your own, we'll have you escorted out."

"i-i have a pass," you said, fumbling in your pocket. "i have a visitor's pass. see?" with shaking hands, you held your pass.

the soldier snatched it from your hand, glancing at it briefly before tossing it to the ground. "probably stolen," he said dismissively. 

"get the fuck out now." the second soldier said, as he grabbed your arm and began pushing you toward the gate. 

you stumbled, falling down on your butt, then the gate was slamming shut behind you.

you stood there, frozen. you reached for your phone to call your husband but it wasn't there. in a hurry to leave the house, you left it on the kitchen counter.

this is why ghost always tells you to be more careful with your belongings. 

"clumsy little girl." was what simon would often call you.

the snow continued to fall, piling up around you. you were going to freeze out here. 

you were so cold you could barely hear a distant voice calling your name.

the voice was low and behind his mask you saw a strangely familiar face. you lifted your head, your vision blurry with tears and snowflakes, and found yourself staring at a bearded man. his dark eyes were the only thing you could see.

"oh, john." you breathed, and then you were sobbing. "i...they didn't believe me...i couldn't...i just wanted to bring him lunch and they-"

"hey, it's alright," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. he stepped forward, shrugging off his heavy coat and draping it over her shoulders. it was too big, swallowing you whole, but it was warm. "come on. let's get you inside."

he led you through the gate once again, past the recruits who had just thrown you out. price didn't say a word to them, but the look he shot them held a lot of warnings. 

the captain guided you to a chair, sat you down, and knelt in front of you. 

"are you hurt?" he asked, checking for any possible injury.

you shook your head, scared your voice would betray you. "j-just c-cold. r-really cold."

price's eyes hardened. "i'll take care of it."

he pulled out his phone and called simon.

the recruits were still in the yard when ghost appeared, and the shift in the atmosphere was immediate. his mask was pulled tight, but it did nothing to conceal the fury radiating from his posture.

"which one of you," he said, his voice low and threatening, "did it?"

the first recruit, the one who'd laughed at you, tried to play it cool. "lieutenant, there was some woman trying to get in, claimed to be your wife. i mean its ridiculous, uh? but i handled it."

"you handled it," ghost repeated, with a nod; his voice flat, emotionless. "you fucking handled my wife."

the colour drained from the recruit's face. "sir, i didn't, we didn't know-"

"i will deal with you later." simon spat out, not sparing them another glance.

he crossed the yard in a few long strides, his hands shaking with fury. he found you in the common room, wrapped in price's coat. you were still clutching the lunchbox, and the sight of it, the sight of you being so pitiful, nearly made him lose the control.

his hands found your waist, and then you were pulled into his arms, crushed against his chest so tightly you could feel the frantic beating of his heart. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, the fabric of his mask damp and warm against your skin, and wrapped his arms around you like he was afraid you'd dissolve if he loosened his grip even a bit.

he pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest. 

"sweetheart," he breathed, the word cracking somewhere in his throat. "i'm sorry. fuck."

"it's okay," you whispered, your fingers clutching his shirt. "y-you're here."

"no, it's not alright." he pulled back, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. "i will never, ever let that happen again."

he pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes closed. his fingers were stroking your cheeks, trying to warm you. 

he scooped you up, cradling you against his chest, and carried you toward his quarters. his arms were strong and steady, as you whimpered from the cold.

"price," he called over his shoulder, "round them up. i'll deal with them properly later."

the door to his quarters closed behind you, and simon set you down gently on his chair. he knelt in front of you, his hands working to unzip your coat, to peel off the wet layers. 

"bastards," he cursed under his breath. "i'll kill them all."

you flinched, but were too exhausted to speak, so you let him wrap you in his clothes, and hold you until the shaking stopped. wrapped by simon's thick scent and his body warmth, you soon fell asleep from the exhaustion.

outside, the recruits stood shivering in the yard, watching the snow pile up around their boots.

ghost quickly crossed the yard, his face a mask of cold fury, and grabbed the first recruit by the throat.

simon's fist quickly connected with the soldier's jaw, a sickening crack echoing through the silent yard. then he turned to the second one, the one who'd grabbed your arm.

"your turn." the man tried to run, but price was there, blocking his path. ghost caught him by the collar, dragging him back, and drove his feet into his stomach. one kick, two kicks, until he collapsed, unconscious, into the snow.

"get them off my base," he said to john.

You are, generally speaking, a very obedient wife. 

Happiest when orbiting Sammy’s daily needs. Coffee made the way he likes it. Shirts folded and stacked in his drawer. Lunch packed with a little note tucked beneath the napkin, be safe, handsome! written in bubbly ink with three hearts and a lipstick print beside it.

And every day when he came home, you abandoned whatever you had been doing and hurried toward him. He expected nothing less. One second you were leaping into his arms; the next, his hands were around your waist and your feet were dangling several inches above the floor as he carried you toward the kitchen. 

“What’d my girl do all day?”

And it's never suspicion. Sammy couldn't sound suspicious if he tried with his face buried against your neck and one palm already migrating beneath your dress to cup your ass.

He just wanted the daily briefing — what you grabbed at the store, who had called, what you streamed while folding laundry, whether you finally watered the basil — best delivered while you perched on the counter and he kneaded your backside, answering each fact with a thoughtful little mhmm. 

Obedience, unfortunately, becomes a far shakier virtue when the forbidden object is parked dead-center in the living room, looking off center. 

You manage a disciplined twenty, maybe twenty-two, minutes before drifting back to it. Pacing a circle, you judge the distance to the wall and scoff. Barely three feet. Not worth bothering Sammy. Plus, you weren’t going to lift it, merely scoot it across the rug. Scooting seems perfectly reasonable.

Sammy said leave it because you might hurt yourself. You’re not going to hurt yourself. Which means, technically, his concern is already handled. 

The key turns in the front door lock at the exact moment you wedge your shoulder beneath one corner of the cabinet.

You don’t hear it. You’re far too busy making a series of tiny, pathetic noises through clenched teeth, one foot braced behind you while the other slips uselessly against the rug. 

“What are you doing?”

You freeze mid-shove, cheeks hot. 

“Nothing,” you answer quickly.

“Looks pretty fuckin’ strenuous for nothing.” His boots stop inches from your bare foot. You peek up from beneath the cabinet, hair sticking to your forehead, dress bunched at your waist. Sammy sets his keys aside with exaggerated calm, then crouches, forearms on his knees, meeting your eyes at floor level. “Gonna try that answer again?”

You ease onto your knees, fingers fussing with the bunched cotton until it skims halfway down your thighs. Sammy’s eyes track the motion, lingering where the dress refuses to fall any lower.

The lift of his brow tells you he’s remembering exactly what color those panties were, and how little they covered when you were half-under the cabinet.

“Sammy, listen, I was being so safe.” You plant both palms on the hardwood, as if proving stability. “I slid it on the rug so the floor wouldn’t scratch, kept my knees bent, no twisting, no overexertion.” You point at the hulking thing. “It’s practically in the same spot, honest. I just wanted it to look… finished.” 

Sammy nudges your forehead with his. “What did I say last night?”

“That you’d handle it.” You chase his mouth with a soft peck. “I know, but you work so hard and I didn’t want you to have to —”

“Baby.”

Your lips skim his cheek again. “I just figured if I moved it now you could relax later and maybe we could order take-out and —” 

“Mrs. Bryant.” His voice dips, a velvet warning. Two fingers tilt your face up so you have to meet the steady, disciplined gleam in his eyes. “One more word and you’ll be explaining it bent over that cabinet instead of under it. Clear?” 

You swallow, gaze dropping to his mouth, and manage the softest little “Mm-hmm,” the sound barely a syllable, insurance against making the mistake of actual speech. 

He accepts the tiny assent with a nod, then folds his fingers around your wrist and pulls you upright. The instant your balance steadies, he gives your backside a sharp, proprietary smack that makes you yelp and bite your smile. 

“Atta girl. Now scoot over to the couch and sit pretty while I do the heavy lifting, yeah?” 

It takes him only ten minutes to shove the cabinet into place. The oak kisses the wall while he wipes his palms off his uniform and crooks a finger. 

“Come ‘ere.”

You pad over, contrite and already trembling. He folds you against his chest, broad hand sifting through your hair in a slow, soothing rake.

“Scared me,” he murmurs against your crown. “Didn’t like picturing my girl pinned under two hundred pounds of wood.”

“‘M sorry,” you whisper, suddenly feeling very guilty as your fingers fists the back of his shirt. 

“I know.” His tone softens, but the command that follows is pure authority. Knuckles brush the hem of your sundress, nudging it higher. “Why don’t you show me just how much.”

MARIA NOTE popping my sammy cherry everybody be nice im nervous

but more than that, he loves what follows. he loves the groveling apologies and the soft makeup kisses. he loves taming that craziness of yours and soothing you back into that sweet little thing you truly are.

he loves it so much, in fact, that he occasionally finds himself pushing your buttons just for fun.

sometimes he turns his location off in the middle of a shift and make bets with shen about how long it'll take for you to show up to ptmc.

jack comes out of a trauma half an hour later to find you talking with lena at the charge desk, and he thinks you look real cute wearing a pair of his boxers, a hoodie, and your house slippers.

he smiles big and says, "hey, baby. what're you doin' here so late?"

lena snorts and mutters under her breath, "give him hell, kid."

you give him that scowl jack knows all too well, saying, "don't hey baby me. why the fuck did you turn your location off, jack?"

he wraps his arms around your waist and sneakily slides his hands just a liiitle lower than what should be acceptable in a place like this. "just wanted to see you, sweetheart. that so bad?"

"me, or your other girlfriend?"

it makes jack laugh. the idea alone is insane—there would never be anyone else for him but you. his pretty little brat. "c'mon. let's go talk about this somewhere quiet, hm?"

you let him lead you to an empty room, and jack locks the door behind him because he knows good and well what comes next.

he admits he'd stopped sharing his location because he knew you'd show up, and he'd just missed you sooo much. jack sets you on the hospital bed and stands between your legs, his hands roaming down your shoulders, over the curves of your hips, thumbs massaging little circles on the inside of your thighs.

"just been such a long day, baby," he tells you, pulling over the stool to sit between your spread legs. jack presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mouth moving upwards until he's pressing kisses against your pussy through the cotton fabric of his boxers that you've stolen. "m'sorry i upset you. just missed you so much, you know? can i make it up to you, hm? you gonna let me do that?"

and you do, of course. let him pull your bottoms off so he can lick and suck at your clit until you're writhing, moaning so loud he has to stuff his fingers in your mouth to quiet you.

there's something addicting about it, about having you like this. you're always so strong and sure of yourself, yet you turn to putty in his big hands. so pliant and perfect for him.

jack makes you cum with just the warm slide of his tongue against your clit, circling the pulsing nerves until you're begging him for reprieve, so overstimulated there's not a trace of that attitude left behind.

when he does finally come up for air, his chin is slick with your arousal and he wears a knowing little smirk. "that's better, isn't it? hm?"

you roll your eyes, but the action is full of playfulness instead of irritation and jack knows he'll get through the rest of his shift a whole lot easier now that he's had a little pick me up.

by the time you leave, jack's sharing his location once more and he's twenty dollars richer (much to shen's dismay).

jack's favorite button of yours to push is the jealous one, though. and he knows it might be a little mean, but god. he just can't help it. you get so territorial and it's not like it's his fault that it makes his dick hard.

the two of you will be out shopping one afternoon. jack has the things you've already picked out draped over his arm, and you're carrying a few items you're not sure about when you find a employee to ask for a fitting room.

the woman is nice enough—she wears a tight-lipped smile and leads you to the back of the store and opens one of the rooms for you with the key around her neck.

but then she turns to jack and her smile brightens. "one for you too, sir?" the words are sweet and soft and overly bubbly, and jack fights the grin that starts to form on his face when you turn rigid at his side.

your fingers find his bicep, curling around the thick muscle. "uhm, no. he doesn't. thanks," you answer for him—tone stiff and final. not rude exactly, but something pretty close.

you then pull him into the fitting room and lock the door, already shaking your head as he sits on the little bench across from the mirror. "she was just being nice, baby," he says, but it's a lie, and you both know it.

"yeah, sure. too fucking nice if you ask me." you scoff. "i bet you she was hoping you'd say yes so she could go in with you and suck your dick or something. i mean, seriously. what the fuck is her problem? she didn't see me right next to you? you guys offer eye exams at the ED? i bet she'd love to come see you sometime, jack—"

"okay, hey. come here." you do as he says, coming to stand in front of him with your arms folded tightly over your chest. jack takes your hands in his and untangles them. he's grinning up at you—he can't help it. jack thinks you just look so sexy all riled up. "don't care what she wants, cause i only want you. hm? yeah? you listening?"

you still sport a crease between your brows, but nod in acknowledgment.

jack reaches up with one hand and takes your jaw gently between his fingers. "i only want my dick in this mouth for the rest of my life," he says.

you giggle and try to hide your amusement by shyly turning your head into your shoulder. but there's nothing shy about the way you kneel before him and reach for his belt buckle. there's nothing shy about the way you pull his cock out, already hard watching you indulge those strong feelings of yours.

jack's hands are tender as they stroke your hair away from your face while you swallow him down. your tongue swirls around the tip, your saliva collecting and dripping down to the base of his cock. his muscles go slack at the sensation when you hollow out your cheeks, sucking him hard.

"you look so pretty like this," he murmurs. "taking it so well, baby. feels so fucking good."

he lets you take what you need, lets you prove yourself the way he knows you need to.

"so much better than anyone else could ever be," jack encourages, cock throbbing between your plush lips. "yeah, there you go. that's it—shit—"

he finishes at the back of your throat, groaning as his cum fills your mouth. he slides out slowly, but keeps a firm hand on the back of your neck.

"show me," he instructs, and you obey immediately, sticking out your tongue and looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. jack feels himself twitch at the sight of what he's made of you. filthy little thing. "mmhm. good. swallow now."

you do, swallowing his release like the perfect girl you are. a small drip spills down the corner of your mouth, and jack swipes it away with his thumb and makes you lick the digit clean.

he tucks himself back in his jeans while you stand. you reach for his hand next, pulling him to his feet to lead him out of the dressing room.

jack tries to grab the clothes you'd picked out earlier, but you tell him to leave them. "over my dead fucking body am i letting her check us out while she checks you out," you grumble. "we're leaving."

he doesn't argue, but he does ask parker to go back a week later with his credit card to pick up the things you liked.

that jealousy appears again a few weeks later when trinity invites a few people out for drinks at a new bar that just opened a short drive from the hospital.

but as it turns out, it's more of a nightclub than a bar—not exactly jack's scene. not for the last twenty years, anyway.

you and trinity have always gotten along so well, and jack thinks the invitation might've only been given to him in hopes that you'd attend, too. robby shows up late, his invitation given from dennis, of course—and the night quickly turns into drinks and a show.

jack and robby sit at the bar, nursing a couple of sweating beer bottles while they watch the group of you dance together animatedly. there's strobe lights and poppy synth music playing. you're wearing a pretty sequined dress, giggling and twirling victoria around in a circle.

and try as he might, jack can't keep his eyes off you—so passionate and full of life, young and carefree in a way he wants to soak up. he could stay here for hours, jack thinks. just watching you have your fun with a smile on his face.

later in the night, you come over to order another one of those garnished pink drinks and a round of green tea shots. you've got your arm around jack's shoulders and his is bracketed tight around your waist, pulling you into him, close enough he can smell your sweet body spray and the faint scent of you underneath.

the bartender is a young guy—far closer to you in age than jack is. he's got a shaggy hair cut and a nose ring and when he sits your drink and the shots on the bar in front of you, he grins and says over the music, "i like your nails."

and jack…well. jack doesn't think it's funny at all, when he's on the other end of this.

you immediately glance at him, at the amusement that falls from his face—and then you turn back to the bartender and say, "thanks! my boyfriend paid for them!"

jack's arm tightens around your waist. he's never considered himself a jealous man, not really. but the way the bartender's looking at you doesn't sit well at all.

you take a drink from your glass and swallow the shimmery pink liquid. "mm, it's so good, jack. here, try some."

at first, he thinks you're going to pass the glass to him to take a small sip. but what you do instead is take his jaw between your manicured fingers and kiss him hard. your tongue slips lewdly into his mouth, sliding against his own. he can taste the alcohol and the sugary sweetness on your lips.

jack doesn't think he'd be able to fight off his big ass grin if he tried.

you pull away, laughing girlishly, and then turn his head to playfully lick the stubble on his cheek. "thanks for the drinks, daddy!"

jack squeezes his jaw and chuckles low as you gather the shots in your hand before returning to the dance floor.

the bartender mixes someone else's drink now, jaw feathering as he pointedly avoids jack's gaze.

beside him,robby shakes his head before taking a slow swig from his beer. "you've got your hands full, brother."

it makes jack laugh.

because yeah, he does. and he fucking loves it.

and later that night, back at your apartment? well, jack's got his hands full of something else.

you're bent over the mattress, dress pushed up around your hips, panties pulled to the side. he palms the pillowy globes of you ass as he fucks his cock into you, pussy slick and dripping for him.

"yeah, there you go. fuckin' take it," he says, hips snapping forward. "my girl. my girl, baby. no one else can fuck you like this, huh?"

"only—hmm—only you," you whimper. you're a trembling mess beneath him, fingers clutched tight in the sheets. your moans echo against the four walls, the obscene, wet slide of his cock making him throb.

"say it," he orders, a low sound rumbling in his chest. "tell me who you belong to."

"m'yours, jack—oh god, oh—yours, yours yours—i'm your girl—fuck—"

"that's right, sweetheart," he says, slipping a hand around your hip and beneath you to find your clit. he circles it gently, applying the perfect amount of pressure. "can feel you squeezing me. you wanna cum, baby? hm? you like the way i fuck you?"

"yes, jack—oh god, so fucking good, please please—"

he drives his cock deeper, spreading you open so he can watch it go in. he can feel his own release threatening, a white hot bliss coiling tight at the base of his spine. "give it to me," jack says. "mmhm. yeah, that's it. this pussy belongs to me. my pussy. my fuckin' girl."

the sticky walls of your cunt tighten around him, pulling him in impossibly deeper, and it sends jack over the edge. he fucks you through it, filling you up with his release, fingers circling your clit until you're shaking beneath him.

when he's spent, jack falls forward, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as he tries to catch his breath. he presses sweet, soft kisses to your skin, whispering all the while. "did so good for me. my favorite girl. so pretty."

he feels you stiffen beneath him, and jack stands to allow you the space to move. you turn over, tugging your dress up and over your head to discard it on the floor.

you're still panting and your thighs are still trembling, but jack can see the irritation in the way you move.

with his mouth turned up at the corners, jack asks, "what's wrong, baby?"

His weight pins you into the mattress, thick fingers already buried deep, deep inside your soaked, velvety cunt, stretching you around them in a firm constant motion.

His forearm flexes as he pumps and pumps them in and out with a wet, filthy rhythm, thumb pressing into your little nub and knuckles brushing onto that sweet, sensitive spot that makes your thighs jerk over and over again.

"Shhh, babygirl," Joel murmurs, voice low. "Daddy's got you. Daddy's got his baby. Just let it happen, honey."

You're already crying—soft, small hiccuping sobs that shake in your chest—because it's too much, too fast, too overstimulating for your poor little cunt, and you've never ever felt anything like this. 

Oh and Joel knows you've never felt this way before. 

Your hands can only push weakly at his shoulders, and he won't move. Solid, immovable, pinning you completely under him, every ounce of his strength focused on squeezing another orgasm out of you.

"Daddy—please, I-I think I'm gonna—" Your voice cracks as fresh tears slip down your temples. The pressure in your belly is so unbearable, a hot, insistent throb that presses and presses. "I'm gonna pee, I can't—"

Joel's free hand slides up, palm broad and calloused, and presses firmly right below your belly button. The heel of it sinks into the soft flesh of your tummy, and the sensation makes your whole body jolt against him. 

"S'okey, baby. You ain't gonna pee. That's not what's happenin'." He places a kiss on your forehead. "You're gonna squirt for Daddy, that's all. My messy girl just needs a little help."

His fingers curl again, scissoring them inside you, and the wet sound is obscene—slick, squelching, constant. Your thighs tremble around his wrist, trying to close, but he's wedged between them, hips braced wide so you can't escape the relentless drag of his knuckles. 

Every thrust and rub makes your clit throb oversensitive, swollen and aching, you can feel how puffy your folds are, how they cling to his fingers on every pull.

"T-too much," you whimper, voice breaking. Fresh tears spill, hot, salty, melting into your hair. "Daddy, please, I can't—"

He hushes you again, leaning down so his beard brushes your cheek, breath warm against your ear. 

"You can, honey. You're doin' so good for me." He murmurs, his free hand going behind your head and making you look at his fingers disappearing in your hole. "Pretty cunt takin' my fingers like it was made for 'em. So tight, so wet—fuck, listen to you." 

He punctuates the words with a particularly deep, hard thrust, and a gush of slick spills out around his knuckles, soaking the sheet beneath you.

"Oh—" you gasp, your hands fist into his flannel shirt, tugging, but it's useless. 

He's too damn heavy, too solid, and he knows it.

The knowledge sits in his pretty brown eyes when he pulls back just enough to watch your face; dark, patient, maybe a little amused.

"Push all you want, babygirl. Ain't movin' till you give it to me."

The pressure crests then again, sharper this time, and your back arches hard off of the bed. 

Joel's hand on your tummy presses down firmer and firmer, pinning you, making the overstimulation worse. The combination—his fingers stroking that spongy spot inside you, the weight of his palm, his body lying on top of you—snaps something loose.

"There she goes."

You sob his name as it hits, a sudden, violent rush that sprays out around his fingers in a hot, messy arc. It soaks the sheets, splashes up his wrist, wets his pants and keeps coming and coming in pulsing, squelching waves while your cunt clenches desperately around him. 

Joel groans low in his chest, the sound filthy and approving. "There it is. That's my girl. Look how much you had in ya, so messy." 

But he doesn't stop. 

His fingers keep moving, slower now but still deep, working you through every aftershock until you're a twitching and whimpering mess. 

The overstimulation burns, sharp and electric, every nerve raw and singing. You try to twist away but his body  keeps you caged, your hips shifting just enough to grind the heel of his palm against your clit on every stroke.

"Shhh, I know," he soothes. "Daddy's too strong for you, ain't he? Can't get away even if you wanted to. And you don't really want to, do you? Feels too good, havin' your old man ruin that pretty pussy."

Your answer is a broken moan, hips jerking helplessly as another smaller gush leaks out around his fingers. 

Joel chuckles, low and warm, finally easing his hand free. 

Your cunt flutters around nothing, empty, aching,  slick dripping down the cleft of your ass to join the wet patch beneath you.

He shifts his weight then, one knee nudging your thigh wider, and the blunt head of his cock nudges against your entrance suddenly. 

He's thick, hot, the ridge catching on your swollen folds as he rocks forwards just enough to tease. 

You shake your head immediately, a whine of protest leaving your lips. "S'too much, daddy..."

"S'okey, honey. You're okay. We're gonna do that again," he murmurs, and your stomach flips. "But this time, i'm gonna fuck it out of you. Fill you up all nice and slow, and make you squirt on my cock, over and over till you can't think straight. Ya hear me, sweet girl?"

You can't do anything but nod, tears still clinging to your lashes, body trembling under him. 

This overstimulation in your body has you floaty, every sensation now amplified: the drag of his cockhead through your slick, the way his chest hair rasps against your nipples when he leans down, the steady press of his hand still splayed across your tummy because he owns it.

Joel pushes in slow, the stretch burning sweet  and so, so deep, making your walls flutter around him, still so sensitive from the earlier release. 

He groans when he bottoms out, hips flush to yours, and stays there for a moment, rubbing your little clit, letting you feel every inch. 

"Theere we go, just take me. You're so tight, honey." he breathes. "Even after all that, still squeezin' me like you don't wanna let go."

When he starts to move—it's long, deliberate strokes that grind against every oversensitive spot inside you. 

Each thrust punches little gasps and pitiful whimpers from your throat, and the wet sound of your cunt taking him is louder now, slick and messy from everything he's already pulled out of you. 

His hand stays on your belly, thumb stroking soothing circles even as his hips snap harder, driving you up the bed.

"Gonna make you squirt again," he promises, voice rough with effort. "Gonna feel you gush around my cock, soak the both of us. And you're gonna take it, 'cause Daddy knows what you need better than you do."

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in, but there's no fight left—just the overwhelming rush of sensation as he fucks you through the overstimulation, each thrust pushing you closer to that same unbearable edge. 

Joel's voice stays in your ear the whole time, sweet and condescending, praising and guiding you through every wave until you're sobbing his name again and again while the sheets are ruined completely beneath you.

This makes me kinda want to write a piss kink fic but...I already got so much hate for writing fauxcest im a LITTLE traumatised😭😭