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chattahoochiecoochie · 1 year

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It’s Us, Then

Summary: Answers are nice, so is letting go.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: portrayal of weak female / manipulative language / mild dub con

A/N: And now I’ve made them boyfriends (plus you), so reality is whatever I want it to be. In order, first, second, third. Everything else is here.

By the time Sam meets you at the front door of the training facility an hour and a half later, you are practically a puddle.

He’s got you by the hand, asking about the meeting and Ja’Marr, but you can’t answer, too lost in your own head and the heat between your legs.

You’d spent the entire meeting staring at your iPad notes, trying to focus—and failing. Your mind was split, fractured in the middle as you tried to organize your thoughts.

On the one side, you heard Joe’s silky voice on repeat. Hour and a half. And on the other, the rough laugh Sam had let out when he’d said something about taking it slow. What had he said exactly? So much for taking it slow.

Taking it slow. Hour and a half. Taking it slow. Hour and a half. Hour and a half. Taking you slow.

There are a thousand things you want to ask. What are the three of you doing? With all these rides in the morning and the hand holding and the spare keys and the looks they give each other when they think you’re not looking. What’s with all the winking at you on the sidelines of the training field and the turning up at your exam room, just to say hi. The texting, always in a group chat—never individually— and the way they hold hands with one another when you sit at that back booth of that shitty dive bar you’ve frequented over the last three weeks.

Three weeks. Hour and a half. Hour and a half. Three weeks to take you slow. Taking it slow.

But then, every time you think you’ve gotten your thoughts together, the low hum of Joe’s voice washes them away again, over and over again until your mind is numb. The words run together in your head as you walk beside Sam, spinning through your own head until you're almost dizzy when you finally reach Joe’s car.

“I—we—are gonna fuck her stupid after this meeting of hers.”

We. We. We.

You get into the passenger seat blind, only vaguely aware of the grin on Joe’s face and the way his hand snakes onto your leg.

“There's our girl.”

Our. Our. Our.

“Careful.” Behind you, Sam is sliding into the back seat, chuckling. “I think they fried her brain in there.”

“Something like that.” You mumble, tuning back in slowly as Joe strokes his thumb over your thigh.

“She speaks!” Sam sounds giddy behind you, his voice close as he leans between you and Joe.

“Something like that?” Joey’s got his left hand on the shifter, and then the wheel as he pulls out of his parking spot.

“I just…” You falter, unable to finish your sentence. You can hardly think straight, much less articulate it verbally.

“Just what, baby?”

“I think I missed that entire meeting.” You laugh weakly, shaking your head.

“Yeah?”

“My head’s on fire.” You let your head roll to the side, allowing your eyes to roam over his face. God, he’s so pretty.

“You wanna tell us about it?” Sam speaks up, putting his arm over the console so he can rest his hand on top of Joe’s in your lap.

You’re not sure you do, or if you even can, head so dizzy still. You don’t even know how to begin. But you try anyway, rambling on, barely conscious of yourself as Joe takes the side streets, sailing through green light after green light. Where are you going?

Watching the blur of the city through your window, you play with their hands in your lap, dragging your nails over them as you speak.

Everything you’d spent your meeting thinking about, all the questions you had, all the things you’d been hung up on for the last three weeks, they pour out of you until you're breathless. What, exactly, are the three of you taking slow?

When you finally trail off into silence minutes later, it’s eerily quiet. Both boys sitting patiently with what you’ve said—or tried to say. Joe’s finally hit a red light, and the car skips a beat, and then another as you sit in front of it. It’s only when it turns green, and his foot is heavy on the gas, that they eventually speak up, over one another.

“We’re—”

“I—” Sam stops short, catching himself. “Nah, go ahead man, my bad.”

Turning the car down a short city driveway, Joe nods, mostly to himself it seems. You watch him swallow, jaw tight as he parts his lips to speak.

“We’re doing whatever you want to do. That's what this is. Whatever you want it to be.”

He squeezes your thigh, looking at you from the corner of his eye as he puts the car in park. Where are you? “I think it’s all, maybe, going a little differently than we thought it would—”

“Quicker.” Sam interjects, voice low.

“Yeah, quicker.”

“Than you thought it would?”

“Than we planned it, yeah.”

“So you did plan it, then?” They planned it. They planned it.

“Yes.” Joe looks back at Sam, sounding cautious. “We did.”

You hum quietly in response. Your mind feels heavy, like it’s weighing you down. Is that an answer? Is that an explanation? Why does it sound so good? They had planned on it, on you. You can feel a lazy smile curling on your lips. That’s nice, isn’t it?

“That’s good.” What had you been thinking earlier? The words are stacked over one another in your head suddenly, indecipherable. Joe’s answer lies over them like a blanket, the tone of his voice drowning out everything you’d been caught up on.

“Yeah?” Joe’s smiling at you, squeezing your thigh.

“When you say ‘our’” You pause as Sam pulls his hand from your lap, moving to get out of the car. Wherever you are, you’re staying. “It’s us, then, is it?”

Joe gestures to himself, and then to you, and Sam who is now standing beside your open door, nodding. “Us.”

Us. Us. Us.

“Okay.” You hear yourself saying, voice distant. You roll your head on the headrest, turning to look at Sam. “Okay.”

He looks smug—a funny smile on his face as he leans down in front of you, undoing your seatbelt before taking you by the hand and drawing you out of the passenger seat. He’s got you by the wrist, pulling you into his chest, quiet as can be. You’re aware of the car shutting off behind you, and the sound of Joe stepping out onto the driveway—but only barely. Whose house?

“Good?” You look up at Sam, nodding when his eyes lock on yours.

“Good girl. Go on after him then.” Kissing your crown you can almost hear the grin he’s wearing. “I think you’ve made Joey wait long enough.”

An hour and a half. The phrase sparks in your head, fizzling out before you can grasp it. It's been almost two.

It takes a moment to find your feet, and when you do, Sam pats you on the ass, pushing you forward towards the front of the house—to where Joe is standing on the stoop, waiting for you.

He’s got the door open—his house, then—one hand holding it open, the other tucked in his pocket.

“Can you do me a favor?” He asks as you get closer, brow raised when you make the top step.

You nod, looking past him, into the house.

“Get on up those stairs, and turn that pretty little brain off for me.” He points his head to the staircase sitting beyond the entryway. “Please.”

You smile to yourself, feeling warm when you move past him. How silly. Your mind is numb anyway, he hardly needs to ask. Are you always this easy?

You’re halfway up the stairs when you register Sam’s voice behind you, a low whisper he must think you won’t hear, and to his credit, you almost don’t. “So that's it, then, is it?”

“Got her wrapped around our finger.”

“Get her khakis, would you?” Mouth on your collarbone, the words come out muffled. Joe’s got his arms around you, fingers working on the clasp of your bra as he bites at you, breath hot on your skin.

“Say less.”

Sam’s got them around your knees in an instant, nudging the back of your leg with his knee. Step. You lift your foot, head back when Joe moves up your neck. You get your leg free, only to be nudged again on the other leg. You step again, stumbling between the two of them.

They’re both so close to you, trapping you in the middle with nowhere to go. It’s all you can do to collapse against Sam, hoping he’ll keep you upright as Joe drags the straps of your bra down your arms.

Letting your eyelids flutter, you let go of whatever else you’re holding on to. Turn that pretty little brain off for me.

“Can I?” Sam asks. There’s a hand on your thong, holding it by the band—it must be his.

“Waiting on it.”

It’s hardly hit the floor by the time they’ve got their hands on you, a mess of fingers playing over your center.

Through heavy eyes you can see them on you, Sam with his right hand snaked around your waist, palm pressed to your belly as he plays with your clit—fuck. You groan when his other hand moves across your chest, grabbing at your breast. God, that’s good. And when that’s almost too much, there’s Joe, curling his fingers between your legs, groaning when you drip on down his wrist.

Your head falls, knocking against Sam’s bicep. Blinking slowly, you catch them above you. Sam’s got his mouth on Joe’s neck, tongue flashing briefly as he sucks on the spot beneath Joe’s ear—just how he does with you.

Us. Us. Us.

His eyes are closed, lips parted. He looks delirious. You whimper at the sight, knees weak when Joe looks down to catch your eye, blush rising on his cheeks. Delirium turns to something else, flashing across his face as he turns his focus back to you.

“Bed.” He mumbles, brushing off Sam as he leans down to press his lips to yours, fingers slipping in when you part your mouth for him. “Now.” He speaks into you, voice weak.

Sammy’s got you off the ground before you can catch your bearings, tracking backwards until he falls onto the mattress, holding you in his lap, a hand on each knee to hold you apart. Did they plan this too?

“On your knees, Joey, I got her.” Sam's voice is gruff, right by your ear.

You watch through your lashes as Joe sinks to the floor in front of you, free hand working at the band of his shorts until he pulls himself free. His eyes are dark, pupils blown. The sight of him, staring at you, the feeling of him touching you—no, licking at you—you can hardly breathe.

He’s so soft on you, clean shaven and smooth, the tip of his nose buried against you as he goes even lower. His brow is raised, blue eyes trying to find yours. He’s wet, covered in you. For half a second, you can feel your consciousness drip away, pooling under the base of your skull.

Chest heaving, you crumple in Sam’s arms, trembling. He’s dragging his fingers up your legs, back and forth, forcing your legs open every time you shudder under Joe’s tongue. He’s so good, so patient. Take it slow.

A smile comes over your face as Sam’s words cross your mind. Taking it slow. Tongue sliding up the center of you, lips over the bud, and then back down he goes, fingers working all the while, curled up inside you, getting at the one place you can’t find on your own. Fuck.

“There she is.” You're shaking, forcing Sam to hold you tighter, nails digging into your skin as you try to pull your knees together. “You got her?”

Joe mumbles something in response against you, lips tugging into half a smile. It comes hard and fast, the rush of nerves running down your spine until you fall apart on him, tension going slack as it passes over you.

Offering you no time to recover, they move around you quickly, indifferent to how limp you’ve gone. Sam’s got Joe by the wrist, taking the blonds fingers in his mouth, a moan echoing when he tastes you on his hand.

“Fuck that’s good. I get it next time, yeah?”

“We’ll see.”

“Dick.” Sam’s tone is gentle, and when you let your head roll, you can see him smirking, trademark glint in his eye.

Then suddenly there's a shift in your space, thighs moving under you, Sam’s got you around the waist, dragging you up the bed. In front of you, Joe is working his way out of his shorts, tripping onto the bed once they hit the floor. You blink slowly as he crawls up to you. Why does he look so hazy?

Halfway up the mattress and still behind you, Sam’s let you loose for half a second, squirming out of his own clothes, a hand back on you before he’s even got his shirt over his head.

Holding you tight, he pulls you onto his chest, spreading your legs with his knees now. “Come on then.” He pats between your legs softly, sending a shiver up your spine as he grazes your bud.

Three little words, that’s all it takes. Joe’s in you moments later, hips knocking into your legs as he bears down on you. You feel your jaw go slack, caught moments later when Sam puts a hand around your throat—holding you steady as Joe strokes.

Fuck her stupid.

Who’d said that?

You're drooling onto Sam’s hand, eyes fluttering every time Joe pulls back, just waiting for him to drive back, each time harder than the last. Take it slow. You wish he wouldn’t.

“You want it, too?” Joe’s voice is strained when he speaks, each syllable said over a stroke of his hips. Your back arches at the question, not understanding that it’s not pointed at you. Someone laughs, but you can’t place the sound between the two of them.

“I know you’re not asking.” Sam chuckles under you, the vibration of it coming in time with another shudder of nerves. So close.

“Get up then, big man.”

You want it, too? You want it?

Sam’s slow, letting his hand fall from your neck first before sliding you off his chest and onto the comforter. Sitting up beside where he’s left you, he’s got his fingers on your temple, pushing your now damp hair from your eyes.

You’re shaking, cheek pressed into his hand when Joe falters against you seconds later, cock throbbing. Shuddering as he pulls out of you, come drips from him as he lets himself spill on you, warmth hitting your clit as he lets himself go.

You whimper something unintelligible, tears burning down your cheeks as Sam takes his place before you can catch your breath.

It’s insanity—a blur you’ll hardly remember. He’s bigger, harder somehow, and rougher just like he was last time. Calloused hands hold your hips as he drives into you, lacking the patience Joe had. It’s quick, pleasure towing the line of pain every time he strokes.

Joe is somewhere close, hand ghosting over your head and then your chest—fuck—and then your clit—fingers muddy with the mess he left on you.

“Fuck me—” Sam groans, “You got her? I can’t—”

“Go ahead.” Joe’s fingers work faster, digging into you harder. “I got her.” So close. So close. Please.

You look for him through your lashes, making out the shape of him sitting beside you. “Please.”

“We got you baby, let go.” His voice is clear, sure and his tone makes you whine.

You're quivering under Joe’s fingers when Sam finally follows you, collapsing onto your chest as he finishes inside you, come dribbling out every time he makes the slightest move.

Shaking, you try to find your breath, gasping under Sam’s weight. It hits you like a wave, consciousness flooding back all at once beneath him. Jesus Christ. You can hear his heartbeat on yours, beating in time, and over it, a low laugh emanating from Joe beside you.

“Y’all good?”

“Man shut up, you got to go first.” Sam speaks into your shoulder before heaving himself off of you, knocking into Joe as he hits the mattress.

They tussle for a moment, the bed shaking as they wrestle, taunts flying. There’s a certain sudden sweetness in it, the intimacy between them as you lay nearby, presence waning. You sink into it, losing yourself in the sound of your own heartbeat and them giggling with one another.

It goes quiet for a moment, when they finally notice you lying limp, with a lazy grin on your lips. You can feel them looking at you, sitting still. You let them watch, blinking slowly only after another beat has skipped in your chest.

Sam’s got Joe in his lap, broad arms wrapped around his waist. They’re staring at you intently, waiting. For what? You offer them what you can manage as a smile, lips hardly moving despite your effort.

“There she is.” Sam grins at you, squeezing Joe around the middle.

“Our girl.” With pink cheeks, Joe relaxes against Sam, letting his head rest on the larger man's chest.

Our girl. Our. Us.

#now that ive given them backstory #anything is possible #or #ill just take my happy ass back to my brocedes wips and mind my business #if you don't like this don't tell me I'm fragile #chattahoochiecoochie writes #joe burrow #sam hubbard #joe burrow and sam hubbard #nfl fic #bengals #joe burrow smut #sam hubbard smut #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fanfic

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fizzyxcustard · 1 year

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Anything Is Possible (7)

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC TV series)

Pairing: Guy of Gisborne x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, brief smut, violence, mild sexual assault references, graphic depictions of being burned alive, character death.

Summary: From the imagine, “Imagine you and Guy are in love but you are to be married to someone else. It feels like everything is keeping you apart."

Comments: If you would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please let me know. Lord Edmund is based off Arnold Vosloo (from The Mummy)

This is the final part! :) Enjoy.

It felt as if the whole room went quiet around you; your intense fear and dread blocked everything out. Everything was running in slow motion and ice raced down your spine. This was it! Life as you knew it was over. Your whole existence would be under Lord Edmund's control. Nothing would be simple anymore, and of course you'd be pulled away from Guy and your family. There was no way that Edmund would be considerate enough to let you visit your family.

The priest cleared his throat and you looked up at Edmund. The man made you nauseous and your blood ran cold at the very sight of him. The thought of him touching you made your skin crawl.

In the second row, Guy stared at what was happening before him. He felt powerless, unable to move. Mary had slipped into the pew behind your mother, he noticed. What had gone wrong?

The priest began to speak but your whole body shaking made it impossible for you to even hear any of the words. Both your names were spoken, and then Edmund presented a ring. It was as if you were in water, drifting in your own mind, only able to see the world from the outside but not control anything.

"Do you take this man to be your husband?" the priest asked.

You didn't answer.

He asked again. And this time Edmund's eyes grew black in anger and his lips scrunched together in frustration.

Guy knew he had to do something, but just as he was about to move, the adrenaline starting to pour through him, someone raced out from the front pew towards Edmund. A shout hit the air and Edmund gasped loudly, falling to the floor with a dull thump. Guy shoved through the small, gathering crowd to get to the front, only to see your father stabbing Edmund multiple times, forcing the blade in the dead man's body over and over. Your father called out like an animal, howling into the air.

Guards grabbed your father and dragged him off Edmund's bloody body, pulling his hands behind his back.

Your mother raced to you, holding you tight. Your body was still shaking inside her grip, and you began to sob uncontrollably against her. A floodgate opened, and all the emotions poured outward. You held your mother so tight, terrified of losing her.

Around the room and a small commotion had broken out. Three women had passed out and a group of men were hovering over Edmund's body, trying to conceal it from the view of the wedding guests. Two lords from neighbouring towns had raced to the side of the room and vomited.

By now and Guy was able to move. His fight or flight response had enabled him to run to you.

Your mother let you go, letting hold you. He kissed your head, telling you everything would be alright.

The Sheriff was still stood in the same position, gobsmacked and speechless at the whole affair that had unfolded. His eyes fell upon the guards who were holding your father, who hadn't put up much of a fight. He was well aware of his fate now. "Take him to the dungeon," Vaisey said finally.

***

Back at your home, and you sat in the kitchen area with your mother and Guy. Images of Edmund's face as your father's knife plunged into his back would not leave you. You could still hear Edmund's gasps as the breath left him. You could see the blood seeping across the stone floor.

Guy held your hand across the table, noticing that your eyes had not moved from the floor. "My love?" he whispered.

You looked up, tears welling in your eyes. Gradually the tears dripped down your cheeks. "What happened?" you asked stupidly. "I just...."

Your mother sighed and sat down opposite you. "Your father did what he needed to do," she said, giving you a smile. "He's not the coward I once thought he was."

"And now he faces the noose because of me," you said quietly.

Guy smirked at you and tilted his head to the side. "You forget the influence that I have in the castle. We know that a couple of the guards are on our side; we can easily make it look like an escape."

"But father won't be able to come back home. You'd have to leave Nottingham." You looked towards your mother, startled. Then you grabbed her hand and kissed it. "Please..."

"You have Guy now to look after you. And once your father and I have found somewhere to call home, we will send word to you and your sisters. Do not fear." Her dark eyes held so much love for you in those moments. "You'll always be my angel."

***

Six weeks later and you had taken over your parents' old home. Your mother had 'disappeared' suddenly and your father had apparently 'escaped' from the jail on the night of his imprisonment. Neither of them had been heard from or seen since.

You woke early one morning, your husband sleeping beside you. Your eyes scanned the room and then fell upon the window. You smiled, thinking on all those times that your now-husband's face had appeared there. Considering that Guy had always been known by the townsfolk as The Man In Black, he was the light in your life. He was your source of strength and peace.

Slipping from the bed, you walked out of your room, being careful not to wake Guy and began to start a fire for the kettle to boil. The sun was rising now, with golden light pouring through the window.

Something light-coloured caught your eye and you looked down to see an envelope pushed under your door. You leaned down and picked it up, seeing the names Sir and Lady Gisborne written on the front in beautiful, black writing. There was only one person who had written this letter. The woman whose handwriting you had always admired. The woman who had bore you, raised you, and helped save you.

A shuffling came from behind you and then you felt arms lock around your waist, drawing you back. "Good morning, my wife," he whispered sleepily, smiling as he smelt your hair. He said those words every morning, still feeling pangs of excitement as they slipped off his tongue.

"A letter for Sir and Lady Gisborne," you giggled. "Just a shame that they aren't aware of the little one, but they will be soon."

Guy's hand caressed your stomach and he sighed against you.

The nausea had begun two days after your intended and interrupted wedding to Lord Edmund. And now you had stopped your monthly bleeding, which could only mean one thing.

If there was thing you had learned, it was that even in your darkest moments, anything is possible.

-Fin-

***

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#Guy of Gisborne #Richard Armitage #Robin Hood #Guy of Gisborne x Fem!Reader #Anything Is Possible #Fanfiction

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