Archive of Our Own ^beta

Beth walked into the bedroom, her bare feet dragging across the floor as she tossed a t-shirt and shorts onto the bed. She didn’t give a damn about putting them on yet—her eyes landed on the mirror first. She stepped closer, tilting her head, fingers brushing over her lip where Jamie had left his mark. Not a single cut. Not a single bruise. Like it never fucking happened.

Her tongue clicked against her teeth as she pulled her hair back, exhaling through her nose. She got out. That smug little prick thought he had her cornered, thought she wouldn’t make it out of that mess alive. He thought she’d go out like a dog, crawling, begging. Now he was rotting somewhere in the dirt, just another problem she’d taken care of. She barely even thought about it anymore. He was a stain she washed off, nothing more.

Her phone buzzed against the wooden nightstand, dragging her out of the moment. She reached for it, swiping the screen lazily until Rip’s message popped up.

Ain’t making it home tonight. Gotta head to the next town. Call you in the morning.

Beth scoffed, rolling her eyes as she tossed the phone onto the bed. “ Son of a bitch ,” she muttered, rubbing at her temple. Didn’t matter how much she loved that man, shit like this got under her skin every goddamn time. She could be bleeding out in a ditch somewhere, and Rip would still be halfway across Montana handling some bullshit.

She flopped onto the mattress, head hitting the pillow for all of five seconds before she heard something outside. She stilled. Listened . There it was again—movement near the fence. Beth sat up, her gaze flicking toward the window, brows pinching in irritation.

She pushed off the bed and strode over, hands bracing on the sill as she looked outside. A shadow moved in the moonlight, a figure slipping over the wooden fence like he belonged there, boots hitting the dirt without a damn care. Beth’s lips parted slightly, eyes narrowing, until the movement caught just enough light.

Recognition hit her immediately, and a smirk tugged at her lips, the kind that promised nothing good for whoever was about to walk through that door.

“ Well, well ,” she murmured, dragging a hand through her hair. Maybe being alone tonight wasn’t such a goddamn inconvenience after all.

Turning from the window, Beth strode out of the bedroom, her fingers drumming along the banister as she moved down the stairs. Footsteps landed near the back porch, casual as hell, like he wasn’t walking straight into the lion’s den. The kitchen. Of course. Cocky little shit always did know where to find her.

Beth reached the bottom step, head tilting as the sound of boots scuffed against the wooden planks. The door was right there.

This was about to be fun.

–

Beth leaned against the archway, arms folded, waiting. The moment that door clicked shut, she was already there, watching.

“ Look who decided to crawl out from under his daddy’s shadow ,” she murmured, voice smooth as whiskey, but sharp enough to cut.

The boy—no, not a boy, not anymore—whirled around, eyes locking onto her like a goddamn bullet searching for its mark. He was 16, still trying to play the part, but she could see right through him. She let the silence hang, her lips curling into a smirk as she took him in.

“ Revanth Dutton .” The name slipped off her tongue, full of a twisted kind of amusement. Her dead brother’s bastard. A stain on the family name. And yet, still a Dutton. Still her blood.

He spun to face her, fire in his eyes, his jaw clenched tight, but she could still see it—the way his fists tightened, like he was trying to hold onto whatever control he had left. Boy didn’t know who he was dealing with .

His shoulders squared, but his face didn’t twitch. The fire in his eyes didn’t waver.

Beth huffed out a sharp laugh. “ Well, fuck me. You got balls, I’ll give you that .”

“ Fuck you ,” he snapped, voice cutting through the room like a whip. “ You should be rotting in a goddamn cell for what you did. You should be —”

Beth’s face twisted, and she pushed off the archway, stepping right into his space. “ Oh, shut the fuck up .” Her voice went low, deadly. “ You sound just like him. Same goddamn self-righteous bullshit. Same whiny, desperate need to be something. ” Her eyes darkened. “ Same face that still makes me wanna break somethin g.”

His lips curled, hatred thick in his tone. “ I’ll put your grave right next to his .”

Beth grinned, wide and sharp, something wild glinting behind her eyes. “ Oh, sweetheart ,” she purred, “ I’d love to see you fucking try .”

She moved first, shoving him back, fast and mean. He barely caught himself before lunging, swinging for her ribs. He hit hard—enough to make her grunt, but not enough to slow her down.

Her fist snapped up, catching him in the jaw. A crack, a curse, blood spit onto the floor.

He staggered, but recovered quick, swinging again. His knuckles split the skin at her cheekbone, a sharp sting blooming over her face. She tasted copper in her mouth, felt the heat from where he’d landed the blow.

Good . Let the little shit think he had a chance.

Beth spat blood onto the floor and grinned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “ Is that all you’ve got, nephew? ” she taunted, before slamming her elbow into his ribs, dragging a breathless grunt from him. “ You’re just a kid, thinking you’re a man? Show me something real, or stay down like the little bitch you are. ”

He snarled, rage spilling over as he rushed her, shoulder slamming into her gut, sending them both crashing into the side table. A lamp shattered, glass hitting the floor as Beth’s back took the brunt of the fall.

Pain flared down her spine, but she only laughed, yanking him forward by the collar of his shirt and driving her knee into his stomach. He coughed, stumbling back, sucking in air.

“ Oh, come on ,” Beth taunted, rolling her shoulders, brushing broken glass from her skin. “ You were talking real big just a second ago .”

He cursed and charged again, fists swinging. She dodged the first one, but the second caught her arm, pain flaring hot and sharp. That was it .

Beth lunged, catching his wrist mid-swing, twisting it hard enough to send him reeling. Before he could recover, she grabbed the knife from his belt, twisting it free with a flick of her wrist. It was over before he even knew it.

Beth shoved him back against the wall, blade pressing against his throat. Close enough to feel the pulse hammering beneath the edge. Close enough to watch his chest rise and fall, breath coming too fast. She leaned in, voice dropping to a hush, lips almost brushing his. “ What’s it gonna be, baby Dutton? ” she whispered, amusement curling around every syllable. “ Last words before I send you to your daddy? ”

And then—he fucking kissed her.

No hesitation. No testing the waters. Just a sudden, reckless press of his lips against hers, like he had no goddamn control over himself.

Beth froze. Not in shock—Beth Dutton didn’t do shock. But in something meaner, sharper. Her lips parted slightly as she pulled back, just enough to look him in the eyes. She didn’t move, didn’t say a damn word, just stared, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the flicker of something wild beneath the surface.

Then she slammed her lips back onto his.

Her tongue pushed into his mouth, forcing his open, dragging over his teeth before pressing against his tongue, shoving past it, twisting against it, sliding deeper until she could taste every inch of him. She didn’t let up, didn’t slow, didn’t give him a second to catch his breath before she was pressing harder, taking more. Her tongue licked into the roof of his mouth, traced along the slick heat before she sucked his tongue into hers, curling around it, dragging it deeper.

Her grip tightened in his hair, pulling his head back as she kissed him rougher, tongue moving with full fucking control, pressing down, shoving against his, flicking at the edges before sliding back in deep. She swallowed every sound he made, every damn breath, rolling her tongue against his, making sure he felt all of it.

The knife never moved from his throat, cold metal pressing firm, a silent fucking reminder of who was running this show. She didn’t let up—her tongue kept working him over, dragging, sliding, pressing deeper, twisting against his, curling at the tip, rolling at the roof, pulling every bit of him apart until his body locked up against her.

Beth didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t let him fucking breathe.

She pulled back just enough, her tongue dragging slow as she left his mouth, licking his lower lip before pulling it between her teeth, tugging, biting, before letting it snap back. His breath hitched, and she smirked, brushing her lips against his, voice low and mean, “ That what you wanted, baby Dutton? ”

Her fingers twisted in his hair again, yanking his head back, exposing his throat even more. She watched his pulse hammer beneath the blade, her tongue darting out, sweeping against the corner of his lips, before she kissed him again, harder, deeper, tongue diving back in, filling his mouth, owning every inch of him.

Her tongue worked him over, rough, deep, not giving, only taking. She tilted his head back further, kissing him harder, deeper, dragging her tongue along his before shoving past it, rolling against the roof of his mouth, pressing deeper, making sure he fucking felt it.

Then she switched it up. Her lips ripped away, just to latch onto his jaw, teeth scraping rough, biting down just to hear him suck in a sharp breath. She moved lower, lips brushing over his throat, then sinking her teeth into the skin just above his pulse, hard enough to leave a mark, to brand him with it.

He twitched under her, body stiff, barely breathing. Beth smirked against his neck, lips dragging up the side before she took his mouth again, this time slower, sloppier, her tongue licking into him like she was tasting something she planned on ruining. Her grip in his hair tightened, keeping him still, making him feel every damn inch of what she was doing to him.

Then, just as he sucked in another breath, she moved.

Beth broke the kiss, twisted him fast, shoving his front against the wall with a hard thud, her body pinning into his back before he could even fucking think.

The knife stayed right where it was—pressed to the side of his throat, a constant fucking reminder of where this started. Her other hand dragged through his hair, yanking his head back just enough to keep him right where she wanted. Then she pushed him over to her shoulder, keeping him there like he belonged in that spot.

She let the silence stretch. Let him feel the weight of her pressed up against him, let him sit in that moment before she finally spoke.

Her breath ghosted over his ear, warm and slow, like she had all the time in the world. Then she let out a laugh—low, sharp, full of something that had nothing to do with kindness. " That last wish of yours? " Her lips brushed the shell of his ear, breath slipping against his skin before she pressed a slow, taunting kiss there, just enough to make him feel it. " Well, sweetheart, it’s your lucky fucking night. I’m in the mood to grant it ."

Beth smirked, her free hand snaking lower, fingers dragging just under his waistband, pressing slow, teasing, like she already knew the answer.

Then, just to remind him where he stood, her thumb dragged over his lower lip, tilting his chin before she sucked it back into her mouth, biting down before pulling away with a soft, wet snap.

Beth let the silence stretch, her smirk widening as her breath dragged over his ear. She felt the way his body locked up against her, the way his pulse hammered beneath the blade still resting against his throat. Her fingers, the ones pressed just under his waistband, teased lower, slow, making sure he felt every inch of it. Her palm brushed against his cock through the denim, pressing down, letting him feel the weight of her grip, the heat of her fingers mapping out every thick inch of his shaft even before she touched him properly.

She dragged her lips along the shell of his ear, voice nothing but gravel and amusement. “ Relax, baby Dutton ,” she murmured, fingers dipping further, nails scratching just enough to make him twitch. “ You had all that damn fight in you a second ago—what happened? ” Her knuckles dragged over his cock, firm against the thick shape of it, pressing into his shaft through the fabric, making sure he felt every little movement she gave him.

Her hand moved to his belt, yanking it loose with a sharp tug, the metal buckle clinking as she worked it free. She popped the button, dragged the zipper down slow, her knuckles brushing against his cock, feeling the heat of his shaft straining through his boxers. The moment the fabric parted, she shoved her hand inside, palming his cock through the thin cotton, fingers curling around the thick length, gripping him like she was claiming something. His shaft filled her palm, hot and heavy, twitching against her fingers before she even moved.

He stiffened, his chest rising hard against her back, but Beth just let out a laugh, lips grazing his jaw as she shoved his jeans lower, just enough to let his cock spring free into her hand. Her fingers wrapped around his shaft, tight, owning every inch of him from the first stroke. The breath punched out of him, his hips jerking forward, like his body was already giving in before his mouth could argue.

Beth dragged her grip along his cock, fingers pressing, stroking, squeezing as she mapped out every inch of his shaft. Her palm smoothed over the thick length, dragging down slow before twisting on the upstroke, working the heat of his cock like it was hers to use. Her thumb dragged over the tip, smearing wetness down his shaft before she squeezed again, rough, enough to pull a sharp cry from his throat. She felt his cock tense, felt his hips rock forward, the thick shaft throbbing against her palm, but she didn’t slow, didn’t let up, didn’t give him a second to catch up.

Her other hand still held the knife against his throat, steady, keeping him in place as her fist stroked up his cock, dragging down, then twisting as she came back up. She tightened her grip, dragging the skin over the thick shape of his shaft, her palm working every ridge, every hard inch. She pumped his cock slow at first, pulling each stroke long, letting him feel the buildup before she gave him anything more. The blade pressed a little harder against his skin, a reminder, just a little bite to keep him where she wanted.

She squeezed tighter, pumped his cock again, felt his body tense against her. Her thumb pressed against the tip, grinding into the slick head, rolling over the slit until she felt his whole body shudder. " C'mon, baby Dutton ," she murmured against his ear, her voice low, thick. " That mouth of yours was runnin’ all night—don’t tell me you got nothin’ left to say now ."

She stroked his cock harder, faster, working the thick shaft in rough, firm pulls, her palm wrapping around the length, dragging down, stroking up, her fingers squeezing at the base before twisting over the tip. She knew exactly what she was doing, exactly how to keep him on edge, how to keep his breath coming sharp, his hips twitching forward like he couldn’t stop himself. Her thumb flicked over the tip again, pressing down slow before dragging slick wetness down his shaft, spreading it over every thick inch as she worked him faster.

Beth smirked, bit his ear, sucked the skin between her teeth before letting go, felt his cock pulse hard in her fist as she kept stroking him, kept pulling him closer to the edge whether he wanted it or not. His hands twitched against the wall like he wanted to grab something, hold onto something, but Beth didn't give him a damn thing—just her fist, just the tight, hard strokes as she took his cock apart.

The blade in her other hand dragged down his chest, teasing, just enough to make him shiver. Her grip around his cock didn’t slow—pumping his shaft, squeezing, dragging wetness down the thick length, working him over, owning every inch of his cock. She felt his body start to shake against her, felt his muscles tense, his shaft throbbing in her grip, and she grinned, dragging her tongue against his ear before whispering, " That’s right, baby ." Her hand tightened, stroked his cock faster, squeezing the thick shaft at the base before dragging up, forcing every last bit of pleasure out of him. " Take it ."

Beth didn’t slow. Didn’t let up. Her fist kept working his cock, stroking hard, squeezing tight, dragging her grip up and down his shaft with no patience, no hesitation, no goddamn way out for him. Wetness slicked her palm, spreading down the thick length, coating her fingers as she jerked him off harder, making sure he felt every inch of what she was giving him.

Her strokes came fast, fist closing tight around the thick heat of his cock, pumping him, twisting her wrist at the top, dragging her thumb hard over the tip just to feel the way he jolted against her. His shaft throbbed in her grip, heavy and leaking, the wetness smeared across his length as she kept moving, faster, rougher, giving him no space, no chance to catch his breath. Beth didn’t care if he was ready—she was taking him there whether he could handle it or not.

The muscles in his stomach clenched, his cock jerking in her fist, the tension crawling up his spine. She squeezed the base, sucking her teeth at the way his whole body stiffened, his head knocking back against her shoulder, chest rising like he was trying to hold himself together.

Beth grinned, dragging her tongue along his ear, her grip tightening as wet heat slicked down his length. " Didn’t think I’d have my own goddamn bastard nephew shaking like this, huh? " Her voice was thick with amusement, breath hot against his skin.

Her fingers fisted harder, working him rougher, mess coating her palm. " Cocky little shit ," she muttered, lips curling, fisting his cock even harder, shoving wetness down his shaft as she pulled another stroke from him. " Look at you now—fighting it, losing, spilling all over my fuckin’ hand ."

She pressed the knife harder to his throat.

His cock jumped in her fist, his body seizing up, jerking forward, spilling into her palm, hot and thick, dripping between her fingers as she worked him through it. She didn’t stop, didn’t slow—just stroked him through every pulse, every sharp intake of breath, milking him, making sure he felt every inch of what she was giving him. His whole body shuddered, a sharp noise catching in his throat as her grip stayed firm, pulling him through it, dragging her fist down his shaft, twisting over the slick, dripping head just to feel him twitch against her palm.

Beth chuckled, breath dragging across his cheek, thick with amusement. Then she turned her head, lips grazing the bruised skin of his face before her tongue dragged against it, wet, slow, leaving heat in its wake. She sucked at the tender spot just below his cheekbone, biting down, hard enough to make him jolt, hard enough to leave something behind. His breath punched out, his cock still twitching in her fist, spent and leaking, her palm still gliding over the thick, slickened shaft in slow, lazy strokes.

Then she nuzzled in, her face pressing against his, lips dragging along his jaw, her voice curling in his ear like a fucking secret. “ Well, shit ,” she murmured, breath hot against his skin. “ Didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I fuckin’ like you .” Her smirk stretched, teeth grazing his jaw, just enough to make him twitch. “ Didn’t think I’d end up with a nephew who could take a beating, take my fuckin’ hand around his cock, take a knife at his throat—and you know what? ”

She pulled back, finally letting go, her slick hand dragging up his shaft one last time before she stepped away, shoving him off her like she was finished with him. He stumbled, barely catching himself, his body still shaking from everything she took from him. Beth just licked her lips, tasting the last of him on her tongue, the taste of his release still coating her fingers.

She looked him over, her smirk widening at the sight of him—bruised, spent, looking like he didn’t know whether to be turned on or terrified. Her own knuckles ached from their fight, a sting settling along her ribs, her lip swollen from where his fist had caught her earlier.

Beth let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head as she stepped back. “ I let you off fuckin’ easy this time .” Her eyes dragged over him, the bruises, the way he barely held himself up, still shaking like his body hadn’t caught up to what she’d done to him. “ Means you can drag your sorry, wrung-out ass back here whenever you’re dumb enough to let me take the rest .”

She tilted her head, smirk deepening as she watched him try to pull himself together, watched the way he still fucking trembled from everything she took out of him. “ Go scrape yourself off the floor, baby Dutton .” A pause, her grin cutting sharp. “ Then get back here when you’re dumb enough to let me drain you all over again .”

Revanth didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just stood there, still breathing hard, like he hadn’t fully processed what the fuck had just happened.

Beth rolled her eyes. “ Go on, then .” Her grin sharpened, slicing straight through him. “ Don’t keep me fuckin’ waiting too long. Next time, I just might kill you. Or maybe —” she let out a low chuckle, tilting her head as she took him in, flicking the knife from her hand like it was nothing—metal clattering against the wooden floor. “ I’ll have even more fun wringing you dry ‘til you don’t even have the sense to wish for it .”

Her voice was flat, careless, like she’d already moved on. Then she waved him off. “ Now get the fuck outta my sight .”

Revanth stared at her for a second longer, then muttered something under his breath, fumbling as he adjusted his pants, before finally heading toward the back door.

—

Beth strode into her room, rolling her shoulders, licking her fingers clean of him, tasting the last fuckin’ remnants of what she’d wrung out of him. Her jaw ticked, bruises blooming sharp along her ribs, her knuckles aching from every punch she’d thrown.

She stepped toward the dresser, pulling open a drawer, fingers closing around the half-empty pack of cigarettes inside. She should’ve been done . Should’ve been lighting up, whiskey in her other hand, sinking into the kind of satisfaction that came after breaking a boy down—fucking him up, taking everything she wanted, leaving him exactly where she decided he belonged.

She flicked the lighter, bringing the cigarette to her lips, inhaling deep, the burn curling through her lungs.

And yet, something still scratched at the back of her mind.

Beth exhaled, smoke curling from her mouth as she turned toward the window, gaze dragging down to the road below.

That’s when she saw him.

Revanth.

Dragging himself along the side of the road like his body hadn’t figured out whether he got out alive or if she just let him crawl. Like he hadn’t even decided if he’d been beaten, fucked, or both.

Beth scoffed, rolling her neck, dragging another pull from the cigarette, exhaling slow like she had all the time in the world. "Dumb little shit thought he could take me on." Her smirk was razor-sharp, her gaze trailing over him, bruised, drained, and barely holding himself together. " Look at you, nephew-balls empty, ego shattered, walkin' like you just learned what the fuck real losing feels like ."

She tapped ash off the cigarette, licking her lips slow, still tasting the salt of him on her tongue, watching as he stumbled down the road, his steps shaky, his limp making it clear he'd never walk away from this without feeling it. " See, kid, that's the thing about me ." Her voice was slow, almost amused, watching him struggle to keep himself upright like his knees weren't ready to give out beneath him. " I don't just win. I break. I ruin. I make goddamn sure that next time your little cock even thinks about getting hard around me, you'll fuckin' flinch .”

Then, headlights cut through the dark. A car slowed beside him, stopping.

Beth narrowed her eyes, her body shifting toward the glass, the cigarette resting between her fingers as she watched the door swing open.

And Monica stepped out.

Beth stilled.

Her fingers twitched against the cigarette, against the frame of the window, something curling tight in her gut. What the fuck is this?

Monica walked straight to him, her hands catching his face, tilting it up into the glow of the headlights. Her lips moved, brows furrowed, concern written all over her face.

Beth exhaled through her nose. Soft. Too fuckin’ soft.

Monica’s fingers dragged along his jaw, her touch lingering, her thumb skimming just under his mouth.

Beth’s smirk dropped.

Revanth didn’t pull away. Didn’t brush her off. Just stood there, shoulders stiff, head dipped, while Monica looked him over like she already fuckin’ knew—like this wasn’t new, like she’d done this before.

Beth dragged on the cigarette, letting the burn fill her lungs, her jaw clenching as she watched Monica’s hands slip lower, skimming his throat, slow like she was looking for something.

Something ugly twisted in Beth’s stomach.

" The fuck is this? " Beth’s grip on the cigarette tightened, jaw flexing as something twisted sharp, deep, and wrong in her gut. " How the hell does she know him like that? Since when did she get so fuckin’ close that she can read him like she already knows what the hell happened? "

Monica sighed, her fingers tracing something against his skin. Something she’d done before. Beth’s grip on the cigarette tightened.

Then— Monica’s expression snapped.

She shoved him, hands pressing flat against his chest, stepping into his space like she had something to prove. Her mouth moved faster, sharper, her voice slicing at him.

Beth narrowed her eyes.

Revanth didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just stood there, took it, let her push, let her snap.

Beth shifted, arms folding over her chest, cigarette hanging from her fingers as she watched Monica spit words at him, jabbing a finger toward his chest, something heated, something burning.

Beth’s mouth pressed into a line.

Then Monica’s head snapped toward the house.

Beth stepped back, into the shadows, pulling another drag from her cigarette. Not because she was hiding. But because this wasn’t adding up. Because this wasn’t some simple little moment she happened to catch. Because this meant something, and she didn’t know what the fuck it was yet.

She waited a beat, then peered back out.

Monica was still staring at the house, shoulders tight, fingers clenched.

Then she turned, snapping something at Revanth before jerking open the car door.

He hesitated.

Then, without a word, he slid into the passenger seat.

Beth watched as Monica climbed in, the car pulling away, disappearing into the night, taking him with her.

Beth exhaled, the cigarette burning low between her fingers, her jaw ticking.

The fuck did I just watch?