#anon asked me a simple question and i hit them with a brick wall of information im sorry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

olderthannetfic · 3 years ago

Text

Ah, I do see your points, anon. I'm not going to post all your asks publicly because if you really feel that unsafe, it's probably best not to have a bigass chunk of your text for people to analyze and try to guess your identity from. I think one of the best points you made is about how close to home it hits when the non-fave is not only your fave but is similar to you in some way like demographic. You're not wrong for having those emotions. I do wonder if they make it hard to see how some other people feel similarly embattled on other axes.

TBH, I think one of the big problems here is that the large aggregate patterns you're talking about are racist, but most individual fics and fans are not really the problem. It's hard to know how to talk about this or who to tell to "fix" it when we're looking at free, hobbyist art.

A lot of people's tastes are certainly formed by shitty society, but once they're formed, they don't change fast if at all. Asking someone to rewrite their libido is a big ask, yet tumblr does it all the time as though it's as simple as snapping your fingers.

This leaves me with the sense that a lot of tumblr is... like... the political lesbians of porn fic or something: desire is not real, only choosing based on logic and politics. Or maybe people are so asexual that they just don't understand the lizard brain's "YES!" at some porn things and complete indifference to others?

I don't think it's great if great swaths of people feel like bottom!Nicky is super hot and top!Nicky fundamentally isn't, but I also don't think they can necessarily just turn it off like flipping a switch.

(If someone reading this doesn't like their current tastes and wants to attempt to alter them, I do think it's possible. What you should do is line up a large slate of media that prominently features characters of the ethnicity or whatever that you don't find hot/interesting. These should be leads whose emotional development drives the plot and is supposed to be central to the audience's enjoyment of the media. Watch/read/etc. this media all the time. All. The. Time. Try out many pieces because you won't like every character or every show, and we're looking for genuine enjoyment, not the fandom equivalent of a pity fuck. Spend enough time on this, and your unconscious sense of who's hot and interesting will eventually shift somewhat. This is a project you should expect to take a few years.)

But I digress.

The one tweet thing is a very toxic pattern. If TOG fandom is doing that, guys, please try to be more conscious of holding the actors of color to a higher standard (or the women or whomever). I know this often comes from a place of paying more attention to our own and wanting to set a good standard, but the effect is that minorities can't fuck up ever while white dudes get infinite passes.

Okay, on to the fic thing... Gotta say, my instant reaction to that description is "Ooh!"--as it would be for the same scenario with the characters reversed. (Ships who start out trying to kill each other are my favorite! x1000 if they're resurrecting style immortals and they literally do.) I can see how it would feel like slamming into a brick wall if you aren't kinky in just the right way and you didn't know it was coming though.

Part of why I react so strongly to a lot of discourse that runs along these lines is that I am a naturally extremely kinky person. It's not so much about what I do (which as a deeply lazy person in a long distance relationship is essentially nothing), but it's absolutely how I'm wired.

And I can tell you that my quotidian experience in fandom is sharing something I don't even realize is a big deal only to have someone I like, respect, and trust react in horror and tell me that it's triggering and awful and should not be allowed in fandom spaces because it makes "people" unsafe. It's such an instant, kneejerk reaction they don't even realize I was sharing it because it spoke to the very core of me. Lesson learned, friend. Lesson learned.

That sounds a bit off topic, I know, but bear with me: The point of that anecdote is that it's pretty common for me to get people trying to raise my awareness of things I have already thought deeply about while denying my essential humanity and not even realizing. As a kinky person who likes to make my fave the top (and generally a conflicted sadist), this constant request to explain and justify is exhausting.

I doubt most of the top!Joe fans have this precise problem simply because people who make their fave the top are much less common in fandom than people who make their fave the bottom, but I see a similar pattern with fans who are just fundamentally wired for rape fantasies (one of the most common fantasies that exists) vs. fans who just don't get rape fantasies at all. Or substitute your BDSM/kinky/messed up fantasy trope of choice. Covertly radical feminist attitudes towards kink and power are on the rise in fandom, and as a naturally kinky person, boy do I notice it!

I know that it feels like crucial activism to share these insights about why the ratio of top!Joe is hurtful, and the pain you feel is real. But it's also the case that it's a big ask to want people to listen. (Not me. Obviously, I routinely choose to engage with discourse. I mean overall.) The reason for that is that you're only seeing a fraction of what they do or who they are, and you don't know how many previous people they've listened to how many previous times. It's a very different situation from someone whose job is making some major TV series or movie or something. That person does, in my opinion, owe you some amount of listening.

Now, I'm not saying no top Joe fan was ever a jerk. I'll bet they were. There's a tendency to be rude and to publicly air your schadenfreude when you feel like everyone has been yelling at you. What I am saying is that a lot of the problem here boils down to conflicting needs, and that means there isn't a good solution. It's a situation where people are genuinely hurt, but I don't necessarily agree that other people have harmed them.

I like that you did an actual count of the explicit fics, btw. It's good to look at the real numbers. I see too little of that in these situations. My off the cuff reaction is that 2/3 to 1/3 is not a bad ratio at all compared to many fandoms, but yeah, it definitely shows a strong trend, and that can be painful. (I have a fandom where I think there's maybe like 1 bottom so-and-so fic in the entire zine era fandom. One. It's pretty extreme.)

I guess my thinking here overall is: What is the practical solution? What are we hoping to gain? What is reasonable to ask of people?

And it can't be "Well, if they would just listen..." That's just a sneaky way of saying "If you haven't done it my way, it's because you haven't listened to me yet."

So the question I would ask of people is this:

What does a non-racist fic where Joe tops look like?

What does a non-racist sex pollen, dubcon, or even noncon fic where Joe tops look like?

And if you say the latter is impossible... well... sadists exist everywhere in the world. So do doms. So do people who prefer to top in a purely physical sense. People with rape fantasies where they're the rapist exist (people who are not actually rapists, I mean). None of this is restricted to any one group. We can't categorically say fic like that about Joe is coming from a place of racism without denying the fundamental humanity of kinky MENA people who'd want to make Joe like themselves or like their ideal partner. (Yes, I agree this won't be the majority of fic writers writing top!Joe, but this is a place to start for figuring out what the better version would look like.)

IDK, maybe you're that kinkster yourself, but your asks gave me the vibe that you don't really get the drive towards those darker kinds of fics and what might be motivating it besides stereotypes and shittiness.

If we can answer these kinds of questions, we can better critique the way people write what they write without telling them all of their taste is bad and they should just stop writing. Even if we think the latter is true, it isn't going to get us anywhere. Figuring out how to make Joe more multidimensional in the fic they already want to write or finding very specific wording that should be avoided might actually work.

Beyond that, the actions I think are productive would be running prompt fests, exchanges, or other events for bottom!Joe or for top!Joe where he's the main character and the fics are required to be from his POV. Themed collections and recs lists are great. (I've seen a bit of this going around in TOG fandom in the past, and that's an excellent approach! Keep it up!) Positive actions tend to work better here. Make more of what you want. Promote what you want to see.

I don't mean this in some fluffy magical thinking way: you aren't going to change that ratio radically just by the power of positivity. But I've seen this kind of thing play out in many, many fandoms, and going after the people who write what you don't like, even in a well-intentioned effort to educate and even in a polite, kind way doesn't do much. A few people feel guilty. A few feel defensive. A lot ignore you. The overall fic doesn't change. It's not a good use of your limited time and energy.

I'm off to look up that fic to see what I think of it in practice, but I'm going to post this before tumblr manages to eat it.

70 notes · View notes

stopeatingwhales · 3 years ago

Text

vinyl searching (pt. 2) x graham coxon

here’s the second part, hope you guys like it! there’s something about 1999 graham that i just love so much, and i know he was struggling during this time so i wanted to write about caring for him because he clearly needed it during this time.

Pairing: 1999! graham coxon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 3.166

part one

Requested by anon x

༉‧₊˚✧

Me and Graham decided on meeting in a small bar on the same road, a couple hours later in the evening. Once my shift was over, I had scurred off to my little flat in order to put together an outfit that was appropriate. I didn’t want to wear something that was too overtly sexual - hell, I wouldn’t even have the courage to be able to wear something like that - so I decided upon wearing an oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans. Very 90s. However, me meeting up with Graham was probably going to be more for him than it was for me - although I was so happy that me and him finally were able to take our ‘friendship’ somewhere outside of the small record shop that he sees all my life in, it was very evident that he was in need of someone to be there for him. Now, understanding his demeanor and overall attitude to things from the multiple times that we had conversated, I had hoped to be the one that he needed. Although there was many time I could’ve attempted such a gathering previously, you never know when would be the right moment to chip in and attempt to portray the care that you have stored internally for that significant person, and how they would react to that. For Graham it was a much more awkward situation; the only times of our communication were technically only professional, from a worker providing help and service to a customer. That was how esoteric we were to one another - practically known strangers. If I had come across Graham in a supermarket and he had noticed me, chances are that we wouldn’t interact, the only communication we would be able to branch out to one another being a simple ‘Oh hi! You alright?’. You had to build a sort of relationship with someone over a period of time in order to be able to do something like I did, and that is minusing the amount of nerves you'd have, as well as the courage you’d have to give yourself.

After I had finished with my constant worrying about how this meet-up was going to turn out, I left the house to go to the bar. The walk there felt as if I had been repeating the same events that had occurred during the day, just at a different moment in time. Hardly anybody was in the streets, which was quite ordinary at this hour of day, though it always seemed as if nobody left their homes. As I walked past countless convenience stores, hairdressers and fast-food places, which proved to show there was residency above them from the brick wall built on top, contrasted against windows placed as an outlook to life, very ironically used as to convey that nobody was ever leaving their homes, it proved to me just how mundane and repetitive life had become. The distance apart between each sheet of glass to the one adjacent to it being monochrome. Constant. Unchanging. Almost how all of our lives have been built to follow a system of continuous, resolute living, perpetually ignoring how it forces our lives, that have so much undermined potential, to be wasted, to the point we are simply dependent on enjoying life as we admire it. From a window in our bedroom, to which it becomes boring - as all you are ‘admiring’ is the same sight, every single time. And though this way of living may not be satisfactory, or enjoyable in the slightest, protesting against it would not do anything. Strikes from work would not do anything; you still need to live, and to live you need to earn money, money earned from working. It’s a ceaseless cycle which destroys the mere idea of a dream, aspiration, or motivation to carry on. In turn, what is received is the attractiveness of sadness, distress, and melancholy. You cannot shame those for being addicted to something harmful; if there is no point created for their lives except to be a little pawn on the chessboard of this planet, to take a risk and rebel against it is all you can do - though it would only put you in a situation which can cause more harm than good to yourself.

Once I had arrived at the bar, I decided to wait by the entrance so there would not cause confusion for Graham as to whether I was inside the building or not. I had noticed the skies begin to significantly darken in their calming shades of blue, instigating the advent of the evening to commence, however it was not dark enough to see sparkles in the empyrean yet. Though it was beautiful to stare at the single-coloured canvas, questioning the mere idea as to how it had formed such a shade of peace, but also existentially questioning how things come to be. Nevertheless, my admiration for the skies was quickly interrupted. “Hi y/n.”

Shifting my head into alignment with his, I had been greeted by the sight of Graham, facial expression clearly evident of nervousness, though it was attempted to be masked from a small smile curving on the corner of his lip. I noticed he was still in the same clothing as he had been in our previous encounter at the record shop earlier in the day, which caused a grin to paint itself on my facial expression. “Hi Graham,” I chriped, connecting eyes with him for a second, widening my smile that was already plastered on my face. “Let’s go inside.”

Inside the bar was nothing much I hadn’t expected; smoke surrounding the atmosphere from cigarettes, and due to the time being early, the place wasn’t as crowded, but you’d assume it to be from the clouds of smoke that welcomed you once you pushed the door open - you could hardly see the lengthy oak wood table separating you from the myriad amount of drinks that could be supplied to you by a simple asking. Ushering over to the nearest booth available, me and Graham sat opposite each other. The booths were always much more comfortable to sit and relax in, the cushioning of the sofa was almost that of a pillow; it was so cozy it was hard not to fall asleep on them. It was a much better choice of seating rather than the tall timber stools attached to the bar. I never found it appealing to sit there and have a chat with someone; it felt as if my privacy had been snatched away with ears surrounding every place my eyes could land upon. It's a much more peaceful atmosphere in a booth, which I had assumed would be a preferable place for Graham, shown from his quiet demeanour. His quietness was something that engaged me so deeply into him as a person - he wasn’t the type to rush to the bar, get drunk, and go off with the first person he had seen, who he hadn’t properly connected with or perhaps spoken to at all. He was much more down to earth, potentially from the amount of fame he had gained over the past couple years; it makes those yearn for silence, and in turn changes their perspectives and outlooks on simple things like outings with friends, for some may avoid them at all costs out of anxiety and fear of being noticed. You’d think that’s the absolute of their desires, being famous, stealing the hearts of so many, but it becomes so much more than that. The press picking out every ‘flaw’ you have or things that you do, the crowds of youngsters dying to get an autograph as if their lives depend on it, the paparazzi perpetually flicking their cameras only because you trotted on the same street to go to the same shop that every normal person goes to… The amount of eyes constantly on you gets overwhelming. I empathised with those who turned to drugs and alcohol to escape horrible feelings like these. Just like Graham.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” I asked Graham sweetly, my smile still on my face.

“Yeah sure, I’ll have a beer.” He responded, our eyes glued to one another's which made me notice the eyebags that had drooped onto the top of his cheeks; it was very evident that he had attempted to nap before meeting me, which made my heart swell out of pity for him - it was obvious he was struggling to even sleep these days.

I nodded before heading to the bar and ordering our drinks. Waiting for our drinks at the bar gave me time to think over everything that was currently happening. It felt as if my entire day had vanished to this one moment where I had unexpectedly landed myself ordering beverages at a bar with the one and only Graham Coxon. It was a wonder to think about how he was feeling at this current moment. He didn't seem as if he was doing well at the moment, he always seemed so exhausted, and his social skills had become very poor over a couple of weeks. It went from him being very calm and candid in our short encounters, slyly recommending each other music with subtle hints of our liking toward each other, to him forming a much more apparent stutter in comparison to the one he already had, as well as being unable to connect eyes with me for a interminable period of time - it was evident that things were progressively getting worse for him, though I wasn’t going to force him into speaking about anything. I just wanted him to be aware that he had at least a friend there for him, potentially that being the girl that he would always see at his local record store.

Walking over back to the booth, I handed him his pint of beer. “Thank you,” he mustered, almost instantly taking a sip from it before noticing the drink I had bought for myself. “Orange juice?”

I laughed slightly at his shocked reaction as I lit myself a cigarette and took a hit from it, him definitely not expecting that of all drinks. “I don’t really like to drink, it never makes me feel that good.”

“But you smoke?” He questioned, a confused expression plastered on his face, paired with a grin.

“Smoking helps with stress, alcohol makes you drunk and gives you hangovers which simply ruin your day,” I answered back, taking a sip from my drink. “Also orange juice is literally the best juice, alcohol tastes like shit you know.”

A small chuckle escaped out of Graham’s throat, causing my eyes to land back onto him again. I gained the perception that he felt somewhat better about actually speaking with someone, which made me feel so touched and taken aback; I had genuinely felt my heart skip a beat out of sadness and yearning for him. He genuinely deserved better than what was going on with him mentally and physically, and the fact that he couldn’t even celebrate the release of his band’s 6th album was paining - he couldn’t attend a lot of the sessions, not out of detest towards any of his band members, but because he mentally couldn’t bring himself to. He was isolating himself without realising, or he may have realised, but couldn’t do anything to stop it. “I must agree on that… But orange juice is too sweet,” He replied, scoffing. “It’s definitely not that much better than a pint of beer, love.”

Shaking my head out of offense towards his last remark, I inhaled my cigarette once again before exposing the smoke from my lungs. Diverting my stare to the ashtray in the middle of the booth, I examined the built-up ash on the tip from the roll of tobacco crumble off from a single flick of the wrapped up paper. “Anyways, how are you?” I asked him, simultaneously offering him a cigarette whilst doing so to avoid any awkwardness.

After taking a cigarette from the packet I owned, then lighting it, he answered. “I’m alright. What about you?”

“Apart from being offended by you saying orange juice is gross, I’m alright too,” I joked, earning another laugh from Graham. “You seem tired.”

Sighing slightly, I watched him scan the room before answering. “Yeah, I am. What gave that away?”

“Your eye bags, you look like you haven’t slept,” I responded, hoping that what was leaving my mouth wouldn’t come across as offensive in any way. “Not in a rude way, though.”

“In all honesty, I haven’t really been able to sleep recently. Not a clue why.” He replied, taking a hit from his cigarette before copying my actions from earlier and erasing the gathered dust onto the ashtray.

“Oh, I understand that,” I said, taking a long drag of the cancer stick before replying. “Same thing happens to me when I’m stressed.”

As the night went on, we spoke about all sorts of things, trying to get to know one another much more as we were so intrigued by each other’s presence. Over time, he opened up much more, his poise changing from being a quiet, dismal, bereaved person, isolated from society, to one that seemed as if he was enjoying himself by hanging out with a friend. Seeing a beam constantly illustrated on his face made me realise this outing meant more than just ‘meeting a friend’. It was leaving the house for the first time in ages, to simply have a good time with someone. He was gentrifying the bare human emotions that he had forgotten were calloused out of anger inside himself. The atmosphere is much different when we’re separated by the till in the record store, the only conversations we could tend to have surrounding music or the weather that day. I felt so much more connected to Graham in this given moment, and knowing that he was gaining pleasure from this made me feel so much happier. Finally, he seemed content, relaxed, and much more aware of his surroundings, not caught up entirely by his mind and the evilness that he would be manipulated by. It was as if from this simple meet-up, he had realised that there was so much more to life than staying at home, pent up with his own thoughts; to his dismay. And though it can be extremely difficult to overcome the hurdles of not believing everything your brain implements to your mind, the important part was that he was making progress. By merely speaking with another person, about topics completely contrasting the negativity resident in his brain, it takes his mind off of things, and would allow the realisation that he is able to overcome these struggles, with the right support.

We hadn’t realised just how long we had been conversing for, until the room began pouring with young adults ready to enjoy a night with their friends. A quick glance at the clock gave the hour away; it was nearing midnight. The time was hardly wasted, we had both created a friendship and connection with one another which bloomed like roses during the spring seasons. Absolutely beautiful. I knew that what we had formed with each other would last for at least a significant amount of time, and I definitely hoped that it would. “Let’s get going, it’s getting a bit crowded right now.” I said, getting up from my seat - Graham nodding along and following me out.

There was a distinctive change in temperature inside the bar in comparison to the streets. The breeze was more prominent, with the skies now pitch black accompanied with the twinkle of the stars and the picturesque glow of the moon. We both began walking to the end of the street, having no idea what was about to occur, going along with it as if there was nothing else in the world except us two, as if it was just ours, and that nothing else mattered at all. This shared moment between us was the only thing able to plague our minds, for everything else that crossed our minds seemed to be insignificant, with no importance to our lives from here on, no matter how much it had afflicted our minds from apprehension hours prior to this moment. Oh, the vulnerable silence shared between us. How much importance it held towards aiding our minds, providing a certain mental clarity that was simply unheard of, as if a certain point of synchronicity in time was exposed between us, forming it as though, as banal as life is day-to-day was always, there was euphoria. Subconsciously, we were both communicating with each other in a sort of telepathy that was so rare in newly flourished relationships like ours. It was as if I had always been close with Graham, as if he was always a cogent figure in my life, that today was only just another catch-up session after not being able to talk with one another for a significant period of time. We both enjoyed ourselves, and there was no need to say anything about it. It felt as though if one of us spoke, it would erase all the memories of the occasion shared in the bar previously. Nothing could explain the elation my body was feeling at this time; from life seeming so meaningless and dull, experiencing something like this amount of joy came as such a shock to my body - it felt as if I had been drugged with so much alcohol that I was witnessing junctures that were only fragments of my imagination.

Stopping our slow pace at the end of the road, I turned my body to face Graham’s, him copying the same actions as me. Briefly, I stared lovingly into his eyes, a smile perched on my lips, him reciprocating with a beam, purely out of content, not mannerisms. Turning my head to stare at his hands, which awkwardly embraced one another, I mustered enough courage to form an embrace with both my palms - him slightly taken aback at first, to which he quickly went along with the moment. His hands were soft, delicate, and held warmth interlocked with mine. We simply stood there, hands laced together, inhaling the brisk air whilst slow waves of air gushed between us. Nothing could get more perfect than this. It was evident that between us, it was definitely more than a simple friendship, and it was obvious that both participants were not objecting against such passion to be compromised into something more. The action of holding his hand gave the notion that he was not alone in everything that he was undergoing; it was there for reassurance, as if it was me indirectly saying, I know you’re struggling, you don’t have to tell me, and I can tell you seem lonely, but I’m here for you. And I won’t ever leave, or let go.

“See you soon, Graham.”

#graham coxon x reader #blur band #britpop #nineties #imagines #my writing #fluff #graham coxon #blur #fanfic #band imagines #90s

56 notes · View notes

sweetwritertanya · 5 years ago

Text

Two Lines

Summary: Estranged from your boyfriend Jimin, having pushed him away to the point he stopped showing up a week before, you have made the decision to leave. You believe it was for the best, but your secret is uncovered right when you had your suitcases at the door.

Warnings: ANGSTY beginning with a fluffy SMUT resolution. This fic will contain unplanned pregnancy, so keep that in mind. Beware of: erotic body touching, fingering, dry humping, unprotected sex (although reader is already pregnant, so…)

Requested: YES! An anon requested this scenario a bit ago, I’m so sorry it took so long but I hope you’ll like it! Let me know if it was what you had in mind sweetie.

Word Count: 4378 (angst seems to make me write more? Or maybe it’s just lately, who knows?)

You had to give it to him, he tried. He truly tried. From day one, he knew something was wrong. The moment you started to pull away, to distance yourself from him, Jimin had tried to break through your freshly raised walls.

“Dear, just tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something? What can I do to make you feel better? Talk to me, Y/N, I’m right here” he told you, reaching for your hand at the opposite side of the table, but you retrieved it.

“Nothing’s wrong. Stop imagining things” you lied, avoiding looking in his direction at all.

And still, he kept trying. For two full weeks, Jimin kept trying to please you, bringing home gifts and your favorite foods and snacks, begging you to go out with him to the movies, to see the ones he knew you would like even if they weren’t for his taste. Every single time, you refused.

The last draw was just a few days ago. Jimin’s constant worry and persistent questions had your anxiety reaching an all-time high. You didn’t even mean it, not the way he took it. But you said it, rather yelled it at him, out of frustrations and pinned down fear.

“C’mon, Y/N, I know something is bothering you. Speak to me, I’m your boyfriend” he pleaded with you one morning, reaching over to your side of the bed and cuddling against your back as you were turned the other way.

“Just stop talking about it! You’re always too damn clingy, Jimin!” you yelled at him and got out of the bed in a jump, leaving to lock yourself in the bathroom.

When you came back out, the house was empty. It was the last time you saw him, five days ago.

The decision has been made. You had cried alone, feeling guilty and scared, in an empty bed for the last time today. It was for the best, no matter what, this would have never ended well. From past conversations, his actions, your own suspicions, you knew it was for the best. The best for both you and him.

Dating Jimin had been… a present from the universe, you decided. In a world that seemed to be against you at every twist and turn, never really having lead an easy life, meeting and falling for Jimin was the best thing that had ever happened to you. But, like everything else good you ever came across, it wouldn’t last long and you knew it.

This was where it would all end, this magical dream you had been clinging to for the past year. It never made sense anyway, for you two to meet and be together. He was a celebrity, an idol, a talented artist with the brightest future ahead and a world of possibilities. Handsome in the gentlest of ways, with an angelic voice and the kindest heart, you never once stopped being in awe at the fact that he ever loved you. A dull woman, with a past filled of heartbreak and insecurities, a plump woman at that, with a heavy body that contradicted his muscular one. A simple worker with no higher prospects in her career. What he ever saw in you, you would never know.

Part of you knew that you should tell him. That he deserved to know and have a say in it, instead of just pulling away from him and leaving as you were planning to do. But you were not brave enough to face his reaction. You were not stupid enough not to know this would ruin his life, destroy his dreams and career. So, with that in mind, you decided to keep it to yourself.

The house you both had been staying at was rented out by him. You would send him a message telling him where you left your keys once you were at the airport, and that would be the last time you two would contact each other. Ignoring the painful squeeze inside your chest, you grabbed your two suitcases and dragged them to the entrance, thinking one last time if you were forgetting something important.

It was then you remembered it. Gasping at your stupidity for almost overlooking something so important, you ran back to the bathroom and opened the cabinet. The card boxes were long thrown out without Jimin ever seeing them, but for some reason you were not able to throw away the three tests.

Shaking hands feeling around at the top shelf, hidden away behind rarely used products, you felt them and pulled them out. A lump came back as you saw the three pregnancy tests. You turned them in your hand so they all would show you the two pink lines displayed.

After a deep breath, your heart still panicking after seeing them again, you turned around and moved back to exit the house for the last time. Or so you thought.

Coming around the corner, you freeze as soon as the entrance comes back into your line of sight. With the door still half-opened behind him, there was Jimin coming in. Looking in disbelief at your two full suitcases next to the door. He raises his gaze as he hears your footsteps and his tiny eyes are as large as you have ever seen them, glassy with hurt and incredulity.

The hand that was holding the pregnancy tests hides them behind your back, but it seems futile in your mind. It was too late already. You sniff as you try your best not to cry, ignoring the feeling of your throat closing on itself, making it hard to swallow or even breathe, as well as the burning prickling behind your eyeballs.

“W-Why are your bags at the door?” Jimin asks in a high pitched trembling voice, door closing behind him.

You press your lips together, brain speeding around to try and think of what to say, how to fix this. How to keep him in the dark about it all.

“Just… going to visit my friend” you stutter out, eyes set on the ground beneath his feet.

“Stop lying!” Jimin was so angry he actually raised his voice. No matter how angry he would get with you, he always made an effort not to yell at you. But now he was making a bee-line towards you with hands in fists and watery eyes that you refused to meet. “You’ve been lying to me, haven’t you? Did you try to hurt me on purpose? Are y-you fed up with me?”

His voice cracks at that last question, stopping two feet away from you and you finally look up. You wish you didn’t, the pain behind his crying brown eyes hitting you like a wall of bricks and it makes you want to throw up.

“Never, Jimin” you whisper in a shaky breath.

“Then what has been going on?! Why are you…” He finally seems to notice you are hiding something still behind your back. “What are you hiding, Y/N?”

Closing your eyes, the first tear falls down your burning cheek and you feel like your whole body is shaking, every cell that composes you trembling heavily as your hand slowly reveals to him the secret you’ve been holding for over two weeks.

The room goes completely silent for a few moments. It’s like time stops and you don’t even dare breathing as you await for something, anything, any response. Your hesitant teary eyes slowly glance up towards Jimin’s face, searching for his reaction. You see him stoic as a statue, his full red lips parted, thin shiny eyes set on the tests in your hand and eyebrows slightly pulled together. His ears, cheeks and nose were red from the unsuccessful effort of his to not cry.

When he talks again, it’s much calmer than you expected, in a lower register than when he was angry at you and yelling.

“What does it mean?” he questions, not moving his eyes from your hand. “Two lines, what does it mean?”

He already knew, he had to. What else could make you leave if not what he was already thinking? But he always doubted himself, especially when it came to important things like this. Even if the answer was obvious, if it was easy to connect the dots, Jimin doubted himself and needed to hear you saying it. He needed the confirmation.

You take a breath that seems to hurt your lungs as it fills them, before answering him.

“I’m pregnant, Jimin” you finally confess.

It’s like the enormity of it catches up to you only then, the overwhelming anxiety you’ve been living with, your deep buried dread, they all rush to the surface and you drop the tests in order to hide your crunching face behind your chubby hands, crying profusely.

“I’m p-pregnant, J-Jimin! I-I’m s-so sorry…! I k-know you d-don’t!... You d-don’t want ch-children right now, I k-know, I’m s-”

Two strong hands wrap around your wrists tightly, pulling them down from your face as he pugnaciously crashes his full sensual lips against yours. You try to pull away, but one of his hands moves to the back of your neck to keep you in place while the other grips your wrist so forcefully that it hurts. Your free hand hits him in the chest, the arm, the shoulder, anywhere it reaches, but Jimin remains unfazed and you see in between your half open eyes the deep furrow of his eyebrows as he keeps covering your lips fierce fully.

Your hand pulls at the fabric of his sweater, trying to pull him away from you, only for the feathered touch of his tongue at the corner of your stubbornly closed lips leading you to give up. Your body stops pulling away and the hand that was pushing him is now grasping at his back, dragging him closer and you part your lips for him.

Feeling you finally giving in has Jimin release a shuddering breath of relief before he deepens the kiss, pulling your lush body to him until your chest is flushed against his, your legs intertwined with his and arms around his middle. The hand he kept on your wrist moves to your back as he keeps his other one at the side of your head, cradling it as he keeps kissing you, silencing the words he fears hearing once he stops.

Heads rotating against one another as the kiss continues, you taste his tears and sorrows as the air around you thickens. The thought that this might be the last kiss you’ll have with him makes you cling to him desperately, memorize every single detail, from his sea foam scent to the warmth of his hands, to the way he holds you incredibly close, the way he brushes his lips into your mouth that has your skin prickling and the swirl of his tongue around yours that agglomerates heat at the pit of your stomach. If you could stop time, you would stay in this moment forever.

But, as you have learned, nothing lasts forever. Especially the good things in life. It is you that puts a stop to it first.

“Ji… Jimin” you call as you slowly pull away from his chasing lips.

He hides his face in the curve of your neck, and you feel the moisture of the fallen tears in his cheeks against your skin.

“You can’t leave. I won’t let you” his raspy soft voice declares. His arms are firmly wrapped around your middle, hands clawing at the flesh of your back keeping you close. “I don’t care if I annoy you by being this clingy, I’m not letting you go.”

The hurt in his voice as he said it made you realize that was probably what pained him the most and what kept him away the past few days.

“You’re not clingy, Jimin. And you could never annoy me, I’m sorry I said that” you apologize, resting your head against the side of his. “But I still need to go. I can’t stay and ruin your life like this Jimin, I refuse.”

He lifts his head at that, dark red eyes looking with confusion at you.

“But you are not ruining my life, Y/N” he assures.

“We talked about this before, haven’t we? This relationship… we would just see where it goes, no compromises. And you stated before, that you don’t want children. Not right now, at least. So, I’ll just-”

“Silly girl” he interrupted, arms letting go of your middle so he can kiss your forehead and wrap them around your head, pulling you to rest it on his chest as he cradles you.

“Jimin…” you say in a warning tone. Delaying the inevitable would only hurt you even more in the long run. You just wanted to get over this part, the hardest part.

“You are not ruining my life, Y/N. You’re giving me a new one, in fact” he points out, arms holding you tighter as you hear a soft chuckle. “I can’t believe it. I’m gonna have a child…”

You pull away from his embrace with confusion written all over your face. Even with his flushed face from the crying, he breaks into an easy grin and places both of his hand on your puffy cheeks, leaning down as he stares into your eyes.

“All those things I said and thought at the beginning… They all changed when I said I love you, Y/N. Ever since I’ve realized how strong my feelings for you have gotten, I can’t see my future without you in it. I’m committed to you, to us, and even if I didn’t plan to have children this soon, if I were to have a baby, it would be with you. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I’m not leaving you over this, so don’t leave me either. Please.”

The sincerity in his gaze and the warmth of his words make your eyes swell up with tears all over again, the repressed images your brain had conjectured before of you holding a tiny baby in your arms, with Jimin smiling brightly next to you, creeping back up even if everything seems too good to be true.

“Are… Are you sure, Jimin?” you can’t help but ask.

“Absolutely” he answers in a heartbeat.

Smiling smooth lips come back to cover yours and this time you offer no resistance. Your mind feels like its floating from the sheer relief of it all, your heart jumps with joy in your chest at the thought of starting a family with the most wonderful man the world could have offered you. Your hands move over his muscular back to grasp at his shoulders and pull him closer to you, yearning for the feeling of him close like you thought you would never have him again.

Slow deep kisses move from your lips to your soft jaw, down your neck and play around your left ear, shivers running up your spine and the hairs at the back of your neck stand up. His hands are feeling up and down your body as your torsos move slightly from side to side, as if you were dancing. You don’t realize he is moving you across the room until your lower back hits the back of the couch.

Even over your clothes and the bra, the feeling of Jimin’s hand squeezing your breast has you gasping and craving more. His mouth comes back up to find yours as his hands slip underneath your clothes and feel up your malleable skin, from the sides of your stomach to your back. Your hands seem to mimic his, going under his sweater and tracing over his muscles with your fingertips, stretching your hands against the expanse of his back and loving the way his skin trembles.

When both his hands come down and roughly squeeze the flesh of your ass cheeks, it’s like a jolt of electricity runs to your core and you bite down on his puffy lips as you moan. It had been way too long since you two have been like this, ever since you found out you were pregnant. You missed this feeling more than anything in the world.

Jimin seemed to have the same feeling, as one of your legs got in between his and you felt the bulge inside his tight jeans against your upper thigh. Kissing down his neck, you rub your leg against him some more, adoring the hisses and choked breaths that he releases.

“Y-Y/N, stop, if you keep doing that- Ahh!...” He jumps like he got electrified and his body falls to yours as one of his hands claws at the back of the couch, the other still firmly gripping your abundant ass.

“I don’t wanna stop. I missed this. Missed you” you tell him against the skin of where his neck met his shoulder, repeating the same motion with your leg while your hands hurried to unbuckle his belt.

“I missed you too, dear. So, so much” he reciprocates.

When you manage to undo his belt, your hands are pulled away from him as he pulls your shirt away from you, leaving your upper body clad only in your bra. His lips immediately attach themselves to the skin between your breasts, nipping and lapping at the softness available. Your nails scratch at the sides of his clothed biceps as you take in the feeling, his fluffy hair tickling your skin. Jimin’s hands clasp at your waist and you feel them pulling down your pants, trying to take them off.

You help him by stepping out of the pants, realizing that your panties had been pulled with one of the legs of the trousers, leaving them hanging above one of your knees. You would have taken them off if not for the sudden feeling of Jimin’s fingers exploring up your fluffy inner thighs, diving into the pooling center that awaited him. You mewl at the first contact with the bundle of nerves at the front of your womanhood, only to gasp loudly as he takes no time burying his fingers into your tight entrance.

“J-Jimin, be gentle!” you ask of him, walls clasping on to his fingers.

“I’m still angry at you for trying to leave me like this. I want to punish you for that” he admits, kissing up your neck. But when he pulls away and you see his face, there was nothing but love there. “But I’ll be gentle, dear. For our baby.”

He catches your smile with his lips, at the same time he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace, the tightness of your muscles increasing with every movement of his hand on you. You kiss him back in between whimpers and moans, his mischievous tongue knowing exactly how to bring out the lewdest sounds from you.

Your hands kept yourself steady against his arms, the leg that was in between his being used by him to relieve some of the pressure for himself, as you felt Jimin rubbing his hardening erection against your thigh at the same rhythm of his fingers inside of you.

“More, Jimin… I want more” you whisper into his ear hotly.

“I thought you’d never ask” he replied.

The movement of his hips stops as he retrieves his digits, only to drop his trousers and boxers down to his knees and getting in between your thighs. You sit yourself carefully at the top of the headboard of the couch, biting your lip as you see his girth flushed and throbbing for you.

Positioning himself in between your legs, Jimin plunges in with the swiftest of moves of his hips, filling you up and stretching you out in the most wonderful of ways. Your back arches at the feeling and you almost fall back into the pillows of the couch, if not for Jimin’s hand coming around to your back and pulling you to his covered chest.

“Be careful, you can’t fall” he warns with a strict voice, contradicting the sweet kisses he left at the skin of your round shoulders.

Wrapping your legs and arms around him, chest pressed into his, you smile as you press your forehead to his and close your eyes.

“I guess I’m the clingy one, aren’t I?”

One of his hands leaves your back to cup your left cheek, your eyes opening to see a sad and urgent look on his face that pulled at your heart strings.

“Never try to leave again. Don’t go away, Y/N. Don’t leave me.”

His pained voice and vulnerable stare creates another lump at your throat and you find yourself shaking your head, your hands cradling his face in between them.

“No, no. I won’t. I won’t. I promise” you try to comfort him.

“Don’t leave me. Stay with me, Y/N. I love you, stay with me.”

His hips start moving then and it becomes harder to think straight. He hid his face in your neck, so you just wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him closer, legs locking at the ankles behind his upper thighs. Your keep promising you won’t leave, but he keeps begging you to stay, as if not hearing you or just not believing you.

At the same time his urgency escalates, so do his thrusts get deeper and faster, your slick flesh walls enveloping him tighter and tighter as your pulse quickens, thrills shooting up your spine as you feel the head of his member brushing a delicate spot. Your legs around his waist tense up with the rest of your body, gusts of pure pleasure sweeping through when he reached the deepest he could go with his plunges. There’s white noise overpowering any other sound in your ears as your brain feels like its melting from the consuming heat, so you can’t be sure Jimin is still asking you to stay, but you keep promising you will. Through loud moans and breathy whimpers, you promise to stay with him forever.

Then he sucks at a particular sensitive spot of your neck at the same time his hand moves from your wide waist down enough you puffy lower stomach so that his thumb presses against your aching clit, and that finally makes the string that was keeping you together snap. You cry out his name as white hot flashes tear through you and you burst like fireworks, your whole body trembling in the throes of bliss.

In the midst of your ecstasy, you feel Jimin’s thrusts losing focus and his body jolts and burns as his girth jerks inside of your clenching walls, emptying himself in you. He breathes heavy and rests his forehead on your shoulder as his hands go back around your waist, keeping you close.

One of your hands steadies yourself on the couch, the other patting the back of his neck as he catches his breath. You were both hot and sweaty, you almost naked if not for the bra and the panties around your right knee, while he was almost fully clothed, only with his jeans and boxers now fallen down to his ankles. Your butt was starting to hurt from the awkward position you were sited on the headboard of the couch, but you couldn’t bring yourself to complain when Jimin was still holding so tenderly.

“Promise me” he murmurs lowly.

“I won’t leave, Jimin” you answer, thinking you knew what he was referring to.

“Not just that” he explains, lifting his head so you can see his worried eyes again. “No matter how bad things may get, no matter how angry you get at me, don’t push me away. Don’t pull away from me like this, okay? Promise me.”

Your eyes glanced at the packed suitcases by the main door and you couldn’t help but wonder how he must have felt, coming home after so long and seeing them. How he would have felt if you had already left like you intended to. You were so sure things were over between the two of you, you never questioned how much it would hurt him if he still loved you. All you focused on was your own hurt and fears.

“Never again, Jimin. I promise.” And you meant it.

He pulls away from you only to pulls his trousers back up, bend down and pick up one of your pregnancy tests still on the floor from when you dropped them. A look of wonder and amazement still clouds his eyes as he sees it.

“Two lines… Just two lines changed everything.”

You get back on your feet, pull you panties up your legs and grab the other two tests, joining your hands with his as you both stare at the lines on all of them.

“How did you feel? When you saw them the first time” he questioned calmly.

“Scared” you answered truthfully. “Very scared.”

He grabbed your free hand and kissed your cheek.

“But not anymore, right?” You smile and shake your head.

“No, not anymore. I’m happy now that you’re here.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way. C’mon, let’s get a shower and get ready” he decided, pulling at your hand to go with him down the corridor.

“Ready for what?” you ask confused.

“For the doctor’s, of course. And we should probably start buying some things, time goes by quickly during pregnancy, I’ve heard. Also, we need to tell the members and the label. There is no way I’m going anywhere out of the country any time soon. Do you think Namjoon knows anything about pregnancy? Maybe he has a book I can borrow… Oh, let’s just go by the bookstore and pick up a few, how about that?”

And you just hear him go on and on, a smile tugging at your lips and the still fresh sense of pure relief making you want to cry every other moment. Thank God you turned back to grab the forgotten pregnancy tests, allowing Jimin to come home before you left. Thank God for those two lines, that erased those pesky doubts that this relationship was going to end like everything else good in your life did. For once, the universe was being good to you.

#bts chubby reader #bts chubby!reader #chubby reader #chubbyreader #plus size reader #bts jimin #jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #jimin angst #jimin smut #bts angst #bts smut #kpop angst #kpop smut #request

542 notes · View notes

pynkhues · 5 years ago

Note

You asked for it. Brio fix prompt - boning in a hot tub ✌🏻

A) This one blew out (sorry!) and B) They don’t even bone in a hot tub (although they do bone somewhere), so this is frankly the worst prompt fill ever, hahaha. I hope you like it anyway, anon. ;-)

Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe

“What about this one?” Beth asks, twisting her arms around her back to zip herself up as best she can. She smooths down the midnight blue fabric over her hips, biting her lip as she quickly looks herself over in the mirror before turning towards Rio, who’s sitting on the edge of their bed, pulling on a pair of black socks.

The question is enough to make him drag his gaze down her body, suck in his lip in a way that rapidly triggers a flush across her chest.

“’s nice,” he rasps, and Beth rolls her eyes, because it would mean something if he hadn’t responded with some variation of the same for the last four dresses she’d shown him.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” she bites, unzipping the dress again and wriggling out of it in frustration. It’s enough to make Rio groan, dropping heavily back onto their bed, pushing the heels of his hands against his eyes as he does it.

“Wear your mama jeans for all I care, it don’t matter.”

“It absolutely does matter,” Beth insists, flailing as her dress finally pools at her feet. “It’s - - fancy.”

“Fancy?” he asks, glancing up at her, popping an eyebrow, eyes darting a little hotly down to her cream lace bra and panties, and Beth finds herself blushing all over again, quickly grabbing another dress from her shortlisted pile to slip on.

“It’s a cocktail party.”

“Nuh, trust me, ma, all it is is an excuse for Gretchen to show off all the shit she’s done to her house.”

“There was an invitation. A physical invitation. In the mail,” Beth insists. “It was embossed.”

“Yeah, coz she’s like that,” Rio replies easily, waving an arm up in the air, and Beth levels him with a look, smoothing her floral dress down over herself, and - - no, she thinks, barely needing to look at herself in the mirror. She’d bought this for a high tea school fundraiser, and everything about the dress screams mom. She is not mom tonight. Well, she is – she’s always mom, but the point is, they won’t have the kids with them. Hell, they won’t even be coming home to them with hers at Dean’s for the week, and Marcus at Laura’s.

No, tonight she is Rio’s partner – in crime, in life, in - -

In all of it. At a fancy party. With his friends. She sucks in a breath, pulling off her dress and immediately fumbling back through the pile of options she’d clawed out of their closet. Has she always had this many dresses? Why does she suddenly hate them all?

“She’s like what exactly?”

Rio rolls his eyes, good natured, and when he says, “Pretentious. Shit, she’s callin’ this thing a house re-warmin’ and everything,” it’s with an amount of affection that goes straight to Beth’s nerves. She’s met Gretchen a few times now and they’ve just never really hit it off – but then, as Ruby had insisted, they’d never had the chance to either. Beth’s always either been child wrangling or entertaining or - - well, meeting with her professionally, where Gretchen seems to enjoy bringing up the fact that Beth created the legal woes for Rio that paid for Gretchen’s new house a little too much, and just - - god. Beth really wants her to like her.

After all, she knows she’s more than just Rio’s lawyer, she’s his friend and Beth’s more than just – as one of Rio’s boys put it (right before Rio broke the guy’s hand) – the snitch Rio wife’d. Speaking of - -

“What’s her wife do again?” Beth asks, and Rio rolls over a little on the bed, watching Beth toss a few ‘no’ dresses to the floor in her underwear, finally grabbing a soft pink dress and holding it low to step into.

“Manages some gallery.”

“Manages some gallery,” Beth says with a scoff, pulling the dress up over her hips, her belly. “She’s the artistic director of DIA.”

“Why you askin’ if you already knew the answer?”

And - - well. Beth blinks over at him, looks at the smug look on his face and knows she walked right into that trap. She scowls, shoving her arms into the sleeves of the dress. It’s just - - they’re impressive, that’s all. Basically a Detroit supercouple! And Beth is already having flashbacks to their housewarming when Gretchen and Caroline got stuck talking to Annie about all the different types of dead animals she’d found in the Fine & Frugal delivery trucks.

“I’ve just never really been around people like this before,” Beth admits, exhaling, and it’s enough to make Rio sigh, slide off their bed, and step towards her and just - - god, that’s unfair. He looks almost too good like this – button up shirt, skinny tie, fitted slacks, a tailored blazer, all black, and Beth frowns, still trying to get her dress over her shoulders where the fabric has twisted. Rio bats her hands away as soon as he’s at her side, replacing them with his own and making neat, quick work of untwisting it for her and smoothing it down. He rocks back a little when he’s done, makes an appreciative noise in the back of his throat before spinning her around towards the mirror and zipping her the whole way up.

“This one’s good,” he hums, gently squeezing her arms and Beth blinks at her reflection. She hasn’t really worn this dress before at all – it had been an impulse purchase, something elegant and simple. A fitted pink dress with embroidered flowers on the bust, a cinched waist and a draped side that had made her feel sort of regal in the moment she’d tried it on – like one of the Roman goddesses Emma had been studying at school, and she’s surprised to find the feeling blossom again.

It goes almost too well with her pale skin, her soft eye make-up, and the way she’s curled her hair. She knows she has a deep pink lipstick too that’ll pull it all together.

“The party’s gonna be borin’ as hell, trust me. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about,” Rio tells her, dropping his arms to wrap around her waist, pull her back against him. “But damn, you that worried, we could stay in.”

He brushes his lips against the shell of her ear, his hand slowly pulling up her dress.

“Have our own party.”

Beth flushes, but still has the sense enough to roll her eyes. Still, she can’t say the thought doesn’t have its own appeal – but then, she looks at them in the mirror together. God, have they ever done this sort of thing before? Together?

She turns around in his arms, pressing her lips to his.

“Come on. I don’t want to be late.”

“Are you sure this is it?”

“You know I been here before right?”

Beth rolls her eyes, clambering out of the passenger seat of Rio’s car as he passes his keys to the valet, walking around the car and promptly dropping his hand to the small of her back. Beth leans into it before she can help herself, glancing up at the large, stately house before them, and - - well, at least it matches the invitation, Beth thinks, shifting her weight, her hands clutching at the container in her hands.

It’s not just the house, which has to be almost as big as their own (despite the vast difference between having no kids and five to live in it), but the creeping vines that scale the length of the red brick walls, and the long, elegant stone path leading them from the street to the door. It’s bracketed by neatly trimmed grass, and small, orb solar lights, creating a calling glow up towards the house, and Beth pauses as a man in a tuxedo steps out the front door, covering one ear as he talks into his cell.

Rio’s hand nudges her forwards.

“You were right,” Beth says before she can think, glancing down at the dish in her hands. “I shouldn’t have made anything.”

“Didn’t say you shouldn’t’ve, said you didn’t need to,” Rio reminds her, and Beth shakes her head, glancing over at him, her hands tightening on the dish. “Come on, mami.”

With an exhale, Beth lets Rio guide her up towards the house, her gaze drifting back to the road behind them where a Tesla rolls up and spits out a couple in a three-piece suit and what is basically a sequined ballgown and god, Beth thinks, squirming a little. She suddenly wishes she’d at least worn the navy dress – feels like she could maintain a degree of invisibility in it. Like he’s felt her unease, Rio’s hand moves from the small of her back to curl around her, fingers first squeezing the curve of her waist before sliding down to hold her hip.

He barely has the chance to knock when suddenly the door opens, flooding classical music and chatter out into the night, and Beth’s relieved not to see a doorman (like she was starting to expect), but Caroline. Tall and slender, with long copper hair and sunkissed skin, she appears in front of them in a puff of forest green satin, a champagne glass in hand. She glances between them, surprise plain on her face before she quickly covers it with something more pleasant.

“Christopher! Beth!” she hums warmly, before twisting on the spot. “Gretchen! The Velasquez’ are here!”

Before Beth can remind Caroline that they’re not married, Gretchen’s appearing at her side, her dark hair pulled back off her face, dressed in a chic, tight white dress.

“Welcome,” Gretchen says, still half talking to somebody else, and Beth follows her gaze from the stranger to where it settles promptly on Rio.

“Thank you,” Beth replies for both of them, knowing Rio won’t, and quickly holding up her dish before she can think anymore of it. Both Gretchen and Caroline blink at her in surprise. “It’s a pear and blue cheese tart.”

“’s real good,” Rio hums beside her, tightening his grip on her hip, like he can feel how frazzled she is, because of course he can, and Gretchen’s gaze flicks to him before sliding back to Beth.

“Did you not see on the invitation that it was catered?” Gretchen asks, her eyebrows raised, her face giving away nothing, and god, is she offended? Did she think Beth thought the food provided would be anything but divine?

“I mean, I did, of course, but what would a house re-warming be without something to re-warm,” she hopes it comes off as cheerful, charming, and she sees Gretchen tick it over, but she doesn’t say anything, so Beth quickly adds: “Everyone often tells me it’s even better the next day, so consider it tomorrow’s lunch for the two of you.”

Gretchen just stares at Beth for a moment, her gaze flicking back to Rio, and whatever she sees on his face makes her roll her eyes. Beth’s about to try and figure out exactly what that means when Caroline promptly interjects.

“What Gretch means to say is thank you,” she says, taking the dish from Beth’s hands. “As for me, you had me at blue cheese. I actually think it’ll compliment some of the canapes beautifully too.”

“Oh! Good,” Beth says, glancing back, but Gretchen hasn’t taken her eyes off Rio, and when Beth flicks her own gaze up to look at him, he doesn’t turn it down to meet her. Instead, the two seem to be locked in some private, silent conversation, and Beth finds herself shifting awkwardly beneath it.

At the same moment that she picks up on it, Caroline seems to too, and instantly takes it as her cue to hold a hand out to Beth, gesturing her into the house.

“Beth, why don’t you help me give it to our caterers. You can pass on the serving instructions to them so you can go and enjoy yourself.”

It’s enough to make Beth blink, feeling Rio release her hip, nudging her forwards into Caroline, and then he promptly turns on his heel, striding out onto the front lawn, Gretchen on his heels. Beth blinks again, opens her mouth, but before she can get a word out, Caroline’s pulling her through into the house, leading her through the throng of people.

“Did you make the pastry yourself again? I still talk about that wild mushroom tartlet from your housewarming, I swear, just ask Gretch. It’s your own recipe, isn’t it? You should think about patenting it.”

Beth wouldn’t exactly call herself a wallflower, but the part seems to fit too well tonight. After she talks the caterers through re-heating the tart, Caroline gets her a champagne and what is honestly a pretty incredible little salmon thing before making easy small talk about her renovations and Beth’s kids until new arrivals at the party beckon her away. She makes generous, hostess work of introducing Beth to an artist friend of hers before she does though, only the guy seems to decidedly lose interest in her the moment he realises she’s not available, and he swans off to some twenty-four year old blonde with a braying laugh and a great ass.

A waitress moves by with a tray of champagne glasses, and Beth takes two – one for her and one for Rio, but she’s drunk both before she can really think better of it. Besides, he hasn’t come back yet, she tells herself, shifting her weight and looking across the swell of people, seeking him out, and just, god - - isn’t that pathetic? She cringes internally, rolling her ankle a little in her heels before trying to firm herself up. She doesn’t want to cling to his arm like an accessory, and she certainly doesn’t need him to be introducing her to people.

The party’s filled up well, an array of well-dressed, classy people in silk and fine linen, looking perfectly in place against Gretchen and Caroline’s elegant décor. Crisp white walls peppered with enormous canvas art – modern, often muted greys, giving the space a strangely Parisian quality, something that’s only emphasised by the cool marble floors and the white leather sofa, and Beth makes a mental note to never, ever bring their children here.

There’s a baby grand piano in the corner, a hired pianist at the stool playing for the party, and she contemplates going over, chatting to him, before her eyes catch a group of three people, a little closer, standing around the side with an opening she could easily slide into. Sucking in a breath, she squares her shoulders, slips on a smile, and walks over.

It takes them a minute to even realise she’s there, and Beth hesitates to introduce herself, finally just waving a little, clutching her champagne glass.

“Hi there, I’m Beth,” she says, and just - - god, this feels like grade school. She smiles as sweetly as she can, watching the two men and the women pause, look over at her, and it’s the woman who puts her out of her misery, holding out a hand which Beth gratefully takes.

“Maddison,” she says, before gesturing to the two men beside her. “And this is Peter and Todd. We’re reminiscing. We all went to Harvard Law with Gretch.”

Beth blinks, looking between the three of them – to Maddison’s sequined red dress, to the two men’s pristine suits, and figures, she thinks. She grins.

“Wow! All of you?”

It’s enough to make Todd flick his gaze down her body, making no secret of undressing her with his eyes, while Peter tries to wave down another drink.

“Yup, class of ’03. None of us have made quite the dent as Peter has over here,” Maddison says, bumping him with her hip. “But we’re all still practicing which is pretty impressive. I was just saying I ran into this girl from our class, Julia Yang, a few weeks ago, and she’s working in policy – hours are better with kids apparently – but Jesus. I can’t imagine wasting a degree from Harvard Law on state government.”

“Here here,” Todd says, stealing Peter’s new glass of champagne, eyes still on Beth’s chest. “Which industry are you in - - wait, don’t tell me. I’m gonna guess. I’m thinking - -”

He clenches his eyes shut, holds a hand up to her, like he’s a psychic making a prediction, and Beth laughs a little uncertainly, trying to swallow her sudden discomfort, shifting her weight back on her feet.

“Sales.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Todd,” Maddison says, and Beth looks sideways at Maddison, because something in the other woman’s tone tells her that she should be offended, but she’s not in on whatever Todd’s joke is. The moment sits heavily for a moment as Todd laughs, and right, Beth thinks, stepping in.

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” she says lightly. “I sell cars. I run my own second-hand dealership actually.”

The three of them look blankly at her, nodding a little, and Beth’s glad suddenly for the high neck of her dress, because she’s sure her chest is flushed.

“So business school?” Maddison asks, feigning interest, and Beth glances over at her, shaking her head.

“Actually, I didn’t go,” she says. “I mean, I got into Wayne State, but I had some - - just you know. Life happens, and I didn’t get the chance to go.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. And you never thought of going back?”

“Yeah, I did,” Beth replies, ringing her fingers a little around the stem of her champagne glass. “But I got pregnant, and then I got pregnant again, and well, you know how it is.”

“I imagine two kids are a lot of work.”

“Actually I have five,” Beth says. “Well, I mean, I have four, but my partner has one too, so we’re five together.”

The words are enough to make Todd briefly splutter on his drink, his eyes dropping onto Beth with a new sort of weight, and even Peter seems bemused by the fact, forehead furrowing as he looks at her curiously.

“How do you go from that to running your own car dealership?”

Beth smiles at him, shrugs, wrinkling her nose a little.

“My ex-husband used to run one, and I’d help out, but my new partner and I set this one up together. I had experience, so I kind of –”

But even before the words are out of her mouth, Peter’s laughing, looking away, gesturing back to the waitress again for canapes, and Beth feels the rest of the sentence dry up on her tongue.

“It’s great that you got that opportunity,” Maddison says, and the words are kind, but her tone is - - less than. Beth’s flush deepens, and she polishes off her glass of champagne so that when the waitress comes around for Peter, she can grab another for herself.

“Shit, Gretch has done well for herself,” Todd says, pointedly changing the subject, and Beth makes a grateful noise of agreement that nobody really acknowledges. “She was telling me the other day that they put a twenty-five-metre lap pool in on the second-floor garden.”

“There’s a second-floor garden? Shit, doesn’t she only have like, three major clients?”

“Yeah, but they’re all big tickets, and she keeps a rotating door of smaller ones. She’ll never confirm it, but I heard one of the majors is Christopher Velasquez.”

Peter swears suddenly, eyebrows up in his hairline, and Beth’s eyes widen, suddenly finding herself frozen to the spot.

“Isn’t that guy, like, a kingpin?”

“Mm-hmm,” Todd says. “Huge deal. Used to move around a bit, but I’ve heard he’s really laid roots in Detroit over the last few years. Pretty sure Gretch rep’ed him in that federal criminal case three years ago, lucky bitch. She got him off too. Killed the FBI’s case. I seriously don’t remember her being that good in college.”

“She’s always been that good, you just hate women, Todd,” Maddison says, and Todd rolls his eyes. “I wonder why Velasquez stayed in Detroit.”

“Why does any guy like that lay roots? He’s probably been locked down by good pussy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“What would be disgusting is if I said that good pussy trapped him poking holes in a condom, which she probably did.”

“Right,” Maddison says dryly, staring at Peter. “Because god forbid the guy maybe just want to settle down after almost going away on federal charges. You’re such a fucking asshole, Pete, I swear, you - - ”

A hand touches the small of her back again, and god, Beth wishes she wasn’t relieved, turning a little to let Rio sidle in beside her. He looks annoyed more than anything, and briefly fear grips her that he’d heard these guys talking about him, seen Beth just standing there, shell shocked (but also a little curious), but them he plucks her champagne glass from her hand, draining it in one long gulp, before dropping it onto a passing waiter’s tray and grabbing one for each of them to replace it.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mama,” he hums, and Beth gives him a look.

“For stealing my drink or taking so long?”

He grins, a little bashful, leaning in to steal a kiss before turning to face the three people watching them. He tilts up his chin in acknowledgement.

“Yo.”

And god, she wishes it didn’t feel so good to turn around and watch the three of them just stare, their eyes wide, mouths slightly open, flicking between Rio, and Beth beside him, taking her in all over again with her pink dress and her soft, strawberry blonde curls. Beth stands up a little straighter, batting her eyelashes.

“Christopher, this is Maddison, Todd and Peter, they went to law school with Gretchen.”

He nods at them, his arm settling around Beth’s back again.

“Yeah? Maybe you can help me figure out if she was born a cutthroat or she learnt that shit.”

Maddison barks on a laugh, blatantly checking him out, before tossing her hair back over her shoulder and pushing out her hip.

“Been that way as long as I’ve known her,” she says, and Rio gives her a half smile that visibly melts her, and god, embarrassing, Beth thinks. Although maybe she’s the one who’s embarrassing, because before she can stop herself, she’s leaning into Rio’s side possessively, grateful for the way that he tightens his hold on her hip in reply.

“Great,” Beth says sharply, turning a little to Rio. “Want to do a lap?”

Rio furrows his brow, looking down at her, like he can hear something in her tone but doesn’t quite know what it is, but still. He tilts his champagne glass at the trio in goodbye and lets Beth take him for a lap.

And mostly it’s fine, Beth tells herself, shifting her weight beside Rio as women titter around him and men look at him with a sort of awe that Beth really hasn’t seen outside of movies. She knew the brand of effortless charm and charisma Rio exuded – after all, it’s not like she’s ever been immune to it – but here, like this, he straddles the line of success and danger in a way that she’s never seen before and it’s like - - like catnip to these people (and sure, she’s sure the fact that he looks like he does doesn’t hurt).

It’s not like she gets lost in the shuffle of it exactly either, just they treat her almost like she’s a part of the Christopher Velasquez package. One man even practically says it.

(“And this is your wife?” he’d asked, eyeing Beth off appraisingly like she was a racehorse or a - - well, a trophy, and Rio had made a noise which was basically an affirmation that Beth didn’t have the wits to unpack. “Beautiful, truly. I imagine you must wake up every morning a happy man.”)

And just - - god, she thinks, finishing off her glass. They might be better dressed, better educated, drive nicer cars, but it’s like it was with Dean, only somehow worse, and Beth doesn’t even know how to begin to think about that. It’s not that Rio encourages it either – in fact, he barely speaks at all, seems more than anything itching to leave, just they’re here, and, despite herself, she wants to make a good impression.

So she grabs another champagne.

And another.

And okay, maybe getting drunk and listening to people fawn over Rio wasn’t exactly the best way to achieve that good impression, because she’s swaying a little on her feet when Gretchen and Caroline finally clink glasses and call for the start of the tour.

“Tour?” Beth whispers, although judging by the amused look on Rio’s face and the few people around them who turn to shush her, probably not as quietly as she thinks.

“Told you Gretchen was like this,” Rio hums back, grabbing another cranberry, brie and prosciutto crostini off a tray as a waiter drifts past. “You ready?”

Beth resists the urge to groan. Resists the urge to slip out of her heels and rub at her aching feet too. Instead paints on her most benign smile and lets Rio hold her back until most of the party has followed Gretchen and Caroline out of the room for the start of the tour.

Moving to follow, Beth’s surprised when Rio suddenly grabs her arm, tugging her in the opposite direction to the group.

“What are you doing?” she says with a yelp, and Rio spins back to look at her, pressing a finger to his mouth, gesturing her to be quiet.

“Baby, I’ll do a lot for you, but I ain’t got it in me to follow Gretchen and Caroline around while they try to tell me that ugly ass paintin’ in their foyer was worth half what they paid for it. Come on.”

Beth laughs before she can help herself, and they should stick with the group – they should. It’s the adult thing to do, the right thing to do, but then - -

“Wait,” she yelps, and Rio turns back around, like he’s preparing himself for a fight, only to find Beth clutching his arm and leaning down to take off her shoes. She grabs them by the heels, and then gestures forwards. “Okay, now I’m ready.”

Rio just grins.

It takes them a while to find it.

Takes them maybe fifteen minutes and a few games of what’s behind the door that has Beth giggling and Rio laughing as her guesses get more and more ridiculous (the shrine to him guess for the room that turns about to be a linen closet earns her a particularly loud guffaw that Beth thinks she’ll keep with her forever), and finally it’s his guess of morgue for lawyers who’ve crossed Gretchen that opens them up to the room with the pool.

Rio steps quickly through, a spring to his step like it was what he’d been looking for, and Beth finds herself suddenly breathless, her toes leaving the cool hallway floor for the soft, lush artificial grass of what can only be described as a greenhouse. It’s a huge, glass room full of ferns and flowers, fairy lights dangling from the roof, reflecting off the still water surface of the swimming pool. Soft, tinkling music plays through hidden speakers as the faint smell of chlorine is overwhelmed by the fragrant smell of blossoming lilies.

“It’s beautiful,” Beth says, breathless, and Rio hums in agreement, toeing off his shoes, his socks, and dangling a foot briefly in the water of the pool.

“Temperature’s good too,” he says, and Beth spins to look at him. To just see him now, barefoot in his fitted suit, his eyes hooded, his lips plump, the angles of his cheekbones like a splinter of glass, and she remembers all the other women, hungry for him, and then - - well.

Suddenly Beth feels too sober. She swallows thickly, looking away.

“Will Gretchen be mad we didn’t do the tour?”

“Probably,” Rio says with a shrug, pulling off his blazer, draping it neatly over one of the wicker chairs at the poolside. “She’ll get over it. Don’t think I coulda spent another minute around those people.”

The music tinkles on benignly as Beth watches him loosen the knot on his tie, enough he can sling it off his neck, dropping it to the chair with his blazer. It’s strange, how he can still look so elegant, even without the more formal staples of his attire. Beth wonders if Dean ever looked this together in slacks and a shirt, but then - - Dean never really looked together at all. Beth bites the inside of her cheek.

“Those people are probably who you should be hanging out with,” she says lightly, and Rio blinks over at her, forehead furrowed, lips pulled into a disbelieving grin.

“Who says?”

She tosses both her arms up, shrugs, shakes her head at him.

“They’re smart, successful people. Like you are. They could be good connections for you professionally. Now and in the future.”

And it’s loaded then, the quiet between them. Rio stops undressing, just looks at her briefly, like he’s trying to read her, and, for once, finds that he can’t. It’s enough to make him rock his jaw, to look away, then back to her.

“Been a while since we been a me,” he says slowly, and Beth’s heart lurches in her throat. She quickly shakes her head.

“That’s not what I meant.”

But isn’t it?

“You fit better here,” she says. “That’s all. I mean I - -”

But the words won’t come.

��You what?” he says, not quite letting her off the hook, but the thing is, Beth can’t say it. Can’t tell him that tonight has been humiliating, that it’s been demoralising, that it’s reminded her of just how much of her life has been - - not worthless. She refuses to say worthless. She wouldn’t change a thing about taking care of Annie, wouldn’t swap her children for anything - - more - -

More how much her life hasn’t been lived for her.

How much other people see that as small.

“You and me ain’t ever had nothin’ handed to us, and we won’t ever. It’s what makes us so fuckin’ good. What means we don’t need this fancy fuckin’ show to tell people what we are.”

Beth’s head whips up at that, sees Rio looking at her, feels something in her chest tear open at his words, and just, she exhales a breath she didn’t know she was holding in.

“Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you, Elizabeth, they ain’t my people, you are.”

“Gretchen - - ”

“Is my friend, yeah, but we don’t do this shit together. Just coz we’re friends don’t mean we’re the same. We hang, sure, and we got the club, and she got me out of trouble, and I got her outta binds too. That don’t mean I’m interested in spendin’ any of my time listenin’ to her talk about how she’s spent my money.”

Beth huffs out a laugh, folding her arms over her chest. Still, she glances up at him.

“What did she want to talk to you about when we got here?”

Both his eyebrows pop up at that – a huh expression that almost makes Beth blush, and when he says:

“That’s what got you stressin’?”

His tone is laden with disbelief.

Beth shakes her head, bites the inside of her cheek, glancing out at the inviting surface of the pool.

“She doesn’t like me.”

“It wasn’t about you. She didn’t expect me to show. She was worried I was gonna start cappin’ people or somethin’, knew a few people here mighta been a little fuckin’ ignorant. Wanted to make sure I was on my best behaviour.”

“Really?”

“Mm,” Rio says. “Told her I already had you to keep me in line so didn’t need her breathin’ down my neck too.”

“I wish I could keep you in line,” she says with a snort, and Rio grins, dimples and all, and ugh, Beth thinks, rolling her eyes, not quite able to temper her own smile. His face is like a trap, she thinks. One she really needs to get better at wriggling out of, because she still feels it all, swirling around in her gut, but - - mostly she just wants to kiss him.

She shakes her head.

“Tonight’s been weird,” she says with a sigh, and Rio hums in agreement, his voice low, dulcet. She squints back at him. “Like, every woman here wants to sleep with you.”

It’s enough to make him laugh, head back, his hands undoing the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing the talons on the hawk at his neck. Not for the first time, she wonders how many women he’s slept with before her but - - god, even Annie had agreed that the answer to that was probably not one she wanted to know.

“Shit, you seen the way that art dealer was lookin’ at you. Thought I would have to start cappin’ people.”

And Beth just snorts at that. She’s pretty sure he was mostly looking at her to figure out what Rio even saw in her, but she thinks bringing that up is only going to piss Rio off and make him want to prove something in that way he too often does.

“See?” he says instead. “You standin’ there actin’ like we’re supposed to be fittin’ in with them, when everyone in that room either wants to be us or fuck us. We aspirational, mami.”

“Oh my god,” Beth says, laughing. “You’re so full of yourself.”

And Rio grins widely at her, his eyes crinkling in that way she likes best, his hands lowering to unbutton his shirt the whole way down, and she means to ask him what he’s doing – if he’s planning on going for a swim, only what comes out is:

“I don’t think Gretchen finds me particularly aspirational.”

“She don’t really know you yet,” Rio replies easily, not so much as slowing his hands trail down his shirt. “Plus she’s paranoid. It‘s good, it’s what I pay her for, but you are the reason she had to haul my ass outta federal court three years ago, remember?”

And Beth rolls her eyes again, shaking her head.

“How could I not? She brings it up practically every time I see her.”

“Yeah, that’s just coz she thinks it’s funny to see how pale you can get,” Rio says grinning, and Beth just gives him her best dead-eyed stare.

“Caroline likes you.”

And - - what? Beth blinks in surprise.

“No she doesn’t.”

“Yeah, your sister too. Apparently talked to her for hours at our housewarmin’ about dead animals in fruit trucks?” Rio rolls his eyes, somehow both affectionate and disgusted. “Apparently Caroline used to work in a grocery store too when she was younger. Enjoyed comparin’ horror stories with her. Learnin’ those places ain’t changed. Think you and me might need to invest in a farm or somethin’ to make sure we feedin’ the kids well.”

“A farm?” Beth asks, laughing. “Sure, let’s add it to the retirement plan.”

Rio laughs again, but he doesn’t dispute it, and a comfortable quiet settles over them, the tinkling of the music and the quiet hum of the pool filter taking up the space between them. Beth’s starting to think about rejoining the tour (and maybe finding another glass of champagne) when Rio suddenly pulls the rest of his shirt up and asks:

“Wanna go for a swim?”

Reeling back around, Beth just stares at him.

“What?”

His grin widening, Rio quickly swallows it, sucking in his lip as he nods his head towards the pool and Beth follows his gaze towards the clear surface and just - - god, it really does look inviting.

“Really?” she asks, tone dry, and Rio shrugs, reaching for his belt.

“My money paid for it,” he says easily, and Beth rolls her eyes.

“That doesn’t make it yours.”

He gives her a look like he patently disagrees with her on that, and Beth can’t quite bite back her laugh, shaking her head. Before she can say anything though, Rio promptly interjects.

“Hm, now that I think on it, pretty sure my money paid for that dress too,” he says, eyeing her off, and Beth arches an eyebrow at that, heat rushing south even as she tries to look as innocently back at him as possible.

“Oh, did you want it back?”

“You know, I think I do.”

And Beth just rolls her eyes again at that, and Rio laughs, shucking out of his pants and then his underwear, and just like that, he bounds forwards and dives in. The arc of his body graceful as he breaks the water surface, and Beth watches, oddly breathlessly, as his lean, sharp body glides below. He’s almost at the other end of the pool before he breaks through again, pausing to tread water in the deep end, his skin glistening beneath the twinkling pool lights.

“Cute,” Beth says, keeping her tone as dry as possible. She reaches down to pick up his slacks, then his underwear, folding them neatly and placing them with his blazer and tie on the wicker chair.

“C’mon, mami,” he calls. “You gonna leave me here?”

“Yes,” Beth says, but she’s already peeling down her pantyhose and pulling the zip down on the back of her dress. Rio grins, watching her from the water as she hesitates only briefly before – fuck it. The water does look great, and she loves to swim, and she’s still a little (more than a little) drunk and there’s just - - something horribly romantic about this right now, with the lights and the water and - - and him.

Everything always feels romantic with him.

She pulls off her dress, folds it beside his clothes and her pantyhose, before biting her lip, looking down at her panties and her bra and she’d keep them on if she didn’t know they’d soak through the fabric of her dress afterwards and just - - right, she thinks. Shucking quickly out of both, and darting towards the water, shivering in the cold and thrumming with adrenaline, and then the water is just the perfect temperature when she slips her body in, which of course it is, and Beth breathes out a sigh of relief, knowing that they haven’t been found out yet.

She half expects Rio to have swum back over to her, but when she looks up, he’s right where he was, a smug grin on his face and a hot look in his eyes, even from here, and she could stay. Knows she could. Knows she could make him come to her, just - - she doesn’t want to. Not tonight.

The tiles are rough beneath her feet as she pads towards him until it’s too deep to walk, and then she swims the last of the way towards him, and he just watches her, like he always does, and she watches him too. The way the twinkling fairy lights cast only the faintest glow across his features, casting the angles of his face starkly. She can’t help it, the way her eyes drop to his lips, feeling the way the water pushes and pulls between them.

“Hi,” she says, and Rio swims a little closer, until she can feel his legs treading water between her own. “Can we never throw a party like this?”

And it must catch him by surprise, because he laughs, throwing his head back, grabbing her legs and wrapping them around his waist, the water whooshing around them, her slippery body colliding easily with him. His hands settle on her ass, holding her to him.

“Oh, so you gonna say it?”

“Gonna say what?”

“That I was right and you were - - hmm, what’s the opposite of that again?”

“I was not wrong,” Beth squawks, waving out the hand that’s not latched onto Rio’s shoulder, and his innocent expression doesn’t even falter.

“No?”

“No,” Beth insists, squinting, prickly with annoyance suddenly, and Rio furrows his brow, sucks in his lips in faux consideration.

“Think I told you this shit was gonna be borin’ as hell, and you said - -”

“That Gretchen struck me as the type of person who knows how to throw a party, and she does. This party has been thrown. It’s very well organised.”

“It fuckin’ sucks, ma,” he tells her easily, and Beth tilts up her nose.

“I didn’t say it was going to be a fun party. I said it was going to be fancy.”

And Rio just laughs, loud and lyrical, drowning out the music, the pool filter, filling Beth’s ears in the best possible way.

“You got a gift, you know that?”

“For what?”

“Re-writin’ history.”

Beth huffs out a breath at that, because honestly, she didn’t re-write a single thing. She just feels differently now and as she tells their children (and Annie), that’s indicative of growth not lying and - -

“Anyway,” Rio chimes. “I know a way we can make it better.”

Beth looks at him carefully, and then Rio rolls his hips and just - -

Beth gasps, scandalised.

“We are not having sex in this pool.”

“What’d you think we’d be doin’ in it? We ain’t wearin’ clothes.”

“Skinny dipping is a thing.”

“Yeah, foreplay.”

She splashes him and he kisses her, hard and fast, and Beth moans, her hands coming up to the back of his head, her nails raking through his hair, and god, she just - - melts into it. Melts into him. It’s really not fair, how good he is at this, she thinks, arching her back, pressing her breasts into his chest, just to hear him groan, unsurprised when he bites her lip in retaliation.

It’s not long before he’s hard beneath her and he’s slowly swimming them over to the poolside, enough he can press her back into the tiles, giving her the time to lower a hand between them, wrap it around his cock and line it up with herself until he can push in. Beth drops her head back, moaning, the feel of the water lapping at their skin, coolly encompassing them. Rio hums, his mouth latching onto her neck, sucking in a bruise, and she arches her back against the side of the pool, tries to get closer against him, always, exhaling hoarsely, her hand scratching down his back as he rolls his hips against hers, burying his cock deeper, and - -

“This room is probably our favourite. We actually met at a garden party in Boston almost twenty years ago now, so in a lot of ways this room is actually a - -"

Beth gasps, head reeling, glancing over to where Gretchen and Caroline have backed into the room, and she flounders briefly, trying to tug both herself and Rio further down in the water, and god, Beth thinks, a mortified flush bleeding across her face and chest, at least only Gretchen seems to have seen them.

“You know what, I actually forgot a stop on our tour. Caroline, would you mind showing our guests the wall of original photographs we commissioned from the up and coming artist, Vanessa Miller.”

“Of course,” Caroline says, eyes darting over Gretchen’s face while Beth mostly just tries to get herself and Rio under the cover of water, trying to smother his laughs into her chest. The group files out, and Beth breathes a sigh of relief, at least – she does until a long, thin shadow settles over them, and just - -

Beth clenches her eyes shut.

“You know I only ever invite you to these things with what I thought was an unspoken agreement that you don’t come,” Gretchen says above them, and Rio blinks up at her innocently, still buried to the hilt in Beth, and just - - god, they’re naked in her pool, and Beth doesn’t think it’s possible to be any more red.

“To be fair, I haven’t yet,” Rio says innocently, and Beth was clearly wrong. She slaps him at the same time Gretchen makes a noise of barely contained horror.

“Okay, Beth,” Gretchen says loudly, changing focus, and Beth lifts her head enough to look at her. “It was lovely to see you. Do whatever you need to do, but then take him home.”

Offering only a meek nod, Beth curls her toes in the water, already thinking of ways she can bury this memory, as Gretchen turns on her heel to stride out of the garden, back to the hall.

“I’m adding the cleaning fee to your bill, Velasquez,” Gretchen calls behind her, and Rio laughs, utterly delighted, and Beth vaguely wonders if Gretchen would be willing to represent her after she murdered him.

“This is hands down the worst thing you’ve ever done,” Beth tells him and Rio blinks at her, forehead furrowed, hands firming on her ass.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Beth reiterates, taking a hand off his back to gesture out around them. “You - - - ah.”

And, well, she thinks, legs tightening around his waist as he thrusts into her.

Gretchen did tell them to do what they needed.

#beth x rio #nbc good girls #the center and circumference #my fic #welcome to my ama

70 notes · View notes

howdoyousleep3 · 5 years ago

Note

fic writing meme - 8?

#8: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Oh my gosh such a good question and I’m going with the one that instantly came to my mind-- Right in my Space. I’ve included it down below (it is quite lengthy, more than a “snippet”). I remember writing this and being so fucking proud of myself for how it played out in my head and how it turned out. I wanted to convey their relationship and how messy it kind of was but I also wanted to convey how fucking weak they were for each other and how they knew one another so well.

I was proud of how cocky they sounded, how flirty and joking they sounded, how comfortable. I loved when Steve told Bucky him talking about Steve sucking him off was a cheap shot and then when Bucky said, “Wouldn’t use it if it didn’t work” I wrote it screaming, ahahaha. I was also proud of Steve telling Bucky he had to work for it because he was showing up at Steve’s door “damn near tomorrow”. I like that they sounded like they were talking with like...an older generational vibe? Idk. V proud of this one, might be my pride and joy and that’s wild because it isn’t my Daddy!Steve and Baby!Buck.

Anon! ILY thank you!!

“Did uh…did I interrupt somethin’?” Bucky asks, a tease in his tone as his eyes rove hotly over Steve’s form once more before meeting his eyes and Steve huffs, “No, no I’m just…just having a night in,” as he crosses his arms over his chest. Bucky’s smirk grows and Steve can’t help but mirror it after a few seconds of looking at each other like a pair of goons standing in an apartment building hallway. He decides to get right to the point, rip it off in one go like a bandaid.

“What are ya doin’ walkin’ up to my door at midnight, Buck?” he asks quietly, leaning on the doorknob as gracefully as he can when one attempts to do so. Bucky is quiet for a few seconds, turns his head to the left, Steve able to see the clench of his strong jaw, and he sucks in air before answering with a shrug.

“I texted you.”

“I put my phone on silent to have time to myself.”

“You been doin’ that for a month now?”

Steve stutters, meets Bucky’s playful yet challenging gaze, knowing there’s a little bit of hurt in his eyes and tone as well, and it guts him. He shuffles on his feet and looks away.

“Buck, look I—”

“You look good, baby…” Bucky purrs, interrupting his thoughts, Steve knowing that tone of voice intimately, it breaking down every brick of Steve’s walls within just a few words, and he rolls his eyes as if it didn’t set butterflies loose in his chest. Before Steve can call him on his cheesy line Bucky’s hand softly glides down a few inches of his arm and Steve must have missed the part where he stepped in closer because he can smell Bucky’s scent, all warm and spearmint-y and pine-y and feel the heat radiating off of his body that makes him want to squeeze in close to his chest.

“Quit, Bucky. I’m standin’ here in my britches and a huge sweatshirt, can’t look good,” Steve huffs pathetically and Bucky’s quick to respond with, “Always look good, more than good,” and Steve feels his cheeks heat up and flush at the simple comment. How can someone make his stubborn self be so easy?

“Been missin’ you,” Bucky comments almost off-handedly, a breath of a thing, and it feels like someone has a fist around his heart, makes it squeeze up into his throat. It’s just physical, it’s just physical, he reminds himself but damn does it feel good to hear Bucky directing that comment to him of all people. Steve doesn’t know what to say in response, knowing that if he did respond he would push Bucky away and he should but he doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t want to. But he should.

“Got to thinkin’ about you tonight,” Bucky starts and there’s a shift in his tone that has Steve’s dick perking up, one that has his pulse quickening. The last thing Steve needs is that mouth to pop off with pure filth but it’s been so long and Steve is whining to himself in his head that he wants it, needs it!!! that he’s weak and suddenly horny all over and half-hard in his briefs. He can’t meet Bucky’s eyes, not yet, but that doesn’t stop the brunette from pushing, from crowding Steve into the doorjamb and being so close but not fucking touching him. In a humiliating turn of events it almost makes Steve whine, swallowing it down as effectively as he can, attempting to stay strong but Bucky’s presence is overwhelming and heady, making Steve question why he wanted to push Bucky away to begin with.

“Got to thinkin’ about your pretty eyes and that pretty mouth,” Bucky starts, speaking slow and syrupy, innocently enough, but then he’s tilting Steve’s chin up and running a thumb along his bottom lip and shit Steve wants to suck in into his mouth while he gazes into those blue-grey eyes. He lets Bucky touch his lip, caress it and watch him watch the movement on Steve’s mouth and then Bucky breathes, “Thought about how sweet you look when you’ve got your mouth stuffed full’a my cock.”

Mother fuck. It’s the cheapest of shots and Steve tells him so, a whisper of, “Cheap fuckin’ shot, Barnes,” but it’s breathless and so obviously needy. He loves giving Bucky head, loves taking Bucky apart with his mouth, loves having his ridiculously perfect cock so deep in his throat that he gags on it a little. He loves laying between Bucky’s thick thighs, looking up his beefy body all sweet and batting his eyelashes, suckling on the fat head, taking him deep, making it wet and messy, lapping at his balls—Steve loves sucking on Bucky’s cock.

“Mhmm, wouldn’t use it if it didn’t work, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs with a smirk, hand moving away from his face, Steve already putty in his hands with his chin remaining tilted up without the help of a few fingers. He doesn’t even notice his eagerness and Bucky leans down to run his nose alongside Steve’s own, such an intimate gesture, such a tease, and he finds himself barely whimpering into Bucky’s mouth before he can catch it. He’ll be damned if he leans in first, is the one to kiss Bucky or initiate a kiss first.

“Thought about how pretty you look when you come. You let out the sweetest noises, honey, did you know that?” Bucky asks hot and low on his lips and it makes Steve’s gut clench up and his eyelids flutter closed and now all Steve can think about is how good it feels when Bucky wrings orgasm after orgasm out of him in the way only Bucky can do so. He bites at his lip and looks back up at the larger man, rock hard in his briefs by this point, and whispers, “Yeah?” just so he can get Bucky thinking about him more, completely selfish and okay with it.

Steve’s innocent question makes Bucky’s eyes sparkle mischievously and he watches as his own fingers slip down Steve’s arm, murmuring, “Oh yeah, just the prettiest. Been missin’ ‘em, been missin’ hearing you let ‘em out just for me. D’you miss lettin’ them out for me, sugar?” Sugar hits him right in the chest, another cheap shot, makes him gasp lightly into the air between him and Bucky, hand twitching to reach out. Sugar is his favorite, makes him bashful and sweet, makes him want to wrap himself around Bucky and nibble at his neck, kiss at that spot underneath his ear that makes him shiver.

Goddamnit.

Before he can help it, Steve is nodding his head minutely, glancing at Bucky’s lips before looking into his smoky eyes and whispering, “Love makin’ them for you, Buck you know that.” His response makes Bucky smile slyly, like he knows he’s working Steve over, leading him easily right into his trap as if he needed a trap to get Steve to go to bed with him. Bucky’s lips brush his so softly he doesn’t even feel it at first, just lips dusting lips, and it’s like every pent-up piece of anxiety about the situation unravels in his chest at the touch. He’s scared to move, scared to say anything, just wants to feel Bucky again, missing him even though he’s right here in front of him squeezing his smaller body into the door frame even more.

“God, baby no one makes ‘em like you, looks so sweet takin’ me the way you do,” Bucky’s voice sounds like gravel to his ears and he presses a gentle and chaste kiss to the corner of Steve’s lips and he can’t help it, he breaks down a little bit, hands flying up to grip onto Bucky’s hips. He slips his thumbs under his rucked-up sweatshirt and swipes them against warm skin, his mouth watering at the massive desire to feel this warm skin surround him, all over him. Bucky purrs, eyes watching Steve’s own as best they he can as he kisses the other corner of his mouth, slow and sweet and full of self-control.

Steve expects Bucky’s lips to stop there but they slip against his cheek, soft and simple, kissing a cheekbone then the hinge of his jaw then the skin of his neck. He feels like his body is on fire, flames licking tight up his spine, cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat and he damn near collapses against the doorjamb as he tilts his head back. His grip on Bucky’s hips tightens and he hisses through his teeth when he feels the other man suck on the soft skin of his neck, makes him whine out softly, “Buck…”.

He’s done for. Just like that.

“Yeah, sugar, those noises. You gonna make ‘em for me tonight? You gonna let me hear ‘em? Don’t know why you’ve been hidin’ from me,” and Bucky’s voice is hot in his ear, hot against his mouth, hips finally finally pressing into his form, large against small, and it’s so much at once, so overwhelming. Steve is panting within seconds, heavy breaths through his nose as best he can, and he gasps out, “You gonna treat me right and work ‘em outta me, big guy?” Bucky groans, chuckles darkly through it, and although Steve’s words are tough and his chin is strong, he’s trembling against Bucky’s body, pressed together from head to toe at this point. Bucky’s hands run up his sides gently, his movements and lips and eye contact soft, the exact opposite of the powerful electricity they’re currently sharing. Bucky’s wide palms cup his face, his jaw, and he purrs, “Oh, honey—you got no idea.”

“Gonna make you work for it, Barnes. I ain’t easy and you’re comin’ to my door damn near tomororw,” Steve whispers back as if he’s completely put out by the other’s surprise arrival at his doorstep, completely melting into the feeling of Bucky’s big hands running over his body, squeezing at it slowly and deep. Bucky bites at his chin on his way to trail kisses along is jawline and he’s almost done pretending he doesn’t want Bucky, moaning softly at the treatment, hips stuttering into the beefy body in front of him.

“Always fightin’, always stubborn—expect nothin’ else from you, sugar. You want me to break you down, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

And suddenly Steve’s feet are off the ground with a squeak, Bucky’s hands confidently grabbing onto his ass, yanking him up somehow gracefully, purring deeply into his lips when he feels how hard Steve is against his stomach, lithe thighs wrapping around a thick waist. And then they’re kissing and it’s so hot and frantic, Bucky’s lips are heaven, eager and warm, and Steve’s grabbing at Bucky’s jaw, fingers tingling at the feeling of stubble underneath them.

“Yeah, look at you puttin’ up a hard front while this little cock is about to burst just from my words alone, honey.”

8 notes · View notes

sunshinexlollipops · 6 years ago

Note

Some people in the fandom mentioned that Dutch’s head injury changed him. What do you think? Was Dutch already going crazy or was how he hit his head bc of the trolley crash why he went insane as he did?

Alrighty, let me crack this anon wide open. ;)

So, to answer your question, yes and no.

Dutch was already changing before the game started with us running with the gang into the shelter or Colter. It’s hinted that Dutch had been making less and less conscious decisions, ones that Hosea and Arthur were taking problem with.

In fact, as you’re leaving Colter to head into Horseshoe, Dutch talks about Hosea and Arthur to use the ride to talk about how good old Dutch is wrong.

We see how Hosea argues with Dutch in Ch.1 and Ch.2, with Hosea labeling them as a bunch of killers with the mess they caused in Valentine, so it’s safe to say that Dutch’s descent predates his head injury.

As for his head injury, I do believe it played a part. A pretty significant one.

Prepare yourself, anon— this gets scientific.

In high school, I had a dual enrollment English class I took with one of my local colleges. During the course, we had a research project that we had involving a subject of our choice.

I had anatomy and physiology the year prior as a junior, and during my class I heard of a PBS Frontline documentary over concussions in the NFL.

I wrote my paper and spent months studying the subject for other side aspects of my project, so I know a little about head injuries because of it.

Concussions, like the one Dutch surely received during the trolley crash, can absolutely affect a person both mentally and emotionally.

With NFL players, a simple tackle is around 30G of force— which is equal to driving a car into a brick wall at 30mph.

So you can imagine just how much force was in the trolley accident, and the effect it can have on a human brain.

It’s like a sponge, dense and slippery. It doesn’t have much inside of the skull to keep it in place, and so when something like the trolley accident occurs, there are no “safety seatbelts” to speak of.

A concussion is caused when your brain hits the inside of your skull. Hitting your head, with your skull meeting this object, and the force of it affecting your brain’s motion, can do this. It knocks into your skull, and it injures the organ.

There is also what is known as a sub-concussive hit, in which the brain bounces back off of the skull, and pretty much knocks from one end of the other until there isn’t enough force to slide it around anymore.

Think of it as a swing set with a harsh push.

So Dutch’s head injury, it can be very serious.

One head injury can completely change a person.

There is actually a disease related to concussions called CTE— or chronic traumatic encephalopathy.

It is a neurodegenerative disease in which head trauma causes your brain to lose efficiency and the ability to function neurologically.

A neurological protein, called tau, begins to act awry after an injury such as a concussion. It actually chokes the brain from the inside out, blocking pathways, and causing degeneration of the brain similar to that of dementia.

Individuals affected by CTE often have issues with forming coherent thoughts and sentences, memory, emotions, logic and rationalization, paranoia, and suffer from personality changes.

To give an example, Mike Webster, a former football player who passed away and was patient zero for the disease, could not make the connection that if he were cold, he could feel warm by putting a jacket on.

Now, Dutch wasn’t to this point, but there are concerning things he does and says after the trolley accident. It’s almost like he’s changed— like he’s a different person, even by Arthur’s own descriptions.

Some of Dutch’s choices and how he reacts to certain events don’t seem like himself, or at some points he doesn’t make sense.

One clear example is when you come across Dutch mumbling chess moves, all in strange tones. He does repeat them, and while it could be a loop Rockstar intended to not record a ton of dialogue, it’s strange that Dutch was left on loop with what seems like six lines of the same moves. Arthur even asks Dutch if he’s okay when he breaks him out of the stupor, so it’s easy to say that it was strange and concerning.

But you can see how quick he is to emotions like anger or suspicion as well.

This is common with individuals with brain injuries or cognitive issues, as sometimes they cannot process intentions or cannot correctly process you or the situation. Sometimes their frustration for being unable to understand or their overall inability to understand can cause a defensive reaction.

The connection between actual cognitive understanding and comprehension is a fragile thing. We may not realize it, but our brains are where our personalities and who we are as a person exists. It is us, and the organ is far more complex and vulnerable than what we currently understand.

So it doesn’t surprise me that for Dutch to become an entirely different person, this was one way to do it.

I feel like it definitely played a part in Dutch’s downfall. Granted, he was changing as a person overall before such an accident/injury occurred, but it played its part.

Rockstar was not above using diseases or medical issues in the game, since they gave Arthur TB, so it wouldn’t surprise me if they plotted in a serious head injury to shift Dutch further down a darker path he was destined for.

Especially when you meet Dutch in RDR1 as John.

He is a shadow of his former self, almost an entirely different person compared to what we first see.

This contrast was intentional with the prequel, and I think that, while it isn’t the sole cause, what happened to him is one reason why Dutch is the way that he is.

#dutch van der linde #van der linde gang #rdr #rdr2 #read dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #ask #anon #anon ask #submission #arthur morgan #hosea matthews

99 notes · View notes

grumpychop · 7 years ago

Text

play with fire { prologue }

a fakechop au fic

pairing: Aleks MarchantxReader summary: You never wanted to enter the life of crime. But you needed money, and you did what you needed to do. But you ended up getting on the wrong side of a gang, but thankfully Slaughterhouse was there. warnings: cursing, mentions of crime, blood, weapons, and murder. word count: 1,435 notes: okay, so this is the first chapter fic i’ve done in a while. i’m not sure how long it’s going to be chapter wise, but i know it’s going to be a few chapters. this is based off of a prompt an anon sent to me a few weeks ago (found here) and it developed into this!! it’s a fakechop au, but i figured they’d go by slaughterhouse, which was also a name i saw thrown around for fakechop? and it fit better in the context of the fic, so i went with that. a big thanks to the anon that sent me that song that reminded them of fakechop and fakechop aleks, bc that’s the name of the series!! anyway, i hope you guys enjoy the prologue! and if you have any questions or comments or anything, just let me know!

It wasn’t like you wanted to start this life of crime. But you needed money to survive. The bills weren’t getting paid, you needed food, you needed to pay for your car, and your insurance and you couldn’t get another job. You didn’t have time, what with you already working two. So you… started stealing. Pick-pocketing and small items at first, and then you slowly began to work your way up. And… you begin to find that you’re actually pretty good at it. And you… actually kind of like doing what you’re doing.

So you continue at it. Quit one job to make sure you have more time to do so and you do some riskier jobs, stealing some cars and then selling them. But you stole the wrong car and got on the bad side of the wrong gang. Which is how you got into this situation.

You’re stuck in an alleyway, cornered by a few members of said gang. By a few, you actually mean five. And you’re fucked. Really and truly fucked. Sirens are screaming in your head and you really should start carrying something more lethal than a fucking knife in your pocket. But you didn’t think you’d need something stronger. You have an innocent look around you, there’s no one who would ever think that you have a life of crime on the side. Unless they focus on you and they study you, but you didn’t think anyone would ever do that.

But not the City Royals. They’ve apparently been watching you. And now they’ve got you cornered. “Not so tough now, huh? Think you can get away with stealing our cars? You’ve got another thing coming, honey,” one of the men snarl, taking menacing steps towards you.

Your mind is still screaming, and your back is against the brick wall. “You guys have the wrong person…” you say, heart pounding in your chest.

“Don’t you fucking lie to us. We know who you are. Acting all innocent when you’re just as bad as the rest of us.” The skinnier man, a knife being casually retrieved from his pocket, speaks now, and he’s resting a hand against the wall, trapping you in. He’s dragging the knife down your cheek and you’re swallowing, hard. “You’ve messed with the wrong people… time to teach you a lesson.”

God, you’re dead, you’re so dead.

“Hey, you fucks!”

Six heads, including yours, swivel in the direction of the opening of the alleyway. Three men stand there, guns drawn, and you’re squinting, trying to place them. But there’s no time at all. Gunshots ring out, a hot spray of blood splashes across your face and then you hear the thumps of five bodies hit the ground.

“Okay, let’s move!”

You’re in shock, so you don’t. But then you’re grabbed by the arm, being dragged. You should be smarter about it, because fuck, these people could be trying to kill you, too, but you just go along with it. You steal things, you’ve never killed anyone. And you’ve never had a run in with anyone else, either. Things normally are smooth sailing for you. But now? Guess things have changed.

“Hey… fucking snap out of it!” Several light taps on your cheek brings you to look at the man who had shoved you into a car. You’re in the back seat with him, and he’s frowning at you. “Anyone in there?”

“I… yeah… I…” you stutter out, before looking up in the front. There’s a muscular man in the passenger seat, hat on and you can see that he has a beard. The man in the driver's seat has light a cigarette, sunglasses on as he drives, casually, one hand on the steering wheel. He’s smaller in size, but just as intimidating, hair cut close to the scalp and dark on the sides and blonde on the top.

“Jesus, can you focus? Are you that much in shock?” The man next to you is letting out a sigh, and you’re blinking at him. His hair is dark, pulled back into a bun, and he’s shaking his head.

“Should’ve waited until we got those assholes away from them first. That way they didn’t have to get blood on their face. You know, pretty sure that’s why they’re in shock,” the man in the driver’s seat speaks up, flicking ash out the window.

“Well, thank fuck I’m always prepared. There’s a towel in the glove department.” The man in the passenger’s seat is opening the glove department, and the driver is turning to give him an incredulous look.

“When the fuck did you put a towel in my car?”

“When you weren’t looking, you ass, when the fuck did you think I put it in there?”

The driver is grumbling and taking a quick turn down an alleyway, causing the tires to screech. It also causes you to be flung into the man next to you, a gasp escaping your lips.

“Jesus, Immortal!” The man is saying, grabbing your arms and setting you back up. “Careful, would you? We just got them.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t even sound a little bit sorry.

The next thing you know, a towel is being tossed at you. Black, which is convenient. You wipe your face, and then you kind of just hold onto it, looking around at them. “What do you want with me?” You’re asking.

“Glad you asked!” The one sitting next to you says, a grin on his face. “Listen, us gangs? We’ve heard about you. Talked about you. You’ve caused quite a bit of a storm around here lately,” he starts and you look down at your hands, twisting the towel. You should’ve been more careful, but you thought you were. “Now, that’s a good and a bad thing. Bad because what happened out there will happen. And apparently you don’t know how to take care of yourself, which is why we’re glad we were following you and scouting you out because you would’ve been dead.”

“Being a little blunt, are you?” Beard man pipes up.

“Hey, they deserve to know.” Shaking his head, he’s turning back to you, starting up again. “So, yeah, we’ve been watching you and we know other people have, too. But we wanted you first. Plain and simple. I’m glad we got to you before someone else did. And before you got killed.”

He pauses for a moment, as if trying to think of what to say next. “You see… we have an offer for you. You work for us for a few months and we’ll pay off your debts. And if you work well for us, you can join us. Fuck your other jobs, fuck whatever, you can be apart of Slaughterhouse.”

Your eyes widen and you’re looking up at the man next to you. It’s a mixture of the name and the proposition. You know the name. They’re the reckless group, the group in control of the large area that your apartment is located in. So you’ve seen them around, heard about their antics, but you never thought that you’d run into them. And you never thought that you’d be getting a chance to work with them. “What?” It’s the only thing that you can say and it has the man in the passenger’s seat, chuckling.

“You want us to repeat it, kid?”

“No, no, I just… why me?”

“You got potential. Other groups have seen it, have talked about you. You’re a lot more well known than you may have realized.”

“Fuck…” you whisper, but honestly? It doesn’t matter now. You have an opportunity to work with an actual gang, people who, while they may be reckless, actually know what the fuck they’re doing. And you could learn from them. You’re sure they’ll figure out what you’re good at and teach you what you don’t. Or at the very least, you can study what they do and learn that way.

“What’s the answer?” The driver asks, a cloud of smoke wafting from his lips as he tosses the stub out the window.

“I’d be a fucking idiot to turn it down, wouldn’t I?” That prompts a hum from the man who had just spoken, a laugh from the passenger, and a wide grin from the man next to you.

“Welcome to Slaughterhouse, kid. At least for the next few months,” the passenger says, turning to grin at you. The driver is pulling up to what looks to be an abandoned warehouse, but from what you can figure, it’s not; it’s their hideout. And now… it’s going to be yours as well.

#cow chop imagine #cow chop imagines #cow chop x reader #aleks marchant x reader #aleks marchant imagine #fics.#cc.#ccfics.#all writing.

89 notes · View notes

talesfromthepayload · 7 years ago

Text

I Hate You

A/N: Okay, so you said Overwatch agent reader with Reaper. I got a little confused so I did one for pre-fall Reaper. If you didn’t want Gabriel, I can redo his part for Reaper, just let me know and I’d be happy to fix the mistake! :D

Also, sexual themes but not actually explicit. (Sorry if the requester wanted it to be, I just knew it’d take me way too long as most NSFW stuff takes me a whole lot longer than the rest.)

Anon: Hi! I love the way you write the characters, it’s honestly very believable. Can we get a nsfw imagine with Overwatch Agent!Reader and Reaper, 76, and McCree (separately)? The reader and hero are always at odds and try to out do the other. Maybe they do it after a mission? I know it’s kinda overdone but it’s my favorite trope. Thank you so much - I hope I’m not bothering you <3

Gabriel:

You were going to kill him. Plain and simple.

He was a jackass. You’d told him the plan, gone over it time and time again just to drill it into his head. Jack had given you lead of this mission, and you damn well expected Gabriel to follow it just as the others head.

Instead, he did just the opposite.

“Gabriel,” you growled into the com, watching with narrowed eyes as he disappeared into an empty corridor.

It was a recon mission, not one where open fire was even supposed to take place, but Gabriel had been insistent on wiping the factory clean.

“Uh, boss?” The southern drawl of McCree had called.

You threw him a look from your position, throwing a finger towards the drop ship. McCree followed without question, Genji on his tail as they both boarded the ship.

“You two get out of here,” you said, “I’ll deal with the asshole.”

“Still listening,” Gabriel had muttered, his voice winded from running.

“Good, you jackass,” you huffed back, sprinting in his direction.

Distantly, you could hear the drop ship making its way into the air and away from you. You sighed, a hand running over your features. Gabriel was going to be the death of you.

No quicker had you thought that before a hand whipped out, one strong arm gripping your waist. You thrashed, attempting to push the offender off. Your gaze met chocolate eyes, your fist crashing hard against a sharp cheekbone.

“What the hell?” Gabriel yelled, reeling back from the hit.

His hand cradled his cheek, his teeth clenching together.

“What’d you expect?” You laughed bitterly. “You pulled me into a dark empty hallway without warning.”

“A little appreciation would be nice,” he mumbled, rubbing at where you’d hit him.

You rolled your eyes at him, shoving a finger in his direction.

“Listen here, you dick,” you bit out, poking him hard in the chest, “when I give you a goddamn order, you listen to me, got it? I get you’re ‘Blackwatch Commander Reyes’,” your fingers were in air quotations, sass coming out with each syllable.

“But this is my mission, so act like a fucking agent and do what I tell you.”

You were seething, hands balled into fists as you glared up at him.

“You done?” He asked, bored.

Oh, that’s it.

You were going to kill him.

You were going to chop his damn head off.

Cute little smirk be damned, he was a dead man.

Like the ball of rage you were, you jumped at him, fully aware you had no plan of action, just anger.

He dodged you narrowly, shoving you back into the wall. His hands whipped out before you could react, pinning your wrists above your head. You struggled, trying (and failing) to free yourself of his grasp.

“Gabriel!” You yelled, annoyed that you couldn’t break free.

Damn him and his unfairly large biceps.

“Will you shut up?” He snapped back, eyes trained on something to the left.

He paid you no mind, focusing on something you were far too angry to care about.

“Me?” Your voice was scandalized as you pushed and kicked in his grasp to no avail. “You’re the one being a dick. I ask you to do one thing- one thing- but no you have to go all lone wolf and-”

“Quiet,” he shot you a look, tone growing lower as he listened.

“No, I won’t be quiet, so stop acting like an asshole and le-”

“(Y/N)!” He whispered, leaning in closer to try and quiet you down.

“Gabriel!” You shot back sarcastically, continuing on your rant. “I don’t care who you think you are, I’m your superior today and you wi-”

Finally, with a sigh to himself, he surged forward, roughly pushing his lips against yours.

You froze, mind short circuiting.

Anger soon took over your actions, and you found your lips moving against his cruelly, tongue and teeth battling for dominance.

His body pushed tighter to yours, rage and arousal swelling in your veins. He was relentless in the kiss, harsh and unforgiving as you gave as good as you got. Neither one of you wanted to pull away, but eventually, the need for air caused you to.

As soon as you did, you attacked his neck, biting into his pulse point. His hands did not stay idle, sliding under your shirt to your hips. He grinded against you, moving your hips in sync with his.

“I would suggest staying here,” he breathed, voice all rough edges and hard lines.

“But we’ve got half an armory worth of explosives about to detonate.”

That snapped you back to your senses, your eyes widening as you pulled away. Briefly, your gaze moved from his face to the imprint of your teeth on his neck. You smiled sheepishly.

“Your room,” he said, not bothering to see if you were following as he walked away, already signalling for emergency evacuation.

You released a breath.

“Jackass,” you muttered, knowing that you would most definitely be waiting to show him exactly who was in charge as soon as you got back onto base.

You couldn’t wait.

Jesse McCree:

Often times, you were quite positive the universe was working against you in some evil plot to destroy your life. This was definitely one of those times.

“27,” Jesse chuckled, having the audacity to throw you a wink.

You ground your teeth, chucking a rock in his general direction. He dodged it with ease.

“Stay focused,” a slightly robotic voice hummed from over the comm device.

“You stay focused,” you growled back, leaning against your scope as you sought out Talon agents.

One came into your sights, a weapon at the ready. Your fingered hovered over the trigger, a breath releasing quietly as you steadied your arm.

Bang.

“Too slow,” Jesse smirked.

Your snarled, ready to throw your damn scope at the stupid cowboy. If it hadn’t been for Gabriel’s insistence, you wouldn’t even be on this mission.

“Why don’t you worry about getting what we need and getting the hell out,” you suggested dryly.

Despite your anger, you still watched Genji and McCree’s back from a vantage point. The hot desert sun was beginning to weigh on your irritation, only furthering your anger at the ‘charming’ cowboy.

“I already did so, darlin’,” he said, not missing a beat.

Through your scope, you could see him wink in direction. Your fingers tightened on the gun.

“Genji did so, you just watched,” you argued back.

Genji’s laughter rang over the comm device.

“You two have a serious problem,” he stated, wind blowing hair into your face as he sped by you.

“Guess you will solve it today.”

Genji shrugged, though you noted a hint of teasing in those red eyes of his.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Though you couldn’t see it, Genji’s tone suggested he had a smirk hidden beneath the metal plate.

“Have fun finding a way back.”

And like that, he was gone just as quickly. You frantically grabbed at your gear, pulling your weapon to your chest as you shoved yourself off the ground, running in Genji’s direction, but it was too late. You could hear the roar of the drop-ship’s engine, its propellers like mocking laughter.

You cursed Genji in your head, calling over to McCree on the comm device.

“Right here,” he snarked, those dark eyes bearing into you.

“Genji left us,” you bit out, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Boy’s gone crazy,” McCree suggested, his gaze narrowing as he watched you closely. “Your fault, y’ know.

In shock, your arms dropped, mouth parting as you looked for something to say.

Your fault?

He was the one that insisted the battlefield was like a game. Genji probably had gotten tired of watching him fool around and almost get the three of them killed.

“Maybe if you acted like a soldier, cowboy,” you spat back, taking a dangerous step closer to him.

He huffed, tilting his head back so you could get a better view of his roguishly handsome face.

That thought had you grinding your teeth.

“Sniper,” he sneered.

One step.

“Six-shooter,” you snarked.

Another step.

Now only an inch separated you two, but neither seemed to be letting up.

“Vigilante,” he mocked.

You tilted your head up, meeting his fierce gaze with one of your own.

“Criminal,” you scoffed.

His head moved down an inch, stare piercing yours.

And just like that, the dam broke.

You surged upwards, pulling ruthlessly on those soft brown locks of his. His lips met you in the middle, his hands rough on your hips as he shoved your body against his.

Teeth gnashed against teeth, tongues pushing one another as the two of you fought it out. Jesse took seven steps back, shoving you against the nearest wall.

As soon as your back had hit the cool metal, McCree had wrapped your leg over his hips, his body grinding into yours.

You moaned his name lowly, attacking his neck with bites. You had no doubt they’d most definitely be visible for the next couple of days at least.

Jesse groaned at the feel of you.

You didn’t return from the mission for another four hours. It was well worth it, even if Genji had a smirk under his visor.

Soldier: 76:

Jack hated you.

Well, he didn’t hate you exactly, he just had a strong dislike of you on the exterior to hide his very, very strong like of you on the interior. You know, the thing most normal people do.

Besides, you hated him. He was more than sure of it.

All you two did was fight and argue.

He’d tell you one thing, and you’d do the opposite. You’d tell him not to do something, and he’d do it just to piss you off.

“This is your fault,” you snapped, your back pressed tightly to the brick wall behind you, body braced.

Jack bared his teeth, though it was covered by his mask.

“My fault?” He huffed, chancing a glance over the wall.

A shot flew by his head, barely missing its target as it whizzed by into the building behind him. He threw himself back against the ground, fidgeting with his comm device.

“You’re the one who went in after Reaper despite me telling you to stay by the hacker.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I told you to cover her when I ran off!” You replied fiercely, glaring in front of you.

Jack shot you an angry look as the device beeped to life in his hands.

“Immediate evac,” he requested.

Winston replied.

“You’re in too heavy of fire for a safe evacuation, we need you two to lay low for the next day or so before we can risk it.”

Jack growled but didn’t reply.

“A day?” You nearly shouted, kicking your feet so you could be in a crouched position. “We’ll be dead in a day.”

“Follow my lead,” Jack gruffed, not giving you a choice as he grabbed a hold of your forearm.

“Hey!” You protested, trying to pull yourself from his grasp.

His grip was far too strong as he tugged you along. He wasn’t letting up, dodging and weaving the enemy like it was second nature. He was all hard lines and jagged edges, guiding you like you were a child and not a fully trained adult. You couldn’t help but get a little angry at that.

The warehouse he was leading you too wasn’t far away. His thoughts grew louder as he pulled you behind him. He knew you were annoyed, feeling the intensity of your glare, but he decided it didn’t matter. He was saving your life, after all.

“You done dragging me like a rag doll?”

You ripped your hand from his hold, crossing your arms over your chest as you took a calculated step towards him.

“You done acting like a child?”

He narrowed his eyes beneath his visor, the red lights glowing menacingly back at you. A scowl formed on his lips.

“You’re a real ass, you know that?” You stated. “You and that stupid mask you always hide behind.”

He growled, tearing it away from his face with all the pent up rage. He was just trying to save you! Why did you have to be like this? Why were you so ridiculously frustrating?

“I was just helping you,” he bit out, bright blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

You took another step closer, clicking your tongue between your teeth.

“You could’ve given me a warning,” you reasoned, shrugging.

Jack went to push past you, too worried about what was going on outside to continue arguing. You didn’t let him go, however, grabbing a hold of his arm tightly. Jack’s gaze landed where the two of you made contact.

“Jack I-”

A loud bang sounded outside, and, acting on instinct, Jack took of running, dragging you with him. He pulled the both of you behind a stack of crates, dropping himself over your body to shield you from any attacks. He didn’t notice the growing tension as his eyes scanned the warehouse, his body just barely hovering above your own.

Finally, he looked down, realizing just how compromising this position was. Your jaw was clenched. He readied himself for another bout of anger before you surprised him.

You grabbed his head and pulled it down, harshly connecting your lips to his. He gave just as good as he got, his tongue demanding entrance into your mouth. As your lips worked in tandem, sucking and pressing their way against one another, Jack adjusted his body so it was more firmly against you.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him even tighter as you groaned into his lips.

It wasn’t long before Jack abandoned your lips, his fingers wandering beneath your gear to get a better feel. As he did so, his mouth nipped its way around your neck, leaving harsh marks as if he were marking his territory.

“Guess we have something to keep us busy while we lie low,” you breathed, working on shedding some of his clothing.

Jack growled.

#reaper x reader #soldier 76 x reader #mccree x reader #reaper imagine #soldier 76 imagine #mccree imagine #gabriel reyes x reader #jack morrison x reader #jesse mccree x reader #overwatch imagine

171 notes · View notes

alangel1895 · 8 years ago

Text

Radiating towards you

Title: Radiating towards you

Pairing: Castiel x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1700

Warning: mostly fluff, some jealous!Cas and some hurt!Dean

Request: Cas x mate!reader please! Maybe where reader helps care for Dean after a rough mission and cas gets jealous because she's his mate but he hasn't told her yet. Thanks xxx

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100141

(A/n: Hope you like it, anon. || Gif’s not mine)

“Can you stop fidgeting for five seconds?“ Dean asked annoyed as he made eye contact with the angel through the car’s rear mirror. It was one of the rare occasions Cas actually decided to come along in the Impala instead of just zapping there. Mostly because it would give him a chance to sit next to you on the backseat for a couple of hours, enjoying your presence. He always felt drawn to you, as if his whole existence was radiating towards you. Something that had puzzled him a lot in the beginning, but soon made sense. As unlikely as it first seemed that he found his human, his one in a million, so close to the friends he considered his second family, it was really as simple as that. You were his mate.

“I’m just uncomfortable” Cas replied giving Dean a stern expression back “My wings feel cramped.”

“I’m sorry my car isn’t luxurious enough for your holy assets” Both Sam and you snorted while Dean just kept glaring “Just fold them up or something. Make them travel-size.”

“They are folded. That’s why they cramp” Cas shot back, slight annoyance in his voice as well. That’s why he wouldn’t normally stick around for long car rides, it was simply uncomfortable!

“Then unfold them” Dean finally let his eyes go back towards the road ahead “And don’t even dare ask ‘are we there yet’.”

“I can’t unfold them” Cas shot an unnoticed insecure look your way. Since the moment he discovered you were his mate, he was very conscious around you with his wings. One glimpse at them and you’d know. And he simply wasn’t ready for that conversation. There wasn’t exactly a manual how to tell your human mate who and what they were to you. He wanted to do it right, perfect, since you deserved nothing less. But how was he supposed to do it right? That question had been stuck in his head for months now, still not solution in sight. “Actually, Dean, I would really appreciate you telling me the remaining duration of this trip.”

To say the hunt went to hell would be an understatement – hell would have been a cake walk in comparison. First Sam had been thrown into a brick wall, knocking him out cold. Then Dean took a few good hits, wanting to defend his brother, consequences and plan be dammed. And finally before Dean could take the witch out from behind you got a small curse thrown your way. Nothing life threatening, just a sickness that made you throw up a couple of times till the witch finally died. You were shaken but fine by the time you noticed Dean falling on his knees.

“Cas?” You asked looking for you angelic friend, but he seemed still busy taking care of Sam and his head. So you made your way over to Dean to check up on him yourself. To be honest all of you had gotten a little careless with Cas and his angel mojo to fix you after things got rough. Maybe, you decided, you all should be a bit more careful. It didn’t seem fair to have Cas pick after your slack all the time.

As you approached Dean you noticed the bloody and dirty cut on his shoulder first, probably from when the witch threw him right through a window. But there was an injury your immediate attention settled on, a pretty big wound right at his hair line. Blood was still seeping out of it mixing with dirt and giving him a very beat up look.

“Dean?” You asked carefully, his only response was a grunt. That bad, you thought. Quickly before thinking about it you took of your jacket, when you noticed it was almost as dirty from being thrown around as the wound itself, you frowned. Taking of your top was the next logical step, it was far from clean but better than anything else at hand. You needed to stop the bleeding till Cas got his hands free and his mojo charged up enough.

Without wasting time getting the jacket back on you kneeled down beside Dean, not even feeling the cold from only wearing a bra, and carefully applied pressure to the wound. He winced but you took it as a good sign. At least the oldest Winchester was conscious enough to feel pain.

“Shh it’s alright, Dean” You reassured him in an even tone “I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.” You kept talking, however you soon noticed his attention slipping, his eyes were fluttering. “Oh no. you’re not getting unconscious on my watch.” You growled, pressing a little harder than necessary hoping the extra pain would draw him back to reality “Dean! Look at me. I’m all shirtless, halfway in my underwear. It’s a one in a lifetime view for you, buddy.”

You were desperate to getting his attention. What was Cas doing with Sam so long anyway? It felt like hours that you were left alone with the bleeding and only semi-conscious Dean.

Speaking of the devil you heard a growl from behind you, without taking your hands of your top you looked around. There was an unreadable expression on Castiel’s face as he stomped past you, practically shoved you off of Dean before he got to work. You had to close your eyes when white light floated into Dean’s body. Before you closed your eyes however you got a look at two large things coming out of Cas back. You wanted nothing more than to get a good look, but your head was smart enough to force your eyes shut against the bright light. Trying to process what you just saw you kept your eyes closed a moment longer than strictly necessary. Immediately you noticed a hand on your shoulder and Sam’s soft voice, “You okay?”

“Fine” You replied opening your eyes, searching for the things you would almost assume to be wings apart from the fact that it was impossible, but they were gone. Dean seemed to be fine, although you wouldn’t let him drive after nearly bleeding out, and Cas was simply standing there, looking exhausted. “Let’s get home.”

The drive back was a lot quieter. Dean had finally stopped complaining about being left to sit shotgun after the first couple of miles and Sam was focusing on the road. You were sitting on the backseat with a still tired looking Cas, all the healing was really taking a toll on him.

“You should close your eyes and rest” You suggested quietly after watching him struggle for miles. No matter how much your angel didn’t want to admit it, he was at the end of his power resources.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not”

“(Y/n). I said I…”

“I don’t care what you say” You interrupted, done with his attitude “Just close your baby blues for 5 minutes.”

“Fine” He snapped back, forcing his eyes shut exaggeratedly. “Happy?”

“Now rest and I will be.” Subconsciously you let your hands wander to his shoulder, rubbing soft circles with your thumb, trying to relax him “You really shouldn’t have given so much power into healing Dean. No offence but he deserved at least a black eye for running after the witch without thinking after Sam went down.”

“So you could nurse him back to health?!” Suddenly Cas eyes were open once again, anger and hurt flashing though his normally soft blue eyes. Immediately you let go of his shoulder, unsure of what to do with his sudden outburst. His eyes bore right into yours and you felt even more naked with just the dirty jacket over your bra.

“So you wouldn’t hang onto your last power resources” You snapped back although still uncomfortable under his stare “You really put a lot of power into healing him in case you didn’t notice. I swear I saw your wings for a split second, you know.”

“You saw my wings?!” His voice did a funny thing where it went a little higher than usually.

“Don’t freak out” You tried to calm him down “The three of you saw me half naked too. Can’t be that much worse.”

“(Y/n)…” Cas voice was still strained, but there was a new determination on his face “Only an angel’s mate can see his wings.”

“I said I was sorry, okay?” You through your hands up “It’s not like I meant to do it. Just don’t tell your mate I accidently got a glimpse.”

When you looked back at Cas after your outburst – but seriously what did he want you to do, you couldn’t unsee them, could you – his head was titled in confusion. The two of you just looked at each other. Slowly his features softened from confusion into fond affection, involuntarily you felt a smile play on your lips. Sooo…

“You’re my mate” Both of you said in unison, still lost in each other’s eyes. You had always known Cas had the most stunning eyes, you had always felt some sort of tuck inside you that demanding you’d be as close to him as possible. But this was beautiful, the connection the two of you seemed to feel from one simple look. It felt like magic, the good kind not the thrown-into-a-brick-wall kind.

“Hey!” Of course it would be Dean to ruin the moment “I love you, but the staring lovingly at each other is getting creepy. Chick flick moment over.”

“Jealous?” You joked letting your fingers wander to wrap around Cas hand, a slight tingling right where your skin touched his.

“Oh please” Dean grinned “There is nothing he’s seen so far that I haven’t seen up close.”

“While you were bleeding out” You rolled your eyes, feeling your heart swell fondly at Cas growl. Never had you taken him for the jealous type, but apparently you leaning over Dean shirtless back there brought out a very interesting side in your angel.

“Still counts”

“Careful…” Cas tone was warning and you felt anger rolling of him. Huh this whole possessive thing would really get interesting, if even Dean’s mostly innocent comments got him mad like that already.

“I’d shut up Dean” You replied with a sweet smile “As I said I still believe you deserve at least a black eye for being reckless.”

#castiel x reader #Cas x reader #spn reader insert #request

213 notes · View notes

emmy1dwriting · 8 years ago

Text

Another Man Hurts You - Preference

*Request for anon: Imagine/one shot for each Boy where he is your bf but some other guy hurts you (ex, random guy, etc.)*

Other Writing

A/N: I apologize in advance if these are very similar or like other things I’ve written or if it’s just sucky in general, haha.

Liam:

You look in a deep breath, looking over at your boyfriend as he smiled brightly conversing with all his old friends. You both had been invited to a party at the local club and despite not being one for these kinds of things, tagged along anyway to support your boyfriend. You sat alone in the corner, having seen no one you knew, and not wanting to annoy your boyfriend as he caught up with old friends. You tried to ignore the clearly intoxicated people around you as you focused on your phone, wishing you could just be with Liam. You didn’t mean to sound like a drag, and you really didn’t want to sound like all you wanted to do was go home, but you couldn’t deny the night would be a bit more enjoyable with another friend or two to talk with. You put your phone into sleep, shoving it into your back pocket as you made your way outside, desperate for some fresh air. Your wrapped your leather jacket tighter around you when the cold chill hit your skin.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here all alone.” You jumped as the thickly accented voice reached your ears, and felt a large hand twist around your waist. You laughed nervously, taking a step sideways to get out of his arms. He only moved closer, his fingers gripping tighter as you grew increasingly more uncomfortable.

“Shitty boyfriend you have for leaving you to yourself, I could treat you better,” his slurred words fell from his lips as they pressed against your neck. You grew even more tense, pushing hard against his chest.

“Please leave me alone,” you mumbled a little louder. You were always too compliant in these situations, too nervous to speak out or fight back.

“So polite,” he chuckled in reply, not letting up despite your struggles.

“I said to STOP!” You screamed out, twisting every which way. The strange man had enough as he held a bruising grip to your wrist, twisting your body and slamming you against the brick wall with a grunt. You cried out in pain, trying to get the man’s hands off of your bare skin. You immediately slumped to the concrete as the man was ripped away from you, your boyfriend’s face appearing through your tear clouded vision. Your attacker ran off, not daring to put up a fight with Liam.

“I’m so sorry baby, god I’m a bloody idiot for leaving you alone,” he picked you up wrapping his arms protectively around you as you tried to hold back your flood of tears when your fear had settled.

“Did he hurt you badly?” His words were laced with every bit of worry imaginable, as he examined your body. His heart dropped when his eyes landed on the forming bruise on your head, and red wrist.

“Let’s get you home darling,” he whispered holding you close by your waist as he helped you to the car.

Harry: When your relationship with Harry began to grow serious, it was a given that you would meet his other band mates soon after. You and the boys were two extremely important things in Harry’s world and the thought that you all wouldn’t get along made him more nervous then he would like to admit. It was clear that he had nothing to worry about the moment you opened the door to greet them with the biggest hug and smile.. All the boys adored you, but no matter what you did or how you acted Zayn was the only one who seemed like he wanted nothing to do with you. It never bothered you much at first, having been assured by Harry that he would warm up to you soon enough, but you grew more and more discouraged as the time passed on. You became frustrated the more you heard the excuses he would make to avoid the events and parties you were both invited to. Things never escalated much, he spent most of the time ignoring you if the two of you happened to meet, with the occasional rude comment thrown in if he was feeling grouchy. You were getting fed up with him, having gone through every possible reason he could dislike you so much you were determined to talk with him and get to the bottom of it. Harry had invited all of the boys to hang out at his place for the night, and while the rest of them were scattered around doing various things they had left you two alone. You never liked confrontation so when the time came to actually speak up your words got caught in your throat, heart hammering against your chest.

You finally let the words fall from your lips, “Why do you hate me?” Your voice was muffle against the pillow you held tightly to your chest. When he didn’t reply you lifted your head speaking louder as you repeated yourself. The only reply you received was a short chuckle from him, as if the answer was obvious and your question was ridicules. “I’ve done nothing but be kind to you and you treat me like shit,” you muttered irritably.

“That’s the thing you’re just so annoying and so-” he paused as if trying to find the right word, “fake.” Your eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, turning to meet his gaze, he thought you were annoying and fake?

“You act like you’re some peppy cheerleader in high-school and it gets on my nerves. What does Harry even see in you when you’re so childish?” He kept going with his insults only stopping to take a breath. You chewed your lip nervously, blinking harshly as you refused to let him see you wipe the tears from your cheeks. You had thought the same thing a million times before, constantly asking yourself what Harry saw in you, afraid you were just a nuisance. The other boys came in each carrying a bowl of snacks from the kitchen, completely oblivious to the conversation that just happened. You stood up from your seat pushing past the boys as you made your way to Harry’s room. You ignored the various questions of what happened, and you shut the door as their bickering reached your ears. You decided your time was spent best up here alone.

Niall:

When Niall got the call he immediately went into a panic at the sound of your sobs ringing through the phone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” His voice threatened to raise to a shout, desperate to find out what was wrong and what he could do to fix it. You gasped for breath, trying to calm down but all you could manage were a view blubbering words.

“Where are you baby, I’m coming to you right now,” he grabbed his keys rushing out to his car, patiently waiting for your reply. You manged to mutter out a simple “Home”, and he assured you he would be there as soon as he could and he would stay on the phone with you.

“Hey, I’m right out front darling,” he pulled up into your driveway, trying to steady his breathing and refused to let his mind wonder to the worst case scenario.

“C-can you come around back?” You stuttered around too afraid of him confronting your father. You crept your way downstairs when he agreed, opening the door leading out into the backyard. Niall gasped when he saw the state you were in; busted lip, swollen eye, bruised arm, and cuts scattered across your face. He immediately pulled you in close, rubbing soothing circles around your back,

“Who did this to you?” His voice was laced with every ounce of concern, his heart breaking at the thought of anyone hurting you. You clutched tightly to Niall’s white t-shirt, not wanting to think about the events that just occurred.

“M-my father,” you whispered, voice muffled by your boyfriends chest. Niall tensed at your confession, anger rushing through him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down for your sake.

“Hey, lets get you all fixed up okay darling.” He kissed your forehead softly, leading you inside your house.

Louis:

You clutched tightly to Louis’ hand, not daring to let go in the large crowd of flashing cameras and screaming fans. You palms were sweating and your legs shaking as you both tried to push through. You were never good with large crowds, and that anxiety was making itself very present in this moment. Louis squeezed your hand reassuringly, noticing how tense you were becoming. You both tried to ignore the questions about obvious rumors that seemed to be spreading like wild fire.

“Louis, Louis over here!”

“Louis, are you having a child with Y/N?”

“When’s the wedding?”

“Y/N, who was that guy you were seen with earlier in the week?”

Your breathing became ragged, as the crowd seemed to grow closer and closer with every question. You didn’t have time to laugh or roll your eyes at the questions being asked, you were desperate to get safely into the car. You let out a scream off shock as one camera man reached out to grab you. When you managed to get out of the man’s death grip you instantly stumbled into another, who pushed you against a man beside him. You could feel yourself shutting down, as you were pushed around even more. You tried to regain focus on Louis, tears threatening to spill down your cheek. Your vision was growing blurry, your brain not registering you were falling to the ground. Louis’ shouts and screams to move back and give you space were the last thing you heard before your vision grew black.

Zayn:

You wanted to enjoy a nice night out with your boyfriend, not run into your abusive ex, but here you were. You were strolling through the park after a nice dinner for two at your favorite restaurant. Zayn had been so busy for the past few weeks you were thankful for even a few hours with him. You thought he had seen the all too familiar figure, you wish you could forget, out of the corner of your eye, but convinced yourself your mind was just playing tricks on you. Your suspicion was confirmed when you felt your boyfriend visibly tense up at the approaching figure. Your heart began beating violently, a million different ways this could end racing through your mind, the worse ones seeming to stick in your head.

“Z-zayn can we go?” You whispered urgently clutching tighter to his tattooed hand. He immediately nodded, turning around to avoid any conflict. Your hopes were crushed when the gruff voice met your ears, only coming closer.

“Well, well well what a lovely surprise to see you here,” he smirked stepping around to face you. You tried to steady your breathing as you meet his gaze.

“Leave her alone you bastard,” Zayn seethed pulling you closer to his side.

“Is this the man replacing me? Nice try babe, you can do better.” He chuckled as he eyed Zayn up and down, obviously not pleased with what he saw. He took a few steps closer, his smirk still plastered on his mouth.

“Anyone is a step up from you, I can assure you that and don’t you dare call me babe.” Your confidence was slowly coming back with your boyfriend by your side. “Come on lets go,” you mumbled softly tugging Zayn gently as you both turned around towards home. You gasped as you felt a harsh grip on your wrist tugging you roughly against his chest.

“I wasn’t done talking to you,” your ex seethed, his grip only growing tighter as you whimpered softly. You took a deep breath as he was ripped away from you and pushed to the ground.

“Lay your filthy hands on my girl again and I swear it’ll be the last thing you do,” Zayn growled as your ex scrambled to get up, running away at his last warning. Your tense shoulders relaxed as the figure disappeared, thankful for Zayn’s protection.

If you want a part two just let me know!

39 notes · View notes

carpethefanfics · 8 years ago

Text

Horcrux: The Beginning.

“I'm wondering if you would consider a Tom Riddle fic? Not a ship one- but his time at Hogwarts and throughout the creation of each Horcrux. Seeing the changes.”

To the lovely anon who requested the above, I liked your idea very much and as you might be able to tell by my other pieces getting into a character’s head is my fav. SO please stayed tuned as this is only a teaser for the things that will come.

[I took the speaking points from this scene in the movie btw.]

Enjoy.

He’s standing before Professor Slughorn

His suit is neatly pressed and his hair is combed back

Not a single strand out of place

Or button left dull

His appearance has been determined down to the finest of details

He had to ensure all went perfectly tonight

Because it’s the end of another year

And the end of another one of their evenings together

And he refuses to wait much longer

The whole Club had gathered around to hear the old man gloat about this student and that one

The ones that brought him immense pride

The ones that earned their places on his mantle

The ones that earned their places in history

And the other students listen with wide eyes and gaping mouths

Asking him countless questions about famed witches and wizards that he has taught

Their faces are derisive

Contemptuous even

Hoping to be one of his trophies like the puppets they are

Wishing to be another figure in the innumerable series of photographs and ticket stubs and newspaper clippings the man has on display

Praying to be the one he will add to his collection

It is an endless talking point for Slughorn

He will brag and boast and coerce for hours

Especially tonight with the most talented of his current students gathered

Assembled to ensure they knew exactly who to send their praises to when they find their success

When they make their fortunes

When they have ensured their name will be stamped into history

But Tom can see right through it all

The man has always been nothing but a collector

Not exceptionally talented in any particular way himself

But an excellent manipulator

He could at least respect that

Slughorn’s uncanny ability to trick children into idolizing him so they could make it on his cheap cabinet

Their wide twinkling eyes not even second guessing the sly way the words rolled off his tongue

Things like ‘exceptionally talented’

And ‘You remind of me of ...’

To build them up

To knock them back down

To make them think they needed his approval

But Tom knows

He can see past the façade

And he knows that what better way to get what he needs than to flip his game on his head

Make Slughorn chase him instead

Make him realize he will one day be seen as the invaluable asset he is

Someone who wizards and witches to come will know for generations

Will come to fear

Who will be written about for the rest of time

A necessity on his wall of photographs

And the unbelievable feeling of power that courses through Tom, the strength the thought alone gives him is enough to keep the words that drawl from his mouth soft

They seem so nonchalant as they slip from his tongue

He’s sure that the charming venom will wrap itself tightly around Slughorn in no time

Even though he seems apprehensive at first

‘I’m not sure what you’re reading Tom but this is very dark stuff, very dark indeed’

Doing this is like breathing

‘Which is … why I came to you.’

And it’s like he’s run his fingers over the exact right spot to make Slughorn unravel

Tom has always known how to talk to people

How to read the smallest flick of their gaze and twitch of their fingers

His professors call it charm

His friends flock to him as he speaks

A commanding presence that he is much too aware of

But his ability to hit the sweet spots they need to hear to make them do as he wishes is positively irrefutable

And just as he anticipates, Slughorn concedes

His beady little eyes watching Tom as he glides towards him

His presence obviously putting Slughorn on edge

Because he’s flexing his hand around his glass and bulging his eyes and there’s the slightest tick in his left knee

A nervousness there

Masked by his need to please the young man delving into his mind

And he doesn’t even know thats why

‘A Horcrux is an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul’

Tom feigns his purpose of course

His voice sounding so child-like

Just simple curiosity

‘But I don’t understand how that works sir’

It’s another step in his plans

Men like Horace need to feel superior, more intelligent, more capable

Even though Tom knows they’re so incredibly weak

So incredibly defenseless to men like him who define themselves by their ability to wield power

Not by their cultivation of those who already have it

Slughorn is nothing more to him than a cog in his infinitely more complex machine

A cog who couldn’t possibly comprehend what he has planned for himself

What he has planned for the world

‘One splits oneself and hides part of it in an object. By doing so you are protected should you be attacked and your body destroyed’

Tom maintains his steady gaze

A doe eyed look on his face

His mouth straight

But the word that comes out is a little harsher than anticipated

A little more excited

And he knows Slughorn won’t notice

But he realizes the idea of wielding this power is overwhelming him

He rolls his head to the side to release the tension from his neck

His body does not want to wait

But his mind, oh his mind

It has calculated the oncoming events with great precision and he must remain in control

Especially now

‘Protected’?

Slughorn seems to choke on his drink at Tom’s question

A confusion for why Tom is pressing the matter

But he appeases him anyway

‘The part of your soul that is hidden lives on. In other words, you cannot die’

You cannot die

Tom is staring into the fireplace when the words fall from Slughorn’s lips

He feels like he’s absorbing them through his skin

He can feel the supremacy already

See what he will do in the flames licking the bricks

See what he could show those who dare question him

See what he will accomplish with his reign

But he needs more first he realizes

He’s so lost in his thought that the silence from Slughorn is deafening

‘And how does one split his soul sir?’

The question comes out gently

Much more gently than the last

His tongue is purposefully languid in his mouth

He needs to know

Needs it to be affirmed

His mind is telling him to remain collected

But his blood is pumping so loudly in his ears

This is the key

‘Think you already know the answer to that Tom’

The word leaves his lips so fast he’s sure that Slughorn has noticed by now

The man may be daft but he’s still quite qualified

Still intelligent enough

Just not enough to realize the full extent of his actions tonight

‘Murder’

It sounds so satisfying to say aloud

A word that has been stuck in his head for months finally confirmed

Its so simplistic

All he has to do is rid the world, rid his world, of lives it will not need anyway

He can think of several just off the top of his head who don’t deserve a place in his empire

Who will serve no purpose

Who will only rebel against the inevitable

‘Yes, killing rips the soul apart, it is a violation against nature’

A violation against nature

Tom can feel the laughter in the pit of his stomach trying to force its way out

He remains calm, remains collected

We owe nature nothing he thinks

In the world he has envisioned he is nature

And the only violation is those who trust in love

Who allow themselves to be ruined by love

It is a wretched weakness

It brings the most powerful to their knees

He has seen it time and time again spreading like the disease it is

Crippling ones willpower

Refuting ones self interest

Love never gave great witches and wizards what they sought

Only held them back from their true potential

‘Can you only split the soul once, for instance seven?’

The question has come and gone before Tom realizes he has gone too far

Allowed himself to lose too much control

‘Seven? Merlin’s beard Tom isn’t it bad enough to consider killing one person? To rip the soul into seven pieces. This is all hypothetical isn’t it Tom, all academic.’

Horace sounds completely horrified by his question

It’s almost like he’s been stunned as he sputters the words out

And that’s really all the affirmation Tom needs

He can accomplish his goal

A goal no other wizard has dared to even think about

But Tom, Tom isn't like other men and he knows this

He has always known that his differences made him greater

This knowledge will allow him to become who he was always meant to be

He no longer needs the mind of Horace Slughorn

No longer needs the ancient, dusty books of wizards before him who only dreamt of such magical feats

‘Of course sir. It can be our little secret’

And it will be

Because by the time Tom has succeeded in this magic Horace will have forgotten this conversation

Or will be too ashamed of himself to delve into his memories to remember the information he gave the soon to be most powerful man the wizarding world has ever seen

And by then it won’t matter

Because tactless men like Horace Slughorn

Whose blood may be pure but whose souls are weighted down by love

Who will always succumb to their weaknesses

Have no place in a wizarding world ruled by Tom Marvolo Riddle

Ruled by a dark lord

The dark lord

Voldemort

#Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #tom #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #lord voldemort #dark lord #horcrux #horace #Horace slughorn #Horcrux part one #carpethefanfics

11 notes · View notes