#dean boland is the captain of the Brio ship

[bourbon-ontherocks]

Can you write a short fic of beth and rio having sex in the kitchen and dean walks in! Im thinking Rio notices Dean and keeps going but Beth has no clue he walked in and Dean is horrified. I absolutely love your fics!!!

Hey anon!

I don't usually do prompts, but since you’re asking kindly, and this one is really up my alley, I decided I'd try my hands at it. Thank you for entertaining my mountain hike last week with impure toughts, I had a very fun time!

I should warn you that I may or may not have twisted the "Dean is horrified" bit into "frankly turned on" though, I hope you don't mind! Also it's Dean's POV so it’s gross.

(AO3 version here)

***************

Something feels off, the second he's set foot into the house. An unknown itch, disrupting the familiarity of his surroundings.

Soon the impression is doubled by the muffled sounds coming from the kitchen, as he's progressing through the living room. Dean's no longer enough of an innocent lamb to not identify these as eminently sexual, knows how specific skin slapping on skin sounds, has grown accustomed to the languidness of those breathy rattles.

And really, coming home to people having sex in his house is, on paper, quite uncommon ; should unsettle him, overwhelm him with the curiosity of the who, the anxiety of the why. But he's too struck by the suddenness of it to really think.

The tableau really is something.

The first thing Dean makes sense of is the somewhat familiar silhouette of the position, a classic example of some doggy-style human mating against the kitchen table. It's nothing but iconic at this point among Dean's personal gallery of sexual standards, a configuration etched in his brain like the textbook definition of sex.

Except that it's… it's Beth. His Bethie. Sprawled over the breakfast leftovers like one of these amateur pornstars he occasionally jerks off in front of (he makes a mental note to consider teaching Kenny how to erase a browser history soon, a man needs to protect his privacy), letting out sounds that Dean's pretty sure he's never heard in the entirety of his marriage.

And behind her, hips waving with a steady rhythm, stands this guy. The one Dean knows she's been… Well, not like that. Dean never actually pictured the thing more than what the vague idea of 'I just really like having sex with him' suggested, didn't scan through the details that a more fertile imagination would perhaps have provided. He's not enough of the jealous type to do that. Or maybe is too much, his mind refusing to bear anything explicit beyond the pure concept of his wife's confessed infidelity.

It should come off as shocking, at the very least.

But he cannot say that the view isn't enticing, in a way, how this perspective on Beth's curves — bent over the table with another man's broad hands pressing into the supple skin of her ass cheeks, her skirt pulled up her waist offering an angle on her ass he's actually never ogled, breast spilling up the V-neck of her top as she's resting against the hardwood — feels refreshingly new. Throat-tattoo guy's completely clothed, except for his shirt, hanging half-unbuttoned and giving Dean a glimpse of his slick abs, and something looking like a medal oddly dangling above his heart.

And — damn. It is exactly like those Pornhub videos, the horny thug and the slutty submissive housewife, the animalistic compliance, except that it's his spouse getting railed hard and fast in front of him, and it's — gross. Or it should be. It shouldn't elicit this other reaction that Dean can only but attribute to a Pavlovian instinct, causing his fingers to brush his own dick through the thin fabric as he shoves his car keys in his pocket.

Maybe it's the motion of his limb, or the faint sound of jingling metal. But suddenly the guy locks eyes with Dean, a spark of recognition devoid of any surprise flashing on his face, and he smirks with well-earned arrogance as he provocatively starts pounding into Beth even harder at the sight of him. She moans and digs her fingers in the tablecloth in response, something sounding like "Riiiiiiiii" spilling out of her mouth, and crap ; has Dean ever known that guy's name? Is it Rick?

Rick or whatever Mr. Necktatts likes to call himself shoots him a wink as he entangles his fingers in Beth's ponytail and yanks up, up, up, the effort making the tendons in his forearm jut, and Dean swallows as her throat and cleavage are exposed for him to see, fighting a painful need to shove his hand down his pocket again. She's still moaning and whining, eyes closed and mouth hanging open, completely oblivious to the silently additional interaction happening here and now, and there's suddenly something terrifying in the idea that maybe she could open her eyes and see him here. Dean can already picture it, the way her sheepish surprise would soon turn into the annoyed anger that has narrowed her eyes so often lately when they look at him, the voice with which she would ask him to get out. The complete absence of remorse she'd display, his own infidelity that she'd throw at his face over and over again, as if it made her own... thing more acceptable while it's not.

The guy lets out a low grunt, his focus losing interest in Dean and getting back to the task literally at hands as he slams faster into her, his long brown fingers digging deep and hard into her hip, and Beth cries out with a desperate abandon that Dean can't say he's ever seen from her while in bed. It's completely alien, the way she's acting in front of him, and Dean readjusts his pants, finding himself equally attracted and repulsed by this entirely new facet of her.

He no longer recognizes his wife, hasn't in a while now. But also. It's undoubtedly her. In a way that makes him want to kick that guy out and take his place, wipe this oddly matched but strangely appealing couple out from his memory, forget about how their bodies move in enviable harmony and the noises that guy draws out from her, thrust after thrust.

It's not long before Beth lets out this sound she always makes when she's about to come.

Dean knows it.

The other guy knows it.

And suddenly it's too much to bear, a conclusion that Dean feels will have a before and an after if he witnesses it, the aftermath too painfully awkward to even picture it while the possibility to pretend this never happened is still hanging in front of him like a ripe fruit threatening to fall and explode on the ground any instant.

He storms out, doesn't think twice before he starts the car again and just peels off, somehow feeling unwelcome in his own house, his dick hard and his retinas imprinted with the vision of the stranger's rings shining in the daylight as his darker fingers were pressing into his clueless wife's pale skin.

He's got nowhere to be.

He just needs to drive.

[sothischickshe]

Beth boland does not own church dresses.

[pynkhues]

Uff sweetie you mentioned u are into bodice ripper stories and that you were thinking about doing one about brio, and I just have to ask: Could you pls pls pls write a lil snippet? You are soooo good and this genre is my guilty pleasure rip me

You requested this a million years ago when I first made a vague mention about wanting to write a Beth x Rio pirate!AU where Beth is a lady and Dean’s her husband and he’s squandered their wealth (because it’s Dean) and so Beth smuggles herself onto a pirate ship to try and get enough money to save her children and then there’s a lot of TENSION between her and Captain Rio, anyway, I’ve accidentally plotted it out as a five chapter fic, and Idk if I’ll ever actually write it (if enough people like it I probably will, haha), but anyway, have the snippet you asked for :-) 

-

She’s not sure how long the men leave her in the barrel they found her in, only that she feels it when they move her, the first time and the second. Each time sets her in a flurry – her heart pounding in her heaving chest, her stockinged feet scrambling against the sticky base beneath her. She hadn’t had the time to truly think what all of this would entail, not really, and already she’s near nauseous with the stench of the bourbon she’d poured out of this very barrel perfuming her petticoats, wriggling tight beneath her corset strings.

Still, neither time do the men loosen the lid of the thing, and even when she tries herself to unseal the heavy top to get out, she finds something even heavier weighing it down, like they’ve placed something on top to keep her in.

With a frown, Beth sinks back down into the barrel, ignoring the muffled sounds outside at her latest drop point. It really isn’t very big – between all her skirts, her body, and the meagre belongings she’d smuggled in with her (keepsakes really, precious reminders of her children, her sister, until she’d find the means to return to them), she finds her knees nearly at her shoulders, her back arched inelegantly. She thinks she’ll be plucking splinters out of her skin for days.

She’s yanked from her thoughts when she hears some muffled voices outside – closer than all the others, and Beth quickly pushes her ear to the side of the barrel, desperate to hear more. Almost as soon as she’s done it, she hears footsteps edging closer, and then the scrape of the lid of the barrel, dragging off the top.

Briefly blinded by the light, Beth throws a hand up to shield her eyes, and is about to shift upwards when she finds the light blocked again – this time by a long, narrow torso. Beth blinks up, eyes wide, her lips parted, pleased to be sucking in air not tinged with liquor, to see perhaps the most handsome man she’s ever seen in her life, leaning over the mouth of the barrel. He’s all tanned skin and thick eyelashes, deep, dark eyes fixes right down on her. His neck is tattooed with a large eagle, it’s claws splayed, and his chest is covered by a loose black shirt, unbuttoned to his sternum. Beth finds herself flushing despite herself, because this isn’t just any man – no, it’s the man she’d seen in town, the very man she’d followed here, the deep, casual confidence in his voice like a pipe to her eager ears.

He tilts his head, taking her in, considering, and Beth sucks in a breath, wriggling a little at the bottom of the barrel.

“Don’t remember packin’ you,” he drawls, and Beth flushes beneath the heat of his gaze, and then immediately hates herself for it – finds herself scrambling for any scrap of dignity, of station. After all - - she’s a lady, and nothing about this takes that away from her. She scrambles to find her feet and then moves to get up, to stand – to be eye level with him, her newly practiced speech already on the tip of her tongue when she feels something cool and sharp press into her chest.

Beth glances down, sucking in a breath and promptly sinking back down into the barrel when she realises the man is dangling a long, thin sword down at her. At her movement, he pulls it slightly away, letting her retreat.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart, not yet. You wanna get out of this little bed you’ve made yourself, you gonna have to answer some questions.”

Beth inhales sharply, her back colliding again with the back of the barrel, and vaguely she can hear people laughing – men, mostly, can hear the clang of cups and plates and the loud sounds of people talking. Before she can help herself, she rises up a little, turns, like she can see through the hard wood of the barrel, only to gasp when she feels the cool point of the sword meet her chest again.

Her gaze whips back around to meet the man above her, and he just smiles, and - - she swallows thickly, glaring up at him as she sinks back into the barrel. He doesn’t move the sword this time though – in fact, he follows her down with it, until her shoulders hit the lower side of the barrel, her body twisting up, and he just - - keeps smiling.

And god, if Beth had more to lose, she’d probably be terrified. As it is, she just finds herself scowling.

“Your questions, sir,” she says, inviting, but she can’t help the way her jaw sets, the way her breath shudders out of her. Her mother had always told her to step back, to be sweet, earnest, honest, and Beth has always been – but the reminder of why she’s in this barrel, having smuggled herself aboard a pirate’s ship, is too stark in her head.

(And too aching in her chest, she thinks, blinking hard, the reminder of Dean’s dalliances, of her children, who could be lost to her if she can’t - - no, she thinks. She won’t let this plan fail.)

The look seems to be enough to give the man above her pause, although his grin only widens, the tip of his sword drifting slightly lower, to prod a little at the swell of her breast over her dress.

“Wanna start with who the hell you are?”

The way he says it – his voice low, little more than a purr, sends a flash of something hot through Beth’s body – a strange feeling she scarcely recognises, and she finds herself swallowing again, wetting her lips as she tilts up her chin, as regally as she can manage from her position tangled up in the bottom of a bourbon barrel.

“My name is Lady Elizabeth Boland. I am the wife of - -,” she stumbles a little, chest heaves up, enough that Rio’s sword digs a little deeper into her breast. She flushes, blinks. “That’s not important. I need money. It is a matter of the utmost importance, and I believe that you can help me to acquire some.”

Her words seem to startle the man, a look of surprise spreading over his face, before it levels out into something vastly amused.

“A lady,” he drawls. “Usually I’m the one acquirin’ money from ladies, not the other way around.”

“Stealing, you mean,” Beth says, before she can help herself, because she’d only just seen him do it in town, but still, she gasps when he drags the sword a little further down her breast, to just above the neckline of her dress, and lightly twists – not enough to break the skin, but enough to be felt.

“Oh, sorry, Lady Boland, but see, you the one who’s stolen onto my ship here, so I’d get off that high horse before you hurt yourself.”

Beth at least has the good graces to look abashed, and she blinks hard, turning a little to meet his gaze again.

“You’re right,” she says softly. “I apologise, my situation is just –”

“And you think I give loans?” he interrupts before she can say anything else, and somewhere behind him – wherever it is his men had planted her – she can hear laughter. Beth blushes, swallows thickly, tries not to squirm, and she hates it too – because she can feel it, beneath the humiliation, the anger sparking in her gut.

“Yes, I overheard some of the men in town say you had provided them with advances,” Beth insists, and the man snorts, lips pursing as he looks back down at her. His gaze flits down, to where his sword is still pressed ever so slightly into her breast, lingering there, before it flicks back up to her face.

“Those are situational. Besides, that money’s lent against assets, yeah? Last I checked, all a lady like you got for yourself is a name and access to the assets attached to that name. Nothin’ belongs to you, so you ain’t got nothin’ to bargain with.”

Beth inhales sharply, her eyes widening, and something raw explodes in her chest, something desperate, because she has become all too familiar with the truth in his words these last weeks. Lord, if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be here, begging for scraps. Still, voice wobbly, she says:

“My husband – ”  

But the man doesn’t give her a chance to finish.

“Lord Boland, I know him. Know him well enough to know he ain’t capable of payin’ back nothin’ neither – not in paper, not in gold, not in land. Word I hear is all o’ that’s passed hands already, huh?”

The words cause another raucous swell of laughter behind him, and Beth flushes deeply, suddenly glad for the relative privacy of the barrel, to not be facing a party with all of her husband’s failures and humiliations painted onto her. She digs her nails into the side of the barrel before she can stop herself, forcing her body to twist. The gesture is enough to make her feel the heat of the man’s gaze above on her again.

“Hadn’t heard he had a woman that could be traded though, not one that would pick him up so much. Then, fact he didn’t play that hand, fact you stowin’ away on my ship, makes me think he probably hadn’t heard neither.”

Beth blinks, neck craning to look up at him again, and she suddenly feels red hot with anger, with fury, and before she can help herself, she’s reeling up, not so much as batting a lash when Rio’s sword nicks her breast.

“I am not a - - a property to be traded, sir, nor am I a hand to be dealt, I - -” and just as soon as they’d come, the words dry in her throat when the man drags his gaze down to her chest, watches the blood dribble from the cut, soak into the neckline of her dress.

“Shame, that,” he says, like it’s nothing at all, and Beth exhales hoarsely, fingers trembling in anger, in shame, in insistence, only to see the man promptly step away from the barrel, spilling light on her, and Beth scrambles, finally standing up on her aching legs, and blinking the spots away to take in her surroundings. She seems to be in the galley, the muffled sounds she’d heard pouring in before from the dining cabin just outside. Her audience here seems to be fewer, and she finds herself oddly grateful for it – glancing through the few people here – a skinny young man, barely older than Annie; another two – both bigger, older, flanking the man she’s been talking to, and then, at the back, hovering behind them preparing salted meat on a counter top, an elderly man, hunched over his work.

Before she’s had much more of a chance to get her bearings, the man in front of her gestures to the skinny young man, and they all watch as he stumbles over, salutes.

“Captain,” he says, and Beth blinks, whirling back to look at the other man.

“Eddie, take the wherry*. Get Lady Boland back to shore, see she gets home safe. We’ll dock at the next harbour. Meet us back there by nightfall tomorrow and - -”

“No - - I - - I need money,” Beth interrupts quickly, urgently, her gaze darting back to the captain. “Or gold. Treasures. Whatever you can spare. My husband, he lost all we had. We have four children, young children, I won’t - - can’t - - see their futures ruined - -”  

She doesn’t know if her words inspire any sympathy in the others, but it certainly doesn’t in the captain, who just turns to look at her, an unimpressed look on his face as Beth sucks in wet breaths, fumbling for any semblance of control.

“And that’s my problem, how?”

“I can work,” Beth insists. “I can mend clothes and cook and clean and I assure you, I have tended to my fair share of wounds, so I can - -”

But the captain doesn’t let her finish that thought either. Rather, he just turns back to the young man beside him – Eddie.

“Replace the bourbon in town too,” he flicks a quick glance her way, eyeing off her hands, wrists, neck, ears. “Her pearls should pay for it.”

Before she can even help it, her hand springs to the pearls around her neck, clutching tight at them as she stares at him. She shakes her head, anger simmering in her belly again, shifting forwards until her toes hit the other side of the barrel, and she’d step out if she didn’t think it was affording her a degree of protection.

“Listen to me, I – -”

“Hope your Lord husband is ready to pay for the time you’ve gone and wasted for us when Eddie here comes knockin’, huh?” he glances back at the men around him, laughing, and the mere thought would bring Beth to despair if it wasn’t for the lone, furious thread she has left to cling to, and when the captain moves back into her space to haul her out of the barrel, Beth just - - slaps him, hard. Silence cuts through the air like a knife, but any moment of satisfaction is quickly tarnished by the cool of Rio’s sword, pressed sideways at her neck. Shuddering in a breath, Beth looks up at the ceiling of the galley, fixing her gaze on the timber ceiling, trying to focus her attention on anything other than the pirate captain holding his sword to her throat.  

“I will work for you,” she says, because there’s nothing else left to, blinking back tears of fury and exhaustion. “There is no other option. I have no other option. It would be kinder to throw me overboard and let the sharks devour me than to force me home to watch everything I’ve ever loved be taken from me. I will earn my keep, I promise, and - - and I know having a proper lady on board could serve you too, if you let it. If you let me.”

Her gaze flicks back over to the captain, to his cool, dark eyes, and she still feels the edge of the sword against her neck, still feels the ache in her heaving bosom, the stickiness of the bourbon at her hemline, and vaguely she’s aware of their audience, but then - - then the captain drops his sword.

“Eddie, take her to my quarters.”

“Sir - - ”

The captain holds up a hand in a way that shuts Eddie up immediately, but Beth wouldn’t know. Beth doesn’t take her eyes off the captain. “I’ll get someone to bring you somethin’ to eat.”

The words are so quick, so frank, that Beth finds herself nearly breathless, dizzy with relief as she nods, frantic, watching as he steps back. He pulls a cup off the table top behind him, takes a swig of what must be liquor, and Beth watches the line of his throat as he swallows, shifting her stockinged feet in the barrel beneath her.

“Thank you,” she says, and then: “What work will I be doing? What wages can I expect?”

She’s already trying to work out how much she can send home, how much she can get in Annie’s hands, to keep away from Dean, to take care of her babies, when the captain glances back over at her, his eyes lowering, fixing on where the small wound at her breast bleeds onto the soft, rich folds of her dress. Beth shifts beneath his gaze, feels that strange heat again, unfolding in her chest, her belly, maybe - - maybe somewhere lower too.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll think of somethin’.”

[bourbon-ontherocks]

😈 (imp), 🗺️ (world), 3️⃣ (3) pls! 😘😘😘😘

Oooooooh, thanks dear!! 😘😘😘

😈 a cr*ck fic

So one of my favourite crackfic authors is EnsignDisaster ( @betterhomesandhobbits ), and I know, I know, everyone talks about The Goodest Boy but today I want to rec

Watch Out Boy She'll Chew You Up. Beth Boland tries to be spontaneous in her relationship with Rio ergo she fishes terrible advice in the Internet and it ends up in an extremely sloppy public blowjob. The writing style is absolutely hilarious and the characterization on point!

🗺️ a fic with great worldbuilding

A Rational Choice by fireinsideforfun

I initially started browsing through AUs because this sounded like the right place for a rich world setting, but

1) I haven't been proclaimed ARC's biggest fan for nothing and

2) Even though it's a season 2 canon-compliant fic, the world-building here is AMAZING. The whole plotline with Hector, the Detroit criminal world rules, the apartment where is Beth is kept at, Cisco's love life, Beth's mental state, everything is just so minutely detailed and lived-in it's fantastic. In the author's words "this was going to be a two part story. Nope. As it turns out I have terrible self control and like to be annoyingly detailed."

Oh sweetie, this is not annoying, that's fucking world-building.

3️⃣ a threesome fic

Working On Things by odenkirk

It may not be a threesome technically, in that body parts of three different people aren’t simultaneously in the same place, but it’s basically Beth and Dean fucking while having phone sex with Rio, wich includes all my favourite tropes aka crack, Rio/Dean vibes, Dean being the captain of the Brio ship, Rio propositioning Beth, great Dean POV, and mild nonsense.

Send me emojis for fic (and also reblog the meme you cowards) (but like not you heatherwax lol)

[bourbon-ontherocks]

(Previously, on GG rewatch...)

We’re about to enter Au-Jus, aka the starting point of Rio’s Emo phase, so I hope you’re ready. I am not.

I love that Beth is literally shreding fake money in front of Lucy and she. Pretends. To. Not. See. It.

I want to read the textchain where Beth sends Rio the fake orders names to tell his boys what to ask for!!!!

Also I know that this is meant as comedic purpose for contrast but are ALL gangbangers covered with this amount of tattoos and scary look?

M I C K

Did we ever hear of these goldfishes before they died??

"We'll tell them they got sick so we took them to the fish doctor." Does Beth think that all her kids are four?? Kenny is supposed to be 13, and I know that this child is stupid but even him won't buy that

YOU DON'T KILL SOMETHING YOU LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!! Dean is the captain of the Brio ship and I'm down for it

I LOVE the printer thunding in Beth's ears as an expression of her internal stress!! Feels very organic. Also, what is a snafu?

"My boss has been pretty clear on how to handle it." Has he, though??

So Beth is delaying an order she can't make with another order she can't make. Cool cool cool cool cool...

Despite their off the charts level of cringey awkwardness I absolutely love Max/Lucy dynamic. They look so happy together!! And their pictures are so cute!

I love soooooooo much that Stan already knew about Sara. In a general way, I really like the fact that in this episode the girls get consistantly bitten in the ass by their tendency to believe that everyone is stupider than them and won't realize what's really happening. Like Lucy with the money, Stan with Sara, Dean with the plate, Ben with Chris/Kevin...

"I want to make it very clear that we have hit a new low, even for us" Christina's delively on this is PERFECT

ENOUGH. WITH. THE. FRENCH. SONGS.

I absolutely adore Beth's wig/makeup in the car scene while they wait for Annie. She's gorgeous in this

Rio and Lucy chatting about ink and grammar is absolutely random and I love it. I'm just so sad he's going to kill her now

Ben's meltdown when he realizes he locked himself in the bathroom with Au-Jus cracks me up every single time.

The Au-Jus' pseudo torture shooting is one of THE MOST hilarious things I've ever seen on that show

"What's up ladies?" THE. INSTANT. TUNNEL. VISION.

I find Rio's joke a leeeeeeeettle bit sexist tbh, but Mick's deadpan "So much for feminism." is soooooo perfectly delivered!!! You can hear all of Mick's exhaustion and lack of enthusiasm at humoring Rio's little number around Beth

OMG, Rio is sooooo getting off on this dramatic set-up!!!!! Look at this idiot peeking his tongue out and so proud of himself... A. Literal. Toddler. But with a gun.

I feel like Dean is in fact a fanfiction writer who's just exposed his new idea for a XMen/Harry Potter crossover Fishes!AU...

I KNEW KENNY WOULDN'T BUY IT!! I KNEW IT!!!!

Nuuuuuuuh, I'm so sad!!!!

Ugh, the way Rio says "my girl" to Lucy while staring at Beth, all of this seconds away from murdering the former... It breaks my heart, truly.

I love how Beth casually insults Marcus' artistic abilities!!

Since I think we can all agree that Rio has no intention to kill Beth now, otherwise he would have already done it, what would he have done if she's climbed in the van? Why take the risk to ask her to climb in (okay, asking Beth Boland to do something is probably THE BEST way to make sure she won't but still)? And also, why kill Lucy before trying the plates and making sure they work?

“Marriages don't end. They FADE”.

THE. KEYHOLE. SWEATER.

I really love how Dean brings the whole "kill something you love" AGAIN. Like, Beth and Dean are actually discussing whether Rio loves her or not. Twice. This is surreal.

Bonus: I bet you are, sweetie...