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svnflowervol666 · 4 years

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I was wondering if you could write something where Harry’s wife tells him she doesn’t want him in the delivery room when she gives birth. She figures having maybe Gemma or Anne with her. She comes from a family of women, so she just doesn’t think she needs him. Harry’s left torn between agreeing with her because it’s her choice and absolutely broken up over it, because he wants to witness his first child come into the world. In the end she chooses to have him by her side. 🌻💛🌻

Word Count: 2.5k

Author’s Note: THANK YOU for this dad!Harry request!! It is quite apparent that I can ramble about dad!Harry for ages, so if anyone has anything dad!Harry they’d like to discuss, my inbox is open and I will give it my all! Enjoy! Take care and tpwk.

Harry found her by the pool, her already glowing body veiled by a thin layer of sweat. Her sun-kissed legs were crossed one another, body completely bare sans the skimpy swimsuit that she only wore at home due to her current situation. She was nearly 7 months pregnant with hers and Harry’s first child, having gotten to the point where even the thought of leaving the house exhausted her. Knowing this, it made sense to Harry as to why he found her in such an unusual place when he came home from his workout at the gym. She’d always claimed that the hated the oversized pool that took up room for a potential garden in the backyard of their home, so she was rarely seen dipping her toes in the cool, blue water. Harry supposed her cabin fever had gotten the best of her and she’d had to find new ways to entertain herself whilst they both waited anxiously for their baby to arrive.

He could see her through the large, glass windows that faced the backyard, her cell phone perched in one hand while she rubbed absent-minded circles around her swollen bump with the other. Sounds of her sweet, cherubic laugh trailed in through the cracks of the french doors, immediately warming Harry’s chest and causing him to smile in a way that showed off his cavernous dimples. This pregnancy had brought a lot of emotional turmoil in terms of the way her hormones would render her depressed and misanthropic for weeks at a time in some cases, then bouncy and cheery the next as if nothing had been wrong. Harry supposed today had been one of those good days.

It came as second nature to him to make a double batch of the smoothie he routinely drank after he exercised. He’d found out early on in her pregnancy that she’d always try to sneak sips of the sweet, fruity blend due to her new cravings, so he’d eventually just started making two drinks each time to satisfy them both. As he juggled the two glasses in his large, ringed hands, he slid open the door with the full intention of joining her in her sunbathing escapades to cool down after his intensive workout. Maybe he’d even convince her to stick her feet over the edge while he swam a few laps around her. That was until he’d caught the tail-end of the sentence that she’d muttered to whoever was on the other end of her phone line.

“…I was just thinking maybe you or Anne in the room during the delivery, and then Harry can come in and see the baby right after.”

Harry felt his heart sink into his arse at what he’d overheard, almost in disbelief at what he’d just heard her say. Surely, he’d missed a key part of this conversation and the tidbit he’d just stumbled upon was not her saying that she didn’t want Harry by her side when she gave birth to their first child. They’d never discussed it, but he’d always been under the assumption that he’d be right there next to her, holding her hand as their son or daughter made their appearance into the world. However, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling like that was exactly what she had just said.

“Yeah, totally. And then- Oh! Hi, Harry!” She stopped mid-sentence and perked up upon realizing her husband was home.

Harry smiles cheesily back at her, though there was a hint of disappointment in his expression. She was too entranced in her conversation to notice.

“Brought ye’ a smoothie,” Harry raised the glass towards his face to show off the perspiring glass of blended fruit and protein powder.

She wiggles her toes in excitement, the shiny lilac polish gleaming in the sunlight. Harry had painted them for her last week, her having been too far along in her pregnancy to reach her own toes. He always did little things like this for her so she could feel beautiful no matter how atrocious she was convinced she looked in her state. If it were up to Harry, he’d keep her like this for as long as possible; he had fallen in love with her ten times over since she’d been pregnant.

“Thank you, lovie. Gemma’s on the line. She says hi. And also that she’s still your mum’s favorite,” she said to Harry as she pulled the phone slightly away from her ear.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at his older sister’s immature banter as he sat the smoothie down next to his wife and leaned down to press a kiss to her damp hair.

He spoke clearly into the speaker so that Gemma was certain to hear him, “Just wait until the baby gets here. Then mum won’t give a shit about either of us.”

Harry didn’t hear Gemma’s snarky response, but he did hear her laugh loudly on the other end mixed with his wife’s own sweet giggles. He gave her bump a few pats with his hand that was cold from holding the glass and silently gestured to her that he was headed back inside. What he had overheard on the phone had killed his desire to lounge in the pool with his wife. He needed to be alone, whether it was to come up with a way to convince her otherwise or simply sulk about in his misery. His wife blew him a kiss which he subsequently pretended to catch and stuff in his hoddie pocket before ducking back into the house.

Whilst Harry was washing off in the shower, his mind was racing. Did she really not want him in the delivery room with her? It was his child, for christ’s sake! Of course he wanted to be there, more than anything, to be there when their baby took their first breaths, when they came out covered in goo and kicking and screaming. All Harry had ever wanted was a family to call his own, and now that it was within arm’s reach, he wanted to experience it all.

Of course, she was going to be the one quite literally pushing a life force out of her body, therefore Harry had no say in the matter. At the end of the day, even if his future efforts to convince her otherwise were unsuccessful, it was her choice and Harry would have to respect that. It just struck him right through his core to think that his own wife didn’t want him there beside her as she gave birth.

Amidst his racing thoughts, he’d lost track of time. The water had since run lukewarm, but he didn’t realize this until he heard the creak of the steamy shower door open and saw his pregnant wife step inside, still dressed in the skimpy swimsuit that she wore when she didn’t want any tan lines.

“Stealing all of the hot water now, aren’t you?” she teased as she stripped herself of the sopping wet material, then tossed it halfhazardly into the corner of the large, stand-in shower.

Harry mumbled a quiet, “Sorry,” before stepping out of the way of the faucet to let her rinse off.

“‘S alright. I’m still pretty warm from being outside,” she reassured him as she worked shampoo through her dripping locks, “Everything alright?”

“Ye’, why wouldn’t it be?” Harry answered his wife’s question, though he knew that wasn’t the truth and he couldn’t hold eye contact with her so he opted to watch as the soap suds ran from her scalp and down around her belly.

“Just seem kinda off is all,” she dismissed her quandaries and reached for the conditioner.

“‘M fine,” Harry lied again, “Wha’ were ye’ talkin’ to Gem about?”

“Oh, just baby stuff. She wanted to know if we’d decided on a theme for the nursery yet so she could start buying us gifts and then we just ended up talking for a while.”

Harry nodded silently as he worked a foaming cleanser into his skin, waiting until she was done rinsing her hair to take his turn back under the running water. He could say something, he really could. He knew that he should, because communication was key and he needed to be prepared for the heartbreak he’d experience when she told him that she didn’t want him in the delivery room with her. But he was nervous, scared almost. It was as if he actually didn’t want to know how she felt and would rather just forget the whole thing happened. However, now was not the time to be cowardly. This was his child and if he wasn’t willing to talk openly with his wife about how they’d approach the situation, maybe he wasn’t really ready to be a father after all.

“Did I overhear you tellin’ Gemma you don’t want me in the delivery room with ye’?”

She stopped running the silky soap through the ends of her hair to look at Harry directly.

“What do you mean?”

“I heard you say somethin’ about mum bein’ in the delivery room with ye’ and then me comin’ in right after. Do ye’ not want me in there?”

Harry’s voice sounded trembled as if he didn’t want to hear her answer his question. She finally picked up on his trepidation, and the look on her face was one of confusion.

“Harry I…I didn’t say that,” she was merely at a loss for words.

“Ye’ kinda did. Heard ye’ say it,” Harry snided.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you in the room, Harry. My family’s always had only the girls in the delivery room. I just figured I’d do the same. Plus, I didn’t know you even wanted to be there.”

“Of course I want to be there,” Harry stressed, “‘s my baby for cryin’ out loud.”

Right then, she felt an intense flutter in her abdomen that caused her to cup her bump with her arm. This baby sure did love the sound of their father’s voice. Nothing was said between them, only awkward, unbearable silence. The water suddenly felt ice cold, raising chillbumps all up and down her arms and legs. Was Harry mad at her? She didn’t know. There was no malice with her intentions to give birth to their child without Harry in the delivery room, she genuinely hadn’t thought twice about it; it’s how she had been raised to believe how a woman should give birth, with strong women by their side. He was looking at her with glassy eyes like she had utterly broken him and caused irrepairable damage and it made her heart feel heavier than the weight of her baby bump that killed her lower back.

“I didn’t know, Harry,” she whispered, barely audible over the hissing of the faucet.

“Kinda common sense, now, innit? ‘S fine. ‘S your body.”

Harry quickly rid himself of any soap residue and left his wife alone in the ice cold shower before she could say another word. He left her the fluffier, more comfortable towel that he’d chosen for himself, because that’s just who he is.

He avoided her for the rest of the evening. He shut himself in his office for the better part of nearly three hours, hoping to turn his feelings into art and potentionally crank out a verse or two. The thoughts buzzing in his head were far too loud to concentrate on any chord or key, so he turned to answering emails, still not coming out of the room to resolve the argument he’d had with his wife in the shower. He wasn’t even sure what to say, or if there was anything to say at all.

She’d done the same, cooping herself up in their bedroom and taking a nap instead of finding Harry and demanding that they squash this immediately. She was so startled over the entire thing, having been bombarded with more information than she could handle. It hurt her to know that she’d hurt Harry, but at the same time she believed she hadn’t done anything wrong. This was clearly miscommunication on the most basic level, though it didn’t make her feel any better having realized that. Uneasiness settled deep into her bones as she drifted off into a light, relaxing slumber.

Harry tossed the garlic around in the pan with a wooden spoon blindly, only cooking to fill his stomach and not to enjoy it. It was her favorite meal, so he’d figured she’d enjoy the leftovers, at least. His mind kept drifting off to two months down the road, when his baby would be arriving in the sterile, chilly delivery room whilst he, on the other hand, wouldn’t be there to see it.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt two arms wrap around his middle and a protruding bump poke him in the small of his back.

“‘M sorry,” her voice sounded muffled from where she was talking into his shirt.

Harry reduced the heat on the stove and turned around in her grasp to face her. He took her head in both of his hands, forcing her to look at him when she spoke.

“‘S okay. It’s your choice. I didn’t mean t’ upset ye’.”

“No, H. It’s not okay,” she couldn’t stop the hormonal tears from pooling in her eyes and running down her cheeks that were still warm from the nap she’d taken, “I should have asked you what you wanted. It’s your baby too. I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t you to be mad at me.”

Harry wiped her tears away with the pads of his thumbs, hating to see her cry like this.

“I’m not mad at ye’, love. Just caught me off guard. I’m fine now. I’ll wait outside the delivery room if that’s what ye’ want.”

He really hoped that wasn’t what she wanted, but he knew it was the right thing to do. After a long pause of her collecting her breath and nuzzling into Harry’s soothing touch, she found her words once more.

“It’s not what I want. I want you there. Beside me. Holding my hand when our baby gets here.”

This time it was Harry that started to cry, though he didn’t let her see the salty tears fall becaues he burried his head into the crook of her neck and held her in the dimly lit kitchen they stood in. All she could hear were his sniffles and his rapidly beating heart through is chest.

“I love you,” Harry mumbled into her neck, tickling her sensitive skin.

“I love you, too. So fucking much, Harry,” she gave his abdomen a tight embrace before pulling back.

“But promise me you’ll still want me after you see the baby come out of me. I’ve seen it before and it is not pretty.”

Harry choked on his remaining tears as a laugh roared through his chest. He wiped the wetness from his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“’M only gonna want ye’ more after that. Promise,” Harry then raised his left pinky towards her in sincerity, the wedding band on his ring glimmering in the stovetop light.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x pregnant!reader #dad!harry #dad!harry x reader #dad!harry x pregnant!reader #harry styles blurb #asks

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scoobhead · 3 years

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Hey I took ur ouran quiz and the questions were awesome and I did indeed get dragged to filth, as has everyone in the tags, but I think we're all too embarrassed to post pictures of our results bc the callouts were so accurate kjshdfkjsdhf but im so curious abt the others,,, would you mind posting all the descriptions you did? I'm so curious. either way thanks for a banger of a quiz!

AH omg i’m so glad people are enjoying it!! and im sorry that people are getting called out lol but I did try to warn you. im mad that uquiz doesn’t have a “see all results” feature but here are all of the descriptions!!

haruhi:

you give off main character energy but also don't give a shit about being the main character. if you got this answer you probably also relate to tamaki or kyoya but ONLY one of them. you have mixed feelings about the other. you don't think you can experience love the way everyone else talks about it. you crave physical touch but your intimacy issues prevent you from seeking it out so you're stuck wishing anyone else would initiate it and anticipate your needs. people have said that they were drawn to you and a GOOD number of people have told you that they liked you. 9/10 times their crush was unrequited. you're still friends with all of them. hope ur doing well with that gender crisis you're going through!

tamaki:

wow. you're truly a dramatic bitch. maybe people find you a little grating but you're charming enough that they still hang around you for some reason??? ur a big romantic and your expectations will never match reality. every time you pass a mirror you get caught up in your own reflection, even if you don't consider yourself attractive. your self esteem swings WILDLY between "i'm a terrible person and no one really likes me" and "i'm perfect and everyone wants to be me". you definitely have SOME kind of parental complex and you projected way too hard on disney movies in your childhood. how is your hyperfixation with beauty and the beast treating you now? you genuinely want to be a good person but you find that your actions often have unintended consequences. being a wine mom (or your gender equivalent) is absolutely in your future. you're pretentious as fuck and your favorite book is probably pride and prejudice or the picture of dorian gray or some fruity shit. also you're in love with your best friend and im sorry

kyoya:

you have written PARAGRAPHS of analysis about whatever show or movie you're hyperfixated on and definitely talked about it with people who aren't familiar with the source material. you're just a little bit of an asshole (or at least you think you are) but you have a close group of friends nonetheless. you're a good liar and everyone hates playing among us with you. debate is your love language. you wonder constantly why anyone likes you at all. despite this, you're surprisingly loyal (even beyond your own expectations). you like being in charge of a situation even if people don't view you as the leader outright. you're never manipulative with malicious intent but you enjoy seeing the influence you have on others. usually this amounts to introducing them to a new show or hobby. people have told you that they've liked you and your first instinct was to say "thank you, but no you don't". you're just emotionally unavailable enough to be ~intriguing~ but consider swallowing your pride enough to tell the people in your life that you love them.

hikaru:

you know that feeling where you make a joke and maybe one or two people really laugh at it but everyone else doesn't know how to respond? of course you do. you have a very defined sense of humor and you feel like there are only a handful of people who really get you. in reality, part of this stems from the fact that you judge other people, make assumptions, and are slow to forgive. you've definitely given a friend the silent treatment for DAYS... and what was it for? are you happy living life this way? do you so love believing yourself to be misunderstood? i promise there are other people out there who like your obscure interests just as much as you do. pause your early 00s pop punk for a second and get over urself.

kaoru:

are you excited for the big recital coming up? you must be, since you've been playing second fiddle for so long. you're probably disappointed with this response. you wanted to be a main character. you feel like sometimes ur a background character in your own life. most of your friends are people you met through pre-existing friendships and you pretty exclusively hang out in groups. you're a good person and people enjoy your company, but there's maybe only one or two people who would call you their BEST friend. that's okay. you feel the same way. you rarely come up with plans or jokes, but you can "yes and" like there's no tomorrow. maybe your life is a little boring, but at least its comfortable. it's a shame, though. there are a lot of people who could help bring you out of your comfort zone, if you'd let yourself leave your bubble every now and again.

honey:

so. you have a complex. that's okay! most people do. you just HAVE to be the hottest person at the supermarket or the friend that EVERYONE loves. you have a lot of friends but only a few people who really, truly know you. you use humor or flirting or playing dumb to deflect from the fact that you have a SHIT ton of walls up around you and you're afraid to let anyone beyond the facade you put up. you aren't hurting anyone by doing this, but it does get a little lonely sometimes. you like the attention you get, even if it's pretty surface-level. you have a weird thing about crying in front of other people: either you do it too often or you absolutely REFUSE to. you just want to be held. and honestly? don't we all.

mori:

holy shit. you're SEXY. you know EXACTLY when to shut the fuck up and it's hot. it's a double-edged sword, though. when was the last time you let yourself be someone's shoulder to cry on? and when was the last time YOU cried on someone else's shoulder? hm. might want to work on that. you don't think too highly of yourself, but you recognize you're a kind person. bit of a doormat tho. perhaps you've even been called "subservient". it's a shame you're so emotionally closed off, because your friends would honestly love for you to open up more. if you did anything competitive in high school--choir, drama, band, sports, etc.--you were never a soloist or the star player. you played defense, didn't you? you were in the chorus, weren't you? i bet you were in percussion (not the quads tho). your biggest flaw is that you refuse to acknowledge how important you are to other people. there's a gardener and a flower in every relationship, and it's time you started being the flower.

#ohshc uquiz #ask

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ludi-ling · 4 years

Text

Crazy Eights

Well, here it is, a little treat for my followers - the first chapter of Crazy 8′s, the sequel to 52 Pickup. I’m sharing since it’s Day 7 (AU) of Rogue/Gambit Week 2020. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish this story, even though I got a fair way through it, since I wrote myself into a corner, and I’m not sure I like it very much. But I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy!

Crazy Eights

Chapter 1

Thieving 101.

Simplest rule in the book.

Don’t get caught.

I can hear pere’s voice in my head, clear as day, literally beatin’ the words into all of us, his snotty-nosed, grass-stain-scuffed li’l Fagin’s gang.

Don’t. Get. Caught.

And then his face, leaning in towards mine, grinning, saying:

Unless, o’ course, you have a reason t’get caught.

Yeah, that was mon pere, full of good, subtle ideas. He’d usually direct them at me cos he knew I was like the worst kind of sponge. I’d be soakin’ all that shit up, swimmin’ in it like a gator swims in swamp water. As a kid, I’d always figured he was just picking on me. As an adult, I realise all he was doing was laying down challenges, cos he knew this punk-ass kid would rise to the bait every time, pushing every damn boundary he could along the way.

You got potential, boy. But you got no discipline. Always halfway t’ bein’ in a rage, t’ ventin’ it out on some poor trash. You play de con, kid, you live de con. No heart-on-your-sleeve shit. Dat stays inside. Cos y’know what? Folks can read dat crap a mile away.

“C’mon, pretty boy,” the man to my right grunts, as the alarms I’ve set off still scream all around us. “Getcha arse in gear. The boss don’t take kindly to waitin’.”

He prods me in the back with the barrel of his gun, a little too sharply than is strictly necessary; but I get it, he has a job to do, and actin’ mean is part of it.

“Yeah, well, that’s what bosses are like, mon ami,” I answer with a smirk. “Never got time for nothin’. Mebbe you should think about goin’ freelance, neh? It has its advantages. No calls at unsociable hours… Don’t gotta do all the dirty work y’self… Get t’ have a couple of pretty femmes hangin’ on your every word… Still. I reckon mebbe you two ain’t smart ’nuff yet t’ graduate from the ol’ ‘Crime Boss 101’ course, am I right?”

“Hey!” The guy to my left gives me a crack on the back of the head with what I assume is also the barrel of a gun. “Shut the fuck up!”

See? Boring, predictable, run-of-the-mill flunkies. These couyons ain’t never gon’ make it past mid-tier bodyguard material.

And those alarms are still screaming. Ain’t some asshole gon’ shut it off already? It’s givin’ me a headache.

Whatever. I do as I’m told and shut the fuck up. Mostly because I’m busy scanning the décor of this corridor we appear to be walking down. The walls are lined with paintings, a mess of eras and styles that could tell anyone with an ounce of taste that whoever’s collecting this shit has none. Taste, that is. All it tells me is that this guy has cash, and he don’t mind throwin’ it ’round. We walk past a Cezanne, and I grimace.

Hang on in there, li’l guy, I say to myself as we sweep right by it. One o’these days I’m gonna free you. Soon.

Cos let’s face it.

You think I’m gonna leave a Cezanne to rot in Cain Marko’s fuckin’ playboy mansion when it could be on my wall?

I think not.

We get to the end of the corridor and, thankfully, as soon as we do, someone finally finds the off switch to the alarms. My lovely escorts throw open the burnished oak doors that I can only assume lead to Marko’s private hidey-hole; and before I have a chance to admire the woodwork, I’m being pushed inside in yet another unnecessary show of who’s boss. I stumble a little over the threshold, and there he is. Cain Marko, kingpin of London town. A big, ugly, concrete slab of a man with a mat of red hair and a jaw like a foot. He’s sitting on a burgundy-red velvet sofa that looks to be late Victorian. Possibly a Chippendale? Something to research later. True to form, he has a girl on each knee.

Crimes bosses. I toldja so. Predictably borin’. Boringly predictable.

“Well, well,” Marko greets me with a menacing grimace and a Cockney rasp. “Robert Lord. Your reputation precedes you. Finally, we get to meet face ta face.”

It’s at that point that Jake decides to kick in, a harassed voice in my earpiece, hissing: “Remy? Remy, where the fuck are you? Is everything okay?”

I jerk my head to one side and Jake’s panicked questioning cuts out.

“Yeah,” I address the man on the sofa. “Coulda been under better circumstances, though. Don’t much care for bein’ kicked around and chained up.” I clink the restraints at my wrists and ankles meaningfully. “Unless, o’ course, it’s consensual and there’s a woman involved.”

An ugly grin crosses Marko’s face. He shifts a little and pats each girl on the ass; they get the message and get to their feet, tottering out on stilettos that take a certain art to walk in – neither of them have it.

“Well,” Marko says with mock disappointment as he, too, gets to his feet. “If ya wanted to meet under better circumstances, you coulda made a less shitty attempt to rob me, Mr. Lord. I’d heard you were supposed to be some thief extraordinaire, but you ask me? You, breakin’ into my safe? That was pretty fuckin’ amateurish.”

“Hey,” I banter back good-naturedly as I watch him walk over to the bar and pour himself a drink. “I got through most of your li’l traps jes’ fine, mon ami. You wanna talk amateurish, let’s talk ‘bout your alarms. They’re more fuckin’ painful than Tante Mattie boxin’ me onna ears. And it takes too long to shut ‘em off. Either that, or your flunkies are too stupid to figure out how.”

Marko, who’d looked half-amused up to this point, lets his mouth drop into a disdainful sneer.

“Y’know somethin’, yank?” he growls at me, turning back from the bar. “You talk too fuckin’ much.”

I raise a wounded eyebrow at him.

“Yank? Hey, now you’re just insultin’ me.”

“Oh really?” He laughs; and I take back the comment about his alarm system. This is worse. “Mr. Lord, insults are gonna be the least of your problems tonight. No one steals from Cain Marko and gets to just walk out again. You picked the wrong house to rob, mate. This is one job you ain’t walkin’ out of.”

He lifts his chin slightly and calls out:

“Klein?!”

There’s no answer, and he gives an irate little pause, looks over his shoulder and says again:

“Klein?! Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m here,” a woman’s voice replies from a darkened corner, her presence so unexpected it even causes me to jump.

“Fuck me, woman,” Marko rasps at her. “How long you been standin’ there?”

The woman says nothing, simply stepping out from her corner. I realise there’s a door there. It’s impossible to say whether she’d just walked through, or whether she’d been there all along. Marko ain’t big on lighting. Which is a shame, ‘cos Klein is a woman to be looked at. Mile long legs and a figure to get all wrapped up in. Brunette hair scraped back into a bun that begs to be loosened. A glance like wildfire.

“Sorry,” she says with a small twist of humour, all delivered in a perfectly delicious and proper English accent. I feel some sorta expression begin to form on my face; an appreciative little smile begins to shift round my lips.

Forget pretty girls tottering around in sexy stilettos they can’t walk in. This is a woman.

She glances over at me, then back at her boss with an expectant expression.

“This shit thief stole me old lady’s engagement ring.” He takes a cellphone out his back pocket and stares at it. “Lesse how fast you can find it for me.”

Klein don’t waste time mincing words. Unlike the two couyons behind me, she’s calm, quiet, efficient. She marches on up with a roll of the hips that’s entirely unconscious. When she’s finally in front of me, I catch a whiff of her perfume – a barely-there scent that’s not quite fruity and not quite flowery.

I cock my head to one side and hitch her a smile.

She doesn’t take the bait. Her expression is composed as she sizes me up, wondering where to start. It’s as if she hasn’t even noticed my smile at all.

“Be gentle, chere,” I quip.

That’s when she raises her eyes and gives me a look – part disinterested, part unimpressed. Her facade is almost frosty, but it don’t fool me. Beneath the cargo pants and the bomber jacket and the unadorned face, there’s a something to this woman. It’s in the sway of her hips and the sensuousness of her scent. It’s in a whole lot more besides.

She frisks me in all the usual places, and, Goddamn, her hands alone are enough to set me on fire. Her movements are precise, clinical... yet as insinuating as the touch of a lover.

Did I mention yet I haven't had sex in 8 fucking weeks?

She gets on her knees and runs her palms down my legs, and it’s almost more than I can take.

“While you’re down there, chere...” I can’t help but say; and she pauses, looks up at me with steely eyes and says... Nothing.

Her gaze fixes on my fly like it’s the only option left, and now we’re talkin’.

She holds eye contact as she raises both hands, and thumbs open the button of my pants. Her look is impassive; but there’s an undercurrent there, a something that’s signalling to me loud and clear. She unzips my fly slow as a strip tease, and that’s when the shadow of a smile flickers across her face – a brief split second of something more, something to work with.

Jesus Christ, I’m holding my breath.

She knows what I’m thinking. She rises to full height and this time she doesn’t bother to hide the smile. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

“Thought you were s’pposed t’be lookin’ for contraband, p’tite,” I can't help but drawl. The comment wipes the smile from her lips and her gaze drops. She yanks open my fly and within a few short seconds she’s found the fob pocket hidden inside the waistband of my pants. Another split second later and she’s found the ring.

She turns and flashes it triumphantly at Marko.

“You made record time, Klein,” he observes approvingly, glancing up from his phone. “Twelve seconds. I’m impressed.”

Twelve seconds? I swear it coulda been a lifetime...

She throws the ring to her boss and I watch on, with a wistful sense of loss, as it arcs across the room and into his hand. Oh well. Next time, maybe.

“If you’re done, chere,” I pipe up behind her, “mebbe you could zip me up again? O’ course, if you ain’t, we can always take dis somewhere a li’l more private... ...”

I hadn’t exactly been expecting an answer, so I’m doubly taken off guard when she whips round and socks me hard with a fist to the face.

I totter a bit, tasting blood and seeing stars.

Damn, this woman packs a punch!

In the background, Marko’s laughing raucously.

“Looks like you chose the wrong woman t’ try and charm, yank.”

Seriously? Enough with the ‘yank’ thing already!

I grit my teeth and scowl as he continues:

“Zip ’im up, Klein. I can afford to be charitable to trespassers. I think we can let him leave here with his dignity, if not his life. He has taste after all. Me old ma’s engagement ring,” and he grins sardonically over at me, “is my favourite piece outta my entire collection.”

Klein obediently turns around and zips me up with more force than necessary. No more smiles and subtle flirtation. She doesn’t even look at me.

“Sentimental value,” Marko is saying, turning the ring between thumb and forefinger as he approaches me. “That’s what this ring has, Mr. Lord. Me old ma woulda been turnin’ in her grave if I lost it. Specially to some shitty low-feeder like you.”

I lick the blood from my lip slowly. Low-feeder, huh? This guy is really throwing out them punches tonight.

“Yeah, I getcha,” I retort with a sarcastic grin. “Momma woulda slapped ya t’ kingdom come if you ever messed wit’ her jewellery. Beat you wit’ a belt, prob’ly, told ya you were a good f’nothin’ piece o’ shit, I’m willin’ t’bet. Sure, I can read a mommy complex a mile away, homme, and you got it bad.”

I dunno what’s gotten inta me tonight. Or maybe I do. Frustration is a thing and a half. I'm fuckin’ wired, and I can’t stop running my damn mouth off. I ain’t usually this lippy. Honestly.

Anyways, I’m steeling myself for a beating from my End-of-Level-Boss, but surprisingly he don’t take the bait. Judging from his get-up, he’s ready for a night out, and he don’t want my blood soiling his purple Savile Row suit. Which is good for me, ‘cos the rings on his fingers look like they could double up for some pretty nasty knuckle dusters.

“I take it back,” he sneers down his nose at me. “This bloody yank don’t deserve jack.”

He sweeps away and grabs his jacket.

“You’ve been lookin’ t’prove yerself, ain’t’cha, Klein,” he throws over his shoulder at the woman still standing beside me. “Take care of Mr. Lord for me, and consider yerself one of the gang.” He walks over to a side table, pulls open a draw and takes out a gun. When he throws it to her, she catches it like she doesn’t even have to think about it. “Just make sure you keep some suitably gory keepsake for me to remember ’im by. I’m thinkin’ his teeth. He’s got them pearly whites you can only get in ’Murica. It'll remind me of ’is charmin’ smile.”

He laughs to himself, throws the ring up in the air, catches it, and deposits it into his pocket.

“Sorry, Mr. Lord,” he addresses me, “but I have places to go and people to kill. Don’t worry. Klein’ll entertain you in the playpen.” He waves absently at a door to the right. “I’m sure she’s just itchin’ to get her hands on you.”

He chuckles and heads for the door, followed by one of his henchmen, leaving with a final, gleeful, “So long!”

The door bangs shut and now it’s just me, Klein, and Henchman #1.

Wise strategy on Marko’s part, if Ms. Klein is basically untried and untested. I might break her little heart, and Henchman #1 might have to put me down instead.

I suppress a laugh at the thought.

Klein says nothing. She turns abruptly and sticks the barrel of the gun into the small of my back.

“Move,” she says. Her voice is deadpan – nothing to work with.

“Y’know, chere,” I venture conversationally, as I start shuffling over to the door, “I could speed up some if you’d jes’ untie these chains… Then we could get t’ playtime in the playpen a whole lot faster…”

“Hey, shut up will ya!” Henchmen #1 barks at me, punctuated by a sharp poke in the back by Klein’s gun. All right, all right, already. I get the message. They hustle me up to the door and next thing I know, I’m being shoved inside. Henchman #1 shuts the door behind me and I hear the locks thunk shut. Now it’s just me, and Klein.

It turns out the playpen could give H. H. Holmes’ hotel of horrors a run for its money. It’s a pokey little room, and someone’s done gone and painted the walls in a nice shade of red and crusty brown. Blood, gore and brain matter. The whole place stinks of death. Merde. The light-hearted mood I’ve managed to maintain so far immediately takes a dive.

“I take it housekeepin’ don't come round often,” I quip in an undertone – hardly as insolent as it could've been, but it earns me a kick up the ass anyway. I stagger forward under the momentum, turning to face my would-be executioner as I do so.

She has the gun pointed at me.

“Chere, I’d put my hands up if they weren’t tied behind my—”

The gun fires.

And the bullet hits the wall over my shoulder.

The crazy femme don’t give me a moment to recover.

In a flash she’s lowered the gun and is marching right over to me, grabbing the front of my shirt and jerking me down into a hungry kiss.

“It’s okay,” she whispers when she sees I’m too shocked to respond. “There aren’t any cameras in here.”

The words are barely out of her mouth and she’s kissing me again. This time I slip easily out of the chains that I’ve been working on ever since they were clapped on me, and as soon as they hit the ground, I let my palms slide up over her cheeks, pulling her closer, deeper into our kiss. Her fingers wind into my hair, tugging lightly; her body presses against mine, reminding me exactly what I’ve been without the past couple of months. I grab handfuls of her perfect ass and pull her in closer.

God, I’d fuck her right here, right now, if we weren’t in this shithole and this wasn’t a very important job.

We kiss until we have no air left to breathe.

“Lord, I’ve missed ya, Remy,” she murmurs against my lips.

“Mmm, not as much as I’ve missed you,” I answer sincerely, stealing another kiss before adding heatedly, “Eight whole weeks without you, chere... It’s enough t’ drive a man certifiably insane.”

She laughs, soft and sexy, her fingers combing lightly through my hair as she backs up a bit and regards me.

“Darlin’,” she murmurs with a smile, “you were the one who said no contact...”

“Didn’t wanna risk breakin’ your cover, Anna,” I reply, bridging the slight gap between us and feathering light kisses along her jawline. “Cain Marko’s gang don’t got a real nice reputation, sweet.”

“Pfft,” she scoffs. “I can handle myself.”

“For sure,” I agree. “But I’d prefer it if we didn’t tank this mission ‘cos we couldn’t keep our hands offa each other.”

She hums with vague agreement and runs her thumb across my bottom lip.

“Sorry about the fist to the face, babe,” she apologises. “Hope I didn’t hurt you too much."

“Peh.” I wave it off absently – I'd pretty much forgotten it already. “You do what you gotta. Speaking of...”

But she’s already way ahead of me, rooting around in her utility belt and taking out the small mem-chip case.

“Nice distraction, by the way,” she congratulates me wryly as she hands me the goods.

“Didja like it?” I ask her, pocketing the small case.

“In theory. Thought you had more style, though, Cajun. You managed to set off every alarm in the fucking building.”

“Heh. Just wanted to make sure you had enough time to pull the heist, cherie.”

She rolls her eyes expressively.

“You thought it was funny pissing everyone off, admit it. And what was all that business with the fob pocket?”

“Chere,” I answer with mock sincerity. “Eight weeks of celibacy and you think I’m gonna pass up the chance to have you feel me up? C’mon.”

The punch she lands on my bicep is enough to hurt.

“You are such a troll!” she shoots at me with more affection than ire, I’m happy to say.

“You love it,” I mutter, grabbing her helplessly and kissing her mouth soundly. We end up wasting a few more precious seconds making out again.

“So what we gonna do, huh?” I ask her once we break apart. “Henchman #1 is waitin’ outside, and I figure we could both take him out pretty easy...”

“Nuh-uh,” she cuts me off with a mischievous grin. “That’ll break our cover for sure. You, sweetheart, are taking the back door out.”

Her gaze slides over my shoulder, and when I look back, I see that the back door is actually a chute in the wall. From the amount of gore it’s covered in, it’s pretty obvious it's a disposal chute – for corpses.

“You have got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me, p’tite,” I groan under my breath.

“Think of it as payback for kicking me down that garbage chute back at the Plaza hotel,” she banters back lightly, clearly enjoying this.

“Anna, after this, we’re even and then some,” I say dolefully.

“Yup,” she replies cheerfully. She swoops in for another quick kiss before saying: “I’ll be waiting for you by the East gate in about 30. Got some stuff to finish up here, otherwise they’ll get suspicious.”

“All right.” My response is half-hearted. I ain’t relishing goin’ down that chute, that’s for sure. Anna, however, is completely indifferent to my plight. She’s almost at the door already when I stop her.

“Uhh… Anna?”

She stops, turns.

“What?”

I point down at my chained-up ankles.

“Li’l help, please?”

She gives a theatrical sigh; but she comes back anyway, dropping to her knees and undoing the chains round my ankles.

“I’m pretty sure you could do this yourself faster than I ever could, Cajun,” she says pointedly, to which I shrug and reply:

“Sure. But havin’ you down on your knees in front of me brings back all sorts of happy mem’ries I’ve been denied the past couple of months.”

The chains clatter to the floor and she quirks an unimpressed look at me.

“Jesus. You’re puttin’ out more pheromones than a skunk puts out spray.”

“Chere, I been insulted ’nuff today, bein’ called a ‘yank’ an’ all. You reckon you could find an analogy a little more flatterin’ than a skunk?”

She gets to her feet and plants her hands on her hips.

“Swamp boy, there ain’t enough analogies in the world for the dirty things I wanna call you right now,” she declares in her gorgeously titillating and rarely-bestowed native Mississippi accent.

“Oooh,” I banter back. “Dirty, huh? Beb, when I get you home tonight, you can call me all the dirty things under the sun. I can’t wait.”

She chooses to ignore the statement, walking over to the chute instead and pulling it open. When she looks back at me, she’s smiling sweetly.

“Sugar, when we get home tonight, the first thing you’re gonna do is take a shower. Cos once you’ve gone down this here chute, you’re gonna be dirty as hell, and not in a good way.”

Trust her to kill the mood. I peer down the hole gingerly. The miasma wafting up from down below is worse than any skunk’s.

“Chere, you wanna rethink this? Only I get the feelin’ one shower ain’t gon’ be enough t’ get the stench out...”

“Quit being such a baby!” She’s smiling way too hard for my liking at this point. “The sooner you get this over with, the sooner we can wrap up this job.”

I step reluctantly up to the edge of the hole, and she leans in over my shoulder, murmurs in my ear: “And the sooner I can get my hands on you again.” She lets that suggestion linger. And, Dieu, does it linger.

“Now buckle up and hold onto the railings,” she warns me.

“What railings?” I manage to get out, before her boot heel connects with my ass, and I’m suddenly tumbling through the filth and mire down, down into the depths of the Marko mansion.

-oOo-

[Chapter 2 now here!]

#rogue/gambitweek2020 #rogue/remyweek2020 #Romy fanfic #Romy #Rogue #Gambit #Rogue and Gambit #52 Pickup #crazy 8's #crazy eights

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johnnydoe69 · 4 years

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Old Wars, New Faces Part 5

So, this piece is not the angry one promised earlier. It’s coming, but a little later than first expected. For now, its back to your regular sexy fanfare, though with a a different POV. I hope you enjoy.

Myron stared out at the beach from his shady spot at a nearby tavern. Muscular men in skimpy outfits worked under the intense heat of the early morning sun.

It was April in Mykonos, meaning the sun would only get more forceful and blazing with each passing hour. Despite the lack of shade and protective clothing the men worked with little complaint, setting up what appeared to be a sound stage on the beach.

They never stopped for breaks or even to drink water as they lugged heavy machinery and supports across the sand.

Myron, meanwhile, sat under an umbrella, sipping overpriced drinks while waiting for Paris to arrive. He tried to look as inconspicuous as possible dressing in a plaid button up shirt, cargo shorts, and dockers he could easily slip in and out of. Hidden in his satchel was a small obsidian blade, gifted to him by Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love and his mother. She had told him to lure Paris to a secluded spot on the beach and use the knife to sever his soul from the mortal body he had stolen. If Myron failed, Paris would cause a civil war amongst the gods and throw the world into further chaos.

Myron had been uncertain at first about the certainty of such predictions, but his mother hadn’t been wrong before. However, until Paris arrived, he was more than satisfied drinking on the beach and watching the beautiful, if strange men at work.

In the distance there was a car slam and the peeling of warm bubbly laughter coming from the parking lot. Myron took his eyes off the construction crew and turned to face a trio of muscular men traipsing towards the beach. Each one was beautiful, the one in the middle with short blonde hair and big pillow-like lips was obviously the leader. His voice echoed over theirs and they kept their eyes firmly on him and not each other.

They walked past Myron and to the construction crew. The leader stopped a large burly man, one of the construction crew, and stood on his toes to whisper something in his ear. The man nodded and discreetly nodded in Myron’s direction.

Myron immediately looked away and fumbled with his satchel trying to make it look like he decided to pull out a book to read instead of staring. He plopped the book down on the table at a random page and did his best not to stare as the three muscular men walked towards him.

Two of the men turned left and walked to the bar, while the leader bounded to where he was sitting. “Mind if I have a seat here,” the man asked, flashing a warm white smile at Myron.

“No of course, sit.” Myron stumbled, slamming his book shut.

The man gave a loud sigh and sat across from him, his bubble butt causing the wooden bench to creak as it strained under his weight.

“As beautiful as it is, the Mykonos sun can grow tiresome at times, don’t you agree” the man asked, wiping sweat off his brow. Every inch of his body was tanned, as if he never spent a day out of the sun, but Myron didn’t say anything.

The men sat in silence together, until the blonde man’s friends returned bearing two of the same fruity drinks Myron had been sipping. They put one before the man and one before Myron, who tried to refuse, but the man shushed him.

“Don’t you worry, your pretty little head. This drink and any you order from the bar is on me. Is that right, Boris?” The man said, looking over to the bar.

Boris, who stood cleaning shot glasses, gave them an enthusiastic smile and head nod.

The man turned his attention back to Myron, “Y’know it’s funny. All the time I hear from friends is that the Greeks are such an angry people, but flash some cash their way and everyone’s your friend.”

Myron nodded, staring down at his glass. “Is this your first time visiting Greece?”

The man shook his head and sighed wistfully, “No. I came here once for a wedding, but it didn’t end well.”

He almost seemed saddened for a moment, but his face quickly brightened, “But enough of ancient history, I came to you to offer a business opportunity.”

“Can I get a name along with this business proposal, I just met you,” Myron said, growing agitated.

“I have a feeling you know more about me than you’re letting on Myron Thoma, son of Dimitri and Aphrodite Pandemos,” the man said, taking a sip of his drink.

Myron scowled outwardly, but was internally charmed at the man’s confidence, “So you must be Paris, then.”

“Well, the mortals here know me as James Wilkersin from Indiana, but yes, I hope to once again become known as Paris. Mostly for branding reasons, I mean who wants to go to a party hosted by some guy with a last name like Wilkersin anyway. The Paris name has so much recognition and positive synergy these days.”

While Paris spoke, Myron kept his eye on his satchel which sat on the table for Paris to see. The knife was stuffed underneath a beach towel, but considering Paris already knew he was coming, then he probably knew about the knife, Myron reasoned. So he decided to do his best to listen to Paris’s pitch and wait for a lack of witnesses to strike.

“So, Myron,” Paris said, taking Myron’s hands into his, “How would you like to be a god?”

Myron stifled a laugh, “A god? You may have escaped Hades, but you do not have the kind of power to rival the gods.”

Paris grinned, “Not yet, but in time and with your support we can bring a new golden age to this world. Myron, for millennia I have watched gods and empires rise and fall, great cities reduced to ash, and insignificant villages turned into centers of commerce and culture. Never before have I seen the living exist on such a knife’s edge of drastic change and in this time of conflict, I seek to create a world in my own image. I will create legions of devoted followers and through their love I and a select group of advisors will achieve immortality and rule over them.”

Paris’s eyes were wild with excitement and his trembling arms radiated pure energy that at once terrified and turned Myron on. His dick got a little hard in his cargo shorts and he was starting to sweat. Myron could almost see Paris becoming a new god of this world, almost.

Myron took his hands back from Paris’s and shoved them in his pockets, “So you seek to rebuild a new Troy for the one you lost.”

Paris shook his head, his boyish blonde hair covering his eyes, “Of course not. Troy is dead and buried. What I seek to build is something much longer lasting. For example, you’ve noticed the men working out on the beach over there, but have you wondered what they happen to be working on?”

Myron turned his gaze on the men working once more, as Myron concentrated he noticed the promotional material being added, as well as speakers and electric wiring.

“A little early for a Mykonos beach party, isn’t it?” Myron asked.

“Of course, this is just a test run, I intend on launching far more beach parties and events during the summer months to gather more followers. Mykonos will just become a base of operations for me.” Paris said, taking another sip of his drink.

“So, you’re going to buy the love and admiration of humanity through muscle daddies and beach parties?” Myron asked, trying to desperately ignore his rising heartbeat and rising desire to be bent over the table and fucked by Paris.

“Well, that would help yes, but it’s obvious I know far more about humanity than you do. Now are you okay, Myron, you look a bit flushed?” Paris said with a coy smile.

“I’m fine, just get on with whatever you’re going to say,” Myron said, trying not to pant like a dog. What the fuck was happening to him, he wondered frantically.

“Think about it this way, why did you wear Dockers on your outing to the beach?” Paris asked.

Myron shuddered at Paris’s warm and thick voice, “I don’t know they looked nice, so I picked them.”

“No. It’s because you spent years seeing constant images of happy and attractive men wearing those exact same shoes in magazines, billboards, and commercials. They made you feel that if only you bought those shoes you would look just as stylish as they did. However, unlike those ads I intend on giving something much more fulfilling.”

Paris got up from his side of the table and sat directly next to Myron. Myron tried to move even a few inches away, but Paris simply moved closer to him. Paris was hot and sweaty, even in the shade, releasing an intoxicating aroma that made Myron’s dick feel like a clogged hose waiting to burst.

“Before I left the Underworld, little Myron, I made sure to procure a special box from the queen of the underworld. Inside, was a part of her essence that while deadly to everyday mortals, could bestowed unimaginable beauty and power to those who could wield it.”

Paris grabbed Myron’s chin with his hand and stared deeply into his eyes, making Myron feel like he would simply melt into the man’s big arms and cold, calculating blue eyes.

“And it is a power that I can bestow lower dosages upon to those who will serve me. Are you ready to take that plunge, Myron, and become stronger than you could ever imagine?” Paris asked, though he already knew the answer.

Myron nodded enthusiastically, “I’d be honored to join you, Paris, anything for you.”

Paris smiled and stood up, raising Myron with him. He released Myron’s head from his grip and they waited for Paris’s attendants to arrive and grab the satchel that held his attempted killer’s weapon.

If Myron wasn’t a son of the goddess of love and beauty Paris would have slain this man himself, but Myron had untapped potential both as a mediator between Paris and Aphrodite and as a seductive force of his own with the right molding.

With the venue on its way to its first test and his attempted killer as subservient as a dog on a leash, Paris took his attendants and his new pet back to the car. It was going to be a fun few months until the summer began. Then the real work would begin.

#seduction #mind control

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catty-words · 7 years

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so if you’re lonely (why’d you say you’re not lonely)

summary: Despite all the rumblings in the office, Nathaniel is not going soft. He’s not. Nathaniel and Rebecca go on a trip for work. Word Count: 3,200 Author’s Note: Thank you so much to @bethanyactually, who beta'd this while she was feeling less-than-great. I am very very excited to have TWO shows you can beta my fic for. I'm kinda consumed by this pairing right now (if you are too come talk to me!!) and couldn't ignore the urge to write fic about them. But this is my first attempt at CEG fic so let me know how I did? this one-shot was inspired by my own damn emotional tumblr post.

(ao3)

~~~

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Son?” Nathaniel can picture his father’s stern and skeptical face even though he’s only on speakerphone.

“Of course,” he says, and then cringes inwardly at the high pitch of his voice. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “I’ve given presentations to the partners before. Everything will go as planned.”

“Yes, but this is not some fruity lecture on why we should run a greener firm. This is about our work, and if you’re not completely prepared, we may have to deem this West Covina experiment a failure.”

“That will not happen, Sir.”

“It had better not. See you on Tuesday.”

When the line goes dead, he takes a deep, steadying breath before climbing onto his treadmill desk. He gives the presentation in his head between sprints.

Despite all the rumblings in the office, Nathaniel is not going soft. He’s not.

Last week when he sent Karen home early to attend to her sick snake? That had nothing to do with compassion. He was just tired of hearing her creepy whining.

And all the extended lunches he lets Darryl and his boyfriend take? It’s not like he thinks they’re a cute couple or anything. It’s simply easier to get work done when Darryl isn’t hovering over his shoulder like a puppy begging for scraps.

And he definitely hasn’t been going easy on Rebecca, letting her constant tardiness and lack of productivity slide. But if he were, could anyone really blame him? She’s been through a lot, and he’s not heartless after all.

But he’s not soft, either. No siree.

Rebecca knocks on the door to his office, jarring him out of his thoughts, and he waves her in.

“You wanted to see me?” she asks, flopping down on his couch and examining her nail polish.

“I did,” Nathaniel says, turning the speed on the desk down to a casual stroll. “I know that during previous discussions on the matter, you’ve expressed your preference to stay behind while I present our progress to the senior partners back in New York.”

She seems to know what’s coming because suddenly all her focus is on him and she’s widening her eyes and pouting out her lower lip, which trembles just the right amount.

It’s not getting to him, though. Not even a little.

“But it turns out the big wigs are interested in meeting you,” he says, swallowing hard and tilting up his chin. “So I guess you’ll have to suck it up and wear a decent outfit for the first time in a month. We leave Monday morning.”

“What?” Rebecca jumps to her feet. “You can’t just spring this on me. Like, I mean, what if I had a pet? This would not be enough time to find someone to watch it. Do you know how many friends I have? Not many, and you can’t just leave anyone to look after a pet. It’s gotta be someone you trust and—”

“Good thing you don’t have a pet,” he says, cutting her off.

Her mouth tightens and she eyes him suspiciously.

He sighs, already exasperated with himself for asking, “What?”

“This isn’t a get into my pants thing, is it? Cause I’ve been watching a lot of the classic rom-coms in an attempt to torture myself, and, in addition to really igniting my fury over casual misogyny and Western beauty standards and the existence of men in general, it’s made me wary of heterosexual male and female best friends, paying some guy to be your date to any kind of formal event, time hops, time loops, and work trips. They’re all dangerous. All of ‘em.”

“Great, I’ll be sure to make note of that.”

“Well? You didn’t answer my question.”

Nathaniel turns off the treadmill and leans over the desk, clasping his hands together and leveling her with a serious look. “Here’s the deal, Pudgy the Librarian—”

“Don’t make me lecture you about the Western beauty standards because I’ve got enough material to last me hours.”

“—do I still want to have sex with you? Strangely, yes, that hasn’t gone away. And has it escaped my notice that you’re no longer in a monogamous relationship? Of course not, who could forget the disaster that was your breakup. But my main focus is going to be on wowing the senior partners, as should yours. Anything that happens between us at the hotel will be some long-overdue icing on a successful business trip…cake.”

Rebecca raises her eyebrows. “Sometimes I wonder if even Freud himself could chip through the overwhelmingly large iceberg of pathologies inside that brain of yours.”

“Funny, I could say the same to you.”

She flips him off on her way out the door.

“Monday morning,” he shouts after her. “I’ll see you at LAX at six-thirty sharp!”

~~~

Rebecca is just barely on time.

“Since it looks like you actually washed your hair, I’ll give you a pass,” he says in greeting when she shuffles up to the table he’s been waiting at in the airport café.

“Can you please not be mean to me until I’ve had some coffee? I didn’t have time this morning because my flaky boss only told me I’d be needed for a cross-country trip three days ago.”

Nathaniel shakes his head, unimpressed, and slides a coffee over to her. “It doesn’t take weeks of foresight to set your alarm ten minutes earlier so you can stop somewhere on your way to the airport.”

She ignores him and takes a sip of the drink he ordered for her. “Mmm, hazelnut. My favorite.”

He allows himself a tiny grin. “I know.”

Before he can read too much into the pleased look she’s giving him, he slings his carryon over his shoulder and stands. “Come on, Pudgy, time to go check our bags.”

“Okay, seriously dude, stop projecting your body image issues onto me,” she says as she follows behind him. “I’ve already confronted and dealt with my internalized fatphobia.”

“Oh, really? I suppose your license has an accurate weight on it, then?”

“What? No. No one lists their actual weight on their license. Not even you, Mr. My Weight Is Ninety-Eight Percent Muscle Mass.”

He stops in his tracks, smirking, and she nearly runs into him.

“Oh my god, please stop doing that,” Rebecca says, taking a step backward. “You look like a serial killer who just got away with their fiftieth murder or something.”

“I knew it,” Nathaniel says, letting that dig slide. “You definitely still want to have sex with me.”

She makes an exaggerated gagging noise, but a blush creeps into her cheeks. “Whatever. Like, please get a handle on your extreme narcissism, dude. Nothing’s going to happen between us.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The important thing is that you still want it to.”

He raises his eyebrows at her, and she bites her lip, holding eye contact for a second longer than necessary before pushing ahead of him and stomping her way through the terminal.

~~~

“Did you get the final copy of the PowerPoint I emailed to you Saturday morning?” he asks, not looking up from his notes.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re super anal?” He glares at her until she adds, “God, yes. I’m totally prepared for this, alright?”

“You can never be totally prepared.”

Rebecca gives him a funny look. “You suddenly don’t trust me to do my job, or what?”

“You have been distracted lately.”

“Hey! There’s a totally understandable reason for that.”

“You’ve been processing your brutal breakup,” Nathaniel says, nodding.

At the same time, Rebecca says, “Trying to make Josh’s life implode is basically a full-time job.”

“Wait,” he says, setting his tablet screen-side down in his lap. “You’ve been doing what now?”

She twists in her seat, her face contorting with way too many emotions to identify. All he knows is that she’s feeling all of them intensely—so intensely that it’s hard to look at her straight-on. “Josh Chan needs to pay for what he did.”

Nathaniel gulps and tries for some levity. “You’re pretty much stuck at the anger stage of grief, huh?”

“I have a lot to be angry about,” she says, her voice unnervingly even.

“Sure.”

His noncommittal answer seems to piss her off more. With a scoff, she turns her back toward him and buries her face in a book, putting a definitive end to any and all conversation.

~~~

After a tense and silent ride to the hotel they’re staying at, Nathaniel and Rebecca barricade themselves in their respective rooms.

He orders room service for lunch and sends a quick text to his father to let him know they landed safely.

Around seven that evening, though, he starts to feel a bit like a caged animal. He orders something else from room service and then freshens up while he waits.

When it comes, he grabs his room key, tucks a just-in-case condom in his pocket, and walks down the hall.

He pauses outside Rebecca’s room and unbuttons one of the buttons on his shirt before knocking.

“I come with a peace offering,” he says when she answers, holding out the bottle of wine he ordered for them. She squints at him, expression unreadable, and then walks back into the room, leaving the door ajar. “Okay…”

It’s not exactly a rejection, so he inches inside.

“What was that?” He hears Paula’s voice and follows it toward the bed.

Rebecca’s leaning against the headboard, laptop balanced on her thighs. There are files and loose papers covering every inch of the comforter and an uncapped red marker rolling around among them.

Nathaniel sets the bottle down on the desk before leaning against the wall and watching her with curiosity.

“Oh, it was nothing—Plimpton with a bottle of wine.”

Paula makes a knowing sound in the back of her throat and says, “Such a classic booty-call move.”

“I know. He’s being totally obvious, isn’t he?” Rebecca shoots him a pointed look.

He shrugs in response. “There’s no shame in being straightforward. Subtlety is for losers who don’t know what they want.”

In a stunning display of maturity, she sticks her tongue out at him.

“Why am I attracted to you again?” he asks himself.

She’s already gone back to ignoring him.

“It might be good for you, you know?” Paula says. “Have some hot, no-strings sex. Might ease some of that tension you’ve been feeling.”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca says, frowning thoughtfully. “I don’t want anything to distract me from what’s really important right now. Also, he was a dick on the plane, so.”

“Hey!”

“Plus,” Paula says, “he is your boss. That could make things very uncomfortable around the office. He’s a fine piece of man meat, though. It’s a shame all that’s going to waste.”

“Hello, I’m standing right here,” Nathaniel protests, stepping up to the edge of the bed so he can lean into the camera’s frame and wave.

“So?” Paula asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“So maybe you should show me a modicum of respect. I could write you up for talking about me like that.”

“Oh please,” Paula scoffs. “You’re the one trying to sleep with one of your employees.”

Nathaniel feels his entire body flush. “That is…a fair point.”

Rebecca shoves him out of her personal space and gives Paula an approving nod. “Law school’s been good for you.”

“Well, I was a highly argumentative person before. It’s helped me hone my skills, is all.”

“Definitely. Very effectively shut down.”

“Thanks, Cookie. Oh, I’ll call you later! The car alarm is going off and I can only assume Brendan is trying to steal it again. We’re at a bit of a dead end, anyway.”

Rebecca sighs. “Alright. Good luck with the kid. I’ll text you if inspiration hits.”

“So it’s probably too optimistic to assume that all this,” Nathaniel gestures to the mass of paperwork, “is work related.” She tilts her head at him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“So, are you here to judge me some more?”

“No,” he says, nodding over to the bottle of wine. “I’m here to unwind a little before a stressful day of work tomorrow.”

She regards him with caution. “If I drink that with you, that doesn’t automatically mean we’re gonna do it.”

“Yeah, I know how consent works.”

She sets her laptop on her nightstand and starts clearing off the bed. “There you go again, talking dirty.”

Nathaniel tries—and fails—not to smile. “You have a strange idea of what counts as seduction.”

~~~

“I swear it’s been so hard to dig up dirt on Josh Chan,” Rebecca says, tipping into Nathaniel as she tries to tuck one leg under the other. She takes an impressive swig from the bottle of wine—their second of the evening—and then passes it to him. “Barring the super obvious exception, that man is like…sunshine. Like dopey magical fairy dust incapable of misdeeds.”

Though his inhibitions are already lowered, Nathaniel takes a long pull from the bottle. His nose burns and his eyes water, but he’s going to need to be pass-out drunk if she keeps insisting upon the topic of Josh.

“And he’s like impervious to sabotage or something, which is surprising because he’s so easily distracted. I figured we could ruin the whole ‘become a priest’ thing by sending a pretty and willing lady his way, but he never took the bait. But he can’t actually be serious about it, right? I mean, he was supposed to commit to me, not God.” She grabs onto his shirt collar and tugs so hard their foreheads knock together as he turns. It doesn’t even give her pause, though. “What does God have that I don’t, huh?”

Stability is the answer that immediately pops into his head, but then his gaze drifts down to her angrily scrunched lips, and the response is gone quicker than it came.

“Uh.” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, drawing back a couple inches. “Have you ever realized you talk about Josh like he’s a character in a story you’re writing—more of an archetype, less of an actual human being?”

“What? No I don’t.”

“You kinda do.”

Rebecca scoots away from him on the bed, looking scandalized. “I most certainly do not do that.”

“Come on,” Nathaniel says, resisting the urge to grab her and pull her close again. “The first couple weeks I knew you, you referred to him almost exclusively as ‘the man of your dreams’. Now he’s ‘human sunshine’? Real people aren’t paragons, Pudgy.”

She grabs the pillow out from under her and swings it hard at his face, but thankfully she’s too drunk to have very good aim and he’s able to catch it and tug it out of her hands. Before she can pout too much, he passes the wine back to her.

She begrudgingly takes a sip.

“All I’m saying is, this weird hero-worship thing you have going on is staunching your ability to process what happened to you.”

Rebecca hugs the bottle close to her chest. “Who are you, Dr. Akopian?”

Nathaniel raises his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Nothing. Nobody.”

He watches her closely for a second before snagging the wine back and then continuing. “Anyway, this whole revenge scenario of yours isn’t a way to get back at the flip-flop. It’s a transparent attempt to keep your entire life revolving around this unworthy dipshit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. It’s okay to admit it.”

“And this convoluted pep talk of yours has nooooothing to do with trying to get me to say that I’m completely free of emotional attachments so we can have sex, I’m sure.”

“You’re the one who keeps bringing up sex, not me,” Nathaniel says, pursing his lips to keep himself from smiling.

Her mouth pops open and she gapes for a moment before sitting up straight and jabbing her finger at him. “Nope, nuh-uh, you’re not getting off the hook that easily. You just want an ‘I told you so’ moment, and I see right through you.”

“What would I have to say I told you so about?”

Rebecca pitches her voice low and says, “Commitment is stupid. It’s better to chase people around. We’re all sexual predators,” in a mocking voice.

He blinks.

“Whatever, I’m paraphrasing,” she says, grabbing the wine back.

“Okay. Let me make sure I have this right. Because I don’t believe marriage is worth it, you’re not going to admit you were hurt and move on…to maintain some falsely perceived moral high ground?”

She sneers at him before taking a drink. “The situation’s a lot more nuanced than that.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks. “Then spell it out for me. What are the finer points of this situation?”

Rebecca takes a moment to size him up. “You really wanna know?”

“You seem to really enjoy talking about it, so why not?”

“Fine. Yeah. I’ve known Josh Chan most of my life, and fate kept throwing us together, you know? That’s why I’ve always known our love was the real deal—because nothing could stop it. Not years of separation. Not his girlfriend. Not my sleeping with his best friend. No, our connection was stronger than all those things.”

“Wait, slow down,” he says, rubbing at his forehead. “That is a lot of new information to process.”

But she’s a runaway freight train and there’s no stopping her now. “And when it seemed like things really weren’t going to work out between us, I was going to accept it, okay? I really was. I was content to work on myself, but then fate intervened again and Josh and I were finally together for real. And I shared things with him…so much of myself. He knew how important our love was to me. He knew what it was gonna mean; what our marriage would be for me. But I guess the idea of sharing a lifetime with me is so repulsive that he had to turn to celibacy on our would-be wedding day!”

Her breathing is haggard by the time she finishes and she’s gripping the neck of the wine bottle so tightly that her knuckles are white and, damn, he’s not sure which of his impulses is stronger—to run from the room in terror or to give the human mess in front of him the comforting she so desperately needs.

He goes for the latter, easing the wine out of her hands and murmuring, “No. That’s not…that wasn’t what happened.”

She nods, shaking a single tear loose.

He gulps and brushes his knuckles across the overheated skin of her cheek, catching the tear with the pad of his thumb.

“Rebecca, no.”

The tears start gushing then, hot and unrestrained. She falls into him, burrowing her face into his chest. At first, he feels his lip curl in distaste, but then she makes a noise like a dying cat. With a resigned sigh, he gently guides her into his lap and wraps an arm around her waist, using his other hand to comb the curls back off her wet face.

“Why didn’t he l-l-love me?” She shudders with the force of her crying.

Nathaniel frowns, resting his forehead against the top of her head and taking a deep breath.

“I honestly have no idea,” he says, but he’s pretty sure he speaks too quietly for her to hear over the sound of her sobs.

He hugs her closer and thinks maybe—just maybe—he’s going a little bit soft.

#rebecca x nathaniel #crazy ex girlfriend #nathaniel plimpton #rebecca bunch #my fic

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teramelos1 · 7 years

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Nick Reinhart Interview // Marcel’s Music Journal

Big Walnuts Yonder–an incredible supergroup featuring Minutemen’s Mike Watt, Wilco’s Nels Cline, Deerhoof’s Greg Saunier, and Tera Melos’ Nick Reinhart–just put out one of the most powerful and marvelously eclectic rock records of the year. Even though the band formed way back in 2008 and didn’t record the album until 2014, it still sounds raw and fresh as hell. The dirty funk of opener “All Against All” accurately portrays the LP’s unique blend of lo-fi math rock and noisy, throwback ‘90s skate punk, while the energetic “Raise the Drawbridges?” gloriously flaunts ear-piercing guitar licks and groove-heavy percussion.

Aside from recording seriously great music with Watt, Cline, and Saunier, Nick Reinhart has proved himself to be one of the most strikingly innovative guitarists in recent memory with his countless other bands and side projects. He is best known as the frontman of Sacramento-based experimental rock trio Tera Melos, who explored complex, mind-bending indie-math zones on their most recent release, 2013′s X’ed Out.

Reinhart has also worked with drummer Zach Hill in Bygones and Death Grips; played live in Rob Crow’s band Goblin Cock; and performed a series of engrossing, entirely improvised live sets with Dot Hacker’s Eric Gardner as Swollen Brain, all of which are discussed in our interview below (the power of collaboration is definitely key here).

You and Eric Gardner from Dot Hacker just played some shows as Swollen Brain. How did this whole project come about?

I met Eric through my friend Jonathan Hischke, who plays bass in Dot Hacker. When I originally moved down to Los Angeles I lived in a duplex next door to Eric. I would house sit his Vietnamese pot bellied pig, Francis, a lot. I was a big fan of his drumming in Dot Hacker and at some point it came up that we should play music together for fun. We had a pretty immediate chemistry in playing free, improvised stuff. We played our first show in September 2015 and we had a nice response, so we figured make it a regular thing. No intense band practices, no songs, no rules. It’s a really fun musical project to be a part of.

How do you feel playing improvised sets?

I really enjoy improvising. While I’ve done solo improvised sets, it’s a lot more fun having someone else to connect with on previously unpaved musical roads. With my band Tera Melos we take practice and preparing for a set/tour pretty seriously. We usually need around 12 full days, give or take, of long band rehearsals before we’re comfortable enough to play a show. We even dump lots of brain power into designing the set and which songs or transitions go where. For me practice is usually fairly stressful, as I wear a few different hats- playing guitar, singing and running some sort of sampler/keyboard rig all while doing the pedal tap dancing thing, and I want it all to sound cohesive and thoughtful. there’s a lot of work that goes into that. So as far as improvising goes- it’s amazing to ditch all the preparation and just play music without preconception. It’s very liberating. With Swollen Brain we do play together in our rehearsal studio, but it’s less “practice” and more just playing little sets. We’ll generally do 20 minute bursts of sound just to keep our improv brains fresh, which after 2 rounds of bursts our brains are actually very not-fresh haha. To get better at improvising it seems you just need to do it often. So in a way it’s sort of practicing, but not really… “Practicing” is also a way of familiarizing ourselves with whatever gear we happen to be using at the time. In my case it’s usually a freshly constructed pedal board. I like to have time to see what works sonically and what doesn’t before we play a show. The other thing I like to consider when playing a free-form set is how to keep things flowing and interesting- for me and the audience. Obviously you can’t force magical moments to appear in that context, but I want to set myself up for those moments to occur. Generally that means having the tools that will allow me to make little musical stories with dynamics and tension. One of my favorite parts of an improvised performance is when someone walks up to you afterwards and asks, “so how much of that was improvised?” and the answer is, “well, all of it.” I’ve been the person asking that question and when you get that answer it’s a magical moment in and of itself.

Do you think Swollen Brain will remain solely a live band? Would you ever be interested in recording studio material?

We actually just started making a record. The process of how to go about capturing our vibe was hard for me to envision. It took me a second to wrap my mind around how we could best accomplish a recording. Because it’s very much a live, organic process of improvising it would make sense to just set up some mics and hit record on a bunch of sound bursts, but we felt that it should be sonically more interesting than just drums and a single guitar track. When we play live I end up looping layers of sounds and then repurposing the loops to relate to what I’m doing with the live guitar sounds. Then once we land on something that works we turn that into a little mini song. So one of the recording methods was playing until we landed on some interesting loops, then capturing the performance of drums + loop action, and then overdub myself improvising over that. We did variations of that method for a couple of days. The next step is sifting through all of that and making sense of it.

You also played in Rob Crow’s band Goblin Cock on a tour of theirs late last year. What was that like?

It was great. I love Rob Crow. He’s one of my favorite musicians. Tera Melos toured with Pinback a couple years ago and it was one the my favorite tours we’ve ever done. He’s super thoughtful and just a really great person all around. I was stoked when he asked if I wanted to do the Goblin Cock tour. It was challenging because i had to learn a style of music that I wasn’t really familiar with- whatever brand of metal Goblin Cock is I guess. He uses alternate tunings and B.C. Rich Warlock guitars exclusively. So I had to relearn chord shapes and which notes went where on a really weird guitar, then apply all that to a kind of music I’d never played. Oh and we wore cloaks and face masks that were very hard to see out of, plus all fog machines and strobe lights raging. So there’s actually just about zero visibility on stage. But yea, it was strange and really fun.

You’ve mentioned before that Aphex Twin, Squarepusher, and Underworld rank among your top influences when it comes to electronic music. What drew you to the sound of those artists and what impact did it ultimately have on your own playing style?

When I was 16 a friend showed me those artists. At that point I was really into punk rock. The electronic music that I was hearing had this relentless energy and all these really melodic sounds mixed with abrasive sound effects. That was really new and exciting to me. I had a super natural, positive reaction to it. The same friend had a Playstation and a game called MTV Music Generator. You could make your own songs by placing pre-recorded samples onto a timeline. It was a very dumbed down way to make something resembling the electronic music that we were listening to. So I’d mess around with that at his house after school. A couple years later I got a desktop computer and found the program Fruity Loops, which was the next step up in music programming from the video game. A couple years after that I got a program called Reason, which I have worked out of ever since. At that point I hadn’t really gotten into guitar pedals and sonic exploration. I mean, I had some pedals, but I was still playing in a punk-ish band and bedroom moonlighting as some electronic music poser. Eventually Tera Melos was created and the guitar pedals section of my brain expanded. I started to recognize the ability to recreate some of the sounds I had learned to make on the computer. Incorporating that sort of stuff into an outside-the-box rock band became really exciting, and still is for me. I should also mention that my knowledge of electronic music in general never really reached beyond those three artists. I think there was just something really special about them that opened my mind at the right time.

Do you think collaborating with other people allows you to think outside the box and push the limits of your own sound? I can sense an almost cosmic force from these Big Walnuts Yonder recordings.

Yes, 100%. Musical collaborations that take you outside your comfort zone are crucial for growth and creativity. When I began playing music with Zach Hill it was like my musical brain got super charged and started wandering in different directions that I previously hadn’t really explored. Rob Crow and I have been batting ideas back and forth for awhile now as well that will hopefully take shape soon. I’m excited to see where that collaboration will take me in terms of new musical territory. And yes, of course the Big Walnuts Yonder thing had a lot of cosmic force going for it. Those guys are all very big inspirations for me, so making that record was a big part of my creative timeline. I think it’s too soon and close to the album release to be able to recognize the greater impact it had on me, but what comes to mind immediately is exercising the ability to to maintain creativity and keep up with these musical giants, and for them to be stoked on what I was bringing to the table. It would be like an indie game dev that grew up playing Nintendo all of the sudden getting to work on a new game with Shigeru Miyamoto. And not only that, but Miyamoto is excited about your ideas and he’s reacting to them with new ideas. It’s sort of like that. Pretty crazy. The other thing that comes to mind is that I had never written guitar parts to pre-existing bass parts in this capacity. 8 of the 10 Big Walnuts Yonder songs were born in Mike Watt’s brain and started with his bass as “song forms,” as he calls them. In other words, I was having to figure out how to write interesting guitar parts to songs that consisted of only bass. In Tera Melos I can probably count on one hand the amount of times where even just a small portion of a song’s construction started with bass. I can recall being very frustrated trying to come up with guitar parts that way because it’s so foreign to me. Of course out of that frustration comes great things. I was well prepared for this challenge though. It took me a while to understand Watt’s compositions (they’re pretty wild) but once I was comfortable with his approach to song writing I think some really cool, unique stuff came out of it.

What was it like recording the album in just three days?

When we started the process of creating Big Walnuts Yonder Mike had been sending me songs that were just bass compositions. So I would sit with them and contemplate different ways to compliment what Mike had written. Now Nels and Greg on the other hand- they had heard what Mike and I had worked on, but I don’t believe they had fully composed “parts” like me and Mike, that is to say I think they had “ideas” and then brought them to life in the studio. It was so crazy and inspiring to see it happen like that. So when we were all set up and ready to play we would jam a song through a few times, talk about the sections, iron out a thing or two and then hit record. It was 99% live. I was actually a little nervous because I hadn’t recorded live like that for many many years, since being in a crappy sounding punk band as a teenager. I mean, my bands usually record live, but then guitars are scratched and then redone. So this is truly a live record with all of us in the same room reacting to each other. I think that nervous energy really helped me pull it together personally.

I think Zach Hill is an artist who compliments your musical style and approach really well. You played on the last two Death Grips albums, Jenny Death and Bottomless Pit. Was that a particular collaboration that gave you the chance to explore new themes and ideas? What were the recording sessions for those records like?

Zach Hill is a very big inspiration for me. He’s one of my favorite musicians of all time and I think he’s contributed some really important things to music. The way I play and perceive music is directly related to him, so it makes sense that what we compliment each other. Contributing to Death Grips’ body of work was really special for me. I respect that band so much and to be able to help them shape their vision is a really cool thing. I think the reason it works well is because I understand where they’re coming from and where they want to go. I haven’t worked with anyone else in that context, so in that sense there are new ideas that appear that otherwise wouldn’t. A lot of the time our creative ideas are simpatico and feel really natural. It’s like as soon as I’m around those guys my brain’s bluetooth automatically connects to their system.

Aside from the recently announced tour with CHON, Covet and Little Tybee, does Tera Melos have any special plans for this year?

I think Tera Melos will probably start doing fun stuff pretty soon here.

Reinhart has a new band with Mike Watt (Minutemen), Nels Cline (Wilco), and Greg Saunier (Deerhoof) called Big Walnuts Yonder. Their self-titled debut is out now on Sargent House.

Via Marcel’s Music Journal

#Tera Melos #Sargent House #Big Walnuts Yonder

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