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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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End Game 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: I'm a sleepy babay.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

There’s a finality to the tap of your thumb. You hold the block button for a moment before you let it go. The window pops up asking if you’re sure. Yes. Certain. This is just a mistake and when you’re older and wiser, you’ll be thankful you made it. If you even remember it.

You lay back and put your phone down. Done. Over. No more Jacob. No Andy.

Maybe you’ll go back and see Kara again, or she can come here, even if she hates this town. You can at least be thankful that it reconnected you two, and you have to be grateful to learn a hard lesson. Don’t mess with strangers online. You’re better off alone.

You close your eyes. You’re exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, and yes, physically. Who knew scooping ice cream could be so much work?

When you wake up, you’re sore and still groggy. The sun peers in at you brightly in the slat between the curtains. You groan and hide under the pillow. Your shift starts at noon. You can’t spend all morning doing nothing or the whole day is wasted.

You drag yourself out of bed. Your grandma is still asleep. You’re sure she was up until dawn with her latest haul from the used book store. You clean up the cluster of wrappers around her chair and tidy up the kitchen, dumping the old coffee and brewing a new pot.

You go to grab your phone and pause as you see an unusual notification. Your email? Huh. You don’t really use that besides for school. You open it up, thinking it might be about enrolment. No. It’s him. Andy. Holy moly.

You scroll up and down, skimming the blocks of text. Oh god. You hit delete. You’re not reading all that. You said what needed to be said.

You have your coffee and load the machine for whenever your mother gets out of bed. You eat and wash up, catching up on some Youtube before you make yourself get your uniform on. You head out, walking to work to enjoy the sunshine, and key in between tying on your apron and chatting with Gavin, the high schooler who does half-shifts every now and then.

He leaves at four and you have your complimentary cone just after five. Peanut butter chocolate; classic. You eat at the window as you watch the mostly empty street. Your phone vibrates and you slide it out, hoping to take advantage of the lull.

WhatsApp request? No way. The shammy recruiters always want a piece of you. At least you never fell for that.

You bite into the cone and your phone suddenly blows up with Insta notifications. Bots! Ugh. So annoying. Every new follower is faceless with some generated name. You mute the notifications and put your cell away. You really are a boring person.

As you look up, tires crush over a patch of gravel and your barely catch a glimpse of the car as it rolls just around the corner. You feel like you’ve missed something. Maybe your grandma is right about you always having your nose buried in a screen. Who is she to talk? She lives in her novels.

Your shift ends at eight. You lock up and stop by the convenience store down the block. Nothing special, just a tray of carbonara you can shove in the nuke. As you pay at the counter, the door chimes to signal another customer. You accept your meagre meal as the other patron strides into the aisle. You don’t look over as you go directly for the door. You’re starving for more than a scoop.

Your footsteps seem to echo through the dull streets. The frozen meal makes your hand hurt as your other holds your cell phone close. You text Kara as you finally get through the essay she wrote about Calvin’s latest antics. You wish you could convince her to play something. You feel aimless without an analog stick under your thumb.

There’s a scuff, close behind you, loud enough to make you jump. You fumble with your phone and glance over your shoulder. You don’t see anything but the thick oak outside Luella’s. Ugh. Alright, you need to eat and lay down. It hasn’t been a busy day but still a long one.

You pass through your grandma’s front door. She’s where she always is, in her chair, but something’s off. Something’s different. The smell of pollen hangs in the air and a pot stands on the coffee table with several white orchids tall in the soil. You frown. The last time you got her flowers, she didn’t even put them in a vase.

“Oh, those are pretty,” you say.

“Mph, not mine,” she grumbles, not looking up.

“Not... who’s...”

“Delivery man said your name. I didn’t read the card. I’m not a snoop.”

You nod, thankful at least that she isn’t nosy. You go to the table and examine the pot. Who would send you flowers?

You take the card off the tall pronged stick and open the envelope. You slide out the paper and unfold it.

‘I know I’ve told you a million times, so I’ll show you how sorry I am instead. Yours always, Andy.’

You nearly drop your handful. Your eyes flick up to the pot and you have to stop yourself from pushing it off the table. What the hell? How... how does he know where you live? You never even mentioned what town you’re from. He only knows your college and it’s so small, he wouldn’t have heard of it.

It’s enough to unsettle you. That he knows where you live is bad enough but the flowers themselves make a point. It’s not over. He’s not walking away but what else can you say to make him? Didn’t he get it? You think were pretty nice considering.

“You got some boy?” Your grandma raises her eyes from the page. You can’t remember the last time she even bothered looking at you.

“Not exactly,” you tuck the card away and put it in your pocket. “I’m going to make my dinner.”

“Eh,” she grumbles, “fine. Get them flowers somewhere else. They stink.”

You lift the vase, hugging it around the pot, and carry it from the room. You balance it against your hip and go into the kitchen. You use your free hand to pull open the freezer and put the pasta inside. You’re not so hungry anymore.

🎮

The irises are pretty. The pot they came in is fancy, probably expensive. It underlines once more the gap between you and the real Jacob. Between you and Andy.

It only reminds you of how ridiculous you must have sounded. So, you just can’t understand why he’s doing this? Why is he still trying? For you? A girl with dwindling hopes of even finishing her low-tier college degree.

You try to forget. You don’t have a shift that day but you can’t just sit around. Usually, you would. You’d hole up in your bedroom and play video games. Not anymore. He ruined that. You’re disappointed you’re letting him.

You got down to the library for a while and wander around. There’s nothing there you’re very interested in. They still haven’t got the latest release in the series you’d read in high school. Oh well, you’ll wait around until one day you learn the fate of those revolutionary spies.

You walk the main strip of the town. It isn’t very extensive. There’s a coffee shop and the used bookstore which also carries hobby supplies. There’s the same diner that’s been there since you were a kid and the interchangeable business that open and close year after year.

There’s a vibe in your pocket. It’s not Kara. Another WhatsApp request, more Insta bots, and Discord. You haven’t been on the server in ages. You couldn’t keep up with all the channels and most of it was arguing about mining strategies.

It’s Andy. Frig. You should’ve blocked him there too. You just hadn’t thought of it.

‘Did you like the flowers?’

You don’t answer but he’ll see that you read it. It isn’t long before he’s typing.

‘I am still very sorry. I wish you’d talk to me. Hear me out.’

Hear him out? He said everything. His son is dead and he lied to you. That’s not anything you can hash out.

‘I know you’re not working today. I’ll make a new world and we can chat there.’

No. That’s not going to happen. Over. O-V-E-R. It’s done. You’re not going to be like Kara. When you cut the cord, it’s snipped.

You won’t answer. That’s just bait. He’ll keep nibbling if you do that. You press the chat settings and block. That’s better, you can’t breathe.

You put your phone on silent and back in your pocket. You wish you had the money to try the sushi place. It won’t last long in the bodunk town so you probably won’t ever get to. Oh well. Back on campus, they sell decent California rolls at the cafeteria. Decent, not necessarily good.

You go home. To your grandma’s house. It doesn’t always feel like home. You know she’s counting the days until you leave. You are too.

You wish you were brave enough to apologise. To say sorry your mom and dad didn’t want you. That she got stuck with you. It feels like saying it out loud would be worse. Just wallow in the unspoken resent, one day you won’t ever come back and maybe then you can both be happy.

In your room, you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your Switch taunts you from across the room. You want to mine or race or even scare yourself with some Hellblade. You can’t. More Youtube. More wasted time. That’s what people like you do; people from small towns with no one who loves them and no money; waste time.

The mindless videos help you relax but not forget. You just can’t get rid of the little tickle at the back of your head. There’s a tinge of shame that remains and a sliver of guilt. It will go. It has to, one day.

You catch yourself staring at the orchid. You can smell it. You want to throw it away but that feels rude. Even if Andy would never know, even if you shouldn’t care. He hurt you, didn’t he? He lied. Well, you could give it to Mahalia next door, she loves flowers.

You lay in indecision. You don’t want to do anything but lay there. Now that you’re still, you have no strength. Your day off is chipped away in your laziness.

The next day awaits you with another shift at the booth. And the day after and the day after.

Your fourth day in a row and you get a new Discord message. You know even before you open it, even by the blank avatar and nondescript username. It’s him. Just leave me alone. Let it go. Let me forget.

‘I know you don’t want to hear from me but I need you to hear me. I can’t stop thinking of you and what happened. I can do better. Please, let me apologise.’

Blocked. Again.

Work. Again.

You’re half asleep as you fill cones with soft serve. You smile and swallow yawns, faking it for the hyper children and cheerful couples.

When it slows, you work on cleaning the freezer, switching out empty containers with ones from the deep freeze. As you check the soft serve, there’s a tap on the open walk-up window. Oh shoot. You should’ve been paying better attention.

You turn back to greet the next customer but as you approach the window, your chest deflates. Frozen, like the tubs around you. You stare at Andy as he smiles at you. He wears a short-sleeve button up with blue, grey, and white stripes. His hair blows in the soft breeze.

“Do you have butterscotch ripple?” He asks brightly.

You blink and hesitate. You don’t know what to do. How did he get here? How did he find you? Why is he here?

You reach for the window and before he can stop you, you shut it. You lock it from the inside and step back. His face falls and his brow arches as he stands straight. He says your name, his voice muffled by the glass, and puts his palm to the barrier.

“Please,” he begs.

You shake your head and turn your back to him. If your manager was here, you’d be in shit. That’s a no-no. Never turn away a customer, only shut the window when you lock up.

You ignore him and go back to tidying. There could be a line up out there but you don’t care. Your hands are shaking and it’s not just the temperature.

You just can’t believe he’s there. You can’t believe he won’t just give up. You don’t want to believe it because you’re afraid. You’re terrified and he seems entirely clueless about how scary he’s being.

Flowers are one thing but showing up at your job? That’s a flaming red flag that even you can see. Not only because you told him plainly that you don’t want to talk to him again, but because he’s a grown man. Fortysomething and he can’t take a hint. Why would a man his age want to talk to someone as young as you? That’s another red flag on its own. As if catfishing you wasn’t enough.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #end game #defending jacob

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boxofbonesfic · 1 month

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Title: Return to Sender [6 of 9]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark! Andy Barber x Reader, Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: Andy Barber promised he would never let you go, and come hell or high water, he's going to keep that promise.

Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon, Kidnapping, Murder, Canon Typical Violence, Gaslighting, Basement Wife Trope, Manipulation, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Possessive behavior, Fluff, Friends to lovers, Smut, MORE TAGS TO BE ADDED

A/N: ooh you all are going to be saur mad at me, lol. i’m sorry. i promise, we’re coming to an end, one i hope is as satisfying as the journey has been. remember, the outcome of this story was one you all voted on (dark vs. fluff), something i’ve kept in mind as i’ve crafted the story moving forward. thanks for sticking with me! comments are great, reblogs are golden. thank you for reading, and mind the warnings. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

Andy’s voice sounds like oil even through the phone.

“Well?” The expectant word rolls off his tongue. “I’m waiting.”

It’s hard to speak, like the words are stuck in your chest. You lick your dry lips, casting a nervous glance around the phone store.

“I want to talk.”

“Yes, Honey. You said that already.”

“I—I want you to stop hurting people. You have to stop, Andy!” The phone trembles in your clammy hands as you readjust your grip on it. Ari is still asleep—or at least, he had been when you’d crept out from underneath his arm after he’d fallen asleep. Otherwise, he’d surely have stopped you. From across the counter, the employee gives you a frustrated glare. It’s almost closing time, and you don’t exactly have spare minutes to skip around the point. You’d also promised her a sale—which you absolutely were not going to follow through on either.

“You know why I’m hurting people.” He sounds like he’s going to say something else, but the grainy sound of an infant’s cry derails him. Your chest clenches, and tears gather in the corners of your narrowed eyes. “See? Look who you’re hurting, Honey. All this foolishness, and all you’ve managed to do is hurt everyone around you. You hurt our daughter.” Andy sighs. “And yourself. You’re quite good at that.”

You take a deep, trembling breath. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t true, that none of it is true. It doesn’t matter that he’ll think it’s his idea. It’s better. Better if he does.

“You’re right.” The words feel like glass on your tongue. “You’re right.” The sound of him clucking his tongue through the receiver is enough to raise your hackles. You want to hang up the phone, to press the end call button and leave. You want to say it’s your devotion to Dove that keeps you on the line, and mostly it is. But there’s the part of you that Andy owns—the part you expect he’ll own forever that believes him. “I… I’m sorry.” You hate that part of you that really is.

“I’m sorry for everything.” There’s no response, but you know he’s still there—you can hear Dove gurgling against his shoulder. “It’s my fault. I got scared, Andy. I—I hate it, without you.” You hear his thoughtful hmm thought the receiver.

“Then tell me where you are, Honey. So I can come and get you, and this whole ugly mess will be all finished.” You don’t want to.

“I—I will, but you have to promise me you won’t hurt anyone else. Promise me, Andy.”

“Tell me something, Sweetheart, who is Ari Levinson?”

You’d called Andy with the resolve to give him nothing. To placate and pacify him until he allowed you to see Dove again. What you weren’t prepared for was him knowing about Ari. Your chest tightens as his words ring again in your ears—Promise me you won’t go back. Promise me.

I’m sorry, Ari.

Your non-answer is enough to make Andy sigh.

“So you do know him.” The displeasure in his voice is easy enough to hear, and it fills you with cold dread. He’s trained you that way, made you hyper responsive to every one of his moods. You can’t help it now, your body tightening like a piano wire at the sound of his disappointment.

“I really thought you would keep better company, Honey. Dishonorable discharge, manslaughter, criminal intimidation…” Andy trails off, clucking his tongue. Your heart is pounding, your trembling, clammy hands gripping the phone so tightly your fingers hurt. Manslaughter? Intimidation? Ari hadn’t told you any of that—but you suppose you hadn’t really asked. You know Andy’s only doing this to make you unsure, to shake up your footing and keep you guessing while he gathers all the cards—and he’s good at it. He chuckles at your silence.

“Oh Honey. He didn’t tell you, did he?” Andy doesn’t even bother hiding his amusement. “I’m always telling you you can’t just trust anyone off the street, Honey. These people you’re with, they’re not good people.”

You’re not good people, you think savagely, though your resolve crumbles as you hear Dove’s sleepy wail through the phone. She needs you, and your whole body aches at the thought of being unable to fulfill that need. Andy clears his throat.

“I’m going to ask again, Honey, and I really want you to be honest with me when you answer. Who. Is. Ari. Levinson.”

“H-he just helped me, that’s all,” you mumble. “Ir—my contact, she… she knows him. I don’t really… I haven’t spent much time with him.” Andy’s always been good at knowing when you lie—and you wait anxiously to see if he’ll taste the mistruth in your words. The silent seconds tick by as you hear him quiet your daughter and sigh deeply.

“If I send Robert to get you, Honey, you’re coming home this time. Understand?”

“I-I want to come h-home.” The word feels like acid in your throat, but you want to swallow it back down anyway, so he can’t hear it. “I need to come home. I-I miss Jacob.” You do—that part, at least, is true.

“Honey I want that more than anything. It’s going to be good, better, Sweetheart. So much better than before.” His words do everything but reassure you. “You don’t know how good it feels to hear you say that.” You imagine him in his office, standing in front of the fireplace. It’s so clear you can almost see it, instead of the dingy used phone store. “He’ll be there tomorrow morning, early. Train station.”

“I-I’ll be there.”

“I know you will.”

“You promise if I do this—you won’t, you won’t hurt anyone else, right?” You hear the line clicking in his silence.

“I promise.”

—

The walk back to the shop takes you twice as long, probably because you keep stopping, staring ahead of you silently as your thoughts boil over and out of control. You’d promised Ari—and you’d known, even then, that you would break it. The sight of Irene’s face, his wound, it had all made your decision as easy as it could possibly be:

You were going to get Dove yourself.

You’d underestimated Andy’s connections, and two nights ago was proof enough of that. Pronge was proof of that. If you don’t go back now, you know they won’t survive another encounter. And Andy… you know he can spin it. Just like he had your disappearance. He wouldn’t let you go, he never would. He’d make it cost too much. It already cost too much, you think to yourself, clenching your fists angrily.

It feels like no matter what you do, no matter what you choose or how hard you fight, you just. Keep. Losing. You come to the dead end street where Zemo’s abandoned-but-not garage sits—but you walk right past it. You can’t go back yet, you don’t have your story straight. Hell, you don’t even have your own fucking head straight. You can’t face either of them right now.

How do I tell Ari?

You don’t want to think about how devastated he’ll be, how angry. You doubt he’ll understand—you can’t leave Dove with Andy, alone to twist her mind and shape her into God knew what. No, you can’t do that. You can’t even consider it. You didn’t want to leave Jacob either, but you knew you couldn’t manage two babies, not when Andy had barely let you escape with one. Ari will blame himself, you know that much already.

But knowing he’ll hate you is far better than knowing he was dead because of you.

It’s a gray day, and the off-again-on-again rain has managed to soak through your borrowed sweatshirt. Once you round the large, empty park at the far end of the neighborhood, you decide to head back. You don’t really feel much better, but you know you can’t stay out by yourself much longer. Once you round the corner and turn onto the block, you spot Ari standing outside, in front of the closed garage door bay.

“What are you doing? Where did you go?” He asks, frowning down at you worriedly. “You can’t just—” Ari stops himself, and blows out a harsh, frustrated breath. “Mouse, you know he isn’t going to stop.”

You look down at your feet. “I know.” He steers you back inside with his good hand.

“Let’s go over the plan again.” You can’t help but roll your eyes. He can’t see you, but somehow, Ari knows. “Hey. Come on, humor me.”

“Fine.” You lean against the dusty front counter as you watch him close the door and lock it behind him, lowering the security grate before bolting that, too. “Step one: Canada. Step two: new identity. Step three: Come back, get Dove.” You know this is what they want, what they say is best, safest.

And you know they’re right, it is what’s safest—for you.

Andy has a long memory—and his patience exceeds that of a fucking saint. He’d waited eight years for you. You don’t want to know how long he’s willing to wait to put another bullet in Ari. And somehow, you know that if he comes to do it himself, he won’t miss.

“Good. I know it’s hard right now. But I promise you, I will be with you every single step of the way, okay? We are not giving up on Dove.” Ari cups your chin with a tenderness that brings burning tears to your eyes. You blink them back, burying your face against his chest.

“I know.” The rough fabric of his sling against your cheek strengthens your resolve, though. “Thanks, Ari.”

“You’re welcome.” He kisses the top of your head. “Not the biggest fan of Quebec but Montreal is nice. Maybe we’ll go there, first.” Andy’s voice echoes unpleasantly in your head. Dishonorable discharge. Manslaughter. Ari’s laughter falters. “What’s wrong, Mouse?”

“N-nothing.” You shake your head, attempting to clear it of the ghosts Andy had put in it. “Did you go to Montreal while you were in the army?” You ask, and his expression darkens, just a little.

“No. After, actually. After I left.” The why hangs unspoken in the air between you, and you hesitate to breathe it into existence yourself, no matter how desperate the desire. “I told you about my sister. Her husband.” He sighs. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t alright. When they died. I’m probably still not, but it… I was angry. I wanted to kill him, Mouse. I wanted to hurt him like he hurt them and I wanted him to know why.”

“Did you?”Ari doesn’t look proud. He looks… sad. Like he doesn’t want you to know, like he’d rather lie instead of letting a single shred of the truth pass his lips in this moment. But Ari isn’t a liar, you’ve learned that well enough.

“Yes.” He’s looking at you but his eyes are so far away that you know he isn’t, really. You don’t know what he’s seeing, but you know it isn’t you. “I did. I know I should regret it—what I did. But I couldn’t. I can’t.” You aren’t afraid of him, even though perhaps, you know you probably should be. And yet, even amidst his confessions, all you feel is safe.

So safe.

“I went to Montreal after that.”

You don’t know what else to say, but you wrap your arms around him, the tips of your fingers barely touching around his broad back. It’s the only thing you can think to give him in this moment. Words may fall short, and you know that he will dwell on them tomorrow when you’re gone, dissect them with the same stubborn diligence he shows you at every opportunity. But this, this he won’t be able to deny, to spin.

Ari hums, squeezing you affectionately.

“Mind if I change the subject now, Mouse?” He asks, sighing the words into your hair. “Besides, if we stay out much longer, Irene’s liable to come looking for us.”

“Too late.” Her irritated voice makes you jump. “Where did you get off to?”You swallow thickly, hoping Ari doesn’t hear it.

“I just took a walk.” In the beat of silence before Irene’s response, you can practically hear her roll her eyes. You turn to see her doing just that, and you wonder briefly if your powers of prophecy might lend themselves to something more useful. She jerks her head toward the office.

“Well, walk yourself in here a minute, would you? We’ve got to get these tickets sorted.” Ari snorts with laughter. “That was good, right?” She grins, carding a hand through her silver-blonde hair. Irene hasn’t been nearly as forthcoming as Ari with information—like she almost doesn’t want to know you, or like she’s afraid to get close. The disapproving look she fixes Ari with only further substantiates your theory.

Reluctantly, you follow Irene inside.

—

Andy takes a long, slow sip of his scotch, holding the liquor on his tongue before swallowing. The ice clinks gently against the glass, and after a moment, he sets it down to ponder the object in his other hand.

Your ring is beautiful—a classic marquis cut diamond, flanked by alternating long and short baguette cuts. It fit you perfectly—he’d had it made for you, so of course it had. Large enough that other women made a fuss over it whenever they saw it, but still classy, not ostentatious.

You’d left it on the dresser, next to the ankle monitor you managed to slip off without tripping the alarm. Andy’s lip curls, and he downs another mouthful.

Let’s see her take off a goddamn chip.

The sound of tiny footsteps outside his office door makes Andy turn, just in time to see Jacob poke his head around the doorframe. He’s nearly four now, and he can reach the handle without standing on the tips of his toes, now.

“Hey, bud. What is it? You know you’re supposed to be in bed.” Jacob’s lip trembles.

“Daddy, I had bad dream,” he replies shakily, rubbing his watery eyes with the back of his chubby hand. “Went for mommy but she not there.”

It takes everything Andy has not to blame you, but he swallows the urge. You can’t help it—you don’t have his vision, his foresight. You don’t see how much he needs you, how great you could be together if you would just let him lead you. He’d tried to replace you with Laurie, and look how that had turned out. No, Andy had already tried back-up plans B, C, and D when what he really needed was just to try A one more time.

“Daddy’s sorry to hear that, Jake. Would you like to come sit with me?” He nods, sniffling. Andy hoists his toddler up onto his lap, rubbing his back with a gentle hand. “What was the dream about?”

“The bad-glasses-man.” Jacob says seriously, turning his glassy, terrified eyes to his father. Andy’s face remains passive, but inwardly he rages. Pronge’s comings and goings are easy enough to hide from the rogue paparazzi and the plain-clothes cops he knows are lurking just beyond the property gate, but significantly less so from his son, apparently.

“Who’s the glasses man?” He knows the answer, but he needs the confirmation. The question alone is enough to upset him, and Jacob begins to fret, his eyes watering as he shakes his head.

“I don’t like him. His face is red.”

The night he’d brought Dove back, he’d been practically covered in blood—the only clean thing was the goddamn baby. Andy didn’t ask where the hired muscle was, and Robert did not volunteer the information.

“You know that was a dream, don’t you, tough guy?” Andy says, wiping the tears from his son’s chubby cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “When you go to sleep, you have dreams. And what we see in our dreams isn’t real, remember?”

“I ‘member, daddy.” Jacob still looks rather upset, though, and Andy wonders what else he hasn’t managed to hide, what other loose ends he hasn’t managed to tuck. “Him’s scary.”

He’d been planning of disposing of Pronge anyway—passing along “new” evidence to his friends in the DA’s office in Florida would be more than enough to have a needle in his arm before he could so much as kick dirt at Andrew Barber’s pristine legacy.

“It’s okay to be scared, Bud. Thanks for coming to see me—that’s what dads are for.”

“And moms.” Jacob adds seriously, and Andy smiles and nods in agreement though his free hand clenches against the seat where his son can’t quite see it.

“And moms.”

—

Dinner is takeout, with Ari meeting the delivery driver three blocks away, just to be safe. You can feel Irene’s eyes on you the whole time he’s gone. You wonder if maybe she knows somehow, if she’s figured out your plan just from plain experience and observation. Her face is still a mess of bruising, but the swelling around her eye has gone down enough for her to squint out of it, which is what she’s currently doing as she looks at you. Her nose is still red and angry, the bruised, veiny skin peeking out around the bandage and splint—Pronge had broken it.

“I’m sorry.” You feel compelled to apologize again—after all, you’re responsible. Sure, Robert had been the one to break it, but you feel like you might as well have driven your own fist into her face for all the difference it made. “I didn’t know Andy would… that he would call someone like that.” You’d thought you knew Andy, that you understood him, who he was. And that had been why you’d let him back in.

But you hadn’t, you see that now. Not even a little bit.

Irene snorts. “Robert’s a parasite. I’m not surprised he’s got himself mixed up with a big fish like Andrew Barber.” She crosses her arms. “He’s always had a talent for finding garbage.”

“You know him?” You ask, grimacing. Irene’s scowl deepens with regret, and she looks away. She’s by no means a small woman, broad shouldered and tall—but she looks somehow diminished.

“S-sorry, I, I shouldn’t pry. I—I know we’re supposed to keep the interpersonal stuff to a minimum—” You ramble apologetically to fill the awkward space your question has left, but Irene cuts you off.

“He was my first partner. Before lover-boy,” she adds, snorting. Your cheeks heat. You can’t stop your face from contorting in confusion. “He was my transporter, till he turned one of my girls back over to her husband.” She looks down at her hands. “My last girl, before, well, you.” Irene’s laugh is dry, but not bitter.

“I didn’t know I was your one last job,” you reply. “Where’d you meet Pronge?”

“What can I say? Your email was very convincing.” Your chest hurts at this, bad. You want to tell her, tell her everything, your phone call with Andy, your deal—but you don’t. She’ll only try to stop you. She’s already suspicious of you, you know—you can’t be the first to think about going back, to weigh the pros and cons and find the latter holds more water. Instead, you watch her tug the chain out from beneath her collar with her thumb.

“Military. Same place I met Ari,” she adds.

“You were all there together?” You ask incredulously, and she actually laughs, shaking her head. “In the army?”

“No, no. Six degrees of separation, type thing.” The chain link rattles as Ari pulls it up, and you turn to watch him duck underneath before lowering it back down and snapping the padlock into place to keep it shut. “Didn’t even know this prick till I needed an east coast cover.” She jerks her thumb at him as he sighs, shaking his head.

“Talking about me again, ladies?” He says, putting the bag down heavily on the counter. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Irene retorts. “And we weren’t Army.” She scrunches up her nose with distaste. “That, there, darlin’,” she points at Ari. “Is a Marine.” She turns her accusatory finger back on herself. “Marine.”

You offer her a wry smile. “I’m not sure what the difference is, but—” you hold your hands up placatingly as her face screws up with offense. “I do believe you that there is a difference.”

“Damn right.”

Ari’s hand finds the small of your back as he passes by behind you, and you don’t jump at his presence.

“There’s not really that much of a difference.” He murmurs cheekily, and you stifle a giggle, biting your lip. “Just so you know.” Ari’s lips graze the shell of your ear, and your whole face goes hot.

“I heard that, asshole,” she snaps, jabbing her finger in Ari’s direction again. “There is.” Irene eats alone, waving her hand and shaking her head as she shovels food out onto her plate. “No, no. I need time away from you two. No offense.”

“None taken.” Ari replies, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “You’re in a shit mood anyway.” You don’t have to see Irene flipping him off to know it’s happening, but you peek over your shoulder anyway, and snicker with laughter as she proudly presents her middle finger. Ari ignores her.

You eat in companionable silence, before Ari, elbows you gently.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, and your chest fills with that too-familiar-ache. “Really?”

“I’m fine.” You don’t know if he believes you, but he doesn’t ask again. Instead, he does something else entirely—Ari dotes on you. He reminds you to finish your food when you push it away half-eaten. If not for me, then for Dove, Mouse. Can’t make milk for her if you’re starving. And when you’re done, he takes your plate, tossing it in the trash for you. You’re still wired, however, electricity running under your skin as the hours wind down. It’s all you can do not to pace.

Andy had taught you that you couldn’t have your cake and eat it too—but goddamn do you want to. You want your daughter, and you want Ari. It feels unfair that you can’t, mostly because it is. Andy gets to have it all. Do it all, and what do you get? To crawl back to him on your belly because he’s still. Fucking. Winning.

Ari places a hand on your thigh, stilling it. You hadn’t even realized you’d been bouncing it nervously, staring off into space. His concern cuts through the noise of your anxiety.

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy.” He grasps your hands. You sigh.

“I know.” You hang your head. “I—I can’t stop thinking about Dove,” you admit, hanging your head. “How she needs me…” Ari squeezes your hands together, his larger ones enveloping them.

“You need you.” He strokes the backs of your hands softly with his thumb. “You realize that, don’t you, Mouse?” You try to resist when he tucks a finger underneath your chin to make sure you’re looking at him, and when you do, you find his eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Please tell me you understand.”

“I understand.”

You want to—but you don’t even know who you are anymore. Without Dove, you feel adrift; she’d been your anchor, your purpose and drive. You needed to protect her, to get her away from Andy and keep her safe and whole and good. You reasoned you could fix yourself after, duct tape was good enough for you. But now that he has her again and your plan lies in ruins around you, you don’t even know what you’re doing this for. The various splintered pieces of you held in place by thin tape are falling apart again, and you don’t have another way to make them stay together.

When Ari pulls you to his chest you go willingly, tucking yourself against his chest. He smells like pine musk and rain and just a hint of sweat, and you bury your nose in the folds of his shirt. You want to remember him, remember every moment you’d spent with him because they were precious. Of course only you realize it as you stand upon the precipice of never seeing him again, but you can’t change that now. You’re okay with it, trading the feeling of Ari’s solid body against yours, the surety of his presence, for knowing he’ll get to keep breathing.

He’s worth that to you.

Ari presses a kiss into your hair.

“I fucking swear I will do everything in my power to make sure that he never hurts either of you again.” It breaks your heart to know that no matter how hard he tries, Ari will never be able to keep that promise.

I think I love you. “Thank you.” I’m sorry.

“Let’s get some rest.”

You swallow against the tide of words that threaten to come crashing out of your mouth, and nod instead. He leads you back to the makeshift bedroom, and climbs into the cot beside you. He holds you, tucking your head beneath his chin as, for the last time, you fall asleep beside Ari Levinson.

—

“You look like shit.” Pronge’s voice is mocking. You glower at him from across the empty parking lot, but you don’t get any closer. You hadn’t been waiting there long when the sleek black car had pulled into the lot, with Pronge oozing out of the driver’s side door. “What? You get cold feet all of a sudden?” He doesn’t have to yell to be heard—there’s no traffic, no people. The train station is practically a ghost-town at this hour, so there’s no one to overhear, either.

“No.” You narrow your eyes at him, before reluctantly stepping forward. You see no reason not to be honest. “I just hate you.” He grins at your admission.

“Happy to see you too, Sweetcheeks.” Pronge throws open the door to the black sedan next to him, and jerks his thumb at the back seat. “Now get in. Your hubby’s eagerly waiting for you a three hour drive back to fucking Boston.” He sneers. “What, you deaf too? I said move it.”

You’re halfway across the lot when the sound of your name makes your eyes widen. You turn, and behind you is Irene, leaning against the gate as she pants. Your own eyes widen with panic—she’s not supposed to be here. You swear she’d been sleeping not forty-five minutes ago, though the steady rise and fall of her chest in the dark had been your only indication. Ari doesn’t seem to be with her though, and you wonder if she’d rushed here straight out of bed—she isn’t wearing any of her gear, and the knife you know she keeps in her belt is nowhere to be seen.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Irene looks from you to Pronge and then back again. Your chest aches as the realization crosses her face, betrayal settling in soon after. “You can’t do this.”

“Oh but this is delicious,” Pronge drawls, stepping around the open door. His greasy hair hangs limply into his face. “She’s going home to daddy.”

“The fuck you are,” Irene retorts. “You know you can’t.” She isn’t even talking to Pronge anymore, just you. “You can drink poison knowing it’s poison, but you’ll still die. Andy is never going to let you go, you know that. You told me what it was like in the basement. It’s going to be ten times as bad if he gets his hands on you again.” Irene fixes you with a pleading, earnest look. “Please—”

You’ve heard gunshots before—plenty of times, now—but this doesn’t sound like one. It’s why you don’t understand it when Irene’s chest erupts in a spray of dark, warm red. You can smell it, like burned, raw meat. It dribbles out of her mouth as she stumbles forward and then falls down onto the dark pavement, twitching. You clutch at your face with your hands as the scream that had built up in your chest emerges as a wheeze.

You look at Robert, watching with horror as he stows a pistol with a long silencer attached back into his filthy jacket. The blacktop is slick with morning dew as you race across it, slipping and skidding until you reach her.

“Help me!” Irene is gasping and twitching, her eyes rolling wildly as you push her onto her back, pushing your trembling hands against the hole in her chest. “What-what do I-I don’t know what to do, I—” Jerkily, she lifts a hand to your face, smearing your cheek with her blood.

“R-ru-un.” She coughs up more red, darker, thicker. You sob as you attempt again to staunch the bleeding. It doesn’t help, though, bubbling up out of the wound and over your hands to pool on the ground beneath you.

“No, no, please, he promised, he promised he—he promised,” you babble uselessly as she spasms again and then goes completely still, her eyes locked on the brightening sky above you. “He promised. Andy, he promised.” You look at Robert as Irene’s head falls back against the pavement.

“I guess there’s one cherry that Barber didn't pop.” He is on you in an instant, closing the gap between you with a few careful steps. You can’t move, though, can’t think as his wiry fingers dig into the meat of your shoulder, dragging you to your feet. Irene needs help, she needs—

“No, no, I, I have to help her, I—” You’re babbling uselessly as he shoves you into the back seat, and when you go for the handles on the doors, nothing happens. “Let me—let me out! No, no, he promised, and—” Pronge ignores your wailing, sliding in behind the wheel and starting the car. If anything, he’s enjoying it, grinning as you sob and beat against the windows with bloodstained hands. You cry and scream until your throat is raw, watching her body disappear, eaten by the cityscape as you move away through it.

After a while, you curl in on yourself, wrapping your arms around your knees and laying down on the cool, clean leather.

He promised.

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youthereader · 1 year

Text

Andy bends you over his desk.

pairing: andy barber (defending jacob) x assistant fem!reader

summary: 1.9k words. andy reprimands you for wearing an inappropriate skirt at work.

rating: e; smut, barebacking, semi-public sex, some praise kink, boss-employee relationship, spanking

a/n: not the usual here but this idea got the best of me.

You consider your working relationship with Andy to be a friendly one. You talk about the weather, some sports, a restaurant opening in town. It’s light and fun and it’s probably the best job you’ve ever had, being his assistant.

Because of this, you care a lot about him on a deeper level, too, and it probably crosses into unprofessionalism, but it doesn’t hurt anyone since nobody knows you’re harboring a huge crush on him. And it makes sense! He’s so handsome, and so smart without being condescending, something you’re not used to. Your Hinge dates are downright depressing at times because you keep comparing everyone of them to your boss. You think to yourself, why can’t they be more like Andy?

It's only natural to daydream about him taking you out instead of those disappointing guys, and it’s harmless fun. There was the one time he caught you looking at him when you sat by his side in a meeting, your pen poised to take notes, and he winked at you. It made you feel all warm and giggly, your cheeks flushing as you pressed your lips together to smother your mirth.

You start buying new clothes, justifying them as work purchases, knowing you’re picking things you hope Andy will appreciate. The most daring is a short leather skirt with a slit that comes up mid-thigh, and you specifically choose to wear it on a day you know Andy plans to dedicate to being in the office, his paperwork having got away from him. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to grab his attention, and then you’ll open your app at the end of the day to find someone more realistic, more tangible, and then ride the high of confidence into the weekend. It’s a win-win situation.

You rise from your desk as he walks in, greeting him with coffee, and his eyes drop immediately to your legs when he picks up his Styrofoam cup. He blinks twice, his response delayed.

“Good morning.”

He glances at his watch, muttering a curse word before he departs. It’s not what you hoped for, but it’s not nothing, either. You get back to your computer and answer the phone. Andy doesn’t leave for a couple hours and when he reappears, he’s on his cell phone, distracted, barely looking at you.

Maybe he’s not a leg guy? Maybe he just doesn’t think you’re cute?

You try not to feel let down by this, plodding along, until he comes back a bit before noon, your eyes meeting as he passes through.

“Any messages?”

“Yes,” you reply, retrieving your notepad. “I told them you’d call them back. Also, your dentist keeps playing phone tag-”

He lets out a huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “Uh, yeah. Please call Dr. Fisher back and apologize to her. I’m sure she’ll have a lot to say when I finally see her.”

“Plaque not top of your priorities?” you tease, sinking back into your chair, swivelling in it to face your monitor once more.

You catch his eyes following your movements, and you’re suddenly far more aware of your skin. You pick up the phone receiver.

“Just call her back, please,” he says, not matching your tone.

He sounds almost impatient with you, which has never happened before. You nod, going quiet. You do as you’re told, and the receptionist sighs on the other end of the line, rescheduling for you yet again.

“There’s a cancellation fee.”

“Yes, he is aware,” you reply. “And he sends his apologies.”

“Tell him it’s not good enough.”

You won’t do any such thing; he’d fire you for sticking your nose in his business like that. Frankly, it’s not up to anyone to pass judgement on Andy, knowing what he’d been through in the past few years. If his working life took over everything for him to cope with all the rest, that makes a lot of sense to you.

“Uh-huh.”

When you hang up, you sigh, glancing at the calendar. He doesn’t have many spaces for anything other than meetings. You hope he has some time for himself, even if it’s just a couple hours a day. You remind yourself it’s outside of your control, and more importantly, not relevant to you.

The phone rings and you glance at the digital display, seeing it’s Andy. You pick up.

“Yes?”

“I need to speak to you before you go to lunch.”

“Sure,” you reply, and you hang up, stomach suddenly full of knots.

With how he snapped at you earlier, you mind goes straight to the worst possible outcome – dismissal. It seems a little extreme, but he’s never been so… mean to you. But maybe you’re being paranoid, or maybe… maybe you’re being sensitive, and he didn’t snap at all. Still, he wasn’t warm as he usually was when he saw you. You thought he liked having you as his assistant.

You walk over to his door, wiping your sweaty hands on your skirt before opening it and slipping inside. Your head turned to shut it, you hear him say:

“Please lock that.”

You oblige, and then glance over to his desk, seeing him resting on the edge of it, arms crossed. His jaw tenses, his eyes falling to your skirt.

“What did you need, sir?” you ask, placing your hands behind your back.

“We’ve got an issue,” he says.

You swallow. “Oh? What’s happened?”

Sometimes a client is pricklier than others. Or something high profile comes through the firm and you have to be aware of press sniffing around. You don’t expect what comes out of Andy’s mouth next.

“It’s your skirt.”

“Oh, God,” you say, and you flush. “Yeah… it’s a little much. I’m sorry—”

He puts up a hand, but you keep going.

“I can go home and change, now, on my break. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “No, that won’t do.”

Your heart sinks. He’s going to fire you over your outfit? That has to be discrimination. You gape.

“Andy…”

He pushes off his desk and you freeze. Andy strides right up to you and takes hold of your chin between his thumb and forefinger, eyes boring into yours.

“You think you can wear something like that and there not be any consequences? I can practically see up your skirt.”

You can’t speak. Your heart hammers, her whole face and neck burning with shame.

He moves forward, hips on yours and you stumble backwards, his other hand grabbing your hip to steady you. Underneath the fear and humiliation, you know he’s getting you wet by touching you like this, as if he’s entitled to do so.

His thigh fits between your knees and he searches your face, eyes narrowing.

“Well? What have you got to say for yourself? You got my attention. Is that what you wanted?”

“I…” You gape some more, useless. “I-I did want that. I wanted you to look at me. But it’s not appropriate, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s really not.”

He kisses you, hard, open-mouthed and hungry. You gasp, his tongue pressing into your mouth to tangle with yours. Your hands grip his shirt sleeves and you close your eyes, kissing him back, riding the wave. He still holds your face, but by your jaw, his lips moving down to kiss your neck, his short beard grazing your skin.

“Andy…”

You moan his name and he chuckles, pressing his hard-on against your thigh. He’s huge. You’d bet your life on that. His hands rove your body, squeezing your tits, your hips, your ass… you whimper as he sucks at your skin, grinding against you.

“Come here.”

You obey, tugged along to the desk. He pushes you in front of him, bending you at the waist.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and you look over your shoulder at him, watching as he stares at your ass in the leather skirt.

He pushes it up, hand coming down with a sharp slap to your right ass cheek. Of course, you couldn’t just wear any underwear with this skirt – your thong is all that covers you there, and he grabs it, tugging it tight.

“Fuck…”

“Andy,” you say, and he looks at you, chest giving a heave.

“Can’t wander around in that tiny black skirt and then act surprised when I want to fuck you-”

You bite your lip, canting your hips at his words, your ass lifting. He spanks you again, and you hope no-one hears that, the two slaps, or your bitten off moans.

He glances down. “Spread your legs. Fuck… you’re so wet.”

He undoes his belt, then his fly, taking out his cock. He tugs on himself as you anticipate the stretch of him. You nod, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re so cute when you’re needy.”

He takes hold of you by the neck, angling you for a filthy kiss, his other hand petting your behind, before slipping down between your cheeks to glide through your wetness. You moan into his mouth, his fingers spreading your arousal around, teasing your clit for a steady minute, and you’re whimpering for him.

“Did you wear this just for me?” he whispers, and you nod. He rocks his cock up against you. “Does that mean this is all mine now?”

He means your cunt. He plays with your clit, dips his fingers into you, riling you up. These are the consequences he was talking about.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “It’s all yours.”

He fills you and you both gasp. He holds your shoulder, letting you fall forward onto his desk, rocking back and forth in shallow thrusts. The stretch makes you tremble, slick with want. Your nails scratch at the heavy wood when he picks up speed, hips hitting your ass, your thong stretched to the side.

You don’t know how much you can take, your feet lifting out of your shoes so you stand on tiptoes as he drives into you. All you can feel is how he stretches you to perfection, your mouth drooling from pleasure.

“Oh, fuck…”

Your thong snaps as his hands take hold of your hips, and he utterly wrecks you, skin slapping together as the world slips away. How are you meant to walk after this? Hang on – how are you meant to look Andy in the eye after this?

“Andy, Andy, Andy…”

You’re so close, you just need that little something, and you tense up, trying to muffle your moans in your arms… then you feel him find your clit again and rub, and you think you might burst into tears.

Your orgasm slams into you and your vision whitens, clenching around him as he fucks you through it.

“Good girl, that’s what I wanted,” he pants. “That’s what I wanted to feel.”

You feel something wet down your thighs and you realize you’ve squirted a little at the same time Andy does, and he huffs, close to the edge.

“Jesus, where have you been hiding?”

“Nowhere, I was at my desk,” you slur, and he laughs, breathless.

“You’re like a dream,” he praises, and then goes still, emptying into you. “So… fucking… cute.”

He sighs, hands coming up to pull you back, your next kisses more tender but still messy, the room reeking of sex now. You think of the carpets, the possible stains.

He keeps kissing you, stroking your cheek with his sweaty hand.

“After we clean up, do you wanna get some lunch together?” he whispers, and you nod, smiling lazily.

“I think we’re way past that, sir.”

His eyes sparkle with an unexpected fondness, before he kisses you again.

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you liked it. ❤️

#andy barber x reader #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x you #fem reader #chris evans fanfiction #andy barber #ficlet

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azulock · 9 months

Text

this has been sitting in my drafts for sooooo loooong, it's mostly born from how mean people can be in this fandom about poor Oli looking the way he does. I love his messy 'I don't have my life together' look, it's very relatable, but today we putting him under tha razor!

summary. when Oliver finds himself forced to get a clean shave for some important club event he tries to rope you into doing the work for him. and you do it, cause he is too charming and you can't resist spoiling this man

pairing. Oliver Aiku x reader

wordcount. 2,6k

warnings. some slight mention of nsfw stuff but veeeery slight, it's mostly domestic fluff, just pure distilled domesticity shot straight into your veins, you've been warned

helping hand.

"Really Oliver, you pestering me during work hours to do that for you?"

Giving one last hard stare at your screen, you groaned and swiveled you chair around to face the man currently breaking the peace in your office. With hair still damp from his shower, Oliver stood bare foot before you - a trail of wet footsteps clear behind him. God, you'd lost count of how many times you'd told him he'd end up sick if he kept doing that.

"Oh come on, it's not that big of a deal," he insisted, cutting off your thoughts, pouting as you fitted him with a steely gaze. "I neeeeed you."

You roll your eyes at his whiny antics - and complete disregard for your work life. It was almost funny to see a grown man pout like this, especially when you contrasted the silly expression with this statuesque of a man. You couldn't help but let your eyes roam free for a moment, taking in the sight of him. Water droplets still rolled down his strong torso, taking your gaze to the short hair trailing down his lower abs, to the point where his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips. Shit, he was diverting your attention.

"Oliver," you sigh, rubbing your eyes to try and exorcise the images stealing your focus, "you've been doing that by yourself your entire adult life, you don't need me."

"That's not true, it goes way better when you do it for me," Oliver whined again, and even in his husky tone, you could hear it, the begging, so shameless.

At this moment he looked every bit like a dog, a ragged mutt pleading for attention at his owner's feet. Hell, he was even trying to shoot you the best puppy eyes he could muster, pout returning to those pretty lips. You'd say it was ridiculous, but maybe it was the smell of soap or maybe the warmth emanating from his skin, but something was making you want to give in.

"That's nonsense," you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose as you tried to convince yourself to not let him sway you. "I'm not a barber, and you've been shaving your own damn self for years. I'm pretty sure you can keep your eternal stubble under control on your own."

"Well, I could," Oliver shrugged, remaining unfazed by the exasperation in your voice. "Though, this time I'm gonna have to shave it clean."

"What?" Suddenly, you were fully immersed in the topic, even though you felt like you'd fallen into a trap.

Oliver had to contain his smile when you suddenly went from nonchalant to interested. It was really cute. He knew you liked feeling the scruff around his face, which he always thought was absolutely endearing. Now, sadly, he'd have to part ways with it, albeit temporarily.

"You remember tomorrow's party? Well, the team's president is an old school kinda guy. He's gonna get pissed if he sees the team's captain shows up looking so unclean for an important event," he answers with a full body sigh, eyebrows arching high as he raises his shoulders.

"That's ridiculous," your words cut so dry that Oliver can't help but laugh at the barely contained disgust in your tone.

"Well, I think so too. But I like my position right now, if the old man wants me clean for the party, I can make the sacrifice," he answered with a wave of his hand, stepping closer to your chair before leaning in, using his hands to prop his body onto your armrests. "But it could be less painful if you helped me."

You sat in silence, staring him down for a long minute as he leaned in close, that charming smile never faltering. From this close, you could smell the conditioner on his hair and feel his breath on your skin. Shit, you could feel yourself falling for it. Rubbing a hand over your face, you slumped further down the chair, sighing as you went.

"Fine," you groaned, looking back up to his beaming face. "Go soak the soap and the brush, I'll be right there."

Closing the distance between you, Oliver met your lips with his in a short kiss before pulling back in a breath, his skin still damp and warm from the shower. "Already done that, I'll go get myself a chair."

You hummed as he got up, lifting your body heavily off of the chair after he'd disappeared into the hallway. You spoiled him too much, you were sure of it, but you guessed he had the same type of charm as a big dog who still believes they are lap sized. It was hard to say no to that.

Following the wet footsteps, you found yourself in your en suite bathroom, Oliver sitting on a high chair he'd taken from the kitchen counter. At least he'd left everything ready, so all you had left to do was commit the dismal crime of doing away with his stubble. A pity, you'd miss the feeling of it on your skin. For however many days the shave would last, that is.

Picking the plastic bowl of shaving soap, you started moving the barber brush in circular motions to begin lathering it up. Taking a step forward, you approached Oliver as your hands worked, shaking your head as he snaked an arm around your waist.

"You are spoiled," you mumbled, feeling him laugh as he looked at you both in the mirror, your gaze following his.

"Maybe," he hummed, "but I spoil you plenty too."

"Well, here we go I guess," you said with a chuckle, making him straighten to give you a better access to his face and neck.

When the soft brush touches his face Oliver hums, closing his eyes as you begin spreading the soap over his jaw. It felt nice, both the gentle smell of lemon grass and the feeling of having you taking care of him. Yeah, he was spoiled, he knew it, but could he really be blamed for liking being pampered?

Oliver was only human after all, and having to unwillingly part ways with his facial hair was not his favorite thing. So it only made sense that he'd try to squeeze whichever little joy he could from this situation. And having you do that for him was joy enough on his book. Between feeling the warmth coming from your body and the comfortable silence that had settled, he could almost forget he was being forced to do this.

Opening his eyes he found your face close to his, gaze set in concentration as you moved the brush around his neck, finishing lathering it up. It was beautiful, really, sometimes you'd focus on something so much you wouldn't even see the things around you. Cute, and he couldn't resist the urge to take advantage of that, lowering his lips to meet yours in a quick peck.

"Oliver," you exclaimed as he laughed, "you gotta cooperate, you bastard. Now I got soap on my face," you grunted, looking at the mirror and then back to him.

"Just a little bit," he chuckled, reaching out to clean your face with his hand as you sneered at him.

You shook your head and turned to put the brush back, watching from the mirror as he still chuckled at you. Pestering you when you were focused never seemed to stop amusing him. And to boot, you couldn't deny there was something infuriatingly endearing about it. Or maybe you were just blinded by the casual charm of his smile - again.

Picking up the safety razor, you turn back to him again. "Now, you better behave if you don't wanna have to clean your blood off of the white floor."

"So mean," Oliver pouts before smiling that heart shattering smile again. "Alright, I'm in your hands then."

You roll your eyes as he straightens up, hands gripping the sides of the chair. When the blade first meets his face you feel Oliver shiver at the cold touch of the metal, but as quick as it happens, it's gone. You move your wrist and the blade glides down his warm skin in short strokes, following the grain of the hair on his stubble. Oh, it's gonna be so sad to see it gone. Especially knowing how a good part of Oliver's appeal came from how he looked at least a little like a mess. You couldn't even recall the face of his club's president, but you now hated the old man.

There is ease in the silence that settles as you carefully work the sharp blade along his face and neck. Only the rough sound of metal scraping against the hair and skin fills the bathroom as an oddly well-behaved Oliver sits in stillness. It feels almost suspicious, even, but you guessed he had no interest in showing up to the party with a cut on his face. Not that you believed even that could do much harm to his good looks.

When that first pass is done you turn to the sink and wash the razor before picking up the brush start the cycle and lather his face again. Though, just as you turn back he catches you off guard, forward and capturing your lips in a quick kiss - but he almost topples his chair over in the process. Desperately you steady him up, pushing his large frame back by his shoulders.

For a moment there the scare takes the best of you, brows furrowing in a scowl, ready to chastise Oliver for the stupidy. But then he starts laughing, the warm and husky sound enveloping you as they echo off the walls, breaking your defenses. You laugh along, slapping his shoulder but leaning against him for a short moment. Sometimes he could be an idiot, but that too was part of the appeal.

Once you both recover you go back to your work, lathering his face, putting the brush back in place, picking up the razor, and bringing it to touch his face. This time you move it cross grain, once more enjoying the sound of the metal moving over his skin. It's all peaceful, for at least half of the process until Oliver grows bored, his large hand finding your bare leg, fingers traveling over the back of your thigh until they reach the hem of your shorts.

You grunt in warning and he only hums quietly in what sounded like a mocking acknowledgment. Oliver disregards your death glare completely, his palm touching your thigh, rough fingers massaging your skin as they move. Even then he doesn't stay put, hand traveling up and groping your ass, kneading the flesh under your shorts just as your reach his neck. For a moment you consider giving into the desire to leave just a little gash on his skin, but you manage to resist.

Just as you try to turn back again he he uses the hand on your ass to pull you closer in. You don't even have time to protest as his lips crash against yours - and you can already notice the strangeness of not feeling his stubble. Still, he doesn't give you much time to think on it, tongue slipping past your lips and exploring the wet insides of your mouth. He tastes like coffee, and you can't help but let the taste lure you in, the sensations enveloping you, warmth rising in your face until then it's gone.

His lips part from yours with a quick peck and you are already missing the kiss - what a bastard, teasing you like that. You huff and shake your head when Oliver winks at you, slapping your ass as you turn around and repeat your previous motions of washing the razor and grabbing the brush again.

You lather his face, then throw the brush in the sink before picking up the razor and letting it touch his skin for a final pass, this time against the grain. Oliver hums when you lean in and it sends shivers down your spine, his hand finding your leg again but this time he just let it dance over your thigh absentmindedly. You find comfort in the warmth of his palm and in the ritualistic nature of this whole thing - it's a soothing type of repetitive task.

This time the blade hugs close to his skin, and when you get to his neck you can feel his steady pulse. Sitting so still, so calm, the beating of his heart feels strangely slow, yet heavy and powerful. You know it's the telltale sign of that athletic resistance and ungodly endurance, but the slow rhythm never ceases to seem almost eerie.

When you finish you run a hand over his face, feeling the smooth, still damp skin. It's strange, but you take solace in knowing it's temporary. Soon enough it'll be gone, though not without leaving Oliver itchy for at least a day, and you always found it funny how bothered he was by that. He smiles at you and you can feel it go straight between your legs - fuck, you are sure he did that on purpose.

But you don't give the pleasure of attention, instead turning around to rest the razor on the stone sink. You hear Oliver yawn from behind you, and watch from the mirror as he stretches as you pick a towel from the rack. Turning back to him you pat his face dry, and as if he wasn't already being spoiled enough, you rub the aftershave lotion on his skin. When it's all done Oliver climbs down from the chair and pulls you in by the waist, placing a soft kiss on your lips before you both turn to the mirror.

"There you go," you say, resting your hip against the sink as Oliver leans in, "how you feeling?"

"Like I'm seven years younger," he responds, touching his face with his free hand. "Which is a nightmare, actually," he pouts.

"Oh, come on, it's only temporary. You gonna be back to having the stubble and looking great again in just a few days."

"Hey," he grunts, squinting his eyes at you, "what do you mean by that? You talk like I'm not handsome anymore," he almost growls in a joking threat, a smile playing at his lips as he cages you against the stone counter, hands on each side of your body. "What's up with that, huh?"

You chuckle as Oliver says the question low in your ear right before assaulting your face with soft kisses. You laugh, grabbing at his shoulders as he snakes a hand around your waist. He's rubbing his face against yours and you can't help but notice how odd it is not to feel the stubble you'd grown so used to.

"Oliver," you laugh, dual colored eyes looking up at you as he peppers kisses over your neck, "this is so strange, your face is so smooth."

"Ah, but you gonna have to deal with it," you laugh as he rubs his face against yours almost like a cat before taking his lips to yours and placing a quick peck. "You gotta make up to me for saying something so mean."

"I've just done your shaving for you, ain't that enough?"

"Nah, I can think of something better."

He pulls you in closer, rubbing his pelvis against yours, letting you feel the large bulge under the the fabric of his sweatpants. Of course, he was like that, it didn't surprise you at all. But you guessed you could spoil him just a little bit more, as a reward for behaving so well even under such difficult circumstances. Yeah, he deserved a bit more pampering, why not?

now for a word from our sponsors: @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife

#oliver aiku x reader #aiku x reader #oliver aiku #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 1 month

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Haircut

Alex Blake x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: some innuendo, implied smut, gender presentation struggles, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.6k

Summary: You get a dramatic new haircut, and you're scared of what your girlfriend will think of it.

You sat awkwardly in the chair, tapping your foot, as the barber observed your hair from behind.

“All of it?!” they asked, raising their eyebrows at you. “You’re sure?”

You nodded quickly. “Every time I say I want it cut short, I end up with like a short bob or some other girly cut. I keep telling them I want it short, like a boy’s, but… that’s never what I end up with.”

The barber nodded. “I feel you. So…” They moved forward to frame your head. “I’m gonna take it in pretty tight on the sides and back with clippers, but I’m gonna leave you some length on top so you can fluff it up with product or style it up front like bangs, that kind of thing. Sound good?”

“Definitely,” you confirmed, smiling quickly. “That sounds great.”

You took a deep breath and looked in the mirror as they draped the cape over you and clipped it at the back of your neck. You heard the clippers buzz to life and met the barber’s eyes in the mirror.

“Ready?” they asked, holding them just an inch from your head.

“Do it.”

And that was it. Years of long hair, gone. You felt both giddy and terrified. On the one hand, you felt more and more yourself watching the hair come off your head. But on the other hand, it was a big change in your appearance. What would Alex think?

She always told you she didn’t care what you did with your hair but, well, you’d never done this. And then an awful thought struck you: did people play with short hair? You hated the feeling of your hair against the back of your neck, hated it getting caught, getting in the way, but you loved the feeling of Alex playing with your hair. Loved it when she’d run her hands through it and scratch her fingernails against your scalp. It was enough to put you to sleep some nights.

The barber touched up the lines of your sideburns and the fade at the back of your head, trimming the top so it laid just perfectly over your head. You’d never been to a barber shop before, but you’d been so frustrated by the girlishness of the salons, you finally caved and found a queer-friendly barber shop here in DC. You’d had high hopes that someone at a barber shop would listen to what you really wanted with your hair, not just what they thought you should want. And from the looks of things, your hopes were being validated.

“The cut comes with a hot towel shave, if you want,” the barber said as they finished up.

“Oh, uh…” you stumbled. “I mean, I don’t have a beard.”

“For the back of your head and neck?” the barber clarified, smiling a little.

You blushed, embarrassed not to understand the lingo of the barber shop.

“Um, yeah, sure,” you said, bobbing your head. “That’d be great.”

You wished you could bottle up the experience–the refreshing warmth of the towel, the cool brush of cream, the way the back of your head felt perfect afterward. And you did bottle it up in your mind to tell Alex. You wanted her to know how great the hot towel shave was, how much girls were missing out on.

When the barber spun you around in your chair, when you could finally run your hands over the soft, shaved down at the back and sides of your head, you smiled wide, holding your hands at your side so you wouldn’t stim too obviously.

You beamed. “It’s perfect! Thank you so much!”

You tipped the barber generously and made another appointment; apparently with hair this short, you needed to get it cut every month.

Now to wait for Alex. You didn’t know why you were so nervous. You loved Alex and she loved you. You tried to put yourself in her shoes. If Alex cut all her hair off, would you still love her? The answer was of course but also… you didn’t know that Alex would seem like herself without her long hair. It seemed like a part of her. You’d support if she wanted to cut it, of course, but it might take some getting used to. Maybe your hair would take Alex some time to get used to as well. If that was the worst thing that happened, you supposed you could live with it.

You’d been living with Alex for a little over two months now and, for the most part, had loved it. But you weren’t used to sharing your space or so much of your time. You loved having Alex around, of course you did, but it was hard learning not to be performative with her. With most people, even Alex to a certain extent, you felt like you were performing personhood, like if you said the right things and acted the right way, people would like you. You’d lowered your guard enough around Alex to know that she liked the not-so-palatable parts of you, as well, but it had taken a long time for you to let your walls down.

For the first few weeks you’d exhausted yourself trying to make conversation all the time, trying to behave the way you did on a date 24/7. Until finally Alex had put down her book one evening, taken your face in her hands, and said, “Darling girl, I am happy to hear whatever you have to say, but if you don’t want to say anything, your presence is just as sweet as your voice.”

You’d curled up at her side and read and not said a word except “I love you” for the next several hours. It wasn’t that your voice had completely turned off in the relationship, rather that Alex had given you the freedom to use it naturally, which was better for both of you.

So when you heard the door open and shut that evening, your voice snuck down into your chest and you could tell, just from the feel of it, the weight, it was going to be hard to get it back out again tonight. You were just so used to making yourself palatable and you knew that, for a girl, hair like this wasn’t palatable. So much of the way you dressed, the way you acted, the way you were wasn’t palatable to most people. Alex accepted so much of you… what if this was a step too far?

You pulled your sweatshirt hood over your head, hoping to hide what you’d changed for just a few more minutes.

“Hi, my darling girl,” Alex said, stretching as she put her go-bag down and kicked off her shoes. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes, even as your heart surged to see her, to have her back home. Your hands shook by your sides, and you knew it was irrational how terrified you were, but you couldn’t help it.

“Quiet day today?” she asked, sitting next to you on the couch. “You usually have so much to say when I get back from a trip.”

When you didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her, she frowned, starting to worry. She gently took your face in her hands and turned it toward her, eyebrows shooting up when she felt the short hairs at the side of your head.

“Hey,” she said softly. “What’s this?”

Alex slowly pulled the hood off your head and ran her hands along the shaved sides and back of your head. Her eyes were wide, and you couldn’t quite read them.

“You really cut your hair,” she observed, her fingers against your scalp feeling just as nice as they always did.

Your voice felt almost rusted as you forced it out, quiet and hoarse. “Do you like it?” You were scared to hear the answer.

Alex smiled, letting her fingers roam through your hair before grasping the sides of your head and kissing you, running her thumbs through your short, fuzzy sideburns.

“Sweet girl, I love it. It suits you so well.” She turned your head this way and that, as if to get a better look. “You look beautiful.” She pursed her lips, bending a little so you finally had to meet her eyes. “You look like you.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?” you whispered.

“No, darling,” she reassured you. “I don’t just say things. You know that.”

This time, you kissed her, though not very successfully–you couldn’t stop smiling.

When you pulled away, she grabbed your collar. “No, no, hang on!” she exclaimed. “I need a proper make-out. I want to run my hands through your hair some more. The texture is intoxicating.”

And you were happy to oblige, even happier to oblige given that Alex truly couldn’t keep her hands out of your hair, tracing patterns into the shaved down as your lips roamed her mouth, her neck, as you pushed her gently into the couch, your hands under her shirt against the soft, warm skin of her abdomen.

“Hey,” she protested, giggling, as your hands made their way to her chest. She brushed your bangs out of your face, looking at you with so much love you wondered how you ever could have doubted her. “Why don’t you take me to bed, darling?”

And you didn’t even need your voice for Alex to understand you, for her to see how much you loved her, how much it meant to you that she loved you for you. You clambered to your feet and held out your hand to help her up, pulling her to your side and kissing the bottom of her chin. And as you led her to the bedroom, there were no words needed.

#alex blake #alex blake x reader #alex blake x fem!reader #alex blake x autistic!reader #x autistic!reader #criminal minds #alex blake fanfic #criminal minds fanfic

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leafington · 2 months

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𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙖 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙘𝙪𝙩! 𝙘𝙪𝙩, 𝙘𝙪𝙩, 𝙘𝙪𝙩! - kento n.

content warning !! - blackfem!reader, nanami's charisma being sky high, culture shock (on nanami's end), fluff, not proofread, self-inserted barber experience (i get my lineups at home), ib an ugly fucking picture of the back of nanamis head and his barber clearly needs to be fired.

It's pushing thirty minutes that you've been gawking at the back of your husband's head. When he first got home and threw his stuff where they belonged, you knew something was wrong. You, as the supportive wife you are, came to his aid and stepped back seeing his grumpy expression.

"Be honest, how bad is it?"

Nanami did not want an honest answer because he's locked himself in the bathroom ever since because of the 'Who the fuck did your hair?' that escaped faster than your brain could register. You didn't mean it in a bad way, you were just upset due to some unlicensed prick who ruined your man's hair.

Uneven, cut horribly wrong, hairline crooked, he practically came home a different man and not in the good way. "Baby, it'll grow back." You console him, scrunching your face. He's never had a problem with his stylist until today, what made today different? Nanami shrugs off your hand originally positioned in his hair, his tone sour. "Not in three days time. How am I supposed to go to work like this?" You would call him dramatic but if you were in his shoes, you'd be mad too.

"Maybe you could wear a hat? Or like some sort of headband, scarf—" You list, replacing your touch to land on his back. "And is any of that appropriate for a professional workplace?" Shit, you're just making it worse, and the look on your face isn't helping.

Nanami's far more pissed now, you've been staring at it all day. He gets it, his cut is bad. He's beating himself up about it that he let it happen! He tries to forget about it, but suddenly there's a reflection of him everywhere in the house. To make matters significantly unfavorable, Gojo's laughter erupted from his phone later in the evening spouting all sorts of comparisons to his nasty do.

"YOU LOOK LIKE ANGELICA'S DOLL HAHAHAH." His loud exclamation gets cut off by the phone being inable to pick up how hard he's laughing. "STAR TREK CALLED, THEY NEED A NEW CAST MEMBERRR." It was almost sad to watch Nanami try to even muster up the ability to yell at him, Gojo isn't even calling him for his first purpose anymore.

His day has been everything stemming from the word rough. Nanami turned his back away from you like it was your fault (it was) in your shared bed. You tried googling solutions to his problem, nothing came up besides 'Quick tips on hair growth!' and '5 Easy Steps to Obtain Natural Hair Growth!', while drenching his hair in oil might do the trick, it wouldn't save him the embarrassment for his upcoming day at work.

Essentially, you forgot all about it when you opened up social media to mindlessly scroll for a bit. Coincidentally, a post from a close friend came up that showed off a client's hair he did. You liked it and scrolled once more before a thought crossed your mind.

"Ken?" You tap his shoulder lightly. "I think I can fix your..." You eyeball at his head in the dark, questioning if it can even be remotely related to hair. "problem." And you show him the short footage. Nanami skeptically looks between your phone and you, internally wondering if you're being genuine. "With all due respect, I understand you're trying to help, but I do not want that kind of style nor do I think it'll hold seeing as how different our hair textures are." A groan comes out shortly after rolling your eyes. "I'm not suggesting you get waves, Kento. I'm saying I could try to get you a booking there to at least attempt to save your head."

Seconds of silence pass, becoming a minute later, before Nanami heavily sighs and tosses his arm over his head. "And you trust him enough to where I won't end up bald?" He double-checks. "Yes. His wife does my hair for everything and I took my nephew there to get himself straight." Hesitantly, he throws a nod of confirmation, allowing you to message your friend to see if he could squeeze in an emergency booking for Nanami.

You weren't aware that you got a reply until the morning, luckily, your friend agreed to take him in whenever the two of you could come. After getting dressed and cleaning up a little, you shuffled through your purse to make sure you were prepared. Nanami, on the other hand, wore one of your silk pink bonnets on his head to hide the disaster beneath it.

It was a last resort, but whatever kept him satisfied.

The drive there wasn't long in your eyes, but for Nanami it was down right torture. He didn't know these people other than your friend who ran the barber shop, that and he's breaking the universal law of staying loyal to his standard barber—even if he'd never forgive him, he still felt bad. Having parked your car off to the side, your husband stood awkwardly when you tried to drag him inside despite his constant protesting, you had to promise him you'd take him out for bread later, bribing him like a little kid.

"Hey, Y/n! Long time no see." Your friend greets, permitting a side hug as additional welcome. He turns to Nanami wearing what he presumes is your bonnet, and fights off a chuckle. "And you must be her husband?" He goes for a dap, and to your shock, follows through, patting each other on the back. "I am, Y/n speaks quite much and highly of you." He raises an eyebrow at this and mutters something about you and your type for sticks in the mud. "Let's see the damage." The male prompts for Nanami to take the makeshift protectant off.

Collective 'Damn's' and hisses erupt in the small room, your friend even thinning his lips and coughing to hold back a cackle. A few barbers stopped what they were doing or snapped their attention back to their job, even some customers didn't even wanna look.

"Stop it. He's been pissy about it enough." You grimace, and your friend throws an arm around Nanami. "Don't worry, man. You're in good hands." He whisks Nanami off to his chair, grabbing an apron cape to put over him.

You, yourself, worry about Nanami's adaption to this new environment. The constant chatter of controversial topics, sports, things that bother them or don't understand. It's less impressive than sitting at his desk while a scheduled person comes in. From your spot across the room, he was surprisingly doing fine. They kept everything to a minimum seeing as you were present, but Nanami was actually getting along with everyone quite well! He bonded with your friend and his workers, discussions shifting like clockwork, weight lifted off your shoulders at this, feeling comfortable enough to finally acknowledge whatever kept blowing your phone up.

Nanami sat there for no longer than thirty minutes, paying his new friend a large wad and sending him off not only another firm dap but a decent style that didn't make him look dragged through the dirt. "You look good." You smile, running your fingers across his clean-cut gently. "I feel good." He lets you do as you please. "They were awfully talkative, not that it was a bad thing." He admits, slightly shaken from how much speaking he did. "I don't even think you talk that much to me." You tease, now gushing over his much better hairstyle.

#anime #anime and manga #animanga #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #black fem reader #this is so cute #nanami jjk #jjk nanami #kento nanami #idk if they have black barbers in japan but they gon have one today #nanami and his black wife core #xdinary heroes #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #x reader

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beardedmrbean · 8 months

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In a classic example of better late than never, a Federal Court in Canada ruled on Tuesday that Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau's invocation of The Emergencies Act in 2022, used to crush the largest and most peaceful protest in Canadian history, was "unreasonable," "unjustified," and "violated the fundamental freedoms" set out in Canada's constitution.

The case was brought to the court by a number of individual applicants as well as several Canadian civiil liberties groups, including the Canadian Constitution Foundation and the Canadian Civil Liberties Association. And in the decision, Federal Court Justice Richard Mosley expressed what every trucker and other participant in the trucker's Freedom Convoy knew to be true: There was no justification for granting the government powers that amounted to near Marshall Law over a protest that was 100 percent peaceful, with no violence or property damage committed—that is, until the Emergencies Act was passed, and the police trampled grandmothers under horses, fired tear gas canisters at journalists within point blank range, beat protesters down and smashed the windows of the truckers rigs, and generally deployed the type of violence that the government had knowingly falsely accused the truckers of engaging in.

The government also froze the bank accounts of truckers, seized donated funds, and shut down of the economic lives of hundreds of Canadian citizens, a draconian measure which shocked the world.

Every protester and trucker who took part in the Convoy knew that the government and it's bought and paid for media were lying to the public about the Freedom Convoy, and though it feels good to once again be proven correct, that doesn't change what happened. It also doesn't change the division in Canadian society which took place under COVID, and it remains to be seen if this ruling will put an end to the ongoing punishments of various Freedom Convoy protesters which continue to this day.

For example, the trial of Tamara Lich and Chris Barber, who emerged as public faces and leaders of the Ottawa portion of the Freedom Convoy, has now become the longest mischief trial in Canadian history. Finally getting underway in September of last year, the trial proceeded in fits and starts into December, and is set to resume in February.

Or take Guy Meisner, a trucker from Nova Scotia, was one of the first to be arrested and charged when the crackdown began after the Emergencies Act was invoked. He will be back in Ottawa near the end of February for the ninth time to face his "mischief" charges.

Then there is the case of Christine Decaire, a woman who protested in Ottawa and was charged by the police, who was acquitted last year; much like this ruling today, however, The Crown has decided to appeal her acquittal. To drag an innocent person back to court is the kind of grossly vindictive behavior on the part of the Trudeau Government that they have become well known for.

There are dozens of cases like this working their way through the system.

And then we have The Coutts Four, a group of men who were arrested in Alberta right before the Emergencies Act was invoked and have been kept in custody without bail nor trial ever since. Hopes are high that this ruling may help change their circumstances, but it has now been two years since they have seen their families, which is a grossly offensive situation, especially in a country where nearly everyone gets bail.

All of these cases point to a level of vindictive cruelty on the part of this government as constituted under Trudeau, who was only too happy to champion the fair treatment of someone who fought on the side of The Taliban in Afghanistan and was later apprehended by American forces. Champion the rights of his own peaceful citizens to a fair trial? Apparently that is beneath the Prime Minister.

Trudeau's deputy, Chrystia Freeland was behind the bank account freezing acting as Finance Minister, and she appeared almost immediately after the ruling to announce that her government would be appealing, claiming to "remind Canadians how serious the situation was." This though all the evidence and testimony presented in 2022 at the official inquest into the invocation of the Emergencies Act found that no threats existed, and everything the media said about the truckers was a fabrication.

Justin Trudeau has remarked in the past that Canada is a "post-national" state that has "no core identity," yet when that identity asserted itself to say enough is enough to the strictures of his punishing COVID Regime, he was only too happy to unleash the full power of his "post-national" state to attack these citizens whom he holds in utter contempt.

It appears that there is no ruling Trudeau will not appeal or lawfare he will not pursue to ensure punishment of the enemies of his party.

Justin Trudeau is not a leader, but merely a narcissistic tyrant. This week was only the latest evidence.

Gord Magill is a trucker, writer, and commentator, and can be found at www.autonomoustruckers.substack.com.

The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.

#nunyas news #hope all kinds of lawsuits happen over this one #should be funny

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franglishetchocolat · 3 months

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A salon for Riverview.

DIVISADERO BARBER + BUDGET BANK + Architect's office + Newsroom

Built on patch 1.67 - Originally in Riverview where the Bookstore used to be, so best placed there (Size:20x25) - Lot label = Salon

3 buildings, 4 'shops' - Items include a stylist Station, drafting table, General Store register, RH rug for the Business and Journalism Careers, a couple of disguised arcade games, a few TVs (mostly hidden ones) and plenty of coffee machines.

youtube

Using Items from:

No Store Item

Using Business RH rug by Cazarupt

EPs: WA, Ambitions, Late Night, Generations, Pets, Showtime, Seasons, University Life and Island Paradise.

SPs: High End Loft, Fast Lane, Outdoor Living, Town Life, Mastersuite, Diesel, the 70s, 80s,90s. I also own the Movie Stuff packs but I’m pretty sure I haven’t used anything from it in this lot.

DOWNLOAD

I use markers on my lots: skip level, hidden room, public room… So to be able to modify any of these buildings you need to have cheats on: ‘testingcheatsenabled true’, then ‘restrictbuildbuyinbuildings false’ To see/remove the markers you need ‘buydebug on.

#sims3 #builds #download #riverview #Youtube

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mariacallous · 1 month

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CAIRO—Although Egypt has refused to accept refugees from the Gaza Strip, more than 100,000 Palestinians have crossed the border into Egypt since the start of Israel’s offensive in Gaza following Hamas’s attack on Oct. 7, 2023.

Khaled Shabir, a 29-year-old man, is one of the Palestinians who managed to flee. He entered Egypt in March, four months after the Israeli army bombed his house in the southern Gazan city of Khan Yunis. The attack killed his parents, but he survived with crushed bones in his foot, thigh, and hand, which landed him in a hospital and then a field medical facility.

Some Palestinians are able to get a free medical transfer to Egypt for life-threatening conditions. But Shabir had to go the route of most who have fled: paying Hala Consulting and Tourism, the only company that secures passage from Gaza into Egypt. Hala, whose owner reportedly has close ties with the Egyptian authorities, charges $2,500 to $5,000 per person crossing over—much more than most Palestinians can afford.

Shabir did not have the money. But with a crowdfunding campaign, he was able to raise $5,000 to cross into Egypt. “Doctors at the hospital were sympathetic to my condition and waived their financial fees for my surgeries,” he wrote in a text message from his hospital bed in Cairo on June 4.

Like most Palestinians who have recently arrived in Egypt, Shabir has found himself in a strange position: Because he is not technically a refugee, he isn’t eligible for most international aid for refugees, unlike his counterparts back in Gaza. Eight Palestinians in Egypt interviewed for this story said they hadn’t received any humanitarian relief from international organizations. This has left them dependent on the goodwill of others—and increasingly at risk of being unable to get by.

Palestinians who have fled are reaching Egypt at a time when the country is experiencing its worst economic crisis in decades. In recent years, Egypt’s inflation rates have reached all-time highs, rent and food prices have soared, and millions of people have fallen into poverty.

It is especially difficult for Palestinians to navigate Egypt’s crisis. The majority of recent arrivals do not have official residency documents, so they cannot enroll their children in public school, apply for jobs, or receive health care and other benefits, according to an official from the Palestinian Embassy in Cairo who spoke with Foreign Policy on the condition of anonymity.

The official said on June 30 that just three international organizations have provided assistance to Palestinians who have fled to Egypt, and it has only reached a small portion of them. This aid includes $200 from the Islamic World Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization for 500 students, as well as medical and psychological care from Save the Children and UNICEF for a few injured infants.

Even for those with more resources, life has grown tough as their savings have run low. Nagham, a 23-year-old college student majoring in commerce, left Gaza at the end of January to stay with relatives in Cairo after the Israeli military destroyed her home and her husband’s barber shop. Because she had residency papers and was already enrolled at Cairo University, Nagham—who preferred to use only her first name—did not have to pay for entry. (Before the war, she studied online and only went to Cairo for exams.) But after arriving in Cairo, Nagham had to sell her wedding ring and other jewelry to raise the funds needed to pay transit fees to bring her husband to safety.

Now, she said, “we’re in a really bad financial situation.” As of April, she was being treated for a cervical infection she contracted from contaminated water in the first few months of the war. In May, Nagham sought financial aid from the Palestinian Embassy in Cairo, but it did not provide any help. The United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA), meanwhile, included her name in a registry tallying the number of Palestinians in Egypt, but she is not sure whether this implies any forthcoming aid.

“We’re starting over from scratch,” Nagham said. “I feel like we are in a nightmare.”

Kamel Mohamed, a 23-year-old who left Gaza in April, said that the majority of university students he knows from Gaza are running out of money, especially after paying the transit fees. He is currently applying for scholarships to study at a university in Egypt or other Arab countries. But in the meantime, international organizations have not provided any support, leaving him dependent on monthly aid from two local charities in Egypt.

“We are from a region devastated by war, and the people there have lost everything,” Mohamed said. “International organizations need to play a part and provide assistance.”

Jeff Crisp, a visiting research fellow at the University of Oxford’s Refugee Studies Centre, echoed this sentiment. “It should be the responsibility of the UN as a whole (UNHCR, WFP, UNICEF, IOM, etc.) to step in and support the Palestinians,” he wrote via email.

One major problem is that those who have fled Gaza are not considered refugees. This means that the two U.N. refugee agencies—the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), which protects non-Palestinian refugees, and UNRWA, which is solely responsible for Palestinian refugees—can’t support them.

UNRWA spokesperson Tamara Alrifai wrote in an email to Foreign Policy, “UNRWA does not have programs in Egypt, in the way it runs schools, health centers and social support in the areas where it has a mandate to operate.” She added that UNRWA, unlike UNHCR, “does not have a mandate to resettle refugees into new countries.”

The Egyptian government has refused to recognize Palestinians as refugees since 1978, instead referring to them as “our guests” or “our siblings.” It has long opposed both the establishment of a UNRWA operational office in Cairo and the displacement of Gaza’s population into its territory, citing potential threats to regional security and fears that Israel would not allow displaced Palestinians to return to the coastal enclave.

But many experts, including the U.N.’s special rapporteur on torture, argue that Egypt has legal obligations to accept refugees. Crisp stated in his email, “Egypt is a signatory to the UN Refugee Convention and should do what it can to support any that arrive from Gaza.” He added that Palestinians who fled war should be treated as displaced people.

For now, without residency papers, most of the Palestinians who recently arrived from Gaza are at risk of deportation. The Palestinian Embassy in Cairo is urging Egyptian authorities to provide papers as soon as possible so that children who have left Gaza can attend school in the fall, according to the embassy official.

The Egyptian government has, however, supported some Palestinians who have been injured in the war. Health Minister Khaled Abdel Ghaffar said in May that around 5,500 injured people had been evacuated from Gaza for medical care in 160 hospitals across Egypt since the start of the conflict. These individuals are treated at the Egyptian government’s expense.

The process, however, is not easy. “It was a torture journey,” said Um Qusai, who was able to leave Gaza so that her six-year-old daughter, Noor, could get eye surgery. One of Noor’s eyes had fallen out after debris from an Israeli bomb fell onto her bedroom in October.

After six months in the European Hospital in Gaza, Um Qusai finally secured a medical transfer for Noor, making their entry to Egypt free. But because they did not have passports, she had to wait with Noor and her two other children for 12 hours at the Rafah border crossing, while Noor was in agonizing pain, before border authorities let them in.

Once they arrive in Egypt, many Palestinians who received free medical transfers are not allowed to leave the hospital. A number of those patients, along with family members accompanying them, told Foreign Policy that they felt trapped inside hospitals and would only be permitted to leave if they returned to Gaza.

Egyptian volunteers have arranged trips to bring Palestinian patients food, medication, and clothing. However, some volunteers, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, said they had to undergo lengthy bureaucratic procedures to obtain authorization from Egyptian officials to visit the patients due to strict hospital security measures.

For now, many Palestinians in Egypt must rely on the support of local charities and grassroots initiatives to get by.

In November, Sherif Mohyeldeen, an Egyptian researcher and nonresident fellow at the Carnegie Middle East Center, launched For the People, a grassroots group with about 60 members, to support injured Palestinians and their families in Cairo and Alexandria, Egypt. So far, he said, the initiative has collected donations to support more than 1,200 Palestinians with food and cash assistance for rent.

“People have come here with only their clothes,” Mohyeldeen said. “There is a huge amount of psychological and physical suffering.” The Palestinian Centre for Policy and Survey Research has reported that more than 60 percent of people in Gaza have lost family members since Israel’s war—which has killed more than 40,000 people in the territory, according to the Gaza Health Ministry—began in October.

Sherif added that his group has yet to find solutions for families who need prosthetic limbs or chemotherapy, both of which are extremely expensive, as well as Palestinian students whose annual university tuition in Egypt exceeds $4,000.

Abdullah Abu al-Aoun, a 26-year-old man from a wealthy family in Gaza, is also trying to help others who have fled. His family owned many buildings and two restaurants in Gaza’s Remal district, all of which were bombed by the Israeli army. After fleeing Gaza with 22 members of his family in February, he opened a Shawarma restaurant in Cairo. His mother’s Egyptian passport and the family’s savings of more than $100,000 helped him establish the business.

Aoun has hired three young men from Gaza in his new restaurant and has been helping other Palestinian families in Cairo with cash assistance. “Although there is still war in Gaza, some aid is getting in,” he said on May 25 while sitting in the restaurant, where four men from Gaza were dining. “Here, the families who left for Egypt are not getting any support.”

But individuals and small charities can only make so much of a difference compared with international organizations—and many Palestinians, including Aoun’s family, know that they may have to stay in Egypt for years to come due to the scale of destruction in Gaza. According to the Palestinian Embassy official, many more Palestinians are expected to arrive in the coming months. With no humanitarian relief on the horizon and Cairo so far refusing to provide residency permits, they sink deeper into uncertainty with each passing day.

“What really scares me is the unknown future,” Naghan said. “When will the crossing open again? If we return, will we live in a tent or on the rubble of our house?”

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biteofcherry · 4 months

Note

Happy Wetnessday 💦

You're sick and tired of dating and working so you sign up for a dating app that lets you either find a husband, a sugar daddy or both combined. Most of the people on there are old farts that you only consider for the second option if at all. But then you stumble upon him. So handsome, young and based on his profile very successful. You're wondering if he's a catfish but then he reaches out to you. He's charming on top of all his perks already. So charming that you agree on a date with him in a public location. The restaurant he invites you to is luxurious and expensive so you hope he doesn't stand you up (because let's be honest you couldn't even afford water in this place). But when you arrive he's already there, waiting for you with flowers and a smile that brightens even more when you approach. He swoops you off your feet all evening and you end up in his bed. He's not letting you leave for a few days, taking his meetings with the camera off and you warming his cock, spending his free time with fucking out your brain and taking you out for every meal to further woo you. By the end of day 3 you agree to marry him.

Which handsome man is going to be your husband?

xoxo Wetnessday anon 💦

Hi lovely Wetnessday Anon! ❤️❤️❤️ It's always so good to hear from you! Hope you're having a good day and an overall calm week.

This ask? It was an instant decision. One man with unparalleled vibe that came to mind as I read through the story.

Andy fucking Barber.

Soft, charming and charismatic. Has reached high levels of wealth, power and business position, but all he needs is a sweet wife to feel complete.

Yes, there is need for a wife for the PR side of business and social life, but most of all Andy wants someone who will bring a spark into his life. Someone genuine and caring; someone he can hold and laugh with. And argue with, because you won't fake compliance just for the sake of getting gifts and being spoiled.

Looking at your pictures on the dating app, Andy was instantly drawn to you. With the resources he has, he made sure that you are a real person and not a catfish, then boldly asked you for a date.

It wasn't only a good kind of date, but an exciting one that stirred Andy's heart from a dull slumber of routine.

He can't get enough of you: your smile and laughter, your passionate rants about topics that interest you, the way you slurp drinks, the sounds you make when he touches you, how your pussy feels around his cock.

While you're dozing off in his lap, with your face pressed into the crook of his neck; Andy's cock snug in your warm, wet cunt; he's already browsing jewelry websites. Looking for that perfect engagement ring.

#Wetnessday Anon #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

End Game 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: and so it continues.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

When you find Kara, she’s at the front of the line. You wait impatiently on the other side of the rope as she gabs up a storm with the D-lister on the other side of the table. Restless, throat sour with bile, you pace in a small line, flicking your thumb as you resist the urge to tell her to hurry up.

You need to get out of there. You can barely think. You can’t even stay still as heat scalds and speckles over your scalp and down your body.

You turn on your heel and your feet tangle as you stop short. Andy stands just on the other side of the line, staring at you. Oh shit.

You rush over to Kara and snap her tank top strap, “hey, there’s other people waiting.”

“One second!” She squeals carelessly over her shoulder, quickly returning to fawning over the washed-up sci-fi actor.

You sigh and cross your arms, rocking back and forth, “Kara, I really don’t feel good.”

She huffs and chirps crisply, excusing herself from the table. Several others send her a dirty look for spending so much time chattering as they wait eagerly in the wings. She steps around the post to the other side of the rope.

“Let me guess, too much sugar?” She scoffs.

“Something like that,” you grumble. “Look, it’s like five. We’ve been here for a couple hours. I’m chill getting out of here.”

“Already?” She lifts a brow, “we haven’t even got you a plushie.”

“I should save my money,” you keep your arms folded around you.

She eyes you up and down, “are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, it’s like you said, too much sugar. I should’ve eaten breakfast. Or lunch.”

She gives you a skeptical squint and shrugs, “alright, whatever. We can go hang at mine.”

“Great, sorry,” you mope, “I just... I’m tired.”

“It’s fine,” she assures you, “I get it. This place can be a bit much and the BO is starting to get to me.” She struts ahead of you and you catch up to her. She marvels at the signed photo in her hand, “at least I got something cool.”

“Yeah, that’s awesome. You gonna hang it up?” You ask, trying to distract yourself.

“Mm, maybe.”

You glance over your shoulder. Andy’s closer, looming, hands in his pocket, eyes set on you. What is he doing? You grab her arm and hurry her towards the exit.

“Woah, what’s up?” She trips in her wedged sandals.

“I just need some fresh air. Like you said, it stinks in here.”

As you finally get through the front doors, your phone is shaking incessantly. The buzz can be heard through the denim. You ignore it as you cross the lot.

“Is that him calling?” She asks, “is that what this is about? I mean, I’d be pissed too but he shouldn’t get to ruin your day.”

“No, it’s not,” you lie, “I just... crowds get to me after a while. It’s been a long day, traveling and all that... I’m tired.”

“Mm, sure, well, let’s not let that coward shit on it all,” she snips. “It’ll be like high school. Girls’ night! Popcorn and nail painting and your favourite hollywood hunk.”

“You mean your favourite,” you toss back.

She giggles, “come on, you know you think he’s cute too.”

You roll your eyes and stick close to her. You follow her out to the street and quickly turn away. You send one last look over your shoulder. You don’t think he’d follow you this far. You grab onto Kara’s arm and set your sights ahead of you.

“Sleepover!” You chime, doing your best to hide your anxiety.

🎮

You’re sad to leave Kara. She made a crummy day brighter with a fun night. Still, you’re relieved to go back home. Where you can be alone, where you can forget.

You catch an early Greyhound and hug your bag to you as you doze, waking with each lurch of the axle. Back in town, you disembark and sigh. You still have a shift tonight. It’s a good excuse to avoid that little needling at the back of your mind.

You still can’t believe it. How many years had you been warned against meeting people on the internet? For how much of your life has that faceless avatar online been the boogeyman to fear? And yet, he sent you pictures, you spent hours gaming together, and you trusted him. Yes, you’re that stupid. You really trusted Jacob—Andy.

You drop your stuff at home and shower as your grandmother grumbles into a cup of tea. As you emerge, her eternal scowl curls her lips. You go to the kitchen to wash her used dishes and come back out, hoping the chore appeases her. She doesn’t say a word as she sorts through her knitting needles.

Right. As grim as the house can be, you find comfort in that nothing has changed, even if you feel like your world has. You don’t even want to look at your Switch. That one possession you treasured above all. It’s the most expensive thing you own. You saved for months to get one, it connected you to outside, it helped you escape, and now it’s just another reminder.

You grab your purse and head off for work. You message Kara to check in. Uh oh, she says Calvin is in town. Not this again.

You go to hit reply on her message and another notification pops up. You tap it before you can stop yourself. It’s him. Andy. He’s been texting but you haven’t answered, you haven’t even looked to block him. You don’t know why you haven’t just hit that magic button but you just avoided everything about him.

‘Please. I’m sorry. Can we please talk?’

It’s no different than the litany of texts before hand; ‘we can mine and talk this out’; ‘I wanted to tell you the truth for so long, I just thought you had the right to hear it face-to-face'; ‘hope you got home safe. Please text when you have a moment’; one after another, changing from one tone to the others; desperate, apologetic, concerned...

Before you can dismiss the conversation, he messages again.

‘You’re reading my messages. I see the checkmark. Please, just give me a chance to explain.’

You sniff and shake your head. You mute your phone and bury it at the bottom of your purse. You don’t want to talk to him but you just can’t bring yourself to get rid of him entirely. For a year he was your friend. Maybe just a gaming buddy but a constant that you came to count on.

You would login and just shoot the shit; chat about your day; just let it all out and not think as you dug up diamonds or raced around Moo Moo Meadows. That’s all gone now and it hurts just as much as the rest of his lies. It isn’t just that he isn’t Jacob, it’s that you told him things you didn’t even tell Kara. He had been your safe harbour because he was far away, because anything you said could never come back to you.

Your eyes sting and your cheeks pinch. Stupid, again. You shouldn’t be this emotional about this. Forget about it. You got work.

Work? Scooping ice cream? God, how pathetic you must have sounded to him. He’s a lawyer or something? At least that what he claimed when he’d still been Jacob. You knew at first glance the type of man he is; established, professional, and older. So much older.

Yeah, your problems must have seemed so minuscule and immature. Oh, you flunked a pop quiz? Not like you have to pay a mortgage.

Urgh. You shake off the nipping embarrassment as you enter the booth and pull on your apron. Maybe you don’t have that much going on, but you’re trying. You’re young. You’re learning. What’s his excuse?

🎮

You should have done this a lot sooner. You don’t know why you didn’t. Maybe because it didn’t matter before. Before, Jacob was just a boy you played Minecraft with. He was just a voice in a headset. But now, he’s... not. He’s Andy. No.

He’s dead.

You stare at the search result and your heart sinks. That, at least, is true. Jacob Barber; death date, last year. The pictures even match. Just a skinny kid, smiling beside his dad and mom. She’s gone too. Lost in the same accident.

You kick yourself for being so careless. If you’d just searched him up a year ago. Even just reverse searched those pictures, you would’ve pieced it together. The only thing you can be thankful for is that it wasn’t worse. That you’re safe and you can just leave it behind.

Well, that’s what you want to do.

You scroll through the rest of the results. There's more, before the death. Articles about a murder and suspects. Jacob was one. What?

It’s all so messy you can hardly make sense of any of it. You stop and sit back. You think of the man who sat across from you, you remember the look in his eyes, the flicker in his voice. He did sound sorry.

And after everything? A police investigation then to just lose your son like that? Your only child.

You know you don’t owe him anything. He lied to you. He had every chance to be honest, from the very beginning. Maybe you wouldn’t have wanted to play with a middle-aged man but maybe you could’ve helped him find somebody. You could’ve at least shared gaming tips.

It isn’t about him. It’s about closure. This is just a blip on the radar. You have bigger things to worry about. Your grandmother, work, school. The summer’s flying by and tuition fees are higher than last year. Your interest payments are going to spike and you foresee a second job on the horizon.

You look at your phone, entranced by it. You stand and walk in circles. You come back to your small desk and pick up the cell. The little chat bubble at the bottom has that red dot in the corner; unread messages. You tap it and the dot disappears.

Jacob--

Andy’s chat opens and you slowly key in your message, several times over before you get it right.

‘I’m signing into the server. I’ll be on until nine. No mining, talking.’

That’s it. That’s all. You can’t go back to what it was. You want this to be over. You’re closing the book, cutting the strings. He needs to know what he did was wrong and you need to move on.

You take a breath and try to calm your nerves. Now that you’ve sent the message, you don’t know if you can do it. It’s too late, he saw it.

You move slowly as you boot up your switch and plug in your headset. Your heart is racing like crazy. You’re going to have a panic attack. You feel the same wave of nausea you felt back at the con. Ugh.

You load the server and almost as soon as the textures appear, he joins. Your lip trembles. You hear his mic scuff but he says nothing. No, you’re not here to listen to him. He has to hear you and then you’re done.

“I’m sorry about your son,” you begin.

“I... thanks.”

“But it’s not an excuse,” you interrupt him, “what you did was so wrong.”

“I know.”

“Please, let me get this out,” you insist, your voice shaking. “I can’t understand what you’ve been through. I looked it all up and I know that it’s a lot. I, obviously, have never dealt with any of that. You know that, because I told you. Because I trusted you,” you frown as you inhale sharply, tears pricking in your eyes, “because I thought you were my age, that you were him, your son. Your dead son.”

You shudder and shake your head, gulping thickly.

“Do you not see how fucked up that is?”

He sighs, “I know. I promise you, I wanted to tell you. That’s why... that’s why I wanted to meet. Because you deserved to know and I had to tell it to your face. You deserved that--”

“Did I deserve to be lied to? Huh? Why—Why did you need to do all that? Why couldn’t you just tell the truth?”

He sniffles. You’re silent, choked by the sob trapped in your throat.

“I... He’s gone. I missed him so bad and I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s not an excuse, you’re right,” his voice is raspy, “I... you reminded me of him. Playing his favourite game helped me get through. It was wrong. All of it. I’m not saying you should forgive me, but I’m trying to explain as best as I can. I still don’t really understand why I did it.”

You swallow and wipe your wet eyes, “you’re right. I don’t need to forgive you. I don’t. I only came on here to say what I needed to before I delete this world. I might be young and stupid but I think you need help. Real help, not some girl on a headset.”

“Please--”

His voice cuts off as you hit quit. You feel a pang of guilt. You do feel bad for him but you hope he heard you. You can’t forgive what he did to you, but you can wish the best for him. You hope what you said can make him get the proper help.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #end game #defending jacob

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mewhenimanangel · 4 months

Text

cherry, eren jaeger

—synopsis. mikasa’s eighteenth birthday party leads to you and eren becoming a little something more

—chapter 6 ౨ৎ

𝜗𝜚 content!: au-high school, teen romance, black reader, underaged drinking, oral sex, vaginal fingering, make outs

previous ౨ৎ next ౨ৎ

you decided you were going to skip practice today to save energy for mikasa's party.

after eren dropped you home on monday, he texted you all the details of the party and mikasa followed you on your socials.

you shamelessly stalked her page for pictures of eren. you never actually knew what their relationship was, you'd heard that mikasa was apparently adopted by eren's parents but you didn't know if that was entirely true.

you had went shopping yesterday for a white feathery boa and gold sling back heels.

currently, you were sitting at your vanity straightening your hair, you decided to bump the ends to try and match the 1920s hair trends. you'd been at it for 2 hours and you were finally almost done.

once you were done with your makeup you got dressed into the dress you'd shown eren and the heels you bought. you wrapped a gold chain headpiece over your head and put gold bangle cuffs on your arm.

you sprayed some perfume before you heard the doorbell ring. you went downstairs to answer it since no one else was home.

you smiled seeing eren waiting on the porch. he wore a white long sleeve button down with a black bow tie, black dress pants and dress shoes.

you noticed his hair was cut, it was still fluffy and long but no longer ponytail long. "ohhhh, new do?" you reached for his hair. he smiled as your nails combed through his hair. "yeah you like it?"

"i do actually, your barber must love you" he laughed before reaching for your arm.

"you look fucking amazing" he traced his hand down the curve of your waist. "this hair is so classy" he lightly brushed a finger though it before reaching to hold your chin. you subconsciously leaned into his touch "hm why thank you. you look very classy and handsome too"

"are you ready to go?" "yeah, just lemme grab my purse and my phone" you told him. he waited by the stairs as you ran up to grab your things.

once you were back downstairs, his hand found its place on the small of your back as you walked out the front door.

he opened the door to the passenger seat for you as you sat down. it was about a thirty minute drive to the place.

the house in question screamed pure opulence. it was a two story, old money style home with a pathed garden. there were a bunch of cars parked outside the home and lingering down the block.

"jesus whose house is this??"you scoffed. "jean's. he let mikasa throw the party here as some big gesture to ask her out." eren rolled his eyes. "what you don't approve?" you giggled. "not necessarily but it's cool" he shrugged.

"he's kind of an asshole sometimes but i guess he's toned it down a little lately" he scoffed, leaving the car. he opened your door and held your hand as you stepped out.

"thank you kind sir" you wrapped your arm around his. "you're welcome m'lady" eren put on an accent.

you walked up the path to the front entrance of this house. "god how does jean even have a house like this, this is insane" "his dad's the ceo of a stock brokerage company or something like that" eren told you "he makes like 300k a year or something like that" your jaw dropped.

sometimes you forget how rich some of the people at your school were. the school itself was expensive you knew that, but you were attending off scholarship. it's not like you were poor or anything, your situation just did not compare to some of your peers.

"that's wild" you scoffed. eren held open the door for you and you looked around at how beautiful it was inside. people were scattered around the foyer with drinks in hand, there were caterers scurrying to the kitchen and chefs in the back. the room was decorated with golden streamers, clear and white balloons, wine glasses, feathers, hanging lights, everything in the room was white, black and gold. there was a chandelier in the middle of the room, but you were sure that was just jean's regular house decor.

everyone was dressed in 20s attire - girls in long dresses, flapper dresses, feathers, and long jewelry. boys were in vests, suspenders, hats, and suits. you looked to your left to what looked like jean's living room, now without couches and instead tables for all the guests.

mikasa and armin turned around to see you and eren made it and made her way over to the two of you. "ugh finally you're here" she reached her hands out to hug eren from the side as eren dapped armin. "hi" he waved to you and you smiled, returning the wave.

mikasa wore a long champagne colored dress with jewels sewed onto it. her headband had a white feather sticking out of it and she wore a gold silk shawl.

"hey, you look so cute!" she smiled at you. "thanks you look amazing! happy birthday" she hugged you next. "thank you" she smiled. "this is all so.." she cut you off "over the top and unnecessary? i know, jean went overboard" she sighed. "actually i was gonna say beautiful" you laughed.

"well i'll see you guys, sasha just texted me asking us to meet her" she said, grabbing armin's hand.

"oh speaking of, lana told me to text her when we got here" you told eren and he nod his head, not letting go of your hand.

you texted her that you were in the foyer and saw her immediately head your direction with connie.

"oh my god you look delicious i could literally eat you out right now" she said, hugging you. "yo!" connie raised his eyebrows at her. "yall are so gay" he laughed.

"did you guys get drinks yet, jean's got drinks in the back to spike them" she told you. "oh shit don't let y/n get drunk like last time" eren laughed at connie's joke. "what? what happened last time?" you furrowed your eyebrows. "when you were shaking your ass on that table in front of everyone at jean's party" connie told you, lana flicked his hand.

"oh my god i did that?!" you looked at eren and lana. eren just laughed "at least you looked good" he smirked and you rolled your eyes.

"come on, let's go get drinks and then i'll show you guys where we're sitting" lana grabbed your hand as connie and eren followed behind.

lana poured a drink in a glass and handed it to you before showing you to your table. "the food better be good" lana said. "right" you laughed.

armin, mikasa, jean, marco, and sasha joined you all at the table. there was music playing and people dancing, everyone had gotten their food after the chefs opened the kitchen to everyone.

carla and grisha got up to make toasts to mikasa, followed by eren and armin. the music paused for everyone to sing happy birthday to her and take pictures. by now you had 3 shots worth of alcohol in your drinks, thanks to lana.

also thanks to lana, everyone at the table joined the crowd of people in the middle of the room dancing and jumping around.

the alcohol in your system was a comfortable level of drunk, you weren't drunk to the point of a hangover the next day but you were drunk enough that your limbs felt a little loose.

'fancy' by drake was playing on jean's speakers with everyone singing along and dancing. "how are your feet not hurting?" sasha asked you and lana, taking off her heels. "pointe shoes prepared us for this" lana laughed.

eren was with you this time, also a little drunk himself. his bow tie was off and his shirt was unbuttoned three buttons down, your boa and head piece were discarded at the table. he sang along with you, hand refusing to leave your waist as you danced along with lana.

he admired how carefree you were when you got like this, every time you danced it's like you were a different person, or maybe an extension of yourself. you danced so freely and even when you whined your hips you were graceful.

your arms were up in the air as you twirled your hips. eren held onto them as he felt your butt graze against the front of his pants. he tried to ignore it and continue dancing but you kept doing it. his grip on your waist held tighter, he saw the sly smirk on your face as you slightly turned your head.

he felt you push your ass further back on him and he bit his cheek to distract from letting a certain something grow behind you.

"y/n come with me i have to go to the bathroom!" lana dragged your hand, quickly looking for jean's restroom. "i'll be back" you turned to wink at him.

he scoffed and shook his head with a dumb grin on his face. jesus, everything about you just left him wanting more. you really knew how to make him chase.

lana bunched up her dress and sat down on the toilet while you fixed your hair and checked yourself out in the mirror. "broke the seal?" you asked, giggling. "broke the seal...." she sighed.

she moved you over so she could wash her hands. "i have to go send my mom proof of life" she told you. "you can go, just give a second" you told her.

she gave you a kiss on the cheek and left the bathroom.

you dug in your purse for your lip gloss and perfume, freshening yourself up a little bit. you opened the door to go back to everyone. you startled when you saw eren standing off to the side on his phone.

"are you following me?" "maybe" he smiled, leaning up off the wall to stand closer in front of you. "you smell good" you watched his chest rise as he inhaled to smell you again. "mm thank you" you looked up at him. "so why'd you follow me, i was coming back you know...miss me that much?" you grinned.

he just stared at you for a moment "i wanna kiss you again" the want in his voice sounded so earnest. "so do it.." you barely got the full sentence out before his lips were on yours and your back was against the wall. you stopped for a moment before melting into the kiss.

you moved your hands to hold the side of his head, letting your nails run through his shortened hair. eren loved it.

his hand rest on your hip while the other grazed down the side of your body to hold your thigh through the slit of your dress. he held up your leg to rest on his side while his leg bumped forward between your thigh. you groaned feeling his knee brush against your panties.

"been wanting to kiss you again since that night. all i've thought about" eren met your eyes before moving to kiss your neck. you were thankful that this bathroom was concealed by jean's stairs, but you were still worried someone might come over and you put a hand on eren's chest telling him to wait.

eren paused. "i'm worried someone might come over here" you told him.

he looked around for a moment before grabbing your hand and pulling you toward a door at the end of the hallway. he opened the door to find a small study on the other side. you entered, looking around for a moment while eren closed and locked the door.

eren grabbed your arm and you slipped your purse off your shoulder letting it land on the desk. you threw your arms around his neck and pressed your lips back on his. he walked you backwards until the back of your thighs bumped against the desk. he eased you to sit down, placing himself in between your legs.

he kissed down your neck and across your shoulders, leaving a deep red mark on your clavicle. now you'd have to cover that up, but it was worth it.

he looked up at you for the go ahead as he pulled the strap of your dress down your shoulder. you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and nod your head.

his eyes were full of lust with a sly grin on his face as he pulled the top of your dress down, revealing your bare tits. "damn, how are you this perfect?" he seemed a little hesitant to put his hands on you, hands slowly easing up your waist so you grabbed his hands and put them on your boobs.

"don't be shy, i won't break. i want you" you whispered against his lips before kissing him. your breath hitched when you felt his calloused thumb rubbing against your nipple. he gave you one last peck on your lips before moving to put your tit in his mouth.

your eyes closed and you hummed in pleasure. this was the first time anyone else has ever touched you like this. you moaned as you held the back of his head in your hand. you brought your hands to his chest, beginning to unbutton his shirt. his stomach and chest were toned but note over muscly, he had little freckles and a beauty mark. you let your hands trace over his body.

you looked down to see there was another mark on your boob, just above your nipple. god he was really setting you up.

"eren...i want more" you whined. you could feel yourself getting wet, panties clinging to your vagina. all you wanted was his mouth on you. "hm? what do you need pretty girl?"

you held his hand and trailed it down to your panties. "need you right here" you had a teasing grin on your face as you held his hand over your clothed clit. "anything you want baby" he smirked.

he moved your dress, bunching it up at your waist as he brought your ass closer to the edge of the desk.

he kissed you again as his arm dipped between your bodies, rubbing a finger along your slit through the fabric of your panties. you moaned as your lips smashed together.

he reached for the waistband of your panties and began to slowly pull them off of you. you eagerly lifted your hips to help him get them off.

"you still good princess?" you knew he was asking if you were still up for it, which you most definitely were. you nod your head "i wanna hear you say it" "yes eren, i want you to fuck me"

hearing those sultry words come out of your mouth make eren's head spin. if he wasn't hard before - which he was, he was definitely hard now.

he gathered your slick on his finger before slowly pushing his middle finger inside you. you immediately let out a string of moans as he began to curl his finger inside you. it was much longer and way more pleasurable than awkwardly trying to angle your own fingers just right. you felt your face getting warm.

he add his ring finger into the mix, curling and pumping them inside you just right. you held on his shoulders tight as your moans and hums filled the room. thankful for the music playing outside the room, you knew you weren't being too loud.

"feel good princess?" he kissed your forehead. "so good" you groaned, voice light and airy.

"want you to go down on me ren...wanna feel your mouth" you looked at him, eyes pleading.

eren felt his cheeks warm and knew he was definitely blushing. god, how'd you manage to make him blush. he was almost nervous.

"i've got you baby" he kissed you before lowering himself to his knees in front of you. he anchored his hands on your thighs, spreading open your legs.

he kissed down your thighs until he was face to face with your core. he pressed light feathery kisses against your lips before licking a stripe along your folds. you shuddered, you swore you could've came off that alone.

you got whiplash from how quick eren want from kitten licks to eating you like you were his last meal.

he sucked against your puffy clit, face practically buried in you. he licked his tongue in and out of your hole, before swirling it against your clit too.

his soft tongue worked over your folds, it's like he was trying to explore every crevice of you with his tongue. you couldn't help but grind your hips against his face, following the flow of how he ate you out. a moan ripped out of you as you felt his tongue go inside you again, you leaned back to anchor yourself on the desk with one hand while the other gripped his hair.

"fuck ren~ feels so.." you couldn't even get your sentence out when you felt him press his thumb against your clit, continuing to work his tongue over you.

you looked down to see him looking back up at you, eyes filled with lust and pride.

the combination of his thumb circling your nerves and his tongue prodding against your entrance had your mind blank. nothing you'd ever done on yourself felt this good.

your hand gripped his hair tighter and he let out a groan that sent goosebumps over your body.

the knot in your lower stomach grew tighter an tighter and before you knew it, you were cumming. your chest rose and fell as you held yourself up on your arms, head thrown back.

eren lapped every drop before coming to his feet again. "god you're....so fucking good at that..." you were practically out of breath. "you taste just as good as you look princess" he kissed you again and you could taste yourself against his lips.

the moment was over though when your phone began ringing. you sighed before reaching to answer it. it was lana, you put her on speaker, your body was so worked out you didn't feel like holding up your phone.

"dude where are you? i thought i was taking you home??" her voice was frantic. "yeah you are just give me a few minutes. i'll meet you outside" you told her. "why do you sound so out of breath, were you off running a marathon or something"

you looked at the teasing look on eren's face and rolled your eyes. "okay bye me and connie will meet you out front" she said before hanging up.

"sorry i didn't you know..help you out.." you looked down at the tent in his pants. "nah don't worry about it. just glad i could make you feel good" he kissed you. "and you definitely did. that was my first time getting eaten out, my first time doing anything actually" you admitted.

eren's eyebrows raised "for real?" you nod your head. "why didn't you tell me? that wasn't even my best best work for real. let's go. round two" he peppered kisses on your face making you giggle.

"lana's gonna be irritated if i keep her waiting" you said, pulling the sleeves up on your dress, eren rolled his eyes. "but don't worry, i definitely want there to be a part two" you whispered in his ear before leaving the room.

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