#maybe they go to the same barber

[nachosforfree]

If you add their ass mass together you get -4

[zriasstuff]

Them watching you get ready <3

Slytherin boys x reader fluff headcanons (warning:delulu asf)

the collage isn’t the best, but at least you have all 6 faces now

It’s date-night, but you seem to be taking quite some time to get ready…

Tom Riddle:

Let’s be honest for a second and admit that if you were taking your sweet sweet time, he’d curse at you because everything has to go according to his schedule (i even doubt that he’d do the whole “date-night” thing, but that’s a separate issue)

He’d turn more impatient by the second and barge into your dorm/bathroom without knocking

Tom would rush you so badly and keep telling you to hurry up while rolling his eyes

While you’re doing your makeup he’d pick up each product with disgust and tell you that you look just fine

When you tell him that you need more time, he tells you that there wouldn’t be a date anymore if you didn’t follow him, besides he’d lecture you on your poor time management

Eventually he drags you out with him and dryly compliments you like “see, i told you you look good” (but innerly he enjoyed that you put in effort and wanted to look good for him, even if it took some time)

Mattheo Riddle:

He wouldn’t rush you when you tell him you need more time, instead he’d take advantage of watching you get ready

When you choose your clothes, he’d encourage you to do a little fashion show for him and he would tell you that you looked perfect in every single one

He would tell you to choose a short and tight dress though, we all know why ;)

During make-up he is totally one of those guys who say “it’s all the same shade”, and in reality it’s like maroon and bright red

As a joke he’d also apply some of the products, but wipe them off immediately because he feels too emasculated

When you ask him if you could do make-up on him some day he’d simply reply “sure, but then i would get to do whatever i want with you”

Draco Malfoy:

When you offer him to watch you get ready, since you still aren’t done, he immediately accepts

Draco totally loves seeing you get ready too because during your relationship he has spoiled you so much that half your closet/vanity is basically from him

Since he grew up close to his mother, he has actually spent a lot of time in his childhood going to barbers/salons/boutiques with her

So from that he has gained excellent taste, even helps you with styling your hair, and helps you pick out accessories

He knows how long this stuff can take, so he just takes the time to make you feel beautiful and confident, showering you with compliments and pecks “you look so good in the things i buy you darling”/“you are always so gorgeous and sexy”

Theodore Nott:

He wouldn’t mind that you were not on time, the date started the second he saw you, so you getting ready was just time that you could spend together too

You are afraid it takes away the surprise factor at first, but it’s not a big deal to him

When you start to change into different outfits, he’s always there to help you undress/unzip the dresses, taking the opportunity to smoothly move his hands down your body

That would just eventually turn into a makeout session though, you just couldn’t resist when he was being that touchy and ravishing too

It takes quite some time for you to actually get ready in the end because he always distracts you in the process, but in the end you would both have had a fun time

Blaise Zabini:

He’d be quite chill and sit on your bed when you tell him to wait, just watching you get ready at your vanity

He would maybe be a little bit annoying—asking you every three seconds if you were ready to go, and he would say “you literally look the same as always, what’s the point of all this”

Eventually he liked watching you more and more though, notice the difference, and carefully pay attention to everything you did

He’d learn to appreciate both your natural and “full-glam” beauty and just observe you with interest

As soon as you were done he’d immediately kiss you (ruining your lip-combo sadly) and his lips would be stained, and he’d be smiling, fascinated by your beauty

Lorenzo Berkshire:

When you tell him to wait outside, he’d respect that at first, but would grow impatient eventually

So, he goes up to you and tells you that he would like to be a part of the process

Opposite to Mattheo, he’d actually be down to you putting make-up on his face for fun (he’s fully convinced that he could pull anyone with or without makeup)

To be honest, he didn’t care much about what you put on because you looked hot in his eyes either way, but he knew the more interested he acted the more appreciative you’d be

Looking at you with puppy-eyes at all times is his specialty, and when you’re finally done he looks at you like you’re an angel fallen from heaven

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 1

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: get ready for the hate.

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. 💖

The tunnel lights up ahead of you, revealing the cubic rock walls as you plant torches in your stead. The eerie soundtrack of night time and the ominous groan of zombies looming somewhere in the cave have you uptight. Silently, you press on, digging and mining mindlessly, fingers mashing the buttons on your controller. 

“Hey, where are you?” Jacob’s voice startles you. 

You nearly forgot you’re playing co-op. You sniff and shake your head, cursing aloud as your shock has you succumbing to the arrow of a sneaky skeleton. You sigh as your possessions scatter and you spawn back in your bed. 

“Back home,” you say glumly, “just ate it.” 

“Ah, damn,” his deep voice rolls in your noise-cancelling headset, “sorry, hope that wasn’t me.” 

“No, I wasn’t paying attention,” you hum and sigh.  

“Ah,” he accepts and lets silence linger before he clicks his tongue, “what’s going on? Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you put the controller down, your avatar sitting on the geometric bed, “I just...” you stretch your neck and massage your scalp around the thick band of the headset, “got a lot on my mind.” 

“Right. I thought you were all done exams,” he says. 

“I am, but... packing. Going home. I called my old boss and turns out I’m not gonna have a job this summer. Gotta start over,” you yawn and rub your eyes, “what about you? Final exam tomorrow?” 

“Uh... yeah,” he hesitates as if he forgot. You do wonder why he isn’t cramming right now. You could never play minecraft all night the day before a final. “Easy stuff. I’m not worried.” 

You scoff. You wish you could say the same. All you’ve done is worry those last two weeks. Exams, getting home, getting a job. Your grandmother won’t very happy to find out you’ll be slumming it for a while. At least you tucked away some money through the semester. 

“Hey, if you need a few bucks...” Jacob offers. 

“What? Are you crazy? No way,” you exclaim, “really, no, I couldn’t. I’ll be fine. I just... I hate looking for jobs. You know how it is. Friggin awkward.” 

“It’s not a big deal. My dad sent me my birthday money so...” 

“Uh uh,” you deny him again, “that’s way too much. I couldn’t-- we haven’t even met.” 

“Mm, yeah, about that,” he exhales into his microphone, “I, uh, got an extra ticket to this Con. I figured out that’s it like the midway point between us so...” 

“A con? Oh, wow--” 

“Yeah, but I get that it would be expensive so maybe I could pay for your trip?” 

“Jacob,” you wiggle the controller restlessly, “I can't accept that. It’s so nice but... it’s a lot.” 

“I wouldn’t offer it was too much,” his voice is soft, meek, and defeated. You feel bad but you would feel worse taking advantage of his kindness. “We’ve been talking all year. I just figured it would be a good chance to meet up. It would be in public and something we both like so...” 

You scratch your neck as it speckles with heat. You don’t know what’s more insulting; yes or no. 

“Can I think about it?” You ask thinly. 

The line is quiet. You look at the screen and it goes dim from your idling. You hit the analog stick and fix your headphones. 

“Jacob?” You murmur. 

“Sure, think about it,” he says, his voice raspy and rocky. It’s strange. You’ve seen him in pictures and his voice doesn’t really match his appearance. He sounds a lot older than he looks. “It’s next month so lots of time.” 

“I’m sorry,” you cringe. “I just wouldn’t want to waste your money.” 

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be a waste,” he insists, “this last year has sucked. So much. You got me through it all.” His microphone scuffs, “studying, exams, all that stuff. It’s tough making new friends. Seems like everyone here knows each other from high school.” 

“Yeah, totally,” you agree.  

You’re not exactly the most popular person. You have people you know in each class but not too many friends you hang out with outside the lecture hall or library. So far, not too many people want to spend hours mining digital gold or racing cartoon characters around a rainbow track. 

“Well, you should probably get some sleep,” you yawn, “you got your big exam and... I gotta keep packing. Gotta catch the greyhound tomorrow night.” 

“Sure, uh, yeah, right,” his disappointment is potent, “hey, will you text me when you get home? Just so I know you made it.” He snorts, “god, I sound like my dad right now.” 

“Oh, of course,” you chirp back, “I’ll try to remember. Might be late.” 

“That’s fine. Just as long as you let me know.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” you assure him, “not ‘til I have to face my grandma. Ha.” 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he says, “well... er...” 

“Good night,” you finish for him, “let me know how the exam goes too.” 

“Will do,” his timbre gets even lower, “night.” 

You sign off and shut down the console. Another yawn flows through you and waters in your eyes. You should sleep, you got a long day waiting for you, but you know it won’t be easy. Not with so much on your mind, not least of all, Jacob’s invitation. 

🎮

You text Jacob as you get on the bus, to make sure he doesn’t worry. It’s so sweet that he does, even some of your girlfriends don’t bother that much. Not that you mind the ‘hey, bitch’ Janet sends you every now and again to make sure you’re still alive. 

You fall asleep on the bus. You’ve never been one to sleep while travelling but you’re exhausted from a night of anxious tossing and turning. After spending all day packing up the last of your things and scouring your dorm room, you’re beat to hell. 

It’s midnight as you get to your grandmother’s house. She’s up reading another Stephen King classic in her rocking chair. She’s always been a night owl and a voracious book hound. She grumbles at you but doesn’t bother to ask how your trip was. 

“Hey, grandma,” you hike up your bag and smile.  

She growls again, eyes not leaving the page. You should know better by now not to interrupt her. You shoulder on and head down to the spare room where you spent most of your high-school career. You shut the door gently as the old hardwood floors creak with your weight and you drop your bag on the squeaky bed. 

You fish out your phone and plug it in as the battery flashes red with only two percent left. You leave it on the night table and stretch out, not bothering to change out of your hoodie and jeans. It’s not long before you descend back into the same dreams that marked your journey home. 

You wake up to buzzing. Your phone shakes the nightstand, rattling it against the bed frame. You groan and roll onto your side, reaching blindly for offending object. You hit the side button to dismiss the call.  

You blink away the bleariness and focus on the screen. Along with the missed call are several text messages. You squint as you expand the notifications. Jacob! You forgot to message. 

‘Hey, you home?’ 

‘Checking in. Must be busy getting settled in. Just let me know when you’re safe.’ 

‘Not meaning to be weird but everything okay?’ 

‘Please answer me. I’m worried.’ 

You drag your thumb around the keyboard, letting it predict your words; ‘sorry! I was so tired. Home now and safe 😊' 

Three dots pop up then swoop away. You frown as the same thing happens several times before a response appears. 

‘Was really worried. Thanks for finally answering. Been up all night.’ 

You’re stunned by the terse response. Yeah, you forgot to answer but he doesn’t need to worry that much. You frown and shift onto your side. 

‘Srry again. Tired. Talk in morning. Night.’ 

You turn your phone on silent and plug it back into the cord. You do feel bad but you’re too exhausted to let it keep you up. Besides, you need your sleep. You have lots of job hunting to do in the morning. Not to mention, your grandmother to face. 

🎮

You let Jacob cool down after your return home. Rather, he doesn’t text and you’re too distracted to do the same. As much as you’d like to sit around and game, your grandmother was as disappointed as you expected with your employment status, even when you gave her the money you had left in your emergency fund. 

After a week, you finally get a bite. It’s nothing special. There’s a seasonal ice cream shop in a booth shaped like a vanilla cone that needs a cashier on weeknights. It’s less than full time hours but it’s better than nothing. It will be strange working with high school juniors but you can’t afford to be picky. 

‘Game tonight?’ The text interrupts your first shift. You don’t have a chance to answer as a family approaches the window to order. 

You get them the soft serve and take their payment, bidding them a good evening with their vanilla points already drooping in the summer heat. You glance around at the mostly empty picnic tables. Soccer practice will end soon and you’ll be overloaded with eight-year-olds. 

‘Srry. New job. 1st shift. Maybe tmrw.’ 

‘New job? Congrats. Why didn’t you tell me?’ 

You sigh.  

‘Time got ahead of me.’ 

‘Same. Catch up tomorrow then. Minecraft?’ 

‘Sure. Tmrw.’ 

You slip your phone away. A mother and daughter approach and ask for a sundae and a banana split. As much as you love ice cream, working with it hasn’t tested your cravings very much. In fact, you might be falling out of love with it. The smell of vanilla and overly sweetened strawberries is kind of gross when it’s all you breathe. 

As you watch the happy customers walk away, you smile. Maybe it will be good to get some mining done. It will take your mind off of everything else. Hell, it might even make you feel like you’re doing something useful. 

🎮

“Shit, oh, sorry,” Jacob corrects himself. You always think it's kind of funny how he doesn’t like to swear. “My diamond armor.” 

“Oh no,” you utter, “where are you? I’ll grab your stuff.” 

He gives his coordinates and you turn around, leaping over the green blocks to make your way there. Despite your reticence at the beginning, you’re feeling better about the session. He wasn’t as tense as he seemed in his texts. 

“So, uh, did you think about the con?” Jacob asks. 

“The con? I almost forgot. When is it?” 

He gives the dates and you hum. Your chest flutters at the thought still. You’re not stupid. Meeting people IRL is not like online, no matter how many hours you’ve mined together. As much as you enjoy chatting with Jacob, you don’t know about meeting up. 

“I get it if you can’t get the time off but my offer still stands to cover the trip. If you wanna stay the night, I’ll even get an airBnB.” 

“Oh, wow, that’s a lot. I’m working now. I could put in,” you offer.  

“Is that a yes?” He asks hopefully. 

“I don’t know... I mean, I’ll have to look into it,” you say evasively. “Talk to my boss and grandma and all that.” 

“Right, right,” he tries to sound unbothered, “makes sense. Of course, no pressure. How about I send you the ticket either way? Haven’t got anyone else to bite.” 

“Oh, well, hold off, I wouldn’t want to take it and not use it,” you collect his weapons and armor from the ground in the game. 

It’s silent as you focus on getting every little thing. 

“Sorry, did I freak you out?” He asks, “I’m really not trying to pressure you, just got excited thinking about it.” 

“I know, Jacob, it’s not that, it’s just... a lot.” 

“Totally get it,” he intones, “let me know whenever you got an answer. Uh, where are you? I’m tryna find you.” 

“Just stay there, I'll come back to the house,” you assure him, happy to focus on the game instead. 

Still, you can’t entirely lose yourself in it. You’re sure he’s a nice guy. From pictures, he’s less than scary, and he’s never been anything but friendly. It’s not like the other dudes you meet online who jump to asking about your bra size and all that. It just isn’t smart. 

Well, maybe if you don’t show up alone. You know what con he’s talking about and Kara from Econ lives near there. You could probably convince her to meet up. Hm, that might work. 

Just like you told him, you’ll have to think about it. 

[navybrat817]

Resignation

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: You get to know Andy a bit more and put in your notice, but your boss doesn't it take it well. Word Count: Almost 4.4k Warnings: Slow burn, getting to know each other, sugar daddy contraction, tension, flirting, slight insecurities, inner monologue, yelling (apologies to anyone named Sean), Andy Barber (he's a warning, okay?) Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics, Header - yours truly Previous Part: Sign the Dotted Line A/N: Welcome back to my Terms and Conditions AU! Hope you lovelies enjoy. Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The feeling of floating on cloud nine wasn't something you experienced much in your life. There were high points, of course, but nothing like the elation that filled you as Andy went to make a copy of the contract. It was almost dizzying to think that for the next three quarters of a year, everything was going to be okay. Better than okay.

All thanks to Andy.

Estelle shrieked as she pulled you to your feet. “You're a sugar baby! You're a sugar baby!” she sang, making you laugh as she did a little dance with it.

“I thought you said I was going to be his ‘companion’,” you teased.

She leveled you with a look. “It’s the same thing,” she said, grabbing her bag. “And since your new ‘companion’ is taking you to the diner, why don’t we celebrate tomorrow? You better give me all the details.”

You giggled again at the implication as she squeezed you in a tight hug. If you weren’t happy before, you would've been thanks to her infectious attitude. “You sure don’t need me to head down with you?”

“No, I’m good. You just enjoy the rest of the day,” she said, winking at you and pointing at Andy when he came back. “Have fun and be good to her or I’ll destroy you,” she told him as she walked by with every ounce of confidence you wished you had. “And nice meeting you!”

You half expected there to be an air of awkwardness once the two of you were left alone and were surprised not to feel it at all. It was hard to describe the atmosphere outside of that, but it was something both familiar and new. Maybe that was because Andy continued to put you at ease all while exciting you. The next chapter of your time would be unpredictable in ways that you were looking forward to encountering.

Did he feel the same way?

Andy chuckled after a moment, the sound bringing a smile back to your face as he held up the papers in his hand. “I realize this is probably a bit outdated since everything is done electronically, but I prefer it this way.”

“I don't think it’s outdated,” you assured him as he handed you the contract, his fingers brushing yours. Would you ever get used to the jolt of electricity you felt at his touch? “It’s less of a chance of it getting leaked.”

Though it was you he worried about, you still wanted to protect his reputation.

“Yes, it is,” he said, smiling to himself when you tucked the papers carefully in your folder. “Estelle is serious, isn’t she? She’ll destroy me if I hurt you?”

“Oh, yeah. She isn’t afraid of anyone,” you said as you shifted slightly on your feet. “But I wouldn't worry about her. I don't expect you to hurt me.”

He had to know that.

Andy took a step closer. “She’s a good person to have on your side,” he commented, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the soft look in his eyes. “And I have no intention of hurting you.”

You carefully considered his words with furrowed brows. “Aren't you supposed to say you promise not to hurt me?”

A sad smile touched his lips. “People make promises and usually do so for the right reasons, but they don't always lead to the desired outcome,” he replied as if he peeled back a small layer of himself that still left you with questions. “Take the weeklong silence, for example. I inadvertently hurt you by not reaching out.”

Your cheeks flamed, almost wishing you hadn't mentioned it. “But we talked about that. You didn't mean anything by it.”

“Yes, we did talk about it and I'm glad you told me how you felt. I still caused doubt in your mind though,” he said, his tone gentle and understanding without breaking eye contact. “So while I do want to promise that I’ll never hurt you, I'd rather promise that I have no intention of ever hurting you. Because I don't.”

It took a moment to recall that Andy was married once years ago. While you weren't sure why things ended, did his divorce give him a new perspective on making and keeping promises? Or was it his time as a lawyer?

Whatever the reason you had to respect him for his outlook.

“I appreciate that and I will hold you to that,” you said, falling in step beside him as you headed for the door.

He raised an eyebrow as he held it open for you to go through, allowing you to catch the scent of his cologne again as you walked past. You almost asked what brand it was just so you could get a bottle and spritz your worn in sweatshirts. “Isn't this the part where you promise you have no intention of hurting me?” He questioned.

“I don't think I have the power to hurt you,” you replied, not looking behind you as you headed toward the elevator. You were positive you didn't have that kind of influence nor did you want to hurt him. “But I promise that I have no intention to do so.”

You froze when he leaned in close, his beard ticking your ear and it took all of your inner strength not to turn your head toward him. “Never underestimate how powerful you are, honey,” he whispered, your breath rushing out of your lungs as he stepped back and gestured to the open elevator doors. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” you replied, your voice more breathy than you intended as you stepped inside. You swore you caught him smiling before he joined you.

“I gave my driver the afternoon off, so you’re stuck with me,” he said, pressing the button for the lowest level before the doors slid shut. “I hope that’s okay.”

“I think I can handle you driving,” you teased, happy that the two of you would be alone for part of the evening.

He chuckled before he went quiet again. The silence was comfortable, the soft dings as you passed each floor the only sound in the space. It gave you a moment to admire the man beside you. With his perfect posture, chin held high, and pristine suit, you tried to picture how he looked when he simply relaxed. No eyes on him. No one expecting anything from him.

Maybe he can show me that side of himself sometime soon.

“You’re staring,” he stated.

You smiled, not at all embarrassed that he caught you without looking your way. “I guess it’s because I’m still trying to figure you out.”

That and he was still one of the most handsome men you had ever seen.

But who was Andy Barber beyond his money? Your hero and your second chance at a better life, but what else? What did he do for fun? What did he want out of life, years from now?

Andy swung his head toward you as the elevator came to a stop. “I guess that makes two of us then.”

You found yourself in his car a few minutes later. The Audi still had that “new car” smell to it, the passenger seat sleek and not at all broken in. There wasn’t a spec of dust on the leather interior. Either he didn’t drive it often or he made sure to keep it in next to perfect condition.

Your mind drifted back to Andy’s earlier statement. What exactly was he trying to figure out? If he meant that he was trying to figure you out, he didn’t have to look too deeply. And if he was still trying to figure himself out, that was normal. Searching for your true self was a lifelong journey. And with your newfound sense of freedom at your fingertips, you’d be able to explore your own passions and visualize your ideal self.

But part of you figuring Andy out was getting to know him.

“Why the diner?” You asked, glancing over at him as he concentrated on the road in front of him. “I mean, why go there for coffee or food when you can go anywhere else?”

Maybe upscale places weren’t his usual style. He took you to the Courthouse and looked at ease there, but maybe the diner was an escape. Something different.

“I didn’t grow up with much, but my mom made it work as best as she could,” he admitted, a wistful note in his voice. “We never went hungry and she got creative with some meals so I wouldn’t get tired of eating the same thing. Things like fast food were considered a treat and diners were fine dining.”

You shifted in your seat as you listened, touched by the unexpected vulnerability. “I’ll bet she looked forward to those moments,” you said.

“She did and so did I,” he smiled over at you. “On the rare nights when she was able to save up and take us to a diner, she got a large breakfast or dinner meal for us to split. Best way to stretch her dollar and make sure neither of us felt hungry after.”

You almost reached over to take his hand, but you didn’t want to overstep. He was giving you a piece of himself by revealing a part of his past. That was more than you could ask for.

“I went to diners in college, too, when I was struggling to make ends meet,” he continued, stroking his beard for a moment. “I guess they kind of stuck with me because they reminded me of happier times. They also serve as a reminder to be thankful for what I have. It’s important to remember who I was then and who I am now.”

You let out a breath and closed your eyes as he turned onto the next street, wishing you could thank his mother for raising such an amazing man. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

His hand covered yours unexpectedly when your eyes opened. “Thank you for asking.”

You turned your wrist so your palm met his, your stomach flipping as he held it a little tighter. Opening up was never easy, even if Andy made it sound effortless. You felt closer to him after hearing that important piece of his history. Even the crackle of electricity felt different this time. Instead of a jolt, it was like a steady hum.

Maybe that closeness was the reason you didn’t want to let go when he parked his car in front of the diner.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You swallowed as you glanced out the window, the flashing lights from the sign of the beckoning for you to go in. “I just can't believe I'm actually going to quit,” you said, clutching your bag with your other hand. “I mean, I do believe it. I have my resignation letter here and everything.”

“Even when you had that bit of doubt that the contract wouldn't go through, you had your letter ready,” he smiled.

You toyed with the strap of your bag as you tried to hide your smile. “I guess I did.”

Preparation never hurt anyone.

“But if you’d rather hold off until tomorrow, I understand. I can even drive you back here if you want to wait,” he offered.

For a moment, you questioned if you should wait. As you bit your lip to fight your smile more and squeezed Andy’s hand, you made your decision. You signed the contract. You were more than ready.

Most of all, you deserved to start your path to a better future.

“I’m ready,” you assured him, reluctantly releasing his hand before you unbuckled your seatbelt. “Are you going in or did you want to wait here?”

“I’ll grab a coffee while I wait,” he said, stopping you as you reached for your door handle. “Allow me.”

You smiled to yourself as he went around to let you out. “Are you always a gentleman?”

“Not always,” he said without missing a beat, winking as you joined him on the sidewalk.

You licked your lips and gazed into his bright blue eyes. Could he see the want in yours? What would it take to make him lose control?

“I’m looking forward to seeing that side of you, Mr. Barber,” you smiled, brushing past him as he inhaled.

But first things first.

The bell rang as you walked inside and you paused to take it all in. Taking Andy’s earlier story to heart, you wouldn’t allow yourself to forget that this diner was part of your story. It not only led him to you, but also kept you from becoming homeless. It was a blessing.

“Hey,” Casey, one of the veteran servers, nodded to you from behind the counter before she looked over your outfit. She seemed to forget all about you as Andy as he walked in behind you. You didn't blame her. “Hi there. Sit anywhere you’d like.”

Andy put his hand on your lower back before he leaned in, your breath hitching slightly. “Good luck, honey,” he whispered, releasing you as Casey gawked in your direction. “I’ll just have a coffee, please,” he said as he took a seat at the counter.

The usual warmth Andy exuded was down a notch. Still friendly, but different. Or maybe you were just telling yourself that in order to feel special. “Is Sean here?”

“Yep. In the office,” Casey answered, pouring Andy a fresh cup of coffee. “Just got here.”

“I’ll be right back,” you told Andy, feeling his eyes on you as you headed through the employee only doors.

Sean had his head buried in some paperwork as he grumbled to himself. With a deep breath, you knocked on the open door. He didn't speak to you much outside of your shifts and hardly praised you for a job well done, but he wasn't a bad boss. You felt bad disturbing him, but it was now or never.

“Hi. May I come in?” You asked as he looked up.

“Yeah. Don't shut the door though. Lock’s broken,” he said, nodding to the chair in front of his desk. “Didn’t expect to see you today. What are you all dressed up for?”

“Oh, I had a meeting,” you answered, which wasn’t a lie. You did meet with Andy. “That’s actually what I needed to talk to you about.”

“A meeting?” He repeated with a frown. “Don’t tell me you’re quitting.”

Your stomach began to twist in knots. The last thing you wanted to do was disappoint your boss, even if he wouldn’t be that for much longer. Being a waitress also wasn’t your dream job, but it helped you when you needed it.

Now you have to help yourself.

“Yes, I am. I’m putting in my two weeks notice,” you said quietly, taking the letter out of your bag and placing it on the desk when he stared impassively. “I found another opportunity and I’m going to take it, but I’m happy to take any shifts I can over the next two weeks to help.”

Sean didn’t speak for a moment as he drummed his fingers on the desk. “Two weeks? No, that's not gonna work. We’re short as it is,” he said, shoving the paper away before he leaned back in his chair. Was he serious? “You're gonna have to make it four weeks and then we'll revisit after that to see if we need you to stay on longer.”

“No. I'm giving you two weeks,” you reiterated, your tone unwavering. You wouldn’t let Sean bully you into staying longer, even as guilt crept up since the place was short-staffed. “That's standard and I can't do more than that. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, no. I'm still in charge and you'll give me four weeks. That’s final,” he argued, waving his hand dismissively as you shrank a bit in your chair. “Unless you have anything else to add, I’ll see you next shift.”

You clasped your hands in your lap to keep from shaking. You didn't expect him to react this way. “No, that’s not final. I can't give you four weeks,” you said as calmly as possible, even as you began to feel more uncomfortable. “I would if I could, but I can't. I’m sorry.”

“Can't or won't?” Sean asked, almost making you jump as he raised his voice. “Listen here, you've been a solid employee and I'm not going to lose you in two weeks or four weeks. Do you understand? And if you don't show up you can forget about ever getting a good recommendation from me. Might as well kiss that ‘opportunity’ of yours goodbye.”

Your eyes burned as your mind flashed back to when you were told you were laid off from your previous job, the compassionate tone of your old boss the opposite of the man in front of you. The situations were different, but both made you feel so small. Especially since Sean was essentially threatening your future endeavors. You refused to cry though.

He wouldn’t witness your tears.

You cleared your throat and maintained your resolve. “Two weeks, Sean. That’s it. I said I’m willing to work as many shifts as I can over the next two weeks, but I can't do more than that. I won’t,” you firmly spoke as his eyes widened. “I really don't want to end this on a bad note, please.”

He pushed himself to his feet as he thrust a finger toward your face as if it would somehow make him appear intimidating to tower over you. It wouldn’t sway you. “Listen here, you little-”

“Is everything okay?”

Andy’s voice made both of you jump as you spun in your chair. He stood in the doorway but didn’t look your way. He trained his gaze on your boss, his normally bright eyes narrow and cold.

Your boss must’ve felt malice in that stare since he sat down immediately. “Oh. Mr. Barber,” he said. Did he know him as a regular customer or merely recognize his status? “It’s just an issue with an employee. This doesn’t concern you.”

“There is no issue,” you corrected him.

“Actually, she’s with me, so it does concern me,” Andy spoke as he took a step into the office, staring your boss down with a clenched jaw. The space no longer felt like Sean’s. It was as if Andy owned it along with everything in it. “If you want to raise your voice at someone, I’m right here. You won’t speak to her that way though. Do you understand?”

The deep timbre almost knocked the air out of your lungs, your heart pounding from Andy defending you.

Sean coughed a bit as color filled his cheeks. He should be embarrassed. “I didn’t realize she was with you. I wouldn’t have…” he trailed off.

Your blood simmered. He wouldn’t have raised his voice at you if he knew you were with Andy. Was this a taste of what things were going to be like? How people were going to treat you moving forward?

“Who she’s with shouldn’t matter. Not to mention, your customers and employees could hear you since your door was open,” Andy added, disappointment thickly laced in his voice. “You said she was a solid employee. Why would you speak to her like that?”

Sean’s eyes flickered to you as you waited for an answer. “We’ve been short-staffed and I’ve been stressing over it. That’s no excuse. I'm sorry,” he said to Andy, making your blood go from simmering to boiling. A customer, a powerful man, got the apology, but not you. “Won’t happen again.”

“Maybe remind yourself to be kind to the people who work for you before you raise your voice again. They’re the ones who keep your business running,” Andy said.

With a hang of his head, your boss sighed. “Two weeks, huh?” He asked, the wind completely out of his sails as you nodded. “Okay. Two weeks it is.”

“Thanks,” you whispered before Andy walked over and held out his hand to help you to your feet. Luckily, you didn’t tremble as you took it and gave it a small squeeze. It was nice that he was on your side.

“And one more thing?” Andy added as Sean glanced up. “I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

You held up your other hand when Sean looked your way and opened his mouth. “No. The only reason you’re going to say you’re sorry is because he’s here,” you stated, looking at Andy momentarily. He responded with an encouraging smile. “And I don’t want an empty apology. You can keep it.”

It was nice that Andy wanted an apology on your behalf, but it wouldn't feel believable.

Sean’s face fell, but he didn’t argue. Up until today, he treated you decently. The pressures of running a business were tough, but he had no reason to take it out on you. At the same time, you felt bad for him.

“But thank you, Sean. You gave me a job when I needed one and I won’t forget that,” you added gently. “I’ll see you next shift.”

“Why don't I meet you outside? I just want one more quick word with your boss,” Andy said as Sean audibly swallowed.

Uh-oh.

“Sure,” you said, the knots in your gut unraveling as you left the two of them alone.

You exhaled as you walked back into the dining area, avoiding the gazes from a few of the customers. Your hand shook as you gave Casey a small wave. At least she didn’t look upset with you.

“Quitting, huh? Lucky duck,” she smiled sadly. “You okay? He had no right speaking to you like that.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you nodded, taking another breath. You didn't like anyone raising their voice at you, but you wouldn't allow yourself to dwell on it and didn’t need her to worry. All you could do was make the transition as smooth as possible over the next two weeks. “Didn't expect that kind of reaction. Didn’t expect anyone out here to hear it.”

“Sean’s voice carries and he’s probably just pissed that he’s losing another good one while he’s stuck here,” she guessed, glancing over her shoulder before she added in a whisper, “Oh, and that guy you’re with? He looked furious when he heard him.”

“He did?” You asked, an almost goofy smile appearing on your face.

“Yeah, he did. He had fire in his eyes. Put a bill down, got to his feet, and immediately walked back there. And I wasn’t about to stop him,” she said, her smile widening as she leaned on the counter. “I’d say he’s smitten.”

Your heart skipped a beat. First Estelle, now Casey. Though the latter had no clue about the arrangement. “He’s really something, isn't he?”

“Oh, yeah,” Casey said, straightening up when the employee door swung open.

Andy’s eyes landed on you as he walked through, his eyes soft again as he held out his hand. He also looked pleased with himself. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you said, taking it as you gave Casey a nod. “I’ll see you soon. Hope the rest of your shift is okay.”

“Me, too. See ya,” she said before she went back to assisting other customers.

“You okay?” Andy asked softly as he led you outside.

“I’m fine,” you promised, not wanting him to worry either or get upset. “But what did you say to Sean?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he answered, shaking his head. “Listen, I’m sorry if I overstepped by intervening. I just couldn’t let him talk to you like that.”

He easily deflected your question and you decided to let him have that victory for now.

You went in for a hug but kept space for him to breathe. He wrapped his arms tightly around you before you could pull away, your body melting into his. The bustling city around you faded as you focused on the warmth of his firm body. It made you forget all about Sean’s reaction.

“I’m glad you did,” you said, stepping back with a tiny smile. It meant the world that he defended you. “I tried to hold my own.”

“You did. You could've snapped back or walked out, but you didn't. That’s commendable and powerful,” he assured you, his gaze serious. “But I don't care if it’s your boss or a stranger or your best friend, I’m not about to let someone take their frustrations out on you.”

Warmth settled in your chest. You learned something else about Andy today: He truly wouldn't tolerate anyone disrespecting you. He continued to prove that he was a man of his word.

You also experienced firsthand how things worked in his world, how people would bend toward his will. If it was a test, you wouldn’t say you failed since you stood up for yourself. It wouldn’t always be that easy. Whether someone questioned your motives or place with Andy or not, you had to learn to grow a thick skin. Not just for your own benefit, but Andy’s, too.

He needed someone strong by his side.

“Thank you, Andy.”

“And, listen, if you don’t want to work those shifts or if he gives you a hard time-”

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. You doubted Sean would make it a hostile work environment, but you could handle it if there were any issues. “But I think I’d like to go home now.”

Andy blinked and gave you a single nod. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

Is he disappointed at the thought of me ending the day right now?

You smiled as you tugged him in the direction of his car. “I’d also like you to see my place,” you said, his eyebrows shooting up. It surprised you that you offered, too. “It isn't much, but it’s comfortable. Maybe we can order takeout?”

It wasn’t exactly the ideal way to celebrate, but he shared a piece of himself on the drive over. The least you could do was let him see your apartment. And who knew where the evening would take you?

“Only if you’ll let me pay,” he smiled.

“You're not going to let me pay for anything, are you?” You smiled back.

“Not if I can help it,” he replied, opening the car door. “Let's get you home, honey.”

We all need a man like Andy. And what's going to happen at the apartment? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Andy Barber Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[nickfowlerrr]

all i want

pairing: andy barber x curvy!reader

words: 1.7k

warnings: 18+ only. cockwarming. little tiny bit of teasing. liiiittle bit of a daddy kink.

notes: shockingly enough, this was meant to be a drabble. it very much is not. enjoy!

inspired by this txt post, this is one of seven characters i’m writing this prompt of sorts for. thank you in advance for reading and as always, reblogs and comments and welcome and so appreciated.

It’s all perfectly innocent to start the night, really it is. Your yearly tradition of watching Miracle on 34th Street after trimming the tree is one that neither of you would want to skip out on. And so far this season, between the trial that has had Andy so stressed and your long shifts at the hospital, there has been quite a bit you’ve ended up skipping.

You paid to have the Christmas lights strung up instead of decorating yourselves, the Christmas tree this year came from the grocery store parking lot Andy passed on his way home yesterday instead of the tree farm you always went to to chop down your own, and your annual Christmas Eve party is a no go this year, too. You’re both too busy, too stressed, too tired.

Andy sits on the couch, getting the movie ready to play, while you’re in the kitchen. You slide the bowl of cookie dough you whipped up into the fridge to chill for an hour or two before baking right as the kettle begins to whistle.

You walk back over to the stove, moving it off the burner before carefully pouring the boiling water into the waiting mugs of coco powder.

“Andy, do you want marshmallows?” you call, knowing your voice will carry into the next room. You stir the powder as you wait for his response, plopping a few mini marshmallows into your mug before your face scrunches up a bit. You turn, ready to peek into the living room to repeat yourself, and jump a bit as you’re met with Andy leaning in the doorway.

His arms are crossed over his chest and you are momentarily distracted by how big his arms look in his sweater. You know it’s soft and you can’t wait to cuddle into him and finally have a chance to relax while you watch the movie.

Your eyes flit to his and then you finally see the look of incredulity on his handsome, bearded face. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he speaks before you can.

“Did you just call me Andy?” he asked, sounding disgusted and a little distraught.

You gape a moment, thinking back to what it was you said, and almost immediately realize that you indeed did. You flounder for only a second before shaking your head, “No,” you lie, “I dont think so.”

“Yes,” he states, pushing off the doorframe and starting toward you, “you did.”

You back up, bumping into the counter behind you as he stalks closer. You fight your smile as a thrill runs through you when he cages you in, his arms either side of you as he stands right before you. He leaves almost no space between you and you can see in his eyes what you’re sure he can see in yours.

Longing, desire, and maybe just a hint of desperation…

It’s been two weeks since you have had anything close to alone time together. Your shifts have been all over the place and you’re either heading to work as Andy is coming home, or leaving just as he gets up to start getting ready for his day. Even your weekends have been taken over. Andy has been working nonstop, but you both promised each other that this weekend would be just for you two. No work, no parties, no distractions. The closest thing to intimate you’ve gotten in two weeks has been your parting kisses. You’ve only shared the bed a few days this past week and you’ve both been so exhausted that the furthest you’ve gotten has been cuddling.

So right here and now, that look in his eyes, you know you’re both thinking about the same thing.

“I’m sorry,” you offer in your attempt to appease him.

“You’re sorry …,” he prompts, waiting for you to address him.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you press against him, a smile playing on your lips. “Babe…honey…love,” you continue with the pet names, your fingers dancing across his sweater clad chest before you lean in real close, your lips against his ear before you whisper breathily, “Daddy.”

The sharp breath he takes at the title has you biting your lip to stop the smirk threatening to break out.

You let a hand come up, squeezing the back of his neck gently before your fingers find his hair, almost playing with it as you massage his neck a bit. Andy drops his head as his eyes close under your touch, pressing you back against the counter as he leans into you. He lets out a heavy sigh as your other hand comes up to cup his cheek.

“You’re so tense,” you say, leaning in to kiss him softly. He returns the kiss, his arms coming closer and wrapping around you, pulling you flush to him.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against your lips, your noses brushing.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you kiss him gently once more before letting him go, turning back around to the mugs of coco waiting for you.

Andy doesn’t let you go, just watches as you finish making the cups.

You lean your head back, “marshmallows?” you ask again, earning a smile and a nod from him.

-

The still warm mugs of hot chocolate are on the coffee table before you as you snuggle into Andy.

That tingle you got earlier in the kitchen still hasn’t gone away as you hug Andy, his arm holding you to him in turn.

You don’t want to force anything. You’re both tired, that’s obvious, but god, you miss him. All of him.

You don’t even really want to have sex right now, you just want to be closer. You need him closer.

His eyes are open but you can see the exhaustion in the slightest squint of his eyes as he watches the screen. You lean up, pressing your lips delicately against his exposed throat, once, twice, three times as you work your way up.

“Mmm,” he breathes deeply, holding back a moan under your attention. “Baby,” he warns.

“I know,” you say, a hand rising to stroke his hair as you sit up and move into his lap. “I know, I’m tired, too. We don’t have to do anything,” you let your head rest against his, your noses brushing once more, “I just… I just want to feel you,” you speak so quietly but he can hear the plea in your voice and it squeezes his chest. And he can’t lie and say that the desperation he hears isn’t turning him on a bit, either.

If you want to feel him, he’ll make sure you feel him.

Your hands are lightly in his hair, holding his head as you lean in to kiss him. One kiss, you breathe into him as you pause against each others lips, then another, and another, before your tongue licks into his mouth. He sucks on you lightly before his tongue takes over, his effortless dominance always winning out.

You can feel him growing beneath you and you feel yourself growing slicker in turn.

You pull away from his kiss reluctantly to stand and rid yourself of your pajama pants, while he drags his sweats down. His cock is hard and you inhale sharply at the sight. It’s only been two weeks but you’d almost forgotten just how big he really is.

You hold his shoulder, his hands coming to your chubby waist as you come back to your spot on his lap. You’re on your knees, straddling him as you position yourself above him. One of his hands comes to his cock, the other sliding down your curves as he grips your hip.

He moves his dick up and down your pussy, playing with your wetness as your eyes shut in delight at the feeling, your hands squeezing his shoulders.

He gets himself wet with your slick before he lines the head of his cock up to your entrance. His hand on your hip urges you down, and you slowly sink onto his thick length. You moan in unison as you take him in, a “fuck” leaving Andy’s lips when the first inch of him was finally inside of you.

His hand is holding you, his thumb rubbing the soft, blemished skin of your hip as he urges you to take more of him with his sweet praises.

“You take me so well, baby. Just a little bit more, I know you can do it. Doing so good, sweetheart. Always so fucking good,” he full on moans the last few words as you sit fully on his strong lap with a whimper. He’s seated completely inside of you as you bury your head in his neck.

You feel his lips as he kisses your head, his hand rubbing your back soothingly while the other lightly kneads your thick thigh.

You sigh heavily, relaxing into him as you rest your head against his chest, your velvety walls squeezing his cock of their own volition every so often, earning moans from both of you as he keeps you full of him, the movie still playing as you try to focus on that instead.

But you’re so tired, and so content in Andy’s hold, the pleasure and closeness enough to lull you asleep, you do just that. The cookies can wait until tomorrow.

Andy is smiling to himself as he holds you, he hasn’t been this relaxed since before the start of his current trial. Because with you this close, he’s calm and more than content. This is what he’s been needing. You.

He tenses just a little when your walls squeeze him again, a soft moan slipping past your lips. He moans quietly in turn, still holding you tight.

A moment passes and he has to laugh at the soft snore that leaves you next. He doesn’t want to leave your warmth just yet, he wants to feel you - it’s been too long. So he’ll finish the movie and then he’ll bring you to bed. You’ll cuddle and sleep in each other’s embrace, and all the while he’ll be sure to keep you full of him.

And when you wake up in the middle of the night with his cock still inside of you, your wetness leaking out from around his thick length, he won’t mind one bit about getting woken up by you fucking yourself stupid on his cock. He’s all yours, whenever you want him. And he still owes you for your teasing in the kitchen. He’ll make sure to show you exactly just how much Daddy has missed you.

[worksby-d]

Wrong Donut

Pairing: Andy Barber x pregnant!Reader

Summary: You can't get your favorite donut with your coffee, so Andy lets you cry to him about it over the phone 😖 (Idea from a lovely anon).

Warnings: None. Just soft and silly 🤭

Word count: ~800

∘◦❀◦∘

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. 

You roll your eyes at yourself. Repeating the words in your head only makes it worse really. 

Pulling up to the drive thru window, you’re thankful you have your sunglasses on so the teenager working doesn’t have to see that he inadvertently ruined a pregnant woman's day by telling you that they’re out of your favorite donut.

The short drive back to work is spent blinking tears away so you can see. You think–hope–it does the trick to ward them off completely.

It feels like you’re in the clear until you sit down at your desk to drink your coffee and, reluctantly, the donut the guy recommended to you instead of your usual. You only said yes to it because any more words out of your mouth would have given away the sob you were holding back.

You break down when you open the paper bag and catch a glimpse of it. Not the same.

“Fuck,” you curse at yourself for being so upset, pushing the bag away. 

Wiping some tears off your cheeks with your sweater, you grab your phone and fast walk down the hall to a restroom so no one can see you. 

The only way you know how to cope lately is calling Andy and hoping he has time to let you vent. The poor guy. You suspect one of these days he’ll just stop taking your calls, but you hope it's not today. 

It takes a few deep breaths before you can get yourself to dial his number.

On his end, he sees his phone light up and he knows the drill since you're only voice calling and not video calling like you usually prefer with him. 

“Hi, honey,” he answers carefully, bracing himself. 

“Hi,” you answer back, ready to lose it again from just hearing his voice. 

He can hear the frown on your face. 

“What's wrong?” 

“I got the wrong donut,” you sniffle. 

That's a new one, he thinks to himself. “What?” 

“I went to get my coffee and donut, but I had to go during lunch because I was running late this morning,” you recount. Tears fill your eyes again. “But because it was later in the day and they were busy, they didn't have the donut I wanted. I had to get a different one. And it's just not... right.”

He tries his best not to laugh, he really does. 

“I'm sorry that happened.” You can hear the tinge of amusement in his voice, but he's also being genuine. “It’s just a donut though, baby…” 

“I know,” you sob – Loud enough for him to hold his phone away from his ear for a second. “I think that's why I'm crying. I know it's stupid.” 

He can't help but laugh now. “It's not stupid,” he assures. “You’re just emotional.” 

He just listens to the residual crying on your end until it sounds like you're ready to talk again. 

“Where are you, by the way?” 

“Hiding in the bathroom.” 

He smiles hearing you laugh a little. 

“Did you eat?” He asks. Stupid question. He bites his lip. “I know it wasn't the you-know-what that you wanted, but you have to eat.” 

You roll your eyes at the way he censors the word. 

“Not yet…” You sigh, fixing your smudged makeup while you finish talking to him. Or maybe not. “Will you stay on the phone with me? Distract me while I do?”

He can't say no to you. “Of course.” 

∘◦❀◦∘

When you get home from work a couple hours later, you’ve forgotten all about your mid-day crisis. It was just like all of the other minute things that have made you cry over the past couple weeks. 

You don’t question that you got home before Andy. Every evening is a little different depending on how busy each of you are. Besides, you probably did hold him up by crying to him during your lunch break anyway. So you just go ahead and get everything out that you need for dinner while you wait for him.

Hearing the door open, you call out to let him know you’re in the kitchen. 

“Hi,” you beam at him. 

He’s relieved to see you smiling as he crosses the room to give you a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “Hey, sweetie.”

Your eyes become focused on a paper bag in his hand though, giving him a look when he sets it on the counter in front of you. 

“What’s that?” 

“For you,” he winks. 

You’re skeptical, grabbing the bag and opening it slowly. You let out a short laugh catching sight of the donut that you wanted so badly earlier. 

“My donut?” You pout, looking back at him. “You found one?”

“Oh God, don’t cry,” he chuckles seeing the look in your eyes and pulls you into his arms. “That was supposed to do the opposite.”

“I can’t help it,” you sniffle, closing your eyes and pressing your face into his neck to keep yourself from crying. “Thanks.”

“It was a fresh batch. I'll go back and buy them all for you...”

He says it like he's joking, but you don't think he is. That's exactly something he would do for you.

“No, it's okay,” you laugh, holding your arms around him tighter as if to keep him from doing so. “Don't want anyone else going through what I did.”

∘◦❀◦∘

Tag list: @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @astheskycries @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @la-cey @turtoix @harrysthiccthighss @tvckerlance @rocketrhap3000 @mrspeacem1nusone @murdcox @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @white-wolf1940 @melchills-j @xoxabs88xox @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @rogersbarber @dilfbarber @livstilinski @payperhearts @vintagestarlight @gitasor @chaeycunty @miss-ariella @bemysugarbean @t-stark35 @seitmai @reginaphalange2403 @raelorns21 @mrsgweasley @pandaxnienke @brandycranby

[macfrog]

ghost

when i wrote jet, she was always a two-parter to me. two characters, two horses, two stories. equal and distinct. you guys loved the first part so much that i figured i'd leave it as it was, but recently i hit 2k and thought this could be a cool way to mark it. think of this as jet's sister story. walks right alongside her; same universe, same joel - but still very much a standalone. she can be read with or without her predecessor. thank you a million times over for all the love y'all show me on the daily. writing for you guys is so much fun. love you all the most. 🤎🖤 dedicated to @hellishjoel whose love for this pair inspires me daily

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your loyalty to joel - and your ability in yourself - are tested in st. louis. the reward might just be worth the risk

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, graphic violence, moderate threat, a horse is shot and killed (though i don't think i made this too graphic, more gutwrenching), reader and joel are separated, badass stealthy reader, near-SA (more intended than attempted), very protective & very violent joel, unprotected piv sex, like...bloodplay i guess? lil bit of consensual choking and spitting, creampie, possessive!joel, dom!joel but also softdom!joel, big fluff at the end, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), strong language. this fic is not sponsored by nike. lol.

word count: 10.1k

main masterlist

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too? You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you. “Go now. Now!” And you do.

St. Louis is quiet, still, but fruitless.

It’s been two long days of wandering around and you’ve found one building safe enough to camp in. One. The rest have either been inaccessible – boarded up, broken down, or otherwise already inhabited by infected – or Joel’s deemed them too close to the middle of town, too open, not safe enough.

Not safe enough in a world overrun by a brain-rotting fungal infection? you’d asked.

He shut you up with a sharp expression which you understood simply as: Enough.

It meant that you were wasting days, though. The night you arrived, Joel quickly combed the area surrounding the barber shop you were holed up in for supplies, and found none. He woke you at the crack of dawn next morning to set off, saying he didn’t like the fact nothing was around here. Meant someone had been through before you guys and taken it all.

Meant company, is what he was saying.

So you’d ridden around for – what, maybe three hours? You and Jet, following Joel and Ghost down cracked roads, under rusted street signs. Listening to the wind circle the buildings overhead, nudging traffic lights gently until they sang in distorted, off-key creaks to you. Always keeping your eye on the Gateway Arch between buildings, using it as some kind of north star – not for any reason other than you’d never seen it before up close, but when you mentioned this to Joel, his brows furrowed and he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Which meant that no, you wouldn’t be paying it a visit anytime soon.

It was mid-afternoon when Joel pulled on Ghost’s reins, brought her to a halt, and held his hand out to you. Jet huffed to a stop, and you swear you felt her cock her hip angrily at him.

“Turn back,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I said, turn back. Ain’t nothin’ out this way.”

“Turn back ‘n go where?”

He jerked his head back in the direction you’d come, swerved the reins sideways and then clicked to the black-coated horse to set off. She nodded obediently, like she knew what he was thinking and she figured he was right, and began the long walk back to the barbers.

You muttered an expletive and Joel coughed a Ha, hearing you loud and clear. So you turned to silently praying for a rainstorm, for a horde of infected, for anything you could sling an I told you so in and whip it at Joel.

You followed him, though, deliberately a good few paces behind, knowing he’d keep twisting around to check on you, and letting him fucking do it. Asshole.

When you finally arrived back at your spot, the red sun low behind the buildings and bleeding skyward into twilight, you slept with your back to him.

He didn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind when you’re distant. You wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even notice. He knows you’ll come back when you need something from him – want his words in your ear, want his body on yours, want…him.

The splintered sunlight through the boarded-up windows of the shop stirs you from your sleep. It wasn’t much of a sleep, despite Joel’s promise late last night that he’d let you lie for a little longer; knew you had a long day ahead if you were to get out of St. Louis, and he’d already drained your energy with the travelling yesterday.

You’d woven in and out of unconsciousness all night, dreaming of creaky farmhouses with clicking children inside, their skin torn and swollen and sprouting in swirls of pale white, singed with raw red and rotten green. And you dreamt of Joel’s shotgun blowing their moldy maws apart, blood and bone splattering across the floral wallpaper behind them.

You’re lying on your stomach, flat out on the floor with nothing but a worn comforter separating your fatigued body from the dusty tile. Joel’s out front feeding the horses on the street. You push yourself up, stretching your back, and a red-hot pain licks around your wrists.

“Motherf–”

You wince, falling onto your elbows, and your fingers link lightly around the red skin. The marks from Joel’s belt two nights ago still haven’t eased, haven’t cooled down so much as a degree. They’re still glowing, still burning, still painful.

Joel’s rugged face appears through a busted window. “Y’alright?”

“’m fine,” you mumble, turning over and examining the sores in the sunlight. The sting as your fingertips trace over the skin draws sharp tears to your eyes.

He feeds Jet the last handful of the hay you’d stocked up on and steps in from the golden morning to the dim light of the shop, dusting his hands on his jeans.

“You want more water on ‘em? Cold flannel?” he asks, avoiding the sight of your pained hands.

You shake your head. “Don’t think it’s helping.”

Eyebrows close, crease between them deep, he lowers himself with an achy groan and says, “We’ll find somewhere. You ready to go?”

You nod, tight lips blocking any words you think you’d probably regret later.

Joel helps you up, hands you a bag of beef jerky from his back pocket, and tells you to go get settled on Jet. He’ll pack up.

As you walk by him, he runs a hand from the crown of your head down to the nape of your neck. Gentle as air. And you almost fucking turn back. Almost catch his hand as it leaves your hair, almost wind your body into his. Almost.

Almost.

You follow at Ghost’s tail for another two hours, this time west instead of north. Joel turns to check on you more than he did yesterday; asks a couple times if you need more water, if you want any food. Even asks once if you need a break.

Each time, you reply with a flat, No. It seems to come from your throat more than your lips, more a grunt than an actual rounded word. Teeth locked tight around it, barely separating to let the sound through.

And each time, Joel turns back wordlessly. A mutual understanding; an unspoken agreement – as most of them are – to not talk any more than absolutely fucking necessary.

You spend most of the ride hunched over, your palms pushing heavily against the horn of Jet’s saddle. The sleeves of your jacket rolled up to stop them from brushing against your wrists.

The horse whinnies softly, and you reply to her as though she’s actually speaking. As though you can understand her thoughts, your forehead pressed lightly to the crest of her neck. You tell her you’re fine; tell her she’s doing a great job. You notice Joel’s jaw turn whenever you speak to her.

And then he whispers, “Hey,” and you lift your head, following the flick of his head to a tiny, lone pharmacy up ahead. You could fall off Jet’s back in equal parts shock and relief.

Joel winds Ghost along the road towards the building, stops by the curb outside it.

Its windows are smashed, broken glass decorating the sidewalk in front. There’s dried blood painting the white stone exterior, and empty shell casings dotted along the paved ground. You draw your eyes from the sight to look at Joel, and he’s already noticed them. He’s staring around the street, eyes darting from building to building, looking them all up and down.

The back wall inside the pharmacy is blocked, rubble and rafters hanging loose from a huge hole in the ceiling. Dusty insulation hangs between beams, and through the tears in the candy floss material, you can see the metal grate of the dispensing area. Joel sees it, too; notes it with a grumble and a click of his teeth.

“You stay here,” he tells you, dismounting Ghost.

“’n what if you get stuck in there?”

“Stuck in front of the collapsed ceiling? I ain’t gettin’ anywhere close to bein’ stuck. Stay put.”

You slide to the side, rubber-toed sneaker angling toward the ground to jump off of Jet. Joel swings back around and shoots you a look like fire on your skin.

“You got a death wish, or som’?”

“You just said you won’t get stuck. The hell’s gonna kill me in there?”

“Me, if you don’t listen to my damn instructions. Get back on the horse.”

“I ain’t off it,” you snap, a little louder than you intended. Sure, you want him to comfort you sometimes, but fuck, he pisses you off.

Joel stalks off without another word, head low between his shoulders. You hook your foot back into the stirrup and shake your head, averting your gaze to the other side of the street where the sight of an ill-tempered man-child won’t piss you off more.

The street is lined with stores and cafes, a bar on the corner with torn-up leather seats spilling out of the door like someone’s barricaded it. Your eye travels further down, where faded, moldy bunting ruffles in the wind, hooked around a traffic light.

There’s a red-brick building directly across from you, a truck with green tarpaulin parked out front. The doors to the building creak as they swing back and forth in the wind. The windows are still intact – surprising for this deep in the city. Other than that, the place looks pretty damn abandoned.

Ghost shakes her head, ears flicking. A heavy, shuddered breath jolts from her flared nostrils in the form of two white clouds, lit golden in the sunlight. She moves from foot to foot. You pat Jet gently, distracting yourself with the feel of her long, ginger mane.

You hum quietly, filling an eerie silence. Something to the beat of your heart, quickening with each second. Trying to calm the horses, calm yourself. Joel’s still wandering around inside.

You read an article once before the outbreak that said horses can smell fear on humans. It was for a school project. Said it affected their nervous system, like, made their heartrate pick up, though they never concluded whether it made the horses more afraid themselves or not.

Feeling Jet’s body weight shift from side to side as you swerve around atop her, analyzing every movement, every sound, every change in direction of the wind on this street, you figure you know the answer now.

Yeah. She feels edgy.

The wind picks up, carrying leaves across the broken road, fluttering by burnt-out cars. There’s a scuff from the store and your head shoots back to find Joel emerging from the shadows.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, giving the street a sideways look as he walks back over to Ghost.

“Nothing I need, or nothing at all?”

He lifts his hands to take hold of her. “Nothin’ at all. Place is ransacked. Whole damn city’s –”

It all happens in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re looking at Joel, watching his lips form the words, his fingertips coming to land on the leather strap of Ghost’s bridle, and barely a heartbeat later, there’s a deafening crack from across the street.

Ghost’s body falls to the earth like she’s nothing but an inanimate sack. Her front legs buckle first, her chest crashes down towards the smooth stone, and then she’s rolling onto her left side. She’s dead before she hits the ground.

Dust and dirt are thrown skyward as she slams down, head falling heavy and still on the sidewalk.

“Ghost!” you shriek, and then you feel Joel’s hands on the sleeve of your jacket – rough. Painfully squeezing, canvas burning against your wrists.

He’s gripping the material, hauling you down to him, only you won’t let go of Jet’s reins. You’re being tossed to-and-fro atop the now-panicking horse. Ghost is bleeding from her head; thick, dark blood spilling out like tar and dripping down the curb.

You scream at Joel, fighting his grip off, eyes never leaving the black horse. But then another shot fires, ricocheting off of the ground by the pharmacy window, missing his head by less than a foot, and you fall limp.

You let him drag you off of Jet’s back and hurl you inside the pharmacy, shoving you out of view and into the dingy shadows. When you turn, you realize she’s still out there, a chestnut-colored blur as she rears and spins, fleeing from the noise. You scream her name but Joel whips around and plants his palm flat against your mouth, smothering your cry into a muffled whimper against the curve of his calloused skin.

“Shut up,” he whispers, free hand reaching into his holster for his own gun.

You drag his hand from your face, dropping it. “Jet’s still out –”

“They ain’t aimin’ for Jet,” he replies, switching the handgun into his right. “They’re aimin’ for us, and they’re gonna be down here soon. I need you to listen to me.”

“But Ghost –”

“Baby,” he says, laced with frustration and desperation and panic. Your sentence falls flat on your tongue. “Listen – to – me. Now.”

You nod, tears forming in your eyes. The horse is still lying out front; you can see her past Joel’s shoulder. You think back to your agreement: Do as you say. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eye, repeating those words to you. Listen to him. Focus on him. Stay alive. You don’t survive this if you don’t wake the fuck up right now.

And then he has his hands either side of your face, shaking you back to reality. “Hear me?”

“What? No, I didn’t hear. I didn’t fucking hear!”

He wastes no time chastising you. Just says it again. Calm, clear. Every word its own sharpened shape.

“I need you to move, need you to get out of here. They’re across the street, in that red building. There’s probably a gang of ‘em, right? So we gotta take ‘em out.”

“Take ‘em out? We gotta fuckin’ run, Joel! We don’t even know how many –”

“You,” his voice sounds like he’s about to break, “are gonna head out of there.”

He points past you, behind an upturned shelving unit, where there’s a small hole blown in the side of the pharmacy. Unnoticeable from outside, though if the perps across the street have ransacked this place, they’ll know it exists.

“You’re gonna make your way around the street, head low, quiet, ‘n get in the back of that building. You got it?”

“What the fuck are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna distract ‘em. I’ll cover you, alright? Just do it.”

Just do it. Just fucking do it. I tell you what to do, and you just do it, because it’s me. Because you trust me, because we’ve kept each other alive this long.

Just do it. Because right now, what the fuck else are you going to do?

Your head’s still spinning. Pulse throbbing in your ears. Lungs hammering against your chest wall for breath. You can barely think straight.

“What do I do once I’m in?”

He’s kneeling down, swinging his backpack off of his shoulders. “Take – them – out. You’ve done it before, you know what you’re doin’.”

“Real noble of you, Joel,” you hiss, taking the spare gun he offers and slipping it under the back of your jeans, “sendin’ me in alone to kill who the hell knows how many fuckin’ guys.”

You pull the switchblade he picked up from that farm in Nebraska and flick it once, letting it glint fiercely in the light from out front, then close it and place it back in your pocket, ready to hand if – and when – you need it.

Joel’s loading his rifle, unable to meet your eye. He sniffs. “Do it quiet, you hear me? Sneak up on ‘em.”

You shake your head in disbelief, feet starting to carry you over to the side of the room. Powered by adrenaline only, letting go of any emotion that might keep you inside this stupid pharmacy. Forgetting anything in you that might convince you to stay glued to Joel’s side.

Yeah, you can fucking do it. You’re not a kid. You’ve been doing this long enough.

This was life before the QZ. You were in a group then, a collective of survivors whose only interest was staying alive. At all costs. And you got good at it. You’ve told Joel about it before – you were the first wave. Whenever you came across another group – no matter if it was hunters, smugglers, fucking FEDRA – they’d send you in, alongside Mila. The two of you lightest on your feet, best with a knife in your hands.

You started to find it fun, after a while. Thrill of the chase and all that. Creeping up behind them, dragging the blade along their throat, dropping them to their knees as they choked and gargled and bled out. The two of you could clear an entire building in ten minutes, not a single bullet fired.

Mila preferred puncturing them. She’d lift her arm and bring the knife down with the weight of her entire body, sinking it into their necks, under their jaws, sometimes through their fucking temples. You’d seen that girl do some pretty fucked-up stuff.

You’d seen yourself do some pretty fucked-up stuff. Stuff that’d have you avoiding mirrors for weeks.

And none of it scared Joel away. None of it made him think twice about setting off with you.

Certainly never made him think twice about sending you on what can only be described as a suicide mission, just to rid St. Louis of a few bandits.

Doing it isn’t the problem, though, is it? You haven’t had to do it in a while, sure. Joel takes care of you well enough that you barely have to look twice at a threat before there’s a bullet, a blade, or an arrow through it. And you’re not scared, either. Not of those guys across the street.

No. You’re scared of leaving him. Parting with him.

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too?

You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you.

“Go now. Now!”

And you do.

You emerge into an alleyway, concealed from the street by a rusty blue dumpster. Overgrown weeds at your feet, you stay crouched and still until you’re sure there are no eyes on you from the windows overhead.

I mean, you’d be dead by now if there were. So that’s hopeful.

You slink around the jagged metal, slow, silent. More gunshots sound from across the street, and you know Joel’s tossed them a bone. Maybe he’s shown himself – a flash of his jacket or scuff of his heel as he settles to fire back. Maybe they’ve already killed him. Who fucking knows?

At the end of the alleyway sits a black gate, bent and contorted into an archway which separates you from the street. Still covered by knee-high weeds, you kneel down onto your stomach and peer between the wiry green plant to get your first scope of the street ahead.

There’s a long-abandoned nail bar on the right, a few doors down from that bunting you spotted earlier. And right outside it, cast in shadow from the awning: a chestnut horse, saddle hanging lopsided on her back. Waiting, patiently, watching the shootout before her.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Stay there. Stay right there.

Joel’s on his knees outside the pharmacy, crouched behind a Jersey barrier. He lifts his head every thirty seconds, fires one heavy shot at the windows on the top floor of the red-bricked building, and then ducks for cover when they send a burst of erratic bullets back down to him, pelting against the concrete.

You watch for a minute, studying the pattern, and then slip back between the weeds like a lion hiding in the bushes. When Joel fires at the window, you push yourself up and make a swift run for it.

There’s a truck in the middle of the street. Black paint scraped, shot, and sun-burnt off. You take three good strides, kneeling once you’re at the tailgate. You peer around the rear of the truck, huge tires flat and melted into the broken tarmac. You spot your opening.

A gray fence faded by the sun, a few slats missing from the bottom half, guarding an overgrown yard, and, sitting wide open: the backdoor to the building.

Bingo.

It’s an easy enough route. Looks almost like someone’s laid it out for you this way, a perfect path. You wait for your signal – Joel’s gunfire – and sprint over to the fence, back flush against the rotting wood.

You pull the revolver from your jeans and open the chamber. Five bullets. Not bad. You snap it back and adjust your grip on it, finger ghosting the trigger. And then you hear them.

“The girl’s still inside,” a voice grunts from over the fence. Your blood runs cold.

“He’s gotta run out sometime. What the fuck’s Nico doing wasting bullets?”

“How often do strays come through? Let him have his fun.”

Strays. Like a little pet name. Like it’s sport for them. It pisses you off, your adrenaline channeling into rage, white hot across the nape of your neck, growing into determination to put your knife through every single one of them.

So, you return the gun, favoring your switchblade.

Old dog, new tricks. Yadda yadda.

You bend down, peering through the gap like a dog searching for scraps.

It’s just the two of them. One, standing by the door; looks about six feet tall by six feet wide, buzzcut atop a puffy face, tattooed arms hanging loose by his side. The other, pacing around the yard; when his worn jeans pass the opening in the fence, you scan up the tall figure and notice dirty blond hair, scraped back from a gaunt face into a greasy ponytail.

“And if anything hears him? Runners? Fuckin’…we ain’t ready for that.”

Neither of them seem to have a gun. Scrawny doesn’t, anyway, and if Buzzcut does, it’s not in his hands. Which gives you a few seconds’ advantage.

Once Scrawny turns away, you slip through and hook your arm around his neck, holding your knife to the spongey skin under the ridge of his jaw. Buzzcut steps forward, hands reach into his waistband. Fuck.

“Make a sound, I’ll cut him.”

It’s not hard for your voice to fall back to that pitch, that same old tone. Muscle memory. Hushed, so no one inside hears; serious, flat, not a hint of fear. Even though this guy can probably feel your heart hammering into his back.

There’s still shooting on the street. Buzzcut steps forward, pistol between his fingers, silver reflecting the sun into your eyes. He’s unsure if he should lift it or not. Unsure if he should do anything or not. There’s panic painted across his face the color of crimson. He’s not built for this stuff, and he knows it. His free hand comes up, palm forward. Half of a surrender.

Not good enough.

“Put the gun down.”

“Fucking bitch,” Scrawny mutters, wrestling around, long legs bent awkwardly as he leans into your smaller frame.

Fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t know that this is the fun part. This is why you chose the knife, and not the gun. Blade over bullets. It’d be too easy to rip his brain apart with the squeeze of a trigger. Too quick. Nah, you want to hear him. Want to feel him writhe against you.

You let the blade sink into his whiskered neck. Ever so slightly. He hisses and settles.

“Put – the fucking gun – down.”

“Patrick,” your hostage spits, “just do it.”

Just do it.

Patrick glances down briefly and then nods, eyes flitting back to you. Your eyes stay locked on him, your grip tightens around the knife, but you deafen to the heaving of the chest under your elbow.

Just do it.

Where’s Joel? Is he alive? His voice is ringing in your ears.

Just do it.

There’s a pause between the bullets across the street. Have they hit him?

Just do it.

Patrick’s gun hits the ground with a blunt thud.

Just do it.

And then you feel it.

Searing pain, hot as fire in your upper thigh. A sharp scratch just below your hip, teeth cutting through denim and flesh, then a rutting feeling, twisting and digging and fucking burning as the knife is pushed further and further. You let an angry groan pass your lips and dig your own blade deep into his throat.

His skin bursts open like a bag of water. You pull on him, letting him sink to his knees flush against your chest. Before he’s even on the ground, you’re lurching forward, retrieving the pistol and swiping your knife at Patrick’s outstretched hand. He gasps, clutching his split palm, and then backs away a couple steps.

This time, he lifts both hands. That’s better, fucker.

“Don’t – don’t gotta –”

“Shut the fuck up,” you cut back, staring him down while his buddy writhes at your feet, taking his last few gulps of air. Fresh, warm blood seeps into the grass. Your thigh is on fire.

You edge closer to Patrick, and Patrick edges further away. Until his back is pressed against the wall, his knuckles scratching against the brick; his own blood streaming down his wrist.

“How many are in there?” you ask, head nodding to the doorway, barrel of the gun pressed into his cheek.

He gulps.

“How many?”

“Th-three. Please.”

“Where?”

“One in the h-hall. Two upstairs. Please,” he says again, and you drop the gun, leaving a white ring in his skin.

Mila would sink it in deep, right into his neck. The trapezius. Her favorite spot. She’d just plunge the knife in, push until he collapsed, and then leave him to bleed out. But this is a big guy. He’s gonna need more than that to floor him.

“Alright,” you concede, stepping forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You pull your arm down to your hip, knuckles white around the handle and take a fistful of his shirt with the other. Draw him in real close, and angle the blade to the sky, shoving it up under his chin. Nice ‘n snug.

It glides through his skin like it’s butter, and you catch the butt of the knife in your palm, pushing further up. You watch as his eyes widen, his pupils focus on yours long enough to take the memory of your face with him – and then they relax, roll back to check out the metal intrusion behind them.

Patrick gargles, chokes on blood and blade, then gasps as you haul it back out, bright red gushing down his front.

His body folds, both hands come up to cup his torn jaw, and with one kick which cracks into his knees, he’s flat on his face, breathing in dirt and grass and…the blood of his buddy.

“You’re welcome, Patrick,” you breathe, limping over him to enter the building.

Shots are firing again upstairs. It’s dark, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust, but you’re in a derelict store. Place is empty, probably looted by these assholes.

Patrick told you there was one guy in the hall, which you assume is through the door sat ajar on your left. Patrick, however, was most likely a liar. And even if he was telling the truth, you don’t know what this place looks like. You have no idea when or where you’ll come across this one guy.

The only things you have on you are your gun and your knife. So you open the revolver again, your trembling fingers fish one bullet out, and you toss it, aiming for the sliver of light between the door and its frame.

It rattles through, rolling over the solid floor.

“Patrick?” a voice calls, and footsteps begin to approach. “Tucker?”

You duck behind a battered, empty shelf.

A third guy, long brown hair tangled across his shoulders, thick beard patchy with white and gray, pushes the door open and sidles in.

“Pat–”

You’re on him before he can finish his pal’s name, same way you jumped Scrawny – now Tucker, out there. Your blade glides across his throat and he buckles, much quicker than his predecessor outside did. You settle him face down on the tile floor, nodding to him as some twisted form of a thank-you, and slip out of the room, swinging down to collect your bullet as you go.

Patrick, as it turns out, was not a liar. The bottom floor of the house is empty. You’re in a long, narrow hallway. A bloodstained runner at your feet. There are muffled voices upstairs – roaring, cursing. The sunlight streaming in through the arch-shaped window on the front door draws you nearer.

Your breathing is labored, with stress, exhaustion, and pain. Your thigh throbs under your jeans, pain shooting like lightning from the wound anytime you put weight on it. You drag yourself to the bottom of the stairs.

More shots. You swear they’ve only been coming from this building for the last five minutes. Where the fuck is Joel?

You lift your foot hesitantly, hovering over the first step. Don’t fuck this up now. You line it up, applying your weight bit by bit until you’re pushing up off the floor with a whimper, balancing on one leg, bracing for the inevitable creak of the wood.

Nothing.

You’re about to step onto the second, when the door behind you bursts open. Light screams into the hallway, shining on you like a spotlight, and three huge figures stumble in the doorway.

“Wh–? That’s the bitch on the horse!”

You throw yourself up the stairs desperately, taking them two – three at a time, but a pair of fists are in your hair, dragging you back down to the man they belong to. You cry out, swinging around, and catch him square on the nose with your elbow. He swears, retreating only momentarily, before looking you dead in the eye, blood pouring down his lips.

“Fucking – cunt,” he seethes, arms darting out to reach up for you.

His attempt is short-lived, for a number of reasons.

First: you kick his chest before he can grab you, sending him hurtling back down where he came from.

Second: one of the two Patrick said would be up here is at the top of the stairs now, taking you by the shoulders and hauling you up.

And third: Joel just opened fire downstairs.

The bullets pelt around the hallway, coming from the side you just snuck in through. He must’ve followed you across the street.

The last thing you see as you’re dragged off into another room is the three of them ducking for cover, and then you’re being flung onto a cold, dusty floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs and the revolver from your waistband. You roll over and groan, staring up at two men standing over you.

One of them – the one whose vice grip dragged you in here – is big and bulky. Like a brick wall. You realize you’ve no chance of getting by him. His fists are clenched, face reddened, black beady eyes boring into yours. Then he lurches forward, steals the gun from the floor beside you, and points it at you. The safety’s still fucking on.

The other looks younger, but still built. Toned. His shoulders swell in the green canvas jacket he’s wearing, patches on the sleeves. Short, black hair, face sculpted and smooth, chin hairless. Lips pursed as he surveys you, tosses over what to do.

“Cute little game you were playin’, down there,” he muses. “Took out half my guys.”

“Wasn’t that hard,” you pant in reply, “you’re all fucking idiots.”

You can hear Joel fighting off the rest of them, grunts and growls of pain echoing up the stairs. You don’t know which are him and which are them, and it sends fleets of panic through your chest, tightening your breath.

“Sounds like your man’s losing.”

You laugh, masking your fear with a roll of your eyes, head leaning back. “I don’t think so.”

The two men look at each other. The black-haired one nods down to you, then turns on his heel. “Do what you want to her,” he tells Brick Wall, bored, and begins walking away.

A repulsive smile pulls on the man’s lips as he glares down at you. Putrid pink cheeks swell, eyes disappear. Your heels dig against the floorboards, beginning to push yourself in a dizzy haze backwards as his huge, beefy hand reaches down for your waistband.

Something of a scream, warped by the way your body so quickly jumps away from him, escapes your throat, but it only makes him laugh. Your hand slips up inside your sleeve, fingers clutch the cold metal handle of your blade. It flicks open under the fabric, and, just as the noise draws the attention of the man now fumbling with the button of your jeans, you take one good swipe and cut through his forearm. One clean slice, separating skin and soaking the tip of your knife in his blood.

He hisses, stumbles backwards two steps, clutching his arm. You throw yourself to your feet, backing into the corner opposite.

“Nico!” Brick Wall cries out, and the canvas jacket spins to face you.

You clutch your knife, hunched, panting. The room slowly tilts, resetting every time you blink, then begins rotating again.

Nico laughs, pulling a gun of his own and aiming it straight at your face. It’s a nightmare – two on one, both of them armed. But it’s better than what was about to fucking happen.

“Fucking – bitch,” Nico snarls.

“Y’all keep saying that,” you utter, eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun, “I don’t get it. I’m goin’ easy on you here.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it,” Nico spits, apparently not paying enough attention.

The building’s silent. The fighting’s stopped downstairs. And there are no loud footsteps making their way up here, which means one thing.

There’s a quieter, deadlier threat on his way up.

A brutal shot fires from the hallway, taking your breath with it, and Brick Wall’s body flops to the floor. Bullet hole in his temple. Spray of blood across the wall. Only three beating hearts left in the building.

Nico seems to gasp, whether from fright or the way he lunges toward you, wrapping a tight, choking arm around your neck and holding the gun to your temple, both of you waiting for Joel to materialize for two very different reasons.

His figure creeps around the doorway, footsteps slow and soft. His eyes flit over yours, shoulders hunched, rifle aimed ahead. Your breath lets go in one huge, shaky gasp, feeling your muscles relax.

“I’ll do it,” Nico hisses, panic strung through his voice tighter than the bow of a violin. “One wrong move and she’s dead, asshole.”

Joel shrugs. “Do it.”

Nico doesn’t move. He shakes your body, pushes the gun harder into your skin.

Joel looks you dead in the eye. “Do – it.”

Your fingers run over the handle of your knife, lowering it until you have a good enough grip to lock your fist and tilt the blade, lifting your right arm and hammering it backwards, stabbing deep into Nico’s side.

Your head leans to the right as he screams out; he falls to the left. And Joel takes his shot.

Nico’s hand bursts open, blood spraying everywhere. The revolver is thrown from his grip, rattling against the floor as your fist takes one good swing across his jaw and then you fall apart from one another – you, rocking into the steady weight of Joel’s body, and Nico, collapsing against a desk.

Joel catches you in his arms and straightens you up, shifting you to aim his gun back at the threat – though there’s not much about him that warrants such a name anymore. He’s slumped against the dark wood, dark stain seeping through his shirt, head rolled back and groaning. One hand cupping what’s left of the other, blood snaking through his fingers and down his hand like vines on a tree trunk. He looks…pathetic.

Joel fires another shot at him without fucking looking; it lands in Nico’s thigh, and he screams. Mouth full of blood and loose teeth, it’s a gargled, drowned howl of pain.

“They try somethin’?” the fierce drawl asks you, brows low, eyes dark. You know what he’s talking about. The button of your jeans is undone.

You want to say, It’s fine, I’m fine. You want to tell Joel to leave Nico to bleed out. He’s the last one, he’ll be dead inside of ten minutes. You want to go, want to climb onto Jet’s back and let her carry your weak, limp body as far from here as her legs will gallop, and then, once she’s rested, further.

But Joel won’t hear any of that, you know it. Won’t leave this little son of a bitch to slip into a half-conscious drowse, the dripping of his own blood ticking down the seconds he has left while the sound of Jet’s hooves fading into the distance lulls him to hell.

He knows you. Joel. He can read lies on your lips like they’re words scrawled into your skin, so that’s a waste of time, too.

You nod. Joel’s jaw locks. And his eyes flood black like ink.

He hands you the rifle, pulls his arms out of his backpack, and paces over to Nico. The bloody, injured figure begins to back up, push himself further away from Joel, who’s reaching down for something.

“Look, man,” Nico heaves, “you gotta see it from our point of v-view. You guys came walkin’ into our territory, you – you…”

There’s the sound of metal dragging across the bare floorboards, vibration strong enough that it rattles your entire body. You turn away, figuring you don’t need to see him pummel a man to death with a broken pipe.

You hear it, though. Every grunt from Joel, every cry from his victim. Every time the pipe bludgeons into him, the wet squelch of warm flesh and blood meeting cold, rusting metal. You wander off to the other side of the room, closing your eyes.

It’s like a pattern – like the shooting from earlier. Joel sucks in breath as he lifts the pipe above his head, groans as he hurtles it down. There’s the blunt sound, a ding almost of the metal whacking against Nico’s skull, the splatter of blood bursting. And repeat. Deep breath as the pipe winds back – groan as it uppercuts through the dusty air, crack of bone breaking when it makes contact.

Finally, he stops. Takes three deep breaths. Drops his weapon. You turn.

The limp body lies at his feet, a dent the size of Texas in the globe of his skull. Olive skin now splattered red, face unrecognizable. Blood pouring out of somewhere – everywhere in his head, circling his body in a thin, fast-moving pool.

Joel’s staring at you when your eyes lift. Sweat glistening on his forehead, lips apart. Shoulders tight. You’re standing face to face, both of your breathing heavy and labored. Exhausted. And yet…you fucking need him.

You take one step forward and suddenly Joel’s advancing, too, hands out to meet you when you collide into him. Your fingers scram for his collar, ripping his jacket from his shoulders while he messily tears apart the waist of your jeans.

His weight bears down on top of you and he pushes you to the floor, following you down. The floorboards are dirty, coated in a thick layer of dust disturbed by the scuffle you just had, and glazed by the blood of those who lost. You sit up only long enough to remove your jacket before Joel’s pinning you down, unbuckling his own jeans and taking a grip of yours.

You flinch when he tugs on the waistband, and he pauses. Looks up, watches your expression twist. Then follows your eyeline, down to your thigh, where the fresh stab wound oozes thick, dark blood.

Joel slowly peels your jeans down your legs and over the gash. When they pool loose around your knees, you bend them, angling your broken skin in the sunlight. It’s swollen, the cut, reddened and raw. Flesh dragged back and forth, torn and ripped around the edges. You can’t even feel the pain of it anymore, only a prickling heat leading up to the ridges of your broken skin.

And so, when Joel’s fingers run through the air directly above it, and he mutters something about cleanin’ you up, you grunt. Straighten your legs. Pull him by the shoulders back down to you. Reply with a rushed whisper, a Hurry the fuck up.

And he listens; he unbuckles his own jeans, sags them low on his hips, and bends your knees at his shoulders. His cock is already stiff, bead of precum at his wide tip, which he dips between your folds to collect your slick, and then fists himself slowly.

Hurryhurryhurry “– the fuck up,” you groan, watching your wet glisten off the smooth skin of his shaft.

He smirks, then pushes straight in.

Your head hits the floor, eyes rolling with it as he fills you up. His face buries between your breasts, voice muffled by the material of the fabric when he lets out an open-mouthed moan. You both adjust to the feeling – the stretch and the tightness – and then, with a couple more shallow thrusts, Joel begins really fucking you.

He drags his forehead up to yours, sweat mixing where your skin touches. Your jaw clenched; you’re hissing every time he hits that sweet spot inside of you. Holding onto him by the shoulders as he rocks his hips forward, pushing you closer and closer to your first release.

Joel lifts his hand, placing it flat on the floor above your head to steady himself. Then, he quickly glances up at it, an unusual look on his face. You crane your neck and follow his eyeline to find his hand gleaming wet with blood. Bright red. Fresh.

It’s the guy he shot. Bullet wound peering out from the other side of the desk you’re lying next to; his blood has travelled across the uneven flooring.

Joel studies his palm intently, thrusts slowing down some. His face looks…puzzled? As if he’s never had to physically encounter the result of him and his bullets. As if he doesn’t know where to put his hand, now that it’s covered in that result.

You do, though. You know exactly where you want him to put it.

You take his wrist in both hands and draw his gaze down to you. The blood drips from his almost trembling palm down your fingers.

His expression changes – softens, when he sees you looking up at him, watching him from under hooded lids. And then it darkens, when you pull his palm flat against your neck, and the red fluid stains your throat.

You can feel the warm wet between Joel’s skin and yours – the same warmth on the back of your head, creeping through your hair as it seeps further across the floorboards. You’re both covered in blood and dirt, anyway. Joel seems to consider the same, and his grip tightens.

His thumb and forefinger pinch, cutting into your windpipe. Your vision falters for a second, Joel blinks out of focus, and a tiny wave of euphoria crashes over your body. A sick grin pulls across your lips, mirrored in Joel’s.

He releases you and you gasp, oxygen surging through your throat like a burst of water in a dried-up pipe. You let go of his wrists to run your blood-soaked fingers across his face, through his hair. He’s still fucking you hard, and you need something to ground you as white-hot heat pools rapidly between your legs, and a knot begins to tighten.

“You like that?” Joel grunts, driving his hips harder.

“Mhm,” you reply, mouth falling open in a silent gasp when his tip punches into your cervix. The edges of the world start to whiten.

“You’re mine, you hear?” he says through gritted teeth. “Belong to me.”

You’re nodding, throat tossing out an, Uhuh.

“Ain’t no one gets this but me, h-uh?”

Joel’s hand is back around your neck, this time taking either side of your jaw between his fingers, keeping your eyes trained on his. Whatever the fuck makes you do it – the look in his eye, silently commanding, or maybe your own fucking desperation – you’re not sure. But you open your mouth wider, rest your tongue on your bottom lip, and plead with your eyes for him to do it.

So, he does.

His jaw slackens and a bead of spit falls from his mouth into yours. He watches as it lands on your tongue and you run it along your lips, coating yourself in him, before swallowing it.

Joel groans, lets a staggered, “F-fuck, baby,” pass his lips.

You smile in return, filthy, but needy, and beginning to crash hard as your orgasm bursts through you.

He fucks you through it, pace never faltering, still stringing wet saliva between your lips as he kisses you. You pull away when it becomes too much, burying your head in his shoulder and biting down on his shirt.

“Yeah,” he coaxes you, “that’s it. Fuck. Nice ‘n tight, baby.”

As soon as the room starts to return to your vision, the feeling back in your body, you’re rolling him over. Ignoring the burn of the wound in your thigh, you push him back down and straddle him, his cock still deep inside.

You roll your hips lazily, fingers coming down to toy with your clit as Joel stretches you even more from this angle. He groans, hands finding home tight on your hips, head rolling back. He bucks his hips and your free hand steadies yourself on his chest.

“Faster, baby,” he says, trying to move you with his hands.

“No,” you hum, “we go slow. I want to go slow.”

He grunts, pissed off. Good. Keep him that way.

You begin to slowly bounce, pads of your fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit, almost hurting with overstimulation.

“Tell me what you did downstairs,” you whisper, eyes falling shut.

“Downstairs?” Joel asks in a broken voice.

“Mhm. What did you do to ‘em?”

He catches on. “Shot one of ‘em under the jaw.”

You shake your head. “Next.”

“Ch-choked one of them out.”

“No. Not him.”

You want blood. You want Joel’s fists wrapped around someone’s vital organs. You want the sound of your screams in his ears, whether they were really there or not, driving him to commit acts so heinous he won’t look you in the eye when he confesses them.

That’s what you want: him to confess them.

“One of ‘em had a Bowie…” he breathes, knowing what you’re looking for.

You fall forward with a deep moan. “That’s it. Him.”

“…hangin’ from his belt. Shot his leg, right above his knee –”

You moan again, sighing as you sink down on his cock and that feeling creeps over you again.

“– then took the knife.”

“He on the floor?”

“He got up. He – fuck – he stood up, ‘n I put it between his shoulders.”

“Fuck, yeah?”

“Yeah. Ripped ‘im apart, baby.”

You cry out in pleasure, bouncing up and down faster and faster the more the image replays in your head. You’re leaning forward, hovering over Joel as your skin slaps against his every time his hard length fills you. Fucking him to the thought of him slaughtering anyone who posed any threat to you. Those guys didn’t make it upstairs, you’re not even sure they got a good look at you before you were hauled away. But Joel tore them limb from limb at just the possibility.

“Did he – did he scream?”

“Yeah, he fuckin’ screamed.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, hands splayed on either side of Joel’s head, and his fingers knot in your hair. He pulls your forehead against his again, whispering into your mouth.

“Begged me not to do it,” he hums, and you’re thrown over the edge for the second time.

Your hips stop moving to allow space for your high; a second blinding, screaming orgasm ripples through you. You’re gasping now, fingers clutching for Joel, but he’s already moving again.

He slips out from underneath you and lets you down gently on your front, taking your hips and pulling them up to him as he positions himself behind you. And then, without a second’s hesitation, he’s back inside you, chasing his own high. Your back arches as he fucks you, chest flat against the floor.

There’s blood fucking everywhere. On your clothes, in your hair, on the floor beneath you, streaming down your thigh. The entire room smells of it – that suffocating, sickly sweet bite of iron. The bitterness so thick that it coats your lungs with every desperate pant of breath.

And finally, fucking – finally­, all the adrenaline and momentum is brought to a climax when Joel releases deep inside you, and you feel yourself contract around him as a third orgasm pulses through you. Your cunt swollen, aching, you almost don’t feel it, but for the way your legs give as soon as he stills inside you.

He’s groaning, borderline fucking whining, before he draws out of you and slumps down beside you on the floor. You’re both staring at one another, almost afraid to touch each other – as if you’re made of glass. Fragile. Breakable.

Yeah. You’re his. And he fucks you like you’re his, like your only purpose is to relieve his stress, tire out his anger, but then…then he looks at you like this, the sunlight twinkling in his warm eyes, dust falling over him like snow. Then he shifts the hair from your face so he can take a proper look at you, study every detail on your face – the cracks in your lips, the curve of your nose. And you know you’re so much more than that to him.

Always have been. Always will be.

You lean over and run your fingers across his cheek, dried blood the color of wine all over your hands. Joel lies still, places a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb when it touches his lips. Your nails sift through his beard. His eyes close over, laying in the comfortable stillness as you trace his face, delicately drawing from his dark brows down to the patches of skin between the graying hair on his jawline.

He doesn’t move when you push yourself up and roll over onto his chest. Doesn’t flinch when you press your mouth to his neck, running from the bottom of his ear up to the tip of his chin.

And when you bring your lips up to meet his, he kisses you back.

His hand sneaks through your hair to the crown of your head and he sits up, rolling you onto your back and caging you underneath him, teeth grazing along your bottom lip, asking it to part. His tongue slips inside, wet and warm and comforting against yours. Your fingers lace at the back of his head, your own cradled in his hands on the hardwood.

It’s like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding off on doing this, for whatever reason. And now that you’ve been the one to open the floodgates – fucking, destroy them – everything comes rushing to the surface. Every time he wanted to, and didn’t. Every time he was buried inside you, and purposefully held his jaw apart from yours. Every minute he’s spent since he met you, without his lips on yours. It all comes rocketing up.

And before it gets too heated, before he begins winding that coil again, he’s pulling away. Lips leaving yours, noses bumping together as they part. You smile, and Joel breathes a laugh for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

You glance down at his flannel: stained with dirt, with sweat, with blood. It brings you down a little from your sun-kissed, golden-rayed eutopia. You suck in a deep breath, and his finger hooks under your chin to lift your face to his.

“Should get that leg covered.”

You nod, and he pulls up off of you, letting you sit up. He wanders around the room, checking the backpacks of Nico and his guys, and pulls some gauze and a bottle of alcohol from a side pocket.

He kneels slowly by your side, offers you the white pad. You shake your head. He has to do it. You don’t know why, don’t know what’s stopping you from wrapping your own wound – something you’ve done hundreds of times by now. But it has to be Joel.

He tips the bottle over the dressing, dousing it in alcohol, and settles it carefully on the floor by your hip. You look at one another, a Ready? and a No, but do it anyway pass across your gaze.

The clear fluid seeps from the pad down his hands, thinning the bloodstains and dragging them in light orange streaks down to his wrist. And when your eyes are distracted, watching the stream of blood and alcohol, he presses the gauze to your thigh.

“Fuck – you,” you stammer, eyes screwing tight enough that you see stars.

“I know,” Joel breathes, and pushes the gauze down harder. Firmer. It shoots heat up your leg, flashes the image of that plank of wood named Tucker who stabbed you across your mind. Your teeth grit, the tendons in your neck leap.

Still holding the pad to your skin, Joel winds a dressing around your thigh. He knots it, gives it a little tug, and then sits back on his heels.

“Okay?”

You tilt your head, lift your eyebrows in form of a Yeah. A half-truth – it feels better to have it covered, but fuck is it stinging. You lift a roll of spare bandage and wrap your wrists.

Joel nods, and then passes you your jeans.

“We should go,” he tells you. Then, softer, kinder, “Gotta go back to the pharmacy. Still supplies in the…”

You push yourself to your feet, unable to listen to the end of his sentence. Ghost was carrying most of your food. The map is still in her saddlebag. Ammo, too. The thought of seeing her again turns your stomach, and Joel seems to figure.

“Why don’t you head out back, go get Jet? I’ll grab everything.”

You stare down at him. Your head shakes before words filter through it. You don’t want to be apart from him again. Not today, at least.

He seems to figure that, too. He nods once, then stands with a low grunt. He fixes his jeans, shrugs his jacket back over his shoulders, and his hand finds the nape of your neck again. He pulls you nearer him, your lips brush against the shoulder of his jacket, and then you split, grabbing your supplies and searching the room for any that these assholes might’ve left to you.

When your pockets are full, you limp at Joel’s heels down the stairs and outside, glancing down the street. The silhouette of a horse slowly meanders back over to you, head bobbing, hooves clicking across the asphalt. Show’s over.

Joel stops and waits for her to approach, lets you bury your face into her strong body when she reaches you.

You squeeze your eyes shut against her muzzle, your forehead between her glossy eyes, and hope the message finds a way through flesh and bone – strong enough and sincere enough to push its way through your skull to hers. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Joel’s hand leaves your back and he walks slowly over to the pharmacy.

Your hands run over Jet’s soft mane, combing her gently, reassuring her as if she’s the one covered in blood, bruised and pained. You hook a finger around her bridle and follow Joel.

As you slowly approach, he’s emerging from the shadows of the pharmacy, a backpack in each hand. He reaches the same curb you were stood on less than an hour ago, and looks up to check on you. Your stomach lurches, glancing down to his boots.

There she is. Black coat shining, chest not moving. Legs splayed out on the road. Pool of blood around her velvety soft ears. She seemed so lean, so fit and graceful when she was on all fours. Now, lying in a heap in the shade of some barren street, she looks huge and clumsy. It makes your eyes swell with tears.

You shift with Jet, turning her to avert her gaze. It’s stupid; she’s a horse. How would she know what’s going on? But then, the way she’s breathing – soft, quiet. It’s like – it’s like she fucking knows.

Joel does it gently – kneels beside Ghost, searches in each pocket for your belongings. He knows your eyes are on him. He pulls a box of bullets and the folded-up map from the bag, slips them into his jacket pocket. Collects the tins of soup and canned fruit in one hand, standing to roll them into Jet’s bag.

He turns to you. “You got your switchblade?”

You nod, and he holds his hand out. You drop the heavy knife into his palm, and he bends back down to Ghost’s side.

He uses your blade to cut the bridle by the corner of her mouth, slicing through the leather running from the bit up to the headpiece. Then pulls it apart, a single strap with a tiny buckle still attached, a silver hoop at one end.

He reaches for your backpack, drags it across the rough ground, and knots one of the canvas ties through the silver hoop of Ghost’s bridle. Triple knots it, to make sure it won’t budge. And then he leans back, surveys his handiwork, and turns to gain your approval.

You can’t do much more than nod, tears dappling down your raw cheeks.

When he’s sure he’s got everything, Joel passes you your backpack, slings his on, and then kneels by her side one last time. He places a gentle palm on her head, runs his hand down her muzzle. Sniffs.

A thank-you, you think. A Farewell, brave girl.

He stands again, turns back to you. Waits for you to decide it’s time to move on.

“I can’t do it…” you whisper, and Joel nods, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to leave her.”

And then you’re sobbing, and he’s taking hold of your shoulders and pulling you into his arms, and your cries are muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. You wrap yourself close around him, bury deeper into his chest, and Joel tightens his grip. The steady beat of his heart pulls you back down, grounds you. You match your breathing with his and pull away.

You approach Ghost shakily, then crouch, fix her mane out of her eyes, scratch her silky ears one last time, and let her go.

Joel’s face is tight when you turn back. Eyebrows low. You bite the inside of your cheek as you pass him, and then hoist yourself up onto the brown horse’s back.

He pulls himself up in front and leans back into you, head cocked to wait for your signal. You snake your arms around his waist and feel a delicate hand rest on top of yours, interlaced on his belt buckle. His thumb traces your knuckles, and when you lean your ear between his shoulder blades, he clicks to Jet.

The horse swerves off, beginning your long journey out of the city.

----------

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[holylulusworld]

Two can play a game

Summary: Your arranged marriage is far from perfect. When Ransom takes one step too far, you pay him back the best way possible.

Pairing: Mafia!Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader, ???!Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, arranged marriage, Ransom being an asshole, cheating, implied cheating, mentions of sidepieces, making out, implied smut, mafia au

There he is, licking whipped cream off some bimbos’ tits. The woman moans and fakes she’s having fun. Just like some many greedy bitches wanting to get their hands on his wealth before.

Ransom Drysdale. Your husband. The self-declared gift to all women.

At the beginning of your arranged marriage, you easily overlooked his flaws and quirks. He was a good-looking and charming man, easily working his way into your heart and between your legs.

Ransom was passionate and sweet. Even if he was a little too cocky and arrogant for your taste. He was a prick to most people, including your friends. The only person he treated with respect was you.

Back then you believed this arranged marriage can work out.

Sometimes you even felt loved by your husband. And you reflected his feelings.

But all good things come to an end.

Your little bubble burst when you walked in on him railing one of the new maids. He didn’t even try to hide his infidelity. Proud of himself for leading you on, and making you believe you are more than a pawn to him.

Ransom declared your marriage is not a real marriage. Arranged marriages don’t count in his opinion. That’s what he said. His poor excuse for cheating on you.

Since that day, you refuse to sleep in the same room with him. Just like you didn’t let him touch you. The thought of riding the same dick he pushed into some bitch’s cunt was enough to leave your pussy dry most of the time when it comes to your husband.

“Oh, my beloved wife,” Ransom lifts his head from his latest conquest’s tits.

“Does she want to join us?” The girl squeaks as her eyes land on you.

Ransom grins, but you ignore the little pang in your chest. “Ah, better not. She’s frigid, you know.” He says to the girl he has on top of your kitchen counter.

“When you are done here, call someone to get rid of the kitchen counter. You never know where your little skank was before you found her on the sidewalk,” you snap at your husband.

He watches you open the fridge to get a bottle of water. “If you would excuse us now,” he grunts. “Or do you want to watch?” Ransom tries to rile you up. It’s a fight for dominance and you won’t lose it.

“Sorry, but limp dicks don’t do it for me, honey,” you bite back. “I’ll talk to our neighbor. He invited me over to talk about the next book we want to read. At least he’s got good taste.”

“See. That’s why I prefer fucking hot women like Cassie.”

“My name is Kathy,” the blonde protests. “Did you already forget my name?” She frowns deeply. “Ran?”

“He didn’t even listen when you told him your name.” You walk out of the kitchen, sway in your hips. “If you go home with Ransom Drysdale, you are destined to get disappointed. In any way. He doesn’t even know where to find your G-spot, and he won’t try to find it …

“Y/N, hey,” Andy smiles widely when you stand in front of his door. It happens ever so often since you found out about Ransom’s infidelity. “Bad day?”

You sniff and shake your head. “Do you have a drink with my name on it, Andy?” He opens the door wider to let you in. Andy doesn’t ask what happened. He waits for you to talk to him.

“Always, neighbor.” He closes the door behind you. “What can I offer to you.”

“Distraction, and maybe a place to stay for the night,” you lick your lips. “Ransom has company.” Your eyes drop to the diamond ring on your finger.

“He brought one of his sidepieces to your home,” Andy sounds almost shocked. Almost… “Why would he do such a thing?”

“He likes to play games.” You shrug. “I refused to play along and let him fuck me after I found out about his harem of bimbos. If only he was at least a himbo with a big dick.”

Andy nods thoughtfully when you finally explode.

“I had to let my doctor check me for STDs. Can you imagine how I felt? I’m married and ask them to run all the tests. I bet they believed I’m the one who cheated!” You start to pace the room. “I haven’t looked at another man.”

“Y/N, you need to take deep breaths,” Andy softly speaks to you. 

He looks at you with soft blue eyes, and fuck, he looks so good. Did he always look so good?

“No. I need to get this out.” You raise your hand. “I-I was always faithful. I could’ve fucked countless guys, but I didn’t. Because that’s not who I am, Andy.”

“I know. You’re a good girl,” he replies, making you stop in your tracks.

He looks at you, eyes drifting toward your lips. You take a breath, and another before you grab his face to kiss him. Andy doesn’t hesitate. He eagerly kisses you back.

Damn, he tastes even better. Like mint, and the coffee he drank. You cup the back of his neck and run your free hand over his back. He moans into you, tongue delving into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he wraps his arms around you and kisses you again. This time, he suckles at your tongue. “You taste so good.”

He laughs against you. “You too,” Andy nips at your lips. “Do you want this? I don’t want to take advantage of you. We can just talk a little and…”

You silence his doubts with your lips. “I wanted you the moment you moved in across the street four years ago.”

“Same,” he pants between kisses. “But you were married, and I was freshly divorced.” You grab the hem of his shirt, shoving it up to his arms. “Fuck, you looked so cute in your summer dress.”

“Yeah?” You whine as he buries his face in your neck. He kisses your skin, nipping and licking your sweet spot while you hastily unbuckle his belt. “What did you want to do with me?”

“Fuck you until you can’t walk straight.” Andy shoves his pants down his legs, stepping out of them.

“Just like right now?”

You gasp when he grips your hips to hoist you up and slam you into the wall, causing a few picture frames to drop to the ground.

Andy doesn’t seem to mind. He crushes his lips onto yours, kissing you passionately. You moan into his mouth and wrap your legs around his waistline.

“Right now,” he growls against you. All softness is gone when he looks at you pressed against the wall. “I wanna ruin you for him.”

“Ruin me. Make me yours,” you challenge. You allow him to grind his erection against your core and offer your body to him. All you want in return is to forget about your unfaithful husband.

“If you let me have you, I won’t allow you to go back to him. You’ll be mine,” Andy warns. “Name what you want.”

You whimper at his words. Ransom never asked what you want. No one ever did.

“You.” You breathlessly reply. “I want you. Make me forget about him.”

You roll to your side, smiling as your eyes land on the man next to you. Still, you hold your breath. What if this wasn’t the best idea you ever had?

What if he regrets what happened last night?

What if he breaks his promises and forgot about all the things he said to you while he claimed your body?

Andy dips his head to look at you. “Morning beautiful.” He rolls to his side to look at you. “Slept well?”

“Yeah,” you don’t know why your voice trembles. Maybe because you fear Andy is the same as your unfaithful husband. He seems so different from the prick you are married to, but you let a pretty face and charming personality fool you once.

Andy runs his hand over your arm, fingertips tickling your skin. “What do you want to do today?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. Honestly, after last night everything has changed. You only came to Andy’s house to seek shelter for a few hours, or one night.

Now that you gave in to your feelings, you cannot go back to Ransom and pretend it doesn’t break you to see how less you mean to him.

“How about we go to your house, deliver the divorce papers I prepared while you were sleeping, and pack your things? I’ll bring a few friends to help you carry the heavy stuff.”

You’re taken aback. “What?” Stammering you look at Andy who lovingly cups your cheek to press a soft kiss on your lips. “Andy, this isn’t funny. I need to think about what to do now. You don’t know my husband. He’s a prick, but also dangerous and he won’t let me walk out on him so easily.”

“You think I care?” Andy chuckles darkly. “Oh, beautiful. I told you that you are going to be mine when you let me, have you. Didn’t I?”

“Yes.” You remember vividly how you begged him to make you his, and only his. That you agreed to become his pretty little wife, and always cum for him. “That was in the heat of the moment. Wasn’t it?”

“Y/N, I dreamed of taking you out for years. Every time I wanted to ask you to leave your husband, you told me about him with so much adoration that I couldn’t make a move. But now that I know he fucked up, I can’t miss the chance.”

“Andy, I can’t end my marriage only to become someone else’s arm candy or his most prized possession. I’m not a toy, nor a brainless doll you can use.”

“Baby, I swear this isn’t how I see you,” Andy presses another soft kiss on your lips. “Let me help you. If you don’t want to be with me, I understand. All I want is to make sure that Ransom Drysdale leaves you the fuck alone.”

“Why?” You question.

“Because,” he kisses you again, slow and gentle, “I think I love you…”

“Y/N, what’s the douche from next door doing at my house,” Ransom follows you and Andy. “I’m talking to you!”

“Oh, I thought as you are busy disappointing one of your playthings with your limp dick,” you snap at Ransom. “I can bring a real man to satisfy my needs too.”

“Beautiful, why don’t you go upstairs and look for all the things you want to take with you? My friends will be here any minute.”

“Okay,” you nervously glance at Ransom. “Be careful. He’s dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Andy pecks your cheek. “I’ll be careful.”

Turning his head toward Andy your husband’s features darken. “If you touched my wife, you are dead.” He pats the gun hidden under his jacket. “If you leave my house now, I’ll only break every bone in your body.”

Andy laughs into Ransom’s face.

“You’ve got no clue who I’m.” Stepping toward your husband, Andy sizes Ransom up. “Do you honestly believe you are scaring me? You’re nothing but a pathetic man cheating on his beautiful wife and,” Andy leans closer to Ransom to whisper in his ear. “I’m long enough in town to know that you are not on top of the food chain any longer. Your time is running out.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about!”

“The deal last week,” Andy smirks darkly, “the one you couldn’t seal? I took it over. Your business partners are my partners now. Your wife. Is mine. Your friends, mine too. I dismantled Ransom Drysdale piece by piece.”

“Why? How?”

“At first, I moved in next door to check your territory out. But then, I saw your wife and the way you treated her. She didn’t know you were a piece of shit cheating on her from day one.”

“You did all this for my wife?” Ransom hiccups. “You’re insane. Starting a war over some pussy!”

“You don’t get it,” Andy hisses. “Y/N is not some pussy to me. She’s everything, and I’ll make her my queen.”

While you look for the things you want to take with you, Andy threatens Ransom and his organization.

When you walk back down the stairs, your husband already signed the divorce papers. He will let you go and get out of town as fast as possible.

Ransom didn’t know that no one messes with Andrew Barber. The head of the Boston mafia. One of the deadliest men alive…

Tags in reblog.

[spidybaby]

Okok but hear me out, it's okay if you don't wanna do it, I just keep thinking of this scenario😭 Reader helping Pedri shave even if she loves his beard and now that he's injured, he's growing it and one day she notices and it's like "Ok, let's do some shaving" and he's like "No, you like it and I'm not playing, the beard is staying"

"I hopped off the plane at LAX with a dream and my cardigan." You sing using the hair brush as a microphone. "Welcome to the land of fame excess"

"Woah" Pedri shouts as he walks into the bathroom. "Am I gonna fit in?"

He was helping you with your routine

You both laugh but continue with the singing, changing to a Quevedo song.

"Dale caele uh uh uhhhh," you point at him, he blush at the thought of the World Cup and the video of him singing this song. "Dance with me."

You play a bachata song, grabbing his hands and pulling him to be closer. One hand on your waist and the other intertwine with yours.

"Te diría que volvieras pero eso no se pide." He sings while moving his hips at the rhythm of the song.

You dance in the middle of the bathroom. Laughing and enjoying each others company, something you loved about him. Every moment was like the first time.

"Okay, let's finish here so we can see that movie you like." He kisses your cheek, breathing your smell.

"Can I help with your skin care?"

"Only if we match headbands."

You laugh, nodding your head. You open the drawer where you have some hair bands, clippers, bobbypins.

You grab two blue headbands, the same ones you got with the purpose of him using it while leaning how to do his skincare.

"Okay, come here." You place the headband on his head, making sure to place it right so his now dry hair doesn't get wet again. "Pepi, not to be a hater, you know I love your beard, but I think you need to shave."

You squish his cheeks, kissing his now ducky lips.

"Oh please, mom says it looks good." He pouts, bringing his hands to his face. "Plus, I'm not playing, so it's not like I have to forcefully shave it."

"And it does look good, you look amazing."

He notices how you want to say something else but you stopped.

"But?"

"But you're letting it grow a little too much."

He turns to the mirror, hands patting his cheeks, trying to make it less crazy.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, mi amor." You massage his shoulders, kissing the nape of his neck. "You know you look amazing with every look you pull."

But he's not convinced. Now that you mention he did, in fact, let it grow a little more than usual.

"Pedro?" You ask after he stared at himself for a good five minutes. "Sorry if I made you feel bad, I didn't mean that."

But it wasn't about that. It was about him maybe being to attach to this look. It makes him look older, and to him, that's good.

Being in a job where most of your workmates are older or with stronger looks makes him feel some type of way. Being young is good, but not when the ultras decide to comment on how of a kid he resemble.

"Do me a favor."

"Yes, whatever you need."

"Come here." He opened his arms to you, embracing you and making you turn to the counter of the double sink.

He kisses your head, getting out of the hug but not letting you go. His hands on your hips, lifting you carefully, making you take a seat on the counter.

"You, preciosa." He taps your nose. "Are going to be my barber today."

He prepares everything, taking a new razor, some shaving cream, and his after shave lotion.

You watch him move around the bathroom. Still feeling a little bad about the comment, not thinking it will make him feel some type of negative way.

"You didn't do anything wrong, stop with those puppy eyes, amor." He says, placing the things next to you.

"You really don't have to. I love your beard so much."

"A new look never fails, plus this baby will grow back in a few days, so don't worry." He leans over to kiss you. "Now, grab some shaving cream and apply it to my face."

You let him guide you through it, carefully smearing the cream on him. Laughing at him, looking weird.

"Pedro." You laugh, he kissed you and left some cream on you face. "Stop it, let's be serious."

"Okay, now pay attention." He says, tapping the back of the razor on your head. "Don't press it too hard, like when you shave. And don't worry about timing, we have all night."

You nod, nervous about the job. He wet the blades and handed you the razor. You think where to start and decide that you're using the same logic that you use when saving.

So you begin with his left cheek. Hand shaking a little, and tongue out in concentration.

"Ouch." He screams, backing off and turning his back to you.

"Joder. Pedro, I'm so sorry." You were panicking, thinking you were being gentle.

He turns back to you, laughing. You grab the hand towel you have on your lap and throw it at him.

"Not funny." You pout.

"You should have seen your face." He laughs, forehead sticked to yours. "Such an easy target."

"Quit it." You warn him with a smile. You push him by the shoulders. Opening the water and wetting the blade again.

After some time and some light jokes, you finished the job. You turned on your seat to the mirror, where he was retouching some areas you were scared of doing.

You helped him with taking every extra of cream. Adding some after shave lotion, carefully patting his skin to finish with the job.

"God, you look so fresh and handsome."

"I'll give you two days before you start asking me to let it grow."

You laugh, splashing some water from your wet hands onto his face. "I love every look."

"Thanks for the help, missis Barber." He jokes, arms around you, chin on top of your head.

"Same time next week?"

"Yeah, fuck no." He says, making you both laugh.

♡♡♡

🏷: Miss @gadriezmannsgirl 💕🤭

[mojogojocasahouse]

Literally can't get the thought out of my head that Gojo would fall for his hairdresser because they're the only person who touches him consistently. So, here it is.

Satoru Gojo x f!hairdresser reader

C: Gojo POV, fluff, a little sprinkle of angst

He didn’t mean to fall in love. He really didn’t.

In fact, Satoru Gojo had sworn it off entirely in his third year of high school outside a KFC in Shinjuku. That evening, with every step back towards Jujutsu Tech, his tears turned to cement around his heart, barricading it behind a fortress never to be broken. That had been the plan anyway.

But you’d foiled it.

It was just a series of unfortunate coincidences that had led him straight to the very depths of hell that felt way more like heaven than he wanted to admit. His normal barber had been out of town, but his hair was growing too long against his neck. It itched as it began to curl behind his ears, it reminded him of his teenage years, and Megumi had started poking fun at him. So, he’d wandered into the salon by the apartment he barely used and asked if anyone had time for a quick cut, an action he’d thought was inconsequential. 

There was no way to decipher exactly what it was that had left him slack-jawed and boneless in those thirty minutes. Maybe it had been how your fingers combed through his wet hair so gently, swirling against his scalp and loosening tension he swore was permanent. The way you’d softly turned and tipped his chin as you inspected your work and perfected every unruly tuft of snowy hair, your gaze too focused on the task to see how utterly enraptured he’d been. He’d caught you on the tips of your toes, his height still too great even with the chair as low as it allowed, so he’d slowly slunk down, his spine curling uncomfortably. He hadn’t cared about the ache. There was also a good chance he’d fallen when you mussed up the finished product, smiling into your eyes as you complimented how well he pulled off the messy look, your palms pressed to his head as you held him. Held him.

He’d never gone back to his barber again

After a year of monthly cuts and trims, he upped his frequency. One night after a mission that had tested every ounce of his resolve and patience, he’d wandered in and pathetically asked for just a quick wash. He’d noted how your eyebrows furrowed in what looked like concern, a warm hand on his back leading him to the waiting area, and a promise that you’d be no longer than ten minutes allowing his chest to loosen just enough to breathe.

Soothing circles over his temples had eased his headache, the warm water and your methodical movements lulling him into tranquility. You’d taken extra care, kneading down his neck and feathering over his eyes until he’d been half asleep, his tension swirling down the drain. Never in his life had he wanted to kiss someone as badly as in the moment his eyes fluttered open to your smiling face.

He was never the same after that.

Today is like every other, Megumi at his side as they make their way to the cafe after a mission the kid wasn’t supposed to go on. Whatever, he’d be starting at Jujutsu Tech in a few years, there was no reason to not give him a headstart. 

His height gives him the advantage, and when he spots you across the street he practically sends Megumi crashing to the sidewalk as he whirls to hide his face, fumbling with the glasses in his pocket and ripping the white bandages covering his eyes off his face. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Megumi barks, scowling in annoyance as Satoru slides his round black lenses onto his thin, pointed nose, “Why’re you changing your glasses?”

“Satoru?” Your voice sings out to him even on the crowded Tokyo streets, he can hear it clear as day. 

You’re right in front of him now, hair shining in the sun, eyes twinkling with that happy little grin he sees in his dreams. It’s unfair how happy you always look to see him. The thought that you might be is always his undoing.

“Hi,” he greets sheepishly, chastising himself for how stupid he knows he sounds, “What’re you–”

Whatever idiotic sentence he was set to spew is cut short when you reach up toward his head, and he doesn’t even realize he’s closing the distance your toes can’t reach. A little gasp of shock gets caught in Megumi’s throat as his face twists in confusion when you make contact, plucking a small pink cherry blossom petal from its icy entrapment. He can’t stop himself when his hand catches yours as you pull away, his eyes locked on the fragile, blushing scale between your fingers.

His technique had been active, he couldn’t even recall switching it off. But he had, clearly. Had it become an instinctual flip at the mere sight of you, a second nature? Warmth blossoms in his chest and radiates outward, it’s like the feeling of sun on a cold winter day. Even without looking at your face, he knows you’re confused, who wouldn’t be? You don’t understand the weight of this, no one does except the teenager standing behind him looking on at the scene.

Spring becomes summer when your other hand covers his, it’s shaking ever so slightly and he can’t bear the thought of looking at your face. Are you afraid? He couldn’t blame you. But he forgets that worry when you whisper his name again, nothing but a song in the breeze so quiet it only has the strength to reach his ears. He’s kissing your knuckles before his brain catches up, it’s too lost in thought, in you, in the smell of your floral perfume he’s come to associate with comfort and security. And when you don’t pull away he considers that perhaps his life doesn’t have to be shrouded in darkness.

“Hey,” the gruff voice of Megumi groans out, “How about instead of being a creep you just ask her to dinner?”

Masterlist

[biteofcherry]

Okay, I lied. It's me again! 🫠🤤🥵

Since Kindergarten Teacher!Ari Levinson got paired up with a nice Aunt to a cute niece, what kind of pairings would the following have in that same Kindergarten School? How would they meet up and how would they hook up?

1) Administration Officer!Lloyd Hansen - He's also in-charge of the Secretaries, Nurses, Receptionist, etc.

2) Maintenance Coordinator!Curtis Everett - He's in-charge of the Bus Drivers/Supervisors, Utilities, Security Guards, etc.

3) Principal!Steve Rogers - He's in-charge of Academics and Administration

4) Accountant!Bucky Barnes - crunching numbers

5) Public Relations Officer!Ransom Drysdale - includes Marketing

6) CEO/KG Consultant!Andy Barber - He's the head honcho

7) Kindergarten Teacher!Nick Fowler

I don't know if you're aware, but I've been naming you evil goblin Anon. Turns out the goblin is occasionally a softie, who doesn't only want to see me suffer 😜

In reference to kindergarten teacher Ari.

Under the cut because my reply turned out long. Also some of these are fucking hilarious 😂 really, better not be drinking when you read it, especially Lloyd and Nick 🤣

Lloyd - of course he's in charge of all the secretaries, receptionists and nurses, I bet he has a different one for every day of the week (weekends included) 😎 He likes to undo buttons on women's clothes, but loves to push buttons even more. And what a better opportunity than meeting with an OSHA inspector! In reality, Lloyd makes sure everything is perfect when it comes to regulations, nothing needs to be improved, but he just loves the faces you make when he plays a careless asshole. His smirk when you stare at him, unsure if he was joking or being serious about leaving some wires for the kids to play with. At the end of inspection Lloyd makes a comment that usually after being poked and probed at the doctor's he gets a lollipop, but what you'll give him instead after your probing 🤣 Lloyd instantly knows he hit the jackpot with you, when he said in a low tone "I've never violated OSHA regulations at work, but I can violate you a bit later, if you want me to, Sunshine" and you moaned.

Curtis - Your catering company is newly hired to prepare meals for the kids of that kindergarten. The staff can also get the meals, but you've noticed Curtis never joins others at the time of meal. You've made some inquiries, if perhaps his meal wasn't paid in advance, but it turned out it was, he just ate it much much later (apparently after everyone was gone). So one day, after helping out dishing out all the food to hungry kiddos and the staff, you take Curtis' portion and go around looking for him. You find him in the far corner of the playground, sitting in the sun and eating a small sandwich. Turns out, Curtis avoids shared meals, because he's aware the kids are a bit scared of him (he's big, dressed in dark clothes which often get dirty from all the maintenance work he does, and has some visible scars). So he eats alone and later takes his catering portion back home. Somehow, since that day, you end up sharing lunch with Curtis. And one day he asks, if you'd maybe like to also eat dinner with him. In a restaurant.

Steve - gets me, because I said so 😏 Seriously, tho. Steve ends up with a doctor/nurse. It's a completely outside of kindergarten meeting, however it's because of the kindergarten. Steve ends up in your ER after getting into a fight with one of the fathers (it was a complete mess, Andy almost went completely gray because of it). When he tells you he got into a fight you almost roll your eyes, because you're so done with aggressive men. But then he mentions he punched a kid's father after learning he was abusing his kids. And he didn't care if he was going to lose his job, he doesn't tolerate any bullies, but especially ones hurting children. It wasn't a part of medical treatment, but you were ready to suck his dick right then and there. Instead, you offered him lunch (and went down on him afterwards...)

Bucky - he's a nerdy, focused, hot as fuck cutie who ends up with a fellow cute, nerdy accountant. You managed to get into kindergarten's accountant on internship, though they usually hire only Bucky. He's half your colleague, half mentor and 100% the hero of your needy dreams. There's occasional flirting, but Bucky won't cross the line as long as you're an intern. So you spend your working hours being dutiful, but also talking over your passions or new discoveries, or funny stories. You kinda meet Bucky's sister, because she tends to call at least once a week and he just puts her on speaker - which led to you occasionally joining their conversations. Then in the evening you lie in bed and get yourself off, imagining Bucky. Then your internship ends and it's almost heartbreaking that you won't get to see him daily. Bucky asks if you'd like to do a small send-away, which ends up just the two of you in a nice restaurant and then a stroll and ice cream, and then you losing count of your orgasms.

Ransom - I never even thought kindergartens have PR officers. If it's a private one then I get it, I guess. But I don't think Steve would run a private one, so we just going to assume Ransom does marketing for them as an annoying favor (while also having his main job for a different company). Still, pro-bono or not, Ransom is adamant on maintaining his level of professionalism, which means his level of snobbish. You're a single mom who is very engaged and critical. Steve doesn't have to rein Ransom in, because you're there, marching into his office with complaints about making the new website of the affordable kindergarten look as if it was for upper class only. There are a few other occasions when you clash with him, until the annual kids' photoshoot comes. You're ready to argue with Ransom again, expecting him to organize some snobbish royal type of stiff photoshoot, but instead it's a carefree, happy chaos at a mini zoo. And Ransom is there in simple jeans and softest looking sweater, holding a fucking baby goat. You bluntly propose him sex, because you really really felt like fucking him. What starts as a few hot booty calls turns into something more serious.

Andy - poor Andy needs someone to help him survive this kindergarten from hell that he's running. The kids are great, but his staff is causing him gray hair 😂 You meet Andy when you write your dissertation and set up a meeting with him to talk about economics in educational systems. During your interview Andy notices that while you ask very smart questions, you seem bored by it all. It's quite unprofessional, but you admit to him that you chase your degree, because you always thought you want to make a big career. But the last few years, especially since you've been visiting some kindergartens when doing research, you've found yourself longing after that - having kids, caring for them and for a household. You blurt out to Andy that you get so very excited about doing decorations and baking for the holidays and if you could that would be your daily reality. It hits a certain spark in Andy's housewife kink, but he simply comments that you can always make that dream come true after getting your degree. He also asks you to give him a call when your paper is finished. And you actually do. You're so proud and happy (including being happy that it's over), then Andy invites you to dinner. Few months later you end up married and pregnant and happy to stay at home.

Nick - first of all, when I thought of Nick as a teacher the only thing that came to my mind was:

🤣🤣🤣

seriously, I bet he's the one teaching kids about secondary locations

So I went with that thought. Nick is a teacher, but not of one group of kids. He's hired to do safety drills and teach how to call an ambulance, or what to do if you know something bad is happening to another kid. He's also there when groups go on trips. But he occasionally can be too cool about it, aka too brusque. Kids love it, but you - a fellow teacher - try to keep him in line. At a kindergarten's funfair, where Nick helps kiddos throw balls to dunk principal Rogers, you eat too much funnel cake (well, you tell yourself later it's because of all the sugar) and drag Nick into an empty classroom for a quickie (insert a joke about taking him to a secondary location🤣)

[immajustvibehere]

Unspoken Fascination

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

Summary: You observe Arthur as he sleeps. You can't help but note all his little imperfections. But despite them, you love him deeply.

tags: slight (very slight) angst? Maybe. Fluffy. Self-indulgent.

1100 words, less than 10 minutes reading time

"He isn't the most beautiful", you tried to convince yourself. But even thinking that made your stomach turn a bit. Though it is true! You just needed to look at him.

"In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,

for they in thee a thousand errors note;

But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,

Who, in despite of view, is pleased to dote;..."

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, you felt yourself lost in the sight of Arthur. His broad frame leans against a tree, his hat resting in his lap, held in place by one of his big hands. Exhaustion had finally claimed him. You had been talking about your day and despite his weariness, he had been listening for a long time, nodding and mumbling affirmations. Now, you had the chance to observe him.

Aside from his soft snores, there was the rustling of the leaves in a gentle breeze. You were a few yards away from camp. Just near enough to hear people talking, but far enough to not being able to make out about what they were going on about.

Arthur's hair were unkempt and dry. You wondered when the last time was he had used a comb. A closer look revealed that it was also unevenly cut. Perhaps Arthur had tried to cut some himself, or the last barber hadn't done such a good job. Strands of his hair pricked his inner ear and you wondered if they didn't tickle him. His beard, too, was trimmed unevenly. It was shorter on his right face half. A small patch under his chin seemed to have been overlooked during his recent trimming session, adding a touch of rugged charm to his appearance.

You wondered when Arthur had stopped caring too much about his appearance. He always wore the same shirt, the blue one. A button was missing and the area around Arthur's hips, where he habitually crammed the shirt inside his patched working pants, was visibly soiled. Years worth of sweat, dirt and blood had worked its way into the fabric of the shirt. You know that he sometimes gave it up to have it washed, but he'd never part from it entirely, despite its worn-out state.

There was dried blood on his boots, and dirt under his fingernails. You looked at his hands. There was something intriguing about them. They had snapped so many necks and pulled the trigger to kill more times than you could even fathom. His skin looked so dry, his fingers calloused. They weren't made for soft touch but for hard work.

As your gaze travelled upward, you couldn't help but notice the various marks and signs of a life lived on Arthur's face and neck. His shirt, unbuttoned and revealing his weathered skin, showcased a distinct tan line around his neck. It spoke of countless hours spent beneath the scorching sun. On the nose, deformed from being broken multiple times, was a mild sunburn. Arthur's lips were chapped. They always were like that, you'd know, because you look at them quite often. And then there was this ugly, fading bruise on his cheek from a bar fight a couple of days ago.

A man, so much older than you, and marked by a harsh and brutal life. A man that had stopped caring about a clean shave or a fresh shirt and a nice haircut some time after he and Mary walked different paths. And - you tilted your head and squinted at him - in a way not the most handsome. His appearance bore the weight of exhaustion and melancholy. His fingertips black with either blood, dirt or pencil stains from sketching in his journal.

"Fuuuck", you mumbled, letting your head dangle.

It didn't matter.

You could pick on Arthur's imperfections as long as you liked, you knew it wouldn't help. As you wrestled with your own internal struggles, torn between your fear of rejection and the undeniable feelings you held for Arthur, you couldn't deny the depth of your emotions. You were desperate to get over this silly crush. No matter how much you may criticize or dissect Arthur's scars, hoarse voice, or any other aspect, it didn't change the fact that you loved him.

His messy hair looked perfect after a ride or even when his sweat made it stick to the back of his neck. The strands that pricked his ears looked cute and you wanted nothing more than to put them behind his ear with your finger. His hands, as rough and calloused they were, could draw the most beautiful pictures. They were capable of those small, delicate crafts. Arthur picked flowers and cleaned his guns like his hands had the agility of a child. And God knows you loved every scar and bruise, you would kiss them until he begged you to stop. Your fingers would run through his beard and you didn't mind the dirty shirt, because you knew it was his favourite.

Your heart shattered when you saw him sad and exhausted, but in his sleep his features were relaxed. This man had every reason to be sad and contemplative, he sure had. Sometimes, you overheard the small comments he made when he looked into a mirror. Please, you would do anything to be the person to tell him that everything will be alright and that he's neither old nor ugly, that you want to hug him and appreciate even the smallest wrinkle on his face.

It was his rough exterior that you loved. Because when you looked closer, it wasn't that rough at all. Every scar told a story, and you wanted to hear them all.

"Yer aspleep?"

Your head shot up and you were met by those beautiful blue eyes that glowed in the evening sun.

"No - I was just thinking."

"That so?", Arthur gave a half-smile and you melted. To see that smile more often you would walk straight through hell without a complaint. He stood up and stretched his tired limbs, looking down on you.

"Yer hungry?"

"Depends. I don't think I can do Pearson's stew again. He talked about a new ingredient and...well, I bet my boots taste better.

Arthur laughed, reaching out with his hand to help you up. You had been right, it was rough and calloused, but warm. And it engulfed your hand entirely, you felt so protected you were disappointed when he let it go again.

"Wanna head to the saloon then? My treat", Arthur offered.

"Only if I can pay a couple of beer later", you grinned.

"'Course. Wouldn't want it any other way", Arthur agreed.

There was no way you would simply get over this crush. Maybe some alcohol will lose your tongue and give you some courage to tell the man how much you really loved him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. 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: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: The ho-lidays are the daddies and the baddies.

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 &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You bob around to the tinkling of carols as they waft over the store. Unlike your coworkers, you enjoy the repetitive tunes. They are so fun and bright and help the time pass between customers and stocking. Not that there isn't more than enough to keep you busy.

In the rare moment where you aren't distracted, you let yourself browse the colourful lipsticks and shining perfume bottles all around. You don't have anyone to shop for, not even yourself. You have your dollar store glosses and discount nail polishes. You don't see the need to spend too much on those things. Or maybe you just prefer what you know. Simple and cheap.

Around lunchtime, traffic really picks up. Several customers ignore your approach and brush by you before you can entice them into buying some Chanel. You've already hit your sales targets but you never really think of numbers.

A woman stops you and asks for a very specific palette. You know just the one. You think it's cute, it looks like a cupcake, and while you adore the aesthetic, it isn't worth the price tag. It's just powder!

You show her where it is and Luanne comes over to take the reins. She's the makeup genius, her flawless contour is proof enough. You turn to float back to your zone and see a man watching you. You recognise him! Vaguely. You see a lot of people in a day.

"Good afternoon," you sing as you near him, "anything I can help you with?"

His throat bobs as he cheek ticks, "uh, yeah, er..." he pushes back his gray jacket, tucking his hands in his pants pockets, "you remember me?"

You smile as you try not to show your cluelessness, "I think..."

"I came in last week," he says.

You think, scrunching up your face as you tap your chin, "yes! You bought Liz Taylor for you mother."

"Mother-in-law," he corrects you, not unkindly.

"Yes, that's it," you jab your finger upwards, "you complimented my sweater."

"Yeah, that was me," He finally smiles, "anyway, I was thinking of getting a gift for my wife. Just a little stocking stuffer."

"Oh, that sounds so cute," you nearly squee. You get so excited to help people shop for a loved one. At the same time, you feel that void. Maybe one day you'll have a husband thinking of you. "We have some great gift sets, actually. They come with different scents so you're wife can figure out which one she likes best." You direct him over to a shelf, "oh, and if she has a favourite, you can get her a full bottle for Valentine's!"

He gives you a look. His eyes narrow just a bit and his cheeks round, "that's a good idea."

He glances over the shelf and you wait patiently. He turns back to you, his eyes flitting over your name tag as he reads it out, "do you have a suggestion?"

"Me?" You perk up, "well, I actually like the Coach. It's not too expensive and it's nice and subtle."

"Is that what you wear?" He asks.

"I don't... I use some cherry blossom body spray but I usually smell like the whole store by the end of the day," you shrug.

"Cherry blossom," he nods, "oh, by the way, I'm Andy."

He offers his hand in an overly formal way. You giggle but take it nonetheless. You don't really get that often.

"Sorry," he squeezes your hand firmly before letting go, "lawyer, habit."

"No, it's fine," you assure him, "I'm just a perfume salesman, is all."

"Well, you're really good at your job," he praises.

"How do you know?" You say.

"You're friendly and helpful. I have no complaints," he reaches past you and claims the Coach pack, "she's going to love this. I owe you."

"No problem. Do you need me to ring you up?"

"Actually," he sighs, "she has this idea. Christmas card. I'm supposed to find a sweater. So, I need to look around some more."

"Oh, that's so cool. A Christmas card? The sweaters are just over in the men's, right near the east entrance," you point, "they have some really cute Charlie Brown ones."

"Charlie Brown," he repeats.

"Anyway, I'll let you go," you clutch your hands together, "I hope your wife likes the perfume."

"I'm sure she will," he agrees, hesitantly clapping the kit between his hands, "uh, thanks. Again." He leans back on his heel, "oh and, that's a really nice colour on you."

"Uh," you look down at your gem green blouse, "thank you, sir."

"Andy," he insists, walking backwards, "again, you're a life saver."

You grin proudly and he spins on his heel, nearly knocking into Luanne as she comes over. He apologises as he side steps her and continues on. She gives you a strange look.

"Geez," she grumbles, "people. This time of year makes everyone so crazy."

"Well, he was nice," you say.

"Kinda cute, too," she intones.

"He was shopping for his wife."

"Lucky lady," she scoffs, "so, you wanna go on lunch first? I'm dying for a latte."

"You can go, I don't mind," you say, "I'm not very hungry."

"Deal," she winks, "I'll get you a hot chocolate for your trouble."

"You don't have to do that."

"I don't have to, I want to, sweetie," she preens.

"Fine, fine, I accept your coerced hot chocolate.”

🎀

Another day close to complete. It's like checking off items on a list. Each evening seems to darken sooner than the last, every morning rising too soon.

You yawn at the empty fragrance section as it’s only you left for the last hour. There isn't much to do except balance the till. Your headset keeps you entertained as electronics calls out possible shrink and home goods argue about their numbers.

“We need a body at returns,” Lucille cuts through the chatter. “Now.”

No answer comes and you slowly slide your hand up the wire. Before you can hit the button, your name is snarled from the other end. You're ordered up to cash to assist with the hordes.

You leave the ghost town that is beauty and as good as skip up to the front. You calm your step as you see Lucille sneering at you from behind a machine. You give a tiny smile and claim the extra screen behind returns. 

“I can help the next person,” you call and wave your hand in the air.

You stand back and wait for your first customer. A man comes up and throws a torn open package on the counter, the item bouncing out of the plastic. You flinch and barely catch it before it can slide off the other edge.

“Hello, sir,” you bat your lashes, “how are you today?”

“Not fucking well,” the man snarls. His mustache tickles your memory; do you know him? “It’s a piece of shit.”

“Oh, okay,” you look down at the trimmer and examine it, “you’d like to do a return?”

“Yes, I’d like to do a return,” he snaps, “are you dim?”

“Of course, sir,” you punch in your ID and passcode, “I’ll just get you going. Do you have your receipt?”

“A receipt? I bought the damn thing here, look it up.”

“Ah, alright, when did you buy it?”

“You don’t remember, little trigger finger,” he sneers.

“What do you mean?”

“Pfft, right, you think spraying people with skunk spray is fun?”

“Um, no?” Your cheeks tremor as you withhold a frown; you think you know him now as you’re hit by a sudden wave of Gucci cologne, the scent of a memory. “Did you have the card you purchased this with?”

“You don’t think I have money?”

Everything he says is aggressive. Your questions bounce off him like accusations. You don’t know what to say that won’t agitate him further, He huffs and kicks a foot out, leaning on his back heel as he reaches in his back pocket.

He flicks a black card onto the counter, “put it back on this.”

You nod and take the card, examining the nameless front. You turn it over and swipe it in the machine instead to search the number. He scoffs, “bet you never seen one of those up close.”

“Sir,” you smile bigger, letting the insult ping off of you. All the money in the world and he has no manners.

You find the purchase with the same sku and put his card back on the counter. He snatches it up as you start the return. You scan the barcode and continue on to the next screen, “what’s your name, sir?”

“Lloyd,” he answers curtly. You type, waiting, then look up at him, “Hansen.” He finishes sharply, “with an E, got it?”

“Yes, sir, and the reason for return?”

He rolls his eyes, “it doesn’t fucking work.”

“Alright. So it doesn’t cut the hair or–”

“It won’t turn on,” he growls.

“Right,” you take the trimmer and turn it over. It looks fine enough, even after he threw it. You slip the door of the battery compartment off. It’s empty, “and you had double As in it?”

“Double As?” He repeats.

“It needs batteries, sir.”

He pauses, eyes flaring, nostrils flaring.

“You think I’m stupid? That I don’t fucking know that? You’re not getting free fucking batteries from me.”

“Of course, sir, of course,” you rarely feel this addled, even this time of year, “I’ll get you your money back on a gift card–”

“Gift card? I want my money,” he holds up his card between two fingers.

“Yes, sir, I understand. As per our return policy, personal care items, once opened, are only eligible for a store credit return. Or you can exchange for another item. Would you like to look at our other trimmers? I can put this aside while–”

“What? How would I know that?” He hisses.

“It says on the receipt, sir.”

“I don’t have the goddamn receipt,” he barks.

“I know, sir, sorry. I can only refund this amount on a gift card. I can’t override the option.”

“I want a manager. NOW!” He demands as you jump in your shoes.

“I… I’ll see if she’s avail–”

Lucille has you jumping even more as she appears beside you, no doubt drawn by the raging man in front of you. She elbows you out of the way, not even acknowledging you as she puts on her mask. She leans on the counter just slightly.

“Sir, is there something I can help with? I’m the manager,” she says.

“I want my money,” he echoes once more. “I bought a defective product and I don’t want store credit. I drove out here twice for this bullshit.”

“Oh, certainly sir,” she brushes you with her hip, further edging you out, “right back on that black card, right?”

She scans her keycard, overriding the safeguard, and proceeds to the refund screen.

“Yes, exactly,” he snorts, “not like I don’t have even more money to spend here. Even if the customer service is lacking.”

You back away, unsure what to do. Do you just stand there for the transaction or do you go back to your department? You twiddle your fingers and bob on your heels.

Your eyes meet that man’s and he smirks smugly, wiggly his credit card at you. It’s fine, you won’t let him ruin your day. He’s already ruined his own getting so worked up.

🎀

It’s another busy shift. Your hot chocolate has gone cold from your neglect and you long to sneak away and shove it in the break room microwave. You can’t mourn the lukewarm drink as the line before you stretches on. You’re only a week from Christmas.

You finish wrapping the Prada bottle and hand it over the iron-haired woman with her cute curls. You wish her a good day as she waddles off. The next customer comes up, slamming down a cup so hard, the foam of the drink spits through the slot in the lid.

“Hello, sir,” you croon, “how are you today?”

“Here for a pickup,” he ignores your question.

“Right, can I get a name?”

“Why?” He challenges.

“For… for the package,” you sputter.

“Oh, uh, Drysdale,” he sniffs.

“I saw that earlier. I’m the one who called,” you brighten up.

“So you’re the annoying songbird,” he grabs his drink again, “took you fucking long enough. Line’s a mile long.”

“It’s very busy, yes. Everyone’s catching up on their Christmas shopping,” you bounce, “are you almost done yours?”

“Yeah, I bought myself cologne. So, chop chop, sweetheart.”

You nod and quickly spin. People get so impatient. You go into the small back room housed behind the shelves of lockup and you search the shelves. Drysdale. You pluck up the box and hurry back out.

“Right here,” you announce, “I have good news, too.”

“Tell me you’re gonna stop yammering,” he snickers.

“Um, no, the uh… the cologne is currently on markdown so I can do a price match and give you your money back.”

“Why would you do that?” He asks.

“Er, because… it’s policy?”

“You think I can’t afford it?”

“N-no, I didn’t say–”

“Look, I don’t need some department store busy bee to judge me, got it? This scarf costs more than your whole wardrobe,” he touches the patterned scarf around his neck.

“It’s a very nice scarf,” you agree.

He narrows his eyes, “you’re mocking me.”

You shake your head, “no, sir, I like the colours–”

“Give my goddamn package," he reaches and rips the box out of your hands, “and a tip, shut up and do your job. Maybe then you won’t have half the city waiting to get their shit.”

“Thanks,” you swallow down his anger. “Have a great day, sir.”

He doesn’t reply as he takes his cologne and storms away. You watch him and notice his cup still beside your till. It’s too late to call him back. You’ll just put it aside, you’re sure he’ll come back for it.

You move it to the other end of the counter and face the next customer, “hello, how are you?”

“Good,” the blonde woman answers with a gentle smile, “some people…” she tuts, “don’t let the grinches get to you, honey.”

“Thanks,” you feel the ice melt away, “I won’t.”

“Adorable cardigan,” she adds, “I really love the collar.”

“Oh, thank you,” you trill, “is this everything for today?” You gesture to the bottle of Calvin Klein on the counter.

“That will be it. And I’d love to have it gift-wrapped, thank you, hon.”

[navybrat817]

Pros and Cons

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: You weigh out some of the pros and cons of Andy's offer. Word Count: Over 3k Warnings: Slow burn, reader is broke (is that a warning?), sugar daddy offer, t/easing, slight insecurities, inner monologue, Andy Barber (he's a warning, okay?) Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics , Header - yours truly A/N: Welcome back to my Terms and Conditions AU! Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thanks!), but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Looking back, you weren't sure how you got through your meal with Andy. Lunch was delicious, as expected from such a top restaurant. The conversation was easier than you thought after his offer, though you didn’t say much more. The quiet moments were more comforting than awkward and he didn’t push for you to speak. But all the while, he kept his attention on you. You had a feeling he was trying to get a read on how you would move forward.

You opted to skip dessert, your stomach still a bit in knots. Andy didn’t appear surprised or upset, quietly paying the check. You weren’t entirely sure you could trust yourself if you stayed longer, his soft, inviting smile urging you to say yes.

Does he already know my answer is going to be yes?

"Are you sure I can't take you back to your place?" he asked when he walked you to the curb, his hand on your lower back as you waited for the cab.

You quickly shook your head, firm in your stance. Andy didn’t need to see the part of town you lived in. You had a feeling he would soon enough, but you weren’t ready for that. Not today.

“Are you sure?”

"I'm sure," you replied as you faced him. Up close, his eyes reminded you of the sea on a stormy day. Has he already swept you away? "I just need the day to think things over and figure out what questions I have."

You wouldn't allow yourself to go into this blindly. The two of you had to have a serious discussion to make sure you were on the same page. The scale already tipped in his favor due to his position in your relationship, if you could even call it that. It didn't mean you would allow him to have complete control of your life.

"So, I'll hear from you tomorrow then,” he said, his gaze still on you as the cab pulled up.

"Maybe sooner, but tomorrow for sure," you smiled, almost wishing you ordered dessert just to stay a few minutes longer. Almost. “Thank you again for lunch.”

Your whole body seemed to respond when he brought his mouth close to your ear, enough for his beard to tickle your skin as you shivered. “It was my pleasure,” he whispered, your eyes shutting as you unconsciously moved closer to him.

Before you could press yourself against him, he stepped away to open the door. The abrupt movement left you cold, aching, and wanting more. The small smile on his face as you opened your eyes was all too proud and knowing. It was exactly why you needed to go home and think things through alone.

But not before I give him a taste of his own medicine.

With more confidence than you expected to have, you brushed your fingers enticingly along his cheek before he helped you into the cab. You took pride in watching his composure slip slightly as he clenched his jaw. Having the ability to command his attention was a feat, but now wasn’t the time to take advantage of it.

“Get her home safely,” Andy told the driver, giving your hand the gentlest of squeezes before he paid the man. “Understood?”

“Sure thing,” he said, whistling when he saw the amount of cash in hand.

"Enjoy the rest of your day," Andy said.

"You, too," you replied, looking at him through the window as the door shut.

"Where to?" the cab driver asked.

You reluctantly tore your gaze away from Andy to answer his question. As the cab pulled away, you kept yourself from looking back. You had a feeling Andy still stood there, watching until you were out of sight. It was strange how the distance made it easier to breathe, but you felt out of your own skin.

Maybe because it isn't every day that someone offers to be my sugar daddy.

As if he sensed he was on your mind, he sent you a message.

"Please let me know once you're home."

Written word wasn't always easy to decipher. It could've read as Andy's need for control, to know where you are at all times. But you felt like it leaned closer to wanting to know you're safe. You hoped it was the latter, as it left a warm feeling inside.

"Just made it. Thanks again for lunch." You messaged back once you got back to your apartment minutes later.

“Thank you for letting me know. It was my pleasure.”

“Pleasure.” The same thing he whispered in my ear.

You blocked out the sounds of the bustling streets outside as you flopped down on the couch. You stayed in that spot for a few minutes and stared at the ceiling. Part of you debated exercising or doing something else to distract you from your thoughts, but your heart wouldn't have been in it. Now was the time to reflect on Andy Barber and his proposal.

"Down to business," you whispered before you got up.

When it came to any area in life that required extra attention, you preferred to write by hand instead of typing. It allowed you to process the thoughts and emotions more since it was a more tedious process as opposed to quickly typing. You also didn't have the advantage of backspacing if you made a mistake or didn't like something. These were your words in the moment and they had to be there for a reason.

Weighing out the pros and cons came easy to you. The obvious major pro was not having to worry about your finances for a short time, which means less stress. And less stress meant better sleep, not dreading work, and more taking care of yourself. A domino effect of positives for you.

On the other hand, minus the few interactions and what you found online, you didn't know Andy very well. What did that mean for your safety when you moved into his building? Or when the two of you traveled? If no one knew about your arrangement and something happened, where did that leave you?

I don't think Andy would hurt me, but someone needs to know what's going on.

You dialed Andy's number, wanting confirmation before moving forward with your list.

"Hi, honey."

You weren't sure you'd ever get used to that warm greeting or the mere sound of his voice, but you liked it. "Hi, Andy. I'm sorry to bother you, but I had a quick question for you and I thought it would be better to call instead of text."

"It isn't a bother. Ask away," he urged.

You tapped your pen against the paper. "Since you and I are still in the beginning stage of getting to know each other, I'd feel a bit more comfortable if one of my friends knew about our…" you tried to find the right word as you took a breath.

"Arrangement?" he mused.

"Yes. That's okay, right?" you asked, not sure why you felt nervous to ask. It may have sounded like you didn't trust Andy, but you couldn't be too careful. Surely he understood that.

"I'm glad you asked. It would surprise me if you didn't want someone privy to our arrangement," he assured you. The man was full of surprises. "Is this friend someone you trust? And will they be discreet?"

You almost flinched when Andy brought up discretion. Of course, he didn't need to broadcast that he planned to pay you for your company. You weren't going to tell a ton of people either. The less people knew that you were a first time sugar baby, the better.

"I trust her and I'll make sure she's discreet," you promised.

"As long as you're comfortable, go right ahead," he said, bringing you instantaneous relief. "Did you have any other questions?"

"What dessert would you have selected at lunch today?" you asked curiously.

He chuckled at your switch in topic. "Why don't I answer that question on our first date?"

"Date?" you smiled, butterflies in your stomach before you came back to reality. A date he was paying you for. "When did I say 'yes'?"

"You didn't,” he said. You heard the smile in his voice. “But my instinct says you're leaning in that direction."

I am.

"I think that's all I need for now. Why don't you hold your breath until I call back? You’ll find out if your instinct was right," you teased,

"Don't leave me hanging too long, honey," he said, taking an exaggerated breath for you to hear.

"Bye, Daddy," you smiled, getting right back to your list once you hung up. Your phone went off seconds later.

"Now you're just teasing me, honey."

You bit your lip as you typed. Maybe you were teasing him. Could he blame you? "I call it building anticipation."

"I want you to remember those exact words down the road." Andy sent back.

Despite the tingling between your thighs at the implication, you had to get back to the task at hand. After jotting a couple of other things down, you realized you were slightly stuck on the last part: the physical aspect. While he implied that you didn’t have to sleep with him, attraction was there. You wouldn’t deny that. Sex itself didn’t have to be complicated, but you had to communicate what you were comfortable with and set boundaries.

And what if either of you caught feelings?

You scoffed at that thought. No way would Andy fall for you. Take care of you? Yes. Trust you? Hopefully yes. But actually want you beyond this deal? Why would he? And what if you wanted more than what he had to give? Was adding your emotional well-being to the list worth it?

You had to protect your heart in this game.

I just hope I won’t lose it along the way.

Not wanting to dwell on that, you messaged Estelle.

“Hey. Are you free to talk? Not an emergency, but still important.”

Estelle was one of your oldest friends. Confidant, beautiful, and well off, many assumed she was stuck up or high maintenance. Truthfully, she had a heart of gold and looked out for the people she cared about. You knew if anyone would keep an eye out for you and not judge you for taking this path, she was it.

“You at home? I can stop by.”

And because she never judged you, you never once minded when she came to visit you in this part of the city.

“Come on over.”

You stared at your list as you waited before the letters blurred together, spots dancing in front of your eyes as you felt a slight headache coming on. Talking with Estelle would help ease any nerves you felt. Besides, weren’t you making the best decision for yourself? Not just for the present, but the future?

“Open up! I brought sustenance!” Estelle called through the front door minutes later.

She would find a way to get into the building without me needing to get her.

Your best friend didn’t have a hair out of place as you let her in, tapping her perfectly manicured nail against a bakery bag. She was almost the type of woman you expected for Andy to have beside him. “Got something for each of us. Important talks means important eats,” she said, arching an eyebrow as she looked you over. “You look nice. Who did you get dressed up for? Oh, my god. Did you have a job interview?!”

“Why do you assume I dressed up for someone?” you asked, even though you did. “And sort of?” you added.

“Because you don’t dress up on your days off,” she pointed out, making herself at home in the living room. She never once looked down her nose at your place. If anything, she loved how you made it your own. “I know I've said this before, but I've always liked that color on you. It’s very…” she trailed off as she set the bag on the coffee table next to your list. “Um. What is this?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have titled it “Pros and Cons to having a Sugar Daddy”.

“Yeah, that’s what I want to talk to you about,” you said as you took a seat on the chair.

“Wait. This isn’t a joke? You’re seriously contemplating getting a sugar daddy?” she asked, picking up the list to give it more of a careful read. Her eyes held no judgement. Only concern. “Okay. Talk.”

Over the next few minutes, you told her about meeting Andy and his offer. She was gracious enough not to ask any questions or interrupt, likely letting it sink in. You were probably one of the last people she expected to go down this road. Life was funny that way.

“So, this Andy Barber,” Estelle said once she was up to speed. “If you agree to be his ‘companion’ or whatever, he’ll wipe out your debt and keep your bank account full until this job opens up for his friend? A legitimate job?”

“Pretty much,” you nodded. Hearing it that way sounded too good to be true. “He said he’d make sure I’m comfortable until I get my first paycheck. And Huffman Enterprises is legitimate.”

“So, a legitimate job offer with this being the only string attached,” she said, showing you a photo of Andy from one of the articles she pulled up online. “I mean, the guy’s hot as hell, so he has that going for him until you start to work again. Bet he’d rock your world.”

“I’m sure he would,” you tried to smile, having no doubt about his skills. He didn’t strike you as a selfish lover. Demanding, maybe, but not selfish or a taker.

"Do you like him?” she smirked, not letting you avoid her stare. “No one would blame you if you did.”

“I like what I know about him so far,” you said carefully.

“Mmm," she said, not pushing for more. "Not much written on the 'Con' side of the list."

"That's a good thing, right?"

There weren't many cons overall in your eyes. Your safety and maintaining safe boundaries for sex were the major concerns. You wouldn't budge on those things.

"It is." Estelle dug the treats out of the bag, urging you to take one from her hand. “You know, you could just stay with me. And I don’t mind lending you some money. You could still quit the diner.”

“I couldn’t do that,” you said, picking at the pastry before you set it down. You refused to take advantage of your friendship with Estelle. Besides, what if she gave you money and you couldn’t pay her back? How could you come back from that? “I appreciate it though.”

She sighed and you wondered if you hurt her feelings by turning down her generosity. “I get why you want to do this arrangement, I really do, but are you sure it’s safe?”

“That’s why I’m telling you. If I go anywhere with him, you’ll know the details. You’ll basically be my failsafe,” you explained, which seemed to appease her slightly before you felt tears come to your eyes. You allowed yourself to be vulnerable. “I mean, this isn’t exactly where I thought I’d be at this point in my life. I thought I’d be more self-sufficient or better off, but I’m barely keeping my head above water. I’m tired of feeling like I’m going to drown. At least he can keep me afloat for a short time.”

I just want to breathe without feeling a weight on my chest.

“Hey,” she gently said, reaching over to hug you. Somehow the floodgates didn’t open. “I got your back on this, but he better watch his. If he hurts you in any way, shape, or form, I’ll gut him. I don’t care how powerful he thinks he is.”

A watery laugh escaped. You had no doubt Estelle would emasculate him if he crossed a line. “I know you will,” you said, pulling away. “I also know you’re the last person who would judge me for this and understand that this stays between us.”

“Are you kidding? All the shit I’ve done in my life and you never once judged me, I’d never judge you," she said fiercely. She was a good friend. "And no one else knows?"

"Just you."

A soft smile crossed Estelle's face, likely touched that you trusted her with this. "Your secret is safe with me,” she promised, glancing at your list once more. “Just promise me you thought this through and you’ll be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I have,” you told her. You felt better emotionally knowing that Estelle was aware and onboard with the situation. You didn’t feel alone in this. “And I will be careful.”

“Then give it a few minutes and let him know you want to talk,” she winked.

You waited exactly five minutes and typed out a message. Your finger hovered over “send”, asking yourself one last time if this was the right decision. As Andy’s tender smile flashed in your mind, you touched the screen without hesitation.

“I’m ready to discuss our terms.”

It didn’t take long to get a response.

“My office tomorrow. 4pm. I’ll send you the address.”

“Tomorrow it is,” you told Estelle, your stomach light and weightless again. This was really happening.

“Come on. I’m taking you shopping,” she said, pulling you up before you could argue. “If you won’t stay with me or let me help with your bills, at least let me buy you a dress for your meeting. Consider it an early birthday gift.”

“You just want an excuse to go shopping.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” she argued, shoving your purse into your hands. “But I do want you to be a knockout for your meeting. Let him see exactly what he’s agreeing to. And by the end of this, he won’t want to let you go.”

A girl can dream.

Negotiations are coming! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Andy Barber Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[worksby-d]

Could you write something about dad's bestfriend!Andy comforting reader after telling her parents they're together didn't go well?

YEP 🫡

Pairing: dad’s best friend!Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Summary: Exactly what the request says ✨

Warnings: Age gap, comfort sex, 18+

Word count: ~1,300

a/n: Look at me sloooowly clearing out my inbox recently 🤭 Two years late, but dbf!Andy never goes out of style amirite girlies! Not sure if this was maybe supposed to tie in with a series back then, it could probably be read as part of A Great Mentor if so ☝️ 

─── ✧

Andy has tried his best to keep you in good spirits throughout the past week. And it’s worked for the most part. You’ve been grateful to be able to spend so much time with him, finally free of the weight keeping your relationship a secret was beginning to put on you. 

But as soon as you have a moment alone or a second without Andy purposely distracting you, you feel like shit deep down, unable to think about anything but the fact that your parents still aren’t talking to you or him.

You've been waiting for a call, or at least a text... Anything.

He has you cuddled next to him tonight as you watch a movie together, but your mind is racing, causing your heart to do the same, panic beginning to set in from dwelling on your negative thoughts.

You lean closer against his side, closing your eyes as you try to relax, but you need to be even closer.

Mustering some energy, you gently and wordlessly move so you’re straddling him, wrapping your arms around him like a koala. His arms hug around you tightly without any questions, and you melt against him, nestling your face against his neck. 

He knows you’ve had a hard couple days. He’s pressing soft kisses to the side of your face and your shoulder, and rubbing your back. 

“I love you,” he whispers, not missing the chance to reassure you. 

“You still love me?” You ask, almost inaudibly, voice muffled as you speak against the fabric of his shirt covering his shoulder. 

“I love you extra,” he says, knowing you need it. “I know this week was hard for you. I’m sorry.”

“After everything?” You continue to press.

“Of course…” His heart breaks. “You didn’t do anything wrong, angel.”

You’d beg to differ right now.

“I feel like I did everything wrong and dragged you with me while I did it.”

He does his best not to laugh at your dramatics. “No one did anything wrong. If I could fix everything right now, I would. But it’ll just take time.”

“I know,” you murmur. You have no choice, your voice would crack if you spoke any louder. “I love you, too.”

He does what he’s best at – Holding you and quieting the nerves that were overtaking you moments ago. 

“I wish I would have been there with you,” he speaks up softly. 

You insisted on breaking it to your parents alone. 

“I don’t,” you assure him with a faint scoff. You find it in you to joke a little bit. “My dad was so angry. I don’t know if you would have lived to tell about it.”

“I know,” he chuckles. “I just...” His voice trails off. He lets it go for now, no use in focusing on what ifs. “Are you ready for bed? We can go upstairs.”

“Not yet,” you say quickly. “Can you just hold me here for a little longer?” You add more quietly, comfortable in his embrace like this. “Please.”

“Yeah, baby.”

─── ✧

When he senses you falling asleep in his arms, he makes the decision for you. The calmest you’ve been the last couple days is when you’re sleeping, so he knows your slow breathing and relaxed weight on top of him means you’ve dozed off. 

He hates to do it, but he carefully pushes off the couch to sit up straighter. He holds you tighter as you begin to wake back up, not wanting you to have forgotten where you are and nearly fall out of his arms. 

“You fell asleep,” he whispers. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Letting out a yawn, you nod sleepily and climb off him. He keeps an arm around your waist to help you up the steps and toward his bedroom.

As he lays you on the bed, you hold your arms around his neck, bringing him down with you. 

“Andy,” you whisper, brushing your nose against his.

Your breath is warm against his lips and he can never resist you. His lips press against yours in a slow kiss, climbing into bed with you. A content sigh escapes him as he gives in completely.

Sharing deep and languid kisses, you subtly roll your body against his, once again plagued by the feeling of needing to be even closer. He doesn’t notice until your hands begin to wander, slipping down to the bottom of his shirt to untuck it from his pants. 

He pauses, reluctantly pulling away from you, just enough to peer down at you. 

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he says quietly. 

If it’s possible to be too considerate, that’s what Andy Barber is. 

You refrain from rolling your eyes. “It’s not taking advantage if I’m asking for it,” you joke, but there’s desperation in your voice. 

“I know,” he chuckles. “But I know you’re upset–”

“Stop, please,” you ask. Your voice barely reaches a whisper, eyes falling shut to put your all into not letting the thoughts back in your head. “I don’t want to think about it anymore tonight. Help me forget.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, studying your face, waiting for you to look back up at him. 

You don’t answer with words, instead pulling him back down, nodding softly before kissing him again. 

The way your hands roam each other’s bodies is slow, but not calculated. He finally lets you tug his shirt off of him, and his fingers fumble helping you out of your own clothes. 

When he moves down your body, he trails kisses along every inch of your skin, eliciting soft gasps from you, fingers digging into his skin as you grasp onto him. 

He situates himself between your legs, but you reach for his hands to get his attention. 

“Need you closer.” You shake your head, only wanting him on top of you. “Please.” 

He listens, coming back up so you’re face to face again. Your arms wrap back around him, as if you’re scared of him leaving. 

“Relax, pretty girl.” 

His voice is soft and comforting, contradicting the shot of pleasure that courses through you as his cock presses against your center, igniting a wave of warmth that washes over your body. 

You rest your cheek against the palm of his hand that’s cupping your face, letting out a moan, one in unison with him as he sets a steady rhythm. 

He knows your body better than you do, you think sometimes, knowing exactly how to make you come undone, make your eyes roll back, make you see stars. 

His lovemaking is mind numbing. 

You swear you don’t regain your senses until you feel him trying to gently push off of you, but you glide your hands from his sides to rest on his back, silently asking him to stay where he is, needing to feel him close to you longer, while you catch your breath. 

Resting his forehead against yours, he does the same before rolling over carefully, bringing you with him to lay on top of him. 

His chest is definitely up there on the list of most comfortable places to lay your head. Your heartbeat continues to go back to normal as you listen to his against your ear. 

“I love you so much. I never want you questioning that,” he whispers, rubbing your back. He knows you wanted to be done with that for the night, but he needs to do his part in continuing to reassure you. “Okay?”

Tears roll down your cheek and he can feel them wetting his skin as you nod. He’d like to hear you say you believe him, but he’ll take it for tonight.

─── ✧

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[paperweight91]

Like I’m Gonna Lose You

Part 1

Summary: your crush on your married lawyer friend gets a little out of control…

Warnings: smut, Daddy kink, infidelity

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader, mentions of Andy Barber x Laurie Barber

A/N: This is something inspired by the lovely @georgiapeach30513 ! If it wasn’t for her AMAZING fic Desperate Affairs I’m not sure this would exist.

If you would like to read more I am hoping to post the next part soon.

Autumn set in early this year, much earlier then you ever remembered it setting in before. Only the first week of September and you were already wearing your fall jacket to work. You always loved fall, but wish that summer could last just a little longer.

You locked up your apartment as you set out for work, earlier than usual so you could stop and get a nice warm coffee, heck maybe you’d even spring for one of the seasonal drinks since it was pay week.

As you walked into the little cafe and joined the line, which was already so long despite the early hour, you spotted him. ADA Andy Barber. The man you had secretly crushed on for months. It was embarrassing at this point. Mostly because he’s married. It was so hard though, he was always so kind and attentive. In those moments it was easy to forget why you shouldn’t be crushing on him.

“Hey!” Andy smiled at you, and your heart jumped into your throat. Why did he have to have such a nice smile? “I didn’t know you came here. It’s been a while.”

Yeah because I’m avoiding you.

“I don’t usually,” you tried to smile but it probably came out more like a grimace. “With how cool it’s been I wanted a warm treat and no better time than pay week.” Ugh, why? Why were you so awkward?

Andy made small talk as you both progressed through the line. It was wonderful, and so horrible at the same time. Once you placed your order, he quickly sidled up beside to place his own and pay for both.

“Andy! You don’t have to do that!” You look up at him pleadingly.

“My treat.” He says, and he has his courtroom voice on. “Maybe this means I’ll see you here again since you didn’t have to splurge today.” He winks at you.

He WINKED! That has to mean something. God you wish you were better at this.

“Thank you Andy. I really appreciate it.” You smile shyly. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow since it’s my day off and I can actually sit and enjoy a coffee for once.” You laugh at your own joke.

“I’ll be here same time, I’ll even save us a table.” Andy says as he reaches for both your cups from the barista saying a quick thanks.

“It’s a date!” You smack you forehead. What a stupid thing to say to a married man. Married, he’s married! “I uh I didn’t mean, you know date as in dating. Oh god. You know what I’m uh I have to go to work. Thanks again Andy.” Your face heats up as you speed walk to your car.

Stupid, stupid! How could you have said that out loud, to his face! He’s gonna think you’re crazy. Scratch that you are crazy. Pining after a man who’s married with a kid. Just ridiculous.

You look up hearing a tapping on your window - it’s Andy. You roll down your window, looking directly at your steering wheel, still too embarrassed to look at him, you can’t even ask him what he wants, it’s too much. He’s probably here to tell you to stay away from him.

“Hey sweetheart,” ugh the pet name is back. He always calls you this when you do something embarrassing. Usually it’s something small like tripping or dropping stuff. Nothing like proclaiming seeing him as a date.

“I’m so sorry Andy, that was so innapropriate. I should not have said that.” You speak barely above a whisper. Not even sure he heard you.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll see you tomorrow same time, okay? Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He reaches his hand through the open window and strokes your hair back from your face.

Huh. Andy’s always been affectionate with you, maybe he’s taking pity on your by now obvious crush on him.

“Th-thanks Andy. See you tomorrow.” You put the car and gear and drive away. God that man he did something to you.

Your day at work was mostly wasted as you spent most of your time thinking of how your date with Andy would go tomorrow. Coffee, he invited you for coffee. That doesn’t mean it’s a date. It’s true lots of friends just get coffee with each other.

Finally, your work day over you sign off and say good bye to your coworkers. Getting in your car, you decide to stop at the grocery store to pick up a few things since you planned to spend all of tomorrow reliving your date with Andy. Whatever, it’s in your own head. Enjoy the moments while you have them right?

Picking up your essentials for the week on autopilot, you barely realize when your back in the car and are halfway home before your brain comes back online. Oh well, at least it wasn’t far. Although you should probably stop day dreaming about Andy while driving. That was a sure fire way to get in an accident.

You spend most of the night tossing and turning, not sure what to think about tomorrow. You finally pull yourself out of bed at 5, knowing you won’t be getting any sleep. You shower and decide to wear one of your favourite fall outfits. A brown sweater dress that has always fit you well. Putting on some light make up, you look at the time and realize you’re running later than you thought and rush out the door.

Pulling up to the cafe you see Andy through the window. As promised sitting at a table, with two cups infront of him.

You take a breath and look at him closely before you walk in. He looked good when he’s not in a suit. He also looks good in a suit, but casual - in jeans and a sweater? This is new and fantastic.

“Andy!” You say as you walk over to the table. “I thought you might be working today?” You don’t mean it to come out as a question but it does anyways.

He laughs and smiles at you. “ I have to go by the courthouse later, but wanted to see you this morning.” His eyes sparkle at you. “I got you the same as yesterday, I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s great but you didn’t have to. I thought I was paying today.” You pout at him as you sit across from him. This kinda feels like a date, right? You can pretend at least.

“I know, I know. But how could I let you pay on our date?” His smile is mischievous. Like he knows he’s doing something he shouldn’t.

Your blush reaches your toes if possible.

“Oh God. Andy I’m so sorry, I know this isn’t a date, I can’t believe I said that, to your face!” You cover your face with your hands but not for long. Andy reaches across the table, and holds your hands in his.

“Andy?” You’re confused. Very confused. And maybe reading into the situation a little too much.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. There’s no reason to be embarrassed.” His smile is so warm on his beautiful face. And you’re not sure what to say so you take a sip of coffee.

“Did you order black?” You ask him and he nods. You quickly switch the cups and sigh at the sip of your over priced pumpkin spice whatever.

From there the conversation flows for more than an hour. You’ve never been able to speak to someone like this. Not friends or ex-boyfriends. Andy is such a great listener and so passionate when he speaks. You get lost staring at him while he tells you about a case he just wrapped up.

Watching how his eyes light up when he mentions something he was clearly proud of. How his neck flexes when he recalls something seedy the defence did. He’s just beautiful.

“Hey,” he waves a hand in front of your face. “Did I lose you for a minute?”

“N-no, of course not. You were talking about how Neil’s been trying to steal this case from you?” God you hope that’s right.

He sighs, wrong. Dammit.

“Laurie finds this stuff boring too. I’m used to it. We can talk about something else if you want.” You definitely don’t want that. He seems so sad, and put out by your obvious distraction, it’s natural when you reach across the table to cup his cheek.

“I’m sorry Andy. It’s not boring I promise. I just um…” you trail off, unsure of how to say what was actually happening.

“What sweetheart? You know you can tell me.” His face is a mix of confusion and worry. And you don’t like that so you know you have to tell him.

“Well I just was watching you while you spoke, and I know it sounds creepy. But Andy you’re so passionate and it shows throughout you. I really admire that about you.” There that wasn’t terrible. He won’t think the wrong thing, right?

The smile that spreads across his face makes your insides jump around. Beautiful.

“Thank you sweetheart. You want to get out of here?” Wait what? Isn’t that what the creepy dude you met at the bar asked you? It must have shown on your face because he quickly added, “I’d like to spend some more time with you, but I’m not gonna lie. These chairs? They’re killing my back.” He laughed.

You laughed too. “Would you want to come back to my apartment? I could make us a bite to eat?”

“That sounds great sweetheart. Text me your address, I’ll meet you there.”

You text him your address and start to gather your things. He walks you to your car with his hand on the small of your back the whole time. It’s not weird, friends do this. Right?

You race back to your apartment to do a quick tidy before Andy shows up. Just when you begin to think he isn’t showing up, there’s a knock at your door.

“Sorry! Couldn’t find parking” he must have parked pretty far away. You see the slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

“That’s alright, please come in. And excuse the mess I was planning to clean when I got back.”

His eyes take in your apartment and you squirm like he’s inspecting you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask. His silence is making you nervous, and you shuffle your feet.

“Oh sweetheart no, nothings wrong. Your place is wonderful. I was just trying to find this ‘mess’ you speak of.” He pulls you into his arms. And you giggle at his joke and the closeness. “ is this okay?” He asks wrapping one arm around your waist. The other has found it’s way to your face cupping your cheek and bringing you closer.

“Uh Andy what’s going on?” You’re nervous it’s obvious. He can’t be doing what you think he’s doing.

As leans in you can see his lips get closer before he whispers. “Please don’t tell me it’s all in my head. You want me, don’t you?”

Before you can respond he’s kissing you. Actually kissing you. And the world stops for a moment, because this? This is perfect, and wonderful and-he’s married.

You push him away. “Andy, you’re - you’re married. What about Laurie?” God it hurt to push him away. But you can’t do this right? Even if you’ve never felt like that kissing someone before.

Andy sighs and pulls away from you. And that hurts worse than stopping the kissing. He begins to pace around your living room, before he gathers his thoughts. He finally turns to you and places his hands on his hips.

“Just answer me. Do you want me?” He looks sad again, and that’s a look you don’t want to see on his face. And worse to know you put it there.

“Of course I do. But-“ he cuts you off.

“Sweetheart, things with Laurie they’re - complicated. And you, I feel so much more like myself around you. Please, if you don’t want this I will walk out that door, and never bother you again. But if you do…” he trails off. The most earnest look on his face.

Your body makes a decision before your brain can catch up and somehow you’re kissing him again. But this time it’s much more heated.

“You’re sure?” You mumble against his lips. His only answer is to wrap his hand around your thighs and lift. Blindly carrying you over to the couch. He trails kisses down your neck to the line of your sweater dress. His hands skimming up your thighs underneath your dress to your panties.

“Wanted you for so long.” He says between kisses to your collarbone. “Wanna see you sweetheart, can I?”

You nod bashfully and he gets up so you can pull your sweater dress off. There you are standing in front of Andy Barber in nothing but a nude lacy bra and panty set.

“Don’t hide from me sweetheart. You’re beautiful like this.” His hands reach out to you and you go into his embrace. And he’s kissing you again. Pushing you down to the couch he starts to grope at your breasts, before releasing the front clasp on your bra.

The groan Andy lets out when he sees your breasts spill out flips a switch in you. This man wants you so badly, he’s willing to cheat on his wife for you. You reach down to remove your panties, but Andy’s hand stops you.

“Want you to keep them on sweetheart. Gonna fuck you, then fill you up and then you’re gonna keep it in there all day till I tell you to clean up. Cause you’re my good girl right?” His pupils are blown wide as he looks down at you. And all you can do is moan and nod.

“Please Andy…” you’re writhing and mewling beneath him and he’s barely touched you. You reach down to pull at his fly and button to get his cock out.

“Such a good girl for me aren’t you sweetheart?” He starts to pinch on of your nipples, while massaging the other breast. “Want Daddy to take care of you? Get you all cockdrunk and full?”

“Please Daddy,” you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore as you slowly jack him off. “Want you so bad, always wanted you, only you.”

Andy groans and surges forward to kiss you again. His hands leave your breasts to line himself up with your core. He pulls your panties to the side with one and runs the head of his cock between your lips with the other.

“Look at you, drenched for me and I’ve barely even touched you. Tell me how bad you want it baby, and then I’ll give it to you.” You reach up to cup his cheek.

“Want you so bad Daddy. Need you. Feel like I’m gonna lose it if you’re not inside me soon.” You whine and whimper as he teases you with his cock.

Finally he starts to breach your pussy. It’s a stretch, he’s bigger than you have had before, and you reach up to his arms and squeeze.

“You’re doing so good for me baby. Just a little more. Daddy will take care of you, I promise.” He’s whispering as he leans his forehead against yours. His eyes staring straight into yours.

“You’re so big, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.” You whimper and he kisses your temple. Finally you feel his balls slap against your ass and he’s all the way in.

“Oh baby, gonna fuck you now. You ready?” His hips are already pulling back before you can answer and they snap forward roughly.

Your eyes roll back as he gets into a rhythm. No one has ever throughly ruined you like this before. He may have ruined you for other men.

Andy sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping into you fast and rough. His right hand cupping and playing with your breast and the left sneaking into your panties to rub circles on your clit.

“Daddy please ‘m close.” It’s building inside you and before you can warn him your screaming out your orgasm.

“That’s it, such a good girl for Daddy. I’m right behind you baby.” And somehow Andy’s pace picks up again. You didn’t think he could fuck you any faster or harder, but here he is railing you within an inch of your life.

“‘M close baby, almost there.” He groans his release and you feel his cum flooding into you.

He pants into your neck for a few moments as you stroke one hand through his hair. The other is shamelessly clinging to his ass.

“You did so good for me baby.” He leans over you to pepper kisses all over your face causing you to giggle.

“Andy!” He laughs and finally gives you a break. Looking down at where you’re both connected he slowly starts to pull out, causing you to shudder. He lets your panties snap back into place, and slides down to kiss over your covered mound.

“Remember baby keep it all inside until I tell you to clean up okay?” This is new. The sex you’ve had with men before was…meh at best. And now you’ve slept with a married man, who wants you to call him Daddy and keep his cum inside you all day.

“Uh Andy?” You’re not sure if you want to tell him this. But you probably should.

When he climbs back up your body and gazes into your eyes it’s to see a searching expression on his face.

“Yeah baby, what is it?” He’s so kind, so sweet.

“What does this mean?” You can’t look him in the eye. It’s too embarrassing.

Andy sighs before responding. “I want to do this with you. Get to know you, spend time with you, fucking ruin you for other men. I don’t know where it will god, but we’ll figure it out as we go. Don’t worry baby, I’ll take care of you.”

And that’s how your affair with Andy Barber started.

After that it became a regular thing. When he could sneak away from Laurie he would text or call you to come over. There was nagging guilt building, but you always managed to push it away.

He was choosing you over her!

You let it carry on for months, trying all of Andy’s newest ideas to bring you both pleasure. After the first time, he didn’t linger around for very long after. Usually leaving as soon as he had you stuffed full of his cum. And you of course just kept falling for this unavailable man.

As you tidied up the house on your day off you heard your phone start ringing from the kitchen where you must have left it.

“Hang on!” You rush through the living room to answer, knowing that the only person who ever calls you is Andy.

“Hey Sweetheart,” ugh his voice. It got you every time.

“Hey Andy, what’s up?” That was casual right?

He laughs across the line, “I miss you sweetheart can I come see you?”

“Oh course! I was just tidy-“he cuts you off.

“Great I’ll be there in 20.” With that the line clicks off. You hum as you lose interest in tidying and decide to change, since you know what’s coming.

Slipping out of your pants and t-shirt, you decide on a floral dress with spaghetti straps. Andy always likes when you wear dresses for him.

15 minutes later you hear the knock at your apartment door that can only be him.

You smile as you open the door. “Hey, were you in the neighborhood?”

He doesn’t answer, just closes the door behind him, and pulls his jacket off. He goes to sit on your couch and gestures you to follow him.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him with a worried look on your face.

Andy’s face softens as he pulls you into his lap. “No sweetheart, I’m sorry. It’s not you. Just a bad day and I needed my good girl around to help me feel better.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle into his neck. Peppering kisses along the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry, can I do anything to help you feel better?”

His smile is watery as he turns his face to look at you. “Can I take you to bed baby? I just need to feel you.”

“Of course Daddy, always want to feel you.” You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders as he lifts you bridal style to take you to your bedroom.

He gently lowers you to your mattress, and himself above you. The kiss he plants on your lips is different from all the times he’s kissed you before. It’s slower, more passionate, like he’s trying to convey more without words.

You thread your fingers through his hair with one hand and use the other to start unbuttoning his shirt. Which he quickly shrugs out of. He moves to the zipper of your dress, normally something like this he’d barely undress you, but today something was different. Did he feel it too?

When you were both fully naked he cupped your cheek and stared into your eyes for a few moments, before slowly easing himself into you. Slowly he began to rut into you, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel the pleasure building, slowly, but in a delicious way you had never felt before.

Using one arm to brace himself he brought the other down to your clit and started rubbing figure eights.

“Oh Andy, please I’m close. Don’t stop.” You were panting.

“I know sweetheart, I’m close too. Come on, I want us to cum together.” He adds more pressure to his fingers and changes the angle of his hips so he’s hitting your g-spot with every thrust.

“Oh! Oh, right there, right-“ you cut yourself off with a loud moan as your orgasm tears through you. It almost feels like you black out for a moment, because the next thing you know Andy is collapsing beside you and pulling you into his chest.

Through the afterglow you manage to murmur a few words to Andy. “I love you…”

He stiffens underneath you, the slow strokes of his hand running up and down your arm stop immediately.

“Andy?” He starts to sit up, not looking at you. In that moment you realize how wrong you had gotten everything. He didn’t want more than the sex. That was it, and here you were falling in love with a married man.

“I have to go.” He quickly gathers his clothes, still not looking at you as he dresses himself. While you sit alone and naked on your bed, in shock. Once he’s dressed he spares you a glance before walking out your door.

As soon as the latch clicks into place it’s like the last few moments finally hit you. You told him you love him, and he left. You turn over and sob into your pillow, uncaring for your nakedness, or how cold your bedroom is. Still smelling his cologne there makes you sob harder, to the point you feel like you’re going to throw up. It’s too much. You gave him too much of yourself, and now what do you have to show for it?

The days seems to stretch on after that. Everything seems to be passing in a haze around you. You call in to work on Monday, because why bother.

On Monday night you get a text from Andy. To say you’re shocked is an understatement. You stare at the notification for a while, unsure if you want to see what he has to say.

Deciding that you pretty much already knew what it was going to say you decide to jump in the shower, since you can’t remember the last time you did that. Stepping out you see your phone taunting you from the counter. More notifications from Andy.

Hey Sweetheart, just wanted to check in. Can I call? Pffft yeah right.

I’m sorry Sweetheart, please just let me explain

Nope, not gonna work.

At least just let me know you’re okay? Why were you starting to feel guilty? Of course you weren’t okay. Of course you didn’t want to speak with him. Of course you were falling for it.

Before your brain catches up to what you are doing you’re phone is ringing to Andy.

“Hello?” His voice is rough, like he was sleeping. Maybe he’s as upset as you?

“Sweetheart? Are you there?”

“Hey, yup, sorry. What do you want Andy?” Ugh, why are you almost crying again.

“Can I come over and we talk? Please? I want to explain and I don’t want to do it over the phone or through text.” He’s pleading. Well good, he broke your heart.

“If you want to come over to make it clear that this was just sex to you, no need. You walking out the door after I told you I love you-“ your breath gets caught in your throat but you power through. “That made things pretty clear.”

“That’s not-“ this time you cut him off.

“No Andy. Unless you’re about to say ‘I’m leaving Laurie’ this conversation is over.” You pause waiting for him to say something, anything. After the longest moment of silence you’ve ever experienced in your life passes you hang up.

It’s like you have no more tears left. You stand there alone in your sad apartment feeling the worst you have in a long time. You decide you need to move on, avoid Andy at all costs and live your life like you used to before the tornado that he was, came blustering in.