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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

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Price to Pay

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, violence, blood, death, grief and trauma, 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: a robbery changes your entire life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bone-nanza! Happy Birthday. Enjoy. I've cooked you up some Mob AU+Andy Barber.

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 flashing lights fade away with the squall of the siren. The smell of iron tinges the air and stains your every breath. You shudder as you stare through the tight squares between the bars across the windows.

That grating did little to deter the robber. No, he made you do it. You had no choice.

You look down at your hands. Will the shaking ever stop? There’s blood crusted around your nails despite the frantic scrubbing in the bathroom. Once the officers took their evidence, you couldn’t stop trying to wash away the taint.

The floor shows the crimson imprint of where the men fell. Where you went to hold him in the throes of death. The fate you fired into his chest. It was you or him. That’s what you told yourself. It’s what the police said too as they wrote out the report. Come down tomorrow and sign your statement, ma’am.

Stan couldn’t be bothered to come down to the corner shop. He owns the place but is doesn’t mean he gives a shit. The officers waited for him to show but resigned themselves to following up later.

He had a gun. You couldn’t do anything else but open the drawer and scoop out the bills. You weren’t going to do anything but hand over the money but then he fumbled and you did too. The scramble for the pistol under the counter slowed time. The pull of the trigger put it into overdrive.

You can feel the recoil in your forearm. The rest of you is just as stiff. You can’t untie the tension left by the night’s deadly end. You killed that man. He's rolled him out under a sheet.

He bled out in your arms, even as you desperately tried to stem the flow with the dirty rag. Why did you shoot him? Over fifty bucks worth of change?

Adrenaline. That’s what the cops told you. Stupidity is what you believe. This job isn’t worth all that.

And you still have to finish your shift. You look away from the faded stain on the floor. He was so young. He just made a stupid decision and you took everything from him. He’s dead. You killed him.

🚨

You stand outside the convenience store. Strange how it seems just the same as it was. The dingy moniker flaps at one corner as a tear rents the fabric.

Customers come and go as you stand on the curb. You’ve been standing there for an hour now, trying to make yourself go inside. You have to work. If you want to stay in the hell-hole you call a home, you need the stingy paycheck.

You check the time. You’re not late yet. You only came early because you couldn’t stand to be alone in your apartment. Now that you’re here, you just want to go back.

A bang jars you and you cry out, spinning to search for the source. A rusty old Chrysler chuffs out black smoke and rumbles loudly. Just a backfire. You knot your shaking hands together and search the block.

“Heard something about a robbery,” a voice draws your attention towards another car. The model is too nice for a neighbourhood like this. A man leans against it, his hands in his pockets. “Young kid. They took him down to the morgue.”

You squint at the man in confusion. His suit is finely tailored and his beard trimmed to a tee. He stands out among the sagging jeans and worn leather. You shake your head.

“I heard...” you croak.

“Sad. Stupid kid, huh? Stupid decision. All for a couple bucks.” He tuts and shakes his head.

“Yeah, um, tragic. I...” you look over your shoulder. “I gotta work.”

You turn away and march across the pavement. Something about the man’s cool demeanour sets you on edge. Or maybe it’s the reminder of the night before. Not that you could forget.

You enter with the chirp of the bell and greet Mauricio as he plays solitaire on the counter top. Your sneakers squeak to a halt before you can step on the cracked tile with the red splotches. You stare down at the festering memory.

“Tough night,” Mauricio says. “I never shot one, ya know? Always shoot past ‘em. Give ‘em a scare.”

You tuck your chin down and step over the tile. Mauricio lets you in through the door and you sidle behind the counter. You put your purse in the cupboard by the cigarettes and sniff. You wring your hands and lean on the shelf as you wait for your shift to start.

Mauricio shuffles the cards and packs them away.

“You okay? Police were here earlier.”

“They were?” You gulp.

“Might be back. Think they just wanted some Coke,” he snickers and tosses the cards under the till. The gun is still gone, probably down in some evidence locker. “Stan is pissed about the pistol, ya know?”

“Mm, I didn’t... didn’t mean to.”

He sniffs as he pats his back pocket, making sure he has his wallet. “Sorry, senorita. It can’t be easy, wish I had some way to help but Stan isn’t gonna pay me nothin’ to stay and I got that gig down at Jethro’s.”

“I’m fine.” The lie is less than convincing.

“Told him, shouldn’t have you on nights.” He shakes his head as you move to let him past.

“It’s work.”

“Eh, it’s somethin’,” he scoffs and hands over the keys. “Whole thing was plastered in the paper and all over the internet. Should keep the bad ones away for a while. Place is hot now. No one wants to get their ass blown off over pocket change.”

“Sure.”

You clip the keys on your belt. You back up and cross our arms. You lean again as you wait for him to go. You can’t say what’s worse, being alone or talking about it.

As Mauricio goes, a customer enters. She wants a pack of menthol and some scratchers. You ring her through as she snaps her gum between her teeth. The bell chimes with her exit and stutters as another enters.

It’s the man in the nice suit. He stops at the newspaper rack and grabs an issue. He struts up to the counter and throws it down.

“Just the paper?” You ask.

He steps closer and opens the newsprint. The crinkle is deafening in the drone of the local radio station buzzing from the speaker above you. He taps the page.

“Kid was eighteen.”

You bite down and stare back at him. You don’t know what to say or do. Is he some sort of detective? His suit might suggest as much but he hasn’t flashed a badge.

“It was a BB gun. Looked pretty real, didn’t it?” He spits.

You wince and shrug. You trace your knuckles nervous as you look down at the paper. Your nose tingles, your eyes too.

He backs up and heaves out a sigh. He glances around and strides up to the stained tile. He looks down at it emphatically.

“Blood don’t come out easy. No matter how much you scrub or bleach. It’s like that Edgar Allan Poe story...” he raises his chin and closes his eyes, taking another deep. “Do you hear it? His heartbeat? Racing as the life drains out of him?”

Your lip quivers and you shake your head. You flick away tears before they can fall, “I didn’t mean to.”

His cheek twitches and he snorts. He turns to your stiffly. He comes back to the counter and you tense as he reaches under his jacket. You shudder and peek at the empty shelf beneath the till where the pistol should be. He slips out a photo and lays it down, his thumb lingering on the frame.

You gasp. It’s that boy. He’s young and smiling. He doesn’t look scary like the night before.

“You didn’t mean to kill my son? Over a bunch of piss-stained bills? You couldn’t tell the gun was a fucking toy?!”

You cower and your eyes well. You rub them with your sleeves.

“I’m sorry.”

“You fucking will be, sweetheart. Do you know who I am?”

You stare and your mouth falls open.

“His name was Jacob. Jacob Barber.” He swipes up the photo and snarls. “Any bells ringing?”

You gape at him in horror. Barber. Yes, you’ve heard of him. He’s no detective. That suit is just a disguise. His business is deadly. His business is his ego. The personal is professional and you just stepped over the line.

You brace yourself and drop your arms straight. You watch him, waiting. He looks back at you, agitation rippling above his brow.

“Nothing else to say?” He sneers.

“I deserve it.”

He arches a brow, “deserve what?”

“To die. So do it, please.”

He laughs sardonically. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s cute.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m gonna do a lot fucking worse.” His eyes flick up and down and he pushes off. “You owe me and I always get what’s mine.”

He twists on his heel and marches out. You gulp, frozen in fear, and watch after him. You don’t move until the next customer enters. Even then, you can hardly make your body listen to your fractured mind.

🚨

There is no coming back. Thing’s don’t get better. You don’t calm down. You don’t sleep. You barely eat.

All you can think about is the blood gushing from that boy’s chest. When you manage to close your eyes, you feel the hot stream flowing through your fingers. You smell it in the air. Beneath it all, you hear his father’s threat.

‘You owe me...’

How can you repay that sort of debt? You killed his child. You didn’t have to. You could have handed over the money and told Stan the kid had a gun pointed right at you. Why did you do it? That question is as torturous as the memory.

A week goes by. Ragged nights followed by desolate days. You stand behind that counter and stand at the reddened tile, or sit at home and rot. You wait for him to come back. Maybe then he’ll just end it.

Another week of purgatory and your dissociation gives way to paranoia. Every time the shop door opens, you expect to see him. Barber and his tailored-jacket, a gun in his hand, ready to claim what’s owed. Every stranger on the street is just him in disguise, every shadow in your apartment is him haunting you.

When he does appear, a month to the day, you’re almost relieved. There he is at your apartment door, stood as he was the first time you saw him. Arms crossed, leaning, looming. You stop and stare at him.

He looks you in the eye and nods at the door. You unlock it and let him in. He isn’t in a suit this time. He’s dressed down, a hoodie and jeans. He doesn’t seem the type for denim. He struts inside and you close the door behind him.

The air is static as he examines the bachelor suite. Your whole life in a single room. He is unimpressed as he stops by the table. Stan lets you take the old papers. You’ve brought home every single issue with a mention of the boy; Jacob. You don’t know why.

His blue eyes are darkened in the gloom of your apartment. His beard is thick across his cheeks and defines his square jaw. His features are stony in determination.

He pushes them to the floor and huffs. He stalks around the space as you stand by the door. You imagine him spinning to you, pulling a gun from under his sweater and firing. You could smile at the thought of it ending.

He stops at the foot of your bed. The lumpy mattress sits on a metal frame. Beige sheets are pulled to the corners, a plaid comforter strewn carelessly below a single pillow. A used double you got from the thrift shop with your first pay. It smells like cigarettes.

You stare at his broad shoulders as he runs his hand up his front. His zipper slices through the silence as he pulls it down. He shrugs off the hoodie and spins on his heel. He slings it over the only chair, right beside the table. He looks up at you, eyes blazing.

“Strip.”

His demand shakes you. It’s the first you’ve felt anything but horrible grief and self-pity. You’re afraid. You weren’t before. Just anxious.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he snarls as he tugs at his long-sleeved tee.

You untie your sneakers and leave them by the door. You cross the room, staying far from him as you take in every inch. The apartment feels even smaller now.

You unzip your jacket and fold it over the side of the plastic hamper in the corner. You pull of your socks and drop them into the depth of unwashed clothes. You undo your fly, your hands clumsy and shaking. The rustle behind you adds to the speckle of ember under your skin.

You push your jeans down and step out of them. You throw them into the basket and peek over your shoulder. He stands at the foot of the bed once more. His hands are on his hips as he glares at the mattress. He wears only a pair of dark briefs.

His intent isn’t hard to fathom. It’s not about the act itself, it’s the power, the humiliation. You ruined his life; he’ll do the same.

“Hurry the fuck up,” he barks.

You pull your shirt off and fumble with the back of your bra. You can barely get a grip as you quake. You push down your underwear and hang your head. You turn and march forward. He shoves down the elastic of his briefs at your approach.

He’s a big man. Tall, muscular, stronger than you, without a doubt. Even if he wasn’t, he has all the power to keep you in line.

“I don’t want to see your fucking face. Get on your stomach.” He commands as he peels off his last layer.

You put your hands on the mattress and crawl over it. You cry out as he strikes you across your ass and sends you flat. You brace yourself on your elbows and whimper. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed.

He hauls your legs over the edge so your feet are on the floor. He growls and scratches up the back of your thigh. You whine and he swats the back of your head.

“Quiet,” he warns.

He leans over you and plants his hands on either side of you. You stare up at the pillow, focusing on it as you desperately search for the numbness of those last weeks. It’s all gone now. You feel everything. The sting of flesh, the futility, the horror.

He lifts a hand, the bed shifting with him, and traces along your spine. He dips along your ass and kicks your legs wider. He feels between your thighs and jams his fingers against your folds. He’s impatient and cruel. He rams two fingers into you and you squeak, spine arching as you grasp the linen comforter.

He hushes you as he pushes deep. His knuckles press against you and he draws back. He jerks his hand gruffly, fucking your dry cunt raw. You hold your breath as he plumes out around you. Each intrusion is dull and achy.

He tears free of your cunt and angles over you. He guides his tip along the swell of your ass and presses to your entrance. There is no time to be ready for him.

You cry out and throw your head up. It’s like a red-hot iron inside of you, burning from inside out. He snarls and hooks his arm around you, smothering your mouth in his hand. You smell yourself on his fingers as the press against your nose.

He snaps his hips and buries himself in you. You kick the floor and slap the mattress. Your muscles tighten and your bones thrum. He pushes his nose into your hair and ruts again. You squeal into his palm as your eyes bead with tears.

He’s methodical. He pumps into you. Long, slow strokes so you feel every inch. He’s taunting you. He’s punishing you. His hot breath wraps around your scalp as he puffs.

He bends his other arm, elbow digging into the limp mattress, and stretches his fingers around your throat. He collapses onto you, crushing you beneath him as he squeezes your neck and jaw. He has you trapped in his grip.

His pace quickens with his breath. He grunts and growls against your temple as the bed frame whines with his rhythm. His flesh slaps between the squeaky tempo and your pathetic mewling stays cupped behind his rough hand.

He pounds you into the mattress, each dip of his hips heavier than the last. Every ounce of emotion; anger, grief, resent, hatred, is hammered into your helpless body.

He puts his teeth around the brim of your ear and pinches. He growls and you feel the rumble roll through him. His thrusts turn snappy, punctuated by the bite of your flesh. Harder, harder, harder. He spasms but doesn’t let up.

He untangles his arms from under you and pins your shoulders. He fucks his cum into you as he lifts himself up. His weight threatens to pop your bones out of joint. He pushes his thighs against yours, splaying you as far as he can.

His furious onslaught doesn’t let up until your thighs and cunt are painted in him. Until your breathless and babbling, head lolling, defeated as he leaves you smeared across the blankets. He burrows in as deep as he can before he pulls out.

He pushes off the bed, jarring the world around you, and his shadow hangs over you. He inhales and lets it out slowly.

“My son. My only child,” he grits out. He bends and feels along your cunt, spreading the slimy mess leaking from your cunt. “You owe me and I will get exactly what you took from me.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #one shot #dark!fic #defending jacob #happy birthday siri 2024

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fortheloveoffanfic · 1 year ago

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Prettier When You're Mine

Andy Barber x Reader

Author's Note: Slowly trying to finish a few of these ongoing stories.

Summary: One year into working with a young, bright and beautiful junior prosecutor, Y/n, who bears an almost uncanny resemblance to Andy’s late wife, Laurie, he finds himself developing feelings for her. Though, when she brushes off his advances, Andy proves that he’ll do whatever it takes to recreate his family.

Disclaimer: 18+ This work contains dark themes, including stalking, dub-con, infidelity and manipulation. Read at your own discretion.

Masterlist Playlist Chapter 5

Chapter 6

A trip to Andy's house to reclaim her lost ring causes tension between Y/n and James, and unveils some dark truths. Warning: dubious consent, SMUT/NSFW, coerced/forced sex. Please do not read if you are even remotely uncomfortable with any of these warnings.

Dumping the contents of her bag on the kitchen counter, Y/n hastily sifted through it. Compact, cell phone, a couple pens, a packet of tissues, wallet, loose change and no ring. “Shit, shit, shit,” she swore under her breath, on the verge of tears. It hadn’t been anywhere that she'd looked, not in her office, her coat pocket or even in the damn coffee cup she’d checked on a whim. Calls to the doctor’s office and the bus station as well as a visit to the coffee shop and the place that she’d bought lunch had also been completely unhelpful and Y/n was beginning to fear that the ring was gone for good.

But it couldn’t be, not James’ mother’s ring. Precious family heirloom and the first material sign that she’d been accepted into their fold.

For the millionth time that day, Y/n found herself asking; why me? Was it because she’d almost been willing to let things go too far with Andy? Because part of her wanted them to? Or was it because she’d gotten herself in a self-pitying funk over something she was supposed to have made peace with?

Was it a sign that she simply didn’t deserve a man like James?

Standing in the middle of their loft’s small kitchen, she didn’t feel like she did. Because how could she be deserving of him and still spend rare, private moments fantasizing about her boss- who had proven himself to be just like any other jerk in a position of authority.

In retrospect, she should have seen the signs; his penchant for initiating physical contact, his apparent desire to know her on a personal level, his insistence that they work together. She couldn’t believe she actually thought he just saw potential in her- no strings, no expectations.

“Babe?” Hearing the bathroom door open, Y/n worked quickly to clumsily repack everything into her handbag. She hadn’t told James that she’d lost the ring, and had spent the entire car ride home trying to hide her left hand.

“Yeah?” Y/n’s head snapped up and her frenzied gazed noted James standing near the foot of their bed, wrapped only on a towel, with his skin still damp and his hair dripping. “What?” Then, hearing the haste in her tone, she cleared her throat and tried again, “I mean….what’s up?”

James’ lips fell again and he stuttered before continuing, “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to get Chinese,” he padded barefoot across the wood floor, “But I think I can ask you the same question.”

“If I wanna get Chinese….?”

“What’s up?” He quoted with emphasis, “Or better way; are you okay?”

Sneaking a cautionary glance at her hand, Y/n dropped it at her side and didn’t dare make a move towards James. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Not believing her for a second, James shook his head and made the final steps towards her, rounding the kitchen counter so he could lay his wet hands on her shoulders, “No you’re not." He searched her teary eyes, worry pooling in his, “Did something happen at the doctor's?”

Sniffling as slow tears trickled down her cheeks, “I’ve just had a really rough day,” her voice broke pitifully and James didn’t miss another beat before pulling her against his chest. One hand cradled the back of her head while the other fell to the small off her back, and as she clung to his waist, she finally let a couple sobs break through.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" He probed gently.

How was she supposed to tell him that she was irrationally insecure about them never being able to convince? Or that Andy had come onto her in a moment of vulnerability. Or that she'd lost his mother's ring.

"No," she whimpered, "Not yet. I just wanna….I just want to forget the whole thing." Forget that she'd always secretly want something she would never have. Forget that she'd lost a very expensive and precious symbol of their union.

Forget that she was still thinking about what would have happened if she'd been brave enough to give in when Andy had come on to her.

Forget that she was above betraying the man she loved.

“Alright,” James murmured, kissing the crown of her head, “Well we don’t have to until you’re ready,” he added, lips still pressed to her hair. He was so good, so patient and she loved that.

Andy was so brooding and dangerous, she liked that.

Hugging James tighter, Y/n squeezed her eyes shut and tried to regulate her breaths; she didn’t deserve to cry about it when she’d come so close to acting on selfish impulse. They might have stayed like that for a while, if it were for her phone ringing loudly from where it sat on the counter. Sniffling loudly, Y/n pulled away and brushed her tears away with the sides of her fingers, “I should….” Trailing off, she moved towards the phone, sluming her shoulders when she saw Andy’s name on the screen, “Its my boss,” she reported sullenly.

Coming to stand behind her, James rested his hand on her shoulder, “Just let it go to voicemail.”

Y/n sighed, “Its not that easy.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” James reminded before letting go of a heavy breath and reluctantly adding, “But if you feel like you need to then, I can’t stop you.”

As James retracted his hand and started walking away, Y/n looked at Andy’s name on the screen and frowned as she glanced back up at her fiancee, “Don’t be mad, please.”

“Not mad,” he said, not looking at her as he tugged one of his drawers open, pulling out a pair of sweatpants, “Just….I’m worried about you, okay? This guy keeps you at the office at these weird hours and then today you come home crying.”

“What happened today has nothing to do with, Andy,” she lied, “He…he tried to help-”

“So you told him what was wrong but you didn’t tell me?” James knitted his brows, stepping behind the bamboo privacy screen that they kept near their wardrobe to get changed.

By then her phone had stopped ringing and the screen had faded to black, “That’s not….I didn’t tell him. I was really vague about it-”

“Yeah, well all I got was you had a rough day,” stepping out from behind the screen in low riding sweats and a t-shirt, James moved to hang his towel on a rack they kept next to the bathroom door.

“I…its complicated,” just then, her phone started ringing again, the urgency evident in the blaring tone, “I really have to take this,” Y/n snatched her phone off the counter and swiped the green icon. “Hey, what’s up?” Y/n answered cooly, defiantly matching eyes with James, whose gaze had hardened.

“I have something that I think belongs to you.”

Knitting her brows, Y/n stuttered, “What?”

“Three carats-”

“You have it,” Y/n gasped; she must have lost it in the haste to vacate his office, everything had been so jumbled and messy, from her feelings at the time to the physical situation.

“Yeah. Why don’t you come by and get it?”

Turning away so her back would be to James, Y/n drew in what she hoped would be a calming breath, “You’ve had it all day and said nothing?” She hissed as quietly as possible.

“Well, let’s not get accusatory.”

“God,” Y/n suspired, “Are you at the office?”

“Of course not,” Andy sounded amused by the whole situation, like he was baiting her, and it made Y/n’s blood boil. “You should come get it, tonight. Wouldn’t want James to think you’re trying to seem like an available woman.”

Exasperated, Y/n sighed, “Yeah, well, I don’t know where you live.”

“I’ll send you the address now,” she heard the phone moving on his end of the line and then less than a minute later, her phone pinged with an incoming text. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

There was that name again, that involuntary thrill up her spine.

Without another word, Y/n hung up and turned to James who was looking at her expectantly. “I have to go, some stuff came up late in discovery and its a lot so we’d have to start going through tonight to finish in time for Thursday.”

She wasn’t sure if James believed her, but he did play along, “Alright, well you should take the car,” he suggested and she was grateful that he didn’t offer to drive her.

“Yeah,” he nodded, approaching her once more, that time grabbing the keys off the coffee table and pressing it into her hands from over the counter, “Go do your job, we’ll talk when you get back.”

Leaning over, Y/n smiled tightly and reached to cup his cheek with her free hand, “I love you,” she kissed him briefly, hoping to chisel away some of the lingering tension.

James hummed softly, “Yeah, I know, I love you too.” When they broke, she grabbed her bag and coat quickly and hurried out of the apartment, letting a slow breath vacate her lips when she pulled the door shut behind herself; caught between being excited to see Andy again and combating worry over what would happen when they did.

Stuffing the hand with the car keys into the pocket of her camel coat, Y/n inhaled deeply before bringing her fist to Andy’s front door. His house was nice, it was one of the first thoughts she had upon pulling up at the curb; it was kind of like the one she had in her mind when she thought about the perfect place to live; big enough to comfortably raise a family with a gable roof and big windows that made you wonder what was happening inside. It looked like something out of HGTV or one of those home and garden magazines- sweet and picturesque.

“You came,” Andy determined when the door swung open. He was still half dressed from work; sleeves of his navy shirt rolled up to his elbows, black and blue tie from earlier gone and top two buttons of his shirt open.

“Yeah,” she squared her shoulders and straightened her back, “Well I want my ring.”

Andy smirked and Y/n ground her teeth, “Its upstairs, come in and I’ll get it for you.” Y/n couldn’t tell if it was an invitation or condition but Andy didn’t leave room for explanation, instead leaving her to follow him as he turned and delved further into the house.

The hall light was off, making the glow emanating from the kitchen up ahead to seem dim and ominous. Their shadows seemed bigger and in even in the low lighting Y/n could make out some of the framed photographs on the wall and she slowed down to see some of them. She recognized the people, a woman and a teenage boy, from the one personal picture that Andy had in his office- a small, family portrait taken on what she'd assumed was a taken at a beachy resort, contained in a shiny gold frame.

Mexico, he'd explained when he'd caught her staring once. The last vacation they'd taken before Laurie and Jacob's accident.

It must have been so hard for him to lose everything like that, especially since he had no other family. Worst yet, he was still a social pariah; the things she'd heard around the office were brutal and they seemed to follow him around like a dark cloud. It was why she'd tried to befriend him when they'd started working together, no one should be that alone.

But Andy had crossed a line.

Though, she hadn’t been very good at drawing one in the first place. Maybe she should have told him about James sooner. Maybe she didn’t want to.

When they finally broke off into the kitchen, Y/n stopped abruptly and folded her arms defensively. Andy didn’t head upstairs immediately, instead he poured two glasses from an open bottle on the dark veined marble counter. “I think you’ll like this one,” he offered her the glass.

Rolling her eyes, Y/n kept her arms folded, “I want my ring.”

“Have a drink,” Andy inched closer, causing Y/n to have to tip her chin to match his gaze. Swallowing a hitch breath, she tried to not react too much. He was so much bigger than her though, it was hard to keep the thrill contained. If the past couple months had taught her anything it was that there was a darkness that resided within Andy- behind the sad blue eyes and the strong silence was something akin to a tornado strong enough to rip an entire country to shreds.

Dangerous and violent.

And she liked it.

“I don’t want one,” she countered definitely, his proximity chipping her resolve away.

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart,” Andy offered her the glass again, “Take it.” Reluctantly, Y/n relieved him of the glass but hesitated on taking a sip. Something might stir inside her when he was around, but it wasn’t trust. “Relax, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Y/n glared and in response, Andy downed his entire glass in one go, stepping away to fill it up again- that time a little more than the last. “See?” He took a generous swing, “I’m not that kind of guy,” he got close again, that time offering his glass for a toast, “To good men.”

She’d called him a good man, that had aged pretty badly.

“To good men,” she retorted sarcastically, taking a large sip of the wine. He was right, she did like it.

“Do you like it?” Y/n could have been wrong, maybe she had a little too much faith in him, but his question seemed genuine. Like he was eager to know if he’d made the right pick.

“Its alright,” the lie must not have been a very good one because Andy smirked. “I want my-”

“I know, finish your drink,” he gritted. Then, after polishing off his second glass at an alarming rate, Andy wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. With just the slightest stumble in his usually confident gait, he set the empty glass down with a thump and started walking towards the stairs, “I’ll go get you’re fucking ring,” he mummbled, leaving her downstairs without another word.

Not thinking much of it, she took periodic sips of the wine. It was good, and judging by the label, it must have cost upwards of a couple hundred dollars, but it wasn't particularly strong- definitely not strong enough to get a man of his size drunk after two glasses.

That was when she put it together; the slightest scent of liquor on his breath when he’d answered the door, his outwardly aggressive behavior, the way he’d swallowed the wine like it was water- Andy was already drunk. He’d probably been that way since he’d called earlier.

And he was obviously playing some kind of game with her. Laying a trap. Luring her to danger.

On heavy steps, Andy returned downstairs about five minutes later, prowling towards her and prompting Y/n to absently inch backwards into the wall. “Your ring,” he held it up with a little, wicked grin. She put her hand out for it, but Andy took it instead, turning it over so her palm would be face down. Their chests were inches apart at that point and he kept his darkened eyes matched with hers, presumably in a defiant act above all else, as he slid the ring back onto her finger. “All better?”

Clenching her jaw, Y/n tried to pull her hand away but Andy tightened his grip and lunged; within the second his lips were on hers. Reacting instinctively, she kissed him back- it was completely impulsive, submission to a primal desire. She could taste the mixture of liquors on his lips and his kiss could have been as inebriating as the poison he’d poured down his throat. She might have gotten drunk on him- she would have- But the minute she caught herself, deserting carnal yearning in favor of what was true and right, Y/n tried to use her free hand to shove him away.

But he wouldn’t budge.

Andy was solid, immovable. Like a gray stone wall or a bear boxing in its prey.

She could feel a bulge pressing into her lower stomach, making it hard to focus

“Stop,” she fought against his lips, a frustrated noise escaping her lips when grabbed the wrist of the hand she as using to push against his chest. “You need to stop,” Y/n struggled against his hungry lips. It doesn't matter that she actually doesn't want him to, that she'd traded hours of sleep for fantasies that looked just like that. A moment where they'd be alone and he'd do things to her that James might be scared to.

But none of that mattered- they were fantasies and she was engaged.

When she attempted to use her legs against him- knee him in the groin or kick him in the shin- Andy reacted swiftly positioned both his legs between hers, consequently pressing his crotch against her.

“No,” he easily positioned her hands over her head, closing his fingers in around her wrists and pinning them to the wall above her head, rendering her defenseless. “You want this,” Andy snarled into her mouth, hooking his now free hand around the back of her thigh, guiding it harshly to his hip. “Say you want this.”

Wiggling against frantically, Y/n tossed her head back, hitting it on the wall, as she tried to tear her lips from his. “No, get off me,” she protested, voice rising above a harsh warning.

Deserting her thigh, Andy brought his hand to her neck and held her like that for a moment, “We’re doing this,” he managed through gritted teeth, “I know you, you want this. All those nights we spent together, just the two of us. Everytime I asked you if you wanted to go home, what did you say?” He was squeezing her throat, applying enough pressure to limit airflow.

“N–no,” it was getting harder to breathe and speak, and her vision was dancing but something in the back of Y/n’s mind doubted that he genuinely wanted to hurt her, “I-I said….no.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re engaged?” He pulled her forward a little, only to slam her head into the wall again, though not hard enough to inflict any more damage than a sore spot.

“Exactly,” Andy hissed, “You said no. We went on a fucking date and you didn’t tell me you were engaged.”

Hot tears were racing down her paling cheeks and Andy was beginning to seem more and more like a blur. “Because,” she gasped, desperately trying to suck in some air, “I…” A hitched sob punctuated her words, “I….I didn’t want you to know.”

She really didn’t. It was wrong, misguided and shamefully selfish, but at some point, Y/n had thought that bringing up her engagement would ruin the closeness that she so enjoyed with Andy. She enjoyed being the only person he opened up to, in a way, it felt like he was hers and as long as she kept her relationship with James hidden, nothing would change.

“Exactly,” he growled, seeking her lips once more, “You’ve wanted me exactly the way I’ve wanted you since that first case.”

A broken sob fell into his mouth and Y/n occasionally found herself punctuating her failing resistance with sloppily returned kisses. “I don’t wanna do this,” she cried weakly, breaths short and throat dry, “You don’t wanna do this,” halfheartedly, she kissed the corner of his lips and tried to turn her face away again, “You’re drunk, this isn’t you.”

Pressing his forehead to hers, Andy chuckled and his grip on her neck loosened so he could flatten his hand on the top of her chest. She could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of her dress as he dragged it slowly down her body, and as she got a clearer sense of where his hand was going, she was breathing quickly. “I promise you, sweetheart” he rasped, fingers creeping under the hem of her skirt, which had ridden up her thigh, “This is exactly me.”

Pushing aside the crotch off her underwear, Andy slipped two of his digits into her folds and started pumping slowly. “See?” He taunted in response to the slickness that had gathered there shortly after she’d felt his member pressing into her stomach. Try as she might, it was impossible to deny the effect that Andy had on her and she hated that she did want him- a man like him, who was proving to be worse than the rumors. She hated that the only reason she was resisting was because she didn't want to be branded as a cheater.

“You want this,” he coaxed, curling his fingers and extracting a sharp inhale, “Admit it sweetheart.”

Not because she loved her fiance- she did- but she didn’t want that love questioned. Not by Andy, not by herself.

But love and sex, they were different. She could love James and want Andy. It wasn't wrong, it was just human.

His beard grazed her skin, and the sensation coupled with her mounting arousal made a shiver run up her spine. “Please….” Her plea was teary, and Y/n wasn’t sure what she was begging for; for him to spare her the consequence of a nasty truth or give her more.

Biting down on her lower lip, Y/n hoped a little pain and blood on her tongue was enough to keep her mouth shut and ward off the obvious truth, but when his lips sought her jaw and he added another finger to his quickening ministrations while pressing his thumb to her nub, she succumbed. “Yes…” She heaved, sobbing, “I want you,” she cried, head bending forward and her face consequently nuzzling the side of his.

She was only human, after all.

Finally satisfied, Andy let Y/n’s wrists go and she immediately loomed her arms around his neck, holding him to her. Meanwhile, he removed his fingers from her arousal and started pushing her underwear down, letting it pool at her feet. Without thinking, she kicked it away and when Andy curled his fingers under her ass after sparing a bare moment to undo his pants and free his cock, she let him lift her off the ground and wrapped her legs around his waist.

But when Andy slid into her with unfettered ease, girth stretching her to the point of a delicious burn, an erotic moan tumbled off her lips and her fingers curled in his nape. Immediately, he struck up a pace of pronounced but aggressive thrusts, giving off the sense that he was barely containing himself.

She still felt guilty. Y/n still knew it was wrong.

“Fuck….Laurie….” In the heat of the moment, her name dripped off his lips, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that it wasn’t even about her;

'Because you remind me of someone. Someone special.'

'Keep the length, try a couple shades darker'- just like the woman in the photographs.

“I’ve been thinking about this since we met,” he admitted, liquor stained breath hot on her face and distracting her, “God, you feel so fucking good, you take me so well.”

He felt good too.

Steadying her at the hip with one hand, Andy used the other to free her blouse from the waist of her skirt. Delving under the hem, he groped her breast through her bra, kneading harshly. As the rhythmic roll of his hips grew rabid, Y/n found herself demanding, “Harder,” and, “Faster,” with the occasional obscene praise peppered in between.

Reveling in the feel of his bulging veins rubbing her sensitive walls with each purposeful, aggressive thrust and the way the curve of his member seemed to probe at the lowest part of her stomach, Y/n sunk her nails into his back, clawing at Andy through his shirt. Breathy moans and low grunts bounced off the walls as stifling heat cocooned them, hardly remedied by the air conditioning.

With each jerk, her back hit the wall with an audible thump and as Y/n felt herself inching closer to insurmountable gratification she tightened her legs around his hips, driving the back of her feet into his thighs. “Andy,” she hitched headily when his lips met hers again, not really in a kiss but a stretch of shared breaths. “Fuck,” Y/n heaved into his mouth, “You feel so….”

Grinning wickedly, he tried to meet her lust blown eyes but their faces were so close that it was hard. “Feel so….?”

“So-uh,” a small fraction of her was readily able to recognize that there was no coming back from the words she wanted to say. Her silly admission that he was the best she’d ever had. Y/n’s mind though had fallen into some kind of sex-crazed limbo, caught between what was inherently right and what felt incomparably good.

“Tell me,” he demanded, kissing her roughly, biting her lips before pulling away a few centimeters.

“Good,” at the back of his head, she grabbed a fistful of his hair, causing him to bite her lips when they kissed again, “So fucking good.” Pressing her face close to his, the rise and fall of her chest became erratic and her heart was galloping in behind her ribs and she became acutely aware of just how close she was to toppling over with gratification.

“I wanna feel you,” he encouraged, quickening his pace a little, fingers digging into her waist.

The fabric of his shirt was crumpled in her grip and eager for release, Y/n struggled to buck her hips towards his. With a gasp, Y/n’s legs stiffened and her head lolled back against the wall. Unrestrained ecstasy started in a burst at her center, spreading like an untamed wildefire to electrify her every nerve. Clenching around him, her frame quaked and she drenched their thighs in silky moisture. She didn’t think it had ever felt like that; like watching fireworks on an LSD high or speeding on the freeway after a night of tequila shots. There was a rush she’d never experienced before, one she fittingly thought could only ever be achieved with drugs. “Andy! Fuck!” Her throat hurt and her words were loud and a little hoarse.

Andy’s pace didn’t falter through the crest of her euphoria, though just as her high settled, leaving behind a pleasurable sensitivity and colours on her vision, his hips sputtered. She should have pushed him away, begged him to pull out, but much too consumed by the threads of pleasure still running through her veins, Y/n clung to him as generous ribbons of his hot product shot into her. By then, he’d shifted his feet slightly and moved both his hands to hold onto her hip, as if he were keeping her in place so she’d take every drop of him.

Even after it was over, Andy remained sheathed between her sore walls for a handful of slow moments. They kissed, lips taking on a leisured pace that time and Y/n leaned forward so he’d be supporting most of her weight. She could have sworn that every sensation in that moment was raw and amplified; the roughness of his beard scratching the area around her lips and tickling her palms, the fullness of him still settled inside her, the heat of his touch seeping through her blouse and the rhythm of his heart matching hers.

Suddenly, she couldn’t remember if her heartbeat had ever matched James’.

She hated that she was comparing them. He was a good man and Andy was…..Andy.

Gingerly, he pulled out, and simultaneously, she untangled her legs from around him, knees almost buckling as her feet finally hit the ground. Shutting her eyes as she slumped against the wall, Y/n could hear the soft clink of his belt as Andy tugged his pants up, and while she made no effort to pull her skirt down, she could feel the fabric slowly creeping back to his proper place.

When he lazily leaned forward, braced by one arm pressed to the wall diagonally over her head, Andy reached out to ghost the outline of her face with his rough fingertips, thumb tracing tear stains and then the shape of her kiss-swollen lips. His breathing was just as heavy as hers and it was only after his touch hand trailed down her neck and had reached the valley of her cleavage did he disturbed the heavy silence. “Can I tell you something?” His hoarse whisper elicited a pitiful whimper and shiver from her. His large hand skimmed the contour of her curves and settled to a firm grip on her waist, “You’re prettier when you’re mine.”

Mine.

His.

A hitched sob escaped her throat just as her guilt doubled; how could she? That time, when she pushed him away, Andy complied. There was so much she could say to him; curse him, lie and say she hated him, blame him but it would really only be words born from her own guilt and after he’d spent the past forty minutes or so ruining her, Y/n didn’t think he deserved the satisfaction.

Sucking in a big breath to contain her shameful tears, she shuffled away from Andy, who didn’t even put a toe towards trying to stop her; she supposed it was because he’d already gotten what he wanted. Blindly, Y/n stumbled towards the door, letting herself out without a word and not bothering to shut it as she left. Approaching the car parked on the curb, Y/n rummaged through her coat for the keys and after she got them out, she shrugged off the coat using it to lap up some of the moisture on her face and neck before getting in.

Immediately after getting the engine going, Y/n put down the windows and turned on the air conditioning, hoping the inescapable chill would do something for her appearance. Then reaching into the glove compartment, she hastily extracted a wad of napkins and did her best to clean up before discarding them on the passenger seat and grabbing up her phone.

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

“Drive safe. Text me when you get there.”

“Y/n?”

“I get it if you’re still upset but please let me know that you’re safe.”

“Ordered your favorite for dinner. Waiting till you get here. I love you.”

“Shit!” Y/n banged the wheel with the side of her fist and hot tears rained from blurry eyes. She’d been at Andy’s for just over an hour. Trying to slow the erratic rise and fall of her chest and quiet her sobs, she quickly typed a response, telling James that she’d forgotten her phone in the car and would be home within the next half hour.

Then, as she wiped her eyes and pulled off, hoping she could bring herself to face James by the time she got home.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfic #andy barber #fanfic #defending jacob #andy barber au #prettier when you're mine

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 1 year ago

Text

Stuck Between a Jock and a Metalhead

Summary: Nancy, on a whim, decides to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy, which leads to her overhearing confessions from Steve that leads her to think about the decisions she's made. A few days later, she decides to come back. She finds him being hit on by the town freak. What's a girl to do? Oh, get stuck in a freezer with the both of them.

TW for SA. Steve was violated, too. He deserves to have a voice, too. These guys need a lot of healing and love. They're going to get it.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Steve’s POV

It was early in the morning on Saturday, and Steve was staring at his closet, trying to decide what to wear. He was pretty sure that Eddie was joking when he called it a date. . .hadn't he? Spending time lately with Eddie Munson and Nancy has been a surprise, but he was finding it quite enjoyable. He was definitely still in love with her, but he was also starting to have feelings for Eddie. It didn't take the kiss to realize that, but it definitely helped. He and Eddie hadn't really talked about it, nor had he talked about it with Nancy. It had been a vulnerable moment for Eddie as he thought he was dying, and Steve wasn't sure how to approach the subject. He wasn't sure how to even deal with his feelings for two people, and he couldn't help but wonder if this is how Nancy felt struggling with her feelings for two people had gone. . .if Nancy had feelings for him at all. If only there was a way for him to date both of them and for them both to be okay with it.

"This is crazy," Steve muttered.

After what seemed like forever, Steve decided on a striped red and blue polo. He straightened the red collar and stared at the lip gloss sitting on his dresser. He debated with himself and finally decided on wearing it. They've seen him in Scoops Ahoy before wearing lip gloss. He puckered his lips and started putting it on, trying not to think about smearing it across Eddie's mouth with his own. Steve stood back and started doing a slow turn in front of the mirror. Were his jeans tight enough? Maybe they were too tight? Or too loose? Steve slapped his own ass. No, just loose enough. Steve winked at himself in the mirror and shot himself finger guns.

"You got this," Steve whispered, and then he deflated. "This is not a date. Stop acting like it's a date."

A loud knock on the front startled him, and he headed downstairs. He told them where to meet, right? When he opened the door, Hopper was standing on his doorstep.

"Hey, kid, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Hopper asked.

"No, I'm not heading out until later," Steve said and stepped aside. "Come on in. I made coffee not too long ago. Would you like a cup?"

Hopper shut the door behind him and smiled.

"That would be great. Thanks," Hopper said and followed him into the kitchen. "You got a big date later today?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it a date," Steve blushed. "I'm meeting Nancy and Eddie later to look through my grandfather's things at his old salon. Nancy wants to work on her sleuthing skills. I doubt she'll find anything newsworthy."

"Maybe not newsworthy but maybe worthy to you. What brought this on?" Hopper asked, taking a sip of the coffee Steve set in front of him.

"Well, I kind of want to go to cosmetology school to become a barber," Steve said, tapping the counter nervously.

"You would be good at that. I remember going to your grandfather's shop. He'd be the only one my dad would trust with his hair. You do remind me a lot of Otis," Hopper said.

"Really?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, he'd be proud of you," he said. "And I think he would be touched that you wanted to follow in his footsteps."

"Thanks," Steve said, swallowing thickly.

"You thinking about reopening the shop?" Hopper asked.

"Well, with the mall taking up most of the businesses, I'm not sure that would be the smartest decision," Steve shrugged.

"Well, you'd be surprised with how many people loved Otis," Hopper said. "Think they'd love to go to the salon again, knowing his grandson was running it in favor of going to the mall. People used to come in from out of town to get their hair cut by him."

"Wow," Steve said. "I didn't know that. I was really little when he had to close the store."

"Well, if you need any help setting it up, I'd be happy to help out," Hopper said.

"Thanks, Hop," Steve said, smiling.

They fell into silence for a while as Hopper finished his coffee.

"I don't know if Nancy talked to you, but. . . ," he trailed off.

"She said that you needed to talk to me about something," he said.

Hopper sighed and pulled a small object out of his pocket. He placed it on the table. It was a role of film. Steve looked at him questioningly.

"I don't exactly what happened the night Barb died, but I do know that Jonathan was looking for his brother and stumbled onto your little get-together," Hopper sighed. "I also know that he took a picture of you and Nancy getting. . .close. Particularly, of Nancy taking her shirt off. I know when you found out that you tore up the photos and broke his camera, which I have to applaud you for not decking him. Turns out he kept the film strip all this time."

"He kept it?" Steve asked softly.

"Nancy found it when she went to pick up her things," Hopper said.

"She didn't say. . .was she okay?" He asked.

"She was a little shaken up. She was probably trying to prepare herself to talk to you about it," he said. "I'm going to ask you the same thing that I asked Nancy. Do you want to press charges against Jonathan?"

"Charges?"

"For violating your privacy, harassment, stalking, and trespassing," Hopper said.

"What did Nancy say?" Steve asked.

"I'm not going to tell you until you tell me your answer," he said. "What do you want to do?"

His stomach churned as it did the same damn day he saw those photos. He remembered seeing them for the first time, and he couldn't help but hate the guy who took them. He remembered how worried he had been at the idea of Nancy seeing them. While over eager sometimes, he always made sure that his sexual partners felt safe and comfortable with him. . .to think that someone did something like what Jonathan had done. . .to make Nancy not feel safe doing that when she clearly wanted to. . . Well, it pissed him off. Jonathan had come into his backyard and took a picture of something that was supposed to be private. Not to mention that he saw Barb sitting there looking all sad and lonely, then left without asking if she was okay, but he made sure to take her photo. Both Steve and Nancy had thought she had gone home. . .Jonathan had been the last one to see her alive. He could have done anything and maybe the demogorgon. . . No, it would have taken him as well or killed him. He took Nancy's photo without her permission and Barb's photo because. . .what?. . . He thought they were saying something? He also knew that Jonathan probably still meant something to Nancy, that he definitely still meant something to Joyce and Will. He liked them both.

"No, I don't want to press charges," Steve sighed heavily.

"What do you want to do then?" Hopper asked.

"Chuck this fucking film role at his head for starters," Steve said and Hopper laughed.

"It's exactly what Nancy did," Hopper said. "It's alright if you're angry with him. You're allowed to feel all that and let it out in a healthy way. Don't learn from me. I've kept so many things bottled up until it's stormed out of me. Release a little bit of a time, and it won't break the glass. Getting angry doesn't mean you're anything like your dad. You have every right to be hurt by what Jonathan did."

"You keep saying that you don't give good advice, but that seemed pretty good to me," Steve sniffed.

"It was a rare moment, probably won't happen again," Hopper said, and Steve laughed. "Come here, kid."

He pulled Steve into a hug, and for the first time in a while, Steve realized that this was what it was supposed to feel like to have a dad. Steve pulled back from the hug, wiping his eyes.

"You need me to stick around?" Hopper asked.

"No, I just . . . Need time to myself. I need to think," Steve said softly.

"I get it," Hopper said. "You know where to find me if you need me, kid. I'm here. I'll get someone to dispose of the negatives."

Steve nearly bit his tongue to stop himself from saying 'thanks, dad', but he managed, and then Hopper was gone. He stood in the entryway for a while, just staring at the wall as his mind went blank. He slowly walked up the stairs to his room and stared at it from the doorway. He glanced at the plaid walls and the plaid curtains as well as the plaid blanket on his bed. Whenever his parents were gone, like they were now, Steve always felt much safer with them out of the house. He felt like he could breathe again. His parents didn't like clutter. They liked everything orderly, just another way of letting people know that they're better than other people, especially Steve. At the same time, it was also another way of hiding their differences like their freak of a son who wasn't allowed to have the things that mattered to him. He kept them tucked away in a box so his parents wouldn't give them away. They loved to give away stuff for 'charity' to make themselves look good. They especially loved using his stuff. So when they were gone, he would pull his things out and set them up. He felt safer when they were up, but he had yet to pull them out, and looking around the room, he suddenly felt overwhelmed. He wanted Nancy to feel safe with him that night, and it failed to happen for both of them.

Barb had died that night while they were together, and a part of him would always feel guilty about that. He also knows that him and Nancy weren't doing anything wrong. They both wanted to be with each other that night, Steve had made sure that it was what Nancy wanted as well. If he learned anything from his parents' relationship, it's what not to do. Steve wandered over to the window, the very window that Jonathan had taken a picture of, and stared down at the pool. It felt like it was taunting him. The only time he had ever really felt safe here was when his grandfather lived here for a while, then when he had become friends with Tommy, and then Nancy came into his life. When she was there, it felt like nothing could go wrong, and then shit had hit the fan. His heart got broken, and the kids came tumbling into his life as well as his house. All these people. . .they had made it a home because that's what they were. . . Not the house itself. No matter where he went, they would follow him nestled safe inside his heart, and he could turn anything into a home. . .except for this house. Suddenly, he knew that he couldn't stay here anymore. He had to find another place to live. It was the final nail in the coffin.

"Fuck you!" Steve screamed, tired of holding it all in. . .tired of trying to remain 'perfect'.

He grabbed the flimsy, shitty curtains and tore them down. He ripped them in half easily. Stupid, ugly cheap curtains. He stared at the red car poster hanging in his room, the only thing his parents let him keep, and then his eyes landed on his bat. He picked it up and swung. It hid the picture, the glass breaking as the nails pierced it. The picture clattered to the floor. He turned to the haunted window and swung again. The glass flew outward as his bat went through the window. He stared at the plaid walls and let out a yell as he hit it with his bat, careful to avoid the studs. He hit the ugly wallpaper over and over again until he accidentally hit a stud, and his bat got stuck.

He slid to the floor, tired, and stared at the destruction he had caused. He started to laugh until his laughter turned into tears, and then he was just crying as he thought about the night that led to the downfall of his relationship with Nancy. He thought about Barb and how he wished desperately that she was here, that he could get to know her. He wished that Jonathan hadn't been in those woods, that he didn't have a reason, too. He wished that the Upside Down didn't exist, and he could still have all of the important people in his life. He wished his grandparents were still alive so he could have parents who loved him. He wished his parents were different. He wished for so many things, but most importantly, he wished people could see him for who he truly is. . . The person he always tried to be.

Steve cried so hard that he knelt on the floor with his head in between in his knees as he released all of his pain, his anger, and his sadness. He released everything, including the contents of his stomach, all over the floor. He wiped his mouth and didn't bother cleaning up the room. He moved his boxes and clothes into the guest room, leaving everything in his former room just the way it was. He made sure to grab the bat, though. He changed clothes and brushed his teeth but didn't bother reapplying his lip gloss. He put on his comfort sweater and ate some toast. As he munched on his toast and drank some water to rehydrate, he wondered how Nancy had handled it. He sighed. He needed to see Nancy. He wasn't going to push her to talk, but he kind of needed at least talk to her about it.

He played soothing music as he drove to Nancy's, and he realized he hadn't called first. Shit. Oh, well. He pulled into the driveway and walked up to the front door. After he knocked, Steve was relieved to see that Nancy had answered the door first.

"Hey, I thought we weren't meeting at the Salon until later?" Nancy asked.

"Uh, something came up. I wanted to talk to you about it. Do you want to go to the quarry?" Steve asked.

"Sure, let me get my purse," Nancy said.

The drive to the quarry was silent, as was the walk down to the bottom. They sat on a small patch of earth, took off their shoes as well as their socks, and put their feet in the water.

"Hopper came to see me this morning," Steve said.

"He told you about the film strips," Nancy stated.

"Yeah," Steve said softly and paused.

"You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready," Nancy said gently.

"I don't know, I think I might have overreacted. I just stared at my room, at the window, and just started hitting everything in the room with the bat. I lost it, then I started laughing and then I cried. I cried so hard I threw up. I don't know, it was like on top of everything in that house that happened to me. . . To us. . .it was just too much. Either that, or I really am crazy," Steve said.

"Steve Harrington, you have every right to feel the way that you do," Nancy said. "You're not crazy for finally letting it all in. You've held in so much for so many years. At first, I was just mind of numb. I was in shock. I kind of let everything in that I had been ignoring and pushing away. I told myself that it wasn't that, not compared to what happened to Barb. When I got home and took a nap with Holly, it helped to know she was there. Yet later that night, I woke up in the middle of the night from yet another nightmare about Barb, and I puked my guts out. We've been holding it all in, don't you think it's time we feel it?"

"Yeah. . .it's just . . . It was you he took a picture of, Nancy. Do I even have a right to feel this way?" He asked softly.

"It was your house. . .your room. I was taking my shirt off to sleep with you. It was our intimate moment, and he violated that moment for both of us. You have every right to feel that way, just as much as I do," Nancy said.

"I can't believe he kept it," Steve said.

"He said he forgot it was there, which might be the case, but it still makes me feel weird," Nancy said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be able to like the guy, Nance," Steve admitted honestly.

"And that's okay, too. You don't have to like him just for my sake," Nancy said. "It was really sweet that you tried to."

"I really wanted that moment to be special for us, Nancy. It meant something to me that you wanted to be with me like that. I want you to know that," Steve said softly.

"It meant something to me too," Nancy said sweetly.

"Do you think I overreacted?" He asked.

"You reacted exactly the way you felt you were supposed to when something like this happens," Nancy said. "You just need to let it in. We both do. Feel it now and forgive him later. . .not for him but for us."

Nancy put her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder. Steve stared at the rippling water ahead of them. It really was beautiful out here.

"Do you think that one day we're going to think about what we did that night without thinking about what else happened then, too?" Steve asked.

"No, I think we're always going to remember, but I do think, I hope that we can finally stop being scared of the intimacy we shared that night," Nancy said softly. "It was never a mistake. . . Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I never apologized for calling you bullshit. . .for putting the blame all on you," Nancy said. "You didn't deserve that. You weren't a shitty boyfriend either. You were the perfect first boyfriend and I fucked it all up. Don't say it was okay, either."

"It wasn't okay, but neither was what happened that night. After spending time apart, we both had time to think. I think I forgave you the moment you walked back into my life, Nancy Wheeler," Steve said.

Nancy opened her mouth to say something else but closed it again. He kissed her forehead. Steve sighed and leaned his head against hers. He felt closer to her than he ever had before. Maybe it was going to be different this time.

Chapter Seven

#stranger things #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #nancy wheeler x steve harrington #stancy #eddie munson #nancy wheeler x eddie munson #edancy #eddie munson x steve harrington #steddie #nancy wheeler x steve harrington x eddie munson #stedancy #nessie #bisexual steve harrington #bisexual eddie munson #pansexual nancy wheeler #pan4bi4bi #stranger things fanfiction

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muma-kitty · 9 months ago

Text

alright, since some of you seem to agree with my thoughts, i think i'll elaborate a bit

sweeney todd's autism diagnosis

this might be a bit lengthy so ill spare you the scroll if youre not interested.

stiff movements (this isnt really a dancer's role)

lack of expression, tends to look either sad or angry most of the time. could just be the trauma tho

weird stilted way of speaking (hearn specific)

generally quiet and reserved outside of emotional outbursts (again, trauma)

strong sense of justice - "at the top of the hole sit the privileged few making mock of the vermin in the lower zoo"

entirely fixated on razors when reacquiring them, completely oblivious to mrs lovett talking about her massive crush on him

doesnt know what to do with his hands when not holding anything - "at last, my arm is complete again!"

[shaving contest /w pirelli and aftermath]

doesnt bother with any flash or flair, gets straight to work and gets the job done

becomes agitated and paces when expecting the beadle to arrive at his barber shop but doesnt know when (gotta have a schedule)

[epiphany]

if this isnt a textbook meltdown idk what is

mood swings (man goes through every stage of grief twice in the span of 3 minutes)

lashing out - "alright! you sir! how about a shave?"

mrs lovett trying to calm him down just upsets him even more

[a little priest]

doesnt understand what mrs lovett's hints at at first

asks what unfamiliar food is before trying it, as if hes hesitant to try new things

definitely an odd sense of humor

wordplay. so much wordplay.

more tactile stimming, this time with suspenders (hearn)

[god thats good]

upset because the package he was told would arrive by 5:45 is 15 minutes late (his SCHEDULE is RUINED)

once the chair arrives, becomes agitated when he cant get mrs lovett to stay and watch him open it (PLEASE let me share my interests!!!!)

once again calling for lovett's attention, this time to set up a system of communication. he just really wants to make sure she isnt missing his cues

[by the sea]

several minutes of sweeney being completely absorbed in his own thoughts while giving half-assed responses to at least pretend like he heard any of that nonsense

[wigmaker sequence]

time to infodump

possible echolalia? - "the madhouse? the madhouse!"

[finale]

upset that he now has to go find toby when hes expecting the judge to arrive soon (the schedule!)

doesnt seem to be aware of how threatening he sounds while calling for the kid

after killing the judge, suddenly remembers he was supposed to catch toby and runs out only to realize he didnt grab his razor (only has enough working memory for one task at a time)

im sure there are other details i missed, especially since everyone's performance is different, so feel free to add on

#sweeney todd #character interpretation #idk why m so invested in this #but cringe is dead and im having fun so fuck it we ball

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jamdoughnutmagician · 1 year ago

Text

A Cut Above The Rest

Mechanic!Eddie x Fem!Hairdresser!Reader

Back To Work (Part 6)

Summary:You make good on your promise of giving Steve his haircut, whilst also learning a few things from him about Eddie.

Word Count:1, 131 (sorry it's a short one this time!)

<-Previous Part Next Part ->

Masterlist Series Masterlist

You drive your way over to Steve’s home, a modest little place, an apartment on the edge of the town not from where he works in the coffee shop.

You knock at his door with your hairdresser’s kit in a bag slung over your shoulder.

“Steve! It’s me!” you shout from behind the door.

He opens up the door, dressed in an old, well-worn t-shirt and a pair of shorter than you expected shorts. So this is what Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington wears on his day off, huh?

“Hey! How are you?” he says, welcoming you into his apartment.

“Good thanks.” you nod. “So where do you want to do this? '' you ask, gesturing to your heavy bag of haidresser’s equipment.

“Oh you can put your stuff right here, it’ll be fine.” he says, tapping his hand against the small dining table in his kitchen.

You set down your bag as he pulls out a chair from underneath the table and sits down.

“So what are we doing today, Steve?” you ask, as you swish a hair-dressing cape around his shoulders to stop the hair going all over his clothes.

“Anything you can do that doesn’t involve any kind of clippers going anywhere near my head would be deeply appreciated, thank you.”

“Don’t worry you’re in safe hands with me.” you reassure, as you rake your fingers through his tousled mess of hair. “You’re going to feel like a new man once I’m done with you, Harrington.”

You grab your water bottle and begin by spritzing his hair just enough to wet everything down, before turning to grab your comb to slick through his hair. Then you reach into your kit to pull out your scissors to start snipping away at the longer strands. You alternate between snipping the hair and combing your brush through to ensure that everything is the right length.

“I drove past a perfectly good barber’s shop on my way here, so what’s this hang-up you have over hair clippers and going to the barbers?” You ask, easily falling into the natural chatter that you used on all your clients. It was one of the skills you prided yourself on, to put people at ease

“Well, it’s just that when I was a kid my mom would always take me to the salon with her when she went, and I would get my hair cut there too sometimes. Then, one day, my dad took me to a barber shop, said it was about time that a boy like me should be going to the same barber’s as his old man, said that my long hair made me look like a girl, then they clipped my hair so short. I cried the whole time.” he says, the hurt in voice still present even now. "I even have a little scar at the back where the guy got a bit too trigger-happy with the clippers." He huffs.

Sure enough through the layers, there it is. A small line of scarring where the base of his skull flows down to his neck, where the hair refuses to grow.

"I guess I wanted to grow my hair out as an act of rebellion?" He offers, as some semblance of explanation.

“For what it’s worth, I think you suit longer hair in my opinion. I’m just here to tidy you up.” you reassure with a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks. Anyway! Enough about me, a little birdy told me that you went on a date with a certain metal-head yesterday?” he asks, his voice raising slightly in a teasing tone.

“A little birdy, huh? You mean Robin.” you poke back with a laugh. “Yeah, Eddie took me out to the Maple Bridge fall festival. It was nice.” you answer, with a slight smile playing at your lips as you begin to refine Steve’s layers.

“Maple Bridge, huh?” he retorts with a smirk that despite the fact that you couldn’t see his face, you just knew was gracing his features. “Interesting.”

“Yeah, we picked pumpkins and had a quiet drink in the barn. I had a nice time with him. Why is that interesting?” you say, unsure what Steve was getting at with his line of questioning.

“I’ve known Eddie for a few years, and if it’s one thing I know about him is that he loves the fall, like, all of it. Halloween, Pumpkins, Pumpkin Pie, everything. The whole shebang. He goes to the Maple Bridge festival every year. Never misses it.

Steve keeps talking as you start to ruffle a texturising clay through his now freshly cut hair, listening intently as he speaks.

“..And for the past few years he’s always gone alone. We’ve all offered to go with him, of course, but he always insists on going by himself. So, he must really like you if he’s taken you there on a first date.”

“I don’t know what to say.” you stammer at the revelation of this news.

“Look, I’m hosting a Halloween party next week. Robin's gonna be there, you can invite Eddie, it’ll be great, I promise.”

“Alright. I’m down for a party.” you say, as you reach for your hairdryer.

“Good. Of course it’s a costume party, so I expect to see you all dressed up.” he laughs.

You cut Steve off with the loud sound of your hairdryer, completely ignoring him.

“Alright! That’s you all done.” You say as you gather your kit up.

“Thank you so much, you’ve done an awesome job of it. Better than any other haircut I've had before, that's for sure." he says with a smile ruffling his fingers through his freshly styled hair. “This is for you.” he nods, pressing the money into your hand.

"Oh thank you!" You smile, slipping your money into your back pocket.

"Seriously! I'm going to be coming to you for my haircuts from now on!" Steve praises.

"Anytime! It was a delight to work on such a glorious head of hair such as yours" You nod.

"I really do hope you come to the party, it'll be nice to have some more friendly faces there!"

"I'll see you then!" And with that, you wave him goodbye as you make your way out of his apartment.

You burst through the door to Robin’s apartment, dropping your bag on the floor as you come in.

"Robin. I need your help." you rush out in a panicked tone.

"What’s going on?” she spluttered back, matching your alarmed nature.

"Steve invited me to his Halloween party next week and I need to find a costume."

Robin breathes a sigh of relief, you always did have a flair for the dramatics.

"Don't worry, we'll find you something, We can hit up the mall tomorrow, there's gotta be something there."

@penguinsandpotterheads @xxhellfiregirlxx @sunflowerdaydreamer @mmunson86 @avalon-wolf @ali-r3n @jesssssmaybankk

#Eddie Munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #Eddie Munson x female reader #Eddie Munson x female reader fluff #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson series #eddie munson fanfic

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mimisempai · 1 year ago

Text

You just have to be

Summary

It's one of those days for Crowley. One of those days when he doesn't feel like doing anything. But perhaps the loving care of a certain angel will change the course of this not-so-good day.

Notes

a bit of depressive Crowley and a caring angel....

Happy Birthday to one of the most beautiful person I know : @rins-love-winsThank you for being one of my inspiration source!

On Ao3

Rating T - 1795 words

Aziraphale had been awake for a few minutes and, seeing that Crowley showed no sign of moving, he leaned over and kissed his hair before saying softly, "Crowley, my dear, I'm getting up."

Crowley murmured into the pillow, "'kay Angel. I don't feel like leaving this bed today."

Aziraphale ran a hand through Crowley's hair and said kindly, "I understand," then leaned over and whispered in his ear, "If you need anything, I'm here."

Crowley turned his head and said, "Thank you, Angel."

Aziraphale pressed a last kiss to the demon's forehead before getting up, dressing and heading down to the shop to start his day.

*********

Seeing that Crowley still hadn't come down by early afternoon, Aziraphale decided to go up and see him, if only to make sure he didn't need anything.

When he reached the bedroom he whispered softly, "Crowley?"

Crowley rolled under the covers and sat up a little.

The angel asked gently, "Still don't feel like getting up?"

Crowley shook his head, stretched out his arms and said, "But I wouldn't mind a hug."

Aziraphale, touched beyond measure that the demon was so open about what he wanted, didn't keep him waiting and slid in beside him, wrapping his arms around him and pressing him against his chest.

Crowley immediately wrapped himself around him and buried his face in his neck.

Aziraphale let out a soft yelp, "But you're scratching, my dear!"

He pushed the demon away a little and saw something he hadn't immediately noticed in the semi-darkness of the room.

Something he'd never seen before. Crowley with a light stubble. He ran his finger over the slightly rough skin and said softly, "I think this is the first time I've seen you like this."

Crowley replied, "I wasn't feeling up to it today."

Aziraphale nodded in understanding, knowing full well it had something to do with the kind of bad day Crowley had from time to time,

Crowley stared at him for a few seconds and continued, "It makes me realise that you once mentioned your barber. How come you need one?"

Aziraphale blushed slightly but replied, "I like being pampered. It's very nice. Well, I should put that in the past tense, because now that I have my demon at home, I don't need anyone else to pamper me."

The smile on the demon's lips was worth the slight embarrassment the angel felt after his confession.

He continued, "Like when you washed my hair or took care of my wings."

As the demon nodded, Aziraphale ran a finger across his cheek and asked softly, "Don't you want to try?"

Crowley thought for a moment and with a slight playful gleam in his eye replied, "Do you even know what you're doing? I mean, not like 1941, if you know what I mean."

"Hey, that's petty! I'll have you know, Mr Crowley, I've got a whole shaving kit and I know how to use it."

The demon laughed at the angel's outburst, and Aziraphale was secretly pleased that he had managed to lighten his mood a little.

He said softly, "You still haven't told me. Would you like me to do it for you?"

Crowley nodded gently and replied a little embarrassed, "If it's you, I'd like you to do it for me."

Aziraphale smiled softly and kissed him on the cheek before saying "With pleasure, my love".

He then got up from the bed and found a chair, which he placed in front of the window, from which he opened the curtains to let the sunlight into the room.

He returned to the bed and held out his hand to Crowley, saying "Come and sit here so I can see better".

The demon grabbed the angel's hand and stood before moving to the chair and sitting down while the angel went to get what he needed.

Aziraphale returned a few moments later with a basin, a towel on his arm and his shaving kit under his arm.

The angel placed the basin and shaving kit on a small table beside Crowley and, taking the towel, tied it around the demon's neck.

His gaze was drawn to the strands of red hair glistening in the sunlight filtering through the window. He grabbed a small one and rolled it between his fingers, saying, "Gorgeous.”

Confused, Crowley asked, "What? What is gorgeous?"

Aziraphale replied with a half smile on his lips, "Your hair, my dear."

"Oh..." replied the demon, unable to hide the slight blush that the angel's words caused.

Aziraphale unpacked the entire shaving kit, grabbed a small cloth, soaked it in warm water and dabbed it over Crowley's stubble. He then grabbed the shaving brush, moistened it with shaving cream and, humming, ran it over all the stubble.

The angel then put down the shaving brush and took the razor, he opened it and showed it to Crowley gently, he asked gently, "Do you trust me?

Crowley replied softly, "With my life. Since the beginning of time and for as long as that".

Azirphale smiled softly and murmured, "Thank you," then leaned forward and gave him a long kiss on the forehead.

He placed the razor blade against the demon's creamed cheek and ran it gently from top to bottom. Then he wiped the blade clean and did the same on another area of skin just beside it.

Crowley had closed his eyes, looking totally at ease, and Aziraphale, though he knew the demon trusted him completely, was no less moved.

He continued, the silence broken only by the sound of the blade against skin and the angel's humming.

When he had finished, he put the blade down and took the small cloth, moistened it again and dabbed it over Crowley's face, removing the remnants of the cream here and there.

Then he reached for a bottle of cologne and put a few drops on his hands before gently rubbing them over the demon's face.

Crowley sniffed, then said in a surprised tone, "But... it's my cologne, how did you know..."

Aziraphale pressed a light kiss to his lips and replied, "You're not the only one who can smell the other... Musk, red patchouli, lilac, mahogany, lemon rind, oak moss, leather and a hint of vanilla husk."

Then he stroked his cheek gently and continued, "There. We're done."

Crowley opened his eyes and just as the angel was about to remove his hand from his face, the demon grabbed it and kissed the palm before saying, "You were right, Angel, it's very nice to be pampered. But I suppose it's even nicer because it's you."

Aziraphale sat on the edge of the bed and asked Crowley, without a trace of judgement in his voice, " Do you want to go back to bed?"

Crowley shook his head and replied, "No, but... will you go to the park with me?"

Aziraphale immediately replied, "Of course."

He stood and held out his hand to Crowley, adding, "Let's go."

**********

Some time later, after feeding the ducks, they sat hand in hand on their bench.

Having just gently mocked another pair of not-so-discreet spies, at least to them, Crowley dropped his head to the Angel's shoulder and asked quietly, "Angel?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Aren't you tired of all this?"

Aziraphale asked in a confused tone, "All of what?"

Crowley replied, "Of me, and these moments when I don't feel like doing anything, when we have everything to be happy about."

Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley's and replied quietly, "Absolutely not tired of it. I won't say I like these moments, because they mean you're not well. But I do like the fact that you don't have to go through them alone, that I can help you on days like today. That you let me see you when you're like this. And I'm happy if I can give you even a little support and comfort".

Crowley turned his head and kissed the angel's cheek lightly before saying, "Believe me, you've done much more than that today. Knowing that I don't have to hide from you anymore, that I don't have to pretend and that you just let me be in these moments is so much more than I could have hoped for."

"Always, my love," the angel replied as he squeezed his hand, then continued, "You know, Crowley, happiness isn't when things are going well. It's when we get through a day like today, the two of us, without pretence, just being who we are. One for the other, as always."

Crowley smiled softly and replied, "You know what, Angel? You're absolutely right and..."

Aziraphale interrupted, chuckling softly before saying, "I hope it didn't hurt too much to say that."

Crowley, feigning offence, stood and said, "Too bad, I was going to offer you lunch at the Ritz, but you just ruined it."

Aziraphale, in turn, stood up and said in a slightly pleading tone, "I take back what I just said. I promise I won't make fun of you again and mmph".

Crowley had just closed his mouth with a tender kiss, then stepped back, holding out his hand, "Sometimes you're too adorable for words. Come on, Angel, let's celebrate this beautiful day."

The angel took his hand and they walked to where the Bentley was parked.

As they walked hand in hand, the demon told himself that it was indeed a beautiful day.

Not perfect.

Just beautiful.

Just like them.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers

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lya-dustin · 11 months ago

Text

A Comedy of Non-mathematical Errors

Chapter 2

Michael is not allowed to keep most of his clothing after mummy dearest looked over his current wardrobe.

She had looked faint when he explained the practicality of his favorite cargo pants that turned into cargo shorts thanks to the nifty zippers. Even better he’d gotten them on sale.

“We will donate all your old clothes to charity.” The blonde woman had said only letting him keep his underwear and a handful of things that passed her inspection.

He was not at all surprised to know by charity Elspeth meant the garbage can.

But she did like how clean and organized he was and told Felix that was the right way to keep one’s room.

“Should we do something about his hair, mum?” Venetia asks, looking at him as if he were her personal Ken doll. She’d picked out some of his clothes, made him get a suit that matched a dress she was going to wear ---and made him and Felix buy two matching outfits.

Now she wants to cut his hair.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” he dares to ask. If you ask him its pretty great, especially because he did it himself.

“Nothing, sweetheart.” His mother said and yet he is dragged to a high-end barber shop despite his protests. “Felix, make sure your brother gets a nice haircut that doesn’t look like a blind man with blunted shears did it.”

Ouch.

“You’ll be fine with just a trim, Mikey.” Felix says with a smile that makes Michael wince at the nickname as harmless as it is. But the trip to the barber is a relief compared to the endless shopping of yesterday with Elspeth and Venetia.

Michael is given a luxury spa treatment along with Felix who has the same preferences as him despite the difference in socioeconomic statuses.

“I invited Ollie home for the summer, felt so bad for not telling him about us being brothers and his dad dying, I told him he could come visit us.” Felix attempts to be friends were all cut short by Michael who wasn’t sure how to even go from there.

Apparently, Sir James enjoyed Countdown, Venetia wanted to pursue fashion, Elspeth had a DPhil in Art History and spent her life collecting art while Felix attempts to write a novel because if someone is going to write the Cattons in this generation it must be one of them.

Despite their vapid ways, Michael supposed not everyone who acts like an airhead may actually be an airhead. A tough thing to incorporate into your world view when you’ve spent the school year seeing Felix and Farleigh with the same copy of Harry Potter pretending to read. Once they’d even held the book upside down.

“Your mum told me about it, yeah. Does he know what happened?” Michael hopes his ditzy twin brother completely forgot.

“Fuck. I can’t remember.” Maybe Felix was a real ditz, the way they talked about the Catton heir being a genius, his parents must’ve feared leaving everything in his hands. But his stupidity makes this all easier.

“After he tossed me off to hang out with you at the pub, I told him we weren’t friends anymore.” Because he is an opportunistic bootlicking cunt.

The more he learned about Oliver Quick the more he sounded like a fucking psychopath. What’s next dressing up as his mum? Killing any girl Felix talks to?

“Oh, he’d said you had already left. I only talked to him so he could invite you to join us. I liked your shirt, have one like it, just can’t find it in the mess.” Felix sits by his open window to smoke ---Michael detests the smell--- and gave a small laugh as he mentions his pigsty of a room.

“Actually, he pretended not to see me when I came back,” Michael isn’t even surprised Poor Dear Ollie had lied about that too. “Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t know I’m here.”

Michael’s terrible at talking or persuasion, and yet, it doesn’t take much to convince Felix to make his presence here a surprise.

Saltburn is nice, a touch gaudy and weird, but other than that the place looks fine.

His room is across Felix’s with Venetia next door and a guest room for a friend on the other side of the luxury bathroom that was bigger than his old bedroom.

“Mum has a fear of ugly things, I wouldn’t wear these if I were you.” Venetia plucks his glasses off his face and Michael swats at her blindly trying to get them back. He only succeeds accidentally grabbing her nose before giving up

“See how handsome you look? You look like Uncle Micah.” The bleached blonde girl shows him his own mirror to tell him so.

“Can’t fucking see, Venetia.” He points out and squints at his own reflection trying to see if she was being honest and not flattering him out of pity.

Plenty of people loved telling him he could look great if he tried. He’s pretty sure he looks like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo right now and tells his younger sister so.

“Mum’s fine with the glasses, its piercings she doesn’t like.” Felix easily takes the glasses out of Venetia’s hands and carefully puts them back on Michael’s face. “Voila.”

“What do you think, Mike?” they ask when he gets a good look at himself.

And sure, enough he looks like someone who could get any girl or invite he desired. Michael Gavey was gone; Michael Catton had taken his place.

Oliver is going to regret dropping him for Felix.

#michael gavey #a comedy of non-mathematical errors #saltburn au #saltburn fic #ewan mitchell

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feitan-cl · 1 year ago

Text

Storytime

I really want to talk about this

The other day i rebelled against my mom and I went to a salon/barber shop💈 in a mall (I didn't go there alone, my friends accompanied me) and got an undercut without my mom's nor my dad's permission

It was... An experience

(TW: mentioned phycological abuse and the development of a new trauma?)

It was a Wednesday, I met up with my friends at the mall and after eating ice cream and stuff I told my friends to acompany me to the entrance and they went to a supermarket nearby, I just went in the barber shop and asked how much was it gonna be (i had enough money, like 100 american dollars and the price was like 14 and my self budget was like 25 dollars) then they sat me down to wash my hair and while they were doing that I texted my mom that I was at the hairdresser but she didn't respond. A few minutes later i texted her that they wee washing my hair and she also didn't see that message.

Later they sat me down on another chair and the woman that was gonna cut my hair asked what I wanted and I showed her the picture I had saved on my phone. She was nice.

I sent another message to my mom saying that it was already too late to go back (again; she didn't see it). I chatted with the hairdresser and I told her that my mom didn't approve of me getting an undercut (bc it was mainly her) and I got to brag a bit about my academical achievements (i swear there was an r in achievements, idk what happened to it) and I told her I wouldn't tell my mom who it was that cut my hair if she asked who did it (she didn't).

When she finished the haircut she handed me a mirror so that i could see how it looked (it looked good) and then she proceded to start drying my hair. When there were like 5 min left for my hair to get fully dry thats when my mom saw the messages I sent her and she said I didn't have permission and I told her that they were already drying my hair and she said that i should talk about it with my dad and so i sent him a text (which he didn't see) and i sent a text to my mom saying that i was happy with the haircut and she asked where i was and my inner clown responded "Mmm i dunno".

When my hair was fully dry i went to the front desk and payed (in cash bc i [still] have a LOT). Then i exited the place to meet my friends outside and they said that it looked very cool on me (#winning) and then i see into the distance 3 people... My mom (which i was ready to face), my youngest sister (who was running towards me with a smile plastered on her faceand her arms open, ready to hug me) and my young sister.

When I saw her I was terrified. ("oh but Fynn, she's your young sister why would you be afraid" i haven't told anyone about this [excepting her and my mom, both took it as a joke] but she abuses me phycologically so fuck off. [cuyo si lees esto no, no lo leiste.]). I froze on the spot I turned around trying to run away but i couldn't move any further than a step so I turned around, accepting my faith.

Then my youngest sister hugged me as a way of saying hi and a few seconds later my mom and young sister catched up and I said "Mom" today my mom (obviously) and then she angrily said "Do not call me 'mom'". I almost broke down on tears, that was one of the sentences I wanted to hear the least (yk, being closeted and shit), but i sucked it up and tried to keep my eyes from watering (keyword: tried) in a successful attempt to not cry in front of my youngest sister.

Then my young sister aproached me along with my mom to take a closer look to what they'd done to my hair and both said that they messed it up and that it was obviously uneven (a blatant lie). My mom then said that my dad would get mad at her for allowing me to go on my own to the hairdresser. After trying to not get affected for all their uncalled comments they left and my mom told me to tell my dad to pick me up from the mall.

I talked to my friends for a bit and then I called my dad so he would pick me up and then my friends left in a bus leaving me to wait for my dad.

When I entered the car my dad wasn't mad or anything, he took a look at my hair and said i looked good and I told him about what my mom said (the sentence "Do not call me 'mom'" still fresh in my head, but i skipped that part to avoid crying) he apologized for my mom saying that they're not very modern so it was hard for her to get used to that kinda stuff (yk, bc an undercut requires shaving hair) and and he said he would talk with my mom, and so I told him about the sentence but not how it affected me, i just noiselessly cried a few tears and whispered an apology (whispered bc my dad always scolds me when he hears me apologize to him).

We arrived home and no one was there so I went to my room waiting for my mom and sisters to come and hoping to not hear screams when they did (and my prayers were answered thank goodness). When they arrived and my mom and dad talked for a while my mom entered my room and said that i wasn't allower to pull a stunt like this ever again while i live under this roof (a stunt like this meaning things like another bold haircut, tatoos, piercings, etc [she specified the last two]) i laughed bc i didn't plan to do so and then she made me promise it and

The fucking end

Side note 1: so yeah this experience has made me realize that my young sister is like the Illumi to my Killua and my youngest sister is like the Alluka to my Killua (but my young sister isn't the Illumi to my youngest sister's Alluka)

Side note 2: and also that if I ever come out it will be first to my youngest sister, second to my dad and thirdly my mom (my young sister isn't listed here bc she kinda outed me to herself, i almost had an anxiety attack when she theatened me to tell on me if i didn't explain to her what were the flags in my [hidden] pins)

Side note 3: heres a pic of how it looked on Thursday

It has grown a bit more since then and now it looks better (plus my camera isn't great and it looks more shaved than it actually was)

0 notes

casicroaks · 1 year ago

Text

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 3

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

NEW JERSEY, 1966

I woke up to a radio broadcast of a new draft being put into effect for soldiers to be deployed somewhere outside the US. For a moment I wondered if dad would have to go. Unlike mom, he did talk a lot about his life before marrying her, about his mother and his brothers and his father’s barber shop and his grandma’s stories of Calabria and his own stories growing up in Newark before moving to Hackensack. He had gone to war back in the day, like his brothers. He lost a couple. He ended up staying a longer while abroad than what his parents had hoped for, dad told me and Bri. When mom wasn’t around, dad told us his parents had wanted him to get to Calabria and find himself a good wife there. But he wasn’t good at speaking Italian, though, and didn’t find himself a woman who liked him enough to marry, even though he had a uniform and a medal for something. He eventually came back home. And then, he met our mother. And they married. And now, he’s just our dad. Dad always sounds disappointed when he gets to the end of these stories.

Bri had already had breakfast and was now watching TV in the living room. My mother had to renew her driving license, since dad wouldn’t be able to take us himself to Gladys Buckman’s garden party. I didn’t understand why. He said he was busy, and then mom got angry and began arguing with him, and then they were shouting about something else entirely. He left to meet with some friends, and mom stormed off the house and into the car, grumbling curses.

Anyways, it was another Sunday afternoon in which Bri and I were left alone at home. But I had a plan. I always had to find projects to entertain myself with, and this afternoon was no different. As soon as mom left the house, I rushed upstairs and into her bedroom, and opened her vanity where she kept all her makeup and jewelry. I remember being amazed by it all when I saw it. Little shiny tubes of lipstick, and elegant round boxes of eyeshadow, and cases of fake eyelashes, and pots of cream and brushes of different sizes. There had to be a way that, with all of that, I could make myself look truly pretty.

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying it all out, starting with the lipsticks. I found two that I liked the most, one that was this lovely deep red, like a ripe cherry, and one that was really dark, almost purple, which seemed to have almost no wear. Those two, surely my mother wouldn’t notice them missing.

“Tiffy, what are you doing?”

Bri startled me –I almost dropped one of the round powder compacts, it could have been a mess.

“Buzz off, weirdo,” I grumbled.

“Is that mom’s makeup?”

“I said buzz off!”

“I don’t think mom would be okay with you doing this…”

She always knew what mom would think of things. Mom wouldn’t allow this, she would want you to do that… I huffed, ignored her, and continued trying on the makeup. From watching our mom I knew that there was some powder that went on the cheeks and some that went on the eyelids, but which one was which was hard to say. Using one of the brushes I patted bright pink dust on what someday would be my cheekbones, carefully watching my reflection in the cracked vanity mirror to guess when it would be enough… Which was sort of hard to say, with the bad lighting in the bedroom and how I already was looking pretty pink. At some point I gave up on the blush and decided to go with the eyeshadow, with a blueish-purple one just like what the pop stars in the dentist office’s magazines wore. Smiling at my reflection I admired what I thought was a pretty neat job. I opened my eyes as wide as I could. There was still a strip of color below my eyebrows. I thought, it was not as difficult as it seemed. Then it was time for mascara, which was definitely the hardest, and I finished it off with the lipstick. I had always wanted to put on lipstick. I remember watching my mother pressing the waxy red bar against her lips, and doing the same with my favorite crayon. Lipsticks, though, stained a lot more a lot faster.

Barely had any time to admire my work, when Bri came back into our parents’ bedroom.

“Tiffy, I’m hungry.”

“So?”

“Mom’s not home yet.”

I looked back at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Huh. She’s taking her time.”

“I’m so hungry…!”

Bri was already doing that thing she did with her face when she was about to throw a tantrum. It was the only moment in which she wasn’t looking cute.

“Alright,” I sighed, leaving all the things on the vanity table. “I’m pretty hungry myself.”

Mom hadn’t left any food cooking for us, so I improvised. We had some ham slices and cheese and some bread. I used what was left of butter in the fridge to warm it up in a pan and make some nice fried toast for sandwiches. Bri watched along, her eyes growing wide, bouncing and tapping the counter with her hands. She wanted to put mayonnaise and peas on hers, so I let her put as much as she wanted. And then, because she insisted we needed to have something for dessert, we raided all the kitchen cabinets in search of something we could use. We finally found some slightly stale vanilla cookies forgotten behind soup cans. They were really crumbly, so in order to make them a bit sturdier we slathered strawberry jam on them, and topped it off with a dollop of whipped cream that was left in the bottom of a bottle. It wasn’t exactly chiffon pie, but I was quite proud with the little lunch I had managed to make for the two of us.

We filled our glasses with milk and watched cartoons while gobbling down our food, the cheese having melted on the warm bread and making a gooey mess, and we laughed. Bri was an unbearable little sister, no doubt about it, but sometimes it felt like she was the only person I could laugh with. Maybe it was because we were forced to live together. We were like two jail mates who had no choice but to coexist. If she hadn’t been my sister, I knew for a fact that I would never have exchanged a word with her.

Our dishes were empty, Bri was having her second glass of milk, and the mascara was beginning to itch my eyes –when there were the familiar heeled steps on the porch signaling mom was home. I ran back into her bedroom, put the two lipsticks in my pocket, and grabbed a couple of random boxes of eyeshadow, and quickly rearranged everything so as to leave as little evidence as possible of me sticking my hands in there. Then I blew on the vanity, just to make sure there wasn’t any eyeshadow dust on there that could give me away, and I ran toward the toilet and closed the door. I kept quiet for a while, waiting for her to go to her room, waiting with bated breath for her to notice something out of place. But there was nothing. I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The makeup didn’t look half as nice as I had thought it did an hour ago. I washed my face and scrubbed it as best as I could to wash away all traces of the makeup, which wasn’t easy because I was definitely a beginner and didn’t know shit about how to apply it, even less how to remove it. It took a while and I ended up sopping wet, but with a clean face. Out of sight, out of mind.

Bri startled me with a loud knock on the bathroom door. “Tiffy, I need to use the toilet!”

“Leave me alone, dork!”

When I finally came out of the bathroom mom told me off for making such a mess in the kitchen, and ordered me to wash the frying pan, the dishes and the counter. All the while Bri lounged on her chair and kept watching cartoons. It was her who was hungry. I told mom this, but she said I had been the one who made the meals and therefore I had to clean it up.

“Do I need your arms around me? Do I live my life for you?” I hummed to myself as quietly as I could, under the warbling of the tap water dousing the soap off the greasy dishes, to focus on the task at hand and to keep my mind from wandering away to the TV behind me. “Do I always feel so warm each time I look in your eyes of blue?”

Mom had taken the remote control off Bri’s hands, and was now watching some soap opera while my sister played in our bedroom. I watched some of the show with mom but got bored pretty quickly. I went back to my room, singing the Ronettes song under my breath, and distracted myself by spinning one of the lipstick tubes up and down, up and down, admiring the metallic details in the fading light from our little window.

I had a plan for the next day at school. For some stupid reason, I was convinced that my best chance at making friends was to show the other girls in my class that I was actually really pretty, as pretty as they were, and if they just realized that then they would stop bothering me. And that tube of lipstick in my pocket was gonna help me do just that.

After brushing my teeth and combing my hair into the two pigtails I always wore, I made the decision to apply some of the lipstick before boarding the school bus. I had to make a good first impression from the get go. But I couldn’t go too wild too soon, or my mother would notice. There would be time for me to retouch it, like movie stars did, at the school’s bathroom. I grinned, liking the idea. All the girls gossiping in the bathroom, and then I would walk in, just to put a brighter layer of color on my lips. They would ask me where I had gotten the lipstick, and I would tell them it was a gift from my mother. They would think, wow, isn’t she grownup? I would tell them how to properly put lipstick on, and we might take turns each helping the other. And we would leave the bathroom a little bit friendlier with one another, and maybe by the end of the day the girls would say goodbye to me, for once, and call me Tiffy instead of Whiffy. I grinned, blowing my reflection a kiss. Yes, that would make for a wonderful day at school for once.

“Wait—” As I was walking out the house my mother grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back. I tried to look away from her, but she grabbed my chin and noticed what I had done with wide open eyes. “Are you wearing makeup, Tiffany!?”

“No…”

She didn’t buy it for a second. Immediately she pulled from the corner of her apron and scrubbed my mouth with it, wiping the painstakingly-applied lipstick away. “Have you gone mad!? Wearing makeup –at your age –to go to school!? What will people think of you!?”

“I just wanted to look pretty—!”

“Pretty? You look like a painted woman –like a floozy! Good God, Tiffany…” She licked her thumb and rubbed my cheeks to clean off whatever was left. “Sometimes I wonder what goes through that head of yours, child…”

“You wear makeup all the time, though…” I said, putting my palm against my cheek, feeling it hot. “I just wanted to look pretty, like you do…”

She scoffed. Compliments worked with some teachers, they used to work with mean girls like Peggy Buckman, but they had never worked with my mother. She saw right through them.

“Well, why is it wrong when I do it, then?” I insisted. “When you wear it always –aren’t you a painted woman, too?”

“How dare you say that,” she said, becoming as red as I was. “Apologize to me, Tiffany, right now.”

I kept silent, with my hand on my cheek, curling my fingers and cupping it. I had my mother’s fat face. I looked up at her. Someday I would end up looking just like her. I had just said I wanted to look pretty like she did –but she wasn’t pretty, and she hadn’t been pretty for a long time now. There was only her wedding picture as proof of it.

“Can’t you just be nice, for once, and apologize?”

I looked down. I think she thought I was covering my ear with my hand and she grabbed my wrist, hard enough I let out a little cry, and pulled my arm away from my face.

“Apologize!”

I didn’t yield. I pouted and kept staring down at my feet. There was a honking –the school bus was about to leave –and mom finally let me go. I ran away towards the street and away from her, grabbing my wrist, rubbing it and feeling the pain become softer and more constant.

Little did she know that I had managed to hide one other little tube of lipstick in my backpack, in my pencil case.

“You got a job at the circus, Whiffy?” Johnny laughed once I got out of the school bathroom. I had applied the lipstick as best as I could, and after quite some minutes of checking it and comparing it to a mental image I had of Marilyn Monroe at all times in my head I thought it was quite an improvement over my first attempt. Clearly, though, it wasn’t good enough.

Miss Collins, of course, had to have a problem with it. She ordered me to wipe it off my face this instant. I asked to go to the bathroom to wash it off, but she said I was not excused from class. I had to rub it off with the side of my arm, and by the burst of laughter when I was done I had to guess I had only made a mess of it. There were no mirrors in the classroom, obviously, but I managed to get a glimpse of myself in one of the windows. Even in the hazy reflection I could see it was a real mess.

It had to have been Bri, right? She had seen me putting makeup on the day before. Surely she had ratted me out to mom, the little bitch. I redirected the anger I felt towards Miss Collins into something more productive: a plan to take revenge on my little sister. Nothing too violent, just a good scare. Something we could laugh about in a few years’ time. Something, though, that would scare the shit out of her for now.

After Miss Collins’ class we had art class with Miss Klasky. She was soft-spoken and thin as a twig, and looked like a soft shove would snap her in half. Looking at her for too long could make you want to cry. I pitied her, her and her big bulging watery eyes, her sunken cheeks and bony fingers, but most other kids just found her funny-looking. Regardless, she was probably the teacher who we were the least afraid of, and that was close enough to mean she was the teacher we liked the most. She never sent anyone directly to the principal’s office, she never raised her voice, she just watched in horror with her big eyes open wide when something went down. Perfect for me to take advantage of the inevitable distraction Darry Cade and Bobby Farrell would make –that day it was a chalk fight, in which each one threw pieces of chalk at each other until one of them landed in the other’s eye and someone was sent to the nurse –and pocket a small jar of red paint for my revenge plan. But it seemed I wasn’t the only one with a plan. While Miss Klasky tried to stand between the two boys without having one of her own eyes poked out by a piece of chalk, and while I made sure the paint jar was closed tight enough to not spill and stain my dress, the other kids at art class opened their own paint jars.

When I looked up at the rest of the desks, I realized, too late, what was going on. And, since I was the only one without a paint jar open at the ready…

Everyone I could see, from Susie Hines and Steven Ciccone to Amy McNab and Johnny Curtis, grabbed their jars and, at Peggy Buckman’s command, they splattered the paint all over me, from my position in the middle of the room. The first splotch of yellow paint fell square on my head, like yolk from an egg, and the shock made me open my mouth –big mistake –because the next one was a green blob that landed on the right side of my face. I tried to cover myself with my arms. That didn’t stop them in the slightest. They kept throwing the contents of their paint jars on me, orange and pink and violet and red and blue, laughing louder and louder. I tried to scream but I had paint in my mouth. I tried to spit it out but there was so much of it…

“What is going on here!?” Miss Klasky exclaimed.

Only then it stopped. I realized I was sobbing, and I got furious at myself for not being able to keep it together, at least until I was alone. There was a silence now, but some kids were still giggling and chuckling behind their hands. I didn’t need a mirror to know I looked like a weird modern painting.

“Whiffy started the paint fight!” Johnny Curtis cried, pointing a finger at me. “We saw her opening a jar of red paint—”

“Yes, she was about to throw it to me!” Peggy Buckman lied shamelessly.

“I wasn’t—!”

“Miss Valentine, I’m afraid I’ll have to send you to the principal’s office,” she said in a tired sigh. “This is… Goodness, this is a mess. Why do you kids do this? What could you even gain from this?” she continued saying in her teary voice. “Why can’t you all be kind and sweet to each other? You don’t understand how difficult it is to be a teacher, to try and keep these sorts of situations under control…”

I just sighed and tried to stop crying, feeling paint dripping down my nape, under my dress, down my neck, down my arms. It was hard to blink with yellow paint over my eyes.

“Go on, Valentine!” Miss Klasky insisted, pointing at the door. “To the principal’s office!”

I huffed and left the room, fidgeting with the little red jar of paint in my pocket, but I stopped right on my heels once I was out of the art classroom. Miss Klasky wasn’t escorting me. I didn’t have to do what she said.

And, before some other teacher saw me running in the halls, I rushed out the backdoor of the school, deciding against wasting even one more second in there, even only to wash my face in the bathroom.

That ugly dark area behind the school was where students came to smoke, make out and not be seen by the teachers. I had heard stuff about fights going on there, about one kid from the eight-grade biting another kid’s ear off a year ago. It was the sort of place Bri wouldn’t set a foot in. It was not the sort of place I would have expected to find the janitor I shared my lunches with.

I stood there for a moment, watching her smoking with her back to me and sitting very still. She eventually turned around and glanced at me with one raised eyebrow.

“Don’t you have class, you?” the janitor said.

“… Don’t you have work?”

There was a silence, but then the janitor smiled, giving me a flash of her rotting teeth, and let out a throaty laugh. “Alright. Do whatever you want, sweetface.”

I looked back at the hall, where any moment now a teacher might pass by and notice me out of the classroom. I decided to sit down beside the janitor, on the concrete steps. It was better to spend that time I needed to kill with her than alone, I thought. She was in her cigarette break, it seemed, but then again it could be she was skipping work too. I didn’t ask her about it.

“Can I have a drag?” I did ask her. She shot me a glance. I smiled as innocently as I could. She sighed and handed me her cigarette.

“You kids start smoking too young.”

“At what age did you start?”

She didn’t answer me. I had started that same year, mostly because Lisa Altomare had started, too, and I thought it would give me something to talk about with her. It really didn’t.

“Do you hear a lot of student gossip, as a janitor?” I insisted.

She let out a hearty laugh. “Are you looking for something to challenge princess Peggy Buckman, Miss Valentine?”

I blushed, gritting my teeth. The janitor just gave me a strong shoulder squeeze that hurt a little.

“I can’t fault you for it,” she said. “I see what these girls do to you, what they do to the other kids. But I promise you, sweetface: nothing I can tell you is strong enough to get Buckman down a peg.”

I let out a small scoff. “Well, I would like to know regardless.”

The janitor took a long drag. “… Amanda McNab practices her crying in the bathroom every morning before anyone else arrives. Movie actress-style,” she told me quietly. “She stares at her reflection in the mirror and begins to sob, and if she doesn’t like it so far she stops and starts over again.”

“How do you know that? Does she do that while you’re still cleaning the bathroom?”

“Indeed she does,” she grinned. She had really bad teeth, yellowing with black gums. Still, I rarely ever saw the janitor smiling, so I was happy to see that. “Are you that surprised to know most people barely register me being there?”

I thought of that for a moment. Of course I wasn’t surprised, when I only had realized the janitor was even a person since I had to have lunch at the same table as her. I was even less surprised for someone like Amy McNab to be so self-centered to not realize there was someone else in the room with her. Still… Didn’t it bother the janitor? I knew I hated it when people ignored me. I was used to it, partly, yes… But that didn’t mean I was alright with it. I was just a kid, though. Nobody cared about what I had to say. The janitor was a grown woman. Shouldn’t she have a way to demand more respect?

“What about Peggy Buckman?” I asked her, scooting a bit closer to her. She smelled rather strongly of bleach. “What weird things does she do?”

“Margaret Buckman… I’m sorry, sweetface,” she sighed. “What can I tell you? Buckman keeps her secrets well hidden, well off this school’s grounds. She complains about her parents to her friends. She discusses whether or not John Curtis is cheating on her. She insults Amanda McNab and Lisa Altomare when they try to joke with her. She’s been calling little Steven Ciccone a fag lately, along with the other boys in the fourth grade. Amanda McNab has been telling her to add Susan Hines to their little clique, but Buckman seems more interested in rejecting her for the time being. But I have a feeling you already know all that.”

I did, mostly, except that last thing about Susie Hines. She was this very pretty girl with soft blue eyes and natural red hair, not like my mom’s but much softer, like copper, and who had joined the school this year. I thought that since she didn’t know anyone else yet, I could be her friend. But Peggy made sure that first thing she knew was that I was a freak and that nobody would like her if she spend any time with me. Since then, apparently, she had decided Susie was a potential enemy.

“… Were you ever bothered by girls like Peggy and Amy, back when you were in school?”

She looked at me with sad eyes, like a cow’s, leaning her head against her hand that held the cigarette. It almost seemed like the smoke was coming out of her right temple. Like she was sad, but somehow still furious, like when cartoon characters were fuming like a steam train. “Yeah, something of the sort.”

I nodded. I wouldn’t end up a janitor, but if I did, I would try to help other girls like me.

“Can’t you tell Principal Hughes about the horrible things they do?” I asked her. “They would listen to you.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I barely talk with Hughes. None of the teachers give a single shit about what I think or what I do. As long as the bathrooms are clean and the halls are waxed, I’m like a ghost with a wage.”

“You think they would fire you, if you told them about Peggy Buckman?”

“No. If I pressed enough, they would, of course. They don’t want me being a bother. But… I really can’t do much to help you, sweetface. I’m simply this school’s janitor. That’s just a fact of life.”

The janitor gave me another of her very sad looks. I didn’t want her sympathy. I wanted her help, and I refused to believe that she was as powerless as she said she was. At the very least, she had experience. If she couldn’t do anything about my situation, she surely knew something about what I could do.

“At the end of the day, the only one you can count on is yourself,” she sighed, as she puffed a big cloud of smoke.

“How did you get through school, when you were my age?”

I wondered if I was annoying her. Most of the time I do, and grownups told me so –usually much earlier into the conversation. By this point, though, I had a feeling the janitor was alright with me asking such questions. If she was bothered by them, after all, she would probably have said something about it. She was a tough-looking woman. She was big and fat and strong. If she smacked me on the back of the head, I knew it would truly hurt. If she grabbed my arm and squeezed hard, she might manage to break it.

“First of all, you must not show fear. That’s how the bullies get off,” she said, putting out the cigarette against the cement steps. “You can’t let them know you’re afraid.”

I wasn’t afraid. I was angry. But in this case, it felt like the distinction didn’t make any difference. “That sounds a lot like what the principal says,” I huffed. “‘Just ignore them’…”

“Well then, sweetface, you go to step two,” she said, and turned to face me. She had a few warts on her face, which made me think of the cardboard witches that decorated the town during Halloween. It felt like she had some sort of ancient wisdom to her. “Make them afraid. Make them wish they never crossed you in the first place.”

I examined her face more closely. Apart from the warts, I noticed some scars on her hands and on her right cheek that I couldn’t see before, because of how she was sitting beside me. I wondered how she got them.

“… I can do that,” I said with a smile.

The janitor kept smoking in silence for a few minutes more before telling me she needed to go back in. I nodded, and told her I was going to skip school for the day. She said nothing to this. I told her I hoped to see her again next day at lunchtime. To that she smiled, and said she hoped the same. While I walked away from school, I wondered if the janitor was my only friend at school. I thought that sounded pretty pathetic, and decided I would not consider her a friend. It would be weird –like considering a teacher a friend. It was just weird.

I had to walk home, since I wasn’t gonna stay around and wait for the school bus to take me home. I knew the way back; it went back to the town center, and from there to the suburbs where most of us lived. That didn’t change the fact that it was a long walk. There was time, though, I told myself. There was no rush to get home.

I rubbed my face with the sleeve of my dress. The paint had already dried, but I still wanted to at least be more or less clear-faced. I was going to be moving across town, and even if it was a weekday, I had the feeling I would come across plenty of people who would look at me funny, with how I was looking.

I passed by the town center just as the church bells rang three in the afternoon. I had no money for an ice cream. The toy store had a sign that said ‘WILL BE BACK IN ‘5’, but I had a feeling they wouldn’t even let me in in the state I was. I wondered if I could sneak into the little cinema on the next block, that I knew was probably open at that time, without paying the ticket; but I really didn’t feel like watching a movie right then.

So, with nothing to do, I decided to hunt for spiders again. The one I had caught the other day hadn’t returned to its web. I wondered what would happen to it, if another spider would take advantage of a fully formed home and move in. That’s what I would do, if I was a spider.

A radio was turned on out of a sudden, startling me, and began playing some music. I didn’t know the song, but I recognized the voice humming along to it.

“Wild thing, you make my heart sing… You make everything groovy… Wild thing…”

It came from the auto shop nearby. My heart made a leap in my chest. Heath was there, his forehead beaded with sweat, his hands dirty with car grease. He took occasional gulps from a coke bottle he left right by the toolbox. The orange afternoon sun shone on him and made him glow. He really was the most beautiful man I had seen.

“Wild thing, I think I love you… But I wanna know for sure,” he said, echoing the words from the radio. “So come on and hold me tight… I love you.”

‘I love you’. When Heath sang it, I could almost imagine he was saying it to me, quietly and softly and sweetly, just to me and me alone.

And I was standing there, looking like a dirty paintbrush, with my sticky pigtails and my ugly dress and my face crossed by color blotches. I was so entranced by the sight of him that I didn’t even have time to run away and hide when he noticed me.

“Hey, you, kid,” he said, crouching down, looking at me with the curiosity of one who finds a weird bug in their backyard. “Are you lost?”

“No…”

“What happened to you?”

I didn’t want to say. Mostly, I didn’t want the first thing Heath knew about me to be how I had no friends at school. I just kept silent, desperately trying to think of something clever to say. He went back into the house, though, and I silently cursed myself for being such an idiot… And he came back, carrying a wet rag, which he kindly handed to me.

“Here, wash yourself up,” he said with a smile. “You went headfirst into an art project, or something?”

I smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s what happened.”

After rubbing my face thoroughly with the rag, wiping as much dry paint off my face as I could, I just had to hope that Heath would believe that ‘art project’ story. I wondered if he liked creative girls the best.

“Thank you,” I said, handing back the rag. My face felt a lot better, even if I still felt some paint itching behind my ears and under my chin. I ran my hands through my hair with the hope that at least that way I would manage to smooth it out.

He glanced at me up and down. I stood very still, throwing my shoulders back very slowly. My mother often criticized my posture, and I didn’t want Heath to think I was a hunched-over creep. He probably already had a pretty skewed first impression of me anyway, though.

“What’s your name, doll?”

It was the first time anyone had called me doll. I grinned even wider. That probably meant he liked me already. “… Tiffany,” I replied, before realizing I should probably speak up. “Tiffany Valentine.”

Heath raised his eyebrows before letting out a little scoff. “Tiffany. Bit of a mouthful. What do your friends call you?”

After considering lying to him for a moment, I couldn’t quite decide what I would like for him to call me. If he was really going to call me at all. “… I don’t have a lot of friends,” I finally admitted. Tiffy was too childish. And I definitely wasn’t gonna tell him what my classmates called me.

“Hm. How old’re you?”

I was about to answer him, but thought it over. “… How old do you think I am?”

Heath laughed, throwing his head back and scratching his chin. God, he was so cute. “Hard to say… You kinda sound like a five-year-old.”

I touched my throat. Did I really sound that childish?

“Here,” he said, handing me the cigarette. “This’ll help you get your voice to catch up with the rest of you.”

I took the cigarette and glanced at him again, wondering what he was thinking about me. I took a drag, making sure to hold the cigarette between my index and middle finger, like I had seen it in movies, and blow the smoke up, like my mother did. When I looked back at Heath’s face he had this rather surprised expression. “I steal cigarettes from my mother,” I explained.

“Huh,” he said simply, taking the cigarette back, looking sort of disappointed. “I wouldn’t have guessed it from the look of you.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, a bit worried. “What do I look like?”

He laughed. “Hard to say. I guess…” Heath glanced at me up and down again. It didn’t feel like he was judging me, like the kids at school did. It felt like he was appreciating me. I felt so glad about it, even though I was still an awkward-looking, paint-splattered fourth-grade kid. “… I guess you don’t look like anyone I know.”

I giggled. The way he said it, it sounded like a compliment.

“You, um… You live here?” I asked him, pointing at the auto shop.

He smiled and nodded. “My very own castle.”

“You live on your own?”

“No, not yet, luck has it,” he sighed, patting the brick wall. “With the old man, he’s back there. He’s deaf, though. An old war wound. So I help him out in whatever way I can… And in return I can do whatever I want.”

“That sounds great,” I smiled.

“Yeah, guess it is,” he shrugged. “Especially for a kid like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I see you, passing by after school,” he said, lowering his voice. “I see your angry face. You make this sort of pout, you see,” And he imitated the pout, frowning hard, puffing his cheeks. I giggled. He had noticed me! “I guess you’re pretty unhappy at school. Makes sense. I hated school.”

“You did?”

“Those who don’t are just lying to themselves.”

“But… Don’t you go to school anymore?”

“Fuck no,” he said, acting offended. “Dropped out in the ninth grade. I’m much more useful here, with my old man.”

I blinked. I knew that kids skipped school, but not that they could drop out entirely. “I want to drop out,” I declared.

“Would your parents be okay with that?”

“No…” I muttered. “But I don’t care. They’re not okay with anything I do anyway.”

“One of those families, hm?”

I didn’t know what he meant with that. It seemed like he had a pretty perfect family. He helped his father around, and his father didn’t bother him. I didn’t think his father would yell at him for forgetting to tidy his room or for not having the best grades or for not getting along with a sibling. Then again, Heath seemed to be pretty sociable. This was one of the rare times in which there wasn’t another guy his age helping him around with a car, laughing with him, sharing a smoke. Maybe those other boys had a family like mine. Maybe we all wanted to be friends with Heath, to have a moment in which we felt like he was part of our family, and that everything was alright. I knew I wish I could have stayed with him there, at the auto shop, and reinvent myself.

“I’d like to learn to drive,” I said out of a sudden.

He laughed again. “You? I don’t think you’d manage to hit the pedals, Tiffany. You still got some growing up to do.”

“Well, I gotta learn someday…”

“Surely you’ll eventually get yourself a nice guy who’ll drive you around,” he said, leaning back against the hood of the car.

“Maybe… But I’d like to know, anyway. I wanna be able to get into a car and leave… To go anywhere I want.”

Heath nodded with a sigh. “That’s the dream, isn’t it?”

So he understood. “Yes.”

“To be free.”

“Yes, exactly!”

“Where would you like to go?” he asked me.

“Um… I would love to go to Hollywood,” I admitted. “I would like to be an actress, a glamorous one, like Marilyn Monroe. Or to go to New York. I heard it’s full of big shows, and there’s ballet and music and places to go to dance…”

He handed me the soda bottle. There was still some of it left. I took a tiny sip. It was a bit warm, sickly syrupy sweet, and the bubbles tickled my nose. We didn’t have soda at home. It was an unnecessary expense, dad said, only fitting for birthdays or special occasions.

“So, you got it all figured out already, huh?” Heath said with one of his beautiful bright smiles.

Feeling emboldened by his words, I dared to take back the cigarette from his hand. “… I guess I do, sweetface,” I said, stealing the expression from the janitor, keeping my voice low, imitating something I saw on TV. In my mind I was older, and my badly-painted smile was close to seductive, and my voice was not squeaky and baby-like anymore. It was the sort of voice you could say one was using on purpose.

He laughed out loud. I laughed along. “Yeah, you certainly seem to know what you want to be,” he told me. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I kept the smile on my face, believing myself to be quite charming, and nodded.

I wondered once again what Heath thought of me. Did he think I was silly, for showing up to talk to a stranger almost twice my age, about family and cars and running away? Did he find it pitiable? Did he find it relatable? I had a feeling he understood me. He had shared a cigarette and a coke with me. I felt like that was the sort of thing you did with someone you considered a kindred spirit. Maybe, even with me looking like I did, Heath would start to consider me a friend.

“I’m… I’m sorry for showing up looking like this,” I blurted, making a quick vague gesture at my paint-splattered dress. “I know I’m a mess.”

“C’mon, as if I could judge you on that,” he chuckled sweetly.

I frowned, not really understanding what he meant. He smiled a bit wider, and rubbed his hand against his cheek. Only then I remembered he had black car grease all over him. I giggled.

“Now we’re matching,” he chuckled along.

I giggled some more. For a moment I couldn’t look away from his face, his perfect face, how beautiful it seemed even when covered with grease and sweat. I had been watching him ever since I came along with my father to get the car checked, something around a year or two ago. Ever since, Heath had been my image of a perfect man. When I fantasized about being swept off my feet, the prince who did the sweeping off had his features. When I dreamed about a romantic encounter like those in the movies, in which nothing could be said outright but everything was silently understood, it was with a man who looked much like Heath. I wanted him so badly, even as a bratty kid. I wanted someone like him, who understood me and loved me, so desperately. And now that I knew his name, and that I knew what my name sounded when said by him, I felt like I was so much closer to him than ever before.

Eventually I had to said goodbye and get going. However happy I was for that one good thing that had happened that day, I was so tired from walking that, by the time I arrived home, I couldn’t even try to slip in without my mother noticing. And I didn’t really need to. Before I could open the door, it swung open by itself –and my mom stood there right between the porch and the living room. I looked up at her, gathering whatever strength I had left to say hello…

But she didn’t say anything, she just turned bright red and grabbed my wrist and dragged me to the bathroom. She turned on the faucet of the bathtub, shot me one of her glares, and left –and I heard the clicking of the door being locked.

“Mom?”

I banged on the door. I couldn’t open it.

“Mom!”

I paced back and forth, using all my willpower to avoid looking at myself in the mirror. I finally took off my clothes and decided to take that bath that my mother had implied I should take. Joke was on her, I actually wanted to take a bath as soon as I got home. She just didn’t need to lock me up in there for me to do so.

When the bathtub was full, I stepped in. The dry paint peeled off of me and dissolved into the water, making colorful swirls that kept me entertained for a while. Half an hour later or so, though, the colors had all mixed together to make this sort of ugly greyish, dark brownish shade. The water was no longer warm and my fingers were all pruned. I sighed. With the water being that dirty that quick, I thought, I wasn’t gonna get any cleaner. Still, I knew I had paint on my hair, and after putting on some shampoo (we were running out, and to make the most of it dad usually watered it down before we finally threw it away and got more from the store) and washing it as thoroughly as I could, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and dipped my head under water. I loved doing that. I imagined that the sounds I heard while doing that were not too different from those from the ocean. I think what I heard was actually just the rumbling of pipes and sewage system, but in my mind, it was all much more interesting.

I got out of the bathtub, pulled out the drain plug and watched the water being sucked out. When I began being called Whiffy at school, I actually took really long baths every day, and if I hadn’t classes so early in the morning I would have probably taken baths before school too. I used to be worried that I actually did stink. Even mom noticed I ended up all red after my baths after scrubbing myself so hard. She had told me that I didn’t smell bad, that it was just something kids said to annoy me. Now I wondered if my mother smelled something rotten about me.

There was a click on the door. It opened, and mom handed me my pajamas and underwear in silence before leaving back to the kitchen. I put the dirty dress in the laundry basket, but remembered to take the little paint jar and the soda bottle out of my pocket and, before going to the kitchen for dinner, I hid them under my pillow.

“… Where’s my dinner?” I asked once I sat at the table.

Dad, Bri and mom were already halfway through the meal. I had no dish, no glass of milk, nothing. Had mom forgot?

Bri glanced up at me, playing with the peas in her plate. Dad kept on eating as if he hadn’t heard me. Mom stared at me for a moment longer, but sighed and took a sip of her glass. I felt a little nudge against my knee. There was a bread roll, being handed by a small hand across my chair. I shot Bri a little surprised look, but took the bread. Mom noticed, though, and snatched it right out of my hungry fingers, leaving me only with crumbs.

“But—!”

“How was the office today, dear?” mom said mechanically, turning to her husband.

Dad shrugged. “Same old, same old. Rob’s due for a promotion, it seems –though God knows what he has done to earn it.”

“I learnt how to spell my name today in class!” Bri exclaimed.

Dad gave Bri a little smile and continued eating his dinner. Mom kept looking directly at me.

“What about your grades, Tiffany?” she asked me.

“They’re alright,” I said, looking down at my lack of a dish. They weren’t, but I didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“You used to be so smart,” she sighed. “What happened?”

I shrugged. At some point growing up I lost whatever ability I had to keep focused on something. Sounds were all too loud for me, too loud to ignore. Every little movement called my attention. And literally everything, from a lice crawling through Mark Hawkins’s hair to a new mole on Amy McNab’s shoulder, was more interesting than whatever Miss Collins was yapping about. I knew that if I said anything about this, though, mom would say I was just being difficult. Good grades were extremely important for her. She often said a good education lasts forever. I was sure Bri was going to take that advice to heart: even as young as she was, she was already getting the best grades. Me, I was a lost case. I think everyone at my house knew that already, even if we all preferred to pretend it wasn’t an issue.

“You should get a hobby, or something along the lines,” my mother said, serving dad some more mashed potatoes. “Maybe that’s how you can make some friends.”

“Yeah, find some people who share your interests,” dad said.

“Well… I do like baking—” I said with a shrug.

“A hobby that’s not baking,” mom interrupted with a glare. “You bake for others, and if you don’t have friends for baking right away, I know you’ll…” She let out a big puff of cigarette smoke. “… You’ll just eat it all up by yourself.”

“But… There’s not much else I’m that interested in,” I said.

“So, you find something,” dad said, shoveling forkfuls of potatoes into his mouth.

“What was your hobby when you were my age, mom?”

“I didn’t have any hobbies. I had work to do.”

I frowned. “Well, there must have been something you liked to do—”

“I didn’t have time for hobbies, Tiffany.”

“What about sewing?” I asked her, lilting my voice higher, to sound more like Bri. Sweeter, nicer. “You know so much about sewing… You probably sew since you were my age, right?”

“I learnt to sew since I was your age because I needed to, Tiffany, not because I enjoyed it. I needed to make clothes for myself. I needed to earn money to help buy us a meal.”

“Besides, sewing’s probably not the sort of activity you can learn with other kids,” dad commented. “Nowadays you can just do everything with a sewing machine. Think of something like… I don’t know. What do kids do nowadays, Bri?”

“Some of my friends are joining the Girl Scouts,” she said chipperly. “It sounds pretty fun! You could join too, Tiffy.”

“I’m not joining the goddamn Girl Scouts,” I groaned, watching the warm mashed potatoes with hungry eyes. “They wear that silly uniform, and they have to work… And I’m definitely not joining if you’re joining too.”

Mom pursed her lips, but I think she gave up on trying to get me to behave. I knew now that she could just decide for me not to have dinner, though. So, whether I wanted to or not, I had to behave, at least so I could make sure I would have a plate waiting for me the next night. The rest of the dinner, while Bri told us about some dumb thing that a friend of hers did during recess, I kept absolutely silent, lost in thoughts of Heath’s smile and a shiny new car that would take me away from that place.

After dinnertime mom watched us carefully while we changed into our pajamas. I guess she wanted to make sure I didn’t lose my temper with Bri and try to shove her again. When my sister and I got into bed, she had one last drag of her cigarette, turned off the lights and went back to her own bedroom. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, counting silently to myself as far as I could count. Once I couldn’t hear Bri tossing and turning anymore, I decided it was time.

“Psst… Bri!” I called in a whisper. “Are you up?”

Silence.

“Bri, you little bitch, wake up!”

She still said nothing. I got out of bed and into the hallway, from where I could see my parents’ bedroom. I could hear them snoring. They were all asleep.

I took out my love altar from my closet, and the matchbox I had hidden in my sock drawer. I carefully lit the candles in my little altar and placed the soda bottle in the middle of it, touching the lip of it with the tip of my finger. It was still somewhat sticky. I thought of how Heath looked that afternoon, glowing in the sunlight like in a TV ad, drinking straight out of it, like a kiss. Like I wanted him to kiss me someday.

“Please, please, make Heath love me…” I pleaded in a whisper, my eyes tightly shut, my hands intertwined in a prayer. “Make him fall in love me… Let us be together and in love. Please, please, please…”

The flickering light of the candles made shadows dance on the face of my little Marilyn Monroe cutout doll, on the plastic skulls, shining on the sequins of my altar. It felt religious indeed. Having the sense that something was missing, I picked one of those candy hearts I had sprinkled around, closed my eyes, and laid it on the tip of my tongue, like the Eucharist wafers at church. The ceremony, then, was complete.

I didn’t have much of an opportunity to see if it had changed anything in Heath’s feelings towards me. Soon we had Gladys Buckman’s garden party, and that was the sole center of my mother’s attention (and, therefore, me and Bri’s) for the remaining week leading up to the eventful Saturday.

That morning dad had to leave to do something at work, that excuse that made mom angry but which she said nothing about. While mom finished cooking the casserole she had decided to bring along as a gift and Bri had her bath, I found the perfect moment to put my revenge plan into action. I grabbed all the baby dolls that I had to share with my sister and brought them to the garage, where dad had his tools and all the stuff for fixing his car (he didn’t know how to do it, but he had the tools to show he intended to) and for eventually fixing the lawn mower (which he hadn’t shown any interest in fixing in the last two years). I found a funnel that would work perfectly to what I had in mind. Holding each doll as still as I could, I made the little holes in their mouths just the tiniest bit bigger with a nail and a hammer. Then, I mixed the red paint I had smuggled out of school with a little water in a bucket, to make it liquid enough for it not to dry too soon. I looked around for something to make it less of a bright red, and found a bottle of something called Danish Oil that had a slightly brown color, perfect to darken my paint. I mixed it in (it had a horrible smell) and was delighted to realize that it even made the mixture a bit thicker. Perfect. Now all I had to do was mix like one would mix cake batter, and use the funnel to carefully fill the heads of the baby dolls with the resulting liquid. I couldn’t fill their heads up, of course, because then it wouldn’t be a surprise at all. It had to be just enough so that nothing would be evident while they were sitting down on the shelf –but just enough that they would puke blood when Bri tried to bring them down to play.

“Tiffany!” mom called me while I was making sure the dolls were sitting just like when I had found them. “Come here.”

I had a wave of fear wash over me, wondering if she had seen me. But, as I walked to her bedroom, I realized it was nothing of the sort. It was almost midday but the room was almost dark: she had drawn the thin orange curtains, and she seemed like a hazy silhouette among the cigarette smoke.

“Did you brush your teeth?” she asked me.

“Yes, mom.”

“Did you make sure your nails are clean?”

“Yes.”

“And behind your ears?”

“Yes, mom.”

She nodded in silence. The curlers piled up under the net in her head made her look taller. When she took the cigarette off her lips, I got a glimpse of her mouth. Mom often forgot to buy floss at the store, so she often simply plucked a hair off her head and used that to clean between her teeth. I knew when she did it because her pink gums would have little bursts of blood, like lipstick stains.

“Zip me up, Tiffany.”

I nodded. She turned around and I saw the dress she was wearing under her dress, a skin-colored thing made of elastic and stretchy fabric that, I had to assume, was worn to dissimulate the rolls that apparently popped out right after being taken her wedding picture. If she was to wear a tight dress like that which she had prepared for the occasion, it made sense for mom to want to appear as smooth as possible.

“Remember to be extra polite today, do you hear me, Tiffany?” she said while I struggled with the zipper. A drop of sweat fell down her back and under the floral fabric of her dress. “And don’t forget to smile. Remember, the face you give the world tells the world how to treat you. And don’t take more than two pieces of food from the buffet. And don’t wolf things down like you often do, eat slowly and properly. And always say please and thank you. Our behavior will be closely watched by the Buckmans. We need to make a good impression.”

There was a fat pink mole on my mother’s back, like a weirdly placed nipple, squeezed upward by the collar of her dress. I wondered if mom knew about it. Then I realized that of course she did, and that she probably had tried to hide it under the dress. What she probably did not know was that it had reared its head back out.

“Done,” I said, staring at the mole. Mom sighed and took the net off her head, and began removing the curlers. I watched her, trying to remember how she did it. Someday I would wear curlers too, and my hair wouldn’t be straight and dull anymore.

It was too late for curlers then, but still, I wondered if my mother, in her experience, had something she could do for me. “Um… Could you do my hair, please?” I asked her. Even a ponytail would be better than what I had. Two pigtails, a crooked fringe, and a forgettable face.

Mom the tried to brush my hair and make it so that it curled inwards at the end, like the pretty little girls in the fashion catalogue magazines at the dentist’s. Problem was, my hair didn’t seem to want to stay any other way but straight. So I sat on her lap while she pulled and brushed and brushed, trying to force it into shape. By the time she was done and hair-sprayed it securely in place, I had tears in my eyes and felt like I had just been scalped.

“Mom, how do I look?” Bri asked, coming into the bedroom, twirling in her new dress. Mom smiled at her, bringing her hands together.

“Lovely, dear,” she said, kneeling carefully as to not rip any seams in her tight floral dress (she had already hurriedly mended the sleeve of my pink dress that Bri had ripped before, and I assumed she didn’t want to have to do that all over again), and adjusted the waistband of Bri’s skirt. “This needs to be worn higher, though…”

She pulled it up and Bri winced. Higher and it clearly squeezed her too much. Bri was still pretty small, and she didn’t even have a semblance of a waist. The dress was meant to create an illusion of one –though it wasn’t very successful. Still, mom tried. She huffed quietly and undid the bow at the waist to tighten it. Bri groaned; mom shushed her.

“Now, that’s better. You look like a doll,” she said with a smaller smile. She didn’t seem to really think it was any better. Bri did look more like a doll, though, for what that was worth. Not like one of those beautiful Barbies, of course –more like the misshapen baby dolls I had just improved.

“What about me, mom?” I asked as I barely dared to touch the hair she had tried so hard to make pretty. “How do I look?”

Pursing her lips, she gave me a look up and down.

“You look… Acceptable.”

Bri and I sat on the bed while she redid her makeup. I thought of what she had told me, about the painted women, the floozies. I had looked up that word in the dictionary in the tiny bookshelf we had in our own bedroom. It read, ‘a vulgar or sexually promiscuous woman’; I wondered if mom really thought I was vulgar or sexually promiscuous. I wasn’t even a woman yet! Still, I didn’t understand why the way someone looked would reveal how someone behaved. Peggy Buckman, after all, was as pretty as could be, and she was easily one of the most awful people alive.

Finally, mom decided she had done the best she could, pulled at a couple of red curls to properly frame her face, and turned to us with a new cigarette between her fingers. “Are we ready, girls?”

Peggy Buckman’s house was huge, the largest in the neighborhood. The Buckmans lived in an angular piece of work that tried very hard to mesh some old style with the new modernism that was predominant. They had a big roomy lawn, though, surrounded by trees, with a little blue pool, a grill and a few lawn chairs, which seemed to have been plucked out of Better Homes and Gardens. There was a greenhouse worth of flowers all around the house, in the foyer (the house was so big it had a foyer), in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in vases adorning the few little garden tables.

“Tell your mama, girl, I can’t stay long… We got things we gotta catch up on,” sang the music on the radio. I tapped my feet, bopping my head along, just to not appear too serious or too nervous. “Mm, you know, you know what I’m sayin’… Can’t stand still while the music’s playin’…”

All the women announced themselves by clicking of heels and a big heavy cloud of strong perfume. Each varied in scent but it was mostly fresh flowers and bright citric, reminding me of that little spray of juice an orange has when peeled. At some point it all mixed together though. I sniffed myself from time to time, wondering if any of it had rubbed off on me, whether I should have stolen a spritz of my mother's before coming. For all that was worth, Peggy smelled like roses, even from a distance.

My mother’s bright red hair, so bright it seemed unnatural, were in curls so tight that it made it all look like a wig. There weren’t other red headed women at the party. There were light brunettes and blondes of different shades, maybe a strawberry blonde (what a wonderful little expression for something so mediocre) here or there, but mostly things that don’t defy belief. It was easy to spot my mom in a crowd. Maybe that was why I immediately walked away from her when she began socializing with the other parents, even though I didn’t really want to socialize with my classmates myself. Still, I looked pretty. Prettier than what I usually looked, at least, which wasn’t much; but I had my lovely pink dress on, and my hair was brushed nicely, and I had practiced my smile in front of the mirror every morning this week for the specific purpose of improving the relationship between me and the girls at school. The cigarette smoking hadn’t worked, the makeup wearing hadn’t worked either. I was running out of patience and of options. Regardless, I had to try.

“Hello,” I said, approaching the group of girls, with my rehearsed smile. They all just stared at me, at my audacity. “Um… Peggy, I want to say something to you.”

She exchanged a slightly surprised look with Amy, who just giggled nervously. Peggy turned back her attention to me. “Go ahead, Whiffy.”

I swallowed my anger, like I had done so many times before. I kept in mind what mom had said about being polite, and what Heath had said about my voice sounding like that of a younger child. For them to take me seriously, I made an attempt to lower my voice just a bit, just enough so that they could understand I was being a hundred percent honest. “I wanted to apologize for what I said to you back in school. When I called you the ugliest bitch in the world. It was mean of me to say so—”

“You don’t say.”

“And so I wanted to say that I’m truly sorry for what I did, and that I hope you can forgive me,” I finally said. I didn’t really feel sorry for what I did, but if it took me to lie about it for Peggy to forgive me and realize that maybe she didn’t need to keep calling me names and mocking me, then it would have been worth it.

Unfortunately, that it very much not what happened.

As soon as I finished talking, Peggy, Amy, Lisa and all the other girls burst out laughing.

“You, Whiffy, sorry?”

“Do you think we’re stupid?”

“You’re crazy! As if you could ever be anything other than a crazy ugly weirdo!”

“Apology not accepted,” Peggy said coldly. “I don’t even know why my mother invited you here.”

“Yeah, go away!”

“Go back to the farm where you were born!”

“Yeah, look at that dress!”

“Look at that hair!”

“She looks like an old ragdoll!”

“Is that what you think people in parties wear?”

“You never go to parties, clearly!”

“It’s like a dress from a hundred years ago!”

“You look ridiculous, Whiffy!”

“Go back to the circus, Whiffy!”

I felt my eyes becoming hot and glassy. I was about to cry. The janitor had told me, to not show fear. And I wasn’t afraid. I was angry. I was sad. But I wasn’t afraid –but I was crying, and I knew what they would think about it. I wanted to say something clever and curse them and insult them, but I knew that whatever I said they could tell their parents, and they would tell my mom, and I would end up looking like the bad girl. There was nothing I could do. There was never anything I could do: if Peggy Buckman and Amy McNab and the rest of the girls called me Whiffy, then there was nothing I could do about it, no amount of smiles and apologies and kindness that would change that.

Feeling dizzy, I tried to run away. Where, it didn’t matter –anywhere but next to the cackling crowd of girls. I tried to spot my mom in the crowd, and I saw her red curls pretty far away, inside the house, far from the yard. Some other kids were now coming closer, having heard the laughs, and were probably wanting to laugh, too. I turned around and tried to find some other direction to run towards –when I stumbled –I tripped –and next thing I knew I was hitting my shoulder against something hard and I had first my head, then my body, and lastly my feet underwater. I had fallen in the little blue pool. Too shocked to do anything, I sank to the shallow end, looking up at the sky, at the blurry faces of the kids watching me watching them. Underwater, I couldn’t hear anything but the rushing of my blood thumping in my head and the echoes of faraway voices. I wished I could stay there, hidden from the others. But I had to breathe at some point –and I pushed myself upwards –and took one big gasp of air –and suddenly I heard all the laughter, all the music, all the noise, and my own desperate sobbing and coughing.

“Hey, she got the way to move me, Cherry… She got the way to groove me…”

I dragged myself out of the pool. I was sopping wet, my hair all ruined, my pink dress clinging to me, no longer puffy and cute –though, apparently, I had been the only one who had thought it looked cute. A few hands reached out to me, pulling my hair, my dress, and I tried to swat them off. I hoped that the water streaming down my face from my fringe would hide my crying.

“God, you’re a mess, Whiffy,” Peggy laughed loudest of all. “Where are you going, now? Cry into a piece of cake?”

“Go back to the circus, Whiffy!”

“Look at the sad clown!”

“Gonna eat some cake to cheer you up, Whiffy?”

“You should leave,” Peggy said, now walking beside me while still keeping a bit of distance just so she didn’t get water on her own stylish and modern green dress. “What are you even gonna do here? Keep being laughed at?”

I said nothing. What could I possibly say?

“Grab your little sister, your ugly fat mother, and leave.”

“Yeah, Whiffy, leave!”

“Shut up, Amy,” Peggy said, giving her a shove, before turning back to me. “So? What are you gonna do?” she insisted. “You’re gonna leave, right?”

‘You fucking ugly bitch’, I thought, my hands curling into fists. Thinking it didn’t make me feel any better. I needed to scream it to her face. But I couldn’t not think of the consequences. I knew what would happen if I dared.

“Yeah –what are you gonna do?” Amy yelled.

What could I do? I was about to cry again. But what would that do? I would just keep feeling shitty. Nothing would change. Peggy and Amy and her other toadies would keep on bothering me, and I would have to see them every day of school, and every day this would all happen again, and nothing I ever did would change that. Nothing. Nothing, except…

“Hey, Whiffy!” Amy shouted. “I’m talking to you!”

And then it happened, like a sudden switch. My patience snapped.

It was like with Bri –but worse, because at least Bri was my own blood. Amy, however –oh, she just deserved a good pummeling.

I jumped towards her like a frenzied animal. I barely gave her a moment to react. Before she knew it she was with her back to the lawn and I was sitting on top of her, straddling her waist and raising my small eight-year-old fists. And, with a furious howl, I punched her directly on the nose. No slaps, no hair-pulling, no name-calling anymore. Full on blows.

There was a cracking sound. I felt a sting in my knuckles. I didn’t stop.

I continued punching her with all the strength I had. She tried to push me away like Bri had done. As soon as she got a hand on me I gave it a bite –she shrieked in pain –but another punch shut her up, now straight to the teeth. Couldn’t see anything but her oh-so-pretty face, now bloodied and bruised, her mouth half open, covered in drool, teeth crooked and one chipped, one eye half-closed and becoming red, her nose all fucked up –and kept on punching it, growing more and more ferocious, hitting faster and faster. Even as I felt the strain in my arms I didn’t feel tired at all. I just felt this burst of energy, this exhilaration. I even smiled. I was happy. Shit, I wasn’t happy –I was ecstatic. It was as if I couldn’t stop even if I tried.

I didn’t, certainly. I wanted to beat Amy McNab into a bloody pulp. I wanted to beat her within an inch of her life.

Maybe I could have been able to do it, if only the noise of the kids gathered around us, watching the show, hadn’t called the attention of the parents.

#childs play #chucky series #fanfiction

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the-firebird69 · 2 years ago

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I hear there's a lot of changes going on but you want to talk about the housing and there is changes with that we're good with the notice to proceed on those and it was signed we told them they were delays and put in writing and said why and he said at the end of the thing today the meeting he said if you have a delayed just keep telling me that each day and we put down when we told them every day is it okay we're working to do this it says we're not like those guys just let it go for months we have a problem with we send no paperwork everyday so condensed it last week and we put y and we put notes and he said this is much better so you ready and we're doing it it's fast and we have to but boy things are changing here okay this car is bringing a lot of joy and happiness to people it's amazing and the Hard knock kicker 5150 move is going to occur and it makes it look like John remillord owns it and Paul Tuttle Jr is going to open the first plant and Paul teutul senior wants to open one it says there's a chopper version and it says no way and Junior can pump on a few but we really need to get going on the mainstay so he says I'm going to do it and there's a customer there's not really custom work per se it's a whole bunch of different combinations if they wanted to assembled but you can have a custom shop and we can approve it and Hera can do that and I'll be long because she's the one who helped you open up that those two shops and then the bikes work I mean they go up to over 200 miles an hour but the main complaint was that balanced and you know how to do that he says yes I do and shut your mouth but he says he's going to go up there and he's going to start it up and they're going to do it that way cuz it keeps each other happy and there's other bikes too like cruisers and things and you can have a custom cruiser but we need production too so I'd rather have him do the cruisers and the choppers and have him start out belt in those things out and if he wants to be a wise ass you can open those his own custom and really you put on there Paul Senior custom hard on kicker 5150 and then it'll become like the production model and he goes I can't believe it I'm actually going to be running this company you can be running Paul custom Paul Senior custom Hard knock kicker 5150 and it's the only one except for him who doesn't have a custom shop in but he's got he's on probation. It's really just setting up a huge factory and it'll be easier to make customs give me a custom bobber it's kind of a bobber guy you know it kind of is yeah he makes that barber style though the bobber his mega huge motor thing it's not really a chopper it looked at it says that's really kind of a bobber it's Barbara Papa it's a barber chopper and we're not going to turn it the other way damn it bobber chopper this machine is doing it too. That was Paul Senior and Paul Jr says that's all right I can open it after a year which is like 3 days I make 3,000 octillion and I'm there it's true too we need a lot more than that she's going to open several and it's going to make the car and it's going to roll and they're going to see they needed in the whole time. Daniel's getting going he likes the idea the Mac does too he says the Mac you need someone to do a prefab condos and s*** even wood frame that we can flown fly in and those modular ones in Canada cuz these guys will actually help out and so he says good so he's working right now.

Here in punta Gorda and we have some changes there are 50 top level management positions in the government and they are now only 40 morelock there there's a total of 300 top level management positions 000 roughly it was 3100 it's down to 2700 and their pass or goal and still cruising they don't like government jobs either and they don't really do anything there so we're telling them to head north and start to work for Big Joe and or the tuttels or this factors in the midwest or California for bja actually I think he's in the Midwest and says yes and big factories so they're going to try and do that and the talking to them too and it's got plenty of work and the opening factors everywhere and they need people to open them and they're saying good. They're also laying off the sheriff there's 100 left and they're laying off 95. And it also laying off 5% more of the government workers and it brings it to 5% but right now they're at 7%. And they're working on firing 15% all the private workers and Mac you can go you can say go see Pepe Le Pew or Monsieur crystal ball anything like that so he laughs and says okay but you know what we're doing they're doing stuff and he says okay I understand so it's better than fighting and we monitor them too and it's working okay these guys need vehicles they need bikes and he says crystal ball is also Spanish and we need those bikes and he's saying that to some of them and they're going and finding your people no they're finding their own and ask him about it and the bikes are being assembled in the United States but we're looking for factories and Ernesto said I have several they're not on the beaten path and we need the engine and it said we can provide the engine and eventually you can make one or get it from the mainland and vital and got his wife can make send the engine up so we're going to work it out he's got 10 plants and they're pretty big and we're going to get the Chinese stuff there right now it's kind of tricky cuz it comes the way into the United States and then way out and it's really a pain so he's going to work on that now and he thinks our son and Daniel's on probation. And during the Trinity test he blew the lab I knew it wouldn't would not be a huge explosion but it was radiation you told people what they're doing now people are looking it up

There's more happening here though people are getting fired from their jobs for real interested I told not to come back not to do anything else but my son and daughter say go to Canada and you might have to work for Aaron or BGA but we did. BG wants to work for Daniel and in what capacity he says and salesperson and it says our son and daughter say that's fine as long as we give a dig to Trump and you look little like his character is calling himself Zeus. Still wearing a fine Italian suit or actually a French suit I take that back and he says I agree unless it's real hot out says no it's real hot out here not going to be outdoors and you have summer suits and winter suits and it says that's actually true but you will be giving a whole new brand new brand new wardrobe and you do become French more so than even you are says what are you talking about but you know how to do it like a yacht but it's more coveted and you'll probably make deals I mean it's hard to get these cars to people and Daniel can tell you what I'm talking about within reason it's difficult meaning they have to do certain things they do and takes money sometimes and we agree with that too it's going to be a bear so he's agreeing with it and we will have a racing company but a special note that it is the same company and it's our son's company and our daughter's company and it has a family crest on it on the supercar mega car and we do put the label on after the factory big Rolls-Royce and Bentley they take it to a place this is another thing I don't like the way that's going no that's even worse for them but they know what they're talking about they Instagram with it okay this is this is a weird thing but their cars are perfection we're going to be building them but still you'll see that the methods are intense you're never going to let go of these cars once you get them cuz they're just going to keep running and running. So BG is accepting and Daniel probably helps worked out a little and he did. And I don't know about that it's kind of venomous.. there's a lot going on the news towns and I'll be brief

A lot of people are getting fired they're very sassy mean they don't like their jobs and their ass to leave and they're told to Walmart's firing people they're tired of their products sucking on purpose they will hold a bunch of new clothes and nobody's buying damn older stuff is too hot it says stupid things on them the sockse too small. And yeah Brian is firing Trump who's firing Brian who's firing Tommy f Tommy and it goes in this cycle and circle and they get s***** products and s***** stuff and it's going global that they're firing themselves and it's huge meaning it's going all over Walmart it's devastating the company and the max can't stop it and we're going to have to take over and our name is not Walmart and people know what it is we just come in and take the building over emptied out clean it scan it repair stuff and put our stuff in and we're going to have to start doing that around here we're going to have to try and ship stuff to make sense what the ship now is garbage. It's probably the molar plan but it's really Tommy f and he owns Amazon

Thor Freya

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tony-montana-shit · 6 years ago

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#another nipple boy update #so danny came inti the sorting room im in cause he got a phone call lmao #so he was speaking spanish on the phone which ive already mentioned is hot #and then he stayed in there for a while and we talked #he asked what i want to do career wise and i told him i never really thought i could actually do it and that im embarressed menioning it #and he said dont be embarressed you can tell me anything #and i told him about how i really love actung and he was like do it! sure you have to work hard but go for it!#and i told him about how id love to live in seoul and act there and all he said was that its really far and then he asked why i havent gone #and i was like im poor lmao #and he told me about how he wants to open a barber shop #and he also told me some things about his personal life #im not going to say details cause thats his business but it was sad stuff #and i felt really bad :( and people came in the room and danny doesnt like talking about his feelings so we stopped the convo #and he left for a bit and when he came back i asked if he was okay and he said hes better cause talking to me helped a lot😭#oh and before he left he grabbed the top of my head? idk like put his hand on my head and said thanks for listening and i said always #and when he had to leave for the night i went to the bathroom so we went up together and he hugged me before we went up and when we got to #the mens locker room #oh and something not related to danny but theres a security gaurd here who i think has been flirting with me?#he keeps noticing when i do and dont wear my glasses and today im not wearing them and he told me ‘you look better without youre glasses #like so much better’ and i was like oh thanks lmao like its so awkward!!!#plus i look awful in my uniform so why???😂

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navybrat817 · 4 years ago

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Mirror, Mirror

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: Andy has to have you, no matter where you are. Word Count: Over 1.8k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, possessive behavior, Andy dirty talking (it’s a warning!) A/N: First thing I’ve written in almost a week. I wanted sex in front of a mirror. @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @buckyownsmylife @whisperlullaby, thank you for confirming that Andy was the best choice and helping to inspire! Beta read by the amazing @sinking-in-mercury but any and all mistakes are my own.

I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here or archiveofourown under my same username, it has been reposted without my permission. 18+ Please!!! By reading this, you agree that you are at least 18 years old. Enjoy, lovelies!

Being with Andy Barber came with many perks. One of them was how romantic he was. No matter how busy he got with work, he always found a way to make you feel loved and appreciated. He loved leaving you surprise notes and buying you flowers just because. So when he told you he planned a weekend away and wanted to take you lingerie shopping, you nearly jumped at the chance.

“You really won’t tell me where you’re taking me?” you asked from the dressing room, taking the bra from the hanger.

“I want it to be a surprise,” Andy said as he waited for you to get changed.

“Will you give me a hint?” you asked, adjusting the straps once you got it on.

“It has a bed,” he chuckled.

“Well, that narrows it down,” you teased, slipping the underwear on with a smile as he chuckled more. You loved being one of the only people to make him laugh. After everything he lost, he deserved to be happy.

“You’re going to love it. I promise.”

“I trust you,” you swore. Not just with the trip, but everything else. He needed someone to tell him that.

“Thank you,” he said so quietly that you almost missed it.

After a moment, you turned toward the mirror. You smiled at your reflection as you ran your hands down your sides. Confidence looked good on you. Being with Andy taught you to be proud of your body and to embrace every part of it. You even accepted the imperfections because they were yours.

“How does it look?” Andy asked from the other side of the door, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Beautiful,” you answered truthfully.

“You look beautiful in everything you wear,” he said, making you smile more. “Let me see.”

You tore your gaze away to look over your shoulder. “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, honey,” he said after a moment.

A shiver went down your spine as you went to the door, knowing well enough not to ignore him as you slightly opened it. “Andy, you’ll see it-”

You stopped talking as he pushed the door open, taking a few steps back. He quietly closed it behind him as he gave you an appreciative once over. You almost covered your chest from how heated his gaze was, but kept your arms at your sides. Seeing his eyes go dark with desire always filled you with the same need.

“Mmm. That does look pretty on you,” he told you, closing the distance between you. He cupped your face before capturing your lips in a heated kiss. There was nothing innocent in the way his lips and tongue moved against yours. He nodded to the mirror when he pulled away, letting you catch your breath momentarily. “Take another look.”

You bit your lip as you turned back to the mirror, your throat dry as you caught his reflection. He rolled a sleeve up a bit before he did the same with the other. “Andy?”

“You’re so beautiful. And so sexy. How am I supposed to see you like this and not have a taste?”

Something else you discovered quickly about your man was that he was passionate in every way. You gasped as he stepped up behind you, pulling you back against his chest. Your hips moved instinctively against his as he pressed his own forward. No, you shouldn’t tease him like that. You were in a dressing room. Anyone could hear you.

“You fucking tease,” he growled, his hand reaching around to grip your throat. It forced you to keep your gaze on him. “Do you enjoy teasing me?”

“You’re the one who decided to come in here,” you retorted, knowing he felt you swallow behind his large palm.

He brought his mouth to your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. “The only thing I’m going to come in is your sweet pussy,” he whispered, rocking his hips forward again. The friction was making him hard and you clenched around nothing. “I know you’re wet for me. Soaking a pair of panties that I haven’t even paid for yet. Naughty girl.”

You whimpered as his other hand tugged at the underwear.. He was right. Your core throbbed before you even opened the door for him. “Andy, we can’t-”

“Yes, we can,” he whispered, slowly pulling them down enough until they dropped to the floor. You didn’t even protest when he brought that same hand to your back, expertly unhooking the bra. “You’re going to bend over and watch as I fuck you. You’re going to come with my cock so deep inside you that you’ll feel me tomorrow. And when I take you home, I’m going to fuck you again.”

Your breasts spilled free as he pulled it off, your nipples hard and aching. He still had a hand wrapped around your throat and you took a moment to admire how powerful he looked. Dressed and composed, except for the fire in his eyes. Getting to see this side of him was an honor.

“Are you going to fuck me or are you just going to talk?” you smirked, testing the waters. Some days, a little teasing didn’t hurt. Others, you couldn’t even walk after.

“Bend over,” he said, finally releasing your throat.

It was embarrassing how quickly you bent down at the waist, opening your legs and bracing your hands on each side of the mirror. This wasn’t a time to push his buttons, but you did wiggle your ass invitingly. You gasped as his fingers found your slick folds. He wanted what was his and you wanted what was yours.

“Does it excite you, honey? Knowing that someone may walk by and now you’re about to be fucked within an inch of your life?”

“Yes,” you admitted, moaning as two fingers slid in. You tried to keep quiet as he explored, letting him stretch and feel your tight walls. “Because it’s you.”

“Because what’s me?” he asked, removing them and sucking his fingers clean. You knew he loved your taste. “It excites me because you’re fucking me. No one else,” you admitted.

He moaned in response, pleased. “So you’ve never done this with anyone else?” he pressed as he unbuckled his belt.

“Have sex in a dressing room? No,” you answered honestly, licking your lips as you heard his pants unzip. You memorized every inch of his beautiful cock long ago and you needed him to fill you.

“We can make a list of places together,” he sighed as he freed his cock and stroked himself. You watched the motion of his arm in the mirror, mesmerized, and you were stuck by the fact that you were jealous of his hand. Even though he was about to be inside you, you wanted to wrench it away. The only pleasure you wanted him to feel was from you.

“We can make a list later. Right now, just fuck me.”

“And they say I’m the bossy one.”

He lined up and began to push inside, your body moving even as you braced yourself. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as his hips snapped, every inch of him surrounded by your tight heat. You trembled as you quickly adjusted, your palms flat against the wall as he drove deep.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror. See how pretty you look when I fuck you. How dirty you are… How you’re mine.”

The possessive tone in his voice and grip on your hips were enough to drive you out of your mind as he pistoned into you. His thickness seemed to stretch you beyond capacity, yet he still made himself at home in your body. The sensations you felt were something you never knew existed until the first time you felt him. They only grew over time.

“Harder, Andy. Please, I can take it,” you moaned, forgetting where you were. Or maybe you didn’t care.

“I know you can. Because you were made to take me,” he groaned, moving a hand to lightly trace his fingertips down your spine. “Wish I found you sooner.”

“You have me now and always,” you promised, moaning as he slammed harder into you. Your eyes went wide as he hit the spot no other lover ever found. “Oh, fu-”

His hand covered your mouth as your cries grew in volume, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. “Shh. You have to be quiet, honey. I know my cock feels good, but I can’t keep fucking you if someone checks on us. And I’m not stopping until your cunt sucks every drop out.”

Your eyes fluttered, but didn’t shut. The sounds that crawled up your throat were lost against his palm, but he didn’t need to hear them to know how good you felt. Every press of his cock inside you made more stars appear behind your eyes. By the time he was done, you were certain you’d witness a supernova.

“See how gorgeous you are when you start to let go for me? Bent over, legs wide just for me? Doesn’t matter where we are or what we’re doing. I’ll always want you… Always want you wrapped around my cock. Always want you filled with my come so you know in your soul that you belong to me.”

Your head almost smacked the glass from the force, but he pulled you back by your hip before it could. He would never let you get hurt. Your head did spin as he took you higher and higher. Your pussy clung to his cock as your knees began to shake. You wanted to come. You needed to coat his cock so he knew he was yours, too.

“Fuck, honey. Come. Come for me.”

Your orgasm rolled through you, your reflection exploding in a kaleidoscope of colors. You wondered if it was your expression or the vibration of your cry against his hand that triggered his own release. He buried himself as deep as he could, filling you just as he promised. Your greedy pussy swallowed everything, prolonging it for both of you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The sound of his grunt made you tighten around him again, breathing deeply when his hand fell away. You listened for a moment and it didn’t sound like anyone was marching over to throw you out. You gasped when you saw how fucked out you looked. It was… a beautiful look.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, holding you up and not leaving your body just yet.

“Not… that I’m complaining,” you began, gasping when his hand brushed over your breasts. How were you still so aroused? “Where… did that… come from?” you finished. Andy could be possessive, but that was something else.

The sheepish smile on his face made you raise an eyebrow. “Our new neighbor checked you out when we left.”

“New neighbor?”

“You haven’t met him yet,” he answered, gently pulling out of you and smirking when you whined. “His name is Ari. And I think he liked what he saw.”

#navybrat writes #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x y/n #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine

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i-have-a-wonky-eye-too · 3 years ago

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The Florist next-door... Andy Barber x reader series Part 2/?

"Just a second!" You called out to the person that had just entered your shop as you finished the task you were doing in the back. You quickly walked out to the front and stopped in your tracks. "Andy?"

He looked up at you and gave you a tired smile as he held up a bag of takeout. "Lunch?"

You nodded, "Come through." You smiled at him.

He bobbed his head and flipped the close sign over in the door window before flicking the lock into place as if it was muscle memory.

"I got your favorite." Andy smiled at you as he sat at your work bench beside you.

You smiled excitedly as your stomach began to grumble as you inhaled the delicious smell. "Life saver."

The two of you began to eat in silence. You hadn't realised how hungry you actually were until you started eating but as you stole a glance at Andy every now and then, you could tell something was wrong by the way he was playing with his food.

"What's wrong?" You asked him, gently placing your hand on his arm. "And don't say it's nothing, Andy."

He looked at you with worry swimming in his eyes as he gulped. "I need to tell you something, but I'm afraid it might make you think differently about me." His brow furrowed as he looked down at his good. "You might never want to see me again." He looked up to meet your gaze.

"I don't understand." You said.

Andy took a deep breath. "Because of what's happening with, Jacob, I've decided to share something with, Laurie... That's from my past," He shook his head. "Before, Laurie and I, even knew each other..."

"Andy, what are you talking about?" You asked as you turned to face him.

"My father, is a convicted rapest and murderer." He said, refusing to look at you.

Your mouth hung open in shock. That was certainly not what you had expected him to say. "... Whoa."

Andy let out puff of air through his nostrils as he nodded. "Yeah."

"I- hmm, why are you telling me this, Andy?" You asked confused.

Andy took a deep breath. "After what happened with your ex, I thought you deserved to know what you were living next door to... The media and the police are gonna be digging into our past and... I wanted to be the one to tell you." He gave you a soft look.

You nodded and sat quietly as Andy began to tell you about his father. You found it hard to believe that this sweet and caring man in front of you had such a monster as a father.

"Laurie, thinks I betrayed her, by keeping this to myself." Andy's head laid in his hands.

Your brow furrowed. "She does?"

He nodded. "Apparently, because I've kept this from her for all these years, she's not sure whether she can ever trust a word I ever said to her." He let out a dry chuckle, "Like, our whole life together, is just one big fat lie."

Your mouth hung open again. "Oh."

"She blamed me, for what's happening with, Jacob." He huffed. He looked up at you with a frown. "What do you think? Am I in the wrong? Should I have told her?"

You let out a soft sigh, "I understand why, Laurie, might feel slightly betrayed by you. You guys are married and you shouldn't have secrets." Andy groaned as he looked away from you. "But, honestly... I think she's the one in the wrong."

Andy's head shot up, "What?"

"Andy, just because your father, did those horrible things, does not make you the same person. You're kind and caring, and you certainly love your family. Laurie, should be able to understand why you kept it a secret. I don't go around telling every guy I go on date with my ex-husband used to beat me." You frowned.

Andy looked at you with a soft look before he nodded. "Thank you, Y/N."

You shrugged, "It's fine... Have, you spoken to, Jacob, about this?"

Andy shook his head, "Not yet."

You cringed, "Good luck."

Andy chuckled, "Yeah... That's gonna go great."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What the-" You pulled up in your driveway before hoping out of the car and started to make your way over the Barber's driveway where Andy was. "Oh, shit," You muttered as you saw the graffiti that had been painted onto the side of their house. "Hey," You whispered as you came to a stop behind him.

Andy looked over his shoulder at you, his face a mixture of anger and hurt. "Hey." He let out a defeated sigh.

You looked at the horrible words before looking back at Andy. "Need a hand?"

He gulped and shook his head. "No, thank you."

You frowned, "I don't mind--"

"I said no!" He snapped.

You took a step back and nodded. "Sorry,"

"Y/N, wait." Andy got up and stopped you as you began to leave. "I... I'm sorry, okay, I just-" He looked up at your neighbors and shook his head. "The last thing I want, is for you to be tarred with the same brush as us, right now."

You nodded, "Understood." You offered him a weak smile before quickly walking away from him, missing the way he looked after you.

After enjoying a relaxing bath you set to work making yourself dinner but as you moved around the kitchen you looked up through kitchen window of Andy and Laurie's house, and noticed it was pitch black. Andy was still outside cleaning so you assumed Laurie would have been making dinner.

You pulled your cell out your pocket and sent Jacob a text.

You: Have you guys eaten yet?

Jacob: No. Mom's asleep and dad's outside. Think we'll get take out

You: I'm making my dinner now. I'll make extra and bring it to the back door

Jacob: Awesome. I love your cooking

You smiled to yourself and got on making dinner. You know Andy refused your help earlier but making food was different, it was neighbourly. Once you had dinner made you tubbed enough up for Andy, Laurie and Jacob, and took it over to the house.

"Thanks, Y/N." Jacob smiled at you as he took the tubs of food out of your hands.

You nodded, "No worries. I best get back or mine will be cold." You chuckled and quickly bid Jaocb goodbye.

Jacob dived into your cooking, moaning in delight at the flavorsome food. He really did enjoy your cooking, especially those chocolate cookies you make.

"Did your mom cook?" Andy asked as he stepped into the kitchen confused.

Jacob shook his head. "Y/N, brought food over." He smiled at his dad.

Andy frowned, "She didn't pass me."

Jacob shook his head. "She came to the back door. She sent me a text asking if we'd eaten cause she was making food."

Andy nodded and made a plate up for himself. "Has your mom eaten?"

Jacob sighed, "I told her, Y/N, had dropped some food off for us but she just ignored me. Wouldn't even open the door." He frowned looking down at his food. "Can I eat upstairs?"

Andy frowned as he looked over at the dining table where they would usually eat family dinner but right now his home didn't really feel like it had a family living in it. "Sure buddy."

Jacob thanked Andy before gathering his things and ran upstairs leaving Andy to sit alone in the kitchen as he ate. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd been an ass to you earlier, so once he ate, he washed everything up and decided to return your tubs straight away so he can apologise for being such an ass to you.

He knocked on your back door and waited, and eventually you opened the door. You were only wearing sweats with your hair pulled up in a messy bun, but Andy found himself smiling at you in adoration, you'd never looked more beautiful.

"Andy?" You whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He cleared his throat and held the tubs up. "Thank you, for dinner... And, I'm sorry." He smiled softly at you.

You nodded taking a deep breath as you stepped to the side. "Wine?"

He nodded, "Please." He followed you in, shutting the door behind himself before placing the tubs on the counter top as you grabbed him a wine glass.

The pair of you headed over to your living room where you'd been sat on the sofa, and sat down as you poured him a glass.

"You don't need to apologize." You said to him.

He nodded. "I do. I shouldn't have snapped."

You shook your head. "It's fine, honestly."

"No, it isn't. I was frustrated with, Laurie, and I ended up taking it out on you." He frowned before taking a large gulp of his wine. You sat silently waiting for him to continue. "... She's doubting, Jacob's, innocence." He admitted. "She thinks because of my father, Jacob, could have actually done it." He shook his head. "Why can't she just believe that our son, is telling the truth?" Andy closed his eyes as tears began to fill them.

You shook your head, "I think, Laurie, just struggles to believe people when they tell her the truth." You admitted without thinking.

"What?" Andy looked at you confused.

You shook your head. "I, uh, nothing, ignore what I said." You grabbed your wine and downed what was left before refilling it.

"No, Y/N, tell me." Andy nodded.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. "Before that night you came over, I... Asked, Laurie, for help." You admitted.

You shook as you stood on the front doorstep of the Barber residence, waiting for an answer. "Oh, Laurie, hi." You weren't expecting Laurie to answer. "Is, Andy, home? I need to speak to him."

Laurie frowned, "No, he's away on business." She went to close the door but you stopped her.

"Can, I talk to you then? Please?" You tried to offer her a smile but failed. You were too scared and hurt.

Laurie nodded, "If you're quick. Jacob, needs piking up from his club soon." She frowned.

You nodded and took a deep breath. "I'm not really sure, how to say this but... I, want to leave my husband. You see, we're not, seeing eye to eye at the minute and I think, it would be best that we got a divorce. But, I'm not sure how to go about it..."

"For heaven's sake, is that what this is about? Marriage is hard, you have to work at it. Stop playing the victim and grow up. Why don't you try talking to your husband instead of mine." Laurie glared at you before slamming the door shut.

Andy stared at you in disbelief. "When?" He asked.

"Hmm... Nine months, before that night you came round. The night before I asked, Laurie, for help, he tried to force me to-" You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. "I refused so he just, hit me... I, decided that morning as he went to work after pretending nothing had happened, I wanted out." You let out a deep sigh. "I don't know why, Laurie, acted like that, towards me but-"

"She's jealous." He frowned.

Your eyes widened in shock. "She's what?"

Andy nodded and took a deep breath. "Remember that first time you and your ex-husband invited us round for dinner?" He asked.

"Y/N's, so cool. She has this computer that she plays her games on that's like something out of Star Trek." Jacob beamed as he entered the front door. "And, her cookies are the best! Right, dad?"

Andy nodded. "They were the best, I admit." He chucked as he and Laurie followed.

"Oh, is it okay if I help her with her yard work tomorrow, dad? I said I would if it was okay." Jacob looked at Andy hopeful.

Andy raised his eyebrow, "You want to help in the yard?"

Jacob nodded, "Y/N, said since her husband was gonna be at work, she needed a big strong man to help so, I said I'd help." He shrugged. "Can I?"

Andy nodded with a chuckle. "Sure buddy."

"Great." Jacob grinned. "Wonder if she'll have more cookies."

Andy chuckled as he watched his son run off upstairs to get ready for bed. "I think, someone might have a little crush on our new neighbor." He smiled at Laurie.

She rolled her eyes. "I think, he's not the only one." She muttered.

Andy frowned, "What does that mean?"

"It means, I saw the way you were drooling over her, Andrew." Laurie snapped.

Andy's eyes widened, "Are you insane? Why would you say that?"

"Because I'm not stupid, Andy. She's pretty and young, and niave... You love them like that, don't you?" Laurie hissed at him as she sloppily poured herself another glass of wine. She was drunk.

Andy let out a deep sigh as he rested his hands on her hips. "You're being ridiculous, Laurie, you're my wife."

She scoffed. "I saw the way you kept defending her, when her husband would disagree with her. He's right, her cookies are fucking disgusting, they're too sweet." She snapped.

Andy rolled his eyes. "You're jealous, that's what this is about, isn't it?"

"NO! This is about that little bitch trying to steal my family away. I don't want her to hang around, Jacob."

Andy opened his mouth to say something back when he heard something like a scream come from your house. "Did you hear that?" He asked, looking through the window to yours but the curtains were already drawn.

"It's nothing, Andy, she's probably just a screamer. They are married, after all."

You sat in silence as each of your stories sank in.

"I did hear you scream that night, didn't I?" Andy asked.

You nodded. "He said, it was your fault he was hitting me. He saw the way I was encouraging you, to look at me." You rolled your eyes. "He used to do that, come up with bogus reasons to hurt me."

Andy looked at you. He could still see the pain in your eyes as you spoke about what you went through. And now he felt even more guilt because of what Laurie had done or what she hasn't done.

"I'm sorry." You said in unison making you both smile.

"What are you sorry for?" You asked Andy.

He sighed, "For, Laurie, being so hostile towards you. You've been nothing but a friend and all she's done is be so rude towards you." He frowned. "I appreciate everything you've done for me and Jacob. I don't think I'd have coped as much as I have if I didn't have you on our side." He gave you a warm smile.

You nodded, "Well, you were there for me so... What are friends for?" You shrugged, feeling your cheeks flush.

Andy nodded, "Why are you sorry?"

"It seems I've done nothing but cause problems for you." You frowned, "Maybe, I should back off. I don't want to be pestering, Laurie, if I make her uncomfortable."

Andy shook his head before downing the rest of his wine. "Seriously, Y/N, you haven't done anything wrong. I think... I think perhaps, Laurie, has finally realised that, our marriage, isn't as perfect as she had been pretending. Everything that's happened recently has just made it noticeable." Andy admitted with a sigh. He looked down to his watch and frowned. "I should, get back home." He stood up from the couch.

"Yeah, if cours." You followed after him.

"Thank you, for the chat... And dinner, and wine." He smiled softly at you as you stood at your back door. "Just... Thank you, Y/N."

You nodded. "Any time." You smiled back.

As the two of you looked at each other you could feel their was some new found awkward tension in the air between you.

"Well... Goodnight." Andy whispered as he looked down at you.

You hummed, chewing on your bottom lip as you nodded. "Goodnight, Andy." You leaned up to press a kiss to his bearded cheek. You instantly regretted it, you couldn't remember the last time you kissed his cheek, if ever. "Sorry, I--"

Andy's large hands cradled your face as he crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss that was all tongue and teeth. You let out a deep moan as you clutched his jumper in your hands. If it wasn't for the sound of Andy's cell ringing you weren't sure you'd have stopped, but you did and quickly realized what you'd just done. Andy pulled his cell out in a panic and closed his eyes with a breath before answering.

"Hey, Jacob, what's up?" He gave you a sorrowful look as he pulled open your kitchen door before stepping out and shutting it behind him.

You quickly locked the door before you began crying and guilty coursed your veins. What the fuck!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44

#Andy Barber #Andy Barber x reader #Andy Barber x reader smut #Andy Barber x reader series #andy barber x reader series #andy barber #andy barber smut #andy barber x reader smut #andy barber x reader #Chris Evans #Chris Evans x reader

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georgiapeach30513 · 3 years ago

Text

A Losing Hand, Part 10

Summary: Andy comes to collect, partially in the past

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mild

Warnings: explicit language, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.3k

Series Masterlist

*divider created by @firefly-graphics

Hearing the doorbell ring at the flower shop, your eyes drift up and catch sight of those dark menacing eyes. Except with you, there’s a kindness. Quickly averting your gaze you go back to arranging the flowers, trying to make yourself look invisible.

It isn’t time for him to be here. He had already collected your father’s dues. And what’s worse, up until recently, he sent someone to collect, and now he did it himself. He whispers something in your father’s ear before slowly approaching you.

His ringed and tattooed hands slide onto the counter, and he taps his fingers on the wood, drawing the most attention to his marks and rings. Spades are all inked all over his body, and it doesn’t take a genius to know who this is. “Honey, you not going to help me.”

“What can I do for you today, Mr. Barber?” you ask sweetly. Andy tilts his head to the side, and gives you a soft smile, making your gaze go back to his hands. Your cheeks heat up, and your stomach draws up in knots. He should not be making you feel this way.

“I’ve told you before, call me Andy.”

“Andy,” you begin to ask looking back up at him, your words getting caught in your throat. “Has he not paid his dues?”

“He was a bit short.”

“Oh, I-I…if you give me a couple of days, I can make it up to you.”

“No need,” he responds quickly. That crooked smirk appearing on his face. “I have an easier way for you to make it up to me.”

“Whatever you need, Andy.”

His large body leans over the counter, and his hand wraps around your neck, bringing you closer to him, “Watch your words, honey. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Andy Barber,” he cocks up an eyebrow, wanting you to continue. “King of Spades.”

“Good girl,” rolls off his tongue, in a deep gravely timbre, feeling it directly in your core. A high from his words, spread throughout your limbs, causing you to feel a bit numb. Your thighs press firmly together, and you try to back away. “Do I scare you?”

“You intimidate me. I…I’ll help my dad pay. He-he…just…”

“Calm down. I won’t hold you to your words yet. But in the future, watch how you say something. You said anything?” you give him a nod, and he smiles back. “What if I asked you to dinner,” you let out a puff of air and look back at his hands. Refusing his question would not be wise, but also agreeing, puts you in the life you didn’t want. “It’s one dinner, I got your father’s permission. You had to have known I was coming in here for more than the dues.”

“The King also doesn’t collect.”

“Pretty and smart,” you finally dare to look up at him, and you can’t help but smile. “You like me coming here, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven then.”

“So what is it you do for fun?” Andy had been nothing but a gentleman. Holding your door open, listened to whatever you said, his hand tastefully resting at the small of you back. And even at dinner the conversation was easy, and it flowed.

“Surly counting cards for your father’s debt isn’t all you do.”

“You know about that?”

Andy takes a bite of his food, smirking at you, “I know everything. Especially about you.”

“That’s not creepy at all.”

“You think it’s okay for a father to let his daughter roam around at night, in the seedy part of town, and all because she has to clear his debt?” you give him a quick shake of your head, answering with a no.

“Exactly, his debt. He’s a coward, he’s a junkie. Addicted to the high of gambling, and sends his daughter to make more money, and instead of paying off his debt, he gambles it away. And how did you fix that?”

“I started taking the money to his bookie.”

Andy rolls his eyes, settling back into the chair. He looks you up and down disbelieving of how you, his sweet Daisy girl could come from such an incompetent man. “How did you know.”

“Had you followed,” you start to speak, but he holds up his hand. “I have this urge and need to protect you. You’ve got this disgusting son of a bitch father, who is supposed to protect you, and instead he lets you roam around at night, in pure Diamond territory. It’s pathetic. I’m offering you a safe place.”

“I can’t leave…”

“Before you make up your mind,” holding up his hand, he gestures for the check, “come by, look at the compound. You’d have your own room.”

“Not in yours?”

Andy takes a quick sip of his wine, watching you wiggle around. Looking down at your lap to notice how you’re clenching your thighs together. “I do have a big bed, if you wanted to share.”

“No.”

“Very well,” his voice darkens. Paying the check he quickly stands. Grabbing up your coat to wrap it around you, before gently pulling you to the car.

The ride to the Spade compound is silent. Feeling like an eternity, and a heavy cloud hangs over your head. You can almost feel Andy clenching his teeth. “Andy, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you’re not sure why, but your hand moves to rest on his. Softly caressing over his skin, and you finally feel him relax again. Even giving you a genuine smile.

Excitedly, he walks you around the compound. Giving you a tour of every room that should matter. “This is your room?” you ask. Your hand runs over everything you can. Pristine, immaculate and clean. Dark and foreboding, as most Spade buildings are.

“It is,” you look up at him through your lashes, and swallow deeply. “Do I make you nervous?”

“Yes.”

He walks as close to you as he can. His hand caresses your cheek, and his fingers settle on the back of your head, “Why?”

“Because…”

“Because, why?” your face moves closer to him, so close you feel his heated breath. You even grab up his free hand, placing it on your hip.

“Because I like it.”

“Good girl,” he whispers before slotting his lips on yours. His hands hold you tight to his body. Sliding around and down, before cupping the swell of your ass. Lifting you up he starts walking the two of you to the bed.

With a tickle of his tongue on your lips, you grant him entrance, and you have the first taste of your King. He knew it long before you did, that he was yours.

Settling down in between your thighs, his own thighs push yours further apart. His hands moving down to your panties, before you finally come to. “Andy no,” you pant, but still he doesn’t stop.

Going under your dress, he goes to hook his fingers, under your panties, “Andy, stop. Please, don’t.”

Finally, he pulls back to look at you, and he jerks his hands off. Holding them up in surrender. “What?”

“Just kissing.”

“It was fun.”

“It’s too fast. Just. Kissing.”

“Okay. Just kissing. But, you’re sleeping here. In my bed,” he starts unbuttoning his shirt, and that’s when you see the thick chords of muscle on his broad chest. Thick and toned, and you can’t help but to stare.

Andy gives you a little chuckle when he throws that shirt at you, “You’re drooling. You like what you see?”

“You know you’re attractive.”

“And that’s not what I asked. You can have every part of it. Your dad did say you were a sweet girl. Have you ever had a boyfriend?” ashamed you look away but shake your head no.

“It’s like you were made for me. That door leads to the bathroom. Go change.”

You walk into his bathroom, and quickly change into the shirt he just removed. The pressed white shirt smelling of his dark and mysterious cologne. Still those pesky butterflies turn your tummy into knots.

“You okay?” he asks, and when you open the door, he’s right there. “It’s a big bed. The compound is bigger. I don’t want you to get lost.”

“You can stay. Just kissing.”

He picks you up quickly and holds you tight to his chest. Giving you the biggest smile when you giggle. “Just kissing sweet girl.”

“You’re a pathetic man,” Andy’s fist slams down on your father’s desk, and he looks back out the door just to make sure you aren’t here.

“She’s my daughter. You can’t just keep her in Spade territory.”

“I’m giving her a fucking choice, old man. She’s choosing to stay with me. Sleeps peacefully every night, and then you go and make her feel guilty for your fucking debt. You got yourself into this mess. Why is it her problem.”

Your father goes to rub his hand over his neck, while Andy looks back out to the flower shop again. “You let her go into Diamond territory with no regard to her safety. I’m giving her the life you couldn’t.”

“Life of a murderer.”

“With a man willing to die to protect her!”

“And what about me?” he shouts at Andy, and Andy backhands him.

“Your debt isn’t her problem.”

“I need her. I’ve got problems.”

Andy looks at the pitiful little office. Even the run down flower shop. It won’t be long until it falls under anyways. “How much?”

“Two hundred grand.”

“I give you half. She’s mine. You leave her alone,” he starts to protest, but Andy screams. “She’s mine. Pack her fucking things, and I’ll have someone here to pick it up. She owes you nothing. She’s won well over two hundred grand for you. We’ve been watching. It’s not her problem that you blew everything she earned. I bought and paid for…”

“Andy?” you ask coming in at the tail end of the conversation. “What’re you…dad?”

“Your Andy’s now.”

“What?” you look from your dad to Andy, shaking your head. “No. No. No, I trusted you. No.”

Andy picks up his phone making a quick call, and a man you hadn’t seen comes in, and hands over a briefcase of money. “It’s done. We’re going home.”

You wake up to find the bed cold and empty. Looking around your room, is when you see Andy staring out the window. You give a quick rub to your barely swollen stomach before standing up.

Shadow, your wolfdog guard, lifts her head to look at you, until she sees you’re walking behind Andy. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your head on his broad and naked back. “The bed is cold.”

“You hate me,” he answers coolly, trying to push your hands off of him. “Tomorrow is our wedding and you hate me. I’ve tried, Daisy. I’ve been patient. I have done everything you’ve asked of me. Explained my side of the story and you hate me.”

“No I don’t.”

Andy lets out a broken laugh. His eyes still never leaving the window. “Then why are you still fighting? Every damn day, it’s a fight with you. Sometimes the same fight, sometimes a new fight. It’s exhausting.”

“You scare me.”

“Why?” he spins around in your embrace. His face hard and stoic. “Please, tell me why I scare you. I have never let a woman treat me this way.”

“I don’t deserve to act like this? You took me from everything I knew. You made me stay with Lloyd as a punishment. If I disobey next time, what’re you gonna do?”

“I told you I was sorry for that. I’m not used to being soft with people. I can’t. I protect what is mine. And you won’t allow me. The wedding is off.”

“Andy,” you whisper, you pull at his hand to rest on your stomach. “This is yours.”

“What?”

“Dr. Banner confirmed it this morning. It’s too early to tell, but…pretty sure he’s a boy. This is your son. I don’t wanna call the wedding off”

“Why?”

“I want you,” Andy scoffs walking to the bed. “I want us to be a family.”

“Not good enough Daisy.”

“I…I’m sorry for fighting you. I’m fighting what I feel. I’m fighting the need to want you and need you as much as I do. I don’t want to spend a night with you not in our bed,” Andy starts to ask why again, and you just blurt out. “I love you, Andy. I was falling for you when you went to my dad and bought me.”

“You heard wrong. And I went along with your narrative of paying for you. I’ve told you this over and over again.”

“Andy, I love you. I want you. I need you. And so does our baby. We’re getting married tomorrow, and I promise I’ll quit fighting you with everything,” Andy bites as his lip and gives you a cocky smirk. “What?”

“Maybe keep acting like a brat sometimes. Just me and you though. Not around everyone. They think I’m losing my touch with you.”

You crawl into the bed, crawling up his body, before straddling his lap. Andy’s hands slide over your belly, and you watch his satisfied face as he tries to memorize the way you look right now. The way you feel, knowing how quickly you’ll change.

“I always wanted to be a dad,” his voice so soft, and without its power. He gave you that power over him a long time ago.

“I always wanted something that was truly mine.”

“We are,” grabbing at your waist, he pulls you closer, and kisses all over you belly. “Andy,” you giggle, which only makes him laugh right along with you. “Andy, stop. Andy!”

“You’re sure? You’re really gonna marry me? Get your mark and become the official Queen of Spades.”

He lays your body over his. Making sure that you are face to face with him. “Yes. I’m yours.”

Masterlist

#a losing hand #a losing hand au #andy barber #andy barber x reader #soft!dark!andy barber #defending jacob

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afriendlyblackhottie · 3 years ago

Text

Positions

Summary: Andy wanted your trust.

Pairings: Andy Barber x Black!Reader

Warnings: minors dni, smut, swearing, Daddy kink, rough sex, degradation, dirty talk, verbal degradation

(A/N: yay my first non request in awhile. Something I hadn’t been able to work on for a long time so if it seems a little disjointed that’s why. But I love it 🥺. Like follow Reblog 💜 ✌🏾)

»»——————————-　♡　—————-————-««

“Nice doing business with you,” Andy said, standing up to hold out his hand.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help yourself as you smiled. After giving you a handshake like you were a client, he chuckled and pulled you in for a hug. Then kissed your forehead before finally moving to your lips. God it was a good thing he’d gotten a private dining room.

Tonight had been a big night. The two of you had been dating for a few months now. Starting out as neighbors when he’d moved in next door after his divorce. What started out as a friendly plate of freshly baked cookies to welcome him turned into him helping you carry your shopping bags into your apartment. Which was followed by two of you ending up on the same jogging path to grabbing breakfast together. Then beers, then dinner, then movie nights to him finally kissing you.

At some point sex started to become a constant topic of conversation. Of him talking about how he’d tried to ask his ex wife to explore more, but every time he’d chicken out. Then when the feelings went away it didn’t feel right to ask. Like if he did he’d deserve a slap on the face.

Then you’d ended up giving him the finest glimpse into what kind of stuff you were into. How you’d been judged in the past by people so you were a little shy about opening up. But that you felt like your secret was safe with him. You’d even whispered it in his ear like someone else could hear him.

Fuck was he dying to touch you. You were all close on your knees. Tits pressing into him. If he’d turned his head just a little he would have gotten face full of them. You were wearing these thigh socks. It was cold, but you apparently didn’t like sleeping in pants so that was your compromise. Thank god for that.

It became kind of a thing you did. He’d open up about the side he’d been trying to explore and you told him the same. Always whispering it in his ears. Until he finally kissed you. He doesn’t know how he waited so long to do it.

He pulled you on his lap so he could kiss you feverishly. Then you tugged at the bottom of his white t-shirt which told him everything about where this was headed. Fuck why hadn’t he done it sooner.

He carried you to your bedroom before laying you down. Fuck he didn’t let up. Just kept pounding into you and you couldn’t help yourself as you cried out and moaned. Said his name over and over again. While he whispered in your ear this time. Saying exactly the things you’d told him you liked.

Didn’t even care that he hadn’t worn a condom. The thought never even crossing his mind. You’d just felt so good as he fucked you. Beside he knew you were on birth control. Even then he wasn’t sure if he cared.

After you came all over his cock once again, he finally exploded inside of you. Making sure to get it nice and deep as if he was trying to impregnate you on purpose. Maybe a tiny little bit of him hoping he caught you when your birth control was failing or something.

After you rolled onto your side. He’d wrapped his arms around you, repeatedly kissing your cheek as you were coming down. Asking you if you needed anything.

You just yawned and turned to snuggle into him. He didn’t stop pressing kiss after kiss into anywhere his lips could reach. Making you giggle a little before you finally kissed him back which is what led to part two.

The next morning you’d woken up before him where he found you in the kitchen making pancakes. He kissed your face over and over as you giggled before he helped you finish.

Since then most mornings were spent like this. Alternating between his place and yours. Yet he noticed something every time. Through all that talking he’d picked up on every kink you had. What made you tick. He’d found out just how to work you up to the point where it was almost too easy. God he was obsessed with it.

But, he’d also noticed was that you were holding back. You hadn’t called him Daddy once. Didn’t let him tie you up. Never even asked for it. So of course he was going to bring it up one day.

“Well,” you’d started, “I guess it’s because I feel like whenever I open up about it...” you trailed off, sighing as you shrugged, “I feel like I end up getting used.”

Andy sighed and pursed his lips. “Aw, Babe...” he sighed before kissing your temple. “You know I’d never do that.”

You shrugged. “You say that now.”

“I won’t. We’re three months in, haven’t I been good to you?” He asked.

“Yeah, but that’s not that long.”

He sighed. He didn’t wanna argue. He wanted you to trust him. Wanted to prove that it wasn’t about the sex. Well, completely. “Okay,” he started, “how about we,” then bit his lip as he thought, his head going to the side, “how about we set a time. It’s three months down. Maybe,” he shrugged,” three more?”

You chuckled and rolled your eyes playfully. “What are we gonna sign contracts?” You asked with a giggle.

“I mean, we could! That’s a great idea!” He laughed. “I can draft one up.”

“I didn’t realize you wanted to be my daddy so bad,” you said not being able to wipe the smile off your face.

He sighed before kissing your cheek. “Well, yeah I wanna be your daddy, but I also want you to be comfortable around me,” he replied.

You peeked up at him through your lashes. You knew he was right. Andy knew you wanted that. With a dramatic sigh, you casted your eyes to the side. “I mean. True.”

He pulled you in. Wrapping his arms snugly around your waist. “Hey, we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Then he lifted your chin up with his fingers. “We can go at your pace. Or not even do it at all. I just thought-“

“No,” you interrupted him. “You’re totally right. I kinda like the idea of a contract.”

“Yeah?” He asked a grin spreading on his face. “Okay. I can draft it in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure to talk it over with my lawyer,” you teased.

He kissed your cheek. “You’re already my favorite client,” he said before kissing your nose next.

You signed it over drinks then next day. The both of you sitting on the couch as you ‘negotiated’. With anyone else you would have felt silly, but with him you were laughing so much it made your stomach hurt.

Then you made out. Which was interrupted when his son called. Then you sipped on your wine as you curled into him.

He’d held up his end up of the bargain. You’d been a very willing participant. Happily taken part trust exercises as the both of you called them. Like the time you tested how he’d respond to your nonverbal safe word by as he fucked your face. Which he is as quick to ask you if you were okay only to be met by you giggling and smiling and telling him he passed your test. Which only made him chuckle before going back into it.

Clearly it had all paid off because now you were making out on the couch after dinner. Barely able to wait as he pushed your dress passed your waist. “Daddy,” you moaned.

Fuck it was like music to his ears. “That’s my girl,” he groaned, standing up with you in his arms. Fuck he needed you so damn bad. Making sure to get you undressed on the way to his bedroom. Leaving a trail of your clothes and his. Stopping to kiss you along the way. “Gonna finally let me take care of you right?” He asked as he was finally able to lay you down.

“Please,” you whimpered. Suddenly realizing just how badly you needed him. Fuck you should have just let him do this sooner. Andy Barber was clearly a trustworthy man. You don’t know why you were tripping so hard in the first place. He was obviously daddy material from the moment you met him.

He licked his lips as he put his forehead against yours. “Yeah?” He asked. “What do you want?" Then he grabbed your cheek when you tried to look away. Feeling intimated by his bedroom eyes.

Before you could answer, his hand got real close to your pussy. Thumb pressing into your clit making your eyebrow raising as he started rubbing that spot he knew was just right. Making you squeak out, “You.”

He chuckled. The noise vibrating deep in his chest. You looked so fucking cute laying there. All spread out. Eyes begging for him to make his next move. “Don’t play stupid with me.”

Your pussy had gotten so wet. Dripping down onto the sheets. He just got you like that. Almost like you never had a choice and he’d barely even done anything. The noise that fell from your lips was almost pornographic.

Then he shifted so he could replace it with the tip of his hard cock. Flicking at it. Not taking his eyes off of you as he angled himself at your entrance. Covering it in your wetness. Wishing he would stop teasing you because your pussy was aching so bad for him.

“I want you to be my daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he said before finally putting you out of your misery and sliding into you. Going about half way. Giving you a little time to adjust. Pussy tightening around him already.

His thickness feeling a little intrusive already in your pussy. You gasped. He kissed the corner of your mouth. Rocking into you slowly. Fuck it felt like your pussy was just begging him to go deeper.

Nose to yours as he inched in a little more. It made your breath hitch in your throat. Instead of going in deeper he pulled out to where his tip was the only thing in you again.

“Daddy,” you mewled. “Please. I need you so bad.”

“Tell daddy what you want, Baby.”

“I want you to fuck me.” You looked up at him with big watery eyes.

“Yeah?” He asked going back in half way. “How you want daddy to fuck you?”

“Like he owns it,” you whined.

“Aw, Baby,” he cooed before leaning down to kiss you. Taking the time to finally go in the rest of the way making you pull away to gasp.

“Fuck!”

“You want me to fuck your pussy like I own it,” he asked once again going to where only the tip was in before sliding in home.

You cried out. “Yes. Please, Daddy.”

“I can do that,” he cooed before kissing the side of your head. “I can do that, Baby.”

“I wanna be your slut.” You sniffled.

“I know.” He whispered still fucking into you nice and slowly. “You been my slut.”

“Please, Daddy,” you whimpered.

He wrapped his hand around your neck as he pretty much shoved himself into you that time then went back to square one with only the tip. “Yeah? You think you can take my dick?”

“I can,” you promised.

Ah fuck he couldn’t tease you anymore. Your eyes shutting tight as he pushed into you. Thick cock feeling like it was splitting you open until he bottomed out. Giving you a minute to get used to his intrusion before capturing your lips in his.

You moaned into his mouth when he finally started to move. Hands going to his back so you could dig your nails into him. Crying out from how deep he was going.

It wasn’t to say he was being gentle, but he was giving you a moment to feel him without completely overwhelming you yet. It was more like a calm before the storm as he peppered your face in kisses and whispered, “You take your daddy’s dick so well, pretty girl.”

Your walls tightening around him, one of your legs over his shoulder. It felt so good but you needed something more. “Daddy,” you whined. “Please.”

“Tell me what you want,” he said. “Don’t play stupid. Use your fucking words.”

You let out a cute little squeak. “More. Fuck me harder.”

Andy pulled out. Flipping you onto your stomach and not waiting for you to get on your hands and knees before slamming in. You let out a scream as he did as you asked. Not letting up as he his hips back and forth into you.

“Yes!” You cried into the pillow.

“Yeah? What you want? Needed to get fucked like a whore,” he practically growled before smacking your ass. It was too much and somehow not enough. You wanted it all. Fuck your wanted to be his forever and ever. He felt so damn good.

You worked back against him. Finally feeling like everything you’d ever craved from a man was being fulfilled only in such a small amount of time. If any man deserved to be your Daddy it was Andy fucking Barber.

He’d proved it from the moment you met. Just the little things he I’ll did. Just how much he cared. You owed him your pussy for making him wait so long.

“That’s it. Fuck yourself on my cock,” he groaned watching your ass move back and forth onto him. Slapping against his pelvis every time.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” you chanted with your face still in the pillow. He chuckled seeing you so desperate. You were so damn cute. Even when you were taking his cock. “I’m gonna cum!”

He grabbed your hand twisting it behind your back so he could really start driving into you. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as your boyfriend went exactly like you needed making you cum all over his thick cock.

“Fuck me. Do what you want I don’t care.” You’d officially been all fucked out and Andy had been waiting for this moment. For you to finally and fully submit to him in the way he knew you’d been too afraid to ask for before.

He grabbed your hair laughing at how far gone you were. “That’s my good girl. Gonna let me use this slutty pussy to get off.”

“Please don’t stop. Please.” You begged.

“Daddy’s not stopping until you can’t take anymore,” he replied. “You’ll be begging me to stop.”

You came again. Pussy clamping around thick cock again. Screaming daddy. Fuck he loved you like this. Using your body. Calling you names. Fuck. It was addicting.

Making you cum over and over because he wasn’t satisfied until tears were streaming down your face. Then he just made you do again because he wanted you to do it one more time as he sought out his own.

He’d wanted you back on your back for this. Wanted you to look him in the eyes as he pumped in and out of you. “Gonna cum in you, Baby. Gonna take my cum like a good fucking whore?”

“Uh huh,” you breathed because he’d officially broken you by now. “I’m daddy’s slut.”

Fuck that did it.

He doesn’t think he’d ever finished that hard. Body tightening up as he finally came deep inside of you. Making sure to get as far as he could before what felt like a never ending stream let go.

Andy was breathing hard as he laid down on top of you. Putting his head between your tits. Breathing hard, chests heaving.

He wrapped his arms around your waist. You threaded your hands through his hair. The both of you too blissed out to move. He hadn’t even fully pulled out yet.

He loved being so close to you like this after sex. You always said you loved his warmth. Then he’d roll over to pull you into him instead. Resting your head on his shoulder.

Andy kissed the top of your head. Still trying to catch your breaths. Just getting so close. Just like you needed to be.

��I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” you mumbled back despite being positively cock drunk.

“You okay? I wasn’t too rough?”

You shook your head. “It was perfect.”

“Glad you thought so,” he said. “Just give me twenty minutes. I gotta tie you up.”

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