#bonky wobble writes

[bonkywobble]

Hi can I ask for

🐣- "I want a baby. What about you?"

🍫- "Did you say something?"

💚- "I'd hate to have to share these photos to your parents"

With a female reader?

Have a nice day regardless, stay hydrated and well!

Tender

Prompts: 🐣 - “I want a baby! What about you?” 🍫 - “Did you say something?” 💚 - “I’d hate to have to share these photos to your parents.”

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,195

Warnings: implied smut, implied noncon, mentions of drugs and drug abuse, blackmail. This blog and all works associated with it are 18+ only. Minors do not interact or follow. Please heed the warnings - if this makes you uncomfortable then click away. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.

Disclaimer: I do not give anyone permission to take, repost, copy or translate my stories, regardless of whether or not they are credited. This blog and all works associated with are 18+ only. Minors please do not interact or follow.

A/N: Finally got around to writing some Andy Barber, guys! Y’all keep hydrated as well.

You look up at the clock as it hits 7, a tired sigh escaping you as your coworker finally, blessedly, packs up her things and leaves. You do your best to ignore the side eye she gives you as she walks past, so sure she knows the real reason you’re staying late tonight.

You know why she did that, and most of the time she’d be absolutely right. You were sleeping with your boss, after all. But the glares and gossiping of your colleagues had begun to outweigh the temptation that was your handsome, dominating employer, and the whispered rumours floating around were quickly replacing the harsh praises he would murmur into your ears as he bent you over his desk.

No matter how good that man fucks you - and god, was he skilled at fucking you, marking you, making you feel him for days after - it wasn’t worth ruining your reputation permanently; no one wants to be known as ‘that’ employee, the one who only works best on their back.

No, after weeks of sneaking around with Andy Barber you were done. It was a mistake to begin with.

Collecting your purse and phone you stop, eyes briefly closing in resignation. Really, the only ones at fault were you and him, and considering you’d been living here for only three months? There was nobody who’d jump to your defence anytime soon. Your only option was to hand in your resignation letter now and hope that he understands. That, and pray he doesn’t have a twin running shit at your next place of work.

Adjusting your handbag, you rap your knuckles against the door of his private office.

No response.

Realising there was a high probability he was too wrapped up in his latest case file to be paying attention - despite how well you managed his schedule - you quietly push the door open.

When you saw him, you realised just how right you were. Rubbing his chin with one hand, another holding what is most likely information regarding his latest client. You took a moment to drink the sight of him in, imagining those pink lips pressed against yours, consuming you just one last time.

C’est la vie.

“Andy?”

He jerks his head up, his attention abruptly torn from the pile of forms. He blinks and you see his professionalism slowly creep away. “Did you say something?”

“Yeah. Mind if I come in?”

A gesture to the chair in front of you is all the permission you need. Taking a seat, you do your best not to respond to the way his hungry gaze rakes over you.

“So, what can I do for you this time? Need my opinion again?”

With a man as good looking as Andy, it’s hard to not take the bait. You swear you can still feel the marks on your thighs from last week’s ‘opinion’. From the way his middle finger rubs against his bottom lip, it seems he hasn’t forgotten either.

Tearing your eyes away, you reach into your bag. Your search doesn’t last long.

“Actually,” you say, straightening yourself, “I’m here to give you this.”

Finding the piece of paper you hand it over, ignoring the slight tremble in your hand. Not even a few seconds into reading it Andy’s face grows dark.

“This is a joke, right?” He asks as his eyes lock with yours, all traces of light teasing now gone.

Despite how pissed off he’s getting, you continue. “No Andy, it’s not. Four weeks from now should be enough notice for you. I’ve even organised some notes and instructions for your next assistant to look at when they start-“

“Fuck that,” he interrupts, rising to his feet. Palms flat on the desk he leans towards you, his anger palpable, “you’re not leaving.”

Hating how confrontational he’s becoming you quickly get up, determined to stand your ground. “I’m done, Andy. If you won’t accept the notice then I quit, effective immediately.”

As you turn to make your escape, you hear him call your name. You push against his demands, and your hand touches the door knob.

"I'd hate to have to share these photos with your parents!”

You freeze, his desperate tell silencing all but the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

“What the hell do you mean?” You spit, desperately attempting to dampen your panic.

The clatter of photos on the desk draws your eye. You can barely make them out, but once you do your breath hitches, stopping the bile from moving further up your throat.

“You’re lucky they caught you the first time you went out of control, sending you to rehab before you could get arrested,” he monologues while you shuffle over, “but imagine how they’d feel if they found out you were still smoking?”

Your lips quiver as you pick up a photograph of you lighting a joint while you stand on your back porch, and you’re not sure which is worse - the fact that he knows you do this, or thinking about exactly how managed to get those photos.

“I’ve come a long way since then,” you feebly protest, “it’s only every once in a while.”

He tuts in amusement, rounding his desk. “I know, and credit where credit’s due. But unfortunately for you, I read your patient file. And in it, the psychiatrist notes that you made a promise to your parents that you’d never, ever, touch another substance again.”

The deep, sinking horror you feel at the thought of Andy violating your privacy so blatantly is overshadowed only by the feel of his chest against your back. The cage around you shrinks.

“What do you want?” You whisper, struck with terror.

You flinch when a broad hand settles on the back of your neck, gripping you tightly before turning you slight to face him. The expression he wears is simultaneously cruel and soft, and you find it hard to believe it’s on a face you’d been happy to smile at.

“I want my life back to normal,” he starts, “I want something to be proud of. I want a beautiful wife, and I want a baby.”

A low sigh leaves him, air brushing against the side of your face. “I just want to stop feeling so damn lonely.”

Had he not just admitted to wanting any of this with you, you might feel a little more sorry for him. The townspeople have never let go of the misfortune that surrounded Andy Barber, and within a week of moving in you’d joined them in offering some kind of silent support.

But you never signed up for this.

“What about me?”

“What about you?” He scoffs, pressing himself further into you. “I’m the one who calls the shots here. Honey, you’re just here to listen and do as you’re told.”

The hold on you neck tightens momentarily before you’re shoved against the desk. You shriek as you struggle against him, paperwork and photos flying onto the floor. You can feel his heated length against your ass, his feet kicking your legs open.

He chuckles against your ear, “After all, that is what I hired you for.”