Part One in a series of Pete’s Place regular one-shots.
main masterlist | meet the regulars
✧.* ೃ⁀➷ pairing: Andy Barber x female!reader.
word count: 803 | series rating: explicit. ༊*·˚
warnings: daddy kink, prostitution (kinda), light smuttiness, andy being sweet (although not really).
this is a dark au. minors are not welcome here.
“Knock, knock,” Andy called out, stepping into the dressing room where you were finishing up some final touches to your liner, eyes lightening up at the reflection of a large bouquet of roses in his arm and a large, sleek black bag dangling from his hand.
You whirled yourself around, liner clattering amongst the mess of the vanity. “Chanel?” You gawked, a grin breaking out.
Andy had a habit of showing up with gifts; clothes, jewellery, flowers, whatever he could think of for his favourite girl of the week, but you had managed to keep his undivided attention for well over a month now. Had he been any other man in the club, you would’ve already propositioned him, offering yourself for a night, but he was too close with Pete; although the more attention he gave, the more you found yourself toying with the risk.
“For me?” You feigned surprise, “I could never— Gimme, gimme, gimme—“
Andy chuckled as he strolled over, bag outstretched towards your grabby hands and pressed a soft, brief kiss to the top of your head. You leaned up as you shook the box open, grinning and letting your lips ghost against his— the closest you had ever gotten to kissing him before. Each gift, each kind word, each longing look; every new tale you heard from the girls about how attentive he was in bed, how calling him ‘Daddy’ kept him hard for hours, how he rambled filth when he was close… it all just kept shoving you past a line you were trying desperately not to toe.
“You know I love spoiling you,” Andy said softly, pulling the chair from the neighbouring vanity closer so he could perch next to you as you pulled out the small, intricately designed black bag. “I chose something simple, didn’t know exactly what you would like—“
“Bullshit,” You giggled, cutting him off which resulted in a bashful smile spreading across his face. “You knew I’d love it.”
“Yeah, I did,” Andy laughed, placing the roses on your vanity and reaching for your hand, thumb rubbing over the dainty diamond ring he had gotten you the week before.
“I love it,” You told him honestly, placing the bag back in the box and carefully placing it down on the floor. “And I love the roses, you always know exactly what to get me.”
“Think I’ve earned a little one on one?” Andy asked, hands moving to your hips as you got up, resting your hands on his shoulders for a moment before letting them cross behind his neck, hand bending up to card through his hair.
“Pete doesn’t let me in VIP, and… I don’t really feel comfortable—“
“Oh! No! Not that,” Andy quickly cut in, eyes wild with fear that he’d caused you any kind of discomfort. He slid his hand up and down your back while the other massaged the meat of your hip. “Not that I wouldn’t want— Ah, fuck. I know that’s not your thing. I just wanted some time with you. What about after—“
“I can’t,” You replied woefully, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the deep red of the VIP rooms. “Pete doesn’t allow it. I’m sorry.”
“What? I can’t even buy you dinner? In your free time?”
“You’re a club client,” You explained, your eyes locked on his. “Pete’s client. I’m not…”
You trailed off, staring at him for a moment. His blue eyes were kept on yours, waiting earnestly for you to continue talking. His white shirt, ruffled from his day stuck in an office, clung to chest; taunting you with the defined muscles that hid underneath. The hands heavy on your body clouded your senses and made the devil on your shoulder jump for joy when the last of your resolve broke.
“Fuck it,” You murmured, more to yourself than to Andy.
You slid yourself into his lap, not giving either of you a second to think, before you slotted your lips against his and immediately melted into him. His hand found the back of your neck, keeping you anchored to him as he slid his tongue against yours, and used his other hand to rock your hips down against his.
“Let Daddy have you, baby, please. I’ll be so good to you,” Andy begged, almost breathlessly against your lips as your eyes flicked towards the door to ensure you were still alone. “Please, pretty baby—“
“Do you know where I’m staying?” You asked, letting a small smile slip when Andy hastily nodded, his hands coming up to cup your face, trying to pull you back against his lips. “Meet me there, park around the back.”
“Can’t wait, Sugar.” Andy sealed your fate with another swift, messy kiss before reluctantly letting you slide off his lap. “I’ll see you on the floor,” He said softly, standing and leaning down to steal a final kiss before rolling out his shoulders and loosening his tie a little as he headed towards the door. “Bye, baby.”
“Bye, Daddy,” You teased.
“I will fuck you right here on this floor,” Andy threatened quietly, finger pointed out to you, turning in the doorway before taking a few steps back and disappearing with a grin.
Warning: possible adultery, neglect, angry men, dark elements….
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: August Walker, side of Andrew Barber
Summary: You find a cold reception at your new job, but it’s not much better than your home life.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
The salad’s still in the fridge. The one you made Andy. The croutons are soggy and the lettuce is getting slimy. You wish you’d noticed before you prepped for tomorrow. At least the quinoa will keep longer.
You go to bed with the forgotten container on your mind. Did he forget or does he just not care? Each night you sleep alone and feel further and further from your own husband. You don’t know him anymore.
When you married, he told you what he wanted and you became that. Because you love him. You kept a clean house, you learned how to cook the things he likes; healthy things. Salads, pesto, consomme, all the fancy things from scratch, never from a box or a bag. Now he doesn’t even touch those things.
Or you.
You roll over and sigh. You close your eyes. You’re almost through the week. That’s something you can be proud of. Maybe even he will when you get your first cheque and let him know you can help with repair on the garage door.
Andy’s snoring beside you when your alarm goes off. Your head swirls with drowsiness as your unconsciousness sticks like sludge. He nudges you meanly with his knuckles.
You slap your hand over on the nightstand and silence the alarm. You sit up and bobble. You rub your eyes with the heels of your hand.
“I’ll get coffee going…” you speak through the frog in your throat.
You slide off the bed as he pulls his pillow over his head. His clothes from the night before are on the floor. You pick them up and put them in the hamper before you go.
You brew a pot of coffee. You hesitate by the counter. You won’t bother with breakfast. You’re not very hungry and you’ve wasted enough food.
You take a cup of coffee and drink it as you get ready for the day. Dusty grey trousers with an elastic band, a plain white blouse, and a knit vest over it in a similar shade to your bottoms. You step into your orthotic black flats and stare into the mirror.
More than Andy has changed. You’re older. A few new lines. Bigger. You have to wear the vest to hide how the blouse tugs around the buttons. Maybe with the extra money you can sign up for a gym membership. Working out at home never worked well for you.
You go back to the kitchen. Andy is drinking coffee and rubbing his head. He quickly drops his hand and blacks out the screen of his phone on the counter. He grumbles above his mug.
“How’s work?” You ask since he offers nothing.
“It’s work.” He says.
“Yeah.” You pause and watch him. He doesn’t look at you. “I think my job’s going okay.”
“Oh…? That’s good.” He intones dully. He checks his phone again. “I should get ready.”
You let him go. How are things so awkward with your own husband? You swear, your boss is easier to handle. Mr. Walker at least is blunt and direct.
Andy doesn’t take the food. Again. You take it with you. You’ll figure something out.
You get to headquarters and check in with your credentials. You continue up the elevator and shove your lunch into the fridge. You take the time as the coffee machine churns to get yourself focused.
You knock at Mr. Walker’s door before you enter. He’s inside, already scowling. He has a tablet in his hands, tapping at it in frustration. You put his coffee down. He doesn’t look up but he does thank you. His grizzled tone crawls into your ears. Did Andy even thank you for the coffee?
You go to the chair still against the wall and sit. You check the calendar in the secured phone app.
“Mr. Walker,” you pipe up cautiously as you lower the phone.
His eyes flick up.
“Is there anything you need for your meeting?” You ask.
His eyes cling to you and the corner of his lips twitch. “Nothing…” he looks back down. He sits up straight and you notice his shoulder is still off kilter. “Thank you.”
Footsteps echo from further down the hall. You listen through the wall as Walker sighs at his tablet. There’s an out of key whistling that grows closer with the slap of soles. Someone knocks at the door.
“August. Toodaloo.”
You recognise the voice. It’s the agent you dealt with the first day. Fowler. Walker growls and rubs his cheek.
“Damnit,” he growls.
You stand up and he watches you with a furrow. You don’t know what you’re doing either. You go to the door and open it only a little.
“Agent Fowler, is it?” You greet.
“Hey, there she is. You made it past the first day,” he puts his hand on the door frame and leans on one foot, trying to see past you. “Where’s Walker?”
“Busy.” You say. “I can pencil you in for later.
Fowler scoffs and eyes you up and down. “Excuse me?”
“He’s busy preparing for a meeting.” You insist. “Does one work for you?”
“Wow…” he whistles again. “Doll, I’m in that meeting too. Let me in.”
“I can’t. He’ll see you in the meeting.” Your heart pounds.
His eyes narrow and he pokes his tongue in his cheek. He rocks on his feet and drags his hand off the door frame. He nods.
“Hard ass,” he clucks. “Just like him.”
You don’t budge. You wait until he saunters away. You exhale and slowly shut the door. You turn back and sit down in the swivel chair. Walker is watching you.
“Sir, I…”
“Great job.” He says flatly and sits back, easing as he puts his gaze back to the tablet. “Guy’s unbearable.” He reaches for his cup. “Even when I have my coffee.”
You swallow and hold back a smile. You know that from someone like him, that’s a big deal. Hell, even from your husband, those words would make your day. Or any sort of acknowledgement or praise.
You wince. Don’t compare them. That’s home, this is work. Keep it separate. This is your thing. Your time away.
Maybe here, you’ll remember who you were before Andy made you into this boring cyborg.
Summary: Andy’s meeting with his assistant, brings him some news he can take to the DA.
Characters: Andy Barber, mentions of Lloyd Hansen
Pairing: Andy Barber x reader, mentions of Andy Barber x Laurie Barber
Warnings: Smut Minors DNI, Mob AU, affairs, Andy’s an ass, reader’s kind of sneaky.
A/N: Soooo this one kind of just became smut, I didn’t even mean for it to be, there was supposed to be plot here…I don’t know what happened. Special thanks to @krirebr for encouraging all of my ideas and reading this!
Warnings: this fic contains arranged marriage and suggestions of dubcon and noncon, as well as adultery. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
18+ only, explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
You voted, I wrote it. This is June 8th’s fic!
Andy Barber + “I'm tired of repeating myself.”
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Andrew takes his jacket off. Andy. That’s what he told you to call him. The metal on your finger presses into your flesh and you look down. You pinch the white stone through the lace glove and quickly pull your hands apart.
You exhale and look up as you sense movement. He puts his jacket over a hanger then tugs at his bowtie. Your eyes wander around the room. Dark hardwood and ivory curtains. The bed has canopies draped from the tall posts and the edges of the pillow cases are scalloped. From what you’ve seen of the massive house, it’s all intricately decorated. Nothing is out of place… but you.
He slings the bowtie over the bottom of the hanger and unbuttons his vest. Petals from the corsage still on his jacket flutter down to the carpet. He strips off the vest and you watch how his shoulders strain his white shirt.
He hangs the vest too as you stare at his thick neck and the neat trim of his beard. Your ankle bends. As you fix your stance, your heel clunks and draws his attention. He looks at you and you wince.
“Relax,” he says as he pulls free the tails of his shirt from trousers.
You nod. He nears as his shirt hangs slack. He stops in front of you and takes your hand. He peels off the lace gloves, tugging each finger delicately. He strips them both away and sets them aside. You tremble.
“Honey, please… relax.” He says again.
You’re trying but you can’t even say so. Your chest is so tight. This is the man you’ll spend the rest of your life with and you just met him five hours ago.
He takes your hands again. He kisses each knuckle, each time looking at you. Your hands are heavy like stone. He squeezes them, rubbing his thumbs along the back.
“Re-lax.” He insists.
You curl your fingers and straighten them. You just can’t get the tension out. He lets your hands fall and gets even closer. He traces the off-the-shoulder neckline down to your body and trails down to the skirt. He pinches the fabric and purrs.
He drags his hand around your hip as he circles you. He stands behind you. You shiver. He undoes the top button of the dress. You gasp.
He continues down the buttons, plucking each one free of the loop. He stops halfway and grips the fabric. He jerks you.
“I’m tired of repeating myself.” He growls. He yanks and the rest of the buttons scatter as the dress slackens entirely. “I said relax.” He pushes the bodice down to your waist. You pull your arms free of the sleeves and squirm. “I’m being nice.”
“I’m sorry,” you eke out and clasp your hands in front of your lacy strapless bra.
He shoves the dress until the skirts heap around your ankles and calves. You look down as you twist, the lacy thong high on your hips and exposing your ass and most of your pelvis. He touches your bare back and drags his touch up your sides. He squeezes and growls.
“You said it. You made the vow.” He drawls into your hair. He reaches to touch the gem-covered clip. “You said you’re mine.” He strokes down your cheek and opens his hand to frame your chin. He nuzzles the rim of your ear. “So why are you acting so scared?”
You shake as he presses himself to your back.
“It’ll only hurt more if you don’t relax.” He enunciates the last word harshly, his other hand slipping down along the front of your panties.
Warning: possible adultery, neglect, angry men, dark elements….
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: August Walker, side of Andrew Barber
Summary: You find a cold reception at your new job, but it’s not much better than your home life.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
“Mr. Walker.” You enter the office only after he calls for you to.
You approach carefully and set down the coffee cup in front of him. He squints at it and narrows his eyes. He points at the logo and tilts his head.
“I was grabbing one for myself. I figured… wouldn’t have to make a mess here.” You explain.
You didn’t think twice about it. As you sat in the drive through, the extra three bucks for a second coffee was instinct. You felt wrong showing up with only one for yourself.
He sits back. He glances at your empty hands. You look down.
“I left it in the kitchen. Didn’t wanna spill in here.” You put your hands behind you. Oh no. You feel your pants squeezing around your stomach. “Is there anything I can do to get the day started, sir?”
He looks down and clucks. He shakes his head. He rolls his chair closer to his desk and leans on his elbow, then jolts and sits up. He rubs his shoulder and snarls at his large monitor.
You back up and resume your vigil against the wall. You look down at the floor and shift, trying to cover the scuffed toes of your brown flats with the wide legs of your trousers. You hold in a sigh.
You hoped this job would help you feel more useful. It just feels like you’re just as unwanted here as at home. Despite every effort, you just can’t find a place for yourself.
Mr. Walker groans and shifts in his seat. He winces, thick neck straining, jaw tensing. He moves his arm gingerly and leans on the other. You look away before you can get caught staring.
Once he finishes the coffee, you clear away the cup. As you go to throw it away, you sip your own lukewarm drink waiting in the kitchen. You don’t take too long but as you come back to the office, the door is open and your boss is gone.
You stand by the wall and sway nervously. Maybe he’s going to talk to HR and get you tossed out. No one wants a shadow looming around and doing nothing.
A strange noise tickles your nerves. You turn and watch Mr. Walker push a chair through the door. He turns it toward you and rolls it up right beside you. He doesn’t look at you or say a word. He just points to the seat and marches back to his own.
He sits. You do too. Cautiously.
“Thank you, sir.” You say.
He doesn’t answer. You fold your hands and tap your toe anxiously. Silence fills the space and scrapes in your ears. You can hear his stomach growl and he clears his throat as he taps on his mouse.
He finally says something as the clock hits twelve. He tells you to take a break. You finish your cold coffee as you wander outside of the oppressive confidential hallways.
You don’t know this area well. There’s a familiar logo down at the corner. You head down to the pharmacy and drop your empty cup in a bin near the door. You stroll through the bright white aisles as 80s music drones around you.
Not much of a selection. You grab what you can find and pay at the counter. You can only imagine why the ridiculous thing is on clearance.
You head back to work. Hopefully you’re not so early that you infringe on Mr. Walker’s time.
You wait out the hour as you unpack your purchase and heat it up in the microwave. You take it out as the hot beans sewn into the soft sheath warm your hand. You return to Mr. Walker’s office and knock. He grunts.
You let yourself in as he stays behind his monitor. Your stomach swirls. You slowly lower the stuffed oxen with its fuzzy mane and try to hide it behind your back. This was stupid.
“What’re you hiding?” He asks without looking up.
You clear your throat and jerk in surprise. You cross the office and slowly reveal the heat bag in the form of the furry muskox. Your lips slant.
“For your shoulder.”
He slowly tears his eyes from the monitor and stares at the creature. “My shoulder?”
You bite your lip and nod. “Sorry, sir. I saw the way… you’re favouring it. I thought heat might help.”
He’s silent as he considers the animal. “Why?”
“No one should be in pain and… I guess I need something to do. I’m here to help you.” You look down and turn over the ox. “Unless you don’t want it. If I’m… I can hand in my resignation if I’m in the way. I thought…” you shake your head. “Sorry, sir.”
He taps his fingers lightly on the space bar without pressing it. He reaches over and puts his hand under yours. He touches the ox with his thumb and slowly slides it from your grasp. He looks it over then lays it on his shoulder; balancing it there.
He sits back and his shoulder slackens, just a little. He hums.
“Appreciated.” He turns his attention back to the screen.
“It’s… nothing.” You go back to the chair and sit.
It’s quiet again. You swivel a few times then stop yourself before you can annoy him. Your eyes wander around the office and you twiddles your thumbs.
“Barber,” he calls you by your married name.
“Sir?”
“If you’re… not too busy, another coffee?”
“Yes, sir.” You stand. “Anything else I can get you? Have you eaten?”
He doesn’t answer. You wince.
“I… I should mind my business. Habit.” You correct yourself and head for the door.
You leave and exhale as the door shuts. It’s something. Just a little bit of progress.
Coffee. As small as that is, it’s not nothing. If he can’t find a use for you, you’ll just need to find it for yourself.
Andy making you apologize to HIM for making him take you so hard. It's your fault he's being rough and demanding! How dare you make him lose his composure like this?! 😇
Sorry for What
Warning: non/dubcon.
"You just had to flirt with him."
Andy fists your hair as he pushes you into the wall. You bare your teeth as you shove his chest. The toes of your shoes scrape on the floor.
"We're not together!" You hiss.
"Not... Don't play with me," he snarls as he forces his knees between yours.
The din roars from the next room as you stand in the flickering light of the back hall. Glasses clink loudly and pool balls clack. No one can hear your whimpers.
"We're not--"
"You come into my bar and tell me how it is?" He sneers as he brushes his nose along your temple. He inhales your scent and growls. "You could go anywhere else, sweetheart."
"Get off of me." You dig your nails into his shirt as his leather jacket tickles your knuckles.
"You don't have to be here..." He bends and nips your ear. "You're toying with me, huh? Want me to show you how bad I need you."
"No, get-- I'll-- I'll go." You push on him helplessly. He's too strong, too big.
"Fuck, I need you. I hurt so bad for you." He grits. "Is that why you came, huh? To make me beg?"
"No, I didn't... I didn't know--"
You wriggle and turn your head away from him. He bows down and bites your neck. You whine.
"Stop, Andy. I wanna go--"
"Too late, baby. You knew what you were doing to me." His hand stretches around the other side of your neck. "I'm not gonna apologise for wanting you."
"Please, please," you beg as you slap his shoulders.
His other hand creeps up your leg. You bat your lashes, tears tingling along the brims of your eyes. You didn't come here for him. You just wanted a drink.
"I'm not sorry." He growls as he rubs the front of your panties. "Not for this."
He pushes against the sheer thong and groans. "You didn't wear these for me, huh?" He leans his pelvis against his hand and tilts his hips. He breathes you in and exhales along the crook of your neck.
"Say your sorry, honey."
"Andy," you gasp as his fingers slip under your panties.
"Fucking say it." He flicks between your lips and back to your entrance. He teases you as his hips pump in perfect mimicry of fucking you. Each thrust has his fingers slipping a into you. "Say your sorry."
You whimper and grip the seam across the shoulders of his jacket. "I... I'm sorry. Please, I wanna go home--"
"What the fuck..." He runs his nose up your neck and along your chin. "Are you sorry for?"
You wince and your tears spill over. "I don't know."
He crushes his mouth to yours and snarls. You shake against him as your arms collapse from the pressure of his weight. He tugs your lip between his teeth between he parts.
He leans down to whisper in your ear. "You're gonna be sorry for what I do to that pussy." He grabs your chin and rams his fingers into you. "You're making me do this, baby." He licks from your chin to your forehead and trembles. "You need me to put you in your fucking place." He trails his nose along your hairline. "And that's on my dick"
Warning: age gap, verbal and physical abuse, dark elements….
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: silverfox!Andy Barber (mob au)
Note: If you’ve got a problem with slow burn then you’ve got a problem with me and I suggest you let that one marinate.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
You feel the world shifting and lurch awake. You rub your eyes as you yawn. You look over at Everly, the blankets snug around her figure. You can tell she’s asleep by the slow rise and fall of her shoulder. You drag your hand down your face and exhale.
You slept, somewhat, sitting up. Your back is stiff and your legs are cramped.
You shimmy to the edge of the bed and stare at the wall. You gather your will drop by drop. Things just have to be done. That’s how life has always been. It’s the only reason you got this far. Wanting to do anything is irrelevant.
You stretch the kinks out as best as you can and get up. You change your clothes in silence. You look at Everly. You should let her rest.
You go down to the kitchen and brew coffee in your french press. It was cheaper than a machine and not too difficult to figure out. Once you have your mug, you think you might have been better to have some tea.
You prop your chin up in your hand, your other around the warmth of the mug, and sink into your dread. The image of Everly sticks in your brain. You could never imagine her looking like that. Not just the bruises and the cuts. No, that flicker in her eyes. That fear, that disbelief.
When they hit you, it hurts, but what’s worse is that storm that comes with it. How you blame yourself, how weak you feel, how helpless you are. All you can hope is that the damage isn’t too bad and remember… Remember next time not to make them mad.
You sniff as your eyes tingle. It’s one thing for it to happen to you but to see someone else like that, it’s rough. The nights your mom sat in the bathroom and cried, holding and ice pace to her cheek… Those moments make you hate her less. You understand then why she could never stick around.
You take your coffee down the hall. Odella opens her door as you approach. You freeze in spot.
“Hi, uh…” You gulp. “There’s some leftover coffee if you want it…”
She hums but doesn’t reply. She emerges and brushes by you with a cluck. You go into your room and shut the door gently. You put the mug on your dresser and open the top drawer. You take a wash cloth and the small zip-up pouch full of odds and ends.
You shuffle through cotton swabs and pads. You lightly sit next to Everly on the bed and touch her arm. She groans. You feel her tense.
“Ev,” you say gently and she relaxes.
She opens her eyes. The left one is purple and black but not as swollen. She rolls onto her back and sighs.
“I thought you were…” She sniffles. “I forgot I was here.”
“That’s okay,” you keep your voice low. “I just want to get you cleaned up, okay? You got a nasty cut.”
She flutters her lashes and nods. She pushes the blankets down to her waist and sits up. You stand and leave your handful beside her. You go to your dresser and pull out another drawer. You bring her a power blue sweatshirt with a tattered neckline.
“It’ll have to do,” you say.”
She thanks you and pulls it on. Her hands linger on the fabric. “It’s cozy.”
Really? It’s worn out and barely holding together. You think you got that in your first year of high school. A handmedown from your aunt.
You sit by her again.
“There’s advil in there somewhere,” you move the pouch next to her. “You still have some water.”
The glass stands on the night table, mostly untouched. You uncap the peroxide as she leans against the headboard. You wet the cloth and shift closer. You hesitate.
“It’s going to hurt.” You warn.”
“It already does,” she chuckles.
You purse your lips and make yourself press the cloth down. She winces as you clean away the flaked blood. You dab around it and examine all the damage.
“I should have witch hazel left for the bruising,” you mutter. You lower your hand and fold up the cloth. “And some ice.” You shake your head. “I’m not used to–” You stop yourself and cringe. “Never mind.”
“I know. It’s bad.” She plays with the cuff of the sweatshirt.
“Yeah,” you nod. Her lips tug down. You know what she’s thinking. “Everly, it’s not your fault. No one deserves this.”
Her cheeks pinch and her eyes glimmer. “If I’d just been quiet–”
“No,” you say firmly. “No. We don’t deserve these things and we will survive them.” You put your hands on hers. Your stomach flips and your throat locks up. “Ev,” you squeeze her hand. “This is the first time I’ve had to do this for someone else. My mom never let me… and doing it in a mirror can be a bit… disorienting.”
Her unswollen eye widens. “What?”
You shrug. “I’m just letting you know, I’ve been there and I’m here for you now.”
“Oh, hon,” she pouts. “I never thought… but you’re so nice.”
“Don’t,” you scrunch up your nose. “Like I said, neither of us deserve this. No one does.” You look down and take a breath. “I’m not going to classes. I can’t. I’m gonna stay here with you.” You peek up at her. “I know that I would’ve loved someone just to be there.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. “And I’m–”
“Don’t be sorry. He should be.” You insist. “Everly, you can’t go back to him.”
She’s quiet. You cringe. You shake your head and move closer.
“Everly,” you enunciate. “You have to promise me you won’t–”
“We’re getting married,” she croaks.
“Married? You’re nineteen and look at you,” you retort. “Please, don’t. I’ve seen how these things go. You deserve so much better and you can have so much better.” You turn and sit next to her. “And if you do, if you go back to him,” your voice cracks. “I will go myself and make sure he never touches you again.”
Her expression pales and she blinks, “what?”
“I mean it, Everly. I would. Whatever I need to do, I would–”
“No. I have to– I– He would hurt you too.”
“He won’t hurt you again. Never.” You growl. “Everly. Do you have your phone?”
She looks down and her shoulders slump. She lets go of you and reaches under the blankets. She pulls out her cell and holds it out. She won’t meet your eye.
You flip up the screen and see the conversation already open. A million apologies, her begging, her promising to be better. You bite down as your nose flares. You tap your thumb around the screen.
“Blocked.” You say. “This…” You wag the phone at her. “Is on lock down for the rest of the day.”
“But… he’ll be mad–”
“He’s not even answering you,” you snip. “You’re staying here and you’re going to rest. Heal.” You lean against her and rub her back. “And we’re going to watch your cheesy history show with all the sexy scenes. Alright?”
“Oh my god!” She chirps. “You are so lame. It’s called Bridgerton.”
“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “It’s just you and me today, okay?”
“Okay,” she giggles. “I promise, I’ll be good.”
“Right, well, coffee?” You bounce off the bed and go to get your mug. “I gotta say, my head feels like a nail under a hammer.”
“Do you have matcha?” She asks.
You nearly snort. “Coffee, green tea, or chamomile. Sorry.”
“Chamomile? That sounds nice,” she smiles.
“Sure, I’ll get that for you,” you pause to sip your coffee then set it down.
“Um, and uh, one more thing,” she draws you back before you can open the door. You glance over your shoulder. “Promise me you won’t tell daddy. He can’t know.”
You flinch at the mention of Andy. You’d been avoiding the thought but he loomed over you all night. You don’t know if you can keep this from him. Even if you just want him to stay away. This is his daughter and you don’t know if he’d forgive you for hiding this.
All that doesn’t matter. Today is not about them. It’s about you and Everly. It’s about getting through.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: silverfox!Andy Barber (mob au)
Note: If you’ve got a problem with slow burn then you’ve got a problem with me and I suggest you let that one marinate.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
You’ve never been in this building. As Professor Smith guides you, a tinge of doubt swarms your stomach. He wouldn’t do anything…
Cinnamon tickles your nose as you turn the corner. A bronze and black facade greets you with bold font. The tea house is tucked away in the lower level but not entirely empty. It’s steady but not chaotic like the student centre.
“Wow, this place is cool,” you utter mindlessly.
“It is not inhospitable,” he intones. “They’ve matcha. I hear that is popular among the students.”
“Thanks but I don’t like the taste of grass,” you kid. He doesn’t smile or laugh. You don’t know why you expected him to. “Er, I like Assam.” You sniff and read the menu as you approach the counter.
“I do recommend the scones.” He shifts the leather folder by his hip and peruses the glass case of desserts. You think just a tea is more in budget.
“Ladies first,” Smith nods to the counter. You hesitate. You shake away the echo of another voice.
You smile sheepishly and step up to the till. “Hi, uh, may I get just a small Assam tea, please and thanks?”
“Alright, Assam. Is that sit-in?”
“It will be,” Smith says. “And two of your cranberry white chocolate scones, with my usual.”
“Oh, hello, Raymond. Did you just finish classes?” The employees asks.
“Yes, it was a rather productive lesson… I hope,” he takes out his wallet. “It will be together.”
“Professor, I–” You begin.
Before you can protest, his card is in the reader. You bite your lip and tap your fingers on your pant leg.
“Uh, thank you, sir. You didn’t have to–”
“Not a bother.” He insists. “Fine chance I ran into you. My star pupil.”
“Heh, oh, I don’t know–”
“I do.” He insists as you sidle along to wait for your order. “That course always underperforms. You broke the record though. A high B. With the curve, you’ll bounce up another letter grade.”
“Uh, yeah, but… I’d like to do better.” You look at the barista and thank her as she places two saucers with scones on the counter.
“You’re not meant to. Learning isn’t very fruitful if you’re not challenged.” He drawls. “Multiple choice is truly just a lottery. The luckiest fool could pass.”
“I guess,” you say.
“I assume you aren't in my course for fun,” he prompts.
“Um, not really.” You shrug. “Required for my degree.”
“Microbiology, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Quite a workload.” He stops to nod his appreciation to the barista as she sets down his tea by the scone. “Second year?”
“Yes,” you answer. “Too late to go back, right?”
“Is there something you'd rather study?” He asks.
“Not particularly. I guess… I chose something that would be useful.” You say. “Had to. It's… it's all I got, really.”
The barista sets down your tea and you thank her. You pick it up with the scone and let Smith lead you to a table. He's swift as he places his cup and saucer down, then pulls out a chair for you.
You put your things down and sit. A dribble of tea runs down the side of the cup. He takes the seat across from you and snatches up a napkin.
He quickly dabs up the trickle. He folds the used napkin and places it nearly aside. He reaches into his jacket and takes out a small bottle. He squeezes the sanitizer in his hand. The scent stings your nose. He offers some to you. You accept awkwardly.
He doesn't stop though. He takes out a packet of wipes and cleans the table, lifting each dish to do so. You watch him furiously. Well, it sure makes sense he reaches germ theory.
“Can never be too safe.” He puts the wipe with the napkin and resanitizes.
“Of course,” you say. “Well, thank you. This is a lovely treat.”
“I must thank you for joining me. I haven't the pleasure often and few I'd stomach with my tea.” He snorts softly.
“Hm, uh, thanks.” You blow over your tea. “It's nice… been a long… week.”
You peer around as a man enters. His suit tweaks something in your mind. You shake it off and refocus.
“Uh… midterms,” you say. “Lot of studying.”
“Of course.” He nods. “I didn't attend school in these parts, if you couldn't guess.” He alludes to his accent. “We didn't much have the like. It was more practicals or essays. Still, a rather bit of work. And the culture… yes, if you think there is excess here, you would blush at a pub over there.”
“Do in you miss it?” You ask.
“Ah, at times. Others I curse the place.” He scoffs.
You sip your tea as the man in the suit sits in the corner with a single cookie. He doesn't touch it as it sits on a saucer. You blink and push away the oddness. It's just that his suit is so… it just doesn't fit. He's too old to be a student but he just doesn't look like a professor. Or even a dean.
“I've never been further than here,” you say. “Maybe one day.”
“Perhaps,” he agrees as he sips his tea.
You sit back as you feel a vibration in your pocket. You reach to slip your hand around your phone and hold the volume down button. He watches you.
“If it's important…” he says.
“It's not.” You assure him.
“Are you sure?” He wonders as his eyes stray to the man in the corner. He tilts his chin.
“Sure,” you utter flatly as you nape prickles. You sit up straighter. “Um, do you know who that is?”
He looks at you with his blue eyes and drinks his tea. He places the cup down with a clink.
“Please, enjoy the scone. They are always delicious.” He insists.
You shift and cross your arms. Something's off. You can't place it. You glance over at the man in the suit. He's staring at you.
“He's watching me…” You say quietly.
Smith grins. “He's harmless.”
You frown. “What? What do you–”
He raises his hand and shows his palm to the man, “Fowler. You needn't be so obvious.”
The other man chuckles and sits back. Your stomach twists. You don't understand what's going on.
Fowler… you've heard that name before. You pull out your phone and check the screen. Messages. Too many.
“Do you mind if I take the scone to go… I should get back to studying–”
“Don't be rude,” his tone deepens. “Sit and enjoy.” He slides his hand into his jacket pocket.
You stare at him as he pulls out his phone. He aims the lens at you. You furrow your brow.
“What are you doing?” You lean back and scrape the chair back.
“Consider it a wellness check.” He puts his phone away and checks his watch.
“A wellness–”
You choke on your words. You know now. Fowler. The electronics store.
“You know… Andy Barber?”
He chortles and leans forward, lifting his cup between two hands.
“The tea will get cold,” he says.
“How do you know him?” You ask.
He clucks. “All you need to know, dear, is we were sent to look after you.” He takes a slow sip. “To make sure you're nice and safe.” He glances down at the phone in your hand. “The boss doesn't like to be ignored. He gets a bit antsy.”
“What?” You hiss again. Your mind is reeling.
You shake your head and stand. You put the phone face down on the table as he sits up. His expression darkens.
“You can give him that back,” you swing your bag onto your shoulder. “If you follow me, I'll scream.”
You spin around and stop short. The baristas are watching you but they aren't concerned. In fact, they're stone-faced. It's eerie. Like the whole shop is centered around just you.
You gulp and stomp out. Your chest is throbbing and your vision is a tunnel. You need to get out of there. Now.
