Andy + “This is exactly what you wanted, and we both know it.”
Looks like someone is in the mood to poke the bear 🤭
Andy's hands were heavy on your body, turning you, lifting you, forcing you into the positions he wanted. At the beginning, you had tried to resist, but Andy was so much stronger that you didn't have a chance.
Now he had you on your knees, with your face pressed down into the mattress. Pitiful moans of protest came from your lips, but they were weak, and Andy didn't take notice of them.
But then his palm landed at the low of your back, and instinctively you curved your back towards the bed under you, which in turn caused his dick to hit right at your G-spot.
You were so overstimulated at that point that you tried to move away, the pleasure being so close to pain that your body tried to run from it. Andy scoffed and pulled you right back, back onto his hard cock, and a loud protesting whine left you.
"This is exactly what you wanted, and we both know it," he said before giving your ass a hard slap.
And it was, but you'd never admit that out loud. You knew exactly what you'd been doing when you provoked him, and had kept doing it even when he'd started fucking you, but it was all worth it now.
A/N: i just wanted to take extra time to forewarn readers: this chapter is rough. it contains depictions of emotional, psychological and physical abuse. please be prepared for those things before continuing. i normally write very dark content, but i feel like i take a lot of liberties with…let’s call it magical realism, but in a dark way. i went very literal here, and if you would like to skip it, that’s fine. you can scroll to the rose, and that will signal the end of what *i* consider to be the worst offenses. take care of yourselves and remember that only you can be responsible for your own media consumption.
“We’re going to have to have an unpleasant conversation. I think you know that.” Your clothes are laid out on the bed, waiting for you when you get out of the shower Andy insisted you take. He is seated at the foot of it with steepled fingers and brows furrowed as he watches you emerge from the bathroom. For a moment he says nothing else, the rage simmering beneath his calm exterior is loud enough already.
You cling to your towel with trembling fists, naked and terrified beneath it. Strangely, you wish you could have gotten dressed before, as if thin barriers of cloth would be enough to shield you from Andy’s rage. Instead, you stand before him bare and cowering, waiting for the punishment you know is coming.
“Please answer me when I speak to you, Honey, let’s not make this hard.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good girl. Come here.” You’re afraid to, your knees tensing as your thighs tremble with the effort not to move. With jerky steps you inch closer until you’re close enough to reach out and touch him. “You haven’t been eating enough, Honey.” Andy clucks his tongue, shaking his head. “Not getting enough rest, either, I imagine.” He places a hand on your thigh, fingering the edge of the towel. Slowly he inches it up, revealing the damp skin beneath. You almost want to stop him as he pushes it up over the curve of your hip, your fingers twitching as he exposes you carelessly.
“You took my daughter from her home. You abandoned your family. You broke your vows.” He continues upward, over the gentle swell of your belly, between your breasts and then wrenches the towel from you, throwing it to the floor. You flinch, whimpering as you throw your hands up to protect from a blow that doesn’t come.
“Am I missing anything?” When you don’t respond, his lip curls. “Honey, I am trying so hard to be patient with you but you are really starting to piss me off.” He grits the last part out through clenched teeth.
“N-no.”
“Oh? I think I am.” His grip is bruising as he turns your head forcibly to the side, pushing back the curtain of your hair. “Was he good, at least?” Your stomach goes cold, and you attempt to stammer out an answer.
“N—I don’t know w-what you mean, Andy, I—” He jerks your head to the side viciously.
“The evidence is right fucking here.” His thumb presses against the side of your throat hard enough to hurt. Andy fits his other hand against your hip, a painful, crude mockery of Ari’s loving touch. “And here.” You hadn’t noticed the bruises, the marks he had left behind. But Andy had seen them, keen eyes picking them out. He pushes you away roughly and you yelp as you trip over your own stiff legs. “No apology? Typical. I’m sure you’ll say we were on a break,” he sneers. “Or not together, right?” Andy squats down. “That one is your fucking favorite.”
You’re cowering against the dresser—you don’t even remember getting to your knees. You stay there, making yourself as small as you can. Not for the first time you think of last year’s Christmas, wondering why you had ever let him back in. How had you forgotten the way his gentle hands turned hard as stone when you stood your ground? The dizzying terror of his anger?
“Stop that.” He snaps, lip curling as he watches you shrink. “I haven’t hit you. I haven’t ever hit you.” You want to say that pushing you around isn’t any better, but you don’t. In fact, even thinking the words feels like a crime.
“I’m sorry,” You’re on the verve of hyperventilation, your chest moving rapidly up and down as you try to find the words to placate his rage. Andy looms in your vision, his handsome face a cold, blank mask. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you even know what you’re sorry for?” Andy cocks his head at you. “Do you?”
“I—I was wrong. I was c-confused and scared and I should have trusted you and I’m sorry.” He leans in close, playing with a lock of your damp hair. You flinch when he reaches for you. “A-Andy please—”
“That’s a very good apology, Honey. I’m afraid I just don’t believe it.” He sighs. “You never answered me.”
“What?”
“Was. He. Good.” His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, colder too. You want to look away, to cower, but for the sake of your lie—perhaps your life—you don’t.
“N-no.” Now you do, eyes flicking down to your trembling hands before moving back up to his face. “He hurt me.” For too many heartbeats, Andy is quiet. He stares at his ring, twisting it on his finger.
“I told you what other men are like, Honey.” He grips your chin again, but softer this time, shaking his head. His thumb traces over your bottom lip. “Why do you insist on running from me when I’m only trying to do what’s best for you? This is twice now.” He’s counting your breakup, the one you had requested—the one he had refused to give you, the one you had had to take for yourself in the quiet hours, what few things you could carry in garbage bags in the back of your car.
“It’s a pattern with you, Honeybee. Things get hard, you get scared, you pack up, you leave. Our family can’t take that.” Our family. “Jake cried himself to sleep half the nights you were gone. Thinks you hate him.” He shakes his head, clucking his tongue. When you don’t answer, he raises an eyebrow silently, and you find yourself scrambling for words.
“I-I-I don’t, I—” Your throat feels tight, and it’s a struggle to make even the smallest sound. “I love Jacob.” He’s a sweet boy—you know he has no idea what a monster Andy is, what he’s capable of.
🥀
“Do you? Because you dropped our son like trash.” He hisses, poking a hard finger into your shoulder as you press yourself against the dresser, naked and afraid. “You’re hurting us, Honey. You’re hurting everyone.” He wants to say more, you know, but as his mouth opens again, an ear-splitting cry through the baby monitor makes the both of you jump. Your chest seizes.
“Dove, Dove—” Andy’s firm hand on your shoulder stops you.
“You stay here. You’re a mess, you’re not even dressed.” He sighs, shaking his head as if he hadn’t just spent the better part of an hour yelling directly into your face. He gets up, dusting off his knees.
“Please, Andy,” you whimper. “Please, I’ll do anything, just, just let me see her, please?” You reach for his pant leg with trembling fingers. “Please, I’ll be good. I’ll be s-so good, I promise—” He sighs again, deeply, and shakes you off.
“Finally, something out of your mouth I can trust.” He picks up the monitor. “Get up and put some clothes on. Maybe when you’re presentable.” The door closes with a cold finality, and before you realize it you’re sobbing, dry heaving as you curl into a ball on the rug.
I deserve this.
I did this.
—
The secretary at the front desk of Brighton and Brighton’s Country Homes looks at Ari nervously.
“And you’re… you’re with the cops?” She asks, a flicker of doubt crossing her plastic features. He hasn’t had to use the badge in a long time, not in his current line of work, but the fake is still good, especially on people who’ve never seen the real thing. He flashes it from the inside of his jacket, and her over-full lips press together as she swallows audibly.
“I’ll get Mr. Brighton.”
“Yes, why don’t you?” He leans against the desk, looming over her. It doesn’t feel good to intimidate her, but it is necessary. A week. It had taken him three horrible days to pick through the recent high-profile home sales in the state, cross referencing the names of the buyers and realtors with his growing list of Barber’s associates.
He’d dreamt of you every night this week, waking with a hole in his chest every morning. You’re alive—you have to be. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if you aren’t. Well, that isn’t strictly true. He knows what he’ll do—just not how. He knows he’ll make it hurt, though, make it slow the way he couldn’t do with Peter. Real slow. The secretary—her name tag says Elaine—gets up, heels clicking against the tile as she stalks into the office.
He doesn’t even wait for her to be out of sight before he climbs into the uncomfortable seat behind the desk, counting backwards from one-hundred. The appointment book in front of him is open, and he scans the names signed there beneath the big cursive IN. Eighty-one. He only has to go back three pages to find it—A. Barber, June 25th.
Seventy-five.
The pile of recent acquisitions takes him too long to sort through, he’s down to thirty when he finds it, the file with Andy’s name. He opens it to make sure, and the loopy scrawl of his signature is there at the bottom. For the first time in a week, Ari smiles. I’m coming Mouse.
He’s gone when Elaine comes back with a sweating and nervous Bill Brighton in tow, the realtor already practicing his lines. Ari sits in his car just outside, staring at the manila folder in his lap. It’s a six bedroom monstrosity five hours out into the exact middle of nowhere, according to the paper map he’d snatched from a gas station—he knows better than to have a phone with him, not now.
Not with what he plans to do.
It’s familiar, this feeling, these plans. He knows it shouldn’t be, shouldn’t feel this normal to study the blueprints of another man’s house. Shouldn’t feel this necessary. It’s better than thinking about what Andy’s doing to you, the punishment he knows is surely raining down on your head like fire from heaven. He can’t think about that.
His knuckles are still bloody from the last time he did, skinned and bruised and the deposit on the shitty motel room washed away down the drain with the blood. Sorry about the wall. You’re alive—you have to be.
You have to be.
He knows you don’t think Andy will do it, not really—no one ever does. His hands tighten on the file. No one thinks they’re capable of taking a life until s they do it, watching someone else’s eyes go dark and cold because you have to know they can’t hurt anyone else—he hopes you never have to know that feeling. He’d made his peace with it when he’d joined the military, made his peace with it the first time he’d fired his gun close range, the first time he’d seen blood spray in the air—it was darker than he’d thought it would be. Thicker. He doesn’t want you to carry that.
Ari’s strong enough to carry it for the both of you.
When he gets back to the motel room, a two hour drive back out of Pittsburgh, he looks up the directions. It’s complicated to reach, Andy’s little love-nest, like he doesn’t want to be found. He probably doesn’t, not that it matters to Ari. He studies the maps for hours, slowly memorizing each turn. And then a few hours more going over the back roads, all the alternate ways—all the ways that aren’t ways at all, the surrounding woods and valleys.
Just in case.
I promise. I’m coming.
Your story isn’t on the news anymore, and Ari knows it’s because Andy’s made it so—it isn’t hard to get the news stations to run what you want when you’ve defended two dozen congressmen, senators, billionaires. He wants it to be quiet when you’re “found”, slip it in beneath all the other noise.
It’s hard to sleep, lying in the uncomfortable motel bed, the neon sign outside flashing brightly into his room despite the closed curtains. Truth be told, he’d thought this part of him—the part that goes soft at the sight of you, and Dove—had been carved out, laid to rest with Peter. It’s been a shock to feel it bloom again. It’s been a long time since he actually wanted something, wanted someone, instead of just… floating. He supposes that’s what he’s been doing, just… floating. But you, you anchor him. And maybe, just maybe, he anchors you, too.
—
Andy holds dove in his lap, bouncing her on one knee as he juggles feeding both her and himself. Your own dinner is long cold, your hands tangled in the napkin on your lap. You twist it until the fabric creaks, listening to her fuss and whine. Dove reaches chubby little hands towards you, pushing the brightly colored spoon of mashed pumpkin away again.
“Dovey you have to eat,” Andy says sternly, repositioning her on his lap.
He still hasn’t let you hold her. You’d thought that just being in the same room, being able to see her might be good enough but it isn’t. Your chest tightens and aches as she begins to wail, and you raise a hand to your chest, fingers curling into your shirt. Except seeing your daughter as she cries for you is a more acute form of torture than you ever could have imagined.
“Andy…” His name escapes your lips without you meaning for it to, and his head snaps up, lips pressed into a thin line. “I—I could, I could help,” Your voice is barely more than a whisper.
“No.” Your eyes fill with desperate, angry tears as your gaze drops to your plate. You hear Andy rise from the table, the clink of his silverware as he picks up his plate. “You stay here.” Obediently you stare at the table until he leaves the dining room, the weight of his unspoken reprimand resting on you so heavily you fear you might collapse.
You manage to swallow a few mouthfuls of steak, the mashed potatoes like cold glue on your tongue. When Andy comes back, it’s without Dove.
“Went down like a light after she ate her dinner,” he says as he settles back into his chair. “You should finish your food, Honey.” You force yourself to clean your plate while he watches. “You know, I was thinking. You’ve been so good, Honey. Would you like to sleep in the big bed? With me?” Your stomach goes cold, twisting with a violence that threatens to bring up the meal you’d only just finished forcing down.
No.
Andy blinks, cocking his head expectantly.
“I, I, I don’t know, Andy, I—”
“I’m your husband, aren’t I?” He drawls. “You missed me, didn’t you?” You try to answer, to speak, but there aren’t any words to reach for. “Or was that a lie?”
“I missed you.” The words feel clumsy in your mouth.
“Then get upstairs, Honey.” He leans over to brush his lips against your cheek. “Let me make you feel good.” You nearly sob, but you swallow it, stamping it down. Can I do that for you, Sweetheart? Can I make you feel good? You look down at your hands.
“Okay.”
Every step towards the bedroom feels like penance. It’s stupid to feel like you’re doing something wrong when Ari’s probably half the world away. He’s safe, safe from Andy, safe from you.
Neither of you can hurt him now.
The thought of Andy’s hands on your skin makes it crawl, gooseflesh rising on your neck as you drag yourself into the shower. Maybe if you make it take as long as possible he’ll forget, fall asleep. You pray to the ever silent sky that he does, that he will let you keep the very last thing you remember of Ari.
His gentle hands.
You stand under the water until Andy knocks. “You okay in there Honeybee?”
“Y-yes!”
You rub lotion into your skin, donning the little silk nightgown he’d left out for you while you await the inevitable. You close your eyes, imagining, remembering. His touch, his warmth, his voice. These are precious to you, beyond measure. So after a moment, you lock them away inside your head, folding the memories neatly and setting them somewhere safe.
Andy is waiting for you on the bed, a warm smile on his face.
“You’re so beautiful, Honey. No need to be shy.” He holds out his hand, beckoning you closer. He hasn’t touched you since you’ve gotten here, the hungry, wanting need you remember gloriously absent. He’s jealous of Ari, that much you know for sure, and you wonder if this is even about you at all—or just ownership. Andy hums, weighing your breasts in his hands through the slinky, thin fabric of your nightgown. They’re bigger since Dove, heavier. This thing Andy’d picked would’ve fit perfectly before, but now it’s short—tight.
“The baby looks so good on you, Honeybee,” he mumbles, cupping your ass with one hand as he rucks up the dress with the other, pushing it up over the curve of your hip. “Let’s put another in there, hmm?” You go cold, stiffening as he massages the cheeks of your ass with both hands, pressing heated kisses against your chest. “Fuck, Honey I missed you.”
The kisses he trails up the side of your neck make your skin crawl, and he chuckles at your shiver.
“Missed me too, didn’t you?”
Thank God.
“Y-yes.” Your body doesn’t even feel like it belongs to you as Andy touches and pulls and caresses, like you’re watching his hands on someone else. He worms his hand between your thighs, sliding his finger along the thin cotton covering your cunt. You aren’t wet, for once your body and mind are in agreement—this isn’t what you want.
“You’re so stiff, Honeybee.” Andy presses a hungry kiss to the side of your throat. “Just relax for me.”
You haven’t heard the sound of the doorbell before, a deep, almost groaning sound that travels through the house with enough force to make you jump. Nervously, you play with the hem of your nightgown as Andy looks up with an irritated huff.
“It’s okay, Honey. Just security.” He cups your breast again through the silky fabric, flicking his thumb across your half-hard nipple. “You stay right here.”
He shrugs into his discarded shirt but doesn’t waste time buttoning it before heading out of the bedroom, into the hallway and out of sight. You watch him go, nervousness building in your gut. You’ve been here just over a week now, and not once have the rotating staff of security guards rung the bell. Fear makes your heart into a hummingbird in your chest, beating a mile a moment as the seconds stretch into long minutes, and Andy doesn’t return. Something’s wrong—something’s very wrong.
No sooner than you think it your fears are confirmed by the gunshot, so loud and sharp that splits the night cleanly into two pieces—before and after. Fear makes everything sharp, the voices in the hall, Dove’s piercing wails. Andy’s rules be damned, you’re tugging on the doorknob to the adjacent room desperately before you’re even conscious of it.
“Dove, Dove—“ your baby is in the bassinet you’d picked out for her, the cream and yellow one Andy had protested, but bought. She’s lying on her blanket, squalling, her little cheeks blotchy and fists raised. You hesitate as you reach for her, Andy’s warnings ringing in your ears before you shake them away. “I’m here, Dovey, I’m right here.” You sob as you press her against your chest, breathing in the scent of her hair, tears leaking down your cheeks.
Holding her again almost makes you want to sink to your knees. It has been torture, being in the same rooms as her, unable to touch or hold her. There’s another gunshot, this time closer to the house. Dove begins to cry again, and you cradle her close, hushing her.
“Do you love your daughter?” That was one of the first questions Irene had ever asked you. The email thread is long since deleted, but you remember it with perfect clarity. “Because if you love her, you will leave.” The sounds of the chaos outside filter in through the closed windows, gunshots and shouting.
“You’ll remember what’s important. You’ll fight past the fear. You’ll leave.”
Can someone please help me find this fanfic bang chan x reader, reader has been wanting to experience different kinks and finds a website online where you can hire sex worker for the night, I think her best friends are Lee know and Hyunjin and they encourage to go and explore her kinks with a sw, the reader finds bangchan and signs up to spend the night with him. Im pretty sure felix was the receptionist and even hits on her.! I just remember it being really good and now I want to reread it 😩😩😩
Series Summary: When a run goes poorly, and Daryl is separated from his group, a stranger and her companion help get him out of a sticky situation. Little does Daryl know this stranger is much closer to home, and his life is going to get a bit more complicated
Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader (s3 - s11) (ongoing)
A/N: Thank you for checking out close to home, it means the world to me 🖤 I've been going back and forth about diving into fanfiction, and I'm really excited about this! I think this will be a nice slow-burn angsty-type story. This will follow the entirety of the show--so if you have not finished the show, there will be spoilers!! Plot arcs, events, and character deaths will be spoiled, so read at your own risk!!
Warnings will be mostly chapter specific, but some general warnings for the story are adult language/content, sexual assault/mentions of assault, violence, descriptions of blood/injury, character deaths, and all of the typical TWD content. The story will mostly follow the TWD plotline with mild canon divergence. Therefore there will be plot lines and dialogue from the show. Additionally, there will be background information for the reader and mild descriptions of her features, but they can be ignored! Basically, the reader is almost like an oc, but self-insert for the most part lol
I try to post every day, but I do work full time so sometimes I might be unable to.
Chapter Directory (1-45)
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
chapter ten
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen
chapter eighteen
chapter nineteen
chapter twenty
chapter twenty one
chapter twenty two
chapter twenty three
chapter twenty four
chapter twenty five
chapter twenty six
chapter twenty seven
chapter twenty eight
chapter twenty nine
chapter thirty
chapter thirty one
chapter thirty two
chapter thirty three
chapter thirty four
chapter thirty five
chapter thirty six
chapter thirty seven
chapter thirty eight
chapter thirty nine
chapter forty
chapter forty one
chapter forty two
chapter forty three
chapter forty four
chapter forty five
CONTINUED CHAPTER DIRECTORY (46-ongoing)
Summary: He's cool, smart, attractive... and completely out of your league. But that won't stop you from falling head over heels for him. (alt. jeon wonwoo is mr. darcy incarnated… a fumbling nerd turned popular kid)
Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!Reader
Genre: High School AU, fluff
A/N: this one goes out to all the book nerds -- i did this for us besties. this was loosely based on an anime i watched, but i lost the plot at some point oops
complete!
masterlist || the playlists || ao3
table of contents under the cut!
I. the gentle indifference of the world
II. if you want to keep a secret
III. so this is my life
IV. a truth universally acknowledged
V. more myself than i am
VI. silly things & sensible people
VII. a dream within a dream
VIII. one by one
IX. (you are) like the sun
X. you are in every line
izzy806
blakekathryn
areudirty
jimmyeatworldofficial
