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ramp-it-up · 1 year

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PUPPY LOVE

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader

Word Count: 1.5 K

Warnings: 18+ As always, MINORS DNI, Not Beta’d. All mistakes my own. Valentine shoes and surprises, lovers quarrel, angst, longing, begging, kitchen sex, pleasurable pain, nipple play (f receiving) fingering, raw sex, p in v, oral sex (f receiving) Daddy kink.

A/N: Based on this ask. Based on my Candy Hearts Valentine Prompt List found Here. Hope you like it @flordeamatista 💕

I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

I Do NOT consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

You’d insisted on making dinner yourself, telling Andy that you would wear the heels that he couldn’t resist presenting you this morning after you gave him his holiday deep throat special.

But by the time he’d left, both of you were tense again after your request and his refusal. A small squabble that ruined the holiday mood. He was adamant and you were out of the practice of hearing him say no.

By the end of the day, however, you were in a different mood.

You answered the door in your pink ruffled apron, the red heels, your red heart necklace…and nothing else.

Andy stepped inside and you took his briefcase and handed him a drink.

His eyes swept over you, from your nipples through the sheer material, down your torso to the patch of hair above your pubis.

Andy squinted to see that the normal triangle was shaved into a heart shape.

He was rock hard, and all in the span of 30 seconds. He took a drink.

“Hello, Princess.”

Since you’d taken him back, you’d gone from Muffin to Princess. Andy treated you like royalty now.

Except for this morning.

“Hello Drew.”

You moved close and kissed him on the cheek. The sight of you and now your scent was heady stuff, and Andy closed his eyes as he inhaled when you came near. He wasn’t ready to lose control yet.

“How was your day?”

You murmured up at him and your gloss bombed lips mesmerized him. He thought back to the morning and he pulsed in his pants.

Only you.

Andy sighed.

“Doesn’t matter now. All that matters is you, in that outfit. Happy Valentine’s Day, gorgeous.”

You stepped back and turned around slowly, the back was even better than the front, the heels made your calves pop and that ass was moisturized and ready for his lips. The ties to the apron hung between your cheeks and Andy took a shaky breath. His eyes traced up your spine to your shoulder blades and neck, to your profile as you stood demurely with your eyes cast down, your chin parallel to your shoulder.

For a second, Andy thought he was going to faint. Damn, you were fine. And Andy was a full on simp for you.

Andy waited a beat so that the vision of him grabbing the back of your neck and bending you over the couch would subside. He reached for your hand and brought it to his mouth, tenderly kissing it.

He saw the little shiver that created and he smiled, his lips lingering on your skin.

Yes. This was better than just fucking you right now. He wanted to savor this as long as he could. Which wouldn’t be long.

“H-happy Valentines Day Drew. Dinner is ready. Take off your coat.”

Andy thrilled at your reaction, worrying all day that you would change your mind about coming back to him.

He was quietly giddy.

You turned around and reached up, but Andy’s hands on your waist prevented you from taking his jacket off. You craved this man in shirtsleeves and his shoulders made you want to lay down on the floor and hold your legs behind your head, but you just swallowed and looked up into his cerulean blues. You felt his eyes on your breasts and saw his tongue peek out onto his lips.

Damn. You needed him, but you weren’t going to be the one to break first.

You stared each other down until he let you go and took his jacket off. You took it from him and Andy watched as you walked over to the hall closet to hang it up.

He also watched as the hanger dropped to the floor and you bent over, legs straight, ass presented as you retrieved it.

You heard his stifled moan and turned around just in time to see him trying to smooth down the impressive bugle in his pants. You wanted the feel of the smooth skin of his cock on your lips, but you said nothing.

You walked to the kitchen, telling him what was for dinner over your shoulder.

Andy downed the rest of his drink, took off his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

You were at the sink, washing the spinach for a salad when you saw his bare forearms. You stared and dropped the knife as he approached you.

You looked up to the pure lust on his face as he got nearer. Everything on your body was anticipating this moment, your nipples rock hard and aching, your stomach flipping, your pussy weeping rivulets down your thighs.

Andy stood still as he waited for you to say the word.

Any word would do.

“Drew, I…”

Andy was on you like a flash, lifting you up after swiping the other salad ingredients into the sink.

His fingers dug into your sides as he slotted his slim hips between your legs.

“You don’t understand what you do to me…”

Andy gritted it out between kisses and nips on your neck and cleavage as he hurriedly untied the apron and tore it from between you. He grabbed both nipples and pinched them until you keened into his mouth which was now on yours.

“D’you feel it? That beautiful pain? S’how I feel whenever I see you. Need to be inside you…”

You nodded, head thrown back now as two of Andy’s fingers and his thumb were fucking you open as his other hand undid his pants and stroked his cock.

“Please please please please…”

You held onto his shoulders and begged him until he lined up and pushed inside you. It hurt so good.

“Ow… Andrew…. Fuck that feels so good.”

You whispered and throbbed with him as his cock immediately started pumping on its own as he felt the warm tight inside of you.

“Shit.”

Andy had to move, to chase this high, and to make you cum soon because he was more than halfway gone.

“Princess, Fuck. I love you. I’m sorry about earlier. I love you, I love you… holy shit.”

“I’m sorry too, Drew. I was a brat.”

“You’re my fucking brat…”

Andy pulled your ass off the counter and into his hands as he laid you down on the cold white marble. He watched your glazed eyes as he pounded you and had to open his mouth to breathe as you grabbed your bouncing breasts. You looked like heaven served up to him.

“Yessss. Circle your clit, Princess. Need you to cum so bad. You’re squeezing me so tight.”

You did as you were told and as he watched your pink tipped fingernails, and he saw the cream around his cock, his balls released all the stored up energy from the day.

“Hold on, Fuckkkkkkk.”

Andy started pounding you and the wet slapping sound reverberated off the walls.

You relished his cum face all screwed up and concentrating on giving you all that good good.

“Yes, Drew, give me all your cum, Daddy.”

Andy groaned as he spurted his spend into you. Then, he pulled out and deposited some onto the fur heart between your legs. Before you got a chance to breathe, he got down on his knees and ate it off until you came again, screaming and grabbing his hair in your chef’s kitchen.

You were dizzy as you stood up, still in the heels, and starting to look at the mess you’d made in the kitchen.

“No. Don’t worry about it,” Drew was behind you and kissing your neck. “Go get in the shower, I will clean up down here.”

You smiled at his deep voice in your ear.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Andy smiled at your hoarse voice and watched you as you climbed the stairs. He winked as you looked back at him and sprang into action.

30 minutes later, you came back down in your pink velour pjs and saw that Drew was dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweats, the kitchen was clean, and the salad was made. He’d also pulled the roast out of the oven.

He pulled out a chair for you.

“Madame.”

You smiled as his eyes twinkled at you.

You sat down to a lovely dinner and wine with laughter and good conversation. Afterwards, you sat down on the couch to watch your favorite romcom as Andy cleaned up. Then he walked toward the garage door.

“Have to let you know about the other woman, Princess.”

You were confused until you heard the whine and sat straight up to see an adorable puppy licking your man.

That bitch.

“Oh! She’s so cuteeee!”

You ran over to Andy and took her from him, and she started kissing you too. You were thrilled that Andy relented from his stance that morning.

“I promise that I will get up and walk her every morning, Drew.”

Andy shook his head, not believing you, but not caring anymore because seeing you happy was worth early mornings in the Boston cold.

“Sure, Princess. Let’s get her gear, her crate and her care things are in the garage. She has an appointment to get spayed next week.”

“Oh I love you Drew!”

“Love you too, Princess. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

#ask dj #dj answers #candy hearts valentine’s prompts #st. valentine’s day #valentine’s day prompts #valentines day #Valentine’s Day #chris evans smut #chris evans #Andy Barber #andy barber smut #Andy Barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x black reader #andy barber imagine #andy barber x black!reader

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bookishtheaterlover7 · 6 months

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Divorce lawyer reader encountering laurie again unphased y/n took andy frm him

Worth It

Andy Barber x Divorce Lawyer!Reader

a/n: Hey, An🫶n, and my other beautiful readers! So sorry it's taken me a while to post any new stories, asks, or anything remotely interesting other than my rants and shade. It's been a tough month... For now, this is going to, hopefully, be 1 of 3 fics before November. Let me just say, I'm insane for challenging myself like this, but ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Anyway, sit back and enjoy the fic!

WARNINGS!!! Some cursing (calling of slut, one mention of Fuck), pet names, mention of the car crash, mention of near death, mention of therapy, Andy is one seductive little shit, maternal figure!Y/N.

*Y/S/N = Your SurName

**F/P = Favorite Pastry

***F/C/D = Favorite Cafe Drink

Her alarm rang obnoxiously loud, but Y/N didn't seem to mind as she reached out to her bedside table to turn it off, before snuggling back into the man sleeping peacefully beside her. As they were in the process of effectively divorcing his wife, Andy had promised that as soon as it was all finalized, she can expect for there to be some of the biggest changes in her life. And safe to say Atty. Y/N *Y/S/N, wasn't disappointed, and may never get tired of it all.

She wrapped her arms around the slender torso of her boyfriend. They'd been together for about two years now, despite having a rocky start, their feelings blossomed into the most beautiful thing that neither of the two have ever experienced before. And that fact was once again proven, when the girl's snuggling and attempt at burrowing had pulled a reaction from the unsurprisingly gorgeous man.

"You know that will only make you late, if not later, than normal, Baby Girl, right?" Andy smirked, eyes remaining closed, hiding the mischief behind them.

"So... What if I do want to be late? Hmm?" Y/N replied, her cheeky grin growing with each second, as she took to placing light kisses on the side of her Love's neck.

"Then you'll have to explain to a very moody 16-year-old, why he missed at least three periods... And you know you can't reason with him, or his teachers." Andy laughed.

"Fuck!" Y/N sighed, laying flat in disappointment.

"We never get our mornings in anymore..."

"You know we could just send, Jacob on the bus... Be some bad parents for once..." Andy whispered, pulling his girlfriend close once more, allowing him to do so, sexily, in her ear.

"No. I can't risk Laurie approaching, and basically harassing him. Again." Y/N said, pulling away from his extremely tempting arms, and sitting up.

"You know we should let her see him, again." Andy said, a hand rubbing Y/N's arm, and eventually resting on her hip, pulling him to her, as he propped himself with one arm, and scooted closer to her.

"And we will. In neutral territory, under supervision." Y/N huffed.

"You're never forgiving her, are you?" Andy said, after placing a kiss on her shoulder.

"Absolutely. Come on, Andy, we're going to be stuck at traffic if we don't start moving now." She continued, looking at the time on the clock across from the right side of the bed.

"You don't want to be called old by our son again, do you?" She added with a chuckle, getting up, and turning around to walk backwards towards the bathroom.

"No, I definitely don't! Especially if I'm going to make sure his Ma will be carrying his sibling..." Andy said, smiling with a playfulness that alluded to something more.

And it stayed on, as he charged at Y/N. Filling their home with sounds of laughter and gleeful screams. With Andy silently hoping that he'd be able to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

Jacob had had an early day off from school, considering that his Physics teacher had cancelled class to be with his 6 year old daughter, who had fallen and injured herself in PE. Andy was stuck in his office, filling paperwork after paperwork for a case he was assigned, and he'd asked Y/N to fetch Jacob from school. And she was happy to oblige.

Jacob might not be her son by blood, and he had been accused of murder, but she loved him anyway. They'd formed a unique maternal bond, and she wasn't willing to give it up for anything. Especially when Jacob accepted that she could become his step-mother at some point.

Y/N decided it'd be fun to take Jacob with her to work, considering her caseload was light, and no one minded having a teenager amongst them. Plus, Jacob had asked her how and what did she do her job, at one point. That's why she decided to buy a few snacks from the stall right outside hers and Andy's office building.

"What would you like to have bud?" She asked, smiling at him, gently holding him up as he was still suffering from partial paralysis in his left leg, from the car crash. Therapy had helped, both physically and mentally, however, it had taken two years before some feeling came back and he was able to flex his foot. However, the rest of the leg will take some time.

"I don't know, Ma... Everything looks so good, I can't decide. Am I even allowed?" Jacob asked, his eyes sparkling in a way that Y/N has only seen happen in Andy's eyes.

"Ofcourse, you're allowed, Silly! Don't tell your father that I'm letting you take two, though." She giggled conspiratorially.

"My lips are sealed." Jacob laughed, holding his crutch in one hand, while he mimed a zipper with the other.

He later picked one chocolate frosted, with chocolate chips on top, and one white frosted, with colorful sprinkles, for his donuts, along with one Mocha-latte. Y/N ordered her usual **F/P and ***F/C/D, and was in the process of paying when she heard, a motherly voice, she was definitely not in the mood to hear today.

"Jacob! Sweetie, you look so big! You've grown so much in the past two weeks..." Laurie cried, her hands on Jacob's shoulders, before she pulled him into a hug.

"Laurie, get your hands off of my son. You don't get to see him until this Saturday, you know that!" Y/N exclaimed, approaching them with fury. Her own protective motherly instincts had awoken at the sound of that woman's voice.

"Your son? Y/N surely you can't be serious. Jacob is, and always will be my son. I gave birth to him. I raised him. I protected and defended him, when no one else did!" Laurie shouted, making Jacob flinch. Y/N took hold of Jacob, gently freeing him from Laurie's clutches.

"Yeah, you did a mighty good job at that, when you tried to kill him by crashing that car." She said in an eerily calm way.

"Jacob go inside, and wait in the Lobby."

"If he died in that accident, then you'd have Andy all to yourself, you slut!" Laurie said, not caring who hears.

"You know that what happened wasn't an accident, Laurie. You pressured Jacob into confessing to something he didn't do, because that's all you believed." Y/N countered, causing Laurie to eat her words.

"You believed the worst in Jacob, and didn't care that he was innocent in all of it. And you think you deserve to be called a mother? You tried to kill him! Your own son. You don't deserve to be near Jacob or the rest of my family." She gasped, finally letting out all that she thought of Laurie in the past two years.

"If it were up to me, I'd deny you any of your parental rights. But I won't do that to Jacob, or Andy. Those two mean more to me than anything else in this world, and I will do whatever it takes to make them happy and safe." She sighed, a heavy weight lifting off of her shoulders.

"Now, go home, Laurie. Before I smack you with a restraining order. We'll see you this weekend, if you manage to stay away for that long..."

Y/N had won. She not only gave Laurie a piece of her mind, she had actually spoken a truth she knew to be true long before Andy and her had made themselves official. And as she sighed with even more relief, and turned around, she saw one handsome face and the face of a boy that's been through hell but was right there smiling, that couldn't help, but make her smile.

"Jacob and I mean more to you than anything, huh?" Andy shyly smiled, his teeth peeking through his lips.

"You do. More than you'll both ever know." Y/N replied, as she ran to the arms of her family. Content with the life she's built for herself, that's worth everything.

So, I may have gotten, little bit overboard with the request, and wrote my first ever Andy Barber fic, feat. Jacob Barber😅. I hope you don't mind, An🫶n. Your request was too good of an idea to pass up writing a full fic!🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

I also hope that this fic was a fun distraction from all this mess caused by certain people. And stay tuned, I'm not done writing yet. Because this was, sort of an energizer for me.😁

See you in the next one, my Fellow Fan Girls and Boys🫶

Chris Evans Characters Masterlist

Andy Barber Masterlist

#An🫶n asks #booky answers #booky reacts #booky's written works #chris evans fandom #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #andy barber #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber x reader #andy barber smut #andy barber x you #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x divorce lawyer!reader #jacob barber x mother figure!y/n

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undergroundbillions · 6 months

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If you're interested in the Raggedy Ann animated movie and want to learn more about its production, may I recommend the Animated Raggedy Ann and Andy by John Canemaker? It's available to read on the Internet Archive!

That version doesn't have the images, but you can find scans of them and MUCH more at Michael Sporn Animation, and we have a little more on the Raggedy Ann Wiki!

Left: painting one of Andy's cells; Right: the Babette doll used in the movie

Left: Mark Baker, Andy's voice actor; Right: Didi Conn, Ann's voice actor with Chrystal Russell, one of Ann's animators

(all images above are from Michael Sporn Animation)

#mod general d #it's an absolute rabbit hole looking into this movie there's way more out there than you expect #and you can always ask us questions too!#if we don't know the answer garrett probably will #raggedy ann #raggedy andy #raggedy ann and andy a musical adventure #raggedy ann and andy #raggedy ann and andy musical adventure #animation #animation history

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brandycranby · 9 months

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hi miss brandy 🤭 happy 2nd anniversary to your first fic!!! i am a sl*t for secret relationships, so may i request: "they will be mad if they ever find out." + andy 😣💕

Lack of Standing

a/n: hiiiii my desti darling 😚🫶🏻✨️💕 ty for patiently waiting hehe up to you whether reader is a teacher or single mom

It happens because he falls down the stairs.

Mr. Andrew Barber, stellar volunteer and single father, goes ass over tea kettle down a flight of stairs while trying to carry six cases of Capri Sun to the gymnasium.

It happens slowly, somewhere between you running your hands over his head and neck, feeling for bumps but really feeling the softness of his hair and the warmth of his skin, lingering on the pulse under his jaw.

The press of his lips are a surprise, even if he had moved at a glacial place; both to give you enough time to stop him and because he is, in fact, in incredible pain. Warm, soft, plush, a hint of minty toothpaste still on his breath, faintly scratchy when you put your hands on his jaw to steady yourself and to get closer.

The soft groan he lets out halts you in your tracks; you pull away, even as his hands on your waist try to hold you down. “Mister Barber,” you scold, “I’m going to get some of the other PTA dads, don’t you move.”

On the ground, star-fished and surrounded by juice packets, Andy chuckles, "Get your lipstick off my face first, honey. They’ll be so mad if they ever find out.”

---

he'll be fine dw u can ride to urgent care with him ehehehehe 🫶🏻💕💕 im learning that i love to write secret relationships

ty to @punemy-spotted for the title 😚✨️💕

a part of my seven sentence celebration

#brandy answers #dest <3 #my asks #my writing #seven sentence celebration: 🥭#andy barber x you #andy barber x reader #worksby-d <3

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27-royal-teas · 9 months

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literally on my knees begging for the phoenix essay because it’s my all time fave fall out boy song and it makes me feel emotions on the shrimp spectrum

ok!! well!! ask and you shall receive, dear anon, your wish is my command :)) and because i love when people are excited about what i have to say and you are very nice <33 however, i will warn you, this is less of a structured essay and more of a massive infodump, so be warned !!

OK SO. THE PHOENIX. first off musically it's a fantastic song. and its actually scientifically proven that typically strings are used to increase musical tension and emotional tension so usually when you hear fast strings it means that they (the artist) want you to feel stressed, angry, or excited. We can apply this to the beginning of The Phoenix specifically because fob wants you to get hyped!!! It's their opening song for their newest album and for them, this shit is TERRIFYING. will you still want them or will you skip to another song? It's such a stark contrast to the first line of cork tree ("brothers and sisters, put this record down") because they want you to do the exact opposite of that. This is the one they want to use to hook you, to pull you in. Fall Out Boy is back, and this time they've brought even more intensity than before. They want to know: will you still be here? will you listen? these strings are not quite the old fall out boy, will you find them compelling and stick around?

andys drum work on this song is also INCREDIBLE. It's got this pounding, heavy beat. i constantly say that andy is the backbone of the band and i feel like that's more musically apparent in this song than anything. If i really want to scrounge for symbolism, I can say that by making andy's drumbeat stand out so much more in this song, the band is saying that they as a whole are more stable and reliable, just like their backbone. the drummer keeps the beat, the pace. they keep the band on track. together, the instruments (drum, strings, bass) bring the song together into a really rounded sound and it feels so FULL. there are some songs that are spiky, but this one is round all the way through.

and now that we're through with talking about the music itself, let's talk about the lyrics. i love the lyrics in this song so fucking much. it's so pete wentz and even more than that it's the most perfect song to open with. im gonna try to discuss every line and how it relates to the album and fall out boy's history at the time of release + they message they attempt to convey with this song and album. ive been wanting to make an essay on this for a while actually so thank you for giving me this ask as an opportunity to barf my stupid brain out onto tumblr

ok anyway let's start off with the first line-- "put on your war paint". this line is repeated twice: the very beginning and the very end. Why? because it's bold. this album is called save rock and roll. it is giving us a mission to accomplish from the very start. we are gearing up for a war. this is the image that is being painted of the entire album, and it starts from the very beginning- put on your war paint, prepare for battle. the first song is us (cough, the band, cough) preparing for the war as a whole. this is the intro, the gather, the plan. because we are saving rock and roll, through this album. this is the revival. we are bringing it home. this part musically is very strong and it feels like structure. we are showing here how much power and stability we have. also it makes me think of that one picture of pete putting on eyeliner

i am skipping the entire first verse for now but i will be back to it in a bit i promise! i want to talk about the chorus: “hey Youngblood/ doesn’t it feel/ like our time is running out/ im gonna change you like a remix/ then I’ll raise you like a phoenix”. we’re just going to go over the first half first because it’s kind of long. I think it’s in interesting choice, ‘Youngblood’. it kind of makes me think of mcr’s killjoys. it’s the motif, i guess— this haunting youth. ‘Youngblood’ addresses us ourselves, full of life and blood and rage. it again goes with the plot line of the album. the chorus has a paced feel, like running through a field at top speed. ‘like our time is running out’ references again the portion of ‘we were gone for so long, will you still listen?’ fall out boy’s limited time is nearly out here. they are fighting the clock. they are years older and more mature and they’ve GROWN. their time is running out and they are begging us to listen. and then my FAVORITE line, probably in this whole song. ‘I’m gonna change you like a remix, then I’ll raise you like a phoenix’. This entire album is a result of change. Folie a Deux was harshly criticized by the media and the fans because it was a change from fob’s norm. they were mocked mercilessly and basically TOLD TO CHANGE. now, here, they are back, they have made it through alive, and they are better than ever. basically, they have changed but on their own terms. you know how a phoenix is reborn through their ashes? They burn to a crisp when they’ve reached their limit and 100 years later are reborn as babies again. This is why the phoenix is such an important song to open with from the beginning of the album, as well as a fantastic metaphor for the band themselves— because it tells you from the start. Fall out boy is the same, but they have changed. They have grown. And they are better than ever, musically and mentally. This is also good symbolism for rising again even when defeated, which I’ll touch on again later

now, onto the second half of the chorus. The phoenix line is repeated, but preceding that is "wearing our vintage misery/ no, i think it looked a little better on me". fall out boy is kind of known as being part of the 'emo trinity' which, at the time of release, consisted of MCR, FOB and Panic! At The Disco. Personally id replace panic with paramore just because i dislike brendon urie strongly but thats just me. anyway, emo as a subculture in itself is incredibly emotional, and that's the point- emo is short for emotional. (feel free to correct me about any of this at any point of time btw, i am in no way an expert). a consistent trend was a lot of black clothing and the haircuts. i guess this isnt relevant. the relevant part was the emotion. fall out boy in 2009 was miserable. all the members were constantly at each other's throats, and eventually they just called it quits (everyone thought they would never come back, which is why the phoenix metaphor works here). by saying 'wearing our vintage misery' they are saying that they are bringing back that sort of emo-emotional aspect back into their new music, their trademark depressing lyrics, but it's improved. it's a better look on them now because they are doing so much better mentally than they were doing before.

let's backtrack a step to discuss the prechorus: "so we can take the world back from a heart attack/ one maniac at a time we will take it back/ you know time crawls on when you're waiting for the song to start so dance alone to the beat of your heart". pete fucking went OFF in this entire song but this section specifically. musically, the prechorus slows it down. it gives the song tension before exploding into the chorus. the first half of the prechorus again brings up the image of SAVE ROCK AND ROLL. i cant exactly recall what horrific events happened in 2013 to give the world a metaphorical heart attack, because i was very young and stupid and unaware of a lot, but i love the word choice here. one MANIAC at a time we will take it back. we are uniting the beaten, the broken and the damned. pretty much all the big names in emo have made their alliances clear: we take in the ones you don't want. they are the hufflepuffs of music. we will take your maniacs, we will take your people. we will build an army of the ones no one loves and we will take back our world together. possibly im interpreting this wrong but. i just think that's a really lovely image.

(also, pete has a motif in his songs-- mania. theres the entire album, for one, but this, as well.)

"time crawls on when youre waiting for the song to start so dance alone to the beat of your heart" is less obviously clear about rebellion and taking back change but it still is incredibly strong about this nonetheless. you can't sit and wait around for change. you can't expect the good things to come to you immediately, that isn't how the world works. when no one is there to lead you, to guide you, you're gonna have to do it yourself. your heart is steady and it knows the way. trust it. dance alone to the beat of your heart.

ok so now im going back to the first verse. sorry for skipping around the song so much. "you are a brick tied to me that's dragging me down/ strike a match and i'll burn you to the ground" i feel like honestly this line is kind of obvious- someone is holding him (pete) back. i'm not going to outright say it was about ashlee (his current ex-wife) because pete never explicitly confirmed it but it definitely seems super likely judging by the time this was written (pete and ashlee divorced in 2011, which was two years before this song was released).

at this point in writing this essay brain barf my thoughts have become a little dead so im looking at lyricgenius to see what they're saying and it is. so not helpful. like bro pls. add some context to WHY these lyrics are arranged this way. but never mind that FOCUS ON THE WRITING TOBY FUCK

ANYWAY. the next line in this verse is "we are the jack o' lanterns in july, setting fire to the sky/ here, here comes with this rising tide, so come on/ put on your war paint". another theme constantly in Pete Wentz Lyrics is summer. i am drawing the connection here specifically from this song and fourth of july. and there it is again! put on your war paint!

fun fact: the story of the jack o lantern apparently is that some guy named jack made a bargain with satan and was doomed to wander the earth with only the company of a hollowed out turnip. again-- the wanderers. we bring in the wanderers, we take them as our own. we are the light in the darkness. we will set the world ablaze. so come on! get ready for war! we will roll in with the tide, and like a tide, we will destroy if we have to, not because we want to, but because it is in our nature.

final line in the verse: "cross walks and crossed hearts and hope to die/ silver clouds with grey lining". these are two popular phrases that have been altered in minor ways that make a huge difference. ive noticed pete tends to do that often. here hes changed 'cross my heart and hope to die' and 'every cloud has a silver lining'. this change is super important because it flips the themes of the two phrases (The Truth Has Been Spoken and There Is Always a Positive, respectively) and it darkens it. what is the correlation between cross walks and hoping to die? the cars. and by saying 'silver clouds with grey lining' he is flipping the saying to read as 'even though something seems light, there is always a dark side... kind of like a yin yang. which makes me think of the current logo, the smiley-frown. it's always about balance and it's always about an even distribution. but that is irrelevant.

and let's have a chat about the second verse: "bring home the boys in scraps/ scrap metal the tanks/ get hitched, make a career out of robbing banks/ because the world is just a teller and we are wearing black masks/ 'you broke our spirit' says the note we pass". this is the most important verse in the song, because this is where the entire theme shows the best. i think from the very start we can make two connections just reading this here, and i bet i can guess what you thought from the start. I bet you saw 'bring home the boys in scraps' and thought oh, toby is totally going to connect that to their motif about 'bring together the unwanted.' and i bet you saw 'we are wearing black masks' and thought ah, toby will definitely relate that to the first line in novocaine. and yeah, you're right. you know me too well, i am a predictable guy. because i 100% will. we KNOW fall out boy. the best example i can use to argue my first point off the top of my head is that they were initially marketed to teenage girls. they were a pop band. i mean, no one can really call them pop now (god, i miss music from the 2000s) but, yeah. no one in the rock or punk scene wanted teenage girls to like their music (because clearly teenage girls were so uncool or whatever) so fall out boy marketed themselves to them. they took in the fans no one wanted.

also, a bank teller is the person who handles customer cash, which is something i did not know until about twenty minutes ago. in the case of a bank robbery, the robber would pass the bank teller a note so that there would be less of a scene. these kind of robberies are called 'note jobs'. so by saying "make a career out of robbing banks/ because the world is just a teller and we are wearing black masks/ 'you broke our spirit' says the note we pass" essentially the band is using a bank robbery as a metaphor for taking back the world and the injustice that has been served to them, as the youth youngbloods. we are trying to take it back as peacefully as possible, but we are still the ones on the side with the gun. the 'note we pass' is the robbery note. lyricgenius was absolutely shit it did not help me with this i feel very proud that i connected all the dots by myself but maybe i am just an idiot and this is already common knowledge.

we are almost done- this has gotten long, a lot longer than i thought it was going to be. hope that's okay. anyway we just have to go over the bridge and then i'll summarize the song as a whole: "the war is won before it's begun/ release the doves, surrender love". this repeats five times. the war is won before it's begun. this is connected to the second part- release the doves, surrender love- because the band doesn't really WANT to fight. they don't want to HAVE to take in the people who aren't given a category. if we could just learn to love those who were different, we might not have war. we would have won it before it's begun. on the third repeat, there is chanting in the background-- 'wave the white flag'. the white flag is a sign of surrender pretty much universally, and it goes hand in hand with what's being said here. and again. i feel like i keep repeating this- it's the intro song. why would they say this? because they don't really want to fight. remember, the point of a note job is to attract as little attention as possible. we don't want a war. we don't WANT to save rock and roll- but we have to. it is our job, as youth- as youngbloods. and THAT'S the message of this song. we are preparing for a fight for justice that we would rather not take part in, but we have to, to protect ourselves and our past and our future and our people.

this is what the band is saying-- we have been gone for so long, but we are back. and we are here to help. we have changed, but you have changed too, and we are better, and together we will take back what we have lost to achieve peace, even if it takes a millenia, even if we go down fighting. because ultimately, we, ourselves, the ostracized and the mocked and the hurt, we are worth it. We will rise above it like a phoenix reborn from the ashes because we are always worth it, and we will always come back.

#i wrote this in three different days with huge time gaps in between I hope it’s comprehensible #toby speaks #Toby’s asks #Toby’s meta #fob #fall out boy #save rock and roll #srar #the phoenix #I physically can’t look at this anymore if I do I’ll throw up #Hope you like it anyway anon!!! i appreciate the ask so much they’re so fun sorry for being so slow to answer #patrick stump #joe trohman #andy hurley #pete wentz

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yallmakemyassitch · 1 year

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Can you draw Peter wrecking the UNDEAD SOUL out of Andy? Along with giving his belly raspberries?

//Intense tickles, torture (gotta add these since it's pretty uhH- extreme, wanted to keep up Peter's character of someone sinister and omnipotent, so why not make Andy laugh till his voice is raw?)

Enjoy! I certainly had a killer time drawing these (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

A dead soul's dystopia ☠️

gave peter eyelashes cuz he's a pretty boy

#aaf tickling #lee andy #ler peter #claus the clock #margaret the mole #cw torture #melody the moon #felix the fish #andys apple farm #my art #ask answered #intense tickles #<- pretty heavily implied after the events of the comic #thomas you idiot now you have to laugh for all eternity 🙄

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valmare · 9 months

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For the 300 followers celebration! (Congrats, love! You deserve it!)

Could you do something with Andy Deveraux from 'Streets of Blood'? I'll leave it to your wonderfully creative mind to decide where to go with it 😁😁 because this character of Val's has me feral in ways that should be illegal.

Okay, peach. Woof. I had waaay too much fun with this, and this is definitely gonna have to be come a series, because I cannot BREATHE over Andy and Sugar. Like, at all. Enjoy this smut and fluff, it's everything to me right now. NSFW, 18+

When You Come Home

“Gracie, you better not be outta that bed, girl. Get back under those covers before you make me come up there—and you do not want your mama comin’ up those stairs, that is a promise, child!”

Little feet race across plush carpet upstairs, and even from all the way into the kitchen you can hear the squeal of giggles above your head. Bleeding through the veins of the hall and down the stairs, accompanying the sound of what is another set of feet. Gabriel is up now, following after his sister, his three-year-old little self unable to contain the bombastic squeal of delight that can only be from him.

Overhead Gracie shushes him, like all big sisters would at one time or another. The tremble of the ceiling shifts above your head, as if the house is covering for their rebellion. They’re back in their rooms, presumably.

Still, the house doesn’t flinch—Gracie tells her brother to be quiet, but Gabe hasn’t stopped chattering across the hall. His three-year-old rambling cocktails with the soft yellow tones of the hallway night light throwing beams of light into the darkness. You peek around the corner, up the stairs. It takes the willpower of Hercules not to smile in amusement.

From here, you can see his bedroom door left open. Dark sliver of room the only thing you can see from the bottom of the stairs, your brow furrows a little. As if the two goblins are standing in front of you. Drying your hands on the dish towel from over your shoulder, you lean against the doorway into the kitchen. And you’re silent. Listening. Waiting for the inevitable peek from your five year old’s room, to check if the coast is clear.

It doesn’t come. Not tonight, at least. Your five year old has been in the habit of sneaking out of bed for the last two weeks; tiptoeing upstairs equivalent to nothing short of the atomic bomb in this old house. Tonight is a second offense for Gabriel, up after his sister. Yesterday you’d caught them scooting his box of blocks across the hallway to his sisters room, for a stuffed animal fort.

You’re not entirely sure why they’re up. It doesn’t seem fair—they’re both tired in that way kids are when you put them to bed. Running them ragged over the day isn’t a strong enough sentiment, you’re within a stroke of exhaustion by the time you hit the bed. Maybe that’s because they’re kids and you’re not as young as you were once were. Maybe it’s because it is a phase and all babies go through phases. Or, more likely, it’s because you’re pregnant and want nothing more than a quiet space to do the dishes in and refresh the house.

Sneaking around the hallway and trying to play toys is an attempt to stay awake, your mother had all but laughed in your face this afternoon when you’d asked her. But you’re aware this an act for attention—Andy’s later and later nights on the job piston their behaviors and the “Where’s daddy?” that’s been following them to bed every night for the last week.

They miss him. And they should, Andy is a terrific father. He smothers them with attention, his big smile and smooth tones drive their laughter and follow them up the stairs, through the doors, out the windows.

You can hardly blame them, honestly. You miss him too. Jealousy is a wicked poison that spins through the brew of your gut, trailblazes through your veins. The job keeps him gone when you want him here, making love to you. Holding your children. Living.

These three weeks have been hell on home life—he strolls home later from patrols than usual. Pulling longer hours, running riskier ops. He’s in the news more than he wants to be, in that psychotherapist’s office every time you talk to him. More than once he’s staggered in, covered head to toe in dried sweat and dirt and blood. Looking like hell warmed over, dead on his feet and dragging ass.

It’s partially to do with a new partner. More to do with the fact that the city has been decaying from the inside, throttled with more gang activity than either of you remember growing up in NOLA. Since the water got deep with Katrina, these street signs had become a breeding ground for drugs, sex, trouble of all kinds—gangs from across the state, the nation, were flooding in. First it had been looting. Turf wars. Now it was just gangs outwitting and outgunning the other, the lines of hell open for business in every shadow, across every corner.

Andy’s house wasn’t the toughest it could be, never had been. Lax on arrests, lenient on takedowns—more than willing to look the other way. Blood stained hands and all, Narcotics was one of the better legs of the department, and not just because it was the busiest.

Narcs were the last of the good ‘ol boys, the last of the ones proud enough to wear the uniform and know what it means. Andy Deveraux and the boys like him prided themselves on clean and diligent effort, the old school way that you couldn’t teach anymore. The way it was supposed to be done. The way it should’ve been done had come and gone like the tide, the moon pulling it back as the darkness got darker, the times got rougher.

Everyone else had caved into the sex, the money, the goods—the pressure. Crooked as they came, the Deveraux name stood out like a sore thumb. Maybe that’s why it had gotten Kenny killed, maybe that’s why Andy policed the way he did. But either way he was relentless, like a hound of hell—he did not rest until the job was done. It was his way. Was what made him good.

He worked the job for everything it could give. Took pride in his title like nobody in the department did anymore. Sometimes it meant pushing the lines of the law a little, towing them a little farther than was probably conventional. But, Andy wasn’t a conventional man—he wasn’t crooked. He wasn’t dirty. He wasn’t dumb, either—he knew his way around the games. Investigations. Could skirt prying eyes and IA like everyone else.

More than once he’d sweet-talked his way out of reprimands and bad conduct reviews. God knew what He was doing when he gave the man his smooth, silver southern tongue, that much was true.

Could also clock a bad cop from a mile off, too, and hadn’t been wrong yet. Reading people like a book was just his thing. It came with all the experience of the street. Andy always said that the blood of the street had a lot to say if you only put up, shut up, and gave it your ear.

But the badge demanded a body to work it, and he was gone. A lot. Much more than he’d ever been before Katrina. Parts of that worried you, as a wife with three littles at home, one on the way. As someone who loved him deeply, desperately.

Some days he came home looking like the shadow of the man you married, keeping the world from you. Wearing the day on his badge and trying not to show it in smoke and mirrors answers. That’s why he dropped his gear at the door, hung his clothes in the closet. Kicked off his boots in the shadows of the foyer.

Andy didn’t bring the world home, left it outside in the black-and-white. And he preferred it that way. NOLA was not the same place either of you had grown up in, and lately, he’d been talking more and more about moving you out of the district. Entertaining houses the next county over, commuting into the city. Babies need a shot at life that wouldn’t get them killed, he mused.

A fear you knew he faced every time he clipped the badge on and walked out the door, kissed your children goodbye.

He did a good job of hiding it, most days. Others, more frequent than you’d like, were basically carved into the lines on his forehead. Both of you keenly aware that someday he might not waltz through those doors because of the world beyond it, you didn’t talk about it much. He knew you supported him. You knew it, and that’s really all that mattered.

Getting home was the key, loving him when he’s here is all that matters. Stitching him up, putting all the pieces back together that the world ripped apart. Telling him that he belongs to you, that he’s the only one you want before sending him back out into the devil’s playground. Those were your moments, the hours and minutes and seconds you breathed for. Challenges with the rising of every sun, which seemed to pull at him like a dog with a collar. And Andy pursues, like it’s a second wife. Like you’re not right beside him, needing him to stay. Bleeding for him to return.

Every morning his alarm blares in the cool darkness of your master suite, the realities cut through you like a thousand daggers to the ribs. Curdles your blood. Reminds you that the day is yet another in a long line of hours he may not come home. You may get a phone call. His partner may show up on your front steps with a bloody badge, you could be greeted with the, “Mrs. Deveraux?” intro that seems to sew up your throat every time someone dares to call you on the phone.

Eyes moving to the clock in the living room, it’s after nine. Kids have been at this for an hour. Grant will be up by ten for a feeding, and God do you need it, because your tits haven’t stopped aching since dinner. Nothing thrills you more than the idea of spending a quiet hour in the cool, dark nursery with the love of a child wrapped around you, it’s your favorite time of day.

But looking up the stairs, knowing you have to climb all fifteen of them? That claws at the deep stab of inferno pain circling the muscles of your low back, barking in your swollen feet. Putting the nursery upstairs was the biggest mistake of your life. Had been, since Grace had been born.

Really it doesn’t matter anymore, you take these stairs a thousand times a day, racing after kids. Which is what mothers do, what you’d only ever dreamed of doing since the first date with Andy, when he’d taken your hand in his and laughed with you over dinner. Dreamed of the babies he could give you since he’d kissed you goodnight that first time. Now that they’re here, now that he’s given you a family, it’s the only thing in the world you could ever imagine for yourself, stairs be damned.

Standing quiet at the bottom of the staircase, Gabe still hasn’t quieted down. As much as it bothers you, he sounds so much like his daddy and he’s only three. Every day his light eyes remind you of Andy, he is the walking genetic clone of his father. A blessing and a curse, should it ever arise, but thank God for Deveraux genes. Grace looks like you but has her father’s energy, his loud voice and quick tongue that make you forget who you are. She’s smart like a whip, determined to be a cop like her daddy, and the absolutely delight of the entire neighborhood. Andy is wrapped around her finger like a prayer, one you hope she never lets go of.

Gabe’s tone heightens, louder—at this rate he’ll wake up the baby, who’s knocked out down the hall, in the nursery. Sleeping like the dead, but not deeply enough. Irritation ripples through you, your head kicking back against the wall as your eyes flutter closed. Hand fisting the towel, the other smooths over the small bump of your belly as you inhale a deep breath. Attempt to be calm, understanding. .

“That’s enough, Gabriel James,” your tone is a breath from warning, and suddenly all noise upstairs stops. Nothing moves, dares to breathe. “Stop talkin’ or I’m sendin’ Daddy up to deal with you when he gets home,” it is a promise, not a threat, that both of these children know well.

And as much as they miss their daddy, Andy coming home and having to deal with behaviors is not the kind of attention they crave. Gabe quiets up, you hauling yourself up those fifteen steps to pull his door closed, check Grace’s. A peek into the nursery proves Grant is still asleep, his face awash in the warm yellows of nursery nightlights, and you puff out a sigh of relief.

Slipping into your master suite, you rip off the day’s clothes and attempt to wrangle clothes to sleep in—things have started not to fit, again. Grabbing one of Andy’s department shirts, you slip it off, toss your bra to the floor of your closet, and slap out the lights.

Your one grave mistake with Grant’s birth was throwing out all of your maternity clothes. A rebellious idea insistent upon the notion that three babies in five years was enough. The appointment for an IUD had been set, circled on the calendar. Your mother had planned to swing in and watch the kids. It was foolproof, couldn’t come fast enough, and you could return to your regularly-scheduled sex life worry free.

But, being who you are, and Andy being who he is, well, waiting was out of the question. And the two of you had been so careful after Grant. More careful than you ever had been, before having kids. Andy was a diligent man, disciplined. Together you’d locked in a plan—between wrapping it and pulling out, you’d be safe.

The sex, as usual, had been fantastic.

You’d shown up for your OB appointment, bright eyed and excited for an IUD. Both of you were sick of latex, and you’d been dying to stay filled. And it hadn’t taken more than your doctor, the sage and beautiful old woman that knew your womb better than you did, more than one look at your glowing, beaming self to know you were pregnant–again.

With a chuckle and an exaggerated puff of air she’d simply, just, assumed. You didn’t even have a clue, having just gone through all of this with Grant. Your body wasn’t even regulated, yet. Grant was four months old, there wasn’t even a prayer of stopping breastfeeding much less a change in breast sensitivity, and you’d gotten a period. It didn’t make sense.

A pregnancy test confirmed her smug expression. When you still didn’t believe her, an ultrasound was just short of court ordered. And sure enough, the thrum of a heartbeat and the small blip of life was there, on display, in all glory. Eight weeks.

Quick math tracked it, you’d been back in the swing of regular sex for about that long. And between those eight weeks, there was that time in the shower where you’d thought he’d pulled out far enough.

His mama had been right all those years ago. Deveraux seed was tenacious and didn’t quit. That was obvious. Damn.

Everything was on track for a strong, healthy, definitely-there pregnancy. Scheduling you for a follow up, you were due somewhere around the fourth of July—the same time as Grace, and Grant. In hindsight it wasn’t surprising–summer was busy for Andy, and he had a particular way of working off stress.

Your OB had just laughed as you’d buried your face beneath your arm, pink to your ears with embarrassment. “You’d think you would know better, honey,” she’d just chuckled at you, shaking her head with a crooked and knowing way about her. Slipping you the reminder card and a prescription for prenatals. “Congratulations. Say hi to Andy for me.”

Not that you weren’t thrilled. Now that you were showing and well into a fourth pregnancy, you were excited about the new life swirling around your womb. Andy was thrilled, happy as a clam after the wide-eyed look of surprise had been kissed off his face. You’d told him the same day, when he’d come home to crowd you against the bedroom door for a bruising kiss and some quality time, between kissing him and working off his shirt.

The idea of four kids in five years had never been on the table. Grant had been a surprise baby too, but not wholly unplanned, more of a “what if” than anything. But, Andy came from a big family, all cops, and you had a brother who had a growing brood of his own. A fourth Deveraux wasn’t a bad thing, he’d assured you—”Excited to meet ‘em like all the rest,.” he’d drawled with a smile, light eyes glinting in their lust for you, like always.

Leaning down to peer into your vanity, you replace hoop earrings for studs, and work your contacts out in favor of the glasses perched on your jewelry box. Your watch tells you it’s early for Andy to come home, but he’d told you he’d try before eleven, and you’d like to have the dishes finished by the time he comes home. Slicking your fingers through your hair, you sigh out a puff of a breath, and check your appearance. Not shabby, for a full day outside at the park in one-hundred degree weather, though your makeup is a little more than melted off.

Closing the door behind you, you pad back down the stairs to finish the dishes. House quiet, it almost seems to breathe with the absence of babies that piston through here like a locomotive. It’s an old house, three levels and one of the few that managed to survive Katrina—it’d been the first house you’d looked at together, everything you’d ever dreamed of. A quiet neighborhood, a big backyard, within walking distance from the park.

You hadn’t been thinking about a family when you’d signed the papers, but Andy had been. Immediately he’d gone to work remodeling the upstairs, walling off the absolutely massive master suite for another room, adding an on-suite bathroom for easy access. The first year of your marriage had been picking paint colors and decor, with Andy nearly driving himself over the cliff of sheer exhaustion between work and remodeling.

It was an old house, yeah, but the bones of it were solid. Neither of you wanted fancy, it wasn’t your way–you’d grown up in an old farmhouse, your mother’s classic country style adopted in every of your design choices. This house demanded respect, a nod to yesteryear—and who had money for fancy decor choices on a cop’s salary?

The fridge was new, a mandatory investment as of last month, and you had insisted on a circular table for the kitchen—it took up space, demanded you move the country hutch out of the dining area and into the basement, where it now holds books and toys and the Breyer horses your mother had gifted Gracie over the years. Andy hated the table, but he humored you. You loved it.

Kitchen cupboards weren’t painted, he insisted they remain the deep oak they always had been. Hardwood floors were scraped and they creaked, but they were beautiful and original to the house. Your floor length curtains caught in whatever New Orleans breeze managed to visit, and Grant loved to play with them when you sat him on the floor to do dishes or cook dinner.

Big windows in the living spaces were thrown open nearly every day, allowing the house to breathe and cool in the summer. The one time you’d baked a pie and set it in the window, the neighbor’s dog had taken advantage, much to Andy’s upset. You hadn’t baked a pie since.

You send the remaining water from dishes down the drain, placing a clean cheesecloth over the plate of dinner that diligently sits on the counter, waiting for Andy when it comes home. It’s his favorite—fried chicken, asparagus, roasted potatoes with your mamma’s cult-favorite gumbo seasoning. You hadn’t been able to touch dinner, too nauseated earlier in the evening to even dream of solid food.

Killing the lights in the kitchen, the room is tossed into darkness as you begin cleanup in the living room. Resetting the living room is the worst part of the day, as the kids live here in the sunlight and breeze of open windows, Disney movies forever on loop in the DVD player. Grace has a stack of them beside the DVD player, ranging from princess movies to Bolt, all in an order that she maintains every single day after lunchtime.

You’re folding blankets into the basket beneath the window when you see the lights of the squad bounce up the driveway, flashing over the garage door. Andy can’t park in the garage, his truck sits perpetually unused beside your Tahoe, both of them goliaths that eat any prayer for space in the two-car structure. But he always does park in the spot opposite of your Tahoe–the family’s getaway plan, should the night demand the very thing that haunts your dreams and you have to leave this pretty little paradise of yours on short notice.

Your stop working Gabe’s knot blanket in your hands when his keys hit the deadbolt, the heavy thunk of it falling back settling comfortably in your bones. You watch him slip across the threshold, easy as a Sunday breeze, from your place in the living room. From here the couch cuts him at the waist, but, you know the moment his eyes find you that he’s not wearing what you’d seen him leave in—blue jeans, a white t-shirt, the same button up you know he keeps in his office as a spare.

His eyes skim over you for a second as he works off his shoes, those white sneakers that he’s been wearing for the last three years. They are so not him. Not by a mile, but the doctor had all but reprimanded him for wearing western boots on the job. The Andy Deveraux you’d known was a leather-jacket and jeans with expensive cowboy boots man, a pride he’d taken up since before you’d graduated high school. Fatherhood, and the demands of the badge, had demanded he kill that pride, though—and he didn’t mind. Not that he showed, anyway.

You’d teased him about it the first year–they showed his age. And Andy was quite a few years your senior. Twelve years, actually, and he didn’t even look it. Teasingly you’d reminded him that a dad waltzing into church in New Balance sneakers was awfully telling when you still managed to wear wedge heels and stilettos some of the time, with pretty sundresses that left little to the imagination, even with Grace and Gabriel in tow.

It had been at your own detriment, of course. He’d practically thrown you up against the wall and reminded you of exactly how old he was not, and you’d learned a valuable lesson about your husband. The years between you were definitely a kink, on top of that sure thing he had for breeding. Ironic, considering your present state. It was working for him, apparently. Hell, it worked for you.

He bends to hook the sneakers with his fingers, padding over to the closet in socked feet as his thick fingers slick through his hair. From here you can see it’s damp— he’s showered at the precinct.

Your throat closes a little, trapping some of the air in your chest as you swallow a little roughly. It’s never a good sign when he showers in-house. And he’s been showering at the precinct a lot.

He doesn’t face you as he drops the shoes into the closet, sheds the button down to the floor. “They asleep?” He asks into the closet, the slow drawl of his rasp hitting you right at the center of your core, like it always does. He angles to consider you as he works the vest off, again to the floor of the closet. Closing the day away, the ugly things he won’t discuss with you.

Smoothing your hand over the blanket you’ve been folding, you nod and chuckle. “Think so,” you drop the blanket into the basket, hands moving to press into your low back for support. Arching back into them a little, you offer him a quiet smile, “Grace has been up again, raisin’ hell. Third time this week.” Flashing three fingers across the room at him, your arms move to cross over your chest.

“Gabe’s takin’ after her, too,” your eyes track to the stairs, as if the rebel in question has manifested to stand trial, “These children of yours, Andrew—Lord help ‘em, I’m this close to takin’ a switch to them both.” Indicating a small amount between your fingers, you try not to smile when he chuckles at you.

Tossing the button down over his shoulder he nudges the door closed with a socked foot before turning and killing the lights in the foyer. Room thrown into a chiaroscuro of shadow and darkness, Andy slips over the couch, leg over leg, until he’s seated on the back of it.. Overhanging the shirt over his shoulder the floor, he steps into the cushion of the sectional and onto the floor over to you, easily. Like he isn’t a man twelve years your senior, dog tired from the street.

Thick fingers slip through your hair, your head tipping back with his hand as he settles into your space. “I’m home, Sugar,” all he has to do is breathe and you’re on the edge, ready to plummet into him, into the oblivion you know he can give you. Arching forward, the swell of your belly brushes the bucket of his belt, sending a pleasant jolt up your spine. “Missed you somethin’ awful.” The way he drawls sends you keening, molten heat bleeding straight between your legs.

“Missed you,” you lift on your toes to brush your nose along the sharp line of his jaw, your lips dusting over the stubble peppering down his neck.

The child in your womb all but leaps, kicking ferociously when his hand smooths over the top of your stomach. The sensation catches you off guard for a moment and you reach for his hand, guiding it to the small thump of spinning life, his child. His palm presses harder against the swell, feeling, as a finger moves to hook your chin up a little, his smirk all but smug.

Andy rucks up the front of your shirt a little, running a knuckle up your breastbone for his hand to cup softly under your breast, along the apex of your heart. Resting there briefly, it doesn’t last long–his rough hands are gently kneading at the curve of your breast. It’s achingly perfect, sending a zing of pleasurable heat down the length of your spine, into your collarbone. Briefly you wonder if he can feel your heart pulsating between your ribs, but the way his smile grows tells you that you don’t have to ask.

You mewl, all but a little breathless when his thumb brushes over your sensitive, swollen nipple. Arching into the touch, it’s a euphoric pain that rips through every hot nerve of your body—Grant’s a full, hard feeder. He’s been hell on your nipples–your tits–since learning to latch, and breastfeeding is still a regular thing for the two of you, despite your best efforts to wean. God you want him to touch you, need him to touch you—you grab his hand, pressing it harder into the peak. It goes straight to your center, throbbingly present in every right way God intended.

Dying for stimulation, the feel of Andy’s fingers painful, but oh is it in the best way possible and you moan a little into the feeling.

You’re a mixture of goo when he grunts a little, his other hand falling to the curve of your hip to guide you forward. His fingers fist into the material of your shirt as he breathes a chuckle of your lips, your head tipped back in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, his tongue slips over the seam of your mouth, along your bottom lip in a way that makes you dizzy. Keening, you grip his shoulder, as he rakes fingers through his hair and takes a filling, chest-swelling breath of you.

The look on his face is practically wolfish as he releases you and steps back, taking with him what seems like all the air in the room as you stand there, reeling around nothing. Sweat slips down the length of your spine, sweat that he has riled on your skin. Your tongue is thick with the taste of him on your lips, cologne and chapstick and whatever soap the department keeps on hand sharp on your tongue. And he tastes good.

Sinking onto the couch, he gives his weight fully to the furniture, the sectional nearly sagging with the effort. You’ve been waiting for this, really. Knew it was going to happen. Andy’d initiated sex this morning but you’d been so exhausted from a night up with Grant every other hour that you’d brushed him, and his straining erection, off. He’d funneled out the door for work less than thrilled with a sound kiss and a hopeful promise to be home before eleven.

He wasn’t bitter, necessarily, but you can see on his face that he knows you’re keening. Primed for him. It’s there in the slight cock of his brow, the tick of the muscle in his jaw as he crosses his feet over the ottoman, toes flexing in his socks as his hands fold behind his head. Standing there, all but dripping and salivating over him in jeans, the white-shirt and his holstered sidepiece, he is good enough to eat. And the man knows it.

And that is exactly what he is—good enough to eat.

You’re buzzing with the idea even before it fully bakes in the core of you, and there will be nothing short of heaven that will keep him out of your mouth if you have a thing to say about it. Moving to the ottoman, your calf rubs up against the side of it, fingers dusting over the top of his feet as he considers you with a look of voluble pride on his face. His audacity. Really.

Preening, you nudge at his feet and he kicks open his legs. Stepping over them you settle on the ottoman, either of his feet ghosting at your sides as you gently rub at the front of his legs, head canted with all the innocence of an unsuspecting lamb.

“Your day was good?” It’s an innocent question, but nothing is innocent about you, you know he can see it, but the amusement on his face is priceless—fingers diving beneath the cuff of his jeans, your fingers pull at the cotton socks, slipping them off one foot at a time. “You had a meeting with Ferraro today. How’s that going?”

The resigned sigh is exaggerated, like you’re tearing the words from him against his will. “Well, I came home—says everythin’ it needs to, you know that, Sugar.” He sounds pissed, but the questioning is anything but unwanted. Andy may not like to talk the ugly shop of his work, but he'll indulge you when you’re being this sweet. But he won’t tell you that, it’s just something you know. “Still goin’ into work tomorrow, if that means anythin’.”

It means everything. Andy is a third generation cop, like his daddy and grandfather before him. It’s a pride that the Deveraux's wear on their arm, a pride you’re sure Andy will relay to each of your sons as they grow. It doesn’t bother you, not really. Your father is a fire chief, danger runs in the blood. And between your firehouse blood, and the badge in his, well—the two of you were inevitable, like oil and flame. Running in the same circles, just with different lines.

“That’s good,” you coo, your fingers dancing over your breasts beneath the shirt, “Ferraro won’t going to sideline ya, baby. She never does.” He’s only been agonizing over it for weeks. Ferraro’s psychiatric analysis has been taking forever, dragging on longer than it should. But that’s just fodder for your praise, now. “If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll leave you alone, Andy darlin’.”

Socks thrown over your shoulder, you lean forward a little as your fingers drag up the length of his jeans, catching on the rough denim in little ways that race through your nerves and up your arms. He watches you, slumped into the cushions of the couch, lips twisted with a knowing smile that curls your toes into the carpet. Once you’ve reached as far as you can, your hand moves to cradle the meat of his thigh as you bend to nip the space behind his knee.

His tongue clucks off the wall of his cheek. The glint behind his eyes says you’re in trouble. “My, you are a sight, Mrs. Deveraux,” the name spills from his mouth divinely, like bourbon, and the heat of the twisting consonants and syllables hits you right in your aching, sopping center. “Wherevah did you learn such behavior?”

Congratulatory, your shoulder shifts a little. Flirty. “I know my way the block, Detective,” his breath hitches just so, and you gloat in your victory a little, “You forget?”

“Maybe a little,” he chuckles and his head tips back into the cushions, almost writhing. .

He reacts immediately as your other hand moves to brush his foot off the ottoman. You take sweet time biting at the back of his knee, stimulating the inside of his thigh, the picture of absolute debauchery as you make eye contact in the filthiest way possible. Finally biting at the denim, you pull it between your teeth and back, head tipping with the effort. To expose the length of your creamy, unblemished throat.

You chuckle when his tongue darts out to skate his bottom lip, fingers moving to skim his goatee in smooth recovery of the emotion bleeding onto his face. His chin lifts—he’s trying, you’ll give him that. Trying and failing, but you’ll give him an A for effort. Color rises to his face, nearly to his ears, and his Adam’s apple bobs with a breath or a thin swallow, you aren’t sure which.

Sitting back and forcing his leg off the ottoman, you make a show of wiping at the spit that’s gathered around your mouth and settling into the thick cushion beneath you. Watching you like a hawk as you reel in your victory, your eyes drag up to meet his, a slow smile forming on your lips—he knows.

His fingers teasing at the seam of his Levi’s say it more than he ever will. Your gaze flicks to his hands then back to his, before you sink to the floor on your knees, low enough that the swell of your stomach brushes the carpet, which is still damp from the stain of apple-juice this afternoon. Taking either one of his thighs, you sit back on your legs, nudging his open a little farther.

Fingers slipping into your hair as you work the leather loose at his waist, the buckle clinks a little as it falls open. Popping the button of the light-washes open, your heart is pistoning against your ribcage perfectly as his knuckle slides from your hair, down the line of your jaw, to hook your chin between his thumb and index finger. He guides your head back ever so slightly as you palm over the erection straining his jeans, and he bucks into the touch.

Wild heat spins down your spine and you clench around nothing. Toes curling tightly beneath you as Andy pulls you up on your knees, enough for him to sit up and kiss you, hard and full. Mouth slanting against yours, the brush of his goatee on your skin is enough to pull a little groan from your throat as he reaches between you to work himself out of the Levis.

Kissing you until your lips are swollen and you’re drunk on him, he pulls back from you with a wet pop, hand at the back of your head as he guides you down. Your hand is buried at the cut of his hip, pushing him down and harder in the cushions of the sectional, and a letdown of heat spirals from your collarbone and into your breast, staining the front of your shirt. Your rewarded when his sinful groan spirals down your spine, straight between your legs.

Andy you goads you on with a hiss, and your chest fills with a breath when you begin taking him, the blood in your ears spinning so loudly that you very nearly miss the cry upstairs, beyond Grace and Gabe’s bedrooms. Your heart plummets from your chest into the swell of your belly, where you are sure your unborn child will start jackhammering at it, hoping for a moment that Grant is merely stirring and will settle back to sleep.

Andy hits the back of your throat when Grant’s piercing scream makes you gasp over him, releasing him with a pop as you scramble to your feet. Body wracked with nerves and reeling from the thick taste of him in your mouth, you almost trip over his legs as you try to step forward, toward the stairs.

Wholly ignoring Andy reaching for you, you toss him a sympathetic smile before crawling over him for a full, bruising kiss. “Grant,” you bumble into his lips, his tongue dipping through the seam of your mouth to taste whatever little of himself you’ve had, and you squeeze his bicep knowingly before pushing off the couch, “I gotta go check on him,” you smooth his hair with your hand, “I’m sorry—I’ll come back,”

“I’ll come to ya,” he moans dejectedly against your mouth, nodding his understanding as Grant’s cries bleed down the stairs, stronger. Before you go, he pulls you back for another full kiss, his hand kneading your tit a little as his thumb skips over the peak of your nipple, which has stained the front of your shirt. “Go, ‘fore I decide to let him cry and keep you all to myself,” the growl propels you off the couch, and up the stairs.

Grant is red as a beet when you slip into the nursery, writhing when you gently take him into your arms. A feel tells you he not only needs changed, but it’s a mess—a mess that will keep you longer than Andy will want. Mumbling under your breath, you ignore your aching core as you fold Grant against your chest, softly working his clothes off and to the floor of the nursery at your feet.

Within minutes he’s changed, and you’ve wrapped him in a thin swaddle. He’s awake, more than you want him to be when Andy dips into the room, still hard and keening as you offer him a resigned look of apology. He asks you if Grant’s asleep—with a groan and a sigh, you shake your head no. Cursing under his breath, he sighs and slides his hand of his cock. You mewl a little at the sight of it, tongue suddenly thick with need.

Slipping across the hall to your room, you can hear him work through the erection as you settle into the chair in the corner of the room, foot rocking you as Grant grabs at your tit, needy. Lifting your shirt, you allow him to latch while your head kicks back against the chair, eyes staring at the ceiling while Grant takes to you.

Aching, nearly swimming with need, you focus all your sexual energy into maintaining a steady rocking rhythm into your chair. It’s better to say nothing, to offer as little stimulation as possible in hopes of getting him back to sleep—he’s only slept for an hour. He will go back to sleep, if you’re diligent. It means torture for you, and you allow his weight to settle against your stomach, your other child offering a painful kick to what feels like your bladder.

It’s not long before Deveraux slips back into the quiet of the nursery. He’s changed into sleeping pants, but is shirtless as he smooths fingers over his goatee. He doesn’t look sated, and the kiss he offers to the corner of your mouth says he’s waiting for you. You angle your head to allow him to kiss the pulse point in your neck, and his mouth skips up the line of your jaw to brush against your temple, sweetly.

Hands braced on either of the chair’s arms as he hovers over you, his eyes fall to consider Grant lazily suckling at your breast, his eyes half-mast. Not fully closed as he considers his father, but a sign that he’s fading. Andy’s thick fingers brush through the boy’s blonde hair lightly, the crooked smile on the man’s face enough to send your heart up into your throat.

“I love you,” he kisses your temple again, hand moving to gently bite at your scalp as his fingers work through your head again. You allow him to kick you head back a little, staring up into his face as his bright eyes hold you steady. “Thank you, Sugar. For giving me amazin’ babies–for bein’ here when I come home.”

You offer him a lazy smile, and nod. “I’ll always be here when you come home, honey,” you crook your finger for him to kiss you again, softly, “Bet your life on it.”

And he does. Again, and again.

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ramp-it-up · 1 year

Text

If The Fates Allow

Paring: Andy Barber (Drew) x Reader (Muffin)

Word Count: 3.4 K

Summary: Andy did you dirty and you are done. Can he convince you to give him your heart again?

Warnings: 18+ As always, MINORS DNI, SMUT, RPF. Not Beta’d. All mistakes my own. Tons of Angst, hurt, pining, and bitterness. Secret relationship, employee relationship, drinking, jealously, dancing, mistletoe, arguing, apology, that love thang. Allusions to blow job, car sex, desk sex. Oral (f receiving.), fingering, squirting, allusions to p in v, breeding kink. Daddy Drew kink.

A/N: This is for #DJ’sAllIWant4KChristmas and based on this very detailed ask. This is a companion piece to The Trouble With Love Is.

I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

I Do NOT consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

When you showed up at the staff Holiday party looking like a million bucks in a shimmering gold dress, and killer heels, Andy was appropriately speechless.

You’d curved him, looking right through him as he stopped at your table to wish you Happy Holidays. You didn’t even spare him a smile.

Andy was shook.

He went to the bar to knock a couple back and get up the courage to try again.

You were bitter.

You were in full on savage mode.

And Andrew Barber was the cause.

You sat with Stephanie, who was in her second year of law school and glad for the break. She was lit, on her fourth drink and you weren’t far behind. You were both shit talking about Andy, who was watching you two out of the corner of his eye from his perch at the bar.

“Look at him. He ain’t shit.”

Steph side eyed you.

“You’re acting like you’re his wife? She’s the one who should be bitching about him.”

“You are soooo muthafuckin right, Steph. I. Am. Not. His wife.”

“Yessssss. Girl what is up?”

Stephanie was worried now.

“He ain’t got a wife,” You mumbled into your drink.

“What?”

Steph didn’t hear you.

“Nothing.”

You thought back to the fall when his divorce was final.

Andy had spent the night with you. The entire night! You’d awakened in his arms and felt lighter than air. You made him breakfast and started scrolling your phone for restaurants for that evening.

Andy watched you on your phone and nodded at you as you were scrolling.

“What are you up to, Muffin?”

You grinned at your boyfriend.

“Drew… can you pull some strings and get us in o ya tonight? Pleaseeeee?”

You made your best pouty face for him, which he normally couldn’t resist. He swallowed his food and took a drink, eyeing you warily.

“You know we can’t go out in public, Baby.”

Your face, and your stomach, dropped. But you got up and sat on Andy’s lap.

“What? Why? You’re divorced now. We’re free, Drew…”

Fear bloomed in his chest as Andy accepted your kiss and held your chin between two fingers.

“Yeah. The divorce is final, but we need to lay low, just for a little while longer, honey.”

You pouted and Andy’s heart twisted. It was too much to hope that he could have everything he wanted so suddenly. No, he had to be careful, temper this newfound hope that was within his reach.

“But, Drew…”

Andy lifted your chin and started kissing down toward your cleavage while reaching under the shirt of his that you were wearing.

“I am divorced, but not everyone needs to know that right now. And we still work at the same firm. It could mean your job. Or mine. Or both.”

“But…”

“Just a little while longer…”

You whined.

“Shhhh, Muffin.”

Andy started to knead your breast as he kissed your neck. His voice was deep and his dick was hard as you sat on his lap.

“Now, what do you want for takeout tonight?”

You laughed into your glass.

“Just a little while longer.”

Stephanie gave you the gas face as she got up.

“You need some water. You’re becoming a surly drunk.”

You just rolled your eyes and watched as Stephanie stepped next to Andy at the bar. He looked over to your table and you stuck your tongue out at him.

You were thinking of how the ‘little while’ turned from days, to weeks, to months, and how now here you were, four months later, and no one even knew that Andy was divorced, or that you had given a year of your life to that man.

At the bar, Andy caught your display of ire and cleared his throat. It was the first communication you’d had in over a month. You had blocked him on everything, including changing the locks at your apartment just before Thanksgiving, the last time you asked him to go public with the relationship.

And the last time he said no.

Andy missed you like crazy. And he was worried. But he was sure that you’d be back. He was planning on asking you to meet him after the party when Stephanie stepped up to the bar.

“Merry Christmas Stephanie. You and Y/N having a good time tonight?”

Steph looked back over her shoulder at you and shook her head.

“I’m trying Mr. Barber, but Y/N is being a little difficult.”

The bartender delivered two waters to Stephanie.

“I’ll get her right, though. Merry Christmas, Mr. Barber.”

Andy watched as you started drinking the water. Neal sat down beside him.

This fucking guy.

“That’s a prime piece right there. I’d like to get up in there.”

Andy glanced where Neal was looking. Your table.

“Stephanie’s pretty cute.”

Andy knocked back his drink and prepared to get up and relieve himself of Neal’s company.

“No. I mean, Y/N.”

Neal looked at Andy, who couldn’t tell if Loguidice was rattling his cage on purpose. Neal leaned in.

“C’mon, tell me you’ve never imagined bending that ass over your desk.”

Andy didn’t have to imagine that. That was how you two got together, one late night at the office.

But he didn’t want to hear it coming out of Loguidice’s mouth.

“Do me a favor and shut the fuck up. Spare me your twisted fantasies, Neal.”

Andy retreated across the room as people started to dance. He stood on the wall and watched as Neal got some liquid courage and went over to get rejected by you.

Except he didn’t get rejected. You took his hand as he led you to the bar to get a drink and then to an isolated corner.

Andy’s head was about to explode.

You may have been just a little tipsy, but you knew what you were doing.

You were in a corner with Neal Loguidice, flirting up a storm, laughing at all of his jokes, and loudly.

You knew that Andy was standing there like everything was alright. And why wouldn't he? You were no one to him, right? And no one even knew he was divorced, did they?

After all, the last year meant nothing to him, even though you played wifey and he played you cheap, keeping you his little secret.

That’s what you screamed at him the last time he saw you. Andy had tried to make you see how much you mean to him, but fear outweighed his feeling.

Andy was wary of going public with you.

You were weary of being the side chick to his ego.

But when he looked up, he saw you, in a dark corner of the restaurant, being chatted up by Neal Loguidice.

Andy saw red and he swore that steam was rolling out of his ears. He started to advance on you two, but you took Neal’s hand and led him to the dance floor, allowing him to pull you close as the slow song blared from the DJ’s speakers.

His heart dropped and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. The sight of you in someone else’s arms, in Loguidice’s arms, made him feel like an idiot.

An idiot who let you get away.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter what everyone thought. All that mattered was you.

He got an idea and went to speak to the DJ, a hundred dollar bill in his hand. The music abruptly changed to the cha cha slide and you and Neal stood there awkwardly at the suddness of the transition.

He moved through the dance floor amid the crowd of people moving in unison. You glanced over and grimaced. Trying to keep a straight face as Andy managed to keep up with the footwork.

You’d never danced with or near him before, other than swaying in your living room, because he never took you dancing.

That made you angry again and you looked over at Neal and gave him a sexy smile, just because you knew it would piss Andy off.

You didn’t notice until it was too late, that with each turn of the dance Andy was manuevering you right where he wanted you.

When the song ended, he was able to cut you off from Neal and the rest of the dancers.

You were between Andy and the edge of the bar, and he was reaching up for something above you on the little portico in the area.

You smirked at him when you saw what he was holding.

“Well, look at that, Y/N.”

Andy held it out to you, smirking.

“Is that mistletoe?”

There were people around, so you knew he was full of shit. You put your hands on your hips to challenge him.

“Are you– are you pulling down mistletoe, Mr. Barber?”

Andy looked at the plant in his hand as if he’d never seen it before.

“I guess I am. I must want to kiss you very badly.”

You were stunned. You looked around and you caught Stephanie raising her eyebrow at you and at Loguidice glaring at you both.

“I’m tired of you jerking me around. Do it. I dare you.”

Andy tossed the mistletoe on the bar.

“If you say so.”

Then he moved forward, pressing you up against the wooden column and caressing the side of your face. You shuddered at this first touch in over a month. His thumb moved over to trace your bottom lip and you opened slightly, full of anticipation.

“I’ve missed the hell outta you, Muffin.”

And then he did it. Andrew Barber kissed you in front of about 185 people at the staff Klein Law Firm Christmas party.

You moaned in the back of your throat and moved your hand up in his hair as he went to town tasting you and re-exploring your mouth with his tongue. His hand moved down the side of your body and ghosted over your ass, but returned to your waist.

When it was done, you rested your forehead against his.

“Drew…”

“Holy shit! Andrew is Drew!”

Stephanie was shocked.

Loguidice glared at you two and stalked out of the restaurant.

“Will you come talk?”

You looked at Andy’s extended hand in front of all these people and you had to accept. He was being fully honest for the first time in a while.

You sat outside Andy’s new condo and argued.

With Andy.

And with yourself.

Every time he tried to apologize, you rejected it.

You pulled out your phone to call an Uber, fully sober and not willing to settle for less than you were worth.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, coming home with you. You still ain’t shit, Drew!”

Andy dropped his head, and then looked back up at you.

“I know. I don’t deserve a moment of your time.”

Andy bit his lip, intoxicated by being this close to you again.

“But please, just come up and we’ll talk. That’s all.”

You two stared each other down, neither one of you believing what Andy had just said.

“I’m not sucking your dick, Drew.”

Andy put his hands up in defense and laughed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then he looked up in the air.

“Well… that’s not true. Have woken up more than once with ruined sheets like a schoolboy because of you.”

You cleared your throat.

“Do we need to talk in the car?”

You gave him full attitude. Andrew Barber was not going to get in that easily.

“Sure. This car holds lots of… memories.”

Andy’s eyes roved you and the interior of his Audi.

You flashed back to when Drew turned you out in the driver’s seat. Shit. You couldn’t escape the ways and places you two had sex.

You rolled your eyes.

“Fine, let’s go up.”

You moved to open the door and Andy said, “Ah ah ah…”

You sat back and waited with anticipation as Andy came around and opened the door for you. The electricity when he took your hand was just annoying at this point. And the way that he held it, in the elevator, gently rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb was not a turn on.

Not at all.

When Andy opened the door to his place, you walked in and surveyed the layout. It was very nice, if bachelor pad bare.

“Nice place.”

“It’s made much nicer with you in the space.”

You were still resistant to him, trying to keep your heart hard.

“So… I mean… what? I feel like this is an alternate universe or something.”

Andy’s world was upside down. He ran his hand through his hair and stared at you.

“What do you want to talk about Andrew? I told you I’m done.”

Andy was pressed.

“D’you want something to eat?”

Andy looked at you and licked his lips. You were beginning to hunger, but not for food. Then you remembered why you were here. You straightened your spine.

“I was about to eat at the party, but then you made a scene. What’s up with that, Drew?”

Andy smiled at your nickname for him. Maybe there was hope. He gestured for you to sit down.

You took off your coat and handed it to him after he took off his jacket. You sat on the opposite end of the couch from him.

“I’ve made some decisions about my life. I’m tired of running from my feelings.”

Andy looked you straight in the eye. You felt he was telling the truth.

“I’ve treated you badly, like you were just a side piece and not worth me shouting my love for you from the rooftops. That’s what tonight was about. I’m done being a fool.”

You crossed your arms, silently considering what he was saying.

“I just don’t know if you’re done with me.”

“I said I was, didn’t I?” You snapped back.

Andy scooted closer to you.

“Yeah, that’s the thing. You clearly kissed me back at the party. And you agreed to come here with me, then you came up. Your actions seem to indicate otherwise.”

“Don’t cross examine me, Mr. Barber.”

Andy chuckled, his gaze moving around your face and settling on your lips.

“Can I just ask one question?”

You knew it was dangerous, but you assented anyway.

“Do I still have your heart?”

Damn. That was such a sweet fucking question.

You just gulped and stared at Andy, growing warmer with each second. It was all so intense. The energy was thick.

Andy moved closer.

“Where is your heart, Muffin?”

Your eyes half lidded at the nick name.

“I hate you, Drew.”

Andy moved even closer, and was reaching for you.

“I know. And I deserve it. But that wasn’t the question.”

You closed your eyes.

“Let me tell you where my heart is.”

You took a deep breath, opened your eyes and looked at Andy.

“At first it was infatuation. From the moment you stepped foot in the office. I mean, the way you look, that body.”

Andy looked at you and then shook his head.

“Then, when we started hooking up, I convinced myself it was just sex. I hid my feelings from myself, until you took up residence in my heart. Right here.”

Andy took your hand and placed it on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat.

“And through everything, you’ve been there for me when it mattered. I love you Y/N. I know I’ve said it before. But I want you to know it all over again.”

You were caught up in the story Andy’s deep tenor was telling. But it wasn’t a story. You knew it was the truth.

“So. If you’ve taken your heart back from me, I want to ask for it back. Are you willing to trust me with it again? I promise I will try to heal what I’ve done, and celebrate you as the queen you are. My queen.”

“Oh, Drew.”

You drew in a shuddering breath.

“Fuck it. You still have my heart. But I still hate you a lil’ bit.”

Andy chuckled, heart light at your admission.

“Understandable. I want to do so many things with you. Take you out, maybe have your help with decorating this place…”

You looked around.

“You definitely need it.”

Andy slid on the floor and was on his knees before you.

“And one day. Maybe you can sleep over… indefinitely…”

You were giddy at the prospect of what you wanted for so long. But you were still reticent. You bit your lip.

“Now why would I be sleeping over, Mr. Barber?”

Andy’s eyes were dark blue now, and he was reaching for you after your flirty response.

“I would hope that you would be so tired after all the orgasms I’m gonna give you that you just pass out naked on my bed.”

Andy’s hands went from your ankles to your calves to your thighs, pushing the gold fabric higher.

“Hmmmm. Big talk, Andrew.”

Andy leaned over and kissed you, gently teasing your lips open and sweetly tasting your tongue. You soft moan made him hard as a rock.

“Do you trust that I won’t hurt you again?”

You caught your breath after the kiss, getting lost in his eyes.

“No. You’ve just got to prove it.”

“Deal.”

“Right now I’m going to prove what I said about the orgasms. I’ve been dreaming about sucking the shit out of your clit and eating you out until you squirt.”

“Fuck, Drew….”

Your whine told him all he needed to know. His hands moved up to the apex of your thighs and you squirmed slightly away from him.

“Where are you going? I told you, don’t run from me again. C’mere.”

He beckoned to you with his finger.

“Bring that ass here.”

You bit your own finger and smiled. Daddy Drew was back. You scooted down so that your ass was in his hands. He felt you up with his fingers.

“Oh shit, Muffin,” He felt the thong in your ass.

Then he looked down as you lifted your skirt the rest of the way so he could see your gold covered cunt.

“For me?”

You giggled and nodded.

“You shouldn’t have.”

Andy reached down and pulled your thong to the side, staring at you for the longest.

“A sight for sore eyes.”

Andy was actually whispering to your pussy as he started rubbing it with one thumb on top of you and the other coming in from the bottom to play in your wet, soppy hole. You started moving your pelvis.

“Ah. You’re desperate are you? You given what is mine away to anyone eles while we were apart?”

“No, Daddy. Have you?”

Andy didn’t hesitate.

“You own me baby girl,” said Andy as he lowered his mouth to lick up your slit.

“You always will.”

Andy rotated his palm and held you open with the other hand as you watched him eat you out. He fulfilled his dream of sucking your clit until you saw stars, and crooked his fingers just right to get you to squirt, as only he could.

Andy basked in it, then took off his wet shirt and the rest of his clothes before he divested you of your dress. You were limp, trying to recover from his ministrations as he picked you up, threw you over his shoulder and took you upstairs.

“Next stop on the tour is my bedroom, and my bed that I bought with you in mind. And the mostly empty walk in closet, because I know your clothes will take up more space than mine.”

You giggled as you were deposited on a king sized bed with the softest duvet ever. Your eyes widened and so did your legs as Andy pumped his massive dick. How you’d missed it.

“And no condoms allowed in this house. You’re gonna take this cum until it’s dripping out of your pores, by god.”

You opened your legs even wider as he descended toward you, three fingers already inside you to stretch you out.

“Yes, Daddy Drew…”

Reblog for the sake of love!

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