he doesn’t know where you came from. he’s not even certain you’re human. but he’d do anything for you—anything to keep you happy. that includes indulging—and feeding—your peculiar appetite in any way necessary.
words: 5.2k
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! dark content, extremely unequal power dynamics, you’re pretty much his ‘pet’. cannibalism and murder, though the murder is not shown explicitly. yunho lets you take a chunk out of him at one point. self-mutilation, gore. reader is depicted as extremely childlike and innocent due to how she grew up and yunho is depicted as getting off on that fact (he does feel guilty though), unspecified childhood trauma, mentions of punishments such as spanking/belting/cold baths. reader is unaware of basic concepts such as parents, gender etc. blowjobs, throatfucking. it is explicitly stated that reader views yunho as a father. yunho sort of gets off on that. yunho is not a good guy. reader probably doesn’t have the mental capacity to be good or bad. you’re not allowed to leave the apartment.
note: this was intended to be longer, but i don’t have much else to do to it. it may be expanded on at some point. i’m honestly not super happy with it but i wanted to get it out. heed the warnings, this is gross.
The TV is blaring when he wakes up. It’s loud, obnoxiously so, hurting his head a little; the familiar rattle of the local news channel’s morning jingle and the laughter of the presenters.
He’s sure he remembers turning it off last night; a couple beers in, the tail end of an action movie he’s seen a hundred times droning on. He turned it off a little after it ended and trudged down the hall to bed, he’s certain; he remembers stumbling over the wires a little when he went to turn it off at the wall, slightly disoriented by the late night and the alcohol. You were asleep then, quiet and content on his bedroom floor.
You must have turned it back on after he went to bed; you have a habit of wandering around the apartment at night, fiddling with buttons and flicking switches until you get bored or tired and fall asleep where you’re stood. He doesn't love it, but the apartment is secure and you know not to do it in the bedroom when he’s sleeping, so it’s not a huge problem.
You certainly have more destructive habits than that, anyway.
He finds you under the table, when he finally gets up and trudges through to the kitchen; you’re crouching, partially concealed by the tablecloth, toes curled under your feet against the tiled floor.
He doesn’t know what you’re doing. He rarely does. But as long as you’re safe, and obeying him, that’s what matters.
“Get out from there,” he says. The words come out grumbled, his voice still rough, thick with sleep.
You crawl out slowly, begrudgingly, then stand up. He can tell you’re not happy about it, but you’re obeying nonetheless, and that’s enough for him.
Your shirt—his, actually—hangs loose around your body, a little grime seeping into the fabric.
Or it looks like grime, at least. When he looks a little closer he realises it’s actually blood.
He raises an accusing eyebrow, staring you down, and you shrink into yourself like you’ve been caught in the act. Which you have, pretty much.
“Baby,” he sighs. He reaches to grab a dirtied section of the shirt, holding it up to your eyeline where it’s unavoidable. “What did we talk about yesterday?”
“Change,” you answer quietly. “We have to change clothes when they’re dirty.”
He nods, humming. “That’s right. If you’re going to go around wearing shirts with blood on them then you’ll have to stop wearing clothes when you eat. Is that what you want?”
“No, Yu.”
“Arms up.”
You lift your arms obediently, staying still and silent as he slides the shirt up over your head and puts it down on the table. You’re bare now, only panties to protect your modesty, but that’s not something that really registers to either of you. Not with the states you’ve seen each other in—far, far worse than a little nudity.
“Sit down,” he says. “I’ll bring you breakfast.”
He turns off the TV first; it’s too loud this early in the morning, not to mention a waste of money to keep it running like that.
While he’s there, he slides his hand behind the TV stand and retrieves the key he keeps hidden underneath.
You watch him silently. You know what he’s doing—and you know how to be patient, too.
You’ll get what you need; you always do. Yunho has never once allowed you to go without.
The pantry is hidden behind a bookshelf you’ve never cared to browse—you have little use for books anyway. You watch as Yunho hauls it out of the way then slots the key into the lock.
It opens with a quiet click that makes your mouth water instinctively. You hear the fridge open then close, then a drawer, then he emerges again with a white tupperware in his hands.
Fuck. You can already smell it. The minute or so it takes for him to lock up and put everything back into place nearly has you jumping out of your seat.
“We’re running a little low,” Yunho tells you as he puts the box down on the table. “I’ll go out tonight. Stock up a little.”
The lid cracks open. The smell is the first thing to hit—it’s distinct, pungent, unmistakable once you know what it is. It still makes him a little queasy even now. You’re all but heart-eyed like he’s just offered you a gourmet dinner.
“Eat up,” he says. “Before it goes bad.”
You eat with your hands—despite his best efforts, you were never able to get the hang of cutlery, and you barely understood the logic of using it no matter how many times he explained it to you. It was just one of those times where he had to pick his battles, he’d realised; you eat well anyway, never leaving a drop, and that’s what matters.
“How is it?” He asks.
“Good,” you answer. “What is it?”
“Thigh.”
You nod, approving, and he bites back a laugh. “Good girl,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. You’re far too engrossed to hear it; if you do, you don’t reply.
You’re a woman of few words—that’s something he understood about you very early on. He doubts you used them at all before meeting him; when would you have? You were all alone out there, wherever you were; in the very few stories you have told him of your early life, you never once mentioned another person.
He supposes it makes sense; tracks with the complete waste of time it had been trying to find any record of you at all.
To the rest of the world, it seems, you just… don’t exist.
He intends to keep it that way.
“Done,” you announce. You push the box back to him, then push each of your fingers into your mouth, one by one, until they’re licked clean. There’s still some blood around your mouth and trailing down your chin; he sighs, lamenting silently to himself, knowing what he’s going to have to do.
“You’re dirty, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “You’re going to need a wash.”
Your head snaps up, eyes suddenly sharp, your lips set in a firm line. “No,” you growl. “No wash, Yunho.”
He tries to keep his voice level, but the defiance in your voice, in your eyes, has his hand twitching by his side. “You have to, baby, you’re filthy. I don’t like filthy girls, do I?”
It’s true—if it weren’t such an issue it’d almost be funny that someone like him, used to keeping things clean and tidy and very much set in his ways, would be so irrevocably bonded with someone who scarcely even understands why it’s necessary to wash in the first place.
He doesn’t blame you, of course; with the life you’ve had he knows he can’t expect any different. But it does cause problems sometimes.
“Baby,” he repeats. “Do I like filthy girls?”
You shake your head, deflating a little. One way he’s found to make you understand why it’s necessary to do or not do certain things is to frame them around him—Yunho doesn’t like that. Yunho likes this. You have to do it this way, because it makes Yunho happy.
Whatever works, he supposes, and he can’t deny he enjoys the way you’re almost religiously in need of his praise and approval. It’s a level of power he doesn’t quite know what to do with; he certainly wants to maintain it, though.
Other people would just abuse it, anyway.
“Let’s go wash up,” he says. “Then you’ll be nice and clean and I’ll be happy.”
“And reward?” You ask, hope evident in your voice.
He bites back a grin that’s a little more predatory than he can admit of himself. “Yeah, love,” he says. “Then reward.”
It’s as much as a reward for him—more, probably, if you were to ask anyone but you. But you’re not going to ask anyone else, so it doesn’t really matter.
He sets the bath running—it’s easier than trying to put you in the shower, he’s found—at the temperature you seem to hate the least. Not too warm, but not too cold. He doesn’t set it cold unless you’re being really, really bad. You stand hovering behind him while he prepares it; when he’s awake you tend to follow him around the house, not really certain what else to do with yourself. Even facing away from you, he feels the way you tense up when he sets the water running; you relax a little when you see him set it warm, though not entirely, and he bites down a laugh.
“Relax, bunny,” he murmurs. “You’ve been good. S’gonna be just how you like it.”
“Don’t like any of it,” you grumble. He rolls his eyes.
“Okay,” he says, turning off the taps. “In we get. Let’s get you nice and clean, wash this filth off you.”
You don’t fight him when he lifts you up and puts you into the tub; you only do it very occasionally these days, when you’re particularly agitated or bratty, but for the most part he’s weeded that particular instinct out of you. You know, now, not to fight Yunho; not while he’s the one who protects you from the world. Especially not while he can hit that hard.
You stay still, docile, silent as he cleans you up. He rewards you with your favourite fluffy towel, warmed on the radiator, wrapped around you once he dries you off. “All done,” he says. “I’ll get you a clean shirt.”
He slips another old, loose shirt over your head; it falls to your mid-thigh, and the fabric is soft and worn, the colour starting to fade. Then he puts you on your knees by the foot of the bed; grips your jaw between his fingers and yanks it upwards to meet his eyes. “I’m gonna give you your reward,” he says. “Tell me the rule.”
“No teeth,” you recite it, as you always do. “No biting. Only tongue.”
“And if you break that rule, what’ll happen?”
“Belt.”
He hums. He doesn’t particularly enjoy beating you; you don’t put up a fight, at least, not anymore, but your pained whimpers do very little for him. It’s purely a disciplinary measure, one of the few ways to keep you in line that actually deters you. He doesn’t do it often—usually you’re just over his knee and he’s using his hand, or a small brush sometimes—only when it’s something serious. And given your predilection for meat, he definitely views keeping your teeth off his dick as something serious.
“Open your mouth,” he orders, pulling his dick out from his sweats. It slides in easily past your lips and into the warmth. You make a face, wincing slightly, but he knows it’s not the intrusion that’s bothering you; rather the soap he forced into your mouth as he always does before he goes anywhere near it.
He knows exactly the sort of things that have been in that mouth, and it’s nothing he wants on his fingers or his lips or his heavy leaking cock.
You suckle at it eagerly, swirling your tongue around the tip in just the way he taught you; you’re whimpering slightly, the size overwhelming you, staring up at him with those wide, innocent eyes like you don’t even understand what's happening to you, a stray tear playing on your waterline.
Fuck, he shouldn’t be getting off on that. He shouldn’t fucking be doing any of this; you’re so naive, so inexperienced; you have no knowledge of the world beyond his apartment. You can barely string a sentence together; barely understand what he’s saying to you unless he dumbs it down.
You’re like a child. For all intents and purposes, you are one. The guilt and the shame sits heavy in his stomach as he pushes himself down into your throat.
“That’s it,” he groans. “You enjoy it, baby. Do I taste good?”
You make a humming noise, affirmative, tightening your lips around his shaft and he groans. “Shit.” You’re so fucking good at this when you can keep your damn teeth off of him. “Alright,” he says. “I’m gonna cum down your throat. Remember your manners and swallow it.”
It doesn’t take him long; he grabs the back of your head and pulls it towards him then starts to thrust, in and out, faster and harder until he’s fucking your throat and you’re gagging and spluttering around his shaft. Your sweet little hands are fisting at his shirt, curling the fabric around your fists like you’re holding on for dear life. He cums suddenly, quickly, directly into your throat. You probably couldn’t spit it up if you tried with how deep he is; still, though, he pats your head and praises you for swallowing it so sweetly. It’s a point of pride for him, honestly, how well he’s trained you up.
“Alright,” he says, tucking himself back into his sweats. “How you feeling?”
“Fine,” you mumble. You’re still staring up at him with those wide puppy eyes, the way that always gets him though he doubts you’re aware of that; you don’t seem to have any kind of pattern recognition, any understanding of cause and effect. He picks you up with his hands hooked under your arms and sits you down on the edge of the bed, then he crouches down to meet your eyes.
“You sleepy, baby?” He asks. You nod. “Alright, pet. You can sleep in my arms while I watch TV.”
He carries you through, your head tucked into the crook of his neck; by the time he puts you down you’re already snoring. He laughs slightly as he adjusts you so you’re cradled sideways in his lap, your face pressed tightly enough against his chest that your cheeks are squished. You look so cute when you sleep; so harmless.
Really, you look harmless all the time, unless you’re eating. But he’s hardly one to judge, he thinks, not anymore. He’s as inhuman as you are now.
He likes to get your food a few days in advance. He can’t stock up in bulk, unfortunately, because if the meat’s more than a week old it’ll make you sick, so he likes to go out every Friday for it.
It’s all procedural; clinical. He finds it, he brings it back, he cuts it and freezes and stores it. It’s as simple as that.
He gets no thrill from it; no pleasure. That fact is the sole thing that keeps him steady most days.
At just after eleven on Friday, he puts you to bed as he always does. On the nights he goes out, you sleep in your cage; it’s not a punishment, never has been, just a way to ensure you’re safe and contained while he’s gone. He’s tried to make it homely for you, with pillows and blankets and a couple of toys for you to play with; the little stuffed bear you like to pretend to pounce on and the toy car you push around and watch with wonder as the wheels spin against the floor. He’s never gone for too long, and by the time he comes back you’re almost always asleep.
Today’s kill is in two bags, as usual; they’re large, cooled, like the ones his mother would pack his picnics into when he was a child. He’s not particularly fond of cutting people up where they fall, but he knows he’d never be able to pull a body up the stairs without being caught; that’s why he tends to go for dark alleyways, empty buildings, wooded areas and the like—less people to stumble across him while he’s doing what he needs to do.
The gun is in his pocket, safety on, the silencer still wrapped around the barrel. He puts it away first, locked up in the safe, then puts the meat into the freezer and locks the door.
He’s pretty tired tonight. He’ll get the meat ready in the morning. He has to do it when he’s awake and alert and in the right frame of mind or the sight and the smell and the sound of the knife sinking into the muscle will make him retch.
You’re curled up and knocked out in the cage when he returns to the bedroom, your face tucked between your knees and your arms wrapped around your shins. He picks you up, careful not to wake you; you make a soft, quiet noise when he lifts you, somewhere between a whimper and a breath, but you don’t stir.
You sleep pressed against his chest, his face buried in your hair, breathing you in. He savours the nights like this, when you sleep together; your sleep schedule is so irregular that he rarely gets the opportunity to have you like this.
The last thing he’s conscious of is the sound of you murmuring his name against his chest, talking in your sleep.
The next few weeks pass normally enough. You eat well, as you usually do, and you listen to him when he gives you an instruction. He only has to spank you once, for making a fuss when he has to leave, and even that is just a few minutes with his bare hand, comparatively mild; he doesn’t even pull your panties down for it—just lifts up your shirt and slams his hand down until your skin is glowing red.
When he’s done, there’s a little wet patch on the crotch of your panties that he decides not to mention. He definitely notes it, though.
It’s on a Friday morning that things start to go downhill.
He wakes up to a missed call from his father—a bad start. He hardly talks to the man; hasn’t since he left for college, really. The only reason he still engages with him is that his mother is sick in the hospital and his dad is the only person who keeps him updated on it.
He presses the call button begrudgingly. The sound of his father’s voice makes him wince. “Yunho, hello.”
“Hi, dad,” Yunho says. He peers through the crack in his bedroom door, into the small expanse of hallway it reveals. He thought he’d heard you walking around when he was waking up, but when he got out of the shower you’d gone silent. He supposes you’ve fallen asleep somewhere. “What’s up?”
“Your mother is doing better,” his father says. “She’s walking again. Thought you’d like to know.”
“Oh, that’s good. Yeah. Thanks. Anything else?”
“Are you going to come to visit her?”
Yunho sighs, closing his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I told you,” he says. “I can’t right now.” He can’t leave you here—and he certainly can’t take you with him. God knows how you’d react, what you’d do; he’s not even certain you fully grasp the concept of anyone else existing but you and him.
“Why not?”
“I have a… I’m having issues with work. And I’m taking care of my friend’s kid.” A lie for several reasons. Yunho doesn’t have any friends.
“Well, bring the kid.”
“I can’t,” he says. “My friend is in the hospital, too. We need to be in the area if something happens.”
His dad doesn’t respond; just scoffs. The sound of the tone when he hangs up makes Yunho flinch, drawing his phone away from his ear. For fuck’s sake.
You’re on the couch, it turns out, only half asleep; Yunho wakes you with a hand on your shoulder and sits you up. “Come on,” he says. “Breakfast.”
“You were talking,” you say, following him through to the kitchen. “Why?”
“My dad called me,” he answers. “First time in months. I was talking to him.”
“Oh,” you nod, sitting yourself down, but there’s a measure of confusion on your face still like something’s not quite computing with you. “Are you my dad?”
You ask it so earnestly and innocently that it makes him sick. Not the question—the way his dick twitches in his pants in response to it. “What?” He shakes his head quickly, his face burning. “No. No, I’m not. Your dad is… your dad is the man that made you and helps you grow up.”
“You help me grow up.”
“Not when you were a child,” he says. “And I didn’t make you. I just look after you.”
“I don’t think I have a dad.”
“Do you have a mom?” He asks. “Like a dad, but a woman.”
You don’t reply; you just stare at him like you’re waiting for him to finish his sentence. He sighs. “A woman. You know what that means?”
“Me?” You ask uncertainly.
“That’s right,” he nods. “A woman has a hole, like you. A man has a dick, like me.”
“I didn’t have a mom,” you respond after a moment. “I had me.”
Yunho hums, processing what you’ve said; this is the most you’ve ever spoken about your life before he found you. There’s so much he wants to know about it; at the same time, though, he thinks he may be better off ignorant. He still doesn’t know what you are, really, why it is you need to eat what you eat, why other foods, other meats make you so sick and weak and grey. He can’t imagine any explanation for that that he wouldn’t regret finding out.
“Well, you have me now,” he says. “And I take care of you.”
“Dad.”
“No, not dad. Yunho.”
“Dad is a man that takes care of me,” you argue. You point at him. “Dad.”
“Not just takes care of you,” he says. “Dads don’t just take care of you, they make you as well. I didn’t make you.”
You frown, your hand falling; Yunho dares to think you look almost… crestfallen. He bites his lip. “Would you like to have had a dad, baby?”
“You,” you reply. “Have a dad that’s you.”
Oh Christ. He holds back a groan, willing himself to think of anything but his half-hard dick and the way that word sounds so soft and sweet and innocent on your tongue.
Well. Anything for his baby, right?
He tells himself over and over that that’s all it is; something to make you happy. “If you want to see me as your dad,” he says, “if you do see me as your dad. That’s okay.”
“I’d be a good…” You pause, frowning slightly. “If you’re dad, what am I?”
“A daughter, I suppose.”
“I’d be a good daughter.”
Yunho smiles. “I know you would.”
You eat quietly, not too messily; the meat he gives you this morning is mostly dried out, a few days in the freezer, so there’s no blood to drip down onto your shirt. When you’re done, you push the plate towards him with a whispered “thank you.”
He’s just about to head out when it happens. He doesn’t know why you decide to lie there, curled up on the floor in the middle of the hallway—he doesn’t even see you until it’s too late. His head is a mess, adrenaline already pumping as he readies himself for what he has to do; he’s rushing to grab his keys from one kitchen when he feels it. His shin presses up against something, something solid, and he’s falling before he can stop himself.
He hears the snap; feels the pain before he even realises what’s happened. When he looks down at his ankle, the break is obvious.
Fuck.
He groans; he tries to get up but the slightest weight on it has him stumbling back down again, hissing in pain, head spinning.
Okay. Shit. This is fine.
He’s set broken bones before; treated them. He did it all the time in college when he volunteered as a first aider. Nobody breaks bones like drunk college kids with someone to impress.
He hops over to the first aid kit, gathering what he needs, then sits down, his bad ankle resting on the chair in front of him. It doesn’t take too long to fix himself up; by the time he does you’ve woken up, wandering curiously into the kitchen; your eyes widen at the sight of him. “What happened?”
“I hurt my ankle,” he says simply. “I tripped over you. In the hall.”
“Oh.”
“How many times have I told you not to fall asleep where you’re in my way?”
You shrug slightly. You have the decency—the awareness, perhaps—to look a little uneasy.
“Well?” He prompts you.
“A few,” you say. “M’sorry.”
“You need to learn to listen,” he tells you. “I keep telling you things over and over and you don’t learn. You don’t obey.”
“Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” he says. “But I won’t be able to go out tonight.”
“What?”
“I can’t put weight on this. I don’t have anything to lean on. I can’t hunt down and kill someone in this state, let alone bring a corpse back to the apartment.”
You blink. “But I need to eat.”
“I can’t do anything for you,” he says. “I can’t get out until this heals a bit. You still have the supplies in the freezer.”
“And then?” You press. “When I finish?”
“We’ll make do,” he says. He pauses briefly, grunting, then gives a low, dry laugh. “You consider this part of your punishment, for never fucking listening to me.”
Only part of it, of course, because you absolutely have a belting in your future once he’s able to stand up again, and by the look on your face he can tell you know that. He could probably do it now, albeit awkwardly, but if he’s going to take the belt to you he’s going to do it with his full strength. Perhaps the wait will do you some good; help the lesson sink in a little deeper.
He tries to ration the food; it lasts you longer than he thought it would, but you have to eat regularly or you start to get sick; grey skin and unsteady on your feet and crying in pain like you’ve been poisoned. He’s learned from experience that, once that sets in, it doesn’t take long for your condition to deteriorate even more.
One week later, he manages to put weight on his ankle again. Not as easily as he’d like, but he manages to jog awkwardly around the apartment.
And a good thing, too, because your food has officially ran out.
He was annoyingly close to making it on time. He has everything ready by the time he’s fit enough to hunt. Just a few hours and he’ll be fully stocked up and the rationing can stop and his baby will have everything she needs again.
It very nearly works. There’s a queasy feeling in his stomach even before he sees you that tells him that it hasn’t.
You’re on the floor when he comes out into the living room. Your skin is greyed, glistening with sweat, and you’re whimpering and clutching your stomach. Fuck. He’s too late.
He curses, rushing over to you, pulling you up and into his arms.
“Baby,” he says. He tries to keep his voice low, steady, even, but panic is setting in and it feels like his stomach is twisting into a tight, tangled knot. “Sweetheart, look at me. Look at me. Stay with me.”
Your eyes are half shut, drooping; he curses under his breath, shaking you, calling your name. Soft at first. Then panicked. Then stern; that’s the one that has you responding.
“Yunho,” you whine. “F-food, please.”
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I can go and get you some.”
“No,” you cry. You’re shaking now, smaller and frailer in his arms than he’s ever seen you, and your skin is ice cold, somehow soaked in sweat and bone dry at the same time. “Need— now. Please. Gonna— gonna…”
“Now?” He repeats.
“Please,” you whisper. “Gonna die.”
He believes you. He looks around the room, searching for something he can use; his eyes land on the kitchen countertop. On the case of knives, locked up.
The realisation sets in like sickness. He knows what he has to do.
“How much do you need?” He asks.
“Not… not that much,” you say. “Just some.”
“Stay here.” He eases you down onto the floor then pushes himself up; the case doesn’t need a key to open, just a simple latch mechanism, even that too advanced for you to crack, so it doesn’t take long to get what he needs. He comes back to kneel by your side, eyes moving between you and the knife and his leg.
Your eyes are closed now, but you’re still awake for the most part, mumbling things he doesn’t understand. You do that sometimes; did it a lot at first before he taught you how to talk. He theorised you’d had your own little language where you were before.
He pulls up his pant leg to around his knee. He goes for the calf, the same leg as his bad ankle; he’s going to take a strip out of it, he decides, down the side, so there’s not too much of him missing and he can go back out and stock up tomorrow, once you’re in the clear. He’ll have to adjust his methods slightly, perhaps, but he’ll get it done. He doesn’t really have a choice.
He inhales, a slow, shaking breath, then lifts the knife to his calf and presses down. He can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut as the blade sinks into his skin.
He bandages it carefully, with the supplies he’s cultivated over years of injuries, usually from people fighting back, that he couldn’t take to a hospital. He admits, though, that this is the worst one yet. Scratches and scrapes and bites and, once, a chain of keys stabbed into his arm, that’s one thing; this is an entire chunk out of his leg. He feels dizzy and sick and the pain makes his eyes water, every movement sore, but there was no alternative. He couldn’t just let you starve. Couldn’t let you die.
A small section of it, just a piece, forced past your cold grey lips and into your mouth, was enough to have you conscious and aware again. He carries you to the table and sets down a plate for the rest.
You’re slower to eat it than you normally are, as if you’re savouring it, savouring the taste of him on your tongue; you stare at it in what looks like wonder when he puts it down onto your plate, poking at it with your finger; pressing down on it so the blood seeps out from where it had been held by the meat.
“Yunho,” you murmur, then smile. “My Yunho.”
“How do I taste?” He asks. His voice is quiet, weak, his head still spinning a little, but you hear it nonetheless.
“Good,” you say. “Thank you. Hurt?”
“Me?” He asks. You nod. “Yeah, it does. It’ll heal, though, it’ll just leave a nasty scar I think.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” he says. “You needed to eat.”
You swallow the last piece with a smile; blood drips down your chin and lands on your chest, on his shirt, seeping into the fabric. He helps you take the shirt off as he always does; lowers you carefully into the tub to clean you up.
Usually, he throws the shirts into the washing machine and cleans them before they can stain.
love arranged marriage unfortunately. the idea of being married to a knight who's not even in the city, but away on the front lines. it's a benefit for your family, so they dont even question sending you to his home to await his return...
you meet him three months into the arrangement. He arrives after the sun has already set, his features set strong in the candlelight. His body is heavy with exhaustion and tension, his eyes dull and tired.
you've grown to hate this place, this castle gifted to him for war victories. The halls are barren, the garden yet to bloom. The maids are pleasant, but they keep their distance, as if you'll strike. Maybe your husband is the kind to hit. You wouldn't know.
When he looks at you, it's only in short bursts, his eyes suddenly low. There's a long stretch of silence between you and you consider introducing yourself, but decide against it. He knows who you are.
"The maid is drawing me a bath," he says suddenly and a sick feeling pours over you. This day was always coming, but you aren't sure you're ready to lay under a stranger.
"Am I expected to join?" you ask and his nose crinkles.
"No." He steps back and away. His departure is brisk and driven. You retire for the night by yourself and awake alone. Your husband is set to leave again in a few hours; a few soldiers have already gathered in the front garden.
"Don't you wish to give your new wife a goodbye?" one asks, unaware of your open window. "One night and you've already had your fill? Or has she been filled too much?"
"I refuse to believe she is real!" says another. "What kind of woman has worn down our brute and turned him into a family man? Should we expect a gaggle of children in the upcoming year?"
Your husband growls. "You will leave the poor lamb alone. She suffers enough."
That softens you. Just a bit. You rise from you bed and go to the window, leaning out enough to catch the men's attention.
"Until next time."
He watches you, expression caught between more emotions that you can count, then turns his gaze back to his mount. The two men share a look, wide, wide grins on their faces.
In his absence, he sends gifts. They are tiny things, sweets and oiled combs and scented oils and a porcelain figure of a cat, aimless in their direction towards you. Just simple niceties he could give to any woman in the world. You imagine he sends one to the lovers he has in every city as well.
(he must have lovers, you imagine. He hasn't touched you; he must be getting his fill with women in other cities, maybe women he actually loves. these are trinkets to keep his wife amused while she wastes away.)
none of the gifts come with a note.
one day a bolt of fabric arrives, yellow and ornate. It's only a small amount, not enough to make a dress, but enough for you to unravel and admire. It's beautiful and clearly expensive, golden threads woven into flowers and vines. Your father was a silk merchant; while you never wore the silks, you can recognize their quality.
the following week, the delicious man rides up on his steeds and presents a letter. The handwriting is rough. Knights that come from the lower class do not have the schooling of highborns; as fair as you know, your husband was born a street rat and worked his way theough the ranks to glory.
-I have been told by my secund that I did not send you enuf fabric for a gown. I do not no these things.
The spelling mistakes screw a smile out of you.
"Wait a moment." You stop the boy before he can leave. "I wish to send something back."
You take your time and use your finest calligraphy, tucking your note in with a handkerchief you had spent the week on. It's fine work-- one that would please even the hardest of hearts.
-Dearest husband,
Please take this handkerchief as a sign of my thoughts.
Your patient and thoughtful wife
A second letter arrives within the week.
-are you cros with me? A scrap of fabric for a scrap of fabric?
The response is what makes you cross. The poor messenger boy has to stay the night while you percolate over a response.
-Dearest, sweetest husband,
A handkerchief is a traditional gesture of affection. I have embroidered the edges by hand, with your family name and your roses, and it smells of my perfume. It is a piece of me for you to carry. If you do not appreciate my kindness or if you think it will turn away your lovers, you may return it. I do not wish it wasted on you.
Your less than patient and less than adoring wife
The poor boy scatters off in the morning and returns a few days later.
tortured wife,
I wil cherish it. I am sory, pour lam. I wil do better.
Professor!ryland been living rent free in my head and there’s not enough of it out there 😩
Your one shot was *chef’s kiss* 🙂↕️ and I’m kindly asking for a part two if possible 🫶🏼
pt. 1 is here.
“Together. I wanna come with you.”
Ryland shook above you, his forehead falling to your shoulder as you pushed your knee up and in between you both, dragging it along the hard outline in his pants. His breath was hot against your bare skin.
“You don’t…that’s not why I…”
Ryland groaned deeply then, your hand replacing the pressure of your knee, cutting off his already weak attempt at forming words. You squeezed his cock, hard. The sensation was still muted through the denim he wore, but the way your fingers cupped him, molding to his length, exploring the way it was trapped against his thigh. It felt you were stroking him right through his jeans.
Ryland didn’t know what to do. It felt too good and it was hardly nothing. Some heavy petting over his pants? The majority of his brain had turned to static. The last conceivable channel of it screams at him to touch you again, so he does.
He raises his head, meets your eyes, your mouth. You are still so fuzzy, riding the endorphins of your last orgasm. So you laugh when he kisses you, again and again. Still soft, but quick, peppered, like he’s impatient to make you feel as good as you’re making him feel.
The fingers of your other hand are threaded through the hair on Ryland’s nape, playing with the strands mindlessly. You just keep caressing him there, holding him and staring up at him, smiling a little drunkenly, eyes bright. They flutter shut when Ryland slips two fingers back through your pussy.
He groans softly, getting a feel for how wet you still are. He plays with your clit again for a moment, before his fingers slip down, and for the first time, pushes them inside you.
You gasp, your back curving off the desk, your mouth falling open. Grace licks into it, tongue tracing your lips. He lets out his own whine, the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his fingers, the heat. He pumps them slowly, breathing against your open mouth, “Suppose to be about you. Yeah? Let me…let me take care of you.”
You blink at him, real slow like, and just when he thinks you’re too far gone to do anything but agree, your tongue is meeting his, out in the open. You lick at him, his lips, his chin. You pull him in by his hair. Grace feels his cock throb. He knows you felt it too by the way you squeeze him in return.
It’s when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and tug, that Ryland lets out an honest to god whimper. You let go, breathing hard, you say, “You will take care of me. You’ll make me come again. When you fuck me.”
The warmth of your hand on his cock is gone then, replaced by the feeling of your fingers over his belt. He feels you fumbling one-handedly, finally getting a grip on it, but then you pause.
It brings Grace back. He was already looking at you, his mind just racing, but now he’s focused again and you’re staring up at him. You have the sweetest look on your face, almost vulnerable. You whisper, “Is that okay? We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”
“My god,” Grace exhales hard, letting his forehead fall to yours, “of course I do. I want to.”
You swallow, voice still a little shaky like you’re not convinced, your fingers still paused on his belt. “Yeah?”
Grace leans in and kisses you firmly, sealing his mouth over yours. He slips his fingers from you and brings both of his hands to your face, cradling your jaw. He kisses you until your lungs are burning, and pleading for air.
He pulls away panting, voice low, “I just wanted to make you feel good…if my cock is what you want, it’s yours.”
It’s like it flips a switch in you, hearing him say that, those words. You whimper and then turn your head, slipping the fingers Grace had inside of you into your mouth. He groans, watching you taste yourself. It takes a minute before he realizes the clawing at his belt. Both of your hands now, frantic, pulling at the leather.
He doesn’t try to slow you down this time. At least, not yet. The mere thought of relief, of just getting his cock out has Ryland reaching down to help you. Together you manage.
You pop the button and pull at the waistline so the zipper practically rips down. Grace is the one to reach back and push them down over his ass, and then they’re falling down his thighs. It’s then that he hears your giggle.
His eyes snap to yours, and you press your lips together hard, trying to suppress your smile. Your own eyes are on his lap, his boxers more specifically, fingers lingering on the tops of his thighs, his hips.
Grace lifts an eyebrow, his voice dipping into that teasing tone, “What? You don’t like them?”
“I didn’t say that. They’re cute,” you say, barely getting the words out before laughing again. Grace looks back down. His boxers, briefs actually, are navy blue. There’s little doodles all over them though. Science doodles. Beakers. Elements. Cells.
Grace laughs too, straightening up to his full height. His eyes are still taking in his own silly science themed underwear, thumb snapping the band as he teases, “I’ll have you know, they’re very comfortable.”
It takes Grace a moment to realize you’re not laughing anymore, but your eyes are still locked on his underwear. No. Not his underwear, not anymore. He didn’t realize, but standing up gave you the best view of him you’ve had so far.
And there you are, staring, eyes intensely tracing the line of his cock. Ryland feels himself flush deeply. He’s tenting the fuck out of his dorky boxers, still wearing his fucking button down and tie, and you’re staring at him like he’s a piece of meat.
He’s not ready to unbox why that alone makes him so hot.
You don’t really give him the chance to. Grace would be more concerned with how fast you stood up, clamoring off the desk, if he wasn’t currently concerned with falling backwards. His ass barely meets the chair before you’re crawling into his lap, your mouth on his again.
You kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, and Grace can barely keep up. He eventually doesn’t try to. You take control, fingers in his hair, on his tie, tilting his head this way and that. His mind keeps tripping over itself.
You’re in his lap, naked. Completely naked.
It feels different. It feels like more.
He can feel just how warm you are. Every inch of your skin, he touches it. Where your tongue swirls with his, Ryland’s hands sweep over your entire body. He sighs into your mouth as he runs his palms along your bare back. You pull away when you feel him stop, his hands settled right above your ass.
You smile down at him now, from where you’re straddling his lap. Your lips are all swollen and puffy. “You know you are allowed to grab it, right?”
Ryland huffs, blushing still, and then he does, slowly. He lets both hands slip from the small of your back, down to your ass. He’s stoic, as much as he can be when he squeezes, watching you bite your lip and smirk.
His voice drops low again as he keeps kneading, gently at first. He hears the hitch in your breath when he spreads your cheeks though.
“Technically…technically I’m not allowed to do any of this to you, but…is touching all you’ll let me do to it?”
His own cheeks burn like hell when he says it, and he watches yours do the same. He spreads you again, letting the cool air of the classroom hit your bare pussy, your asshole. He brings the tips of his fingers to your slit, and traces it from behind.
“Dr. Grace,” you whine, voice trembling.
He pictures it, the same thing you are. Fucking you from behind like this. Taking you that way. It feels different, being touched from this direction. He slowly pushes two fingers inside, and feels the way you clench around him.
“How do you want me to fuck you?”
You blink at him, cheeks red, eyes glassy.
“My pussy or my ass?”
The back of Grace’s head hits the chair. He has to close his eyes for a second and breathe. “Oh my god, no. Forget I said that. I’m not—.”
“I’d let you.” You say it so bluntly, but it sounds so sweet. Grace feels his cock kick in his boxers.
“Fuck. Don’t,” Grace physically shakes, “Do not say that. Just tell me how you want it.”
“Can I ride you?”
“Oh my…yeah…yes.”
Your fingers, trembling, start unbuttoning Ryland’s shirt at lightening speed. You don’t even take it off completely, or his tie. It’s just left loose and hanging around his neck. You push open the fabric, and run your hands, your eyes, up and down his torso.
You honest to god feel him up, tracing the lines of his faintly defined abdominal muscles. You play with the slightly darker, dirty blonde hair that starts just below his navel and disappears into his underwear.
The way you’re staring is obscene. Like you have him under a microscope. It makes him feel like he’s being studied, like he’s a science project of yours, and Ryland has no idea why that makes his cock start to leak. He can feel it, the stickiness starting to drip out of him.
“Aaah.” He’s ripped from his mind by the pull of your fingers. In your exploring, you’d gone back up. You roll one of his nipples gently, using your short nail to press into the other.
You look into his eyes then, assessing, searching. You pinch one a little harder to gauge his reaction. “Do you like it?”
Grace chokes a little, and he nods quickly. His fingers have long slipped out of you by now, in the name of partially undressing, and letting you do this. Letting you play.
It’s so stark to how you started. Too fast, too quick.
You still got excited. Jumping his bones into the chair, pulling and pushing at his clothes frantically. But when it came to your bodies, you were slow. Intrigued.
You smiled softly, if not a little proud at the way Grace sounded as you played with his nipples. They were sensitive. Pink, and hard now. He could feel them throbbing as you pinch and release, blood rushing and pooling there.
Grace should’ve seen it coming. It was followed so quickly by the tilt of your lips. The cutest, devious little glint in your eyes flashing, before you leaned down and sucked one into your mouth.
Grace’s back arches. His hand shoots up to cradle the back of your head. He lets out a series of whines, and grunts as you flick your tongue back and forth. It’s been so long since anyone’s touched him there.
His other hand slides around to your front, cupping your chest in return. He kneads one of your tits gently, just feeling the weight of it in his palm. And that’s all it is, for the next few minutes at least. The both of you, softly groping each other, your mouth switching to his other pec.
Your sharp teeth sink into the fatty flesh. Grace’s hips lift involuntarily, rolling beneath you. It jostles you in his lap, removing your mouth, and seemingly reminding you of what you’re sitting on. His cock is throbbing, the fabric of his briefs a darker shade where he’s soaked through.
“Please,” Grace mumbles, eyes heavy. He brings his own thumbs to the waistband. Before he can do it himself, you’re pulling, grasping at the material and yanking them down. He barely raises his hips in time.
He knows. Grace knows. He feels himself burning, and blushing like crazy, all the way down his chest. It’s not something he ever goes around boosting about, but it’s undeniable. He watches your face intensely.
It wasn’t like you couldn’t tell before. You could see he was big, but when his cock springs free, bare, it slaps audibly against his lower stomach. It sounds heavy.
And Grace is just a man. A man whose cock you’re staring at, and swallowing so hard at, he can see the way your throat works. He groans, unbelievably turned off and impatient, but equally in no mood to make you rush.
He just watches you, lazily, breathing hard, body sunken into the chair. He watches you stare at him, or his cock at least. He makes it jump. His cock jerks between you, lifting away from his navel as his muscles contract. It swings softly, pulling at a shiny string of pre that connects from his tip to his stomach.
A tiny smirk pops onto his face at the way your eyes blow wide. It disappears just as quickly though, at the way your body starts slipping out of his lap. To the floor.
“Where - what are you…”
It’s like his voice is the only thing to bring you back. You’re already halfway kneeling on the cold floor, naked, before your eyes lift and leave his cock. Grace feels like he’s loosing it. The sight of you on your knees in front of him. It’s too much. You’re too close. Almost face level with his cock. It wasn’t what he promised you.
His voice is wrecked, hands still holding onto your arms, ready to pull you back up. He licks his lips. “This is suppose to be about you. You don’t…you don’t get anything from this.”
The look you give seems almost offended, and then it morphs. You scoff, and roll your eyes. You practically melt the rest of the way onto the floor, settling between his legs.
Your eyes never leave his. “And if I told you I did? If I told you I not only like it, but that it gets me wet? That I love it…”
Grace can’t breathe. His face burns and his eyes sting but he refuses to blink. You lean in, bracing your arms across his bare thighs, running your hands up his body, dodging his cock.
His voice is shot, jagged and rough when he ask, and he can’t believe he ask, but he can’t help it. “You’re telling me you like sucking cock?”
“Mmh, I do.” You laugh so smugly. Breathlessly, beautiful. Grace feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Your warm breath breezes across his skin. It fans over his balls, his cock.
“I like watching too, but I think you already knew that.”
Your voice sounds like velvet, and if Grace thought the best thing you could do was to start touching him next, he thought wrong. You punctuated your sentence by grabbing one of his own hands, and leading it between his legs.
Ryland was already shaking his head, your smile growing wider as you curled his own fingers around his cock, and then you repeated the words he said to you earlier. “Show me.”
It was wrong. It was so, so filthy. This wasn’t even you sucking his dick. It would be him, jerking off right in front of your face. Grace feels his whole body cave a little, his chest, his stomach. He searches your face, and then slowly, bashfully strokes himself once.
You beam up at him, eyes bouncing from his face to his cock. Grace lets out a shaky exhale. You track the way his fingers tighten, how they spread and how his wrist moves.
“When was the last time you…”
Your voice trails off, distracted by the new wave of pre that starts leaking out, trailing over the back of his knuckles.
Grace knows what you mean. He strokes himself again, and pushes anyway. “The last time I what?”
Your eyes flicker up to his. You smile. “Jerked off. I told you about mine…and my toys. Do you have toys?”
“Oh my…” Grace groans at your unbothered tone, your playfulness, letting his head fall back. He hears you laugh.
“Well…”
You prod teasingly, and Grace guesses you’re right. It’s only fair. He breathes heavily through his nose. “Day before last, and no. No, just my hand.”
You hum, and Grace isn’t sure if it’s meant to be a reward for his answer or not, but he chokes outright when he feels it. His fist tightens and stops mid stroke. Your tongue drags against the back of his knuckles, lapping at the tacky pre-come.
“Oh my god,” he calls out, his eyes rolling back a little.
He feels the curve of your mouth against his hand as you smile, your lips glistening in the low projector light.
“Keep going, and here.”
You pull at his hips. Grace goes. He sinks a little further down in the chair. It allows his legs to spread more, and it pushes his crotch outward, towards your face. He feels so stupidly drunk. You’re right there, your mouth. The only thing in the way is his hand, but you don’t let him stop.
You lean in, positioning your mouth right at the tip. Grace’s breath stutters in his chest. With each stroke, the head of his cock brushes your slightly parted lips, leaving them wet.
“C’mon…I want you to do it,” you whisper.
Grace whines, sweet and desperate, “Do what?”
“Take charge again…I told you I wanna suck your cock, so make me. Take care of me like you said you would.”
He lets out a sound he’s not sure he’s ever made. Something keen, something broken. You know, can see clear as day how bashful he is, how much the dirtiness of all this gets to him. You want that. Both. To watch him blush and squirm but also make you take it.
Grace’s hand shoots out to cup the base of your skull, tilting your head. He finally stops stroking himself. His fingers stay loosely wrapped around the base, just enough to swipe his cock back and forth. Dr. Grace actually paints your face now. Not gentle, teasing brushes. He fully rubs the head of his cock across your mouth, your chin, your cheeks, leaving behind trails of wetness.
“This is what you wanted?”
You whine and nod like hell, licking your lips clean.
“Open your mouth.”
Grace doesn’t take his hand from the back of your neck. He just lets his thumb come forward, resting at the hinge of your jaw. He pushes there, knowing you’ll have no choice. What he doesn’t anticipate is the way you hold your tongue out. Expectant.
His cock throbs, knowing exactly what you want. He whimpers. His whole body feels too fucking hot. He feels like he could cry.
He takes his cock and slaps it on your tongue.
It’s so filthy, degrading. Grace feels his tummy swoop. The way you’re whining for more. He slaps your cheek with it next, and then the other, watching you chase it with your mouth.
That makes something in Grace snap. Suddenly both of his hands are on your face, cradling your jaw on either side, and the next second he’s shoving his cock into your mouth.
“Mmph!” You choke in surprise.
Grace whines.
His hips are moving, thrusting. It’s not dominant, or overpowering. If anything it’s desperate, pathetic. Sloppy and shallow. He’s not using you. He’s giving you exactly what you wanted.
Grace too. It’s like you’re letting him borrow your mouth.
His white converse are planted solid on the floor, thighs trembling, his whole body pulled taunt. You keep your eyes and your mouth open, staring up at him.
Grace cries, gasping as he fucks up into your mouth. It sounds nasty. You get lost in it. That warm fuzzy headspace settles over you. The familiar spark relights between your legs too.
You reach up, gently touching his balls, hoping to push him farther. He groans, and unintentionally puts a little extra behind the next roll of his hips. His tip punches the back of your throat. It’s still so gentle, but enough to make you gag.
“Oh! I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry,” Grace starts apologizing immediately, pulling his cock back. He’s cut off by the moan you let out around him. He shivers at the vibrations, and then stares down at you in disbelief.
He stares at the way your eyes are watering from the intrusion but how you still want more, and then he spots it, your hand moving between your legs. Your fingers are playing with your clit, all because he made you choke on his cock.
All the air leaves his body. He barely gets out the words out. “Are you…”
Grace’s cock is gone. His hands, his warmth, the cold tile floors too. A wave of dizziness hits you hard as you’re lifted into the air too quickly. He picks you up completely, and slams you back down onto his desk, pinning you beneath him.
“I need to fu—.”
“Now. Now Grace,” you start begging, demanding, before he’s even finished.
He’s hovering over you, out of breath already, sweating. His shirt is still hanging off his shoulders, tie swinging between you. Hell, his shoes are still on, jeans around his ankles.
He loops his arms underneath your knees, and leans almost all the way down, pressing them to your chest. His hands clasp behind your neck.
You’re practically bent in half, folded open for him. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose. You growl impatiently, your hands sliding against his slick skin.
“Okay, okay,” Ryland shushes you, and the teasing is done.
He starts pushing in, the head of his cock spreading your pussy open. Grace isn’t teasing anymore, but he still goes slow, feeding you inch after inch of his cock.
The stretch makes you feel high, and full. So so fucking full. You try to remember to breathe. It comes out like a choke.
“I know, I know,” Ryland whispers. It only makes you whine again, the sound of his voice causing you to clench around him. He gasps at the feeling, his hips falling forward.
He sinks inside your pussy completely.
It feels like you both stop breathing for a moment. Frozen still, adjusting. You’re the first to move though. Ryland’s face stays hidden in the curve of your neck, his body locking up hard. You can hear his unsteady breathing, feel it.
“You can move,” you whisper, coaxing Grace. It’s like he doesn’t even hear you though, and the unmoving pressure of him inside you is becoming unbearable.
Your muscles flex and fight, pushing against the iron hold he has you in. With his head still tucked into your neck, you move your palms to his ribs, his abs…and you hit him.
You smack him, again and again, his own muscles coiled tight. The sound of your hits, they echo, like tiny thumps as you sob. “Dr. Grace, please…please you have to move. You have to fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck m—.”
He punches the air out of you with one thrust. Pulling out before you could finish, and pushing back in. A sob of his own racks out of him.
He trembles, his voice cracking, “Slow. We go slow.”
It is slow but deep. He’s so fucking deep. It feels like he’s in your stomach, your chest, poking between your lungs. You’re scrambling, hiccuping, hands sliding all over his body, nails digging in.
“So pretty like this,” he chokes out.
You whimper. You’re barely hanging on, eyes slipping closed. He doesn’t let you. Won’t. He grips your jaw harder, and angles your head down. It’s a stretch.
He smacks your cheek softly. “Open. Open your eyes, baby.”
You do. You see his cock, visibly wet, and shiny. You watch in awe as it disappears, and reappears, as Grace softly bullies it into you. Your pussy looks obscene. Raw and puffy. It opens, forced to swallow Ryland’s cock every time he pushes in.
“You said you like watching. Watch us. Watch me fuck you.”
He sounds so far gone. His words are so filthy but the way they’re spoken, it sounds like he’s the one begging.
The angle changes then, and Grace slows down even more, but there’s more pressure. He’s grinding now. He’s dragging his cock along your walls, searching for that spot.
You hiccup, weakly pushing at his chest, “So, ‘s big. Ryland!”
“Bigger than that fake you got stashed at home beneath your pillow, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart. Sweetheart.
You’re not sure if it’s him taunting you about your dildo, the way his cock catches on that ridgy spot in your pussy, or the sweetheart of it all that sends you over the edge, but you go regardless.
You come hard. Your ears fill with a rushing, whooshing sound. Everything goes muted. Everything but the endorphins exploding and spreading through your body. Everything but Dr. Grace and his cock.
He never stops. He fucks you through it, and you know he’s talking, saying things to you, but they sound far away.
You come back enough to realize he’s babbling, a mix of you come so pretty, that’s it, and see, you can come, you did it, ‘m so proud you.
You think he might be crying. No. He is crying.
You try to blink your way back, just enough to make out Grace’s face. His eyes and cheeks are wet, and his whimpers are another constant stream now.
It melts you. The look on his face, the way he’s staring at you like you’re something special.
Your fingers slide into his hair, and you lean up gently, brushing your mouth along the tracks of his tears, over his eyes. You even swipe your tongue across his cheek.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your own voice breaking. You let it. Your own tears come as your arms loop around his neck. His thrusts become sloppy.
“Thank you. Thank you…thank you for taking care of me.”
You ramble, hiccup, crying into his shoulder. You pepper more kisses all over his face. His eyes, his nose, his mouth. You kiss him deeply, and with your words and the taste of you and himself, and salt on his tongue, Grace comes harder than he ever has in his life.
He buries himself balls deep. Your pussy pulses around him. He feels his balls contract hard, pumping you full of his come. Fuck. Fuck, he just came inside his student. His best student.
You’re still licking into his mouth, in a very much one sided kiss. His jaw is slack. He just hums and lets you. It’s not until his arms finally give and the real weight of him settles on top of you, that you laugh, right into his mouth. Grace smiles.
“OoOh,” his voice cracks when he finally speaks again, like a pre puberty kind of crack. The pitch gets stuck in his throat and goes all wonky, and it only makes you laugh harder.
Something that should be so far from a comfortable silence, but isn’t, settles around you. It’s sweet and warm, gentle. You comb your fingers through Grace’s hair, holding him as you both come down. What you ask next, it’s laced with shyness. “That was…it was…good, right?”
Ryland’s eyes find yours, and he looks almost shocked that you even feel the need. “I think you broke me.”
It makes you snort, but you roll your eyes and look off to the side like you don’t believe him. He slowly brings his hand to your face, taps your jaw with his thumb. Your eyes find his again immediately. “No. I’m…I’m serious. That was…”
He trails off. There’s no word for it, for you. From the moment he saw you sitting in his lecture hall, something about you seemed inevitable. Grace hadn’t even considered to run from it. If anything, he’d always wondered, calculated when not if.
The look you’re giving him right now lets him know you’re not just looking for reassurance about sex, but for him to put his last chip out there. To lean into the inevitable.
He leans in and kisses you. The purest you’ve shared today. “You were perfect…can I make you dinner sometime?”
—
(This became a lot longer than I anticipated. If there’s any mistakes it’s because I have a killer headache. Tag your favorite part! Mine is when he tells her he’s proud of her for coming on his cock 😮💨 I would’ve died.)
Summary: Life is expensive, and you just need someone to take care of you. Who better to do than that Jack Abbot, a man who’s desperately searching for a new hobby? But Jack finds out…he really likes taking care of you way more than he thought he would.
Warnings(s): SMUT (18+, MDNI), oral (f receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, riding, creampies.
Lovergirlnote: Well..well..well..Hello, my little lover girls. Firstly, I wanted to add that I’m dropping this as a token of my appreciation for there being over 1,000 of you following and supporting me. I couldn’t have ever imagined that I would reach that many of you. I really appreciate you all being here and supporting my thirst for this man. This is only part 1 of this little mini-series. Also…stay tuned for a special post for Shawn Hatosy in honor of his Quinn audio.
“Ugh, my account got overdrafted again,” You whined, closing the bank app.
It was hard enough being a graduate student, but it was even harder having to navigate all of this alone. “Well, it’s ramen noodles for dinner again,” you muttered to yourself.
You push back the sting of tears before they can reach the surface of your eyes—no use in crying over something like this when you’d grown used to it. Growing up, you always knew you would do great things in life. You refused to accept anything different. You had locked in during high school and managed to get a full ride to a college of your choosing. You’re a first-generation college student trying to break generational curses.
Who said it was all going to come easy?
You had grown up as the eldest daughter with two other siblings, along with living in a single-parent household. You were used to playing the second parent to your siblings while your mother had to work later shifts to put food on the table. You didn’t complain once when you had to put your social life on hold to help out around the house. At sixteen, you got your first job at a local diner to help your mother out.
Of course, your mother hated that you felt like you had to do any of these things, but she appreciated that you had stepped up to help. As an older sibling, everyone knows the wear and tear of trying to make sure that everyone is okay before you are.
You had locked in during college and graduated summa cum laude. Now, you were well on your way to pursuing a PhD in forensic psychology. However, no matter how much you planned, nothing could prepare you for just how expensive everything was with your degree. Luckily, you had secured a graduate assistantship that covered your tuition, but you were still struggling to cover rent, bills, and groceries.
You felt like there was just never a time for you to get a break. You were tired of always wondering how you’d make ends meet. You were tired of having to stop yourself from treating yourself because you had to be responsible.
You just wanted to let loose and enjoy life. You wanted to go into a store and buy without worrying if your card would decline.
You just wanted to be taken care of for once in your life.
To cope with your current situation, you made a bowl of ramen noodles with an egg and ham to make it seem fancy. You turned on the TV and immediately began watching Pretty Woman. Almost immediately, you start to question if this is the best idea to watch this movie. You can’t help but long for the same spoiled treatment that Richard Gere’s character offers to Julia Roberts.
How nice would it be to have a man who wanted nothing in the world besides taking care of you and all of your needs? What a dream that’d be.
It felt like one of those lightbulb moments that went off over your head.
You went to grab your phone from the kitchen table and immediately searched “Best sugar daddy sites.”
You shop around the sites for the next thirty minutes, going on Reddit to get reviews from the sites. The last thing you need is to be getting scammed by some creep or ending up on an episode of First 48. It would be super annoying to have your family say, “You lit up a room.”
Finally, you come upon a site called “Sugar and Spice.” From the reviews, the majority of the women your age gush about how they’d found their sugar daddies on the site. You like the site even more because they advertise that they’re women-owned, and you have to be approved by their team before joining.
You quickly apply with all of your information. Within the next hour, your application will be approved to move to the next step: Setting up your account.
Your username proves to be a difficult task. What was something that came off sexy, yet demure? You workshop a few usernames before settling on _pinklovergirl. Pink had always been one of your favorite colors, so why not add it to your username?
Next, you added your interests.
Then came the part where you added your goals and what you hoped to gain from the app.
You think it over for a few seconds. Then you start to type: “I’m a PhD candidate who’s in way over my head with costs in this economy. I’m looking for someone who doesn’t have a problem with taking care of me.”
You opt not to add a picture because you’d hate the thought of some creep using your picture to find you without your consent.
The last part of the application is where you pick out the age range that you’re looking for. You mentally go over the choices in your head. You’d always liked older men, so that doesn’t bother you. You slide the slider over to between the ages of 40 and 55.
Once you click confirm, your profile is officially live. Now you just have to wait to get a few hits.
You shrug and place the phone on the table before going back to watching Pretty Woman. Soon, you’re asleep on the couch.
In the morning, you groan and stretch out on the couch. Reaching out to grab your phone to check the time, you sit up once you notice that you have notifications from Sugar and Spice.
The first message that catches your eye is one from someone named silverfox45.
Silverfox45: Hi.
_____________________
Jack Abbot is a man known for seeking danger. It’s one of the things that keeps his therapist up at night.
“You know, Jack, when I said that you needed a hobby. I didn’t mean going out and joining the SWAT team,” Dr. Richmond said, shaking his head lightly.
He’d been seeing Jack as a patient for many years, and he never failed to be either concerned or amused whenever Jack would mention his next exploit.
Jack shrugs and smiles at the man, “Well, you’ve known me for a while. You know I love thrill-seeking things. What would you recommend? Me going out and buying a plant?”
Dr. Richmond nods, “Yes, actually. Not a plant in particular. I think your covert suicidal tendencies have you chasing your next thrill, so if something happens, you don’t mind if it does. If you had something…or maybe someone that keeps your mind otherwise preoccupied, I would say that I believe you’d slow down on these things.”
Jack shrinks back in the chair, “Ouch, Doc, we’re using the s-word in session now?”
“We are, if I believe that it applies to you, Jack.” Dr. Richmond looks down at his watch and sighs, “That’s all the time we have for now, Jack. For your homework, I’d like for you to go find a hobby that doesn’t consist of any danger.”
Jack smirks, “Can’t promise I’ll find anything, but I’ll try.”
When Jack leaves Dr. Richmond’s office, he tries to think of anything that he could do as a hobby. Golfing? Nope. Frankly, he sucked at golf, and he found it rather boring.
Fishing. He already did that with Robby.
He thinks back to Dr. Richmond’s words on taking care of something. He could get a plant, but he knew the thing would be dead in a week. A dog or a cat sounded appealing, but with the hours that he was pulling at the Pitt, the poor animal would be neglected.
But then it hits him. A person. Maybe he could try his hand at making a friend or building a relationship with someone.
He goes home and sits on the couch. He opens the browser on his phone and types in, “Seeking companion.” Jack strolls through a few sites before one catches his eye: Sugar and Spice. He clicks on the site and nods in appreciation at how thorough the owners appear to be.
He signs up for the site, and his application is immediately approved. He goes through all of the steps before setting the age range that he’s interested in.
Once he confirms the last bit of information, he strolls through various profiles of potential interests. Some are more subtle in their approaches, and some are more obvious. He keeps strolling until he stops on one profile, _pinklovergirl.
Interesting. He reads through your profile and decides that he likes what he sees. He clicks on the button to message you. He sends a simple “Hi.”
He can see from the green dot that you’re active. He waits to get a response from you.
_____________
You’re pacing.
In fact, you’re pacing so much in the living room that you accidentally run into the table. A small pain shoots up your leg from where you’ve bumped it, and you move to sit on the couch. Once you sit down, you move the phone closer to yourself.
You can see that Silverfox45 is still very much active and waiting for your response. Mentally, you go over a few responses in your head.
‘You’re overthinking this. Just text normal.’ You think to yourself.
You take a deep breath to start typing out your message.
_Pinklovergirl: Hi.
All of that stress for two letters. Immediately, Silverfox45 starts typing his message out to you. As the bubbles flutter on the screen, so do the butterflies in your stomach.
Silverfox45: You know from the amount of time that it took for a response, I was kind of worried that you wouldn’t answer
_Pinklovergirl: lol yeah, I’m sorry about that, I was kind of nervous, and I’ve never actually done anything like this before.
Silverfox45: that’s okay. This is my first time doing something like this.
_Pinklovergirl: If you don’t mind me asking, why did you decide to do this?
Silverfox45: My therapist suggested it.
_Pinklovergirl: Your therapist suggested that you become a sugar daddy?
Silverfox45: Not in those exact words. But he did think it’d be great to focus my energy on less dangerous pursuits
_Pinklovergirl: Nice..so what exactly do those pursuits entail?
Silverfox45: I’m an attending physician at an ER, and I volunteer with the SWAT some days.
_Pinklovergirl: So you’re Batman?
Silverfox45: I guess you can say that, sweetheart. Tell me a little bit about yourself
_Pinklovergirl: Well, I'm not Batman, so no excitement there. I’m a PhD student in forensic psychology
Silverfox45: So Criminal Minds?
_Pinklovergirl: lol kind of, but way fewer psychopaths
For the remainder of the night, you keep texting Silverfox45. He makes you laugh with his witty, sarcastic remarks, but overall, you just enjoy being able to have a conversation with a decent guy.
It’s two weeks later when Silverfox45 finally asks for your phone number. He tells you that he’d prefer to just text you and call you instead of communicating through the app.
You’d built enough surface-level trust with him to give him your number.
The texting continues consistently. You both update each other on your days, and you start to share memes with him, even though he doesn’t know exactly what any of them mean.
Silver Fox 🦊
I know this is out-of-pocket, but can I call you tonight?
Lover girl💕
Of course. I’d love to actually be able to hear your voice & not the voice that I’ve been imagining in my head for weeks
Silver Fox🦊
I’ve been told that I have a great voice. I recall someone saying it’s like I have my bedroom voice on all the time
Lovergirl💕
Sounds really sexy when you put it like that
Silver Fox🦊
I’m glad you think so. I’ve been dying to hear your voice too.🫣
Later that night, when you’ve settled on the couch, you anxiously nibble at your fingers in anticipation of the call. You can’t help the rapid thoughts that flash through your mind. What would his voice sound like? Would it be deep and raspy or high-pitched? Would he like your voice? What if the chemistry wasn’t as good over the phone as it was through text?
Before you can finish ruminating, your phone starts ringing. You can feel the butterflies rolling in your stomach. You feel like you’re about to vomit, but you push the anguish down.
Tapping the green button, you bring the phone up to your ear, “Hello.”
“Hey. You know you sound exactly like I pictured in my head,” He says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
You laugh, “How can you be so sure that you like my voice when I only said one word?”
He chuckles, “You just said more than one word now, and I can confidently say it’s just how I pictured you sounding.”
“Would it be rude if I said you don’t sound like how I pictured?” You questioned.
“Not at all. Though I hope you aren’t disappointed.”
“I’m not. I like your voice,” You said quickly.
The man on the line chuckles, “I’m just teasing you, sweetheart. I hope it’s not too forward, but what’s your name? I think it’d be better to actually call you by your real name instead of Pinklovergirl, even though I do love the name.”
You give him your name, forgoing the last name.
On the other side of town, Jack rolls the syllables of your name around in his mouth. He likes the way that your name sounds. It’s pretty, and he’d be willing to bet all of his money that you’re even prettier.
“I’m Jack. Jack Abbot,” Jack said, fully introducing himself. He understands how, as a woman in this situation, it can feel dangerous communicating like this, so he wants to give you his full name for your own comfort.
“Jack. I like that. Even though I haven’t seen you, I can tell that it fits you.” You reply, which causes Jack to smile.
You both keep talking, and you’re both pleasantly surprised to find that you’ve both been talking for about three hours.
Neither of you gets bored with the conversation. It all just flows naturally like you’ve known each other for ages. Jack learns about your PhD studies and your career aspirations. You don’t ask him many questions about his job, which is actually a relief.
As much as Jack loves what he does, it can be exhausting to be reminded of it and have to talk about it. One of his problems is that he’s too consumed with work. He wants an escape from all of that.
The following days consist of you and Jack planning out phone calls to each other. Since he’s on the night shift, he calls you a lot during your breaks. When he has a designated moment of free time, he goes outside in the ambulance bay to talk to you before you go to sleep.
Jack 🦊
Would it be too forward if I asked for a picture of you? I just really want to put a face to a voice
You
Only if I get a picture of you in return😌
Jack🦊
That can be arranged, sweetheart
“Good Lord. He’s gorgeous,” You said, doing double takes at the picture. How was it possible for a man to look that good in his mid 40s?
You
Okay, but you’re wayyy hotter than the image I created of you.
Jack🦊
Nice to know you’re thinking of me😌
But I do believe I was promised a picture in return
You
*photo attached*
On the other side of town, Jack curses out loud in the apartment. No way he had managed to bag a girl as gorgeous as you. His eyes scan over the picture that you sent, and he memorizes every detail of you in his memory. He finds that he really loves your beautiful smile.
Jack🦊
Jesus, sweetheart.
If I’d known you were this beautiful, I would’ve called you sooner.
I wanna see you..whether that’s FaceTime or in person. Whatever you’re comfortable with, honey
You nibble on your lips. So far, Jack had proven himself to be trustworthy. He hadn’t made you feel uncomfortable. Usually, most guys would immediately jump into sending sexual text messages early, but Jack had been rather tame in his texts and calls to you.
Plus, he wouldn’t have given you his real name if he were some kind of crazy maniac. You had done a thorough sweep across the internet to find out more about Jack Abbot. So far, your results have yielded that he was a well-respected doctor.
You had also found his Facebook page, which he occasionally posted on, but those were usually just posts about basketball, fishing, or the occasional outing with his friend, Robby.
You
Let’s do it. I’m excited to meet you🙂↔️
__________________
“I don’t know Sash. Do you think this is too much?” You said, looking in the mirror at yourself.
You had told your best friend, Sasha, all about your little sugar daddy predicament, along with your planned meeting with Jack today. On Sasha’s end, she couldn’t help but be a little surprised by your impulsive decision-making when it came to signing up for the site and meeting Jack. Usually, you were the more level-headed one out of the two of you. However, she couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect of you letting loose and having fun.
“Girl, you look good, and I say that as a lesbian,” She said, giving you a thumbs up in the mirror.
You had decided to go for a casual sundress, along with sandals for the occasion. Your boho braids were pulled up, and honestly, you looked really good. You could only hope that Jack thought the same.
Sasha stands up from the bed and comes to stand in front of you. She gives you a once-over, “Seriously, you look amazing. He’s gonna be ready to buy you all the Tiffany and Chanel once he sees you. Now, show me the picture of him again.”
You grab your phone and pull up one of the pictures that Jack had sent you. Sasha whistles at the picture, “Dang, that’s a nice looking white man. He looks like he got a rich laugh.”
You chuckle at the statement.
Jack definitely gave off the vibes that he had money to blow. After checking your outfit one last time, you and Sasha check your locations on each other’s phones. You grab your purses, lip gloss, and keys before exiting your apartment. Jack had picked out a local coffee shop for your first meeting, which you appreciated.
Parking your car across the street, you get out and start walking across the street. When you walk into the coffee shop, your eyes filter across the shop until you stop on the back of Jack’s head. You had spent enough time admiring his picture to recognize those greying curls.
For a moment, you swallow nervously as the ball of nerves settles in your stomach. He’s not looking so technically; you could make a run for it and come up with some lame excuse. However, fate is definitely not on your side. Just as you’re plotting your escape, Jack turns his head and looks in your direction. He gives you a soft smile that honestly makes you weak in the knees.
You finally begin to move your legs in the direction of the table that he had claimed. Jack stands and moves to pull your chair out for you. You slide into the chair while giving him a soft “thank you.” He sits back down in his own chair. For a few seconds, you and Jack just stare at each other. It’s as if you both need a moment to process the fact that you’re both actually here. After weeks of texting and calling each other, the meeting between Pinklovergirl and Silverfox45 was official. Now, it was simply you and Jack Abbot–in the real world.
This was the man who had decided that he wanted to be your sugar daddy.
In person, you have to admit Jack is way more handsome than his pictures give him credit for. You can only imagine how hard it must be for everyone in the hospital with Jack walking around looking like that. Quite frankly, you wouldn’t mind getting hurt more often if it meant that you got to see Jack in his sexy scrubs, assessing your injuries.
“You’re even more gorgeous in person, but that doesn’t surprise me,” Jack said, finally breaking the silence between you.
A shy smile crosses your face, “Thank you. But I really have to say, I’m digging the silver curls.”
Feeling bold, you reach across the table to feel Jack’s hair. He leans in closer to your touch and watches as you admire him. Your eyes meet his, “Your curls are amazing. What are you using on them?”
Jack almost whines at the loss of your hand touching him. He shrugs, “Nothing special really. Just a good shampoo and conditioner.”
You smile, “You should let me define them one day for you.”
He thinks over the possibility of you standing close to him, hands running through his hair, and your body pressed against his. He likes the thought a lot…
“I’d really like that,” Jack replies. His eyes look over to the counter, “Come on, let me buy you a drink.” You follow behind Jack as you both stand in front of the counter. Jack moves to stand closer to you and leans over to whisper in your ear, “Don’t worry about any prices. Just get what you want, okay?”
He almost bites his lip at the shy look that you give him, but you nod nonetheless.
The barista comes to the counter to take your and Jack’s orders. He looks at you first to order. You order a caramel macchiato while Jack orders a black coffee with sugar and creamer. You’re surprised when he points to the glass container and tells the barista to add a chocolate croissant to the order. He smiles down at you, “It’s early. I know you haven’t eaten yet.”
The girl tells Jack the total, and he taps his card. Once you’ve acquired your order, you and Jack sit across the table from each other again. You casually sip at your coffee while nibbling on the chocolate croissant. You offer Jack a piece to which he politely declines.
For the next few minutes, you both make idle conversation about your week. It’s a certain point that the conversation shifts to the obvious elephant in the room–the sugar daddy elephant.
“I guess we should start ironing out the details there. Just to make sure that there’s a clear understanding between you and me. You can start first. Tell me how I can help you out, honey,” He said, folding his arms across his chest.
You can’t help but start to ogle his arms as the shirt stretches across his biceps. When your eyes finally meet his, you find him smiling smugly. Jack’s happy to know that you find him just as attractive as he finds you.
“Well…I’m not quite sure where to start. I guess I just need help with things like bills and stuff like that,” You answer. Truthfully, yes, you did need help with things like your bills, but you also wanted to be spoiled in nice dresses, jewelry, and the occasional fancy dinner. But growing up, your mother had always instilled the lesson of never asking others for their money, no matter how much you needed it. The thought of asking someone for money physically made you sick to your stomach.
From his side of the table, Jack knows that this isn’t all you want to say, but he can tell that you’re holding back. He decides to take it a step further to help you out, “Hmm…just bills? I can definitely help you out with those, sweetheart, but I think that you should be getting a little more out of this. So here’s what I’ll propose. I’ll buy you whatever you want. I’ll even add you as an authorized user on one of my credit cards. That way, you can buy what you need without waiting on me.”
Your eyes widen in surprise.
Jack smirks, “Does that sound okay to you?”
“Yeah, it actually sounds too good to be true. What would you be getting in return?” You question, quirking an eyebrow.
“Just your time, honey. I want you to keep me company. Just casual dates and outings whenever you’re free. In return, you can have whatever you want from me,” He answers.
“And…you wouldn’t be expecting anything else?”
Jack can hear the edge of hesitation in your voice. He knows how these types of relationships typically work out. He shakes his head, “No, there’s no expectation for any of that. You set the grounds for this. I won’t do anything that makes you feel unsafe in any way. I’ll only touch you when you explicitly state that you want me to.”
Once again, your eyes zone in on his biceps, and you can’t help but begin to look at his veiny, freckled hands. You can’t help but imagine what his hands would look like around your neck as he held you down. Under the table, you clench your thighs at the image.
“Okay, all of that sounds fine. Thank you, Jack.”
Jack loves hearing the sound of his name leaving your lips. He wants to hear it more and more.
“No, thank you, sweetheart. You’re actually doing me a huge favor.”
You smile at each other and continue the rest of your coffee date. Jack ushers you out of the coffee shop, and you both continue walking down the sidewalk. He gently grabs your arm to stop you from walking. “Come on, let’s go get you some books,” He said, pointing at the bookstore.
You give him another surprised look, to which he laughs. “Don’t be surprised, honey. You told me that you liked reading. Wouldn’t want your passion to fade away.” With that, you both walk into the bookstore. Jack can still see your hesitation about picking out any books. He watches you pick up a book, skim over the synopsis, before putting it back.
He chuckles a little to himself. He’ll definitely have to break that habit out of you.
He turns you to face him and maintains eye contact, “Listen, and I really want you to hear me, honey. You don’t have to be afraid of spending my money. I want you to. That’s our agreement. Anything in this store that you want is all yours. Just trust me to take care of you, okay?”
Your breath hitches in your chest. You nod shyly.
“I need you to say you understand, sweetheart.”
You gulp at the low raspiness of his voice, “I understand.”
He nods his head, “Good girl. Now let’s get you some books. I’ll hold all of the ones that you want.”
You and Jack move through the store, with you now openly picking up all the books from your wishlist. You almost squeal in excitement when Jack even points out that you can get the hardcover books, too.
‘Oh, he got money,’ You think to yourself.
When you and Jack get to the counter, he places all of your books down. The sales assistant rings all of the books up and gives a glance between you and Jack.
“Your total is $260.83,” She said, looking between you and Jack.
Jack moves his card to the reader and taps it. A ding sounds out as the transaction goes through. The sales assistant hands Jack the receipt while shooting you an impressed look. Making your way out of the bookstore, Jack walks you back to your car. He places your bag from the bookstore in the back seat.
When he turns back to you, he’s surprised by you throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him, but he quickly recovers. His arms wrap around your waist as he presses you closer to his body. He can’t help but think about how much he likes having your body pressed against his.
“Thank you,” You whipser into his ear.
“Anytime, babydoll. I had fun with you today,” Jack states.
A huge smile crosses your face, “I had fun with you, too.”
“I’ll call you so we can plan another date. In the meantime, I want you to send me a list of all of your current bills, so we can work out a consistent schedule.” Jack said, stepping closer to you.
Your sweet, innocent eyes connect with his, and you hold eye contact. “Okay, I’ll FaceTime you so that we can go over it together.”
“Also, before I forget, I’m gonna be sending money to your account, and I’ll let you know when I have the extra credit card for you,” He explains. The entire time, you just nod your head like a little puppy. Jack smiles. He knows that this isn’t going to be an interesting experience for both of you.
“Okay. Thank you again, Jack.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart, but this is only the beginning. Text me when you make it home.”
He opens your car door for you and watches as you drive away.
In your car, you’re still trying to process the entire situation. You officially have a sugar daddy, and not only that–you have a super sexy silver fox sugar daddy. You make it home and plop down on the couch. You text Sasha to let her know that you made it home. You shoot a quick text to Jack, letting him know that you’ve made it.
Your phone buzzes in your hands.
You open up the notification.
Jack Abbot has sent you $800.00.
Your phone buzzes again. This time with a text from Jack.
Jack🦊
Just for you, pretty girl.
I can’t wait to see you again.♥️
___________________________
Truthfully, Jack doesn’t wait too long to see you. He’s practically craving the next time that he can be in your presence. The conversations between the two of you stay consistent.
Even when he’s on his shift, he still keeps the communication strong. He had even bit the bullet and bought AirPods so that he could talk to you while he was in the break room. Shen and Ellis give him a confused stare when they see him sitting at the table talking on the phone.
“Alright, I’ll talk to you later, pretty girl. Get some sleep,” Jack said to you. He chuckles at something that you say before ending the call.
He finds Ellis staring at him. “Everything okay, boss?”
He nods and gives him a similar look of confusion. “Yeah, everything’s great. Why?”
“Well, you rarely come into the break room and,” she pauses to point at the AirPods. “I didn’t think you knew what AirPods were. I took you for more of an earphones with the cord guy.”
Jack rolls his eyes, “Look I’m old, but I’m not that old. I just figured I’d give them a try and I really like them.”
Ellis holds her hands up in defense, “Whatever you say boss man. I’ll leave you to it.”
When she exits the break room, Shen appears next to her and falls in line as they walk down the hallway.
Shen takes a sip from his Dunkin, “Soo…spill the tea. Did he say anything?”
Ellis shakes her head, “Nope, but there’s a girl in the picture for sure. He called her ‘pretty girl’ at the end of the call.”
Shen places a hand to his chest and lets out a gasp. “Pretty girl? That’s practically foreplay for Jack. Do you think it’s Mohan?”
“Could be. We gotta get in with day shift on those bets,” Ellis suggests, to which Shen nods.
The following week, Jack suggests a date for the two of you. He tells you that there’s a new restaurant that he’s been wanting to try and he wants you to come with him.
Naturally, Sasha comes over to help you get ready. Also, she wants to see Jack in person.
“Can you make sure that my dress is okay at the back?” Sasha stands and gently shifts your dress while smoothing out any wrinkles.
You spritz a little perfume around yourself while making sure that your braids are okay.
A knock sounds out from the front door and Sasha smiles mischievously.
“Looks like your man is right on time,” She comments.
You both walk into the living room, and you open the door for Jack. You almost faint at the sight of the man dressed up and looking like he just stepped out of GQ.
In comparison, Jack trails his eyes over your figure. He doesn’t hide it for a second that he’s blatantly checking you out.
“Hi,” You said, shifting on your feet.
“Hi. You look stunning, honey,” Jack replies, stepping closer to you.
He hands you a bouquet of flowers. Sasha gently clears her throat. You chuckle and turn to face her. “Jack, this is my best friend, Sasha. Sash, this is Jack.”
Jack smiles politely and reaches a hand out, “Nice to meet you, Sasha.”
“Nice to meet you, Jack. I’ve heard great things about you. Are you gonna take care of my girl, tonight?” Sasha probes, lifting a perfectly arched eyebrow.
She had also been overprotective when it came to you.
Jack nods, “I’m gonna take care of her with my life. Scout’s honor.”
Sasha chuckles, “I’ll hold you to it. Now, you two kids get out of here and go have fun.”
She grabs the bouquet from your hand. She gives you a thumbs up before ushering you out the door.
Once at the restaurant, Jack ushers you inside with a hand on your back. You can’t control the shivers that arise at his touch. The hostess guides you and Jack to your table while placing menus on the table.
Your eyes widen at the prices on the menu, which Jack immediately clocks. “I can see your pretty head overthinking. Remember what I said, anything you want.”
You nod in response.
When the waiter comes to the table, Jack orders the wine for you. You both place your respective orders.
Jack takes a sip from his drink while looking at you, “So forensic psychology. That means that you’re good with profiling, correct?”
You nod, “Yeah, I have some proficiency in it.”
“So do me. Tell me something that you notice.”
You smile, “Well for starters, you always arrive on time, if not a little early. You sit straight and you never slouch. Also, you always hold eye contact when you’re talking to others. To me, that indicates some form of military involvement. It’s a special kind of discipline that you can’t forget.”
A low whistle leaves Jack’s mouth as he laughs, “That was good. Really good. You’re spot on with your observation.”
“It’s a neat party trick, and also, a great tool for relationships,” You said, sipping on your own drink.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why aren’t you in a relationship.”
You shrug, “I’ve been really focused on school and trying to be responsible. It just doesn’t leave room for relationships. Also, a lot of the guys that I’ve encountered are too stuck on red pill content.”
Jack shakes his head, “Their loss, really. Gorgeous and smart woman like you deserves to be treated like a princess.”
“And how do you know that I deserve that?”
Jack sips from his drink, “I’m also very observant, baby doll. I can tell that you have siblings. You give off eldest daughter to the max. I’m guessing that you grew up taking care of everyone else, so there was never any room for you to ask for help. And even when you wanted to ask for help, you always stopped yourself because you didn’t want to feel like a burden to others. You’re used to having to be okay for everyone else instead of putting yourself first.”
Your jaw drops at how he had just read you down. Jack smirks, “Am I correct in my analysis, babydoll?”
You roll your eyes teasingly, “I plead the fifth.”
He chuckles in response. Soon, your food arrives at the table. By dessert, Jack is reaching inside his pocket. He pulls out a red velvet box.
“Hold out your wrist for me, baby doll.”
You hold you your wrist. Jack opens the box and you gasp at the beautiful diamond bracelet inside the box. Jack removes the bracelet and clasps it around your wrist, Your skins feels like it’s on fire with him touching and wrapping the jewelry around your wrist.
Jack subtly turns your wrist and hums in appreciation, “It looks good on you. I saw it while I was shopping online and figured you would like it.”
“I love it! Thank you, daddy,” You said, flashing Jack a sugary smile.
He smiles at the sudden name. He likes hearing you say it. In fact, his mind goes to other situations that are involve you with far less clothes, whimpering the name as he overstimulates you.
Honestly, you were testing the word as somewhat of a theory. You had seen many other women comment that their sugar daddies loved to be called “daddy,” so you figured you’d try it on Jack. However, you liked saying the word even more as the pleased look crosses his face.
“You’re welcome, baby doll.”
_____________________
From that point on, your little arrangement with Jack continues flawlessly. He pays for your rent and other bills, while spoiling you with other gifts. If you want your nails paid for, consider it done. Just let him pick the color or design.
The baby doll nickname permanently sticks. You’re now his pretty baby doll, while he’s daddy to you. It’s not in a weird way where Jack infantilizes you, but in a way that signifies that he looks after you and you don’t have to worry your pretty head about anything.
For the first time, you can look in your bank account without anxiety filling your body. This is probably the first time in your life where you felt that you could sit back and relax without having to worry yourself.
Jack gives you your very own credit card, which is an extension of his. Initially, you only use it for your essentials, such as groceries or toiletries, but Jack shuts that down quickly.
He reminds you that he wants you to spend the card on whatever you want. Besides, he has way more money than he knows what to do with. A couple of thousand is the least of the worries when it comes to spoiling you.
In fact, Jack discovers something about himself. He loves taking care of you. Something else he discovers. He loves dressing you up and adorning you in pretty jewelry and clothing. The nickname, baby doll, takes on a whole new meaning for him.
You prop your phone up with Jack on FaceTime.
“Are you free next week, sweet girl?”
You nod, “Yeah, I don’t have any plans. Why?”
“Well, we’re having this benefit gala for the hospital, which is basically another way of Gloria trying to seduce donors to give money over to the hospital. These things can be unbelievably boring, so it’d be nice to have a date there,” Jack explains.
You smile, “Are you asking me to be your date, daddy?”
“Yeah I am, baby doll. I want to have my gorgeous girl by the side. You’re way prettier to look at than Robby,” He said, chuckling lowly.
“And you’re okay with your co-workers seeing me there with you?” It wasn’t like you and Jack necessarily had a conventional relationship. What would he even say when it was time to introduce you? ‘Oh hey guys, this is my sugar baby.’
You bite nervously at your lip, which Jack notices. “Hey, don’t worry yourself over it. If they ask, you’re my girl. That’s it, which is true. You are my girl. Just because our arrangement isn’t typical, that doesn’t make it any less special.”
Jack’s heart warms at the sight of the bright smile returning to your face. He solidifies in his mind that he’d do anything to keep that smile on your face.
“I’ll go with you,” You reply, but then a pout appears on your lips, “I don’t have anything to wear.”
Jack chuckle, “Baby doll, I’m taking you shopping tomorrow.”
You nod, “Okay, daddy, I can’t wait.”
The next day, Jack picks you up to take you to the mall to procure a dress. From the elegance alone, you can tell that the store is on the more upscale side.
A saleswoman walks up to you and Jack, “Hello, my name is Heather. How can I assist you today?”
“Yes, we’re looking for a dress for my baby doll here for a gala that we’re going to. Whatever she wants, no limit.”
Heather gives Jack an impressed look before smiling at you, “Alright, honey. Let’s find you a dress.” She points at Jack, “You can take a seat over there. I’ll bring her out to show each dress.”
Jack nods and sits on the couch.
After a few minutes, you come out of the dressing room wearing a black strapless dress. Admittedly, you look very gorgeous.
You turn to face the mirror. You can see Jack in the reflection of the mirror. “What do you think of this one, honey?”
“It’s nice, but it’s not calling out to me as much.” You said, turning to face him.
He nods, “Okay, well I’m not in a rush. We’ll stay until you find the one that you like.”
The trip continues with you trying on more and more beautiful dresses. They’re all beautiful, but they’re missing that wow factor. You really wanted to make a good impression on Jack’s coworkers.
Heather walks back in the dressing room with a navy blue dress, “Your husband asked me to let you try this one on. He said that he thinks that it would complement your skin.”
You don’t even get to correct her on the statement before she’s leaving the dressing room. You slide the dress up your body and instantly, you like the feel of it.
You walk out of the dressing room and take a look in the mirror. You look stunning. Jack smiles, “I think we found our winner.”
Heather stand off to the side, nodding in approval. Jack looks in her direction, “Hey Heather, can we see the diamond necklace with the blue pendent? I think it would be perfect for this dress.”
Heather walks off to grab the necklace. When she comes back, she places the necklace in Jack’s hands. He walks up to you and stands behind you. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his body against yours.
Jack’s hands come in front of you and chills appear on your skin as he clasps the necklace around your neck. He leans down and catches your eyes in the mirror, “There, perfect. You look beautiful, babydoll.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” You whisper back.
He smirks before looking back, “We’ll take the dress and necklace, Heather.”
__________________
The benefit gala rolls around quicker than you anticipate. The nerves are present in your stomach as Sasha helps you to get ready. You had take your braids down earlier in the week, and Sasha had straightened your hair to complement your dress.
Sasha steps back after applying the finishing touches to your makeup, “You look good sis. It’s giving Pretty Woman for real.”
You think back to the origins of your and Jack’s relationship. It really was a real life pretty woman situation, with the exception of the sex work.
On the topic of sex, you had been feening for Jack to touch you. There’d been so many times where you wanted to feel his lips pressed against yours, or even have his hands on you. Whenever you and Jack went out, he always had a possessive arm around your waist.
You liked the idea that he wanted to make it clear that you were his.
As usual, a knock sounds from the front door, and Sasha goes to answer it. She smirks at seeing Jack stand there, “Well, don’t you clean up nice, Richard Gere.”
Jack chuckles, “Nice to see you as well, Sasha. How’s everything going?”
Sasha shrugs, “Can’t complain. I’m mostly keeping the ladies on their toes. You taking care of my girl?”
She and Jack take a seat across from each other. Jack leans back and crosses his arms, “Don’t you mean my girl?”
Sasha laughs, “Possessive already. Don’t forget who she was sleeping next to before you, Abbot.”
“I won’t. But don’t forget who’s been putting her in diamonds.”
At this, Sasha laughs loudly. “Alright, playboy, you got me there. But seriously, I’m happy she has you. I can tell that you make her happy.”
“She makes me happy too,” Jack responds.
Soft clicks from your heels alert Jack and Sasha to your presence. Jack stands and he can feel his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of you. You look like you stepped out of an Old Hollywood set.
From her spot on the couch, Sasha watches Jack’s reaction to you the entire time. She sees the way that the man looks at you like you’re the beginning and end of the world. It warms her heart to know that you have someone that’s passionate about taking care of you.
She wouldn’t be surprised if you and Jack’s little arrangement turns into an actual relationship.
Jack crosses the room to meet you halfway. “Babydoll….you look beautiful.”
You smile, “Thank you. You clean up pretty nice yourself. I think I may like the sight of you in a tux.” Your fingers come up to play with his tie.
“Guess I have to dress up a lot more then.” Jack replies, eyes still scanning up and down your figure. After grabbing your purse and saying goodbye to Sasha, Jack ushers you outside to his car.
Throughout the drive, he notices you playing with your fingers. He reaches over to intertwine his with yours. “Relax, they’re gonna love you. I’ll be with you the entire night.”
He gives you a reassuring smile, which you return. Soon, Jack is pulling into the parking lot. He helps you out of the truck and you both walk towards the venue. Jack wraps a protective arm around your waist while guiding you.
Inside, there’s a lot of people and they all reek of money to spend. You’re hyper aware of the amount of eyes that gravitate towards you and Jack.
He navigates you towards a group of people, who all fail to the hide the fact that they’re blatantly staring at you and Jack.
“Jack, good to you, brother,” A taller brunette man say, pulling Jack into a hug and clapping him on the back.
“Nice to see you too, man,” Jack responds.
From the pictures around Jack’s house and on his Facebook, you recognize the man as Robby.
Robby’s eyes turn to you, “And who is this?”
Jack turns to you with a soft smile, “This is my girl.” He says your name at the end of the sentence.
Robby smiles gently at you, but you can see the questions swirling through his mind, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Robby, I work with Jack.”
You smile, “It’s nice to meet you. Jack talks about you a lot.”
“Does he? Well, he failed to mention you to me, and I’m his best friend.”
You wince slightly at the statement. You suppose that Robby doesn’t mean for it to come out that way, but the sentence does remind you of your current predicament with Jack. Technically, he’s paying you to be here.
The thought makes your stomach feel queasy.
Jack wraps his arm around you and presses you closer to his body, “You know how I value you my privacy. We all know you can’t hold water to save your life, so I wanted to keep my relationship with my girl to us.”
Robby laughs and shakes his head, “You’re right. My bad.”
The rest of the group filters in to find out who you are. You meet Dana, Shen, Ellis, and some of the residents. You get pulled into a conversations with the residents who start probing into your personal life.
“Alright, that’s enough of that peanut gallery,” Jack said, guiding you in the direction of the table.
You’re seated next to Jack and Langdon, who reminds you of a real life Ken Doll. Everyone turns their attention to you.
“So what is that you do?” Robby questions.
“I’m getting my doctorates in forensic psychology. I work in a law firm, along with conducting research on the side,” You explain.
The entire table seems impressed.
“And how’d you meet, Jackie boy here?” Dana asks, gazing jumping between you and Jack.
Jack speaks up, “We met on a dating app. I shot my shot at her as you kids like to say.”
Everyone seems highly surprised at Jack Abbot of all people on a dating app.
Shen chuckles, “Jack you know how to work a dating app. It’s gonna start hailing outside.”
Jack rolls his eyes, but chuckles nonetheless at the joke. Everyone decides to lay off questioning you, but you can see all of the questions and theories flowing through their eyes.
Jack makes conversation with Robby, but keeps his hand connected with yours under the table.
Langdon gives you a flirty look and smiles at you, “Forensic psychology? What made you go into that field?”
You shrug, “The short answer is that I wanted to advocate for people that look like me.”
He nods, “That’s good. I’m sure you’re gonna made a difference.” He looks down at your necklace, “That’s a pretty necklace. Must’ve cost you a fortune.”
You laugh lightly, “Jack got it for me.”
Langdon gives you a surprised look before steeling his expression. “Doesn’t surprise me. Pretty girl like you deserves all the diamonds that money can buy.”
You chuckle softly. Jack can hear the conversation going on between you and Langdon. He’s tempted to take Langdon outside and punch him out, but he reminds himself to stay professional.
You feel Jack’s hand shift until it comes to rest on your thigh and squeezes. Your breath hitches. By now, Langdon has turned to talk to Mel. Jack leans over to whisper in your ear, “You having fun?”
You nod, “Yeah, it’s nice. But only because I’m with you.”
Jack smiles, “I’m glad you’re here too, baby. I couldn’t get through this without you. I gotta admit, it’s a little tough seeing that everyone can’t take their eyes off you.”
His hand moves closer to the slit in your dress and grasps your bare thigh in his hand. His hand moves higher until he stops, “Is this okay?”
You bite your lip and nod at him. He smirks, “You know I need words from you, babydoll.”
“It’s okay, daddy.”
“Good,” Jack said, fingers ghosting closer to your lacey panties. You and Jack are pulled out of the moment by Shen calling Jack’s name. You lock eyes with Ellis, who gives you a sly smirk. She mostly definitely caught the moment between you and Jack.
After more teasing from Jack and listening to speeches, the gallery is officially over. You say your goodbyes to Jack’s coworkers as you exit the venue. Jack drives back to your apartment and parks his truck.
“Do you want to come up for a while?” You ask, wide eyes meeting Jack’s. He smiles, “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Inside your apartment, you immediately plop down on the couch and reach for your heels. Jack halts your movements before pulling your feet into his lap. Gently, he removes the heels from your feet before massaging at your sore heels.
Your eyes roll back at feeling Jack pressing on your feet. You can’t help the small moan that leaves your lips.
While massaging your feet, Jack begins to trail his fingers up your legs, “You know I saw you and Frank talking at the gala.”
You hear the rough edge in his voice, “We were just talking.”
Jack’s eye meet yours and your thighs clench at the heated look there, “I didn’t like it.”
“You don’t need to get jealous. I’m all yours, daddy.”
For a moment, Jack stares at you. You feel like a lamb waiting to be eaten. “Can I touch you?”
You nod before moving to seat yourself in his lap. You’re thankful for the slit in that dress that makes the action easier. Tentatively, Jack trails his fingers over your sides like he can’t believe that’s he’s finally touching you. His eyes look up at you, “You’re so beautiful, honey.”
His hands find the back of your neck before he pulls you down into a heated kiss. You melt into the kiss as you feel Jack’s soft lips against yours. You gasp as he pulls you down into his lap to where your panties are directly pressed against his bulge.
Jack uses the moment to slide his tongue in your mouth. For the next few minutes, you both sit on the couch dry humping and tonguing each other down. You can’t remember the last time that you had a proper makeout session, and Jack is far surpassing any of your expectations.
He pulls back, “Let’s go to your room.”
You nod and lead the man into your bedroom. Inside the bedroom, you and Jack stand in front of your bed. He turns your body and walks up behind you. Jack pulls you closer and his hands find the zipper of your dress. The sound of the zipper moving down fills the room as the chill hits your skin. The silk dress pools at your feet and you’re left standing in your strapless bra and panties in front of Jack.
He presses his body against yours before a rough hand finds encloses around your throat. He guides your head to connect his lips back to yours. Jack pulls me back, “You were so good tonight and so beautiful. I think that warrants a reward for you. What do you want from me, babydoll?”
“I want you to touch me, daddy.”
Jack smirks, “I’m already touching you, baby. Be more specific for daddy.”
You take his other hand and guide it to your wet panties. Jack breaths deeply, “Yeah? You want me to touch you here, pretty girl? You wanna feel my fingers deep inside you?”
“Yes, please.”
Jack turns you to face him. His intense gaze feels all-consuming. Your hands go to the bra, which you unclasp. The material falls to the ground as Jack drinks in the sight of your breasts. He lowers his head and places gentle kisses to your skin. He laps at your nipples before sucking one in his mouth.
You moan as his tongue twirls around your nipple. Your panties are becoming wetter and wetter by the second. Jack switches to the other side to repeat the movement.
When he pulls back, he guides you to lie down on the bed. Jack kisses down your stomach before ghosting over your mound. He presses his face to your panties and mouths at the material. He moves lower to lick at your covered lips. His eyes lock with yours, “You taste good already baby, but I need more.”
Jack grabs the sides of your underwear and pulls the material down your thighs. He stands and throws his suit jacket across the room. He kneels between your spread thighs again. Jack licks a long stripe up your center.
Much to your surprise, he moans loudly.
“You taste so good, baby.” His tongue finds your entrance where he collects more of your juices on his tongue. You moan and roll your hips into Jack’s mouth. In response, he slurps on you even more. Jack pushes your legs up to your chest and locks eyes with you, “Hold your legs for me, baby.”
You oblige and Jack attaches his lips to your clit. You genuinely go cross-eyed at the feeling of his lip suctioning around your pearl. Two of Jack’s fingers slide inside you while he continues to lap at your clit.
He knows you’re close by the way that your thighs are shaking. He gives you small kitten licks, “I know you’re close, sweetheart. Cum for me.”
He goes back to slurping at you. Your back arches from the bed as your orgasm hits. Jack continues eating you out as you lie on the bed. Your tear-filled eyes meet his in disbelief. You watch as he collects your juices in his mouth before spitting back on your center and slurping it back up.
Yep, you had officially won the lottery for freaky old men.
You start whimpering at the overstimulation, and Jack moves his head back, but not before pressing a lingering kiss on your sensitive clit. His face is all shiny with your juices, and he looks far from done with you.
Jack kisses up your body before connecting his mouth with yours. Your fingers go to his shirt, where you practically rip the buttons apart. Jack chuckles, “You need me that bad?”
You nod with a pout, “I need you so bad.”
Jack obliges and helps you to take his shirt off. Your mouth waters at the sight of Jack’s naked, freckled chest. You have the distinct craving to bite him. Your fingers go to Jack’s belt before he stops you.
He looks almost boyish with how he stands there, “Before we go any further, I just have to tell you something. You were right about the army thing, but that’s not all. I have a prosthetic. It was a mission gone wrong—not that I want to get into all of the details, but I wanted to let you know before we go any further.”
He slides his pant leg up so that you can see the metal. He looks at you and waits for a reaction.
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Jack. I hope you don’t think that makes you less attractive to me. Would it be easier if I ride you?”
Jack is genuinely left speechless by you. He laughs before nodding, “If that’s what you wanna do, then we can.”
You shake your head, “Yes, please, I’ve been thinking about riding you for weeks.” You move to start helping Jack with taking off his pants and underwear. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock slapping against his stomach. You can already tell you’re going to be well satisfied tonight. Jack sits beside you, and you watch carefully as he removes the prosthetic. You mentally save the process for future use. Jack lies down at the top of your bed, while you straddle his thighs.
“I didn’t bring anything with me,” Jack said.
“I’m okay with it if you are. I’m clean, and I have an IUD.” You explain.
Jack is distracted by the way that you’re sliding your wetness across his cock. You moan lightly at the feel of his tip brushing against your clit. You lift and point the tip at your entrance. Jack lets out a deep breath when you lower yourself, but then you move back up. His panicked eyes meet yours, “You didn’t give me an answer. I need words, Daddy.”
“I’m okay with it, baby. I need to feel you.”
You and Jack both moan in unison as you slide down completely. Your walls clench around Jack to accommodate how big he is. You lean down to kiss Jack and moan against his lips. He lets out a groan of his own, “I know, baby. You feel so good.”
You move to sit up and start lifting yourself up and down on Jack’s cock. The more that you move, the wetter you get. Jack watches in amazement as you throw your head back and continue to move your hips along his. There’s nothing sexier in his life that he’s ever seen. What makes the moment even more erotic is the sight of the diamond necklace shifting along your neck.
Jack reaches out to place his hand around your neck, “My pretty girl and her pretty diamonds. You like being my babydoll, huh? You like it when Daddy takes care of you and buys you pretty dresses and jewelry.” Your rhythm falters at the words as you start whimpering.
Jack grasps your hips in his hands and starts thrusting into you from below. The growing knot tightens in your stomach, and you lean down, helpless against Jack’s thrusts. His hands find the sides of your face where he directs your eyes to his, “My poor baby, you like it when Daddy uses you like this? I’ll give you anything that you want in the world, Princess. I’m going to take such good care of you.”
It’s a combination of the words and his deep thrusts, but your release hits you like a freight train. Jack groans at the feeling of your warm walls clenching tightly around you. Without warning, he releases inside you. You shiver at the feeling of his warm cum spurting inside you. You don’t even realize that you’re shaking and crying until Jack runs a soothing hand down your back.
His fingers gently swipe at your tears.
“You okay, baby? Did I hurt you?” Jack asks, worry filling his tone.
You shake your head and continue to sniffle against his chest. Jack doesn’t say anything; he continues to hold your body and whispers soft words of affirmation to you. Finally, you stop crying and snuggle closer to his chest.
“I’m sorry.”
Jack shakes his head, “Babydoll, you don’t ever have to be sorry for crying around me. Now, do you wanna explain what’s wrong?”
“It wasn’t anything that you did. It’s just I’ve never had anyone to take care of me before. Not like you have. If I’m being honest, these past few months have been tough, especially doing it on my own, so you saying that you want to take care of me…I guess it just really hit me in that moment. I’ve always had to be the one taking care of everyone else.”
Jack nods. His expression softens as he looks at you, “I’m sorry that no one’s ever taken care of you, sweet girl, but I promise that I will. I meant it when I said that I wanted to take care of you. You don’t have to worry about any of that now that I’m here.”
“Thank you, Jack.” You said, smiling at him.
He connects his lips to yours, “You’re welcome, baby doll.”
Suddenly, you start laughing, and Jack gives you another confused look, “What’s so funny?”
“I literally started crying and pouring my heart out to you while you’re still inside me. I mean, your cum is literally leaking out of me,” You said, giggling against his chest.
Jack looks down and laughs, “We make quite the pair, don’t we, babydoll?”
You nod. For a few moments, you continue lying on Jack’s chest when your stomach growls. He smirks, “On that note, how about I order takeout for us? You have anything in mind?”
au where you and robby were married for a short, unsuccessful stint before an uncontested but still messy divorce happens. shit was said. insults were hurled. you gave him back the ring and told him to figure himself the fuck out before ever speaking to you again. the next week, the pitt gets word you're taking a much-needed sabbatical, and robby is pleased as punch because the sight of you makes him feel like he's on the worst kind of fire. to put it kindly, the man can no longer stand you.
...three months later, you return. and you're glowing.
you changed your hair, got a tattoo, and look genuinely happy. there's chatter about how good the time off seems to have been for you; day shift, night shift, everyone has noticed... including a bitter robby, who finds himself lucky that you switched to nights. your ex-husband gets a sick feeling in his stomach when he sees how well the night crew takes to you, but at least he can leave almost as soon as you get here. the times he does talk to you (because he'll never get his true wish of not having to), it's like he's talking through you, to nothing. which you're completely fine with, making sure he knows it by always being intentional about looking him in the eye.
you and your fresh scrubs and the grating laugh he no longer likes. seemingly winning at life, while he feels stuck under the shadow of your return.
with the way he's acting, you find it completely fine that robby doesn't know you've been fucking jack for the past month. jack doesn't seem to be very wary about it either, given how fan-fucking-tastic the "just sex" is.
(When you’re showing vacation photos to Parker, she sees something she was never meant to see.)
(Warnings : mention of sex MDNI 18+)
Accidental leak (Jack Abbot x Reader)
———————————————————————————
“You are never allowed to leave for that long again!” Ellis shouted as she ran to hug you as you came into the ambulance bay.
“Shit!” You squeaked as Ellis picked you up and hugged you tightly.
“It was hell without you! Don’t do that to me ever again.” She said and smiled, “How was your trip with the sugar daddy?”
“Parker Ellis!” You said, your eyes flicking to Jack as he walked in past you guys, paying the two of you no mind.
Yes, Jack Abbot was your sugar daddy. No, no one knew he was your sugar daddy. Except for Robby, who had walked into Jack’s house one early morning to pick up medical notes he had left there and had run into you in the kitchen making pancakes in one of Jacks tshirts. The worst part wasn’t even you, it was accidentally seeing Jack in full nude on his deck doing yoga. You made Robby promise he wouldn’t tell anyone. He promised he wouldn’t as long as you made him your famous chocolate chip cookies once a month.
Parker had only found out you had a sugar daddy because you were posting more on Instagram about going out to fancy restaurants and nice hotels. Plus she was your best friend, so obviously you told her but wouldn’t reveal who it was.
“The trip was good. I was spoiled of course.” You said with a smile as you walked in with Ellis, “I’ll show you pictures, remind me.”
“So, where did he take you?” She asked as you walked to your locker.
“He took me to California and we stayed at the Ritz- Carlton at Half-Moon bay. Oh my god Ellis, it was beautiful!” You exclaimed as you undid your locker lock, “Plus, he got me a beautiful Tiffany Victoria bracelet.”
“Jesus that sounds expensive. Dare I even want to know the price?” She asked as you set your backpack in your locker.
“About the amount I make in a year.” You said and Parker’s mouth fell open.
“Girl, what the fuck did you do to earn that?” Ellis asked.
You opened your mouth to speak then paused.
You knew exactly what you did to earn that tennis bracelet. Which involved Jack absolutely destroying your pussy the first day you guys arrived.
Ellis’s eyes widened at your expression and grabbed your shoulders, “What’s the wildest sex position he had you in girl?”
“He called it the Libra?” You said, “It’s where the man sits down and then you do the splits and it’s supposed to open more.”
“Is that why you picked up yoga?” Ellis asked and Lena banged on the lockers.
“Yap later, go work you two.” Lena called out, walking away.
“I’ll see you later.” You promised, walking away.
Ellis nodded and headed the other way, letting the Pitt soon swallow you two whole.
———————————————————————————
“So how was your golf tournament thing?” Lena asked Jack, walking up to the nurses station.
“Fine, I suck at golf. It was nice to see some old buddies though.” He said, not looking up from his paper work.
“Where’d you stay at?” She asked, looking over Dana’s notes.
“We played on the Ritz-Carlton at Half-Moon bay.” He explained, “I stayed on a condo nearby. I don’t like hotel living.”
“You got money for it.” Lena said simply, “You and your doctor’s salary.”
“I know, I know.” He said with a laugh, “How was the ER while I was gone? Everyone behave?” He asked.
“Ellis was bitching about her friend being gone. I don’t even know where she went on vacation.” Lena said and Jack shrugged.
“I don’t keep up with the CMA’s like that.” He said simply and looked through the calls ins, “Fuck, two patient sitters called in tonight.”
“Shit, and we have a psych down here who needs one. I’ll get one of the CMA’s to do it.” Lena said and locked eyes with you across the nurses station, “Hey kid, got a job for you.”
You pointed to yourself and Lena nodded, motioning you to the nurses station. You head over, “What’s up?” You asked and Lena smiled.
“We need a patient sitter tonight. We’ll increase your pay by 3.00 dollars tonight and Dr. Abbot will buy you lunch and coffee.” Lena said and Abbot scoffed.
“I-I’m not doing both!” Abbot said with a laugh, looking at you, “I’m sorry kid, just coffee.”
“You’re a dick. Buy the girl lunch Abbot.” Lena argued.
“No it’s fine! I don’t expect him to!” You said, attempting to make this look believable.
“No no Lena’s right, I’ll buy you lunch.” Abbot said, “Just shoot me what you want in teams okay?” He said and you nod.
“I’ll patient sit. Who am I patient sitting for?” You asked and Lena nodded toward a male patients room who seemed to be in his late 20s.
“He’s got restraints on. Just keep an eye on him.” Lena said and you nod.
“I can do that.” You said, your eyes flicking to Abbot’s.
You can see the look in his eyes, ‘if he touches you, I’ll kill him myself.’
You head to the patients room, quietly knocking.
“I’ll be your patient sitter today. Is there anything I can get you?” You asked as you stepped in.
“You’ve got a nice rack.” He said with a smirk and you sigh,
“So I’ve been told.” You mumbled and sat down on the stool.
Today was gonna be a long day.
———————————————————————————
Around 2 am, Abbot quietly came in. You were updating what needed to be ordered for supplies when you looked up and saw him.
“I ordered you what you normally get. It’s in the break room fridge with your name on it.” He whispered, “If anyone asks, you messaged me on teams.”
“Thanks Doctor Abbot.” You whispered keeping it professional, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Nah I got shit I gotta catch up on. Go eat.” He said with a smile.
You mouthed a ‘Thank you.’ to him and headed out of the patients room.
“Are you going on break?” Parker asked and you nod.
“Dr. Abbot bought me my sandwich so I was gonna go eat.” You explained as Parker followed you into the break room.
Soon she got her meal ready and you did too.
“Alright let’s see photos.” She said and you smiled.
“Okay, okay! You might see some scandalous pics of me though.” You warned and Ellis laughed.
“Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before.” She said with a smile as you went to your photos app.
You were positive you put every photo involving you and Jack into a private folder, so you weren’t concerned.
“So I heard Dr. Abbot was at the same resort. Did you see him?” She asked and you shook your head innocently.
“No, my sugar daddy was there for a tennis tournament.” You explained, pulling up beach photos, “Small word though.”
“Yea indeed.” Parker mumbled, looking at your photos. “Ooh I like your bikini, that’s cute!”
“Thanks, he bought it for me. Oh my gosh Ellis! We have to go as a hooray for getting your doctorate!” You said, “It was so pretty.”
“Maybe then I can finally meet the man I’ve been sharing my bestie with.” Ellis said with a laugh as you showed her photos of sight seeing and pretty shells you found.
However, you forgot to private one singular photo. It was one of Jack’s back all scratched up from your nails. From the photo however, Ellis couldn’t tell who it was.
“OH MY GOD! GIRL WHAT DID YOU DO TO THAT POOR MAN?” Ellis screeched, zooming in.
You saw the photo and color drained from your face, “Ellis you weren’t supposed to see that!” You gasped and tucked your phone away, blushing all over.
Jack had begged you to take that photo because he was so proud of it. You remembered still gently kissing each scratch when you could.
“He loves you if he lets you do that.” Ellis said as you took a bite of your sandwich.
Thank god, he remembered your exact order.
“It’s not love. It’s transactional.” You responded simply, setting your phone down, “He pays for things and I get his dick wet.”
“Yea yea. Whatever you say.” Ellis said and ate her meal.
Though even you know you were lying. Because that same night you scratched his back up, he leaned in and whispered an ‘I love you.’
The two of you were in love, you just weren’t ready to hard launch it.
At least.. not yet.
———————————————————————————
After you finished your sandwich, you headed back out to take over patient sitting again. You bid Ellis a goodbye and head into the patients room where Jack is playing on his phone.
“Really? Not doing work.” You said with a laugh and Abbot smirked.
“Lulu Lemon dropped a pastel set. Got you a set in every color.” He said looking up, “Got the alert, figured if you didn’t like it we could go trade it for something else.”
“Thank you.” You said softly as he stood up and stretched.
“I’m gonna order the coffee in like an hour okay?” He said, “I’ll come find you.”
“So um I have to admit something.” You said, looking down at your feet, “Remember that photo I took of your back on vacation?”
“Yea how could I forget?” He joked and then paused, “Who saw it?”
“Parker.” You admitted, “She didn’t pick up that it was you.”
“If she did, I don’t care.” He explained, “I mean come on kid, people are gonna put two and two together eventually.”
“Yea, I know but I don’t want people to think I’m using you.” You said, “I mean you are my sugar daddy after all. Everyone’s gonna frown on it.”
“Then I’ll clear the rumors up that I practically got on my knees and begged you to be my sugar baby.” He said with a smile, “Plus, everyone’s too busy gossiping about what Micheal just did.”
“What did Micheal do?” You asked confused and he snorted.
“He’s fucking the primary case manager in the ER so that she’ll actually do her job and come to the ER more often.” He said and you gasped causing him to giggle.
“No he’s not!” You whispered shocked and Abbot nodded while laughing.
“And guess what? We are having dinner with them tonight because she’s begging to meet his friends.” Abbot whispered and you jokingly swat at him.
“No we are not! God dammit it Jack!” You giggled and he wiped his eyes.
“Yea I know! I’m sorry, but come on I wanted to see this.” He said with a smile, “Alright listen, I’ll find you when your coffee comes. I gotta go do my job.” He said.
The two of you made sure no one was looking before doing your secret handshake, “Alright see ya honey.” He mumbled and left the room.
Yea, you were absolutely in love with Jack.
———————————————————————————
As Jack made his way out into the nurses station, he noticed Lena and Ellis standing at the nurses station whispering.
“Got time to lean, got time to clean.” He said, sitting at one of the computers.
“Dr. Jack Abbot,” Lena said, “We wanna see your vacation photos.”
Yep they were totally trying to figure out if you two were together.
“Go for it.” Abbot said pulling out his phone, he unlocked it and opened photos.
“Just like that?” Ellis asked confused as Lena looked through the vacation photos.
“What? You expecting to see a girlfriend or something?” He asked with a laugh.
“Maybe!” Lena said.
“Doesn’t even look like the same place.” Ellis said, looking over Lena’s shoulder.
“Alright you two spill. What’s going on?” Abbot said with a smirk.
“Nothing!” Ellis said and quickly walked away and Lena passed him back his phone.
“We thought you were dating someone from the Pitt.” Lena said with a sigh.
“I don’t fuck my coworkers unlike Robby.” Abbot said with a laugh and Lena gasped.
“Who is he messing around with?” Lena gasped and walked over to sit by him.
“Noelle from Case management. The primary ER one.” He said and Lena gasped, hitting his back.
He winced, the scratch marks still kinda raw. “Lena!” He said with a sigh.
“I’m sorry I know your sun burn probably hurts, but I didn’t know Robby was even seeing someone!” She whispered.
Yea sun burn, that’s what it was.
———————————————————————————
Soon end of shift came and you were happily sipping on your coffee while you listened to round up for the CMA team.
Your Apple Watch buzzed from a text from Jack,
Daddy Abbot 🤭
“I’ve already started the truck, tell Ellis your sugar daddy’s taking you home today,”
You smiled and sent a heart emoji to respond.
“Robby you sly dawg!” Lena said, looking up as Robby walked in.
“Me? How am I a sly dawg?” Robby asked, setting his bag on his chair. He sipped his coffee and eyed Jack who came over to give report.
“You’re fucking a case manager.” Lena said with a smirk and Dana choked on her gum which caused Robby to choke on his coffee.
“What? Who told you?” Robby said and turned to Jack who was smiling, “Oh yea? We playing that game brother?” He snapped.
“No no! We aren’t playing any games.” Abbot said with a smirk and Robby patted him on the back causing Abbot to flinch.
“Abbot doesn’t have sun burn, it’s raw scratch marks!” Robby said and Ellis’s head shot up.
“OH MY GOD! YOU ARE FUCKING HER!” Ellis screeched causing you to look over.
“Alright! Knock it off you guys! I don’t care who’s fucking who! Keep it out of my ER!” Dana snapped
You quickly came over and Ellis immediately grabbed your shoulders, “Be dead honest with me, are you fucking Dr. Abbot?”
You signed, “Yes I am.” You admitted, “He’s my sugar daddy.”
“How? Why? What?” Ellis asked, shaking your shoulders.
“Are you mad?” You asked and Ellis laughed.
“No I’m not!” She said, “I’m just surprised! Girl you have the attending physician wrapped around your finger. Maybe you can convince him to approve my vacation time.”
You smiled, “I’ll do my best.” You said and Abbot grabbed your shoulders.
“We’ve got a breakfast date. We’ll see you around.” Abbot said with a smile leading you away.
“I’ll text you!” You called out as Abbot directed you outside.
“Sorry everyone had to find out like this.” You admitted as Abbot took your hand.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not mad.” He said with a smile, “The look on Robby’s face was worth it. Plus, now everyone knows you’re off the table pretty girl.” He cooed.
“Robby’s not mad?” You asked confused and Abbot shook his head.
“Eh, I’ll pay for it later.” Abbot said, “Come on now, I want you all to myself. I’m a selfish man baby girl.” He whispered, kissing the side of your head.
“You’re just a man who knows what he wants.” You mumbled, walking to the truck.
“I’m a lucky man who gets what he wants.” Abbot corrected, “Come on, I need some sleep before tonight’s dinner.”
Soon the two of you headed to the truck, happy with the fact everyone knew who you belonged to.
———————————————————————————
Meanwhile, in the Pitt.
“I told you they were fucking.” Dana said, “Come on Lena.”
“Fine fine.” Lena said, passing her a wad of cash.
“You two made a bet?” Robby asked confused, “Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“You can be clueless Robinavitch.” Dana said with a smirk.
Thinkin bout Pope who loves to spend his heist money on you. :3
Warnings: plot build up, mostly just fluffy stuff. HyperFem reader, established relationship build up, age gap, reader is mid 20s, Pope is canon age. Pet names, reader calls Pope papa, he calls you sweetheart, honey, whatever. Sort of softdom!Pope, reader is very bubbly and spoiled. A liiiiitle smut, somewhat public play on both parties. Pope is grabby and very needy. No real mentions of readers appearance other than clothing, hair styling, and the mentions of “curves”. Anyone could read!
A/n: nothing serious, just something small and cute in honor of Valentine’s Day approaching. I might do another Valentine’s Day post, but who knows. I’ve been ITCHING it write for this pretty guy, so Enjoy!!
You knew what Pope was when you met him. Everyone knew who he was, knew his family, whether it be about their troubles or simply how..odd those boys are. And when you started getting close to him he wanted to keep that away from you. You’re not gonna say you were oblivious to his long weekends, weird work schedule and how a bruise always seemed to creep up on his skin.
But unless he was badly hurt you never really asked, it clearly wasn’t your business. He would tell you small things, “The guys and I are goin’ up to Mexico for business.” He’d say, giving you a sympathetic look as you nod, coming up to kiss him goodbye.
“I’ve got an uhm..game night me and my brothers do every so often. Won’t be long.” You just shrug, tucking a ski mask into his back pocket and sending him on his way. You knew what he always meant, he knew you did too. But you never let it get to you, you never let it worry you. Your man was strong, tough meat. He could hold his own with whatever he did in the night, as long as he came back home to you.
You don’t ask and he thanks you every time, in his own little way. And there he was, his arm red with bag marks as he follows you through the local mall, unoccupied hand wrapped around your waist as your eyes scan through where to go next. You loved this time of the month, it was like Valentine’s Day every time.
He’d take you shopping, to a nice restaurant for dinner, the beach, and then you two end the night with a fashion show before he puts you through your shared mattress. What more could a girl ask for?
Smurf never liked this, she always protested against it. Saying he was spoiling you, wasting his money, and he never once listened. This was his way of showing how much he appreciated all you did for him, sticking besides him even when he came home black and blue.
And besides, what was he gonna do with all that money anyway? Why spend it on drugs or other bullshit when he could spend it on his pretty princess?
“You’ve been to every store in here yet you always find somethin new.” He says, smiling small as he sits on a bench, waiting for you outside the dressing room. “I know right? It’s like they do it for me.” You giggle, coming out to model an orange bandage dress.
“What do you think of this one?” You say, spinning around for him to see all angles. “Well,” he tilts his head. “I like the design of it. But it’s bright, it collides with your skin in a weird way, no? I think the pastels look better.” He says, and though that’s not an answer you liked, you appreciated his feedback.
Yes, he was always this attentive. He knew you like the back of his hand, and he was always honest with you, very straightforward. “Yeah…go find me a different color baby.” You tell him, going to take the dress off to model another.
What he loved most was when he had a say in what you bought with his money. Not that he necessarily didn’t, you didn’t tell him he couldn’t. He just let you pick whatever and wherever with no complaints and paid. Whatever makes you happy. You smile as you walk up to Victoria secret, knowing he was gonna ask if you two could go in there.
He loved picking out your lingerie. It was something so simple that made him the happiest on these days, besides seeing your happy, content face. He loved it because it wouldn’t be long before it’d be modeled for him around the house, when he took you to bed, or when he came back from a long, harrowing night.
He picked out panty sets, night gowns that would never the sun rise, and whatever else he could imagine ripping off you. “What about this one sweetheart?” He holds up a lavender lacy nightgown, his favorite color. He hands it to you as you examine it, it couldn’t go more than past your bottom lips, but it wouldn’t be a problem to you.
“S’cute papa. You want me to try it on?” You ask, only to be met with him quickly ushering you to the dressing room, your giggle accompanying. He couldn’t wait for this part, being able to watch you open that door to show him everything he’d picked out for you. He dug his nails into his jeans, excitement pulsing through him, his cock throbbing against the fabric.
Some of the things you couldn’t fully open the door to show him, but it never bothered him to come and see without the eyes on him from outside the room. “You like?” You twirl in the final piece he had picked out for you, a beautiful teal blue set that practically put your tits on display and your ass at his dismay.
He lets out a breath, rubbing down his jaw as he looks over you with a stoic expression, blinking hard as the blood in his head drained to the heat in his pants. He watched you through the wall mirror, turning you around, seeing all angles.
Seeing, and feeling just how easy he could get into your pants—his hands snaking to your ass and under the garments, making you gasp softly, trying not to alert any workers with what he was doing. He bent you over, looking at your body in the mirror as he grinds his bulge against your clothed ass, a chiseled expression remaining as he examined you under his grasp.
This wasn’t something you were new to, he did this sort of thing every time. But it still sent butterflies flying in your stomach. He doesn’t cock his head when a worker does call out to your aid, asking if you were alright in there. You were a regular, so they weren’t foreign to him following you inside.
You just let out a small lie, something about your straps getting caught as he groped your chest behind the door, hearing them leave you alone. You look back at him, a small “you like it?” exiting you as he steps away, clearly trying to contain himself. He nods simply, “Mhm, it’s beautiful on you, sweetheart. Let’s get it,” he says, shooting a look towards you as he exits. A small signal that he was ready to get you on him.
The last thing from the mall he would always, always get you was a piece of jewelry. Whether it be a bracelet, necklace, earrings, you had a buttload of ‘em. He loved seeing whatever it was twinkle against your soft skin. But..this time around, you had something special planned for him. Yes, he did this for you, but why not surprise him every now and then?
He frowns but listens as you tell him to wait outside, watching you strut into Pandora. You opted on getting a small anklet littered with charms on it for him. He loved when you wore your little heels, and this would be perfect for such. And…Pope loved holding your legs up in the air, grabbing at them to keep you in place, over his shoulders, kissing your ankles.
This would be perfect for him to hear as he plows into you, the jingle of charms in his honor ringing in his ear as he brings you to your high. So you run to bring him in so he can see, and he gasps as his eyes land on the piece of jewelry, a smile creeping up on his face as he wraps an arm around your hips, bags littering his other arm.
“That’s pretty sweetheart,” he nods, holding it up to get a better look. “The charms, are they custom? You pick em out?” You watch his eyes gloss over as he examines each one, eager for him to notice the one that was specifically catered to him. “Mhm, all of em. You like?” You ask, but his eyes are already locked in on a target, and you smile shyly.
You see a pout form on his face, his eyes twinkling. His fingers twiddles with the tiny [gold/silver/rose] A—not P— that hung from the band of it. A for Andrew. He sighs as he points at himself, silently asking, “for me?” and you give him a small nod, kissing his cheek as he chuckled bashfully, setting it back in the box.
“I love it baby, that’s beautiful. Love it.” He says sweetly, handing the cashier a few bills, squeezing your hip. You’re not in the mall long after that. He takes you to your favorite restaurant, watching you, laughing with you, though the only thing on his mind was going home and laying down his lover so sweet just as she deserved.
You kiss his shoulder as he opens to door to your home, walking in first and upstairs with only one bag in your hand, the Pandora one. You knew what time it was. He’s not far behind you, sitting your bags by your closet and helping you slip on the anklet, his lip tucked under his teeth, as he trails his eyes up your body and back to your eyes.
Kissing your legs as he takes off your heels, the jingle of the charms knocking together run through his ears, it excited him. It’s not long until your leg is over his shoulder, ankle resting on his head as he bullies his thick cock into you. ૮₍ ⸝⸝´ ꒳ `⸝⸝ ₎ა
Hi hello hey!! Thank u so much for reading, I loved writing this it was so cute :( he’s just a sweet guy who would never hurt a fly. I think? I’d write a psrt two to this maybe. Reblogs and comments are an author’s best friend, I hope you enjoyed it!! Bye!!!
higuruma not letting u pee while ur cockwarming n when ur just like soooo full he finally starts fucking u and he doesnt let u go til u squirt for him as many times as he wants :D
the piercer at the shop is really, really hot. how many visits would it take for you to be dicked down?
piercer!choso x female!reader
wc. 3.9k
cw/tw. explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, oral sex, creampie, overstimulation, piercing, needles, semi-public sex, rubbing, teasing, shameless smut
18+, minors DNI
➳ this work is part of THE PERFECT MATCH collection
Choso is very much aware that he had the face of someone who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Long brown hair fell messily over his bored, half-lidded eyes as he flipped through a magazine with the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with lean muscle and ink that disappeared under the fabric again.
You wondered if he ever smiled or if his face just clearly wasn't built for it. But you were determined to see more of him.
“We’re in total luck,” your friend said, nudging you with her elbow as she pointed at the appointment book. “They squeezed me in for tattoos today.”
You hummed, but your attention snagged on the guy again. He hadn’t looked up once since you walked in, even when the bell above the door jangled. His fingers tapped absently against the counter, like he was counting down the seconds until his shift ended.
The tattoo artist—a woman with neon pink hair and a sleeve of snakes winding up her arm—motioned your friend over. You followed but still, your gaze kept drifting back to the guy at the front. There was something about the way he carried himself, all quiet intensity and zero effort to be approachable.
“You getting anything else done today?” The tattoo artist asked while she prepped her station.
You hesitated, then nodded. “Maybe a piercing.”
She glanced over at the man on the counter and smirked. “I could pierce you but… Choso’s also good with needles,” she said. “He has much steadier hands than me.”
Choso.
The name rolled around in your head. Your eyes flicked back to him, who hadn’t so much as glanced in your direction.
Your friend was guided into the chair and you watched the way the tattoo artist’s hands moved with ease. She wiped down on your friend’s skin and traced the stencil with the tip of her needle.
A few minutes passed before you finally caved.
“Actually,” you said, smoothing a hand over your thigh, “I think I’ll get that piercing now.”
The tattoo artist didn’t look up from her work, only jerked her chin toward the front. “Choso. Customer.”
His head lifted slowly, dark eyes meeting yours for the first time. There was no warmth there, just a detached sort of focus like you were another task on his to-do list.
“What do you want?” He asked, voice low and rougher than you expected.
You stepped closer, leaning against the counter between you. “Lip piercing.”
The chair in the piercing room was cold against the back of your thighs, the overhead light harsh. Choso moved quickly and methodically. Gloves on, disinfectant sprayed, tools laid out in a neat row. He didn’t speak as he prepped, and the silence should’ve been uncomfortable, but there was something strangely intimate about it.
Choso studied your lips with a detachment that shouldn’t have sent heat pooling low in your stomach but it did. His fingers on your chin were warm despite the gloves. His thumb brushed the corner of your lips, then tilted your face to the left, the right, back to center. The pad of his finger lingered a second too long on your bottom lip.
“Where do you want it?” He asked, voice low.
You smirked, letting your knee brush against his thigh as you shifted in the chair. “Surprise me.”
Choso held your gaze for a beat, his expression unreadable, before reaching for the marker.
The marker tip pressed cool against your skin, Choso’s hand steady as he drew a precise dot just left of your lower lip. His breath ghosted a bit near your cheek, close enough that you caught the faint scent of mint and something like tobacco. You sat completely still, just watching the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration.
“Keep your head straight,” he murmured. You obeyed, eyes flicked down to his lips instead.
The clamps came next, cold metal pinching your skin as he positioned them with efficiency. But his hands were so gentle and light that you didn’t flinch even when the sharp sting of the needle pierced through flesh, quick and clean.
Then the jewelry came after—a small, silver flat-back stud that caught the light when you slightly tilted your head. His fingers brushed against your lip again as he secured it, the warmth of his skin lingering even through the latex. He grabbed a small pad and wiped the edges of the piercing. You inhaled slowly, watching the way his lashes dipped as he focused.
“All done,” he said, stepping back to survey his work. “Suits you well.”
The words were casual, almost indifferent but they fluttered in your stomach anyway. You slid off the chair.
“Oh, yeah?” You tilted your head, catching your reflection in the handheld mirror he handed you.
Choso’s gaze lingered on you for half a second too long before he turned away, peeling off his gloves with a practiced flick of his wrists. The latex snapped against his skin as he tossed them into the biohazard bin.
You watched the flex of his fingers and wondered how’d they feel inside you.
“Aftercare instructions are on the counter,” he said, nodding toward a stack of printed sheets without looking at you.
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. Casually, you leaned against the edge of the chair, one leg crossed over the other as you pulled a folded bill from your pocket along with a small paper with your number scribbled on.
Choso’s gaze flicked down the moment your fingers slipped into the pocket of his apron. Yet his expression still didn’t change. That same, bored neutrality as if he couldn’t be bothered to react.
You stretched your neck slightly, feigning a glance toward the mirror again. “How long until I can change it out?”
“‘Bout six weeks,” he said, voice flat. “Maybe two months or so, just to be sure.”
You hummed, stepping closer just to watch his shoulders tense ever so slightly. “Guess I’ll have to come back, then.”
Your friend’s tattoo was halfway done by the time you wandered back into the main area, the buzz of the needle mixing with the rock music playing overhead. You touched your new piercing absently, the metal cool against your fingertip, and glanced back toward the piercing room. The door was half-open, but Choso was already gone— back to his post at the front counter.
You didn’t expect him to text you. Not really.
But three days later, your phone buzzed with an unknown number and a single message.
Unknown Number: Aftercare going okay?
You rolled your eyes at how he sounded dry and detached like he was checking in out of professional obligation. You bit your lip, the piercing twinging slightly.
You: think so. you offering to check it for me?
While waiting for a response, you changed his name on contacts. The reply took twenty minutes.
Choso: If you need.
You could almost picture his face—expressionless and eyes half-lidded. But you didn’t care. He kept your number and he texted you first.
You went back a week later under the guise of needing aftercare advice, even though you’d already Googled it. The shop was still in its usual operation, metal music thrumming through the speakers. Choso and the neon pink-haired tattoo artist lounged behind the counter. She raised an eyebrow when you walked in but didn’t say anything, just smirked and disappeared into the back.
Choso looked up from his phone, dark eyes flicking over you.
“Piercing infected?”
“Nope,” you said, leaning against the counter. “Just thought I’d get your opinion on my next one.”
His gaze dropped to your lips, then lower—your collarbone, the hint of ink peeking from under your shirt.
“Where?”
You tilted your head. “I haven’t decided yet… maybe you could help me brainstorm?”
You are so full of shit. Seriously? Brainstorming for a piercing? You laughed in your mind.
For the first time, you saw something flicker in his expression—a faint tightening of his jaw, the barest hint of interest.
“Follow me.”
The piercing room smelled sterile with the sharp tang of antiseptic mixed with something faintly metallic. Choso flicked the lock on the door behind him—just a quick twist of his wrist. The click of it sent a curl of heat down your spine but you didn’t mention it.
There was a new chair. A sleek, black leather furniture. It was cool under your thighs as you settled onto it. Choso dragged a swivel chair toward you and dropped into it, his knees bumping against yours. He briefly pulled away to snap on a fresh pair of gloves.
His gloves made a sharp snap against his wrists as he adjusted them, eyes dragging over you with a slow, assessing sweep.
“Aight, next piercing. Where?”
You pushed back the hair covering your ears, fingers brushing over the small hoops and studs already decorating the cartilage. “I was thinking of another ear piercing,” you mused, “but my ear’s getting heavy now.”
Choso’s gaze flicked down. “How about nose?”
You wrinkled your nose then shook your head. The thought of healing a septum or nostril piercing didn’t appeal to you right now. Not when you had other plans.
Choso breathed in quietly. His fingers twitched against his thigh before he leaned in closer, the scent of antiseptic and something musky clinged to him.
“Tongue piercing?”
Again, you shook your head, letting your lips curl into something teasing. The corner of his lips twitched, just once, before flattening back into neutrality.
“Then what?” He asked, voice lowering.
You uncrossed your legs slowly, letting your knee brush against his again. This time, neither of you pulled away. “I was thinking somewhere… less visible.” Your voice dipped, fingers tracing the hem of your shirt where it rested just above the waistband of your jeans.
Choso’s eyes followed the movement, dark and unreadable. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reached for the marker on the tray beside him.
“Show me,” he said.
You hooked a finger under the fabric of your shirt, lifting it just enough to expose the smooth skin of your abdomen—right where the delicate fine lines of your tattoos curled. Choso’s gaze burned as it traced the ink, then lower, to your jeans.
But that didn’t stop you. Your fingers moved higher, pushing the fabric up further until the underside of your breast was visible, the swell of it barely peeking above the lace of your bra.
“Here,” you murmured, tapping a spot just beneath the curve.
For a long second, Choso didn’t move. His gaze only flicking up from where you were pointing back to your eyes.
“You sure ‘bout that?”
You arched a brow. “Would I be here if I wasn’t?”
Choso’s fingers traced the lines of ink, following the swirls and sharp lines that disappeared beneath the fabric of your bra. The marker hovered just above your skin.
“Where here, exactly?” His voice was an octave lower.
You gulped, your heart hammering against your ribs. The cool air of the room ghosted over the exposed skin of your abdomen, but his touch—even through the latex—burned. You shifted slightly, pulling your shirt higher before tapping a spot where your nipples would be.
For the first time, his usual bored expression changed. His dark eyes turned sharp and focused. There’s a smirk creeping up to his lips.
“You’ll have to take your bra off.”
You didn’t hesitate. The clasp came undone real quick and easy. You dropped the bra on the empty space beside you. Choso’s gaze never wavered, still locked onto you as he uncapped the marker with his teeth. The cap clattered somewhere unseen but you didn’t care.
Not when his hand finally moved.
Choso’s fingers were warm through the latex, rough against your skin as they curled around the swell of your breast. He squeezed slightly and you felt a shudder down your spine. His thumb grazed over your nipple, already hardening from the cool air and the weight of his stare.
“Here?” He murmured. The tip of the marker hovered, teasing.
You swallowed, nodding. “Mhm. Right there.”
The disinfectant pad was cold against your peaks the second it made contact. His fingers pressed firm as he dragged the pad in slow circles over one nipple, then the other.
He pressed the tip of the marker against you, the ink was a little cold, a stark contrast to the heat of his touch.
Choso’s grip tightened, making you suck in a breath. His fingers slid to your other breast, kneading the soft flesh with such slowness. His thumb brushed over the nipple again and you swore you saw his pupils dilate behind those bored, hooded eyes.
“It’s not hard enough,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
His fingers pinched your nipple suddenly, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until the peak stiffened under his touch. A small noise escaped your mouth, something between a gasp and a sigh. Choso’s eyes flicked up to your face, watching the way your lashes fluttered.
The marker pressed against your skin again, leaving another small dot to each side of your nipples. His fingers didn’t stop teasing your nipple even as he pulled the marker away.
“You’re gonna have to stay completely still.”
The clamps came first, cold metal pressing against your already-sensitive buds. Choso’s fingers lingered a bit too long once more, his thumb brushing over the peak of your nipple one last time before positioning the tool.
You still couldn’t help but feel nervous. Sure, you’ve handled needles before but that was for your ears and well, the latest for your lip.
“Breathe,” he told you. His knee nudged your legs apart slightly. You exhaled shakily, your fingers curling into the edge of the chair. “Just a teeny tiny pinch.”
The needle pierced through the skin sharp and quick. But it lingered, throbbing in time with your pulse. Then, he gently inserted the silver jewelry into place.
“You good?” he asked.
You nodded, almost breathless. “Yeah… just-” You gulped. “Just do the other one.”
Choso’s hand moved to your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers again before positioning the clamp. His eyes flicked up, watching the way your chest rose and fell faster now.
“Same thing,” he murmured. “Just a pinch.”
This time, you were ready. Though the pain still shot through you, sharp and hot, you bit down on your lip hard. His touch stayed too long this time, twisting the jewelry before smoothing his thumb over the swollen flesh around it. As usual, he grabbed a pad and wiped the edges clean.
“Done.”
Choso pulled away from you then peeled his gloves off with a snap. You stayed still, expecting him to walk away like he always did—detached and professional. To your surprise, he sat back in the swivel chair and came closer to you again after disposing of the things in the bin.
He leaned forward, forearms resting on either side of your hips, caging you in against the leather chair.
“You came here for piercings,” he said, voice thick with something you couldn’t name. “Anything else in mind?”
The question hung between you, heavy as the silence that followed. You smiled, shifting just enough to press your knee against the inside of his thigh again.
“You guys offering anything else aside from tattoos and piercings?”
Choso grinned, a sight for you since the first time you walked into this shop. Then he was on you, his hands gripping your waist as his mouth crashed against yours. The kiss was hot and messy. You gasped into his mouth, fingers immediately tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. His hips pressed forward, the hard line of his cock visible even through the layers of his clothes.
“Fuck.” He mumbled against your lips, one hand sliding up to cup your breast. His thumb brushed over your new piercing.
You arched into his touch, the sting mixing with the heat pooling between your thighs. His other hand gripped your hip.
“You been thinkin’ about this?” He growled, nipping at your bottom lip where the silver stud sat.
You laughed, rolling your hips up to meet his. “Since last time I’ve been here.”
Choso’s mouth trailed down your jaw then sucked hard to leave a mark. His hands moved with purpose, finally yanking your shirt over your head. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your jeans.
“Off,” he ordered.
You shimmied out of them, kicking the fabric to the floor while Choso stripped off his own with quick, impatient movements. His shirt hit the ground, revealing the lean cut of his abs, with dark ink curling over his ribs.
Just when you thought he only had tattoos on his arms.
You reached for him but he caught your wrist, pinning it on your sides as he leaned down to lick a stripe up your neck.
“Should’ve known you’re trouble,” he whispered, his free hand sliding between your thighs.
You bit back a moan as his fingers brushed over your clit, already swollen and aching.
His mouth found yours again as he thumbed your clit in slow circles, making your hips jerk forward. Then, without a warning, he pushed two fingers inside you. You clenched around him, the stretch sharp and perfect.
He fucked you with his fingers, curling them just right where he’d hit your sweet spot while his thumb pressed against your clit in time with each thrust.
Choso’s fingers curled deeper inside you, the rough pads of his fingertips pressing against that tender spot that made your thighs tremble. You arched off the chair but his free hand splayed across your stomach to push you back down and pin you flat.
The contrast of his warm skin against yours, the sting of your nipple piercings—everything felt too much and not enough all at once.
“Stay still,” he murmured against your throat. His fingers didn’t slow, fucking deliciously into you as if desperate for more friction. “You’re gonna mess up your piercings.”
You let out a shaky laugh, nails digging into his shoulders.
“I don’t really give a fuck.”
Choso’s eyes darkened and his mouth twisted into something between a smirk and a snarl. He pulled his fingers out abruptly, the sudden emptiness making you whine. But before you could protest, he hooked his hands under your thighs and yanked you forward, tilting your hips up. The leather squeaked under your skin as he settled between your legs.
He ducked his head and licked a slow stripe up your aching pussy.
You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair as his tongue circled your clit. He teased the swollen bud then sucked it into his mouth. The pain from your fresh piercings blurred into the pleasure. Choso hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine.
One of his hands slid up your torso, thumb grazing over the fresh metal adorning your nipple. You hissed at the sting but he didn’t let up, he still pinched your nipple as his tongue lapped at you feverishly.
“Fuck—ah! Choso!” Your voice cracked, thighs tightening around his head.
He chuckled, the sound muffled against your skin. Then, he dragged his tongue lower before pressing inside you with a filthy wet noise that made your cheeks burn. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you still as he ate you out like he had all the time in the world.
You tugged at his hair in desperation but he only groaned and pressed deeper, his nose bumping against your clit as he fucked his tongue into you. The coil in your stomach tightened—your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.
Just as you teetered on the edge, he pulled back, leaving you shuddering and empty again.
“What the fu-”
Your protest was cut off when he stood, stripping off his boxers with one hand while the other gripped the base of his cock. The tip was already flushed and leaking.
His cock was thick, long, and pinkish.
Cute, you thought to yourself. Though he didn’t give you any longer time to stare—he lined himself up your pussy and pushed in with one smooth trust.
The stretch burned, deliciously slow, as Choso bottomed out inside you. His hips pressed flush on yours, the coarse trail of hair above his cock tickled your skin. His hands were suddenly on your shoulders, pinning your back further into the chair. The material now felt warm as he pinned you flat, your hips tilted up at an angle that made every inch of him feel twice as deep.
“Shit—you feel so good,” he moaned out. “So tight around my dick.”
Choso’s breath hitched above you, his lips parted around silent curse. His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading you even wider. But then he pulled out almost completely—remaining his tip inside—before slamming back in.
The sound of skin hitting skin echoed in the small room. You couldn’t even be bothered whether his co-worker listened or if there were customers that came in. All that mattered were Choso’s grunts and his punishing cock.
You choked a moan, babbling ‘pleasepleaseplease’ as he thrusted into you mercilessly. He started with a rigorous pace that still hasn't died down now.
“You like that, huh?” he gritted out. His hips snapped forward again, the veins embedded on his cock dragging around your walls.
You could only nod, could barely speak out coherent words to answer him. You were good at pleading with him to go deeper and faster, though.
“Please! F-Fuck, right there!” The words tumbled out between gasps, your voice ragged as Choso’s hips brutally pistoned into you. “Oh, m’god…! H-Holy s-shiiit!”
He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. “Louder,” he demanded. “Wanna hear how bad you want it.”
You whimpered and whined. “Choso, I—nngghh!—I can’t-”
The sounds created as he pushed in and out of your tight, swollen pussy are both delicious and filthy. It’s all squelch! squelch! squelch! every time he bottomed out—his balls were also hitting.
“Gonna cum on my dick like this? Hm?”
You choked on a sob, your thighs shaking as the pressure coiled tighter and much unbearable. You rolled your eyes to the point you could’ve sworn it reached the back of your head.
“I’m—mhhhmm—I’m close!”
Choso’s rhythm stuttered for half a second but snapping harder and deeper back again. “Me too. Fuuuck, me too.”
You could feel it. The way his cock twitched inside you, the way his breath came ragged against your neck. The growing pressure in your abdomen tightened to the point of pain. Choso’s hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again—rubbing rough and relentless as his thrusts turned uneven.
You shattered. White-hot pleasure ripped through you, your vision blurring as you clenched around him with a choked gasp. Choso cursed, his hips slowing as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own release hitting him like a truck. He buried himself into you with a groan while his cum spilled hot inside you.
The only sound was your mingled panting and the slick drip of his cock sliding out of you. Choso stayed braced above you, his arms trembling slightly with the effort of holding himself up. Some hair stuck to his forehead now damp with sweat. You reached up, brushing the strands away.
“Shit. Your piercings.” Choso’s voice was rough. His fingers ghosted over the jewelries. The skin around them was angry red.
You grinned up at him. “You could suck on them next time.”
Choso’s lips quirked up as he brushed over one of the piercings again. He watched your face closely, eyes darkening when your breath caught.
You're married to Satoru Gojo - an arrangement since your childhood, one you're so excited for. You soon find out - he wants nothing to do with you. Any one is preferable, from the waitress at your engagement party, to his secretary. Torn apart by insecurities and devastated by the fact that you can't make this one sided affection work, you decide to find something to keep you going until Gojo finds a way to end the marriage. That's what lands you right in the notorious boxing ring in town - led by Ryomen Sukuna, who finally sees you.
pairings - Arranged! Gojo x Reader x Boxer! Sukuna
warnings!!! - Heavy, heavy angst, cheating and reactive cheating, Satoru is ooc, cruel and mean, reader starts off very shy/insecure, Soft Sukuna but he still don't mind being buried inside married reader, a fuck ton of feelings, eventual smut, explicit, mentions of insecurities, painful and hurtful all around.
This WILL have multiple endings, all of these three are gonna be messy. Told from Reader, Gojo and Kuna's POV and split up by each! based on this drabble - WC - 9k
This won the 30k followers poll! Thank you so so much again!!
masterlist - part two>>>
part one
Gojo -
Satoru Gojo his entire life has been used – as the ‘head of the Gojo’ clan, as the heir to the empire, everything in his life has been set in stone the moment he was born. They never gave him a real choice, barely let him have friends his entire childhood, no it was studies, it was pressure, it was how to be absolutely perfect, telling him who to talk to, how to act, how to walk.
He knew inevitably his time in college was just a fun distraction, where he had friends for the first time, where he felt almost normal, where he secretly dated – his parents would not approve – of the girls he talked to. Yet he fell into it just a bit, enjoying it too much, partying and fucking the worst girls, ones that would make his parents gasp in shock.
He hung out with the worst crowd, too, straight up heathens really, to rebel as much as he could, before the inevitable fact – his dad was dead, and he was turning twenty four, there was no more partying, no more life, no more dreams. All there was – the obligations, the responsibilities, the arranged wife they’ve had picked out since you both were children.
Oh, you’re beautiful, it’s not that.
You’re sweet, you’re smart, you’re kind.
It’s not that.
You’re not his choice, nothing about his entire fucking life was his own choice, and this is just another thing, another way to show him what he is – just something to be used, just a tool for his family to have power. The richest family in Japan must have that, right? And you were from the second richest, and one of the most powerful, from an impeccable line.
You were impeccable, you were exceptional, you were ‘perfect’.
And Satoru Gojo hates you on sight, the moment you meet him at the engagement party – yeah, that's where he officially meets you, and doesn’t just ‘hear about you’. That’s where he sees how fucking gorgeous and bright you are, and for a moment his heart hammers in his chest, for a moment he’d sink to his knees to get a taste of you.
Then he remembers it all, when you shyly look down, when you ring your hands in front of you.
Obligation.
Arrangement.
You didn’t want this, want him, choose him – who would other than for his name, for his power? For what he could do for your family, for everyone. You’re shoved into this – a contract from your youth, who knew what the fuck you wanted, or who you’ve been with, who you want to be with?
You didn’t choose him, he didn’t choose you.
He keeps reminding himself in moments where he thinks the light from the chandeliers are hitting too nicely on your collarbones, when he looks at your lips just a little too long, instead he politely smiles, and turns away. Why, do you ask, does he turn away from his future wife?
Why is he later kissing another woman, fingering her right on the balcony, where pretty much anyone who walks by could see, smirking against her neck with every moan she muffles. Why does Satoru Gojo pick the most common, slutty little waitress to do so, when you’re there in a beautiful fucking gown, and look lost and upset, your lips trembling?
Because imagine a world where he falls – and you didn’t choose him. Imagine he thinks for a brief moment he could have happiness in his life, a joke really, it’s just flitting little moments. He can only handle so much pain, and in turn he causes you the pain, the embarrassment, sucking her juices off his thick fingers after she cums, laughing just a bit and walking back in.
His elders are furious, everyone is murmuring about his antics, as he throws back a shot and chuckles, but you?
You just look down, and a couple of tears fall, turning away and sipping on your wine. You say nothing even as he dances with you later, stumbling a bit with how drunk he’s gotten, to piss them off – to tell them he’s not going down without a fight – looking at you curiously.
You stare at his chest, you say nothing.
“Having fun?” He asks, and you scoff a bit, looking up with glassy eyes, and for a moment it pierces his drunk heart.
He’s horrible.
But isn’t he just a disappointment anyway?
“Am I having fun watching you with another woman at my engagement party?” You ask softly, shaking your head. “I get it, I’m not your type. I knew that from people telling me so.”
He pauses, right in the center of the dance floor.
“Yet I expected some decorum, I expected you to at least be respectful, not to show the world how unappealing you find me,” you whisper, biting down on your lip, shaking your head now. “I wanted to at least try here, with you.”
Satoru can’t speak.
Until he spins you, and catches you, his big hand taking over your waist, thumb pressing under the swell of your breasts. He almost falls then, from just a look, yet he holds himself back, he stops every insane thought and action, laughing easily, like he’s amused.
Satoru is good at hiding.
“Ya thought we’d have some story book romance, huh? Oh… you’re a fairy princess and I’m from another kingdom? And oh…” He leans down, so low to you, lips a breath away. “I fall for the princess, she’s just so beautiful, how can’t I?”
“Gojo…”
“News to you, perfect little fairy princess, I’m not interested in marriage, or any of this shit, this show, I fucking hate it,” his words are harsh, as he squeezes you too tightly, so tightly you’re shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Your prince from another kingdom just stuck his fingers in a waitress. That’s reality, sweetheart.”
You tremble in his hold, and he knows then.
He hurt you.
Good, he thinks, shit will be easier that way, safer if you hate him, if you smack him, tell him to fuck himself. Yet you tilt your chin up and spin as the dance calls for, giving a little curtsey as he steps closer, not showing a hint of emotion aside from your tears that you seemingly can’t stop.
“I see,” is all you say then, stepping back into his arms, as the crowd of gossiping families speaks of it all, you hold all of your composure, even as he raises a brow, looking down at you. “Maybe I am foolish, to have thought it that way. Yet I still don’t understand why you’re…”
“What, little princess? So mean?”
You just look down again, quiet, swallowing visibly, you smell too good, invading his fucking senses. “I didn’t think you were mean when I met you as a child.”
“As a child?” Satoru pauses, and you sigh, shaking your head.
“Of course you wouldn’t remember, I’m not very special.” You step back as the song ends, and your tragic eyes meet his, before lowering them and bowing a little bit. “Have a good rest of your evening, I’m feeling a little…” You look at the girl he’d just kissed. “Sick.”
When you rush off, politely excusing yourself, Satoru feels this sinking in his heart, questions simmering under the surface – what if he just was kind to you? What if he at least didn't make a fool of himself?
But he doesn't go after you, no that would have been the ‘right’ thing to do. The thing is, you're much better off without him. So he's dancing with women who make his family furiously whisper amongst themselves, and he just knows -
You will hate him, and you’re better off for it.
*****
You
You didn't expect a fairy tale marriage. Even marrying the man who is basically the ‘prince’ of all the families, all of the clans, the Gojo heir. You may as well be the ‘princess’ of your own, both of you promised as children to each other, knowing no love or match would come to anything.
This was it, your future, but you met him when he was just a little kid, he's two years older than you. His blue eyes and spiky white hair were enough to make your heart race, but mostly you noticed how sad those blue eyes were.
He wasn't mean then, he was kind and reserved, not boisterous, laughing and acting a fool. He was cautious more like you are, both of you not wanting to disappoint your very harsh parents who had so many expectations. Satoru had given you his hand, holding it tightly, pressing a little kiss on the back of it.
So you'll be my wife some day
Yeah…
You're um… pretty.
That was it, just a moment and then he'd had to run off. And you only saw Satoru in bits and pieces, here and there from afar, watching and knowing he didn’t notice you. Yet that moment gave you hope.
Just to fucking crush it all.
It's your wedding night, and his staff is carrying all of your luggage inside the expensive mansion. Satoru is drunk, you notice he is around you, as if that helps with the pain of having to be married to you, stumbling just a bit and chuckling darkly when you try to help him.
“I'm fine,” he yanks your hand off like you burned him. Your tummy is in knots, you feel sick. “Let me show you your room. Princess.”
He says it always mockingly, tonight you know he was with someone again, he's made no attempt to hide kissing others. You're sure he probably does more, but you're innocent yourself so you don't exactly know what's what. Your parents pounded innocence and propriety in your head.
You'll be Gojo’s wife, you must be pure for him.
What a joke, really, to be pure for someone who will never want you, to watch him kissing on necks in the gardens, laughing until he sees your face. You never have been a very confident girl, but everyone has always told you that you're pretty, lovely, so you sort of didn't think your looks were an issue.
Then again, it could just be you. Maybe you're boring, maybe you're too proper. Your mind wracks with doubts as he leads you up the winding staircase of the Gojo mansion up to a dark hallway. He opens a door and you pause, breath catching in your throat at how beautiful it is.
“This is our room?” You ask softly, the blue silk bed and gossamer canopy snug in a room of soft whites and blues. He chuckles, making you look at him.
“They had it made for us, pretentious isn't it?” You blink a bit.
“I think it's beautiful,” it's quiet when you step in, still in your beaded and saying white wedding gown. You slip off your veil and take a breath. Looking in the mirror.
You look gorgeous today.
No matter what he says or doesn't say, you see it in that reflection. In your lashes, in your eyes, in your lips, painted a pretty crimson. Your body is showcased to perfection, modest but still sensual, just hints of your lines and curves outlined, the material glinting in the soft light.
“Your room,” he says at the doorway, and you pause, making him smirk. “You didn't think we were fucking did you?”
You blush furiously, looking down nervously at your hands entwined in front of you. “I did think we would… make the marriage official even if you don't find me attractive.”
It's dead silent, lingering in the air – your insecurities rampant.
“Why? Because our duty?” He asks, stepping inside, his dress shoes echoing on the floor, coming to stand behind you, reflection in the mirror making you tremble.
“We will need to have babies, it's expected of me. Or I'll be… a failure as a wife.” Your voice breaks, and for a moment you see blue eyes soften, you feel fingertips slipping over your straps, yet they halt, and his eyes narrow.
“I won't fuck you, not for duty or expectations, fuck them and fuck that.”
It's like a slap to the face. You take a breath, trembling now. “Gojo, am I that displeasing really? I tried so hard to look-”
“Nothing will make me fuck you,” he murmurs coolly. “We will ride this shit out till I find a way to end it somehow.”
“End it?” your brows draw together, eyes swimming in unshed tears, his fingers slip off now, going to your back, slowly undoing the little rows of buttons methodically.
“An annulment, divorce, whatever… fuck this shit, I'm not staying married.” he is casual as he helps you out of your dress, knuckles tracing up your spine, then he smirks. “Oh shit. You want me? Hah… that's cute.”
“I… um… you…” You're flushed, reflection in the mirror blushing, as you look at him, his cruel smirk, his mean eyes. “Am I not supposed to want you?”
“Of course you do, I am Satoru Gojo,” he presses those straps down, pausing when he gets a view of your breasts as you hold the dress against them, your back exposed and bare. “You can always touch yourself and think of me, who am I to deny that? But I will never touch you.”
It's like he just stabs you in the stomach. You turn, facing the cruel, tall man now, on the night you hoped for something, anything, but you're just met with a mean curve of his lips. “So what, you'll just… fuck anyone but me?”
“You can cuss?” He laughs a bit, fingers curling along one of the carefully coifed ringlets.
“Yes, I can. I just don't usually,” you take a breath. Trying to remember.
Obey him.
Treasure him.
For your family
“You don't know me and you won't even try to, will you?”
“You want dick that bad, huh?” You gasp, slapping him as hard as you can then, he winces and rubs his cheek, glaring at you. You falter, looking at his pink cheek and gasping.
“I'm sorry. I…”
“Let's get one thing straight, princess,” Satoru Gojo leans over you, an arm on either side, tilting his head as you grip your wedding dress tightly to your chest. “We can do our own things. I get it. You have to live here for now.”
For now.
“But don't you dare fucking hit me,” he grips your wrist, bruising with his long fingers, you gasp out at the pain, tears falling. “Not used to men not wanting you, huh?”
“What!?” You're blinking in confusion, his grip tightening, your heart sinking.
You feel so sick.
“Never been turned down because you're the family princess, aww. So cute,” he leans down, touching your cheek, eyes a cruel bluee. “Everyone after that money, after a chance with you, so special. Well you're not fucking special to me, we are just the same.”
“I don't think I'm special or anything!? I never said that.”
“Don't have to, I can just see it.”
You're shaking in his hold. “I just thought we could try, you don't even know if we have anything, a connection or-”
Gojo laughs at you.
He laughs.
“Try what, fucking you? You want my dick real bad.”
“No!? Just if we could feel a connection? I… like you haven't kissed me, how do you even-”
Satoru grabs your face, leaning low and pressing his lips against yours, capturing them and making you lose your breath. You melt when his plump lips work yours, when a hand comes to entangle in your hair, your hands slipping off your dress so that your nipples hit the cool air.
His tongue slips in your mouth, exploring the recesses with far too much finesse, hot and drooling as he presses you against the hard wood of the dresser.
You've never kissed.
You try to move your tongue back, knowing you're awful at it, your arms slipping around his neck. He's mean, he's cruel, but you want to try, you want to have this. Feel whatever this dizzy sensation is, one of his hands gripping your breast as he pulls back, lips glossy, eyeing them now.
“I'll give you this,” he murmurs softly. “You have perfect tits.”
“Um…” You're stammering again, whimpering when his thumb brushes your nipple.
“Perfect posture, pretty face, nice little body. It's not enough though sweetheart," he pulls back now, grinning and crossing his arms as you just stand there. “There, your kiss, and there's nothing between us. Is there? Enough to shove that fantasy out of your head?”
Nothing!?
“You think keeping your tits out will make me hard?” You gasp, covering them up, blinking back more hot tears.
He wipes his lips with his thumb. As if to remove the kiss from his memory. You look down, pain making you dizzy – deep pain.
“I just… you’re so sure that this won’t work that you’re not trying!” He laughs softly, without humor.
Charming. Handsome. Cruel.
Satoru’s two fingers brush down your collarbone and across it, a mean smile on a devastatingly pretty face as he watches goosebumps dance across your skin. "You want me to touch you. Hmm?"
"I just…" you cover yourself with your arms now, suddenly so insecure, you were anyway but this was more. It was worse, having the man you've been infatuated with since a kid turning you down, on a night you felt so beautiful. "I just thought we could try to find some common ground, to maybe make this work. Become… more?"
He leans down, his sweet breath against your lips, tickling them as his blue eyes glitter, cold like the most beautiful sapphires, and just as hard, there’s no emotion in their depths. So cold you shiver, swallowing nervously.
"Oh sweetheart, I don't want any of it. What they tell me to do, what they expect, no... I'll burn it all to the fucking ground, and them with it.”
“Burn it to the ground?” Your whisper is soft, his lips curve mean when he grips your chin.
"You're a pretty girl, but I'm not for you. That's the most you're getting from me.”
Not. For. You.
"What is so wrong with me?” You hate how desperate you sound.
Was this who you are?
Do you know yourself outside of becoming Satoru Gojo's wife?
“It’s not…” he trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. “You just don’t seem to get it, little princess. It’s an inconvenience, this entire thing.”
Great.
You’re just a fucking inconvenience to your ‘husband’.
“We will let them think we're good for a year, maybe two. Then I'll get out of this, you should thank me really, it's not like you chose it either.”
He turns now, leaving you close to collapsing, with the pain, with the casual cruelty. “Satoru…”
“Don't fucking call me that,” he snaps, looking back at you. You step back and bump into the elegant dresser, shaking as he looks at you with such hatred. “You don't get to call me my first name.”
“I am… I am sorry if I messed something up. If I did something wrong…” You're sniffling your tears, trying to keep it together. “I haven't even kissed before and I probably am just bad at it. Just give me a chance to-”
“Stop trying,” his voice is softer, like he fucking feels bad for you. That's worse than his cruelty – pity. “Just keep to yourself and I will too, until I find a way out of it. It's useless to try.”
“Useless to?”
“Sweetheart,” his tongue is honeyed, a lilt to his voice. “I'll never want you.”
The knife in your heart?
Twisted.
“Oh, I see…” You take a breath, just nodding then, hands gripping the beaded material so tightly they ache.
Obedient.
Sweet.
Serve your husband.
It's what you were trained to be, a traditional wife who follows her husband's orders, even your stinging palm was beyond what you're used to. How can you serve a man that doesn’t want you, how can you obey someone when their only order is for you to quit trying?
As he walks out, with just one look over his shoulder before he shuts that door, leaving you alone in the room on your own in tears on your very wedding night… how can you act like that kiss meant nothing to you? How can you not sink down on that bed all alone, and sob.
The boy you fell in love with doesn't remember you.
Doesn't want you.
No, he hates you.
And you'll have to endure this and be a failure to your parents, the worst of all your fears.
You don't stop sobbing until dawn breaks into the windows.
*****
Gojo
It's been a month of having you in his home, you're trying to be so perfect too. Dinner ready every night, you sit there and wait for him, smiling so pretty, wearing some new outfit as if he will ever touch you again, trying to talk to him, to get to know him.
Satoru can't stand you.
All you do is make him want to end it quicker, so that he has no feelings in this. No amount of slutty little slips or lingering before bed time is getting him to consummate the marriage, to give in to what his family and elders shoved on him, controlling his entire life.
Nah fuck that.
Satoru is balls deep inside his secretary right now, condom dripping with her cum as he lets her bounce up and down his latex covered cock. He leans back and moans as she works him like a pro, bouncing her ass and letting it jiggle under the shoved up pencil skirt.
Of course he thinks of you, fists his cock to images of those tits, imagines those lips around his tip. All the more reason to not fuck you, imagine if he did? You were a virgin, probably would lay there and not know how to do shit, you could barely kiss him back.
He'd have to be all gentle, not slam you down and bottom out like he could right now. She's moaning, too loud, he has to slam a hand on her mouth, lips against her ear.
“We're at work,” he reminds gently.
“Sorry Mr. Gojo. Mnh!” Satoru's big hands work her up and down, bottoming out as she cums, covering her own mouth as she screams out.
“Hah, so messy,” he taunts, she's squirting all over his Armani slacks, right when the door opens.
Fuck.
Did he not lock it?
He pauses, and its…
You.
You quickly shut the door and turn away, as his secretary gasps, panicking and lifting up. Satoru drags her back down, eyeing you.
“Wife,” he teases, you turn to look at him, lunchbox in your hands. “Didn't expect you at my work. Can I cum real quick, then we can talk?”
You say nothing, obedient little thing that you are, not an ounce of fire in you aside from a little smack. He supposes that's how you were raised, how boring really, but he shoves the woman down once more. Toying with her clit and making her moan in front of you, right as he busts in that condom, groaning softly.
“Fuck, there we go,” he taps her and she hops off, giggling when she tugs her skirt down, rushing past you.
“Mrs. Gojo.” she says, you just step back and nod.
“Hello.”
‘Hello’ is what you say, to the woman who'd been riding your husband's cock?
He tosses the condom in the trash under his desk, sighing and smirking over at you, when you turn and see him, still hard and covered in milky seed, turning back around again.
“I'm sorry.”
“You're sorry?” He demands, slipping his boxers up now. “I was fucking someone and you're sorry?”
“I should have called first,” you turn back again, as he zips up, cheeks tinged pink.
You look beautiful today.
He wouldn't tell you. But you do.
“I was just… I learned to make sushi? I was so bored lately. Then… they kind of look ugly? But they're um… yummy and-”
“Just stop, fuck,” you look at him, tears in your eyes, clenched fists at your side when he takes the bento box. “Stop trying so hard, it's not gonna happen.”
“Gojo-”
“Stop, don't hurt yourself more.”
“But why am I so… why would you never ever want me?” you whisper brokenly then. “I am not trying to be mean but her? She's not even… attractive!? I don't-”
He laughs at you again, shaking his head. “You are a spoiled rich girl, a mean little thing. Because she's not drop dead gorgeous I couldn't want her? Looks mean nothing really, little princess. It's just you who I don't want.”
Your breasts heave up and down, finally a glare on your otherwise sad little pretty face. “I am trying!”
“I don't want you to fucking try, constantly acting like the perfect wife. I don't want it. Don't want you, how clear can I fucking make it!?”
You step up to him then, tilting your head to look up at the tall, cruel man, lipstick on his fucking neck, smirking at you. “Well maybe I don't want YOU, but I fucking TRY.”
“Oh. You want me,” he tilts your chin up, grinning at you, feeling your skin hot to the touch. “Bet you're so desperate you'd lick her pussy off me. Wouldn't you? For a chance.”
“I would never,” you shake your head. “Fine, you win. I won't try anymore.”
“Good. It's for your own best interest,” he pats your cheek and smiles. “What's on your plans today, hmm little perfect wife?”
“Not making dinner.” he smirks at you again. “Not trying for you ever again.”
You rush out of the door, dejected, shoulders slumped, when you look back at him though?
That look.
Heartbroken, devastated, done for. Like you just lost all your goddamn will to live.
That one hurts.
Satoru was not cruel before you. Sure he was a dick, he played a lot, he was conceited, but to make you give up trying made him have to push you away. If even fucking in front of you didn't he had to push it further, and he thinks that's the moment you gave up on him.
It's for your own best interest to end this when he can, to be strangers.
Your eyes are burned in his brain as he opens your dumb bento box, and sees these pretty little Sushi. Shaped like little hearts with pink paper instead of the traditional.
He swallows down his guilt when he sees them laid out with a cup of soup, rice, a drink even. And a little note on pink paper.
He hates himself more when he opens it.
Gojo, I know you don't want me, don't want this, but if we could just try… I think there could be something, truly. When we kissed I did feel it, somewhere buried under the surface.
I know I'm not who you chose, or who you want, but I hope one day we could grow to like each other. I am trying my hardest and I just hope that it can be enough.
Have a great day at work, I will see you at home.
Tears slip onto the note, bleeding the ink through the paper, he looks at the shut door you'd walked out of, remembering your eyes..they'd always fucking haunt him. That look of defeat written all over them.
You were bringing him lunch and love notes when he was letting a secretary ride his cock.
“Mr. Gojo?” his assistant opens his door, and he pauses, looking up at her. “You have a two a clock.”
“Right…” He just stares at the sushi, at the note, before shutting his eyes, swiping off tears he hasn't cried since he was a little kid.
That night, no dinner is made by you. No it's the chefs as it should always be, but it's a sign, as is you not in that dining room waiting for him. He walks around the mansion, looking for you, for any sign that you're in his home.
Why does he care?
He hears your sobs from the room you are supposed to share, and rests his door on it.
Why did you have to try so hard, when he told you not to?
“He will never w-want me…” You're sobbing and hiccuping. “Never enough.”
He swallows down his own self loathing, resting his head on the door, wondering at just who he is. Is this Satoru Gojo, or is this Satoru Gojo trying to be anything else but what he's always been pushed into?
He walks off to his own room, shutting the door. He'd have to end this marriage soon as he can, in whatever way that meant – to get you the fuck away from him. You may hate him for it, but at least you'd have a little bit of a choice in your life.
*****
You
You come home from an event with Satoru, a press junket where you have to act like a happy newlywed. And you do just that, you play your role, giggling with his hand on your waist, the most contact you've had since that kiss – the one where he felt nothing for you. The one that you felt shaken from, suddenly fucking delusional, in spite of the fact of one thing.
Satoru Gojo made sure to let you know there was no chance, he didn’t mince words, didn’t lead you on, it was your own hope that made you keep trying that first month, that hope that even after seeing him with his dick inside a woman, maybe he’d feel anything. Fuck, he made sure to cum before she got off of him, didn’t even stop mid fuck.
That’s how unimportant you were.
Yet even then you tried, until he made that disgusting comment – licking another woman off him? Calling you pathetic?
Well, you were.
You were not going to be cruel to him despite the rage in your heart, however, you just no longer try, it’s quiet when you take off your heels at the door, and he slips off his dress shoes. You both say nothing, but you feel his eyes on you at times, as if he expects some word out of your mouth.
You no longer say good morning, good night, you just live your life with Satoru for another month like this, he’ll have a girl over in his room, but you keep to yourself, living so alone… yet, with him.
Your few friends you have get worried for you, every time you get to see them over the next couple months you look more tired, you don’t look like you’re eating, you have dark circles under your eyes, the eyes that don’t glimmer any longer. They share their concerns quietly, over a nice brunch, but you act like everything is just fine.
Tonight your mother had pulled you aside, making sure to dissect your looks to a fault, including said dark circles – As if you didn’t have enough insecurities just being married to Satoru Gojo, a man who’d fuck anyone but you.
“You have to keep yourself together, look he’s all over those women,” she whispers, you would laugh but you know better, the woman who beat submission into your head was right here. You just look down, nodding.
“He always is.”
“So you need to get his attention,” you sigh, wanting to explain how hard you tried, even in lieu of him fucking that secretary in front of you, but you merely nod once more. “Get yourself together, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, your hair is oily even. What’s wrong with you!?”
What’s wrong with you?
You peer over to your tall, white haired husband surrounded by women in the ridiculously extravagant event, glamorously dressed when you chose a thin silk number, not caring anymore. You didn’t do your makeup, what did that matter? It’s not as if he’d ever look at you anyway.
“You’ll make him look bad, make us all look bad, you must gather yourself together and try more. Have I not raised you to be the perfect wife?”
The perfect wife.
To a husband who hates you.
“You did indeed Mother,” you manage to say, clearing your throat that night, feeling the eyes of so many curiously flit between you both. “I shall try not to disappoint you and father.”
Yet you are done trying, as he asked you to be, walking up the stairs now with him slowly trailing behind, as if to make sure there was enough space between the both of you.
Try a gym!
Or a spa day?
You need self care babe!
Yeah, your friends advice about self care was not enough for what you’re going through, but they ring in your head, as you head to your room, and reach around to try to unzip your dress. You curse, moving your hand in every which way, you then try to tug it up off you, but it’s half stuck with the tight material.
Fuck, you’re gonna have to ask him.
“Gojo…” You say, standing by his door, he’s up typing away on the laptop, shirtless, his body cut and chisled, muscles moving as he sits up straighter, eyeing you carefully.
“You, coming to my room?” You flush furiously, looking down.
“Don’t worry, I’ll never, ever ask to be intimate again,” you whisper, the pain still piercing your heart, your soul. He just looks down. “I just really can’t get out of this dress, and I swear to god it’s not a hit on or seduction.”
“Ah,” he doesn’t gloat like usual, standing up now, his sweats falling down his hips, you wish he didn’t look so good like that, coming up to you carefully, everything flexing as he walks. “Zipper stuck?”
“I think so, and it won’t go up over my damn hips,” you grumble, when he comes closer. “I’m sorry.”
“You apologize constantly,” you just nod again. “Turn around.”
You do that, lifting your hair off the nape of your neck for him, two of his fingers grasp the metal zipper, slipping it down achingly slow, the noise loud in his quiet room, mixing with his own catch of breath. It’s quiet, a few tendrils falling against the nape of your neck, as the zipper jams just a bit, stuck in the middle.
“Hang on…” He mumbles, clearly irritated, holding the dress tight together and then grasping it, jerking you just a bit as he finally gets it down. “There.”
“Thank you, Gojo,” you say softly, as he looks at the smooth expanse of your back, and for a moment neither of you move, you turn to face him, still holding your hair up. “I didn’t mean to bug you.”
He doesn’t say anything, knuckles brushing down your spine lightly, enough to make you ache in your core, something you’ve never really felt before this moment. You swallow nervously, blushing and looking away, you can’t make a fucking fool out of yourself again.
You will not push something he clearly doesn’t want, it’s just not right – even in the name of ‘marriage’ it should be Satoru’s choice too, and he so clearly would never choose you, in any world. You turn now, straps slipping down your shoulders, his bright blue eyes get dark and lidded when his gaze hits your tits, the tops of them showcased with the little dress half off.
“I’ll let you um… sleep.” You say, he just blinks a moment, clearing his throat now.
“Yeah.”
You slowly walk out, wondering if it is just you looking for something, anything, the way you damn near begged him to notice you, to want you, it was as he said – pathetic. Even knowing he’s fucking women actively, that he doesn’t have the time of day for you at all, you still crave it, you still don’t retaliate.
His phone rings, and you hear him murmuring while you’re in the hallway –
Hey sweets, hmm… I bet you do miss me.
You feel your feet get heavy, you’ve been barely eating because you’re just fucking miserable, but hearing that as his door shuts and you walk to your lonely room sinks in. The miserable realization that he doesn’t care about you, that even if he gave you a glance, it was nothing, you were nothing to him.
You slip that dress off when you’re in your bedroom, looking at yourself in the mirror, even just his proximity always put a blush to your cheeks, as if your body was betraying your mind. You remember what your friends told you the other day, their concerned gazes, and the way they tried to be supportive when they barely know the half of what you endure.
Having to hear your husband jerking it on the phone and talking another girl through it when he has never touched you?
You are tired of crying, so tired.
You look up gyms in the area, sure that’s not really going to help a damn thing, but it might be enough to keep you busy, considering you can’t even work as a Gojo wife, and you’re left alone too often in the quiet, thinking too much. You pick one and map it, while laying in your bed and snuggling, yawning a bit as sleep starts to drag you under.
“All right, let’s see if self care will help me at all,” you say to yourself quietly, drifting off into a dreamless sleep, as you have been.
What’s there to dream about anymore?
*****
Sukuna
His knuckles are aching from hitting the big heavy black bag, punching it over and over, his class is done but Sukuna always loves to blow some steam off, and the best way is to beat the bag to a pulp. His ruby eyes are locked on the target, exhaling and controlling his breathing.
One, two.
One, two, punch.
Cross, jab, hook.
It’s methodical, it’s easy, even as his muscles ache – that ache is sweet, it’s so perfect to feel, he grins as he imagines beating the fuck out of so many people then. Start with his shit father – his mother gets a pass only due to being a woman – and then, all the little pretentious shits he went to college with.
Sukuna was supposed to be training to become a CEO, to take over his father’s position, and be a nepo baby like the rest of those damn men he partied with at the frat in college. Yet, he never, ever wanted that, and he built something for himself – several gyms, he’s trained pro boxers, national champions.
This was what Sukuna wanted to do.
Mostly, he loved to box, he cared just a little bit enough not to join those matches himself – oh, what would that look like!? The Sukuna heir going into a boxing ring!? Yet, at the same time, he had dreams of it. Of being in a ring and knocking everyone out, pushing that ‘family disappointment’ name even further.
For now, however, there is peace in the quiet gym.
That is, until you walk in.
Tired and fucking beautiful, these dark circles that sit under your eyes, a shy little nervous smile, about five minutes before he closes. You stand at the door and look around, frowning then and staring at your phone, wearing some pretty little yoga outfit and a big sweater, like you were getting ready for pilates rather than kickboxing.
“I’m sorry, first off for coming so late, second… ugh I thought you were a regular gym! Where is my brain…” You smack your forehead, turning, when he literally runs up to you, stopping you before fully thinking of it.
Sukuna, running.
You really are that pretty, when he sees a giant rock on your finger he curses internally, sighing.
“I do other things here, a whole room of workout machinery,” he says then, his voice just a little gruff, when you turn and look up at him, so shy, you look right back down at your feet, hugging yourself a bit. “I can show you, just need to lock up.”
“You probably want to get home, god I’m sorry, I slept all day like a miserable… oh… so sorry.” You have said sorry again, rambling now, making Sukuna wonder.
Just who has you this down? This shy? This clearly hurt?
“I meant to come earlier,” you blink back tears, looking up again with them swimming in your pretty eyes, so pretty he can’t decide what color they are, but the way they look at him almost takes him out. “I set an alarm, and promised I would make myself do something, then I just… hit it over and over. And now I’m rambling.”
“And crying,” he smirks a bit, swiping off a tear. “Rambling, crying, coming in late too, huh?”
“I know I’m so-”
“I’m teasing,” he chuckles softly, shaking his head and tilting your chin up. “If you want to do any sport, you need eye contact. Even when they’re all red and bloodshot.”
“Well your eyes are red too! I mean, oh my god!?” You cover your mouth, he laughs again softer this time. “I’m sorry, I like their color, they’re beautiful. Not to say I am hitting on you! Oh dear god…”
“Will you take a breath?” You shut your eyes, nodding. “A deep one, in… there you go, and out.”
Your breasts rise and fall, the sweater slipping further off a shoulder, as he takes in the mess that’s come to his doorstep – a beautiful, tragically broken mess that does something he can’t explain. When you swipe your cheeks and try to give a tremulous smile, you break whatever heart Sukuna has in his chest.
Who fucking hurt you like this?
Damage recognizes damage, but this…
“Don’t apologize a fourth time, yeah?” You nod then, sniffling a bit and attempting a better smile.
“I really just want to… apparently I need self care, my friends say, and I thought a gym might… help. But I can’t box, or kickbox.”
“Why not? You've got a lot of pent up tension," his hands brush down your shoulders softly, feeling the tenseness. "Bet you’d kill it."
"Me!?" You giggled nervously but he was serious, a huge handsome man crossing his arms and raising a brow, leaned back a bit in the quietness of his gym. "Kickboxing, huh?"
"Think you can't?"
You shake your head, and he sees it all over your face –
You don’t think you can do anything.
“Why not? Husband wants you all girlie or something?” He addresses the ring with a glance, you laugh without humor, your face darkening then.
“He doesn’t give a shit what I do, no, we’re not,” you trail off, shaking your head. “I dumped enough trauma on you just walking in here. What’s your name?”
“Sukuna,” he takes your hand, feeling yours just a little sweaty in his grip. “What do you mean doesn’t give a shit?”
“He doesn’t like me.” He blinks at that.
“Trouble in paradise?”
You laugh again, shaking your head. “Let’s say he’s done more with his secretary than me so far,” Sukuna frowns at that, raising a dark brow. “It’s okay, really don’t feel bad for me. I just need something to get my mind off it.”
Who the fuck wouldn’t want you?
He almost says it, but he holds back, nudging his head now. “Lemme show you around the gym.”
He locks the door behind you so no random people try to come after hours, and you follow him through, looking up at the ceiling – it’s high, wooden beams running across it, it was once an old factory before Sukuna bought it off the guy. The walls are all red and orange brick, some of it is painted white, with graffiti art.
“That’s so cool,” you murmur, walking up to it then, touching it gently. “What is all of this?”
“Some of the guys like to come tag it,” he says, there are all sorts of images scrawled, along with Sukuna’s name in big red letters, little demon horns over the U. “I think they’re callin’ me the devil.”
“No!” You laugh, the sound so foreign to your own ears, he can just tell when you sober up a bit, smiling gently now. “You, the devil?”
“Mmm, you don’t know shit about me yet,” you blush a bit at the insinuation. “You’d run out if you knew what I was thinking.”
“You don’t have to be so… nice to me, okay? Because you feel bad.”
Sukuna blinks his pink lashes. “Huh?”
“I can tell, you’re a really good person,” you walk up to him, touching his hand now, sucking in a breath at the contact, fingers tracing his calloused, beat up knuckles. “Thank you though.”
“You think I’m pretending to find you attractive?” He almost can’t take you serious, but your face says it all. “Yeah, no, I’m not that nice. Now follow me before I say something real fucking dumb.”
You’re a flustered mess, letting your hand fall and nodding.
“This is where you’d like to be,” he mentions, toward the room with all of the normal equipment – treadmills, ellipticals, rowing machines, all sleek and black. “So you can just do your normal little workouts. Yoga mats and all.”
“Oh! I see,” you’re just a step behind him, he can inhale that perfume, he doesn’t know what scent it is but it’s driving him insane, when he stops and you bump into him. “Ah!”
He catches you quickly, frowning a bit at how weak you seem, assessing you. “You eat anything today?”
You blink a bit.
How'd he notice?
“No.”
“It’s six?”
“Yeah, not for a couple days,” you mumble. Sukuna glares at you, far, far too attractive and you’re not even fucking eating.
“If you have some… problem, you gotta tell me if I’m gonna train you, yeah?”
“No, nothing like that, just can’t eat when I’m sad,” your words are soft, barely over a whisper, running your fingers along the arm of a treadmill. “It’s been a few days I guess.”
“A few days, the fuck?” What sort of husband lets his wife just not eat?
He supposes the kind that makes her an unconfident, sad girl that cries the moment she enters a gym. Sukuna knows damn well he shouldn’t get involved in the shit, but just looking at you hurts him, in a way he’s not sure he’s felt, recognizing a version of himself so long ago, when he was young, when he wanted that approval, when he craved it so badly.
But more than that.
“If you don’t eat tomorrow I’ll be shoving food in your mouth,” you laugh at that, covering your mouth again. “I’m serious, the fuck you mean days?”
“I will make myself eat before I come.”
“And you’ll come at a decent time, yeah? Not before I close. Do I need to set three alarms to get your bratty ass up?”
“Bratty!?” you laugh again, shaking your head, the sight so fucking cute it destroys him.
God he’d drop to his knees just to kiss up those thighs, fucking lick you right over those leggings, the ones just a little snug against your puffy lips. And he can tell when you’re close how excited you are, the way your pupils blow out, the way you bite down on that lower lip, the one already chapped from likely biting it to death.
“No one has ever called me bratty,” you muse softly. “The opposite, actually.”
“Well maybe they don’t see it buried all in there, under a cute little fucking yoga outfit,” he brushes your hair back. His mistake, his undoing, and not kissing you is maybe the hardest thing he’s done.
You’re married.
He’s trying to give a fuck about that.
“C’mon brat,” you giggle again. “Here is the ring.”
You pause, looking at the huge rectangular boxing ring, surrounded by mats, boxing bags hanging heavy and worn all over, red and black ropes surrounding it. “Is this where you all practice?”
“Mhm,” he leads you over to a bag, touching it, old and black and hanging, one of his big hands touching it now. “Tomorrow you’ll punch it, today you didn’t eat so you don’t get to.”
“Mean,” your lips twitch though, the color to your face just brighter, your eyes glittering. Fuck you’re pretty sad, and happy, he can only imagine more. “All right, I promise, full breakfast.”
“Eat some dinner, too, then I’ll let you kick it.”
“The bag?”
“No, me.”
“What!?” You laugh again, Sukuna snorts and rolls his ruby red eyes, those pink lashes fluttering. “You’re joking, oh!”
“Yeah, a joke,” he tugs on that pony tail your hair is thrown in. “Two pm, don’t be late.”
When you’re gone he’s locking up, watching you slip into some bmw, waving a bit before you back up, wondering what’s this feeling in his heart, in his gut.
Sukuna loves women, he loves being inside them, pleasuring them, but he’s never just enjoyed making someone smile that much. Knowing you’re married should be a hell of a deterrent, whether he’s clearly a dick or not, Sukuna can’t just swoop in and be with married women.
Right?
Yet when he’s in bed that night, he finds himself throbbing, thinking of seeing your pretty face in pleasure. And he knows damn well whatever ‘morals’ he should have about it aren’t going to help him not make you feel good, in just any fucking way you need him to.
*****
You
“Never seen you eat so much,” Satoru murmurs when he walks in, lipstick across his neck, you’re downing some soup, realizing just how starved you were. “Have the chefs make something.”
“I just haven’t eaten in a week,” you say softly, Satoru’s eyes widen, then narrow a bit, while you dab at your mouth with a napkin. “I guess I’m hungry.”
“A week? What nothing here good, they can order anything.”
“I was too depressed,” the honesty is something you’d usually hold in, but something about meeting Sukuna today…
Everything about him.
The way he looked at you, that smirk was teasing, not cruel – he listened to you, he seemed to care, him a stranger. You know it’s nonsense, a man trying to be kind to a crying woman, but it meant a lot, even if that’s all it was. You’d walked in with a smile you haven’t had since you married him.
Satoru Gojo.
“A week? You can die from that shit,” he glares now, and you laugh, but this time it’s a mean little sound. “You think you can’t?”
“Sure, but what would you care?” You take a sip of the wine you’d poured, Satoru’s finest vintage, letting it dance along your tongue. “Wouldn’t it make your life easier if I did?”
His lips part, brows drawing together. “I don’t want you to fucking die, okay? Fuck.”
“You wouldn’t care,” you swirl the wine around, leaning back in the seat, eyes locked with the man you’ve tried so hard to make like you. To just come near you, to give you a chance. “I’m nothing to you.”
He says nothing in the quiet of the dining room.
“You didn’t notice.”
“Well, no I don’t eye your every move, figured you eat before I get home or some shit,” he runs a hand through his silky white locks, eyeing you carefully. “Do you want them to order something specific? Just because me and you will never be anything, doesn’t mean I want you to starve in my fucking house.”
“Nah, I like everything they have here,” you finish the wine in a gulp, an unladylike one that makes Satoru raise his brows, standing then, sighing. “It’s hard to eat when you can’t stop crying, when you constantly feel sick to your stomach knowing the man you live with hates your existence.”
You walk up and he says your name, you pause and look back at him. “I never said don’t eat, yeah?”
“No, you didn’t. But her lipstick is all over your neck, and up on that collar,” he touches it then, looking at the crimson on his pale fingertips. You step up to him, so close you inhale that scent. “Can you buy your sluts some decent fucking perfume, aren’t you rich?”
“What the fuck!?” You smile, you’ve never cussed, but it feels amazing in that moment, seeing him sputter. “What are you going on about, and what’s got your ass so fucking peppy?”
“Their knock off perfume, it’s all over you, every night. Buy them some Chanel or something, yeah? Not like you have to buy me anything, I have my own money. The scent makes me nauseous,” you turn again, Satoru grips your wrist, making you pause for just a moment, shutting your eyes.
Nothing, he feels nothing.
“Thought you didn’t cuss?”
“You don’t know me and you don’t want to.”
He lets you go, no argument, just quiet.
“I’m starting training at the gym,” you mention quietly. “I’ll be going there tomorrow.”
“Some yoga class?”
“Boxing.”
Satoru blinks, you just smile, tugging your wrist out of his grip. “You? Boxing?”
“Mhm, good night Gojo.”
You head up the stairs to your room, falling back on the bed, shutting your eyes, feeling good for the first time since that engagement party, for the first time in months there was something brimming under the surface. Some sort of hope.
Tonight you don’t hear him moaning, or talking to his girls, it’s quiet, and you’re thankful, shutting your eyes and falling into a deep sleep.
You’re haunted by two sets of eyes, two sets of hands, blue ones that are glaring, red ones that are hungry, long thin fingers choking your neck, suffocating you, thick ones painted black freeing you. Torn between them, claustrophobic in the darkness, where all you can see are their eyes.
You wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, holding your racing heart, thrumming against your palm, before you fall back asleep, and there is only one pair of eyes.
And they’re red.
Tysm AGAIN for 30k my loves <3 this will be a doozy
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