Hi there !! I love your writing and If you’re still asking for prompts I think a pretty girl having her pussy stretched open would be hot <3
Oooooh yes yes yes... Please someone do this to me...
“Come on baby, can you take one more?”
His low, coaxing voice was answered with a whimpery moan. He had three fingers buried in her, working them slowly, scissoring and curling, the slick, wet sounds obscene in the room.
“Shh, just relax for me, I’ve got you,” he soothed, his free hand coming down to circle her swollen clit with a practiced, relentless rhythm. A high, thin whine escaped her lips as her hips jerked, the movement pressing his fingers deeper into her.
“Ngh, please, please, it’s too much… I can’t…” her voice was shaking, eyes already glossy with tears of overwhelming sensation. He shushed her softly before pressing a kiss to her damp forehead.
“You can, honey, you can take more. I promise, just relax,” he murmured, the rubbing on her clit becoming more targeted, drawing sharp pulses of pleasure from her overstimulated body. A moan escaped her lips as her body surrendered, melting under his touch, the tension bleeding away into a boneless, pliant obedience.
He took advantage of the moment, beginning to push his last finger and thumb into her. It was a gradual, consuming stretch, a filling so complete it stole the air from her lungs. With one final, gentle stretch, his entire hand was sheathed inside her, a profound, impossible fullness that made her vision blur. She went limp, a shuddering sigh of pure, overwhelmed pleasure wracking her frame.
“There you go, fuck, sweetheart, doing so good for me. Look at that pretty pussy spread wide for me.” His voice is thick with arousal and he began to move his hand in slow, shallow thrusts, the stretch becoming a deep, internal massage. “Taking my whole hand like you were made for it. Look at this greedy little hole, so messy for me.”
Her response was a broken little sob, her mouth slack from pleasure. He began to move his hand in earnest, pressing in and out of her cunt, the rhythmic sound of her pussy sucking him in filling the air.
“You’re dripping everywhere,” he observed, his tone a mix of awe and condescension. “Such a messy, hungry slut for this. Can’t get enough, can you?”
Her folds were puffy and engorged, a slick, weeping mess against his wrist. He crooked his fingers gently inside her and she shuddered, her eyes rolling back.
Then, he gently pulled his hand out, his exit bringing a humiliating splash of her own slick. Her cunt, stretched and sensitized, dripped onto the sheets below, aching and empty, clenching around nothing and she let out a soft, forlorn whine. He let out a low chuckle, “Oh no, pretty girl, don’t be sad, I promise I’ll fill you up again.”
He kept his promise as he positioned himself, the broad, flushed head of his cock nudging against her entrance. With one smooth, powerful thrust, he sheathed himself to the hilt. She cried out, the familiar, beloved stretch of him now feeling different, easier, deeper, her body molded to him instantly from the previous preparation.
He fucked her in a slow, deep, devastating rhythm. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room. She was unraveling, her mind blanking under the relentless assault on her senses. She was just a hole, filled to the brim with him.
His voice broke through her haze. “Let’s see if we can make you even fuller, yeah?”
Suddenly, the broad, rounded tip of a dildo pressed against her already-stretched entrance, meeting the resistance of his own cock inside her. Her eyes flew open, wide with a fresh wave of overwhelmed panic. “No, no, no, there’s no room, you can’t—”
“I can,” he said simply, and began to press.
Pleasure, sharp and electric, lanced through her, mixed with the intense, almost-too-much sensation of the stretch. She babbled, nonsense words and pleas, her hips making tiny, involuntary jerks.
“I can’t—please, it’s too much—I cant—”
“Breathe, baby,” he commanded, his voice softening into that loving gentleness. “Just breathe and let it in. One more time. For me.”
With a steady, relentless pressure, he pushed the dildo into her, nestled inside of her cunt alongside his own cock.
The double penetration was a revelation of pure, mind-breaking sensation. The stretch was beyond anything she had ever felt, a fullness that bordered on pain, a pleasure so intense it was incomprehensible. Her body convulsed around the two invading lengths, milking both cocks desperately.
He groaned, a sound of pure triumph, and began to fuck her in earnest, his cock and the dildo moving in tandem, a synchronized assault on her senses. She was gone, lost in a haze of sensation. She was babbling, words tumbling out without thought, “yours,” “please,” “too much,” “don’t stop,” “love you.”
His voice was her only anchor in the storm. “That’s it… take it all… my perfect, filthy girl… so good for me… look at you, so cock-drunk you can’t even think… you belong to me, every part of you…”
Her babbling dissolved into pure, animal whimpers, her body convulsing around the massive intrusion in a series of endless, rolling peaks that blurred the line between pleasure and agony.
“There we go,” He panted, his own control fraying. His voice was a mix of awe and cruel delight. “Look at you. Taking it all. My beautiful, ruined thing. You’re so full of me. Can you even think? Or is it just cock and pleasure in that pretty little head now?”
He leaned down, capturing her sobbing mouth in a searing, possessive kiss. “Cum for me,” he whispered against her lips, a command and a plea. “Come around me and this dildo. Let me feel you lose it completely, give it to me.”
With a wail, she shattered around him. Her cunt clamped down in violent, fluttering spasms around the double penetration, milking his cock and the toy with a fierce, rhythmic pulse.
The intense, constricting pressure around him dragged him over right after. With a guttural groan, he buried himself as deep as he could go and emptied himself inside her, his release hot and endless, mixing with her own fluids in the impossibly tight space.
He collapsed atop her, both of them breathing in ragged, shattered gasps. After a moment, he carefully, gently, withdrew the dildo and then himself. Another rush of fluid followed, the messy, intimate evidence of what he’d just put her through.
He gathered her limp, trembling form against his chest, pressing soft kisses to her hair, her temple, her swollen lips.
“You did so well for me, so perfect, so good. I have you. I’ve got you, just relax, baby.”
My key clicks in the lock and I slip inside into the quiet of our apartment. It’s late but I’m early. I’d been on a week-long business trip and my last day of meetings ended early so I made the last-minute decision to fly home a day ahead.
I toe off my shoes, hang my coat, leaving my luggage by the door before moving through the dark like a ghost. Our bedroom door is ajar. I push it open, and there she is.
My love. My pretty girl.
She’s on her side of the bed, facing away from the door, one hand tucked under her cheek. The comforter is pulled up to her waist, her bare shoulders rising and falling with each slow, even breath. The sight of her like this, so soft, so utterly unguarded, sends a wave of pure, dizzying adoration through me. There’s a physical ache, a tightness in my chest that’s the manifestation of my reverence.
I strip out of my clothes and the bed dips as I slide in behind her, the warmth of her body an instant balm. I press myself against the curve of her back, my front to her back, and a sigh escapes me that’s half relief, half worship. I nuzzle into the fragrant cloud of her hair, breathing her in—shampoo, sleep, and her.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I whisper into the dark, my voice a rough scrape. “Missed you.”
She doesn’t stir. Not a twitch. The trust in that, the absolute surrender of even her unconscious body recognizing me. She knows it’s me. Her body knows. She’s safe, so she sleeps on.
My arm comes around her waist, my hand splaying possessively over the soft cotton of her sleep shirt. I press a kiss to the back of her neck, then another, trailing up to the sensitive spot behind her ear.
“So perfect,” I murmur, my lips moving against her skin. “My perfect, sleeping girl.”
My hand begins to move, a slow, sweeping caress from her ribs down over the plane of her stomach, to the crest of her hip. I slip my fingers under the hem of her shirt, seeking skin. She’s so warm. So impossibly soft. A sleepy, contented sound vibrates in her throat, and it goes straight to my cock, which is already hard and pressing insistently against the small of her back.
“That’s it, love,” I coax, my hand sliding back up, this time cupping her breast through her shirt. My thumb finds her nipple, already a tight peak in her sleep, and circles it slowly. She shifts, a subtle arching into my touch, a whispered sigh. A bolt of pure heat shoots through me. She’s enjoying it, even in her dreams. The thought is intoxicating.
I need more.
With infinite care, I ease her onto her back. She goes pliantly, her head lolling to the side, lips slightly parted. I lean down and kiss her forehead, her closed eyelids, the tip of her nose.
“My pretty, pretty girl,” I breathe, the words soaked in reverence. My hands are everywhere now, mapping her. I push her shirt up, baring her stomach, and press my mouth to her skin, kissing a slow, wet trail from her navel up between her breasts. I take a nipple into my mouth, sucking gently, and her back arches off the mattress with a soft, broken moan.
The sound is my undoing.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her shorts and panties, and in one smooth, gentle motion, I draw them down her legs. She helps without waking, lifting her hips just enough. I toss them aside, and now she’s bare before me, bathed in silver and shadow. She’s breathtaking. All gentle curves and vulnerable flesh.
I settle between her legs, spreading her knees apart with my shoulders. The scent of her, warm and musky and sweet, fills my head. I’m dizzy with it. With her. I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, feeling the fine tremor there.
“Shush, my love,” I whisper, my breath ghosting over her core. “Just sleep. Let me take care of you.”
And then I lower my mouth to her.
She is wet already, her body responding to my touches even in slumber. I groan against her, the taste of her like a drug. I worship her with my tongue, slow, languid strokes that have her hips making tiny, unconscious circles. I find her clit, that perfect, swollen pearl, and circle it with the very tip of my tongue, feather-light.
“So sweet,” I moan into her, my voice thick. “Taste so good, baby. Always so good for me.”
Her breathing changes. It hitches, grows shallow. A soft, continuous stream of sighs and whimpers falls from her lips. Her hands come up, tangling loosely in my hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding. As if I’m her anchor in the sea of sleep. I could spend an eternity here.
I increase the pressure, flicking my tongue faster, sucking gently. Her thighs tense around my head. I can feel the coil tightening in her, the gathering storm.
“Come on, pretty girl,” I urge, my words muffled against her flesh. “Let go. Just let it happen. I’ve got you.”
And she does. With a soft moan, her body trembles with her climax. I hold her through it, lapping gently at her, drinking every pulse and shudder, whispering praise against her soaked skin. “That’s it… beautiful… so beautiful for me…”
As the last tremors subside, she sinks back into the mattress, boneless and spent. Her eyes are still closed, her face flushed and serene. The possessiveness in me swells, a dark, tender tide. I like this, knowing that her body and I share a secret but her mind has no idea.
I shift up her body, my own need a painful, urgent throb. I position myself at her entrance, slick with her release and my saliva. I look down at her face, so peaceful in the aftermath. I don’t want to wake her. I want to keep her in this soft, pleasurable haze forever.
But I can’t wait.
With a slow, relentless push, I sink into her.
The heat, the tight, velvet clutch of her… I see stars. I bury my face in her neck, groaning. “Fuck… love… you feel like heaven.”
The intrusion, the fullness, finally pierces the veil of her sleep. Her eyes flutter open, blurry and disoriented in the dark. She blinks up at me, confusion smoothing into a dazed recognition.
“Wha…?” she slurs, her voice thick with sleep.
I freeze, my whole body coiled. I press a frantic kiss to her lips. “Shh, shh, sweetheart. It’s just me. It’s okay.”
Her brow furrows. She’s waking up, the reality of the situation seeping in—my weight on her, the deep, intimate join of our bodies. A flicker of something crosses her face.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, raining kisses on her cheeks, her eyelids. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. You were just… you were so perfect. I couldn’t help it.” I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, my own pleading. “You can go back to sleep if you want, baby. Just close your eyes. Feel me. Let me love you. You don’t have to do a thing.”
I begin to move, a slow, deep roll of my hips. Her breath catches, her eyes drifting shut again, not in sleep now, but in overwhelmed sensation. Her arms come up to wrap around my neck.
“That’s it,” I breathe, my pace gradually increasing. “My good girl. My love. You take me so well. Always so perfect for me.” Every thrust is a prayer, a claim. “Mine. All mine. This sweet cunt is mine. This pretty body is mine.” I kiss her, swallowing her soft moans. “You’re so trusting. Letting me have you like this… it kills me. You have no idea what you do to me.”
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper. She’s fully awake now, meeting my rhythm, her hips lifting.
“Look at me,” I plead, my voice breaking. She opens her eyes, hazy with pleasure. “See who’s loving you. See who’s obsessed with you. It’s me. It’s always me.”
I’m close. The sight of her beneath me, pliant and accepting, her body welcoming mine, is too much. “I’m gonna come inside you, pretty girl. Gonna fill you up. Okay? Tell me it’s okay.”
She nods, a quick, desperate little motion. “Yours,” she whispers, and that one word is my end.
With a guttural groan, I drive into her one last time and spill, pulsing deep inside her warmth. I collapse on top of her, careful to keep my weight on my elbows, shuddering through the aftershocks. I’m babbling into her skin. “My love, my heart, my everything. I’m sorry I woke you up, I love you, I love you so much, pretty girl.”
Long moments pass, our harsh breaths the only sound. I don’t pull out, I can’t bear to yet. I gather her into my arms, turning us onto our sides, holding her tightly against my chest. I kiss her hair, her temples, peppering every surface with soft kisses.
She nestles into me, her hand coming to rest over my pounding heart. Then, her voice is a sleepy murmur against my skin.
“You’re early.”
A wave of affection washes over me. I hold her tighter. “I know,” I whisper back, my lips against her hair. “Missed you too much.”
She answers me in a soft giggle. “Missed you too.”
Her breathing evens out once more, slipping back into sleep within the circle of my arms, and finally, my body relaxes in the way it only does with her.
Note: I was scrolling through my inbox and had a few somnophilia requests so I figured I'd post this from my drafts teehee also was in the mood for some teeth-rotting fluff and romance 😍
Sooooo I got this idea in my head after reading way too many "arranged marriage between grumpy ceo x sunshine wife" tropes... it's quite honestly just a bunch of scenes I had in my head that I mashed together for some semblance of a coherent plot. And 100% self-indulgent fluff and so wildly different from what I usually write but please enjoy because I love this. Also so sorry there is no smut in this oops... but enjoy!
My marriage was a business agreement in every sense. A match made in a boardroom with a dozen bland, graying men who decided how they could sell me to the highest bidder and who that would be. A merger that let every person in that boardroom walk away with hundreds of millions while I got a new last name.
My family was wealthy and influential but a crumbling institution. A few too many bad investments and scandals meant we needed a lifeline, a distraction from the failing dynasty. What better than a shiny new-money CEO who built his company from the ground up. It didn’t matter that he had a ruthless reputation, known to cut down his boardroom rivals without a second thought, coldly pragmatic with no concern for anything other than the growth of his own empire. In fact, all of those were positives and I made the perfect bargaining chip.
-
He remembers the meeting, the boardroom cold, every person present speaking in calculated measured tones. My father had smiled too wide, my mother’s gaze blank, neither of them concerned with the idea of selling their daughter off to the best buyer. And me? I sat there, silent, hands folded, almost bored looking as I surveyed my surroundings with a gaze of indifference.
He almost respected that. The terms were too attractive for him not to agree with. His company would absorb my family’s, he could restructure easily, cut out the rot and save the parts that were still worthwhile. He would get a foothold into the old money world, the connections forged in generations of blood and wealth, a place he could never enter without a connection like mine. The fact that I was well-bred, sat pretty, and kept quiet was an added bonus.
He signed the papers without looking at me.
-
I moved into his penthouse in the city. Separate bedrooms and his busy work schedule meant that I hardly saw him. We found a new normal: polite, indifferent words exchanged the few times we did cross paths during the week (nothing beyond a cursory inquiry and a blank smile); formal events added into our calendars by his secretary where our combined presence was required, charity galas, investor dinners, flashy events of opulence where he needed his pretty wife on his arm; the biweekly date penciled into our calendars to keep up public appearances so the high society papers kept their noses out of our lives.
Months passed. Our wedding became old news, our regularly scheduled appearances and perfectly tailored performances of romance made us a boring couple to keep an eye on. His company’s performance was stable. Life was standard, clinical, unobtrusive.
Until I got bored.
-
His company has been deadlocked in a merger for months. A deal worth billions that could either double the company’s profits or bankrupt them. And right now, they were losing. He was furious, going over every contract, negotiation, email, and memo to try to salvage what should have been his legacy.
Every internal c-suite meeting feels like a step off a fast-crumbling cliffside. Every lawyer on retainer at the company is working overtime, every consultant ordered to drop other cases to focus on this single merger. It’s the third meeting of the day, he sits at the head of the conference table, fingers steepled, jaw clenched tight enough to crack granite. The silence is suffocating as every executive stares helplessly at the strategies they’d laid out on the screen, nothing good enough to salvage this. Until, his CFO cleared his throat hesitantly.
“There might be someone who can help.”
His gaze swings to him, sharp enough to make the CFO cower a little before clearing his throat and standing his ground.
“She’s a strategist, consultant for hire but she hardly ever takes cases and no one has really heard much from her in the past year.”
“Who is she?”
“No one knows, she operates under a pseudonym. Rumor has it she forced Harvard Law to sign an NDA when she graduated and demands the same from every company she works with. Top firms have tried to hire her but she’s never accepted. Refuses to be on retainer for anyone.”
He rubs his temples, his voice cold with barely contained frustration. “Get a meeting with her.”
Two hours later, there’s a memo on his desk.
She agreed to meet but wants a million and a half upfront. 30 minute meeting, Thursday 10am.
He feels his blood pressure rise. This bitch is playing him. But he has no choice, he fires off an email to approve of the meeting… and the $1.5 million wire transfer.
-
Thursday 9:55am
The boardroom is ice cold. His patience is in the negative as he sits, tapping his fingers furiously against the conference table. The rest of the c-suite executives sit around him, each of them wearing various faces of trepidation, anxiety, and sheer exhaustion.
10:05am
He is ready to murder someone. She’s five minutes late, for a meeting that cost $1.5 million to set up. No one has spoken since the clock ticked past the hour. One of the lawyers coughs and he glares hard enough to make the man swallow his next cough, choosing to lose oxygen rather than piss of the CEO any further.
10:07am
The sound of clicking heels comes from down the hall and he looks ready to burn the building down as every head turns towards to door in anticipation.
The door opens silently.
His sharp inhale is the only sound in the room. Then his voice, barely restrained fury.
“What the fuck?”
A light chuckle bursts out of me. “Is that any way to greet your wife?”
The room is frozen. I take my time sauntering around the conference table, taking off my coat to settle in the one empty seat across from him.
“What the fuck is the meaning of this?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Honey, you’re paying a million and a half for me to be here. I sure hope you know the meaning of this.”
He scoffs, ears reddening. I can see his hands fisting on the table, the vein on his forehead pulsing with his fury.
“I paid for some expert to come fix this merger, so unless you somehow have a law degree hidden under that pantsuit, you have nothing to offer here.”
I roll my eyes, “Touchy, is this because you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?”
His response is more of an angry growl than anything resembling the English language.
I laugh, “I am in fact, hiding a law degree under here. A doctorate too. It’s really not a good look for a husband to not even know about his wife’s background.”
I turn to his CFO and smile sweetly. “Now, you all know how expensive my time is, so let’s not waste anymore. I’ve seen the documents, there’s another angle you all haven’t considered…”
It takes me seven minutes to dismantle their merger and redesign it into a deal that no one could turn down. It’s a solution so elegant it’s almost insulting that no one else saw it. I watch the vein on his forehead pulse as every sentence that leaves my mouth effortlessly rewrites the deal he'd struggled with for months.
The tension in the room finally breaks and there’s quiet celebration from every executive. A collective sigh of relief in knowing that they no longer have to consider the reality of bankrupting the company and losing billions.
It’s 10:27 when we wrap up the conversation. He dismisses the meeting with cold efficiency, every member of the team scurrying off to cross T’s and dot I’s before sending out the revised contract to the opposing side.
I stay seated, playing with a pen while staring at my husband.
“You still have 3 minutes left, dear husband,” I say, smiling.
He glares, “Technically, I have 10, you were 7 minutes late.” He stalks around the table towards me, grabbing my chair and hauling it to face him.
I stand to look at him, a little smile still playing across my lips.
“Why did you never tell me you were more than a trophy wife?” His voice is low and angry.
I blink at him, “You never asked. Plus, it was in my file and in our marriage contract. I would know, I wrote that contract myself. It’s not my fault you didn’t read it.”
“You fucking brat,” he growls before his hand comes up to tangle in my hair and his lips find mine.
We violate several HR protocols in the remaining 10 minutes of that meeting before he drags me into his office.
—
That night, the financial news runs the headline: "Billion Dollar Merger Saved by CEO's Secret Weapon—His Wife."
Meanwhile, his secret weapon is currently bent over their bed, moaning into the sheets as he ruins me, his grip bruising, his teeth on my neck.
"Still—fuck—smug now?" he rasps.
I gasp, arching. "Y-Yes."
He snarls, flipping me onto my back. "Good."
When we’re both spent and collapsed on the bed, my body curled into his and his fingers stroking through my hair, he finally takes the time to learn about his wife. To ask questions and actually care about my answers.
He learns about the Harvard law degree I never mentioned. My PhD in Economic Theory I keep hidden away. The published papers under a penname he actually recognizes from industry journals. He truly sees me for the first time, a nuclear weapon hiding right under his nose. I could've bled him dry months ago.
“What are you even going to do with the 1.5 million?” He asks, his tone an exasperated tease. “Don’t I give you enough of an allowance?”
I grin at him. “I want a yacht.”
He rolls his eyes, “You’re insufferable.”
The next day, at his board meeting, I text him a photo of a yacht listing with a heart emoji.
He responds with an eyeroll and a barely there smile that makes the executive next to him choke on his coffee.
At the end of the meeting, his VP hesitates before clearing his throat.
"Sir, should we draft paperwork for your wife’s board seat?"
He replies coolly.
"Yes. And she goes by Doctor."
And of course, when he hands me the paperwork to sign, I turn it down at first and made him negotiate (beg) for it. I think he’s really pretty on his knees.
-
The company gossip takes on its own life as I reshape his empire at my will.
I attend board meetings when I want and I spend most of them doodling in my notes.
I’m drawing my husband as an angry stick figure when I glance up at the quarterly finance presentation and interrupt the speaker without even looking at him. “Your projections are off by 16% because you didn’t consider the Asia-Pacific market value.”
The room is silent. My husband coughs to cover his laugh before ordering his research team to come back with updated numbers.
I get my own corner office with a view that rivals his own. I never use it, instead, I spend my time lounging on his office couch, snacking while I tear apart his contracts with red pen and doodles in the margins.
I send memos with contract corrections signed with kissy faces to the c-suite members.
I befriend every intern, assistant, and even the janitorial staff. When I find out my husband made some poor college intern cry by snapping at him in a meeting, I send out a company-wide email of him, the feared CEO, passed out on our couch, with drool on the corner of his mouth and my lipstick stain on his cheek. He makes me pay for that but he never yells at another intern again.
When there’s a flash rainstorm and he tracks mud and water into the office, I yell at him and make him clean it himself because “the custodial staff just waxed the floors and you need to respect that.”
I completely restructure compensation for all employees at every level. Benefits are tripled, six-month paid parental leave is guaranteed, student debt for all employees and their children is 100% covered by the company. When news got out, the company’s stocks tanked for a day before I rewrote every ongoing deal we had to force every other competitor to match our benefits and we made back triple the losses. My husband took a screenshot of the stock chart from those 48 hours and had it framed in the company lobby.
The stories only escalate from there. It seems like every single employee has some juicy gossip about the scary CEO and his badass wife.
"The way the CEO looks at her when she corrects him in meetings—like he wants to either strangle her or bend her over the desk." (He’s done both individually and simultaneously).
“I was at the quarterly meeting where she threw a pen at his head and called him childish because he yelled about Q2 losses.” (This is true and I made him apologize to everyone at the meeting after).
“I saw him carrying her out of the late-night Blackstone negotiation and it was so cute. Then he glared at me but #goals.” (Also true and I demanded that we get McDonald’s on the way home.)
“I heard she rewrote the indemnity clause of the Hong Kong deal while they were having sex.” (Sometimes inspiration strikes at odd times. He came so hard he blacked out a little.)
“The Kensington CEO had tried to write a clause into their contract to bar her from attending joint meetings.” (It didn’t work and I show up to every single one out of spite.)
-
There is a private Slack channel that has literally every employee in it called #overheard-from-mr-and-dr-ceo with a pinned message that reads: DO NOT LEAK ANYTHING FROM THIS CHANNEL, HE WILL FIRE US ALL.
The top messages include:
[Anna_Finance]
She demanded we add ‘company-wide nap pods’ to the budget in the last finance meeting. He said no. She stared at him for five seconds. He caved in three.
[John_Intern]
I shared an elevator with them. She wanted to drink his coffee and he didn’t even hesitate before handing it over. She called him 'good boy.' I thought he was going to kill me.
[Luke_ExecutiveAssistant]
She called him “a little bitch” in the boardroom for vetoing her childcare policy for employees. We got the go-ahead three minutes after the meeting ended.
[Paula_PublicRelations]
I overhead them fighting at lunch. It was about pineapple on pizza.
Dr. CEO: "You’re wrong, and I will die on this hill."
Mr. CEO, while cutting her burger for her!!!: "Then I’ll bury you here."
[James_VP]
I just witnessed a masterclass in the global investor call:
Mr. CEO: "We are not restructuring the Asia-Pacific division."
Dr. CEO, from off-screen: "We are restructuring the Asia-Pacific division."
Mr. CEO, pausing mid-sentence: "...We are restructuring the Asia-Pacific division."
Investor: "Since when?"
Mr. CEO, sighing: "Since my wife said so."
[Lauren_Intern]
GUYS. SHE JUST CALLED HIM 'BABY TYRANT' TO HIS FACE IN THE ELEVATOR. HE JUST SIGHED AND LET HER FIX HIS TIE.
[Dr. CEO]
Hey guys. Just so you know—he reads this channel.
(Read by 3,742 users. 2,916 panic reactions.)
[Mr. CEO]
…Keep the quotes coming. I need evidence for my eventual defamation lawsuit against her.
[Dr. CEO]
He’s lying. He thinks they’re cute.
(Mr. CEO is typing…)
(Mr. CEO has left the channel.)
[Dr. CEO]
Don't worry, he'll be back. <3
Is this pure, disgusting fluff? Yes. Do I understand anything about the corporate world that I just wrote about? No. Do I know what an indemnity clause is? No. Nor do I fully understand what a merger is. But I love this story and will take no criticisms. <3
Note: No smut, just angst but with a happy ending.
His apartment is silent except for the hum of the city outside. I stand by the window, arms crossed, trying to keep my voice steady.
"You never care. Not really. You pretend but not very well.”
He’s lounging on the couch, one leg kicked up over the other, that infuriating smirk on his face. His eyes flick over me, amused, dismissive, like I’m some kind of joke that doesn’t deserve his full attention.
"Aw, don't be like that," he purrs, tilting his head. "You’re just being dramatic. It’s cute."
My fingers curl into fists. "Dramatic? You stood me up again last night. I waited for hours."
He sighs dramatically, waving a hand. "I got distracted. You know how it is."
"No, I don’t. Because I actually care about the people in my life."
He chuckles because not even my anger is worth his time. "You and your little emotions. So fragile."
This is it. The final straw.
"I’m done, I’m leaving. Goodbye."
His smirk falters for half a second before he recovers. "Oh, come on. You don’t mean that."
I grab my bag and head for the door. "Watch me."
He doesn’t bother to convince me to stay. The only thing that follows me out the door is the sound of his scornful laugh and his voice, deep and taunting. “You’ll be back, sweetheart.”
—
I don’t come back. He waits a day, expecting to see my name lighting up on his phone screen. A week passes and he turns to the apartment door anytime he hears a sound outside, expecting to see me coming back to him. It irritates him, so he decides to take action.
He’s leaning against the wall outside my work building when I step outside one evening.
"Well, well. Look who it is." His eyes gleam as he pushes off the wall and saunters toward me. "Miss me, sweetheart?"
I turn sharply, ignoring him.
He’s in front of me in a flash, blocking my path. "Aw, don’t be like that, I thought you’d be over your little temper tantrum by now."
I glare. "Move."
"Or what?" He grins. "You’ll push me? Try it."
I sidestep, but he shifts with me.
"Did you get all your little feelings out?" he muses. "Ready to come back to me now?"
Red hot anger fills my chest.
"We are done, I’m never going back to you.”
His fingers catch my wrist, his grip tight, unyielding. "You know, I could just force you back."
I scoff. "Try it."
He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. "You think I won’t?"
I try and fail to shake his grip, meeting his gaze. "I think you don’t actually want me. You just hate losing. I’m not a game. And I’m not coming back."
His grip loosens, but his smirk didn’t fade. "We’ll see about that."
And just like that, he lets me go. I don’t hesitate before fleeing, glancing back once to see him watching me go, a self-satisfied smirk playing along his lips.
—
I wake up the next morning to a package on my doorstep. No note. No label. Just a small black box.
Cautiously, I open it.
Inside is a necklace, beautiful, shiny, expensive. My stomach twists and I jump when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from him.
Do you like it?
I don’t reply.
Another buzz.
It was expensive, so you better.
I block his number. I leave the necklace in the box. It’s a cruel joke that the first piece of jewelry he’d ever gifted me came after I left him.
The next morning, a new message appears, from a different phone number.
Rude. But I forgive you. <3
I block this one too.
—
Two days later, I’m coming home from work, drained and exhausted.
I push my apartment door open and he’s already there, lounging on my couch like he belongs there, legs stretched out, smirking as I stand frozen in the doorway.
"Miss me?" He drawls, grinning at me.
"Get out. Now." My voice is clipped.
He pretends to think about it. "Hmm. No." Then he pats the spot beside him on the couch. "Come on. Let’s talk."
I don’t move.
His grin fades, just slightly. "You’re making this difficult. I’ve been very generous in giving you time and space. Didn’t you like that necklace I got you?"
His eyes move to my bare neck and his gaze sharpens. “It’s not nice to snub other people’s generosity.”
"Shut the fuck up! I don’t want your gifts, it’s too late. Leave me alone!” I snap. "You never cared until I walked away. Now suddenly, you’re obsessed?"
"Obsessed?" He laughs, but there’s something darker in it now. "I just know what I want."
"And what’s that?" I want to scream with frustration.
In a flash, he’s in front of me, hands gripping my wrists, pushing me back against the wall. His breath ghosts over my lips as he murmurs,
"You. Begging to be mine again."
"I left you for a reason," I snarl.
"And I’m giving you a better one to come back," he says smoothly, stepping closer. His fingers brush my jaw, his grip tightening just enough to make me shiver. "You think you can just walk away from me? I don’t let go of what’s mine."
"You don’t own me," I yell.
His laugh is low, dangerous. "Don’t I?"
I shove him with all my strength but he doesn’t even falter.
My voice cracks at my next words, “Just leave me alone!”
His is filled with taunting scorn, “I would’ve thought you’d be overjoyed at all this attention I’m giving you. Isn’t this what you wanted? You acted out like a brat because I don’t give you enough?”
I shake my head, my gaze dropping as hot, desperate tears well up in my eyes. Because once upon a time, his words would’ve been correct. At one point, I was so desperate for his attention and affection, I would’ve done anything. But not anymore.
"Please just leave me alone." I whisper, my voice quiet as I try to hold back tears.
He laughs, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch mocking, possessive. "Or what? You’ll cry?"
Something inside me snaps.
I rear back, slapping his hand away. "Why do you keep doing this?! What fucking perverse pleasure do you get out of torturing me like this?!"
His smirk flickers, but he recovers. "Because you want me to chase you."
"No, I don’t!" My voice cracks, and to my horror and humiliation, I feel hot, furious tears spilling over my cheeks. "You broke me! You never cared! You never treated me like I mattered! You stood me up, you lied, you used me, and then you had the nerve to act like it was all some game!"
His amusement falters.
I shove him back.
For the first time, he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease. He just… stares.
Watching my tears like they’re something impossible.
"...You’re crying," he murmurs, almost to himself.
I wipe furiously at my face. "Yeah, nice of you to notice." I spit the words out.
His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for something, then stop.
Something in his expression shifts.
For the first time, he looks… uncertain.
"…I didn’t realize," he says quietly.
"You never do." I turn away, trembling. "Just go."
The silence is overwhelming.
Then, his footsteps. The sound of my door opening and shutting.
He’s gone.
My body crumples onto the floor and I sob until I run out of tears.
What I don’t know is that he sits on the other side of my door, listening to me cry until I couldn’t anymore.
—
I didn’t expect to see him again.
But a week later, there he is, standing across the street from my workplace, hands shoved in his pockets, looking… different.
No smirk. No arrogance. None of the prideful swagger that usually accompanies him.
Instead, he hesitates before stepping closer, slowly, like he’s giving me space to leave.
"Hey."
I stare at him. "What do you want? Haven’t you hurt me enough?"
He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I just wanted— just to talk. If you’ll let me."
I frowned, confusion on my face. "...Why?"
For the first time since I’d met him, he looked uncertain.
"Because I fucked up."
I stare at him.
He meet my eyes, voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it. "And I don’t know how to fix it. But… I want to try."
The words hang between us, heavy with something unfamiliar: sincerity.
I swallow. "That’s not an apology.”
"I know," he admits. "But I’m learning."
He’s quiet, as if he’s struggling to come up with the words. Then, barely above a whisper:
"Will you teach me?"
The words hit me hard. I hesitate.
Because, for once, he actually sounds like he means it.
And that’s the cruelest trick of all. I turn away from him, arms tight over my chest, hugging myself as if that would protect me.
"No." My voice sounds broken.
He flinches. He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t mock. Doesn’t push.
Instead, his jaw clenches, like he’s fighting every instinct in him to argue, to manipulate, to force me to do what he wants.
But he doesn’t.
"Okay," he says, voice low. "I’ll go."
And he does.
—
Days pass and I wake up one morning to another box on my doorstep.
This one has a note.
I’m sorry. You deserved better.
Inside, is a photobooth picture strip. It’s us, from when we’d first started dating. Four photos of us. I’m smiling in every single one and he wears his self-satisfied smirk painted across his features. The same one I’d come to loathe because it was never quite genuine.
I put the photo strip and note back into the box. My hands shake.
The next morning, I wake up to another item left on my doorstep.
It’s an iced matcha latte from my favorite cafe. Dropped off just moments before I opened the door because the ice is still frozen and the cup not yet sparkling with condensation. I leave it untouched when I go to work. It’s gone when I come home.
The next morning, there’s another drink. Strawberry matcha this time. I ignore it again.
Every day, there’s a new drink. Sometimes there’s a pastry accompanying it, other times it's a yogurt parfait. He doesn’t make any attempts beyond the morning drop offs. Friday morning, I open the door to a pistachio latte with oat milk and a berry tart. This time there’s a note.
Tell me to stop and I will.
I stare at his writing, my heart pounding, my resolve weakening. I slide the note into my purse and bend down, picking up the latte and the tart. For the first time, I take it with me to work and eat it.
When I come home, there’s a note taped to my door.
You always look beautiful and I’m sorry I never told you before.
Monday comes with a blueberry matcha and blueberry muffin.
Another note.
Don’t work so hard and please don’t skip lunch.
—
One night, after a particularly long day at work, one where I’d skipped lunch and dinner and am now too tired to cook, there’s a knock at my door.
He stands there holding a takeout bag from the place I love but never go to anymore. He holds it out to me without a word.
I finally snap. “Why are you doing this?”
"You… like their dumplings," he says slowly. “And I know you haven’t eaten all day.”
"That’s not the point!" My voice cracks. "You can’t just pretend to be different now! You don’t change! You don’t care!"
He flinches.
Then, quietly, his voice reaches my ears, "I’m trying."
"Why?!"
His hands tense around the takeout bag.
"Because I hurt you," he says, voice rough. "And I never want to do it again."
I stare at him in silence.
His fingers flex. "You were right. I treated you like a game. Like something I could just win." He pauses. "But you’re not. And I… I don’t know how to do this. But I’m learning."
I stare at him and reach out to grab the takeout bag. He doesn’t ask to stay and I don’t offer. The door slams shut between us as I blink furious tears away.
I walk into the kitchen and open the bag. He got me more than just dumplings. Noodles, fried rice, my favorite stir-fry.
I eat and cry myself to sleep afterwards.
—
I don’t see him again for a week. But every morning there’s a drink and a pastry. Every night, there’s takeout or dessert.
Until one night, I come home from work and it’s him at my doorstep.
My eyes meet his as I grip the strap of my purse tightly, my heart racing.
He stands there, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. He looks… nervous.
"I can't do this anymore," he says, voice rough.
My stomach drops. Here it is. The game. The trick. The part where he shows his true colors.
But then—
"I can't keep pretending like I don’t need you."
I freeze.
His hands clench at his sides. "I don’t know how to fix what I broke. But I’ll spend every second of my existence trying if you let me."
I search his face for the lie, the smirk, the catch.
There’s none.
Just pain. Just hope.
Just him.
I take a shaky breath.
And then, I unlock my door and walk into my apartment, leaving the door open for him.
"Come in."
He stands in the middle of my living room. He looks too big for the space, his posture stiff, unsure, a version of him I’ve never seen before, one I doubted even existed.
"...I’ve been researching," he says finally.
I blink. "Researching?"
"About love. About... how to love." His voice is quiet and uncharacteristically raw, "I didn’t understand it before."
I swallow hard. "And now?"
His eyes meet mine. They’re soft.
"Now I know I did it wrong."
The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
I look away before he can see me cry.
I sit with him on the couch, separated by a few feet of cushions and pillows. I tell him everything. And he listens.
Every time he hurt me. Every time I cried alone. Every time he made me feel small.
He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t defend himself. Just… takes it in.
When I finish, his voice is rough. "I don’t know how to be good for you. But I want to learn."
I hug myself. "Why?"
He looks at me like the answer is obvious. "Because I love you."
I don’t mean to fall apart but I do.
"I hate that I still love you," I whisper, voice cracking.
His hands hover as his body shifts, close, but not touching. Like he’s afraid to. "I know."
"I don’t want to give you another chance."
"I know."
"You’ll just hurt me again."
He exhales, slow. Then, carefully, so carefully, he reaches out. Brushes his thumb under my eye, catching a tear before it falls.
"Let me prove you wrong."
And for the first time… I let myself believe him.
I kiss him.
And when I pull back, his eyes are wide, breath uneven. I see something in his face I’d never seen before.
Fear.
Not of me.
Of losing me.
I press my forehead to his. "Please don’t make me regret this."
His hands curl around mine, tight, not to trap, but to hold.
"Never again."
Note: Not a fanfic writer but for some reason I was imagining Sukuna while writing this...
I roll my eyes and ignore my husband’s voice. Yes, I’m still mad and he can fuck off. I hear his footsteps coming up the stairs and the sound of our bedroom door opening before the bathroom door opens and I see him standing in the doorway.
I meet his eyes in the mirror and glare at him, taking in his sheepish expression. He creeps into the room and comes to stand behind me. “I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean what I said.”
I huff and glare harder, “If you didn’t mean it, you shouldn’t have said it.”
He nods to appease me and gently sets his hands on my shoulders, testing to see if I’m going to snap at him for touching me. I don’t and he proceeds to slide his hands down my arms and wrap his around me, pulling my back into his chest.
He holds my gaze in the mirror as he presses us together. “What can I do to make up for it?” He presses soft kisses along my neck and I shiver a little when he finds the sensitive spot behind my ear. “I’ll do anything you want,” he purrs into my ear as his hands start to gently stroke along my body.
I smile at his words and spin around in his arms to face him. “Anything?” My voice betrays my excitement and he raises an eyebrow at me. “You have something in mind?”
I giggle and grab his hand, pulling him out of the bathroom and into our bedroom. I lead him to the bed and I catch the smirk on his face. “Darling, if you wanted to fuck, all you need to do is ask,” he says, eyes darkening as he gazes at me.
I smile at him, “That’s not what I want.” Before he can ask more questions, I give him a slight push so he gets the hint to lay down on the bed. I follow him onto the bed and straddle his hips, settling myself over him. I reach for his wrist and grab the restraints we keep strapped to the bedframe. 99% of the time, I’m the one strapped to the bed but today is going to be different. He lets me click his wrist into the cuff and he grins at me.
“So this is your revenge?” He asks, teasingly. I smile at him as I do the same to his other wrist. “Yes and I’m going to make you very, very sorry you pissed me off.”
I unbutton his shirt and leave it open, not bothering to deal with getting it fully off of him before I trail soft kisses down his chest. I hear him let out a low sigh of pleasure and it makes me smile. My tongue licks down his little happy trail, ending up at the buckle of his jeans.
He’s already hard and I can see the imprint of his straining cock through the jeans. I mouth along the bulge, taking my time and letting his feel the pressure but not anything else through the material of the denim. He groans and I feel his hips thrust upwards. “Are you going to tease me for the whole night?” His voice is a lower register than normal and it sends shivers down my spine.
I smile at him, “You’ll see.” My fingers make quick work of his pants and I pull them down while he cooperates by raising his hips. His pants get tossed somewhere off the bed and I take a moment to strap his ankles down to the bed too, leaving him spread out and immobilized, cock straining proudly between his legs.
I decide to tease him a little more, taking my time to pull my own clothes off. “Fuck, baby, you’re killing me, I wanna touch you,” he groans as more of my body is revealed.
“Nope, this is your punishment,” I say, letting my last article of clothing drop, leaving my entire body bare. I run my hands along my body, taking care to cup my tits the way he likes and pinch my own nipples. He curses as he watches me.
I crawl back onto the bed with him and settle myself between his legs. I wrap one hand around the base of his rock-hard cock and give him a soft stroke. “Fuck,” he groans as his hips buck. I laugh softly and watch his face as I run a gentle finger across the slit of his cock, taking the single drop of precum. Before he can say anything else, I stick my tongue out and lick him from top to bottom and take him into my mouth.
“FUCK!” I hear his shout and the rattle of the cuffs against our bedframe as he jerks in response to my mouth. I work my tongue along the underside of his cock while I let him sink in further down my throat. My husband’s cock used to be too big for me to take fully down my throat, but over our time together, I’ve trained my throat and my gag reflex to be able to take him all at once. And it’s so worth it.
I moan around him, the taste of his precum and musk making my pussy clench. I ignore it for now and focus my attention on bobbing my head up and down his length. I pull off, leaving a trail of spit on his tip, taking deep breaths of air. I glance up at him and smile.
“Fuck, darling, come up here and sit your pretty pussy on my face so I can make you feel good too,” he purrs, licking his lips and staring at me intensely. The idea is a good one but I know if I agree, he’ll no doubt distract me with his sinfully good tongue and I won’t be able to have my fun with him, so I shake my head.
“Nope, I’m staying right here.” His groan chokes off into a strangled moan when I take him back into my mouth, this time, a free hand going up to gently stroke his balls. His hips jerk against me and I control my breath as his cock fills my throat.
I create a tight seal with my lips and bob my head up and down, focusing my attention on his tip while another hand comes up to stroke what isn’t in my mouth. The sound of his moan fills the room and it makes me preen a little inside.
I move my hand faster and match the pace with my mouth. I feel his hips stutter against me and I know he’s close. “Fuck, darling, if you keep going, I’m going to cum,” he groans, voice strained with pleasure.
I don’t stop, maintaining the same pace as his groans start to get louder. I can tell he’s seconds away from cumming when his length twitches and that’s when I pull away.
“FUCK! Baby, please, I was so close.” He whines, his hips trying to follow me but the restraints holding him down. I smile at him and run a finger down his cock, watching it jump as he moans.
“That’s the point,” I purr, letting my single finger run up and down his cock while his orgasm fades away. “You’re really gonna torture me like this, huh?” He says, gazing at me with adoration in his eyes. I smile widely at him and crawl up to give him a kiss.
“Of course, dear husband. How else will you learn your lesson?” I murmur against his lips, cupping his face gently in my hands. He huffs a laugh and steals one more kiss before I pull away.
His cock is an angry red now and I press my mouth gently along it, mouthing softly with my lips and tongue to coat him in spit. When he’s slick and throbbing, I pull my mouth off and grip his length in my hand, giving my wrist a quick twist while I jerk upwards. He groans above me and I smirk, using my hand to stroke him exactly how he likes.
It doesn’t take long for him to get pushed to the edge again, his hips jumping upwards while my hand works him with ease. “Darling, I’m close,” he groans at me, head tossed back while his arms flex against the restraints.
I giggle, “I know.” My hand keeps its pace and I watch his face contort with pleasure. At the very last second, I pull away and watch as his eyes fly open to look at me. “Fuck, please, baby, please let me cum,” he says, his voice tinged with desperation.
I wiggle my fingers at him and shake my head. “You sound like such a good boy begging like that.” I watch as his eyes seem to glaze over a little and I smirk.
I give him less time to recover this round and bend my head to capture the head of his cock into my mouth, letting my tongue circle the slit, polishing him gently. A strangled whimper leaves his throat and I let an approving moan rumble around him in my mouth.
“Please, please, please, I’m sorry I made you mad, I’m so sorry, darling, please let me cum,” his voice is shaky and whiny now, none of the previous bravado present anymore. I ignore him as I continue to mouth at him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Just as before, I pull my mouth off just before he can cum.
“Come on, be a good boy and beg for me,” I purr, trailing a hand up his chest.
He whines, thrusting his hips upwards, “Please, please, please let me cum. Please, I’ll be so good, I’m your good boy, please let me cum.”
I shiver at his voice, so wrecked by need and husky with pleasure. I press my hands against his chest and raise myself up to my knees, straddling him. His eyes flash to mine and he understands my intention immediately.
“Fuck, please, darling, please ride me, please ride my cock. I’m your good boy, please, let me make you feel good,” his words rush out in his excitement and I smile as I lean down to press our lips together.
At the same time, I let his cock nudge against my pussy. I’ve been dripping wet since we started and I slowly start to lower myself, moaning against his lips as the delicious fullness fills me and makes me shudder with pleasure. He lets out the most pathetic little whimper as my warm heat envelopes him and I seat myself fully atop his cock.
I lean back and look at him, his lips swollen, pupils blown wide, eyes desperately begging mine. I’m a queen, sitting atop my perfect throne.
My hips give a little circle and I watch his eyes flutter shut as another whimper leaves his lips. “Does that feel good, hm?” I murmur to him, letting my hips roll against his.
“Yes, yes, yes, fuck, please, it feels so good, please don’t stop!” He’s babbling now and it makes me laugh a little, how easy a big strong man like him falls prey to my pussy.
I come up on my knees a little and sit back down, the motion making both of us moan. Then, I start riding him. I toss my head back and let my hands run across my tits, playing with my sensitive nipples as I ride him, using him to chase my own pleasure. His whines and whimpers get louder and I know he’s getting close again.
I lean down and wrap a hand around his throat gently. He leans his head back to give me better access and I smile as I tighten my grip. The whimper he lets out is delicious and goes straight to my clit. “Are you going to cum, baby? You’re gonna cum in my pussy while I ride your cock and choke you?”
“Fuck yes, please, please, can I cum? I want to cum inside of you, please, I’ll be your good boy, I’ll do anything, please, just let me cum,” his words are slurring as his eyes roll back and I know he’s moments away from exploding.
I moan softly as I feel my own orgasm approaching. My grip on his throat tightens and I work my hips faster. “Cum, baby, cum for me. That’s it, feel good for me. Such a good fucking boy.”
He explodes with a desperate cry and the feeling of his cum flooding my pussy pushes me over the edge and I crumple against him as my body rides out my orgasm. My grip on his throat loosens and I let myself relax on top of him as both of us come down from our highs.
I reach up and undo the restraints holding him down and I settle myself against him. “I love you,” I whisper into his chest and I feel his arms come around me.
He buries his face into my hair and takes a deep breath. “Fuck, I love you.” I snuggle into his chest and kiss his shoulder.
“And I really am sorry I called Mr. Fluffy fat.”
My head pops up from his chest and I glare at him, “Don’t remind me, I just got over it. Next time be nicer to our cat,” I say, giving his chest a soft slap before I settle back down.
He laughs and pulls me closer, “I do think we need to switch him to diet food otherwise he won’t fit through out cat door soon.” I snort and cuddle deeper into his arms, “Don’t be a dick, he’s happy.”
