Chip Taylor | 68 Kill Oneshots

Satisfaction Guaranteed (NSFW 18+)

Summary: Reader's handyman wasn't joking when he said satisfaction was guaranteed.

Content Warning: Mild cheating (grinding), domestic abuse, heavy petting, oral (femalereceiving), fingering, penetrative sex, mild dirty talk

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There's a quote, often misattributed to Einstein, saying that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I've never been much of a believer in the idea underlying the quote, especially in reference to people. After all, people can change, right?

That's what I had to tell myself. I had to believe that people were capable of change and that one day, if I fought hard enough or right enough, things would change. I had to tell myself that because I knew that if I stopped believing it, I wouldn't have any sanity left.

But there comes a time when your voice is so hoarse from screaming that you can't fight back. Any attempt to speak comes out in broken shouted whispers.

"Do you think you could just—" I tried to beg my husband, but he stopped me before the request had even left my mouth.

"God, do you ever stop nagging?" he barked, "I swear, you haven't used your mouth for something useful in years."

The words feel like knives on my skin and ice in my veins, but the implication wasn't even the most painful part; it was the audience to the insult.

"Chip, do me a favor and find a way to make her shut up. I'll pay you double," my husband joked, turning to the man sitting on the floor next to the other door with the knob in his hand.

Chip didn't know why we needed it to be re-keyed. I didn't want to admit that my husband's latest girlfriend had threatened to turn up on our doorstep to ruin my life. I definitely didn't want to tell him my husband had also given her a key to our home.

So instead, he just sat there with an uncomfortable, tight-lipped half smile that was aimed more at the floor than the man who was speaking to him. When my husband opened the door, Chip finally raised his eyes to me.

I tried not to look as humiliated and hurt as I was, but it wasn't possible. When the door finally slammed shut, I jumped at the noise.

And then it was silent. Time seemed to move slower. Maybe that's why Chip's eyes felt like they lingered on my face. Surely he wouldn't want to look at me any longer than necessary while I cried. I certainly didn't want him to. I still didn't stop him, though.

"Are you alrigh—"

"Ugh! He's such a stupid fucking piece of shit!"

He watched me as I started to pace, though I felt his gaze leave me every now and then as he returned to work in small bursts. I might've felt bad about the fact I was distracting him if it didn't feel like my heart was about to implode and leave me empty and destroyed in the foyer.

"I swear it's like men only care about... about sports and sex! And I don't even think they need the sports!"

Chip waited a moment, glancing up at me and locking eyes to be sure my tirade was over. Once he could be certain, he just sort of shrugged.

"I don't like sports," he said.

I snorted because it seemed like such a simple response, and Chip was such a simple guy. He was waiting for my response, the screwdriver in his hand resting in place as he looked up at me expectantly.

"Not you, Chip," I sighed.

As I came to sit next to him, he turned his body so that we faced each other on the floor. It was such a silly thing to make me as happy as it did. Like he saw us as equals. Like he saw me as someone deserving respect.