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cinnamorollcrybaby · 2 months ago

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Tags: dad!Toji x fem!reader, modern!au, nsfw, mdni, breeding kink, he calls himself daddy

Synopsis: You’re Toji’s live-in nanny. He wants to breed you, and he successfully does so.

An: This is my story on ao3!! You can read it here. If you’re feeling extra nice, a kudos would be cool too.

Being a single dad was hard. Toji learned quickly after his wife's death that he in fact couldn't do this alone. The way little Megumi's big eyes looked up to him for direction... him of all people. He was not cut out for this. Megumi's mom was a wonderful mother: sweet, nurturing, and patient. Toji really didn't know if he was any of those things.

Luckily, her life insurance provided Toji with a relatively comfortable life combined with his job in construction of course. Construction might be his vice. He got away from home for 12 hours a day, and he worked so hard that his brain was mush by the time he was home. Not that he didn't love his son, he did, but every time he looked at Megumi he saw his sweet late wife. He also saw his short comings as a father.

Babysitters quit on him regularly. It was always the same excuse. "Megumi's an angel, but I can't be here 7 days a week. I have a life too." It was incredibly annoying. They'd stay for Megumi but left due to another one of his shortcomings.

Another one quit. That would be the third one this month. "Listen Mr. Fushiguro, I know a friend. She does this sort of thing on a different level. Have you ever considered having a live-in nanny?"

That stupid girl's question enlightened Toji. He had completely forgotten that live-in nannies still existed. After getting her friend's number and paying her what he owed her for her time, Toji relaxed on the couch with little Megumi tucked into his side. The three-year-old was happily babbling next to him, enamored by Toji's phone that was in his hand.

Toji looked at the number dialed into his phone, and he sighed. He was tired of making cold calls to potential babysitters like he was some desperate whore, but maybe, maybe this would be different. He wouldn't mind having a live-in nanny. His house wouldn't mind it either. Toji would be able to finally breathe. No more coming home from 12 hour shifts to pop something to eat in the microwave and wash the dishes. He wouldn't even have to see this so-called nanny often. He could pick up more hours at work with all of his new freedom of not having to worry about pissing off the babysitter.

*** *** ***

Either way, that's how you ended up in Toji's house. For the past three months you had taken care of Megumi, cleaned and deep cleaned his entire house, cooked him plenty of dinners from scratch, and even did his laundry the exact way he preferred. His house has never looked better, and Megumi had never looked so happy.

Despite being here for three months, you barely saw Toji. He seemed to avoid you like the plague and only answer with one-worded answers, which was fine. This was your job, not your actual family. There was no need for extensive communications. Though, you had gushed to your friend plenty over text about how hot "Mr. Fushiguro" was. He was conventionally attractive, yes. But you also always had a thing for the brooding types, and dammit, Toji was brooding. There was also something to be said about how he came home in the evenings. A black wifebeater clinging to his skin from a long day of working out in the sun. His jeans would be dirty from the work he was doing. His skin glistening from a thin sheen of sweat. His hair was always a mess. Goddammit. It was enough to make you feel fertile.

It was early in the morning, Toji was getting ready to go to work. Megumi had woken up, crying for his papa not to leave him. He's going through an extra clingy phase. He's usually okay once Toji's gone.

"Papa!" Megumi cried as Toji entered the living room. You had Megumi in your lap, rocking him with a sleepy look on your face. His tears were wetting your shirt, but you didn't seem to mind.

"He'll be back tonight, Gumi." You shooshed him and continued to try to rock him and pat his back.

Toji's face was unreadable. He was never one to get all upset over Megumi's crying, but hearing his son cry out for him tugged on his heartstrings extra this morning. Then, there was you. You were a godsend to Toji's life. Getting a live-in nanny was one of the best decisions he had ever made. Above that, you were excellent with Megumi. You were sweet... nurturing... patient. He hated how seeing you with his son made him feel. It almost felt like maybe 2 kids wouldn't be that big of a deal. Maybe 3. One on each of your legs and another one swelling in your belly. God. He was disgusted in himself for thinking like that.

"I love you, kiddo." Toji said quickly as he leaned down, giving Megumi's forehead a quick peck. The toddler made grabby hands for him. It was almost enough to make him stay home. Almost. Toji's eyes met yours as he was still leaned over. His face was close to yours. The tension between them were palpable. The moment felt like eternity between them.

Then, a black credit card was in view. "I need new work gloves. Get the extra thick rubber ones, will ya? Also, get whatever you and the kid want. I'll be back late tonight." He handed you the card and sauntered out of the house despite Megumi's pleas for him to stay. You looked at the Amex black card and blinked a couple of times. Only the top earners in the world had cards like this. Toji was just an average blue collar dad... It made you wonder how he got a card like this.

You still spent that shit though.

*** *** ***

Toji looked at his phone on the jobsite. No one dared to tell him to put it away. Toji was the best most competent worker out on the field. He could work circles around supervisors and project managers alike, and he was damn smart. He didn't need a pencil and paper or a calculator to make quick conversions in his head. So, most people stayed out of his way.

He smirked and chuckled at the notifications rolling in from his bank. 78.97 at Target. 21.25 at McDonald's. 43.52 at Barnes and Noble. 9.24 at Starbucks. He was happy you and Megumi were getting to have a little shopping spree.

You were also great at keeping him updated. You sent him lots of pictures and videos of Megumi. He cherished each one of them, immediately getting some of them printed and hung up in his house. There was even a picture of you and Megumi proudly displayed in the living room. In his mind, you were an integral part of the family. The "family" simply would not function if it weren't for you.

A fond smile spread across his face as he opened his messages. A picture of Megumi's little hands trying to fit into his new gloves that she had bought him. Great. She got the right ones. "I think he wants to be just like daddy :)", the message read.

Oh.

The twitch that just occurred in his pants should be punishable in a court of law. In no way should he have gotten turned on by that. You were just being nice. It was a normal thing for people to refer to him as "daddy" in that context. It never affected him in the way it was right now.

So anyways, that's how he ended up in the port-a-potty busting a load all over a picture of you that he had on his phone. After the shock of his orgasm that came quicker than ever, he looked down, disappointed in himself. He wasn't some horny teenage boy anymore. This was just downright deplorable. Begrudgingly, he wiped his phone clean from his sins. Post-nut clarity swirled his brain. He couldn't believe he just did that.

He called your number. He had to make things right.

"Hello? Is everything okay?" You immediately asked. After living with Toji for some time now, you learned that he doesn't just call people. He will absolutely decline a call to just text and ask what's up.

"Everything is fine." He replied, trying to hide his amusement. It was cute that you seemed so worried for him. "Are you still in town?"

"Yeah, Megumi and I are about to leave Starbucks and head home. Why? What's up?" You responded back to him. He could hear Megumi happily singing a song in the background.

"You know you spent 152 dollars today?" Toji asked as he popped his back up against the port-a-potty door. He had a lazy smirk on his face.

"Oh- crap. I'm sorry. You can take whatever you see fit out of my pay-" He interrupted your nonsense quickly.

"Do you think I'm poor?" His voice was amused, not angry like you expected it to be.

"What-? No.. no, sir. I was just-"

"I told you to get whatever you and the kid want. Don't come back home until your certain that you can't carry the amount of stuff you bought in one trip." He said quickly. His stomach was already coiling from how you called him sir. He grimaced as he felt another twitch. I just took care of you dammit.

"Oh... oh, okay? Are you su-" Click. He hung up on you. One too many dumb questions. You looked at Megumi as he strapped into the backseat of your car. He looked intrigued by the conversation even though you knew he realistically had no idea what was just said. "Daddy said we have to go to the toy store." You grinned at him. He was smiling and clapping over the word "toy".

234.22 at Toys-R-Us. 122.56 at Lego. 208.38 at Aerie. 88.21 at Ulta Beauty. Another 94.48 at Barnes and Noble.

The way Toji grinned each time he felt that familiar vibration of his phone go off, meaning another notification from his bank was off-putting. Workers on the jobsite never seen him so happy. It was his penance for being such a horny freaky fuck.

*** *** ***

It was later that same evening. Megumi was in the living room surrounded by toys and crafting materials. He was currently drawing all sorts of "shadow animals" as he called them. You would of course look and nod your head, congratulating him on each terribly drawn animal. You acted like that was the best damn wolf-bear-owl hybrid you ever saw.

You were in the kitchen cooking chicken and dumplings. The clock on the stove read seven p.m. You didn't expect to see Toji at all this evening. He said he was working late this morning. Usually, that meant he was dragging his feet in through the door until well past ten p.m.

Still, you made him a serving of chicken and dumpling soup. You always did. Even when he worked late, you would put him a helping of dinner in the microwave to keep warm. You never knew, but he was always delighted by that. He ate the dinners each time.

A key jingling in the door handle caught your attention while you were getting Megumi settled at the dining room table. Three-year-olds were so hard to manage: too small to eat by themselves but too big to be locked in a high chair.

Toji stepped into the living room with a small grunt. He smirked as he looked around at his destroyed living room. Toys, crayons, and pieces of "artwork" were strewn all about the place. He glanced up towards you and Megumi in the kitchen. He took note of how your face was flushed and surprised.

"Papa!" Megumi happily shouted before the little bastard ran from your grasp to go hug on Toji's legs. His dad smiled as he looked down at Megumi, and he used his hand to mess up Megumi's hair affectionately.

"Go eat your food, kiddo." Toji said warmly to his son. Megumi happily obliged and ran right back to his seat right next to you, and you fed him a spoonful of the soup.

"You're home early." You stated the obvious.

Toji would never tell you, but he left early because he missed you two.

"Don't sound too happy to see me." He remarked in a sarcastic tone.

"What-? No, I just.. would've cleaned up more had I known you would be home so soon..." You responded. Megumi was sitting beside you whining for another bite of food. You snapped out of your surprise, and you fed him another bite of chicken and dumplings.

"Why? I don't give a damn what this place looks like." Toji said with a small nonchalant shrug. He walked through the living room, carefully stepping over the toys. Before you had become his nanny, this was how his house normally looked: messy, lived in. "I've got a bowl of dinner in the microwave. My kid's happy and fed. I couldn't care less what that living room looks like."

Your heart fluttered at the sentiment. Toji was easy to please. He really just wanted what was best for his kid, and that was you. "I like making sure you have nothing to worry about." You replied. He looked at you with an unreadable expression. It looked like he might've wanted to say something, but he had backed out last minute. He hummed and walked towards his bedroom to shower the dirt, sweat, and grime from the day.

While Toji showered, you had finished feeding Megumi and yourself. You allowed Megumi to have about an hour of TV time before bed. He really enjoyed old X-Men cartoons. You turned them on for him and parked him on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket.

You hummed softly as you worked in the kitchen. You packed meal prep containers of soup for Toji to take for lunch for the next couple of days. Then, you were washing dishes in front of the sink.

*** *** ***

"I like making sure you have nothing to worry about." Your words repeated in Toji's head over and over like a mantra. He hadn't felt so... cared for in a long, long time. It made his heart feel full, which was an unfamiliar feeling for him. A less unfamiliar feeling was his dick standing fully erect and at attention. He groaned quietly as he leaned his head back in the shower.

Something had to be in the air recently. He was a grown man with desires, sure. But this was a new record for him. Ever since you started being a live-in nanny for him, the boners were a daily thing. Hell, twice or three times a day sometimes. He's tried everything... Well, okay, maybe not everything, but he's tried cold showers and staying away from you. Neither of those things work to soothe him.

His hand was gliding up and down his length for the second time today. He was facing the shower wall with his arm propped up on it, supporting his head. Damn you for making him feel like a slave to his desires. You wanted to make sure he had nothing to worry about? Then, you should be the one in here fixing this damn mess, not him. He pitifully rutted into his hand, imaging he's plunging deep into you. Imagining the multiple ways he'd fuck the hell out of you is the only thing that soothes the ache, but this time he didn't see an end in sight.

He gritted his teeth together, and he balled up his fist, rearing back before stopping himself. He's not a teenager anymore. He can't punch walls. He took a deep breath and turned the shower off. No, this won't do. He needs to fix this at the source.

After quickly drying off and getting dressed, he walked back into the kitchen. His eyes scanned over the house. Megumi was enthralled by the TV, and you were washing dishes. Perfect.

He slowly approached you from behind. He could tell you didn't hear him as you were still softly humming. Usually, you would stop humming if he entered the kitchen. He never understood why. The sounds of your melancholic hums were beautiful and soothing to him.

He was directly behind you, and his hands gently cupped your hips. You immediately flinched and made a soft scream that was quickly silenced by one of his hands. "Shh, we don't want to disturb the little brat, do we?" Toji said into your ear. His warm breath ghosted over the shell of your ear, making you shiver.

Toji's eyes flicked over towards the living room. Megumi hadn't moved an inch. Perfect.

Toji slowly released your mouth. To his delight, you didn't make a sound. He could hear how your breath was slightly labored from him scaring you. A small chuckle rose from his throat. His hands went back to your hips, and he pressed himself against your voluptuous ass. A hum of approval escaped him. He could see your hands gripping the countertops.

"Nod your head. You like this? Want me to keep pressing myself against you?" Toji whispered into your ear. You took your bottom lip between your teeth, and you nodded your head eagerly, giving him consent.

"Dirty fucking girl." His voice was like a growl in your ear as he started to move his hips, dragging his length up and down along you. You could feel each inch of his length beckoning for you. "I knew you'd take whatever I gave you, but this? Letting me grind against you like a pathetic teenager while my son is in the living room? You're such a fucking slut." His hands were digging into your hips as he continued his controlled motions.

"Mnn.. fuck.." You softly whimpered out. Thank god the X-Men were currently in a loud fight scene.

You slightly frowned as you suddenly didn't feel Toji behind you anymore. You were about to turn around and ask what he was doing, but his fingers curling into the waistband of your leggings told you everything you needed to know. "Toji-" You managed to whisper out. No way could you two do this while Megumi was in the next room over.

"Shut up." Toji interrupted you. He had taken his throbbing length out of his sleeping pants, and he had a look of concentration on his face as he angled himself right at your entrance. "You have no fucking idea how long I've needed this. So just be a good girl, shut up, and take what I give you."

Direct orders from your boss. Who were you to deny the man who just spoiled you all day today?

It was a tight fit. Toji wasn't a gentleman. He didn't prep you with his fingers or mouth. This wasn't love making. It was hardly fucking. This was fulfilling a need.

"God... fuck. I didn't expect you to be that tight." He growled into your neck as he held your hips still against him. It felt like he was splitting you apart. You couldn't even respond to him.

He noticed how tightly you were gripping the counter and how you weren't responding to him. Your knuckles were turning white. He almost felt guilty. His hand came around the front of you, and he gently rubbed the swollen bundle of nerves. "Shhh... You can take it. I know you can." He whispered into your ear as it was taking every last shred of self-restraint not to fuck you into oblivion right on this counter. He slowly pulled back until just his tip was inside, and he pushed all the way back in. "That's it. There's my good girl." He praised in your ear. It was not lost on him that he felt you get wetter with each praise.

He hesitated, but he said it anyway, "You wanna be a good girl for daddy, don't you?" He whispered into your ear. That phrase made you tremble in his arms and nod your head. He slowly pulled back out and pushed right back in, taking you slowly. "That's right... hngh, fuck." He moaned into your ear. "You want to be fucked by daddy. You want to take his cock like a good girl. Take it." His hips started to move with more conviction.

You were already so out of it. This was like a dirty fantasy come true. You couldn't help but check the TV a few times to make sure X-Men was still playing. You were still worried that Megumi might run in here for whatever reason and see you bent over in front of his dad. You knew it was unlikely. Megumi could watch that TV like a zombie all day if you let him. Besides, you would be able to hear the small pitter-patter of his footsteps.

"Stop looking at the fucking TV. Trust me." Toji growled into your ear as he forced your hips down onto him roughly. A noiseless gasp escaped you. He wasn't small, and he knew that. He was using it to his advantage.

"Fuck." He groaned quietly as he rubbed you with a bit more fervor. You could already feel that familiar warm feeling coiling in your stomach. "I'm going to fuck a baby into you. You were fucking made for this. Made for raising my kids and taking my fucking load." He was spewing nonsense into your ear, but in the moment, you couldn't help but nod and moan. "You were made for me." He proclaimed as his hips continued harshly snapping into your backside. Somehow the sounds were masked.

"You want that, don't you?" He asked as he bit down on your neck then lapped at the bite mark with his tongue.

"Yes, daddy!" You quietly exclaimed. His thrusts only increased in power. Your eyes started to cross, getting lost in pleasure.

"Fuck. You're gonna look so perfect pregnant with my baby. I won't let you have a break. As soon as one comes out; I'm puttin' another one in you." He continued on yapping about how many kids he was going to pump into you. "I'll breed you again and again." His thrusts were heavy and brutal. You couldn't take it anymore.

He moaned as he felt you clenching around him, finishing all over his cock. It was enough to drive him overboard. He pumped you full of cum until you were sure some of it was seeping out.

There was a peaceful moment of dizzy highness for you two. Toji panted against your back. For the first time in while, he's felt satisfied. A soft amused laugh escaped him as he heard the iconic X-Men episode coming to an end. He swiftly pulled out of you, and he tried to ignore that little whimper of protest you let out. He tucked himself back into his pants, and he pulled your leggings and panties back up for you since you were still a trembling mess over the counter.

"Alright Kiddo, c'mon. Time for bed." Toji said as he sauntered off into the living room as if he didn't just rearrange your guts. He put Megumi to bed that night, and he cleaned up the living room for you, allowing for you to recover in his bed for round two. He was much more of a gentleman for round two.

*** *** ***

"Hey... I know I ain't been to see you in a while. I'm sorry." Toji said as he sat down on the grassy ground. "I was letting life pass me by for too damn long." He said as he took a wet washcloth and began to wash up his late wife's gravestone. "I'm doing better now, so don't worry about me."

"Megumi's growing like a weed. I'm sorry I didn't bring him to see you... I just don't know how to explain it to him." Toji's voice was full of guilt as he dragged the wet washcloth against the stone. "He's a good kid though. He looks just like you, damn bastard." He softly laughed, knowing his wife would've struck him over the side of the head for calling Megumi a damn bastard.

"Listen... I met a girl." He leaned his head over the gravestone. It had been close to three months since you and Toji started sleeping together. There wasn't a formal label to your relationship, but it didn't feel necessary. You two both knew you were sleeping exclusively with each other. "I think you'd like her, or maybe you wouldn't since she's fucking your husband. But either way... I-" He choked up a bit as he held onto the cold stone. "I feel so fucking guilty... I know you're not coming home anytime soon, but I just... I need your blessing. If you can somehow hear me, please... I never asked you for anything until I asked you to marry me. Now, I'm asking... please somehow show me you approve of this."

"She's good for me... She takes good care of Megumi. He's so damn attached to her somedays." Toji softly laughed as he remembered how a few nights ago Megumi crawled into bed with you and him because he had a nightmare. Instead of taking to Toji like he normally does, he crawled into your arms. Toji had never felt so damn proud and slighted at the same time.

"I should get going. Give me a sign though.. Something that tells me you approve." He finished his visit with his wife, and he went home.

*** *** ***

That night at dinner, Megumi sped into the kitchen with an action figure in his hand. He was pretending to be Batman. "Gumi, I've told you three times. Stop running." You said as you gave the small child a look. Toji smirked as he knew that look good and well. It was the look a mom gave as a warning. Megumi was on his last warning.

"I'm sorry, mama." Megumi apologized, causing for both you and Toji to freeze right in your tracks. Megumi had never called you mama before. He always said your name.

Your heart swelled in your chest. It was a feeling of affection and guilt. "Oh no... baby.." You said softly as you took his hand. You lead him into the living room, and you crouched down, showing him a picture of his mom to him. "That's mama." You gently corrected him.

Toji watched the scene like a hawk from the dinner table. His heart was pounding in his chest. He had never been shy about telling Megumi who his mom was, but he hadn't exactly been forthcoming about how his mom passed away when he was a small baby.

Megumi pointed at the picture. "Mama." He said quietly. You nodded and patted his head.

"That's right." You praised affectionately. He then turned his attention to you. and he poked your chest with his tiny finger.

"Mama." He said, pointing at you.

"No-"

"It's alright." Toji spoke up from his seat at the dinner table.

"I don't want him to be confused..." You replied as you slowly stood back up, looking at Toji.

"He doesn't sound confused to me." He retorted with a small grin. You turned your attention back to Megumi, and Toji looked up towards the ceiling. "Thank you." He muttered so quietly before kissing the necklace that hung around his neck. He had his wife's blessing. This proved it.

After finishing his dinner, Toji joined you two in the living room. You and Megumi were curled up on each side of his while watching that old X-Men cartoon. Suddenly, Megumi rose from the couch. You and Toji watched him with a hint of confusion.

"What is he doing?" You softly asked Toji as Megumi bent over, and he looked between his legs at both you and Toji.

"I have no fucking id-" He was about to respond, but then, it hit him. "Get up." He said as he stood up from the couch. He quickly grabbed his phone, keys, and wallet like a madman.

"What? What? Is something wrong?" You asked as you had never seen Toji move this fast. You quickly got up too.

"Nothing's wrong. Come on. We're going to the store." He grunted as he swooped Megumi into his arms.

You were confused and in denial when Toji bought a pregnancy test and made you take it. Now, both of you were waiting outside of the bathroom for the five minutes to be over. "This is crazy, Toji. I'm not pregnant."

"It's an old wives' tale. When babies do that, it's supposed to mean their looking for their sibling." Toji said with a nonchalant shrug as if what he said was matter-of-fact. "My mother told me that's how she knew she was pregnant with me."

The timer went off on his phone, and both of you fought to get into the bathroom first. He eventually overpowered you and snatched the pregnancy test off the counter quickly. "Oh." He said quietly. The room went still.

Suddenly, your heart was racing. "What is it? Is it negative?" You asked a hint of disappointment hit you. You didn't know why, but a small part of you hoped for it to be positive.

"Oh, you're fucking getting it tonight." Toji smirked as he turned the pregnancy test over. Two pink lines were clear as day on the test. You're pregnant.

Tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @theuniversesnepobaby

#jjk #jjk fanfic #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #drabble #jjk suggestive #jjk smut #toji x you #toji smut #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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zombolouge · 1 year ago

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happy thinksgravy to all that do so

#thanksgiving #also gonna get soft in the tags here #I had a very very very bad year this year #over the summer I think I've hit one of my lowest points of all time and that's a really impressive feat for me #I really have to say some of the people I met on here and on AO3 held me together with the tape and glue of your presence #and I'm so grateful for that #and I'm so grateful to every SINGLE ONE OF YOU that takes a peek at my fics #the kudos and comments or just tagging me in things remind me that I exist #that I take up space in this world and that people notice #and that's such an important thing to remember when you trip and fall into the pits #so I hope everybody has a wonderful and fulfilling day today even if you don't celebrate anything #I love you I really do and I think of you often #mutuals and familiar names in my notes and familiar users in my comments #you kept me alive this year and I can't think of a better thing to give thanks for

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ailesswhumptober · 5 months ago

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Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

#whumptober 2024 #whumptober #ailesswhumptober2024 #whump prompt #whump event

2K notes · View notes

alygator77 · 4 months ago

Text

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 3 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru) » 【note, this chapter contains explicit sexual content (m masturbation)】

ꨄ words: 13.3k

ꨄ a/n. oh wowie, here it is. i hope ya'll enjoy this chapter and thanks for reading ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter →

ch 3 // fractured realities

Streams of light filter in through the drapes of your bedroom, casting a soft glow across the room.

A groan escapes your lips as you feel a dull throb on your temple—a reminder of the countless glasses of wine and champagne you indulged in at the gala. But as fragmented images of the evening flood your mind, your headache doesn’t end there.

You kissed Satoru Gojo.

Correction—you kissed the hell out of Satoru Gojo.

Each detail is more vivid than the last—the warmth of his breath, the firmness of his hold, the taste of him, and his soft groan that you swallowed against your lips.

God, it felt too real, too intense.

You sit up in your bed, rubbing your temples as you try to shake off the lingering effects of last night’s revelry, but you can’t ignore the fluttering sensation that stirs within—your cheeks growing hot from the memory.

Ugh. Being hungover and flushed is not a combination you enjoy.

When did Satoru start having such an intense effect on you?

You want to blame it on a lapse of judgement—perhaps the alcohol lowered your inhibitions? Sure, let’s go with that. That feels better than admitting that maybe you secretly wanted to kiss Satoru Gojo.

He’s insufferable after all—you can’t stand him…right?

Fuck, this is confusing.

Why does it feel like there has been a subtle tension between you and Satoru that has been simmering beneath the surface for a while now, each interaction, each glance, adding fuel to the fire?

Every shared look carries an unspoken promise, every touch lingers a fraction too long, leaving your skin tingling and your heart racing. It’s as if you’re both walking a tightrope, balancing on the edge of something profoundly transformative.

Are you imagining things?

Silently cursing yourself, you know these thoughts you’re having will only make things more complicated. This is simply a contract—nothing more.

Transactional. Business.

With a deep sigh, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, hoping to shake off these intrusive throughs with a stretch of your muscles.

If only it were that simple.

Perhaps a shower will help clear your mind—a chance to cleanse yourself from the remnants of last night’s indulgences.

Shuffling towards the bathroom, a yawn escapes your mouth as you rub your eyes tiredly, reaching for the door. But the moment you open it, you freeze in your tracks.

With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, Satoru stands outside the shower, droplets of water glistening on his bare chest, each bead tracing the defined lines of his muscles. You can’t help but notice the way the water trails down his torso, accentuating every ridge and curve. It’s as if he’s been sculpted from marble, each detail painstakingly crafted to perfection.

For a moment, neither of you move—a stunned silence filling the room as your eyes lock.

His damp hair sticks to his forehead in an almost boyish manner, contrasting sharply with his otherwise commanding presence, and your eyes trail downwards…

Oh.

The smooth contours of his abs carve a path down towards the towel hanging precariously low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination.

Your heart races, and you feel a blush rushing to your cheeks. Your eyes flicker back up to Satoru’s and fuck, he caught you—eyes twinkling with amusement as his lips slowly curl into a self-satisfied grin.

“Good morning to you too. Enjoying the view?”

The heat in your cheeks intensifies as your eyes widen, blinking rapidly, trying to snap yourself out of your daze.

“I... I didn’t realize you were in here,” you stammer, voice higher than usual.

Satoru’s smirk widens as he reaches for an extra towel, rubbing it against his head to dry his hair. He then drapes the towel across his shoulders and meets your gaze with an alluring glint.

“Well, if you wanted to see more, you only had to ask.”

Pressing your lips together in protest, you try to regain some semblance of composure. Satoru had always teased you—don’t take it too seriously, you tell yourself.

Clearing your throat, you advert your gaze, though the crimson hue still remains on your cheeks.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It was an accident—besides, you’re the one who forgot to lock the door.”

Satoru lets out a contemplative hum, feigning innocence as he walks towards the sink.

“Guess I’m not used to sharing a bathroom,” he leans against the counter and crosses his arms, eyes surveying you with a mischievous glint, “You’re to blame too though, could’ve at least knocked. Unless, you were hoping to join me?” he grins.

Your eyes widen, and you can feel the blush creeping up your neck.

“In your dreams, Satoru.”

A low chuckle escapes him as his stare bores into you—oh how he lives for this. Satoru’s always loved seeing you flustered, but this? This is something else entirely, a new level of satisfaction he hadn’t anticipated.

“Sure, sure,” he pauses, then tilts his head to the side. “But you’re still standing there, aren’t you?”

You swallow hard, eyes flickering between his face and his chest, unable to decide where to look. His satisfaction grows with every falter in your gaze, his knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Each glance is a step deeper into a trap of your own making, an unspoken admission that he holds more sway over you than you care to admit.

“Just... put some clothes on, please. And yes, I’m standing here because I’d like to take a shower. Aren’t you done? Why are you still here.”

“Oh sure, I’m done. You can shower, but aren’t you gonna return the favor? Do I get a show too?”

Your breath catches in your throat at his boldness, the heat in your cheeks spreading down your neck. The intensity of his gaze pins you in place, a silent challenge that sends a shiver through your body.

“Not a chance,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “This isn’t some kind of peep show.”

Satoru gives you an annoyingly innocent pout, rubbing his neck with a sly grin, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Tch. Too bad. Would’ve been a great way to start the morning.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past him to get to the shower.

“Out,” you command, pointing towards the door.

He raises his hands in mock surrender, still chuckling as he walks out.

“Alright, alright. Enjoy your shower, princess.”

You lock the door firmly behind him—heart pounding and your thoughts in disarray. As you step into the shower and the warm water cascades over you, you can’t help but replay the scene in your mind, each word and gesture etched vividly in your memory.

He’s just teasing—you remind yourself as you try to push away the fluttering feeling in your chest. Don’t take his words seriously, your relationship is a charade.

You close your eyes, letting the water wash over you, but the confusion remains.

Fuck. This is getting complicated.

ꨄ︎

The moment you close the door firmly behind him, Satoru leans against it for a moment, his smirk fading into a more contemplative expression.

He runs a hand through his hair—the sight of you, wide-eyed and blushing, had done more to him than he cared to admit. Exhaling slowly, he realizes that he’s in deeper than he thought.

As his thoughts drift back to the kiss you had shared at the gala, a familiar heat pools in his lower abdomen. The way your lips had felt against his—soft and inviting—the memory of your taste, the way you fit so perfectly against him…fuck. It stirs something primal within him.

He can’t deny the growing attraction he feels. After seeing you there with your cheeks flushed and your eyes surveying him, he had wanted to pull you closer, to see if your lips were as warm and inviting as he remembered.

Satoru groans as he adjusts his towel, feeling the fabric brush against his growing erection, trying to focus on anything other than the way you looked at him—the way the framework of your sleepwear accentuated your curves, the indent of your nipples peeking through the thin satin of your tank top. God, his desire only intensifies.

The contract was clear—no emotional entanglements. Yet here he was, aroused as his mind is consumed by you. He can’t help but wonder…what would it be like to explore this connection further, to let go, to give in to his curiosity completely.

Would it be so bad to just…fantasize?

He hears the shower turn on from behind the closed door—God, he can just imagine what it would be like to slide his hands all over your bare body.

Reaching down, he unwraps the towel from his waist, his cock slamming against his abdomen as it springs free from confinement. He curses under his breath; this wasn’t supposed to happen. He shouldn’t be thinking of you like this, but he can’t help but reach down and grip the base of his girth—he needs this, he wants this.

He needs you.

A soft groan escapes his lips as he begins to stroke himself, his hand moving slowly as he traces a familiar path over his length. There's a dull thud as Satoru's head hits the door, his eyes fluttering shut as he gives in to his imagination.

He can picture it vividly in his mind, the way the water would slide over your body, the way you'd respond to his touch... fuck, he can practically hear the little gasps and moans that would escape your lips as he touches you, the sounds that would drive him wild.

He bites his bottom lip, his hand moving slowly, trying to be as silent as possible. The thought of you, just on the other side of the door, excites him even more.

His breath comes out in short gasps as he imagines you, wet and wanting under the spray of the shower. The way your body would arch beneath his touch as he slides his digits between your warm walls. The water would run in rivulets down your body and you’d shiver under his touch, whispering his name, begging for more.

His breathing grows heavier as he speeds up his pace, envisioning you on your knees before him, your head bowed in submission, wet and flushed, looking up at him with a half-lidded desire in your eyes.

He wants you so desperately it's painfully evident in every movement—it’s almost too much to bear.

Your name slips from his lips – a desperate plea rather than a simple invocation. Fuck, it feels so good to have your name rolling off his tongue as he does something so indecent.

He can almost feel your hot, wet tongue swirling around his sensitive head, tasting him, savoring him. His free hand trails down to cup his balls, rolling them gently between his fingers as he pumps faster, just as you would while you take every inch of him in your pretty little mouth.

“Fuck…” he hisses through clenched teeth, his pace quickening as he chases the release he so desperately craves.

He shouldn’t be doing this, especially not right outside the bathroom door. But in this moment, he can't bring himself to care. Nothing else matters but you.

He pictures himself taking you right there, pushing you against the tiled wall, claiming your mouth in a fierce kiss as he thrusts himself deep inside you. The image of you quivering in pleasure drives Satoru further into madness. His strokes become erratic, desperate.

Satoru's entire body tenses, muscles coiling tight as he throws his head back. A desperate whine slips past his clenched teeth “Fuck…I’m gonna…”

His hips jerk erratically, pumping his cock in time with the spasms wracking his body. He whimpers as spurt after spurt of hot cum coats his stomach and chest, the sticky fluid painting his skin with evidence of his forbidden desires. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, each syllable punctuated by another forceful stroke as his hand continues to move, milking every last drop.

Panting heavily, he slumps against the door, his heart pounding in his chest while his spent cock twitches with residual pleasure. As he slowly comes back to reality, he realizes what he's done.

This wasn't supposed to happen—he was meant to tease you, not end up teasing himself. But there was no denying the effect you had on him anymore.

Fuck.

What the fuck is he thinking? This can’t happen again.

He needs to take another shower.

ꨄ︎

Stepping out of the shower, you wrap a fluffy towel around your body as the warm steam curls around you. You begin to head back to your room, but the moment you open the bathroom door, you are caught off guard, immediately met by one of the house staff, holding out a freshly laundered robe.

“Good morning, ma’am. Your robe.”

“Thank you,” you hesitate slightly, trying to offer a polite smile.

Taking the robe, you begin to make your way to the walk-in closet, yet another staff member is waiting with a selection of outfits.

"I've picked out a few choices for today's events, Mrs. Gojo."

You take a deep breath, "Thanks, I'll take a look."

It’s barely morning and you already have staff at your beck and call—sure, they mean well, but it’s suffocating. You’re not one for a lot of attention.

As the staff member steps aside, you examine the array of outfits.

Your eyes scan the elegant dresses, tailored suits, and chic ensembles neatly arranged on hangers. It’s not quite as elegant as the gala, but it’s clear that Satoru must have something important planned for the day. Each outfit exudes sophistication and class, far more extravagant than your usual attire.

As you run your fingers over the fabric of a particularly stunning dress, a ball of nerves settles within you. The thrill of wondering what Satoru has in store is both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. You select the dress, hoping it aligns with whatever he has planned.

After slipping into the elegant dress, you make your way to your vanity. But just as your fingers curl around the handle of your hairbrush, a maid materializes at your side, yet again.

"Good morning, ma'am. Can I assist you with your hair today?"

Is a moment to yourself too much to ask?

Your headache from last night’s wine lingers, and the incessant stream of people is beginning to fray your nerves—it’s really too much.

Offering another polite smile, you try to mask the mild irritation simmering beneath.

"No, thank you. I can manage.”

The maid nods and steps back, only for another staff member to glide in right behind her, almost as if choreographed.

This one carries a gleaming silver tray adorned with an array of high-end skincare products, each bottle and jar meticulously arranged, their labels promising luxury and perfection.

"Your skincare routine, ma'am."

You close your eyes momentarily, trying to remain patient, your voice as calm as you can manage.

"I appreciate it, really, but I have my own products."

The staff member hesitates, her expression a mix of confusion and professionalism.

"Of course, ma'am," she replies, inclining her head respectfully before retreating.

As the door closes behind her, you release a long, weary sigh. The constant attention is smothering, and you long for the simplicity of your old life.

Those quiet mornings, the sweet solitary moments where you could just… be – without the pressure of performing or living up to impossible standards.

But like it or not, this is your reality now. Guess you’ll just need to find a way to navigate it without losing yourself in the process.

ꨄ︎

By the time you make it downstairs, Haru is already seated at the elegant dining table, her small hands fiddling with her silverware. Satoru sits at the head of the table, reading through some documents.

The table is laden with a lavish breakfast spread—perfectly arranged fruits, pastries, and an assortment of gourmet dishes. The scent threatens to overwhelm you as the lingering effects of last night’s indulgence in wine and champagne churn in your stomach.

"Good morning," Satoru says, glancing up with a grin, looking annoyingly refreshed.

Rubbing the temple of your head, you attempt a tired smile.

“Morning.”

Satoru watches you with amusement as you slide into your seat. The rich aroma of the elaborate breakfast instantly greets your nostrils, prompting a groan to escape your lips.

"How are you feeling?" he quirks a brow.

"Like I drank half the wine cellar," you grimace.

Satoru leans back in his chair, his grin widening, and Haru giggles, watching you with wide curious eyes as you bury your face in your hands.

“Mama sleepy,” she declares with the wisdom of a two-year-old.

“Yes, Haru…Mama is very sleepy,” you mutter, peaking at her through your fingers. Despite the hangover, that innocent laugh brings a small smile to your face.

Satoru chuckles, setting his documents aside as he reaches for his mug.

"You should’ve stuck to the champagne, lightweight," he teases, bringing his coffee up to his lips.

You shoot him a half-hearted glare.

"Not helping."

A chef sets down a plate of perfectly arranged eggs benedict directly in front of you with a flourish, each element meticulously placed. The aroma wafts up and you instinctively push the plate away.

"Actually, do you have any toast? With jelly?" your voice tinged with a mix of disgust and desperation.

The chef looks momentarily puzzled, a slight furrow forming on his brow, but he nods politely.

"Of course, ma'am."

You abruptly get up, deciding to find it yourself. Making your way to the nearby pantry, you move with purpose as you begin rummaging through the neatly organized shelves. You feel Satoru’s amused gaze following your every move. Turning, you see him leaning back in his chair, a bemused smile playing on his lips as he watches you with evident curiosity.

“You're like a college student after a party. All this gourmet food and you want toast?"

Your fingers brush past jars of exotic spices and imported oils until you finally find what you’re looking for—a simple loaf of bread and a jar of ruby-red jelly. The familiar, comforting sight of them brings a small, satisfied smile to your lips. You turn to Satoru, holding up the items triumphantly.

“I just want something simple.”

As you set the bread and jelly down on the counter, Haru, perched nearby with wide and curious eyes, giggles at the sight.

"Mama wants toast!" she announces gleefully, her little voice echoing through the kitchen like a bell.

A grin curls up your lips as you unclasp the bread bag.

"Yes, mama wants toast," you say, popping a slice into the toaster. Leaning casually against the marble countertop, you shift your gaze to Satoru. “Anyways Mr. Gourmet, what’s the plan for today?”

Satoru leans back, his eyes narrowing playfully as he studies you.

"Well, I was thinking we could go over some things regarding Gojo Corporation. There are a few upcoming projects I’ve been meaning to discuss with you and I’d like your insight."

You arch an eyebrow, mildly caught off guard by the suggestion.

"Really? You usually handle all that on your own."

He nods, the movement slow and deliberate.

"True," he concedes, "but as my wife, I think it’s time you start coming back to the office with me. I want you to be more involved, and it’s important for everyone to see us working together as a team."

Your eyes widen in surprise.

"You want me to be more involved? I’m just a secretary."

Satoru shrugs with a casual air, but there’s a determined edge to his voice that tells you he’s thought this through.

"I’ve taken on a lot more responsibilities lately, and I could use your help. Besides, your insights have always been valuable to me.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the sudden pop of the toaster pulls your attention away. Turning your focus to the toast, you carefully spread jelly across the warm slice, but the task does little to settle the fluttering sensation in your chest.

This is a big ask.

You've always been behind the scenes, a secretary who knew the inner workings but never sat at the table where decisions were made. And now, here he is, trusting you with responsibilities that feel like they belong to someone else—someone more experienced, more confident.

It’s strange, surreal even, that Satoru would entrust you with such a significant role. Even if this is just a charade, this role requires more than just understanding the business. It requires being a partner in the truest sense.

“So…you’re serious about this? Gojo Corporation, we’re doing this together now?” you ask, returning to your seat, your voice carrying a hint of uncertainty as you search his eyes for reassurance.

Satoru nods.

“Absolutely. I think it’s time we show everyone what a true power couple looks like,” he replies, punctuating his words with a wink.

Leaning forward, he rests his chin in the cradle of his hand as he props his elbow casually on the table. His gaze locks onto yours, a glint of something more behind his deep blue eyes.

“Besides,” he continues, his voice softening slightly, “the office just isn’t the same without you.”

You take a slow bite of your toast, savoring the buttery warmth as it spreads across your tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the unexpected warmth blossoming in your chest at his words.

“Yeah, right,” you murmur, “You just want to make me do all the paperwork."

His grin broadens, the corners of his mouth lifting into that familiar, dangerously charming smile that always seems to disarm you.

"Guilty as charged."

Haru reaches out eagerly, her tiny fingers wiggling with impatience.

“Toast!” she demands with all the confidence and adorable assertiveness of a two-year-old.

You tear off a small piece and place it into her eagerly awaiting hand. She takes it with a giggle, her eyes lighting up as she munches happily.

As you lift your toast back up to your lips, you catch Satoru’s gaze lingering on you. There is a subtle shift in his expression—a depth of emotion, a certain tenderness that makes you wonder what he could be thinking.

"What?" you ask, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your tone, though you’re not entirely sure why.

He doesn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch as a grin tugs at the corners of his lips. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he finally speaks.

"Nothing," he eventually says with a playful yet genuine edge. “It’s just... interesting to see you choose something so ordinary.”

“Sometimes less is more.” you counter, a hint of challenge in your voice. “Besides, not everyone grew up with chefs and staff at their beck and call. It’s a bit much sometimes.”

Satoru leans back in his chair, the smirk widening as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Oh? Are you saying my lifestyle is too much for you?”

You gesture broadly around the lavish room.

"Look at all this,” you exclaim, your voice tinged with a mix of awe and exasperation. “The staff, the gourmet meals, the constant attention. It's like I'm living in a palace. I can't breathe without someone trying to do something for me, and I can’t even cook for Haru without feeling like I'm stepping on someone's toes."

The words spill out before you can catch them, each one landing with a weight you hadn’t fully anticipated. There’s an undercurrent of something deeper in your tone, a tension that has been simmering just below the surface—an unease that you’ve been trying to push aside, but now, in this moment, it bubbles over, impossible to ignore.

Satoru’s gaze sharpens and he arches an eyebrow as he catches the subtle shift in your demeanor.

"You miss cooking?" his voice softening with genuine interest.

“Yeah, I do,” you confess, your voice tinged with a mix of longing and resignation. “It’s one of the few things that makes me feel grounded, like I’m in control of something. Plus, Haru loves my cooking.”

He regards you with an intensity that catches you off guard.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way. You know… you’re welcome to cook whenever you want. This is your home too, after all.”

There’s a brief pause as he seems to mull something over, his eyes distant before snapping back to yours with a newfound determination. He leans forward slightly, his eyes locked onto yours.

“How about this—you cook dinner tonight? I’ll tell the chef to take the night off.”

You blink, momentarily taken aback by the offer.

“You’d really do that?”

"Why not?" he says with a shrug. "This is your home now, for the next year at least. Besides, it’ll be nice to see you in your element, and I’m curious to taste your cooking."

A spark of excitement flickers within you at the idea, the thought of returning to something familiar and comforting lifting your spirits.

“Alright then,” you agree, a playful challenge in your tone. “But don’t complain if it doesn’t meet your gourmet standards.”

“I’m sure it will be perfect,” he responds, his voice filled with a quiet confidence that sends a ripple of anticipation through you.

He leans in closer, his elbow resting on the table as he tilts his head, his intense gaze locking onto yours. The proximity makes your heart skip a beat, the air between you charged with an unspoken connection.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he adds, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if sharing a secret meant only for you.

You hold his gaze, trying to maintain your composure, though you can feel a flutter in your chest.

“Just promise me you won’t hover in the kitchen,” you quip, lifting an eyebrow as you lean back slightly, creating a bit of space to steady your racing heart.

Satoru’s grin only widens, a playful glint sparkling in his eyes as he mirrors your movement, leaning back as well.

“No promises. I might want to learn a thing or two."

You cross your arms, challenging him with a smirk and a pointed look.

“You? Help out in the kitchen?”

The disbelief in your voice is clear, though a small smile tugs at your lips. The idea of him, the polished and ever-confident Satoru, navigating the chaos of a kitchen is almost too absurd to imagine.

He laughs, a rich sound that fills the room, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, I can follow directions,” he protests, his grin broadening. “Just tell me what to do.”

You roll your eyes playfully, shaking your head in mock exasperation.

“We’ll see about that,” you quip, though there’s a part of you that’s curious—maybe even hopeful—that he might actually surprise you.

Before you can say more, Haru claps her hands together excitedly, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“Mama cooking! Yay!” she exclaims, bouncing in her highchair.

You laugh softly, ruffling her hair with affection.

“Yes, mama’s cooking tonight,” you confirm, the warmth in your voice mirroring the smile on your face.

Satoru watches the exchange with a softening gaze, a rare moment of quiet sincerity passing over his features. But then, with a stretch that seems to shake off the sentiment, he stands up, rolling his shoulders back.

“In the meantime,” he says, tone shifting back to business, “we should probably get ready to head to the office. There’s a lot we need to cover.”

ꨄ︎

As the car pulls up to the grand entrance of Gojo Corporation, you take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

It feels as though an eternity has passed since you last walked through those imposing doors, yet as you gaze up at the sleek, formidable building, a wave of familiarity washes over you, making it seem as if nothing has changed.

The towering glass structure looms above, its mirrored surface catching the early morning sun and casting a dazzling array of shimmering light that dances across the pavement. The reflections create an almost ethereal glow around the building.

As the sleek glass doors of Gojo Corporation glide open with a quiet whoosh, you and Satoru step through together, hand in hand.

The lobby unfolds before you, just as you remembered—spacious, modern, and a testament to impeccable design.

Polished marble floors stretch out beneath your feet, gleaming like a mirror under the bright, strategically placed lights. The air is filled with a soft, steady hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional click of heels against the floor.

Familiar faces turn towards you, their polite smiles masking the flickers of curiosity and speculation that dance in their eyes. You can feel the weight of their gazes, each glance a blend of respect tinged with a subtle undercurrent of skepticism.

The whispers are almost tangible, a low murmur that follows you as you move further into the lobby, their eyes tracking your every step.

Your hand instinctively tightens around Satoru’s, seeking reassurance in his steady presence. Satoru’s grip is firm yet comforting, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand in a silent gesture of support.

He leads you further into the lobby, his posture exuding confidence and ease, as if he’s entirely unbothered by the attention.

Each of your footsteps against the polished floor brings a flood of memories to you. There’s a palpable sense of nostalgia, a bittersweet longing for the simplicity and familiarity of your old workspace.

But everything has changed, hasn’t it?

Now, you’re his wife—at least, that’s the role you must play.

The weight of that title hangs heavy on your shoulders, transforming the once-familiar surroundings into a stage where every glance, every whisper carries a different meaning.

And Satoru—he has changed too.

The carefree son of the CEO you once knew has evolved into a leader in his own right. The transformation is subtle yet profound, etched in the way he carries himself, the way he interacts with the staff, and the way he commands respect without demanding it.

You can see the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders, a mantle he has taken up with a quiet determination.

As you approach the elevators, Satoru’s hand slips from yours, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin as he reaches out to press the button.

The elevator doors slide open with a quiet, mechanical whisper, revealing the sleek, mirrored interior. You both step inside, the soft hum of the elevator filling the space with a steady, soothing rhythm.

Satoru glances at you, his eyes catching the soft light reflecting off the polished walls. There’s a small, reassuring smile on his lips, one that carries a hint of warmth and something deeper—perhaps a silent promise that everything will be alright.

“So,” he begins, his voice casual, though you can sense the underlying focus in his tone, “today we have a meeting regarding a potential corporate merger with Mei-Mei's company.”

“Mei-Mei… I remember her,” you say, your brow furrowing slightly as you search your memory. “Isn't she from that high-end tech company?”

Satoru nods and leans casually against the elevator wall, his posture relaxed but his mind clearly working.

“That’s right,” he confirms, his voice steady and assured. “She’s quite influential in her field, a key player in the tech industry. This merger could be a significant step for us, opening doors to new technologies and markets.”

As his words sink in, you feel a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. You swallow hard, trying to push down the unease that’s bubbling up inside you.

“Alright. What’s our approach for the meeting?”

Satoru’s eyes meet yours, his gaze steady and reassuring. There’s a quiet confidence in his expression, a belief in your abilities that helps to steady your nerves.

“We’ll present our strengths,” he explains. “We’ll show them what we can bring to the table, the value we offer. Your insights will be invaluable, so don’t hesitate to speak up. Just be yourself. That’s more than enough.”

You nod, drawing in a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves in your chest.

“Got it,” you reply, your voice more resolute now, bolstered by his confidence in you.

The elevator dings softly, and the doors glide open to reveal the executive floor, a space imbued with quiet power and understated elegance.

Satoru walks ahead, his stride confident and purposeful, and you follow closely, drawing strength from his unwavering presence.

As you enter the conference room, your eyes immediately land on Mei-Mei, already seated at the expansive table. She’s impeccably dressed, exuding an air of effortless elegance and control.

The moment she spots Satoru, her eyes light up with a warmth that feels just a bit too personal. A slow, sultry smile spreads across her lips as she rises gracefully from her chair.

“Satoru, darling,” she purrs, her voice smooth and honeyed as she glides toward him with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what she wants. “It’s been far too long.”

Seeing her in person brings a rush of memories, sharp and unbidden—the sound of her voice, the way she says his name...

Mei-Mei isn’t just any business associate— she’s the woman who was once poised to step into the very role you now occupy.

Satoru’s father had been persistent he consider her for marriage, a match that had been pushed on him relentlessly.

The realization sharpens your senses, and as Mei-Mei continues to hold Satoru’s gaze with practiced ease, you steel yourself, determined not to let old rivalries or lingering doubts shake your confidence.

Satoru smiles politely, his expression composed and unreadable as he extends a hand to her.

“Mei-Mei,” he greets her, his tone smooth and diplomatic. “Always a pleasure.”

Mei-Mei’s eyes flicker with satisfaction as she accepts his hand, her touch light and fleeting, like a whisper of silk.

Her gaze shifts to you as she releases his hand, a spark of curiosity mingling with something more calculated behind her eyes.

“And who might this be?” she inquires, her voice carrying a subtle edge, as if she’s already assessing your worth.

“This is my wife, y/n” Satoru says smoothly, his hand finding yours. “She’ll be joining us for the meeting.”

Mei-Mei’s smile curves at the edges, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which narrow slightly as she studies you more closely.

“Of course,” she says, her tone dripping with courtesy that feels just a shade too polished. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

She pauses, her gaze sharpening with a hint of challenge.

“I must say, I haven’t heard of you before. What family do you come from?”

A twinge of discomfort ripples through you, a reminder of the stark difference in backgrounds. You swallow slightly, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I... I don’t come from a well-known family,” you admit, the words feeling heavier than they should. “I’ve worked with Satoru at Gojo Corporation for the past year.”

Mei-Mei’s smile shifts, the corners of her lips lifting just a fraction, but there’s a condescending glint in her eyes now.

“Oh, I see,” she replies, her voice laced with a faint, dismissive amusement. “How quaint.”

You force a smile, though it feels tight on your lips, refusing to let her patronizing attitude get under your skin.

As you move to take your seat at the table, you watch as she leans in closer to Satoru, her fingers grazing his arm in a gesture that seems almost too casual, too familiar.

“I must say, Satoru,” Mei-Mei purrs, her voice smooth and saccharine, like honey with a hint of venom, “you’ve been doing an impressive job with the company. Your father would be proud.”

Satoru nods, keeping his tone professional.

“Thank you, Mei-Mei. We’ve made some significant strides, and I’m optimistic about the potential this merger holds for both of our companies.”

“Of course, Satoru. I’m sure we can work out something that benefits both parties. After all,” she adds, her gaze lingering on him with a knowing smile, “we’ve always made a great team, haven’t we?”

Determined to assert your own presence, you clear your throat softly and lean forward, your gaze steady and unyielding.

“I’m looking forward to seeing how our strengths can complement each other,” you interject smoothly. “There’s a lot we can achieve together.”

Mei-Mei’s eyes flicker to you. She offers a tight smile, the warmth in her expression barely masking the sharpness beneath.

“Indeed,” she concedes, her tone now laced with a hint of challenge. “Let’s make this a success, shall we?”

The meeting begins, and you do your best to focus on the discussion, but Mei-Mei’s constant flirtation with Satoru gnaws at your nerves like a persistent thorn.

You can feel the tension building within you, your hands clenched tightly in your lap as you force yourself to remain composed, every muscle in your body taut with restraint.

Mei-Mei finds every opportunity to brush her fingers against Satoru’s arm, her touch lingering just a second too long. Her laughter rings out, a bit too loud and a touch too sweet, echoing off the walls of the conference room.

Every compliment she directs at Satoru is overly effusive, dripping with a familiarity that sets your teeth on edge.

Satoru, to his credit, remains the picture of professionalism.

His responses are polite but distant, a carefully maintained detachment that you admire even as it does little to quell the irritation bubbling inside you. He’s skilled at sidestepping her advances with an almost practiced ease, deflecting her attempts to draw him into her web of flirtation.

But despite his composed demeanor, each of Mei-Mei’s calculated gestures feels like a test—a deliberate provocation meant to unsettle you, to remind you of the history that lingers between them.

The subtle, unspoken challenge in her eyes whenever she glances your way only fuels the fire simmering within you.

“So, Satoru,” Mei-Mei says, leaning closer to him, “about the merger terms, I believe we should consider revising the profit-sharing ratio. It would be beneficial for both parties.”

Her tone is persuasive, almost coaxing, as she tilts her head slightly, letting her hair fall in a way that draws attention to the graceful curve of her neck.

But before Satoru can respond, you lean forward, your voice calm yet firm, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Actually, if you look at the numbers, the current ratio is fair and balanced, ensuring both companies benefit equally from this partnership.”

For a split second, annoyance flashes in Mei-Mei’s eyes, a subtle tightening at the corners of her mouth betraying her irritation. But she quickly masks it with a polished smile, her expression smoothing over as if the moment of discord never happened.

“I see,” she replies, her voice still honeyed but with a slight edge. “Well, perhaps we can discuss this further in detail later.”

Satoru, ever the diplomat, nods in agreement, his tone steady and measured.

“We can certainly revisit that point,” he says, his gaze shifting between you and Mei-Mei, acknowledging both perspectives. “But for now, let’s proceed with the agenda.”

As the conversation continues, Mei-Mei’s relentless flirtations with Satoru are becoming more and more unbearable.

Each coy glance she throws Satoru’s way chips away at your composure, and you find it harder and harder to maintain the calm facade you’ve been desperately clinging to.

Just when you think you can’t endure it any longer, Satoru glances at his watch and suggests,

“Let’s take a short break. We’ll reconvene in fifteen minutes.”

The words are like a lifeline tossed to a drowning person.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” you mutter, barely managing to keep the tremor out of your voice as you slip out of the room.

The moment you’re out of sight, you quicken your pace, your footsteps echoing in the hallway as you make a beeline for the supply room. The small, confined space offers a momentary refuge from the oppressive atmosphere of the conference room.

As you close the door behind you, the faint scent of paper and office supplies envelops you, oddly comforting in its familiarity, like a reminder of simpler times.

You start to rummage through the supplies, your hands moving automatically as you try to distract yourself from the image of Mei-Mei’s hands brushing against Satoru’s arm, her laughter echoing in your ears.

The memory plays on a loop in your mind, fueling the frustration that bubbles just beneath the surface.

You grab a few items—a stack of sticky notes, a box of paperclips—and begin organizing them on the shelf, your movements precise, almost mechanical.

Moments later, the door creaks open, and you look up to see Satoru standing in the doorway, a nostalgic smile on his face.

“Doesn’t look like you’re taking much of a break.”

“I guess old habits die hard,” your voice clipped, betraying the frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

“Seeing you in here brings back memories,” he continues, stepping further into the room, his gaze sweeping over the shelves as if he, too, is remembering the countless times you’d both found yourselves in this very spot, buried in work and conversation.

The familiarity of it should be comforting, but today, it only amplifies the growing disarray you feel inside. You huff, shaking your head in exasperation.

“Since I’ve been gone, it’s obvious someone isn’t doing the supply order right,” you gesture sharply to the cluttered shelves. “Everything’s out of place.”

He chuckles softly, closing the distance between you with a few steps.

“You always were meticulous about these things. Guess no one can do it quite like you.”

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you turn back to the shelves.

“This whole day has been a mess,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him, the words escaping in a rush of pent-up emotion.

Each item you straighten feels like an attempt to impose order on something far more chaotic than these shelves—a futile effort to regain control in a situation that seems increasingly out of your grasp.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against a shelf, his posture relaxed but his eyes attentive.

“Really? I thought things were going well,” he remarks, a hint of confusion in his voice.

You turn to face him, your frustration bubbling over, no longer containable.

“Well, they’re not,” you snap, the sharpness in your voice surprising even yourself. “This merger? It’s a terrible idea. It’s obvious Mei-Mei is just trying to squeeze as much revenue out of this deal as possible, and you’re letting her.”

Satoru’s teasing expression falters, replaced by one of seriousness. He uncrosses his arms, his posture shifting as he takes a step closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that wasn’t there before.

“What makes you say that?”

You cross your arms defensively, glaring at him.

“The terms she’s proposing are ridiculous. She’s pushing for more than her company deserves.”

“Why didn’t you say something during the meeting?” he counters, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

You throw your hands up in exasperation, your emotions spilling over.

“How could I?” you quip, the words escaping in a rush. “Mei-Mei was too busy batting her eyelashes and finding any excuse to touch you. Every time I tried to speak, she’d cut me off or distract you with some flirtatious nonsense.”

Satoru’s eyebrow arches, and for a moment, a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Are you jealous?”

Your cheeks flush involuntarily, and you turn back to the shelves, grabbing a stack of papers and slamming them down with more force than necessary.

“Of course not,” you retort, your voice tinged with frustration. “It’s just... unprofessional.”

He doesn’t back down, the smirk still playing on his lips as he steps closer, closing the distance between you until he’s right in front of you.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous, you know that?” he murmurs, his tone playful, almost affectionate.

That’s the last straw.

Your patience, already worn thin, finally snaps.

“You know what? It's hard enough trying to fit into this world without someone like her treating me like I don’t belong!”

You shove the papers aside, the sound of them scattering across the table punctuating your words, and start to walk past him, needing to escape the confined space.

Satoru’s smirk vanishes as he realizes the depth of your frustration. He grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks, and pulls you back to him. His grip is firm but gentle, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice sincere. “I didn’t realize how much this was bothering you.”

You look up at him, your vision blurring slightly as tears threaten to spill over. The vulnerability you’ve been trying to hold back finally breaks through, and the words tumble out before you can stop them.

“It’s just... it’s not easy being here, Satoru,” you confess, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I feel out of place, like I don’t belong and I’m constantly being judged. It’s like everyone’s waiting for me to fail.”

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze softening as he studies your face, reading the depth of your distress.

“This isn’t just about Mei-Mei, is it?” he asks gently. “Does this have anything to do with that guy at the gala last night? The one that was overly familiar with you at the bar?”

You blink in surprise, taken aback by his perceptiveness.

“What? No, this is different,” you stammer, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation.

“Is it?” he presses gently, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your back of your hand. “Because I saw how he looked at you. And how uncomfortable you seemed.”

You shake your head, a mixture of frustration and exasperation bubbling to the surface.

“Naoya was just being his usual self, trying to provoke me,” you say dismissively.

“Naoya, huh?” Satoru’s voice hardens slightly, his expression darkening at the mention of the name. “He didn’t just try to provoke you. He was trying to undermine you in front of everyone. Who is that guy to you?”

The intensity in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat, and you can see that Satoru isn’t just curious—he’s genuinely concerned, and more than a little angry.

The protective edge in his voice tells you that he’s not going to let this go easily, and you realize that he’s picking up on more than you’d like to admit.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you weigh your words carefully.

“He’s... he’s Haru’s father,” you finally admit, the words leaving your lips in a hesitant whisper.

Satoru’s eyes widen in shock, the sudden revelation hitting him like a physical blow.

“What? Haru’s father? Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s a sharpness in his tone now, not out of anger, but out of the raw emotion of being blindsided by something so significant.

You drop your gaze, unable to meet his eyes, the weight of your past suddenly feeling like too much to bear.

“I didn’t want to burden you with my past,” you say quietly, your voice thick with regret.

For a moment, there’s silence, thick and heavy between you, and you can feel the tension radiating off him.

But then, gently, he lifts your chin with his fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch is tender, his expression softening as he looks into your eyes, searching for the truth in them.

“You’re not a burden,” he says firmly, his voice steady, leaving no room for doubt. “And Haru is part of your life. That means she’s part of mine now too.”

You hesitate, the weight of his words settling over you as you struggle to find the right response.

“Satoru, I... I just didn’t know how to bring it up,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly with the vulnerability of the confession. “I didn’t want to complicate things. It’s just… I feel like I’m constantly being tested, like I have to prove myself over and over again.”

The words spill out in a rush, the pent-up emotions you’ve been holding back finally breaking free.

He sighs softly, his expression softening as he reaches out, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he says, his voice gentle, but there’s an underlying seriousness in his tone. “But we can’t have any more secrets between us during this arrangement. If we’re going to make this work, we need to be honest with each other.”

The sincerity in his eyes, the warmth in his touch—it all combines to create a sense of safety, a reassurance that you’re not alone in this, even if this is just a charade, it’s the comfort you desperately need.

Tears well up in your eyes again, threatening to spill out as your emotions overwhelm you. You nod, swallowing hard to keep your voice steady.

“I understand,” you whisper, “no more secrets.”

Without a word, Satoru pulls you into a gentle embrace, his arms encircling you with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.

He holds you close, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm against your ear. “You do belong, y/n. And I’m not going to let anyone—Mei-Mei, Naoya, or anyone else—make you feel otherwise.”

As he speaks, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, and for a moment, you simply melt into his embrace, letting the warmth and security he provides wash over you.

Your heart races as his hand slowly moves up, fingers gently threading through your hair, his touch so tender it makes your breath hitch. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his breath warm against your ear, grounding you in this shared moment of vulnerability.

But then, you pull back slightly, looking up at him, and it’s only then that you truly realize how close you are.

Your faces are mere inches apart, and the intensity in his gaze is almost overwhelming, drawing your attention to the way his eyes flicker down to your lips.

Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as you feel the magnetic pull between you, the tension thick in the air.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

Your eyes flutter shut, anticipation building as his lips draw nearer.

But just before they brush against yours, a sliver of doubt crosses your mind—the reality of the situation, reminding you of where you are, and what you are to each other.

You pull back slightly, your voice barely a whisper.

“We should probably head back to the meeting.”

Though you say the words, your voice lacks conviction, betraying your true feelings.

Satoru’s eyes search yours for a moment longer, his forehead resting gently against yours as he takes a deep breath, the sound filled with a mix of reluctance and understanding.

He slowly pulls back, his hand lingering on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“Yeah, we should,” he agrees softly, though his tone carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

His hand slips from your cheek, the absence of his touch leaving you feeling a bit colder.

“Let’s get back to it.”

ꨄ︎

As you re-enter the conference room, Mei-Mei is already seated, her perfectly manicured nails tapping impatiently on the table.

She looks up as you and Satoru take your seats, a sly, knowing smile playing on her lips.

“Ah, there you are,” she says, her tone dripping with faux sweetness, the honeyed edge barely masking the underlying condescension. “Shall we continue?”

Satoru clears his throat, his expression carefully neutral as he regains his composure. There’s a subtle shift in his demeanor, a steely resolve that wasn’t there before.

“Right, let’s continue where we left off.”

Mei-Mei’s smile deepens, saccharine sweet and just as poisonous, as she resumes her position with an air of unshakable confidence.

She leans forward slightly, her fingers stilling as she clasps her hands together, a picture of poised professionalism.

“Of course,” she purrs. “Now, as I was saying, the merger terms we’re proposing are quite favorable, especially considering the current market conditions. I’m confident that with a little cooperation, we can reach a mutually beneficial agreement. Perhaps we can revisit the profit-sharing ratio?”

Her words are delivered with the precision of someone who’s used to getting her way, but you can feel the subtle shift in her gaze as it flickers toward you, her eyes cold and calculating.

You glance at Satoru, seeking the silent reassurance that only he can offer in this moment.

He meets your gaze and gives you a subtle nod, the unspoken signal you’ve been waiting for. Your heart pounds in your chest, the adrenaline surging as you realize that this is your moment.

It’s now or never.

Summoning every ounce of courage within you, you rise from your seat, your voice steady and clear as it cuts through the tension in the room.

“Actually, we’ve reconsidered,” you begin, each word carefully measured. “After reviewing the terms, we’ve decided that moving forward with this merger is not in the best interest of Gojo Corporation.”

Mei-Mei’s eyes widen in surprise, her carefully crafted facade slipping for just a fraction of a second. The shock in her expression is almost imperceptible, but you catch it, the brief crack in her confidence before she quickly regains her composure.

“Excuse me?” she demands, her voice sharp with incredulity. “Are you saying you’re rejecting our proposal?”

You meet her gaze unflinchingly, standing firm with a resolve that surprises even you.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” you reply, your voice steady and unyielding. “The terms you’re proposing are not equitable, and it’s clear that your company stands to gain disproportionately from this deal. We’re not interested in a partnership that doesn’t offer balanced benefits.”

Mei-Mei’s smile tightens, the corners of her lips pulling into a strained curve as she processes your words. Her composure is slipping, the veneer of control cracking as she realizes she’s losing her grip on the situation.

Desperation flickers in her eyes as she glances toward Satoru, clearly hoping to find an ally in him.

“Satoru,” her tone laced with forced sweetness, “surely we can discuss this further—”

“I trust my wife’s judgment completely,” Satoru leans back in his chair with a calm confidence, a proud smile playing on his lips as he watches you take control of the situation. “If she says the deal isn’t right for us, then we won’t proceed.”

The finality in his tone leaves no room for negotiation and the impact of his words is immediate.

Mei-Mei’s expression falters, the last traces of her confident facade slipping away as frustration and disbelief flicker in her eyes. She forces a tight smile, nodding curtly, her eyes hardening.

“I see. Well, it’s your loss. Our offer was quite generous.”

You hold her gaze, unflinching.

“We’ll find another opportunity that aligns better with our goals. Thank you for your time.”

Mei-Mei’s eyes narrow slightly, but she says nothing more. Instead, she gathers her things with an icy precision, each movement deliberate as she rises from her seat.

The tension in the room is palpable as she turns on her heel and strides toward the door, her demeanor frosty, the sting of defeat evident in her rigid posture. The door closes behind her with a soft click, the sound echoing in the suddenly quiet room.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the tension slowly melting away as a surge of relief and empowerment floods through you.

The adrenaline rush of standing your ground leaves you feeling both exhilarated and slightly shaky, but there’s also a newfound confidence simmering beneath the surface—a realization that you’re more than capable of handling whatever comes your way.

Satoru turns to you, his smile widening with pride as he meets your gaze.

“You handled that perfectly,” the warmth in his voice is like a reassuring embrace.

You return his smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over you.

“Thanks. I guess I just needed to find my voice.”

And find it you did.

ꨄ︎

As the sun begins to set, it casts a warm, golden glow through the expansive windows of the Gojo residence kitchen.

The light dances across the sleek, modern space, highlighting the clean lines of stainless-steel appliances and the smooth, cool surface of marble countertops.

You stand at the kitchen island, surrounded by a colorful array of ingredients—vibrant tomatoes, fragrant basil, and glistening cuts of meat, each carefully selected for the evening’s meal.

Satoru walks in, rolling up his sleeves with a playful grin lighting up his face.

“So, Chef,” he says with a teasing lilt in his voice, leaning casually against the counter as he takes in the scene before him. His blue eyes sparkle with excitement, “What’s on the menu tonight?”

You glance up from the cutting board, catching his gaze.

There’s a lightness in his demeanor, a boyish enthusiasm that makes you smile in return. The way he looks at you—like you’re the most interesting part of his day—sends a flutter of warmth through your chest.

“Nothing fancy. Just some homemade pasta and a simple salad. I hope that’s okay with you, Mr. Gourmet.”

“Sounds perfect,” he grins, moving to your side, ready to help. “What can I do?”

You hand him a cutting board and a knife, pointing to a colorful pile of vegetables waiting to be prepped.

“You can start by chopping these for the salad.”

He takes the knife, looking at it a bit awkwardly and glances at you with a sheepish grin.

“Alright, let’s see if I remember how to do this without losing a finger.”

You can’t help but watch with amusement as he makes a few tentative cuts, each slice uneven and clumsy. It’s clear he’s out of practice—or perhaps he never had much to begin with.

The sight of him, usually so confident, struggling with something so simple brings a smile to your face.

“Here, let me show you,” you say, moving to stand beside him.

Sliding closer, you place your hand over his on the knife handle, your touch gentle yet firm.

“You want to keep your fingers tucked in like this,” you instruct, demonstrating with your own hand, ensuring his fingers are safely out of the knife’s path. “And use a rocking motion with the knife, letting the blade do the work.”

You move his hand with yours, the rhythm of the knife creating a soothing pattern.

Satoru watches you intently, the proximity making your heart race. The warmth of his hand beneath yours sends a shiver up your spine.

As you continue to guide him, your hands move together in sync, and you can’t help but notice the way his focus shifts from the vegetables to you, his blue eyes flickering with something deeper than just concentration.

“Got it,” he murmurs softly.

You continue to guide his hand, feeling the rhythm of the chopping become smoother.

“Like this?”

“Exactly,” you reply, meeting his gaze, your heart fluttering at the intensity in his eyes. “See? It’s not so hard once you get the hang of it.”

He chuckles, and his eyes remain locked on yours, a playful spark mingling with the more serious undercurrent in his expression.

“Not hard at all, especially with such a good teacher.”

The moment lingers, the air between you charged with a newfound intimacy. Reluctantly, you step back, breaking the spell as you release your hold on the knife.

“I think you’ve got it from here.”

Satoru nods, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he returns to the vegetables with a newfound determination.

There is a new awareness in the way he handles the knife, as if he’s carrying forward the memory of your touch.

The two of you work in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the sizzle of garlic in the pan.

It feels oddly domestic, a far cry from the high-stakes world of corporate mergers and charity galas.

The simplicity of this moment, shared in the soft light of the kitchen, is a refreshing contrast to the complexities of your usual lives.

“You know, I never imagined I’d be doing something like this,” Satoru admits after a while, his voice breaking the silence. “But I’m glad I am.”

You glance over at him, catching the sincerity in his eyes, and you can’t help but smile.

“Cooking is kind of therapeutic for me, you know,” you say, your voice thoughtful as you turn your attention back to the task at hand. “It helps me clear my mind, and it’s something I can control, unlike so many other things in life.”

Satoru watches you for a moment, his expression softening as he absorbs your words. There’s a quiet admiration in his gaze, one that you can feel even without looking at him.

“You know, I gotta say, you’re really good at this.”

“Hm? Cooking?” you ask, glancing up at him with a curious tilt of your head.

“No,” his voice softens. “Balancing everything. Being a mother, dealing with me, and now standing up in that meeting. You’re incredible.”

His words catch you off guard, the sincerity in his tone wrapping around your heart like a warm embrace.

Your cheeks flush at the unexpected compliment, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the heat of the stove.

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words, the gravity of his praise settling in. You turn your attention back to the stove, stirring the sauce with a renewed focus, using the task to steady yourself.

“Thanks, Satoru,” you finally manage. “That means a lot.”

As you continue to cook, the tension of the day begins to melt away, replaced by a sense of calm that settles over you like a warm blanket.

The kitchen fills with the rich, mouthwatering aroma of simmering tomatoes, fresh basil, and garlic, the scents mingling together to create an atmosphere that feels both comforting and intimate.

Satoru moves beside you with surprising grace, each motion purposeful and smooth, belying his earlier claims of inexperience.

You find yourself stealing glances at him, admiring the way his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the toned muscles of his forearms as he works.

There’s a quiet concentration in his expression, a focus that draws you in, making it impossible not to notice the way he’s completely absorbed in the task at hand.

“Looks like you’re a natural.”

Your words earn you a grin, his usual playfulness shining through.

“Don’t jinx it,” he warns, making a particularly precise cut with the knife, his movements confident and sure.

You laugh, the sound light and carefree as you turn back to the sauce simmering on the stove.

“I think it’s time to taste this,” you say, stirring the rich, fragrant mixture with a wooden spoon. “Want to give it a try?”

Satoru nods, stepping closer, the space between you narrowing as he joins you at the stove.

You scoop a bit of the sauce onto a spoon, blowing on it gently to cool it down before lifting it to your lips for a taste. The rich, tangy flavors explode on your tongue, the perfect balance of sweetness and acidity.

“Mmm, I think it’s almost perfect,” you murmur, savoring the taste, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you let the flavors linger.

“Almost?” he asks, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of challenge.

You smile, opening your eyes to find his gaze fixed on you, the intensity in his blue eyes sending a shiver down your spine.

“Here, taste,” you say, holding the spoon up to his lips, your hand steady.

He leans in, his movements slow and deliberate, every inch closer making your heart beat a little faster. His eyes remain locked on yours with an unspoken intensity, and as his lips close around the spoon, you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his reaction.

There’s a brief pause as he savors the sauce, his expression thoughtful.

“Wow, that’s delicious,” his voice low and sincere.

Just as you’re about to smile in response, you feel a light touch on your lip. Before you can react, Satoru reaches out, his thumb gently swiping at the corner of your mouth where a bit of sauce had lingered.

The unexpected contact sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath catching in your throat.

Without breaking eye contact, he brings his thumb to his own lips, tasting the sauce with a playful smirk that leaves you momentarily speechless.

“Now that’s perfect.”

The simple gesture, so intimate and unassuming, leaves you flustered, warmth spreading through your cheeks.

The kitchen seemed to grow smaller and the air thicker.

You quickly turn your attention back to stirring the pasta, desperately trying to steady your racing heart and regain your composure as you move the spoon in slow, deliberate circles.

“You always know how to make things interesting,” you manage to say, your voice betraying the flutter of nerves that Satoru has stirred up.

He chuckles softly, a sound that vibrates through the small space between you, and you feel him step closer until his chest is nearly brushing against your back.

The warmth of his presence wraps around you, cocooning you in a sense of comfort and something more—something electric.

“I could say the same about you,” his breath warm against your ear.

You turn slightly, your breath catching as you realize just how close he is. His blue eyes, so focused and intense, lock onto yours, and the world seems to narrow to just the two of you.

Satoru leans in, his voice dropping to a soft murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You have a way of making everything more exciting, y/n.”

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry as your eyes flicker to his lips and then back to his eyes.

The pull between you is magnetic, undeniable, and you struggle to maintain your composure.

“Maybe it’s just because you’re so easily entertained,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to diffuse the intensity of the moment with a hint of playfulness.

He grins, the expression sending your heart into a wild flutter.

Slowly, his hand moves to rest on the counter beside you, effectively trapping you in place. The gesture is subtle yet commanding, his body language exuding a quiet confidence that leaves you feeling both exhilarated and breathless.

“Or maybe it’s because you’re just that captivating,” he counters, his voice a hushed rumble that sends another wave of warmth through you.

“Okaaay, Mr. Smooth Talker,” you manage to say, your voice tinged with nervous laughter as you attempt to regain some semblance of control. “How about you help me with the garlic bread?”

The suggestion is your lifeline, a way to shift the focus and calm your racing heart before you’re completely lost in the moment.

Satoru’s grin widens, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“Whatever you need, Chef,” he replies, his tone lightening as he pushes away from the counter and moves to the other side of the kitchen.

The distance between you offers a brief reprieve, allowing you to steady your breathing and refocus on the task at hand.

Get it together—this isn’t real.

ꨄ︎

The table is set with a simple elegance that mirrors the meal you’ve prepared—fresh pasta topped with a rich, fragrant tomato sauce, golden garlic bread still warm from the oven, and a crisp, colorful salad that adds a splash of vibrancy to the setting.

Haru, already seated with her eyes wide in anticipation, swings her little legs under the table, her excitement palpable.

“Mama, pasta!” she exclaims, her voice filled with childlike wonder.

Her gaze flickers from the steaming plates to the basket of garlic bread, her small hands already reaching for a slice as if she can hardly wait another moment.

Satoru chuckles as he takes his seat beside her, his smile widening at the sight of her enthusiasm.

“Patience, Haru,” he teases, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Let’s wait for your mama to sit down.”

You join them at the table, a soft smile playing on your lips as you take in the scene.

Carefully, you begin to serve the plates, starting with Haru. You scoop a generous portion of pasta onto her plate, the rich tomato sauce clinging perfectly to the tender strands.

“There you go, sweetie,” you say with a smile, placing the plate in front of her. “But remember, eat slowly, okay? We have all the time in the world.”

Haru nods eagerly, though you can tell she’s barely restraining herself. Her little fingers curl around her fork, her eyes never leaving the plate as she prepares to dive in.

Next, you turn to Satoru, serving him a plate with equal care.

The pasta glistens under the soft light, the aroma of garlic and herbs wafting up as you set it before him.

As you place the plate down, his eyes meet yours, and in that brief moment, there’s a silent exchange—one of gratitude, warmth, and something deeper, something unspoken but understood.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You nod in response, your heart warming at the connection between you, simple yet profound.

Meanwhile, Haru’s eyes widen even further as she finally takes her first bite.

The flavors burst in her mouth, her little face lighting up with pure delight. She chews enthusiastically, her expression one of sheer happiness, and you can’t help but smile at her reaction.

“Yummy!” she declares, her mouth full as she grins up at you.

Her words are filled with such genuine enthusiasm and innocence that it makes your heart swell with pride.

Satoru watches Haru with a fond smile before he too takes a bite of the meal you’ve lovingly prepared.

His expression shifts almost immediately to one of pleasant surprise, his eyes widening slightly as the flavors settle on his palate. He chews thoughtfully, savoring the blend of fresh ingredients and the care that went into the preparation.

“She’s right. This is amazing, you really outdid yourself.”

A smile spreads across your face, a warmth blooming in your chest at their praise.

It’s a simple meal, nothing extravagant, but the way they’re enjoying it makes it feel like the most special dinner in the world.

“I’m glad you both like it. It’s nice to be able to cook for you.”

As you begin to eat, the room fills with the sounds of contentment—Haru’s happy chatter as she dives into her meal, Satoru’s occasional hum of approval as he tastes each dish, and the gentle clinking of cutlery against plates.

The meal continues and the three of you fall into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing naturally.

Haru tells stories about her day, her voice animated as she shares every little detail. Satoru listens attentively, his focus on her unwavering, his smile growing with each of her excited exclamations.

At one point, Haru insists on feeding Satoru a bite of her pasta, her giggles bubbling up like a stream as she carefully maneuvers the fork towards his mouth.

Satoru, ever the playful one, exaggerates the motion, opening his mouth wide and making a show of how delicious the bite is. He rolls his eyes in mock ecstasy, his exaggerated reaction sending Haru into a fit of laughter that rings out like the purest music.

The way Satoru looks at Haru, with such genuine affection and warmth, causes a tightness in your chest—a beautiful, almost overwhelming sensation that swells within you.

His eyes are soft, his smile unguarded, and in that moment, you can see just how much he cherishes these little interactions with her.

It’s a sight that tugs at your heartstrings, making you realize just how deeply he’s become entwined in both your lives.

Taking in this moment, you feel a deep sense of contentment, a quiet happiness that fills your heart to the brim.

This scene, so ordinary yet so special, feels like a moment you want to hold onto forever.

It is a culmination of everything you’ve been striving for—a sense of belonging, of family, of home.

Ah, but this isn’t real—just a charade.

Just as this warmth settles in your heart, a pang of bittersweetness follows.

Yet, despite knowing the truth, you can’t help but wish, just for a moment, that it could be.

Haru, now tired from all the excitement, leans against Satoru, her small head resting on his arm. Her eyelids grow heavy, her earlier energy now spent, and she begins to drift off, her breaths becoming slow and rhythmic.

Satoru glances at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch.

“You know,” he begins, his voice low and sincere, “I could get used to this. We should cook more often. Sharing meals like this... it’s nice.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a second, the line between reality and pretense blurs. You nod, but your mind races.

This is just a charade… right?

Yet, as you look into Satoru’s eyes, the warmth there makes you question everything. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a part of him that feels the same way you do—a longing for this to be more than just an act.

ꨄ︎

The late afternoon sunlight filters through the curtains of the Gojo mansion, casting a warm golden grown across the living room.

You sit on the couch as Haru plays on the floor, completely absorbed in her toys, her little hands guiding her dolls through an imagined world of adventure and make-believe.

Her soft giggles and murmured conversations with her toys bring a smile to your face, filling the room with a sense of peace and contentment.

Satoru had business to attend to, and before leaving, he made sure you had the rest of the day to spend with Haru.

It’s a rare and treasured opportunity, these quiet hours spent together, free from the demands of the outside world.

As you watch Haru, you feel a deep sense of gratitude for this time—this simple, unhurried togetherness that feels so rare in your often chaotic lives.

But then, the doorbell rings, cutting through the tranquility like a sharp knife.

You glance toward the door, your heart giving a slight, uneasy flutter.

Pushing aside the apprehension creeping into your chest, you rise from the couch, taking a steadying breath as you approach the door.

When you open it, you’re met with the sight of a stern-looking man in a crisp suit, his expression as unyielding as his posture.

There’s something about his demeanor that instantly puts you on edge. He’s holding an envelope in one hand, his grip firm, almost as if the paper holds some kind of weight beyond its physical presence.

“Mrs. Gojo?” he asks, his voice flat, businesslike.

The formal tone sends a shiver down your spine, and you nod cautiously, a sense of dread unfurling in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes, that’s me,” you reply, your voice a little more tentative than you’d like.

Without another word, he thrusts the envelope into your hands, his gaze unwavering as he says,

“You’ve been served.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and ominous. Your fingers tighten around the envelope as confusion and alarm spike within you.

“Served? For what?” you ask, your voice betraying the anxiety that’s quickly rising.

The man’s expression remains unchanged, impassive.

“Custody of Haru. Mr. Naoya Zenin is filing for full custody,” he states matter-of-factly, as if it’s just another routine task for him, another case on a long list.

The shock of his words hits you like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat.

For a moment, you stand there frozen, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in as he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you standing in the doorway, the envelope clutched tightly in your hand.

This can’t be happening.

With trembling hands, you tear open the envelope, your eyes darting across the densely packed lines of legal jargon. Each word seems to blur into the next as your heart pounds furiously in your chest.

This is happening.

A cold wave of dread washes over you, settling deep in your bones as the reality of the situation begins to take hold.

Just a few feet away, Haru is still playing in the living room, her laughter and cheerful babble a stark contrast to the turmoil that’s unraveling in your mind.

She’s completely oblivious to the storm that’s brewing, her innocence a painful reminder of what’s at stake.

As you stand there, frozen in place, your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your daze.

You glance down at the screen, your stomach knotting as you see Naoya’s name flash across it. With a sense of dread, you unlock the phone and read the message.

Naoya Zenin: There, hopefully I finally have your attention. I suggest giving me a call if you want to avoid this all.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, a toxic mix of fear and anger bubbling up inside you.

Your hands shake uncontrollably as you stare at the message, the smugness practically oozing from each word.

You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume you.

With shaky fingers, you dial Naoya’s number. Each ring feels like an eternity, and when he finally answers, his voice is dripping with satisfaction.

��Y/n, I was wondering when you’d call,” he purrs, his tone as smooth as ever, but laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of smugness.

“What the hell is this, Naoya?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and fear. “You’re filing for full custody of Haru?”

There’s a pause, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice when he finally responds. He chuckles softly, the sound sending chills down your spine.

“I see you got my notice. Good. It’s time we discussed Haru’s future.”

The casual tone in his voice, as if this is just another business deal, ignites a fire within you. But before you can respond, he continues, his voice turning colder.

“I’m sending you an address. Meet me here tomorrow. Oh, and y/n.” his voice drops, becoming even more sinister, “I strongly suggest you don’t involve Satoru—unless you want this to become a nasty custody battle.”

His words hang in the air, a thinly veiled threat that tightens around your chest like a vice.

You stand there, phone in hand, the weight of his ultimatum pressing down on you.

The line goes dead.

strap in guys we are approaching some angst 🥺 oh if only reader knew how down bad satoru is for her 🥲 i actually really struggled with how i wanted this chapter to be structured, there are a lot of scenes i ended up writing that i opted to move to a later chapter because i just felt it was too rushed. the slow burn of this relationship is really important to me, so ultimately, i think it was for the best. would love to hear your thoughts! thanks for reading my fic 🫶🏻 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

taglist :

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer

@stevenknightmarc @maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@alwaysfreakingout @valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @evalynanne @tbzzluvr

@k1ttybean @yu22tas @sanriosatoru @ophelias-flowerss @spookysoowpprince

@luciledreamz @fortunatelyfurrygiver @meowforluv @arishaxml @zetianzz

@itzmeme @whodissbitj @kenmacantakemeaway @satoryaa

@kidd3ath @princessnai @zukowantshishonourback @afro-hispwriter @simbaaas-stuff

@Dilfmasky @veras-fanfic-reblogs @3zae-zae3 @Sugxryratz @inluvkai

@satowooo @ofcqdesi @sad-darksoul @dreamlessnight @mumblepingu

@mshitachin @fandomtrash5092

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hurtcember · 19 days ago

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Above is the official Hurtcember 2024 prompts list.

Below are alternative prompts in case one doesn't want to do a few of the prompts (but still do the whole challenge) or for those who just want to write/draw more.

Both lists are typed out at the bottom of this post.

RULES 1. You can write/draw for any fandom or pairing 2. You can write/draw SFW or NSFW content, just label it accordingly 3. Please tag any Tumblr posts sharing your prompt fills with #hurtcember2024 so that we can find and repost them 4. If you post your works to AO3, please add them to this collection and add "Hurtcember" and/or "Hurtcember 2024" to the additional tags of your prompt fill(s) 5. The challenge officially starts on December 1st but feel free to write/draw before then and/or submit things after the month ends officially, whatever works best for you 6. Be kind to other participants 7. You DO NOT have to do every single prompt if you don't want to. The point is to have fun and spark creativity, not to feel like you're doing a chore

Prompts List (Text Copy) 1. Collapse 2. Breakdown 3. Blood 4. Scars 5. Faint 6. Touch-Starved 7. Abandoned 8. Cuddle 9. Exhaustion 10. Touch Aversion 11. Caretaking 12. Cry 13. Nightmare 14. Near Death 15. Trauma 16. Bruise 17. Concussion 18. Fatigue 19. Desperate 20. Panic 21. Afraid 22. Self-Harm 23. Bed-bound 24. Dissociate 25. Accident 26. Guilt 27. Pain 28. Captive 29. Dehydration 30. Dizzy 31. Hyperventilation

Alt Prompts List (Text Copy) 1. "Don't leave" 2. "Help me" 3. "Leave me alone" 4. "It's my fault" 5. "Take my hand"

#hurtcember #hurtcember2024 #fanfic #fanart #fanfic prompt #fanart prompt #prompt list #writing prompt #whump prompt #fic prompt #writing prompts #art prompts #story prompts #fandom #fandom culture #hurt/comfort #tropes #whump #comfort

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5ummit · 11 months ago

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AO3 Ship Stats: Year In Bad Data

You may have seen this AO3 Year In Review.

It hasn’t crossed my tumblr dash but it sure is circulating on twitter with 3.5M views, 10K likes, 17K retweets and counting. Normally this would be great! I love data and charts and comparisons!

Except this data is GARBAGE and belongs in the TRASH.

I first noticed something fishy when I realized that Steve/Bucky – the 5th largest ship on AO3 by total fic count – wasn’t on this Top 100 list anywhere. I know Marvel’s popularity has fallen in recent years, but not that much. Especially considering some of the other ships that made it on the list. You mean to tell me a femslash HP ship (Mary MacDonald/Lily Potter) in which one half of the pairing was so minor I had to look up her name because she was only mentioned once in a single flashback scene beat fandom juggernaut Stucky? I call bullshit.

Now obviously jumping to conclusions based on gut instinct alone is horrible practice... but it is a good place to start. So let’s look at the actual numbers and discover why this entire dataset sits on a throne of lies.

Here are the results of filtering the Steve/Bucky tag for all works created between Jan 1, 2023 and Dec 31, 2023:

Not only would that place Steve/Bucky at #23 on this list, if the other counts are correct (hint: they're not), it’s also well above the 1520-new-work cutoff of the #100 spot. So how the fuck is it not on the list? Let’s check out the author’s FAQ to see if there’s some important factor we’re missing.

The first thing you’ll probably notice in the FAQ is that the data is being scraped from publicly available works. That means anything privated and only accessible to logged-in users isn’t counted. This is Sin #1. Already the data is inaccurate because we’re not actually counting all of the published fics, but the bots needed to do data collection on this scale can't easily scrape privated fics so I kinda get it. We’ll roll with this for now and see if it at least makes the numbers make more sense:

Nope. Logging out only reduced the total by a couple hundred. Even if one were to choose the most restrictive possible definition of "new works" and filter out all crossovers and incomplete fics, Steve/Bucky would still have a yearly total of 2,305. Yet the list claims their total is somewhere below 1,500? What the fuck is going on here?

Let’s look at another ship for comparison. This time one that’s very recent and popular enough to make it on the list so we have an actual reference value for comparison: Nick/Charlie (Heartstopper). According to the list, this ship sits at #34 this year with a total of 2630 new works. But what’s AO3 say?

Off by a hundred or so but the values are much closer at least!

If we dig further into the FAQ though we discover Sin #2 (and the most egregious): the counting method. The yearly fic counts are NOT determined by filtering for a certain time period, they’re determined by simply taking a snapshot of the total number of fics in a ship tag at the end of the year and subtracting the previous end-of-year total. For example, if you check a ship tag on Jan 1, 2023 and it has 10,000 fics and check it again on Jan 1, 2024 and it now has 12,000 fics, the difference (2,000) would be the number of "new works" on this chart.

At first glance this subtraction method might seem like a perfectly valid way to count fics, and it’s certainly the easiest way, but it can and did have major consequences to the point of making the entire dataset functionally meaningless. Why? If any older works are deleted or privated, every single one of those will be subtracted from the current year fic count. And to make the problem even worse, beginning at the end of last year there was a big scare about AI scraping fics from AO3, which caused hundreds, if not thousands, of users to lock down their fics or delete them.

The magnitude of this fuck up may not be immediately obvious so let’s look at an example to see how this works in practice.

Say we have two ships. Ship A is more than a decade old with a large fanbase. Ship B is only a couple years old but gaining traction. On Jan 1, 2023, Ship A had a catalog of 50,000 fics and ship B had 5,000. Both ships have 3,000 new works published in 2023. However, 4% of the older works in each fandom were either privated or deleted during that same time (this percentage is was just chosen to make the math easy but it’s close to reality).

Ship A: 50,000 x 4% = 2,000 removed works Ship B: 5,000 x 4% = 200 removed works

Ship A: 3,000 - 2,000 = 1,000 "new" works Ship B: 3,000 - 200 = 2,800 "new" works

This gives Ship A a net gain of 1,000 and Ship B a net gain of 2,800 despite both fandoms producing the exact same number of new works that year. And neither one of these reported counts are the actual new works count (3,000). THIS explains the drastic difference in ranking between a ship like Steve/Bucky and Nick/Charlie.

How is this a useful measure of anything? You can't draw any conclusions about the current size and popularity of a fandom based on this data.

With this system, not only is the reported "new works" count incorrect, the older, larger fandom will always be punished and it’s count disproportionately reduced simply for the sin of being an older, larger fandom. This example doesn’t even take into account that people are going to be way more likely to delete an old fic they're no longer proud of in a fandom they no longer care about than a fic that was just written, so the deletion percentage for the older fandom should theoretically be even larger in comparison.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the author of this "study" KNEW the data was tainted and chose to present it as meaningful anyway. You will only find this if you click through to the FAQ and read about the author’s methodology, something 99.99% of people will NOT do (and even those who do may not understand the true significance of this problem):

The author may try to argue their post states that the tags "which had the greatest gain in total public fanworks” are shown on the chart, which makes it not a lie, but a error on the viewer’s part in not interpreting their data correctly. This is bullshit. Their chart CLEARLY titles the fic count column “New Works” which it explicitly is NOT, by their own admission! It should be titled “Net Gain in Works” or something similar.

Even if it were correctly titled though, the general public would not understand the difference, would interpret the numbers as new works anyway (because net gain is functionally meaningless as we've just discovered), and would base conclusions on their incorrect assumptions. There’s no getting around that… other than doing the counts correctly in the first place. This would be a much larger task but I strongly believe you shouldn’t take on a project like this if you can’t do it right.

To sum up, just because someone put a lot of work into gathering data and making a nice color-coded chart, doesn’t mean the data is GOOD or VALUABLE.

#ao3 #ao3 stats #psa #my words #fandom #I doubt anyone is even going to read this but I needed to get it out of my system and at least try to stop this from spreading #if you know me #you know I get Big Mad about misinformation #don't take anything at face value #do your own research

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blusandbirds · 1 year ago

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the batkids will deliberately get jason into their favorite pieces of media so he’ll write fanfiction for it.

dick discovered this strategy when he forced jason to watch one of his favorite shows with him. he’d totally forgotten that the show ended on a cliffhanger before it was cancelled, but rewatching it brought back that feeling of dissatisfaction he had the first time around. so dick opens up the ao3 tag for the show and to his surprise, there’s a brand new fic addressing every single loose end, complete with beautiful prose and amazing characterization. dick practically weeps. it’s only when he realizes some of the things in the fic match up with the rants jason had during their watch of the show that he has barbara confirm his suspicions about who the author is.

somehow everybody but jason gets wind of this and they’re taking unashamed advantage of it. the next time they see a movie together, stephanie leans over to jason to whisper about the romantic potential between two characters. she gets like three fics for her ship out of that. when jason goes outside, barbara switches electronic billboards and redirects taxis with ads for her favorite show. and of course, every targeted ad on his phone and computer are for the same show. when he finally gives in and watches it, barbara ends up with plenty of content to get her through the between seasons break.

everybody in jason’s family is subscribed to the ao3 account that he doesn’t know they know he has. one day, they’re all chilling in the library, and at the same time jason publishes his latest fic (for a movie bruce of all people was very insistent he watch), everybody’s email notifications go off. he narrows his eyes suspiciously. “just some wayne enterprises stuff.” “got a package delivered.” “what’s an email?”

it’s fine. he’ll let them get away with it. besides, he does the same thing to damian to get fanart out of him.

#blu talks #dc comics #batfam #batfamily #batman #jason todd #dick grayson #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #i was like haha another jason writes fanfiction thought and now im like ready to write a full blown fic #blu is dcposting

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megwritesriddles · 1 month ago

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Secret's Safe ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 15 - Blackmail. Reader discovers Riddle's true blood status and divulges this information to him. Riddle assumes she must be here to blackmail him and immediately attempts to seduce her, but things aren't all that simple for him actually going through with it.

Tags: Blackmail, Mildly dubious consent (barely), P in V sex, Biting, Virgin!Tom (implied), Pureblood politics, Sexism, Implied/Referenced death, murder and violence, Unspoken feelings, Feelings realisation, Oddly quite fluffy, Tom is forced to be vulnerable emotionally.

Word count: 5.5k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Lets not discuss how long this is or how late it is, thank you!! This ended up way different than I imagined going in, Tom is a bad guy in this like he's committed murders... but he's also inexperienced and realises he loves you so... This is nowhere near as dark as I thought it would be, the blackmail is barely blackmail!! Hope you like it mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Well, this was certainly interesting. You’d never expected this, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. The surname Riddle had never sounded familiar to you, and growing up, at all the Pureblood parties, no one had ever met Tom or any supposed family members. After the first year, he had started attending, but never with any family in tow, usually as a guest of Abraxas or somebody else. Why you hadn’t questioned it before you had no idea, you felt rather foolish now. Hindsight was always 20/20. Of course, there were those few pureblood families, like the Weasleys, who didn’t bother about those sorts of events, but Riddle had never given the impression that he came from such a family, always implying very powerful origins. In a way, he wasn’t wrong, with one discovery came another, that he was the heir of Slytherin. This was peripherally problematic to you, but you couldn’t put your finger on why it bothered you so much. Some distant memory writhing in the back of your mind, not making itself known. But the most glaring discovery for you had been Riddle’s muggle father. You were sure nobody knew about this, or else he certainly wouldn’t be in the circles he was in.

The way you had discovered it had been rather unlikely, something Riddle surely wouldn’t have been counting on. You and Walburga were partnered on a project for Advanced Charms, it being the final year of Hogwarts, standards for what you came up with were high. After weeks of deliberation and workshopping, you’d settled on a book which could tell you family histories. Initially, the book’s function was for you to write in a plant name, and to see which other plant species it was closely related to and other pieces of information. Certainly interesting, but a little too Herbology for either of your liking, spitting out information neither of you could quite understand. After presenting the book to Professor Beery for a hefty extra credit and house point sum, you went back to workshopping. You’d figured out one evening how to get it to trace family histories, and this was the perfect idea, as all the information that came out was easy to understand, but could also be deeply valuable. You’d spent all evening fine-tuning it with Walburga. She was intimately familiar with her family history, so you used her as a control, making sure the facts remained accurate as you messed with the magic. It was finally done, and you would be presenting it next week. You’d taken the book back to your dorm and messed around with it before bed, taking great amusement in some of the ancient wizard’s names. Naming conventions had been so odd at some points. You traced practically every single one of your friends' histories, before landing on Riddle’s.

Riddle wasn’t really a friend, as such. You sort of ran in the same circles and you were courteous to one another, but you weren’t close and at times you found him a little irksome. Perhaps it was this mythos that surrounded him, the idea that he had slept with three-quarters of the girls at Hogwarts who were of age. The idea that he could have you undone with one touch and that he did so often. Part of you was almost bitter he hadn’t propositioned you, given how much he allegedly got around, but you always felt he was intimidated by your intelligence. All the other girls, sure they were driven and intelligent, but they seemed to dumb themselves down around him, make themselves smaller. It was probably not even a conscious thing, many of the pureblood girls had been taught growing up never to threaten a man’s ego in any way. You’d always thought this was nonsense, that if you were more intelligent than a man that he ought to know it and needn’t be coddled, but for most of the girls, it just came naturally from a lifetime of training. You never bothered to shrink yourself around Riddle, to giggle and write off your high marks as a fluke if he came asking, you would simply say you did well because you were intelligent, and you guessed he didn’t like this because he avoided you for the most part. Whenever he did speak to you, it was usually to compare grades, or, in a group setting. He always seemed to know just a little too much about what was going on with you, what grades you’d gotten, what teachers you were meeting with. You chalked it up to him being Head Boy, but no one else received quite this much attention.

You wrote down his name into the book anyway, figuring the surname ‘Riddle’ begat some entertaining first names. What immediately greeted you as the information materialised on the page had been a bit of a shock. His father, whose name was otherwise completely unfamiliar to you, did not have any parents listed, or further back. You sat in confusion for a moment trying to figure out why that could be, but came to no conclusions. You pushed the thought away and studied his mother’s heritage. Merope Gaunt. Gaunt, finally a name you recognised, but not a woman you could ever attest to having met at any pureblood events. You realise she’s listed as dead, that would perhaps explain a thing or two. You feel a hint of sympathy creeping over you at the realisation that both his parents are listed as dead, his father only rather recently. You wondered why he hadn’t mentioned to anyone that his father had died over the previous summer. You trace his ancestry back all the way to Salazar Slytherin, momentarily impressed, before the realisation of why his father has no listed relatives hits you. The book was made only to track wizarding blood. His father was a muggle.

The realisation was immediately brushed off. No, there was some other explanation, Riddle was one of the most pompous purebloods you knew, even by your standards, the idea of his father being a muggle was preposterous. You went back over the enchantments on the book, trying to figure out what other reason there might be for his father’s heritage to be blank, but come up empty-handed. He had to be a muggle.

You keep the information to yourself for the next few days, turning it over in your mind. A muggle, it was very hard to believe, especially with how Riddle acted. He probably noticed your staring, but you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it, seeing him in an entirely new light. Tom Riddle, the orphan, the half-blood. It was confusing, to say the least. Your staring problem must have been worse than you thought because one day he sweeps you aside in the Slytherin common room and smiles charmingly.

“Is there an issue?” he prompts politely, eyes drinking in your face. “Only you keep staring,” you blink at him. You’re almost tempted to tell him ‘I know who you are,’ but you keep it inside for now.

“Shouldn’t you be used to that?” you smile. He chuckles slightly.

“I don’t get the feeling you’re merely admiring me,” his eyes study yours for a moment and then he takes hold of your arm, leaning a little closer. “Tell me what it really is,” his voice is low and smooth as velvet, and for a moment you understand his mythos a little better. You glance around the busy common room.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t like me to say it here,” you try to subtly warn him, but he clearly understands this to mean something suggestive, his brow raising.

“I see,”

“If you really must know, then we must go somewhere private,” you insist, knowing how much this could blow up in his face if word spread around the common room. You’re not even sure why you’re shielding him from it, perhaps the revelation of his mother dying in childbirth makes you more gracious toward him. You’re surprised how much he hesitates, given how he’s interpreted the situation. If he’s supposedly slept with most of the girls in the year group, why would it be you who gives him pause? You know you’re not ugly enough for him to be this apprehensive, does he really feel so threatened by you? It all seems odd. Finally, he leads you away, toward his dorm room, private quarters for the Head Boy. You realise how this must all look, to him and to onlookers, but you’re sure he’s in for quite the disappointment when he discovers what this is really about. He gestures for you to sit at his desk and he sits on the edge of his bed. The distance he puts between you intrigues you, what is this about?

“Well?” he urges, swallowing a little. Why is he so anxious? Does he know somehow already? You’ve never seen him like this before.

“This really isn’t what you think it is,” you begin. His brows furrow. “I uh… know about your father,” Riddle goes unbelievably tense and red in the face, his breaths becoming laboured. You watch him, curious. He glares at you scruntinisngly. There are several things you might be referring to, all of them bad, he doesn’t know from your expression which it is.

“What?” he croaks, his usual composure hanging on by a thread, you’re worried he’s about to lash out and start smashing up the room and you with it. His body is taut like a bowstring.

“That he’s a muggle,” you respond. You can’t understand why he relaxes slightly at this, but he does, though he still looks tense and mortified. He puffs out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He’s not arguing, so you know it must be true. “And that he’s dead,” you add. He tenses all over again, his eyes flicking back to you. “Sorry for your loss,” he relaxes once more.

“Right yes… that was… terrible when he… died,” he puffs out, unsure how to interpret this situation. You don’t look angry or scared, so you must be missing a few puzzle pieces here. He should have expected that someone would discover this one day, his surname wasn’t a part of the sacred 28. He hadn’t known about that in the first year, and once he’d already introduced himself as pureblood, he could hardly backtrack or change his name, so he just prayed his confidence would keep him getting by, and surprisingly it had, until now. It wasn’t a surprise it was you who found out, you were always irritatingly observant, it was honestly more of a surprise it had taken this long. He stares at you for a moment and you stare back. “What do you want?” he asks, figuring you’ve come to gloat in his face and demand he do your homework for the rest of the year or something. He would do it, he really couldn’t afford this getting out, especially not to his Knights. The fact you hadn’t already told everyone indicated an intention to blackmail him, you could have easily spread the word already, but you were smarter than that, he knew you were.

“What do I want?” you tilt your head quizically.

“I assume you’re here to blackmail me, so just tell me already,” he sighs, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was furious with himself that he hadn’t prepared in any way for this eventuality. What would he have done if you’d spread the word without coming to him first? His whole plan, everything he’d been working for would have crumbled in minutes. He would have probably killed you, although the thought gives him pause now, it wouldn’t have really fixed things anyway.

Blackmail hadn’t actually crossed your mind, but you supposed you were in the perfect position to do so. As you watched him, discomposed for seemingly the first time in his life, you realised just how much he needed this information to remain secret with you. You could ask him for anything and he would probably do it. At your silence, Riddle lets out a frustrated howl and collapses back onto his bed, clearly thinking you’re playing some game with him. He runs his hands through his hair, staring up at the canopy above his bed. His hair is messed up, you realise you’ve never seen it like this, free of its immaculate style. The look suits him. His arms thud onto the bed at his sides and he groans again. You stand and come to kneel beside him on the bed without much thought. He looks up at you through his lashes, half angry, half intensely vulnerable. It's odd to be looking down at him like this, but it’s also a little exhilarating.

“Just tell me what you want, I’ll give it to you,” he pleads, staring up at you. “Come on, darling,” he tries his best to be his charming self even in this state, reaching for your hand. “I’ll do anything,” His cold hand on yours stirs something odd in you, he brings the back of your hand to his mouth and kisses it, his eyes locked on yours. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but it’s working, he watches as you blush. He kisses slowly up your arm, eyes locked on yours the whole while. As his lips brush the ticklish skin of the inside of your elbow, you finally withdraw your arm. He frowns, thinking he’d figured you out.

“Why have you never propositioned me?” you ask, your voice a little too serious for how insecure the question sounds leaving your lips. His brows furrow and he moves to sit up in front of you.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve supposedly slept with nearly the entire legal female population of Hogwarts and you’ve never propositioned me?” you hate how insecure you sound, but it’s something that you realise has been bothering you for a long time, as stupid as it is. He stares at you.

“You’re supposed to be smart,” he scoffs, and then changes his approach, figuring offending you is a terrible idea at the moment. “Have you ever actually spoken to any girl who has a story about sleeping with me, or is it all hearsay?” his words make you comb back through all the wild stories you’ve heard. He’s right, none of them have ever come directly from someone, all having started with something to the effect of ‘my friend heard…’. You study his face for a moment and he raises a prompting brow.

“No, I suppose you’re right,” you admit, chewing your lip. There are so many things that you should have been paying more attention to, this was another plainly obvious fact with hindsight. “So… what’s the truth?” he looks away from you, hesitating. “Oh come on, as if I don’t know worse things about you by now,” you tease. He glares for a moment but concedes that you’re right about that.

“None of it is true, no girl at this school is… good enough for me, I suppose,” he mumbles, sticking his chin up.

“Good enough for you?” you hum.

“I can’t give myself away to just anyone… it’s…” he hesitates, knowing he sounds completely pathetic despite his attempts to reframe this.

“You’re waiting for the right person?” you chuckle. “How uncharacteristic of you,” he huffs.

“Oh shut up, will you? It’s just… I don’t trust… very easily… and people underestimate how much trust is involved in an act like sex… you are completely vulnerable, physically and emotionally,” he crosses his arms defensively as he explains himself. “You could hardly defend yourself if the other person were to attack you during it,” you tilt your head at him. “It leaves you weak, in every sense of the word, so I have seen no need to participate,”

“That must have been a big disappointment to many witches,” you tease. He rolls his eyes.

“I can usually charm my way out of any issues, and the gossip around my ‘conquests’ has persisted, so it can’t have caused that much strife,” he finishes. You hum, supposing he’s right. “None of the girls are intelligent enough for me here,” he asserts. You scoff.

“Awfully sexist of you,”

“Hardly,” he snaps back. “None of the boys are suitable either, but I don’t consider them because I’m not… that way inclined,”

“Anyway, I didn’t think you liked intelligence in a woman,” you add.

“Why would I not? I love intelligence, I require intelligence, I would never fraternise with somebody lacking intellect, I would be far too bored,” he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“But you don’t seem to like when I assert my intelligence,” you shrug.

“You’re different,”

“Why?” you laugh in disbelief. “I’m too intelligent that it threatens you?”

“No!” he hisses. “For one, you use your brains for the most infuriating of things, such as looking into my family history,” you’re tempted to interrupt him and tell him that the discovery had been an accident but you stay quiet.

“And for two?” you press. He’s silent for a long moment.

“Is this what you wanted? Blackmailing me into an argument? Because I’m sure we could have found a reason to argue without all this,” he griped. You sighed. No, you hadn’t particularly wanted to argue, you hadn’t particularly wanted anything, you’d intended to keep this information to yourself really and then when it had come out, you hadn’t considered blackmail until he brought it up. Your mind flashes back to his kisses up your arm, a warm tingle going through you.

“Were you attempting to seduce me earlier?” he glances at you, his cheeks just slightly pink. “Even though you’re waiting for the right person?” you add with a chuckle. He sighs.

“I might have been, I figured it was my best bet,” he shrugs it off, feigning nonchalance.

“What would you have done if I had gone with it?” you tilt your head curiously.

“Gone with it, I suppose,” he looks down, fiddling with his tie pin, feeling more uncomfortable than he was ever used to feeling.

“You’d have slept with me?” you enquire. He nods subtly, puffing out a short breath. “Even though I might have stabbed you in the back or something?” you tease. He glares at you.

“You wouldn’t do that,” he dismisses.

“So you trust me?” you challenge. He immediately opens his mouth to protest but then falters. Does he trust you? He knows you would never attack him physically, and he tries to brush that off as the belief that you are physically weak, but he knows that’s not true. If he were to attack you, he has no doubt you would put up quite a fight, but that you would never initiate. He hadn’t even thought through the fact that despite all his reservations, he really had been trying to seduce you, and not even reluctantly. He would have slept with you, and he wouldn’t have been afraid of what you might do to him. Sure, the emotional vulnerability was still a point of contention, but initially, he hadn’t had the time to consider that. Now that he’s given it some proper consideration, why is he not changing his mind?

“I suppose,” his voice is strained, like this is taking a great deal of effort for him to say. “That in some weird way I do trust you,” his expression is pained and he won’t look at you, but you know those words mean way more than they do on the surface. He’s never admitted to trusting anyone before, at least not truthfully, and to admit it to you… it’s frightening, and yet he did it anyway. You hold out your hand to him to see what he’ll do. He takes your cue despite himself, taking hold of it and kissing the back of your hand a few times. His lips are gentle and you quite like the feeling. Sure, he told you the rumours about him were false, but perhaps he really could make you come undone with just one touch, if you only showed him where to put it. “I’ll sleep with you if that’s what you like,” he admits quietly. “I need you to keep my secret, I’ll do anything,”

“Would you like to sleep with me?” you ask. He looks up at you, lips pressing against your wrist. His look is a little pained again, you’re not sure how to read it.

“I’ll do it,” he grits out.

“But do you want to? I don’t want to force you to sleep with me…” you try again. He gives you that pained look once more. He doesn’t want to say it out loud, to admit to such weaknesses as need and lust, he hopes you understand without words. He kisses all the way up your arm, leaning closer and caging you in as he starts to press kisses to your neck. You exhale shakily, placing your hands on his shoulders as he continues to lavish you with tender kisses. He presses you back, back until you fall onto his pillows and he follows you down, positioning his body over you, his hands on either side of your shoulders. He’s breathing hard as he looks down at you, his pupils dilated. You stare back up at him, still a little unsure. “Riddle… don’t force yourself, I don’t–”

He cuts you off with a deep kiss to your lips, you gasp slightly and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring slowly. This kiss is not forced, this kiss is genuine and furiously wanting and the thought makes you moan. He shivers in return, kissing a little harder. Your hands come to his shoulders again as he comes to rest on his forearms, his neck no longer straining to you. You part your legs so he can settle between them, his hips pressing to yours. You can’t help but gasp again when you feel his erection press against you. He smiles against your lips, his signature cocky smirk returning.

“You sound amazing when you gasp like that for me,” he taunts. You roll your eyes, kissing him once more. It’s almost impressive how he’s able to maintain that arrogant air throughout all this. You hate it, yet you can’t deny the soft pulsing feeling between your legs. He continues to kiss you, his lips pressing against yours, his tongue slowly swirling and caressing, the sound of your lips meeting is both erotic and hypnotic, lulling you further into your aroused state. Your eyes are closed in bliss, but occasionally you open them for a glimpse of him. His lashes flutter as he kisses you, his cheeks are flushed which you didn’t even realise was possible before today, and his hair falls forward, surprisingly curling up a little as it encounters the sweat forming on his forehead. He kisses you like it’s his favourite thing in the world, gentle yet thorough, and you hope it is so that you might get to do this with him again. His kisses get a little needier as you feel him hardening further against you, pressing against you more insistently. Your hand settles on the back of his neck and you hold him in place as he kisses you. He grunts appreciatively, sucking on your bottom lip. He sits up suddenly, disconnecting your lips. You pant as you stare up at him in confusion, wondering if he’s stopping this from going further, but instead, he’s loosening your tie. You lie there and let him do the work, after all, he’s meant to be keeping you sweet. He doesn’t seem to mind. He takes great satisfaction in slowly peeling away your clothes, discarding your tie, and then unbuttoning your shirt. He’s making you vulnerable beneath him and he’s drunk on the feeling, although, he doesn’t intend to hurt or exploit you, he’s never had such pure intentions in anything he’s done before in his life. Which is odd, considering you’re about to sleep together. He traces the lace of your bra with his fingertips. “Been expecting me?” he teases, wondering about how nice the bra is, black and lacy.

“No, just a happy accident,” you chuckle as he runs the lace between his fingers. He’s a little disappointed that you hadn’t had this all planned out all along, but he figures there’s plenty of time for that in the future. It doesn’t occur to him at the moment that he’s just admitted to himself that he intends to do this again with you. He takes hold of your waist and eases you up to sit. He gives you a few gentle kisses on your neck, making you throw your head back and then he reaches around to your back to unclasp your bra. He’s heard horror stories of embarrassment from his peers, so takes a moment to acquaint himself with the mechanism, running his hands back and forth along your back as you rest heavily against his chest, your chin on his shoulder. Once he understands how it works, he uses both hands to unhook it easily. He slides the straps down your arms and bares you to his gaze. You lean back to give him a view, enjoying his wide-eyed look. He cups your breasts in his hands and kisses you once again. He lays you back down, gently kneading your flesh, groaning at the feeling. You’re soft and warm and it feels so good that he wishes you’d found out he was half-blood earlier, or that he’d been less stuck-up this whole time and propositioned you like you seem to have wanted. He moves his hands down to your stomach, stroking for a moment before popping to button on your skirt and sliding down the zip. He then eases the fabric down over your hips.

“Matching set,” he comments upon spying your lacy black underwear. “Sure you weren’t expecting me?” you roll your eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure,”

“Someone else?” he questions as uninterestedly as possible. You chuckle, sensing the hint of jealousy in his tone.

“No, just wanted to feel good for myself,” he nods at your answer, hoping you don’t spot his relief. He runs his hands up and down your hips and waist, occasionally squeezing the supple flesh.

“The female body is quite… pleasant under the hands,” he comments, kneading your hips gently. You give him a look. “Well… your body is anyway,” he runs his thumbs over your stomach. You smile up at him and he avoids your gaze, not wanting to confront the way that look just made him feel. He decides to speed things along, desperate to come out of this alive. He moves back enough to remove his own tie and shirt, secretly enjoying the way you’re watching. Then he stands and slowly lowers his trousers, taking his boxers with them. There’s no use delaying the inevitable and he’s hardly ashamed of his body. He steps out of his trousers and sits back down between your legs. He kneads your thighs as he lets you look him over.

“That scar on your chest–” you begin but he cuts you off quickly with a kiss, not wishing to discuss this right now when he’s so close to you, to having you. If you started asking about all his various scars, you’d be here a long time, and you’d run away from him well before he finally got to sink into your cunt for the first time. The thought stirs his cock. No, he can’t let you ask questions until later, he needs to have this at least once, he hasn’t even realised how much he’s been waiting for it. For… you. His cock rests heavily on you through the lace of your underwear, hot to the touch. He kisses you intently, sensual and all-consuming until you forget your line of questioning. He’s smug that he’s able to do that to you, perhaps he should have kissed you the second you started bringing things up you weren't supposed to. Perhaps by the end of this, you’ll have forgotten how it started and only remember the way he’d made you feel. Yes, that would be good. The thought urges him on, he nearly rips off your underwear. You squeak indignantly and he kisses your neck in an effort to placate you. He didn’t really care if he’d ripped them or not, but he couldn’t have you turning your back on him now. Not after he’s bared himself like this. He reaches down and lines himself up with you, ready to plunge in, but one last thought keeps him at bay.

“Are you on the potion?” he grunts, nuzzling into your neck.

“Yeah,” you swallow, staring down at where the two of you are about to be joined together. He waits for nothing else, easing himself into you, he groans loudly against your neck, the warmth surrounding him feeling euphoric. Your arms settle around his back, holding him close to you and he lets you, leaning against you heavily. He grits his teeth, trying to keep in control, but he can’t. His hips start rutting into you fast, he needs this and he has you now, he can’t stop himself. You grip his shoulders hard, gasping and wailing, the sounds only egging him on.

“Yeah?” he groans between thrusts as you whine sweetly in his ear. “That feel good..? fuck…” he’s not one to usually swear in this way, part of his charming demeanour, but he can’t help it slipping out with you. You make him all sorts of vulgar that he’s never been before. He pounds into you, glad that you don’t seem to mind his ferocity. He’ll be gentle with you some other time, but right now, all this pent-up energy needs to come out, and you’re receiving it so well. “Taking me so well, darling,” he chokes out, and you moan in response, seemingly touched by his words. He lifts himself up onto his hands, staring down at you, his hips slamming into yours. He watches your beautiful face in fascination as it twists with pleasure. He’s never taken so much enjoyment in making someone feel good before, it reminds him of the feeling he gets when he exerts power over someone, but better, because it’s you and he–

He can’t finish that thought, he refuses to. It’s too much. He keeps up his relentless pace, closing his eyes because the sight of you is stirring his chest along with the stirring in his stomach. His thrusts slow, but become deeper and more powerful. You moan unabashedly under him and the sound invades his mind, consuming him completely. He leans back down and buries his face in your neck biting down as his hips stutter and he spills deep inside you. The biting is the only thing preventing him from saying something he knows he’ll regret in his dizzy orgasmic state. Three disgusting little words that he’s never thought before in his life, that surely, he can’t mean now, even if they’re fighting their way out of his mouth. When he feels you orgasming around him, he clamps down on your neck harder, tasting a little blood. He finds himself feeling sorry for doing it. He lets go, gasping for breath. He presses a kiss to the bite mark on your neck, reluctantly apologetic. You whimper beneath him and he pulls back to check you’re okay. You are, just overwhelmed, he is too, though he’s not letting it show as blatantly as you are. He withdraws slowly from you, whining in tandem with you at the feeling. He sits back up between your legs, looking down at you. Your eyes are closed as you gather yourself. You trust him enough to lie there with your eyes closed, he could do anything to you right now. Things he has done to others before, and yet there you lie, trusting him like he trusts you. He scoops you up into his arms and rests your head against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry for drawing blood,” he mumbles as if it’s enough of an excuse for him to hold you like this. He kisses the bite mark again, secretly a little thrilled that it’s there, a physical reminder of all this. He soothes your back, rubbing soft circles, an action he’s never performed before. “You’ll keep my secret right?” he asks, and realises suddenly he doesn’t know what he’s referring to. The fact of his blood status? The lie of his mythos? The fact he’s just slept with you, been this vulnerable? Or… the worst one of them all? The unspoken words that he’s sure you’re smart enough to have heard in the silence by now. You don’t know which he’s referring to either, but you answer sincerely nonetheless.

“Your secret is safe with me, Tom,”

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xoxoxo

thank you to @i-live-in-spite and several anonymous asks whose ideas I pulled from a little to form this plot, lots of love ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

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