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phoenixyfriend · 8 months ago

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Ko-fi prompt from @liberwolf:

Could you explain Tariff's , like who pays them and what they do to a country?

Well, I can definitely guess where this question is coming from.

Honestly, I was pretty excited to get this prompt, because it's one I can answer and was part of my studies focus in college. International business was my thing, and the issues of comparative advantage (along with Power Purchasing Parity) were one of the things I liked to explore.

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At their simplest, tariffs are an import tax. The United States has had tariffs as low as 5%, and at other times as high as 44% on most goods, such as during the Civil War. The purpose of a tariff is in two parts: generating revenue for the government, and protectionism.

Let's first explore how a tariff works. If you want to be confused, then you need to have never taken an economics class, and look at this graph:

(src)

So let's undo that confusion.

The simplest examples are raw or basic materials such as steel, cotton, or wine.

First, without tariffs:

Let us say that Country A and Country B both produce steel, and it is of similar quality, and in both cases cost $100 per unit. Transportation from one country to the other is $50/unit, so you can either buy domestically for $100, or internationally for $150. So you buy domestically.

Now, Country B discovers a new place to mine iron very easily, and so their cost for steel drops to $60/unit due to increased ease of access. Country A can either purchase domestically for $100, or internationally for $110 (incl. shipping), which is much more even. Still, it is more cost-effective to purchase domestically, and so Country A isn't worried.

Transportation technology is improved, dropping the shipping costs to $30/unit. A person from Country A can buy: Domestic: $100 International: $60+$30 = $90 Purchasing steel from Country B is now cheaper than purchasing it from Country A, regardless of where you live.

Citizens in Country A, in order to reduce costs for domestic construction, begin to purchase their steel from Country B. As a result, money flows from Country A to B, and the domestic steel industry in Country A begins to feel the strain as demand dwindles.

In this scenario, with no tariffs, Country A begins to rely on B for their steel, which causes a loss of jobs (steelworkers, miners), loss of infrastructure (closing of mines and factories), and an outflow of funds to another country. As a result, Country A sees itself as losing money to B, while also growing increasingly reliant on their trading partner for the crucial good that is steel. If something happens to drive up the price of B's steel again, like political upheaval or a natural disaster, it will be difficult to quickly ramp up the production of steel in Country A's domestic facilities again.

What if a tariff is introduced early?

Alternately, the dropping of complete costs for purchase of steel from Country B could be counteracted with tariffs. Let's say we do a 25% tariff on that steel. This tariff is placed on the value of the steel, not the end cost, so:

$60 + (0.25 x $60) + $30 = $105/unit

Suddenly, with the implementation of a 25% tariff on steel from Country B, the domestic market is once again competitive. People can still buy from Country B if they would like, but Country A is less worried about the potential impacts to the domestic market.

The above example is done in regards to a mature market that has not yet begun to dwindle. The infrastructure and labor is still present, and is being preemptively protected against possible loss of industry to purchasing abroad.

What happens if the tariff is not implemented until after the market has dwindled?

Let's say that the domestic market was not protected by the tariff until several decades on. Country A's domestic production, in response to increased purchasing from abroad, has dwindled to one third of what it was before the change in pricing incentivized purchase from B. Prices have, for the sake of keeping this example simple, remained at $100(A) and $60(B) in that time. However, transportation has likely become better, so transportation is down to $20, meaning that total cost for steel from B is $80, accelerating the turn from domestic steel to international.

So, what happens if you suddenly implement a tariff on international steel? Shall we say, 40%?

$60 + (0.4 x 60) + 20 = $104

It's more expensive to order from abroad! Wow! Let's purchase domestically instead, because these prices add up!

But the production is only a third of what it used to be, and domestic mines and factories for refining the iron into steel can't keep up. They're scaling, sure, but that takes time. Because demand is suddenly triple of the supply, the cost skyrockets, and so steel in Country A is now $150/unit! The price will hopefully come down eventually, as factories and mines get back in gear, but will the people setting prices let that happen?

So industries that have begun to rely on international steel, which had come to $80/unit prior to the tariff, are facing the sudden impact of a cost increase of at least $25/unit (B with tariff) or the demand-driven price increase of domestic (nearly double the pre-tariff cost of steel from B), which is an increase of at least 30% what they were paying prior to the tariff.

There are possible other aspects here, such as government subsidies to buoy the domestic steel industry until it catches back up, or possibly Country B eating some of the costs so that people still buy from them (selling for $50 instead of $60 to mitigate some of the price hike, and maintain a loyal customer base), but that's not a direct impact of the tariff.

Who pays for tariffs?

Ultimately, this is a tax on a product (as opposed to a tax on profits or capital themselves, which has other effects), which means the majority of the cost is passed on directly to the consume.

As I said, we could see the producers in Country B cut their costs a little bit to maintain a loyal customer base, but depending on their trade relationships with other countries, they are just as likely to stop trading with Country A altogether in order to focus on more profitable markets.

So why do we not put tariffs on everything?

Well... for that, we get into the question of production efficiency, or in this case, comparative advantage.

Let's say we have two small, neighboring countries, C and D, that have negligible transportation costs and similar industries. Both have extensive farmland, and both have a history of growing grapes for wine, and goats for wool. Country C is a little further north than D, so it has more rocky grasses that are good for goats, while D has more fertile plains that are good for growing grapes.

Let's say that they have an equal workforce of 500,000 of people. I'm going to say that 10,000 people working full time for a year is 1 unit of labor. So, Country C and Country D have between the 100 units of labor, and 50 each.

The cost of 1 unit of wool = the cost of 1 unit of wine

Country C, having better land for goats, can produce 4 units of wool for every unit of labor, and 2 units of wine for every unit of labor.

Meanwhile, Country D, having better land for grapes, can produce 2 units of wool per unit of labor, and 4 units of wine per unit of labor.

If they each devote exactly half their workforce to each product, then:

Country C: 100 units of wool, 50 units of wine Country D: 50 units of wool, 100 units of wine

Totaling 150 units of each product.

However, if each devotes all of their workforce to the product they're better at...

Country C: 200 units of wool, no wine Country D: no wool, 200 units of wine

and when they trade with each other, they each end up with 100 units of each product, which is a doubling of what their less-efficient labor would have resulted in!

The real world is obviously much more complicated, but in this example, we can see the pros of outsourcing some of your production to another country to focus on your own specialties.

Extreme examples of this IRL are countries where most of the economy rests on one product, such as middle-eastern petro-states that are now struggling to diversify their economies in order to not get left behind in the transition to green energy, or Taiwan's role as the world's primary producer of semiconductors being its 'silicon shield' against China.

Comparative advantage can be used well, such as our Unnamed Countries (that are definitely not the classic example of England and Portugal, with goats instead of sheep) up in the example. With each economy focusing on its specialty, there is a greater yield of both products, meaning a greater bounty for both countries.

However, should something happen to Country C up there, like an earthquake that kills half the goats, they are suddenly left with barely enough wool to clothe themselves, and nothing for Country D, which now has a surplus of wine and no wool.

So you do have to keep some domestic industry, because Bad Things Can Happen. And if we want to avoid the steel example of a collapse in the given industry, tariffs might be needed.

Are export tariffs a thing?

Yes, but they are much rarer, and can largely be defined as "oh my god, everyone please stop getting rid of this really important resource by selling it to foreigners for a big buck, we are depleting this crucial resource."

So what's the big confusion right now?

Donald Trump has, on a number of occasions, talked about 'making China pay' tariffs on the goods they import into the US. This has led to a belief that is not entirely unreasonable, that China would be the side paying the tariffs.

The view this statement engenders is that a tariff is a bit like paying a rental fee for a seller's table at an event: the producer or merchant pays the host (or landlord or what have you) a fee to sell their product on the premises. This could be a farmer's market, a renaissance faire, a comic book convention, whatever. If you want to sell at the event, you have to pay a fee to get a space to set up your table.

In the eyes of the people who listened to Trump, the tariff is that fee. China is paying the United States for access to the market.

And, technically, that's not entirely wrong. China is thus paying to enter the US market. It's just the money to pay that fee needs to come from somewhere, and like most taxes on goods, that fee comes from the consumer.

So... what now?

Well, a lot of smaller US companies that rely on cheap goods made in China are buying up non-perishables while they can, before the tariffs hit. Long-term, manufacturers in the US that rely on parts and tools manufactured in China are going to feel the squeeze once that frontloaded stock is depleted.

Some companies are large enough to take the hit on their own end, still selling at cheap rates to the consumer, because they can offset those costs with other parts of their empire... at least until smaller competitors are driven out of business, at which point they can start jacking up their prices since there are no options left. You may look at that and think, "huh, isn't that the modus operandi for Walmart and Amazon already?" and yes. It is. We are very much anticipating a 'rich get richer, poor go out of business' situation with these tariffs.

The tariffs will also impact larger companies, including non-US ones like Zara (Spanish) and H&M (Swedish), if they have a huge reliance on Chinese production to supply their huge market in the United States.

If you're interested in the repercussions that people expect from these proposed tariffs on Chinese goods, I'd suggest listening to or watching the November 8th, 2024 episode of Morning Brew Daily (I linked to YouTube, but it's also available on Spotify, Nebula, the Morning Brew website, and other podcast platforms).

#id in alt text #id in alt #economics #tariffs #import tax #customs #customs duties #ko fi prompts #capitalism #phoenix talks #ko fi #taxes #taxation

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rjzimmerman · 5 months ago

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This diagram illustrates how marshes can adapt to rising sea levels and naturally "migrate" upland if given enough space. Credit: Julie Rossman/Audubon

Excerpt from this story from the Audubon Society:

For over 40 years, the Coastal Barrier Resources Act has been a little-known bipartisan environmental law—quietly protecting critical bird habitat, providing coastal communities with a natural buffer against storms and sea-level rise, and saving taxpayers billions of dollars, all while staying under the radar. Audubon has long been a champion of this law, and now we have reason to celebrate! Last week, President Biden signed the Bolstering Ecosystems Against Coastal Harm (BEACH) Act, updating the Coastal Barrier Resources Act and expanding its protected system of coastal areas that buffers people and birds from flooding on our coasts.

Congress passed the BEACH Act with overwhelming bipartisan support just last month, adding nearly 300,000 acres of wetlands and beaches to the Coastal Barrier Resources Act (CBRA) system, codifying its largest expansion since 1990. For years, Audubon has worked with a diverse coalition of partner organizations, multiple presidential administrations, and legislators on both sides of the aisle to massively expand the CBRA system, and the sweeping success of this bill is one of our most exciting accomplishments for the coast.

Created in 1982, the CBRA protects coastal habitat and property while saving lives and federal taxpayer dollars in a distinctive way. Undeveloped beaches and coastal wetlands around our country provide vital habitat for birds and wildlife, especially in the face of climate change impacts such as sea-level rise and increased storm frequency and intensity. These coastal areas are also particularly prone to those climate impacts, endangering lives, property, and vulnerable species. The CBRA discourages development in these hazard-prone areas by removing most federal spending, including flood insurance, disaster recovery grants, and other federal expenditures on the CBRA’s system of protected areas. This market-based approach is working. A recent study demonstrates this in its finding that CBRA is highly effective at achieving its intended goals—reducing development by 85 percent compared to nearby areas, reducing flood damage by 25 percent, and adding ecologically important layers of protection to coastal areas.

Currently, CBRA protects 3.5 million acres on the coasts of the Atlantic, Gulf of Mexico, Great Lakes, Puerto Rico, and the U.S. Virgin Islands. These largely undeveloped areas are an ideal habitat for birds like American Oystercatchers and Piping Plovers to nest and rest well away from any human disturbance. Intact coastal beaches and wetlands like this also serve as a natural buffer for nearby communities from storms and sea-level rise. Beach dunes act as speed bumps to slow down wind and waves, and marshes act as sponges soaking up floodwaters.

#Coastal Barrier Resources Act #Bolstering Ecosystems Against Coastal Harm (BEACH) Act

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kathaelipwse · 2 months ago

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Soft Drinks & Sharp Tongues | Y. Jeonghan

Pairing: Troublemaker!Yoon Jeonghan × Student Council President!Reader

Word Count: 7,974 words : Reading time: 29-ish mins

Trope: Enemies to lovers | Secret softie × Overworked achiever | Protective bad boy | Poor girl x rich school

Warnings: Bullying, classism, mild violence, strong language, emotional vulnerability, mentions of loss (death of a parent), angst with comfort, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE.

Synopsis: She was the school’s strict student council president with no time for nonsense—or feelings. He was the academy’s golden boy troublemaker who got under her skin like no one else. But when a cruel comment sparks a brutal fight and her secret life is exposed, she realizes that the boy who always pushed her buttons… was also the only one who ever truly saw her. In a world that judged her for being different, Jeonghan stood between her and the world—and maybe even her own walls.

The crisp autumn air of senior year did little to soothe the persistent thrumming behind your temples. "Another day, another disaster waiting to happen," you sighed, the weight of the student council head badge feeling less like an honor and more like a lead weight dragging you down. Just as you managed to organize the stack of permission slips threatening to topple off your desk, a familiar, infuriatingly casual voice echoed from the doorway.

"Well, well, if it isn't the iron-willed Prez in her natural habitat," Jeonghan drawled, leaning against the doorframe with an effortless swagger that somehow never failed to irritate you and make you lose your mind at the name 'prez' altogether. He pushed off the frame, sauntering into your small office with the confident air of someone who paid the university's exorbitant tuition fees ten times over, despite the crumpled pink detention slip dangling from his fingertips.

"Lost again, Han?" you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended, the exhaustion from last night's late shift at the café still clinging to you like a persistent shadow.

He chuckled, a light, airy sound that grated on your nerves. "Lost? Never, my dear Prez. Merely… exploring the less-traveled paths of disciplinary action." He flicked the detention slip onto your meticulously arranged desk, the corner bent and smudged. "Though, I must confess, your sanctuary of rules and regulations does possess a certain… stark appeal this morning." His eyes flickered around the small space, lingering for a moment on the wilting potted plant in the corner.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, the familiar headache intensifying. "Han, for the last time, gluing Mr. Kim's prized toupee to the rotating blades of the science lab's ceiling fan is not an act of artistic expression. It's disruptive, disrespectful, and frankly, the third time this month. Do you have a personal vendetta against follicularly challenged educators?"

He feigned an expression of wounded innocence, his usually sharp eyes widening in mock surprise. "A vendetta? My dear Prez, I'm wounded by the accusation! Perhaps the toupee simply yearned for a more… dynamic existence? A chance to experience the thrill of flight?"

"The thrill of flight that resulted in Mr. Kim nearly having a coronary," you countered dryly, already reaching for the detention log. "That earns you a solid hour of supervised detention. With me." The thought of spending an entire hour in forced proximity to him was hardly your idea of a productive afternoon, but rules were rules, even for the infuriatingly charming Jeonghan.

"Ah, but that's where the real intrigue lies, wouldn't you agree?" He leaned closer, resting his hands on the edge of your desk, a disarming smile spreading across his handsome face, a smile that you knew had melted the resolve of many a teacher. "Spending quality time in the hallowed halls of disciplinary action, under the watchful gaze of the student council head? A rare and undoubtedly enlightening experience."

You simply leveled him with a withering stare, the kind you'd perfected over countless student council meetings and rule infractions. "Don't even try, Han. This isn't a negotiation."

Later that afternoon, just as you were finally catching up on paperwork, your phone rang. It was a flustered Mrs. Lee, her voice bordering on panic. "He… he's gone, (Y/N)! He's just… vanished!"

You sighed, running a weary hand through your hair. "Let me guess. He charmed his way out of detention again?"

"He… he complimented my new scarf," Mrs. Lee stammered, a strange, almost dreamy quality entering her voice. "And then he offered to help me carry a rather heavy stack of textbooks to the library… I only turned my back for a moment…"

"Of course, he did," you muttered under your breath, hanging up the phone with a frustrated click. It was always the same infuriating pattern. His effortless charm, that disarming smile, the casual flirtation – it was a weapon he wielded with infuriating effectiveness.

What the perfectly coiffed and privileged student body, with their designer clothes and trust funds, remained blissfully unaware of was the quiet battle you fought every single day. The silence in your small, rented apartment after your mother left for her second job echoed the gaping absence left by your father's passing.

"Just trying to make ends meet, sweetheart," your mother would say, her shoulders slumped with a weariness that mirrored your own. To ease her burden, you pulled double shifts at a small, out-of-the-way café, the clatter of cheap cutlery and the pervasive smell of stale coffee a stark and unwelcome contrast to the hushed, hallowed halls of your elite university.

"Another lukewarm latte, another step closer to paying the electricity bill," you'd often think, the meager tips barely making a dent in the ever-growing pile of overdue notices.

Your no-nonsense approach as student council head had already earned you the thinly veiled disdain of those who considered rules mere suggestions. "She thinks she's so high and mighty just because she got in on a scholarship," you'd overheard a group of impeccably dressed girls whisper in the hallway, their eyes flicking over your slightly worn uniform.

"No mercy for anyone. Probably has something to prove." They saw you as rigid, unyielding, someone who had forgotten her place. Little did they know the constant tightrope walk you performed daily, the relentless pressure to maintain your perfect GPA and your scholarship, the gnawing anxiety that one wrong step could send your carefully constructed world crashing down.

Yet, amidst the predictable chaos that Han routinely unleashed upon the school, there were these… strange anomalies. One particularly draining Monday, after a particularly grueling weekend of juggling assignments and café shifts, you arrived at your desk to find a single can of your favorite soda, the obscure brand you rarely indulged in, sitting there as if it had materialized out of thin air.

No note, no explanation, just the cool, familiar weight of the aluminum in your hand. And then there were the days when the familiar, agonizing cramps of your period would leave you pale and trembling. On those mornings, a small, neatly wrapped bar of dark chocolate – the expensive, imported kind you usually only dreamed of – would be placed discreetly beside your planner, as if someone knew exactly what silent battle you were fighting.

One particularly frustrating afternoon, fueled by a potent cocktail of exhaustion and a nagging sense of unease, you finally decided to confront the enigma that was Jeonghan. He was leaning against a sun-drenched wall in the courtyard, effortlessly surrounded by a gaggle of giggling students, his usual magnetic charm in full effect. "Han," you called out, your voice cutting through the laughter, the authority of your position instinctively taking over.

He turned, that familiar, infuriatingly handsome smirk returning to his lips. "To what do I owe this unexpected honor, Prez?" he drawled, the title laced with a playful mockery that usually sent your temper flaring.

You gestured vaguely towards your office. "Those… things. The soda. The chocolate. Why?"

He simply shrugged, that characteristic air of nonchalance returning, his eyes flicking away as if the topic bored him. "Had extras." The casual dismissal was infuriatingly convincing, leaving you with a swirling mix of confusion and a strange, unsettling warmth that you couldn't quite decipher.

The fragile peace of the university courtyard, usually a backdrop for idle chatter, hurried footsteps, and the occasional strumming of a guitar, shattered with a sudden, brutal sound. A sharp crack, like bone meeting bone, ripped through the lunchtime murmur, silencing the surrounding conversations as abruptly as a slammed door. You, mid-sentence with the perpetually flustered treasurer, Sooyoung, about the logistics of the upcoming charity bake sale and the alarming rate at which the student body consumed red velvet cupcakes, whipped your head around, your meticulously organized clipboard scattering a flurry of sign-up sheets onto the paved ground. The scene that unfolded before you sent a shockwave of cold disbelief, followed by a surge of adrenaline, coursing through your veins.

Jeonghan, the ever-teasing, perpetually laid-back Han, the master of witty remarks and harmless pranks that somehow always skirted the edge of outright rule-breaking, was locked in a vicious, unrestrained fistfight. His usual playful expression, the one that could charm even the most jaded professors, was gone, replaced by a mask of raw, untamed fury that contorted his handsome features into something almost unrecognizable. His knuckles, already reddening, were white against the other student's increasingly bloodied face, his movements jerky and fueled by a rage you had never witnessed in him before. This wasn't the Han of stolen exam answers and strategically placed whoopee cushions; this was something primal, something dangerous, a side of him completely hidden beneath the layers of charm and nonchalance.

Instinct took over, overriding the shock that had momentarily rooted you to the spot. The student council head within you, the one who had to maintain order and uphold the university's (admittedly often ignored) code of conduct, kicked in.

You found yourself pushing through the stunned onlookers, a knot of fear tightening in your stomach, your voice surprisingly sharp and authoritative as you barked orders. "Break it up! Now! What in God's name do you think you're doing? Jeonghan! Stop!" It took the combined efforts of several bewildered students, their initial shock slowly giving way to a hesitant urgency, to finally separate the two combatants.

Han’s chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his usually bright eyes now dark with a simmering anger, his knuckles bruised and bleeding. The other student, a usually boisterous jock named Minho, captain of the university's baseball team, was a mess of split lips, a rapidly swelling eye already turning a sickly shade of purple, and a trickle of blood snaking down his chin.

Later, the sterile air in your small, often overlooked student council office crackled with an unfamiliar tension. Minho, sporting an impressive ice pack that did little to soothe his bruised ego, had been escorted to the university infirmary by a concerned coach. Han sat opposite you, slumped in the uncomfortable plastic chair, unusually silent. His usual playful demeanor, the easy smile that could disarm even your sternest lectures, was completely absent, replaced by a brooding intensity. The knuckles of his right hand were already starting to swell, a stark and unsettling testament to the brutal violence you had just witnessed. You sat behind your desk, the scattered bake sale sign-up sheets a forgotten mess, your mind still reeling from the unexpected eruption of fury.

"Han," you began, your voice tight with a mixture of disbelief, lingering shock, and a growing sense of unease. "What… what was that? I have never, ever seen you… like that." Your words hung in the air, the silence amplifying the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.

He remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on his injured hand, turning it over as if it belonged to someone else. Finally, he looked up, his eyes dark and troubled, a stark contrast to their usual mischievous sparkle. "He deserved it," was all he said, his voice low and rough, devoid of its usual playful lilt.

"Deserved what?" you pressed, leaning forward, your elbows resting on the cluttered surface of your desk. "A brutal beating in the middle of the courtyard? What in God's name could possibly have happened to provoke something like that?"

He hesitated, his jaw clenching and unclenching, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He seemed to be wrestling with himself, his usual easygoing nature battling with the raw anger that still emanated from him. "It's nothing you need to worry about," he finally mumbled, his gaze flicking away from yours.

"Nothing I need to worry about?" you repeated, incredulously, your voice rising slightly. "Han, you just engaged in a full-blown fistfight! This is serious. There will be consequences. And frankly, I need to understand what happened. For the official report, if nothing else."

He finally met your gaze again, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something beyond his usual teasing or indifference. It was a raw protectiveness, a simmering anger that still seemed to vibrate beneath his skin, a fierce loyalty that surprised you. "He said some… things," he mumbled, his voice still rough, the words seemingly dragged from him.

"What kind of things, Han?" you persisted, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You had a bad feeling about this, a sense that whatever Minho had said had struck a nerve, a deep and volatile one.

He turned away again, his gaze fixed on the peeling paint of the opposite wall, as if the answers were hidden within its imperfections. "Just… garbage. The kind of crap guys like him spout all the time. It's not important."

But the university grapevine, as always, was relentless and remarkably efficient. The whispers started circulating almost immediately, fueled by the stunned witnesses and the sheer unexpectedness of Han's violent outburst. It wasn't long before the unsavory details, twisted and embellished with each retelling, began to reach you. However, the core of the incident remained consistent.

Apparently, Minho, emboldened by his usual entourage of jock friends and a misplaced sense of entitlement that seemed to cling to him like expensive cologne, had cornered you near the library earlier that day. His words, repeated with a sickening accuracy by those who had overheard and were still reeling from the audacity, echoed in your mind, sending a shiver of disgust and a prickle of humiliation down your spine:

"Hey, scholarship princess. Heard you're scrubbing floors at some dive to pay mommy's bills. With a body like yours, you could probably make way more than minimum wage if you actually tried. Maybe drop the goody-two-shoes act and use what you've got, huh?"

The blatant objectification, the crude insinuation about your body and your desperate financial situation, the sheer disrespect in his tone, made your blood run cold. It was a violation, a disgusting intrusion that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, the carefully constructed walls around your private life crumbling under the weight of his vulgar assumptions.

Later that week, the memory of Minho's words still a bitter taste in your mouth, you found yourself alone with Han near the humming vending machines, the awkward silence between you thick and uncomfortable. You hesitated for a moment, the question weighing heavily on your tongue, then decided to broach the subject again. "Han," you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper, the humiliation still raw. "I… I heard what Minho said. About… about my body… and… everything." The words felt foreign and shameful, a stark reminder of the vulnerability you tried so hard to conceal.

He flinched, his eyes, which had been idly scanning the snack selection, snapped to yours, hardening into a dangerous glint. "Who told you?" His voice was low, almost a growl.

"It doesn't matter," you said quietly, meeting his intense gaze. "What matters is… why? Why did you…"

He cut you off, his voice surprisingly harsh, the raw protectiveness evident despite his dismissive words. "Why do you wanna know? He spouts shit, and you aren't all that… you know." He trailed off, his usual eloquence failing him, the memory of Minho's disgusting appraisal clearly still fueling his anger, a possessive fury that both surprised and slightly unnerved you.

You stared at him, a confusing mix of emotions swirling within you. Hurt at his dismissive tone, a flicker of something akin to gratitude for his defense, but also a strange, unsettling warmth blooming in your chest at the fierce, albeit violent, loyalty he had displayed.

The image of his enraged face, the sheer, uncharacteristic fury in his eyes, lingered in your mind, a stark contrast to his usual playful demeanor. It was then, amidst the lingering shock, the uncomfortable tension, and the unsettling protectiveness in his gaze, that the buried feelings you’d tried so diligently to ignore since your first year began to stir, their roots running deeper than you’d ever dared to acknowledge.

The line between irritation and something far more complex was beginning to blur, and the unexpected violence, ignited by those vile words about your body and your circumstances, had somehow shaken it all awake, leaving you questioning everything you thought you knew about Jeonghan.

The relentless rhythm of university life continued, a predictable cycle of lectures, assignments, and the ever-present weight of your responsibilities as student council head.

But beneath this familiar surface, a new layer of anxiety had begun to fester. The memory of Minho's crude words, coupled with the unsettling protectiveness in Han's violent reaction, lingered like a persistent shadow. Adding to this growing unease was the constant, gnawing fear of your carefully guarded secret being exposed.

The chipped mugs and the weary smiles of your colleagues at the café had always been a world apart from the polished veneer of your university. It was a life you kept fiercely compartmentalized, a necessity born of your family's circumstances that you shielded with a quiet desperation from the judgmental eyes of your privileged classmates. The fear of that wall crumbling had always been there, a low hum of anxiety beneath the surface of your daily life.

Then, the inevitable happened. It started with a fleeting notification on your phone, a screenshot shared within a class group chat you rarely engaged with. A grainy, unflattering image flashed across the screen – undeniably you, in your slightly faded café uniform, a tray laden with steaming cups clutched in your hand, your hair pulled back haphazardly beneath a slightly stained hairnet. The caption, crude and mocking, stung more than you cared to admit: "Our esteemed S.C Head slumming it? Guess those scholarships don't cover everything." It had been taken during one of your late-night shifts, capturing a moment of weary concentration that was twisted into something pathetic and demeaning.

In a world where designer labels were practically a birthright and weekend discussions revolved around ski trips and yacht parties, the image was a stark, unwelcome intrusion. It ripped away the carefully constructed facade of the diligent, no-nonsense student council head, revealing the stark reality of your existence: the scholarship student working a dead-end job to keep her family afloat. The digital whispers began almost immediately, a low hum of curiosity quickly escalating into a deafening chorus of judgment and ridicule.

The fact that you had earned your place at this prestigious institution through sheer hard work and unwavering dedication, a testament to your intelligence and resilience, was conveniently ignored.

The narrative swiftly morphed. You, the seemingly unyielding and strict student council head, were now exposed, vulnerable, a target for the casual cruelty of those who had always resented your authority.

The air of respect your position once commanded seemed to evaporate, replaced by a palpable shift in the way people looked at you – a mixture of pity, disdain, and a smug sense of superiority.

Anonymous messages flooded your student council email. One particularly nasty one read: "So, S.C Head, when are you going to start serving coffee during student council meetings? Maybe you can earn some extra tips."

Graffiti, scrawled in hurried marker, appeared on the bathroom stalls. Underneath a crude drawing of someone vaguely resembling you holding a tray, someone had written: "From Council Head to Coffee Maid." The whispers followed you like a persistent shadow, echoing in the hallways. As you walked past a group of impeccably dressed girls, you heard one murmur, just loud enough for you to catch, "Well, look who it is. Fancy seeing her outside of a uniform." Another snickered in response.

You tried to ignore them, to keep your head down, to lose yourself in your studies, but the constant scrutiny, the thinly veiled contempt in the eyes of your peers, began to erode your carefully constructed composure. Even during lectures, you could feel their gazes on you, a silent, collective judgment that made your skin crawl.

One particularly cruel message, slipped into your locker, detailed fabricated stories about the supposed squalor of your "humble abode." "Heard the rats pay more rent than her family," it sneered, the implication clear that you were somehow an imposter, undeserving of being among them. The words, dripping with a disdain for a life you had no choice but to live, hit you with the force of a physical blow. A wave of shame, a feeling you had fought so hard to suppress, washed over you, leaving you feeling exposed and utterly humiliated.

You started avoiding eye contact, your shoulders hunching defensively as you navigated the crowded hallways. The snickers and muttered comments, though often just out of earshot, still stung, each one a tiny pinprick of cruelty chipping away at your carefully maintained stoicism.

The weight of your secret, once a private burden, was now a public spectacle, and the judgment felt suffocating, threatening to crush the very foundations of your hard-won place at the university. The unveiling of your other life had not brought understanding or empathy; it had brought only a fresh, stinging wave of disdain and isolation. You began to dread walking through the campus, the once familiar halls now feeling like a gauntlet of silent condemnation.

The cafeteria, once a bustling hub of student life, had transformed into a minefield for you. The clatter of trays and the boisterous chatter, once mundane background noise, now seemed to carry a sinister undercurrent, each laugh and whispered word potentially directed at you.

You had become a ghost in your own school, navigating the crowded tables with your gaze fixed firmly on the scuffed linoleum floor, a silent plea etched on your face to be rendered invisible. Lunchtime, once a brief respite, had become a daily exercise in forced solitude and silent endurance, each bite of your carefully packed lunch feeling like a leaden weight in your already burdened stomach.

Han’s usual raucous laughter and the easy, often insensitive, banter of his privileged entourage echoed across the vast space, a familiar sound that now struck a jarringly discordant note against the backdrop of your isolation. They seemed untouched by the subtle yet pervasive cruelty that clung to you like a persistent cloud, their world of inherited wealth and effortless comfort continuing its smooth, untroubled trajectory.

Yet, you had observed subtle shifts in Han’s demeanor in recent days. The ever-present smirk, his trademark expression, seemed to flicker less frequently, often replaced by a deep furrow in his brow, a restless energy in his movements, his gaze sweeping across the crowded tables with a searching, almost worried quality.

One particularly difficult afternoon, as you carefully maneuvered through the throng of students, clutching your worn lunch bag and desperately seeking the sanctuary of an unoccupied corner, you couldn't help but overhear fragments of their conversation. Jaehyu, Han’s loud and often tactless friend, was holding court, his voice booming with a cruel, self-satisfied edge.

"Did you see the comments under that photo? 'S.C Head serving the masses!' Hilarious! Looks like our perfect little scholarship student isn't so high and mighty now, wiping down sticky tables for a living." His cronies erupted in a chorus of boisterous laughter, the sound echoing through the cafeteria like a series of sharp, deliberate jabs. You flinched, your grip tightening on the brown paper bag, your cheeks flushing with a potent mix of shame and a simmering, impotent anger. You kept your gaze resolutely down, willing yourself to become one with the peeling paint on the nearby wall.

Finally, your eyes landed on a small, unoccupied table tucked away in a dimly lit corner near the overflowing recycling bins. It wasn't ideal, but it offered a semblance of privacy.

You hurried towards it, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, the whispered judgments feeling like physical shoves. You just wanted to eat your simple sandwich in quiet solitude, to find a brief, precious moment of escape from the suffocating weight of their disdain. But before you could even lower yourself onto the hard plastic chair, Jaehyu’s voice, laced with deliberate malice and amplified by a sudden lull in the surrounding noise, cut through the remaining lunchtime hum like a jagged shard of glass.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his eyes locking onto yours with a smug, cruel satisfaction that made your stomach clench and a wave of nausea rise in your throat. "Look who it is. The queen of rule enforcement, the one who docked points from our club for being five minutes late. Maybe you should focus on clocking in on time at your real job, huh? Wouldn't want to get fired from your oh-so-glamorous career."

A fresh, brutal wave of cruel laughter rippled through his small group, the sound hitting you with the force of a physical shove, each guffaw a fresh wave of humiliation. Your breath hitched, and you instinctively lowered your head further, the familiar sting of tears pricking fiercely at the back of your eyes. You squeezed them shut, fiercely blinking them back. You wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing you break, of witnessing your pain. You had learned long ago to swallow the hurt, to build an invisible wall against their relentless cruelty.

But before you could retreat completely into your self-imposed invisibility, a sudden, sharp, and undeniably violent sound ripped through the remaining laughter, silencing the entire cafeteria as if an invisible hand had clamped down on the noise. A sickening thud, followed by a collective gasp and a sharp intake of breath from the stunned onlookers.

You looked up in stunned disbelief, your eyes widening in shock. Han stood over Jaehyu, his usually playful face contorted into a mask of thunderous, incandescent fury. Jaehyu lay sprawled on the sticky linoleum floor, clutching his jaw with a look of utter shock and dawning, agonizing pain contorting his features. The entire cafeteria fell into an eerie, absolute silence, the only sounds the scraping of overturned chairs and the hushed, disbelieving whispers rippling through the stunned crowd. A few brave (or perhaps foolishly curious) souls fumbled for their phones, their screens illuminating the unfolding drama with a cold, digital glow, capturing the unbelievable scene.

"Apologize to her," Han’s voice was low, dangerous, each syllable laced with a cold, hard steel you had never heard before, a stark contrast to his usual lighthearted tone. His eyes, blazing with a fierce, protective rage that seemed to emanate from his very core, were fixed on Jaehyu, who was slowly pushing himself up, his face a grotesque tableau of pain and utter bewilderment.

Jaehyu, clearly disoriented and not quite comprehending the sudden, brutal assault, stammered, "W-what? Why the hell would I apologize to her? She's the one who needs to apologize for being such a stuck-up-"

Han’s glare intensified, a silent, lethal threat that brooked no argument. The air around him seemed to crackle with barely suppressed violence. "Apologize. To. Her. Instantly, Jaehyu." His voice was a low growl, promising swift and unpleasant consequences for disobedience.

Jaehyu, despite his confusion and the throbbing agony in his jaw, seemed to recognize the raw, unadulterated fury in Han’s eyes, a primal anger that promised further pain if he dared to defy it. He mumbled a grudging, barely audible, "S-sorry," in your general direction, his gaze darting nervously between your stunned face and Han's menacing glare, his usual bravado completely evaporated, replaced by a palpable fear.

Confusion rippled through Han’s small group of friends. Seokhyun, usually the most jovial and easygoing of the bunch, stared at Han in utter disbelief, his mouth agape. "Yah, Jeonghan! What the actual hell was that? Why would you hit him? He was just joking! She needs to lighten up! She’s always acting like she’s better than everyone, lording her student council position over us."

Han’s head snapped towards Seokhyun, his eyes flashing with a raw, untamed rage that made Seokhyun visibly flinch, taking an involuntary step back, his usual easy smile nowhere to be seen. "Shut your damn mouth, Kim Seokhyun," Han spat, his voice dangerously low, each word dripping with contempt. "Making fun of someone for working hard to support their family isn't a 'joke.' It's pathetic, cruel, and reveals more about your rotten character than hers. Unlike some of us who waltzed in here on daddy's platinum card, she earned her place with a hundred percent scholarship. She's smarter, more hardworking, and possesses more integrity in her little finger than all of you entitled brats combined. And you want to tear her down for helping her mother? You want to make her feel ashamed of her strength and sacrifice? You'll have to go through me first, you understand?"

He turned abruptly, his gaze, still burning with a fierce protectiveness, locking onto yours across the stunned silence of the cafeteria. Without a word, he strode towards your table, his movements rough yet strangely determined, his eyes conveying a silent message of solidarity and unwavering support. He reached you, his hand closing around your arm, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the lingering tension radiating from him. He didn't say a word as he pulled you up from your chair, his eyes burning with an intensity you couldn't quite decipher, and began to lead you out of the stunned cafeteria, leaving behind a sea of bewildered faces, dropped trays, and the lingering echo of his unexpected, fierce, and utterly bewildering defense. As he guided you through the stunned crowd, you could hear whispers following in your wake, a mixture of shock, confusion, and a dawning, perhaps grudging, respect.

Han’s grip on your arm, though firm enough to guide you through the stunned and whispering crowd, possessed a surprising gentleness, a stark contrast to the raw fury he had displayed moments before. The whispers followed in your wake, a low, persistent hum of confusion, speculation, and perhaps even a grudging respect, but you barely registered them. Your mind was a whirlwind of disbelief, the unexpected outburst replaying in a loop, the fierce, almost possessive protectiveness Han had exhibited a stark and bewildering contrast to the carefree, infuriating troublemaker you thought you knew.

He didn’t speak as he steered you out of the bustling, judgmental atmosphere of the cafeteria and into the relative quiet and anonymity of a deserted hallway, the echoing silence amplifying the frantic beating of your own heart. The tension between you was thick, a palpable weight of unspoken questions, lingering shock, and a strange, burgeoning sense of… something you couldn't quite name. He finally stopped near a row of cold metal lockers, turning to face you, his hands still resting lightly but possessively on your arms, his touch sending a confusing mix of warmth and unease through you. His usual playful eyes, so often crinkled in amusement or mischief, were now dark, troubled, and filled with an uncharacteristic intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"Why?" he finally asked, his voice rough, the earlier, incandescent anger still simmering beneath the surface, a low growl in his tone. "Why didn't you say anything? Why did you just… stand there and take it? Why are you so… ashamed?" The question hung in the air between you, a direct accusation that pierced through the carefully constructed layers of your stoicism.

The dam you had so carefully, so painstakingly constructed over the past few weeks, the fragile barrier you had erected against the constant barrage of judgment, finally cracked. The carefully constructed walls you’d built around your deepest insecurities, your most vulnerable truths, crumbled under the unexpected weight of his fierce defense and his direct, probing question. The words tumbled out of you, a torrent of raw emotion you hadn’t even realized you were holding back, a desperate outpouring of the pain and exhaustion you had carried in silence for so long.

"Because…" your voice trembled, catching in your throat, thick with the unshed tears that had been threatening to spill over for weeks. "Because it's true, isn't it? They're right. I am the scholarship kid working a dead-end job. I do come from nothing. And every single day, I walk through these halls feeling like I don't belong, like I'm an imposter in a world that wasn't built for me. I work my ass off at the café after classes, come home late, help my mom with bills, with rent… I’m tired, Han. So incredibly tired of trying to pretend that I’m just like them, that their cruel words don't cut me to the bone, that their disdain doesn't leave me feeling hollowed out."

Your voice broke completely, the carefully held back tears finally breaching the surface, hot and stinging against your pale cheeks. You hated crying in front of anyone, the ingrained habit of appearing strong, self-sufficient, and in control too deeply ingrained in your very being. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms, trying desperately to regain some semblance of composure, but the floodgates had opened, and the vulnerability was already out in the open, raw and exposed for him to see.

Without a word, Han’s expression underwent a profound shift. The lingering anger in his eyes softened, the hard edges melting away, replaced by a look of something akin to deep understanding, a surprising tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat and your heart clench with a confusing mix of emotions. He gently released your arms, his touch lingering for a fleeting moment, and with a hesitant, almost reverent movement, reached out and cupped your face in his surprisingly warm hands. His touch was a small, unexpected comfort in the overwhelming storm of your emotions, a silent acknowledgment of your pain.

He didn't say anything, just looked at you, his gaze searching, empathetic, as if he were trying to absorb the depth of your hurt. Then, in a move that completely took you by surprise, a gesture both unexpected and strangely comforting, he gently scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing, his strong arms a surprising anchor in your turbulent sea of emotions. You gasped, a startled sound escaping your lips, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for support, your face buried in the soft fabric of his expensive-smelling shirt, the familiar scent oddly grounding.

He carried you out of the university building, the surprised and curious glances of the few students you passed in the hallway fading into a blurry, irrelevant background. He didn't say a word, just held you close, his steps steady and sure, his presence a silent promise of safety and understanding. He carefully settled you into the plush leather of the passenger seat of his sleek, impeccably maintained car, his eyes filled with a quiet concern and a depth of emotion you had never associated with the playful, often infuriating, Jeonghan.

"Let it out," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, his hand resting gently but firmly on your arm, his thumb stroking your skin in a small, comforting gesture. "Don't hold back. I won't turn around unless you tell me to." He was about to close the door, giving you the privacy you so desperately needed, when you reached out, your hand gripping his arm tightly, a silent plea for connection. You pulled him towards you, burying your face in his chest again, the sobs you had been fighting back for so long finally wracking your body, each one a release of pent-up pain and humiliation. The tears streamed down your face, hot and unrestrained, soaking into the soft fabric of his shirt, a physical manifestation of the emotional dam finally breaking. And the whole time, he just held you close, his arms a safe and unexpected harbor in the storm of your emotions, his presence a silent, unwavering promise of comfort, understanding, and something that felt suspiciously like… care.

The rhythmic sound of your sobs gradually subsided, each hiccuping breath leaving behind a raw ache in your chest and a damp, slightly embarrassing patch on the front of Han’s expensive-looking shirt. You finally pulled back, your face flushed and tear-streaked, your eyes swollen and red, reflecting the tumultuous emotions that had just poured forth. You felt utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to be in years. The fact that it was Han, the very person who usually exasperated you with his antics and tested your patience to its limits, who had witnessed your complete emotional unraveling felt strangely disorienting, yet also… oddly comforting.

He didn’t say anything, just offered you a small, surprisingly gentle smile, a stark contrast to his usual mischievous grin, and a clean, subtly scented handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket. You took it with a shaky hand, dabbing at your wet cheeks and swollen eyelids, avoiding his direct gaze, a wave of self-consciousness washing over you. The silence in the car was thick, no longer charged with the earlier tension and unspoken shock, but with a fragile, almost sacred intimacy, a quiet understanding that had unexpectedly blossomed between you.

After a few moments of awkward but not entirely uncomfortable silence, you finally found your voice, still thick with the remnants of your sobs. "Thank you," you mumbled, your gaze fixed on your hands, which were clasped tightly in your lap, the knuckles white. "For… for everything. For today… and…" you trailed off, unsure how to articulate the confusing mix of gratitude and burgeoning realization swirling within you.

He just nodded slowly, his eyes still filled with that unfamiliar, tender concern that made your heart flutter in a way it never had before. "Are you… okay now?" he asked softly, his voice laced with a genuine worry that surprised you.

You took a deep breath, a shaky exhale that still hitched slightly. "I will be," you said, the words carrying a newfound lightness, as if releasing the pent-up tears had also released some of the immense weight you had been carrying for so long. You finally lifted your gaze to meet his, a question, a hesitant curiosity, forming in your eyes. "Han… why did you do all that? Back in the cafeteria. And… all those times before? The drinks… the chocolate… you always act like you can’t stand me, like I’m just a constant source of irritation."

Han shifted uncomfortably in his plush leather seat, finally breaking eye contact and staring intently out the front windshield, as if the answers to your questions were etched on the glass. A faint blush, starting at his ears, crept up his neck, a tell-tale sign of his rare discomfort. "I… well, that's not exactly true," he mumbled, his fingers fiddling nervously with the car keys dangling from the ignition.

"What isn't true?" you pressed gently, a hopeful tendril reaching out within you, a hesitant anticipation of something unexpected.

He finally turned back to you, his gaze earnest, almost vulnerable, the usual playful mask completely gone. "I never hated you, (Y/N). Not even a little bit. Annoyed? Maybe sometimes," he admitted with a small, sheepish grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He hesitated, then took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for a plunge into unknown waters. "Actually… it's kind of the opposite."

Your eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise, your carefully guarded composure momentarily forgotten. "The opposite?" you echoed, a bewildered laugh escaping your lips.

He nodded, his cheeks now flushed a deeper shade of pink, his gaze darting between your eyes and his fidgeting hands. "Yeah. I… I liked being around you. Even when you were scolding me for some ridiculous prank. Your frown… it was kind of cute, actually," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, a hint of his usual teasing creeping back in, but tinged with a newfound sincerity. He avoided your gaze again, a nervous energy radiating from him. "And… well, I noticed things. You always looked so tired, those dark circles under your eyes… and I remembered you mentioning once, ages ago, how much you loved that specific brand of overly sweet soda. The chocolate… well, I just… I know how bad period cramps can be. My younger sister… she goes through it too."

Your heart skipped a surprised beat. He noticed? All this time, amidst his chaotic pranks and infuriating teasing, he had actually been paying attention to the small, insignificant details of your life?

"You knew… about my period cramps?" you asked, a surprised, slightly disbelieving laugh bubbling up despite the lingering sadness.

He nodded sheepishly, a small, endearing smile finally gracing his lips. "Yeah, well… you always seemed to reach for dark chocolate those days. It wasn't exactly rocket science, Sherlock." He finally met your eyes again, his gaze surprisingly direct and unwavering. "And I knew about your scholarship, about your family… from the very beginning. You have this quiet strength about you, (Y/N). It's hard not to notice."

Your breath hitched in your throat. He knew? All this time, he had known about your struggles, your carefully guarded secrets, and instead of judging you, he had… he had been leaving you small, anonymous tokens of comfort?

"You always seemed so… together," Han continued, his voice softer now, almost hesitant, the playful teasing completely gone. "So strong, carrying all that responsibility on your own, never asking for help. But I could see it sometimes, the weight you carried, the exhaustion in your eyes. I just… I wanted to do something. Anything small, just to… to let you know someone saw it. So you wouldn't have to carry it all alone." He looked away again, his ears now a delicate shade of pink. "I… I think… I’ve liked you… a lot… since first year." The confession hung in the air between you, fragile and unexpected.

He backed off slightly, a nervous energy radiating from him, his expression a mixture of hope and trepidation, unsure of your reaction, his long-held secret finally laid bare. To his utter surprise, you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they tangled in the soft strands of his dark hair. You gently tugged him closer, your eyes searching the depths of his earnest gaze. And then, without thinking, without analyzing, without allowing the years of exasperation and perceived animosity to cloud your judgment, you leaned in and kissed him. It was a tentative kiss at first, a silent acknowledgment of the unexpected depth of his feelings, a soft exploration that spoke volumes. But it quickly deepened, a rush of long-suppressed emotions – gratitude, relief, and a powerful, undeniable affection – flooding through you, washing away the years of carefully constructed barriers. Your hands tightened in his hair as he instinctively pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, a silent, comforting embrace that spoke of a connection you had never dared to imagine.

He mumbled a soft, heartfelt, "I love you," against your lips, the words echoing the long-held secret that had finally found its voice within your own heart. "I love you too, Han," you whispered back, the confession a sweet, liberating release, a fragile beginning to something entirely new.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes wide and luminous, reflecting the shock and the burgeoning, almost incandescent joy that had bloomed in his chest. "You… you really do?" he murmured, his voice thick with a raw emotion that mirrored your own, a hopeful tremor running through him like a live wire. The nervous energy that had been radiating off him just moments before seemed to dissipate entirely, replaced by an almost childlike wonder, a sense of disbelief that mingled beautifully with his happiness.

You nodded, a genuine, heartfelt smile finally breaking through the remnants of your tears, a radiant expression that mirrored the pure joy now illuminating his handsome face. The heavy, suffocating weight that had been pressing down on your chest for so long, the burden of your secrets and your struggles, seemed to have miraculously lifted, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t experienced in what felt like an eternity. In the small, intimate sanctuary of his luxurious car, tucked away from the judgmental eyes and cruel whispers of the university, the harsh realities and societal pressures of the world outside seemed to recede into a hazy background, the only tangible reality the unexpected, profound connection you had forged in the crucible of vulnerability and unexpected affection.

Han reached out, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he gently cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a feather-light, almost reverent touch. "So," he said, his voice soft, a tender whisper that resonated deep within you, a hint of his usual playful tone finally returning, but now imbued with a newfound depth of sincerity. "What… what exactly happens now, Head Girl?"

You leaned into his warm touch, a profound sense of peace settling over you, a feeling of finally being seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long time. The weight of your carefully constructed facade had finally been lifted, replaced by the liberating vulnerability of being completely yourself with someone who not only saw you but cherished you, flaws and all. "Now," you whispered, your eyes locking with his, a newfound resolve hardening your gaze, a quiet strength blossoming within you. "Now, we start over. Together." The word resonated with a profound sense of rightness, a solid promise of shared burdens, mutual support, and a future you no longer had to face alone.

A wide, unrestrained grin, the genuine, heart-melting kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and lit up his entire face, spread across his features, chasing away the last vestiges of nervousness and uncertainty. A familiar spark of mischief flickered back into his eyes, a hint of the playful troublemaker you knew, but this time, it was different. It was a shared secret, a conspiratorial glint that hinted at future adventures, a promise of unwavering support, shared laughter, and a deep, abiding affection that transcended the superficial barriers of your different worlds. He leaned in for another kiss, a slow, tender exploration that sealed your unexpected beginning, a silent vow to face whatever challenges lay ahead, hand in hand, heart to heart. The road ahead wouldn't be easy; the ingrained prejudices of your classmates wouldn't vanish overnight, and the stark realities of your different socioeconomic backgrounds still loomed. But for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel like you had to shoulder the weight of the world on your own. You had Han, your infuriating, surprisingly perceptive, fiercely protective, and now, undeniably loving Han, by your side. And somehow, in that precious moment, that realization made all the difference in the world, painting a hopeful hue over a future that had previously seemed so daunting. The persistent headache that had been your constant companion throughout the tumultuous senior year seemed to finally recede, replaced by a quiet, burgeoning warmth that spread through your chest, a tangible promise of brighter, shared days to come.

The End

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hoe4hotchner · 9 months ago

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helloo can you write a hotch x reader where the reader is very clumsy and bruise easily and always show up to work in bruises which cause them to worry and especially hotch and she have to reassure him that it’s just her that bumps and trip into things and stuff

Discoloration | [A.H]

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘈𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘎𝘯!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘞: 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘞𝘊: 0.6𝘬

You were no stranger to clumsiness. Bumping into things, tripping over nothing, catching your arm on the edge of desks or walls - it was just part of your daily routine at this point. Unfortunately, that also meant your skin was often painted with bruises in varying shades of purple, blue, and yellow dotting your arms and legs like some kind of accidental artwork.

Arriving at work with another fresh set of marks wasn’t uncommon for you. But as the days went on, you noticed more and more concerned glances from your team. You brushed it off, figuring they'd catch on soon enough. Everyone at the BAU had sharp eyes, after all, and it wasn’t long before the questions started.

It was Hotch, of course, who took the lead. One afternoon, after you’d bumped your shin on a filing cabinet, you saw him watching you, his brows furrowed in a way that showed more than just curiosity. It was worry.

“Agent, can we talk?” Hotch asked, gesturing to his office with a slight nod. You knew that tone - it was serious, a mixture of concern and authority that he wielded effortlessly.

You followed him upstairs, your mind already piecing together what this was about. Once inside, he closed the door and turned to you, his dark eyes scanning you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice soft but direct. "I’ve noticed… the bruises. And I’m not the only one." He gestured to the rest of the team sitting down in the bullpen

Your heart sank a little, realizing how it must look from his perspective. You smiled nervously, shaking your head. "Oh, no, Hotch, it's not what you're thinking. I’m just really clumsy. I bump into things all the time - honestly, I’m kind of a walking disaster."

His frown deepened, and he took a step closer. “I’ve seen how often you come in with new bruises. If something else is going on, you can tell me.”

You could feel the tension between his concern and your own awkwardness at having to explain your constant lack of grace. “Really, it’s just me,” you insisted, your voice steady but gentle. “I trip over my own feet, walk into doors, catch my arms on things. I’ve been like this forever. My skin just bruises really easily.”

Hotch still didn’t look convinced. He studied you for a moment longer, then let out a small sigh, running a hand over his face. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said, offering him a reassuring smile. “I promise, Hotch, if something was wrong, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

He nodded, though the tension hadn’t entirely left his features. He trusted you, but his protective nature wouldn’t let go of the worry that easily. “I just don’t want to see you hurt,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

You softened at his words. “I appreciate it, Aaron. Really. But I’m okay. Just a little clumsy.”

Finally, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe we’ll have to wrap you in bubble wrap.”

You laughed, the tension in the room dissolving at last. “Might not be a bad idea,” you teased. Glad to see him joke around for once.

He reached out, placing a gentle hand on your arm, his thumb brushing against a bruise there. His touch was careful as if he was trying to protect you from further harm. “Just… be careful, okay?”

“I will. And thank you for worrying.”

With one last glance, he nodded, his features relaxing a little more. You left his office, feeling lighter than when you’d walked in. It was nice to know he cared so deeply, even if it was over your clumsiness.

But next time, maybe you’d make a conscious effort to avoid the corners of furniture.

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thecoochiefairy · 7 months ago

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sucky sucky. satoru.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 10K words. blackpregnantfem!character, satoru gojo, pharmacists!satoru, sub!satoru, dom!satoru, nasty sex, shower/tub sex, sweet sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, riding, face sitting, condomless sex, size kink, daddy kink, creampie, squirting, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this for that one anon who wanted satoru, cause i wanted him too. love you pookie. hehe.

showering w/ satoru. ride me, baby. sitting on his face.

DAWN WAS YOUR FAVORITE TIME OF THE DAY. The sun hadn’t risen just yet, the sounds of your box fan humming through your pitch black bedroom always brought you comfort, and it was almost as if the entire world was still asleep. Your feet sunk into your bunny slippers, your soft steps pad along the white marble floor of the condo you resided in with your husband—who was currently sound asleep, able to knock out in a natural disaster as you crept out of bed.

You decided to not turn on any lights as you came down the hallway, letting the dim screen of your phone guide you as you went towards his office close to the living room. Your hand lightly planted along the swell of your belly, taking deep breaths as you tried to focus on making it to his baby blue IMAC, needing to do more research. You were desperate at this point.

You were nine months pregnant, the full term having been a wonderful experience as you waited for your bun to come out of the oven—the only issue was, you were almost a week after your due date, and you were now miserable. Your entire body felt heavy as your baby sat directly on your bladder, causing you to have shortness of breath at times, making you waddle essentially all the time. Regardless, you had the support you needed. Even if you were an emotional wreck.

You keep the door cracked as you push the light switch halfway up, allowing the room to be dim as you make your way over to the desktop, clicking your french tipped fingers along the mouse to ignite the screen. Your heart shaped Cartier wedding ring glimmers along your finger—it always reminds you of the price, how you cried for Satoru to return it for something cheaper, and he felt that you deserved nothing but the best.

You didn’t mean to wake him up, but you did anyway. You sigh lightly as you can hear his heavy footsteps coming down the hallway, his tall and broad frame unable to sneak around even if he tried.

“Baby, please come to bed.”

You turn your head, pulling back the flyaway of your curls as they’re hidden under your baby pink bonnet to protect your hair. Your edges swirl to perfection along your forehead, glasses tipping at your nose.

You softly ask, “Did I wake you up?”

“I woke up when you left. Your absence was too loud."

He rubs his eye with his big fists, his body leaning up against the door frame. His voice was low and husky with sleep. His hair is white as snow, his bangs covering his eyes as he rubs at his face, shirtless as his basketball shorts fall right below his defined and veiny V-line. The minimal tattoos along his body and arms are visible with the light from the computer, but considering how small they were you’d almost miss them.

You turn yourself towards him as you apologize, “I know you have work in a couple of hours. You should go back to sleep.”

"It is four in the morning, baby. I’m good. C’mere.”

He stretches his arms out, his veins popping along each one as he motions for you to come over to him. You knew he had work tomorrow, but the way he said it made it feel like you were crazy for even staying up this early. Your eyes glance at his biceps as he stretches, his toned body and defined abs on full display.

“I’m just doing some research. Google says raspberry leaf tea can sometimes induce labor, I might need to grab some tomorrow,” you hum more to yourself, your eyes flickering up as he walks towards you, seeing the amusement within his icy eyes.

"I might just have to block that Google shit entirely, you find more things to research and it sends you into a complete spiral.“

You sigh, turning to him as you chew on your lip, wanting to hold back your pout.

“Baby…” you sigh, almost in an exhausted manner, hearing as that makes him chuckle at your disappointment of his words.

"Don’t make that face at me. You know I’m right.”

He knows you're trying to help the process, and you're tired of sleeping on your side, being swollen and achy. He leans down as he presses a kiss onto your jaw. Your hormones are all out of whack as you even try not to get emotional at his words, knowing he meant no harm.

“It doesn’t hurt to try,” you lightly defend, hating when he was dismissive. You then click off safari along the computer as you attempt to stand, pressing your hand along the desk as you groan lightly—you just wanted to stand without struggling.

"Hey, let me help you, baby.”

He stands behind you, placing his hand on your lower back to steady your stance, but hesitates as you push his hand away.

“I can do it myself, Satoru…”

Fucking hell, there it was. The tears forming in your vision. You didn’t know why you were about to cry. You wipe your eyes as you hold your belly, taking a deep breath as you sniffle, “I’m not helpless.”

"I know you’re not, pretty girl. Let me just help you, okay? You can walk yourself back to bed.”

You were always prideful and resilient, but right now—you were a hot mess, the pregnancy hormones making you teary eyed often these days.

He knew how to handle you. It just depended on your emotions, and he was there to respond in any way he needed to. Like now, it was best not to make you become defensive—because you were—instead giving you an ultimatum, to make you still feel in control of yourself. You lean your hand along his stomach as you use your other hand to wipe your eyes, “Baby girl’s sitting on my bladder again.”

He places a hand along your belly, his palm firm as it sits atop of your own.

"Do you need to pee, baby? You’re always feeling like that.”

His voice was so tender as he spoke, he knew you were sensitive right now, so he had to be gentle with you.

You shake your head, “Just wanna lay down.”

He nods, understanding as he makes sure your legs are sturdy before he helps you walk down the hallway, taking your hand to let him guide you. His big palm practically engulfs yours, but the warmth of his hand instantly gives you some comfort as you take slow and wobbly steps towards your bedroom.

You successfully make it towards the soft white comforter set, golden swan headboard curving under the lights of the room as you sit yourself on your side of the mattress. You squeeze his hand a little tighter as you then say, “I wasn’t crying.”

He lets a low chuckle escape from his lips as he stands in front of you. Taking your face in between his hands that makes you look up at him, his soft thumbs graze along your skin, wiping away your tears.

"Oh, you weren’t? An intruder cutting onions in my house?”

His lips press a sweet kiss to your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne lingering on his skin. It was your favorite fragrance, a mixture of sandalwood and musk.

You release a soft sigh, gently pushing his hands down as you say, “You’re unserious as hell,” rolling your eyes. You then ask, “Are you sure your employees will be okay if you have to leave work tomorrow?”

You had a doctor's appointment to determine whether or not they could just pop your water bag, or give it a couple of days to let the baby come herself. Your husband was a Pharmacists CEO—which seemed fairly easy within the name—but it was so much more into his job, keeping him at work for hours at a constant.

"They’ll be good, baby. I think you forget that I have a team working for me, I don’t hire any dumbass staff. If anything they’re excited to play on the clock while I’m not around.”

You absentmindedly lock your fingers around the pendant of your necklace, nodding as your other hand rubs along his flexing forearm.

You then remind him, “You need to sleep, Satoru. Otherwise you’ll be the dumbass on your team, walking around like a zombie on the clock.”

"I’ve been dealing with sleepless nights for almost a year now because of someone,” He leans down, “Gimme’ your mouth. I’m missing you like hell.”

Your eyes scan across the dangerous glint of his, always a mischief somewhere in them. Your lash extensions flutter as you say, “Kay,” almost a little too girlishly, raising your mouth up to his.

He could be a completely different person when things became a little feisty between you two, feeling his mouth wrap around your lips, hungrily sucking your tongue inside to reel you closer. It makes your cheeks warm.

It felt like years since he held your mouth to his own, the taste of you making him grunt as he took his time with it. He knew he’d have to be cautious to not get carried away, you were heavily pregnant, and the last thing he wanted to do is hurt you.

He sucks on your bottom lip as his hand moves down to your ass, squeezing and massaging his fingers into the plush skin under his hand.

The feeling makes your breath lightly hitch through your nose, and a throb comes between your legs. You pull your mouth back, pressing your forehead against his as you softly say, “I’m tired, ’toru,” using that as an excuse as you felt yourself becoming incredibly horny, not wanting to continue further than that.

He knew your signs of exhaustion when they came, so he wasn't surprised when you pulled back from his lips, but a part of him didn't want to stop. The sight of your pouty expression makes him release a low groan. Your swollen face, your long eyelashes, your pretty lips. The pregnancy absolutely made you sexier.

He reluctantly pulls away from your face, "C’mon, imma’ try to get some rest before I’m cussing out my employees for no reason.”

Somewhere in you feels bad. You know he’s been holding back for months, considering your libido has been incredibly low since you became pregnant. But for whatever reason with you close to giving birth, your lower body was on fire, needing him in ways you couldn’t imagine yourself acting. It was egregious. Maybe you should’ve googled something on that.

When the next day came, you were being dropped off by the chauffeur at your doctor's office. The walls inside were pink, your smile soft as you greeted silently at other pregnant women. You sat in the waiting room as your hands were along your belly, watching the smaller children play with the toys provided by the office, imagining yourself to have a playful baby of your own. It’d already been Satoru’s third time calling you today, making sure you arrived safely to your appointment while he was at work. And he said you were worrisome.

When it was your turn to be called back, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. You were so close to the due date, and still, the baby hasn’t shown an indication of coming out the oven.

You were greeted by your OB, a middle-aged woman who was friendly enough, but you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. After getting your weight checked, you sat on the examination bed as she began looking over your swollen belly.

“How are you feeling?” she questions, cream colored skin being complimented by her red lipstick, onyx hair clipped perfectly into a bob.

“I’m okay,” you say softly, giving a smile to her, “I’m just feeling a little heavy. It’s been a bit of a struggle to walk at times, she won’t get off of my bladder,” you give a light laugh, “I just wanted to see if I was okay to get induced today? I’m just—I feel ready, doctor.”

The doctor nods as she looks over your information sheet on her clipboard, listening to you as you spoke with her. After a short pause, she answers, “Well, you’re full term, your water could break at any moment. However, I suggest waiting a few more days before we try the induction process, your body will go naturally when it’s ready.”

She moves the stethoscope along your belly, listening to your baby’s heart rate. But not what you wanted to hear. It makes you sigh, “May I ask why there would be a difference between induction, and if the baby came on her own tonight?”

“The induction process can be a little more painful for you, honey. The contractions are more intense as we try to force your body to go into labor,” she moves away as she takes off her stethoscope, placing it back onto her neck as she pauses, “I would try some natural techniques that can induce labor, but, there’s no guarantee.“

“That makes sense,” you nod more to yourself, “I was up doing some research last night. Didn’t find much considering my husband ordered me back to bed. Are there any at home suggestions you’d give me as far as going into labor?”

The doctor gives a chuckle as she writes something on her clipboard, “I see. Your husband is a smart man, he knows what’s best for you right now. How about you try walking more? It helps bring the baby lower into the birth canal, maybe that will help your body’s natural contractions begin?” She looks back at you, “Sex is also a very healthy way of triggering a natural induction. A lot of my momma’s have some quite interesting stories,” she pats your leg lightly, same sweet smile against her face.

You’re a grown woman, but an older woman suggesting sex with your husband is something that makes your throat go dry. It even makes you blush a bit. You blink, pulling down the baby tee you wear that desperately wants to release your breast from the confinement of the material, your nipples extremely sensitive.

“Uh…sex can trigger my labor?” You repeat.

"Absolutely, sweetheart. It can help release oxytocin and prostaglandins, which can stimulate your body’s natural contractions. I’m sure your husband will be very happy to hear that,” she gives you a little smirk before adding, “It's a very effective way to start labor, a nice release for both momma and poppa.”

“Is it safe, even with my baby girl being so close to my cervix?” You have a thousand questions—definitely should've been a little quieter as you snuck into the office last night. Maybe you would’ve known this by now.

The doctor laughs, seemingly surprised by your question, but answers it anyway, “It’s absolutely okay. Baby girl won’t be harmed. A lot of my patients have sex throughout their pregnancies, it’s completely normal,” she moves back and takes her seat on her office chair, “Just be careful, but don’t be too careful. It might just do the job for you.”

At that moment, your head turns as a knock comes to the door. When it opens, it reveals Satoru—who’s not dressed within his lab coat and button up. He wears a black long sleeve, matching sweatpants accompanied with his blue New Balance 9060 sneakers, shades on his eyes as his vision strained from the sun at times. His top is practically suffocating his large frame, it’s like he has to crouch down to make everyone else comfortable. You see he holds your pale pink Nike duffle, your birth bag slung over his shoulder in preparation for anything. It almost makes you giggle.

“You’re here,” you say, a warm smile coming to your face, not expecting him to be since you didn’t call him to come.

He loved this. He loved how you were absolutely radiating right now, all round and pretty, carrying his baby. He moves closer, bending over as he presses a kiss to the top of your head before greeting, “Hey, my pretty baby. I had a free hour in a half so I thought I’d come check up on my girl. She’ good?” he questions the doctor.

The doctor nods, placing her clipboard back into its holder, “Everything looks great. Your wife is full term and healthy, and your baby girl is ready to meet you both,” she gives a kind smile before giving a quick wave, “I’m going to have the nurse bring some pamphlets, it’s got some more information in there, just to help out. Do you have any other questions?”

You shake your head, “You’ve been amazing this entire journey, doctor. I just wanna say thank you—you’ll be one of the first people I come visit with my little muffin.”

You don’t know why you’re about to cry, but it’s a radiance of happiness you feel as you rub your eyes, so glad to have a good physician in this situation. You ignore Satoru’s, “Fuckin’ hell, baby,” rubbing your back immediately as he sees your vision glossing over.

The doctor gives a light laugh, clearly used to this type of behavior from her patients. “No problem, honey,” patting your knee once again, “How about you let papa take you out for a nice big lunch, hm? I have another patient coming in, I’ll see you soon. Congratulations.”

She leaves you both within the room, your fingers padding your eyes lightly, giggling at yourself as you greet him, “Hi, how’s work been so far?”

He’s still rubbing soothing circles along your back, finding it cute the way you were being overly emotional right now.

His lips press to your temple, “Busy as hell. You’ hungry?”

You nod your head, taking his hand as you step off of the table as you hold your belly, a light gasp coming to your mouth as you begin waddling towards the door, thankfully not seeing the way Satoru holds back his laugh as you ramble on, “Baby! I saw this cute little restaurant not too far away when the chauffeur dropped me off, it had chicken tenders, Mexican food, burgers, all kinda stuff!…”

It’s not like your legs just stopped working, but he knows the added weight was probably hard to get used to. He chuckles as you speak, following after you as he opens the door for you both, letting you walk out first as he says, “That’s perfect, baby.”

It was in fact cuter on the inside. Small circular tables, thinly designed chairs, brown architecture and green plants hanging all around the ceiling as calming music played throughout the building. The bustle of people walking past brought a sense of comfort to you, your eyes trailing to the roses that sat decoratively along the table.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” You blink, giving a polite smile to the waiter that places tall glasses of lemon water along the table, giving you time to glance over the menu.

He could honestly care less about a restaurant’s interior. If they had the best burgers in the world, he was there, but the way you were glazed over at the interior, made the whole situation a little sweeter.

He reaches across to hold your hand, giving a light squeeze to your fingers as he answers, “It’s pretty as fuck, baby, just like you.”

“Don’t be tryna distract me, boy. Why’d you leave work? I never called you,” you remind him, “Pregnancy doesn’t make me all ditzy and shit.”

He knew that question was coming, even if you were happy that he showed up.

He shrugs, his thumb stroking your skin, “I was worried. You’ seen my big ass carrying that labor bag, I wanted to be there in case they induced you. Is that a crime?” he questions, “Plus, I needed a break from my annoying ass employees.”

“Oh, now they’re your annoying ass employees. You spoke so highly of them last night, what’d they do today to piss you off, Mr. Pharmacist?” You tease, accepting the fries they placed down in front of you that you ordered, taking one in your mouth, your stomach grumbling at the salty potatoes entering your system.

He reaches over to steal a fry—ignoring the way your hand smacks his—“One of them spilled a whole bottle of medication that’s hard as fuck to get again. Another one put some wrong information on a medical document. My third worker was late, and had no explanation why. So yeah, call me pissy. Don’t care.”

“Stuff happens, Satoru. Now imagine if your workers were irrational about you just ducking off the clock because you wanna have lunch with me? That isn’t fair to them,” you point out.

He pauses, listening to you as he gives a nod, chewing through the fry he had in his mouth. Satoru knew you had a point, and he respected the way you always made him realize those points. So he simply replies with, “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, baby.”

“I know I am,” you agree. You give an excited clap as they place down your nachos, craving Mexican food like no other. They also give Satoru his gourmet burger and fries, the man refusing to eat anything else at times. He was the pickiest person on the planet.

You shake your head, “You and your beef. You’d be perfect as a pregnant woman, with excessive amounts of protein.”

“Shitt, to be able to take off work, wear whatever I want and crash out on somebody if they comment on my eating habits? Somebody call the government and start making pills to get men pregnant. Quickly.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’d enjoy the luxury of having the doctor tell you they don’t want to force your induction, and you have to wait several more days to see if you’ll naturally go into labor.”

He leans back into his seat, placing his arms over his chest as he stares at you, “Damn, maybe you’re right. Being a woman is stressful—no offense.” He pauses, his own eyes glancing at the way you looked a little disappointed from the doctor’s words, not getting what you wanted. He leans forward, his hand reaching over the table to take one of yours, “Hey. She knows what she’s talking about. Baby girl will come when she’s ready. You’ll be a great momma, y’know that right?”

“Maybe she’s hiding in there cause she thinks imma’ be a bad momma,” you sigh, kneeling yourself on your elbow against the table, “You’ think babies can feel anxiety?”

He listens to you express your concerns, his jaw clenching. He knew you were nervous. You were carrying the product of you and him for months, you wanted everything to go perfectly. Satoru wanted that for you. But he also wanted you to stop being so hard on yourself, so he says, “Nah, baby, I don’t think she can feel your anxiety. She’s probably too busy listening to how amazing her momma’s heartbeat is, probably a lullaby to her.”

You exhale lightly, feeling a bit better at his words. On the other hand, you find yourself…gazing at your husband. His dark shades along his strident face, alabaster hair and muscular frame wanting to explode through his top. He made the table almost look small, and your mind flashes to memories of you…creating your bundle of joy, an entirely different Satoru in those times. You pull your fingers away as you put another nacho into your mouth, giving a weak smile, feeling the blush on your cheeks as you say, “You’re so sweet.”

He catches the way you stare at him. Your feline eyes blink slowly, your dark curls filling the roundness of your flushed cheeks.

He leans a little closer, his tone lowering as he says, “I’m sweet, huh?”

You didn’t have to wonder whether or not Satoru looked at you in the way you were currently staring, because it was a constant gaze in those arctic pupils. There was a time he’d fuck you anywhere. You could always feel his eyes on you, especially today as you wore an all white baby tee and yoga pants set, brown sandals complimenting your pedicure, the gold along the strap of your sandals matching the dermals on your lower back. The set clung itself to your frame, never ashamed of your body even within the pregnancy. Your child bearing hips, full ass, nipples protruding through your top. You were stunning.

You always feigned an innocence, giggly like a schoolgirl when he flirted as if he weren’t your husband. Your eyes glance up to him, “You’ wanna know what the doctor said?”

His eyes were practically glued to every part of you. He took notice of the pedicure with the little white flowers against your feet, the way your shirt hugged your frame perfectly, and how he could see your pretty brown skin through the white fabric. His grin meets your face, ignoring the way you tilt his chin up to keep his eyes on yours, “Tell me.”

“She suggested that sex might be a way of inducing my labor,” you rub your fingers along his ear, a habit of yours when you talked to him in close radius.

The way that those words slipped from your mouth, the tone of your voice, it had his mind in overdrive.

He feels your fingers against his earlobe, and he almost loses himself at the touch, his jaw clenching, “How you’ feel about that?”

“Like I need to go home and confirm that on some physicians website. I mean, that sounds terrifying! What if you bump my baby girl's head? Is that too impossible to think about?” You scrunch up your nose.

He holds back his laugh as you seem so concerned about hurting the baby that way. He knows it’s an irrational fear, but it’s adorable nonetheless, his hand coming up to rub your cheek as he says, “Baby, you do realize she’s protected in your womb, right?”

You sigh lightly, “Mhm. I just wish she’d sit up more, she makes me feel like I have to pee every millisecond. Like now. And you need to get back to work,” you remind him.

He glances at his Chopard watch, knowing he had to leave. He loved spending time with you, but he did need to get back to work. He felt awful, but that’s what it was like owning a massive corporation— you didn’t always have a life outside work.

“I’ll probably be back a little late. You’ gonna miss me?”

You roll your eyes, accepting the pecks he presses along your mouth as you say in between them, “I always miss you, Daddy,” giggling as he raises an eyebrow at the nickname.

He could feel himself losing restraint. You stand as you wrap your arms along his neck, Satoru lowering himself so you don't have to stand on your toes. He grunts as he smacks your ass, pressing a kiss to your jaw, not wanting to pull away. But he had to. So instead he gives a sigh, watching the chauffeur pull up to drop you off at home as he waved, “Later, baby.”

The rest of the day was mostly you laying in bed, rewatching American Horror Story and also pushing yourself to read another chapter of a book you’d been interested in. You also pushed yourself to do your usual routines of being a housewife, feeding your large black husky that didn’t do much besides holler and follow you around, or even tend to your garden outside.

You thought about the doctor's words, and although you were a bit fearful of them, maybe a relaxing night between you and your husband wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Maybe it wasn’t about your concerns for the baby, maybe you were just nervous of having intimate time with him, considering it’d been a month without it. So, you had a plan.

You waited until you heard your husky barking loudly at the door as it unlocked, meaning Satoru was home. You could hear his deep voice chastising the dog for her noises, dropping his keys along the counter like he always did. You lightly pad your feet along the cold floor, clutching the fluffy pink towel wrapped around your bare body as you peek around the corner at him.

He had dealt with so much work bullshit, and all he wanted was to take a hot shower and lay with you in bed. But the sight of you, dark curls pulled out of your face, natural freckles sprucing against your nose and cheeks, the pink contrasting with your brown skin, he was glaring at you.

“Was work that bad?” You poke fun, holding the towel at the top to keep it from falling.

He shakes his head, his eyes still glued to you. You looked so sexy, and he hadn’t touched you in weeks. He wanted you. He craved you. His eyes trail down your frame, taking notice of the curves along your legs, and he gives a grunt.

With a few quick strides, he’s standing in front of you, his large hands taking hold of your face as he answers, “Work was hellish, baby.”

“Mmm, I’m sorry,” you say, pressing a kiss against his palm, “Wanna come shower with me? I’ll scrub your back like you love.”

He exhales, almost sounding like a sigh of relief. A shower after his stressful ass day, and his wife? He didn’t argue the offer. The way you stood in front of him, your hands clutching the fluffy material against the curves of your body, it made his fingers itch. He needed you. He needed to touch you.

“Yeah? You’ being all nice to me and shit, but I’m not complaining.”

You take his hand as you pull him down the hall, making your way towards the double doors of the bathroom. Satoru notices a pop of red along the floor, focusing his eyes in as he then realizes it’s a rose petal. When the door fully opens, candles sit all around the mesmerizing black clawfoot tub with golden feet, already filled with water that looks surprisingly warm. Not just red rose petals—but pink ones, lilies, sunflowers, colorful flowers overall floating atop of the water, swimming prettily.

You turn towards him, beginning to remove his watch as your warm face comes down, “I just thought maybe a relaxing night between us would be nice. You’ um…You’ like it? I used a lot of flowers from my garden so…I hope you do,” you nervously smile, pulling your hair behind your ear.

His eyes scanned the room. He could smell the sweet aroma of flowers, and the way the room was dimmed had his shoulders relaxing almost immediately. His eyes trailed the petals on the floor, realizing just how much effort you put into this.

“Baby, you shouldn’t have gone to this trouble. I should be doing shit like this for you.”

“It’s okay, I know you would have if you weren’t at work,” you place your palm against his cheek, “It wasn’t so bad, Storm helped me carry most of the stuff I needed anyways,” you refer to the dog, “She slobbered on the stems, but I cut them anyway.”

He chuckles at the way you talk, knowing your dog was like your first child . He reaches over and pinches your cheek, “You and that husky of ours have a whole ass bond. But I appreciate this, baby, really. Is the water still warm? Need me to refill it for you?”

You shake your head, “Just need you to follow me in.”

You raise on your toes, giving him a soft, tender kiss. As you come back down, you turn away, removing the towel from around you as you stride over to the tub, arching your bare body as you make your way in.

You sink beneath the water as you ask, “You’ coming?”

He was practically mesmerized as you made your way to the tub. The way the candles illuminated along your skin, the water moving as you slid in, he was almost at a loss of words. But he couldn’t just stand there like an idiot.

He smacks his lips, “You think I’m not?” making you giggle at the way he yanks his tie off, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Your eyes watch as his clothes drop to the floor, scanning the curve of his abs, how perfectly sculpted he was. Veins ran through his arms and fingers, flexing up and all the way down to his v-line that harshly dipped into the monster that sat between his legs. It made your eyes pull away a bit, seeing as he was already coming into the tub with you.

He knew he had your attention. The way you stared as he undressed, the way he caught your eyes taking notice of his body, he was confident. A little cocky, per usual. Especially when you looked away, almost as if you couldn’t look at him. He slips into the water across from you, his hands immediately taking hold of your hips as he pulls you onto his lap.

“Is it warm enough?” You question, wrapping your arms along his neck, adjusting yourself on top of him.

As you straddle him, his hands move along your thighs, holding onto you tightly. He’s already nodding as he answers, “Feels good, baby.”

He brings you closer, burying his face in between your neck and collarbone, inhaling your scent deeply. He loved how you smelled. He loved everything about you. You take the pink sponge you had within the water, your other fingers gripping the nape of his hair along the back of his neck as you tilt his head, dipping the sponge deeper before squeezing it above him. You watch as his light hair darkens, pulling back out of his face to reveal him fully.

“It’s getting close to that time of renewing our vows,” you remind softly.

Your touch felt good. He enjoyed it. The way you took care of him, the way your fingers worked through his white locks. He closes his eyes at the feeling, leaning a bit more into your touch. When you mention renewing your vows, his eyes flutter open, gazing directly into yours.

He gives a grin, “Baby, I’d marry you thousands of times over and over again. I don’t give a fuck where we do it, you’re just indecisive.”

You sigh, “I know. I just want it to be as perfect as the first time…” you think to yourself, eyes lighting up as you suggest, “What about Singapore? Maybe only our parents and friends, make it small, explore the country, yeah?”

He lets you speak, knowing just how perfect you wanted everything to be. But honestly? Satoru didn’t care. The first wedding was nice, but you were the only thing that he truly cared about. He just enjoyed listening to you.

When you suggest Singapore for the renewal, he chuckles a little, “You know my parents will argue with that. They’ll want to host it somewhere fancy like Rome or something.”

“And Singapore isn’t?” You blink, “God, you really were raised bougie as fuck. My parents thought the Statue Of Liberty was the nicest thing they’d ever seen.”

Satoru couldn’t help but laugh a little at how you put it, knowing you weren’t entirely wrong. But he shakes his head, “Singapore is extravagant, but it’ll be like talking to a damn brick wall, trying to persuade them to even consider Singapore. They’ll probably suggest some damn castle in Europe.”

“It’s unfortunate for them that it’s our wedding, hm?” You tilt your head, “Your controlling ass parents gon’ have to suck it up. Cause I can be a bridezilla,” you roll your eyes, ignoring his chuckle against your lips as he kisses them.

“You’re their princess. They’ll put up with your crazy ass and plan the wedding where you want it. Me on the other hand? I don’t give a fuck if it’s in the middle of some street, as long as you walk down the aisle and say you still love me.”

You giggle as he tickles your neck with his lips, pulling yourself back and you’re inches away from his face. You sigh, “I love you.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, “You’ having a stroke or something?”

You roll your eyes, “I mean it.”

He grins at your eye roll, knowing you were playful. But when you tell him you mean it, his blue eyes shift into a softer, more serious expression.

He brings his hands up, holding your face gently as you continue, “I just…appreciate you for being so patient with me. You love me, even if I cry because the sky’s blue.”

Your sincerity makes him want to melt. He didn’t care how many bags of potato chips he had to buy you, how many stuffed animals you wanted, or how many times you changed the sheets because your pregnancy hormones had you paranoid that the bed smelled weird. He could deal with it. He would deal with it. You were having his baby, carrying the most precious thing he’s ever had. He’d deal with you forever.

Satoru leans upwards, capturing your lips in a soft, passionate kiss. He pulls back, gazing at you as he says, “I’d go to the fuckin’ ends of the world for you.”

When he clutches you back against his mouth, it makes your heartbeat in your ears. You feel his nails dig into the skin of your hips, almost as if he’s trying to be soft with you. Key word—trying. You lightly pull your mouth back, breath hitching as he quickly wraps his fingers along the back of your neck, holding you close, your lips centimeters apart.

“Satoru…”

The way you breathe his name, it almost made him lose his mind right there. The way your body pressed against his, the way you sat in his lap, it made it damn near impossible to hold back. He wanted you so bad. He’d wanted you the moment he walked through the door. He needed to make you his again.

“I’m hungry,” he grunts along your mouth, your eyes fluttering as you blink, his light ones deep within your vision.

“Oh, um—“ you inhale, “Do you wanna stop? Want me to make you something?”

“Yeah. Open your fuckin’ legs.”

Your light gasp is swallowed by his mouth, his head twisting to the side, mouth overlapping as his tongue envelopes yours. Your shoulders fall, trying to get a grip along him as your body sinks lower within the warm water—the heat of the tub, the heat within your kiss, you feel fuzzy.

He pulls your mouth from his, clutching the side of your face as he questions, “Good, baby?” to which you nod your head, running your tongue over your bruised lips. He nods with a grunt at the confirmation, and it’s quick—you nearly lose your breath as he pulls you up by your hips, your small frame being bent along the rim of the tub, Satoru scooting your thighs above his face as he puts himself beneath you.

“Hold the edge of the tub. Arch your back,” he orders, and you grip your hands against the black marble, lifting your hips high, his large palms cuffing you by the skin of your ass. You hesitate as you try to look beneath yourself, nearly wanting to roll your eyes as your belly is in the way of seeing his face.

You stand on your toes beneath the water, legs lightly shuddering as you say, “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby…”

You grip the edge, biting your lip as you feel him spank your ass, rubbing the skin to soothe the sting it gives.

“Pussy is fuckin’ pretty, baby. Can I taste you?”

You let one of your hands gently reach down, pushing your weight onto his palms as you clutch a lock of his hair. You nod your head as you exhale shakily, “…Yes, please.”

He grunts, his tongue flattening as he drags it up the entirety of you, the rush of pleasure unexpected as you immediately tense. You can feel the vibration of his chuckle at your reaction, holding you tighter as his warm breath fans against your slick folds. He spreads you farther, his tongue darting out, licking another slow stripe up your slit before circling your clit with the tip.

It’s his moan that makes your lashes flutter, it’s like a candy he’d been rewarded with. You whimper as he spanks you again, “Fuck, baby. You taste like heaven,” he’s already stuffing his face in between your legs, pulling you down as he’s lapping at your clit like an animal, making the flesh even more wet from the arousal that’s collecting on your pussy.

“O—oh shit,” you gasp lightly, clutching his hair tighter, your legs shuddering more than before. His tongue swirls around your sensitive nub, soft and throbbing as it rubs against his lips, being tugged at each time he sucks in between his mouth. His jaw nudges at the opening of your walls, your legs beginning to tighten on each side of his face.

“Baby, you're dripping,” he groans in between licks, his voice muffled against your pussy, “Oh my god, shit is so fuckin’ sexy. Give me more.”

“Baby—w—wait,” you pull at his hair harder, your arousal beginning to spread in all parts of your mind, knowing he was desperately trying to pull that side of you that didn’t normally appear.

He raises one of his hands as he orders, “Come hold it. Not gonna let you run from my mouth, so imma’ ask nicely for now.”

You nearly pout, taking one of your hands as you reach back and intertwine your fingers together, Satoru placing it back against the skin of your ass, fully holding you in place, eating you out just how he wanted to.

Your moans fill the air as he continues to devour your pussy, sucking and licking with reckless abandon. He buries his face deeper, inhaling your scent deeply as he laps at your juices, drinking in every drop he can get.

"Mmmmph...need you to ride my face baby," he moans, that pleading voice beginning to get to you. He always knew how to knock your walls down. His hands grip your hips tightly as he begins motioning them in a thrusting motion, pulling you harder against his mouth to make you grind on him, whimpering to you, “C’mon, baby. C'mon, cmon. please.”

With each beg, his tongue begins to reach for your squelching opening, probing at your inner walls, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your head kneels back as you arch, moaning as you pull yourself towards him, whimpering with him as you quietly ask, “Put your tongue in me.”

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you like that?”

“Y—yeah, ‘toru,” you whine softly, digging your nails within your own skin, the same hand that’s trapped under his.

He parts his mouth wider, giving your clit a good suck before he slides his face down, exhaling heavily as he sticks his tongue out, sliding you down on it, feeling as it curls within your walls to touch against your most sensitive spot. The both of you moan out, your eyes turning to the mirror of the bathroom as you see yourself—arched against his mouth, hair sprawled over your face as you angle yourself perfectly to grind on his tongue.

You’re becoming hornier by the second, taking your hand from under his that was trapped as you go back to holding his hair. Your giggle is sultry as you move your hips forward, circling them down onto his mouth as you whimper, “Want me to fuck down on your mouth baby? Tell me.”

“Yeah, baby. Need you to drench my fuckin’ mouth,” he groans deeply, shaking his head side to side, spanking you at your words. This is just what he wanted from you.

He continues to feast on your pussy, his tongue delving deeper inside you, exploring every inch. Your moans echo through the bathroom, spurring him on as he laps at your juices, savoring your unique flavor.

"Fuck,” he gasps, “You’ taste so. Fuckin’. Good…” he’s thrusting his tongue in and out of you with each word, mimicking the act of penetration. Each stroke sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body, causing your legs to tremble and your grip on his hair to tighten.

"You like that, baby?" he pants, his breath hot against your core, “Like when I tongue-fuck this pretty little pussy?"

Your response is a desperate whine, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his tongue. Your velvety walls clench around the invader, creaming as he savors your taste. He's relentless, spearing in and out, stretching you open more and more.

"Take what you need from me, baby. This is your fuckin’ mouth, make it yours.”

His nose presses into your clit, rubbing it with each powerful thrust of his tongue. He starts moving it in and out slowly, but your hips are grinding chaotically, also savoring your tightness and relishing the feel of your inner muscles clenching around him. His hands are back to gripping your ass firmly, keeping you in position as he eats you out aggressively.

“Gonna make you cum so hard on my tongue, baby. Milk it for me..."

Your juices coat his chin and neck as he devours you, slurping and sucking greedily. He can't get enough of your taste, your scent even filling his senses. Your hair is flying all over your face and down your back, your head falling back as you’re moaning pathetically, dipping your hips down, almost like you’re dancing atop of him.

He’s going, “Mhmmm, mhmmm, yeah. Like that. Yes. Moan louder. Shit, baby..." he murmurs against your slick folds, "Love seeing you lose control like this."

He doubles his efforts, tongue flicking rapidly against your sensitive bud before wrapping his lips around it and suckling hard. The vibrations from his moans send shivers down your spine as he works to push you closer to the edge. His strong hands grip your ass even tighter, spreading your cheeks wide to access your dripping entrance better.

You can only see the side of his face from the mirror, your craving for him is beginning to heighten, and now, you’re hungry. You pull yourself back from his mouth, looking at him through the mirror as you sultrily talk, “You want me to cum all in your mouth, baby? Beg.”

He looks up at you with lust-filled eyes, the brightest irises you’d ever seen somehow darkening.

“P—please, baby,” he begs, his voice low and needy, "I want to taste you when you're flooded. Keep going, give it to me. Fill my mouth with your cum, let me drink you down."

You begin grinding slowly against his tongue, his eyes rolling back as he moans. You tell him with a shake to your head, “You can do better than that, Daddy. C’mon…wanna hear you mean it, ‘toru. Wanna cum all over your face baby,” you whimper, toying with him, “C’mon baby, beg me, please…” you reach down, beginning to rub your clit, “Don’t wanna cum all alone…”

His eyes snap open, blazing with a hunger so intense it makes your breath hitch. He pulls back slightly, his chest heaving as he gazes up at you with raw desperation.

"F—Fuck, baby, please," he rasps, his voice thick with desire, "Let me make you cum. Let me cover my face in you. I need it, need to feel you coming apart on my tongue, in my mouth. Please, baby, let go for me..."

“So greedy, baby boy…” you nod your head, placing your clit back on his mouth, breathless as you pull his jaw down, “Put your tongue back in me, make me cum so I can sink down on your dick after.”

He lets out a guttural moan against your sensitive flesh, the vibrations sending shivers through you. He plunges his tongue back inside you, fucking you with it as he suckles your clit.

The both of you moan together, back to grinding on his mouth, your whines long and high-pitched as you feel your lower body jolting, orgasm coming in harsh waves as you cum within his mouth. Your moan gasps into a giggle as he spanks you in repetitions, tugging you back down to be on his lap. Some of the water had begun to drain, and you could see the hard strain of his tip, a bright pink, painful between his legs as it dripped pre-cum.

You pull him into a kiss, sloppily running your tongue against his mouth, lips parted wide as you ask between making out with him, “Want me to sink on it, baby?”

He breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he looks up at you with wild, desperate eyes. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, "Yes, fuck yes... put that shit in, it’s so fuckin’ hard for you…”

He places a gentle palm along your swollen belly, to which you pull away and place on the back of your neck as you quietly assure him, “I’m okay.”

He grunts as he kisses your forehead—he was always concerned. You reach down as you run your hand along his tip, slapping it in between your clit and opening as you stick your tongue out, “Kiss me, baby,” whimpering, begging, “Gimme’ your mouth.”

He leans in, capturing your lips, returning the nasty kiss you’d given him earlier, dominating your mouth that has your neck fall back a bit. He clutches your neck closer, keeping your lips together as his tip spreads your pussy open, sinking your hips lower, dropping down onto his rigid length. You gasp into the kiss as he fills you completely, stretching you in a delicious pain around his fat girth.

He breaks the kiss, his chest heaving as he looks down at where you’re joined, watching intently as he gives you a slow thrust upwards as he gasps, "Shit, baby... so tight... fuck."

You wrap your arms around him, hiding your face within his neck as you dig your fingers in his hair, voice tiny, high-pitched as you cry softly against him, pouting into his ear, “Ughn, Satoru….”

He holds you close, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other grips your hip tightly, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he listens to your whimpers.

“That’s it baby—agh,” he whimpers himself, bouncing you down onto his dick, always close to splitting you in half, “Just relax baby—mmph,” he’s moaning pitifully with you, listening to the sounds of your skin clap together, tears brimming your eyes as you clutch him tighter. Each thrust sends a wave of pleasure through both of you. He groans, low and guttural, as he buries his face in your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. "Fuck, baby... you feel so good... so fuckin’ perfect..." he growls, his breath hot against your ear.

He continues to pound into you relentlessly, each thrust driving deeper and harder than the last. Your cries and whimpers fill the air, mingling with his own groans of pleasure. He can feel your walls clenching around him, trying to milk his dick for all it's worth.

"Ah, fuck yeah... that's it, baby," he pants, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency, the water from the tub splashing high each time. "Take it all, every inch... hnngh."

As he picks up speed, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, punctuated by your moans and his grunts.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he rasps, his voice strained with lust. "Gonna make a fuckin’ mess?”

You dig your face farther into his neck, your cheeks warm, tears dripping from your eyes as you groan lowly, “Agh—gh—fuck,” you sniffle, “Deeper, go d—deeper…”

His grip on your hips tightens, fingers sinking into your flesh as he responds to your plea. He takes both palms back to your ass, spreading the skin to open you up more, pulling you up until you’re barely along his tip, dropping you back down, skin burning as it sticks together from the creaming you’re spouting out. It makes you gasp, clawing at him as you place your fingers within your mouth, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. But it also makes you extremely wet.

You bring your face up, placing your hands along his hard stomach as you begin picking up your own hips, slamming them down against him. You see as that makes his head tilt back against the edge, holding you tighter as he helps you fuck him, his moan dragging out, pausing through each drop of your hips. His adam’s apple bobs severely, hair pulled out from his face, dark pink lips bruised as he grits his teeth.

His chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles flexing beneath your palms as he meets each of your downward thrusts with an upward grind of his hips. The angle changes, allowing him to hit that sweet spot inside you with unerring precision, stretching you wide and sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

"Fuuuck, baby..." he growls, his voice a low, guttural rumble. "Ride me just like that... Take what you need..."

His hands slide down to grasp your thighs, thumbs digging into the sensitive skin as he guides your movements, encouraging you to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the feeling of being so completely filled and owned by him. The water churns around you, a frothy mix of sweat and soap, as you both surrender to the intensity of your passion.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” You question, your small and cute voice making his tip jump inside of you. You look him directly in his eyes, placing your hands on your breasts as you rub your sensitive nipples, bouncing up and down against him.

“They’re so sensitive…” you whimper, “Wanna touch them? Might make me cum…”

“Let me suck on them, pretty. Know that’ll make you cum.”

He comes forward, but you push him back, wrapping your fingers along his throat, squeezing as you begin swirling your hips on top of him, “I missed when you begged me, where’s my needy boy? I miss him,” you whine, palming your nipples harder, feeling as his abdomen tightens.

He lets out a choked gasp as you tighten your grip on his throat, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "Right h—here baby," he rasps, his voice muffled slightly by your fingers.

"Need you so bad... Want to feel you cum on my dick…” His hips buck up sharply, driving himself deeper inside you as he strains against your hold, desperate for more friction, more pressure. "Don't stop, don't ever stop…” he begs, his body trembling with the force of his impending climax.

“Don’t want me to stop, baby?” You’re lifting your hips slowly, dropping them down harshly, the loud sound echoing in the bathroom, your giggle evil, moaning messily as you feel yourself beginning to cum on his tip.

“N—no, baby—Don't stop—“ his deep voice cracks with desperation as he feels your walls clenching around him.

“Ooooh, yes, baby,” your own voice is failing the control you want to give, your walls tight as they suck him in deeply. The sensation of your orgasm soaking his dick is too much to bear, and with a grunt, he buries his face between your breasts, his teeth grazing the tender flesh as he surrenders to his own release.

He listens to you first, holding you close as you let out a breath, not expecting it to turn into a sob, squirting heavily, the gush of it all drenched in between his continuous thrusts as you gasp, “I’m cumming, I’m cummingg.“

You can’t help but want to see his vulnerable side one last time as you talk to him, “Cum in me, pretty boy. Cum in me, Daddy. Please.”

He groans, his hips jerking erratically as he plunges deeper, chasing his climax. Your words, the desperate plea in your voice—it all shatters what little restraint he has left. He softly cries out, slamming into you one final time, his dick pulsing as he warms your insides with his cum.

As the aftershocks subside, he collapses onto you, his weight a comforting press against your skin. His breath hitches as he tries to regain composure, but the tremors running through him betray his vulnerability.

"Baby..." he whispers, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "That was... fuck, I needed that."

His fingers trace gentle patterns on your hip, a soothing caress meant to comfort both of you.

You don’t want to ruin the moment, lifting your face up as you give him a soft peck, leaning your head on his neck as you say, “Love you, ‘toru.”

He holds you close, just enjoying the peaceful moment together. He whispers against the skin of your neck, “I love you too, baby. So much.”

He doesn’t bother moving, even though the water has started to turn lukewarm. He wants to stay right here with you, holding you close. But eventually, he lifts his head, looking down at you as he asks, “You ready to get out before we prune up?”

Your face is warm again, nodding along his skin as you say, “Gotta pee,” as usual.

The moment the words leave your lips, he can’t help but laugh a little. He gives a chuckle, “Of course you fuckin’ do.”

You slept more often than usual in these last few months, but this had to have been the heaviest you’d slept of all. You were trapped under Satoru’s heavy arm, who snored unfortunately close in your ear. But it was somehow soothing. The love you shared for this man was like no other.

But when you wake up within the middle of the night, you feel yourself beginning to cramp, and it’s more irritating than anything. You’re too tired to get up and take your medicine, trying to force yourself back into sleep. But the cramps become more intense, and it makes you whimper lightly from the pain, holding your belly with your palm. You decide it was time to get up, lifting Satoru’s arm as you slowly slip out of bed.

“You’ alright, baby?” His deep voice calls, still half asleep.

“Just gonna go pee,” you tell him, pressing your feet into your slippers, ignoring your dog that lightly whines, nudging your body in support as you fully stand.

Even as he was half-asleep, he was still paying attention. When you told him you had to go pee, he grumbled a little, rolling onto his back. He felt cold without you in his arms, and he wanted you back immediately.

You take a deep breath as the cramps run through your entire body, worsening with each step. You frown as you clutch the material of your oversized shirt, just wanting to make it to the bathroom. But as you take another step, you feel a heavy pressure in between your legs, and you look down to see as fluid rushes down your legs, dripping onto the floor. Your heart could’ve stopped.

You’d been to several classes, read pamphlets, researched—even Google couldn’t stop you from your reaction when you weren’t supposed to panic.

Your body trembles as you scream, “Gojo!”

He grunts, “Jesus, baby. I know you’re fond of screaming my name but—“

He turns, seeing the fear within your eyes, looking down to see the fluid sliding down your legs. He thought he was a man that wasn’t afraid of anything, but this was more than what nightmares were made of.

“Oh shit.”

#satoru gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #satoru x black female character #jjk satoru #satoru gojo #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu satoru #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru smut

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kooppss · 4 months ago

Text

Shouldn’t

Sexy Disasters With Feelings masterlist

You shouldn’t have entertained Jungkook’s games. You should’ve just kept your distance. But now, it’s too late, isn’t it?

warnings: alcohol, cursing, protected sex (penis in vagina), oral (female receiving). Please remember that ff smut is fictional.

word count: 6.3k

a/n: so, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I wish it hadn’t taken this long, but I was sick, life got in the way, and I was tired and uninspired. I hope the next chapter won’t take as long. Thank you so much for your patience 🙏🏻 I hope you’ll love this chapter because I’m nervous!!!

it’s just I’m constantly on the cusp

of trying to kiss you

“Had fun tonight?”

Jungkook leans against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. He waits for your answer, his eyes steady, teasing, expectant.

You grab the towel from the counter to dry your hands, pressing your back against the sink, putting as much distance between you and him as possible in the cramped kitchen. You wish you could just disappear.

You need a way out.

“Yeah, it was nice,” you say, trying to sound as casual as possible while drying your already dry hands with the towel.

“I’m not much of a gamer, but it was fun watching you lose,” you add, throwing in the tease to make it sound more natural.

Jungkook stands up and takes a small step forward, smiling as if he finds you amusing.

“Me? Losing? How could you say that?” He scoffs playfully, his whole chest moving. “Loser.”

“This was my first time. But you? You game every day. You should be better than this.” You mock him with an even look on your face.

He keeps smiling. “I was still better than you.”

You shrug. “Not impressed.”

“Not impressed?” He smirks, taking another step forward.

You clutch the towel tightly, trying to hold his gaze, to withstand the rising tension, not to be the first to fold.

He gives you a once-over, moving his eyes up until they meet yours again.

“Not really.” You try to sound nonchalant, but you’re aware your tone is a little too high.

Jungkook clicks his tongue, tilting his head with a small roll of his eyes.

“Okay.”

He looks at you again, head still tilted, that annoying smirk on his face.

“So, are you done avoiding me?”

That little shit.

He couldn’t just let it go? Couldn’t he?

Did you really think he’d let you act like nothing happened?

You’re an idiot for even entertaining the thought.

What should you do? How are you gonna get out of this mess?

Act a fool.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He moves closer, that stupid smile still plastered on his face, like he finds it funny.

“You don’t know?”

You clutch the towel tighter in your fingers, feeling your throat grow drier as the space between you shrinks.

You feel trapped, like a deer caught in headlights—except, in this case, you're the one who handed Jungkook the car keys.

“Nope.”

You try to stick to your plan. Be cool, act like nothing happened.

He’s really close now. If he reached out, he could touch you.

Not that you want that. You’re sure it’s a terrible idea.

Distance is good. Distance is better.

Even if he’s hell-bent on demolishing it, along with the little restraint you have left.

“Good.” He says, stopping in front of you.

“So, you’re done avoiding me.”

He says it like he’s stating a fact, smiling like he won this stupid fight.

You roll your eyes. Holding the towel in front of you, like a barrier between you two—as if it could protect you from him somehow.

He leans in even closer, a shit-eating grin on his face that can’t mean anything good.

“Now we can get to the fun part.”

He says in a low voice, and it does things to you it really shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t be here right now.

You shouldn’t be testing yourself like this.

You try to hold on to the little defiance you have left.

You scoff, but it’s weak; it lacks its usual bite. “What do you want?”

Jungkook leans back, giving you a quick once-over.

“There are a few things I can think of.”

He tilts his head, looking at you with a challenge in his eyes, daring you to play along.

You feel the heat rise in your chest, creeping up to your face.

A million thoughts race through your mind.

Should you just give in? Play along? Erase that smile from his face, like you know you can? Like you’ve done countless times before?

No.

You shouldn’t.

There’s no way this can end well. Where will you even go?

Jungkook is a textbook fuckboy.

But why is that a bad thing? You could just fuck once.

Fuck it out of your system. Fuck him out of your mind.

It could be just a one-time thing.

But then what?

You’ll go to grab breakfast, and he’ll be like, ‘Hey, remember the time I was balls-deep inside of you?’

You can’t live like that. It’d be too awkward. There’s a reason you decided it’s a line you shouldn’t cross. A reason you decided no more fuckboys.

You’re ready for an upgrade. It’s time to start living like an adult. And as an adult, you need a man who can treat you right.

Jungkook is not that man. He can’t handle you.

You’re quiet for too long—it’s starting to get awkward.

You’re just standing there, flustered, while Jungkook looks at you with that smug smirk.

He starts to lean forward slowly, closing the gap between you. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest.

There are only a few inches between you now, and he reaches his hand toward you. His fingers brush the side of your upper arm, sending goosebumps across your skin.

You curse yourself for taking off the hoodie to clean the kitchen. You need its protection right now.

Jungkook is so close you can feel his breath on your shoulder. You try to collect yourself—your words, your protest.

You manage a weak, “W-what are yo—” when Jungkook suddenly pulls back.

He’s holding the cleaning spray in his hand, a pleased grin spreading across his face.

“I’ll go clean the coffee table.” He turns on his heels and leaves the kitchen.

Fuck.

You let out a sigh, not realizing you’d been holding your breath.

What does he think he’s doing?

That little prick.

You want to wipe that stupid smirk off his face so badly.

You want him to regret the day he decided to play these games with you.

Ughhh.

But you can’t. You shouldn’t. That’s exactly what he wants, right?

For you to lose your cool. To make a wrong move.

You need to keep it together.

You grab a bottle of water from the fridge and lean against the countertop, cooling yourself down before heading back out. You can’t stay in the kitchen forever.

Maybe you could?

No, no. You can’t.

You take a deep breath and walk into the living room.

Jungkook is sitting in the middle of the couch, scrolling on his phone.

He looks up as you walk in. You brace yourself for his smug, annoying, infuriating face. But instead, you’re met with something soft. His eyes are big, wide, doe-like, and he gives you a sweet, almost shy smile.

“Wanna play some more?”

It’s weird. You look at him, shocked by the sudden change.

“Come on, it’s still early. I’m not ready to go to bed. I’ll even let you choose the game.” He sounds sweet, pleading, almost innocent.

What happened between the kitchen and the living room? When did he switch from his fuckboy persona to this sweet boy?

You’re about to say no. It’s a really bad idea.

“Are you scared you’ll lose again?” he says, smirking.

Oh, the little fuck.

Hell no.

You scoff.

“What games do you have?” you ask, plopping down on the couch beside him.

He smiles at you before turning to the TV, scrolling through the games he owns. Then you spot something.

“Pokemon!”

He giggles, raising an eyebrow as he looks at you. “You like Pokemon?”

“Who doesn’t like Pokemon?” you reply, frowning.

“Psychopaths.”

Jungkook holds a straight face for a moment before bursting into laughter, and you join in.

“Pokemon it is, then,” he says with a nod as he selects the game.

You play for a while, exploring the city, collecting money, buying potions, and battling Pokemon. The light banter never stops, with you two arguing about who’s the best Pokemon trainer. You are, obviously.

"Let’s head towards that forest we saw earlier," Jungkook says, and you follow.

You spot a wild Squirtle running past you. You press frantically on the controller buttons—you need that Squirtle. That Squirtle is yours.

But it looks like Jungkook spots him too. He throws his Pokéball at the same time.

“Fuck off, JK. He’s mine.”

He scoffs playfully. “Not if I catch him first.”

You’re both extremely invested in catching that Squirtle, pressing buttons like your life depends on it. But that little fucker is persistent. He’s not letting you catch him easily. You try to concentrate, planning the perfect throw to finally catch him, but a millisecond before your Pokéball hits, Jungkook snags him.

“Nooooo.” You throw the controller dramatically to your side.

Jungkook throws his hands in the air, cheering loudly, “Fuck yeah.”

“I can’t believe you got him,” you complain, annoyed.

“What can I say? I’m the better trainer.” He smiles smugly as he leans back on the couch.

“No, but you don’t get it—Squirtle is my favorite,” you whine, pouting.

He snorts and chuckles, “Of course he is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you frown at him.

“Basic ass,” he giggles.

You gasp and throw a pillow at him. “Fuck you.”

He catches the pillow easily. “Let me guess, you like him because he’s a turtle?” he says, laughing.

“Of course I like him because he’s a turtle!” you shout.

Jungkook laughs uncontrollably.

“Let’s hear yours, Mr. Sophisticated,” you say sarcastically, crossing your arms over your chest in fake annoyance. You can barely hold back your smile.

Jungkook tries to stifle his laughter long enough to answer. “Charizard.”

“Charizard?!”

Jungkook nods as he tries to control his giggles.

How dare he?

“You gave me shit for liking Squirtle, and your favorite is fucking Charizard?!”

You can’t believe his audacity, so you continue your monologue. “This is like the most basic dude answer ever.”

“And let me guess, you like him because he’s the strongest?” you ask mockingly.

“Da,” he says with wide eyes and raised brows, nodding like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Trade the Squirtle with me,” you ask with a pout.

“Na-ah. No way,” he laughs.

“Then I’ll catch the Charmander.”

He snorts. “I’d like to see you try.”

You give him your best death glare. “You’ll regret this.”

He chuckles and shakes his head as he stands up. “Want a beer?”

You shake your head. “Na, I’m good.”

He takes a step toward the kitchen, and you hastily catch his wrist with both of your hands.

Jungkook snaps back around.

“Please give me your Squirtle,” you whine.

“I’ll trade you whatever you want,” you add with a pout and pleading eyes.

You expect Jungkook to laugh, to keep this stupid fight going.

But instead, he looks startled and flustered for a moment. Then, something shifts in his expression. It darkens, growing more dangerous. A small, crooked smirk creeps onto his lips as he looks down at you with dark eyes.

He taps his lips with his finger, glancing up at the ceiling as he hums, pretending to think.

“Hmmm, let me think. Anything I want, you say?”

Jungkook looks back down at you, his eyes narrowed, head tilted. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

He tilts his head further, raising his brows slightly as if suggesting you know exactly what he wants.

And you're not stupid—you do. You can barely be mad at him for the suggestion. You practically laid it out for him with all the ‘whatever you want.’ Of course, a guy like Jungkook would jump on the opportunity.

You roll your eyes playfully and pull back your hand. "Jungkook!"

He chuckles light-heartedly. “Fine,” he says dramatically, “I’ll give you my Squirtle. No need to be so dramatic.”

You clap your hands and squeak in joy.

Jungkook shakes his head with an amused smile, turning toward the kitchen.

“You know what? Bring me a beer too,” you call after him. You have a feeling you’ll need it.

A few hours later, you’ve explored a decent chunk of the game, collected more Pokémon, and drank a couple (or more) beers. Both of you are probably too tired to keep playing seriously, so now you’re just strolling lazily through the world, looking for easy tasks to do.

You shouldn’t be here.

You should’ve gone to bed a long time ago. You know that.

But you can’t bring yourself to leave. This is probably the most fun you’ve had in a while. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing. Being with Jungkook like this feels easy. Too easy. And too fun.

This is exactly why you shouldn’t be here.

Jungkook yawns, stretching as he leans back onto the sofa.

“Do you think Ash and Misty fuck?”

You snap your head to look at him, your eyes wide in shock. He’s already looking at you, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “WTF?! They’re children! You perv.”

He chuckles, his voice rough from tiredness and alcohol, and probably from laughing too much. It does things to you. You don’t feel cold anymore.

You definitely shouldn’t be here.

He scoffs playfully. “I don’t mean when they were kids, perv,” he teases, his tone light and mocking. “I mean when they’re adults.”

“No?” you give him a scandalized look. “They’re friends?”

Jungkook laughs. “What does them being friends have to do with them fucking?”

“Because you don’t fuck friends,” you say, as if it’s obvious, waving your hands. Because really, you shouldn’t fuck friends. Someone always wants something more, and the friendship gets ruined. It never ends well.

“Oh, come on, y/n. You wanna tell me you haven’t fucked friends?” He says it like he knows. Because he probably does. Because you did. You did fuck friends. This is why you know it’s a bad idea.

You feel like you’ve been caught. “What do you mean?” You try to act innocent, but it's not working.

Jungkook smirks, his gaze never leaving yours. “You know the walls in this apartment are very thin.”

Is he saying what you think he’s saying? It’s not news to you, but it’s one thing knowing and another to talk about it with your fucking roommate.

“I-I-” you try to mumble something, but the words just won’t come out. Jungkook laughs.

“Come on, y/n. You and I both know we’ve heard each other fuck, and more, in this apartment.”

“The fact that it happened doesn’t mean I want to talk about it!” you snap at him.

Jungkook just laughs, as if it’s the funniest thing in the world. “You’re so cute. Jigglypuff.”

“WHAT?!”

“Jigglypuff—the cute pink Pokémon that sings?”

“I know what a fucking Jigglypuff is, Jungkook.”

“You’re all cute and pink when you’re blushing. Just like a Jigglypuff.”

“SHUT UP.” You feel yourself blushing even more.

Jungkook can barely breathe from laughing now, and you try not to laugh with him, instead giving him your best threatening glare. But it only makes him laugh harder.

“You think you look scary? Jiggly?”

“SHUT UP!” You yell again, leaning forward to hit his chest.

But before you can pull back, Jungkook grabs your wrist, keeping it pressed against his chest. He pulls you toward him, and you lose your balance, crashing into him.

With both hands pressed against his chest, you can feel his warmth, his heart beating unnervingly fast. You try not to think about how firm and broad his chest feels.

You try. But you probably lost that inhibition two beers ago.

Your faces are inches apart now, and you can feel his warm breath fanning over your face. You can also smell his cologne—a classic fuckboy scent you’ve smelled a hundred times before, but it somehow smells good on him. It’s fresh, spicy.

He smells like a man.

His eyes are big, dark, and impossibly shiny. You think you’ve never seen eyes that shine so much. You feel entranced, unable to look away.

You shouldn’t have these thoughts about your roommate. You shouldn’t be pressed against him to notice all these things.

You really shouldn’t be here.

But you are. Jungkook leans in, and you feel his breath catch in his throat. He hesitates, stopping just an inch from you before closing the distance entirely.

The kiss is intense, desperate, urgent—like your life depends on it. It’s like a crack in a dam, and you’re trying to stop it with your hand, but the dam finally gives way. The pressure crushes you, the flood sweeping you away. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t control yourself when Jungkook kisses you like that.

You try to grab into sanity. You try to hold yourself in the present. You try to focus on his lips on yours. They’re soft but firm. Adjusting to your rhythm yet demanding. And he tastes good. You never thought that kissing could taste good. You can’t even explain what he tastes like.

He tastes like an addiction.

Jungkook lets go of your wrist and slides both hands to your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. The movement makes you shift your hands from his chest to wrap around his neck.

And Jungkook fucking grunts. It makes your head spin.

You sigh into the kiss as he pulls you down, leaning back to lie on the couch. Jungkook slips his hands under your shirt, his big, warm palms brushing over your ribs. You shudder in his hold, and you can feel him smirk into the kiss.

He pulls back just enough to flip the two of you over, holding himself up on his hands as he hovers above you.

“Fuck. I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he breathes out, voice hushed and breathless. But before you can even reply, he crushes his lips back to yours.

He leans on one forearm, the other hand moving to your face. His thumb traces your cheek while his fingers rest lightly on your jaw.

It’s his tattooed hand, and the thought sends a wave of heat crawling down your abdomen. You move your hands to gently push his hair back from his face, pulling him even closer with the same motion.

Jungkook groans into the kiss as his hips buck into you. Your legs must have a life of their own because somehow they’re spread, and Jungkook is between them. You have no idea when that happened.

Jungkook adjusts his position, and he grinds his hips again, directly into your core. You let out an airy moan into his mouth.

You can feel him smile as he moves his lips to the side of your face, down your jaw, and to your neck.

He moves his free hand under your shirt. His lips and hand are hungry, demanding. Reaching every piece of skin they can get. And everywhere they touch, you feel yourself burning. You feel like he sets you up on fire.

Jungkook grinds his hips into you once more, and both of you moan in sync. You into his ear and him into the crock of your neck. Leaving goosebumps on your skin.

You inhale a sharp breath. “I’m not letting you fuck me on the couch.” You say breathlessly.

Jungkook props himself up on one arm. His breath is uneven, lips are swollen and glossy, hair is a mess, eyes are dark. And he fucking smirks at you.

“Okay," he says smugly, and he rolls his hips particularly well, he hits just the right spot. You whine breathlessly as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He chuckles, and you look back at him, narrowing your eyes.

He tilts his head, smirk growing wider. “So, where do you want me to fuck you?”

You roll your eyes, this time in annoyance. “Who said you’re going to fuck me?”

He chuckles again and grinds his hips once again, making you let out an involuntary, embarrassing moan again.

“Jungkook!” you try to yell, but the sound comes out choked.

This time, he giggles—not his usual low, manly chuckle, but a sweet, boyish giggle.

He pushes himself up, and with one swift motion, he pulls off his shirt. It’s definitely not the first time you see Jungkook shirtless. He personally made sure of it. But something about the view of shirtless Jungkook between your spread legs is thrilling more than you could have expected.

Your eyes trail down from his defined pecs to his abs and his prominent v-line. You can’t help yourself from reaching your hand, moving your fingers gently from his navel and down his faint happy-trail. You feel him shudder under your touch, and when you look back up, he has a pleased smile on his face.

He reaches his hands, tugging at the hem of your shirt, and you push yourself up, giving him space to remove it.

The moment you flop back onto the couch, Jungkook hands are on you. Moving around exploring the newly exposed skin. His eyes widen as he follows his touch, and his lips part, as if he’s in awe of the sight before him.

He leans forward, giving your lips a soft peck, softer than anything that had transpired between the two of you up until now, before trailing his lips down to your collarbone. He gently kisses and licks from your neck to your shoulders. Keeping his lips on you all the time. He moves lower to your chest.

“You’re so pretty. Prettier than I imagined.” He murmurs against your skin; face nuzzled in the valley between your breasts.

“You’ve been thinking about me?” You aim for bratty and teasing, but it comes out breathless and whiny instead.

Jungkook pulls back, pushing himself up again, giving you a no-bullshit look. He places his hands on your waist, holding you in place. “Do you really need to ask that?”

You’d answer with some snarky comment if you could, if only you had enough focus to gather your words. But you can’t find the defiance in you when he’s looking at you like that.

He slides his hands down, stopping them on the band of your shorts. He looks up at your face with a tilt of his head and a question on his face. You push your hips up, allowing him to pull your shorts down.

When your shorts are on the floor, Jungkook stands up, removing his own before returning to his position between your legs. He leans closer to your face, pushes away a hair strand from your face, and caresses your cheek with his fingers. You look at each other in silence, closely examining each other's features.

Jungkook parts his lips as if he’s about to say something, but then he stops and dives in to kiss you instead.

The kiss is immediately intense.

As if neither of you want, or could, hold themselves back. The kiss is all lips and tongue at teeth, with airy sighs and desperate whines.

You move your lips to his neck, nipping with your lips and teeth at the sensitive spot behind his ear. Jungkook let a shaky moan as you continue to explore the skin of the column of his throat. He glides his hand on the side of your body and down between your legs.

He brushes his fingers over the top part of your panties, and you exhale, leaning your forehead on his shoulder. He’s slowly moving his hand down, gliding his finger lightly over your clothed folds. You let out a choked moan. His digits hover over the wetness that soaks through the fabric and he presses a little harder over your entrance.

“Fuck. You want me that bad, baby?”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for an answer. He starts to trail down, kissing a path from your chest down to between your legs. He’s peppering kisses all over your inner thighs and lower abdomen. You slightly writhe and whine, and he’s moving his hands to hold you from your thighs. He looks up at you, eyes dark and hooded. He ducks his head, while keeping eye contact, as he presses a hard kiss over your clit. You moan, and he’s smirking as his lips are still on you.

He moves his fingers under the side of your panties, tugging it a bit. “Can I?”

You bite you lip, nod, and he pulls them off for you.

He settles back between your legs, looking between them before looking back up at you with a devilish smile. He slips his hands to the underside of your thighs, propping them up a little, giving him better access.

And without another warning, he goes right in.

Tongue finds your clit immediately, causing you to gasp, back arching from the couch.

Your response only spurs Jungkook further. You feel him everywhere and exactly where you need him all at once. You don’t know how he does it. It’s not the first time someone has eaten you out, but it’s definitely never felt like that.

Jungkook gives a particular precise lick, and you moan loudly, hands flying to his hair.

He looks up at you, eyes barely seen under his lids, and he grunts when your gaze meets.

The vibration sends you further, higher, and you tug at his hair with one hand while the other tries to catch the couch, something to hold onto. But you find Jungkook's forearm, grabbing it as it could help you. But it can’t.

Because the pace he is setting is almost animalistic, unleashed. And you don’t understand how it feels so good so soon.

Oh, god. You’re going to come embarrassingly fast.

You wish you could control it, wish you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

But fuck. It feels so good.

You’re a mess by now. Your moans are barely audible, throat dry from gasping for air.

And you’re getting closer and closer to the edge.

It's as if every movement of his mouth is precise, intentional, and deliberate in its meaning. You hate that he knows exactly what he's doing.

But oh god, you love this so much.

And when you think that that’s it, that you’re right there, just a little more and it’s done for you, Jungkook changes tactics.

His lips catch your clit, sucking on it lightly while his tongue does something you can’t explain. Because your brain can’t even grasp what the fuck is going on right now. How he managed to take you away from your pending orgasm while also making everything feel so much better.

It’s a height you never visited.

It’s so good, it’s almost too much.

You’re pretty sure you’re screaming by now. You don’t have much connection to reality at the moment. The only thing you can feel is Jungkook’s mouth between your legs.

Yet, he speeds up, moving his lips and tongue in sync to a faster rhythm.

This time, you’re rushing to the edge.

And before you can even grasp it, it comes crushing on you.

Strong, hard waves, making you shake and cry.

You’re gasping, moaning, trying to catch a single breath.

But before your orgasm even ends, Jungkook is pushing a finger into you. Curling it up and moving faster and faster.

You try to prop yourself a little up, to look at him with wide eyes through the haze of your pleasure. “J-Jung— ah fuck” he looks up at you, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop.

The opposite, he adds another finger, quicking his pace.

It’s as if he’s a man on a mission—a mission to tear you apart, and he won’t stop until he’s completed it.

You flop back onto the couch, and your hands try to hold onto the cushions or grab something as your whole body trembles.

And it hits you again. Harder, faster, stronger. Like you never felt before.

And you hate to say it, but that was the best orgasm of your life.

When you start to come down from your second high—well, or maybe it's the first, you're not sure if you ever stopped coming—Jungkook finally pulls away.

He moves up and kisses your lower stomach before looking up at you with a smile—a sweet, pleased smile. You're still a shuddering mess beneath him, your gaze fixed on him, a hint of shock on your face at what just happened.

Jungkook lays on top of you, head resting on your chest.

“That was fun,” he murmurs, his voice contented.

You frown, hand going to push his head up so you could see his face.

“Aren’t you going to bring a condom?”

Jungkook is giving you a matching, mocking frown. “Didn’t you say that you won’t let me fuck you on the couch?”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Jungkook!”

Because let’s be real. There's no way he actually planned for this to stop here.

Right?

“You want me this bad, baby?” he says in a teasing, fake sultry tone.

“Just go get the condom,” you grumble back.

He stands up, giving you a salute. “Ay ay, captain!” And he heads to his room.

You’re propped up on your elbows when he returns, practically skipping towards you with a condom in hand.

You watch him as he stops by the couch, pushing down his boxers.

Oh, shit.

Oh.

Shit.

You’re staring. You know you are. But you can’t help it.

Why does he look this good?

Yeah. You get it now.

You get why he’s so cocky.

The little shit.

Fucking hell. This is going to hunt you, doesn’t it?

You move your gaze up to his face, and he’s looking down at you with a huge smirk.

He tilts his head to the side.

He doesn’t even ask you if you like what you see.

Because he knows.

Fuck.

You hate this.

He opens the package before slowly rolling the condom on his dick. Keeping eye contact with you. Daring, or maybe waiting for you to say something.

You need to hold to the little bit of dignity left in you. So you won’t.

You’re also pretty sure his ego doesn’t need it.

When he’s done, he crawls back between your legs, big palms rubbing your thighs. He grabs behind your knees, lifting them, and folds your legs, gently resting your feet on the couch.

Without a word, he grabs the base of his dick with one hand, the other holding your hip, aligning his length with your folds.

But he doesn’t push in yet. He just looks back up at you.

He moves a tiny bit forward, making you feel like he's going to push in, making you let out a little gasp, but he doesn’t.

He just moves it around, playing with your folds.

He does it a couple more times. Each time, pushing a tinniest more in. Each time, you can feel your hole clench around nothing. Waiting for more. Making you whine with need. Leaving you aching.

Why is he trying to make you lose your mind?

When he does it for the ninth time, you whine loudly. You want to complain, to tell him to stop the teasing. “Junko–” But he drags his tip over your clit, making you moan.

And he fucking chuckles. A low, mean chuckle.

“What?” he asks with fake innocence.

“Stop playing.” You try to bite, to sound mad. But the little dick, well, not that it’s little, fuck, him. He’s the dick. A huge dick. Shit, no. He’ll never hear it from you. That fuckface, he pushes a mere millimeter in before leaning back.

You whine, “Jun–” and he moves the tip over your clit again, making the whine of his name hitch in your throat.

He smirks down at you. “Oh, baby,” he purrs mockingly. “I need to know what you want.” He tilts his head, waiting for your answer as he lazily drags his length over your folds.

You exhale through your nose, clearly infuriated.

“Jungkook,” you try to warn, attempting to sound stern.

He chuckles, a playful glint in his eyes. “What?”

He leans down, kissing you softly, a stark contrast to his earlier cocky behavior.

His hand round your back, unclasping your bra and pulling it aside.

“I really need to hear you say it,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot before he pulls back, kneeling above you.

You give him an even look. But you know, and he knows, that you’ll give in.

“Fine.” You say as harshly as you manage, with his cock pushing against your entrance.

“I want you to fuck me, Jungkook.”

You roll your eyes. “Pleased?”

He smiles. A big boyish bunny smile. Not a smile you expect to see from someone inches from fucking you. “Very.”

Then, with a smooth and gentle but swift motion, he pushes in. You share a sound between a sigh and a moan as he bottoms out.

And just like that, all the cockiness has slipped out of him.

Jungkook stops like that. Deep inside of you, leaning above you just a little, breath heavy and uneven. His eyes widen, but as he tries to make a slight movement thrusting in, they shut down forcefully.

“Fuck.” He courses under his breath.

You feel the stretch, the slight burn. But he feels good, full.

You’d urge him to start moving, but you need to enjoy it. Finally, you have power over him. Finally, you whipped the smirk off his stupid face. You need to taunt him.

“What happened? Are you going to come already?” you say, your voice full of condescension.

He drops his head forward, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitching, a quiet, barely audible laugh escaping him.

When he looks back up, his cocky persona is fully intact, that smug smirk returning to his face.

“Wasn’t expecting you to feel this good,” he says in a gruff voice, and you try to ignore the heat that it stirs in you. “But don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna enjoy every second of this.”

And before you can answer, he starts thrusting. Moving in and out of you with precise motion and increasing pace.

He holds your waist, stabilizing himself as he fucks you.

He fucks you good.

Shit.

He slides his hands to grab above your ass, gripping your thighs, pushing your legs up and apart, allowing him to get in deeper.

Jungkook grunts loudly from the new angle, and it causes you to open your eyes to look at him. You didn’t even realize you had closed them, to begin with.

He has a deep frown between his brows, skin shiny from breaking a slight sweat, maybe also from your slick that remained on him. He picks up the pace, letting out a sound between a sigh and a groan, biting his bottom lip hard.

With each thrust, you feel all the air pushes out of your lungs. Your whole body moves from the force of his hips hitting yours. And if he hadn’t held your hips, you're pretty sure you’d be pushed off the couch. You’re gonna be sore tomorrow.

Not that you can care right now. All you can think about is how Jungkook’s tip drags over your walls again and again. How he hits spots you didn’t feel before when he thrusts deeper. How his hands hold you firmly but they still stay gentle.

How he looks as he fuck you senseless. Like he’s trying to keep it together, on the edge of losing control, drowning in pleasure, completely immersed in the feeling of fucking you.

You can see he’s fighting to keep his eyes open. You can sense the slips of his movement, indicating he is trying his best to maintain the steady pace of his hips. You can feel his fingers twitch, not to hold you aggressively.

He grunts as he stills deep after a strong thrust, falling forward to lay on his forearms. His lips find yours in a soft kiss before he resumes the movement of his hips.

The pace is frantic, yet he still keeps his mount on yours as you moan with each thrust.

You can’t understand the contrast between the way he’s fucking you and the way he’s kissing you. It’s like your mouth and pussy are having a totally different experience. Like each gets an entirely different Jungkook.

Jungkook’s movements start to lose their rhythm; it’s subtle at first, but with the way you hear his chucked moan, you know he’s nearing his end. You know he’s doing his best to hold himself.

You wrap your legs around his waist, allowing him to push in deeper.

And he moans loudly, thrust getting messier. His movements become more and more shallow and rapid before he pushes one last time in, stilling deep inside of you. His whole body tensing before he collapses, forehead resting on yours, and you feel his dick twitches inside of you.

After a minute, he relaxes bit by bit. Shoulders losing their tension, and his lengt stops jerking, he let out a sigh and lays on top of you.

His head resting on your chest, one of his hands holding your hip as the other finds your hand to hold.

You’re still fuzzy, head floating from pleasure.

You lay like that for a few minutes, breaths still uneven.

You can feel the beating of his heart, and you think it’s in sync with yours.

It’s nice and warm. His weight feels right, comforting on you.

You’re starting to cool off. Feeling the sweat sticking you bodies together.

Your breath gets slower, steady. Your mind is starting to clear.

Both of you are quite before Jungkook giggles, then lets out a happy sigh as he moves his hands to pull you into a hug.

You really shouldn’t be here.

You should have gone to bed hours ago.

You shouldn’t have done this.

a/n2: (author note? at the end? who am I?) so, this is definitely the smuttiest smut I've posted so far. What are we thinking? How are we feeling? How do we think Jungkook feels? I'm honestly a bit anxious about how this chapter will be received, so I hope you liked it!

Back to the series masterlist

#Shouldn't #sexy disasters with feelings #sdwf #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #bts fic

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marylxvrr · 7 months ago

Text

" BENEATH THE SURFACE "

𐙚 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀 — a ruthless criminal mastermind who commands fear and respect, yet becomes dangerously obsessive when it comes to you, willing to destroy anyone who dares to get too close, and ensuring you're always under his control . . .

𐙚 Trigger Warnings: Obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, threats of violence, and stalking.

College was draining enough without the added stress of trying to make ends meet. Working at the café helped pay the bills, but you were still behind on rent, your fridge was nearly empty, and your textbooks were secondhand disasters held together with duct tape.

You sighed as you wiped the counter for what felt like the hundredth time today. The café was relatively quiet for a Friday night, the usual rush replaced by the hum of soft jazz playing over the speakers.

The doorbell chimed, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You turned to greet the new customer, your smile practiced but polite. “Welcome! What can I get for you—"

Your words faltered when you looked up.

He was... striking. Impeccably dressed in a dark suit that screamed luxury, his presence was commanding and utterly magnetic. His sharp jawline and piercing eyes had an almost predatory gleam as they locked onto you.

“Just a coffee,” he said, his voice smooth as velvet. “Black.”

“Coming right up,” you said, quickly averting your gaze and focusing on the task at hand.

Something about him made your skin prickle. He didn’t look like your usual customer, and the way his eyes lingered on you felt... intense.

When you placed his cup on the counter, his fingers brushed against yours as he took it. The contact was brief, but it sent a chill down your spine.

“Thank you, Y/n,” he said, his lips curling into a small smile.

You froze. “How do you know my name?”

He chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re wearing a name tag.”

Relief washed over you, and you gave a nervous laugh. “Right. Of course.”

But as he walked away to sit in the corner booth, a nagging feeling settled in your chest. You hadn’t been wearing your name tag today.

---

Over the next few weeks, he became a regular at the café. Always sitting in the same booth, always ordering the same coffee. He never stayed long, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching you, though he never said much beyond polite small talk. It was unsettling, yet oddly flattering. A man like him—wealthy, confident, and undeniably attractive—paying attention to someone like you? It didn’t make sense.

Then, one night, everything changed.

---

The café was closing, and you were the last one left, cleaning up after another long shift. You were locking the front door when you noticed a sleek black car idling across the street.

Your stomach twisted uneasily as you hurried down the sidewalk, clutching your bag tightly.

“Y/n.”

You froze.

He was leaning against the lamppost, his suit as immaculate as ever, his eyes gleaming under the streetlight.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“I was waiting for you,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your heart pounded as he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Why?”

“Because I’ve decided I don’t like the idea of you walking home alone,” he said, his tone calm but leaving no room for argument.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, trying to step around him, but his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist.

“You don’t understand, Y/n,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “There are people out there who would hurt you. People who wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage of someone as... vulnerable as you.”

“Let go of me,” you said, panic creeping into your voice.

His grip tightened slightly, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” you demanded, struggling against his hold.

“From everyone. From this world that doesn’t deserve you.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. You stared at him, your fear growing as the realization dawned on you.

“You’ve been following me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I had to,” he admitted, his tone softening. “I had to make sure you were safe. Do you have any idea what it’s like to see you struggle? To know you’re barely scraping by while I could give you everything you’ve ever wanted?”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “You don’t even know me!”

“Oh, but I do,” he said, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ve watched you for months, Y/n. I know how hard you work, how kind you are even when the world doesn’t deserve it. You’re perfect.”

His words were like chains, wrapping around you and pulling you deeper into his control.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Maybe,” he said, his lips curling into a small, bitter smile. “But I won’t let anyone else have you.”

Before you could respond, the black car pulled up beside you. The door opened, and he gestured for you to get in.

“Don’t fight this, Y/n,” he said, his voice both pleading and commanding. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you a life worth living. But if you try to run... I can’t promise what I’ll do.”

Your heart pounded as you stared at him, your body frozen in fear.

“Get in the car,” he repeated, his tone firm.

And in that moment, you realized you had no choice.

---

#fanfiction #male yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere x y/n

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kshemacropinsurance · 4 months ago

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amirasainz · 9 months ago

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Helllooo,

Would it be alright if I request a platonic grid x reader, where the reader is also a driver and gets into a crash, and all the drivers get protective over the reader and are very dotting towards her

Enjoy reading and send some requests

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

Broken arm

The atmosphere at the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya was electric as the F1 cars roared to life for the final laps of the race. The sun shone brightly over the crowd, casting a warm glow on the track, but for Yn, the youngest driver on the grid and the pride of Red Bull Racing, this race was becoming increasingly tense. She was battling hard, fighting for her first podium, when disaster struck.

Coming out of Turn 3, Yn miscalculated her entry, her rear tires sliding dangerously. She tried to correct, but it was too late. The car spun violently, hitting the barriers with a sickening crunch that echoed through the stands. The red flags waved immediately, signaling the end of the race. Panic washed over the paddock as other drivers slowed down and began making their way back to the garages.

Inside the Red Bull garage, the mood shifted from excitement to dread. “Did you see that? She was flying!” Daniel exclaimed, his eyes wide with concern. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Keep calm, Dan. They’ll get her out,” Max replied, trying to mask his worry, but his voice was tight with tension.

As the teams packed up their equipment, everyone’s focus remained on the screens showing the crash. The cameras zoomed in on Yn’s car, which was now stationary, surrounded by marshals and medical personnel. The sight of her crumpled car sent a chill through the drivers’ hearts.

“I can’t watch this,” Lando said, pacing back and forth in the McLaren garage. “Someone needs to go check on her.”

“I’ll go,” Carlos volunteered, but he was stopped by Lewis. “Wait, we need to see if she’s out of the car first.”

Finally, the moment everyone had been dreading came. The cameras caught Yn slowly emerging from the wreckage, with help from the medical team. She was cradling her left arm against her chest, her face pale but her eyes still fierce. The sight of her injuries sent a wave of anxiety through the drivers watching from their respective garages.

“She’s out!” Pierre shouted, relief flooding through him, but the worry remained etched on every driver’s face.

The teams moved in silence, their minds racing. “We should go to the hospital after the race,” Charles suggested. “She’ll need us there.”

“Absolutely,” George agreed, glancing at his teammates. “She’s one of us, and she’s going to need all the support she can get.”

The race had concluded, but the drivers' minds were not on their standings. They jumped into their cars and made their way to the hospital. The atmosphere was tense, each driver lost in their thoughts, reflecting on the fragile nature of their sport.

In the hospital waiting room, the mood was somber. They had gathered a few massive bouquets of flowers, bright colors spilling from the paper, trying to lift Yn’s spirits. “I hope she’s not too badly hurt,” Daniel said, biting his lip nervously.

“She’s tough. She’ll bounce back,” Max reassured, though his own anxiety lingered. “I mean, she’s always giving us a run for our money out there.”

Finally, the nurse appeared, a kind smile breaking through the tension. “You can see her now. She’s awake, but she’ll need some time to rest.”

The drivers filed in one by one, entering Yn’s hospital room. The sight of her lying in the bed with a cast on her arm tugged at their hearts. “Hey, superstar,” Daniel said softly, his smile brightening the dim room. “You scared us half to death out there.”

Yn looked up, her expression a mix of pain and amusement. ��Well, at least I made it exciting,” she joked, though her voice was strained. “I think I broke the car more than my arm, though.”

“Stop joking around. We were all freaking out,” Lando said, shaking his head. “You should have seen us in the garages. I thought we’d lose it!”

“I was more worried about you than my race,” Charles added, leaning closer. “Just seeing you get out of that car…” He trailed off, remembering how terrified he felt.

“Yeah, you’ve got to stop trying to drive like us old guys,” Lewis teased, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re still young; it’s okay to take it slow once in a while.”

“Yeah, Yn,” George piped up, crossing his arms. “You’re supposed to make us look good, not give us heart attacks.”

As they all settled into the room, Carlos placed the massive bouquets of flowers on the bedside table. “These are for you. Just a little something to brighten your day.”

“Wow, you guys are so sweet,” Yn replied, her eyes sparkling with gratitude, though the pain in her arm reminded her of her predicament. “I might have to keep you all around to spoil me more often.”

“Only if you promise to get better and come back stronger,” Max said, his tone serious. “We need you out there, pushing us. It’s not the same without you.”

“I promise,” she said, her voice steady despite the pain. “But you all have to promise to drive safely. No more crazy moves, okay?”

“Deal,” they all chimed in unison.

As the hours passed, the drivers took turns keeping Yn company, sharing stories and laughter, and even some embarrassing moments from their racing careers. They joked about their first crashes, and as the sun began to set outside the hospital window, a sense of warmth enveloped the room.

“Next time, I’ll win a race just for you,” Yn declared, a determined glint in her eyes.

“Make it happen,” Lando replied, bumping her foot playfully. “But for now, let’s focus on healing that arm. We can’t have you holding us back when we race again.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me,” she laughed softly, her heart swelling with affection for her fellow drivers. “Thanks for being here. You guys really are the best.”

As they prepared to leave, each driver gave her a reassuring hug, careful not to bump her injured arm. “We’ll check on you tomorrow,” Lewis said, a protective gleam in his eyes. “Rest up.”

The group exited the room, the weight of their worries lightened slightly by their shared moments with Yn. They knew she would be back, stronger than ever, and they would be right there, cheering her on. Racing was a dangerous sport, but in that hospital room, they found comfort in each other and the bond that made them not just competitors but a family.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#max verstappen x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lando norris x reader #pierre gasly x reader #george russell x reader #driver!reader

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theonlyonesora · 2 months ago

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The Third Rule

Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)

Chapter 2 – And Then There Were Moans

If there was a soundtrack to that night, it would’ve started with something obnoxiously upbeat—probably Doja Cat—because we were already half dancing in the Uber before we even made it to the first bar.

“Everyone post your ‘before’ pic now,” Jessy said, phone in hand, duck face locked and loaded.

Lily leaned into me as we posed against the cab window, our faces squished together, her highlighter catching the streetlights just right while my eyeliner decided to flirt with disaster (but in a cute way).

📸 @(Y/N).m first round hasn’t even hit and i already know we’re getting banned somewhere tonight 🍸✨ Tagged: @lily.eng, @jessywithay, @meg.in.crisis Location: Regret Loading...

We hit Bar One—the rooftop one with overpriced cocktails and bartenders who looked like they modeled for Calvin Klein during daylight hours. Meg ordered a round of espresso martinis “for the plot,” and Lily gave me the you better sip this slowly look. I, naturally, ignored it.

“Why is everyone hot tonight?” I whispered to Lily, scanning the room.

“Because you’re drunk and your standards are at sea level.”

Fair.

“Let’s make a deal,” Jessy said, after a sip. “Everyone has to post one cringe Instagram Story by midnight.”

“Define cringe,” Meg asked, already filming us.

“Like, either singing badly, flirting embarrassingly, or oversharing in a bathroom selfie.”

Challenge accepted.

By Bar Two, we were all feeling it. The lights were dimmer, the music louder, and our group chat was blowing up with blurry selfies and chaotic boomerangs.

📸 @lily.eng (Story) protecting this menace from tequila and bad decisions as usual 📸: a video of me doing a dramatic body roll while Lily holds a lime in front of my mouth like I’m some sort of unruly parrot

📸 @meg.in.crisis captioned a boomerang of our clinking glasses with: cheers to women, wine, and mild emotional damage

And then there was Bar Three. The danger zone. The bar with neon signs and sticky floors and a playlist that hadn't updated since 2017—and we loved it.

I ended up on the tiny dance floor with Jessy, our arms flailing, hair stuck to our foreheads, and Meg screaming lyrics beside us like her life depended on it. I looked over and saw Lily at the bar, sipping something pink, her eyes scanning the crowd—then landing on me.

We smiled at each other. The kind of smile that says, this is one of those nights we’ll talk about for years.

📸 @(Y/N).m (Story) a photo of our heels on the grimy dance floor with the caption: if these shoes could talk, they’d scream

📸 @jessywithay (Story) video of me and Lily dancing to “Super Bass” while Meg pretends to be a backup dancer

We stumbled into the apartment like a slow-motion car crash in heels—shoes flung, jackets dropped, keys barely making it into the bowl by the door. Lily called dibs on the bathroom first, Jessy raided the fridge for leftover pasta, and Meg was already halfway through an unsolicited playlist of songs that “deserved more respect.”

Me ? I brought a boy home.

He was cute. One of those quietly confident types with messy curls and sleepy eyes. We’d met at the third bar—he complimented my laugh, which is basically emotional undressing. And okay, maybe I was three drinks past reasonable decision-making, but his hand on my lower back and the way he listened like I was the only girl in the bar? Yeah, he earned the Uber ride.

We made it to my room, which at the time felt like the right thing to do. Except… someone (Lily) had accidentally locked my bedroom door in a flurry of post-party chaos and lost the key.

“You can sleep in mine,” she offered with a sleepy smile, mascara slightly smudged.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll crash with the girls. It’s a full-on slumber party in there anyway.”

So there we were.

Me, this guy—Caleb or Callum or something with a C—and Lily’s room. A room that smelled like vanilla, lavender spray, and whatever perfume she always stole from my side of the bathroom.

“You okay?” he asked, hand resting on my hip as I stood in the middle of her room, hesitant for all of one dramatic second.

I turned, smiled, and pulled him in by the collar.

Meanwhile, in the next room…

“Is she seriously—” Jessy hissed from her place on the floor.

“She is,” Meg whispered, wide-eyed. “She’s totally doing it in Lily’s bed.”

Lily buried her face in a pillow, mortified and stifling laughter. “I told her to use the guest blanket! That one’s from Zara Home, it was expensive!”

The first moan hit like a light slap.

“Oh my God,” Meg squeaked, already holding in a laugh.

Another. Then a thud. A giggle. A very audible “right there.”

Jessy gasped like it was the royal wedding. “She’s narrating!”

“She’s a performer,” Lily muttered into the pillow.

By the fourth moan, it was over. Not the act—oh no, (Y/N) had stamina. But the composure. Jessy cracked first, snorting uncontrollably. Meg followed with a laugh that sounded like a seal, and Lily—despite herself—started giggling so hard she had to leave the room with the blanket wrapped around her like a cursed Victorian ghost.

From Lily’s bed, (Y/N)’s voice rang out—clear as crystal.

“Shut UP, I can hear you laughing!”

“WE CAN HEAR YOU!” Jessy shouted back, absolutely cackling.

There was a pause. Then a triumphant moan from (Y/N). As if to say, I regret nothing.

In the morning, (Y/N) emerged wrapped in Lily’s robe, looking like a victorious war general. Her hair was a mess. Her mascara, gone. But her smirk? Glorious.

“Did we… interrupt anything last night?” she asked with faux innocence, sipping from a coffee mug someone definitely didn’t offer her.

Lily didn’t even look up from her cereal. “Just my will to live.”

(Y/N) grinned. “You said I could use your room.”

“I meant the bed. Not perform an entire Broadway musical in it.”

Jessy raised a brow. “Was he the bartender with the tattoo?”

(Y/N) only smiled, walking back toward the bathroom. “A lady never tells.”

“You do!” Meg shouted.

And she did. But only later. Only after they swore they’d never let Lily’s bed forget it.

The sun was a bit too enthusiastic that morning, bleeding through the sheer curtains like it knew I was hungover and smug about it. I was curled up on the living room couch in Lily’s robe, sipping lukewarm coffee and regretting absolutely nothing, when her phone buzzed.

Lily, looking entirely too fresh for someone who'd heard the soundtrack of my night in Dolby Surround Sound, picked it up with a groan and answered. "Hey, baby."

It was Oscar. Of course.

His sleepy voice drifted out of her speaker. "Morning, love. You home?"

“Yep. Whole crew’s still here. (Y/N) brought someone back. You missed a show.”

I choked on my coffee.

Oscar laughed softly. “A show?”

Lily flopped down beside me, phone on speaker now—rude. “Let’s just say… my bed is no longer innocent. I offered (Y/N) my room since hers was locked, and she decided it was the perfect setting for live-action erotica.”

Jessy, from the kitchen: “SHE WAS SO LOUD.”

Oscar snorted. “Wait, (Y/N)?”

“Yes, (Y/N),” Lily said sweetly, glancing at me with the smirk of someone enjoying this way too much. “Turns out our little finance girl has a… vocal side.”

“I hate all of you,” I muttered, pulling the blanket over my head.

Oscar was chuckling now, that low, amused sound that made it easy to understand why Lily fell for him. “You okay, (Y/N)?”

“Peachy,” I deadpanned from under the blanket.

“She’s blushing,” Lily reported gleefully.

“I am not!”

“Red as a Ferrari,” Jessy added, walking by with a bowl of cereal like she didn’t just casually roast me in passing.

“You guys are the worst friends,” I groaned.

Oscar laughed again, sounding way too entertained. “I like that you’re keeping Lily’s life interesting. I feel like I missed an iconic night.”

“You did,” Meg called out from her corner of the couch, still wrapped in three blankets. “We were chaos.”

“I was innocent,” Lily said, pretending to sip tea.

“You were giggling like a twelve-year-old hearing porn for the first time,” I muttered.

Oscar's voice softened. “I love that you all have each other. Makes me feel better when I’m away.”

Lily smiled, her voice dipping into something tender. “We love you, too.”

I peeked out from under the blanket, meeting her eyes for a second—and there it was. That look. The one I didn’t have a name for yet.

Tag List:

@freyathehuntress, @mimisweetz, @aleatorio1234, @totallynotluluu, @rorabelle15, @prongslena

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captainfantasticalright · 2 months ago

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1967: you go too fast for me Crowley, or the year the Wolfenden report actually came into effect.

It is no secret that in 1957 the Wolfenden Committee recommended the decriminalisation of private homosexual activity between consenting adults over the age of 21, but with heavier penalties against homosexual activity in public places.

This is precisely what Anathema thinks of when she comments in the book that her book had been left in the back of the car of 'two consenting cycle repairmen'.

Not only does that inform us as readers that the characters within the book perceive Crowley and Aziraphale as being a couple, especially by the (arguably) cleverest witch in the book, but also that their appearances (physical corporations) do in fact look older than 21 years old. (the age of consent)*

*It would take until the 2000s for the age of consent to be equalised, and for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender personnel to be able to serve openly in the armed forces.

But coming back to the term 'consenting' and the significance within the overall plot of Good Omens series-wise is the fact that they chose 1967, precisely 10 years later after the Wolfenden report and the year the Sexual Offences Act was passed (which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over 21 in England and Wales, while at the same time imposing heavier penalties on street offences) as a crucial point in storytelling.

This is the last scene we see of them after the montage; this is precisely the point where Aziraphale makes that big, first move towards Crowley and manifests himself inside of the Bentley to protect him from a burglary that could have ended in disaster. This is Aziraphale stepping outside from his own box and venturing into admitting that yes, he would enjoy Crowley's company as more than just an Arrangement. He would like the picnics, he would like to dine openly with him.

And this comes precisely at a time, a real world setting where even the Archbishop of Canterbury agreed, saying: “There is a sacred realm of privacy ... into which the law, generally speaking, must not intrude" (referring to homosexuality).

Although we know Aziraphale and Crowley are not men, but rather men-shaped beings of the world, there is something to be said about how the 1967 act reflects on Aziraphale's 'heavenly' beliefs and how that can be attributed not only to homosexuality*, but also a realm of privacy where neither Heaven or Hell (religion itself) need to interfere with his affairs.

*we do know, however, how much the book and tv series lean into Aziraphale being 'gay', at least in our human understanding of labels and categorizing even though he is not; "pansy" "nancy boys" "gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide" (this one specifically marking Aziraphale canonically in the book as appearing to be a homosexual) "you've got the wrong shop" among others.

A real life anecdote from the time says: John Carter was 17 at the time and doesn’t have a clear memory of the bill passing; he only realised the significance of the change with hindsight. He came out in the early 70s, after making contact with his university’s gay society, which wouldn’t have existed were it not for decriminalisation. “It meant that people could meet … and freely associate.” That was crucial, he says, because, “if you don’t even have a space where you can go, then people are cruising, they’re cottaging * ... It took many years for people who had been constantly looking over their shoulder, being worried, to develop proper ways of relating to each other. Ways that were not just based on sex or compromise or fear.”

*(No, cottaging is not living in a cottage)

No matter that the law had been passed, there was still a lot of stigma surrounding the word 'homosexual'. It wasn't until the 80s and 90s that it stopped being a crime in Scotland and Ireland; being further stigmatized with the AIDS crisis in the late 80s.

Regardless of the nature of the open confession Aziraphale lays bare to Crowley in 1967, it most definitely can be read as a 'coming out' for him. Perhaps not dealing with sexuality directly, but with religion layered on top of that. It is still too fast despite of the year, in spite of the millennia worked together under false pretenses. But it is an exterior, real life push that reinforces the idea for him to see that- if humans are able to recognize that man could be with man and not call it a crime, why could that same thinking not be applied to an angel and a demon living on Earth?

Aziraphale is doing more than blurting his heart out, he is openly hoping for the time that matches 1967 in its decriminalisation of homosexuality to one that applies for him and Crowley. So the thermos, the "better not" say thank you just yet, is a lingering promise to be there for when it finally happens. One which Crowley accepts with bare, open hands.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #terry pratchett #david tennant #michael sheen #good omens meta #1967 my beloved #reminder that you can read aziraphale however you like #you go too fast for me #the wolfenden report is really why Anathema says that by the way #the age of consent

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cloudyluun · 4 months ago

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Epilogue: Home. | single-parent!harry

Summary: Life with Harry was already perfect—but now, it’s getting even bigger. Between lazy mornings, chaotic family dinners, and one very unexpected but very wanted baby on the way, you finally have the life you never thought you’d get. Telling Theo and Lily is a disaster (obviously), Harry won’t stop touching your belly, and somehow, your home is even louder, messier, and more full of love than ever before.

And you wouldn’t change a single thing.

A/N: Listen. I know what I did. And I’d do it again. 😌

Was this entire epilogue an excuse to write Dad!Harry in his domestic, protective, lovesick era? Yes. Did I also write it because I got this request that literally said “This will make you feral and want Harry’s babies”? Also yes.

But honestly, was I wrong?

Harry cooking breakfast with Theo and Lily while Y/N waddles around pregnant and happy?Harry whispering sweet nothings to Y/N’s belly every night like a lovestruck fool?Harry completely wrecked over pregnant!Y/N, praising her like a goddess, and making sure she feels worshipped?

No. I was absolutely correct. And I stand by that.

Anyway, I hope you love this, I hope it makes you emotionally unstable, and I hope you walk away knowing one universal truth:

Harry Styles was made to be a husband and a dad.

Love you. Mean it.

Wordt Count: 3k

Warnings:

Sickeningly sweet domestic fluff (read at your own risk)

Pregnancy (planned but unexpected, lots of soft moments, protective!Harry in full force)

Theo and Lily being tiny menaces and taking full credit for everything

So much baby talk, you might want to start nesting yourself

Harry’s hands permanently attached to Y/N’s belly

Bonus smut: Pregnant sex, praise kink, filthy but loving, Harry being absolutely wrecked for his woman

Aftercare that will make you cry

The phrase "I love our baby so much" whispered like it’s the most sacred thing in the world

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

You never thought this would be your life.

Not the lazy Sunday mornings tangled in Harry’s sheets, his body warm and solid beside you.

Not the quiet evenings where you cooked dinner together—where he stole bites of food off your plate and kissed your forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Not the mornings filled with coffee and pancakes and laughter, where Lily and Theo sat on the floor with their coloring books, bickering over which one of them was the better artist while Harry rolled his eyes fondly.

You never thought you’d get to have this.

But you did.

And God, you wanted to hold onto it forever.

It had been months since that night.

Months since you’d stopped running.

Since you had let him in.

And in that time, everything had changed.

Not in the loud, dramatic way you used to fear.

Not in the way that left you panicked and breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But in the quiet way. The sure way.

In the way that made Sunday morning grocery runs feel like an adventure, because Harry let the kids pick out ridiculous snacks while you pretended to scold him for sneaking extra things into the cart.

In the way that made movie nights feel like home, because Theo would fall asleep halfway through, and Lily would always insist on using Harry’s shoulder as a pillow, and you’d end up curled into his side—his arm draped around you, fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin.

In the way that made your chest ache, because this wasn’t temporary.

This wasn’t something fragile.

This was real.

You realized it fully one evening, standing in Harry’s kitchen, watching him without him realizing it.

He was helping Theo with his homework, brow furrowed in concentration as he leaned over the table, listening intently while Theo explained something about a science project.

And Lily—Lily was sitting beside him, doodling absentmindedly in the margins of her own worksheet, occasionally nudging Theo and smirking when he huffed in annoyance.

It was so simple.

So mundane.

And yet, something inside you broke wide open.

Because this wasn’t just Harry’s house anymore.

It wasn’t just his space.

It was yours, too.

A place where your daughter laughed freely. Where you left your books scattered on the nightstand. Where there was a drawer of your clothes in his dresser, your toothbrush beside his in the bathroom.

You had slipped into his life.

And the most shocking thing was that…

You fit.

Perfectly.

Completely.

Like you had been meant to be there all along.

You didn’t say anything that night.

Didn’t mention the realization, didn’t try to put it into words.

But Harry noticed.

Because he always did.

When the kids had finally gone to bed, when you had curled up beside him on the couch, his fingers tracing absentmindedly along your thigh—he looked at you.

And just like that, you knew.

He knew it, too.

This was it.

This was forever.

The first time Harry called you his girlfriend was at Theo’s soccer game.

It was casual, slipped into conversation without a second thought.

One of the other parents had asked about the two of you, smiling in that knowing way people did when they’d already assumed the answer.

And Harry—**without hesitation, without looking at you first to check if it was okay—**had just said, "Yeah, Y/N’s my girlfriend."

Like it was obvious. Like it was something he didn’t even have to think about.

And the best part?

It didn’t send you into a spiral.

Didn’t make you want to run.

Because, for once…

You weren’t afraid of being someone’s.

Not when it was him.

The first time you said it back, you didn’t even realize you had.

It was late.

You were all piled onto the couch, the kids asleep between you, the credits rolling on some animated movie none of you had really been paying attention to.

Harry’s hand was resting low on your back, his breathing even, the room quiet, still, peaceful.

And you—**without thinking, without hesitating—**had whispered, "Love you."

Not as a grand declaration.

Not as something huge or dramatic.

Just as a fact.

As something that had been true for longer than you’d been willing to admit.

And Harry—still half-asleep, still groggy and warm and impossibly perfect—had hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of your head.

"Love you, too, sweetheart."

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Like it was inevitable.

Like he had never once doubted it.

The first time you talked about forever, you were cooking dinner.

Harry had been chopping vegetables, Theo sitting on the counter beside him, chattering about his day.

And Lily—with zero warning, with the blunt force of a child who didn’t know how to sugarcoat things—had just said, "Mummy, are we ever gonna live here?"

You had frozen.

Harry had paused.

And Theo—completely oblivious to the weight of the moment—had just shrugged.

"Yeah, you basically already do."

And Harry—

Harry had just looked at you.

Not with pressure.

Not with expectation.

Just with certainty.

Like he knew the answer already.

Like he was just waiting for you to catch up.

So, you did.

Three months later, you packed up the apartment you had built your new life in.

And you moved in with him.

With Theo.

With your family.

And you didn’t second-guess it.

Didn’t overthink it.

Because for the first time in your life, forever didn’t feel like something that could fall apart.

It felt like something you could hold onto.

Something that had been waiting for you all along.

One night, long after the kids had gone to bed, long after the house had settled into comfortable silence, you curled into Harry’s side, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

"Did you ever think we’d end up here?" you murmured, voice soft, sleepy.

Harry hummed, pulling you closer, fingers threading through your hair.

"Yeah," he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You smiled against his skin. "Really?"

"Mmhm." His lips curved against your forehead. "Theo and Lily decided for us, remember?"

You laughed, shaking your head.

Harry pulled back, tilting your chin up until your eyes met his.

His expression softened.

"Best thing that ever happened to me," he whispered.

And you—

You kissed him.

Because there was no doubt in your mind anymore.

He was it.

Forever.

Your life was full.

It was good.

And soon, it was about to get even bigger.

You’d known for weeks.

The first sign had been exhaustion—more than usual. You’d chalked it up to late nights, to work, to trying to keep up with two chaos-wielding children and a ridiculously affectionate boyfriend who didn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.

Then came the mood swings.

The tears over a burnt pancake.

The sudden, undeniable craving for oranges at midnight.

And finally, the truth had stared you in the face in the form of two pink lines.

Pregnant.

You had sat on the bathroom floor for a long time, staring at it, heart pounding, head spinning, stomach flipping.

Because you were happy.

Really, truly, unbelievably happy.

And that was the part that scared you the most.

Because happiness like this? It felt too good to last.

But when you finally told Harry—**voice shaking, heart in your throat, fingers twisting nervously in his t-shirt—**he had just smiled.

And then he had kissed you.

And then he had knelt in front of you, hands on your waist, pressing his forehead against your stomach.

And then, voice thick, barely a whisper:

“We’re having a baby?”

And when you had nodded—when the words had finally settled between you—he had wrapped his arms around you, held you like he never planned to let go, and laughed.

Like he couldn’t believe his luck.

Like you had just given him the world.

Telling Theo and Lily was another story.

Because they were menaces.

Because they would absolutely take credit for this.

And because you had no idea how they were going to react.

You and Harry had spent an entire week going back and forth. How do we tell them? When do we tell them? Should we make it fun? A surprise? A game?

But in the end, the kids decided for you.

Because of course they did.

You were sitting in the living room, curled into Harry’s side, your hand resting lightly over your stomach as Theo and Lily played a game on the floor.

And then, out of nowhere, Theo looked up and said—

"When are you guys having a baby?"

You choked on your tea.

Harry tensed beside you.

Lily scrunched up her nose. "Theo, you can’t just ask people that!"

Theo shrugged. "Why not? They’re obviously in love. People in love have babies."

Harry pressed his fist against his mouth, shoulders shaking.

You glared at him. Don’t you dare laugh.

Theo looked between the two of you, suspicious. "Wait a second…"

Lily gasped. "ARE YOU HAVING A BABY?"

Silence.

Harry turned to you, one brow raised, a smirk tugging at his lips. Your call, love.

You sighed, setting your tea down before glancing at the kids.

And then, softly:

"Yeah. We are."

For a second, nothing.

And then—

Absolute chaos.

Lily screamed.

Theo cheered.

Lily launched herself at you, hugging you so tightly you thought you might fall over. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I’M GONNA BE A BIG SISTER!"

Theo, meanwhile, turned to Harry and held out his fist.

"Nice one, Dad."

Harry barked out a laugh, bumping his fist against Theo’s. "Thanks, mate."

And then, just like that, the room was filled with laughter, excitement, a million questions.

When is the baby coming? Can we pick the name? Do we get to help? Are we sharing a room? Is it a boy or a girl? Can we have a puppy, too?

Harry pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"See?" he murmured. "Told you they’d take it well."

You smiled, watching as Theo and Lily started making a very dramatic list of possible baby names.

"Yeah," you whispered. "You were right."

And for once—**for the first time in forever—**you weren’t afraid of being happy.

Because this?

This was home.

And now, it was just getting a little bigger.

Life after that was loud.

It was chaotic.

It was perfect.

Mornings were a blur of sleepy kisses and coffee and Harry pressing a hand to your stomach every time he walked past you.

Afternoons were spent at doctor’s appointments, picking out baby clothes, letting Theo and Lily argue over whether they wanted a little brother or sister.

(Theo wanted a brother. Lily wanted both. You and Harry were mildly terrified.)

And nights—nights were yours.

Wrapped in Harry’s arms, his hands tracing over your belly, his voice a soft murmur against your skin.

"Can’t believe we’re doing this.""You’re so beautiful like this, love.""I’m gonna love this baby so much. And you. Always you."

And every single time, you felt it—the weight of what you had built. The life you had made. The family you had created.

You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And neither would Harry.

Because ever since you told him you were pregnant, he had been soft with you—softer than ever before.

Not that he wasn’t always soft with you—but now?

Now, it was different.

Now, it was gentle hands on your stomach whenever he passed by. Now, it was offloading all the housework, refusing to let you lift a finger. Now, it was pulling you onto his lap at night, rubbing slow circles into your back until you melted against him.

It was sweet. Perfect, even.

But tonight?

Tonight, you needed more.

And you could tell, by the way Harry was looking at you—dark eyes flickering between your lips and the swell of your belly—that he needed more, too.

So when you shifted against him—**rolling your hips just slightly where you straddled his lap, teasing, testing—**he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Careful, love," he murmured, his fingers tightening on your thighs.

You tilted your head, running your hands up his chest. "Why?"

His jaw ticked. His grip tightened.

"You know why."

You smirked.

And then, deliberately—slowly—you rolled your hips again.

Harry groaned. "Fuck, Y/N—"

"You’ve been treating me like I’m fragile," you whispered, pressing your mouth to his jaw, kissing along his neck.

He exhaled sharply, his hands trembling against you. "Because you are."

You pulled back, meeting his gaze, your fingers tracing the edge of his t-shirt. "Harry. I’m pregnant. Not breakable."

He swallowed hard, eyes flickering down to where your belly pressed against him.

You could see the hesitation in his face. The battle between wanting you, needing you, and being afraid of hurting you.

So, you leaned in—pressing your lips to his, slow and deep, whispering against his mouth—

"Please, Harry."

And that?

That was all it took.

Because in the next breath, he had you on your back.

Mouths crashing together, hands desperate, his body pressing you into the mattress.

"You want me like this?" he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. "Like this, baby?"

You whimpered. "Yes. Yes, please—"

He groaned against your skin, one hand sliding between your legs, teasing you through your underwear.

"Fuck, love," he rasped. "You’re soaking."

You gasped, arching into him, thighs trembling as his fingers stroked over you, teasing, torturing.

"Been neglecting you, haven’t I?" he muttered, his voice thick, wrecked.

You couldn’t even respond—not when he was slipping his fingers beneath the fabric, not when he was spreading you open, groaning when he felt how ready you were for him.

"Christ," he hissed, pressing a finger inside you, curling it just right.

You cried out, gripping his biceps, barely able to breathe.

"More," you begged. "Harry, more."

And fuck—

He gave it to you.

Another finger, stretching you, working you open, his mouth hot against your neck, his breathing heavy.

"Love having you like this," he murmured. "All soft and warm and—fuck—taking everything I give you."

You whined, grinding against his hand, so close, so close—

But before you could fall, before he could push you over the edge—

He pulled away.

You gasped, nearly sobbing. "Harry—"

"Shh, sweetheart," he murmured, kissing your belly before sitting back on his heels, shoving his sweats down, fisting himself in his hand.

Your mouth went dry.

Because—fuck—

You had felt him against you before, had been with him countless times, but somehow, seeing him like this—

Hard and desperate and completely wrecked for you—

You clenched around nothing, whimpering, needing him inside you, needing everything.

"Harry, please," you whispered.

And he gave you exactly what you asked for.

He pushed inside you in one slow, deep thrust, groaning as he sank into you, his head falling forward, his hands bracing on either side of your head.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he muttered, his voice wrecked.

You gasped, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer. "Harry—"

"Christ, love," he panted, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, your lips. "You feel so fucking good."

And then, he moved.

Slow at first. Deep. Precise. Like he wanted you to feel every single inch of him.

And you—fuck, you were drowning in him.

The way he touched you, the way he filled you completely, the way he kept murmuring the sweetest, filthiest things into your skin—

"Love you like this." "Never been more beautiful." "Carrying my baby, taking my cock so fucking good—"

You were gone.

It didn’t take long.

Your body was already buzzing, already so close from the way he had touched you earlier.

So when he slipped a hand between you, rolling his fingers over your clit, whispering, "Come for me, sweetheart,"

You shattered.

Your entire body clenched around him, your orgasm crashing through you, pleasure rippling through every inch of your skin.

And Harry followed.

With one last deep thrust, one last ragged moan of your name, he spilled inside you, his body shuddering against yours, his forehead pressed to your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you moved.

Just heavy breathing, warm kisses, whispered I love yous.

And then—

Harry pulled back, gazing down at you, eyes flickering between your face and your stomach.

And softly, reverently, completely wrecked:

"I love you, and I love our baby so fucking much."

You exhaled, cupping his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

"I love you, too," you whispered.

And then, you kissed him.

Because this was it.

This was everything.

One morning, months later, you woke up to find Harry already gone from bed.

Frowning, you padded into the kitchen, only to find him standing there—Theo on one side, Lily on the other, all three of them squinting at a pan of very questionable-looking pancakes.

You raised a brow. "What is happening here?"

Harry turned, smirking. "Makin’ breakfast for my girl."

You snorted. "For me or for the baby?"

Lily gasped. "The baby wants pancakes!"

Theo nodded sagely. "Yeah. Mum’s gotta eat double now. She’s basically a superhero."

You bit back a smile, stepping closer as Harry handed you a plate, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Morning, love," he murmured.

You exhaled, looking around at them.

Your people.

Your home.

Your everything.

"Morning," you whispered.

And then—

You smiled.

Because your life?

It was exactly how it was supposed to be.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

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