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i2sunric · 4 months ago

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𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 (p.sh)

PAIRING: sunghoon x pregnant!reader (f)

SUMMARY: when the two pink lines appeared on the pregnancy test, the life you had so meticulously built crumbled. but sunghoon gathered the pieces back together, shaping a new life with your two babies.

WARNINGS: pregnancy, suggestive and mentions of sex (no smut), angst (if you squint?), fluff, crack by the end, sunghoon is so caring, their love makes me puke, description of labour and a c-section (i gathered my knowledge from grace anatomy), reader worries a lot, sunghoon works hard, twins (yohan and haneul), bed rest, a little complication with one of the babies, happy ending, pet names (babe, baby), lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 3rd March 2025

WC: 6.5k

TAGLIST: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon (oneshot) @starry-eyed-bimbo @saphiranishimurashan @jkslvsnella @vrusha01 @notcamii @deluluscenarios @m1kkso @youngheejay @lovingvoidgoatee @motherscrustytoenailclippings @sukisvr @yoonzns @kayjiguki @12e45 @irahina @geniejunn BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED.

NOW PLAYING: Unconditionally by Katy Perry.

a/n: i hope y’all like this, please REBLOG to share and stay tuned for the other members’ fics. <3 sorry for any grammar error, i’m sleep deprived. anw, do you think i should make a small drabble when the twins are older too? lmk.

You hadn’t planned for this. No one really does, do they?

One month ago, you were just a college student, studying hard, dreaming of the future, with your boyfriend, Sunghoon, by your side.

The two of you were inseparable, sharing classes, meals, and the occasional late-night walk around campus when life felt too overwhelming.

You thought you had time. time to grow, to figure things out, to live freely before settling into something serious.

But life had other plans.

When you found out you were pregnant, it hit you like a train.

You remembered sitting on the cold bathroom floor of your dorm, clutching the positive test in your trembling hands, staring at it until the lines blurred from your tears.

The first thing you thought about wasn’t yourself but Sunghoon.

What would he say? What would he do? Would he be scared, angry… relieved?

He wasn’t any of those things.

When you told him, he just pulled you into his arms, held you so tightly you thought you’d break, and whispered over and over that he loved you. That he’d take care of you. That you’d figure this out together.

But love wasn’t enough to stop reality from crashing down.

The college didn’t offer much sympathy.

As soon as you dropped out—because there was no way you could keep up with tuition and prepare for a baby—they kicked you out of the dorm. No exceptions.

You weren’t a student anymore, so you didn’t belong. It didn’t matter that you’d lived there for years.

You packed up what little you had, stuffing clothes and textbooks into worn-out suitcases while Sunghoon silently paced the small room, phone pressed to his ear as he tried to find somewhere — anywhere — for the two of you to go.

By some miracle, he did.

It wasn’t much. A tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city, far from campus, far from everything you knew.

The rent was low because the building was old and falling apart, but it had four walls, a roof, and running water. It was home.

Sunghoon tried to stay strong. He was a student, just like you had been, with assignments and exams and his own dreams.

But those dreams had been put on hold— at least, the version of them he once had. Now, instead of studying in the library with his friends, he was filling out job applications.

Instead of thinking about internships or grad school, he was wondering how to pay for diapers and formula.

He landed a part-time job at a convenience store after a week of searching, and though he came home every night exhausted and smelling like instant noodles and cold air, he always kissed you softly and asked how you were feeling, if the babies were okay.

Babies. Plural.

That had been another shock, one you’d gotten at your first ultrasound: Two little heartbeats. Two little lives.

You’d cried then, too. Half out of fear, half out of something that felt a little like awe. Sunghoon had cried with you, holding your hand so tightly his knuckles went white, whispering that it would be okay.

And you believed him. For a little while.

But things were hard.

The convenience store paycheck wasn’t enough, not when rent, groceries, and prenatal visits drained it so quickly. And even if your parents managed to send you their savings, it still was too little for prenatal vitamins and all the things you had to buy for when the twins would be born.

Sunghoon started losing sleep, staying up late to study after work, waking up early to make it to class, and somehow still managing to hold you when you couldn’t stop crying because your body was changing faster than you could handle, because you felt like a burden, because you were terrified.

You wanted to find a job too. You tried.

But no one wanted to hire a pregnant woman, not even when you were only two months along.

You didn’t even look pregnant, not really but employers seemed to know, somehow. They’d glance at your belly, at your tired eyes, and find a reason to turn you away.

“We’ll call you,” they’d say. They never did.

It was unfair. You were competent, you had your high school diploma. You could work, you could help. but no one would let you.

Sunghoon told you it was okay. That you should rest. That you were doing enough by taking care of yourself and the babies.

But you saw the way he clenched his jaw when he checked his bank account. You saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the frustration he tried to hide.

One night, after a particularly long shift, he came home, threw his keys on the kitchen counter, and just… broke.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, leaning against the wall, head in his hands. “I’m trying, but it’s not enough… it’s never enough.”

You’d never seen him like that before. Sunghoon was always calm, always steady, the one who grounded you when you felt like you were falling apart.

But now he was the one unraveling, and you didn’t know how to help.

You went to him, kneeling beside him on the cold tile floor, and took his hands in yours “We’ll figure it out,” you whispered, echoing the words he’d once said to you. “We’ll find a way.”

He just shook his head. “I don’t want you to worry about this, you shouldn’t have to.”

“I already do,” you admitted, your voice soft but firm. “I worry every day, about you, about the babies, about what’s going to happen to us. But we’re in this together, Hoon, you’re not alone.”

And maybe that was what he needed to hear.

Because he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, you both let yourselves be scared.

And somehow, in the middle of all the fear and exhaustion, there were moments of happiness.

Late-night talks in bed, Sunghoon’s hand resting on your belly, feeling the faintest flutter of movement. The way he looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in the world, even when you felt anything but.

It wasn’t the life you’d imagined. But it was a fresh start, and you were going to make it work.

⪩⪨.

The chemistry between you and Sunghoon didn’t die, not even with the exhaustion, the stress, or the growing weight of reality pressing down on you both.

If anything, it seemed to shift into something deeper, more intimate.

Perhaps it was the hormones, or maybe it was the way Sunghoon looked at you— like you were made of glass and fire all at once.

There were nights when you’d reach for him, despite everything, when your body burned with a desperate, aching need that you couldn’t ignore.

It was embarrassing at first — how could you think about sex when there was so much to worry about? But Sunghoon never made you feel ashamed.

Even when he was exhausted, after long shifts at the convenience store and nights spent studying, if you whispered his name softly enough, he’d turn to you, his tired eyes softening, and touch you so gently it made you want to cry.

“You sure?” he’d ask, voice husky with sleep, his thumb tracing circles on your hip.

And when you nodded, needy and aching, he’d love you slowly, sweetly, like you were something precious.

His hands, rough from work and cold from the night air, would warm against your skin, spreading goosebumps as they moved over your growing belly, your curves softening into something maternal and foreign to you both.

“I love you,” he’d whisper, over and over, like a promise.

And when it was over, he’d hold you, tracing patterns on your back until you fell asleep, his hand never leaving your stomach, like he needed to feel all three of you were still there.

Still his.

⪩⪨.

You hated feeling useless. No matter how many times Sunghoon told you to rest, to take care of yourself and the babies, the guilt sat heavy on your chest; a constant reminder that while he was out there working himself to the bone, you were at home, waiting.

So, you kept looking for a job.

And eventually, you found one.

It wasn’t much: a small corner café, tucked away in the older part of town.

The owner, a kind older woman named Mrs. Park, had taken one look at you and seemed to understand without you having to say a word.

She didn’t ask about the pregnancy, didn’t ask why you were looking for work so urgently. She just handed you an apron and asked if you could start the next morning.

You said yes before she could change her mind.

The hours were short, just enough to bring home a small paycheck without overworking yourself. Between morning sickness, aching feet, and the constant hum of anxiety, you managed.

The work kept your mind busy, and the extra money, small as it was, helped. anything to lighten the weight on Sunghoon’s shoulders.

The best part was the way his face lit up when you handled him your first paycheck, small and wrinkled from being folded into your pocket all day.

“You didn’t have to…” he whispered, holding the check like it was made of gold.

“I know,” you said, leaning up to kiss him softly. “But I wanted to.”

He didn’t say anything after that, just pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly enough that you felt the tremor in his hands.

Money was still tight.

You became an expert at stretching every dollar, buying second-hand things for the babies: clothes, a crib, even a stroller someone had listed online for half the price.

You cleaned everything, scrubbed it down until it looked new, and though it wasn’t the Pinterest-perfect nursery you’d once dreamed of, but it was enough.

⪩⪨.

The fifth month of pregnancy crept up on you quietly, like the tide rolling in, soft and inevitable, until one day you looked in the mirror and saw someone entirely new.

Your belly had grown, round and firm, stretched with the weight of the two tiny humans inside you. It was impossible to hide anymore.

You were blooming.

Despite the morning sickness that still lingered some days, and the exhaustion that settled into your bones like a permanent guest, there was something undeniably radiant about you now.

Your skin glowed, cheeks flushed with a soft pink hue, and your hair became somehow shinier and thicker.

Even your eyes seemed brighter, though you chalk that up to getting more sleep now that you weren’t balancing school and work.

“Wow, pregnancy looks good on you,” Mrs. Park had said one morning at the café, handing you a fresh cup of chamomile tea instead of the coffee you so desperately wanted.

You had laughed, shaking your head, brushing flour off your apron. “I feel like a beached whale.”

“You look like a goddess,” she insisted, patting your arm gently before returning to the kitchen.

It wasn’t just her, either. Customers complimented you more often now, commenting on your “glow,” asking when you were due, if you knew the genders yet.

Some people even touched your belly without asking, which drove you insane, but you bit your tongue and smiled through it, knowing they meant well.

Still, no amount of glowing or compliments could change the fact that you were tired.

All the time.

Your body ached in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Your back throbbed almost constantly, the strain of carrying twins becoming more obvious with each passing week.

Walking more than a few blocks left you breathless, and your feet… Lord, your feet.

They swelled like balloons by the end of every day, tight and aching, even when you sat down as much as possible at work.

You’d become clumsy, too. You knocked things over more than once at the café, sending cups crashing to the floor, apologizing profusely as you bent down (with great effort) to clean up the mess.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Park always said, shooing you away. “Go sit down for a minute. You’re carrying two humans, for heaven’s sake.”

When you got home from work, you always tried to clean the apartment before Sunghoon came back.

It was small, but you wanted it to feel like a home, not just a temporary place you were stuck in. You’d make the bed, wipe down the tiny kitchen counters, and vacuum the living room—all while trying not to collapse from exhaustion.

Sometimes, you’d manage to cook dinner too, though more often than not, you just ordered something cheap and easy, feeling guilty but knowing you couldn’t push yourself too hard.

Sunghoon never complained.

When he came home, usually around sunset, the door would creak open, and you heard the familiar sound of his keys hitting the small bowl by the entrance.

“Babe?” he called, voice soft but tired.

“In here,” you answered from the couch, where you’d usually ended up, legs propped up on a pillow to help with the swelling.

He appeared in the doorway, still in his uniform from the convenience store, black slacks and a button-up shirt, a little wrinkled, smelling faintly of coffee and instant ramen. His hair tousled from the wind, dark eyes warm but weary.

Without fail, he smiled the moment he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, crossing the room to kneel beside you, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your belly. “How are my girls?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile came anyway. “Or boys.”

“Or one of each,” he teased, hands gentle as they splayed over your bump, feeling for any kicks.

“How was work?”

He sighed, leaning his head against your shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment. “Long… some guy tried to shoplift again, i’m starting to think I should charge admission fees for all the chaos.”

You laughed softly, fingers brushing through his hair, knowing how much he hated that job but how hard he was trying to keep it for you, for the babies.

“I made dinner,” you said, though ‘made’ meant heating the leftovers you had in th fridge.

“Mhh,” he murmured, already half-asleep against you. “I’d rather eat you. Cheaper and more delicious.”

You smacked his head lightly “You’re almost collapsing, go eat, Hoon.”

“Alright,” he kissed your cheek and got up, moving towards the kitchen “But I’ll have you as a dessert!”

⪩⪨.

Nights were the hardest.

Your body ached more at night, your back screaming every time you tried to find a comfortable position in bed.

You’d toss and turn, sometimes getting up to walk around the apartment because lying down just hurt too much.

Sunghoon always noticed, even when you tried to be quiet.

One night, around three in the morning, you were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking water and rubbing your lower back, when you heard him shuffle out of bed.

“Babe?” His voice was thick with sleep, hair sticking up in every direction.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Without a word, he walked over, stood behind you, and began to massage your shoulders, his thumbs pressing gently into the knots that seemed permanent these days.

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

His hands were warm and firm, working down your back slowly, easing the tension until you melted against him, sighing softly.

“You okay?” he asked after a while, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you whispered, eyes closing as you leaned into his warmth. “Just… tired.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his hands never stopping their slow, comforting motion. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I feel like a whale.”

“You’re beautiful,” he insisted, his voice so sincere it made your throat tighten. “You’re carrying our babies, that’s… incredible.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to brush your lips against his.

It was soft, warm, and lingering, a kiss that spoke of gratitude, of love, of something deeper than either of you had words for.

“Come back to bed,” he whispered.

And when you did, he wrapped himself around you, one arm under your belly, supporting its weight, the other tangled in your hair. His body was warm, steady, grounding.

You fell asleep like that, safe and held, and for a little while, all the worry, all the exhaustion, all the fear melted away.

⪩⪨.

By the seventh month, everything changed.

Your doctor had been gentle, but firm, when she sat you down after your check-up, her eyes soft with concern.

“I’m putting you on immediate bed rest,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Your body is straining too hard, and with twins, that’s dangerous, iknow you’ve been trying to push through, but if you keep this up, there’s a high risk of preterm labor —or worse.”

“Worse?” you had repeated, barely above a whisper.

The idea of something happening to your babies was too much to comprehend.

You felt your chest tighten, your hands instinctively cradling your belly as though you could protect them from the world with just that small gesture.

“I’ll give you a list of things you need like vitamins and supplements, carrying two is an enormous strain, and I want you and the babies safe.”

You hadn’t argued. You were too scared to argue.

You’d complied immediately, even though it meant using some of the money you and Sunghoon had saved for the babies. money that was supposed to go toward diapers, formula, a proper crib.

Instead, you’d bought the prenatal vitamins your doctor insisted on, the ones you’d been avoiding because they were expensive and you thought you could get by without them.

When you told Sunghoon, he didn’t complain.

“We’ll figure it out,” he’d said that night, after helping you into bed, his hand warm and steady against your swollen belly. “You’re not going to worry about money right now, i’ll pick up more shifts.”

“But—”

“No.” his voice was gentle but firm, leaving no room for protest. “I mean it. I’ll handle it… for them.”

He always said ‘for them,’ and that was all it took to silence your guilt.

Even Mrs. Park, kind as ever, had understood. When you called to tell her you couldn’t come to work anymore, your voice shaking with apology, she stopped you before you could even finish.

“Sweetheart, don’t you dare apologize. You’re having twins! Focus on your health, and don’t be afraid to ask if you need anything.”

You’d cried after that call,not out of sadness, but out of gratitude.

A week into bed rest, you found out the genders.

The ultrasound revealed it clearly— one boy and one girl. You hadn’t realized how emotional you’d be until you saw their tiny forms on the screen, moving, kicking, their hearts beating strong and fast.

“They’re healthy,” the technician had said with a smile, pointing out their little hands, their spines, the curve of their heads.

In the cab ride home, you and Sunghoon sat in stunned, happy silence, hands clasped tightly together over your belly.

Later that night, lying in bed, you’d brought up names.

“I want their names to match,” you murmured, your head on Sunghoon’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, your own hands tracing the curve of your belly.

“Like… rhyme?” he asked, sounding a little amused, his fingers lazily playing with your hair, “Not rhyme, just… sound good together, you know?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Okay, uhm, Do you like Yohan?”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Yohan?”

“Yeah. For the boy.” You let the name roll around in your mind, “I like it,” you whispered.

“And for the girl?” he asked, looking down at you, waiting.

You thought for a long moment. “Haneul.”

His lips curved into a soft smile. “Yohan and Haneul.”

“Yohan and Haneul,” you repeated, the names fitting together like puzzle pieces, like they were always meant to be spoken side by side.

“Perfect,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “They’re going to be perfect.”

Bed rest, however, was not perfect.

You knew it was necessary, you wanted to do everything in your power to keep your babies safe, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Sitting on the couch all day, only to move back to the bed or the kitchen chair, made you restless and bored out of your mind.

You felt horrible, especially knowing Sunghoon was working harder than ever to keep everything together.

He had picked up more shifts at the convenience store, working late into the night, coming home exhausted but still smiling, still touching your belly and asking how “his little ones” were doing.

You tried to keep the apartment clean as best you could from your limited range like folding laundry from the couch, wiping down surfaces slowly, feeling winded even from that.

One evening, Sunghoon came home to find you trying to sweep the floor, your back screaming in protest, your belly making it hard to even bend slightly.

“What are you doing?” he asked, immediately taking the broom from your hands.

“…cleaning.”

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I can’t just sit around all day, Sunghoon.” You snapped, harsher than intended.

He sighed, setting the broom aside, and took your hands gently in his, guiding you to sit back on the couch.

“You’re growing two humans inside you,” he reminded you softly, kneeling in front of you, his hands warm against your knees. “That’s not useless, that’s… everything.”

You blinked, your throat tight, feeling tears threaten to spill over.

Damn pregnancy hormones.

“I just… I hate seeing you do everything,” you whispered.

“I don’t mind,” he said, and you could tell he meant it. “I love you, I love them.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing through his hair, and he leaned into your touch like he always did, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment of peace.

“I’m so tired,” you admitted softly.

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss t your belly. “I know, baby.”

⪩⪨.

The pain came fast and without warning.

One moment, you were shifting uncomfortably on the couch, rubbing circles over your swollen belly, trying to ease the dull ache in your back.

The next, a sharp, unbearable pressure shot through you, like your entire body was twisting in on itself.

You gasped, hands flying to your stomach.

The next contraction came even harder, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your vision blurred as panic set in.

Your phone. Where was your phone?

With trembling hands, you fumbled around the couch cushions until you found it, barely able to press the call button before another wave of pain wracked through you.

The dial tone rang endlessly in your ears before Sunghoon’s voice finally cut through.

“Hey, baby, what’s—”

“Sunghoon,” you choked out, voice shaking. “It’s happening.”

Silence. “What?”

“The babies—” You couldn’t even get the words out properly.

You were panting, your whole body trembling, the pain stretching and pulling in ways that made you want to scream. “You need to come home, please.”

“I’m on my way,” he said immediately, his voice tight.

You could hear the sound of his chair scraping back, the muffled voices of his classmates as he grabbed his things in a rush. “Stay on the phone with me, are you in pain?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as another contraction hit.

“Baby, you need to breathe,” he said, his voice urgent but gentle. “In through your nose, out through your mouth, you remember what the doctor said, right? Just focus on that until I get there.”

You tried. You really did. But the pain was overwhelming, and all you could do was grip the armrest of the couch, gasping through each agonizing wave.

Minutes stretched into eternity before you finally heard the sound of the front door slamming open.

“Y/N?” Sunghoon’s voice was frantic as he rushed to your side, immediately crouching down in front of you.

His hands found your face, your belly, anywhere he could touch to ground you.

“I can’t—” You broke off, biting back a sob. “It hurts, Sunghoon.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his own breath shaky. “But we need to go, okay? Can you stand?”

You nodded weakly, though your legs felt like jelly. Sunghoon slipped an arm around your waist, practically lifting you off the couch as he guided you toward the door.

Each step sent another sharp wave of pain through you, and by the time you reached the car, you were sobbing into his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he kept whispering. “I’ve got you,.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur of pain and panic.

Sunghoon gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, running every red light, ignoring every honk and shout from passing cars. Every few seconds, he’d glance over at you, his face lined with worry.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he kept saying, even when you were barely holding yourself together. “We’re almost there. Just hold on for me, okay?”

When you finally arrived, nurses swarmed around you, wheeling you through the halls while Sunghoon ran beside the gurney, his hand never leaving yours.

“She’s having twins,” he told them, his voice strained. “She’s in labour, please, you have to help her.”

They nodded, moving quickly, and before you knew it, you were in a hospital bed, strapped to monitors, IVs in your arm, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling your nose.

The contractions were coming faster now, sharper, stronger, making your whole body arch off the bed in pain.

“It hurts,” you sobbed, gripping Sunghoon’s hand so tight you were sure you’d break his fingers.

“I’m sorry, baby” he whispered, pressing frantic kisses to your damp forehead. “You”re doing great.”

The doctor came in moments later, her face grave. “You’re not dilating fast enough,” she said. “And with twins, we can’t risk waiting, ae need to perform a C-section.”

Your heart stopped.

“No,” you gasped, shaking your head. “I— I don’t want—”

“Y/N,” Sunghoon whispered, his forehead pressed against yours. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t want to be cut open,” you sobbed. “Sunghoon, please—”

His hands cradled your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I know, I know,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “But we have to do what’s best for them, okay? I promise I’ll be right there the whole time.”

You searched his eyes desperately, finding nothing but love, worry, and unwavering determination.

You nodded, swallowing down your fear.

They prepped you quickly, the spinal anesthesia numbing you from the waist down, but the fear still clawed at your chest.

Sunghoon was right beside you, wearing scrubs over his clothes, his hand gripping yours tightly.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

You barely felt it when they made the incision, but you felt the pressure, the pulling, the strange sensation of something being moved inside you.

And then—

A cry. Loud and strong.

Your heart clenched as they lifted Yohan into the air, his tiny fists flailing, his lungs filled with life.

“A boy,” the doctor said, smiling. “A very strong little boy.”

Tears blurred your vision as you watched the nurse wrap him in a blanket. He was perfect. Tiny, but perfect.

But then—something was wrong.

Haneul wasn’t crying.

Your breath hitched. You turned to Sunghoon, his face pale with fear.

“Why isn’t she crying?” you asked, panic creeping into your voice.

The doctor was already working, her expression serious as she cleared her airway, checked her vitals.

Seconds stretched into eternity before… A weak, but definite, wail.

Your entire body sagged with relief.

“She’s small,” the doctor said. “She needs monitoring, but she’s here.”

“She’s here,” Sunghoon echoed, his voice breaking.

By the time they stitched you up and wheeled you to recovery, it was just the four of you.

You were exhausted, barely able to keep your eyes open, but you watched as Sunghoon cradled Yohan in his arms, his eyes filled with pure love.

“She looks like you,” he whispered, glancing at Haneul, who was wrapped up in a tiny incubator beside your bed.

You let out a weak laugh. “She looks like you, too.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he murmured. “Thank you for giving me them.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you reached for his hand, squeezing weakly.

“I would have never made it without you,” you whispered.

⪩⪨.

The first few days were harder than anything you could have imagined.

Your body was broken, stitched together but still aching, bruised, raw.

Every movement sent sharp, burning pain through your abdomen, making even the simplest tasks feel impossible. And yet, you had no choice, there were two tiny humans depending on you.

Two.

The weight of it was crushing. You were a mother now, not just to one baby, but two. Yohan and Haneul.

They were small, fragile, barely able to hold up their own heads, and they needed you every second of the day.

But you were exhausted.

Completely, utterly drained.

The moment you stepped foot into the small apartment, holding Haneul while Sunghoon carried Yohan in his arms, you felt the overwhelming urge to collapse onto the bed and sleep for days.

Except you couldn’t.

Because the twins were already stirring, their tiny mouths opening and closing, their bodies wriggling in search of warmth and nourishment.

You barely had time to lower yourself onto the couch before the wailing started.

First Haneul, her tiny lungs stronger than you would’ve expected for how fragile she looked. Then Yohan, following his sister’s lead as if he had to compete for who could cry the loudest.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, pressing a hand over your face. “How are they so loud?”

Sunghoon, looking just as exhausted, stared down at Yohan with wide eyes. “Do we… do we rock them?”

“No, let’s just leave them to cry themselves to sleep,” you deadpanned.

Sunghoon shot you a look. “Alright, alright, picking them up now.”

He rocked Yohan awkwardly, bouncing him slightly, but the baby only cried harder.

You tried to do the same with Haneul, wincing as you shifted to hold her properly against your chest. Your stitches screamed in protest, and you had to bite back a whimper of pain.

“Shh, baby,” you whispered, rubbing her tiny back. “Please, just a few minutes of peace.”

Breastfeeding had been one of the most painful surprises of motherhood.

You had read about it, heard stories, but nothing prepared you for the sheer agony of tiny mouths latching onto already sore and swollen breasts.

Haneul latched on first, her tiny hands pressing against your skin. Yohan squirmed in Sunghoon’s arms, waiting for his turn impatiently.

“God, they eat like they haven’t been fed in years,” Sunghoon muttered, sitting beside you.

You snorted, adjusting Haneul in your arms as she sucked greedily. The pain was unbearable at first, but after a while, you barely noticed it, you were too tired to care.

Once she was done, you carefully passed her to Sunghoon, who traded her for Yohan.

Yohan latched on immediately, his tiny fingers curling into your skin.

Sunghoon stared at the two of you, his eyes soft. “You’re amazing, you know?”

You huffed. “Tell me that when I don’t feel like a cow being milked.”

He chuckled, gently rocking Haneul in his arms. “I mean it, you just gave birth a few days ago, and you’re already handling both of them.”

You wanted to tell him you weren’t handling anything. That you were barely holding yourself together, that you felt like crying every second of the day. But you just leaned against him, exhaling slowly.

“We’re trying,” you murmured.

“We’re a family.” he retorted.

The days blurred into an exhausting, sleepless cycle: Feed. Change diapers. Cry. Repeat.

Bathing them was a whole new challenge.

“We don’t even have a tub,” you groaned, staring at the two tiny and stinky babies.

Sunghoon scratched the back of his neck. “We could… fill the sink?”

You stared at him. “You want to bathe our newborn babies in the kitchen sink?”

He lifted his hands defensively. “It’s clean! And small enough for them.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Fine, Just don’t drop them.”

Sunghoon grinned. “I would never.”

Ten minutes later, he almost dropped Yohan.

“Sunghoon!” you yelped, catching the baby before he could slip further into the water.“I had him!” Sunghoon insisted, looking guilty.

“You did not have him.”

He cleared his throat, adjusting his hold on Yohan. “Maybe this is a two-person job.”

“No shit.”

Together, you managed to get both babies cleaned, even if it was a messy, wet, and chaotic experience.

By the time they were wrapped in towels and back in your arms, you felt ready to pass out.

Sunghoon flopped onto the couch beside you, letting out a heavy sigh. “I think we deserve a medal for that.”

“You deserve a lecture,” you muttered. “Honestly, I don’t know if I should trust you with our children.”

He pouted. “That hurts, babe.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned against him anyway, watching as Yohan and Haneul drifted off to sleep in your arms.

Sunghoon kissed your temple, his voice softer this time. “We’ll get better at this.”

“We have to,” you said. “They depend on us.”

“And we depend on each other.” He squeezed your hand. “We’re in this together, baby. Always.”

Always.

⪩⪨.

The twins were finally asleep.

You exhaled a deep, shaky breath as you slumped onto the couch, every muscle in your body aching from exhaustion. It had taken forever to get them down, rocking, shushing, feeding, changing diapers, starting over again when one cried and the other followed. But now, for a few precious hours, there was silence.

Sunghoon collapsed beside you, his head tilting back against the cushions. He let out a low groan, rubbing a hand down his face. “Holy shit, that was brutal.”

You huffed out a weak laugh. “I thought we were gonna die.”

He turned his head to look at you, smiling softly. “We can’t possibly be defeated by two itty bitty humans.”

You let your head fall against his shoulder, your eyes closing for a moment.

Your body reminded you of the pain you were still inn with a dull, persistent ache in your abdomen.

Sunghoon felt your wince before you even said anything. He shifted, glancing down at you with concern. “You okay?”

You swallowed, opening your eyes. “Scar still hurts.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and without a word, he helped you sit up.

“Let’s take care of it,” he said. “Come on.”

The apartment was small, barely enough for the two of you before the twins arrived. Now, it felt even smaller, cluttered with diapers, bottles, and tiny clothes drying on a rack in the corner.

But somehow, Sunghoon still made it feel like home.

He guided you to the bathroom, his hands careful and steady as he helped you undress.

You hesitated when your shirt lifted, revealing the healing incision across your lower abdomen. The skin was still angry and red, the stitches tight. It wasn’t pretty.

Sunghoon didn’t even blink. He just crouched down, his fingertips ghosting over the area as if touching too hard might hurt you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not,” he said, his voice firm. He kissed just above the scar, lingering for a moment before looking up at you. “This is proof of how strong you are, I love it, I love you.”

You felt something in your chest tighten, an unexpected warmth spreading through you.

“Stop making me emotional,” you muttered, blinking back tears.

He grinned, standing up again. “Can’t help it. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Sunghoon washed your hair, fingers massaging your scalp with a tenderness that nearly made you melt. He was careful around your scar, using light touches to clean the area before wrapping you in a warm towel.

You felt better when you stepped out. Not great, not healed, but better.

He sat you down on the closed toilet seat, kneeling in front of you to apply the ointment the doctor had given you. His hands were warm, his touch featherlight.

“Still hurts?” he asked softly.

“A little,” you admitted. “But it’s better when you do it.”

His lips quirked up. “Guess I’ve got the magic touch.”

Once he finished, he helped you into a fresh set of pajamas, sighing when he noticed the stains on your old shirt.

“Your boobs are leaking again.”

You groaned, rubbing at your eyes. “I know… I feel like a damn cow.”

Sunghoon chuckled, helping you put on a fresh nursing bra before tugging a clean shirt over your head. “You’re not a cow, you’re an amazing mom.”

You gave him a look. “An amazing cow mom.”

He pinched your side gently, making you squeak. “Shut up and get in bed.”

You let him guide you back to the bedroom, sighing as you sank into the sheets. He pulled the blankets up to your chin, tucking you in like you were the fragile one, not the twins sleeping soundly in their shared bassinet.

Sunghoon sat beside you for a moment, brushing your hair back from your face.

“You should get some sleep,” he murmured.

You blinked at him,realizing why he hadn’t changed into his pyjamas snd wasn’t under the covers with you “You need to get ready for work.”

“I’ll leave in a bit,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Just wanna make sure you’re okay first.”

You reached up, curling your fingers around his wrist. “I don’t want you to go.”

His expression softened. “I know, baby. But we need the money.”

You sighed, closing your eyes. “I hate this.”

“I do too.” He ran his thumb over your cheek. “But we’ll get through it.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did.

But when exhaustion pulled you under, all you could think about was how hard everything was. How much you missed just being you and him.

How much you missed having him next to you, instead of leaving every night to work while you lay awake, waiting for the next time the twins would cry.

Sunghoon stayed until your breathing evened out, pressing one last kiss to your cheek before slipping away to get ready for work.

Even if he hated leaving, he had to. For you. For Yohan and Haneul.

For the life you had built together, not perfect, but beautiful.

2K notes · View notes

onlyseokmins · 2 years ago

Text

babymaker • c.s.c

Pairing: choi seungcheol x afab!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), roommates!au, fwb!au, lil angst if you squint plus gross fluff Warnings: swearing, mentions of past rough/marathon sex, edging, overstimulation, fingering, mentions of oral sex (fem. receiving, male teasing), biting (bc i wrote this), scratching, marking, mentions of car/exhibitionism sex, objectification, degradation, slight choking, tiny obsession w/ cheol's ass + tatts, making out and tons of kithing uwu, reader's a brat and economic major, cheol's a wealthy arrogant bbygorl, creampies <3, breeding kink, light mentions of babytrapping (look at the title lmfao), lots of touching and groping and teasing, sappy stuff ew, messy sex, kinda bulge kink haha, paragraph/word heavy, throwing in some silliness as usual, & lmk if i missed smth WC: 7.9k A/N: i know it's like a month late but this was suppposed to be for cheol's birthday lmfao but it's also meant to be a sequel to Lusty Gallant although it can be read on it's own ig esp since the characters seem ooc </3 also thanks to @hwanghyunjinenthusiast for giving me details on what cheol kithes taste like mwah

Seungcheol and you still live together. And yes, that means you're still committed to fucking on every surface possible in the very nice apartment space comfortable for two.

Roommates with benefits works out well for the both of you — seeming to lean mostly in your favor.

University is a hop and a skip away, close enough for Seungcheol to swing by on his way home from the office with a minor detour. The attractive man's appearance always causes several students to squeal and twirl their hair when he parks next to the sidewalk in a sleek, expensive black and red car. Silver rings that probably cost as much as your tuition adorn long fingers as they tap, tap, tap against the leather steering wheel while he waits.

Seungcheol looks for you over the rim of fake sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose and tongue poking between brilliant white teeth revealed by a smug smirk. Your friends are not subtle — a few in-the-know of what kind of arrangement you have with him and the majority of others not — when they dig an elbow into your ribs or smack your arm in excitement.

You loathe the gawking stares with the same amount of intensity as the tiny sparkle of delight that allows yourself to bask in Seungcheol's showy display of attention that's only partially for you. Aware of what he really loves is soaking up everyone focused on him, brushing back bangs with a pleased grin after checking himself out for the hundredth time in the rearview mirror.

Still, the man is as punctual as clockwork despite a hectic schedule. Deluding yourself is fun whenever he rolls down the window and asks just loud enough for onlookers to hear and swoon over, "How was night class, sweet stuff? Did my luckiest charm learn anything new to advise me on the market's trends?" and receiving an eye roll in return.

"I keep saying you don't have to do this," you remind him every. single. time. because you're sincerely fine walking back the same route you take in the morning.

"Nonsense, it'd be a sin to let a pretty little thing like you walk the city streets in the dark all alone. 'sides it's on my way."

"Of course, as long as it's convenient."

"Convenient?" he repeats with a cocked eyebrow and watches as you slide into the ridiculous car with a cute but sulky pout. An indication that something has ruffled your feathers, if even just a little.

You know not to slam the door too hard when closing it because the one time you did just to be a brat, your battered pussy paid the price. It was very sore for a good couple of days after being repeatedly edged for hours as punishment. First by his fingers during the drive home, next with his mouth on the hood of said car after he'd pulled into the garage, and then teasing touches along the several little pit stops on the way to the bedroom.

All until you were pressed face-down into silky sheets, finally allowed to let go for the first time of the night with his thick girth easing its way inside of your aching cunt to the hushed words of, "Have to touch my baby gently, treat 'em with lotsa care. Always gotta play nice with the things I like, 'kay?"

Safe to say, you learned your lesson. Who wouldn't after being nearly bedridden and limping around for almost two days?

Seungcheol lets out the same kind of disappointed huff when you apologized to him for having to take care of you after that particularly harsh sex marathon — or any time, for that matter. "I've never thought of it as an inconvenience."

"You're a busy man."

"Not so busy that I can't pick you up, 'specially given that we live together."

"Under various terms and conditions. One of them being that I put up with all your inconveniences, not vice versa."

"Then simply think of it as an additional nuisance of mine you have to deal with. You know I won't do anything you don't want, but at least let me have this so I know you're safe." Another harsh sigh leaves his mouth as he adds, "Even if the university was on the other side of town, I'd be there."

"Yeah, okay."

While there's a general love-hate relationship with your sassy behavior, it's in times like these where he extremely dislikes it since the timing is rather improper to fuck it out of you. Alas, he's left to fumble for an alternative that presents him as a man who possesses some semblance of decorum.

"Can drive something else, find a car that doesn't draw so much attention."

"It's not the car," you snap back without thinking. Lips pressing together in a thin line when Seungcheol's fingers that wish they were on your thigh drum menacingly on the console as a substitute, rings flashing under the glow of the passing streetlights.

"Then what is it?" Your name falls from his lips in a soft, commanding kind of plea.

Lucky for you, the short drive is almost over and you can avoid answering for the last couple of minutes. Pretending to mull it over as you focus on steadying the pounding thump of your heart and the erratic breath caught in your lungs.

"It's nothing," you lie fairly easily, already slinking out of the car the minute he brakes in the garage and ignoring the dark brown eyes trained on you because they will make you hesitate. You have to stay firm or end up caught in his trap. "Just tired, 's all. I'm gonna head to bed early, see you in the morning?"

And you don't wait for a response. Gently closing the car door and then sprinting as unsuspiciously as possible into your designated bedroom. Seungcheol won't follow or pry for now. He's always made a point to respect any boundaries you set and the promise to see him when you wake up will keep the man at bay for now. And you sure as hell were going to use all of that to your advantage, curling up under a blanket and trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

This "roommates with a multitude of benefits" arrangement worked. Chugging along like a well-oiled mechanism. So why were you contemplating the risk of messing it up and throwing the machine off its steady track? For something so fleeting? So emotional? The one thing that always fucks up these kinds of relationships?

Sure, you were in love with the way Seungcheol carried himself. His swagger. His money. Confidence, charisma, oh… and his cock, too. Who wouldn't be? But now, oh no, now you were also in love with the man himself — stupid Choi Seungcheol!

It was a gradual build. Always there in the background. All it took was for you to acknowledge its existence. Perhaps it was meant to play out this way. But you were still going to hold him responsible as an equal in contributing to this mess just as much as you were for falling. Your fingers clutch at the blanket, the poor fleece serving as an unfortunate outlet for your frustration.

When did the crazy marathons dwindle out? By no means had the two of you stopped fucking — absolutely not. It just meant that, well, rather than Seungcheol just fucking you, he more or less made love to you.

You feel a shiver down your spine and scream into a pillow at the worms writhing in your brain.

The sex was still terrific. You habitually muffle your sounds as it is — not ones of pure frustration like tonight — but out of extreme pleasure. The filthy debauchery hadn't changed either. The two of you deeply reveled in your depraved dynamics and more insane acts, maybe even getting dirtier once this subtle shift happened.

Safety. Security. Seungcheol.

Words you would've never thought to use in relation to him.

And then there was the aftercare. A strange new intimacy. He cuddled in bed after taking the effort to clean each other up for a good night's rest. Remaining there fast asleep and quietly snoring long after you untangle yourself from the comforting warmth of his arms to start the day. Mornings were no longer cold because he chose to stay.

Weekends were becoming your favorite too. When he waddles around shirtless, barely awake upon discovering you gone from his embrace. A back-hug immediately when finding you again. Soft gropes at your curves and low groans of contentment while pressing his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent mixed with his while you prep breakfast. Turning you around for kisses and pursuing long, slow makeout sessions that were quickly becoming the norm. Only for you to accidentally bite down a little too hard on his bottom lip when you realize the toast is burning.

You miss the way his eyes shine with affection as they follow you panicking around the kitchen. When did this big apartment of his begin to feel so alive? Even previous roommates and their loud yammering hardly made him feel at home. Tonguing at the indentation marks of your teeth molded into his lip and the sting that keeps him rooted in the present moment, the man meets your flustered expression with a grand, playful smile.

Ah, he thinks fondly, obviously.

Afternoons no longer consist of being stowed away in respective bedrooms or different rooms. Seungcheol sits at the kitchen table, furrowed eyebrows as he chips away at the excel sheet reflected in the glasses perched on his nose. You sit across from him, dutifully typing up assignments for Sunday night submittal.

He'll ask occasional questions just to learn more about you, your classes, and your dreams. Or if you simply need any help. Meanwhile, you make sure you're both staying hydrated and taking necessary breaks to rest your eyes from the screens. Sometimes you'll even get to assist him by analyzing a report. The real-world example aids as a unique use case scenario to better understand the concepts outlined in your textbooks.

You really were Seungcheol's lucky charm. He often wonders if you'd like to apply to work at the company he's in. But he'd hate to pressure or patronize you. So ultimately all he can do is stare in awe and provide steady encouragement as you formulate calculations, clean up the data, and transform it all into a presentable display of information.

It's usually his turn to cook in the evenings. Constantly getting distracted by your presence that he insists needs to be around to taste-test the vegetables that keep overcooking when he gets too caught up in tasting you. Innocent smooches here and there amid shy giggling that seems far too intimate than if he lapped at something else like in the past when he eagerly devoured your cunt right there on the countertop.

When dinner is served, you honestly never know or care how tasty it is or isn't because Seungcheol himself is the spice in your life. Your plain world now explodes in a bountiful amount of flavor thanks to him. Later, you tidy up the kitchen together — similar to how you move in tandem to freshen up in the bathroom after sex and much like a married couple would act.

And that's why your damn roommate leaves you wanting more.

These nights he kisses you bathed in the moonlight, working up a blistering heat that doesn't just simmer in your lower abdomen but follows the journey of his dedicated mouth. Upwards the wildfire burns, swooping into your chest and underneath the skin of your cheeks until it tangles with the expert tongue poking in between your lips. Seungcheol charts familiar territory with dancing fingertips across your skin, re-committing it to memory while yours sear into his, scratching at the wide expanse of his back and burying themselves in the curls of his unruly hair.

He takes you to bed — not always in a sexual manner — and it really doesn't even matter how you end up there because that is where you'll find yourself anyway. Falling asleep in his arms and waking up to repeat this strange and newly established cycle.

So the fact that you are sleeping alone speaks volumes. What is said, you're unsure but little do you know that Seungcheol continues to fear you might slip out of his hands. The attached-detached battle strategy always lurks around the corner and somehow, it's almost better when he treats you like some sort of fucktoy only.

The gentle sparkle in his eye was shielded by the switch to a mean glint, eyeing you up like you're nothing better than a piece of meat. No longer acting as the sweet yet cocky, handsome roommate you've gotten to know and grown feelings for. But reminiscent of the aloof and arrogant — still deviously attractive — man who propositioned this whole situation a little over a year ago.

Like now, as you kneel on all fours naked. Save for the humble pair of underwear whose innocence has long been destroyed due to the stains of your arousal mixed with Seungcheol's cum. Ruining the fabric that nestles between your legs for the sake of modesty you've thrown away hours — no, months — ago.

The very man sits before you on the poor couch that's seen its fair share of sinful acts. He's reclining comfortably, black t-shirt stretching out across a firm chest and broad shoulders while infamous gray sweatpants strain against thick thigh muscles as he manspreads so casually with a large hand laid over his crotch. Teasingly hiding the thing you so desire and are begging for.

But he wants you to work for it. Harder. A lot more than you already have. Put on a proper show of how much you deserve to have him. And want him.

"Come," he commands and pats his thigh like he's talking to some stray dog. When you go to sit back on your knees to stand, his eyes narrow as they darken. "Crawl."

What you don't know is Seungcheol would easily yield to and for you if you'd just let him. Be honest with him. Tell him your feelings. Unfortunately, it's in both of your natures to be hella stubborn. Too prideful to admit defeat and be completely vulnerable. You've come to an impasse.

But crawl to him physically you do, shamelessness long gone. Because what could be more shameful than how willing you are to be used by him and how wonderful it feels to be degraded?

Obviously admitting how much you like the damn man.

Goosebumps thrillingly cover your skin at how the gaze trained on you never loses its intensity with you coming closer, following all the way until your head is between his spread legs. Because he knows at least this is the most definitive way he can hold onto you for now.

"Kiss me."

And you obey, puckering your lips and tenderly placing them against the growing bulge beneath the gray fleece. Looking up with lidded eyes, blinking slowly as you let out audible smooch noises along the hard length before mouthing at where the tip lies. Leaving an even damper spot than the salty excess seeping through the fabric, suckling around the area to replace it with the hot saliva dribbling from your tongue that laps enthusiastically at the taste.

"C'mon pet," Seungcheol's tone is mocking in its chastisement, but the rough pad of his thumb rubbing your warm cheek is gentle. "Gimme a real one."

"Yes sir," falls breathlessly out of your mouth at the assumed permission, hands quickly reaching for the waistband of his sweats only to retract just as fast upon the disapproving click of his tongue.

"Not like that, up."

Uncertain, you brace yourself with the support of his quads so you're kneeling. Leaning in and tentatively pressing a kiss to the spot where you know at least one vein starts from the bottom of his pelvis and leads up to his abdomen. Tongue poking out in an attempt to feel and trace it, also effectively wetting his shirt just for good measure.

This time, a wistful sigh escapes between the man's pouty lips despite the furrowing of eyebrows because you're still not quite getting the message. The hand on your cheek slides down to your neck, briefly running his thumb tantalizingly across the side of your throat, landing on your shoulder, and grasping at your arm. Tugging up until you follow along with the motion and a bit of a surprised squeak, ultimately landing right where he wants you — straddling his lap.

"Oh," you mutter in surprise, abruptly snapped out of the lust haze that had been clouding your mind.

Center of gravity thrown off balance until your knees finally ground themselves on either side of his spread legs. Your hands hover awkwardly in the air, struggling to find something to hold onto before resolutely settling on the back of the couch. But not before Seungcheol's sturdy hands steady your hips, sporty reflexes acting faster than you can complete any of these actions.

"Oh, indeed. Already too fucked out to think?"

"No… s-sorry."

"You can make it up to me," he teases and you wait for the punchline, "with a proper kiss." It's both amazing and brow-raising when the Choi Seungcheol lets out the lowest of whines at the smallest sign of hesitation. "Don'tcha think it's the least I deserve today?"

Spoiled is what he is — but it is his birthday after all — so, of course, you're more than willing to indulge. Although the trepidation is real, manifesting in the tense stiffening of your body and the acceleration of your heart rate.

"Relax," he says gleefully — a little too gleeful. "I don't bite."

"Most times, not."

"If anyone's the biter between us, it's you so…"

The taunting murmur of, "Go ahead and bite baby," turns into a satisfied groan when you press your lips against his. Contrary to the jest and much to his delight, you're gentle. It's so adorable that he finds himself melting below you into a puddle of goo. Becoming absolute putty, lips readily parting so you can lick into his mouth.

He tastes like cherry chapstick and coffee, flavors so Choi Seungcheol that it hurts with how much they alone can possibly overwhelm you. Your nose scrunches, eyebrows following suit. Unaware of how he observes close-up through heavily lidded eyes because he wants more and more of what he can't get enough of. Afraid you might disappear. Even though you're right here — on his lap, kissing him sweetly. Yet you're still not all there.

So, he works on anchoring you to him — somehow, some way. One hand urges you to release your support on the couch, bringing your arm down to sneakily thread his fingers between yours. Naturally, the opposite one falls to eliminate the odd angle and rests on his shoulder. Seungcheol's other palm shifts to splay across your bare back and push you further into his chest, your sensitive nipples brushing against the cotton material of his shirt.

When that burning hand also encourages your ass to sit on his thighs to nearly smother him into the couch cushion and your damp core effectively presses onto the heated length stirring inside his sweats — he finally gets what he's been waiting for. The wanton moan that bubbles out of your throat is quickly swallowed up by the man himself, who ceases the passive role in the makeout session and kisses you back with a fervor that quite literally steals your breath.

He waits for you to surrender.

Not to be confused with submission. Seungcheol no longer cares about any fucked-up or sexual kind of power play nor does he want to win. He doesn't even want you to yield to or for him. Oh, he wishes you would of your own free will — but if you at least give in to the moment, to the feelings of now, and the warmth shared between you two — that's the most he can ask for and what he's grateful to accept for the time being.

Your fingers slip beneath the neckline of his shirt, inadvertently starting to trace along the same pattern as the ink that decorates his skin. The menace of a man smirks, pausing his assault on your lips to croon knowingly, "Wanna move this to your room?"

It's annoying how Seungcheol can read you even before your mind can think. And it's even more irritating at how your body reacts, thighs betraying you. Viscerally squeezing around his figure today, much like the memory of them wrapped above his waist the other day. Legs spread by him in between them as you clung to his body that had been railing into you like there's no tomorrow. Your gaze locked over his shoulder at the man's pride and joy — his nice ass — reflected in the mirror deliberately across from your bed along with the inked designs of things he held dearly marked across his back. Including the healing scratches from your nails.

"No," you grit out and break the kiss to shoot him a pointed glare, "just take off your stupid shirt."

"Thought you'd never ask."

No one should ever look that sexy taking off clothes, but of course, Seungcheol does. Any snark left in you immediately fizzles out at the teasing reveal and intentionally flexed expanse of his stomach as well as his bare chest. And yet something shifts in the air after he throws the shirt off to the side, covering his torso with his arms and giggling.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're gonna devour me whole, it's making me shy!"

It's not like you can stop yourself. Goddamnit, even that weird farmer's tan is drool-inducing. And the boyish smile he dons isn't helping either. You scoff to salvage a fraction of sanity, hands back on his bare shoulders and leaning in close enough for your noses to almost touch.

"Bullshit."

"Bet."

"You love it when people stare at you."

There's a beat of silence. "But you look at me… differently."

"Hey — don't get weird on me, Seungcheol, or your dick's gonna deflate."

Normally he'd bite back at you. Stuff like: "My dick's just fine," or "Baby, it's so easy to get hard around you," and "You'd appreciate if my dick got smaller 'cause it wouldn't make you whine so much," but this time, he doesn't. He just stares at you. Thinking. Long enough for you to start getting antsy, unable to hold eye contact for any longer than two minutes, especially with him so close.

"What?"

"You like me, don't you?"

It's the damn question he throws around all the time and your eyes roll up out of habit. "Yeah, I like you better without a deflated — "

"Forget about my cock for a bit."

"Kind of hard to do," you fire back and try to grind down on the very inflated length twitching needily for the snug cunt it senses between the layers of clothes cruelly separating it from its warm home.

Of course, Seungcheol is a little too familiar with your ploys and swats at your behind before squeezing your hips. "I know it is for a cock-hungry slut like you," he growls out in frustration before reverting back to his original soft tone, "but just humor me for a second."

"… Alright."

"You like me," he states and then repeats it in earnest when you sigh again, "you really like me. I would even be so confident enough to think you're… you're in love — "

"Well quit thinking," you interrupt with a snap, "I know your high and mighty arrogance causes you to believe everyone worships the ground you walk on but that doesn't mean a damn thing!"

Seungcheol's caramel eyes flash — with irritation or hurt, you can't quite place the swirl of emotions. "So that's all it is, huh? Just a figment of my imagination. A totally unfair projection of my thoughts and feelings onto you."

"If you wanted a session so badly on your birthday, then you should've scheduled with your therapist. And if you didn't want to continue fucking, then we could've stopped after the first round 'cause I was fine but you wanted more."

"You and I both know we're not just 'fucking'," he snarls, "and yeah, I do want more and that's why I need to know — with or without the sex, forgetting about the looks I know aren't just lust-filled because I see the ones you think I don't, I need to hear it out loud — do you like me?"

The plea of your name is the doomed cherry on top, heart thudding to the floor. It feels like the breath has been punched out of you. Though his skin is fiery warm beneath your palms it's not enough to thaw the way you've completely frozen over.

"Fine," you eventually wheeze out and Seungcheol relaxes — relieved — despite the crack in your voice, only to tense at your next words. "I'll move out tomorrow. Might take me a few days to get all my stuff gathered though."

"Wait… wait, wait… '' And this is the moment when the two of you find out that the black jujitsu belt he'd earned wasn't all for naught, effectively using a well-maneuvered technique that takes you off his lap and onto your back before you can escape from him again. "Please."

He begs, desperation evident in the way he clings to you and flops his forehead defeatedly onto your shoulder. As if he isn't the one who has you pinned to the couch cushions. He's never tried to hinder you before but honestly, he thinks he's hit the breaking point.

Don't you dare fucking leave me, is what is thought — but what comes out is a broken, "Why?"

"Because… because I… I breached the c-contract and made you uncomf — "

Seungcheol's head flies back up. "Then it should be me who moves out 'cause I'm pretty sure I violated the contract first."

"Wh-what?"

"Look at me," he commands and grips your chin so you can't turn away, "look at me, baby." And when your eyes squint open to stare into his, he fixes you with the most sincere expression you've ever seen. "I'm in love with you."

Tears spring to your eyes at the wild admission. Neither of you are sure if your hearts are mending or splitting to fuse and complete the other's. What you do know is that Seungcheol melts into you with a kiss of elation and celebration, the big man further turning into an even bigger pile of mush when your hands cup both of his cheeks during it and a thumb rubs soothingly at his jaw. He smiles against your lips when you whisper back, "I love you too."

"Took you long enough." Your flustered protests are cut short when he sits up to lean against the opposite armrest, pulling you on top of him like your original positions. "Have a present for you."

"But you're the one who should be receiving gifts."

He shrugs. "I already have the prettiest one right here in my arms… even if I was almost left alone on my birthday."

"Sorry," you stroke his pouty lips, "to be fair, I was going to wait until tomorrow."

"While holed up all by yourself in your room in the meantime. Little shit, you know I wouldn't have let you go, right?"

"Yeah… because you love me!"

There's an extra giddiness to your exclamation that's contagious enough to crack Seungcheol's chagrined expression with another grin.

"And you were gonna leave 'cause you loved me…" He lets out a huff. "Whatever, water under the bridge. Anyways, the gift. It's underneath the couch."

Curious, you lay flat and brush your hand beneath the furniture. Waving it around back and forth in the blind search, subsequently shifting all over Seungcheol's chest — bare skin gliding across bare skin.

You snicker, feeling his cock stiffening once more with your movements. "Calm down, horndog."

"It's not my fault you're rubbing your very sexy body all over me!"

"… Why'd you even decide to put it here?"

"'Cause you never clean."

"Hey! Don't make me bite your dick off." It twitches beneath you. "Freak."

"We'll see who the real freak is when I go ahead and get it pierced with a barbell you'll like."

"Oh, fuck off!" comes your retort and he grumbles at the lighthearted jab while your hand finally bumps against a hard box that you grasp onto tightly. Pulling it out and frowning at the suspicious amount of dust covering it. "Gee, how long was this down here?"

"… Six months."

Your eyes bug out. "Six months?!"

"Told ya you didn't clean under there!"

"Oh yes, because that's the point here."

"It kind of is," Seungcheol teases despite the slightly wistful look in his eyes. "Knew you wouldn't find it there."

All you can do is shake your head, gingerly opening what you assume to be a jewelry box only to abruptly shut it out of pure shock. "What the fuck did I just see?!"

"Do… do you not like it?"

"That's so not the question that needs to be asked right now."

"It kind of does 'cause if you don't want it, I'll buy something else. "

"You've gotta be shittin' me." You fix him with a hard glare though he barely reacts to it. "How much of your bank account did you deplete for that?"

A satisfied, cocky smirk is all you get in return. "'Tis but a bucket of water taken out of the ocean, sweetheart. Trivial."

"Choi Seungcheol."

"C'mon," he takes the box from you with one large hand and pops it back open. You can actually feel the ache in your eyes set in at the sight of the dazzling jewels once again. "Thought it'd look gorgeous on you."

It's easy to visibly melt at his words because he's such a smooth talker along with the knowledge that he's kept this hidden for approximately half of a year. But that still doesn't distract you from the insane amount of delicate crystals forming a beautiful open heart shape linked to two short double-strands of diamond studs on either side that join together with a silver clasp.

"It looks expensive," you correct, "how much was it?"

"Hmm, well it's seventeen carats so… a couple thousand, maybe?"

Your jaw drops, eyes widening as one of Seungcheol's beefy fingers carelessly thumbs at the choker like the piece of jewelry couldn't pay off more than half of your student debt. You likely also get some type of look on your face because he clicks his tongue.

"Now, don't you worry your pretty little head about it. I would happily spend ten times as much to get something that expresses just a fraction of what your worth is — in the world and… to me."

"You're so sappy, what the heck."

"Better not start something you can't handle, love." Seungcheol kindly warns, a little affronted when his puppy dog eyes and babygirl pout aren't as effective at distracting you as he'd like. Well, there are other ways. "You can't return it without testing it first."

"Testing?"

"Mhm, but why don't you give your sugar daddy a kiss of gratitude first?"

You scoff. "The only thing you share in common with a glucose guardian is being filthy rich."

"Not because I'm sweet like sugar?"

"Maybe just a little," you admit and lean in to give him an even sweeter kiss, much like earlier. And like before, the man turns into a puddle of syrupy goo at the featherlight touches of your lips on his.

But it's different at the same time. Kissing your roommate has always been with a bit of restraint. That all fades away as you melt into him — safety, security, Seungcheol, surrender — the both of you addicted to and lost in one another's taste while everything else falls away.

Until the little shit that he is distracts you enough for him to deftly extract the choker from its box and fasten it around your neck. You hiss at the shock of cold metal and gemstones as well as the physical and economically ethical weight around your neck, breaking the makeout session.

"See? Gorgeous, just like I thought. Not that you can look at it right now… maybe next time, we'll test it, heh, in your room."

"So that's what you meant by test…"

The lightbulb finally goes off in your head but all you receive in response is a smug look. Unaware that the grand menace is pondering what position he'd like best to see the choker for the first time in action. Something inside him clicks after absentmindedly slipping a finger underneath one of the diamond chains and watching you attempt to swallow at the increase in pressure constricting your airflow.

It's all bright white teeth when he smiles and whispers, "On your back, baby."

And you shuffle backwards obediently, letting gravity take your body down in almost a mini trust fall, knowing there will be a soft landing and that Seungcheol would never let you fall — unless it's for him.

Indeed, he does fall with you. Bodies pressed close together before he starts a burning trail of kisses starting below where the jeweled collar lays sparkling prettily against your throat. Down between your breasts he goes, an appreciative squeeze to both with warm hands that follow along with his movement.

Little nibbles to your skin and brushes to your sides that first have you squealing at the sharp nips and ticklish sensations. They're accompanied by the upward curl of his lips that only spreads wider when those airy giggles of yours transition to light moans the closer he stakes his claim to the more intimate parts of your body.

He lovingly suckles the skin of your tummy, leaving stinging signs of affection littered around your belly button and right above the band of your panties. There, Seungcheol pauses and lifts his head to look directly at you, not even trying to hide the fiery swirl of lust and adoration in his eyes and it makes you wonder how you've ever missed it before.

But that's neither here nor there, every nerve in your system is lit up in a wave of heat that has your hips instinctively rising as if pleading with him. Enough that his brown irises can't help but flit down to observe with raised eyebrows only to meet your flustered expression again with a totally-full-of-himself stare.

"So sweet and needy," Seungcheol murmurs appreciatively and hooks both thumbs underneath the side wings of your underwear to tug them off. "So fuckin' messy too," he adds in a condescending tone as if someone between your legs isn't licking his lips like a man lost in the desert for days stumbling upon a hidden oasis.

The bold eye contact he gets a kick out of maintaining is broken just to watch how the fabric adheres to your center thanks to the mix of his cum from much earlier and the constant leak of arousal pooling from your heated core. He's slow in the process of removing the saturated clothing. Giddy anticipation building until it finally peels away with a suggestive squelch to reveal your creampied cunt.

A choked groan rumbles in his chest. You're caught in the struggle between snapping your legs together out of shyness or letting them fall open just as he likes, the fear of soiling the couch again no longer even a thought. But still in no rush, Seungcheol slips your panties down one leg and while they hang off the other, supports your heel in his palm to place butterfly kisses along your ankle.

You peek at him in between the fingers covering your eyes and heated cheeks. "What are you doing?"

"Admiring you." Smooch. "Adoring you." Peck. "Marveling at how beautifully wet you get… this all for me, love?"

"Yeah, so… so you should take re-responsibility."

"Oh? And how so? What for?"

"Mmph!" You jolt at how fast he moves to fling your underwear over his shoulder and hover over top of you, whispering naughty words into your ear while roughened finger pads brush against slick folds.

"For knockin' you up? Not my fault this hungry pussy is never satisfied no matter how many times I stuff it. Greedy lil' thing."

"'m s-sorry… I — oh! Ohh…"

"You don't sound sorry."

Seungcheol mocks the shuddering moan that spills past your lips like he hadn't just shoved two chunky digits past those slippery folds and into the suffocating warmth beyond. His pointer finger bears its usual silver ring, the cold metal there and around your neck causing you to break out in a sweat at the chill engulfing your whole body. All from the heat swirling from the neck down, the torturous buildup between your legs, and meeting in a firestorm that explodes in your gut and makes your cunt tighten around his moving digits.

Your right arm snakes behind his nape and clings around it for dear life, nearly slamming the man's face into your tits — not that he's complaining — while the other sneaks between your bodies. Trailing down to where Seungcheol's fingers plunge inside of you, running yours across his exposed knuckles to dampen them with the filthy mix of arousal and cumstains he's playing in before tugging and teasing at your clit right above his vigorous actions.

He clicks his tongue. "Now, what did I say about touching things that belong to me?"

"Don't touch without permission." A warning look that lacks any ferocity is shot your way but the corner of your lips quirks up, eyelashes fluttering, because he's really just full of shit. "And to handle… handle them with care, which 's all I'm doin'."

"Brat."

"You love me."

"Damn right, I do. But if you're gonna use that against me like this maybe I have no choice but to discipline you."

You whimper when he withdraws his fingers, the loss and emptiness a punishment itself. "D-don't be mean."

"I'm never mean to you."

"You're not." You acquiesce with a cute little sniffle, interlocking your hands behind his neck to bring him down nose to nose. "'cept when I want your dick but s'kay, love you anyways."

"Using the L-word on me now, huh? Speaking of which, I never got you back for the little stunt you tried to pull earlier."

"Wha — ?"

The new position you had pulled him into grants Seungcheol the full teasing power he was honored to be blessed with. A dripping cock leaks precum between your bodies and smears your belly with the hot excess. Supported by a forearm beside your head, he languidly strokes his hard length and snickers. Barely wedging the mushroomed tip into your moist outer folds with a noisy squish and emitting a strangled groan from the back of the man's throat. Just enough so you can feel the faint tantalizing burn his girth promises in its efforts to stretch out your cunt, a buzz to the underside of your deliciously sore and engorged clit upon contact.

He's all toothy when you moan in response. Wiggling his hips lets him dip in a little further for the sole purpose of watching your eyes glaze over and threaten to roll to the back of your head. Lips parting wider in an adorable 'o' shape.

"Thought you could just leave like it's nothing. As if I don't fuck you full of enough cum to babytrap you here with me… Oh? You'd like that wouldn't you, pussy tryna gobble me up like the slutty whore that you are."

"Mmph, ah… only yours!"

No one has to be your special someone to read your body so easily but it's the fact that he is the one who's able to make your cunt react and squeeze around him just like so that fuels his ego. A mean sneer chisels his softer face features — less of a reaction towards you and more of him struggling not to plunge his pelvis forward and rearrange your guts. Or even worse (better), to bust a nut inside, painting your velvet walls with a creamy white.

It would be so easy to slide in a little further… you're begging him with slurred words and a steady pulsating grip around his dick — just daring him to ease the rest of it inside.

But then you would never learn your lesson. And if there's one thing Seungcheol loves more than being wrapped up in the tight clench of your cunt, it's making you work for it. Show off how desperate and cock-drunk you are.

"Y'know, all you had to do was tell me. Would've fucked you on every surface of this house, make sure there wasn't a moment that passed where you didn't have my cum dripping down your legs." He relents with the most meager of thrusts forward, widening the spread of your pretty folds suckling around him. "Anything to keep my darling 'lil babymaker satisfied, pump you full every minute of the day and make sure it takes."

"Ch-Cheol… please! Wan' you so bad."

"You'd like that, right? Givin' you a baby so you stay here forever. We'll make as many as you want, I'll even take time off to help." The sudden rush of paternal instincts makes the man pause, chuckling and muttering more to himself, if anything, "maybe you've been tryna babytrap me all along."

"Jus' want, just want your dick."

"I know, baby."

Seungcheol simpers at your pitiful plea but the menace in him victoriously pulls out and away, the departing wet 'pop' as loud as the slight fracture in his heart at doing so.

"No!"

In visible grief, your seizing legs clamp at his side with your heels digging into the dip right before the curve of his ass, clawing at his shoulder blades like a cat. That does nothing though except squish his length against your needy cunt, gliding pathetically against it but not once inside.

He smirks and whispers hoarsely, "If you want it so bad, put it in yourself."

A shaky hand reaches down to grasp and stroke at his dick, inadvertently brushing against your swollen clit that has your hips jumping. You bite down on your lower lip in an attempt to concentrate, blindly guiding his slippery cockhead to where it rightfully belongs. All while Seungcheol watches with amusement and a pained expression of how heavenly your hand feels on him — and even more when you succeed and bully him inch by inch inside of your gummy walls that suction and ripple greedily.

"There we go, yeah fuck… just like that."

Further and further, squelch by squelch until your pussy stretches to swallow and take him all. Only a finger's width between your pelvises kissing one another, knuckles snug against his heavy scrotum. You release him with triumph, clinging again to his neck. Seungcheol takes the final push and you let out simultaneous moans when his balls settle warmly against your ass and the neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his shaft are flush with your pubic bone. The tiny rough strands becoming even more soft and soaked by all of the arousal leaking out of your hole and his slit.

"Mine," he affirms and sticks his pinky through the open diamond heart pendant, nail lightly scratching the front of your throat.

"Yours." You hold onto his wrist, finally feeling so deliriously full and giggling a bit because you're somewhat light-headed. "You're mine too."

"Yeah, all yours, baby."

Seungcheol's beginning thrusts are slow, deep, and concentrated. He barely leaves your warmth, only sliding a little bit back before a harsh thrust forward to nudge his tip against the rougher spot that has some drool dribbling at the corner of your mouth out of sheer pleasure.

That doesn't last long though, the both of you are extremely worked up and super sensitive. It only takes a few minutes before he's setting an erratic pace. Strong forearms cage your head to protect it and keep you somewhat stationary while giving him enough strength to absolutely plow into you without forgiveness.

The couple thousand dollar choker starts to shift against your skin, bouncing ever so slightly in time with each repetition of relentless slams into your pussy. Such a sight delights Seungcheol so much, eyes focused on the glittery accessory and listening for its rhythmic jingle — bruising your tender flesh in ways that his lips don't — that ends up drowned out by the continual slap of the hard fucking he delivers.

"Gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Let me fill ya up?"

"S-soon! 'm gonna cum… so soon!"

"I… know. Oh fuck, I know baby. Let go for me, please. Surrender… ngh 'n give it all to me."

A powerful climax washes over you like a surprise, the setoff finalized by the large hand placed on your tummy. Applying just enough pressure to feel every vein and ridge of the cock against your inner walls while on the outside, Seungcheol lets out a guttural and feral groan at the upward bulge beneath his fingertips.

You let go with a wail that's swallowed by his lips capturing yours. Your nails dig into whatever you're grasping onto, teeth unconsciously biting down on his tongue you meant to simply caress with your own.

He lets out a strangled "oomph!" but the pain is easily sedated by the seductive way you contract and massage his dick in your unraveling — and then unprompted, he's spilling over the edge too. Coating your walls in thick ropes of white that sear your insides, gobbling up the release with repeated clenches as you both pant and wait for the orgasmic bliss to fade out.

"I think you're so sexy." Seungcheol mumbles the words tiredly into your shoulder and the laugh you let out sounds more like a winded wheeze.

"How lucky I am that you think that, has the post-nut clarity hit yet or… ?"

"I'm serious. I love you."

"I love you too. Happy birthday to my perfect sugar boyfriend or whatever."

He snorts, lifting his head to send you a lazy grin. "Yeah, happy birthday to me — the luckiest bitch on the planet to be loved by you."

"Spoiled is more like it but yeah. I'd say I'm pretty lucky too."

Adoration shines in both of your weary eyes, though Seungcheol has the audacity to lick his now very dry and cracked lips. "Say, was I right in picking out your gift or do you need more test runs?"

"What I need is a hot bath — no funky business — and at least twenty-four hours of sleep."

"That sounds good too. Y'know… if we sleep for a whole other day and confirm our relationship then, we can fuck for two days straight every year as an anniversary celebration!" His voice lowers, already acting naughty and unintentionally work himself up. "And then I'm positive you'll be bred properly."

You slap his shoulder. Hard. "Choi Seungcheol!"

"'m just kiddin'," he blatantly lies and gently pulls out of your sloppy pussy. Grunting at the goop and messy wetness that got everywhere. "Think we'll need to get a new couch."

"Great idea! Now, you can spend your money on something practical."

"Love you too."

"God, what did I get myself into." When you roll your eyes, a toothy grin is what you receive in return.

"I dunno, love, but I think this roommates to fuck buddies to lovers arrangement will work out beautifully, don't you?"

You give him another kiss just to shut him up. If you ever admit he's right, well, that would be with a mouthful of cock and a story saved for another time.

onlyseokmins: September 2023 ©

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol smut #smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #scoups smut #I secretly loathe this fic 😭#2k 🎇

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phantomamour · 8 months ago

Text

𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐝

coriolanus snow x test subject!reader

~•*⁀➷ part two

cw// little heavier in themes than usual with human experimentation - mention of blood, drugs, slight mention of Stockholm syndrome, and injury - dedicated to my favorite @milliesfishes who has listened to me talk about this concept incessantly in her inbox and inspired so many amazing thoughts for an au like this and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TBOSBAS <3

Subject 004717 - November 17 7:41pm

Injected ten milliliters of test drug into the left arm. CS. Irritability noted after ten minutes. VG. Sensitive to touch after an additional five minutes. VG. Hallucinations and emotional instability began twenty minutes after injection. VG. Physical touch causes bruising. CS. Blood drawn to confirm bruising due to lack of iron. VG. Test reversal drug administered one hour post-injection. CS.

Coriolanus had rarely felt truly disturbed by Gaul’s experiments. Her mind was dark and twisted; he knew his own mind wasn’t too far from that. However, he had learned far too quickly that you were becoming a limit to what he could handle in her mad scientist lab. You had volunteered to be poked and prodded and injected and tested. You had volunteered to be Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s personal project, and Coriolanus was far too attached to it. He knew the university’s tuition wasn’t inexpensive even while his education was funded by the scientist herself, but to see his classmate, someone intelligent and capable, have to stoop to the levels of letting Gaul use you was something entirely different.

He wanted to save you. He wanted to take you so far from Gaul that she couldn’t even think about touching you again. The sound of your screams kept him up at night, and the sight of your blood distracted him in the middle of the day. He didn’t know how to survive your torture any longer. Standing idly by and watching your suffer didn’t feel right. But he owed Gaul his life, didn’t he? He needed to thank her for what he’d done for her, and yet he cursed her name for slowly killing you every day. The effects of her experiments started to show. The bags under your eyes darkened, and you were slower in answering questions in class. He could see how you tried to hide your wince when raising your arm or stretching out your legs. He wasn’t sure how much more you could take.

The two of you had developed a routine of sorts. He’d always spend a moment with you before an experiment, trying to keep your mind off whatever horrors Gaul had prepared for you, and afterward, he would clean you up and make sure you ate and drank some water before taking you home. If your insistence on volunteering your body to Gaul’s science hadn’t made your financial trouble clear to Coriolanus, the state of the apartment he dropped you off at made it more than evident.

You lived on the outskirts of the city, neighborhoods overrun by those who were on their way to being kicked to the districts. Every time Coriolanus brought you there, he couldn’t help but think you didn’t belong. He wanted to adorn you in every luxury possible, have you experience what it felt like not to suffer. But in a way, it made him understand you more. He felt a kinship to you, an understanding beyond what others would have in passing. He knew what it felt like to be in your situation. So when you first let him take you home after an experiment, he knew it was a sign of your trust in him. The same trust you bestowed on him every night since.

Whatever Gaul had injected you with tonight left you shaking even hours after the reversal. You couldn’t forget the feeling of losing control. The hallucinations clouded your brain before Coriolanus was forced to lay his hands on you. Gaul had made him hurt you, and even in your drugged state, you knew it caused him just as much pain as it did you. Neither of you spoke as he cleaned you up and applied a salve over the bruises. You two did not speak a word when Gaul excused herself for the night, reminding Coriolanus to initial his parts of the experiment log. You flinched when the door shut behind her before tears muddled your vision, and you bit down on your bottom lip to try and prevent their descent down your face.

“Come home with me tonight,” his voice startled you, an interruption in the racing thoughts of your head, “Come home with me, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” This hadn’t been the first time he mentioned it to you. The last few times he dropped you off at your apartment, he tried to convince you to stay in the car, to follow him back to his penthouse, and to spend the night. However, you were always halfway out the door, thanking Coriolanus for his help before stumbling up the stairs to your apartment when he didn’t need to help you walk. Tonight, he hadn’t bothered to wait before asking, moving a hand up to cup your cheek and wipe the tear that fell against your will.

“Today was… We could both use the company tonight,” he explained quietly. You could feel the slightest tremor in his hands and could only imagine that he remembered tonight’s experiment just as sourly as you now did. Your feelings for Coriolanus were something you quickly discarded out of fear of Stockholm syndrome, unsure if they were real or not. But as his thumb rubbed over your cheekbone, you weren’t sure if you entirely cared about that fear for the night.

“Just tonight,” your voice was shakier than you thought it would have been, but he made no comment on it, leaning forward to ghost his lips over your forehead before helping you stand. Your knees buckled, but he was quick enough to predict that and keep you upright.

“I’ll call for the car after we get you dressed.” His voice wasn’t much smoother than yours, but the kindness behind it made you wonder if it was reserved just for you, a distinct change in him that only you had the pleasure of seeing. You cringed when he helped you over to a new chair, one whose cushions weren’t soaked in spots with your own blood. Everything hurt. It usually did after experiments. But whatever Gaul had concocted this time was making you tired in the most uncomfortable way. Coriolanus’ hands were always gentle with you when he had the chance to be, as if alone with you, he could be something he never allowed himself to be otherwise.

Those same gentle hands were the ones lifting your blood-soaked hospital gown off as his eyes trailed over your skin. Every scar became a reminder of past experiments, and he could recall most of them just by the placement and length of the scar alone. One along your collarbone had been the test of a new poison Gaul had created and soaked a blade in. The raised tissue on your side was a bite from one of Gaul’s newest mutants with the hope of saliva that would drive the tributes to the brink of insanity. Perhaps the scar that haunted him the most lay down the center of your chest, long and still red. She had performed surgery on you while you had to lie there awake, giving you a sedative that turned your body numb but kept your brain racing. Coriolanus held you for hours that night, fingers tracing along your arms to remind you that you could feel again.

He washed your skin so lightly with a wet cloth that you weren’t sure if you were imagining it. Each scrub took away the remnants of the experiments that were left, the dried blood, the tears that left salty streaks. The only thing he couldn’t wash away were the bruises, the bruises he’d inflicted on you. When you caught sight of him staring at one on your shoulder, you grabbed his hand to stop him from wiping at it anymore.

“You didn’t want to. I know that. I knew it even when it was happening,” you whispered, voice tender and comforting as he took a deeper breath.

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No. But it makes you better than her.” Those few words sent a warmth to his chest he hadn’t known he needed. When he didn’t respond, you leaned forward to rest your head on his chest with a small sigh, unsure if it was with pain or relief. He tensed at the touch at first, like you found he almost always did before he brought a hand to the back of your shoulders and carded his other hand through your hair. He didn’t need to say anything, and neither did you. You both knew that being close was the only thing that would fix the anguish in your chest tonight.

You two stayed like that for a few minutes, letting your chests move in sync with each breath until you took. Everything between you and Coriolanus felt foreign but in the most comforting way. He wasn’t the same as the rest of your life, and you weren’t the same as his. You became each other’s comfort even in the most uncommon of circumstances. Scientist and test subject were no longer an apt fit to describe the connection you carried. It had become something more profound than you knew how to define, which needed protection.

He took his time dressing you, fingers trailing gently along your skin like he could heal you and everything Gaul did to you just by a soft touch. When his lips lingered by your forehead, he pressed them flush into a kiss this time. It felt like your insides had turned to pure liquid, a feeling stronger than anything Gaul’s drugs had given you before. You watched as he called for a car to be brought around before he helped you into your pants that had been discarded earlier for a gown. Your hand moved on its own accord to push his hair back from his eyes as the gel he usually kept in it loosened; the late hours and his incessant need to run his hands through his hair anxiously showed the slight curls you wished you could see more often.

“Car’s here,” he spoke as he looked up at you, doing up the last button of your pants like a routine he knew all too well. Your lips tugged up in a soft smile as you nodded and let him help you back up, ignoring his offer to carry you. Your legs were weak, but you could still walk with his arm around your waist. His driver knew better than to ask questions about your state, but you felt their eyes on you as you slid into the back seat before Coriolanus moved in next to you. He stated that the only stop would be his penthouse tonight, and another small smile graced your features.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before his fingers interlaced with yours. Another minute before you moved closer to him. Two minutes before your head rested on his shoulder, the weight of everything dissipating with every second further from the lab. You were halfway to the penthouse when your eyes finally closed, and he felt your breaths deepen against his side as you fell asleep. He was slow in moving you to rest your head in his lap, positioning your legs up into the seat and covering you with his jacket. He would find a way to get you out of this, out of Gaul’s hold. But until then, he’d let you rest and give you peace. Until he could find the words you so desperately needed him to defend you with.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus snow #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth fanfiction #tbosbas coriolanus #tbosbas x reader #tbosbas imagine #tbosbas fanfic #thyme!reader

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plumbogs · 1 year ago

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Making Sims 2 University Fun: my personal guide

I've noticed that while it's probably one of the most utilized of the expansions, TS2's university is generally seen as a slog. Which makes sense. It has a completely different gameplay loop than the rest of the game. But it's very handy to send your sims to college, especially if you use any of the various mods that limit careers based on education. So here's my big guide to making university an actual fun experience to play through (to me, at least).

The university expansion is, uh, very tailored to the 2000s college party time animal-house tropes. the pack becomes more fun when you treat it that way and let your sims be stupid young adults who streak and fool around on campus and throw parties. which, by default, is tricky because of the gameplay that requires so much skill building and assignments. which the rest of this guide will also deal with.

Note: I make some pretty big changes to normal university gameplay, to the point that it does require a bit of modding and at least one instance of fooling with simpe. there's probably also easier ways to do it, and of course everything is optional. maybe you do like keeping sims in dorms for the entire time and just three-speeding trough it all.

*mods: there are a few absolute must-have mods to me.:

TwoJeff's College Adjuster. It's basically an all-in-one controller to adjust semester timing, change semesters, plus a bunch of other features. The semester timing is the most important to me.

Active Classes is still in testing, but it almost completely changes how I play college sims. Once again, I'll detail gameplay later, but actually sending your sims to class makes for a much more fun campus experience.

No College Time Progression On Community Lots: this goes hand-in-hand with the previous mod.

Community Time: IIRC you have to do a little editing in SimPE to make it work right with University - this post explains what to edit. I don't know if I'm allowed to share the exact edit I made as a download. This might seem redundant after the last mod, but there's a reason for the madness: while one group of sims are in their active classes, the other students can do things on the home lot.

Instant Pledge for Greek Houses: This one is important for greek house gameplay, which is later.

SimBlender: There's like, 500 different edits of the SimBlender, and I think all of them have the main function needed for my college gameplay, which is teleportation. You can use a comparable teleporter if you fancy.

Simlogical's University Break is another important one for me, but it's not really necessary if you don't want it. I usually give the sims one break day per season - more on that later.

Autonomous Casual Romance is not required, but it sure adds a lot of fun to your college experience. You can also do any number of professor-limiting, custom degrees, etc mods and fixes you want.

*mods i do not use: there are mods to change the number of/length of semesters, but I seem to run into issues with them so I use the college adjuster to do the same things. I also don't really use any major overhauls, or mods that make term papers faster. I did have the tuition mod for a bit but grew tired of using it.

*general timing changes: I do seven-day seasons with longer lifespans for all sims and play rotations each day. These are the things I do specifically for university:

Four semesters: I only do semesters 2, 4, 6, and 8. Every time a new semester starts, I just use the College Adjuster to set the correct semester for each sim. I use the default length of 72 hours.

Synchronized finals: I use the College adjuster to reset the timer so the finals are all around 6-8am, and synchronized for each sim on a lot. This makes it easier to keep track of timing and skills. Also, all sims in university run on the same 3-day semester. Finals are the same day for the entire college each round. Once again, that just makes it easier for me to keep track of college-wide events for gameplay reasons.

Because this means there's 3 days per school year, and two school years per season week, it syncs better if they get a day off every Sunday using the University break mod.

Teens are sent to college on the same schedule. I send teens to school when they have 14 days or so left, with maybe an extra day or two if the college is currently in the middle of the semester.

*Gameplay: living situations: Here's where the meat begins. Now all your sims are on the same college schedule, they're all being sent to school, and now they need to actually move into college. I follow a real rule a number of colleges use: Every student spends a year in the dorms. Just their freshman year, then they have to move somewhere else. I find that this gives them a chance to meet dormies, adapt to being on college, and sorta figure out what kind of young adults they are. Plus, this gives them time for joining greek houses, which will be talked about later.

I do this because I like seeing sims as their own little characters with arcs and whatever and it forces me to think about what exactly they would be doing in college. Some sims get so frustrated with the constant mess of a dorm, some sims thrive by making friends with every dormie. Sometimes they start new drama with the others they came from high school with. Nothing quite like losing your high school sweetheart to some stinky dormie, after all.

After freshmen year, the students are kicked out of the dorms. They can get an apartment, they can rent a house, they can move into a greek house if they join one. Either way, they need to live somewhere. You can let them stay in the dorms, but I prefer somewhat smaller college households and divide them accordingly. Which gets into that whole greek house situation:

*Gameplay: greek houses. I gamify the Greek houses. I play SSU in my megahood, which comes with a fraternity and sorority, and you can do whatever setup you like there if you dislike gendered houses. Or abandon them all together and ignore this section. There are a few important elements:

Freshmen cannot live in Greek houses. They can, however, pledge while living in the dorms and move in right after their finals end. This includes dormies. There are benefits to the dorm, such as free housing, more social opportunities, usually more money per household since I cheat to make the greek houses actually nice to live in with things like pools and comfortable furniture, etc.

The Greeks have to be recruiting consistently. To keep the house going, they need to constantly be bringing in new members, either playable OR dormies.

Any recruited dormies are required to move in. You can townify them after graduation if you don't really get attached to them, but every member of the house is moved in. I use the instant pledge mod to get rid of that annoying requirement where they have to hang out on the lot so long before moving in. That, and they also move in after finals. You can teleport or invite them on and just ask them to move in. Whatever you want. Then, you must set them to be sophomores. Beyond that you can do whatever. They're playable now. Have fun.

You gotta let the Greeks party. Throw toga parties all the time and use a teleporter to maximize guests. Generally, ALL members of ALL greek houses are teleported to a party by default. Add more dormies, any friends, anybody in the dorms - the kids need to recruit and the easiest way is by forcing everyone on one lot. If you have autonomy mods or realistic alcohol, sit back and watch the madness unfold.

I don't really play wants-based, so playables that join greek houses is more based on vibes or friendship with existing greek members than wants.

*Gameplay: what do you mean we have to study??? Yeah. I made it this far before even bringing up the whole point of college. This is also where it gets a little more complicated and changed up, so bear with me.

I don't do wants-based, again, so I generally just try to make sure sims are at least passing by default. Whether they go beyond a C is up to whatever. I usually try to get knowledge sims to their 4.0s or sims that just seem like they'd take it seriously to max GPA.

ACTIVE CLASSES ARE SUCH A LIFESAVER. You can use the pre-made lecture hall or make your own. Put some skill-building objects in there, and if you like flavor theme the lecture halls around majors. I have a business/gen ed building, a science lot, and an arts lot, each with two classrooms (plus the library contains a classroom). I do believe I made an edit to the mod to make the class performance go higher with active classes, as well, so attending class every day is the bare minimum to get a passing grade.

The active class lots also contain career reward skill-building objects. These are nice because your sims can request to be taught by other sims on the lot. If you have a mod that allows non-students to visit uni lots, this helps even more with faster skill-building.

Every day, I send groups of sims with similar majors to their class. If there's a mixed-major group, each sim group gets one day in active class per semester. (So if there's an economics major, a bio major, and an art major, each one attends class on a separate rotation and the others do the normal autonomous go-to-class where they leave the lot and disappear). They attend one or both of the lectures and otherwise exist on the college lot to skill-build, socialize, eat, etc.

Outside of class, sims will usually research if they're not doing great. I honestly barely bother with assignments or term papers unless the sim actually wants to do them or are aiming for a high GPA. Maybe they go hang out at the lounge or downtown to fool around. Maybe they just fester at home. Whatever they want.

*other gameplay/storytelling things: I usually will take advantage of the aspiration change after their sophomore year if I realize that their aspiration just doesn't really jive with how they act. It's realistic to me. They had many years since being like, 13 when they first had their aspiration selected. I'd like to implement more in the way of holidays/events, personally, but that's not really relevant either. I usually give them an outfit change as well, and I like to go hard with the idea that they're going through a bunch of weird fashion phases. You know you want to give them a mohawk, just for a few days, don't you? Dye their hair red? Shave it all off? Have fun with it.

All of these things combine for me, at least, to make the college years a lot more engaging/interesting and less of a slow "move to a dorm -> study -> read books -> meet needs -> graduate" loop. There's a lot more storyline development that comes from sims being able to enjoy their time as young adults, too, such as the regular polycule jealousy explosions and party fights. It serves to break up anything they had going on as teens and give them a little direction to enter adulthood with. This concludes my little mini-guide, feel free to steal all my gameplay style or just take inspiration if you please. Or ignore it all and shake your head and call me an idiot. do whatever you want forever.

#sims 2 university #plumbog gameplay rules #<- ??? i guess #i'm sure i missed a lot of important things. whatever #honestly this would work better as like a youtube video. maybe someday

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wrldhoon · 8 days ago

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I LIKE ME BETTER𑁤 y.jw

┆ ⤿ 💌 ⌗ LOVE SONGS — JUNGWON’S ENTRY

PAIRING. jungwon ༝ reader

WORD COUNT. 4.5k

GENRE. college au ⋆ fluff ⋆ crack

WARNINGS. mentions of alcohol, reader gets wasted, tiny innuendo but nothing crazy

note: not super sure if i like this or not, but it's too cute not to share. first part of my mini series is complete!! i hope you guys enjoy ♡ they're so cute in this i want to die.

TAGS. @ilyunjina

college parties were never really your thing, but a consequence of being best friends with yunjin, the jennifer huh, was that she was going to drag you to one every. single. weekend.

every night, somehow always at exactly eight o’clock, she would barge into your room with that mischievous grin on her face. she would tear your drawers apart, looking for an outfit she deemed fit. occasionally, she would throw out a complaint about how lackluster your closet was. as her best friend, you knew telling her ‘no’ was useless. every attempt you made to convince her to let you rot away alone at home was of no use.

“you look so hot,” she squealed, watching from your bed as you applied the finishing touches of your makeup. she was already dolled up from head to toe, sporting a plain white tube top and ripped blue jeans, her leather jacket laid out beside her. an item she always brought in case it got too cold.

you wore a similar outfit—a black cropped tank and cargo pants, pairing it with a knitted white bolero and sneakers. it was simple, but comfortable. you sprayed an ungodly amount of setting spray onto your face, ensuring that you will not fall victim to frat house makeup tonight.

your desk was full of soju bottles, courtesy of your lovely roommate, and you watched as she reached for a half opened one. “this is gonna be so much fun! heeseung and jay are hosting tonight, which means unlimited booze and the place is gonna be full of eye candy. maybe you’ll get lucky tonight,” yunjin teased, taking another (comedically large) sip of her drink.

you rolled your eyes, but she didn’t miss the quiet chuckle you let out. you reached for a bottle, “definitely not on my bucket list tonight, but i fully support you if that’s what you’re after.” the sweet peach flavor went down easy, filling your chest with a warmth that was reserved for nights out on the weekend.

yunjin responded with a shrug, downing the rest of it in one go. your phone dinged, lighting up with a message notification.

jake (australian)

im here 😋 lets GOOOOOOOO

with a snicker, you quickly typed a response before shoving your phone in your back pocket. “jake’s here,” at your words, yunjin cheered happily before running out of your room to put on her shoes. you quickly fixed your hair before grabbing your bag, filling it up with whatever you might need for the night. lipstick, hand sanitizer, deodorant, power bank, and a pack of tissues.

perfect.

you followed yunjin out of the apartment, meaningless conversation filling the elevator as you headed for the lobby. once you made it outside, you immediately spotted jake’s car. he was filthy rich, and his car alone could probably pay off all of your current bills and grad school tuition.

you slid into the passenger side, the smell of clean leather and cologne filling your senses. you reached over the middle console to give him a hug, his hair brushing against your cheek.

you and jake have been close friends since you started university. you met in your freshman year physics class, bonding over math formulas that didn’t make any sense to you (it still doesn’t), but always seemed to make sense to him. he became your tutor for the remainder of that semester, answering your 3:00am facetime calls just to see you crashing out over another assignment without complaining. since then, you were inseparable.

“whaddup,” yunjin said cooly, dapping up the boy from the back seat. “are you guys ready to drink?” jake sang, his engine roaring to life as he put his car in drive. you let out a soft huff, hand placed over your stomach.

“she fed me enough soju to kill a bull,” the drink provided a slight buzz, and you silently thanked whatever holy being above decided to bless you with a high tolerance to alcohol. your comment earned a hearty laugh from jake while yunjin simply smiled at you, her elbows up against the console as she peered between the two of you. “it isn’t a successful pregame unless you leave juuust a little bit drunk. it’s a pregame for a reason. preparing for the game that is the DAE frat house.”

the rest of the drive was quiet, aside from the sensual rnb playing softly from his car speakers. you watched as the university campus came into view, a short ten minute drive from your shared apartment with yunjin.

there were other students roaming the streets—some returning from their friday night classes and others laughing a little too loud, clearly drunk, and headed to another party. jake parked along the street, turning on his emergency brake and turning off the car with a twist of his key. he stepped out, jogging over to your side to open the door for you, ever the gentleman.

you thanked him with a soft smile, yunjin immediately grabbing your hand and dragging you to the front door. the three of you walked in, loud party music booming through the house and lights turned to a deep purple color. it was warm and smelled like sweat and spilled vodka.

lovely.

you squeezed through the crowd with yunjin pulling you along and jake trailing from behind. you stopped once you reached the kitchen, a loud squeal catching your attention. “you’re here!!” a short brunette came running up, throwing her arms around yunjin’s neck. “chaewon! oh god, you reek of alc.”

the girl giggled, swatting aimlessly at yunjin’s arm. her eyes landed on you, widening in pure glee before she took hold of your arms, pulling you into her own. you let out a shocked ‘oh’, your hands hovering awkwardly over her back. “you must be y/nnie. you’re so pretty.. and you smell good. like.. flowers and happiness,” she slurred, nose buried in your hair.

yunjin cupped her mouth to suppress a laugh while jake watched in amusement. “thank.. you?” you gently pried her off of you, hands on her shoulders to stabilize her. “alright, let’s get you some water.” yunjin chimed in before whisking the girl away, mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ to you as she searched for a clean cup.

“well, she seems cool,” jake chirped, eyes darting from her wobbly figure to your own. “drinks?” you gave him a curt nod, turning towards the counter to scan the endless amount of options before you. vodka, soju, beer, whiskey—you could throw up just looking at it.

you settled on a quick shot of cheap vodka, while jake made himself a mixed drink. he was driving tonight, so he couldn’t allow himself to get wasted.

a few of your friends began flooding the kitchen, greeting one another with cheery ‘hellos’ and offers to take more shots. jay and heeseung soon joined in, dapping up jake with red solo cups in hand. “y/n, you made it!” jay cheered, raising his voice to be heard over ‘beauty and a beat’ by justin bieber that vibrated the walls. he gave you a quick side hug before shaking his cup gently in your direction, a subtle invitation for another drink. you nodded at him, turning your head just in time to lock eyes with heeseung.

“hi pretty,” he wore his signature smile, arms wrapping around your shoulders. you could smell the lingering traces of alcohol in his breath, arm splayed over his waist as you returned the hug. “thanks for hosting tonight.” you pulled away, taking the shot glass from between jay’s fingers and downing it in one go. the boy whooped from beside you before taking one himself.

“you can thank us by drinking~” heeseung sang, filling up his cup for the nth time tonight.

free alcohol is free alcohol, right?

thirty minutes later, you were seven shots deep and leaning drunkenly against the kitchen counter, elbows propped up behind you. jake stood beside you, talking animatedly with heeseung about fifa.

“dude, ni-ki, you’re like… ridiculously tall. you look like a giraffe,” the younger boy raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips. “thanks, dude. i think?”

“you’re so welcome, dude.”

your head throbbed and the room looked like it was spinning. you reached for the cup behind you, grabbing the luke warm brita off the counter and filling it up. you pressed it to your lips, chugging it like your life depended on it. placing it down, your head turned out of instinct as you heard another round of cheers from your friends.

a boy had walked in, greeting everyone with a bright and pretty smile. he had soft blonde hair that caught underneath the dim lighting of the kitchen, pretty cat-like eyes, and a devastatingly adorable dimple on his left cheek.

you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol—no, it definitely wasn’t—he was just gorgeous.

and totally out of your league.

that didn’t stop you though.

“holy shit, you’re so hot.” it came out before you could help it, all of your friends’ heads snapping in your direction in shock. the blonde gawked at you in disbelief before his expression turned into one of amusement, “oh! thank you.. and you definitely aren’t wasted, right?” his tone was teasing, his cheek sinking in slightly as he chewed on it.

you let out a drunken giggle, your head moving side to side. “i don’t even like alcohol..” your hand swatted at the air, elbow slipping off of the counter. jake grabbed your arm, holding you up to prevent you from falling straight onto the kitchen floor.

“jungwon, y/n—y/n, jungwon. not sure if you’ll remember tomorrow though,” jay said, earning chuckles from the other guys. jungwon simply shook his head, smile still evident on his face. he quickly joined in on the drinks, grabbing a cup and mixing up his own concoction.

conversations blurred together, shot glasses clinking, bottles steadily draining.

you didn’t even realize yunjin had disappeared until jake leaned in and asked if you’d seen her. somewhere in the background, you caught sunghoon mentioning her name—something about chaewon, but it was fuzzy. the alcohol was definitely hitting you now, warmth spreading through your body, cheeks flushed, and eyes heavy-lidded.

eventually, you slipped away to get some air. the heat was unbearable, and the packed crowd and blaring music only made it worse—you needed space.

you found an empty pool chair in the backyard and dropped into it with a heavy sigh, letting yourself sink back. a shadow cast over you, and as your eyes adjusted, there he was—the familiar hot blonde from earlier, “you alright?”

“just sleepy. and hot. really hot,” you whined, hands tugging at your bolero to pull it off. jungwon chuckled, crouching down beside you. “do you wanna go home?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

so fucking cute.

yeah, it wasn’t the alcohol.

“not with you, pervert.”

jungwon swore his ears were on fire. his eyes widened so big they might as well pop out of their sockets. he cleared his throat, eyes unable to look at your sleepy figure any longer without feeling bashful, “n-not like that! i meant do you want me to drive you home? like, to your own house. and i leave you there. inside. alone. and i will go to my respective home.”

“oh! yes please,” you dragged on the last syllable, hands pressed against the cool fabric of the chair to push yourself into an upright position. “where’s jakey? he drove me. will he be mad?” your lower lip jutted outwards, a small pout on your face.

“i don’t think he’ll be mad. let me go ask him, okay? don’t go anywhere,” jungwon patted your shoulder before standing, stepping back inside to find your best friend.

a few minutes later, the two boys came back outside to find you fast asleep. they exchanged knowing glances before jake spoke up, “are you cool with taking her back to her apartment? i’m helping sunoo try to wrestle heeseung out of his smelly party clothes and into his pajamas. plus, i still have no fucking clue where yunjin is,” the last part came out a bit strained, annoyance at his missing friend bubbling to the surface.

jungwon let out a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to slap jake’s back. “yeah, i’ll take her. just send me her address,” with that he approached you, dozed off and snoring just a little bit, and scooped you up in his arms. they walked out to his car, jake popping the passenger door open and helping him carefully ease you inside.

once you were secure, they closed the door and bid each other goodbye. jungwon hopped into the driver’s seat, turning on the car and setting the heater on low. once he got your address from jake, he clicked on the link and began the venture to your apartment. occasionally, he would glance over to check if you had woken up.

nothing.

your lips were slightly parted, head pressed up against the window as you slept peacefully. a grin made its way to his face, knowing you’d definitely face a nasty hangover tomorrow.

he pulled up to your apartment complex, parking his car before getting out to help you inside. when he reached to unbuckle you, you let out a sleepy whine. “c’mon, y/n, i need to get you home.” his words were soft, arms moving underneath your knees and back to pull you out. your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the brighter lights of the street lamps.

“oh my god, hot guy. am i still dreaming?” your voice was barely above a whisper, eyes opening and closing at the slowest pace known to man. jungwon grinned, eyes trained on the path in front of him as he walked with you into your building. “nope, definitely not dreaming. hot guy is carrying you home.”

“i knew it. pervert..”

“not like that!”

a few weeks after your first meeting, you two quickly became good friends. he began hanging out with the group more often, simply to see you.

he knew he could’ve just asked you to hang out alone, without prying eyes and teasing comments, but he was scared. it was obvious you were at the least attracted to him, hence the ‘hot guy’ nickname your friends still haven’t let go of. when he finally mustered up the courage (courtesy of jay who threatened to ask you out if jungwon didn’t grow the balls to do so himself) to pop the question, you happily agreed.

score—you managed to bag hot guy.

three months later, you and jungwon had made your relationship official. not a single person in your friend group was surprised at the new relationship.

it just made sense. you were two halves of one whole.

you couldn’t really pinpoint the exact moment it happened—when the way you felt about him started shifting into something deeper, something a little heavier.

something more like love.

of course, you liked him. he wouldn’t be your boyfriend otherwise, but your liking started to twist painfully in your chest, ready to explode at any given moment.

it wasn’t sudden, more like a slow unraveling—but there were signs.

the first time was when the two of you decided to spend the night in at his apartment. the sun had already set, the faint glow of city lights shining through the large windows. you were sat on his couch, scrolling away on your phone as he stood in the kitchen. he stared at the inside of his fridge—milk, a carton of eggs, a few sauce bottles, and a pack of soju.

“babe, i think we should order in,” you looked up from your phone, catching a glimpse of his defeated expression before searching for the delivery app on your phone. “we really should go to the store. we have… like, nothing.”

jungwon sat down on the couch beside you, his side pressed up against your own as he watched you browse through dinner options, “are you craving anything?” you questioned, your free hand landing on his leg to fidget with the extra pockets decorating his pants.

jungwon bit his lip, thinking quietly. “maybe pizza? ooo, or chinese. we can get those noodles you like—oh! or we can get wings? i heard about this crazy deal the other day from jake…” you watched silently as he rambled on, eyes sparkly and hands moving in an animated manner that made your heart squeeze painfully in adoration. he did that a lot.

jungwon, realizing you hadn’t spoken, turned to face you. he blinked, his eyebrows furrowing cutely as you continued to watch him with a stupid little smile on your face, “what?” he quipped, starting to wonder if the hunger was starting to make you crazy. “is there something on my face?”

you shook your head, “nothing. you’re just cute.”

jungwon sat, stunned at your sudden compliment before he grinned, wide enough to make your own cheeks hurt just from looking at it. he threw his arms around you, peppering kisses on your face as you shouted in protest.

it was clear he thought the same thing about you, too.

the second time was when you went out to shop for groceries. yunjin had complained about the lack of snacks in the house, so you took the opportunity to drag jungwon along with you. he was very helpful, aside from when he would get distracted by every little thing that caught his attention.

“babe, look,” you heard from behind you, turning your head to see what your boyfriend was preoccupied with this time. “turtle chips. do you think they taste like turtle?”

you raised an eyebrow at his sudden question, staring in amusement (and a little something that resembled reconsideration of your whole relationship) as he smelled the bag.

the outside of the bag.

strange guy.

“i think it’s just ‘cause of the mascot, won.”

“you never know these days..”

you laughed as he tilted his head, lips pursed and brows lifted slightly before putting the bag down. he gently nudged to you the side with a bump of his hip, pushing the cart as you marched ahead.

he watched as you read off the grocery list, placing things into the cart. he sported a little smile, studying you with gentle eyes. being here with you, shopping for more snacks than real groceries, felt so domestic.

so natural.

it tugged a little at his heartstrings, warmth blooming in his chest.

it was in these quiet, everyday moments that he took the time to really admire you, picking apart the minor details that just made you so… you.

the way you chewed your lip when making decisions, the crease between your brows forming when you couldn’t find whatever you were searching for, the way you blew your hair out of your face when a strand of it fell in front of your eyes.

his mind and his heart were so full of you, and he hoped that would never change.

“jungwon, are you even listening?” your voice pulled him out of his thoughts, shaking his head a little as if forgetting where he was. “um, yeah! definitely.”

you gave him a blank stare, one that he returned with a sheepish smile, “no… sorry?”

you let out a groan before turning around and sauntering off, stomping away like an angry child. he chased after you, the shopping cart bumping into one of the aisles with a loud crash that made you cringe.

”w-wait! babe, i’m listening! for real now!”

the third time was when you were all hanging out at sunoo and riki’s apartment. everyone sat in a circle in the living room, an array of random snacks and drinks littered across the coffee table and floor. sunoo was in the middle of a very dramatic rendition of how he embarrassed himself in front of the group of freshmen he was in charge of during orientation week. laughter flooded the apartment, a feeling of peace settling into your body as you followed along with whatever he was talking about.

“i didn’t even see him coming!” jake bursted into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, doubling over and collapsing into jungwon’s lap who was sat next to him, clapping his hands loudly. you swore you could see tears prick at the corner of his eyes from how hard he was cracking up.

you excused yourself to the bathroom, earning a little nod from your friends before they continued their extremely hilarious conversation. you took the time to clean yourself up, wiping away at the smudged mascara that appeared as a result of your evening with your friends.

a few minutes passed before you stepped out, turning off the lights with a soft click of the switch. as you made your way back, you paused in the hallway when you heard your name come out of your boyfriend’s mouth. you stood around the corner, listening in on their conversation.

“oh my god, it was so funny. y/n came out of her room with this HUGE blue wig on her head. i think i peed myself a little,” jungwon said, his hands moving in that animated manner as if to show just how big your wig was.

“hate to break it to you, but that was my idea. i told her a homer and marge couple costume would be cute. i wasn’t wrong.” yunjin chimed in, failing to hold in the laugh that came spilling out. jungwon stood up suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at his friend, “SO IT WAS YOUR FAULT I HAD TO WEAR A BALD CAP!”

at this point everyone had laid across the floor, rolling over and slapping the person next to them in amusement. “at least y/n looked good! couldn’t fit through the door though. head was too big,” you pressed your fingers to your lips at heeseung’s joke, trying your best not to reveal yourself from where you were hiding.

you remember the moment like it was yesterday. it was a fond one, a story you shared often with your friends.

jungwon rolled his eyes. he sat down with a loud sigh, turning his head with his eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest, “she’s always pretty. but next time, she’s getting the bald cap,” you smiled at his comment, leaning against the wall as you watched him fondly. when he opened his eyes, they locked with yours. they widened in surprise before he returned the smile, the dimple on his cheek that you loved kissing appearing with it.

you walked back over to your seat, squeezing yourself in between jungwon and riki, “i am never wearing a bald cap, thank you very much. that’s all you. for the rest of your life. until you actually start going bald too. then, you won’t need one!”

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

you stared at the photobook in your hands, fingers tracing the edges of each polaroid that sat snugly between the pages. you made it a tradition to snap a photo every time you hung out, a way to preserve your memories forever in colored ink.

one from the party you first met at, another from the pool party you and yunjin hosted last summer, one from your camping trip, and others—all of them serving as a reminder of the joy you experienced with jungwon and your friends from the past year.

you closed the book gently, the soft smile never leaving your face. the gentle hum of music played out of the speaker tucked into the corner of jungwon’s living room.

you heard it—the first song he ever sent to you through text, a little ‘this made me think of you’ message following shortly after. the apartment smelled like warm sugar and the lingering traces of his cologne, a scent you began to consider home.

jungwon was in the kitchen, probably making breakfast like he always did. he knew how you took your coffee by heart, never failing to wake you up with it each morning with a sleepy grin on his face. you placed the book next to your phone, lighting up with a notification from yunjin declaring yet another group hang out you simply could not afford to miss.

you stood up from the couch, your fluffy house slippers padding against the floor as you walked over to jungwon.

leaning against the kitchen island, you stared at his messy morning hair and broad back, clad in the loose t-shirt he woke up in. he turned around with a smile on his face, one that never failed to appear every time he saw you, “hi, angel. what were you up to?”

you returned the gesture, happily taking your favorite mug out of his hands, “i was just looking through our photos. we should buy more film soon, by the way.” jungwon hummed in response, hands moving to plate your food.

“we can over the weekend,” he replied, sliding it in front of you before pressing a long kiss to your forehead. the smell of sweet, buttery pancakes and bacon filled your senses. you noticed the strawberries that were cut up into little hearts that sat neatly off to the side.

just how you liked them.

“i’m gonna go change. yunjin will actually skin me alive if we’re late again,” he grumbled before disappearing into his bedroom.

you watched him walk away, his golden locks bouncing with each step. you let out a quiet laugh, picking up your fork and digging in.

it wasn’t difficult to understand, then.

somewhere along the way, ‘i’ started turning into ‘we’.

his hand started to fit in yours like it was always meant to be there. your mornings were often spent together rather than separately—much to yunjin’s dismay, who swore he had completely stolen you away from her.

your chest ached, but not in a painful way. it was the kind of ache that comes with realizing you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be—right here with him by your side.

because he never said “i love you” like it was something he owned. rather, he meant it like something you had built—together.

jungwon didn’t just love you.

he included you.

in his life, in every word he spoke, every story he shared, and every moment he lived.

you realized you liked yourself more when you were apart of something—something soft, but heavy with meaning and purpose.

something, or someone, like yang jungwon.

jungwon who turned ‘we’ into something more than just a simple word.

jungwon who loved you delicately, but still passionate in his own way, who assured you from the very beginning that he was all in.

he introduced you to a type of love that was soft and easy, but it was one that meant everything.

to put it simply, you liked yourself better when you were with him.

you always had, and you always will.

“y/n, have you seen my sweater? if riki took it again, i swear i’m about to go full jackie chan on that kid,” his voice called from down the hall, sharp and exasperated.

a sudden thud made you flinch, followed by a muffled yelp and the clatter of hangers shifting in his closet.

then, a beat later—slightly winded, definitely bruised ego.

“i’m fine! totally fine... ow.”

yeah, always.

fin.

#wrldhoon love songs #enhypen #enhypen smau #enhypen imagines #jungwon x reader #jungwon drabbles #jungwon fluff #jungwon scenarios #enhypen series #jungwon soft hours

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mrsjellymunson · 11 months ago

Text

The Biology Tutor

Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

Series masterlist

Prev: Lesson 1: Female anatomy Lesson 2: Male anatomy Extra Credits 01: Communication skills Extra Credits 02: French Independent Study 01: Art

Next: Lesson 3: Human Reproduction

Pairing: virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Series summary: Eddie’s failing Biology class, so you decide to offer two different styles of tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

Chapter summary: You reflect on your unexpected lunchtime study session.

WC: ~2.2k

C/W: 18+, SMUT, MDNI!! Lots of fantasies and intimate musings… Gracious and copious thanks to @the-unforgivenn for numerous rereads and talking me off the word soup precipice 😉

My masterlist

Thoughts of Eddie have been plaguing you all afternoon. You might as well have skipped classes for all the good your attendance did. You could barely concentrate on what any of your teachers were droning on about, your mind much preferring to conjure all kinds of salacious Eddie-related images.

Once at home you grab yourself a drink, throw your backpack down onto your bed and kick off your shoes, trying to figure out quite how to get that boy out of your head. Might journaling help?

Retrieving your notebook from your nightstand and your favourite pink pen, you flop down onto your front and begin to write.

Initially, you just want to reflect on your day and your unexpected ‘private time’ with Eddie. So you start to make some notes about how well the tutoring part went, how well he did, and yeah, okay, how goddamn cute he looked whenever he got a question right. You ponder why that felt so rewarding. Do you simply like helping people learn? Or is it more because you like being the reason that Eddie smiles?

You write a little about how sweet he was, and his obvious nerves when you first suggested you might kiss. How chaste, almost wholesome, it all started out.

You add more detail, like how his lips felt as they connected with yours, and how it surprised you in the best possible way when he started to kiss you back. You remember how wet and messy everything was. How fucking hot. You scribble honestly about how much you enjoyed kissing him, how much you think he enjoyed kissing you, and how much you want to do it again. And you acknowledge that although it seems peculiar after everything you’ve already done, somehow, what you did today felt so much more… intimate.

You write almost an entire page about how strong but gentle his tongue was, how it felt as it slid into your mouth and around your own. How he started off slow, tentative, but then gained confidence. How, without being instructed, he started turning his head and moving his tongue experimentally, licking and sucking. And, to your delight, how he was getting it right so goddamn much of the time.

You add a little about what else you’d fantasised about Eddie doing with that tongue, but stop yourself before you go too far.

Okay, maybe just another couple of lines…

You write about how he surprised you when one one of his hands gripped the back of your neck and his other had pulled you closer. How that made you appreciate what latent strength might be stored in those wiry muscles. And how you’d wondered about whether it would feel warm if it cupped your face, and how you know the answer now. When he’d gently held the back of your head he was definitely warm, hot even, the heat of him searing into your memories and onto the page. Now, in your notebook, you muse what it would be like for him to touch you like that again, to cup your cheeks, look deep into your eyes. Would you want that? The frenzy with which you're writing suggests that yes, you might.

You mull over what else you’d thought about, like what it would be like to hold his hand. You ponder whether your palms would fit together nicely, and whether you’d be well matched, size-wise. Or would his be larger, swamping you, encompassing you. You think about his hot palm and thick fingers enveloping yours, your sensitive skin so very close. What would it be like to go out in public like this, watching everyone stare as they put the pieces together? Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t freak you out as much as it previously might have.

You note down how he’d whimpered and moaned, and how that made you think about all the ways you want to try to draw more of those beautiful sounds out of him.

You describe how strong and defined the muscles of his back felt. And the size of the bulge in his pants that he was sporting when you pulled away. And add exactly how that made you feel, just to, you know, get it out of your head…

As you spill your innermost thoughts onto the page, you recall how you’d considered the texture of his calloused skin. But this time you allow your imagination free reign as you conjure Eddie’s strong, large hands and the rough feeling of his fingers as he runs them over your thighs, your back, your throat. You write about how much you want to feel them on your breasts, over your ass, in your cunt. How you want him to explore every inch of you, with both your guidance and his experimentation. You want to continue to teach him, of course, but you also want both of you to discover things together.

Then, you write down that question he asked:

“So, uh, where do you want me?”

You describe the heat you’d felt, what it made you want to do, and how you’d vividly imagined taking Eddie in the study room. How much you’d wanted to perch him against the study room table and climb on top of him.

You describe how you’d pictured him, braced against the edge of the table. Shirt off, no pants, boxers discarded somewhere across the room. You wonder how he might look. Would his abs be tensed? Would his hip lines be prominent? How much detail of his tattoos would you be able to make out?

Would he be instantly hard? Or would you be treated to the sight of his cock engorging as you watched, rising to full attention simply from your presence and the heat of your gaze? You imagine observing his pink head filling and swelling, maybe even leaking a little precum that would glisten under the fluorescent lights.

How would he look at you with those deep chocolate eyes? Would he be unsure, timid, nervous? Or would there be a hot hunger behind them, a primal lust that he wants only you to satisfy?

You’d be naked, but would you feel nervous and fold at his gaze, covering yourself and uncomfortable under his scrutiny? Or would you saunter towards him confidently, maybe with a finger at your lips, swaying your hips? Forcing him to wait as your body drifts agonisingly slowly closer and closer.

He might stutter over his words as you moved, babbling nonsense, filled with that delicious combination of fear and want that you find so alluring. Or he could be confident, beckoning you to him, spilling praises and pet names and whispers of adoration.

Would he be too scared to touch you, unsure and not knowing what to do with his hands? Or would he reach out for you and grab at your arm, your hip, your waist, any part of you he could reach, pulling you to him?

How would he smell after a day of physical activity, or even post PT? The aroma of weed, his cologne, that vanilla chapstick that you’re sure he must’ve stolen from someone? Musky, sweaty, masculine? You imagine what it would be like to lick the salt from the sensitive skin of his collarbones and neck, and humming as his heady male taste floods your senses. Would he whimper softly at this, or groan with satisfaction?

You’d definitely kiss him, feeling those soft, plump lips against yours all over again, and slide your tongue into his mouth and sigh as you feel his start to move against yours. Would his confidence soar as you make those pretty noises again, encouraging him to explore further, deeper, harder?

Would you take the lead and lay him down onto the cool tabletop, and spill soothing words as you clamber up over him, gliding your soaking folds over him, drenching him with your abundant arousal? Or would he lie back, pulling you down with him, pressing your chest to his and letting you know just how hard he’s going to fuck you?

You might grasp his thick length, make him whine as you angle his cock at your hole and sink slowly down the length of him, his hands scrabbling to find purchase on the table, whimpering as you take him fully inside you. Or he could hum with approval, telling you how good you are for him, calling you his Princess, gripping your hips with his big hands as he manoeuvres you over his swollen cock, sliding into you from beneath.

You could take it slow and steady, noticing every pull and drag of his impressive member, allowing him to feel every part of your wet heat as you move atop him. Or you could use him, quickly bouncing, his ample girth stretching you as you pivot your hips for your own pleasure, slamming his tip exactly where you need it.

His hands might be soft and loving, gently touching your face and reverently running over your hair as he mumbles sweet things about how beautiful you are, how fucking lucky he is to have you like this. Or he might grip the back of your neck, tangle his fist into your hair, perhaps even hold one thick thumb across your throat, and gruffly huff hot breaths full of obscenities into your ear as he pumps himself in and out of you.

Would he let you take what you want, be your pliant and willing fucktoy? Or would he plant his feet on the table and thrust himself up into you, chasing for your release as much as his own?

Would you angle yourself against his pelvis, feeling the friction of his glossy thatch of dark hair against your clit as you roll and circle? Or might you suck your fingers and move them between you, maybe even push them into his mouth first, before you slide them down, down, between your heaving bodies to your most sensitive bud, drawing circles and lines, your head dropping back as Eddie watches, aghast, feeling you clench around hi- h- h-

Your empty pen scratches the paper, threatening to tear through the delicate pages. Dammit! You fling it aside, and quickly grab another at random. Red this time, the colour of passion. Appropriate…

-around his throbbing length.

Working with more intent, would Eddie watch, mouth agape, practically drooling? Or would he take your lead, replacing your fingers with his own, experimentally touching, circling, pressing? Watching your face contort as his technique improves, his gorgeous dimples popping as he gets it right, both of you nearing your peaks.

Maybe he’d even grab you and lift you from him, bend you over the table and enter you roughly from behind, feral grunts emanating from his chest. And you imagine you’d love every second, even the feel of the edge of the desk digging into the flesh of your thighs.

Whichever position you were in, he’d make you cum, you’re certain of that. But would you be first, spasming around him as he groans with approval? Would he then chase his own release, pummelling your sensitive core and making galaxies erupt behind your eyelids?

Perhaps you’d cum together, Eddie pushing himself impossibly deeper, his intense thrusts repeatedly pushing his fat tip against your special spot, your rippling walls milking him as his hot spend fills you up fuller than you’d ever thought possible. Would he stay inside you, panting, holding you close as he softens and your combined breaths become steady?

You wonder how he’d behave afterwards. Would he help you dress, stroke your hair? Would he dash off to find something to clean you up with? Would he sit with you as you both recover, humming as you cuddle, murmuring sweet, romantic things to each other as his seed leaks out of you onto the hard chairs of the study room?

Would he gently lift your chin, look deep into your eyes, and tell you that he lo—

Panting, sweating and unsure where most of this, let alone that last part, came from, you discard your pen with a clatter and slam your notebook shut, not for the first time wondering whether it’s possible to retrofit a padlock to it just in case anyone you live with decides to get curious.

You’re definitely not feeling calmer. This absolutely hasn’t worked. At all. In fact, you’re more frustrated now than you were before you began writing.

Running a hand slowly over your face, your fingertips pause at your lips, skimming lightly over them. You close your eyes and remember all over again how Eddie’s plush, pink, pillowy lips felt against them just hours ago.

Gently, you open your jaw a little, and run your index and middle fingers over your teeth and across your tongue. Enjoying the sensation, you can’t help but wonder how Eddie’s rough, talented musician’s fingers would feel doing exactly this.

Turning over and flopping back on your pillows, your other hand runs across your belly and over the top of one thigh, and you pause your thumb at the crease of your hip, just able to feel the lacy edge of your panty elastic beneath your clothes.

You glance towards your bedside table, knowing exactly what’s inside that closed drawer. And you seriously contemplate trying a very different form of reflection this evening…

Thanks so much for reading! 💗

I hope you enjoyed seeing what reader got up to whilst Eddie was in the shower 😉

Series masterlist

my masterlist

ETA: Lesson Three is now up!

Taglist Pt 1: @airen256 @bimbotrashcan @urlbitchin @guiltyasquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @rustboxstarr @bl4ckt00thgr1n @bexreadstoomuch @cozmiccass @yujyujj @cluz1babe @thunderg @aysheashea @paleidiot @cadence73 @eddie-munsons-wifey @siriuslysmoking @neville-is-my-husband @aestheticaltcow @jjmaybankswifes-blog @lightcommastix @ungracefularchimedes @spenciesprincess @joejoequinnquinn @freshoutthewomb2 @sunshinepeachx @tlclick73 @hellfirenacht @yourdailymemedelivery @wendyxox @madaboutmunson @80s-addict @skrzydlak @eddiesxangel @bunny7232 @starksbabie @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @abellmunsonmovie @sheneedsrocknroll92 @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @wonderlanddreamer @leatherfaceologist @munson-blurbs @paradisepoisons @lokidokieokie @rcailleachcola @fckyeahlames @kurdtbean

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learningpotato555 · 2 years ago

Text

Balancing School and Tuition: Strategies for Class 9th to 12th Students

The transition from middle school to higher secondary school is marked by a surge in academic rigor and expectations. Classes from 9th to 12th are a crucial juncture, setting the foundation for future career paths. Many students opt for tuition alongside regular schooling during these critical years. But juggling both can be challenging. This guide offers effective strategies to maintain equilibrium between school and tuition.

Understanding the Challenges

Before delving into solutions, it’s important to recognize the problems. Classes 9th to 12th bring longer school hours, additional subjects, and the external pressure of board exams. Coupled with tuition, students often grapple with time constraints, academic burnout, and balancing assignments from both fronts.

Setting Priorities: The First Step to Balance

Identifying Key Focus Areas: Not every subject or topic will be challenging. Understand your strengths and weaknesses in both school and tuition.

Allocating Time Efficiently: Subjects or topics you find difficult deserve more of your study time.

Well-being is Crucial: Remember, mental and physical health should always be a priority.

Mastering Time Management

As cliche as it may sound, effective time management is the linchpin.

Plan Your Week: Use digital tools or traditional planners to block out time for school, tuition, self-study, and relaxation.

Consistent Sleep Schedule: It can’t be stressed enough. A regular sleep pattern boosts productivity and maintains health.

Synchronizing School and Tuition Efforts

Rather than viewing school and tuition as two separate entities, find ways to make them complement each other.

Open Lines of Communication: Regularly update both your school teachers and tuition educators about your academic progress.

Maximize Complementary Lessons: If a topic taught at school is due for a session at tuition, use the opportunity to clarify doubts.

Resources are Key: Use school libraries, labs, or tools to aid in your tuition studies and vice-versa.

Stress-relief and Self-care: Not to Be Overlooked

The academic pressure can be intense. But burnout is not the solution.

Take Short Breaks: A 5-minute break every hour can rejuvenate the mind.

Stay Active: Physical activities like walking, jogging, or even stretching can counteract long study hours.

It’s Okay to Seek Help: If things get too overwhelming, talk to peers, educators, or counselors.

Harnessing Technology for Balance

In today's digital age, various tools can aid in managing school and tuition.

Time Management Apps: Tools like Trello or Todoist can help organize tasks.

Online Learning Platforms: Websites like Khan Academy or Coursera can offer supplementary learning resources.

Collaborative Tools: Platforms like Google Docs or Microsoft Teams can facilitate group studies.

Social Life and Extra-curricular Activities Matter Too

Academics are essential, but so is holistic development.

Time for Friends: Social interactions are vital. Dedicate time every week to relax with friends.

Engage Beyond Books: Activities like sports, arts, or clubs are as crucial as academics for overall growth.

Iterative Improvement through Feedback

The process of balancing school and tuition is continuous.

Self-assessment: Regularly evaluate how effectively you’re managing time and tasks.

Seek External Feedback: Discuss your strategies with peers, parents, or educators to gain new perspectives.

Celebrate the Small Wins: Completed a challenging topic? Finished assignments on time? Celebrate it!

Conclusion

Balancing school and tuition, especially during the crucial years of Classes 9th to 12th, is no small feat. However, with the right strategies, tools, and mindset, it's a challenge that's not only manageable but also rewarding. Remember, the ultimate goal is not just academic excellence, but holistic personal and intellectual growth.

Learning Potato as one of the best providers of Home tuition in Pune can help you with the best techniques and strategies to make full use of your online tuition and help students study more effectively and efficiently. Get in touch with us for your home tuition and Home Tuition And Online Classes For Class 3. We help students with the best faculty available for all classes, college, and more.

#Home tuition in Pune #Home Tuition And Online Classes For Class 3 #Online Classes For Class 3

0 notes

svmbers · 11 days ago

Note

hi i have a request! jordan li x reader where jordan tries to break up with reader to stop readers parents from refusing to pay tuition/disowning them

thanks !!!! <3

oh nonnie, thank you so much for your request! i hope i delivered and that you like it <3 also, the jordan li brainrot is still very real, so i’m always happy to get requests about them! i can’t wait for s2 in sept

———————————————————————————

It’s Because I Love You

pairing: jordan li x fem!reader (refrained from gender specific details, but my writings are generally assumed to be fem!reader since i’m female)

summary: jordan and you have been dating openly for almost a year … well, openly to everyone except your parents. when they find out you’re dating a bigender supe, they forbid you from seeing jordan and threaten to take away your tuition. jordan decides to take matters into their own hands.

content warnings: angst, transphobia, toxic parent relationships

word count: about 4.0k

notes: seeing jordan sad or in pain breaks my heart, but i’m also a sucker for angst 💔 please let me know what you guys think of this! feedback is always welcomed and appreciated <3

———————————————————————————

Godolkin University was your dream school. Ever since you found out you had powers, you’d dreamed of harnessing those powers for good at God U so you could eventually make it into The Seven. What you didn’t expect was to meet the person of your dreams as well.

You were starting your first year at God U and taking Professor Brink’s crime fighting class. You felt immensely grateful to be accepted despite only being a freshman, and you knew you had to do well to further solidify that you belonged. Which is why, when you end up with a lower than expected grade on one of your early semester assignments, you visit Brink’s office to ask him about.

Only Brink wasn’t there — his TA was. Jordan Li. That’s how you first met Jordan. They were cold and callous at first, giving you offhanded comments about how your work could be better and that you were too young to even be in the class. But as you continued to push and work harder, you proved that you did in fact belong in this class, and Jordan admired your ambition and dedication.

Jordan was slow to warm up to you at first. Even though they admired your work ethic, they’re the kind of person to not let their guard down right away. Plus, you were a freshman and they were a junior. They were in the thick of their college career while you were only getting started. But as you visited Brink’s office more and more (sometimes only as an excuse to see them), they couldn’t help but develop a soft spot for you. You two would hang out as friends, run into each other at parties, and they’d even helped you study for Brink’s tests.

During one of these study sessions, they confessed their feelings to you — which you of course reciprocated — and the two of you began dating. You were absolutely smitten, and so were they. You guys didn’t keep your relationship a secret from anyone…except for your parents.

Which brings you to where you are now. You’ve just finished up your freshman year at God U, and you’re feeling antsy about summer break. Summer break meant seeing Jordan less than usual, and it also meant having to come clean to your parents that you’re in a relationship now. If you wanted to spend time with Jordan over the summer, you couldn’t sneak around your parents, and you didn’t want to.

You’re packing up the last of your belongings in your dorm when you hear a knock at your door. You open it to see your parents standing in front of you, immediately embracing you in a hug before stepping inside. You’re happy to see them, even if you are a bit anxious about telling them how you’re no longer single.

“We’ve missed you, Y/N. You’ll have to catch us up on what’s been happening since spring break,” your mom says with a smile. You’d visited home that week of spring break, and that week felt achingly long without seeing Jordan in person. You were stuck with only texting, not wanting to reveal your relationship to your parents yet.

You weren’t ashamed of Jordan — actually, the opposite. In fact, around campus, almost everyone regarded you as a power couple. But your parents are strict when it comes to school and what goes on in your social life. They believe that school is top priority and that you shouldn’t even be thinking about dating until after you’ve graduated.

You offer your mom a sheepish smile as you continue packing up your last box before heading home.

“Yeah, I’ve missed you guys, too,” you respond, your mind overthinking every single scenario that could play out in result of telling your parents your secret. You haphazardly tape up your last box of belongings, clutching it to your chest as you make your way out of your dorm with your parents.

You’re reaching the exit to the dorm hall when Jordan simultaneously enters, their eyes lighting up when seeing you and saying your name before taking in your parents’ presence. They had come by to say one last goodbye before you left, but now they look like a deer caught in headlights. Your face flushes from anxiety and dread, knowing you can’t avoid this any longer. You go to step beside Jordan, box still clutched to your chest, when you steel yourself to look at your parents.

“Y/N? Who’s this?” your dad asks curiously, his voice a bit guarded as he takes in Jordan. Jordan is currently in their male form, and they go to shake your dad’s hand out of politeness and respect, wanting to make a good first impression.

“Hi, I’m Jordan Li,” they introduce themself, offering your mom a warm smile after shaking your dad’s hand. Your parents offer smiles back, but they both look strained. You feel your heart pounding against your ribs, wanting to be anywhere but here. Just rip off the bandaid, you think to yourself. You clear your throat and stand a bit taller, your shoulder brushing against Jordan’s.

“Um, Mom? Dad? This is Jordan. They’re my partner,” you say a bit timidly. You hate how nervous you are about introducing your partner, the person you love with your whole heart. It doesn’t seem fair to you that you can’t freely express your relationship to your parents without feeling some resistance.

Both of your parents notice the pronoun you used to describe Jordan, and they look at you apprehensively.

“They?” your dad asks, his brow furrowed. You never noticed how harsh the lines on his face are until this very moment. Jordan interjects, wanting to take some of the pressure off of you. This is about their power, after all.

“Yes, Sir. I can shift and change genders, both offering different kinds of powers depending on which form I’m in,” they explain. They’re trying to put on a brave face, but you can tell by the way they fiddle with their rings that they’re nervous. They’re always nervous when telling someone new about how they’re bigender. They seem to relax a bit when they feel your hand slip into theirs, squeezing it gently to comfort them.

Both of your parents seem flabbergasted by this. You feel dread swirl in your stomach, and you can’t help but wonder why Jordan’s power in particular would make them uncomfortable. Your parents had injected you with Compound V as a baby, just like Jordan’s parents did with them. Any power was on the table.

Your parents’ demeanors turn cold and disbelieving, and your dad lunges forward to grab your forearm, pulling you away from Jordan. “Let’s go, Y/N. We want to beat traffic so we can get home at a normal hour,” he says gruffly before turning towards Jordan one last time. “Nice meeting you, but we have to get going now.”

Your dad tugs you out of the dorm hall, your mom trailing closely behind. You whip your head around to look at Jordan, your face etched with dread and worry. Jordan is staring back at you, their face resembling a kicked puppy. Your heart aches in your chest as you try to pry out of your dad’s hand.

Your dad takes your last box from your grip and throws it into the trunk of the car with the others before rushing you into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind you. You sit there, dumbfounded, your heart racing in your chest. Your dad climbs into the driver seat while your mom slides into the passenger seat. Your mom hasn’t said a word, and your dad’s shoulders are as tense as the air feels.

“What— What the hell was that about?” you sputter with a bewildered expression, still dumbfounded by what just happened. Your dad holds up a hand as if to stop you from talking.

“Enough. I forbid you from seeing that boy— person— whatever they are— any longer. Do you understand?” your dad announces sternly, his knuckles turning white from how tight he grips the steering wheel. Your mom shifts uncomfortably in her seat but doesn’t make an effort to disagree with him.

“Is this because of school and my grades? Because I’m doing great! I made Dean’s list both semesters. Jordan even helped me study for the crime fighting class since they’re the professor’s TA,” you try to explain, your phone vibrating in your pocket. You hold off from looking at it for now, wanting to appease your parents so you can continue seeing Jordan.

“I don’t care. You know school comes first, and the fact that you’re dating someone who doesn’t know which gender they want to be tells me you’re slipping. This is ludicrous. No more seeing this person, Y/N, I mean it,” your dad responds gruffly. His tone holds such disdain that you’d never heard in him before. You knew revealing that you’re dating now would be a sore spot, but you weren’t quite expecting this.

You guffaw at him through the rearview mirror, but you can’t bring yourself to argue any further when you see the fury in his eyes. You sink into your seat, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Your phone vibrates again, and you finally take it out of your pocket to check it.

Messages from Jord <3:

Is everything okay? Did I say something wrong with your parents?

They don’t like me, do they? They’re freaked out that I’m bigender.

You feel your heart drop to your feet as you wipe a stray tear away from your eyes. God, this is so fucked up. Why couldn’t your parents just let you be happy? Your thumbs fly across your screen as you reply back, wanting nothing more than to be with Jordan instead of in this stupid car.

You didn’t say anything wrong, Jord. You were so polite and respectful. I’m so sorry they acted like that. I knew they’d be apprehensive about me dating, but I didn’t know they’d go to this extreme.

Your teeth worry your bottom lip as you press send, awaiting a response. When you don’t hear back from them right away, you don’t let yourself panic. They’re probably just needing some time to debrief and clear their head after this experience. But when you make it back home a few hours later with still no response, you start to worry.

Jord? Are you okay? Please respond when you get this, I want to know you’re alright.

You hadn’t spoken to your parents the rest of that car ride home. The tension in the air was palpable and thick, practically suffocating. As soon as you made it home, you rushed to bring all of your stuff inside to your bedroom, wanting to isolate yourself and avoid your parents as quickly as possible. Now you’re sitting on your bed, shaking your leg anxiously as you await a reply from Jordan.

Instead of texting you back, they call you. You breathe a sigh of relief before accepting the call, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Oh, my God, Jord, are you okay? I was so worried,” you murmur when you answer the phone. Your voice is shaking from the adrenaline of everything that’s happened today. You hear Jordan breathe through the other line.

“I’m fine. I just needed some time to think. Are you okay? Your dad pulled you away so quickly,” they respond, their voice sounding conflicted and raw. You wonder if they’d been crying.

“Not really. My parents — or rather, my dad — forbid me from seeing you anymore,” you explain, your voice starting to crack as you replay the conversation in your mind.

“I don’t get them, Jord, I just don’t. My grades are fine, so why can’t they just want me to be happy? They’re out of their minds if they think they can stop me from being with you.” You hear shuffling through the receiver before Jordan speaks again.

“They— They forbid you from seeing me?” they ask, their voice sounding choked up. Your heart aches as you imagine their brown, baby cow eyes looking so sad.

“Listen, baby, it doesn’t matter, okay? I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions,” you try to reassure them, your voice soft and comforting. They clear their throat before speaking again.

“So we have to go back to sneaking around them,” they state rather than ask, their voice sounding defeated. You run a hand through your hair as you sigh, wanting nothing more than to be physically next to them instead of being separated by a phone.

“I guess so,” you murmur. Your lips twist as you fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“But we can make this work, okay? I’m not losing you,” you state, trying your hardest to keep your voice from wavering.

“Yeah. Okay. I don’t want to lose you either,” they respond after a moment. You can tell they’re feeling insecure and conflicted about all of this, and it makes your heart clench. You both eventually say goodbye to each other and hang up. A dull headache is starting to form in the middle of your eyebrows from how much you want to cry.

We’ll make it through this. It’ll be okay, you think to yourself as you drift to sleep that night.

———————————————————————————

It’s been a few weeks since that car ride home with your parents. You’ve spent the beginning of the summer walking on eggshells around your parents — especially your dad — so as to not get into any more arguments. Dinners as a family were tense. Your dad’s face was still set in those hard lines, and your mom looks between the both of you to see which will break the quiet first.

Your mom has been kinder than your dad about everything, but still not as supportive as you’d hoped she’d be.

“Think about your grades, sweetheart. You don’t need any kinds of distractions,” she’d said. It’s like she’s trying to be Switzerland in all of this, to appease both you and your dad. It’s not working.

Text conversations with Jordan haven’t been enough to hold you over from seeing them in person. You’d made plans one night shortly after everything happened to secretly meet each other at a park close to the both of you, and you both could barely keep your hands off of each other when first seeing each other.

“Y/N, I hate that we have to sneak around your parents,” Jordan had said that night, their face crumbling as their voice sounded defeated again. They’re feeling insecure, and they know part of the reason your parents forbid you from seeing them is because they’re bigender. They’d said this in their female form, and you ran your fingers soothingly through their short hair.

“I know. Me too. I wish they were supportive of us. But their opinions don’t matter, okay? I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured softly, your voice gentle as you bring them into a hug.

You got home late that night, and your mom was still awake, sitting in the kitchen. You’d told her you were hanging out with your best friend, but she looked at you suspiciously, like she didn’t believe you. Still, she didn’t say anything as you headed up to bed.

Tonight, your parents are going out of town for their anniversary, leaving you home alone for the weekend. You’d let Jordan know, inviting them over to stay with you while they were gone. What your parents don’t know won’t hurt them. Your mom and dad pack up the car with their bags and head off onto the road after telling you goodbye.

Things with your dad have started to calm down, relieving some of the tension that’d been hanging around the house for weeks. You made sure you knew when your parents would be back so Jordan could leave before then, not wanting them to catch you guys.

Jordan arrives, overnight bag in hand, and immediately pulls you into a hug, lifting your feet off the ground and spinning you briefly. You giggle softly in their ear, feeling ecstatic that they’re with you.

“God, I’ve missed you so much,” they mumble into your neck, pressing a kiss to your soft skin. You shiver and feel butterflies swarm your tummy — lovesick. Nothing that feels this right could ever be wrong.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you murmur back. You pull away to look at them, a big smile on your face.

“Let’s drop your stuff off in my room, then we can settle in for the night and have a movie marathon,” your tone is jovial but suggestive, and Jordan’s eyes twinkle with amusement.

“I can get into that,” they smirk, walking with you to your room. They plop their bag down on your bed as you linger behind them in the doorway.

You both can’t help yourselves in this moment, the tension in the air thick, because you’re suddenly moving them to sit on your bed as you straddle their hips, pulling them into a deep kiss. Their strong arms loop around your waist, fingers fisting the fabric of your shirt as if to keep you close.

Your hands tangle through their inky locks, tugging softly at the roots and causing them to gasp into your mouth. You smirk, the kiss growing deeper.

“What the hell is going on here?” you suddenly hear your dad shout, his voice booming. You jump and scurry off of Jordan’s lap, your lips pink and swollen as you’re slightly out of breath. Jordan’s cheeks are red, looking mortified and guilty.

“Dad! I thought you guys were away for the weekend?” you ask, voice high pitched from shock. Your mom lingers behind your dad in the hallway, her eyes showing disappointment. You feel sick.

“Our plans were cancelled. Don’t try and change the subject. What did I tell you, Y/N? I forbid you from seeing—,” your dad pauses, jerking his hand in Jordan’s direction, “and you purposely go against me?” Your dad’s voice is loud. Scary. Practically shaking with fury and rage. Tears burn your eyes as you blink them back, not wanting to cry in front of everyone.

“I love them, Dad. I’m an adult. You can’t stop me from being with who I want.” Your heart is pounding against your chest, and you swear everyone can hear it. Your jaw clenches, moving to stand in front of Jordan so they don’t have to look at your dad’s stony face.

“Oh, you’re an adult, huh? Then good luck paying the rest of your way through college. Godolkin University isn’t cheap, Y/N, and I refuse to pay your way through if you’re going to continue seeing… them,” your dad threatens. He’s so full of disdain, his heart probably black and unfeeling.

It wasn’t the money part that made you despise your dad in this moment. It was how disrespectful they talked about Jordan, especially when they’re sitting right behind you, hearing everything. You look over to your mom, and her eyes are glassy. But she doesn’t interfere or stand up for you and Jordan. Coward.

You grab Jordan’s hand and their overnight bag, pulling them out of your room. Past your dad, past your mom, past everything in this house that’s linked to your parents. The door slams shut behind you as you both stand in your driveway. Silent tears managed to slip down your cheeks. You’re furious.

“Jordan, baby, I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry. If I had known they’d come back—,” Jordan interrupts you, softly putting their hand on your arm.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” they murmur. They have a far away look in their eyes, one you didn’t like. Jaw clenching, you narrow your eyes at them, studying them.

“What?” you ask, voice strained from distress. You cup their jaw, wanting them to look at you.

“Baby, what?” you ask again.

Jordan looks down at you, their eyes solemn and heartbroken. No. Their jaw clenches before they finally have the courage to speak, the next words out of their mouth feeling like a punch to the gut.

“I think we should break up,” they whisper, eyes glancing away from you again as if it physically hurts to look at you.

Your lips part, your heart cracking in your ribs. You immediately shake your head and cup their jaw a little tighter, trying to get them to look at you once more.

“No. No, Jord, please don’t do this. I love you,” you plead, your voice small and thick with tears. They pull away from you, their own face twisting in pain.

“I can’t be what comes between you and your parents. I can’t let them take away your tuition. You deserve to be at God U more than anyone I know. I won’t let them take that away from you just because of me,” they say. They sound determined, but heartbroken. You know they must be feeling insecure and conflicted while you feel like the entire world has been pulled out from underneath you.

Your hands fall to your sides, dumbfounded by their words. You should feel pride at their praise, at how they think you deserve to be at God U more than anyone, but you only feel how horribly your chest hurts. Shaking your head, you step towards them again. You look like a kicked puppy, doe eyed and in agony.

“Please don’t do this, baby, I can figure something else out! I can work my way through school; I don’t care. As long as I’m with you,” you plead. Their face crumbles as they hear your words, taking another step back.

“This is for your own good, Y/N. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I can’t get in the way of your dreams.” They run their hand through their hair with a bated breath, looking as absolutely ruined as you feel on the inside.

“I love you. And it’s because I love you that I have to walk away.”

Your chin trembles as you watch them head to their car, throwing their bag into the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel. The door slams as the engine roars to life. They glance at you one last time through the rearview mirror before pulling out of your driveway, taking a part of you with them.

You feel numb as you walk back into the house. It’s the type of heartbreak where tears won’t form, no matter how much you feel like you need to cry. Your mom is in the kitchen, her eyes wide and concerned as she takes in your expression. She looks guilty, like she regrets letting everything happen. She walks to hug you, but you brush her off.

Your dad had already retreated to his room, the door closed shut. Good. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him right now. You enter your room — the same room you’d just been so happy to be in with Jordan — and collapse onto your bed. Their cologne had already made home in the air, leaving your senses haunted by their memory.

Jordan’s gone. They cut ties with you in hopes of making you happy, of following your dreams at God U. But how can you be happy at God U if they’re not by your side anymore? How are you going to face them in the halls?

You isolate yourself in your room, shielding yourself from the outside world. Jordan is no longer yours. All that’s left of them is the photographs you share, the gifts they’d gotten you, and their scent lingering in the air. They’re a haunting presence in your life now, only existing to remind you of what could have been.

#svmbers writes #jordan li #gen v #gen v prime #gen v amazon #gen v x reader #jordan li imagine #jordan li x reader #jordan li x you #gen v fic #angst #mine #jordan li angst #jordan li gen v #gen v jordan #gen v jordan li

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kyoshithewriter · 2 months ago

Text

Bambi (part two)

warnings: smut (18+), morally… something.

A/n: Icl to you, this is just 3.3k words of mostly smut loool. Should I do a part 3?🤔

Renée wills the muscles in her face to relax; scowling while dancing for a room of onlooking, horny men is definitely a mood killer. It’s the kind of behaviour that Diego would definitely chastise her for. So she pouts her plump lips and bats her lashes coquettishly as she glides down the pole. Thankfully, the club is winding down for the night; this is her last stage and she didn’t have to do any private dances. Diego only allows the highest spenders to have her company and it’s a week day- a slow night. The men who can pay the right price all have to be in office tomorrow. “Or on the pitch,” the retort from her brain brings a bitter taste in the back of her throat. Fuck him. Renée finishes her routine in a full split and rushes off the stage without the usual finesse of swaying her hips and strutting.

“I can’t believe that asshole made me come in to work two hours early just to stand me up.” She mutters angrily to herself as she throws on a t-shirt over her baby blue lace bra. She stumbles in her haste to pull her jeans up her legs, gnashing her teeth in anger all the while.

“What are you muttering about?” Bridgette’s words are followed by a yawn.

“Uh… nothing. Just, already over classes tomorrow.”

“Mhmm, good luck with that. Come, I need my bed right now.” Bridgette jingles her car keys to show her impatience.

Renée hurries to sling her bag over her shoulder and follows Bridgette out the dressing room. She’s so thankful for the blonde woman; getting home after 2 am without a car in this city means walking. Renée lives fifteen minutes away by car- way too far to be walking alone as a woman that late.

Bridgette is complaining about a man she danced for earlier when they enter the parking lot behind the club and Renée’s feet pause. The tall figure leaning against the black G-wagon is heavily disguised by the hat, shades and black face mask; but she’d recognize him covered head to foot in a burlap sack.

“Uh…Bridgette I seem to have got a ride tonight.”

Her friend pauses her rambling and eyes the silhouette of the man in the shadows.

“You sure? Why is he slinking away in the shadows like a vigilante?” Bridgette narrows her eyes in a suspicious squint.

“He’s just… he prefers his privacy. But I promise I’m okay. I know him well.”

“Ah, okay. Let me know when you get home.” The woman says before making her way over to her parked car.

Renée watches as her friend pulls out the lot. Sucking in a deep breath to quell the anger that resurfaces under her skin, she stomps over in his direction.

He straightens his posture seeing her approach.

“Renée I-”

“Shut up and take me home.”

*********

Renée’s breaths feel stuck in her lungs. She eyes his hands that keep clenching against the steering in her peripheral. The tension is so thick, she can almost physically reach out and touch it. The silence is almost deafening; there isn’t a car in sight and he hasn’t made a move to turn the radio on.

“I understand you’re upset, but don’t ever talk to me like that again.”

His voice cuts through the tension in the vehicle. It’s low in volume but stern. She swallows.

“Turn here.” She whispers timidly.

The man obeys; the street lights illuminate his face showing the furrow between his brows and the tight clench of his jaw.

Renée is almost physically shaking by the time he pulls into the parking lot of her apartment building. She’s surprised when he cuts the engine, but she says nothing. The man strides behind her inside her building. It’s not rundown, but it’s not the most luxurious place either. She does make a decent amount, especially when he visits, but her tuition costs eat away at most her income.

Renée is trembling so much that she misses the keyhole a few times before she finally gets her apartment door open. She reaches to flip the switch on and light floods the room. Her living room is tidy and sparsely decorated. Just a small coffee table, a two seater sofa, a singular potted cactus in the window sill and her tv. The space smells of the fresh linen and sky fabreze she regularly spritzes her curtains with with a hint of lavender from the scented candles.

“Do you know how stupid I looked? Standing there for almost an hour?”

She spins on her heels to look at him. The man closes and locks her door calmly, taking his time to survey her space with his eyes while he removes his shoes like she did moments before.

“I’m sorry. I got… something came up.”

“What exactly?” She crosses her arms over her chest, cocking her hip.

“Do you want a bigger space?”

Her brain screeches to a halt.

“What?”

The man gestures at the living room. “This place, kinda small. One bedroom right? Do you want a bigger space?”

“This fits my budget best right now and it’s very comfortable.”

“I would get you a better apartment. You wouldn’t have to pay rent.” He says while removing the glasses and mask from his face to stuff them in the pockets of his baggy jeans.

“Why aren’t you answering the question? Tell me why you left me standing outside like an idiot!”

“I’m trying to resist, Renée. Since the first night my friend dragged me to that club and I saw you. I swore I wouldn’t go back, but I did. I swore I’d not get too close, but I did. I swore to myself that I’d only go into that private room one time…” he trails off with a bitter chuckle.

“I swore to myself that I wouldn’t see you tonight. And look at me. Almost three in the fucking morning and I’m here. Do you see what you do to me? I snuck out of my house at 2 am, and I have a game tomorrow. Just to see you, Renée.”

Renée can only blink up at him from beneath her lashes as he invades her personal space. He reaches to grip her waist; his nostrils are flared like a taunted bull’s.

“Say something.” He demands.

“I… I don't know what you want me to say.” She responds breathlessly. Reaching up, she places the palms of her hands against his chest.

“You know what you’re doing looking at me like that. For fuck’s…” He scrubs a hand harshly down his face. Her heart flips when she sees the circular tan line against his ring finger and nothing else. He isn’t wearing it.

She takes a few steps away from him. Keeping their eyes locked, Renée shimmies out of her jeans and lifts the shirt over her head.

His eyes drink her in; it’s the same baby blue set that he didn’t get to see her in tonight. She watches his Adam's apple bob before turning to walk down the hallway. Blood rushes to her ears at the sound of his footsteps just behind. Her body thrums in anticipation at the sound of her bedroom door being closed behind them. The room is a decent size, with a queen sized bed below her window, a small white vanity and matching closet. The scent of lavender is more prominent as the candles are kept in her bedroom. Renée turns to face him. Virgil takes his time to admire her but doesn’t make a move to get closer. She squirms under the intensity of his gaze and the tense quiet. The room already feels heated and they haven’t even touched either.

“Virgil.” She whines his name on a breath.

“Yes, Renée?”

He scratches at his goatee, eyes zeroing on her erect nipples.

“I want… touch me?” She pleads with her eyes.

He finally stalks in her direction. She cranes her head up to look at him, he dwarfs her 5’7 frame so deliciously and she loves it. Holding onto her waist, he sits on the edge of her bed and pulls her down to straddle his lap. Renée blinks at him as she breathes in his every exhale. This close, she can see the subtle freckles that dot across his caramel face. She grabs his face in both her hands, the eye contact searing. She’s already wet, she has been since he admonished her in the car she realizes.

“You smell so good. Your aftershave clings to my skin. It was so potent the third time you visited that I came home, and fingered myself till I cried, imagining it was you touching me. Right on this bed.” She whispers the words against his lips.

Virgil squeezes his eyes shut and groans from the pit of his stomach. He kisses her like a man starved. There’s no slow build up; he crashes their lips together and his tongue immediately slithers its way into her mouth. He flicks it upward, licking against the roof of her mouth. Renée whimpers, toes curling to the point of pain. Virgil hums in reply, rubbing against her sides. His fingers tease their way upward until his thumbs flick at her barely concealed hard, brown peaks. Renée becomes slack jawed at the pleasure that jolts through her body, but he doesn’t pull away from her lips. He keeps painting a sensual picture inside her warm mouth while he toys with her nipples.

“Take this off.” His voice is gruff with the command.

Renée’s hands scramble to unhook the top. The flimsy material slides between their bodies. Virgil pulls back, breaths coming out of him in ragged, short pants.

“So pretty, baby.”

He ducks his head to tease at one of her nipples as he presses her hips down onto his lap so she feels what she does to him. Renée moans wantonly. He’s so hard and even through the layers of his clothing she can feel that he’s well above average.

“Hah- fuc-” Renée chokes as he closes his mouth around her sensitive peak. So wet, so warm; his tongue soft yet insistent. Tears prick at her eyes.

“Please, Virgil…” she moans breathlessly.

The man ignores her. He spends minutes just sucking and licking away at her chest as he grinds against her soaked panties. Every time her breath would hitch and the movement of her hips grew sloppy, he’d use his strength to hoist her off his lap until the oncoming orgasm abated.

“Virg, please I wanna come. I’m sorry for what I said. I’ll be good.” She babbles with tears streaming down her cheeks. The place between her legs throbbing to the point of pain.

“Hmm, you learn quickly. My good girl. Look how pretty you are.”

The deep baritone of his voice feels like a punch to her lower belly that’s already quivering with arousal.

“Please.” She begs again. Renée reaches between them to unbuckle his belt and pull his zipper down. Her hands tremble in anticipation; she doesn’t care about anything else at the moment except getting him inside. He lifts his hips to allow her to pull his boxers down. The sight of him, springing free from his confines to bob against his lower belly makes her whimper. She knew he’d be big but this is beyond her expectation.

The man chokes as she tentatively feels at him. The skin is soft, silky heavily contrasting with how hard it is.

“Fuck, baby. We can’t; I didn’t bring a condom. I had this stupid idea that not having it would prevent this but… fuck. I’ll make you feel goo-”

“But I want it.” She pouts blinking up at him.

Virgil closes his eyes and releases a string of curses.

“Renée-”

“I’m clean. I promise. I don’t have sex with patrons. I haven’t had sex since I broke up with my boyfriend a year ago and I got tested after.” She admits.

Her confession pleases him in ways he doesn’t want to unpack at the moment.

“And how do you know I am?”

“Are you?” She holds him captive with her eyes.

“I… I am but I could also be lying. You shouldn’t believe just words. I’ll make you feel good in other-”

“Just… please. Just the tip. I want to…”

She trails off as she reaches between them to peel her panties to the side. She gently lowers herself. Renée then drags her pussy along the length of him. The sound of it, the audible squelch because she’s absolutely soaking drives them both wild. Virgil groans in his throat. She intentionally catches the tip on her opening on every upward rub.

Renée reaches between them to grip at him, positioning him right where she needs him like she needs air. She slowly eases the tip in. Renée whimpers as she undulates her hips so he slips another inch deeper. She’s so wet that she opens up readily, welcoming him.

“Ren-” he chokes but reaches his hand down to fist at his cock, preventing her from sliding further down. She whines in protest but begins tilting her hips.

The top of his hand is already soaked.

“What the fuck, Renée. Why are you so wet?”

“All for you. You do this to me. Just a little more please, Virgil? Feels so good, please.”

“You make me irrational and I hate that.” He says through gritted teeth as he finally moves his hand away.

Renée wastes no time in sinking as far down as her body allows. She moans and doubles over on his shoulder. He’s so big and stretches her so well. But she’s so wet, walls swollen with arousal and eager that he slides into her like a hot knife through butter.

Virgil flexes his hips up once, twice and on the third slow, upward thrust he speaks.

“Is this what you wanted? Hm?”

Her lower belly clenches and the orgasm hits like a freight train. Renée can only sob as she grips onto his shoulders for dear life.

“Fuck, baby. Did you just?”

But he gets his answer when she starts spasming around him.

“Shit.” He hisses. He moves to pull his shirt up and off, baring his toned upper body and his full sleeve of tattoos.

Renée would giggle at the fact that he was still fully dressed if she wasn’t so overwhelmed. Virgil stands, still inside her, and he somehow slips a bit deeper. Renée whimpers.

“Look at you. I could just…” he doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he grips her plump behind and slowly slides her up to the very tip, then down his entire length.

Renée’s eyes widen in panic. The display of strength scratches an itch she didn’t know she had. The look on his face as he moves her along him as if her weight barely matters. It’s all too much. Her entire body quakes.

“Virg, I-”

“Hm?”

Renée doesn’t bother with a reply because there’s no coherent thought in her head.

“Fuck, look how you’re dripping on me.” He groans as his eyes zero between them.

“And you’re so tight. How am I gonna ever leave you alone, Renée?”

His expression is torn between genuine distress and ecstasy.

Renée shivers to her very bones and is sent hurtling off a cliff of pleasure again. The orgasm wracks her entire body; she accidentally screams in the quiet of the night. She clings to him while she shivers like a leaf.

“So good, Virgil, so goo-” she trails off into little whimpers.

Virgil feels the tension in the base of his spine and lower abdomen intensify. He moves to lay her on the bed, hastily kicking his pants and boxers off his legs.

Renée gasps as he climbs between her spread legs and slides inside like he belongs there. She quivers, overstimulation now biting at her skin.

“So fucking gorgeous. Can’t believe you’re real.”

He says while the pace of his hips picks up.

Renée raises her neck to look at where they’re joined. The sight of him disappearing inside her over and over again is something that she wants ingrained in her brain forever. Like a little flipbook art.

“Virgil, too much.” She whines as another orgasm burns under the surface of her skin. This one is tinged with an ache, the pleasure so good it’s bordering pain.

“You said you wanted to come, hm?”

The man presses a hand to her lower belly. The added pressure makes her eyes roll. It’s so good that she’s momentarily rendered breathless. Literally. Renée chokes, then gasps; air returning to her lungs.

“I’m gonna- Virgil. I feel like I’m gonna pee.”

Her limbs flail in panic.

He shushes. “It’s alright, baby. I’ve got you. Let it all out, hm?”

His hips slam against her harder, deeper. The pressure continues to build as he groans almost animalistically.

Renée clenches her teeth and grunts as her body stiffens. The pleasure feels like it’s being ripped from her body, literally. She feels the place between her legs grow a lot wetter than she’s used to; but she can’t look. Her senses have been robbed from her by the man currently groaning like he’s being tortured.

“Fucking- fuck, Renée.”

Virgil pulls out just in time. Rope after rope hitting her quivering belly like it’s being wrung from his body. He grits his teeth, hand working over himself like a man possessed. He can’t remember the last time he’s had an orgasm this intense.

“Virgil?” The sound of her whimper clears the haze and he reaches out blindly for her as his senses slowly return.

“I’ve got you, baby.”

He hugs her shivering body to his own, hands rubbing soothing circles over every inch of her skin he can reach.

They take their time to catch their breaths, slick skin against slick skin.

Renée cringes as she feels the wet spot beneath her body.

“I’ve never done anything like that.” She says in awe. She has always thought maybe she was just one of the girls who couldn’t squirt, but the huge wet spot on her sheets begs to differ.

“Good.”

Renée watches as he gets lost in his thoughts, his hand still running along the length of her body.

“Help me clean up?” She asks meekly.

“Of course.”

********

They’re both cuddling, freshly showered with clean sheets on the bed when Virgil’s phone rings. Renée holds her breath as his ‘Wife’ flashes across the screen. Virgil sits upright and accepts the call.

“Oh yea, just couldn’t sleep so I went for a drive to clear my head.”

He listens intently, eyeing Renée from his periphery. She tries not to pout.

“Yea, big game tomorrow. Make or break in the title race. Just a little anxious but I promise I’m fine, my love. I’ll be home soon.”

Renée pulls away from his body completely. He ends the call and sighs heavily, rubbing a hand along his neck.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Okay.” She says curtly.

“Renée, don’t do this. You know who I am. You know I have…”

“I know.”

He looks over at her pouting in the bed and chuckles bitterly.

“I thought that having sex with you once would be it, you know. I thought I just needed to do it to get it out of my system.”

He leans over to peck her lips until her pout turns to a small smile.

“You’re so… what are you doing to me?”

It doesn’t sound rhetorical and Renée can only blink up at him helplessly.

“Quit your job at the club.” He says seriously.

“Huh? I- I can’t. Tuition is expensive and rent an-”

“I’ll take care of you. I can’t… I’m weak to you. I know this won’t be the last time and I can’t bear the thought of all those men just… quit.”

Renée breath stutters. She stares, mouth agape and wide-eyed. She knows the kind of arrangement he wants her to be a part of. It’s messy. It’s dangerous. It’s… exciting.

#black woman #football #soccer #football fanfic #virgil van dijk x black reader #virgil van dijk x reader #virgil van dijk

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

Text

The Knight & The Judge

[ modern Frollo • Aemond x Esmeralda • female ]

[ warnings: dubcon, sex content, smut, angst, domination and humiliation kink, description of physical and mental disabilities, prejudices against disabled people, aggressive behavior, violence, swearing, trauma, mention of an accident with fatalities ]

[ description: After a car accident, his brother has to deal with the consequences of what happened, and he, as his protector, does not know how to help him. His sister comes up with the idea of hiring someone as his carer who will be able to cheer him up and occupy his mind. It turns out, however, that the girl he hired charmed not only his younger brother. Obsession, self-destructive behavior, verbal and physical aggression, sexual tension, dark, malicious Aemond. ]

Author's note: This story is a request, but I decided to freely use what I liked in the book and Disney film to create a new, disturbing story taking place in modern times. It is intended to be uncomfortable and will contain scenes that are at least morally questionable, in my version "Esmeralda" is not Romanian. This story will also include motifs from Jane Eyre, which was a separate request. My story will also touch on the problems of people with disabilities, so if these are sensitive topics for you, I advise against reading further. You have been warned.

Part 2 − The Sin & The Penance Part 3 − The Doubt & The Delight Epilogue

Main Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

On that day it seemed to him that the whole world had turned against him. His coffee machine had broken down, there was more traffic than usual on the roads, he was sure he would be late for work, and his brother had woken up in a mood worse than always and cried all the way to the centre.

"I don't want to go there. I-I'm scared of some of those kids." He muttered under his breath, swallowing loudly, whooping with tears. He looked at him in the mirror, feeling a squeeze in his throat every morning when he left him there, but saw no other alternative.

He still hadn't recovered mentally after what had happened five years ago and, according to his psychiatrist, he wasn't ready to attend a normal school until he gained more confidence.

He did not want to force him to listen to unpleasant comments, however, he felt uncomfortable himself.

The centre was huge, classes were taught in different groups of matched children, however, there were times when Daeron encountered kids with a spectrum of disabilities other than physical and was simply afraid of them.

He tried to explain it to him, but how was a child supposed to understand these complicated, sometimes even uncontrollable behaviours and screams?

He swallowed hard, leaning the back of his head against the backrest, turning on the right indicator with his hand, driving into the car park of the building where he would leave him for the time he spent at work, during which he studied and had various extra classes with children with problems similar to his.

However, was he to surround himself all his life only with children who had mobility problems, who had no arms or legs, who suffered from paresis or lack of feeling in their limbs?

Every time he thought about it he wanted to cry.

He turned off the engine, staring dully ahead, hearing his mother's screams again in the background of his mind as his father fainted behind the wheel and drove off the road into the other lane – he felt once again that hard crash with the big truck coming from the opposite direction that crushed them.

They were only alive because they were in the back seats at the time, Daeron, however, was not as lucky as he was.

Compared to what happened to his younger brother, the glass that smashed into the left side of his face was nothing.

"Mrs Thomson said you can't spend all day at home doing one-to-one tuition. You have to see other children." He calmly repeated the formula he said whenever such a situation arose, opening his door, heading for the boot of his big black SUV – the car dealership had told him it was the safest and biggest model they had.

He took out the small wheelchair that had been put together and unfolded it, driving it closer, to the back seat where his brother sat, opening it – he looked away, unable to watch his brother's weeping face.

"I'm already late for work. Please. I promise we'll play FIFA' 23 together when we get back. Hm?" He muttered, and Daeron nodded, pale, breathing loudly, using his hands to move slowly towards the wheelchair onto which he shifted the weight of his body, hissing loudly as he lifted his legs onto the special supports.

The bones of his little legs had been simply crushed then – he continued to grow, the rehabilitation was hard and caused him great pain.

He would have preferred it to be him who suffered like this and not an innocent child, but God, who he wasn't sure he still believed in despite the deep faith his mother had always instilled in him, decided otherwise.

He closed the car and moved with him to the main entrance, pushing his wheelchair forward. When they got inside they were greeted by a lady they knew very well, several of his friends waved to Daeron, one of them was paralysed from the waist down, the other was missing one arm.

He swallowed loudly, thinking that his brother had to watch someone else's misfortune every day, himself for sure feeling like a cripple, like someone defective, someone who was a burden, even though he loved him the most in the world.

The cruelty of the situation left him with a clenched throat, so he would usually only throw him a few words to say goodbye, stroke his head and leave, only by the car tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, his healthy eye burning from the moisture that gathered under his eyelids.

As he always did in moments of breakdown, he started the engine, selected the number of his sister phone on the display under his dashboard and, turning on loudspeaker mode, started backing his car as he tried to drive out of the car park and drove ahead towards the national prosecutor's office.

"Hello? Aemond, did something happen?"

He heard Helaena's soft, sleepy voice. He knew she was still doing overtime as a doctor, overworking herself as much as he was and thought that he had woken her up after the night shift.

He felt remorse for not being able to handle it himself, although she always reassured him that she would always help him as best she could.

She got Daeron the best possible physiotherapist so that he was even able to take a few steps in the last month while holding on to his supports, however it still caused him great pain, the doctors said his bones would continue to hurt as long as he grew.

Perpetual undeserved suffering.

"I don't know what to do anymore. He says he is afraid of some of the children, those with intellectual disabilities. I know it's cruel, but fuck, I'd be scared of some of them too. Do they have to see each other in the same building, pass each other in the corridor? Shouldn't they be separated somehow?"

"God, Aemond, they're not animals. After all, they're children too." She said with sadness and resentment – he clenched his eye, sighing impatiently, trying to focus on the road again, tense.

"I know. I know. I really feel for them, but it's bad for his psyche. He recently asked me if he was normal, if he too would start shouting and babbling like them. That sometimes they are aggressive and the carers have to drag them away from him and his friends."

"It's horrible. Maybe he really should go there less often?" She asked sighing quietly, he heard her rise up on the bed with a quiet creak of the mattress.

"And what, he's going to sit at home with some boring old teacher? How will I know that no harm comes to him in my absence?" He asked resignedly, hearing silence on the other side for some time.

"Maybe find someone who won't be very distant in age. Someone who won't just teach him, but play with him and spend time with him. Someone old enough to be responsible for him and at the same time young enough not to feel so distant. Someone joyful." She replied, and he rolled his eyes as he drove into the underground car park of his office building.

"Joyful? I am supposed to pay someone to be joyful?" He sneered, shaking his head, his sister sighed again.

"He needs it, Aemond. We're all tired, and he's a child."

He hung up after a few minutes of further discussion, telling her he had to go, grabbed the case folders he'd just brought in and headed for the underground lift. He pressed the button showing the floor he wanted to move to when a woman's hand stopped the sliding doors, which opened a moment later.

Alys smiled broadly at him as she stepped inside with a confident stride – her high black heels emphasised how slender and long her legs were, her fitted, waist high pencil trousers and black blazer with a beautiful white shirt underneath highlighted both her confidence and her attractiveness.

He remembered the last few times the thrusts of his hips had pushed her into her desk, bent over and helpless, with firm, wide buttocks on which he tightened his fingers as he panted heavily, watching what he was doing to her, rooting into her again and again, thinking with mockery and amusement how easy it was to make a mere whore out of such a proud woman.

"Good morning, Mr Prosecutor." She said softly, contentment and calmness on her face, several of their intense close-ups had clearly left an intense mark in her, not just physical.

She liked the violent and determined ones, he knew that – she hid her age well and apparently decided that this was the last moment in her life when she could reach for what she wanted.

"Good morning, Miss Rivers." He replied calmly, uninterested in her ambiguous look, apparently suggesting that she wouldn't mind if what happened between them was repeated a few more times.

He was all about the sex. He was frustrated in this aspect – his artificial eye, although perfectly colour-matched to the other and the still clearly visible scar from where the glass pierced in, were a source of his complexes and shame.

He knew that no matter how perfect a professional he was, it was his appearance that made the first impression.

In the courtroom he still struggled to be taken seriously so much so that his cold, calculating, ruthless nature began to frighten some – his judgement and questioning was harsh and lacking in compassion.

He knew exactly what he wanted and strove to get it.

He preferred them to fear him rather than pity him.

His superiors quickly appreciated how skilful a lawyer he was and his ability to bring cases to an end and push whoever he needed to, hence he quickly moved to the National Prosecutor's Office, where more responsibilities and more money awaited him, which he could spend on Daeron's rehabilitation.

As he sat over the files he thought hard about what his sister had told him and decided that he would install CCTV in the house and then hire someone on a trial basis to see if it made sense.

He put up an anonymous job ad not wanting anyone to recognise him, described briefly his broad expectations and his rate per hour.

It turned out that dozens of people responded to his ad, just as he suspected attracted by the sum he had quoted, but he didn't know how he was supposed to sort them to choose the ones that seemed best to him. He began to read their answers, figuring that already from them he could deduce what types of personalities they were.

I am interested. My phone number is below.

Reject, he thought, clicking the red button informing the message sender that his offer was not accepted, and began to scroll further.

I am a carer with 10 years of experience. I have already cared for 14-year-old Mike with cerebral palsy, Adam with….

Reject, he clicked again.

He had no intention of making his home a second centre for the disabled.

He felt frustration and rage when he found that most of the messages were similar and just as empty in their tone, nothing convinced him about these people.

He knew Daeron wouldn't want to stay with them, and neither would he.

He stopped at one of the messages that looked completely different and blinked.

Good morning! I saw your ad and thought I would speak up. I'm a student, I'm studying costume design at the Faculty of Fine Arts. I'm looking for a casual job and I really enjoy working with children, I teach dressmaking as part of the teaching section of my university classes. I think that helping your brother with his studies at primary school level would be no problem for me at all, and I would also be happy to come up with different extra-curricular activities with him. Even if you decide not to hire me, I would like to sew your brother a costume of his favourite super hero, without any payment of course. You would just have to give me his measurements. I don't think anything makes kids his age happier!!! My warmest regards and I am sending my email below.

He looked at her message not too sure how he felt, at the same time being impressed, on the other hand feeling the seed of uncertainty and extreme caution characteristic of him when it came to his approach to newly met people.

What if this was a psychological tactic to make him believe her to be innocent and unselfish? To make him subconsciously choose her because she was the only one offering him something for free? If it was just her free promotion?

He chose two people reluctantly, but kept coming back to her message, trying to imagine her, seeing some crazy painting student looking like a hippie.

Maybe this was just what he needed? He thought with regret and sighed heavily, opening a new window in his inbox, writing her a short, brief email to appear at their house in a few days' time.

He was going to interrogate her.

The young man before her immediately made him uneasy – he had the impression that he smelled weed from him even though he had taken a shower, so he must have been smoking like crazy, and he had no intention of letting anyone who might encourage him to use any stimulants look after his brother.

The other girl was very frightened – his questions clearly startled her and made her uncomfortable, it frustrated him that she was barely able to make a sound. He thought she had something to hide, that people who have a clear conscience don't behave this way.

He thought with resignation that all he had left was a mad artist.

He sighed heavily as he heard the bell ring suggesting that someone was standing outside the gate. He walked over to the intercom and opened it, seeing in the small monitor a petite girl with dark, slightly wavy hair tied up in a ponytail.

He thought in disbelief that she was dressed for a job interview in a white turtleneck, dungarees and trainers, a fabric floral back on her back.

What the fuck, he thought, opening her door with a cold, indifferent expression on his face.

"Good afternoon." She said softly, a wide smile on her face. Before she walked in she wiped her shoes on the doormat, which pleased him. When she came inside she wanted to take off her trainers – he looked at her surprised, thinking she must be crazy.

"No, you don't have to. You can stay in your shoes." He said lowly, pointing towards the armchair, indicating to her with his hand the seat on the couch next to him.

She sat down in the seat he showed her, looking boldly straight into his eyes, her cheeks rosy with emotion.

She was clearly a tad nervous after all, he thought, musing for a moment that she had incredibly long, dark eyelashes.

"Do you have experience in working with children?" He asked immediately; she blinked and corrected herself in her seat, as if prepared for the question.

"Only in terms of working with them in sewing workshops." She answered simply, without any further explanation, which pleased him.

She was letting him draw his own conclusions, rather than imposing them on him so as to present herself in the most favourable light.

"My brother has mobility problems. How do you imagine helping him, for example, if he needs to go to the bathroom?"

"I think he's old enough that he can tell me himself what he'll need help with and what he won't, and what he'll feel comfortable for me to help him with and when he'll want me to leave." She said without thinking, shrugging her shoulders as if it was obvious. He squinted, intrigued that she was allowing herself to say unthoughtful things in front of him, as if she wasn't afraid of the consequences they might bring.

"And your studies? How will you have so much time to come here?"

"From what I understand, I would be expected to turn up on Tuesdays and Thursdays from eight in the morning until sixteen. I have practice classes then, the costumes I'm sewing I can bring with me and finish them while he's eating or watching something, maybe he'll even like it and want to practice with me?"

"What will you do if I don't hire you?" He asked dryly and she looked at him surprised, a light smile on her face indicating that his words didn't worry her.

"Then I will continue to work in the café. But my words about the superhero costume stand. Even if I can't work for you, sir, I would like to meet him and give him something. Children can be so brave." She said softly with sincere, bright joy and some kind of pride, as if Daeron was her brother and not his, something in her innocence, something in her attitude endeared him.

He could smell a lie a mile away, she wouldn't be able to pretend so well even if she were an actress.

These reactions were natural, she was saying exactly what she was thinking about.

"I will contact you once I have made my decision." He said indifferently, getting up from his seat and pointing with his hand towards the exit, suggesting that their conversation was over.

She stood up and smiled, undaunted by his behaviour or the length of their conversation. Both of them flinched when Daeron appeared in the living room, pushing the wheels of his wheelchair with a light flick of his hand.

"Good afternoon. Who is this lady?" His younger brother asked him, obvious curiosity on his face. He swallowed loudly and glanced at her – she answered nothing but waved at him vigorously, Daeron smiled shyly and waved her back, embarrassed.

"No one. I needed to talk to her." He replied, opening the door for her. She said a polite goodbye to him and his brother, waving at him once more, Daeron waved her back again, looking at him with questioning eyes as he closed it.

"I like her. She seems fun."

With no other choice, he decided he would give her a chance.

The first day she was to be left alone with Daeron he was all nerves despite the fact that his little brother hadn't seemed this excited to him in many years. He told him about his toys and the cartoons he was going to show her.

"First the lessons. Then two hours to play and free time." He replied dryly, tense, glancing at his watch, thinking with rage that she only had fifteen minutes left, that she was sure to be late or not come and leave him in the lurch when he had already cancelled his presence at the centre's classes.

They both flinched when they heard the bell ring; Daeron said, moving briskly forward in his wheelchair that he wanted to open for her and indeed, after a moment the girl he had hired appeared on the doorstep of their house, smiling and content – her cheeks flushed again, her dark hair loose, pleasantly framing her bright face, on her body only a black top and tracksuit shorts as it was a sunny, warm spring morning.

"Good morning, Daeron, nice to meet you!" She said with fondness and satisfaction in her voice, extending her hand in front of her, which his brother shook confidently. Daeron moved ahead of her, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Come, I'll show you my room. I'll explain everything to you." He said, rolling his wheelchair up to the door, which was located on the ground floor of their house so that he could move around easily. The girl nodded, pulling her trainers off her feet, saying that she will come to him in a minute.

He took the opportunity to walk up to her, towering over her, and she threw him a quick surprised look.

He thought her eyes seemed even bigger than before, he wasn't sure if they were blue or green, both colours blending into one.

"You are to take care of him. I want you to go through all the material that was prepared for today. Only two hours of free time, no more. Behave responsibly and only call if it's really urgent or if something happens to him." He said matter-of-factly, and she swallowed quietly, nodding quickly, clearly horrified by how close he stood and how cold his voice was.

Good, he thought.

He wanted her to be afraid of the consequences of her actions.

He sat in the office all day terrified, stressed and unsure, trying to focus on the file in front of him, while involuntarily still glancing at his phone, checking to see if she might have called him.

Was everything okay? What if something had happened but she was afraid to call him? Maybe he should go home and test her, see what was going on?

He thought he would go mad if he didn't, so he left work an hour early – Alys threw something at him as he walked past her, probably something about a meeting or an evening out together, but he didn't answer her, heading for the stairs and the underground car park.

He drove forward, trying to calm himself down, thinking about how oversensitive he was, that surely everything was fine.

He pulled up in front of their house hearing music in the distance, wondering if any of the neighbours were having a party outside at this hour.

However, as he pressed the key to the gate and it slowly swung open he saw in disbelief the girl he had hired riding with lightness and grace on roller skates in his driveway to the tune of the Scissor Sisters song Don't Feel Like Dancin. Daeron laughed out loud, spinning beside her in his wheelchair, both of them wearing elbow and knee pads, in addition to his little brother wearing a bike helmet on his head.

What the fuck was that supposed to be?

He got out of the car, furiously slamming the door, his brother wheeled up to him briskly, his companion spinning slowly around them on roller skates – she raised her eyebrows with a smile, seeing the look on his face and waved at him.

"Look how well I dance, brother!" Exclaimed Daeron, spinning the wheels of his wheelchair around his own axis again.

He, however, instead of looking at him grabbed aggressively the arm of his carer who was doing another spin – she nearly fell over because of his tug and caught him abruptly by his jacket in an attempt to catch her balance.

"Ah!"

"What the fuck are you doing? Is this what I pay you for?" He growled and shook her hard. She stared at him with wide-open eyes, her lips slightly parted in accelerated breathing from fear, her face red from exertion, strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks.

"Let me go, sir. I will not speak to you like this." She said warningly, her brow furrowed. He pressed his lips together noticing that something had changed in her gaze, suddenly confident and angry, ready to fight if necessary.

He felt that look in his trousers, he'd never had the urge to slap a woman's ass as hard as hers before.

He glanced at his brother, who was looking at him in horror, only realising after a moment that the song had long since ended and there was a tense, awkward silence around them.

He let go of her arm, seeing with satisfaction that he had left a bruise on her skin in the shape of his fingers – she massaged at the spot, furrowing her brow.

"You're fired. You're irresponsible. Good thing I came back earlier." He said with mockery and fury, walking over to his brother, unbuckling the helmet he wore on his head. Daeron burst into a loud, uncontrollable sob.

"I don't want to. I don't want to, I don't want to go back there, I want to stay with her. It's my fault, I told her I wanted to dance, please, please, please, I want her to stay, I don't want to go back there." He babbled, running his hands over his shoulders in some helpless, childish pleading gesture from which he felt a squeeze in his throat. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, her gaze fixed on his little brother, sad and resigned – she was leaning over, untying the laces of the roller skates that had once belonged to his sister.

"Something could have happened to you. You could have fallen over and hit your head on the ground." He replied coldly, kneeling in front of him, unbuckling his knee pads.

"But I had a helmet on my head. After all, normal boys fall off bikes and stairs and they're fine! Nothing would have happened if I'd bruised myself a bit, I'm not made of glass!" He burst out suddenly with a fury he had never seen in him before, burying his little face in his hands, all red from tears and despair.

"I won't go back there, I won't go there tomorrow, if she doesn't stay, never, never again, I'd rather kill myself!" He whined out loud, falling into another attack of hysteria in recent months – he had trouble catching his breath, his lungs were wheezing all over. He took his face in his hands, but he closed his eyes, not wanting to look at him.

God, why?

"Remember what I told you?" She asked walking up to his brother in just her socks, kneeling beside him, grasping his hand. Daeron immediately fell silent, looking at her with wide eyes.

"That boy who calls you Quasimodo is just mean. You are my Phoebus, you have his beautiful hair, humour and valour. I'll sew us costumes and we'll go to the carnival ball together. His jaw will drop when he sees that you came with your Esmeralda. What do you say?" She asked softly, and he looked at her in disbelief, wondering if that was the reason his little brother didn't want to go there.

That boy who calls you Quasimodo.

He felt a twitch in his throat and swallowed loudly, his brother nodding quickly, drawing in air loudly, his eyes full of hope.

"Promise?" He asked in a trembling voice, and she smiled broadly, sincerely, squeezing his small hand.

"Promise."

They entered their house as his brother calmed down; he told Daeron to go to his room and leave them alone, which his brother eventually did with great reluctance, crying for a while longer, not wanting to say goodbye to her.

As soon as he heard the door close behind him at the end of the corridor he slipped his wallet out of the back pocket of his trousers, took out a few banknotes and threw them on the table in front of her in a careless gesture.

"Get the fuck out of my house." He said coldly, looking her straight in the eye. He saw her lower lip twitch, the pain of humiliation in her gaze, her eyebrows arched in disbelief that such words had left his mouth.

He wasn't paying her to make a circus of herself dancing like some fucking Esmeralda, exposing his brother to danger and injury.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and trembled with rage as she took the money and tossed it in his direction, the banknotes flying scattered around his feet.

"You could dress up as Frollo for the carnival ball, sir. It would suit you." She said drily, turning away tensely – he moved behind her, feeling anger buzzing strongly in his veins at her words.

He grabbed her by the neck with an aggressive flick of his hand and slammed her back against the wall, her voice stuck in her throat in horror, her big, bright eyes open wide in disbelief.

He took a step closer to her, feeling her warm body quiver all over in his grasp, digging his fingertips deeper into her skin, finding with delight that she was obscenely soft.

"Do you have anything else to say?" He asked in a low whisper filled with threat – she shook her head quickly clearly feeling the situation was out of her control, obviously fearing if he was really going to do something to her.

"No, are you sure? I'm listening to you. Tell me something else interesting about me." He said softly, encouragingly, moving even closer to her, the tips of their noses almost touching.

He could finally get a good look at her and he found curiously that he still couldn't tell what colour her eyes were, now slightly reddened from tears of fear.

She shook her head quickly, not making a sound; all he could hear was their quickened, raspy breaths, her hand touched his wrist as if she wanted to make sure he didn't strangle her.

He was somehow delighted by how delicate, long and slender her fingers were, feeling a pleasant pulsing in his trousers at the thought.

"Look at you. So silly. Because you're a silly little girl, aren't you? You would benefit from someone teaching you a lesson. No? Then apologise and I'll let you go and pretend I never met you." He said calmly, her whole body quivering with terror.

"Never." She said quietly, and he felt involuntarily that his lips curved in a dangerous, satisfied grin, his fingers clenching tighter around her neck.

"You're asking for trouble, Esmeralda." He muttered lowly, her nostrils twitching in accelerated breath.

"I will report what you are doing to the police." She said dryly and he smiled even wider, feeling her tremble all over as he leaned over her ear, his nose sinking into her soft, flower-scented hair – he closed his eyes and savoured the experience for a moment before whispering something she froze from.

"I am a prosecutor −"

Her hand clenched tighter on his wrist, a moan of despair escaping her lips, as if what he had said had really shocked her, as if she was only now realising what she had gotten herself into.

"− and I've never lost a case yet." He whispered in her ear, sliding his face lower, to her jaw and then to her neck, pressing his full lips to her skin, leaving wet, hot marks on it. He heard her draw in a loud breath.

"− w-what are you doing, sir? − no −" She whimpered, he felt her lift her arms up in a defensive gesture, trying to pull away from him, but he pressed her against the wall with his body, letting go of her neck, his erection throbbing hard in his trousers, pressing again and again against her stomach.

She felt it, a terrified cry escaped her lips as his lips pressed tightly against her neck – he began to suck painfully hard on her skin, wanting to leave her a crimson reminder of himself.

"− how did you put it? − who do I remind you of? −" He asked tauntingly, running his rough tongue over her red skin, feeling the veins pulsing rapidly under her soft, warm skin.

"− I'm sorry − I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry − please, please let me go −" She mumbled out in despair on the verge of crying, her voice trembling all over in terror, her breathing raspy and uneven, her small hands clenched on the material of his black turtleneck that he wore under his jacket.

He gasped at her words, sliding his mouth lower, repeating the same process, rubbing against her with his hips – his cock was all swollen and hard, pulsing with pleasure, his hands roaming down her back, sliding at last to her buttocks where they clenched.

"− look at you − so you can be polite after all, hm? −" He asked softly, lowering the material of her tracksuit shorts a little, his large hand grasping her plump, firm buttocks and slapping it hard – she clamped her lips together, trying to hold back the whimper that squeezed its way down her throat.

"− that's what I thought − turn around and let's get this over with −" He murmured, soothingly massaging the place that was now pulsing from his slap, grinning as she did so wordlessly, tears of helplessness and fear on her cheeks.

"− please −" She muttered and he sighed softly, sliding the material of her shorts and underwear down, revealing what was underneath – she shuddered and wept quietly as the tips of his fingers ran over her swollen folds, focusing their pressure on her sweet spot hidden between them, digging into her fleshy skin in circular, calm motions.

"− shhh − this way it will be easier for both of us −" He explained in a soft tone of voice, as if he was telling her something obvious, as if it would benefit her in the future and teach her something.

He heard her shy moan full of fear, then another, a tad louder as his fingers sank more firmly into her skin. He licked his lips at the sight of the wetness that began to leak slowly from inside her and slapped his hand with a short, rough movement into the space between her thighs.

"− quiet −" He ordered, and she pressed her lips together, stifling whatever wanted to come out of them. Daeron was far away, locked in his room, but he still preferred him not to hear anything, and he didn't have the time or desire to take her upstairs to his bedroom.

This situation, her bent figure and her lovely buttocks pushed up towards him, suited him completely.

"− good girl − see? − it's not that hard −" He murmured pleased with how obedient she was despite the fear and terror from which her whole body was twitching. The confident movements of his fingers were accompanied by the louder and louder click of her moisture, her cheek pressed against the cold wall where her hands were helplessly trying to find support in this position, her eyes closed as if she just wanted to wait it out.

She opened them when she heard the sound of his zipper being opened – her lips pressed together with difficulty as he guided the fat, swollen head of his throbbing cock against her opening, leaning with his free hand against the wall just above her head, trying to force it between her tight folds with the motion of his hips.

"− wider − that's it, there you go −" He exhaled as she opened her thighs a little more and he spread her wide on his cock, feeling her muscles gave him a wonderful squeeze – he sighed loudly, surprised at how pleasurable the sensation was.

"− fuck −" He hissed out, clamping his hands on her buttocks, spreading them like a ripe fruit; she squirmed in discomfort as he forced her to take him deeper inside her, filling her so much that he felt like he was going to rip her skin apart.

"− barely fits −" He scoffed, moving his hips back and forth with a splat of her moisture dripping down her thighs – he heard her begin to pant along with him as he deliberately rubbed against her lower wall just above her very entrance, teasing the spot inside her from which her whole body was quivering.

"− here? − do you want me to fuck you here, little one? −" He gasped as he stretched her skin enough to fit all of him inside her, rooting into her again and again with increasingly brutal thrusts of his hips, digging his fingertips into her buttocks, looking at the spot where their bodies joined, at her muscles clenching against him greedily in panic, sucking him inside.

"− please −" She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut, her lips parted in disbelief at how pleasurable and terrifying the experience was. He sank his hand into her soft, dark hair and tilted her head back, burying his nose in the hot skin of her cheek, speeding up, stretching her weeping folds with a loud, lewd slaps of his thighs against her buttocks.

"− use full sentences −" He commanded, his other hand from her hip slid down between her thighs – she squirmed helplessly as his fingers sank again into her fleshy skin, sticky from her moisture, teasing her clit with circular, slow motions.

"− here − fuck me here, sir −" She mumbled with difficulty in a voice trembling with exertion, her cheeks all red, the beautiful curls of her dark hair clinging to her sweaty face – he felt with satisfaction that her hips began to respond to his eager thrusts.

"− good girl − that's my good girl −" He breathed out with a quiet groan of pleasure, seeing and feeling her walls squeeze his fat cock at his praise – he licked his lips thinking that Alys had never responded to him the way she did, so frightened and aroused at the same time, relying only on his mercy, his goodwill.

"− you understand that this is necessary, don't you? − that you need to be taught a lesson −" He muttered, feeling that he was losing his temper, thrusting into her so fast that he was barely slipping out of her, slamming into her again and again, his cock throbbing with desire, signalling to him that his peak was coming, her wonderful scent filling his lungs.

"− y-yes − yes, I'm sorry −" She mumbled out –he wasn't sure if she was saying what he wanted to hear or if she really believed it herself for a second, but she clamped her eyelids shut and spread her mouth wide, helpless, girlish, sweet moan of relief burst from her throat as she came, sucking and squeezing his cock, soaking it in her moisture. He sighed in relief when, after a few desperate, deep slaps he spilled inside her, feeling the wave of hot pleasure shake his body.

"− fuck − oh, God, little one −" He muttered, their bodies involuntarily moving for a moment longer, wanting to prolong this surprisingly shocking experience, both of them panting embarrassingly loudly, her body trembling all over – if his arm hadn't been holding her around the waist she would have fallen for sure, her legs completely numb.

He looked down at their joined bodies, his half-hard, throbbing manhood sinking into her again and again, all sticky from his semen and her wetness.

He swallowed loudly, sliding out of her slowly, realising now what he had actually done to her – he heard her quiet hiss of discomfort and sigh of relief, her face flushed from exertion and tears.

"− are you all right? −" He asked in a trembling voice, quickly zipping up his trousers, her shaking hands slipping her underwear and shorts back onto her buttocks.

"− y-yes −" She mumbled in embarrassment, horror and disbelief, not looking at him, in some automatic gesture reaching for her trainers, putting them quickly on her feet.

"Come back on Thursday as we agreed before." He muttered, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart and the panic rising inside him, a complete void in his mind.

What had he done?

"I can assure you that you will never see me again." She whispered in a trembling, broken voice, quickly put her backpack on her back and walked out, slamming the door, leaving him with complete silence, remorse and horror.

He pressed his forehead against the wall, hiding his face in his hands, and burst into tears like a small child.

How could he treat a strange, innocent girl like this?

What if she didn't take her pills, what if she got pregnant?

How could he have been so irresponsible?

What if she really does report it to the police?

I'll destroy her, he thought with a bitter certainty that, after a moment, turned again into terror, regret and shame.

He grabbed his phone quickly and dialled her number, wanting to beg her forgiveness, but she didn't answer. He sat down on the couch and drew in the air loudly, devastated, not recognising himself, realising what kind of man he was.

He laughed desperately, shaking his head, thinking with painful amusement how well she had judged him.

He didn't even have to pretend.

He was like Frollo.

_____

Author's note: Many of you may believe that Quasimodo is the best and most worthy of imitation character, not Phoebus, and this is true when it comes to the book, but I assume that if anything, Daeron at this age has only seen a Disney fairy tale, in which Phoebus is a handsome man with a noble heart. The whole idea of this scene, in which the heroine says that he will be her Phoebus and she will be his Esmeralda, is that Daeron wants to see himself not only as a person with a disability, but as someone handsome, a warrior that a woman could love one day. It's easy to understand how children's minds work and why his works this way, and his "Esmeralda" only wants to help him become the person he wants to be and encourages him not to give up on these dreams and this self-image.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96

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creampuffqueen · 6 months ago

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Mal's Modern Avatars AU

Welcome one and all to my Avatar College AU, the premise of which is that the three female Avatars share an apartment during college and are all best friends. This is the official character intro post!

Yangchen Ngodup - she/her

Major: International Relations, minoring in Philosophy, Psychology, and Political Science (yes she is insane for this)

Sport: Volleyball setter (fall) & track sprinter (spring)

Clubs: Debate team, Model UN, Volunteer Chair for Eco-Representatives Club, Choir (soprano) & Class President her senior year

Family: Raised by her older sister, Jetsun, who disappeared without a trace when Yangchen was 7. After her sister's disappearance she lived with her elderly relatives Tsering and Dagmola. Her senior year of high school she went to live with her Uncle Boma in order to get in-state tuition for her top choice college

Other: Owns two siamese cats named Pik and Pak. Routinely exceeds the daily recommended caffeine limit. Leader of a bar trivia team that kicks ass

Kavik Aliyak - he/him

Major: Pre-med, hoping to specialize in emergency medicine

Sport: Intramural wrestling for one semester, drops it for intramural ice hockey

Clubs: Math Club, Chess Club, Pre-med Society

Family: Parents Tapeesa and Ujurak, brother Kalyaan who is 3 years older than him

Other: Complex relationship with his older brother. Attempted to rush a frat but decided it wasn't for him. Was a Resident Advisor for two years. Receives a yearly National Merit scholarship for his proficiency in math. Works part-time as a cashier at a local boba shop

Kyoshi Jampa - she/her

Major: Literature

Sport: Basketball, attends on a scholarship for the sport

Clubs: Poetry Club, Ceramics Club, Forestry Club, a small stint with the campus newspaper

Family: Abandoned at 5, bounced around the foster system until ending up with Kelsang at 10. Her parents passed away in prison when she was 13, and Kelsang officially adopted her when she was 14

Other: Sings backup vocals for The Flying Opera Company, a small band started by some of her friends. Works as a barista at a local boba shop. Very shy due to bullying during middle and high school. Her and Rangi's families are extremely close

Rangi Sei'naka - she/her

Major: Pre-law, wants to specialize in criminal justice

Sport: Intramural soccer and taekwando

Clubs: Debate Team, History Tutoring, LGBTQ Club

Family: Parents Hei-Ran and Junsik. Her father passed away from leukemia when she was 12

Other: Part of the school's ROTC program in the army branch. Attends this school specifically to be with Kyoshi

Korra Egoak - she/they

Major: Kinesiology

Sport: Intramural soccer, wrestling, and rugby

Clubs: President of the LGBTQ Club

Family: Parents Senna and Tonraq, plenty of close extended family on both sides

Other: Was homeschooled her entire life. Originally scouted to swim for a different college, but suffered an accident in high school that left her both traumatized and paralyzed. She is mostly recovered, but still deals with PTSD and occasional depression. Has a service dog, Naga

Asami Sato - she/her

Major: Mechanical Engineering

Sport: Intramural Jiu Jitsu

Clubs: President of the Robotics Club, LGBTQ Club, Chess Club

Family: Parents Yasuko and Hiroshi. Mother was killed in a home break-in when she was 8. Her senior year of high school her father was arrested for insider trading, and his million-dollar company reverted to her. It is currently being run by others, but she plans to take over after she gets her degree

Other: Part of a sorority

Relationships:

Yangchen & Kavik began dating the summer after their freshman year. Influenced by his older brother, Kavik broke up with her over winter break their sophomore year. He quickly regretted this and spent the next semester making it up to her until they felt ready to date again

Kyoshi & Rangi began dating their senior year in high school after being friends for several years. When Kyoshi got into this college, Rangi instantly decided to follow her

Korra & Asami met while Asami was dating Mako. She, Korra, and Mako all bounced between each other for a few months before the two girls realized they liked each other far more than they liked him. They began dating the spring semester of their freshman year

Yangchen, Kyoshi, and Korra became friends their freshman year and decided to rent an apartment together for their sophomore year. They enjoyed it so much they kept the apartment together until they all graduated

If you want to read more about this AU, check out this post or this post. Or this silly incorrect quotes post. Also feel free to send asks about it if you're interested!

#mal's modern avatars au #atla #tlok #chronicles of the avatar #avatar yangchen #avatar kyoshi #avatar korra #yangvik #rangshi #korrasami #kavik #rangi sei'naka #asami sato #yangchen x kavik #kyoshi x rangi #korra x asami

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summer-blues-stuff · 2 years ago

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A culture post for the girlie pops (and non-girlie pops) looking to write Pavitr Prabhakar accurately.

(P.s- I’m Indian and live in India and have been to Mumbai multiple times so shhh- )

(P.s.s- all i know about the spider verse comes from the movies so I’ll be focusing more on the Indian aspect. )

So in honour of atsv coming on Netflix-

FOOD- Pavitr live in Mumbai (mumbattan) so he probability of him eating “butter chicken or naan” (traditionally north Indian dishes) on a daily basis is almost nonexistent. (This is not to say he won’t have them occasionally but much of what people think is indian food comes from stereotypical North Indian food, pavitr lives in South Indian)

Popular food of Mumbai includes- vada pav(street food), panipuri(another street food), pav bhaji (not a street food), bhelpuri and sevpuri( you guessed it a street food) and for more every-day food- we have dal-roti or dal-chawal etc

(Edit: I forgot to mention this but, a lot of people are vegetarian either by choice or by religion and don’t eat meat (eating beef is HEAVILY and i mean heavily frowned upon.)

SCHOOL- In india we don’t have middle school or high school, we have grades.

We also have public and private schools (and unlike the USA, private school is not for the uber rich, middle-class families typically send their kids to private school and government(or public) schools are basically free or really cheap). Thus, Pavitr probably studies at a private school.

Keeping that in mind, Students from grade 1-12 study in one building and students actually sit in the same class while the teachers move from class to class. There is also something called school boards but for all our sakes, he studies in a school that follows CBSE guidelines. Now according to google, he’s around 15-16 so he’s in 10th or 11th depending on the school he goes to.

We have these really important exams called the “board exams” ( we just call them ‘boards’) And they are given twice by the students once in the 10th grade and once in the 12th grade and these are like really really important, kinda think of them as psats or sats(lmk if anyone wants to know more about boards) and if he’s in 10th he’ll be giving the boards in May.

After which he’ll pick a stream (medical, non-medical, commerce or failure) that he’s gonna study in 11th. There is a lot of emphasis on studies in India ( if you get good marks in 10th it’s considered that you’re good or ‘set’ for life but thats kinda bs) and it’s really competitive, students often go to tuition (think of them as an after-school school) for hours after school. Maths and science tuitions are the most common.

Uniforms (a half-sleeve shirt with a tie and pants or knee length shorts for guys) are also mandatory and are strictly regulated along with hair and nails. (Two braid or plaits for girls with below the shoulder hair and typically short hair for guys that have to be oiled) so im assuming that he gets called out a lotttttt about his hair, and teachers are constantly on his ass about cutting it which I think is funny af. The school timings are typically from 8-3 and tuitions are typically from 4-7.

It would also be super-cute if his aunt massaged his hair with oil (it’s considered an act of service and something people do to show their love)

10th grade especially is really really stressful in india and if home-boy cries himself to sleep every night I wouldn’t be surprised. So make him supppeeerrrr strrreeeessssed.

Name- Pavitr “Prabhakar” is a Hindu( a religion of sorts) name.

It’s derived from the Sanskrit word “prabhākara” which means “light maker” (from prabhā 'light' + -kara 'causing'), an epithet of the sun. So to those saying he’s a sunshine boy, his surname means light maker (do with that what you will).

Now, for his first name “Pavitr” however there is no exact meaning as, the name is most probably derived from Pavit ; maybe Pavitra(a typical girl’s name) if you’re pushing it. The meaning of Pavit is Love or A lovely and pious individual.

Edit: apparently pavitr does have it’s own meaning and it means pure

So his name roughly translates to lovely (edit: pure) sunshine boy.

Transport- Now i know that he’s spider-man but when he’s not, the most common way to travel in Mumbai is by an automobile (also called auto or auto-riksha).

One of these things ^^ and these ‘go by the meter’ (you basically pay for the distance you have covered and a meter calculates this.) these things are everywhere. You call for one of these by raising your hand and an auto stops in front of you and you ask if they will take you to the place you wanna go to (“bhaiya, _____ lekar chalo ge?”)

There can only be 3 people max on one auto (not including children) as per local government policies.

Another common way to travel is by the subway or local trains. ( and contrary to popular beliefs they are not filled to the brim with people). Cars are not that common as there is a lot of traffic. Like a lot.

Language- Most indians speak at least 2-3 languages- English, Hindi and a local language or two. Since they’re in Mumbai Pavitr probably speaks Marathi. Some people also know Sanskrit (but that’s not that common nowadays).

(Edit: People typically don’t speak in just one language, they typically use a mix of atleast two or three languages which change according to the region they are in. For example- English and hindi is the most common but some may mix in their regional language or dialect)

Also spider in hindi is makri (makdhi?) so i think it would be super funny if people called him makri (makdhi?) man.

People in India also curse a lot (not in English though) (though not in front of parents obviously) and the more people get angry the stronger accent the becomes.

Housing- housing in Mumbai is super expensive, and most people live in flats or apartments rather than houses, Mumbai is considered to be one of the most expensive places to own a home in the world just because of the sheer number of people there.

All flats in mumbai have air- conditioning units in them because it. is. so. humid and winter lasts for a month or two in comparison.

Culture- Mumbai is kind of regarded as one of the culture hubs of India, a lot of up and coming artists along with famous superstars live in Mumbai. There are a lot of exhibitions, shows and whatnot happening all the time.

Mumbai is also more progressive then the rest of India and pride parades do happen here but there is still a lot of stigma around it

(Edit: PDA in public is almost taboo, doesn’t matter who anyone is—kissing in public might actually land you in jail)

Teens typically wear jeans, shorts and graphic tees rather than kurtas or salwar-kamez (traditional clothing) .

Traditional clothing is typically worn on festivals such as holi( the festival of colour( some people wear white suits and kurtas)) or Mumbai’s most celebrated festival- “Ganesh Chaturti” (which is a religious festival religious festival to honour the Lord Ganesha.

Sports- cricket is the most watched sport in India a lot of kids play it on the streets or in parks and gardens, and its an India vs Pakistan match is an event in which everyone in the family (some even invite friends over) sit together and yell at the tv.

Mumbai is a city in which time stops for no one, and people are super busy. This doesn’t mean that people there are rude in fact they are some of kindest and helpful ppl you’ll ever meet(not including the obligatory rude af asshole that are in every community) especially in a city that never stops.

India is also not a country that lives in rags we used to be called sone ki chidiya (or bird made of gold) before the British Invasion so please for the love of god don’t depict everyone living in slums and poverty. The national currency is rupees and again i cannot stress this enough even though there is poverty in india, that doesn’t mean there isn’t prosperity. India is a developing country so keep that in mind while you write.

Religion and caste - This is a very touchy and sensitive subject in India and you should probably research a lot or stay clear of it in general ( especially the caste system its messed up and just stay clear of it) but Gayatri’s father is Sikh or at least punjabi so I’m assuming she is too. ( if she’s from Punjab or its surrounding area, then she probably speaks punjabi or her father most probably does).

(Edit: there are a lot of different religions in india —almost too many to count— and every single one has their own gods, prayers and rituals so please please please research before you write)

But something all Indian (boys) are taught to do is to touch their elders feet to show/ask for respect (and “ashirwad” I don’t know what this translate too directly in English but think of it as blessings)

Anyways here is a not very brief overview on mumbai and pavitr , let me know if you have any questions or if something isn’t really clear, English isn’t my first language so I apologise for the errors.

Please feel free to ask me anything ill do my best to answer back. : D

if you actually find this long ass post helpful and write a fic or something please tag me i would love to read it.

#atsv pavitr #no one asked for this #but here you go #India #i love him so much #spiderverse pavitr #spiderverse #pavitr prabhakar #culture #mumbai #mumbattan

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