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borkunlimited · 4 months ago

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Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 5

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Predator/Prey, Injury, Blood, Guns

Trigger Warning: Injury, Blood, Guns

Chapter Summary: He had pushed against all odds, defying every word they described him. If you let him kiss your wounds, he hopes you will kiss his real name in return.

Author's Note: Rereading Beastars in my spare time made me understand why people tend to wait for a series to finish even if it takes YEARS. Anyways, I am also catching up on Ancient Magus Bride as well. Really inspired me to draw better. Will I draw art for this series? Maybe?

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B

5: My Dearest, Frustrated

A walk usually helps you clear your head.

There are a few things you missed about the place that you used to live with your father. When the sewing machine refuses to cooperate and your fingers are beginning to tremble from hand stitching delicate fabrics, you always find your feet carrying you around Bloomshore District.

It is one of the only few places in the country where humans and hybrids can co-exist but even then, it still has its fair share of problems hidden beneath the idyllic place, subtle words and looks laced from mostly humans who believes you owe it to them that they see you as civilized.

Unfortunately, a short walk is one of the many privileges you have to let go when you move here in the N109 zone.

Today, everything is slowly becoming frustrating.

A slight pressure from your foot will have the sewing machine run too fast, out of control, and you are getting tired of ripping the seams of the same stitch too many times just to repeat the same mistake.

If you are not too careful, you might actually end up starting all over again because you have already stretched the expensive fabric too much.

Your father is very wise in accepting requests and even when you are fully booked for every month, he makes sure you have enough on your plate that you still have breathing space and keeps the business afloat.

Still, there are cases that clients often go straight to you to ask for favors.

Just like that sweet baker.

A sheep hybrid, a former close neighbor who also moved with you and your father here, asked you personally if you can prioritize her order. She was hesitant at first, saying that you can turn her down if it is a bit too much but you don’t mind, especially when it is her and her husband’s wedding anniversary and the offer of strawberry shortcake in return was something you can't resist.

It was supposed to be easy.

Then, the needle of the sewing machine hit the zipper, the sound was too loud as it thud harshly against the same spot and you panicked, stepping on the pedal too hard.

No.

No!

No amount of ripping the seams would salvage this fabric now.

You wanted to cry but the sound of your frustrated scream remained deep in your chest and your lips trembled.

This is the only thing you are good at. You can’t fail at this. This is what feeds you and your father, what keeps the roof above your heads, one late order can affect the reputation of this shop and then you have to go back-

You don’t want to go back.

Mpehisto tilts its head at you, its optics zooming in to see the pinpricks of tears on the corner of your eyes and notices you are biting your bottom lip too hard.

It immediately pieced together that you are clearly upset so it did what it usually does to comfort you.

It does the dance.

Yes, that dance.

The steps are fairly simple.

Three little hops (Right, left, center. It should go in that order!), a twirl with its wings spread wide and then ends with its tail wagging, a dramatic bow.

Usually, that makes you clap at its performance and giggle softly.

Yet, you did not react at all when it tried to do the ‘silly dance’ as you called it in front of you just now.

What’s wrong?

Why aren’t you laughing?

Did it not do the twirl well enough?

Did it not practice enough?

“You should go home, Daisy,” you said quietly.

But it doesn’t want to go. This is exactly why its master sends it here after all.

To look after you, to listen to you.

It is your confidant as much as it is to its master.

Daisy only stared back at you and you sighed, standing up and then opening the window wider.

“Come on, Daisy,” you beckoned, trying hard not to sound curt but failing miserably, “I am sure your nest needs a crow.”

It seemed to hesitate at first, flapping towards your windowsill and if crows can frown, Mephisto certainly did when the kiss you gave on top of its head was too forced.

The mechanical crow gave you one last look before flying away and there is only one thing running in its mind after it sent Sylus its data-

-If it can’t comfort you, then its master should surely know what to do.

────────────────────

There are people who are as stubborn as a mule.

It has been a terribly long day and Sylus’ initial plans of visiting you have already been delayed by an hour.

An hour.

He has interacted with different kinds of people, humans and hybrids alike, but this one, this particular human takes the crown as the most annoying business partner Sylus had dealt with.

“These firearms are overpriced,” the human tried to haggle with him and Sylus has to commend this nuisance for not even trembling on his presence.

Such is the pride of every human, he supposed, the weakest among the bunch always think they are more superior to the strongest hybrid.

“The prices are non-negotiable,” he replied coldly, his eyes narrowed towards the human who is examining the firearms too many times and he is stopping himself from rolling his eyes because the human clearly thinks they are fake, “They are high-end models. Do you want them or not?”

This dragon is harder to bully than the rest. Most hybrids would cower to any demands laid down by a human but there is always that one hybrid among the rest who does not back down, even with threats.

You would have expected a rare hybrid would value his life more and concede just to survive but no, not this beast.

What does this beast call himself again?

Right, Sylus.

The hybrid who had built this city that is now crawling with his fellow abominations.

The brute must have been so lonely that he worked tooth and nail so that he carved out his own empire with his own subjects.

Of course, the human did his research ahead and who would have thought, this thing feared even by his kind actually had a heart.

These beasts run their mouths so much that he heard that Sylus over here is doting over a deer hybrid.

He stooped so low that of all the hybrids he could pick from, he chose a docile deer.

A complete opposite of him.

Now the human can’t help but wonder.

Is that poor deer Sylus has chosen his emergency ration or a feast for a special day?

“I do, but inflating your prices would not be too good for your business, don’t you think?”, the human asked.

This insolent human is so amusing, isn’t he?

“You’re not in any position to lecture me on how I should run my business,” Sylus answered, a subtle hint of anger creeping in his face.

This negotiation should have clearly ended earlier but Sylus still has half a mind to be at least cordial to these imbeciles whether he likes it or not, the last thing he wants is for the police to start sniffing again after he had paid them a hefty sum.

Sylus didn’t bother to know their names and he can hear the human whisper with his companions.

These people.

Barging here, demanding for quality goods, and then suddenly doubt their authenticity? Maybe they shouldn’t even be here.

He took a sip from his glass, the whisky burning on his throat when a certain weight pressed down on his left shoulder.

Mephisto?

His mechanical crow let out a caw.

How odd.

His companion is basically glued to you at this point. Isn’t this one supposed to be hanging around you at this hour?

Did something happen? No, he had set up security alarms around your shop, he would have known if something or someone triggered it.

Sylus frowned at Mephisto, not caring if he was in the middle of business and his crow projected a hologram in front of him, just small enough for his eyes and the volume low.

“Go home, Daisy.”

No wonder why Mephisto is here.

You are clearly upset over something and oh, Sylus will certainly drop everything he is doing when he sees those pinpricks of tears in the corner of your eyes.

His precious deer does not get easily upset, always patient and the look of frustration is a foreign expression Sylus had never seen before.

Whoever made you cry should certainly wish they had a plot already reserved in the cemetery.

“Deal’s off,” Sylus said, immediately standing up and his tail flicking in annoyance.

This conversation had already run past its course anyways and he had more pressing matters to attend to than listening to a human haggle with him until he gave his wares for free. Unbelievable.

“What?! You're leaving? You can’t just walk away-”

“Watch me.”

“You’re going to regret this, Sylus!”

The exit to the warehouse slammed shut and it was clear to everyone inside that no exchange was going to happen.

Sylus knows he could go look for another customer. There will always be another human or another hybrid who is willing to pay the price he had set.

The threats thrown by the human faded into white noise and the only thought running in his mind is that he needs to get to your shop as soon as he can. The human can go on and on about putting his head on a silver platter and even then, he could hardly care when he eats those words for breakfast.

His business can wait.

He had to wipe away those tears first.

The dark thread wind against the empty bobbin, your foot stepping on the pedal to refill it. After Daisy left, you have set aside the dress for now and have decided to work on Mr. Sylus’ shirt.

Sewing his clothes has become a regular task for you and because of that you don’t have to look at his measurements anymore because you already have it memorized.

Even when it is such a warm, sunny day here in the N109 zone, today is not your day from the looks of it but you are still struggling to accept that fact, pushing yourself to just work on something, anything so that you have at least progress.

Just one shirt. Anything. The fabrics have to come together and take a new shape today.

As much as you love random visits from your clients, you really hope none of them would come inside your studio. Not today because you are very close. Very close to snapping because the threads are refusing to listen to you, the end of the thread of the bobbin now stuck.

Again.

Now you have to manually unwind it.

Again.

You let out a sharp inhale, removing your foot from the pedal while you slowly untangle the thread and your hands faltered when the door opened to reveal the person you specifically hope to not come over, your anger and frustration mixing together and now simmering under the surface.

“Hello, Skye,” you greeted, your voice slightly strained but you still gave Mr. Sylus’ messenger the best smile you have, even if it was slightly forced.

Sylus’ gaze moved up and down, checking for anything that might be out of place but aside from the usual mess of threads that hang on your antlers every time you work, you seemed fine.

Except, not just your usual cheerful self.

“Hello, sweetie,” he greeted you, taking quick strides until he was standing beside where you were sitting, “Everything alright?”

Of all times your favorite visitor has to come over, it has to be today where all you want is to be left alone but you don’t want to be rude, you know Skye must be busy, being Mr. Sylus’ messenger/bodyguard/boss henchman, but he still made an effort to go here so you just sighed in defeat, thinking you should still be at your best behavior.

“I am fine,” you replied but the answer came out on your mouth too clipped, the corner of your lips twitched slightly.

“Something’s bothering you, miss seamstress.”

“Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Always a terrible liar, sweetheart.”

“I am not,” you replied, closing your eyes briefly to reel in the irritation threatening to break the surface only for you to once again step too hard on the pedal, the needle you just replaced running diagonally across the fabric and you let out a yelp, the sharp object piercing your finger.

“Darling-”

You were able to pull back just in time, letting go of the pedal and cradling the injury close to your chest.

“Let me see,” Sylus kneeled in front of you, his heart racing when he saw you curling up on your chair in silent pain and sobbing quietly.

You shook your head at first, trying to calm yourself.

“Please, sweetheart.”

His voice was soft, close to a plea, as if he is coaxing you, the frightened deer to step closer, that he meant no harm.

“Let me see how bad it is,” he pressed further, his fingers wrapping around your wrist and tugging it gently, waiting for you to loosen up.

Hot tears stream on your face but you finally let him check your wound, blood slowly pouring out.

It is a nasty cut, the needle that pierced your skin is certainly sharp and brand new, but with a quick clean-up, your wound should heal before you even know it.

“Sweetie, this is a pretty deep cut,” Sylus said softly, wrapping your injured finger with his own white handkerchief, the blood staining the fabric but at least it would stop the flow while he looked for a first aid kit.

He stood up, thinking of stepping out to ask your father where you keep the medical supplies even if your father’s first assumption might be because he finally decided to pounce on you, that he had a moment of weakness and decided to have your finger as an appetizer.

“Skye.”

Sylus heard you call out his name, his false name, but he was so used to it that he immediately spun around before he could even turn the handle of your studio door.

“I keep the bandages in the washroom,” you said quietly, your eyes moving at the door to your right.

“I’ll be back in a moment, sweetie,” he told you and you watched him walk towards the direction of the washroom, your ears perking upon hearing him opening the cabinet doors.

Must there always be a wound for you to realize that you are letting your emotions ahead of you?

It is an innate survival instinct, aside from the antlers that you also lose during the winter, to keep your emotions at bay because your naturally docile kind has nothing to protect themselves aside from sticks and stones.

Better to lay low than alert unwanted company, better to stay still for a moment than forever.

You watched him kneel in front of you again, taking your hand with the injured finger and unwrapping the white handkerchief before setting it aside. There is nothing but focus on his gaze, no hint of the dilated pupils that predator hybrids have when they catch a scent of blood.

“I can take care of it,” you said quietly, trying to pull away your hand but he held on to it firmly.

Afraid. You are afraid to see the reality of this uncommon situation where you have grown to cherish one of the few hybrids in the N109 zone and prove everyone’s words right-

“Dragons eat their prey alive.”

-That he and you are indeed very, very different.

Your heart skipped a bit when he moved your finger closed to his lips and his gaze trained towards you, a permission. Even then, his eyes remained the same. The same crimson eyes that looked at you fondly every time you talk.

There is no hint of hunger, no hint of any desire to devour you.

For a moment, you and him are almost close to being humans, just two conscious beings.

“I am not going to hurt you.”

“You won’t?”

“I would never harm you.”

You nodded slowly, a yes, and he took your wounded finger towards his mouth, placing a soft kiss at your fingertip before licking the cut, his tongue warm.

Vigor. Most predator hybrids specifically go to the black market for this. For blood. Sylus refused to partake in it, mostly because he is already powerful in his own right and he refused to be dependent on such.

The words are true, it is incredibly potent, just one drop alone. Your skin is soft, your blood sweet yet call it sheer willpower because he is not going to let those primitive instincts kick in, even when his sharp canines beckons him for a little nip.

Just a small bite.

It was never hunger that drove his attraction to you.

It was companionship, a longing.

May this be the lying dragon’s proof to you of his undying devotion, likely the last of his kind, the lonely fiend, a lowly liar, liar, liar, undeserving of your affection but here he is, on his knees, silently begging for more and never in his waking days and fitful nights he had ever dreamt of even laying a finger to the deer who willingly stepped out of the blurry line of her paradise to his so she can have a better look at the monster wearing a false name hiding in the foliage of the dark forest.

Let this be his unspoken promise from him to you.

Let his actions be witness that he is nothing but honest to the affections he had reserved just for you.

There was a moment of silence that settled between the two of you, Sylus focused on cleaning your cut and even when the taste of you lingered in his tongue, he had swore in himself to wash it off, to never succumb to its allure.

“I was bad at Daisy,” you said softly, guilty at how you treated your little assistant. It even did the silly dance to cheer you up but you just looked at it, never giving it praise that it deserves.

Were you that frustrated? You really hope your crow friend visits again soon so you can apologize.

“I am sure Daisy understands, miss seamstress,” Sylus replied, dabbing your wound with antiseptic. He already played the rest of the recording on his way here, witnessing your frustration.

“I was mean to you too,” you added, your voice softer that you are unsure if he even heard you.

But Sylus did not miss your quiet confession laced with guilt. It seems that you are never used to expressing your anger, how you opt to stray away instead of lashing out, your deer and human sides clashing on processing such.

“I know you didn’t mean it, sweetie,” he answered gently.

He isn’t foreign to this. How many times did he lash out when he was young? He doesn’t even choose his targets, his anger directed at either hybrid or human, anyone who is in front of him. The anger still remained, the anger of losing his sense of belonging but it became bearable to carry, the burden smaller now.

Time made him realize that even when he might be the last of his kind, he certainly is not the last hybrid.

“There you go. All better now, sweetheart.”

The heavy emotions lingering in the air slowly drift off, replaced by a certain understanding only the two of you have, a deal Sylus has sealed by pressing another kiss on your bandaged finger.

His little doe, a genius in her own right, having a rainy day. It was obvious based on the state of your working desk and what he saw that your materials are refusing to follow the instructions of their beautiful maestro, refusing to follow the beat she has set.

His knuckles traced the path of your tears, pressing his lips on them, kissing away the lingering frustration while your sobs slowly turned into quiet whimpers.

“How about I sing it away until you forget it even ever existed, hm?”

He didn’t wait for you to reply, his baritone voice filled the room, soft. The high and low notes seemed to tumble out of his lips with no sense of consistency that you finally cracked a smile when he finished.

“You have a very silly way of singing, Skye,” you pointed, stifling your giggle.

Oh so his mechanical crow’s dance that he programmed himself was labelled as a ‘silly dance’ and now you are calling his singing ‘silly’ as well? After the effort he put on that little song.

“It’s called ‘unique’, miss seamstress, not ‘silly’”, he playfully corrected you, pinching your cheek and he grinned further when that familiar cheerful smile was slowly returning on your adorable face.

“Can you do it again for me soon, Skye?”, you asked, “If you don’t mind?”

Ah, his little deer, becoming so bold in asking for favors. Back then, you used to be so hesitant because you were worried you might be imposing on him.

“I will sing for you day or night as often as you want me to.”

His reply seemed to perk you up, your tail wagging and you glanced at the ruined shirt you were sewing for Mr. Sylus. The frustration of not getting it right seemed to ebb away and now replaced with a new determination but perhaps, that energy is reserved for tomorrow once your head is clearer.

“Can you also tell Mr. Sylus I am not delayed on his requests?”, you asked again but this time, slightly hesitant, “I am still on track, I promise.”

“I will. You’re never anything but efficient, miss seamstress,” Sylus answered. He already knows you always meet your deadlines, that you are such a diligent tailor that knows the importance of each clothes you make to your client.

There will be a time this game of pretend shall come to an end and he had always looked forward to that day but for now, his identity does not matter much to him.

Right now, as long as he sees his beautiful deer, unharmed, then-

-Everything is right with the world.

────────────────────

“Are you sure you are alright?”

Your father asked you again but you don’t mind, nodding before you took a bite of the salad he prepared for dinner.

“Yes, I think I am just a little stressed lately,” you answered, fiddling with your fork.

“I mean with your visitor earlier,” your father said quietly and his eyes lingered at your finger wrapped with a red bandage.

He doesn’t exactly dislike Sylus, no, far from that. Only a few people hold a certain respect for the dragon hybrid who was kind enough to let people settle here and he is one of them. If anything, he is more than grateful for his support.

Yet, uttering his name out loud when he is not around, your father always thinks he is going to summon Sylus by accident, knowing the dragon is always listening, especially when it comes to you.

“Oh, yes, it was a very pleasant visit.”

“You can tell me anything, you know.”

“But I am,” you replied, slightly confused as you tilt your head at him. “Skye didn’t do anything bad.”

Skye.

He still doesn’t know why you address Sylus as such. Is it a nickname only you and your favorite visitor understand? Perhaps it is because Sylus never bothered to correct you.

Your father is more than aware you are a very terrible liar ever since you are a child. Your bluntness does not come across sarcasm but an observation, and even when you lie, there are always tell tale signs.

Yet, right now, you are completely honest that you find Sylus’ visits enjoyable and it is undeniable you two are becoming closer. How your scent clung on the dragon hybrid’s horns, how Sylus is staying longer than usual, and the recent development-

-That cut on your finger was tended by the man himself.

Perhaps his worries are for nothing, that Sylus indeed has genuine intentions.

Still, when you almost lose everything, any new change comes with doubt and uncertainty.

Your father just smiled, piling more food on your plate and his gaze moved behind your back, at the shelves where both of you kept the expensive china gifted to your shop by one of your clients, towards the little drawer where the keys are kept and-

-He hopes that the little package wrapped in old newspaper will forever remain unopened.

────────────────────

Luke and Kieran had to immediately cover their noses when they caught the scent of blood in the air.

Let the humans in white coats tinker with you long enough that you will be able to pick out which scent belongs to who and well, this new scent is particularly potent.

Their pupils dilated and they looked at each other, their hands trembling and dropping the sheep plushies they were working on.

It wasn’t the first time they smelled blood. It is a general scent in the N109 zone after all but this one, no, this one utterly horrified them.

No, it can’t be.

Soft cotton and wildflowers. Springtime. Soil thawing out after a long winter.

This is yours.

No, that’s not possible.

Boss is a dangerous man but he isn’t a damn animal but what if-

-The blood spilling from your neck staining the fabric, the tailor’s chalk on the wooden floor and your hand, lifeless and pale, reaching for it but only for you to never do.

It was an image too much to bear.

Sylus barely even touched the handle to the double doors of the base when it opened wide, the twins immediately going after him.

“Boss, what did you do to her?!”, Luke yelled at his face, his knife immediately going after his throat.

There is only one thought running in their heads.

They will kill him, even if he is leagues stronger than both of them combined.

Kieran was quick, aiming for his abdomen but Sylus is quicker than these two.

Prior from taking them in, these two tried to end him before so it has been awhile when he has seen the twins with their hackles raised, their tails tucked between their legs, and yes, snarling at him.

“Back down. Now.”

“We trusted you!”

“And I trusted you two not to jump to conclusions.”

This little display made him realize he still has more to teach to these wolf cubs that just end up following him but he doesn’t blame them.

Any predator hybrid who doesn’t keep themselves in check would always jump toward its source, conscience gone and natural instincts kicking in without them realizing it.

Incredibly potent. An irreversible addiction.

He pulled out the handkerchief and the twins’ immediately covered their noses with their hands, turning away and flinching from the object.

“She had an accident while working earlier,” Sylus explained, returning the cloth back to his pocket but even then, the two refused to put down their hands.

“Is Miss Deer alright?”, Kieran asked.

“It’s nothing serious,” Sylus assured the two.

The two still stepped further from him, as long as he had that handkerchief with him, there is no way they are coming near the boss, even if he orders them too.

It was too overwhelming. Every blood from a prey hybrid is a trigger for a century old trait that should have faded away. They don’t know how the boss does it, how he is awfully calm even when they are close to salivating just from the scent alone.

Detestable. Their bodies acting against their wills, close to forcing them to step closer.

“Boss, we have to go,” Kieran said weakly.

“Then go,” Sylus said and the two wasted not another minute, disappearing back at the base and away from that scent.

Sure he is a fiend.

But he is certain he isn’t a lunatic.

And he has a strong will, relentless.

Even if he has his first taste, he isn’t a man that will back down on his oath.

Afterall, he is as much a human as he is a dragon.

────────────────────

Author's Note: This was based on an experience where I actually did had this accident and boy, it hurt like hell HAHA

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #hybrid au #lads hybrid au #lads #lads sylus

137 notes · View notes

literaryslapshot · 1 year ago

Note

9 and 18 with coach!sid please <3

"without ever touching him, how can i be guilty as sin?" & "i can tell when someone wants me" | poetic prompts | warnings: smut (18+ MDNI, i can redo if you don't want smut with these prompts!)

takes place after this fic.

"girl, quit eye fucking and leave some room for the rest of us. i can tell your fantasizing, but i don't blame you."

"i'm not touching him, so how can i be guilty of anything?" y/n co-workers words snap her out of her daze as she teases back. it was the beginning of an emergency staff meeting, the meaning was unknown and it was causing quite the buzz around the gymnasium. teachers, admin, and athletic staff alike were sitting together asking each other what they'd heard, known, or if they were getting fired. there was a heavy level of anxiety sitting in the room amongst them.

"sorry," y/n mumbled and sitting up straight. her friend chuckled beside her. but she couldn't help but stare, it had been a week since their dinner together, and it was all she could think about. she'd had trouble teaching, would zone out when talking to carter, their scandalous encounter was taking over her life.

"what do you think they're gonna talk about?" the other teacher asked sitting next to her, sipping coffee out of her tumbler and scrolling through emails looking for clues. "i think they're gonna talk about staff relationships."

her words made y/n's stomach drop. did it get out? did someone see her car at his house? did carter say something? did carter find out? it's amazing how many questions can run through the brain in just two seconds.

"i heard that the boys tennis coach, thomas, is having an affair with the girls tennis coach. i think one of the players caught them in the athletic offices but they did something to keep the kid quiet." y/n feels her nerves calm down, but not all that much. her eyes met with sidney's and she felt like he was trying to silently tell her something but she couldn't pick up on it. they weren't that connected.

yet.

moments later the superintendent gets on the mic and announces to faculty that in fact, both the girls and boys tennis coach were let go due to their actions. the boys coach resigned, and the girls coach was fired due to threatening the school district since she didn't do anything wrong and she was a single woman.

she felt a ball coil up inside her stomach as the staff were reminded of the policy: relationships among staff must be brought before the board if they occur within the school year. it was a district policy, to keep drama out of the way, and to keep relationships private to the parties benefit. at least, that was the way it was explained.

that meeting was bullshit. sent 10:45 am

y/n's phone pings signaling a text from sidney. she reads it as her students are taking their test. she feels butterflies and anxiety at the same time. her leg bouncing underneath her desk as she plans a reply.

...but what did he mean? was he against the rule, meaning he wanted a relationship? or was it just a waste of time? yes, it was a waste of time.

i know, it could have just been an email. sent 10:48

he never responds, but she gets too busy with other class periods. she gets lost back in time once more, fantasizing about that night. during lunch break spent in her darkened classroom, a bowl of warmed up soup in front of her as she grades papers until the next class comes through.

but she gets lost, in the deep trance of the memory of him. if she thinks really hard she can still feel his tongue sliding against her slick core, she can feel herself coming undone again at the force of his skilled and talented body.

she can feel his calloused but soft hands sliding down her body, grasping at her breasts while he sucks all of the sweet juice that flows out of her. she remembers her back arching off his wooden dinner table while he lapped at her for at least ten minutes straight, before he slid his thick cock inside of her for another ten.

she's taken out of her daydream by the sound of the school bell. she has three minutes to get herself back in order to teach again. she considers assigning today a reading and catch up day...so she can continue to reminisce.

dinner at my place? sent 1:23 pm

hell yes sent 1:24 pm

"you're bad at hiding your feelings, y/n." sidney stated, flipping over the steak on the grill and setting his wine glass down on the granite countertop. y/n sat on the barstool across from him, drinking a cocktail she made herself.

"what's that supposed to mean?" she took a bigger swig of the alcohol this time, holding eye contact with him as he leaned onto the countertop with his hands, making himself appear bigger in front of her. it worked.

"i can tell when someone wants me. half the women in that school want me, but you're the only one who went for it." she feels like a crook who was caught. "i know you act like last week didn't happen, but it's all i've been thinking about." now he's standing just inches from her on his back patio, the smell of grilled steak and vegetables filling her brain and the firm but agonizing touch making her go weak.

"it's all i can think about too." his thumb glides across her cheek, his whiskey colored eyes staring into her soul, what it feels like for hours. he bites his lip and she thinks she's gonna pass out.

"tell me what you thought about, maybe we'll reenact it after dinner. can't have you eating cold steak, can i?"

#GIF??? HOLY SHIT #j's writing #coach!sidney #coach!sid #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby x reader #sidney crosby smut #sidney crosby blurb #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl smut #hockey imagine #hockey x reader #hockey smut

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jinnie-ret · 1 year ago

Text

hellevator

stray kids x ninth member male!reader

genre: angst, fluff

content warnings: implied anxiety, implied disassociating

word count: 2.1k

summary: he's going through voice changes in their debut era and fans are already sending in hate

Requested: anon!

This is my first male!reader fic so please be kind, I hope you enjoy! <3

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

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He was so excited to finally be a part of something, not that he had been training for long. But when Bang Chan told him he saw potential in him, despite their 6 year age gap, and recognised how well he got on with the other members, he was quickly added onto the line up for Stray Kids.

During the survival show, Y/N was babied, of course he was, the maknae in the upcoming JYP boy group. Fans of the show fauned over his fluffy black hair and the oversized hoodies he'd wear, making him look smaller. It was similar to how Jeongin was babied too, the two of them being the youngest and seen to have that sweet, innocent air around them. Plus, for Y/N's case, his voice hadn't broken yet at the age of 14, so that fed more into how he was perceived by fans.

However, it was not long after the group had finally debuted that a more mature, deeper voice had overcome him. Of course, not without the struggles of getting used to it. Originally singing the chorus of District 9 wasn't difficult, in fact it was easy. His gorgeous, husky tone was unique yet when he hit those high notes his voice was instantly recognisable. Now, he had to deal with voice cracks, and the rapidly depleting self-esteem that came along with it. This is what he trained to do after all.

"You're getting stressed out. We need to practice getting your voice in a position where it can hit those high notes again. It's not going to help if you're standing there thinking you can't do it," the vocal teacher sighed, putting down her sheets of the lyrics Y/N had been singing.

She was firm, yes, but she was being kind about the situation too. She has coached many that had gone through the same thing as Y/N, and all she wanted to do was to see him succeed, but he couldn't see things through her eyes, that was far too big of a mountain to climb for him. A treacherous journey to realising not everything is one dimensional.

Y/N could only focus on those last four words. 'You can't do it'. And he hated the way that everything suddenly felt hot, and how his throat itched. How his neck itched. He started subconsciously scratching lightly at his neck, feeling the stress flood through his body. He scratched away at the thing he wanted to change most, knowing he couldn't turn back time and have things stay the way they were.

All the comments he had read, all the whispers he had heard, circulating in his brain, like an endless loop of vicious words to bring him down. He would be the reason Stray Kids would fail, they had said. He wasn't good enough, they had said. It all came from jealous trainees that were bitter they didn't get to debut instead of him. The only failure apparent in this situation was Y/N realising that.

"I need some air," Y/N barely managed to speak as he rushed out of the small practice room, tugging at the strings of his hoodie and making his way outside.

Fresh air.

Just breathe, Y/N.

And he managed to do so, not without his mind taking him to another place as he stared up at the JYP sign on the building. Was he meant to be here? Did he deserve to be here when his talents were no longer there? Y/N just couldn't see it the same way anymore, he couldn't see himself the same way anymore when the thing he had been praised for so deeply had changed. Even the people who had supported him before had changed their opinions, because his growth had shattered the image they had of him.

Y/N was unaware of the familiar presence beside him, one that had playfully called out his name before realising something was wrong. He was gently guided back into the building, and swiftly surrounded by the warmth of the 3RACHA studio.

"Hyungs! I found Y/N but he's not talking to me," Jisung's voice quivered as he himself was now feeling worried about his dongsaeng.

Changbin took Jisung aside, hushing him and reassuring him that he did the right thing, whilst Chan took it upon himself to understand what was happening to his youngest brother.

"Hey, hey, you're ok, come on, look at me," Chan spoke quietly, yet he managed to break through Y/N's mind as the younger looked around the studio.

"I shouldn't even be here," Y/N shook his head, voice monotonous. Just being there upset him further, yet he still fought against everything within him to show that side.

"What do you mean? This is our studio of course you're allowed in here, I mean, I know Channie likes his own space sometimes but this is different," Changbin moved to stand in front of Y/N too, having successfully calming Han, "hey, no no no don't float away again, I need you to listen," Changbin forced Y/N to sit down in the sofa. Han automatically wrapped his arms around the younger, wanting to do his best to show he was there for his fellow member.

"What's going on Y/N? Your vocal teacher said you just ran out of the building. She was waiting another 45 minutes until Seungmin turned up for his lesson because she couldn't find you," Chan sighed as he sat down in his chair, opposite the distressed boy.

"I bet Seungmin was much better than me," Y/N mumbled, but even with that, throat thick in emotion, his voice cracked yet again. Flustered that it had happened yet again, Y/N's fist came down against his own leg, huffing in frustration.

"Yah yah, don't do that!" Han frowned, pulling Y/N's arms away from him.

"I'm just so frustrated!" Y/N spoke through gritted teeth, looking up at the ceiling to keep his tears at bay.

"About what?" Changbin prompted Y/N further but he just stayed quiet.

"You need to tell us ok, we're your hyungs, we want to know what's going on, we need to know," Chan moved closer, resting his hand on Y/N's knee.

"My stupid voice," Y/N whispered, embarrassed to admit it.

"What?"

"Huh?"

"What about it?"

"Ever since it's broken, you know, gotten deeper, I just sound stupid when I try singing, it's embarrassing, I mean, it makes sense when they say I shouldn't even be in the group anymore, I-" Y/N opened the gates to his mind as his mini ramble began and was quickly cut off.

"Who said that..." Changbin frowned deeply.

"Stays, other trainees," Y/N threw his hands up in the air, just done with the whole situation.

"Trainees are saying it too?!" Han gasped, looking at Chan and Changbin worriedly, a hint of malice in his eyes as he thought about all of those around them that still acted like their friends.

"Y/N they're just jealous, you can't listen to what they say," Chan began, sighing once more as he ran his fingers through his hair, somewhat at a loss of how to reassure Y/N anymore.

"Easier said than done. Why did you even have me join this group when, when... when I was just going to make us fail!" Y/N exploded, pushing himself up from the sofa and out of Han's arms, away from Changbin's concerned glances and especially away from Chan's words which went in one ear and out the other straight away.

It wasn't long until he found what he thought was an empty practice room, not noticing the bags of his other hyungs that were for once tucked away neatly in the corner of the room. He found solace in the emptiness and allowed himself to collapse to his knees, breaking down into tears of frustration, sadness and all the other emotions he kept pent up.

The rest of Stray Kids returned from a small snack break at the vending machine, all going together of course, you wouldn't find one Stray Kid without another, even this early on in their time of being together.

"Hey hey hey, aegi, what's going on? Omo..." Lee Know gasped as he saw the baby of the group shaking and sobbing. He ran up to Y/N and wrapped his arms around him, the other members astonished until 3RACHA ran in and finally found Y/N after hearing the commotion.

They began to explain what happened to Hyunjin, Seungmin and Jeongin whilst Felix sat down in front of Y/N to help calm him down, brushing his hair out of his face and rubbing his leg soothingly. He tried his best to listen to Y/N at first but due to his growing knowledge of Korean not being up to par with Y/N's incoherent sobs, it was easier to stick to physical affection. You could say Y/N was in a Lee sandwich, the best place he could be right now.

"Can't... Shouldn't..." Y/N sobs soon calmed down and the rest of his members gathered around him in a semicircle, Minho still hugging him from behind. Yes, he could come across as cold and brash sometimes, but no one could tell you just how soft Minho really was apart from his members. They knew him the best.

"Y/Nnie... please you have to listen to us, you're in this group for a reason," Hyunjin patted his knee from beside him.

"T-they didn't say anything about Jeongin's voice when his broke!" Y/N exclaimed, pain clearly still there, tired of all the judgement he had been receiving. He wasn't able to listen to his hyungs right now.

And the boys go quiet not knowing what to say back to Y/N, they were sure he didn't mean to offend Jeongin but it didn't stop Seungmin from patting his shoulder in support.

"Not, not, oh gosh not that I wanted Jeonginnie hyung to get hate I'd never want that for my hyungs I just..." Y/N put his face into his hands, feeling bad as if he has indirectly insulted his hyung, just because he was feeling hurt. From behind him, Minho hugged him tighter, whispering in his ear to try and gain his attention.

"It's ok, I know you didn't mean it like that," Jeongin smiles from across him, and Y/N could tell it was a genuine one.

"Look, our vocal teacher said something to me earlier about what was going on, she was worried about you, she thought she said something wrong," Seungmin trailed off, trying to get to the bottom of the matter.

"No she was actually really nice about it, it was just too much of a reality check and then my mind just took control and... Ugh I don't even know," Y/N came to a realisation that his vocal teacher wasn't being rude to him and it was all these overwhelming feelings that had built up and caught him out.

"Just take a moment, yeah, and think, would I have added you to this group if I didn't think you had the talent, had the potential," Chan rose an eyebrow, firmly talking to Y/N to make sure he understood what he was saying.

"Or his personality, personality is important too," Felix piped up, not wanting Y/N to feel like his worth was only reduced down to one thing.

"Of course it is, but that isn't what this is about right now, answer me, Y/N," Chan nodded to Felix before looking back at his upset member.

"N-no..." Y/N stuttered, realising the depth of what his leader was saying.

"Good. We can see how good you are. The only reason fans are getting annoyed is because it's a change they haven't adjusted to yet. Just like you're adjusting to this change too. Now, they shouldn't be sending in hate, so please, I will do everything it takes for you to not listen to it anymore, ok?" Chan promised Y/N, sitting in front of him and making sure he got that one answer he needed.

"O-ok, I-i understand now, thanks hyung, I-i love you all," Y/N felt the stress leave him, finally able to understand things from a different perspective.

"Aww he said he loves us!" Minho suddenly picks up Y/N and spins him around, causing the younger boy to squeal.

"I wish I had a camera!" Seungmin laughed along.

"I need to remember this forever," Jeongin and Han fooled around, widening their eyes and pretending to screenshot this happy cute moment into their brains.

It was definitely a moment that Y/N would be teased about in the future, being exposed for his true feelings for his hyungs when normally he'd be quiet about what he thought about in the normal way. It was just a good thing they got in his head this time, because now they had a happy memory to think about instead.

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tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @kpopmenace143 @sakufilms @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky @his-angell @turtledove824 @2minstan @royal-shinigami @yangbbokari @skzoologist @crabrangoongirl25 @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria

#skz #stray kids #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fic #straykids ninth member #skz ninth member #stray kids ninth #ninth member #stray kids ninth member #male reader #skz male reader #stray kids male reader

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kald-dal-art · 11 months ago

Text

First Quarter Quell drawing dump from this week, super happy with myself managing to do two updates for this fic and really appreciate all the love for the story so far 🫶 Link to the fic will be found in the replies if you are interested

Also have an art give away atm, so if you are interested check the pinned post on my blog if you want as well haha

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writeonwhiskey · 6 days ago

Text

summer in seoul: ch 7 (18+)

a/n: lets throw caution to the wind, yeah? word count: 6,465 [ fic master list ]

You tell yourself you’re not jaded in the slightest when you check your phone for the fifth time since waking up and still haven’t received a text from Chris. It’s a blatant lie. You keep yourself busy—laying out clothes for the author meeting this afternoon and straightening up the hotel room a bit.

Later, you meet with the author as scheduled. You share a meal and discuss contract terms. She’s adamant about not having her story altered, save for necessary line edits. She wants to ensure she has a say in the final book cover, etc., etc. Her demands aren’t outrageous by any means. You think you can get this sorted out for her.

It’s not until you’re lying in bed after having dinner at a nearby restaurant, reading over a potential manuscript that you realize you still haven’t heard from Chris at all today.

You grab your phone and check his ‘last seen’ status on WhatsApp. He hasn’t even read the message you sent saying you made it back to your room and that was sent before he came up and fucked you.

You’re tempted to send him a message first but talk yourself out of it. He’s either extremely busy or really has no interest in hearing from you again.

You pretend the latter doesn’t sting.

It winds up being another full day before you hear from him, just when you had started to accept that it was going to be a one-time thing.

You’re exhausted, even though most of the day has been spent sitting in front of your computer. Jet lag is still kicking your ass. And you can’t sleep yet as you have two virtual meetings to attend starting at 10:00am EST, which means it will be 9:00pm KST.

When your phone vibrates and you see Hwarang on the lock screen, your pulse quickens.

Hwarang [6:30pm] Jack of all trades, master of none but often times better than master of one

The message instantly brings a smile to your face as he references your conversation from the other night. It’s one of those bare minimum things, but it makes you happy that he took the time to look up the quote.

You contemplate your reply. Should you ask about his lack of communication yesterday? In a serious situation the answer would be a definitive yes. But this isn’t serious. This is temporary.

You [6:33pm] Did a bit of reading, I see.

Hwarang [6:37pm] I’m a top student at google university

You [6:39pm] Oh? What are some google recommended places to check out near where I’m staying, then? I’ve got a free day tomorrow.

You’ve already looked up a few things on google yourself. However, it’s always better to get recommendations from locals, in your experience. You also figure it couldn’t hurt to slip in your availability.

Hwarang [6:45pm] Hmmm give me a minute Standby

You [6:46pm] Copy

You give him a minute, but eventually several pass without a response. Sometimes you’re too literal for your own good.

You order from a food delivery service and shower—still nothing. You eat and attend the Zoom meetings—nothing. It’s nearly 11:00pm by the time he texts again. And, oh, is it worth the wait.

Hwarang [10:48pm] Summer in Seoul—Itinerary Have an early breakfast in bed 10:00AM - Songwol-dong Fairytale Village 12:30PM - Gyeongbokgung Palace 1:00PM - Bukchon Hanok Village 1:30PM – Light lunch in the village 3:00PM - Myeongdong Shopping District 5:00PM - Jamwon Hangang Park (have some snacks, no full meals!) 7:00PM - Board sunset Han River cruise 9:00PM - Return to dock, head back to hotel

You are quite literally flabbergasted at his message. Your mouth hangs open while reading it—a fully planned itinerary? You felt pretty confident that your sexual encounter had been enjoyable…but was it enough to warrant all of this? Also, a small (maybe not too small) part of you was hoping that he would just offer to come over.

You [10:53pm] Wow. Thank you for putting that together. I may have some trouble finding each place, but I’ll give it my best shot.

Hwarang [10:55pm] I am nothing, if not prepared A car will pick you up at 8:00 tomorrow morning

If your mouth had been agape before, it is surely touching the floor now. You tilt your head to the side as you stare at the message. You’re excited at the idea of having a well-planned day exploring Seoul but also confused. It’s a deeply thoughtful and kind gesture but what reason does he have for doing it? You would have preferred to see him again.

You [10:14pm] I hope I didn’t come off as helpless. I’m sure I can find my way around, there’s no need for the car. The itinerary is enough, really.

Hwarang [10:17pm] No worries Enjoy the day I hope you land that deal you’re working on

You stare at your phone in unnecessary turmoil. You don’t know what to think of this entire situation. Is this how kind people are in South Korea? You wouldn’t know. Maybe it is customary to welcome strangers you’ve slept with and want them to have a good time in your country. But…no—this is above and beyond that, right?

Hwarang [10:23pm] Don’t overthink it Seriously, just enjoy yourself Get some rest and let me know how it goes

You [10:26pm] I’m a chronic over thinker. I’ll sleep on it. Thank you, Chris. Goodnight.

You want nothing more than to fall asleep when your head hits the pillow, however for the second time this week, you can’t seem to get thoughts of this man out of your mind.

The following morning, you drag yourself out of bed when your alarm goes off. You order room service, eat breakfast in your pajamas as instructed and then get dressed for the day—a pair of comfortable leggings and a cropped, t-shirt with a hood. When you make it down to the front of the hotel at 8:00am on the dot, a black sedan is waiting there. The driver stands near the rear passenger door.

“y/n?” he asks, to which you nod.

He opens the door, and you climb inside, thanking him. There are some alarm bells going off…what if you are wrong about this Chris character? What if the driver is picking you up to take you to some abandoned warehouse to be tortured or murdered?

Perhaps you shouldn’t have fallen asleep to true crime documentaries. Just to be safe, though, as the driver is walking around the car, you quickly make sure you’re able to open the back door.

“First stop—Songwol-dong Fairytale Village.” The driver says as he gets in the car and starts the engine.

You nod, thankful that he speaks English well—a fact you can only assume Chris made sure was in place.

The ride there is quite long, about an hour and a half. You pass the time looking out the window or scrolling through your phone. The driver offers some insight on notable buildings you pass, providing a comfortable atmosphere in the car. When you finally arrive, he advises that he will meet you in this same spot at 11:30am.

“Drop a pin to make your way back,” he says as you exit the vehicle.

“Good idea. Thank you.” You reply before shutting the door.

The first thing you notice is the brightly colored buildings—a stark contrast to everything you have seen thus far. After stopping at the ticket booth to get a pass, you head inside. It feels like stepping into another world, walking along the teal-colored cobblestone. Each building is painted and depicts some version of a fairytale.

You encounter Snow White, Belle and the Beast, Pinocchio, and many other characters—some you know, and others you’re not too familiar with. You can only assume they are from Korean fairytales. You take a few photos and send them to your mom and Chris.

You get caught up in the day but mostly stick to the schedule. The itinerary was built to go to the furthest stop first and every place after is back in the direction of the hotel.

The driver is always right where he says he will be, and you get from one place to the next seamlessly. He even helps you practice some conversational Korean as he drives. By the time you leave the shopping district, and you’ve swiped your card more times than you can remember, you start to feel burnt out. You can’t believe everything you’ve seen and done in one day. But your aching feet are a constant reminder of just how active you have been.

You must have dozed off at some point during the drive because you wake to the driver calling your name when you’ve arrived at Jamwon Park.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you sit up and stretch.

“I will pick you up at 9:00 at the dock to take you back, okay?”

“Ye. Should I take my bags?”

“Aniyo, just leave them,” he says.

You exit the car and look at the itinerary for exactly what you’re supposed to be doing here. No matter how tired you feel, you want to push through. Chris clearly went through so much to make this day happen, it’s the least you can do. You buy a water bottle and take a seat on the bench, content to just people watch for a while until the cruise departs.

When you finally board the boat around 6:45pm, they advise you a ticket has already been paid for. You’re escorted inside and taken to your section. You go up to the third floor, walk through the interior of the boat, and stop at a glass door. The employee slides it open, bows slightly and gestures for you to go inside.

It’s a private balcony. With a soft breeze and a table set for two. You stop in your tracks when you realize you’re not alone. One seat is already occupied by none other than Chris.

The balcony room is closed off on both sides so the only thing you can see is the river. And each other.

The employee takes their leave, and Chris removes his face mask, grinning at your surprised reaction. Those gorgeous dimples appear as the setting sun casts a warm glow on his face, and you resist the urge to melt. He gestures for you to take a seat.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, taking a seat, smiling—possibly red in the face as all the heat in your body seems to have rushed there.

Him being here caught you so off guard, but you can’t deny that you’re fucking ecstatic. The feeling of being tired has all but vanished from your body.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he says. “How was everything?”

“Honestly?” You finally look away from him and out towards the river. The sun glistens on the water in a way that makes it sparkle. “It was amazing. Thank you for planning it.”

“Good,” he replies. “You hungry?”

You let out a soft sigh. While you’re content to let this be whatever this is, you have a lot of questions. Even if you’re just hanging out and having fun, even if what he’s done is by some chance a common courtesy in South Korea…you just want to make sure you are both on the same page.

“Is this normal?” you blurt out, ignoring his question as you turn back to face him.

He places both elbows on the table and leans forward with his head on his hands.

“A dinner cruise?” He arches an eyebrow, but a small smile rests on his lips. “Yeah, they’re pretty standard.”

“You know what I mean…planning out an itinerary for a random girl you hooked up with? Hiring a driver? Surprising them on a dinner cruise?” you clarify. “I’ll admit I was feeling embarrassed after not hearing from you and now all of this is just…a little much? I don’t know…”

He leans back in his seat, watching you for a moment.

“Maybe it’s not normal.” He removes his hat, revealing his dark, wavy curls. “I don’t really know either, to be honest. But I do know that I like being around you, y/n. It’s refreshing. Plus, I felt like shit for taking so long to get back to you. This was my way of making it up.”

You’re relieved that the feeling of comfort is mutual. Whatever time you share will be temporary and short lived…but it could still be fun. At the very least, you can enjoy being with him again tonight without second guessing everything.

“I like being around you too,” you admit.

He smiles again and places a hand over his chest, “I’m known to have that effect on people.”

You roll your eyes, and he laughs.

You take in the items on the table and spot bottles of soju in a bucket of ice. Chris stops you and grabs it himself.

He grabs two shot glasses, pours one and slides it to you, then pours another for himself. He stands, motioning toward the balcony rail and you follow. You cheers and drink.

Suddenly the boat jerks into motion and you stumble backwards. Chris grabs you by the waist, pulling you to him. You place a hand on his chest and look up. He’s smiling down at you, dimples on full display again.

“I’ve only had one shot, so I can’t blame the alcohol on this declaration. But I need you to know…you have really nice lips.”

“Oh?“ He playfully puckers them up and you swat at his arm, stepping away from him.

“Did you get my pictures?” you ask.

“I did. They seemed to come just when I needed a break at work.”

“Glad to hear it.” You smile. “Speaking of work…you gonna tell me what you do?”

He leans against the railing, eyebrow arched.

“You gonna tell me what you do for work?”

“Touché,” you reply. “I’m a literary agent. I’m here to sign an author.”

“Really?” He asks, sounding genuinely surprised. “So, you must enjoy reading?”

“I love it.”

“Do you write too?”

“Not as much as I used to…no time these days,” you shrug.

“I understand that more than I would like to,” he replies softly.

“And you?”

“I work in music,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’m a producer.”

You try to picture him in a music studio, and it actually isn’t all that hard to envision. You can imagine him in his dark clothing in front of a mixing board, navigating the controls with ease.

“And what does that consist of?”

“Writing lyrics, making beats, mixing, mastering…a little bit of everything really.”

“Jack of all trades,” you say, nodding. “Will you play me something of yours?”

“Maybe one day,” he smirks.

You don’t know if he’s playing coy, but you won’t pry.

You turn to the table to start pouring another shot, but he places his hand on top of yours.

“We’ve barely left the dock, y/n.” He offers a small laugh. “You trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me or something?”

“And what if I am?” you counter.

His arm slowly moves from your hand, up your arm and to your neck. He cups it firmly and brings his face closer to yours. You half expect him to kiss you right then and there. Your heart starts to race, but you soon feel his breath near your ear instead.

“I’d have to advise you against it,” he whispers.

You move your hand up to grip his elbow, leaning into his touch. You should probably heed his warning, but you want to see how far you can take this. You place both hands on his chest and push him until his back is against the rail. You stand on your tiptoes, so your faces are close together.

“And if I don’t take your advice?” You continue to challenge him, playfully.

He bites his bottom lip, shaking his head. His hand drops from your neck to your waist. Faster than you can register he spins you both around and brings you in front of him. Your chest is now against the rail and you’re facing the river. He presses his hips into you while gripping your waist.

“Don’t test me, y/n,” his voice is a soft and low warning. “Unless you’re okay with public indecency.”

Your eyes open wide. You want to indulge in the moment but being naked on the balcony of a cruise boat isn’t exactly what you had in mind. Perhaps you shouldn’t try to call his bluff.

You slowly nod in understanding, and he releases your waist. He steps back, and you turn around as he takes his seat at the table again. You frown, still wanting his hands on you.

In your line of work, patience is required. In your personal life, however, you have a hard time waiting for the things you want. And after the day he presented you with and his overall presence here, you really fucking want him. But you can wait…for a while.

You sit back down.

“Anyways…” You say casually. “What were we even talking about?”

He laughs heartily and you do too.

There’s a knock at the door and Chris suddenly stiffens, grabbing his mask to put over his face. The door to your private slice of paradise opens and a waiter with a cart full of food enters. Their back is to you as Chris puts himself together.

You find his behavior peculiar, but you don’t say anything about it. You don’t know what to say about it, truthfully.

“Sillyehabnida,” the waiter says, leaving the cart near the door as they bring several dishes to the table one by one. There are different trays of meat, sides, soup, and dessert.

When the waiter leaves, Chris removes his mask again.

“Sorry,” he says with a sigh.

The apology feels heavier than necessary, but you again choose not to acknowledge it. If he is a music producer, perhaps he doesn’t want any unnecessary attention. You turn your attention to the food in front of you instead. Since his instructions forbade you from having a big lunch, you’re beyond hungry.

He grabs the plates and places one in front of you and another in front of himself, followed by the bowls. You take care of the cutlery—chopsticks and spoons for both of you.

You remain quiet as you eat, just taking in the view and enjoying the meal. The only sounds are those of you appreciating the delicious meal provided. You eventually talk about a few random topics—he apparently doesn’t watch much television and really does spend most of his time in a studio. You provide him an abridged version of what’s happening with the author you’re trying to sign, and he talks about some of the artists that have inspired him.

At a certain point he asks about your family—you tell him you’re an only child and that it’s just you and your mother now. He’s interested in the fact that you’re from New York but don’t carry much of an accent. He has a younger sister and brother who live in Australia with his mom and dad that he talks about adoringly.

It must be hard to be separated from them. Perhaps he’s lonely here too and that’s why he took a liking to you.

When you’re done eating and have finished almost a bottle of soju, you feel satisfied—right on the brink of being stuffed. You pour another round of shots—you clink your glasses together and drink. He stands and motions for you to join him at the railing again.

The sun has sunk completely below the horizon, and the stars are twinkling above you. The boat has already turned around and is headed back toward the dock. You know your time with him is coming to an end for the night and the thought makes you sad.

Will you see him again?

Your elbow rests on the rail, your head in your hand. You’re more captivated by him than the sights around you. It takes him a few seconds to realize you’re staring.

“Are you real?” you ask.

He pokes at his chest before responding, “I think so.”

“Well then,” you begin, “I should let strangers break my phone in the airport more often.”

“There’s no guarantee they’d be even half as cool as me,” he says with a shrug. But he can’t keep a straight face for long and chuckles.

You want to commit the way he looks right now to memory. His dark hair is disheveled from being under his hat and you still have the urge to run your hands through it. His russet brown eyes have a twinkle to them when he smiles—you want to make him smile more just so you can see them light up. Soju aside, you feel like…

“Hang on a second,” you say, reaching for your phone on the table. You type what you’re looking for into google, turn the volume down low and let the sound play in your ear.

He looks utterly perplexed, and you can’t blame him. You listen to the recording a few times before building up the confidence to repeat it aloud. You’re aware you’re only here for a short amount of time, but with the help of your good friend soju, you feel encouraged to make the most of whatever time you have with him.

There’s no harm in being open and direct—so long as you keep yourself in check.

“Joahaeyo,” you say, sheepishly.

He laughs and places his hand over his face. It’s not a laugh that makes you feel self-conscious, though, so you don’t regret your words.

“Jinjja?” He asks with a soft smile. You scramble to look up what he said but he uses his hand to stop you. “Really? Jinjja?”

You understand what he means then and think about answering him back. He already knows the answer. Before you can contemplate your actions any further, you step closer to him and put your hands around his neck. You only have two days left in Seoul and want to spend tonight beneath or on top of him. Either way is fine.

Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head, waiting for your lips to finally meet again.

They never do.

Instead, you feel his lips press against your forehead. Your eyes snap back open and you feel several emotions at once with embarrassment and rejection at a tie for the top spot. You bite your lip and look away towards the river.

You’re completely out of your element here. You must have read every single signal wrong because what the fuck?

He hooks a finger under your chin, turning your head back to him.

“Joahaeyo,” he says reassuringly. His eyes bore deeply into yours and there’s not a single trace of insincerity which only further adds to your confusion. “I have to be careful with you.”

You don’t know what he means by that, but the sound of the boat horn lets you know you’ve reached the dock and provides a much-needed distraction. You take a small step back from him and he must sense your apprehension, judging by the look that overtakes his features.

“Thanks again, Chris, for today—for tonight.” You speak up before he can say anything.

A part of you doesn’t want him to address what happened. Perhaps you should have been more patient. You feel like an idiot. Maybe it’s better to leave some things unsaid. Maybe it’s better to just accept and be thankful for what today was—an amazing experience exploring a beautiful country. Nothing more, nothing less.

“It was my pleasure,” he replies after a moment.

There’s a hint of sadness in his tone.

An announcement plays overhead in Korean. You assume it’s advising passengers to disembark. You walk around the table and grab your bag, checking the surface to make sure you’re not leaving anything behind. In all honesty, you’re looking for any distraction to avoid meeting his gaze. You can feel him watching you.

“The driver will meet you in the same spot,” he informs you. “I’ll see you later.”

You finally bring your eyes up to meet his and take one last, long look at him before simultaneously nodding and shrugging your shoulders.

He shot you down but still plans to see you again?

As you exit the balcony room, though, you doubt you’ll have the nerve to see him after this.

It’s loud on the inside of the boat, and you immediately miss the quiet of your secluded area. However, you’re able to let out a breath of relief as you walk towards the exit and put some distance between you.

You pull out your phone as you walk back to meet the driver, taking it off ‘Do Not Disturb’. You see a missed text and call from the author you’ve been working with. You mentally kick yourself for missing her and play the voicemail as you reach the car. The driver opens the door, and you slide into the backseat.

“y/n—it’s Moira,” her familiar voice says on the playback. “I’ve been thinking about this whole process and, given your commitment to me and my book, I want you here in person when my lawyer comes out. Talk to Mr. Reeds, or I will, if necessary, but I won’t trust anyone else but you with this. Call me when you can, whatever time.”

You can’t help the smile that takes over your face—the level of trust she has put in you is not something you take lightly. You are a little concerned with what Mr. Reeds will say as this is not a common request, though.

But, given the millions the company stands to make from signing her, you think you can convince him. Plus, you’ll still be available to work on other tasks remotely.

You check the time and realize it’s only 5:00 AM where he is, but you’re sure he’ll answer. He’s usually up around 4:00 AM. You give him a call and he picks up on the third ring.

“Mr. Reeds? Sorry to call so early,” you say.

“Is everything alright?” He asks.

“Yes, fine—great, actually. Moria has asked me to stay in Korea until her lawyer comes out in a few weeks. She’d like to continue ironing out the details to have the contract fully ready for review when he’s here.”

“Hmmm,” he’s silent for a moment, probably running numbers in his head or something. He has to consider the costs of flying you back home for a few weeks then sending you back here, then back home again. Versus just continuing to pay for your room throughout that time. “See if you can negotiate in the rights for any future movies or TV series that the book generates. There’s some leeway for creative control of the scripts for her but keep it tight, okay?”

You’re grinning from ear to ear again.

“Yes, Mr. Reeds,” you reply.

“How are the accommodations? Do you need something more comfortable for the extended stay?” he asks.

“No, sir. The hotel is fine—” you pause and tense up as the car door opens. You then see Chris poke his head inside to check that you’re there before he gets in. A look of confusion remains plastered to your face. “—I’ll confirm dates with Moira and send you an email.”

“Sounds good. Take your time with this—we might just have the next J.K. Rowling on our hands if this is done right.”

Chris nods to the driver and the car takes off. He once again removes his mask, rubbing behind his ears as they’re freed from the constraints.

“I will, Mr. Reed. Thank you for trusting me with this—I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. Talk soon.”

He ends the call, and you bring the phone down to your lap and just stare at it for a minute. You’re feeling a mix of emotions—excitement with a new challenge at work and confusion as to why Chris is now sitting next to you.

You hear a whirring sound and look up to see the partition slowly moving up. You didn’t even know that was an option the entire day. Not that you would have used it.

“Everything okay?” He asks.

You take a deep breath and nod, turning your head to look at him. The embarrassment of your prior conversation has momentarily taken a seat on the back burner. You need to unload the news to someone.

“More than okay,” you say before launching into an explanation of everything that just transpired.

“That’s amazing, y/n—I’m happy for you,” he replies genuinely.

“Thanks.” You lean back into the seat and close your eyes, still smiling. You’ve worked your ass off under your higher ups—this is your first solo endeavor and it’s going better than you could have imagined. You let out a small sigh and bring yourself back to the present—this car ride with the man you left on the boat after expecting him to kiss you.

You open your eyes and turn to look at him.

“About earlier—”

“I want to—”

You both start speaking at the same time, then stop.

“You go first,” you say, wanting to hear him out.

He contemplates his words for a moment. Then speaks.

“I’m usually a pretty reasonable and responsible person—in all aspects,” he begins, “but I kinda feel like throwing caution to the wind when I’m with you. It feels reckless…or maybe impulsive is a better word. I work crazy hours and travel often, so I’m not really built for anything more than a one-night stand.”

It’s dark in the back of the car, but each time you pass under a streetlight, his face is illuminated for a moment. He looks concerned, and you don’t know if that should comfort or worry you.

“When I want something, I give my undying attention and devotion to it,” he continues, “I’m passionate about it, protective over it…so I don’t let myself get to that point about anything that’s not work related, you know? But with you? Seeing you again today is already outside of the norm, and I pushed for this, I made it happen. I wanted to see you. I feel like I need to have you again and that scares the shit outta me.”

His words come out in a bit of a rush, but you can tell this is something he’s thought hard about. Still, you’re glad to hear some of your own thoughts reflected in his words.

“I mean this as no shade or disregard to you or your feelings, but I can’t let anything or anyone, jeopardize the work I’m doing.” His tone is low and firm.

A silence falls over you for a moment as you process everything he said. You feel butterflies in your stomach about some of it, but your brain quickly pulls you back to reality.

He’s clearly saying he has some kind of feelings for you. But, the more important thing is that he doesn’t want whatever these feelings are to get in the way of his goals.

“I completely understand,” you finally say. “I’ve thought about you more than I care to admit these past couple days, but I’m here for work—it’s my top priority too.”

“What do we do about it?” He asks.

The silence engulfs you once more as you weigh out the options.

“I’m here for another couple of weeks…we can enjoy time with each other and still be aware and responsible enough to not let our feelings get in the way of our respective careers. If either of us start to feel anything too deeply, we can stop?” You say, though it comes out more like a question because you’re unsure if it’s a terrible idea or not. “I’m a big girl, Chris. I can resist falling for your charms.”

You add the last bit for good measure, but it could be a lie.

Your last relationship had ended so terribly that you hadn’t considered taking anyone seriously in years. The thought had never crossed your mind with Tinder matches nor with Chris.

You can’t imagine being in a long-term committed relationship and really putting yourself out there again. Anytime a guy even mentioned becoming official you’d freak out and get the fuck out of dodge.

That being said, you feel confident you will be able to keep yourself in check with Chris, as you always have in the past.

“I’m not worried about that,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Responsible fun with no strings attached?” you say, extending your hand.

He laughs even louder this time, and it makes you smile.

“Respectful and responsible fun,” he repeats, shaking your hand.

You expect him to pull away after a moment, but he doesn’t. He pulls you closer, and his lips are on yours before you even realize what’s happening. You feel the adrenaline course through you at the sudden, intimate contact.

Your body doesn’t tense up—it has the opposite reaction. You soften against him and embrace the feel of his lips against yours again, finally.

Caution be gone.

If you’re doing this, you are going to do it to the fullest. You are going to indulge.

You break the kiss, unbuckle your seat belt and swing your leg over his so that you’re straddling him. His hands immediately go to your waist and squeeze. You grind slowly against him with a teasing glance before flicking your hand up and knocking his hat off his head.

He tilts his head back in laughter and you take the opportunity to put your mouth on his exposed neck, licking and kissing it. You slide your hands into his hair and curl your fingers into fists, giving the strands a tug to keep his head tilted back. You move your mouth to his, exhilarated by his soft moan that escapes into your mouth.

He grips your waist tighter, and you respond by rolling your hips into his. You nip at his bottom lip with your teeth and when his lips part, you slide your tongue inside. Your tongues clash together as he moves his hands up your side and to your breasts. He pushes up the cropped shirt you’re wearing, his hands cool against your warm skin.

He yanks down the cup of your bra, and you lean back, using your hands in his hair to guide his mouth to your breast. As you did with his lips, he lightly bites your nipple, eliciting a moan from you. You tilt your head back as he takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and biting intermittently.

You grab his other hand and guide it to the waistband of your leggings. For a moment you regret the tight bottoms as they’ll only make this more challenging. You pull at the waistband, stretching it out so there’s room for his hand to enter. He directs his attention to the other breast as he slides his hand down until his fingers are touching your pussy.

“Fuck,” he groans, feeling how wet he has made you. “You’re so fucking wet, y/n.”

His fingers slide back and forth against your clit and your hips are now moving of their own accord in response to him. He slouches down in the seat to allow his hand better access and slips his fingers inside you. You moan at the feeling and place your hands on his neck, bringing his mouth back to yours.

Your lips are reunited only for a second when something switches in his head and he stops the kiss. He takes his hand from inside your pants and runs his fingers, wet with your own slick, across your lips before kissing you again, lightly sucking the juices off.

You nearly lose it.

He turns you around and you realize what he wants. You lean back against him and pull your bottoms down below your knees as he unbuttons his own and slides them down. He positions you above him and pauses for a moment. You look back, exasperated and slightly annoyed at the delay.

He reaches over to the door and presses a button several times that makes the volume of the music higher. When his hand is back on you, he squeezes your hips and slams you down on to him. You let out a gasp, feeling his cock inside you again.

You move your hands to the tinted partition window and use it to help bounce yourself back against him. His hands let go of your waist as you take on more of the work. They slide up and down your back, caressing you as you fuck him.

The car slows to a stop, but it isn’t until the light above you flickers on and off three times that you both freeze. Your eyes widen, and you turn around to look at him—his expression mirrors yours.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“I thought we were,” you respond coyly.

He gives you a lazy smile, pulls you down on him slowly one last time before lifting you up and off him. You regretfully pull your underwear and leggings back up and sit on the seat as you adjust your bra. He fixes his pants and has to readjust himself, so his stiff cock is not noticeable.

It feels as if the driver knows what’s happening because he’s taking his sweet time opening the door and you’re so thankful for it. You grab your bag, and Chris puts his mask and hat back on. When the door opens the cool night air enters the back of the car and you lock eyes with the driver before immediately averting your gaze. He knows. He has to know.

As you step out of the car, you see a hint of a smile playing at his lips. He’s holding your shopping bags from earlier in his hand and you reach for them but, once again, Chris stops you and grabs them himself.

“I gotta make sure your merchandise makes it inside safely. Can’t be too careful out here.”

You squint at him, knowing he’s got a wide grin beneath his mask from the way his eyes are wrinkled at the corners. He says something to the driver in Korean and the driver closes the door. He bows towards both of you before getting back in the car.

“Plus,” Chris says as you walk towards the hotel entrance. “I never leave anything unfinished.”

a/n: i really think chan would be that thoughtful and provide a full itinerary 😂 and love the theory that there's a code between drivers and passengers with the music and lights haha because this has gotta happen IRL, right??? Oh and the kids are gonna have their real introduction soon! [ read chapter eight here ] (coming 6/7)

#stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids #bang chan #bangchan fanfic #bang chan imagines #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x reader #skz smut #bang chan smut #skz fanfiction #bangchan x you #bangchan x reader #bangchan x y/n #bangchan smut #stray kids smut

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loveanalyst · 3 months ago

Text

CALEB'S INDESCRETION

SUMMARY: This is a reimagining of what happened after lockdown was lifted in Skyhaven. It now takes place in MC's bedroom at Caleb's house rather than the Livingroom. Will MC stay with Caleb, or go back to Linkon? It’s up to you to decide.

NOTE: This story starts with scripts from “Homecoming Wings” 2-9 and 2-10. Italicized text are direct quotes from the game.

Word Count: 13k

Warnings: Non-con! Smut! Misuse of Evol! Rape! Non-Con to Con. Stockholm Syndrome...ish...

18+

A/N: This is my first FanFic in over 10 years! Some of the fics here have encouraged me to try my hand at writing again. Smut is a helluva way to start right? Lmao! I hope you all like it!

Orange is Caleb: Blue is MC

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Caleb sets you down on the couch.

Sit first, we need to treat your wound.

He reaches for a first aid kit.

“Is the colonel ordering me around? Or is Caleb worried about me?”

Do you remember that injured cat you brought back home? Back when we were kids.

He unzips the bag and pulls out the tools needed to treat your knee.

We kept it in the backyard. But that cat always kept trying to run away before it fully recovered.

I don’t want to Listen to this.”

Caleb's brow furrows and you suddenly feel an intense pressure on your body. Its like being covered in a weighted blanket that’s 3xs heavier than you. You can hardly move. Caleb is using his Evol to keep you still.

Do you want to know what I did in response?

He holds your leg in his hand and begins to cleanse the reopened wound.

I got a collar with a bell. I put it on the cat. That way, it couldn’t escape without being noisy.

He stares daggers into you as he says this, then he continues.

If I had that kind of bell right now…I should make you wear it, right?

His hand gently runs the length of your leg down to your ankle before letting go. When he does, the pressure also lifts. You’re free.

Is this how you’ll “protect” me? I just need to be glued to your side?

Taking your hand in his, he sigs.

I know it's unfair. But…

He snaps a monitor around your wrist and calibrates it.

Because of that monster, your wound is infected.

Is there truly a way for you to run around without getting injured?

You pull your arm away.

Are you still the Caleb who confronted danger with me? I’ve had enough of…your “protection”

A sadness washes over Caleb's face.

If being with me only brings you pain, then just put up with this for three more days.

Caleb stands up and begins to leave the room.

“What are you going to do?”

Glancing back he murmurs,

Tie up loose ends

And then…all of this will be over. I just need three days.

Caleb walks out of the room, not looking back again. You’re alone now.

You try to grasp what just happened. You replay it in your mind while looking at the monitor on your wrist. Caleb has confined you, he’s treating you like an “injured cat”, and what’s more, he used his Evol on you.

Never had you felt an aggressive touch from him. Even in that moment, as he held you fast, his hand gliding down your leg was soft and careful, but the absolute power behind his Evol was something scary and new. Colonel Caleb was scary and new.

THREE DAYS LATER:

You conceded to the three days Caleb asked for. During that time, your conversation was minimal, he gave you space and you stayed put to appease him.

After taking a long hot shower, letting the heat sink into your muscles and relax you, you put on your night clothes. A simple shirt and shorts. After tidying the bathroom you enter your room.

Caleb is standing in front of the tv, holding an apple and the remote while listening to the news which states:

“Our reporters out in the field confirmed the lockdown will be lifted after being in effect for weeks. The Farspace Fleet assures everyone that the explosion in the Cascade District will not happen again…”

Caleb mutes the tv then turns to you and says

After all this is over…The Fleet will return to the Deepspace tunnel. You'll be safe. For now.

“In other words, you’ll just disappear again. And not even say anything?” you retort.

I’ll be gone. Aren’t you happy that you won’t have to see me then?

Caleb grabs your wrist and begins to pull you after him.

I’m about to leave. It’d be nice if we had a meal together.

You snatch your arm away.

“So I have to listen to the colonel even when it comes to eating and drinking now?”

Feeling frustrated at your discrepancy, you sit on the bed. You don’t want Caleb to disappear again…but you also don’t want the Colonel to stay. It’s all so irritating.

Caleb squats down in front of you still holding the apple.

You can be mad, but don’t let it affect your health.

I’m not mad.

Growing up, we knew each other so well. Better than most, even.

Caleb rests his elbow on his knee and then his cheek against his hand.

I could see through your lies when you’d blink. Bite your lip, and I could tell you were upset.

In that case, tell me. What am I thinking about right now?

Caleb looks at you silently.

I wonder. How did you turn into someone I hardly recognize?

He chuckles, placing the apple to the side,

Oh I know. You’re thinking some chip got put into my brain right? And now, I’m no longer who I used to be. What if I told you I was always like this?

He reaches out and touches your cheek. You move your face away. Inside a sense of dread fills you. It had crossed your mind that perhaps Colonel Caleb was actually just Caleb uninhibited. But you had pushed that thought from your head. You didn’t want to entertain it, but now it’s coming straight from his mouth.

Caleb's gaze turns serious as he stands up.

Your life has threats around every corner.

He’s leaning over you now with one hand on the bed, you lean back slightly.

The people who are after your power, who wanna hurt you-they should all just…disappear. You’re only safe when you’re by my side.

“I’d rather face danger head on than “safely” live like this! I don’t need you–”

You push Caleb back, a flicker of anger and surprise cross his face before he chuckles with frustration and says,

You don’t need me? Is that what you think?

He grabs your wrist and holds it firm, he has one knee on the bed now and you begin to feel trapped.

All right. What do you need? You can tell me.

With your wrist still in his hand, he’s now fully over you. As you fall onto your back you smack at his arm with your free hand but he doesn’t seem to feel a thing.

We can return to Linkon if that’s what you want. If you want to return to the past, we’ll rebuild our old house and move in together. And if one house isn’t enough, I’ll build you a whole maze.

Your heartbeat quickens as you remember the moment Caleb’s Evol took hold of you. You wonder if that sensation will occur again soon.

I’ll decorate it with everything you could ever want. It will be the most beautiful, stunning garden you’ve ever seen.

He places his hand on the side of your face and touches his forehead to yours.

No one will be able to find you ever again. I’ll protect you forever.

In a soft, almost pleading tone you place your hand on Caleb's chest and say

“Caleb…you can’t just…you’re very important to me. And no one could ever replace you…”

You hope this will speak to Caleb's soft side, but instead his gaze darkens and he smirks as he now grabs you free wrist placing it above your head with the other.

Really? I’ve always held myself back and endured. Day, after day, after day. It was suffocating.

His grip around your wrists tightens.

But now, I’m tired of playing these games…

He leans down and kisses you. The touch of his lips sends electricity through your body. You struggle against his wrists yet you don’t turn away. He kisses your unmoving lips again and again. You notice their softness and warmth. You can’t help but be surprised, Caleb's lips always looked kind of dry to you, but their texture is anything but rough.

You’re speechless, but not for long as Caleb collects both of your wrist in one of his hands. You snap back to attention as you feel his free hand slide down over your breast and waist and firmly collect the band and leg of your shorts. At this you finally turn your head from him, pulling your legs up and attempting to push him away with your feet.

CALEB!

He’s pushed back by the force but maintains control of your wrists and the grasp on your shorts, he pulls them down with a force that frees them from both of your hips and they slide down to your knees. You’re still trying to push him away with your feet, one of which is on his thigh and the other pushing into his stomach. He uses his thigh to push that leg forward just enough to pry the shorts over your foot. Your lower half now feels completely bare as your shorts hang from your other leg.

You begin to panic. There’s no way right? There’s just no way he is trying to do this….

Feeling exposed, you bring your knees to your chest and close your legs together hard. Caleb leans down and attempts to kiss you again, this time you refuse, turning your head. This doesn’t seem to phase him, he kisses your face and along your neck. Your upper body writhes underneath him while your lower body stays tensed in a protective position.

You try with more force to break your wrists free. They’re beginning to ache and pulsate with dull pain. The more you try to get his grip to fail, the tighter it gets. You never truly noticed just how strong he had become.

His free hand continues to explore your body. The touches from this hand a stark contrast to the militant one trapping you. This one touches you lightly, taking time to feel your skin. It makes its way back down to your waist and around your bottom, then snakes back up and under your shirt to grab your breast. As he cups your breast you let out a gasp. You look up at him and see the Colonel looking back at you. No, you see Caleb looking back at you.

His hand moves from your breasts down your stomach and tries to access your restricted area. You keep your legs closed tight and cross your ankles to anchor them together.

He places his free hand on your knees attempting to pry them apart. When he realizes he can’t achieve this one handed, he looks down at you. His eyes are dark, his expression frustrated, and then you feel it…his Evol.

It starts as a pressure on top of your knees, as if someone is stacking weights on them. Then the pressure splits and begins acting like pliers. You feel a sharp and sudden pain in your hips as the pressure forces your knees apart and down onto the bed. You let out a small cry as you are fully exposed to him. The pressure keeps you from moving as Caleb takes a handful of you and then begins to rub.

You can’t bring yourself to speak. Feeling his Evol pin you down again, feeling the pain in your hips and pressure on your splayed legs is a sensation that overwhelms the feeling of Caleb's middle and forefinger now working circles around your clit. You focus and breath your way through the conflicting feelings of pain and sensitivity. Your body begins to fail you as you feel yourself becoming wet from the unwanted stimulation.

Caleb has noticed this moisture and slowly eases his middle finger inside your unguarded hole. You let out a squeak and the word “please..” quietly escapes your lips.

His eyes lock on on you, he kisses your forehead and his gaze softens

“I’ve held myself back, and we’ve endured. This will be a release for us both.”

He removes his finger and licks it clean before positioning his body between your legs so as to not let them close again. Once he does this, the pressure on them immediately releases. The pain in your hips eases with each passing moment, but the soreness remains.

Putting his weight on the hand holding your wrists, he uses the other to undo his belt and free himself from his pants. He strokes himself and his breathing biomes heavier. Then he presses the tip against your opening, rubbing it up and down for lubrication. He enters you slowly using small, shallow thrusts that gradually get longer until he’s able to ease his entire length inside of you. Even under these circumstances, Caleb is still trying to be gentle.

At the sensation of penetration, your mind is everywhere and nowhere. Part of you wants Caleb to stop, to leave you be, to go back to being dead. The other part feels a pleasure that is humiliating. This part of you enjoys him filling you, dominating you, and finally doing what the two of you have secretly wanted for so long.

With all these feelings hitting you at once, a warm sensation covers your eyes and soon after you feel tears falling down your face towards your ears. Your breath catches as the full realization of what’s happening sinks in. You're confused and conflicted.

Caleb, who you thought would never hurt you, who lives for your happiness and protection, who has been a constant in your life, is betraying you. Or is he? Deep down, you begin to second guess yourself. Your internal voice starts to argue on Caleb's behalf. You think “Caleb has only ever wanted what was right for me. He tried to protect me from getting hurt and I went out anyway. Could it be that he has been trying to do right by me but I simply won’t let him?”

Caleb hears the change in your breathing and, as he glimpses your tear stained face, immediately looks away, surprise and embarrassment momentarily flashing in his eyes as he releases your wrists. His thrusts come to a stop.

With your arms now free, you wipe the tears and cover your face with your hands. You’re embarrassed. You begin to think Caleb is right. For all the wanderers you’ve fought, for all the training you've done, you still feel weak. Caleb is just a man, not even an otherworldly creature with protocore strength or the ability to create a protofield, and yet you can’t compete with him. It makes you think that he’s right about the hunter lifestyle being too dangerous. Maybe you should let him protect and hide you away. There are so many after your eather core, maybe it is best to just let Caleb take the lead…

You can feel Caleb's eyes are back on you. You feel the tender touch of his fingers on your wrist attempting to pull your hands away. This touch is the old Caleb again, not the one that was so forceful with you moments ago. You allow your hands to be pulled away and when you look up, the eyes you see are familiar. No longer dark and threatening, but nostalgic and apologetic. Without thinking, you reach up and throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. Taken momentarily by surprise, Caleb embraces you back. He gradually resumes his pace.

Caleb breaks away from your embrace. He leans back and looks down into your eyes, you look back at him as he warily leans in for a kiss. This time you accept it. You kiss him back. Caleb's breathing becomes heavier, he kisses you deeply, letting his tongue trace along your lips. A slight moan escapes you and you’ve decided to give in.

You lift your hips to receive him better. At the feeling of consent Caleb begins to deep end into you. He sends his cock in as far as it will go and begins to push and grind himself against you. His breaths are turning to mons now as you wrap your legs about him. He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and removes his shirt. He then gingerly lifts your shirt over your head to remove it, exposing your breasts. His hands find them immediately and his mouth follows soon after. He teases your nipples with his tongue, flicking it across their tender tips. He continues to lick your chest and up to your neck alternating with kisses the whole way.

Caleb stops grinding and resumes a normal rhythm. You openly moan and you move your hand down to your clit. You begin to rub yourself while bucking your hips to greet Caleb's thrusts. Your breathing quickens as you feel your orgasm approaching. You lose yourself in the combined pleasure of your fingers and Caleb's cock. You begin to climax, breathing in and hitching your breath as waves of pleasure run through your body. Your pussy contracts with all the strength of years of repressed passion, the contractions around Caleb's member have him moaning loudly as he pushes himself into your pulsating and contracting hole. He cums with you, thrusting himself in as far as he will go. You feel the warmth of his seed inside you and the twitching from his release. Silently, the two of you catch your breath.

Caleb leave himself inside of you and he sits back on his knees and looks down at you.

Post orgasm has left you feeling even more exposed. You look away from him in embarrassment, but he turns your face back to him.

Let me protect you.

I can’t hide away forever Caleb. I’m not a cat, you can’t keep me collared indoors.

That’s not what I want for you. I just want you to stop throwing yourself into danger. Leave the hunters association.

He carefully pulls out of you.

Stay here with me. We’ll figure things out together. You can go where you please. I just need to know that you aren’t out there in the line of fire.

Caleb looks down at your wrists, which are red and showing early signs of bruising.

“Will you…ever forgive me for this? Or do you hate me more now than before?”

Annnnd this is where I’ll end it. What do you think happens? In this timeline do you think MC stays in sky haven with Caleb? Does she give up her life as a hunter and become Caleb's charge? Does she forgive Caleb for his indiscretion? I liked both options and couldn’t choose!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lads #l&ds #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deespsace fanfict

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amyoffline · 5 months ago

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In Defense of the Phandom (Mostly): Dan, Phil, and Our Parasocial Social Club

Refer to my previous pinned post for an explanation of and outline for this project. Now that I'm done going through my old reblogs (god, it took forever), it's time to actually research and write this script! This will be my pinned post for the foreseeable future, so you can come back to it by clicking on my blog for the current status of this part of the process. (Note from February 15 - everything is on hold for now while I wrap up my dissertation!)

Script word count: 2,350 | Last updated: January 9, 2025

Research

Peer-reviewed or published literature: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Social media, forum archives, and fanwork: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ The great rewatch: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Discussions with other phannies (hey! that could be you, if you want!): ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎

Writing

Introduction, background, and conclusion sections: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2009-2013: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2014-2018: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ 2019-2025: ⚫︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Long tangents (fandom, RPF, and PSIs/PSRs): ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎ Editing: ⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎⚪︎

More details below the cut!

Research → peer reviewed or published literature:

I read a few things (like Haidt's The Anxious Generation) while I was in the process of searching academic databases, but most of the 403 works I have saved to Zotero for this are currently unread. They're not all the same length or will take the same amount of time to read, so the completion proportion is just getting updated based on vibes. I'm absolutely not referencing all 403 of these things in the script - I just cast a wide net for materials I thought might be relevant. Furthermore, there are some things I didn't save that I know I'll be referencing, like some of the Pew Research Center's work in the early to mid 2010s on teenagers and technology, or the journalistic coverage of what got my school district in huge trouble in 2011.

Research → Social media and forum archives:

The collection of posts, art, and fic (other than mine) to reference in the video. For regular posts and art, especially by people who have long since abandoned their accounts or whose content went pretty viral, I feel comfortable just showing things in the video with credit as examples. For fic, I intend to just discuss trends more broadly and vaguely since, as a fic writer myself, I know we tend to get more flack and less acclaim for our work and therefore prefer to stay out of the spotlight. Let me know if you think I should handle this differently - the academic impulse is to credit sources and reproducible searches for every single thing you do, but that's definitely not best practice for phandom history since we have so much "forbidden" lore. I'll also be reading the IDB forum front-to-back, listening to things like the phandom podcast, reading the current generation of phanzines, and looking at recent (and historical, if anyone has any) surveys done of phannies within the community. I'm assuming those folks would appreciate credit and/or a shoutout.

Research → The great rewatch:

Rewatching everything DNP-related so I can talk about it from more recent memory (and read what's left of the original comments for DNP videos that are still up at their original locations). I know there's a playlist for this but I also know it's incomplete, so I have been doing some poking around myself and will probably continue to.

Research → Discussions with other phannies:

Writing → Introduction, background, and conclusion sections

See old pinned post for the outline. Will expand details here once research is mostly done (I plan to read and watch everything in the research section aside from talking to other phannies, then complete the script's rough draft, then talk to others on call, then integrate that with and finalize the script).

Writing → 2009-2013

See above.

Writing → 2014-2018

See above.

Writing → 2019-2025

See above.

Writing → Long tangents (fandom, RPF, and PSRs/PSIs)

See above. These tangents are kind of mini video essays in and olf themselves, so I may write them while I'm reading through my saved stuff in Zotero and before I rewatch all the DNP videos.

#dan and phil #phan #dnp #daniel howell #amazingphil #amy writes #i feel weird putting this in the main tags but given it's been TWO WEEKS WITHOUT A PHUPLOAD no one's gonna mind #as indicated - this is now pinned on this sideblog! more minor status updates will just be tagged “amy writes” so follow if you want those

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bradshawssugarbaby · 1 year ago

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Take Your Time - Evan "Buck" Buckley x Reader

summary: Evan Buckley is getting ready for parent-teacher interviews with the parents of his kindergarten class. He wasn't expecting to hit it off with one of them.

a/n: this is my first 9-1-1 fic (and first non-TGM one in a long time) but I had this idea and after @sarahsmi13s and I discussed it, I went with it!

pairing: teacher!Evan "Buck" Buckley x single mom!reader

warnings/content: mentions of divorce, single parent, Buck getting a crush on reader.

word count: 2k

Evan Buckley let out a heavy sigh as he checked over the schedule he’d made for parent-teacher interviews. Teaching kindergarten was quite the change from the fourth and fifth graders he’d been used to, but so far, the seventeen little darlings in his class had been, for the most part, a refreshing new experience. He’d struggled initially, trying to find ways to entertain a classroom of five year olds, but after a week or two, he’d found his groove, settling in nicely in his new surroundings. The school district he’d transferred to was underfunded, a stark difference from the well-to-do private school he’d worked at for the previous three years, but, he appreciated the change - the private school circuit wasn’t for him, he’d learned, and the longer he stayed, the worse it seemed to feel staying in it.

Buck looked up at the clock and furrowed his brow. He had exactly 45 minutes before parents and caregivers would start filing in, eager to meet their son or daughter’s new teacher, probably reacting with shock or surprise to learn that a man was teaching kindergarten, like his new co-workers had done when he started. He wasn’t sure what was so strange about the concept, but for some reason, it felt like a lot of people couldn’t wrap their heads around the idea. He sighed as he got up from his desk and headed down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he strolled down the empty corridor.

In the small staff lounge sat a few round tables and aged chairs, upholstered with vinyl and flattened padding, hardly comfortable to sit in for any length of time. On the counter sat a coffeepot that looked to be about as old as Buck was. He’d been hesitant to use it before, questioning both the sanitation and safety of it, but, if he was going to be hosting these interviews until well into the evening, he needed something to get him through the next four and a half hours. He just hoped that coffee would be strong enough.

Back at the comfortable familiarity of his desk, a mug of burnt, flavourless coffee in hand, he looks around the classroom, surveying the layout in an attempt to determine if he needed to make any last minute changes in the next twenty minutes of free time he had. He sighed, realizing there wasn’t much that could be done to improve the room with the small time-frame and limited budget. Twirling a pen between his fingers, he looked out the window, watching the clouds rolling in the California sky. Focusing his attention for a moment, he looked down at the stack of papers, neatly situated on the desk in front of him.

“Right,” he said to himself as he started sifting through the papers, ensuring each student was sorted according to the rudimentary schedule he’d made. “You’ve got this, Buck, you can handle it. A dozen and a half kindergarteners and parents. It’s fine.”

Right on cue, the first parent entered the room at 4 pm, escorting their young daughter in the doorway, ushering her to a seat. Buck stood from his seat for a handshake, awkwardly accepted by the parent. He sat back down and nodded his head. It was going to be a long night.

“Alright, Holly, are you ready to for Mommy to meet your teacher?” you asked your five-year-old as you stood in the hallway outside of her classroom.

It was later in the evening, the 7:45 slot being the only one you could make work with your hectic work schedule. Holly nodded her head excitedly, tugging on your hand as she tried to pull you into the classroom. You started cycling through a dozen of scenarios in your head, each one playing out how the parent-teacher interview was going to go. You knew very little about your daughter’s teacher, admittedly. You knew a form had come home with Holly on the first day of school, introducing them, but a coffee spill later, that form ended up in the trash before you had a chance to read it.

“Holly!” her teacher smiled warmly, crinkles by his eyes softening as he looked at your daughter. “I’m Mr. Buckley,” he nodded, extending his hand out to you for a handshake. “Mr. Evan Buckley.” He laughed, his cheeks turning red.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Buckley,” you smiled. His grip on your hand was firm, yet gentle. He dropped your hand after holding it a moment longer than he might’ve needed to, before taking his seat at his desk.

“Please, you can call me Evan,” He nodded, smiling as he took a seat. He gestured to the empty chairs in front of his desk, “Please, have a seat.”

Once seated, Evan folded his hands neatly over the stack of Holly’s school work. A pair of tired baby blue eyes looked at you, meeting yours with a softened expression. You could tell he’d been at the school for hours, probably wishing he’d chosen another career choice at this stage, having been stuck in this building since at least 8 am. His dark blonde hair was neatly brushed back, strands held in place with styling product. His dark green sweater accented his pale skin, cheeks rosy and pink from a little too much sun, the pale blue collar of his dress shirt laying flat against his sweater’s neckline - he somehow looked exactly how you’d imagined a male kindergarten teacher to look, and nothing at all like how you’d imagined all at once.

“Holly’s an exceptional student,” he began, nodding his head. “She’s always there to help her friends, and she’s been hard at work practicing the letters of her name. She’s been making some great attempts at writing her name.”

“She has, has she?” You beamed, looking over at Holly, who was now nodding proudly at you.

Evan produced a few sheets of paper with Holly’s name sprawled across the page in large, clumsy handwriting, on brand for a five-year-old child. He shot Holly a smile, sharing in the pride she’s showing for her work.

“It’s been a team effort, but Holly’s been able to write it by herself for a few tries. We just needed to figure out which hand she felt most comfortable trying to write with first, right Holly?” He smiled, flashing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth, a smile you’d expect to see on a poster in your dentist’s office.

Holly nodded her head in agreement as you and Evan continued to discuss Holly’s progress in school, how you’d been struggling the past six months since her dad walked out, and how you were relieved to hear that it hadn’t impacted her performance in school.

After what only felt like a few seconds of discussion, you looked over to see Holly yawning, her eyelids looking heavy with exhaustion. The clock on the wall said 8:20 pm - your meeting had gone 20 minutes over the scheduled time, and now, Holly would be getting to bed later than usual. Quickly, you stood up, shaking hands with Evan once again.

“It was nice meeting you, thank you for being so supportive of Holly and helping her settle into school.” You started, nodding your head. “I really appreciate it.”

Buck let out a sigh, the clink of metal keys against the ceramic dish on the table by the door echoing throughout his quiet apartment. It was 9pm on a Friday, and instead of going out with his friends, like most late twenty-somethings, he’d be tucked in on the couch within the next five minutes, takeout containers scattered across his coffee table. He set the paper carry bags on the counter while he rummaged around the kitchen for a clean fork. He knew he should have run the dishwasher before he left that morning, but in his hurry to make it to school early enough to allow time to set up for meeting parents all evening, he’d forgotten half a dozen things he’d planned on doing.

Settling for a plastic fork that he’d found in the back of a drawer, likely stored away from a previous takeout meal, he grabbed his food and sunk down into his couch, a heavy, exhausted sigh drawing from his lips. He began tucking into his dinner, tv remote in the other hand as he shoveled veggie fried rice into his mouth. Sports highlights droned on in the background, something about how the World Series was progressing, two teams Buck didn’t care enough about to pay attention to battling it out for the championship.

As he flipped through the channels, he found himself unable to focus his attention on anything. Well, almost anything.

The only thing his mind could focus on was the last parent interview he’d had for the night. The one with Holly’s mother - a newly single mom who was trying her best, but had to balance a hectic work life with an impending divorce and a five-year-old.

“Thank you for being so supportive of Holly and helping her settle into school, I really appreciate it.”

The woman’s voice echoed in his head, her gratitude evident on her face as she spoke. Buck couldn’t help but feel his heart swell with joy when he heard how she spoke so positively - a welcome change from the disdain and boredom he was met with from the vast majority of parents he spoke to. Blank stares and uninterested nods, “mhmm”s and a couple of “why are we even doing this? It’s kindergarten.” – but not with you.

With you, it was entirely different. Smiling and laughing as you talked, a sense of concern for you washing over Buck as he listened to your concerns about Holly’s transition into school now that your ex-husband had taken off. As he watched you talk, the prettiest set of eyes he’d ever seen fixed on him, your perfect pink lips pursing into the sweetest pout he’d ever seen as you thought, mulling over what Buck was telling you about Holly, dewy, sun-kissed skin accented beautifully by your floral print dress, a light, acid-washed denim jacket draped over your shoulders, framing your figure like a work of art.

The next morning, Buck rubbed his bleary eyes, blinking a couple of times to orient himself. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, again. It wasn’t unusual for him lately, most nights he ended up dozing off before he made it to bed, but usually, he woke up in the middle of the night, making a tired stumble up the stairs to the loft of his apartment where his bed awaited.

He frowned as he looked around the room, sunlight pouring into the living room, washing everything in a bright, golden glow. He sat up on the couch, eyes scanning the room for his phone. He reached down behind a couch cushion, pulling it out with a tired grunt as he stretched muscles that had tensed through the night. His blonde eyebrows furrowed at the time, sighing as he realized the time. He settled back down in the cushions, scrolling aimlessly on social media, trying to catch up on updates he’d missed from friends from past week.

Buck froze when he saw one of the pictures, shared last Saturday, a familiar face smiling at him from the screen. He checked who posted it –- the girlfriend of a friend of his – and his eyes widened as he saw the name of the person tagged. Confirmation that it was, in fact, you. His palms began to feel clammy as he realized you were a friend of a friend, that, if he’d gone out with his friends last weekend, he would have met you under different circumstances, shared a couple of drinks, and, maybe, invited you back to his place if you were interested.

Now, however, things were complicated.

Dating the parent of a student wasn’t entirely forbidden, was it?

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #buck x reader #buck 911 #buck #evan buckley 911 #evan buck buckley #evan buckley x you #evan buckley x y/n #buck x you #buck x y/n #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buck buckley x you #evan buck buckley x y/n #911 fic #911 fanfic #9 1 1 #9 1 1 fanfiction

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