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depravitycentral · 2 years ago

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Yandere! Shalnark General Profile

Yandere! Shalnark x fem! reader

CW: kidnapping, stalking, nonconsensual recording, emotional abuse, mentions of non-con, mentions of masturbation, threats, mentions of death/murder, mild gore, Stockholm Syndrome, Shalnark gets handsy with you while you're asleep, PSA he's a creep, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

DARLING PROFILE

Naïve

Shalnark is, in all honesty, a bit of a monster.

Everything in his life is about controlling others, stealing and loyalty to the Troupe, and because of this time has hardened him into a person who lives to manipulate, who lives to bend others to his every whim and will.

And while some part of him does love his darling, in a twisted, fucked up way, Shalnark really sees his beloved as someone that he can manipulate and trick into being with him (though, he does eventually hope that they’ll genuinely love him, as he loves them).

He has no qualms with warping their every thought and perception of the world until the only thing they can think of, can love and want to be around is him.

Having a darling who’s almost painfully oblivious or always seeing the best in people is a trait that Shalnark not only finds absolutely fucking adorable, but it also makes the process of making sure that he’s the only thing they deem important in life so much easier, something he’s honestly grateful for.

His darling is so very cute, someone that endlessly entertains him with how adorably clueless they are to the real world. And Shalnark can’t wait to expose them to it – to show them that he’s the only one that protect them from all the monsters out there, the bad people who just want to use his beloved.

It’s an endearing trait that Shalnark will take full advantage of, and his darling likely won’t even notice until it’s much, much too late.

Sweet

While much of his persona feels forced and fake, there’s a certain allure to genuine kindness that makes Shalnark swoon.

He likes the idea of darling who’s genuinely just sweet, a soft personality that he can easily mold and shape into whatever he wants. He wants someone to feed his ego, only making him happier, giving him more to work with, more determination to get them to love him.

He’s not especially used to compliments, but as his darling steadily begins supplying him with them, very quickly Shalnark learns to love it – they’re just so sweet, so adorable and kind when they tell him that he’s really funny, you make me laugh a lot.

It makes him smile when they tell him how his hair is really soft, you must spend a lot of time on it to keep it this healthy and pretty.

His heart hammers in his chest when they whisper that they love him, that he makes them so happy and that they never want to leave him, even if their words are more than a little swayed by threats and knowing how easily he could kill them.

Having a kind darling is something that Shalnark looks for, something that he seeks out, if only because hearing kind words while he slowly breaks them down, makes them utterly and completely dependent on him is something that makes little tingles shoot down his spine, a sparkle to those wide green eyes.

His darling is just so cute!

Introverted

Shalnark is attracted to the idea of someone who isn’t nearly as outgoing as himself.

He’s a talker, through and through, and having a darling who’s a listener is something that he finds incredibly appealing.

He likes the idea of his beloved not constantly going out, rather preferring to spend nights inside, reading a good book or watching a movie or playing video games or whatever their hobbies may be.

It’s cute to him, how flustered they get when put in social situations, how they’re so easily drained just by simply interacting with others, and his more sadistic side comes out when he purposefully tries to drain that social battery, chattering and blabbering nonstop about trivial, pointless things. He does it just to see them desperate for a moment of peace, a moment alone to get away from his constant talking - because that means they're thinking of him.

Of course, they won’t ever get that moment alone, not if Shalnark has any say, but it’s still cute to watch them squirm, to see the way they’re so eager to be alone, to get some peace and quiet and alone time.

It’s cute, and a good bargaining chip for him – personal time in exchange for certain favors, a deal that can’t be beat, especially considering the fact that the dozens of cameras trained on their figure at any given time make sure that they’re never truly alone.

Complaisant

While Shalnark couldn’t give a shit about gender roles and expectations based on sex (hell, the three women in the troupe are enough to prove that sexism is bullshit, even if Shizuku can be a bit ditzy at times), there’s a certain appeal to having a partner who’s willing to cater to his every need that satisfies him.

He likes the idea of his beloved being subservient, that they’re willing to drop everything just to please him, and its something that only becomes more attractive over time as his obsession with them continues on. He likes knowing that he has them in the palm of his hand, his to do whatever he pleases, whenever he pleases.

It’s a cute trait to him, that they’re so adorably focused on what others want rather than themself, and Shalnark plans to take full advantage of this little tendency. He will be making them do things he knows they don’t particularly enjoy, just to see how far they’re willing to go to make him happy.

He likes the idea that they’re so dependent on others’ needs and desires that they forfeit their own, and the longer he spends around his darling, the more he falls in love, the more he realizes that they’re the perfect addition to his collection of toys.

Though, he’d never kill or harm this one; it’s his prize, his special little thing.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Manipulative

Nen types and personalities are, of course, connected – and as far as Shalnark is concerned, it’s no harm done if he twists the situation just a bit. It's okay if he feeds you with pretty little lies every once in a while, just to make sure you see the situation his way, that you understand his perspective.

He swears he has no ill intent towards you – no, of course not! He’s completely in love, so deeply and helplessly enraptured by you that the only reason he’s really telling you how he happened to be in the area and wanted to stop by is to make you more comfortable. He wants to make you feel special and bubbly and desired rather than admitting that he’s been staring at you from behind a computer screen for the last twelve hours, only moving when his desperation to see you became too strong.

He's only trying to help when he warns you against certain people. He'd hate to see you fall into the wrong hands; people who want to hurt you, change you. Only Shalnark gets to do these things - which is why he's always subtly trying to tell you how you shouldn’t hang out with that guy again, can’t you tell he only wants you for your body? You’d be much better off with someone who loves you for you and not just your curves!

He’s really just trying to prevent anything from happening in the future with that piece of scum that’s been taking up your attention recently because although he hasn’t shown any signs of ill intent yet, Shalnark is absolutely positive that he’ll break your heart, that he couldn’t treat you nearly as well as the blond himself can.

Because of his friendly and chipper attitude, Shalnark can easily get you believing him, quickly establishing a complete sense of trust between the two of you that makes him absolutely giddy with power.

He loves that you listen to his each and every word like they’re the purest truth, like his word is law, like he’s the only one who could ever possibly understand you.

The lies he feeds you can be small, flippant ideas you don't seem to question.

(Your phone’s been sending texts you don’t remember typing to your male friends? Huh, guess the technology needs to be updated or your memory is just getting absolutely terrible!)

Others are large, meaningful twisting of words that you're a bit more hesitant to accept - but when Shalnark gives you that smile, all sunshine and warmth, you'll begrudgingly drop it.

(That guy who flirted with you at the store was found dead this morning and you’re wondering why Shalnark had gotten to your hang out late with blood splattered across his shirt? No, of course he has nothing to do with it – you must be seeing things, and how could you ever accuse Shalnark himself, the only friend you have left, of doing something so terrible?).

He’s really good at making his face completely unfaltering when you bring up anything that tip toes too close to the truth, making sure that his façade of innocence doesn’t slip so that you’d become suspicious of him, and he’s able to get you believing quite literally anything he says.

He’s forced his way into your life, narrowing down the list of people you feel close to and those you can trust until he’s the only name left. And while the process is a bit time consuming and frustrating, it’s so worth it to see you smile so brightly when you see him, to make some offhand joke about how he’s the only person who isn’t immediately declining your calls and sending it straight to voicemail, how he’s always there for you.

And really, Shalnark couldn’t be prouder – it doesn’t feel necessarily good to manipulate you, to look at those pretty, vulnerable eyes and lie straight to your face, but it’s worth it.

Anything is worth the end result of you depending solely on him, completely willing to believe each and every word he says.

He craves it, needing it, needing to be needed by you. It makes him feel almost a bit pathetic, but there's something about you that makes Shalnark not care if he throws his pride out the window.

But you’ll eventually figure out how he’s painted a picture in your mind so distorted from reality that it physically makes you sick.

(When you find the multitude of cameras placed strategically in various areas of your room, the short strands of blond hair laying next to your pillow in the mornings, the lingering smell of cum and musk that you know is not your own settling heavy over your bedroom, and of course when he eventually steals you away and you see the thousands upon thousands of videos and pictures he’s saved of you, it’ll become very clear exactly what’s going on).

You’ll be forced to realize that he completely beat you, that you trusted him and he knew it, but it’s too late.

You’re already too deep in, too unsure of what reality really is and how far his lies and deception of your own life really reaches, and Shalnark will capitalize on that.

He’ll use anything and everything he possibly can to make sure you stay his, to make sure you stay right by his side.

Obsessive

Fascination is an understatement for Shalnark's feelings towards you. You’re something he could – and does – stare at for hours, watching every little thing you do, soaking up every detail he possibly can about you.

You’re endlessly entertaining to him, and while he still prioritizes his duties for the Troupe above his own personal matters, every waking moment that the blond has free is spent behind the computer screen or outside your bedroom window.

Wide green eyes stare at your unaware form, seeing you live out your life that he wishes so desperately he could be a part of.

He has this compulsive need to learn everything he can about you, and years of studying and profiling certain events and people for work has led him to be incredibly skilled at stalking, in the most unconventional ways.

Almost immediately after his infatuation forms, Shalnark is installing cameras all over your apartment, the some fifty lenses angled so that he doesn’t miss a single thing. They're everywhere, so that he doesn’t not see you sleeping from three different directions, so that he doesn’t not see you showering with your naked and glistening body fully on display from an angle above you and below you.

(Below is his favorite, though, if only because the way you sometimes spread your legs to balance yourself makes his throat feel dry, the angle of your breasts making him audibly gulp and his hand wander down his chest).

It makes him feel connected to you, a boyish, fluttering feeling erupting in his chest every time he gets to see that cute little smile, your tired, sleepy eyes as you get ready for bed, the lewd and fucking perfect faces you make when you’re touching yourself.

The cameras are enough, for a while, but quickly he grows impatient, installing microphones and bugging devices all over to match with them.

Now he can hear what kind of music you like to put on while you cook dinner or clean, how often you talk to yourself, your little yelps of pain when you stub your toe.

Soon enough he’s hacking into all of your electronics, so that he can monitor what you look at, who you’re talking to, where you’re going. He’s recording your banking information, social security number, your passport information, sensitive facts that he has the absolute right to know, as your soon to be partner for life.

He wants to make it so that he’s not only inserting himself into your physical world, but your virtual and personal one as well, so that once the two of you are living together and having the happy, perfect life he dreams of, that he’ll know everything, that absolutely nothing will catch him off guard and threaten what he deems as perfect.

Shalnark has all your information stored in various folders on his computers, his phones, his everything, so that no matter where he is, if he has a free moment and he can’t watch the actual live footage of you, he can browse through the thousands of pages of facts and observations he’s made of you. It refreshes his memory as he stares down lovingly at the screen with a dopey smile, his cheeks flushed slightly pink.

And when Shizuku tilts her head and asks what he’s looking at, Shalnark has absolutely no shame – he’s showing everyone who asks pictures of you, gushing about how perfect you are and how much he loves you.

(He won’t, of course, show any more risqué pictures or lewd observations of your habits, if only because those are reserved only for him, but as time goes on slowly the idea of showing Feitan and Phinks and the others exactly how sexy and perfect his sweet little thing is grows harder and harder to ignore.)

In all honestly, the Troupe is mostly just happy for him, or at least indifferent. Pakunoda is a bit disturbed by the way he’s constantly watching you, but she says nothing, feeling happy that he has someone in his life to care about and live for, aside from the Spider of course.

Really, as Shalnark’s darling, the concept of privacy or personal space becomes completely non-existent – he will see everything you do, be aware of who you talk to. And when numbers suddenly block you, friends you hold dear no longer contacting you, he’s more than happy that be the man you come running to.

You’ll be crying in frustration and confusion, wondering why so many people seem to be mad at you for no reason, all the while he relishes in the smell of your hair and the feel of your body hugging his.

He’s too fully in ecstasy - and fully unwilling - to mention anything about him blocking their numbers, setting up your phone in such a way that you’ll never be talking to them again.

He'll have a hand in every possible aspect of your life – you won’t know, but Shalnark certainly will, and he couldn’t be happier.

After all, doesn’t looking out for you and getting to know you count as things girls love, traits of the perfect boyfriend? He thinks so, and as the bright light from the computer screens illuminates his face in the otherwise dark room as he watches you snuggle up into bed from the comfort of his office chair, he can only sigh and dreamily trace a finger along the outline of your relaxed body, whispering about how he can’t wait until the day I get to cuddle up next to you.

It would almost be cute if it wasn't so fucking creepy.

Clingy

Shalnark is hellbent on becoming a main, driving part of your life; he forces himself into every possible nook and cranny he can, wanting to make sure that he gets to spend time with you, to see your beautiful self not just through the cameras but also with his own eyes.

He wants to feel your soft skin as he grabs your wrist and leads you through the crowded marketplace, making sure to lean down and whisper into your ear to be careful, you should grab onto me so you don’t get lost, yeah?

He craves contact with you, whether it be simply existing in the same space as you, having your attention and gaze focused on him, or – his personal favorite – physical touch.

He loves the way your skin feels against his own; so soft and warm and supple, and at any given chance he’s subtly trying to hold your hand, to intertwine your fingers together under the guise of friendship.

(Though this kills him, if only because he wants so badly to tell you how in love he is, how much he wants you and needs you and fuck, it doesn’t take long for him to imagine how your fingers would feel against something else of his, something hard and wet and throbbing - and great, now he’s hard and you’re standing there all doe eyed and innocent while he remembers yesterday seeing the way you looked with that vibrator of yours stuffing your cute little hole full.)

He’s good at distracting you, asking you some question about a hobby of yours that he already knows the answer to. You light up and soon words are falling out of your mouth too quickly and passionately to notice the way his hand lingers on your side just a touch too long.

He isn’t too brave at first, not wanting to do anything that could compromise the careful progress of assimilating himself into your life, and just reaching out to blindly squeeze and grope at your tits and grind into your ass would definitely hinder his plan, despite how much he wants to.

He sticks mostly to small gestures, things that could be considered platonic should you mention something about it, but as time goes on he gets bolder, his hand resting on the small of your back sliding lower and lower, his eyes openly drifting below your collarbone, his tongue darting out and making a show of licking over his bottom lip.

Really, Shalnark just wants your attention, for the two of you to live in your own little bubble of a world, to be happy and together and completely in love, all with the added benefit of being flush against one another, feeling each other completely and not letting a single thing be hidden.

So when he’s calling you everyday, asking what you’re up to, showing up at your doorstep with takeout from your favorite restaurant, don’t be too surprised.

When you look to your side for a few seconds while you’re out and about, don’t question it when he physically moves so that he’s in your line of sight, that bright smile falling slightly as he grabs your shoulders and makes some kind of whiny joke about how you should be looking at me, dummy!

And don’t be shocked when his cold hand snakes under your shirt while you’re asleep, a soft moan tumbling from his lips as his eyes flutter closed when he rolls a nipple between his fingers, the softness of your skin leaving him smearing precum all along the inside of his boxers.

It’s all for you, the clinginess and neediness that he displays as time goes on, and while it’s a bit suffocating and strange, soon Shalnark is the only person you’re ever seeing. He's the only one you’re talking to and getting any response from, and you’ll be willing to sweep all of his questionable behavior under the rug, because he’s your friend, right?

And Shalnark couldn’t be happier – every moment spent with you is heaven, something he thrives on, and he’s absolutely sure that once he can drop all the platonic friend bullshit he’s luring you in with, you’ll be ever so happy to be giving him every ounce of yourself.

He's sure you'll eventually, at some point down the line, long to be touching him and loving him and kissing him like he’s the only person in your world – like he is your world.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Because of his clinginess and need for your attention to be on him and only him, Shalnark actually gets jealous often.

He’s constantly wanting you to be looking at him, thinking of him, talking to him, being around him, and the second that he sees you talking to another man, laughing and smiling at them like some whore, he’s angry, furious that you’re being so unfaithful, so clearly ungrateful for all the effort and love he’s constantly wanting to shower you in.

But still, if Shalnark is good at anything, it’s making sure to play situations perfectly, to make sure that he gets exactly what he wants out of others without doing any of the dirty work.

And so, as he clutches his red winged phone so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, he plasters on a wide, unnatural smile, mind racing as he thinks over his plan, already deciding exactly how to make sure that that piece of shit chatting you up, eyeing your curves and giving you a smirk that makes his skin crawl gets what he really deserves.

And of course, there’s also the added mission of teaching you a lesson. He'll make sure you understand that Shalnark himself is the only man you’ll ever truly need, the only one who can be exactly what you want, what you crave.

And so, while he’s beyond angry, stifling rage running through his veins, he’s forcing himself to breath, to squeeze his eyes closed and remember to breathe, think, she has no choice but to love you and only you.

He prefers methods of dealing with rivals where he’s more behind the scenes, and it’s in these moments that his nen type really, really shows – manipulating is how he’s managed to keep you interested in him thus far, to worm his way into your life, and it’s how he’ll keep you wanting him, becoming solely dependent on him like the good little girlfriend you should be.

It’s not wrong, of course not – manipulating you may be an unfortunate setback that Shalnark doesn’t particularly enjoy, but it's necessary.

Anything is necessary if it helps get you realize that you really have no choice in all of this, that your future has already been decided and not a single word or other man will change it.

Your laughter, while normally something that makes the blond’s heart skip a beat, does absolutely nothing but make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, rage seeping through every pore as he keeps his cheerful smile.

The muscles in his biceps bulge almost painfully the longer he watches the man next to you joke around, making flirtatious comments that have Shalnark’s eye twitching, resentment and displeasure that it’s not him making you flustered, making you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and look shyly to the ground hitting him in waves.

He’s pissed, but as his hand clench into fists, squeezing so tightly that the crescent shape of his nails draws small drops of blood, a small giggle leaves his lips, eyes lighting up as the perfect plan formulates in his mind.

Sure, you may think this guy is oh so sweet, a caring and perfect match for you, and the blond will let you continue on in your delusions for now.

It drives him crazy to see you wistfully humming to yourself and smiling at your reflection in the mirror later that night as you replay the fact that you got the mystery man’s number, and he was even taking you out the next night for dinner!

It makes his chest ache, his jaw hurt from how hard he’s clenching his teeth, but as he follows the tracker on his phone attached to the disgusting man’s hip, he can’t help the giddy excitement from erupting in his heart.

It’s easy to corner him – not surprisingly – and as he sticks the bat shaped needle into the man’s neck with no small amount of gentleness, he can only smile happily at the addition of a new playtoy, one with a very special mission in mind.

It’s torture waiting, but it's easy getting the man to send a quick text saying how he wants to move the date to his place, seeing as his roommate will be gone for the night.

Your response of oh, sure :) simultaneously irritates him and makes him sigh at how cute you are, how adorable and innocent and so easily playing right into his hands.

You look beautiful when you arrive at the man’s door – all dolled up and so fucking pretty, and for a moment Shalnark’s resolve falters, the desire to just whisk you away and kiss you, hold you, touch you hitting him square in the chest.

But he fights it back, having the man call out a rather loud ‘come in’ from behind the door, to which you hesitantly do so. And when you walk inside and see the events transpiring, Shalnark feels a strong twinge of satisfaction at the look of shock and hurt on your face.

The man you’d been planning on sharing a lovely evening with is balls deep inside another woman, grunting and groaning and talking about how beautiful she is.

You drop your purse, jaw hanging open as tears threaten to spill, all the while Shalnark is rapid fire typing in instructions, making the man turn to you and ask if you think she’s pretty too, if you really seriously thought that someone like you could ever land someone like him.

Soon your lower lip is wobbling, eyes puffy as you turn around and slam the door, humiliation and hurt washing over you in cold waves.

And when you return home, curling up on your bed and crying because god, how could you be stupid enough to think that someone that attractive would ever want you, Shalnark – ever the caring friend – will be knocking at your door.

His arms are stuffed with a collection of your favorite snacks and comfort foods, smiling brightly and asking you if you’d like to have dinner together. And when you answer in tears, trying to fight back your sobs and insecurities, immediately he’s jumping in – letting you vent to him as if he wasn’t already aware of the pain you’re undergoing.

He's holding you to his chest and soothing you, telling you how great you are, how the other man is blind for not seeing how much of a catch you are. He doesn’t love playing the shoulder for you to cry on, but it’s so worth it when you look up at him through teary eyes, sniffling and murmuring a small thank you Shalnark, I don’t know what I’d do without you.

He’ll just laugh, ruffling your hair slightly, ignoring the way his heart is practically in his throat because fuck you smell so good and Jesus he wants to kiss you so damn much, but he can't -

No, not when he’s slowly building his web of lies, forcing you to become more and more dependent, because isn’t he the only one who’s there when you need someone most, the only one who listens to your problems and helps you out no matter what?

He’s making sure that he’s always magically there to pick up the pieces of your heart – that he had, technically, broken, though not directly.

Eventually you’ll notice, realizing that maybe he’s the one you should start caring for, that you should just give up on other men and love Shalnark, the only who really seems invested in you.

The blond couldn’t be happier – the only thing better than your blind devotion to him is having you willingly do so.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

For the most part, Shalnark is relatively patient when it comes to you.

You’re the object of his obsession, the thing he spends hours upon hours upon hours watching and studying, thinking of and dreaming about, and because of this he doesn’t mind putting in the effort to wait to steal you away until the perfect time, until you’re really ready to be completely aware of how truly under his control you are.

Besides, you’re incredibly fun to watch – every move you make is fascinating to him, your very existence something he could observe happily for the rest of his life.

Shalnark, at his roots, does desire a ‘normal’ relationship with you – he wants you to genuinely like him, to love him and want him, just as he does you, and while the urge to just sweep you into his arms, lock you up in his home and throw away the key is beyond tempting at times, he holds back.

He wants you to come to him, to be so dependent on him that the desire to leave, to be in the real, big scary world completely leaves you. And so, he waits and manipulates from the shadows, turning every friend, acquaintance and neighbor against you, until he’s all you have left.

And yet, in the back of his mind, Shalnark is aware that no matter how much he lies and cheats, how many fallacies he provides you with, you’re still smart – he knows you’ll eventually figure out who he really is, discover that he’s murdered hundreds, stolen countless priceless valuables, and he isn’t completely confident that you’ll still willingly come to him after that, something he absolutely cannot stand.

So while he holds on, he’s still preparing his home for your eventual arrival, be it forced or voluntary.

It’s not a big surprise to him when he hears your footsteps outside the doorway of your bathroom, your melodic voice asking him if everything is ok? You’ve been in there for a while, Shal…

But Chrollo can’t be ignored, and so when you carefully twist open the knob and walk in as the blond says something about how he’s planning on killing at least the twenty he was assigned for the next job, you freeze.

His green eyes meet yours, seeing your frightened expression darting all over him, and with a sigh he realizes that the blood from his most recent kill is splattered along the lavender of his outfit, the target putting up much more of a fight than he intended.

You’re frozen, and as Chrollo gives him an order and hangs up, the blond can only slump his shoulders and sigh, looking up at you with a lopsided smile as he says how unfortunate this is, because now I don’t have a choice, I’ve gotta take you away. Man, you really picked a bad time to check up on me! I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to do this. Well, let’s not waste any more time; I’ll see you in a few hours, sleep tight princess!

He’s quickly knocking you unconscious, cradling you against his chest and inhaling deeply, eyes fluttering closed as your scent engulfs him, before making his way to the home you’ll be staying in, the home fully furnished and ready for you.

As a captor, Shalnark isn’t too terrible – because he does genuinely want you to return his feelings, he isn’t as cold and sadistic as some of his companions and coworkers.

However, this by no means that you’ll have an easy time as his darling.

His habits of craving your attention, needing you to be looking at him and giving him the love and validation he craves doesn’t dissipate by any means. If anything, it only grows stronger because now he doesn’t have a screen separating you, layers of technology he’s forced to watch you through.

There’s no layer of decency he has to keep up, the air of simple friendship falling away once he gets you in his arms, snuggled up into his chest while he happily snoozes away.

No, now your relationship can grow and bloom in person, and so the touching begins – there’s absolutely no reason he can see why he shouldn’t be hugging you, snuggling you up in his arms as you fall asleep together on your shared bed, wandering hands all over your body while he tells you you’re cute as a button! How can I not touch you when you’re so adorable?

He’s handsy to an extreme – you won't get a moment of peace away from his strong fingers, his muscular arms that have so much more strength than they seem.

He’s insistent that you give him the affection and attention he wants, and while he’s moderately patient with you, he won’t tolerate you denying him of simple human touch for long.

No, Shalnark will be holding you, kissing you and intertwining your fingers, stripping you naked and stuffing you full of his cock while he moans your name and holds your hand.

(He’s needy, in all honesty, in a way that would almost be cute if he wasn’t a murderer, if he hadn’t stalked and kidnapped you, if only because the desperation for your attention is weirdly flattering.)

You won’t have a moment alone under his rule, and even if you think you do, you really, really don’t – just because you’re stuck under the same roof as him doesn’t mean that he calms down his habits of recording you, of keeping cameras poised in every corner of every room so that he misses absolutely nothing.

Except this time Shalnark makes no effort whatsoever to hide them – the black, almost oversized surveillance cameras are aimed right at you, the blinking red light mocking you from the corner of your eye as you try to sleep, as you try to entertain yourself with the few books he’s let you have, as you slip off the giant t-shirt (his t-shirt) to step into the shower.

He’s always watching, always wanting to keep tabs on you, so really it’s your choice whether you want him to be looking through a screen or in person – both are terrible options, but it really comes down to you and your acceptance of his overbearing, clingy touchiness and neediness.

Can you handle him talking your ear off for hours on end, holding you flush against his chest while he shivers and murmurs how good you smell, claiming it’s even better when you’re asleep?

The only saving grace when it comes to the blond is that he understands that technology is something most people have a dependence on, and he doesn’t really mind letting you have access.

He’ll give you a small, basic and outdated cell phone, with so many child locks and codes protecting you from anything that could be used to contact the outside that it would be pointless for you to even try and disable them.

However, he makes sure that the news feed is constant, though a bit warped – he wants you to know what’s going on, how life outside is terrible, how if you go out there you’ll only get killed or lose your home and job or raped or any number of horrible things, so why don’t you just stay with him?

He sifts through and only allows the most depressing, most disturbing of stories to reach you, and when you eventually get tired of hearing about a string of murders around the city lately, Shalnark is waiting with wide open arms for you to come cuddle, to come chat and ‘bond’, as he says.

And really, as time goes on you’ll stop caring.

You’ll stop trying to leave, to run away, to hurt or kill your captor.

You’ll give up, and Shalnark couldn’t be happier – he’s ready to have you, all of you, and your obedience and blind devotion to him is just another piece of the puzzle, one he desperately wants to finish.

PUNISHMENTS:

In general, Shalnark is actually quite lenient with you; he’s by no means a tame yandere, but generally he isn’t racing to punish you, to come down on you with an iron fist and make you cry and beg for mercy.

He wants you to like him, and while he knows that manipulating someone isn’t healthy, Shalnark couldn’t care less – everything he does to you is unhealthy, what’s another thing added on?

It takes a fair amount for him to get mad, and for the most part you won’t even really know that he’s angry; his happy go lucky demeanor doesn’t really go away, that smile dripped in venom no matter what’s going on, what he’s talking about or what you’re doing.

You’ll end up having to walk around eggshells around him, constantly questioning whether you’ve fucked up and said something you shouldn’t have, of whether the particular smile he’s giving you is more tight than usual, if his voice seems higher.

It’s all one big guessing game, which is exactly what Shalnark wants – he wants you to be on the edge of your seat, to be constantly wondering what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling, him him him.

He’s in your relationship for the long haul; you might be afraid of him still, nervous that he’ll snap at any given moment, and while he doesn’t like that you’re still so stiff and unresponsive to his attempts at cuddling, at fucking you to make you feel good too, Shalnark knows it’s only a matter of time.

He generally uses fear tactics to keep you in line, most notably the constant underlying threat that he’s always watching, that there’s nothing you can do that he doesn’t see, no moment you have where you’re truly alone.

And while it isn’t something particularly frightening, it will fuck with your head – knowing there’s always a presence hovering over you, weighing down your every move, not letting you have an ounce of privacy would be enough to scramble anyone’s mind, to make anyone go mad and crazy and maybe even fall in love with their captor?

Fear is his go to method, and Shalnark is nothing if not resourceful when it comes to dealing with your misbehavior.

That being said, Shalnark actually doesn’t get angry at you too often.

Rather, he’s entertained by your attempts to defy him, your efforts to leave the prison he’s trapped you in, even knowing all of the safeguards he has up to make sure you do exactly the opposite.

It’s cute, really, how you keep trying and trying and trying, even when he reminds you time and again that he can see every little thing you do. It’s endearing, but Shalnark knows that cutting it off is the best course of action, no matter how entertaining it is to watch you try.

And so, when the subtle reminders of don’t you see the camera, angel? That’s really funny that you think I’m not seeing you try and pick the door lock with that bobby pin you found! don’t work anymore, Shalnark turns to a solution that’s a much different approach, and one that’ll likely get you stopping any sort of rebellious behavior for good.

That is, when you bash your fist against the bulletproof glass window again and again until you’re bleeding and bruised, Shalnark can only tut-tut, sighing heavily and wrapping your wounds with bandages borrowed from Machi.

I know you were trying to escape, babe. I love you, but the next time you try anything like that again you get to choose which family member dies.

His voice is still light and fluffy as he says those words that have you freezing, anger, frustration and terror lacing through you while he does little more than stick out his tongue in concentration as he works to perfectly arrange the bandages.

You know he isn’t joking – he’s a mass murderer, a sick son of a bitch that has no qualms keeping you against your will, making you cry, so why wouldn’t he kill your loved ones as well?

Your behavior is much better for a while after that, something that pleases Shalnark greatly – you’re much more receptive to his affection than previously, much more willing to tell him you love him, to sit patiently as you wait for him to return from troupe work, to obediently open your mouth and let him fuck your tight little throat without so much as a struggle.

You both know it’s out of fear, but Shalnark has to admit that he likes it – though he’s sure your honest love -based devotion would be better, but he’ll take what he can get.

However, he knows that just keeping you in line on threats alone isn’t enough; which is why he slips Feitan the few thousand Jennys and an address, telling him to take the ring finger along with the ring, but don’t kill them! Feel free to get it as bloody as you want though – the flashier the better!

And when he returns home from a troupe meeting the next day with a pretty little box wrapped in red wrapping paper with a white bow, you’ll be left wondering what in the hell it could be as he eagerly pleads with you to open it! It’s just for you angel, I can’t wait to see what you think!

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, in all honesty, but as you lift the top up and come face to face with the severed finger of your mother, her wedding ring familiar to you sitting right over the bloody, jagged numb with bone sticking out, you can’t hold back the vomit climbing up your throat.

You’re sick for a good twenty minutes, hurling until nothing comes up right there on the wooden floors, Shalnark holding your hair back for you and cooing while he rubs your back.

Tears spill down your cheeks, the smell of death and puke swirling through your nostrils while he wipes at your eyes, smiling with his eyes closed, the picture of unbothered happiness.

Don’t worry, she’s not dead! But she will be, unless you keep up the good behavior you’ve had lately. This is just a little incentive to make sure that you stay in line, yeah?

You cry that night, curled up in a fetal position with your eyes stinging and throat hoarse, but it doesn’t stop Shalnark from spooning you, from rutting his hips against your ass and whispering in your ear that he wants you, now strip and show me how good you’re willing to be.

You’ll hate it, hate him, but for the sake of your family you’ll play the part of a good girlfriend, his doting lover.

Eventually, he’ll have you so screwed up, so fucked up and unsure of what’s real and what’s not that you won’t even be pretending anymore.

And Shalnark can’t wait for that day.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

While he won’t ever physically harm you, Shalnark checks off a whole myriad of boxes on the checklist of terrible people to be obsessed with you.

He’s clingy, always needing your attention and not giving you a moment of peace away from his wandering hands and oh so sweet voice, not taking no for an answer as he pulls your body closer.

He's sighing in your ear and chirping on and on about this new heist the troupe is doing, how he’s promising to get you this pretty ring he knows is being sold.

He’s watching your every move; cameras placed in every square inch of both your real home and the place he decides will be your shared home, all of them focused in and zoomed onto your every movement, almost as if they can pick up every thought that passes through your mind too.

Shalnark has absolutely no qualms threatening family members, slowly but surely molding you into the perfect partner for him through fear and intimidation and just honest to god wearing you down.

He’s methodical, almost scarily so, and the truth of the matter is that you’re never escaping him.

It’s almost impossible with the sheer number of cameras and trackers placed around and on you, but even if you do somehow manage to?

Well, Shalnark loves challenges, and when he eventually drags you kicking and screaming back to your ‘home’, be prepared to find the severed head of your sibling wrapped in a present box with a little tag saying for my naughty girl and a night of long, painful, rough fucking that’ll leave you sore for days.

He’s obsessed, and lucky, lucky you gets to deal with being the focus of every ounce of his attention, devotion and entertainment; good fucking luck, you’ll need it.

#_shalnark #_lee's profiles #yandere hxh #hxh x reader #yandere shalnark

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futurewriter2000 · 11 months ago

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Caring - pt. 4 - Final part

A/N: Two fics in a row. I think that's my new record in the past two years. I swear, I forgot how much I enjoyed writing this, but to be honest with you I'm just tying loose ends. I don't think I'll be writing much fan fiction. Only the requests I have left and the series that I have to finish. All the love.

You knew that you had wanted him to apologise. You knew that perhaps, you over-reacted in such thing, but you couldn't get it out of your mind. You couldn't get the words he had said to you, in your face or behind your back. You wish you could be somewhat like Chloe, but you are not. You are nothing like those pretty blonde girls that make all men swoon the moment she walks by. No, you're the kind of girl that loves advent Christmas trips, without the beer, without the liquor with family, but you're also the kind of girl who would say yes, if her friends would want her to do something stupid. You weren't that typical reader, to read books in the library all the time, but you also weren't the kind of girl that would put so much makeup and take care of her hair every day for the rest of her life.

You were something in the middle or maybe something out of that range. Remus seemed to be both of those characters. In the beginning, he has always been kind and reasonable. He has been funny and smiling with that cheeky smile of his but for the past few years, he has been nothing but an ass. Perhaps peer pressure has got to him and through all those years of being friends with Sirius Black, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew, finally rubbed off on him. Perhaps he was the mastermind behind all of that and you were just another victim of those master plans.

Yet, you still believed enough for him to apologise to you.

»I'm sorry.«

It was as if somebody said it right behind your ear. Was it real or were you just in the most delusional states by now.

»(y/n)…«

You turned around and found him standing in the doorway of your room.

»How did you-.« you didn't know how to speak. »-how did you even get in here?!« you rushed to him, pulling his arm and looking out on the hallway if anybody saw that. You were not supposed to be having boys over in your room, just like boys shouldn't have girls over in their dorms. It was a school policy to which you knew people broke it, but you were not one of those people. »You shouldn't be here! You aren't allowed to be here.«

»Or what?«

»Or- I don't know. We might get in trouble.«

»We aren't doing anything.«

»If the Prefect sees us-.«

»I'm the Prefect.« he gave you a cocky smile and you narrowed your eyes at him, then rushed over to your bed and started to clean it up. »You shouldn't have come here- not only because of the school policy, but because I don't want to see you just yet.« you said as you fluffed the pillows and threw them on the top.

»Are you really cleaning your room because you are having company right now?« he continued to tease you.

»Shut up.« you turned back to him and grabbed some pens and your journal from the floor, throwing it on the shelf of your night stand. »I'm living with three other pigs, this is nothing.« he started to walk towards you, but you haven't noticed, since you continued to grab things from the floor because you practically did everything in your bed, except have a good night's sleep. As a student, your sleeping schedule is always a mess.

»Okay, so you're sor-.« you turned around and you were surprised by the vicinity the two of you had.

»I am.« he said, not touching you, not moving, only breathing and watching you. »To be honest, I didn't know how amazing you are since last night. I judged you because my friends kept pressuring me about you and- it… it wasn't you. It really wasn't you to be the one that was the reason, I didn't want to be with you.« he started to speak, not knowing where this was leading either and when he noticed the two of you were close, he took a step back and sat on you freshly made bed.

»I just made that.« you joked and he laughed.

You saw the torment in his eyes and you should be happy. You should be happy that he cares this much, that he is torturing himself for you, but that just wasn't in your heart. You weren't that kind of person and you realize that at the moment you saw him torture himself for not having any feelings for you and having to treat you this badly. You sat by his side, wanting to touch his hand, but resisting the urge. »I understand.« you replied and looked away. »It's silly anyway… all this crushing and fancying. So I liked you and it was obvious- and I might have been annoying.«

»No.« he laughed and placed his hands on top of yours. He couldn't resist the urge, but it was something so naturally to him; to take your hands into his when he was trying to explain himself to you. »You're the one person that does understand me.« he said, but that hasn't explained anything to you. »I'm horrible at this.« he closed his eyes and tried to focus. There was a loud silence as he opened his eyes and looked deeply into yours. »I…« he paused, feeling something get caught in his throat. He cleared it and repeated. »I… have… feelings for you.« he said as if that would explain everything.

You watched him. You didn't know whether to believe him or to think this was the prank he wanted it to be. It was as if you couldn't trust your own brain.

Noticing the conflict behind your eyes, he tried again. »You weren't annoying. I was annoyed by every single thing in my life. I still am. I am grumpy, restless, annoyed person. I'm a horrible person, (y/n). In fact, my life is filled with so many problems that I cannot face and then you come into my life and you're so bright. You seem so light on your feet and you smile at me, every single time, with that bright smile of yours and you seem to have all the solutions. That was what annoyed me. It annoyed me that you were everything I wanted to be, you are everything I want because when I am with you, I feel like I don't have a care in the world. I have a feeling that I can trust you with everything- I have a feeling that you're my person and it took me so long to see it.« he continued to look into your eyes and trying to figure out what was going on behind them. »Please say something.«

It was as if that last three words brought you back from your train of thoughts and if you were honest with yourself, you hadn't processed much. »I just… I just wanted you to apologise.« was all that you seemed to say and he smiled, laughing.

»I think I can't apologize more than I already did, but I can keep going.«

You smiled, looking into his eyes and placing your hand on his cheek. »Okay.«

»Okay?« he smiled but hadn't got a clue what that meant.

»Okay, I forgive you.« you said. »And okay, I'd like to see where this goes.«

#marauders #remus lupin #marauders imagine #remus lupin imagine #marauders era #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader

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byenycfm · 1 year ago

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Hawthorn Penrose|| 50 || #P2B || Jude Law || Deceased

Personality:

How does one articulate perfection into silly words? Silly words we fling about each and every day, turning them into the mundane where once they were born with impact? Charmingly poetic. Poetically handsome. Handsomely full of it. Hawthorn is a pathological liar with grand ideas and an even grander imagination. He’s verbose to the point of nonsense, finding his own words poignant when the majority won’t have a clue to what he means. He’s grown attached to his fame, loving the limelight and the admiration that came with it, never quite coming to terms that his brand name waned years ago.

Biography:

There are two sides to Hawthorn Penrose. There’s the truth, and then there’s the retelling of history penned by yours truly. Because truth cracks the lens the writer sees through, Hawthorn has removed that risk altogether and spun an ordinary tale into something that awes party guests, makes audiences applaud him, causes fans to swoon over every word. For the record, these facts are his secrets to keep; they were never meant for the public to ogle nor will they ever become, but for the sake of historical completion, they are the following:

Hawthorn was born as Jack Rush, and just as the name would entail, he suffered in the most mundane ways. His childhood was rich with mid-western charm, flat land for miles and miles, nondescript Ohio surrounding him for scenery. The Rush family was well-off, in spite of the locale, a magnate in the steel industry, but Jack’s interest was never captured by it. As soon as he could, he fled to New York to start writing full-time. It was only when he discovered the invention of embellishment did his success grow.

Now, the tale that’s been told a thousand times before through paper and voice is disarmingly different. Hawthorn Penrose has been inflicted with pain since before he was born! Rife with poverty and a broken home, a father who died from disease when he was just a boy and a mother who worked three jobs to support herself and her only child. They were robbed, almost died, his mother fell in love with the wrong man to start a new life, only for it to fall apart all over again, and so on and so on. You’ll have to read The Battered Hart for all the remaining details, but the short-end of it is that Mr. Penrose’s life has been an inspiring tale of redemption given his good fortune. Nothing will get in the way of that, not even those pesky facts!

In another volume of his literary genius, bound as a collection of connecting poems, Hawthorn drew again from sorrow, this time from his own romantic saga, ending in the tragedy he banked on.

He had planned to be wed, but a week before the wedding, his fiancee was lying nearly lifeless on her bed. Every day became one more closer to crossing over into that great unknown, the light transcending from within her body to a beacon of immortality among a different plane. He watched with a mixture of grief and longing on each of those torturous days, recounting their fond moments to win her spirit back. On her final day, where he knew time was setting like a rose wilting before your eyes, he married her in a ceremony only witnessed by wife and husband. Her final words were "I do," the last parting gift she could have given to him. Not once are their names spoken so the reader may fully insert themselves for a more cathartic experience, but that irritable truth is that there’s no name given because the lover who inspired the work once threatened to expose him if she wasn’t paid her dues. Last he heard, she was living comfortably somewhere in Miami. How heartbreaking indeed!

With profound success, the scales are always meant to tip slowly in the other direction. Hawthorn's last hit was in 2015. He still writes (writes every day!) but the public hasn't shown their appreciation like they have in the past. Before the outbreak, he was just about to publish his masterpiece. Once all this business is over, he'll be back on the best seller's list and perhaps even treat himself to another Pulitzer!

Pre Outbreak Occupation: New York Times Best Selling Author and Pulitzer Prize Winning Author

Previous Zombie Experience: Zombies? Him? Well, now that you mention it, he did have a rather close encounter! He’s fortunate to still be with us! Trust him. Martial Status: Single Children: N/A Residence: Penthouse 2B Years residing at The Wexley: 20 Years Connections:

The Wexley's - Friends/Neighbors

Sada Vang - Toxic lover

Ember Wexley - Apocalypse fling

#Penrose #Closed #Chara #floor11 #Deceased

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wordsofapanda · 2 years ago

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That scene in EEAAO where the alternate dad confessed he wished he could live a simple life doing menial tasks with the mom was so fucking relatable. I watched this movie with my ex. And let’s be clear my ex chose to be with someone else because she had things I didn’t. She wasn’t chronically I’ll, she had a full time job and more money, and was more “successful”. After months of him actually getting physically beaten by this woman and blackmailed, he obviously came crawling back to me. To be fair, I was the first woman he’s had a serious relationship with. When we reconnected, he told me how horrible it was in detail. During the time he was with her, he made it clear he wasn’t in love with her and continuously tried to reach out to me even though I was open to dating other people. Now he left me thinking he could get money out of this woman (long story), but she ended up being the complete opposite than me. Yeah she wasn’t chronically I’ll but she was an alcoholic and a mean one. She had a full-time job but no prospects to move on up in life or find a stable job. And yeah she could pitch in for him financially, but he wasted so much money getting alcohol for her. Now this is one hundred percent a rant where I’m bashing on another woman. Let me be clear. I have every right to be upset and she is not a good person. He told me she would bash me everyday in any way she could. She constantly would bash my fatness, my cooking, my looks, my financial situation, my health, you name it. But he realized how different it was with me. Yeah I sometimes cook unhealthy but she could ONLY cook eggs. I had a car, and she didn’t so he had to drive her to work. I go to the doctor constantly and she refuses to see a doctor even though she keeps getting UTI’s and literally sleeps around. I am fat but I’m nice. She’s skinnier but she’s mean. And I wish I was over exaggerating but he was literally beaten up by this woman. Near the end of my relationship he ridiculed me and said all I do was get excited when he gets home… and then he gets home to her sleeping with a beer in her hand. She has no hobbies or interests that they share and I build his furniture, make jewelry for him, and sew in my free time. She yelled in New York that he was raping her so that he would get jumped. She almost got them kicked off the plane to New York because she got too drunk and tried to fight the stewardess. And yet I’ve flown several countries with no one bad mark or ticket on my record. And I’m the opposite with NY, I got a fuck ton of friends in NY and have never been in trouble with the cops. She left him get drugged by himself and I would never. I could keep going but she was my literal opposite. And he noticed that. He realized that he was so in his head feeling like he had to be established that he took my ass for granted. So when we watched that movie together and he saw that seen, you bet your ass he took it hard. Because he realized that being an adult and having your own place and money was shit and he would rather be broke and around me. But here’s the thing, I’m not a fool. I’ve done so much therapy and I’m all about me right now. When I see that scene, I swoon. It’s sweet. It’s romantic, but I just feel pity for my ex. He lost someone like Key Huy Quan. Someone who is timid but fights battles with kindness. Someone who is silly and does weird things to make others smile. He didn’t appreciate me and he lost me. And during that time apart, I saw that people wished they could be with someone who was super happy every night to see their partner. I realized a bunch of traits I had that other women or other partners couldn’t do. I don’t need anyone. He told me he thought we weren’t equal because he made more financially but he couldn’t build his own furniture. He couldn’t make a meal for a family. He couldn’t navigate how to reroute his mail. He had a level of incompetence that he couldn’t acknowledge. But shit, for me not making much… I’m smart and fucking capable. And I will ALWAYS be better than her.

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jakekiszska · 2 years ago

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guitar pick

jake kiszka x female!reader

a/n: i hacked tumblr so hard to get this fic back, the most popular gvf fic i ever posted. dedicated to my sweet @bluevelvetgvf for the request that inspired this nearly a year ago. i hope you all enjoy this one again. 🥹

warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni! teasing, dirty talk, penetrative sex, horny for pick in mouth jake.

tags: pls let me know if you’d like to be added or removed. @alwayzthere @strangersingold @garbagevanfleet @harmonyhous @obetrolncocktails @godlygreta @gardenvanfleet @singingmangoes @tripthelight-fanfic @theweightofstardust @teddiie @gretavanfleas @brokenbellz @jordierama

you’d just been hired on as a roadie for one of your favorite bands, greta van fleet. it felt so surreal to finally be working in your dream career, and having your first tour with a band you loved made it that much better.

you’d instantly bonded with a few members of the road crew, they’d taken you under their wing, and for the first few days you learned the ins and outs of the boys equipment and how to get them rigged.

after about a week you’d gotten the hang of it, and you loved to watch the boys play. you didn’t get to stay and see it all very often, though you wanted to, but what you had seen live was just as good as their studio recordings.

right before the tour kicked off, some of your fellow roadie friends and the boys decided to have a few drinks, and they invited you along, to which you happily agreed. you dressed simply for the evening, and you were excited to get to see how they were off stage and in person.

you rode along with your friends, and they took you to the boy’s apartment. you stepped inside and the four of them greeted your crewmates, and then turned to you. josh was the first to speak up, asking your name, and after you told him he gave you a tight hug.

“it’ll be nice to have you join us on tour,” jake said, running a hand through his hair, “it was impressive to see how quickly you learned everything.”

you tried your hardest not to swoon at his words— jake was your favorite member of the band by a longshot. you loved all four of them indefinitely, but there was something about him. he had a certain je ne sais quoi�� you couldn’t put your finger on it. all you knew was that he was probably the hottest man you’d ever laid eyes on, and he was talking to you.

scanning the room, you noticed everyone having separate conversations, and when you looked back to jake he had a smug look painted on his face. he leaned in slowly and whispered “pick your jaw up off the floor” before walking across to the kitchen to grab himself a drink.

as you watch him walk away, you feel a blush creep to your cheeks, but you try your hardest to play it cool. you walk over and join into a conversation between sam and a few friends, and you find that his laugh is just as delightful in person. he tried to include you in the conversation often, and you appreciated that.

you suddenly had the sinking feeling someone was watching you, so you looked up from your conversation and made eye contact with jake. he shot you a wink as he blew out the smoke from the cigarette he’d been puffing on, so you rolled your eyes in response.

you hear him laugh from his place in the kitchen, but you can’t be bothered to look at him anymore. you just ease back in to the conversation around you and try to pretend that you aren’t getting bothered by jake’s teasing demeanor.

about twenty minutes later, some of your friends begin to beg the boys to play something for them, so they reluctantly agree. you walk down the hall and see their studio room. you watch as sam and jake get ready and hook up to their amps, and daniel pulls out a box drum and takes a seat on top of it.

they begin to play and josh starts singing, and you can feel serotonin wash over your body. it’s been amazing every time you’d heard them play, but in this setting it was even more incredible. you bobbed your head along to the music, and you were happy to see everyone was enjoying themselves.

once they were done, everyone except jake left the room, and he asked you to stay back with him. he said he needed to show you something involving his rig, so you walked back into the room and over to where he was.

he smiled at you, and to your surprise he did have to show you something. you tried your best to memorize what he told you, and you made a mental note of it. when he was done explaining he walked over to a couch against the west wall of the room, and sat down on the edge of it. “you seemed to enjoy the music a lot, i saw you mouthing the words. were you a fan before you got to come on tour?” he asked, and you shook your head yes.

“hmm… interesting” he teased, leaning forward so his elbows were on his knees. “who’s your favorite?” he taunted, and you felt the back of your neck get hot. “you are, jake” you say reluctantly, and you see a sly smile spread across his face. “oh yeah? that’s cute.”

suddenly, feeling bold, you decide to tell him you’d wanted to come see them on tour before, but you’d never been able to. “i’d always fantasized about being at the barricade, being one of those girls who screamed ‘i love you jake! can i have your pick please?’”

he smiled at your confession before laughing and digging a pick from the front pocket of his jeans. “like this one?” he asked, and you told him yes. “you want it?” he questioned again, tone still cocky, and you respond “yeah, you gonna give it to me?”

“you can have the pick,” he says, leaning back on the couch and putting his arms behind his head, “but you have to come get it.”

“uh, i-i” you stutter, unable to form a coherent sentence at the boldness of his words. “okay, look,” he begins again, “maybe i read the tone wrong. if you don’t want me like i think you do, say so. in that case i’ll hand you the pick and we can be done with this. but if i didn’t read it wrong, and you do want me, then come and get it.”

he flicks the pick between two fingers teasingly and then places it in his mouth, holding it with his teeth.

you move towards him, though the actions feel foreign to you, and when you approach him you reach out to pull the pick from between his teeth with your fingers. he catches your hand, rubbing slow circles into your wrist with calloused fingers, and uses his free hand to pull the pick from his mouth. “if you want it, you gotta get it the way it’s being given” he says, and places the pick back into his mouth.

you suck in a sharp breath before leaning in to him, attempting to grab it from his mouth with your own. before you can close your teeth over it, he lets it fall into his mouth, and you see it laying on his tongue. you realize he isn’t going to play fairly, so you bite the bullet.

you climb over him, straddling his body with your thighs on either side of him, and you connect your lips to his. you feel him press the pick against your lips, and you let him push it into your mouth and onto your tongue. once it’s in your mouth, you reach up and grab it, taking it out and slipping it into your pocket. you look down and make eye contact with jake, and you decide you’re already here, so fuck it.

you connect your lips with his again, this time with a purpose, and you smile as you feel him run his hands along your sides. a soft moan leaves his lips as you push yourself forward into him, and you slowly tangle your fingers into his hair as you deepen the kiss.

he prods his tongue against your bottom lip and you allow him entry, so he licks a hot stripe against the roof of your mouth before rolling his tongue around your own. he slides his hands up the back of your shirt and unclasps your bra, so you work to quickly remove it so that he can continue his plan of action.

he slides his hand beneath your shirt and uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch one of your nipples and then slowly roll it. you moan into his mouth and he swallows the sound, continuing to kiss you fervently. without realizing, you begin rocking your hips into him, desperate for some friction.

“you okay baby?” he asks, breaking the kiss. “you getting worked up?”

you blush, but you don’t let him take the upper hand this time. “i don’t know, jakey. judging by the tent you’re pitching in your pants it seems like you’re getting worked up too.”

“those are bold words you’re using, young lady” he quips back, and then stands without warning. he lifts you effortlessly and places your back against the seat of the couch before getting on top of you, his body hovering over yours. you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into you, kissing him again, and you feel him laugh into you.

“what’s so funny?” you question, arching up into him to gain more friction, and he laughs again before asking you, “don’t you think they’ll be wondering what we’re doing in here?”

at this point, you didn’t care, and you made that known to jake. you felt him slowly work his hands down your body before reaching the clasp of your jeans, and you nodded at him to signal that it was okay. he undid them and pulled them swiftly down your legs before chuckling at the panties you’d chosen to wear. “i like your flowers,” he said, kissing your jaw, “they’re so cute. you’ll have to let me keep this pair.”

you smacked his arm and reached down to pull them down your legs, kicking them off once they were around your ankles. he moved off of you so he could rid himself of his pants as well, and then he returned between your legs. “you wanna just go for it?” he asks, and you reply, “just fuck me already.”

he slowly drags his length through your folds, teasing you, and taps the tip of his cock against your clit before he enters you agonizingly slowly.

the stretch of him burned, but the pain faded quickly to pleasure as you adjusted to his size. he rocked into you slowly a few times before grabbing your hips and beginning to set a ruthless pace. you brought an arm over your face and bit into your wrist to stifle your moans, and when you looked at jake his cocky smirk had returned. “what’s wrong, princess? you don’t want everyone else to hear who your favorite band member is?”

at his words, you almost scream, biting into your arm as hard as you could. he removed a hand from your waist and pulled your arm from your mouth, and you whimpered as he continued to drive into you. “jake, please,” you whine, “i’m gonna cum, please.”

he leans down to press a kiss to your throat before telling you “cum for me baby, let me feel you.”

you curl your toes and arch your back as your orgasm hits you, and jake presses his lips to yours to help you keep quiet. a few seconds later he pulls out of you, and uses his left hand to hike your shirt up your front while his right hand strokes his cock. moments later he’s shooting hot strands of cum all over your stomach, and your jaw drops at the sight. he moves from above you to go grab some tissues from a table in the corner, and helps you clean up.

you both get dressed together and you reach into your pocket to grab at the pick, stroking at it softly. “this is gonna be an interesting tour, isn’t it?” he asks you. “i don’t know,” you say, and this time your tone is teasing, “you tell me, pretty boy.”

#greta van fleet #greta van fanfic #greta van fleet fic #gvf smut #jake kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet smut #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #jake gvf #jake smut #greta van fleet blurb #gvf fanfiction #gvf imagine #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka gvf

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minisugakoobies · 3 years ago

Text

Kiss Me | KSJ

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: smut, fluff, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, College!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, drinking, kissing, fingering, dirty talk, dry humping, Jimin's an annoying Cupid, Jin's a shaggy-haired BMOC heartthrob

Word Count: 5.9k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Somehow all the videos you've taken all year star no one but Kim Seokjin. When did you fall in love with your best friend?

A/N: This all stems from a TikTok video montage of Jin set to "Kiss Me" by Sixpence None the Richer. Jin is truly just a 90's dreamboat living in modern times, so why not write a fic about that? Thanks to @thatlongspringnight @miscelunaaa @lavienjin @wwilloww @reliablemitten @dntaewithluv for encouraging me to do this! Dedicated to all my possums. 💕

Fic is set in the mid-to-late 1990s. Unbeta'd as usual. I would love to hear what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Jimin greets you as he enters the editing room. You’ve been sitting alone, drumming your fingers on the desk while you waited for him to arrive. “The ad guys needed me to sign off on a few things and you know what talkers they can be.”

“No prob,” you shrug. “So what’s up? You said it was some sort of emergency?”

When you first read the email from your editor earlier that day, you’d panicked a little, fearing the worst. As head videographer of your college’s yearbook staff, ‘the worst’ meant that something had happened to the multiple videocassettes you’d dropped off the other day. Those tapes contain every event you’ve attended over your entire junior year. Without them, there basically is no video yearbook.

But when you got to the editing room and found the tapes right where you’d left them, you figured Jimin was just being his usual overdramatic self. Probably just needed you to help him pick out a font or something.

He crosses his arms. “Did you watch any of the tapes before you brought them in?”

“Enough to confirm that I actually recorded stuff, yeah, I watched them a little.” You frowned. “Why?”

“Did you notice anything… unusual about them? Any recurring themes, perhaps?”

“Uh….” Themes? You were a videographer, not a cinematographer. “Can you please just tell me what the hell you’re talking about?”

“Oh, I’ll do you one better. Let me show you what I’m talking about.” He clicks on the main tv and presses play on the VCR. As a tape whirs to life, a handsome face flickers on the screen.

It’s a face you’ve seen nearly every day for the last 3 years. Your best friend, Kim Seokjin. He smiles brightly on screen, dark hair hanging in his warm eyes, and your heart flutters as if he were looking at you and not the lens of a camera. From the outfit he wears, a warm-up suit in your school’s colors, you guess this is the video from one of his tennis matches.

After a few shots of him hitting a few serves, he’s replaced by another Seokjin, this one dressed casually, a bright pink and yellow t-shirt and matching shorts, playing hacky sack on the quad with some other students. The camera stays on Seokjin even when he’s not the one juggling the sack. His squeaky laugh fills your ears, making you smile.

“Did you start editing these together?” you ask. “Interesting choice to segue from Jin to Jin.”

“Hmmm, yeah, interesting,” Jimin replies drily.

Hacky sack Seokjin is gone now. Your brow furrows as you watch yet another Seokjin cavorting on the tv, this one shirtless, wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of swimming trunks, chasing members of his fraternity with a hose. Clearly this is from the fundraiser car wash they’d had a few weeks ago. Water drips from his wet shirt, which clings to him as he pretends like he’s going to spray the camera and you audibly gulp.

There’s Seokjin in his choir robes, making you swoon as he sings a solo in his crystal-clear tenor. Seokjin wearing one of his many pastel hoodies, tutoring several students in the library. Seokjin dressed in formalwear, looking like a model rather than a college student, winking at the camera.

But why were these all cut together like this?

Jimin presses pause and the footage freezes midwink. “Do you see the problem yet?”

“I don’t know if it’s a problem, but it’s certainly an unusual approach for a yearbook to focus on only one student, Jimin.”

“Yeah, no shit! That’s the issue,” he sighs.

“Okay. So… why did you pick all of Jin’s shots? Why not throw in some other students?”

Jimin stares at you. “Are you… are you kidding me? I didn’t choose Jin’s shots, I used the only shots you gave me! Each tape is filled with nothing but Kim Seokjin!”

Rolling your eyes, you huff, “Well, it’s not my fault that he’s in every freaking activity and organization on campus! Tennis, choir, President of the environmental club, President of the photography club, President of Beta Tau Sigma… do I need to go on?”

Jimin gives you a stern look. “Sure, he’s the big man on campus who apparently never sleeps, but he’s not the only person in those activities! And yet you made him the star of every video!”

“Fuck off, no I didn’t.” Jimin raises an eyebrow at your protest. “Oh, come on! There’s no way. You’re being a real butthead right now - if there’s a joke here, I don’t get it.“

He pops the cassette out and exchanges it for one with ‘baseball championship’ scrawled across it in your handwriting.

“Ha, Jin doesn’t even play… baseball.” Your elation sputters out as the camera pans over the crowd at the biggest game of the year, only to stop and zoom in on Seokjin, who is trying desperately to start the wave. He’s eventually successful, which you discover because the camera never pans away. Not even when a loud roar goes up as something exciting happens on the field. Possibly the game-winning home run that clinched the tournament for your school - you’re not sure, because all you see is Seokjin.

Jimin stops the tape. “Explain that.”

You can’t.

He sighs, patting your arm. “It’s okay. I was once where you are, a young, lovesick puppy following my crush around. You’ll grow out of it.”

“First of all, you’re only 3 weeks older than me, so you can drop the enlightened elder routine, dude, and secondly, I am not a lovesick puppy!” Seokjin is your friend. Jimin knows that. Why is he being such a tool right now?

Jimin says your name in the most condescending “oh honey” tone he can muster. “You really need to figure some things out, huh?” He hands you the tape of his edits. “Here. Maybe this will help.”

“I don’t…”

“The good news is, I think I can still cobble something together using your tapes and the footage provided by our other videographers.” He winces. “I might have to deploy, like, John Woo-levels of slo-mo in order to pad it out a little here and there, but I’ll figure it out.” He clicks off the tv and stands, and you automatically do the same. “I need some java if I’m going to survive a late-night editing session. Want to hit the coffee hut with me?”

“No thanks. If we’re done… ?”

Jimin nods. “Yeah, I’ve got it from here.” You start to leave and he stops you, calling your name. “You should really watch the rest of that. It might clear a few things up for you.”

“Whatever,” you reply, waving over your shoulder.

As you wander out of the student center, you barely take note of the students who call your name and wave to you on your trek back to your dorm. The video is still in your hand. You gaze at it as if it’s a snake, expecting it to bite at any second. What are you supposed to do with this?

Well, obviously there’s only one thing you can do with that tape.

You watch it.

Thankfully, you are alone in your dorm room, since your roommate is at her boyfriend’s for the night, so you don’t have to explain to her why you’re watching a Kim Seokjin compilation. You’re not sure you could explain it. Especially when you don’t fully understand it yourself.

The scenes you’d watched with Jimin roll by, a montage of Seokjin moments that already live in your head 24/7. You reach the shot of him in his rented tuxedo, mingling with his frat brothers and their dates at their winter formal, and can’t help but admire your friend again.

Jimin chose not to cut to another clip of Seokjin here, though. Instead, he let the tape play.

On your little tv screen, Seokjin sees you aiming the camera at him and laughs, sweeping his long black bangs off his forehead. “Are you going to stay behind that thing all night?”

The camera shakes slightly as your giggles float through the speakers. “Duh, of course. I’m on official business tonight.”

Technically, you were there for the yearbook. But Seokjin didn’t have a date for the evening, so you were also attending the dance with him. Wearing a satiny floor-length gown in your favorite color, the one that really made your eyes pop, you hoped you looked the part of a stunning date even if you were just the best friend helping out.

“Besides, you’re one to talk.” You zoom in on the beloved vintage Fujipet in Seokjin’s hand. You were used to seeing the shiny black and chrome camera at special events. But tonight he’s hardly been without it for more than a few minutes. Mostly during dinner, while wolfing down his meal. “That thing’s practically glued to your hand.”

Seokjin immediately sets the Fujipet down. “Okay, your turn.”

“Jin,” your voice whines, “stop. I can’t!”

“Aish, you take that yearbook too seriously. You’re missing out on so much!”

“Uh, as if! I’m literally capturing everything!” you retort indignantly. Seokjin knows how seriously you take this.

One night, many months ago, while reveling in the freedom of being young and very drunk, you’d given Seokjin an impromptu sermon about your hobby.

“Life is fleeting, Jinnie,” you’d slurred, waving your bottle of beer around. The two of you were sitting on his fraternity’s stoop, enjoying a surprisingly warm winter night. “It’s so fucking short! You have to - have to try to hold on to those moments, you know? Because you blink and poof! They’re gone. That’s why I want to record them all.”

“Them all what?” Seokjin, a bit of a lightweight, struggled to follow your speech.

“Huh?”

“What?”

You both dissolved into giggles as Seokjin leaned against you. After a few seconds, you started again. “My point is, you have to capture those moments if you can. So they live on. That’s what I want to do. I wanna grab that magic and store it away to share with others when they need it. I want to - to capture the world!” Throwing your arms up, you accidentally smacked Seokjin in the face, and the rest of the night disintegrated into drunken laughter and apologies after that.

He knows this is important to you. Maybe that’s why he resorts to begging.

“Yeah, you’re capturing it. But you’re not experiencing it! Come on, put it down for a minute and dance with me. Just one dance! Please?” Seokjin pleads with a pout, throwing you his best puppy dog eyes. He knows you can’t resist that look, and offscreen you hear yourself sigh.

“Fine. One dance. Let me pause.” The image jumps wildly as you place the camera on a table at the edge of the dance floor. It must be lying on its side, based on the way everything suddenly shifts, and you can hear a click like you’ve pressed something, but the tape keeps rolling.

How long is this scene going to run? Jimin must’ve thought it was vital to his little clip show, so you flop over onto your bed, tilting your head to better watch the strange angle on the tv screen. Maybe watching nearly upside-down will bring you more clarity than watching it right-side up did.

Seokjin holds out his hand and leads you to where other couples are already swaying to the music blasting from the dj booth. Since you’re alone now, you grab the remote, cranking the volume high. It’s one of your favorite songs - ‘Kiss Me’ by Sixpence None the Richer.

He draws you close, long arms wrapping around your waist, a comforting weight settling against your back. He’s warm under your touch, soft, but also solid, the silk of his collar brushing against your fingertips as you rest your hands on the nape of his neck.

The camera can only watch from a distance as the two of you begin to dance slowly, but it’s not like you really need the video. You remember that night pretty well, given that you stayed sober so you could film everything. You’d learned your lesson about manning the camera drunk after you tried to record your roommate’s birthday party one year and ended up with 2 hours of nothing but lens cap.

“See?” Seokjin says after a few seconds. “Isn’t this better?”

“Eh,” you shrug, a teasing smile on your lips. Seokjin laughs.

How could you be blamed for wanting to focus on such a gorgeous man? The camera isn’t zoomed in right now, but you don’t need that machine to show you what’s already so strongly emblazoned in your mind. Those expressive eyes that glimmer as he gazes at you. The way his pouty lips part, revealing that brilliant smile you love so much.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight.”

“Of course! What’s a best friend for?” You beam up at him.

“Right…” he replies, chuckling softly. “Best friend…” He trails off, eyes scanning the couples around you as he leads you around the floor.

Even without the aid of the microphone, you swear you can hear his heart beating loudly as you rest your head on his shoulder, just like you heard it that night.

The camera watches as Seokjin says something that makes you lift your head. And once again you’re struck by just how gorgeous he is. But he’s so much more than that. He’s the funniest. The smartest. The sweetest.

Why not make him the center of your videos? The yearbook needs to be interesting, to entertain people, captivate them, make them want to watch it over and over, maybe wishing they could be there, at those games or concerts or even in the quiet moments you’ve filmed, like this one, just you and Seokjin, slowly spinning around the room in one another’s arms, you smiling up at him like there’s no one else in the w-

Oh.

Sitting up quickly, the blood rushes directly to your head and you tip backwards into your pillows, woozy. But it’s not just the sudden flush that makes you feel dizzy. A dozen questions pop into your head, causing emotional vertigo.

How the fuck have you been so blind to your feelings? When exactly had you fallen in love with your best friend? And if Jimin knows, does anyone else?

The scene finally ends, and the image of you and Seokjin dancing becomes him spearing trash along a highway with the environmental club. But the song starts up from the beginning again - Jimin must’ve dubbed it overtop. What a ridiculous flourish.

The video carries on, Seokjin after Seokjin after Seokjin flashing on screen (god, how many of these events did you attend together? All of them??) After a few minutes, you begrudgingly applaud Jimin’s skills, because he really cut the shots so perfectly to line u-

“What is this?”

“Fuck!” You bolt upright as Seokjin’s voice scares the bejesus out of you. Scrambling for your remote, you smash the stop button before turning around.

He’s standing in your doorway, eyes wide underneath his messy bangs as he stares at the tv. One hand grips the strap of the backpack hanging off his shoulder while the other plays with the cords on his oversized blue and white hoodie - a nervous tick you’re well-acquainted with.

“I - I didn’t hear you come in,” you stammer.

“Yeah, figured you couldn’t hear me knocking over the music,” he replies, still staring at the blank screen. “Door was unlocked. What was that?”

“The song? ‘Kiss Me’ by Sixpe- “

“Not the song.” He finally glances at you. “I know the song. What the hell were you watching?”

“Well, uh… how long have you been standing there?”

He gives you a look.

You could lie. Make up some sort of excuse, maybe something technical that he might not understand, but you don’t think about it for more than a second. This is Seokjin. Your best friend. You can’t lie to him.

You gesture for him to sit. “It’s something that Jimin edited together for me.”

Seokjin plops himself down on the other end of your bed. “He made you a… a music video? Starring yours truly?”

He seems puzzled. It’d be so easy for you to reach out and press your thumb to the little worry lines between his brows and soothe them away. The urge is overwhelming.

How did you not know you loved him?

“Kinda?”

“What do you mean, kinda?” He laughs a little. “That’s definitely what it looked like. Like watching an Mnet broadcast from an alternate dimension.” He pauses. “But why did Jimin make this for you?”

Nervously, you fiddle with your remote. “He went through all the footage I handed in for the yearbook. Apparently, you’re the focus of every video. Doesn’t matter what I was supposed to be shooting - games, parties, whatever - I only recorded you.”

He looks slightly bewildered at this, even with his thriving confidence. “Only me?”

Nodding, you avoid Seokjin’s eye, feeling heat creeping along your neck. It’s embarrassing trying to explain this. “Yeah. Nothing and no one else. I basically filmed a whole year of The Kim Seokjin Show and he… wanted to point that out.” You shrug, trying to play it cool, but still don’t look at him.

Seokjin’s unusually quiet for a few minutes as he contemplates your answers. Then he scoffs, shaking his head. “Let me get this straight. Jimin put this video together just to critique your work? Seems like a dick move.”

“Yeah, well… if it weren’t for the other videographers, we wouldn’t have enough footage for a yearbook, since mine is basically useless, so maybe his dickishness is a little justified.” You sigh, biting your lip as you realize that you’d pretty much let Jimin and the rest of the yearbook staff down.

“Ah. I see.” He tugs on his hoodie drawstrings, pulling them back and forth. “But would a dick go to the trouble of adding a soundtrack?”

“Honestly, I think he was just showing off with that,” you snort. You finally hazard a glance and find him regarding you carefully.

“Look, I get it,” Seokjin sighs, tossing his bangs out of his eyes as he reclines on your bed. “It only makes sense that you would end up making me the focus of all your videos. I mean, come on.” He gestures broadly to himself, and your lips quirk at his more than healthy self-esteem. “Jimin can’t fault you for that. But if you really wanted some good shots of me for your personal collection, you could’ve just asked for a private performance.” With an exaggerated wink, he throws you an air kiss.

“I’ll remember that for next year,” you roll your eyes, but giggle nonetheless.

He grins. “You should. Anyway… wanna grab dinner?”

“On campus?”

“Nah, let’s do takeout.” He starts rattling off a list of options and you just hum along, relieved.

Thank god it was Seokjin who came through the door and not your roommate or one of your friends. There’s no way any of them would’ve let you off the hook so easily. This is what Seokjin always does - he comforts you even in the most awkward, stressful situations. Like trying to explain why you seem to own a highlight reel of your bff’s greatest moments. He cracks a joke at his expense, makes you laugh, and breaks the tension.

No one else is as thoughtful as he is. No one else cares for you the way he does.

No one else.

“Jimin wasn’t being rude,” you start again when he’s finished listing restaurants. “Well, maybe a little, but no more than usual. I think he was also trying to help me.”

Seokjin twists his drawstrings. “Eh, you’re a great videographer, you don’t need his help.”

“That’s, uh, not what I mean. He was just… it’s that…”

It’s hard to find the right words to explain. All you can do is try. Seokjin’s eyebrows lift, encouraging you on, and you smile, grateful for his patience as you gather your thoughts.

“...he was trying to help me realize what’s been in front of me this whole time. I don’t know when something changed, but it did, and,” you pause, “and, I’m only realizing it now, but I… I…”

He must sense something from your tone, or the way you keep stammering, because he’s suddenly serious, dark eyes studying your face carefully as he says your name. “You what?”

Maybe you should be afraid to tell him. But you’re not. He’s your best friend.

You take a deep breath. “I love you, Jin.”

As long as you’ve known Seokjin, you’ve never seen him stunned silent. He always has a joke or a quip for any situation. Always. But your declaration has rendered him speechless. His face goes completely blank, too. It freaks you out a little.

Panic starts to set in. Did you make a mistake? “It’s okay if you don’t - don’t feel the same way. I just needed you to know.” You give him an out.

No response. His eyes shift, landing on your tv. The screen is still blank but the way he gazes at it makes you wonder if he’s seeing something there. If only you could record whatever’s going on inside his head. Replay it over and over until you understand.

The quiet stretches on too long, eating away at you until you can’t take it anymore.

“Please say something,” you finally implore him.

“I…” he blinks. “Okay.”

“Okay?” What’s okay?

“You love me?”

You nod.

“Okay. I… gotta go.” He slides off the bed and slowly backs away.

“What??” You rise up on your knees, mouth dropping open as he essentially moonwalks to the door. Rooted to the spot, you can only stare as he glances at you, his expression still alarmingly vacant.

“I’ll, uh… yeah….” he mumbles, and the door closes behind him.

Dumbfounded, you stare at it.

“What the fuck?!”

20 minutes pass, according to the clock on your nightstand. You haven’t moved a muscle since he left. It’s like you’re frozen, kneeling on your bed. The air around you feels a little cold, as if he took all the warmth from the room when he left.

It’s strange that you haven’t cried. Seokjin breaking your heart should leave you a sobbing mess, but your eyes are dry. You’re not even sure you know how to cry right now. Maybe you’re in shock.

How could he just walk out like that? His best friend confesses that she loves him and he just says “Okay” and bounces?? Was he that repulsed? Unable to bear the thought of you having feelings for him?

There’s no reason to keep staring at the door, but you can’t tear your gaze away as you wonder what will happen next. You’re supposed to meet him for breakfast tomorrow, before class. Will he skip? Go by himself and pretend not to know you?

Or, simply show up like normal and act like nothing happened?

Somehow, that feels like the worst possibility.

Once again, you’re sinking in endless questions, so you shake yourself free and climb off the bed. You need to get out of this room, get as far away from the tv and that tape, that damn videocassette that started it all. Maybe some ice cream would help. The cafeteria should be fairly empty this time of night, so you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing you when you inevitably break down over your Chunky Monkey.

But instead you yank your door open and Seokjin is there and suddenly you remember how to cry.

“What the fuck…” you utter before you’re too choked up to speak. Tears stream down your cheeks.

Seokjin doesn’t miss a beat. He steps into the room, sweeping you into his arms for a tight hug. “Whoa, whoa, don’t cry! Please, I’m sorry!” He sort of wobbles you around, walking backwards clumsily as you blubber into his shoulder until your legs hit your bed, gently coaxes you to sit. “Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have left like that.”

He grabs you a tissue from your nightstand and you accept it with a glare. A soggy glare, but a glare nonetheless. “Then why did you?”

“Because I needed a minute. I’m sorry, I know it was messed up to just run out on you, but I had to think.” He drops his backpack on your bed and unzips it, pulling out a black metal box. “And I needed this.”

“You needed a photo box?” Sniffling, you pick the box up and turn it over in your hands. There are no labels, nothing written anywhere on the box. You shoot him a confused look. “Explain.”

Seokjin pries the lid from the box and tilts his chin. “Take a look.”

A stack of photos sits inside. The top photo is you, video camera in hand, standing near a chain-link fence. You’re lit from behind by the sun, a bright halo radiating around you.

“That’s at my last tennis match,” Jin informs you.

The next photo is you again, camera held up to your eye as you stand on the quad, head tipped way back, mouth slightly open as snowflakes swirl around you.

“First snow, last year. You were trying to film a snowball fight on the quad, but you kept trying to catch snowflakes on your tongue.” His laugh squeaks like a rusty hinge as his eyes crinkle. “The video bounced so much it gave me motion sickness.”

One by one, you examine the photos. They’re all the same. Caught in profile, you’re the star of every shot, Seokjin’s camera gazing at you while you view the world through your video camera. You keep flipping as Seokjin keeps talking.

“I think Jimin must’ve been exaggerating. Unusual for him, I know,” Seokjin cackles, and you can’t help but grin. “But you have to have recorded other things, other people. Because if you were only watching me, you would’ve seen me only watching you.”

The lump in your throat returns as you look at him. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” he replies softly. “You told me once how much you wanted to capture the world. That stuck with me.”

“It did?” Placing the photos back in the box, you push it aside.

“Yeah. It did.”

“But… these are only photos of me?”

“Right.” Seokjin shuffles nearer, until his thigh rubs against yours. He slides his thumb across your cheek, through the tears that cling there, and your eyes fall shut at his touch. “Don’t you get it? You’re my world.”

Your eyes flutter open. “Jin. Kiss me.”

He leans in and you meet him halfway as his mouth presses against yours. It’s soft, chaste almost, your lips just brushing. Then he tilts his head, cupping your face to bring you closer, and suddenly you’re kissing. Really kissing, mouths parting, tongues colliding, your hands in his hair, his hands tugging you into his lap. You breathe him, touch him, taste him. Him, him, him.

Your Jin.

God knows how much time goes by before you break apart. Jin’s face is bright red as he grins at you. You trace your finger along his plush lips. They’re even more plump now, swollen from the many nips you’ve given them.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” you murmur, “because that was a pretty corny line.”

“Not a line. The truth,” he replies huskily, kissing your fingertip. “But excuse me, I thought you said you loved me? Not liked me.”

“Ugh, of course the linguistics major would argue semantics.” Will you ever tire of that ridiculous laugh? “I love you, you nerd.”

“You know I love you too, right?”

Joy sings in your chest, spreads through your body. “I was hoping, but you didn’t actually say it….”

“Every day for three years.”

He beams as you look at him skeptically.

“All three years? Every single minute?”

“Yep. Every moment.”

“Prove it,” you challenge him with a raised brow.

“You want me to go get my other photo boxes? This one’s just junior year.”

You weren’t expecting him to back up that claim with photographic proof. You were just trying to get him to kiss you again.

“Say it again,” you command, lips crashing into his. “Please. Again.”

“I love you,” he declares, laying you down. “I love you.” He settles himself on top of you. “I love you.” He nuzzles your lips, your cheek, your neck. On and on, covering you in burning kisses and softly murmured words.

You push him away for a moment, long enough to pull your top off and toss it onto the floor. He sucks in a breath as you unhook your bra and drop it as well.

“Goddamn. Would you look at those,” he marvels. Your head drops back as you laugh. He’s the most attractive man you’ve ever met, sure, but he’s also the biggest dork.

“Do you want to touch them?”

He nods enthusiastically, and you lie back on your pillows, motioning for him to follow. He does so hungrily, mouth immediately sucking one of your nipples in. You keen as his tongue flicks over the tiny bud, waking it up. His hands join his mouth in caressing every inch he can touch.

“Jin,” you sigh, clutching at the hood of his sweatshirt, pulling him back up so you can kiss him. He obliges, but then he’s gone again, lips tracing down your clavicle and running over your other breast. He lavishes both with attention until you’re breathless with want. With need.

His hand plays with the top button on your jeans. “Can these come off?” he asks, eyes round as he peers at you. As if he needs puppy dog eyes right now.

You nod, and he wastes no time undoing the buttons and sliding them down your legs. Then he reaches behind his head and yanks his hoodie off, taking the t-shirt underneath with it. You’d love to tease him about his eagerness, but it would be hypocritical of you, and besides, you’re too busy gawking at his bare chest. His baggy clothes hide the way his broad shoulders taper down to his waist, where the band of his Calvin Klein boxers rides above his sweatpants.

He slides back up your body to kiss you again. This time he lingers, and as his arms come to rest on either side of your head, he rolls his hips into you and you can feel how much he wants this, too. His hard length presses against your core and you whimper into his mouth, running your hands down his chest.

“Jin!” He repeats the movement, your hips lifting to meet his. His hand snakes between you and he slides a finger under the band of your panties.

“Can these come off, too?”

“God yes!”

With a laugh at your zealous response, Jin removes the last bit of clothing you wear. You laid your heart bare before him earlier, and now the rest of you is exposed, too.

His lips hover over yours as his fingers hover above your clit. He slowly draws a circle around the sensitive pearl as he swallows your moan.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he rasps, and as you nod, his finger plunges inside.

You’ve always admired Jin’s hands. Those long, slightly crooked fingers move adroitly when he’s playing with his camera or typing on his keyboard. But right now, his lithe fingers are simply pure magic, stroking, rubbing, dipping in and out. You’re spellbound, your kisses getting sloppier as you pant and groan against Jin’s lips.

“Oh god, don’t you dare stop!” you demand, eyes closing in bliss. One of your hands tangles in your bedspread, pulling the blanket up as you grip at it, while the other curls around his bicep, holding on tight.

“I won’t. I’m not stopping until you’re cumming all over me.” Jin’s voice breathes in your ear. You shudder, from the heat, the touch of his lips, the filthy promise. You’ve never heard him use that word before. It sounds so good on his tongue.

“T-tell me,” you moan. Opening your eyes, you see Jin watching you with an expression of lust that makes you clench around his fingers involuntarily, and he draws a shaky breath. He grinds his hips into the bed and you whine at the sight.

“Tell you what?” He drops his head to your neck, sucking gently, painting your neck with red marks that will fade to black and blue by morning.

“What you w-wanna do. To me.”

He lifts his head in surprise. “You like that?”

Other guys had tried talking dirty with you before and you’d played along, but it had never done a damn thing for you. Not until this moment.

“Yeah. Wanna hear you. Tell me what you wanna do to me, Jinnie,” you beg, voice breathless and sweet, and he groans, capturing your mouth in a harsh kiss before pulling away again.

“Fuck, I wanna do everything to you. Make you cum on my fingers, my tongue, my cock.” You mewl loudly, helplessly, at that last word, and he drags his thumb over your clit, agonizingly slow. Keening, you try to encourage him to speed up by bucking your hips towards him. “Oh, you wanna cum on my cock? How do you want it - deep and slow?” He starts to pump his fingers fast, and your whole body feels tight tight tight, like you’re about to snap. “Or fast and hard? Is that better? Throw your legs over my shoulders and fuck you senseless?”

“Ahhhhh, I want it all, please give it to me, please please pl- “ Your voice breaks as your body breaks, comes apart in Jin’s deft hands. You feel his hips bucking into the bed and then he hisses, burying his face in the valley of your breasts.

“Did - did you just - “

“Yeah,” he groans, voice muffled. “I just came in my pants like a fucking teenager.” He lifts his head, looking sheepish. You laugh, affectionately, amazed at how he can be so sexy but so cute at the same time, heart overflowing as he rolls behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“So,” you drawl after a few minutes of content snuggling, “about those things you said you want to do to me…”

“Yeah?”

“...are you waiting for a formal invitation, or…” You grind your ass against him and he tightens his arms around your waist, huffing a laugh into the crook of your neck.

“I’m gonna need some dinner first.” He nibbles on your shoulder. “Let’s take a break. We’ve got the rest of the night. And tomorrow. Every day after that.”

You twist in his arms. “Every day?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.” His gaze is so warm. It’s incredible that you never realized that look in his eyes was the look of love.

“I love you, Jin.”

“I love you too.” He grins. “Now... how about that takeout?”

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xxblackballoonxx · 2 years ago

Text

Electric: Chapter 21

Modern John Shelby AU

This fic is being posted simultaneously on FanFiction.net and Ao3. Classy smut warning beginning with Chapter 5.

Welcome to the second part of Electric! Make sure you catch up on Part 1 (Chapters 1 - 20) at the masterlist link below. Let's get back to John and Gemma.

Chapter 20 Electric Masterlist

Electric

Chapter 21: Atlantic

Three weeks after returning to Birmingham from London, Gemma sat in her flat on a rainy day, with Julia sitting on the floor next to her. They were preparing for Gemma's trip to New York, confirming travel details and documents that may be needed.

"You still haven't told John exactly who you'll be seeing in New York, have you?" Julia asked, looking over at Gemma.

Gemma bit her lip and shook her head. There really wasn't a reason to not tell John. It was more that she didn't want to face the idea of John being in Small Heath while she was on the other side of the Atlantic, dealing with a part of her own past.

"I will. Tonight." Gemma finally said with a sigh.

"You know he'll be alright with it if you are, yeah? But are you also sure you want to do this? See Nick again?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. He was a huge part of my life, a huge part of my career really. The band is finally getting the chance they've always deserved, and I know them better than anyone. I don't want personal history to get in the way of me supporting talent that I believe in."

Julia nodded and watched as Gemma's eyes faded out to another place. She'd heard the stories about Nick Stanton. Incredibly talented, so close to have hitting it big in the late 2000s. Still making albums and playing locally. Never Sleep Records had finally caught on after years and years of Gemma pitching the band to everyone she knew.

"Tell John tonight. It'll be a lot easier for you to go if he knows the full truth and you have his full support. If there's one thing about that man I know for sure, he loves you." Julia said with a smile.

Gemma nodded with a grin, thinking back to the week before when they had invited Julia and a few of John and Finn's friends over for dinner. Julia and Isiah had hit it off, despite Julia protesting that she was too old for him (to which Isiah had made her swoon with a compliment). Julia had hung out with John and Gemma together several times by that point, but she could tell something had changed between them after the Eden opening. They were more settled into each other.

"Now, practice with me how you're going to tell your loving, hotter than fuck boyfriend that you're going on a work trip and will be seeing your former ... boyfriend? Love interest? Complication? Who is far less loving and far less hot." Julia stated.

Gemma rolled her eyes and laughed at the comparison of John and Nick. And Julia was right. They were night and day in every single respect.

Later that night after supper, Gemma sat next to John on the sofa in the Shelby living room, the TV on low as they enjoyed the peace. Finn had gone out with Carolyn, and Gemma fidgeted, linking and unlinking her fingers as she thought of what to say. And how to say it.

"What's going on Gem?" John asked casually, taking one of her hands in his.

He'd noticed that she'd been more and more nervous as the week went on and had initially chalked it up to her work trip. But then he realized she'd told him very few details about said work trip, and he began to suspect there was something more to the story.

"So, you know how I'm going to New York. Well, the thing is ... the band that I'm going to represent ... is Nick's band." Gemma mumbled, looking down as she picked at the sleeve of John's shirt.

He took a moment to breathe and process. Gemma had told him about Nick early on, but never really gave much detail. He'd put together bits and pieces and came to the conclusion that Gemma had been in love with Nick for a long time and it was a messy relationship. Nick also seemed to be a large reason why she took the job at Church Street Records.

"You haven't really told me much about him, but I've heard enough to know that he was a really important person in your life for a long time. Are you nervous? Scared?" John asked softly, pulling Gemma into his lap.

"Both, I guess. But more nervous and scared that it's going to be a problem for you." Gemma whispered.

"Gems, hey, look at me." John replied, gently tilting her face up. The look in her eyes saddened him.

"I love you. I am with you. That's not changing, love, I promise. I trust you and I know that you've decided to take this on for good reason." John continued.

Gemma nodded and leaned her head against John's shoulder. Julia could not have been more correct. Everything about John was different from Nick.

"I know ...and I know I haven't talked about him much. It's been strange to me, to think about talking about him when all I want to do is focus on you and me."

"Would you feel better if you told me a little bit about him?"

Gemma thought for a minute and then nodded. She sat up straight, the feeling of John's arm around her waist comforting and safe. She knew she'd have to talk about it eventually.

"Nick and I met years ago at a show one night, years ago now. I was 17, he was 20. He was playing with another band I knew. Something happened when our eyes met, kind of like how it felt when I met you. Like something big was happening in my life and I could feel everything changing. I did everything I could for him. Promo, working his shows, selling merch, sitting in on recording sessions. I was his personal cheerleader in a lot of ways. It's always been a very ... complex relationship."

John nodded his head and watched as Gemma went back to picking at the cuff of his sleeve. Her fingers brushed over his and he took the opportunity to link his fingers through hers, catching the small smile on her face as he did so.

"I know there's more." He said quietly.

"I've always loved him. Hated and loved him, most times. He was … is so frustrating. I used my work with him as the basis of my resume, the experience got me my first paying jobs in the industry. And I know I don't owe him anything for that. But it became complicated ... when we were together, at a show or in a studio, it was perfection. Everything about us was in sync. But outside of that, it was messy. He's dated more girls than I can count, always coming back to me in between them. But never committing. Never putting anything on the line for me. And it got to a point where I couldn't do it anymore. So I stopped working with him altogether over a year ago. Hadn't heard from him since. Funny, how they get a record deal offer now."

Gemma looked up at John, his eyes cloudy with the thoughts of someone treating her in that way.

"Are you sure you want to do this? See him again? I trust you completely, I just don't want you to get hurt."

"He asked for me, personally, according to Julia. So did the rest of the band. It's something I worked at for years, trying to get them signed, for them have a bigger platform to put out the music I still really believe in. I want to do that part of it. Interacting with him outside of the business aspect ... I don't know yet."

"You do what you feel is best for you, yeah? If you want to meet with him, to maybe put some things to rest, I think you should do that. If you don't want to, it’s ok to just let it stay in the past."

Gemma wrapped her arms around John's shoulders, pressing her body against his. She sighed with relief as John returned the hug, holding her firmly to him.

“I’ve got you, love. I'm not going anywhere." John said, his voice low and comforting in her ear.

"Thank you, J." Gemma whispered back.

************************************************************************

John cooked her breakfast at her flat the morning of her flight, attempting to settle her nerves before he drove her to the airport. She stood in the kitchen doorway, watching the muscles in his back move as he flipped a pancake, his bare skin both tempting and comforting to her.

"One order of American pancakes for my favorite American girl." John said with a cheeky smile, turning to hand her a plate piled with pancakes and bacon.

"I sincerely hope my favorite Brummie boy is going to help me, cause there is no way I can eat all of this." Gemma replied with a laugh.

John picked up two forks and followed Gemma into the lounge, both of them sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table. He let her take the first bite of pancakes, her eyes lighting up.

"These are really good, J. Best batch yet."

"I've been practicing on Finn, but I think he's had his fill."

John watched Gemma laugh again and put his hand on her bare thigh, taking in the feel of her warm skin under his hand. She continued eating but gave him a naughty look, her eyes focusing on his bare chest while she took another bite.

"We should plan a trip to New York sometime, I'd love to take you there." Gemma said.

"Tell me when and where and I'm there, darlin'." John replied.

Gemma nodded and thought to herself about how easy it was, to mention a trip to John and know that he would be interested. That she knew he would go anywhere she asked him to.

An hour later, John sat on the bed as Gemma paced back and forth across the room, packing last minute items that she needed. A familiar item of clothing was in her hand and he couldn't help but tease her.

"Is that my hoodie that you're putting on right now?" John joked.

"It absolutely is, and it is absolutely coming with me." Gemma replied, looking over at him.

John reached out and pulled her between his legs, his hands running up underneath the tank top she had on below the hoodie. He felt her shiver as he touched just below her bra, and he grinned deviously.

"Not fair for you to do this to me right before I leave.” Gemma mumbled into his shoulder.

"Can't help myself. I won't be able to touch you for several days."

John watched with satisfaction as Gemma looked down at him, her desire for him so easy to read. She put a hand against his face, eyes locking for a moment before she kissed his cheek and then put her lips just below his ear.

"I'm all about reunion sex." She whispered against his neck.

John burst out laughing and she smiled, sinking into him further. Her fingers ran across the chain he wore, closing her eyes as she memorized the sound of his laugh. The smell of his cologne drifting over her. The feel of the chain against his skin.

A few hours later, John stood with Gemma in the departures entrance at the Birmingham Airport. He had the handle of her suitcase in his right hand and rubbed her back gently with his left, watching patiently as she pulled out her passport. He was determined to remain calm, even though the thought of Gemma flying across the Atlantic was enough to send him into a panic spiral. She will be fine, he thought to himself.

“Have everything?” John asked quietly, pulling her into a hug.

“Hope so. Everything but you.” Gemma replied, looking up at John, her eyes flickering with worry.

“It’s going to be fine, Gems. Promise ya. Let me know when you get on the plane and when you land, ok?”

“Of course. I love you, John.”

“I love you, too.”

John leaned down and kissed Gemma quickly before hugging her one more time. He pulled back and reached up to his neck, unclasping the chain he always wore. Gemma watched as he pulled it out from his shirt and draped it around her neck, moving her hair gently to the side. She put her fingers up to the chain and then touched John’s cheek as he looked down at her.

“So you know that I’m always with you, love.” John whispered.

Gemma smiled and wrapped her arms around his middle, her head resting against his chest as he slowly rocked her back and forth for a few minutes. Finally, she sighed and stepped back, taking the handle of her suitcase from him.

“Check the front pocket of your carry on, but only when you get on the plane. Left you a surprise. I’ll see you soon, Gemma.” John said with a smile.

“I’ll see you soon, J.” Gemma replied. They’d agreed to not ever say goodbye.

John watched and waited until Gemma was to the front of the security line, he could just barely see her over the crowds of travelers. He took a deep breath and turned to go back to the parking lot, where he would sit until he knew Gemma was on the plane. And then it was off to The Garrison, to occupy himself until she safely landed in New York.

Gemma had kept her word and didn’t look in the front pocket of her carry on until she got on the plane. She unzipped the pocket and found a bag of her favorite British snacks with a note from John.

In case you need a reminder of Birmingham. Or get hangry. Maybe both? I love you. - John

She smiled at the note, touching the chain around her neck. It was the most John thing in the world, to sneak a bag of snacks in her bag and write a cute note with it. He was everything she had ever wanted in a partner. The complete opposite of Nick Stanton, in every possible way. And yet, she could hear his voice from across the Atlantic. She could only hope that she would hear John’s voice even more loudly once she was back in New York. Back with the only guy who she'd ever really loved before John Shelby came into her life.

#john shelby #modern john shelby #john shelby fanfic #joe cole #john shelby imagine #modern peaky blinders #john shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #electric

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lord-explosion-baku · 3 years ago

Text

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

#bnha mermay #mermaid au #siren!shinsou #mermaid!hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bnha reader insert #reader insert #trident tale

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nctsworld · 3 years ago

Text

skateboard love

✩‌ yangyang x reader | skater boy!yangyang | college au | fluff | 2.2k

SUMMARY | yangyang tries to get you to skateboard for the first time and in doing so, you’re taken back to when you first met him. // for @notnctu’s beginning collab! WARNINGS | slight injury (reader trips over a curb), one swear word, kissing RATING | teen+ TAGLIST | @infnteen

“I can’t do this,” you mutter, shaking your head in defeat.

The ocean waves clamour nearby as you stare down at the skateboard and concrete pavement beneath your sneakers in frustration.

The weight of your helmet and the wrist guards are blatant in your every movement. Sure, it’s a little embarrassing at your age, but it’d be best to rather be safe than sorry.

Thankfully, they’ve been coming in handy during the times you almost fell and slipped off of your boyfriend’s skateboard. It may have been his idea to try to learn, but you weren’t opposed to it, thinking it’d be easy.

They say things are easier said than done, and now you’re forced to admit skateboarding definitely falls under that list.

“Yes, you can,” Yangyang softly says. Beside you, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, causing you to peer into his gleaming eyes and bright smile.

Despite the recentness of your relationship, your boyfriend’s patience and encouragement feels like routine, like he’s been by your side for your entire life. His words don’t fall on deaf ears; you parrot his smile and muster a small nod, albeit glancing away shyly.

“Just think about all the times you’ve watched me skate past the library and copy what I did.”

Petulantly, you stick your tongue out. “It wasn’t that often.”

Disbelief reflects back at you in the form of an eyebrow raise.

“Really?”

“Really!”

Around mid-September, in the most modern, glass-structured library on campus, you found a studying area that was perfect for you.

Main floor, nearby the entrance doors for an easy exit when class was about to roll around. A high stool chair that was cushioned comfortably for endless hours of equal parts studying and procrastination. Plugs and desk space galore.

Above all, it was perfect because you had the picturesque view of the boy who always skated every other day around 11:50am towards his next class across the wide stoned boulevard in front of the library.

You noticed him the first few times when you initially sat upstairs. Even from afar and above, your interest was piqued over how coolly he skated past all the students. There were only so many students who biked to their next class, and even less who skateboarded.

And after you decided to sit downstairs for once to finally steal a closer glimpse of him, you were completely smitten upon capturing his handsome features.

Thus, your heart constantly raced in anticipation when 11:50am hit, as students scattered all across campus during this transition period.

With a thumb tucked in his pocket and headphones over his ears to boot, the mystery skater boy often slid past around 11:55am, making your mind wonder where his former class was and where he was going. Was he in Engineering? Arts? Business?

The latter option didn’t seem likely since his style didn’t echo the stereotypical look of the faculty. Dark coloured hoodies and sweaters, bomber jackets, and skinny jeans were his usual choice of fashion, alongside the occasional baseball cap. And on the days he wore his cap backwards, he was truly in his skater element.

No matter, you always swooned with your chin perched atop your fist or resting inside your palm as he passed by. The brief sighting of him easily became the highlight of your day.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t try to look for him in your classes, but to no avail. You had to live with the fact that you’d only get to know him in passing as he skated on by the library.

When the mere hoodies and sweaters were exchanged for heavier, thicker jackets and coats, he still continued to traverse across campus via his unsurprising mode of transportation. You especially admired his dedication on the days filled with rain and wind, wishing there was some way for you to ease his trips to his next class.

All throughout the couple of months, he was consistent in attending that one class.

Except one day.

It was a Friday, about a week or two near finals season. The weather was quite chilly now, but snow wouldn’t be an issue until after winter break and well into the next semester, so there wasn’t any reason for him to not use his skateboard still.

Maybe he was sick at home, you thought. Pouting, you tried not to dwell over the stranger because that’s all what he was.

Someone you didn’t know, someone you only watched from afar. Someone that filled your daydreams, pondering what he’d be like and what’d you two could talk about... but nevertheless a stranger.

Oddly enough, about an hour past noon, someone dragged you out of your thoughts momentarily as they unusually sat nearby your spot.

The unspoken library etiquette was to sit as far away from others for more personal space, especially in the area where you frequented. You tried your best to ignore the shuffling of the person placing their laptop and books onto the elongated wall-length table, feigning laser-focus on your notes.

But a few moments later, you heard a whisper coming from their direction.

“Is this your favourite spot in the library?”

“Hm?” you hummed, dragging your headphones down to your shoulders as you swivelled towards the seated stranger. Air seized in your lungs and your eyebrows shot up.

The gorgeous skater boy glowed with rosy cheeks from the cold air outside, paired with his stunning smile. You realized this was the first time you’ve ever seen him smile—preciously, by the way, with his teeth on full display—and your heart stirred like crazy.

A beat stretched out. Your jaw hung in shock and you blinked blankly. Guess you solved the mystery as to where he was today.

He beamed more intensely at your awe struck and continued to whisper, “I always see you sitting here when I get to my next class.”

“Uhm,” your jaw snapped up, prior to your dry gulp. “What?”

“Yeah,” his deep chuckling tickled your ear. God, of course a smooth voice matched a face like that. “you stare out the window so cutely whenever I pass by the library.”

A record scratched, then you rewound the moment in your head. Not only did he knew you existed but...

Did he just called you cute?

Catching on with awareness over his own words, the skater boy pouted to one side. His cheek jutted out adorably and red seemed to crawl over them, progressing over to the tips of his ears too.

Light giggling from both parties filled the space, with you tucking your hair behind your ear and him tugging on the ends of his sweater paws.

“So, are you skipping class?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

“Yeah,” he replied, gesturing towards his busy study set-up ahead of him. It was a similar scene to yours—notes layered and layered upon each other, a laptop which displayed more notes, and a few textbooks were open too. “When you need to skip a class to study for another class...”

You nodded sympathetically, pointing a finger to your organized mess to imply the same. “Finals season.”

He nodded as well in unity and you two exchanged another round of smiles.

“I’m Yangyang.”

With that, introductions were made and bits of information were shared. Your hunch was right—he was in Engineering, but he also had some elective labs that were being held in the Science side of campus. Made sense why he had to navigate across campus from one end to the other.

Before the conversation began to get carried away, he issued a small apology. “Sorry, I really shouldn’t be interrupting your studying. I’ll leave you be.”

Admittedly, it caught you off guard. You wanted to pipe up about how he wasn’t interrupting, that you wanted to dive into getting to know him more. You’ve seen him practically almost every day for the last couple of months and you didn’t want to let this chance slip through your fingers.

Yet, at the same time, you begrudgingly knew he was right. You had to study for your upcoming in-class final, so you held your thoughts back and unwillingly turned back to your responsibility at hand.

It was difficult to study with skater boy being in the same vicinity as you—practically an arm’s length away from you—but you eventually tampered down your jitters and honed your attention.

Hours passed. Neither of you really shifted much besides the casual stretching or the much needed break to the bathroom.

Darkness loomed in the winter sky and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him writing, which he hadn’t done during the time he’d been there.

And then, after an ear-piercing slow rip of paper that echoed in the library, he slid that piece of paper in your direction with one simple question that ignited the spark for the beginning of you and him—

I know we just met, but do you want to go out sometime?

“’Cause if I recall...” Yangyang continues, breaking you away from your bout of reminiscing. He absentmindedly tucks away some loose strands of hair sticking out of your helmet. “You watched me at least since the beginning of last semester—”

“Nu-uh,” you cut in, lying in a childish tone.

“Yuh-huh,” he rebuttals.

Under the warm afternoon sunlight, you two begin to have a staring contest, squinting and playfully seething at one another. When your boyfriend squints harder with a ruffle of his nose, you follow suit. Eventually, you give in with a sigh.

“Okay, fine. Even if I did watch you a lot, it doesn’t mean I can just absorb your skateboarding skills through memory.”

Cockiness fades over his joking exterior as he flashes you a shit-eating grin. “It’s cause you were too busy focusing on my handsome face.”

Becoming second nature for you by now as he’s often like this, you roll your eyes and lightly punch him in the arm, but... he isn’t wrong.

And from your lack of an articulate response, Yangyang knows he’s right.

Sparing you from injuring your pride further, he swings the conversation back to what you were doing here in the first place.

A hand of his steadies you by the bottom of your back. “Balancing feels weird, I know, but you’ll get the hang of it. Let’s try again.”

Releasing a lengthy exhale, your head bounces fervently in hopes that false confidence and your boyfriend’s support can morph into a successful skateboard run.

The careful push he gives you is ample enough to have you ride down the street by yourself. Your body wavers side by side and you fear that you’ll teeter to a stop like all the other times, but somehow, your foot swipes across the pavement, carrying you further down the street.

It’s not fast by any means, but as you persistently execute it, you gain traction and see yourself finally riding without any issues.

“Yangyang, I got it. I got it!” you shriek as you quickly glance back towards him.

He radiates in response and gets lost in you, equally proud that you finally found your balance and basking in how stunning you look as you coast down the beach side street.

However, his trance breaks when he sees you’re about to hit the edge of a street curb.

“Babe, watch ou—”

The scene happens fast. You’re suddenly laying on a patchy part of the grass, with the skateboard by your feet. Yangyang bolts to you, hunching down as he daintily tugs you to sit upward.

“You okay?” he pants nervously.

At first, you nod without a thought since the helmet and wrist guards have saved you from any potential major injuries.

However, your boyfriend’s eyes widen when out of nowhere, you draw in air between clenched teeth. Your butt feels as if it’s on fire, since it was actually the body part that mostly broke your fall.

He suggests to sit here for a while to let the pain dissipate, reassuring you’ll be fine from his own past experiences.

As you rest awkwardly beside him on the grass, placing weight on your hip rather than your rear end, he aids you in ridding of your safety gear. Once they’re off, he kisses your hand tenderly.

“Maybe we should leave the skateboarding to me, for now,” he mumbles softly into your skin, leaving another kiss upon your hand.

You mope in agreement. “Maybe so...”

Caressed in his arms, you link eyes with him. Your eyes flutter to a close while he delicately eases you into him by the back of your neck.

The intense pressing of his lips against yours feels heavenly, almost entirely sedating your mild pain. He kisses you deeper, disregarding everyone and everything in proximity. You reciprocate it all back eagerly, cupping his cheek and gripping onto his strong frame as you do so.

Peeling away breathlessly, you tip your forehead against his. “Should we go back to the library and have me watch you longingly from our old spot?”

Yangyang hurriedly shakes his head.

“Nope. Never again,” he replies, his thumb stroking your cheek. “If you’re watching me skateboard, you’ll be doing it by my side from now on, beautiful.”

A chuckle trickles from you. You’re about to retort back, but your one and only skater boy diverts your train of thought, dragging you in for another long, blissful kiss.

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