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call-me-copycat · 11 months

Text

Escaping The Night (Part 7)

➤ Welcome - Introduction and request rules (requests are open + some info about me)

▶ Characters: Shinso x Fem Reader + Father/Mentor Aizawa (platonic)

▶ Genre: Angst to fluff + slowburn

▶ Summary: Aizawa takes reader to a fish market early in the morning and they both learn some more after an unpredicted event and reaction occurs.

▶ Word Count: 6200

▶ Warnings:

- Reader has a panic attack

- Slow chapter (sorry! >\\\<)

- No Shinso yet :-(

➜ [Part 1]

➜ [Part 2]

➜ [Part 3]

➜ [Part 4]

➜ [Part 5]

➜ [Part 6]

{This is Part 7}

➜ [Part 8]

[Part 9] ➜ Coming soon!

Nezu went up and shook your hand again.

"Welcome to U.A, [Name]! We look forward to having here."

The night after you headed back to Eraserhead's place, you couldn't help but replay the conversation that you had been a part of in the office earlier. You'd be an official student of U.A... something that wasn't ever really on your bucket list, nor was it something you even wanted to go through with. You sighed solemnly, wondering if getting taken in by an orphanage or temple was still an option.

You felt the couch dip a bit from the opposite side of where you were sitting, and you didn't have to look up to know who it was as it was just the two of you there.

"The TV works, just so you know. You're allowed to use it whenever you'd like."

You looked up and over to the other end of the couch where Eraserhead was seated ever so casually, with a cup of coffee seemingly always finding it's way into his hands.

You didn't respond, instead opting to cross your legs and continue your act of silently staring at the wall ahead, allowing your thoughts to entertain you instead. You had been in worse situations, so patience was pretty much something you had mastered rather well for someone your age.

Aizawa breathed out of his nose a bit, now uninterested in the cup of coffee that he had gotten to keep himself up for the night. Truth be told, he didn't know the slightest thing on what he was going to do. He didn't know anything about you, such as likes or dislikes that he could've used to plan his actions accordingly and possibly win over your trust. He knew how to handle his class after looking over them for nearly a year, and he felt that he knew all the ins and outs that came with them.

Like how Midoriya was pretty much happy with anything hero related but can't handle horror movies, or when Denki and Kirishima are put together they somehow always manage to tire each other out, or how Uraraka has to hold her pinkies out when holding something in case her quirk might get set off. Over such a short course of time he's learned so much about his students (whether they think so or not), and so it felt a bit startling when Aizawa realized that he was pretty much starting from scratch with you.

He hadn't dealt with many kids like you, and he certainly had never been in a situation such as the one he currently found himself in. But he knew that if his students were able to make it work and develop into the kids he knew them today, then it most likely would be a beneficial experience when it came to helping you as he did them.

Aizawa tapped his foot on the floor as he started to feel a tad restless, the deafening silence starting to fill his ears and make the whole situation even more tense then it needed to be. Every little sound around the two of you was able to be heard, and it was all strengthened by the lack of any other audible sounds to cover them up.

His head started spinning as his thoughts began jumping around his head, erratic and without pattern or predictability. Worries and fears began crawling their way into his contemplation, and he struggled to understand what it was that he wanted to do next, too worried about the future to think about the present.

Your eye twitched. The silence was awful, yes, but it was made even more unbearable when Eraserhead's foot started tapping. Lightly at first, it grew until it reached a neutral state, consistently knocking against the floor. You weren't lying when you told yourself that you absolutely hated where you had gotten. Warm meals and free clothes be damned, you just wanted to get back to how things were the way you had them.

Closing your eyes and breathing out a heavy sigh, you tried your best to shut out the outside world - along with trying your best to drown out the tapping.

'Ding!'

A sudden sound that caught the both of you off guard caused the two of you to jump at the abrupt sound. Aizawa, glad to have a distraction from his distressing thoughts, jumped up to go get whatever it was that he had made for your guy's dinner.

After trying his best to coax you into eating, once again you both reached a middle ground and you ate about a third of what he made before dashing off to go hide from the awkwardness in your bedroom.

Your bed had been successfully put together, and so all that was left was to make the room yours by means of decoration. That wasn't something that was on your mind, as you didn't even see the room as something of yours, but rather simply a room that you were staying in. And so, for the first time you got to actually sleep in your room for once.

Sure, the windows were deadbolted and secured shut, and sure, the walls were a horrible pale beige color that made you want to cover your head with a blanket all night, and sure, a bunch of other things also helped to add to the situation... but in the end at least you got privacy for once. You were honestly a little worried that you'd be sleeping on the couch for the remainder of your schooling.

You laid in your bed, silence surrounding you as you let yourself become immersed in your thoughts. You didn't know why you thought so much. You thought about everything that you knew existed (well, with exceptions), and you constantly found yourself thinking about means of survival and plans for attacks.

But now as you laid there, you simply wouldn't allow yourself to fall prey to the easy lifestyle that so many had worked hard for, and so many more that had promised it to you. It didn't feel natural, and in a way you felt that you were disrespecting all those who couldn't get out of their situations as easy as you could. Not that you wanted to get out of how you were living, it was just others were in much deeper than you had ever gotten and couldn't find a way out.

You rolled over on your side and looked at the curtainless windows, finding comfort in the moonlight that blanketed you and the room. In a way it felt as though you were a child again, being held in the never changing arms of the moon.

Memories of when you were little started flooding your thoughts, and you remembered how over the years you'd look up at the moon from your bedroom window - sometimes crying, sometimes painfully silent, or just quietly taking in the beautiful glow. Even recently, the moonlight always helped lead the way when you were in missions with your group, and it helped prevent you from getting lost numerous times.

As you stared at the moonlight with a gentle fondness, you began to forget about your vague fatigue, it being replaced with some sort of pressured impulse. The impulse to get closer to the stars, to not just let the light shine on you but rather to be completely immersed in all it's glory.

Stargazing was something that you rarely had time for, but you would always find a way regardless due to the fact that it alleviated some of the stressful thoughts that ate away at your sanity.

You knew the windows were locked (Eraserhead said that when you gained his complete trust then he'd gladly open them back up), but you also knew that the room door wasn't locked - in case you needed to use the restroom or something like that.

However, this caused Eraserhead to become overly paranoid on how you might escape if given the chance, and he knew you'd take anything you could get. So, all doors, windows, and vents were locked, with absolutely no chance of escape. To you, it all felt so very similar to a kidnapping. Only this was legal, somehow.

*I talk a lot about the layout, so I thought this would help again*

Sliding out of the bed, your feet met the ground silently. Deciding to risk it as you had nothing else to lose, you quietly padded over to the door, gently grabbing the knob in your hand and turning your body with it to avoid squeaking. Once the door was sightly cracked open, you stuck your head out, trying your best to scan the dark room with all of your senses in case Eraserhead was near. You raised your leg and lowered your weight down slowly in case of creaky boards. Repeating this step, you softly creeped over and looked into the living room, seeing no sign of Eraserhead. You refused to let your guard down, as an unseen enemy always held the biggest threat. Looking around a bit further, you saw his bedroom door was almost closed, only open a crack which let a small sliver of light squeeze through.

Now knowing where he was, you slinked soundlessly across the room in the opposite direction, stopping at the large balcony windows that held the best view of the small town and the moon. You slowly pushed the curtains to the side, your eyes widening a bit at the scenic view. The moon was nestled over the town and all its people, bathing whatever it could reach in its milky white light, and the rest of the town helped in the illumination with numerous lights of its own. If you weren't having to constantly keep yourself on guard, you would've found the scene quite relaxing.

Of course, you couldn't help but feel a bit bitter at the fact that if you were still living the way you once were then you could've had a much better view top of one of the many buildings that dotted the city. It was something that you'd do almost every night, just something to ground yourself and help bring solace in order to provide a distraction to the numerous stresses that littered your daily life. You supposed that this view would have to do as it was better than being locked in a concrete room without anything.

You allowed yourself another minute of serenity, closing your eyes and trying to drain some of the tension that stiffened your body. However that extra minute was taken from you as your hair rose a bit, feeling as though there were eyes on you. In one fluid yet silent motion, you turned your whole body only to come face to face with nothing. Suspicion gnawing at your gut, you decided to head back to your room to avoid any further problems.

As you made your way back you almost let out a curse as you realized that Eraserhead had set a piece of tape over where the door and the wall met, and once you opened it the tape ripped, proving that you left the room. Sighing, you shrugged it off and decided to just say that you had to use the bathroom in case he would ask.

Once the morning sun was once again greeting you in the eyes like an eager dog, you knew that you wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. However, when you fully opened your eyes you realized that it wasn't the morning sun, but rather the yellow glow of the bedroom light - the one responsible for it being Eraserhead, who was nonchalantly leaning against the wall next to the switch.

"Up and at 'em, squirt. We've got another busy day today." He spoke, not seeming the least bit tired compared to how you felt. You were used to getting up in the morning, but you didn't even know how early it was due to the lack of a clock in the room. Squinting your eyes at him in an attempt of a glare combined with your heavily resisting eyes trying to close again, you turned and looked outside only to find that it was still pitch black.

You sighed, much too tired to deal with whatever it was that he had planned. You had a sneaking suspicion that he was trying especially hard to gain your trust, it was just the 'why' part that got you wondering.

"Do I have a choice?" You asked, fatigue and exasperation not affecting your monotone accentuation the slightest.

"Not this time, sorry kid, but I promise it'll be worth it".

You raised an eyebrow at the man, because so far nothing that he had shown you had seemed like it was worth anything to you at least. Regardless, you still got up, trying your best to ready yourself for whatever he had in store next.

You weren't expecting this, you admitted. Shivering, you clenched your arms closer to your torso as you followed Eraserhead throughout the busy fish market. Narrowly curving around a worker that sped by with a large fish wrapped for a customer, you began to wonder if Eraserhead had actually been insane this whole time and was just good at covering it up.

"May I ask, just why are we here?" You sarcastically questioned the man in charge of watching and caring for you. You just had to know what going on in his head to lead him to decide that learning best happened in a fish market at 4 am. The both of you stuck out like sore thumbs, as the market place was really only filled with greasy fishermen and produce buyers for busy shops, and sometimes a curious foreigner or two being led around by a guide.

"Because sometimes you can learn quite a bit when you're introduced to a new setting." He didn't seem to be the slightest bit concerned about your disinterest and grumbling, simply walking around with such ease as if he knew the place by heart. With what little you knew about the man, maybe he did.

A hurried fisherman wearing muddied boots and carrying a large bucket nearly slammed into you, only missing by a hairs width due to Eraserhead gently pulling you out of the way by your sleeve. The fisherman in name turned and glared at you for a second, to which you offered a sharper one back.

"You need to keep observation of your surroundings, it's not always the time to be stuck in your head." He lightly scolded - well, more like telling rather than scolding.

You huffed out a breath, upset with how condescending he could be. You believed that you already knew everything you needed to know about keeping focus, and so you saw no reason in the scolding. You were tired, the smell of fish was never going to leave your nose, there were people everywhere and they were all rushing too fast, you were freezing from not only the outside snow but also the low temperature they had to keep the building in order to preserve the fish, and most importantly you really didn't want to be there.

Eraserhead saw this and led you to where he was planning in the first place, a slightly more open area that held large creates and boxes rather than just frozen fish placed for display.

"Ah, I haven't seen you in ages, Shota!"

A voice rang out from near the back, and it sounded like an elderly lady to you. Sure enough, a little old lady wearing a green apron and a matching bandana shuffled out, and you realized that they must have known each other.

Aizawa gave her a grunt in response before apologizing, "Sorry it's been awhile Obaasan*1. I have someone I'd like to introduce you to by the way."

The old lady laughed and told him to never apologize for being busy before turning to you and smiling even bigger. She reached over and pinched your cheek (to which you reluctantly let her), cooing at you.

"D'aw, and whose this little cutie? What's your name, sweetie?" The old lady asked, and in turn you unknowingly frowned at the nickname that once again made appearance. Seeing that you didn't know what to do, Eraserhead spoke up for you.

"I took her in recently, but she's not really adjusted yet so I'd, uh, go lightly on the touching."

The old lady didn't seem bothered by this, instead retracting her hand and grabbing the glasses off her head to get a better look at you.

You looked over to Eraserhead with another look of bitterness, however before you or him could say anything the elderly lady spoke up first.

"Oh? You don't look too happy, do you? Let's fix that, I have some extra bits of fish and squid that I'll bag for you. Shota here can make it for you, and I guarantee it'll brighten you right up!"

"You don't-"

Before you could get a word in she was already shuffling away and into her little kitchen area.

Sighing, you turned and looked over to Eraserhead, now being able to properly glare at him. He just chuckled in response, which only served to fuel the fire that was stressing your thoughts.

"Are you friends with anyone else or can I get a break from the introductions?" You asked indignantly, resentment filling the question.

"Well, there's a lot of people that you're going to come into contact with whether you like it or not. You can choose the easy way and have me explain everyone to you, or you can take the hard way and try to learn it all yourself." He explained earnestly.

"That still doesn't completely explain why we're here-",

You once again got cut off, the little old lady shuffling out with a tied plastic bag in her hands. You tried resisting, but she was even more stubborn and eventually pushed the bag into your hands, the smile on her face never leaving. You looked down at the bag, feeling the soft squishy contents inside. You held the bag by the top so you wouldn't have to feel... whatever it was that was on the inside. Once the old lady left to go make a sale you shoved the bag into Eraserhead's arms instead (a bit more aggressively than needed), with his only response being a low chuckle.

As you walked over to the crates area of the warehouse Eraserhead spoke up.

"Ok, I'll give in and explain another reason why we're here. That lady you just met is one of the sales workers who sells lots of different ingredients and recipes. She actually helped me out quite a bit when I was younger and was struggling to pay my bills and buy food."

You both turned a corner, and you saw three people all grunting as they simultaneously worked together to get a large octopus into its tank. Eraserhead continued,

"But she wasn't the reason why we're here, I just wanted to introduce you to her. You see-"

You cut him off with a question,

"You called her 'Obaasan'. Is she a relative?"

"No, I just call her that since that's what she has everyone call her."

"Oh "

He continued where he was cut off,

"Another reason why we're here is because I need to sign a shipment order for Lunch Rush, the school's cook. There's a lot of students so he needs a lot of food."

As Eraserhead walked up and began to discuss with the delivery manager, you decided that this was a good time for you to look around. Finally in a safe area that was away from the rush of people, you took in all you could. The people never stopped coming, but it seemed at though there was a harmonious flow that they all silently followed, always rushing around each other and other objects without a single accident.

The whole placed had a constant fishy smell that filled it from top to bottom, and it piqued your interest with all the many different types of people that came to buy their ingredients that otherwise would never interact with each other outside of the place. There were little old couples buying for their mom and pop shops, mixed with large scuffed fishermen that always had a serious look planted on their faces, along with even more groups of random people- such as tourists, parents with their curious kids, and even a hero or two out of costume.

Through the large doors of the warehouse you saw the tips of the sun's rays beginning to peak, and that's when it seemed that everyone was starting to finish. Crates were slammed shut, trucks loaded, garbage was emptied, and the floors were getting washed down by a team of sanitation workers with hoses.

Not everyone was done though, as some were in more of a rush than others. You felt a sudden bought of unease, and you tensed as you wondered what might have caused it.

All of a sudden, across the large warehouse and the rushing people you got a clear view of a lady standing on a large ladder, packing boxes into the top of an almost filled truck. As she pushed and positioned the boxes at the top, you noticed the ladder was wobbling too much for comfort. You looked around and noticed that it seemed as if no one else noticed this, or if they did then they certainly weren't showing any concern.

Eraserhead was finishing up the rest of the signing, and everyone else was cleaning for the day as dawn began to break out.

Abruptly and without warning, you watched as the ladder wobbled over too far to return back upright, and so it began to descend. Almost as if time was slowing down, the people and environment around you blurred as you forgot about them and you felt a tunnel form around the slowly descending ladder, nothing else in your frame of view. You realized that your legs were moving before you even fully understood what was happening, and before you knew it you felt the cold air stinging your eyes and scraping the inside of your throat as you panted and ran, ignoring the angered looks of ongoers as you pushed by and the startled voice of Eraserhead.

They all became forgotten and muddled, the ladder being the only thing in your frame of view. You felt the cold metal touch your hands and heard the shriek of the lady along with the shouts of worry from nearby workers. You hadn't even realized that you had reached the ladder, it was in the distance one second and in your hands the next. Groaning as you pushed the ladder back into place, you felt relief at the sound of all four legs hitting the ground, only having the lady on top swaying a bit as she struggled to regain get balance.

As soon as you let go of the ladder, that's when it hit you. The dead silence.

Everyone around looked at you in awe, nobody saying a thing, simply letting their mouths hang agape. Your eyes widened, not realizing what it was that you just did, and especially not the attention that it would garner.

The film of silence was broken once the lady who was on the top climbed down (with the help of an associate), because as soon as she saw you she started sniveling and clinging to your hand as she cried out 'thank you's over and over. Once that happened the crowd abrupted into polite yet cheerful applause, the small amount of workers and people left over thanking you and calling you a hero for saving her.

It was all too much.

The faces surrounding you, the happy faces all looking at you and only you, the clapping hands that kept trying to shake yours. The sounds were too loud, the colors too bright despite the lack of light. The world around you started to sway just as the ladder had earlier, the faces of the people began to tilt and distort into an unrecognizable mess. You didn't know where you were and why you were there. For once you were glad to see Eraserhead's face as he ran up to you after chasing you when you ran off. However, that didn't stop the influx of thoughts and worries that filled your head.

Eraserhead had just finished signing the delivery form for Lunch Rush when he heard the rapid tapping of feet running away. Immediately turning around and seeing that you were running off, he felt as though every bone in his body was prepared to get you back as he chased after you. At first, as he ran through the crowds he couldn't see what it was that you were running after, helping him to feel a sharp stab of betrayal at the thought that you had taken advantage of him when his back was turned.

However, he lost you through the crowd, and only discovered the reason why you ran on the first place when he made it to the front of the crowd. His eyes widened as he saw you grab the falling ladder and push it back with all your might, helping to save the lady on top from most likely a nasty concussion.

As the crowd cheered for you, he remembered a conversation he had with All Might awhile back.

°°°°°

"What makes you think that this kid is going to be a good hero one day? Just because he wanted to help his friend out?"

They were speaking together in the teacher's lounge about how All Might saw Midoriya as a worthwhile hero full of potential after he ran to help save his friend from the danger of being held in the villain's grasp. All Might went to explain,

"Not just that. You see, I've been around a long while, I've seen the difference between someone who just say they want to be a hero, compared to one that truly lives to become one."

Aizawa raised an eyebrow at that explanation, wanting to have a meanwhile conversation and not just some heroic speech that was filled with hollow words .

"And what do you mean when you say there's a difference? What would you commonly see in one that truly wants to be a hero rather than one that simply say they want to be one?"

All Might raised an index finger, happy to oblige with his opinion.

"The most common occurrence I've seen with most great heroes are almost all of them start out by moving before they can think. The legs know what to do while the mind is still catching up, y'know? They have the virtuous impulse to help and save, but it's hidden deep in their subconscious. Almost every great hero you know today would've had at least one instance of the legs moving before the mind, believe me on that."

°°°°°

Now as he was watching you, he finally understood what All Might was trying to explain to him all that time ago. But Aizawa felt as though something was off. Your eyes were wide, as if you were a deer caught in headlights. It slightly disturbed him to look at you without your trademark glare that always rested on your face. Along with that, you looked as though you were cemented into the ground, as your feet stayed rooted into place, a stark contrast to your eyes that madly darted from face to face.

He met eyes with yours, and noticed some of your tension resolve at the sight of a slightly familiar face. Even though it was small and only for a fraction of a second, this little moment between the two of you caused a small spark of hope to flicker inside of him.

Aizawa briskly made his way towards you, pushing through the small wall of people. It seemed either he didn't move fast enough or he moved too fast, because the next thing he knew you both locked eyes once again, and you were gone.

You dove through the crowd of people, and without paying any attention as to where you were going, you just ran. Aizawa panicked once again as you were running away just as you did before. However, he believed that it wasn't due to malice or wanting freedom, but rather you were overwhelmed or confused.

Cursing to himself, Aizawa ran after you, trying his best to not lose sight of where you went.

Time evaded your senses once again as the world around you was enveloped in that familiar blur it had just escaped from. You didn't know where you were going, no goal or destination in mind. Your mind felt trapped behind your eyes, stuck being surrounded by too much all at once.

You never liked attention. Working as a vigilante, you were used to hiding in the shadows. You never knew who was an enemy or who was an ally, so you had to be careful. You had long learned to plan ahead with deciding on who you would trust, that number being far smaller when compared to that of an average person. So to see so many eyes on you, and to feel so overwhelmingly observed... You didn't know what to do. Your mind screamed at you to get out of there, and your body followed.

Your legs listened and ran. Your mind was a mess, and you didn't have a cushion of restraint to protect you from doing anything rash, having everything taken from you in such a short amount of time. Yet, at the moment you felt no bitterness. Just... Fear. You were vulnerable, no quirk to protect you. It was a truly terrible feeling, one that began to sink through your skin, deeper and deeper, before settling at the core of your bones. A feeling you'd never forget, no matter how much time passed.

Aizawa hadn't known something like this would happen. At the moment he felt awful. Guilt over taking you away from your ideal environment against your will for the better good still coursed through his mind, and that was why he was trying so hard to gain your trust. To help you. But seeing you so uncomfortable... So unnaturally scared and vulnerable... He felt worse, terrible even . He felt responsible for this whole mess, but as he chased you he tried to divert those thoughts from his head, reminding himself that it wasn't the time to feel bad. It was time for action, and act he would.

The crowd was thin now, most people having left for their jobs or whatnot, making Aizawa's job a little easier when it came to finding you. However, there was a reason it took him three years to find you.

You were sneaky, and incredibly intelligent. Even when you weren't thinking properly it was still hidden in your unconscious behaviors, and in your little habits. You ran and twisted around the warehouse, and soon enough Aizawa lost sight of you after you sharply rounded a turn.

The closely packed stalls in the more dense areas of the market certainly didn't help the slightest to ease your panic. It was no problem for you to squeeze your way through, however a few elders shouted at you upon seeing you crash through, simply believing you were one of the many children that came to horseplay around. They were ignored - rather unheard actually- and you didn't really care all that much as you hadn't joined Aizawa in his visit with the goal of making good impressions.

Your mind was coming to a slow, and so your pace began to ease up a bit. Although you were calming down, you were still hyper alert and your heart wasn't too keen on letting up its erratic pace anytime soon.

Finally, you came to a halt. Looking around, you realized that you had made it outside, although you were still surrounded by crates and stalls. If anything the outside was just as filled and as busy as the inside, the only difference being the lack of a roof.

A panicked voice brought you out of your stupor, and looking over you saw a distraught looking middle aged lady hurriedly speaking to what looked like a security guard while anxiously looking over in your direction and pointing right at you. The guard looked up at you while she spoke and put his hand on his belt, getting ready to make his way to you when you silently slid away in the shadows, already familiar with the outcome of this particular scenario.

You could hear his confusion as he turned around to find you gone, with you hiding on the other side of the wall in between some crates. You let out a sigh of relief as he walked by, and just as you were about to make your way out, a hand gripping onto your shoulder from your other side elicited a lightning fast spin, you jumping up with your hands up in defense.

Your tense reaction eased a bit as you saw it was just Aizawa, but judging by the look on his face you understood that it certainly wasn't time for a moment of relief. He didn't look angry, oddly enough. Just... Upset. Distraught in a way. His mouth was pulled taught in a thin line and his eyebrows were scrunched together as he looked you over, making sure you were ok. Finally, he stepped back and breathed a sigh of relief.

"You ok, kid?"

Such an odd question to you, and it certainly caught you off guard. You were expecting somewhere in your mind for him to be angry, at least a little bit. So to see him so calm, it worried you. Suspicion arose, and you held your guard in case he was hiding something.

"..." You avoided his concerned gaze, looking off to the side. He sighed once more, tentatively patting you on the shoulder in response.

"Look, I'm sorry you got scared, if you want to talk about it-"

"I wasn't scared."

The look on Aizawa's face grew tighter, but he ultimately decided to keep his mouth shut. He had already dealt with this sort of mindset when it came to Bakugo, so he understood there was no use in arguing. Talking to a brick wall was useless, it took time for a hardened heart to open up.

There was a beat of silence that bounced around the two of you for a split second before Aizawa leaned back and yanked his car keys from his pocket. Although he knew not to talk about it with you (especially upon seeing your distrust for him), he made a mental note for himself about the events that had went on. Every minute he spent with you he began to piece together more and more.

"Well, I think that's enough action for now... There's one more place I need to head by in order to get you situated and then the day's yours. Sound good?"

He looked up towards you for some kind of response, only receiving a slight nod of the head. He inwardly sighed, reminding himself that one day he'd get to hear more of your voice. He just had to keep going.

You both made your way back to his car, and this time he noticed you walked a little faster than normal, just enough so you reached the car door before he could open it for you. If that's what made you happy, he'd let it be.

Starting the car, he began to explain where he wanted to go next as he left the area.

"We're going to City Hall now. Need to get your quirk registered before you can start training at UA, and especially in order to get some kind of hero outfit of your own." He stopped the car, waiting at a red light.

"You're going to need to fill out as much as you can about your quirk in the quirk registration form. I checked your records and they haven't been updated in awhile, so I'm sure you've found out a few new things about how it works these past few years" he was largely hinting at your vigilante work, and the lack of discretion in it had you glaring at him in response.

"Once that's all done and finished, you'll have the day to yourself." And with that, Aizawa began making his way to the City Hall, determined to finish everything that was required for registration and to get you on track and studying at UA as soon as possible. You were a little ways behind everyone, but he was positive that with your skills you'd quickly make your way up.

And soon enough, he was sure you'd be living a happy and fulfilling life. He just had to keep going, for the greater good.

A/N:

I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for all the kind feedback and comments! I do hope everyone enjoyed, I have plans for this series!

If you want to be a part of the tag list (so you'd get notified each time I post a chapter), please let me know!

Notes:

*1 - "Obaasan" means "grandma" or "granny" in Japanese, just like "Okaasan" means "mother"

Tag List:

♡ @talia-the-gemini

♡ @breadglasses

♡ @cactilli

♡ Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

Thank you all again! I'm so happy to have such a sweet audience, and I look forward to writing more!

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onemustalwaysbecarefulofbooks · 2 years

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My Problem with SJM

I’ve been reading Sarah’s books for about 7 years now. There are things I genuinely love about them. I’m not going to sit here and trash every single thing about them or shit all over her as an author. Her books have brought me a lot enjoyment and credit is due where it’s due.

However, if you asked me, point blank, “What do you think of Sarah as an author?” I’d probably sit there on the verge of an aneurysm because I genuinely don’t know how to answer this question.

As much as I enjoy reading her books and genuinely love parts of them, I’ve been growing more frustrated with them over time. This kind of all came to a head in reading ACOFAS and ACOSF. I used to think that these were mostly isolated little incidents involving random different characters. I used to think it was about Chaol, or Tamlin, or Lucien, or Nesta. I’ve come to realize that it’s really not. It’s about Sarah herself and the bizarre way she has chosen to portray her characters.

Every single one of Sarah’s characters do bad things. ALL OF THEM. There is not a single significant character she has written in any book who has not done something shady, or morally gray, or wrong, or hurtful, or whatever. I seriously challenge you to try and find me a character who has not. This is completely normal and understandable!!! No one wants to read about a perfect and utterly flawless character. It makes them uninteresting and unrelatable. ALL good books should feature nuanced characters.

The issue I have is this: while every single character in her writing does bad things, only SOME characters are DEFINED by these bad things. No matter what else they do or say, they are deemed an irredeemable piece of shit who will never deserve anything good. Even if other characters aren’t openly hostile towards them anymore, the narrative will always find a way to subtly remind us all that these are “bad” people who did bad things to others. Any criticism they receive is justified and right. It does not matter how many good and/or heroic deeds are carried out by these characters. Often times these very characters will end up expressing how awful and unworthy they are, either internally or to other characters.

At the same time, there are other characters who do equally bad things (if not worse or significantly worse!!!!!) and have every single one blatantly ignored or explained and justified by the narrative or other characters. They are treated in the exact OPPOSITE way. No matter what they do, they are right. No matter how hypocritical, cruel, or just plain wrong they are, it will never ever be acknowledged by anyone. They will never be made to hold an ounce of responsibility for any of it. Other characters, themselves, and the narrative will turn an absolute blind eye to any wrongdoing and will gush and fawn over them instead.

This would be enough to be incredibly frustrating. But it doesn’t end here!!

Not only will these special select characters have every single blatant wrongdoing ignored, they will also walk around smugly judging the characters who are less fortunate (aka less favored by the author). Despite the majorly shady acts of their own, they will walk around highlighting all the bad things others have done while self-righteously proclaiming their own moral superiority. The narrative and the thoughts and words of other characters will support this. Sarah will beat you over the head with it. An opportunity will never be lost to tell us (not necessarily SHOW us) what a morally good person they are in comparison to someone else.

It honestly makes me feel kind of insane when I’m reading it. It makes me stop and sit there and wrack my brain going, “Does Sarah know she is doing this????” Does she realize she is a giant hypocrite of a writer?? Does she know she makes giant hypocrites of her characters?? It’s honestly hilarious to me because in writing the way she does, she takes the characters who she clearly wants me to adore and favor and makes me end up hating them and makes me end up rooting for the characters who she clearly wants me to dislike. I never liked Chaol until I read Queen of Shadows, when he is irrationally blamed for every one of Aelin’s problems. I was never really that invested in Lucien until he started to get shit on by absolutely everyone in the Inner Circle. I was never a Nesta stan until I read ACOSF, where she is bullied and mistreated by her “family” and gaslighted into thinking that they are right and she is deserving of all they say and do to her. I never had any true passionate feelings about Tamlin until he became a personal punching bag for every single character in ACOTAR, despite the majorly important good things he does that everyone ignores. It blows my mind how Sarah seems to fail to realize that the people walking around with a Holier-Than-Thou Attitude toward these people have a laundry list of majorly questionable actions of their own that never gets addressed.

In short, Sarah essentially self-sabotages as an author and I don’t understand it. You wouldn’t see me and tons of other people posting essays with word counts in the thousands defending the actions of certain characters so strongly and passionately if her little favorites were made to hold even the tiniest bit of accountability over their own wrongdoings and weren’t crapping all over the less favored. It makes her faves come across as the stereotypical “favorite child” in a family who everyone secretly resents and rolls their eyes at. If you’re going to have characters who constantly judge and scorn others for their perceived wrongdoings, it would be smart to give them a spotless and crystal clear record themselves. People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

No one enjoys reading about hypocrites, Sarah. Gain some self awareness and start holding ALL characters to the same standards and accountability.

#sarah j maas #sjm #sjm critical #tog #throne of glass #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #chaol westfall #tower of dawn #nesta archeron #pro nesta #lucien vanserra #pro lucien #tamlin #anti ic #anti feysand

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kimvvantae · 2 years

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gravity ▸ knj (m)

➜ 5 months after the breakup, you're still gravitating around each other, no matter how hard you try not to. the only way to finally free yourselves from this pull is to let your orbits collide one last time.

pairing: namjoon x (f) reader

genre: smut, angst • exes au, porn with plot

warnings: infidelity. explicit sexual content (rough sex, oral (m receiving, throat fucking), fingering, spitting, hair pulling, ass slapping, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, nj has a gigantic d). alcohol consumption. smoking. brief mentions of vomiting. let me repeat: INFIDELITY, do not read if this type of content makes you uncomfortable!. basically sad porn

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

word count: 11k

A/N: this is a work of fiction, i do not glorify the actions of the characters. other than that, please feast some sad porn! special thanks to my brother abel tesfaye for inspiring me into writing this mess. as usual, feedback is MUCH MUCH appreciated!

➜ MASTERLIST | PLAYLIST | FEEDBACK

It’s ridiculous that Namjoon immediately spotted you as soon as you walked in.

It happened again. He thought he was over it already - over you. The magnetism. There’s no other word to describe the phenomenon that happens whenever you are around. Like a tiny, stupid planet being attracted to a heavy gravitational spot… a star. You. Indeed, the brightest star in this crowded room, so crowded that it’s almost impossible to cross it without bumping into someone.

It’s like a sick joke. Why did he have to notice you so quickly? Why suddenly, as soon as he laid his eyes on you, everything else seemed pale and uninteresting in comparison? The loud music isn’t as exciting anymore, nor the chat he was having with his friends a mere second ago. The beer he just swallowed suddenly tastes like iron as it slides down his throat. Everything and everyone becomes distant - only noises in the back of his head, only blurred faces.

Except you.

He can see you in detail.

The tight, short black dress. So tight. It enhances every curve of your body. Namjoon doesn’t recognize this dress, which means you bought it after the break up. He loves it - the sight makes him hold the bottle of beer a little tighter. You wear a leather jacket over it, though, to protect you from the chilly night out there, which makes him a little disappointed - he’d like to see your figure in the dress, in all its glory, without anything to hide it.

The hairstyle and perfect makeup… Namjoon just knows you took hours to look as good as you look right now - although, in his opinion, you look just as incredible without any of it. He remembers all the times you went out together, you texting him that you were “almost done” when in fact you hadn’t even showered yet - which sometimes annoyed him, but the final result was always worth the wait, and he always made sure to show how he appreciated your efforts afterwards. He can almost see you in front of the bathroom mirror, angrily searching for the foundation bottle you lost again, until you’d ask if he’d just watch and laugh or would help you find it.

How many memories can flood his mind in such short seconds?

It’s been five months. Five months without seeing you. No hearing the sound of your laughter, no texts, no dates, no touching or tasting you. Five months of not seeing each other after three years of seeing each other almost every day.

When you took the decision to break up, his most optimistic friends - and his family - called it freedom. Namjoon, however, faced it as punishment. Torture. It was painful to live away from you. The endless fights seemed meaningless in comparison. No… deep down, Namjoon knows he's lying to himself. He misses the fights. Like a drug addict in abstinence, he can’t help but miss the things that harmed him.

You were a drug. You made him high. For three years, he was intoxicated by your face, your body, your voice; your fun side, your focused side, your caring side, your intelligent side. Your awful side. The unjustified jealousy. The bad temper. The disagreements and arguments. The sex. God - no one else made him feel that way. It’s like you memorized his body like a map; you knew exactly what to do, where to touch. One look from across the room was enough to make his body get a fever. The fun sex when you were on your better weeks and the angry sex when you were on your worst ones.

At some point, the awful side became much more apparent than all the others in his point of view. And yet, he carried on with this relationship as much as he could, because he was addicted - he needed the adrenaline and bliss to stay alive. Until it got unsustainable. Until you finally decided to let go.

And, as soon as you gave the final word, Namjoon realized he’s a masochist. No sane person would miss a relationship so broken like that; not when the fights became much more frequent than any happy moment. But he couldn’t help missing you badly. Even though he did every possible effort to avoid meeting you, even though he blocked you on every social media - it didn’t work. Going on dates with other girls didn’t work. Not to say they weren’t pretty enough, interesting enough or that the sex wasn’t good enough… but they weren’t you.

Namjoon is just a stupid, tiny planet, stuck in your gravitational orbit. He is reminded of this fact the moment he sees you. He was never healed from you. He never detoxified from you.

You, on the other hand, seem to be doing much better than him.

One second after stepping in, he walks in too, fingers intertwined with yours.

Namjoon heard the rumors from common friends. He brushed it off with faked disinterest, but he was too weak to not care. Unblocking your Instagram profile for the first time in months was enough. He saw the picture.

Mark. He knows this guy. An easy-going, extroverted type of guy. Apparently a good person.

By all accounts - considering how his life felt like literal hell at some point while you were together -, Namjoon should hope you found someone that would make you feel as bad as you made him feel. Yes, he could be vengeful like that. Or… he still has feelings for you, that’s undeniable - so, from this standpoint, he should hope Mark was a good guy to you, hope he would treat you right… how could he wish something bad upon someone he cared for?

Wait.

No.

Namjoon shouldn’t care for whoever his ex was dating at all. It shouldn’t affect him anymore.

But it does.

The sight of this Mark guy holding your hand and smiling at you - and you smiling back - irks him up. The realization that you spent hours getting ready for him irks him. You look happy.

Namjoon is a damn addict. A pathetic junkie. A tiny, stupid planet orbiting around you.

Although he just got here, he knows he needs to leave. His night is over anyway. It’d be better if he managed to leave before you could notice him - like this, at least, he’d still have a little bit of dignity intact.

However - what Namjoon doesn’t know is that, despite appearances, this magnetism is a two way road.

Because you spot him almost immediately, too.

When your eyes meet his, the smile fails. You stand there, frozen, shocked, before Mark puts his hand on your waist, totally unaware of the situation.

You avoid Namjoon’s gaze and look back at your current boyfriend. Smile again. This smile is an act, though. Namjoon can read you like an open book.

Namjoon gulps.

He should probably leave.

But he won’t. He can’t. He knows it.

Your gravitational field forces him to stay.

He’s just a stupid little planet, after all. How could he fight against the pull of a star?

Babe, I want to leave.

It’s what you want to say as soon as you see Namjoon sitting there. You want to grab Mark’s hand and walk away. But fuck - how can you, when this is Mark’s best friend’s party? He’s been talking about it for days. You can’t ask him to leave, nor can you leave without him.

You don’t want to stay in the same place as him. No, no, no. Just no.

How could you know he’d be here? You've been avoiding him so carefully for the past five months. You always made sure that Namjoon wouldn’t be at the places you planned to go beforehand - especially parties like this one, because hell, Namjoon knows too many people. But you failed this time. You didn’t expect Namjoon to be here at all. It seemed that Mark and Namjoon didn’t have common friends, which was honestly a relief.

You were wrong, obviously.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You feel Mark’s hand on the small of your back as he introduces you to his friends, but your mind isn’t really here as you greet them, and you don’t feel butterflies in your stomach when Mark makes it clear you're his girlfriend. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. You were excited to meet his friends and to be called girlfriend. But all you can feel right now is a chilling cold inside your stomach - not in a good way.

He's literally right there, sitting a few meters away from you.

Shit.

Mark has a happy smile as he leans in, bringing his lips closer to your ear so he can be heard over the loud music: "Do you wanna drink anything, babe?"

No, you want to say. I want to leave. But it's the excited gleam in his eyes that holds you back.

"Yes." Before Mark can walk away on his own to bring you a drink, you grab his hand. "Let's take a drink."

There's no way you're leaving Mark's side with him around.

Not because you're afraid of Namjoon - he might have many flaws, but you never felt unsafe in the slightest around him. No… it's another problem.

You might not be strong enough to face him.

Not at all.

It seems that five months of distance weren't enough. You thought you'd be indifferent to his presence at this point; you thought you got over him. Fuck, you're literally holding your boyfriend's hand. Yet… the moment you noticed Namjoon's in the same room as you, it's like all of your senses went crazy.

You still feel his eyes on you. It's enough to make your cheeks burn. Three years of dating and it never changed - the way a single look of his could put you at ease, how he could make you nervous and giddy and excited. You always loved his look of approval. Namjoon made you feel wanted. That's why you never measured efforts to look as good as possible whenever he was around, even though he always complimented your beauty, with makeup and good clothes or not.

That's not fair.

Mark is talking about something with his friends, but you're not paying attention to anything anymore. The loud music resonates on your stomach and makes you feel nauseous. Fuck. Your night is ruined - and it didn't even begin yet.

You still feel his eyes on you. Shit, you shouldn't. But for the briefest moment, you lift your gaze to look at him again.

Shit shit shit shit.

His black hair is cut short in that way he knows you love. He's wearing the loose black leather jacket you helped him choose, and you realize in shock that your outfits are matching. He's sitting carelessly on the couch in a comfortable position, legs spread, as some guy you don't know is invested in telling him something you can't hear from this distance, but Namjoon is barely paying attention, his eyes focused on you instead. Though you hadn't exchanged a word, his single gaze - the way his eyebrows are softly knitted, his clenched jaw, the way he presses his tongue inside his cheek, how he tilts his head and runs his hand over his mouth for a moment - tell everything you need to know:

He's angry.

He checks your body up and down, and you shiver, even though it's hot inside this crowded house.

You know him too damn well.

This is also his look of I want you.

You gulp and immediately avoid his gaze again in a desperate attempt to pay attention to anything else.

But you know yourself very well, too. You know the way you unconsciously squeeze your thighs on one another, the way your breathing quickens and your heart races.

And you don't know if you're strong enough to resist his gravitational pull.

This is a disaster.

Not only because he is here, which single-handedly was able to bring your mood down. Your legs hurt. No amount of trying to engage in a conversation seems to excite you, your cheeks already hurt from holding that fake smile. The loud music and screaming and chatting only increases your annoyance (and your headache); you can’t even bring yourself to drink anything, having finished only two bottles of beer.

On top of all that - Mark is a lightweight.

You scowl, tapping his back lightly, as Mark throws up sitting on his knees in front of the toilet. The bathroom door is wide open to a crowded corridor; two of Mark’s friends, Chris and Jungwoo, stand in front of the door, watching him and laughing. Maybe if you weren’t in such a bad mood you’d be thinking this is kind of comical too, but right now, you have to control yourself to not roll your eyes.

He coughs and you fixate your eyes on a single tile on the wall (if you look too much at him, you’ll end up vomiting, too). You tap his back a little more strongly. “Put it all out, Mark. You’ll feel better.” You can’t even fake that reassuring tone anymore, sounding straight up annoyed instead.

Mark lifts his head to say something, but ends up coughing and then his face is inside the toilet again, as you just scowl.

“Come on, Mark. You’ll end up getting Y/N dirty.” Chris says in disapproval.

“I would be embarrassed if I were him.” Jungwoo says, tilting his head. “First time he brings his girl over… and look at his state.”

You look at them, forcing a lip-tightened smile. “I don’t mind, guys. He was just having fun… he’s been so stressed because of his finals.”

You do mind, actually.

Because you know Mark’s alcohol tolerance is ridiculously low. You asked him, over and over again, to slow down with his drinks. You weren’t trying to be the boring, controlling girlfriend - as a certain someone used to call you in the past -; you were just worried about him. Besides, babysitting a drunk grown ass man is anything but nice.

Yet - here you are, doing exactly so.

As if this night wasn’t awful already.

“Y-You see? That’s why I like her. She gets me.” Mark stutters, smiling at you. You didn’t think he was even listening.

Yeah, but you don’t get me, the evil side of your brain whispers.

The good side of your brain is quick to scold you: stop that. You said you would change, remember?

Yes. You’re trying to be better. Mark just didn’t pay attention to what he was doing, that’s all. He’s never done anything like this before, he just got a little excited.

It’s like your brain is programmed to want to pick up a fight. But that’s not happening with Mark, not today.

You put some toilet paper on his hand so he can clean his mouth. He’s clearly not even seeing you straight. It looks like he already threw out everything inside his stomach.

“Time to go home, then, hm?” You say.

“What? Go home, at this hour? No way.” Chris says, placing his beer bottle over the sink and walking over to Mark.

You frown. “Can’t you see his state? I’m taking him home so he can sleep.” You try.

“Don’t bother, Y/N. He can sleep in my room for a while, I’m not letting you drive home this late at night.” Chris reaffirms strongly. “Jungwoo, help me pick him up.”

Jungwoo enters the bathroom as well, while you get up on your feet again, doing your best not to scowl at them. “It’s alright, I can drive! I’m totally sober!” You try. You really are sober - it’d need much more than two beer bottles to knock you out.

“No, Mark would kill us if he knew that we let his girlfriend carry him around at night like that. Let us be hospitable, ‘kay?” Jungwoo says, sending a charming smile at you.

The two men help a babbling Mark get to his feet, carrying him out of the bathroom towards Chris’ room at the end of the corridor, and you follow them shortly. Thankfully, the second floor of the house is a little less crowded. Chris’ house is enormous, to be honest. You knew he had some money, but you weren’t expecting this. With some difficulty, they manage to get inside the bedroom and lay Mark on the bed.

“Here, idiot. Get some rest.” Jungwoo says, tapping Mark’s head playfully. He whines in protest. “Shit, he’s gonna be so embarrassed tomorrow…”

“You staying with him, Y/N?” Chris asks, already standing at the door.

You look at the pathetic - and cute - image of your boyfriend laid on the bed like that.

“Yeah.” You nod. “For a bit.”

“Meet us downstairs later, then.” Jungwoo says, leaving the bedroom too. “Don’t waste your night babysitting this fucker.”

If you didn’t know how close they are, you’d think he’s being rude, but both of them look at the younger and drunk male with affection. You nod, reassuring that you’ll definitely go downstairs, and they finally close the door, leaving you both alone.

You cross your arms.

Sure, they were trying to be “hospitable” - and yes, it was a nice gesture of them -, but fuck, they just destroyed your only chance of getting out of here.

You’re angrier now.

“Y/N…” Mark calls in a whiny voice that makes you roll your eyes.

You sit by his side on the bed. His eyes are barely even opened. “What?”

He somehow manages to open them, and a silly drunken smile appears on his lips. “You’re soooo pretty. The prettiest girl… I’ve ever seen. D-Did you know that?”

You can’t help but chuckle. It’s hard to get angry at Mark; you feel that he can get away with anything - a cute smile of his is enough to melt your heart in a second. You’ve been dating for a little over a month now, and it’s been a great month, to be honest. It’s been a while since someone made you feel butterflies in your stomach like that, made you smile just thinking of them. It’s like when you started dating Nam-

Shit.

You shake your head frantically, as if doing so will make the intrusive thoughts fly away. It’s ridiculous that you unconsciously end up comparing Mark to that certain someone. You’ve been trying your best not to. Mark is different - his personality is pretty much the opposite of that other person; he’s bubbly, funny, he makes you genuinely enjoy your time with him. It’s the first time you date someone a little bit younger than you, and you didn’t think it’d be this good. All your friends told you the same: you make a great couple. You look so happy with him. I’m so happy for you.

You like Mark.

You really do.

So why does your mind keep gravitating over Namjoon from time to time? Why does it keep comparing them?

You dated him for three years, you try to rationalize. It was a messy and long relationship. It’s just natural that you’d make comparisons now that you’re with a different person.

Yes. That must be it.

You pass your hands through Mark’s blonde hair and he smiles happily, closing his eyes. There’s blush all over his face. “You should really rest now.” You say quietly.

It seems that Mark is trying to say something - but his voice dies mid-snore.

A chuckle escapes through your lips again. He also falls asleep very fast.

You still stare at his sleeping form for a while.

Fuck.

You need to smoke.

You sigh heavily before getting up, careful to not make any noise as you walk out of the bedroom and close the door quietly. You’re immediately overwhelmed by the loud music coming from downstairs. You try to keep a fast pace as you walk out of the house, avoiding the people you know and rapidly greeting the ones you can’t avoid. When you finally manage to get out, you’re annoyed all over again. The cold nightly breeze makes you tighten the jacket around your body and regret coming with this short dress - it’s like your legs are about to freeze. Small steam clouds form in front of your face at each breath.

You angrily march towards your car, parked at least four houses down the street (both sides are fully parked with Chris’ guests’ cars, this was the closest spot you could find). The music and screaming becomes distant, which is honestly a relief. You open the door rather roughly, reaching for the glove box, to get the pack of cigarettes you keep “hidden” there. Hidden from yourself, more specifically. You’ve been promising to stop smoking for a few years now - and in an attempt to stop, you purposefully “hide” the packs in places that will be inconvenient for you (it was very inconvenient to have to walk out of the house just to smoke, when you could’ve kept in your purse). Of course, you should stop buying cigarettes for all, but… well, maybe later.

You take one cigarette from the pack and put it between your lips, impatiently groping for the lighter. But… it’s not in the glove box. You get up again, putting your purse over the car’s roof, searching for its contents. Lip gloss… your wallet… phone… you groan.

“Where the fuck is it?!” You stomp angrily as if it’ll be of any use.

Then, you catch something with the corner of your eye - and you immediately freeze.

Someone handing their lighter to you.

You look to your left side, finally realizing there was someone standing there all this time.

And it’s infuriating that your heart nearly stops.

Namjoon.

He’s not looking at you, eyes glued on his shoes instead, as he places a cigarette on his own lips with the other hand. You hate that your eyes are widened at the sight of him so close after five months. You hate that your first immediate thought is he looks so good, he’s dressed the way you like, as if he knew you’d be here. You hate that your heart is already racing at the mere proximity.

You take so long to move that Namjoon finally looks at you, quirking one eyebrow up. “Are you taking it or not?”

Shit. His voice. You missed it so bad.

“What are you doing here?” You also can’t help the defensive tone. Whenever he’s around, you immediately square up. Always ready to pick up a fight. “Are you following me?”

Namjoon chuckles in a mocking tone, shaking his head. “Following you? That’s literally my car. I’m not following anyone.”

You blink, stretching your neck to see better. It really is his car, parked in front of yours. How didn’t you notice when you arrived?

You gulp, avoiding his gaze for a moment.

Namjoon clicks his tongue, calling your attention. His arm is still extended, lighter in hand.

You shouldn’t. Don’t do it. Deny it.

Hesitantly, you take it from his hand. Your cold fingers brush against his warm ones. You shiver.

Fuck!

You light up your cigarette, inhaling it deeply, before putting it back in his hand. Namjoon also lights his up and exhales smoke from his nose.

Silence.

You can almost see the tension in the air around you.

“Thought you were trying to stop smoking.” He says quietly after a while. Both of his hands in the pockets of the jacket, he still looks down with his eyebrows knitted in a serious - slightly annoyed - expression. You hate yourself for admiring his side profile like that. You shouldn’t even be breathing the same air as him, let alone admire him.

“I am.” Your voice is also quiet. Namjoon chuckles.

More silence.

There’s some yelling at Chris’ house. Both of you look in that direction at the same time. It doesn’t sound like a fight, so your eyes focus on the car roof again. You hold the cigarette between your pointer and middle finger, exhaling smoke.

“I didn’t know you’re Chris’ friend.” You say. Why are you even trying to make small talk?

“He’s not exactly a friend. We had some classes together during college.” He explains. Oh. Right.

Silence.

You hug yourself again as another freezing breeze crosses your body. This is so incredibly awkward. It’s even hard to believe you know this man intimately, that you were in a relationship for three whole years. Right now, he just feels… foreign. It was never this way. Never.

Namjoon sighs and inhales the last bit of his cigarette, before throwing it on the floor and stomping on it. “I… saw you with your boyfriend-”

“Stop.” You say abruptly, lifting your palm towards him before he can finish the sentence. “Just stop. We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” But he’s lifting his eyebrow again, and you know he’s getting sarcastic in the way you hate the most. “I was just going to say how happy you looked… babysitting him, I mean.”

You angrily throw the cigarette on the floor, stomping on it, and glare at him, feeling all of your nerves heating up with the familiar anger only Namjoon is able to ignite. “Fuck off, Namjoon."

“What? Am I lying?” He shrugs, the shadow of a mocking smirk on his lips. “Where is he right now? Passed out in some corner of the house?”

Anger immediately bubbles up within you, heating your cold body in a second. You roll your eyes, exhaling heavily, as you take the purse from over the roof again. “Don’t even know why I’m wasting my time with you anyways…”

You’re about to walk away from him - but Namjoon acts quicker.

He places his arm on the car roof, blocking your way; you feel his body close to you. Close enough for you to feel waves of heat emanating from his body, but still not touching you. Dangerously close.

You freeze in place.

You look up at him, surprised at his sudden movement… only to be met by the hooded gaze you’re very familiar with. The gaze that makes immediate goosebumps roam your skin.

He lowers his head a little bit to speak closer to your ear. Adrenaline starts to make your heart race. You remember how you always loved how tall he is, how he towers over you, how he had to lower his head to kiss you, or you’d have to tiptoe to reach his lips, how easily he could lift you up in his arms.

You remember and you gulp.

“You’re wrong, Y/N.” His voice is quiet and deep and shit he’s talking like that, he’s talking with that voice that means I want you right here and right now, and heat spreads through your body with that alone. “I never made you waste your time. I wouldn’t leave you alone… not when you look like this.”

He licks his lips slowly, looking you up and down. You can’t move. Your breath hitches.

You should’ve flinched or pushed him away when he leans his face closer to your neck, but you can’t. Not because you’re scared. Because a part of you is so used to this - the proximity, the heat - that you cannot react at all.

Namjoon closes his eyes for a moment and smirks.

“You’re using it. The perfume I gave you.” You widen your eyes, unconsciously putting your hand in the back of your neck, as you feel your cheeks burn. “So… you didn’t really forget me.”

You frown, once again getting defensive. “It’s just a perfume. It means nothing.”

Namjoon tilts his head. “It scares me how similar we are.”

“What?” But you shouldn’t have asked what, because you know Namjoon - and if you give him a single cue, he’ll use it. You should’ve cut the conversation short, but you didn’t.

“You’ve been lying to yourself all this time, too.”

Your jaw drops. You stare back at him, feeling anger bubbling in your chest again. “You think you know me so well, right, Namjoon? If you knew me so well, we’d still be together.”

“No. We’re not together because we know each other too well.” You hate this. You hate how right he is. Namjoon has always been extremely smart about everything, quick to analyze any situation he’s in. And yes, you used to hate how he would analyze your feelings as if you’re a thing, not a person.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “What do you want with this, huh, Namjoon? Are you trying to get into another argument?”

And then he’s smirking again - the sight of his dimples appearing making you feel weak.

“I kind of am. You know I like when you’re angry at me.”

You avoid his gaze, feeling that heat spread from your cheeks to your neck, but Namjoon tilts his head to the side, trying to keep eye contact with you. “Namjoon, let me go.”

“I’m not holding you, baby. Not even touching you.”

Baby.

Your legs feel even weaker at the familiar pet name. It’s been so long since you heard this…

Shit shit shit shit shit.

“You can walk away if you want… but you don’t want to, right?” He chuckles darkly.

“Namjoon, for fuck’s sake…” You put your hand over his muscular chest, pushing him away slightly, as you look around with worry. “Mark’s friends are literally right there. What if someone sees us?”

“Oh. So you’re worried about getting caught, not that your boyfriend is passed out somewhere, not having a clue that you’re here with me… interesting.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth!” You tighten your fists. “What do you want, huh, Namjoon? Is this how you try to make up with me?”

Namjoon eyes you seriously, jaw clenched - and again, you feel that you can’t breathe.

“I don’t want to make up with you.” His quiet, gravely voice echoes within your stomach. “I want to fuck you.”

You shiver.

Even after five months, your body never forgot him. How shameless and obscene he is with his words. How easy it is for him to get you worked up. It’s like his deep sultry voice is already stripping you down, even if he didn’t even touch you.

"T-That's not happening." But your voice doesn't sound as firm as you wanted it to sound, and your heart is beating fast, certainly not because you're angry… and you already feel the very familiar heat between your legs despite the chilly night.

Namjoon clenches his jaw and lowers his head again, his face dangerously close to your ear.

"I miss you so bad, baby." Your fists unconsciously tighten. Your chest heavens as your breathing gets deeper. His voice is serious and deep and quiet and pleading. You press your thighs on one another. "Shit… look at you. Every guy's been checking you out all night… but you're with the one that cares the least about you."

"Shut up." You finally look back at him, anger making you frown. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?" He quirks one eyebrow up. "I don't know? Baby, I wouldn't waste my time getting drunk. You know that, right? If you were with me… shit…" he chuckles darkly. "Everyone in that goddamn party would be listening to you screaming my name right now."

"Namjoon..." You try to say in a warning tone, but your body doesn't agree with your brain; the warmth spreading from your face to your neck to your intimacy, the fast beating of your heart, the way your lips are slightly parted, how your body is literally melting.

"Those pretty lips of yours around my cock…" He closes his eyes for a moment, slowly getting closer to you - and you can't move away. "You always take me so well, baby…"

"Namjoon." You try again, but it seems that he's is having a lot of fun with your reactions. He licks his lips and smirks.

"Tell me, Y/N… is this… Mark… treating you well?" Your body freezes and melts at the same time when his large hand rests on your waist. "Is he fucking you good the way you like? The way you deserve?" Holy shit - you can barely breathe. "Does he put you on your fours the way you like it? Can he fuck you all night the way I do?"

He's leaning closer, eyes glued to your lips.

Your own gaze drops to his lips, too.

Then, you remember that you're on the sidewalk, four houses down the street from where your boyfriend and his friends are - and it snaps you back to reality.

You step away from him, yanking his hand off your waist. "Fuck off!"

You press the purse close to your body and walk away with firm and quick steps without looking back.

Your heartbeat thunders inside your ribcage, your mouth is dry; even your fingers shake slightly, the chilly breeze does little to refresh your high inner temperature. You shouldn't have talked to him. You should've walked away from him straight away. Why did you let his sultry voice get to your ears and down to your already throbbing core? You were absolutely right; you're not strong enough to face him, not at all.

Because you also miss him badly.

You miss his grip on you and his tongue on you and you miss his taste in your mouth, you miss feeling him deep inside your throat and then deep inside your cunt, stretching you and filling you up like no one else can - not even Mark.

You miss him so bad that your legs are already wobbly, even though he just touched your waist. You miss him so bad that it's hard to fake the crazed look in your eyes and to hold a smile when you get back inside the house, once again trying your best to pass imperceptible by everyone, trying not to engage in any conversation. The loud music and yelling bothers your ears, having to squeeze yourself between bodies and more bodies annoys you. It doesn't help that you don't know almost anyone in this house, mostly your fault, because your bad mood didn't let you socialize the way you usually would.

You just march to the second floor, towards the room Mark is sleeping in. You have to anchor your senses again; being anywhere near him will make you go insane. You need to remind yourself that this is the party your current boyfriend brought you to, the boyfriend you like very much, the guy that treats you well and is obviously in love with you. Namjoon is your past, Mark is your present. You can't hurt his feelings like that.

You can't.

But your body can't lie, either.

Because when you're about to hold the doorknob to Mark's room, you feel a familiar grip on your elbow. You do not fight this grip as it quickly pulls you inside the next guest room, and you do not flinch as the door is swiftly closed shut and your body is pressed against it, and you are not surprised when the light is turned on and you face Namjoon.

You do not push him away when his lips clash on yours.

The kiss tastes like tobacco; your senses are overwhelmed by his perfume, the one he knows you love. Namjoon doesn't try to be gentle or slow because he knows you don't like it. His tongue entangles in yours, one hand grips the hair at the back of your head while the other squeezes your ass, making you moan within the kiss. You grip his hair as well, the other arm going around his shoulders, as you tiptoe, kissing him back eagerly.

You're panting and your chest heavens as you finally break the kiss for a moment. Your mind is clouded by his perfume and his hands and his mouth, now leaving wet kisses on your neck, sucking on it softly and making you whimper.

"N-Namjoon…" you try to call his attention, but it's too late; your voice is breathy and whiny in the way that makes him go insane. "We shouldn't…"

It's ridiculous that you're saying this as his hands are on you and his mouth is on you and every inch of your body is screaming for him. This is wrong - this is nasty, ugly, unacceptable. Your boyfriend is sleeping in the room next to this. His friends are downstairs. Yes, you are well aware of all that.

And still - you don't push him away. You don't want him to stop.

"Yes, we shouldn't." His voice is also breathy. He kisses your lips eagerly again. "But you want this, Y/N. And I want it, too. Fuck, I need you, baby…" He presses his body against you strongly, and you feel his clothed erection against your stomach; it's enough to make your mouth water. He passes his tongue on your bottom slip slowly, before kissing you again; your legs are already weakened by this action. "Need you around me… I know you want this, too, baby… let me fuck you good, just this last time…"

Your breath comes out shaky when his hand lifts your tight dress up to your hips to squeeze your ass. As one arm circles around your waist, the other hand that was on your ass shamelessly travels to rest over your panties, his palm pressing on your warm pussy. He caresses your intimacy, making you moan quietly and unconsciously buck your hips with the movement of his hand. Namjoon smirks and hums, hypnotized by the way you bite your bottom lip, these begging eyes he knows so well.

"You're always so ready for me, baby… look at how wet you already are..." he chuckles darkly, sending shivers down your spine. He presses his palm more firmly on your clit, making you let out a slightly louder moan, closing your eyes for a moment. He pushes your jacket away with his other hand, letting a trail of kisses on your shoulder. "But I can stop if you want to…"

"No." You blurt out in a pleading voice, once again making him smirk. "Don't you dare stop."

Yes - you are very well aware of how wrong this is.

You are very well aware that guilt will crush you later.

But right now, you decide to shut everything else but him. All of your problems and guilts and regrets stand out of this room, waiting to greet you as soon as you walk out. They're distant and muffled, just like the loud music downstairs, asleep just like your drunk boyfriend, barely a wall away from you.

You decide to ignore all of that.

What exists right now is Namjoon and your insatiable lust.

Your hand searches for the key and you turn it, locking the door.

"Why you gotta do this to me, Namjoon?" You whine in a pleading voice, before holding his face with both hands and forcing him to kiss you - which he reciprocates eagerly. "Why… why you gotta make my life so difficult?"

He bites your bottom lip and chuckles. "I already said… I love it when you're mad at me." His palm keeps pressing on your intimacy, making circular movements over your clit, and you purr in delight, throwing your head back. "And you love it too, don't you, baby? I know you too well… You’re so nasty for me.”

“Shit…” You curse under your breath, feeling your inner temperature increase each second. You grab the fabric of the jacket on his shoulders and start to buck your hips on his hand more frantically. “Shit, I need you inside of me…”

Namjoon growls on your ear and presses your body against the door with his own, forcing you to stop bucking your hips. “Not so soon, baby. This won’t be quick. It’s been five months… I’m gonna take my time with you.” He kisses you, and when he leans away, there’s the smirk again. “I will make you come good, baby… but first, let me fuck this pretty mouth of yours, will you?”

Excitement bubbles up within you, and you bite your bottom lip, nodding. The things Namjoon makes you do… it’s like you become a different person around him when you two have sex.

He takes his hand off your pussy and you immediately miss his touch, but you know it’ll be worth it later. “Take this shit off, I want to see you.” He growls, grabbing the collar of your jacket and rather aggressively making you take it off, throwing it on the floor with your purse. That smirk of approval… it’s enough to make you press your thighs together again. “Fuck, how can that guy not want to fuck your brains out when you look so delicious in this dress?”

You feel a glimpse of discomfort at Namjoon’s words - you don’t want to be reminded of Mark, of how ugly your actions are, or you’ll want to stop. But he doesn’t give you time to think too much about it, because his hand rests at the top of your head and he looks into your eyes darkly.

“On your knees.”

You smirk, obeying him without complaints. You keep intense eye contact as Namjoon works on his belt, finally freeing his hardened member from his boxers - and your mouth immediately waters. He’s so big. Your pussy throbs in anticipation, at the mere thought that soon, his thick and veiny cock will be slamming inside of you after five months.

“Let me see if you still remember how to do it.” He says in a challenging tone, cocking one eyebrow up and smirking, and you have to gulp at the sight of him grabbing his own cock, pumping it up and down slowly.

"Of course I do." You say, batting your lashes prettily at him. "I'm the only one that can take you."

Namjoon chuckles, but his chuckle dies in a hiss when you hold his shaft with one hand and lick the tip like a kitty, never breaking eye contact. He lets a deep grunt when your lips wrap around the tip, sucking it gently like it is the sweetest lollipop. He closes his eyes momentarily and tilts his head to the side, face contorting in pleasure.

"You're so hot, baby…" you would've smirked if you didn't have the tip of his dick in your mouth - and the sight makes Namjoon desperate to have more of you. He grabs the hair at the top of your head and yanks you off his cock, and yes, it's painful - but you're used to it. You've been missing it. "Open your mouth."

Once again, you obey him. Namjoon shoves his dick into your open mouth all the way down your throat; you choke, sinking your nails on the flesh of your thighs. You sucked him off more times than you can count, but you never quite got used to how truly big he is. Namjoon pushes inside as much as possible making you tighten your eyes and gag. It's uncomfortable. But it's alright. You can take him.

Namjoon lets out a deep moan and bites his bottom lip. "You look so pretty with my cock inside your mouth…" his deep voice travels all the way to your wet core, and you tighten your cunt around nothing. His strong grip on your hair keeps your head in place as he starts to thrust in and out. You grunt around his dick, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure all throughout Namjoon's body. He pants with his mouth open, licking his lips, hissing and letting deep moans that resonate in you. "You missed it too, right, Y/N? You look so hungry right now, taking me like the big girl you are…"

Again, he sees the hint of a smirk on your lips and the mischief in your eyes, and he knows you would've said something if you could.

You tighten your lips around his dick, sucking as he thrusts deep down your throat, making him throw his head back in pleasure. You have tears in the corners of your eyes, but his face contorted in delight is worth it. He digs his nails in your scalp, pushing your head into his dick as he thrusts; he's being rougher than usual, it's getting difficult to breathe.

As if he's some sort of telepath, Namjoon takes his dick off your mouth and you gasp for air; a streak of saliva connects your lips to the tip. The sight of your hooded eyes, parted and swollen lips glinting with saliva is so absurdly sensual that Namjoon has to take a deep breath, controlling himself not to blow his load already.

"It seems that you really forgot how to do it, huh?" He says with mischief. "What? Your boyfriend's cock can't reach that deep inside your throat?"

You click your tongue, feeling a spark of anger within you when Namjoon cites Mark again. "Fuck you."

He chuckles, very much pleased to see how easy it is to irk you up - but again, his voice stumbles into a grunt when you wrap your lips around his tip without warning, sucking it eagerly. You grab his shaft with one hand and it glides easily across it, thanks to your saliva. Though the music from outside is still loud, your ears are only filled with the wet noise your hand gliding on him produces, sucking noises, and Namjoon's grunts and hisses of pleasure.

A streak of curses leaves his mouth as you start to take more and more of him relentlessly. Once again, he grips your scalp strongly, shoving your head into his dick as he thrusts. You gag and whimper, and it only increases Namjoon’s arousal. You can already see the glint of sweat on his forehead and neck.

"Shit, Y/N, shit-" he grunts, once again throwing his head back. He then locks his gaze with yours, watching as you swallow him eagerly. "Fuck, I want to cum all over your face. Ruin your makeup and hair… so when you walk back to Mark, he's gonna know what we did here."

Stop talking about him!, you want to yell. I don't want to remember he's in the next room!

The feral glare you send him, the sight of his dick in all its length inside your mouth, the thin layer of sweat on your forehead, the drool on the corner of your lips - it’s almost too much for him. “Stop, baby, stop.” Namjoon clicks his tongue, yanking your head away from his cock.

You groan and gulp, never once breaking eye contact. You lick your lips slowly and smirk mischievously as you clean the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “What? Am I too much for you to handle?”

“Get up.” He orders impatiently, and you do so in an instant. His lips clash on yours again in a sloppy, heated kiss, his hand grabbing the hair at the back of your head tightly. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”

You smile as excitement bubbles at the pit of your stomach. Contrary to what you thought he would do - carry you to the bed, he places his hands on your waist and spins you around, so now your back is facing him. You grunt as he roughly presses you against the door, keeping you trapped between it and his muscular body.

Looking over your shoulder, you watch as he takes his jacket off and throws it on the floor, eyes glued to your ass. Purring, you arch your back to him, as both palms rest on the door for support. In a swift movement, he grabs the hem of your panty and slides it down your legs.

“Ah… so pretty. So pretty, baby…” He compliments darkly, caressing your ass and squeezing it. You gasp when, unexpectedly, he lands a hard slap on one of the cheeks. It burns, and you close your eyes tightly on instinct. Namjoon chuckles and licks his lips. He presses his body against yours, and you feel his cock against your ass.

“How much do you want me, hm, Y/N?” He asks in a low voice with his lips on your ear. He kisses the bit of skin where your jaw meets your neck and licks it. Your pussy throbs and tightens around nothing as you feel him bucking his hips on you, caressing your ass with his cock, moaning with the back of his throat. The sound makes you purr and bite your bottom lip.

“Namjoon, stop teasing me,” you whine, making him chuckle once again. “Just fuck me already.”

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” He kisses your shoulder tenderly. “Is that what you want?”

You forget what you were going to say as you feel his hand traveling to your front, between your legs, to touch your clit in slow, circular movements, at the same time the other hand grabs your breast over the dress, squeezing it with care. “You… hmm… you said… you were going to fuck me.”

“Yes, but I don’t think you’re needy enough.” He keeps humping his hardened dick on your ass, all the while his hand moves on your clit way slower than you’d like. “You’re not too proud to beg, are you, Y/N?”

You look at him angrily from over your shoulder, but when he adds a little more pressure on your clit, your complaint is choked in a moan that escapes from your lips. You tighten your fists, closing your eyes tightly, as the circular movement gets faster, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You bite your bottom lip, purposefully pressing your ass against his member, making him groan quietly.

“I haven't even started yet, but look at how loud you are.” Namjoon chuckles and bites your earlobe lightly.

“Namjoon,” you meow his name in such a way that has him closing his eyes for a moment. “N-Need you inside of me.”

“Hmm?” He presses your clit even harder, making you moan and throw your head back, resting it on his shoulder. Namjoon’s evil smirk widens. “Didn’t hear you, babe.”

“Please. Please. I’ve been missing it so much.” You cry, having no idea of how hard you’re stroking his ego with those words. Yes, he was right - you’re not too proud to beg when it comes to sex. Namjoon hums in approval, leaving a surprisingly tender kiss on your cheek.

“I’ll give you what you want, baby… you deserve it. You always do.”

Your whole body shakes in anticipation when he takes his hand off your clit. Namjoon spits on his hand, and you moan lightly as you feel him pressing it on your folds, mixing it with your juices. “You got a condom?” He asks. You shake your head frantically.

“Don’t. I want to feel you.” He tilts his head and quirks one eyebrow up, not even bothered by your request. You’re always on the pill anyway. Yes, maybe you’re being reckless, but you really want to feel him as he is.

“As you wish.”

You shiver as he holds your hips firmly with both hands, and you open your palms on the door again for support. Your pussy is already throbbing when you feel him position his dick on your entrance.

You cry out in pleasure when he finally penetrates you.

The stretch feels so amazing that your legs almost lose all of their strength. You close your eyes tightly, eyebrows knitted, mouth opened.

He grunts with the back of his throat in a way that makes you even weaker. “All the way, baby?”

You nod frantically, opening your eyes for a moment to see him over your shoulder. “Yes. Yes. Please.”

He chuckles and licks his lips, eyes focused on the sight of his cock halfway inside of you. “You’re so desperate tonight.”

He does exactly what you asked.

It’s like the air is knocked out of your lungs. You’re unable to muffle the moan that escapes from your lips when he puts everything inside, balls deep in. You clench around him, making Namjoon moan as well and throw his head back; the sight of his parted lips, closed eyes and Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows mesmerizes you. It doesn’t matter how many times you fucked - it was never not amazing. Every nerve in your body yells in pure pleasure. Words can't describe how much you've been missing him inside of you; your body never forgot, always tight for him, always ready to accommodate him.

"Fuck- you feel amazing…" he says in a breathy voice that makes you melt. "You were right, baby… no one can take me like you can." He thrusts for the first time, making you squeak and bite your bottom lip at the delicious friction the girth of his member produces against your velvet walls. He thrusts again and again, grunting at each movement, making you see stars. You hear his low chuckle which makes more goosebumps roam your skin. "L-Look at you right now… I didn't even begin yet, Y/N. Are you going to cum already?" He chuckles again. "Guess I was right… your boyfriend hasn't been treating you that well, since you're so desperate for me…"

"Shut up." You eye him again over your shoulder, trying your best to look annoyed, but it's hard to do so when his dick is this deep inside of you. "Stop talking… just fuck me."

You see a glimpse of annoyance in his eyes as, out of sudden, he growls and picks a much faster and stronger pace; you whimper in surprise when he presses his forearm against the back of your neck, sticking your cheek against the door, keeping your back incredibly arched. You pant with your mouth opened, obscene moans unconsciously escaping, each thrust of his sending shockwaves of pleasure to every piece of your body, making the tiny hairs of your arms rise. Fuck, you've always loved when he went rough you on; sometimes, you'd even purposefully argue with him over the stupidest things, just because you knew that making up with him meant he would let his emotions loose with angry sex. You loved to be bitten and slapped and choked by him - even if you'd be sore the next morning, it was always worth it.

"You know," he growls in a deep and breathy voice without slowing his pace even once. "It's funny how you get angry and want to defend him while I'm dicking you down. Such a protective girlfriend."

"N-Namjoon-" you try to speak, but your voice dies in a strangled moan. Namjoon smirks. Your ears are filled with both your breathy voices of pleasure, his pelvis smacking against your ass, the squelching noises his dick coming in and out of you produces, and- and-

Your ear is pressed against the door. You can hear the voices out there in the hallway beyond the loud music.

"If you moan a little louder, they will hear you, too." Namjoon says as if he just read your mind. "Is that what you want, Y/N?" You bite your bottom lip, trying to shut your voice, but it's almost painful to keep quiet when he's fucking you so hard. "N-Not that I would mind… you have such a pretty voice, baby… I love it when you cry for me…"

You roll your eyes in pleasure, feeling your sanity running thin. Your moans sound more like painful strangled whimpers now as you desperately try to not make much noise, which only increases Namjoon’s arousal. There’s just something about you - the way you so shamelessly display your pleasure - that simply doesn’t compare to anything he had experienced with anyone else. He loves to make you feel good. He loves your face contorted in pleasure, when you’re desperate and begging for release.

“Fuck-” you say in a tired and tiny voice that almost causes the same effect on him as the feeling of your cunt tightening around his member. “Fuck- you’re s-so big-”

Namjoon smirks again. He always knows when you’re close. He could tease you a bit and deny your orgasm, but he’s been missing you so much and your moans sound so good that he can’t bring himself to be so cruel. “Are you going to cum for me, baby?” You nod frantically again, eyes closed, lips parted.

“Yes… p-please, don’t stop… f-feel so good…” you don’t have any control of the words coming out of your mouth anymore, your mind way too drowned in pleasure to think straight.

His forearm leaves the back of your neck and he holds your hips tightly again, keeping the exact same pace you need to reach your high. You tighten your fists again, feeling your legs lose strength and every nerve in your body going haywire the closest you get to your orgasm. The slick arousal drips from your inner thighs, sweat covers your forehead, neck and chest; you hear the voices of the people talking literally on the other side of the door, the loud music, Namjoon grunting, you feel the fire building up and spreading through you, you feel his cock coming in and out of you, reaching deep, the glorious friction it produces every time-

Namjoon stops moving and keeps his member buried in you as you orgasm, throwing your head back, your convulsing body, your eyes turned in pleasure. You’re barely even breathing. He holds your hips tightly, taking a moment to catch his breath. The way you’re so tightly clenched around him makes him close his eyes and sigh in pleasure.

He waits until you calm down a bit.

He’s not done with you yet.

You’re taken by surprise when you feel him pulling his dick out and suddenly wrapping his arms around your waist. Namjoon sticks his chest to your back and lifts you up, easily walking towards the bed. He practically throws you over it and you bounce on the soft mattress, causing you to giggle tiredly. It makes him smile, too - but at the same time, it’s like an arrow has trespassed his heart, because if you giggle and look happy like that, it makes him remember when you were together and everything was okay.

Namjoon stands at the edge of the bed. His dick is still standing tall, glistering with your juices.

“Suck it.” He orders. The way you smirk and crawl on your fours towards him with eyes glued on his member makes him feel goosebumps. You don’t complain - your hand simply holds his shaft again and then your lips are wrapped around it. Namjoon hisses and throws his head back. You don’t waste any time, taking more of him inside your mouth, bobbing your head across his length, sucking him eagerly. The taste of your own arousal doesn’t bother you.

Namjoon rests his hand on the top of your head, gently massaging your scalp instead of gripping it, which makes you somehow smile. “I-I missed this every fucking day… you have no idea…”

You take his cock out of your mouth for a moment, just to look up at him and smirk. “I think I do.” You lick the tip again, making him hiss and close his eyes momentarily. Namjoon watches, completely mesmerized, as you keep sucking him. He thinks you’re so absurdly pretty, it’s almost unreal.

Namjoon grunts at some point and the fingers that were caressing your hair now are gripping it, once again yanking you away from his cock. You look up at him with round, confused eyes. “What? I thought you wanted to come in my mouth.” He smiles and shakes his head. How can you fake that innocent voice so well?

He holds your forearm and makes you get on your knees; delicately puts some loose strands of hair behind your ear before kissing you. As your lips move, you feel his hand search for the zipper on your back. He zips the dress down and leans away so you can lift your arms for him to fully take the dress off.

Namjoon smiles at the sight of your breasts covered in the black lace bra. He always loved when you wore lace lingerie - especially black; once again, it’s like both of you knew you’d be here, and purposefully chose your outfits based on each other’s tastes. He kisses you again, massaging both of your breasts at the same time, earning soft moans from you.

He leans away. His hooded eyes make you shiver. “I’m not done with you yet.” He says quietly.

His hand rests on your chest and he pushes you delicately, making you sit. You keep propped up on your elbows, watching as he parts your legs. Namjoon licks his lips and smiles. “You’re dripping, baby.”

You hiss, toes curling, as he massages your clit again. Your nerves are still so sensitive from the previous orgasm, but at the same time, this pain feels good - so you just grip the sheets and bite your bottom lip, not wanting him to stop. His hand gets wet immediately - you are dripping indeed - and you gasp when suddenly, Namjoon inserts his ring and middle finger inside of you. Your walls immediately clench around them, having not recovered fully yet. Namjoon knows it. That’s why he moves his fingers inside of you slowly.

You throw your head back, gulping. “P-Put it in.” You stutter.

Namjoon nods, feeling all of his body shudder in anticipation. He takes his fingers out of you and holds your hips yet again. Instead of easing himself in at once, he glides his cock on your folds, humping slowly, causing both of you to moan. Finally, he puts it all in; you’re so wet that he simply slides in, making both of you moan at the same time.

It’s like your entire body is burning in flames as Namjoon starts to thrust, although slower this time. You analyze his features - face covered in sweat, jaw clenched tightly, an expression that almost looks like pain - and you wonder how much longer he can take. You want him to come, too; you can imagine how desperate he must be to get his release. Even so, he doesn’t go that hard from the beginning, aware of your sensitivity.

“Joon,” you call in that sensual voice that ignites every nerve in his body. You didn’t even realize that you just called him by the nickname. “I want you to cum for me, too.”

He looks at you without stopping his movements. “However I want, baby?”

You nod. “However you want.”

Namjoon tilts his head and pulls out suddenly. “On your fours.”

You smile, immediately doing as he asked; you turn around on fours, arch your back for him, ass up, your chest touches the mattress. You look over your shoulder and see Namjoon kneeling on the bed, eyes glued on your dripping entrance, so stretched and so exposed for him. He licks his lips and squeezes your ass before slapping it, sending jolts of pain down your legs. “You’re being such a good girl to me, Y/N… doing everything I ask.” He grips your hips and pulls in balls deep, making you whimper and bite your bottom lip. From the start, he picks a faster pace than before, completely focused on getting his release. Your whole body shakes and you grip the sheets tightly, trying your best to muffle your moans on the mattress, but it’s pretty impossible; you can just thank that the music out there is loud enough to disguise the obscene sounds coming from this bedroom.

Which makes you remember, for a single second, the image of a sleeping Mark next door.

But Namjoon’s cock inside of you overwhelms any guilt to take you over.

He groans and slaps your ass hard again, earning a gasp and a loud moan you can’t hold back. “Who else can fuck you like this, huh, Y/N?” He growls. “Who else can fill you up like this?”

“No one!” Shit - you might regret the things stumbling from your mouth later, but right now, your mind is so clouded by pleasure that you can’t stop to think of the things you’re saying. “O-Only you… you fuck me so good, Joon-” you squeak in pain when he slaps your ass again. “Don’t fucking stop!”

He’s so deep inside of you; with this position, he can easily hit your sweet spot - and he keeps hitting it mercilessly. You hear him chuckling mischievously. “You’re about to cum again, baby?”

You don’t answer this time, unable to form any coherent word anymore, just vulgar sounds coming from you instead. Bliss shadows your thoughts and senses, you can’t care about anything but his strong grip on your hips and his thick cock hitting deep inside of you over and over and over again, restless, ruthless, in that way only him can do, only him knows how you like. Your walls are so clenched that Namjoon feels about to explode. Yet, he doesn’t stop thrusting while you orgasm, convulsing around him, trembling and weak; it’s like your vision fades for a moment, all you can see is white. He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t slow his pace.

You’re forced to open your eyes and gasp when you feel his fingers brushing your clit.

“Namjoon, I- I already came-” you try to speak, but electricity runs through your system as his quick motions over your clit makes you wail.

“Come with me, baby,” he says mischievously, panting. “I know you can take it.”

Your eyes widen, you grab the sheets even harder as fingers work on your clit nonstop, all the while his cock keeps smacking inside of you again and again and again. You gasp for air, desperate and overcharged; you want to flinch away from his restless touch on your clit, but at the same time, the overstimulation feels so painful and so sweet that you can’t ask him to stop; you haven’t calmed down from your orgasm and you feel your pleasure levels increasing at a fast pace again.

A streak of curses leaves Namjoon’s mouth; you’re so incredibly tight and hot, it’s like he’s going insane. You squirm and cry out when the third orgasm in a row hits; tears form in the corner of your eyes, your body yells desperately after so much stimulation in such a short period. Your knees barely have any strength to them, you don’t how much longer you can keep your ass up. Yet, almost at the same time, Namjoon feels his own high hitting. He takes his hand off your clit and pulls out of you, holding his cock as he cums all over your ass and back, pumping it until he’s milked dry.

He flops by your side on the bed, staring at the ceiling with tired eyes.

You can barely even open your eyes. Your whole body is trembling and sweating. You’re so tired that you could honestly just sleep right here, in this position.

But you can’t.

Because, as you recover your breathing, as your heartbeat falls at a normal pace again, as arousal slowly fades from your mind and your body gets cold, you’re slowly reminded of the situation you put yourself in.

And it immediately starts to weigh.

You open your eyes to focus on Namjoon.

He’s still staring at the ceiling, covered in sweat, his t-shirt glued to his body. He licks his lips and gulps in a serious, thoughtful expression.

That’s not how it used to be.

Five months ago, after he fucked you hard like this, Namjoon would hug you tight. You’d smile at each other, you’d giggle at something silly one of you would say. You’d both walk to the bathroom to take a good shower. You’d wear one of his shirts, he’d blow your hair with the hairdryer, and you’d go to sleep in each other’s arms.

But Namjoon’s not your boyfriend anymore. Your break up was messy due to your already messy and broken relationship. At some point, sex was all you had, was all you could enjoy in each other’s company. Any talking led to fights. Namjoon was right - you know each other so well that you simply couldn’t stand each other anymore.

You still can’t.

This didn’t change.

You realize that when Namjoon looks back at you, and everything you can see in his eyes is sadness and resentment. Your bond is way too broken. Things will never be the same as they were.

Quietly, he gets up from bed and walks towards the bathroom (you didn’t even realize this guest room has a bathroom). He comes back with a few tissues in hand. Without uttering a word, he wipes out his cum from your ass and back. Still trembling, you get up from bed, taking your panties from the ground and putting it back on as Namjoon adjusts his pants. Music still pumps out there. Chatting. Yelling. Inside this bedroom is dead silent, though.

He zips your dress up without you needing to ask. It’s like you can’t look at each other anymore.

“I’ll walk out first.” He says quietly after a while. You just nod, sitting on the edge of the bed again, still feeling your whole body weakened.

Namjoon takes the jacket from the floor and throws it over his shoulder. He puts his hand over the doorknob and looks at you again.

Words can’t really explain what you’re feeling right now. Embarrassment. Guilt. Sadness. Everything is mixed with your stunt nerves, steaming hot inside of your chest, as the ugliness of what you just did starts to sink in.

Yes, you like Mark. You really do.

But you loved Namjoon. You loved him for three years - and five months weren’t enough to completely destroy these feelings for him.

Despite this… you know that any new attempt at a relationship with him will lead to nothing but more hurt, more than your heart can bear. You don’t want to bleed for him anymore. You just want… peace.

Although your actions tonight will bring you anything but peace.

“I still have the same number.” He says, eyeing you seriously. “When you get tired of playing with that boy… you know who to call.”

You shiver.

Namjoon walks out, closing the door again.

Your anesthetized body can’t let you cry, even if you really want to. You just sit here, staring blankly at the carpet, until twenty minutes have passed and you feel safe enough to walk out… to the bedroom next door, where your boyfriend still lays asleep. You can’t even stand to look at him, ashamed, as if the walls of that bedroom have eyes and have witnessed your betrayal, as if the Universe around is judging you.

You sit at the edge of the bed, gripping your knees.

Your bond with Namjoon is broken - and you might’ve broken your bond with Mark, too.

But how could you fight Namjoon’s gravitational pull, when he’s the indisputable center of your personal galaxy - no matter how hard you try to deny it?

You jump, startled, feeling Mark’s sudden touch on your wrist. You look down at his half asleep figure, his eyes barely opened. “Y/N…?”

“Y-Yes?” You gulp.

Mark smiles.

“I love you.”

Being shot in the heart would’ve hurt less.

You nod, blinking the incoming tears away. Your mouth tastes like iron. Your chest weighs tons. Namjoon’s face still rewinds in your mind over and over again, even though he already left, leaving you weakened and trembling and cold and empty.

Mark won’t remember anything tomorrow morning.

Only these walls witness your terrible lie.

“I love you, too.”

#namjoon smut #namjoon angst #ksmutclub #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #bts smut #bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts x reader #fic:gravity #THIS IS A BIT LATE LMAO BUT IT'S HERE!!!#PLEASE GIVE IT SOME LOVE!!!!

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roseamonglilies · 2 years

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Selfish - pt. III

Summary: Billy decides to stop by your house drunk, and confesses a little too much

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: nsfw, this is pretty graphic, some fluff (billy isn’t ever very fluff, but i tried), dirty talking, oral, nipple play, edging, billy is hot, I did not proof-read

Part 1 | Part 2

Billy only offered a half-honest shrug, eyes rolling back in a blurred state of consciousness.

"Whoops," There was hardly an ounce of care in his words, seemingly uninterested in any sort of bickering. He closed the gap between you, slinging his hands atop your hips. You could only press your hands to his chest to prevent him from coming any closer. "Aw, don't look at me like that, you know you missed me."

Without a doubt, he certainly seemed confident tonight. However, as close as he had already become, you noticed a reddish stain on his temple and scabbing just under his nose.

"Jesus- is that blood?" Your hand brushed away the hair that hung over his face messily, trying to see if the cuts were still fresh. Upon checking, there was indeed a gash about an inch long just below his hairline, still glistening with fresh blood. Moving both hands, you cupped his jaw, forcibly rotating his head to check the rest of his face and neck for any other injury. His eyes twitched with an unreadable reaction at the way you touched him, but his breathing seemed to slow as you examined every feature. "Sit down, I need to clean this.

"He stood, looking around, almost unsure of what to do. Though, instead of sitting in the chair by your desk as you motioned him towards, he instead trudged to the end of your bed and flopped down as though it were his own. You stared at him for a moment before leaving to grab some cotton balls and peroxide from your bathroom.

The thought of asking him what could cause such an unsightingly gash crossed your mind, but to be honest, you could live without knowing who or what caused it. Some things didn't need to be relived. Not that this was the first time you'd seen him like this, and with the frequency of his visits, it didn't seem change was eager to come.

Upon returning, Billy hadn't moved, but finally looked to be on the edge of sobering up. His muddied boots were already thrown to the over side of the room. The sound of dogs barking and the sight of water drenching your thin curtains reminded you that the window was open. Dropping the bottle and cotton in Billy’s lap, you shut it, finally locking. Billy probably wouldn’t be leaving until the morning regardless. Water had already begun to soak your carpeted floor.

When you went back to the lout of a man, you found him trying to use a dry cotton ball to wipe away his blood, but all it seemed to do was smear along his sweaty forehead. Taking the cotton ball from his hands, your hand cradled his neck, and he naturally craned to look up at you. After dabbing a small bit of the acrid liquid onto the now pink and white ball, you gingerly pressed it against the wound. He seethed every moment or two, but he never reached up to stop you, never protested.

"You're lucky you don't need stitches for this," The gash itself wasn't terrible, though it would likely leave a mark for a month or two. He was lucky. As pretty as he was most times, you feared he wouldn't have aged as well if he'd have to live with a scar from some petty fight at a party. He didn't respond with any snark, no derision on your character as he so often did.

It was only then that you took notice of his eyes. They stared for awhile, forming neither thought nor verse, but as intense as ever. It was the same look he'd given you earlier, that uncomfortable fixation that'd he'd done from that English class, the same one you caught him with in increasing measure over the past few weeks.

And then he looked down, and you noticed how close his face was to your chest.

"B-Billy," Desperate to change the the bearing of attention on anything except where it had settled, the grip on his neck slid up to the back of his head. His gaze traveled even further down, eliciting a flutter of dread to twist in your stomach. “I can't help you if you don't look up.”

"Not even the cheerleading type, and yet everyone in this fleapit town is obsessed with you..." It was barely a whisper, low and hardly flattering to his usual sober behavior. However, sober, tonight, he was most certainly not, and how clearly it showed in his verbiage. "Why is that, angel?"

"What?"

What else could you say? Yes, perhaps at some point you could have called yourself popular. Perhaps, given that Steve and Nancy were part of your scene in early high school, you held a more pragmatic disposition. Or, in simpler terms, as Billy had called it, a priss.

But that had to have been almost 2 years ago. You were a senior now, far more matured, much in thanks to Billy himself. For him to say something so crude was entirely out of line.

“What are you talking about?"

"Y'know, it's probably a good thing you didn't come with me tonight," He finally looked up, though he only stared at the ceiling in thought. Brushing his hair aside, you quickly dabbed a new cotton ball and cleaned around the dried blood. Although, you found yourself glancing between the cut and his tumultuous expression and pausing as you did so. "Tommy H., Jason Carver, and some other saps couldn't seem to grasp the fucking idea that you're not some kind of dog for sale."

"What are you talking about, Billy?" You repeated yourself. As upset as he sounded now, he was being oddly cryptic. It did little to ease your discomfort.

"Oh, you should have heard it, princess, they couldn't keep their goddamn mouths shut just after 2 shots," He suddenly stood up, and as he did, his chest brushed against yours. As you tried to back away, his arms caged your waist against his. Not harshly in any sense, light enough for you to break away if you insisted, but enough to make a point that you were exactly where he wanted you. "Spouting some bullshit about how easy of a score you could be. And then, Tommy gets the genius idea to try and buy himself a night with you."

Something akin to shock washed over you. Of all the things he could have said, that was one of the least expected. Sober Billy was uncontrollable at best, but drunk Billy was another god entirely. You had no idea what he was going to do or say next, but you could smell the spiked punch from his breath, and the torrent within his eyes, and none of it meant anything good.

“And what did you say?” Some part of you feared what he might have for an answer. You never doubted Billy’s commitment to you, but a wildcard can never be predicted.

“I asked how much he thought a night would be worth,” A quiet melody reverberated through the small walls of your room. It was only in this moment that you realized your cassette player was still running its tape. It was quiet, but you could hear the tune of ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’ softly reaching its climax. You found the song to be the only thing crossing your mind until Billy began to speak again. “How much do you think those class rings cost? I think he left some of it lodged up here.”

He tapped his forehead, indicating who had been the one to leave such a nasty score. So, at the very least, Billy wasn’t a sellout. He smiled, sweetly too, before it devolved into him softly biting his lower lip. You weren't quite so amused.

“So how much am I worth, Billy?” His hands slid up your frame, resting to cradle your jaw and pull your face ever so close; his nose brushed the tip of yours. Billy’s breath smelled sweet despite the coating of alcohol it held. His eyes glinted with a hunger you’d never seen before.

“More than the fucking sun.”

Thunder rolled.

He pulled you in, kissing your lips gently, waiting for you to accept the gesture before venturing any further. The statement had been slurred, but it left your chest feel like it could take flight at any moment.

Unlike yours, his eyes were shut while he pressed his lips to yours. It took a gentle bite of your bottom lip to bring you back to the now. In that one nip, you knew exactly where this was headed.

Almost without blinking, you grabbed his face, and he dragged your body flush against his. He sighed impatiently when you finally opened your mouth. Tongues swirling, you could taste a mixture of cheap beer and sweet brandy. Under all that cologne, he smelled like cigarettes and honey.

Of the two, you couldn't tell which was more intoxicating.

Billy broke the kiss to lean down. You understood the cue, and jumped up so he could pick you pick. Wrapping your legs around his waist, he held you tightly, and you brought him into another kiss once his hold was secure enough. With a few steps, you had no idea where he was headed until your back softly bumped into the wall. The kiss was broken from the impact, and your head hit the wall with an audible thud.

Wide-eyed, you covered his mouth when he tried to go in for another embrace.

"Wait!" You sort of whisper-yelled, just earnest enough to convince him to stop. His breath was labored, and knowing he understood the need to be quiet, your hand reluctantly fell from his lips. You listened for the both of you- for footsteps approaching from the halls- for bedroom doors opening. But there was nothing.

Billy occupied himself with your neck, inhaling what was left of this morning's perfume, before he began to teasingly peck at your skin. At this point, you weren't even sure Billy cared about being caught. His knee wedged itself between your thighs, shifting your weight onto his leg, and granting his arms the freedom they desired. His fingers crept along your inner thigh, thumb drawing slow circles the closer it drifted to your increasingly needy core. His other hand came to rest just along your cheek. He swiped his thumb across your bottom lip, and you found yourself ensnared by his demanding stare.

You could feel a warmth growing between your legs, stemmed on by the growing proximity of his fingers. It wouldn't take much more for you to fold underneath him. Less than a glance was spared to your loose-fitted clothes. He wanted them gone. His hand wound itself around the the threads of your robe, untying them from around your waist.

Hauling your body from the wall against which you had been pinned, he took quick steps towards the bed. Between those few steps, your robe was quickly shed, and his shirt was nearly ripped off.

Seeing him bare was never an humiliating dilemma, perhaps you'd just become desensitized to the sight of his skin. However, the sight of his body never ceased to send your sex-drive to new heights.

The moment you tried to grind against his waist, he roughly dropped you onto your mattress. Catching your breath, you were about to call him out, until you saw him crawling over you. Hovering above your smaller frame, his arms caged each side of your head. Noses brushing just close enough to tickle, Billy planted a small kiss on your forehead.

"I wanna to take my time with you tonight, princess," It was lower than a whisper, almost spoken like a warning to not push him too far too fast. Billy placed a kiss on your cheek, then another on your jaw. His breath was hot against your already flushed skin as he made his way to your neck, and then to your chest, planting small kisses that blossomed on your skin. It made your head spin. "So, just be a good girl for me, and sit still."

Without hesitation, the moment he reached the arches of your breasts, he bit down. Despite the lack of pain, you couldn't help but gasp at the pressure of his teeth. It's almost funny. He had barely touched you yet, and you could feel yourself already coming undone.

His tongue swirled around your nipple slowly, drawing out deliberately attenuated motions that left you on the edge. Your squirmed for more reprieve, mouth hung open, begging for a moan to release. In spite of your efforts, he bit harder, and placed a hand firmly against your shoulder, restricting any sort of retaliation. His palm was warm against your bare skin, but it still elicited chills.

A pained whine escaped your mouth instead, and only after you made another involuntary complaint did he finally release your sore breast. The hand over your shoulder crawled along your skin to wrap around your neck. He used his grip to pull himself back up to your level, tightening its hold as he did so. His eyes bled with impatience, bordering on annoyance at your indignance to his advances.

"How do you want this night to go for you?" His hand moved further to grab at your jaw firmly. You'd never had Billy at times when he was drunk. Mostly due to your self-preservation and morale, but this experience was entirely different than you were used to. This Billy was dominant and fussy, denying you even the most organic needs.

You didn't know how to react, or for that matter whether his question was rhetorical. Should you try to tame the wild bull, or let it ride out its frustrations? An instinct deep within droned on that letting him have his way would be for the best. As loving as he could be, you didn't want to be littered with marks by tomorrow morning.

"Fine."

That was all he needed. His thumb stroked your cheek gently

His mouth found its way back to your breast, his hand finding the other. He began to lightly suck on your skin, intensifying the tension in your gut. A gaspy moan flew from your lips when you felt his tongue graze against your breast again. He seemed to like the sound because he did the motion again, eliciting a similar noise.

By now, your body had begun to sweat from the heat of both yours and Billy's bodies. The sheets- usually a cool satin- now, felt clammy and hot as they stuck against your bare back. It was getting harder to sit still under him. You needed more of him- to feel every inch of him. There was a continually growing neediness between your legs that would soon need satiating.

Sensing this, he slid one of his hands down to your thigh. His fingers twitched against the sensitive skin, producing a light tremor from your body. You reacted well to his touch, as you were sure most other women did. However, you felt you were going to end up losing your mind if he continued teasing you like this any longer.

"Billy, please-" Your voice hitched in your throat when you felt a finger hook around your sweatpants. Slowly, they were inched down from your hips until they left you entirely. They landed on the You couldn't afford more than a whisper, and even then, every action left you on edge.

His thumb wormed its way underneath the band of your underwear. At the sound of his name, his attention faltered, causing him to rise and meet your face. His lips hovered over yours, and his hair- still wet from the rain, dangled over your face in rough tangles.

"Is this really what you want?" He passed the band from one finger to another, occasionally winding it tightly around one finger. "I gotta hear it from you if I'm gonna give it to you."

"If I'm letting you go this far already-" Annoyance crept into your tone. Your own impatience was beginning to show face. He was being cocky, thinking that he could get away with treating you like some toy to continually play with. "Get on with it already."

A small huff left his mouth. He smiled in a cold sort of way, and then suddenly lowered himself to meet the lining of your underwear.

You felt his teeth graze the skin of your waist as they bit down on the elastic band. Billy's eyes connected with yours, burning with a desire that made you feel like you were about to catch fire. And then with one swift motion, he pulled the lacey pair down with his mouth. He was quick to return to your thighs, easing his way up.

His tongue glazed your inner thigh sickly, leaving a trail with a cold breeze behind it in his breath. It stopped just before your crotch, leaving a chill from the breathy that left him. Your knees naturally bent themselves in anticipation.

There's hardly a need for lubrication at this point.

To your own embarrassment, your need for physical attention was all too evident. You were practically dripping; you could feel the proof rolling down your thighs. He swiped up your fold with his tongue once until his wet appendage made contact with your clit, as though he'd long since memorized its location. His tongue grazed it teasingly, but he refused to produce the pressure that you were begging he would. A stifled whine begged to free itself from your lips, but you held it in with what little sense you had left.

Billy waited a fraction of a second before his tongue rolled around it again, at first slowly, and then a little harsher with each rotation. He was trying to get you high off his touch, and by god, it was working.

A heat was beginning to stem within your gut, rapidly spreading through the rest of your body like some kind of wildfire. Earth's axis was centered on that creaky mattress and the world was spinning around it. Around you, and around the very man making it spin. This ride felt like some kind of merry-go-round with nothing to do except hold for dear life. With one hand, you clung desperately to your sheets, the other tore into his shoulder in an instinctual sense.

Your shallow breathing only helped to intensify the flames, and there seemed little room left for air between each breathy gasp. He seemed to feed off the way you squirmed with each graze, every motion released from his tongue. Billy’s hands grasped your hips tightly, in an almost controlling manner. You knew: every moan you let out, and how much pleasure you felt in the moment was entirely decided by him. And only he would be able to ride out your high to the very end. But right now, you were desperately close.

You were about to get lost under the waves, on the verge of climax. He suddenly pressed down harshly with his tongue, causing your hand to fly from his shoulder to his hair. The sound of rain, the smell of him, and the overwhelming everything about this moment was all too much to handle. Without any warning, he bit down, pinching your clit between his teeth, and just as quick as a finger prick, a switch was flipped.

It was as though he'd opened the floodgates, and all there was to do was ride out the waves. Under the man who was responsible for your first, you struggled through another orgasm, gasping out moans. He only calmed down enough to gently coax you through it, a hand brushing any sweaty hair from your face. He leaned in to kiss you possessively; while fantasies from a tortured, feverish mind rushed through you.

"Now who's being the careless one?" How forgetful could you have been? You could only imagine how loud you might have been during your climax, with parents just down the hall. But still, Billy seemed to revel in the sounds he made you emit.

Your first thought was to retort with some sort of callback, but all you could do was stare at him helplessly in heated exhaustion. If there was any moment that was telling enough to say you were mad for him, this was it.

Once the high wore off, an unavoidable clarity had begun to manifest your thoughts. You could feel it in the silence that lingered as you tried to catch your breath. This was one of the few moments you might have left, moments you would need to enjoy now to later reminisce.

Eventually though, despite how happy you felt the two of you were, things would expire at some point. And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell yourself and everyone that you were simply bored, the truth was that you were falling in love with him. Though you felt the bearing on your relationship couldn't possibly last past graduation, tonight felt like an endless summer.

Hi besties, i decided to make this a four part-er after much deliberation! expect them to go all the way soon! And let me know what you think, or what you wanna see in the future

#billy stranger things #Billy Hargrove #stranger things billy #billy hargove x reader #billy hargove imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things season 3 #stranger things imagine

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minijenn · 4 months

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Jen Tortures Herself With Every Dreamworks Animated Movie Ever: Ruby Gillman: Teenage Kraken

So uuuuuhhhhh yeah. I don't know what I was expecting with this movie. Wasn't expecting it to be good, and it wasn't. Nobody is fucking surprised.

Ruby Gillman is, well, a teenage kraken, who lives with her family on land and tries to blend in as a human while being Omg Quirky Relatable Shy Nerd (seriously this movie doesn't have an original bone in its body, we'll get into that more in a bit). She eventually discovers she can turn into a giant kraken and that she comes from kraken royalty. Throw in the breakdown of trust between her and her mother, a new "friendship" she strikes up with a mermaid named Chelsea, and OMG THE PROM IS TOMORROW and you have a whole mess of cliches that didn't come to an end nearly quick enough for me.

So yeah this plot is... extremely derrivitive, on two very specific Pixar movies in particular. It's like... a weird crossover between Luca (fish people trying to blend in on land) and Turning Red (puberty metaphor, mommy issues, etc) and it does none of what those movies did well anywhere near as close to good as they did. Like this movie tries so hard to be surprising and have twists and turns and like... literally none of those surprises landed. None of the emotions landed. None of the jokes landed. Nothing in this boring ass movie landed.

The characters are all pretty one-note. Ruby is your traditional nerdy, awkward girl with a crush on a guy who is also just as bland as stale bread. Her family is pretty uninteresting, her mom is... somewhat better, I guess, and I did like her grandma, but she was about the only character I found some level of enjoyment out of. We also have Chelsea, who big surprise, is our twist villain, as if I didn't see that coming from the second I saw her show up on screen. The way she so easily manipulates and plays Ruby is just... god it makes you wannt scream "DON'T TRUST HER YOU DIPSHIT" the entire time, like girl, I get you're an anxious 15 year old but you should know better jfc.

This movie tries to have lore and be epic, but like... idk it just isn't. The climactic fight scene at the end was so slow-paced and dull, there wasn't really anything about it at all, which for what's essentially a giant kaiju fight, is a damn shame. The jokes were honestly non-existant, and the script itself is already hella dated with so much social media references and modern teen lingo (bestie, bae, etc) despite only coming out last year.

It also doesn't help that, at least in my opinion, this movie is ugly. Like the animation itself is fine, but these goddamn character designs, christ I think they are some of the WORST to ever come out of a Dreamworks movie. The humans all have weird proportions that don't make sense, the krakens don't look like krakens at all and instead look like... humans with long tentacles, which is weird, and the set design... was admittedly ok to look at, but that's about it. Pair that with an utterly forgettable, but servicable score and plenty of equally forgettable pop songs and there's just not much going on here.

I think, at the end of the day, Ruby Gillman is just... lame. Like the concept itself... isn't awful, but the execution, man, they just floundered (get it, fish) on all fronts here. No wonder this thing tanked at the box office. I wouldn't have gone to see it either.

Overall Rating: 4/10

Verdict: Harpoon these lame-ass krakens

Previous Review (Puss in Boots: The Last Wish)

Next Review (Trolls Band Together)

#jen watches #dreamworks watch #jen tortures herself with every dreamworks animated movie #ruby gillman teenage kraken #dreamworks

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pinkomcranger · 3 months

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I agree with you about Saga! I personally don't ship Andercasey (no hate to people who do, of course! You're all great and your creations are fantastic <3) but I love love love their platonic relationship! It's so great to see male/female platonic relationships represented in media, and their relationship is fantastic (whether you like it platonic like me, or romantic!). Saga in general is such an amazing character and it's sad to see how the fandom treats her. I know this is a usual pattern in fandoms in general, not just with AW - people ignore the women (of course, woc even more so!) in general, no matter how interesting they are, just to focus on the (white) men. I do like Caseywake personally, since I find the dynamic interesting, but I don't like, ship-ship it very hard, I find it intriguing. But whether people do or don't, it's sad to see they also can't give focus to Saga and acknowledge she's her own person. They make her a prop in other people's relationships. It just sucks. Why are women always the backdrop and props to mxm relationships?? In general I find it sad that people are so quick to only value romantic love - not that there is anything wrong with shipping. Usually I'm a big shipper as well. But bc shipping is such a huge thing, then they can use the excuse of "I only like Saga and Casey platonically, but I don't write platonic things, and Saga doesn't have any interesting romantic pairings to make for her if it's not Andercasey so I just don't write her!!" And it sucks so bad. I wish this fandom was different but unfortunately it follows this very old pattern of a fandom. :(

I think everyone in every fandom needs to do some self-reflection on why they ALWAYS ignore the female characters and poc. It's always been a problem and unfortunately continues to be.

Oh, you absolutely do not have to ship Andercase romantically. It's perfectly fine to see them as platonic, it can arguably be said they were written that way! Their relationship is beautiful however way you see it. Their chemistry was off the charts, Melanie and James/Sam made sure of that!

Platonic m/f relationships do make me happy, and personally, that's Alan/Saga for me. Nary a hint of romance or even surface level attraction, and I'm here for that.

Now, putting my personal ships aside, you're very correct. In fandom, women and WOC especially get ignored to place more focus on the white men. And I've never understood that in this day and age, when women and WOC are finally starting to get the recognition we deserve. What's the point in this?

You can very much ship your fav men, while also including the woman, especially if she was such a big part of the source material. It's very egregious when it comes to Saga, considering she's the deuteragonist. She gets equal writing and treatment, in fact, I would go so far to say that if the series WASN'T called Alan Wake, Saga would be the protagonist.

There's truly no reason to ignore Saga when she drives the story we get. Alan himself admits, with no hesitation, no anger, that he needs Saga. So to see the fandom essentially go "that's nice you feel that way, Alan, but I don't need her beyond propping!" leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

You can't even give a good case of "I CAN'T create for Saga shipping-wise, there's nobody to ship her with outside of Casey!" There's her husband (and I know that's difficult considering we don't even get so much as a glimpse of him, and that's interesting to me, but that's a topic for another day), there's Rose, there's Tim, there's Ahti, there's Estevez, there's even Alice. Saga has just as many options as Alan.

And there's no excuse to ignore her in another pairing. You can EASILY write CaseyWake without using her as a prop, or just an aside to say "see? I remember she was in the game!" Where are the ensemble fics? Why can't she be written with all of her characteristics and agency that was she given in-game? Does a black woman who isn't a stereotype that uninteresting or frightening to the general content creators?

Again, this isn't something new to just Saga in this fandom. Alice suffered from it the most, by virtue of being the most important woman in the previous games. And she got pushed aside for ScratchWake. But with the release of AW2, she's been given more love, I've seen more fics for her, I've seen quite a few Alan/Casey/Alice fics. Which also tells me that fandom finds it easier to write for a white woman than a black woman.

There really isn't anything I can do about that, I can't FORCE anyone to relate to Saga in the same way I do. I know there's difficulty writing for WOC, there's difficulty relating to them personally if you're not one. But again, in this day and age, when we're being shown more on the big screen/small screen, in books and video games, there's truly no excuse.

POC in general are still nowhere close to being represented as much as white people, but seeing a character like Saga so well written, so wonderfully portrayed, so loved by her creators get ignored for the basic white men, while this same group of people claim they're tired of decades of white men being the focus but continue to personally make them the focus, shows an extreme case of hypocrisy and covert racism, because again, there's no excuse.

I understand the fixation on fictional and FBI Casey. There's so much we're not shown, that we can fill in the blanks and easily fit it into canon. But at the same time, you can do the exact same thing with Saga, because we're NOT shown or told everything about her and her life.

I want this fandom to be better and do better. Like you said, all fandoms need to take a good, hard look at doing some self-reflection. Don't choose to ignore the beautiful women we're given just because they don't fit your narrative.

#alan wake 2 #saga anderson #alex casey #alan wake #ask #meta #my thoughts #strong black woman #shipping #platonic relationships #feel free to ignore #but I truly hope you don't #fandoms need to do better #women are not props for mxm shipping unless they're portrayed that way in the source material #please stop taking away their agency #do better with woc especially #Saga Anderson is a damn hero in every way #give her her flowers #she's so much more than the bro

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de-vespertiliones · 11 months

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Can I ask why you don't like RHaTO 2016? I started it solely because the scene of Jason and Bizarro talking on the floor on the first issues did things to my heart the one time I saw a panel of it, but I didn't get much farther. And I like how you talk bout issues

Oh, thank you for the compliment! Apologies for this taking so long. I had to reflect a bit. (For what it's worth, the scene you're referring to is one of my favorite scenes in RHatO and some of the best writing in the entire run).

Some caveats:

I like reading serialized comics, but I'm unpracticed in the art of reading serialized comics, so my structural analyses come largely from analyzing other forms of writing (mostly novels, some TV & film). This means that I might be expressing critiques that are not entirely fair given the nature of the medium.

I read the entire run in a couple sittings last September, so these are generally remembered vibes and not nuanced analysis. I'm open to correction if I've misremembered something.

I actually don't dislike all of RHatO 2016, even though I do strongly dislike some of the canon introduced (this canon is discussed in points 5-6, and thus contains spoilers)

Also, for brevity's sake (ha!), "RHatO" refers to the 2016 version; if I mean RHatO 2011 I'll indicate that.

Anyway, my problems with the run (cut for length):

RHatO doesn't know who Jason is. This is not a "RHatO!Jason isn't who I think Jason should be" critique (though I certainly feel some element of that as well) but rather a "Lobdell cannot decide the basics of who his version of Jason Todd is as a character." In a different run that went through the hands of multiple writers, I'd find this far more forgivable, but barring the tail end of the run, Lobdell is the sole author. Jason is by turns incredibly clever and incredibly stupid in ways that felt contradictory. I had very little sense of what he valued or cared about. Sometimes he expresses great empathy and sometimes he's bafflingly self-absorbed and the only thing that seems to determine these behaviors is what's most convenient for the plot. Don't get me wrong: there are Jason moments in RHatO that I absolutely love, but they're balanced by Jason moments that utterly confound me because I don't understand how this is the same person.

It's not an ensemble book but it's pretending to be an ensemble book. This is a fundamental issue with every iteration of RHatO (including the webtoon) because no iteration of RHatO is written as an ensemble book--Jason is always the main character. RHatO also sort of sets itself up for failure in that regard--Artemis and Bizarro are far less well-known characters with less history than Jason and would require more investment and buildup on Lobdell's part to make them more than just props, but Lobdell doesn't put in the work. Even arcs that ostensibly center Artemis or Bizarro end up feeling flat, especially because so often they operate in service to Jason, The Main Character. (Incidentally, the point when I found Artemis & Bizarro most compelling was when they were separated from Jason and allowed room to breathe and exist).

The emotional core of the story, insomuch as there is one, is between Bruce and Jason and it really, really shouldn't be. Don't get me wrong, I would read a million issues of Jason and Bruce being completely, wretchedly awful to each other, but because the emotional core lies between Bruce and Jason, and also because RHatO is trying to be an ensemble book, and also because Lobdell is very uninterested in crafting a story around an alternate emotional core, whenever the story isn't about Bruce and Jason (which is most of the time) it flounders. I'd say that's fine if Lobdell just wanted to write a fun, dumb adventure book, but the Bruce and Jason bits are too present to ignore, making the whole thing feel very off-kilter.

From a team perspective, I don't understand what Jason adds. The whole run is sold as a "dark trinity," but the role Batman plays in the Wonder Woman-Superman-Batman trinity and the role Jason plays in the Artemis-Bizarro-Red Hood trinity isn't really the same? I feel like I'm supposed think Jason deserves his place on the team because he's The Main Character, but even from a very mechanical powers and abilities perspective I don't get what he's doing there. He's not particularly clever or strategic. He doesn't have the resources Batman does. He's not the brains, especially because later arcs give that role to someone else. If I had to assign him a role I'd say he's the "heart," whatever that means, but I also fundamentally don't buy Artemis and Jason as a team or companions and would argue that Bizarro serves as the "heart" (as well as the brawn) most of the time.

(This section contains spoilers) RHatO introduces the stupidest plot threads and then proceeds to do nothing with them. Willis Todd is alive, for reasons. He's Wingman, who's just randomly part of Batwoman's Bat-Team, for reasons. He's Faye Gunn's son, making Jason Faye Gunn's grandson, for reasons. None of this has any real bearing on the plot but it does create a lot of problems for Jason's canon backstory, whatever it is at this point in time.

(This section contains spoilers) Which also, the fact that it opens with conflict with Black Mask, one of the few rogues Jason has had extensive conflict with as Red Hood, creates a nightmare of what's in continuity and what isn't. My understanding is that UtRH is in continuity, which makes literally everything about the opening act not only nonsensical, but actively confusing.

This is less a critique of the series itself, but worth noting: I generally disagree with how people rec the first half of the run (i.e. the run with Bizarro and Artemis) and not the last half of the run (the Red Hood: Outlaw part). I read the series in trade format so I don't have the issues on hand, but I think RH:O vol. 2 is way more enjoyable (at least when it comes to Jason content) than the middle sections of RHatO.

So I guess I have problems with consistency, character work, storytelling choices, and ensemble writing. I don't with it's a worthless run per se; it's certainly better than other Jason-centric stories, and I love Dexter Soy's art about as much as I dislike Kenneth Rocafort's, so that's definitely a bonus for (early) RHatO 2016. I also don't think Lobdell is a completely incompetent writer, necessarily; he's just lazy, and incurious, and generally kind of a hack, which in some ways makes it worse.

I also don't think anyone is wrong to like either version of RHatO. I am a very brittle reader with specific wants & desires from comics that are usually only ever met by accident. So, obviously, take all this with an amount of salt anywhere between a shaker and a mine.

#the mortifying ordeal of never shutting the fuck up

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inksmearedpages · 4 months

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The Radiant Dragon of Celebration

Happy Lunar New Year!

In celebration of The Year of the Dragon, I’m going to tell you the story of one of my oldest OC’s. He was originally made for a Rise of the Guardians fic in 2012, but his back story and personality was rather stereotypical and shallow back then. I nearly forgot about him for a while, until I started getting into LEGO Monkie Kid in 2020. As he was a dragon of Chinese descent, he eventually resurfaced in my memory and I decided to revamp his entire character. He’s still primarily a Rise of the Guardians OC, but I would be able to add him into any LMK fic with very few changes needed.

So without further ado, this is the legend of Xin Zhiqiang, his discovery that would change the world, and his ascension into Ao Huang, the Radiant Dragon of Celebration.

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Our story begins in a small, rural village in the mountains during the late Tang Dynasty era (~800 - ~870 AD). Here, a boy is born to a pair of farmers. His life is simple yet happy, growing up loved and cared for by his parents and the other villagers. Tragically however, he looses both parents at a young age. He is taken in by a good friend of his parents, the local apothecary.

This man not only provides medicine for the village, but is actually a well studied alchemist and aspiring magician. He teaches Zhiqiang everything he knows, and Zhiqiang takes to the teachings like a duck to water. Curious, studious, and never one to let failures keep him down, Zhiqiang is a dutiful apprentice who’s efforts help the village thrive.

Zhiqiang soon surpasses his master’s skill, who in his old age retires. On top of keeping the village healthy, Zhiqiang begins to experiment with his alchemy and magic. During his tests, he accidentally creates a powder that reacts violently when exposed to fire. While not what he was trying to create, Zhiqiang is intrigued and replicates the powder to experiment further. He creates many different containment devices and ways for the powder to explode.

It has the potential for destruction, but Zhiqiang is more compelled by the potential spectacle. The hissing and fizzing as trail of the powder burns. The bright sparks and flames that are given off. The loud yet satisfying burst that he can feel in his bones when a packet of the powder is ignited. He begins to work on this powder in his spare time with a fervor, trying many combinations over a few years.

He eventually unveils his masterpieces to the village during one festival. Long sticks with bits of the powder on the end that fizz and spark as they’re waved around. Small bits of condensed powder wrapped in rice paper that snap and crackle when thrown against stone. But his greatest accompaniments were the tubes of bamboo that he would ignite and launch over the lake. They produced bright blasts of sparks and fire that lit up the night sky.

The villagers were amazed and awed by Zhiqiang’s inventions and insisted they be used for every festival or celebration. Pleased that his discovery was well received, he agreed, and continued to research and experiment with what he had named fire powder. Some villagers suggested he go traveling, showing his “fireworks” to the world and selling them to become rich. Zhiqiang declined, happy with his experimentation in the village he grew up in and loved.

His fireworks grew more complex and spectacular over the next few years and he began experimenting with using magic in their creation. Colors and shapes and even simple sounds not normally possible with alchemy alone began to appear much to the delight of the villagers. He even developed the ability to create the signature sparks and blasts with his magic alone. His master joked that he worked with the fire powder so much it now ran in his veins.

At some time in his mid twenties, the village seems to be struck by a strange ailment. It wasn’t a physical illness, but people would just… stop caring. They became listless, uninterested with anything beyond the basic necessities of staying alive. Simply surviving, but no longer truly living.

Alarmed by this malady, Zhiqiang does his absolute best to counter it. It seemed to affect the adults first, so he moved the children up the mountain to his workshop and home so they would not catch whatever this disease was. None of his medicines or magics seem to do anything to alleviate the symptoms. Work to provide food was still being done, so their village was not in danger of starving, but its spark of life was gone.

Zhiqiang refuses to give up and keeps trying. A few weeks go by, and then a month. He begins to grow anxious because while he has taken every precaution, he worries that he will eventually succumb to the sickness as well. The children manage to keep him in high spirits as they live with him. They manage to convince him to help them throw a festival in the hopes that maybe that will cheer up their parents.

He goes along with it, helping prepare food and decorations. He delivers them to the adults who give halfhearted thanks. He gets everyone afflicted to meet by the lake and with the assistance of the children, puts on a spectacular fireworks show.

To his shock, this seems to temporarily rouse the adults back to their old selves. They describe the feeling of wading through thick water, all their senses dulled. Nothing seemed to matter until the bursts of light and color and sound reawakened them. However, the following morning, they seem to slip back into their subdued state.

More determined than ever now, Zhiqiang sets to work. He installs magical stalls around the village that would constantly give off sparks. Every night he put on a fireworks show. Children and adults alike would carry around bundles of the long “sparklers” and light them if they noticed someone seeming to slip back into their listlessness. As his supply of fire powder began to deplete, Zhiqiang began relying more and more on his magic to create the fireworks, slowly exhausting him as he continued to search for a permanent cure.

Two weeks after discovering that his fireworks warded off the illness, a stranger who hid their features under a heavy cloak arrived. They walked through the village and wherever they passed, the sparklers and stalls would be snuffed out. The children, noticing this strange person and seeing their parents immediately fall back into lethargy, ran up the mountain to inform Zhiqiang.

Zhiqiang tells the children to remain in his home and goes to confront this intruder. He meets them halfway down the trail and demands who they are. The stranger simply begins to talk about the illness. How it has spread to every corner of China, and is rumored to have even seeped into the Heavens. How none have seemed to escape its grasp. Except here. Here where strange sticks give off sparks of fire and light.

Zhiqiang again demands for this person to reveal their identity. The person chuckles and remarks how curious it is that Zhiqiang hasn’t fallen ill himself. Usually its the children who take the longest to succumb. But succumb they do. They all do. They would make sure of it to ensure his ascension.

Alarmed at this, Zhiqiang asks if this person is responsible for the sickness. The stranger ignores him a third time and says how troublesome these strange fire sticks are. How he’ll need to get rid of them if he wishes to rule over the Heavens and Earth. How to ensure that they do not spread beyond this village, everyone here must die.

Zhiqiang, realizing this person is a threat, instinctively launches a magical firework at them. They manage to barely dodge, but their cloak catches fire. The person tosses it aside, revealing a demon with toad-like features. They laugh, realizing Zhiqiang is the one responsible for countering his Idle Mist. They’ll have to kill him first.

They fight, Zhiqiang attacking with his fireworks and the Idle Mist Demon spewing out clouds of fog to conceal his location. Zhiqiang, still exhausted and untrained in combat, is forced to give ground to the Idle Mist Demon. He retreats up the mountain, heading for his storage shed where he keeps a stock of fireworks that he hopes to use to change they tide of the battle.

Unfortunately, the Idle Mist Demon manages to catch him off guard as he’s preparing a large firework. He launched into his shed, where it immediately catches fire from him unfinished firework. Time seems to stop as Zhiqiang realizes he’s about to die. The amount of fireworks that have just been lit going off all at once will create a blast he could not survive. He’s failed.

Light from the full moon seems to pour in from the damaged wall and roof. A voice speaks to him.

What are you fighting for?

Zhiqiang immediately thinks of the children he told to stay in his home to keep them safe. Of the other villagers that are family to him. How the Idle Mist Demon would kill them just for a chance at ruling everything. How if they do win, life would be over. There would still be people left living, but the things that made life worthwhile would be gone forever.

He could not allow any of that to happen.

I can help you. But you will be forever changed from your fellow man. You would be able to walk amongst them for some years yet, but eventually you would have to live apart. Rarely seen or heard except by those who believe. Would you willingly give up your humanity and your place amongst them in order to save them?

Filled with new resolve, Zhiqiang unhesitatingly answers yes.

The moonlight grows impossibly bright and fills him just as the shed explodes. The Idle Mist Demon laughs over his triumph, when a enormous pillar of sparks and fire bursts from the wreckage of the shed. It flies through the air before solidifying into a dragon.

He had bright crimson scales, a mane of fiery orange, glittering black horns and claws to match his fire powder, whiskers that were lit at the ends like his sparklers, and glowing eyes that burst between every color imaginable.

Zhiqang looks down at the now terrified demon and roars. He has newfound control over his fireworks now and give the Idle Mist Demon no quarter. The Idle Mist Demon does not go down easily, but Zhiqiang manages to grab them in his claws and flings them into the air. He blasts them with a powerful firework from his mouth, launching them further upwards and ending them once and for all in a massive blast of rainbow flame.

His foe defeated, Zhiqiang surveys the land and sees what was hidden from his mortal eyes before. A thick mist covered everything, with more being spewed from horse-sized toads. He blasts one with a fireworks and it burns away swiftly. Zhiqang, now with a way to end the sickness apparently affecting all of China, goes first to his house to let the children know it is safe.

The children, awed by his new dragon form beg to go with him. They insist he’ll need their help finding all the toads in the nooks and cranny’s of the big cities. He gives in, and together they fly around the country, destroying any of the Idle Mist Demon’s toads they come across and dissipating the mist. A messenger of heaven approaches them and begs for some of his fireworks so they could free the Heavens from the mist as well.

It takes them nearly three days to find and destroy all of the toads and clear the mist. Zhiqiang flies them home to their village once their task is done. Exhausted, he reverts to a human form, and passes out.

When he awakes a few days later, he is met with a huge celebration from the villagers and a procession of messengers from various nobles. They wish to have him come to their cities so he may be honored and that their alchemists can learn of his incredible invention that cured them all of the idle sickness. He politely declines but says that he would happily teach anyone who made the journey to the village instead.

So many come to the village to learn, that a college is built nearby and the village grows into a bustling town known for its alchemists.

Zhiqiang teaches at the college for many years, taking on many apprentices who would go on to invent incredible things. Over time, it becomes apparent that Zhiqang does not seem to be aging. As the years pass and the people he knew as a human grew and aged and died, Zhiqiang began to think more and more of the words of the moon. It was when a new group of students walked through him, neither seeing or hearing him, that Zhiqang knew that his time among the humans were over.

Saying goodbye to those few who could still see him, he traveled to the top of the mountain to look down at his home for one last time. When the sun set, he gave one last fireworks display in tribute. As the last firework faded, he was approached by a person claiming to be a dragon like him. They explained that they’ve been keeping an eye on him, waiting for the right time to take him back to his master who wished to invite Zhiqiang into his court.

When Zhiqiang asks who this master is, he’s shocked to hear it is Ao Qin, the Dragon King of the South. He accepts the offer and follows the messenger to the Southern Dragon Palace. There he meets Ao Qin, who explains that Zhiqiang is the last living descendant of his first born son. He had fallen in love with a human woman and renounced his immortality to be with her. Ao Qin had been keeping an eye on their children and was pleased that Zhiqiang managed to awaken his dragon ancestry.

Ao Qin informally adopts Zhiqiang, renaming him Ao Huang in honor of his invention and his deed in saving all of China. Huang is taught the politics and customs of the Dragon Courts. He is also given his own domain withing a mountaintop valley rich with the materials to create his fireworks that just so happens to be close by to his human town. He is even put in charge of a fireworks show during every Solstice and Equinox council the four dragon courts have every year.

Huang grows into his new role with ease. Over time, he meets and befriends certain individuals. The sole survivor of the Sisters of Flight. A man made of golden sand. A loud and boisterous adventurer. A being that looks like a giant rabbit, but has an air of ancientness around him. He eventually meets a young Winter spirit as well.

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How he meets each Guardian and what occurs after I will leave out for now as they are relevant to a potential fic I may write with this character.

Unfortunately, while I have his back story all figured out, his personality is still a bit nebulous at the moment. I know he enjoys marbles and marble runs. He even creates little marble with perpetually exploding fireworks trapped within them to give to his close friends. But beyond that, Xin Zhiqiang/Ao Huang is still very much a work in progress.

Still! He’s come a long way from just being a modernized repeat of Jack’s back story.

I hope you enjoyed this little look into my oldest character! Until next time!

-Ink

#Ink Writes #The Radiant Dragon of Celebration #Rise of the Guardians #RotG #LEGO Monkie Kid #LMK #Xin Zhiqiang #Ao Huang #Fanfiction #Lunar New Year #Year of the Dragon

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