#No little young! Don’t go into that hot topic! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iwaasfairy · 3 months

Note

Hi, Fairy! Maybe your first blowjob with Sakura from Windbreaker?

this is awfully soft for my blog but for just this once I will provide you the fluffy smut you want bc it got awayyy from me :>> first impressions, I like haru

tw. blowjob, spit, neither are virgins but Haruka is having a first

“Okay, my turn.” You giggle, and roll over after putting your drink precariously close to the edge of the coffeetable. “Hmm… weirdest place you’ve gotten a blowjob?” Your head’s too close to his thigh, you’re not being subtle. Your toes basically curl without intent at even having this conversation with him. It’s the most overtly sexual you’ve been with him— and you’re alone. Blame a girl for being giddy. When it stays quiet for a few seconds, you get anxious though.

“What, you can ask me my favorite positions, but I can’t ask something personal back?” He’s still looking, and you swear you catch him staring at your lips when you look over.

“No…” His normally serious, predatory eyes flick away. “Never had that so, gotta pass.” Your lips smack, and he seems to tense at the sound.

“What’dyou mean? You’ve never…” You look up at him innocently, genuine curiosity making it’s way over your features. Haruka’s got a massive blush on his face all of a sudden, running from his nose to the tips of his ears as he stares resolutely at the corner of the room instead of you. He speaks much too loudly to be unbothered by the topic.

“It means what it fucking means. Stop staring at me, brat. You might’ve got around when you were young,” he bursts out -and you would take it personally if he didn’t look down at you like something to eat earlier- “but I wasn’t all that popular back home. I had a reputation of being a hardass, so no girls were jumping for the opportunity, alright?!” He’s loud enough that if your big brother was home, he’d come in to check in on you. Luckily then that he isn’t. Sakura’s all tense and balled fists, and it makes you quiet; then giggle when he finally takes those mismatched eyes away from the wall back down at your face.

Your giggles die down as soon as he starts getting up out of the couch, and you shoot into motion to wrap soft fingers around his wrist. “Haru~ kun, wait! You have to give me time to react first, seriously.” He’s so tense you can feel each muscle in his forearm flex when you slide your hand up just a little. After a bit of debating, with your big, soft eyes still aimed at him, he eventually sits back down. But pulls his arm away from you to cross them over his chest instead, with a ‘what?’ sort of expression.

You bite your lip. “Around the campfire the other night, you … Didn’t you tell the guys you weren’t a vir-”

Again that fucking blush, now also over his hands as he smacks it over your mouth— hot palm shutting you up as his eyebrows get so high on his forehead. When he realizes that this isn’t really the way to shut a lady up, he frowns, and his chest rises and falls a little too quickly. For such a tough guy- he really can’t handle teasing at all. “How did you know about that?! And- w-what about it, anyway?” He keeps your eyes with a searching expression for a bit longer. As if he’s trying to see if you’re mad. What’s there to be mad about? You’re both adults. When he doesn’t find any accusations in your irises, he lets go of you. Seriously, this guy.

“Was that a lie?” you ask.

You’ve known him for a while now. At least enough for you to get a slight little crush on your brother’s friend— and this is the first time since maybe high school that he got this flustered. Usually, you’re the one a flushed mess whenever he’s around. Tonight’s been different. Instead of backing down, he puffs his chest out a little, and looks back at you. You don’t want to let it go to your head, but when you ask it he lets his gaze trail all over your body where you’re resting, lingering on the way your shorts have ridden up between your thighs.

“No, it wasn’t a fucking lie. Some stuff happened back in highschool and I ended up getting plenty of experience.” Those pretty eyes keep yours, and he licks his bottom lip. “Believe me, I know what I’m doing on that front.” There it is. Under all of that thinly veiled temper— is the guy who makes your head spin when he’s around with his hopeless brashness. You’re smitten.

You sit up, instead shifting your legs under you as you run a hand through your hair and brush it away from your face instead, exposing the long stretch of neck that he also takes a slow journey down with his eyes. It’s as flattering as it is making your hairs stand on end, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. When you manage to calm your racing heart rate a little, you smile, eyes on the ground.

You breathe out. “But you’ve never had your,” now it’s your turn to struggle through the words, “your dick sucked?” The dent in the wall from where your big brother once threw a chair is endlessly interesting now. “Do you want to? I mean- not- I’m not asking for me to- just- in general.” You smooth your hands over your shorts to readjust them. Now would be a good time to get a drink, tingles trailing up and down your spine. “I mean- isn’t that a lot of pressure for whichever poor girl is the first?” You can’t bear to look at him, but you have a feeling Haruka’s smiling at the side of your face. You could shoot yourself. “Thirsty,” you squeak.

When you slide your legs off the couch with the intention to escape to safety for a bit, a warm palm now grabs onto your upper arm, winding around it with just enough pressure to keep you from going. You’re so rigid that when he gets closer and the air of his breath dusts over your ear, you squeak. “Where are you going? Gotta give me some time to react first, don’t you?” You barely manage to look back at him, but when you do you’re nose to nose. He trails fingertips around your ear before nudging your chin up with one finger. “Say, if I ask for it myself, would it still pressure you? If I show you how badly I want you to?”

Then after a second he tilts his head in thought. “Only you.” You can’t think straight, can only focus on the sliver of distance left between your lips. Holy fuck, your heart is beating so hard it makes you a bit shaky. Sakura’s lashes flutter as he whispers the next words against your lips— and all you can think about is how good he looks in the low light of the tv. His words are slow, as his fingers drag through your hair to hold you in place. “Can I ask? To put that pretty fucking mouth on my cock?”

Your entire body tingles, and you nod. “Yeah.” Your mouth meets his eagerly, but not as eager as Haruka is when shifting his body weight into you and almost knocking teeth when you kiss. His tongue’s sweet, a little bitter because of the drinks, as it pushes against yours and kisses and sucks the air out of you. His free hand wrapping around your waist drags you against him more, tilting your head back for his access by a soft pull on your hair. When you disconnect for a moment you breathe his name, and he sits back to pat his lap a few times.

“Come. Sit for me first.”

“You have no clue-” you pant as you get onto him, feeling those strong thighs flexing under your own, “how long I’ve wanted to.” His brows slant up at the admission, as you pull your shirt over your head. “Do this, that is. I’ve had a crush on you for like three years. I haven’t been constantly thinking of ways to trick you into having you fuck my mouth.” A soft chuckle shakes his chest when he follows your lead to take off his own shirt, tosses it somewhere. Then he kisses you again, and smiles.

“I wouldn’t be upset if you admitted you had.” As you roll your hips against him, you’re pleased to already feel his bulge pushing against you. He looks positively radiant looking up at you like he is, biting his bottom lip as his hands grip your tits through your bra and he can’t hold back a smile. You can’t help but kiss him again, and start making marks on the pretty skin below his jaw. Haruka groans. “I’ve wanted you too, by- agh- the way. So much longer than that. Not to say that I waited or nothin’… ” He admits after a few seconds of trailing kisses down his neck and collarbones, making your way down to the patch of white hairs from his navel down. His voice gets heavier when he bucks up into your doughy pussy, only separated by a few bits of fabric. “But I’ve wanted your lips wrapped around my cock since freshman year- fuck.”

You’re halfway down his body and pulling his sweats out of the way when you look up at him with big eyes, and a surprised giggle makes it’s way out of your open mouth. “Freshman year?! You’ve been wanting to fuck your friend’s little sister’s mouth since freshman year?” He’s quick to lift his ass and push the pants to his knees along with his underwear, and grabs his cock at the base as another blush makes it’s way over his face.

“Shut up- just… If you’re gonna do it, do it.” He’s all flushed and honestly, adorable as he glances between his own body and you where you’re now on your knees on the carpet. He watches you lick your lips and give him some time to squeeze out a drop of glossy pre, before running his free hand through his hair to get it out of his face. “No p-pressure, though. Anything you do will be more than enough for me.” It’s so genuine it almost makes you hold back on giving him your best.

Almost. “No way. If you’ve been waiting to fuck my mouth for that long…” You smile up at him, blink your long lashes, and then pat the puffy head against your hot lips a few times.

Your lips meet his swollen tip with a hum, before blowing a bubble of spit and pushing your tongue against him, wrapping it around the hot head. Your tongue squirms as you wet it with as much spit as you can, before putting your lips on him and slowly feeding more of his cock inside with a hum- batting your lashes up in time to watch how Haruka’s eyes widen and then he has to push them closed entirely. “O-oh fuck. Fuck; You’re-” Your tongue rubs over his slit to taste the slightly salty, musky pre and your hand moves down to squeeze his shaft, then gripping his hot, heavy balls. “A- ugh- hold on.”

“Holy fuck- ah- fucking shit.” His normally tense expression takes on a wonderful helplessness as you push your cheeks together and hollow them around him, suck slow first and then harder— and Haruka groans deeply. “So pretty. Oh shit, I’m close. I’m already close- slow down.”

He opens his eyes for a few seconds, only to close them again, placing his hand on top of your head to hold you back a little. Your tongue strokes the underside of his shaft, melting along the curve of one throbbing vein. “Fu—ck me, you’re- so fucking good at this, you’re so good. Ah, agh ah.” He pants, opens his eyes, strokes your crown a few times as his cock fills your mouth up and you pull back, leaking spit. “Taste good, does it?”

“Mhm.” It’s too messy and hot between his legs for you to stay entirely untouched, as you rub his spongey, pink head on the outside of your cheeks. One hand makes it’s way between your own legs to grind against your own palm, while the other winds just tight enough around the base of him to make his breathing hitch. “Haru~ y’taste so good. Feel nice in my mouth too.”

“I promise you-,” his leg twitches when you stroke slow motions on the slick length of him, “you feel even better.” You dip your face to instead take his balls into your mouth instead and suck, and the nervous twitch becomes a full on spasm that has him grabbing your head by the hair. “Oh-oh don’t do that. I’m- I wanna come in your mouth. Fuck, baby. What the fuck.” The pull aches, but watching him basically glare at you from under thick lashes makes your entire body glow. When he wraps his larger hand around yours to hold you still for a moment, you can’t help the smile that breaks out on your face. “You can’t keep doing that, unless you want me to cum all over your face.”

“But I like tasting you so much.” You pout. Your hair sticks to your neck, and your tears make your lashes sticky. He looks at you like you’re a princess though. Your pussy clenches around nothing. “Stand up for me?” Haruka’s frown comes back at that, but he strokes comforting pets over your head as he thinks. He eventually grits his teeth when you let go of him entirely, escaping from his touch. It’s too hot, and really— you ache to be touched too. But it’s so nice to watch that blush spread on his neck. You get back a little and squeeze his thigh, and with a bit more urging he stands up out of the couch.

Thick, pretty cock right before your nose, he twitches before you. Your eyes find his when you smile. You stick your tongue out to drop some drool onto your fingers, and hold your hand out. Haruka’s face only blanks. “Want to fuck my face on your pace instead?”

“No.” It takes a few seconds to register the expression he’s wearing, but it isn’t one of annoyance. Instead he’s holding out his hand to pull you up— and you let him. “Bend over here. It’s my turn.”

#the things I do for you guys #when I get into windbreaker fr tho!!! I’m doing dc content don’t even look at me for the fluffy smut ok #hear me #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.sakura #windbreaker sakura smut #windbreaker smut #sakura haruka smut

124 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 4 months

Text

Pretty Young Thing: Angel Reyes x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @trhett21 @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @thatonesexycancerian @weiwei02100 @anime-weeb-4-life @harperdoodle @cheyrenee @fanfic-n-tabulous @deliriousfangirl61 @@daydreaming-belle @est1887 @thanossexual @creativitybeware @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @wnbweasley @spookyboogyuniverse @skyesthebomb @spaghettificationandpretzels @joyfulfxckery @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @justreblogginfics

It’s Taza’s fault.

Ever since the other man had revealed that he preferred ass over pussy, Angel can’t stop thinking about it. He’s done anal before, but he’s always been the giver, never the receiver. What makes it worse is that Taza refuses to any of his questions.

“What does it feel like?” He’d asked the other man as he slide into the seat across from him and Taza had laughed before saying.

“Why don’t you talk to that pretty, young thing of yours and find out?”

He broaches the topic whilst the two of you are doing the dishes in the kitchen. Felipe’s playing with Valeria in the living room, so he knows he won’t be overheard.

“I can’t get it out of my head.” He mutters, his hip bumping against yours as the two of you lean back against the work surface. “What if I’m missing something? I mean a lot of guys do it right? So, it must feel good.”

“Do you want to try it?” You ask him, drying the last plate before handing it to him.

He bobs his head from side to side in indecision, it’s a big step even for Angel.

“Let’s experiment a little first.” You suggest. “Go slow, see if you like it.”

It starts with a finger. The two of you are getting hot and heavy later that night, trying to keep things quiet because Valeria is in the next room and Felipe down the hall. You’ve become savants at it at this point, your trysts stifled by hands and pillows. You’re a tease tonight, it’s becoming more and more frequent over the last few weeks because since you’ve been shot you need to regain some assemble of control and if Angel’s honest, he needs to lose it.

When your lubed up fingers trace around his hole, he’s surprised to find he likes it. It’s a sensitive area and you’re an expert at reading him, you can tell he wants a little more from the way his hips arch trying to take your finger. The sound he makes when you enter him, it’s loud and you have to clap your free hand over his mouth to silence him. He gets off on that because his Reina, she always takes care of him, she knows exactly what he needs.

“Touch yourself.” You command and fuck, if he doesn’t obey.

You take him apart slowly, adding another finger, stretching him as you brush over that deviant little spot the one that makes his hips buck and his dick twitch. You can tell he’s close, his movements become more frantic, his breath more ragged. The ecstasy, it’s intense, more intense than Angel has ever felt before. It tears through Angel like an IED exploding through his synapses. Your palm presses down over his mouth even harder as Angel becomes completely untethered.

“You liked that.” You murmur after you’ve washed up, your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth.

The two of you are tangled up in one another, your fingertips ghosting along his cheekbone as he holds you close.

“Felt good.” He mumbles drowsily. He feels so relaxed right now, so loved so cared for. It reminds him of the days before the shooting, before Valeria, when the two of you were just a little wild. It’s been a while since he’s had that feeling, that he hasn’t felt burdened by the weight of his responsibilities.

“You want to try a little more next time?”

He smiles against your mouth, his lips claiming yours.

“I’ll book a hotel.”

***

It feels like the first time that Angel took you to bed. You take care of him the same way as you did back then, with teasing caresses and heated lips that chase over his erogenous zones. It leaves him relaxed and wanting, his dick leaking as you kiss him everywhere but the one place, he needs you too. He whines when you pull away, unwilling to relinquish the contact. You shush him, your lips brushing over his sweetly as you smear lube over the black strap on you’re wearing.

“Don’t worry my Angel, I’ll give you what you need.”

You love seeing him like this, so wanton, so desperate. You enter him slowly, and he takes you inch by inch until the toy brushes over his prostate and he moans like a fucking whore. You dip your head low, your mouth covering his as your thumb ghosts along the line of his jaw. It grounds him, anchoring him in the moment as you begin to move in languid strokes, each one leaving him breathless.

There’s a relief in the sensation, to be the one taken, instead of taking. He didn’t realise how much he needed it until this moment, how much he craved it.

“Harder.” He mutters. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“You’re sure?” You ask him and he takes your hand, guiding it up to his throat.

“Remind me who I belong to, Mi Reina.” He whispers. “Make me believe I’m yours.”

You absolutely ruin him.

You fuck him hard, your hand squeezing his throat until the edges of his vision turn black and his cock throbs. Everytime, you release him he whines because he can taste nirvana, it’s there just out of reach but you won’t let him touch it.

“Please…” He pleads as the ecstasy surges up through his veins, setting every single one of his nerve endings ablaze.

“Oh Angel, you beg so pretty.” You tell him, that sinful smile crossing your features. “How can I deny my good boy anything?”

Those words…

He feels the flush creeping up his cheeks because Angel, he’s never been the good anything. It taps into something deep inside his psyche, heightens the intimacy as your hand drifts down to his cock, your thumb spreading pre-cum over the tip. You jerk him off in time with your thrusts, each one taking him right to the precipice.

The air rushes out of his chest as the pleasure hits him, it overwhelming, the way it tears through his synapses like a wildfire burning up his sanity. He’s loud when he comes, so fucking loud the guy in the next room bangs on the fucking wall. Angel doesn’t give a shit because the euphoria that’s racing through his system, it’s like a narcotic.

He whines as you withdraw from his body, he feels empty and overwrought in the moment but then you’re back by his side in an instant, the toy discarded. He moans as your hands trail over his sensitive skin, soothing and tender. You kiss his lips and he’s flooded with a sense of security that he has never felt with any other person.

The next day he sits down across from Taza as the other man flicks through a newspaper with his reading glasses on. He glances up, taking stock of the expression on Angel’s face, before a smile ghosts across his lips.

“You tried it.” He says, turning the next page.

“I owe you a beer.” Angel mutters, sliding one of the two bottles he’s brought over towards Taza. “You know for the advice.”

“Why don’t you talk to that pretty, young thing of yours and find out?”

Taza smiles before he picks up the beer and takes a sip.

“Honestly Angel, you don’t owe me a damn thing.”

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x you #angel reyes smut #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes fanfiction #mayans mc

135 notes · View notes

1d1195 · 2 years

Text

Zipper

Hi hi, sorry for the short break there. I've been working on this the last three days and it flowed out quite quickly to 9.5K words.

Warnings: Harry doesn't like her (or does he), there's a damsel in distress scene implying SA nothing happens nor described but could be triggering, "enemies" trope, Harry wears a lot of suits and is angry a lot.

Disclaimer: Everything I know about lawyers comes from TV shows.

Harry was a smart guy, but he truly hadn’t a clue as to why he was so mad at the prospect of liking her.

So, he pretended he didn’t. “You and Harry are together an awful lot,” his friend Niall said to her with a smirk once. They were in clear earshot of Harry, and nothing made Harry crankier than knowing his friends saw how mean he was toward her. It was the topic of many conversations over video games and while working out at the gym.

“Enough, Niall,” he muttered. “It’s not by choice.”

“Don’t know why he’s all grumpy about you all the time, princess,” Niall said quietly to her when his back was turned. “He talks about you more than any girl I’ve ever seen him with.”

“He just doesn’t like me much,” she explained.

“Oh, princess. I think it’s quite the opposite.”

Harry hated her. She could never figure out why. She and Gemma were on the same soccer team growing up, so she’s known Harry for forever. Because she and Harry were of the same caliber in school (and the same age), they were always in each other’s classes. Always in group projects together.

It made her wildly popular in school to know the one and only Harry Styles so closely—and she did. She knew he wouldn’t drink tea past four in the afternoon. He liked chocolate candy better than fruity candy. Any time he saw a dog while they were on their way to study together, he would dig a bag of little treats out of his backpack to give away. When his left eye got droopy it meant they had to take a break and she would always recommend some hot chocolate or lemonade (depending on the season) at the coffee shop near the town library.

However, their conversations never delved too deeply. She knew his birthday but not his favorite color—she suspected it was blue or maybe orange because most of his pens were blue and his highlighters were almost always orange. Of course, she knew Gemma and Anne, but she didn’t know what their relationship with Harry was like. Because of school, she knew most of his political opinions—and big shocker, they were roughly the same as hers—but she didn’t know his favorite music or if he liked to sleep with a fan on or not. When he was sick, she didn’t know if he liked sleep or soup. If it was his last day on earth, she doesn’t know how he would spend it. They weren’t things that she necessarily needed to know to define their friendship, but somehow, in her eyes, they were.

Other than school mandated projects, she was convinced Harry wouldn’t give her the time of day. “Can we jus’ get this over with?” Was Harry’s mantra around her during their school days.

She wished they could be friends.

She didn’t want to be that girl, but it was impossible not to be. Harry was beautiful and he was nice—just not very nice to her. She didn’t fault him for it, she wasn’t his cup of tea and that was fine. The way other girls sighed and ahh-ed over him made her jealous. She couldn’t do that. Harry was Gemma’s brother and her peer and that was it.

Needless to say, their lives were clearly going to be attached for the rest of their lives. They were like a coat zipper. They met when they were young and as they slid the zipper to the top more pieces of their life meshed. At first it was soccer with Gemma, then it was school in general, projects and friend groups, and now it was university.

Of course, they were going to get degrees in history and law.

Of course, they would have classes together.

Of course, Harry would be at every party she was invited to.

She knocked on the door to the party her friends were invited to, and she waited as the door opened. “God you’re everywhere,” he muttered taking a swig of the drink in his hand. He opened the door wider to allow her and her friends in and walked away without mingling a moment longer. She sighed and stepped through the threshold while her friends filed in behind her.

“You know Harry?” One of her friends gasped.

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “Grew up together,” she said heading for the kitchen to get a drink. There was a barrage of questioning. The interrogation of how well she knew him, if he was single—he was, as far as she knew—and so on. “He doesn’t like me much,” she shrugged.

“Shut up,” her friend said. “He likes everyone.”

“I’m not sure what to tell you. I’m not everyone.”

They were kind enough to let the conversation drop. But their eyes darted back forth between the two of them whenever they were remotely in the same realm as one another. Harry was never outrightly mean to her. He never made fun of her and never talked ill of her. They talked about school projects and assignments and classes and that was it.

Harry’s friends all really liked her. Of course, they liked her. There wasn’t anything to dislike about her. She was brilliant, incredibly kind, and naturally nurturing. It made Harry nauseous most of the time. He hated she could be so kind all the time—even when he was a dick to her. It made it all the harder for him to not like her.

It was halfway through the semester when her phone vibrated with a message from Harry. She could feel the confusion wrinkling her face as she brought the phone closer to her face as if it was a trick. Harry never texted her. If there was a school project that needed doing, he was highly professional and would only email her. The only reason she had his number was because Gemma gave it to her when her phone was broken, and she was her ride to their soccer tournaments.

Could you read my essay?

Surely this was a trick. She couldn’t help but ask. Really?

Yeah. The response was immediate. Obviously, nothing special. She could practically feel his annoyance through his text bubble.

Sure.

Thanks. Conclusion needs work, I know.

The conclusion may have needed work, but it was a pretty good essay otherwise. A few grammatical errors and a rewording of a paragraph or two and his essay was finished. She didn’t question why Harry asked her. Surely, he had plenty of friends that would be willing to read it over.

His seeking her out was quite the surprise to her, but to Harry it made the most sense. At some point in time, maybe in year ten, he realized that he was probably stuck with her for a good long while. There was no denying she was smart—in fact, Harry thought she was brilliant. Probably smarter than him on any given day. And again, that agonizing kindness made him sick. He knew she would read his essay because she was so nice. If Harry acted the way he did to anyone else but her, they wouldn’t give him the time of day.

But he also didn’t trust anyone else in the world to read his work and know what it needed like she did.

She took all the essay reading to mean it was okay to ask him for school favors as well.

Do you have notes from the history lecture yesterday? I wasn’t feeling well.

I’ll email them to you.

Thank you.

Harry took good notes. She wouldn’t have asked anyone but Harry because she knew they took notes the same way. Of course, they did. If anything, his notes were neater because he typed just as fast as their professor spoke while she preferred to handwrite so she would remember better.

Do you know what our professor meant by this?

She sent him back a picture of her own notes with a marking around the part that Harry was referring to. This was my interpretation, but I emailed him to double check, I’ll let you know what he says.

Thanks.

Harry looked at her notes on his phone again and admired her handwriting. He doesn’t know how she was able to write so much so quickly during their lectures. He saw her shake her hand out every time their professor paused to answer a question or catch a breath. She had pretty handwriting.

The parties they attended together (not on purpose, just by happenstance) were when Harry was at his meanest. He would roll his eyes at her if she was part of a drinking game. Harry’s eyes shot daggers whenever any guy tried speaking with her, always there to remind her of some project they had to do, and he didn’t want to be stuck doing it himself. None of it clicked to her that he was jealous.

Of course, he was. She was the prettiest and nicest girl he knew, and he was mad.

Harry was a smart guy, but he truly hadn’t a clue as to why he was so mad at the prospect of liking her.

“Enough, Niall,” he muttered. “It’s not by choice.”

That stung, made her face warm in embarrassment, but it was partly true. They were practically stuck together. Zipped together by some life force. “Don’t know why he’s all grumpy about you all the time, princess,” Niall said quietly to her when his back was turned. “He talks about you more than any girl I’ve ever seen him with.”

She shrugged it off. It would make sense, he talked about her so much. Other than her roommate she probably saw Harry more than her own family. “He just doesn’t like me much,” she explained.

“Oh, princess. I think it’s quite the opposite.”

Gem suggested I ask if we could carpool home. Save her a trip.

Yeah, of course.

Thanks.

“Do you like her?” Niall asked Harry. “Like, she’s really nice and pretty. Obviously, she’s very smart so—"

He cleared his throat to hide the gasp that nearly left his lips. “What?” He asked, slipping his phone back into his pocket. They were at the library whispering to each other while studying for finals. He could see her in the back corner, headphones in her ears and answering his message almost as soon as he sent it. He was certain she would ace all her exams, no problem at all.

“Your friend from home,” he tilted his head to the girl in the corner. “Do you like her?” He repeated.

Harry shook his head. “No.”

Niall quirked an eyebrow at him. “S’weird...you’re kind of perfect for each other.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled. He wanted no part of it. Sure, she was nice and sweet, and in the right light Harry couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by how pretty she was. But he didn’t want to be with someone he’d known his whole life. He wanted someone he didn’t know—someone that didn’t know his every thought. He wanted to discover a new relationship where he would find someone that didn’t know everything there was to know about him.

Regardless, if he knew all too well that she would be perfect for him.

*A few years later*

“This will be your office,” the sweet secretary informed her. She wasn’t a young secretary, but she wasn’t old either. Somewhere in the middle—she reminded her of her mom and that eased her worry of her new job fresh out of school. “I heard you know your office neighbor here. He gave you a glowing recommendation saying “the bosses would be fools to not hire you” I believe was how he phrased it. They’re all very excited to have you on board.”

She blinked, setting her box down of trinkets she collected ready to have her first big job. A list of clients sat on her desk. She was ready to get started—eager even. Excited and nervous all at once. The box of trinkets would make her office homier and she started setting out the calendar and picture frames as she shook her head at the woman helping her get the lay of the land. “That can’t be right, my professors did my recommendations...I can’t imagine my professors saying that about me,” she chuckled nervously. “I think they liked me and all but—”

“No, no!” She interrupted with a giggle. “Pardon me, one of your references, Harry; Harry Styles,” she smirked.

Blinking in surprise, she felt her lips part in a breathless gasp. She had asked Harry as a parting gift of sorts if he’d be willing to be a reference for her on her job applications. “I don’t think anyone really knows my work ethic the way you do,” she admitted. “I understand if you don’t want to, I’d be willing to be a reference for you as well either—”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “No problem. That’s probably a good idea. Thank you.”

“Harry works here?” She asked, completely dumbfounded. She shouldn’t have been. She should have known of all the gin joints. Her heart pounded and the air in the room felt thin. When she had sent her applications and resumes out to every firm in the area, she didn’t dream that she would still be side by side with Harry. There were easily fifty or so firms in the city. There was no way the length of their lives on this zipper extended to work post-graduation.

“I thought that was why you applied here. Harry made it seem like you both—”

“Hi,” speak of the devil. She wanted to know the end of that sentence. The idea that Harry made it seem like anything was between them—friendship, collegiate respect, anything—seemed paradoxical.

But here he was in all his brilliant and handsome glory.

Harry looked effortlessly beautiful and nearly seductive standing in her office doorway. He was wearing a suit, but it looked like it was nearly painted on him—hugging each of his defined arms and seemed to stretch perfectly over his long legs. Throughout their schooling and university, she wondered when he had time to hit the gym because he didn’t go while she walked on the treadmill and read her textbooks—the one time the zipper of life skipped over their meeting. But it was obvious he had found time. Again, she wasn’t immune to his good looks and persona. She had seen him be nice and lovely to everyone he knew time and time again.

Just not her.

His hair was styled just so, and she could practically see the sweet secretary swooning at the sight of him. “Welcome,” he said. He looked like a kid to her. As if his mom told him to say hi and wish her a happy birthday or something even though he didn’t want to. He smiled weakly at her. It felt forced.

“Hi,” she answered, still in shock.

He nodded at her and left without another word. “He’s dreamy,” she said with an all too familiar sigh. “I don’t know how anyone gets any work done around here.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe he works here.”

“I completely assumed he told you about the position...His friend is one of the senior partners,” she shrugged. “Louis?” She said. “I think Louis’ younger sister knows of you both or something.” She tilted her head at the woman. “I know everything,” she shrugged.

“You sure do,” she smirked. “Uh...no, I didn’t know Harry worked here.”

“I think it was Harry’s plan along with Louis or whatever—since they were young. They hang out a lot here.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t mean to say Harry’s the reason you got the job—your qualifications are outstanding and—”

“No, no, you’re fine,” she promised. “I know what you meant.”

Poor Harry.

For the most part though, the two rarely interacted. They would run into each other in the break room or near the copier in the storage room. On one occasion Harry asked her to read over his outline for a case to make sure he hit all the major components of what he needed to do. Every so often Harry would bring her tea and not say anything at all to her. She found it odd and thanked him even though he never spoke to her.

She was oddly comforted by the fact he was just one room over.

There was a gentle knock on her door before it opened. “Some of us are getting Chinese food and I noticed you’ve been holed up all day—are you okay?” Harry appeared speaking the longest sentence that wasn’t about schoolwork or a case in their entire life. And he even asked about her well-being.

She wasn’t okay. She had a headache, something fierce. It started at the bridge of her nose, gripped the back of her eyes, and was reaching for the back of her head. “Yeah,” she murmured not looking up from her papers on her desk. Her voice sounded weak and scratchy. How long had it been since she looked up? Her neck felt cramped as she raised her head slowly to look at Harry. She wished she had a glass of water.

“Kitten...y’don’t look so good,” he said quietly.

“M’okay...M’jus not feeling so well,” she shrugged. “But I have to get this done,” she told him. “I think I skipped lunch,” if she could fathom the idea of using any part of her brain for something other than this case, she would have noted how Harry so sweetly called her kitten.

He sighed, almost annoyed and she briefly wondered what she did wrong now. He disappeared for a moment. Within an instant he came back with water, pills, and a protein bar. “I’ll get some Chinese for you too.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled glancing briefly at how pretty he looked in his suit and how kind it was of him to bring her medicine. “I’ll Venmo—”

“Shh,” he said and turned off the overhead light of her office as he left. Leaving her in darkness except for the desk lamp to her left. “Try a nap on the couch,” he said. “I’ll wake you when the food is here.”

“Kitten,” he said softly. He gently shook her, and she tried to remember if Harry had ever touched her in their entire lives. The smell of greasy, salty food woke her up the rest of the way. Harry seemed to know her Chinese food order. She searched her memories if they ever ordered Chinese together and how he remembered.

“How’d you know what to get?” She asked stupidly. She could blame the headache or the lack of sleep if he said something mean about it.

He didn’t. “Your friends ordered at a party junior year,” he shrugged. “Remembered what you liked.”

“Oh.” He waited until she was upright and eating—staring at her like one of their science experiments from school. “Do you want some—”

“No, just making sure you actually eat.”

She felt her face warm, and she shook her head. “Uh. Thanks, that’s not necessary.”

“Well clearly it is if y’forget t’eat lunch and make yourself sick.” Again, her face heated up, but she said nothing because he was right. “What are you working on, anyway?” He asked. “That you’re skipping lunch and everything.”

“Uh...I just want to make a good impression and make sure I’m doing everything I can.”

“I’ve never known you to not give a hundred and twenty percent, love. If anyone has a question about your qualifications, you can send them to me.”

“How come you get to act like a partner?” She asked. “M’not jealous or anything—I’m just wondering why—”

“Louis always said I was brilliant or whatever,” he said casually with a shrug. He wasn’t bragging. He was just stating a fact. It was true too. Harry was brilliant. “I always told him it was because I worked with you, but he didn’t believe me. So, when he saw m’name as a reference on your application, I told him he would understand it was your brilliance that helped me be so successful and if he didn’t hire you, it would be a terrible mistake in his career because you would go be perfect and wonderful somewhere else. He’s seen your work, trust me, kitten. He knows how hard you’re working and you’re making an unbelievable impression. You don’t need to skip lunch t’prove your worth.”

This by far was the kindest thing Harry ever said of her—maybe anyone had ever said of her. She was speechless. Maybe it was the sleep still on her brain. Or the pain in her head that caused Harry to turn off the lights, so it was dark and quiet in her office. Or maybe it was because Harry finally said something sweet about her. But she finally worked up the courage to ask a question that had bothered her for their entire lives. “How come you don’t like me?” Her voice was so quiet it pained Harry.

He shook his head. “I like you,” he said with an eye roll. She wondered if it was no longer hard for him to lie like that. Countless people must have asked him over the years. Certainly, by now he perfected the tone and emotion needed to get people off the subject.

“Not really,” she said with sigh. When they were younger it definitely upset her more that Harry disliked her so much. When people asked she would feel a sting come behind her eyes because it would have made all the sense in the world for Harry to be her best friend. Now, it was just a matter of fact. NaCl was salt, flowers bloomed in spring, and Harry didn’t like her. “It’s fine...” but her voice cracked just a hair like it used to when she was asked about why Harry didn’t like her at all. “I just...I don’t know. We would have been really good friends if you did...that’s all,” she gave a small shrug eating another bite of her food.

“You want to be friends?” He questioned, surprised. Even though he was a dick to her she wanted to be friends. She seemed to be a glutton for punishment.

“Well,” she cleared her throat pushing her orange chicken through her fried rice as a distraction. “I guess we’re kind of old to be asking that,” she said quietly. “We just spent a lot of time together growing up. I think it would have made sense,” she explained. It felt like she was arguing another case, it was far more awkward though and while she would have liked to win, she didn’t know if it was worth it. “It’s fine...you don’t have to be my friend. Thank you for the food.”

“Kitten, I,” he sighed and ran his hand over his face pinching his lower lip between his fingers. She could tell from the tone in his voice he was exasperated by her. She should have just eaten faster and let him leave without the third degree. “We can be friends.”

She blinked at her food and then turned to look at him. “We can?”

He tilted his head at her and rolled his eyes. “Would it make you happy?” He asked.

She was lucky her brain wasn’t fully functioning due to the lack of food. That was a weird question for him to ask. Harry never once cared if she was happy or not the entire time that she knew him. “Yes.”

“Then we can be friends.”

Despite their newly found friendship, she tried not to overwhelm Harry. They made small talk when they ran into each other at the office. About once a week Harry would text her asking if she would like to carpool to work and she politely declined because again, she didn’t want to bother him.

“Hey, I’m going to meet a client at Starbucks, do you want any coffee when I get—oh,” she said softly. For the entire time she’d known Harry, she had never seen one hair out of place. Not one shirt collar unpressed. A shoelace never untied.

Right now, Harry’s hair was clearly the result of running his hand through it several times over, his eyes rimmed red, and his papers on his desk distributed haphazardly on the floor. “Go away,” he grumbled looking at the ground.

“Harry, are you alright?” She asked quickly closing the door behind her.

“Fine,” he spit. “Just leave.”

“Uh, no,” she swallowed the nervousness down. She thought about how nice he was when she wasn’t feeling well. She wanted to return the favor if she could. Whatever his outburst was about, she wanted to help. “You don’t look okay. What’s wrong? Can I help—”

“No,” he said firmly.

“Harry, seriously.”

“M’mum was in a car accident, Gem called,” he snapped. He had his head hung low as he pressed his hands to the back of his head. “I have a disposition in an hour and Mum’s in surgery. Okay. Are you happy?”

She blinked. No, she wasn’t happy. But she knew why he snapped. That answered her question about what his relationship with his mom was like. “Harry, I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever,” he sniffed.

“Harry...you...you should go to the hospital.”

God she was infuriating; this friendship thing was a stupid idea. She was too nice and sweet. “Did you not—”

“Harry, it’s your mom,” she reminded him. He looked up at her, again the startling contrast of his usual put together self and this...broken man made her weak. She wanted to pluck every piece of pain from his body and put it somewhere that would never find him again.

“I know!” he nearly shouted. “I can’t leave though,” he said softer than his shout. It was agonizing, she knew it was breaking him.

“I can do your disposition Harry. You have to go to the hospital.”

“You don’t know the case.”

“Give me the highlights.”

He looked up finally, right in her eyes and stared at her. “You would really do this?” He asked. She nodded. “What about your client?”

“I’ll reschedule. This is more important.”

“I can’t lose this one.”

“I’ll do my level best,” she promised. “Trust me.” He did. Implicitly. All the school projects, every presentation, any time Harry forgot something he knew she wouldn’t. She was always there to make everything they did better. “Just go and don’t worry about this.”

Harry sucked his lip into his mouth as she put the phone to her ear and quickly told the other end of the line she had to reschedule because of a family emergency—but she left out that it wasn’t her family. They could do dinner this evening if she’d like on short notice or coffee tomorrow. It was done with ease and grace. The client at the other end didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “I don’t think I can do this,” Harry admitted; he wasn’t sure he would tell anyone else that except the girl he had known for his whole life. In Harry’s eyes, no one knew him better—even if she didn’t know it. “This client is very particular, and he’s mean and—”

“I can handle mean,” she said firmly. Harry wasn’t in the headspace to realize she could handle mean because of him. “Harry, you’re going to the hospital. You won’t do a good job if your mind is on your mom and you’re worrying the whole time. Then you’ll be worried you’re ruining the disposition so just let me help.”

He nodded solemnly. She was right, of course. She waited for him to make his decision. His knee bouncing the whole time as she picked the papers off his floor, and she organized them into neat little piles on his desk. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she said and pulled her phone from her purse. “Hit me,” she said holding the phone out to him ready to record.

Harry arrived at the hospital. Gemma was in tears but in such shock as she gazed at her arriving brother. “Are you really here?” She asked hugging him tight. He nodded, squeezing her hard.

“How’s Mum?” He asked ignoring her obvious question that he would never willingly leave work—especially if he had an important meeting.

“She’s okay,” she said, eyes red and teary. She nodded firmly. “It was really scary because they wouldn’t say until I got here. Surgery is needed but not life or death,” she explained. “She’ll be ready to see us in a few moments.”

Harry sighed with relief and sat in the waiting room chair. “Christ,” he muttered.

“I thought you had a disposition?” Harry quickly explained the situation and that the sweet girl was taking care of it. “You work with her?” Gemma asked. Harry nodded.

“Yeah, why?”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re...paired again. It’s just fate, y’know?” She mumbled. “S’nice you have her to look after you. To have someone you know and trust nearby,” she told her younger brother. “I love her,” she said with a shrug. “Even if you don’t.”

Harry ignored her. He was focused on his mom. He was relieved she was okay. But he wanted to see her.

His phone vibrated with a text from her. She promised an update as soon as the disposition was finished.

All done. Went well. I left notes on your desk. Let me know if you need anything. Wish your mom and Gem well. Don’t worry about anything else here.

Thank you, kitten.

“Kitten, hmm?”

“Yeah.”

Harry locked his phone. When they went to the room where his mother lay looking banged up but alive, he nearly cried. “Hi Mum,” he sniffed.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she smirked easily. Nearly unaffected by the wires and tubes. “How’d you get out of work?” Gemma was delighted to tell the tale of the sweet girl. “Oh, I love her,” Anne grinned tiredly. “Why didn’t you ever bring her home, Harry?” She wondered. Harry started to answer but the arrival of a get-well basket on behalf of that sweet girl made its way through the threshold halting all of Harry’s thoughts of an excuse.

Because he really didn’t know why he never brought her home.

At the company party Harry eyed her from across the way. They were definitely friendlier, but Harry was hedging his bets. First and foremost, he was still hesitant to be in love with her. She was perfect and if he thought for two seconds longer, he would realize his stupid idea that he shouldn’t be in love with someone he’s known his whole life wasn’t his issue. Perhaps his issue was that she was perfect, and Harry was not. It seemed cruel for fate to tempt him like that. But maybe there was a reason she was so heavily involved in every aspect of his life.

Harry also wasn’t blind to the implications of dating a coworker.

But most importantly to him, she was so good at everything he couldn’t imagine being a subpar boyfriend when she deserved the very best. Harry didn’t even know how to be a boyfriend. Because of all the schoolwork he focused on he rarely dated anyone longer than a few dates or the occasional hookup.

And he had seen her in action as a girlfriend. Their junior year of university she dated a guy that she obviously adored for nearly a year and a half. She was naturally perfect. Went to every basketball game he was in, brought him soup when he wasn’t feeling well, and looked over his work for him before he turned it in. He was exactly what Harry imagined her boyfriend would be like. Attractive, hardworking, and very sweet to her. They met at the gym while she was studying for her ethics class on the treadmill (he only knew this because he told the story at a party, they both attended and Harry was intently listening).

The only problem Harry had with him—besides the fact he was dating the girl he spent so much time with—was he was not ambitious, and he never planned any of their dates. Harry hated him. She deserved flowers and coffee dates. Ice skating and movies. Once while she was on the phone with her sister when Harry was arriving at one of their study sessions, he knew she wanted a carriage ride around the park at Christmas. It wasn’t hard to figure out, so he was glad when he found out she broke up with him. Even if Harry didn’t like her, he knew she deserved more than that.

“Harry!” It was the client he had to skip out on for his mum the other day. “How’s your mum?” He asked.

“She’s fine, thank you. I’m sorry for the short notice of me not being there,” he said seriously.

“I was mad as hell when she told me you left. I think I screamed at her,” he admitted. Harry didn’t like that at all. The way his blood boiled at the idea of anyone yelling at her made him want to punch his client. Harry never thought himself a violent person, but here he was angry on behalf of a girl he only barely liked. It made him even madder that she didn’t mention anything at all about getting yelled at either. “But she was incredible! You can leave me with her anytime—she was brilliant and poised. I don’t think anyone suspected anything she had to say.”

“Yes, she’s very good,” Harry murmured around a sip of his drink. He was right, too. No one ever suspected the sweet girl to know anything. She was all eyes and beauty. She was softspoken, but her words carried weight. It would be entirely unfair for her to be exceedingly intelligent too. But she was. Harry hated the way people underestimated her, especially when they were paired together. It was like they thought he was only paired with her because she was pretty.

“She’s easy on the eyes too,” he winked at Harry. Harry gripped his drink tighter as he envisioned shattering the glass over top of his head.

“Ha, yeah.”

“Well thank you. I’m glad your mum is okay. I’ll keep you posted about the next meetings,” he said.

Harry nodded. “Have a drink on my tab, please,” he said gratefully.

Harry was suddenly at her side. “You didn’t tell me he yelled at you,” he said interrupting whatever conversation she was in currently.

“Uh, sorry,” she said softly clearing her throat to the gathering that eyed Harry like they’d never seen a man before. It was clear the interruption didn’t bother them solely because Harry was the one interrupting and it gave them an excuse to ogle him up close. She was lucky she spent so much time with him growing up. She could ogle at her own leisure. “Excuse me,” she grabbed Harry by the forearm, and he swore it felt like fire where she touched him. He wracked his brain for a memory if she ever touched him before this moment. “Come again?”

“My client. He told me he yelled at you. You didn’t tell me that.”

“Uh...you were kind of busy Harry. I’m used to getting yelled at, it wasn’t a big deal to—”

“Who yells at you?” He asked quickly. “Why would they yell at you?” Harry felt his blood boiling and he didn’t really know why. He wanted to put her in his office and monitor every interaction she had with anyone else in the world. She should never be yelled at—he would be sure of it going forward.

“Well clients mostly, my sister, you, this woman yelled at me one time at the grocery store—”

“I’ve never yelled at you.”

“Yes, you have,” she shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. We work in a business of yelling, Harry.”

He wanted to throw his glass across the room now. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Seriously?” She asked.

“Seriously, what?”

“It’s really okay, Harry. I’ve been yelled at before.”

“But you shouldn’t be,” he was exasperated again. It was a quick switch to get to this breaking point of her complete non-understanding of why he was mad. But she didn’t really know why he was mad, and it was unfair of Harry to be so agitated by her when he didn’t even know why he was mad.

“Harry,” she said gently and put a hand on his forearm and gave him a squeeze. She gazed at him with those beautiful, lovely eyes and Harry could feel himself melting at the sweet expression on her face. “It’s okay,” she promised. He tore his arm from her and stalked off angrily sipping his drink before he did something like tell her she loved him.

So much for friends. She thought to herself.

Harry never really avoided her at firm parties. But he seemed like he was at this one. She hadn’t seen him in a while, and it oddly made her uncomfortable to not knowing where he was. She supposed since she had been with him for nearly 20 years of her life, when he wasn’t around, she knew. It didn’t make the party any less fun nor did it deter her from chatting with potential and current clients.

“Hello there,” a man said while she waited for her drink at the bar. She could tell he had too much to drink. It was another member of their team. Someone she saw on a very rare occasion. His client load was substantial and kept him busy and away from the office most days.

“Hi,” she said politely. He was a tall man. And with the alcohol coursing his bloodstream he knew very little of personal space.

“You’re very pretty,” he slurred. Her face felt hot at his assessment, and she wished she wasn’t by herself.

“Thank you,” she said gently and walked toward a group of the women she was chatting with before she headed to the bar to get another drink.

“I’ve seen you around,” he said following her another step. “You’re very smart.”

“Try to be—I have to get back to my friends,” she said gesturing to the women nearby. He frowned but she could feel his gaze on her back as she hurried back over. Fortunately, he was gone when she glanced back.

At the end of the party, she told her friends she was going to use the restroom before she left and not to worry. She would see them on Monday. What she hadn’t accounted for was the stupid drunk man to be in the darkly lit hallway leading to the bathrooms when she exited. “Hello, again.”

Shit.

“Hi,” she said gently. She sounded a lot braver than she was. There was no one in sight at all.

“I wanted to tell you how pretty you were earlier.”

“You did.”

“Well, I wanted to tell you again.”

“Thank you,” she said and stepped forward to brush past him. He grabbed her arm. She felt her fight or flight kick in and she desperately wanted to fly. “Excuse me, I’m leaving. I’m expected home soon—”

“Can’t you come home with me?” He asked with a sick smirk on his face.

She shook her head. “Let go of me,” she said firmly.

“Come on, I can make it worth your while,” he pulled her arm hard making the space between them almost disappear. She didn’t like how small she felt. She hated that about her job. She was constantly made to feel small because she was a woman. His height didn’t help. Neither did the alcohol.

But right now, it was a hundred times worse, and it made her stomach churn. She wanted to throw up and for a moment she thought maybe that would help her escape. “No thank you,” she said pulling harder on her arm that would surely have a bruise when she looked later.

“Well how about right here?” His smile was evil and vile. She really wanted to throw up now. Why didn’t she just go home with her friends?

With as much force as she could muster, she stomped on his inner foot, and he gasped and released her arm in shock. “Fuck!” He shouted. She hurried down the hall, tears filling her vision but somehow, he was right behind her, grabbing her arm again and pushing her against the wall causing her to yelp. “You’re going to regret that,” he snarled in her ear.

Before she had time to cry or vomit (or both) his presence was gone, and she fell to the floor at the lack of pressure against her body. She scrambled to her feet and turned to see Harry towering over the man he had clearly thrown to the ground. The panic flooding her body subsided immensely. Her heart rate was still elevated on behalf of Harry but seeing him made her feel so much safer.

“She said no,” Harry said with so much anger in his voice she was terrified. He dared one glance back at her to see her back on her feet. His eyes were furious. She had seen him argue in mock trials and even been to some of his real court dates. Harry may have disliked her for a long part of their lives, but she had never seen hatred like this.

She would have hated to be the man on the receiving end of his look. “She’s a taunting little bitch. I’ve heard the way you talk about her,” he snapped at Harry. “Leave us alone.”

“I’ve known her my whole life. She knows I don’t talk about her,” Harry said knowingly. His voice was so deep, and the intensity of his words left her woozy; she couldn’t imagine someone protecting her—least of all Harry. And his words were true of course. As much as he disliked her, no one ever had a bad thing to say about her at the hands of Harry. “I will not be leaving her alone.”

She nearly sighed with relief at his statement. He turned quickly, grabbed her hand, and pushed her in front of him as he guided them out of the hallway and out of the restaurant. There were people milling about, but it was late, and it wasn’t crowded by any means. If Harry wasn’t there, she doesn’t want to think about what would have happened. He ushered them a few paces away from the restaurant up the sidewalk.

“Are you alright?” He asked suddenly, he turned her to face him as they stood under the streetlight outside. She was shaking like she was cold, and Harry wanted to reach out and warm her. The last five minutes were catching up to her violently. “Kitten?” He almost snapped, desperate for some indication that she was okay. “Are you okay?”

She nodded then shook her head. “I-I’m fine,” she said and sniffled wiping her sleeve across her nose. “I just want to go home,” she said with an awkward laugh and then the tears started to blur her vision.

“Kitten, I’m not going to leave you alone until I see you lock your door and you’re home safely. So it’s okay to not be okay, just tell me,” again, he sounded exasperated with her.

“Yeah, no I’m okay...” she whimpered biting her lip trying to erase the thoughts from her head of the last few moments. Harry was there and she was okay. “No...no...” she shook her head as the tears steadily fell. She gasped out a strangled cry and Harry pulled her to him immediately. She was overwhelmed by a lot of things but also that he felt so safe and sturdy as he held her. His arms around her protectively, he cupped his hand on the back of her head and one arm around her waist. The sobs left her freely then.

“S’okay,” he said so gently it hurt more than anything that happened to her. Harry being so nice to her nearly wounded her. The safety of his embrace left her breathless. His thumb rubbing over her hair made her weak. “You’re safe, kitten,” he promised. “I got you.”

Harry held her hand the entire cab ride home. She sniffled and each time she did, Harry squeezed her hand reassuringly. The cab stopped outside her apartment building, and she reached for her purse for money. “Stop,” Harry said putting her hand to her side and paying the driver. Harry followed behind her while they made it up the stairs to her second-floor place. Every so often she glanced back to see if Harry was still there. “M’not going anywhere, kitten,” he promised.

She nodded, unlocked her door and pushed inside. “Can I get—”

“Just go sit down, love,” he shook his head at her. “I’ll be right in,” he said making his way for the kitchen. His voice was gentle. Like when she wasn’t feeling well, and he made her nap and eat.

She followed his direction. She felt a little out of place in her own apartment and she twiddled her fingers together as she waited in silence for Harry to come to her living room. He was there shortly, a glass of water for her. She reached out for it, but Harry noticed how her hand was still shaking. “Here,” he said bringing the cup to her lips. He gently cradled the back of her head with his other hand. She felt like a child as Harry helped her drink, but he didn’t pay any mind to the situation at all—he just didn’t want her to spill and make a mess that she would have to worry about right now. “Can I get you anything else?” He wondered. His voice was so deep and gentle in comparison to the hatred he spewed before in every word he spoke.

She shook her head, more tears filling her eyes. “Thank you,” she said gratefully.

He shook his head back at her. “Don’t,” he sighed. “I would never let anything happen to you, kitten,” he promised. Her heart fluttered, despite everything. It was by far one of the sweetest things Harry ever said to her. “I’m glad you’re home safe now. I can leave if you want—"

She was quick to protest. Too quick. “No! Please don’t,” the words rushed out of her mouth before she could stop them. She turned to look at the empty dark apartment as a distraction from her cheeks turning into two red tomatoes. She cleared her throat regaining her composure as she looked back at Harry. She was lucky the tears filled her vision again at the frustration and sadness of her evening overwhelming her again.

“I won’t go until you want me to, kitten,” Harry answered pressing his hand to her face. He brushed his thumb gently over her cheek bone and caught the stray tear that spilled over. His voice was so quiet and soft. It was so different than every interaction he ever had with her.

“Really?” She whispered breathlessly.

“No, baby,” he promised. “I won’t.”

She didn’t think and wrapped herself up in his embrace. It worked so naturally of course. His arms wrapped around her, and he tugged her carefully, so he was snuggled into the corner of her sofa with her cuddled into him. She sighed with relief as tears flowed onto his shirt and coat. She sniveled miserably. “I’ll have to get this dry cleaned for you,” she managed to mumble between her tears.

“Would you please just shut up?” The exasperation was thick in his tone. It kind of made her smile.

“Okay,” she whispered sniveling still.

After a few moments her cries subsided, and Harry let his fingers dance up and down her arm as he held her close to him. He tried not to think about how perfectly she fit in the empty spaces of his body. “Harry?” She asked quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” she said again.

He sighed, a bit irritated that she was thanking him for being a decent human being and protecting her. But he knew she was uncomfortable and upset. “You’re welcome, kitten,” he said softly. “Go to sleep.”

“I can’t do that, Harry. His client base is too substantial.”

“Let him leave with them, then,” Harry snapped. He was pacing Louis’ office. Adamant something be done.

“Harry, stop,” Louis rubbed his hand over his face. “We can get her a restraining order if she wants, and we can put him on a different floor so he never—”

“You need to fire him,” Harry said. “Or she and I will take all our clients and leave instead,” he promised.

He stared at his friend. “Harry.”

“Louis, you fire him, or you’ll have to represent me when I kill him.”

There was a knock outside Louis’ door before the pretty girl entered, making the anger in Harry’s heart dissipate immensely. “Oh, hi Harry,” she murmured and looked at her feet nervously. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Tomlinson?” She asked softly.

Harry gazed at her so adoringly, he couldn’t stop himself. His blood was on fire the moment he saw her struggling. He never thought about murdering someone seriously in his whole life. Yet there he was—ready to kill someone on behalf of the sweet girl. “Call me Louis, love. Please.”

She nodded. “Louis, then. Am...I in trouble?” She asked curiously.

Harry sighed in exasperation and ran his hand over his face in disbelief. She stared at Harry curiously as he made his assessment. “You’re an idiot,” he said to her.

She looked at her feet, feeling her face warm at his insult. “Harold,” Louis snapped. “No love, you’re not in trouble. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Oh.”

There was a bit of silence. “Well, are you alright?” He repeated. Harry wanted to shake her a bit. She was beyond infuriatingly annoying sometimes.

“I’m okay,” she said softly. “Uh...Harry protected me.”

“Yes, he’s decent every once in a while.”

She smirked. “He is.”

“Can I do anything for you to ensure you feel safe while you’re working?”

“Oh, um...no—”

“You can fire him,” Harry repeated.

“Harry, that’s not necessary,” she shook her head, her face feeling flushed.

His right eye twitched and he looked out Louis’ window; stuffed his hands in his pockets as he muttered to himself. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not safe while you’re here,” Louis said knowingly.

Harry wasn’t watching her, but she looked right at him as she answered Louis. “I feel safe,” she said softly.

Louis smirked and shook his head at Harry who still wasn’t paying any attention. Talk about an idiot in this scenario. “I’m very sorry that happened to you. He will be reprimanded beyond belief, you have my word. We’ll be moving his office to a different floor as well,” he promised.

“Louis, you weren’t there,” Harry reminded him. “You didn’t watch her cry while she fell asleep—”

“Harry!” She gasped at the admission and her face felt warm. That was not something she wanted her boss to know. It painted the wrong picture—even if she slept so well in the comfort of Harry’s arms. Louis didn’t pay any attention to their night spent together, though. He was keeping his eyes on Harry.

“I wanted to kill him,” Harry repeated. She gulped at the idea of Harry doing something so violent for her. Something that would get him thrown in jail for a long while.

“I understand that,” Louis said simply. “Love, I’m very sorry,” he returned his attention to the poor girl who looked wildly uncomfortable. “If there is something I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask. I know you have Harry in the office next to you, but if he’s not around, I’d be happy to assist you with anything,” he said kindly.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” she said courteously.

“Harold,” Louis said narrowing his eyes at him.

“Whatever,” he grumbled and stalked out of the office.

“I’m...sorry about him,” she said nervously.

“Don’t worry love, I’ve known Harry for a long while. He means well. He’s just thick headed sometimes,” he shrugged. “I’m serious though, if you need something or want something, let me know.”

“I will, thank you.”

Shaking her head, she exited his office and headed back to her own. She grabbed a cup of coffee from the breakroom as she passed it and tried to think about the to-do list she had for the day. Mentally, she added a dry-cleaner stop for Harry’s suit she cried all over as well. It wasn’t much, but it was the least she could do as a thank you for all he did. As she paced the last few steps toward her office, she tried to convince herself the last few moments in Louis’ office were real. Harry was angry at Louis (and maybe her, what else was new?) for something beyond his control. She wondered why he was so adamant but found it sweet in Harry’s own way.

She closed her office door behind her and tilted her head at Harry sitting on the couch. As she entered, he stood up and gazed at her without speaking. It looked like he was looking through her. She bit the inside of her lip as she held the coffee with both of her hands to keep her tingling fingers warm at the idea that Harry was waiting for her. “Can I help you?” She asked.

“I’m going to be a shitty boyfriend.”

She blinked in complete confusion. It was by far the last thing she ever expected Harry to say. “I’m sorry?”

“I get all wrapped up in m’own stuff and I forget dates even though they’re in m’calendar and reminders and everything. It’ll infuriate you. I’ll make up for it with grand sweeping gestures that will maybe make it better, but they might just make y’madder that I can’t remember the little things.”

“Harry, what—”

“M’so in love with you and I’ve been ignoring it since we were kids. The six months I worked here without you were the longest months ’ve gone without seeing you and I didn’t even want t’see you, but I don’t want to go that long without seeing you ever again. I barely want t’go an hour without seeing you and even when I do I think about you the whole time,” he started to pace across her office back and forth as if was retracing his steps to remember all the things he was saying. Like they were written on the carpet.

“Can you just—”

“I’ll be better than that tool y’dated in third year,” she wondered where that came from because she didn’t even know he knew she was dating someone. “I’ll give you everything y’want or need whenever you ask. I’ll plan dates, I’ll take y’anywhere you want t’go, I’ll walk on hot coals for you, if you ask. I love you so goddamn much, love. I want to murder someone for you, and I wouldn’t bat an eyelash; ’ve never felt this way ‘bout anyone before. You’re infuriatingly sweet and y’never know when t’shut up or what’s good for you. It’s probably going t’get y’killed one day and I don’t know how someone s’sweet could be a corporate lawyer. You’re unbelievably challenging in so many ways and y’always remind me that I don’t know everything even though I think I do. Mum and Gemma want me t’bring you t'Sunday dinners.”

She shook her head trying to process all of this it didn’t help that he was jumping from topic to topic. Harry had given speeches in college before. She listened to many of his own closing arguments and of course read countless persuasive essays. This wasn’t anything like any of that. This was wild and out of sorts. She wondered what was flowing in his head and why it was spewing out like this, why it was happening now. “Harry, what are you—”

“You asked me t’be friends because you thought we’d be good friends since we spent all that time together. Quite frankly you’re m’best friend. Even though I was miserable towards you all the time. I don’t know why I did that t’you and s’jus’ another reason you should tell me t’take a hike. No one knows me as well as you do. Sleeping with you on your couch made m’neck so sore I can’t turn it to the left, but it was the best sleep of m’life and I want t’do it over and over again if I can hold you.”

That made her face flood with heat so quickly she was sure she looked bright red. “Harry, honestly, I’m—”

“I will never hurt you and I will never let anyone hurt you while m’around.” This time she didn’t interrupt him she could feel her face soften at his words and she felt like she was going to cry if he talked any longer. “I don’t think I know anyone half s’beautiful as you, kitten, inside or out,” he said softly. Everything else he said felt like a sprint. A rush of words he had been dying to get out for who knows how long. “Please, be my girlfriend,” he said finally, slowly at last.

They stared at each other silently for several moments.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Thank you.”

2K notes · View notes

daisyblog · 9 months

Text

Protective

Too Young Masterlist Summary: Harry finds out YN is pregnant, with Louis baby.

Based on this request

It was early August and YN had flown out to New York to visit Harry on tour. Sophia was also visiting Liam and Lottie had joined her on the trip, as it was around her birthday and she wanted to see Louis.

YN was about twelve weeks pregnant and she still hadn’t told Harry. In fact, the news hadn’t travelled beyond herself, Louis, their Mums and Robin. But each day it was getting harder not to slip up.

Each day she grew and carried Louis baby, the guilt of sleeping with her brother’s best friend ate her.

One Direction were playing at the MetLife Stadium that evening, so they all made the most of the free time they had ahead of the show.

YN and Harry were chilling out in one of the dressing rooms backstage. For a moment YN had snapped out of reality as she chatted and joked with Harry. But the minute the relationship topic got brought up, the reality hit her.

“Mums worried you’re being seen with different women.” YN raised her eyebrows playfully at her twin.

“Yeh well she shouldn’t believe everything she reads.” Harry bit back from where he sat on the opposite chair. “Remember when they wrote an article about you being my mysterious woman, you’re my fucking twin and they couldn’t get that right.”.

“Yes okay…I get your point!” YN laughed as she remembered the article all too well, and how they had a good giggle about it.

“Anyway…enough about my shitty love life.” Harry stated, as he twisted the conversation around. “Have I got anyone to give the big brother talk to?“.

YN’s whole body language changed, she felt nervous, anxious, she was absolutely terrified. In this moment she wished it was only a boyfriend she had to tell Harry about, but in the next few minutes everything was about to change.

YN shook her head. “No…but uh…I do have something to tell you.”. Automatically YN began to fidget with the bracelet on her wrist.

Harry noticed his sister’s nervous behaviour and began to sit up straight. “What is it?”. His voice full of panic. “Are you alright?”.

YN kept her focus on her fidgeting fingers as they played with the metal band. “I’m pregnant.”. YN’s voice was so quiet, Harry almost missed what she said.

Silence surrounded them, Harry’s eyes stared at YN almost like he was trying to get answers. YN couldn’t even look at her brother in the eye, petrified she was going to be faced with disappointment.

“You..you’re..pregnant?” Harry was calm, a little too calm. “How?…I mean I know how but…how?”.

YN bit her lip, her teeth causing the skin to go a darker shade of pink. “I was drunk…we were drunk, it was only suppose to be a one night thing.”.

Harry wasn’t one to judge, he couldn’t judge especially when he had enjoyed a night of passion with someone and never saw them again. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of…things happen for a reason.”. Harry tried to be supportive, a reassuring smile on his face. But there was one piece of information Harry needed, wanted, to know. “Who’s the baby’s dad? Do I know him or is it someone you met in uni?”.

YN thought about lying, but what good was that going to be? She knew the truth always got out. But at the same time, she knew the minute his name rolled off the tip of her tongue, Harry’s mood was going to flip.

“It’s..uh…um.” The words got stuck in her throat, the anxiety was rolling around her stomach. “It’s Louis!”.

“Louis?” Harry questioned not quite believing the name that fell from his sister’s lips. “Louis, my best friend Louis?”. The guilty look on YN’s face answered for her.

Harry didn’t give a second thought when he got up from the seat and marched down the corridors, YN hot on his tail begging him not to say anything. But Harry barged through the door of another dressing room and accidentally pushed Liam out of his way causing him to fall into Zayn.

“If you don’t keep those hands to yourself then I hope you know I’ll make sure you never use them again!”. Liam abruptly spoke but Zayn nudged him once he saw the anger on Harry’s face.

“Harry please!”. YN begged, looking at Louis with wide eyes trying to give him the heads up that Harry knew they’re secret.

“You slept with my sister!”. Harry aimed the statement at Louis, who right now knew it was best for him to remain silent. Liam, Niall and Zayn watched the scene in pure shock.

“Harry, c’mon you don’t want to-“. Niall tried to calm the situation but failed when Harry’s voice got louder.

“No Niall…you don’t have a sister…you don’t understand!”. Harry defended his anger. “You have sisters though!”. He looked at Louis with pure disappointment. “Imagine how I feel right… I find out not only did my best friend sleep with my sister….but she’s pregnant with his baby too!”.

Liam, Zayn and Niall’s eyes found YN whose face was full of embarrassment. Zayn could see how betrayed YN felt right now and how she thought everyone was judging her. He placed his hand on her shoulder to try and comfort her but almost like YN had found her voice, she burst, shocking everyone in the room.

“You can be angry, you have every right to be…but to announce it to everyone in this room is wrong!” YN raised her voice at Harry. “The news wasn’t yours to share…it was mine and Louis when we were ready…and you can be angry but we are having this baby so you need to get used to it!”.

With that YN stormed out, leaving a guilty Louis, an angry Harry and three confused boys who couldn’t believe what they just witnessed.

Taglist: @jillsvalentinex @itsmytimetoodream @peterholland04 @youcan-nolonger-run @chronicallybubbly

#louis tomlinson #louis tomlinson fic #louistomlinson #louis tomlinson writing #louis tomlinson x reader #louis tomlinson fanfic #louis tomlinson fanfiction #louis tomlinson x y/n #louis tomlinson x oc #louis tomlinson x you #louis tomlinson series #louis tomlinson x styles!reader #louis tomlinson x yn!styles #louis tomlinson x harry's sister #louis x you #louis x reader #louis x yn #louis x y/n

169 notes · View notes

geoffrard · 2 years

Text

My Chemical Romance, Hardcore Sexual Repression, and the Lemon Stealing Whore

[Content warning for non-graphic references to pornography, sex, sexual violence, and negative attitudes towards sex work. There is no explicit nudity but you might not want to read this in front of your boss. All images have descriptions in alt text. See sources here. Read this essay on my Dreamwidth here.]

It’s the setup of a joke: Gerard Way, Mikey Way, Frank Iero, Matt Pelissier, and a porn actress huddle around a leather couch in a dingy room as a camera rolls. The actress, a young and bright-eyed Joanna Angel, asks each member of My Chemical Romance in the room, “Do you guys watch porn?”

Most of us have seen the interview. If not, stop and watch it now, because nothing else I say will make sense otherwise. (And here, just for you, I’ve reuploaded the video with at least 10% more pixels. Watch below, or read a transcript here.)

youtube

The fact that My Chemical Romance, whose faces have decorated shirts at Hot Topic for over fifteen years, whose songs have saved lives and inspired memes, who all have wives and children, would end up associated with an alt porn website like Burning Angel often baffles fans watching the interview for the first time.

For example, see these comments left on the original video uploaded to YouTube:

These comments, though more than a few years old, generally represent how a lot fans understand the interview. Other people think it’s funny and perhaps a little out of left field, but don’t question how four members wound up on a porn site like Burning Angel. Both attitudes are a pretty typical example of the MCR fandom’s ignorance about the New Jersey hardcore scene, as well reflecting general weirdness about sex work.

Since I cannot turn my historian brain off, I wanted to provide some of the extremely interesting historical context behind the video. The post I had originally planned to make very, very briefly outlined how MCR ended up being interviewed by Joanna Angel, founder and longtime CEO of Burning Angel. But the more I looked into it, the more I fell down a rabbit hole. This eventually turned into something of a mammoth manifesto about women and sexuality in the late 90s hardcore scene that gave My Chemical Romance and Joanna Angel careers. I will warn you: this is long. But it’s also important historical background information that rarely gets discussed at all—especially by MCR fans.

(So, with all that said, please feel free to ask any questions about anything I say here! Sources for will be posted on a different post which I will link at the end, and I have been quite thorough, though not as thorough as I could have been.)

Tl;dr: Joanna Angel came up in the exact same scene as My Chemical Romance, Thursday, and Midtown, a scene which stigmatized open sexual expression, at the expense of women and queer people—especially those involved in sex work. When she started her porn site, Burning Angel, she applied the same DIY values that her peers did to their own bands, but faced violence and ostracization from a subculture much too repressed to embrace such blatant expression of female sexuality. In this context, the My Chemical Romance interview with Burning Angel in 2004 was not only a group of guys doing a favor for someone they had probably known for years at that point; it can also be read as a somewhat controversial act that pushed back against this aversion to sexuality, and that helped legitimize and popularize both the site and Joanna Angel’s career.

Burning Angel: the Movie (2005)

Say you’re a diehard My Chemical Romance fan in 2005—if you really want to watch your favorite band discuss their porn-viewing habits, you’ll have to travel to either your local adult entertainment store or go to the hardcore porn site BurningAngel.com and order their first DVD, appropriately titled Burning Angel: The Movie. Once you have the disc, you’ll have to fast forward through several sex scenes and interviews with other bands before you arrive at what you wanted: the actress who you’ve just seen in hardcore sex scenes asking Gerard, Frank, Mikey and Otter questions about their preferences in adult entertainment.

The DVD was Burning Angel’s first attempt at more professional pornography, and Joanna’s first foray into full participation in filmed, live-action sex. Joanna Angel would later go on to be one of the most well-known porn stars of our time—in Virgin Territory (2006), for example, she played a lemon stealing whore; you might have seen the video—and Burning Angel would be credited with the popularization of the “alt” porn genre, which broke from the exploitative mainstream porn model and typically featured models representative of subcultures.

But in 2005 her alt porn empire was still in its infancy, and Joanna was still struggling to rectify her recent full expulsion from the local New Jersey hardcore social scene with her enduring devotion to DIY values—and the fact that members of the sexually repressed subculture that had ostracized Joanna were her site’s target audience.

Joanna Angel on the Scene

Any thoughts of a future career in adult entertainment and the last name Angel were far from her mind when Joanna Mostov enrolled in Rutgers University in 1998.

Though she often pushed back against the wishes of her religious orthodox Jewish family, the extent of her adolescent rebellion had ended at sneaking out to punk shows and getting piercings her mother wouldn’t approve of. At Rutgers, Joanna quickly became enmeshed in the New Brunswick hardcore scene, putting her in the same circles as a host of people whose names you might recognize: Geoff Rickly of Thursday (who ran hundreds of shows out of his basement), Gabe Saporta of Midtown and Cobra Starship, and Alex Saavedra of Eyeball Records.

Geoff Rickly: Well, you know, the funny thing is that, at the time, Joanna, who would later go on to form Burning Angel and become a famous porn star in her own right, was playing in her goth bands with chelsea haircuts and the basement shows. Like, her local goth band would play. And they’d bring out people and stuff, and I’d put touring bands on that show, and so it’s funny to me how, weirdly, DIY punk hardcore scenes and porn had weird associations then. [source: Going Off Track: Geoff Rickly, 2012]

The NJ hardcore scene was close-knit enough that while she only has documented friendships with some of these people, she had to have crossed paths with most of them multiple times (for example, Joanna was at the show on December 31, 1998 where Thursday and Midtown played their first real sets). She went to every show she could and hosted some in her own basement.

While we don’t necessarily have a written record of her friendship with Frank Iero and Mikey Way of My Chemical Romance, the fact that Joanna attended plenty of shows in the North Jersey area and also spent a lot of time at the Eyeball House (Alex was a close friend; and Pencey Prep was on his label) suggests that, at the the very least, Joanna, Frank, and Mikey were aware of each other’s presence in these early years. They were peers in the same scene, just as they were with everyone else who frequented the same venues or played in the same basements.

For years, the hardcore scene mattered to her more than anything else; it was her social life and what she based her values upon.

Those hardcore values and a growing curiosity about her own sexuality lead Joanna to sex-positive feminist activism and a writing internship with Nerve.com, an online magazine which explored topics related to sex and romantic relationships. From there, her interest in expressing her own sexuality continued to develop.

[Suicidegirls in 2001]

So, in 2002, when her roommate and friend asked her if she wanted to start a porn site that offered more explicit content than sites like SuicideGirls, which featured punk aesthetics and band interviews but stayed away from anything more than simple nudity, Joanna agreed.

BurningAngel.com went live in April 2002. It wanted to do things differently than other porn sites. While not necessarily pushing the boundaries of beauty standards, the site used models who were beautiful but in a more approachable, average sense. Joanna has said that since she had little experience even watching porn prior to starting the site, she wanted the site to mimic the kind of sex she was having with actors who looked like the people she was having sex with.

Joanna: When we started the website, it was a reflection of ourselves. It still is to this day. There's band interviews on the website, the style of girl that we use is not your average typical porn star and the personality on the website is a little bit different. All the members interact with each other, all of the girls have blogs and profiles, and people become friends with each other. It's more of a community and a reflection of a subculture rather than just being a website with content to jerk-off to and never think about again. [source: Complex: Interview: Joanna Angel Talks Alt Porn, Piracy, And Her Blow-Up Doll, 2011]

[Burning Angel’s homepage in June 2002]

Hardcore Punk Reacts to Hardcore Porn

Her longtime involvement in the scene and her application of DIY ethics to her porn business did not mean that the hardcore culture actively nurtured Joanna Angel’s career in porn. In reality, many parts of the scene were actively hostile towards Joanna and the site once Burning Angel went live.

This backlash isn’t incredibly surprising within the context of late 90s hardcore, a subculture that by and large refused to acknowledge sexuality of any kind.

The sexual repression in hardcore reflected several different aspects of its culture: a negative perception of women active in the scene; a reaction against the violence of tristate hardcore in the early 90s; and, more than anything else, the general privilege of those involved in the underground.

Like Joanna, Geoff Rickly, and Frank Iero, most people involved in New Brunswick hardcore were enrolled at Rutgers, and white, middle-class male college students dominated the scene. For many of them, applying DIY values to their own lives meant distancing themselves from their socioeconomic upper-hand. Consequently, the scene as a whole developed an attitude of asceticism, rejecting anything that served no purpose beyond pleasure or personal enjoyment. (Of course, it was easy for them to reject their social privileges, especially when they could just as easily cast off their aesthetic of poverty and self-denial for an adulthood of relative comfort.)

To do anything just because you enjoyed it, or because it brought you happiness in the moment, was seen to be a betrayal of hardcore’s higher intellectual goals—and that included sex. You can see this trend, for example, in lyrics from NJ hardcore bands, which focused on things like political issues or childhood traumas instead of the common themes of sexual and romantic desire found in mainstream music.

Joanna spoke about finding comfort in the general sexual repression of the scene because of her own adolescent insecurities:

Joanna: Me being very sexually not advanced and insecure, [90s hardcore] was the perfect place for me, because I could ignore [sexuality]. I was getting older, I don’t know, I wanted to explore myself more. So I began to write these graphic sex stories. My roommate, Mitch, knew about it, and I remember him getting a kick out of it. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

For another salient example, Geoff Rickly of Thursday has spoken about his own struggles with the hardcore scene’s repression, especially in regards to the shame he felt about writing sexually explicit stories for pay:

Geoff Rickly: You have to think, this is the 90s punk scene. It's not now. Nobody would openly talk about sex in DIY punk. It was such a repressed PC time, where — I mean, a lot of that stuff is my heart, like the political activism that was still such a part of punk, and actually just giving a shit about things that matter, and modes of how you're doing what you're doing. Those things seemed to matter back then, and I appreciated that side, but it was also so uptight. So repressed. [source: Going Off Track: Geoff Rickly, 2012]

While its general aversion to sexuality might have been born out of an initial desire to reform the violent misogyny of other hardcore cultures, it created the conditions for certain social problems to go completely unaddressed. After all, how can you address the rampant misogyny, homophobia, and sexual violence in your community if any acknowledgement of sexuality is taboo?

(For a brief but interesting perspective on the impact of hardcore sexual repression upon queer people in the scene, check out Episode #4 of Geoff Rickly’s podcast Dark Blue, in which Steve Pedulla and Norman Brannon discuss their experiences as gay musicians in the scene.)

Of course, these issues aren’t confined to the New Jersey hardcore, nor were they unique to the late 1990s. This particular brand of sex-averse misogyny reflects important threads within the feminism of the time which villainized open female sexuality—especially when it concerned sex work. Left-leaning spaces like music undergrounds adopted this sex-negative, misogynistic attitude as a part of their feminism—not in opposition to it.

In particular, the Riot Grrrl movement of the late 80s/early 90s pushed back against a culture (and a subculture) that shamed women for publicly expressing their sexuality. Following that, early fanzines and performance practices addressed the mistreatment of sex workers in hardcore as one way that female bodily autonomy was limited and women’s bodies were policed. Bikini Kill frontwoman and Riot Grrrl pioneer Kathleen Hanna has spoken about her past in sex work, the hostility she endured for openly discussing it, and the importance of that experience in shaping the form of Riot Grrrl’s protest.

Kathleen Hanna: “Whenever we were written about in the press, I wanted my sex-work history to be part of the description, because I wanted other women whom I danced at clubs with (and who never knew my real name) to see themselves reflected in some way. A lot of women who are doing music now have been sex-trade workers, prostitutes, dancers; I thought it was really important that I didn’t hide that. But I also didn’t want to glamorize that experience in being a super-cool thing in itself. I just wanted other women who work in the sex industry to remember that we can be sex-trade workers and be philosophers, writers, musicians, artists, or whatever. [Andrea Juno, Angry Women in Rock (1996)]

Riot Grrrl gained significant traction and nation-wide attention. In the decade or so after Kathleen Hanna and her peers catalyzed the movement, bands like Bikini Kill and Bratmobile remained incredibly popular, and likely contributed a lot to shifting attitudes towards sexuality in music subcultures.

Still, these sex-negative attitudes prevailed among enough people involved in local underground scenes that, when Burning Angel launched in 2002 and Joanna started marketing it in local hardcore spaces, the site received a lot of attention—both good and bad. The positive attention fueled the site and allowed it to expand beyond just photographs, text interviews, and low-budget personal sex tapes that characterized its early content.

However, the negative attention Joanna and her site received was vocal, targeted, and occasionally involved literal physical violence. As Kathleen Hanna had faced moral condemnation for her time in sex work, Joanna Angel faced criticism from fellow members of her subculture who thought sex work to be completely antithetical to their social justice goals. She has spoken about how difficult it was to see a community she had cared about for years turn her back on her completely for engaging in a type of work that she found enjoyable, and that she thought could be done with moral integrity.

Joanna Angel: People were calling me ugly, calling me all sorts of mean shit, how [Burning Angel was] making a profit, [we were] exploiting women, blah blah blah. And I was so bummed. I was like, you know, this isn’t fair! I always support every fucking band in the punk scene. Even if I don’t like the band, I support them—I go to their shows, I would hand out fliers for their shows. I thought it was like a code, in the punk scene, that it doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. If this is part of the scene, you accept it, and you help it, and you love it—and I thought that’s what you were supposed to do. I remember being very hurt, you know? I was like, dude, I didn’t violate any punk laws by starting this. My friend from my computer class is the one who put it online. All the other girls on the site—all three of them— were punk chicks and part of the scene. And I felt really bad; people were insulting the other girls, and I really thought I was starting this cool thing where girls could just explore their sexuality. And mind you, at the time, the beginning of Burning Angel was just photos, not even videos. People were getting all up in this upheaval because of a handful of naked photos on the internet. It’s crazy to think about now. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

Amidst the mounting antagonism and after an incident at Hellfest 2004, Joanna officially decided to leave the hardcore scene that she’d been involved with for over five years.

Joanna Angel: I remember going to Hellfest one year. Maybe it was like 2004?…these girls were throwing water balloons at us because we had a booth there. Because we used to get booths at some of these shows and sell tshirts. We didn’t even have any DVDs—we’d literally get in a booth and sell tshirts and hand out fliers and stickers. And these other girls were throwing water balloons at us and calling us sluts. I was like, “Hey, that sucks, can you stop doing that?” And one of my friends—he owned a record label. He owned Eyeball Records, Alex…he saw the girls picking on us, and he went over to the girls, and said, “Hey, can you cool it? They have a booth here—let them do their thing. They’re not gonna get in your way.” And then those girls and their boyfriends beat him up, and he wound up in the hospital. He almost died. It was terrible. And I was like, we have to get out here. Let’s just stay away. If we’re a porn site, let’s just be a porn site. Let’s promote ourselves with other porn companies; let’s step away for a little while. Everyone in the punk scene knows who we are. They’ve made their decision about if they like us or not. I’m still gonna interview bands, still gonna do that thing—but I’m done. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

Joanna and Burning Angel’s separation from the NJ hardcore scene in 2004 finally brings me to Burning Angel: The Movie, My Chemical Romance, and that interview.

So, 2004: after over two years spent largely behind the camera and slowly expanding her porn site, Joanna finally decided to get in front of the camera and produce a more intentionally crafted alt porn video that retained the feel of the website. Thus Burning Angel: the Movie was born.

As Joanna explains in the interview, the general idea of the DVD was that different self-contained pornographic scenes would be interspersed with band interviews. One of the key features of Burning Angel, like Suicide Girls before it, was the band interviews subscribers could access alongside the porn, so it made sense to preserve this aspect of the site on the DVD experience. Joanna interviewed five bands in early 2005: Killswitch Engage, Eighteen Visions, Shadows Fall, The Dillinger Escape Plan, and, of course, My Chemical Romance—all bands that Joanna admired, and who had been involved in the same scene that she had recently left because of very real threats to her emotional and physical well-being.

Within this context, My Chemical Romance’s decision to participate in the Burning Angel interview was a statement, as they put their support behind an enterprise that was highly controversial within the social circle most immediately relevant to them.

Fresh off the 2004 Warped Tour and promoted Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, My Chemical Romance might have appeared to be largely divorced from their scene of origin, but they still acted in response to those politics—politics that impacted American culture at large more than you’d think—in both intentional and incidental ways.

That is not to say that MCR was being overtly political; they’ve made a clear effort to distance themselves from the clear-cut political imagery and goals of some of their peers in hardcore. Still, the band (Gerard especially) very obviously cared a lot about using their music and stage presence to express shades of sexuality that they perceived to be lacking from some forms of music.

Gerard: I also wanted, at the same time, [for] the record to be a testament to self-expression, and putting stuff in there like that, while not being a homosexual myself, but expressing myself in a homosexual way, is either going to push your buttons in a negative way or you’re going to identify with it. [AP: Well, this whole scene wants you to be sensitive, but not too sensitive.] It is extremely homoerotic, especially the whole emo-sensitive thing. Everyone’s wearing women’s pants; everyone’s got women’s haircuts; everyone’s wearing youth-medium shirts. I don’t want to come out and say it. It’s blatantly obvious. Wearing a leather jacket is an extremely masculine thing to do in this scene. Even the hardcore bands, the really hard ones, you see them in makeup and stuff. I like that. I think it keeps it dangerous. It keeps it exciting. In a way, sex has really been missing from rock, especially because of all the sensitivity. That’s what I really wanted to convey on the record, too. I wanted the record to be very dangerous and sexy at the same time. There’s such a lack of sex in music. It’s been more about getting in touch with your feelings and being there for each other, which is great, but it’s definitely lacking this sexual duality. [Source: Alternative Press #193, Aug 2004; emphasis mine]

Additionally, many of their moments of explicit sexuality on stage were designed to be somewhat incendiary and polarizing.

But it’s important to remember that, just as late 90s New Jersey hardcore was not the first subculture with issues of sexual repression, My Chemical Romance does not represent the first attempt to push back at this asexual culture and definitely weren’t leading that particular conversation. Gerard took inspiration from artists already pushing those boundaries and incorporating sexual expression into their art. He has spoken, for example, about the impact of Riot Grrrl acts upon his music and stage presence (Joanna Angel has similarly pointed to bands like Bikini Kill as significant influences). These bands had already incorporated resistance against harmful sexual repression, values which Gerard and his band mates took on when they adopted their styles into My Chemical Romance.

(I also want to mention briefly that other significant people in the hardcore world have spoken out against pornography, such as Ian MacKaye of the formative post-hardcore band Fugazi. MacKaye owned Dischord Records, the definitive underground music label, to which a young Frank Iero unsuccessfully attempted to get his band Sector 12 signed. The matter of pornography and its role within the hardcore world was not one upon which you could maintain a neutral stance after, say, appearing on a porn DVD.)

As shitty as it was that they needed approval from the men in the scene, My Chemical Romance, along with other bands, supported Burning Angel, a new kind of porn, and helped legitimize Joanna Angel’s claim that what she was doing was not backwards or exploitative but had integrity.

Have you had an issue with people you grew up with when they find out you're in the adult industry? Joanna: At first people had problem[s], but not anymore. Once the cool kids in bands said, "I think what she's doing is cool" all the others turned around. Everyone I ever respected didn't have an issue with it and all the stupid, annoying hardcore kids had a problem. For as much shit as I got, I also got a lot of support. [Source: Hustlerworld Interview: Joanna Angel]

I don’t mean to glamorize the porn industry or to depict Joanna Angel as some savior of female sexuality in the early 2000s. But, as Kathleen Hanna points out, sex work is legitimate work, and sex workers deserve to have workplaces that treat them with dignity and communities that recognize their humanity. The reality was that NJ hardcore as a community did not support sex workers. Fundamentally, these were the barriers that caused Joanna and Burning Angel to make an exodus from the local hardcore scene—and they are the attitudes we risk reproducing when we express discomfort that a band we admire has interacted with a sex worker.

My intentions with this post (which turned out longer than I had ever anticipated, so Jesus, thank you for reading) were to shed light on the historical context of one moment in My Chemical Romance’s history. I’ve found that the average MCR fan, even those with a specific fondness for their early years, doesn’t actually know much at all about it—so I hope this has given some clarity.

I’ll end on this note: Without bands supporting Burning Angel, who knows—we might have never seen the lemon stealing whore. At the very least, the culture surrounding porn would look a lot different. That might not mean it would look better or worse—though you can’t deny the role that Joanna Angel played, nor the role that bands from the New Jersey Hardcore scene like My Chemical Romance played in shaping the American culture of pornography.

Find sources for this post here.

[acknowledgements: thank you so much for reading! my forever thanks, as always, to nic @raytorosaurus, sophia @sendmyresignation, vyn @bringmoreknives, and maddy @8thnotes for their continued cheerleading as i spent over a month writing this long, long post. additional thanks to wes @killrockstar for very kindly offering some incredibly helpful guidance about riot grrrl and sending me resources about kathleen hanna. and much gratitude to merlin @void-flesh and @transmascfrankiero for their feedback on the final draft of this essay.]

#mcr #my chemical romance #joanna angel #mcr meta #my post

2K notes · View notes

sparrowofthedawnsworld · 2 years

Text

Eat Your Young -Jake Kiszka

A/N: You guys wanted Jake, so here it is. I know I said after all the other fics but, I decided it would be best to post it while the song is the hot topic. I seriously whipped this out fast af, cause there’s no plot. Just smut. Between something I stumbled across on Instagram and this song… whew. Anyways, I love you all. GO LISTEN TO EAT YOUR YOUNG BY HOZIER.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI! oral, (f&m receiving), hair pulling, slapping, degrading, unprotected sex.

NEW Masterlist

••••

Often times, since it was only you and Jake in your apartment, you would slip off in the morning to make him breakfast. Especially when you both had a free day.

Jake could sleep through half the day, but only if you were right there with him.

Once you were out of bed, it was never long before he would go searching for you.

You slipped out of bed carefully, listening to Jake as he continued to softly snore, barely even stirring when your weight leaving the bed had moved him.

Making your way downstairs, you decided to forgo turning on any music. Sometimes the simple songs of the birds were enough for you.

You made it to the kitchen and immediately made yourself some coffee, pulling out eggs and bacon - simple things that Jake often enjoyed eating for breakfast.

You started to cook the bacon first, basking in the sunlight peaking in from the open window above the sink and the peacefulness of the apartment.

Once the bacon had cooked most of the way, you started on the first couple of eggs.

In the middle of flipping one of them over, two strong arms wrapped around you.

Even though you knew them to be Jake’s, it never failed to make you jump a little when he did that unexpectedly.

You kept your eyes fixed on the skillet in front of you, smiling. “Good morning, to you to Jake.”

Jake stayed quiet, sliding his hands down your body, silently taking you in… But as his hands went, so did the rest of his body.

He sank to the floor behind you, nudging your legs apart gently.

You attempted to turn around, but he stopped you. “Jake…?”

“Quiet. Just keep cooking, angel.” He said firmly.

His hands ran over your hips, perfectly smooth where your panties would usually rest and immediately noticed the absence of them. “No panties, huh? Naughty.”

You heard the click of his tongue. Something about the disapproving sound made your knees go weak.

Jake pressed a kiss to the back of your thigh, working his way up to your heat. He brought one of his hands up, spreading you open just enough to give his mouth room to work you.

His other hand stayed on your hip, ready to hold you up when your knees would positively falter.

He licked slowly from your entrance to your clit, feeling your body jolt and tremble above him.

“Oh my god-“ You gasped, dropping the spatula against the stove with a rather loud bang, splattering eggs everywhere.

“Don’t you dare burn my eggs, angel.” Jake growled from below you. “I’m starving, darling.”

Working his tongue over your clit, he listened in amusement as you whimpered and struggled above him - likely burning everything left on the stove, despite his warning not to.

“Jake, I’m gonna burn this stuff and then… then- oh, fuck!”

Jake pried himself from your dripping core, picking you up over his shoulder swiftly and standing up with you.

“Jake, what are you doing?!” You questioned breathlessly. “The food-“

A gasp erupted from you; your back hitting the cold marble island in the middle of your kitchen.

“Fuck the food.” Jake waved a dismissive hand, voice still thick with a sleepy rasp.

He turned around, switching off all the burners you had been using.

Crouching back down in front of you, he put your legs over each of his shoulders and went right back in to finish what he had started.

“Fuck yes, Jake.” You whimpered, pushing your hips into his mouth.

His tongue worked over your clit with such urgency, sucking it into his mouth every few seconds like he was a thirsty and starving man. His hands, calloused and strong, gripped at your thighs until your skin started to turn white around his grip.

The obscene sounds of him eating you, only served to make you both even more desperate. There were no longer soft sounds of food frying, just the lewd sounds of Jake sucking and licking at your core.

It didn’t take long - that white hot heat in the pit of your stomach was creeping up on you, ready to swallow you whole. Jake knew it, too, given the way his movements became even quicker.

“Jake, oh fuck, Jake.”

His name became a mantra. A prayer, of sorts.

“Jake, I’m so close-“ Your hips started writhing against his mouth on their own accord, chasing and chasing that sweet relief. “Jake, Jake, Jake.”

He groaned against you - drinking you in as he threw you over the edge, soaking his mouth and chin. His mouth never wavered, working you through your orgasm until he was satisfied. And even then, he wasn’t done.

“God, you’re so fucking filthy. Soaking my face like that.” Jake purred, licking his lips just as your eyes locked with his. “You taste so god damn sweet.”

He placed a kiss over your clit, smiling smugly when you jerked away from the gentle action. “What ever am I gonna do with you…?”

“Fuck me, that’s what you can do with me.” The words fluttered out, airy and sweet to his ears. “Right here, Jake.”

“Yeah? Right here?” Jake raised his eyebrows, undoing the tie of his sweatpants and pushing them off. “Right where we eat…?”

He smoothed his hand over the countertop beside you. “That’s so dirty of you, angel. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

You smiled up at him innocently. “But I’m not.”

Jake shook his head and lined himself with you anyway, pushing in to the hilt with a throaty groan. “Fuck.”

Your own moans followed, your hands gripping tightly at the edge of the counter.

“My dirty girl. Letting me fuck her in the middle of the kitchen like this.” Jake said, lending a taunting edge. “What if someone looks through the window while I have you spread over the counter like this, taking me like a deprived slut?”

“Let them watch.” You said, forcing the words out through your moans and whines of pleasure. “Fuck them.”

Jake pulled out of you, prying your hands from the counter by your wrists and hauling you up to a sitting position.

“Stand up and hold onto the island.” Jake commanded, helping you down to the floor carefully.

Your legs wobbled beneath your weight, even with Jake’s help. The counter served to be little support against the ruthless thrusts Jake was giving to you.

“Sweet girl, taking me so-“ He delivered a sharp thrust as emphasis. “So,” And another. “Well.”

“I need more, Jake. More, please.” You begged him, clawing at the marble beneath your fingers.

“More.” Jake scoffed, like the word tasted awful in his mouth. “So fucking greedy.”

He quickened his pace anyway, trying to give you what you were begging for. “Is that what you are? My greedy girl?”

“Ma- fuck, maybe.” Your voice was notably hoarse as you choked the words out.

“No. No, ‘maybe,’” Jake was quick to correct you, delivering a swift smack over the swell of your ass as he did so. “You are.”

His hand traveled up your spine from the bottom, all the way up until it tangled into your hair.

He pulled you up until your back was just barely pressed against his chest, while his other hand traveled down in the opposite directed to find your still sensitive clit.

“Is this enough for you?” Jake said in a mocking tone. “Or you are you gonna keep being ungrateful and greedy?”

“Fuck! No, it’s enough! It’s enough.” You cried, wanting to fall back down against the island.

“”It’s enough!”” Jake mimicked you, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips that you couldn’t see. “My poor little girl. Can’t even handle the heat now.”

You felt yourself getting close for the second time. Jake’s hand steadily worked over your clit, not faltering even the slightest bit when your hand wrapped around his wrist and tried to slow him down.

“Uh uh,” Jake scolded. “Hands off. Don’t be a fucking pussy. Let me make you cum again.”

Releasing a shaky breath, you removed your hand from Jake’s wrist and let him continue dragging you towards another orgasm without any mercy or sympathy.

“You gonna be a good girl, my good girl, and cum for me one more time?” Jake cooed into your ear, low and slow.

All you could do was nod, eyes squeezed shut and head tossed back, just letting your moans and high pitched whimpers fill the whole apartment.

“Yeah, you are.” Jake’s fingers continue their assault over your bundle of nerves.

After a few more tightly drawn circles, that sweet and unforgiving coil exploded in the depths of your stomach. Wave after wave of pleasure making your body shake against Jake’s, clenching so tightly around his cock that he could barely keep a steady pace.

“Mhm, there you go, darling.”

Leave it to Jake’s voice to single-handedly threaten your body with another orgasm. His voice was far too powerful. “Give it all to me. Atta girl.”

“J-Jake,” Your voice pleaded for his attention. “I wanna taste you. Let me have it, please?”

He already knew what you wanted.

Jake slowed his thrust to a stop, but didn’t pull out just yet. “Yeah?”

“Please.” You pleaded again, because It was all you wanted.

Jake pulled out of you without another word and stepped back from you to let you get down on your knees in front of him.

Albeit, they were watery - you looked up at him with the sweetest doe eyes. He always was a sucker for your eyes and you loved to take advantage of that.

“God damn.” Jake groaned, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip. His other hand steadily stroking over his cock.

Your mouth opened slowly for him, sucking his thumb momentarily when it slipped in briefly.

“Go ahead, darling.” Jake let you replace his hand, eyes fluttering closed as your mouth closed around the rest.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

His hands tangled into your hair, twitching in your mouth as his orgasm started to build back up.

“So good, angel. So fucking good.” Jake moaned, involuntarily thrusting himself a little further into your mouth. “Gonna cum in that pretty little mouth. You still w-want me to?”

You hummed around him, the vibrations earning another twitch and an animalistic groan that sounded as though it ripped its way out from the deepest part of Jake.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” Jake demanded, watching you with parted lips, brows knitted together. “Don’t fucking stop. I’m gonna… I’m-“

With a final mouthwatering twitch, he released into your mouth.

The string of profanities that flew out of him were likely loud enough for your neighbors to hear, but neither of you could be truly bothered to care.

You slowly slid your mouth from around him as to not overstimulate him, swallowing down everything he’d given you.

“Jesus christ.” Jake huffed out a long and shaky breath, cradling your cheek in his hand. “You’re gonna kill me one day, I just know it.”

“Mm, no.” You barely even pondered on it, giggly softly. “But you might starve to death if you don’t let me cook your damn breakfast.”

“Oh, I’ll never starve.” Jake smirked down at you, offering his hand to you and pulling you up from the cold floor. “You’re the only meal I need.”

“Oh, whatever.” He wasn’t necessarily lying and you knew it.

“I am hungry now, though.” Jake admitted and laughed lightly, pulling you into his body. “You know…” He gazed down at you with those brown eyes that always made you melt.

“You should have let me cum inside you. I would have loved to watch you try to cook while I’m dripping down your pretty legs…”

@belovedsamuel @gardensgatedaisy @shutupdevvie @ageofbarbarians @theweightofjake @jake-kiszkas-smirk @positivegvfthings @gretasmokerising @samkooszka @jordierama @doodle417 @asparrowofthedawn @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @greta-van-chaos @skankforjakekiszka @sarakay-gvf @teddiie @colorstreammind @ofburningskies @of-infinite-wonders @highladyofasgard @groovyvanfleet @why-ami-on-here @lunaindigoraven @gvfpal

705 notes · View notes

dimepdf · 2 years

Text

★ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃. + 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. holiday season is near, whats Christmas without a little drama to stir and a new boo for the mistletoe?

─── ☆ notes. i realized that i missed 3 uploads because none of them queued i'm SICK this tumblr update is tearing me apart and y'all didn't even tell me .

─── ☆ length. 1.6K (16 mins) .

─── ☆ genre and warnings. holiday season drama, christmas theme, established relationship, angsty, age gap, asshole boyfriend Gojo, eat the rich, cheating, daddy's money!, sorry gojo girlies, not beta'd put me on the naughty list | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

You were convinced that along with old age came a sour attitude towards the holidays. Sure, Gojo was twice your age and around the same age as your own father, considering the fact that Gojo was the top-paid employee in your father's company.

When you first started to get comfortable with the fact that you were in a committed relationship with the man, you only wanted him to be your designated booty call.

just someone that you needed to warm up your bed whenever you got a little bored.

He'd slipped through the cracks of your commitment issues, crawling through the shit that you'd put him through just to finally tie you down and agree to the title of his girlfriend.

But the moment that you two started to spend more time together, it was obvious that you two were two different people going through completely different paths in life.

It was a struggle trying to include each other in the daily routines that the both of you had already settled into, one that would always be the strain that ignited the flame for the main topic for the arguments that you two had.

As the month crept to an end and it was your first holiday that you two were spending together, you were starting to notice how much of an absolute grinch your grown-ass boyfriend was.

"I don’t understand why I have to dress like we’re going to a fucking gala." Gojo complained for the fourth time, fidgeting with his dark green tie around his neck. The beep of his Mercedes was heard as he locked it.

You hadn't understood why he was complaining so much. The ivy green of his velvet suit not only fitted against his pale complexion, but it matched perfectly with the dark shade of wine red you wore to fit the Christmas theme.

"Stop being such a brat, I never knew you'd passed up the free opportunity to pass on unnecessarily expensive wine and old people talking about their slot shares and other boring shit." You hissed out into the cold air, hugging your jacket closer to your chest for warmth.

The night was young, the sky a darker purple as the moon rose just above in the sky, and down from the clouds fell small specs of white crystals laying against the ground, leaving a small blanket of white on the streets and anything else that it could mark.

You would have thought it was a scene from a movie if it hadn't been for the hot-headed being erasing all recollections of Christmas joy you had left in your soul.

"Last I checked, that boring shit is the reason you could even afford to wear that godawful set." Your outfit wasn’t awful: nothing about the dazzling diamond necklace that decorated your collarbone or the white crystals that hung from your ears was anything close to being considered ugly.

"I swear it's like you don't even try to look even close to modest." It just wasn't the dress that Gojo had laid out for you to wear.

Another reason that you two were arguing would be his completely unbearable, controlling personality, wanting to dress you up and down as if you were his personal Barbie doll.

"Last I checked, my father pays your bills, honey," you scoffed, ignoring his invitation to hold his arm and stomping forward to the door.

As with the doorman who greeted you by name, your annoyance morphed into a split second of kindness. Not missing the sly smile placed on his lips as he checked you out.

He wasn't bad looking—a tall man with a wide stature and a dark gaze—and if you hadn't had the throne by your side—aka Gojo—you might have given him another look.

It seemed like Gojo didn't miss that look of reconsideration in your eye, ignoring the man's greeting and barreling through the door with a scuff.

"So now you're going to throw a tantrum tonight, how fucking mature of you," he scoffed, grabbing you by the elbow and bringing you to a halt.

You stumbled a bit from the force but were used to Gojo's strength enough to stabilize yourself in your heels.

You didn't bother making the confrontation look anything but aggressive, you hoped that someone would get the completely wrong idea just by looking at you glaring up at him.

Fortunately for Gojo, your father seemed to appear out of thin air, as he looked as graceful and rich as ever.

A man out of a bougie magazine always seemed too dressed to impress.

You were convinced he did it just to remind the other people around him that they could never dream to even make as much money as he would spend in a day.

"Ah, there you are, sweetheart. I was waiting to see when you and Gojo would arrive."

Your father was a stony man, practically always in business mode, ready to give just about anyone that would lend him an ear a nice long ramble about how important it is to stay ahead in life, to never let your self-worth droop, and to especially never let anyone walk all over you, which you found pretty ironic given the type of guy you were dating.

Gojo's expression had changed completely, plastering on that annoying chirper smile as if he wasn't already red in the face and ready to blow up at you.

You two should have gotten Grammy awards for how quickly you could change from the appearance of completely hating each other to looking like the world's star couple as you yanked your elbow from his grasp instead of tucking your arm into his.

"Hope you found the place quite already. If I knew it was bound to snow this much, I would have moved the date back a bit." You detested small talk, even despised it.

No matter the person or situation, you could hide the way your smile twitched, your eyes already scanning for an escape. The last thing you wanted to do at a party was talk about the fucking weather.

"Yeah, it was a pretty long drive with the traffic and all, I’m gonna go find the restrooms to freshen up a bit." The excuse was enough for your father to allow you to part ways, slipping away from the conversation with a small hug before your heels directed you straight to the open bar.

Drinking was a pretty good distraction, especially when you were passed a new glass at the wave of a hand. You had almost felt shame at the side glances the bartender would give you with every shot.

"Boy trouble?" Anyone but the doorman with the alluring eyes and Chester smile was expected to be sitting next to you.

Your eyes instantly flickered to the scar that traced just over his lips. He seemed to get a lot of attention from the scar, his tongue swiping over the front of his smile to his cheek once he had noticed your eyes on his mouth.

You weren't sloppy drunk; if anything, you were a bit tipsy, as your party phase definitely raised your alcohol tolerance. "Sorry, what?" you stuttered a bit over your syllables, lashes fluttering as you genuinely tried to recognize the question he asked.

Toji didn't seem phased at all, only biting back a chuckle as he leaned against the bar counter, rotating his entire position on the stool to face you completely.

An extremely attractive gesture of interest that you had checked off on the list of things that he’s done that you found completely hot.

Another thing was the way his head nodded in the direction of Gojo, yet his eyes still stayed on you as if a split second of looking away would miss some little detail about you. "What do you think they're talking about?"

The question had brought a smile to your face, and you were giggling into your drink as you tipped back the glass. "I bet stocks and boring shit." Your thoughts returned to the earlier argument. "A bunch of stuck-up assholes parading around my dad just for a raise." You sighed.

"I don't blame them, shit might go over there myself if it meant a few months off rent." You felt his hand rest against your thigh, his palm warm to the touch despite standing outside in the snow.

You wondered how he had managed to radiate so much heat from his body, almost like a personal heater, resisting the urge to lean into his chest and nuzzle your face into his chest.

With a glance, you noticed how black seemed to be his color—dark slacks and a button-up shirt that hugged his muscles just the right amount.

Not enough to tear around the seams, but enough to show that he had definitely bought in a bigger size but had gotten shrunken as he got bigger, or maybe he just didn't know how to wash his clothes.

Either way, you weren't complaining much as he seemed to soak up all the attention you gave him. "You're pretty handsy for a guy I just met."

"And you're just pretty." He had seemed to be leaning in more and more, wanting to get as close to you as he possibly could.

Wanting to know how far he could push you before you would pull away, and maybe it was the alcohol talking or the fact that your asshole boyfriend was just a few feet away, glaring at you from across the room, but something inside of you just seemed to erupt.

“Wanna get out of here?”

tap here to be added to taglist.

#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ]#toji x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk toji #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro x reader

411 notes · View notes

candycandy00 · 2 years

Text

Trending Topics - A Dabi x Reader Fanfic

I intended to post this on Saturday in honor of Dabi's Dance being animated but I finished it earlier than expected and I have no patience so I'm unleashing it to the world now, a few hours early lol. I hope everyone enjoys!

Smut. 18+. Rough sex. Creampie. Probably some other stuff I'm forgetting. Oh yeah, spoilers for Dabi's Dance!

Dabi leans back on the couch and holds his phone up to his face. “Let’s see what everyone has to say about my old man now,” he mutters, opening various social media apps to see what the general public’s reaction to his shocking video was. He could already imagine the outrage over the abuse allegations, the anger over the number one hero raising a violent murderer. He could also imagine the fanboys who would defend Endeavor no matter what, who would go to online war with the detractors who were horrified by Dabi’s video. All of it would be amusing to read through. Dabi will enjoy the online chaos. So he grins wickedly as he opens Twitter.

The names Dabi, Endeavor, and Todoroki Touya are already trending. Naturally. But then Dabi notices a few other “trending topics” that catch his eye. “#Dabisofine”, “#Touyasohot”, and “#SteponmeDabi” are all trending. Surprised and curious, Dabi begins clicking through some of the posts. After a few minutes, he sits up from the couch and stares at the screen incredulously. The tweets flashing by his eyes are definitely not what he expected the result of his video to be.

“OMG Dabi is so fucking hot! How have I never seen this guy before?”

“Okay Touya is definitely the sexiest Todoroki. Just look at him!”

“All I can say is, Dabi can light a fire in my panties any day!”

“Y’all… the things I would let Todoroki Touya do to me…”

“I want Dabi to rail me until I can’t walk.”

Dabi isn’t sure what to think about this. On one hand, he’s a little mad that his big dramatic reveal has been overtaken by posts like this. There’s even a long thread of posts and replies arguing over whether or not his dick has staples in it (it does, and the urge to tell them so wells up within him for a brief moment before dying away). But on the other hand, he feels… flattered? He’s never once thought of himself as sexy or even remotely good looking. All that scarring, all those burns… he felt like Frankenstein’s monster.

Years ago, he’d pretty much resigned himself to never having a lover. Who would want to even touch someone who looked like him? But it didn’t bother him all that much. After all, he was so focused on his revenge, he didn’t really have time for romance anyway. He’d shoved any thoughts of sex or love far away into the back of his mind. Of course he has hormones. He’s human, after all. Occasionally he even has urges, but he takes care of those himself.

Now though, reading through these tweets, those urges he’d shoved down are resurfacing. Out of curiosity, he clicks on the profile of the person who made that last tweet about wanting him to “rail” them. There are pictures of a very pretty young woman who looks to be in her early twenties. He also finds more posts about him.

“God, Dabi is so fine. Those scars really do it for me.”

“I wish I could feel that skin. All over me. I don’t care if he’s a villain.”

“Endeavor is a fucking monster. How could anyone treat such a beautiful person so badly?!”

Then more pictures of the woman. One of them in particular catches Dabi’s attention. It looks like she’s standing on the balcony of an apartment. In the background, he can see a restaurant sign straight across from her that he recognizes. Also in the background are several plants in colorful pots, sitting around her balcony.

Dabi rereads her tweets, then comes to a decision. He grins as he heads out the door.

*****

You hum to yourself as you water your potted plants on your balcony, then check your phone. There are tons of notifications from Twitter. Your posts about Dabi, Todoroki Touya, are getting a lot of likes. They’re also getting the attention of some seriously pathetic Endeavor fans who are trying, and failing, to justify the hero’s behavior. Some of them are just outright saying it’s all a lie, that Dabi’s video is just a phony hit piece. You can’t believe how naive they are, or maybe they’re just willfully ignorant. Either way, you’re already running through arguments and points in your mind that you can shoot back with as you step back into your apartment, leaving the glass door to your balcony open.

You step over to the sink and pour yourself a glass of water, still scrolling through replies with one hand, completely absorbed in your phone. A sudden sound, like a heavy thud, comes from your balcony as you’re walking back toward the door, about halfway through your small living room.

You look up from your phone and see Dabi himself standing just inside the door. He gives you a grin and says, “What was it you want me to do again? Rail you until you can’t walk?”

The glass of water slips from your hand and crashes on the floor. You don’t even look down at it. Your eyes are glued to this extremely sexy villain standing in your living room. One who has apparently read all the pervy tweets you made about him. Your mouth falls open, but you have no idea what to say.

He takes one step closer. “Or did you want to feel my skin all over you? Well, here I am.”

“Oh my God,” you finally manage to say, still staring at him. “Is this really happening?”

He tilts his head to the side, his hair falling over one bright blue eye. “That’s up to you.”

You slowly step closer to him, as if he’ll disappear if you approach too quickly. He’s gorgeous, but he’s still a villain. You don’t want to upset him. But damn, you really want to touch him. Maybe just ask for permission?

“Can I… touch you?” you ask.

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says, his grin showing his teeth.

You take one more step, effectively closing the distance between you and him. You reach out one hand and gently touch the side of his face, feeling the spaces where the scarring and healthy skin meet, your fingers grazing over the staples and piercings. You watch his expression, but it remains unchanged. Clearly, he’s not bothered by this.

“You’re so beautiful,” you say in a quiet voice, the words slipping out before you think them through.

Something shifts in his eyes. For a split second, the playful deviance vanishes and something else, something heartbreaking, takes its place. But then he grins again and says, “Look who’s talking.”

Does that mean he thinks you’re beautiful too? You feel a blush creep into your face. “Are you really here to rail me?” you ask.

“Do you really want me to?” he shoots back.

When you answer, your voice is more breathless than you expected. “More than anything.”

He reaches behind him and pulls the door shut, then follows you to your bedroom. As soon as you enter the room, you begin pulling your clothes off. Dabi watches you, not yet taking any of his clothing off. You feel like you’re doing a strip tease, with his eyes following your every move. It’s making heat spread through your body.

When you’re completely naked, you approach him and tug at his jacket. He lets you slide it off his shoulders and drop it on the floor, then he pulls his shirt over his head. You’ve seen him shirtless in the video, but nothing compares to seeing that lovely two-tone skin in person. Dabi’s eyes shift to the floor for a moment. Is he self-conscious about the scars? It seems ludicrous to you, especially since he was willing to show them off to the world in the video. But maybe showing them to someone in person is different.

You can’t help yourself, you have to touch him. You press both hands to his chest and slide them down, gingerly feeling the staples and the different textures of his skin. “It’s amazing,” you whisper.

His eyes shift back to you, and there’s an unreadable expression on his face. Not exactly embarrassed. Not exactly proud. It’s something like surprise, like no one has ever touched him before. “You have a scar fetish or something?” he asks, the playful tone seeming like a mask for whatever he’s actually feeling.

“I don’t know if I’d call it a fetish. I do like scars though. They’re unique to the person who carries them. They tell a story.”

He’s looking into your eyes now as your hands slide down to unbutton his pants. “And what story do mine tell?”

You meet his gaze and say, “One that’s very painful, I can imagine. I’d love to know the whole story someday. For now, I just think they’re mesmerizing to look at, and they feel incredible to the touch.” By this point you’ve pushed his pants down to his ankles, and he steps out of them. He’s not wearing underwear, and you can see all the glorious lines of scarring and staples across his thighs and hips. His cock is unscarred, but there are a few staples in it. You wonder about their purpose, but don’t ask.

Your hands run down his body, over his abdomen, moving around him to brush over his well-toned ass, and then you take his cock into one of your hands and lightly stroke it. It’s been growing harder by the moment, and the motion of your hand is speeding that process up.

Dabi sucks in air through his teeth, his eyes closing and opening slowly like a cat’s. Once he’s fully erect, he reaches down and pulls your hand away. “You’ve been looking me over this whole time. I think I should get a turn.”

With that, he suddenly picks you up and carries you to the bed. The feel of his bare skin on yours sends shivers through your body, and you miss the feel of it when he sits you down on the mattress. You scoot back to give him room, and he gently pushes your legs apart. He hovers over you, his eyes moving all over you, his hands finally reaching out to grope your breasts. His hands are firm and warm as they knead the plump mounds, then he scoots back slightly and leans forward, so that his head is positioned close to your groin.

Dabi uses his fingers to spread open your flesh and look at what’s inside. Then he leans even closer and runs his tongue along the inner folds, tasting your arousal. When his tongue hits your clit, you arch your back and moan. Dabi looks up at you with that unreadable expression again, like he’s just now understanding how much you really want him.

Then he grins again, because he’s discovered your weak spot. His tongue traces circles around your clit, making you squirm beneath him, wanting him to hit the bullseye again. He finally has mercy on you and closes his lips around the sensitive nub, sucking on it before running his tongue over it again. He even lightly grazes it with his teeth.

You cry out in pleasure, running one hand through his soft white hair and using the other to grip the sheets beside you. What name should you call out? Dabi? Touya? You’re not sure, so you so you stick to moans and wordless cries as he absolutely devours you. When you cum, it’s like a tsunami has hit your body, rocking it with wave after wave of rippling pleasure. Your whole body tenses up, your toes curl, and your hand in his hair tightens.

After a few seconds, your body relaxes, and Dabi pulls away, licking his lips. You feel weak, but you see the raging erection between his legs and know you can’t rest yet. He still hasn’t done what he came here to do. You reach for him, placing your hands on his scarred shoulders and pulling him toward you. You want, no need, him inside you. It’s an ache you felt the moment his video started. When you saw that body, those glowing blue eyes, that expression of carefully contained rage and pain… you wanted him like nothing before.

He lingers on top of you, not doing anything, just watching your face. Why is he hesitating? You try to pull him closer, but he’s not budging.

“Please,” you whimper, spreading your legs further apart, giving him the easiest access you can, “do it!”

Desire and lust seem to flame in his eyes. He wants to, you know it. But he waits. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do,” he says, his voice husky and low. Oh, now you see. He wants you to beg for it. Well, you can certainly do that.

You raise your hips from the bed and rub you drenched pussy across the underside of his cock. “Please, I want you inside me! Please fuck me!”

That seemed to do the trick. He smiles as he positions himself just right, then shoves his cock all the way in. He’s so much bigger than you expected, filling you up completely. As he pulls out a few inches, the staples scrape your insides in such a delicious way, you can’t help moaning again. He begins a rhythm of thrusting in and out, slowly at first and then picking up speed. You look up at him, and he’s thrown his head back, his eyes closed, his hands gripping your thighs.

He’s definitely railing you now, but it’s not enough. You might be able to walk tomorrow. In a panting voice, you cry out, “Harder!”

He opens his eyes and looks at your face, sees the lusty desperation there, and suddenly thrusts in so hard that you imagine his cock has entered your womb. His hands move to your waist, where he holds you steady as he pounds you into the mattress, every thrust feeling like it might just break your bones.

You love it. This is what you wanted. This man, this gorgeous, pained, scarred, unique person, being so deep inside you. One of his hands moves to your breast, where he roughly squeezes it. You’re going to be covered in bruises when this is over, but you’ll look at each one with joy.

Your hands are above your head, holding onto the brass headboard for dear life. Dabi moves his hand from your breast down to your clit, where he rubs it, hard enough to make you wince. You were already so sensitive from the earlier action, you cum again on the spot, your body convulsing with your orgasm.

Dabi doesn’t let up, continuing to fuck you as hard as he can as you tremble under him, tears falling from your eyes. You let go of the headboard and lift your weak, shaky arms to wrap them around his neck. To your surprise, he moves his hand from your sore clit and uses it to hold your head up, closer to him, his fingers intertwining with your hair in a gentle fashion. It’s an intimate gesture you didn’t expect from him, even as he rails you as promised. Finally, he cums inside you, filling you with hot sticky fluid, his grip on your waist tightening but the hand in your hair remaining soft. When he’s done, he pulls out and falls onto the bed beside you. You want to cuddle up to him, but you’re not sure how he would react to that. You just met. It’s not like you’re in a relationship.

After a few minutes, your naked body has cooled slightly, so you pull a sheet over the both of you. You reach over to the nightstand to get your phone and ask, “Would you mind if I take a picture of us?”

He looks over at you and says, “What, as a souvenir?”

You blush a little as you answer. “Yeah.”

He scoots closer to you and says, “Sure.”

You hold the phone up, pointing the camera at your faces. It’s obvious the two of you are topless, but you make sure the bottom of the image cuts off just before your tits are shown. You snap the picture and smile as you look at it. “Thanks,” you say.

Dabi gets out of bed and begins putting his clothes back on. “Are you gonna post it?”

You look up at him. “Hmm?”

“The picture. Are you gonna post it on Twitter?”

“Do you mind if I do?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me.”

You smile and open Twitter, add some comments and hashtags, and post the photo. Dabi pulls on his boots and says, “I better go. If I found your place from looking at your pictures, I’m sure the heroes can too.”

You suddenly regret posting it. “Wait, does that mean you can’t come back here?”

He looks at you with that unreadable expression again. “Do you want me to come back?”

“Of course I do!”

There’s a small notebook and a pen lying on your nightstand. Dabi picks them up and writes something down. “Here’s my number. Call me and we can meet up somewhere.”

You feel an incredible sense of relief. You can still see him. You can call him, maybe even get to know him for real. You take the notebook in your hands and cradle it, as if it’s a treasure. “Thanks,” you say.

Dabi shrugs again, rubbing the back of his head casually. “No problem,” he says back, seeming just a little awkward about it. “See you around then.”

He leaves through the balcony door, and you start humming happily to yourself again as you head for the shower.

*****

Once Dabi gets back to the hideout, he pulls out his phone and checks Twitter. There’s a new post by his new favorite user. There’s the picture of the two of you. Beneath it is a caption, as well as some hashtags. As he reads it, a grin spreads across his face, and then he breaks out into laughter.

“Got railed by the hottest Todoroki! Best day ever! #Dabisofine #Yesithasstaples #Villainsdoitbetter #EatshitEndeavor”

#Dabi x Reader #Dabi x You #Dabi Smut #Dabi #Touya Todoroki #Todoroki Touya #Dabi Fanfiction

766 notes · View notes

imagine-a-life-like-this · 2 years

Text

Step 6 : Focus On Yourself (Y.JI)

Word Count : 4.6k

Warnings : swearing, suggestive, body worship, hand kink (I have a problem okay?), sex (no smut), alcoholism, clubbing, fwb, heartbreak, failing grades, period mention, bullies, eating disorder mention, mention of beating people up, food mention, hospital, this one has a lot of angst, like this one hurts, i cried writing it, a lot of tears were shed, happy ending though

A/N : This one is slightly different than the others, and deals with a triggering topic (alcoholism). It is a minor plot point and I only wrote it with my personal experience with alcoholism but I know everyone's is different. It is not violent alcoholism, it is emotional alcoholism. As in drinking to forget, drinking to feel happy. If that is triggering for you, please do not read this story. Thank you.

She peered over to the guy sleeping next to her, double checking that he was in fact asleep, before sneaking out of his bed, redressing herself as quickly and quietly as possible, and leaving his place. The entire walk back to her place she wonders why she seems to fall back into his bed every single time. A simple plea, a pout, a pet name falling from his lips, and she’s putty in his hands.

God his hands. The sinful things his hands have done to her, the sinful things she thinks of them doing to her all the time. His long, slender fingers ghosting over her body, leaving goosebumps in their path, before delving between her thighs, causing sinful sounds to fall from her lips, sounds he covers with his own mouth, kissing her quiet.

Last night he had only invited her over for a movie, that’s what they both agreed on. It wasn’t even halfway through when his hand gripped her thigh, inching higher and higher. She tried to clench her thighs, stop his hands from feeling how badly she wanted him. But there was no use. He knew. Let me make you feel good, baby girl. Growled softly in her ear, and she was a goner.

She’s not even sure when this happened. When the line was crossed. When they stopped being just best friends and became something a little more but a little less than lovers. And she wonders when she began to hope for the final line to be crossed. When they’ll get out of this limbo and she can call him hers.

He keeps promising her soon. But soon has come and gone many times over. She tries to leave the limbo, go back to being friends, but he pouts at her, whispers to her that he loves her so much, and she’s back in his arms, under his spell. You’ll be mine soon, I promise puppy. And he kisses her so sweet, smiles at her so lovingly. And she believes him.

She just wants to wake up in his arms, traces the features of his face as the sun breaks through the blinds, watch as his eyes flutter open. Wants him to kiss the tips of her fingers as she traces over his lips, grab her hand, press a kiss to her palm, pull her close, and press a final kiss to her lips. She just want him to love her the way she loves him. Wants him to love her the way he promises he does.

And if he can’t love her, she wants him to let her go.

“He doesn’t love you.”

“Damn Keeho. Tell her how you really feel.” Theo chuckled, punching Keeho in the arm before turning back to Y/n. “Don’t listen to Keeho.”

“Hey!”

“Shut up. As I was saying. We’re all young and confused and trying to figure things out. Maybe he really does love you and is just trying to figure that out.”

“Okay cool great. Can he stop pulling me along and making promises he doesn’t mean? I never wanted my feelings to complicate our friendship or become a burden on him. He can reject me and I can move on, it’s not that deep. I’m just done with the hot and cold.”

“Fuck someone else.” Keeho said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as he continued to eat his lunch. Theo and Y/n stared at him like he had two heads, but Keeho didn’t seem to notice.

But it got her thinking. Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe she could distance herself, focus on herself and her needs instead of his. She didn’t have to pick up the phone every time he called, didn’t have to open the door every time he knocked. She didn’t have to give into him every time his hands started feeling her up, going under her clothes, ran over her bare skin.

But fuck did she want to.

What would he do if she didn’t sneak out during the night? What would he do if he woke up to her face? If she gave into her needs, cuddled deeper into his arms, and allowed herself to fall more in love with him, would he be there to catch her, or would he watch her hit the ground and walk away laughing?

She really meant to let the phone ring. She stared at his name, his contact picture staring right back at her, a mirror selfie he took on her phone, his hands practically covering her entire phone. And she thought of the things his hands can do to her. The sounds they make her make. The moans, the screams. And her legs were clenched as she reached over to answer before it could go to voicemail. “I miss my baby.” It’s like she could hear his pout. Her heart melted, and she gave in quicker than she’d like to admit. Knocking at his door in five minutes, kissing him the second he opened it.

Keeho told her to fuck someone else, but Jeongin was the only one she wanted. He was the only one who knew what she liked. She would let him break her heart a million times if she could have him like this. Hovering over her, looking at her like she was a goddess, kissing every inch of her skin. “Beautiful.” He whispered.

Something felt different this time. It was slower, like they had all the time in the world. He took his time, looked in her eyes with every compliment, letting her know he meant every word. He worshipped her. He loved her.

“I’m letting you go.” He told her as they laid beside each other as they came down from their highs. “Find someone that can love you the way you deserve.” He had just spent the last hour staring at her, but now he refuses to look at her. “I hope one day you’ll forgive me and we can be friends again.”

She swallowed her sobs down. Blinked back her tears. “You’ll always be my best friend, Innie.” And one last time she got dressed and left his place. Cried all the way home. Sobbed until her throat ached. Drowned in her own tears. But she would do it all over again just to have him look at her like he did one last time.

He had worshipped her. Loved her. Just to say goodbye.

Their friendship went from meeting on the playground, to birthday parties, to graduation, to university, to frat parties, to sex, to awkward waves when they pass each other. It’s like they were going backwards. Like they were re-meeting each other. Like they were strangers that knew a little too much about each other.

All their favourite movies, foods, memories. Things they like to do on rainy days. He could write a novel about her and she could write one about him. But they were acting as if they barely knew each other.

Jeongin didn’t want to let her go. But he knew it was time. He loved her. God did he ever love her. He loved her so much he couldn’t control himself around her. Always wants to kiss her, feel her, touch her, love her. But he couldn’t be with her.

Jeongin was on the verge of failing out of the university. And he knows she would never judge him for that. She would support him no matter what, help him get into a new university, help him get a job, whatever it took. She was good for that, she always was. But he had a dream. A dream for the two of them. And that dream needed a degree.

He thought if he had her close enough but not all of her, he wouldn’t be distracted, but he still couldn’t get enough. Needed to have her all the time. She was all he could think about. During all his exams, it was only her. All the lectures, her. His notes were filled with doodles of her. His entire life revolved around her. Everything was about her.

And he wanted to ask her to wait. Beg her, plead for her to just wait for graduation and he would give her everything she could want. A house. A ring. All the love she gave him all these years and more. But it was embarrassing. He didn’t want her to know. Didn’t want her to pity him. Didn’t want her to offer to help him because he didn’t want to have to admit she was the reason he couldn’t focus.

Was it love or obsession? Does it really matter anymore? She’s not his. He’ll always have the memories. Her body beneath him. Her lips around him. Her moaning his name. He just wishes he marked her up their final night. So he could see her walk around with the marks he gave her, looking so pretty with the purple showing through the concealer she’d use to try and cover them. God he loves her so much.

The first week was the hardest. Waiting for a text or a call, begging, pleading, for her to come over. She tossed and turned, scared of missing the sound of her ringtone signaling him calling. Her grades slipped during the first week, everything slipped. It was like she was losing control and she didn’t know how to get a hold of anything.

The only calm she felt was when Jeongin would smile and wave at her when he’d see her. It let her know that he still knew her, still remembered her. She wasn’t just some stranger to him. A stranger he whispered I love you to before falling asleep. A stranger he tossed aside after breaking every single promise he made in the same bed.

By the second week, she was able to put on a front that she was okay. Smiling when Keeho and Theo argued with each other. Stopping them when it got too far. Writing notes down in her classes as if she was actually retaining any of the information. Conversing with some classmates about projects that were due, projects she had completely forgotten about. No one knew she was breaking inside.

She still tossed and turned at night, waiting for a sign that he was still just a little bit hers. I’m letting you go. Find someone that can love you the way you deserve. His words echo in her head. Over and over like a sick taunt. And she cries herself to sleep for the twelfth night in a row.

By the third week she was practically a shell of a person. Barely able to continue on without Jeongin by her side. Keeho and Theo have tried to drag her out during the weekends, but she stays curled up on her couch, rewatching sad movies so she had another reason to cry besides mourning a relationship that never happened.

She wishes she would have listened to Keeho. Wishes she cut Jeongin off sooner. Stopped falling into his bed, stopped breaking her own heart just to keep his whole. But that’s what you do when you’re in love with someone, right?

Who cares how broken you are when the person you love is whole?

“This wallowing in self pity shit needs to stop. Go take a shower and put on something sexy. You’re coming out with us tonight. No ifs, ands, or buts.” Keeho stole the remote from her hand, shutting the movie off before she could even protest or ask how he got into her apartment. He ripped the blanket off her lap, pulled her off the couch, and pushed her towards the bathroom.

As she took her time in the shower, hoping her two friends would get tired of waiting and leave without her, Theo and Keeho decided to tidy up her apartment. Folding the blanket and putting it back where it belonged. Washing the dishes and putting them away. Keeho even went the extra mile and went around her small apartment, grabbing the things he knows Jeongin gave her, and hid them away where she couldn’t see them. Out of sight, out of mind.

As much as she didn’t want to leave the comfort of her apartment, she did have to admit that the alcohol in her system did feel nice. The heartbreak started to lessen. Almost as if it didn’t exist in the first place. The more she drank, the better she felt, and she wondered why she didn’t think of it sooner. Alcohol was the key to fixing her broken heart.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” The guy standing in front of her was tall and devilishly handsome. The kind of guy that draws you in before you knew what was happening. Dark hair, dark eyes, a sinister smile. He was bad news, but that’s what was so attractive about him.

“She’s not alone.” Her heart stopped at the familiar voice. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes. And when the stranger walked away, she pushed him away, not even bothering to spare him a glance. She hoped he’d follow her. Grab her wrist, fight for her to stay. Tell her he fucked up, that he was in love with her. But he let her walk away. Not even a call of her name.

She walked right into Keeho’s open arms, begging him to take her home. She just wanted to curl into her bed and disappear. Keeho looked forward, seeing Jeongin watching her from where he was standing, a sad look in his eyes. He knew Y/n wasn’t the only one hurting, but she was the only one he cared about. Jeongin made his choice, he has to live with it.

It was the fourth week that things seemed to turn around. She was smiling again. Laughing at the jokes her friends made. Turned in all the projects she forgot about. It was like she was back to the Y/n everyone knew and loved. But there was one difference.

She reeked of alcohol.

Every single time she finds herself thinking of Jeongin and her heart starts hurting, she takes a drink. It helps numb the pain, helps her feel happy again. That’s what everyone wanted. It’s what everyone kept begging for. They wanted happy Y/n back. Wanted to see her smile and laugh again. She was just giving them what they asked for.

No one said anything. It was a phase, they all said. It would pass. Just like heartbreak passes, this too will pass.

But it didn’t. It got worse. Graduation was just around the corner, and she was still drinking everyday. She was still crying herself to sleep, staring at her phone, waiting for him to call her. Why won’t he just call her once? Can’t he see that she’s a mess without him?

Find someone that can love you the way you deserve. She doesn’t want someone else. She had years to find someone else. But it always came back to Jeongin. Came back to his empty promises that he broke. But she didn’t care. Because it was Jeongin.

Yang Jeongin who was there when she first got her period and she leaked through her pants. He gave her his sweater to wrap around her waist and called his mom for help immediately, holding her in his arms, soothing her sobs.

Yang Jeongin who was there when she got a failing grade and helped her study for the next test. He didn’t scold her, tease her, or even shove his passing grade in her face. He spent extra time studying with her after sitting with her, holding her hand, as her parents yelled at her.

Yang Jeongin who beat up all her bullies when they were kids, despite it getting him in trouble every single time. He told her he would do it again and again if it meant she would smile again, because her smile was the most precious thing in the world.

Yang Jeongin who refused to let her starve herself throughout their entire friendship, telling her those diet fads were ridiculous. She looks perfect the way she was, no matter her weight. He would always find her more beautiful than any model.

Yang Jeongin who introduced her to his new friends with the biggest smile on his face, an arm wrapped around her, telling them she was the most important person in his life. She was his other half, she completed him.

Why would she want anyone else when Jeongin already loves her more than she deserves? She doesn’t care that things got lost in translation, some boundaries were crossed before they were ready. She would wait for him. Right here, in the darkness, their memories surrounding her. She would wait no matter how long it took.

There was a blinding light in her face the next time she opened her eyes, mumbled voices just out of earshot so she couldn’t hear what they were saying. But her eyes were fixated on one thing, one person sat right next to her, hand in hers, head on the bed, eyes closed, breathing slow as he slept. She could see the remnants of the tears he cried, the puffiness around his eyes, the pout still on his face. But all she could think about was how he came back for her.

It didn’t click until the doctor walked in that she was in the hospital, brought here by ambulance after she hadn’t answered any of Keeho’s calls. “Your friend put up quite the fight.” The doctor chuckled. “Good thing too. If not for him, you would have died.”

Death is such a weird concept. It used to scare her when she was younger. She was so careful about everything. Never living life on the edge, taking every precaution necessary. But hearing that she was minutes away from death made her feel nothing. No fear, no sadness. The only thing she could feel was Jeongin’s grip tightening around her hand at the mention of her dying. He didn’t meet her eyes, kept his gaze locked on their hands, clearly trying not to cry again.

“Once this bag of fluids is empty, you’ll be free to go home.” The doctor gave her one last smile before leaving the room, leaving her alone with Jeongin. It was silent. It was so unlike them. She was used to one of them filling up the silence with a random story, or him kissing her because he missed her so much. But so many things have changed since they’ve last been alone. They aren’t the same people they were all those months ago.

“What happened?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Secretly, he knew the answer. He received quite the earful from both Keeho and Theo when he insisted to be the one to sit with her until she woke up. How he ruined their friend, turned her into a shell of a person who could barely function without alcohol.

“I just wanted to be happy again.”

“You scared the shit out of me, you know.” Of course she didn’t know. How could she know how he was feeling when he avoided her as best he could. Heard all the rumors of the girl crumbling in front of everyone’s eyes. He wanted to run to her, hold her in his arms, run his fingers through her hair. But he thought she was just dealing with things her own way. Focusing on herself the way he was focusing on himself. Working on moving on the way he told her to.

But she still held the exact same amount of love in her eyes as the last day he held her. Still looked at him like he was the only thing she’ll ever want. “I missed you.” She whispered. Jeongin reached up, wiping away the tear that began to slip down her cheek.

Her skin was dry, and a little cold to the touch. His hand was warm against her cheek, and he continued to rub his thumb across her cheek, looking at her with a softness she’s never seen before. “I missed you more than you know, darling.” The pet name rolled off his tongue, and when it hit her ears, she smiled. Maybe he was still hers in the way she was still his.

“We’ll talk after graduation, I promise. Just focus on yourself right now. Stay sober for me though, please.” Jeongin helped her into her own bed, Theo and Keeho both watching with trained eyes from the doorway.

“You can’t stay for just tonight?” She wrapped her hand around his wrist, and he looked up at the two watching them as if they were her parents. Their arms were crossed across their chests, eyebrows raised as they waited for his answer. “I won’t bother you again until after graduation. Just one night.”

And just like always, he gave into her. He always would. Even if she asked for the world, he would find a way to get it for her. The love he has for her overwhelms him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because it’s her. And if it’s her, he’ll do anything.

They went back to only seeing each other in passing, nothing more than a smile and a wave. But it was different this time. Because now he would text her, check in on her. He should have done it this way from the start, but he didn’t think of it then. He thought letting her go completely was the only way.

But now he can watch as she checks her phone, giggle at whatever he sent her, and look towards him with the same beautiful smile as always. The light has returned to her eyes. She was still healing, still struggling from her bout with alcoholism, but Jeongin could see that she was doing better.

No matter what, whether she was diving off the deep end, hitting rock bottom, or flying sky high on cloud 9, she would always be his Y/n. He knows that for sure, looking at her as she walks off to her next class. He could tell it was a harder day for her, but she was still the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. He still only had eyes for her, even if there were millions of eyes on him.

Graduation grew nearer, and the only thing that kept her going was knowing that she would have her Innie back. She wasn’t sure in what capacity, whether she could kiss him and love him with her whole heart, or if they would be just friends. But she didn’t care as long as he was in her life.

Theo and Keeho have taken turns staying with her just to make sure she doesn’t turn to drinking again. And she’s grateful, because the longer she goes without drinking, the more the thought of drinking herself into oblivion again scares her.

She thinks back to waking up in the hospital room, the look on Jeongin’s face as he slept beside her. The way Theo and Keeho threw their arms around her in the waiting room once she had emerged from her room to go home. The tear filled conversations they’ve had since, talking about the what ifs and the what could have beens. And she doesn’t want to be her anymore.

It’s hard at first, especially during the lonely nights when her guest is already sleeping and she’s left staring at the ceiling wondering what Jeongin is doing. Is he alone? She stares at his open contact, debating texting him, but part of her doesn’t want to know the answer. What if he’s not alone? She would rather pretend that he’s thinking of her like she’s thinking of him and save herself the possible heartbreak.

But if she were ever brave enough to send the message, she would know that he was up looking through pictures of the two of them on his phone, reminiscing about the past. Writing down date ideas in his notes, places to take her when he has the chance.

She would know there’s no need to worry what he’s doing because everything leads back to her anyway. And as soon as graduation is over, he’s running to her, pulling her into his arms, and telling her just how much he loves her, how everything is for her, and then kissing her with everything he is. So she’ll never doubt his love for her again.

“She doesn’t actually think he’ll show up, does she?” A group of girls giggles as they walk out of the café. It was graduation day. She worked her ass off the last month to bring her grades back up so she could still graduate, and then as soon as she had her degree, she left for the café Jeongin agreed to meet her at.

He had approached her with a bouquet of flowers at graduation with a smile on his face, girls surrounding him hoping the flowers were for them, but his eyes were trained on Y/n. And he told her he’d meet her at their café after graduation was over. He promised, and though he was known to break his promises in the past, she decided to trust him one last time.

So she waited. Every time the bell dinged, she looked at who walked in, hoping it would be Jeongin, that he wouldn’t break yet another promise. But as the minutes passed, her heart was slowly breaking again. She was spiraling, hands shaking, eyes watering. Why does she let him break her heart over and over again?

One hour. It’s been one hour she’s sat here, scrolling through her phone, looking at the door, listening to the giggling girls make fun of her. She’s not sure why she’s still waiting, holding out hope that he would still show, but she didn’t move. Almost like she was glued to her seat, like something was holding her down, stopping her from leaving.

The time kept ticking, her drink was left untouched on the table, the messages she had with Jeongin were open on her phone. She was waiting for a text, a call, anything. He wasn’t going to show, she knew that, but he could at least text her, tell her why she wasn’t good enough for him. Tell her why he kept giving her false hope.

The flowers were taunting her on the table, and she almost looked up the meaning of each and every flower in the bouquet. But before she could, the door was slamming open, a man running in, rushing to her table completely out of breath. “You waited.”

It took a second for her to register that Jeongin was standing in front of her, still panting, smiling at her. But when she realized that he came, she smiled. “I’d wait forever for you.”

He reached for her hand, taking it in his, sliding a ring onto her finger, and then showing her the matching one on his finger. “I had to go pick these up, that’s why I took so long.” He laced their fingers together. “But I’ll never make you wait for me again.”

back to masterlist

@beabeanice @lilydaisyyy @notastraykid @frobin4ever @habeyhan @taetertotsv @mylifesupsidedowm @is2cb97 @ren-junwrld @wormi @ghostedgameplays @haikyuuisposts @chai-papa @aestheticsluut @sahazzy @hanjistarss @lethallyprotected @why-am-i-sad @neohyxn @alyssajavenss @hamburgers101 @strayluvr @armystay89

222 notes · View notes