Doll.
Tags: Harry bottom | Louis top | Harry boypussy | Louis rockstar | Harry femenine | Harry: he-him-she-her
Chapter: 1/1
Words: 1,052
Harry just went to accompany one of his friends to see a small band, he never thought he would end up against an alley wall while the band's lead singer is between his legs.
"Fuck me Louis, I'm not that delicate."
"No, you're just a doll who likes to have a cock in her pretty pussy, you want me to fuck you, I'm going to."
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This Rotten Work final playlist: Rachel/Daiyu!
As @evelynhug0 so kindly requested, I'm going to release each of the main character playlists (and one for the main ship, Rachel and Daiyu) once a week leading up to the release of the book!
With the book coming out next week, here is your final playlist, the big guns: the ship playlist for Rachel and Daiyu, our enemies-to-lovers lesbians draped in fire/lightning symbolism/magical powers, shared trauma, an absolutely brutal understanding of each other, and a shared love for drama. Both self-admittedly overdramatic with a love for Shakespeare, both know how to hit where it hurts and how to help each other cope- it'll just take a few duels, awful attempts at communication, and the world falling apart around them to get to that point.
Oh, and a few life-shattering secrets coming to light, but, well, y'all will have to read the book in order to hit that point, right?
Excerpt:
Daiyu and I are not that different, at the end of the day. We’ve had to do everything needed to conform to what Councilors and Headmasters and Administrators expected of us. We’ve had to kill, to maim, to torture. Neither of us really had a choice.
“Because you’re like me,” I murmur.
Daiyu's gaze snaps up to meet mine. She leans forward, her off-the-shoulder blouse falling slightly to expose more of her sculpted shoulder. “What was that?” she snaps, voice a smoky rasp that sends goosebumps up and down my arms.
“You’re like me,” I repeat, “You don’t like—"
And I’m cut off by Daiyu lurching a few inches forward and pressing her lips to mine.
I've kissed girls before, but not like this. Not girls who I've spent years hating—or, at least, rivaling. Not girls who I’ve cooked with and roasted and dueled in the hallways of the Academy and helped practice their theater lines. Not Lady Macbeths-in-training, not Headmaster’s daughters, not girls who take my breath away with their mere existence.
Sasquatch’s big toe, I’m kissing my sworn enemy.
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