#like like and then the fucking ''BLOOD''????!

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Mothers day Meltdown

[mysterious circle of robed figures] JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: I was just thinking about how transs people should be eliminated from ssociety Jonathan Chait: whoa whoa whoa! joanne! Chait: you can't say it like THAT Chait: so uncouth Chait: you have to say it with your pinky finger extended

Elon Musk: si! issa no good! Musk: issa too mucha trans genocide Musk: you shoulda only post the right amount offa da trans geocide Musk: lookita me, i lika da trans genocide Musk: but i also like many other genocides Rowling: oh MY GOD Rowling: my empire is crumbling!

Chait: we're not saying you can't still be transphobic Chait: you just have to, you know, cool it a bit Chait: be genteel about it Jesse Singal: mommy mommy i have concerns mommy! Chait: see? just like that

Chait: maybe put a little disclaimer Chait: "this transphobia is for entertainment purposes only" Rowling: do you not know who I am?? I'm JK Rowling! Rowling: JK FUCKING ROWLING!!! Rowling: I MADE YOUR CHILDHOOD MAGICAL!

Rowling: no one tellss me to cool it! Rowling: i own the courtss! Chait: joanne Rowling: and another thing!!! Rowling: SSTOP CALLING ME JOANNE!

[midnight society] JK Rowling: hello children Barker: oh look who it is Barker: what are you doing here joanne? Barker: did your terfs tell you to cool it again? Rowling: Rowling: why doess everyone call me joanne

Rowling: i'm extremely mad about thiss transs football referee Barker: what? Rowling: this transs football referee Barker: Barker: what?

Rowling: there's a transs football referee and i'm really mad about it! Rowling: what, haven't you heard? Barker: joanne, why are you here Rowling: and another thing! Rowling: sstop calling me joanne!!

Rowling: people are alwayss all "joanne this" and joanne that! Rowling: wah wah wah joanne joanne joanne! Barker: do you not like your name Barker: you could change it Poe: clive Poe: just let her tire herself out Barker: no no I've got something here

Rowling: people are alwayss "oh wah wah wah joanne, how can you ssay that! your bookss are all about tolerance and love wah wah wah!" Rowling: bitch i think i know what my booksss are about! Rowling: i fuckin wrote them after all!

Rowling: blah blah blah ohh joanne Rowling: i hate when people call me joanne!! Rowling: they should fear to say my true name! Barker: oh damn look at that Barker: looks like we're having a good ol' fashioned mothers day meltdown Poe: clive don't encourage this

King: but joanne! how can you say that? King: after all the lessons of harry potter? King: you made our childhoods magical!

Rowling: people are all "blah blah blah joanne how can you like naziss now when you ssaid they were bad in harry potter" Rowling: first of all, harry potter iss fiction! Rowling: secondly, the death eaters are actually a ssinister coalition of evil transs, sspooniess, fat people, free masonss, and diane duane Rowling: always have been! Rowling: thiss iss NOT a retcon!

Rowling: that sshould be obviouss if you've read the book Rowling: UNLESSS Rowling: you're a fake potterhead, ssteve King: no of course not! i love harry potter

Rowling: DO YOU Rowling: perhaps then Rowling: you would be willing to take a blood oath to the dark lord Rowling: to belong to the dark lord body and ssoul Rowling: who is always correct King: i uh don't think i'm going to take that oath, sorry Rowling: UGH! Rowling: this is just like Radcliffe all over again!

[hungharrington]

Thinking about Steve cumming quickly - like under 30 seconds of thrusting because he's just so in love with you he couldn't help it

He hides his face in your neck afterwards all embarrassed and you rub his back to bring him back down from the intensity of it all

To add to this - he also has certain triggers that make him cum immediately.

You say you love him, he cums. You scratch at his tummy/happy trail, he cums. You gently pull on his hair, he cums.

My apologies if these thoughts have already been given but it's all I've been thinking about this morning 😭😭

a most delicious ask i’ve been hoarding 🫶 i LOVE all these thoughts i’m sry i didn’t get to incorporate all of them !! is this hot? idk…. but it’s got sum love in it tehe MDNI this entire blog is 18+

Look, Steve Harrington doesn’t have his reputation for nothing, okay?

He’s a ladies man, through and through. He knows exactly what he’s doing with his hands, he loves getting his face in between a pair of thighs, and perhaps most importantly, he is not a minute man.

Steve Harrington has stamina.

At least, he certainly thought he did— but that was before you. But in his defense, nobody told him that sex is a hundred times better when you love the person. A thousand better if they love you back.

And, god, does he fucking love you.

You’re a dream— all laid out on the bed beneath him, chest bare and eyes soft and heavy. Your lips are sheened with spit and all kiss-bitten and Steve has no doubt he looks the same. Kissing you never gets old. His cock throbs, aching for some friction and just begging to be buried inside you.

“Well?” You say, somewhere between a tease and a breathy gasp. “What’re you waiting for?”

Your fingers slip into the waistband of your panties but Steve is quick to knock them away, replacing them with his own hands. He grins up at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Can’t let you do my favourite part now, can I?”

You giggle. With that his fingers start to trail down your naval, slow and sensually, dragging the fabric with them. Your hips move to accommodate him and your breath hitches as he drags them down your thighs that part as he wrangles them off your ankles, inviting him in.

Steve nearly groans at the mere sight—a hot surge twisting in his tummy that goes straight to his cock. God, he must be losing blood with how much blood is rushing to harden it up. Or maybe he’s just too enamoured with you and that’s enough to make him breathless. Either way, he’s aching.

“God, baby,” He says, voice gravelly. “Just look at you.”

His hands shift up from grasping lightly at your ankles up, up, up, til he’s nudging your thighs apart further. His dark eyes flick up to your face, his expression one of hunger.

“Y’so pretty, honey,” He coos.

You flush, feeling somehow more naked at his compliment, knowing he’s being sincere. Reaching up, you drape your hand around his neck and urge him forward slowly, pressing up to scrape your lips against his.

“Oh, yeah?” You breathe, your lips twitching up at the obvious way Steve’s breath catches in his throat. “Which part of me’s so pretty?”

Steve chuckles, his gaze switching between your own and says, “All of you,” before he kisses you like he’s starved of the taste of you.

Breaking the kiss, he leans back and his hand disappears into his bedside table for a condom. He makes quick work of it, pausing to give himself a firm squeeze around the base as he does— fuck, he’s going to bust the moment he gets inside of you if he doesn’t take a moment.

But you’re so damn hot — and eyeing him with a heavy desire that makes his tummy hot. He’s not sure he can wait.

He shifts himself up and settles on his hands on your thigh, pushing it back further so he can line himself up and sink in tantalisingly slow. Your cunt is warm and wet, drawing a whiny moan from his throat, and Steve’s head drops into the curve of your shoulder in an instant.

“Fuck,” He hisses, hips flexing to hold back from pushing himself all the way in—a near impossible task considering the breathy little noise you make. God, fuck, fuck, he can’t move another inch or he’ll lose it. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” He gasps.

Your arms looped around his neck tighten, pressing your chest up against his as you make a noise of agreement. You begin to mouth lazily up his throat, feeling the throb of his cock between your legs like a heartbeat, burning hotter and hotter.

“Cmon, Steve,” you whisper, nibbling at his earlobe. Steve keens, his hips shoving forward bit more as he tries to contain himself. “Want you to fuck me,”

He makes another pitiful noise that he’d probably be embarrassed of if he wasn’t so gone. He follows your instructions quickly, shifting his hips so he can start slowing fucking into you. It’s lewd, soft wet noises sounding as he builds up a rhythm, sinking himself into you over and over. Pleasure drools through his gut.

“Stevie,” you pout, panting lightly. “Can’t— can’t see you,” You tug on his hair lightly, trying to encourage his face out of hiding but only succeeding in making him whimper. His cheeks burn hotly but he forces his face up, kissing along your jaw as he does.

His eyes crease open as he pulls back and Steve keens at the sight of you, his plush lips parting in a soft pant. Fuck, what was wrong with him? Normally he’d be still murmuring filthy things into your skin, marking up your neck while his hips roll into you, all does that feel good? and oh, it does when you moan in response.

Instead, he’s the one coming apart and beyond his words. You scrape your hand through his hair again and leave it cupped sweetly on his jaw, your eyes watching closely. Swatching your thumb across his cheek, you moan lightly, “Wanna -uh- wanna see your face, baby— love your pretty face,”

Something tightens up in Steve’s tummy, heat flourishing up his spine and he whimpers loudly, the roll of his hips turning the rapid, jerky thrusts in a moment. Skin slaps against skin and you make the cutest noise at the change of pace. It feels so good—too good. He feels too close, his pleasure scratching the edge of release.

Then you stutter out a breathy, “I love you, Steve,” and the coil in his stomach snaps without warning.

Steve gasps loudly and his entire body tightens, his face burying itself in you neck as his hips fuck into your snug cunt desperately. He all but collapses onto you, his hands curling around your waist tightly as he lets out a string of pathetically whiny noises, coming undone far too quickly.

It takes a moment for you to realise what’s happened— to figure out exactly why Steve suddenly sinks him cock into you with fervor and is whimpering in your ear. He’s trembling lightly you realise, as your arms sweep down his back, letting him fuck through his orgasm.

The pleasure of it drags out and by the time it tapers out, mortification begins to set in. Steve’s only glad he’s hidden his face so you can’t see his flaming cheeks. Fuck. Fuck. He’s never finished that fast before.

“I’m so sorry, you just feel— and you said—” He starts, voice sounding wrecked.

“Don’t apologise,” you interrupt sweetly. You stroke down his back soothingly and Steve can’t help but shiver. He groans loudly.

“Don’t apologise for finishing after 1 minute like a 16 years old virgin?” He asks, going for sarcastic but failing with the embarrassment tinting his tone.

You can’t help but giggle, hand still sweeping over his back comfortingly as you say, “I don’t think that was even a minute, babe.”

Steve groans louder, attempting to press his face further into your neck and nipping at it when you laugh a little louder. You’re being way too sweet about this. Steve’s not sure he can ever show his face again.

“I’m banning you from saying ‘i love you’ in bed,” He says, the words muffled against your skin. You huff another laugh, grinning, and comb your fingers through his hair.

“Boo.” You pout, knowing he’s joking completely. You’re still throbbing and aching for him to keep moving but you know you only have to be patient. He’ll fuck you just as you need it. “You’re no fun.”

“I used to have stamina,” He whines. “What have you done to me?”

You chuckle again, turning and pressing a kiss to his temple as best you can. “Turned you full loverboy. Soon enough, any time I say I love you, you’ll pop a boner.”

From within you, you feel the soft twitch of his dick and Steve’s breath hitches again. He finally digs his face out of your neck, a serious furrow between his brows. “Don’t even joke about that!”

[a-b-riddle]

Part 8

You had planned to spend Sunday morning nursing a hangover with Mere and Tabitha, but after last night’s events you had decided to catch up on organizing the shop while putting your phone on do not disturb.

You had turned your location services off in hopes that for a few hours the world would just leave you the fuck alone.

A few hours was all you were given before a tapping came on the front door of your shop around noon. Peering through the glass window, you spotted him.

He was holding a huge brown paper bag looking at little worse for wear since the last time he showed up. You debated on ignoring him. He had missed the early morning shower otherwise you really would have left him outside.

Bastard.

"John-" When you opened the door, he entered immediately. No doubt guessing you planned to slam the door immediately after telling him to fuck off.

He would have been right.

"Please," you say flatly before closing the door. "Do come in." After last night, after this week, the last thing you wanted to do was see anybody. Him, Johnny, Simon, Kyle, fucking Meredith or Tabitha. Why was it so hard for a person who had very few people in her life, all of which were on the skirts with her, to leave her alone for a single day?

"Well?" You asked when he said nothing. He cleared his throat, as if preparing himself for a long, drawn out speech.

Instead he handed you the bag, the smell hitting you. Warm and welcoming. Price was the only one out of the four who could cook a damn good meal, which made him extra picky when it came to eating out. “Wanted to check in.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do with them now. “Simon said you had a rough night.”

You scoffed at the understatement. "Yeah," you hated this. You didn't want to tell John about your shitty night with your even shittier friends. "It wasn't the best night out."

"So you know that bloke who got handsy or was he just some random prick?" Your mouth fell open in shock. You didn't expect Simon to be such a fucking gossip. And how fuckin' dare John for thinking he had any right to know who was grabbing your ass and your involvement to that person.

No. Fuck that.

"We're not doing this," you said putting the bag on an empty display table. Fuck. You need to go ahead and unbox that shipment in the back.

"What?" He asked, oblivious as to what he said that was wrong. You push heel of your hands into your eyes, trying to stop the headache that was threatening to form. "Some prick took a fell of ya' and I want to see if-"

"If what?" You cut in. "If I need some comfort at being utterly fucking humiliated at Simon going all caveman in front of everyone and dragging me outside like a child? Or do you want to finish want Simon start with almost killing him!"

"From what I heard, he didn't kill him," John's audacity to correct you as if Simon's restraint was remarkable baffled you. "There's something to be said about that."

"He held him by the neck in the air like a ragdoll. He choked him out in the middle of the pub."

"But," he held up a finger. "he didn't break his neck. He knew you'd be upset."

"You're not seriously defending him right now." You could feel your blood pressure rising. Your lid ready to blow like a fucking kettle.

"From what Simon said it didn't look like the attraction was mutual." That gave you pause. Simon told John it didn't look... mutual. Could Simon tell you were uncomfortable? Did he hear everything Percy said?

Where the fuck did Simon come from anyway?

why the fuck was he at the pub in the first place???

Your mouth hung open for several beats. Any longer and a bug could fly in. But fuck if it didn't feel like cold water had been dumped on you. Why and how did Simon think it wasn't mutual? Why did he care??? Why was he acting like he didn't?

"He-" You began, trying to think of what to ask only to simply screech out "What?" John held his hands up in surrender. Your kettle whistled. You were pissed. More pissed than John had ever seen you and it was still a miracle you hadn't hurled the take out at his head.

"All I'm saying is if he grabbed you without an invitation and Simon saw, the prick is lucky to be alive, much less still walking around with hands."

"Si-" you started. "He-" You clinched your fists so tightly your nails painfully cut into the palm of your hand. "UGH!" You stomped your foot. It was childish, but you didn't care. "I don't need him rescuing me goddamit! I don't need any of you pissing on my legs like a fucking dog and-" you didn't stop. You weren't sure how long you carried on verbally lashing John nor did you give a single flying fuck.

Fuck him. Fuck Simon. Fuck all of them. They didn't get to stalk you and relay information like gossiping fucking school girls. They didn't get to break your heart and believe that you would let them piece it back together. They didn't get to neglect you only to realize you knew your worth. Only giving a shit until you walked away.

You went on and on until your throat ached. You weren't sure what thoughts had left your lips. You weren't entirely sure all what you said. All you knew is that you didn't feel any better. The look on Price's fallen face didn't give you any relief. You took it out on him and you were still hurting.

"Why?" Your voice was hoarse and pleading. "Why won't you guys just fucking leave? You were barely staying in it when we were together? Why now?"

He took a tentative step forwarding. His hands started to reach out to touch your arms before falling back down at his side. He knew he had lost the right to touch you. To comfort you.

"I miss you, Dove." He confessed it as if it would somehow make it all better. "We miss you." You try not to let it phase you, but fuck you were made of flesh, not stone. No matter how angry furious disgusted absolutely devastated you were with everything that happened, with what they did and didn't do, you still, or at least had, loved them. That love didn't vanish over the span of a week. Lord know your broken heart hadn't. "We'll do better."

"It's not that simple." You shook your head, your palms covering your eyes as they began to prickle. You hoped the motion would come across as tired frustration, but John knew. It was your tell. You were close to crying. You always rubbed your face when you were upset.

"It is." He said, finally taking the chance to touch you. Even if it was just to hold your hands in his calloused ones. "We mucked things up, let us fix it. Give us at least the change to be better."

"How?" You asked. "Stop fucking yelling at me for a couple of months until something makes you blow your fucking lid and I'm left feeling like a little kid who's in trouble?" You were surprised not to see him flinch away, but the soft look in his eyes was enough to break your heart all over again. "Or Kyle actually showing up for dates? Johnny not treating me like a fuck buddy?"

"We haven't been good to you." He admits and you still don't feel better. Leaving them hasn't made you feel any better. Only angrier. Yelling at him didn't. Fucking Johnny and breaking his heart didn't. Maybe Mer had a point. Just not with Percy. "We all wanted you and slacked off in doing right by ya."

"So what?" You press. "You want to resume where we left off? I just take you all back and work through the fact of how shitty you all were and hope that you make it up to me?

"No," he shook his head. "Not like that."

"Then what?" You asked.

"I'm fighting for me and you. No one else." You didn't know what to say. The four of them had always been a part of the deal. All or nothing. I mean, the fact that you even entertained the idea of being with all of them was the reasoning that if one of them had went down on the field, three more were there to take care of you.

"If the others can get their own shit together great." He shrugged his shoulders. "If I can't and they can, that's fine too." He stared in your eyes and for a moment, you thought about the first time John apologized for getting angry. Not at you, just in front of you. How he had gotten on his knees and told you the last thing he wanted was for you to be afraid of him. To look at him the same way recruits looked at him. "But I think where we failed was all of us was expecting another one to pick up the slack."

That much was true. Where others failed, others thrived. Simon always stayed after sex, Johnny never raised his voice, John was insistent on going on dates, and Gaz was emotionally available... when he was around at least.

"I know I wasn't the man I needed to be. I wasn't the man you deserved. I took things out on you that weren't your fault. I spoke to you in a way that if any other man did, I would knock him right the fuck out." He shook his head before giving your hands a squeeze. "I'll do what I need to do to set things right between you and me. I'll put in the work to do whatever it takes to have you trust me again."

"It wasn't about not trusting you." You counter

"But it is now." He said. "You don't trust me to respect you; to show kindness, patience. And I know I have my own shit to sort out before even thinking about us being like we were. When things were good, I mean."

You don't know what to say, but you can't say he's right. You don't trust him. Not with your heart. Not anymore.

Moments of silence pass before John lets go of your hands and takes a quick survey of the boxes around you. Your background music of Van Morrison still playing softly from the speaker near your computer.

"You seem busy, so I'll let you get to it." He takes in a deep breath. You're expecting another spiel about how he promises to work on it. Just to give him a chance. You're actually worried you'll consider it. "I picked up your usual. Figured things haven't changed that much since we last went to our spot down by the river."

"Haven't been there in a minute."

"You wouldn't." He said. "Closed the place and moved shop. It's over by the park."

"The one with the asshole geese or the one where Johnny and I were flashed by that guy strung out?" That makes him laugh. You can't remember the last time John laughed. The way his eyes crinkled and his smile shifted his whole face into something entirely joyous.

You missed it.

"Asshole geese." He answered before turning and heading to the door. You didn't speak until the chime of the bell rang.

"What if the others don't?" You ask before he had the chance to close the door. "Get their shit together, I mean."

He turned, giving you that signature closed smile that makes him look like a quokka. You told him that once and he had to googling before arguing that he didn't look like the world's happiest rodent. "That's on them. I have my own work to do." His smile dropping into something softer. Something pleading and pitiful. "But, we still want this. We all still want this. Want you."

You shook your head. The threat of tears returning as you realized how wrong he was. Maybe he did. But not all of them. "Simon doesn't." you huffed, arms crossing over your chest. "He's made that much clear."

"That I don't believe." He shook his head. "Not for a minute."

"Believe it." You sucked in air through your nose as if trying to clear it. Price knew he had to leave. He knew he couldn't see you cry. He knew you wouldn't want him to even if he wanted to stay and make up for all the times he was the reasons behind your tears.

"I didn't do what I needed to and I'll do whatever it takes to get you back." He promises. "But if it came down to it... if you want to settle down and just chose one of us to have you, to keep you," he took in a deep breath. The next words like a knife twisting in his chest. "I wouldn't truly love you if I didn't tell you that Simon is the only one of us who deserves you."

"Why?" You knew in that moment Simon hadn't told John about that night. About his cruel words and your realization that he was right. There was never a true happily ever after with them.

"Because he's the only one willing to hide in the shadows and let you live your life," his smile now gone completely. "I'm sorry that I'm too selfish to do that."

[dannnnnny666]

Day 12: Time Travel

“Sooooo Phantom, do ya have any siblings?” Kid Flash asked as he tried to make small talk with the newest recruit to the team.

A few days ago, Young Justice was called to a meeting by Batman where he introduced their new team mate, Phantom. Phantom was a tough looking dude, he was jacked and towered over them all, even Conner!

Batman didn’t give them much information about the guy but apparently John Constentine was the one who suggested him for the team since he needed “community service hours”.

The dude was currently drinking some soda next to the computer as Red Robin searched for any new info on their latest mission. He turned his attention away from the can, and stared at Wally, his red eyes piercing into his soul.

“Why?” 

“Well we are all about to go on a mission together and none of us really know you so I think it’d be best if we all got to know you better,” that was half true. Mostly Wally was just being nosey, but the dude really did make everyone nervous since he was this really tough dude with blood red eyes and apparently was here because John Constentine said he needed community service hours???? Constentine typically say some wild shit, but what the fuck do you mean by community service? Wally knows you can’t use those for school, he’s tried, and what else gave you community service? Juvie and prison!!

Phantom stared at him hard for a few seconds, his eyes searing into the back of Wally’s skull before saying, “Okay fine”.

The answer surprised everyone in the room, I mean the guy had barely even spoken the last few days and had rejected every question about his personal life.

“Depending on how you see it, I have 2 to 4 siblings”

“Is your father a serial adopter too?” Tim joked.

“Yes and no”

“Huh?” 

“It’s pretty complicated,” Phantom shrugged, seemingly deciding to end the conversation there and taking another swig of his drink.

However, Tim, out of annoyances of every attempt to get to know this jerk being thwarted and a bit of confidence his family was more complicated, decided to challenge Phantom’s statement.

“Ehh, it probably isn’t as complicated as my family, we got about 50 more siblings adopted each month, all with lots much trauma”

At this, Phantom narrowed his eyes at Tim.

“I see what your doing, your trying to get me to talk tell you guy more about my family by acting like yours are more insane”

“Am I?” Tim asked, trying to hide the shivers going down his spine from the way Phantom was staring at him.

Phantom to a huge swig of his soda, emptying it and throwing it into the garbage, before fully turning to Tim.  

“You’re lucky I am always good for competitions, now sit down this is going to take a bit”

Tim gladly obliged and soon everyone sat around Phantom as if it were storytime in kindergarten.

“Okay, so at first I only had an older sister and my parents” Phantom began, “but then they died because of a mistake I made and I had to move in with my evil godfather��

Megan raised her hand and asked, “Isn’t a godfather someone who is very close to the family? Why would your parents choose an evil person?”

“‘Cause my dad was oblivious to this and though they were good friends even though the dudes tried to kill him multiple times”

“I see,” Megan lowered her hand, no less confused.

“There I went mad with grief and had him remove my humanity and tried to kill all of humanity”

“I think that was a bit of an overreaction,” Wally joked.

“You tried to kill all of humanity? Why weren’t we told of this when it happened?” Kaldur'ahm asked.

“That was in a different timeline, I was a big enough problem that they gods tried to kill the younger version of me to stop me, so to avoid dying, my younger version decide to try to defeat me and the only reason he did was cause I was underestimating him,” Phantom emphasized the last part because he had to stress he didn’t not lose to a 15 year old boy because he was weaker than him.

“What happened next?,” Artemis asked, completely inraptured in the story.

“I was then imprisoned for sometime before escaping, causing problems and then realizing that causing younger mean the same pain I experienced won't bring my loved ones back,” Phantom continued to explain, “so I am now going to therapy, doing community service, and got the majority of my powers taken away”.

“Is your therapist open to seeing new patients?” Konner asked.

“No, but this timelines version of my sister is and she has a lot of experience so I can give you her number instead”

“Sure, that’ll work”

“Okay,” Phantom said before writing her number down and handing it to Konner, “The thing is I can’t go back to living with my real parents because they don’t know that I am Phantom so I have to go back to living this timelines version of my godfather”

“You gotta be kidding me” Tim groans.

“Exactly what I said!!” Phantom put his arm up defensively, “Fortunately, this version is a little better, he is no longer tiring to kill my dad and has stopped chasing after my mom, he did clone the other of me and now there is a genderbent version of him but my godfather treats her like a princess and will not stop spoiling her, which I am also guilty of”

Phantoms continues to explain more and in the back of Tim's mind he remembers he was supposed to be doing something but honestly this conversation was too good to care.

“Anyways that's how I technically have 2 to 4 siblings, Jazz and Elle are permanently my sisters and I love them so much, and even though the other Jazz is technically the same as this Jazz, I still think of her as someone else, someone I miss dearly. Also if I considered this Jazz my sister, I guess I’d have to considered the other me as my brother”

“Damn bitch your family is crazy” Wally said, happy he finally managed to get through Phantom’s tough skin.

As they finished up their storytime, the Zeta-tubes activated and Red Tornado and an upset looking Batman walked to the group.

“You all were supposed to leave thirty minutes ago”

[cherryjuiceblues]

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 | 𝟏

➯ HARRY EXPERIENCES THE BIGGEST LOSS OF HIS CAREER BUT HIS BEST FRIEND IS ALWAYS THERE TO SOFTEN THE BLOW. ✰ rugby!harry friends to lovers. minor warnings for somnophilia. heavy descriptions of size kink and harry being bigger than reader. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 5.2k ッ converted masterlist

Y/N watches from the sidelines, eyes ping-ponging to each side of the pitch as the ball makes its way back and forth, back and forth. Her lungs beg for fresh oxygen that she won’t grant them. France’s full-back pellets the ball high up into the air, straight into the arms of England’s full-back, England’s full-back wallops it back to France’s full-back. Y/N’s skin fucking burns with impatience—could someone just play the ball? Her gaze flits over the broad numbers littering the field… three—grass stains streaking across white—eight, twelve—blood streaming down temples—eleven, nine… Ten. 

Harry hangs back, intense, focused eyes following every movement of the ball; just like Y/N, only with pinpoint accuracy. He’s the decision maker of the team, the fly-half—the player that sets up most of the scores, who guides the play. One of the most important pieces of the puzzle and… he’s frazzled, Y/N can tell. By the slight mania in his widened eyes and the frantic point he stresses towards the other side of the pitch, desperate for his teammates to attack—to get some phases going, some passes—anything other than kick tennis.

France have had the upperhand all game. They’re the favourites, after all, and playing at their home ground—but this is the final game of the Six Nations. This is the win England need to set them up for the World Cup.

And they’re losing. They’ve been losing since the second minute when France scored a try from their own twenty two—their lightning fast winger weaving in and out of all of England’s defence to dive over the line—leaving his electric trail in a bolt behind him.

And now it’s the seventy eighth minute and France are two points ahead. Y/N knows why Harry is signalling so passionately—he is desperate to get the ball further down the opponent’s end of the field. If not to score then to force them to make an error, to give away a penalty. Anything to secure the win in the final two minutes.

She is practically barking orders at the players herself—only quietly under her breath instead of the way she is sure Harry is shouting. Every technique, every tactic—Y/N has observed them all. She knows that the clock ticks twice as fast in the final moments of a game. She knows that Harry’s close to losing control of the match completely—of losing that chance of evening the scoreline—and her heart is beating out of her chest watching it all unfold.

The ball finally makes its way into a player’s hands for more than two seconds. France don’t kick it away; their number nine makes a run for it—determined to end the game with an extra score on the board. He executes a dummy pass, feigning to throw the ball to his teammate and successfully losing England’s own nine that slips in the grass in his attempt to mark. Disarmingly quick for a small player, he gets all the way to the halfway line before being tackled.

And this… this is when everything changes. Y/N shoots up from her seat when he goes down—piled upon by white jerseys desperate to rip the ball right out of his hands. She holds her breath as he stays on the floor, can’t find the ball within the chaos—flits her eyes over to Harry who is standing in formation with the rest of the backs. His mouth moves a million miles a second, expression rampant, arms flailing as he screams at his players.

Just a little longer, just a little longer… “Come on, ref,” Y/N mutters under her breath, “blow the fucking whistle.” She watches the man in red do just that—bring the whistle up to his lips in a rapid motion, throwing his arm up in the air to favour England. 

A penalty. In the final minute. For England.

The stadium goes up in a cacophony of roars. Furious French moans drowned out by the deafening screams of the English. A rivalry as old as time goes down to the wire once again. Y/N’s heart pounds away inside of her ribs—hardly able to process the sight of Harry and his team celebrating—the relieved clenching of his fists.

Waterboys rush onto the pitch, slinging the kicking tee to Harry’s awaiting palms. Time continues to pass—the clock sure to enter the red before he’s made contact with the ball that he meticulously balances at the perfect angle. Y/N has watched Harry perform a thousand kicks and yet nothing will ever quell the gut-churning anxiety she feels during these moments in a match. To witness the mass of eighty thousand people reduced to murmurs as Please respect the kicker appears on every screen in sight. To watch Harry, his routine—because every fly-half has one—the way he eyes up the ball, angles himself, blocks out the world around him to draw that invisible line from the ball to the posts… it's an honour and a damnation.

And Y/N is always nervous to watch him kick, but right now, her body feels as though it might start emanating electricity. Harry’s a near perfect shot. His success rate is one of the highest in the game—past and present—but… This angle is, for lack of a better word, fucked. He’s practically kissing the touchline, ball facing a direction you would not expect to be the correct one. But Harry prepares himself, positioned with the posts nearly behind him, ready to curve it just right.

Then he kicks it—he boots it as all kickers do. And it bends. It curves in the air, slicing through it like soft, melted butter. Y/N goes deathly still—time slows down—she’s only half-aware of the screens showing the clock tick over to red. The ball soars, heading straight for the posts, it glides like it has fucking wings—

And then it collides heavily against the left post and bounces back into play. Straight into French hands.

He’s missed. He’s—missed. Y/N’s exhale comes out as some sort of wet exasperation, hands flying to cover her cheek in pure disbelief. No. The stadium cries out so loudly she can hardly hear herself think. All she can see is Harry. The way he crouches down and pinches the bridge of his nose as France kicks the ball out of play and the referee blows the final whistle.

It’s over. All those weeks, all those games, all that fighting. Just to lose it on the last kick of the game. Y/N can’t believe her eyes. 

“You’ve got this, Harry. You’ve got this. Don’t even worry. Y’the best England have seen since Farrell.”

She betrayed him by encouraging such a statement, she’s sure (despite the fact of it). Maybe it got to him; the pressure. The kind of pressure Y/N hoped would be helpful. The truth being that he is the best player they have right now. He’s breaking records, he’s setting new standards, he is the bright, shining new star. But maybe that’s too much to place on a person’s shoulders. Even on the breadth of Harry’s.

The pitch starts hurtling closer and it’s only then that Y/N processes the speed in which her legs are stampeding towards Harry. She can’t get at all as close as she yearns to be—reaching the edge of the box with an aching chest. Not with anger, not with disappointment. With sadness for her friend, for her best friend. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, a night of euphoria and drunkenness and laughter.

All Y/N can see is Harry’s sullen face as his teammate hauls him up and slaps him heavily on the back—no gentility from the hardness of a rugby player. The teams shake hands and France take a victory lap around the pitch, celebrating with fans whilst the award podium is set up. All Y/N wants to do is get to Harry but England have to stand there and watch France lift the trophy. She glances at it now with disdain.

It’s always a struggle to find Harry after a match—sometimes he’s got press to do, sometimes he’s being ushered into the changing rooms, sometimes he strolls around the pitch with his team, taking photos with fans. Y/N always waits, always watches with stars in her eyes. Nothing ever quite matches the rapid beat of her heart when she gets to observe him in his element; after a win.

But today they’ve lost. And today, Harry doesn’t linger. He doesn’t even let himself get pulled aside for pitchside interviews—lucky that the captain is hounded first. Y/N can already see the headlines. Styles Sulks After Shattering Six Nations Defeat. His hands clapping for France but the line of his mouth hard and the sheen of his eyes glossed over. She knows the noise all fades into the background for him, his mind is elsewhere—body desperate to join.

Her own knows the feeling; too far away from him to relax as their magnetic forces pull towards one another. Keeping her feet planted firmly on the ground is a hard task, when the only focused object in her vision is the outline of Harry. And as soon as he makes that first step towards the tunnel, she’ll make sure to run through anyone who stands in her way.

Getting to Harry’s hotel room proves harder than it should be. Y/N had wasted her time looking for him anywhere else—of course he wouldn’t have wanted to go to an afterparty. To celebrate what? A crushing loss? France’s pilfering victory? Entering a room as Harry Styles might as well be the equivalent of shitting on a plate and offering it around like some kind of hors d'oeuvres. Charm is usually his specialty but it’s no surprise that he chose to hide himself away as soon as the opportunity arose—to take back what little control he has over today and deny prying eyes passing judgement where he can see them.

She thinks, for a moment, that he’s not going to answer the door and her sympathy nearly bubbles into misguided anger before she alters its path. She is so frantic to reach him that it feels like a waste of time to stand still for even a second. But the soft padding of socked feet against carpet sounds from behind the thick wood, and the click of a lock as the door gives way to reveal the image of a forlorn Harry.

He’s so tall, and so broad, and his personality is larger than life—but right now… Right now, Harry looks small. His shoulders weigh heavy and his posture slumps forward, and despite the fact of his towering height, Y/N doesn’t feel so dwarfed in his presence right now. Neither of them say anything; both waiting for the other to speak up first but neither does. Y/N just stands there… in the hallway, suspended in a moment, looking at Harry with sad eyes as his fingers linger on the door handle.

And then she throws her arms around his hulking shoulders and feels his chest deflate against her own expanding one, as she breathes, “I’m sorry, Harry.”

He doesn’t reply—what is there to say? Nothing positive or optimistic, only bashes to his performance, his ability as a player. Instead, he curls his arms around her back; an immediate solace to breathe in the wash of her scent, the soft of her hair as he buries his nose against her crown. His biceps squeeze around her, compressing the bones in her body with a heavenly kind of weight. Small in his arms but big enough to provide comfort. Always the biggest part of his heart, the place he goes to for relief.

Every exhale against her head bleeds warmly into her scalp, seeping down to her toes and regulating her heartbeat. Weightlessness is a common feeling in the presence of Harry, more often physically than not, as he pulls her off the tips of her toes and carries their embrace to the foot of the hotel bed. The door clicking shut serves as a reminder of the outside world; of time continuing to tick away despite the silence that blankets the room they’re in. Y/N removes her hands from Harry’s nape as he sits down, his own paws lingering on the plush of her hips. His eyes are sad, tired, embarrassed. Y/N doesn’t recognise him like this.

“Kev is gonna kill me,” Harry laughs with exasperation, a hand dragging itself down his face. It’s not often that he finds himself on coach’s bad side—he’s not sure he ever really has. He’s well disciplined, a little too cheeky sometimes, perhaps, but manages to ride the line with ease. He works hard, he trains hard, he respects the game and lives to improve with every new day. (Y/N once joked that Harry would struggle getting on the bad side of a wasp; could charm his way out of a potential sting without breaking a sweat.)

She breathes softly, fingertips carding through freshly washed hair; a shower the only thing he could force himself to do after the loss. “Kevin is not going to kill you. You’re his best player.”

It’s hard not to let his sigh turn into a moan with the way she handles him with such tenderness. There’s no fight, none at all, when he closes his eyes and lets her scratch his scalp. “Not supposed to sulk about it. Got t’get up and move on. Prepare for the next thing.”

A gentle tug at the back of his head, not painful, but stern. He looks up at her figure between his legs. “Harry, you can be upset, it’s okay.”

“Can’t be grumpy tomorrow.”

“Just for tonight then.”

It works. He huffs, “I fuckin’—” falling backwards and pulling Y/N’s body with him. She holds back her affronted squeal, palms landing on either side of his shoulders. “—ruined it for everyone.”

“No you did not.” It’s not fair to berate him but Y/N has never been one to allow self-deprecation. That was reserved for herself, and herself only. Her palm meets his chest lightly as she frowns, “You didn’t ruin anything, are you kidding? You kept that match alive.”

“And then I bottled it! Right at the bloody end.”

Her smile is sad; wishing for thaumaturgy to run through her veins—or the ability to turn back time. “And next time the posts won’t get in the way.”

“Hm. Not funny. Might not even be a next time. I’ll probably get dropped for this.”

“No, you won’t, don’t be silly. If everyone got dropped for a single mistake, you’d have no fucking players left.”

It falls silent for a while, their embrace a steady rising and falling of chests—like a dingy floating down a lazy river. Harry strokes up and down her back, as though she’s the one that needs reassurance. It feels nice all the same. The only thing Y/N can do is let her weight settle atop of his hefty body, trying to breathe as deeply as her lungs can manage in hopes that Harry’s heart will mirror. Of course, she’s kidding herself into believing she is any sort of definition of calm, but her mind hasn’t quite caught up yet. Maybe it’s the humidity that forces the catch of her breath as Harry shifts beneath her—maybe it’s the pollen count. Probably the pollen count.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs after a moment, mindless hands fidgeting amongst her clothes. The layers she’d meticulously arranged to combat the brandishing winds have untucked themselves from the denim of her jeans. Harry’s fingers slip underneath and brush against the silken skin of her waist. He sighs, speaking once more before Y/N can hum her agreement, “You’re so soft.”

There are unspoken lines in relationships, right? Boundaries, expectations, societal normalities. Y/N has lost count over the years, how often herself and Harry have been mistaken for a couple. It alludes to something deeper than neither of the two have ever addressed. And the line… it’s never been crossed but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been toed upon. The waters aren’t as cold as they’ve been before. Y/N’s cheeks warm with the comfort of hiding in her best friend’s chest. The things he says always make her skin thrum with unbridled energy; there’s just something about the way he wields words that has her feeling special. But she hides it with great effort; yearns to maintain a cooler front, perhaps to match her counterpart and appear a worthy equal beside Harry’s coveted self. Being described as soft isn’t an inherently romantic thing—it’s simply a statement—but Harry hums it so freely, like her softness is the salve for all of his cuts and scrapes. The delicacy of a girl, his girl, it’s enough to plaster over the disappointment of his day, because bigger things matter more.

In moments like these, Y/N could reply with a myriad of things. She sure as hell hears a million and one of them pinging around her head. Maybe she’s cowardly, or maybe she’s sensible—she adopts a jibing approach, “It helps not to roll yourself around a muddy field every day.”

“Charming. We’re not pigs, you little shit.” She makes him laugh, a huffed exhale, but a humoured noise nonetheless. Her lips curl up into his neck and she pretends that he’s happy for just a moment. 

When the lull of silence passes and Harry starts to shuffle beneath her, a sense of panic morphs to desperate distraction—not too dissimilar to the reaction of an overworked mother catching her toddler on the verge of bouncing its wails off the walls like some twisted sort of hyena mimicry—she waves a brightly coloured toy in front of his face, equipped with all kinds of bells and whistles.

His pecs indent with the pads of her fingers as she pushes herself up and plasters on an exaggerated grin that can only preface mischief, wiggling her eyebrows, “Want a massage?” ever the unalluring as her drawl tiptoes into the boundaries of offensively inaccurate Northern, “Hm? Free of charge.”

A blip of relief radiates through Y/N’s chest like the echo of a submarine when the corners of Harry’s mouth twitch upwards; in response to the sudden animation of her movements or the laxation that comes promised with her proposition, she’s not sure. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he hums, neck propped up lazily by the palm of his hand, “They’re all free of charge.”

She runs with this fragment of a game—practically bullies herself into a sprint as she nods, “You should be grateful I’m not charging you by the minute. I studied for years.”

She did study for years, and Harry’s never been more grateful for it—selfishly cashing in all the massages he can get. “And look—” 

“Roll over—” she hoists her hips up to alleviate her weight, off of his body so he can do as she says and shuffle onto his front.

“—Where you’ve ended up.” It’s a self-deprecating thought, not one to banter or jibe, despite being disguised as such. Holed up in lacklustre Room 143, frittering time away with a subpar athlete. Harry’s lucky she’s here lest he dig himself into an even deeper hole.

“I know…” her sigh is light, completely oblivious to Harry’s thoughts only a mere skull’s width away, “so tragic.”

It’s quiet again after that, the vacant hotel air perforated with an occasional thick exhale from Harry’s pouting mouth as Y/N’s hands work through knots and kinks over the breadth of his back. He tries to fight sleep but she presses in harder, just shy of too hard, just enough to melt the taut into goo. When those breaths start coating themselves in gravel, the air catching on his larynx on its way out, and salaciously undiluted hums turn to feathery grunts—Y/N feels smug when she does that to a person—especially when it’s Harry.

Y/N doesn’t have to ask what he wants when she orders room service. Five years of friendship lends itself to the memorisation of eating habits. He’s tired after the massage, muscles heavy and bones squishy, when her efforts to scoot him towards the headboard proved impossibly strenuous. It’s caught up with him like a wave crashing to the shore—all-consuming; submerging. Harry drowns in it entirely, can barely keep his eyes open long enough to shovel his cheat dinner into his mouth. The TV ends up screening old reruns of Friends. Y/N can tell Harry’s clocked out—mind traversing the depths of his insecurities—and it tugs her lips downwards to know she can’t distract him. Not even acting along to their favourite scene makes the smile reach his eyes. She unfocuses her own just to pretend she’s seeing what he is—the blur of the television, colours melting together in kaleidoscope swirls. Ross’ forlorn Hi pulls her out of it.

She feels bad for projecting; for expecting or hoping him to be okay. Of course, he’s not going to be okay. Okay is waking up on a Monday morning with time to buy yourself a treat for lunch before heading into your dreary office job. Harry’s not even knocking on the door of Oh-Kay. But it’s a useless feeling—to be witnessing misery so candidly with nothing worthwhile to offer as a fix. Then she looks over at him, prompted by a thick rumble, and it all goes quiet inside her head for a moment. He’s asleep—plate resting precariously over his lap. The waves catch up to her too, brows smoothing out to mirror the peace of Harry’s expression, and she knows it's time for bed.

Everything seems so much louder when you’re trying to be quiet. Y/N experiences that tenfold in the en-suite bathroom. Her toothbrush vibrates too hard, the water splashes too violently, the cap of her cleanser is obnoxious when it clicks shut. Harry peeks an eye open when she settles atop the covers once again; rosy notes clinging to the full of her soft cheeks, glowing in the soft vibrance of the bedside lamp she’d leant over his chest to click on. There’s no guilt on his face that might suggest he’s been awake for a while, and the rumble of his voice solidifies Y/N’s panic of disrupting his sleep.

“Sorry,” she winces, adjusting her bare knees on top of the sheets. Harry’s sleepy eyes flit down to the hem of her shorts brushing against the plush of her thighs. Then he shrugs a shoulder and extends his arm, beckoning her forward with a curl of his fingers. “Come on. Need a cuddle.” 

And Y/N falls into him easily—head tucked beneath his chin, open palm smoothing over his heart, just like that—as they both ignore the intimacy of their embrace.

Parisian sunlight doesn’t filter past Y/N’s eyelids when they twitch awake, fluttering open less than elegantly. The stitches of memories sew themselves back together piecemeal—too slowly to find it questionable—the caress of soft pads across the puff of her cheek. She thinks she grunts. 

It’s the moon that shows her. The silhouette of wide shoulders and a sloping neck; the sheer curtain enveloped with gentle pockets of wind that slip through the open window, billowing inwards. It pools across the carpet; cool moonlight, casting an unearthly glow along the bicep that reaches out.

Harry’s thumb brushes the girl’s feathery lashes, ducking beneath her undereye to stroke the skin there. It’s such a gentle awakening that Y/N feels heavy—half awake and half still dreaming—still floating through the clouds of her imagination. Weights tug her eyes shut again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” a quiet murmur, not quite a whisper, the edges grisly but well-intentioned.

“...What time ‘s it?” The pillow sinks in further, weighted with the nuzzle of a nose and an overt inhale. Seasalt and sandalwood, from a little blue bottle—travel size—bathing the cotton covers and tucking Y/N safely into cushions of secure muscle and warm skin. 

“Not sure, go back t’sleep.”

Just enough of the day before creeps into the periphery of her consciousness, forcing the sleep away with an obvious disgruntled twitch. “Are you okay?”

Harry supplies a hum, noncommittal and faraway—too engrossed in the trail of his thumb against her cheek to provide much more. “What‘re you doing?” She whines, fighting the curl of her mouth with the principle of her pilfered slumber. Each nerve ending he passes over leaves bumps in his wake in an endearing betrayal.

“Don’t move,” he tuts when she wriggles her head some—ticklish. “I was thinking…” and if Y/N were less catatonic she’d quip something predictable to earn an answering pinch, “thinking that I’m really glad you’re here.” It’s a saving grace that her tongue lays heavy behind her lips. Harry’s timbre slicks itself over her, satiny like silk. Sincerity isn’t their forte most of the time. It makes her stiffen, anticipating what comes next. 

“I really love you.” 

The weight behind his words should be more startling—a stumble during an elegant figure skating routine—but it glides over the ice with ease, buttery and smooth. Y/N feels herself slipping under the cotton wool covers of unconsciousness with these words, a tiny smile evidence enough for Harry that she heard him, understood him. What might encourage a pregnant pause in the afternoon light, coaxes her back to sleep in the predawn.

It’s a sentiment untold, bearing new significance in the whisperings between sheets. His hotel room, now a honeymoon suite, perhaps—with promises of romantic views and crisp, white palettes bouncing light from wall to wall. Too much room for a newly wedded couple but grand in gesture and boundless in memory.

Only they’re not even lovers, let alone united in matrimony, and no newfound intimacy comes without question. But it’s two in the morning, or three, or four, and this all feels like some sort of beautiful dream—weightless—venturing beyond imagination. Maybe Y/N is dreaming, maybe she’s conquered the intricacies of lucid dreaming, maybe that’s why it isn’t scary to hear. Because it’s not entirely true. 

But it’s hard to imagine, to fabricate the pressing of lips against the corner of her mouth and the soft plumes of air tickling her cheek. And it’s even harder when those same lips knit themselves over her hairline and a winding forearm pulls her in closer into a grounding embrace. She falls asleep again before her brain can whir up enough to provide conclusion.

Harry sounds different when Y/N wakes up. He feels different too. He’s solid as ever, solid yet yielding around her own softer form, but there are new ridges where she’s never known them to be and skin rocking forwards to kiss curves. 

For a moment, it doesn’t register that this is… unusual. Y/N seems to process it twice. 

Once with a sense of nonchalance. 

Oh, Harry’s humping me in his sleep.

And once with an urgent kind of astonishment.

 Oh. Harry is humping me in his sleep. 

But that realisation doesn’t lend itself to her advantage. It doesn’t make her shoot upwards and scramble away before he realises. Because—sleepiness aside—it feels… it feels really good. His body is warm and his arms are tight around her waist; a security blanket made of bicep and sinewy forearm. But it’s wrong to enjoy him like this, without his permission, without his awareness. 

“Harry. Harry, wake up, you’re—”

“Y/N…” her name falls from his lips like a feather; a confession soft spoken.

“Yes,” but he’s not awake. “Harry,” she digs her fingernails into his wrist, hoping the pinch will stir his slumber but he only ruts into her harder, a groan catching in his throat.

“Baby—” Y/N gasps with his moan, muscles tightening, seizing with panic. The bump in his sweats knocks over the rounds of her bum, sleep shorts thin and easily mussed. She can feel them riding up with each roll that Harry gives and the voice in the back of her head telling her to let him… it only gets louder. 

He’s holding her so tight, entirely safe in his arms, so cardinal, so desired. It wouldn’t be so wrong of her to let him use her body like this. He deserves to feel good. She tells herself it’s not selfish, it’s not impolite of her to feel fulfilled too. There’s no control over what makes her body sing. But Harry seems to be pretty good at it, even in sleep. 

His breath is in her ear; it blankets over the slope of her shoulder, warm and seducing. It feels right to have Harry’s lips tucked against her neck, like it was always supposed to be there. What if the side of her neck never feels warm again. It’s the shift of her hips backwards, mistakenly, that arouses him. 

His body stills and the groans in his throat diminish as realisation dawns. But he’s not hurried, or stuttery in his movements. No, there’s no rush at all. A slight tumble over his words as he wakes up, “Oh sh—shit, m’sorry peaches,” and a stroke across the exposed skin of her stomach when he pulls back, “That’s my bad.” But that’s all he reveals, before untangling himself from the sheets.

Y/N coughs, splutters, over a response, unable to reply with anything that could be considered coherent. Her eyes are fighting to dart down when he stands. That’s my bad. His indifference, Y/N thinks, strikes a chord. But she doesn’t understand. Why her heart pounds harder and her legs squeeze tighter. Is she disappointed or is she disturbed? It’s too early to piece any of her feelings together. Her phone beams seven-forty when she taps the screen.

She rolls over onto her back, dragging her clammy palms over her face as Harry takes himself to the on-suite too casually. Her skin is all hot, roiling waves washing over her and strangling her thudding heart. The ghost of his body still presses against her, the hardness, the softness, all of it. The sounds he was making; new to her ears in all their time knowing one another. No amount of pretending could send her back to sleep now.

The bathroom fan whirs and Y/N can’t decide if she’s grateful or dismayed that she can’t make out any clear sounds. 

When Harry emerges, the dusting of rouge across his cheeks makes Y/N’s stomach flutter, eyes darting around the room to look at anything else. He clears his throat and brushes the back of his index finger under his nose. Y/N might believe he was trying not to laugh if she weren’t so mortified.

And then he actually speaks. He speaks to her and she has to acknowledge him. “I’ve got to get the coach back this mornin’.”

She swallows, “Yeah, mhm, okay.”

“Alright,” A keycard appears between his fingers, and then he places it on the console table, “y’can return this to the front desk f’me?” Y/N nods silently. She doesn’t watch Harry as he gets dressed, or as he shoves things into his bag. She doesn’t even sit up, mouth seemingly stuck open in a gape. “Okay, bye, see you later, stinky.”

“See you—” but the door has already clicked shut, “—later.”

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

warnings: slow burn, mentions of attempted sa for reader, depictions of blood and injury, mentions of standard gotham violence

Dear fuck, he’s as heavy as he looks.

You use all of your weight to pull him backwards towards the couch, almost giving up when you realized you’d have to lift him up off the ground to actually get on it.

Getting him through the window was enough of a hassle, challenging the difficulty of the decision to bring him in here at all. 

Thankfully you don’t have to think too hard on it because you feel his body stiffen up suddenly. He jolts upright, though clearly pained to do so, hand flying to the gun holster on his side.

You take a step back, hands out in front of you. “Hey, it’s alright.”

“Who are you?” His voice is interrogative. 

You put your hands down, “You’re the one who passed out on my balcony, I think if anyone gets to ask that question it’s me.”

He stares at you, white lenses bearing into your soul.

Okay, yeah. You tell him your name. He doesn’t move. “You just looked like you needed some help..”

His posture loosens a bit, and his hand finally leaves the holster.

He glances down at his abdomen, a sizable tear in his suit and a nearly alarming amount of blood. “You got any bandages?”

“Uh, I—yeah, yeah, I do.” You dart down the hall into the bathroom, shuffling through your first aid kid. You toss a few wraps into your arms, along with some antiseptic spray you suspect he’ll need. You grab your hand towel and get it wet under warm water. 

When you return, he’s moved himself onto the sofa, lifting his shirt up to assess the damage. You round the couch, seeing more blood than you’d have hoped for.

“Can I?” You ask, motioning to his injury. 

He looks up at you for a long moment. He nods.

You kneel down in front of him and replace his hand in lifting up the shirt. It’s a cut, it doesn’t look terribly deep, but still not shallow enough that he could just leave it.

You take the rag and dab it around the wound, trying to clean up the blood as much as possible without making contact with it.

He’s very still as you work, and you get the strong impression he’s watching you carefully.

You grab the antiseptic spray, shaking it. “This’ll sting.”

He grunts.

You apply the antiseptic thoroughly and he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t move his gaze from you for a second.

You unwrap one of the bandages and place it on firmly, making sure there’s no bleedthrough.

And not that you particularly want to be thinking about this right now, but the man is noticeably ripped. Stacked like a house of cards.

You rip away your gaze and stand up, hands on your hips, taking a deep breath. You look at him—at his helmet.

You don’t know how you can tell, but he’s studying you. Trying to get a read on you, maybe. Regardless, you’re eager to escape the gaze.

You shovel the remainder of your supplies back into your arms and bring them back to the bathroom, calling out, “I didn’t take off your helmet, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

There’s a short beat. 

“Do I seem like someone that worries often?” 

You peek your head out of the bathroom door. 

You look at him. “You seem like someone that doesn’t worry enough.”

He snorts. “You’re not far off.”

You make your way back once you’re done, looking at the disregarded meal you’d been interrupted from. “I have pasta if you…eat.”

“I do.”

“I can go in the other room if you—”

He clicks the lock on his helmet, taking it off. He’s left with a second mask underneath, covering his eyes and nose. His dark hair sticks up from the helmet, a white streak poking out in the front. He looks younger than you would’ve expected. Cuter, if his jaw is anything to go by.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Okay then.

You grab a second plate out of the cabinet and scoop on the rest of the pasta from the pan.

You hand him the plate, avoiding standing too close. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

You turn back around as casually as possible after hearing the name, wanting to avoid letting your face give anything away.

This guy kills people, right?

You sit down in the armchair across from the couch, spooling the pasta on and off the fork. He doesn’t show the same hesitation in dining away that you do—you guess fighting crime would require some calorie exchange.

“You a nurse?” He asks after a few minutes. 

The question takes you by surprise. You hadn’t taken him as a small talk kind of person. “Huh? Oh, no, I’ve just taken a few first aid courses and stuff.”

He gives a short hum, thoughtful.

“What?”

“You’re good.” Hardly.

“I didn’t really do anything.”

“You did enough.” He says, not leaving much room for argument.

He stands up at once, walking past you to the kitchen. Your gaze follows him silently. He puts his empty plate in the sink and returns to the edge of the living room.

He looks at you once more and pops his helmet back on followed by the click of the lock.

“I’ll see ya.” He says shortly, before ducking out the window.

You’re left alone, sitting in your armchair, plate of cold pasta forgotten on your lap.

That could’ve gone very badly. Maybe not your most thought-through decision to literally drag the Red Hood into your apartment, but hey. Maybe you’re exercising your ability to be an upstanding, helpful person. Or maybe you were just hoping to prevent a vigilante being found dead on your fire escape.

Regardless, you close the window after him, leaving it unlocked. Just in case.

You wake in the middle of the night to the sounds of footsteps in your living room. You shoot upright, immediately spotting the lamp light flooding in from under your door.

Creeping to a stand, you grab the baseball bat next to your bed and slowly walk to the door.

You creep the door open as quietly as possible, inching out half a step at a time. A nearby creak on your floorboards had you swinging blindly, only to have your bat get stopped midair. You look up to see Mr. Hood himself, blocking the blow of your hit with his hand. 

“Wow. You and a bat against Gotham, huh, sweetheart?”

“Fuck!” You let go of the bat and drown your face in your hands. “What is wrong with you?”

“Apparently that I don’t carry enough baseball bats with me.” He says coolly, inspecting your bat. Though he’s got to admit, your bat is probably a hell of a lot more useful than his. 

You drop your arms at your side. “If I’d known bringing you into my apartment one time was going to be considered a free pass forever, I might’ve thought twice.”

“If I’d known I was going to nearly be concussed with a baseball bat, I might’ve too.” Barely. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re still half asleep and it was not a very good swing.

He looks at you straight on for the first time. His helmet quickly drifts down and back up to your face just as fast.

You look down. T-Shirt, underwear, and…no that’s it. Not…ideal. You pull down on the unfortunately not at all oversized shirt, wanting to creep back into your room.

He turns his back, allowing you to do just that and scramble for some shorts to throw on. 

“Very gentlemanly of you.” You call out from your room, “And only thirty seconds after breaking into my apartment.”

“Okay, one, I’ve been here longer than that. In a non creepy way.”

“Right.”

“And two, I didn’t break anything. You live in the middle of Gotham and don’t lock your window?”

You reemerge in the doorway, “I live on the eighth floor.” 

He turns around to face you again, helmet in his hands. “Didn’t stop me.” No it did not. 

“Mm. So are you here specifically to judge my home security or was there something you needed?”

He takes a deep breath, “Actually yeah. I just need a place to rest for a minute.” 

“Rest from what?”

A series of gunshots echo from down the street.

“Next question.”

Concise.

You and Hood sit on the couch in the dark, per his insistence, because for some godforsaken reason, you have no curtains. It takes a few minutes for the silence to dissipate into forced conversation, which takes a few more minutes to fade into actual conversation.

“Can I be honest with you?” You ask him.

“Does it matter how I answer?”

“I don’t understand how you’re not dead.” You poke your head up, turning to him. “Are you human?”

He cranes his neck to look out the window, “Maybe getting shot at isn’t the worst thing that could happen tonight…”

You roll your eyes with a smile that you’re glad is hidden by the darkness. “Oh, fuck off.”

“You don’t have much in terms of self-preservation skills, do you?”

You ignore him as to not acknowledge that he’s probably right and roll through to your next curiosity, “Who the hell was shooting at you anyways?” Though, you don’t really expect an answer.

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. They got ‘til sunrise anyway.”

You tilt your head, “‘Til sunri—” oh. Yeah. Come to think of it, he does have two guns on him right now. At least that you can see. You squint blankly at the wall, “You know, I’m placing a lot of trust in the hope that you’re not just as bad as those guys.”

“Yes you are.” He nods, not doing anything to convince you that he is in fact a good guy. He hasn’t tried to harm you in any way though, so you guess that’s a good sign.

You tilt your head at him. “Do you get paid to do this?” 

“I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of people who would pay me not to do this.” 

You nod solemnly, mouth turned into an exaggerated frown. “So you have a day job?”

He looks over at you, “Do you always ask this many questions?”

“Are you always so dodgy about answering them?” You shoot back. If you’d thought for .5 seconds longer on that, you might not have said anything. But you feel comfortable here, in your apartment with a man whose face you’ve never seen, name you don’t know, and always has at least two loaded guns on him.

He huffs out a laugh, “Yeah. I am.” He looks over at you. “You live here by yourself?”

You look around at the empty apartment before turning back to him, “Seems that way.”

He shrugs, “Boyfriend could be out or something.”

“Well most people are asleep at one in the morning. Like I was. Remember that?”

“No.”

You sigh, curling up into a ball on your end of the couch, resting your chin on your knees. You’re quiet for a minute before piping up, “Do people actually break into apartments on high floors a lot?”

“Stupid people.” He pauses, looking over at the frown on your face. “Look, I’m in the neighborhood a lot. If I see somebody climbing your fire escape I’ll shoot them.”

You let a little smile out, “I’m thinking there’s other steps you could take before you get to that point.”

“If you want to waste time.” His gaze doubles back at you, “That was a joke, by the way.”

You bark out a tired laugh, “Yeah, I picked up on that, thanks.”

He removes his eyes from you, fixing on a set of pictures you have hanging on the wall.

Your eyes flutter and you move to rest your head on the arm of the couch. “Is this going to be a regular thing then?”

“You could lock your window.”

“Living on the eighth floor didn’t stop you, I can’t imagine a shitty lock will do much more.”

“If you don’t want me here, I won’t be here.” He says gruffly.

“If I don’t want you here, I’ll let you know.” You mumble, eyes closing.

You can barely make out a laugh from him, “Good to know.”

You’re not quite sure how much time goes by when he leaves, but you have a pretty strong feeling you’d fallen asleep. Your main indicator was feeling the blanket draped nicely over you that you could’ve sworn was on the chair across the room.

Maybe it’s ten o’clock at night and you’re sat on your kitchen floor, bawling your eyes out. Maybe you’re going to have to quit your job. Or maybe you’ll have to face a lawsuit. Maybe this is the worst day in the history of time. Maybe it’s about to get worse. 

The sound of your living room window sliding open has you startling into a rush, body panicking as if you’ve done something wrong and desperately need to cover the evidence. The past few weeks of sporadic visits leaves no question about who it is, and you just hope the kitchen island in front of you will be enough to convince Hood that you’re not in and he’ll leave.

But because today is today, that’s not how it goes down.

You can vaguely make out the sound of his footsteps approaching, a courtesy that you’re sure he incorporated on purpose.

“Oh fuck…” you mutter to yourself, wiping your eyes.

He rounds the counter, looking down at you. “Wha—what’s wrong?”

“Fuck. Nothing.” You say, standing up and adjusting your clothes. “Are you hurt?” He better fucking not be at only ten.

“No, I—why are you on the floor?” 

You roll your eyes, “I live alone, forgive me for assuming I would be given the privilege to cry on the floor in private.”

“Did something happen?” You’re trying really hard not to call him an idiot. 

You raise your eyebrows, giving a light nod. “Uh, yeah, I’d say so.”

He shifts in his stance, “Do I need to talk to someone?”

You scoff, knowing damn well his version of ‘talk to someone’ does not include talking to someone. “Why are you even here so early?” 

“Wanted to stop by before I went out.” he says quietly.

You’re about to snap something at him again, but the burning in your eyes takes immediate priority. You wrap your arms around your middle and try to calm yourself down, with very little success. The tears fall easily and your shoulders start shaking as you look at the floor, letting the melancholy take over. 

It feels like much longer than it probably was, but sometime after the first few tears fall he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. This only makes you cry harder, sobbing against his armor. Your arms stay wrapped around your center, while his hands remain completely still against your back, though firm. You don’t realize it immediately, but he’s holding a good portion of your weight up, you’d for sure collapse onto the floor otherwise. You kind of wish you would. Sitting on the floor felt nice, maybe falling down on it will feel even better.

You slowly start to regain your breathing, the well in your eyes drying up again. He waits for you to stop completely and slowly pulls back from you, hands momentarily still wavering next to you like he’s ready to catch you.

It takes you a minute to notice, but his helmet is locked on to the finger-shaped bruises on your forearm. You awkwardly move your opposite arm to cover them, looking around your apartment with nothing to search for.  

He’s quiet for a long while, clearly thinking hard. “What happened?”

You sniffle, “Some asshole at my job.”

“Some asshole?” He doesn’t believe you. Rightfully so, but he has no business being able to tell that you’re lying about one single word in that sentence.  

“My boss. Was very intent on successfully hitting on me.” You exhale deeply, “His approach could use some work though, if I’m honest.”

His posture remains statue-like. “Where do you work?”

You look at him straight on for the first time that night, “What does that matter?”

“I’ll take care of it.” He says simply.

You wave him off, “It’s fine.”

He waits a moment before letting you know, “I’m being polite by asking, I’m going to find out either way.”

You plop back down on the kitchen floor, knees to chest. “Well, then do it the hard way.”

About ten seconds of him staring down at you in silence go by, before he sits down next to you. It’s a bit funny how he tries to shrink himself down next to you, you’re assuming because he doesn’t want you to get panicked again because this massive stranger is sitting next to you in your kitchen in the dead of night.  

You don’t look at him as he clicks his helmet off and sets it on the other side of him. It’s quiet for another minute when he holds his gloved hand out to you, and you’re not quite sure how you know what he wants, but you do. You place your bruised arm in his hand, letting him gently pull it closer to him and scan over it. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

Again, you don’t know how, but you can tell he’s asking how far things went. “I started screaming and it freaked him out. He let me go.” you say numbly. 

You can see him nod out of the corner of your eye, bits of red making their way into your peripheral despite the discarded helmet. You turn slowly to look at him, finding him looking at you already.  

His face is more covered than it had been the first night, the same black mask covers his eyes but the lower half of his face is also hidden by a red mouthpiece. You’re in the lamp light and closer to him than you had been before and you’re counting out specks of green in his blue eyes. He lets you, to your surprise, and when you run out of emerald hues you take focus on his thick, dark eyelashes. Your gaze moves back ever so slightly to make eye contact with him and you tear your eyes away, zeroing in on the kitchen tiles. 

You sigh contemplatively, “I’m worried if you kill my boss it’ll be traced back to me and I’ll get pinned for it.”

He doesn’t laugh. But your delivery was a little dry in the wrong way so really it was on you.

“I’m not going to kill him.” he tells you, “I wouldn’t gamble with my pied-a-terre like that.”

Your head falls back, hitting the drawer behind you with a light thud. “Then why waste your time at all?” Maybe you should slow down with the snide comments.

He wants to, but he doesn’t call out the implied self-slighting in your words. “Maybe it’s a ‘me’ thing but I don’t particularly like men that hurt women.”

You let out a dry laugh. “In Gotham, it just might be.”

He sits with you on the linoleum tile of your kitchen until your eyes start to droop and he lightly corrals you to your bedroom before taking his exit through the window. You told him multiple times that he could go and you were fine, but he insisted that nothing important was happening in the city that time of night. You didn’t quite believe him though, because it was past midnight by the time he’d headed out.  

When you showed up to work the following day your boss wasn’t there. Wasn’t there the day after either. Or the day after. He didn’t make an appearance again until the following Monday. And when he did show face, he did so with a neck brace and a cast on his leg. But once more, he absolutely refused to make eye contact or speak to any of the female employees. It actually became a whole thing when he wouldn’t give instructions or feedback to any of you, and insisted on having his secretary replaced with a man, who he then used as a middle man to speak to all of the women for him. HR got involved three times in the span of the next five days, and by the Monday after, he’d been fired.

So to recap: yes, no, no, undecided, and hard no. 

Maybe you’re really starting to like this Red Hood guy.

Hard yes.

You’re slightly on guard upon hearing a clattering on the balcony, though if the past few weeks have been any indicator, you’re not in much danger.

Your posture slumps as you peer around the hallway corner, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Good to see you too.” he grumbles, dropping onto the floor.

“Well, I have to imagine I’m a step up from the last person you saw.” You say, looking him up and down, seeing what sure as hell looks like a gunshot wound on his chest armor. “What happened to you? The Mad Hatter uses guns now?”

He groans, “Ah, I said something about him being a heartless fuck, and I guess he took it personally.”

You sigh, “Jesus Christ, Hood.”

He waves you off, “It’s not that big of a deal.” 

You scoff, “He tried to shoot you in the heart.”

“Yeah, well, he missed.” He grumbles, adjusting his position on the couch. 

You exhale sharply, “How do you know?”

“How do I know?” He tilts his helmet at you, exasperated. 

You throw your arms up at your side, “I don’t know! I’m not equipped for this scenario.”

He huffs, “Look, it’s fine, it hit my armor. It’ll probably just be a bad bruise.”

“Probably?”

“I don’t think there’s blood. Could you…” he vaguely gestures to his torso, but it's enough for you to get the hint.

You shake the panic out of your head, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

You help him shrug off his jacket as he strips off his armor, and you lift his shirt up as slowly as you can in case the injury is worse than he thinks.

You’re not shocked to see that he has scars, that’s kind of a given in his line of work. What you are shocked to see is one very long scar that lines directly up the center of his body. It’s a deep scar, too.

And, oh. The long scar extends further, splitting off into a fork at his collar. That’s—oh. Oh. Oh. That is an autopsy scar. 

You’re not sure what to do. You’ve never seen a living person with an autopsy scar—though you have to imagine neither have most people.

He clearly does not want to talk about it and you’re happy to let him keep the skeleton in the closet.

You avert your gaze back over to his diaphragm at the area of reddened skin.

“There’s no blood, but…” You inspect it a bit closer, “I think there’s going to be a bad bruise. You might end up with bruising on your ribs, you need to get that looked at.”

“I am.” He says shortly.

You stand up straight, dropping your shoulders. “By someone who went to medical school. Or has taken more than one anatomy class in their life.” 

He yanks down his shirt, standing, apparently too quickly, and wobbling. You catch his arm as he sways, attempting to steady him. “You should sit down.”

“Need to go back out.” He grunts, trying to pull away from you with little force.

“To get killed? ‘Cause you’re going the right way about it.” 

He tilts his head at you like he’s daring you to be so bold again. At least that's what it felt like. You sigh, gesturing to the couch, “Sit down.”

You didn’t expect it to work but he does as told.

You look around, unsure of what to do next. “Do you need ice?”

“What?”

“You’re hurt.” You say slower. “Do you need ice?”

He falters for a second, “No, it’s—no.” A couple beats pass before he adds, “Thanks, sweetheart.” 

It’s impossible not to notice that he’s staring at you. You feel hot under his gaze, not knowing what to do with yourself. You clear your throat, telling him to hang on for a second. 

You call out behind you as you walk to the kitchen, “Take your helmet off, it’s rude.” You grab the painkillers from their new easily-accessible place on the kitchen counter and grab a water bottle from the fridge.

It was a joke but when you come back his helmet is off and he’s just wearing his domino eye mask. His hair is extra tousled, the white streak barely visible in the mess of loose curls. You toss the bottle of meds at him, followed by the capped bottle of water. He catches them easily, downing more than he probably should have but he got shot tonight so you figure you’ll give him a break about it.    

You plop down on the couch next to him, honestly closer than you’d meant to. Your knees and shoulders lightly brush against one anothers, though neither of you make any moves to scoot over. 

You both look straight ahead at the wall, simmering in the amity. “So did somebody else deal with the Hatter or when you get shot do you just bounce back like a T-1000?”

He scoffs, “No, getting shot at is a bit of an inconvenience for me.”

“Wrong line of work.”

He cocks an eyebrow, “You’re telling me.”

You turn your head to him, “Why do you do it then?” 

He looks back at you earnestly. “Someone has to.” 

“Someone does.”

He tenses up a bit at that, breaking eye contact. “Not well enough.” 

Your head slowly lulls and drops into a rest on his shoulder, causing him to stiffen up a bit more before almost completely relaxing.

“So violence is the answer to violence?” you ask, not argumentative, just genuinely musing. 

Hood sighs, “Half-assed reform programs didn’t do anything, shitty ‘crisis interventions’ didn’t do anything, the cops sure as hell don’t do anything.” He shrugs under you. “You run out of options eventually.”

“And that’s why you took it upon yourself to intervene?”

“Mm. ‘When reason fails, the devil helps.’” He says, quite melodramatically, in your opinion.

“I-Is that—” you squint, shooting off of his shoulder to look him in the eye. “You spend your nights getting in street fights and shootouts and you spend your days reading Crime and Punishment of all things?” You gawk at him, “That explains a lot about your disposition.”

He shrugs with a shake of his head. “It’s a rough world. Can’t afford to be reading about Hogwarts.”

You pause, combing through your next words, “‘Man only likes to count his troubles; he doesn’t calculate his happiness.’”

His eyes crinkle under his mask as he smiles, clearly pleasantly surprised that you know your shit. “Touché.”

You grin back, pleased with yourself. 

There’s a brief recession where your smiles both get caught in the flicker between on and off, where your eyes take the opportunity to scan over each other’s faces. 

You realize that this may be the first time you’ve seen him properly smile and it’s so magnetizing. So much so that you don’t realize you’re staring at his lips until your eyes snap back up to his and find that his are on yours.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he nudges you a bit with his shoulder. It does just enough to break the trance, giving you the cue to rest your head on him again. This time you allow more of your weight to lean against him and he actually seems relaxed for once.

��You glance at the clock on the wall without moving and realize it’s almost four in the morning. “I’m tired, Hood.” you mumble into his shirt.

“You don’t—” he falters for a moment, “You don’t have to call me that.”

You squint at him, “What should I call you then?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “J.”

“J?” you whisper, like it’s a grave secret. You guess it kind of is.

He nods.

“Okay.” Your cheek flattens against his shoulder. “J.” 

You nearly think you’re imagining it when you feel him rest his head against yours.

“You don’t know how to protect yourself?”

You roll your eyes at him, “You saw the way I swung at you with the baseball bat, what do you think?”

It’s only just after sunset, you could still see some purple-pink hues in the sky if you looked out the window. He’s started showing up before patrol some nights, saying he felt bad about waking you up at 3 am multiple times a week. So now, he mostly only drops in late if he’s a manageable amount of injured.

You stand in the middle of your living room together, after you’d made a joke about needing him as a bodyguard in Gotham. As it turns out, that was a one way street to him finding out that you’re useless in a fight.

“I was hoping you were having an off night because you just woke up, but now I'm concerned.” He says, grimacing.

You shrug, “I carry pepper spray.” 

He grumbles, displeased. “Put your hands up.”

You drop your head to the side and glower at him, “Really?”

He raises his eyebrows at you. Just do it. 

Alright, you’ll humor him. You put your fists up and he holds his hands open in front of you in kind. You throw a light punch.

“Come on, put your weight behind it.”

You do, hitting his hand harder. “Hood—”

He tilts his head forward at that, looking at you through his brows.

You inhale impatiently, “J, Why do we have to do this? I don’t have any illusions that I could knock you out and I can’t imagine you do either.” 

He shakes his head, “It’s not about knocking someone out, it’s about defending yourself. Gonna be a hell of a lot harder to hurt you if you’re throwing punches. Harder.”

You give a raised hum, “Not if they have a gun…”

“Well, we’ll work on that too.”

You groan, throwing a half-assed hit. “Where’d you learn to fight?” You ask before throwing another.

“Turn your body into it.” He corrects. “My, uh, my dad taught me.”

You hum, hitting him again. “Are you guys close?”

“You’re being nosy again.” He grunts amidst a hit.

“You’re being evasive again.” You shoot back.  

He drops his hands, taking your wrists in his, “Here, put your hands in front of your face when you shoot so you can block counters.” He tells you, adjusting your stance accordingly.

You make a face, “I’m confused, am I fighting a mugger or a kickboxer?”  

He ignores you, moving his hands around to give you different angles to hit at. 

You go at it for a few minutes, taking his critiques with reluctant concedence. “Alright, that’s good.” He says, relaxing his body.

You perk up, “We’re done?” 

“No,” he shuts you down before asking earnestly, “Do you trust me?”

Your brain hadn’t even fully processed the question before you nod, mumbling a ‘yes’. He takes a measured step closer to you, watching carefully for your reaction. You almost back up in surprise, angling your head up further to look at him properly. You give no objection, so he continues, “I want you to try to get me on the ground.”

You let out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-scoff. “You’re twice my size.”      

He sighs, looking at you somberly. “Sweetheart, odds are you’re not going to be evenly matched against someone that wants to hurt you. You get ‘em on the ground ‘n you have the upper hand or it’ll give you time to get away.”

You throw your hands up at your sides, “I don’t—” You huff, “Fine, okay.” You try to trip him by sliding your leg behind his and kicking, but he blocks you expertly.

You, against better judgment, shove your shoulder into his side, though it does nothing to phase him, let alone knock him down. 

“You gotta get more creative than that.” He chastises with a tut. 

In response, you take a step back to reassess the situation. You try to maintain a poker face as you strategize in your head. You make a dive for his legs, wrapping your arms around the back of his legs and pulling hard to make him lose balance. You’re sure if he were actually trying for a damn you would immediately be done for afterwards, but it does make him wobble. You then throw all of your weight against him, pushing him backwards and causing him to hit the floor with a thud.

He probably allowed for gravity to come to your aid, but he lands on his back all the same. You land half on him, half on the carpet, your hand resting on his chest. He looks up at you nodding, “Good. That was good, sweetheart.”

You smile, quite proud of yourself, and start to stand up when he hooks his arm around the back of your knee and pulls you to the ground too, switching places with you. You hit the ground gently with a sigh, “Really?”

He has one hand rested next to your head to balance him in his place above you. He smirks down at you and lets a tussle of white hair hang over his forehead. “Can’t be getting cocky, sweetheart.”

You laugh sourly, “Coming from you?” 

You quickly push at the bend of his arm and use the distraction to adjust your position to wrap your legs around his center and push your arm against his chest in an attempt to rotate him off of you.

He counters you by pushing your shoulder down, holding you down to the floor. His opposite hand flies to pull your forearm away from his chest, pinning it next to your head, careful to avoid your hair. He moves so quickly that you have half a mind to think he acted on pure instinct. That, and the look on his face when the dust settles says that he hadn’t intended for you to end up in this position. 

Your legs are still wrapped around him and you’re too frozen in the moment to make any changes. He’s in no more of a rush to move, large frame towering over you. You feel his touch stutter against your shoulder, his eyes flickering across your face.

You gaze up at him, taking in the soft look in his eyes behind the mask. You think you can see more green than you did before. You unwrap your legs from around his waist and slowly start to sit up. He releases your wrist and eases the pressure on your shoulder. He leans back half as quickly as you move forward, stopping when you’re propped up on your elbows.

Your faces are only a few inches apart and it feels like your only option is to look down at his lips. You have a feeling he’s doing the same to you. The adrenaline of the hassle has long since faded but the rhythm in both of your chests remains quick.

He leans forward so barely, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. “J…” you say breathily, not sure what implication you’re aiming for.

He stills and this time you’re sure he’s looking at your lips. He blinks a few times like he’s trying to come back to himself and inches his face away from yours slowly. 

You let the hold in your breath release, disappointed more than anything. He eases off the floor to a stand and holds his hand out to help you up too. You take it with more of a frown than you’d meant to let out and rise to your feet.

“Let’s, uh…” He looks at the ground before taking a step back and putting his hands up again. “Let’s try some combos.”

You blink up at him for a second before raising your hands too.  

Alright, one step at a time.   

[ghouljams]

Some Ghost!Ghost that I wrote in a blind panic at midnight last night before collapsing back asleep. Minors DNI (cw: dubcon, somno)

Your cunt stretches around his cock, clenches around him like you can't get enough. Your body trying to keep him locked in place even in your sleep. he can see the soft pink walls of your pussy, the translucent cock that spears you open also giving your ghostly top an clear view of your insides. Your hips shift at the pressure of being filled, your knee moving from where you lay on your side to try and get comfortable. Look at you, so cute drooling against the pillow, arms wrapped around another as your silly little brain keeps you under the throws of sleep. Poor thing. It's a good thing Ghost is around to keep you safe when you're such a sound sleeper.

The burn of being stretched around his cock makes you whimper, the soft sound breathes out of you as Ghost fucks your pliant body. You're getting better about sleeping through his visits. Must be getting used to him, used to being filled by him. He wonders what you're dreaming about, if you're dreaming at all. Your soft lips part around delicate moans, hardly anything worth waking up over. It has to be him doesn't it? Perverse thing that you are, so willing to take his cock in the daylight even when you can't see him, do you dream about him too?

Some sick part of him purrs, pleased to know you're so easily trained, that your body welcomes him so nicely. But the part that's still human twists. He knows he shouldn't take advantage of your kindness like this. If he was a better man...

Well, if he was a better man he wouldn't be stuck in this terrible limbo in the first place. He wouldn't still have blood spilling from his slit throat. He wouldn't be fucking the sweet thing that's trying so hard to accommodate him in a house that's no longer his own.

Still, he thinks, better than the men that you've brought into the house. He's protecting you, really, by chasing them off. He's keeping you safe from their lecherous hands, their perverse glances and impure thoughts. He's keeping you satisfied so you don't try to seek satisfaction elsewhere. It's just the two of you here, no one else. He won't allow anyone else to know you like he does, to enjoy your kindness, your understanding, your body.

"There you go baby, big stretch," He murmurs, speaks in a voice he knows you'll never hear, when your brows scrunch the tiniest bit as he draws his cock out of your tight hole and presses it back into you, "you can take it, know you can." The warm clutch of your body is too much to resist, even when your skin seems to lose its heat wherever he touches you. He can't stop touching you, passing through your clothes to grope at your chest during the day, ghosting his fingers over your hips when you lay tile, his lips against your neck when you reach for something off a high shelf, his cock fucking you over the kitchen counter like the little trespassing whore you are.

You take it all so eagerly. Leave offerings for him, take his opinion, do you even know the strength you give him, the power. He wouldn't have been able to do this months ago, wouldn't have been able to sink into your slick cunt and hold himself up with a hand on your hip. Fuck you look so good when he spreads you open, tugs your folds out of the way with his thumb to watch the way you swallow him.

There is, he supposes, one nice thing about being dead: when you wake up in the morning with your pussy aching and sticky, you assume it must be from the wet dream you had last night.

[monstersflashlight]

Monster in the dark

Demon x chubby fem!human || chasing, dub-con (almost cnc), breeding, cum play, tail play

There wasn’t anyone in the street. You knew you should have taken the longer path, it took you all around the neighborhood but at least it was always crowded with people shopping, talking, walking around... anything. There were always people there, but instead you choose the fucking short path, going through the less light part of the neighborhood. You hated the dark with passion, but you were in a hurry, your favorite show was about to start and you didn’t want to run into anyone and risk them stopping you.

But apparently you were out of luck. "Hey dude!" Someone called out. You didn’t turn around. You walked faster, trying to get to the end of the long street where at least the lightbulbs weren’t flickering. Your anxiety was spiking, your heartbeat so loud in your ears you were scared someone could sneak up on you. A shiver ran down your spine when a cold breeze blew past you. A bad feeling creeping out on you.

"Hey you! I need a little help!" You turned around trying to decipher if your possible attacker was close enough that you should run faster. You knew you shouldn’t have done that. It was scary movies 101 to never turn around when something was chasing you. But maybe they were hurt or something. Your big heart betrayed you. You turned around completely, but there wasn’t anybody in sight. Just empty space. Confused you kept walking, almost running, but not entirely.

“Hey darling! The one with the cute butt, I need some help!” They called. What? Your anxiety was through the roof. The lightbulbs started to flicker like crazy, some of them even exploding, engulfing the street in darkness. You screamed and started to run as fast as you could. Which wasn’t so fast.

You ran and ran, the street seeming longer than ever. You prayed to whoever was listening to let you make it. To let you run fast enough to get to your house. Then you heard something similar to a growl, a primal sound that made your blood run cold and your body fuel with a fear so profound that it made your insides twist.

"Caught you!" Someone said as you felt a hand closing down on your shoulder. "Why are you running?" You were scared to turn around, but the stranger made you twist your body either way. The sheer force in that one point of contact made your fly or fight response activated. "Don't worry, darling, I just wanna talk."

You turned around and saw nothing. Not a peep. But the hand on your shoulder was there. The voice was there. You could feel it. You could feel a presence there. What the actual fuck. Your heart was going to get out if it kept beating like that.

"Oh, shit, sorry! I forgot humans couldn't see me in this form." And right before your eyes a tall figure appeared. Just like that. There was nothing, and then there was a big as fuck man. So big you have to look up. And up. And up. Your neck hurt from looking at his face. "Better like this, right?" He asked, the black tendrils around his body shimmering as he smirked. His mouth was too big, too wide, he had so many teeth you couldn't even process it. And they were sharp, so fucking sharp. You shivered. "Oh, darling, don't be scared, I'm not gonna eat you." You thought he added maybe under his breath, but your heartbeat was deafening in your ears.

“Wh- what are you?” You got out, your body frozen in place.

“A poor demon who needs your help.” He told you, his face trying to mimic a grin, but contorting in a creepy way, making you shiver.

“With- With what?” You asked, your body sending all kinds of alert signals to your brain.

“With this…” He whispered as he pulled your body against his, his erection rubbing against your stomach. “I need a sweet human pussy to help me with this, and your luscious body looks delicious. Perfect to breed.” He answered, making your blood turn into ice. And your body started to respond, trying to fight his hold, unable to do it.

“No. Stop. Let me go!” You struggled against him, but his hold was too strong.

He turned you around, pressing his front against your back, black tendrils coming around you, caging you. They started to touch every part of you. The tendrils and his hands moving freely over your body, groping your tummy, your tits, your hips, your ass, rubbing your pussy… There wasn’t a centimeter of you that was left untouched by him. You tried to scream, but his hand covered your mouth. “Don’t do that, baby.” That pet name made something inside your brain react. Could it be?

You talked with your demon boyfriend about wanting to try some CNC a couple nights back. He didn’t react to what you said, just kept listening as you listed your personal kinks. But this couldn’t be him, could he? He was a demon, but you never saw him like this. You couldn’t know. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe you had a magnet for weird monsters who wanted to fuck you. Fuck. You couldn’t know. What if he wasn’t? What if this stranger fucked you and you realized later it wasn’t your boyfriend. What if a weird monster took advantage of you in the middle of a dark street?

You knew you should have taken the long path.

The anticipation and the fear mixed inside of you, making your stomach drop and your fight response kick in. You bit the hand around your mouth as hard as you could. The monster moaned and rubbed his hard cock against your back. It was so big, too big. There was no way that would fit inside of you.

He used his tendrils to manhandle you into the air, lifting you so his cock rested between your ass cheeks. Your feet didn’t touch the ground, you were completely suspended, at his mercy. You regretted putting on a dress this morning, making his advances so easy now. You felt the cool air hit your rear as he lifted the back of the dress, exposing your almost naked ass.

“Aw! Look at that, you are wearing the prettiest thong. I bet your boyfriend loves it, too bad he’s not going to fuck your pussy tonight. I am.” His voice went so low in tone that it sounded distorted, making your insides tingle. To your shame, making your pussy tingle, too.

He moved the thong aside, pushing two fingers in right away, his claws pointy, dangerous. Your walls contracted against his fingers. “Someone is excited…” You blushed so hard you could feel the blood in your cheeks. “You like it, don’t you? Of course you do, you are a proud monsterfucker, aren’t you? I saw you with that demon boyfriend you have…” He whispered against your ear. You shivered, feeling humiliated as you moaned when his fingers hit your G-spot. “You are so wet and so hot… I’m going to enjoy your slutty pussy.” He teased, a tendril flickering your clit harshly, making you cry out in pain and pleasure.

He didn’t wait, he didn’t care about you or your comfort. He pushed his dick inside of you in a fluid motion. As far as it could go. You could feel he wasn’t fully inside, his dick too big for your human pussy. But he didn’t seem to care about it. He started to fuck you hard and deep, hitting all your sensible places at once as his hands groped your tits over your dress, not caring if you screamed. Shame filled you as your pussy got wetter and wetter around his assault. You tried to struggle, but your forces bleed out every time he hit your G-spot. Fuck.

“Are you going to be a good breeding bitch for me? Are you going to keep fighting as I fill your pretty little cunt with my cum until it overflows?” You moaned, embarrassment filling you as your pussy pulsated around him. “You like that, don’t you? You try to fight but you are enjoying this. You are enjoying to have a monster’s cock deep inside of you.”

“N-no.” You choked out, the moan you let out after made your words pointless. He laughed harder, the movement of his body making his dick go a bit deeper.

“Yes, you do. You love to be a little human cum-dump for me. I bet you’d love if I fucked you harder.” He speeded up, setting a punishing pace that made a chorus of ah ah ah leave your mouth. He didn’t try to cover your mouth anymore, clearly enjoying the sounds you were letting out. You felt like the bitch he called you, enjoying as someone took advantage of you in the middle of the street. Anybody could come and see you there, exposed, being fucked by a monster, acting like his personal fleshlight. His cumdumpster.

“Prepare yourself slutty human, I’m going to cum so deep you are going to taste my cum.” His words were nasty, so dirty you wanted to say something, anything. But instead it made you moan, turning you into a mess.

And then you felt his cum hitting deep inside, so much of it you felt your lower abdomen bloating. “Look at that, you are so full… Poor little human, let me help.” He laughed cruelly, pushing against the bulge there, as cum gushed out of you, trying to escape around the cock still buried inside of you. Some of it came out, making the filthiest sound you ever heard, accompanying his laughter. He pulled out at that moment, his hand still on your abdomen, making a splosh sound as what felt like a river of come dripped down and hit the pavement under you. “So messy…” He chastised.

He lowered his hand, collecting some of his cum gushing out. He played with it, spreading it around your pussy, pushing some inside again. You groaned and moaned, his tendrils holding you in place as he played with your pussy like it was his personal toy. He took some of the cum and rubbed your clit with it, the most delicious friction taking you to the edge. It was dirty, so dirty… And then he took his hand away. You whimpered loudly and he laughed at your pathetic slutty act, slapping your pussy hard and making your eyes roll inside your head. You came, right there, right then. You screamed at the top of your lungs, his laughter fading into the background as your brain blacked out for a couple seconds.

You came back slowly. He lowered you to the ground, his front to your back and tendrils still around you. “Told you it would be fun!” His voice was back to his normal tone, making you relax, finally recognized your stupid boyfriend’s voice. He never showed his full demon form, just giving you glimpses of it through the months you dated. It came in handy for him today, you guessed, anger rising inside of you.

“You didn’t say you were going to use your fully transformed form. You scared the crap out of me, you ass!” You yelled back at him, your eyes still teary and your voice raw after the screaming marathon you just had.

“Hey! Don’t lie to me, you like my ass. And I definitely love yours…” He smirked, his hand groping your ass. He kneaded your ass cheeks like he was making bread, chuckling when you tried to pull away. You knew you were going to have some pretty nasty bruises the next day. He would love that. To have you all marked.

“I hate you.” You whispered, trying hard not to moan as he pulled on your thong’s string, the fabric rubbing your asshole and abused pussy in the best possible way.

“Aww, baby, don’t be like that.” He said softly, placating. His lips trailing kisses along your neck. “But you looked so good running away from me, I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. Also, your booty moves so nicely when you run, and your tits were bouncing like you were an anime girl.” You didn’t need to look at his face to know he was smirking like a madman.

“You are nasty.” You told him, reaching back and grabbing his balls, hard. He just moaned. You knew he liked the pain.

“You love when I’m nasty.” He teased you. He was right, you couldn’t deny that. “Can I fuck your asshole next?” He mumbled, rubbing his still hard dick against your back. You looked over your shoulder at him, trying to decipher if he was kidding. He wasn’t.

“You give me the scare of my life!” You repeated, mad at him for being so heartless, but deep down loving how shameful he was.

He didn’t look guilty at all. “You came either way. You loved to be my prey, didn’t you baby?” He teased, tendrils coming around your body to hold you tight against his embrace. You mumbled about how mad you were, not really meaning it. “Does that mean I can’t bend you down and fuck your ass?” He asked again in a pouty voice. You hesitated, and he took that as an invitation to move your thong to the side again, teasing your asshole. He pushed his traveling tail up your hole, circling it. You tried to push him away, but he just laughed and moved it to collect some of the mixture of his seed and your juices. He used it as lube as he pushed the pointed tip inside you, making you moan. “There she is, my lovely slutty girlfriend.”

“Take me home first, at least.” You told him, already giving in to the pleasure you could feel building for him pushing his tail in an out, just the tip, but it was enough to make your pussy tingle all over again. His cum was still coming out of you. He always came in what felt like buckets.

“But I don’t wanna wait!” He complained, fucking you faster and holding your hips flush against his body. You pushed back, making his tail go deeper, his laughter almost cruel.

“Don’t be a brat. Take me home.” You choked out, already feeling the signs of an orgasm building. You didn’t want to be caught, and you already pushed your luck too far tonight.

“Can I fuck all your holes if I take you home?” He tried to negotiate.

“Ugh, fine.” You tried to fake the annoyance, but you knew he saw right past your facade. Who were you trying to lie? You loved when he was so shameless, you loved when he used all of your holes as you were nothing more than a human fleshlight for him. And specially, you loved when he used his prehensile tail to fuck your ass as he pushed his dick inside your pussy. Fuck. You were so close.

He lifted you up and carried you home, his tail still fucking your hole sloppily all they way there, bouncing you over him and staring at your tits.

You came two more times before you reached your bed.

[tacticalprincess]

What if. What if, tired könig just got yelled at by his superior bcs he messed something up then he sees you bent over looking for something under the couch (most probably the remote) and can't control himself? What was the lil guy supposed to do? :(( he was stressed and his stress reliever toy is right there

- 🐇

you couldn’t have presented yourself to him like this at a better time. he’s angry at himself for making such a careless mistake, days of exhaustion leading him to slack off in the paperwork aspect of his job, which ultimately rendered his last mission pointless. the only thing keeping him from snapping was the thought of coming home and fucking his frustrations into your tight, warm pussy. the easy access you’re granting him only makes it better, his already hard cock jumping at the sight of you in such a vulnerable position, flimsy pajamas barely concealing your ass.

he drops to his knees, wordlessly pushing you down farther by your lower back when you attempt to turn towards him, his other hand already undoing his belt. he shushes your concerns with what he’s doing and pulls your panties to the side, satisfied to see how quickly you’re getting wet for him, cute pussy getting glossy with slick. the first press of his thick tip into your hole is brain-numbing, punching a long, satisfied grunt out of him, eyes squeezing shut to bask in the feeling. his large hands dip into the crevices where your hip and soft thighs connect, meaty dick humping into your gummy walls at a rapid pace that leaves you breathless and dizzy. his brutal strokes push your body into the couch repeatedly, your knees beginning to ache from the burn of the carpet.

it’s not long before you’re being lifted off the floor from his strong grip on your hips, being bounced on his cock over and over again as his dick bullies your spongy cervix, rendering you helpless. your whines and mewls are barely heard over the sound of könig’s blood pumping in his ears, so close to filling your tiny hole with his hot seed for the first of many times that day.

“i’m sorry, häschen. just take it for me, ja?” he grunts out. “i need this.”

you want to take care of your man, don’t you?

[thejujvtsupost]

The Red Queen

So this isn’t entirely smut but it’s definitely suggestive so I’ll still say it’s 18+? Anyway, I love this trope of sweet husband! Sukuna so much. I picture this set in a somewhat modern time where he lives in a large castle/estate and rules over land; but it can definitely be read like it’s the Heian era. It’s also my first Sukuna work!

Notes: F!reader, lovesick sweet husband sukuna, period and blood mention, suggestive/light smut throughout, almost oral sex (f receiving), reader is victim to the ridiculous stigma surrounding periods.

Sukuna is familiar with menstrual cycles, it’s one of the reasons he had more than one concubine until now- when he only had you. His queen.

He didn’t mind blood, but there was too much complaining mess and disinterest. He wasn’t going to fuck someone that wouldn’t worship him.

And you were one of them, at least at first. Starting out as a concubine and carrying out some maid duties as well until you quickly became the master’s favorite.

He tried to rationalize his feelings at the time. Maybe it was the way you squeaked when he was inside you for the first time, or the way you rode him… perhaps, and the more likely reason, was how you treated him. You were worthy of being his queen, and dare he say, he experienced love for the first time.

You didn’t look away like the others when you witnessed him covered in blood (even though blood made you squeamish), instead you ran to him to see if he was alright.

“Master Sukuna! Are you alright, did someone attack you- woah!” Your voice wavered when you tripped on your own kimono. Sukuna caught you easily, though one hand facepalmed at your clumsy display when he did.

Okay, maybe you were a bit oblivious. And clumsy. And hopelessly charming. “I am fine. I intend to bathe shortly.”

“I’ll start the water then- oh, or would you like me to find Uraume?” The pout you sported amused him enough to humor you. His other concubines hadn’t been this concerned about him before. You were strange, but not bad…

You also sympathized with him while he took out his stress on your smaller body.

“I should kill him for his insolence!” Was expressed between sharp thrusts, yet you were too overwhelmed to do more than moan and cum. By this time you were the only concubine being called for quite some time, you took the brunt of his anger by yourself, happily.

As you were collecting your clothing afterwards, you went out on a limb that you know could have gotten you killed, but he deserved to be validated: “I’m sorry you had to deal with that, my king. Please tell me if there’s anything I can do to make it easier for you. Good night.”

You were mid bow when he barked out “stay”, is your assumption that he wanted your body again was incorrect. It was the first night you slept in his chambers and you’ve slept beside him ever since. You didn’t question him, you weren’t afraid.

You were happy to stay.

It wasn’t long after that night when he decided you would be his queen.

You were married under cherry blossom trees in the spring.

The plush bed did little to help your suffering. The aching of your womb didn’t stop, and after a particularly painful cramp, the tears were coming.

The arrival to your shared chambers had him concerned, he hadn’t sensed you elsewhere and your energy was drained- yet you weren’t asleep.

(And you didn’t greet him cutely, which he totally wasn’t looking forward to after being away for a week.)

“My love?”

Your pained grumble led him towards you, and as he grew closer he smelled the blood. “Where are you injured? Why isn’t anyone tending to you?” He knelt down to be level with you and brushed the hair from your eyes.

“‘m’not injured, it’s… it’s a girl thing. It’s just really bad this time around.”

“Ah, your menstrual cycle.”

“Sukuna! Don’t just say it out loud! It’s so embarrassing, I bled on the sheets too and Uraume is washing them alone so I don’t crawl into a hole and die. I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Or what? I’ll be smited? It’s just a sign of fertility, that you can carry my heir. Don’t hide, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re always so secretive about it but I know anyway, it’s not a big deal.” He tried to placate you but you burrowed into the blankets further.

“I just feel gross like this, like I’m an ugly mess and it’s so bad this time. I can’t even move without it hurting and I’m frustrated! This is hardly fair.” You winced at another cramp and he tutted at you.

“You tried heat and the usual stuff I’m assuming?” Your pathetic nod was his only response. “Alright lie on your back, I’ll get rid of the cramps.”

His robes were dropped off the edge of the bed and he tossed the blankets back to get to you. “Wait I don’t think I can handle sex right now-”

“Who said anything about fucking you? I’m going to eat you out until you can’t feel anything except my tongue on your cunt. Release soothes cramps.”

“Oh my god, you can’t there’s so much blood! That’s gross-”

A large hand took hold of your face to meet your eyes, “no part of you is gross or ugly or whatever nonsense is in your head. Do not speak of my queen that way, my love. I’ve killed for less and I have no problem spanking your ass raw when you’re no longer menstruating. Understand?”

“Yeth s’kuna” your cheeks were smushed in his firm albeit gentle grip, causing your words to slur. He released you and kissed each cheek, then your lips, lovingly.

“Now, may I continue on? You are free to decline but don’t let nonsense cloud your answer.”

You contemplated, if it would relieve your cramps then… “You can continue, it really hurts though so be gentle.”

Sukuna peeled your clothes from your body and grew level with your hips “As if I’d be anything else, woman.”

Let me know if you guys want more sweet husband!Sukuna, I kinda really like this flavor of him.

Divider credit to @saradika-graphics and @thecutestgrotto

Thinking about making a request? Check my bio to see if they’re open! 💗

[vampirecorleone]

"I think we drink virgin blood because it sounds cool." | "I think of it like this. If you are going to eat a sandwich, you would just enjoy it more if you knew no one had fucked it." Horror Character Appreciation - Jemaine Clement as Vladislav in What we Do in the Shadows (2014) dir. Jemaine Clement & Taika Waititi

[sparklingblu]

Atonement

Giselle x Male Reader

TW: blood, choking(not the hot kind), death, self harm, a lot of dark stuff

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth"

"If you have the choice to fuck anyone in this room, who would it be?"

The moment these sinful word leaves Giselle's lips, you realize you have fallen right into her trap. And without a doubt, Giselle is aware of it. You can see it from the way the corner of her lips twitch like she's trying desperately not to mock at your loss for words, the way her eyes bore into yours as if challenging you to give the answer that have been on your mind for far too long. She tilts her head, urging you to response.

But even if you don't, she would have already known the answer. Anyone would. Giselle, the perfect example of teenage royalty. Giselle, who can make any men bow down before her with a flick of her finger. Giselle, who always act like she owns the world. And that's not so far from the truth. The world doesn't revolve around Giselle. The entire solar system does.

And she has every right to act that way. Money? Popularity? Charisma? There isn't anything Giselle can't check off on that list. Her parents being the main contributor to the university's funds, she's practically untouchable here. A goddess, you may even say. That's not a metaphor, because metaphors are a figure of speech. And Giselle is a long way off from it.

She has the type of aura that can turn heads wherever she lays her feet on. A vixen. A siren who pulls men in to their deepest, darkest fantasies they have never even realize existed till they have seen her. The worst thing? She takes pleasure in it. The thought that these men will fantasize about her, giving in to their carnal desires that she has awakened just by being in their presence. The amount of sperm that will be wasted on thoughts of her and her only before they are even given life. All those reminds her that she's Giselle. The untouchable. The unbothered.

If you start thinking you can beat Giselle in at least some aspect, think again. Because that will be your last thought before she shows you she's on the top of the food chain. What you are good at, she does it better. If not, she will make sure you are no longer good at it. Because she's Giselle.

People might ask, if she is that ruthless, wouldn't she be hated? Wouldn't she be an outcast? It's the total opposite. Her twisted and cryptic demeanor is what lures people into her dungeon, hoping to find a way through, hoping to get to her core, to get even the slightest idea of who she really is beneath these layers of her indifference, only to end up as another victim that has fallen to her arctic charm.

No one would be stupid enough not to recognize her deadly allure. The poisoned apple. The evidences lie all around them. Men, who would trade their soul just to have a chance with her. Women, who would die to be her. And in some cases, to be both. Yet, they follow the footsteps of those before them. Because she's that irresistible. A living embodiment of lust and pride. Tempting and tempting until you give in and take a bite of that forbidden fruit.

And you are not so far off from becoming one of them. With every passing second, it gets harder not to lay your eyes on Giselle. She has your undivided attention like an insect caught in a spiderweb.

You try averting your eyes to the far far wall, anywhere you will be freed of Giselle's pull, only to be greeted by the maniacal smile of the human skull, grinning like crazy, as if saying "You can't escape from her. Not now, not then"

You shouldn't have even come to this Halloween party in the first place. This whole night have been nothing but a mistake. You should have stayed in your room and finished up your assignment like you first intended to. Halloween is nothing but an excuse for people to get wasted and imitated things they aren't without the judgement from society for one single night. It should have dawned on you back then. You don't even have a costume. What do you want to dress as? You have no idea. A mummy? A wizard? A vampire? A fucking vampire. Out of all the cheesy options of pop culture icons, you have to choose the cheesiest one. With a trench coat a friend of yours borrowed, your swept back hair and your fake fangs, you looked like a handed down Edward Cullen.

Nevertheless, your desperation to fit in: to talk to real people rather than strangers online, ultimately lead you to your despair. Saying the party is lively would be an understatement. It has surpassed liveliness, it has a life of its own. People poured into Giselle's dorm, The Coven, from every direction. The eerie tunes of Halloween carols and artificial screams filled the air, which are farther complemented by the paper bats that hang from the ceiling an the fog machines hissing in the corner. On the dance floor, students move in hypnotic synchrony, their costume ranging from classic monsters to familiar icons you see everywhere. Bodies entwining and intertwining beneath the luminous glow of the string lights that scatter the ceiling.

Being the loner you are, the first thing you do when you arrive is look for someone you know. Anyone who can help you in the quest not to be the odd one out. You sigh in relief when you see one of the familiar face near a drink table, which is exceptional just like everything in this party. A champagne tower stands on the far end, which you are surprised someone wasted has not knocked it down yet. All across the length of the table lies buckets holding different type of bottles, a different kind of magic in each one. And if you are not a drinker, worry not because an ice bucket full of every known fizzy drink known to man is just up for grabs in one corner. Everything is designed to fit anyone's need. Only a fool would not give a second glance to this playground for taste buds.

And you are no fool, so you grab a glass of champagne and head to where your friend is, if you can call someone a friend after talking to them once during a lecture. He's cosplaying Pennywise but with his crumpled jumpsuit and the white makeup which is horribly done, he looks more like a circuit clown who just got fired. You don't expect him to recognize you but much to your surprise, he does. Offering a hand to shake, he says his formal greetings.

"This party is probably the best one I have ever been to" he says in awe. "I heard Giselle organize all of this, must be nice to have your parents paying your bill"

Hinting the envy and jealousy in his voice, you don't blame him. Because it's Giselle you are talking about. There's no one else here who can turn a party into a masterpiece. You should be thankful you got to be a part of it regardless if her parents pay for this or not.

So, you just nod in agreement and change the topic. After a while, you realize listening to a heartbroken guy/clown talking about his exes is not exactly the best thing to do at a party like this. This is not a chance you get everyday and you are not going to let it go to waste by tragedies.

"Excuse me for a moment" you cut him off, chug down rest of your champagne and wander farther. If the party was lively before, now it's on full swing. The dancing has escalated to make out sessions among some of the couples, fueled by the heat of the moment. Much to your disgust, a pool of vomit litters a spot on the floor, the work of someone who have had too much to drink. As you tear through the sea of people, either horny or drunk, you start to wonder if the whole university have been confined into one large mass of bodies here tonight. You bump into Frankenstein, nearly get knocked out by a drunk Darth Vader and hear a curse (not that kind of curse) from a Harry Potter , who's probably high.

You have already failed your initial plan to socialize, there's no way you can make conversation with these people who have transcended to the peak of bliss. Dancing is an option, if it isn't for the fact that you are a horrible dancer and your moves will be worse than those drunkards wilding without a care in the world.

Part of you want to leave, this place is starting to suffocate you with the stench of bodies that cover every inch of this hall, the euphoric faces that appear and disappear with each flash of the lights overhead and the worst of all, the make out sessions happening at any spot you lay your eyes on.

It's such an absurd idea to feel disturbed by the sight of lips against lips, tongues entwined with tongues. Afterall, it's just one of the many ways humans express their desires, the need to touch, to be touched. Yet, combined with this vague atmosphere of the party, the act becomes unbearably explicit.

You feel like a fool for seeing it this way but whatever this party is composed of, it's starting to affect you. What seems like a glamorous spree looks like a maze of skin and more skins to you now. The music, once perfectly fitted with the event, sounds like a broken symphony.

What you should do is indulge yourself in this moment. Just become one of the bodies that make up this sea of bodies. But regardless, you have to turn the whole thing into an illusion of madness and badness. Just to make an excuse to leave this damn place. Just because you don't want to admit you are never mean to be at social events.

And you would have lied to yourself and leave, if it isn't for the music that suddenly dies and the lights that dissolve into shadows. Apart from a few gasps that slip out, the entire room goes dead silent, save for the white noise of a humming fan in the background.

Your impulsive thoughts take this as a sign to re enter your mind. Is that it? Has the party ended? Maybe something went wrong with the electronics? Just more excuse to make yourself believe you don't leave this party because you wanted to. It has to be something else.

Thankfully, you are too caught in the abrupt halt that you are more curious to see what will happen next rather than act on your impulses. For a few seconds, the room remain still, swallowed by darkness. It seems to go on forever until light showered on a spot at the top of the spiral staircase, descending from one corner of the hall. Another glow pierce the gloom then another, until the whole staircase has been light up.

With the radiance that contrast the staircase and the rest of the room, it looks like a stairway straight from heaven, materializing only for the divine. But the one who descends from those steps is anything but divine. Depraved is too weak of a word to describe her.

Down from the stairs comes the queen herself, Giselle, with the faintest clue of a smile on her lips and her eyes, scanning the crowd the way a queen would do to her subjects. No one complains because everyone here is in debt to her. If it's not for Giselle, they will never achieve the felicity of this night, that they have happily surrendered to, unknowingly becoming just one of Giselle's pawns. And you are not excluded.

Giselle isn't wearing a costume, she's just in a different layer of skin. Why would she try to be someone else when she's already Giselle? If the darkness has been eliminated by the light, it is soon going to be reabsorbed by Giselle, whose entire frame is coated in a layer of black sheath dress. The long sleeves of her attire leave no room for skin except the opening at her collar bones, displaying her radiant milky skin. A stygian veil loom over her long hair that falls on either side, as if she's an Oracle going to mutter a prophecy at any moment. Nothing about the outfit makes Giselle stand out more. At a glance, another pretty girl of your fantasies. However, her eyes tell a different story. These pools of cerulean blue that pull anyone who dare to stare right into them like a tide, gripping their core, leaving them breathless.

She's too pretty to be human, you think. Maybe she isn't. Maybe she's send from the higher powers to test the homo sapiens of their real nature, to expose their deepest desires. If that's the case, everyone had already failed ,evident by the way their eyes follow her with each step she takes.

Giselle stops right in the middle step, regarding the horde of flesh stunned by her appearance.

"I'm sure you are having a blast" Giselle speaks, though her voice isn't thundering, it cuts through the crowd like ripples.

Everyone cheers, a cluster of voices competing to be heard. When the silence returns, Giselle speaks again.

"Let go of your worries tonight! Drink! Dance! Get wasted! Party like there's no tomorrow!"

Anther roar erupt from the crowd. A handful of people start dancing without music, overwhelmed with bliss. This time the noise don't cease, chatters of conversation amplify until the whole room is bustling with activity again, even with the lights gone.

A shrill like nail scratching on metal shrieked from the sound boxes, causing everyone to cover their ears, shutting their mouth. When the crowd is silent again, Giselle's voice appears once more.

"I'm glad to see you all are enjoying yourself but there's one last event of the night to top this entire party. I promised you have never ever experienced anything like this"

The crowd remains hushed, eager to hear the next words Giselle will say. Excited to be even more euphoric than they already are. Giselle, who seems to notice it, smiles with satisfaction. And that's the first time you have seen her truly smile.

The corner of her lips will twitch from time to time but they never bloom into a pure smile, quickly ceased before it's given life. But when she does, you become even more sure that she's not human. When people smile, they mean it as a way to show or act like they are glad, content or happy. But Giselle's smile contains neither of these emotions. It's like a work of art, superficially it's nothing but a bent in the line of her lips. But when it is studied closely, you realize she's not smiling out of pure bliss, but rather the joy she gets from seeing how the others cower before her. How easy it is for her to bend their wills without even trying.

However, your astonishment is short lived as Giselle's face returns back to her neutral expression again to continue her speech.

"Unfortunately, only a chosen few will be given the chance to experience this event. And to give everyone a fair chance, I decide to leave things to luck. Are you ready?"

The crowd agree in unison, anxious with anticipation. A shriek comes out from a girl concerning with someone spilling drink on her dress. But everyone is too focused on what comes next to care.

Giselle reached into her cleavage and pulls out five black roses, how she manages to fit all of them in there, you have no idea. Nevertheless, she raises her hand so that everyone can see the flowers.

"I will throw these roses into the crowd and the five person who manage to acquire them will join me in the event. However, there are rules. No one is allowed to move, shove or try to steal it from the ones who caught it. If anyone breaks these rules, they will be banned from this party. Get it?"

Everyone nods in agreement, though you notice some people secretly trying to shove the person in front of them to be closer to the front. One even acts like they trip just to claim that few extra inches.

"Ready? Here they go"

Giselle launches the roses into the air, which spirals into the crowd, admiring the sight with unblinking eyes. Your position isn't the best. You are not at the far back but you are not in the front either. You are in the center , where the bodies are the most compressing. You barely have any room to move.

But much to your surprise, a rose lands right on your hair and the horde around you turn to you, the envy and spite unfiltered on their faces. That should have been me, they would be thinking. You snatch the rose from your hair, twirling it from the stem.

You are still dazed by what had happened. Getting chosen for an exclusive event of Giselle? You must have used up your whole year of luck. Cheers erupt from the other four who share your fate. The rest of the crowd groan and murmur in disappointment.

"Seems like we have our winners!" Giselle announces, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "For the rest of you, the party will carry on. Enjoy yourself. The chosen ones, follow me up the stairs"

The light flood the hall again. Music starts blasting from the speakers. The party has returned back to its full swing. People departs heading back to carry on what they were doing. Drink, dance or get wasted, like Giselle had quoted.

You look up to the staircase and see Giselle already climbing back up, the other four following her steps. You are amazed to see that the Pennywise guy you talked to earlier is one of them. The other three are females. One dressed like Harley Quinn, the other a hybrid between Ariel and Aquaman, holding a trident and the last one looks like she just cuts up holes in an old blouse and put it on, hoping to look like someone.

Not wanting to be left out, you follow them. The stairway curves into a single door, which surprises you because you expect it to open up onto the upper floor. On the door, a strange symbol is curved. A thin upside down heart, almost identical to a tear drop, but this one have two bumps. Maybe another creepy Halloween decoration.

Without giving it much thought, you follow Giselle inside, who pushes the door open. You are left breathless by the sight before you. There isn't a room beyond the door. It's a whole chamber. A circular space encircled by shelves of books, vials and items you have never seen before. A small creature that looks like a fusion between a snake and a butterfly floats in a flask of green liquid. The other holds the skull of a cat, or so you think. Nearby, a strange liquid bubbles in a cauldron. The mixed smell of wood and rotten meat doesn't help. The one single window have been closed shut so that the only light source is the lamp on a nearby desk. If Giselle set all this up for tonight, she has gone way over the top.

"Welcome to my chamber!" Giselle says, her voice dripping with glee. Her blue eyes seem to hint the oncoming of something big. "Tonight, we are gonna play a special game. And trust me, you have never ever played it before"

From a drawer, Giselle pulls out a thin bottle, identical to the ones that hold wine. But it isn't an ordinary bottle. On the surface, strange symbols are curved, shapes and words of languages you don't understand. Another Halloween prop?

"We are going to play 'Spin the Bottle'!"

Giselle announces but no one replies. This is the special game? A party game every high schooler knows. Maybe the only difference being it's a Halloween themed bottle.

"Oh, I know what you are thinking" Giselle raises an eyebrow. "It's a game everyone knows, right? What's so special about it? Well, you will see"

She reaches into the drawer again and this time, she pulls out two decks of card. One looks freshly bought and the other worn out, the card corners bent. Giselle extend her arms, displaying the decks to the others.

"This is what makes it so special. I'll show you. Sit"

Giselle points to the floor. Seriously? But no one argue and take their places. You sit down, the Pennywise guy on your right and Harley Quinn on your left. Giselle sits right in front of you, Aquaman(or woman) taking her right and Ms. Tattered Clothes on her left. A circle is formed.

"Ehmm.... can you put that away?" Giselle asks Aquawoman, who's still holding her plastic trident. The girl's face lights up with a blush.

"Oh, sorry" she apologizes, quickly shoving her weapon onto a desk.

"Now, I will show you how to play" Giselle sets the bottle earlier in the middle space, putting each of the decks on either side. Everyone's eyes follow her moves intently, dying to know what makes everything so special. "It's very similar to a normal Spin the Bottle. Someone spins the bottle, and when it points to a certain person, they have to kiss, or choose one, Truth or Dare. But there's no kissing here. It's either Truth or Dare. Unlike the original game, you can't just ask or dare someone whatever you want. You have to pick a card" Giselle points to the new batch of cards. "This is the deck of Truth, if someone chooses to be honest, the spinner have to choose a card from here and ask them the question on the card" She points to the other worn out deck. "This is the deck of Fate, the deck for Dare, you can say. Choose a card from here if someone is feeling adventurous" Giselle looks each of you carefully. "Got it?"

You still doubt this game is anything but special. It's still Spin the Bottle with a couple extra items thrown in. There isn't anything that makes it stand out. Still, Giselle seems to think otherwise.

"Why no kissing?" Mr. Pennywise asks, the grin on his face makes him look even more abominable. You are thankful you are beside him so that you won't see his face constantly.

"Because I say so" Giselle says firmly. Again, showing everyone who's in charge.

"Oh...alright" Pennywise replies, disappointed. And you somehow feel glad to see him that way.

"Ok, let's begin. I will start first" Without a warning, Giselle spins the bottle. It rotates and rotates until it finally points at Mr. Pennywise. He grins again and you feel like throwing up.

"Man....if there was only kissing" he groans in disappointment. Giselle's expression remains unwavered.

"Truth or Dare?" she asks, tilting her head.

"I'm shy so...Truth!" he strains his voice on purpose and it's not funny, not at all.

"Very well" Giselle takes the top card on the deck. She raises it to read and you notice a symbol of a scale on the back, representing justice, or in this case, the truth.

"What's your greatest insecurity?" Giselle asks, looking at the guy straight into his eyes.

"Ehm....that's.." Pennywise scratches his head, seemingly baffled by the question. The whole points of insecurities is that you keep them to yourself. No one would spill it in a party game. Or would they?

"I...don't know" he tries for an awkward smile. "I'm always happy with myself so...."

"Is that so?" Giselle's voice is smug, as if she knows he's lying. "What do you think guys?" she asks the others. No one answers except the girl in the torn blouse. "Maybe....?"

"We will see soon" Giselle puts the card back into the deck, shuffling it. "Is your answer final?"

"Yeah, why not?" Pennywise answers, though he looks uneasy. "You are really hyping up this Halloween vibe, huh?"

"Oh, you flatter me. But you should have put your words to good use elsewhere" Giselle sounds almost delighted and the rest of the people in the room shifts uneasily, including you.

For a moment everything was silent. You could have heard your heartbeat if it's not for the popping sounds the boiling cauldron is making. Then it happens. Pennywise starts making sounds like someone have stuffed his throat with a rock. He clutches his neck, trying to scream. But the only sounds that come out are muffled whines like a deer getting run on by a truck, again and again. His eyes start to bulge as if they are going to jump out at any moment. His face white as a sheet of paper.

Everyone stares in shock, yet no one tries to help, too shocked by the scene before them. No one makes a sound except Giselle, who makes a note. "See? That happens when you are not honest"

"Make it stop! He's going to die" Harley Quinn cries, her eyes wide with terror.

"Oh, I'm not doing anything to him. He's being punished for his own mistake, being dishonest" Giselle muses lightly as if someone isn't dying before her.

Pennywise falls to the ground with a loud thud and his body goes limp. Aquawoman and Ms. Tattered Clothes screams. Your breath hitches. You hate this guy but you don't want him to die. Not like this.

"What have you done?" Harley Quinn screams in horror, covering her mouth with her hands.

"Nothing. He dug his own grave" Giselle says with indifference. Her face shows no sign of remorse.

"This game has gone too far! I'm leaving" Harley Quinn screams and stands up, trying to walk away. However, she falls back as if an invisible barrier has been put up. "Let me go!" she cries, tears already flowing down her face.

"Now now" Giselle looks at the girl. "No need to be afraid. You just have to be truthful if you don't want to end up like him. It's that easy. Once the game is over, you can leave"

"Let me go, please...." Harley Quinn pleads but Giselle's eyes are no longer on her. When her begging goes unanswered, the girl sits up, sniffling. The others silent as they were.

All this time, you are staring at the lifeless face of Pennywise. His mouth hangs open in an unfinished scream. The terrors in his eyes accentuating his pale lifeless face that you have no idea how it gets even whiter over his clown makeup. His fingers crooked, trying to cling on something. Anything that will keep him alive.

He's dead, you think. He's really dead. This is no longer another Halloween prop. It's a real corpse. Is Giselle the one who did it? She didn't even lift a finger but isn't she the one who starts this game? Maybe it's the cards. Maybe they are magic.

The sense of pride and joy you had had earlier is gone. This is one deadly game. All you want to do is get out of here as soon as possible. But Harley Quinn had already proved it's not a choice. You must stay here.

"Shall we continue?" Giselle asked, handing the bottle to Harley Quinn, maybe out of pity, if she even feels pitiful.

The girl takes the bottle with shaking hands and before she spins it, Giselle raises a hand. "Oh, wait. We have an inactive member"

You instantly realizes she's talking about the lifeless body beside you. She points to it and asks. "You, Mr. Vampire. Can you shove that body somewhere?" she asks it the way someone would ask for a pencil, without a trace of loath in her voice. Like she's asking you to get rid of a dead fly.

"Yeah..sure" you complies. After seeing what happens to Pennywise and Harley Quinn, you are not feeling rebellious. Giselle isn't the one to mess with. You hold the body up by the arms and drag it to a nearby shelf, propping it.

Suddenly, a thought enters your mind. You are away from Giselle. There's no invisible barrier when you stood up. This is the chance to get away. To get out of this mess that has just begun once and for all. You cast a glance to the door and instantly, Giselle's voice flows through your ears. "Don't even think about it"

Without further words, you return to your initial space, now between Harley Quinn and Aquawoman, who had took the vacant spot.

"Let's begin" Giselle orders and Harley Quinn spins the bottle without hesitation. It whirls and whirls, finally slowing down before you.......no, it's Aquawoman.

"Truth or...Dare?" Harley Quinn asks, her voice still shaky from crying earlier. For a moment, Aquawoman is silent. Then she makes her choice. "Dare"

"Oh...this one is feeling adventurous" Giselle compliments. Her eyes fixed on the girl so intently it looks like she's going to burn a hole through her.

Harley Queen picks up the card from the old deck. The symbol on the back of this card is a scythe, a symbol for punishment? Not really a good idea. She gulps after seeing what's written on the card. "You....you have to..." she stutters.

"Say it dear" Giselle urges. "Say the words"

"You have to paint your name....with your....your...blood..." Her words thin to a whisper at the end.

Aquawoman looks like all the blood in her body have been sucked out. "What..?" she asks, although there isn't a need. The instructions are clear.

"You heard her, dear. You have to write your name in your own blood. Doesn't it sound fun?" Giselle asks. If she's trying to be funny, now is not the time.

"I can't......please ask me to do anything. Not this...please, I beg you" Aquawoman begs but Giselle simply shrugs her shoulders.

"You have to do what yo are asked. Or else, you see what happened to Mr. no insecurities. You want to follow him?" Giselle's words seem to snap the girl back to her senses, though nothing about this makes sense.

"How do I do it?" she asks. Her voice so small you have to focus on every words.

"Simple" Giselle stands, takes a dagger from a drawer and hands it to her. "Paint it on the floor right in front of you. By the way what's your name?"

The girl swallows. "Penelope" Not a good time to have an eight letter names, you think. You wonder if her blood is enough. There are nearly six liters of blood in a human body but even if less than half of it is lost....You shut your train of thoughts. Not another corpse. It can't happen.

Aquawoman takes the dagger with trembling hands and sits down, staring at it as if it's a foreign object. Slowly, she pulls up the sleeve, raising it to her forearm, setting the edge on her flesh. It sinks in and a trail of blood starts to pour from the opening. Grimacing, she collects it with her forefinger and writes the first letter on the floor, P. But it isn't enough as half of the letter only formed.

The girl sinks the blade deeper, her lips pursed, trying to seal away a scream. More blood pours. The first letter is completed. You watch the gruesome scene as the girl paints her name. E, then N, after that L. Halfway but she's already trembling. Her whole arm is soaked with blood.

Giselle watches it with a hint of amusement in her eyes. Now you know what's beneath that cold face everyone tries to decipher. It's a sick, twisted mind. Ruined beyond repair. And she likes it that way.

"I can't do this anymore..." Aquawoman mutters in a hoarse voice, setting the dagger down. "It hurt so much"

"Just use your other arm" Giselle advices. "You are nearly there"

"But...." the girl reconsiders and takes the dagger with her bloody hand, raising it to cut another opening in her other arms. She slices and more blood flows. More paint.

The girl continues painting, her temples beaded with sweat. If her eyes can speak, they are screaming for help. The name gets completed one word after another. O, P, then she stops.

"Please......it...it hurts....I'm nearly done, please...can I.." she pleads and begs. Her hands trembling, both covered in red.

"One last letter" Giselle muses. "Complete it"

"I can't....please...?" she asks for mercy. But Giselle isn't known for being merciful.

"Are you saying you can't do it?" Giselle insists.

"No...no....but I can't-" She drops her dagger and stumbles forward, propping herself on her palms. She has lost too much blood.

"Very well then" Giselle says, her expression solemn.

"I...I don't want to.." The girl can no longer speaks. Not because she is choking. But because blood starts to pour from her eyes. A waterfall of blood, enough to write her names a hundred times. You back away in disgust, a few drops staining your coat. The other two cover their eyes, unable to comprehend the horror of the scene. Gisell watches the never ending flow of blood with interest. Not even caring the droplets hitting her dress.

"What a pity, she was so promising" Giselle sighs as the body lands on the floor with a loud thud. "Another one eliminated. Mr. Vampire, would you be so kind to..?" She points it a the corpse. Damn this, why does everyone around you have to die? Without complaint, you grab her from the waist, the only part unstained with her blood and put her next to Pennywise.

Two down. Two corpses. Who's next? You should have left when you had the chance. You should have continue being the loner you are. Stay in your room and spend Halloween watching Dracula. At least it won't be real. At least you won't die. Your desperation have lead you to your demise. There's no way out of here.

Regardless, this game that's nothing but sick must go on. Because Giselle says so. All of you are nothing but pawns on her chessboard. Disposable. Weak.

You expect Giselle to take the spot next to you but instead, Harley Quinn takes it. Giselle is still right in front of you. Those pools of blue still piercing into your soul, inch by inch. Now the circle, or rather a rhombus, consists only of four.

No one complains. They have already seen two examples. No one's eager to become another. The bottle is now in the hands of Ms. Tattered clothes, who stares at it like it's an explosive. You have no idea about the order the bottle is being passed. But it just one of the many thing that doesn't make any sense.

The bottle spins, pointing directly across from the spinner, at Harley Quinn.

"Truth or Dare?" This question, these words that have reaped two souls.

"Truth" Harley Queen makes her choice, at least she won't be cutting her vessels open. That's not exactly a reassuring thought. You have no idea about the other questions in that deck.

A card is pulled. The question is read.

"If someone here is to die, who do you wish it is?"

A simple question, yet the answer a double pointed sword. You know her answer because you would have answered the same. It's 'Giselle'. If she's dead, you all can leave. You all can stop playing this deadly game. But if the truth is spoken, who knows what Giselle will do?

"It's..eh..." Harley Queen stutters, debating with herself. Tell the truth, she risks facing Giselle's wrath. Lie, she dies. Neither's a good choice.

"It's ok dear, speak your mind" Giselle encourages. She pulls her veil farther below and the shadows it cast pale the blue of her eyes. Yet, they are as intent as ever.

"You" Harley Quinn makes her decision. She lowers her head like she's scared of what comes next.

"Eh....honest..." Giselle muses, a faint smile forming on her lips, the exotic kind. "Your courage is admirable, dear. The truth is good. But sometimes, it must be twisted to fit the situation. Afterall, the Truth is bitter"

Giselle smiles and again you are baffled by its arcane amidst the chaos. You would have forgotten you are on the verge of dying had she not sheathed it.

"I'm sorry dear. Such honesty should be rewarded but this time the stakes are high" Giselle sighs, blowing air.

"This is unfair! I spoke the truth! I'm going to die either way, why are you doing this?" Harley Quinn bellows in rage. Her face so red you think it's going to explode.

"You are correct. Lie or Truth, both leads to the same end. But I'm doing this because I find it fun. Because I can" Giselle admits and you have no doubt that she is ,in fact, enjoying this. Her smile had said it all.

"You can't do this! If others know..." her words are cut short by the flames that engulf her. You back away in shock. Thankfully, you don't get to move another corpse as the flames consumes everything in one swift blast. Ash, the remnants of what was once human rain to the floor.

"She talked too much. It's a good thing she went quick" Giselle says lazily. This dead seems to be the least interesting to her.

The nature of the game has become obvious. Truth or Dare, you die either way. It's inevitable. Everyone here must meet their end to satisfy Giselle's hunger. But of course, the game must go on.

"Your turn, pretty boy" Giselle says, handing you the bottle. You take it. Even before spinning, you already know who it's gonna land on. And of course, it does. The deadly little container point rights towards Ms. Tattered Clothes. Another vicitm. The second last.

"Truth or Dare?" You say the three deadly words.

The girl is silent, seemingly struggling to say the right words. Except that there isn't one. Her whole face is frozen in fear, staring into space.

"Hurry up, dear" Giselle says. "We don't have all night"

The girl raises her head to look at Giselle, pleading with her eyes.

"I don't want to die. Please....I will do anything..." she cowers before Giselle, begging for her life. Giselle seeems amused at the fragile creature bowing before her. The idea of having someone's life to do as she wishes filling her with delight.

"Now, don't be scared. Nothing lasts forever afterall. The least you can do is make a choice. Truth or Dare?" Giselle repeats your question.

"I...I'm..." The girl sits back up, realizing there's no way to escape. "Truth"

Giselle looks at you and you pull a card from the deck of Truth. You flip the card to the other side, only to be greeted by a strange sight. The other side of the card is blank. No letters or questions, just a white space.

"What's the meaning of this?" you asks, showing the card to Giselle.

"Oh dear, I'm really sorry" Giselle says with false compassion. "Seems like you have landed on the empty card, which means there's no questions for you to answer"

"What do you...mean?" the girl insists. "This must be a mistake, maybe he can pull another card"

"That would be against the rules" Giselle set the card down in front of the girl. "And I like to follow them"

"So what? If I didn't answer, I wouldn't be lying right? That means I won't be punished" The girl insists once more. And in a sense, what she says make sense. How could she lie if there isn't even a question?

"You are not wrong" Giselle replies. "But it also means you wouldn't be telling the truth either. And that would be lying"

"That makes no fucking sense!" The girl screams, letting her anger gets the best of her. "You are just finding an excuse to kill people!"

"I thought you already know" Giselle sighs. "You are a slow one"

The girl turns to you. "Please, help me. You are going to die too, you know that right? Maybe if both of us can-"

And then she is no more. Her whole body dissolves into a whirlwind of colors which gets sucked in to the blank page of the card like a vortex.

"A shame" Giselle puts the card back into the deck. "Seems like it's just us now"

You have never thought much thought to what happens after death. But now, you start wondering if you have done enough good to get into Heaven. You surely haven't done anything catastrophic but you haven't accomplished anything remarkable either. You just have to hope the good outweights the bad. Because soon, you will be nothing more than another soul reaped for Giselle's amusement.

What was left of Giselle's facade as the perfect human being has gone. She's anything but that. A demon that indulges herself in the suffering of others. Plucking a life after another like fruits.

Giselle takes the bottle. "My turn" she muses, her voice eager to conclude the act. You being the one to close it out.

The bottle doesn't need to be spinned. The result is clear as day. Giselle does it anyway. The compass of death spins and spins, inevitably pointing towards you.

"Truth or Dare?" The last question for this night, the last question you will hear.

"Truth" you reply, surprised at yourself for how quick your respone is. Have you accepted your end?

"If you have the choice to fuck anyone in this room, who would it be?"

Giselle asks, not pulling a card from the deck. Doesn't it break the rules? No, Giselle makes the rules.

The question seems so odd compared to the others you have heard tonight. The other ones are designed either to force you to lie or mix you up so thoroughly you can't answer. But this question? The answer is simple but not without risk. Giselle, the only other human being here, the sole female, that's the answer, the truth. But you don't want to go up in flames like Harley Quinn did nor you want to choke to death like Pennywise. There isn't a way out. You accept your fate.

"You" you answer. "I would do it with you"

Giselle's face shows no emotion. Her eyes staring into yours, unblinking. You start repenting the sins you might have done. Sooner or later, you would end in a horrible way.

"I think so" Giselle finally speaks. She pulls down her veil to let her hair fall freely around her shoulder. Without it, she looks even more sinister. A wolf in sheep skin.

"End me already" you requests. "Let's finish this"

Giselle chuckles. The voice that comes out is frozen, like she hasn't laughed in a millennia and she's just trying again right now.

"What a brave man" Giselle praises. "But you won't escape me that easily. What you will face is worse than death"

You curse under your breath. Death is not the ideal option but at least it will release you. Now, that chance has went up in smoke.

"Lie down" Giselle orders.

"Why?" You questions. If you are not going to die, at least you want to know what you will be facing.

"Lie down" she repeats. Knowing there's no point in defying her, you obliges. Giselle walks up to you, setting a foot on your chest, looming over you. She smirks and that's when you get a crazy thought. The others were lucky. At least they escape this in a way. You wouldn't.

"Good boy" she compliments. You feel a sense of joy despite the state you are in. It feels so wrong. "Lose your fangs, I don't want you to bite"

You pull of the fake fangs from your mouth. Though you still looks like a sleep deprived vampire with the rest of your attire.

Giselle pulls back her leg, regarding you with her blue eyes like a predator ready to pounce. If she starts skinning you alive, you wouldn't be surprised. However, what she proceeds to do is the exact opposite.

She kneels beside you, her fingers trailing along your chest. The touch left you craving for more. With each movement, she sends a shiver down your spine. At this moment, the only god you will worship is Giselle. You will devote your soul to her if it means she will keep doing this.

Her fingers trail across your chest, down to your waist and then land right on your crotch. She squeezes your clothed mamba, which is already rock hard from her gratifying touch. A smile forms on her lips once more. This time from the joy of seeing how badly you need her.

"Oh, you are already so hard" Giselle mocks and squeezes your dick over the fabric once more. The agony from her harsh grip merges with pleasure and you can no longer distinguish which is which. All you know is you want her to keep doing this. Keep hurting you because with pain, there's pleasure.

"Are you enjoying this?" Giselle gives one final squeeze and let go, leaving you throbbing. You could have cummed from her hands alone if she repeats the motion one more time. Nonetheless, you want her to keep going. To find comfort in the hands of your reaper. The very thought shames you but it gets clouded by a stronger emotion, lust.

Giselle presses her upper body against your chest and you would have put your hands on her waist if it isn't for the fact that she could kill you in a heartbeat. Her black hair streaked with blonde sprawled out on your torso, a curtain of silk. If it isn't enough to drive you wild, the rosy smell of her perfume mixed with the faintest scent of her sweat does the job. Diamond is no longer the hardest material on earth because your cock is already pushing through your pants, trying to escape its boundaries.

Giselle moves further up, lining her face with yours. Under the glow of the lamp, you get the full view of her boobs, which are pushed upward with how hard she's pressing into you. The trench of her cleavage is a dark pit without a bottom, which you will eagerly jump into. Just to get more of her. To indulge in her.

Her fingers move along your ribs, your neck, ending on your face, cupping it, holding it like something tender. "Vampire doesn't suit you, you know?" she asks. Just a simple remark but it deprives you of your common sense. All you feel now is regret. Regret for cosplaying as this stupid creature. Regret for not being good enough for Giselle. "But outfits can be removed, hmm?" Giselle starts unbuttoning your shirt and in this case, literally unbutton. She pulls off the first button. Then the other. Then the other.

A fire has been lit inside you and with each button you lose, the flames rose higher. Giselle's touch is electric and even if it's deadly, you will happily surrender. Because you crave for it too much to care.

Giselle spread open your shirt, the sides parting to reveal your bare chest. She lays a finger and trace it down to your stomach. Her eyes lit up with thrill when they land on your bulge. "Oh, nearly forgot him" Giselle grabs you waistband and pulls it down. Your cock springs up, finally escaping its confinement, throbbing with anticipation.

Giselle holds it from the base and gives it one single pump. And you realize that is all you have needed in life. Your mind is screaming 'Keep going. Don't stop' but you don't utter a single word. Either you are paralyzed from her touch or you don't need to. Because Giselle already knows.

"Look at you, all pumped up. Do I turn you on that much?" She doesn't need to ask. The evident is before her eyes. Another pump. A groan escapes your lips. She smiles. "But it would be unfair if you get your release so quick after everything you went through, hmm?" You want to scream. Tell her to let you cum. In any way. Even her hands are enough. Just let you out of this beautiful prison.

She stands and your dick aches, yearning for her touch again. Giselle stands right above your face, her feet set on either sides of you. You get a glimpse of her pussy. And you swear it's the most perfect thing you have seen.

"How's the view down there?" Giselle asks. "Do you like my pussy?" Yes, you would have answered. Absolutely. But as usual, your vocal cords lose their ability.

"You wanna taste it?" Giselle lifts up the hem of her dress, just enough to expose her full round ass. Skin snowy white just like the rest of her body. "I don't hear an answer"

"Yes..." You manage to utter one single word through the invisible chokehold.

"Very well.." Giselle lowers her ass, taking her rightful throne right on your face. No sooner you feel the pressure than you start licking her pink cavern like there's no tomorrow. Your nose is squashed between her buttocks, cutting off your supply of oxygen. But you don't care. Because this is all you have ever wanted.

"Mhmm yes....just like that" Giselle words encourage you to continue your service to her, treating her like the goddess she is. There is only one goal in you mind at the moment. Make her cum. So that she will praises you. Just one single word would be enough.

So you channel everything you have into your tongue. Slurping her pussy, eating her out. Each time your tongue runs across her velvety flesh, you extract a moan from her. You twirl your tongue on her clit and Giselle tense up, another impure sound betraying her lips.

"God, yes....don't stop..." You don't plan to. Your face is drenched in the juice already spilling out of her and your own spit. This is just a small price to pay to taste the delicacy between her legs. The taste can only be described as otherworldly. Because you are sure there isn't anything that taste like this on earth.

Giselle starts rocking her hips, making your tongue catches up with her pace. She's fucking herself on your tongue, just another object to appease her. Your flesh and blood, all hers. And she will use it as she sees fit.

You hold onto her thighs for support. You are drowning in her elixir, the juice that's suffocating you yet empowers you to keep going. Giselle had said this is worse than death. But maybe it isn't so bad afterall.

However, being deprived of oxygen for so long have its consequences as you start feeling your consciousness slowly drift away, although your tongues move as vigorously as ever. Giselle is still rocking on your face, feeding you the nectar you crave so bad. You are starting to think this is how you will die when a waterfall of the clear liquid pour out of Giselle's cavern, soaking your face whole.

You gasp, your lungs filled with air again after Giselle stop using you as a meat chair. One last drop of her juice falls onto your lips. Instinctively, you lick it up.

" You did well, pretty boy" Giselle praises, her voice hoarse. "You deserve a reward" Those were the sweetest word you have ever heard. She walks slowly back to where your legs lay sprawled on the floor. Sitting down, a hand of hers wrap around the base of your stiff cock. "Miss me?" she asked, giving it a pump. Your body tense from her lethal touch. Giselle takes this as a sign to keep going.

She starts moving her hand up and down, stroking every inch of you. The fire in you burn brighter than ever. Waves after waves of pleasure course through your veins and you drown in them happily. With the other hand, Giselle fondle your balls, giving each one a gentle squeeze. "Look how full they are. Is it because of me, hmm?" Not wanting her to stop, you answer briskly. "Yes, yes...." "I think so" Giselle move her remaining hand from your balls to your shaft, now pumping it with both her hands. There isn't a single inch she misses and from time to time, she would rub your tip with her thumb, delivering extra fatal blows.

All you can do is take in the feeling. But you don't close your eyes because it would be stupid to miss the sight of a goddess giving you a handjob. All it exists in the world for now are Giselle's hands, your cock and the flames inside you that dance wild.

"Are you feeling good? You like my hands, huh?" Giselle asks, picking up the pace even more. This time you are too lost in bliss to answer. Not daring to miss the feeling of one single pump because it could be the last. Giselle is giving you a handjob not because she wants you to feel good. Just like everything else in her world, your dick exists to entertain you. She's rejoicing in the sense of superiority, the ability to deliver or deny you pleasure.

She's being generous at least. Her hands don't seem to be stopping time soon. However, your end is near. The flame inside you have turned into a volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. The tingling sensation starts to grow into an amalgam of throbs and pulses. Giselle, who undoubtedly feel it, smiles. "Are you going to cum?" Another unnecessary question. "Cum, cum all over my hands"

And that's all you need to hear before you erupts, spewing globs after globs of cum. Some land on Giselle's dress, the others spill down her fingers. She keeps pumping you until your climax finally subside.

"That's a lot. It would be a shame to let it go to waste" Giselle licks your cum off her fingers and the sight alone is enough to get you hard again. She sucks the last drop off her middle finger and her eyes rest on yours. "We are just getting started. I hope you have a lot more"

You nod and that's not a lie because your dick is already up again like a spear. But this spear will impale something else.

"I want that cock stuffing me full, now" Giselle orders. "Come on, you have been on the ground for so long" You stands up and follow Giselle's lead, who bends over on a desk and spreads open her lips to reveal her pink insides. An invitation. "Just fuck me already"

Instantly, you shove your pole into her wet folds. Giselle lets out a gutteral moan, her back arching. "Oh, yes.....stuff me with that huge cock" If her hands had felt phenomenal to you, her wet cunt feels a thousand times more. You thrusts into her wet hole again and again, already lubed up by her juices earlier.

"Oh god, yes....just like that" Giselle moans and you gives her ass a slap, unable to resist the sight of it rippling each time your cervix meets her buttocks. More juice flows and Giselle moans louder. You knead the soft flesh of her ass, the touch of her skin like cotton in your grasp.

"Harder! Fuck me harder!" You are already putting every ounce of your strength but if Giselle orders, who are you not to oblige? You slam your hips harder. Your cock is already soaking from her juice and the friction no longer matters. It moves with the speed you desire.

Right at that moment, your eyes fall on the two corpses you have lined up against the shlef. Pennywise, with his bulging eyes and midway scream seems to be telling you "Is this what we die for? So that she can fuck you?" The other one, Aquawoman, with her blood soaked body seems to ask the same thing.

But the sickest thing is you wanna answer 'Yes, this is what you die for, so that I can fuck her' How corrupted have you become to put your animalistic desire above the life of others? But it no longer matters because the feeling of Giselle's cunt on your cock is the only thing you need.

Your attention reverts back from the lifeless bodies as Giselle's walls clench you hard. She was tight before. Now she's even tighter. You give your all to penetrate her tight folds but after going for so long, your strength is starting to waver. Giselle, however, is as energetic as ever. She pushes her ass back to meet your thrusts halfway, impatient to wait even for a split second.

You can only take so much as the second spiral of tingles start working their way down to your pelvis. "Fuck, Giselle, I'm gonna cum.." you warn. "Give it all to me, babe. Fill up my cunt. Yesssss..." Giselle hisses as her tight hole get pumped with the next torrent of baby batter exiting your shaft. Despite cumming earlier, the second orgasm hits you with the same euphoric wave, you start seeing the stars.

A steady drip of cum pours out of Giselle's pussy as you pull out. You are panting and all your limbs feel like jelly. Giselle has sucked out every bit of strength left in you. Pushing a finger into her pulsing hole, Giselle scoops out some of your cum, tasting it. "Mhmm...creamy.." She mutters as though she's testing out a new dessert. Maybe to her, it is.

"Are you already tired? Awwww....poor boy. But you know you can't stop until I'm satisfied right?" Giselle's words wash over you like a tide. Suddenly, you start believing you can go again. Afterall, your sole purpose is to entertain her.

You nod and you no longer knows if it's you or whatever is possessing you in this moment. All you can think is how you want to serve Giselle. Even if someone try to give you the escape you have been seeking desperately earlier, you would have refused it. Because now, you are Giselle's.

"Good boy" These words. How you crave them. You would do anything just to hear these words. "Sit" Giselle points to a wingback chair nearby, red just like the blood flowing from the corpse. You obeys. Giselle stands right in front of you, her arms folded. "Here's a little treat for you" Giselle pulls off her dress from the hem, making herself bare. Her body is a work of art, sculpted by the creator himself. Your masculine urges lead your eye right to her tits, which is as perfect as the rest of her body. The round globes that you can suck on for the rest of your life. "You like my tits?" Just one of the many redundant questions of the night. "Yes..." You mutter dreamily. "Taste them" Giselle grips the arms of the chair and leans in, her milkbags only an inch from your face. Instantly, you rises to put your lips on her tits, the other hand kneading the supple flesh of the other. You suck on her nipples ad even an infant can't rival your hunger. You need this.

"Do you like them that much?" With your mouth stuffed with her nipple, you can't answer. You don't need to. You move the attention of your lips to her other tit, switching positions with the first one. As you slurp and lick her tits, blood start to flow to your dick again. Not as hard as earlier but enough to do the job.

Suddenly, Giselle moves back and you are greeted by the emptiness. Sensing your disappointment, she chuckles. "Oh, babe. Don't be so upset, we have better things to do" She kneels, the shadow of your fully erected cock darkening her features. "I wonder how you taste" Giselle licks the underside of your shaft. One single movement but nonetheless, you bask in the sensation. "Not bad.." Another lick. This time on your tip. She twirls her tongue, collecting the remnants of cum from the earlier session. "Delicious...." And just like that, she swallows your shaft all the way down to the base. Her nose presses against your plevis but her eyes remain focused on yours.

You throw your head back. The walls of her throat are no less talented than her pussy walls. Gag reflex seems to be a joke to her as she impale herself on your cock over and over, barely making a sound except the occasional gurgle of spits flowing from the corner of her lips. Her plump lips seal around you perfectly, tracing every vein with each bob. Giselle ways to use you doesn't seem to be running out anytime soon and you like it that way. You want her to keep using you until you are no longer human but a vessel for her pleasure.

And her eyes. If her mouth is sucking the physical strength out of you, they are draining your willpower. There is no present or future. There's only Giselle.

Giselle releases your cock from her mouth with a pop, her hands now stroking your cock, drenched in her spit. "I must say...I'm impressed. No one have last that long" Is she talking about 'lasting' as in not dying yet? You couldn't care less. Her fingers glide over your pole smoothly with the lube her spit provides. She twists her fingers, cockscrewing you. The hunger in her eyes never dim and it never will. She will never be satisfied. Not by you, not by anyone else. You are just another toy, thrown away when it gets boring.

Another spiral of twists and turns, her hands work like magic. Not a single second goes to waste because there's nothing else that can cut off your attention. You moan and you hate yourself for it. But if Giselle likes it, your emotions can be thrown away.

"How cute. You are whining" Her movements turn swift, determined to milk you of every last drop. "Are you gonna cum again? Hmm? It's ok, cum on my tits. You have been a good boy. You deserve this" Words have powers and you believe it. As soon as her lips stop moving, your body jerks, spraying spurt after spurt of cum on her tits. Most of it find their way to the canvas of her boobs but a few land on her face. "Yes, babe...let it all out" Giselle hands leave your shaft.

Once again gripping the chair arms, she leans in, this time to your face. "Goodbye" She presses her lips to yours. A sense of calm flows through your core. Her lips that just sucks you off press harder and harder. Her tongue enters your mouth and you return the action, a ballad of muscles with the symphony of breaths. You can't stop. She won't stop.

Suddenly, you realize. You can't breathe. Air wouldn't enter your lungs. Does it matter? Breathing, is it as important as Giselle? No, it isn't. You are well aware you have gone insane. Ever seen a mad man and wonder what's going on in his mind? Don't. He knows himself more than you ever will. So you don't need to be questioned. You have accepted your fate. If it's a curse, you will gladly embrace it because all you can think of is Giselle, Giselle and Giselle until your last breath.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

(I have never written something this crazy before. But who isn't for Giselle?)

[funishment-time]

unironically one of my favorite Comedy Moments in the entire DR franchise is the part in DR2 where Sonia says she's not a virgin so her blood can't be used as the entrance fee to Gundham's hell rollercoasters or whatever, and Kazuichi's having a Man Minute about it with snot coming down his face, and Nagito steps in like "uhhh alright guys we're fucking wasting time let's go?" also Nekomaru's there and he's a robot now

[tteokdoroki]

hurricane heartbreak katsuki bakugou ── ᡣ𐭩 ˙ ̟🩰 !!

⋆˙ᝰ about ! you’ve always thought that katsuki would follow you to the ends of the earth, until suddenly, he stops. especially when he realises that he’s better off without you. ( 2.6K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. sfw, angst, no happy ending. characters aged up to 20s, unrequited love, friendship breakups, regular breakups, confessions, gaslighting, reader is morally flawed and a bad friend, katsuki is a hopeless romantic :(, fem!reader, pro hero!bakugou - not beta read!

as usual, katsuki moves to open the door before his mind can catch up. 

he knows that he shouldn’t. if he kept the doors locked he could keep his heart safe from the ache that comes with the person on the other side. but, the bigger and weaker half of him succumbs to the longing laced in the blood that soars through the beating muscle keeping him alive. the same muscle every form of media since the dawn of time has associated with the human desire to be loved and adored. 

it’s a human code that he can’t go against, like asking a neanderthal to fight it’s basic instincts. katsuki opens the door not because he wants to, but because he has to, even if his entire body twitches against the will of his one track mind and his hand lands on the cool metal doorknob in advance of his logical train of thought. besides, it’s raining tonight, and it would be cruel to leave you outside. 

as usual, when you step past the threshold of the number two hero’s lush, bachelor pad-like home — he expects things to be different. for you to waltz in with your arms wide spread and a spark of joy in your eyes because you love seeing the blonde and because you missed him. 

“it was so horrible,” you wail to him instead, just as you had done so on the phone — except this time, the cadence to your usually bright voice is as dull and as dreary as the weather outside. “he blew up at me, said that we were done ‘n that i was too clingy. just like that,” pouting, you shrug off your rain-slicked jacket and allow your best friend to hang it up for you. before you can start quivering like a pathetic stray dog, the begrudgingly kind pro hero places a set of clothes, warm and fresh from the dryer, into your hands and ushers you deeper into the space he calls home.

“fuck that guy,” he tells you, while you rant to him on the walk down the hall.

katsuki lets you you dry off and disappear into his room for spare clothes (as if you own the place), giving himself time to think and reflect. the you that katsuki knows and has bitterly come to love is hollowed and desperate — vying for any attention or affection she can get from people who just don’t care. he’s never understood it, the reasons why you go vying for the validation of others who don’t deserve a millisecond of your time, let alone your precious smile.

you know, the one that brings out the crows feet at the corners of your doe-like eyes and lifts the edges of your glossed lips ever so slightly. you illuminate a room and fill it with warmth when you’re happy and feel loved but when you’re like this… thrown out into the rain whilst being hungry for more — much like that of a stray…

…it’s bakugou’s hand that reaches out to feed you tender love and care from the pieces of his own broken soul. he does everything im his power to make you smile again, otherwise he’d shake the heavens from the sky and bring their shattered pieces back down to earth with his destructive quirk…for you.

everything is always for you.

katsuki is the one who deserves to see your radiant grin and be the one that’s always on your mind. so perhaps, he is no better than you, starved with a craving for the attention of someone whose thoughts are simply elsewhere. with someone else.

you resurface from his room wearing a discontinued all-might shirt with an iron-on design that’s cracked on the front and a pair of fluffy dynamight themed socks kept spare in katsuki’s wash for whenever you come over. by this time he’s already popped on the kettle for some herbal tea, though his back remains facing you — fingers clenched against his smooth marble countertop. “why would he say that?” 

you shrug. “i don’t know… i probably deserve it. this always happens.” 

to his right, the kettle’s whistle reaches it’s crescendo but katsuki doesn’t bother to add hot water to your tea.

the assessment you make as you pad back over to katsuki is only partly correct. he turns abruptly, prepped and ready to loosely wrap his arms around you in a familiar hug, another step in this bi-monthly routine the two of you have going. your nose presses into the middle of his molten chest, sending a pang through his heart like an arrow from Cupid whilst simultaneously riling up the butterflies in his tummy. you’re so cute, so sweet and it makes the blonde feel special to be able to witness the more vulnerable parts of you — the parts of you pieced back together by inexpensive glue after you’ve been shattered by heartbreak once more.

you, you’re too sweet to deserve this pain. the same pain that weighs down on the pro hero’s shoulders because he can’t stop chasing after you. this always happens, but you don’t deserve it. even if it’s like some sort of cathartic karma for leading bakugou on all of these years. 

nonetheless, he’s never been the best at comforting people but a selfish warmth that burns brighter than his quirk spans throughout katsuki’s body whenever you seek comfort in him. even if all it does is chip away at his soul, knowing that you’re all torn up about someone else and someone that isn’t him yet again. 

katsuki abandons the tea completely.

however, his cherry lips continue to open and close in search of words and phrases that may sedate your storm of emotions before they rain down on him — just like the world outside. they’re hard to come by, meaningful ones at least, so katsuki settles with a simple… “you deserve better.” 

“yeah? well it doesn’t seem like it. every guy i’ve ever met has hurt me some way, somehow.” you quip blandly, obliviously. “who does better even look like?

me. is what bakugou wants to say. he looks like me. but now isn’t the time or place to tell you that, it’s never been. deep down, he knows that you might never see him that way, as a someone who could treat you right, as someone deserving of your darkest desires and sweet nothings, as someone who could be the very person you deserve to grow old with. you don’t look at him the same way, to you, katsuki will always be your best friend and source of comfort.

he’ll never be a lover or a special one or a boyfriend. 

not to you. 

never to you.

and sadly, he almost feels content to stay this way — if it means he’ll be able to have you near. with the two of you tucked away in one another’s arms, swaying to the melody of harmonious wind and rain, the abrasive, corroding nature of katsuki bakugou is tamed and the world comes to a standstill that feels sort of homely. its familiar, a routine he’s so easily settled into time and time again. confessing to you would be like disrupting the natural course of your relationship and bakugou has seen what you do to guys who cross your limits or suddenly no longer entertain you. sometimes they genuinely do hurt you, other times you’re like a little girl who no longer has a desire to play with her favourite toy — easily casting them aside. the blonde would hate to be one of them, to be thrown out by the person he loves most.

“you’ll find someone,” he says gruffly, after some time. 

pulling away slightly and with a hand centre stage on katsuki’s ooey-gooey lovesick chest, you smile ever so gently. and it’s enough for him, even though it burns, it’s enough to make it worth it. all this suffering in silence, loving you from afar…that is, until he hears what you have to to say next. 

“i wish i could find someone like you, kats.”

the rain outside has hit its peak, bordering on the edge of torrential as it drowns the concrete jungle outside and the grey clouds it pours from shroud the city in a similar darkness to the veil falling over katsuki’s mind. now that, it really pisses his off. someone like him? why not him? he doesn’t understand why you actively put yourself through the ringer when what you want is right before your very eyes.

like a sudden clap of thunder or a strike of bright lightning, katsuki has a realisation. he isn’t so sure how much more of this he can stomach or take. a few weeks ago his best friend, kirishima, had scolded him long and hard for allowing you to walk all over the explosive pro hero. maybe the redhead had been right, your words seem almost purposeful and calculated — designed to hit him right where it hurts. whether or not you’re aware of the fact.

“y’can’t keep doing this.” comes the blonde’s whisper, coasting just under his breath, so low that you almost miss it underneath the howling notes of the wind.

“what?” 

“please stop doing this.” bakugou says again, but firmer, shrugging your hands from his well-built torso like they’ve given him an electric shock. a flash of hurt lines itself across your beautifully crafted features like a film of dust clinging to a marble carved sculpture belonging to an art museum. he hates it, how he can still admire you and treasure you even when you torture him with a punishment of unrequited love. “you can’t keep comin’ here every time you get your heart broken, knowing how i feel about you. it’s fucked up, you’re fucking me up.” 

people have only ever dreamed of being able to bring the great dynamight down to his knees. a man of such power and force could never be shaken, especially with everything that he’s been through to get where he is today. 

the colour in your voice pales, the glint to your eyes dulls and you nervously reach out for your best friend only to be rejected which hurts more than any shitty break up you’ve ever had. “k-katsuki…kats, what are you talking about?” 

“you know exactly what i mean. don’t try to gaslight me or some shit.” katsuki puts it simply, fighting the lump in his throat that nearly stops him from being truthful. it’s always been a difficult task to push you away, “we play pretend, you come to me expectin’ me to lick your wounds ‘n shit. fuck, i’ve been doing it for the last ten years. since todoroki first rejected you in high school, then that guy from class 1B and then shindou from that other school once we went pro.”

he rambles relentlessly and you take every word while memories of each heartbreak flash brightly before your very eyes. it’s clear to you now, standing in front of him, that bakugou has been holding this, whatever this is, inside for far too long. concealing his emotions until his fuse was at its end and it all exploded to the surface. “katsuki stop it.” you say weakly, throat dry.

“fuck no! why should i?” the brash blonde spits venomously, his upper lip curling into an ugly sneer. one you’ve only ever seen when he’s talking to villains, or better yet, talking about your exes. “because it never stopped for me. you never stopped using me.” he blabs, but he’s hardly shouting — the mere fact that he isn’t freaks you out even more. “it’s so fucked up, i’ve been waiting for a chance with you for years. i never said yes to someone fuckin’ loving me for who i am. for all the shit that i come with because i was waitin’ for you.”  for nearly a decade you’ve been offering katsuki all the riches in the world, only to pry them from his warmth fingers and leave him for cold and death.

you could apologise right then and there, make things right, tell katsuki that it was him all along and those other guys meant nothing to you. it’s what he wants so badly, it’s the only thing that could make him forget all of this drama and take you back into his arms. instead, you retreat like a hermit crab back into its shell, stepping back and away from your best friend while selfishly curling in on yourself.

“i didn’t… i didn’t ask you to wait.” 

those words are like a lightening strike to the chest. the white flashbang outside illuminates your face for katsuki to see, guilt outlines the natural slopes and continue of your face and some kind of regret floods the black ink on your eyes. bakugou’s suspicions have been proven true. you’ve never wanted him, not in the way that he’s wanted you. it must be that. must be that you kept him around knowing he’d chase shooting stars and run to the end of a rainbow if it meant the prize was you.

“you didn’t have to,” katsuki’s breathing turns ragged, mimicking the uncontrollable winds of a brewing storm, and his anxiety peaks, spilling over the edge of a glass he’d tried to keep half full for so long. he knew this, all along, he knew that you’d reject him plain and simple but why does it feel like his world is ending. “would have done it anyways ‘cause i am…was… in love with you. you didn’t need to ask me because you knew i'd always be there.” 

it hurts, the truth, it burns like acid rain dissolving through a manmade structure. you hate the taste of it in the air, as katsuki’s words ring through it — undermining the heavy rain pelting down against his roof. you don’t know what to say or tell him, but instead of the contentedness of being close to the blonde you now feel a sudden sense of impending doom. an epiphany. a realisation that you’re going to lose your best friend because you took advantage of a bleeding heart.

you’ve never been the only one whose organs were ripped out and ever-loving corpse was left for dead. each time pieces of you died at every soul-crushing rejecting you’ve ever faced — katsuki has been right behind you, falling to pieces, decomposing, breaking apart… watching you mourn a relationship with someone else. 

someone that wasn’t him. 

words and apologies tangle in your throat and form a knot that blocks their passage. what do you even say to someone who has inadvertently confessed their love for you — something in which you’re not sure you even believe in anymore? “i-i’m… i’m sorry,” slowly, you take a step forward, blindly reaching out for katsuki in his living room shrouded by darkness and only temporarily lit up my lightening crashes. but he steps back, he retreats into a person he used to be — one that was nasty and cruel despite how much he cared.

bearing his fangs, katsuki defends himself from the only person who could truly ever hurt him. you. his walls build up and he snarls again. “i don’t care.” though, his voice wobbles and his eyes are glossy under the harsh white light of the lightening by strikes outside — he remains defensive. 

“i’m sorry,” you sullenly repeat. for what? not loving him? for using him? you’re not sure. “katsuki…i’m sorry—“ 

you sound so genuine, your voice so sweet and sorrowful — it’s almost enough to make the man melt, for his walls to fall away and his heart to open back up just for you. but bakugou knows better, if gives in and steps closer and holds you once more — the cycle will repeat. you’ll know that you can come to him whenever you want, and take advantage of his pathetic yearning and devotion to you. over and over again, for as long as you want. because if you call he’ll answer, always. 

not this time though.

katsuki bakugou steels himself as though he’s facing his greatest foe, his jaw hardens, his ruby red eyes flutter shut and his head shakes and he tries so hard to resist you. when he finally looks at you again, after what feels like an eternity, you’re hopeful in thinking that maybe this can be fixed and you can keep your best friend. however, you’ve seen katsuki’s expression on a dozen other faces before.

that look people give you when they tell you it’s over, when they grow tired of you, when they leave you. 

you know it all too well, the face of someone breaking up with you. 

except this time you’re not losing a half baked love, this time you’re losing someone who adored every part of you even if it was severely flawed. 

you’re losing your best friend. your katsuki.

and all it took was the clouds parting and the heavens crying for you to realise that.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[jarofstyles]

Put Your Records On

This is a little thing I came up with at 2 am and kept writing till 5 lol. It's pop star y/n x rock star H. I don't do a lot of canon H and some things are changed/ don't fit into the real one but that's on purpose. Part two will be up very soon!

Check out our Patreon for early access to part 2 and 170+ exclusive writings!

WC- 4.2k

Warnings- dirty talk, mention of bullying (Brief)

She saw him from across the room- well, more like felt him. The room had a buzz in it that it hadn’t before.

It was common knowledge that he was going to be there. One of his best friends was hosting the after party for the BRIT awards, and she had been lucky enough to be invited considering her manager had been friends with the group for a while. Actually, it was a bit shocking that she’d never met the man considering how close their circles ran. She’d met a lot of his management and production team, even a few members of his band- but never the man himself. 

It was her second year after making it big on the music scene but her entire life, she’d been working towards this. School musicals, voice lessons, guitar and piano lessons, music had become her flesh and blood and she was determined to make it her bread and fucking butter. She’d been blessed with her voice and a talent like hers wasn’t one to waste, that’s what her parents had said as she grew up- and it had all paid off. She went home with Best New Artist and was coming down on the buzzing high of another huge accomplishment of her career. 

Harry was infamous, at the top of the damn world and everyone knew his name. He was just about to hop back on tour, one Y/N had been invited to attend by his manager himself. It seemed like today was the day they would finally meet in person, and judging by the recognition in his eye, he had heard about her too. 

God, that made her want to vomit. Growing up she’d been a casual fan of his band, been to a few shows even after scraping together enough money for a ticket along with her best friend. Said friend was lost somewhere in the room and Y/N knew she had a knack for awful timing, but as the man got closer to her she felt her insides begin to bubble. She wasn’t one to get starstruck super easily, thank god, but it was hard not to feel intimidated as he approached her. A black blazer with a very sheer pink blouse underneath, pants tight on the thighs and flared at the calves, necklaces hanging in a thatch of thin chest hair, she’d felt her mouth dry as his smile was given directly to her. Someone she’d grown up singing to in her bedroom, right into her hairbrush, was grinning at her like she was someone important. 

“So we finally meet.” Harry reached his hand out to shake hers. Clunky rings covered the digits as her own took them, shaking his warm hand with her own smile on her face. She’d been on stage in front of tens of thousands of people, and yet he was a bit more intimidating. Still she was going to do her best to use her brief acting skills and pretend her heart wasn’t in her throat. “I’ve heard so much about you- your album’s fucking brilliant.”

He was tipsy, she could see that much. His eyes were slightly hooded and he had a looser demeanor than he had seated at the table ahead of her at the awards show. Good for him. It wasn’t likely that he did this too much. It was well known that he wasn’t much for drinking during his working season and he’d won two awards! That called for drinks all around. 

What took her off guard, though, was the fact that he’d listened to her album. He listened and he had said it was good? Her cheeks heated as she realized he was still holding her hand, gently letting it fall as he took a step closer. It was a little loud out there but not too bad if you were close enough. “You think so? I’m hoping it’s all good things.” She let out a laugh she hoped sounded natural, adjusting her hair. The girl had always been one to fuss with her clothes when she was nervous but hopefully he didn’t realize that. “So is yours. Got quite a few on my playlists.” 

“Yeah?” His smile grew bigger. “Which ones?” Y/N felt the lump in her throat as she tried not to think about how good he smelled. It was so creepy, noticing that. There was a faint hint of tobacco and the tiniest bit of alcohol, but he smelled really warm. Cuddly, in a way. It made sense in her brain, but she was also a drink in at this point. 

“Mmm, I have a few from other albums but from the latest? Satellite, that’s the go to for the gym for me… Late Night Talking, very relatable for me. Erm… Boyfriends, unfortunately.” She saw him give a playful wince. “Yeah, men are shit- no offence. And then I’d say Daydreaming is a personal favorite. As It Was was brilliant, obviously, but Daydreaming is my favorite.” It felt like maybe she word-vomited a little but he’d listened to every word, seeming pleased with her answers. 

“Daydreaming isn’t one I hear of being a favorite, usually. M’chuffed that it’s yours.” He genuinely seemed happy about it. “I really liked the closing track of your album- it’s so rare to find albums that tell a story, that are thoughtfully laid out, at least at this point in time. I love to listen from front to back and it was laid out perfectly. Usually m’a bit of a snob and would have some critiques but you nailed it.” 

Y/N preened. It wasn’t a compliment she got often and it shocked her because that meant he’d really listened. Really paid attention to her music and took time with her album. It was extremely flattering. Surreal, really. Who could have told 15 year old Y/N that Harry would be a fan of her fucking music? She’d probably pass the fuck out. “I’m shocked you got that, but thank you. Yeah, I did the same thing growing up. It was my favorite part of music I’d find, seeing how stuff flowed together. Top to bottom and then bottom to top, then I can shuffle.” It was said in a slightly joking tone but she was fully serious. 

“You get it, Y/N.” He reached out to nudge her shoulder. “I’ve been trying to meet you for a bit but my schedule’s been hectic. Thought it wouldn’t be since we’ve been going for a bit now but tour prep… can be brutal, y’know?” 

Y/N did know, but on a minuscule scale compared to what his tour probably entailed. He was doing stadiums, for god’s sake! Y/N’s arena tour sold out quickly, but there was a huge size difference in where they were. Hopefully she’d reach his level one day. “I do, I do. It’s not a big deal, I didn’t think you were avoiding me or anything.” For a bit she did, but that was wiped away when she’d realized he released the tour dates. It had been months of almost meetings but she had faith in the universe. When it was meant to happen, it would. 

“God no, I was excited to. Did y’want to come sit with us over there?” He motioned to the private area she was allowed into but not been brave enough to venture to quite yet. 

“Sure, that would be nice.” Y/N hadn’t expected to be invited to sit with him personally, let alone feel his hand on her back as he led them through the crowd of people in the room. The star said hellos as he walked through but somehow had mastered the art of saying hi without being caught into a conversation without seeming rude. That was a skill she sure as hell was envious of.

His hand was really fucking warm. She could feel slight calluses on his fingertips, in true musician fashion, but they weren’t as rough as one would originally expect. Her backless dress did her no favors in hiding the warmth and how nice and comforting his touch felt, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank or scowl at her stylist. It wasn’t half as uncomfortable as the dress they’d pulled for the carpet, thankfully this dress was a slinky, emerald green one with room for her legs to actually move. Her updo had been taken down to a mess of curls that nearly reached where his hands were- the power of extensions. As heavy as her head felt, she couldn’t deny that she felt exceptionally beautiful. Thank god the universe had chosen today to meet Harry. 

“Finally!” Sarah sighed. “I’ve been waiting for you two to meet for ages. Come sit.” The woman had always been very sweet, even more sweet with a few drinks in her. Saying her hellos to the familiar people, she felt Harry sit himself next to her in the booth and immediately drinks were brought over. So this is why it was VIP. It was a lemon drop, something Y/N did happen to like. Harry handing her one before taking his own was unexpected but very appreciated, a gentle thank you exchanged as he settled back next to her. 

It was unreal to be here. To be sat at a table of friendly but insanely successful people, feel like part of the ‘in’ crowd, it had completely blindsided her. This was the sort of thing that she’d always thought about when she was in her bed at home as a teenager, hoping one day to rub elbows with the people she once admired so much they had space on her bedroom wall, and here it was. Someone who’s face was on her favorite bedtime tee shirt (Those merch shirts were expensive and she wasn’t about to get rid of it because a member was now in her circle). 

“Y/N, did you know that H added some of your songs to the preshow playlist in his dressing room?” Sarah hummed. 

“You did?” The girl gasped as she looked at him. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn she saw a bit of a pink glint to his cheeks. Maybe it was the alcohol. 

“He did, and he’s been raving about it to Mitch. Sometimes he’s singing it when we pass, that one song about the… what’s it called? The Raven? Some sort of bird.” 

“I think you’ve had enough to drink.” Mitch had to laugh at her airing a bit of Harry’s business, but she was a chatterbox when she was drunk. 

“That’s so nice!” Y/N said shyly. “You’re on mine too, actually. The dressing room for me and the one the fans listen to, I can hear them sing it from backstage.”

Harry’s leg was pressed into hers so she didn’t have to turn far to look at him, watching him finish his drink as he nodded. “I do, yeah. Told you I liked your music. I meant it.”

“Yeah, if he didn’t he wouldn’t mention it. That’s why when he met that girl earlier he just said it was nice to meet-” Sarah was cut off by her husband asking her if she wanted to see something on his phone, putting Harry out of his misery. 

“M’not an ass.” He groaned. “I just didn’t vibe with the album, y’know? I won’t say things I don’t mean but that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite.”

“Agree, 100%. It’s easy when it’s just a taste thing, but I’ve found it harder with people I’ve seen or heard talk bad about me and it’s confirmed. Dunno how you’re able to do that.” Y/N struggled to not show her nerves or distaste of people sometimes and it was something she was constantly working on. Her best friend often had to tell her to adjust her facial expressions and she’d even gone viral once for a ‘stink face’ she’d made at someone. It was accidental of course, but it’d also caused one of her first big waves of hate. 

“It’s not easy, and anyone who says so is lying.” Harry confirmed. “It’s taken me years. Said something about pussy on tv not realizing the cameras could see, so It’s trial and error.” The joke had the both of them laughing, Y/N not divulging that she indeed already knew that. “I think it’s important to just remember they’re humans and probably just as nervous t’see you. It’s just a short interaction and you can move on quickly. I also think working out, yoga, all of that helps a lot with my inner calm. It isn’t easy, like I said, but you’re also in the beginnings of your career in this sort of light. I’ve got no doubt that you’ll be able to have a good poker face by the end of the year.”

“God, I love that song.” Y/N sighed. “Poker face, loved that one I mean. But thank you. I really do appreciate the advice. I was terrified coming tonight. The award shows are much scarier than your own gigs.” 

“Oh, definitely.” Harry whistled, taking another drink from the tray and handing a fresh one to her. “S’like, you know the people who go to your shows are there for you. It’s like a little family get together, it’s safer. Those people love you enough t’buy a ticket, travel got knows how long, wears a shirt with your face on it. It’s mental to think about but incredible. These things?” He motioned around the room. “All marketing and partying, but more drama. S’crazy how many people have slept with each other in this room.” Harry realized a bit too late that he’d said too much but thankfully Y/N just giggled in agreement. “You seem to take to it quite well though. Not to sound weird but I saw you accept your awards and socialize a bit here, you’ve probably got the whole room fooled.”

That was a relief and a compliment in her opinion. The goal was to make sure no one sensed the weakness. Unfortunately she’d learned early on that these people could sniff it out like a shark in bloodied water. “That’s the goal.” She replied, leaning back into the seat. Her back was killing her from the bloody heels on her feet and how tight her other dress was, so it was a relief to have this reprieve from them sitting here. 

“So tell me about your tour then. What’s going on with that?”

—-----------

Y/N was drunk. Certifiably hammered. She had one too many lemon drops and apparently, so did Harry. Some of the people had vacated the booth and it left them alone as they talked amongst themselves. With the aid of the liquid courage, she wasn’t losing her mind over how close they were. Sure, her heart was still going a million miles a minute, but that was due to his fingers fiddling with the strap of her dress. Harry was, evidently, a touchy drunk. Clingy. He’d even followed her to the bathroom and waited for her outside before they’d returned. 

In all honesty, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t believe all of this in the morning. That Harry had ignored everyone else in favor of talking to her, tucked away in VIP at a round table, his body closer than it needed to be considering the space. They’d talked about a lot of industry things, but more so the fun and personal. She told him about her collection of band tee shirts and admitting to not having listened to all the bands she wore, but he didn’t judge her for it. Said he went through a phase of doing the same while in the band. She told him about her cat, a Siamese named Simon and he’d cooed over photos on her phone about how cute he’d looked with his collar that had a little flower on it. So many topics were covered, so many things discussed in the last two hours that she felt like she was getting a handle on who he was. 

Though this many drinks, it was bleeding into oversharing.

“Your ex was at the awards?” He asked, eyes slightly red but widening as she dropped the tidbit.

“Yep.” The p in the word was exaggerated with a pop of her lips and an eye roll. “Note to you for the future, don’t fuck anyone involved in your production team. Makes for a nasty breakup and a lot of rude ‘inside sources’ with the press.” Her lips flattened. “And he couldn’t even make me finish, so. Fuck him.”

Harry’s eyes widened further before he groaned, his head dropping to the side onto the leather booth seat. “No, not that, Y/N. C’mon.” He seemed a bit distraught. “It’s always those guys that make your life hell, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I did learn that a bit early on.” He seemed to remember it but she didn’t ask. If he didn’t divulge it, she wasn’t going to pry. “You got the shit end of the stick. It’s one of my embarrassments being a male. Y’don’t have to be a rocket scientist to learn how to pleasure a woman.”

“You’d think.” She scoffed. “Swear, men in LA don’t know how to use any of their appendages. Used like a human fleshlight so I stopped hooking up with people. It got discouraging after the fifth time I left. Not a single one know where the clit is.” It was an unfortunate truth. Maybe she was looking in the wrong places or had a string of bad luck, but she’d been voluntarily celibate because of it. “Doubt you know what m’talking about, Mr Watermelon Sugar.”

Y/N realized her internal thought had become an external one when he broke out into his own giggles, her face heating. She’d definitely not meant for that to be said out loud, but thankfully he didn’t seem offended. It was the truth anyways, any man who loved pleasuring a woman so much that he wrote a whole song about it had to know what he was doing.

As his giggles came down, he replied. “Well, I’d like t’think I do. I…” He swallowed. “Know we just met, but overshare?” Scooting closer, he watched her nod. “I think I get off more on getting other people off, if that makes sense. Like, making someone feel good. I dunno if it’s some sort of ego thing, but I enjoy it a lot. Being the cause of pleasure. Think it probably ties in to a bit of a praise kink I’ve got, but it’s the truth.” 

Y/N had never thought she’d get into this sort of conversation with the man, let alone in a dark corner at the BRITs afterparty, but she wasn’t about to complain. “So it’s true then?” She rose an eyebrow. “You really love eating pussy?” Drunk Y/N had officially taken over. A bit of a drunk, horny Y/N she’d been trying to repress. In the morning she would be mortified that she asked that, but right now she was genuinely curious. 

“I do.” He smirked. “I dunno there’s just something about it. Being the one to make someone gasp. When it feels so good they try and push and pull you at the same time. Love the taste, love t’hear the noises. Maybe it’s a little arrogant of me but your name sounds better when it’s said with pleasure, don’t you think?” 

Y/N should have known better than to ask. Harry was a very attractive, alluring man, he was close to her and smelled so fucking good and god damn it, she was already horny. Her cunt throbbed and she knew she was going to have a wet patch in her thong when she left, but she was a glutton for punishment. “I do. I like giving for the same reason.” She admitted. “I’ve always had a lack of gag reflex so, it’s made it easier for me than other people probably have it.”

Harry’s interest seemed to be stroked, fingers brushing over her bare neck as she spoke. It was hard to concentrate here, with him so close. But Y/N always did like to be a bit of a tease, brushing the tip of her foot over the back of his leg. Maybe they were playing a dangerous game talking about this, but no one else was around. She didn’t fall back when his head dipped slightly, getting closer than necessary. “Look at us then. What a pair.” 

“I know. You’re just bold enough to write a whole song about it.” Her finger poked him playfully in the chest. 

“M’not apologetic about it. A woman’s pleasure is important and often overlooked. Makes me sad that no one’s made you feel good in that long. I hope you’re taking care of yourself at the very least.” Oh, she was. And she would be when she got back to her hotel tonight. Thank god for the suction vibrators. 

“I do, but it’s not the same as having someone else do it for you.” Her drunk self told her it as a good idea to pout, trying not to breath too hard as his fingers caressed the nape of her neck. “Sometimes I just miss the touch of another human, you know? Even innocent touches but, there’s nothing like being fucked so hard you feel it the next day. Feels like it’s impossible to find it anymore.” 

“It’s not.” He replied. Eyes were staring into her own. “You’re fucking stunning. Especially tonight, you could pull anyone in the room.” Gaze dipped down to her cleavage, not hiding that he was looking. Heat that had been bubbling in her stomach spread through the rest of her body, his touch igniting a bit of a spark. 

“Anyone?” Her head tilted to the side. The tension had been growing a bit with the two of them but now it was thick in the air. There was no denying that there was an attraction between them but it was palpable now. “So if I wanted to, I could pull you?” Y/N had no idea if he was even available for anything right now. It wasn't’ a smart idea considering how closely they worked near each other, but right now all she could think about was the fact that she had full confidence that Harry could give her the feelings that she wanted- the fuck she needed. 

“Absolutely. M’hanging on by a thread here.” His voice deepened, face far closer to hers than should be appropriate for two people who just met. “I’ve been trying to be a gentleman all night. M’a bit of a slut sometimes but hookups aren’t usually my thing. Was trying to figure out a way to ask you out but, I’ve been a little nervous.” Fingers curled around the back of her neck as their noses brushed. ‘But fuck it, right?” Warm breaths puffed against each others, leaving the ball in Y/N’s court. 

“Fuck it.” 

Harry took that and ran. Lips pressed against hers as he cradled her neck, angling her how he wanted while he slowly kissed her. It was shockingly intimate despite the setting, smooth, soft lips sucking lightly against hers. There was no sign of stopping as her mouth opened for him, letting their tongue brush and the heat rise between them. His body angled slightly to cover hers from view, he let out a low groan in his throat as her hand raised to his hair. It was soft and a bit long for him as of late, but it felt good between her fingers. His other hand held the side of her face, so gentle but solid that she knew she’d give into any of his demands. 

The party raged on behind them but they got lost in the kisses, one turning to three, turning to ten and they hardly came up for air. There was no doubt her makeup was going to be fucked up, that her lipstick was done for, but there was no better way to ruin it. “Y’taste so sweet.” Harry’s words were whispered against her swelling lips. “And you smell so good. Been driving me a bit crazy. Wanted to meet you for ages cause I knew we’d get on… but didn’t think we’d get on this well.” He chuckled into the kiss, squeezing the back of her neck and making her melt slightly into him. “Hoped for it, though.” 

“You did?” Her own voice was breathless as she tried to catch up to his kisses.. It was hard not to get butterflies when he hummed in agreement. Harry had been excited to meet her. “Had a little crush, did you?” The statement was fully meant to be a tease, but he agreed. 

“Suppose I did.”

[thewitchqueenofharrenhal]

It’s so annoying when people bring up Alicent’s “He’s your blood Viserys” line at Driftmark to be like “omg she’s so stupid doesn’t she know Lucerys is also his blood”.

That’s literally the fucking point. Viserys has shown time and time again how he will do everything and anything for his blood. He is constantly allowing Daemon, Rhaenyra, and her children anything.

He is defending his blood in Lucerys. He defends Lucerys’s honor with his thinly veiled threat to cut Alicent and her children’s tongue out for insulting his blood.

Alicent is trying to remind him that AEMOND is also his blood. That he also needs to be infuriated for Aemond who was just maimed and had his life effectively destroyed by Westerosi standards and Viserys doesn’t seem to care. Not even a little bit.

That is where Alicent’s rage comes from.

I sincerely doubt Alicent truly wanted Lucerys’s eye, she just wanted things to be fair for once in her life. She wanted to see the Viserys that protected Rhaenyra & Daemon always on account of being his blood. Extend that protection to her children too. Because they are also his blood.

The writing couldn’t have made it easier when in the end Viserys proclaims Rhaenyra his only child.

He never truly viewed his children with Alicent as his blood and that’s why he couldn’t be bothered to care for Aemond at Driftmark.

That’s why Alicent tries to remind him. Not because she’s trying to dismiss his connection to his shared blood with Lucerys, or even trying to make him dismiss it. She’s well aware that Viserys acknowledges and cherishes his blood connection to Lucerys.

She’s appealing to one of his few good qualities by trying to remind him Aemond is his blood too. Frankly to me, it seems like she dismisses herself entirely from the equation.

“You don’t care about me sure, but please care about them. They’re your blood too”.

Which like ultimately destroys further the few pillars Alicent’s life was built on because what was the point of being sacrificed at the altar if it won’t even save her children?

Frankly though the spare me the dramatics too on pretending Alicent isn’t justified for resorting to violence after her child was maimed because I would have done much worse.