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silkjade · 3 months ago

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FAIREST OF THEM ALL

alhaitham x mermaid!reader au ⤀ synopsis: mermaids, and their vanity, and their affinity for pretty things... who better to admire, than the fairest one of all? ⤀ cw: fem!reader, established relationship, mirror sex, fingering, praise, rough + unprotected sex, size kink, creampie, a lil bit of dom!haitham, overstimulation, cervix kisses, squirting, subspace, vry sweet he’s actually so in love — mdni || ꒰ 5.1k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: recommended to read the affiliated series, but it can stand alone as well ! reblogs & feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡

series masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

Mermaids and their vanity and their affinity for pretty things…

Where Alhaitham lacks in idle conversations, he makes up for in his acute observation; taking note in particular of the way you glance at your reflection—not only in the mirrors of a merchant’s passing display, but at every turn, and every corner. In the stained glass windows of the Akademiya, in the bronze vessels decorating Lambad’s second floor…even now, on your excursion through the Grand Bazaar, he catches the quick flit of your head as you peer at yourself in the fountain beneath Zubayr Theater.

Not that he’d ever fault a star for its beauty, when even the sweltering Sumeru sun is roped into your orbit—bending to your will as it dazzles behind you, like a halo in your backdrop. Perhaps the world is, but a shell…and a pearl such as yourself—beautiful and rare—ought to shine on a more veracious display. A familiar smirk plays on his lips, painting his handsome face in a devious shade of sly.

It’s clear from just your peripherals that he must be devising something terrible… Yet there’s a dance to your step when you stop him in his path; your hands clasped coyly behind your back, as you dip into his vicinity with your feigned innocence.

“And just what are you smiling for?” you lilt, shifting your weight forward onto your tiptoes. He leans over to honor what he can only surmise to be a wordless request, but you pull away before his lips ever have the chance to meet yours. You gleam in that coquettish smile of yours—one that sits so perfectly atop your playful flirtations. “Thinking about me?”

Alhaitham clears his throat, crossing his arms with a raised brow, despite the remaining wisp still tugging at the corner of his lip. “Am I not allowed to smile?”

By now, he can accurately read your tells and predict your actions: pursed lips and shifting eyes…all in a poor attempt to hide your grin as you quip back with something smart, or flirtatious, or on certain days, shameless—any of which might send a lesser man into a fluster. Not that he fares particularly better when it comes to you…

So he cuts you off while he’s still ahead, his strong arm easily pulling you back into his sphere, and with a tilt of his head, gestures at the fountain, letting curiosity guide you as it casts your reflection onto the waters’ surface once again.

“Just thinking about how pretty you are...”

And pretty you are indeed when he sits you between his legs, your bare back arching away from his chest as he curls his fingers in your cunt, hitting exactly where he knows you’d keen. His free hand kneads at the meat of your inner thigh, parting your legs wider in the process, your pussy lips following suit, blooming with the sticky sound of your wetness.

Alhaitham huffs, impressed, as he glances into the mirror standing steadfast before you both. Large and unwavering, it’s resolute in its honorable pursuit to uncover the truth—the one with your cunt propped open and your head thrown into the curvature of his neck. The one you’re clearly not yet privy to, if your eyes are squeezed shut in the midst of all your pleasure. It’s a shame, really. For although he’s never had the ambition to conquer the unknown verities, if such beauty were the splendor of all the world’s truths, then he’d gladly partake down this endless road—as a scholar or as a madman. After all, who better to perfect his limited human perspective, than the fairest one of all?

Tilting his head, he kisses his way up the column of your neck, feeling you curl into him as he paints intermittent bruises on your supple skin, stopping only when he reaches beneath your ear so that his teeth may tug lightly on its lobe.

“I know how you love to admire your own reflection…” His voice gravels in your ear, the rich baritone sending a shiver whose reach extends all the way down to your core. “So don’t you want to see how pretty you look?”

“No. That’s—” Whining, you continue to shake your head at the very prospect, ignoring the clear disconnect as you tighten and clench around the fingers still holed up inside of you. “‘s embarrassing…”

He hums from deep in his chest; thoughtfully amused at how such words could leave your mouth, when your cunt gushes as unabashedly as if she were attempting to lure his fingers further with a squelching song of her own. But there’s nothing to tempt, when there’s no iron will to break, for your bodies move like the moon and the tide: ebbing and flowing, ever connected, fates intertwined. Where his thumb spreads to draw harsh circles, your breath shallows in response, crying out at the sudden aggressive waves of pleasure that surge at your clit. Your nails dig into the sheets, hips lifting and squirming to no avail, as he continues to barrage you from the inside out.

“Haitham…” you breathe, and he knows you’re close from how you moan through sealed lips, brows furrowed and teeth clenched, until the disappointing realization that he’s pulled out. Your doe eyes flutter open, perplexed and brimming with spoiled petulance at his amused brow and little smirk, whilst at the same time, your lips part with all the intention of asking your lover ‘whyyyy?’, if only for the fact that he’s simply…faster.

Slick-coated fingers grasp onto your chin, slowly tilting your head down—away from that safe corner by his neck—so that you’d come meet him in the mirror, with all your vanity in tow. He holds your gaze, never turning away, not even as his head dips again so that his lips are level when he whispers low and sultry into your ear.

“If you look away, I’ll stop.”

…And so you watch as Alhaitham turns his attention back between your legs, spreading open your folds until they’re well smeared with your free-flowing slick. And you watch as two lithe fingers penetrate past your slit, steadily pumping slow, smooth strokes, before splintering apart to stretch you open in preparation for the third prodding at your entrance, eager to join the fray.

“That’s it,” he coos, though his low voice does absolutely nothing to soothe how you squirm against him at the…discomfort? The fervor? Perhaps even the discomfort of such fervor, as it’s become nigh difficult to tell, when his free hand has migrated to fondle with one of your breasts, roughly kneading the mound to double your sensations. “Look at you…”

Yet what is there to look at but the lascivious combination of your shame and desire? Both wrestle for a place in your reflection, battling to outweigh the other upon your visage…but it’s hardly a fair fight when shame has never been your forte—especially not when you squeeze around him so tightly, almost as if in resistance to how he’s scissoring you open.

It’s almost mesmerizing how your body reacts so eagerly: how your mouth falls open in a gasp and then a squeal, as your gummy walls concede to stretch by way of his provocation. Or that slight hitch in your breath, chest stuttering as you inhale the familiar stretch of three digits sinking into your cunt whilst you sink ever deeper into the watery depths of such hedonistic volitions.

Still, Alhaitham so greedily grasps at every open inch of you, ravishing your body with almost everything at his disposal. His chiseled frame looming behind you as he holds you open and bare, his grip the jaws of lust incarnate; his heavy breath crowding on your skin like a heated apparition of his own dire need to fuck and please and share in the admiration of just how beautiful he thinks you are—until like fine mist, it disperses across your mind, and the shame melts off your bones, replaced with only the desire for more, for him, for more of him.

“Haitham…” you mewl again, brows furrowing in an earnest attempt to keep your eyes open in spite of the rush, because god forbid he stop…

But it’s tortuous, the way Alhaitham pumps his fingers in and out—slowly, steadily—so that you’d see in your reflection, just how wet you are, hear every squish that sounds as he repeatedly buries himself three knuckles deep. Your slick coats his skin with a layer of gloss at every re-emergence, wordlessly conveying that it isn’t nearly enough to satisfy the burning ache between your legs.

“Please more… ‘m so close…” Pleading, you do what you can to muster your sweetest voice, your most honeyed cadence, in the hopes that you’d persuade him to your cause, rolling your hips to embody your words, furthering both his reach and your intent. For all the time you’ve spent with your lover in the nation of wisdom, it’s certainly helped to remember that only praxes can truly validate such words of honesty, and you truly are honest in your intent to cum.

“As you wish,” he hums, and his breath wraps around the shell of your ear in a warm embrace (though it’s hardly even an ember compared to the heat quickly ebbing in your belly.) The want amplifies by tenfold as he digs the heel of his palm against your clit, forcing another wave of euphoria to course through your form, as he angles his fingers in pursuit of where you feel him most.

Every twist, every curl, beckons at sweet release, as the tips of his fingers drag past each velvet inch of your walls at an ungodly pace, drawing out your orgasm with such magnetic fortitude that even your own lucidity seems to fade in the midst of such mental upheaval. It goes, and it goes, and it’s gone—as if the plug had just been pulled from your very being—and like a doll, your eyes fall shut to the joy of diving back into such revelry.

A sharp slap to your clit jolts you back to reality with a staggered gasp, your thighs nearly snapping shut at the sudden impact, while rootless static fills the emptiness in your stolen pleasure. Your perpetrator, however, only spares you a half-lidded glance whilst he continues to brandish the finishing touches of another hickey along your neck.

“Keep looking,” he issues, one part a command, the other, a warning. His grip loosens from your thigh, allowing your legs to fall just the slightest bit slack, before his voice softens and he pries open the lips of your drenched cunt, strumming through your folds so unbearably lazily, as you situate your gaze back into the mirror. “I want you to see everything I do to you…”

“Like how pretty you are when I touch you…” He dips a finger between your pussy lips, unfolding the rippling petals on his way up your slit, carefully paving the way for his place beneath the hood of your clit. “Here,” he drawls, rubbing at the nub so deliberately, that the sudden titillation evokes your instinct to shrink away with a broken, pitched cry; for wherever you squirm, Alhaitham follows, and backed against his chest, there’s nowhere left to turn, but forward at your reflection in the glass.

It's obscene. You’re obscene. But despite the disconnect with your head, your body still begs for more, and you think it’s almost pathetic how far you’ve sunk into his magnetism (though you vaguely recall it was once the other way around) that you hardly recognize the figure before you, so…distorted by the draw of lust. Your chest heaving with every breath that circulates through full, parted lips, your face bleary from carrying the heavy weight of pleasure on your lashes. Yet, the longer you watch, the more you glisten between your legs, clearly seduced by that perfect view of your own body on display.

Perhaps there is something provocative about the way your folds are spread, barred open by his fingers while he taps away at your clit. Perhaps there is some coquetry in the way your empty hole drools, some enchantment in how your juices shine…everything to flaunt how you need to cum—how you need him and anything he’s willing to give.

Your eyes begin to glaze, your focus drifting as you continue to stare at how your lover’s reflection so teases the hardened nub, every touch drumming your nerves with pleasure like the beguiling lull of gentle waves. At least your lungs seem to appreciate the monotonous pattern; your heaving chest adjusts to match his rhythm, the faint stimulus now an almost comfortable familiarity—one too easily shattered by the whims of another, as Alhaitham presses firmly into your swollen clit.

Renewed arousal swells in your belly, burning through whatever you thought had previously dissipated, and closing the window on any remnant of self-restraint, as you soon start to squirm with electrified impatience. Once steady breaths devolve into ragged gasps; your spine curves and your hips jolt, all from exposure to Alhaitham’s prolonged stimulation, writhing this way and that, until you inevitably grind against his cock, surprising him with his own throbbing rush of sensation.

“Do you see how,” Alhaitham grunts, gritting his teeth as he holds down a groan, “erotic you are…” Even half-dazed, you can feel just how hard his erection stands against the small of your back.

You exhale, waveringly so, as you steady yourself before releasing your grasp on the sheets, clawing weakly at his toned bicep in an effort to garner his attention. Between your misty eyes and sweat-mottled skin, disheveled hair and trembling thighs…there’s a delicate show of tenacity as your reflection holds his gaze, daring to dance with the devil you’ve chosen to submit to. “So show me what I look like when you fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he chuckles, and there’s a wicked glint that shines from beyond the turquoise, accompanied by a dim clang and a quiet rustle, as he frees his cock from its fabric confines.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his throat as his hands run a path along the concave of your waist, before scooping you up by the underside of your thighs, and shifting you further in his lap—spread open on wide display, behind the glaring pink of his leaking tip.

Alhaitham drags his cock along your slit, gathering slick from your fluttering anticipation, as he tempers the urge to plunge into you right then and there. He swallows the thought, giving way for the honeyed lilt of your name to flow from his lips instead. You turn, looking up at him with that darling half-lidded gaze, and he breathes in the sweet image of your pretty face. Please allow him to have one good look at you—the real you, in the flesh—before he fucks you into oblivion.

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, murmuring something you don’t quite catch. “‘Ayouni,” he hums, aligning his cock at your entrance. (My love, my eyes—as precious as the gift of sight.) “Nour ‘ayouni…” His tip dips past your entrance, wallowing in the tight fit, before finally pushing into your quivering insides—a resolute promise to fill both your desires, and your cunt as deep as you’d take him. (Light of my eyes, anything for you.)

Large hands secure themselves onto your hips, easily crowding you in until your knees are folded before your tits and your back is pressed flush against his chest. Every bead of sweat stitches your bodies together, skin on damp skin, though only you are locked on full, shameless display; your body and limbs tethered to invisible strings in his hands—his little mermaid, his little doll—to maneuver and fold as he pleases.

A pitched sob breaks the thickness in the air, followed by a few hushed whimpers and stifled moans, as you watch yourself take him, inch by overwhelming inch. It’s never truly occurred to you how big he really is—at least not until now, when you’re confronted before your very eyes with just how much your little hole must work to accommodate his size. That initial stretch when he first pushes past your folds, and how it grows wider little by little as he forges on… (it’s no wonder you always feel so delectably full.) Or how you can clearly see the protruding veins disappear as he glides deeper (is that how he’s always able to touch upon every crook and corner?)

The sight alone has you pulsing: your greedy cunt quite literally drooling at the prospect of swallowing him down to the base, churning out more slick to ease his descent, and melting any discomfort into delight. As his bonafide lover, it’s one thing to be fucked beyond belief, but to see yourself completely surrendered to your lecherous desires, and entirely pliable at his behest…? What a terrifying way to solicit your pleasure.

Still, you’ve no choice but to sputter out a moan as your walls constrict around his shaft, drawing out a grunt from Alhaitham with how titillating it feels when you cling to him like this. His rasp reverberates on the shell of your ear, travelling down your spine like lust-tainted fire to pass the message down between your thighs. And although dew threatens to blur your vision, from what you can see in the mirror, it’s clear that he’s yet to bottom out. Even worse, is that you can feel the emptiness—your insides so cravenly wanting what is amiss—because it’s just so inherently wrong that you aren’t full enough, that he isn’t deep enough.

An urgent hand flies to tangle your fingers in his hair, as you turn to pull him into a wanton kiss, your lips just as greedy as your hips that grind on his cock for more. “Want you,” you murmur between tongue and teeth, exchanging breaths as desperation and uncertainty clash in your throat, and crack like lightning in your voice. “All of you, all the way…please…?”

“Aren’t you, ngh,” he pauses, failing to swallow down his grunt, as disbelief rolls in with another tide of arousal that pulses in his cock. His attempt to taunt, ruined by his inability to resist any longer. “Aren’t you shameless today?”

“Don’t care.” Though slurred, the words still tumble out of your mouth with a sense of urgency, your fingers curling against him, grasping onto the hope that he’d finally fill you. “Just n-need you.” In such a deliriated state, it’s difficult to tell whether you had imagined the way his breath rings through the hollows of your bones—the resounding echoes of a small, yet exasperated laugh reverberating through the very core of your being…but it was real, and his presence was there, and how could he ever say no when you’re asking for his cock so nicely? Per your request, of course he’ll drop you lower onto his shaft.

Alhaitham groans, powerless against the way you whine, tightening around him as he advances further and further, until he bottoms out with a guttural ‘fuck.’ He’s never had you in such a position, but with you atop his lap and gravity as his prerogative, it’s suffice to say he’s reached...

“Too..d-deep…” you babble, eyes rolling back as your words disperse into the same nothingness that’s engulfed your thoughts.

A soft tut tut clicks from his tongue, followed by a light roll from his hips…and suddenly your string of whimpers break into a shrill gasp as his eager tip kisses the entrance to your womb. Alhaitham is, after all, a man of his word, though this time, he lets his actions speak in his stead. (Where did I tell you to look, habibti?)

There’s little time to process any of his wordless cues—especially not when his stuttered breath is hot against your neck, the warmth just beginning to melt away the jarring discomfort of being penetrated so deeply, before equally warm fingers squish your cheeks to turn your attention back to the mirror in question. “Like what you see?” he whispers, and your dew-laden eyes flutter open to the sight of you and him: thighs spread, legs tangled, your hips on his, as you sit impaled on the entirety of his length.

All you can muster is a whimper and a nod, because what else can you do when you’re so overcome by the feeling of Alhaitham…everywhere? On your tongue where you can still taste his kiss, in your veins where his love circulates to your heart, and most obvious of all, in your cunt where his leaking precum swirls with your slick.

“Show me where you feel me,” he rasps, gingerly plucking your hand away from that wrinkled patch of sheets you so desperately latch on to. His touch is sticky on the back of your hand—no doubt the remnants of your juices still clinging stubbornly to his fingers, like a souvenir collected from his last venture between your legs—but he serves well as a guide: directing you along your abdomen, letting just the very tips of your fingers, ghost across your sensitive skin.

“This…” Starting at the apex of your thighs, he helps you along the path up your lower waist. “... is how far I am inside you…”

You can’t help but wonder if it were even possible to be buried so deep within someone, but curiosity gets the better of you, and your hand begins to move on its own, absentmindedly glossing over where you feel his tip so deep, it almost seems…taboo. Not that you really care for the ins and outs of such moral standards, especially when it feels so right to be stuffed so full. Or perhaps your eyes are simply playing tricks on you—dirty work done by the fog that’s settled in your head with the sole intent of altering your cognition.

“Don’t believe me?” Hand in hand, he presses gently down onto your belly, where even the slightest bit of pressure is enough to make you jolt. But from the way he struggles to catch his breath, to the violent throbs bursting all along his length, Alhaitham too, suffers from the repercussions of his boldfaced provocation—too human to act as if he’d been left unscathed.

For even as you cry in little songs of pleasure, your walls almost seem to be spinning a trance of its own: clenching and unclenching, the pulsating rhythm urging him to move… Which he obliges to of course—adjusting ever so slightly, until he’s perfectly angled and prodding at the divot that absolutely ruins whatever’s left of you, as you’re made to feel everything all at once. Every long, languid stroke comes as an electric current, reinvigorating dead limbs as the muscles come twitching back to life, conducting more and more arousal with every rough drag of his cock. Euphoria surges and sparks fly, overloading the wires in your head, with each thrust into the very spot that unravels you so.

“Keep singing for me,” he murmurs, content with how the shape of his name breaks into pieces of fragmented whimpers and moans, echoing across the room. It’s clear his words are largely lost on you—displaced by the fresh barrage of wet kisses down your neck, to be absorbed through your skin and used as fuel for your core.

“My beautiful mermaid,” Alhaitham keeps his eyes locked on your reflection; eager, despite his own fraying disposition, to catch all your reactions. “My beautiful mermaid…who always…”

His grip tightens around the meat of your thighs, while a dominant hand glides up to the back of your knee—effectively lifting your leg higher and spreading you open wider—before a quick, rough motion lands him somewhere inexplicably deep.“…takes me so well.”

You keen, nails digging into whatever they can, anything that might still tether you to this reality when every sensation has been ignited into something far too big for you to handle. Your back curves in response, arching away from his chest, but the shift in position only sits you deeper on his cock, and a shrill sob cracks from your throat, as your stomach coils and your teary eyes flutter open to the direct image of your reflection. In the mirror’s shallow abyss, your looming orgasm stares back as its own depraved monster—inhabiting your body and tainting your pretty face with lecherous intent, as it urges you to let go.

“Come on, let go…” Or perhaps the fiend whispering in your ear is Alhaitham himself. “I promise you’re just as ravishing when you cum,” he croons, speeding up his pace to climb the heights of his determination. “Maybe even more so…”

The sheer intensity of his rough fucking is overwhelming. The extensive depth, the meticulous precision, the impressive girth—they’re all things you’ve come to expect in the bedroom with your less-than-feeble lover. But to exploit your vanity, whilst simultaneously feeding you with praise…to hold you open with his own hands, to make you a spectator of your own base instincts…

It’s a dangerous combination. It’s too much. It has your entire body trembling as the pressure peaks—your muscles wound taut, and your pussy clenching tight.

“‘m c-cumming…” you sob, though your quivering voice soon falls flat from the sheer enormity of the orgasm that races to smother you in its fervor, replacing the blood in your veins with liquid bliss, and allowing that to circulate through every inch of your being, until it becomes the only thing you can even bear to breathe.

The name ‘Haitham’ tangles with your cries, and he loves it—addicted even, to the sound of you, the sight of you—finds it near impossible to tear his eyes away from that perfect view of your pretty little cunt, obediently stretched and fully stuffed with every inch of his length. Warmth blooms and engulfs him at his mushroom tip, and Alhaitham bucks by reflex, desperate to chase your waning orgasm with his.

He’s close too; you can feel it. The familiar (yet delusional) way in which each throb seems to fill you out even more, the relentless increase in speed and force, unapologetically running his veined cock along your sensitive walls, over and over until he drags you back to the edge. His own breath skips and stutters in his lungs, but still he punctuates each word with power and precision, jutting in as deep as you’d allow him to follow. “Just. Like. That.”

And so, when it breaks, it shatters—like skipping stones across the water, rippling and disruptive as they bound on and on in a path of hedonistic destruction—until your vision blanks, and your body convulses, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. Your release comes in a violent torrent, uncontrollably battering through your body as you drench him in your juices, leaving the remaining splice of your consciousness trembling, spent, and completely surrendered to the pleasure.

Somewhere in the white noise, you hear the echo of your name, said with a pleased lilt, as if he were…impressed? Proud? Maybe even both, for Alhaitham finds himself mesmerized by the undeniable, tangible evidence, that he’s pleasured you this far beyond belief. It’s surreal—the only word in any of the languages he’s studied (including yours)—that could even begin to describe such eroticism. For a moment, he loses track of his movements, lets his hips fall to an irregular rhythm as he fully takes to the reflection in the mirror: colorless, liquid pleasure still dripping from your hole, glistening as it runs down his shaft with every shallow draw…only to be pushed back with a squish and a squelch from the wetness that now finds a rival in the soaked sheets.

Without hesitation, he pummels back to reality, thinking only with his cock, as he pounds into you with a newfound ferocity that seems almost inhumane…but then again, a mermaid like you isn’t quite human after all.

“Can you, ngh, hold out…a little longer…?” His voice is low and strained, yet still retaining a softness reminiscent of morning mist above the waters, grazing wisps atop your skin. (Just a little longer, I promise.)

“‘kay…” The word spills from your mouth, melted and slurred into a weak mewl, too dazed to process much, other than the fact that you’d do anything he asked of you, even at your own expense. Just a little longer…(but ignore the tears that prick of overstimulation.) For him, for Alhaitham, anything for Alhaitham (in spite of how your body screams ‘too much,’ as you cream around his cock again, this time faster than all the others had come.)

Any sense of clarity found in your mantra, only serves to prove that perhaps your head truly has been scrambled to nonsense, because the only thing you could even fathom to think of, is the desperate need for him to finish inside you. For him to paint you with a white fire so hot, it’d cleanse away even the smallest remnants of your tortuous embers. The final few thrusts come sloppily—too busy drowning in your deluge to care—while the very last stroke nuzzles deep against your womb, as he fills you full of his cum.

Two sets of labored breathing resonate around the room, and in the afterglow, Alhaitham sets your frail legs down, knees buckling and knocking into one another, as your feet are finally brought to rest on something solid. (Though mentally, you don’t feel any closer to the ground.) Still, the drastic change in position shuffles his cock against your sensitive walls, breathing life to another soft groan that escapes into a silent harmony.

“Sorry,” he whispers, peppering you with soft kisses wherever his lips can reach. The unyielding grip, once pressed so firmly into your thighs, melts away—replaced by gentler hands that work to sooth the tenderness in your flesh. “I’m going to pull out now, okay?” He readies himself to withdraw from your warmth, but you blink your bleary eyes, and the distant stars in your pupils illuminate just a fraction more.

Alhaitham studies the ‘you’ in the mirror; watches the steady rise and fall of your chest as your breathing evens out, and your red-rimmed gaze drifts down the length of your body. One of your hands absentmindedly wanders, delicately brushing over the dark imprints left upon the skin of your thighs, color-matched to the hickeys blooming along your neck and shoulders—each one a bruise forged from his passion. And nothing could ever attest more to the throes of passion than the very reflection of your bodies, melded seamlessly together: his cock in your cunt, leaking with shared essence.

‘How…beautiful…’

You shake your head in dreamy opposition. “W’nna stay like this…for…a bit longer…” Your words trail into a content sigh as you rest your head back against that comfortable nook at the juncture of his neck, angling just enough to still catch your reflections in the mirror.

notes2: mirrors in his kit -> mirror in the bedroom pipeline, am i right (๑>؂•́๑) … i wasn't able to complete this in time for mermay this year, so consider this a little something for kinktober, i suppose ^^;; but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless ! as always, thank you so much for reading, and reblogs + feedback are very much appreciated ♡

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #alhaitham x you #genshin x you #genshin thirsts #mermaid au #mermaid!reader #kinktober 2024 #𓇼 — 𝓼𝓲𝓵𝓴𝓳𝓪𝓭𝓮'𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓭 𝓪𝓾

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plutoswritingplanet · 6 months ago

Text

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: guys... you can't tell me y'all weren't expecting this. Title from the song "Vicarious" by Tool. Really wanted this to be a one shot, but as usual, I have shit to say. Will be Cross-Posted on AO3 as soon as they open the site back up.

Warnings: Nothing Explicit YET, some sexist remarks and creepy behavior from the man of the hour, Questionable Corporate Ethics, Set Before The Events Of The Show, Reader is written to be Plus Size.

Summary: Sidekick projects have been scraped completely after numerous accidents, but as a viral video of your hero work makes rounds through the public, you're forced to take part in a six moths program, that will forever change your life, as well as Homelander's

PT.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

It all started with a video. An insignificant, minute-long nothing posted to TikTok by an account, that up until then, made short edits specifically of A-Train and some B-list no-name hero. Quickly, it gained traction, making rounds throughout the app, bleeding over to other services, all the way to national television. First, an independent local station, soon picked up by a Vaught-affiliated one. Normally, that's where it would've stayed. Stillwell would extend an offer of a chance at an interview, alongside one of the Seven. But for some unknown reason, that small piece of nothing climbed all the way up to the floor eighty-two of Vaught Tower.

Well, to be quite honest, Stillwell knew exactly why she was in this situation. After a very messy graduation speech at a small college, Homelander lost almost twenty points with a young adult demographic. It would've been an easy fix, if not for the delicate nature of the breached subject, and Madelyn knew, this sudden interest in a nobody from nowhere, who, coincidentally, fit the demographic perfectly, was anything but a happy accident. It was a test, both for Homelander, and for her.

Which is why, Madelyn Stillwell and Homelander, the Homelander, the most American supe to ever exist, are cooped up in your living room, glancing about the modest decor, as you pour iced tea into three glasses with tacky fruit print all over them.

You've refused every single invitation, every single Vaught representative that knocked on your door. Your inbox was flooded with emails, your phone number was blowing up two, three times a day. And yet, your answer remained the same. You were not interested in a collaboration, thank you for the opportunity, please leave me alone.

That wouldn't fly, not with Madelyn, who, pushed by the constant nagging from the upper levels of the Tower, decided a more direct approach was the right one. So, she dragged herself into this… Well, to be quite honest, bum-fuck-nowhere, and brought her star pupil with her. No one would refuse working with Homelander himself, after all. At least that's what they both thought.

-I appreciate the effort - there's a practiced, borderline bored intonation in your voice, and Homelander's hands flex on his thighs - But I've already talked with, um, Jerry? From HR? The answer is still no.

Your house is small, but cozy, with sunshine pouring through the windows, reflecting onto the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to your kitchen. An artist's home, through and through. Homelander hates it, hates the ordinariness of it all. He was so much above all this, sitting on your worn down couch physically hurt him. And the smell. The smell was the worst part. Reheated lasagna, mixing with a lingering aftertaste of cigarette smoke, and an undercurrent of weed, that almost made him retch. If it weren't for that damned video, you would be nothing more, than another brainless ant under his boot.

-Well, we - Madelyn offers her best, brilliant smile, gesturing to herself and Homelander - are very passionate about discovering new talent.

Your mouth twitches into a knowing smile, and for just a second Homelander feels flames of intrigue rising in his chest. Not for long, though, because you recline back into an armchair, taking a sip of the iced tea, and his eyes flash to the way your throat moves as you swallow. You could be hot, he concludes. Young, and with a truly spectacular rack. But there was something off about you, like you were constantly on the verge of dying from boredom, some invisible weight always on your shoulders. No amount of fake smiles and high-end makeup could cover that up.

He'd fuck you. If you'd beg him.

-We want to offer you a new, revised contract - Stillwell extends her hand with a rather thick binder of papers, and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching over. - Hopefully, it will make you reconsider.

You don't even show them the decency of looking through it, placing it on the table instead, and Homelander feels an itch form itself in the corners of his eyes. Stillwell looks taken aback as well, her brilliant smile faltering for just a second. You on the other hand, take another sip of your drink, before placing it right in the middle of the contract, the moisture from the ice creating a wet circle in the paper.

Your heartbeat is even, it doesn't pick up even a smidgen, when you look between Stillwell and America's Greatest Hero, who is slowly but surely growing annoyed by your persistent indifference.

-Thank you, but I already said no - you repeat, and this time, Homelander shifts on the couch.

-And why not? - he asks, tension entering his voice in a way, that makes Madelyn squirm - Countless supes, with much more impressing powers than you, I might add, would kill to be in your place.

"To work with me" goes unsaid, but he can see in your eyes, you read it from thin air of superiority engulfing him. Annoyingly perceptive. You nod your head slowly, before turning away from them, looking out of the window of your living room. There's a small patch of grass, and a second house, so similar to yours, but at the same time, completely different. Your chin sticks out in its direction, and Homelander follows with his eyes.

There are paper butterflies stuck to the windows, cut out clumsily, most likely by children's hands.

-My neighbour, Missus Johnson - you explain - She lives there, with her three kids. Her husband died in a fire caused by your friend, Lamp Lighter.

Madelyn stills, Homelander raises an eyebrow.

-I can afford this house, only because my mother signed an NDA, after The Deep sank my father's fishing boat. - again, your heart stays completely unaffected - Accidentally, of course.

-I was not aware… - Madelyn starts, and it's hard to decipher whether she's talking to you, or Homelander.

Someone at the research department is going to have a very unpleasant evening.

-That's alright - you interrupt her with a raised hand and a small smile - This whole neighborhood is filled with similar cases. And I'm very, very attached to this place.

Why, Homelander couldn't tell. For all he knew, this was some shit hole, right in the suburbs outside New York. Not even the half decent ones. A forgotten by everyone, dying piece of land, that housed insignificant humans, who would never amount to anything, you included. He lived in a lavish apartment, inside a miracle of modern architecture. Who wouldn't want the same?

-And - there's something new entering your tone of voice - If I'm going to betray everything I stand for, I need to give something back to those people. Does your contract reflect that?

Madelyn bites the inside of her cheek, her scrutinizing gaze making your skin itch. Still, she sighs after a moment, excusing herself with that same, practiced expression she uses on every shareholder. Homelander follows her out, nodding his goodbye to you, but before he can leave this dump, Madelyn stops him with a hand pressed against his chest. She gives him one look, makes him aware that his job isn't over, and he can feel the muscles of his face twitch.

So, obediently, he lingers in your doorway, taking a few calming breaths, before facing you once more.

You've changed positions, your armchair abandoned in favor of sitting by the window, one leg bent in a way, that shows quite a nice view of your calf, your long skirt pooling around you. Homelander's eyes trail up with mild interest, and he indulges in his X-ray vision. He's just being curious, nothing more.

Your underwear is, well, for the lack of a better word, plain. The bra seems to be slightly ill fitted, digging into the sides of your breasts, making them almost spill from under your pits, and Homelander swallows thickly at the sight. There are little, pink hearts on your panties. The colors are dull and washed out from frequent use, and the once frilly lace is starting to fray at the edges.

Apparently Vaught's compensation was not sufficient for you to buy some decent undergarments.

-Do you want something to eat? Drink? - you ask from your place by the window, and Homelander is snatched back to reality - Do you even need food?

The bluntness of the question startles him, makes him feel defensive, but Madelyn wanted results, so he puts on a mask of his trained smile, and crosses the room. Back straight like an arrow, he looks wildly out of place between all the linens and cushions. He doesn't look at you, trapping your smaller form in the confinement of the window, as he watches over the neighboring house.

-I'm not hungry - he shoots down your offer with a wave of his hand - I've already eaten.

A lie, but he'd never stoop low enough to take any leftovers, especially from you. Still, the offer seems nice. He does like being pampered, even if it's with lackluster things. Your eyes linger on his boyish smile, another practiced thing, and Homelander shifts focus to your heartbeat once again.

-Alright then - your voice sounds indifferent as ever - Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to make some dinner for myself.

He offers a small nod, and watches you from his position by the window, as you slip past him. It does require quite a lot of manoeuvering, but you manage to stand without touching him. He has to admit, watching you balance, as you try to avoid him, was amusing. Still, your heart beats calmly, and, not wanting to be left on his own, Homelander follows you to your kitchen. The beads of the courtain drum delicately over the bronze eagles on his shoulders.

The fridge is buzzing something awful. He can see just how run down the inside mechanism is, the hinges squeaking unbearably, as you reach for a box of reheatable spaghetti. There's cheep beer inside, a moldy lemon, a carton of milk pretty close to expiring, and a half-used bottle of spicy ketchup. Homelander doesn't even recognize these brands, they're not sponsored by Vaught, that's for sure.

Cheap, tasteless, basically offering no nutritional value.

-Would you step back for a second? - he asks, already wrenching himself between you and that pathetic excuse of a meal.

Again, your body sways to avoid touching him, and for some unknown reason, he finds it very amusing.

Then, you watch with a raised eyebrow, as he turns towards your spaghetti, a red sheen overtaking his eyes. An unbearably hot beam shoots out, making the insides of the plastic packaging sizzle. Finally, that gets him a reaction, as you gasp and reel back, colliding with the barely functional fridge. Your heart does a flip inside your chest, and Homelander soaks up your shock like a man starved.

Only when the red fizzles out of his gaze do you dare to move, approaching him slowly, your eyes bearing into him in a way that is frankly uncomfortable.

He turns to you with another one of his charming smiles, trying to handle this sudden scrutiny in as flippant a way as possible.

-I had no idea you can control the intensity of your lazer - you admit, voice slightly breathless.

-Pretty neat, huh? - perhaps he's fishing for more attention, but he doesn't care, because your eyes light up for just a moment in sheer wonder.

-Super cool, actually.

Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking right, he is super cool. And your heart is beating so much faster, and finally you're looking at him as if he's more than just some guy, some living advertisement you're determined to ignore.

And then your eyes shift, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, as you zero in on his shoulder. Something akin to a wave of amusement flickers across your expression, and to his general surprise, Homelander wants to know what's the cause of this shift. Your lips pull back into a smile, teeth peaking at him in all their glory. He can almost imagine them running down his skin, before he pushes the thought back all together, as the lower portion of his suit becomes slightly too tight for comfort.

-Well, thank you for saving the spaghetti - your eyes hold a spark of amusement - My hero.

Okay, alright, he's hard. There's no point denying it. However annoying and insignificant you were moments before, your quip goes straight to his loins, burning enough, for him to consider just how mad Stillwell would be, if he'd have a taste of this newly discovered talent.

If he stands any closer to you, he might find out, because this special little moment you two have shared, is crudely interrupted by Madelyn clearing her throat. Homelander nearly jumps back, you however barely turn your head, reaching for your spaghetti and arming yourself with a fork.

-I've spoken to my supervisor - Stillwell announces, clearly peeved by the way you start chewing on the noodles - A new version of the contract will be emailed to you as soon as possible. Hopefully it will be satisfactory.

-Thank you, Miss Stillwell - you answer with an inclination of your head.

With that, Madelyn nods her goodbye at you, refusing to shake your hand, which does amuse you, you're not going to lie. Homelander however, goes all out, capturing your fork-weilding arm, his fingers sneaking around your wrist like a bracelet. Or a shackle. Then, you watch with a confused arch to your eyebrows, as he brings you closer, until his lips press onto the protruding knuckles. Now that, admittedly, gets your heart going. You were not an easily embarrassed person, not by a long shot, but you could feel blood rushing towards your face all the same.

He has to hold his breath, as he kisses your hand in that charming, gentleman way he's seen in old movies. The smell of pasteurized tomato sauce blows in his direction, like a direct assault on his senses. Still, he needed something that would make you swoon. If everything failed, he knew how to be intimidating, but for now, perhaps he wanted to try something different. Something that would yield much more pleasant results, for the both of you. Mostly for him, let's be honest.

Madelyn asks him to stay back, spy on you throughout the night, and he begrudgingly agrees, if only to mask the fact, that he would do so of his own volition, had she not brought it up. And as such, he floats into the rapidly cooling air, disappearing into the darkening sky, where you wouldn't be able to see him even if you tried. He could see you however, and hear you, and he was about to make the most of the situation.

He spends the whole evening just watching you exist within your space. Normally, it would piss him off beyond belief. You weren't doing anything scandalous, anything that could warrant his attention. And yet, as he floats on, in time lowering himself just slightly, to get a better view, he just can't seem to look away. The spaghetti is gone in approximately fifteen minutes, as you inhale the supermarket food, walking around the living room, the kitchen, getting a few bites on the porch even. You seem so utterly unfazed by the events of the past hour, like you haven't just had America's Greatest Superhero try to convince you to work with him. It's honestly insulting, this lack of reaction.

Then, finally, he can hear a distinct ping of a new email come from your laptop, and you sit down on the couch with a small huff. Your eyes move, your lips twitch, and then he hears your heart stop in your chest. As if working on autopilot, your hand travels up, covers your mouth in shock, and you lean back against the worn-down sofa, eyes glued to the screen illuminating your face in a blue-ish light.

-...fuck… - you whisper, and despite himself Homelander floats even closer to your window.

Finally, he has the chance to peak over the curtain. To sneak into the backstage of the award winning production of your defenses, and see what goes on in those bored eyes of yours, when they're not guarded. And what he sees makes his suit feel much too tight, his body too warm. Quite an unusual thing to get so worked up about, but he's the goddamned Homelander, he can get hard whenever he fucking wants. And so, as saliva gathers on his tongue, he presses himself against the tiles on your roof, all the warmth of the day soaking into his skin through the thick material of his suit.

With a shaky hand you reach over towards your phone, putting in a number and pressing the call button, before standing straight from the couch, almost knocking the laptop over.

-Hey, what's up? - someone says on the other end of the line, and Homelander tries to focus more on the words flowing from the receiver.

-Oh, you gotta sit down for that one - you warn with an anxious chuckle, taking the familiar place by the window.

With your free hand you reach up to open the window all the way. Then, Homelander sees your fingers slip between the pillows and pull out a rather beaten up pack of cigarettes.

Naughty, naughty, he thinks, watching you produce a lighter from that same hiding place.

-Alright, I'm sat like never before.

The voice sounds vaguely female, although the shitty quality of your phone makes it hard to decipher. Your lips pull back into a toothy grin, and you blow out the smoke through the window. It curls upwards and dissipates into the air, right above the roof, where Homelander swallows thickly around a coughing fit.

-You will not believe who visited me today…

-The ICE - the voice deadpans, and you snort around another huff of smoke.

-Pretty fucking close, let me tell you - he doesn't appreciate the joke, not at all - Fucking Homelander.

The line goes completely quiet for a moment, and with every second your grin seems to be growing.

-Deadass?

-Yup - your lips purse, and Homelander zeroes in on the expression - Flew in all Star's Spangled Glory with some Vaught big fish. They tried to convince me to join the Seven.

-And obviously you said yes, because what the fuck else do you do in that situation?

Your grin slowly fades away, and you lean your forehead on the window frame.

-You didn't?

-I didn't.

Again, it's quiet.

Homelander shifts a bit in his position, adjusting against the warmed up tiles of the roof, his X-ray vision bearing into you. Out of curiosity, he looks deeper, eyes floating over your insides. You're relatively healthy. Some vitamin deficiencies, but nothing too serious. And despite that nasty habit lodged between your fingers, your lungs are clear, at least for now. There's a softness to your body, your muscles barely visible, as if you're just another gray human. Oh, and there's a bit of an eyesight problem forming, not enough to warrant glasses, but that shouldn't take long, considering your lifestyle.

-The contract they gave me was really good, you know - you muse to the phone, your leg dangling from the windowsill - Six months of working under Homelander, a Sidekick kinda situation.

-I thought they scraped the Sidekick program - the person on the other side wonders - Too many casualties or something.

-Yeah, well I guess they want to bring it back.

-Why did you say no then? I'm sure they pay is gigantic.

Again, you smile. This one much more reserved, bordering on sad. There's that strange kind of exhaustion settling into your bones again, same one Homelander noticed when he first saw you. Your shoulders slump forward, and you curl into yourself between the cushions.

-It was, it was… - you mutter - But I needed something more, for the neighborhood, ya know?

Your caller hums softly in understanding, and Homelander feels like something is passing him by. Some unspoken fact, that you and your friend find obvious.

-And - you hesitate, eyes flickering towards the laptop, your heart beat picking up ever so slightly - They sent me a revised contract. And it's fucking good. Really fucking good. It could help this entire place get back on its feet.

-But you still don't want to - the voice says for you, without judgement.

-No - you sigh - I really, really don't.

-Say no then - your friend supplies, and once again Homelander feels a flame of annoyance start to burn within him - No one else knows about the contract, there will be no expectations.

Slowly, you nod your head, clearly relieved by the way your friend reacted to the news. Homelander however, caught you right where he needed you. That's your lever. Not seduction, not intimidation, just plain, stupidly human guilt.

-Thank you - you whisper into your phone, finally smiling again - Oh, wanna know one more thing?

-Obviously.

-Homelander's wearing a padded suit.

Something's stuck in his throat, as he reels back from his position. Before he can stop himself, his eyes begin to glow red, because how the fuck did you know?

-Okay, that's bullshit.

-Unless his shoulder dislocated in the middle of talking, then no, it's definitely not bullshit.

Your friend gives out a choked laugh, one which you mirror with your own. If Homelander wasn't so utterly flabbergasted by your (correct) observation, he would've stopped to appreciate the sound. As it stands, however, he pushes himself off your roof, a couple of broken pieces falling off of the tiles. And then he's up in the air, cutting through the winds, headed straight for the Tower, leaving you in the comfort of your insignificant, smelly home.

The contract is leaked before the sun is up.

You're awoken to thousands of news articles flooding your timeline, all listing the truly wonderful and selfless points in the fated email. With a white face, you read them all, the speculations, the theories, the angry comments about you being chosen without an actual casting, while all those up and coming supes are busting their asses in auditions.

Soon enough, you're visited by every neighbour possible, congratulating, thanking you. A barbecue is set in the street, as a way of celebration, and you want to throw your phone, and subsequently yourself into the nearest river.

Madelyn Stillwell sends you an email, scheduling a meeting at the Vaught Tower. No need for pleasantries at this point, you stare at the bare bones invitation. "We eagerly await the start of our partnership" looks back at you, mocking your resolve. And thus, the end of your life as you know it begins.

"Project Delinquent"

The words are printed in an ugly, corporate font, and they stare back at you, outlining the mold you're supposed to fit in, in such a perfect way, it actually, almost makes you retch. True, during high school you were quite the little rebel, but people grown and learn, and seeing your character be watered down to that simple word, does send a wave of nausea through your insides. Even if this is hell of your own making, even if you're ready to swallow it all down with a smile, there's a pang of humiliation stinging your heart.

The armchair in Stillwell's office is uncomfortably narrow. It barely has enough room to accommodate your hips, and you wonder if this design is intentional. There is a growing ache in your calves, as you sit so close to the edge, you can't fully relax into your position, balancing on your feet instead. The armrests dig into your sides, and the way the sun is shining through the gigantic windows of the office, is shaping this charade of a meeting into an overstimulating nightmare. Still, you endure. For all the wonderful benefits enclosed in your contract, the charity work Vaught is going to supply.

Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself, stuck between the marketing department representatives and a literal Devil of a woman.

Madelyn Stillwell doesn't know what to make out of you. Your files were filled with all sorts of questionable activity, especially around the college area. It's honestly a miracle you've managed to get your degree, and attend all those silly little demonstrations at the same time. Your criminal record has been wiped clean, weeks before you even agreed to sign the contract, just in case any leaks would find their way into the media. Leaks that were not orchestrated by Madelyn, of course.

High school rebellion was almost too easily marketable, Madelyn decided to focus on that part of your life as much as possible, her vision slowly coming to fruition. All she needed, really, was cooperation. And while you seemed to be mostly receptive to her ideas, she needed to make sure Homelander was on his best behavior. Which, well… Could go sideways in the worst way imaginable, but Stillwell tried to have some faith in her best superhero.

The idea of releasing details of your contract to the public, was a stroke of genius, she did not expect from Homelander, and she made sure he was thoroughly rewarded. With him, it was always better to choose the hands-on approach, unfortunately. With you, however, ideals were the key. Whatever feeling of solidarity you harbored towards your neighborhood, provided a leverage relatively easy to control. Still, as Stillwell looked you over, crammed into her office in your, frankly, lousy attire, she couldn't help but be just a tad worried about your compliance.

-…And then - the marketer continues with a dramatic gasp - Homelander comes in. America's Greatest Hero, offers you a mentorship. And you…

You look up at the representative with a rather sour expression. They have to work on that too. Media training was crucial. You won't be able to sell anything, if you keep grimacing like that all the damned day.

-… Are starstruck - your mouth twitches - You strike up a deal, selfless. A rebel with a heart of gold. Finally, you can make some real change happen, so you push aside your anti-corporate values, to discover, that Vaught is so much more, than you could possibly imagine.

It's hard not to laugh, and you swallow thickly, biting your lip, as a middle-aged woman you don't recognize gets up from the couch, and makes her way to the wall opposite of your torture chair. There, tucked in a corner and hidden under a black cloth, stands a mannequin, roughly your size. With a flourish you find utterly out of place, the woman tugs at the cape, and as it falls to the floor, so does your stomach. You can't hold it in any longer. A rough snort of laughter rips out of your nose, and you cover your mouth instantly.

-That better be a laugh of delight - Ashley, a ginger menace, mutters under her breath, and Stillwell turns to you with a tight expression on her face.

-Something the matter?

-I mean - you take a deep, grounding breath, tying your amusement in the back of your throat - I knew it's going to be skimpy, but this is…

You look around the room, seeing various stages of corporate outrage, and then you lock eyes with Homelander. Stillwell insisted on his participation in the meeting, as the both of you are supposed to work closely together, and throughout the whole ordeal, he looked borderline ready to die of boredom. Now, however, his eyebrows lift in a curious manner, as he takes in the, to be completely honest, horrendous costume, and your full figure. Something dangerously close to disgust twists your features, as he shamelessly drags his eyes all over your body.

Who would've thought America's Sweetheart was a fucking creep?

Rolling your eyes, you get up from the cursed armchair, your knees cracking loudly. Crossing the room, you take a closer look at the clothing, or rather, lack there of. Torn fishnets, plaid tennis skirt, and a corset top, made out of some leather-like material. Truly, a fetishists wet dream. Your fingers sample the fabric of the skirt. Surprisingly stiff, it seems to beg for a wardrobe malfunction. With a frown pulling down your lips, you lift the material up, and as expected, find no safety shorts underneath.

Homelander watches you intently, as you inspect the costume. Just the thought of your soft body in this skimpy, corporate bastardization of a rock star, makes heat rise in the lower part of his stomach. With every disapproving pull of your, and don't quote him on that, perfect lips, he's more and more convinced this whole charade is just an early birthday present. He'll have to thank Stillwell. Or better not, because as soon as he throws her a sidelong glance, he discovers, she's already looking at him. With a rather tense expression at that.

He feigns innocence, almost raises his hands in mock defeat, but decides against it at the last second. You're still watching him, torn between inspecting the costume, and shooting disgruntled looks in his direction.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your hand sneaks to the front of the corset, fingers closing over the full cup, where your breast will soon reside. You give the mock leather two squeezes, and a high-pitched laugh wheezes out of your lips. Homelander's head nearly snaps with how fast he turns to look at Stillwell, confusion clear on his face.

She's looking at you cautiously. He knows that expression all too well, he's seen it multiple times during their partnership. She's calculating, with bated breath, just how much of a problem you'll inevitably become. How to turn it around in the company's favor, how to steer you in the right direction, should the need arise.

But then, you clap your hands, still giggling quietly, and turn to the designer, who's been watching your reaction with a growing distaste.

-That's one hell of a push-up bra - you comment with a raised eyebrow - My tits will fly straight out of this, if I even think about moving my arms.

Now, that's something Homelander would love to see, and you note his leering face with an uncomfortable shift in your posture.

-Your physique has to be god-like. There's no shame in a little padding - the designer answers simply, and your eyes glimmer with amusement.

-Oh, I bet - your eyes float for just a second in Homelander's direction, and he wonders if lasering you down right now would be too harsh of a reaction.

The image had to be kept up, however, and he deflects your blatant provocation with a bright smile. Or rather, it would've been a bright smile, if his cheek didn't twitch in a way, that portrayed exactly how forced his pleasantries are.

-There will be a press conference, seven PM sharp, where you'll be introduced to the public - Ashley informs you, her eyes glued to her tablet - Homelander will give a welcoming speech, explain that you're a temporary member of The Seven. Then, you'll need to say a couple of words. We'll send you the talking points ASAP.

-Right… - you mutter, not particularly thrilled by the idea of public speaking.

Stillwell looks over her shoulder towards Homelander, giving him an expectant, raised eyebrow. Slowly, he moves from his spot by the window, hand extended in a greeting, teeth flashing in a smile. Your eyes involuntarily shift towards his rather sharp canines, and for the first time, since you've signed the contract, you truly feel uneasy. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue, a perfect, American shade, that glimmers just a tad too dangerously. There's no need for super senses, he can feel your nerves in the very air you breathe.

-Welcome to The Seven - his voice is smoother than you've ever heard before - Fireball.

Wait a god-damned minute.

Confusion covers all previous feelings, and to Homelander's growing annoyance, you leave him with his hand extended, in favor of turning towards Stillwell.

-That's not my name - you point out, and Madelyn nods her head in a practiced expression of understanding.

-Due to some copyright intricacies, we can't let you use Smirnoff - she explains.

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, looking back towards the costume. A moment's hesitation, you close your eyes as you breathe out, and once again Homelander feels as if he's able to peak under a carnival mask you carefully placed upon yourself. He lifts it just enough, sees the way muscles on your neck twitch. Your jaw sets in a way, that is slowly becoming intoxicating, and then you turn back to him.

-I'm honored - your voice is hollow, locked far away in the column of your throat, and you don't have enough strength to even attempt a smile.

That's alright, he has enough charm for the both of you, his imposing stature pushing towards you, as his arm sneaks around your shoulders.

Fuck, you're warm. He can feel the heat of your skin seeping into his costume. There's a vaguely familiar smell clinging to your form, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke. Jasmine flowers, he concludes, and absent-mindedly remembers a rather large bush growing in your backyard. He wonders, if you'd let him fuck you, if he showed up with a bouquet at your door. Women seemed to like those, and although you didn't strike him as the most romantic person, he's positive he could charm his way into your pants.

-I'll show you to your room, sweetheart - perhaps he's laying it on a bit heavy with the nickname.

He can hear Stillwell's heart jump, and he immediately knows, he's going to have to sit through a stern talk later today. You, on the other hand, wrench your head to the side, disgruntled with this new form of familiarity. Your entire body goes tense, and you try to wriggle yourself further away from him. On instinct, his fingers dig into your shoulder, a mockery of a friendly expression, and with just a small fragment of his true strength, he pushes you forward, out of Stillwell's office.

He can do whatever he wants, and Madelyn is getting awfully pushy with guarding you from him. You're just a temporary toy to satisfy the higher-ups. A six months worth of an experiment, that he's forced to be a part of. After your contract is up, Vaught won't care whether you live or die, and you bet your rather ample ass, he's going to exploit that to the fullest. Not only is it borderline insulting, to deny him life's simple pleasures, it's pathetic.

-Nervous about the press? - he asks in a light tone, his jaw clicking softly, when your slide out of his grasp as soon as the doors close.

The casualness of this question throws you in a bit of a loop, but with a couple of rapid blinks, you're back to normal, letting him lead you towards the elevator.

-Public speaking isn't my best asset - you mumble.

Homelander presses the call button of the elevator, then leans against the wall, watching you with a strange twinkle in his eye.

-Sounds like someone's not a people person - he notes, wiggling his finger at you in a manner that is confusingly playful.

-I am a people person - you defend yourself, albeit a bit awkwardly - Just… Not when there's a lot of people.

He laughs at that, a practiced, almost theatrical bark that's as fake as his hairdo. All you have the strength to do, is flash him half of a smile. Thankfully the elevator pings before any more small-talk is required, and you slip into the confined space, standing in the corner. His eyes roam freely all over your body, a shameless act that makes your guts twist, makes the already small space of the elevator even more stuffy. And then, he enters after you, pressing a button to the right floor, and taking a spot much too close to you, than what's necessary.

You suppose it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. This constant invasion of your personal space. Perhaps, if it were someone else, someone that wasn't as empty as you, those actions would've been more intimidating than annoying. Alas, as you watch his chest rise and fall in steady rythm, out of the corner of your eye, his actions remind you of a petulant, spoiled child, rather than America's Greatest Hero. "I can't play with this toy? And what if I do this?" For just a second you entertain the idea of gentle parenting Homelander, and the thought makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

-Something the matter? - he asks, tension sneaking into his friendly tone.

-Just happy to be here, sir - you answer, and he knows it's a blatant lie, another one of your snarky provocations.

Doesn't matter for now, there will be a time to teach you some manners.

The elevator arrives at the right floor, and you bolt out of your place as soon as the doors slip open. Homelander follows closely behind, before closing the distance in a couple of long steps. Then, he's in front of you, and you nearly collide with his form, as he suddenly comes to a stop, in front of a pair of large doors. "Fireball" is etched into a small plack, and you throw the offending piece of metal a withering glance.

-That's your stop, sweetheart - he comments, and once again, you grimace at the nickname - Take a look inside, I'm sure it will blow your socks right off.

Why is he talking to you like you're a fucking child all of a sudden, you'll never understand. The door clicks softly, as you open it, revealing your living space for the next six months. The sight chokes a laugh out of you, because truly, the ammount of "punk" memorabilia is staggering.

-Does cocaine addiction come with the package, or…?

He doesn't even react to your joke, and you don't blame him. For all his creepiness and fake interest, he doesn't strike you as the funniest person on earth. There are guitars hanging over a rather large bed, there's a pristine stop sign next to them, which you suppose is meant to look rebellious. The usage of leopard print is tacky at best, and you truly start to wonder if they even consulted someone out of the corporation to design the space. Most likely no, wouldn't want to waste resources on such a small project.

-Fireball - Homelander's voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes your heart jump all the same.

He's standing so closely behind you, you can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of your neck, but for some unnknown reason, you can't force yourself to move. Instead, you feel him take a deep breath trough his nose, his chest brushing against your back. Your eyes stay glued to a drum set, pushed against a gigantic window. Light reflects off of the cymbals, in your mind you're already playing it, far away from this nightmare of a superhero.

-I'll see you at the press conference - Homelander's hand clasps itself over your shoulder, squeezing a couple of times, as if testing the softness of your body - Don't even think about being late, young lady.

You don't know when he dissapears, as you stand there, frozen. One foot over the threshold of your room, breathing shallow and borderline panicked. It could've been seconds, could've been hours, until your head finally snaps to the side. He's not there anymore, you're alone in the corridor, and as you slam the door closed behind you, something you've only suspected before becomes abundantly clear.

There is something deeply wrong with Homelander.

#my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #plus size reader #the boys amazon #the boys x reader #homelander #the boys fanfiction #homelander fanfiction #do we have to have a talk about how liking a character doesn't equal endorsing their actions or are we good?#it'll get much darker later down the line but for now have this blurb of barely conscious writing

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hypewinter · 1 year ago

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No one knew what to do with the boy. They had found him in a facility thought to be another Cadmus base but as it turns out, was a research compound for another group entirely. One that experimented on unknown beings while claiming to have affiliation with the government. That was already concerning in and of itself but the boy. The way that they found him.

His throat had been slit. As evident but the nasty scar and dirty bandages that covered it. If that wasn't bad enough, his mouth was also bound in some type of muzzle that took Superman applying most of his strength to break. It was almost as if the people of this facility were afraid of this boy's voice.

That wasn't even the worst of it though. Neither was the apparent fear and distrust in his eyes. Not even the small cell with the threadbare cot and no windows was the worst. No, the worst of it was the mountain of scars they saw when they finally coaxed the boy into taking off his shirt. Especially the giant y scar that split down his chest.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #winter's tales

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heirloomgem · 4 months ago

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Insatiable {Sung Jinwoo x Reader August One-shot}

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except for my characters and plot.

Warning: Slight Yandere from the reader and Jinwoo. Sorry for the missed grammar.

Hello everyone, I hope you've been well! I would like to present to you this month's one-shot! The timeline is before Jinwoo met Joohee.

The request came from @xxeclipze. [Hello! Can you make a sung jinwoo x s rank fem reader whose a grim reaper class, she's quiet and a simple minded person who has never once joined any guild since they want to stay independent.][Hello! Can you do sung jin woo with a s/o who's a quiet and simple minded person and they wield a scythe, they had never once joined a guild at all. They're a s-rank hunter too :>]

Watching from the podium as every high-rank hunter did practical combat, Sung Jinwoo's eyes never left your figure as you fought your opponent with the grace and precision he had seen in his early days.

Your hands show no wasted movement as you strike, your steps were solid as you stride to your next target, and your eyes, observant of your enemy's weaknesses.

All these never escape him and yet it’s not just these that Jinwoo observe closely.

The way your hair swayed with your movement, the spark in your eyes as you enjoyed the thrill, the curve in your reddish lips as you taunt your opponent, the sweat that trickled down your slender neck as you tilt your head.

Completely different reasons that he shouldn’t have noted in the first place, however to Jinwoo, he fervently etched it into his very being.

Once, Jinwoo heard that a small spark was all that was needed to ignite a man's obsession.

As the weakest E-rank, Jinwoo was always on the verge of death whenever he entered a dungeon. But with the circumstances, he’s been given, he never had a choice but to always take a step towards death.

And this one was no different from the others he had faced and yet so different at the same time.

The sole reason for that is because of you. An unknown S-rank hunter who was not affiliated with any of the guilds however you work with the hunter association in exchange for keeping your identity.

Jinwoo has learned these only by coincidence when you had been assigned to work with him and the other hunters for another raid.

Jinwoo's impression of you at first is a weird, playful but kind hunter as you accidentally bump into him. The coffee that he just bought spilled on his shirt.

Seeing this, you quickly panicked, bowing profusely, and apologizing.

Seeing that the situation was unavoidable and it was just a pure accident, Jinwoo waved it off with an awkward smile, hoping to diffuse the situation. However, that didn’t seem to work as you looked at him and the coffee he dropped, a flash of guilt on your face.

Bowing again then you quickly ran off in a different direction, Jinwoo thought that that was the end of your interaction however it wasn’t long before you returned, this time with a drink and food in hand.

Giving him the food and drink and not even waiting for him to decline, you told him it was in return for earlier.

Jinwoo, with a panicked expression, tried to decline “This is too much it's just a coffee that was spilled. You didn't have to go through all that trouble.”

With clear and bright eyes, you smiled, “This is nothing. Beside the coffee is for the coffee as for the sandwich…”

You grinned before putting a finger in front of your mouth, “It’s because I find you cute.” You winked and chuckled as Jinwoo blushed. Seeing him so flustered, you couldn't help but find him even cuter.

Thinking that’s enough teasing for the young man in front of you, you winked and smiled at him before giving a small wave and left; leaving a frazzled Jinwoo.

Staring at your disappearing figure, he couldn’t help but think for a moment of your smile. It was beautiful and sincere even though a glint of playfulness was mixed with it. It's so unlike the ones he was used to receiving when he became a weak fool of a hunter.

And for some reason because of your smile, he finally accepted your offer. The lingering hesitation he still has vanished and a warmth ignited within him.

Smiling, Jinwoo took a bite of the food and enjoyed the enriched flavour of coffee on his tongue, his mind drifting to you again.

When he had been trying to calm you down earlier, he took notice of the massive bag behind you, deducing it might be your weapon.

Unusual though never rare as he has also seen other hunters carry such weapons in size. The only thing he’s worried about is that your choice of weapon might have been too big for you as he saw how petite you were.

Later, he considered how foolish he was to have such thoughts as they entered the dungeon and were unexpectedly engulfed by a red gate.

As soon as they entered, everything was calm and controlled. The more experienced hunters were swiftly taking down charging monsters, while he did his best to defend and went after the weaker ones. Unfortunately, his caution didn't prevent him from getting injured.

As the group delved deeper into the dungeon, the atmosphere grew increasingly perilous. The mana in the air darkened, making it difficult for the hunters to breathe, and a sense of fear began to weigh on their minds. The monsters they encountered were noticeably more powerful than those they had faced earlier.

Even the strongest hunter in their group was visibly struggling to deal with the monsters, while Jinwoo could only focus on defending his life.

In the corner of his eyes, he saw you.

He couldn’t help but find it weird as he never saw you use the massive weapon on your back. Only a short sword in hand when confronting such monsters.

However, before Jinwoo could ponder more, screams echoed from all the hunters in his group and he felt like a massive weight fell on him, making him slam into the ground because of an unknown fear and bloodlust that suddenly appeared in the air.

His ears were ringing, his mind disorientated, but once Jinwoo got his bearings, he struggled to lift his head and saw that all his comrades had fallen to the ground. Some fainted, some half-conscious, coughing up blood.

That’s when Jinwoo noticed liquid dripping from the corner of his mouth. The taste of iron on his tongue. Looking down, he saw red droplets staining the ground.

He then heard a growl, a group of monsters slowly prowled at their group as they eyed them, ready to hunt and eat them for their next meal.

Jinwoo thought that things couldn’t get worse when suddenly a massive creature, a chimera, emerged. It’s the dungeon's final boss.

Dread filled Jinwoo’s being.

The thought of his sister waiting for him at home and his mother in the hospital made him tear up as he struggled to get up, to get away.

Abruptly, Jinwoo saw one of the monsters run up at him. The monster's fangs were just about to hit him when he felt a gush of air ruffled his hair. The monster that was about to kill him was now lying in front of him, cut in half.

Blood splattered on his clothes and onto his face; Jinwoo looked up. There in front of him, he saw you.

A massive scythe in hand, adorned with a crimson essence stone, almost resembling a demon eye. A long curving silver blade extends from a skeleton whose skull is wrapped in razor-sharp blades sticking out in different directions, while the rib cage connects to the red and black stem of the handle, which ends in its lower backbone.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your eyes never leaving the monsters that started circling your group.

Jinwoo silently nodded before realizing you couldn’t see him “I am.”

“That’s good. Take cover for a moment.” You frowned, eyes without the hint of joy nor playfulness from earlier. And yet Jinwoo couldn’t help but find you alluring at that moment.

With a flick of a wrist, your scythe twisted in your hand with ease as if the massive weight was nothing and without a moment, you disappeared, only leaving dust in your wake before Jinwoo heard yelp and howls of pain echoed as you dealt with them swiftly.

Heads torn from their necks and split in half from head to groin. This was the sight Jinwoo witnessed in disbelief as you fought them with such calmness.

All of a sudden, Jinwoo saw the chimera preparing for a breath. He screamed, not caring for his life but yours, “Watch out!”

Evading at the last minute and with a solid step you rush forward, a hand lowered on your weapon's handle and this time you swing your weapon much faster and sharper, completely decapitating the boss of the dungeon, not even leaving a chance for a counterattack.

And with a loud thud, its two heads fell on the floor, cracking the ground.

Finally, as if a weight was lifted from his shoulder, Jinwoo couldn’t help but hyperventilate. All the suppressed emotions he had been holding since the moment he noticed that there was something wrong with this dungeon, came crashing down.

He clutched his chest and tried to calm down, but no matter what, he couldn’t, and beads of sweat dropped faster than the last.

Glancing at him, you turned back, kneeling before him and placing a hand on his forehead. Ignoring the sweat and blood that clung to him.

Still breathing with difficulty, you frowned before meeting your forehead with him, your eyes locking with his frantic ones.

Your voice quietly whispering, “Take it slow and match your breathing with me… that’s its. Just like that…”

Your soft and warm voice made him follow with ease. The soft caress of your hand on his cheeks calmed him down and calmed his trembling body without reserve as he basked in your soft gaze.

The sensation in his cold limb slowly came back as your warmth spread throughout his body. He was sure his ears were tinged with red now that he regained his bearing, though still disorientated.

Sensing that he had calmed down, you smiled softly.

“I’ve heard many things about you, but from what I’ve seen so far, you’re a strong person.”

No, he wasn’t. Jinwoo thought. He wasn’t strong as a hunter. He’s the lowest in his rank. If anything he was barely hanging on supporting his sister and mother. However, before he could wallow more in self-pity, you interrupted as if you heard him.

“Of course, I’m not talking in that sense.” You chuckled.

“I might not know you that well, and we have only met today, but something in you just told me you're a strong person because you're so kind."

You admitted, closing your eyes as you nuzzled into him, ruffling his already messy hair.

Since your first raid, this man immediately caught your attention. Not because of his rank or anything special but because of the kindness and strength inside him.

Learning new little details about him as you observe him every time, a fondness within you arouses.

Even though your personality changes into a confident combatant whenever you enter every mission, you don’t dare to talk to him. Shy and blushing at the mere thought of talking to him, but the incident earlier gave you the courage you needed to take the first step.

Even at this moment, you knew you were pushing it; however, with the way your path is going as a hunter. This was the only time that you might be able to confess to the man who has caught your attention so wholeheartedly.

You did have past crushes; however, they were only admiration by the end of the day and faded right away but this time, it’s different.

He’s different from everyone.

Deep inside, you realize that there wouldn’t be anyone who would be able to compare to him and that there wouldn’t be a chance for you to be with anyone because of him, however, you didn’t mind.

He captured your very being.

Opening your eyes, you softly and lovingly gaze at him causing his already flushed cheeks to turn redder and his eyes reddening.

Noticing that your breaths were intertwining together, your eyes lowered and stared at his lips. If you moved even a little, your lips would finally touch but...you knew that this wasn't right.

He wasn't yours, and you weren't his.

And so with a deep ache inside of you, you close your eyes again, chuckling and lifting your head. Jinwoo then felt your warm and soft lips on his forehead, hearing you say before his consciousness slowly faded.

“You won’t be able to remember this but I like you, Sung Jinwoo.”

And with that, everything went blank.

The next time he woke up, medics were rushing everywhere, assisting him and every hunter who were now out of the gate and regaining their consciousness.

He couldn’t help but look everywhere, looking for you in particular.

He didn’t know why, but now a part of him longed for you deeply, and with time, it seems to only intensify.

Walking towards you with a calm façade but with trembling hands in his pocket, Jinwoo helplessly clenched them tightly, holding his sanity.

It’s only been a few years but he felt like it’s been an eternity.

As Chairman Go Gunhee introduced him to you, Jinwoo felt some blood flow from his trembling fist as his nails dug into his palm.

Jinwoo lowered his eyes as it darkened. He tried his hardest to calm down as he felt that at any moment he might just grab and attack you, his desire and longing just barely contained.

Letting out a small breathe, he then gave you a close-eyed smile, apologizing to you in his mind.

Now that he finally caught up, this time, he won’t let you go that easily like he did when he was a weak hunter.

Now that he remembers your confession, it’s only right of him to reciprocate it, right?

A/n: It was only supposed to be a short one-shot but it got longer than expected. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one-shot!

{All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author}

#solo leveling #sung jinwoo #jinwoo sung #yandere sung jinwoo #yandere #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x you #divider by cafekitsune

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makingqueerhistory · 1 year ago

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Queer Books Challenged in Florida Schools and Libraries

There are some affiliate links below in case you want to support MQH.

Gender Queer: A Memoir, Maia Kobabe: Now, Gender Queer is here. Maia's intensely cathartic autobiography charts eir journey of self-identity, which includes the mortification and confusion of adolescent crushes, grappling with how to come out to family and society, bonding with friends over erotic gay fanfiction, and facing the trauma and fundamental violation of pap smears.

The Color Purple, Alice Walker: Separated as girls, sisters Celie and Nettie sustain their loyalty to and hope in each other across time, distance and silence. Through a series of letters spanning nearly thirty years, first from Celie to God, then the sisters to each other despite the unknown, the novel draws readers into its rich and memorable portrayals of Celie, Nettie, Shug Avery and Sofia and their experience. The Color Purple broke the silence around domestic and sexual abuse, narrating the lives of women through their pain and struggle, companionship and growth, resilience and bravery.

Julián Is a Mermaid, Jessica Love: While riding the subway home from the pool with his abuela one day, Julián notices three women spectacularly dressed up. Their hair billows in brilliant hues, their dresses end in fishtails, and their joy fills the train car. When Julián gets home, daydreaming of the magic he's seen, all he can think about is dressing up just like the ladies in his own fabulous mermaid costume: a butter-yellow curtain for his tail, the fronds of a potted fern for his headdress. But what will Abuela think about the mess he makes -- and even more importantly, what will she think about how Julián sees himself? Mesmerizing and full of heart, Jessica Love's author-illustrator debut is a jubilant picture of self-love and a radiant celebration of individuality.

Drama: A Graphic Novel, Raina Telgemeier: Callie loves theater. And while she would totally try out for her middle school's production of Moon over Mississippi, she can't really sing. Instead she's the set designer for the drama department's stage crew, and this year she's determined to create a set worthy of Broadway on a middle-school budget. But how can she, when she doesn't know much about carpentry, ticket sales are down, and the crew members are having trouble working together? Not to mention the onstage AND offstage drama that occurs once the actors are chosen. And when two cute brothers enter the picture, things get even crazier!

Cemetery Boys, Aiden Thomas: Yadriel has summoned a ghost, and now he can't get rid of him. When his traditional Latinx family has problems accepting his true gender, Yadriel becomes determined to prove himself a real brujo. With the help of his cousin and best friend Maritza, he performs the ritual himself, and then sets out to find the ghost of his murdered cousin and set it free. However, the ghost he summons is actually Julian Diaz, the school's resident bad boy, and Julian is not about to go quietly into death. He's determined to find out what happened and tie off some loose ends before he leaves. Left with no choice, Yadriel agrees to help Julian, so that they can both get what they want. But the longer Yadriel spends with Julian, the less he wants to let him leave.

I Am Billie Jean King, Brad Meltzer: This friendly, fun biography series focuses on the traits that made our heroes great--the traits that kids can aspire to in order to live heroically themselves. Each book tells the story of one of America's icons in a lively, conversational way that works well for the youngest nonfiction readers and that always includes the hero's childhood influences. At the back are an excellent timeline and photos. This volume features Billie Jean King, the world champion tennis player who fought successfully for women's rights. From a young age, Billie Jean King loved sports--especially tennis! But as she got older, she realized that plenty of people, even respected male athletes, didn't take women athletes seriously. She set to prove them wrong and show girls everywhere that sports are for everyone, regardless of gender.

This One Summer, Mariko Tamaki: Every summer, Rose goes with her mom and dad to a lake house in Awago Beach. It's their getaway, their refuge. Rosie's friend Windy is always there, too, like the little sister she never had. But this summer is different. Rose's mom and dad won't stop fighting, and when Rose and Windy seek a distraction from the drama, they find themselves with a whole new set of problems. One of the local teens - just a couple of years older than Rose and Windy - is caught up in something bad... Something life threatening. It's a summer of secrets, and sorrow, and growing up, and it's a good thing Rose and Windy have each other.

Marriage of a Thousand Lies, Sj Sindu: Lucky and her husband, Krishna, are gay. They present an illusion of marital bliss to their conservative Sri Lankan-American families, while each dates on the side. It's not ideal, but for Lucky, it seems to be working. She goes out dancing, she drinks a bit, she makes ends meet by doing digital art on commission. But when Lucky's grandmother has a nasty fall, Lucky returns to her childhood home and unexpectedly reconnects with her former best friend and first lover, Nisha, who is preparing for her own arranged wedding with a man she's never met.

And Tango Makes Three, Peter Parnell: At the penguin house at the Central Park Zoo, two penguins named Roy and Silo were a little bit different from the others. But their desire for a family was the same. And with the help of a kindly zookeeper, Roy and Silo got the chance to welcome a baby penguin of their very own.

More Happy Than Not, Adam Silvera: In the months following his father's suicide, sixteen-year-old Aaron Soto can't seem to find happiness again, despite the support of his girlfriend, Genevieve, and his overworked mom. Grief and the smile-shaped scar on his wrist won't let him forget the pain. But when Aaron meets Thomas, a new kid in the neighborhood, something starts to shift inside him. Aaron can't deny his unexpected feelings for Thomas despite the tensions their friendship has created with Genevieve and his tight-knit crew. Since Aaron can't stay away from Thomas or turn off his newfound happiness, he considers taking drastic actions. The Leteo Institute's revolutionary memory-altering procedure will straighten him out, even if it means forgetting who he truly is.

Melissa, Alex Gino: When people look at Melissa, they think they see a boy named George. But she knows she's not a boy. She knows she's a girl.

Melissa thinks she'll have to keep this a secret forever. Then her teacher announces that their class play is going to be Charlotte's Web. Melissa really, really, REALLY wants to play Charlotte. But the teacher says she can't even try out for the part... because she's a boy.

With the help of her best friend, Kelly, Melissa comes up with a plan. Not just so she can be Charlotte -- but so everyone can know who she is, once and for all.

A Quick & Easy Guide to Queer & Trans Identities, Mady G, Jules Zuckerberg: In this quick and easy guide to queer and trans identities, cartoonists Mady G and Jules Zuckerberg guide you through the basics of the LGBT+ world! Covering essential topics like sexuality, gender identity, coming out, and navigating relationships, this guide explains the spectrum of human experience through informative comics, interviews, worksheets, and imaginative examples. A great starting point for anyone curious about queer and trans life, and helpful for those already on their own journeys!

This Book Is Gay, Juno Dawson: This candid, funny, and uncensored exploration of sexuality and what it's like to grow up LGBTQ also includes real stories from people across the gender and sexual spectrums, not to mention hilarious illustrations.

Little & Lion, Brandy Colbert: When Suzette comes home to Los Angeles from her boarding school in New England, she's isn't sure if she'll ever want to go back. L.A. is where her friends and family are (as well as her crush, Emil). And her stepbrother, Lionel, who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, needs her emotional support. But as she settles into her old life, Suzette finds herself falling for someone new...the same girl her brother is in love with. When Lionel's disorder spirals out of control, Suzette is forced to confront her past mistakes and find a way to help her brother before he hurts himself--or worse.

King and the Dragonflies, Kacen Callender: Twelve-year-old Kingston James is sure his brother Khalid has turned into a dragonfly. When Khalid unexpectedly passed away, he shed what was his first skin for another to live down by the bayou in their small Louisiana town. Khalid still visits in dreams, and King must keep these secrets to himself as he watches grief transform his family.

It would be easier if King could talk with his best friend, Sandy Sanders. But just days before he died, Khalid told King to end their friendship, after overhearing a secret about Sandy-that he thinks he might be gay. "You don't want anyone to think you're gay too, do you?"

Sorted: Growing Up, Coming Out, and Finding My Place: A Transgender Memoir, Jackson Bird: An unflinching and endearing memoir from LGBTQ+ advocate Jackson Bird about how he finally sorted things out and came out as a transgender man.When Jackson Bird was twenty-five, he came out as transgender to his friends, family, and anyone in the world with an internet connection. Assigned female at birth and raised as a girl, he often wondered if he should have been born a boy. Jackson didn't share this thought with anyone because he didn't think he could share it with anyone.

The Black Flamingo, Dean Atta: Michael is a mixed-race gay teen growing up in London. All his life, he's navigated what it means to be Greek-Cypriot and Jamaican--but never quite feeling Greek or Black enough.

As he gets older, Michael's coming out is only the start of learning who he is and where he fits in. When he discovers the Drag Society, he finally finds where he belongs--and the Black Flamingo is born

Explore the full list here.

#queer history #queer #lgbt #lgbt history #gay history #lesbian history #transgender history #transgender #making queer history

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joeshiestyslover · 2 months ago

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─ .✦ batman!matt x catwoman!reader masterlist ─ .✦

INTRODUCING... BATMAN!MATT

"i'm vengeance"

full name: matthew sturniolo

age: 24

aliases: batman, the dark knight, the caped crusader

parents: thomas sturniolo (deceased), martha sturniolo (deceased)

affiliates: nicolas sturniolo, christopher sturniolo, alfred pennyworth, jim gordon

INTRODUCING... CATWOMAN!Y/N

"you poor guys, always confusing your pistols with your privates"

full name: y/n y/l/n

age: 22

aliases: catwoman, the cat

parents: unknown

affiliates: oswald cobblepot, carmine falcone

𓆩𓆪 headcanons 𓆩𓆪

batman!matt headcanons

𓆩𓆪 one shots 𓆩𓆪

01. the beginning

𓆩𓆪 blurbs 𓆩𓆪

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

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vintagelasvegas · 2 months ago

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Holiday Inn / Slot Joynt / Viscount / Boardwalk Hotel & Casino

The Strip's first Holiday Inn (1966) developed into the Boardwalk Hotel & Casino. 3740-3750 Las Vegas Blvd S.

Holiday Inn ('66-'85)

’65-66: Holiday Inn was built on previously undeveloped land, opened Feb. ’66 with a 6-floor tower later known as the “Steeplechase” tower. Homer Rissman, architect. Local 226 Culinary and Local 165 Bartenders picket the business from Mar. through Fall '66.

’68: 4-story addition later known as the “Luna Park” wing opens behind Steeoplechase wing.

’72: Norbert Jansen opens Holiday Gifts at the hotel. Whether Jansen was involved with Holiday Inn prior is unknown. Jansen runs the business here until his death in ’97.

’77: Holiday Gifts begins doing business as Slot Joynt Casino. The casino operates as Slot Joynt in front of the hotel in a new building until rebranding as Boardwalk in '89.

Viscount Hotel ('85-'89)

’85: Viscount and Holiday Gifts (Jansen) acquire the hotel and rebranded Viscount Hotel (RJ 6/16/85). Hotel and casino, separate until now, establish physical connection.

Boardwalk Hotel & Casino ('89-'06)

’89: hotel and casino rebranded as Boardwalk Hotel & Casino in Feb. Jansen proposes the addition of a 21-story working slot machine. This idea was rejected by the Clark County Commission. Revised plans by architect Weldon Simpson are approved, but never built.

’94: Boardwalk Casino Inc goes public, begins partnership with Holiday Inn, renamed Holiday Inn Boardwalk.

’95: Dreamland tower addition.

’96: Coney Island-themed expansion.

’98: Wynn/Mirage purchase.

’00: MGM-Mirage merge.

’03: Holiday Inn affiliation ends, renamed Boardwalk Hotel & Casino.

’06: closed 1/06; tower demolished 5/06, replaced with City Center’s Mandarin Oriental.

Sources include Boardwalk timeline published by MGM-Mirage. Boardwalk Hotel and Casino Records (MS-00093), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

#Holiday Inn 66 #Boardwalk

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nakimov · 4 months ago

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When someone else gives you gifts

Featuring: Tesla, Apollo, Qin, and Thor ( part 1 )

You can also read Part 2 and part 3 for more characters

CW: mostly fluff and jealousy. Yandere tendencies with some of them

Tesla

He came home from a long day of work expecting you to be asleep but he noticed you on the couch reading a book. “Why are you awake? You didn’t have to wait for me.” He was right, it was nearly midnight while you waited for him.

He was very into his research and his passion for science sometimes made you question your insanity as to why you fell for this man if science was more important than you— his partner.

“Oh, I did? I guess I was too into this book. Also, thanks for the flowers hun.” You walked over to him and raised your toes to kiss him on his nose. He looked at you with confusion. Flowers? He didn’t get you flowers.

“Flowers? I didn’t get you any,” he felt bad when he saw the large bouquet on the table. Did someone give these to you? An unknown feeling formed in his chest.

Quickly he walked over to it and grabbed them tossing them in the trash. “Hey! Why did you do that?!” You shouted angrily but he stopped you from taking them out of the trash.

“We’ll plant a whole garden of roses, besides…” he grabbed your waist.

“I prefer if other men didn’t give you such things when I am the only one that has that privilege,” he kept you close while your heart was racing in your chest. A whole garden? You liked the sound of that instead.

Apollo

He noticed it right away. The new necklace that you were wearing. “This is new.” He lifted the chain up with one finger, but he knew it was a stupid question. You most likely found it in the pile of jewelry he has given you over the years.

You were dumbfounded at first and looked down at the necklace. “One of your followers… he— he gave it to me as a gift,” you stuttered. There was a long pause between you two before he clipped the necklace off.

Apollo didn’t like the idea of another giving you luxury things. He was trying to keep calm but he laughed while holding the necklace in between a few of his fingers while holding it up over his head.

“A cheap thing like this? I could give you anything you want," Apollo pulled you closer to him with his arms tugging around your small body. You knew you were trapped with him and he wouldn’t let go. Was he afraid that someone would steal you away from him? Nobody could steal you away from him. More so you used to be jealous of his herd of women and used to ignore him. He took more interest in you than the other way around in the beginning.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I— I won’t accept any more gifts from your followers.” Apollo liked hearing that as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

With you being his only beloved, he would be the only one to give you things. Was he jealous? He wouldn’t admit if he was. He believed that jealousy was a disgusting trait and nothing beautiful about it.

With you in his arms, he deeply sighed dramatically. “Now my dear, go put on something nice that was from me this time.” his lips were near your ears as his breath tickled down your spine. Without any hesitation, you nodded happily to your beloved before retreating to go back to your shared room.

Qin Shi Huang

You knew Qin as a child because of your affiliation with Chun Yan who introduced you two. You were treated like a daughter to her but she wasn’t your biological mother. You treated Ying as everyone else and not some creepy kid that everyone thought he was. Over time this made him fall for you and ask you to stay with him even after Chun Yan died.

Fast forward to the present as Qin Shi Huang— also known as Ying Zheng became king as he promised to Chun Yan. You still were by his side even when other nobles offered their daughters to him as concubines or an arranged marriage, he dismissed them all. Normally jealousy filled you and you thought there was no chance for a commoner like you could be his empress.

As you wandered the halls of his palace, you ran into one of the young maids who told you she had something for you. It was a very fine patterned robe that only nobles were granted to wear. “I can’t wear this, it’s forbidden for someone like me to—” she cut you off by telling you that it was fine and Qin said so. Qin?! Were you going to believe her? Did she have some ulterior motive? You reluctantly tried it on. It was dark red with flowers on it. The maid wasn’t around which was odd. Your former clothes were gone as well. Huh?!

You found the main hall looking for your room to possibly change, but Qin noticed you even with his blindfold on. Thank god he can’t see you with the noble robe on, right? “There you are, you had me worried for a minute.” He grabbed your arm but that was a mistake. He felt the expensive silk of the robe. The sleeves were long so of course he knew what kind of material you were wearing.

“Oh? It’s not like you to be wearing such a thing.” He chuckled before a smile appeared on his lips. He wasn’t mad?!

“Your maid told me to wear it and said that you were fine with it, but she left and took my clothes…” you frowned but Qin was more upset that someone was trying to get you in trouble. He could never get mad at you. You were too pure and kind. You had accepted him for who he is and stood by his side.

“Now tell me who it was, I’ll make sure she’ll get punished later.” You wanted to object but you can’t because he was your king. You nodded and felt bad that the maid would most likely lose her job. He still held onto you even though you were shaking a bit. He told you to wear more of those robes since they look good on you. Even just hearing him say that brought a bubbly feeling in your heart.

Thor

You were again stuck inside the Asgard palace bored again… The entire city was nearly destroyed by titans and many civilians were rebuilding their homes and businesses. You looked out of the window and spotted Forseti talking to a few of the officials. You loathed the man, he didn’t do anything during the invasion and only worried about Thor.

A knock was heard from your room, you had expected that Thor had returned but then you remembered he doesn’t knock. You grumbled a lowly come in and of course, Loki was at the door looking smug than ever. “The hell do you want?” You frowned, why would you ever be so hopeful that Thor would free his time up for you? You two weren’t even married either but acted like it. Odin had tried to forbid any relationship between you two, but Thor didn’t obey that order.

“Why so snarky? I just wanted to come to check up on my future sis-in-law,” he mocks that last part since the marriage thing was off the table. You didn’t say anything. Was he here to try to make you angry?

He quickly changed the subject and pulled out a small doll he made. “I made this, it does look like you, right? Here take it,” he put it next to you. It sort of creeped you out but you kept quiet. Were you terrified? Maybe.

“Why are you making voodoo dolls?” You detested the plushie and hoped Thor would come back sooner.

“Who said it was for that kind of sorcery? It’s just a gift! I swear!” Loki was faking his emotions while you quietly mumbled ‘whatever’ and reluctantly accepted it while holding the doll as he took his leave. What a weird guy…

Hours had passed by as you fell asleep on the couch but you had awoken to someone moving you. “You’re back?” You looked up to see Thor holding you with both of his arms. His expression wasn’t calm like usual. He seemed irritated. Did something happen?

“Mhm…” he was quiet but you saw how different his expressions were than usual.

“He came here when I was gone,” he grabbed the doll that was next to you squeezing it so hard that the head of the doll popped off. How his cousin was gifting you such things. Creepy things. Thor wanted to beat sense to him but held back his anger.

“Sorry, I didn’t know what he would do if I rejected it.” You frowned but Thor's left hand touched your cheek as you stared up at him. He genuinely smiled.

“He won’t hurt you… I’ll make sure of it.” The reassurance you wanted the most as you buried your face in his chest. You just wanted his comfort and nothing else.

Note: no eta when part 2 will come but if I do another it’ll probably be Susano’o, Buddha, Loki and Anubis. Edit: I forgot about Poseidon. So probably 5 characters for part 2.

#record of ragnarok #shuumatsu no valkyrie #ror x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #record of ragnarok x reader#qin shi huang #Tesla ror #qin x reader #tesla x reader #apollo ror x reader #apollo x reader #thor ror #thor #Thor x reader #Apollo ror

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maladaptiveobsession · 2 months ago

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*pokes* oh my god! i really love all of your dol headcanons, the suicidal one admitedly made me cry, it's just that good! :'D not sure if you take request or not, you can ignore this if you aren't, but i'd absolutely would love something related to bailey taking reader's virginity...? his dialogue in canon (before it was removed rip) when he took pc's virginity drive me fucking crazy :)

“Your body was always mine.”

Synopsis: You owe Bailey, but are short on cash. He takes your virginity as payment.

Contains: afab!gn!reader, anal mention, biting, cervix kiss, deflowering, fingering, masturbation, noncon, oral mention, overstimulation, scratching, purity/virginity kink

Words: 2,159

A/N: Sorry this took so long. It’s been a rough month or so. I wish they would have left us the ability to fuck Bailey at least until they had more lewd content to replace it with. I refuse to acknowledge his canon disinterest in the player.

In a town such as this, where temptations festered in the shadow, it was a miracle you’d preserved your purity for as long as you had. He can’t imagine how you managed, though he supposes your affiliation with the church must have contributed. Fat load of good that did against him, though, didn’t it? It hadn’t been intentional, but he’d gradually accrued your virginities, unraveling your innocence thread by thread.

Once in a moment of weakness, driven by frustration. You’d pestered him all that morning with dumb shit, and in a haze of anger and desire, he overwhelmed you, his hands gripping your body as he bent you over his desk and roughly violated your ass. You fought valiantly, but you were just no match.

"You should be putting out more if you're this tight. What do you think you're good for?"

Once with the intentions to torment that insufferable prick, Avery. You may have been that bastard’s date for the evening, but he was your guardian, and it was about damn time he reminded you both who actually owned you. With the right encouragement—threats against that other brat, Robin—he hadn’t needed to lift a finger for your mouth to get to work. The look on that man’s face as you choked on him was the highlight of his evening, though your inexperienced tongue running alongside his shaft was a contender to be sure.

"Don't get any funny ideas. Just take it."

Once more that same evening without thinking. With all the adrenaline coursing through his body, he hadn’t considered the significance before grabbing your hand and thoughtlessly dragging you off to his car. He hadn’t registered the way your hand tensed against his own until long after he’d dumped you off at the orphanage.

Lastly, by your discretion, too drunk for you to realize the “handsome stranger with kissable lips” was in fact your caretaker coming to collect your dumbass after you’d gone and got yourself roofied. You were lucky it was the day before collection; otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered. For reasons unknown to even himself, his resolve to remain indifferent crumbled under your clumsy lips, pulling you close to dress your lips with his and turning that chaste brush of lips into a ferocious battle with his tongue. You probably still think it was that haunting freak you barely tolerate who took your first kiss, but he hasn’t forgotten.

"Surprised are you? You'll learn to kiss better soon."

Now, behind the locked door of his office, he finds himself clawing at the remnants of his self-control, trying desperately to ignore the desire that began to bloom since he first pinned you against his desk. He palms at the ache pressing against his trousers, shame creeping along his spine. He should never have let things get as far as they did. There were lines he had resolved not to cross, and yet here he was, hips jerking to the thought of your warm tongue, soft lips, and tight ass.

The thought that you’ve been sauntering around town with that virgin cunt of yours unprotected, purity vulnerable to any prowling perverts, evokes a possessive rage that has no place invading his thoughts.

He sure as fuck shouldn’t be entertaining the thought that you’re only some doors down, just out of reach. The desire to own you in full has him in a chokehold. Growling, he reclines deeper into his swivel chair, impatiently fishing his cock out from his trousers, leaking pre-cum down over angry veins.

Fuck it, just this once.

With a sense of urgency, he gathers himself in his hand, tightening his hold damn near enough to strangle, and begins furiously pumping his hand. It doesn't take too long before he reaches that precipice, jaw and core tightening as he inhales sharply. Warmth spreads over his hand, pace and grip relaxing as he eases himself down from his high.

Releasing a sigh, he reaches across his desk for a tissue. After cleaning himself off and resituating himself into his pants, he glances down at his wristwatch.

12:30 AM

Right, there was still the matter of your debt. Before he could erase you from his thoughts, he had to collect your payment for this week. It was admittedly early, but the day of collection nonetheless, and he could swing by damn well any time he pleased. He steels himself before pushing the door open and striding up the stairs towards your room. The sound of your laughter mingling with that of another orphan—Robin, his mind supplies to his distaste—pulls at his insides like a vice.

The door swings open violently, the force startling the both of you into silence. The sight before him reignits that possessive rage; your hips straddling his with only a pair of panties protecting you from his exposed length. Underneath you, the boy cringes as Bailey's attention rests on him, eyes widening in bewilderment and terror. The air was thick with tension.

“Get out.” He bites out as calmly as he could manage, nails digging into his palms.

Robin casts a rueful glance between the both of you, torn between the desire to shield you and fear. You assure him that you’ll be fine, gesturing towards the door with your chin.

“But—” Robin begins, but is interrupted by Bailey.

“Did I fucking stutter?” he snarls, the animosity seemingly making the air colder and heavier. Quickly worming back into his night shorts, Robin slinks by Bailey while sending one last remorseful glance your way before vanishing down the corridor.

Silence punctuates his departure. Rage simmers below the surface of his skin, threatening to burn him. The sound of shuffling sheets punctures the quiet, instinctually causing him to look your way. Breath catches in his throat, soaking in the sight of your exposed thighs. As you reach for your bottoms, awkwardly twisting your body, he sees what he believes must be that brat's fluids discoloring your underwear. Lips twitching, he’s overcome with the desire to tear it from your body and have it burned.

Had he arrived even an hour later, you’d have surrendered your virginity to that urchin. Struck with violent impulse, he feels the final strand of resolve disintegrate. He stalks forward, his presence overwhelming as he closes the distance between you.

Scrambling back until your back is pressed against the headboard, you glare daggers, demanding to know why he’s here. The slight tremble of your voice reveals the fear underlining that false bravado you’ve taken to wearing. He makes note of your shifting eyes, frantically searching for an escape, and snorts in amusement. There would be no trouble subduing you, especially at this distance. Perhaps you came to this realization yourself, your eyes snapping back to him with a trace of defeat settling onto your features.

“You owe me.” A grimace overtakes your expression. Ah, now this was a first. Of all his orphans, you were one of the few that were consistently prompt with their payments. No wonder you were offering yourself to that brat. Now, no guilt would weigh on his conscience; you owed him and he intended to collect. You had only yourself to blame for whatever happened next.

Gathering your voice, you stamper out a retort, voice raising as you speak. “I-I’m a little short, but I ha-have enough to cover Robin! Do whatever to me; just leave him out of it!"

You nervously extend the bills out, and he snatches them, flicking through the stack to tally the sum. Satisfied with the amount, he stuffs the wad of cash into his pocket before glancing back up to you.

“I know just what to do with you. Don’t worry, I have no interest in that brat joining.” Closing the distance between you, he snatches your ankle and drags you towards him before you can resist.

You yelp as he pounces, quickly pinning your arms above your head and adjusting his grip so he can hold them down with just one hand. He doesn’t give you a moment to react before he snatches your lips with his own, silencing any potential objections. His tongue swipes across your lips, thrusting down your throat—domineering, rough, and speaking of suppressed desire. Pulling back, a string of saliva connects your lips.

“Wh-What was that about...?” You gasp out, greedily sucking in air, nearly suffocated by his intensity.

“You owe me.” He begins, hand drifting down to cup your sex. “And you have something I want.”

Tears gather at the revelation, struggling against his hold. “N-no way! Haven’t you stolen enough from me?”

Snatching your cheeks in his fingers, he clenches as a warning and sneers. “You fucking owe me, so unless you want me knocking on that brat’s door for payment, you’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you.”

You sniffle and sob, but otherwise settle down, realizing you have no other choice but to comply. Watching your eyes for any signs of rebellion, he feels assured you won’t try anything and releases your face and arms. You go limp, defeated. He hooks his finger in your panties, impatiently pulling them off your body before tossing them to the floor. He doesn’t bother to take off your shirt.

Though having seen you exposed before, he can’t help but stare in appreciation at your glistening lips. Swiping his middle and ring finger between your folds, he wastes no time before sinking knuckle deep, aided by your slick.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. That brat do this to you?” He begins pumping his fingers and circling your clit with his thumb, enjoying the crinkle of your nose and eyes as you try to maintain composure. “Or do you actually want this?”

You shake your head and try to say no, but your voice breaks into a whine as he curls his fingers against a sensitive spot. He takes the initiative to attack that spot, pressing a hand against your chest to hold you down when you begin to squirm.

"Just relax. I'll handle everything like always."

Feeling your chest rise faster and walls clenching tighter, he pulls away just as you’re about to reach your high. A whine leaves your throat against your will, feeling betrayed at the loss of his fingers. Without warning, his hands grip your waist, pulling you into him and replacing his fingers with something much thicker. The sudden intrusion steals your breath away and sends you over the edge, vaguely registering the pain through your climax. Perhaps he was just impatient, or maybe he cares some semblance to distract you from the pain of being split open by something so large. Either way, he gives you no time to adjust to his size, fingers digging into your skin and leaving crescent-shaped marks.

His eyes and lips pressed tight, overwhelmed by your tight heat. He’s plucked plenty of virgins, but none had brought him such intense pleasure. Melting into you, he sinks his face into your neck, tongue gliding across your skin and savoring your taste. You shiver as his lips trace your collarbone, the nipping of his teeth forcing sharp breaths from your throat.

It’s subtle, but you can hear his muted groans as his hips snap against yours, hungry and desperate. The sounds of wet, heated sex penetrate the thin walls of your room, sure to be heard by all. He can’t find it in him to care when all he can focus on is how sweetly you massage him, bringing him closer to the precipice of pleasure with each thrust. The crown of his cock kisses your cervix, your back arching from the sensation as your hands and legs wrap around him. Your nails dig into his back as that coil in your stomach tightens, leaving deep scratches in their path.

As you push against his thrusts, his hand slips between your bodies, teasing your clit with fervor. You feel yourself slip over that edge, head snapping back against the bed and calling out his name with eyes twisted shut. Feeling you tighten, he loses composure and begins frantically chasing that high for himself. Sensitive, you whine from overstimulation, softly calling out his name to catch his attention. The sound of your soft voice helplessly calling for him and only him lights his nerves and leaves him helplessly gripping the sheets. He bites down on your shoulder to stiffle a moan, spilling into you. His hips grind into yours as he winds down, hands tenderly gliding across your body.

As he pulls back, hot white pools onto the sheets below. He admires the mess he’s made: your bruised skin, neck raw and glistening, and lips parted as you try to gather your breath. His thumb ghosts over your lips, amused by the dumb look settled on your face. Satisfaction thrums through him, having claimed the last of your purity.

"Your body was always mine. Like your first time."

#dol #dol x reader #degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity x reader #dol bailey #bailey the caretaker #bailey x reader #afab reader #gn reader #biting kink #virginity kink #tw noncon #tw overstimulation #tw purity kink #scratching kink #mdni #mal.mine

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