#Arthur harrow x reader

[wayward-persephone]

Hi😊 Can you please do the NSFW Alphabet with Arthur Harrow?🔥 Sorry I forgot to put it in your request box😂 Xx

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

He's a big softie after sex. He'll wipe you down and and cuddle you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Maybe even give you a massage if he was a little rough. Kisses you all over.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

Not horny but he likes his forearms, specifically the scales, because it shows his "worth" to Ammit.

He loves every part of you so it's hard to decide. If he had to pick it would be your hands. He loves holding them and tracing your fingers, kissing each fingertip, and placing your hand on his face to cradle him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

He cums a normal amount. Although he has a dirty habit of rubbing it all over you after he finishes because it's like "marking" you as his.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

Totally wants to fuck you in front of the entire cult. Wants to show you off and show everybody how perfect you are for him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

He's older, but not that experienced. He wasn't able to get around much while as Moon Knight and his devotion to Ammit took up a lot of his time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

Missionary. He wants to see your face the entire time. Also likes to hold your hands while having sex.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

He's pretty serious. Might be a little more relaxed than usual, but he still takes this time to be serious and concentrate on you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

Very well groomed. He takes his hygiene very seriously.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

He's very romantic and serious. He'll be a little silly at the beginning, but that will fade the longer you two are at it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

He doesn't masturbate often. Would rather have you do it for him or just have sex. He's too busy to deal with those urges.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

Exhibition. He loves when someone walks in on you and he has the secret urge to take you in front of everyone to show you off.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

The bedroom. He's a simple man with simple pleasures.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

Anything you do, really. He's severely touch-starved so simply kissing his cheek or hugging him will get him going.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

Hurt you. He hurt enough people in his past and would adamantly refuse to hurt you in any way.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

Prefers giving. Likes to worship you and show his love and devotion to you that way.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

Prefers to be slow and sensual. He prefers making love as opposed to fucking. He just wants gentle and softness in his life.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

Rarely would like a quickie. Would rather spend the time in a intimate setting with you where he can take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

Normally, no, but he secretly wants to have people watch how well he makes love to you. Wants to show you off and relish in the envy of others.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

He could probably do about two long rounds.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

He doesn't like toys because he can get jealous. Wants to be the only thing and only one to give you pleasure.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

He might tease a small amount when you first begin, but becomes quiet serious afterwards. He would usually tease throughout the day, but that's about it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

He's usually a talker in bed. He mutters sweet nothings in your ear the entire time, sweet talking enough to make you blush, and will have soft groans and moans. Prefers to have you screaming in bliss.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

He definitely likes to buy you gifts. wants to dress you up in the finest clothes and gems. Just pamper you as much as possible to show his love.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

He's about average, 6 inches, and with enough girth to make you breathless. Leaks precum the second he gets aroused.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

Very much yearns for you constantly. Wants even the simplest touch from you. He has a lot of time to make up for and he wants to spend as much time as possible with you in bed.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

Makes sure you are okay and that you have everything you need. Watches over you for a bit before falling asleep. Is a very light sleeper so every move you make wakes him up but he'll just drag you closer and cuddle.

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Bloody Beetle | Part Ten

Summary: buckle up folks, it's the final showdown

Pairing: Steven x reader, Marc x reader, Harrow x reader, Layla x reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: fighting, deaths...

A/N: as always spelling and grammar are not my strongest skills so please be kind :)

Part Nine | Series Masterlist

- - - - -

Layla’s POV 

She wants to stop you from surrendering yourself, she knows it’s dangerous. 

But she also knows neither of you have time to think of another plan. 

As soon as you step out from behind the wall she wastes no time in sneaking over to where Osiris’ avatar is and pulls him to safety. 

“Hey! hey, hey…” She says as she tries to keep him upright and conscious. “How do we stop Ammit?!”

“This chamber is our most powerful place.” He wheezes. “From here we need to imprision Ammit in a mortal form.”

“A body instead of a statue. She’d be vulnerable… okay, how do we do it?” 

“We need more avatars than we have left…” he says before collapsing to the ground. 

“No, no no!” Layla tries to wake him, but when she checks his pulse she realises he’s gone. She thinks for a moment, pondering her options. Reluctantly she summons Taweret and agrees to be her temporary avatar. 

“I am so thrilled! We are gonna have so much fun together.” Taweret says excitedly. “I have a fabulous costume in mind.”

The sound of Harrow’s shout bounces off the walls, getting Layla’s attention. She peers around to watch. 

Harrow is stood in front of you protectively, talking to Ammit. Almost pleading with her. 

“What could she possibly do in the future that is so bad that she deserves this?”  

“She will be the one to kill you.”

Ammit’s reply sends the room silent. A few disciples spare glances at each other but no one dares make a sound. Layla notices the heartbreak on Harrow’s face. 

She watches as you try to stand, try to reason with Harrow, convince him Ammit is lying. 

She watches as Harrow turns to you, and reaches out to help you up from the floor.

She watches as he drives a dagger deep into your stomach and she has to fight with herself not to run over and kill Harrow herself. She knows with Ammit behind him he is too powerful for her to fight alone. 

She watches as everyone just steps over you, leaving you to die. Not a single one of them even pausing for a moment to consider helping you. 

As soon as they’re out she runs to you, calling your name. You manage to roll over and look at her and she sees the moment the last bit of life leaves you. Your body going still, eyes glassing over as you lay limp on the ground. She crouches next to you, checking and double checking for a pulse. Begging you to wake up, to not leave her alone. 

But that’s what she is now… Alone…

Marc is dead. You are dead. Without anyone to help her, she’s sure she will be next.

— — — — 

Y/N’s POV 

“Where am I?” You ask aloud, glancing at the bright white nothingness around you. “Steven? Marc? Anyone?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” A voice calls from everywhere at once.

“Hello?” You respond. 

“I am Osiris, god of the underworld.”

“…okay…” 

“I have granted you resurrection but I ask something of you in return… Become my avatar.”

“Uh, look I don't think I'm really the person to be asking. I don't know how to be an avatar, I don't even really know what it means… I just know that Marc said it’s bad. Like being a slave? And I really don't want that-”

“You won’t be a slave, you will be powerful.”

“I’m sorry, but my answer is no. And if that means you have to send me back to the Duat then… I accept my fate.” 

“I admire your honesty and bravery Y/N. But we need more avatars than we have left if we are to defeat Ammit.” Osiris speaks calm but firm. “Take the powers that come with being my avatar, use them to defeat Ammit and when the job is done I will take them back from you. I will expect nothing more from you. You may continue to live your life free from any burden.”

“So just like, a temporary deal? Right?”

“Yes.”

“And once Ammit is dealt with, I can just be normal again?” 

“Yes.” Osiris pauses. “Do you accept?” 

“I do.”

— — — — 

You gasp as you sit bolt upright on the cold stone floor of the pyramid, making Layla jump. 

“Y/N?!” She says, grabbing your arms to ground you as you flail around in a panic. “I got, I got you.”

You take deep breaths, clutching your hands to your stomach. You lift your shirt and watch in shock as the wound from the dagger closes itself, leaving you fully healed. Any weakness left from Harrow’s staff is gone too. You feel amazing.

“What… what just happened?” Layla says, wiping tears from her face and staring at your stomach. She helps you up off the floor. “You were dead!” 

“Osiris healed me.” You say, in shock yourself. Then you notice Layla’s outfit. Her mundane clothes from before gone, replaced with a gold and white Egyptian armour. “What are you wearing?” 

“Taweret chose it.” She says before explaining how she agreed to be her temporary avatar. You in turn explained the deal Osiris offered you. 

“Well, you look badass.” You say and she laughs. “Wait, if I’m an avatar too now, does that mean I get a costume too?” 

A bright light swirls around you and when it disappears you’ve changed. No more blood soaked clothes. Instead you're wearing green armour, similar to Layla’s, with white and gold fabric wrapped around your body. Attached to your back is a long golden staff with a hooked end. 

You look down at your clothes in amazement, then up at Layla. The two of you look at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter. You don't really know why you're laughing, but after the stress of the last few days it feels like a welcome break. 

“So, what do we do now?” You says once you composed yourself. Layla sighs, shaking her head. 

“I guess, we try to save the world.”

— — — — 

The two of you head outside. To your surprise the sky is as dark as night, even though you're pretty sure it’s still daytime. The sky is filled with purple lights, flying up from across the city and towards the other side of the pyramid where Ammit is. 

“She’s consuming souls.” Layla says as you watch horrified. The more lights she swallows the bigger she grows. She’s already almost the same size as the pyramid.

“How are we supposed to stop her?!” You ask, looking around frantically. You look up at the top of the pyramid. Harrow is up there, a purple glowing light surrounds him as he chants in a language you don't recognise. 

Before you can say anything, someone flies up to the pyramid and begins to fight Harrow. You recognise the person to be the same as the action figure you found in the museum, dressed head toe in white.  

“Who is that?” You ask Layla, turning her attention to the scene on the pyramid. 

“Marc?” She gasps before turning to you. “Did Osiris resurrect him too?” 

“I- I don't know. Maybe? I didn’t see him after we made it through the gates-”

You stop talking suddenly when you notice Khonshu appear next to Ammit. He goes to hit her with his staff but she reaches out a scaly hand and stops him. They begin to fight as Harrow and Marc fly though the air toward the town, still fighting each other. Khonshu manages to knock Ammit over and she comes crashing down near near you. The force of her slamming into the pyramid sends a cloud of dust and sand over you and Layla. 

“Little bugs.” Khonshu says when he notices he almost flattened the two of you. “Go! Help Marc.”

Layla rolls her eyes at him as she wipes dust from her clothes before turning to you and nodding. You run away from the pyramid in the direction that Marc and Harrow had gone. 

The streets are chaos. Everywhere you look Ammit’s disciples are grabbing people, judging their scales. You watch as Bobbi grabs someone. They begin to shake then fall to the floor as a purple light emerges from them and flies up into the sky. Those who aren’t distracted staring at the dark sky are running, screaming, from the disciples. As you begin fighting off disciples you notice Marc laying on the ground on the other side of the town square, Harrow stood over him with his cane pointed down at him. It starts to glow purple. 

Layla swoops in just in time and knocks Harrow away. He fires purple light from his cane at Layla, but she reflects it with the golden armoured wings attached to her arms and it bounces back at Harrow. It sends him flying backwards into a crowd of people. 

You knock out the guy you're fighting and run over to Marc. His face now uncovered and he spots you over Layla’s shoulder as he’s hugging her. As you get closer his clothes change to a white three piece suit.

“Y/N!” Steven’s voice calls happily as he hugs you tightly. His hand finds the crook attached to your back. “Oh my God, that- that’s Osiris’ crook! Oh that’s bloody brilliant that! Wow!”

“Steven I know this is a massive deal for you but we have to stop Harrow.” You say, smiling at him.

“Right yeah, sorry you just- you look amazing!” He smiles, turning to Layla. “You both do.” 

You hear a scream and turn to see a woman with two young children being cornered by a group of disciples. 

“I’ll go. You two get Harrow.” You say and Steven places a kiss on your cheek before he and Layla run into the crowd and begin fighting. 

You run the other way, grabbing the crook and using it to pull the first bad guy away. You swing him round and send him crashing into the side of a nearby building. The others turn on you, but you effortlessly manage to dodge their attacks and one by one knock them all out. You help the mother and her children find somewhere safe to hide before turning your attention back to the others just in time to see Harrow fighting Marc. 

“You need only remove one weed from the garden. You!” He says, purple light blasting from his cane at Marc.

Marc grabs one of his crescent moon shaped blades but Harrow uses the power from his cane to control Marc’s hand. Layla runs toward them but Harrow sends the blade flying at her and it pins her arm to the side of the truck, before sending a huge blast of power at Marc, forcing him down on his back. On a building above them you see Ammit has also overpowered Khonshu, pinning him down with his own staff. 

Harrow advances towards Marc and you run, throwing yourself in between them.

“STOP!” You shout and Harrow looks at you like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Y/N..?” He says breathlessly. “You’re-”

“Alive? Yeah, I was surprised too.” You say sarcastically. “Why are you doing this? You told me you wanted to stop her!”

“That was before…”

“Before what?”

“Before I knew you would betray me!” He shouts, hitting you with a flash of power from his cane. It knocks you flying out of the way, rolling across the dusty ground. You feel like the wind has been knocked from you as you lay on the ground trying to get your breath back. Harrow advances on Marc again, raising his cane and slamming it into his chest. Purple light streams up through the cane, killing him slowly. 

“NO!” You scream, scrambling to try to get up but a heavy boot comes down on your back. Bobbi stands over you, keeping you down, forcing you to watch. You look over at Layla, she’s surrounded by disciples, using her golden armoured wings to deflect the bullets being fired at her. 

Marc turns his head to look at you before his eyes turn white. 

You can’t really describe what happened next. Something takes over Marc and sends him into a killing frenzy. He’s unstoppable as he takes on multiple disciples at once, slaughtering each one without breaking a sweat. He turns to you and you feel Bobbi remove her foot from your back. She backs away but Marc throws a blade at her and it lodges itself in her forehead, killing her instantly. He locks eyes with you and you don't recognise him at all. That’s not Marc anymore, and it definitely isn’t Steven. He winks at you before taking on Harrow. It doesn’t take long for him to overpower him. Its only as he’s about to kill him that he freezes, his posture changing. He drops Harrow’s unconscious body and looks around in horror at the war zone around him. 

“That wasn’t you, was it Steven?” He says and his suit changes. “Not a chance mate.” 

He looks at you and you get up, dusting yourself down as you make your way over to him.

“Are you alright?” He asks, placing his hands on your face and checking you over. 

“I’m fine, I’m more worried about you.” You reply.

“Marc?” Layla calls, freeing herself from where Harrow had trapped her. Steven changes back to Marc. “What the hell was that?”

“I blacked out.” He says. He looks genuinely worried. 

A rumbling from the building next to you draws your attention to Ammit dragging Khonshu away. 

“Get Harrow!” Layla says “I know how to stop Ammit.” 

— — — — 

Marc carries Harrow and you both follow Layla back to the tomb in the pyramid. Once inside Marc throws Harrow down on one of the stones.

“The power of the room will help us bind Ammit to Harrow’s body.” Layla explains. “Quick grab my hand so we can start the spell.” 

Marc takes Layla’s hand and you take Marc’s. The three of you start chanting the spell in an ancient language, the words must be given to you by the gods because you have no idea what you're actually saying. A circle of light fills the tomb, surrounding the three of you and Harrow. Purple light descends down into Harrow’s body as the spell works. Harrow gasps awake, his wild eyes looking at the three of you. 

“You can never contain me!” Ammit speaks through him. “I’ll never stop!”

“Do the honours, little bug.” Khonshu appears next to you and hands you the same dagger Harrow had earlier used to kill you. “Finish it! Leave neither of them alive.”

You look at the dagger, still stained with your own blood and feel anger boil inside you. You step up to Harrow, grabbing him by his collar and pulling him up to face you. His bright blue eyes stare into your own. 

“Do it.” He croaks. He looks utterly defeated, ready to accept his fate. 

You lift the dagger high, ready to plunge. Then you hear Ammit’s words from earlier.

‘She will be the one to kill you.’

You hesitate, thinking over those words. If you kill him now that means she was right about you. 

“While he lives, so does she.” Khonshu’s words ring in your ears. 

While Harrow lives, so does Ammit. Trapped in a mortal body.

“I said I wouldn’t kill you and I meant it.” You drop Harrow back down on the stone and throw the dagger to the floor. “There are worse fates than death.” 

You turn your back and walk away.

“Weak little bug.” Khonshu mocks but you ignore him. 

Layla takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I have to finish this.” Marc says suddenly, taking one of his blades and readying himself to stab Harrow. “If not I’ll never be free.”

“Marc!” Layla shouts. “You have a choice. You are free!”

“The choice is vengeance! We cannot take the chance that Ammit finds a way out. She will kill again.”

“Now you sound just like her.” Marc says, throwing his blade away. “You want them dead, do it yourself. Now release us!”

“As you wish.” Khonshu says before disappearing. 

Marc’s suit starts to disappear, a bright white light shines out of his chest and fills the room. For a moment you’re blinded, and when the light fades you find Marc on his knees. His normal clothes have returned. You and Layla go to him, crouching beside him.

“Marc? Are you okay?” Layla asks, full of concern. He looks at her and nods.

“He’s gone.” He smiles. “Thank you for stopping me.”

“What do we with him?” You ask, looking over at Harrow still laying on the stone.

“Lock him up.” Marc replies. “He’s killed so many people there’s no chance he’ll never ever be released. He’ll be locked away until the day he dies. And then Ammit will be gone too.”

You can hear Harrow incoherently babbling away to himself, and you feel a sort of sadness creep in.

“You did the right thing Y/N.” Layla says, noticing the frown on your face. 

“Then why do I feel so… weird?” 

“Love…” Steven’s voice instantly makes you feel a bit calmer and he places his hands gently on your face, forcing you to look away from Harrow. “Hey, look at me… You died today. And then you came back. And then you helped save the world from a giant crocodile lady.” He says making you laugh. “That’s a lot to take in. You're allowed to feel weird. In fact I’d be worried if you felt normal after all that.” 

“I know he did some really awful things but I- I almost kind of feel sorry for him. Is that wrong?” You admit and Steven smiles lovingly. 

“That just proves even more that Ammit’s scales were wrong about you. You are a good person with a kind heart. It’s one of the many things I love about you.” 

He moves his hands to hold yours and you give him a small smile. 

“Thank you.” You share a kiss, before remembering Layla is currently watching you kiss her ex husband. You pull away, giving her an awkward smile. “We should probably get going.” 

“Yeah…” Steven laughs, picking up on the awkwardness of the situation. “Back to good old London town. Get this guy put away… behind bars… where he belongs…”

“Guys it’s fine.” Layla says, laughing at Steven’s awkward rambling. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Are you sure?” Marc’s voice again. He walks closer to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I know I wasn’t the best husband. You deserved so much more.”

“It’s okay Marc, honestly. We’re better as friends.” She smiles a genuine smile at him. “Besides, I’ve decided I’m staying here in Egypt.”

“What?” You say, moving to join them. “You’re not coming with us?” 

“While we were fighting out there, a young girl asked me if I was an Egyptian superhero and it made me realise, we didn’t have anything like that. But now we do. I’m going to stay here and work with Taweret to give more young Egyptian girls someone to look up to.” She smiles. “Plus, England is too cold anyway.”

“You got that right.” You laugh as you give her a tight hug. “you are gonna be the most badass superhero ever. But I’m gonna miss you.” 

“You too.” She says and turns to Marc. “Look after her, or you’ll have me to deal with.” 

“Yes ma’am.”

— — — — 

Some Time Later

You headed back to England with Marc and Steven taking turns to take the body. Though you knew Steven best, the more time you spent with Marc the more you enjoyed his company too. 

Ammit’s presence in Harrow’s body meant he became more and more mentally unstable. He spent a lot of time rambling incoherently and occasionally Ammit would takeover, shouting about how she would escape and make everyone pay. Because of this, Harrow was admitted to Sienkiewicz Psychiatric Hospital in London. 

A few days after Harrow was committed, you went to visit him. You don't know why, you just felt like you needed to be sure he was safely locked away. When the nurses first brought you to him, you almost didn’t recognise him. He was sat in a wheelchair, his ankles restrained to it. He looked lost, vulnerable. It made a part of you feel quite sad. 

“Hi Arthur.” You say quietly. He looks up at you blankly. 

“He’s on quite strong medication, so he may not talk very much.” The nurse explains and you nod. “I’ll just be on the other side of the room, shout if you need me.”

“Thanks.” You reply, watching her as she goes to sit with another patient on the far side of the room. You sit down at the table opposite Arthur. “How are you doing? Have you settled in here?” You ask but get no response. You start to feel awkward. You look around the room, trying to think of something to say. You glance down at the table and see paper with some lines painted randomly on it. “Did you paint that?” Harrow looks down at it and nods. “You enjoy painting?” He nods again. “How about we do some together.”

You grab two more pieces of paper, putting one in front go Harrow and the other in front of yourself, and you start to paint. Harrow joins in and the two of you sit quietly together making your own little pictures. 

When your picture is done you show Harrow and he smiles at the simple flower you have painted. He shows you his, just a triangle. 

“It’s good.” You smile. 

“It’s a pyramid. Like the ones they have in Egypt.” He says, slowly sounding more like himself. “Have you ever been?” 

“To Egypt?” You ask and he nods. “Yeah I’ve been, with you. You took me there, remember?”

He stares at you for a long moment, a flicker of something like hurt flashes on his face, and then he goes blank again. You try to make more conversation, but he doesn’t say much after that. 

Not long after the nurse comes back and tells you visiting time is over. You slide your flower painting across the table to Harrow. 

“You can keep this.” You say smiling. “Goodbye Arthur.” 

You get up and start to walk away. 

“Y/N!” He calls, making you stop and turn back. “I’m really sorry I killed you.” 

You didn’t say anything back, you just nod at him as the nurse leads you out. 

As you sign yourself out the nurse speaks to you. 

“That is the most alert and talkative we’ve seen him since he arrived. You must be someone important to him.”

Her words replayed through your head for the rest of the day and that night as you sat down to eat dinner with Steven you told him about it. 

“I’ve been thinking, I might go back and see him again.” 

“Really?” Steven asks. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“You didn’t see him today Steven, he’s different. The dangerous man that we knew is gone. Now he just seems so… lost. I guess a part of me feels responsible for that.” 

“Love…” Steven sighs, putting down his food to fully concentrate on you. “Harrow is where he is now because of the things HE did. The choices HE made. You gave him plenty of chances, even after he murdered you!” He reaches across the table to hold your hands. “Listen, Marc wants me to tell you not to go but I know that will make you want to do it even more.” He says and you laugh, nodding. “If this is something you really want to do, if it makes you feel better, then I think you should do it. Just, please be careful.” 

“I will.”

The following week you head back to the hospital and do some more painting with Arthur. It soon became a regular thing. The more you visited the more chatty he became. He started to tell you about life in hospital, sharing stories about the other patients and in turn you told him about your life. Although he initially looked hurt to find out you and Steven were now dating, ultimately he said he was happy to see you happy. 

If you hadn’t known him before, you wouldn’t guess this was once the leader of a cult intent on releasing a dangerous Egyptian goddess into the world. You’d never guess how much damage he had caused just weeks ago. And you’d certainly never guess that dangerous Egyptian goddess was now trapped inside him. There were hints occasionally that Ammit was trying to take over, to shout abuse at you, but Harrow always made sure she couldn’t hurt you. 

You didn’t talk about what happened in Egypt, you didn’t want to drag it all up again. He wasn’t the same person now anyway. And at least he’d apologised to you. Instead you chose to give him a fresh start, and just enjoy your weekly visits talking and painting with Arthur Harrow. 

—

—

—

—

—

Epilogue

One morning you woke up to a voice in your head. 

Osiris’ voice. 

“The deal is done. I release you from your duty.” 

“What?” 

“Ammit had been defeated.” 

“Yeah, but that was weeks ago.” You say, not understanding why he’s waited till now to talk to you. “We imprisoned her in Arthur Harrow’s body and they’re both locked up.” 

“I release you from your duty.” He repeats and you feel a strange sensation move through your body. Then nothing. 

“Osiris?” You call out, but no reply. “Well that was weird…” 

“You alright love?” Steven asks as he comes into the bedroom and hands you a cup of coffee.

“Osiris just released me.” You say confused as Steven sits on the bed next to you. 

“Well that’s a good thing innit?” He replies with a smile.

“Yeah, definitely. It’s just… why now? Why this exact moment instead of when we bound Ammit or when her and Harrow were first locked away? What’s so special about this morning?” 

“Osiris is a busy guy, maybe he didn’t have time until now. Or maybe you're just thinking into it too much…” 

“I just think it’s a bit odd that’s all.”

“That’s the gods for ya, all a bit odd. I don't think us humans are supposed to understand ‘em.” 

“You’re probably right.” You say before taking a sip of your coffee. “Anyway, where did you disappear to this morning?” 

“What do you mean?” Steven asks blankly. 

“I woke up in the early hours and you were gone.”

“I don't remember going anywhere… Marc?” He shifts and Marc speaks “Don't look at me. I thought we were sleeping all night.”

“Do you need the restraints back on the bed?” 

“Only if you want them back” Marc says flirtatiously, flashing you a mischievous grin. He shifts again and Steven comes back. “Oy, back off you.” He says to Marc before focusing on you. "I probably just went to get water and don't remember. Don't worry about it.” He kisses you on the forehead. “Right, I’ve gotta get to work, laters gators.” 

“Laters.” You laugh, and blow him a kiss. He mimes catching it and putting it in his pocket before leaving. 

You decide to put the Osiris thing out of your head. Steven’s right, there’s no point trying to understand the mind of a god. You finish your coffee before you get out of bed and get ready for the day. 

In the afternoon you head to the hospital as usual, and are surprised to see police cars parked outside the building. As soon as you step inside the nurse you’ve become used to seeing comes over to you.

“Y/N, please come with me.” She says, leading you into a small side room with a police officer inside. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Please take a seat.” The officer says and gestures to the chairs. You sit down in one, the nurse sits next to you. 

“What’s going on?” You ask, getting nervous.

“Miss Y/L/N, earlier this morning someone came into the hospital, murdered three members of staff and left with Arthur Harrow.” 

“What?! Who?” 

“We don't know yet. The CCTV cameras were damaged. All we have is a few eye witnesses who say they saw a smartly dressed man wearing a flat cap wheeling Harrow out of the building.” The officer explains, and you feel your heart start to race. If Harrow is out then Ammit could escape. The nurse notices your breathing has picked up and reached over to hold your hand. “I’m sorry, I understand this must be distressing. Harrow is your friend, correct?”

“Uh… yeah…” you reply, trying to focus on what the officer is saying and not the panic running around your head.

“According to the sign in sheets you’re the only regular visitor he has. Do you have any idea of who could have done this? Or why they would have done this?”

You search your brain for any options. The only people who really know who he is are yourself, Marc, Steven and Layla. You definitely didn’t do it. Marc and Steven wouldn’t have done it, and you can’t imagine Layla would have. You realise the officer is still looking at you for an answer. 

“No, no sorry. I- I don't think he has anyone else.”

“Here, take my card. If you think of anything give me a call.” The officer hands you a small business card and the nurse leads you back out the room. 

“Are you going to be okay? I know you’re quite close to him.” She asks, noticing how shook up you are she places a gentle hand on your arm. “Do you want me to call someone to pick you up?” 

“I’ll be fine, thank you though.” You smile at her as you reach the door out the building. “You have my number, will you please let me know if there’s any news?”

“Of course. Take care Y/N.” 

You head outside, and cross the street to where there’s a small park. You find an empty bench and sit for a moment to process the news and what that could mean. Who could have known Harrow was there? Who could have wanted him out? Maybe there’s another Ammit fanatic out there who wants her released? 

A shudder goes down your spine at the thought of her getting out. 

You take your phone from your pocket and phone Steven. It rings out. You roll your eyes and try Marc’s number instead, incase he’s got the body right now. They have separate phones and refuse to answer each other’s if it rings. His goes straight to voicemail. That’s unusual. You check the time, 4pm. Steven will probably be getting ready to leave work. 

Needing to talk to someone you FaceTime Layla, she picks up almost straight away. 

“Y/N! Hey!” She says happily, her smile drops when she see’s your face. “What’s wrong?” 

“Hey, uh… sorry to call I just, I need to talk to someone and Steven and Marc aren’t answering and no one else will understand-”

“Y/N, you don't need to apologise. What’s happened?”

“Harrow’s gone.” You blurt out and she stares through the phone at you. “Someone took him from the hospital this morning, they don't know who did it and they have no idea where he is. I’m scared, Layla.”

“Hey, alright, it’s going to be alright.” She says, though her voice has a hint of panic. “And you can’t get through to Marc?” 

“His phone is off. I think Steven will be leaving work soon.”

“Okay, you head over to find him. I’ll keep trying his phone.” She says and you nod. “Y/N?” 

“Yeah.” 

“It’s gonna be okay.” She says and you get the feeling she’s trying reassure herself as much as she is you. You nod and she hangs up the phone before you start walking toward the road, looking for a taxi. 

In the distance you see a white limo heading towards you. Usually you’d think nothing of it. You see a lot of different vehicles in London. But something about this one got your attention. The personalised number plate. 

‘SPKTR’

You can’t help but stare at it as it gets closer to you. Something in your gut telling you to run. 

The car slows down as it gets closer to you and you can just about make out though the windows that the driver is wearing a flat cap. The limo pulls over and stops next to you. The driver gets out and you stare at him confused. 

“Marc…?” It’s definitely Marc’s body, but the expression isn’t Marc or Steven. It’s the same one you recognise from Egypt. The one who so easily fought and killed all Harrow’s disciples. Another alter?

“Hola, mi amor.” 

He winks at you as he walks around the front of the car, past you and opens the door at the back of the limo for you. He gestures for you to get in. You hesitantly walk to where the door is and peer in. You have to slam your hand over your mouth to stop a scream from escaping. 

There on the back seat is Harrow, a bullet hole in his forehead. 

You back away but the driver pushes you inside and slams the door closed. You scramble to get out, to get away from the corpse, but the door is locked. You bang against the door, screaming for someone to let you out and then you hear a voice from inside the limo. 

“Hello little bug.” 

A/N: Thank you so so so much for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed this series as much as I loved writing it. please feel free to comment or send me an ask, I would love to hear your thoughts :)

Taglist :  @sleepylunarwolf / @ahookedheroespureheart / @sleepyamaya / @spicydonut25 / @kult6 / @uncle-eggy / @malaanii/ @toracainz / @pinkiestwinkie / @galacticstxrdust / @mateihavenoidea / @xmariakx / @oscarissac2099 / @whycantwebefriendz / @parkeepingparker / @scoliobean

[fitzarts]

My take on young Arthur

[jokeringcutio]

Arthur Harrow x ftm Reader - Part 1 (At the Cult)

ONE: Summary: You’re part of Arthur Harrow’s community, but hold a special place. Arthur Harrow (Cult Leader) x FTM Reader. Rating: Explicit (Contains smut). Words: 6026 Thanks to the wonderful supporter who commissioned this fic ♡

For: @apriltearsbringmayfears Tags: Older man x younger (ftm) reader, consensual intimacy, praise kink, touching, kissing, explicit sexual content, bit of powerplay, overall sweet, you x the villainous cult leader, Arthur takes care of his favorite.

The compound buzzed with activity. Over the months, disciples from all corners of the world flocked to Arthur Harrow's side, drawn by his charisma and the promise of Ammit's judgment. The compound grew. Each day brought them closer to summoning their dark mistress, and the tension in the air was palpable.

You stood at the edge of the gathering, the evening air thick with incense and murmured prayers. Arthur Harrow's voice rose above the crowd, measured and calm, guiding his followers through the ritual. You watched him intently, captivated by the way he moved and the cadence of his words.

"Come closer," Arthur called out, his blue eyes locking onto yours. The group parted as you made your way to the front. The soft light of dusk cast shadows across his face, accentuating the lines of wisdom and age. He reached out, gently taking your hand, pulling you closer to his side. His touch sent a shiver down your spine.

"Your insight is invaluable to us," he said softly, loud enough for others to hear. "What do you think?" He turned to you, inviting your input on the matter being discussed – a new prayer to Ammit, a change in the daily routine, the specifics blurred in the haze of your focus on him.

The fact that he asked for your opinion had not escaped his follower’s notice. It was a rare and coveted position. Arthur rarely sought the opinions of others. You, however, were granted a glimpse behind the scenes, privy to the inner workings of the cult. Arthur Harrow sought your counsel on matters both earthly and otherworldly, and you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him. His very presence set your heart aflutter, and you felt honored to be in his orbit.

You remembered the first time he sought your advice - and more.

One sweltering afternoon, as the sun beat down on the compound relentlessly, Arthur had summoned you to his private chambers. You'd been a part of his community for several months. Months that were spent locking eyes and exchanging careful smiles. Months that had rewarded you with thoughtful frowns and pursed lips. Until that very faithful day when Arthur had decided it was time to take action.

"I have need of your counsel, my disciple," he said, his voice laced with a hint of urgency. "Come, walk with me."

You followed him willingly, your heart pounding in your chest. Arthur's chambers were cool and dim, a welcome respite from the punishing heat outside. He closed the door firmly behind you, the click of the latch ominous in the ensuing silence.

"We are close," he breathed, his eyes alight with religious fervor. "So very close to unleashing our goddess's judgment upon this wounded world. But... I find I do not wish to face the end of days alone."

He slid his strong, weathered hand up your arm, sending shivers down your spine. You shivered, both from the coolness of the room and the intensity of his gaze.

"I have need of you, my sweet disciple," he purred, his voice a low growl that set your blood on fire. "I value your counsel,” he hesitated, low voice a murmur that sent electric tingling down your core. You felt hot, thighs squeezing, throat suddenly dry – making it hard to swallow – as you waited for the words that came next.

“I cannot continue without your... companionship."

His fingers brushed your cheek, gently caressing your cheekbone before slipping lower, lower still. You gasped as his fingertips found the hem of your tunic, sliding it upward. The air cooled your damp skin, but not nearly as much as the cold metal of his cane as he traced it up your thigh.

"Arthur," you breathed, "I..."

"Hush, my boy," he soothed, his lips mere centimeters from your ear. "You are mine to do with as I please. Ammit has willed it so."

With that, he kissed you, his lips demanding and hot, bruising in their ardor. His other hand fisted in your hair, angling your head just so. He was insatiable, ravenous in his need for you, and you knew in that moment, you belonged to him.

His cane clattered to the ground, followed by the rustle of fabric as his clothes fell away. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the desk behind him, laying you down as if you were made of the most delicate porcelain.

"Forevermore, we are entwined," he growled, his eyes glowing with otherworldly fire. "Body, soul, and... eternity."

You snapped out of the memory, your eyes upon your leader once more. Arthur’s gaze was focused, sharp, but his pupils were dark. A look that you recognized. It was almost as if he had read your mind.

His hand lingered a little too long, hovering just above your own as if hesitant to touch you. Then he retreated a step, the distance allowing you to think once more. He was a magnet, distracting and always pulling you close. But you loved him for it and wouldn’t want it any other way.

You offered your thoughts, careful, measured words spilling from your lips. Arthur nodded approvingly, his gaze never wavering from yours. The others watched, some with envy, others with admiration. They saw how he favored you, how he sought your counsel, keeping you close.

Let them watch, you thought with glee. Let them be jealous. You had what none of them could have for their own.

As if to prove your point, Arthur stepped nearer again, uncaring about the looks his followers gave you.

"Thank you," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in. "You always know just what to say." His praise filled you with a warmth that spread from your chest to your fingertips, a sensation both intoxicating and grounding.

This time his hands did touch. His warm palms slid past your shoulders, lingering a little too long, searing through the fabric of your clothes. Your breath hitched in your throat. His eyes darkened. There was want visible in both of your gazes. Want, and need, and lust dripped in sin.

But you had to be patient and wait.  

"Take an example of this fine young man," Arthur then said loudly as he turned back to the others - you'd almost forgotten they were there. No longer were his eyes fixed on you. But you heard the gravel in his voice, the need and longing that he was pushing down. If others heard it, it could easily be interpreted as devotion for Ammit instead. "Now, let's not disappoint our goddes any further. We have matters to attend to," he wrapped it all up so beautifully. And you watched him as he stood with his arms stretched, the red fabric of his simple cotton blouse stretched over the broad muscles of his back.

No wonder these men and women were all entranced. If any man could honor a god, it was him. ~

As the evening wore on and the group dispersed, Arthur lingered near you, his presence a constant comfort. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, gently but determinedly.

"I have more to discuss with you," he said, his voice a low murmur meant only for you. His strong grip was comforting, guiding you in the direction of his office.

The hallway was quiet but not deserted, yet the sound of crushed glass beneath his feet inside the sandals and the tapping of his cane were the only noises breaking the silence. Each step resonated with purpose, echoing the devotion you felt for him. You glanced up at him and admired his features in the dimly lit light of the hall. How beautiful he looked, how strong and regal. It was the determination, you thought. And the confidence he oozed. The combination of these traits was like a potent cocktail, leaving you dizzy with admiration.

Arthur's fingers brushed against your arm as he guided you through the dimly lit corridor. The scent of incense lingered in the air, a mix of sandalwood and something sweet, almost intoxicating. You felt the eyes of the other followers on you, their gazes a blend of curiosity, jealousy, and reverence.

When you reached his office, he opened the door, ushering you inside with a gentle but insistent hand on your back. A gesture that was both inviting and commanding. You stepped inside, the room filled with the soft glow of candlelight. The walls were lined with ancient texts and symbols, each a testament to Arthur's devotion to Ammit.

"Sit down, love," he said, motioning to the chair opposite his desk. You obeyed, your legs trembling slightly as you lowered yourself into the seat. Arthur walked around the desk, leaning heavily on his cane, the sound of crushed glass inside his sandals a reminder of his constant penance.

"I have had to restrain myself all evening," he began, his blue eyes locking onto yours. But before you could respond, he moved closer, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His touch was warm, almost burning.

"It’s high time you give me what I need."

His lips crashed against yours, rough yet tender, a kiss that stole your breath away. You melted into him, every fiber of your being consumed by the fire of his touch. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with desire.

"I need you," he murmured, the admission a low growl. "I need you now."

The world outside ceased to exist. You knew your pupils were blown, that the desire he felt for you was reflected just as strongly in you.

"Undress," Arthur commanded, his voice a rough whisper against your ear.

Your heart pounded as you nodded, fingers trembling slightly as they reached for the buttons of your shirt. Each button came undone with an audible click, the sound magnified in the quiet room. Arthur's eyes never left yours, his gaze intense and unyielding.

The shirt slid from your shoulders and dropped to the floor carelessly.

"Good boy," he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips. His praise sent a shiver down your spine, your skin prickling with anticipation.

The cool air caressed your bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Arthur's body. His hand reached out, fingertips grazing your collarbone, tracing a path down to your chest. You inhaled sharply at his touch, desire pooling low in your abdomen.

His fingers paused, graced over the faded scars, traced them, and then slid lower. He paused again, eyes darting up to meet yours.

"Now, help me," he said, taking a step back. He leaned heavily on his cane, the crunch of glass underfoot echoing in the room.

You rose from your chair and moved closer, hands steadying as you undid the buttons of his blouse. The fabric was coarse beneath your fingers, worn and familiar. You pushed it open, reveling at the sight of his chest. He was smoother than most, but still strong and muscular for a man his age. It only showed how fit he was, how strong. How well he took care of himself despite the calm demeanor he normally exuded in front of his followers.

With careful hands, you pushed his blouse down, allowing it to slip from his arms. You tugged at the garment when it got caught on his bracelets, freeing it so the blouse could slip further down his arms.

And then the fabric fell away, revealing the tattoo of scales on his right arm, a symbol of his divine purpose. Your breath hitched as you traced the ink with your thumb, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath.

The intricate design captivated you. The scales, perfectly balanced, seemed almost alive even in their stillness. You remembered the first time you saw them move, the way they shifted and tipped whenever Arthur Harrow held someone to judge them. It had been a moment of both awe and fear, the power of judgment tangible in those fluid lines.

Now, as you studied the tattoo, admiration filled your thoughts. Each line, each curve of the scales, spoke of a purpose far beyond mere human understanding. Arthur's role as a judge, divinely ordained, was etched into his very flesh. The memory of the scales balancing and tipping, the fate of a soul hanging in the balance, made your pulse quicken.

Such power he held. And he knew it. Your eyes sought his.

Arthur was quiet, allowing you this moment to explore the tattoo – it wasn’t the first time. You’d yet to see anyone else be allowed to touch his skin in such an intimate way. To explore his forearm and the scales that were drawn there.

His eyes watched you with an intensity that spoke of the weight he carried. You wondered what it was like for him, to bear such a mark, to be the vessel through which judgment passed.

As your fingers continued to trace the intricate scales, you could feel his pulse quicken beneath your touch, matching the rhythm of your own racing heart. The intensity of the moment was almost overwhelming.

Then his fingers curled around your wrists and the scales began to shift. You were startled, even though this always seemed to happen at his touch. You knew he couldn’t help it. The scales did their work when his hands met flesh. It was Ammit’s will. It was why he wore long sleeves to cover up the moving mark.

You knew which way they would tip.

With your breath high in your chest, you watched as Arthur’s fingers curled gently around your wrist, tugging you closer to him. The scales shifted, their movement subtle at first, then more pronounced. They tipped to one side, then the other. The delicate balance, usually so steady, now mirrored the tumultuous emotions swirling within both of you. The scales' movement seemed to draw Arthur closer, his breath hitching as he leaned into your touch. The divine mark on his arm reflected the inner conflict and desire that neither of you could ignore.

The sight of the scales in motion, combined with the raw need in Arthur's eyes, created an intensity that left you breathless.

His lips were upon yours once more, just as hungry as before. But this time it was you who fisted his hair and pulled him close – hungry for more. Famished.

The moment the kiss ended, Arthur's gaze locked onto yours his eyes reflecting a mixture of longing and need that sent a shiver down your spine. His usual stoic demeanor faltered, revealing the depth of his desire. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, each breath you took seeming to draw him closer.

"More," you breathed, lifting your gaze to meet his. "Arthur…”

His eyes darkened, a primal satisfaction flickering in their depths. "I don’t take commands from anyone," he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice, “except Ammit herself.”

A guttural growl escaped his lips as he pulled you closer against his chest, arms circling around you. He rested his chin on your shoulder. “Do you think you’re in the position to command me?”

“N-No,” the answer came instantly, a rasped whisper. Why had your voice turned hoarse? It must be the arousal thrumming through your body, begging him to touch you more. Wanting, needing it. “I’d never dream of it,” you rasped.

Arthur merely tilted his head but it was enough, a silent indication that he anticipated more from you. You heard him draw a deep breath, his nose buried next to your ear, taking in the scent of you.

"I am yours, but also your disciple,” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I like it when you take control. When you show me your power."

He stirred, a sign of approval of your words. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "Then you'll enjoy what's next."

You bit your lip, anticipation coiling tightly within you as he led your hands down to his waist, indicating what he wanted you to do. You obliged, fingers working deftly to undo the button of his pants. He watched you, his gaze heavy with approval.

"You're doing well, love," he praised, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. His cock sprung free from its confines.

With his pants undone, you eased them down his legs, careful not to disturb the glass shards embedded in his sandals. His briefs followed.

It took a lot not to let your gaze linger too long on his erect cock, already bobbing up against his waist. Pre-cum already moistening the tip.

Arthur stepped out of his clothes gracefully, despite his limp, and kicked them aside.

"Now, come here," he ordered, reaching for you.

You obeyed without hesitation, stepping into his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close against his solid frame. His lips found yours again, the kiss searing and demanding. You melted into him, surrendering completely to his dominance.

"Good boy," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot and intoxicating. "Such a devoted young man.”

Arthur's hands roamed over your back, his touch firm and possessive. His lips trailed down your neck, each kiss igniting a trail of fire beneath your skin. You shivered, your breath hitching as he nipped at your collarbone.

"Mine," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “Yours.” You would never deny how he had captured you.

He pushed you gently but firmly onto the small couch in the corner of his office. The leather was cool against your heated skin, a stark contrast that made you gasp. Arthur stood over you, his eyes dark with desire.

"Good boy," he murmured, running a hand through your hair. "You're so obedient."

You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. His praise washed over you, filling you with a sense of pride and belonging. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His weight pressed you into the couch, his dominance unmistakable.

"Arthur," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"Shh," he hushed you, his lips brushing against your ear. "Let me take care of you."

His hands moved with practiced ease, guiding you into position as he sank to his knees between your spread legs. You felt his strength in every touch, every movement. He was in control, and you reveled in it. His fingers traced patterns on your skin, tracing the fading scars of what once was and what now felt much better, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his head between your thighs. His voice filled with reverence as his eyes feasted on your torso. "So perfect for me."

You felt his hands slide lower, felt his fingers hook behind the waistband of your cotton pants, tugging, and lifting your hips. The garment came off easily, revealing that small bulge in its full glory.

Arthur’s hitched breath gave away his pleasure, how his pale eyes darkened as they came to rest upon your crotch. The small cock nestled between your legs, not as large as his, but ever so sensitive. Already fully erect, - your body did not hide the full amount of your excitement - and your devoted leader leaned over you without hesitation, grasping your cock with a reverence that should have been deserved for holy ceremonies.

“Mine,” he said again, his words rasped and filled with raw desire. His fingers curled around it, tugging harsher than gentle – but in a good way.

You moaned softly, your body responding to his words and touches. His fingers danced past your cock, up and down, fingertips searingly hot against your hardness.

He dipped his head forward, murmuring sweet words against the skin of your thigh.

“Such a good boy,” you could vaguely distinguish, but his voice was so terribly low and muffled by your skin as he placed open-mouthed kisses all the way up to your pubic bone. Your core ached and tingled, begging him to place those open-mouthed kisses there. But he was teasing you.

“You will take me so well,” another open-mouthed kiss while his fingers danced down your shaft until only his thumb pressed down against it, creating circling motions that sent sparks of pleasure wrecking through your core.

“Look how hard you are for me already…” The kiss against your thigh turned into a lick, surprising you and erupting a low mewl from your lips. Another flick of his thumb against your cock - it was nearly too much already.

“Look how hard your cock is,” as if to prove his point, he moved his head closer to your core. His lips pressed wetly against your cock, flicking his tongue flat against your throbbing cock before taking in the tip and sucking hard. Your toes curled and your fingers reached for his shoulders, digging into his skin. While his mouth occupied your throbbing cock, his fingers dug lower, not giving you any rest. They explored, twitched, and scissored your wet core.

“Look how wet your delicious cunt,” another lick past your cock. Another digit curling deep inside you. Wetness was already gushing out, coating his fingers, your walls twitched tightly around the invading digits.

You let out a curse, head falling backward, while you tried to pull the man close. “More,” you moaned. Not a demand but a plea. You knew not to command him when he was like this.

You felt Arthur’s fingers move more earnestly inside your cunt, wet sopping sounds coming from your core. Using his elbows, you felt how he spread your legs further. His fingers kept pumping, twisting and curling deep inside, while his tongue still worked on your cock. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked, nipped, and licked until you were seeing stars.

Your body twitched, your cunt clamping down on nothing - the bastard had retracted his fingers before you had fully come. You growled at him, hands holding him in place, but he looked up at you. Not with a smirk – as you had expected – but with a questioning gaze.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hands, moving with just enough strength to push himself up. Your knees fell as closed as they could, clamping against his chest. Unfortunately, you had to let go of him and your hands dropped to your sides. You gazed up at him through the haze of your orgasm, wondering if this was all he needed from you tonight. You hoped not.

“I’m not done with you yet, pretty boy,” Arthur murmured, placing a hand on your knee and spreading your legs anew. You saw how his dark eyes drifted to your core, studying the mess he had created with his fingers by bringing you to climax.

Finally, his lips curved into a smirk.

“Well, would you look at that?” How could he sound so calm and collected when his own cock was throbbing against his own belly? He was hard, his cock pouring liquid from the tip – eager to be milked dry.

He seemed to study your wet cunt and traced the juices that had come out with his index finger before bringing the digit up to his lips and tracing it past them, leaving behind a glossy shine. His tongue darted out, deliberately slow.

“Hmm,” he hummed, as if he had just tasted an aphrodisiac that was too delicious to ignore.

Then his hands were back upon your thighs, spreading them wide.

Yes, your mind provided you. Yes, and again. You wanted him inside, needed him desperately to claim you over and over, to show you pleasure yet again.

“Seems like you ruined my couch,” his eyes darted up to meet yours, “again.”

“You’d have it no other way,” you said defiantly, uncaring about the wet spot created by your mixed juices - it wasn't the first time, after all. You allowed him to pry your legs a little wider so he could move in between them and studied the way his hair fell down his face, how stray strands fell in front of his eyes and clung to his still wet lips - shining with the gloss of your juices.

He positioned himself above you, his gaze locking onto yours. The intensity in his eyes took your breath away.

"Tell me," he commanded, his voice soft but insistent. His arms trembled from carrying his own weight, mindful not to crush you. His cold bracelets pressed against your skin, a reminder of who it was who was going to fuck you - hard. "Tell me you need me."

"I need you," you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper, hoarse and oh-so full of desire. "I need you now, Arthur."

It was all he had to hear. The tip of his cock sought its way between your folds, fingertips guiding him in. His hips dipped as he slowly pushed forth, parting your silken walls, stretching you wide.

"Good boy," he praised, his lips curling into a smile. “Here’s your reward.”

He entered you slowly but easily – you were still wet and slightly trembling from your previous orgasm. His movements were deliberate and controlled. You gasped at the sensation, your hands gripping the couch tightly. Pleasure started to build almost instantly, and you found yourself lost in the rhythm he set.

"Such a good boy," he repeated, his voice a soothing balm. "Taking me so well."

And you did. You gazed between your legs, watching as his hard veined cock – covered in your combined juices – slowly moved in and out of you, pumping a steady rhythm. The scales on his right forearm tipped wildly from side to side, never resting and never deciding.

You threw your head back again, feeling his pulsing cock stretch your walls, the veins on his shaft throbbing. He was adding pressure until he bottomed out inside you and you felt every ridge and vein and clawed at his back while you gasped for air.

"Arthur," you moaned, your body arching beneath him. He filled you up just the right way. As if he were made for this - as if you were made for him.

His hands curled around your legs, holding them, positioning them for him to be able to move smoothly, hitting that spot deep inside that made the sopping sounds worse and the sparks of pleasure inside your core alight with electricity. Your own cock was pressed against Arthur’s skin, stimulated by the hairs that nestled above his cock as he moved in and out of you.

You bit your lip, toes curling and fingers tugging at his shoulders, urging him close.

"Yes, love," he cooed, his thrusts steady and powerful. "Just like that."

The room filled with the sounds of your shared ecstasy, a symphony of devotion and desire. Wet, lewd, sinful. Each stroke, each caress, brought you closer to the edge. You felt his strokes deep inside, the ease with which his hard cock slid in and out of your fluttering hole. Your walls were clamping down, begging more. His strong hands were on your hips, his usually bright eyes now clouded with lust as he stared at the spot where both of you connected with sopping wet sounds.

So good, your mind provided as you curled your back in delight. So darn good.

You grasped his shoulders tighter, surprised when his own hands left your hips to pull your arms away and pin them to your sides. A guttural growl escaped his lips, primal and raw, as he put pressure on your wrists.

In this position he was in full command, controlling every movement with his hips and his grip. He kept you pinned down, forcing his hips tighter against yours, thrusting harsher, more powerful.

You watched the little beads of sweat drip down his forehead, sliding past his nose. The way his hair clung to his face, or how his lips were parted in raspy moans and gasps. His gaze intense as he watched your expression.

He was in charge, exerting his power over you in ways that your body effortlessly embraced, swallowing him up - both the squelching noises of his cock thrusting in and out of you, as well as the way you hungrily accepted the kiss from his lips when he leaned forward and begged for entrance. You obliged, parting your lips so his tongue could slip between them, and kissed him back just as eagerly, battling his tongue with your own until you sucked him in hard enough to hear him moan.

His dominance was a comforting weight, grounding you in the moment while he held your wrists pinned down. His thrusts grew harder, more punishing, as his lips broke away from yours.

He sat up, hips still forcefully meeting your own, and grunted. His hands wandered up your chest, but you kept your wrists where he had held them pinned. Allowing him to dominate you, to fully conquer what you were so willing to give him.

"You're mine," he growled, his pace quickening, hands pushing you down to the couch possessively.

"Yours," you echoed, your voice breathless. You were close. So, so terribly close to coming. Again.

"Good boy," he praised, his fingers finding your lips and pressing against them till you tasted the heady mixture of your juices on your tongue. "Always mine."

"Always," you agreed, a muffled word against his fingers that smelled of arousal and sex. Your body trembled with pleasure as his fingertips left your lips and slid down your body till he grasped your hips fully again.

"Mine," he murmured, his tone softening. "Let's finish this."

"Arthur," you cried out, the intensity of your emotions overwhelming as he hit that delicious spot deep inside. It sent you over the edge, little white sparks clouding your vision. Your back arched, chest pressed up against him as your orgasm surged through you, body trembling, walls clasping him tightly, milking him for all you were worth.

"Shh," he soothed, his movements never faltering. "I've got you."

But you had already tumbled over the edge, muscles tensing with bliss. Your orgasm washed over you while Arthur rocked his hips against yours, chasing his own release.

You clung to him, your body surrendering completely to his will.

"Perfect," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "You're perfect."

Another peak was building. How could it? So soon after you just came a second time? But you were babbling nonsense now, just pleading and begging for Arthur to give it to you. You lost yourself in the sensations, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. His dominance, his strength, his love – they were all-encompassing. You were his, and he was yours, bound together in a dance of power and devotion.

His hips stuttered and you felt his release. Hot cum flooded your insides, warm and wet and so, so good.

"Mine," he whispered, his voice a promise. "Always mine to pleasure and to hold."

His thumb found your cock, thumbing it, giving it just the right pressure and friction to have you crawl in pleasure underneath him until you were spasming around him once more. A third orgasm wrecked through you. A cry escaped your lips, joined by a low groan from his lips.

"Good boy," he praised one last time, his voice a gentle caress. "My good boy."

Your body twitched underneath him, spent and exhausted. Yet, you found the energy to smile up at him. A lust-filled, enamored smile that left him feeling weak and breathless.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “So incredibly perfect for me.”

His hand caressed your cheek, coarse fingertips brushing past your skin reverently. You didn't even mind that his fingers were still covered with your combines juices. It felt claiming, in some way.

You felt the sporadic pulsing of his cock deep inside. It was twitching less and less, slowly growing limp inside of you as he came down from his high. His leg pressed down over yours, knees touching.

"I prefer you like this,” he murmured, his voice soft and tender. “Just as you are."

A blush might have crept up your cheeks – you weren’t sure. But his words had hit something deep inside of you. All the insecurities, all the struggles, you could forget everything when you were in his arms.

You felt his cock go soft, slipping out of your core with a wet sound that made both of you chuckle. Arthur raised a brow at you, and you half expected for him to pull away and get dressed again. But he didn’t. Instead, he maneuvered his body next to yours, scooping you in his arms like a big spoon. His legs pressed between yours as you lay entwined, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. Arthur's breath was warm against your shoulder, his arms wrapped securely around you.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your skin, his lips lingering as if savoring the moment.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice soft and tender. "You are just right. Right for me, and right for Ammit. But mostly, right for yourself."

He must have heard the deep breath you were drawing or have felt the way your hands tensed where you had gripped his wrists, for you felt him move against you. “You’re just the kind of right for me. And,” here he paused and you could hear how he lowered his voice, a playful tint to it. “That says a lot as I am a man with many needs.”

You blushed, the heat rising to your cheeks at his words. "I'm happy," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Happy to be who I am now. And where I am."

"Good," he replied, his tone filled with genuine affection. "That's all I've ever wanted for you."

You basked in the afterglow, contentment washing over you like a warm embrace. In Arthur's arms, you felt whole, complete.

The two of you rested in silence, Arthur’s lips hovered over your shoulder, placing deliberate and soft kisses on your skin. Each kiss – though as light as a feather – carried something possessive, the urge to claim you. Like he was branding you as his.

"Celibate, huh?" you teased between kisses, your fingers threading through his graying hair. "Some of your followers would get a heart attack if they knew what happened behind these doors."

He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "They'll never know," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble. "To them, I am nothing but their chaste leader." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he pulled back slightly, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

"Chaste, my ass," you shot back playfully, a grin spreading across your face. You trailed your fingers down his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch.

"They'll never know how truly powerful you are." The words were a whisper from your lips.

Arthur's expression softened, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. His breath was hot against your ear as he whispered, "It doesn't matter if the others never see the full me. The only ones who need to know the true me are Ammit,” here he paused, breath stuttering. “And you."

His lips brushed the shell of your ear, sending a thrill through you. "You are important to me."

A rush of emotion welled up inside you, overwhelming and all-consuming. In that moment, you felt more connected to Arthur than ever before. His words, his touch, his presence. Everything about him made you feel cherished and significant.

"Arthur," you breathed, your voice thick with emotion. You knew you'd go to the end of the world with him and back, if that was what he wanted. What he needed. You'd do it all for him. "I..."

"Shh," he hushed you gently, pressing a finger to your lips. "Stay close to me today," he said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of concern. "I need your presence."

"Always," you promised, your heart swelling with emotion.

For a moment longer, you remained in his embrace.

~ * ~

[stupidbeemeen]

Happy Birthday, Ethan Hawke

[francis-writes]

Hello can you do a smut with some steamy anal the reader is female it either be The Grabber or Arthur Harrow. And take your time. No worries. I understand how it is when I have trouble writing.

Arthur Harrow

You moaned and grabbed the sheets, as Arthur continued playing with your clitoris. Your body was shaking under work of his skilled tongue. You reached to him and ruffled his hair. He looked up at you, smiling.

"Do you enjoy it, my goddess?"

"Of course. I thought... would you like to do anal today?"

He leaned over and started kissing up your body, across the belly and between your breast. His hair tickled your skin.

"If you want this" he replied "I am honored. Who will be receiving?"

"You will be on top today"

You got up and started looking through things in your closet. When you found everything, you came back to the bed with lube and set of butt plugs. You laid on your back and rested your legs on Arthur's shoulders. He took some lube and started massaging your butthole. He ran his finger up and down, and gently pressed it for a few moments before he pushed it inside. His moves were still slow, you tilted your head back enjoying his delicate caress. Arthur was a careful, devoted lover and each part of the sexual act was equally important to him. He always made sure you were ready and aroused - you could say that he sometimes waited too long with action but it only made the pleasure stronger after he made you twist your body and beg him to posses you and to give you awaited relief.

He removed his finger and reached for the smallest butt plug but you stopped him.

"No, no, I won't even feel it. Use larger one"

"Aren't you too much in a hurry?" He smiled and raised an eyebrow but obediently took biggest toy. He put extra portion of lube on your butthole and pressed butt plug to your entrance.

"I will push now" he warned "Tell me if you want to stop"

You nodded. As butt plug went deeper in your body, you breathed out. Finally the widest part get inside and you sighed at this sensation, even though you knew it was just getting started. Arthur pulled it out a bit and pushed back. You grabbed sheets again and tried to hold back sounds as he was repeating his action.

"Enough" you finally said "I want you inside"

"As you wish" he pulled out the plug and put it aside. You turned over and rested on your elbows and knees, with your ass high in the air. Arthur leaned over  and kissed the place where your spine was ending. Then he stroked your asscheeks.

"You're beautiful like that, you know? That's the prettiest ass I have ever seen"

You chuckled.

"Thank you. I can't lie, yours is breathtaking as well"

He pressed tip of his member to your tight butthole. You felt relaxed, as always in his presence, fully aware that Arthur puts safety and pleasure of his lover on a first place.

He started pushing. You gripped your teeth. It wasn't painful but feeling of your asshole getting wider was... weird. Still, there was some satisfaction when the whole dick fit in, filling you. Arthur started fucking you. He didn't say anything, focusing completely on the action but you could hear quiet gasps and moans coming from him. You kept your mouth open, breathing deeply as he was thrusting into you. The pleasure was so intense, you felt as if your body couldn't take it all.

You reached to your clit and started playing with yourself. Attacked from both sides, you started moaning loudly and these sounds only gave Arthur more energy to keep going. His moves got faster and your moans got louder. You arched your back, overhelmed with pleasure. You felt as if you lost control over your body.

Finally, your muscles twitched and you came. Arthur pulled out and you fell on the bed, powerless. You turned on your back; he laid beside you, kissed you and put his arm around you.

"Are you pleased?" He asked quietly. You smiled to him and nodded.

The Grabber

You were laying on the dirty mattress with legs spread wide. Your kidnapper pressed you to the ground with his weight, you were whimpering quietly as he bit your body. There were no reason for you to hold back moans and other noises though - basement was soundproof and nobody upstairs would hear you even if you screamed for your life.

But you didn't mind. Of course, you would rather be free and able to go wherever you want but since you slid your hand into the Grabber's pants for the first time, his visits became the best part of your monotonous prison life.

He interrupted marking your chest and he knelt.

"Get on your hands and knees"

You followed his order - you had time to learn how disobeying him ended - and turned your head to look at him.

"Doggy?"

"No, this time I will try your pretty ass" he patted your butt and you felt uneasy. There had to be way to discourage him. He's gonna destroy you!

"But... we don't have lube. It won't fit in!" Even if he bought lube, Al was too brutal and uninterested in other's sensations to try anal with him. And you were sure he wouldn't buy a lube in case it would catch someone's attention.

"I brought some butter. It will be enough"

"What? It doesn't work in real life-" you thought he should watch less movies and you tried to get up but the Grabber pushed you. When you landed flat on your belly, he pressed you to the floor with one hand and with the other he reached to a small pack he brought with himself.

"Trust me little dove, I don't wanna hurt you. As long as you behave" he started massaging your butthole and soon he pushed a finger inside. You gasped.

"We need to get you ready, I am not a monster" he cooed you as he inserted a second finger and started fucking you with them. You lowered your head, breathing heavily. The sensation wasn't inpleasant... it was just overhelming since you didn't play with your butt before.

Finally Al pulled out his fingers, and when you turned back your head, you saw him putting grease on his dick. He moved closer and placed himself near your entrance. You almost stopped breathing when he started pushing his cock inside. It was painful at first and you groaned. The Grabber stopped and stroked your ass.

"I will do it slower, try to relax"

He pulled out a bit and pushed again, very slowly this time. You focused on your breath and tried to loosen your muscles. When he was finally completely inside you, he started thrusting in fast pace and you couldn't hold back moan. This wasn't like usual penetration, you felt as if the sensation possesed your whole body. It wasn't painful now but you felt much more vulnerable in this state and somehow it made you more turned on. You felt wetness between your  legs as he rested his hand on your head, pushing you into mattress.

"You like it, don't you? So why did you protest?"

"I- was stuupid" you half said, half moaned, trying to catch some air as the Grabber was possesing your body. Some part of you felt that you can't take these sensations anymore, the rest of you didn't want him to stop.

"Dirty bitch, you will do anything I want" his hips were hitting your ass consistently, as he was sliding into you fully, filling you with his thick cock "Not because you have to... but because you enjoy being my little toy"

You couldn't even form a word, so you only moaned in response. Was he wrong? You were his prisoner and your only duty was to pleasure him. And somehow... you felt more happy in this role than before, when you were free.

[mandowifey]

Headcanon request for either Albert Shaw or Arthur Harrow as a dad. But honestly, I would accept such a Headcanon for any villianeous character you write about. So surprise me.

This has been sitting in my head for awhile, so I'm excited to get to work on it.

I'm gonna do both these handsome fellas!

° ° °

Fatherhood

Albert Shaw & Arthur Harrow x Reader HCs

Warnings: Hints of Dubcon, definitely Noncon, implications of above mentions, crazy boys around kids, reader is not referred to by specific gender terms but is able to get pregnant.

♡ ♡ ♡

Arthur Harrow, first and foremost, wanted a child.

A child to him is a means of keeping you beside him. The bond would tie you two together forever. He likes the sense of control it brings him, especially over you. When you first met him, you were on the pill and mentioned never wanting kids of your own. But Arthur, as he does, convinces you otherwise. Perhaps even it was an 'accident'. He is certainly the kind of man who would swap your birth control with sugar pills. But he'd smile anyways and assure you it was fate.

While pregnant, you would be doted over. Every need met, whether it be from him or his followers. You would be given luxury and love and treasured like a little goddess. This is Arthur's child, after all, and that baby would be considered a herald. He would enjoy sitting with you, head on your stomach as you two talked. He would additionally make sure you ate well and took all the things you need for a healthy child. Arthur enjoys touching your belly while he reads or falls asleep. You have never looked more stunning.

When the child arrives, Arthur is in love immediately. While most wish for a boy, he always wanted a girl. Regardless, he was happy with whichever. He would sit beside you and help you cradle the crying newborn, imagining all the great things your baby would grow to accomplish. You, as the carrier, get to name the baby. Arthur would suggest names of course but leave the choice to you.

Fatherhood suits him. The man is extremely patient and controlled. He is great with teaching your child and helping them along. You've never heard him laugh so much before. There is considerable joy in his life now, and it shows. That baby would be raised with love and expectations. However, he is stern and unrelenting. The child never gets away with anything, and punishment is taken very seriously. It will learn that for actions, there are consequences.

I think Arthur would be a natural with parenting and fatherhood. He'd enjoy the molding of such a young life. He would eventually ask you for another, and maybe one more, once the first is a little older.

○ ○ ○

Albert Shaw has never wanted children. As a child, he was violently abused and mistreated. He can not mentally grasp the responsibility of a child (even if he can raise and train a dog, it's different).

That being said, in this instance, you are a victim/obsession that he's grown fond of and wants to keep. Pregnancy at its core appeals to him. The idea of his seed stuck inside of you, the fact that you are forced to grow and bear something that is equal parts his own excites him. He enjoys the thought of you being stuck with a piece of him inside of you and for life. But that is just about where it ends for him.

When you start showing signs of pregnancy, he'd simply watch. Maybe, depending on if he really enjoys you, he'll give you water and use his softer tone to reassure you that all was well. He does find it arousing that your skin clears and breasts swell - he'd be very interested in those. When your tummy grows, he'd touch it and talk to you about it, generally wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"How does it feel? Being stuck with a piece of me inside of you."

When it came time for birth, you were most likely alone. Stuck in the basement and forced to go through the entire process alone. In this instance, if you survived, he would return home surprised to see and hear a baby.

There is a long pause, and he is gripping and loosening his hands. You can't really tell what he's thinking. You would be filthy, tired, barely awake if not for that need to protect your newborn. He would come across the room and shake his head, scolding you about the mess you made. You are afraid when he sits beside you and looks at the child. Part of you wants to believe he cares, but you see no semblance of love in those eyes of his.

He'd sit in silence for a while, wincing if the baby cried. Eventually, when you got too tired to keep awake, he'd take the child out of your arms and leave the basement.

And you would never see the baby again.

[cevans-is-classic]

18+ only, please. First time, Ethan Hawke as a cult leader, sexual content and language.

My Ethan Hawke list

My Masterlist One and Two

It’s his eyes that keep you calm. 

You hold his gaze as he lowers you to the bed, as he runs his hands over your shoulder, the arms, down to your stomach. A smile ticks from the corner of his mouth and those eyes darken. 

“Arthur-“ 

“You are a gift, my dear.” His voice is soft. 

It makes you squirm, and he smiles wider when you do. He takes more time to explore you, his fingers mapping the path of your ribs. His thumb traces along your chest and rolls your nipple between his fingers. 

He’s stripped you bare, left nothing between you and his touch, yet he remains clothed. 

The red linen pants he wears leave goosebumps on your legs. His hips knock your knee and you rub against the soft fabric. 

This feels right. 

For Arthur to have the power while you lay at his mercy. 

You waited for this moment. 

“Arthur-” 

“My Dear.” He returns. 

“I need to, uh, I’ve never-”

He shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your sternum, up your throat, resting his lips on your cheek. “You’ve never been with someone before.” 

You nod. 

“That’s okay. The inexperience does not matter — you being here with me. Allowing me to join you at this moment — it’s more than a man could ask for.” 

You close your eyes hoping he ignores the flush heating your cheeks, “I think I waited — that I didn’t — I think I knew-” You can’t finish the sentence. 

How do you explain that you’ve waited your whole life for this moment without even knowing Arthur existed?

Nothing ever felt right? 

No one mattered to you the way he does? 

You knew it would be him before you even knew him? 

“I believe,” He lifts, moving back to stand before the bed, “That Ammit guided you here. She knew were for me and I for you.” His shirt slides off without a sound. 

Your tongue glued itself to the roof of your mouth. 

There are scars across his skin, some dark while others are silver and fading. One curves his hip, thin and red where it peeks over his pants. 

Arthur follows your gaze. “Being an avatar for Konshu means you experience pain. I gave more than my soul for the god.” 

You blink, “He let you hurt like this?” 

“Konshu cared not what aches his avatar. He knew only that sacrifice I made. Our goddess shows she accepts our sacrifices and returns in kind.” 

You thought of the glass in his shoes and the way it crunches when he walks. This man gives himself in everything he does and still holds a smile and hand for those in need. 

He tilts his head, “Have your fill, my Dear.” He slides his pants down his legs. 

Oh. 

The first time you saw someone nude it’d be an accident. You’d walked into the wrong room at an old friend’s house and saw their brother.

You’d looked for a moment, took in the differences between the two of you then apologized. It’s been years and over time that moment has slipped from your mind into a distant memory. 

This moment will never be a distant memory. 

Seeing Arthur on display — the scars across his body, the line of his torso, and how steady he looks. 

The proof of his attraction. 

Ammit is the goddess that guides us down our path but Arthur?

Arthur is more.

You give him a shaky nod, biting the inside of your cheek and Arthur steps forward, dropping to the bed on his knees before leaning over your body. 

The first touch made you jump, his hand laying soft on your elbow, “My Dear,” his voice is low, soft, sweeping over your body, “No need to be scared.” 

“I’m not scared.” 

Arthur smiles, “Of course not, My Dear.” The press of his chest to yours has you shivering wanting to be even closer. Arthur’s lips trail over your jaw, and your cheek, guiding him to your own lips. 

You melt against him when he pulls you in for a kiss — arms moving to wrap around his neck and hold him close. 

Having Arthur this way? Knowing he’s chosen you of all those who follow Ammit and his hand — fuels a fire inside you. The power that lies beneath the surface, afraid to dive forward. Feeling his tongue fight with yours, his hands gripping you tighter and together, it lights you on fire. 

A gasp is torn from you when his hand tracks a path toward your heat. The spinning turns into a light-headed feeling as he follows his hands with his mouth, “Arthur-”

“This is to help, my dear.” He nips your chest, the curve along your ribs, and over your nipple. His tongue dips into your belly button as he draws closer and your legs shake around him. 

His nose moves through your hair but he pauses, eyes cutting up to look at you, “I believe you’ll enjoy this and I’d love to taste you, but if you do not wish me to-”

“It’s - Its-” Your voice breaks and you flush, “It’s okay. I want it.” 

He nuzzles his nose in your hair again, taking a deep breath before he swipes his tongue along you. 

"Oh my God." You jerk away for a beat, hands flying to his hair but Arthur keeps going. His tongue starts out careful until you settle down. When you start to gasp and squeeze his hair, Arthur changes tactics. 

It's excruciating in the best way. Your body doesn't know if it wants more or less and he seems to know himself. He'll slow down when you gasp and go deeper when you whimper. 

Your hands stay in his hair, scratching his scalp, fingers tightening then loosening. 

It’s overwhelming in the best ways. 

The slide of his finger inside you makes you knock your hips against his mouth. Arthur pulls his head back to shush you when you apologize. His finger is still moving little pushes in that speed up when his tongue joins again. 

There’s a tingle in your thighs, warm, buzzing as it climbs and climbs. It floods over your body and centers you where his tongue licks you open and his finger strokes you. 

“Arthur-” It’s building, building, going higher until you can’t seem to breathe and he doubles his efforts. Moving faster, deeper, closer — his head bobbing between your legs until you squeeze your eyes shut and shout. 

You keep moving with his finger, body twitching as he laps at you and coaxes you back down. 

“Good.” He hums, shifting until he’s leaning over you again. “That was beautiful, My Dear.” 

Your body trembles, your chest rising and falling with rapid breathing and you feel weightless. 

“That was-”

Arthur smiles, “I loved hearing you, the way you cried out my name? It was devastating.” 

You kiss him, rough, drawing him in as a hunger claws through you. Arthur is laughing into the kiss, the hand inside you moves to your hip to steady you. 

Oh. 

You’d absentmindedly pushed him backwards trying to climb over him

That thought stops the kissing, your face burning hot, but Arthur just shakes his head, “Later, Love. For now, for this, I want it to be easy. Safe.” 

He moves his hand to slide his finger back inside you, a second one joining it. “You feel amazing.” 

“Yeah?” You whisper. 

“Yes.”

“Is-is it going to hurt?” You close your eyes as embarrassment floods you. “I heard it hurts.” 

Arthur shakes his head, “If I hurt you I’m not doing it correctly, my Dear.”

You looked at him, carefully, worried he’d change his mind, “I was told it hurts.” 

“Hmm.” He pushed his fingers in deeper, making you gasp, “It can, yes, but if done properly you should feel a mild discomfort — then, and hopefully, pleasure.” 

Arthur moves his fingers, opening you up while he kisses your jaw, your neck, back up to your mouth. The feeling was odd at first, a strange fullness that wasn’t full enough. 

You’re not sure how you feel about it — remembering stories you’ve heard of unbearable situations or ordinary first times. 

Your thought process came to a screeching halt when he pulls out and found your clit. 

“Oh.” Arthur broke the kiss to watch you, his fingers starting slow, feeling you out before speeding up.

It’s there again — that tingling feeling. 

Then it stops. 

You groan, shifting against him to get that feeling back. 

“Why?” 

Arthur smiles, kissing you again before lifting to his knees, “The next time you fall apart, my Dear, I want it to be with me inside you.” 

His fingers wrap around his cock, his thumb resting over the slit, and you want him. 

Need him. 

“Please.” 

Arthur nods once before pulling you closer. At the first press of him, you flinch, fear curling deep in your stomach but slows down. Pressing forward inch by inch until you’re relaxed around him and sighing at the feeling. 

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers then pushes in, filling you up. The heft of him felt immeasurable, different in ways you couldn’t explain.

A quick flash of pain tensed your body, but Arthur stayed gentle. He kept his movement slow, keeping beat with your own body as he fucks into you.

“Are you okay?” He dropped his forehead to rest against yours. 

“Yes.” 

“Any pain?” A little, but the longer he moves, the more his skin burns hot above yours, and the less you feel it. 

“No.” 

Arthur kisses you, pulling you in, taking your breath away as he moves faster, deeper, his hand holding you closer to him. 

Everything seems to stop and speed up all at once. You feel every movement he makes, he breathes, he sucks in, and the warm slide of him. Your legs tighten around his hip, hands pulling him closer. 

You want to feel him everywhere. 

Arthur shifts, tugs you with him, and fire burns your skin from the inside out. 

“Please-” the word slips out from one kiss to the next. 

He moves his lips to your chin, his hand reaching for your thigh to hold it higher. The angle changes something that sends sparks down your spine, through your fingertips until that tingle builds in your thighs again. 

“Yes.” You moved with him, “Yes, yes, please.” 

It all blends together. Time shifting to the connection between him and you. It feels unreal — explosive — a religion beneath the surface of your skin that etched his name into your heart. 

You know you’re babbling as the tingling feeling builds, and strengthens, your arms tightening around him wanting more, more, more, and Arthur gives it. He gives everything. 

Years ago, you gave your life and your soul to Ammit, but this — this man, this moment — is the true religion that brings you to life. 

The band inside you snaps. 

“Fuck.” Your vision goes gray, ears ringing, the distant feeling of him moving faster, snapping his hips in an uneven rhythm until he lifts to his knees and tilts you upwards. 

You can’t move. Your limbs feel heavy but weightless all at once. All you can do is watch him, the way his mouth falls open and his eyes lose focus, breathe harsh gusts of air. Your eyes follow the sweat that drips from his temples.

“Let go.” You beg. 

Arthur shouts, head thrown back, fingers digging into your hips. 

I’ll give you anything. The thought sneaks into your mind and you know it’s true. 

For Arthur, for this man, devotion is all you know. 

I do hope you enjoy this, dear @ethanhawkelover01

[slvtforoldermen]

Day Five of Fluff February 2024

Arthur Harrow (Moon Knight) 🐊

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Fluff February 2024

“Just calm down,” Arthur hushes you as you breathe heavily after a venting session, the tears stain your cheeks and he makes his way towards you, the crunching of the glass in his shoes echoing throughout the room along with your pants. “Shhh…” He holds your face in his hands and wipes away your tears. “It’s alright, it’s alright…”

“I’m sorry,” You sniffle and wipe your nose.

“Don’t apologise, you needed to release and that’s what you did,” He says, this caused more tears to well in your eyes. “Ammit believes—“

“Stop speaking like a priest for ten minutes and please just speak like my boyfriend!” You protest, your voice raising. Arthur’s breath raises at your snap and he places his hands on your back.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” He nods, he pulls you into his embrace. “It’s instinct.”

“I know, sorry I snapped,” You mumble.

“It’s alright, it’s understandable,” Arthur whispers, guiding you to the couch. “You’re tired… you need to rest.” You lay your head down on his lap.

“Thank you Arthur,” You say softly, your eyes feeling heavy.

“Sleep,” He mutters, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head; you close your eyes and feel fatigue wash over you.

[dominantslasherking]

Hi hi hi can I recuest for Arthur Harrow with a really posesive and rough reader pls??? Thank you

Arthur Harrow with Dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+.

Backstory: Imagine, having Arthur as your Avatar(You're a god) and you find out he's trying to bring back Ammit, you are not pleased.

Imagine Yandere S/o but also Yandere Arthur as well. Arthur is like a masochist in this one. Btw Kinda fluffy---But in a good way that it fits with the story

"Arthur," Your rough voice rang out, gripping his jaw while bringing him into a kiss, as your other hand made its way to his waist, "Please--wait, not here...in front of everyone!" Arthur pleaded slightly whimpering under your touch, in front of everyone he meant Ammit's other little cult members.

"Only you can see me though." You grumbled, your hand slipping under his shirt while taking your hand off his haw and a handful of his hair before shoving his head back so you can kiss along his neck. "Mr. Harrow...are you alright?" A woman piped up seeing his estranged state.

Arthur tried to bob his head, gasping as you go of him, suddenly disappearing; Most likely back to Harrow's rooms.

"You shouldn't have interrupted." Arthur Harrow scolded the woman, regaining his composure, before staring at her blankly as he fixed his shirt. Arthur had to admit, he liked it when you were like this, treating him coldly and rough. It simply annoyed him that someone would dare interrupt your actions, but the woman was new and didn't understand, so he let it slide, but have someone inform her of what 'that' was.

<<>>><<>>><<<>>><<>>><<>>>

You paced around your human lover's room, your avatar, after he had left the previous god he was working for, "Khonshu" sometime later he found you, but Arthur was different from the stories of him previously known as Khonshus avatar, But now you know he is actually working for Ammit, and you weren't pleased, Ammits judgment was all wrong, her judgment is just one fate of the coin. One could easily defy the fates and change their 'destiny' Ammit only sees one of the multiple paths.

This is why you hated that bitch so much, you were the god of Destiny and souls, and to know that she had some type of control over your avatar, well it pissed you off.

Arthur had finally returned to his room, setting down Ammit's chain, as he saw you break from your human form and stalk towards him, your overwhelming power bringing him to his knees. "Please!-She was not informed of our ways--I" Arthur was confused, he thought you were angry with one of the followers of Ammit that interrupted the 'session'

"Bring your punishment on me...and--and no one else." Arthur pleaded, well more like begged, he wanted it, he wanted to feel any type of pain inflicted on him from you. Arthur knew he was a sinner, he was so fucking sinful and he knew he would never be a part of Ammit's paradise, because of sickening ways, he liked being hurt, he fucking loved it, especially from a holy being such as yourself.

Slowly Arthur was lifted up in the air by the neck and placed in your lap, your body was much larger than his since you were indeed in your god form. "When...were you going to tell me about Ammit?" You whispered lowly.

Arthur choked on his spit, not expecting you to find out, he tried so damn hard...to...to keep it a secret. "What is she giving you?" You growled out, your hand still placed on Arthurs's throat but not squeezing.

"She..promise the world would be paradise." Arthur calmly stated, closing his eyes while trying to calm his beating heart, "What else." You continued to prod, your arms wrapping around Arthur, nearly covering his entire body, because of your god form, slowly you started to shrink back to human size, holding Arthur firmly still in your grasp. "No other gods expect you and her, she promised that I could be with you forever," Arthur admitted his voice cracking at the thought of such things.

A low rumble escaped your throat pleased at his confession as you, stand up with him, slowly leaning down and biting into his neck, before leaving scattered kisses. "Even without Ammit, my sweet Avatar, I never planned to let you go." Arthur leaned into your touch slowly, enjoying the possessive behavior you display for him, it made him swell with joy, "If you refused to be with me forever, I would have imprisoned you." Arthur's calm voice spoke, hugging your torse as he smiled against your aggressive love bites.

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Bloody Beetle - Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel, Moon Knight

Pairings: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader, Arthur Harrow x Reader

Summary: A night on the late shift with Steven ends badly when a creepy guy with a scales tattoo shows up searching for a beetle

- Part One

- Part Two

- Part Three

- Part Four

- Part Five

- Part Six

- Part Seven

- Part Eight

- Part Nine

- Part Ten

COMPLETE

[ethanhawke01lover]

Distrust

Arthur Harrow x GN reader

Warnings: mention of rumoured murder, cussing

You fell to the floor and started sobbing. You couldn't believe what you just overheard two people from the community talking. They said that they couldn't believe that you would be with him because he killed your parents. Suddenly, you heard the door open and that familiar sound of a cane tapping the floor came in. "Y/N, honey what's wrong?" Arthur asked. You picked up a pyramid shaped ornament and threw it at him. He ducked quickly to avoid it. "You fucking bastard!!!" you yelled. "What has gotten into you, my love?" Arthur asked worriedly.

"I know, Arthur!" you said angrily. "I don't know what you are talking about" he said confused. You stared at him. All the love that you felt for him was gone, it was replaced with hatred. "My parents! You...you killed them!!" you said and started sobbing. "What?Who has been feeding you these lies?" Arthur asked. "You're the one that has been lying to me!!" you yelled. Arthur gently took you by your arms. "So how did you do it?! Did you read their scales and decided they weren't good enough?!" you asked as you yelled.

What made you the angriest was how calm Arthur was. He didn't yell back at you or anything. "Your parents died in a tragic accident just before your 28th birthday, darling, I tried everything in my power to save them" Arthur said sadly. "Oh bullshit!!" you yelled and tried to escape from his grip on your arms. “Members of the community were witnesses, you can go and ask them" he said. "Then why did I overhear two people talking about it?" you asked.

"They are jealous of our love....they can't stand to see how happy we are together" Arthur said. You threw your arms around his waist and sobbed into his chest. He held you with one arm and cradled the back of your head with his other hand. "My sweet flower, I would never do anything to cause you pain. Your parents were good and honourable people who didn't deserve their cruel fate" Arthur said sadly as he held you. In your heart, you knew that he was telling the truth. "I love you, Y/N" he said and kissed the top of your head.

Gif: @greenarts

[hawkewatching]

Dark Sun (Arthur Harrow x Reader)

Chapter 1: The Fate of the Blind (6,872 words)

Summary:

"Now, a chance has presented itself to you. Perhaps your last chance. The question is, are you going to stay and take it, or are you going to run away again?”

Arthur Harrow is impossible. In a desperate time where you need help, he has promised to provide that. You know it’s all too good to be true, but what choice do you have? Drawn in by curiosity, desperation, and perhaps something deeper, what will happen when you finally understand him? Do you really want to know what lurks in his unreadable mind?

Rated Mature for dark themes and some strong language.

Tags: No warnings needed (for now) but this an extremely self-indulgent writeup on an extremely unhealthy relationship. Oh, and so much slow-burning angst. Apologies I only seem to I write pretentious character studies haha. I'm bad at tagging check the AO3 tags uh-

A/N: Hi hello! I've been writing this fic on AO3 for over a year, (14 chapters atm) and it's still ongoing because I'm really slow at this. I will be posting chapters maybe like every week or so here until I catch up to where it's currently at. Or you could just spoil yourself and read ahead. Your choice. Just wanted to have it here because yall clearly want it haha and who would I be to deny some good people some (maybe) good fanfic? The only other thing I wanna say real quick is that I wrote this chapter in about May 2022 so my writing was less good than it is now. I've chosen not to go back and update it because I hate revisiting these things and also it's a nice time capsule for me. So it gets better than this, I promise. ANYWAY I'll just let you read it now thanks :)

~~~

You’ve made a huge mistake.

Your mind was racing with a thousand self-deprecating thoughts, each cursing you more than the last.

How could you be so stupid? “Avoid the weird cult.” They said. “They may seem nice but it’s a goddamn CULT.” They said.

No matter how often your brain told you to run, your legs were fixed firmly in place. You couldn’t tell if it was defiance or stupidity holding you down. Or perhaps you were just intrigued. The world had a habit of not being around in an hour of need, you learned that from experience.

Nowadays, people didn’t really help each other. Sure, there were people saving the world all the time, but no one was coming to save you. Amazingly, these people seemed to look out for one another, or at least that’s what they advertised. An interesting contradiction from a group calling themselves “the disciples of Ammit”.

You still didn’t know what an “Ammit” was. You speculated that you’d held off doing your research on purpose so that you could go into tonight blind.

Why would you go into this blind, idiot?

You’d fallen for their marketing hook, line and sinker, because you longed for some sense of community, and they’d promised that. They’d promised a purpose too, and while you were interested in that aspect, you couldn’t help but feel that it was probably something nefarious.

You would not allow yourself to forget that this was, quite literally, a cult.

Tonight was simply a trail run. Anyone was welcome to the “ceremony”, but you could tell from the calmness of all of the attendees, you estimated thirty of them, that they were familiar with this event. You resolved at that moment to not stick out. If things didn’t work out, which was seeming more likely by the minute, you would leave at the end and no one would ever be wiser.

That’s it. No one ever has to know about this. Just survive whatever this is and go home, never to think about this again. This really was a mistake.

The people around you engaged in quiet conversation, too focused on each other to notice you trying to compose yourself. They had gathered around some elevated steps, almost like a stage. You wondered what kind of performance this would be.

You took a sharp breath, and in that moment you felt the atmosphere shift. The sound of conversation suddenly began to fade, and you could almost feel a new presence in the area without even having to glance in the direction of a new sound, one that had been entirely absent until now.

The sound could only be described as crunching, but even before you could identify its specifics you could tell that whatever was crunching was something that was not supposed to be crunching. When you finally turned, a delayed reaction emulating what everyone around you had also done, but with far less confusion, you saw the source.

An older man, with wispy brown hair with grey streaks and just touched his shoulders, dressed in a manner that could only be described as plain, a light coat wrapped around a red outfit, moving slightly in the breeze. The strange sound went straight through you, emanating with every step of his sandals. In that moment you realised what exactly this noise was as it became louder on approach: glass. Only a small part of you felt repulsed by that, the rest was distracted. With him drawing closer also added a softer, but equally unsettling tapping of a strange-shaped cane.

With the way that complete silence had fallen over all those in attendance, this was who they had been waiting for: The leader.

First impression: The vibes are BAD. They are very, VERY BAD.

You wanted to have a “first impressions are often wrong” mindset and remain optimistic but in the face of all of this it was difficult. You were brought here by desperation after all, and that was a feeling that didn’t simply vanish at the first sign of trouble, as much as you wanted it to.

As much as you hated yourself to admit it, you hadn’t seen anything remotely like this before. Morbid curiosity tied you down, eyes fixed on the leader as you watched him climb the stairs with a level of awkwardness befitting his walking situation. He wore an expression of benevolence, something that you didn’t quite seem to believe fitted him, and as he glanced back at the crowd out of the corner of his eye, you could have sworn you saw a flash of the truth. The smile was caring, but there was something else behind the eyes. Or perhaps nothing at all.

But you didn’t entirely trust your judgement. It could have been an outsider’s perspective catching what the people on the inside were so blind to, sure, or you were blinded by mistrust. You hated not being able to figure this out. You tried to watch him, trying to be completely sure of what you had just seen, but as he turned around to face his audience, your reading was different once again. If he was hiding something, it was gone now. His air of strange sincerity threw you for a loop.

Without having to speak a single word, he had already lowered your guard.

You watched him with some caution, dreading whatever was about to come out of his mouth, but his first words further puzzled you. They came out quieter than you thought they would.

“Isn’t this a wonderful evening?” His lips curled upwards, affirming you of the question’s genuine, but definitely rhetorical nature. “However, I get the sense that something is out of place.” He paused for a moment, stopping mid-breath as he scanned the crowd. You felt his eyes cross over your face for half a second. Perhaps his words were deliberately chosen, and he’d already set his sights on you, but you couldn’t possibly discern that. The man was unreadable. In that brief moment, he had held you in place. There was no escaping this now, at least not until it was over.

“We have to work towards fixing that.” He continued, and you felt yourself being pierced by his gaze as his eyes swept the crowd again. Your mind begged for that not to happen again, your nervousness unable to take another hit. “Who would like to go first?”

“Me first, Harrow. I need an answer.” A voice from the crowd called out, and a young man took a few steps forward.

Harrow smiled, his face was warm and understanding, but his eyes flashed with amusement. The two contradictions left you to further wallow in confusion. “It’s Arthur, please. Remain patient, through Ammit all things are revealed.” His voice grew quieter as the man approached, and he managed to form a pleasant smile.

It was deathly silent as Harrow began to roll up his sleeve, not even having to glance as his unblinking eyes locked with the man. What was slowly revealed to you was a tattoo that took a little while to identify as strange scales. You could tell that something bizzare was about to happen, as if the man on the receiving end beginning to sweat on such a cold evening wasn’t a good enough indication.

Something in the air shifted. In your distraction you didn’t even notice how Harrow was now gripping his man’s wrists, and in-between their hands was that cane, now swinging in the most unnatural manner. The confusion was overwhelming, so much so that you didn’t even try to rationalise it. There was no rational explanation for how a tattoo could move like that. The way it rocked felt uncomfortably too real for your liking, and you found your eyes trying to dart somewhere else, as if they would do anything to get away from it.

“I judge you in Ammit’s name, with but a fraction of her power.” The unfamiliarity of his words failed to help you rationalise the situation.

You are very much in over your head right now.

Much like the one being judged, you felt yourself paralysed with dread. You had already made up your mind: whatever was going on here was not for you. You wondered what would happen if they knew there was a doubter in their midst. There was something ominous about the idea of failing any test that was given here.

However much time had actually passed was probably about ten times shorter than you felt. The unfamiliar actions stopped, and some peace was restored in your mind. You watch as Harrow beamed. “This is the face of a good man.” His grip immediately loosening, tapping the man on the shoulder encouragingly. Whatever the hell any of that had meant, it was a positive outcome, and just about everyone seemed overjoyed.

The “good man” gave a bright smile, before returning to a group of people within the crowd who bustled excitedly. You didn’t get what was going on here at all, but it was thoroughly weird. You had questions that you didn’t really want to know the answers to.

For what felt like an eternity, the night continued on like this. Every result was the same, and while you gradually became more accustomed to what you were seeing, by the end of it you were starting to wonder what would happen if someone who wasn’t so good was on the receiving end of a magical tattoo. But you sure as hell weren’t brave enough to consider even testing that.

Harrow had turned to his audience, gracing them with another glance that you felt in your soul for only a moment. Every time he looked your way you felt fear, and didn’t quite understand why. “Perhaps I misjudged this evening after all.” As he spoke, that gentle smile back on his face, he stroked the top of his cane. “I’m sure this devotion on display tonight would greatly please Ammit. I wish you all a good night.”

You didn’t understand his next words, the language of them definitely being foreign to you, but the crowd repeated them with a murmur. You caught the word “Ammit” within it.

So whatever it was, it probably wasn’t great.

You tried to blend in, but that had all happened so fast. Still, it didn’t appear that the people had noticed anything, or anyone, out of place. Despite the promises that people on the outside were free to visit, this place felt uncomfortably inclusive. You wondered how anyone even joined this thing at all.

As conversation began to return to the audience, you finally plucked up the courage to look behind you, eyeing your exit strategy. It was a little bit darker than when you had first gotten here, so you needed a moment to re-acquaint yourself with the already unfamiliar environment.

You hadn’t looked away for long, perhaps no longer than half a minute, but when you turned back the leader was already gone. Faster than you thought he’d be. It was unclear where exactly he had gone and that made you nervous for some reason that you couldn’t quite understand.

You figured this was as good of a time as any to take your leave, deciding to take a hard pass on the weird cult like you should have done from the beginning. Strengthened by this resolve, you took a few steps forward on your way out.

“Excuse me.”

You already recognised the voice even before you looked behind you. If you had given yourself time to think about things before turning on instinct, you wouldn’t have done it at all.

Standing only a few paces behind you was Harrow, armed with the same smile from before. It seemed like he never really left. Desperate to avoid direct eye contact, your gaze flashed for a moment to the way he handled that cane in both hands, with a lightness you didn’t really expect. From this distance you could now discern why it looked so strange, tipped with two crocodile heads.

If that’s not freaky, nothing is.

It took him a while to get to whatever it was that he wanted to say, and spurred on by the awkward silence, you finally picked up the courage to look his way, only to see his own gaze cutting straight through you. Immediately, your stomach dropped. What it was in his eyes that you couldn’t identify before became clear to you in that moment, they were deeply, disturbingly analytical. The realisation overcame you that this whole time, he’d been watching you. You already knew what he was going to say.

“I’ve never seen you here before.” The way he spoke didn’t sound like a threat, but more of a casual observation. The way he took a step closer, and the prominent crunch that followed his foot touching the ground did well to put you more on edge, though. The sound cut right through you in the way that it probably did to his feet.

“Y-Yeah, first time.” You stammered, despite expecting this kind of conversation to happen, any plan you had for what to say had completely disappeared in his presence. “This was a test run. Just a taster.”

He nodded his head in acknowledgement, head angled upwards as he seemed to scan you from above, a light breeze catching his hair. Something about that moment presented him as truly intimidating, but the seriousness on his face drops quickly. “Understandable. It would be unwise to just jump into something like this without all of the information.”

That was not what you had expected to hear. You had expected someone like this to be begging for a new addition to the cult, not a take that seemed, dare you say it, reasoned. Reason was not something you had imagined seeing here, especially not coming from the ringleader.

He observed your silence, seeming to take satisfaction in making you think. “What are your thoughts?” He asks slowly. He was patient with what must have been a burning question.

You were afraid to say no, at least directly. The conflicting information you had received about this man had in no way informed you of what to do. “I’m not sure, really. I’ll have to sleep on it.” You tried to sound as sincere as possible, and felt that you did good enough to convince yourself. Whether you convinced him or not was another, unknown story.

His head tilted in response, and in the exhale that followed you saw a shift in him. You suddenly felt as if he had sensed your insecurity and uncertainty, and with that came the horrible feeling that your words hadn’t worked at all.

“Could I possibly have one chance to change your mind?” His face had what could only be described as a half-smile. You could have sworn you caught a glimpse of something else in his eyes for a moment, like a shark smelling blood in the water.

He just knows I’ve already made up my mind.

That felt like a challenge. Why would he ask such a thing unless he had complete and total confidence he could sway you into utter insanity? He was willing to commit himself to a battle of wits that he already knew he was losing. You almost respected it, but the rational part of your mind was begging you to not go that far.

You sighed, giving in to the way he looked now at you. Eyes wide, pleading. Not what you’d expected to see and they made you feel a way you didn’t expect either. He had shifted gears so quickly that it made you doubt everything you’d seen before. You spoke out of pity. “One chance.”

He doesn’t celebrate. The smile he gives is too small to even show his teeth. There is something sincerely grateful about him.

He takes the last few steps needed until he’s right next to you. “Come with me.” He requests, thinly veiling the command with some nonchalance. He walks past you but his head remains turned, watching you with patience, waiting for you to oblige him.

There was no choice left now. You started to leave the scattered crowd behind, walking with deliberate slowness to follow a suspicious stranger into a dark, unknown street. Stories like this never ended well.

He waited until you caught up to him before starting to speak, directing you ahead. “Be honest. Why did you come here tonight?” Once again, his words were innocuous, but he looked at you with a seriousness that demanded nothing but the truth.

Something about him, perhaps the small smile he chose to give you anyway, put you at enough ease to not crack under the pressure. “Honestly? Morbid curiosity.”

He gave an amused scoff. “You could do just about anything out of morbid curiosity. But why come here, specifically?” His questioning felt a little more intense this time. You knew that your words had not satisfied him.

You gave no response, afraid to once again say something that wasn’t what he was looking for. Whatever that was. You didn’t know how far he would go. Harrow was watching you with utmost patience, something that only pressured you further.

“Allow me to take a guess, and forgive me if I’m incorrect.” He took a deep breath which almost seemed to steal the air around you, your throat frozen in nervous anticipation of whatever he would say next.

“You are deeply lonely. You have friends and family but they don’t fill the void in your heart like they’re supposed to. You don’t feel like you belong anywhere, no matter how hard you try, and in your desperation you’ve turned to the one place that your mind is absolutely screaming at you to not go to. You’re here because you’re out of options, and you’re out of options because every time an answer presents itself you run away from it because you are afraid. That’s what you intend to do after tonight.”

Fuck.

Those observations had all spilled out in one large chunk. He might have prepared you by acting like it was only a stab in the dark but his words indicated zero doubt in his own judgement. You don’t know how he knew, but he just knew.

He didn’t wait for you to say anything. You suspected he also knew this was how you’d react, so he continued. “People are at their darkest when they have no options left. I wouldn’t wish that upon you. Now, a chance has presented itself to you. Perhaps your last chance.” He leaned in a little bit, his words going directly into your ear. “The question is, are you going to stay and take it, or are you going to run away again?”

He didn’t need to give you the extra emphasis, you knew exactly what he wanted. The sound of every step he took interrupted your thoughts, and that frustrated you further. At this point, it was unbearable. Your shock began to turn into offence. “Why do you care so much about what happens to me?”

The words that you had spat at him seemed to have no effect. “So I’m on the right track?” He commented, once again, his smile was only small. His humble act was one you saw right through, but his unwavering commitment to it made you wonder why he bothered to keep up that pretence. “I care because I believe that good people deserve good things.”

As much as you hated to admit it, that sounded genuine. You grumbled, refusing to accept the implied compliment. “How do you know I’m good?”

“It’s something you can just sense in people.” There was no hesitation in his reply.

“You might have to test me on that.” For a moment, you became more aware of your surroundings, and your ears fixated on the sound of his crunching steps. You wished you could ignore it, and tried to listen to his voice instead. You never thought you’d prefer that sound.

“I might, in time.” Harrow chuckled, and your heart dropped for a moment, afraid he might actually try that. “I don’t force that on people, though. Please, sit.” As you breathed a silent sigh of relief, he directed an arm toward a bench under a streetlight, located right next to a bunch of apartments. The heart of his domain. The belly of the beast.

You had no choice but to comply, but you felt yourself being genuinely drawn in by what were likely hollow promises. You couldn’t tell for sure, because there was nothing about this unreadable man that you felt like you knew about him. The only thing about him that seemed certain was that there was definitely glass in his shoes, and that in itself was not a welcoming sign.

But you saw an opportunity to better understand the situation, and feeling backed into a corner, you decided to take it. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that I was to stay. What would happen?” You asked, trying your best to sound truly uninterested, despite the wording of the question betraying you.

There was a warmness to his smile, but his unblinking, watchful eyes cancels out the former’s effect. Once again, you found yourself gravitating towards his voice in an attempt to distract yourself. You knew you were giving him what you wanted, because now you were actually listening. “You’d have a new roof over your head and plenty of like-minded people to meet. But you’d still have the parts of your life that you want to keep. You’re still free to see the people that don’t satisfy you, I understand they can be hard to let go. You can live your life as if nothing has changed, if that’s what you want.” You’d expected him to be at least a little demanding, as he had been earlier, but he was totally relaxed, applying no pressure. As a result of that, his next words stuck out like a sore thumb: “All I’d ask in return is for your devotion to Ammit.”

The absurdity of that statement made you laugh. While you weren’t focused on Harrow at all in that moment, out of the corner of your eye you saw his mouth twitch, but that moment was gone in an instant, and just like that you again doubted what you had seen. Regardless, it prompted you to take a breath and compose yourself a little. “That is a very, very large ask.”

Given what you saw from him, you expected a bad reaction, but he tilted his head a little, almost looking down at you as if eyeing you up. You shuffled in your seat as you watched him do this, his unknown reasons for this making you even more nervous. When you saw a smile appear on his face, you felt your worries being alleviated on the spot.

“That’s a normal response to that part. So many are reluctant to hear that out, but you’d be surprised how many people see their mistake.” He didn’t seem offended at all. You couldn’t even sense some other emotion hiding within him this time.

Everything about this man felt deliberate. For the first time, him being completely unreadable scared you to death. You thought back to all of the times where you thought you understood him for a moment, wondering if perhaps, this was all simply what he wanted you to see.

One thing was especially clear: you should not have given this man a chance at all.

But- and you hated yourself for thinking this- something about him was fascinating. A walking contradiction that somehow seemed to know everything. A little too much, probably. The centre of his own bizarre universe that, by all accounts, sounded beyond your comprehension. The more pieces of the puzzle you were given, the more you felt compelled to solve it, no matter how deep into the unknown he was going to drag you.

And besides, you knew he wasn’t wrong. You did need something in your life to change, and no matter what came of this, it would be a change. You knew you were letting him win, and you’d been playing right into his hands from the moment he spoke to you, anyway. Perhaps it was too late to escape all of this even if you wanted that. He’d barely had to do anything at all to achieve that outcome.

Did he know this would happen?

The way Harrow watched you was as if he was reading your thoughts. You had taken a little too long to respond. When you made eye contact with him, you gave him a glare, as if warning him to stay out of your head. The threat didn’t seem to faze him at all, either that or he didn’t notice. He must have noticed.

In humiliation, you chose to be standoffish. You couldn’t look at him again. “You ask people to derail their lives to worship a god?” You grumbled, you knew you were not asking the most productive question when it came to getting the answers you wanted, but you were too mad to care.

“You don’t even have to eat, sleep and breathe in her name. Only genuine belief in her and real care for her cause. That is all we require.” You had the feeling that his answer was very much tried and tested. He had known exactly how to respond, but that was probably a side effect of the unwelcoming nature of the idea of a strange cult.

It all sounded so absurd to you. Too absurd to possibly be real, despite all the evidence to the contrary that you had witnessed. However, you decided to try and take it seriously. “How do you know if someone really believes?”

“You don’t. It’s something you just sense in people.” He seemed to take satisfaction in the repeated phrase.

You couldn't help but doubt his ability to ‘sense’ that kind of thing, but that was not something you had any interest in testing. “I don’t think I could commit to that. It’s all too much.” You commented with brutal honesty.

“That’s a shame.” Harrow clicked his tongue, and as he continued, he sounded almost like a parent reprimanding their child. You deeply disapproved of that comparison, enough so to look him in the eyes, but the calm energy he exuded removed any motivation to dispute him in the moment. “You really are struggling. Run away if you think that will help, although I have to say from experience that it does not.” He tilted his head suddenly, as if eagerly awaiting whatever you’d say next.

“Experience?” You asked, the sudden inquisitiveness of your question utterly giving away your desire for information.

That piqued your interest. Of course a guy like him had his trauma. That part made far too much sense. You wanted to know how someone could go from being in the real world to being in… whatever this world was. His very presence seemed to warp reality into something unfamiliar, where the rules were a complete mystery.

But from the way he’d worded it, and you were unsure if that was intentional, it almost made it sound like he’d experienced something similar. You’d taken some comfort in knowing that the two of you couldn’t have been further apart but that barrier seemed to be shattered in an instant. You wished for someone to understand, but perhaps your wish should have been more specific. You awaited his next words with bated breath.

He seemed to look at you instead of through you. With a sigh, he spoke quietly as if imparting some great secret. “There was a time where I was afraid to make any more commitments because I was so afraid of making another mistake.”

Why did it have to be him that understood?

You felt both extreme ends of emotions at once at this revelation, and once again unable to look him in the eye despite his best effort, you found yourself staring into the night, watching the windows of the buildings, seeming some life inside. “I know that feeling.” Your words trailed off, unfocused.

He took a deep breath for a moment, appearing to pinpoint your distraction. “I can’t imagine any mistake of yours being on the level of my own.” After that, he leaned inwards, enough that you could faintly feel his hot breath. “But we are all controlled by our own anxieties at some point in our lives. I overcame mine by finding a new purpose. Perhaps that is your solution too.”

“Perhaps.” You replied, still distant, taking a moment too long to latch on to his comments about his past. If you had put more thought into your answer, you probably would have prodded him for information, but something told you that he didn’t seem keen on giving specifics.

“However you choose to do it, you need to take a leap of faith at some point.” He spoke as if he were speaking facts, not merely giving advice. The conviction toyed with your mind, still reeling from the possibility that he might actually understand you.

You faced him again, taking a moment to recover upon finding that he was closer than expected. That had made you jump a little, and he’d observed that too with a smile. Unsure of what to say, you hoped and waited for him to continue. Whatever his advice was, you wanted to hear it. If that was down to curiosity or desperation was something you hadn’t yet decided.

“It worked for me. For a long time I…” Harrow’s words trailed off as, for the first time, he didn’t look at you. Instead he stared down at the hands that held the cane between his legs, watching his fingers caress over its heads. He scoffed before continuing. “I didn’t have one foot in reality. My past tried its best to break me. But I got out of it alive, and I see clearly now. I have a goal, the means to achieve it and people who understand. I never had those before, and the feeling now?” He let out a drawn-out sigh, and it was his turn to also be fixated by the night, smiling bigger than usual at nothing in particular. “It’s liberating.”

Still, no specifics. You had spotted his promises of a way to get better, but you also spotted the irony in his words. It would have been easy to get distracted again, but you weren’t passing up on the opportunity to get what you wanted twice. You raised an eyebrow, starting to find the confidence you needed. “What is that goal, anyway?”

He looked back at you, and you caught a triumphant glint in his eye. “The eradication of evil.” The way that he was in that moment, the combination of him staring, unblinking, his hair beginning to fall over his face and armed with a slightly larger smile than usual, all worked to unsettle you. You hadn’t seen him like this before. Passionate. Weirdly passionate.

Once again, his head tilted, and while his expression didn’t change, it seemed to indicate some confusion. You hadn’t quite given him what he wanted. “Not as sinister as you expected, no?” He grinned, his attempt at some kind of joke threw you off, as if it was something he wasn’t meant to do. However, you found it oddly endearing, even in the awkward moment.

That wasn’t what you thought he’d say, but you knew fully well that you couldn't trust his word. Or at least, you shouldn’t, but you had kept on indulging him. In your scepticism, you refused to let him win. “It still sounds slightly sinister.” You joked, despite knowing that there was no chance he'd find it funny. The more you dwelled on that, the more you believed that sincerely. There had to be a catch. There always was.

He shook his head. “No, it’s not.” The smile was still present, completely unflappable. He moved in a bit closer to emphasise his next words, which you were prepared for this time. “Like I said before, good people deserve good things, simple as that.”

“I’m sure you’re one of those good people.” You replied, not even trying to hide your sarcasm.

For the first time, you sensed that your words had actually stumped him. That felt like a personal achievement. He shuffled awkwardly, and you noticed him hold on tighter to that cane, once again his glance drifted towards it. He took the moment in his stride though, forcing a smile. “That’s a little more complicated. I don’t really know about that.”

You wonder how that made any sense, trying to hide your own confusion. That would require more thought that you couldn’t put in at this moment. He was keeping you occupied enough as is.

Harrow seemed to know this too and gave you no time to process that, immediately resuming his words. “What I do know is that heaven on earth can be realised, and I’d like to achieve that.” This was an extreme casual air to those words that felt contradictory. He made it all sound so simple.

“And this is how?” You questioned quietly, your confidence fading. He was throwing too much at you too fast, and you didn’t understand any of it. Once again, the feeling of being in way over your head returned.

His face dropped. In an instant, he’d returned to how he was before. The passion wasn’t gone, but hidden only inside those eyes. Now, he only looked at you with disappointment. You expected him to change course and try something else. “No tree may ascend to the light of heaven if it doesn’t descend to the darkness of hell.” He recited with a sigh, but you weren’t sure what exactly he was referencing. ”Unfortunately, that’s how it is.”

The eradication of evil… with evil. Of course, it all sounded like insanity. Despite how well he’d taken your arguments, you felt that this was one subject you shouldn’t dare challenge him on.

“Is that…” You were at a loss for words, unsure of how to proceed. “Really right?” You couldn’t get out much, and regretted that you weren’t more precise almost immediately.

Despite everything, he was patient. He blinked slowly, and the way that his gaze drifted past you seemed to suggest that was greatly contemplating his next words. “Honestly,” he took a deep breath, making you suspect that he really did mean that word, ”some nights, I just don’t sleep. It’s at those late hours sometimes when my sins catch up to me and it all becomes a bit too much. I pass that time cursing those that put me here and myself, and that’s not too productive, but what keeps me going is the knowledge that everything will be set right, eventually.” The whole story seemed to amuse him, smiling to himself.

There were too many questions, and he seemed to only be giving one vague answer at a time. For a moment, you hated him for that. He knew what he was doing. You felt that he was probably stringing you along on purpose, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You had to keep asking.

“And how would that happen?” You questioned, watching him intently. As he spoke of these things, he seemed to not quite be there. Just bringing up these topics appeared to turn the gears in his mind to a distracting degree.

He scoffed. “It’s not actually up to me. I’m simply speeding up the process.” Finally, he looked at you again, this time truly unreadable and with no expression to discern. “This is a world of gods and monsters and we are but pieces in a game.” He tapped his foot, a sound that you didn’t actually hear, but you did catch the accompanying glass, which distracted your thoughts for a moment.

You didn’t quite know what to say immediately, wanting to challenge him but not quite knowing how. “So what, you’re running all of this entirely on faith?”

Harrow’s eyes narrowed, perhaps that question striking offence in him. “And that surprises you?” His response had great disapproval more than anything else. You knew he wanted you to feel bad. “You’re really not understanding what this is, are you?”

A religious cult.

“I get it.” You insisted, feeling suddenly defensive. “I just-”

You getting worked up seemed to immediately calm him down. “It’s just that you’ve never experienced anything like this before. Being afraid of what’s unknown is perfectly natural.” The way that Harrow explained that to you felt a bit too patronising for your taste. You knew this already. He must have known that you knew this.

You were sick of him trying to read you, and equally sick of him actually succeeding. “Why do all of this, anyway?” You asked exasperatedly. “Why focus on me? Am I important or do you do this to everyone who strolls in here?” You looked at him with desperation, needing him to finally give you a straight answer.

Now you really need something off of him. You’ve fallen right into his trap.

He finally pushed his hair off of his face, allowing you to look fully upon it. You began to realise that there was nothing you could do that would faze him as he gave a tiny smile. “That’s something I haven’t quite figured out myself. There’s something about you that tells me it would be a waste to let you go.” He sounded sincere. Somehow more than usual.

That answer stopped every thought running through your mind. You began to remember everything else he’d said. This wasn’t about evil and gods and some incomprehensible goals. This was about trying to do better. This was about finding anyone who would understand. Somehow, that was him. These thoughts overwhelmed you. “Really?” You inquired, trying to hide this struggle.

You imagined that he saw right through it. His words were slow, his smile was warm, and his whole demeanour was genuine. You realised you’d never actually caught him in a lie for certain, deciding against a tiny corner of your brain screaming otherwise to trust him for a moment. “Now is the time to stop being afraid. I implore you to stay with us. You don’t have to be alone any more. People will look after you.” He took in a deep breath, as if unsure whether to proceed, and he smiled to himself before doing so, watery eyes locked with you. “I will look after you. I will help you if you help yourself.” There was a great certainty to his words, and it was exactly what you needed to hear. All doubt faded from your mind.

His hand graced your back, his touch startling you as you jumped a tiny bit. You weren’t sure why, because you didn’t particularly mind. The brief moment of contact felt surprisingly warm. You felt yourself lean into his touch on instinct, allowing him to stay.

You didn’t know if it was his words or his actions that disarmed you, but your emotions flooded out all at once. You felt your eyes watering in the overwhelming moment. “I want to be better.” You choked out your words.

His smile grew bigger, as if encouraging you. “That chance is here. You don’t know when it will come again.” His words had a deep certainty to them, and he leaned in closer, his voice coming out almost in a whisper. “Are you going to let it slip through your fingers?” That question had total finality to it, as if he knew exactly how you’d answer.

“I don’t want that.” You responded with a shaky breath, overcome by everything.

“Good.” Harrow stood up with surprising quickness, especially because you were once again subjected to that unsettling sound of glass. You only imagined the pain that must have come from that, but concluded that there was no way he really felt it. Despite what he said, he sounded relieved more than anything, not pleased or proud, and he continued like that. “In that case, please come with me.”

He held out a hand for you to take, and you didn’t even have to think. You accepted the warmth, drawn to it, needing it.

Most of this insane cult stuff didn’t matter. You weren’t completely won over, but you had been on what did matter. Unbelievably, this hadn’t been a mistake. All you had wanted was support and understanding, and the world truly was beyond saving if you’d found that answer here of all places.

You followed, eyes wide, deadly curious. A small part of your mind felt like a fish on a line, hopelessly caught. He had done the impossible: completely changed your mind, and he knew from the moment his eyes first laid upon you that he could do this. That thought unleashed terror in you, but you felt yourself supress it almost as fast as it came because for the most part, you didn’t care.

What have I done?

No, stop it. This is going to be fine. You’re going to get better. You’ll be happy now.

[jokeringcutio]

ARTHUR HARROW X FTM READER - PART 2 (Doctor Harrow)

TWO: Summary: You meet Doctor Harrow, he introduces some new kinks to you. Continuation of: You’re part of Arthur Harrow’s community, but hold a special place. [ Part 1 here ] Arthur Harrow (Cult Leader) x FTM Reader. Rating: Explicit (Contains smut, Warning for dub-con, One-sided Breeding Kink from Harrow, talk about getting Reader pregnant, Praise kink, use of good boy, reader curses a few times (mostly damn) ). Words: 5785 Thanks to the wonderful supporter who commissioned this fic ♡

For: @apriltearsbringmayfears Tags: Older man x younger (ftm) reader, dub-con and consensual intimacy, praise kink, touching, kissing, explicit sexual content, bit of powerplay, you x the villainous cult leader, Doctor Harrow is messing about.

Your head was spinning, the world a blur of sterile white. White walls, white floor, even you were swallowed by the stark whiteness of the fabric encasing your body. An asylum patient's garb clung to you, the realization cold and sharp in your mind. You were a patient, trapped in a room that reeks of disinfectant and stripped-down sanity. The air was still, almost suffocating in its cleanliness.

"Good morning," came a calm, composed voice from across the room. You turned your head slowly, fighting the dizziness. There he was. Doctor Arthur Harrow, his hair shorter, slicked back in a mockery of casual sophistication. He sat behind a desk made of glass, aviator glasses perched on his nose. A small mustache curled above his lip, giving him an air of quiet authority.

Your eyes were instantly drawn to the cane that rested against the desk. His cane. But the crocodile heads were nowhere in sight. Instead, you saw a modern black cane with a golden accent and a white handle. No crocodile head. Just plain, clinical efficiency.

This wasn’t your Arthur.

He tapped a white, expensive-looking pen against the sides of his glasses and – to your shock- you noticed a golden gleaming ring on his ring finger. He seemed to trace your gaze and hummed, but said nothing.

Modern clothes clung to his frame, a crisp departure from the red cotton he usually favored. White books and little white trinkets adorned the colorless cabinets against the walls. It made you realize this could not be a real place. No one kept everything in white. Even the hearth, the tables, the chairs, everything lacked color except for a painting on the wall.

But the books. Their covers were all blank.

You knew where this place was. And that you weren’t the first to visit it.

"Doctor..." you whispered, the title tasting foreign on your tongue. You’d wanted to ask so many questions, but your throat felt dry. Memories swirled in the fog of your mind - fragments of a different life, a different Harrow.

"Yes, it's me," he said, smile faint but present. His eyes, hidden behind those reflective lenses, seemed to pierce through you. "I believe I know what your problem is."

You shivered, folding your arms tightly around yourself as if that could keep out the chill seeping into your bones. The room smelled of antiseptic and something else. Something metallic, almost coppery. Blood? No. Just your imagination.

"What problem?" you managed to ask, though the words felt insignificant. There wasn’t anything wrong with you. Not anything you weren’t aware of. "Why am I here?”

"Calm down," he replied, voice soothing but firm. "We're going to try something new. Something that could help you." The confidence in his tone was unshakeable, absolute.

Your heart could be heard pounding in your ears, chest heaving more rapidly now. What did he think was wrong with you? Arthur had always assured you that you were perfect to him. Surely, this mirror-version of him was lying – a fraud. Perhaps not so much a dream as a nightmare.

"Help me?" you scoffed, disbelief mingling with fear. "What are you talking about?"

"A new kind of therapy,” he said, leaning forward, his gaze never leaving you. That familiar smile tugged the corners of his lips. A smile you recognized from your Arthur. Oh, how you recognized that look. Kind, yet mischievous. He already had his mind set on something. Whatever it was, you weren’t going to change his thoughts.  

“A new treatment,” you echoed hollowly, mind racing.

"One that requires your complete trust and cooperation." The confidence in his voice was unwavering, a rock amidst the storm of your confusion.

You stared at him, your heart pounding a chaotic rhythm against your ribs. He seemed so sure, so calm. The sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint hum of fluorescent lights above.

“Why?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. Questions clawed at your mind. What kind of therapy? Why you? And why did this all feel so disturbingly familiar?

"Trust me," he said, his voice low and hypnotic.

You crossed your arms over your chest, the thin fabric of the white patient outfit doing little to shield you from the cold.

"Why should I agree to this therapy?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, slicing through the sterile air.

Doctor Arthur Harrow leaned back in his chair, unperturbed, a small smile playing on his lips. "Because you need it," he said simply, his tone smooth and confident. "Everything will become clear. You'll see."

"Need it?" You scoffed, feeling a surge of defiance. "Why should I trust you?"

"Trust is earned," he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly behind those aviator glasses. "We’ve already made such progress, haven’t we? I remember you’ve already put all your trust in me…”

And that caused a pang deep inside your chest because, with a start, you realized he was right. You’d come to trust your Arthur blindly. Fully. Your love for him has become irrevocably passionate and wild. A treasure you did not want to lose or abandon.

Trust Arthur? You already did with your whole heart.

But this? This man? He was not your Arthur. Of that you were sure. And defiantly you gazed at him, your own lips twisting in disdain. How dare someone, or some higher power, simulate the man of your desires?

"Faith," you muttered, tasting the word like poison. "My faith is reserved for one alone."

"And that’s a good thing," he said, leaning forward again, his gaze intense. "It is going to make my job so much easier.”

His words sent shivers down your spine, his voice full of dark promises that had you squeezing your thighs together and your cock throbbing to life. You silently cursed for getting aroused by this illusion of the man you loved.

"What job?” you asked, shaking your head and willing your erection to go down. Not that you were successful…"You keep saying these words, but they mean nothing."

"Words are powerful," he responded, his voice a gentle caress. "They can heal, or they can destroy. It's all in how you use them."

"You're not answering my question," you snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Why me? Why now?"

"Why not you?" His answer was infuriatingly cryptic, his calm demeanor only adding to your agitation. "Aren’t the favorite disciple?”

There it was. Your eyes flew wide. A confession that made him sound more like the man you knew. Was he the same as your Arthur after all?

“And so you chose me for this new… therapy of yours?’

“Sometimes, the universe chooses us for reasons we can't understand," he continued, voice husky and low. Entranced, you watched his finger trace an imaginary circle on a blank paper on the glass table in front of him. The golden wedding band gleamed in the light.

Was it to symbolize his faithfulness to Ammit? Or to someone else?

To you?

Why were you hopeful?

"That's not an answer," you bit back, your pulse quickening.

"Maybe not the one you want," he conceded, his smile widening. "But it's the one you need."

"Need," you echoed, feeling the word coil around your mind like a snake. "What do you think I need?"

"To see the truth," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "To understand your own need, I will have to show you.”

While your mind was still racing  - running wouldn’t be of any help as there was no place to go – you heard the clicking of his heels as he rose from his chair and made his way around the desk.

Doctor Harrow came to stand behind you, his presence looming. You felt the warmth first, a heavy presence that crept over your shoulder. The air in the asylum office felt thick, almost suffocating. His hand had found your shoulder, firm but gentle. You tried to turn, to look at his hand, to see where he touched you, but the grip he had on you tightened. His fingers, strong and sure, pressed gently into your flesh through the thin fabric.

A silent warning.

"Shh," he whispered, voice low and soothing. It was a command wrapped in velvet.

You swallowed hard, nerves jittery. "What if I don't agree to the new therapy?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. You knew going against his will was going to be a challenge.

Harrow's breath warmed the back of your neck. "You'll give in...eventually," he said, each word deliberate, measured. A strange sensation crawled up your spine, settling deep in your gut. His hand squeezed your shoulder, the pressure both reassuring and terrifying.

"Why are you so sure?" you managed to ask, heart pounding in your chest.

"Because," he murmured softly, his grip tightening just enough to make you wince, "I know how your mind works. I cracked the code and found the combination."

Harrow's hand slid from your shoulder, trailing down your spine. His touch was electric, igniting nerves you didn't know existed. You stiffened, feeling every inch of his presence behind you.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" Your voice quivered, barely audible.

"I’ve started your therapy," Harrow replied, his tone maddeningly calm. "This is part of it."

You shook your head, a weak attempt to muster defiance. "I didn’t agree to…"

"Shh," he interrupted, his fingers tracing the curve of your back, then moving around to your chest. "Trust me."

Harrow’s hand was under your clothes before you could react. His fingers traced a path of fire across your skin, each touch igniting something primal within you. Your breath hitched as he found the sensitive spot just below your navel, his thumb circling it with deliberate slowness.

"Doctor..." you gasped, but he silenced you with a finger to your lips. The gesture felt intimate, almost reverent, and yet there was an undeniable dominance in his eyes.

"Shh," he whispered, his voice a soothing purr. "Trust me."

The way he loomed over you felt dominating – as if he was crowding in on you. And then, it happened.

Before you could protest further, Harrow’s lips crashed against yours. The kiss was demanding, consuming, as if he sought to claim every breath you had. His mustache scratched your face, adding to the overwhelming sensation. Your mind screamed confusion, but your body betrayed you, melting into his touch.

His tongue explored your mouth with a hungry urgency, each movement calculated and intense. You felt his hands gripping your face, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Time seemed to warp, seconds stretched into eternity. The world outside the asylum office ceased to exist. It was only Harrow. His taste, his scent, his heat.

When he finally pulled away, you gasped for air, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. He looked at you, his blue eyes piercing through your defenses.

This was his therapy? You didn’t want to know how he treated his other patients.

You shivered as his hand moved lower, fingertips brushing against the waistband of your pants. He probably already spotted the bulge there, must have seen the signs of your arousal. Damn him. He took his time, savoring each second as if it were a ritual. The air thickened with anticipation, every heartbeat echoing like a drum in your ears.

Then, his fingers flicked over your bulge, the friction enough to make you gasp deliciously. With a swift motion, he gripped the back of your neck. Not painfully, but firmly, asserting control. The pressure sent a thrill down your spine, making you arch involuntarily into his touch. A smug smile slid on his face, the corners of his lips pulling up in that cocky smirk you loved to kiss away.

Harrow’s other hand tugged at your pants, pulling them down with practiced ease. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, sending a shiver through your body. Your cock popped out, kissed proudly by the cold office air.

"Doctor..." you breathed again, this time less a plea and more a surrender.

"Good boy," he murmured, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. His fingers stroked past your swollen cock, earning him another moan torn from your lips. “So eager,” he muttered. “So ready to please me.”

His hand moved up and down between your thighs, strong fingers teasing and exploring. You couldn’t help the moans that escaped your lips, your body responding eagerly to his touch. He knew exactly where to press, where to stroke, drawing out pleasure with expert precision.

"That's it," he coaxed, his voice velvet smooth. "Give your body what it wants. Let go."

Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as waves of sensation crashed over you. Each touch, each caress, brought you closer to the edge. His name became a mantra on your lips, a prayer offered up to this godlike figure who held you in thrall.

"Arthur... please..."

“Doctor,” he firmly corrected you. “Doctor Harrow,” and then he leaned over you again to bring his lips close to your ear. The rasped whisper was enough to bring you closer to your climax. “Or call me daddy, because that is the real issue here. Isn’t it?”

His words confused you at first because you didn’t call your Arthur that. But Doctor Harrow’s fingers moved so expertly, he had you crawling in your seat, back arched, legs trembling, body wrecked with desire. And yet he kept you pinned down by your shoulders, used his own body weight to keep you trapped in your seat as he assaulted you with pleasure.

Just his hand and his voice. You thought it was unfair that he could do this to you.

"You're doing so well," he praised, his voice thick with approval. "But you can do even better.”

The rustling of clothes and the absence of pressure indicated that he had moved. But only when his fingers left your cock did you open your eyes and actually look. Doctor Harrow limped around you and came to stand before you, with a serious and solemn expression. And then he sank to his knees, pushing your legs aside before pressing a hand flatly against your tummy, applying pressure to keep you there.

“Let’s just take this a notch further.”

His lips closed around your small cock and you were reeling. You tried to wiggle under his touch while he sucked and nipped. Your hands found his – shorter – hair and dug into it, tugging at the strands for leverage and a silent plea to let go.

“Don’t,” a hoarse moan. “Stop,” the voice was your own. But damn, this felt good. As did the smirk that you felt against your skin while he kept on sucking and nipping, using his mouth to bring you to the edge, ready to tumble over.

One hard suck – the slurping noise that accompanied it was embarrassing but oh-so-good. With a choked cry, you came undone, your body wracked with intense pleasure. Every muscle tensed, then released, leaving you trembling in the aftermath.

And still, he nipped and sucked until the last of the tremors faded and pleasure became sensitivity, bordering on pain if he didn’t let go and would overstimulate you.

Luckily, he let go of your cock with a loud pop on his lips. One last lick past your cock made you shiver – too much, your mind provided – but then he was done, rising to a standing position in front of you. He withdrew his hand slowly, almost reluctantly, as if savoring the last vestiges of your climax. And when you looked up at him, he was staring down at you intently, yet pensively. As if he was lost in thought.

"Good boy," Doctor Harrow praised you, his tone laced with satisfaction.

You were still catching your breath, glancing up at him. “Is the therapy over now?’ You cheekily asked, not caring if he would think you a brat for the tone of your voice.

Doctor Harrow pursed his lips, the frown above his aviator glasses deepened. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked,” you repeated, this time a little more agitated. He had sucked you off. You were done now, weren’t you? You could leave, right? “Are we done now?’

A pregnant silence filled the air between you.

“My dear boy,” he finally said after what felt like too long. “Why would you assume such a thing.” The way he stood, leaning against his desk, so carefree, so comfortable. It made you want to rage. How could he be so calm and collected?

“This is only the beginning.” And without a warning, Harrow closed the gap between you. You tried to stand up and struggled against his grip as he reached for your neck again. Your pants were still down between your ankles, making it hard to walk away.

Harrow's grip tightened around your neck, his fingers digging into your skin. With a swift motion, he pushed you forward. The cold surface of the glass desk met your chest, sending a shiver through your body. The sound of rattling glass filled the room, mingling with your ragged breaths.

"Stay still," he commanded, his voice firm yet dripping with affection.

You heard the zipper but were too busy trying to wiggle out of his grasp. You barely had time to register the command before he positioned himself behind you. His hands roamed over your exposed skin, greedy and unapologetic. You felt the blunt pressure, then the agonizingly slow slide as he entered you. Your breath hitched, pleasure mixing with pain.

"Doctor..." you gasped, the word spilling from your lips like a prayer. Another deep thrust. Luckily, your walls were slick from your previous orgasm, providing him easy access and an easy slide.

"Good boy," Harrow murmured, his voice heavy with desire. You felt his hips press fully against your ass, knowing that he was completely inside – as far as your body would allow – and suppressed a little gasp. Damn, this man felt good. Even if he wasn’t the real deal. He surely felt real.

A hoarse rasp in your ear, a dark promise: "I’m going to cure you."

The desk beneath you creaked ominously with each thrust, the glass threatening to give way under the force of your combined weight. But the sensation of him inside you drowned out any fear. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins, pushing you further into blissful abandon.

"Do you feel that?" he growled, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you feel how deep I'm inside you?"

"Yes, Doctor Harrow... oh god, yes," you moaned, your fingers clawing at the edge of the desk for support.

"Imagine," he continued, his pace relentless, each thrust deep and hard, "me filling you up, making you pregnant. Wouldn't you love that, my sweet boy? To carry my child?"

The words sent a jolt of forbidden excitement through you. The thought of bearing his mark, of being claimed so completely, was intoxicating.

"Yes," you cried out, the confession torn from your soul. "I want it... I want you."

"That's right," he praised, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. "You're mine. Only mine."

The rhythm grew frantic, bodies slick with sweat, moving in perfect, chaotic harmony. His hands kept you pinned, his strength a constant reminder of his control. The eroticism of his power, his dominance, fueled your desire, driving you closer to another release.

You liked him like this, always had when he was in control. But him taking you so deep, so passionately… was he truly working you toward your second orgasm of the day?

Your body started to tremble around him, your own voice growing hoarse with each gasp, and cry, and moan.

“More,” he commanded, another firm thrust deep inside. Another echo of wet noises as he pounded you like there was no tomorrow.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," you screamed, as loudly as your breaking voice allowed you. Your body was twitching and trembling with pleasure. Thank Ammit you had the desk to keep you up because your own legs surely wouldn’t. It felt good, the truth breaking free in desperate gasps. "I belong to you, Doctor Harrow."

A few more firm thrusts. You were nearly there.

And then he paused.

You cursed, teeth gnashing as you tried to move your hips and ass to get some more friction. The glass felt cold against your erect cock, stimulating you – but not enough. Why had he stopped?

You heard the heavy swallow, the way he cleared his throat, then felt how Doctor Harrow leaned over you, cloaking your body entirely with his own.

The hairs of his mustache tickled your ear.

"See?" he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "I told you you'd enjoy the therapy."

Bastard.

You groaned loudly, moving your hips but groaning in disappointment when his hands kept you pinned down, unable to move up and down his shaft.

“Please,” you begged, voice hoarse. It was enough.

"Good boy," he echoed, his tone laced with triumph. "Let go again. For me."

He didn’t wait but started a fast pace, for which you were grateful. Each stroke was deep and hit that right spot inside that had your toes curled and your fingers grasping past the slick surface of the glass.

Your body obeyed, surrendering to the overwhelming tide of pleasure. Everything else faded away leaving only the raw, unfiltered connection between you and Harrow. Nothing else mattered.

You clamped down on his cock, earning the stuttering rasped groans in your ear that betrayed he was near as well. A few more deep thrusts and he followed. Warm, hot liquid poured deep inside while his hands held your hips pressed against the cold glass. Your body was throbbing, but so was his shaft as it emptied itself. You imagined the way his balls must be pulsing right now as they were drained dry completely by your deliciously tight cunt.

“Hmm, so greedy,” he murmured, as if he was reading your thoughts. He leaned a little backward, cock still locked inside you, so he could clap a hand firmly to the cheek of your ass.

You did a little yelp, your body scooting forward on the glass, and then tried to look at him from over your shoulder.

“Do you think it will take?” The doctor rasped, his blue eyes finding yours through the reflecting glasses. You felt the way his fingers pried your cheeks open, then slid lower until they pressed inside your cunt, joining his cock.

“You think you’re going to make me a daddy, sweetheart?”

He slowly retracted his cock and seemed to watch how slick seed came dripping from your hole. Holding his cock in his hand, he used his half-hard shaft to rub past your sensitive lips, pushing the semen back in with the tip.

You closed your eyes and allowed him to play with you, your body tired from a second climax and your breath still rapid and uneven.

You felt him push the head of his cock inside you, dipping in and out – almost experimentally – a few times. Then he retracted and the warmth of his body was gone.

"Up," Harrow commanded, his voice a rough whisper against your ear.

You barely had time to register the word before he pulled you to your feet. His hand remained firm around your neck, guiding you as he maneuvered behind you. The cold air hit your back, stark in contrast to the heat of his body. He turned you to face him, eyes blazing with an intensity that made your heart race.

"That's it," he murmured, as he held you close, his touch almost tender despite the intensity of what had just transpired.

Finally, he stepped back, leaving you feeling strangely empty without his presence. You noticed the limp when he walked. At least that hadn’t changed. But the half-hard cock you had expected to go limp was curling up proudly again, tipping against Harrow’s stomach as he limped to the other side of the desk. Wait? What?

You groaned, taking a few deep breaths while you watched him lowering himself into his chair with a grace that belied his years. He sat there, pants discarded, watching you with a calm, expectant gaze.

You stood there, catching your breath, the silence stretching out between you. What did he want from you?

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sit on me." His tone was gentle but firm, laced with the promise of more to come. You knew that even if you had wanted to, you could not disobey him.

And a third time? Well, what was one more? Even if this wasn’t your Harrow, he surely was a good fuck. You wouldn’t look a gifted horse in the mouth.

With trembling legs and a racing heart, you moved closer, your skin still tingling from the last wave of pleasure. You discarded your pants fully, even taking the time to take off the rest of your asylum garb until you stood fully naked.

Harrow's eyes were on you, unwavering, his gaze a mix of command and invitation. His hands rested on the arms of the chair, fingers tapping lightly against the metal as if to a rhythm only he could hear.

"Come here," he urged softly, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

You straddled him, knees at either side of his waist. The warmth of his body pressed against yours was intoxicating. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, feeling him fill you once more. A squelching sound accompanied the movement, as combined slick from you and Doctor Harrow’s semen paved the way for his hard cock to slide deep inside. A gasp escaped your lips, the sensation almost overwhelming.

"That's it," he whispered, his hands finding your hips, guiding you. "Just like that."

And it was just like that. You preferred this position more, the way your cock rubbed past him, the friction, it was all so much better than the cool glass table had been.

You began to move, the rhythm slow at first, savoring every inch of him within you. He had grown hard again, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside your narrow cunt. Each rise and fall brought a fresh surge of heat, a deep ache of pleasure that built with every movement. His grip tightened on your hips, encouraging, guiding, coaxing you to go faster.

"Good boy," he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're perfect. Could only be better swollen with child."

The words spurred you on, driving you to quicken your pace. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, bound together in this intense dance. Sweat slicked your bodies, the sound of your mingled breaths filling the silence.  

"Arthur," you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. "I'm close."

"Then let go," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Show me how much you need this."

The coil of pleasure wound tighter within you, threatening to snap. You rode him harder, faster, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His hands roamed your back, caressing, encouraging, sending sparks of electricity through your veins.

"Come for me," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Your body obeyed, the release crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cried out, his name a prayer on your lips, your vision blurring as ecstasy consumed you. He followed soon after, his own release a powerful surge that left you both trembling.

"That's it, my love," he murmured, holding you close, his breath hot against your ear. “Let me stuff you nice and full. Think of all the cum. Make me a dad.”

He stroked your back gently, the touch tender and soothing. You melted into him, feeling safe, cherished. Even if he wasn’t your Arthur. Nothing else mattered.

“We have made such good progress, haven’t we?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Progress?’ you asked, blearily. You felt as if your body could take no more, yet he started to gently thrust inside you again.

“One more time,” he said, but you were already shaking your head.

“No.”

“Come on, we have made such good progress,” he moved you up and down his shaft shallowly, but your pussy was oversensitive and each thrust felt like it was too much. You flinched, trying to push him away, but his hand found your cock and flicked against it. You recoiled, back arched, and let out a cry.

“Fuck, I can’t,” you gasped, still struggling in his grip. “It’s too much.”

But as Harrow gently pounded your sore cunt, the world around you seemed to crumble away until everything faded. Even the feeling of being fucked raw.

You sat up and instantly winced. Your body felt sore, pussy even sorer. As if you truly had climaxed three times.

You rubbed your head, eyes slowly getting used to the daylight that already filtered into the room. That was when you noticed him.

Arthur Harrow sat on the edge of your desk, his shoulder-length hair cascading around his face, worry etched into his features. The morning light streamed through the window, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the floor. You’d almost thought he wasn’t real, but then he moved.

"Good morning," Arthur said softly, his voice a soothing balm against your frayed nerves. He leaned forward, the creak of the desk cutting through the silence. "You missed breakfast so I came to have a look. See if you’re all right."

Your mouth felt dry as sandpaper, and you licked your lips, trying to find your voice. "I..."

"It’s all right," he interrupted gently, holding up a hand. "I brought you something." He gestured to a tray beside him, laden with fruit, toast, cheese, and a steaming cup.

The disorientation clawed at your mind, the lines between dream and reality blurring. You stared at the food, your stomach twisting in knots. "Why?"

"Because I care about you," he replied, his gaze unwavering. Those bright blue eyes bored into yours, filled with an earnest concern that made your heart ache.

"Was it... real?" you muttered, the words barely audible.

"Dreams can feel very real, can't they?" Arthur's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. He pushed the tray closer to you. "Eat. You'll feel better."

You slowly got out of bed, unperturbed about Arthur seeing you like this. He’d seen you in worse states.

You reached for the toast, your hands trembling. The memory of Doctor Harrow's touch still lingered on your skin, ghostly and persistent. You took a bite, the crunch loud in the otherwise quiet room.

"Was it another nightmare?" Arthur asked, concern etching lines across his face.

"Something like that," you admitted after swallowing, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on the tray of food, absently picking at the toast.

"Talk to me," Arthur prompted gently, his voice a soothing balm that eased some of the lingering tension within you. "What happened in the dream?"

“You were there,” you finally confessed, still confused about everything that had just happened.

"I was?" He asked, his voice low and steady. Arthur's blue eyes bore into you, steady and unwavering, as if trying to decipher the secrets hidden within your soul. Your heart pounded in your chest, the lingering effects of the dream making it difficult to distinguish between reality and fantasy.

You hesitated before speaking, the weight of the dream heavy on your tongue. "It was you," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "But not you. You were a doctor, in an asylum."

A flicker of surprise crossed Arthur's face, his brows knitting together as he processed your words. "A doctor, huh?" His voice was steady, but you could see the wheels turning behind those piercing blue eyes. "And what did this doctor do?"

You hesitated, a shiver running down your spine as you remembered the way Doctor Harrow's hands felt on you, the controlled strength in his grip. "He… he was...helping me, or at least, that's what he claimed." The words tumbled out in a rush, a confession burning your lips as you spoke. "But it didn't feel like help. It felt like control."

Arthur's hand tightened on your arm, a protective gesture that sent warmth flooding through you. "Did he touch you?”

“Oh yes,” you didn’t know why you confessed so easily, but once you looked up it was to see Arthur’s eyes darken menacingly. “Said it was this new therapy he wanted to try, Was supposed to help me with something, but it only ended with him telling me he wanted to see me carry his baby. It was really weird.”

You finally finished, taking your time to catch your breath and think. In the meanwhile, you studied him. Your Arthur.

"In the dream,” he began, eyes unfocused. “I was... obsessed with becoming a father."

He hesitated, gauging your reaction.

“You sure were. Or well, he sure was,” you clicked your tongue and picked up another piece of toast. Orgasming three times had made you hungry.

"Interesting," Arthur murmured, his expression inscrutable. "And how did that make you feel?"

"Confused," you admitted, mouth full, frowning. "I don't understand why he would tell me that."

"Perhaps there's a reason," Arthur suggested, leaning forward in his chair. "Dreams can be windows into our deepest desires and fears. Maybe this is something you need to explore further."

"Are you saying that I should try to get actual therapy?" You asked, skepticism lacing your words.

"Not quite," Arthur replied, his voice soft but firm. "Trust your instincts."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. The idea of delving deeper into Doctor Harrow's fixation unnerved you. And the way your Arthur reacted to your dream had left you puzzled. Did he know there was a dream version of him lingering around? Could he influence it? Hadn’t it just all been inside your head? Because you’d been pretty certain Ammit and the other Gods loved to use familiar faces and an asylum room to bring their messages across.

"I’m hungry now,” you said, reluctantly. "I just want to eat.”

"Good," Arthur smiled, his eyes warm and reassuring. "I will leave you be. But just remember, I'm here for you, no matter what."

"Thank you," you whispered, your throat tight with emotion.

You watched as Arthur stood and made his way to the door, the familiar crunch of glass beneath his feet a constant reminder of his devotion. His silhouette framed by the doorway, he paused and glanced back at you, his eyes filled with an emotion that you couldn't quite place. Then he was gone. ~ * ~

[stupidbeemeen]

⚠️NSFW: OC x Cannon⚠️

Arthur Harrow x OC

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My first NSFW work 🥺✨

Full pic:👇👇👇

[weirdcrocodilelady]

Resurgam chapter 17 is coming, I promise 😭

It's literally done and drafted in Ao3, I've just been too depressed to actually proofread and post

(I probably lost all my 5 or so readers by going MIA for so long, but this is just in case anyone was still following the story 🫠)