#Arthur harrow x reader

[talia888]

[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.

[fitzarts]

My take on young Arthur

[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

[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

[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

[creelkobblelaufeyson69]

After being hurt by the lack of Marc trying to respond to any of the messages, there seemed to be only one logical reason to cope. In a vulnerable state, joining Arthur seemed to be the only logical solution for heartache. But now as the sand beneath the feet of three, heartache returned. Confusion, and a lace of betrayal was on Marc’s face. “What the hell are you doing here?!” Marc asked in frustration, clearly hurt by seeing the sight of the person he cherished so much being beside Arthur

Every emotion seemed to be thrown as the smell of dead bodies around the grave ghosted the air. The air that held so much life in one person’s lungs, that now felt tight at the conflict. “What ARE you doing here? Did you finally give a fuck to wonder what happened to me? Did that long period of being ghosted finally catch up to you, to come find me?”

Marc looks now conflicted with his own emotions, and mentality. The voices louder now with expressions of frustration at him, and feelings of confusion as to of never of knowing. Arthur lets the scene unfold, knowing how much pent up anger was with the dust particles. Arthur never really got too close to any of his members, nor allowed any of his members to express feelings, but he allowed it with one

“I just wasn’t expecting you to join a cult…” was all Marc could say to the person he cherished. Mad was what that person felt, since the only other person who did listen ghosted the being. Arthur listened when Marc disappeared, leaving nothing behind but sadness and bitterness in taste. “Maybe don’t ghost me for two years then!” Anger raised in the being’s voice, causing Marc to be shocked

Never once was the person he cherished so angry at him. It was always sweetness mixed with understanding that he got addicted to that he must’ve found rehab to help him get out. Maybe he hadn’t realized how much he did love the being at the time, but looking at the being now- “we’re done Marc” those words should’ve hit him in the head, but it felt like freedom. The voices were however more upset about this than he was

‘At least happiness will come to you with him…’ Marc thought after that day had happened

Note: hi! I don’t usually write like this😭 I just got fucking possessed and just went with it.

[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

[talia888]

Arthur Harrow inspired playlist, feel free to give me suggestions :)

[slvtforoldermen]

Day Five of Fluff February 2024

Arthur Harrow (Moon Knight) 🐊

Navigation

Main Masterlist

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.

[distracted-milkshake]

Mouthy - college!Arthur Harrow x college!reader

Warnings: tame and reasonable age gap (around ten years, reader is in their twenties) that’s taken more seriously because of allusions to the possibility of (past) teacher/student but that’s not the dynamic, author has never been to college so there’s probably inaccuracies there, mentions of being institutionalized (Arthur), mentions of schizophrenia and a possible mental breakdown/hallucinations, Arthur is written to be Christian because I wanted him to have a religious background and that’s the one I can write best, smoking, sex is implied/non-explicit and there’s some foreplay, dirty talk, non gendered reader!

Words: 6.1k okay so like I know what happened I just don’t know how it happened

Rating: M

Summary: You meet a familiar face in your classes one day, an old teacher now your peer, and becoming overwhelmed with a childish, decade old crush, decide to pursue him knowing it can’t possibly work without coming clean. But before you can, he disappears and comes back with a wild secret that changes things about your relationship and how you see each other forever.

Chat this AU and dynamic is SO specifically catered to me it’s wild. Hopefully anybody else can even enjoy it

This is by no means the first Arthur Harrow x reader I’ve written it’s just the first I finished

AO3 Link

You knew Arthur was too old for you. Like, a decade too old. How a guy smart and focused as him hadn’t already gotten his doctorate twice over by the time you met him you didn’t know. He didn’t talk about it, so you didn’t ask.

It wasn’t like you minded; you didn’t have to talk about anything to enjoy his company, and when he did talk, he talked plenty for the both of you.

He was hot, effortlessly charismatic, and familiar is ways hard to parse, like he was straight out of one of your old daydreams. At first you thought it was just because you had seen him around. Maybe he’d waved at you a few weeks back or you had sat next to him a couple of times unknowingly.

But then he was explaining something in the material to you in the empty lecture hall, something you’d zoned out on during the lecture, when it struck you like a bat to the head intended for a fast pitch.

His face, his mannerisms, that little way he fiddled with his closed up piercing in his left earlobe when he spoke, you knew him, and from a while back. He used to sub for your history class for like a week back in highschool.

The realization that he’d used to be your teacher really should have clued you in that maybe you were a little sick in the head. It wasn’t weird to have a crush on a teacher in highschool. To still have that crush years later? Well…

He obviously absolutely did not remember you or all the lip you’d given him at all, which you were grateful for, because really had given him a hard time for no good reason.

Well, maybe one reason. You thought he was the hottest guy in that entire school back then, and being seventeen, strung out, defiant, and confused that had made you really, really mad, particularly at him. Whether it was because he was unavailable or so outside the norm of who you usually thought about, you weren’t sure.

You had used to wish you had met him younger, even though he would have already graduated by the time you were halfway through middle school.

Really, you should have wished to meet him later, like now. Even a whole generation ahead of you and visibly older, at least now the difference in age wasn’t so weird. Right?

He was still a kid when you were born.

As much as you thought that should have brought you to your senses, turned you off the idea of getting to run your hands through his hair or shut up his monologuing with a deep kiss, it only made you more attracted to him.

It had been a bit, hard to say exactly how long, since you’d been softly spending more and more time with Arthur, just some exchanges here and there.

You couldn’t bring yourself to keep away from him, your old teacher and biggest, most safely guarded crush. He seemed to end up around you more than was coincidental himself, but whether that was just him being nice or something more you really couldn’t tell.

You were studying with him at a long table in the library late one afternoon, having plopped down across from him and his mountain of books, nudging his ankle with your foot to get his attention.

He ignored you, fixing his gold colored reading glasses up the bride of his nose, a small smile creeping to his face he tried to hide with his hand as if deep in thought.

“Art.” You said, leaning forward. He glanced up at you, just letting his gaze flit to yours before it was fixed back to the page.

“Mmnm?”

“You want to get out of here?”

“Out of here?” He set his book down a little, leaning back to look over at you with a raised brow. “We have an essay due in two days and you haven’t even started!”

“I’ll start when we get back. I’ve got plenty of time. Come on. Your ass hasn’t enjoyed a single thing here that wasn’t in a book.” You knew it was true, he didn’t do anything, no one saw him outside of class, at parties, or even around town. “You gotta watch out or you’re gonna turn into one.”

He snorted and that dopey half grin you loved came to his face.

“Yeah. Okay. You better work on it though, or you won’t get it done.”

“Promise.”

“Let me go get changed.”

You stared at him, stunned. Part of you really had thought he only dressed in sweaters, vests, and button ups; the leather jacket, the jeans… it somehow made him look younger and more like your dad at the same time.

“Where did you get that?” You gestured as he strode up beside you out front.

“Get what? The jacket? Oh. I thrifted it. Back when I was into the grunge scene. It’s really comfortable.”

You didn’t know how it was possible everything you learned about someone could only make them more perfect, but Arthur was like some sort of character made with you in mind. If only there weren’t the huge problem of you already knowing him. If he could just be this cute guy at your college, you could get over the age thing, whatever other tiny drawbacks (you were sure there had to be something), and bridge that space between you with his hand in yours.

Shit, he was right there next to you and he was real and it was so surreal to be this close to him.

You got hotdogs at a cart a little ways from campus, walked a path around the park as the sun started to set, talked like the oddly friendly fast friends you had become.

You scarfed half of yours in one bite and made him laugh when you asked a muffled question around a full mouth.

“Just a few more weeks and I’ll be Doctor Harrow.” Arthur said as he tossed his wrapper in the trash and tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. “You know, as long as I have waited, I don’t know if I’m excited to go back to work.”

You chewed your cheek and finally asked what had been eating at you.

“Why aren’t you a doctor already?” You said, finishing and tossing your own wrapper and napkin out after you wiped your fingers and lips.

“My mother got sick.” He said. “I went back home to care for her.”

He scuffed his sneaker on the curb as he hopped down to pick up a bit of trash and back up around a lamppost, nearly brushing your arm as he did, tossing it overhand behind you into the trash.

“That’s sweet.” You said.

“Thanks. Then I was… I really took it hard when she died. It was so stressful for so long but then it was just over and… yeah.”

There it was. You knew something about him had to be less than absolutely flawless.

“I’m so sorry.” You said.

“Oh, don’t be.” He said, waving you off and smiling that way that made it hard to think straight. “It’s nothing new in my family. My dad died when I was about eight. No one really knows what happened. It was very strange.”

“Was he sick or…?”

“He was uh, he was kind of messed up, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He was a little– he heard stuff sometimes. Was really depressed. I guess I got it from him.”

“Should I worry about you?” You asked with a quirked brow.

“Oh, goodness, no. I’m on medication. You may have noticed– noticed my mood is a little strange, I tend to overcompensate for the numbness a little. Well, it’s not exactly numbness… it’s hard to explain if you haven’t taken those kinds of medications before.”

You could see his shoulders tensing a little and quickly changed the subject. “So you don’t feel bad about being behind me?”

He brightened. “No. Not at all. I'm used to it. I’ve been late to just about everything in life anyway. I was born two weeks late, I didn’t start walking, really walking, till I was like, three, and…” he trailed off, scratching hard at his head.

“And what?” You urged gently.

“Oh gosh, I shouldn’t tell you this.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you buried the implications of his words away and doubled down.

“Shouldn’t tell me what?”

He chewed his lip and glanced at you sideways, then exhaled. “I didn’t get my first pubic hair till I was nearly fifteen. I was… I was the only boy shorter than his date to prom. Then when school started up again I had shot up about two feet.”

He sighed, a little sad, a little reminiscing. “Then it was pretty much nothing but basketball and band drama till I graduated.”

He fiddled around in his pocket for a moment before he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“Sorry, do you…?” He asked after taking a short drag.

“No it’s fine. Those things’ll kill you, though.”

“I know, believe me, I know, it’s just the one a week. I get– well I get nervous now and then.” He blew the smoke out away from you. “You know what, when this pack’s gone, I’ll quit for good. My mom would be proud of that.”

“She would, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He only smoked about half of it before crushing the rest in the nearest ash pan as it came up, wiping his hands on his sun bleached jeans.

“Enough about me, I’ll talk all night if you let me. What are you hoping to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I kinda suck at everything.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I don’t know if I even really know why I’m here.”

“You’re really bad at your written work, but you know stuff, you’re really smart. You’ll get your master’s by the time I graduate, you just gotta quit doing everything last minute.”

You could barely hear him over your own heartbeat. His teacher voice was so weird from the context of an encouraging fellow student.

“It’s really bad for you,” he continued. “Procrastinating that much.”

“You do not get to talk to me about bad habits!” You exclaimed with a wide smile.

“Fair.” He gave his head a tilt. “But really. You’re smart. You’ll do fine.”

“I dunno, that’s easy for you to say. You’re kind of just better at everything.” He stopped, and you continued a bit before you realized and stopped too.

“What?” You said.

“I am not.”

“Yeah, you are. You read way more and you actually understand stuff the first time it’s said to you. This is like my second try.”

“I’ll tell you what. Race me to that fire hydrant. You win, you’re better than me at something, and you have to graduate this year.”

You stood up straight, both surprised and intrigued. “Yeah. Okay.” You nodded.

“You have to keep your head start though.” He pointed.

You glanced down at your feet and then his. It was a good few yards.

“And if you win?” You said.

“I’ll decide if that happens what. Ready? Go!”

You nearly stumbled, laughing as the gap between you was reduced to nothing in seconds. He was fast.

He overtook you about a third of the way there but you pushed and made it just by the end, whooping loudly.

“Would you look at that, you win.”

“I guess you can’t keep up with me, old man.” You panted.

“Oh don’t start. I’m thirty-six, not fifty.” He leaned against the wall behind him to catch his breath, but you saw his breathing evened out much faster than yours.

“You lost on purpose.” You said.

He shrugged. “No real way to tell.”

“No, you definitely cheated.” You leaned against the wall a few feet from him.

“Can’t prove it, didn’t happen.” He teased. You wished you could bottle and keep that cocky grin.

“Alright, regardless, I guess I’m graduating this year.”

“Good. I think that’s gonna be really good for you.” He nodded, and his eyes lingered on yours a little longer than was usual.

He turned away from you, clearing his throat.

“I’m uh… I’m gonna head back,” he said. “Get a couple cups of coffee and push through the last few pages. You can join me if you want.”

As much as that sounded like the best night ever, you were exhausted, and absolutely sick of studying.

“No, thank you. I think I’m gonna head back to my dorm. Think I might need a taxi though.”

He chuckled. “I’ll catch you later then.”

“Wait, could I get your number?”

“Oh, I don’t have one of those. I don’t think they’re going to stick. Landlines are just so much more convenient.”

“A cell is literally more convenient by definition.” You shook your head. “Give me your landline then.”

“I uh… the one at my apartment isn’t hooked up.” He admitted sheepishly. “I’ll just see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Dork. Yeah okay. I’ll see you.”

He was right there, so casual and perfect looking, you could just grip his cheek, turn him into a kiss and he wouldn’t ever even have to know who he’d been to you.

He pushed off the wall. You released a breath. The moment was gone. He gave you a wave as he headed back towards campus, and you waved back, but it was halfhearted.

You were going to have to tell him. You knew you were going to go completely nuts if you didn’t.

You didn’t see Arthur in your classes the next day, nor anywhere on the grounds. You asked a couple friends and even a professor where he was but no one had seen him since he’d been in the library with you. The whole day went by, and as you settled into your dorm for the night you started to worry.

You didn’t see any trace of him the day after that either, not till well after noon.

Almost randomly, as if he had spawned or found himself there, you saw him clutching himself against the door to a utility closet. He had deep circles under his eyes, and his usually slicked back dirty auburn hair was a mess about his ears and in his face.

He looked haunted.

As soon as he spotted you he called out, and you brushed your friend’s invitation of lunch off to hurry over to him.

“Hey, you okay?”

He looked so relieved to hear your voice it made your heart cramp.

“Yes, well no, I…”

He looked around you at the emptying hall than up over your shoulder. He pressed his eyes shut as your eyes followed to the unremarkable wall behind you.

“Art, chill out. It’s okay.” You rubbed his arm and felt a little exhilaration you had to push down when he didn’t flinch or pull away.

“Oh, thank God you’re here. I don’t know if I could possibly explain what’s happened to me.”

His voice shook and puffed out a breath just as unsteady.

“I don’t want to burden you with anything because we don't know each other that well, but I don’t… I don’t have anybody else to talk to.”

“It’s okay, what happened? Did you get mugged or something?”

“No, nothing like that. I’ve been up all night, I just slept a few hours out in the courtyard and got some food waiting for your classes to finish. I would have called you, but, well, I don't have a working phone.” He chuckled weakly and sighed.

“What happened?”

“I was in the historical society’s study hall late the night before last, you remember? I was finishing up my paper, when this statue– I heard a voice, it spoke to me. It offered me this power and I thought it was a joke or something, thought it was just in my head. I didn’t understand, so I just said yes and then– well then…”

“What?”

“Look, I don’t just have emotional problems, when I went back home to take care of my mom, I was committed, again. Third time since I was a teen. Then she passed while I was in and I kinda… kinda went off it. I…I have hebephrenic schizophrenia.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay! I’m not— I’ve never been violent, it’s not like that, and I haven’t had an episode in years. I just think I might be– having one again and I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life! I really don’t wanna go back! That voice won’t leave me, it-it says it chose me, that it wants me to fight for it like some kind of vigilante!”

You shook off your disconcerted fear at his revelation and composed yourself. Whatever was going on, he was really freaking out and he needed your help. “Arthur,” you said. “From the top, what happened? Is this real or not?”

“I… I don’t know. There’s this– I can’t— I can’t show you here, not where others can see.” He again looked around and up behind you as if there were something or someone there.

Then he looked back at you.

“Would you come with me, please?”

And that’s how you found yourself several blocks down from the university in Arthur’s one room apartment.

He had tall shelves of books and trinkets, fossils and shells and arrowheads, that sort of thing, but otherwise everything was remarkably minimalist and neat within those bare brick walls.

He was still far from calm, despite the sodas you’d shared (he didn’t drink), pacing the little area beside the kitchen and table that was also the front entrance.

“I haven’t stopped taking or changed anything about my medication. It’s worked the same.” He explained, still as frazzled looking as when you had spotted him in the crowd.

He fumbled with the pack of cigarettes from his jacket before realizing it was empty and tossing it.

It wasn’t lost on you that you had followed an insane, potentially hallucinating man back to his apartment without telling anyone where you were, but you felt strangely at ease about it, the most anxiety you felt was for him and if he was doing okay.

“Is it possible you forgot?” You asked and he paused, contemplating, then looked up at you.

“No, I really don’t think so, I thought maybe I was having a break to start– but this– it feels different, my vision is clear, it’s just one clear voice, and I– tell me if I’m just out of it and I’ll get help or if you can see it too.”

You nodded.

“Right. Okay.” He took a step back into the room and straightened.

Your eyes widened at the pale burgundy robes and shrouded headwrap as they engulfed him in a swirling whirlwind of fabric.

Long draping sash and calf length tunic were trimmed with gold and detailed with symbols along every edge.

It looked like something off the poster of a knock-off Middle East military drama, strangely accurate to several cultures but overall none at all, definitely anachronistic to whatever time period it was supposed to be.

He pulled the taupe mask set behind the wrappings back to reveal his euphoric expression.

“You see it! Oh, Christ, I’m not just hallucinating it all, thank God.”

His relief was palpable.

“How is this… what did this?” You asked.

“The voice he– he said he’s a god, that his name is Khonshu—”

“Kahn stew?”

“Khonshu. Like the Egyptian myth.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded then shook his head when you narrowed your eyes.

“Yeah, I don’t know about you but I only think of one God as real, and he is certainly not like this.”

He let the robes fray and dissipate from his body and sat down at the tiny table beside you, letting out a breath, fixing his hair, or trying to, anyway.

“I mean, weirder things have happened, right?” You said.

“Yeah. Just wish they didn’t happen to me.” He groaned and relaxed when you gave his hand a reassuring pat.

“I can’t thank you enough.” He said, turning his head to you. “You know you’re so much braver than you used to be. I always knew you had the potential back then, you just never used to for anything but acting out. I didn’t think you’d ever grow into yourself.”

“Back… when?” You asked tentatively.

“In highschool.” He said and suddenly the whole room was just the foot or less of space between you.

“You remember that!?”

He blinked at you with a serious expression, sitting up a bit.

“Of course I remember. You mouthed off to me every weekday for an entire month and you did it wearing the exact clothes you do now. I think I sent you to the vice principal six times.”

“It was a month?!” You exclaimed.

Harrow– Arthur had been your sub for a whole month? You had thought it was just the week.

He tilted his head at you, opened his mouth, closed it again.

“Yes.” He said. “Six weeks. Your regular teacher had a baby, I filled in for the rest of that semester for both her and her husband as a favor to– do you not remember any of this?”

“No. Apparently not.” You groaned, rubbing your ear, then sighed. “There were like forty kids in that class. Why do you remember me?”

“I don’t think I could forget you if I wanted to.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not only were you the worst behaved student in all my six years of teaching social studies, but you were also the rudest, most uncooperative person I think I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

You scoffed.

“I wouldn’t recognize you at all now on your attitude alone. I could not believe you actually listened to the answer that professor gave to your question the other day.”

“Yeah, I grew out of it.” You nodded, then drew your brow. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wasn’t going to hold it against you. You were younger, you know? I was uptight, we didn’t… what’s the word? Vibe well. It’s whatever. What you do to get through school you do to get through school. Lord knows I was a far from a great student.”

“So wait. You went out with me knowing you used to teach my classes?”

“Please. That was years ago. And we did not go out. We’re just friends.”

You folded your arms and frowned.

“Arthur I want to sleep with you.”

His eyes went wide, looking equal parts horrified and shocked. Somewhere in there was a smidge of embarrassment, too.

“What? You— No you don’t.” His voice came in a stutter higher than you’d even heard it. You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide. It was really cute.

“Yes I do. I’ve been in love with you since I was seventeen years old.”

“No, that’s ridiculous. Nobody– I don’t think—”

“What? You thought I was flirting with you nonstop just for my own amusement?”

“I thought that’s just how people talk these days!”

You wanted to brush that flustered look off his face, apologize and back out just as much as press on and make things so much worse. You settled somewhere between.

You pushed out your chair, grabbed his head firmly in both hands and kissed him, pressing your lips hard against his, tilting to find how you best fit together. You got to that angle and tasted him before he managed to react.

He cleared his throat, breaking, pulling away and holding you back from him as far as physically possible while still sitting, a conflicting mix of several feelings in his face clearly fighting to come out on top. He licked just the inside of his lips. He’d tasted you too.

If he wasn’t pink before he definitely was then.

“I’m not that mouthy kid anymore.” You assured him, putting your hand over his on your shoulder, daring his gaze levely with your own, just like you had back in class all those years ago. Only now, you kept it, you didn’t roll your eyes away when that disapproving brow fixed.

“No, you're still mouthy,” he said. “But you’re definitely not a kid.” He shook his head.

“It’s kind of… kinda hot now, actually.” He let his hand that was braced against your shoulder go, fanning his sweatshirt.

“I am so going to hell for this.” He murmured, crystaly blue eyes dragging up your features as you tucked his hair back off his face and shifted your leg under you to get closer to him. He did the opposite, to the same end.

“Might as well have fun before you get there, right?”

“Logic and theology were never your strong suits.” He tittered, pinching and unpinching his tongue between his teeth.

“Neither was following the rules.”

And when you leaned in to kiss him again, he met you halfway, cradling your head to deepen it.

And it did get deep.

You couldn’t have pinned the moment it changed, when it went from something you could have spun as innocent to something distinctly repressed and carnal in nature. He let your tongue slide against his like it belonged there. You kissed him like it did.

Your hands found his thighs, rubbed between them and his hip, around his waist to his back. Before you knew it you had gotten up and pulled him to standing, pressed your body into his.

And you didn’t give him a chance to process, to pull away and breathe and consider just how wrong this felt, just dragged him closer and ate him up and made it feel right.

You mouthed down his neck, pressing kisses first close to his jaw, then lower. You heard his heavy breaths above your ear as you tugged his head back by the hair just enough to get access to his collar. You nibbled at the skin there in intervals till you found the spot on his throat that made his fingers tighten around your wrist in his hair, then you bit and pulled, sucked all the color to the skin, made his breath stop. He choked out a whine, faltering on his feet.

“Do you have a hard on, Mister Harrow?” He shuddered and you felt it in your bones.

“Shit, yes, yes I do.”

“Or should I call you Doctor?”

“I don’t know. You can call me whatever you want.”

“You’re hard for me?” He bit his lip hard as you dug your palm harshly against him, breathing through his teeth.

“Yes, I— Wait, we can’t… I don’t—”

“You need to loosen up,” you gave his belt a tug. “Think you’ve been a naughty boy, Mister Harrow, and it’s my turn to get you in trouble.”

“Not so loud! I have neighbors.”

“What, don’t want them to know you’re about to let your former student fuck every thought out of your head?”

“Shhh shh…! Oh Christ…”

“Get on the bed.”

“Everything about you was worth the wait.” He murmured as he did exactly as you said.

Arthur laid breathless in his bed, seeming to try to get his head around what had transpired, to catch up with his body.

You got up to find your pants and he laughed lightly to himself.

“What’s funny?” You asked, finally finding your carelessly discarded clothes over by the window.

“Nothing, I just— I just got this flash of a memory of your parents picking you up after you got chewed out and sent home for the rest of the day. Just when you walked across the room there. Jesus Christ.”

He pinched his eyes shut hard, rubbing between his eyebrows.

“I feel much better and at the same time so much worse about everything. This… I want you to know I ever thought about you inappropriately. Not back then, I swear, but in the years after… you– I thought about you a lot. Especially when I was alone. I would think I heard your voice a lot. Sorry, that’s really weird…”

You redid your pants and untucked your shirt. “No. Tell me more.”

“Well… You would tell off my voices a lot. Give me advice– it was rarely good, but you were a lot nicer, kind of like you are now. Sometimes if I was crying and I couldn’t stop you would tell me to get over myself. To stop being such a baby. You would make me laugh at it all.”

He kept running a hand back through his hopelessly messy hair as he spoke, as if that would fix it. He finally let it be as he let his arm flop beside his head, sighing.

“My therapist told me I should reach out to you.”

“You told your therapist about me?!” You laughed.

“Well, I kind of had to. She didn’t know you used to be one of my students. I didn’t tell her about any of the other stuff! Just… just how much you had helped me.”

He breathed, letting his eyes drift shut a second.

“When you kissed me, I thought it wasn’t real. That I had to be dreaming. I’m still not certain I’m not.”

You looked at him, spread and boneless in his sheets.

You hadn’t even undressed him. His shirt was up and his pants were unbuckled, pulled down off his hips just as much as was necessary, but that was it.

You had thought he was cute before, but face screwed up in pleasure, mouth hanging open in broken gasps, his face tinted a dusty rose pink, hand nervously fluttering before settling to dig into your hip, he was adorable.

And now, opening up like a book to you, like he had the other night, but about you, he was gorgeous. You wanted to make up every bit of how shitty you had treated him and know every thing about what had screwed him up and made him this timid, sweet guy you hadn’t appreciated at all as a teen.

You wanted so much more of him. It had been too fast, you still hadn’t even seen him naked.

You sat at the foot of the bed by his feet and he sat up, rubbing his thumb knuckle against his front teeth.

“I can hear him again.” He said.

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“What’s he saying?”

“He's calling me a pervert.” He gave his head a tilt, willfully keeping his eyes on you and away from the large bird who still had to duck in his high ceilinged studio apartment.

“A pervert?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, was he watching us?”

“Uh… I… don’t know… maybe a little? I was very distracted.”

“Oh my God, he’s the damn pervert, Art!” You gave him a playful shove, and his nervous smile only got wider. You fixed his undershirt sleeve up over his pale shoulder. “Khonshu, right? The whiny ass bird god? You tell him he’s a damn perv, the piece of shit.”

Arthur watched the space behind you with a hand over his mouth, breathing hard, then he broke in a contagiously stilted laugh.

“Wow, okay, he left. He does not like you. I don’t think I can repeat what he said.”

“Good.” You stated.

“You are incredible.” His heart eyes were sparkly cool blue pools, just another thing you were going to get completely obsessed with, addicted to. “Just the coolest. I am so glad I met you again.”

“I’m glad I got to get mouthy with you again too, Art.”

You smiled and tugged him into another kiss. As much as you wanted to stay, you had to get back to your dorm. You had to about thirty seconds to finish your essay.

————

Bonus deleted scene!!!

————

You rolled your eyes to the front as your full name was called softly by the hot bastard you had been actively ignoring for the better part of an hour.

“Would you please get back in your seat, we are in the middle of class.”

You dragged yourself back into your desk from where you’d been leaning over to dig through your classmate’s bag. She tugged it up and to the other side of her seat, shooting you daggers. You stuck your tongue out at her.

“Actually, switch up front here– you don’t mind, sweetie.” Arthur said, and you reluctantly swapped to the desk a few ahead. “Just switch places, the two of you. There. Thank you. Now can you tell me what the area in modern day Iraq, between the Tigris and Eufretes rivers is sometimes called?”

“Funky croissant.” You rubbed your eye to distract from pocketing the stolen gum.

“Close.” Arthur said. “It’s the Fertile Crescent. You got the shape right, croissant means crescent moon shaped in French. Now, back approximately six thousand years before Christ…”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 🥐 🌙

You’re up the moment the bell rings and nearly to the door before you hear your name out of that sharp eyed hawk.

“Could you stay a moment please? I’d like to talk to you.”

You swayed on your heels and let the other students pass you till you were alone with your least favorite teacher.

He leaned against his desk and beckoned you. You took one tiny, mock step forward. He gave you a look and you sighed dramatically, striding to stand a few feet from him, dropping your backpack by your feet.

“Now I don’t know if you just like detention, or you don’t think there are better ways to spend your time–” he said your name, sighing. “Please look at me when I talk to you. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

He nodded to you with those too clear blue eyes and you wanted to punch him in the nose.

“I need you to behave better in my class. Now I don’t know and I won’t pry to what sort of trouble you may be having elsewhere, what the source of your problems with authority and impulse control is.”

His voice went a little softer, almost catching you off guard.

“You know you can tell me if you aren’t doing okay. If something is happening at home, it’s my responsibility to get you help.”

He looked seriously to you and you stared back with lidded eyes, jaw working, counting the seconds till you could get out of this conversation. “Yeah,” you shrugged. “I know. “

“Outside of that,” he continued. “Clearly something I’m doing is not connecting with you, and that’s important to me, so tell me, what do I have to do to get you to sit through one of my classes without interrupting or arguing with me?”

You smirked. “I dunno, suck my dick?”

“Please, a serious answer. That is not appropriate. I will have to inform your parents.”

You unwrapped and were about to pop the gum from earlier in your mouth when Arthur reached forward and surprised you by plucking it right out of your hand, tossing it in the trash behind his desk. You buried your wildly running thoughts and the tingles in your palm under teen hormone fueled impudence and sneered at him.

“You know you’re a bitch, right?” You spat. “Other teachers tell me to knock it off but you just preach to me about how you know I’m struggling and how coming into an adult is all difficult. It’s bullshit, you are such bullshit.”

You shook your head and he folded his arms. “If it is such BS, then how do explain my persistence? I assure you my virtue of patience is a hundred percent genuine.”

“Oh, you goody two shoes Christian ass—”

“Stop. That has nothing to do with this, and everything to do with how you treat me and your fellow students. Don’t make this about me.”

He sighed, then seemed to reconsider.

“Actually– there is one thing. I am worried about you specifically, because I see a lot of my younger self in you. I was committed a few years ago. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, Mister Harrow,” you mocked. “I know what that means.”

“I’ve had trouble dealing with reality and regulating my behavior, sometimes appearing very cheery and defiant despite having a depressive episode. I know what it feels like to bury your feelings, to have this front everyone sees to protect yourself.”

You swallowed hard and stomped the butterflies in your stomach down to a pulp.

“Wow.” You chuckled lowly. “So you’re stuck up and crazy.”

Arthur stood to his full height and you backed up a little, smile fading.

“Get out of my classroom. Now. Take your things. Go.”

You slung your backpack up to your shoulder, unlatched and kicked the door open, turning to walk backwards. You flipped him the bird and held it till you were well out in the hall and the door clicked behind you.

Arthur sighed and massaged his temple. He crossed around the desk to get his bag.

Sometimes, he hated this job.

————

An unnecessarily comprehensive note on Arthur’s schizophrenia diagnosis:

In this, Arthur reveals he has a hebephrenic schizophrenia diagnosis, an outdated term also known as disorganized schizophrenia but is now all just recognized as schizophrenia and not as its own thing. (This was to be period accurate!)

What it was previously distinguished by is it presenting younger and more having to do with odd speech, problems with thought, communication and behavior, which were the main symptoms Arthur displayed in the background of this AU, but at the point this story takes place is likely a misdiagnosis.

I’ve gotta say, researching this stuff is terrible because nearly every other term and description is outdated or not well supported as actually having anything to do with people who have the condition. Like??? Sometimes I feel I would be more accurate if I just made stuff up based off my own mental health experiences and called it a day. Anyways.

Trying to fit Marc’s Mind Doctor Harrow’s comment about having ‘psychic breaks… periods of mania followed by depression’ whilst settling on something with symptoms that worked for what I wanted. Technically, on that alone, something like schizoaffective or bipolar disorder would be more accurate, but I digress.

At the end of the day his schizophrenia is just whatever’s convenient to what little plot there is.

Khonshu just likes ‘em mentally ill and unsure if he’s even real. Also supposed to be implied he might've had something to do with Arthur’s dad’s death, isolating and destabilizing his life early on to make his predisposed issues worse and him more easy to manipulate as someone who already responded to and didn’t take voices in his head seriously. Partially based on the theory Khonshu had something to do with Randall’s death.

Thanks for reading, psychologist author out.

[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

[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. ~ * ~

[realcamerolli]

In the past week, several allegations have been made against me regarding my past conduct in a friendship. While I disagree with many of the characterizations presented, I recognize that this individual’s feelings are valid and deserve to be heard. I’ve taken time to reflect and want to respond in a way that is respectful and considered.

Looking back, it’s clear that the dynamics of the relationship were complex. While my intentions were never to cause harm, I now understand that certain actions may have been interpreted differently than I intended. I never believed I was acting inappropriately, but I acknowledge that this person experienced discomfort and distress, and I regret that deeply.

The allegations of grooming and sexual misconduct came as a shock to me. Throughout our interactions, I understood them to be consensual and grounded in mutual trust and openness. I’m not here to argue that perspective, only to offer it. Out of respect for the privacy of everyone involved, I won’t be sharing personal messages, though they have been a source of confusion and pain for me as well.

I want to make it clear that I do not identify with the labels that have been attached to me. However, I acknowledge that harm was felt, and I regret that anyone walked away from their time with me feeling hurt or used. If there is something to learn from this, I am open to that process.

My goal moving forward is to continue growing and maintaining the integrity of my relationships, both public and private. I remain committed to reflection and personal development, even if I don’t fully agree with every narrative being presented.

– -•°Ang3l-Fr05t°

[stupidbeemeen]

⚠️NSFW: OC x Cannon⚠️

Arthur Harrow x OC

.

.

.

My first NSFW work 🥺✨

Full pic:👇👇👇