Someone To Protect — B. Reynolds [part 1]
someone to protect — b. Reynolds [part 1]
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![Someone To Protect — B. Reynolds [part 1]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b2c8e23435ea8ef47bd0281b165f0e04/7aab96a3ec5d275a-19/s500x750/bfde65e6fc6cbd575d91464f2ff18f47876550b8.png)
𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 彡 you only came to the grocery store for bread. you didn’t expect to run into the man who once broke into your apartment, stole your tv, and fled through your window with second-degree ramen burns. and you definitely didn’t expect that same man—now shaggy, awkward, and uncomfortably familiar—to be dragged into your life again by a booming russian in a red tracksuit who insists on borscht and redemption dinners.
𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 彡attempt at comedy, mentions of past drug addiction (meth use and overdose), violence, language, and mature content in future chapters (including trauma-related themes and emotional intimacy). Please read with care !
if you prefer to read it on wattpad 🔗
word count: 6.1k
enjoy !
![Someone To Protect — B. Reynolds [part 1]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9dcb9411aad0b4482645ea0bf05753f7/7aab96a3ec5d275a-18/s500x750/6486924df4a9e81c3a00d7073d53990e0227f790.png)
The grocery store’s air-conditioning blasted cold enough to raise goosebumps on your arms, a sharp contrast to the muggy New York summer outside. You shivered, rubbing your forearms as you grabbed a basket and drifted through the isles. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a bright, sterile hum that matched the strained pulse in your temple. You needed to focus. Just stick to the list. Get in, get out.
First on the list: bread. You turned down the bakery aisle, weaving through a pair of kids wrestling over a trolley like it was a prized race car. You wondered, just briefly, if one of them might suddenly turn into a super-soldier and crash into the shelves. You caught yourself. That paranoia had been creeping up ever since that day, and you had to admit it was exhausting.
Two months. Two months since the floor beneath your desk had cracked open like a jaw, spilling glass and drywall onto the street below. Two months since you had stumbled through the smoke and the alarms, clutching your laptop and half-eaten sandwich, your brain caught in a vicious loop of your worst memory, replaying over and over like a scratched CD.
You gripped the handle of your basket tighter, nails digging into the cheap plastic. You’d made it out just in time to watch a helicopter tilt sideways into the third floor, shattering the windows of the office you’d been sitting in minutes earlier. You remembered the heat, the blinding white flash of the rotors slicing through glass and steel, the rush of air that had nearly pulled you back into the chaos. You hadn’t been able to process it then, and you weren’t sure you could now.
You drew in a slow, steady breath, blinking back to the present as you grabbed a loaf of sourdough. Focus. You had more pressing problems than intrusive memories. Like rent. Or the fact that your employer had declared bankruptcy two days after the incident, leaving you and the rest of your department with nothing but a final, pitying group email about “unprecedented circumstances.” You scoffed, shoving the bread into your basket a bit too hard.
Moving into the canned goods aisle, you scanned the shelves for soup, your eyes lingering on the discount labels. You were still trying to convince yourself that this whole unemployment thing would be a short-term inconvenience, but your bank account said otherwise. You hadn’t even had the energy to look for a new job yet. The idea of sitting in another sterile, glass-panelled office, tapping away at spreadsheets while waiting for the next disaster to strike, felt like a cruel joke.
You turned the corner, debating the merits of tomato versus chicken noodle, when you nearly crashed into a broad chest that felt as solid as a concrete pillar. You jerked back, your basket swinging dangerously close to clipping your own hip and looked up.
The man you’d almost barrelled into towered over you, his shaggy, overgrown hair brushing the collar of his thick, grey cardigan. It hung loose on his frame, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing surprisingly defined, sinewy muscles that stretched the wool in a way that suggested he was used to lifting more than just grocery bags. His eyes, a stormy mix of grey and blue, blinked down at you with a hint of surprise, like he hadn’t expected to be standing here either.
“Oh,” he said, his voice soft and unsure, like someone who rarely spoke first. His hand reached out instinctively as if to steady you, fingers hovering just a breath away from your shoulder before he hesitated, withdrawing his arm like it might burn him.
You blinked up at him, something niggling at the back of your mind. He looked… familiar. Not just in the ‘guy you pass on the street every day’ kind of way, but in a way that prickled at the edges of an old, half-forgotten memory. You stared at his face, the scruffy jawline, the faint scar along his cheekbone, the haunted, cautious eyes that flicked away the second they met yours.
You knew this face.
You knew his face.
Your pulse stuttered.
Then it hit you. The flicker of a greasy hoodie pulled tight around a gaunt, desperate face, a figure silhouetted in the light of your open fridge, a whispered, frantic apology cut off by a steaming cup of ramen splattering across a narrow, bony back.
“Oh my god,” you said, your voice coming out more breathless than you intended.
His eyes widened, a deer-in-headlights kind of terror flashing across his face.
“It’s you.”
“Uh…” He took a half-step back, one hand coming up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “It’s… me?”
“Yeah, you.” You jabbed a finger into his chest, immediately regretting it as your finger hit something disturbingly solid beneath the wool. You winced, pulling your hand back quickly, masking the sharp sting with a tight scowl. “You’re the one who broke into my apartment and stole my TV a few years back!”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. He blinked once, twice, then seemed to shrink a little into his cardigan, eyes flicking to the side as if he might find an escape route between the rows of chicken noodle and tomato soup.
“Oh. Oh.” He grimaced, his ears turning an impressive shade of pink. “Uh, yeah. I’m… I’m really sorry about that.” He stammered, rubbing his arm awkwardly. “I-I told you I’d replace it.”
You scoffed as you remembered his desperate face twisted with pain from the hot noodles that was thrown at his back, his words barely coming out coherent. “Yeah, well, that’s hard to believe from the guy who bolted out my window with a 43-inch flatscreen and a bad case of ramen burns.”
He flinched, a guilty look crossing his face as he glanced down at his shoes. “Yeah… I deserved that.” You were about to snap back, something cutting and cathartic, when a booming, heavily accented voice echoed down the aisle.
“Bob! There you are my friend!”
You turned, just in time to see a massive, bear-like figure stomping toward you, arms outstretched like he was about to crush the both of you in a bone-cracking bear hug.
Bob turned a little, his head dropping like a guilty puppy. “Oh no…”
The mountain of a man, dressed in a bright red tracksuit and sporting a bushy beard, clapped a meaty hand down on Bob’s shoulder, nearly sending him to his knees. “I have been looking for you everywhere! What are you doing here, hiding among the soup cans like a little mouse?”
You blinked, your mind struggling to keep up. You do know now that the man who stole your TV is named Bob, such a peculiar name.
Alexei’s grip on Bob’s shoulder tightened, his thick fingers nearly disappearing into the oversized grey cardigan, and for a moment, you almost felt a little sorry for the guy. Almost. The big Russian’s bearded face split into a grin, his eyes twinkling like he’d just found an old friend in the canned soup aisle.
“Ah, Bob! Did you find the canned corn ?” he boomed, his deep, accented voice carrying down the aisle and probably into the frozen foods section.
You took a small, instinctive step back, watching as Bob visibly shrank beneath the older man’s enthusiastic grasp. Alexei’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes narrowing with a sudden, almost childlike excitement. Without warning, he released Bob’s shoulder, reaching into his shopping basket as he brought it up, the box crinkling slightly in his massive hand.
“Look, look!” He leaned in towards you, jabbing a thick finger at the front of the box. “You recognize this?”
You blinked, leaning in despite yourself. The box was a generic-looking brand, the kind that’s always on sale but no one actually buys unless they’re desperate or trying to save a few dollars. The front featured a group of people, posing – Alexei’s finger pointing at a specific man.
You glanced at the person he was pointing at on the box, then back at him. Then back at the box. Then at Bob, who had gone a peculiar shade of pink beneath his scruffy, overgrown hair, his eyes fixed on the tiled floor like he wished he could disappear into it.
The Red Guardian’s grin only grew wider as he watched your confused expression, his finger tapping insistently on the printed image.
“See? See? You recognize, yes?” He straightened, puffing out his chest as if to match the image on the box. You blinked again, torn between second-hand embarrassment and a bizarre kind of awe. “Uh… yeah.” You muttered out, fingers awkwardly playing with the handle of your shopping basket.
His eyes sparkled, clearly thrilled by the recognition. “Yes, yes! You know me!” throwing his hands up causing you and Bob to flinch at the sudden burst of movement.
You tilted your head, watching as he posed with one fist on his hip, the cereal box still clutched in his other hand like it was the Olympic torch. “Red… something?”
He leaned in closer, his beard twitching with anticipation, like a giant, overeager bear.
“Red… Guardian?” you finished, half-question, half-statement.
He slammed the box down onto the edge of the nearest shelf, the impact making the metal rattle and the box to tremble. “Yes! Red Guardian!” he roared, clearly pleased with himself. You took a step back, fingers tightening around your grocery basket. This guy had the energy of a particularly loud uncle at a family barbecue, the kind that smacks you on the back hard enough to make you lose your breath.
“And you?” He pointed at you now, his massive hand blocking out half your vision. “You, what is your name?”
You hesitated, glancing at Bob, who was now staring resolutely at the floor tiles, his shoulders hunched like a child expecting a scolding. You felt a strange, uncomfortable twist in your gut, that same old unease from the ramen incident years ago prickling at the back of your mind.
“It’s, uh…” You cleared your throat, feeling oddly exposed under the Red Guardian’s intense, expectant stare. You croaked out your name, this also catching Bob’s attention, the both of you making eye contact but he quickly broke it off when you glared at him.
Alexei beamed your name out loud, rolling the name around in his mouth like a fine wine. “Beautiful name! Strong name!” He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing down the aisle, his gaze now falling on Bob
“And how do you know our Bob here?” he asks, the grin on his face not disappearing.
Your eyes slid back to Bob, who was now shuffling his feet, his hair falling into his eyes as he fidgeted with the fraying edge of his cardigan sleeve. You squinted at him, a sudden flash of irritation tightening your jaw. Right. You remembered exactly how you knew this guy.
“Oh, Bob here,” you said, making sure to put a lot of emphasis on his name long with letting a hint of your old anger creep into your tone, “stole my TV a few years back.” You scoffed out, you did not have a TV for a good few months and you was just a struggling college student.
Red Guardian’s smile froze, his thick eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. His gaze snapped to Bob, who winced, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red.
“Bob,” Red Guardian said slowly, his thick, bushy eyebrows knitting together in a mock expression of fatherly disappointment. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a loud, exaggerated whisper that still echoed down the aisle. “You did this?”
Bob flinched, his head jerking up as he stammered, “I-I, uh, I told her I’d replace it!” He shot you a panicked, pleading look, his hands wringing the hem of his cardigan like a guilty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, yeah. Right before you dove out my window with my flatscreen under your arm!” you pointed your index finger towards him in an excusing manner watching as he flinched at his, your brows furrow at this…he seemed like someone who is always on edge.
Red Guardian made a deep, disapproving sound in his throat, his head shaking slowly as he clapped a heavy hand down on Bob’s shoulder once again, making the man visibly wince.
“Tsk, tsk, Bob. This is no good.” He turned back to you, his eyes sparkling with a kind of mischievous, paternal glee. “He must make this right, yes? Repay his debt. Prove he is a good man! And no longer bad chicken Bob!” he exclaims out loud, your even more confused now.
‘Chicken Bob?’
Before you could protest, the Red Guardian’s grip tightened on Bob’s shoulder, his other hand sweeping towards you in a grand, magnanimous gesture. “Bob, you must invite this fine woman to dinner. Show her that you are reformed, yes?”
“W-wait, what?” Bob’s eyes shot wide, his face blanching beneath his scruffy beard.
“Yes, yes!” Red Guardian barrelled on, clearly delighted with his own idea. “You will come to dinner with us, yes?” He turned to you, his eyes bright, his grin nearly splitting his face in two. “It will be great honour to have such a strong, brave woman in our home. We make great borscht! Very delicious!”
You opened your mouth to object, to point out that you still had half a grocery list to get through, not to mention a few years of lingering resentment towards the man who had once made off with your only decent piece of electronics, but the Red Guardian’s booming voice cut you off.
“Come, come! Do not worry about groceries. I will make you borscht. Bob will show you he is a good man. Yes, Bob?”
Bob made a small, strangled sound, his eyes flicking between you and the Red Guardian like a trapped animal.
“Uh… y-yeah?” he managed, his voice so small it was almost swallowed by the grocery store’s humming lights.
Before you could fully process what was happening, the Red Guardian was already steering you and Bob towards the exit, the cereal box abandoned on the shelf behind you, his booming voice echoing through the aisles.
“Come, come, we will have great feast! You will see, Bob is very good man now!”
You shot Bob a sharp, exasperated look as you stumbled along beside them, your brain still scrambling to catch up. How the hell had this become your life?
⊹
The walk to the Watch Tower – the tower that now housed the ‘new’ avengers - was mercifully short, though it felt longer than it was with the Red Guardian practically booming with every step, his heavy boots clapping against the pavement like a small parade. The morning air was crisp, the sun cutting through the towering glass and steel around you, casting long, sharp shadows across the cracked pavement. You managed to get your groceries- Alexei insisting to pay for them as you clutched the bag tighter, the contents rustling softly against your leg as you tried to keep pace with the oversized man beside you.
Every few steps, you felt Bob’s presence behind you, shuffling quietly, his cardigan sleeves pulled down over his hands like a nervous schoolboy. You caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glossy glass doors as they reached the base of the tower, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before darting away again.
He still looked like a ghost of a man, all messy, unkempt hair and slouched shoulders, you almost felt bad for him, but the memory of your missing TV kept you firmly on the side of irritated.
Alexei, however, was in a world of his own, practically vibrating with energy as he slapped his massive palm against the sleek, polished metal of the tower’s entrance, his voice echoing off the glass.
“Come, come! We are home now!” He gestured grandly for you to enter, his broad, calloused hand sweeping towards the sliding glass doors.
You hesitated, glancing up at the towering structure. The sleek, reflective surface stretched up into the cloudless sky, the sunlight catching on the edges of a large A near the top. You swallowed, feeling a flicker of nervousness and nostalgia – you had been here before, long ago – work purposes, memories you just wanted to tuck away.
Before you could fully process the absurdity of the situation, the Red Guardian had already marched through the doors, his heavy boots clanking against the marble floors inside, leaving you and Bob to awkwardly shuffle in behind him.
The lobby was cavernous, the high ceilings stretching upwards like a cathedral, glass and steel arching around you in a way that felt both futuristic and oppressive. Soft, ambient music hummed through hidden speakers, the faint, sterile scent of air conditioning tingling in your nose. You glanced over at Bob, who was still staring at his shoes, his long, bony fingers twisting into the frayed edges of his cardigan sleeves.
You shifted your grocery bag to your other hand, your fingers starting to ache from the weight. Alexei was already jabbing at the elevator button with one thick, impatient finger, muttering something in rapid Russian under his breath as he waited for the doors to open.
With a soft ding, the elevator slid open, its brushed steel doors parting like the jaws of some enormous, metallic beast. Alexei stepped inside without hesitation, gesturing for you and Bob to follow.
You stepped in, feeling the air turn colder as the doors slid shut behind you. The soft, mechanical whirr of the elevator filled the silence as Alexei punched in the floor number, his massive knuckles practically dwarfing the tiny, glowing buttons.
For a moment, the only sounds were the gentle hum of the elevator and the faint rustle of your grocery bag as you adjusted it against your hip. You glanced sideways at Bob, who was staring intently at the corner of the elevator, his face a study in nervous concentration.
You tightened your grip on the bag, the plastic cutting into your fingers as you felt a fresh wave of irritation bubble up. How the hell had this guy gone from petty TV thief to… whatever the hell this was? You eyed him again, trying to reconcile the image of the jittery, scrawny man beside you with the half-forgotten memory of him scrambling out your window, your flatscreen clutched awkwardly in his arms.
The Red Guardian’s deep, rumbling voice cut through the silence like a hammer on glass. “Ah, Yelena will be so happy to meet you! Maybe you and her can be friends, yes? She needs more friends” He gave you a broad, toothy grin, his beard twitching as he chuckled to himself. “And you, Bob, you should also make more friends. You are too quiet, like a little ghost.”
Bob made a small, strangled sound, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for the briefest of moments before darting away again. You scowled, your fingers tightening around the grocery bag handle.
You shifted awkwardly, your eyes darting around the room as the uncomfortable silence stretched on. You felt Bob’s presence beside you, his hand twitching slightly as if he wanted to shove his hands into his pockets but was too nervous to move.
The elevator ride felt long- longer then you remembered. Finally, you shot him a sharp, sideways glance, Alexei was humming something in Russian lost in his own world as you lowered your voice to a harsh whisper. “How the hell did you end up here?”
Bob’s eyes widened, his head jerking up like a startled deer. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to catch in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stammered, “I-I… it’s a long story.”
You narrowed your eyes, feeling the weight of the forgotten ramen incident settling heavily in your chest. “I did not know the b-vengers also took on petty thieves” you muttered, your grip tightening on your grocery bag.
Bob’s head tilted slightly, the harsh white light casting faint shadows across the sharp lines of his face. Your words stung like a bandit aid being ripped, his hair hung loose around his shoulders, a little too long, a little too messy, and his jaw tightened at your words. He tried his best to block memories of his past, breaking into peoples homes- stealing their valuables- all in order to buy meth – to get high.
“It’s… complicated,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze flicking down to his scuffed boots.
You huffed, eyes narrowing further. “Complicated? You broke into my apartment and stole my TV. That’s not complicated, that’s just petty crime.”
Before Bob could sputter out a response, the elevator gave a soft chime and the doors slid open, revealing the sprawling lounge of the Avengers Tower. The space was sleek and modern, polished floors reflecting the city lights streaming in from the tall glass windows. Low, comfortable couches were scattered around, and a massive screen dominated one wall, currently flashing muted news headlines.
A lady with short blonde hair spots the three of you her sharp, curious eyes immediately locked onto the three of you as she crossed the room, her genie pig clutched in one hand, its tiny paws scrabbling against her fingers. She cocked her head, blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she sized you up, her expression unreadable before she turned to look towards Bob and Alexei.
“You do know you need to inform me first before you go anywhere with Bob, dad ?” she asked her voice laced with annoyance as Alexei gives her a sheepish grin.
“The boy needed the fresh air; thought grocery shopping will help him out.” He states, Bob just nervously standing next to him – Yelena gives the two a small smile – her dad was with Bob, she should not worry that much but at the same time her father has a blabber mouth and says things a bit too quickly before he thinks- which could trigger Bob.
Her gave now falls back on you as you were standing awkwardly through that little conversation, the urge to just run out, to disappear was becoming greater as her eyes locked with yours- stern.
“Dad,” she said, her tone clipped, her gaze still not leaving you. “You know you can’t just bring strangers in here.” Alexei’s face brightened, as if this was exactly the response he’d been hoping for. He clasped his large hands together, making the genie pig in Yelena’s grip flinch.
“Relax, Yelena. Bob here needs to make up for a mistake,” he said, clapping a massive hand down on Bob’s shoulder, making him flinch slightly. “And I thought, what better way than a dinner? A little easier on the champ.” He gave Bob a hearty shake, his bicep bulging as he grinned before he says he needs to prepare dinner in an excited tone, rushing to what you assume is the kitchen.
Yelena’s eyes narrowed further, her suspicion deepening as she looked from you and then to the clearly mortified Bob, who was steadily turning a deep shade of pink.
“What did he do?” she asked, eyes locking onto you, clearly expecting some explanation for this odd little reunion.
You didn’t miss the way Bob’s shoulders tightened, his jaw clenching as if bracing for impact. For a second, you considered letting him squirm a little longer, but the memory of your old, second-hand TV, the one you’d scrimped and saved for, flashed through your mind.
“He stole my TV a few years back,” you said, keeping your tone as casual as you could, but not quite managing to keep the bite out of your voice.
Yelena did not seem phased by what you had said as if its something of the normal as she turns towards him. ‘Did he steal her TV too ? is this a normal ? why are these ‘avengers’ so casual with a petty thief ?’ you thought, you must wanted to go home now.
“Bob,” she said, her voice soft and calm as if she switched off her scary demeanour to calm and soft one- just for him, just for Bob.
“You stole a TV?”
Bob shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his face a deep, blotchy red. He muttered something under his breath, eyes firmly fixed on the floor, his broad shoulders almost curling in on themselves.
“Wow,” Yelena said, leaning back, clearly enjoying this. “You really are full of surprises, Bob”
Bob’s head dropped lower, and you could practically feel the waves of embarrassment radiating off him.
“ It was when I was on meth!” he quickly justifies, your eyes widen slightly at this new found information, that actually explains a lot. “I-I needed cash so I used to steal stuf-f” he stammered out his eyes now locking with yours, a guilty expression on his face but his eyes were soft and sincere “and I’m really sorry I stole your TV, I did not want to but the voic-” “Okay Bob, that’s enough you don’t need to explain yourself anymore, what has been done in the past is in the past, you don’t have to worry, right?” Yelena had caught him off, her gaze now hard on you, trying to intimidate you into saying right- you looked at her as she wrapped a hand around his wrist- not in a forceful manner but in a way to comfort him ? then you looked at him, his eyes seemed distant, he seemed to be drifting – something was not right as you gazed back to Yelena, her gaze still cold and hard on you as if telling you to go along with her.
You took a deep breath in; a small smile stretches on your face. “Right, the past in the past” you said as sweet as you could , Yelena letting out a breath she did not even know she was holding, Bob’s eyes flickering towards you, a slight shine to them.
What is wrong with him ?
“After all, to be here with the new avengers means you have done something super good” you said, you tried not to sound sarcastic, but Bob seemed to be like a deer caught in headlights, his mind slightly spiralling.
‘You are only here so that you don’t become a threat to others’ a voice, no- its voiced whispered in his ear – his breath hitching, eyes turning glassy. Yelena noticed this quickly, a hand wrapping around his shoulder.
“Why don’t we go and sit down ? huh ? Bob? Lets go have a seat, you can pet Cucumber!” she says all of this out quickly as she lead Bob to the couch, your gaze followed them, next to the couch was a guinea pig – ginger and white, it was lazily seated on a mini pillow before being gently grabbed by Yelena- the guinea pig let out a small ‘pip’ before it was placed in Bob’s hands.
“Here pet Cucumber – think happy thoughts!” Yelena says, you just watched all of this happen awkwardly with your grocery bag making your fingers red, why the hell was this woman babying this grown ass man ? was the first thought that came to mind – Yelena’s gaze snapped towards you, her head cocking towards the couch.
“Sit.” Her voice was stern, this caused you to gulp as you made your way almost tripping on the rug towards the couch. ‘God, did I do something wrong?’ you really wanted to go home now, your heart was beating fast.
You sink into the far end of the couch, the soft cushions sagging beneath you as the worn fabric creaks under your weight. Your grocery bags rustle as you set them down beside you, the thin plastic crinkling sharply in the quiet room. Bob hesitates for a moment, his gaze flicking to you, then quickly away, before his gaze falls back on cucumber – who was happily sat on his lap. His knees bend stiffly, his limbs too long for the small space, and the fabric of his oversized cardigan bunches awkwardly around his wrists, the sleeves slipping down to cover his knuckles as he gently brushes his thumb on the animal.
For a moment, he just stares at his fingers, his thumbs rubbing slow, nervous rhythm on Cucumbers head, his shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. You catch a faint tremble in his hands, the slight, uneven twitch of his fingers - it’s a small thing, barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention, but you catch it – the subtle, constant fidgeting, the way his breath hitches slightly whenever you glance his way.
Yelena sighs a breath of relief as if she had just stopped a bomb from exploding - she perches herself on the armrest, her arm stretching along the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly scratching at a threadbare patch in the upholstery. The tiny guinea pig in Bob’s lap, sniffs at the air, its tiny pink nose twitching as it detects the faint, salty scent of your groceries.
Yelena tilts her head, her sharp green eyes flicking between you and Bob, catching the tension that crackles faintly in the air. Her gaze now falling on the paperwork that was scattered on the desk, a groan escaping past her lips “I thought Bucky was going to handle this” she sighs out annoyedly – it was mission reports that Valentina wanted back. Yelena thumbed through them, she knew her dad would want to do it but she don’t really trust him because he will say he is going to do it but ends up doing something else, Ava does not want to do them by choice, Walker – well he will straight up say no, and Bucky offers to do it but is also busy with his congress stuff and her? Well, it’s just tedious.
Yelena’s accent thick but her tone light, as if she’s trying to ease the awkwardness settling around you, “we really should get a personal assistant. Valentina keeps dumping more and more crap on us.” She mutters more so to herself, feeling a headache forming while she stares at the cluttered coffee table, where stacks of mission reports and loose paperwork spill over the edges, threatening to slide onto the floor. One particularly crumpled page still bears the faint outline of tiny teeth marks – Cucumber’s latest snack, no doubt.
You heard what she had said, the need for a personal assistant, maybe you could just add your little two cents as you let out a soft, bitter chuckle, your fingers curling tightly around the thin plastic handles of your grocery bags. “A personal assistant, huh?” you murmur, leaning back into the couch, trying to find a comfortable spot among the lumpy cushions. You catch Bob’s shoulders tensing slightly, his head ducking lower.
“Well,” you continue, tilting your head slightly, a crooked smile pulling at your lips as you glance at Bob, trying to break the awkward tension “I could assist you with that.” You pause, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “And maybe Bob can help me get the job, you know, as a favour. Since he did steal my TV.” You still did not want to let go of the whole TV stealing incident, this seemed to irk Yelena now.
“I don’t think we would need a girl plucked from the grocery store to be our personal assistant, especially one still hung up on a stolen TV from years ago.” She states, her voice clipped, each word a precise cut. “ Besides, I highly doubt you have the …mindset for such fields”
You raise an eyebrow, leaning back a little “Depends on the field” you reply, tone light but your eyes sharp, catching the subtle shift in Yelena’s posture. “You’d be surprised what some of us pick up along the way”
Bob’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and startled, his mouth opens and closes wordlessly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to find his voice. For a moment, he looks like a cornered animal, his dark eyes flicking nervously between you and Yelena, his fingers twisting together with renewed urgency.
Before Yelena could respond – her eyes held suspicion, Alexei bursts through the kitchen doors – the smell of food, seeping through as he grins widely.
“The dinner is ready!”
The late afternoon sun spilled through the tall, glass walls of the penthouse, casting long, slanting beams across the polished marble floors. The city below pulsed with life, a distant hum of engines and faint, echoing car horns rising from the streets, muffled by the thick, soundproof glass. The air inside was cooler, tinged with the faint, lingering scent of ozone from the tower’s advanced air filtration system.
Mel leaned against the glass railing, a sleek, black tablet balanced on her forearm, the screen flickering with a steady stream of security alerts. Valentina stood beside her, one hand wrapped around a steaming cup of dark coffee, her expression sharp and slightly irritated, her eyes locked on the swirling security feed.
“Please tell me it’s not another one of Alexei’s weird karaoke nights,” Valentina muttered, her voice low, the edges of her words sharpened by a hint of annoyance. “Last time, it was that poor Pizza guy, and I still don’t know how he ended up in a Spider-Man onesie, belting out ‘You’ve Got a Friend in Me’ at three in the morning.”
Mel smiled slightly, tilting the tablet slightly to catch the glint of the overhead lights. “No, nothing like that. But… well, we might have a situation. Look at this.” She tapped the screen, the security footage flickering as the camera angles shifted, closing in on the lounge below.
Valentina’s eyes narrowed as she took in the scene – Yelena’s wary posture, Bob’s hunched shoulders, and you, perched awkwardly at the end of the couch, your fingers still curled tightly around the crinkling plastic handles of your grocery bag, the faint sheen of sweat dotting your hairline despite the cool, climate-controlled air.
Valentina watched the security camera, a scoff leaving past her lips at Yelena complain about simple paperwork and you talking about being their personal assistant. Your face away from the camera, your hair obscuring your face.
“why does Alexei bring random civilians to the tower? Gosh, Mel please add that I need to give them a warning on that – especially to that Red Guardian” she could feel a headache forming, ever since she announced the bunch of morally grey ‘heroes’ as the new avengers, her days of peace had been short – needing to cater to every single one of their demands.
She was just about to tell Mel, that she did not want to see anymore until your face came into view - Valentina’s eyes narrowed, her head tilting slightly as she took in the scene, her pulse quickening, a faint, instinctive prickle of suspicion tightening the muscles along the back of her neck.
“Wait,” she said, her voice low, her fingers tightening around the edge of her coffee mug. “Zoom in on the girl. Let me see her face.”
Mel hesitated, then swiped a finger across the screen, the pixels tightening around your face, capturing the faint crease between your brows, the annoyed twist of your lips, the dark, smudged shadows beneath your eyes.
Valentina’s breath hitched, her sharp eyes locking onto your face, the faintest flicker of recognition sparking in her gaze.
“Run facial recognition,” she snapped, her tone low, the sharp, edge creeping back into her voice.
The screen flickered, the system processing the command, the dull, mechanical hum of the tablet filling the brief, breathless silence. Then, with a soft chime, the results flashed across the glass, lines of text scrolling rapidly, the bright red banner of a classified file pulsing at the top with your picture on the left-hand side.
NAME: [Your Name]
ROLE: Strategic Planner, Stark Industries
PROJECT: [REDACTED] - Experimental Weapon Development (Scrapped)
STATUS: Resigned, Position Vacated
Valentina’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her lips, her fingers curling around the edge of the tablet.
“Well, well,” she murmured, her eyes still locked on your face, frozen in a moment of nervous laughter beside Yelena.
“Maybe the New Avengers do need a personal assistant after all.”
![Someone To Protect — B. Reynolds [part 1]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ee7058ee4cbc9802eefe8c0523671353/7aab96a3ec5d275a-2d/s500x750/7f0e1f189ed9378468e2162485a6d08c3659e84a.png)
Author’s note
I’m so sorry if this feels rusheddd, I just wanted to get my ideas out uahajw but but I’m excited – reader is slightly a beech but but she will redeem herself!! I promise hehe
Please do leave a like, comment, reblog - would very much appreciate
Also if you would like to be added to the tag list comment below !!
More Posts from Usagii-bun and Others
𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 | soulmate au! namor x f! reader! part 1 [REQUEST]
𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 — in which you were hired to be a nurse by the government for an expedition to the Atlantic Ocean in search for vibranium only for your ship to be ambushed and for you to also find your soulmate. [ this is the request that was sent to me and it's better explained here so pls do check this out before reading cause my synopsis sucks!]
i loved this idea so much! tysm @kpopgirlbtssvt for sending in this request! I really loved writing it and I wanted to take my time with this request so I had split it into two parts! i hope this is okay!
reblogs , likes and shares are highly
appreciated ♡
PART 1
Soulmates. Many cultures and religions have different interpretations and stories about this concept.
The Greek philosopher Plato wrote that humans once had four arms, four legs and two faces. He stated that Zeus split us in half as a punishment for our pride, and we were destined to walk the Earth searching for our other half,
In Japanese culture it is believed that a magical cord connects two souls. It may stretch or tangle, but never break. The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances
while in Hindu culture, there's an idea that you have a karmic connection with a certain soul. It is called lehnu in the Gujarati language, which is the link with another soul that causes you to keep crossing paths, each time having a good impact on each other and improving our lives for the better.
There's many interpretation of what soulmates are truely here for, almost everyone in this world has one — a person that you could find comfort in, confined in and is your other half.
But for you, you still never found yours. Everyday you hoped to find your other half but nothing. It's been years and you passed the point of when most people found their other half, making you feel anxious and scared.
What if you never find them or what if you weren't destined to have one ? Most people start to form a marking on their wrist at 18— the marking being one that resembles something that both people have a strong connection with.
Most cases people get their soulmate marking as late as the age of 24 but you have passed that age making you worried and now almost hopeless that you weren't given another half.
The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the ship broke you from your depressed thoughts as your skin tingle, your teeth grinding agaisnt each other causing your fingers to twitch as you felt extremly sensitive to the harsh noises as you placed your noise canceling headphones on—your body instantly easing up once you connected your headphones.
You were currently on a ship in the Atlantic Ocean—to be specific a ship that consisted of CIA agents and the U.S Navy whom were utilizing a vibranium detector in search of vibranium in the ocean.
You were hired as an on board nurse, you job was to be a responder during emergencies, perform patient assessments, assist providence with clinical diagnosing, and administer medications and tests.
Everything was going smoothly, there was no serious issues just people coming in to do their daily vitality check ups.
You were surprised you are managing quite well in this new environment as you are a person who has sensory issues and find certain things to be extremly overwhelming but everything was fine, to be honest you were enjoying this new experience.
It was like a fresh breath of air away from the mundane everyday city life and the consistent searching for your soulmate.
But something also drawn you to join this expedition — not mainly money or change of life but the strong sensation to be close to the ocean.
You found comfort in the ocean. At times when the waves crashed harshly, it did cause you to feel extremly sensitive to the noise but at times when the ocean was calm, it felt like it was calling out to you, to join it.
There was something so hypnotic about the ocean to you, almost every weekend you would be at the beach— either just taking a walk on the shore and collecting sea shells or dipping your feet in the water.
So when you got the job opportunity to be on board and explore deeper parts of the ocean you could not turn down the offer ( and also the amount of money they were willing to pay you).
'If I can't have a soulmate than money should be my other half and comfort.' You thought, oddly that cheered you up as you thought of the things you want to get yourself once you are back on land as you start to unpack the medication from the stock room onto your shelves , extremly oblivious to the commotion that was occurring on the ship.
You were extremly focused on what you were doing that you didn't realize that someone else was in the room until you turned around, the medication you had in your hand fell to the ground.
Your eyes widening, the pulse behind your ear starts to throb. In front of you stood a man whom held a sharp spear like weapon but what shocked and scared you even more was his appearance. His skin a azure blue, body adorn with jewels and metals and what looked like an apparatus covering his noise and mouth.
A scream leaves past your lips, your heart beating faster. For once you extrmely regret wearing your noise canceling headphones as two people whom also had the same daunting appearance as the man came into the room after hearing your screams, their spears pointed towards you, your hands shakily take off your headphones to hear what they say and to try and communicate with them.
The sharp tip of the spear coming towards your neck, pressing against your flesh as tears start to brim at the corner of your eyes, your heart beating faster and faster as you felt like you were about to hyperventilate.
You have no experience with any combat or fighting, you could not escape this as you blinked your eyes as you start to plead for your life, tears falling from yours eyes and cascading down onto to your cheeks, your cheeks turning an apple red as you choke on your words.
"P-please I'll do anything, please don't kill me. I-I don't want to die." You cried out, your voice shaky as your legs felt weak as you fall to your knees, the spear following your movements.
"We should take her to K'uk'ulkan first, she might have insight on the scientist as the others didn't give in." one of the people said, the language was foreign to you and you didn't understand anything they said as you felt the spear coming closer to your neck once again.
There was no repsone to what the perosn said, instead a strong hand grasped onto your upper arm causing you to whimper as tears cascaded down your cheeks, the person pulling you up to your feet as they dragged you out of the room.
Your mind was jumbled up with so many questions , fear burning through out your body as you felt your senses overload. Your mind was frantically running in circles, your eyes widen when you find the corpses of CIA agents and marines , each brutally murdered and their blood splashed across the metal hallway as the bile in your throat burned, the heavy smell of blood entering your nose making you feel quisy and light headed, your hands and feet tingling as you hoped that this was all just a nightmare.
The chilled night air nips at your skin once you are on the top deck, the night sky and the moon being the witness of what was going on, the moonlight sparkled agaisnt the ocean and the tear stains that stuck to your skin.
There were more of these blue people on top and more corpses of people you have worked with scattered around making you feel nauseas as the man's grip on your forearm tightening as he walked towards a man and woman.
Your heart for some reason suddenly lurched in your chest, a cold draft falling upon you as the pulse in your neck starts to beat faster , you senses becoming even more alert.
"K'uk'ulkan" the three soliders say in unison, the man had his back facing them, a lady next to him— her skin a similar shade of blue to the men that have captured you but through your blurry eyes you noticed the man that's back was facing you— his skin was not blue rather a milky brown color. You skin pricked with goosebumps at the sight of him as he turns around.
Everything about him oozed regality from the confidence his body language gave off. He was muscluar and his chets was adorn by a large gold and jade neck plates, a necklace strung with shells and pearls hung around his neck too.
What looked like gold bracletes were cuffed around his biceps, wrists, and ankles.
He was extremly beautiful, the epitome of beauty. It made your heart haywire but his beautiful was covered with a scowl, eyes burning with anger and hatred towards you making you feel uneasy at the mixed emotions you felt towards this odd stranger.
You continued to cry, in fear of your life, you have never been in such a situation. Your breathing coming out uneasy as K’uk’ulkan comes towards you, his spear being held in a position to strike but when you look up at him again, your eyes filled with fear, tiredness and pain, your eyes that sparkled like the light that reflects off of the ocean — he hesitate.
Something warm fills his chest, his heart banging agaisnt his chest frantically as he without a second thought looked down at his wrist, a small marking was carved into his skin. It looked like someone had taken a knife and had curved the sign of the water element, his gaze moving away from this and towards you.
His gaze softens, the gaze that was once filled with hatred changed. He signals for his people to let go of you and they do without hesitation as you crumbled to the ground, loud sobs leaving past your lips as you quiver in fear.
K'uk'ulkan look down at you, he gaze at you with confusion and wonder. His heart in conflict that a surface dweller is his soulmate. The person he had been waiting for nearly 500 years. He had waited for centuries for his other half that he had almost given up on the idea of him having a soulmate.
Your loud sob breaks him out of his thoughts as his brows furrow in concern as he bends down towards you, your eyes closed shut in fear as you start to breath heavily.
Without hesitation, K'uk'ulkan placed his hand on your should— an instant surge of electricity shocked the both of you causing your eyes to open and his to widen in shock. The sensation felt amaizng, it seemed to calm you down and it made him feel a slight ease in his heart.
You look up at him with teary eyes, your gaze being met with warm brown eyes that calmed you down abit as a warm hand suddenly came and cupped your cheeks gently, your eyes widening at this sensation that made your skin tingle, your heart beat faster as the pad of his thumb gently wiped away the tears that collected underneath your eyes, you sniffles lightly.
The fear still stuck to you as your eyes move away from his and towards the people that surrounded you making you to take in a shaky breath in.
"It's okay." he spoke in english, his voice was soothing, it made your heart flutter as you start to breath normally your hands on their own moved towards the large hands that cupped your face as you placed your hands on top of his. That same electrifying sensation incapsulated the both of you, your hands felt soft against the top of his.
He gently moves his hand off of your face, as he takes your left hand in his. Your eyes still trained onto him, your soul aching as he looks down at your wrist and saw the freshly red scar marked on it — a water sign as he brushed his thumb aagisng it sending a shiver down your skin as you look down, his hand gently holding your hand as you notice the marking on your wrist, your eyes widen, heart skipped a beat as you looked back up at him but your still felt scared, the people around the two of you still made you feel uneasy as you quiver lightly.
K'uk'ulkan noticed this and without hesitation, he pulls you towards him. Your eyes widen as your body shook from fear, from everything that had just occured.
He held onto you delicately in his arms in a protective manner. You placed your hands on his bare chest, his skin was moist yet warm just being close to him made you feel safe as he gently pets your hair and soothingly whispers to you.
"I have waited for you, for so many centuries." He softly says as he gently tucks behind a strand of your hair. A warm gaze on his face as you finally calmed down.
He gently lifts you up with him, his arm securely wrapped around your waist as your side was flushed agaisnt him as he turns towards Namora and says something to her that you didn't understand, you watched as the woman warily eye you but nods her head , she indicates to the other warriors to leave as they all jump off the ship and into the water causing your eyes to widen as K’uk’ulkan notices this and gently pats his hand agaisnt your waist to comfort you.
You watched as the woman takes off the apparatus on her face and hands it to the man, he nods his head as she jumps into the water.
K'uk'ulkan turns toward you, a soft expression on his face as he holds it in front of your face . One of his hands gently placed on the side of your face as he stares deeply into your eyes.
" you have to trust me and wear this mask, I will take you to a much safer place and explain everything to you. " he gently explained, your eyes showed slightly conflict making him feel anxious for you response.
You gulped thickly and you placed your hand over his.
"I'll come with you but what is your name? " you asked him, your heart pounding agaisnt your chest.
A smile cracked on his face.
" K'uk'ulkan " he says, your brain engraving the name into your mind.
"and yours ? "
"Y/n " you said, his head tilt lightly and the smile was still etched on his features.
" y/n " he repeats, testing your name on his tongue as it rolled off with ease from his mouth, the way he said your name made your heart skip a beat.
"I'm ready, K'uk'ulkan. " you softly said, a shiver running down his spine when you uttered his name as he gently place the mask on your nose and mouth as he softly say something that slowly made you feel drowsy before everything went dark.
reblogs, likes and shares are highly
appreciated ♡
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓
—zhongli x reader : sunset berry tea (fluff)
— alhaitham x fem! reader: blurred lines (professor x camgirl! student) NSFW
—alhaitham x reader: yum-yum (fluff)
alhaitham x reader :between dreams and promises (angst and fluff)
𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋
— jing yuan x fem reader : let me call you mine, just for tonight [REQUEST] (emperor x assassin) NSFW
© 𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗂-𝖻𝗎𝗇 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟦. 𝖣𝖮 𝖭𝖮𝖳 , 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 , 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌, 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝖾𝗍𝖼 , 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽
i'll find my type in every universe, but the one i exist in 😭
𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇 ( NAMOR X READER ) PT.1
in which you find a child floating in the water and you save them only for your acts of kindness to get misinterpreted by the father who is also the king of an underwater civilization.
author's note : this is a story i am writing on wattpad but my wattpad version is more in detail, slightly different and has an oc ( alora ).
PART 1 , PART 2
It had been a normal day for you, you enjoying your days away from the harsh city life along with the demands of your job— you needed a getaway and that getaway was going back to your parents old beach house, you did your daily routine and towards the end of the day you would sit on the beach sand and admire the ocean as the sun cascaded down the horizon— for you just watching this simple scenery healed and soothed you.
But that serenity was destroyed when you found an unconscious child floating in the water, the waves that was once gently slowly starting to become restless causing his body to be thrown around like a rag doll.
Your instincts to save the child kicked in as you dove in the water without another thought, kicking and pushing your arms through the waves that were slowly rising.
Once you got to him, you turned him around ,finding some sort of mask covering his mouth and nose filled with water — your eyebrows crinkled in curiousity but suddenly your eyes widen when the boy's once milky brown skin starts turning into a shade of cerulean blue, a gasp leaves past your lips as you blinked your eyes a few times to see if what you saw was real or just figment of your imagination.
The waves had became stronger , the sudden stench of iron mingling with the salty sea water had entered your nose, your gaze had fallen onto the young boy's torso to find that there was a wound on it, bleeding— it looked to be a shark bite.
Pushing the fact that the boy has turned blue and is far from being a human you had grasped onto him gently pulling him to your side as you struggled and swam back to shore, your lungs feeling heavy as you finally reached land, taking a few moments to grasp you breath and to let the exhaustion in her arms and legs to wear off. You had quickly reached for the child as you carried him in your arms and taken him into your house to dress his wounds.
It tooked you around an hour to clean and dress the wound, the bite was quite deep which made you even more worried but luckily you were able to stitch the wound and close it up.
You also noticed that his skin was extremly dry due to it not being in water, you had quickly went and filled the bath tub you had in your guest bathroom and placed the child in it watching as only patches of light cerulean blue skin was left and his milky brown skin takes over in areas that were covered in water.
Your brows furrowed as you remember the words of the locals that stayed around, the stories they have told you about people that came from deep within the ocean and their God.
'So it's true' you meekly thought, when you had first arrived by the sea side— you became familiar with one of the locals that lived close by, warning you to not stay for a very long time as your presence could be seen as a threat by the people that lived in the water or the sirens.
You didn't really think much of this as you had came here quite frequently when you was younger with your parents but in a world where there was an alien invasion and half of humanity suddenly disappearing— including yourself, nothing seems unbelievable.
You stayed here for a few months taking heed to the women's words and minding your own business well up until today when you found this boy.
You went to go wash your hands, to get rid of the blood and alcohol that dried onto it.Curiousity, anxiety and fear all together mingling and brewing within you, curiousity about this young boy and what he truely was , anxiety about his wounds and fear from whether you had brought danger into your home.
A gasp catches you off guard as you almost slips, your gaze falling onto the bath tub to see that the young child's eyes were wide open— staring at you.
His eyes were filled with fear, tears clouding his eyes from the fear and most likely the pain in his torso as fear also slowly starts to consume you but you take a gentle breath in , raising your hands up in an attempt to show that you was no harm.
"Don't worry, I am not going to harm you." Your voice was soothing and soft, there was a small drop of fear in it but you swallowed it back , a soft smile displaying on your face.
The boy didn't seem convinced, he looked like he wanted to get out of the bathtub or try and defend himself but the pain in his torso didn't allow him instead it caused a pained cry to leave his mouth causing your eyes to widen as you rushed to his side to stop him from moving around.
"Hey, easy there. Your stitches will tear" you coaxed out in a calm tone, placing your hand against his shoulder to try and stop him from moving around.
You made eye contact with the boy, the fear in his eyes slowly turned into curiousity but caution filled gaze when you lowered him back into the water.
" Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you kid. I just need you to relax and not stress your torso." You say, the boy seemed to slightly relax but his shoulders were tense causing you to quickly remove your hand from his shoulder.
You wondered if her understood you, maybe he didn't that's why he was even more frantic or maybe it's the fact that he woke up in some random women's bathtub—yeah the latter is more so for his reason of panic and fear.
"Máaxech? Yaan wáaj a sóokiken." the young boy suddenly stammered out, your eyebrows furrow as you tried to recognize the language.
' Yucatec Maya ? ' you thought, hoping that your guess was right. You didn't undertsand what the child had said— you was about to say something but then the boy's stomach growled suddenly causing you to smile followed by a gentle laugh.
"You are hungry?" You asks also using gestures to ask the boy if he was hungry, by pretending to bite into something.
It took the boy a few seconds to understand and when he did, he gently nods his head— he was still lenient on trusting you but he was feeling hungry and weak.
You do hand gestures to tell him to wait as you quickly exits the bathroom and go down to the kitchen.
You walked to the sink to rinse your hands as you look out the window to see it was already dark, the waves outside seemed to be extremly furious tonight as a slight shiver ran down your spine when a sudden wave crashed loudly against the shore.
You backed away from the window and went towards your fridge, you decided on giving the boy something light to eat, not being too sure on what type of diet that his kind had and what foods could be toxic to him so you went with some water melon pieces and cut up a pear, hoping that this was okay for him.
You reached back into the bathroom, seeing that the boy was slightly slumped on the wall which caused his skin to turn a light shade of blue from his torso upwards, when his eyes fell on the fruit they widen, you reached towards him and held the plate for him.
The boy takes off his mask, the water falling from it as he takes a pear and bites into it quickly devouring it within seconds as you could only watch in amazement but also in worry as the boy didn't have his mask on and was worried about how long he could go without it.
You leave the plate to him as you take his mask, it had some sort of metal that encased around the see-through part— you didn't think much of it as you quickly fills water in it again.
The boy was done eating, the fruit seemed to gave him a bit more energy as you go to his side , he didn't seem to fear as much as he did before as he allowed you to touch behind his head to gently push his face and nose downwards into the mask.
Once it was on, you laid him into the water completely watching as his whole body submerged into it, his skin turning into his natural human skin tone.
You did not know the amount of trouble you had landed yourself into because within that very moment under the rough waves of the ocean was an army going around followed by their king who is frantically searching the ocean for the young boy that he calls his son.
"Don't worry, you are safe." You soothingly tell the boy, your motherly instincts taking over as you brushed a few strands of hair from the boy's forehead, his eyes on you as they gently close from exhaustion.
You did not know the amount of trouble you had landed yourself into because within that very moment under the rough waves of the ocean was an army going around followed by their king who is frantically searching the ocean for the young boy that he calls his son.
author's note :
shares, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated! thank you ! !
PART 2
Hi! Can i be tagged in hiraeth updates? Thanks❤️❤️
Sure love ! ❤️
This tweet totally describes me
Hello 👋,
I hope this message finds you well. My name is Aziz, and I’m reaching out with a heartfelt plea to help my family find safety and reunite with our mother. 😞
The ongoing war in Gaza has torn my family apart. My mother and newborn sister are stranded in Egypt, while I, along with the rest of my sex family members, am trapped in the midst of the genocide in Gaza. We have not only been separated but have also lost our home and are enduring unimaginable hardships. 💔
Your support can make a difference. Whether by reading our story, donating, or sharing our campaign with others, you can help us reunite, find safety, and start anew. 🙏🕊
Thank you, from the depths of my heart, for your kindness, compassion, and solidarity during this difficult time. ❤🍉
https://gofund.me/58268669 🔗
Please donate <3
𝐝𝐫.𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ‧₊˚ part 2 | fluff
╰┈➤ fem reader. reader is alhaitham’s patient (this may be a bit self indulgent hehe). mild flirting. fluff. attempt at comedy, just a drabble ig, i love alhaitham fr— WAH a part 2 ?? masterlist
part 1 | part 2
Unknown Number: Hi. This is Dr. Alhaitham. I received your results. Are you available to come in tomorrow?
Your heart skips a full beat.
Wait. Wait.
You reread the message about eight times, thumb trembling over the screen.
Dr. Alhaitham. Dr. ALHAITHAM.
You never gave him your number. Not directly. The clinic must’ve had it on file from your intake paperwork. Still—why did he text? Shouldn’t it have been the nurse? Or the front desk?
Your brain spins in three different directions while your thumbs hesitate, hovering mid-air. What tone do you even take with a man who has seen your bloodwork and your undereye bags?
You: Hi… yes, I’m free. Is everything okay?
You don’t expect a reply right away, but the bubbles pop up almost instantly—like he was waiting. Watching the clock.
Dr. Alhaitham: I’d rather explain in person. It’s nothing urgent. I just… want to speak to you myself. Tomorrow at 10?
You stare. Blink. Re-read. “I just… want to speak to you myself.”
Butterflies launch a full-scale riot in your stomach. Your cheeks go hot. You’re squealing internally as your thumbs tap out a response that’s way too calm for how your heart is behaving.
You: Okay. I’ll be there. Also… is this your personal number?
A beat.
The kind of beat where you spiral. Where you consider throwing your phone across the room, just to escape the weight of your own message.
Your face is burning. Why did you ask that? Why did he use it?
The silence stretches until it starts to ache. And then—ping.
Dr. Alhaitham: Yes.
A full-body meltdown ensues.
You collapse back into the couch like a Victorian woman being told her corset’s been outlawed. He gave you his number. He texted you himself. He wants to talk to you personally.
Tomorrow cannot come fast enough.
The Next Morning…
You show up to the clinic early. Too early. You pretend you’re just organized, but really you’re anxiously clutching your water bottle like it’s a lifeline. You tried to look effortless—pulled-together, but not obvious. Cute, but not trying too hard. Just… normal. Which is laughable, considering the amount of time you spent choosing earrings.
The nurse checks you in with a kind smile. You sit in the waiting room, leg bouncing, rehearsing responses in your head.
Then he appears.
Alhaitham steps out from behind the frosted glass doors. Still in his lab coat, still maddeningly unreadable. But when his eyes find yours—there’s a flicker of something. Recognition. Warmth. Something quieter.
“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.
You could swear—swear—the corner of his mouth twitches, like it’s tempted by a smile.
You follow him in.
The exam room is quiet, neat, humming with soft fluorescent light. You take your seat. He opens your file, but doesn’t look at it. His eyes stay on you.
“I didn’t want to go through the receptionist this time,” he says, voice quiet. “I thought it might make you anxious.”
You blink. The words take a second to land. “Oh. That’s… kind of considerate.”
“Also,” he says, finally glancing down, “your iron levels are low. You’ll need supplements. I’ve written the prescription.”
He slides the slip across the desk like he’s handing you a secret. You take it carefully, like it might crumble.
Silence.
The kind that sits heavy. The kind that means something.
He closes the folder, slow and deliberate. Leans forward just slightly, elbows braced on the desk, fingers laced.
“You didn’t tell me you’d been feeling this way for a while.”
You look away, shoulders curling in slightly. “I didn’t want to be dramatic.”
“You said you were a Victorian woman,” he deadpans.
You smile despite yourself, soft and a little sheepish. “Okay, but that’s just my personality.”
He watches you. Sharp eyes, steady and assessing—but not unkind.
Then, gently: “I don’t think you’re dramatic.”
You suck in a breath, caught off guard.
“I think you’re… overwhelmed. Tired. Maybe not used to being taken seriously.”
Your throat tightens. You bite the inside of your cheek. Something inside you shifts.
“I just treat patients,” he says. “But… I remembered you. More than I expected.”
Your heart slams once, hard. “…Why?” you whisper.
He shrugs, gaze not quite meeting yours. “You made an impression.”
Your grip tightens on the paper in your lap.
And then—his voice drops lower: “If you feel dizzy again… or if anything gets worse—don’t wait. Just message me. Directly.”
You nod, silent.
And as you leave—hand curling around the doorknob, heart thudding in your chest like it’s trying to break free—his hand comes to rest gently on the small of your back.
Warm. Steady. Certain.
You freeze. Just for a breath. His palm lingers there like it belongs, grounding you in the quiet between heartbeats. You swear you feel the heat of it radiating through the fabric of your blouse, straight into your spine.
You try not to melt. Try not to show how much that simple touch undoes you.
Then, just as your breath begins to hitch, he leans in slightly. Not too close. Just enough that his voice slides in low, just above a whisper.
“Go home safely.”
His hand slips away—slowly, deliberately. The loss of contact is almost startling.
You turn, instinctive, eyes finding his.
And he’s already looking at you.
Not blankly. Not politely. No, his gaze is sharp and unreadable, steady and direct. There’s something in it—something knowing—that makes your breath catch and your fingers tighten around the cold metal of the doorknob.
You swallow hard.
You manage to nod. Maybe say “good bye.” You’re not sure. Your brain’s short-circuiting.
You take one step out.
Two.
You don’t even make it to the end of the hallway before your knees buckle slightly. Not enough to fall. Just enough to feel the ghost of his hand still lingering on your back.
11:41 p.m.
Your room is dim, bathed in the glow of your phone screen. You’re curled up in bed, overthinking the day in painful HD. You keep replaying every word. Every glance. Every almost-smile.
You haven’t messaged him. Even though he told you to.
You want to. But courage, it turns out, is fictional after 10 p.m.
Then—your phone lights up.
Dr. Alhaitham: Are you awake?
You sit up so fast you almost concuss yourself on the headboard. Your heart stumbles. Hands fumble.
You: yes?
A pause.
Dr. Alhaitham: Sorry if this is strange. I just remembered something you said the other day.
Your pulse is in your ears. You clutch your phone like it might float away.
You: Which thing? (The Victorian woman part?)
A longer pause. Bubbles come and go.
Dr. Alhaitham: No. The part about collapsing into someone’s arms. You joked. But I keep thinking about it. Wondering if someone’s ever really done that for you.
The air leaves your lungs.
The world stills.
This isn’t a joke anymore.
You: No one ever has. Why?
A minute passes.
Then:
Dr. Alhaitham: Because I think you deserve to be caught. Even when you’re not falling.
You sit frozen in your bed, the blanket bunched around your waist, the silence loud in your ears. His words wrap around you like warmth. Like something you didn’t know you needed.
Then, another message:
Dr. Alhaitham: Sorry. That was unprofessional. Good night.
But you can’t stop staring at the one before it.
“Because I think you deserve to be caught.”
The School Auditorium – 10:07 AM
The lights are too bright. The hum of the overhead fluorescents buzzes against the high ceiling, competing with the chorus of second-graders who are very much not using their indoor voices. You’re wrangling your chaos crew down the aisle—two are arguing about who’s taller, one’s asking if astronauts eat soup, and another is trying to lick the back of their own nametag.
You’re functioning on three hours of sleep, a half-drunk coffee that went cold in your cup holder, and the sheer force of whatever maternal instinct allows a person to stop a glitter spill midair.
You don’t notice the man walking onto the stage at first. Not until the noise cuts.
The chatter dies so suddenly it’s eerie—twenty-five small heads pivoting in unison toward the front like a hive mind has seized them.
You look up.
And your brain short-circuits.
There, standing at the center of the stage, is a man. Clipboard in one hand. Other tucked neatly into the pocket of a lab coat. He’s tall—really tall—built like someone who definitely doesn’t trip over his own feet, and carrying himself with the kind of effortless confidence that makes you feel like you’ve shown up underdressed to your own job.
He’s calm. Polished. Crisp lines and clean edges. A quiet authority that makes even the most fidgety of your kids fall still.
Alhaitham.
Dr. Alhaitham.
Your doctor.
Your heart leaps to your throat and lodges there.
He scans the room slowly, methodically. Dispassionate and professional—until his eyes land on you.
And pause.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough. Your breath catches. Your stomach does a little somersault, unprompted.
You are suddenly painfully aware of the state you’re in: oversized cardigan, mystery glitter on your left sleeve, your hair pinned back with a pencil because someone borrowed your last claw clip. There’s a child gripping your leg like it’s the mast of a sinking ship.
He starts to speak—something about germs and handwashing and healthy habits—but you don’t really hear it. The children do. They’re captivated. Spellbound.
You’re just trying to remember how to breathe.
The talk ends after what feels like a hundred years but also three minutes. You start herding your class toward the exit, one hand on a shoulder, another plucking a crayon from someone’s mouth.
And then your phone buzzes.
You glance down.
Dr. Alhaitham : You didn’t tell me you were a teacher.
You stop mid-step. The world tilts slightly.
You read it again.
You: You didn’t tell me you do school tours.
The reply comes so fast you know he had the message half-written already.
Dr.Alhaitham : I don’t. I only agreed because the principal is a patient. Didn’t expect to see you. (Or twenty-five second graders clinging to your legs.)
A breath escapes you—half laugh, half disbelief. Your heart’s still racing, but it’s a little lighter now. Warmer.
You: Yeah well… you might have cracked the case. That’s why I was always sick. Kid germs are no joke.
You watch the typing bubble appear. Disappear. Appear again.
You can feel the deliberation behind it. He’s thinking. Rethinking. Overthinking. You know the feeling too well.
Then finally—
Dr. Alhaitham : I get it now. All the coughs. The dizziness. The stress. You were holding together an entire classroom by sheer willpower.
You stare at your screen, throat tightening.
Something about the way he says it. The way he sees it.
Then another ping.
Dr. Alhaitham : You’re… kind of incredible, you know. Even with stickers on your pants.
You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound that leaves it. A sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scream.
Because you look down—and yep. There they are.
Two sparkly dinosaur stickers on your thigh.
And suddenly, you don’t feel quite so exhausted anymore.
—usagii’s note
I wish alhaitham was real :(
𝐄𝐗𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑. jing yuan x fem foxian! reader (nsfw).
In which Jing Yuan, a man renowned for his unwavering control and discipline, finds that resolve unraveling in your presence — your every move, every glance, every touch igniting a fire within him he can no longer contain discovering an intoxicating solace in the sensual art of your dance, each sway of your hips pulling him deeper into an obsession he cannot, and will not, resist.
word count : 12k (12k words of edging)
warnings: explicit sexual content includes detailed descriptions of sexual acts (fingering, oral—f receiving, dry humping, thigh riding, implied future penetration), obssesed jing yuan, possessive jing yuan, slight power imbalance implied, erotic dancing/ adult entertainment , sensory overload, marking.
minors are NOT to read this story. If you are uncomfortable with detailed sexual content or themes of dominance and obsession, this is not the story for you. please proceed responsibly and at your own discretion.
DO NOT REUPLOUD OR CLAIM my work as yours. i have taken a lot of time to write this and it would be very disheartening to see someone claim something i took so long to write and craft.
anways, please do enjoy and leave a comment :3 reblogs, likes and follows are high appreciated
— usagii-bun <3
The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow over the quiet, cobblestone streets of Aurum Alley. It was a place where the night whispered its secrets, and the air, thick with the heavy scent of incense and mystery, carried tales only the privileged knew. Tucked away behind a discreet set of bamboo doors was the establishment—a brothel veiled in silence but brimming with the hum of indulgence. Even a general like Jing Yuan, weighed down by the armour of responsibility, found solace in the allure of its hidden embrace.
His feet moved almost of their own accord as he made his way to the entrance. Tired eyes, burdened by countless battles and endless politics, sought release in the only way he knew how—a brief escape from the turmoil of his mind. The soft click of his boots echoed, barely audible against the gentle wind that danced through the alley. And there, the door opened, not by his hand, but by a woman’s, poised and serene.
The Foxian lady who greeted him stood in the doorway like an ethereal figure, her beauty transcending time. Her skin was porcelain, her long, raven-black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, framed by the glow of lanterns. Dressed in silk, her robes shimmered in shades of crimson and gold, the fabric clinging to her form in ways both graceful and alluring. She held herself with an air of elegance, her fox ears twitching lightly with every movement, her tail curling behind her in soft, languid strokes. She was an embodiment of allure, wrapped in silk and mysteries, every inch a vision of untold desires.
"Welcome, General Jing Yuan," she said, her voice smooth as velvet, respectful yet laden with something deeper, something more intoxicating. "Please, allow me to show you the wonders within."
With a graceful gesture, she led him inside, and Jing Yuan, caught in the captivating pull of her presence, followed. The atmosphere shifted the moment he stepped over the threshold. The entrance was bathed in the soft glow of lotus lanterns, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The scent of incense—jasmine, sandalwood, and something sweeter—hung thick in the air, enveloping his senses like a warm blanket, clouding his thoughts and easing the tightness in his chest. The walls were adorned with delicate scrolls, ancient calligraphy curling like the wind in a lover’s embrace, telling tales of forgotten empires and lost passion. Red and gold adorned every corner, the hues rich like blood and treasure, a royal reminder of the power that pulsed through these hidden chambers.
The floors beneath him were smooth stone, cool and polished, reflecting the shimmering silk curtains that hung like veils, concealing whatever lay beyond. The gentle swish of the fabric was like a soft caress, a whisper of something forbidden. There were flowers everywhere—tiger lilies, peonies, and chrysanthemums—arranged in intricate vases, their fragrant petals drifting lazily in the air, mixing with the incense to create a heady perfume that seemed to linger in his very breath.
As they moved deeper into the establishment, the general’s eyes took in the sight around him. Men and women, dressed in delicate silk robes of every colour imaginable, wandered freely, mingling with one another. The silk shimmered in the candlelight, revealing glimpses of soft skin and delicate features. Women draped themselves over men, while men held women in their arms with equal parts reverence and longing. The air was thick with the hum of quiet conversation, with laughter and sighs mingling in a sweet symphony that seemed to be playing just for those fortunate enough to be here.
"Come," the Foxian lady said softly, leading him up a staircase adorned with red and gold lanterns. "If you wish, you may enjoy performance privately upstairs."
Her eyes, sparkling like the night stars, hinted at something playful, something dangerous. Jing Yuan, ever the composed general, only nodded, his lips curling slightly at the invitation.
The night stretched out before you, the rhythmic beat of the music setting the pace for the dance that would soon unfold. Your heartbeat in time with the soft melody, the flickering candlelight reflecting off your skin as you prepared to enter the stage. The room below you were full of people—men, women, all draped in delicate silks, moving among each other in whispered conversations and soft laughter. The atmosphere was intoxicating, thick with the scent of incense and roses, the air so rich with desire it nearly hummed.
Tonight, you were not just a dancer; you were a vision, a creature of silk and allure, meant to captivate every gaze that fell upon you. You had practiced this for hours, days, months—the art of seduction through movement. As you slowly ascended onto the stage, the soft rustle of your costume, the shimmer of the golden jewellery adorning your body, set the tone for the entrancing spectacle to come. Your tail swayed behind you, brushing against the floor like a soft whisper, your ears twitching with the anticipation of the performance to come.
The room quieted, the hushed murmurs dying down as you took your first step into the spotlight. The soft glow of lotus lanterns, their flames flickering in the dim room, bathed you in an amber hue. Your body moved, fluid and graceful, as if the music itself was a part of you, guiding your every step. You could feel the eyes of the room on you—every gaze fixated; each breath held in anticipation of your every move.
From the elevated room above, General Jing Yuan watched. The scene below him was nothing new—he had seen these kinds of performances before—but this time, something was different. As you danced, his attention was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. There was something in your movement that was unlike the others. The grace with which you moved, the way your body seemed to flow effortlessly with the music, drew him in. It wasn’t just your physical beauty, though you were undeniably stunning—every curve, every movement was perfection—but something deeper, something intangible. It was the essence you exuded—the confidence, the strength, the raw magnetism that seemed to pull him closer despite the distance between you.
Your movements were slow, deliberate. Your arms flowed through the air, a soft trace of elegance, while your hips swayed in time with the rhythm of the instruments, your skin glowing in the soft light. Each step you took was an invitation, each flick of your wrist a silent promise, each roll of your hips a beckoning. It was erotic without being crude, sensual without losing its grace. You were a goddess in motion, a creature born to captivate and beguile.
As you moved, your eyes flicked upwards, meeting his gaze for just a moment. It was a brief connection—one that he felt more than he could explain. His breath caught in his throat as your gaze locked with his, your eyes filled with an emotion that seemed to pull him in, deeper than he ever expected to go. The flicker of awareness between you made his chest tighten, and his pulse quickened. It was like you knew exactly what effect you were having on him, like you could feel his gaze following every step, every motion.
Your body twisted and arched as you danced, the silk of your costume brushing over your skin like a soft caress. The jewellery you wore—delicate chains, pearls, and golden rings—clinked softly with every movement, drawing attention to the curves of your body. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sandalwood, intoxicating and heavy, as your tail swished behind you, swaying in perfect rhythm with your every move.
Jing Yuan, sitting in his private alcove, could barely tear his eyes away from you. He felt an inexplicable pull, a hunger that wasn’t just for your physical form, but for the energy you radiated. It was raw and untamed, a force he couldn’t quite explain, yet he felt it in every fibre of his being. His hands clenched at his sides as the tension built in his chest, a wave of heat spreading through him. His body reacted against his will, betraying him as he watched you.
You were no longer just a dancer. You were the embodiment of something else—something deeper, more primal. You were pulling him into a world he hadn’t known he was even willing to enter, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something—something he hadn’t felt in years. The weight of his responsibilities, his title, the endless wars and battles that had marked his life, seemed to fade into the background. They no longer mattered.
The music picked up, becoming more intense, the tempo quickening. Your movements followed suit, each step becoming more deliberate, more daring. The room was alive with the heat of desire, the air crackling with tension. Jing Yuan’s breath caught in his throat, your body undulating in a way that was both art and allure. You were making a show of it—of him—and for the first time in a long time, it was his turn to be caught.
The music slowed, and you took your final step, the dance reaching its end. Your body twisted, swayed, and your movements grew more subtle, teasing. As the final note of the music played, the room fell into a hushed silence. Jing Yuan remained frozen, captivated by your performance. His mind buzzed with a million thoughts, none of them clear, none of them rational. All he knew was that he needed to be closer to you, to taste whatever you were offering.
As the lights dimmed and the room came back to life with murmurs and applause, Jing Yuan finally found his voice. He leaned forward, his gaze never leaving you. “Can I… request her?” His words were barely above a whisper, filled with an urgency that surprised even him.
The Foxian lady, who had been watching with knowing eyes, nodded with a smile. "Of course, General Jing Yuan. She is yours for the evening."
The air inside the private alcove was thick with a sensual tension, the dim light casting soft shadows around the space. Jing Yuan sat back in a velvet-covered chair, his posture commanding yet relaxed. His mind was still reeling from the magnetic performance he'd witnessed, but now, as he sat alone in this private setting, the anticipation built again.
The door slid open, and the woman who had greeted him earlier entered, guiding you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. Jing Yuan could now get a better look of you, the lingerie delicately adorns your body, the jewels that were placed on you still twinkled and shimmered under the dull lighting. Your fox ears were perked, stiff with nerves, and your tail swayed ever so slightly behind you, betraying your inner restlessness.
Your gaze never met his. You kept your head low, your expression unreadable, as if you'd become a different person. This wasn’t the confident, playful woman who’d mesmerized him with her dance. This was someone subdued, cautious, and perhaps even a little fragile. Jing Yuan’s brow furrowed at the sight, and a pang of something unfamiliar stirred within him. There was an undeniable sadness at the change, a realization that you were a contradiction, both in the freedom you’d shown during your dance and the restraint you now carried.
The woman who led you whispered softly to you as she passed by, "Take care of the general." Her voice was gentle but firm, as if entrusting something delicate to your care. She gave Jing Yuan a final look, a knowing smile before exiting the room, leaving the two of you in silence.
You stood in front of him, head lowered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The air felt heavier now, the sense of being watched almost suffocating, yet you remained still, as though obeying some invisible rule.
Jing Yuan studied you for a moment, trying to piece together the shift in your demeanour. His mind, clouded with the memory of your dance, struggled to reconcile the two versions of you. His large, calloused fingers lifted from his side, brushing gently beneath your chin, his touch soft but insistent as he lifted your face to meet his.
"Why do you not make eye contact?" he asked, his voice low, his words smooth as they hung in the air. His gaze was intense, capturing you as he locked his eyes on yours. You could feel the weight of his stare, the depth of it, and it sent a flicker of something through you—surprise, confusion, maybe even fear.
You blinked rapidly, trying to avoid his gaze, but his touch lingered, a slight pressure against your chin. You quickly averted your eyes, your cheeks flushing at the intensity of his attention.
"It is not allowed," you murmured softly, the words barely escaping your lips. "I am not allowed to look at the customer unless... unless told to."
Jing Yuan’s expression softened, but his curiosity remained, his gaze never leaving you as you stood before him, silent and restrained. His fingers remained on your chin, though no longer pressing, just gently resting there. He tilted his head slightly, considering your words. He couldn't help but be intrigued by the contradiction you presented: the woman who captivated an entire room with her dance now so reserved, so obedient.
"You are allowed to look at me," he said, his voice almost playful, though the undertone of command was still present. "But for now, I will permit your discretion."
There was a quiet pause between you both, as you silently struggled with the unspoken tension that now swirled in the room. Jing Yuan leaned back, his large frame sinking into the chair as he relaxed, his eyes never leaving you. "Come, sit with me," he said, motioning to the empty seat beside him. "Let us share a drink."
His invitation hung in the air like a challenge, but it was delivered with a calm, measured tone. You hesitated for a moment, still unsure of how to act, still feeling the pressure of his gaze as he observed you carefully. Finally, you took a cautious step forward, your body moving with the grace of a fox, and sat at his side, careful not to brush too close against him.
The room was filled with the scent of incense and flowers, but the closeness between the two of you heightened the atmosphere, thickening the air. Jing Yuan poured two glasses of wine, his movements slow, deliberate. He handed one to you, his fingers brushing against yours, and for a brief moment, the touch felt more intimate than it should have.
"You have a beautiful presence," he said quietly, taking a sip of his own drink. "But I can see there is more to you than what you show. Tell me, what is it you desire, in a place like this?"
You remained silent, unsure of how to respond, but Jing Yuan didn’t rush you. His gaze held a quiet intensity, as if waiting for you to let down the walls you’d so carefully constructed around yourself. The tension between you both lingered, a palpable force, as your bodies sat close together yet distanced by invisible barriers. Your heartbeat faster, your breath shallow. This was new territory for both of you. And for Jing Yuan, it felt like the beginning of something far deeper than either of you had expected.
You shifted in your seat, thighs brushing together under the soft silk of your gown, the sensation sending a faint shiver through you. The air between you and Jing Yuan was thick, charged with an intensity you could neither name nor escape. His gaze was locked on you, and every question he asked felt like it was unravelling pieces of you.
"Why here?" he murmured, his voice smooth, like the finest silk. "A place like this—it doesn’t seem to match your spirit."
His words hung in the air, and you found yourself twisting the fabric of your gown again, seeking some kind of anchor. "It’s... complicated," you whispered, your eyes darting away from his. But the way he leaned closer—close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him—made it impossible to hide.
"Complicated," he echoed, his tone laced with curiosity, as though he wanted to peel back every layer of meaning behind your answer.
You glanced up at him, and your breath caught in your throat. His amber eyes glimmered in the dim light, soft but piercing, holding you captive in their gaze. And then, he leaned in further, the space between you shrinking until you could feel his presence, overwhelming and intoxicating.
The scent of him—clean and faintly spiced—mixed with the sweetness of the wine he sipped moments before. The aroma seemed to curl around you, tangling with your thoughts. His lips were so close now, and you couldn’t stop your gaze from flicking down to them.
"May I?" he asked, his voice a hushed murmur, and his eyes searched yours, waiting. It wasn’t a command, as you’d expect from a man like him, but a request, gentle yet brimming with restrained desire.
Your throat tightened, and you nodded slowly, words escaping you.
His hand came up, fingers grazing your cheek before curling under your chin, tilting your face toward his. The touch was warm, firm yet tender, sending sparks skittering along your skin. Slowly, achingly, he closed the distance.
When his lips met yours, the world fell away.
The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush of lips, testing, coaxing. But then, like a flame catching the wind, it deepened. His mouth moved against yours with a slow-burning passion, drawing you in, leaving no room for hesitation. You felt the firm press of his lips, the intoxicating heat of him, and your heart thundered in your chest.
His hand slid from your chin to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking the edge of your cheekbone. It was such a careful gesture, but the kiss was anything but. His tongue swept against the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you yielded, parting your lips for him.
When his tongue slid against yours, a low hum of pleasure escaped you, your hands clutching at the silken folds of your gown as if it could keep you grounded. He tasted of wine, rich and heady, and the faintest hint of something sweeter, something entirely him.
His other hand moved to your waist, fingers splaying across the delicate fabric that barely covered you. The pressure was light, a silent promise of what could come, and yet it was enough to make your pulse race, your body alight with sensations you couldn’t control.
You couldn’t help but respond, your hands tentatively brushing against his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath his robes. His lips moved with a practiced confidence, but there was something raw in the way he kissed you, like he was holding back a storm, giving you only a glimpse of the tempest that raged beneath.
When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered just a breath away, his forehead resting lightly against yours. Both of you were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with his.
"You’re... mesmerizing," he murmured, his voice rough and low, as though the words had been dragged from somewhere deep within him.
You opened your eyes, and his gaze bore into yours, intense and unyielding. His thumb brushed against your swollen lips, and you could see the faint flush dusting his cheeks, a rare crack in his usual composure.
"I’ve wanted to do that," he admitted, his voice softer now, "since the moment I saw you."
Your heart raced, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the weight of his confession crashing over you like a wave. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin, and you knew—this was only the beginning.
Jing Yuan’s hands were impossibly large, their warmth seeping through the sheer silk draped over your body as they slid down, slow and deliberate. His touch felt like a whispered promise, each fingertip tracing a path that left fire in its wake. You couldn’t help but shiver when his palms grazed the curve of your hips, his fingers splaying possessively over them as he was now on his knees between your thighs.
The silk clung to your skin like dew, yielding under his touch as his hands lingered, pressing into the plush softness of your thighs. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second, every inch of you that he claimed. His thumb stroked a languid circle against your skin, teasing the sensitive flesh just below the curve of your hip, and your breath hitched.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice a deep, velvety whisper that seemed to echo in the dim, scented air. His words held a teasing lilt, but his eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with something far deeper than amusement.
The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of silk and the faint crackle of a distant candle. His hands moved lower, trailing down the sides of your thighs as if he were sculpting you from memory. He paused, his fingers flexing slightly, almost reverently, before sprawling over the fullness of your legs. The pressure was firm but not harsh, his touch grounding you even as it left you breathless.
Jing Yuan’s head tilted, his silver hair catching the dim light like threads of moonlight spun through shadow. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your skin, and his hands tightened their hold on you ever so slightly. The contrast of his strength and the tenderness in his touch made you feel both vulnerable and cherished, like a treasure he had no intention of letting slip away.
"You’re exquisite," he murmured, his voice soft yet weighted, as though the words carried a gravity only, he could understand. His thumbs traced upward, following the natural curve of your thighs, his hands mapping you with a deliberate slowness that felt like an exploration, a quiet devotion.
When his eyes flicked back to meet yours, his gaze was molten, heavy with desire yet tempered by something gentler, something that made your heart stutter in your chest. His hands stilled, settling like a question, a challenge, as if to ask how far you would let him go. And in that moment, you were weightless, caught in the intoxicating pull of him, the world beyond fading into nothingness.
Jing Yuan's fingers, warm and deliberate, slid down to the edge of your thigh highs, the lace soft under his touch. He let his fingertips dip beneath the delicate material, brushing against the bare skin beneath, sending shivers coursing through your body. The contrast of silk and skin was electrifying, his movements unhurried as though he had all the time in the world to explore.
Your breath hitched, and you gripped the silk of your gown, desperate for something to anchor yourself. The sensation of his hands so close, his strength tempered by the tender way he handled you, made your mind race. The General of the Luofu, a man revered for his authority and composure, was here, knelt before you, his hands on your thighs as though you were the centre of his universe.
His thumb traced lazy circles against your skin, the pressure both teasing and grounding. "You’re trembling again," he murmured, the teasing lilt of his voice sending a new wave of heat through you. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the soft, golden light, the contrast between his composed expression and the intimacy of his touch almost too much to bear.
Then, without warning, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your thigh. It was a feather-light kiss, soft yet searing, and it stole the breath from your lungs. The warmth of his mouth lingered, a silent claim that left your heart pounding.
Your mind spiralled, the weight of the moment crashing over you like a tidal wave. This was the General—the General—his broad shoulders and imposing presence now knelt before you in an image that burned itself into your memory. The sight of him, his head bent, his lips on your skin, was something you knew you’d never forget.
Your pulse quickened as his hand slid higher, his palm pressing into the softness of your thigh with a deliberate slowness that made your body hum with awareness. He tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes flicking upward to meet yours, his gaze heavy with something that made your heart stutter.
"You’re beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low and rich, the words wrapping around you like silk. His fingers flexed against your skin, and you swallowed hard, feeling as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you. The scent of incense, the warmth of the dimly lit room, and the weight of his attention made it impossible to think of anything else.
Your breath hitched as his lips lingered against your skin, so close yet unbearably distant. A soft whimper escaped you, unbidden, the sound trembling on your lips. "General..." The word was barely a whisper, carried more by instinct than thought, but it was enough.
Jing Yuan’s golden eyes gleamed at the sound, a primal intensity overtaking his usual calm. That composed facade he wore so effortlessly cracked, revealing something raw and untamed beneath. His lips curved into a slow, almost predatory smile, and you felt the heat of his gaze burn against your skin.
He leaned closer, his broad shoulders dipping as his face moved towards your clothed pussy, the faintest warmth of his breath ghosting over the flimsy material of it. The sensation was maddening, a tantalising promise that made your thighs tense under his hold.
Your ears twitched uncontrollably, betraying your spiralling emotions. You tried to steady them, but they betrayed you with every sharp intake of breath. Your tail curled and flicked at the edges of the plush cushions beneath you, the movement erratic, mirroring the storm building in your chest.
Jing Yuan noticed everything—of course, he did. His gaze flicked to your twitching ears, and the corner of his mouth quirked, a dark satisfaction dancing in his eyes. His hands remained steady, sprawling over the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to ground you while still making your skin tingle.
"You’re so responsive," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. "It’s captivating."
The warmth of his breath fanned over the delicate fabric again, sending a shiver racing up your spine. He paused, his lips so close yet maddeningly still, his eyes watching every tremble, every twitch, every unsteady exhale. You felt utterly laid bare beneath his gaze, a mixture of vulnerability and desire tangling in a way that left you breathless.
"Tell me,” he said softly, the words a mere whisper against the heat of your skin. "Do you always react this beautifully... or is it just for me?"
Your entire body felt as though it had been set alight, the heat rushing from your cheeks to the very tips of your ears as Jing Yuan's lips hovered ever so teasingly over your cunt. The blush that painted your skin deepened, spreading like wildfire, your hands clutching the silken material beneath you in an effort to steady yourself.
And then, his lips pressed softly against your pussy—through the delicate fabric that barely served as a barrier. The kiss was unhurried yet deliberate, and the sensation made you gasp, your heart leaping into your throat. Your thighs quivered slightly beneath his strong, steady grip as your body betrayed the flood of emotions overtaking you.
Jing Yuan closed his eyes, the scent of you filling his senses as though nothing else in the world existed. Sweet and heady, with a potency that made his mind spiral, it was unlike anything he had imagined—and oh, had he imagined. His fingers curled slightly against your skin as if grounding himself from the overwhelming allure.
The sweetness of it mingled with something darker, more intoxicating, and utterly unique to you. It was pungent but not overpowering—an earthy, sensual fragrance that clung to the air around you and pulled him deeper into the haze you created.
His breaths grew heavier, his mind clouding as the scent wrapped around him like an invisible tether, binding him to you in a way that felt both maddening and necessary.
"Addictive," he murmured, his voice low and rough, the single word almost swallowed by the quiet intimacy of the room. His lips brushed against you once more, this time lingering a second longer, his tongue darting out briefly to taste the fabric.
A groan rumbled deep in his chest, and his grip on your thighs tightened ever so slightly, his composure slipping as he inhaled deeply again, utterly consumed by the fragrance of you. His golden eyes, now darkened with something primal and insatiable, flickered up to meet yours—a blush still staining your cheeks, your wide-eyed gaze unsure and yet filled with undeniable need.
Jing Yuan's tongue pressed firmly yet gently against the thin fabric, a deliberate movement that sent shockwaves coursing through your body. The sensation was unlike anything you had ever felt, the warmth and softness of his mouth combining with the teasing pressure to ignite every nerve in your skin. Your toes curled instinctively, the sheer intensity of the moment leaving you breathless, as though the air itself had thickened.
His large hands, splayed across your trembling thighs, gripped you tighter, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh in a way that left you aching for more. The contrast of his strength against your vulnerability only heightened the whirlwind of sensations overtaking you. He groaned softly, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through you, as if he too was succumbing to the weight of his desires.
Jing Yuan’s gaze lifted, drinking in every detail of you. The flush that coloured your cheeks, spreading down your neck and disappearing beneath the thin fabric of your gown. The way strands of your hair had fallen loose, framing your face like a delicate painting. The rise and fall of your chest as your breath quickened, each exhale shaky and unsteady.
He felt an unrelenting need to unravel you, to witness you laid bare, in every sense of the word. His hands moved slightly, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your skin, grounding you and driving you to the edge all at once.
His tongue pressed against the fabric again, this time with more insistence, and his lips followed with a lingering kiss. The heat of his breath seeped through, and it felt as though he was marking you with each touch, his presence imprinted on your very soul.
“Do you feel it?” he asked softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours as his hands squeezed your thighs again. “The way I want to devour you—piece by piece—until there’s nothing left of this composure we’re pretending to hold on to?”
Jing Yuan's grip on your thigh loosened as he let his hand slip away, only to settle firmly on your shoulder. The weight of his touch grounded you, but the intensity in his golden gaze sent your mind spiralling into chaos. His other hand moved with a deliberate slowness, two fingers brushing against the fabric that separated him from you, as though he were savouring the act of uncovering you.
He pushed the fabric aside, exposing your glistening skin beneath. The air felt cool against the heat of your pussy, and the juxtaposition made you shiver. Your scent—intoxicating, sweet, and unmistakably you—filled the space between you, strong and pungent in a way that made his breath hitch. His eyes could not leave the sight of your cunt, your clit throbbing, clear liquid oozing from between your glistening folds as he glances at your face, lips swollen and eyes teary – a sight that made his cock leak.
His eyes darkened, a glimmer of something primal flickering in their depths as he took you in. You were fluttering, every part of you trembling in anticipation, and it made his lips curl into a faint, knowing smile.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, yet laced with raw hunger.
His hand tightened slightly on thigh, grounding you further, while his gaze remained fixed on you as though you were the most captivating sight he had ever encountered. The vulnerability in the moment only seemed to embolden him, and the way his breath fanned against your exposed skin made your thighs tremble under his hold.
Jing Yuan's tongue pressed against your clit, lapping up the sweetness that spilled from you with a deliberate, unrelenting pace. The warmth of his mouth against such a sensitive part of you was overwhelming, sending jolts of pleasure rippling through your body. His eyes, golden and intense, never strayed from your face, watching every twitch of your expression, every blush that spread across your cheeks, and every soft whimper that escaped your lips.
A low hum of approval resonated from him, vibrating against your core as he worked, his large hands gripping your thighs firmly to hold you in place. Each stroke of his tongue was purposeful, slow at first, then more insistent, as though he were a man on the brink of starvation, and you were the feast he'd been denied for far too long.
Your fingers clawed at the leather couch beneath you, the cool material a stark contrast to the heat building inside you. Your hips bucked slightly against his face, but his strong grip kept you steady, his mouth never faltering.
"General..." you whimpered softly, the word barely audibles through the haze of sensation.
At that, his eyes gleamed with a feral satisfaction, something primal and wild flickering within them. He groaned softly, the sound muffled as he devoured you, his tongue exploring every inch with unyielding hunger. The sight of him—so composed, so regal—reduced to this raw, unrestrained desire sent your mind spinning, leaving you trembling under his touch.
Jing Yuan's tongue dragged deliberately against your slick folds, his pace torturous yet intoxicating. Without a word, two of his thick fingers slid down, pressing against your entrance before sinking into you without warning. The stretch was immediate, a mix of pleasure and intensity that tore a loud whimper from your lips. Your body arched into his touch, thighs trembling uncontrollably as your breath hitched.
"General... General..." The title fell from your lips in a broken chant, each syllable a prayer as your mind spiralled. Nothing else existed beyond the overwhelming sensations he wrought upon your body—his tongue flicking expertly up and down your slick heat, his lips closing around the sensitive bud that made your vision blur.
His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made your entire body jolt. He pressed into it mercilessly, dragging a sob from your throat as your thighs quaked against his face. His other hand gripped your thigh tightly, holding you still as he worked with relentless precision.
The wet, obscene sounds of his tongue and fingers filled the air, mingling with your soft cries and whimpers. Your world narrowed to the molten heat pooling low in your belly, each flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers sending you closer to the edge.
He sucked on the swollen bundle of nerves, his tongue circling with maddening skill. You sobbed his name again, your thighs trembling, your body barely able to keep up with the intensity of his actions. Through the haze, you felt the curve of his lips against you—a smirk, as though he took pride in unravelling you completely.
Your vision blurred, tears threatening to spill as a tight knot in your stomach coiled and twisted unbearably. Each thrust of Jing Yuan's fingers pressed against that devastating spot inside you, sending shockwaves through your trembling frame. Your eyes rolled back, a broken cry escaping your lips as the tension snapped, pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave.
Your entire body quivered, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as the release tore through you, leaving you gasping and breathless. But Jing Yuan didn't stop. His fingers maintained their relentless rhythm, coaxing you through the aftershocks, prolonging every moment of your bliss.
You felt his warm tongue, soft yet firm, trailing along your folds as he licked up every drop of your release. His eyes, golden and piercing, never left your face. He seemed captivated by the way your lips parted, the flush painting your cheeks, the glazed look in your eyes.
"You're beautiful," he murmured softly, his voice thick with reverence and desire, the words vibrating against your sensitive skin as he placed a soft kiss against your fluttering clit. His gaze was heavy with pride and satisfaction, as though committing the sight of you undone to memory. He slowly moves up your body, Jing Yuan’s lips traced a delicate path up your neck, each soft kiss like a whispered secret against your skin. The air between you thickened with warmth, every subtle movement drawing you deeper into the moment. He paused just below your ear, his breath mingling with yours, before he reached out for the bottle of alcohol and took a slow, deliberate swig of the sweet alcohol. He placed the bottle down and he finally met your gaze, something unspoken passed between you.
With a gentle but firm pull, he lifted you, as if in a trance, and brought your lips to his. The kiss was tender at first, like a soft brush of silk, but then it deepened, becoming something slower, more languid. The sweet taste of the alcohol seeped into your mouth, dribbling out of the corner of your lip as you moaned when his tongue brushed against yours, the alcohol, sweet and intoxicating with the taste of your essences mingled between your tongues, each shared taste adding to the heat building between you. He tasted you and you tasted him, the kiss a slow, sensual exchange, each second stretching out as if the world outside ceased to exist.
You could feel the warmth of the alcohol in your veins, but it was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through your chest as his hands held you close, pulling you deeper into him. The kiss deepened, became more desperate, yet still slow—each movement deliberate, a beautiful rhythm of lips and tongue, a dance that belonged only to the two of you. Time seemed to stretch, the room fading away as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the moment, the alcohol, and the slow burn of his kiss.
Jing Yuan’s lips lingered against yours for a moment longer, his breath warm on your skin, before he slowly pulled away. His tongue tracing the bit of alcohol that dribbled out of your mouth, gaze intense and molten. The world seemed to pause for a heartbeat, leaving you suspended in the air between his touch and his gaze. Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited, uncertain of what he might do next, but instead of drawing you back into his embrace, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, the gentle gesture so tender it made your breath catch in your throat.
He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, and in that moment, there was a strange, knowing calm about him. “Thank you for the... meal,” he said, his voice low, smooth, and unhurried, as though savouring the taste of the drink, you and the moment.
His words hung in the air, unexpected and enigmatic. The meal? You blinked, a flush creeping up your neck, your heart fluttering in confusion. Was that truly all he wanted from you? Was it just a fleeting moment, a passing indulgence?
Your gaze dropped to his chest, your eyes tracing the contours of his form—strong, unwavering. His shirt clung to him in a way that made you acutely aware of the man standing before you. And then, your gaze caught something—he was...
Your breath caught, and your eyes snapped back up to his, meeting his with a quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken. But he only smiled softly, almost like he understood the storm brewing within you, before gently reaching up to pat your head, a small, affectionate gesture that sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your hair, making your fox ears twitch involuntarily. The touch was so casual, yet somehow it deepened the flush that spread across your face, your heart racing at the intimacy of the moment. It was a small, almost teasing action, but it made you feel as though you were suddenly laid bare in front of him.
His smile softened, his eyes warm yet impossibly distant, as though he were saying goodbye without words. “I enjoyed your company,” he said, the weight of his words settling between you like an unspoken promise that felt both comforting and impossible to decipher. “I will be anticipating another dance soon, until than darling.” His voice smooth as honey, your face turning crimson at the word ‘darling’.
His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, filled with a complexity you couldn't understand, before he turned and left the private area. The soft sound of his footsteps faded, but his presence remained, lingering in the air, as if he had never really left at all.
You stood there, the room suddenly feeling too large, too empty. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ The question echoed in your mind, drowning out the quiet hum of the space. He had seemed so... needy, as though there was something more. And yet, now he was gone, leaving you with nothing but his words and the warmth of his touch.
Why didn’t he want more? You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was left unfinished, the desire you felt mirrored in the air between you. Why had he stopped? Why hadn't he sought what you had both seemed to crave? It was as if your body had been aching for something deeper, and yet he had held back.
As the silence grew heavier, your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. The owner stepped inside; her voice sweet like honey but with an edge that sent a chill down your spine.
“You’re done for the night,” she said, her smile thin but knowing. “You can go home now.” Confusion clouded your thoughts. “But... I thought you only let me go after twelve?”
The owner’s smile grew, as though your question amused her. “I won’t be needing you until I call for you,” she replied, her tone light but filled with something more. A finality? You weren’t sure. The words left you unsettled, uncertain of what she truly meant.
She reached into her pocket and handed you something—a silky pouch. The weight of it felt strange in your hand. “Here’s your pay from the General,” she said, her voice dripping with a sort of satisfaction that you couldn't place. “You sure did make him happy.”
Your mind whirled. Made him happy? The words bounced in your skull, unanswered questions stirring within you like a storm. What had just happened? What had you been to him? The idea of him leaving with only that—just that—felt like a question mark lingering in the air. He had seemed so close, so wanting, and yet he left.
The thought of the lingering kiss, the sweet warmth of the alcohol shared between you both, made your chest ache. He had left with a soft smile, but you couldn't shake the sense of something unfinished, something unspoken. Had you misread the moment? As you looked down at the silky pouch, the weight of it felt more symbolic than ever. The pay was there, yes, but the ache, the unanswered longing in your chest—it was something deeper, something that the money couldn't soothe.
The owner’s grin widened as she stepped back, her eyes gleaming with that same knowing look. You were left with the pouch, your heart full of questions, but no answers.
Jing Yuan hadn’t been himself lately, and he knew it. No matter how many duties he fulfilled or how much paperwork he completed or the many sneaky naps he took, his thoughts consistently drifted back to you. He couldn’t erase the memory of your skin beneath his hands—soft and warm, the kind of touch that lingered even after parting. Nor could he forget the taste of you, intoxicating and sweet, or the way your body moved with such elegance and allure during your dances.
It had been nearly a month since Jing Yuan began seeking you out, yet with each encounter, his fascination deepened into an obsession. He couldn’t get enough of you—the way you moved, the sound of your voice, the way your presence filled the room and consumed his thoughts. After every performance, he would reward you in ways that left you trembling, his mouth devoutly working between your thighs, tongue lapping at every drop of your arousal as his fingers thrust deeply into your slick heat. Yet, he never allowed you to touch him, never let you return the favour. His pleasure came solely from your moans, the way your body responded to his touch, and the sight of your unravelling beneath him. He would grind against his own restraint, rutting against his pants, hard and aching, but never crossing the line. He wanted to wait for the perfect moment, the right time to claim you fully—a moment that would be as unforgettable as you were to him.
It wasn’t just your beauty that consumed him, though it had ensnared him first. It was the quiet calmness you exuded, a soft-spoken grace that contrasted so deeply with the fire of your movements. The way your tail swayed behind you, how your ears twitched in subtle reaction to the world around you—it was as if you were always caught between serenity and mischief. The thought of you was a constant hum in his mind, an ache he could not shake.
He found himself wandering the streets of the city more often now – much to Fu xuan dismissal, hoping to find distractions from you. Yet even his usual escapes held no relief. And today was no exception.
As he strolled through Aurum Alley, the faint clinking of porcelain caught his ear, drawing his attention to a small tea shop tucked into the corner. He stepped inside, the familiar scents of herbs and dried flowers wafting over him, soothing but unremarkable—until his eyes fell on you.
You were standing near the back, your head tilted slightly as you admired the display of teacups arranged on a low wooden shelf. The dim lantern light cast a golden glow over you, highlighting the soft fur of your ears and the elegant sweep of your tail swaying absently behind you. You were dressed in a delicate white dress, its
fabric light and airy, brushing against your knees with every movement. The dress was adorned with tiny floral embroidery, dainty and unassuming, much like the way you carried yourself.
Jing Yuan’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected to see you here, not outside the confines of your world of silk and candlelight. Here, you looked softer, more natural, yet no less captivating. It was a sight that made his chest tighten, as if the universe had conspired to remind him that you were always just out of reach.
You seemed unaware of his presence, your attention wholly captured by a teacup you held delicately in your hands. It was a beautiful piece, adorned with intricate floral designs, vines curling around painted blossoms, the base glimmering faintly with gold. You turned it slowly in your fingers, your tail swishing with a faint, almost wistful rhythm.
The sight of you, so enraptured by something so simple, made his heart clench. And when you set the cup back down with a small, defeated sigh, it took all of his willpower not to close the distance between you immediately.
Instead, he lingered, watching as you hesitated, your fingers brushing against the rim of the cup one last time before you turned away. Jing Yuan didn’t need to guess why you’d left it behind—the soft downturn of your lips told him everything.
He stepped forward then, his presence a shadow that fell over you before his voice, low and smooth, broke the silence.
“Admiring something, are we?”
You startled, your ears twitching at the sound. Turning to face him, your eyes widened briefly before you quickly averted your gaze. “Oh, General,” you murmured, your hands clasping nervously in front of you. “I didn’t see you there.”
He allowed himself a small smile, though his golden eyes remained fixed on you. “It’s a charming shop, isn’t it? Something here seems to have caught your attention.”
You hesitated, glancing toward the shelf where the teacup sat. “It’s nothing,” you said softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “Just a pretty cup. I was… just admiring it.”
“Just admiring it?” Jing Yuan repeated, stepping closer, the faint scent of his cologne filling the space between you. “And yet, you look as though you’ve left a piece of your heart behind with it.”
Your cheeks flushed, and you shook your head. “It’s beautiful, but it’s not something I can…” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely, unwilling to say the words aloud.
Jing Yuan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—part amusement, part something darker. “A beauty such as that shouldn’t be left behind,” he said, his voice dropping lower, softer, as though he were speaking to himself as much as to you. “Nor should one such as you.”
Before you could respond, he moved, his hand reaching out to lift the teacup from the shelf. With a smooth motion, he turned toward the shopkeeper, the transaction over before you could protest.
“General—”
“Consider it a gift,” he interrupted, his tone firm but kind as he handed the cup to you. His fingers brushed yours as you took it, the brief contact sending a jolt through you.
“Thank you,” you whispered, clutching the cup to your chest. Your tail swished nervously behind you; your ears flattened slightly as you avoided his gaze.
Jing Yuan watched you with a quiet intensity, his smile never faltering. Yet, beneath his calm exterior, his mind raced. Seeing you here, holding something he’d given you, made something primal stir within him. You were no longer just a fleeting obsession, no longer a memory confined to dimly lit nights. You were here, real and tangible, and he wasn’t sure he could ever let you go.
Jing Yuan couldn’t help himself. The moment you stepped outside the tea shop, clutching the intricately designed cup he had bought for you, he was already glancing back at the shelves. He ended up purchasing an assortment of things—fine tea leaves, a brewing set that complemented your cup, and even a small silk pouch embroidered with a motif. It wasn’t about the items themselves; it was the thought of you using them, of you remembering this moment, that drove his actions.
He exited the shop with a bag in hand, catching up to you with ease. The sun cast a warm glow on the cobblestone streets, and your figure seemed to glow in the light. Your white dress fluttered softly with each step, and your tail swayed gently behind you, a detail he couldn’t help but admire.
“You didn’t have to get more,” you said softly, glancing at the bag he carried.
He chuckled, his deep voice warm. “It’s no trouble at all. Tea is best enjoyed with care, wouldn’t you agree? Besides, you deserve nothing but the finest.”
Your cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink, and you glanced away, your ears twitching. “Thank you… General.”
“Jing Yuan,” he corrected smoothly, his golden eyes gleaming. “When it’s just us, there’s no need for formalities.”
You hesitated but nodded. “Thank you, Jing Yuan.”
As you walked together, he took the opportunity to get to know you better. It started with small questions—your favourite teas, if you frequented the shop often—but soon, the conversation deepened. He found out that you were passionate about dance, your eyes lighting up as you spoke about it, despite the soft-spoken nature of your words.
“It’s always been something I loved,” you admitted, your fingers brushing the edge of the teacup you still held. “But… the work I do now, it’s not exactly what I envisioned.”
“Oh?” he prompted, his gaze sharp but gentle, encouraging you to continue.
You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the path ahead. “The dancing I do now… it’s to pay off my father’s debts. It’s… different from the dancing I dreamed of as a child.”
Jing Yuan’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained calm. The thought of you, someone so poised and graceful, burdened by another’s mistakes, ignited a protective streak within him. He didn’t press further, sensing you weren’t ready to elaborate, but the knowledge lingered in his mind like a seed waiting to take root.
When the time came for you to part ways, you stopped at a small intersection, turning to face him. Your hands clutched the teacup tightly, your expression shy but sincere. “Thank you again, Jing Yuan. For everything.”
His smile softened, and for a moment, his golden gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I’ll see you later,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. You blinked, your cheeks heating up as you realised what he meant. You gave him a small, flustered nod before quickly excusing yourself, your tail swishing nervously as you hurried away.
Jing Yuan watched you go, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. He would see you later, of course, but not just as part of a crowd. No, when you danced tonight, it would be for him, and he would make sure you knew it.
The brothel exuded an even more sinful opulence. Red and gold fabrics draped like cascading rivers of silk from the high, arching ceilings. The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of sandalwood incense, mingling with the faint sweetness of lotus blossoms arranged in ornate porcelain vases. The walls were adorned with intricate scrolls of calligraphy, their elegant strokes illuminated by the flickering glow of countless candles. Every corner seemed steeped in temptation, every detail carefully crafted to blur the lines between reality and indulgence.
Jing Yuan sat alone in a private room; a sanctuary veiled by velvet curtains. The plush cushions beneath him did little to ease the tension coiled in his body. A lacquered tray before him held untouched tea and delicate fruit, but his golden gaze never wavered from the stage below. The brothel’s ambiance—a sultry blend of murmurs, soft music, and rustling silks—faded to nothing as you stepped into the spotlight.
Your presence commanded every eye in the room, but his was the only gaze you truly felt. You were a vision of raw, untamed allure. The outfit you wore left little to the imagination, sheer fabrics clinging to your every curve, your skin gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat under the dim, golden light. Crimson painted your lips, a bold invitation, while the smoky shadow around your eyes framed them like a weapon. Your tail swayed with each step, teasing, enticing, an extension of the sensual rhythm that seemed to pulse from your very being.
The music began, slow and sultry, and you moved with a deliberate grace, every step a calculated seduction. Your hips swayed in time with the haunting melody, and the way your hands glided over your body had the audience mesmerized. To him, however, it was something more—a torment, a fire that spread through his veins and pooled low in his stomach.
Jing Yuan’s usually serene expression was gone, replaced by a raw intensity that darkened his golden eyes. He leaned forward, his broad shoulders filling the dimly lit alcove as his focus narrowed solely on you. His fingers tightened on the armrest, his chest rising and falling in steady, heavy breaths. The soft sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, the subtle arch of your back, the sway of your hips—it was more than he could bear, yet he couldn’t look away.
The room disappeared for him; the murmured conversations, the soft laughter, the flickering candles—all of it was drowned out by you. Every slow, sensual turn, every flick of your tail, every teasing brush of your fingers across your skin seemed crafted solely for him.
When your eyes lifted and met his, just for a moment, the tension snapped taut. That fleeting connection sent a visceral thrill through him, a silent challenge in the way you quickly looked away. His lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. The denial—the way you teased and withheld even your gaze—was maddening.
You spun again, your bold crimson lips parting as though whispering secrets to the air, your hands brushing over the curve of your waist. The sheer fabric clinging to your body teased him mercilessly, every contour revealed in the flickering candlelight. His golden gaze roamed over you hungrily, his breaths deep and deliberate as if trying to anchor himself against the storm of desire you had unleashed.
The sweat glistening on your thighs, the way your hair clung to your neck, the confident arch of your body—it was intoxicating. Jing Yuan could feel the heat rising
within him, his control slipping with every second. You were temptation incarnate, and he was utterly, completely ensnared.
Jing Yuan's hand moved to rest against his thigh, but the tension in his body betrayed the calm demeanour he fought to maintain. His fingers flexed, slowly drifting, palm pressing lightly against the growing ache beneath the rich fabric of his robes. The weight of his breath was deliberate, measured, but his chest rose and fell with an intensity that mirrored the fire coursing through him.
His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, devouring. The way you moved-every sway of your hips, every arch of your back, every tantalizing flick of your tail-was an exquisite torment.
You were more than a dancer; you were an artist, painting desire across the room with your body as the brush and the music as your canvas. The strain in his muscles was palpable, his golden eyes darkening with an unspoken hunger. Yet even amidst his rising heat, there was admiration- appreciation for the elegance and mastery of your movements. The way your body told a story, the way your presence commanded the room, it was more than alluring; it was transcendent.
But the intensity of his desire could not be denied. The hardness beneath his robes grew, a throbbing reminder of the effect you had on him. His jaw tightened as his fingers pressed harder, a fleeting attempt at control. Every step you took, every glance you spared his way, only served to unravel the restraint he so desperately clung to. Jing Yuan's breath hitched, his usually steady composure unravelling. The beauty of your art left him enraptured, the sensuality of your dance leaving his mind clouded, his body heavy with need. You were a siren, and he was helpless against your call, a prisoner to the exquisite torment you inflicted upon him.
As your performance came to its crescendo, the room seemed to hold its breath. The music faded into the background, muffled by the pulse pounding in Jing Yuan’s ears. His hand twitched against his thigh, his entire body taut with unrestrained tension as you stepped down from the platform. Each movement you made was deliberate, a purposeful seduction that left his chest heaving, his golden eyes drinking in every detail of you.
And finally, you were upstairs in the room with him.
The space between you closed, and Jing Yuan felt his pulse quicken, a rare break in his usual calm demeanour. His fingers clenched briefly before releasing, as if bracing himself for the storm that was you. You stopped just shy of his seat, your eyes meeting his, bold and teasing, yet softened by something unreadable. The flick of your tail and the slight quirk of your lips only stoked the fire inside him further.
He didn’t wait.
Rising from his seat in one fluid motion, Jing Yuan closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. His large hands found your waist, pulling you to him with a fervour that left no room for hesitation. The moment his lips met yours, it was as though the world fell away. The kiss was urgent, demanding, and possessive. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fire and hunger, consuming and overwhelming.
His lips pressed against yours like a man starved, tasting, exploring, memorizing every inch of you. One hand cupped the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, while the other splayed firmly across your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping across your lower lip before slipping inside to claim more of you.
The taste of you was intoxicating, a heady mix that made his restraint crumble. Every small sound you made—a whimper, a sigh—drove him further into madness. The way your soft hands gripped his robes, clutching at him like he was your anchor, only fuelled his need to devour you whole.
Jing Yuan’s mind raced; his thoughts consumed by you. The way you moved, the way you felt pressed against him, the way you yielded under his touch—it was all too much and yet not enough. His hold tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin, as if trying to etch the memory of this moment into his soul.
He wanted more.
No, he wanted everything.
The desire coursing through him wasn’t just lust—it was something far deeper, more consuming. He wanted to know every part of you, to uncover the layers of your soul as thoroughly as he wanted to explore your body. The thought of you with anyone else sent a possessive heat surging through him, and the idea of keeping you close, of having you as his, was a temptation too powerful to ignore.
He broke the kiss only when breathing became a necessity, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving, but his hands never left you, as though afraid you might vanish if he let go.
“You’re driving me mad,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. His golden eyes bore into yours, intense and filled with something that bordered on obsession. “Do you know what you do to me? How every moment I spend away from you feels like an eternity?”
You didn’t respond—not with words. Instead, your lips found his again, softer this time but no less heated, as though silently answering his unspoken question.
Jing Yuan’s grip softened, his thumb brushing along your jawline with a tenderness that contrasted the fervent need in his kiss. He pulled back just enough to study your face, his gaze tracing every feature as though committing it to memory.
“You have no idea what you mean to me,” he said, his voice quieter now but still laced with that same raw intensity. “But I’ll show you. One day, I’ll show you.”
The promise lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, as he held you close, the room around you fading into nothingness. For now, in this moment, you were his entire world.
Jing Yuan's gaze darkened as his hands slipped to the hem of your lingerie top, his breath heavy, his movements deliberate. With a fluid motion, he pushed the delicate fabric up and off, revealing the soft curve of your breasts. His eyes lingered, golden and molten, as though the sight of you alone was enough to undo him completely.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with reverence and desire.
Before you could reply, his lips descended, capturing one pert nipple between them, his tongue swirling feverishly. He suckled with an intensity that left no doubt of his hunger, his large hand cupping your other breast, kneading, and teasing. Every soft moan and gasp that escaped your lips only seemed to spur him on, his groans vibrating against your skin as he lavished attention upon you.
His kisses trailed down, wet and open-mouthed, over the curve of your stomach, lingering at your navel before he retraced his path back up. His lips found yours again, searing and demanding, his hands never leaving your body, holding you as if you were a treasure he refused to let go.
Without a word, Jing Yuan sank down into his chair, his strong form commanding even in the act of sitting. His hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly to place you astride his thick thigh.
The moment your clothed pussy settled against him; his sharp inhale betrayed just how much he could feel. The thin fabric separating your body from his was soaked with your arousal, a warm, damp heat that sent a pulse of need through him.
"You’re already so wet for me," he rumbled, his voice a deep, velvety growl. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you to grind against his thigh. "Go on. Show me how much you want this."
The friction was delicious, the firmness of his thigh pressing against your most sensitive spot. Your hands clung to his broad shoulders for balance, your body moving instinctively to his rhythm.
Jing Yuan’s eyes never left you, his intense gaze locked on your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure. His lips quirked into a sinful smirk as he watched you lose yourself, your breath hitching, your movements growing more desperate.
"Good girl," he murmured, his words a heady mix of praise and possession. His fingers dug into your hips, guiding you faster, harder, his own breath growing heavier as he watched you unravel. "Let me see everything. Don’t hold back."
You trembled in his lap, your soft, perky nipples pebbled from the cool air and the intensity of his gaze. Jing Yuan’s large hands skimmed down your sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His golden eyes flicked lower, settling on the thin scrap of fabric that barely covered your most intimate place.
The sight made his breath hitch—a damp patch spreading across the delicate fabric, clinging to the shape of your pussy lips, leaving absolutely nothing to his imagination. The thin barrier split against the firm muscle of his thigh, framing you in a way that sent his thoughts spiralling.
Jing Yuan's jaw tightened, his head tilting back for a moment as he groaned low and deep. The image of your leaking cunt pulled taut around his thick cock flashed unbidden in his mind, the mere thought causing his grip on your plush hips to tighten.
"Not yet," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough, his restraint hanging by a thread. His arousal throbbed painfully beneath his robes, but he refused to let the tension break—refused to give in until he had you entirely, in the only way he could truly claim you.
His hands flexed against your flesh, fingers sinking into the soft curves as he guided you to move against his thigh again. His golden eyes burned with raw want, but there was something deeper there—something possessive, primal, and utterly consuming.
"You’ll have me, but not like this," he rasped, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath warm and heavy. "The only way I’ll give you my seed is when I’m inside you. Completely. Do you understand?"
The words sent a shiver through you, your body trembling even more as his intent settled over you like a tangible weight. You nodded, unable to form words, lost in the way his hands and his voice claimed every part of you.
Tears welled in your eyes as Jing Yuan’s strong hands gripped your hips, roughly guiding you against the firm muscle of his thigh. Each drag of your soaked core over the thick fabric sent shockwaves through your body, your clit throbbing with an ache so overwhelming it made your head spin. You clung to his broad shoulders, gasping for air, your cries a mix of pleasure and desperation.
Jing Yuan’s mouth found the delicate curve of your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he sucked hard, determined to leave a mark—a vivid bloom that declared you his. The sting only heightened the sensations coursing through you, and your moans spurred him on, his movements growing fiercer, more relentless.
“Good girl,” he murmured against your skin, his deep voice sending a tremor down your spine. His golden eyes, darkened with unrestrained hunger, never left your face, drinking in every reaction, every sound, every shudder of your body.
Your back arched, a broken cry spilling from your lips as the tension in your core snapped. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as your release soaked through the flimsy fabric barely clinging on you. Jing Yuan’s large hand splayed across your lower back, holding you steady, his grip firm yet comforting as he guided you through your climax.
You collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling. Your underwear, a soaking mess as Jing Yuan’s arms enveloped you, his large hands moving gently now, one rubbing soothing circles along your back.
“There we go,” he murmured, his voice low and tender, a stark contrast to the possessive fire that had consumed him moments before. “I’ve got you.”
His lips brushed against your temple, the touch grounding you as you nestled into his embrace, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
Jing Yuan’s hand glided gently along the soft, velvety fur of your tail; his touch light yet deliberate. A small, breathless whine escaped your parted lips, your cheeks warming as you instinctively nuzzled into the solid warmth of his chest. His scent, calming yet intoxicating, filled your senses, easing the tension in your body while making your heart race.
“M-My tail... it’s sensitive, Jing Yuan,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, shy and muffled against him.
He paused, his golden eyes glinting with curiosity as a faint smirk curved his lips. “I see,” he replied simply, his tone smooth, holding an edge of playfulness. Instead of lingering, his hand shifted to rest on your back, his large palm moving in slow, soothing circles. Though his touch remained comforting, the knowing look in his gaze hinted that he had filed away this discovery for some other time.
All Jing Yuan wanted, with every fibre of his being, was to bury himself deep into the irresistible warmth of your slick, aching pussy, to lose himself entirely in the pleasure you could give him. But he could not—not yet. Not when he knew you deserved more than just raw passion. He wanted to show you his devotion; to prove he was a man worthy of claiming you fully.
His chest rose and fell with effort as he reined in the primal urges clawing at his restraint. The soft tremble of your body against his own pulled him back to the present, grounding him in the tender moment.
Jing Yuan’s large hand moved to thread gently through your hair, his fingers combing through the strands with a soothing rhythm. “You did so well,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. His other hand continued to rub light circles on your back, coaxing you to relax as your breathing slowly evened out.
When he finally pulled back slightly, his golden eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?” he asked, the question tender, yet filled with an underlying intensity that promised this was not a mere casual invitation.
The warmth of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice made your heart flutter. You blinked up at him, dazed and blushing, but managed a shy nod, your voice barely above a whisper as you replied, “I’d like that.”
His smile widened, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Good,” he murmured, already envisioning how he would make the evening one you would never forget.
Author’s Note:
Part 2 ? Dinner turns into a full-on session of raw fucking cause reader got her heat ? :3
reblogs, likes, comments, and follows are highly appreciated <3
also check out my masterlist if u are interested in any of my other works <3
if you want u can check out my ko-fi <3
⭑.ᐟ 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌| 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗋 ! 𝖺𝗅𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗆 𝗑 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 — 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝟣𝟪+
— (𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗂𝗆𝗒𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗑.)
part 1
𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒...in which you are a cam girl and he is your favorite viewer OR in which you are a final year college student and he is your new professor.
𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌... smut, rough sex, oral sex (f and m),possessive sex, hair-pulling, vaginal fingering, spanking, masturbating( f and m), doggy style, mating press, language (these warnings are for all 5 parts)
𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾... this is from my ao3, so enjoy <3
4.6k words
usagiibun2024🐇
Your half-open laptop sat forgotten on the couch, glowing with the low hum of an unfinished series you had tried to binge the night before. Eyes half-closed, you reached for your phone, fumbling to check the time.
8:30 a.m.
“Shit!”
You shot out of bed, tripping over the tangled sheets, heart pounding with the cold rush of adrenaline that only comes from missing something important. Today wasn’t just any day; it was the first lecture of the semester, and you were running late.
You quickly ran into the bathroom, throwing your clothes off and jumping into the shower. Your heart racing frnatucally as you quickly showered and turned it off almost slipping when you got out. The mirror offered you little comfort after you had tied your hair up messily, and threw on the first outfit you managed find—a crumpled sweater and jeans—looked less like ‘casual academic chic’ and more like ‘someone's given up.’ Still, it would have to do. You can go for the 'casual academic chic' tomorrow. Grabbing your bag, you bolted out the door, barely locking it behind you.
The world outside was already moving, buzzing with the noise of morning commuters and their routines. Your apartment building—an old, ivy-covered structure crammed between a café and a bookshop—seemed to blend into the city as you jogged down the street. The crisp autumn air clawed at your skin, urging you to move faster as the sounds of traffic and chatter filled the space around you.
The university campus wasn’t far, but today it felt like each step dragged you deeper into a sinking swamp. Your mind still swirled with the fog of sleep, your heart pounding as the towering lecture hall loomed ahead. A relic of academia, the stone building had seen its share of anxious students, no doubt making their way inside just like you. You could practically hear the ghost of every misstep made before you echoing off the ivy-covered walls.
You pushed open the heavy door, wincing as it creaked. The dim hallway was bathed in the dull yellow light of old fixtures, a stark contrast to the loud murmur of conversation from students filtering in. The quiet tap of your shoes on the worn wooden floor seemed deafening to your own ears.
Don’t be too late. Please.
Reaching the door to the lecture hall, you hesitated, already hearing the smooth, unhurried voice of the professor inside. His words were clear, deliberate, and somehow both calm and utterly dismissive. You slipped in quietly, praying no one would notice.
But then that voice, cool and laced with biting sarcasm, pierced through the room like a knife.
" Ah, nothing says commitment like showing up halfway through the lecture. Punctuality is, of course, the mark of true brilliance."
Your heart dropped. The entire class shifted uncomfortably, the air heavy with awkwardness. Your eyes flicked to the front of the room, but the professor hadn’t even glanced at you. His attention remained fixed on the screen, as if your tardiness was barely worth acknowledging beyond his cutting remark.
You ducked your head, praying you could melt into the crowd of students who were all pretending not to notice.
Settling into a seat at the back, you let out a slow breath. Great. First lecture of the semester, and already, you’d made an impression.
Alhaitham stood at the front, illuminated by the projector’s glow, a man who seemed entirely comfortable in the unyielding rigidity of academia. His pale skin stood out against the dark slate walls of the lecture hall, and his gray hair caught the light—silver at the tips with faint turquoise strands peeking through, subtle but noticeable. His eyes, those unnerving turquoise and gold-rimmed orbs, scanned the room without emotion, as if every student were a puzzle to be solved. His presence commanded attention without demanding it; there was an effortless authority about him, cold and unapologetic.
Everyone knew about him—the prodigy with an unrivalled intellect. But it was his pragmatism that made him infamous. He didn't mince words, nor did he soften his criticism. In his mind, academia was a battlefield, and if you weren’t equipped, you’d be left behind. At just 27, he was already regarded as one of the brightest minds in linguistics, with a list of publications and conference talks that read like someone twice his age. The department had celebrated his arrival like a prized acquisition after the sudden retirement of his predecessor.
As the lecture went on, his words became a blur, and your thoughts wandered. You’d heard the stories. Alhaitham had published papers before most people could finish their dissertations. He was already considered a leading figure in linguistics, and he’d barely been teaching for a year.
You looked around, catching glimpses of students furiously scribbling notes, trying to keep up. But you… you weren’t even processing his words. You were too busy stewing in your own frustration. He wasn’t just smart—he was smug. His entire demeanor screamed ‘I’m better than you,’ and somehow, that got under your skin.
The worst part? He was brilliant. There was no denying that. The ease with which he unraveled complex theories was almost infuriating. It wasn’t just knowledge; it was a performance of intellect, delivered with such cold precision that it made you feel small.
Your phone buzzed causing your eyes to widen as you quickly looked up towards Professor Alhaitham explaining something from a slide. You slide your phone on your desk as you glanced down briefly.
A request for a private session.
You rolled your eyes, stuffing the phone back into your pocket. The cam sessions weren’t supposed to interfere with your life like this. It was just supposed to be something you did on the side. Something that helped keep the bills paid.
When you’d started, it was out of desperation. You had needed to make money, and quickly. Your mother kicked you out due to a dispute —getting by was a struggle. At first, you had gotten a regular job at a coffee shop. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.
Then a friend had suggested camming. At first, you’d been horrified by the idea. Sitting in front of a camera, doing… that? It felt disgusting, degrading. But after months of struggling, you’d caved. What was supposed to be a temporary fix had become part of your routine. Log in, entertain, log off. Now, it was less of a thrill and more of a chore. You hated to admit it, but it paid better than any job you could have found as a student.
Pushing those thoughts aside you tried to pay attention to professor Alhaitham but you ended up doodling inside your book and also ended up writing a grocery list.
Finally, the lights flickered back on as the lecture ended, and Professor Alhaitham’s voice broke the silence once more. "Chapters two through four by next week. We’ll see who’s keeping up."
He snapped his laptop shut, a final punctuation mark to the end of the lecture, and students began packing their bags. You sighed, stuffing your own notes away as you slung your bag over your shoulder, the door creaked open behind you.
“Hey, wait up!” Layla’s voice pierced through your haze.
You turned to see her weaving through the chairs, looking equally disheveled but far less bothered. She caught up to you with an apologetic grin, her messy hair bouncing with each step. “You okay? You looked pretty rattled back there.”
You huffed, running a hand through your own hair. “I was late. Professor Alhaitham made sure everyone knew. God, what a prick.”
Layla snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Oh no. What did he say? I was kind of zoned out”
“Something about ‘dedication’ and ‘showing up halfway through.’ Like he’s never been late to anything in his entire life.”
Layla chuckled, shaking her head. “I swear, that guy is an enigma. Alot of people dislike him for the way he behaves, but alot of people are desperate to be in his class.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“He’s a genius, obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But it’s more than that. There’s something about him. He doesn’t care what people think, and he never panders. Some people like that kind of honesty.”
"Honesty, my ass. He’s just an asshole."
Layla laughed, nudging your arm. "Maybe, but also I've heard some people have joined his class just because of how hot he is, a bit ridiculous I do say." she says as a yawn escapes past her parted lips, her head gently resting against your shoulder as she tries to fight off fatigue.
You glanced back toward the front of the lecture hall. Alhaitham was still there, gathering his things with calm efficiency, his sharp features illuminated by the faint sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. His movements were deliberate, controlled, like everything in his world followed some intricate set of rules only he understood. You hated how Layla had a point. He was good-looking, in a detached, untouchable kind of way.
You noticed Layla almost falling off to sleep on your shoulder so you gently poked her nose causing her to wake up in shock.
"I think you need to lay off those thesis papers for awhile and get a good sleep" you said to her as she mumbles something and pouts.
You and Layla left the hall, your thoughts drifted again to the complicated web of your life outside these walls. The nights spent streaming, the chat boxes filled with faceless usernames, the anonymous attention that came with your side job. You pushed it to the back of your mind—this wasn’t the time. But still, that strange double life you led lingered like a shadow you couldn’t quite shake.
You slipped back into the comfort of your cluttered apartment, the memory of his sharp words lingered.
When you finally made it back to your apartment, the weight of the day clung to your shoulders. Dropping your bag by the door, you let out a heavy sigh and kicked off your shoes, the soft thud of them hitting the floor echoing in the quiet space. It had been a long day—longer than you expected.
You shuffled into the kitchen, deciding to fix yourself something simple. Your fridge wasn’t exactly stocked, but you managed to throw together a sandwich, something to take the edge off your hunger. As you ate, your thoughts wandered to your schedule for the evening, how it always followed the same routine, a strange comfort in the predictability of it.
After a quick meal, you headed into the bathroom. The warm water of the shower washed away the lingering stress of the day, soothing your muscles and easing your mind, if only for a little while. You stayed under the spray longer than necessary, letting the steam fill the room as you tried to clear your head.
But in the back of your mind, you knew what was coming. Once the clock hit nine, you would become someone else—someone confident, mysterious, and unattainable.
Toweling off, you took your time getting dressed, slipping into some comfortable clothes for the moment. You still had some work to finish before the night began.
As you sat at your desk, staring at the open notes on your laptop, your mind started drifting again. It wasn’t just the lingering tension from class that tugged at your thoughts. There was the constant reminder of why you were doing all of this in the first place.
Your mum hadn’t spoken to you in months, ever since she cut you off financially. Her voice echoed in your head, that final conversation where she’d made it clear—you were on your own. You weren’t doing things her way, and so she wasn’t going to help you anymore.
It had been hard to accept at first. The distance between you, the harshness of her words. But you had no choice now. You had to make things work, no matter what.
That was why you found yourself here, every night, doing things you never thought you’d do. Because you had to survive. This was the only way to keep your apartment, to stay in college. And you couldn’t afford to fail—not now, not with everything at stake.
Your eyes scrunched as you diverted your attention from those stressful thoughts to your notes, a few minutes past as you scrolled through the pages as the hours passed and the sky outside darkened, you checked the time. 8:45. Almost time.
You stood up, crossing the room to your closet. Opening the door, you rifled through the few pieces hanging there before finding what you were looking for—a delicate baby pink lingerie set. The fabric was soft, a stark contrast to the role you were about to step into.
Changing quickly, you adjusted the straps in front of the mirror, checking yourself from different angles. You pulled your hair up into a neat ponytail, a subtle touch that helped keep the two sides of your life separate. The girl in the mirror was confident, poised, ready to perform.
But it wasn’t quite 9:00 yet.
You walked over to your laptop and started setting up, adjusting the angle of your webcam, ensuring that it captured your body
By the time the platform loaded, it was exactly 9:00. Notifications immediately began popping up on your screen as you entered the chat. Regulars and new subscribers alike greeted you, their excitement palpable.
They asked about your day, how have you been as the night played out. After idle chatter with your subscribers, it was finally time for what they actually wanted to see.
The highest bidder requested you to use your pink dildo vibrator. A small smile graced your lips. "As you wish, master" you murmured, pulling out the vibrator. Your eyes darted to the chat window, scanning for familiar usernames, but a disappointed pout formed as you noticed he hadn't joined yet. 'He didn't join yet,' you thought, your mood dampening. The chat flared up with messages as viewers noticed your sulky expression.
You quickly plastered on a smile, bringing the dildo close to the camera, then to your face, smiling seductively.
"So, what do you want me to do first?" The next few minutes blurred into a haze of overstimulation. The bluetooth vibrator buzzed inside you, your fingers rubbing against your pussy lips as shudders coursed through you.
Your clit trembled with the constant intensity, and your body gleamed with a sheen of sweat. Your baby pink lingerie clung to your body as your hand found your nipple, pinching and playing until you came again.
The viewers paid extra to speed up the device, pushing you further and further.
Eyes fluttering open briefly, you scanned the chats again.
Your heart skipped a beat when a familiar username appeared User1102. Your thighs trembled as the vibrator reached its highest speed, your body shaking uncontrollably as you came, making a mess along your legs and lingerie. Breathing erratic, vision blurred, you were practically limp from the overstimulation.
User1102: Bunny... take a break. The chat was filled with other messages, people tipping for extra time or requesting private sessions. But your attention was glued to his message.
User1102: I'do like a private session.
[User1102 tipped $100!]
A soft smile formed on your lips despite your exhaustion. The other subscribers seemed annoyed, trying to out-tip him, but you already knew your choice.
"I'm super tired right now, so I'm only taking one private session! Thank you, guys, see you next week Tuesday~" You threw in a small finger heart, trying to ignore the love confessions and anger from you ending your live so soon.
After ending the public live stream, your heart raced as you adjusted your hair and lingerie, sending a private request to User1102. The request was accepted, and your body appeared on screen.
You smiled, head tilted slightly. "Hi, what can Ms. Bunny do for you tonight?" you asked, your voice low and sultry, though your heart pounded with nerves. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from racing in your head.
Why do I always get so excited for this particular subscriber? Why does he make my heart race faster and my cheeks flush pink?
The first time User1102 appeared in your live stream, someone had requested you to overstimulate yourself to the point of discomfort. Eyes glazed with tears, you tried to push through the discomfort, but your mind kept wandering. Rent was due, and the $400 being offered was something you couldn’t turn down. But you felt pathetic, disgusted even, for putting yourself through that pain.
That was when User1102 first message caught your attention.
User1102: Stop what you're doing. You're clearly uncomfortable.
The original requester got angry, but then
User1102: tipped $400.
User1102: End the live. I'd like a private session with you.
[User1102 tipped $200]
Your movements had stopped, stunned by the sudden change. The other subscribers were furious, but you nervously smiled and ended the stream. His private session that night had been different from any other. No requests for anything sexual just for you to drink water and change into something comfortable. He'd only stayed for a few minutes to make sure you felt better, then sent a simple message before leaving.
'Don't do things you feel uncomfortable doing.'
You were utterly confused, could the person have been someone who has mistakenly tumbled upon your stream from an ad?
You had'nt expected to see him again, but he came back for the next session. And the one after that. And eventually, you started looking forward to his presence, even if you didn't know what he looked like. --- You let out a soft sigh, your fingers shaking slightly as you adjusted your lingerie on screen.
User1102 message popped up again.
User1102 : are you okay bunny to do something small for me ?
You quickly nod your head eagerly, already ready to do whatever he asked (as long as it wasn't some weird ass kink).
User1102: okay, Bunny, grab the dildo you used earlier.
Your eyes widened slightly at the straightforward request. Hesitantly, you reached for the pink dildo that was still slick from earlier. You toyed with it in your hands for a moment, waiting for his next command.
User1102: Spit on it.
You froze for a second, processing his request. Sure, you'd done things like that before, but it was unexpected from him. Still, you complied.
Leaning forward, you let your saliva drip onto the tip of the dildo.
User1102: Now, Bunny, be a good girl and clean your mess up.
Your pussy throbbed at the words. Slowly, you began sucking at the dildo, cleaning off your spit with your tongue, trailing it down the length of the toy. As you worked, a notification flashed on the screen.
User1102: Play with yourself, Bunny.
Your hand left your breast, fingers finding your clit as you jolted on the bed. The added stimulation forced a moan out of you, louder than you'd intended, but you couldn't stop.
User1102: You're so pretty, making a mess all over.
The tension in your stomach tightened, your vision blurring as you angled your fingers just right. The coil in your stomach snapped, your body was trembling as the final wave of pleasure hit you, vision blurring as you came undone. The clear liquid dripped down your thighs, making a mess of your lingerie and the sheets beneath you. You lay there panting, catching your breath, feeling the heat slowly dissipate from your body.
User1102: You were amazing. Good girl.
Those two words sent another shiver down your spine. Your heart fluttered at the praise, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out of your mouth, genuine and raw: "Anything for you..." Your cheeks flushed red immediately after.
You couldn’t believe you had said that out loud. Your mind was in a haze, the warmth of the afterglow still lingering, but a strange conflict bubbled up inside you.
A small part of you, buried deep down, wanted to scream at yourself for how you felt about this man, a random stranger hidden behind a username. It was foolish to feel like this. A ridiculous crush, on someone who could very well be as old as your father. You closed your eyes for a second, lost in your thoughts, but his next message broke through.
User1102: go clean up, just take it easy when you do so. maybe run a hot shower or bath to relax your muscles. you did really good today.
User1102: Rest now. Goodnight, Bunny.
A soft smile tugged at your lips as you read the message. There was something so caring, so comforting about how he ended things.
He didn’t push for more, didn’t ask for anything beyond what you were comfortable with.
"Good night" you said sweetly, your eyes widening at the 400$ tip he left as he logs off. At this point you should just do private sessions with the amount of money he spends on you.
As the session ended, the room fell into a heavy silence. The screen of your laptop went dark, leaving you in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You let out a tired sigh, rolling onto your back. It was late, and exhaustion was starting to weigh you down. You grabbed your phone to check the time, but instead, you noticed a notification from your email.
A familiar name caught your eye. Professor Alhaitham. The email had been sent before you even started your session. You clicked it open and skimmed through it, rolling your eyes the moment you saw what it was about: a pop quiz.
"Ugh, that asshole" you muttered under your breath, tossing the phone aside. The last thing you needed was a quiz first thing in the morning. And of course, he just had to schedule it for 8 AM. You groaned in frustration. Now, you'd definitely need a good night's rest.
You’d barely slept the night before, and it showed. Your body still ached from the public and private session you’d done, and your limbs felt heavy as you dragged yourself through the hall. Luckily you had awoken around 5:30 am and was at campus around 7. You still had a few more minutes to spare until your first lecture and the dreaded pop quiz.
You knew shit cause you didn't revise saying that you would do it in the morning. Well that was a lie.
'I'll just wing it' you thought as you walked into the café to grab some coffee. The café’s comforting warmth felt like a small refuge. You needed caffeine, something to drag you out of this groggy haze. The barista handed you the cup. The place was packed with students and lecturers as you squeezed through people. Distracted by your thoughts, you barely noticed where you were going.
And that’s when you collided into something hard.
You walked right into a firm, solid chest. The impact sent a jolt through your body, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. The smell of something clean—like freshly washed linen, with the faintest hint of sandalwood—filled your senses, grounding you even as the embarrassment flooded your face. Your nose twitched from pain as you let out a small 'ow'.
You looked up, and your heart stuttered in your chest.
It was him.
The devil himself, the man who thought it would be great to have a pop quiz in the morning.
Professor Alhaitham.
Oh and also the man who had humiliated you in front of the entire class just yesterday, his words sharp and cutting as if you were some lazy student who had rolled out of bed with no care. And here you were, nearly doing the same thing. You opened your mouth to apologize, but then your eyes met his, and something inside you froze.
He stared at you with a wide-eyed look, his usual unbothered, calm demeanor completely gone. For a moment, his face seemed to soften, surprise mixing with something else you couldn’t place. His light turquoise eyes were framed by long lashes, and you were momentarily struck by how striking his gaze was. His lips parted, as if to say something, but no sound came out.
What was his problem?
You shifted awkwardly, your body still brushing against his, and suddenly you became hyper-aware of how close you were. His chest was firm beneath his clothes, his body warm, and for a brief moment, you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. His presence felt… overwhelming. The scent of him, the way his tall frame seemed to block out everything else.
And yet, there was something off. His reaction wasn’t what you’d expect from someone as stoic and composed as he had seemed in class. His eyes flickered with recognition—like he’d seen you somewhere before. But how could that be?
Before you could piece together what was happening, his eyes darted away, the strange look quickly masked by his usual indifference. He straightened, but his hands twitched, as if he were unsure of what to do with them.
You blinked, quickly stepping back, trying to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, barely able to look at him. You felt like your face was on fire, and all you wanted to do was escape the situation.
He said nothing at first, still staring at you with that strange intensity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he cleared his throat. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice deeper than you remembered from class. But there was something in his tone, something that almost felt… uncertain.
You mumbled another apology, your heart racing, and without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and rushed out of the café, the sound of your pounding footsteps drowning out the whirlwind of confusion in your head.
What the hell was that? You couldn’t shake the strange feeling his reaction had left you with. Was it embarrassment from the way he had insulted you in class? No—this was different. The way he looked at you wasn’t just surprise. There was something else in his eyes.
You shoved the thought out of your mind. It didn’t matter. He was just your professor, and you had to keep it that way, no matter how weird things got. Your eyes brighten when you noticed you didn't spill your coffee as you hurried down the cafe and took a right turn towards the lecture hall that Professor Al haitham's lecture will be held.
Unaware of the turmoil you had just left behind, Alhaitham stood frozen in place. His hands were still shaking, heart hammering in his chest, and he couldn’t stop replaying the moment over in his mind.
It was you.
The cam girl. The one he’d been watching for weeks. The one he had subscribed to under an anonymous name, indulging in those private sessions like they were his guilty pleasure. He had never planned on it becoming more than a fleeting escape—a place where he could admire you from afar, behind the safety of his screen.
But now, standing there, his chest still tingling from where you had bumped into him, the reality hit him with terrifying force.
He knew your body, your voice, the way you moved in front of the camera. But you… you had no idea who he was. To you, he was just the arrogant professor who had mocked you in class.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
His pulse quickened, his mind racing through the implications. His favorite cam girl was now his student, and she didn’t even know.
part 2
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anywhere can be paradise as long as you have the will to live ♡ (𝟏𝟖 + 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈!) no requests !! currently busy w college !!
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