𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE 𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓!! PART 2 IS GOING TO BE AMAZING

Thank uuu😭💓

Hi hi if you do tags can I be tagged in HIRAETH?

Hi! Definitely, thank you for reading it 💜

sorry guys for taking so long to publish the last part of blurred lines </3 currently busy with assignments and an exam, hopefully this weekend i get some time to rewrite and also get inspo, i'm not happy w/ what i have currently written so i'm rewriting stuff <3

take care, guys

lots of love

—usagii <3

𝐝𝐫.𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ‧₊˚ (fluff)

╰┈➤ fem reader. reader is haitham’s patient (this may be a bit self indulgent hehe). mild flirting. fluff. attempt at comedy, just a drabble ig, i love alhaitham fr— just wanted to write something small before disappearing again ehe. masterlist

The first time you met Dr. Alhaitham, he walked in like a problem you weren’t ready to solve.

The door eased open with a soft click, and you barely had a second to breathe before he stepped through. And just like that, every rational thought in your head short-circuited.

He was tall—so tall—and built like the universe had carefully balanced strength and elegance just for him. His white coat hung open, effortlessly draped over broad shoulders, the fabric swaying slightly with each step like it knew how lucky it was. Underneath, his black button up shirt fit too well and his tie perfectly in place.

But it was his face that hit the hardest.

Angular jaw. Perfectly cut cheekbones. Lips set in a neutral line that looked like they’d never curve into anything as mundane as a smile. His hair—a soft grey, slightly tousled like he'd run a hand through it absentmindedly—framed his face with just enough dishevelment to be maddening.

And then his eyes met yours.

Cool, turquoise irises - pupils rimmed with amber. Focused. Sharp. Like a lens sliding into place. He looked at you—not through you, not past you, but at you—and your brain promptly melted into static.

You forgot how to sit properly.

You shifted on the exam table and winced at the ridiculously loud crinkle of the paper beneath you. Great. Smooth. Very dignified.

He glanced down at his tablet. “Name?”

You mumbled it. Or at least, you think you did. Your mouth moved, and he didn’t ask again, so that was something.

His gaze flicked up again, this time assessing. “Hm.”

Just hm.

You wanted to die. Or be swallowed whole by the earth. Or maybe just crawl under the table and never come out again.

He walked closer, writing a few things down, entirely unfazed. His presence filled the room with a kind of quiet intensity, like a thunderstorm just waiting to happen. He asked clinical questions in a deep, calm voice that was way too smooth for your current state of mind.

When he stepped beside you and reached for your wrist, you nearly levitated off the table.

His fingers were precise, cool, steady as they pressed against your skin. Meanwhile, you were vibrating at a frequency only small rodents could hear.

“Pulse is elevated,” he said absently, glancing at the numbers. “Unusual.”

You cleared your throat. “I’m—uh. Just—nervous.”

“I assumed,” he replied, flatly. “Though I haven’t done anything yet.”

Oh my god.

Was that deadpan sarcasm? Was that dry humour? From him?

Your face burned. You could feel the flush rising like a tidal wave, heat crawling up your neck and settling in your ears.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you again. Not with empathy. Not with judgment. Just that same unreadable curiosity, like you were a particularly odd research sample.

“Try to relax. You're only making it worse.”

You let out a high-pitched laugh that did not help your case.

He returned to his notes without another word, cool and methodical as he moved through the rest of the exam. Every brush of contact was maddening. He was so calm, so put-together, while you were over here trying not to pass out from sheer mortification.

Finally, he stepped back and moved to the door.

He paused there, one hand on the handle.

“You should drink more water,” he said, still not looking back. “And maybe avoid overly stimulating environments.”

Then, after a beat—so soft you almost missed it:

“Charismatic doctors included.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

You sat there, frozen, heart racing like you'd just run a marathon on zero sleep and five cups of coffee.

You buried your burning face in your hands.

You were so, so doomed.

The second time you met Dr. Alhaitham, you told yourself it was just a check-up. Just routine. Just to confirm you’re healthy. That’s all.

You definitely didn’t fix your hair twice in the waiting room. Or rehearse what you’d say if he asked anything personal. Or almost chicken out at the front desk.

And then… there he is again.

Same white coat. Same unreadable face. Clipboard in hand. He doesn’t smile. He nods. That’s it. Like you’re a piece of data.

“Still having the same symptoms?” he asks, setting his pen against paper, eyes flicking up for half a second.

“No,” you say too quickly. “I mean—yes. I mean—sort of?” You feel the shame rise like steam in your face. Be normal, you beg yourself silently. Be a normal human.

His brow furrows. “That’s… not very clear.” He’s not being rude. He’s just direct. His voice is so flat, so serious, it makes you squirm.

You try to say something coherent while he approaches with the stethoscope. And then it happens again—he touches your wrist to take your pulse.

Immediate panic.

He blinks. “Still elevated.”

“It’s warm in here,” you blurt.

He tilts his head slightly. “It’s… twenty-two degrees Celsius.”

You die. Right there. He probably thinks you’re about to pass out. Or lying. Or both. Meanwhile, he’s moving through the appointment like you’re not experiencing a romantic crisis every time he breathes near you.

“You’re giggling,” he says, suddenly.

You freeze. “I’m—not!”

He looks up. That same unreadable stare. “You are. It’s fine. Some patients get nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you say way too fast, your voice a squeak now.

He just nods again. “Hmm.”

Hmm.

That’s it. You’re never recovering from this.

Then, as he’s about to leave, he pauses. Flips through his notes.

“You drink enough water now?” he asks without looking at you.

Your stomach flips. He remembered.

You nod.

“Good,” he says. Still serious. Still calm. Still a walking paradox of soft hands and distant eyes. “You seem better. Maybe next time, you won’t giggle.”

And then he leaves.

And you sit there.

Absolutely gone.

The third time you met Dr. Alhaitham, you weren’t supposed to be here. You just needed toothpaste. That’s all. One boring little errand.

You’re in your softest hoodie, your least presentable state, and you’re standing in the pharmacy aisle, zoning out while debating between two brands of lip balm—because clearly, your life is thrilling.

And then, you hear it. That voice. Calm, low, quiet—but unmistakable.

“Excuse me.”

You turn.

It’s him.

Your doctor. In a black button-up and fitted trousers. No white coat. No clipboard. No clinical detachment to protect you.

Just… him. Hair slightly tousled. Glasses pushed up on his nose. Holding a box of vitamins like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You nearly drop your chapstick.

“Oh,” you say. Too loudly. Too high-pitched. “Hi.”

His eyes land on you, calm as ever, and he nods like it’s perfectly normal that the man you’ve been lowkey fantasizing about is now standing three feet away by the travel-size shampoo.

“I remember you,” he says, flatly. Not unkind. Just observant.

You nearly ascend. “Uh—yeah. I’m… still hydrated.”

A pause. The corner of his mouth twitches. Twitches.

“That’s good,” he says, and somehow it sounds like a compliment.

You just stare. Like an idiot. Because he’s wearing a real person outfit. And his sleeves are rolled up. And his forearms exist. And he’s not doing anything wrong, but you’re actively malfunctioning.

He glances down at the item in his hand, then holds it up. “Do you know if these actually help? I’ve read mixed studies on the absorption rate.”

He’s asking you. For an opinion. On vitamins. And you’re trying to remember how to form a sentence.

“I—I mean, I just… get the gummies,” you say.

He actually blinks. “Gummies?”

You nod. “They’re easier to… chew?”

Another pause. And then, a quiet, rare sound: a soft huff of amusement. You don’t even think it’s a laugh. But it’s close enough to make your chest burst like a firework.

“You’re different outside the clinic,” he says simply.

You panic. “Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “Just… surprising.”

Your heartbeat is in your ears.

You manage a half-smile. “You’re different too.”

He tilts his head. “How so?”

“You… have forearms.”

His eyebrows go up. You want to eat the floor.

“I mean—not that I think about your forearms—I just—”

He’s watching you. Quiet. Sharp. Then he says, very calmly:

“You’re blushing again.”

You wish for lightning to strike you on the spot. He adjusts the box in his hand like this is all very standard and unremarkable.

And then, as casually as anything:

“I’ll remember the gummies next time.”

And he walks away.

Leaving you standing there like a disaster in a hoodie, holding two kinds of lip balm and a pounding heart.

The fouth time you met Dr. Alhaitham, the waiting room is cold again, or maybe you’re just more sensitive today. You clutch your jacket tighter, feeling that weird mix of dizzy and tired that’s been creeping up for days. You told yourself it was nothing—just stress, maybe. But now you’re here again.

The nurse calls your name, and your heart skips. Because you already know who’s going to be behind that door.

You step into the exam room and sit down, and sure enough—there he is. Doctor Serious. Doctor Calm. Doctor devastating.

Except this time, his eyes linger longer when he sees you.

“You don’t look well,” he says immediately.

You blink. “Gee, thanks.” why do you think I am here ? well it is also to stare at your gorgeous face but I am not going to disclose that to you.

His brow lifts. You didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic. But your voice is quieter than usual, and your usual panic feels dulled by how out-of-it you feel. He steps closer, watching you carefully.

“Dizzy spells?” he asks, sitting down across from you. “Headaches?”

You nod. “Yeah. And I feel kinda tired all the time. Like… weirdly tired.”

He watches you. Really watches you. “Have you been eating regularly?”

You hesitate. “Um. I mean. Mostly. Maybe not perfectly.”

“Have you fainted?”

“No,” you say. “I just… feel like a dying Victorian woman sometimes.”

That earns a real reaction: a soft exhale, not quite a laugh—but the closest you’ve ever gotten. He looks at you again, like he’s trying to read through your jokes.

“Victorian woman,” he echoes.

You shrug weakly. “I’d look really cute collapsing into someone’s arms.”

His lips twitch. “Let’s avoid collapsing for now.”

He runs a few tests, checking your pulse again—so gently—and this time when your heart spikes, he doesn’t even comment on it. He just looks at you, a bit more quietly than usual.

“Your iron might be low,” he says. “Have you been on your period recently?”

You blink. “Why would you—how’d you—?”

“You’ve been here before,” he says simply. “You were flushed and talkative. Now you’re pale and slow to respond.”

You stare. “So you… remember me that well?”

He doesn’t answer. Just writes something into his file.

And then, suddenly, he says:

“You were at the pharmacy the other day.”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah.”

“I bought the gummies,” he says.

You blink. “Did they change your life?”

“Not yet,” he murmurs, writing something down. Then: “I don’t usually see patients outside the clinic.”

You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but his voice is… softer.

“I just mean,” he says slowly, “you’re different. Less anxious today. Or maybe just tired.”

He looks up, and for the first time, there’s something like concern in his eyes.

“I want you to get a blood test,” he says. “I’ll write a referral.”

You nod, barely processing, because all you can focus on is the way he’s not looking at you like you’re a puzzle anymore. He’s looking at you like he actually… cares - well he is a doctor it is his job to treat you, his patient and to care for you as his patient.

And when you stand up to leave, a little wobbly on your feet, he places a hand gently—so gently—at your elbow.

“Careful,” he says. “You’re still a little pale.”

You look up at him.

“Will you be there when I collapse dramatically?” you ask, trying to joke through the fog in your head.

He doesn’t smile. But his voice is quieter than ever when he replies:

“Always.”

And then he lets go.

part 2

usagii's note ‧₊˚

welp, ill write another part tmr when i come back from college, ugh i love haitham, i wish he was real ssksjkjskjs

#reader is the best fr fr

shoutout to x reader freak blogs we keep fandom alive i love you x reader freak blogs

⭑.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

I REMEMBER WRITING THIS LEVI FANFIC YEARS AGO ON WATTPAD I DECIDED TO SKIM THROUGH IT AND IT WAS MORE LIKE A PETRA X OC FANFIC … doomed wlw ig ??

Petra to my oc (aurora) :

But then aurora had never done such BAHAHAH

I shall go sleep

i'll find my type in every universe, but the one i exist in 😭

Btw! You should add a read more option to your stories to help people when scrolling! ☺️ It’s a huge part of Tumblr just so you no!

Oh! I'm sorry i dont really know about these things and how they work as I've recently gotten tumblr😅 ill try and do that

EDIT :THANK U SO MYCH U ARE LIFE SAVIOR🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

I wanna write for bob (sentry) 😟😭

I HAVE A PLOT IDEA AND EVERYTHING I JUST NEED TO SEE THE MOVIEE AND I WILL WRITE IT MARK MY WORDS

He so cute 😔😭