saliba's version

wc:2.3k

Summary: In which a woman’s faith in her goddess is tested after a shipwreck leads a man on an island that’s free of his kind.

Warnings: there will be: religious guilt (made up religion), corruption (? Using this term loosely)angst, smut, overall mature themes (18+)

A/n: No specific time period mentioned but not modern. Some elements might’ve been loosely inspired by The Odyssey. And who doesn’t love a good forbidden “romance?” Will probably be five chapters tops. Ignore that weak ass summary (I’m sleepy😭) Enjoy?

Next chapter->

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Aïcha grips her shawl tighter as it billows restlessly in the harsh wind. She ensures her hair remains covered, just like the rest of her entire body. The clouds churn, darkening even further despite their already sinister appearance. Waves crash violently against the rocks below— droplets of water splash against her face despite her standing meters away from the shore.

“It’s going to storm.” She whispers, tone forlorn.

“Yes. Goddess Vrohza came to me in a dream. There are men currently sailing across her waters, men who bring destruction and strife everywhere they go. She’s going to punish them.” Dahlia, mother of the temple, mutters to her right.

Aïcha has never seen a man in person, yet she spent her entire twenty- four years of life hearing about them. She knows they’re apparently evil; she knows they bring chaos everywhere they go; she knows she’s to remain pure of them— untouched, unless sullied and of no more use to the goddess she devoted her entire life to.

“You feel it too, yes?”

Aïcha doesn’t know what exactly it is, but something stirs in her lower belly. She wants to describe it as dread. Yet, she isn’t the least bit terrified. It’s almost as if she can feel something coming, something different, something new.

“I… I can’t place it into words but I feel like there’s something just over the horizon and it’s making its way here.”

Dahlia nods, securing her shawl around her head before facing her. She touches her cheek delicately.

“You’re gifted, Aïcha. It’s why you were chosen to be here.”

She’s still struggling to understand why she’s special. Aïcha has no recollection of her earlier years; she remembers her mother’s face in fragments— broken pieces that frustrate rather than comfort. So she let go. All she knows is the island of Vrohzee that’s only made up of a giant temple for their goddess and a large boarding house where all fifteen of the women on the island live. Dahlia told her that only a few girls are chosen by Vrohza every few years, and she speaks to them at an early age. When this happens, they’re sent to live on the island thousands of miles away from the mainland. The goddess only listens to their prayers and accepts their worship. They keep the mainland safe from natural disasters through their sacrifice. Aïcha has no choice to believe; she spent the better part of her entire life here, bowing to her statue, offering prayers and burning incense. It can’t all be for nothing. Maybe she is chosen; maybe she was destined to become the next mother after Dahlia returns to the ocean. With that thought in mind, she bows her head and speaks;

“I am humbled to be a servant of the goddess.”

****************

Aïcha moves quickly alongside her sisters to reap what they can from the garden before the storm batters all the plants and produce. They recently received a shipment of food and medicine from the mainland, but they’d still rather not let food go to waste.

“I don’t like how the sky looks.” Imani mutters as they grab every bean they find. As a part of their religion, meat is disallowed as it is believed to be unclean; it makes plant protein even more essential.

“It’s going to be a really bad storm.” Aïcha mutters without care.

“But… does that mean the goddess is displeased with us? Maybe we didn’t pray often enough, or maybe she saw that our hearts weren’t pure-”

“Mother Dahlia dreamt that this storm was punishment for some men by Vrohza. It has nothing to do with us.” She reassures her friend. She knows how important this is to Imani and Aïcha isn’t in the mood to witness one of her breakdowns again.

Imani’s shoulders sag with relief; “Oh. Well, may she punish those who deserve and spare the innocent.”

Aïcha hums in agreement, tuning out her conversation that’s more of the same.

**************

She watches the storm rampage through her window. Aïcha counts every violent flash of lightning; every rumble of thunder. At one particularly loud clap, she hears prayers ring throughout the house. However, her lips remain sealed. The winds howl harder, as if angry at her silence. Mother Dahlia’s voice keeps pounding at her temples: ‘you’re special, you have a gift.’ Something in her begs her to open her mouth, to shout her prayers. Maybe it’ll help calm the storm. Yet words fail to come. Why would her prayers be more special than anyone else’s? How presumptuous of her to believe her words hold more weight than anyone else’s to a deity. So Aïcha remains quiet, brown eyes illuminated ever so often by flashes of lightning and fixed on the horizon. Looking for something, though she still doesn’t know what.

*********

The storm grows in strength the next day. It’s severe enough that even the small trek toward the temple is unsafe. They’re confined to the house and panic begins to steadily ripple through the building. They gather in the mess hall for breakfast where an uncharacteristic quiet, only interrupted by thunder, hangs over the room.

“Have you prayed?” Imani whispers timidly to her, eyes darting as the windows rattle.

“Yes.” Aïcha lies easily. She braces for the guilt and is surprised that it only briefly spikes her heart rate before fizzling out.

“I guess this is Vrohza really punishing those who deserve it then.”

Aïcha turns to the woman taking in her hazel eyes, dark hair and round face. Imani would be popular on the mainland, she thinks. She’s beautiful and Aïcha doesn’t doubt she’d have suitors lining up. Instead, she’s stuck here, dedicating her life to a goddess because she was told she had to do it. Just like her. She isn’t sure if she’d be an exception on the mainland like she is here, being the only woman with brown skin on the island. And if she was, would that make her more desirable? All these questions will have to go unanswered and it frustrates her to no end. She doesn’t dare complain out loud though, she knows better than that.

“Yes, I guess so.”

Later that night, the storm’s intensity lessens enough for a semblance of peace to settle over the house again. It’s long past the hour she should be up, but Aïcha enjoys staying up late. It’s the only time she’s free to explore her curiosities. Like her own body. Her reflection is a bit distorted in the mirror; but Aïcha stares at her naked body anyway. She’s curvier than all the women here, a fact that she was once self conscious about before she realized it wouldn’t matter. Honestly, she now quite likes it. She likes how she fits in her hands. Her eyes zero in on the thatch of her hair between her legs; with a tight swallow, her hand trails down until it stops abruptly right against her lower belly. Her teeth dig into her plush lower lip, hand trembling with the need to go lower. To touch. To feel. But she snatches it away. Touching there feels like going to a point of no return. A loud clap of thunder startles her into re-dressing quickly. It feels like a warning, so she heeds it.

********

The storm fully passes after another two days. Aïcha is placed on duty to restore the temple alongside Zuri. It’s easy to work with her; just like Aïcha, Zuri prefers silence. She’d never dare ask, but she has a feeling Zuri shares the same feelings she does about their situation. It might actually be worse given the woman has been here even longer than she has. But during worship, Aïcha likes to observe the others. She notices the reluctance the older woman also shows in singing songs and reciting verses from the book of Vrohza. It always eases her guilt during every service— knowing she’s not alone.

“Zuri?”

The older woman cocks a brow at her with a handful loose branches that blew to the doorstep during the storm.

“Why is confinement a requirement from the goddess? Why couldn’t we have stayed on the mainland? I’ve read the book over and over and I can’t seem to find why.” It’s a big risk, but Aïcha can always hide behind curiosity. Her question is innocent enough.

Zuri stiffens for a few seconds. The silence stretches long enough for Aïcha to think she wouldn’t be getting an answer.

“I justify it as them keeping us away from the horrors of men.. for the sake of my sanity.”

Aïcha startles briefly, not just because she answers, but the honesty of it. She gulps.

“Have you ever seen a man?”

Zuri dumps the branches in a bucket then reaches for the rake. “Not that I remember. They send us all away before we’re old enough to even memorize the faces of our parents.”

Aïcha bites her lip, contemplating if she wants to push her luck further. Eventually, curiosity wins over fear.

“How did they know we were chosen then? If we were so young? What could we have possibly said?”

Zuri turns her brilliant green eyes on her; “Apparently, we had recurring dreams about the ocean. But who knows.”

“But-”

“That’s enough, Aïcha. And tell no one of this conversation. Go start cleaning inside and re-kindling the candles around her statue.”

With a nod, Aïcha enters the temple to do as she’s told. She sweeps, mops and cleans the mini fountain by Vrohza’s feet in a daze. They get shipments from the mainland every month or six weeks if there’s a delay. Only Mother Dahlia is allowed to go by the docks and receive the packages. They’re called to help with hauling the supplies into the boarding house when the ship sets sail again— they usually don’t linger. On multiple occasions, Aïcha wishes she could sneak aboard and escape to the mainland. She wants to remember her parents; she wants to socialize with more people. Though unsure of all the pleasures that exist outside the island, in her heart she knows there’s more and she wants to experience it all. Why would lust be considered a sin yet her body feels desire? Aïcha’s only knowledge of sex is from Mother Dahlia’s teachings about all the ways it corrupts women. Yet, some nights, she lies awake, with an ache between her legs that compels her to touch herself. Why would her very nature drive her to crave something that’s wrong? Aïcha glances up at the lifeless eyes of Vrohza. With a gulp, she relaxes her face so as to not frown in her goddess’s presence and begins lighting the candles surrounding the statue. And for the first time in weeks, Aïcha feels actual guilt pitting her stomach until it rolls over itself with nausea.

***********

The house is eerily quiet as she moves through the hallway with a lantern in hand. She should be asleep, but Aïcha is feeling restless. Restless enough for her to actually follow the voice screaming in the back of her mind to take a walk on the beach. It’s not exactly allowed, but the island is safe. She’ll get chastised if caught, but no real repercussions. The winds are harsh enough to shift the shawl on her head for her curly hair to fly about. Aïcha doesn’t care; nobody is going to bear witness anyway. Her feet take her from higher, grassy ground until her sandals are sinking in damp sand. There’s an unexplainable peace that comes after severe weather. The stars gleam brighter, the waves lap softer. Nature seems to relax after releasing all the anger it spent weeks or months holding on to. Aïcha lowers the lantern with the intention of sitting on a rock that’s only ideal for brooding or would be too uncomfortable to tolerate in any other mood. But something catches her eye. Planks of wood, floating aimlessly on top of the gentle waves. It would be easy to dismiss after a storm of that magnitude, except the size of them. Aïcha has seen the ship from a distance enough times to recognize what she’s looking at. Stepping closer to the shoreline, Aïcha holds the lantern up to get a closer look. She audibly gasps; Mother Dahlia was right. The wreckage, she finds, comes all the way up to shore a few feet to her left. Aïcha approaches the large debris, blinking at what she sees underneath. Feet. With renewed haste, she runs forward with her breaths puffing from her chest in sparse intervals. It’s a struggle to haul the wooden material off the unmoving body. Splinters dig into her palms, but she doesn’t care. She keeps tugging with all the strength in her body until she falls flat on her behind. Embarrassment doesn’t come when she notices she was at least successful. Aïcha grabs the lantern, holding it above the person lying unconscious on the beach. Even from their position, she sees they’re tall. Taller than anyone on the island. Her eyes follow the markings on their arm, the caramel skin that’s noticeably tanned from the sun; chapped lips— the stranger is beautiful; but most importantly-

“A man.” Aïcha whispers in awe.

His shirt is ripped, trousers drenched and there’s a strange little strap around his right wrist. His curly hair is a bit similar to hers and loose— damp and pressed against his forehead and neck. She can see his torso through his destroyed clothing; it’s defined in a way that makes something in her belly flutter. When her gaze returns to his face, his eyes are open, though his gaze is unfocused. His eyes are almost the colour of honey under the lantern’s light. He blinks at her in confusion.

“Help me.” His voice is rough, probably from dehydration. His simple request kick-starts her heart into gear.

“Aïcha?!”

She whips her head around to see Dahlia marching in her direction with terrified eyes.

“Mother Dahlia-”

“What are you doing?!”

The woman approaches, grasping her wrist then looks down at what she found. Or rather, who she found.

The older woman gasps; “Is that?”

wc: 4.6k

warnings: really fucked up fic, darker themes, mentions of mental health issues, smut, mature themes (18+)

A/n: guys, read the warnings. If you read the first part, then you know what kind of fic this is and he doesn’t magically just redeem himself. It is FICTION. Don’t read then bitch to me because I’m pmsing and will straight up just tell you to k*s iwl. Anywho, for those who requested a part two, here it is. (That gif inspired so much of this icl lmao)

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Hadia punches the code and her front door clicks open after that familiar low beep. She takes a moment to stare into her quiet apartment that’s barely lit. Nothing seems amiss, yet the hairs on her arms stand on end. She tries to tell herself that she’s just being paranoid after what he said:

‘… maybe I’ll come back for you.’

That was over two months ago. When Virgil didn’t turn up for his mandatory session, Hadia was obligated by law to report it. So she did. Even though she knew he was long gone. An investigation was launched but frizzled out a few weeks later. For all they knew, Virgil’s only crime was physical assault after being taunted by his very abusive father. His therapy sessions went well and there have been no new reports of him getting in trouble. Hadia guesses it didn’t feel necessary to spend time and resources searching for a man whose only crime was getting back at the person who made his childhood hell. Especially since his father survived the attack, though she heard reports of his memory being spotty. All the while, Hadia carries around fifty extra pounds of guilt on her shoulders. Only she knows the true extent of Virgil’s sins. She tried to rationalize the situation as best she could: it was probably justice, those officers were sadistic— the kind that delighted in watching a man beat on his wife and child; it wasn’t her fault, she wasn’t an accomplice— she found out about it after they were already dead; Virgil would probably come back and hurt her if she actually told. Some days, they worked well enough for her to exist almost peacefully with her thoughts, but not always. Other days, she would have to skip work when anxiety made her physically ill. She blames that for why her apartment has been feeling tampered with lately. Her inhale rattles her chest as she steps inside, quickly locking the door behind her. All her furniture is as she left them this morning, so too her potted plants and framed achievements on her wall. Breathing a sigh of relief, she flicks the switch and her kitchen is flooded with lights. Hadia moves towards her fridge only to pause. She almost thinks she imagines it— that it was just a trick of the light. But as she continues to stare until her vision blurs at the edges, she realizes she didn’t.

“W-what?” She stares at the bowl in the sink like a dark entity— eyes wide, mouth agape and trembling. She slowly approaches to inspect the bowl that has evidence of dried cornflakes stuck to the sides.

Hadia desperately begs her brain to work— to recall her morning in chronological order. She always does the dishes at night after dinner, paranoid about harboring insects. In the mornings, when she prepares breakfast, she always ensures to clean the kitchen before she leaves. However, she picked up breakfast on her way to work this morning because she was running late. She left a clean kitchen behind; she’s sure of it. Her swallow morphs into a strange choking sound as she’s wracked by a series of heart palpitations. Hadia specializes in the human mind, she emphasizes the importance of rationality. So she tries to do that: be rational.

“You forgot to wash the bowl from the night before, you always have a snack before bed. Cereal, a yoghurt bowl, a fruit salad.” She mutters to herself as she washes the bowl.

This time though, she fights the sliver of embarrassment as she takes her phone out to record her actions. Proof, just in case she’ll need it tomorrow. She left her kitchen clean. After a thorough shower in scalding water, Hadia scrolls Amazon for home cameras and makes a purchase that assures her it’ll be delivered in two days.

**********

Hadia lingers in the shower to do what she has been forced to lately: compartmentalize. Last night, she had one of those dreams again. The kind of dreams that she wakes up from feeling a fresh wave of guilt all over again. Because in those dreams, she’s under his skillful hands; under his mercy. She’s always bound: cuffs, cables or ropes. She hears his voice just as she did that night in her bedroom, him whispering filth in her ear. Mocking her for pretending to be so put together and perfect but loving the way he defiles her. She always wakes up on the verge of an orgasm, pussy pulsing and tears streaming down her cheeks. Hadia made the belated realization the fourth night after one of those many dreams; she didn’t just feel guilty for knowing what he is: she feels guilty for wanting him all the same. Virgil fucked her so good it must’ve rewired the very structure of her brain. A few weeks ago, Hadia even found herself in a stranger’s bed, something she hadn’t done in years. Chasing the high Virgil gave. But of course, it was subpar. She was polite enough to give Frank her number when he asked despite being disappointed, but she never heard from the man again. Hadia isn’t too peeved about it, she would’ve eventually told him she had no interest in seeing him anyway.

“Maybe I just need to feel good?” She questions herself over the harsh spray of water.

After getting ready, she orders herself a vibrating toy she sees online with the best reviews before heading to her kitchen to prepare breakfast. Her shoulders sag in relief when she notices the space is untouched. No bowls in the sink. She makes a quick meal and is out of her house twenty minutes later. A shiver wracks her frame as she steps out into the nippy early morning air. Winter is fast approaching and she estimates they’ll get snow within a few weeks. Hadia hums softly under her breath as she attempts to start her car. The gentle purr doesn’t come. She tries again and again and on the fourth attempt, she starts begging.

“Please please please…. fuck!” Hadia slams her palms against her steering over and over until they hurt.

Running a hand over her slick bun, she gathers herself with a deep breath and orders an uber. While she waits, she calls the mechanic she finds closest to her after a quick internet search.

“Hi, I’m having some car trouble?”

“Good morning. What exactly is the problem?” The man on the other end inquires politely.

“It just won’t start. I tried multiple times; it doesn’t even make a sound.”

“What model?”

“2025 CR- V.”

“Was the vehicle overheating before?”

“No.” The uber slowly pulls up and Hadia hurries over with the phone sandwiched between her shoulder and ear.

“Any strange sounds recently?”

She greets the driver with a nod before responding; “No. It was basically brand new and was running smoothly.”

“Did you pour something in the engine?-”

“Why would I-” Hadia takes a deep breath to collect herself;

“No, I didn’t pour anything down the engine.” She says through gritted teeth.

“Ma’am, sorry to say, but if there were no signs of overheating or strange sounds to indicate a broken timing belt, with that model and year…it’s a brand new vehicle and that sounds like a blown engine. Something that didn’t belong was definitely poured into it. Give a day when you’re available so I can send someone to take a look and have it towed here if necessary.”

Hadia feels like the vehicle is closing in on her. Her brain suddenly goes to Virgil. Chemist. But she’s being ridiculous. ‘Right?’

“I… um I’ll be off work tomorrow. Would that work?”

“Yes ma’am, we’re open on Saturdays. I’ll pen you down for a call at 10 am to confirm.”

“Thank you.” It’s a meek whisper from her lips.

Hadia’s heart slams painfully against her ribcage and as her paranoia resurfaces, she thinks it’s time to take some time off work and go visit her mother in St. Lucia.

***********

Hadia feels physically weighed down by even her scrubs at the end of her shift. She’s exhausted and she’s guessing that the rush hour is why it’s harder to get an available car. With a frustrated huff, she marches out of the hospital’s parking lot and onto the busy streets. The train station is a fifteen minute walk from her workplace. She dismisses the feeling of being watched the entire journey home as her fatigued brain playing tricks on her. Hadia calls her mother while she goes through her night routine.

“Sa ka fét?” (How are you?)

“Mwen byen, mama.” (I’m fine).

“You sound tired.” Her mother switches to English smoothly.

“I just got off work, mom.” She says with a laugh.

“Dat not work tired, sweetheart.”

Hadia sighs as she exits her bathroom with damp skin and wet hair.

“Haven’t been sleeping well recently.” She confesses part of the truth.

“Ah. You need to drink Fevergrass or Bay Leaf tea at night, yes? You won’t get soursop leaves over there. Come visit home so I pray over you and give you the right things. You don’t miss your mama?”

Hadia laughs again. “Of course, mom. I’ll request some time off to visit soon.”

“Good.”

Hadia opens her underwear drawer while her mother chatters away on the phone. She searches idly, throwing in quick quips and giggles here and there. Two minutes without success is when her brows furrow. She has specific cotton panties that she likes to wear to sleep, yet she can’t seem to find a single one. Her movements grow more frantic, her mother’s voice sounding like static in her ear. She wears them the most, so she ensures they’re always clean. Hadia races over to her hamper to go digging anyway. Fear crawls up her spine in a cold slither. Just as she suspected, they aren’t there either.

“Hadia?”

Her mother’s continuous call of her name finally brings her back to her body. “Sorry mom, I got distracted; what were you saying?”

“Get some sleep, pumpkin.” Her mother coos sweetly, unaware of her inner turmoil.

“Okay mom, I’ll brew some tea then go to bed. Orevwa.” (Goodbye).

Hadia practically flings her phone the second her mother hangs up and starts digging through all her drawers frantically. After an hour of no success, Hadia decides to get the cameras installed the second they come and to change the passkey to her front door.

**********

Saturday is eventful. First, the mechanics come to inspect and diagnose her vehicle. The scruffy Caucasian man confirms that something was definitely poured into her engine and it wasn’t motor oil. She watches her vehicle get attached to the tow truck with an annoyed scowl on her face at the inconvenience it’ll cause and the amount she’ll have to spend.

“How much will all this cost?”

The man who introduced himself as James cocks a brow; “Why are you asking when your partner already called ahead to handle it?”

Hadia chokes around nothing, eyeing him like a fish out of water. “I— wh—”

“Ah shit, I guess I ruined a nice surprise.” He mutters in annoyance, scratching his beard harshly.

“Look, when he announces it to you later, act surprised, will you?” He grumbles before marching over to climb into the truck.

Hadia almost wants to scream for them not to leave her alone as they speed away. Instead, she takes a deep breath and feigns normalcy. Her packages arrive two hours later and she calls someone to have the cameras installed immediately. She orders groceries, cleans her apartment, cooks a nice hearty dinner of braised ribs with rice and vegetables. After she’s showered with food sitting uncomfortably in her stomach, Hadia knows she won’t be able to ignore everything that has been going on recently. She stares at her phone— at the contact she blocked months ago after she woke up groggy and disoriented in her room. A notification pops up on her screen before she has the chance to do something idiotic;

[Jessica (work) 6:32 pm]: hey Dr. Harris, the group of us are going for drinks at Chez Lounge at 9. Would you like to join?

Hadia doesn’t even sit to think about all the ways it’ll be awkward hanging out with a bunch of residents who all seek her approval until it makes her uncomfortable how competitive they get. She’s just so grateful for a distraction.

[Hadia. 6:33 pm]: I’ll be there.

She plays music at full volume while she does her hair and makeup. She chooses a black mini dress, black tights underneath, black heeled boots and a nude coat. After double checking she has everything in her purse, Hadia hurries out of the house with 20 minutes to get to her destination on time. The train is almost empty as it slows to its first stop. Hadia has her attention on her pocket mirror while she applies her lipstick. The train rattles to a start again and she looks up just in time to see inside the train across from the one she’s in. Her grip on the mirror loosens enough for it to clatter to the ground by her feet. Hadia doesn’t blink as she’s held captive by a familiar pair of brown eyes. They’re intense enough to steal her breath, just like they did all those months ago. He stands in his towering glory, hair concealed by a black hoodie, holding onto the hand strap despite the seats she can see available. Slowly, his lips tilt in a subtle smirk. The moment only lasts a few seconds before both trains start moving in the opposite direction. Hadia blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of her surroundings— trying to rationalize. Nothing comes. She’s either hallucinating or Virgil was actually on that train. Hadia can’t decide which scenario is worse.

*************

Predictably, she doesn’t have fun. The residents were eager to chat or buy her another drink, but Hadia refused. She spent the night giving awkward laughs and one worded responses while she zoned out, lost in her thoughts. The martini she nursed turned warm with almost half of it still in her glass by the time she decided to call it a night. They frowned or pouted, Hadia can’t be sure. Matter of fact, she only knows two from the six by their names: Jessica and Callum. Her journey home was a tense one with her constantly scanning her environment and sweat beading at her temples despite the temperature. She almost breathes a sigh of relief when she’s safely in her apartment with the door locked behind her. Hadia shrugs her coat down her shoulders as she strides towards her room. Her whole body freezes in the doorway.

Virgil stands with a familiar bowl in his right hand and her brand new toy in the other. “Is this and Frank supposed to replace me?”

He tosses it back onto her bed while she gapes at him like an idiot. Virgil spoons the last bite of cereal into his mouth before placing the bowl on top of her dresser.

“H-how do you know about Frank?” Something pulls at the muscles in her lower belly. Hadia is still working out what the emotion is.

He cocks a brow; “I have my ways.”

“Are you why he hasn’t reached out?”

“Don’t worry, he’s alive.”

The baritone of his voice makes her rattle. Virgil drags his dark eyes up the length of her body with heat burning in his gaze.

“I’m surprised you came back.” She whispers.

He swipes the corner of his mouth with a thumb; “No you aren’t.” He deadpans.

“I figured you would…because you—”

“Because I’m a sociopath.” He finishes coolly. He takes a few menacing steps closer. Hadia is rooted in place.

“You know?”

“I am many things and being self aware is one, unfortunately. You specialize in nutcases and weirdos, so you also know that on rare occasions, people like me develop a-”

“An obsession-”

“A bond.” They both state at the same time.

Virgil shrugs insouciantly. “I guess this could be an obsession, you’d know better than I do.”

Virgil’s eyes grow half mast when he’s close enough to smell her familiar citrusy scent. He reaches a tentative hand out to touch her waist.

“Tell me, Dr. Do obsessions usually come with missing people?”

Hadia should move away; she doesn’t. “It normally comes with stalking them.” She blinks up at him with her breaths rattling her chest.

His brows furrow; “I had to test the waters to see if you’d turn me in.”

“Surely there were other ways.”

“Not as fun, and you blocked my number.” He pulls her into his body.

“I bet you liked it. I bet it gave you a sick little thrill, knowing I was close, knowing I was watching. It’s why you didn’t get the police involved. Isn’t that right?”

Hadia shakes her head with a pathetic whimper, already tipping her head up as he closes the distance between them.

“No? Then why did you dream of me so often? Calling my name in your sleep? You missed me too, hm?”

Hadia’s heart races in anticipation but she manages to give a weak shake of her head again.

“No? You’ll admit it soon, Hadia.”

Hadia’s helpless moan is muffled by his desperate mouth. She rips her lips away, ignoring his annoyed frown.

“You wrecked my car, Virgil.”

“And I’m paying to have it repaired.”

She continues to glare up at him.

“What? You prefer a new one?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She stands her ground.

Virgil breathes a heavy sigh, muttering curses under his breath. His features suddenly smooth over before he speaks. “I’m sorry.”

Hadia blinks up at him torn between being impressed and afraid. “You’re very good at that; it’s genuinely believable.”

He gives her a sarcastic smile. “I know, I’ve been practicing. Now shut up and kiss me.”

He moves first but she returns with the same amount of fervor. Hadia will think about all the ways he corrupted after she gets what she has been craving for months now. Shamefully, she already feels her panties growing damp.

“Where are my panties?”

Virgil ignores her muffled words to slither his tongue inside her mouth. Her knees almost buckle at the action. Hadia is forced to tighten her grip when he sucks on her tongue delicately, groaning at the sound of her whimper. He pulls away, pressing on her bottom lip with his thumb.

“Open.”

She obeys, eyeing him like something divine. It makes his blood sing. Virgil puckers his lips and allows spit to dribble in her waiting mouth. He dives back in— a messy clash of tongues than actual kissing. It makes Hadia throb until she rolls her hips forward, trying to grind against him.

“You look so good, Hadia. Went on another date?” He breathes the words against her swollen lips.

“No, no date.”

“Good, because I didn’t plan on doing anything tomorrow and I’d like to keep it that way.”

His hands start tugging her dress up her body.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Hadia.” He grips her tights after speaking, the sound of the material giving way under his strength makes her pant harder.

And she does know what he means— Frank.

“You’re insane.”

“And you love it.” He punctuates his statement by plunging two fingers inside her after hastily shifting her panties to the side. No warning. No proper prep. Because he knew she’d be wet for him.

Hadia wants to feel shame for it, but maybe later, with the absence of pleasure, she will. In the moment though, nothing else fucking matters. The heels on her feet put her at the perfect height to bury her face in the crook of his neck. Virgil slowly twists his fingers inside, hissing at the loud squelch.

His free hand wraps loosely around her neck, tilting her face upward. “Open your eyes, baby.”

Hadia didn’t even realize she had squeezed them shut until he spoke. She blinks them open, struggling to keep eye contact with him.

“Listen to how much you missed me.” He quickens the pace, thrusting his fingers deeper.

Her mouth pops open; she tries to squeeze her legs together because it feels so good. It’s beyond scratching an itch you weren’t able to reach. Virgil angles his fingers to find that spot inside like he has her anatomy mapped out. He stays there, rubbing it until she’s gargling gibberish. Hadia’s legs shake as the familiar tug in her belly grows more intense. She grips onto his wrist that’s working her body with a sob.

“Gonna- please-”

She presses her open mouth to his, breathing in his rugged exhales. Hadia starts rocking her hips, pleading desperately. That’s when he stops abruptly before gingerly pulling his fingers from her body.

Hadia makes a sound between a gasp and a cry; “Why? Please don’t, I was so close Virgil I beg you-”

He tutts softly at her. “Take your clothes off, baby.”

She scrambles to kick her shoes off then drags the dress overhead without care of her makeup getting smudged. Her bra and panties are thrown haphazardly to the floor, joining her dress and coat.

Virgil is a lot less frantic. He takes his hoodie and pants off almost leisurely. But she sees the way he tents the front of his boxers.

“Hands on the vanity, arch your back.”

Her heartbeat sounds loud in her ears as she moves to obey. Their gazes clash in the mirror, and not for the first time, she shivers at the intensity of his eyes. She should be terrified of him, so why isn’t she? Virgil keeps staring while giving his cock a few languid strokes. Hadia can’t decide if it’s to make her squirm or he’s genuinely enjoying the view. Her eyes turn pleading without her realizing.

“That’s the look. I fucking love when you look at me like that.”

He stalks closer then swipes a hand out to send her things stacked on her vanity crashing to the floor.

“Virgil.” She says petulantly.

“Hm?” He hoists her right leg up, maneuvering it until she bends her knee and places it on top of the furniture. It forces her to lean her upper body further down, hands moving towards the back of her vanity.

The new position makes her feel so open, so exposed. All her complaints wither away at the feel of his heavy dick gliding through her folds. Hadia holds her breath in anticipation. When he starts pressing inside, she lays her forehead against the cool, wooden surface beneath her body.

“Look up, Hadia. Look at the faces you make when I fuck you. See why I couldn’t get you out of my head for weeks.”

A strangled moan escapes her mouth but she obeys. She uses all the strength she can muster to raise her head despite Virgil stretching her to her limit; despite him pressing deep enough for her to feel pressure while he still has inches left to give. It’s the angle. It has to be. Hadia stares at her reflection: slacked mouth, furrowed brows and wet, desperate eyes. She already looks overwhelmed.

“Don’t.” He warns, voice a little wrecked.

Hadia immediately drops the hand she intended to reach behind and press to his lower abdomen.

“Good girl.”

Hadia is embarrassed by the sound she makes in response.

“You’re gripping me, baby. You missed me, hm?”

Hadia nods then shakes her head. Virgil drags his cock all the way out to plunge deep inside again. Hadia wiggles her fingers and toes as he keeps going, exactly like that. It allows her to feel every textured inch of him.

“Virgil, Virg- I can’t.” She squeezes her eyes shut until they burn.

“Eyes open, Hadia. Or I won’t let you come.”

She blinks them open to stare at both their reflections. She looks a mess already; sweat and tears ruined her makeup and her curly hair is already frizzed out from its up-do. Virgil’s hair is similar to hers yet he still looks a lot more composed. His brows are furrowed almost angrily and red splotches on his skin show his exertion. Virgil looks up and they make eye contact. It’s so heated that she keens out loud.

“Such a nice ass.” He brings a palm down against it, then spreads her cheeks with a groan.

Virgil pulls out and dips his head to flick his tongue against her rim like he physically couldn’t help himself. This time, Hadia drops her forehead against the vanity with a harsh thud. He licks a long stripe up the entire length of her ass before spitting. He straightens and immediately stretches her pussy again. Hadia feels like ripping her hair out with how good it feels.

“Gonna start prepping you so I can fuck you here too.” He mutters as he works his thumb inside. It’s a tight fit, and such a delicious addendum to the blinding ecstasy taking hold of her senses.

“Eyes up, Hadia.”

She does with a miserable sob. Planting his feet, Virgil pistons his hips harder.

“You missed me, baby?”

“Yes! Fucking yes, Virgil. I missed you.”

“There we go, such a good girl.”

Hadia screeches as she’s sent hurtling over the edge. The release is otherworldly; it feels like her body had been wound up for months rather than the few minutes since they started.

“M sorry- didn’t- didn’t mean to-”

Virgil hums, fucking a little harder against her g-spot. “Came without permission. I thought you’d be good for me, Hadia?”

Hadia snivels loudly with a nod. “I am, I swear I am but-” she cuts herself off with another scream. Virgil doesn’t let up and it feels like he keeps pulling orgasms from her even though she hasn’t stopped shaking through the first one. Her leg kicks out until he’s forced to hold it in place.

“Feels too good? I know, baby.”

Black spots dance over her vision; she feels lightheaded. He must notice because he pulls out before she can beg for mercy. It only takes a few tugs before he moans deeply and she feels warm streaks against her skin.

“So fucking good, Hadia.” He grunts with his muscles pulled taut, hand working over his cock like he’s possessed.

Hadia collapses against her vanity with heaving breaths. Shivers wrack her body in intermittent waves. His warmth disappears suddenly and she whines, reaching back blindly for him. He leaves but returns a few minutes later with a damp rag. He’s surprisingly gentle while he cleans her up, cooing when she protests as he wipes where she’s most sensitive. He hauls her up with one hand and sets her gently on the bed. Hadia watches, sated to her very bones, as he removes her clothes scattered on the ground. He leaves then returns to her room with his backpack in hand.

“Please, no drugging this time.” She eyes him warily.

“I won’t.”

She eyes him softly; “Because you feel remorse?”

He stares blankly at her. “Because I know you won’t call the cops so it’s unnecessary. And stop staring at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re tempted to play doctor.”

Virgil unzips his bag and tosses one of her cotton panties by her feet on the bed with a smirk.

“All of them.” She demands, eyeing him incredulously.

“I’ll return another one when I see you again.”

Hadia clears her throat quietly, watching him get dressed. “And when will that be?”

He doesn’t respond until he’s fully dressed; he moves closer to kiss her until she’s breathless. When he pulls away, he’s wearing that infamous smirk that makes him look devilish.

(i am in desperate need of fic recs of jude, trent, michael, hugo, lamine, djed, and noni)