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a-b-riddle · 5 days

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Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #call of duty #angst #angst with a happy ending #john soap mactavish

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priniya · 7 months

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Can you please write a comfort fic about jealous theo x reader? Maybe he gets jealous and then over thinks the situation so the reader comforts him?

If not that’s totally fine no stress! Thank you!

🧸 BEAUTIFUL BOY

synopsis. thedore nott gets jealous over his girlfriend’s friendship with mattheo.

notes. theodore nott x girlfriend!reader. established relationship, jealous theodore.

theo hated jealousy.

as a child, he used to be very possessive of his things, which always resulted in silly arguments with his cousins, when he threw a tantrum over a tantrum if someone touched some of his toys. as he grow up, he began to realize how much he saw his father in himself, so nott promised himself to never show that side of him again.

and he didn’t. theodore would always bottle up his feelings and then lash it all out at someone, who accidentally got into his path, and made one mistake, receiving a rough punch in the face afterwards.

that was until he met you — the meaning of his life, the sunshine to his grumpy, the member to make his family be found or anything that would make your stomach erupts in butterflies if he said that out loud. you gave him a new point of view, the one that let him feel… lightly, feel relieved about his problems. it was refreshing, really.

he should’ve known from the beginning that you, and your best friend come in a package. and he should’ve known, because the three of you were great friends even before you two started dating.

at first, it was nothing. a mere thought that occurred to him on a sleepless night, vanishing right after his brain was clouded with exhaustion, eyes falling shut. then, the strange feeling of bottled up jealousy got him.

your boyfriend started noticing all those small things that had never really mattered to him before. the way matt’s eyes always lit up when you entered the room, how he laughed at your jokes, how his hands somehow always found its way to wrap around you, or just touch you.

jesus. it made his blood boil, every single time. the outcome would easily disappoint you if you knew right away. when theo hated his possessive side, you despised when he fought random people at parties — even though it was awfully attractive to see him all angry, you hated patching him up, being a witness of every small wince, a gasp, or a hiss as you pressed a gauze to his face. you always thought of consequences as well, what if someone told the teachers or what if it ended up as a case in ministry of magic?

you wouldn’t even know that your boyfriend was struggling with endless thoughts of you, leaving him for mattheo. thank god that you were blessed with lorenzo, who apparently couldn’t keep his mouth shut (“i wouldn’t spill it, nott! you were just sulking, i had to tell her!”).

at the beginning, you just thought it was a silly prank the boys tried to pull on you – to see if you reacted in anyway, or to just mess with your head a little. the perspective changed as soon as you noticed how stiff theo would get, whenever riddle joined you. it was all confirmed, when he began avoiding you like plague.

“teddy.” you sighed, barging into his dorm (ironically, shared with mattheo) without knocking. “we have to talk.” the way you phrased it was enough to make him straighten up in his bed.

in his eyes, you were about to break up with him and reason it that you just didn’t love him anymore, and fell in love with your best friend. he could hear his heart shattering into pieces, see the tears that would dig holes in his cheeks as soon as you leave the room.

“something happened, baby?” he asked, trying his hardest to brush off the pain, accumulating in the back of his head. “did i upset you in any way?”

theodore watched you get closer to him, resting your arms against the wooden frame. “well, was there a reason to get upset?” your eyebrows were lifted as you made eye contact with him. “hm?”

a long sighed left his lips. he stood up from the bed, leaving his sheets all messy. he took a step forward, close enough to wrap his arms around your body, trying to get you as close as possible. “y/n…” he hummed, bringing his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down to your shoulder.

it always worked if he tried to calm you down. not this time though.

“can you tell me what’s going on with you?” you asked. taking a few steps back, because you were mad at him and not a single kiss could change your mind (it could, you were just delusional). “did i do something to upset you?” you knew the answer, whatsoever you wanted to hear it from him.

“no– no, baby. why are you saying that?” theo frowned.

“so, you’ve been avoiding me all week long just for the funsies?”

shit, he thought. so you noticed it all. noticed how distant he grew. his eyes closed for a second and you really believed he would brush you off again, just like he did all this week. “it’s stupid.” he turned his head towards you. “i was jealous.”

your silence has pulled on his tongue. “of how mattheo acts around you, and uh. i got scared that if i tell you about it, you’re either gonna laugh at me or agree with my worries and leave me for matt.”

“teddy.” the way you were still using his nickname eased his worries a bit. “i love you, okay? only you, always you.” you confessed, dropping the L bomb for the first time in your relationship, finally feeling ready to. it made his heart flutter, soo much it almost pained him.

“you do?” you chuckled at his words, giving up the tough girlfriend act, your palms cupping his cheeks, bringing him a little closer. “y/n, i am so sorry, i should’ve talked to you.” his arms wrapped around your waist, forehead falling onto your shoulder.

“you should have.” the words rolled on your tongue in a soft manner as you placed a few kisses on his temple, nails gently scratching his nape. “i see where you’re coming from, but you gotta talk to me about things like that.”

it took theo five seconds to pick you up and throw you on his bed, cuddling up to you as you whispered sweet nothings into his ear, reassuring him of your feelings.

“but if you could, you’d choose me over anyone?” theo lifted his eyebrows at you, and you couldn’t hold a giggle back.

“well, over anyone?” you teased, grinning. “i could never not choose pansy.”

#theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic #theo nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott rec #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott rec #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott x you

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irndad · 2 months

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won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man.

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one.

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk.

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership.

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you.

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself.

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning.

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks.

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection.

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone.

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation.

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically.

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this.

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting.

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride.

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth.

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips.

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic.

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?)

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hazelfoureyes · 2 months

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The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 3)

I deadass wrote part one as a one shot. Is this what peer pressure is? I love it.

It would have been easy to forget you, your soul was his anyways so the real fun had already finished. But that pesky video hit most streamed in 24 hours, he couldn’t even walk to the butcher without hearing you scream his name from errant phones. Surely there was a way, even from hell, to finish what he started and get you out of his system.

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, soft Alastor, unprotected sex (duh?), creampie, edging a little, feelings, Valentino exists, Vox also exists, literally wrote this split screen with part 2 on the right side so I could line it up right like he does hehe, Alastor has a bad time

tag requested: @astraechos , @thekanrojimitsuri2 , @hoeforalbedo , @crazylazybabyk , @oddball08 , @lovingyeet , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @random-3455 , @alicehasdrowned , @des-deswain5621 , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @doctorswife221b

When Val released, ‘The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice’, it immediately went viral. The website crashed, downloads surpassed his wildest, horniest dreams.

It’s scary but also hot? ☆☆☆☆☆

Eat me Mr. Radio Demon!

I’ve never wanted to be a pussy so much in my life.

The reviews were all favorable, the comments rolling in, it was perfect.

Until Vox said it wasn’t. He had seen the video, but figured no one would care about seeing Alastor fuck anything. It wasn’t the success that got under his skin, it was the wave of positive attention it brought Alastor. Suddenly everyone was tuning in to his broadcasts, little miss princess’s hotel was busier than ever.

And it was ubiquitous. Every screen seemed to feature Alastor’s breakout role.

“I said pull it, Val!” Vox slammed his hands on Valentino’s coffee table.

“Vox, baby, you’re being really sensitive about this. I’m literally fucking piles of money right now. Actual piles of money, like, person sized piles.” Val took a drag of his cigarette, “Its good for business.”

“Would you rather fuck money, or me?” Vox’s screen glitched.

Val leaned his elbows on his knees, “That’s a really difficult question for me and I think you know that.”

“Augh! Val! Think of the big picture! That obsolete dickhead gaining attention means gaining power. And that’s bad for business.”

Val’s eyes fluttered, “What if we like, say it wasn’t him?”

Flashes of Alastor’s face fazed in and out of focus across Vox’s screen, your body flipping over, a mess of tentacles writhing.

Val took off his glasses, “Oh yeah, that’s pretty obviously him.”

“What is?” Vox’s face splintered back to the screen.

“Do you—- do you not know you’ve been like,” Val used his cigarette to gesture at Vox’s face, “just straight up playing his porno?”

Vox’s hands flew to his screen, “No! Fucking shit! What the fuck!!” He picked up a vase and threw it across the room, “Wipe it clean off the server! Delete it! Ban it’s fucking streaming! End of discussion!”

Val shrugged, he owned every bootleg distributor in the pride ring. He’d pull it and up the price threefold for illegal downloads. “Whatever you want, amorcito.”

Alastor was quite happy the video went ‘underground’ of sorts. The first month after you left, he was plagued by the sound of your voice. Everywhere he went it seemed you were screaming his name, every phone and television a conduit for you.

What really bothered him though, was the reaction others had to him. Where once sinners leapt from his path and set theirselves on fire to avoid him, now people winked and waved. It made his skin crawl. When alive, at the peak of his radio show fame, it wasn’t uncommon to have fans approach him in jazz clubs. But the decorum of 1930's jazz fans was a far cry from the brazen displays of desire from the citizens of hell.

“Perhaps I should have thought it through?” He mused.

“Ya think?” Rosie put her tea down, “Was it worth it, at least?”

He mulled the question over. Worth it? Well, he had your soul. Which is grand. But you weren’t even in hell to be called upon. What did he really get from the deal? Alastor brought his palm to his face, already feeling the blush spreading. Rosie's chuckle didn't help. He did get something. You'd been gone a month, and each day he woke up having forgot you existed. And every night he lied down to rest and imagined your eyes staring back at him. Did he want to fight you, or surrender, when he saw that look? When the silk tie had fallen from your face, slipping down your nose to reveal your intense stare...He thought his heart had stopped. For every ounce of resilience in your voice he found a pound of fury in your gaze. What poor luck Valentino had been given to receive you as an offering.

"Too soon to tell." He leaned back, finally dropping his hand.

“Well it seemed you had a good time… not that I could see much through the green glow and all that static noise. Really spoiled the climax with that move, Alastor dear."

Alastor’s eyes were saucers, “Rosie. Are you implying-,”

“What?” She drew out the word, “I thought you weren’t into those things so of course I was curious!”

He sighed, “I’m not.”

Rosie pushed the teaspoon around her cup with one finger, “Sure looked like you were.”

He crossed his arms, indignant, “You don’t have to have an appetite to enjoy a meal.”

“Message received loud and clear dear! I won’t bring up the subject again.” She cackled and changed the topic to the latest gossip around the colony.

Another night staring at the ceiling, mind ghosting over the idea of you. He felt like he his sanity was unraveling Leaving his bed, he stepped barefoot onto the grass of the swampy forest he materialized into his room when he moved in to the hotel.

With an outstretched hand, Alastor felt for your connection. He couldn’t see it, but the weight of the chain connecting your soul to him sunk into his palm. Curious, he wrapped his fingers around the invisible links and pulled.

With a soft green glow, you rose from the grass.

His breath hitched, he hadn’t expected that. “It seems our deal really did stick, didn't it?" walking towards you, Alastor dropped to his knees at your feet. You were on your side, unmoving.

His head cocked to the left, ears turned in. Alastor crawled toward you, rolling you onto your back and opening your legs. He slotted himself there, “Hellooo,” He took your face in his both of his hands, elbows resting beside your ears, “Are you… sleeping, dear?”

This is ridiculous.

Alastor inspected your face; peaceful. It was a new sight for him, he'd really only ever seen you in some kind of rage or lost in pleasure. His hand slid down your body, realizing you were in the robe still. He laughed, but realized it was for no one. "Are you really going to sleep, hmm?" He hooked his hands under your knee and brought it up around his hip.

Nothing.

"I'm starting to get offended, dear." He leaned down and whispered into the crook of your neck. "If you don't wake up-" He slid down, the robe open enough to let his breathe ghost over your stomach. He stopped. He couldn't do anything to you while you slept. It was void of any enjoyment for him. Without your reactions, it was just....pointless. While he did enjoy your performance in the studio, he was taught to show respect for those of fairer means. A sleeping partner fell into that category.

He reached beneath you and straightened your robe that had bunched there under your body. Placing your leg back down by your ankle, he began pulling the collar up and closed it snuggly.

He stood there for a second, looking over you. It worked. You're here again. His mother had taught him that the human soul was most vulnerable at night. When asleep, the soul could wander from the body and travel earth and beyond. She even said people could train themselves, and with practice, remember their journeys even after waking.

Kneeling down, Alastor pushed your hair from your face, "Don't forget. What fun is there in that?" The shadow beneath your body shimmered neon green before you were swallowed by inky darkness and Alastor was once again, alone.

After his mother died, Alastor was often alone. Most of his time, really. Well, there were people always around. But they were staff, or hangers-on, or women looking for a comfortable life. They were dancers and bootleggers and musicians. Which was fine and grand. But, they never saw him. He never let them, they never tried. He was the radio host. The great dancer. The southern gentleman. The killer. The cannibal. The deer in the woods. Not a single person ever looked at him on earth and saw him. Which was precisely what he wanted, and manufactured with his wide smile and good manners.

So when your eyes bore into him from that tacky studio set, and he felt suddenly naked in front of you, he knew you were looking at the him. You saw him.

It was worth it. Alastor was willing to admit that to himself.

Over the next couple days, he would randomly try to pull you to him. Through out the day, in different places, he would summon your soul and wait. Nothing. It confirmed his theory, your soul was only able to leave your living body while you were asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Alastor paced the space between grass and carpet. What was this feeling? Nerves? He hadn't felt nervous since he was a child.

But, what was causing him a pause, was if he summoned you and you didn't appear. Maybe it had been a fluke? Maybe for the 7th time in 3 days he would pull on that connection and be left standing there, alone.

Still.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain composure. Finally, he reached out for your ties to him, and pulled you into hell.

He held his breath, unconsciously.

With a glow, you appeared again before him. He was quick this time to approach you, setting beside you and leaning close to your face. Asleep.

"Is this my foreseeable future?" He asked, "Staring at you while you sleep, my doe."

Suddenly, you opened your eyes and met his. Reaching up, you grabbed him with both hands and pulled his face into yours. Your hands ran through his hair as you took him in a frenzied kiss. Alastor froze for a beat, but when your tongue licked at his bottom lip, he was brought back to the moment. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, rolling over yours and reaching as deep as he could. He felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. He really could, if he wanted to.

Alastor swung his leg over your body and straddled your hips. "Mon cher, you've finally joined me." His chest was rising and falling with excited breath.

"Alastor?" You tried to feel your body, but it was nowhere near you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're still alive and well. I've merely borrowed your soul for the evening." He looked down at you, and finally, for the first time in what felt like months, your eyes fell to his face.

But today, they were soft and out of focus.

"Can you see me, my dear?" He leaned down slightly, trying to read the look on your face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled, "Perhaps we both are." With an exhale he wondered if he had been holding his breath this entire time. "No, this isn't a dream."

"I don't understand...but--," You lifted your arms towards him, "Should I say thank you? It was fucked, what happened." Your voice was slow, words a little slurred, "But, I'm home safe and sound now. You did what you promised me. I don't know if I'll ever see you again so...should I thank you now?"

Your tongue felt fat in your mouth, heavy and delayed.

Alastor leaned down over you, "You don't have to say anything." He used his knees to open your legs, and settled there. "Unfortunately, you've become a little worm in my mind." His hands slid under the silk robe you hadn't stopped wearing yet, "I'm hoping if I finally have you, I can...whet my appetite, and return to my normal self." He felt along your hips, hands stopping when he realized you were naked under the thin piece of fabric.

"I keep remembering," you covered your eyes with your hands, "that big hand of yours. And I realize, you never touched me past that."

He smiled, genuinely, truly, "Exactly! You understand the problem precisely. Shall we both have our fill and be done with it?"

You moved your hands to touch his ears, waiting for him to disappear at any moment, "Please. I'm so tired of missing someone I don't even know." He removed your hands, and you held them to your chest.

"My thoughts exactly, mon cher." He adjusted his hips, letting his crotch rub against your core. This was the closest he had been to you since you'd met. It was dizzying, and it felt like his skin was vibrating everywhere it met yours.

A soft moan left your throat, causing his cock to twitch in his pants. Yes, it was you. This wasn’t his standard response to such sounds. Alastor sat up, his legs bent and knees at either side of your hips. Taking one of your hands from your chest, he placed a kiss on a digit. Then another. He kissed his way down your arm.

“So gentle. Weird.” You tried to focus on him, but your mind was still cloudy. The sensations were here but also so far away, too far away, in another lifetime all together.

“Was I not gentle before, all things considered?,” he continued his way down your arm.

You let your eyes drift to the sky, stars watching you from above, “More than him.”

His mouth went dry at the mention of Val, "I am many things more than him, darling." As his lips found your neck, he took a deep breath. "I can actually take my time now. No audience." He sucked a bruise, and released you with a pop. He presented two fingers to your lips, and without thinking about it you began to suck them. While you were slipping your tongue over and between his fingers, he moved to continue a trail of kisses and nips down your right arm.

"Get them nice and wet." He watched through half lidded eyes as you licked his long fingers. He knew he needed to remove his hips from yours, but the idea pained him. Finally, he took his fingers from you and swiped them over your entrance. Your chest jumped, so he did it again. He tried to push the fingers into you, but the resistance was more than he expected. You were wet, but tight. He let his middle finger slip inside you. So soft. So warm. His shadow tendrils allowed him some feeling but not this, this was something they kept to themselves.

"When was your last time, mon cher?"

Your mind searched for memories still left behind in your body somewhere, "In hell."

"You're in hell now."

"This doesn't feel like hell." You ground your hips onto his palm, trying to get that single digit slowly moving in you to come deeper, to become more. He replied by pushing in his pointer finger, erection becoming painful already as you let out a little moan. Bending them up, he began to make long thrusts past your g-spot. His mouth long stilled on your arm, staring at your face as you whimpered into the sky.

"Look at me."

Your eyes darted to him, half open and wet. Alastor felt his patience snap. Undoing his belt and zipper, he finally freed his cock. He ran his head between your entrance to your clit , gathering your fluids on him to ease his entry. Taking both of your legs, he held them at the ankles and set them on his left shoulder. With your hips slightly raised, he pressed into you.

With a hiss you dug your fingers into the dirt, body tensing instinctively. One of his arms hugged your legs to his chest, the other was now bruising your hips as he continued to push into you. With just his head in, he began fast and shallow thrusts. Every time making more progress into your warmth. The stretch burned, but the feeling of him forcing space into you for himself just made you wetter.

Finally, he bottomed out. He had no sense to still himself, shallow thrusts gave way to long, deep plunges. Alastor's breathing was filling the space around you, mixing with your own. Leaning back, he looked down at where you two were connected.

He withdrew slowly, nearly entirely, and pushed back in. Again. And again. It was intoxicating, how he felt himself melt into you. He'd had lovers in life, but never had he been with someone without a barrier of some sorts. Be that his well placed smile or latex. He'd never fucked anyone raw before. He almost regretted not trying earlier, as the sensation of your walls and arousal sticking to his cock and thighs was breaking him. Watching himself entirely disappear inside you, he closed his eyes. Everything was so hot, so tight, would he disappear entirely? Would he lost in the pleasure your body was so effortlessly giving? Was he the unlucky one?

Alastor pushed your knees up to your chest, using his body weight to hold them down as his paced picked up. You brought your dirtied nails to your own legs, holding on tightly. Desperately you needed something to tether you to the ground, keep you still against the twitches shaking your stomach and chest. You felt with any jolt to your nerves you'd fall off the world and drift into the night.

He felt the build up, his balls tightening and drawing in, he wanted to slow down-- he wanted to bring you there first but he couldn't stop the rutting of his hips. With a whine, Alastor's forehead came to rest on yours, hips smacking into you with a wet slap. "Look at me," He commanded again, and you obeyed. One of his hands came to your chin to hold your head still, "Don't you dare look away."

Struggling to keep your eyes open, he pushed into you with one final, deep thrust. His hands came down now to the ground around you as he pushed you into the grass. Hips stuttering, cock twitching in you. You'd never let anyone cum inside you before, the sensation of heat quickly filling your cunt made you tighten around him. "Good girl", He purred, jaw tight.

He pulled back slowly before bringing his hips down, sweat sticking to his forehead where it met yours. His pace was quickly becoming brutal, a hand finding its way to that little bud of nerves of yours. With rough pressure and hurried speed his thumb drew out your orgasm. When you came, you gasped out his name, craning your neck up to ghost your lips over his open mouth. As the pleasure surged from your center, you could feel your body again. He tried to keep his eyes on your eyes, but the overstimulation of your cunt trying to wring him dry forced him to shut them.

A light shone through his eyelids, startling them open again.

"Wait-!" He watched you get pulled away from beneath him. Before he could react, Alastor was on all fours in the forest, alone. Eyes wide, he pounded his fist against the grass. He tried to summon you back to him, to drag you to him but nothing happened.

He thought he'd gone crazy. Hands came to his head, smile pained as he tried to process what he was feeling.

No.

Not enough.

Too soon.

A growl ripped through his chest. This hadn't satiated him at all. No, he was worse off now. He was starved, he had nourishment ripped from his mouth and he as angry for it. Angry to hell, to Valentino, to the conditions of owning a living soul.

He did not even attempt to rest that night. Taking his time, he had to find composure again. Alastor managed to pull himself together after several hours of self isolation. After his heart stopped racing, after his hands stopped feeling phantom skin beneath them, he calmed his smile and went about his day.

When night returned, he couldn't help but stare into the forest domain. He wanted so badly to bring you to himself, but that want was terrifying. It was overpowering him, and he couldn't accept that.

Another night left, another day passed. Husk found Alastor's cruelty to be growing, his patience giving out at the smallest perceived slight. Angel stopped engaging entirely. Charlie found herself wanting to approach him, find out why it seemed his hair was always standing on end, his eyes sharp. But, she didn't. She couldn't. Alastor would pass through the halls like a raging specter. He wouldn't slow or acknowledge anyone.

He managed a week. Satisfied with his resolve, he waited for when night fell and he was sure you'd be deep asleep, yanked your soul from your body and into him. He felt rabid, like he his brain was catching fire. Finally when you materialized before him, he grabbed your face with his hand.

"My doe?"

Just like before, you stirred, and your hands immediately went for his hair. He pulled back, "Are you awake?"

"Am I dreaming? Alastor?" You looked drunk, mind struggling to process the change in scenery. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hovered above you, and you pulled him into a kiss. He happily returned it, hands quick to untie the robe you had taken as your own. He wasted now time in getting himself unsheathed and lined up with you, before he could enter you reached out to him, "I wanted to say--- thank you. I don't know if I'll ever really see you again."

The realization made his blood run cold. His mother's stories flooded back to him. It takes training, and time, to remember the travels of the wandering soul.

"You don't have to say anything." Alastor thrust into you, your body tense but not as resistant as before. When he was finally enveloped in you, he could feel himself calm. He didn't feel any need to be gentle this time around. He immediately set a bruising pace, digging his nails into the soft flesh of your ass as he forced your hips to meet his with every thrust. You gasped beneath him, eyes wandering up to the sky just past his head. He'd bring you to climax, wanting to drink in your expression, and to his horror as you choked out his name you were spirited away from him again.

Everyone on the floor heard Alastor's rampage. When Angel ran to get Charlie and Vaggie, they were scared to knock. With a steadying breath Charlie rapped the door, "Al? You okay in there?"

Suddenly, silence.

The door whipped open, Alastor smiling with half lidded eyes, "Why of course. What ever made you think otherwise?"

"The fuckin' sounds of carnage, maybe?" Angel looked past Alastor. The sofa shredded, coffee table in pieces. The wallpaper had been ripped down and torn to shreds. Charlie noticed the dirt under his nails, but Alastor coolly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Can I do something for you?" His tone was cold.

"I guess not, Al...," Charlie took in the damage, "Did something happen?"

Alastor smiled wider, "No," and closed the door. No one saw him the following day, which wasn't entirely unusual but it was weighing on Charlie. When Alastor finally appeared and announced he was going to Cannibal Town, she was elated. A chat with Rosie would surely bring him back to himself.

"I don't see the problem. You've got her soul, you can summon her to you, and you get a little," She searched for the word, "relief. Why do you look so pained, old friend?"

"You know better than most I have no interest in chasing women, Rosie."

"Yet..." She cocked her brow.

"It isn't about the release. I don't particularly need that. I never have." He huffed, the conversation already exhausting him, "When I would kill someone, I was God. Their life was in my hands. I took that power from them."

Rosie clicked her tongue, "And when she's in your hands?" Alastor hunched over his black coffee before remembering himself and straightening his back. "I've never seen you like this before, hun. You've got it bad, huh?"

"Personal connections like this, Rosie, are dangerous. I lost my self restraint entirely. It's a weakness." He fought to regain his smile, never knowing who could be passing by.

She tutted him, "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. The difference between a strong man and an unstoppable man is having something to care about." Rosie leaned over and set her hand on top of his, "Imagine you walked into Val's studio right now and found her like you did a couple months ago. How would you react?"

His stomach wretched forward, if he saw you today, hanging from the ceiling? The stench of Valentino's cigarette smoke clinging to your hair, the marks where his hands had made contact with you? His hand under her's tightened, claws leaving marks into the wooden tabletop. "Do you feel weak right now, Alastor?" The hair on his ears was standing straight up, his now black eyes met hers, "You sure don't look it."

He’d remembered hearing something similar before from Vaggie. Could it be true? It was a precarious ladder. If he let himself be close to someone, then the person is in turn close to him, then that person knows him intimately, and then— they are a walking soft spot. Someone could take them and torture them for information. Or, hurt them to hurt him.

But, who would dare? A fire rose in chest at the thought. What was the point of power if he couldn’t have what he wanted? If he had to answer to others about his desires? To pursue strength and status was what he wanted but if that strength didn’t afford him freedom than what good was it, really?

"I say, not that you asked," Rosie smiled and withdrew her hand, "Could be nice to have a little company now and then. Plus, better than waiting 60 years or something for her to just die." She shrugged, "Now, eat. You look like a shit."

Rosie had a point, while your existence was fragile, it was still available to him.

For awhile, he would call you nightly. Alastor would fuck you into the grass, beneath the trees, under the stars. He learned your orgasm would wake you, and he would draw it out as long as he could. He'd edge you for hours, watching you sob for your release. Slowly, your consciousness became more and more solid during your meetings.

To his relief, his hunger for your presence calmed over time. He could handle a week or even two without sharing your company, and he noticed each time you seemed to recognize him more. You'd participate more, moan louder, scream his name and squirm from the pleasure. He relished trapping you underneath his wide shoulders, pulling you onto his lap as he fucked up into you.

He wasn't fond of the few times he summoned you and you were already wet, or smelling of cologne. He'd tease, "Lonely?" and when he'd fuck his back cum into you before helping you chase your own orgasm, he'd remind you, "You're mine, little doe. No one can replace me." And he'd feel his chest swell. Others had your body for the night, but your soul was his forever. With every meeting, he felt more like himself. And the nights you were screaming his name in the forest, and his horns were looming over you as he marked you over and over as his, he felt powerful.

Some nights, he'd call you to him to just let you rest. He'd enjoy a book, or some jazz over a meal, while you lied quietly in his bed.

The days he pulled you into hell and your hair smelled of the trees, of sweat and dirt, he would be gentler. He could feel the ache in your muscles, the tan on your cheeks, and sent you back.

One such night came, where he of course took your chains in his hand and tugged. But this time, when you arrived, your face was painted with anger. You were asleep still, and even when he whispered to you, you didn't wake. You were having a nightmare, from what he could tell. He took you to his bed, and let you settle.

You stayed there until waking up again in your bed.

And every night that week, he'd bring you to his bed and go about his tasks while you fought some demons in your head. He'd never seen you have a nightmare, and began to wonder if something was happening in the overworld.

Alastor was enjoying a deer carcass in his room, humming softly to himself, when a green light erupted on the floor.

He was well aware it wasn't night anymore, and that he hadn't brought you here. With a soft smile, he left his meal and approached the light. Slowly, your body rose from the darkness there. Not just your soul.

When you looked up at him, a smile on your lips and two small doe ears on your head, he grinned, "Did you miss me terribly, my little doe?" He offered you a hand up, "Welcome home.”

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theorphicangel · 3 months

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“𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬?” | 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

synopsis: you have a valentine’s date tomorrow and you’re somewhat excited for it. but there’s just one thing you’re unsure about…thankfully your trusted roommate can help. right?

tags: roommate au! (Here we go again), smut, 18+, oral (m.receiving), blowjob, praise, mutual pining, these mfs are in DENIAL smh

PART ONE.

“You have a valentine’s date?”

“God, O’Hara don’t even try to hide the surprise in your voice, why don’t you.”

You cross your arms, frowning at your roommate who was currently sitting next to you on the couch. The two of you were watching a remake of a new movie that had come out recently. An hour or so had passed, the both of you stuck within a comfortable silence before your words had distracted him.

“How could you blame me?” He begins, his gaze still on the television screen. “I’ve never seen you bring anyone home before.”

“So you keep notice on who I bring home?”

A pause runs between the two of you.

“No.”

“Liar.”

Miguel clears his throat. “It’s none of my business anyways, what you do.”

After a few beats of silence, Miguel speaks again, this time with a teasing tone. “I wouldn’t want to be like you anyways, keeping track of who I sleep with.”

“I do not keep track!” you exclaimed.

“How come you remembered Cindy’s name then?”

You hesitate, stuttering off. “You–you talk about her a lot.”

“Bullshit.” A grin creeps up across his lips.

“You jerk, I was gonna ask you for a favor but since you wanna play that game, nevermind.” You crossed your arms, turning your attention back to the screen. Simultaneously, you had just sparked off Miguel’s own curiosity.

“What’s the favor?”

“I don’t want to ask you anymore, I’ll ask someone else.”

“Like who? Peter?”

“Don’t be mean, mig’.”

The movie continues to play in the background for a minute or two before Miguel starts getting restless.

“So who's the guy then? Someone you paid?” Miguel’s grin doesn’t have the time to stretch across his lips this time as you throw a pillow to his face.

“Hey!”

“Watch your mouth, O’hara.”

The two of you had been roommates for just under a year. You had moved in due to an emergency situation. A few troubles with your finances, student loans and the loss of your job resulted in you desperately responding to a roommate advert posted on the internet. Moving in at the beginning was awkward, the two of you avoiding each other, minimal conversation revolving around the weather and who would take out the trash.

But all it took was one night for the both of you to open up to each other, a shift in your realization that Miguel wasn’t as bad as you thought. A few too many drinks one night led you to learn a lot about each other. Like how he didn’t like the dark yet had a weird obsession with space. You found that he had a brother, a few years younger than him who was almost a spitting image. For him, he learned how you once had wanted to be a painter but soon switched career paths to psychology as well as taking up a foreign language.

Ever since that night, you’ve managed to maintain a good friendship with Miguel, completed with a little teasing here and there. On some nights, when you were left alone in your room, you laid back and stared at the ceiling, thinking about him. Particularly, thinking about him and the girls which he brought home. Your mind wandered to the possibilities of what he would be like with them. Imagining what it would be like to be in their position.

How would he touch you, feel you, look at you? Would he be gentle and take his time or does he rush, his passion taking over his whole body? It was questions like these that plagued your mind. You began to create a fantasy in your head, touching yourself at the thought of him touching you; imagining his movements to be slow and cautious, taking you all for himself.

Speaking of, you’ve recently noticed his lack of…visitors lately. Instead of hiding away with them in his room, he’s recently been spending a lot of late nights in your company.

“What’s your plans for Valentine's Day?” you queried, trying to maintain a casual tone. “Taking Cindy out for a romantic dinner?”

Miguel scoffs, shaking his head a little. “Why don’t you ask her out yourself, since you’re so obsessed with the woman?”

A small wave of ease flows through your mind at his answer. Yet it wasn’t exactly the answer you wanted. You pat Miguel on the chest mockingly.

“I knew she said no to you. If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here you kno—” Unfortunately you weren’t able to finish your sentence as a small scream left your mouth, as Miguel pinched your thigh.

“Watch it, imbécil.” he glared, before changing the topic. “But I’m serious, who's the poor guy then?”

You shoot an offended glare back before repositioning yourself on the couch, turning your body to face him properly.

“Someone asked me from work.”

“And you didn’t have to get on your knees and beg them first?” Playfully, you hit him on the arm and he lets out a fake wince of pain.

“Shut up. And no, for your information, I didn’t.”

Miguel hums, his eyes quickly glancing back to the television screen as he tries his best to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in his lower abdomen. Guess he should cancel tomorrow then.

“But I had a favor to ask you.” you turn your body, shifting your position to face him. Miguel merely raises a brow, humming deeply again with his eyes still glued on the screen.

“I was wondering if you’d…show me how to—uhhh how do I put this? Suck someone off.”

Miguel froze. Oh, now you had his attention.

“¿Qué?”

You freeze, clearing your throat as his eyes snap back to you. “I mean it was just a suggestion– I-I’ve watched a few videos but I’m still kinda—I just— I mean, I don’t–”

“You don’t know how to give a blowjob?”

It was a bit more blunt than you had wanted to put it but…yes.

You nodded silently, now choosing to avoid eye contact. “I just wanted some tips, y’know? What do guys generally like? I’ve read that some like it differently than others so…”

“Why are you asking me?”

Ah yes, the million dollar question. Why were you asking your hot ass roommate for blowjob tips? You had the choice to ask anyone: your best friend, or another friend or even a random stranger on the internet. Why him?

“You’re…experienced.” was all that you could come up with. “And not in a bad way!” You quickly correct. “ but I can assume you’ve had your good shares of…that.”

Miguel raises a brow again, swallowing thickly. Anxiety was now bubbling at the base of his stomach. You were asking him how to please a man and immediately his mind jumped at the thought of you with your valentine’s date at the end of the night. Ah, you were asking for your date.

“Well, did you just want tips or did you…” he trails off without finishing the sentence, thinking how weird it would be to finish the sentence that had popped up in his mind.

“ ‘Or did I’ what?” You repeat, tilting your head ever so innocently.

“Or did you want to practice on me?”

And that’s how you got here. Kneeling on the floor between the thighs of your very own roommate whom you have only known for less than a year. Was this what you were expecting when asking for advice? Of course not. But there was a sense of excitement that grew in the pit of your stomach and you weren’t going to complain about it.

“So how do I start?” You glance up at Miguel, your eyes wide with innocence and curiosity to learn. Just from the way that you looked at him, he was already beginning to get hard.

“Well, you just start.”

You roll your eyes, “Okay, doofus. So you expect me to just get into it? No foreplay or anything?”

“There’ll probably be some foreplay with your date and stuff but…we don’t have to do that.”

For a split second there’s an aura of hesitation between the two of you; him regretting his last words and you almost wanting to reject his assumption. Mutually, there’s a little voice inside of you that tempts you both to take the chance and do this properly.

But of course, this was a lesson.

A mere, innocent favor from a roommate. With no strings attached. Or feelings for that matter.

Even if it killed you both to suppress them.

You nod silently, taking mental notes. Miguel raised his hips a little to pull down his sweatpants, enough so that you could access him with ease. Now you’re starting to get nervous. Your heart was palpitating so much that you could hear your own heartbeat thump in your ears. “I-”

“If you don’t want to, we can stop.” He quips quickly, noticing your hesitation.

You pause, reflecting for the final time whether or not you wanted to do it. Once you made your decision, you glanced up at Miguel.

“It’s not like I have much time left to practice, right?”

Miguel raises a brow. After all, Valentine's day was tomorrow so you needed all the practice that you could get. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” you vocalized, trying to sound more confident in this way.

“Okay, lemme just–” Miguel mumbled to himself as tugs down his boxers. You noticed the way the bottom of his shirt hiked up a little, presenting his happy trail; a dark bush of hair leading all the way down to his…

Oh.

It’s big. Bigger than you thought. And he’s not even hard yet.

Miguel seethes a little, his cock only semi-hard. He pumps himself a few times before removing his hand, leaving it up to you. His arms now rest on the back edge of the couch, widening his thighs a little more for accessibility.

‘Holy shit’, you think to yourself, how the fuck were you supposed to deal with this?

Miguel caught onto your expression, panic drawn all over your face. “We can–”

“No.” you interrupt him, reading his apprehension too. His concern for you is more than obvious. “I want to.”

Miguel chuckles a little, “I was going to suggest to take it slow but yeah, if you’re still up for it.”

You swallow thickly, edging nearer before planting your hands on his thighs. This is so alien to you. After many months of tiptoeing around him at a distance, it was scary how fast you found yourself in a position of intimacy with him.

Sure, many times before have you fantasized about what it would be like to get close to him. With the sounds of moans coming from his bedroom late at night, it wasn’t hard for you to figure out how much of a woman pleaser he was.

Slowly, your hand wraps around his cock, feeling him get harder and harder with every second that passes. You think back to the videos that you had watched previous to this, noticing that most of the women decide to give a few strokes before going in with their mouth. You imitate them easily, watching your hand move.

You take in every fine detail: every vein, every twitch, every shade leading from the tip to the base. The crown of his cock is thick, becoming redder with every stroke as juices of pre-cum subtly spilling away.

“Jus’ like that.” Miguel murmurs and you notice how his tone is a little lighter than before. “When you’re ready, you can lick the tip a little, warm yourself up to it.”

You hum in response. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet at least.

Once again, you think back to the porn videos you had watched, imitating the women by tracing little circles across the tip of his dick. Miguel lets out a drawn out groan and little by little you can feel his body relax as you continue on. It tastes salty. The tip of his cock is reddened and soft.

For a minute or two you continue to trace circles, closing your eyes in the moment, allowing yourself to relax and get rid of any nerves or doubt. Miguel says nothing more, his teeth softly biting down on his lower lip, he watches as you hesitate, unsure of how to continue from here.

Miguel’s hand soon reaches for your chin, causing you to pause and tilt your head up towards him. His hand cups right under your lips and your face turns to confusion for a split second before he lets out his command.

“Spit.”

For some reason, your body listens to him without a second thought.

“It’s okay if it gets messy,” he advises, “the messier the better.”

You make a mental note of that.

You make sure to be careful with your teeth as your lips part around his cock. Once again you take it slow, letting your mouth adjust to his size. He’s bigger and thicker than you had expected, barely halfway before he already fills up your mouth. Your eyes water as you attempt to take him whole, a decision which you realize quickly was too hasty as you reach your gag reflex.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t– mierda!” Miguel sits up a little, trying to pace you. Your eyes water and saliva continues to pool out of your mouth, dripping down to his balls. Your cheeks are full of his cock and as if following his instincts, Miguel almost wants to hold your head there. It takes all of his resilience not to place his hand at the back of your head. He let out a grunt at the warmth of your mouth, coaxing him to stay a little longer. But unfortunately if he does, then he may cum sooner rather than later.

You feel his fingers tap your shoulder, “Hey–” he manages to draw out, “brea–breathe through your nose.” You attempt to do so, just letting off a few inches of his dick, letting your hand stroke whatever you can’t take. With you, you can build up a pace more freely, bobbing your head up and down. You close your eyes, concentrating on keeping your rhythm, a steady pace for now.

Fuck it, Miguel gives into his instincts, letting a hand cup the back of your head ever so lightly.

“Fuck, keep going… you’re doing so well.”

Miguel’s praises boost your confidence, the simple phrase removing past doubts that had cast over you. You pause to allow yourself to breathe, your hand stroking his length in the meanwhile and Miguel seems to cup your chin again.

“Mírame.”

One simple order and he has you hooked and, god, you have a gorgeous view.

His dark brows are deeply furrowed. Chest rising and falling heavily, His hands are now by his side, prominent veins from his other arm lead to the back of his hand which currently grips a pillow on the couch. His eyes are beginning to droop, with his head tilted back slightly. You notice how his Adam apple bobs in his throat with every guttural hum that he makes. His mouth is just about agape enough for you to spot his pink tongue peeking out at you.

And as for him? The sight of you is more wondrous than he could ever imagine. Your eyes are also heavy-lidded. Lips plump and wet with saliva dripping down your chin. This is a side of you that he’s never seen before. Your eyes glow with submission, the innocence and inexperience peeling off of you. If you keep looking at him with that expression, he’s not particularly confident that he’ll be able to hold on for that long.

“Don’t stop looking at me, okay?”

You hum a little before your lips open wide to wrap around his cock again. Yet this time, you manage to keep eye contact. Another unrestrained grunt leaves Miguel’s mouth, his lips parting once more.

You’d say that you’re confident now, relaxed more than ever – confident enough to begin exploring. Keeping his cock in your mouth, you begin to bob your head at a rhythmic pace and at the same time a free hand reaches down to his base, lightly tracing over his balls.

A sharp inhale leaves his mouth. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that, nena?”

You hum in response, the vibration of your mouth causing a helpless moan from your roommate. You focus near the tip of his cock, returning back to tracing circles over the slit. One hand still pumps the rest of him whilst the other gently teases his balls with your fingertips.

He’s closer than you think. And you can tell by the way that his hips begin to shift a little as if he’s trying to get more of your touch. He tilts his head back, chest rising and falling at a more dramatic pace. “Shit–shit–shit-m’gonna, m’gonna cum– if– if you keep going… oh fuck!”

“Wan’ me to swallow it all?”

You’re practically teasing him at this point. Fuck, he’ll do anything, anything. And this time he doesn’t hold back in vocalizing this, the words ‘yes’ falling from his tongue, pleading, begging you to continue. “Yes, yes, don’t fucking stop.”

You decide to grant him his wishes, turning to a faster pace as you stroke his length with your hand. You can feel his cock twitching, thick veins rubbing against your palm.

“You close, mig’?” you taunt, watching as he closes his eyes in pure euphoria. He nods, inchorant words fall from his lips in a babble as his hips jerk upwards and his thighs tense around you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck m’cumming! M’gonna–”

Miguel manages to cut himself off with a deep groan, lifting his hips up as you wrap your lips around him for the last time. His cock twitches, veins pulsating as your mouth is filled with his white seed. You swallow as much as you can, trying to bear the salty taste. His cum is thick, spurting so much out you think you won’t be able to keep up. Some leaks out, dripping down his shaft. As soon as you’ve swallowed, you lap up what you missed.

“Fuck, wait, wait–”

“M’cleaning you up.” you mumble. You can tell how sensitive he is. Just from your tongue lightly licking his length so as to not waste anything, his cock twitches. Once satisfied, you pull away, your tongue licking at your bottom lip.

Apart from the sound of the now forgotten movie playing in the background and the sound of light panting coming from Miguel, there’s a silence between the both of you.

You lean back, resting on your heels as you begin to grow aware of your actions.

You’ve just sucked off your roommate. Correction. Your hot ass roommate.

Neither of you know what to say. You begin to avoid his eye contact, feeling the awkwardness creep in. Yet, it fails to fully entrap you as Miguel chooses to bite the dust and speaks first.

“For someone with a mouth that doesn’t shut up, I’m surprised you know how to use it well.” he mutters, pulling up his boxers and sweatpants.

All tension from your body begins to evaporate, a slight smile appearing on your lips.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” you frown, wiping off remnants of his cum mixed with your saliva from your lips with the back of your hand.

“Nothing, nothing. You were just…good for someone who hadn’t done anything like this before.”

Unlike when you were sucking him off, his praise causes heat to rise to your cheeks, your face burning up. And like a few moments ago too, you continue to avoid his eyes.

Clearing your throat, you move to stand, gesturing that you’re about to go to your room. The movie is just about over but neither you nor him were worried about that anymore.

“Any other advice that I should take?” you say.

Miguel frowns, taking a few moments to think deeply. If he’s being completely honest with himself, that orgasm has crushed him. Leaving him with nothing but thoughts of you and that sweet mouth of yours. Just thinking about it almost makes him hard again.

A part of him almost dares to tell you to forget your date tomorrow and to go out with him tomorrow. The card and flowers addressed to you, wait patiently in his room, a last-minute gift after weeks of building up the courage to ask you. All that courage is lost now though.

He’s too late.

“No.” He says, finally, going against his instincts. “Just do exactly what you did for me.”

“No complaints?”

“No complaints.” He clarifies. A deep pit of regret and hurt builds up again in his lower stomach, a feeling that he’ll have to start getting used to. He deserves it, he thinks, for not asking you sooner. He has no right to be jealous that someone else beat him to it. Not when he wasn’t dropping enough signs to prove that…

he’s falling in love with you.

Before entering your bedroom, you pause, the door leading to your bedroom slightly ajar. “Hey.”

Miguel glancing up to look at you.

“Thanks.”

Miguel says nothing more and really he should be the one thanking you for the heaven that you’ve just taken him to. He waits until he hears your bedroom door close and lock before letting out a sigh that he didn’t know he was holding in.

After he’s sure that you won’t return, Miguel pulls out his phone, tapping his screen until he reaches a certain page.

‘Are you sure you want to cancel your reservation for a ‘table for two’ on the 14th of February ?’

After a mere moment of hesitation, he confirms. His thumb clicking on ‘yes’.

part 2.

#Angel writes #unless ur a few hours ahead then…yeah #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv headcanons #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut

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arachine · 1 year

Text

— ❝on this fateful night...two hearts danced.❞ ˚₊✩‧₊

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x human! reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), angst, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, use of alcohol, inebriation, size kink (kinda), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, overstimulation, riding (no penetration), m/f ejaculation, squirting…i took some things out but i think that’s it?

ᥫ᭡ notes :: what a long week this has been…but we made it! i cannot believe the first thing i post after being on hiatus for months is blue alien sex. anyway, i hope you all enjoy. also, be mindful that the dialogue switches between formal and casual. it’s something that i noticed neteyam and kiri do a lot in the movie. for what reason? idk…but the big font after the read more is intentional bc ik some ppl complain that the small font hurts their eyes :3

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 7.2k

— playlist :: spotify link

“You have been wandering off by yourself a lot lately…”

There goes that attentiveness, you could never put anything past her—Kiri, that is. She was just too good (to a fault), and though her keen eye and emotional intelligence were extremely useful, they were also the most aggravating traits about her.

Now, you could just tell her the truth about the place you’re always wandering off to, and you also could confide in her about the thing that’s been plaguing your mind recently—but you don’t, because you know better.

For a split second, though, you hesitate telling her. The lean girl tilts her head, eyes flitting between your face and the satchel in your hands. Smoothly, you pull the satchel across your body and shift it to rest behind you—out of sight.

Kiri seems to notice your apprehension, and so, she peels her eyes from the bag, offering you her full attention by resuming eye contact once again. If she has even the slightest hunch that you’re hiding something, she doesn’t voice her suspicions.

“Well, I won’t pry, sister. You know that I am always here to listen,” she reassured, reaching out a gentle hand towards your face. You let the tips of her fingers graze your cheek, the warmth of her hand providing transitory comfort.

The two of you exchange sweet smiles before you pull away. It was getting dark, and the longer you stayed here, the harder it’d be to avoid the very thing you were trying to get away from—the very person you were trying to get away from.

“I know, Kiri,” you grabbed her hand, encasing it between your own, “I know…but—I have to go. I promise I’m alright. I’ve just…been doing some thinking, and I think I gotta sort some things out with myself before I can be around the rest of you, you know?”

There’s a silence between the two of you, and you’re not exactly sure if she’s taken offense to what you’ve just said, or if she’s carefully choosing her words. You decide on the latter though, because the last thing you want to do is make her feel as if she’s done something wrong, or if anyone has done something wrong. This was entirely on you; you and your stupid, selfish human heart.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she replies, squinting her eyes. Again, there’s a silence, but you can tell she still has something to say, like she’s mulling it over. “Will you at least be here tonight? You know, for the big feast? Everyone will be here, even Neteyam,” the girl tsks playfully, shaking her head as she walks circles around you.

Immediately your body stiffens, and she responds to this by teasing you, “Or, I could just save you something…or maybe i’ll ask Neteyam to save you something since he’ll be the most important man tonight.”

“And why would you do that?” the words leave your tongue before you have the chance to process them. It reads rather defensively, but you ignore it. “I mean, why—why ask Neteyam?”

“Because he’s your friend…” kiri pokes you, “because you love him,” she whispers, only this time her voice is a lot more serious, a lot quieter—a whisper. This is when you get that feeling again.

That weird, achy feeling that leaves your stomach in knots and your throat all puffy. The sensation is debilitating—suffocating, and the only way you know how to ease it is by doing what you had set out to do in the first place (though, you were swiftly interrupted).

“Don’t be silly, Kiri,” your smile drops solemnly, “we’re…friends, just friends. Besides, he’s going to be spoken for soon. There are a lot of Na’vi women who would make fine mates…” Your voice decrescendos into the forest night air, the conversation lasting a lot longer than you’d anticipated. To stop your solemn mood from being expressed outwardly, you quickly turn around, looking back once to speak.

“Anyway, I have to go now. I’ll see you later.” Kiri nods and waves bye, her eyes watching as your small frame disappears out of her family’s tent.

A cacophony of voices and music fall on deaf ears as you make your way through the village. The preparation is beginning, but all you can think about is him. Him, him, him.

And ever since you overheard a rumor that Neytiri and Mo’at had chosen the next in line to become tsahik after Neytiri, your heart stopped beating…because you knew. You knew exactly what this meant—the end.

Neteyam was to be a future olo’eyktan, after all. And in Na’vi culture, the future head of the clan and the future spiritual representative were to be betrothed. You knew that, and yet, you couldn’t fathom it. Because then it’d be the end.

The end of your late night rendezvous, the end of your special talks, the end of your banter, and your clandestine glances—your whispers. The ones that were quiet, and innocent…the ones that tingled the shell of your ears. Meant for him and you only.

It was selfish, really. Stupid. You knew the day would come when he’d have to grow up and fulfill his duties as a Na’vi male. Just not this soon though, you wanted to hold onto him a little longer. And if drinking your pain away to preserve those precious memories could do that, then you’d do it.

Lost in your train of thought, you don’t register that you’ve walked yourself right into the heart of a crowd until you bump into a young na’vi child. Apologizing, you then attempt to squeeze through the sea of bodies, tapping lightly on people’s legs until you reach the front. The people were cheering, celebrating the hunters’ return and the game that the Great Mother had graciously given them.

Slowly, hunters had begun pooling in from the forest on direhorseback. Then, they started coming in clusters, all ululating, and pumping their fists in the air while holding their dead game in the other. Your head turned in awe as each hunter rode past you, the energy of the people so contagious that your sour mood was starting to dissipate, even if just a little.

Thinking that was the last of the riders, you begin walking again, but the sound of heavy hooves striking the ground halt your movements. Turning your head back to the trees, you see something moving behind the shrubbery, and then enters none other than the man of the hour: Neteyam. If the people weren’t cheering before, they were definitely cheering now—especially since he’d managed to catch an adult sturmbeest (which was a difficult feat).

The direhorse strides slowly through the crowd, and stops in the centre on Neteyam’s command. Nobody can take their eyes off of him, and neither can you. He just looks so strong, and masculine—like his father, even though he’s the spitting image of his mother. Neteyam puts his hand into the air before he dismounts his horse and ushers the people to settle down, and eventually, they do.

He points to the sturmbeest that his direhorse is carrying back to be prepared. “Tonight, my brothers and sisters…” a pause, “we dance! we sing! we feast!” His words excite the villagers again, uluations so loud that your ears begin to ring. Just as you’re about to turn away, his eyes meet yours—he smiles. And there it is. That achy feeling in your chest.

He wants to say something, reaches his arm out to you as if he were silently telling you to wait up, but then a girl strikes up a conversation with him. At first, you’re not entirely sure who it is—and you shouldn’t even care—but then you do a double take and your heart sinks a little more. It was Tsimandi, the girl rumored to be his betrothed.

From this distance, you can’t hear what they’re talking about, so you watch intently. He’s got his head thrown back in hearty laughter, and she’s touching him—actually touching him, her hands wrapped around his forearm in an attempt to pull him further away.

You think if you stay a second longer you’ll actually become a pile of liquid where you stand, so you take this opportunity to slip away while he’s preoccupied.

When Neteyam looks back, he notices your absence. Squinting, he looks around in search of you, and then he sees what looks like a person disappearing into the thick of the forest. Just what is she doing?

“I apologize, Tsimandi, but I must do something,” he begins backing away, a genuine expression etched onto his face, “I will see you tonight, at the feast!”

“Oh, o-okay,” she mutters but he’s already run off. Neteyam calls for his direhorse and waits at the edge of the forest until it comes running towards him. Before he can mount it and follow you, someone calls out to him.

“And where are you going?” the voice queries, tone laced with suspicion. He recognizes who it belongs to and sighs.

“Nowhere, sir,” he dismounts, meeting his father’s eyes, his mother also accompanying him.

“Yeah, I’d hope so. The people are throwing this feast for you, or have you forgotten?” Jake gives him a once over, eyes still boring into his son.

“No, sir. I have not forgotten,” the boy lowers his gaze in embarrassment.

“Good. Go get ready, knucklehead.”

With each trudge through the forest, you were losing more and more sunlight. You’d walked about halfway to your destination when you remembered the bottle sloshing around in your satchel.

Usually, you waited to drink the liquid there, but you decided given today’s strenuous events, you’d have some now. A reward, you tell yourself. Taking the bottle out of the bag, you lift your mask from your face briefly, twisting open the top and taking a big swig.

No matter how many times you did it, the taste always made you gag. Bourbon—is what they called it. It was equal parts bitter and pungent but it did the trick. Helped you to relax, to forget. The first time you came across it, it was by pure accident.

You’d been somewhere you shouldn’t have been, doing things you shouldn’t have been doing. But one thing led to another, and soon enough, you were inebriated for the first time.

By the time you drink half of your weight in liquor, you reach your destination. The old shack. After what happened with the Sky People, Jake’s first rule as olo’eyktan was to prohibit anyone from entering.

Even being somewhere remotely around the area was forbidden. But you were no stranger to disobedience, you’d come here once with Lo’ak (which was your first time actually).

Though, you didn’t get to explore much because Tuk had spoiled your fun by telling Jake. That day was one of your favorite memories, you think. Jake couldn’t stop yelling at the two of you, but all you could do was laugh. Nothing was really even funny, but you couldn’t help it. Seeing Jake’s eye twitch at your outburst only exacerbated it.

Lo’ak was getting the worst of it, and Neteyam fell victim to Jake’s nagging too for not ‘being there’. After a while, he’d dismissed the bunch of you from his tent and as soon as you were out of earshot, the three of you went into a frenzy of laughter. You think back fondly on those memories, all the ones that include Neteyam, that is.

“God, there isn’t a second when I’m not thinking of you…” you sigh in exhaustion, extending an arm out to open the shack’s door. Reaching in your satchel, you pull out two jars full of glow worms (you’ve found that two jars are enough to light up the shack). Ambling over to your favorite spot, you open a cabinet and reach for another bottle of that bitter liquid you willingly put into your body.

It’s still a wonder to you how well preserved these bottles remained over the years, and you’re pretty sure you’ve heard Norm or someone mention that the older the liquor, the better it tastes (which was a lie, but alas, you down another shot).

“Wooo,” a cough erupts from your throat, “yep, still nasty.”

At this point, the liquor is starting to take effect. Warmth radiates throughout your entire body, and you can feel your limbs gradually getting heavier. Being drunk had to be one of your top three favorite feelings.

It either made you: sad, tired, or giggly (maybe even all at once). But now? Now you were feeling sleepy, so you groggily trudge over to one of the beds in the shack.

As soon as your body hits the plush, a cloud of dust filters through the air. It was incredibly disgusting, but you’d slept in worse places. For now, you would lay here…succumbing to a sweet slumber.

Neteyam had gone home without fuss as promised. Go and get ready. Well, he was doing exactly that now, exchanging his previous attire for that of something more formal. He rolled his eyes and huffed. Sometimes his father could just be a…

“Son of a bitch,” the boy snapped, his frustration reaching its peak. He’d been standing in the tent for about 10 minutes trying to figure out this headpiece his mother had laid out for him, but could not for the life of him figure it out.

Giving up, he throws it to the ground and takes a seat with his head in his hands. Kiri slips in shortly after his outburst, bending to the ground to retrieve the item. Hesitantly, she walks over to her brother.

“If you needed some help, you could have called, brother.” Neteyam lifts his head up from his hands to see Kiri towering over him, his eyes breaking contact with hers as she sits down next to him. There’s a pregnant pause, but it doesn’t last for long because Kiri is already opening her mouth to speak.

“What is troubling you?” She asks, forcing Neteyam to turn his back to her so that she can place the headpiece onto him properly. He inhales deeply, then exhales.

“I do not know…I saw (your name) earlier and…” Kiri hums, encouraging him to continue, “and—she had this strange look on her face.”

“Look? What do you mean? Was she angry? Sad?”

“I have never seen it before, sister. She usually looks happy when she sees me…but this look was different,” his voice is almost inaudible when he finishes. Kiri ponders for a bit, tilting her head as if she were mentally putting the puzzle pieces together.

“How come you did not speak to her?” Kiri makes her final adjustments to the headpiece, ushering Neteyam to meet her eyes.

“I was going to…I tried to, but Tsimandi found me before I could,” he fiddles with his fingers. Kiri takes note of his disposition, and she frowns empathetically. Clearly, whatever was going on with you two was something you had to work out together. This wasn’t like either of you!

“But it was not just today either,” he continues, “she has been distancing herself for awhile, have you noticed?” She laughs at this, nodding her head.

“Yes, she has been acting a little strange lately. I think I might know what is troubling her, brother,” the girl takes his hand into her own. “But I cannot tell you. This is something that concerns only she and you…”

Neteyam squints his eyes in confusion, muttering a ‘what’. His mouth opens to speak but he is swiftly interrupted upon Jake and Neytiri’s arrival. He looks to Kiri for some clarification but all she says is: ‘go, go, you have a feast to attend’, followed with a, ‘find her later’.

“Well? Come on, the people won’t wait for your blue ass all day will they?” Jake teases. Neytiri slaps his arm, scolding him playfully.

“Ah, my son, my beautiful son,” she pads to where he stands, taking his face into her hands. “It is time to go, we must celebrate you.”

Jake nods, flashing a quick wink of approval. Together, they all walk out of the tent and through the village where they’re instantly greeted with colorful luminescence, loud music, and food. All things that have been so generously prepared for him. By the time they make it down to the Tree of Souls, everyone halts their cheering to hear what Jake has to say.

“Tonight we eat,” a pause, “in honor of Neteyam’s mighty victory!” Jake grabs his eldest son’s hand, raising it in the air. “He led his first attack against the Sky People and made it back without any casualties!” A sudden roar of praise erupts from the crowd.

Everyone is chanting his name, and clapping, but even amidst all this praise, he can’t help but to think about you. What does all of this matter if you’re not here to celebrate with him?

You’ve been by his side since the two of you could walk, so where are you now? The thought saddens him, but he can’t wear his heart on his sleeve tonight. Not when there’s so many people here just for him.

“For the past 20 years, my son has always been just a boy to me. But now I realize…he is a man—and he has proven himself in front of the eyes of Eywa,” The former marine glances down at his son, eyeing him in admiration. “Enough talking, let us feast!”

Laughter and songs fill the warm, breezy nighttime air. It’s been about two hours since the celebration commenced, and Neteyam has just about made his rounds to every important family.

He smiles warmly as he looks at the scene in front of him: children playing and dancing by the fireside, putting on elaborate performances for the adults still filling their bellies full of food. Everyone is lively—happy, a testament to tonight’s success.

Mo’at is pleased by this especially, she tells him that ‘this is what the people needed’—you know, to boost morale. At some point, when nobody is watching, he slips away from the party to walk around. Unbeknownst to him, someone has seen him.

“Getting tired?” a voice questions from the shadows. Out comes Kiri, revealing herself from behind a leaf.

“Yes, exhausted actually,” he jokes, disconnecting his braid from his direhorse. “No, but I need to find (your name). She has not come back and it is dark.”

“I figured you would leave early, that’s why I covered your ass and told Dad you were not feeling well,” the feline-like girl smirks.

“Do you have an idea where she might be?”

Kiri takes a moment before answering, “I’m not sure…but for some reason, I have a hunch that she’s at the old shack,” Neteyam furrows his brows in confusion.

“Why do you think she’s there?” he queries, “I mean, it is forbidden.” Kiri offers him a shrug.

“I don’t know but if you’re going to find her, do it now while dad still thinks you’re not feeling well.”

With that, he thanks her for the intel and mounts his horse, disappearing into the thick of the forest. On the way there, his mind conjures up just about every possible scenario that might explain your absence.

Were you upset with him? Did he do something or say something that you didn’t like? He wishes he could just read your thoughts because right now, his heart is pounding so rapidly within the confines of his chest, that he thinks it’ll explode.

This wasn’t like you two, everything was always so easygoing. Being with you was easy, like breathing. But this? His heart couldn’t handle this. Yeah, there’s been some distance between the two of you recently but not due to his own volition—it was duty. If he could spend every second of his life by your side, just being kids, laughing with you, playing with you, he would.

He’s trying to recount these last few days, weeks—months. Trying to pinpoint when exactly things got like this between you…pinpoint when you stopped smiling at him with that smile that made his head all fuzzy, and his heart race like a kid running for the first time.

“Ah, everything’s going to shit, buddy,” he sighs, rubbing the side of his horse, “I don’t know what is wrong.” His mammalian companion grunts empathetically, stopping in its tracks at the edge of the forest when it sees the abandoned link shack. Neteyam doesn’t bother scolding her, because even the animals know that this place is forbidden.

“Alright, I will see you later, okay? Stay here,” he pats her, disconnecting the bond. From this distance, he can see that there seems to be some sort of light illuminating from inside the shack.

That alone already confirms Kiri’s hunch. The closer he gets, the more his stomach feels uneasy. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous, but he attempts to ease his mind (and body) by telling himself that it’s only you. He’s talked to you one on one hundreds of times, so what’s the difference now?

Noises in the distance rouse you from your ephemeral repose. When you stand up, your head spins with the room, causing you to instinctively reach out for the nearest surface available. Whatever was outside had better be non-threatening, because you were not in the condition to be fighting—let alone standing. When you were drunk like this, you couldn’t even hurt a fly.

“Fuck, I’m gonna have the worst headache soon,” you huff quietly, still aware that there might be someone or something outside. The noise is getting closer, and you’re running out of time to find a hiding spot.

Quickly, you grab the closest thing you can to defend yourself (which is literally a jar of glow worms), and crouch down below the window. When you lift your head just enough to see outside, the makings of a silhouette cloud your vision.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whisper-yell, tightening your hold on the jar. Lifting your head up again, you notice that the figure is not in the spot it was previously. Then, the knob to the shack twists, and now it’s opening, and—

“(Your name)?”

You pause your attack, slowly dropping your hand (that’s holding the jar) to your side. A flood of relief washes over you once you register who the voice belongs to. Rising from the ground, you open the door fully to see Neteyam standing in the doorway.

“I almost killed you, you know!” you raise the jar, pulling him inside of the shack.

“I think it would take more than a jar of worms to kill me,” he teases. Rolling your eyes, you continue ushering him further inside, leading him to an area where you can sit and talk.

“What…what are you doing here?” you finally ask, folding your arms across your chest. Neteyam towers over you from this height, so he accommodates you by dropping to his haunches.

“I was worried about you,” the boy confesses, “what are you doing here? Why were you not at the feast?” Suddenly, you don’t really feel like talking anymore. Even though the adrenaline from before was still pumping through your veins, so was the alcohol in your system. You’re not so sure you’d be able to keep your composure long enough to answer without exposing your truest feelings. So, you decide on deflecting.

“Aren’t you the man of the hour? I think you should go back to the party before daddy throws a fit. We both know how he gets when his perfect little son isn’t at his every beck and call…” As soon as the words spill from your tongue, you wince. It came out meaner than you meant, and the last thing you wanted was to give him shit for being a caring friend.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean that,” you apologize, sitting down on the bed. All he does is sigh, but he takes this opportunity to enter your space, gets all close until his body is nestled between your legs.

“I know…I know, but I want you to tell me what’s wrong, hm?” his fingers lift your chin, “so I can fix it.”

“Can’t fix this, ‘Teyam,” a saltine droplet ribbons down your face. Your head is tilted up with his fingers, but you can’t even force yourself to meet his gaze. God, how pathetic did you look right now?

Here you were, inside an abandoned shack, drinking your body weight in liquor…all while a celebration was being thrown in your best friend’s honor. And for what? Because you were jealous? Because you liked him—loved him?

You knew that eventually your relationship would shift. That he’d take on his duties as the future olo’eyktan, and you’d just be his human friend he hangs with from time to time. How stupid could you be to think things would stay like this forever?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, both hands now cupping your cheeks, “don’t do that. Do not shut me out. We’re not like this, (your name), you used to always talk to me about things.”

Things. You’d talk about things. But those things were not like these things. And if he knew what things you were thinking about, the things that involved him…then you two would never talk about things again.

You’re curious, though. What if you just told him? Just told him about all the days you’ve loved him, all the nights you’ve stayed up thinking of him—all the stars you counted wishing for him? At least then, the burden of keeping such a secret would stop weighing so heavy on your heart.

“I..” a breath, “I heard a rumor.” The boy hums, encouraging you to continue. “I heard your mother has chosen her successor.”

“Is that what this is about? Why does this bother you?”

“Because you know what this means! We both know what this means, don’t be dense, ’Teyam,” you droop your head in sorrow, coaxing him to just lift it back up. Only this time, his hold on your face is a lot firmer. His eyes are fiercer.

“No. I don’t, so just tell me.”

“You’re gonna be the future olo’eyktan, and we both know that the future clan leader and the chosen tsahik are to be betrothed,” you start, “there will be no time for me! No more late night talks, no more exploring, no more secret whispers…I mean, I get it, you have duties to fulfill but…I wanna be selfish a little longer. Can’t I be selfish a little longer?”

You say the last line while meeting his gaze. You’re teary eyed and shaking, but you try your best to keep any semblance of composure you have left intact (though, it’s failing). His expression is indiscernible.

It makes you nervous. Sick. And now you’re forcing yourself not to throw up because…the realization that you just told someone your deepest, truest, most vulnerable feelings makes you physically ill.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. Forget what I jus—“

“Are you serious? You don’t get it do you?” Neteyam’s head falls forward, a little chuckle slipping past his lips. His hands leave your head and slither down to your hands. He takes them into his own, eyeing you while kissing the knuckles of each.

The act is incredibly intimate, sends white-hot electricity down the column of your spine. Renders you speechless. All you can do is sit there, too scared that if you move or speak, you’ll shatter into a million little pieces.

“I have duties, yes…but my heart is already spoken for. Always has been.”

“What are you saying, ’Teyam,” your head snuggles into the warmth of his hand. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you want to hear him say—

“I see you,” he whispers in your ear, “you are my most beloved.” The warmth of his breath tingles the shell of your ear, it takes the strength of a thousand men to not scream.

But in this moment? In this moment you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him silly, actually, but you quickly remember the thing on your face preventing your lips from connecting with his. There are truly evil forces conspiring against you.

“I want to kiss you,” you admit solemnly.

“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve spent dreaming about kissing you. Too many,” he jokes, “but I’m afraid if we remove this, you’ll die.”

“Then you don’t have to kiss my lips,” a silence, “you can kiss me anywhere you’d like. Anywhere.”

His green eyes flitter between your face and your body, and then his hands are on you, forcing you to lay back against the bed. You lift your head up and lean back onto your elbows, watching through lust-filled eyes as he begins his ministrations.

He starts from the bottom, works his way up real slowly—too slowly. He’s showing restraint, and while you appreciate the fact that he’s worshiping your body like a devoted follower worships their deity, you want him to ravage you. To eat you up until there’s nothing left but bones.

“’Teyam, please…” you breathe out impatiently. Like the cocky-brat he is, he ignores your pleas, only laughing into your skin.

“Shh, be calm.” The plush of his lips trail up the plains and pastures of your body, up your calves, your thighs (he spends the most time there), and then comes to a stop at the crest of your breasts. His fingers fiddle with the cloth covering your chest, lightly tracing the edges that rest just beneath your mounds.

A tease is what he is. And you didn’t have the time for a tease, so you figured you’d help speed up the process by removing it. Sitting up, you untie the makeshift top and let it fall to your lap, smirking deviously as if you’ve done something so naughty.

“Thought I’d help you,” you grin, wrapping your hands around his neck, “Please, no more going slow…I think we’ve been going slow for twenty years, don’t you think?”

And he gets the hint, once again resuming his assault on your body, but this time with more fervor. More urgency. He’s kissing you everywhere, licking wet stripes over your chest, and leaving love bites in the places where he’s kissed you. Right now he’s acting on his most basic, primal instincts—he’s claiming you as his mate—in the only way he knows how to.

The feeling of his hands on your neck, back, thighs and waist send you into oblivion. But then his hands are creeping up to your tits, deft fingers twisting and kneading, and oh god, you’re seeing stars. The addition of his mouth doesn’t help either.

“You’re so,” a kiss, “beautiful,” a suck, “perfect.” Neteyam kneads one breast while his mouth works on another. He plops down onto a pert nipple, using his tongue to draw circles around the area, his saliva acting as a salve.

A moan (that comes out more like a disgruntled sigh) vacates your throat, and his eyes widen in excitement. The sight of his tail swaying in the background makes you giggle. Cute, you think.

Even though what the two of you were doing wasn’t innocent, you couldn’t help but to feel all giddy. Reaching a hand out, you place a gentle palm on the side of his face.

You trace the contours of his nose, his cheekbones, smooth over his jaw, and then stop at his lips. Your thumb grazes them, first the top, then the bottom—learning. Committing them to memory, how they look, feel, and move under your thumb.

Neteyam is unmoving while you continue to run your finger across his lips—save for his hand, which slowly begins traveling south to your thighs. Experimentally, you push your thumb inside of his mouth, pressing the digit down on his tongue before tracing his cat-like canines. This moment is particularly special, because now it’s you who’s doing the admiring.

The free hand that’s not inching towards your core, skillfully removes the loin cloth around your hips. Immediately, he’s met with your bare sex. It’s smooth—wet, so incredibly wet that it has his cock twitching, and his hands eager to touch you. He wants to taste you. Feel you, all of you.

“I—,” a slender finger rubs your slit, “mmf, see you,” you mewl, cupping his cheek. Neteyam’s eyes widen, he wants to hear you make that sound again…and again, and again, and—

The boy repeats the action. Watches your abs flex and tremble from the touch, and your thighs close in on his arm. Using the other hand, he gently pulls them apart and leaves three open-mouthed kisses: one on your inner thigh, one on another, and then a final one at the top of your mound. The heat from his nostrils make you full body shiver; suddenly, being the only one completely bare is slightly bothering you.

“Do not cover yourself. I want to see you,” his hand finds your cunt again, a long finger pushing into you ever so slowly, “…want to hear those sweet sounds again.”

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you watch his digit push further into you, the drag of a knuckle against your slick walls aiding in the pleasure. You can’t help but to wince at the intrusion, because shit, this was a lot more than what you were used to—using your fingers, that is.

You also suppose penetration would be off the table considering humans and Na’vi were never meant to mate, but it doesn’t prevent you from fantasizing about it anyway. How big was it? Did he touch himself? Use his hands and picture yours?

The thought of him hunching over, rubbing one out, all slick with sweat and pre has your head all dizzy. Your mouth is practically salivating at the mental image you’ve conjured up in your head of him fucking your face, but you know it would never fit. There really are evil forces conspiring against you…

Neteyam’s finger reaching the hilt brings you back down to reality. A forceful thrust that coaxes you to gasp sharply and grab his forearm. After patiently waiting for you to adjust to his size, he begins to move. He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly, then pushing back into you with the same velocity.

Eventually, his movements become less hesitated, and more calculated. Instead of steady and slow, he begins increasing the pace of his thrusts, then graduates from speed to incorporating force.

Every delve of his finger, every deliberate drag and prod has fire pooling in the depths of your belly. Squelches and whimpers ricochet off of the metal walls, and fuck, his dick won’t stop twitching.

It’s grown considerably harder in these past few minutes, and all from just hearing you vocalize your pleasure. When the stretch stops feeling like a stretch, and starts feeling like a ‘give me more’, that’s when you encourage him to add another. And of course, he indulges you.

The same time he pushes another finger in, is the same time he starts rubbing himself. He’s not even really aware of it at first, it’s mindless. He’s just so entranced by you, and the sounds you’re making, the things you’re saying, the way your cunt’s sucking in his fingers—

Fuck. He just finished all over himself. He doesn’t let that deter him though, keeps fingering you through his post-orgasm, taking care of you until you come undone on his fingers.

And the sight is amazing, he can’t stop gawking at the way your hole flutters around him, and the nectar-like liquid that drips down the length of his fingers and onto the bed. He wants to taste it.

“Can I taste you?” he asks. You’re in such a daze that the question doesn’t even register, suddenly too preoccupied with breathing like you’ve forgotten how to.

“Huh? Wha—ohhhh.” His tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. He concentrates the tip at the bottom, lapping at the essence that leaks from there, and then circles back to your puffy bud. Experimentally, he prods it with his fingers, rubbing it in tantalizingly slow circles.

The combination of his tongue and his fingers almost feel overwhelming, you feel like a puppet on a marionette with the way he’s maneuvering your legs around for better access. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a starved man.

His mouth is slick with drool, and his hands are pressing down so firmly onto your thighs, that you’re sure a handprint will be there for you to discover in the morning. His tongue feels so good on you, so nasty.

The picture is obscene, unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed before. But the thing that’s really getting to you are the sounds he’s making. Grunts and groans, expletives and mumbles. ‘So good’, ‘perfect’, ‘beautiful’…it has your head spinning and your fists gripping for the sheets beneath you.

There’s a knot in your abdomen pulled taut like a string of twine. You can feel it twisting and pulling, ready to come undone at the drop of a pin. The more he works on your slit, the more the temperature rises in the shack.

Was the room always spinning? Did your body always run this hot? It feels like you’ve been thrown into a furnace, and the only source of coolness is the wetness that his tongue provides.

“‘M gonna, mmf, ’s too much!” you jab at his hand in an attempt to push him away. He’s relentless though, still sucking harshly, and teasing, ramming his thick fingers up against your gummy walls.

It feels different than when you touch yourself, more intense. Like something’s sitting heavy on your bladder. Then, snap. The string in your abdomen unravels, bringing forth a flood of ecstasy.

“’Teyam!” you sob, back arching to the ceiling. When he pulls his fingers out, a stream of clear liquid seeps from your cunt. He’s awestruck, staring in admiration as your sweat kissed chest rises and falls rhythmically.

“Look, your legs are shaking,” he points, biting down a laugh, “why are they shaking?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” you feign offense, pushing him backwards with a chuckle. He pretends to be wounded, rubbing his back dramatically, ‘oohing’ and ‘owing’ as he does so. When you finally sit up, your eyes naturally fall to his loincloth, a wet ringlet contrasting starkly against the beige textile.

“Hey…” your voice is hesitant, but teetering on the edge of curiosity, “Can I try something?”

The boy silently nods his approval, shifting his position on the ground when you amble over to him. A look of confusion molds onto his face following the events that involve you plopping down onto his lap and laying him down. He goes to speak but you interrupt him.

“Your turn, right? Can’t put it in, but…I can still make you feel good,” you say, tugging on the piece of fabric that separates your sex from his. Eagerly, he removes it for you and lets the item fall haphazardly to the ground.

It’s big, so big—and pretty too. A beautiful blue hue that matches the rest of his body, paired along with a blushing teal tip that’s oozing pre. You want to know what he tastes like on your tongue…

“So pretty.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, and his tail takes an aquiline form, quivering in rapid movements. His usual, over-confident disposition was slowly dissipating under your intense gaze, and you reveled in it by mocking his bashfulness.

“Awe, the little kitty’s shy,” you mock, tickling his side.

“Stop it, I don’t look like those Earth things,” he laughs, pushing your hand away, but to no avail. You continue to dodge his attempts to stop you, tickling him here and there until he accidentally bucks and pulls you down against him. Embarrassingly, you let a whine fall from your lips…still too sensitive down there, you guess.

There’s a shit-eating grin plastered on his face now, you hate it. “Who’s making noises like a kitty now, huh?” With this, he takes the liberty to do it again, pressing you down hard against his length.

The feeling of your bare cunt against him is electrifying, probably (definitely) not better than him being inside you, but the next best thing. This was supposed to be your thanks to him. But now he’s taken full charge—maneuvering you back and forth, gripping and kneading—it’s cruel.

For someone who’s never mated with anyone in his life, he’s sure moving you around like he has. His hands are all over you—thighs, hips, waist, breasts, it’s almost overwhelming. Every touch, addled with the buck of hips, brings forth a new sensation that is better than the last. You think this would be a good way to go out, right on his cock. One last hurrah before the morbid inevitable.

“You f-feel so good, (your name),” his voice is breathy, “r-really good.” Neteyam’s grip on your arms is vice, partly because he can feel his climax approaching, but mostly because he can tell you’re growing tired.

Swiftly, he changes your positions to where you’re laying on your back and he’s crouching over you. The tip of his head smoothes over your folds when he pushes up, and before he draws back, you can see just about where his dick would rest if he were inside of you.

“I’d be all the way up here,” he presses down just beneath your breastbone, “you’re so tiny.” It sounds so dirty, but you know ultimately he’s just making an observation—regardless, the comment has your stomach churning in excitement.

The both of you watch in fascination as he sheathes himself up and over your cunt, moaning in unison when the tip of his mushroomy head catches against your bud. Euphoric, he thinks. He never imagined that something could feel this good, let alone without connecting bonds.

Still sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach your peak. Neteyam knows that your arrhythmic breathing is a tell-tale sign, and he helps you get there by cooing words of encouragement.

He goes back and forth between ’I got you’s and ‘it’s okay’s, leaving trails of kisses down your body in his wake. The second you finish, you’re pulling him down onto you tight. Moaning and whining into his ear, whispering those same words of encouragement that he whispered to you prior.

“So good, ‘Teyam,” you claw at his back, “keep going, want you to feel good too.” And he does. Unrelenting in his attack against your sex, he comes with a few more pistons.

You eagerly welcome him into your arms when he drops from exhaustion, and hold him there until your erratic breaths synchronize. The both of you are disgustingly sweaty and sticky, but even so, you feel at peace.

You bask in the tranquil quietness of the night, just staring at each other. Soft caresses and soothing hums. Then, Neteyam speaks.

“On this fateful night, two hearts danced…” he whispers, grabbing your hand to hold it over his heart.

“What does this mean?” you smile at him. He ponders over it and then explains.

“My songcord…I want to tell this story,” he starts, “the night when two hearts became one.”

A crystal droplet cascades down your face, “that sounds beautiful.”

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