#this hiatus was a lot longer then I wanted it to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arachine · 2 years ago

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.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam sully x reader smut #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak x reader smut #avatar x reader #avatar x reader smut #neteyam smut #avatar the way of water #atwow #awow #avatar smut #avatar the way of water smut

17K notes · View notes

daryltwdixon · 6 days ago

Text

Teach You II

Daryl Dixon x Reader

warnings: smut

word count: 5.4k it's uhhhh a lot longer than the first part

summary: a continuation of part I: daryl has 0 game, 0 experience, and is eager to please. oral (both receiving) still foreplay only. reader is gentle with Daryl.

notes: back from my writing hiatus to give you a little somethin' special.

“Come with me.”

The room is quiet, the air thick with heavy breathing but undeniably warm. Daryl’s chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his skin still tingling from the intensity of their last kiss. He’s never felt anything like it before—never let himself feel anything like it before—and now, as she pulls back slightly, her face flushed and open, he wonders how he’s even still breathing.

He watches her for a moment, his heart thundering in his chest as he nods. The flickering candlelight catches the sheen of her skin, the rise and fall of her shoulders, and he can’t stop staring. When she reaches for him, her fingers lacing with his, the simple touch sends a jolt of warmth straight through him.

She doesn’t bother pulling her shirt back on as she takes him through the house and eventually toward the bed, her movements unhurried, deliberate. He watches the curve of her back, the gentle dips of her hips as she leads him into her bedroom, where the candlelight casts a soft glow over the walls. The space feels like her—calm, unpretentious, and more inviting than any place he’s ever been. The scent of her lingers in the air, and he wonders if she knows just how intoxicating it is.

She turns to him, her hands sliding up under his shirt, up the planes of his chest. The soft caress of her hands over the coarse hair of his chest leaves goosebumps along his skin.

“Is this okay?” she asks, her voice low and steady, like she’s offering him an escape if he needs it.

His breath hitches. It’s not just okay—it’s everything. Still, his words come out clumsy. “Yeah. It’s… yeah.”

As her hands lower, fingers brushing against the hem of his shirt, Daryl feels his breath hitch. His heart thuds loud in his chest, and his thoughts start racing. The scars. They’re all he can think about now, the pale, crisscrossing reminders of a past he’s tried to bury.

His first instinct is to stop her, to pull back and keep those parts of himself hidden where they belong. He’s spent years keeping people at arm’s length, guarding the worst pieces of himself, and the thought of her seeing them now—seeing all the damage—it claws at the edges of his resolve.

But then, her touch pulls him back to the present. To the here and now. Her fingers don’t rush; they’re slow, deliberate, full of a gentleness he’s still learning to trust. He looks at her, at the way her eyes search his for any sign of hesitation, and something in him shifts.

More than anything, he wants to feel her. Every inch of her. The soft peaks of her breasts against his chest, the warmth of her arms wrapped around his middle. He wants to let her in, to feel what it’s like to be vulnerable in a way that doesn’t tear him apart.

For her—for this moment here and now—he would.

He exhales shakily, nodding slightly as if giving her permission without words.

“You okay?” she murmurs, her voice soft and steady as her hands linger at the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah,” he says, though his voice wavers. He clears his throat, his hands sliding over hers to still them for a moment. But despite the anxiety, despite his uncertainty, he nods. He wants this. More than anything.

Her lips quirk in a soft smile, and she leans even closer. “Let’s take it slow, okay?” she reassures, “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

When he shakily exhales with another nod, she carefully eases the fabric upward, revealing the hard planes of his stomach first. His skin jumps under her touch, his muscles taut, but he doesn’t stop her. When the shirt clears his chest and flits over his head, his instinct is to curl in, to shield himself from her gaze, but he doesn’t. He forces himself to meet her eyes.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stare. Her expression doesn’t shift into pity or disgust like he feared it might. Instead, her fingers brush lightly over his chest, tracing the lines of old scars with reverence, like she’s trying to memorize him.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

His chest tightens at the tenderness in her, like she’s peeling away all the walls he’s spent years building. “You… you ain’t gotta do all this, y’know,” he mutters, his voice rough.

“I want to,” she says simply, her fingers soft along his bare shoulders now, “I want you, Daryl. Just as you are.”

The word seep into him, sliding deep into the cracks of his heart, where he never thought a person could reach. His lips part, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know how to tell her what those words mean to him—that he’s never heard anything like them in his life.

When she kisses him again, slow and deliberate, it feels like she’s giving him a chance to breathe. His hands find her waist instinctively, trembling against her warmth, but for the first time, he doesn’t pull back. He lets himself feel it.

The sensation of her bare chest against his overwhelming in a way he wasn’t expecting, every nerve in his body alight. He feels her heart beating against his, steady and strong, and it grounds him even as it sends a rush of adrenaline through his veins. Her skin against his is like fire and silk, all at once. He can’t stop the shudder that runs through him when her chest shifts against his, her breath mingling with his as her hands move to cradle his face. It’s so intimate, so raw, that it takes his breath away, and all he can think is that nothing has ever felt this good. Nothing has ever felt this right.

Their tongues slide against each other now with a growing ease, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Daryl loses himself in the rhythm of it—a soft push and pull, each movement teasing and tender, punctuated by the faint, electric graze of teeth. He doesn’t mean to, not really, but when his teeth catch her bottom lip, just barely nibbling, the sound she makes—sharp and breathless—lights something molten in his gut.

Her gasp breaks against his mouth, and his hands tighten instinctively on her waist. “Was that okay?” he murmurs, his voice low and shaky, his lips brushing hers as he speaks.

“More than okay,” she breathes, her eyes fluttering open. Her cheeks are flushed, her pupils wide, and he can’t help but stare, trying to etch the image of her into his memory. “That was… really good.”

Something in him twists—pride, maybe. He doesn’t feel it often, but the way she looks at him, the way she shivers between his hands, makes him think that maybe, just maybe, he’s doing something right.

“You’re full of surprises, Dixon,” she teases softly, her lips curving into a faint smile.

A quiet chuckle rumbles in his chest, surprising even him. Then, she guides him backward, her touch so gentle it makes his skin prickle with awareness. When the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, he freezes, panic flickering in his chest. But she’s there, grounding him with her hands on his arms, her voice a soft murmur.

“It’s just me,” she says, her eyes holding his, “You’re alright,”

She catches his chin again, drawing him back to her, her fingers brushing tenderly along the scruff of his jaw. “Don’t stop,” she whispers, her voice laced with a mix of want and encouragement.

The words send another surge of heat through him, his skin buzzing where she touches him. He finally sits back, with her following, and he leans in again, his lips finding hers with more confidence this time. Their mouths move together, building a rhythm that feels as natural as breathing. As she sits on her knees between his legs, her fingers tug gently at his hair, the feeling of her nails causing a low groan in his throat, and she answers with a soft, breathy sound that sends his pulse racing.

“I want to show you something,” she says, her voice quiet but full of intent.

As she pulls back slightly, his eyes fall to her face, and he feels his breath catch. The bright flush of her skin—warm and glowing—paints her cheeks, her neck, and deeper still, crimson splotches blooming across her clavicle. It’s breathtaking, and he’s completely transfixed by it.

Her hands drop from his chest to rest on his knees, palms gently massaging the muscles along his thighs in slow, soothing motions. The air around him feels thinner as her hands shift slightly higher, moving inch by inch toward his lap but still keeping a respectful distance from the ache that’s grown there once again. His heart thuds heavily in his chest, his nerves and desire tangling together in an electrifying mess.

“Let’s get these off of you,” she whispers, her fingers pinching the denim clinging to his thighs.

He hadn’t realized it in the heat of the moment, but the earlier debacle in his briefs had gone from wet and sticky to dry and tacky, leaving him desperate to shed the discomfort. Embarrassment flashes hot in his chest as the thought of taking them off in front of her settles in his mind. She sees his hesitation, and coos gently, reassuring with softness in her voice, and tenderness in her touch. Together, they work to shed his jeans, the rough fabric slipping from his legs with her help. His briefs follow soon after, discarded onto the floor and forgotten.

The freedom of the warm air makes Daryl sigh in relief, though his nerves spark alive again as he watches her intently, searching for any sign of trepidation or uncertainty in her expression. No one has ever seen him like this—laid bare, vulnerable, and so… needy. His cock stands hard and flushed against his stomach, the tip red and eager for attention, but his gaze stays locked on her face, waiting for a reaction.

Her eyes widen slightly as she takes him in, her lips parting in what looks like awe. He holds his breath, unsure what it could mean, but before his mind has the chance to spiral, her gaze lifts to his again.

A fresh wave of blush paints her cheeks and neck, scarlet creeping up as her eyes meet his, and it’s so breathtaking that it steals his breath all over again.

She leans in, her small hand wrapping around him with a gentleness that has his head falling back, his breath choking in his throat.

Her hand is soft, impossibly so, her touch smooth and steady as it slides along his length. The feeling is so overwhelming that it nearly knocks him flat. Even through the grit of the apocalypse, her hands are silk against the hardness of him.

“Daryl,” she breathes, her voice like a caress as she leans closer. Her hand moves with excruciating care, testing, learning, and every brush of her fingers sends sparks shooting down his spine, pooling heat in his belly.

His eyes flutter closed, his breath ragged as he tries to focus, but then—suddenly—he feels something else. A warm breath against him.

His eyes snap open, wide and disbelieving, just as he feels it: hot, wet, incredible lips wrapping around the sensitive tip of his cock. His entire body jerks at the sensation, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat as if his lungs have forgotten how to work. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, his hands gripping uselessly at the bedspread, trembling with restraint as every nerve in his body seems to spark to life.

She doesn’t move at first, holding him there in her mouth, letting him adjust to the new, overwhelming sensation. It’s as though she knows how much he needs this moment, to gather himself, to breathe. Why would she do this? Why would she want to serve him like this, so beautifully, so selflessly? He can barely fathom it, barely believe this is real, and not some dream he’ll wake from, empty and aching. He’ll never take it for granted, never forget this moment for as long as he lives.

His breath stutters, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves, “Holy shit,” his voice full of awe, his fingers curling deeper into the bed beneath him.

She hums softly around him at his words, the vibration sending a shockwave through his body that makes him groan, low and desperate. Slowly, achingly slow, she takes him deeper into her mouth. His breath hitches, his hands twitching at his sides as he watches her, utterly transfixed.

The thickness of him stretches her mouth wide, her jaw looking like it nearly unhinges as she pushes him further in, her lips sliding down the shaft with deliberate care. When the tip hits the soft, warm walls of the back of her throat, his entire body trembles, a broken moan escaping him before he can stop it.

“Y/N,” he gasps, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. His hands suddenly lift to hover above her, unsure, desperate to touch her but afraid to break the moment.

She pulls back, her lips slick and glistening, and looks up at him through her lashes. Her eyes are warm, inviting, and he swears he’s never seen anything as beautiful in his life. Gently, she lifts herself off of him for a moment, though her hands stay wrapped around the base of his cock.

“You’re doing so good,” she murmurs, her voice full of praise and affection, “Put your hands in my hair, show me what you want, Dare.”

His heart skips at the sound of his name on her lips like that, soft and coaxing, full of trust. His hands hover in the air for a moment, trembling, as though he’s unsure if he’s allowed to take what she’s offering. But the way she looks at him—her eyes warm, encouraging—gives him the courage to move. She leans back in, hand sliding up to meet her lips again, stroking him gently as she waits for him.

Slowly, his fingers thread into her hair, strands sliding between his calloused fingertips. He’s gentle at first, testing, his grip hesitant as he tangles his hands deeper into her hair. It feels surreal—too good, too much—but she hums her approval, the vibration sending another jolt through his body that makes his hips shift instinctively. She starts again, taking him deeper and picking up the pace this time, her tongue swirling around the head before sliding down his length in a way that makes his whole body tense with pleasure.

“Jesus,” he chokes out, his voice raw, his fingers tightening in her hair without meaning to. He starts to pull back, afraid he’s being too rough, but she makes a soft, pleased sound and moves her head forward, taking more of him.

The wet heat of her mouth surrounds him, and he can feel the deliberate care in every movement. Her hand works in tandem with her lips, stroking him in perfect rhythm, and all he can do is hold on, his chest heaving as she drives him higher and higher.

“You feel so good,” she whispers, pulling back just enough to speak, her lips brushing against his head with every word. “Don’t hold back, Daryl. I want all of you.”

Her words undo him, and the next time his cock hits the back of her throat, it sends a wave of desperate need crashing over him that leaves him trembling beneath her. His hips buck despite himself, and she meets his movements with ease, her lips stretching around him.

The sounds that escape him are raw and unrestrained—a mix of whimpers and low, guttural groans that fill the air around them as he cums. He can’t help it, can’t hold back the shaky, desperate noises that tumble from his throat as she works him over with her mouth and hand. Each movement of her tongue elicits another broken moan, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.

“God,” he gasps, his voice cracking as a strangled whimper slips out, followed by a low, drawn-out groan that vibrates deep in his chest. He tries to stifle it, biting down on his bottom lip, but another sharp cry tears free when her tongue presses flat against the sensitive underside of him, milking every last drop from him as she moans with fervor.

His fingers tighten in her hair, not pulling but gripping like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. The noises keep coming—soft, needy breaths mingled with shaky groans and whispered curses, each one raw and involuntary, spilling out of him without thought. His chest heaves, his body trembling beneath her as he rides the waves of his release.

When her lips finally slide away, his eyes flutter open, the haze of pleasure leaving him dazed and breathless. He watches her, transfixed, as she wipes the spit from the corner of her mouth with a slow, deliberate motion. Her tongue swipes along her top lip, catching the lingering taste of him, and the sight makes his cock twitch, a mix of overstimulation and desperate loss tightening low in his belly.

His gaze locks with hers, and the look in her hooded eyes mirrors his own—heat, awe, and something deeper that neither of them dares to name.

The room is quiet now, save for their shared breaths slowly evening out. Daryl watches her with wide, glassy eyes as she shifts back to sit on her heels, her movements graceful and unhurried. Her touch is soft, almost reverent, as she trails her fingers along his thighs before leaning over him to press a tender kiss to his lips. It’s slow and gentle, nothing like the fire they just shared, but it makes his chest tighten all the same.

She begins to stand and tugs at his arm, coaxing him to move, and he lets her guide him like he has since the start. She helps him ease back onto the bed, pulling the covers loose and gesturing for him to crawl beneath them. He feels awkward and out of place, the aftershocks of what just happened still sparking in his nerves, but the way she looks at him—warm, steady, so damn sure—makes it impossible to refuse.

Sliding in beside him, she nestles close, her body fitting seamlessly against his. The heat of her skin against his own feels like nothing he’s ever known, and his arms instinctively wrap around her, holding her close. He’s stiff at first, uncertain, but the steady rise and fall of her breathing against his chest calms him, slowly easing the tension from his limbs.

Her hand drifts lazily over his stomach, her fingers tracing the lines of his scars in a way that feels more like a silent promise than a question. His fingers twitch where they rest on her back, unsure of what to do, but when she shifts even closer, pressing her nose against the crook of his neck, he lets himself relax into her touch.

The quiet feels different now. It’s not heavy or awkward—it’s warm, safe. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of her fill him completely. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but his heart slows, steadying against the soft weight of her head on his chest.

But the thoughts creeping into his mind refuse to leave him alone. The memory of her—on her knees, lips wrapped around him, giving so selflessly—sends a mix of gratitude and longing coursing through him. He swallows hard, his breath hitching slightly as the question forms at the edges of his mind.

His hand tightens on her back, just enough for her to notice, and she shifts slightly, looking up at him. He can feel the heat crawling up his neck, spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his voice.

“Can I…” His words trail off, rough and barely audible. He can’t bring himself to meet her eyes, his throat tightening with nerves.

She waits, her expression patient and kind, her hand still tracing light, soothing patterns on his stomach. The steady rhythm of her touch is the only thing keeping him in place as he struggles to force the words out.

He clears his throat, revising his previous start. “Will you show me,” he whispers, the words so soft they almost don’t make it out. His heart pounds, each beat rattling against his ribs. “Show me how to…”

Her lips curl into a small, knowing smile, her head tilting slightly as she looks at him. He can tell—she knows what he means. Of course she knows. But she doesn’t let him off easily, her eyes glimmering with playful intent.

“I want to make you feel good,” he blurts out, the words tumbling out in a rush, his voice rough and raw with vulnerability.

Her smile widens, warm and teasing all at once. “You do, huh?” she murmurs, her hand pausing on his stomach, her fingers curling lightly against his skin. “What do you want me to show you, Daryl?”

Heat floods his face, spreading down his neck and chest as he glances away, his hand flexing where it rests on her hip. “You know what I mean,” he mutters, his voice low and hoarse.

Her laughter is soft and melodic, her fingers drifting up to brush against his jaw, coaxing him to look at her again. “I do,” she admits, her voice dropping to a tender whisper. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

His eyes find hers then, and for a moment, he just stares, taking her in. The way her smile lights up her face, the way her gaze is steady and sure, like she has all the time in the world for him. It’s disarming, leaving him with a warmth blooming in his chest that he doesn’t know how to describe.

He can’t fight down the grin that spreads across his face, his mouth twisting as his eyes crinkle at the corners. Emboldened by her openness, her patience, he finally lets the words spill out, low and rough, “Wanna taste you. Let me.”

A brand new flush paints her cheeks, the pink spreading down to her neck and chest as she nods, her voice soft but sure. “Yeah, alright.”

“Dunno—” he starts, squirming a little where he sits, nerves creeping in again, but she stops him before he can spiral. Her hands cup his jaw, warm and steady, grounding him instantly.

“It’s alright,” she whispers, her thumbs brushing gently along his cheekbones as she tilts his face to meet hers. Her lips hover close, brushing against his in the faintest of kisses. “Remember how we kissed?”

He nods, swallowing hard, though he doesn’t lean into the closeness this time, waiting for her to go on.

“Kiss me,” she murmurs, her voice low and inviting, her gaze holding his with unshakable trust. “Down there. Just the same.”

The words send a shiver through him, equal parts anticipation and awe. He exhales shakily, moving his body to hover over her. She hums to herself, the warmth of him on her a welcome touch.

His lips meet the bare skin of her chest first, pressing soft, reverent kisses along the curve of her breast before trailing lower. His movements are deliberate, his lips peppering gentle pecks down her stomach, lingering just enough to feel her shiver beneath him. When he reaches the waistband of her shorts, he pauses, lifting his head to meet her gaze. His hands rest lightly on the fabric, already loosened from earlier, but he doesn’t move further. Daryl is nothing if not careful. He needs to be sure she wants this just as much, needs to see it in her eyes before he lets himself go any further.

Her smile widens, her cheeks flushed, and she nods softly, her hips shifting up in quiet encouragement. He takes her silent permission, his hands steady as he slips her shorts down her legs. The fabric pools on the floor beside the bed, forgotten, his attention entirely on her as she opens her legs for him.

Glistening, wet and welcoming, his eyes look at her center. It’s like some sort of innate human instinct to want to bury himself between her legs. He forces himself to go slow, his hands moving almost on their own to slide along her thighs, his touch careful and deliberate as he shifts down the bed. The warmth of her skin beneath his palms steadies him, guiding him as he settles between her legs.

Her breathing deepens, her chest rising and falling as his lips brush softly against the inside of her knee. The first kiss is tentative, testing, but when she lets out a quiet sigh, her fingers threading into his hair, it’s like every hesitation in him melts away.

He kisses her again, further up this time, his lips grazing over her sensitive skin. Each press of his mouth grows bolder, his confidence building with every soft sound she makes above him. Her thighs tremble slightly under his hands, and the sensation sends a thrill through him, igniting a need to keep going, to keep making her feel this way.

When his lips finally find her, the heat of her, he swears the world stops. His breath catches as he pauses, letting himself take it in—the softness of her, the warmth, the way her body seems to move toward him instinctively.

“That’s it, Dare. Kiss me there,” she says again. So he does, his lips pressing against her pussy with the same care he gave her mouth, slow and deliberate, learning her like he’s memorizing every inch.

Her gasp is soft, a mix of surprise and pleasure, and it drives him on, his tongue darting out to taste her for the first time. The sound both of them make in response—her low, breathy sigh, his guttural groan—is enough to send a spark of pride and awe coursing through him, his hands tightening slightly on her thighs as he settles in to show her just how much he wants this.

Her moans are soft, delicate at first, but as his tongue glides against her, teasing and testing, they grow richer, her body responding instinctively to his every movement. The sounds she makes—half sighs, half gasps—wrap around him, filling the room with something intimate and electric.

His hands remain firm on her thighs, grounding him as he works to memorize the way she feels, the way she tastes. Every motion is deliberate, his lips and tongue tracing her with a quiet intensity that feels more like devotion than anything else. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push too hard, letting her body guide him as he explores this uncharted territory.

Her fingers thread deeper into his hair, tugging lightly when he finds a particularly sensitive spot, and the quiet, breathless “Oh, Daryl,” that follows makes his head spin. His chest tightens, and a groan rumbles low in his throat, vibrating against her in a way that makes her hips shift toward him, seeking more.

She’s soft and warm, and the way she moves—deliberate but unthinking, like her body can’t help but reach for him—sends another jolt of confidence through him.

“You’re… so good,” she breathes, her voice trembling as her hips tilt toward him.

Encouraged, he presses closer, his tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves he’s just beginning to understand, his lips closing gently around her. Her body arches in response, a sharp gasp escaping her as her thighs clench slightly around his head. He groans again, the sound low and guttural, and shifts his hands to hold her hips steady, guiding her gently as he continues.

Her breaths grow faster, more uneven, and the tension in her body builds beneath his hands. He can feel it, the way her thighs shake, the way her fingers tighten in his hair, and it drives him to give her more. Her sex pulses as he continues, moving his tongue with growing confidence, drawing her higher and higher, until her soft, shaky moans turn into something louder, more raw.

“Daryl,” she gasps, her voice breaking as her hips jerk against him. “I’m—oh, God—right there.”

The words send a surge of determination through him, and he doubles down, his tongue and lips working together to push her over the edge. Her body tightens suddenly, her back arching off the bed as a cry spills from her lips, raw and beautiful, and he holds her through it, his hands steady on her hips as she rides out her release on his tongue.

When she finally begins to relax, her body softening beneath his touch, he pulls back slightly, his lips and chin slick, his breath heavy as he watches her, planting more kissing along her inner thigh and at the crevice of her leg and center. Her chest rises and falls in shallow gasps, her skin flushed and glowing, and her eyes flutter open to meet his.

The look she gives him is full of wonder, her lips curving into a soft, breathless smile. She reaches for him, her fingers untangling from his hair to brush against his cheek.

“Daryl,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “That was… incredible.”

He swallows hard, his cheeks flushing as he pushes himself up, crawling up the bed to settle beside her. His movements are tentative, his arms hovering for a moment before he wraps them around her waist, pulling her gently into his chest. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice rough, almost hesitant, like he can’t quite believe her.

She nods, her smile soft and full of warmth as her hand comes up to wipe his chin gently of her slick, “Yeah,” she murmurs, her gaze meeting his.

His heart stumbles in his chest, and he can’t hold back the lopsided grin that tugs at his lips. “Never… never done nothin’ like that before,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

She leans in, still holding his chin between her thumb and finger, her lips brushing his in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, full of unspoken affection. Her hand slides up to cup his jaw, her thumb stroking lightly over his scruff as the kiss deepens. It’s different from before—softer, unhurried, as if she’s savoring every moment.

“I know, baby,” she says gently against his lips, “but it was perfect,”

His cheeks burn hotter, and he huffs a quiet laugh, pulling his head back slightly to look at her despite the flush spreading down his neck. “Ain’t perfect,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words, only quiet humility.

She presses a kiss to his jaw, then to the corner of his mouth, and his hold on her tightens instinctively. “You are to me,” she whispers, her voice so soft it’s almost lost in the quiet of the room.

They shift together, her naked body fitting snugly against his as they settle under the covers. The warmth of her skin against his, the weight of her head resting on his shoulder, feels impossibly right. His hand drifts up to stroke her hair, his fingers tangling gently in the strands as her arm drapes across his chest.

For a while, they just lie there in silence, the steady rhythm of their breathing filling the space between them. Daryl’s mind buzzes with thoughts—gratitude, disbelief, a quiet, overwhelming sense of wonder—but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

Instead, he tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, and lets himself hold her close.

#Daryl Dixon smut #the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl twd #daryl one shot #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon x you #Daryl Dixon x reader

262 notes · View notes

rafeskiss · 4 months ago

Text

imgonnagetyouback ! ᥫ᭡

pairing: matt sturniolo x popstar! reader

word count: 2.1k (holy shit)

summary: you are a world renowned popstar, and after a very public breakup with youtuber matt sturniolo, he can’t bare to watch you look hot on stage and know you’re no longer his. he’s determined to get you back.

warnings: smut obvi, p in v, fingering, swearing, use of ‘y/n’, nicknames (baby), overstimulation, unprotected sex (don’t be fucking stupid), matt calling reader ‘slutty’, probably more i can’t think of

authors note: I HAVE RETURNED!! i have come back from like a two month long hiatus (HIATUS??? DONT USE BIG WORDS MATTTT) to bring you guys the much requested imgonnagetyouback inspired fic featuring popstar! reader! in my mind i see popstar! reader as sabrina carpenter/madison beer type, not necessarily looks wise just their presence. anyways i love ya and thank u for all the kind words on pretty voice :(((

you walked around stage with more confidence then ever. you questioned if fake confidence still counts as confidence, but nobody seemed to know that you’re faking it. it had been 2 weeks since your breakup with matt, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t wreck you. but you don’t want to ruin the fans experience while you’re on tour, so you maintained your confident-happy-seductive-popstar act.

you were considered the new it girl of pop music. even though you were at your worst, you were getting a lot of attention. most questions fans asked you were about the breakup, but you were trending on twitter for a week straight. fans were making sad breakup edits and update accounts were notifying everyone about the latest stuff regarding the breakup.

because of those update accounts, you knew that matt and his brothers were at your show tonight. you didn’t know why, and even though it made you sick, you got up on the stage and shook your ass and sang your little heart out.

you wore a short lilac skirt, the one that fits you like skin. it drive matt crazy; the way it matched your skin tone so perfectly and accentuated your curves. you were a humble girl, but there were times you knew just how hot you were.

you felt bittersweet about this being the last stop of your tour. you were excited you could rest and grieve and mourn your ended relationship. but you were sad because of the happiness you did feel at one point performing to your fans and the family you created with your band.

with it being the last stop of tour, your team is throwing a little party at some club nearby the venue in seattle. it was planned for weeks now, and at the time you planned it, you added matt and his brothers name to the guest list. and you didn’t have the guts to remove it after the breakup, you didn’t even think you needed to because why would he show up? you regret it as you look at him from your spot on stage. he’s standing on the balcony with his brothers, and he looks guilty and mad at the same time. you quickly look away before you became sick, like how you normally feel seeing his face anywhere.

you say your goodbyes to the crowd and walk off stage as confetti shoots from the ceiling. you make your way backstage where your team awaits you, showering you with compliments and praises. the usual ‘you did so great tonight’ shit. matt used to be the first one to compliment you after a show, whispering sweet things in your ear; odd compliments that nobody else would tell you but that’s why they meant so much. you shake the thought of him from your mind as you pray that he won’t attend the party later tonight.

standing at the bar like somethings funny, bubbly.

God didn’t answer your prayers, unfortunately. you stood talking to one of your best friends, madison beer, but instead of keeping eye contact with her as she talks to you, your eyes are on matt. he’s on the other corner of the room by the bar, with his brothers. chris is sipping on a pepsi, nick with a dr. pepper, and matt has nothing in his hands. he glances over to you and goes back to his conversation with chris. he laughs and you wonder what he’s laughing at, you brush it off and engage in your conversation with madison.

fuck. fuck fuck fuck. an endless stream of curse words run through your mind because knowing he’s in the same room as you, at your party, is driving you insane. you wander through the crowds, making small talk but never staying with the same people for long. you sneak a quick look at matt who seems oddly bubbly while he’s talking to some blonde girl. as if he can feel your stare, he looks at you and makes a face. not a disgusted face, but one that reads ‘i see you too.’

an hour or two passes and i see some blonde girl approach him, and i know he wouldn’t *dare*. while we technically can see other people, we were never *not* each others. the blonde girl, who had to have been someone’s plus one cause i know damn well i didn’t invite her, is so obviously flirting with him. how bold of her! he seems uninterested but he’s still talking to her, which makes me feel sick. i hate he still has that effect on me.

say you got somebody, i’ll say i got someone too.

i know it’s petty, but i just want him to know that i can have someone too. i walk up to the first boy that i see, making small talk and his eyes almost pop out of his head when he realizes who i am. i can feel matt’s stare from across the room. i have zero interest in this guy i’m talking to, i just want to piss matt off. i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing. i tell all of my friends that i hate him, but i go fucking crazy when i see him or hear anything about him.

part of me wants to yell at him and curse him out, and the other half wants to take him back to my hotel. your phone is tucked into the neckline of your dress, feeling it vibrate. you smile at the stranger and pull your phone out, matt’s name on your lockscreen. you look over and see him staring at you. it definitely worked, this man is furious.

ten minutes later, you wait in the gender neutral bathroom. you apply more lipgloss in the mirror when matt walks in, quickly locking the door behind him.

“you hate parties,” you mutter as you layer on more mauve lipgloss, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

he shrugs, “yeah, but i don’t hate you.”

you roll your eyes, “well, i hate you.”

he laughs dryly, “yeah? how come you’re here then? in this bathroom with me, with the door locked?” he says, walking up behind you. you can feel his bulge against your ass.

you sigh and turn around, less than an inch of distance between you. “i hate you.”

he nods, “for sure.” he brings his thumb to your glossed lips, smirking. “so pretty.”

before you could even think twice, you’re sitting on the sink, wrapping your legs around matt’s waist, making out. maybe if you were sober you wouldn’t be in this situation, but if you were sober you probably would have wanted it more.

“hate you so much,” you mumble in between sloppy kisses.

“i know,” he mutters. he taps your thighs, signaling for you to spread them more. and of course, you do. he reaches his hand under your dress, pulling your panties to the side. he does all of this without breaking your kiss, too. and to no one’s surprise, you’re soaked.

he looks up at you, “you hate me so much but you’re soaking wet? doesn’t make sense.” he says.

“stop talking,” you whine.

he plunges two fingers into your cunt, and your hand immediately flies to your mouth. while it isn’t out of the ordinary to have sex in a bathroom at a club, you don’t want people to know it’s you.

he uses his other hand and pulls your hand away from your mouth. “let ‘em hear you.”

he continues fingering you until he feels your walls clench down on his fingers, and he pulls them out.

“matt!” you whine.

he nods, “i know, baby.” matt loves to edge you, and it pisses you off.

you roll your eyes and push him away, hopping off the sink. “no, i really do hate you.”

matt rolls his eyes, “oh, here we go again with that bullshit.”

you’re about to unlock the door and walk out of it before matt stops you. he swats your hand away from the door knob and walks closer to you until you’re up against the door.

“off,” he says, tugging at the fabric of your dress. and even though you said you hated him 5 seconds ago, you obey him.

he helps you wiggle out of your dress, you step out of it and slide it across the bathroom.

matt takes his belt off and unbuttons his jeans, you slide his boxers down to his ankles along with his jeans.

you’re still against the door when matt says, “jump.” you quickly obey, wrapping your legs around his hips. he uses the door to help not drop you, and you’re sure your back will hurt and have some bruises after this.

his dick is firmly pressing against your clit, and matt uses one arm to support you and the other to slide his dick inside your entrance. you hadn’t had his cock in a couple months, and it’s like it’s the first time again.

“oh fuck,” he groans. “still so tight. none of the other guys can stretch you like i do, huh?” he whispers into your ear.

“shut up and fuck me already, matt.” you reply bitterly.

“if you say so,” he whispers before bucking his hips into you so hard you think you might have a bruise.

“oh!” you gasp.

matt maintains eye contact with you, “you miss this dick?”

you nod as he continues to fuck into you, the door rattling against you.

“i don’t believe that, use your words, y/n.” he teases.

“i missed— oh fuck, missed your dick,” you whimper.

he pushed you harder against the door behind you so he could use his other hand to rub circles on your clit.

“well, i missed this pussy too. know it missed me back.”

your hole fluttered at his words which made him let out a soft groan. you felt his dick everywhere, in your soul.

he moved his hand away from your clit, leaving you trembling.

“m’back hurts,” you whined as he slid his dick in and out of you.

matt looked at you with sympathy, “i know baby… but we’re in a bathroom cause you’re jus’ so needy, so there’s not much room for me to fuck you like i want.”

this was true.

he rammed into you harder and faster, causing you to let out an almost pornographic shriek.

matt dryly laughed, “sound so pretty. such a pretty voice.”

you knew how much matt loved your career. the most famous pop girl at the moment wrapped around his finger. he loved watching your shows and seeing how all your female fans would bring their boyfriends to a concert and he’d watch their intense stares as you pranced around on stage in nothing but a tiny dress and heels. everyone wanted to fuck you or be you, and he loved that you were his in every way. but after the breakup, he’s gotten angry so of course he has to make up for lost time with a very intense fuck.

he slammed into you and pulled out just as quick, repeating this until he can feel your walls tightening against his lengthy cock.

“c’mon, baby. know your close, give it to me.” he whispered in your ear.

“oh god,” you moaned.

matt stopped fucking you, “s’not my name, baby.”

you whined, “fuck me, matt.” you said, putting emphasis on his name.

he smiled and started pounding into you again. “good job, baby. love when you use that pretty lil voice of yours.”

your nails scratched artwork onto his back, maybe breaking skin but matt didn’t mind at all.

“you gonna cum?” he taunted.

you nodded, “matt!”

“cum for me baby,” he demanded.

“oh god! oh, oh matt!” you said it correctly this time as your orgasm ripped through you. the first genuinely good one in two weeks.

matt didn’t slow down, he stayed fucking you through your orgasm.

“can’t!” you yelled.

matt shook his head, “you can. jus’ gimme one more. one more.”

you shut your eyes tightly gripping onto his back as tight as you can. you start squirming as your next orgasm approaches.

“m’cumming! oh! matt, i’m cumming!”

he nods, “i know baby.”

after you come down from your orgasm high, matt helps you adjust yourself so you look presentable to go back out into your party.

you reapply your lip gloss and run your fingers through your hair, combing them out. you fix your dress while matt hands you your panties.

“well, it was nice seeing you.” you say sweetly, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“very nice.” he says with a smirk on his face. he adjusts his hair too before unlocking the door and holding it open for you. you’re greeted by a long line of upset faces waiting to use the bathroom.

you and matt make side eye each other as you walk away from the crowd, giggling.

you and matt both know you were never not each others.

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #smut #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #imgonnagetyouback #taylor swift

706 notes · View notes

celestie0 · 1 month ago

Text

hi my friends! hope you're all doing well. just wanted to come on here and share a little updates w you guys (if you're still here lol)

i guess it's been like a month n a half since i formally went on hiatus, and it's been nice! i got kinda sick for a little bit lmfaooo which was tough to manage w school, but i'm better now

although i took time away from my blog, i still delved in writing here n there. i haven't written anything for kickoff since tbh i'm in such a slump w it. but i still have big plans for stuff that happens after ch13, so hopefully i can just push through this next chapter and get to a better place. thanks so much to anyone that is still interested in the story, it means a lot to me. i know i'm so slow w updates and the story has been going on for almost a year now, but the continued support is so sweet! even though i didn't work on writing it these past one n a half months, i still really love it and plan to finish it.

i'm not sure if many people remember that i had this sort of "apocalypse" gojo x reader au about an asteroid being set to hit the earth in three days, and reader n gojo are ex lovers n the impending end of the world makes them break no-contact...yeah i finished writing the first chapter for it and i really love it so far! it's like set in new york which is really fun haha i love stories where new york is kind of its own "character" if that makes sense...it will definitely be a limited series w only 4 chapters or so, but i kinda wanna finish all 4 chapters before i start posting it bc i don't want it to be a drawn out series in terms of posting since i think it'd be best enjoyed in frequent succession if that makes sense

as for ihm, i think i wrote the most for ihm during my hiatus. i finished three chapters for it, but they are shorter chapters (around 3-4k words). i kinda realized one of my biggest reasons for burnout w my fics were the reaaaaallly long chapters...like didn't i have a 22k chapter for kickoff or sumn lol. idk i can't remember. but anyways, yeah the mindset behind the longer chapters was bc i liked each chapter to kinda have its own conflict, build up, tension then resolution in a sense. but it was exhausting to write that way tbh lol. so i think moving forward, for ihm, i will have shorter chapters. i just don't wanna think to much about things anymore, and write from my heart, bc i have a lot of things planned for ihm, and among the criticism i've received for my writing choices vs my own vision for the story, i've realized during my hiatus that the only way i can finish ihm, or any of my storeis for that matter, is if i just.........stop giving a fuck about it. lol idk if that sounds strange to say, but like, i don't want to over-edit anything. i don't want to think too much about redundancy. i don't want to flower things up or cut stuff out. i'm at the point where imma just write a first draft, check for grammarly errors, and then post it. i guess the reason i'm sharing this is because idk if this means that people may enjoy my writing less since i will admittedly be spending much less time on it than i did before, but tbh i realized i find the most joy while i'm writing, and not while i'm editing. so i want to spend as little time on the latter as possible, and if that changes the quality of my work, then so be it.

anyways, hmm as for hiatus. i guess i'm off hiatus now? i really enjoyed being off of tumblr tbh this app has a lot of questionable content at times (esp in jjk community) and it also did wonders for my studying bc i wasn't spending time doomscrolling or shit posting anymore lmfaooo. but as for writing in particular, i think i will start to post ihm again exclusively. i can't say anything about kickoff or my other projects, but i feel comfortable to start posting ihm again.

sorry, i know that i have kept my replies and ask box off for a long time. but i will open them again once i start posting chapters because i really miss interacting with you guys.

anywho, these are my updates lol i'm like not sure how many of my readers are still here or which ones have moved on but that's ok, i'm grateful to anyone n everyone. hope to see you all soon again!

167 notes · View notes

imperialtopaz · 23 days ago

Text

pick a pile - who has a crush on you right now? (quick reading + blunt)

pile 1 - 🌕 pile 2 - 🌙 pile 3 - 🌑 pile 4 - 🌓 pile 5 - 🌒 pile 6 - 🌔

pile 1 🌕 (page of cups reversed) ∙ someone younger than you ∙ emotionally immature, i'm hearing "bratty" ∙ it could be your brother's friend or sister's friend ∙ water sign, heavy on cancer and pisces ∙ uses humor as coping mechanism (i.e trauma dumps as a joke) pile 2 🌙 (8 of cups) ∙ a friend of yours ∙ either living abroad, moved out of town or you're no longer in contact with them. there's an element of distance in this connection ∙ recently got out of a toxic relationship or recovering from an addiction (alcohol addiction for some of you) ∙ extroverted or constantly put in the spotlight, liked by many ∙ someone who genuinely cares about others ∙ might be into volunteering & social activism, fights for a cause. stubborn about their beliefs ∙ aquarius in their chart pile 3 🌑 (high priestess) ∙ a secret admirer, someone you haven't talked to or someone you don't know very well ∙ their personality irl is very different from what they potray in social media ∙ if you know them irl, they will pretend they're not interested ∙ very chill, shy and withdrawn. doesn't like to stand out or being perceived by others ∙ always on hiatus or busy with something, you won't see them posts on social medias that often. this or they have a tendency to ghost other people when they're busy pile 4 🌓 (blank card) ∙ no one has a crush on you at the moment but i do have other messages so be patient ∙ you've already done some amazing work in healing yourself from past disappointments or grief ∙ angelic presence around you ∙ right now, archangel chamuel is working with you (he can help you with manifesting love, heal from past relationships so you can see yourself capable and deserving of loving connections) ∙ attracting the love you deserve pile 5 🌒 (justice) ∙ coworker vibes because i'm not getting any warmth coming from this reading ∙ personality wise, they're cold, rational and emotionally detached. doesn't let their feelings get to them ∙ might keep tabs on what you do (whatever that means) ∙ they like you because you challenge them, your wit and you push them to do better ∙ you stimulate them mentally, a lot of back and forth banter ∙ heavy air sign, most likely to have libra in their chart pile 6 🌔 (blank card) ∙ no one has a crush on you at the moment ∙ i don't think you actually want to date or relationships (you like your freedom and don't like to be tied down) ∙ the universe is protecting other people from you..? ∙ but other than love, you're lucky in every other areas of your life ∙ things come easy for you because you have a "lucky" mindset ∙ you thrive better being alone than being in partnerships

#tarot #pick a card #pick a pile

186 notes · View notes

formulawolff · 4 months ago

Text

i. girls like u - t.w.

pairing: reserve female!driver x toto wolff

word count: 2.1k

warnings: morally gray individuals, slow burn, sexual content (intercourse), allusions to sexual content, cursing, marijuana use, references to alcohol use, lots of power imbalance, questionable boss x employee dynamics, light toxicity

a/n: ok this is my semi-return to tumblr after a writing hiatus. this fic is loosely based off of you by the 1975 and several blackbear songs. sorry if this shit is ass. i promise there is more world-building to come in the next chapters (it's been a while since i've wrote somethin' longer than 500 words) lemme know if y'all like it! i missed y'all! <3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆:

“aren’t you tired?”

fingertips brush along your back, light and gentle. stirring, you blink, stifling a yawn and you nuzzle into the warmth.

it’s inviting, your lids drooping the moment the tip of your nose brushes along heated skin. a plush comforter shrouds your body, limbs entwined. watery rays of light peek in through drawn blinds, promising of dawn.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆:

“you wore me out. of course i’m tired.”

there’s a rumble in his chest, adam’s apple bobbing as he chuckles, “no, that’s not what i meant.”

“then what did you mean?” bringing your chin upward, your gaze locks with his.

he flinches slightly at the harshness of your inquiry, a crimson hue tinging his cheeks, “i-i don’t really know. i-i guess i meant to ask if you were tired of watching everyone compete from the paddock. don’t you want to race as well?”

don’t you want to race as well?

of course i do. every single fucking grand prix i pray that i’ll finally get a chance to be behind the wheel.

to prove to everyone that i’m just as worthy of a competitor as lewis or george. that i am capable of finishing a race.

i pray that i finally get a chance to prove that i’m a champion.

inhaling sharply, your head falls, avoiding any sort of eye contact, “i mean, yeah. of course i want to race. i want to compete just as much as you do, max.”

“i’m sorry if–”

“it’s fine,” you murmur, finding your body clinging to him, head nestling into his chest underneath the covers, “can we just go back to sleep or–”

he exhales, lips connecting with your temple. they trail along your brow bone, placing gentle kisses all the way down to your cheeks, “you know we can’t. it’s qualifying today.”

“right.” your jaw clenches, “there’s nothing more important than qualifying.”

“hey,” fingers grasp your chin, “are you okay?”

“yup,” you nod, “i’m great.”

concern lingers, swimming in his icy blue depths. his tongue darts out, swiping along his lower lip, “you and i both know that’s a lie.”

shrugging, your lips pucker, “maybe i’m just not looking forward to watching everyone chase their dreams while i’m forced to sit on the sidelines.”

in that moment, you sense his demeanor shift. max softens, his muscles relaxing as a hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone, “you know, we could change that.”

your heart thuds, pounding as blood roars in your ears, “how?”

he leans in, his mouth nearly millimeters from yours, “i could pull some strings.”

“and how would you accomplish that?”

max’s voice is low as he continues, his tone laced with a dominance that you rarely heard beyond radios, interviews, or press conferences. it was quite the contrast than the max you were used to. it had you absolutely reeling, scrambling to maintain your composure as a shiver ran down your spine.

“i could speak with christian, put in a good word for you. there’s a lot of change that’s going to come within these next few months. checo hasn’t resigned quite yet. the contract isn’t finalized there’s still time to get you in at red bull.”

“y-you would do that for me?”

the dutch driver nods, a little too fervently.

“i would do anything for you.”

there was a sincerity in his words, almost as if it was a promise. a sure one, at that. a promise brimmed with a passion that you could only describe as one emotion.

love.

you had him right where you wanted him.

max verstappen, three-time world champion of formula one, was right at your fingertips. the dutch assassin was poised and eager, ready to fire as soon as he was given the word.

all you had to do was say yes.

that’s all you had to do. utter those nine words.

i want to be with you at red bull. i want to be in that second seat.

yet, there was one thing holding you back.

well, more so a culmination of things.

one, there was that ever-present gnawing, nagging feeling. the guilt was slowly eating you alive, threatening to spill your precious secret at any given moment. two, there was that fear of the unknown. what would happen if you managed to pull this off? would you truly be happy at red bull or were you just trying to worm your way to the top? would that shiny trophy really be worth it if you weren’t fulfilled?

and well most importantly, the third aspect of it all. would you be able to keep up the facade that you were just friends with max verstappen? it was only a matter of time before your relationship with the dutch driver would come from the shadows and into the light.

it was so much easier to keep things under wraps when no one paid attention to you.

“max,” you begin, “maybe we should–”

the shrill ring of his phone pierces through the air. leaning over, he plucks the device off the nightstand, grimacing as his eyes scan the contact.

“it’s christian.”

“what time is it?” you press, “surely it’s not that la–”

“baby, it’s well past eight.”

“shit.” you shoot up, peeling the comforter off, “why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

max follows in suit, shoving a leg through his pants, “cause we were in the middle of an important conversation. i wasn’t going to just interrupt you to tell you i had to leave. that wouldn’t have been fair to you!”

“right,” you scoff, throwing on a hoodie, “you don’t have to act like i’m more important than racing. you live, breathe, eat, and sleep formula one. and i understand tha–”

lips collide with yours, the kiss nearly sucking the breath out of your lungs. it’s fiery, blazing with hunger as your knees buckle. max pulls away, panting ever so slightly.

“don’t you ever fucking say that. you hear me?”

“yes.”

shaking his head, he makes his way across the room, smoothing out a wrinkle in his jersey before slipping on a shoe, “you mean the world to me. we can talk more about this later, but i really have to go. christian is blowing up my phone asking where i am. fuck. i really hope that no one sees me. do you have a hoodie or something i can borrow?”

crossing over to your makeshift closet, you file through the hangers, pulling a garment off. tossing the sweatshirt to max, you can’t help but giggle at his haphazard state.

his blonde locks are all over, clearly ruffled from a long night. his clothes are wrinkly, bunched up from being thrown to the floor. the only saving grace is his red bull cap, along with the hoodie you just provided.

however, the moment he sees the embroidered logo, he rolls his eyes.

“really?”

“just make sure you take it off before you see christian. and put on some deodorant when you get the chance. you stink,” wrinkling your nose, you blow the dutch driver a kiss as he waves you off.

yet, he catches the airborne smooch, returning the gesture, “i’ll text you later baby. i lo– i have to really go now. have a good day, all right?”

“i’ll try my best,” you reply, buttoning a pair of jeans, “you know i won’t be doing much.”

“goodbye love!” his voice carries down the hall as he exits your motorhome, the sound of the door echoing throughout the space.

well, so much for making progress.

there’s a buzz in your pocket, stealing your focus for just a second.

fishing your phone out, your brow furrows. no one really contacted you in the mornings. well, unless it was an emergency or an urgent matter.

it was a text message, from a sender you were well acquainted with.

it was none other than sir lewis hamilton. eight-time world champion. one of the greatest athletes of all time.

who just happened to be your fellow teammate. well, fellow teammate and best friend.

who knew that formula one contracts came with a package deal like that?

where art thou, sweet girl? i fear that our team principal is going absolutely mad because you are running very behind. pls hurry before he starts going in on me for being on my phone during a team briefing.

your thumbs glide across the screen, crafting a careful response.

sorryyyyyy. running late per usual. perks of being in the reserve, right? i’ll be there in like five minutes.

the reply was instant, phone vibrating once more.

hurry up. toto is pissed.

gritting your teeth, you shove your phone back into your pocket. luckily, you had packed your go-bag for race weekends the night before. well, before you got preoccupied with max. slipping on a heavier coat, you push through your bedroom door, making your way down the hall.

exiting your motorhome, you spin on your heel, throwing up the hood as you navigate through the endless maze of the paddock.

you would think after six months you would know your way around by now.

members of the crew and hospitality chirp greetings and good mornings, earning a mumble here and there in response. graciously, you accept a wellness shot from one of the hosting staff, in hopes that it would perk you up just a tad.

eventually, you nudge open the door of the briefing room, keeping your head ducked as you settle into your designated seat, lewis spotting you. from across the space, he shoots you a thumbs up, paired with a precious grin, dimples and all.

the second you slide on your headphones, a voice floods your ears.

it’s brassy and gruff, thick with annoyance, brimmed with that accent you were all too familiar with.

“good morning, hase. i’m so glad that you could take the time out of your busy schedule and join us this morning.”

it was none other than toto wolff, team principal of mercedes amg petronas.

your boss.

looking up, you notice him to your far right, perched in his seat. his gaze is lasered in on you, almost piercing. with his brows furrowed and lips wound tightly shut, you couldn’t quite distinguish the emotion plastered across his features.

was it anger? disappointment? sheer and utter regret?

“good morning, toto,” you grumble, heat flooding your cheeks as snickers bubble up from all around.

“as i was saying,” toto clears his throat, “i think that we need a new approach for the remainder of the weekend. clearly george isn’t feeling up to par, so we need to explore our options.”

“i could drive,” george russell, your other teammate coughs, “i want to ra–”

“i don’t think pushing you to your limit is an intelligent idea,” toto cuts in. the words are firm, the team principal continuing, “let’s face it, with ferrari and mclaren in the mix this season, we are desperate for points. we need to make a strong move this weekend or else we are going to fall behind. even more so than we already are.”

the voices trail off as your mind wanders, your focus dissipating by the second. typically, you never paid too much attention to the briefings anyway. after all, they did not pertain to you. they usually were directed at the engineers, strategists, george, and lewis.

not like you needed to really pay attention too closely. you were just kind of there. a body in the room.

the backup plan.

fuck, did that absolutely torture you. so much potential wasted. all of your blood, sweat, and tears poured into nearly two decades of racing just to end up fiddling with a loose thread of your hoodie as a room full of men bickered about who would fill a fucking seat.

some fall from grace this was. the 2023 formula two champion reduced to a reserve driver simply because no other team would take her.

after all, you couldn’t really complain too much. this was the life you chose. you were the one who ultimately made the choice to sign to mercedes for a two-year contract.

after all, it was your dream to drive for mercedes.

“here’s what we should do,” toto’s voice seeps into your headphones once more, snapping you out of your dazed state, “we should utilize our reserve driver. what is the point of having a reserve driver and not utilizing her?”

“toto,” bono’s voice chimes in, “i’m not sure if–”

“bono,” the fierceness in lewis’ tone takes you aback, “this is what’s best for the team. as a whole. we cannot give it our all if we don't have healthy drivers.”

“george,” toto turns to the british driver, “what do you think? do you have any input?”

“i don’t disagree,” george shrugs, the words hoarse, “i want to be healthy for saudi arabia.”

“then it’s settled,” the team principal shifts towards you, his lips curling into a smug smirk as his arms fold across his chest.

“i think that it’s time for our little hase here to really show us what she is capable of.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆:

taglist: @sweetjellyfishland @ts1m1kas @bxuzi @racecardilfs

lemme know if you would like to be tagged for future chapters! <3

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #toto wolff x y/n #formula one fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #mercedes amg petronas #lewis hamilton #oracle red bull racing #toto wolff fanfiction

338 notes · View notes