wettvagina🧚🍀꩜ @wettvagina - Tumblr Blog

UNIVERSITYAU! bf NETEYAM who can see himself marrying YOU

notes: agedup!humanau!neteyamxfem!reader, you met your boyfriend during your first semester at university, it's still the first semester and he's moving a bit too fast, you go to his to apartment to talk about it but ultimately get distracted and you really see how badly he wants you warnings: p in v, bj, swallowing, breeding k!nk, mentions of pregnancy, neteyam lowk has attachment issues, this is basically p0rn w/ no plot, kind of funny ending(?) wc: 2.7k

The dull coloured room of the university library was filled with sounds of keyboard clicks, flip of pages and the ever so often hushed grunt of frustration, it all meshed into a familiar cozy environment that allowed you to take on the task of your semester's coursework.

You sat at a table nestled in the far corner, the hum of the air conditioning assisting in fostering the natural atmosphere of the library and with each silent huff of frigid air you pulled your knitted cardigan tighter before letting your hand venture back to the comfort of gripping your cushion sleeved mechanical pencil, the dark point whittling away with each sentence you wrote.

You were in the zone, mind free of any creative hindrance as you formulated paragraph after paragraph, nothing could stop your onslaught of written words. Except...

BUZZ!

vaniellea

𓂃 ⭒ you teach Neteyam how to properly record himself jerking off

You don’t mean to show him.

You really, genuinely don’t.

Neteyam is busy trying to understand your phone again, big fingers clumsy on the small screen, face pulled together in concentration like he’s defusing a bomb instead of scrolling.

“Slow down,” you laugh, reaching for it when he swipes past your gallery for the third time. “You’re gonna open, like, ten apps at once.”

“I am going slow,” he grumbles, ears flicking back in that way they do when he’s frustrated but pretending not to be. “This thing is too small. My hands are not meant for—”

His thumb slides a little too far and the gallery jumps.

Your stomach drops.

A thumbnail of a video flashes by and your heart stutters.

It’s you with your bra yanked up high, tits out and flushed, nipples hard from the way you’d been touching yourself.

Your black lace panties pushed to the side, the fabric twisted uneven against your thigh and doing nothing to hide how wet you were. Two fingers deep inside of you, glinting in the harsh light. mouth caught open like you’d been mid‑breath

The photo fills the screen and you both freeze.

It’s not even that explicit, not really.

Yeah, it’s a little more than you’d ever let anyone here see. You remember agonizing over the angle, over whether your body looked weird, over whether you were crazy for not deleting it.

Neteyam stares like he’s never seen anything like it in his life.

Because he hadn’t.

Heat slams into your face so hard it almost knocks the air from your lungs. The kind of heat that crawls up your neck and burns behind your ears.

“Okay! Nope—give me that.”

Your hands shoot out instinctively and uselessly, because he’s already holding the phone high above your reach, long arm braced against your shoulder like it’s second nature.

Like pinning you in place has never been easier.

“Wait,” he says, voice dropping quieter but not teasing, not even close. “Is that you?”

The words hit like a second wave of heat, this one worse than the first. You want the ground to open under you, drag you under, bury you somewhere far, far away.

“No,” you blurt, too fast. Lying feels easier than the truth does. Than saying yeah, that’s me, naked and dumb and thought it would stay in my camera roll forever. “It’s—um—stock image. For… research.”

He actually laughs, the sound shakes the edge off the mortification for half a second. His eyes flick from the screen back to you, and when he says your name, it’s so gentle it borders on fond.

he murmurs, ears angling forward, curious now instead of startled. “I know what you look like.”

That does not help.

You groan, dragging your hands over your face until the world goes muffled behind your palms. “It’s a nude, okay? Humans take them sometimes. I forgot it was there. Please, can we just… never talk about this again.”

Silence stretches long enough that you risk peeking through your fingers. He’s still staring at the photo, expression unreadable but his throat moves as he swallows, once, hard.

“A nude,” he repeats, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying the word on his tongue. “You take… pictures of yourself like this.” A breath, almost unnoticeable. “And you keep them? For what?”

His cheeks are darker than usual. Barely, but enough. Enough to know he’s not half as composed as he wants you to think.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, too soft. “Sometimes to send. Sometimes to keep. Sometimes to… Give it to me, why do you keep looking at it, you perv.”

Your voice comes out sharper than you mean it to, but you’re mortified and he’s been staring at your phone screen for way too long.

You lunge for it again, fingers brushing his wrist, and he just doesn’t move. Just sits there, tall and stupid and, pupils blown wide as he looks down at the picture like it’s some kind of puzzle he’s trying to solve.

“I am not a perv,” he says, but it’s distracted, automatic. His thumb hovers near the screen without touching it, jaw tight. “I am just… confused.”

“You’re confused?” you echo, incredulous. “You’re the one holding my nudes hostage.”

That gets his attention. His eyes snap up to yours, ears twitching, and for a second you see it—something almost guilty in his expression, like he’s only just realized what he’s doing. He clears his throat and finally lowers the phone, but doesn’t give it back.

“You took this yourself?” he asks. “No one else was there?”

You blink. “What—no? Of course not. I set it up and did it myself. Why are you asking like I hired a professional crew?”

He frowns, glancing between you and the picture again, like he’s comparing, confirming. “Because it looks… good,” he says slowly. “Like it was made to be seen.”

You make a strangled noise. “Okay, wow, we’re done complimenting my accidental thirst trap now, thanks—phone, please.”

He still doesn’t move. Instead, he shifts his weight, tail flicking with a restless little snap. That’s when you realize it: he’s not teasing you anymore. He’s nervous.

“Show me,” he says suddenly.

You freeze. “Show you what?”

“How you did it,” he says, licking his lips, gaze darting briefly away before he drags it back to your face. “This. The picture. Or—a video. You said humans keep them, send them.” His voice dips, rougher. “I want one.”

Your brain short circuits.

“You—you want a nude?” you manage, because apparently your mouth is operating on autopilot now.

His brows pull together. “Not a nude like yours,” he says quickly, then winces at his own wording. “I mean—of me. A video. Like this.” He gestures vaguely with your phone, ears lowering in something that looks a lot like embarrassment. “I do not know how to make it look right. But you do.”

He looks at you like the admission costs him something, like handing you his pride and hoping you don’t drop it.

“You want me to help you take—” You cut yourself off, scrub a hand over your face. “This is insane.”

“Is it?” he asks quietly. “Why are you acting like I’m still a kid.. ” His tail flicks again, more agitated now. “If I send something that looks wrong, you will laugh at me.”

Your heart stutters. “I would not laugh at you.”

“I want it to be… good. For when I send it.”

You hate how your stomach swoops at that. “Send it to who?” you ask, before you can stop yourself.

His gaze holds yours, steady now, all that nervous energy condensed into a single, heavy look. “Does it matter?” he asks, and your throat goes dry.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. You should say no. You should tell him to figure it out himself, to use a mirror like a normal person, to stop looking at you like that.

Instead, what comes out is: “You realize this is going to be incredibly awkward, right?”

A small, almost relieved breath leaves him. “It is already awkward,” he says. “But I trust you more than anyone else to tell me if I look… ridiculous.”

You swallow hard.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But there are rules.”

“Rules,” he repeats, cautious but willing.

“Yeah. Just … don’t tell anyone about this.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, tension easing just a fraction. “Agreed,” he says. Then, softer: “Thank you.”

He finally hands your phone back, but only so he can watch you unlock it and pull up the camera. His eyes track every movement, shoulders squared like he’s preparing for battle instead of whatever the hell this is.

“Okay,” you say, scooting closer, your chest tight and your fingers already starting to shake. “We’re going to need better lighting, and you’re going to have to listen to me when I tell you what to do.”

He nods once, serious. “Tell me anything,” he says. “I will do it.”

Which is exactly the problem.

You try not to think about what comes after—

After you gave him the phone, Neteyam held the phone up again, arm extended, screen showing the camera view. You leaned over a little, pointing without touching.

“Okay, hold it higher so it gets your face and chest. Tilt down a bit. Yeah, there.”

He adjusted. You took a breath.

“To make it sexy for the person, you have to rub the outside of your… thing.”

He didn’t say much, he just let his free hand drop slow, like he was testing your reaction first, his palm settling against the front of his loincloth.

“ like this?”

right over the thick bulge already pushing against the fabric. He pressed in and stayed there a moment before dragging upward, slow, the heel of his hand grinding along the full length. A low hiss slipped out between his teeth as his hips tilted forward a little, chasing the pressure.

When he went down again—slower this time—his fingers spread so the cloth stretched tight over the head. The shape showed very clear now, the ridge, the twitch under his touch. His breathing turned rough fast, chest rising sharp, falling heavy, ears flicking once before pinning halfway back.

He rubbed again, slower, in a circle now, thumb pressing at the tip through the thin material, in small strokes.

The fabric darkened, a damp spot spreading, and his tail snapped once against the moss.

Another drag up followed, as his grip tightened this time, his knuckles whitening as a quiet grunt slipped loose.

After a few more longer, hungrier rubs, he pulled his cock out.

Two fingers hooked under the edge of the loincloth and tugged it down sharp.

The cloth slid past his hips and his cock sprang free. Hes thick and flushed dark at the base, veins standing along the shaft. The head was already slick, a thin string of precome stretching, then breaking as it bobbed.

He wrapped his hand around the base right away, slow stroke from root to tip. His thumb brushed over the slit, spreading the slick, eyes fixed on you the whole time.

“Pull the screen higher,” you said. “Get your face in frame too.”

He lifted his arm more and started stroking again with long slow pulls from base to his tip.

Surprisingly his eyes never left your body. Not once.

He kept touching himself like he wasn’t sure what would happen if he stopped. Every stroke dragged a small sound out of him that’s barely there, just air catching in his throat.

He kept his eyes on you, never once breaking, even when his hand tightened, even when his hips started to move with it like he couldn’t help it anymore.

The sound through the screen was quiet, just his breath and the slick pull of skin.

You could see how hard he was trying to keep a rhythm, to show you, like it mattered that you were watching. His jaw flexed on every exhale, his chest rising faster, shoulders rolling with the drag of his arm. He looked ruined in the best way

“Fix the camera ” you said, and his head lifted a little, eyes blowing wide. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but couldn’t hold it. He swallowed hard and kept going, slower still, eyes locked on yours until the sound of his moans filled the quiet again.

he adjusts the camera again, a little clumsy this time. your voice comes through soft—“yeah, like that. lower.”

he exhales through his nose.

you tap the edge of the screen, leaning in. “stop—there. that’s good.” your fingers graze his for a second while you steady the angle. too light to mean anything, too long not to. he goes still, jaw tight, breath falling short for a moment before he looks at you again.

now and then his head tips back, just a second, like he needs to reset, pull air in through his teeth. when he finds you again, the look on his face says he’s right there, right where you want him.

you bite the inside of your cheek, smile small. “yeah… keep it there,” you say. his hand twitches a little at your tone, and he breathes out something halfway between a laugh and a groan.

He kept going. Faster now. Then he said, low, “Pull your top up.”

You blinked hard, like the words didn’t compute right away.

“What are you talking about?”

He didn’t slow his hand. Just kept the strokes going while he looked straight at you.

“Don’t make it weird.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Heat crawled up your neck fast.

“Well you’re making it weird.”

He let out a short breath. almost a laugh, but rougher.

His thumb circled the head once, smearing the slick.

“I can smell you getting aroused,” he said, low and blunt. “Can we stop pretending that you aren’t having fun?”

Your thighs squeezed together on instinct. Face burning now, ears ringing a little. You could feel how wet you were—had been for a while—and yeah, he could probably smell it from here.

You swallowed. Looked down at your shirt for a second. Then your fingers found the hem anyway. You tugged it up slow so the fabric dragged over your skin.

Warm air hit your stomach first, then higher as the bra came into view, straps thin, cups sheer enough that your nipples already poked through.

He groaned right away. Deep, from his chest. His hand sped up into quick, tight pulls now, fist twisting a little at the top each time. Breathing turned ragged. Eyes locked on your chest like he couldn’t look anywhere else.

You held the shirt bunched under your arms because you didn’t drop it yet, you just let him stare as you look somewhere off to the side because the sight of him is making you think about a lot of lewd things.

“Take off your bra,” he rasped as his voice cracked on the last word.

Your heart slammed, fingers shaky, but you reached back anyways. Fumbled the clasp for a second—nerves, maybe—then it popped open. The straps slid down your shoulders slow and you let the bra fall forward tocatch on your elbows, then dropping completely into the moss.

You’re very bare now. The night air made your nipples tighten harder. You felt exposed.

Neteyam’s head threw back fast, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, a low curse in Na’vi slipping out.

His free hand gripped the base of his cock hard, like he was trying to hold off. Then he dragged his gaze back down. Locked on your tits.

His strokes went frantic. Hips jerked forward into his fist into short, desperate thrusts. Tail lashed once against the ground as his abs flexed tight under the moonlight.

You watched it build. The way his shoulders tensed, the vein in his neck standing out, the quiet grunts he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Then he broke and came hard. Thick ropes shot out—first one hitting your stomach, warm and sudden. Second splashed across your lower belly, dripping slow. Third arced higher, landing on the curve of your breast, sliding down toward your nipple. More followed, messy, hot, streaking your thighs where you were still kneeling close.

He kept pumping through it—slower now, milking the last pulses—until his hand stilled. Chest heaving. Phone tilted sideways in his loose grip, lens pointing down at the moss instead of him.

You stared at the dark screen. Then up at his face—flushed, dazed, still watching you.

“Were you even recording…?”

You reached over quick. Grabbed the phone from his fingers. Thumbed the screen to see no red dot, timer still at zero.

“…you weren’t even recording.”

“ we can do it again… “

“ Neteyam…”

I’m so hungry :(