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satoruhour · 1 year

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HIS FAVOURITE W— STUDENT !

a/n: dilly / @crysugu i am losing the pwp war i needed the lore to be in this HELP. anyway !!! professors bc i cannot stop my mind from spiralling while starting my university classes — im not entirely proud of this but eehhh ….

wc: 4k

warnings: ultimately semi-public sex for all, unprotected sex, cumshot, standing doggy, brief oral (m receiving), brief f! masturbation, brief fingering (gojo), geto is a professor who is also a camboy, camgirl!reader, f! and m! masturbation, mentions of bad dragon’s cumtubes, brief fingering, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink (geto), pussy slapping, spitting (on yo pussy), pet names, clit stimulation, oral / cunnilingus, tit play, fingering, implied f! masturbation (nanami), mentions of murder, stripper!reader, riding, degradation, calls you ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, calls you ‘mama’ once too, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), deep-throating, slight face-fucking (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

professor gojo was… an interesting teaching figure. he didn’t have a set way of doing lectures or tutorials, nor was his feedback on assignments entirely coherent, but he was fun and unorthodox. he was also hot as fuck, as you’ve heard from your friends, but you never really got the deal even after seeing his photo on the university website or from miles away entertaining some starstruck student. his classes were always left with no vacancies, too, only able to see what your friends meant after stepping foot first into the lecture.

you were a tad bit early, greeted with gojo sitting at the front with his legs propped up on the desk as he shot you a nonchalant greeting and you think maybe you should’ve signed up for another lecture group, but then he speaks and the air is knocked out of your chest. professor gojo is charismatic when he teaches about art, design and media, captivating everyone with the stark white hair and blue eyes, but he’s clever with his glances because you aren’t realising he stares at you more than anyone else.

aren’t you in your second year? how did he not see you anywhere last year? why did you just sign up?

the smiles he gives you are sweeter than others, the words more sugar coated with lilts in his voice and you’re chastising yourself for not being any different from everyone else, soon turning into the girls who ask for extra tutoring sessions and sidling up to him on campus — at least you’d get the full experience.

“oh! sweetness, what are you doing here?” you’ve managed to get gojo just as he leaves his office, standing outside for quite some time thinking if you’d really want to do this. several lecturers and professors have already walked past asking if you needed anything, but no matter how much you wanted to say professor gojo’s name, it always turned into something like waiting for a friend.

“oh— uhm, professor gojo, just wondering if the grade for that major project is really set in stone?”

gojo makes a show of thinking, but you know you’re asking for the devil himself when he replies yes with a stifled grin and you’re asking if the two week period of appealing works for the major you’re in.

“you can submit other collaterals as an appeal but it might either boost your grade or bring it down,” the professor leans down with a sick smile on his face, because he’s had so many people outside just like this, nervous from his advances and yet not going through with what they thought they could do. but this time it’s you, the you who he imagined taking on his office desk or even in a lecture theatre for everyone to see, who wants the words to fall from your lips just so he could be your knight in shining armour.

“is there really no… other way to appeal?” you swallow when gojo switches the position and gets you in exactly where he wants you: your back facing his office, his face dangerously close to yours while his eyes slyly catching the way your thighs rub together.

gojo smirks to himself when you knock down yet another cup of stationery on his desk after “discussing” ways you could improve your grades, nails making unsatisfactory noises on the wooden desk while he can hear your cunt gush around him, made obvious from the squelch of your hole and he’s muttering praises into your neck from behind.

“this what you had in mind, baby?” just another girl in his roster, getting ruined just for a grade that wasn’t even that bad. what you didn’t know is that you were the only girl, getting professor gojo so hard in lectures and tutorial classes just from the sight of you that to finally have you — it’s a sweet reward. you shiver when his hand reaches to your front to rub at your clit and you’re grasping at nothing as moans leave your lips.

“y-yeah, professor—” gojo is filthy, lewd, lifting your leg to prop up on the desk just so he could get deeper in you, your pussy everything he imagined and more as he continues to fuck into you. you’re warmer than his hand, than some hookup’s mouth from the club, clenching around his cock so tightly his hips stutter.

“f-fuck, angel, tryna snap my dick off?” you let out an incredulous chuckle at that, hips moving back to meet his while the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass fill the room. your juices are coating his length so well, too, that gojo’s eyes lock on your cunt that sucks him in over and over again, the spread of your pussy lips just amplifying his moans. the other spreads your cheeks and sighs at the translucent ring of cum at the base of his cock, hips fucking up to hit your sweet spot that you’re cumming with a shock down your spine — so hard, so deep, so intense that you’re jolting from the orgasm with whimpers of his name. gojo never truly is done with you after pulling out to cum on your ass, however, and you aren’t either.

there’s a thrill that runs through his veins when you back him up onto the sofa, a glimmer in your eyes that suggest you’re as intoxicated on him as he is on you, a sultry gaze taking over your shyness from earlier before he’s pushed onto the cushions.

“thank you for the meal, professor,” you giggle and gojo swears he’s reached his death when your mouth first closes around his still sensitive tip and he whines loudly, hearing your fingers fill your drooling cunt as your hand squeezes out leftover cum from before. a hand runs through your hair and your cockdrunk face is enough for him to see white—

professor gojo thinks you look heavenly between his legs.

✶ GETO

you sigh echoes throughout your dorm room, ending the stream and collecting your keep for the day as you grimace at the mess you’ve made on your sheets. it’s not like it wasn’t pleasurable, but on some days you’re wondering how long you truly need to serve gross men on the internet for it to be enough to pay off your university fees. sure, there were a few attractive people who commented and tipped you, but that was the extent of it. it’s not long before you can only think about cleaning up and taking a big fat nap, but a video in the sidebar catches your attention.

it seemed like a casual stream — no script or planned storyline apart from a heavily tattooed arm taking up half the screen, his pelvis just slightly off the thumbnail. he was faceless, too, filming rather from the chest down which was also inked, something that sends a chill to your core.

it’s only later when you’re slipping your dildo back into you as you watch this stranger pump his cock, guttural groans and slick noises filling your airpods that you realise the dragon wrapping around his arm looks awfully familiar. you’re so blissed out by pleasure, focusing on the needy moans that the man lets out before he cums with a grunt, so much cum leaking out from him. you’ve reached your high too, but you have no time to admire the stranger because it seemed like he was in a hurry, but not before you’ve caught a glimpse of his lip ring.

you know why he looked so familiar, now, standing in front of him in his office while his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, something he doesn’t do often. geto suguru doesn’t wear his lip ring in lecturers either, and now you think you know why because they match the video you’ve seen just last night. you aren’t even entirely sure why you were called in, and you think maybe it’s because you “accidentally” sent a friend request, but you’re taken aback when he asks you if you’ve already selected a tutor to be your mentor throughout your major project.

“surprised? i sent out the email a week ago, love.” you try not to let the name get to you, and the confession lingers at the tip of your tongue.

“y-yeah! i saw it, professor geto, just—”

everyone was no stranger to professor geto’s striking looks, always turning heads with his unconventional gauges and long hair that probably should’ve landed him in a modelling agency in the first place. except, he’s opting instead to teach linguistics, a fitting major for him to talk of the history of language and its formation of it, even slipping in some latin and greek to show its origins but you can hardly listen when all you can focus on is the tight pull of his shirt around his body while his hair falls around his face and you think maybe it was a bad time to think if his hair falls out of his bun while he rails someone. you hope soon it’ll be you, just so you can confirm it for yourself with no other reason involved (you’re a fucking liar).

geto clears his throat and you swallow and the flex of his forearms only distract you further, the dragon on his arm seemingly laughing at your torment as it moves along his skin — the other doesn’t miss your dilemma, staring at you for your answer with a dark stare and enjoying the effect he had on you. your brain doesn’t respond fast enough, though, and you’re blurting out the first thing as you watch the curve of his mouth turn in either distaste or satisfaction; you weren’t sure.

“i saw you stream yesterday—” and you slap a hand over your mouth, wanting to run immediately, but you didn’t expect him to smile after a moment of recognition, making the connections to your account until his mouth falls open just a little.

“you’re the little cutie who sent me a request last night, aren’t ya?”

as he asks the question you hoped he wouldn’t ask, you find there’s nothing on your mind except maybe seeing his tattooed arms wrap around you — and you did. they looked so much better up close, leading from one thing to another in that stuffy office soon they’re looking especially good with how he’s currently dragging the tip of his cock along your folds, collecting your slick as you hold onto his biceps after confessing sin after sin about you from—

“i’ve jerked off to your videos.” a burn on your cheeks when geto sets you on his office table, palms leaving hot trails along your thighs and skin. he lets you play with his bulge, hands probably forming bruises on you from how you relieve the tension in his pants.

“the way your cunt wraps around that dildo — makes me wish i was there fuckin’ your pussy instead.” a gasp and a moan when he preps you with both fingers as he sucks hickeys into your neck and plays with your tits, pinching your nipple that has you clenching around him.

“didn’t miss how you like to be bred in your videos too. think maybe you need some real cum, princess,” geto’s button up shirt is pried open by now, trousers just barely pulled down below his hips because he has a lecture in about half n’ hour. though, he wanted your pussy all to himself and if 27 minutes was all he was granted, he was going to make full use of it. geto groans into your hair when your legs wrap around his middle and he’s reeling at how he’s been watching your videos for the longest time and yet, nothing compares to having you fall apart by his hands.

a quick glance to his watch tells him fifteen minutes, eyes flitting back to the squelch of your cunt around him and he smiles smugly at the whimpers he knows so well. he’s sure it’s imprinted on his brain by now but his dick still jumps at the many variations you’ve let out during the 27; he’d commit every single one to memory. “professor— s-shit!”

geto angles his hips up, the curve of his cock hitting that spot just right that your back arches and you let out a drawn out moan, “yes, baby?”

“w-wan’ your cum in me, suguru,” you’re pleading with a drunk little smile and your face is twisted into such pleasure he’s only seen through pixels that geto cums almost immediately with a pained laugh seeing the real thing, hips stilling as he fills you up, up, up to the brim with hot, white semen that geto feels embarrassed to climaxing so quickly. but what can he do? when his favourite camgirl and student asks to be bred, it’s only natural.

how could he possibly say no?

✶ NANAMI

“does that mean the poem is written from the cross’ perspective?” your hand shoots up in hopes of interpreting the text correctly, but also because, just maybe, that you wanted to impress a little someone at the front of the lecture theatre. beside you, you can hear the gasp of your friend along with the eyes of various other students. “sort of like— personification?”

nanami points to you with his glasses that he’s long removed, a small smile on his face. it’s not like you’re trying too hard, but of course you know your shit fairly well. you always have in every class, it was just a bonus you were so attractive that all nanami could think about was spreading your legs right on this desk. “yes, almost. anthropomorphism, something that was very common in poems or works written in old english.”

you were sceptical about professor nanami at first, especially since he was a lecturer who was transferred here from overseas only three months ago and is technically quarter of a white man, but he held command of the japanese language well enough for you to understand, both in speech and concepts. you were more interested in the lecturer himself though, piqued from the moment he explained his grandfather was danish and you turn to your friend, explains the blonde hair, doesn’t explain how he’s so insanely fine, giggling quietly to each other the first day.

as for your major, it was texts after story after poem, but you enjoyed it alongside giving your own input in class — something you knew would help your participation grades. you’ve raised your hand in more ways than one, always coming up at the end of lectures with a question, stopping him in hallways to show him the book you were currently reading. so that’s why you were confused when you were called to the front of the lecture theatre after everything’s over. it couldn’t be bad, right?

it wasn’t bad, it was much better, especially when nanami’s got your legs on either side of him on the lecture theatre desk while he takes his rightful place between your legs — somewhere he’s always longed to be. both the front and back doors are locked, with only your soft, muffled moans filling the room. but nanami has no shame, slurping up the juices that drip from your pussy loudly, possibly staining the desk below him. he’s cared before about the condensation of his drinks but when it comes to your sweet, sweet cunt? he doesn’t give one fuck.

“taste so good, sweetheart,” nanami moans wrapping a forearm around your thighs and just eats. he flicks his tongue over your clit, while the other hand goes up to squeeze at your tits, kneading and playing with them while you’re still at awe at the man on his knees, at how you’ve gotten one of the hottest professors in the university eating out of your pussy like it’s the last meal on earth.

you’re snapped out of your daze when nanami lands a few slaps onto your pussy, brown eyes boring holes into your skull. but this stare is different, as opposed to glaring down the mischievous boys who can’t stop making noise, this is…

“pay attention when i eat your little pussy, angel,” the demanding tone has you shivering, a small grin stifled when he nods in deserved approval and continues his assault. fingers slip in before you have time to react and your head is thrown back so hard it bumps against the wood but you don’t care, clamping down around his fingers. nanami’s pace is unforgiving, sucking hard on your clit while he pumps them in and out.

“feel good?” nanami asks through slurps as he catches your eye, licking one last stripe before gathering his saliva into a ball and he spits onto your clit, sight so lewd you clamp around his fingers. he admires how the way the glob of liquid runs down your cunt and mixes with your arousal that he can’t wait for it to be his cum instead.

“better than…” your voice trails off when he rubs in his spit, a thumb on your bud while he continues to move his fingers and your thighs are already trembling from how nanami knows all your sweet spots in such a short period of time. nanami simply chuckles at your sensitivity, meeting you halfway as you sit up to feel his lips against yours and he whispers against your lips—

“what were you gonna say, baby?”

you’re heaving for oxygen as he adds a third finger and you’re just hoping he’d show you his fucking dick already. hot breath fans across your lips and you smile to yourself seeing how your words affect him.

“better than fucking myself with my fingers thinkin’ it’s your cock, prof.”

✶ TOJI

it was nine in the morning, and toji could already feel a headache forming from the amount of absentees in his class, simply sighing before pulling up the details for today’s lecture, eyes unknowingly looking for you in the large lecture theatre. he finds that you’re already looking, clad in a cardigan and tired eyes — no doubt from trying to reach his deadline earlier than usual. toji found that you liked to do that, the first one to always submit your essays and assignments, so that’s why he knows what game you’re playing at when you’re asking the difference between first, second and third degree murder when you already know their definitions.

he would know — you got full marks the other time.

“hm?” toji only hums when he sees your enthusiastic face and a quick look down to your lower half shows how your legs spread naturally for him. the professor only licks his lips before he spots your underwear, entertaining you for now as you stare on earnestly, while nothing is actually entering your brain. that’s okay, though, you’re smart.

toji can count on one hand the amount of times you manage to catch him off guard, but he didn’t expect both of those times to be on the same day. it was a busy night at the club, trailing behind professor gojo, bored, until the clock hits 11 and the shift changes, some dancers retiring for the night whilst others make their way out. they emerge with pumps and skimpy outfits, but toji still hasn’t found someone worth wasting his loaded bank account on until you’re stepping out in a corset and garters and toji whistles lowly, eyes travelling up your person unforgivingly before he hears a small gasp.

his curiosity is piqued at the small noise, only to be greeted with your widened eyes and taut muscles at having seen your professor at the strip club you work at, but with a clap from somewhere backstage your body moves naturally into a professional stance, and perhaps a little more sluttily than other days.

your professor was hot, of course you would work twice as hard, twisting your body around the pole while you show off your assets — things you were covering just this morning in professor toji’s lecture. he taught criminology, a minor that you were trying out in your second year of uni and if it didn’t work, you’d drop it, but no matter how much you complained about the class, the green eyes that bore into yours in lectures always seem to ask you to stay. you never really knew whether he was looking at you or not.

at least now, you’ll make him.

toji’s hands tightened around the wad of cash he planned to waste tonight, all put on hold just from watching the way you put your body on display. he wouldn’t have imagined seeing you tonight at the strip club he let gojo drag him to, but he’s almost glad he’s here when you seem to be only dancing for him, all focus on the other patrons lost.

your eyes are still locked with toji’s, reminding you of the times in the lecture theatre where green was all you could see, a smile creeping on your face when one of your girlfriends behind you whispers that the man with the black hair and tight shirt wants a private session with you.

that’s all it took before you feel toji’s hands on your ass later in the private room, pulling you to his front with a smirk. “what’s a sweet girl like you doin’ here?”

you roll your eyes as you feign annoyance. your heart was pounding along with the music, finally being able to feel his toned body from the front., “cut the crap, prof. you booked me for a reason. what, here to talk about my grades or something?”

“what? can’t see my favourite student?” you scoff with a small smile.

“and how did you know i work here?”

“i didn’t, but seeing you work that pole,” toji grins, landing a smack on your butt before grinding his very obvious, large bulge on you and he’s loving the way it seemed to stimulate your clit, “i need ya to show me what i’ve been missing, mama.”

toji groans later while you’ve got his cock in his mouth, on your knees in front of him while you’re fisting the places you can’t reach. you take most of him easily, feeling the tip of his length reach the back of your throat. there, your eyes flick up to him, doe eyed and pleading. it isn’t long before you feel his hips bucking into your mouth and the cute twitch of his cock in your mouth, moaning around him as you knead his thighs, dragging him closer with what little strength you had.

“dirty fuckin’ slut, huh?” toji mumbles out breathlessly, tightening his grip around your hair before you start bobbing your head again, a plethora of lewd noises alongside the slurp of your saliva and his pre-cum mixing only makes your panties wetter and sends your cunt clenching around nothing. “who knew my cutest student was such a whore?” your head reels at the degradation, sucking in your cheeks even more while you slobber over him. toji swears under his breath when your tongue sweeps over his tip, collecting his pre-cum.

“it’s s’big in my mouth, professor,” giggling, you bob your head faster as the other’s noises increase in volume, and he’s left to tap the side of your skull, causing you to tilt your head in question. the vibrations of your moans has him grinding into your mouth, shutting you up until he’s cumming down your throat with a loud groan. toji spills so much into your mouth that you have to swallow twice, pulling on your jaw as you show him the remnants of the cum still on your tongue.

“’m sure they have it somewhere in the conduct about professors not having sexual relations with a student,” toji chuckles when he sees you peel off your underwear, eagerly wrapping his arms around your waist. “or even something about cutting corners to get your grades up…” it’s a little soft, trailing off when he feels you drag his tip along your pussy and he’s mesmerised with how your dripping folds accommodate him easily.

you pout in dramatics, thighs tightening around his when you take inch after inch of him before you’re bottoming out. there’s a deep sigh coming from you before you’re moving your hips lazily, a certain slur to your words that already show you’re drunk on your professor’s cock and toji only smiles.

“yeah, but my grades are perfectly fine,” you whisper with a small whine when toji squeezes your ass, something he never thought he’d get a taste of.

“plus, we’re not in the classroom now, are we, professor?”

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amalasdraws · 11 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/bigmammallama5/732632789726478336?source=share do you have any tips on how to detect ai and deepfakes?

Good question and I'm gonna be honest, it's not always easy and it will only get harder and harder. I'm just an artist who has spent their personal time to dive into this topic and study images. I'm still learning and there is a lot I don't know. But let me show what I know. This will be long, but I will make a summary at the end! So far, even with ai having become better and better there are still almost always some things wrong with an image, and they all have a very specific look to them. So let me try to show you some and point out some of them.

As we all know, a biggest struggle ai had were hands. And even though here and there we still see messed up hands, I say "had", because the hands is actual a good example on how ai is improving and will only get better. Still, looking at pictures that show more hands is always worth it, because somewhere in the back there will be most likely at least one messed up hand.

Another issue a lot of ai still has is hair though!

It's very obvious still in many ai "drawings" and in those otherwise well rendered portraits. Hair starts to blend with the ears a lot, or with the clothes.

There is also often this very odd look between something too sharp and way too blurry

There is often a very specific texture to the hair. I actually do not know the artistic or specific name for it. I can only describe it as this weird sharp feeling that makes it look oddly pixely, and then you have areas where it's very blurry. And the kind of loops and almost flame like looking hair we see in the last pic out of the three here is also something very common with ai.

As an artist I know we make mistakes too! The way I draw hair is flawed too! But it's not only that it's flawed here, but it's following always the same pattern and falls into the same issues over and over again, no matter who is "creating" the image. Those flame like loops are a common one, next to the odd blends and weird sharp and blurry textures.

But ai is getting better, and we not only have "art" and something that tries to be a drawing/painting, but photos too.

A lot of those "photos" have a very specific texture and look to them! Again, it's not always the mistakes, but the very specific optic too. A lot of the images are oddly smooth, too rendered, with always blurry backgrounds. And when you look closer at the background you will see the mistakes! The crowd behind Jesus is a hot mess once you look closer. Bob Marley's hair has the same issue than I described before. Lincoln is surrounded by people with messed up hands and don't even get me started on the faces behind Caesar.

So a lot of ai images look alright on a first and quick glance, but as more time you spend with them, as more mistakes you will notice. The wehre is Waldo of ai horror.

And those "photos" shared here are still very obvious. Not just the mistakes and messed up details but the very specific aesthetic too.

Those images get better and better and as less details you have, as less mistakes you have!

With photos like this it becomes harder and harder. There are not many details and no hands. Not many mistakes can be made. Also the very obvious plastic looking smoothness isn't so much here anymore. It kinda still is...but differently. And always the blurry background!! Sometimes the hair is still a giveaway. Collars and clothe straps are also often still a giveaway upon close look. As is jewelry. Earrings will be different and necklaces often don't go all the way around, just end, or blend with the hair or clothes.

Often details on jewelry is also blurry and not shown properly. This is a trick with many details. With jewelry, batches, hair, ears, text. So it's often blurred out and not shown properly because ai doesn't know what to really show here.

It's often really just the small details and when we scroll down quickly we will miss them. Like the wedding ring on the middle finger, the pens on top of a closed pocket, the batches that are always blurry, messed up faces that blend with a blurry background.

And sometimes it's so subtle that I could only really tell that right is the ai image in comparison to the real photo on the left. The real photo shows hands clearly and even when things are blurred out it doesn't feel that it's done to hide things. The ai image on the right hides the hands. There is also a very dead look in the eyes :D

And here I could only tell because the text in the back doesn't make sense. Even blurred out we should be able to make out something here

And after seeing a lot of ai images I recognize the kind of blurred out bg in combination with a very smooth and well rendered foreground/characters.

And here the only giveaway is a closer look at the backgrounds as well

To summarize it:

Ai and fake news rely on a fast living world. We are being bombarded with tons of information and messages daily and we scroll past quickly. But the best tool, for now, in detecting ai is taking our time! Those images get better and better but so far there are still always some things off!! Especially in the background!

Hair. Often weirdly smoothed out and oddly sharp at the same time

Hair often blends with the ears or the clothes

Details are blurred out.

Jewelry doesn't match (example earrings). Details on metal often blurred out and never shown. Necklaces blend with hair or the clothes, and don't go around the neck.

Background is always blurred out.

In this blurred mess there are often hidden very messed up faces and/or hands.

A very specific smooth and yet too sharp/too rendered aesthetic combines with an always blurry bg.

Text, especialyl in the background, is not legible and doesn't make sense.

Backgrounds are often (so far) the dead giveaway. Somewhere in the back things become muddled and messed up. This shows also very well in ai decor/architecture. There will be odd lines that don't align or align too well. Curtain poles that end in the furniture, a plant that is behind a lamp suddenly having leaves in front of the lamp. As longer you look as more you will notice.

Conclusion:

Take your time with images! Sit with them! Especially when it's framed as important and political news. Is it ai and propaganda, or did it really happen? Don't fall for the quick buzz and outrage! Some things are obvious right away but with others you have to take your time. And it's time you have! If you are still unsure if a pic is real or not, do some research on top. Image reverse search. Can you find it anywhere else? Are other news outlets sharing it? Does the image/message make sense? For example there is now a deepfake of Bella Hadid voicing support for Israel. Ask yourself, does this make sense? If it feels out of line compared to previous behavior, do some research! Media literacy is not just as being able to recognize a fake or real right away, but being able to do research. To question things! Don't just take every post online for face value. Even when shared by a mutual you trust. They might have been tricked!

There are so many information online and it's great to have access to so information, but it's also difficult to wade through all of it. Media and truth are a weapon and it's being twisted and bend used to manipulate. Always has! But ai and so many people being able to post and share things, it becomes bigger and bigger and more dangerous. So don't just take everything that is handed to you and share it further no questions asked. Media literacy and being able to think for ourselves and do the research is important!! And as research becomes harder and harder, as sources are being messed up with ai and other fake news, it's even more important to sit with the images and study them. See the flaws, the mistakes. Compare it to other news and images.

This got long, and I started to ramble at the end. Sorry But I hope this helped

#text #ai #how to detect ai #danger of ai #ai images #fake news #amalas talks #anon ask #fake images #how to tell ai #long text #long post

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taylor-titmouse · 7 months

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hey i want to talk about how you should be promoting your work as an erotic author/illustrator

i'm writing this up because the marketing aspect of my work as an erotic author/illustrator is a science to me, and also because i'm the guy who gets unreasonably annoyed when i see other creators not properly advertising their work. you presumably want to make money off your work. this post will be written under the assumption you want to make money off your work but are doing a bad job at it. it will be very confrontational. if you read this and feel attacked you're right and i am attacking you.

this is geared toward selling erotic comics/writing/books/art as products. i will probably write more than one post about this subject so if i didn't touch on something you want to know more about, comment/send me an ask and i'll keep it in mind for the next one.

i will start with my first and least specific but most important point:

DON'T GET FUCKING CUTE

hi are you paying attention. i'm gripping you by the sides of your face. do not get fucking cute with what you are trying to sell. you are not a big enough property to get cute, nobody LIKES it when big properties get cute, and you are selling porn. you have to own this. you have to be up front about this. don't be tongue in cheek, don't be all teehee i wonder what this could be~, don't be secretive. you are selling a product. you have to fucking act like it. you are an adult selling pornography to other adults. i am GRIPPING your HEAD you NEED to understand this.

and to be clear when i say 'cute' i mean coy. i don't mean cutesy, as in the aesthetic. you can be as hello kitty pastel ten emojis a post uwu as you like when you're building your audience and generating hype. but when you start trying to sell, don't be vague, don't be sarcastic, don't mislabel your work as a joke and assume everyone is on it. because they're not.

you must always assume 75% of the people seeing the thing you are advertising have no fucking idea who you are. and that includes a huge chunk of the people who already follow you. they do not know who you are or what you've been working on for two months or why they should care about it. they just got here. somebody just reposted it. they are seeing it for the first time. most people are only looking at social media for a tiny chunk of their day. they are not keeping up with you. you cannot get cute about what you are trying to sell because nobody knows what it is until you tell them.

okay are you still with me. we are going to talk about clarity now.

YOU GOTTA TELL ME WHAT IT IS

good lord the amount of times i have gone to buy somebody's comic or book and had no idea what's actually in it or what it's about. who are the characters? why should i care about them? what do they do in it? what is the premise of this thing you want me to spend $5 on? why would you not tell me? i'm shaking you again. please i have to know what i'm buying i only have so much money to spend on porn.

porn, arguably more than any other genre, relies on knowing exactly what is in it. you do not want to surprise your readers with a kink they were unaware of! and on the flip side, you do not want to miss out on your target audience! if your book contains a hot spider babe laying eggs in an elf, you have to say so. not just so people who don't want to read about eggs know it isn't for them, but so the people who are egg crazy can see that and go "oh fuck YES i love EGGS here is my $5 and an extra $2 tip for catering to me specifically". a contents/features list is as much an advertisement as it is a warning!

as for re: who the characters are and why should i care, i'm sorry but you need to learn how to write sales copy. you have to write blurbs. you have to get good at the shit that goes on the back of a book. we all hate it but we have to do it. i want to know who the characters are and what the context is. i, personally, am not interested in contemporary stories as much as fantasy and historical. please tell me what genre this porn exists in so i know if it aesthetically appeals to me. pull some books off your shelves and see how they do it. hell man go look at mine.

while you're there, note that every single book of mine has a sample of what's in it. this feels like such a no-brainer to me but again! the amount of times i have gone to buy somebody's work and they don't show me what their work looks like! you gotta give me the first page or two! just enough that i know if i like the way your writing sounds, or the way you draw your comics! i don't know you! i am not going to trust that you're good at what you do just based on a cover. the cover is to get me to this step, it is not the only step. you have to show me that you're worth spending my money on!

to put it less cynically, you want to catch my interest. you want me to go 'oh i want to see more of this', you want me to go 'ahh i want to know where this goes!' you need to get me invested and craving more. earn my $5!!!

YOU HAVE TO MAKE IT EASY TO GIVE YOU MONEY

hey go look at your bio right now. go look at your pinned post. do you have a link to your patreon there? do you have a link to your itchio/gumroad/whatever? do i have to click more than once to get to the places you want me to go to give you money? why? why are you making me click twice? have we learned nothing from every website making you click an extra time when they make some stupid UI update and how much it pisses us off? i have already given up, i have forgotten you, i am not giving you my $5 today. put your links in the easiest places to get to them.

god literally as i was writing this post i went to go find somebody's itchio to see how they described their work and it was not anywhere on their profile. grabbing you and shaking you PUT THE LINK WHERE I CAN FIND IT. don't make it hard! make it easy! i am a dickhead sitting on the toilet scrolling, saw your post, and was interested enough to read further. but you made me go to your bio to find your linktree and oops i have already gone back to my timeline to look at the boobies in the next post. stop wasting precious bio space on DNIs and put your fuckin links there!!!

this is more for the twitter people, but: just put the link in the damn post. just say the word commission. just say it's for patreon. "wuh wuh the algorithm" it is not the damn algorithm it's that everybody hates advertising and nobody wants to retweet ads. putting slashes in the words doesn't do anything and you look like a fool. i have posted so much art that says it's 'a commission for ___" and it did exactly as good as any other art despite having the word commission in it. and by doing the slashes you just made it impossible for anybody to search your account for your commission information (which should be at the VERY LEAST in a post under your pinned tweet if you're not actively posting about them being open).

okay that went on a tangent i'm going to back to the point of putting the link in the tweet. put it in the first post. not in the first reply. don't tell them to go to your bio. put it in the post people are actually going to share. it's fine to put more information in the thread but people are only ever going to share the first post. so put the link there. you have to make it easy. putting links in tweets can hurt you algorithmically, even in the replies. so you're better off having it in the post that actually gets seen and shared. i don't want to open the tweet and scroll to get to your sales page where i ASSUME you will have put all the information anyway. put it in the tweet that just got retweeted by itself onto my dash!

also you have to share it a ton of times. i repost my shit every few hours when i'm trying to push a new product. as i said before people are not 24/7 looking at their timelines. they missed it the first time. they missed it the second time. they didn't get paid yet that week but they were after the eighth time and you reminded them again so they finally bought it. that i will still get sales every time i repost a book ad weeks after release says there are always people who missed it, or who only just showed up.

abandon your pride and shill. shills pay their bills. anyone who gets annoyed about it isn't giving you money in the first place. don't worry about looking like a sell out. don't apologize for plugging your own work. post about it often, post about it in different ways. post about it. post about it. you are not going to make money if people don't know you have something to sell them. if you want to make a career out of it, you need to act like it.

I DON'T HAVE A FOURTH POINT

kisses your forehead. i'm sorry for yelling at you. i've been making and publishing and selling adult art for the past two-three years and have got myself to the point where it pays my rent, and i got there by paying attention to what does and does not work.

please do your best to make money. i want you to make money.

as i said above i plan to write more posts on this subject, such as cover design, how to actually write sales copy, and best practices with running a patreon, but if there's things you would want to hear more about leave a comment or send an ask! i will probably be less aggressive on future topics. these are just things that have grinded my gears for a grip.

#tt talks writing #tt talks drawing

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peachesofteal · 6 months

Text

ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / prev here

‘C’mon, you never want to go out.”

You rub your temples, eyes closed in exasperation. “I’m broke, Case.”

“I’ll spot you. Come on, it’s Friday. I’ll get us into The Rook.” She pleads and pushes, tugging away your excuses and defenses until you’re backed into a corner with nowhere to run. Finally, you opt for a different tactic, lamely.

“Doesn’t that place have a waiting list?”

“Oh yeah, miles long. But the owner likes me.” The owner. How does she even know the owner of The Rook?

“I don’t know…” you linger, still bent over your tiny kitchen table, back bowed and tired, “isn’t it like, dangerous?”

“The Rook is neutral ground or something, I don’t know. It’s perfectly fine, I’ve been dozens of times.” A litany of stories exists about the speakeasy, from its origins to the current clientele, each as unbelievable as the next, and you’ve always imagined it to be this dark den of sin and debauchery, filled to brim with hitmen and lawlessness. “You have to do something other than work and sleep; you know. You’re missing out on your whole life.” She chides, attempting to launch into the same speech she repeats over and over every few weeks.

“Alright, alright,” you look down at your torn up cuticles and sigh, “I’ll go.”

You weren’t wrong about The Rook being dark.

It’s hollowed out under a club, nooks and crannies and little hallways splitting off in every direction, dim lamps and flickering candlelight casting shadows to the ceiling, bartenders dressed in all black working behind a massive, burnished wood bar along the back wall. Velvet couches, high top tables, overstuff armchairs flow in the space, and Case tells you there are more rooms if you’re keen to explore, explaining in hushed tones how there’s usually a band in one, a card game of sorts in another, a pool table somewhere, all with various styles of seating, and even another bar. It's elegant, decadent, sinful. Most of the people are startlingly beautiful, high heels and skintight dresses, perfectly made-up faces, polished onyx cuff links gleaming against expensive navy suits.

Even the drinks are licentious.

You decidedly do not belong here. Perched on a stool next to Case, you occasionally rub your wrists, casually wondering if it would have been acceptable to wear your braces, your carpal tunnel flaring into a swell of agony.

Wouldn’t that be a sight.

The bartender slides her two generous neat pours of… something, and you raise an eyebrow.

“On the house, from the boss.” He says with a wink, and she tips her head to ceiling with a bubble of a laughter, before pressing one of the tumblers into your hand.

“What is it?”

“Probably bourbon.”

“Oh, no thanks, I don’t-“

“Just shoot it.” She throws it back with ease, showing her teeth afterwards, a hyena leering in the lamplight.

Fuck it. Maybe it will the throbbing in your wrists will quiet down.

It’s thick, syrupy, hot in your throat. Burns all the way down and settles like lava in your stomach, uncomfortable until the sting ebbs into warmth, moving through your bones.

“Not bad.” You rasp, and she smiles.

There are more free drinks. They stick to your insides like tar, slicking you in a heavy cotton, weighing your limbs down, loosening the tension in your neck and shoulders, peeling away your layers of discomfort one by one.

You’re surprised by how at home Case seems in this place, how comfortable she is, smiling and waving to the occasional person, making small talk here and there. She practically floats in her seat, black dress taut against every dimple and dip on her body, hair artfully twisted into something that could be considered modern art. She’s a gazelle. A heron. Something graceful and gorgeous, fine feathered and fabulous.

And you’re… a tired girl in a tired dress, counting her lucky stars that there seem to be so many generous patrons buying drinks tonight.

“Having fun?” She whispers, nudging you with her shoulder.

“How often do you come here?” Her eyes wander, flicking past you and then back, wistful caution etched across her brow.

“Often enough,” She sips her drink and then folds her hands together on the bar top, looking over shoulder, “Most of these people in here… are connected to organized crime somehow.” The information doesn’t surprise you, but hearing it confirmed, knowing it’s not just some story made up, some fairytale about boogeymen, makes you shiver.

“Like, the mafia?”

“The mafia is Italian, but they have a presence in the city.” She shrugs, like it’s all common knowledge. Like you’re out of the loop. “The Rook belongs to Kyle Garrick.” You shake your head, unfamiliar. “Of The 141?” your mouth goes dry.

The 141.

The 141 were a notorious organized crime group who ran half, if not more, of the city. You knew they owned clubs, bars, restaurants, and hotels, but you were never clear on the details of their illegitimate work, and you didn’t want to know.

You knew, for sure: they were men to be feared. Men capable of terrible things. Destruction. Death.

Their ongoing war with The Shadows was the reason the city was soaked in blood.

“Don’t worry,” she rushes out, hand on your arm, “like I said, It’s neutral here. Nothing happens in The Rook.” You nod meekly, head swimming. You’re more than drunk now, stuck in a sloshing ship, floor tilting beneath your feet. The urge to get away, to disappear slams into you like a truck, and you slip off the stool.

“Which way is the bathroom?” She points to one of those dark hallways, and you stumble through the throngs of people like a fresh born fawn, unsteady and teetering on the edge, approaching a hallway that splits into two.

Which way?

You pick one, sure you’ll run into someone who can point you in the right direction, but when it zigs and zags up to a polished wooden door, you stop short, confused. The alcohol has rendered you fuzzy, and your vision spins, trying to look for a recognizable placard.

Is this the bathroom?

It must be.

The first thing you realize when you push the door open, is a chorus of men’s voices, stopping on a dime. You hear them, before you see them, and immediately try to backpedal, tugging the door handle towards you, trying to close it. You’re wayward, with heavy, tired feet, and the movement is slow, slow enough that an opposing force pulls on the other side and then-

rips.

You fly forward into the room, dragged by your grip on the handle, spilling onto your knees with a shocked gasp, and someone curses in the background, another voice barking out a name.

Then, the room goes Sunday church service silent.

You gape at the table of men, transfixed in horror on the two familiar faces staring back at you, the unforgettable Scot and his marble etched partner, who was just in the shop only two days ago. They’re frozen, half risen from their seats, a cigarette burning away in an ash tray filling the air with smoke.

There’s a nickel-plated flash, and your blood curdles.

He has a gun.

“I…” you croak, still on your knees, unable to categorize or rationalize why you’re seeing them here, why one of them has a gun, why any of this is happening. “I’m sorry, I was lo-looking for the bathroom.” There are many men in this room, you realize. More than just the two you’re acquainted with, and your stomach rolls, nausea creeping forward, trying to bring the too many drinks you’ve consumed up through your mouth. “I’m sorry.” You say again, more clearly.

Obviously, you’re interrupting something.

“These aren’t the toilets, little girl.” A Russian voice booms over your head. “Unless you’re going to piss on the floor for us?”

“Nikolai.” The blonde cuts, Manchester accent rougher than sandpaper, and you shake your head frantically.

“N-no, I just got turned around, that’s all.” Your brain screams at you to get up, but your body is immobile, and you look away in fear.

A warm hand takes yours, tanned skin soft and sweet, gentle touch urging your face back up.

“It’s alright, doe. Ye’re alright.” It’s the Scot, crooning in your ear, wrapping an arm around your waist to bring you to your feet. “Let’s get ye to the bathroom then, aye?” You lean against him, breathing in cypress and ocean spray, letting him guide you out of the room, his partner right at your back.

“We’re not finished.” Someone calls out, and the bigger man clips out a response.

“We are now.”

#ghoap x reader #peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader

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flwrstqr · 1 month

Text

∿ LOVE ON THE SPOT — PARK SUNGHOON

preview. › you, a world-renowned oscar-winning actor known for your exceptional talent, and sunghoon, a celebrated formula 1 driver, find yourselves entangled in an unexpected fake marriage. at an extravagant party, your parents announce an arranged marriage to a man you despise. desperate to escape, you impulsively point to sunghoon, a random stranger in the room, and claim to be married to him. as sunghoon plays along and you navigate this fake marriage, could genuine feelings develop from such an impulsive decision?

meet the cast. f1 driver!sunghoon x actor fem!reader (feat noh yunah from illit + cho miyeon from gidle + hyung line of enhypen + other cos)

genre. fake marriage, strangers to lovers, opposites attract, slightly enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, romance, medium fic, crack, angst

word count. 13k+

warnings. cursing, partying, drinking, profanity (no nsfw or smut), lots of bickering between them, sunghoon being very cold in the fic, fighting, yn being drunk, kissing, small grammar errors

danielle's note 𖥔 i really wanted to write an f1 racing au but like even tho i dont really watch f1. but I LOVEE f1 aus,, theyre js so hot yk!!! (and this fic is for my sunghoon girls!!!! wink wink im looking at u jenni) so i hope u guys enjoy this :333 also ignore how its like lowercase than uppercase cause i wrote this for 1 week..

﹙⠀ PLAYiNG . . . bad boy by red velvet, woke up by xg, break up with you girlfriend by ariana grande, so american by olivia rodrigo, like that by baby monster, the great mermaid by lesserafim

YOU'VE BEEN IN SPOTLIGHT FOR AS LONG AS YOU CAN REMEMBER. YN LN in another movie and killing it. The world knows your name, your face, your every move. A famous actor, adored by millions, you’ve mastered the art of charm on-screen and off. Cameras flash wherever you go, and you’ve become a professional at smiling through it all.

Then there’s Sunghoon, the world-renowned F1 driver. Where your world revolves around precision under the watchful eyes of fans, his is all speed and adrenaline. He’s intense, reckless even, living life on the edge at 200 miles per hour. Headlines scream his victories, and you’d think he’d be like every other celebrity you’ve met—full of ego (well has high ego somewhat). But Sunghoon is different.

You’re polar opposites, and everyone knows it. You, poised and polished, carefully calculated in the public eye. Him, unpredictable and wild.

Yet, somehow, your paths crossed, and despite the differences, there’s an undeniable pull between you two. Maybe it's just a play or an act. Or maybe, just maybe, opposites do attract.

THE PARTY WAS BUZZING WITH ENERGY—celebrities everywhere, people laughing, glasses clinking, and the music providing a backdrop to the scene. You stood with Miyeon and Yunah, doing your best to enjoy yourself despite feeling like you'd rather be anywhere else.

“Why do we keep coming to these things?” you sighed, taking a sip of your drink.

Miyeon grinned. “Because you only live once,”

Yunah laughed. “And because there’s always a story by the end of the night.”

You were about to respond when you felt a sudden dread creep up your spine. From the corner of your eye, you saw him—Youngdae. The boy you’d hated since forever. He was strutting towards you with that insufferable smirk on his face, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You groaned. “Great, here we go.”

Miyeon followed your gaze and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, of course he’s here.”

“I swear he has a radar for wherever you are,” Yunah muttered under her breath.

Before you could brace yourself, Youngdae was already in front of you, flashing that arrogant smile you’d come to hate. “YN, looking stunning as always,” he smirked, leaning a little too close.

You took a step back, barely suppressing an eye roll. “What do you want, Youngdae?”

He chuckled, clearly not picking up on your disinterest. “I just wanted to say hello. Maybe catch up. You know, we could make a great pair, if you gave me a chance.”

Miyeon sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes along with you. “Can you just not?"

Youngdae shot her a look before refocusing his attention on you. “Come on, YN. Why keep fighting it? You and I—”

“Are never going to happen,” Yunah interrupted, stepping between you and Youngdae with a firm hand on his chest. “Back off.”

Youngdae frowned but didn’t push it. He simply shrugged and gave you one last wink before walking away.

“Ugh, he’s so persistent,” Miyeon grumbled as she turned to you. “How do you deal with him?”

“I don’t,” you replied with a soft laughter. “I just survive.”

But just as you were about to relax, you saw your parents making their way toward you. Your mom was smiling, your dad looking pleased as ever. You knew that look. They were up to something.

“There you are, sweetheart!” your mom said brightly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

Your dad smiled beside her, looking equally pleased. “We have some news.”

You raised an eyebrow, wary of whatever was coming. “What news?”

“Well,” your mom began, glancing between you and your friends, “we’ve found you a date. Finally!”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

Your dad nodded as though this was the best thing in the world. “Yes, with Youngdae. His family is very well connected, and we think—”

“No,” you said, your voice rising slightly. “Absolutely not. There’s no way.”

Your mom blinked, looking surprised by your reaction. “What do you mean? He’s a very eligible young man.”

You stammered, trying to find a way out “I… I… I’m already seeing someone!”

Both your parents stared at you, confusion written across their faces. “You are?” your dad asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Yes,” you lied quickly, panic bubbling inside you. “I’ve been seeing someone for a while now, actually.”

Your mom looked intrigued. “Who?”

You swallowed hard, desperately scanning the crowd for someone to point to, just to get out of this mess. Your eyes landed on a guy standing by the bar—a tall figure with dark hair and sharp features. You didn’t recognize him at all, but he looked like he could play the part for a moment.

Hastily, you pointed in his direction. “Him. Over there. He’s… he’s my boyfriend.”

Your parents followed your gaze, squinting toward the bar. Your mom’s eyes widened slightly. “Are you talking about him?”

You nodded, still pointing even though you felt like you were spiraling further into this ridiculous situation. “Yes, we’ve been together for a while now.”

Miyeon was choking on her drink at this point, and Yunah gave you a look like you’d completely lost your mind.

Your dad frowned a little. “Who is he? What’s his name?”

You paused, suddenly realizing you didn’t even know the guy’s name. “Oh, uh… his name is…”

Miyeon whispered urgently beside you, “Don’t make it worse. His name is Sunghoon,”

You repeated,“Sunghoon. Yes Sunghoon.”

Your parents exchanged a glance, and your mom raised an eyebrow. “Sunghoon? You mean the F1 driver?”

Your heart stopped. What? You had no idea. You quickly played along, though, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yes, that’s him. We’ve been keeping things quiet because, you know… the press and all that.”

Your dad looked skeptical, but your mom seemed delighted. “Well, why didn’t you say anything sooner? This is big news!”

Your mind raced, trying to think of a way out of this conversation. “We were waiting for the right time.”

“And when did he propose?” your mom asked, clearly hooked on the story now.

You mentally cursed yourself for making it worse. “Yesterday! Yes, he proposed yesterday. It’s all very new.”

Your parents nodded thoughtfully, clearly pleased with the idea. “Well, we’ll have to meet him properly later,” your dad said. “But for now, we’re glad you’ve found someone.”

Your mom smiled warmly. “We’ll leave you to enjoy your night, darling. But make sure we meet him soon.”

And just like that, they were gone, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

Miyeon burst out laughing as soon as they were out of earshot. “Oh my god, that was insane.”

Yunah was shaking her head, still in disbelief. “Do you even know who Sunghoon is?”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I have no idea.”

Miyeon grinned, looking like she was thoroughly enjoying this. “Well, you just told your parents you’re marrying one of the most famous F1 drivers in the world. Good luck with that.”

Your heart sank as you glanced over at the guy you’d pointed to. He still hadn’t noticed anything, thank god, but now you were stuck in the biggest lie of your life.

How were you going to get out of this one?

THE PARTY CONTINUED AROUND YOU, the air buzzing with conversation and the occasional laughter. The idea of approaching the guy you had claimed as your “boyfriend” was now looming over you like a dark cloud. Miyeon and Yunah had been laughing about it all night.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, straightening your dress. “He's my future husband.”

You caught sight of Sunghoon at the bar again—still tall, still effortlessly cool, and completely unaware of the situation you had dragged him into. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and made your way over, trying to act casual as you pretended to be interested in getting a drink.

"One tequila please," you smiled at the bartender.

As you approached, he glanced at you briefly, then immediately looked away, not even acknowledging your presence. You awkwardly stood next to him, waiting for him to say something, but all you got was silence.

“So… uh, hey,” you started, your voice a little too high-pitched from the nerves. “How’s it going?”

Sunghoon barely glanced at you, his expression flat as he responded, “Fine.”

You blinked, not expecting him to be so cold. You cleared your throat, trying again. “So, I’ve noticed you’ve been hanging around the bar a lot. Are you enjoying the party?”

He sighed, clearly uninterested. “Look, I’m not really here to make friends nor do I know you.”

Your smile faltered as you realized this was going to be harder than you thought. “Oh, no, I wasn’t—” You cut yourself off, feeling a bit foolish. You tried to laugh it off, but it came out awkward. “I was just trying to, you know, start a conversation…”

Sunghoon didn’t even bother to look at you this time. “I’m not interested in whatever this is,” he said bluntly, taking a sip of his drink and turning his back to you slightly, as if dismissing the conversation altogether.

Great, this was going really well.

Before you could think of another way, you heard your mom’s voice calling your name. You looked up in panic to see your parents making their way over, all smiles and clearly excited to meet the man you had so boldly claimed as your fiancé.

You felt your heart leap into your throat. There was no turning back now.

With no other choice, you quickly reached out and grabbed Sunghoon’s arm, yanking him closer to you with a forced smile plastered on your face. “Oh, there you are!” you said brightly, doing your best to make it sound natural. “I was just telling them about how we’re, you know… together.”

Sunghoon stiffened under your touch, his eyes darting between you and your parents, confusion written all over his face. “What—?”

You discreetly stepped on his foot, hard, causing him to wince and bite his lip in pain. You shot him a quick, pleading look, hoping he’d catch on.

“Just play along,” you whispered harshly under your breath, your smile never faltering.

He looked at you for a long moment, clearly irritated, but finally sighed, giving in. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his tone reluctant. “We’re, uh, together.”

Your parents beamed, completely oblivious to the tension between the two of you. Your mom reached out to shake Sunghoon’s hand enthusiastically. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Sunghoon! We’ve heard so much about you.”

Sunghoon forced a tight smile, his arm still trapped in your grip. “Yeah… same here.”

Your dad patted him on the back, grinning. “You’re quite the catch! Our YN is lucky to have you.”

You could feel Sunghoon’s frustration simmering beneath the surface, but he kept his expression in check. “Lucky, right,” he mumbled through gritted teeth.

You stepped on his foot again, a little less hard this time, and leaned into him slightly, trying to keep up appearances. “Isn’t he just the best?” you cooed, practically cringing at how fake you sounded.

Sunghoon glanced at you with a pained expression, but he played along, his voice strained. “Yeah… I’m great.”

Your parents couldn’t have been more delighted. “Well, we’ll leave you two lovebirds alone for now,” your mom said with a wink. “But don’t think you’re getting out of dinner with us soon! We need to celebrate this engagement properly.”

You forced another bright smile as they walked away, your stomach churning with dread at the thought of dinner with your parents—and Sunghoon, of all people.

As soon as your parents were out of sight, you let go of Sunghoon’s arm and stepped back, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m really sorry about all of that,” you said quickly. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this, I just—”

Sunghoon held up a hand, cutting you off. “Save it,” he said, his voice clipped. “Just don’t step on my foot again.”

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty, but also relieved that the worst was over. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” you said, trying to sound sincere.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You owe me big time,” he muttered before turning to leave, shaking his head.

A FEW DAYS HAD PASSED SINCE THE PARTY INCIDENT, but the chaos you’d caused still lingered in Sunghoon’s mind. He found himself in the garage with his friends, Jay, Jake, and Heeseung, leaning against his sleek, black sports car as they all casually chatted about their lives. Sunghoon was half-listening, his mind elsewhere, until Jake asked him something that brought him back to reality.

“So, are you going to be in the next race?” Jake asked, wiping his hands on a rag after tinkering with his car.

Sunghoon shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with you lately? You’ve been distracted since that party.”

Sunghoon stared at the concrete floor for a moment before casually blurting out, “I’m dating or engaged. Or… something.”

The garage fell into silence. Jay, who had been leaning against a workbench, immediately turned to face Sunghoon with wide eyes. “What?”

Jake looked like he had just swallowed his tongue, blinking at Sunghoon like he hadn’t heard correctly. Heeseung, who was tightening a bolt on his engine, froze mid-motion, his wrench slipping from his grip and clattering to the ground.

“Dude,” Jay said slowly, standing up straight. “Are you serious right now? Did you just say you got engaged?”

Sunghoon scratched the back of his neck, looking both tired and mildly amused at their reactions. “Yeah… or something like that.”

“What do you mean ‘something like that’?” Jake demanded, clearly confused. “Since when are you even dating anyone?”

Sunghoon sighed, leaning further back against his car as he explained, “It’s complicated. Some girl at the party basically told her parents we’re engaged because she was trying to get out of a situation, and I got dragged into it.”

Heeseung let out a low whistle. “Wait, so you’re fake engaged?”

“Pretty much,” Sunghoon said, rubbing his temples like the whole thing gave him a headache.

Jay shook his head, still in disbelief. “That doesn’t even sound real, man. Who is this girl?”

“I don’t even know her that well,” Sunghoon admitted, sounding exasperated. “Her name’s YN,”

Heeseung blinked. “Wait, YN LN?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon confirmed. “That’s the one.”

Jay nearly choked on his own spit. “You’re telling me you’re fake engaged to the YN LN? The one who’s all over the headlines?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “She’s all over the headlines?”

Jake laughed incredulously, leaning against his car for support. “Dude, how do you not know that? She’s, like, one of the biggest actors right now. ”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “I don’t pay attention to that stuff. All I know is that she’s got her parents convinced that we’re together, and now I have to figure out how to get out of this without causing a massive scene.”

Jay shook his head, still grinning. “This is insane. You, of all people, caught up in some fake engagement with a celebrity.”

Heeseung smirked. “You’ve been in some high-speed races before, but this might be the wildest thing you’ve ever gotten into.”

Sunghoon groaned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me about it. And the worst part is, her parents think I’m some perfect gentleman or something. They’re probably planning the wedding already.”

Jake chuckled, nudging Sunghoon with his elbow. “Well, look at the bright side—you’ve always been good under pressure. This is just another challenge.”

Sunghoon shot him a look. “Yeah, but this isn’t a race. This is someone’s life we’re talking about.”

Jay grinned. “And yours, apparently.”

Sunghoon sighed again, feeling the weight of the situation settling on him once more. “I’m just trying to figure out how to handle it without causing a mess. I don’t even know why I agreed to go along with it in the first place. Plus, I don't know this girl.”

Heeseung patted him on the back, smirking. “Maybe you just didn’t want to let the girl down. Sounds like you’re already some hero,”

Sunghoon shot him a deadpan look. “Yeah, sure. That’s exactly what I’m going for.”

Jay laughed. “Well, good luck, man. Just try not to end up accidentally married before you figure out how to get out of this.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks for the advice,” he said dryly with a hint of sarcasm. “I’ll be sure to avoid that.”

MIYEON AND YUNAH DRAGGED YOU OUT TO A STREET RACE. you weren’t exactly in the mood for it, but they insisted, pulling you along with promises of fun and a chance to clear your mind (and meet your so-said husband). engines roared, and the night was alive with the sound of revving motors and the sharp smell of gasoline.

as you scanned the area, your eyes landed on a familiar figure leaning casually against a sleek, black car. sunghoon. he looked as cool and composed as ever, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, eyes scanning the crowd with a bored expression. when his gaze finally met yours, his face twisted into a look of irritation, and he rolled his eyes dramatically.

of course he would be here, you thought. but you knew you needed to talk to him about the upcoming dinner. miyeon and yunah noticed your sudden change in demeanor and shot you questioning looks, but you brushed them off, telling them you'd be back in a minute.

you made your way over to where sunghoon was standing. he didn’t bother to move as you approached, just watched you with that same indifferent, slightly irritated expression.

“sunghoon,” you started, trying to keep your voice steady, “we need to talk.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly uninterested. “about what?” he asked, his tone dripping with disinterest.

“about the dinner,” you replied, not backing down despite his attitude. “my parents want us to be there together.”

sunghoon let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes again. “can’t you just tell your parents we got into some argument and divorced or something?” he said coldly, his voice laced with sarcasm.

you clenched your fists, trying to keep your cool. “no, i can’t do that, sunghoon. it’s already confirmed. my parents are planning a wedding.”

for a moment, sunghoon’s expression faltered, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face. but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual cold look “a wedding?” he repeated, as if the word itself was foreign to him. “are you serious?”

“dead serious,” you replied, “they think we’re the perfect match or something. and they’re not taking no for an answer.”

sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “this is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, though it was loud enough for you to hear. “so what? we’re supposed to just play along with this charade? pretend like everything’s fine?”

“i don’t see any other option,” you said, “if we don’t, they’ll just make things worse. we need to figure out how to handle this.”

sunghoon didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting away from you as he stared off into the distance, lost in thought. after a moment, he pulled out his phone and held it out to you, his expression unreadable. “give me your number,” he said, his tone more resigned than anything.

you blinked, slightly taken aback by his sudden change in attitude, but quickly recovered, pulling out your own phone and exchanging numbers with him. the whole interaction felt strange, like you were stepping into unfamiliar territory.

“i’ll text you the details,” you said, trying to keep the conversation moving. “we’ll figure out a plan.”

sunghoon nodded, slipping his phone back into his pocket. for a brief moment, it almost seemed like the tension between you two had eased, but then he spoke again, his voice back to its usual coldness. “just don’t expect me to play nice,” he warned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “i’m not doing this for you. i’m doing this to get them off my back.”

THE NIGHT OF THE DINNER ARRIVED FATER THAN YOU ANTICIPATED, and before you knew it, you found yourself standing outside your parents’ house with sunghoon by your side. the two of you looked like the perfect couple, at least on the surface. you were both dressed impeccably—sunghoon in a sharp black suit (for the first time) and you in a simple, black dress that your mom had insisted you wear.

as you walked up to the front door, you forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. “remember, just play along,” you whispered to sunghoon as you reached for the doorbell.

sunghoon sighed, barely masking his irritation. “yeah, yeah, i know the drill.”

the door swung open almost immediately, and you were greeted by your mother’s beaming face. “oh, there they are! my favorite couple,” she gushed, pulling you both into a tight hug. sunghoon stiffened beside you, clearly uncomfortable with the affectionate display, but he managed to return your mother’s smile.

“hi, mom,” you said, your voice a little too bright. “we’re here.”

“come in, come in!” she insisted, ushering you both inside. “dinner’s almost ready. your father’s been looking forward to this all week.”

as you entered the dining room, the smell of home-cooked food filled the air, mingling with the scent of fresh flowers. everything was arranged, from the perfectly folded napkins to the silverware.

“you two look wonderful,” your dad remarked, giving you both an approving nod as he took his seat at the head of the table. “it’s nice to finally have a proper family dinner.”

sunghoon flashed a polite smile, though you could tell he was barely holding back his annoyance. “thanks, sir. we’re happy to be here.”

you shot him a quick glance, impressed by his ability to keep up the act, even if it was just barely. every time your parents asked about your “relationship,” you forced a smile and nodded along with whatever sunghoon said, even when he was being sarcastic.

“so, how did you two meet?” your mom asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“it was... quite the story,” you began, trying to come up with something that wouldn’t sound too ridiculous.

sunghoon leaned back in his chair, smirking slightly. “yeah, she practically threw herself at me,” he said with a teasing tone that made you want to kick him under the table.

“oh, did she now?” your dad chuckled, clearly amused.

you felt your cheeks flush, but you kept your composure, forcing a laugh. “he’s exaggerating, of course,” you said, giving sunghoon a pointed look. “we met through mutual friends.”

sunghoon shrugged, his smirk never leaving his face. “something like that.”

sunghoon seemed to take every opportunity to make subtle jabs at you, whether it was a sarcastic comment about your habits or a teasing remark about your so-called relationship. it took everything in you not to snap at him in front of your parents.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, your parents excused themselves to the kitchen, leaving you and sunghoon alone at the table. the moment they were out of earshot, you turned to him, your fake smile dropping instantly.

“do you have to be such a jerk?” you hissed, keeping your voice low.

sunghoon rolled his eyes, leaning forward with an exasperated sigh. “i’m just trying to get through this as quickly as possible. it’s not my fault your parents are so nosy.”

“they’re not nosy, they’re just... interested,” you retorted, though even you could hear how weak your argument sounded. “and you don’t have to be so sarcastic all the time.”

“and you don’t have to be so uptight,” sunghoon shot back, his eyes narrowing. “seriously, you act like this is the end of the world.”

“maybe because it feels like it,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. “i didn’t ask for any of this, sunghoon.”

“neither did i,” he countered, his voice cold. “but here we are.”

before you could respond, you heard footsteps approaching, and you quickly plastered a fake smile back on your face. sunghoon did the same, though his expression looked more like a grimace than anything else.

your parents reentered the room, both of them carrying trays of dessert. “hope you two saved room for dessert!” your mom chimed, setting the trays down on the table.

“of course,” sunghoon replied smoothly, his tone completely different from the one he’d used just moments ago. he even managed to let out a laugh, though it sounded forced to your ears. you joined in, though your own laughter felt hollow.

as the evening finally came to a close, you stood by the door with sunghoon, thanking your parents for the dinner. they were both smiling, clearly satisfied with how the night had gone.

“thanks for coming,” your mom said, giving you both a warm hug. “we’ll have to do this again sometime.”

“definitely,” you lied, forcing another smile. “we’ll let you know.”

as soon as you were out the door, you let out a long sigh, the tension leaving your body all at once. sunghoon walked beside you in silence, his expression unreadable.

“thanks for playing along,” you said quietly, not really expecting a response.

sunghoon glanced at you, his eyes softening slightly. “yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he muttered, though there was less bite in his tone than before.

YOU WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSY SHOOT when one of your co-workers approached you with a grin. “hey, we’re planning a party for yunjin’s birthday this weekend! you should totally come,” they said, excitement bubbling in their voice.

you paused, considering it for a moment. parties weren’t really your thing; you preferred quieter, more intimate gatherings. (despite you saying that you were some "extrovert). but you didn’t want to seem like a killjoy, especially since you’d been getting along well with the rest of the crew. “hmm, sure,” you replied, trying to sound enthusiastic.

your co-worker beamed. “great! it’s gonna be a lot of fun. oh, and by the way, it’s a plus-one kind of thing. you can bring a friend… or your boyfriend.” they winked at you, clearly teasing.

you managed a small laugh, though inside, you were already feeling the pressure. “oh, okay,” you said, keeping your tone light. but as they walked away, the reality of the situation began to sink in. a plus-one. great.

back in your dressing room, you slumped into a chair, staring at your phone. you were part of a close-knit trio of friends, and the idea of inviting just one of them felt wrong. how could you choose between them? you knew if you invited one, the other would inevitably feel left out. the last thing you wanted was to create tension among your friends.

hours passed, and you found yourself going back and forth in your mind. should you just skip the party altogether? but then again, you’d already said yes, and backing out now would seem weird. besides, yunjin was nice, and you didn’t want to disappoint her.

finally, an idea began to take shape in your mind. it wasn’t ideal, but it might be the simplest solution. with a resigned sigh, you decided to invite sunghoon. after all, you owed him for putting up with your parents’ dinner, and this could be a way to pay him back. besides, it wasn’t like you were going to have a good time anyway—might as well drag him along.

you typed out a quick message and hesitated for a moment before hitting send.

hey, there’s this party for one of my co-workers. it’s a plus-one thing. wanna come?

it didn’t take long for his reply to come through.

fine. don’t expect me to stay for long, though.

you rolled your eyes at the screen, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. typical sunghoon. at least he agreed to go, which took some of the pressure off you. you quickly texted back a simple thanks, and put your phone away, trying not to overthink the whole thing.

THE BAR WAS ALIVE WITH ENERGY as you stepped inside with sunghoon by your side. people were packed together on the dance floor. laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of a drunken cheer. couples were scattered around, some dancing close, others tucked away in corners, stealing kisses that made you roll your eyes.

“this place is… lively,” sunghoon muttered, his eyes scanning the crowd.

“yeah, it’s a party,” you replied with a slight shrug, though you couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place. you weren’t exactly the party type, and neither was sunghoon, which made the whole situation feel a little surreal.

deciding to get a drink to ease the tension, you made your way over to the bar, sunghoon following closely behind. the bartender barely glanced at you as he took your order, quickly mixing up a couple of drinks and sliding them across the counter. you grabbed your glass, taking a sip of the cool liquid, hoping it would help you relax.

sunghoon took a swig of his drink, his expression unreadable. “so, how long do we have to stay here?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“just a little while,” you replied, trying not to sound too eager to leave. “it’s yunjin’s birthday. i can’t just disappear after showing up.”

sunghoon sighed but didn’t argue, taking another drink instead. just as you were about to take another sip, you heard a familiar voice call out your name.

“oh my god, y/n!” yunjin’s voice rang out, full of excitement as she made her way over to you. she looked gorgeous, her outfit sparkling under the bar’s dim lights. “i’m so glad you came!” she exclaimed, wrapping you in a quick hug.

“of course,” you replied, returning her hug with a smile. “happy birthday!”

as yunjin pulled away, her eyes drifted over to sunghoon, and her expression shifted from excitement to shock. “wait a minute… are you with the famous f1 driver, sunghoon?!” she nearly squealed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

sunghoon gave her a polite nod, a small smile playing on his lips. “that would be me,” he said, his tone smooth and calm as ever.

yunjin’s mouth dropped open in awe, clearly starstruck. “i can’t believe this! i didn’t know you were engaged to him, y/n!” she exclaimed.

“uh, yeah… we go way back,” you said awkwardly, trying to keep the conversation light. yunjin was too caught up in her excitement to notice your discomfort, though, as she quickly introduced herself to sunghoon, gushing about how much she admired his career.

sunghoon handled it with grace, his usual cool demeanor never faltering. you watched the interaction with a mixture of amusement and mild irritation—sunghoon always seemed so effortless in social situations, even when he clearly didn’t want to be there.

after a few more minutes of chatting, yunjin finally excused herself to mingle with other guests, leaving you and sunghoon alone again. you downed the rest of your drink in one gulp.

“she seems nice,” sunghoon commented, his tone neutral as he sipped his drink.

“yeah, she’s great,” you agreed, though your mind was elsewhere. you could still feel the lingering stares from some of the other partygoers who had noticed sunghoon’s presence. it wasn’t every day that a famous athlete showed up at a regular birthday party, after all.

as the night wore on, you found yourself relaxing a little, the alcohol helping to take the edge off your nerves. you and sunghoon stayed near the bar, occasionally chatting about nothing in particular. but just as you were starting to feel comfortable, disaster struck.

you reached for another drink, but your hand wobbled, and before you knew it, the glass tipped over, spilling its contents all over your dress. you let out a startled gasp, staring down at the growing stain on your outfit.

“fuck,” you muttered, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. without thinking, you quickly excused yourself and made trip to the bathroom, hoping to save your dress before the stain set in.

as you stood in front of the mirror, dabbing at the stain with a paper towel, the bathroom door swung open, and sunghoon stepped inside. you glanced up, surprised to see him there.

“what are you doing?” you asked.

“what does it look like? helping,” sunghoon replied, grabbing another paper towel and joining you at the sink. his presence was a little too close for comfort, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned in to inspect the damage.

“i can handle it,” you insisted, though you didn’t move away.

“clearly,” he said dryly, his lips curving into a slight smirk as he continued to blot the stain. the scent of his cologne filled the small space, a mix of something clean and crisp that was distinctly him. it made your heart skip a beat, though you tried to ignore it.

“you didn’t have to follow me in here, you know,” you muttered, focusing on the task at hand.

“someone had to make sure you didn’t completely ruin your dress,” he retorted, his tone teasing. “besides, it’s not like i was having a great time out there.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “you’re such a pessimist.”

“and you’re such a klutz,” he shot back. for a moment, the bickering felt almost normal, like you weren’t two people stuck in a fake marriage.

as you continued to dab at the stain, your hands occasionally brushed against each other, and you became acutely aware of how close sunghoon was standing to you. the small bathroom seemed to shrink around you.

“you know, you didn’t have to invite me to this,” sunghoon said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “i’m sure you could’ve brought someone you actually like.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, though there was a hint of playfulness in your tone. “i figured this was a good way to pay you back for that dinner. besides, i couldn’t just pick one friend to invite. it felt… wrong.”

sunghoon glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “i get it. but still, this whole thing is just—”

“a fake marriage, yeah, i know,” you cut in, a bit more bitterly than you intended. “but we’re stuck with it, so we might as well make the best of it.”

unknown to either of you, the bathroom door had been left slightly ajar, and just outside, youngdae stood with a smug smirk on his face. he had heard every word, and as he quietly backed away, a plan began to form in his mind. he couldn’t believe his luck—overhearing something as juicy as this was too good to pass up.

as he slipped back into the crowd, unnoticed, you and sunghoon continued to bicker in the bathroom, completely unaware that your secret was no longer safe.

YOU HAD NEVER IMAGINED YOURSELF IN THSI SITUATION—standing in a bridal boutique, skimming through racks of wedding dresses with sunghoon awkwardly hovering nearby. your parents had practically forced the two of you to go dress shopping together, giving you an outrageously huge budget and insisting that sunghoon accompany you. after all, what kind of engaged couple doesn’t choose their wedding dress together?

“can’t believe i’m doing this,” sunghoon muttered under his breath, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stood off to the side, clearly uncomfortable.

“oh, come on,” you teased, holding up a dress with intricate lace detailing. “how bad can it be? just think of it as a chance to play dress-up.”

he rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “yeah, ‘cause that’s exactly what i want to do on my day off—play dress-up.”

you ignored his sarcasm, too engrossed in the rows of dresses before you. everything sparkled and shimmered under the boutique’s soft lighting, and you couldn’t help but gasp in awe every time you pulled out a new dress. “oh my god, isn’t this one so pretty?” you exclaimed, holding up a strapless gown with a flowing tulle skirt.

sunghoon glanced at it, his expression unreadable. “yeah, it’s nice,” he said noncommittally.

“just nice?” you pouted, returning the dress to its rack. “you’re supposed to be helping me choose, you know.”

“i am helping,” he protested, though the way he stood there like a statue suggested otherwise. “i’m here, aren’t i?”

you huffed, turning back to the dresses. after a few more minutes of browsing, you finally picked out a few that caught your eye and headed to the fitting room. “okay, i’m gonna try these on. don’t go anywhere,” you instructed, pointing at him as you disappeared behind the curtain.

sunghoon sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. he wasn’t sure how he ended up in this position—fake marriage or not, this felt a little too real for his liking. but as much as he wanted to be anywhere else, he couldn’t deny the slight curiosity that tugged at him as he waited for you to reappear.

a few minutes later, you stepped out of the fitting room in the first dress, a simple yet elegant gown with delicate lace sleeves. you did a little twirl, smiling at yourself in the mirror before turning to sunghoon. “what do you think?”

sunghoon’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at you. for a moment, he forgot how to speak, his usual cool demeanor slipping as he took in the sight before him. when had you become this… pretty?

he quickly schooled his expression, trying to sound indifferent. “it’s okay, i guess.”

you frowned, though not completely disappointed. “just okay? really?”

“yeah, it’s fine,” he said, averting his gaze as if the dress wasn’t making his heart race.

you sighed, but didn’t let his lackluster response dampen your mood. “well, i have a few more to try on. maybe you’ll like the next one better.”

as you disappeared back into the fitting room, sunghoon let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. what was wrong with him? this was just dress shopping, nothing more. yet, the image of you in that dress lingered in his mind, making it hard to focus on anything else.

a few minutes later, you emerged again, this time in a dress that was the complete opposite of the first—sleek, modern, with a plunging neckline and an open back. you looked at sunghoon expectantly, waiting for his reaction.

once again, sunghoon felt his heart skip a beat. the dress hugged your curves perfectly, accentuating every line and angle. he swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “it’s… okay too.”

you raised an eyebrow, not convinced. “that’s all you have to say? you’re not very helpful, you know.”

“they all look fine,” he insisted, though in truth, he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. every dress you tried on seemed to outshine the last, and it was becoming harder for him to maintain his usual aloofness.

you tried on a few more dresses, each one stunning in its own way, but every time you asked for his opinion, he gave the same response: “it’s okay.”

by the time you tried on the fifth dress, you were starting to get frustrated. “you literally said the same thing for the past five dresses,” you pointed out, hands on your hips as you glared at him in the mirror.

sunghoon shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of your stare. “well, they’re all okay, i guess…” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“ugh, you’re impossible,” you groaned, though there was a hint of a smile on your lips. “at this rate, we’ll never choose a dress.”

sunghoon glanced at you, his gaze softening for a moment. “you look good in all of them,” he admitted quietly, barely loud enough for you to hear.

you paused, taken aback by his words. it wasn’t much, but coming from him, it felt like a genuine compliment. “really?” you asked, your annoyance melting away as a smile spread across your face.

sunghoon looked away, feeling a little embarrassed. “yeah, really,” he said, clearing his throat as if to cover up the sincerity in his voice.

eventually, after much thinking, you finally chose a dress—a classic, timeless gown that felt like the perfect balance between elegance and simplicity. as you stood in front of the mirror, admiring the final choice, you couldn’t help but notice the way sunghoon was looking at you. his usual stoic expression had softened, and there was something in his eyes that made your heart flutter.

“so, this is the one?” he asked, his voice oddly gentle.

“yeah,” you replied, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “this is the one.” maybe, just maybe, this fake marriage was becoming something a little more real.

YOU, MIYEON, AND YUNAH ARE SPRAWLED COMFORTABLY ON THE OVERSIZED COUCH in Miyeon’s living room, a place you've all come to consider your second house (because of how many times the three of you stay at).

Yunah is on her phone, as usual, her eyes scanning the screen rapidly. Suddenly, she pauses, her lips curling into a smirk. “Well, well, look who’s trending,” she drawls, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You and Sunghoon are all over the news. Everyone's saying you’re officially together.”

Miyeon perks up at this as she leans forward. “Let me see!” she says eagerly, reaching out for Yunah’s phone.

Yunah hands it over with a knowing smile. “It’s literally everywhere,” she repeats, her tone teasing but supportive. “You guys are the talk of the town.”

Miyeon’s eyes widen as she scrolls through the headlines, her fingers flying across the screen. “Wow, they’re even calling you the ‘It’ couple of the year,” she remarks, half in awe, half in disbelief. “This is huge!”

You sigh, “I knew the story would get out, but I didn’t expect it to blow up like this,” you admit, running a hand through your hair.

Yunah chuckles, nudging you playfully. “Well, you’re both celebrities in your own right. An actor and a Formula 1 driver? That’s headline gold right there.”

Miyeon hands the phone back to Yunah, turning her attention to you with a curious glint in her eye. “So, how’s it been? Pretending to be married to one of the hottest guys on the planet? Any sparks flying yet?”

You blush, recalling the moments you’ve shared with Sunghoon—the way his gaze lingers on you a little longer than necessary, the way his cologne mingles in the air, the way he complimented you at the wedding dress shop. “It’s… interesting,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. “We’re both just trying to play our parts and not let things get too complicated.”

“Too late for that,” Yunah quips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Come on, there’s gotta be something there.”

Miyeon nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, you can’t fool us. We know you too well. Besides, if you’re gonna be in the spotlight, you might as well enjoy it, right?”

You let out a small laugh, feeling the warmth of their support. “I don’t know… it’s all so confusing. One minute, it feels like we’re just playing a role, and the next, it feels… real.”

Yunah places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Just take it one step at a time. Don’t overthink it. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”

Miyeon grins, giving you an encouraging look. “And in the meantime, we’ll be here to cheer you on. Fake or not, this is your story, and you get to write the ending.”

THE NIGHT AIR WAS THICK WITH THE ENERGY of the city as you, Miyeon, and Yunah staggered out of the cozy, dimly lit bar you’d spent the evening in. The three of you had gone out for a few drinks to unwind, but a few turned into more than you could count, and now you were decidedly tipsy—no, scratch that, you were drunk. The kind of drunk that makes the world spin and words blur together.

Miyeon, ever the responsible one, was trying to hail a cab while Yunah clung to your arm, giggling uncontrollably at something you couldn’t quite remember. A soft breeze ruffling your hair as you leaned against a lamppost, the ground feeling a little too far away for comfort.

“I should call… someone…” you muttered, fumbling for your phone in your bag, your fingers clumsy and uncoordinated.

Yunah snorted, still giggling. “Who’re you gonna call? Ghostbusters?”

“Sunghoon,” you slurred, finding his number on your phone with surprising accuracy despite the alcohol fogging your brain. Without another thought, you pressed the call button, bringing the phone to your ear as it rang.

On the other end, Sunghoon was sitting on the couch in his sleek, modern apartment, absentmindedly flipping through channels on the TV. He wasn’t really paying attention to anything in particular; his mind was elsewhere. Specifically, it was on you. At first, he’d told himself it was just part of the act, that he was only playing the role of your fake fiancé. But the more time he spent with you, the more he started to question that.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he glanced at the screen, frowning slightly when he saw your name. You never called him, especially not this late. With a hint of worry, he picked up. “Hello?”

“Sunghoon!” you exclaimed, far too loud for a late-night call. Your voice was slurred.

“Are you… drunk?” he asked, his concern deepening. He could hear you giggling on the other end, and it did something funny to his chest. “Where are you?”

“Out… with Miyeon and Yunah. We’re having soooo much fun!” You hiccuped.

Sunghoon’s brow furrowed as he stood up, already grabbing his keys off the table. “You shouldn’t be out there alone. Stay where you are, I’m coming to get you.”

“But I’m not alone!” you protested, sounding like a child. “I’m with Miyeon and Yunah! They’re sooooo funny…”

“Stay there,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I’m on my way.”

You didn’t seem to hear him, too busy giggling with Yunah about something that had apparently happened earlier in the evening. Sunghoon didn’t waste any more time. He was out the door and in his car within minutes, the engine roaring to life as he sped through the city streets.

By the time he reached the bar, you were sitting on the curb with Miyeon and Yunah, both of whom were also a little tipsy but still more composed than you. The moment Sunghoon stepped out of his car, your eyes lit up, though you didn’t seem to fully recognize him.

“There he is!” Miyeon said, relief evident in her voice as she waved him over. “She’s all yours, Sunghoon. Good luck.”

Sunghoon couldn’t help but chuckle despite his worry as he approached you. You looked up at him with a lazy grin, your eyes glazed over. “Who’re you?” you asked, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

“It’s me, Sunghoon,” he replied, crouching down in front of you. “Let’s get you home.”

You pouted, shaking your head like a stubborn child. “I don’t know you,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. “I’m not going anywhere with a stranger.”

Sunghoon sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing with you in this state. “Alright, alright,” he said, trying to keep his tone soothing. “But we can’t stay here. How about I take you somewhere safe?”

You squinted at him, clearly trying to decide if you could trust him. After a moment, you seemed to make up your mind and nodded. “Okay… but no funny business, mister!”

Sunghoon chuckled softly, his heart doing that funny little flip again. He gently helped you to your feet, slipping an arm around your waist to steady you. “I promise,” he said, leading you toward his car.

The drive was quiet, save for your occasional hiccup or mumble about how the city lights were so pretty. Sunghoon kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

When you arrived at his apartment, Sunghoon helped you out of the car and into the elevator. You leaned heavily against him, clearly exhausted but still stubbornly refusing to give him your address. He figured it was safer to just keep you with him for the night.

His apartment was as sleek and modern as ever, but tonight, it felt different having you there. He led you to the guest bedroom, flicking on the light as he helped you sit on the edge of the bed.

“Here we are,” he said softly, crouching down to help you with your shoes. “You can sleep here tonight.”

You blinked down at him, a smile spreading across your face. “You’re really nice for a stranger,” you slurred, reaching out to pat his head clumsily.

Sunghoon felt his face heat up, and he quickly stood, hoping you wouldn’t notice. “Okay, now go to sleep,” he said, trying to sound firm.

As he tucked you in, pulling the blanket up around you, you suddenly leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. The taste of alcohol lingered on your breath as you pulled back, giggling. “Thank you, stranger,” you murmured, your eyelids drooping heavily.

Sunghoon froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared down at you.

“Okay, now go to sleep,” he repeated, this time more to himself than to you as he gently pushed you back onto the pillow.

You were already half asleep, a soft smile on your lips as you mumbled something he couldn't puzzle out. Sunghoon stood there for a moment longer, just watching you.

Finally, he turned off the light and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him. As he leaned against the wall outside, he let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair.

He was definitely catching feelings for you, and tonight had only made that fact impossible to ignore. But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the simple fact that you were safe, and that was all that mattered.

For now.

YOU WAKE UP WITH A POUNDING HEADACHE. Groaning, you reach up to rub your temples, your eyes still squeezed shut against the harsh morning light filtering through the curtains. When you finally dare to open them, the first thing you see is a glass of water and a single pill on the nightstand next to you.

Grateful, you reach for the water and swallow the pill, hoping it’ll take the edge off your hangover. But as you set the glass back down, something feels… off. You blink a few times, trying to clear the fog from your mind. This didn’t look like your bedroom. Where were you?

You sit up slowly, the blanket sliding off your legs as you take in your surroundings. The room is spacious and sleek, with modern, minimalist decor—a far cry from the cozy clutter of your own place. Panic starts to bubble up in your chest as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, your feet meeting the cool hardwood floor.

You stand, wobbling slightly as the room tilts beneath you. After a moment, you steady yourself and start to walk toward the door. The apartment is eerily quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. You weren't kidnapped right?

You wander through the hallway, glancing at the modern art on the walls and the polished furniture that looks like it belongs in a high-end magazine. None of it is familiar. Displays of trophies. Your heart pounds faster as you pass by a living room with a sleek black couch and a glass coffee table, everything impeccably neat. Where are you?

Finally, you reach the kitchen, your breath catching in your throat as you see a tall figure standing by the counter, his back to you. He’s dressed casually, a black t-shirt stretching across his broad shoulders, his hair slightly tousled like he’s just woken up. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, mingling with the sharp scent of something else—aftershave, maybe.

He turns around, and your heart skips a beat. Sunghoon.

He glances at you, his expression carefully neutral, though you can see the tension in his posture. “You’re awake,” he says, his voice low and measured, as if he’s trying not to sound too concerned.

You blink, still half-convinced you’re dreaming. “Sunghoon?” you whisper, your voice hoarse from sleep. “What… what happened? I was with Yunah and Miyeon…”

He nods, setting down the mug of coffee he was holding. “You were,” he confirms, his tone calm “But you got drunk, really drunk, and I thought it was best you stay here. You were pretty persistent about not telling me your address.”

You stare at him, your mind struggling to piece together the events of the previous night. Flashes of memory come back—calling him, the bar, the lights of the city, his worried face as he helped you into his car. You groan, slapping a hand to your forehead as it all starts to make sense. “Very smart of you, YN..” you mumble to yourself.

“Okay, fine,” you say, crossing your arms defensively. “But I’m still not happy about being brought here without knowing.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, leaning against the counter again. “I didn’t exactly have many options, you know. You wouldn’t tell me your address.”

You huff, feeling a little defensive. “Maybe if you didn’t look so much like a stranger, I would’ve!”

He smirks, crossing his arms to mirror your stance. “I told you who I was. It’s not my fault you couldn’t recognize me in your drunk state.”

You narrow your eyes at him, the headache making you more irritable than usual. “Well, maybe next time you should have tried harder.”

“Next time?” he echoes, a playful glint in his eyes. “So, you’re planning to get drunk and forget who I am again?”

You roll your eyes, refusing to back down. “That’s not what I meant. I just… you could’ve left me with Yunah and Miyeon, you know.”

Sunghoon’s smirk fades slightly, and his tone becomes more serious. “They were tipsy too, and I wasn’t about to leave you with them in that condition. You were my responsibility after you called me.”

You bite your lip, realizing he has a point but not willing to admit it. “Well, you didn’t have to be so overprotective.”

He sighs, the amusement slipping from his face. “I wasn’t being overprotective. I was being responsible.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real anger behind it, “Fine, whatever. But you could’ve at least woken me up or something when we got here.”

He gives you a deadpan look. “You were barely conscious by the time we got here. I didn’t think you’d appreciate being woken up just so you could argue with me.”

You open your mouth to retort but realize you don’t have a good comeback. Instead, you huff again and look away, your arms still crossed. “You’re so annoying.”

Sunghoon chuckles softly, shaking his head. “And you’re impossible.”

THE EVENING SKY WAS A DEEP SHADE OF BLUE. the grand hall filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of chatter. Your engagement party was a few weeks later than planned, but no less extravagant.

You stood beside Sunghoon, the two of you playing the part of the perfect couple for the night. He looked effortlessly handsome in a tailored black suit. You were dressed in a stunning gown that flowed like water around you.

Sunghoon leaned in close as you both watched your families mingle and enjoy themselves. “Remember,” he said with a teasing smirk, “don’t drink too much tonight. I don’t think I could survive another night like the last time.”

You elbowed him lightly in the ribs, giving him a mock glare. “Very funny. I’ll have you know I’m fully in control tonight.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. “I’m just looking out for you.”

You opened your mouth to retort but were interrupted by the sound of a spoon tapping against a glass. Your father stood at the center of the room, commanding everyone’s attention with his broad smile and booming voice. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “if I could have your attention, please! It’s time for a toast from the happy couple!”

The guests turned toward you and Sunghoon, their eyes bright with expectation. You felt a flutter of nerves as you stepped forward, taking the microphone that was handed to you. Sunghoon stood beside you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back—a gesture that felt more practiced than genuine.

You took a deep breath and smiled warmly at the crowd. “Thank you all for being here tonight,” you began, “It means the world to us to have our families and closest friends gathered together to celebrate this special occasion. We couldn’t be happier to share this moment with all of you.”

Sunghoon took the microphone next, his voice smooth and confident as he added, “We’re truly grateful for all the love and support we’ve received. We promise to make the most of this journey together, no matter what the future holds.”

There was a round of applause, followed by the clinking of glasses as everyone raised their drinks in a toast. You exchanged a smile with Sunghoon, relieved that the speech was over, but the evening wasn’t done with its surprises yet.

From somewhere in the crowd, a voice called out, “Give her a kiss!” It started as a playful suggestion, but soon others joined in, chanting and encouraging Sunghoon to kiss you.

Sunghoon chuckled nervously, his usual composed expression faltering slightly. “Oh,” he said, turning to you with a hesitant smile. He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “There.”

The crowd groaned in playful disapproval, with some guests booing and others laughing at the display. Your father, always the life of the party, wasn’t about to let it slide. “Come on, Sunghoon! On the lips!”

You froze, feeling the blood drain from your face as the room buzzed with anticipation. Sunghoon looked just as caught off guard, his eyes widening slightly before he forced a smile back onto his face. “Uh, okay…,” he mumbled, clearly out of his depth.

Sunghoon turned back to you, his eyes searching yours for a moment as if silently asking for permission. You gave him a small nod, your heart racing as he leaned in closer. All you could focus on was the feel of his breath against your lips, the scent of his cologne mingling with the faint traces of champagne.

Then, he closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours. It was over before it even began, a brief touch that was more awkward than anything, leaving you both standing there, trying to play it off with polite smiles as the guests erupted into cheers and applause.

But just as you thought the moment had passed, your grandmother’s voice cut through the noise “Y/N! Give him a real kiss!”

Laughter rippled through the room, and you felt your heart sink. This was not part of the plan. You turned to Sunghoon, your eyes wide with a mix of panic and disbelief. He looked just as flustered, his normally calm expression cracking under the pressure.

“Haha…,” you laughed awkwardly, glancing around the room for an escape, but there was none. The guests were all watching, eagerly awaiting the show they’d been promised.

With no other choice, you forced yourself to smile and faced Sunghoon again. “Well…,” you began, trying to sound lighthearted even though your pulse was racing. “Here goes nothing.”

You leaned in, your lips meeting his once more, but this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was slow, lingering longer than the last. Sunghoon stiffened at first, clearly taken aback by your sudden compliance, but then something shifted. You felt it in the way his hand instinctively came to rest on your waist, pulling you just a little closer as he relaxed into the kiss.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it was over. Sunghoon pulled back, his eyes searching yours with an expression you couldn’t quite read. He looked almost shocked, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. But he quickly masked it with a smile, a little forced, but enough to appease the crowd.

The guests erupted into applause, their cheers and laughter filling the room as you blinked.

As the celebration continued around you, your gaze caught on a familiar face in the crowd. Youngdae. He was standing off to the side, his eyes narrowed as he watched the two of you. There was something in his expression—something smug, knowing. It sent a chill down your spine.

THE MORNING WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE ANY OTHER—calm, uneventful. You were scrolling through your phone, sipping on your coffee, when a notification caught your eye. At first, you thought it was just another article about the engagement, another gossip piece speculating about your relationship with Sunghoon. But the headline stopped you cold.

“Sunghoon and Y/N’s Relationship is All Fake and Scripted.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach, the words blurring in front of your eyes. Panic surged through you as you clicked on the link, your mind racing. How did they find out? Who could have known? As the article loaded, your breath caught in your throat when you saw the author’s name.

Youngdae.

You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips as the reality of it set in. Of course, it was him. You should’ve known he was up to something, but you had been too distracted.

As you read through the article, each line felt like a slap to the face. He had all the details—the fake marriage, the carefully staged moments, even the reasons behind it all. It was as if he had been there, watching every step of the way, waiting for the perfect moment to expose the truth.

Your hands trembled as you scrolled through the comments, each one more vicious than the last. People were calling you a liar, accusing you of playing with their emotions for publicity. The overwhelming wave of hatred and disappointment made you feel sick.

It was all true. Every word of it. The relationship was fake. You knew that from the start, but seeing it laid out like this—so cold, so calculated—made it feel real in a way that shook you to your core.

You set your phone down, staring blankly at the wall in front of you. The buzz of your phone pulled you out of your daze—numerous missed calls from your parents, texts asking you to explain, to do damage control. But you ignored them. Right now, you couldn’t face them. There was only one person you needed to talk to.

Sunghoon.

THE ROAR OF THE ENGINES FILLED THE AIR the scent of burning rubber and gasoline lingering as you stood by the bleachers, watching the cars speed around the track. It felt like déjà vu, standing here again, in the same spot where you first met Sunghoon. Back then, you had watched him win with ease, his car a blur as he crossed the finish line in first place. Today, you found yourself here again, but everything felt different—heavier, uncertain.

As the race continued, your eyes were locked on Sunghoon’s car. You had come here to support him, to clear your mind and maybe, just maybe, find a way to fix everything. But when his car zoomed past, your heart skipped a beat. His eyes briefly met yours, a flash of recognition in his gaze, but then he looked away, ignoring you completely. A cold wave of dread washed over you.

The race was intense, but something was wrong. Sunghoon wasn’t leading like he usually did. For the first time, you watched as he struggled to maintain his position, falling into second place. It was subtle, but you could see the frustration in his driving, the slight hesitations that weren’t characteristic of him. When he finally crossed the finish line, there was no victory in his expression—only a bitter disappointment.

You didn’t waste any time, rushing down the bleachers, making sure to keep your face covered so no one would recognize you. You had to talk to him, had to find out what was going on. As you made your way to the pit area, your heart pounded in your chest, each step feeling heavier than the last.

You found him near his car, his back turned to you as he spoke with his team. He looked different—tense, his shoulders hunched with frustration. When he finally noticed you, his expression hardened, the coldness in his eyes hitting you like a punch to the gut.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he asked, his voice laced with bitterness.

You froze, taken aback by the harshness in his tone. “I… I just wanted to talk,” you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.

“Talk about what?” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. “Us?”

“Yes,” you whispered, feeling a knot form in your throat. “About us.”

Sunghoon let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “There is no ‘us,’ Y/N. It’s over, isn’t it? They know, we know—it’s over.”

His words stung, each one like a dagger to your heart. You opened your mouth to protest, to explain, but nothing came out. He scoffed at your silence, his eyes narrowing in anger. Your eyes dart to his bruised knuckles but you don't ask.

“Sunghoon, please,” you tried again, your voice breaking. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

“Why?” he echoed, his voice rising in frustration. “Because this is the reason I got second place! Because I couldn’t focus, because all I could think about was this mess we’re in!”

You felt a sharp pang of guilt, the weight of his words sinking in. “Sunghoon, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Enough!” he cut you off, his voice firm and unyielding. “Just forget it, okay? We don’t know each other. It’s better that way.”

You stood there, speechless, as he turned away from you, his figure retreating into the crowd.

(EARLIER, FLASHBACK)

PARK SUNGHOON STOOD NEAR HIS CAR, focused and mentally preparing himself for the race. But something was different today, a tension in the atmosphere that he couldn’t quite place.

As he made his way towards the pit lane, his eyes caught sight of a figure approaching. It was a young man, tall and lean, with a smug expression plastered across his face. Sunghoon squinted, trying to place the familiarity of the stranger. The man walked with an air of arrogance.

“Who are you?” Sunghoon asked, his voice cold and clipped, betraying the irritation that was beginning to simmer beneath the surface.

The man stopped in front of him, tilting his head slightly as if considering the question. “Youngdae,” he replied, his tone dripping with mockery. “I’m YN’s ‘close’ friend.”

The words hung in the air, the taunting lilt in Youngdae’s voice making Sunghoon’s stomach churn. His mind raced, trying to recall where he had seen this guy before. And then it clicked. The engagement party. Yunjin’s and…your engagement party. Sunghoon’s jaw tightened at the memory.

“And?” Sunghoon demanded, his voice now laced with suspicion. “What do you want?”

Youngdae smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having. “Oh, I just wanted to let you know,” he started, his tone nonchalant, “that I know everything. And YN… she’s been doing all of this for me. She told me she liked me.”

Sunghoon’s world tilted at those words. His heart stuttered in his chest, “What?” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly would make it true.

Youngdae’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Yeah, she’s been playing you, Sunghoon,” he continued, his voice taunting. “The whole marriage thing? It was just a way for her to escape, to protect me. She’s mine.”

Sunghoon’s blood boiled, his vision narrowing on the man in front of him. Lies. They had to be lies. But the seed of doubt had been planted, twisting and turning in his mind. “Oh really?” Sunghoon muttered, his voice low, dangerous.

Youngdae barely had time to react before Sunghoon’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him staggering backward. Youngdae straightened, wiping the blood from his lip, his smirk only widening.

“Touched a nerve, did I?” Youngdae sneered, stepping forward as if ready for more.

Sunghoon didn’t wait. Another punch.

Finally, with one last kick, Sunghoon sent Youngdae sprawling to the ground, breathing heavily, chest heaving. He stood over the other man, fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles bruised and bloody. But the pain in his hands was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

“Congratulations,” Sunghoon spat, his voice thick with emotion. “You got yourself a girlfriend.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Youngdae on the ground. Was it true? Had everything between you been a lie?

IT HAD BEEN A WEEK SINCE THE WORLD YOU CAREFULLY CONSTRUCTED CAME CRASHING DOWN. The memories of that awful day played on a loop in your mind, leaving you exhausted and drained. You spent countless hours crying, the weight of Sunghoon’s words crushing you. Miyeon and Yunah sat by your side, their attempts to comfort you. They tried everything—funny stories, your favorite movies, even bringing you your favorite snacks—but nothing seemed to help.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon was a mess of his own. The usually confident and composed Formula 1 driver was now a stressed for the past week etched deeply into his features. He had barely slept, and when he did, his dreams were haunted by images of you—your smile, your laugh, and the pain in your eyes when he had turned his back on you. He didn’t want to think about it, but it was all he could think about.

He was sitting with Heeseung, Jay, and Jake. Heeseung glanced at Sunghoon, noticing the way his friend had been uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze unfocused as he stared off in the distance. Heeseung finally broke the silence, his tone cautious, “So… you ended things with YN?”

Sunghoon let out a long, heavy sigh, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “Yeah,” he muttered, the word filled with regret. “She was just using me to get some guy named Youngdae.”

Jake raised an eyebrow at that, his skepticism clear. “Her? Use you?” There was disbelief in his voice, as if the idea itself was absurd.

Jay, who had been scrolling through his phone, looked up with a frown. “Did you not read the article?” he asked, his tone serious. “The author is Youngdae. He’s the one who exposed your fake relationship or whatever.”

Sunghoon blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in. “What?” he muttered, confusion lacing his voice. He straightened in his seat, pulling out his phone with shaky hands. His fingers fumbled as he searched for the article, the one he had tried so hard to avoid reading because he thought he already knew the truth.

When the article loaded on his screen, he read it carefully, his eyes scanning every word, every sentence. As the pieces started to fall into place, his heart began to race. The tone of the article, the subtle jabs at both you and him, the not-so-subtle gloating—everything screamed of someone with a personal vendetta. Youngdae. The man who had approached him before the race, taunting him, planting seeds of doubt in his mind. Sunghoon’s eyes widened as realization hit him like a freight train.

“It was all a lie,” he whispered to himself. He looked up at his friends, his expression one of dawning horror. “She wasn’t using me. Youngdae set the whole thing up.”

Heeseung, Jay, and Jake watched as the realization washed over Sunghoon, each of them exchanging worried glances. “Yeah, it looks like that asshole was trying to mess with you both,” Jay said, his voice calm but firm.

Sunghoon’s thoughts were a whirlwind as he pieced everything together. The way Youngdae had approached him, the lies he’d told, the article designed to twist the truth and drive a wedge between you two. How could he have been so blind?

“Shoot,” Sunghoon cursed under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “I need to talk to her.”

YOU SIGHED, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket as you followed Yunah and Miyeon through the bustling crowd. The roar of excited fans and the distant rumble of engines filled the air, a constant reminder of where you were—somewhere you hadn’t wanted to be. Yunah had practically dragged you here, insisting that Sunghoon wouldn’t be part of the lineup today. “Just come along for the fun,” she had said. “It’ll be a good distraction.” And you had reluctantly agreed.

But as you found your seat and the contestants started to make their way onto the track, your heart nearly stopped. There he was. Sunghoon, as he strode confidently towards his car, the cheers of the crowd rising in volume.

“You lied, Yunah,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes at your friend.

Yunah winced, offering you a sheepish smile. “Oops. Guess I got that wrong.”

Miyeon chuckled, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Well, you’re not leaving now. We paid for these tickets!”

You rolled your eyes, trying to push down the pain that had been gnawing at you for days. It wasn’t easy seeing him after everything, the memories of your last encounter still fresh and raw. But you couldn’t deny the way your heart skipped a beat when his eyes met yours. For a fleeting moment, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but you couldn’t bring yourself to return it, instead looking away quickly, focusing on the crowd.

The race was intense, the final race of the season. whoever won this race would be crowned the champion. Your eyes followed Sunghoon’s car as it sped around the track. You could feel your chest tightening with each passing lap, the anticipation building as he edged closer to victory.

And then, in a blur of speed and adrenaline, Sunghoon crossed the finish line first. The crowd erupted in cheers, the energy electric as the realization set in—he had won. Again.

Sunghoon stepped out of his car, triumphant, the smile on his face broad and genuine as he accepted his trophy. But then, to your surprise, he grabbed the microphone, his voice booming through the speakers.

“This is my fourth year being the champion of this season,” he began, his tone proud but also tinged with something else—something softer. “Thank you, everyone, for your support. It means the world to me.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, hoping the moment would pass quickly, but then his words took an unexpected turn.

“And to those who don’t think YN and I are together… we are,” Sunghoon continued, his eyes searching the crowd until they found you. Your breath hitched as he held your gaze. “And I love her. I truly do. I think it’s the way she laughs or smiles. It’s just the way she gives me butterflies. A composure I can’t hold when she’s with me.”

Your eyes widened, confusion and shock swirling in your mind. What was he doing? Was this some kind of joke? But his expression was serious, sincere, and there was a vulnerability in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

“I’m sorry, YN,” he said through the mic, the words raw and honest. Before you could process what was happening, you felt hands on your back—Yunah and Miyeon were pushing you out of your seat, urging you forward.

“Go on!” Yunah whispered excitedly, while Miyeon giggled beside her.

You were practically shoved onto the track, and suddenly, you were standing in front of Sunghoon. The world seemed to blur around you, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as all you could focus on was him—just him.

Sunghoon’s eyes softened as he looked at you, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He stepped closer, lowering the mic, his voice now just for you. “YN, I’m sorry for everything. For just leaving you with no explanation. I let my insecurities get the best of me, and I almost lost you because of it. But I swear, that’s never going to happen again.” You stared at him, confusion on your face.

“ I pieced it all together, and I realized how wrong I was. I was stupid, and I’m so sorry. But I love you, YN. I love you more than I can put into words. And I want us to be official, for real this time.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions washing over you. It felt surreal, like a dream you were afraid to wake up from. “Actually?” you whispered, needing to hear it again, needing to know this was real.

“Actually,” Sunghoon confirmed, a small, hopeful smile on his lips.

A smile slowly crept onto your face as you felt the last of your doubts melt away. “Well… I love you too,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

And then, before you could say another word, Sunghoon leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss. His hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as his lips moved against yours.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Sunghoon’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know,” he began, his voice teasing, “when you were drunk a few weeks ago, you kissed me on the lips.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” you asked.

“I was just waiting for this moment,” he replied with a grin, pulling you into another kiss as the crowd cheered around you, their applause now a distant echo.

THE CITY WAS ALIVE WITH A SOFT GLOW. Sunghoon drove through the city. You sat beside him, your hand resting comfortably on his as the cool night air streamed in through the open window, brushing against your skin and sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

The world outside was quiet, peaceful, a perfect contrast to the whirlwind of excitement that had surrounded you both ever since the news broke. Everyone knew now—about the engagement, the wedding plans, the future that was waiting for you both just around the corner.

Sunghoon glanced over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he admired the way the moonlight highlighted your features, making you look even more ethereal.

At every green light, he would lean over, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. His lips were soft, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter, before he would pull away with a grin, only to repeat the sweet gesture at the next light.

“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?” he murmured, his voice low as his fingers intertwined with yours, giving your hand a light squeeze.

You smiled, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you looked over at him. “You always say that,” you teased, but the warmth in your voice showed how much you loved hearing it.

“It’s because it’s true,” he replied softly, leaning in for another kiss as the light turned green. This time, the kiss lingered a little longer, his lips moving tenderly against yours.

When he pulled back, a grin on his face that matched your own. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispered.

“Me neither,” you whispered back, leaning in for one more kiss.

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makoodles · 1 year

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ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!

adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.

Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.

Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.

You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.

“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.

Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.

He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”

“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.

“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”

Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.

“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”

Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.

“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”

You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.

“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”

There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”

God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.

“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”

That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.

You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.

And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.

Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.

“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.

You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”

Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.

“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.

His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.

In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.

Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.

“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.

It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.

“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.

A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.

“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.

You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.

You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.

“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.

Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.

Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”

Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.

“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.

Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.

For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.

“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”

As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.

Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.

You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.

“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.

Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.

But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.

You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.

Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.

Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.

“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”

He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!

“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.

You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.

But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.

As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.

You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.

"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.

In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.

"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.

The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.

Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.

Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.

“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”

Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”

You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”

Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.

“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”

Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.

When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.

"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.

"No." Neteyam��s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."

You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”

“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.

You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.

His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.

It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.

You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.

“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”

Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.

If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.

You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.

“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.

You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.

“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.

“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.

Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.

“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.

He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.

Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.

The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.

Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.

“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”

You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.

“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”

Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.

“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”

Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.

“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.

And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.

Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.

Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.

“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”

“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.

Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.

This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.

It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.

You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.

You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.

“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”

He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.

“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”

Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.

“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”

Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?

“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”

Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”

Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”

You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”

Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.

“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.

“Hey–”

As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.

Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.

Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.

You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.

“Tawtute?”

You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.

“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.

Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.

You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.

You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.

You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.

Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.

There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.

The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.

When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.

“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”

You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.

“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”

“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.

Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.

“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”

“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”

You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.

Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.

You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.

“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.

His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.

“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.

It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?

Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.

“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”

“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.

It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.

“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”

Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”

“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”

Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.

“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.

You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.

“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”

Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.

You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.

“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”

You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.

“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”

“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.

When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.

Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.

You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.

“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”

“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.

“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”

The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.

Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.

You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.

All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.

But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.

“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.

Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.

Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.

“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.

There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.

“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.

This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.

Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.

You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.

At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.

“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.

He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.

“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.

“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.

You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.

Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.

“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.

“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.

It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.

Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.

Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.

Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.

He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.

You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.

“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.

Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.

You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.

It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.

Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.

Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.

You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.

You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.

Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.

Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.

Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.

He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.

Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.

It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.

“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”

You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.

“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.

“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”

Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.

“Y-yes.” You say.

Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?

“How would you like me to–”

“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.

Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.

The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.

What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.

“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.

Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.

“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"

You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.

Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.

“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.

You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.

What the fuck?

#on holidays atm and I’ve been stressing about how to post this 😭 I’ll have part 2 posted in a day or two!#neteyam #neteyam x human #neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #na'vi x human #na’vi x reader #awow #avatar way of water #neteyam fic #fics

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