#this is what I've been doing all afternoon

[romancherry]

caged in silk (3) — picnic date

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ a nice picnic during a perfect sunny day is turned into something unexpected when javier starts to seduce you. and when he is done, it's joel's job to clean it up.

warnings ➝ explicit smut, soft!dark content, fingering, oral (f!receiving), pussy eating, squirting, overstimulation, heavy praise kink, breast play, nipple play, pet names (especially good girl), guiding and talking reader through orgasms, kissing and making out, all of this happens out in the open in their backyard so it's immoral public behaviour, dirty talk, swearing, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 4.900

author's note ➝ hello everyone i'm back with another update on this story! never thought i'd make it lol. i've been busy with college and my inspiration dimmed but i finally gathered the time necessary to write another chapter. it's a bit on the longer and more descriptive side. i tried my best to incorporate every detail i had imagined and i hope i didn't confuse you. if you enjoyed this, please leave a comment or repost! my heart fills with love every time i read your supportive reactions 🩷

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

it had been a week since your failed escape attempt. a week since you had fought tooth and nail, trying to slip away from them, only to be caught and dragged right back where you belonged. 

you had been defiant, full of fire, spewing curses at them and threatening to make their lives hell. but now? now, you peacefully sat between them in the backyard. 

a picnic. their attempt at smoothing things over, at making you comfortable. 

the checkered blanket beneath you was soft, and the spread they had laid out was impressive: lemonade, fresh fruit, cheese and pastries, along with some beer bottles for them to enjoy. 

it was domestic, almost normal. if someone looked from the outside, they’d think this was just a group sharing a lazy afternoon together.

but you knew the truth. 

javier sat on your left with a protective hand resting on your thigh, thumb lazily tracing circles over your bare skin. marcus was across from you, sitting comfortably on a folding chair, reading a newspaper through his sunglasses with a beer in his hand. and joel was just a few feet nearby, tending to a couple of pork ribs on the grill.

it was almost laughable how much they tried to make you feel content here. it’s absurd how they went back to playing house after filling your mind with honeyed threats. don’t try to run again, sweetheart. it won’t end well for you. your place is with us. you belong here, you just don’t see it yet. 

“you’re awfully quiet, sweetheart,” joel said, turning his head towards where you and javier laid on the blanket, studying you.

you stabbed your fork into a piece of fruit, shoving it into your mouth before responding. “what am i supposed to say?” 

“attitude,” marcus warned.

“looks like someone’s feisty today,” javier teased, and you could peak with the corner of your eye just how smug and amused his smirk was displayed on his stupid face.

“why don’t you try an’ relax, hm? it’s a beautiful day, baby. sunshine ‘n all,” joel suggested. and he wasn’t wrong. today’s weather is indeed the only reason to smile. the grass is greener, butterflies are in the air, the sunrays are glowing upon you, making your eyes hurt a little. the colours are vibrant and the ocasional breeze makes it a little easier to breathe through the smell of barbecue and smoke.

too bad the company’s ruining everything. this would’ve normally been the perfect day for you if you hadn’t been in the presence of your captors who changed the course of your life drastically and expected you to fall in line quickly. bend and mold to their every decision and routine while learning to not cross their boundaries.

“what’s in that pretty little head of yours, darling?” javier interrupted your train of thought, his hand smoothing over the plump flesh of your thigh, a bit too uncomfortable for your liking. “i don’t like seeing that frown on your beautiful face,” he added, his words almost genuine. with his hand still warming your thigh, his other hand came up to brush a stray hair off your face and lock it behind your ear, revealing more of your cheek to him.

“eres tan hermosa, mi amor,” he whispered sweetly, and you just realized how close he got to you.

you slightly and carefully turn your head in his direction, and your nose almost brushes his. his gaze immediatelly follows your mouth and studies your anxious breathing. the way your throat barely constricts when you swallow. how you try to make yourself seem unaffected by his presence; not only the warmth and confidence he emanates, but how he’s so open with his desire and admiration for you just by the expression of his eyes alone.

his eyes slowly rise to meet yours, and before you can shy away from the overwhelming eye contact, he gently cups your cheek and brings your lips to his.

your shock comes to life through a light squeak, a sensible moan, and javier proudly swallows it whole. he doesn’t wait for you to give him permission. the moment his tongue breaks the barrier of your lips and meets your own, his chest fills with lust.

he kisses you like he’ll never get another chance; greedy, passionate, posessive. he makes love to your mouth, worships your tongue and ocasionally moans shamelessly at how warm and familiar you feel, like you’ve done this a thousand times before. he laps at every inch you didn’t willingly give; teeth crashing, lips burning, noses touching – and before you can stop yourself, your hand unconciously grabs his shirt, and his body moves itself by instinct, scooting impossibly closer to yours, searching for more. demanding more.

he forces himself to break the kiss, and he does it so annoyingly slow. his teeth drag your bottom lip with him as if daring you to seek his touch further. his lips completely depart from yours and create distance between you.

his eyes run over your every feature, taking in your shaken state. you’re obviously dizzy and flustered, your glossy eyes and slightly red cheeks giving you away to his predatory gaze.

“seems like someone’s having fun,” marcus breaks the silence, the deep, intimidating tone in his voice snapping you out of the trance javier put you in.

you can see in the corner of your eye that joel’s attention shifted as well, from the preparation of the meal on the grill to the heated situation between you and his younger brother.

you search for a glimpse of jealousy and posessiveness in his gaze, but you don’t find any. he looks… interested. amused. curious to see if you will let your guard down again.

his eyes roam over your body and analyze the slight tremble in your naked thighs. you silently curse them for the creativity they put into choosing the delicate sundress for you today. yellow, thin… questionably short.

you realize the choice for your attire is no sudden coincidence. they planned on making you give in. how much, you didn’t know. it was up to them to decide on how many bricks they were going to knock out of your walls. their games of seduction were limitless, and if you weren’t careful… if you let them have their way with you – you know they’ll absolutely ruin you. and you didn’t want that. didn’t want them to have that power on you.

you snap out of deep thought and carefully shimmy away from javier’s body. but he’ll have none of that.

“where are you going, princesa?” javier asks, placing his hand on your thigh. he doesn’t need to apply any pressure to let you know you can’t go anywhere further.

“nowhere,” you fake confusion in your voice, trying to hide your true intention. trying to hide the fact that you indeed wanted to get away from his overwhelming attention.

of course your lies couldn’t get past him. he’s a former agent, for fuck’s sake. if you’re searching for a master manipulator in this house, first person you think of is javier peña. you play his games; he doesn’t play yours.

“now, now, hermosa… you gave me a taste, you know you can’t leave me like this,” he taunts, his intentions clear.

“what would you want me to do?” you question, your irritated tone making it clear you won’t break easily. that you’re not his puppet, his personal hooker that he payed for in order to forget about his problems.

“attitude, sweetheart. watch your tone,” marcus warns. of course he had to lecture you.

“it’s alright, brother,” javier excuses you. he is being suspiciously sweet. “i don’t think our sweetheart meant any harm. did you, baby?” his question is a test. a subtle dare – act impulsively on your frustration and feel the consequences. play his game, by his rules – and maybe you’ll have a shot. maybe you’ll rise in his eyes; make him proud. make yourself worth accounting for next time marcus wants to teach you a lesson.

“no. i meant no disrespect,” you comply. and you don’t miss the growing smile on javier’s face.

“good girl. very good girl,” he appreciates, running his hand through your flowing hair as gentle as possible. a gesture of kindness. a praise. a glimpse of what could happen – what could be – if you choose to submit. “why don’t you come sit between my legs, hm, baby? you’ll be more comfortable here.”

his invitation makes your stomach turn in disgust. you know what he wants, what he seeks. he moves his legs apart to make room for you and you don’t let him wait, moving carefully in the space he created. you’re grateful he didn’t demand you to straddle his lap.

you place your ass as far away from his crotch as you can while you gently lay the weight of your back on his chest. you position your head on his right shoulder, urging him to cradle you, which he does. he removes the barrier your hair created between your faces, guiding it on the opposite side. his breath is heavy and heated on your cheek, and as if the situation couldn’t get more overwhelming, he sneaks his left arm around your waist, circling it, sticking your body to his, making it harder to breathe, to move, to escape him.

you need some means of grounding. a way to cope with the anxiety buzzing in your bones and boiling your blood, your patience. how dare he touch you this way? make a show of your submission and compliance in front of his brothers, for the first time ever? what does he hope to accomplish?

you gather in fists the material of the dress which innocently rests on the side of your thighs, right below the delicate curve of your hips. it’s a way supposed to help you calm down and stop anticipating what’s to come next. to sway you from the overthinking train of thought which is threatening to keep rising your panic.

javier notices the way your body tenses, and he frowns. he doesn’t like it – doesn’t enjoy the fact that you’ll think he’s going to hurt you, violate your privacy and independence. he merely wants to take care of you and help you relax. he quickly figures that maybe this isn’t the best place to do it – in front of the watchful and hungry eyes of his brothers. but he can’t take it back now. all he can try is to make the pain go away. to coax you into opening up and become vulnerable for him – for them.

“shh, baby, relax. relax,” he whispers while carefully massaging the length of your arm with the unoccupied hand. gentle strokes of his fingertips rise goosebumps in their path while going up and down, up and down, doing a better job than you expected. “don’t be afraid, i won’t hurt you. i could never hurt you,” he promises, but his words feel empty to you. meaningless. deceitful.

you feel the wet press of his lips right on your temple and you shiver. he is so gentle, too gentle. treating you like a fragile piece of ancient, romantic sculpture. he surely must think of you like that – consider you something, someone, worth protecting and appreciating. worthy of love.

“you smell divine, mi amor,” he inhales ocasionally, taking deep breaths of your scent – the floral detergent in your dress, the remnants of the shampoo and conditioner in your hair. even the natural scent of your skin, though subtle, is enough to make javier’s head spin.

his hand removes leaves your arm and trails dangerously lower, tracing the line between the bottom of your dress and the inside of your thigh. the occasionally cool breeze flows in your direction, bothering your thin dress and lifting it merely an inch off of your legs. each time that happens, you’re sure that marcus can see the center of your panties and the way they stick like second skin to your pussy, squeezing your throbbing clit.

javier struggles to hide his amused smirk each time he touches you, teases and plays with your imagination by threatening to dip his fingers lower. to enter new territory and sink between your legs to where you want him most.

“so soft, baby. soft as silk,” he murmurs into your ear, his praise followed by a gentle peck to your earlobe, “can’t believe something as sweet as you rests in my arms. you like that, baby? feel safe?” he urges you to answer, to respond in kindly to his advances so he can take your pleasure as a sign to go further.

you shudder at his honeyed praise and force to swallow a lump down your throat so you can speak. “yes,” it’s more of a moan than a proper word, “feels… nice.”

“good, baby. i’m glad you like it,” he nips at your earlobe, and the unexpected distraction presents an open door for his hand to quickly trail further down your dress and dissapear right between your legs. you only notice the sudden intrusion when you feel your body moving without your own accord – your legs slightly parting, making room for him to graze the tip of his index down the center line of your pussy, nudging your clit, and then pressing on your hole, through your panties.

you gasp in both pleasure and anxiety at the gesture, so you try to protect yourself. to shield what little dignity you have left by ending things before they progress into something worse, more serious.

in a pathetic attempt to close your legs, he intervenes by syncing the tight hold his arm has around your waist with the quick move of his feet rising from the blanket and surround your own from the inside, preventing you to close them further.

once you’re securely caged between his frame, he nudges your feet to open up more. encouraging them to move, little by little, towards the edge of the blanket. towards the exterior.

you saw this coming. and that’s even worse than being clueless and not anticipating it – because you knew what he would do, and you did nothing to stop it.

“please, javi. you said you won’t hurt me,” you pleaded, and you hated the inevitable tremble in your voice.

“poor baby, no. this isn’t what you think it is,” he reassures, his words matching his attempt at grounding and soothing you in his hold by kissing all over your temple and massaging the inside of your thigh, backing away slightly from your dripping pussy to make you feel less threatened. “i don’t want to hurt you, baby. i swear. if you let me, i’ll make you feel so, so good.”

you feel the way his heart beats against his chest, the rhythm vibrating in your backbone. he is equally anxious too; he really wants you to enjoy this. to not view it as a punishment. because even if you did nothing extraordinary to earn this treatment, you deserve to feel good too.

“i’ll make this pretty pussy so happy, sweetheart. make you happy too, happiest you’ve ever been. if you’ll just let me…” his promise ends with a pause, giving you time to think if you really want to give in.

the question is – are you stupid enough to refuse, or so weak you just approve?

is it really a sign of weakness, though? to just give in? to let yourself be caressed by him and feel the pulsing desire of his brothers who are desperately waiting for their turn?

all of this is under your control, if you think about it. they punish you for your dissapointing behaviour and shower you with affection as a reward for behaving like a proper lady. like how their proper lady should behave.

you don’t need a gun to assert dominance or make them listen. you hold their wills in the power of your hands.

“yes, javi. please,” you whisper.

“what did you say, baby? please repeat, i didn’t hear it, i swear,” he pleads with you, sounding desperate, not taunting, like before. he genuinely didn’t hear you – or he did, but he just didn’t expect you to comply so easily. so willingly.

“please, javi. wan’ you to make me happy,” you lick your lips, turning your head so your lips ghost his earlobe, and he shudders slightly at the brief contact. “make my pussy happy. pretty please?” you plead innocently, the tone of your voice rising slightly, sounding as if you’re the spoiled daughter of a rich man. pairing your encantation with the submissive doe eyes you present, you give him an impossible deal to refuse.

“good girl, baby. the best girl,” he lets out a ragged breath in relief, his fingers making quick, delicate work of arranging your panties to the side, moving the obstacle out of the way. “don’t have to ask me twice, babygirl. would do anythin’ for you and your pretty pussy.”

a surprised gasp leaves your lips as he guides two fingers through your slit from bottom to top, gathering the wetness he encountered at your entrance to the surroundings of your clit. “oh, mierda, cariño. you’re soaked. is it because of me, hmm?” he presses a kiss to the corner of your eye while rolling your clit between his index and middle finger.

“ah, yes javi. yes,” you admit shamelessly, moans blessing his ears each time your little bundle of nerves receives additional stimulation when he pinches your clit.

“that’s right, baby, sing for me,” he urges you, his patience slipping with each passing moment as his resistance crumbles. the resistance implies forcing your legs even wider, making your knees bend abruptly before shoving you full of three fingers and making you scream while squirting all over his hand and the blanket below.

your eyes go wide when he eases his middle finger inside your tight hole. you’re both surprised that the act itself met not one single obstacle; his finger just made its way in like your walls were invisible, like your pussy saw it coming and decided to expand itself to make room for him, to accommodate everything he had to give.

“please, oh fuck yes,” you moaned shamelessly now, not bothering to hide the building pleasure javier caused right in front of his brothers in their own backyard. he responded in kind, loving the way you felt so comfortable letting yourself go – letting him know you love the way he touches you.

“such a tight pussy, baby. see how she hugs my fingers? hm? imagine it was my cock instead,” another finger joins in, making it two – stuffing you full, yet you can’t get enough. “would you prefer my cock, sweet girl? do you think it’ll fit?” his teases are back, but you pay them no mind. in fact, you love them. paired with the expert moves of his fingers fucking your vagina until your eyes roll in the back of your skull – it’s fucking amazing.

a soft laugh escapes his lips when you don’t bother to answer his question. you actually can’t seem to, really – he can tell you’re on the brink of orgasm by the way your chest rises and falls and your abdomen constricts along with your toes curling.

“no, i guess it won’t fit, cariño. not when you’re this fucking tight, sweet girl. jesus fuck,” the hand which was previously surrounding your waist changes its location to your right breast, squeezing it through the fabric and causing your soft nipple to rise to a little peak. it wasn’t enough, though. he needed to feel the softness of your skin and properly pinch your nipples. so his hand makes its way to your neckline and shimmies right underneath it in a desperate hurry to cup your naked breast and feel the angry little nipple in the palm of his hand. he gives you a squeeze which is a little rougher than intended before caging your nipple between his thumb and index to give it a proper rub and twirl, making you choke on your own moan.

“yes, javi, yes! please, more! don’t stop, don’t ever stop. gonna cum so hard…” you sob, feeling your vision blur and your cheeks getting wet a second after that.

fuck, you went feral. him and his brothers are so grateful they all witnessed the fact that you’re visibly into nipple play, and not only – breast play entirely. he makes quick note of that and stuffs it deep into his memory before continuing his rough administrations to your nipple compared to the loving strokes and poundings of his fingers in your cunt.

“then cum, sweetheart. go on. go on, little dove. thaat’s right, give me what i want. let go, let go. such a sweet little girl, lettin’ me take care of her. wanna see your poor pussy cry too, baby, not just your eyes. come on, baby, soak my fingers.”

he didn’t have to tell you twice. even though the rhythm of his fingers did not (thankfully) change, keeping you right where you’ve been all along, on the bridge of bliss and orgasm, his words were enough to send you over the edge as you closed your eyes and came around his fingers violently, your whole body trembling in his careful hold in contrast to your throbbing pussy pulsing out your release, gushing around his fingers and wetting the blanket with splash after splash as he guided you all the way through it, his arm tightening around your breast, making sure you never leave this safe heaven.

after you came down from your high, your body gradually relaxed and his fingers sadly parted themselves from their home. he let you close your legs and he even pulled the bottom of your dress as low as he could afford it, since most of the material was bunched underneath your bare ass sticking embarasingly to the wet blanket.

you open up your eyes to see marcus turning his gaze from you and back to his newspaper, trying his best not to seem affected by what just happened. but you know better, and judging by the immense bulge he unsuccesfully hides from you, you just know he wants nothing more than to make his way between your legs and stuff you full of his cum until you’re left shaking. he wouldn’t even need to take down his pants all the way through from how quick it would all be over. he practically witnessed how javier struggled to fit two fingers inside your cunt – his cock would basically choke.

joel was none the wiser. he was struggling to hold back even more than marcus; his fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw clenched, mouth closed shut along with a voluminous jugular vein pulsing furiously right beneath the tanned skin.

but you caught the red in his cheeks. he was visibly flushed, nervous and needy. eager to get a taste of you.

and so he did.

you stop breathing the moment he stalks towards you with a predatory look on his face, determined to dull the curiosity, grasping for something to claim from you.

all air is suddenly knocked out of your lungs when joel kneels in front of you and manhandles your legs apart, revealing your glistening pussy to his own gaze once more. she was all puffy and a bit swollen from before, the walls around the entrance pulsing and clenching around nothing as the opening looks much more evident and even wider than a few minutes ago.

“javier treated ya well, babygirl. took care of this lil’ girl jus’ right,” joel says, his deep, dominating tone making shivers crawl up your spine. “should clean her up. can’t leave her all messy.”

it’s all he says before diving head first into your cunt and licking all the juice dripping down your thighs and pussy. your ragged moan urges him to press on, despite your desperate attempts at begging him to take it slow on your overstimulated pussy. he doesn’t give a damn about your hands tangling and pulling his hair; he thinks it’s so fucking hot and it turns him on impossibly more, his cock aching for release in the confinement of his annoying boxers.

“mmm, ‘s right. goood girl,” he moans into your pussy, the vibrations adding more intensity to your building orgasm.

“you’re gonna cum on joel’s tongue, cariño? make a mess all over his face just like you did on my fingers?” javier whispers into your ear, the hand that warmed your breast starting to stir over the plump flesh to gather attention to your tortured nipple once more.

“yes… mmm, fuck yes. p-please, feels so, so… ah!”

“shh, that’s right, babygirl. let go. give it to joel, niiice and slow, thaaat’s it.”

your second orgasm practically makes you see stars. it comes fast and unexpected, crashing over you in the blink of an eye and lasting so long you wonder if you’ve gone blind. joel’s tongue fucks in an out of you, your poor hole trying to clench onto the thick muscle in an attempt to grab him and never let him go as he patiently laps up all your release with a content hum.

he presses a gentle kiss to your clitoris when he’s done. you can’t, won’t, open your eyes again. you don’t need to look at him to know the painful look he probably has on his face because he wishes he could do it all over again. never depart his face from between your legs.

his mind races to various ways and possibilities of making you cum on his face. next time, he’ll definitely make you ride his nose while making love to your pussy with his tongue and mouth. bringing you to several orgasms until you beg for him to put you out of your misery and sink himself into your tight warmth until you’re nothing but a whimpering toy.

one day, he thinks. one day, you’ll succumb to all of their wants and desires.

because you’ll be addicted. to how they make you feel, how they take care of you. to their smell and touch. to them. it’s all just a matter of time, which you and them have plenty of. because you’re never leaving them again.

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART TWELVE)

I had to work late one day, and I came home to find Braden playing video games with the older boys, while the twins were crawling around in the family room. Brade was hunky as hell in his favorite faded T-shirt from the local NFL team and his PT shorts, furry legs stretched out barefoot as he got into trying to beat Keith. What made him more alluring was his natural, easy fatherhood. He was SO good with the boys, nurturing and a masculine role model for them. I had to consider myself the luckiest father in the world and was thankful I was a family man.

My son-husband paused the game then looked up at me. His face silently communicating something was serious. "Hi Dad... You should go check on Bill."

"Oh," I said. I was going to ask if it was serious, but I realized Braden didn't want to bring it up around the boys.

I made my way through our mansion to where Junior's room was. A guess flashed through my mind. Since that first magical date night, I'd pulled back some from Junior. Not emotionally, but we'd had less one-on-one time the week and a half since. I thought Junior knew why: his Daddy and I was trying for another pregnancy, and I'd focused my sexual energy there. I'd given Junior a couple of quick blowjobs before he went off to school, and I'd rimmed him a couple of times while he jerked off. But that was it.

The door wasn't completely closed now, but it was mostly shut. I gave a knock. "Can I come in, buddy?"

"Yeah, Dad," came the defeated reply.

Junior was still in his knit shit and golf shorts from practice, his favorite cap pulled down where the brim rested above the eyes. He was a good way into his senior year, and Junior already was rocking an impressive college-jock build. In other circumstances I'd be joining him in bed, making out with my special dude. But something was wrong, I could see a lot of worry in his eyes.

Instinctively, I shut the door. "What's wrong, kiddo?" I asked.

"I fucked it up, Dad," Junior said. "Just as we were getting close, I fucked it up."

I came and sat on the bed, placing my hand on Junior's strong leg where the soft hairs were starting to come in. "Why don't we start at the beginning?" I asked.

He nodded, and I could tell he was holding back tears. Maybe he'd been crying all afternoon. "I've been using protection, honest. But I guess the condom broke..." He paused. "Well, I know the condom broke. I didn't think it would be a big deal. But Mr. Carson called today, and he's pregnant, and I don't what to fucking do..."

"Tim Carson?" I asked. "Alex's Dad?" Alex was Junior's teammate and good friend. I tried not to sound judgmental, but I was just genuinely surprised to the point I thought maybe there was another Mr. Carson.

Junior nodded, emotion heavy. "It's messed up. Alex is weirded out, and Mr. Carson's upset. You can ground me, Dad... I've just been worried you'll break up with me."

I patted his leg, and began caressing the short hairs more affectionately. "I'm not breaking up with you, Junior," I assured him. "But you gotta man up and be there for Mr. Carson. And your son. Doesn't matter how awkward things are."

"I know, Dad. And I will." His voice got quiet. "I've been dreaming of being a Dad, but fuck, I didn't expect it to be like this. So soon, you know."

"I know, kiddo," I said. I figured this was the good time to tell Junior. "You know... when I fathered your Daddy... that was an unplanned pregnancy."

"For real?" Junior asked. I was surprised he hadn't put two and two together, doing the math between my and Braden's age. But my husband and I made sure that our boys saw loving parents, so maybe it just didn't occur to him.

"I was even younger. 16 and a dumb teen dad," I said self-deprecatingly. "But Braden turned out to be the best thing in my life... even better because he gave me five amazing sons, who were planned."

"Dad..." Junior's voice was getting heavy.

"I won't lie, kiddo, raising a kid is hard work."

"I know, Dad. I'm ready."

I patted his leg again. "Attaboy." Everything about Junior then was making me fall for him, as completely as I had Braden at that age. "So," I winked, trying to provide some levity. "Just one broken condom and your swimmers got it done, huh?"

It was a relief to see Junior's smile. "Guess so."

"You know..." I continued, running my fingers up Junior's leg, beneath the hem of his shorts. "If you were a true Drake man, you'd get a boner just thinking about the fact you knocked a guy up."

I could see the gears turn in Junior's head. The realization and the surprise that I was giving him permission to feel sexual right now. Permission to embrace the turn on maybe he didn't know was there.

I watched Junior get stiff in his shorts. For our time exploring each other the last month, I'd only watched his hardon form once from start to full erection. I was watching it now and it was beautiful. Especially because Junior's eyes went from his crotch to my face and back.

"I guess I'm a Drake man, all right," he hissed in lust.

"Fuck yeah, you are buddy," I growled and leaned in to kiss him.

This felt different than before. Not only had Junior upped his kissing game, copying the technique I'd coached him on over date night, but we were peers in a strange way. Fellow dads.

His hands were on my feeling my dress shirt beneath my suit as we got into it.

"God I love you, Dad. So fucking much," Junior hissed as I removed my shoes and got up onto bed with him. "I've just been worried sick you'd break things off."

"I know, Junior," I said, running my hand along his built chest. "Listen, I gotta be the dad sometimes," I said. "But you're a man on your own right now. And I care for you like crazy."

He had an adorable checked smile on his face. "I just knew you'd be mad at me."

"You gonna give me a reason to be?" I arched my eyebrow.

"No, sir," Junior laughed.

I gave an appreciative nod. I leaned in and whispered into his ear. "Maybe I can taste that breeding cock of your son."

"God yes," he answered in a croak and was already fiddling with his shorts. Maybe one of these days we'd get a more equal dynamic for who would initiate sex and when, but for now Junior deferred to when and how I'd fit in our own private time within my marriage to Braden.

This was fun, and I realized how excited I was that Junior had knocked up a guy. Rationally I knew it wasn't the right thing. Or at least it had happened too soon. But as I got closer to my son's hard prick I gripped it in my fingers and said lewdly. "You got a hardon when you heard Tim Carson was pregnant, Son?"

He shook his head. "Was too freaked actually," he said.

I looked up at him. "I know how you felt, son," remembering that conversation. "But now... I get huge boners when I knock your Daddy up."

"Fuck," Junior hissed. He loved that idea.

I licked his balls, tickling the orbs with my tongue. "Got powerful sperm in here."

"I do, Dad," Junior finally getting on my wavelength. "I fucking put a kid into Mr. Carson." I could sense his eyes on me, reading me in case he went too far.

"A son," I added, then licked to where his balls met his shaft. "You're gonna give me a fucking great-grandson."

"OH FUUUCK!" he hissed. At the idea but also because my tongue was tracing up his hard shaft.

"Fucking teen dad," I grunted. "You gotta a lot more before you can catch up with me."

"Course, Dad. Six sons is a lot."

I looked him dead in the eye. Junior was so frickin' sexy just then. "Especially cause I'm not stopping anytime soon."

"OH FUCK!" I knew how turned on Junior was getting because he was at a loss for words.

I didn't need the sex talk anyway. I leaned forward and began taking my son's dick in my mouth. The dick that had fucked Tim Carson and made a kid. A new life. I didn't need Braden's oral technique then, Junior was ready to blast pretty quick. He gripped my head and pumped some into my mouth as his dick spurted its seed. Maybe it was all in my head, but I imagined that his cum tasted different, more manly.

"Thank you," he hissed. Then, "Can I...?"

I shook my head and swallowed the rest of his cum. "I'll let your Daddy take care of that," I said. I slid out of bed and stood up, arranging the hardon in my trousers. "You tell him the news?"

Junior nodded yes. I could tell he'd dreaded telling me in a way he hadn't with Braden.

"Well, tomorrow, or the next day, see if you can bring Tim around the house," I suggested. "I want you to take responsibility, Junior, but maybe your Daddy and I can clear the air some."

"Sure, Dad. And thanks for understanding."

I leaned in to give him a quick kiss. "It's gonna change your life, Junior, in some not good ways as well as the amazing ones. But you got this, kiddo... I know you do.... and well, me and your Daddy have your back, OK?"

We let Junior have his space that evening, the rest of the family having dinner without him. I thought of checking with him before bed, but I knew he was OK, he just needed time to think and reflect. I think he valued that alone time just as much as me.

Later, when Braden and I got ready for bed, we knew we were gonna fuck. A hard fuck, going at it verbally. Talking about Junior's cock and sperm. Talking about our son becoming a father. It was an intense, simultaneous orgasm, and afterward, Braden and I held each other's sweaty naked bodies and had a serious conversation about expectations and how we could help Junior out.

***

Tim Carson was cordial when he came over the next day. It was small talk and introduction. I mean I knew him some from the team fundraiser and from the times I'd dropped Junior off for sleepovers a couple of years ago. Maybe it was one of those times, I wondered when was Junior first...

Now wasn't the time for recriminations. Tim felt nervous as hell to be there, even after Braden went to look after the twins, leaving just him, me and Junior in my study.

"This is awkward," the man said at last. Junior had good taste, I'll give him that. Mr. Carson was well preserved for a man in his 50s, fit, what I'd call a DILF. Like Doug Newcomb, only more normal looking, less movie star handsome. The man was a corporate lawyer, married with two kids. And his life had been turned upside down.

"Don't feel so on my account," I said.

He nodded, grateful. He looked over at Junior then at me. "You guys are going to think I'm crazy, but I wanna have this kid."

"It's not crazy at all, Mr. Carson," Junior said with a strange self-confidence.

He gave a gentle shrug. "Knowing I have this life inside my body, growing inside of me... it just feels meant to be."

"How far are you along?" I asked.

"Over three months," Tim answered. "I didn't know what was going on at first."

I did the math. This was before Junior and I first had sex, probably before I grounded him, but not much more. "How are you holding up?"

"Health-wise? Emotionally?..."

"Either."

"Health is good. I'm just dealing with my family." His voice got quiet. "Kelly always wanted another kid. She's not forgiving me, but I guess taking this as that chance, you know...?"

"I want to speak for Bill Jr here... he's going to be there however you need."

I saw a flash of worry on his face and maybe some real emotional conflict. He looked over at Junior, then back to me. "I'm going to raise him... Kelly and I are going to raise the kid as a Carson, Bill. I don't expect anything from Bill Jr. But maybe he could be the godfather."

"I'd be honored, Mr. Carson," Junior piped in.

I finally let them have a private conversation, getting up to go join Braden and our other sons in the family den. But before I did, I held out my hand to shake Tim Carson's. "I know my great-grandson will be a Carson, but I just want to let you know, Tim, that I consider you family."

"Thanks for understanding, Bill," Tim said. Up close, I could see what Junior saw in the man. The not classically handsome face had a way of growing on you. "And thanks for not stringing my balls up," he laughed.

I turned to Junior. "I'll be in the den if you need me for anything, son, OK?"

Junior smiled. Relieved and maybe surprised this whole conversation had gone better than he expected.

***

I did go check on Junior before bedtime. He was doing homework but was shirtless and just in some gym shorts in his room. "I take it Tim left," I said, as I knocked on the door.

"Just about a half hour ago," Junior said with a proud smirk. Then, "Sorry... I guess we never clarified House Rule Number 7," he said, referencing the idea of exclusivity.

"There's no House Rule 7, Junior," I said. He was at his desk, and I sat down on his bed. God, Brade was right. The kid was so much like me. Led around by his dick, but maybe not wanting to be like that. "Celebration sex is pretty powerful, isn't it?" I said. Bonding with my boy experiencing his first time with fatherhood.

That made Junior smile big. "I'll say, Dad. I know we talked about this, but bareback fucking is pretty damn incredible."

I laughed. "First time, raw?" I confirmed, making sure Junior had been truthful to me before.

He nodded. "Oh yeah. Other than the broken rubber time, but that didn't really count."

It was time for me to switch from wingman/buddy mode to parent mode. "You know, Mr. Carson has a family. A wife and kids."

He got more serious. "I know, Dad. We talked a lot. But Mr. Carson wanted it. I did too. At least one last time."

I felt for him... I think he felt this strange emotional side of becoming a father. This need to bond with the man he'd impregnated. I got up and reached over to pat his shoulder. In other circumstance, and if Junior hadn't just gotten laid, I might have initiated something. He was just so handsome and youthful and... dad-like. My second son, now a father himself.

"Maybe next date night we can just have a nice long conversation about being a father."

Junior seemed to take that in. "Sounds great, Dad... only no sex?"

"Horndog," I teased.

"I'm a Drake," Junior teased back.

I ran my fingers down his arm. I was getting a little turned on. "That you are, buddy." I leaned in some. There was just this bond Junior and I had at this moment. Fellow breeders. Junior following in my footsteps. Maybe this isn't the way it should have happened, but with sex and pregnancy it doesn't always play out like you want or expect.

"So... kiddo..." I said with a naughty look on my face. "I'm gonna go fuck your Daddy. See if I can make a son, too."

Junior's eyes grew excited. He may have just gotten his rocks off but he was clearly showing some lust at the idea. "Yeah?"

"Fuck yeah, stud. Wanna come watch tonight?"

"God, Dad, I'd love that."

Junior had joined in my and Brade's marriage bed a few times, but the action had been all oral. He'd never seen his parents fuck.

"Give it a half hour," I said. "Then come join us."

Braden was already getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth in the master bathroom as I stepped in, a big smirk on my face.

"What?" Brade laughed, spitting out the toothpaste. Then rinsing it out, it occurred him. "Oh fuck... Junior's joining us tonight?"

"If you're up for it, Son," I said, stepping behind him and gently gripping his strong shoulders to massage them as I look into his eyes in the mirror. "I want Junior to watch me breed you," I said.

"God," Braden said. And now I was able to see him throw hard in his shorts. I leaned in and kiss the side of his neck.

"I can't believe our son's a father now," I said softly.

"I know, Dad," Braden replied. "I've been thinking about that all day."

"Does it turn you on?" I asked. So far, other than a bout of sex talk during fucking, me and Brade's conversation had been about the practicality of Junior's paternity news and how we should respond as parents.

"Like crazy, Dad. I tolda ya he's gonna be like you."

We took our time getting naked and into bed. My son-husband and I were slow making out at first, enjoying the physical connection and the conversation.

"I'm so glad you were open to incest, Dad... way back when."

"I'm glad you got me to listen to my cock. Best decision I ever made."

We kissed more deeply.

A gentle knock came, but Junior went ahead and opened the door to slip on. I could tell he was hard in his shorts, but those didn't stay on long anyway. As he slid them off to show his large teen boner, he said softly. "Hey Dads."

I hadn't told Braden about Junior fucking Tim Carson earlier, but it didn't really matter. I was just amused he was recharged again, already.

"Hey Bill," Braden said, scooting to the side to give our son some space in the king sized bed. "It might be less foreplay tonight," he added.

"I don't care, Daddy," Junior said as he climbed over the base of the bed and onto the mattress between us. "I'm just so glad to be with you guys."

Braden kissed him first, then I pulled Junior toward me. By now, we were all getting the threesome dynamic, enjoying the multiple incestuous connections and relishing the feel of our naked bodies and hard cocks in various combinations.

At one point, I was getting overheated. I pulled back from a kiss with Junior, feeling up his bare chest openly in front of Braden. "You ready to watch, kiddo?"

Junior just grinned and nodded excitedly.

I crawled over his naked body and over to meet Braden in a heated kiss. Making out with my husband with our son watching gave a new thrill to sex with him. My Brade was now almost 40 and muscular and thick. And I was going to impregnate him again.

"You take your pill today, Son?" I asked as I pulled back. My body on top of his, hard cock humping Brade's.

He nodded. "Yeah, Dad. I'll take another, too."

I shook my head. "Doc says one a day."

Braden wasn't listening to me. Already he was reaching over to the foil packet on the nightstand.

"Fuck," I hissed. My dad cock was thinking for me now.

"Are those the fertility pills?" Junior asked. Excited.

I nodded, looking at my boyfriend. "When men get a little older, nature can use a little boost."

"Hot," Junior said. Then feeling out the more open sex talk he and I had been working, son asked, "Are those gonna make Daddy's womb extra fertile."

"I sure hope so," Braden said, popping the pill in his mouth and taking a sip of water from the glass before setting it down on the night stand. "I wanna get totally fucking pregnant tonight."

I ran my hands along Braden's hard abs, feeling the fur and looking back and forth between his amazing body and Junior. "I can't wait to knock up your daddy again."

"Yes," Junior hissed. He got on his knees and came closer to watch.

"Want to see us make you another brother, Bill?" Braden asked.

"God, Daddy..." Junior was getting excited as hell. "I've imagined you doing this SO much."

"Get the lube, kiddo," I growled. "I want you to get my cock ready to impregnate your Daddy."

"Yessir!"

As he reached over to the night table, I kissed Braden deeply. I didn't have to ask. My husband was wildly turned on. In heat.

"That pill kicking in, babe?" I asked in a soft growl.

"Dropping that egg for you now, Dad. All for you."

I leaned up. "For this cock."

"Hot fucking Dad cock," Brade grunted, reaching up to lovingly hold and stroke it.

"Guys!" Junior hissed, his own prick jerking as he scooted back in the bed. "So fucking hot!"

I gestured down at my own dick. "Slick me up, buddy... not too much... there... Nice!"

I kissed Junior, hard. Braden watched us make out, watched Junior almost whimper he was so worked up.

It took willpower to pull back, but I needed inside Brade, bad. I kicked apart his legs. Partly for show, I guess, playing it up for Junior. Braden knew and he smiled as he watched me get into the saddle, pushing down my rigid cock into place.

There's nothing like that first time, of me taking Braden's cherry. Or the night we made Junior, our first impregnation. But this was pretty damn close. At least having our son's eyes on the connection point between my bare dick and his daddy's receptive hole made this fuck feel special and new.

Junior watched me penetrate his other parent.

His hands were on me, rubbing my back, wanting to get close to me and to Brade in this primal sexual act. I loved that, but I also directed my attention to Braden. Modeling how husbands mate, with love but also sexual intensity.

"I love you, Brade..." I hissed, loud enough where Junior could hear.

"Love you, too, Dad."

I pushed in deeper. My cock inside my first born. While my second born witnessed it.

"Aw, that's it, Dad. Fuck me." Brade was wrapping his legs around me.

I turned to Junior. "Junior... can you put a pillow under Daddy's hips? It'll be a better angle."

"Yeah, Dad."

Braden chuckled. Then I powered into his body fully.

"Oh fuck yes, Brade," I hissed. "I love fucking you."

Junior's hands were back on me, his close presence turning me on. And I could see Braden watch us both as I fucked a little faster.

"Ready for son number seven, Son?" I asked.

"God yeah... I need you to impregnate me again. Fill me up with your sperm."

I put more power to my thrusts. No longer exactly showing off for Junior, this was me just getting into the breed-mating with his Daddy. "You all fertile for me, stud?"

He nodded in deep lust. "SO fucking fertile, Dad. Ready for that son you're gonna plant in there. However many sons you want."

"Shit!" I gasped. Junior was witnessing and hearing me and Brade go deep, for sure. "Give Junior here another little brother, maybe two."

"Maybe three."

"Damn. Show my boyfriend how we made him."

"Shit, Dad!" That was Junior's exclamation.

I didn't take my eyes of Brade, but as I fucked harder I spoke to Junior. "Yeah, kiddo. This is how we made you. I fucked your daddy nonstop till it took."

"Then we fucked some more, Dad," Braden hissed. His dick was jerking on his abs in excitement, quivering with each jab to his prostate.

"To celebrate," I added.

"Fuck yeah," Junior said. "I wish I could have watched. Wish I could have watched you fuck me into existence, Dad."

I don't know why that was the trigger, but Junior's words brought on my orgasm quick. I pounded in and leaned forward to kiss Brade as I seeded him full. As I ejaculated good and hard inside my husband, Junior's hands were on my sweaty back, sensually caressing me.

I gave Brade a deep romantic kiss as I came down from the high. We didn't have to say anything. We both intuited that there was a good chance that I'd just conceived our next son.

I gingerly retreated and once I broke free of Braden's ass, I used my thumb to push the excess sperm back into his hole.

Still breathing heavy, I turned to Junior. "If you wanna get one of your condoms, kiddo..." I offered.

"For real?" he asked. His dick was hard and jerking and on his smoother body it seemed to stand out more than my similarly sized cock did from mine. He looked at Braden, who nodded.

"That'd be fucking hot, Bill," my husband said.

We laughed as we watched Junior bound out of bed and slip on his shorts before slipping back out of the room.

I lay next to Brade and ran my hand along his sweaty chest. "You OK with the idea, Son?"

Brade smiled and nodded. "Junior's a stud, Dad. I didn't think the night could get more special and yet..."

"It's like experiencing it through new eyes," I said.

"Yeah."

Junior came back with two foil packets. He set them down on the nightstand and shucked his shorts down again. "You sure, Dad? Daddy?"

"That's a beautiful piece of son cock, Bill," Braden said, scooting over to taking Junior into his mouth.

"OH FUCK" Junior hissed, eyes on his daddy then up at me. "I didn't think you guys would go for this."

"You might want to get in him before he changes his mind," I joked.

Junior laughed and pulled back, leaning in to kiss Braden before he picked up a condom and ripped the wrapper with his teeth.

"This one better not break," I admonished him.

"No sir," Junior said, rolling down the sheath over his hard teen jock dick.

Meanwhile, Braden was pumping some lube on his fingers then applying the extra lubrication to his seeded hole. It had been a long time since I'd warn a rubber, but when we played with the Newcombs or the Connors, then Brade would often be a bottom to one of the dads.

It was my turn to watch what skills my stud 18-year-old son had. He was nervous fucking his Daddy but it was also clear he'd topped men before. Maybe a lot.

He fingered Braden's hole, reading my husband's reactions before pushing his dick into place. He quickly realized Brade was all loosened up from my fuck, so he pushed in.

"Oh God!" Brade hissed.

"Feel good, Daddy?" Junior asked, sensually as his hips pushed in then slowly swiveled for a slow pump.

"God, yeah, Bill. My own fucking son."

Junior was getting REAL into this now. "Your own son's fucking you, Dad."

"Oh fuck yes."

I didn't feel jealous watching this. Just the opposite, I was thrilled to see Junior make Braden so happy, so turned on. My husband began jerking his dick in time with each of our son's thrusts.

I gathered Junior was feeling the internal clenching. "Your ass feels so fucking tight, Daddy.. even after Dad fucked you."

"Push his seed deeper into me, son. AW, that's it... A little faster... Not too hard...."

Junior was getting into this fuck and it was magnificent to watch. My two sons, having sex. Fucking. It was just beautiful and hot. My cock was fully hard again. I reached out to touch Junior's back like he had mine.

"Oh shit," he hissed, hips jerking faster. I could tell our son was getting close,

Still, Braden beat him to the finish line. Hot white cum spurted out onto his meaty chest and ripped abs.

Almost a second after that I saw Junior's head go back and his eyes shut and his face flush red. "YES!" He wasn't an overly loud cummer. I enjoyed watching his O face. Different than Braden's. All Junior.

He had a big smile on his face as he relished the postcoital glow. Brade had a pretty big one, too. Then reaching down to hold the base of the rubber, Junior slowly extracted himself. There was a huge wad of cum pooled in the tip.

"Can I taste that, Bill?"

Junior nodded. "Yeah, Dad. I'd love that." He peeled off the condom and carefully brought it up to Braden's lips, turning out the contents.

"Fuck!" he hissed as he watched Brade slurp it all into his mouth, then swallow.

We let Braden shower off first. Junior and I embraced in the now damp sheets. Kissing softly.

"Thanks, Dad. That was the hottest thing."

"Pretty hot for us, too, Junior." I patted his bare ass as I held him close. "It's nice that we can trust you with this." I paused.

"Absolutely, Dad."

We kissed again, then it was my turn. I didn't know if Junior would be sleeping in our bed that night. It felt appropriate, and yet it didn't.

Turns out he made that decision for us. I walked back in to see only Braden in the bed. "Bill went to sleep in his own room."

"Probably for the best," I said.

Braden nodded. But as I got into bed, my husband pulled me close. "Thank you for that, Dad. You know I've been wanting that to happen."

I did and yet maybe I didn't know how much Brade had wanted it until then. We kissed some more.

I was happy and very sexually satisfied. Still, something nagged at me.

"I remember when you told me that Junior was gonna be trouble," I said softly,

Braden leaned up on his arm, looking at me. "Yeah?"

"I'm starting to see it."

***

I was in Doctor Fiedler's waiting room with Brade, when I got a call. Normally I'd ignore it unless it was an urgent work call. But it had been a while since I'd talked to Doug Newcomb.

I excused myself and stepped out in the hall. "Hey Newcomb, what's up?"

"I got some news, buddy..." he beamed. "As you know, Eric's graduating in May, and we've been talking, and we'd love to move out to your neighborhood."

"For real?" The news made me happy, happier than I would have thought, because I never expected this to happen.

"For real, Drake. We can talk details later, if you got a spare lot in your little subdivision."

"Incest Acres," I said quietly in to the phone. "We got a lot of spare lots."

"Incest Acres, buddy. Here we come. "

"So... what made you guys decide on that?"

I could almost hear the beaming smile on the other end. "Eric... well, you Drake men are inspiration, cause he wants to start a family with me."

"Shit." I loved hearing about incest procreation, and hearing it from the Newcombs was extra special.

"Yeah, I know right?" he chuckled. "We might not have the brood you do, but Eric wants a son bad. Turns out, I want to have one with him, too."

"It's the best, Newcomb. You'll see."

"What about you and Braden. Any news?" Doug new that we were trying for another pregnancy.

"At the doctor's office now, buddy. Waiting for the results."

"Oh shit. I'll let you go, man. Keep me updated."

"Will do... And Doug.. I'm super thrilled for you guys."

"Thanks, we are too. Talk later..."

I stepped back into the waiting room just as they were calling out Braden's name. I walked back to Fiedler's office with him.

Todd was all smiles as he ushered us in and shut the door.

"Well, gentlemen," he said with a playful smile. "I hope you're ready for triplets."

[eleilinnrallin]

On a stimulant (methylphenidate short release (ritalin sr)) and nonstimulant (guanfacine xr) for ADHD, neither of them make me feel slower when I'm taking all my meds properly. (While we were still finding the right balance of meds, the nonstimulant did drop my blood pressure and lead to fatigue; it didn't make me feel slower, just tired more easily, and now that I've got a working meds balance this is a non-issue. My blood pressure is back to normal and I have the energy to get through the day.) The right balance helps me stay on task, be present, and generally just self-regulate so much better.

What does make me feel slower (and generally like shit) is when I don't take my meds. If it's the methylphenidate that I miss, I get antsy, nervous (yes, I get more nervous when I'm not on my stimulant; it helps my emotional regulation), easily frustrated, and spacey. I can't focus on even things that I like. My short-term memory goes down the drain and makes everything difficult. If it's the guanfacine (which I needed to titrate onto and therefore should NOT just go off, ever) I'm laid out flat for one, maybe two days because of dizziness/vertigo, exhaustion, and sometimes nausea. With both, I'm more likely to mildly dissociate (usually depersonalize or derealize, once almost crashed into a car while biking off meds because I didn't feel real enough to apply brakes at a stoplight), can't do my schoolwork or hobbies (because I leave tasks and forget halfway through, once left a quiz open for several hours since I got distracted and forgot it existed), and am more hyperactive (usually fidgetty, sometimes need to get up and Do things, which is a problem with Dizzy).

(Unfortunately, I have to skip a day of guanfacine every two months or so because my local pharmacy refuses to fill on time and I end up one day short. Usually I just tell my teachers I can't come to class that day. With methylphenidate, I do selectively skip some weekend morning doses to prevent situations where I'd have to stop/skip during the school week due to that pharmacy's tendency for error. This does not have a positive impact on my life and health; I would not recommend anyone do it, probably shouldn't be doing it myself but it is what it is.)

For your character: if he's diagnosed and medicated, the medication is going to greatly help his drumming because it's going to let him focus on practicing, generally improving his skills, things that are really hard with inattentive symptoms. He's going to be able to be more present in his performances when he's on meds--though if they're evening performances he might feel more distractable and perform worse because of meds wearing off. (I'm much less productive after 6-8 p.m. because my then my afternoon stimulant dose has run its course and I'm left fending off the inattention myself. Still much more possible than days when I skip meds, because I have more mental energy to work with my symptoms since meds have been helping regulate all day!) Meds will also help him function in his daily life, which will help make him less stressed and better able to engage in his hobbies. He'll have more energy for fun things because he isn't constantly fighting his brain to get things done.

Things that are easier for me on meds: physically getting to school, doing assignments in and out of class, making and eating food (despite that my appetite is negatively impacted by my stimulant), laundry and dishes (still hard but now doable), reading and writing (hobbies), playing D&D with my friends, holding conversations, regulating my emotions (RSD included), grocery shopping, basically EVERYTHING that I do.

(In my experience though meds don't magically fix everything--they're effective in tandem with other coping mechanisms and techniques. There's a reason when I want to get serious work done, I go and study in a dedicated space like the library, or use things like pomodoros (... not exactly since I'm pretty dang time blind, I use "work song, rest song"), body doubling, focus cues like shoes on or music on, etc. However, these things weren't very effective without meds to bridge the gap between Brain Don't Work and Work Needs Done.)

(^University student w/ combined type ADHD and some other things going on)

hi, so I’m probably undiagnosed ADHD and I wanna write a character who is diagnosed ADHD and the problem I’m having is with meds. How I was planning to write them is that they’re a drummer and the character doesn’t always take their medicine when they are going to drum because it makes them feel like a bit slower and almost have like a delayed response or something. I’m still working at the kinks, but I feel like that could come off as really insensitive towards how ADHD meds work and like I don’t fully know how ADHD meds make you feel because I’m undiagnosed and I don’t wanna write it wrong and all of that.

-🥁

Hello!

That's... not really accurate to how ADHD meds work at all. Though this would be insensitive, my main concern is the inaccuracy and the harmful misinformation that this is spreading.

First thing: ADHD medication -- like any daily medication -- isn't something that can just be taken when you want to take it. It's one thing to forget a dose every so often but deliberately missing doses on a regular basis is very harmful.

Not taking it regularly can cause the medication to be less effective for your character and can cause them to be hit worse (by their symptoms and their withdrawal) every time they miss a dose. It can also cause the medication to just... stop working for your character as they develop a tolerance for it.

I take Concerta (also known by the name Ritalin) and when I miss a dose, I certainly end up feeling it.

For me, the first thing I notice is just a weird feeling. Like something in the world is different. It's hard to describe but, to other people, I'm told that it looks like I'm spacier and in my own world.

I have a very hard time focusing and can't last more than a few minutes without spacing out -- even if I'm actively involved in a conversation. It makes it impossible for me to attend my lectures and take notes, let alone take a test or an exam.

Because I also have anxiety and several other mental conditions, this also has a major impact on them. The increased rejection-sensitive dysphoria (RSD) that I experience triggers an increase in my anxiety (even if I've taken my anxiety meds), which in turn causes an increase in my dissociative symptoms.

The brain is a complex organ -- one we don't fully understand yet. Nothing happens in isolation.

Aside from the ADHD-specific side of things, there's also the withdrawal.

While it's not as bad as the withdrawal from my venlafaxine (the meds I take for my PTSD, anxiety, depression, and dissociative disorder. Three cheers for medication that multitasks!), withdrawal from my Concerta is still not great.

When I miss a dose, I end up sleeping almost the entire day. I just can't stay awake. I also get a horrible headache that can't be touched by Advil or Tylenol and I end up with no appetite (though apparently most people experience the opposite -- an increase in appetite). I also experience an increase in my depression.

Though it will of course be different for everyone (especially if your character is on a different type of medication), what I'm getting at here is that ADHD medication doesn't work like this. You can't pick and choose when to take it.

Taking ADHD medication doesn't make you feel "slower" or have a "delayed response" or anything like that. In fact, those feelings are more likely to come from missing a dose.

Something else that needs to be considered here is that ADHD medication is constantly portrayed as being bad/evil/negative and especially as something that's only done to dull the character with ADHD and make them more "palatable" to those around them. It's shown as something that stifles their creativity and forces them to become exactly like everyone else.

This can't be further from the truth.

Although it is true that ADHD is often over-diagnosed and over-medicated, the effect that ADHD meds have on those who need them can be life-changing.

These harmful misrepresentations of ADHD medication have major consequences in the real world. Not only do they undermine the struggles of having ADHD and reinforce the idea that ADHD is just being hyper/unfocused, they also discourage people from seeking the treatment that can help them.

When I was first diagnosed, I didn't want to go on medication and my parents didn't want me to either. They thought it would make me dull and lifeless and kill my creativity. Even after I'd done my own research and decided to try it, my father spent weeks telling me that ADHD was just "western propaganda" and didn't actually exist.

I see this same attitude in teachers, other parents, and even doctors all the time.

Although some people can be quick to diagnose a child with ADHD and medicate them when there may be another cause for their behaviour, overcorrecting in the opposite direction helps nobody.

If you want to write a character with ADHD and especially one that's on medication for it, please do your research first. You don't have to have ADHD or be on medication to do that. This article [Link] discusses the impact of poor ADHD representation while this one [Link] talks about what happens when you miss a dose of ADHD medication.

In short: please don't do this. ADHD isn't just the "silly hyper can't sit still" disorder and the medication for it is an actual treatment that helps so many people. Treat it as seriously as you'd treat any other disorder.

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

[for-a-longlongtime]

WIP on Wednesday Thursday

Well, first of all, my WIP folder is currently looking like this:

But fuck it, we ball right?

I got tagged by @din-cognito and @avastrasposts this week, and @the-blind-assassin-12 and @lotusbxtch last week, so I've got some catching up to do! I've been all over the place working on different docs, so you're getting a few tidbits this week.

I've posted snippets of this before (and lo! a hozier title! I'm gonna have to change that though because the story ended up going differently than planned), and after it having been on hold for months, the pieces are coming together at last.

let me wrap my teeth around the world (working title) | Santiago x Frankie “You think we did the right thing there?” Santiago says, staring at the ceiling as he avoids Frankie's eyes. Unsure he really wants to hear the answer, because of how likely it is that he is the only person who can’t answer that with a decisive yes. Fish was the only one on their team - besides Tom - who'd had a family to take care of, who needed that money probably more than any of them did because of his pilot license being suspended. “I mean... Following his lead with the money.” No answer. The deafening silence lasts for much too long. Santi grimaces as he closes his eyes. Shit. Why did he even ask? He keeps fucking up like this.

Next we've got a WIP that I haven't worked on in a bit (it wanted to go on break, bummerrr) but that I'm hoping to pick up very soon.

Untitled | Reynaldo x Matthew It’s those large hands that draw Matt’s attention first.  That, and the golden chain partially but-not-quite hiding under that checkered golf shirt, glistening every now and then in the bright afternoon sun. It’s almost as bright as the gleam in Sophie’s eyes when she throws back a shot and listens to the older man introduce himself as Reynaldo. Matt is only vaguely aware of the prepared talk that the man launches into, a few words standing out, such as ‘exclusive members only’ and ‘the best golf club in all of Arizona’. Things that everybody wanted to hear, and that gave Sophie all the more opportunity to coo at the man how this was ‘one of the best premium golf clubs’ she’d ever been at. It probably isn’t all that premium though, considering the Scotts and Dale had been able to book this place on a budget. And truth be told, it’s still unclear to Matt why they are here on a ‘vow renewal bachelor staycation’, which seemed a contradiction on its own. Or even why Sophie showed up here, acting like one of the guys, just long enough until she found someone who was willing to give her the attention she was clearly looking for. He’d seen the pattern before, especially with the girls on the Kel-squad. None of that matters though, he tries to remind himself as they make their way up to the golf course. He’s simply glad to get away from Kelsey for a couple of days - not just for some peace and quiet, but also so he doesn’t have to wonder if she’s talking to Domingo every time she smiles at an incoming message on her phone.

Finally, this last one is still in the VERY early stages, but ngl... I'm excited. Thank you to the folks who encouraged me to keep going with it! This is hella out of my comfort zone but what the hell, that's where the fun is, right? This one is going to more filth than I'll probably be able to shove into an one shot... so it may end up becoming two or three parts. We'll see.

for glory (working title) | Harry Castillo Harry is speechless, shock painted over his features, and it takes him a moment to find his voice. "You wouldn't dare to," he finally manages to say, and what had previously been surprise in his eyes has now flipped into unmistakeable rage. "Mmm, is that so, Harry? What - you think I've got morals or something?"

EDIT: WAIT!! I forgot to add one final excerpt! This is from a yet to be decided chapter from Joel and Marcus Moreno' story. I spent way too much time trying to find the right face claim moments for them at different ages, and this is what I settled on for their mid-twenties:

Joel in his mid-twenties (a.k.a. Zach Wellison in Brothers & Sisters)

Marcus Moreno in his late twenties (a.k.a. looking like Comandante Veracruz from the Burn Notice movie).

Yes, I'm as shocked as y'all are about the latter, but I promise it'll make sense. As for the excerpt:

Untitled series | Joel Miller x Marcus Moreno Marcus folds his arms as he leans back against the wall, looking every bit the charismatic guy most people know him to be. But Joel has known him a long time and can see where the varnish has cracked, and the parts he so desperately tries to cover up.  "So you don't like it. How I look. You don't like me anymore," Marcus says after a moment, and there’s something about all that combativeness on display - as well as the bitter irony of those words - that hits Joel much harder than he was prepared for. He doesn’t have the same defense system that Marcus clearly is equipped with; the mask that he can put on and off so easily after years of practice. So he just shakes his head. "Think it's been too long since you've had someone push back against you, M." "The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Joel tries to hide his sigh by drinking from his coffee, but the beverage has gone cold, the stale taste of it now bitter on his tongue in a way that feels oddly specific to this situation. "Don't pick a fight with me because you're unhappy, Marcus," he says softly.

I know a lot of y'all already posted a WIP Wednesday, so I'm just gonna link a couple of folks, no pressure as always (apologies if you've already made your weekly WIP update):

@perotovar @sin-djarin @lotusbxtch @mountainsandmayhem @qveerthe0ry

@letsgobarbs @gothcsz @milla-frenchy @guiltyasdave @oliveksmoked

@magpiepills @arcanefox207 @reallyrallyauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @clubsoft

@romanarose @the-blind-assassin-12

[jetii]

Sudden Inspiration

Pairing: Tup x popstar!Reader / Tup x Twi'Lek!Reader / Tup x fem!Reader

Words: 21,316

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! strangers to lovers, fluff with a sprinkling of existential dread and loneliness, inexperienced!Tup, demisexual!Tup maybe?, reader is basically space Sabrina Carpenter so do with that what you will, smoking, brotherly teasing, 50/50 smut and plot really, smut, pinv, oral (f receiving), handjob, dirty talk, Tup discovers his love for eating, and when i say love i mean love

Summary: Tup has resigned himself to the fact that he'll never be like his brothers, until a chance encounter with you changes everything.

A/N: I've been wanting to write Tup for a while, and idk this came to me in a dream

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

The first time Tup encounters you, it’s completely by accident.

He’s walking the darkened streets of Coruscant alone after sneaking away from the rest of the group somewhere between the fourth and fifth round of drinks at 79s. A part of him feels guilty about leaving the others behind, but the larger, more persistent part of him that feels as though his skin is too tight and he can hardly stand the thought of spending another night in such a confined space, is grateful for the escape. 

It'd been an outing just like any other, with the clones sitting together, shoulder to shoulder, drinking and laughing and making fun of each other, and normally Tup loves the feeling of belonging, the sense of camaraderie, but lately… Well. He's finding it harder and harder to relax, his nerves jittery and his stomach unsettled by the slightest things.

Fives had spent the entire night parading him around, introducing to any woman who would spare him a second glance, but the entire thing had been pointless as always. Tup didn't know why Fives persisted when it was clearly a fruitless effort, especially when the women that Tup had been introduced to had looked at him with something akin to pity. It wasn't fair. Not to them, and not to him. He wasn't interested in their sympathy, and try as he might, he couldn't make himself be interested in a one-night-stand.

He had made a half-hearted attempt at getting into it, letting his eyes wander appreciatively over the soft curves and exposed skin on display, and Fives had grinned approvingly, giving his shoulder a playful nudge. It was all just an act, of course, and after a few minutes of strained flirting, Tup had made an excuse about needing to visit the 'fresher and made his escape.

It was a familiar pattern.

The bar had been packed full of patrons, and it hadn't taken long to find an opening in the crowd and slip out of the building unnoticed. He'd stood on the street outside, the sounds of the city echoing around him, the night air cool and crisp, and had finally felt like he could breathe again.

He doesn't know where he's going, exactly, but the idea of being cooped up in his bunk in the barracks, alone with his thoughts, is not an appealing one.

He passes by a couple making out heavily against the side of a building and has to force himself not to stare as they grind against each other, their moans loud in the quiet street. His cheeks flush with embarrassment, and he walks faster, head ducked low, his boots splashing through puddles from the afternoon rain.

He isn’t sure how far he walks, lost in his own thoughts and the monotony of his footsteps, but the longer he does, the better he feels. He walks aimlessly, taking pleasure in the way the neon signs illuminate the streets, giving everything an almost surreal glow.

He walks for what feels like hours, the sounds and sights of the city washing over him, the thrum of Coruscant pulsing through his veins and leaving him feeling calmer than he has in weeks. He finds himself smiling as he takes it all in, enjoying the simple act of wandering.

At least, until he comes to a blocked off street. It's the usual way back to the barracks, so Tup tries to go around, only to find his way barred. He could easily climb over the barricade, but that's an automatic misdemeanor, and the last thing he needs is to give General Skywalker and Rex a reason to be angry with him. So he turns around and begins walking in the opposite direction, not paying attention to his surroundings until he stumbles across a large crowd.

Tup doesn't know what makes him pause, whether it's the sheer size of the gathering or the way they're all chattering excitedly amongst themselves, but he finds himself moving closer. 

There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of people pouring out of the Opera House, dressed in the kind of clothes that Tup usually only sees in holos. Most of them are women wearing outfits with sparkling fabric, short skirts and knee-high boots, their faces painted with bright colors and glitter. Some of them are men, but those are few and far between, and when they are, they tend to be wearing more conservative attire, mostly simple shirts and trousers, though some are wearing leather jackets. Tup stands in the shadows, watching, wondering what the occasion is.

The crowd continues to pour out, some people lingering in groups outside the entrance, laughing and talking with each other, while others immediately rush off in groups. There's an energy in the air that Tup can feel even from his place behind the line of droids acting as crowd control, and it's like nothing he's ever experienced before. He's never seen so many civilians before, and he's certainly never been so close to this many women.

It's not that he has anything against women, per se. He has nothing against people of any gender or species. He's simply never felt compelled to seek anyone out, man or woman. It's never been a problem before, and he's always told himself that he'll know when he's ready. He has his brothers, has his squad mates and friends, has Fives, and that's more than enough for him.

Still, it can't hurt to look, right?

A part of him wants to turn around and go back to the barracks. After all, it's late, and there are things he needs to be doing, duties that are expected of him, and he really shouldn't be out here, alone, watching civilians. But another part of him is fascinated. 

This is a side of Coruscant that Tup's never seen, and a part of him is envious of these people. They're able to leave their lives behind and come together to enjoy an evening of entertainment, and they get to do it every night, if the holos he's watched are accurate. Tup's not sure he's ever felt that sort of freedom, has never had the opportunity to simply go out and do what he wants, without having to think about the consequences.

And the more he watches, the more that part of him grows. He's never actually paid attention to any women beyond the standard visual assessment, and the truth is, they're not actually that bad to look at. There are a few that stand out, but overall, they're all pretty, the way all women are pretty. And it's nice, seeing them so happy. They don't seem to have a care in the world, and Tup can't help but admire that.

So he decides to stick around, and the longer he stays, the more interested he becomes. There's an entire world here, one that he's never had access to, and he doesn't want to miss his chance. And it's not like anyone will even notice he's gone.

It's not long before the crowd begins to disperse, and the few stragglers still lingering outside the building turn towards the nearest transport. Tup knows he should probably head back to the barracks as well, but something stops him.

He looks down the street, sees the droids directing people into lines, and takes a deep breath.

If he's going to do this, he's going to have to be careful. The last thing he needs is for someone to report him as AWOL. So he waits until the crowd has thinned and the droids are occupied with corralling the remaining patrons.

Then, as the last group passes by, he slips into the shadows, following the path around the Opera House. He's careful not to draw attention to himself, keeping his pace steady and his footsteps light, and no one even spares him a second glance. He doesn't know what he's doing, exactly, but he's enjoying himself, and that's what counts.

He rounds the corner, and there, standing alone in the alley between the Opera House and the building next door, is a woman. 

A Twi'Lek with radiant skin leans against the brick wall next to the back entrance, her head tilted toward the sky. From a distance, he can see the way the light catches on the crystals decorating her lekku, turning them into shimmering rainbows. The same crystals are visible underneath the plain jacket draped over her shoulders, and when she shifts, he sees the bare skin of her thighs above her tall white boots.

She looks ethereal, like some sort of vision, and Tup finds himself stopping in his tracks.

For a long moment, he just stands there, staring, until he realizes how odd he must look. The woman's gaze is focused on the sky above her, but she'll eventually notice him if he keeps staring. Not to mention, it's late, and Tup has no reason to be out and about. So, taking a deep breath, he moves forward, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground.

"Hey," you say, your voice low and smooth.

Tup startles, looking up to find you looking back at him, your eyes sharp and assessing. Your hand is in the pocket of your jacket, no doubt holding something that you could use to defend yourself, and Tup swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry. He hadn't meant to startle you, and he certainly hadn't meant to make you feel uncomfortable, but that's obviously what's happening, and he can't let that continue.

"Um," he manages, his heart hammering in his chest. "Hi."

The suspicious look on your face still remains as your eyes trail from his feet up his body, before finally settling on his face. You seem to consider him for a moment before your expression shifts, a hint of a smile playing across your lips. 

"You're not a fan, are you?" you ask as you tilt your head, the crystals on your lekku catching the light once again.

Tup blinks, unsure how to answer. The truth is, he's never been within a mile of the Opera House, and he certainly doesn't have a clue who any performers who would've been there tonight are. But you're smiling at him now, and it's a real, genuine smile, not the pitying one that the women from 79s had given him earlier. He thinks he'd like to keep it that way, so he shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, I'm not," he admits, trying his best to appear non-threatening. He measures the distance between the two of you, and though the alleyway is wide, the gap is narrower than he would prefer. "I didn't mean to bother you. I was just passing by."

You laugh, a soft, musical sound, and Tup can't help but grin a little. You have a nice laugh.

"Well, you're not bothering me," you assure him, your voice gentle. "I was just curious."

You're still smiling at him, and it's doing funny things to his insides, things he's never felt before.

"You can hang around, if you want. It's a nice night," you offer.

Tup hesitates. He should leave. This is clearly none of his business, and the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable. But a part of him is intrigued, and a part of him is curious, and another part of him is just... interested. 

So before he can stop himself, he finds himself stepping closer. He keeps his hands at his sides, his posture open, and when he meets your gaze, he tries his best to give you a friendly smile.

"Are you waiting for someone?" he asks, trying to keep the question light. He doesn't want you to think he's trying to pry, or worse, trying to hit on you. He's not. At least, he doesn't think he is.

"Yeah," you answer, glancing back at the door beside you. "My manager. He's taking his sweet time, but I'm sure he'll be done soon. And you?"

Tup doesn't quite know how to answer that, because technically, he is supposed to be on base. But at the same time, you're not demanding an explanation, and you're not acting like he's wasting your time. So he shrugs.

"I just thought I'd get some fresh air," he tells you, and the truth is, it's not entirely a lie.

"It's a nice night for a walk," you say, leaning back against the wall.

Tup nods, trying to find the words to respond. He's not used to casual conversation with civilians, especially not attractive ones, and his mind goes completely blank. You're still smiling, though, so he assumes he's not making a total fool of himself, and his nervousness begins to fade.

He looks down the alley, watching the few remaining patrons as they make their way to their transports, and tries to think of something to say. He doesn't know why he cares. This is just a stranger, someone he'll never see again. But there's something about you that has caught his attention, something he can't quite put his finger on.

He's not sure what to say, and when he turns his gaze back to you, he finds you watching him, your eyes glittering with curiosity.

"What's your name?"

Tup blinks.

"Uh, it's Tup," he says. "Just Tup."

"Tup, huh?" you say, tilting your head to the side, and Tup flushes at the way his name sounds in your mouth. "You got a light?"

Tup blinks again, then fumbles with his belt, pulling out his lighter from a pouch.

"Yeah, sure."

"Thanks."

You reach into your jacket pocket and pull out a pack of cigarettes, opening the flap and taking one out. You put it between your lips, and it takes him a moment to realize you want him to light it for you.

"Oh, right, sorry," he apologizes as he steps closer, the flame from his lighter illuminating your features. 

He leans forward, holding the fire to the tip of the cigarette, and the scent of smoke hits him as the embers catch. You inhale, the orange glow at the tip growing brighter as the paper burns, and Tup's eyes track the movement, entranced. Your lips are soft and full, and his stomach clenches, a feeling he can't quite place blooming inside him.

He watches you exhale a plume of smoke, the haze curling around you, and his heart pounds in his ears. The alleyway suddenly seems far more intimate than it did moments before, and Tup is painfully aware of the fact that the two of you are alone.

"Thanks," you say, looking back up at him, your gaze piercing. You hold out the pack, offering it to him, but Tup shakes his head.

"I’m good, thanks," he manages, and when you raise an eyebrow, he adds, "I don't smoke."

"But you carry a lighter?" you ask, amusement lacing your voice. Tup shrugs.

"I like to be prepared," he tells you, and your laughter rings out, making his cheeks heat.

"That's a good philosophy," you say, taking another drag. 

The two of you fall silent for a moment, and Tup tries not to stare, but he can't help it. You’re leaning against the wall now, your legs crossed at the ankles, and the large jacket draped around your shoulders hangs open, giving him an unobstructed view of your body. You’re wearing some type of corset, covered in the same crystals as your lekku, and it accentuates the curve of your waist and the swell of your breasts, pushing them up.

His face burns as his eyes rake over you, his gaze trailing down the smooth expanse of skin to the sheer fabric covering your legs, and it takes all of his self-control not to let his gaze linger. You’re not wearing pants, and Tup can see the edge of the garter belt strapped around your upper thighs.

His mouth goes dry, and when his gaze flicks back up to yours, he can tell by the knowing look in your eyes that you know exactly what he was looking at. His entire face flushes, heat traveling down his entire body, and his brain immediately goes haywire.

Oh.

Oh.

"What's your name?" he asks, his voice sounding strangled even to his own ears. You look up at him through lowered lashes, your expression unreadable.

"You can call me Ziva," you say. "That's my stage name, anyway."

"You were in the show tonight?"

You raise your eyebrows, and he gets the impression you're amused by him. You take another drag of your cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the night air. The way the smoke swirls around your head reminds him of a nebula, and he watches as it dissipates, disappearing into the darkness.

"Yeah, I was in the show," you say, your tone a little smug.

"Were you the lead?"

You laugh, your eyes twinkling, and you shake your head and look away.

"Something like that," you reply. It's obvious you don't want to elaborate. He doesn't blame you. It's not like he's in a hurry to discuss his duties, either.

He falls silent, trying to think of what else to say, and when he comes up empty, he just stands there, feeling foolish. You're still staring at him, and he can feel the weight of your gaze on his skin. It's not an uncomfortable feeling, and when you finally meet his eyes again, a shiver runs down his spine.

"So what do you do, Tup?" you ask, tilting your head at him. "Are you a soldier or something?"

Tup's jaw clenches, his mouth twisting, and for a second, he's tempted to lie. To make up a story, a life, and try to impress you. But something stops him.

"Yeah, I am," he says quietly. "I'm a clone."

"You're a clone?"

"Yes."

"Hmm."

There's a moment of silence, and Tup worries that he's said the wrong thing, that you'll get angry or offended, or even scared. But when he glances over at you, your expression is thoughtful, and you look more curious than anything else.

"I've never met a clone before," you say. You take a step closer to him, and he notices how much shorter you are, the top of your head barely reaching his chin. You tilt your head up, looking at him through your thick lashes. "You look just like a man, though."

"Thank you?" he replies, and you laugh.

"Sorry, that was probably rude, wasn't it?" you ask, your cheeks darkening slightly. Tup shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"No, it's fine," he assures you. "Most people are surprised. They don't really expect clones to be, uh, well, normal."

"Well, I think you look very handsome," you tell him, your eyes bright. "I like your hair."

Tup ducks his head, unable to hide his pleased grin.

"Thanks," he says, and your answering smile is dazzling. He gestures to his head. “I like your, uh, lekku. They look pretty."

He cringes internally, the words coming out stilted and awkward, but you just laugh and run a hand over the delicate crystals, causing them to sparkle in the light.

"Thanks," you say, your fingers twisting the end of the lek, and something about the simple movement sends a wave of heat rolling through Tup's body. He swallows hard, his hands clenching at his sides, and forces himself to look away.

The silence stretches, and he wonders if he should leave, but his feet remain rooted to the spot. He doesn't want this moment to be over. Doesn't want to say goodbye and have you forget about him, because something about you has caught his attention, and he doesn't know if he'll ever meet another woman like you again. He takes a breath, and tries to think of something else to say, something witty, something charming. But the words die in his throat.

You shift beside him, and he risks a glance in your direction. You're not looking at him, but instead staring off down the street, seemingly lost in thought. When your gaze returns to his, your eyes are intense, searching. He thinks he might be imagining the hint of desire there, but his body doesn't seem to care.

"Ziva!"

The loud voice startles both of you, and you jump, turning toward the door, where a Trandoshan is hanging from the frame, peering into the alley. He's tall and broad, with yellow eyes and sharp teeth, and Tup tenses, his hands curling into fists. The Trandoshan gives him a dismissive glance before turning to you, a sneer curling his lip.

"There you are," the Trandoshan snaps, his voice a low growl. "You know you're not supposed to leave the dressing room without me. I've told you a thousand times..."

"Sorry," you cut him off, though you don’t sound it. "I needed a smoke, and I wanted some fresh air."

The Trandoshan growls, glaring down at you, and Tup clenches his jaw, ready to step in. But you don't seem concerned. You just smirk, tossing the cigarette aside and grinding it out with the heel of your boot.

"Relax, Kerk," you say. "It's not like anyone's gonna recognize me here, in a back alley."

The Trandoshan growls again, and the hair on the back of Tup's neck stands on edge. He's not used to feeling small, not with his height and muscle mass, but this guy is huge, and his teeth are far sharper than any other being's he's ever seen.

"Just get back inside," Kerk grumbles, pushing himself away from the doorframe. He gives Tup a hard look, and he points a claw at him. "And you. If I catch you around here again, I'll tear your arms off."

Tup blanches, and before he can respond, the Trandoshan's gone.

"Kriff," you sigh, turning back to him. "Sorry about that."

"It's alright," Tup assures you, his heart racing. He looks at the door, wondering how much trouble he'll get into if he starts a fight with a civilian. Probably a lot. But the thought of someone treating you like that has his blood boiling, and he takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. "He shouldn’t talk to you like that.”

"Kerk's just being a mother hen," you explain, following his gaze. "He's protective. He doesn't like it when I go off on my own. Not after... Well, anyway."

You trail off, and Tup glances over at you, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

You snort, shaking your head.

"No, he's not," you reply, looking amused. "Kerk is my bodyguard. And occasionally my chaperone."

"Oh."

You give him a sideways glance, one corner of your lips quirking up.

"Why, were you jealous?"

Tup's cheeks flush, and he looks away, not sure how to answer. Because, actually, yes. He was. He knows he shouldn't be. You're just a stranger, a beautiful woman he met by chance, and you'll probably never see each other again. But for some reason, the thought of you with someone else has a lump forming in his throat.

"Well, I guess I should get going," you say, breaking the awkward silence. You pull a comlink from your jacket and turn it on, checking the time. "I have an early morning, and I'm already in trouble for disappearing."

He nods, feeling disappointment settle in his stomach. You're right, of course. He needs to head back to base. There's no sense in prolonging the inevitable. So he shoves his hands in his pockets and offers you a smile.

"Alright. It was nice meeting you, Ziva," he says, and he's rewarded with a grin.

"See you around, Tup," you say, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. Your fingers are warm, even through the layers of his blacks, and his skin tingles. "It was nice meeting you too. Maybe we'll bump into each other again sometime."

Tup watches you walk away, his heart pounding, and the feeling of your hand on his shoulder lingers long after you've disappeared from view.

When he arrives back at the barracks, his squad mates are still awake, laughing and joking as they play cards. Jesse is in the middle of telling a story, and the rest are listening raptly, hanging on his every word.

"Hey, Tup's back!" Hardcase exclaims, waving him over.

Fives looks up from the cards in his hand, his expression concerned, but before he can speak, Dogma says, "We were starting to wonder if you were going to come back tonight."

Tup gives his friends a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he apologizes. "I went for a walk, and I kind of lost track of time."

"You went for a walk?" Jesse asks, his brow furrowing. "Where did you go?"

"Around."

Tup doesn't offer any further explanation, and after a moment, Fives shrugs, dealing him in. Tup picks up his hand, barely even glancing at the cards. He's not really in the mood to play, and judging by the looks he's getting from the rest of the squad, his lack of enthusiasm is obvious.

The game continues with Tup mindlessly playing his cards, not caring whether he wins or loses. His thoughts are elsewhere, replaying his conversation with you, trying to remember the details. He can't help but wonder if it had all been in his head, if maybe he had imagined the whole thing, but no, he had been there. He knows it. He can still feel the weight of your hand on his shoulder.

Tup's not sure why, but the entire interaction leaves him unsettled. It's not as if anything happened, but there's something about you that keeps nagging at him. He can't stop thinking about you, and the image of your face, your body, your eyes, it's all seared into his memory, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to get you out of his mind.

He'd liked talking to you, even though you'd only spoken for a few minutes. And the way you had looked at him, the way your gaze had lingered on his face, had been almost... well, if he didn't know any better, he would've said it was flirtatious.

But that's impossible, right?

It's only when Fives puts down his winning hand and claims victory that Tup realizes he's lost, and his shoulders sag. Fives shoots him a questioning look, but Tup ignores it, pushing himself to his feet and heading towards the 'fresher.

He's not surprised to find Fives waiting for him when he comes back out, and he sighs, giving his brother a tired smile.

"What's up?"

"Where'd you go, Tup?"

"For a walk," Tup tells him, knowing full well that Fives isn't going to accept such a simple answer. Sure, Fives doesn't always ask a lot of questions, but when he does, he's relentless, and it's best to just tell him what he wants to know and move on. "I got tired of drinking."

Fives hums, considering his words, and Tup can tell that his brother doesn't quite believe him.

"You're not... you're not upset about the girls, are you?" Fives asks, his tone cautious.

Tup's brow furrows, and he stares at Fives, confused.

"What? No, of course not," he says. "Why would I be?"

Fives shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know," he admits. "You've been acting weird lately. It's like... it's like you're not even interested anymore."

Tup blinks. He's never heard his brother sound so hesitant, and it's unnerving.

"Fives, I'm fine," he says, forcing himself to sound reassuring. "I'm just not interested in sleeping with someone I don't know, that's all. And it's not like they're interested in me, either. I mean, they're beautiful, but they're not, you know..."

"Not what?"

Tup swallows.

"They're not what I'm looking for," he finishes.

Fives raises an eyebrow. "And what are you looking for?"

Tup opens his mouth, but the words don't come. What is he looking for? He doesn't know. All he knows is that it isn't what he's been offered. And all his mind can seem to offer is the image of your smiling face, and the memory of the feel of your fingers on his shoulder.

"I'll let you know when I find out."

The next time Tup sees you, he doesn't really see you.

It’s been weeks since your last encounter, enough time for him to begin to wonder if maybe the two of you were a dream. After all, he had spent a lot of time wondering what it would be like, spending the night with a woman like you. He was sure the memory of the encounter had grown in his mind, and while he'd certainly remembered the details of your appearance, the memory of the scent of your perfume and the sound of your laughter, it's possible his imagination had exaggerated.

But as the weeks passed, the memories stayed vivid, and he'd begun to hope that maybe he'd run into you again. He'd thought about visiting the Opera House, of wandering around, hoping for a glimpse, but he'd stopped himself, not wanting to appear desperate. And, if he's being honest, a little afraid of the possibility of seeing you with another man.

He'd considered asking Fives, or even Kix, to accompany him, but he couldn't bring himself to. If he went with someone else, he would've had to explain, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone else to know how pathetic he was.

So he'd continued going about his business as normal, keeping his hopes of running into you again to himself, and he'd been fine. They were off-planet most of the time, and he'd had his brothers and his duties to occupy his mind, so there was no reason to dwell on the thought of you. Until lights out, when his thoughts would turn to you.

And now, here he is, staring at you. Or, more accurately, staring at a life-sized poster of you plastered to the wall, the picture clearly taken during one of your shows. The lighting is low, making the crystals covering your outfit glow, and the smile on your face is sultry, inviting.

Tup stares at it, unable to believe what he's seeing. You look different, but the resemblance is unmistakable. The same shape of your nose, the curve of your lips, the shape of your eyes. It's you. It has to be.

The poster is one of a handful lining the hallway at 79s, and he stands in front of it, taking in every detail.

The club is packed tonight, and he can't help but think that it must be karma, the universe giving him a taste of his own medicine. Because Fives had spent the first ten minutes trying to convince him that they needed to go to the club, and now here he is standing outside the refresher, unable to tear his eyes away from a large picture of you.

He'd thought about visiting the Opera House, of wandering around, hoping for a glimpse, but he'd stopped himself, not wanting to appear desperate.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Tup?"

Hardcase's voice makes him jump, and he whirls around to see the rest of his squad standing behind him, watching him curiously. Tup clears his throat, turning his back on the poster and trying to ignore the way his face heats.

"Nothing," he says quickly.

Fives' gaze flicks from Tup to the poster and back again, and he smirks.

“Her music is a little too…girlie, for my tastes," Hardcase remarks.

"I kind of like it," Dogma comments, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You would, Dogma," Jesse says, giving the younger clone a teasing shove.

"Hey, she's got a good voice," Dogma replies defensively. "She's just got a bit more of a, uh, sensual sound."

"So she's a singer," Tup says, trying to act casual, but he knows it's no use. Fives is watching him far closer than usual, and there's no way his brother will believe he's not at least a little curious.

"She's not just a singer," Hardcase tells him, a smirk forming on his face. "She's an idol. She's all the rage. I hear her holos sell out the second they hit the shelves."

"Is she famous or something?"

"You don't know who she is?" Jesse asks, sounding incredulous. "She's huge. Like, the biggest artist in the entire galaxy. How do you not know who she is?"

Tup shrugs, trying to ignore the way his face burns. He can't very well tell them he's spent the past few weeks daydreaming about a chance encounter with a woman who, apparently, is an intergalactic pop star.

"Well, maybe if you went out more, you'd hear some of her music," Jesse points out. "I heard her new holo's coming out soon."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'll give it a listen," Tup says, trying his best to sound disinterested.

Jesse nods, giving him a knowing grin, and Tup resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's not that he's embarrassed, exactly. It's not as if the others will think less of him, and even if they did, he can't be blamed for being interested in a beautiful woman. But a part of him doesn't want them to know. Doesn't want to admit that he'd seen you, talked to you, and was completely and utterly captivated.

"Hey, what do you say we hit the bar?" Fives suggests, clapping a hand on Tup's shoulder. "Let's get a drink."

"Maybe we can find you a date," Jesse says, a teasing note in his voice.

"I'm not really in the mood," Tup tells him.

Jesse snorts, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, well, you never are."

The group laughs, and Tup forces a chuckle. It's not a new joke, and normally, he'd laugh along, but today, the jab seems to strike a nerve. He doesn't know why it bothers him so much, but it does.

"Hey, I'm going to the 'fresher," he tells them. "I'll meet you at the bar in a minute."

"Sure thing," Fives says, and the squad wanders off, heading towards the main room.

Tup waits until they're gone before turning back around. He glances around the corridor, checking to make sure no one's paying attention, and when he's sure the coast is clear, he approaches the poster.

It's hard to tell, the quality isn't great, but he can definitely see a resemblance. Same skin color, same eye shape. He wonders if the makeup makes your eyes look bigger, or if the lights make them seem brighter, or if maybe, it really is you.

His heart begins to race, and his breath catches.

Maybe you're here, on Coruscant, somewhere nearby. Maybe he could bump into you again, talk to you, spend time with you.

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. You're a performer, a celebrity, and you're probably surrounded by people. Security, managers, other artists, fans. And he's not even sure if it's actually you.

Still, a part of him wants to try.

There are dates printed at the bottom of the poster, most of them long since passed and far away. A few are upcoming, though, and a small sliver of hope blooms inside him when he sees a concert scheduled for the following night.

Maybe, if he's lucky, and the timing is right, he might see you again.

The third time Tup sees you, he's determined to talk to you.

He knows that's unlikely. You're a popstar, and there's no way you'd be alone, and even if you were, there's no guarantee that you'd even want to speak with him. But he has to try. He's been dreaming about you for months, and after seeing your face, plastered all over the walls of 79s, his heart had nearly beat out of his chest.

You'd been the first thing on his mind when he'd woken up this morning, and the idea of being near you, hearing your voice, seeing your smile, has consumed him. He's not even sure if it is you, but a part of him doesn't care. He just needs to see you again.

He’d ran through drills faster than he’d ever done before, barely paying attention to the exercises. Rex had noticed, of course, and had called him on it, but Tup had brushed him off, saying that he was eager to get started. Rex had given him a suspicious look, but Tup had pretended not to notice.

When they'd finally been dismissed, he'd made a beeline for the barracks, showering and changing into his civilian clothes as quickly as possible. The rest of the squad had watched him, exchanging looks, and Fives had tried to question him, but Tup had ignored him. He didn't have time to explain.

Once he was ready, he'd set off, heading to the nearest public transit hub with every credit he owned in his pocket. There was a transport leaving for the upper levels in ten minutes, and if he hurried, he'd be able to catch it.

He’d boarded the transport and had barely sat down before the vehicle had lurched forward, beginning its journey through the city. It's not long before the skyline of the lower levels begins to shift, growing larger and more imposing as they climb higher and higher, and Tup's stomach flips with nervousness. He's never been up this high, and the view is breathtaking. He can see the entire planet, and the sight is so incredible, it's easy to forget why he's here.

He has no idea where you'll be, or how long it will be until the concert starts, and the realization sends a wave of panic through him. The only plan he'd come up with is to arrive early and try to purchase a ticket, and if that fails, to hope and pray that the security droids don't drag him off the premises.

He's not entirely sure what he's hoping to accomplish. He's not even sure if it's you, and the chances of seeing you are slim. Even if it is you, you're a famous singer, and he's nothing. A nameless face in a crowd of thousands and a clone to boot. You'd probably never remember him, and if you did, you wouldn't want to talk to him.

But there's a part of him that doesn't care. He has to see you, and if he has to wait, or sneak in, or bribe his way in, he'll do it. He just needs to know.

The sun is still high in the sky by the time he’s walking into the front entrance of the concert hall, his stomach filled with butterflies. The place is packed, and he has no idea where to go. People are everywhere, all dressed up in fancy clothing, and he sticks out like a sore thumb.

He follows the crowd through the lobby, looking around for any sort of signage or guidance. Most of the people here are obviously fans, and it's not hard to spot the merchandise stalls and the vendors selling holos and other memorabilia with your likeness plastered all over them. And the more he looks, the more he feels like an idiot.

Because, the truth is, you're a celebrity. He's sure you've probably met hundreds, if not thousands, of men, and none of them were clones. You're beautiful and talented and famous, and he's nobody.

It's not a nice feeling, and the urge to turn around and run away is nearly overwhelming, but he can't bring himself to do it.

That is, until he gets to the front of the ticket line just in time to see the Rodian woman behind the counter put down a sign reading "SOLD OUT".

Tup stands there, his mouth opening and closing as his brain tries to process what he's seeing. It can't be. It has to be some sort of mistake.

"Excuse me, sir?" the Rodian asks, raising a brow. "Can I help you?"

He blinks, turning towards her.

"Uh, I was hoping to buy a ticket?"

"Oh, sorry, but the concert's sold out," the woman explains, giving him a sympathetic look. He must look like a kicked puppy, because she sets a datapad on the counter and slides it toward him. “If you give me your comm, I can send you an alert the moment we get more tickets for the next show.”

Tup nods numbly, tapping in his contact information, and she gives him a smile.

"Thanks, sweetie. Have a nice day."

Tup nods again, backing away from the booth and heading back towards the exit. He feels numb, like his brain is full of static. He'd had such high hopes for this, despite knowing better, and now... Now, what?

He's not even sure why he'd come. Maybe because the memory of seeing you in the flesh, talking to you, has stuck with him, and he's felt this strange pull towards you ever since. Or maybe because the thought of you is a nice distraction, a fantasy that keeps him from focusing on the things he doesn't want to think about.

And the idea of going back to the barracks to contemplate those things, alone and bored and lonely, is far less appealing than the prospect of doing something exciting, something dangerous, and getting his heart broken in the process.

Tup's not usually a risk-taker, not unless it's for a good reason, and he's certainly not the kind of guy who would do something reckless without thinking it through. But there's something about you, something he can't quite put his finger on, that draws him in, and he can't deny it any longer.

It's stupid, and foolish, and if the rest of the squad could see him now, they'd laugh. He's never done anything like this before, and a part of him is terrified, but he can't bring himself to stop.

With his original plan dashed, he decides his best option is to do some research, and maybe try to figure out a way to get backstage. The holonet is a good place to start, and Tup sits down at a public terminal and searches for your name.

It takes a while to find any sort of information, and a lot of what he does find is just speculation and hearsay, but eventually, he comes across a forum where people have been posting pictures from your shows.

There are photos from the previous night, and from a few other recent concerts. He scrolls through the images, his heart beating faster and faster as his excitement builds. Then, he finds one, and his breath catches.

You're in the middle of the stage, surrounded by a group of dancers, and you're dressed in the same outfit he’d seen in the poster. The same sheer fabric, the same corset, the same white boots. You're smiling, and the crystals are glowing, and his heart skips a beat.

It's definitely you.

He watches videos, reads articles, and the more he learns, the more captivated he becomes. Your voice is incredible, your lyrics are poetic and emotional, and the way you move on stage is mesmerizing. He's never heard music like yours, and the more he listens, the more he feels like his whole world has been turned upside down.

He’s in the middle of a fan-produced video about your childhood on Ryloth, your escape from the Hutts, and your rise to fame, when his comlink chimes.

He checks it, and his eyes widen when he sees that it's a message from Fives.

Where are you?

Out.

It's the first time Tup has lied to Fives, and the guilt makes his stomach churn, but he's not about to tell him the truth. He can't imagine what Fives would say if he found out he was spending his free time stalking a popstar, and the thought of explaining the situation is mortifying.

He pockets the device, deciding to ignore the inevitable interrogation, and turns his attention back to the terminal.

After a while, his eyes begin to glaze over, and the words on the screen start to blur together. It's not that he doesn't find the information interesting, or even useful, but there's only so much he can read about you. He’s already staring to feel like a bit of a creep, and his nerves are getting the best of him.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and Tup nearly jumps from his seat, his heart racing. His gaze travels from the large claws up the arm of a towering Trandoshan, and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He looks familiar, but it takes Tup a second to place him, and when he does, his stomach sinks.

"Come with me," Kerk growls. "Now."

Tup nods, scrambling to his feet.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," he says, holding his hands up. "I swear."

Kerk snorts, and Tup flushes, ducking his head.

"Just come on," the Trandoshan grumbles, turning and leading him out of the terminal. Tup follows him through the crowd, his heart pounding, and he has to walk fast to keep up as they round the side of the Opera House.

"Where are we going?" he asks.

Kerk ignores him, and Tup's nerves increase. Is the Trandoshan planning on taking him somewhere and killing him? Does he know something about his conversation with you that night? Maybe Kerk thinks he's a threat, like the stalkers and obsessive fans he’s read about, and is trying to scare him away.

They reach a small service entrance, and Kerk presses a code into the panel, unlocking the door. It slides open, and Tup hesitates at the threshold, not sure if he should follow.

Kerk growls, turning back to look at him, and his yellow eyes bore into him.

"Just go," he snaps.

Tup obeys, and the door slams shut behind him, plunging the hallway beyond into darkness. He stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do, when a light flickers on above his head, illuminating the corridor. The walls are covered in posters, headshots and signatures, and Tup takes a tentative step forward, admiring the artwork.

His commlink chimes again, and he glances at it, sighing when he sees Fives' name.

Are you okay?

Yeah, I'm fine. Stop worrying. I'll be back soon.

“Keep walking,” Kerk says, shoving his shoulder. “Door at the end. Knock first, and don’t say anything stupid. You'll regret it."

Tup nods and continues down the hall, the sound of Kerk's heavy footsteps echoing behind him. When he reaches the door, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. Kerk gives him a nod, and Tup takes a deep breath, knocking twice.

"Come in!"

His heart stops, and his breath hitches. He'd know that voice anywhere.

The door slides open, and there you are, sitting on a bench in front of a large vanity. There are mirrors lining the walls in front of you, bright lights shining down on your face. You're dressed in a black robe, your legs crossed at the knee, and you’re scrolling on a datapad with a bored look on your face.

When you catch sight of his reflection in the mirror, your eyes widen, and you stand up so fast your stool nearly tips over.

"Tup!"

"Hey," he says, and it's a miracle his voice doesn't crack.

You smile, and the room seems to get brighter. Suddenly, all the anxiety, all the fear, the nerves and the doubts, disappear. It's you, and he's here, and somehow, he's managed to find you.

"Hi," you say, turning towards him.

He stares at you, his heart in his throat. You're even more beautiful than he remembers, and the sight of you makes his head spin. You're wearing minimal makeup, just some eyeliner and lip gloss, and there’s a silk headband on the top of your head that wraps around your lekku.

"So," you begin slowly, "you lied to me.”

His eyes widen. "What?"

"You told me you weren't a fan," you remind him. You raise an eyebrow and tilt your head at him. “And yet, here you are."

Tup swallows, his cheeks burning.

"I didn't lie," he defends, a little indignantly. "I'd never even heard your music until today."

Your eyebrows shoot up, and a smirk curls your lips.

"Today?"

"Yeah."

"How did you like it?"

"I loved it."

You smile, and a soft sigh escapes you.

"I'm glad."

The two of you stand there, neither one moving, and for a moment, he just stares at you. He can't believe you're here, in front of him. After all these months, all the sleepless nights spent dreaming about you, wondering about you, you're standing here, and you're real.

You seem to sense his surprise, because you chuckle and step closer.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," you admit, your tone soft. "After the other night..."

"Yeah," Tup agrees. "Me neither."

There's a long pause, and you watch him, studying him, before a soft laugh escapes you.

"So," you begin, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you’re not a fan, why are you here?"

Tup doesn't know how to answer, doesn't have a good reason, so he tells the truth.

"I just wanted to see you again."

You blink, a slight flush coloring your cheeks, and he wonders if he's said the wrong thing. You're a famous celebrity, and you must be used to hearing guys say things like that, but still, he hopes you don't think he's just trying to flatter you.

"Oh," you breathe, and a small smile spreads across your face. “Why?”

"I'm not really sure.”

It's the truth, but it's not. He doesn't know exactly why, and his brain is a little scrambled at the moment, but he knows there's a reason. You've been on his mind ever since the night you met, and he's felt drawn to you. There's just something about you, and he wants to know more.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and looks at you.

"I just...liked talking to you," he says, and he hopes you can hear the sincerity in his voice. "I liked being around you. And I wanted to do it again."

"Well, here I am," you say, spreading your arms.

Tup can't help the smile that forms on his lips. "Here you are."

"What now?"

He shrugs, a nervous laugh escaping him.

"I hadn't really thought that far ahead," he admits.

"Me neither," you confess, and his eyebrows raise. "When I heard there was a trooper trying to get tickets, I asked Kerk to find out who it was. I was hoping it would be you, but...I wasn't sure."

"You were hoping it was me?"

"Yeah," you admit. "I kind of couldn't stop thinking about you. It's silly, I know, but..."

"It's not," he assures you quickly. He can't help the grin that spreads across his face. "I couldn't stop thinking about you either."

You smile, and his heart pounds, and the two of you stand there for a long moment, just staring at each other, until you shake your head and step forward.

"Anyway, I'm glad you came," you tell him.

"I'm glad I came, too," he replies, his voice soft. He feels like he's floating, his heart fluttering, and the sensation is both exhilarating and terrifying. He knows he shouldn't, knows it's a bad idea, but before he can stop himself, he blurts out, "Can I take you out?"

Your eyebrows raise. "Like, on a date?"

"If you want," Tup says, and a lump forms in his throat. "If not, we can just talk or hang out or something. Whatever you want."

You stare at him, your eyes wide, and Tup holds his breath, not daring to hope.

"Yeah," you say, a little breathless. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Tup releases the breath he'd been holding, his heart hammering. "Really?"

"Really," you confirm, giving him a shy smile.

"Okay," he says, a little stunned. He hadn't actually expected you to say yes, and now that you have, his brain is having a hard time catching up.

"I have an hour or so before my next rehearsal," you tell him. "We could grab something to eat, if you'd like?"

"Yes," Tup breathes. "That would be great."

You give him a dazzling smile, and his heart skips a beat. This is crazy, and he knows it. He barely knows you, and this is all happening so fast, but he can't bring himself to care. Because the feeling in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach, they're so strong, and so foreign, that he's afraid if he stops and thinks about it, they'll disappear.

So he doesn't. He doesn't think, doesn't question, and he lets himself get lost in the feeling.

"Let me change," you say, turning toward the small table. "And grab my bag. I'll be right back."

You head for the door, disappearing into a small side room, and Tup takes a moment to compose himself.

This is not what he had expected. In fact, it's completely the opposite, and he can't believe his luck. He'd gone looking for you, hoping for a glimpse, and instead, you'd agreed to go on a date with him. Part of him is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to burst through the door and drag him out of the building, but for now, he lets himself enjoy it.

A few minutes later, you emerge from the other room, a small bag slung over your shoulder and an oversized jacket in hand. You're wearing sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and a black hat pulled low, and when you catch him watching you, you give him a grin.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," Tup replies, a smile tugging at his lips. He offers you his arm, and you slip your hand into the crook of his elbow, a soft blush darkening your cheeks.

"Let's go."

The fourth time Tup sees you, you’re glowing in the fading sunlight, smiling at him, and he feels like he might actually be seeing the real you.

He’s never been on a date before, but he's pretty sure it's going well. It had taken a while to find somewhere that you were comfortable eating without attracting attention, and in the end, you'd ended up grabbing some street food and finding a bench in a nearby park. It's a quiet spot, hidden from the main thoroughfare, and you're able to eat in peace.

He can't stop looking at you. Every time he does, he's struck by how beautiful you are, and how surreal the whole thing feels. He still can't quite believe it, can't wrap his head around the fact that he's here, sitting beside you, sharing a meal and talking, and the way his heart beats a little faster every time you laugh or smile makes his chest ache.

"Do you do this often?" you ask between bites.

"Go out to dinner with celebrities?" he jokes, and you snort, rolling your eyes.

"Go out to dinner with strange women you meet in alleys," you correct, a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Ah, no," he says with a small chuckle. He looks away, watching as a few birds fly by, and he clears his throat. "Actually, I've never been on a date."

Your eyes widen, and he blushes.

"You're joking," you say, a hint of disbelief in your tone.

"Nope," he admits.

"Never?"

"Never."

You stare at him, shaking your head, and Tup ducks his head, not quite able to meet your gaze.

"How is that possible?"

"Well, I haven't had much opportunity," he tells you. "Most of my life has been spent training or serving, and when we're off-duty, we tend to stay together."

"I suppose that makes sense," you concede. "But surely, there have been opportunities."

Tup shakes his head.

"Not really," he admits. "The girls on the lower levels don't tend to like clones, and the ones at 79s are, well..."

"Not exactly the type of woman you're looking for?" you offer, a sympathetic look in your eyes.

Tup nods, giving you a weak smile. "Yeah, exactly."

"And what kind of woman is that?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Tup opens his mouth, but no words come out. How is he supposed to answer that? You're looking at him expectantly, a curious expression on your face, and he realizes he doesn't have an answer. What is the type of woman he's looking for? He has no idea, and the fact that you're the one asking the question is even more surprising.

He'd only met you a few times, and even though he'd spent the past few months thinking about you, he hadn't let himself consider the possibility of a relationship, not seriously, anyway. Not with someone like you. He'd only hoped that maybe, if he saw you again, that maybe the two of you could be friends.

And now here he is, on a date with you. A real date. With a beautiful, famous, talented woman, who seems to be enjoying his company.

"Honestly, I'm not really sure," he confesses. "I hadn't really thought about it. Not until recently."

"Until recently," you repeat, and there's a slight note of curiosity in your voice. "When did 'recently' start?"

Tup can't help but notice the teasing tone of your voice, and the look you're giving him is far from subtle.

"Well," he says, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I met this strange woman in an alley, and I've been thinking about her ever since."

"Oh really?" you ask, your tone playful. "She must be pretty special."

"She is," Tup confirms, and the earnestness of his words surprises him. You seem a little surprised, as well, and a small flush colors your cheeks. He looks away, unable to meet your gaze. "I, uh, didn't expect this."

"Didn't expect what?"

"Any of it," Tup admits. "This, today. You. Meeting you, talking to you, spending time with you, it's...it's more than I could've imagined."

You're staring at him, a soft look in your eyes, and Tup can feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

"What can I say?" you ask, giving him a warm smile. "You're easy to talk to. I don't know why, but I just feel comfortable around you. Like I've known you for years, instead of days."

"I feel the same way," Tup agrees, returning your smile.

"It's crazy, isn't it?"

"A little bit," he says. "I've never felt like this before."

"Neither have I," you admit, and there's a softness to your expression that makes his heart skip a beat. "You're very easy to be around, Tup."

"You're not so bad yourself," Tup replies, his tone teasing.

You roll your eyes, laughing, and he chuckles, feeling his nerves begin to ease.

After that, the conversation flows easily. You ask him about his life, and he tells you about his time as a clone trooper, the battles he's fought in, the people he's saved. You're fascinated by his stories, and he finds himself opening up, sharing parts of his life that he's never told anyone else. It's refreshing, and the longer the two of you talk, the more he wants to share.

You tell him about your life, too, and he’s captivated by your stories. Your life has been filled with adventure, and you've traveled all over the galaxy, meeting all kinds of people and seeing things he can't even imagine.

By the time your comm chimes, reminding you of your upcoming rehearsal, the sun has begun to set, and the temperature has started to drop.

"We should probably get back," you tell him, a little regretfully. "I don't want to leave the girls waiting."

"Yeah, of course," Tup says, standing up and brushing off his pants. He offers you his hand, and you slip your palm into his, allowing him to help you to your feet. He hesitates for a second, before gently squeezing your fingers, and you give him a shy smile.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," Tup says, returning the smile.

The walk back to the Opera House is filled with easy conversation, and he finds himself wishing the two of you had more time. You're fun, and witty, and you have a way of making him laugh that he's never experienced before. And he's enjoyed getting to know you, learning more about who you are, and who you are outside of the persona.

As the two of you draw closer to the entrance, however, his good mood starts to fade. The reality of the situation starts to sink in, and the fact that this is the last time he's going to see you begins to weigh on him.

"So, this is goodbye, I guess," you say, your tone a little wistful.

"Yeah," Tup replies, doing his best to sound casual. "It's been nice, though. Really nice."

"It has," you agree. "We should do it again sometime."

"That would be great," Tup says, his chest warming at the thought. He doesn't want to get his hopes up, doesn't want to read into the situation, but there's something in the way you're looking at him that makes him think you're not just being polite. "If you want, I mean. If you have time."

"I'll make time," you assure him, a soft smile on your face, and he finds himself smiling back.

The two of you stand there for a long moment, neither one of you moving, and Tup's mind races. This is it. His chance to ask, to tell you how he feels, to get everything off his chest. But the words don't come, and he finds himself struggling to say anything.

"Oh, I almost forgot," you say, and he snaps back to reality. You reach into your pocket and pull out a small sheet of flimsi. “Here.”

He takes the paper, and his eyebrows shoot up when he sees that it's a ticket, Ziva Stars printed across the top in a fancy, scrawling font.

"It's for the VIP area," you tell him. "There's a reserved seat with your name on it. If you're interested, that is."

Tup's eyes widen, and he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

"You want me to come?"

"Of course," you reply, as if it's obvious. "I wanted to give it to you before, but I wasn't sure if it would be weird. I know you're not a fan, and it's okay if you don't want to, but—"

"I'd love to," Tup says quickly. "Really. Thank you."

You beam, and the sight takes his breath away.

"It's the least I can do, after all the trouble you went through to see me," you tell him.

"It was worth it," he says, without missing a beat.

"Oh, and one more thing," you say, reaching out and plucking the ticket from his fingers. You pull a pen from your bag and scrawl a series of numbers on the back. "This is my personal frequency."

Tup stares at it, his eyes wide.

"Comm me sometime, okay?" you ask, giving him a hopeful look. "We can hang out. Maybe catch a show or something."

"Yeah, okay," Tup says as you hand him back the ticket. Underneath the set of numbers is a name, your real name, and he fights the urge to grin like an idiot. He tucks the piece of flimsi carefully into his pocket, and you smile, looking pleased.

"Great," you reply, your tone soft. "Then I guess this isn't goodbye."

"I guess not."

You step closer, and his breath catches as you reach out, gently cupping his cheek. You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. It's quick, and sweet, and his whole body is suddenly buzzing. You linger for a moment, close to his ear, your breath warm on his skin.

"See you after the show?"

"Yes," Tup manages to choke out. "Definitely."

"Good," you say. You step back, a soft flush on your cheeks, and you give him another shy grin. "I'll see you tonight, Tup."

"Tonight," he echoes.

His heart is still pounding, and his palms are sweaty, and when the door closes behind you, his legs nearly give out. It's like the floor has dropped out from under him, and he feels like he's floating. It's an incredible feeling, and it's all he can do to keep himself from punching the air in excitement.

He takes a deep breath, letting his head clear, and he heads back toward the main street, a spring in his step. Tonight, he's going to a concert, and after, he'll see you.

He can't wait.

The fifth time Tup sees you, he's ready to fall at your feet.

He's seen the holofilms, watched the recordings, and listened to the songs, but nothing compares to seeing you in person. You're mesmerizing, moving effortlessly across the stage, singing with a power and grace that leaves him speechless. You’d opened the show by rising through the floor in a cloud of glitter and smoke, and the crowd had lost it, screaming and cheering. You'd smiled, waved, and launched right into your first number, and the audience had eaten it up.

And he'd just stood there, watching in awe.

It's like nothing he's ever seen before. The lights, the pyrotechnics, the costumes. Everything is perfectly coordinated, choreographed to perfection, and he has no idea how you do it. The energy is incredible, the atmosphere electric, and it's like the entire place is buzzing.

He barely notices the crowd, doesn't hear the music. He only has eyes for you, and he's captivated, entranced, unable to look away. He can't believe this is the same girl who'd shared street food with him and talked to him about her family. The same girl who'd kissed him on the cheek and made him promise to see her after the show.

But the way you move, the way your body sways, the way your voice caresses every note, is hypnotic. It's sexy and seductive, and he can't deny the way his body responds. He's completely overwhelmed, and the desire coursing through him is so strong, he can barely breathe.

His seat is close enough that he can see the sweat glistening on your skin, can see the muscles flexing in your thighs, and his heart beats faster. You're stunning, breathtaking, and the sight of you drives him crazy. His blood is roaring in his ears, and he's finding it hard to focus. He just wants to run up on stage, grab you, and kiss you.

He doesn't, of course, but the urge is strong.

You perform three encores, each one more amazing than the last, and when the final notes fade, the crowd erupts into thunderous applause. Tup joins them, clapping until his hands are sore, and the look on your face is pure joy. You bow, wave, and blow kisses as your backup dancers join you, and the cheers get louder.

Somehow, your eyes find his, and when you smile, he swears the world stops. You blow him a kiss, and his heart skips a beat, and the butterflies in his stomach seem to burst into flight. It's a rush, and a thrill, and a hundred other things, and he's not sure how he's supposed to keep himself from doing something stupid.

Then, the lights go down, the curtain closes, and the music stops.

People start shuffling out of their seats, filing down the aisles, and Tup is forced to follow, caught up in the tide. He gets swept along, pushed and shoved as the crowd files out, and it's not until he's nearly at the lobby that he feels someone grab his arm.

"This way," Kerk hisses, and Tup has never been so happy to see him.

"Where are we going?"

"Backstage," the lizard says, pushing him toward the back exit. "Hurry."

Tup obeys, and soon they're heading down a series of corridors and hallways, the crowds thinning out the further they go. They turn a corner, and he's surprised to find himself at the end of a long line of people. Fans, all dressed in various shades of pink and white, are standing outside a large doorway, chatting and laughing. There's a small group of droids keeping an eye on things, and Tup feels a flicker of nervousness.

"What are we doing here?"

"She's signing autographs," Kerk explains. "You're lucky, usually there's a lot more people, but tonight, she only wanted her VIPs. She didn't want to make you wait."

Tup stares at him, his eyes wide. "Really?"

"Yep."

"Does she do that often?"

"Nope."

Kerk's response sends a surge of warmth through him, and his heart thumps against his ribs.

"Oh."

They stand there for a while, watching the line move forward, and as time passes, Tup can feel the anticipation building. He can't believe you've chosen to meet him after the show. You must be exhausted, and he's sure you've got other things to do, and yet, you'd taken the time to invite him backstage.

Finally, the line begins to move, and the tension grows. He can see the people at the front of the line, and he can see you, sitting behind a table, a huge smile on your face. You're signing the merchandise, and taking pictures, and he watches as a small Twi'lek girl runs up to the table, throws her arms around you, and bursts into tears.

You hold her for a long moment, speaking softly to her, and she nods, wiping her eyes. She gives you a watery smile, and you hand her a small piece of flimsi, scribbling a quick message on it. She clutches it tightly, a wide grin on her face, and hurries over to her mother.

The scene makes his heart ache, and the look of joy on your face makes him smile. You really do love your fans, and the fact that you're making such an effort to connect with them, to give them something they'll remember, makes him appreciate you even more.

He steps forward, and the butterflies return, a rush of nervous energy flowing through him. You look up, catching his gaze, and a huge smile spreads across your face.

"Tup!"

You're on your feet in an instant, rounding the table and hurrying towards him. You throw your arms around him, and the feel of your body pressed against his, the scent of your perfume, is dizzying.

"Hi," he breathes, his heart racing.

"Hi," you murmur, a smile in your voice. You squeeze him, and he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you tightly.

"That was amazing," he says, his voice low.

"Thank you, Tup." You pull back, looking up at him, and there's a sparkle in your eyes that makes his heart beat faster.

"You were incredible," he tells you, his voice earnest. "Absolutely incredible."

You flush, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and you duck your head, looking shy. He smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, neither one speaking. You look so beautiful, and he's filled with the overwhelming desire to kiss you.

The moment is interrupted by a series of excited shrieks, and the two of you glance up to see a group of girls staring at him, whispering and giggling. You give him an apologetic look, and he smiles, giving you a small nod.

"You better get back to work," he says, reluctantly releasing you.

"Yeah, I should," you say reluctantly. "But I was hoping you'd come back to my dressing room. We can talk, if you'd like. Or just hang out."

"I'd like that," he replies, and the smile that lights up your face is dazzling.

"Great."

You give him one last smile before turning and hurrying back to your seat, and he shuffles toward the back of the room, out of the way. He can feel the eyes of the others on him, and he keeps his gaze on the floor, not wanting to draw any more attention. After a few minutes of waiting, he fishes his comm from his pocket, tapping the screen to wake it up. His heart drops when he sees the number of missed calls and messages.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

Tup, where the hell are you?

The messages continue, each one increasingly worried, and he sighs, tapping the screen to dial back. Fives picks up immediately.

"Hey."

"Tup, what the fuck?" Fives says, his voice tense. "Where are you?"

"I'm sorry," Tup says as he rubs his temple. "I should have called sooner. I'm fine."

"You should have called sooner?" Fives echoes. "Are you kriffing kidding me? I've been trying to reach you for hours! Where the hell have you been?"

"I, uh, was at a show," he explains sheepishly. "It went late."

"A show? What show?"

"It was just some band," he lies, glancing around to make sure no one is listening. "You wouldn't know them."

"Why didn't you answer your comm?" Fives asks, sounding hurt. "We were worried about you. Dogma thought you'd been kidnapped or something."

"I'm sorry," Tup says sincerely. He'd had no intention of lying, but he hadn't realized how late it was, or how long the concert had actually gone. And honestly, the last thing he'd wanted was to have Fives asking questions. "I'll be home soon. I promise."

"Fine," Fives grumbles. "But if you're not back by morning, I'm sending out a search party."

"I'll be back," Tup assures him.

Fives hangs up without another word, and Tup pockets his comm, letting out a long sigh. He knows he can't hide the truth forever, but he'd prefer to wait a little longer, until he has a better idea of where things are going.

After another half an hour, the last few stragglers are ushered out of the room, and the door slams shut. You stand up, stretching, and glance over at him.

"Ready?"

Tup nods, and the two of you make your way down the hallway, chatting as you go. The dressing room is quiet, and dimly lit, and he can feel the tiredness setting in. He can't imagine how you're feeling, and he makes a note to try and convince you to get some rest.

When the door slides closed, you let out a sigh and drop onto the sofa, closing your eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asks, taking a seat beside you.

"I'm good," you assure him. "Just a little tired."

"That was an incredible show," Tup says. "Seriously. The best I've ever seen."

Your eyes open, and you shift slightly, leaning against his shoulder. The movement is small, but the closeness makes his heart skip a beat.

"It's the only one you've seen," you point out, a teasing note in your voice.

"Still," he argues, a small smile on his lips. "You're amazing."

"You're sweet," you murmur, and your fingers find his. You lace them together, squeezing gently. Your touch is soft and warm, and it sends a rush of heat through him. "Thank you for coming."

"I'm glad I did," he says, returning the squeeze. "Really glad."

There's a moment of silence, and Tup can feel the tension building. It's subtle, and it's quiet, but it's there, and he can't ignore the way his heart pounds, or the way his body reacts. He takes a deep breath, trying to keep himself under control, but when he feels you lean closer, his restraint snaps.

He turns, and his eyes find yours. You're staring at him, a slight blush darkening your cheeks, and he can see the same desire reflected in your gaze. He reaches out, gently cupping your cheek, and his thumb strokes the smooth skin as you lean into the touch.

"I'm glad you came, Tup," you whisper.

"So am I," he murmurs, his gaze drifting to your lips.

Without another word, he leans in and kisses you. It's gentle, and sweet, and the feel of your mouth on his is like nothing he's ever experienced before. Your lips are soft and warm, and you taste like honey and mint, and he never wants the kiss to stop.

It's an amazing feeling, and he loses himself in it. Your hands are on his chest, your palms flat, the warmth of your touch seeping through his shirt. His fingers trail along the side of your neck, and he cups the back of your head, his hand resting against the base of your lekku.

The kiss lasts for what feels like an eternity, and when you pull back, the look in your eyes is one of pure adoration.

"That was..."

"Perfect," you finish, and Tup nods, unable to find the words to express how he's feeling.

You cup his face in your hands, your thumb running over the teardrop tattoo underneath his eye. The gesture is intimate, and he leans into your touch, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I've been wanting to do that since the night we met," you confess, your voice a whisper. "Ever since the moment I saw you."

"So have I," he breathes, his hands finding your waist. He pulls you closer, and you move willingly, shifting until you're nearly on his lap. You rest your forehead against his, and the two of you sit there, just breathing each other in, the weight of the moment hanging heavy between you.

"Kiss me again," you murmur, your voice pleading.

He does.

The kiss is different this time. There's a sense of urgency to it, a sense of desperation, and the desire that rushes through him is overwhelming. He needs to touch you, needs to feel you, and the sound of your breathless moans as his hands roam over your body are driving him crazy.

You climb into his lap, and he groans as your weight settles over him. Your knees are on either side of his hips, your thighs pressing against him, and the pressure is maddening. He wants to touch you, wants to taste you, wants to bury himself inside of you and never come out.

"Tup," you murmur, pressing kisses to the corner of his mouth. "Tup, I want you."

"I want you, too," he says, his voice rough.

His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, and he moans as his hard length presses against you, grinding his hips up into yours. He's already aching, and the feeling of your body rubbing against his is nearly too much to bear. It's incredible, and exhilarating, and he wants more. So much more. He's never felt anything like this before, and he's desperate to explore it, to see where it leads.

As if sensing his thoughts, you pull back with a bite to his lower lip. He stares up at you, his chest heaving, and the look in your eyes makes his breath hitch.

"Are you sure this is okay?" he asks, his voice hoarse. "I don't want to... I mean, if you're not comfortable..."

"It's fine," you reassure him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "We're both adults, and I know what I want."

"Yeah?" he breathes. "What's that?"

"You," you whisper, your gaze fixed on his. "All of you."

Your words send a jolt of heat straight to his cock, and his hands tighten on your hips, pulling you closer. You moan, rocking against him, and he's so turned on, it's like he's on fire. His hands slide up your sides, gripping your waist, and he grinds his hips against yours, the friction making him gasp.

You grab his hands and move them to your breasts, encouraging him to touch, and he gives a small squeeze. He's hesitant at first, but when you moan and arch into his touch, his confidence grows. His hands cup the soft flesh, and his thumbs brush the bare skin spilling out from the low-cut neckline of your dress.

The two of you stay like that for a while, trading heated kisses and exploring each other's bodies. Tup is amazed by how good it feels, how responsive you are, and the way your breath hitches and your body trembles makes him feel powerful. It's thrilling, and a little scary, but also incredibly arousing.

He's achingly hard, and the pressure of your weight on his cock is torture. He needs relief, needs release, and the longer you tease him, the more frantic he becomes. Finally, he can't stand it anymore, and he breaks the kiss, his eyes searching yours.

"Please," he breathes. "I can't..."

You smirk, a mischievous look on your face, and he lets out a frustrated groan.

"Don't tease me," he pleads. "I need you."

His words seem to do something to you, and the smirk melts away. Instead, a hungry look appears on your face, and his breath catches.

"Then have me," you say, your voice low and seductive. "However you want. Whatever you need."

Your words are like a shock to his system, and his brain short-circuits. Whatever he needs? He needs you. All of you. Right now. And the idea that you're giving him permission, telling him it's okay, that you want this just as much as he does, makes his head spin.

Before he can even think about it, he's on his feet, lifting you and carrying you over to the vanity. The surface is littered with various cosmetics and beauty products, and he pushes them aside with a sweep of his arm. You laugh as he sets you down, but the sound dies in your throat when he captures your lips in a bruising kiss, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers stroking the soft skin of your neck. "So fucking beautiful."

Your eyes flutter closed, and a soft moan escapes you. Your legs tighten around him, and your fingers curl into the material of his shirt, pulling him closer. The intensity of the moment is overwhelming, and his heart races as the desire rushes through him. He needs to be closer, needs to feel you, and he fumbles with the hem of your dress, pushing it up to expose the smooth skin of your thighs.

He trails his fingers along the inside of your thigh, and you shiver, letting out a breathy moan. His lips find your neck, and his teeth graze the tender skin, nipping and sucking, and you arch into his touch, letting out a soft sigh. He continues his exploration, his hands sliding up and down the length of your legs, and he revels in the feel of your skin, smooth and soft beneath his fingertips.

"Fuck," he breathes, his lips trailing lower. "You feel so good."

You moan in response, your head falling back. Your lekku slide off your shoulders, dangling down your back as his hands slide further underneath your dress, and you raise your arms, allowing him to pull it off.

He takes a step back, drinking in the sight of you, and his breath catches. The white bra and panties you're wearing underneath are a sheer, delicate lace, the material doing little to hide your body from him. The contrast of the white against the vibrant color of your skin is striking, and the desire rushing through him is so intense, he feels like his knees are going to buckle.

"Stars," he breathes, his hands gripping your thighs. "Look at you."

You smile, a coy look on your face, and your fingers curl around the waistband of his pants.

"Do you like what you see?" you ask, tugging him closer.

"You're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen," he murmurs, leaning in and kissing you again.

You kiss him back eagerly, and his hands slide up, cupping your breasts. The bra is silky and smooth, the hard peaks of your nipples through the thin material sending a jolt of pleasure through him. He breaks the kiss, moving his lips lower, trailing kisses along the smooth skin of your chest. His hands move to the clasp of the bra, and you let out a soft gasp, arching into his touch.

Tup pauses, taking a deep breath, and his hand stills, hovering over the delicate piece of fabric. Then, before he can lose his nerve, he unhooks the clasp, and the garment falls away, revealing the soft, supple skin underneath. You stare at him, a mixture of lust and apprehension on your face, and the sight of you, so exposed and vulnerable, is breathtaking.

"Is this okay?" he whispers, his eyes searching yours.

"Yes," you breathe. "Please, Tup, I need—"

Before you can finish the thought, he leans in, taking a nipple into his mouth. You let out a startled moan, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he sucks hard, the tip of his tongue teasing the sensitive peak. Your legs tighten around him, drawing him closer, and he can feel the heat of your body against his. It's maddening, and all-consuming, and the desire rushing through him is like nothing he's ever felt before.

"Tup!"

"Do you like that?" he murmurs, his hand finding the other breast and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Yes," you gasp, arching into his touch. "More, please."

The sight of you, naked and flushed, pleading with him, is one he's never going to forget. He can’t believe he’s never done this before, can’t believe that he didn't realize how amazing it could feel. To have a beautiful woman, trembling and desperate, begging him for more. It's like a dream, and he's never been so turned on in his life.

Suddenly everything his brothers have said about sex, and women, makes sense. If it feels this good, this amazing, then why wouldn’t they want to do it? And why would anyone ever stop once they start?

Your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place, and he obeys, switching sides and lavishing the other breast with attention. You're moaning now, soft, breathy sounds that make his cock ache, and when his fingers slip between your thighs, seeking the warmth between them, the needy gasp that escapes you is like music to his ears.

"Fuck," you groan, the word drawn out and needy. "That feels so good."

He can't stop himself. He's not thinking, not considering the consequences. He just knows that he needs to touch you, needs to feel you, and the thought of denying himself is unbearable.

You let out a soft whimper as his fingers stroke the silky material of your panties, teasing the damp spot that's formed between your thighs. The heat and moisture soak through the thin fabric, and the knowledge that he's done that, that you're turned on because of him, makes his head spin.

He traces his fingers over the outline of your pussy, following the delicate contours, and your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping you. His other hand is still cupping your breast, his thumb circling the hard, swollen peak, and he feels your body respond, the tension in your muscles increasing.

"Stars, look at you," he murmurs, his fingers continuing their slow, teasing caress. "You're so wet, and I've barely touched you."

Your cheeks flush, and the shy, embarrassed look on your face makes his cock throb. It's so different from the confident, self-assured persona you normally display, and the knowledge that you're allowing him to see this, that you're trusting him with this, makes his heart skip a beat.

"Please," you beg, your voice hoarse. "Touch me, Tup, please."

"How can I resist when you ask so nicely?"

The teasing note in his voice is surprising, but the way you flush and the soft gasp that escapes you makes it worth it.

"Tup," you whine, squirming in his grip.

He smiles, and the mischievous look on his face seems to frustrate you. Before you can protest, however, he hooks his fingers under the edge of your panties and tugs them down, exposing the slick folds beneath.

The sight of your naked body, exposed and glistening, is one he's never going to forget. He's dreamed of this, fantasized about it, but nothing could've prepared him for the reality. You're gorgeous, and perfect, and all his, and the surge of possessiveness that rushes through him takes him by surprise. 

He's already two steps ahead, trying to formulate a plan to convince you to let him do this again, to make it clear that this is the start, not the finish. He wants more, so much more, and the thought of having to give it up is suddenly unbearable.

He doesn't realize he's staring until your thighs tense, a shy blush coloring your cheeks.

"You okay?"

Tup looks up, and his gaze meets yours.

"Better than okay," he assures you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Then why'd you stop?"

Your tone is playful, but there's a hint of uncertainty, of worry, and he immediately wants to put you at ease. He's not sure how, exactly, but he does the first thing that comes to mind. He moves his hand, sliding it up and cupping your face, and the tenderness of the gesture seems to surprise you.

"Just taking it all in," he murmurs.

"And?"

"It's the best thing I've ever seen," he tells you honestly.

You laugh, shaking your head, and the movement causes the lekku draped over your shoulders to sway.

"You're so full of it," you say, rolling your eyes. "But it's a good line, so I'll let it slide."

"It's not a line," he insists, his voice low, and his hand moves to the back of your neck, gently squeezing the smooth skin. "It's the truth. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Your eyes search his, a hint of doubt still lingering in them.

"You mean that?"

"Of course I do," he says, his tone serious. "I would never lie to you."

You stare at him for a long moment, as if trying to gauge the truth of his words. Finally, you nod, a small smile forming on your lips.

"Thank you," you murmur, your cheeks reddening.

Tup returns the smile, and his hand slides lower, caressing the smooth skin of your shoulder. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, and he feels you relax, the tension easing from your body. When he pulls back, your eyes are soft and warm, and he holds your gaze, letting you see the sincerity in them. 

Then, slowly, he drops to his knees.

"What are you doing?" you ask, your eyes widening.

"Something I've wanted to do since the night we met," he confesses as his hands move to your knees.

Your breath catches, and your legs spread slightly, as if inviting him in. "Oh?"

"Yeah," he says, his gaze drifting lower, landing on the slick flesh between your thighs.

"Well, don't let me stop you."

Tup chuckles, and the sound sends a visible shiver through you. Then without another word, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. You let out a soft gasp, and his hands tighten, holding you in place. You're dripping, and the heady scent of your arousal fills his nostrils as saliva pools in his mouth. 

His tongue slips out, giving an experimental lick with the tip. The taste is indescribable, sweet and tangy and a thousand other things, and the effect it has on him is instantaneous. He can feel the blood rush to his cock, his entire body tensing as the pleasure surges through him, and he can't help but bury his face between your thighs, seeking more.

You groan, a loud, needy sound, and your hips jerk forward, pressing against him. Your thighs tighten, squeezing his head, and his hands slide under your ass, gripping the soft, round flesh and holding you in place.

“I should warn you,” he mumbles against your core, his lips brushing against your slick sex.

"Warn me about what?"

"I've never done this before," he admits. "And I'm... not sure if I'm any good."

"Really?" You stare at him, eyes wide, and a slow, lazy smile spreads across your lips. "I'm your first?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, a little embarrassed. “Never wanted to before now, with anyone else. Is... is that a problem?"

"No, not at all," you tell him. "That's... really hot, actually. It makes me feel special."

"You are special," he replies, and the look you give him makes his heart skip a beat.

You lean back, spreading your legs wider, and his eyes are drawn to the pink flesh between them. He watches as you slide a hand down your body, parting the glistening folds, and he stomach swoops when he sees your entrance clench around nothing.

“Focus here,” you instruct, your fingers running over the hood of your clit. "Right here. Lick and suck and flick."

He nods, watching as your fingers circle the hard nub. It's fascinating, and he's never seen anything like it before, and the desire rushing through him is overwhelming.

"Go ahead," you murmur, your voice soft.

He obeys, leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on the hood, and your whole body twitches. He glances up at you, checking to see if you're okay, and the look on your face is pure pleasure. Your eyes are closed, and your head is tipped back, your lekku dangling down your back, and the sight is incredible.

He repeats the gesture, and the reaction is even stronger.

"Yes," you gasp. "Like that. Stars, just like that."

The praise spurs him on, and he starts to experiment, varying the pressure and rhythm. It doesn't take long for him to find a combination that works, and soon, you're writhing and moaning, grinding against his face.

The feel of your thighs around his head, the soft, needy sounds that escape you, and the taste of your arousal are dizzying, and he loses himself in the sensation. He can't get over how incredible it feels, can't believe that he's actually doing this, and the power, the control, is thrilling.

The fact that it's him, the awkward clone who didn't know the first thing about flirting, who can't seem to string a sentence together in front of a pretty girl, who's got you squirming and gasping and pleading, is a huge confidence boost. He's making you feel good. Really good. And the thought is exhilarating. It's a heady feeling, and the more you react, the more determined he is to draw it out, to give you as much pleasure as he possibly can.

You're soaking, and his face is wet, but he doesn't care. He just keeps going, licking and sucking, teasing and flicking. The way your hips are bucking, the way your hands are tangled in his hair, the way you're practically fucking his face, is the hottest thing he's ever experienced. He never wants it to end.

"Oh, stars," you moan, the sound a strangled cry. "Don't stop, Tup. Please, don't stop."

He doesn't. He can't. He's not sure he could even if he wanted to.

Tup's fingers find your entrance, and he slips one inside, the tightness of your pussy making him groan. He pumps slowly, his movements tentative, but the way you squeeze him, the way your body responds, spurs him on.

Soon, he's working you open, thrusting two fingers deep inside of you while his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit. Your hands find their way into his hair, and the tie holding his hair back comes loose, allowing the dark strands to spill down around his face. You grab hold and tug, and the slight pain pulls a moan from his lips, his hips thrusting in shallow, aborted thrusts against the air.

"Just like that," you breathe, bucking against his face. "You're doing so well. Don't stop."

He groans, the praise sending a shiver down his spine. You're babbling now, lost in pleasure, and the feeling of your thighs squeezing his head, your hands pulling his hair, is nearly enough to push him over the edge. 

He doesn't know how he's going to live with himself now. Doesn't know how he's going to go back to his life after experiencing this. He's ruined, he knows, and he's not sure he'll ever be able to get over this, but it's a problem for future Tup. Right now, his focus is on the beautiful, talented, incredible woman currently grinding against his face.

"You're amazing," you gasp. "So fucking good. Keep going, please, don't stop."

His cock twitches, leaking against his pants, and he groans and buries his face further between your thighs. He pumps his fingers in and out, his movements steady, letting the noises you’re making guide him. The tips of his fingers brush against a spot along your front wall that has a gasp ripping from your lips, and he focuses his attention there, wanting to hear that sound again.

You whimper, arching your back, and he sucks harder, his teeth grazing the swollen bundle of nerves.

"Tup!"

Suddenly, your back arches, and you let out a strangled cry. Your walls clench around his fingers, and the gush of liquid is so strong, it catches him off guard. His eyes widen, and the urge to laugh in delight bubbles up inside him, but he manages to stifle it. Instead, he laps up every last drop, savoring the taste.

You come for what feels like forever, and when the last tremors have finally passed, you sag against the counter, gasping for breath. He waits until your breathing returns to normal before gently pulling his fingers out. You whine at the loss, and he smiles, leaning in and giving the sensitive flesh a final, gentle kiss.

"Wow," you murmur, sounding dazed. "That was... wow."

"Yeah?" he asks as his lips trail along your inner thigh.

"Definitely," you breathe. "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

"Instinct, I guess," he mumbles, nipping at the soft skin. Your body jolts, and your thighs close around his head, a soft sigh escaping you.

"Mmm," you hum, your eyes fluttering. "Well, whatever it was, I liked it."

Tup grins, placing one last kiss on the inside of your knee. You watch him, a satisfied smile on your face, and he can't resist pressing one more kiss to your pussy, making you shiver.

"So did I,” he rasps as he stands, bracing his hands on the vanity on either side of you.

You smirk. "I can tell."

You're looking down, and when he follows your gaze, he sees that his pants are tented, the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. There’s a noticeable wet patch where the tip has soaked through, and his cheeks burn.

"Sorry," he mumbles, suddenly embarrassed.

"Don't be," you say, reaching out and tracing the shape of his erection with your finger. "It's sexy."

His breath catches. The look in your eyes is intense, and the teasing, playful mood evaporates, replaced by something far more heated. Your hand fists in his shirt, and you tug him down, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss.

He melts into the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, the taste of you lingering with every sweep. He's not thinking, just feeling, and the emotions and sensations swirling around him are dizzying. His hands slide to the small of your back, and he pulls you closer, his cock throbbing as the warmth of your body seeps through the thin material of his clothes.

"How was it?" you murmur against his lips. "Your first time eating pussy."

"Good," Tup breathes, his hands roaming over your body. "So good. So fucking good."

"Yeah?" you ask, a teasing note in your voice.

"Stars, yes," he groans. "You taste so good. I can't stop thinking about it. I want to do it again. I need to. Please, tell me I can."

Your breath hitches, and a surprised look appears on your face. It's the same one you gave him when he told you that you were the best thing he'd ever seen, and he feels a rush of pride. You're clearly not used to being complimented like this, and the thought fills him with a smug satisfaction.

"You're full of surprises," you breathe, a small smile on your lips. "Who would've thought the shy, quiet boy would turn out to be such a good talker?"

Tup blushes, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "You inspire me."

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, you just stare at him. Then, without another word, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a heated kiss. Your lips crash together, and his hands slide down, cupping your ass and pulling you closer.

He's lost, drowning in the pleasure, and the desire rushing through him is overwhelming. He's never felt anything like this before, never had any inkling that sex could be so amazing, so powerful, and his head is spinning.

You pull away, breaking the kiss, and he's panting, his chest heaving.

"Do you wanna fuck me, Tup?" you ask, a mischievous look on your face.

He lets out a strangled groan, his hips jerking forward, seeking relief. His clothed cock presses against the damp flesh of your pussy, and the two of you moan in unison.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice hoarse. "You must be tired. I can wait."

"I'm not that tired," you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "Besides, we're just getting started. There's no way I'm going to let you go home without having my way with you. Not after that performance."

"If you insist," he says, his hands roaming over your naked body.

"Oh, I do."

The hunger in your voice is unmistakable, and he feels a flutter of excitement, quickly tempered by a surge of anxiety. He wants to, desperately, but a small part of him is still worried about disappointing you.

"We don't have to," you assure him, and he shakes his head quickly.

“Oh no, no I—I want to. I really, really want to," he assures you, his voice strained. "But are you sure? I'm, uh, not exactly an expert. I don't want to... disappoint you."

"Tup, you could never disappoint me," you murmur as your lips trail along his jaw. "And trust me, I'm not expecting perfection. I just want you. You’ve already given me more than I ever could have hoped for. Anything else is a bonus."

Your words make his chest ache, and he cups your face in his hands, pulling you in for a slow, languid kiss. He tries to put everything he's feeling into it, all the desire and admiration, and he's rewarded with a soft moan, your body pressing closer.

"Okay," he says as he pulls away. "I'd like that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he breathes, his thumbs stroking the delicate skin beneath your eyes. He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and breathing you in. "I've been dreaming about this since the night we met."

"Me, naked and desperate?"

"You, letting me touch you," he corrects.

"Is that so?" you whisper, a flush appearing on your cheeks, and he nods.

"Yeah," he breathes as his hand moves down, sliding over your stomach.

"So have I lived up to the fantasy?"

"Exceeded it," he murmurs as he watches his fingers trace the soft skin of your navel. "Way exceeded it."

You smile, a slow, lazy smile that sends a shiver down his spine.

"Then let's see if we can't make the reality even better."

Your fingers hook into the waistband of his pants, and you tug him closer, kissing him deeply. His hands move to the hem of his shirt, and he pulls away just long enough to yank the garment over his head. 

Your eyes widen, and your hand stops him from capturing his lips again, the tips of your fingers brushing over the bare skin of his chest. You trace the contours of his muscles, and the light, ticklish sensation causes goosebumps to rise on his skin.

"Wow," you breathe, your eyes wide.

"What?"

"I... didn't realize you were so fit," you say, and the awe in your voice makes him puff out his chest. The tip of your nail drags across the v-line of his hips, dipping underneath the waistband of his trousers, and he can't stop the sharp intake of breath, his stomach muscles clenching at the sensation.

"All part of being a trooper," he replies. He tries not to squirm as your eyes roam over him, and the hunger, the desire, reflected in your gaze is exhilarating. He wants to stay here, like this, forever, with you looking at him like he's the only thing in the world.

"I can see that," you murmur, a coy look on your face. "Can't wait to see what's under the rest."

The words send a shiver down his spine, and he can't stop the groan that escapes his lips. His hands grip the vanity with enough force to make the metal creak, and you smirk, clearly pleased by the reaction.

"Why don't you show me?" you ask.

He doesn't need any more encouragement. With shaky hands, he starts fumbling with his belt, his fingers clumsy as he works the buckle. It's frustrating, and he struggles for a moment before the leather comes loose. He's not sure what's come over him, but he can't seem to think straight, his focus solely on getting his pants off.

"Easy," you murmur, noticing his frustration. "There's no rush."

"There is," he mutters, finally managing to unbutton his pants. "I'm dying to get inside of you."

The admission catches you off guard, and a shocked look appears on your face that quickly turns into lust, your lips parting.

"Well, when you put it that way..."

His hands tremble as he shoves his pants down, exposing the tight black boxer briefs he's wearing underneath. The outline of his cock is visible, the wet spot near the waistband growing, and he can feel your eyes on him, drinking him in. He takes a deep breath before hooking his thumbs under the waistband and pulling them down. His cock springs free, bouncing against his stomach, and his cheeks flush.

"Oh," you gasp, a slight tremor in your voice.

"Yeah," he whispers.

"Wow."

"Is that a good 'wow' or a bad 'wow'?"

"That's a 'I'm pretty sure you're about to ruin me for any other man' kind of wow," you tell him.

A spark of heat shoots down his spine, and his cock twitches, a spurt of precum leaking from the tip. Your eyes follow the movement as he opens his mouth to reply, but a choked gasp is the only sound that escapes him. You've wrapped your hand around him, rubbing your thumb through the pearly liquid, and the sight is mesmerizing.

Your hand is small and delicate, manicured nails painted a soft, shimmery pink, and the contrast between the deep bronze of his skin and the vibrant, colorful hues of your own is breathtaking. Your fingers curl around the thick base, and you give an experimental squeeze, the pressure making him groan.

"Look at you," you murmur, a lust-filled expression on your face. "You're so perfect."

"You're not so bad yourself," he gasps, his fingers gripping the vanity, knuckles white. “Very—ah!—very good, actually."

You chuckle, the sound low and throaty, and his breath hitches.

"I'm glad you think so," you say as you pump your hand up and down, coating his cock with the clear liquid.

"You're... definitely living up to the fantasy," he rasps, his hips jerking as your fingers tighten.

You laugh, the sound echoing off the walls, and he can't help the grin that spreads across his face.

"Thanks for that," you tell him.

He chuckles, and the tension breaks, the playful mood returning.

"Any time," he breathes, a teasing note in his voice.

The two of you continue like this for a while, trading jokes and teasing touches. It's fun, and playful, and he's enjoying the easy, comfortable banter. You're not shy about asking for what you want, and he's not shy about giving it.

Before long, the desire grows, and the kisses become hungrier, needier. His hands are on your body, your mouth is on his neck, and the two of you are grinding against each other, desperate for friction.

You pull back, panting, and his lips follow, capturing yours in a heated kiss. You moan, your hands roaming over his body, and his hips jerk forward, the hard length of his cock dragging against the smooth skin of your thigh.

"Wait," you gasp, pushing him back.

He stops, looking at you, confused. You place a quick kiss on his chin and bend slightly, opening a drawer and retrieving a foil square. His eyes widen, and you give him a smirk.

"Planning ahead?" he asks, a teasing note in his voice.

"I had hopes," you admit. "Someone recently made me aware of the virtues of being prepared."

"They sound smart," he murmurs, watching as you tear the package open.

"Yeah," you say as you reach for him. "I think he is. Great hair, good with his tongue, and apparently, huge dick. What's not to like?"

"Sounds like a keeper."

"I hope so," you breathe, rolling the condom down his length.

The words make his heart skip a beat, and he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opens them again, you're staring up at him, a questioning look on your face.

"I hope so too," Tup whispers, and the look of delight on your face is one he's never going to forget.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"Not a thing," he murmurs, leaning in and kissing you.

The kiss is different now, more urgent, and the intensity is staggering. He doesn't hesitate, his fingers finding your entrance and sinking inside. You moan, and the wet heat surrounding his digits has his head spinning.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," you moan, writhing against him.

He pulls his fingers out and lines himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, and the two of you stare at each other. The anticipation is electric, the air crackling with energy, and the weight of the moment is palpable.

"Here we go," he murmurs.

"I'm ready," you say, a coy smile on your face. "You can put it in now."

He smirks. "I'm working up to it."

"Take your time," you tease, wiggling your hips. The motion causes the tip of his cock to slide against your clit, and the both of you let out a sharp gasp. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," he says, leaning in and capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

He can feel your body tense as he pushes forward, the thick head breaching your entrance. You're tight, and hot, and the way you’re gripping him is unlike anything he's ever experienced before. Your lips are on his neck, your tongue licking a stripe along his throat, and the soft, needy sounds you're making are driving him crazy.

"Feels so good," you murmur, a hint of awe in your voice.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You lean back, bracing your hands on the vanity, and he watches as the tip of his cock disappears inside you. You're taking him so well, and the way your body is stretching around his girth is mesmerizing. He's trying to keep it together, trying to hold back, but the tightness, the wet heat, is unlike anything he's ever felt.

"Stars," he groans, his eyes glued to where your bodies are joined. "You look..."

"I know," you sigh. "It feels incredible."

He nods, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he continues pushing forward in short, shallow thrusts. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place, and he watches as his cock slowly disappears inside you.

"Tup, please," you whimper once he's fully seated, a note of desperation in your voice. "Please, just—just fuck me."

"I am," he grunts.

"No, I mean, just do it," you gasp. "Don't hold back."

"Really?"

"Yes, yes, please, just—"

You don't get to finish the thought. He pulls out until just the head is resting against your entrance, and he pauses, giving you one last chance to change your mind. When you don't, he takes a deep breath and snaps his hips, burying his cock inside of you in a single thrust.

"Ah!" you cry, the sound echoing off the walls.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"Yes," you gasp. "Just like that. Keep going."

Tup pulls back, and he slams into you, his hands tightening on your hips.

"Yes," you groan, your head falling back.

"So good," he pants, his hands gripping your ass as he grinds his hips, letting you feel the full length of him.

He sets a pace, slow and deep, his hips rolling as he fills you again and again. You're moaning, whimpering, your eyes screwed shut and your hands gripping his shoulders. He can't stop looking at you, can't stop drinking in the sight of your face, twisted in pleasure. He's never felt anything like this before, and his entire world has narrowed down to just the two of you. There's nothing else, no one else, and the only thing that matters is the feeling of your cunt around his cock, the sound of your moans, the smell of sex and sweat and the faint, sweet scent of perfume.

The sensations are overwhelming, and he loses himself in the feeling. The room is filled with the sounds of your coupling, the slap of skin against skin, the squelch of your wetness, and the low, guttural moans that are ripped from his chest.

He can't get over how good it feels, can't believe that this is really happening. You're incredible, and perfect, and the fact that you're allowing him to do this, that you want him, is a high unlike any other. He knows it won't last, that there's no way you'll ever choose him, but for now, he can pretend.

He wants to give you everything, wants to be the best you've ever had, and the thought spurs him on, a fierce sense of possessiveness coursing through him. You're his, at least for the night, and he's going to make sure you don't forget it.

"You feel so fucking good," Tup growls, the sound low and feral.

"Yes," you cry, your legs tightening around him. "Keep going."

He does, his pace increasing, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. He's pounding into you now, and the force of his movements causes the vanity to shake, bottles and jars tumbling to the floor. You don't seem to notice or care, too lost in the pleasure, and Tup can't take his eyes off you, can't stop staring at the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, the way your eyes are screwed shut, the way your lips part as the moans escape you.

"You're so beautiful," he groans, the words spilling from his lips without thinking. "I can't believe I'm doing this. Can't believe I'm inside you. Stars, you're perfect."

You whine, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he's surprised to feel a rush of arousal flood him. The pain is sharp, and he's not sure why, but the feeling sends a jolt through him, and his thrusts become harder, faster.

"You're amazing," you breathe, your words coming out in pants. "Fuck, I knew you'd be good, but not this good. You're going to spoil me."

"I like spoiling you," he says, and he leans down, nipping at your neck. You let out a gasp, your back arching, and he sucks hard, determined to leave a mark.

"Fuck," you whimper. "That feels so good."

His hand slides under your knee, pushing your leg up and spreading you wider, allowing him to sink deeper. The new angle allows him to brush against a spot inside you, and the way your eyes fly open, a strangled cry escaping your lips, tells him he's hit the mark.

"There?" he grunts, grinding his hips.

"Yes," you hiss, a sharp intake of breath following the word. "Right there."

"Hold on," he breathes, his hands gripping the back of your thighs, holding you open.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and your fingers tangle in his hair. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, the scent of your perfume filling his nostrils, and the feeling of your cunt clenching around his cock has him seeing stars. He fucks you like that, hard and fast, the two of you moaning and whimpering, the sound echoing off the walls.

"So beautiful," he mutters, his lips brushing against your skin. "You're so fucking perfect. Taking me so well. I could fuck you all day, just like this."

More words come tumbling out, filthy things he'd normally be embarrassed by, but right now, in the heat of the moment, they're just pouring out of him. He doesn't know where they're coming from, doesn't know what's gotten into him, but it feels good, so he just keeps going, murmuring praises and filth, telling you how gorgeous you are, how perfect, how amazing, how much he's enjoying being inside you.

Your reactions are even more rewarding. Your head is thrown back, your back arched, and the soft, needy sounds escaping your lips are music to his ears. He can tell you're close, can feel your pussy clenching around him, and he grits his teeth, trying to hold back.

"Don't stop," you gasp, your eyes fluttering open, the dark pools filled with lust.

"I won't," he growls. Tup pulls you closer, his hips rolling as he grinds into you, filling you over and over. He drives into you with a force he didn’t even know he possessed, the vanity banging against the wall, and the mirror rattles in its frame, threatening to fall. He doesn't care, doesn't notice, his focus completely on you. Your body is shaking, trembling, and your nails rake down his back, leaving stinging welts in their wake.

"Tup," you sob, your eyes fluttering closed. "I'm gonna—“

"Come for me," he commands, and the look of pure bliss on your face is all the warning he gets before your orgasm hits.

Your walls clamp down around his cock, and the wet heat of your release surrounds him, the contractions pulling him deeper. He watches, mesmerized, as you come undone, your body tensing and twitching, your lekku quivering. 

The sight is more than he can bear, and with a hoarse cry, he follows you over the edge, his hips jerking as his own orgasm rushes through him. He collapses, his weight resting on his forearms, and his head drops to your shoulder as he spills inside of you, the pulses of pleasure so intense that he can barely breathe.

The two of you stay like that for a long moment, breathing heavily, clinging to each other. Slowly, he comes back to himself, the afterglow of his release filling him with a warm, fuzzy feeling. He turns his head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, and you hum, your eyes fluttering open.

"Are you okay?" Tup asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"I'm fine," you reassure him, giving him a sleepy, satisfied smile. "You were amazing."

"So were you," he murmurs. He nuzzles the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against the delicate skin behind your ear. "Are you sure I didn't hurt you? I kind of... lost control."

"Trust me, it was perfect," you breathe. "Exactly what I needed."

He nods, his hand cupping your cheek, and his thumb brushes against the corner of your mouth.

"Good," he says, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

"Mmm," you murmur, and you sigh contentedly.

"I'll be right back," he whispers, his fingers running along the curve of your jaw. "Don't move."

He pulls out, carefully, and he watches as his softening cock slips free. There's a slight twinge of sadness at the loss, but it's quickly replaced by a swell of pride when he sees the mess you've made. He removes the condom and ties it off, tossing it into the nearby trash can. Then he grabs a towel and wets it, and after gently wiping the smudges of makeup from your face, he moves down, cleaning between your thighs.

"Thanks," you mumble, a shy look on your face.

"Of course," he replies.

"Are you always this sweet, or are you making an exception for me?"

"I'm making an exception," he admits. "You're special. I want to treat you right."

You stare at him, and for a moment, he thinks he's said something wrong. Then, a slow, lazy smile spreads across your face, and the look in your eyes sends a shiver down his spine.

"You're pretty special, yourself," you say, cupping his face and pulling him in for a kiss.

The kiss is slow and languid, and he loses himself in the taste and feel of you, the scent of flowers and sweat and sex filling his nose. You bite down on his bottom lip, tugging at the plump flesh, and he groans, his hands gripping your hips.

You pull back, your lips inches from his, and a wicked gleam appears in your eyes.

"Think you've got another round in you?"

He's exhausted, his body worn out, and his cock is still soft, but he can feel the blood rushing south. You're looking at him with a hungry expression, and he knows he's not getting out of here anytime soon. Not that he wants to.

"For you, I'll find one," he promises. You smirk, and his hands tighten on your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the soft flesh.

"Then come on, trooper," you tease, a playful note in your voice. "We've got work to do."

Tup lets out a laugh as you push him down onto the couch, and the two of you fall into a tangle of limbs and heated kisses. You ride him with wild abandon, the sounds you make as he fills you over and over again a symphony to his ears. 

He’s not sure how many times the two of you go at it, only that he's completely exhausted by the end. You're both covered in a sheen of sweat, and your bodies are trembling and aching. The smell of sex hangs heavy in the air, and the evidence of your shared passion is everywhere. Broken bottles and scattered cosmetics litter the floor, a ripped pillow lies crumpled beneath his head, and the vanity mirror is cracked, the surface spider-webbed with fissures.

You're curled up on his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, and your eyes are closed, a soft, contented smile on your lips. Your legs are tangled together, and your fingers are tracing random patterns on his stomach. Tup’s own arm is wrapped around you, holding you close, and he can't stop himself from reaching up and stroking your lekku, the silky smooth skin soft against his palm.

The room is quiet, save for the sounds of the two of you breathing, and the silence is comfortable, relaxed. If it weren’t for the fact that he still had to make it back to the barracks before the sun rose, he'd be tempted to stay here, wrapped up in you, for the rest of the night. Forever, if you let him.

But reality is intruding, and the chrono on the wall tells him that it's nearly four in the morning, and the longer he waits, the harder it will be to get back. He needs to leave. Now. But the thought of leaving you, even for a few hours, is more than he can bear.

"I have to go," Tup whispers, his fingers tracing the line of your lekku. He feels you stiffen in his arms, and he wraps them around you, pulling you closer. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's okay," you say, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice.

"I really don't want to," he promises. "I just... I have to report back at the barracks by six, and if I don't, it'll look suspicious. My squad leader will notice."

"I understand," you say, placing a soft kiss on his chin. "But... can I see you again?"

His eyes widen, and the spark of hope he feels has his heart leaping in his chest.

"Really?” he asks, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. “I mean, yeah, yes, definitely. I'd love that. If you're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," you tell him, a soft, affectionate smile on your face.

"Me too," he breathes. "When?"

"Well, I have tomorrow night off," you say. "Do you have to be back by a certain time?"

"No," Tup says. "We're allowed to be out after curfew as long as we report back to the barracks the following morning. I'd be free all night."

"Perfect," you purr, trailing your fingers along his jaw. "Then why don't I pick you up at eight? We can have dinner, go dancing. See where the night takes us."

"I'd like that," he says, a small, shy smile appearing on his lips.

"Good," you murmur, and you lean in and capture his lips.

The kiss is gentle, sweet, and his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer. When you finally pull away, you're both breathless, and Tup sighs, pressing his forehead to yours.

"I don't want to go," he admits, a hint of a whine in his voice that makes you smile.

"I know," you reply. "But the sooner you do, the sooner we can see each other again."

"Fair point," he grumbles, reluctantly untangling himself from you. He gets dressed quickly, and as he's fixing his hair, you walk over and stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Here," you say, taking the tie from him and gently combing his hair back. “Can’t say I’m an expert on human hair, but this should help you get by until you can shower in the morning. And if anyone asks, tell them the truth: a pretty girl with a thing for clones took a liking to it."

"A pretty girl with a thing for clones, huh?"

Your eyes meet his in the mirror, and the playful look on your face has him grinning.

"Well, for one clone in particular," you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his bare shoulder. "The rest can keep their hands to themselves."

"I'll pass the message along," Tup chuckles.

Once his hair is fixed, he turns, capturing your lips in a final, lingering kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean into him, and the warmth of your body seeps into his, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Until tomorrow," you murmur, a teasing glint in your eyes.

"Until tomorrow," he replies with a kiss on your forehead.

Tup gives you one last look before turning and leaving the room, the sound of your laughter following him down the hallway. When he steps out into the cool night air, the smile on his face is so wide it's starting to hurt, and his cheeks are aching.

He can't remember the last time he felt this happy. He feels like he's walking on air, like his feet are barely touching the ground. Everything about tonight has been perfect, and he can't wait to see where it leads.

And, as he starts the walk back to the barracks, the memories of the past few hours playing through his mind, one thought is clear: he's never going to forget this night. Not as long as he lives.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @notslaybabes @ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @heavenseed76 @bimboshaggy @bunny7567 @lostqueenofegypt @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @maniacalbooper @burningnerdchild @callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @deerspringdreams

[specialistpinky]

「 ✦ cosmopolitan ✦ 」

18+ ONLY MDNI

previous episode

summary: drinking is cool. until the next day comes. also, who the fuck invited this man?

wc: 4.7k

a/n: i put my foot into this one, y'all. type 1 if you agree, chat!

you say that you need me, but i don't feel needed at all girl, i've been through your hardest, and you broke me regardless —SINS (LET ME IN) by KANII

i've always had this morbid curiosity about what being hit by a car or getting stabbed would feel like.

puking my guts out in the kitchen sink is probably the closest i'm gonna get to that feeling; realizing that my ex-boyfriend robbed me, my roommate had to drag my lightweight ass back home, and i'm still locked out of my room (plus remembering all of this when i started puking) feels closer, though.

i heave, the sound of emptying my stomach into the sink drain echoing through the dorm. the running water calms me and hydrates me as i wash my mouth out. i cough and spit the remaining bile in my mouth before turning the water hot to give the sink a decent rinse. i'm gonna have to deep-clean it later. for now, i need to kill this hangover.

i look in the cupboards for a cup, finding a singular white mug on the highest shelf. of course, it's out of my reach because my roommate is fucking tree-length.

i do my best to reach for the cup, stretching as far my arms would allow me and standing on the tips of my toes. i strain and grunt, hopping up and down to try and scooch the mug close enough for me to grab it, but to no one's surprise, i'm not able to touch it.

all of the sudden movement induces a dizzying sensation. i lean forward on the counter, holding my head in my hand.

"morning, sleeping beauty."

"jesus fuck," i gasp, choking on spit. i sputter and hit my chest, attempting to catch my breath.

"oops, sorry. didn't mean to scare you," he says.

i spin around to see my roommate with his arms crossed and leaning on the adjacent wall, a brutally arrogant smirk adorning his chiseled features.

i glare at my roommate sharply. "whatever," i rasp.

"feel any better?"

no, asshole. i don't feel any better.

that's what i wanted to respond with. "you're up early," i say instead, my voice scratchy and recovering from the acidic bile i just passed through my throat.

he cocks an eyebrow. "it's afternoon, princess." he points to the clock across the room. i look over and read it, the display blaring 2:17 in red.

i scratch my neck, pursing my lips together. "oh."

i slept for that long? i must've drunk a decent amount last night. makes sense, though; i was robbed and sorta ditched.

i rub my temples and sigh heavily out my nose. "i need an aspirin or somethin'. my head's pounding right now," i mutter.

"yeah, i bet you do," Choso hums, sauntering over to the fridge and rummaging through it, "you look rough."

i suck my teeth at his comment but don't respond and keep trying to grab the cup, jumping and reaching like a little kid wanting a cookie.

i growl in frustration, ready to give up when i feel a body behind me and an arm reach above me.

my eyes drift to the litter of ink moving on his flexed muscles as his abnormally large fingers hook around the mug handle. his fingers are scraped, dried cuts scarring over faded callouses and small splotches of yellow bruises decorating his knuckles. when did that happen? shit looks painful.

he sets the mug down in front of me before moving back, his body heat leaving me cold. i keep my eyes on the counter and bite my lip, wondering why i wanted him to stay there instead of shouting at him to back off of me like a normal person.

i open my mouth to ask him about his hand but fail to come up with the words as he faces away from me.

"you're welcome," he grumbles, heavy footsteps fading. i don't call him back out of embarrassment and refuse to thank him out of spite.

i wrap my hand around the mug and walk over to the sink, holding it under the running faucet. filling it up halfway, i grab the Tylenol off the counter and chuck it in my mouth, chasing it with water.

wait, i don't remember turning the faucet on, nor do i remember finding Tylenol.

i look around for Choso to ask him if he did all that, only to find no one in the kitchen besides myself. i arch an eyebrow in bemusement and sip on more lukewarm water before heading to the bathroom to clean myself up.

today is gonna be a long day.

"hello, thank you for calling maintenance. we are currently experiencing a high volume of calls."

"jesus fucking christ," i shout to no one, "what does a bitch hafta do to get anything to go my way!" 

after calling maintenance for the nth goddamn time and getting the voicemail, this school is becoming top two on my 'raises my blood pressure' list. you can guess who's number one.

i don't even know why i decided to come back to live on campus.

well, no, i do know why. it's 'cause i can't afford an apartment on my own, and my family doesn't live anywhere close for a commute. hell, even if they did, i'd rather tie cement blocks to my feet and bungee jump. plus, i don't have many friends who i would voluntarily room with; that includes Kiki and Kento.

don't get me wrong, i love them. truly i do, but i cannot live with a couple as puppy-love sick as they are.

i've walked in on them by accident once, and i promised myself that would never happen again.

i run my hands over my bare face, mulling over options to get into my room since maintenance is no fucking help.

i could try to lockpick the door, but i'm rusty, so who knows how long that would take? i could also call the front desk for help, but nine times outta ten, RAs don't know how to do their jobs.

there's also Toji. god, i hate that that's even an option. he may be a fucking asshole, but he's a thief and a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy. fortunately, i know he can totally unlock my room.

unfortunately, i know Toji like the back of my hand, and i know his horny ass is gonna want 'compensation.'

i can hear him all up in my ear now: "what i get in return, mama? gonna let me break your bed in? i'd love to taste you, doll. you know you love this dick, baby. you can't get get enough of it."

"bleugh!" i recoil and shiver in disgust. "yeah, hell nah, that ain't happening," i mumble.

i have got to stop fucking him like, yesterday. as much as i love getting dicked down, i should stop putting myself in those predicaments before last night repeats itself.

giving up on my other options, i redial the housing maintenance number. the line rings more than once, meaning it's still active. still not out of the water yet, i think.

it trills for longer, the sound becoming headache-inducing. as i'm about to hang up, i hear the line click.

"hello, this is housing maintenance. how may i assist you?"

"finally, someone answered!" i squeal and nearly jump for joy at the voice on the other end.

"uh, hello, ma'am? can i help you?"

shit, i almost forgot i'm on the damn phone. i clear my throat and speak in a serious, professional tone: "yes, hi. i'm calling because my bedroom door is locked and i can't get inside with my key. it seems stuck or broken."

"okay, ma'am. could i have your last name, building, and room number, please?"

"yes, my last name is Sterling. S-T-E-R-L-I-N-G. i live in F. E. W. Harper Hall, and my room number is 824."

the person on the other end hums. i can hear the keyboard clacking, presumably typing in some information.

"Florence, correct?"

i nod. "yes, that's correct."

"okay, Florence, i put in your request as an emergency, and we'll have someone there within an hour, okay?"

i sigh in relief. "okay, thank you so much."

i hang up the phone, throwing my head back and sinking into the couch cushions.

not even a second later, my cellphone rings.

i press the answer button and hold the phone up to my ear. "hello?" i say.

"hey, girl! when you want me and Ken to come over?"

i raise an eyebrow. "y'all are coming over? since when?"

Kiki scoffs, "bitch, you said you wanted help getting your door unlocked yesterday, so i figured you'd want that done today. unless you wanna sleep on the couch again?"

"i don't even remember having that conversation," i say bluntly.

"well, it was had. so when we comin' over?"

i suck my teeth slowly, chewing on my bottom lip. "well, i mean, maintenance's supposed to be here to fix the lock, so y'all can come whenever, i guess. oh, and can you bring the stuff i bought, too? i forgot it in your car."

"that was the plan, babe. but a'ight, we'll be there in a minute."

knowing those two—more Kiki than Kento—a minute means quite a while, they should be here after my door is fixed so they can help me decorate.

"okay, see y'all soon. love you, bye."

beep!

i set my phone on the table and lie down, feeling my eyes flutter every couple seconds despite my best efforts to stay awake. i lose the battle, though, and find myself drifting off, the last thing i hear being the front door creaking open and close.

bam, bam, bam, bam!

i jolt up, turning straight to the front door. who in the chocolate-covered fuck is banging at my door like that?

"who is it?" i yell, irritated someone woke me up out my beauty nap.

bam, bam, bam! they go again.

they must have the wrong dorm bamming on my shit like that, i think, leaning back and closing my eyes, ignoring whoever that is and hoping they go away before maintenance comes.

bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam!

"a'ight, i'm coming, goddamn!" i growl, getting up and stomping towards the door, "banging on my door like fuckin' LAPD."

i stand on my tippy toes and peek through the peephole.

"who the fuck is it?" i demand once more, trying to see who's there but can't for some reason. they decide to not respond.

i also can't see who's there. something, or rather someone, seems to be covering the peephole.

i kiss my teeth and sigh, thinking it's my dumbass friend as i fling the door open with a roll of my eyes.

"bro, don't bang on the door like that! also, i told you about that shit with covering up the..."

my words trail off as i gawk and furrow my eyebrows at the tank-top-clad chest and torso before me.

well, that's clearly not Kiki.

"hey, doll. heard you're havin' door trouble. mind if i take a look?"

oh, hell the fuck no.

i gaze upwards, already knowing what the fuck i'm gonna see.

what the actual fuck?

"you're the fucking maintenance guy?!" i screech.

he and his clanking toolbox invade the threshold of my sacred space. "yes, ma'am," he drawls, "on-call maintenance guy for the next three months."

i shut the door swiftly and plant my forehead on it. "oh, you gotta be fuckin' shitting me," i whine quietly. i turn to my ex with a scowl. he flashes that stupid smirk at me with that stupid scar stretching over his stupid lips.

"there a problem?" he taunts.

my scowl deepens, but i keep my mouth shut, hoping that my silence speaks for me.

i saunter over to my bedroom door while keeping my eyes trained on Toji. i barely press down on the door handle, the knob springing back. i cross my arms, popping my hip out and tapping my foot.

he cocks an eyebrow. "uh, not exactly sure what you're asking me."

i spit two words: "it's locked."

he lets out a snicker, then a full chuckle. "yeah, doll, rooms are usually locked when nobody's been in them."

"i'm saying i can't get in at all."

"you try your key?"

"duh."

"huh. okay, i'll try it then."

Toji unhooks an assortment ring of keys and flips through them, picking one before sticking it into the lock. he faces the same problem i had as he jiggles the door handle. he rams his shoulder into the frame, nearly splintering the wood, and ultimately fails to open the door.

he hums, scratching his chin as he looks down at me then jabs a thumb behind him. "how the fuck did you manage to do this?"

i hit him as hard as i can on his beefy bicep, the muscle ricocheting my hand and not hurting him despite the fact i wanna do way fucking worse than that. "i didn't do shit, you jackass!" i retort. "shit's been locked since i moved in."

he nods slowly and smiles. "right. sure, doll," he says with a glint in his eyes. he huffs out his nose and rolls his shoulders and neck, his joints crackling like the old man he is.

"alright, i should have this fixed in a few minutes, so go sit down somewhere, look pretty, and watch me work, sweetheart."

i roll my eyes but obediently sit somewhere. i sit on the arm of the couch so i can keep an eye on his snake ass, crossing my legs and squinting.

"betta make my shit straight," i quip. i almost call him a bitch, but i don't think he'll take too kindly to that. not that care much about what the fuck he thinks, but he's already fixing my door, so probably shouldn't drive him away before the problem is solved.

Toji waves his hand and goes on about doing what he does best: fucking around with shit until he figures something out.

watching a man do his job is generally uninteresting until i see Toji's huge man hands and man arms flex, prominent veins popping against his pale skin. i could've done quite anything more entertaining, but my fucking ex-boyfriend is in my dorm fixing my door.

that's a valid reason to keep my eyes on him, no?

the bored expression coupled with his quick, busy hands has my mind wandering to other things.

things like what he used to do to me with those hands: rubbing my back as we cuddled in bed after my classes, swinging our arms while we walked to the local theater for matinee Saturdays, his thumb caressing my thigh as he drives.

of course, he did (and does) more than that. i've never found a man who's able to make me squeal and squirm as much as he does. i've also never found a man so strategic and soft despite being so aggressively manly. he molds me so effortlessly like wet clay in a sculptor's grasp.

frankly, i can't help but be disgusted.

it disgusts me how much i think about the shithead of a deadbeat. it baffles me how my heart still jumps in my throat when i see him, just like it used when we were together. it makes me utterly sick how attached my life is to his, despite my best efforts to remove myself.

i can't fathom being with him now, thank every god there is. i can't fathom him not being in my life, either.

and that fucking scares me.

fuck this motherfucker and the anxiety he gives me. if i wasn't so close to graduating and getting my grown ass life together, i swear i would wring my bare hands around his thick ass neck and—

"all done, doll."

i blink out of my stupor and follow Toji's hand outstretched to my cracked-open door, the familiar smell of cleaning products and an uncovered mattress wafting under my nose.

"a–hem!"

i look over at a smirking Toji.

"well, what do we say, sweetheart?"

i give him a tight-lipped, fuck-off smile with a complementary bird flip. "suck my dick."

"i'm afraid that first comment only applies to one of us, doll," he replies.

i tap my chin, pretending to think. "okay, how about 'get out of my place and don't come back?'" i retort.

he grunts, his smug expression souring. "i was looking for a 'you're welcome.'"

"oh well, don't care. leave," i say curtly.

he kisses his teeth and snarls, "you ungrateful little b—!"

"don't even think about finishing that." i wag my finger and give a pointed 'try-me-i-fucking-dare-you' squint. "the only thing out of your mouth next should be, 'i'm leaving. have a good day.' if not that, then i suggest you get the hell on before i call campus security and you lose the only reason your dick still gets wet."

that last part might not be true for several reasons, but whatever, i need him to fucking leave.

i can tell he's becoming more aggravated by the way his eye twitches, but i don't give a fuck. comeuppance for our toxic relationship is my justification.

he continues to stand there like a bump on a log.

i make my way over to him in a few strides, lightly prodding his chest. "since you can't seem to take a hint," i husk, nodding towards the front door as i wave my fingers with a bittersweet smile, "you're done here. bye-bye, honey. don't let the door hit you on the way out, 'kay?"

i back away, beelining for my biggest suitcase, Millie, to drag her to my room, no longer paying attention to my ex.

a familiar, big-ass hand engulfs mine.

i whip my head around and grimace. "didn't i tell yo ass to get out?"

he says nothing, just gently removes my hand and lifts Millie in one fell swoop then nabs Bobbi in the other. i move out of the way as he almost shoulder-checks me while holding my precious girls and storms to my room.

"aye, i ain't ask you to do allat!" i shout and follow him. i watch him set my stuff beside my bed.

"you don't listen to a fucking word i say. man, you irritate me with that! that's reason number a-billion-and-one why we broke up!" i rant, burying my face in my palms and whining as i pace back and forth.

"you just do shit to do shit without even thinkin' about other people. god, i shoulda listened to Mama the first time she said to leave yo bum ass alone, but noooo! my stupid ass just had to be with you to spite her. damn it, Toji, why can't you just—!"

his hand cuts off my words and my oxygen. my eyes flutter close as my breathing becomes ragged and shallow.

"you talk too damn much," he husks. he leans in and nuzzles my cheek, puffs of air and his deep, woody voice against my skin.

"tired of you badmouthing me, mama. i'm sitting here tryna help you and all you do is talk shit like i'm not here helping your ass. i could be somewhere else, but i'm here, and instead of being grateful, you decide to run your fucking mouth. you know how that makes me feel?"

i try to focus on breathing through my nose, each exhale quieter than the last. "hmm?" Toji grunts, "do you know? huh?"

i close my eyes and ponder his question. i guess i had an inkling that my words affected him because that was my intention: to hurt the person i loved as bad as he hurt me. i never thought about how deeply he might've been affected since i thought he never cared about how he made me feel.

a sucker for my empathy being appealed to, i nod as best as my restricted neck can move.

he kisses my cheek, wrapping an arm around my waist and bringing our bodies flush together. he plants more kisses across my face, unraveling his grip from my throat and moving it to my chin, squishing my cheeks.

"you're so mean to me, doll."

kiss.

"makes me so, so sad and upset, baby."

kiss.

"what ever happened to my loving Flo bear way back when?"

kiss.

"we used to be good. what happened to that?"

i don't answer him that time. if i gave him the actual answer, he'd back off and actually leave, which is what i said i wanted. my body betrays that notion when i lean into each feathery touch, falling deeper under his bewitching spell and entranced by apologetic smooches across my skin and his tender attention to my most sensitive, neglected places. i hate the ridiculously strong hold this man has on my life. as i've said before, though, i can't help it.

after he smooches every square inch of my face and neck, he trails down to the hills of my breasts and pulls my shirt down, exposing my tits to the cold air and instantly sucking one of my nipples into his mouth. i instinctively arch into it, both of our bodies working a natural rhythm, exactly like we used to.

one minute he's sucking my tits and littering me in dark hickeys; the next minute, i'm perched on top of the desk with my shorts and thong pooled around my ankles while Toji slurps me like a thirsty man gulping his first drink of water.

my ex's name tumbles past my lips like a sinner offering confession and praying the sanctity of their soul be saved. if anyone is close enough to listen, they'd certainly remember one name, and it wouldn't be mine.

"ngh~! fuck, right there, baby!" i gasp, my hands tousling his raven locks. he alternates between digging me out with his tongue and sucking my clit while he works me open, his thick, unrelenting fingers curling until they're punching my g-spot.

his low moans vibrate through me, just how he knows i like it, mumbling praises of 'good girl' and 'so sweet for me' against my folds.

"ooh, Toji, 'm finna fuckin' cum," i groan. my eyes roll back and my thighs shake, tightening around his head to hold him in place.

"already?" he teases.

i tighten my grip on his hair. "oooh, shutthefuckup 'nmakemecum, fuckin' prick."

my impending climax forces my back taut. i push him impossibly closer, relishing in his expert mouth on my weeping cunt.

"go 'head, baby. cum on all over m'fuckin' face. give it t'me."

whines and mewls have nowhere to go but out when my jaw goes slack. i look down at him, his dilated navy irises catching mine.

as soon as the coil in my stomach snaps, i hear something:

knock, knock, knock!

i gasp, my sudden inhale forcing coughs out of me. i sit up and clutch my chest trying to get every cough out my system.

i scan the living room, seeing no one else here. i look down, seeing no Toji between my legs and my shorts on, suddenly hyperaware of the slick soaking my underwear.

fuck, did i seriously have a dream about my ex being the maintenance man?

fuck, that means my door still isn't open! where the fuck is the actual maintenance man, then?

i rub my eyes and shake my head, uber disappointed in my subconscious throwing me for a loop in my sleep. i look at the clock on the wall: 4:59 p.m.

knock, knock, knock!

oh, someone's for real knocking on the door? i thought i was still dreaming.

there's a third knock before i can fix my mouth to respond, a voice calling out from behind it.

"maintenance. anyone home?"

finally, they're here! the lady on the phone said an hour. lying ass.

that also doesn't sound like Toji, so i already feel a bit better. or worse, depending on which part of me you ask.

they knock again, forcing a squeaky "coming!" out of me to quell their impatience.

i head to the hallway mirror and straighten out that fucked-out look on me, then rushing to open the door. a bony knuckle knocks me in the bridge of my nose when i open it.

"ow!" i flinch, soothing the afflicted area.

"oop, i'm sorry. i didn't see you standing there."

i open the door wider and step aside for the maintenance man to enter. "it's okay. come in."

his boots squeak past me as i close the door behind him. "i heard your door won't open? like at all?"

"yeah. tried unlocking it when i first moved in, and it wouldn't budge. watch."

i grab my keys from the coffee table and walk over to my door, sticking the room key inside the lock. i turn the key and hear a click.

"no way," i mutter. i push the handle down, my door suddenly opening. "how...?"

mouth agape, my mind in complete shock, i face the maintenance man who now has an amused expression on his face.

i look back at my door then back at the man. i close my mouth and tuck my hands behind my back, my eyes darting everywhere. "well, i wasn't able to open it before."

he chuckles, "no, i believe you. these doors are sticky. i mean, i can still take a look if you want."

"no, that's fine," i sigh, "sorry for wasting your time. won't happen again."

he chuckles, "it's fine. happens more often than you think. i can change your lock, but you'd have to request a lock change and get the new key..."

i tune him out, my mind wandering somewhere else.

jesus, this man is super-ultra-mega fucking hot: shiny, flowing locks half-up and half in his face, a diamond-shaped jawline, and deep brown eyes barely visible.

how did i not notice before?

his lips move, but i can't make out what he's saying. i nod a few times, pretending to listen as i subtly admire his body.

i can tell he's fairly muscular and inked out under his snug uniform. his blue gauges suit him well. he's the first man i've seen with a medusa piercing, too.

i see his mouth still moving. he's been talking this whole time while i've been gawking hard as hell.

"i'm sorry. could you repeat that?" i ask.

"i was just saying that if you need anything else, call housing."

he steps toward me, hand in his dickies pocket before holding out a card between his fingers.

"or, you can call me directly. for when off hours roll around, you know." he throws a cheeky wink on top of his closes-mouth grin.

he pulls no punches, huh?

can't say it doesn't charm me.

i smile, plucking the card with my thumb and index fingers. "sounds good, Mister..."

"Suguru," he finishes in that syrupy tone and slides his hand back into his pocket. "just Suguru is fine. and you are?"

"i'm Flo," i reply, offering my hand to him, "it's nice to meet you, Suguru."

i fully expect a handshake, so he catches me off guard when he instead brings his lips to kiss my hand, like a fairytale prince i dreamt of as a child.

"pleasure's all mine, Flo."

Suguru backs away, grabbing his toolbox. "feel free to give me a call whenever, Flo."

dumbfounded, i say, "uh-huh."

he tips his visor. "have a good rest of your day," he says, making a swift exit but not before throwing a smirk and another wink over his shoulder as the door shuts.

"wow," i exhale, leaning against the nearest wall and massaging my forehead, reeling from one) the fact that i embarrassed the hell outta myself, and two) that man flirting with me in my own dorm.

i feel like i'm losing my mind. i know for a damn fact that my door would not open yesterday! was i not trying hard enough? did someone break in to fix it while i was passed out?

i ruffle my hair and dig my nails into my scalp, so over this shit.

man, i need a fucking joint. or a drink. preferably both.

after recovering from my mental anguish spiral, i take a deep breath and grab my phone, sliding the keyboard open and texting Kiki.

grl, stp fckn yo man and cm ova alrdy ;((( n brng alc

Kiki<3: lmao y u txtn lyke a syde nygga? say less boo ;) cmn in 20

"dumbass," i snort.

lets git ths prty strtd den =^•^=

next episode

[mrchill]

Your work is amazing, i love your vertical analog series. I have some questions.

How do you get the models to be so comfortable and how long normally a session takes?

The photos are taken in their homes?

Any Photo that you are particularly proud of?

How do you feel looking back at your first works?

Nude photography is a niche that get easily misunderstood, how do you feel about the relation of pornography and your work?

Thank you for your work!

Thank you for your kind anonymous message (and questions !). The more I practice analog photography, the more I love this expensive inimitable medium.

How do you get the models to be so comfortable and how long normally a session takes?

To pose can be intimidating for some people, as meeting new people can be for me. Since I started photography I've always made a habit to meet the people who wants to work with me before the session. In a nice café, to introduce ourselves and add a little background. I think it's important (and natural) to take some time to get to know each other a little, talk about our respective motivations, throw ideas and share what we have in mind for the session ahead. It may sounds easy to say but here is the truth : don't be a dick. Be true (to yourself and to others), be transparent, be mindful and respectful with people sharing their personal & inspiring time with you. Suggest, never impose. From a benevolent and sincere attitude might unfold an ideal creative environment packed with spontaneous moments, where the mood feels more authentic. More natural. With a proper soul you know. My sessions usually last several hours. The whole afternoon is ideal. I'm not in a rush, while following the sun I take my time and let things naturally fall into place. For me, it's another key element for relaxed atmospheres where models may feel confortable.

The photos are taken in their homes?

It depends. Many of my photos over the last five years have been taken in my place. But when it's feasible, I would prefer to work in people's place. This, allows me to work in a different light and scenery. It also brings a different and proper vibe, where the person is in control of her personal space and might feel more confortable with posing.

Any photo that you are particularly proud of?

The photos between the photos will always be my personal favorites. Otherwise there are many. Like the shots I consider as a timestamp of my personal learning progression. Those where I discovered a certain way to compose and frame the scene, specific details etc. While staying consistent with the way I notice things and the way to properly highlight them. It always has been complicated for me to explain this clearly. Despite the fact that I'm very critical & picky with my own works, I'm proud of it. I know it can be perceived as arrogance, but in my opinion, creative self-confidence can be quite rare. It's important to be satisfied of what you did/do. So if you are, be proud of it. It's the best feeling. It also might be a part of what keeps you doing the things you like love, right ? And for all of that *excessive hand gestures* I will be forever grateful to the inspiring folks I had the opportunity to meet and who make this *excessive hand gestures* possible.

How do you feel looking back at your first works?

I do feel great and have particular affection for my first clumsily satured works. I see what I corrected, what I don't do anymore, what I developed, what directions I have taken since, how my "left eye" and my compositions have become more precise too, etc.

Nude photography is a niche that get easily misunderstood, how do you feel about the relation of pornography and your work?

Everyone has their own sensibility, their own relationship with the body and places their own cursor where they feel it. According to my personal approach of intimate photography and my perception of the human figure, I simply don't consider my work linked to pornographic material. Nudity (and by extension intimacy) doesn't necessary imply pornography. It is indeed commonly misunderstood due to its surprinsingly complex and very large scope. Each person's subjectivity also comes into play. Without ignoring the way our society for ages has been treating female body image. By objectifying it. By demonizing it. By selling it. Another surely passionating but kinda depressing subject. There is still a long way to go.

Voilà ! I hope my answers will be clear enough for everyone. I apologize in advance for any typos or syntactic errors. Thanks again for these interesting questions. It feels great to share thoughts about photography and stuff.

Photography is the best thing in life. Take care.

[inkmo]

drive carefully there's no heaven

top speed of this thing atm. it's a danger to itself and others. will hit 260mph on the freeway.

[lyxchen]

I feel like I'm digging myself deep into a hole and finding nothing, trying to figure out more about In-ho's family

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent images I suppose ~

[thevioletcaptain]

.

[klanced]

also this is such a random aside but when i think back on the fallout after season 8, i mostly remember the vitriol being aimed primarily at LM. while JDS was able to squeak by mostly unscathed. was there a genuine reason that people focused more of their ire towards LM? because i’m ngl over the last couple of years i’ve been thinking that if LM bore the brunt of the internet’s hatred over season 8, even though both she and JDS were both executive producers & most likely equally responsible for the show’s downturn, then LM might’ve been a victim of targeted misogyny 

[horsemage]

just took some delightful midnight adderall so I can finish my finals week shit before it's due in. uh. 11 hours, 1 minute. and I'm thinking about how my advisor keeps shit talking theoreticians and computational astrophysicists but in the politest, most british ways possible

[hikeyzz]

i've lost power like four times this winter wtf???? i've lived in this spot almost two years now and never lost power before this winter. like wtf is going on???

[stcries]

welp, just found out my dad is back in the hospital for the 3rd time in like five days.