#usual thing of it'd be cool if i could write something

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <3

[smellpelt]

My Noel cosplay for my first con I went to yesterday!! I was a little sad I saw no other fighting game cosplays but two people stopped me for a photo which was cool:)

I did see a whole lot of other cool cosplays tho, my favourites I saw being Sun Wukong, Misa Amane and a Zack & Aerith

Also clumsy in character as Noel I dropped a fully sauce covered chip on my dress rip. I managed to clean it pretty well tho

[keeps-ache]

💫💥today💥💫 i start learning blender >:| !!

[mimipolo]

hi darling, how are you?

genuinely thank you so much for writing about Nam-gyu, I love him and it's kind of disappointing to see that there are almost no fics or headcanons about him :(

I am honestly in love with your way of writing (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

I would love and be very grateful if you could write something about Nam-gyu dating a girl who is more shy and quiet

thank you so so nuch

have a great day/night 🤍

Nam-gyu x shy!reader

HIII I'm doing good tysm for asking‼️

You gave me the opportunity to listen to one of my softer playlists while writing this so kudos to u

He's tries his best to be gentle with you, almost too much. Sometimes he mistakes your meekness for also being weak. Yes weak willed but not necessarily a complete push over. You just prefer to keep to your thoughts to yourself. He genuinely admires you for it because he could never tolerate someone talking shit to his face.

Speaking of he's super quick to defend you, any word he believes could offend you( it offended him more) is immediately being damned to hell. He's holding you close to his side as he shouts at the supposed perpetrator.

We all know he's a super yapper when given the chance so he loves being in your company and talking to you, or well, talking at you. More often than not he's being spoken over or whatever he's saying isn't being received but it's so much more different with you. You're happy to sit and do whatever you're doing as he talks your ear off. Sometimes when he says something especially interesting you ask a question and he's already giddy and ready to explain in unnecessary amounts of detail.

Feels like he's the chosen one because you chose him out of all the loud bastards out there to be with. He wants to brag and show you off so badly but he has to physically restrain himself because he knows how much you'd hate having so many people you didn't know have so much information about you. Sometimes slips in a comment or two...or more to Thanos, nothing too crazy.

You understand him better than anyone else, when he's about to go from frustration to anger, then anger to violence. You're that voice of reason just behind him urging him to reconsider what he's about to say or do. At some point he realises he hears your soothing voice coaxing him to calm down when you're not there. Genuinely shudders at the thought because you have that much of an affect on him?? Terrifying.

Sometimes he likes to sit in silence with you, the windows open and it chills the already cool room as his head lays in your lap. You're humming quietly to yourself as you make a mess of his hair and he's content on staring up at you blissfully as you do so.

Takes into consideration you don't usually like PDA so keeps most of it at home. But any threat of someone even hinting at hitting on you he's softly grabbing your hand to pull you away, mean mugging the person the whole time. You hate confrontation at all costs, remembering how you jumped in shock at him just shouting at someone haunts him endlessly. Avoids doing so unless very much called for.

One thing you'll always acknowledge is how much he tries to remember all the little things about you, the effort he puts into making sure you're comfortable noticeable in every interaction. Even if it looks unnatural on him, he swears he's trying.

Guiltiest pleasure is purposefully making you flustered. Loves turning your head up to meet his eyes just for you to snap your head away as you shrink under his gaze. Thinks it's the cutest thing ever. Especially if you take hold of his wrists and tell him to stop it but don't actually push him away.

One thing he always makes sure of is keeping Thanos in check when he's around. It'd honestly be easier just to avoid him all together but the man is anywhere and everywhere. Has elbowed his stomach roughly when he was halfway calling you Senorita. Would do it again gladly. Got teased a lot after for being so protective you, Thanos clapped his back like some proud father as if he wasn't the main culprit.

He's your number one defender. If you have no fans he's legally dead. Supports every small hobby you do, and insists you make something big with it. Just wants to see you excited about something.

He's a snappy guy with a smart mouth so he has to tripple check himself every time he's slightly upset at you. It's not that he means to hurt you with his words he's just a little too creative. But due to your lax nature conflicts occur very rarely, a sense of peace only you could provide him with. Even if you did argue he'd be folding immediately after he's cooled down.

"Don't hate me kay? I didn't mean it."

"Speak to me pretty, ya know I said sorry."

Doesn't let up until you give out a short laugh, signalling his success.

[ozzgin]

Yandere School Q&A

I've gotten some related asks and thought I'd put them in a cleaner format, so I don't spawn another round of screenshots from my inbox.

Ohhh how would yan school react if y/n got hurt somehow?? Also quick question is her parents also platonic yans for them? Thanks!! - Anonymous

It only makes sense that the staff of the school is yandere material, too. The students may rush to help and insist they've got it under control, but the school nurse will be quick to act. It's the chance of a lifetime, having you to himself, and for longer than the usual standard checkup. The curtains are pulled, and the "do not disturb" sign is flipped. Your injuries are not to be taken lightly. You'll need to spend all day under his supervision.

The parents and all relatives are indeed platonic yanderes! I thought it'd be a nice touch since I've never approached the trope before.

YAYAYAYYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAA MORE YANDERE SCHOOLLLLLL You’re amazing!!!!! (I had to ask to make sure I used the right your/you’re) also is the darling yandere gonna keep sabotaging y/n? - @femboybasil

The tying up incident was actually an exception to what I originally planned, haha. For most of the competitions, darling yandere will guide (Y/N) and aid them for a flawless win. That's the comedy of it: he's indirectly doing the yandere part while trying to be discreet enough as to not alert the other yanderes. Additionally, (Y/N) helps him with the darling tasks. Though that part is very much expected by everyone from school. The Daring Academy teachers are probably observing the activities, baffled. "Who the hell is that student? What skill...what obliviousness. They should've applied to us."

If you’re comfortable with this concept, (since it’s a school-based series I don’t know if the reader and yanderes are minors are not, if they are then you don’t have to write this.) but obviously the students of the Yandere Academy are going to need to learn how to tie up their darlings once they’ve been captured. Would you mind writing a little blurb about it since Reader is the unofficially assigned darling stand-in for their classes? - Anonymous

This is the ask I used for the tying up idea in Part 3! To answer your worries, all of my stories involve 18+ characters! Just wanted to clear it up for anyone in doubt. The school/academy setup is more of a college/university kind of institution. I do love a good high school setup, but not for self insert romance.

I’d imagine that there’s a drama class at the yandere school to help the students learn how to act and seem innocent. What if they put on a musical or something like Phantom of the Opera (because of course it would be that) and reader got the role of Christine or the equivalent. Imagine all the yanderes fighting for the role of their love interests to get the excuse to kiss them, and other yanderes trying to sabotage them as tactfully as possible to keep the show going, but replace the leads to be alongside reader. Think that may be something cool to add/write about? No pressure of course! - Anonymous

You know the whole thing is going to turn into a ninja survival shitshow. They had hoped to never cast (Y/N) in any role, for everyone's safety. And for the most part, (Y/N) thankfully never showed any interest in the drama club.

The supervising teacher held (Y/N)'s application form with trembling hands. It seems their little club had finally run out of luck.

Worst part: the school can't even rely on the teachers. They're just as desperate to see their cute little (Y/N) perform on stage. "Maybe this job is too overwhelming for one person, sensei..." they'll smugly tell the original supervisor. "We could divide some tasks. Someone else could train (Y/N), for example..."

ok here me out, what if there is like a field trip or sports festival kind of thing where the Yandere and Darling academy meet up. Basically where a Yandere and a darling are made to pair up to go through the numerous activities (maybe ones that test their yandere/darling skills) so reader decides to pair up with clumsy Yandere ( who is in Darling academy) much to the displeasure of Yandere classmate. Maybe like a battle of the the Yanderes? - Anonymous

This was a little trippy to read, because it came right after part 3, haha. Which I feel is basically the same plot. Though it would be interesting to see how it'd play out if the stranger was Reader's best friend instead.

Reader excitedly approaches Clumsy!Yandere and asks him to work together, to the dismay of all other students. They're enraged. You can see it plainly: their hands tremble, their jaws are clenched, their eyes have a psychotic glint. Poor Clumsy!Yandere is in constant shivers, unaware of the death stares. You're cheerfully guiding him around, his hand in yours, happy to see your friend again.

[loviestar58]

💚~Ekko bf/general HC's~💚

Just like everyone else, I'm in love with the boy who shattered time, so I made some HC's I have for him. Some are pertaining to him being your lover, others are just general headcannons

Enjoy‼️💖

⏳~Ekko likes to have "Work dates". Where you both either hang out in Ekkos workshop or down in the open Hideout and work on stuff together. It's mostly in Ekkos workshop though, him tinkering with something or trying to create or improve an invention for the firelights. You would help bounce ideas off of his own or would help with tool organization. When not talking about work, it'd be silent, music on an old record player playing in the space. You would hum the music and Ekko would join sometimes as he worked. Other times you just have small talk or make jokes with each other, just having some fun as you hang out together. And yes, many kisses would be stolen by each other during this

⏳~He has a bit of a short temper, and due to this you can get into small fights sometimes. Resulting in either you both being silent to each other for a day with some space from each other or a big argument that causes both to be stressed and can last for a good while. It never gets too bad, but it still hurts both of you. Arguments/reasons can range from being unsafe, pet peeves, mistakes being made, to stress getting the best of him

Ekko is usually the one to apologize first even if he's in the right. He'll usually make a gift for you to show his apology along with strong, meaningful words, owning up to his mistakes. You both always talk and make up. Never staying mad for too long, communicating effectively. It was a struggle at first, but it got better over time, more on Ekkos end

He can never stay angry at you or hold a grudge for too long

⏳~Some days Ekko is so dead tired that he'll go to your room, startling you, and before you could ask what was wrong, he'd flop right on top of you and zonk out. Yeah, you cannot escape. Once he's asleep, he's asleep. And he's heavy.

So unfortunately you just gotta lay there under his weight for like two hours, crushed ribs and rough breathing. But you don't mind. You'd'd just wrap your arms around him and try your best to shift him on his side so you could cuddle and hold him. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't

⏳~On the flip side, if the day has taken its toll on you, say if you're physically and mentally tired but Ekko isn't, you'd go to his room and ask for cuddles or just any kind of comfort. Ekko would always comply, even if he was working on some stuff, he'd allow you to sit on his lap as he worked, one hand writing things down while the other rubs your back in soothing motions, him rambling about his tech while turning his head to plant a kiss to your neck or temple every now and then for the added comfort before continuing to ramble

⏳~Ekko draws you all the time. We've all seen the murals and his sketchbooks. He has a specific sketchbook full of silly doodles and serious art pieces of you at pretty much every angle. Different outfits, expressions, poses, everything. You're his muse and he can't help but capture the beauty he sees when he sees it. It's not too often, but once he gets to drawing, there's no stopping him. You take notice of this pretty quickly, not like he hides it, he proudly shows you his art of you. It makes you blush and flustered every time, cause you never thought anyone would see you this way. Ekko relishes in that red face and goofy smile you get seeing a picture, smiling his gap-toothed grin himself, feeling proud of himself before starting to draw you again, you watching as his eyes flick to her every few seconds, both of your hearts beating hard in your chests. Oh to be loved by an artist

⏳~You both take turns being the yapper and the listener in the relationship. Some days it could be Ekko talking about his tech and how it works while you listen and barely understands a word, other days it's you rambling on and on about this cool book series you read, an artist you like, or something cool you saw. Or honestly just your day, he loves hearing about what you get up to in the Hideout. Ekko listens and gives his thoughts and commentary on what you say. On the days you both feel like yapping, get ready for quick back and forth banter and talking, overlapping ideas and media, and bursts of passion in the case of yelling. This, as well as nothing getting done that day

⏳~As a goodbye or a hello, he presses your foreheads together for a solid few seconds, eyes closed and relishing in each others presence. The most intimate gesture of affection for Zaunites. Each of you usually has a hand on the others cheek or neck to hold each other there. If it's a more dramatic/heartfelt greeting or departure, you'll kiss instead, wanting something a bit more intimate, desperate firm grips and bodies pressed together in a loving embrace

⏳~Ekko has a habit of staring. Not a glare, or even zoned out. It's always soft admiration and observation. His eyes would be soft and round, a subtle shine to them as his pupils dialte with love as he looks at you. His eyebrows wouldn't be furrowed as usual, down in a gentle and relaxed manner. He'd have the softest smile tug on his lips, maybe even sigh dreamily, just admiring the person he managed to call his own in this chaotic world.

⏳~Ekko tinkers and invents, so he's always trying to come up with silly little gadgets or items to make for you. His favorite things are making metal flowers, small toys, and accessories. He'd given you a small amount of metal flowers one time when he found you looking at the small flowers growing at the bottom of the tree. "They aren't as beautiful as the real thing, but at least these will last longer". Yeah, he's a bit cheesy, I said it. He made a small firelight shaped night light for you to use in case you got up in the middle of the night. And he has made multiple accessories for you: pairs of earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and rings for you to wear, if you like jewelery. You appreciate each and every gift, but always tells him he doesn't have to give you anything. He does anyways, it's one of his love languages. He can't help it. And even if it wasn't, he'd make you as many gifts as he likes cause he loves you, that's it

⏳~Ekko is ticklish on his neck and sides. You takes full advantage of this by poking his sides unexpectedly, which earns you a startled "Ah! Hey!" and Ekko curling up to defend himself, all while you laugh. You'd sneak up on Ekko and jump on his back, hugging him close before placing a kiss on his neck, he'd recoil like a turtle and try to get you off, but you'd hang on and keep going at his neck to make him laugh more, the sweet smooth sounds of it music to you ears. Plus it was funny to see him recoil like that

Likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated ‼️

This is new for me lol, I love him sm. I have a few more but this should be enough for now

Moots from other platforms and irls if you see this, no you don't 😁

Maybe more of this soon??? Idk we'll see...

Itty bitty scary tag uhhh @misswynters

[ssentimentals]

Hihi, i love your writing and wanted to make a request during the last prompt list but was too chicken to do so🫣

If it's okay, could you do prompt 15. Soulmates with woozi?💜

Thanks you💜

hihi dearest, oh nooo please, never hesitate to request anything when i do prompt list, i'd be so happy to write your request! thank you for requesting this time though 💜

prompt soulmates

usually the string can be barely seen and jihoon doesn't even feel it half of a time. it stayed light gray color for the most of his life and he even forgot about it for quite some time, but then he enrolled into this new internship program and the string's color changed to prominent red in a week. having soulmates is not a common thing in this world, but jihoon knew very well the meaning behind a color change - his soulmate was close. wrapped neatly around his pinky, the string of fate usually held barely any weight but in last few days everything changed - he started to feel it, especially tiny tugs now and then. it's... jihoon is not sure how to react. he always considered himself lucky for having a soulmate when half of the world doesn't, but the more time passed with no signs of the string ever awakening, he sort of.. forgot. felt disappointed and let down. and now that it's glaringly red he's simply at loss. there's a whole myriad of emotions inside: anticipation, hope, fear, excitement, anxiety. whenever he looks down at his hand now he sees the string of fate so clearly, it blows his mind that sometime soon he's going to meet his soulmate.

'i'll go get coffee,' jihoon mumbles quietly enough to not disturb anyone at the open space. soulmates are nice and whatnot, but excel files are kicking his ass more than he'd like to admit. 'anyone wants something?'

several people voice out their drinks of choice and jihoon hurriedly rushes to cafeteria on the 1st floor, praying that by the time he comes back that excel sheet will just solve itself. he stands in the queue when he feels a firm tug on his pinky finger. the string almost glows, pulses and to jihoon's utter shock it starts to appear more and more. it always used to be just a small little thing wrapped around his finger but now he watches it transform into an actual string, glowing red and seemingly...going somewhere.

'next! what's your order?'

jihoon abondons his place in the queue, following the string instead. with a hammering heart he lets it lead him through the crowd, he side-steps people, feeling his palms getting sweaty from the nerves. is this actually happening? is he about to-

'oh my god, i'm so sorry!'

in his dreams, jihoon is very smooth. he maybe says a joke, maybe goes for a cheesy pick-up line, does whatever it takes to appear cool and friendly. in reality though he bumps into you full-force and stammers his apologies in a very not cool fashion.

'no-no, it's alright, i wasn't looking-' he pauses, noticing how red string connects your pinkies. it's glowing too. 'oh.'

in his dreams, jihoon knows what to do. he maybe goes for a handshake or a hug, maybe he suggests taking this somewhere else. in reality though he stares wide-eyed at the beautiful girl in front of him and his head is blank. it's not an earth-shattering moment of meeting you, because you already feel safe, familiar, easy, his. but he is not sure how he can say this without sounding like a total creep.

'it's well overdue,' you say, saving him from awkward silence. you're blushing slightly and jihoon can't keep his eyes off you. 'meeting you, i mean. i kind of thought it'd never happen.'

'yeah..' he agrees and quickly shoots his hand out to shield you from few guys who don't look where they're going. 'but it did.'

'it did.' you echo, looking at him like you can't believe he's real. frankly, jihoon doesn't believe you're real either. 'um, i-'

'can i get your number?' jihoon asks, grimacing at how not smooth that was. 'so we can- i mean i wanted to-' he reaches out, unsure. he wants to touch you, hug you, prove to himself that you're not a figment of his imagination. 'can i also..hold your hand? shit, sorry, that's probably so-'

you shut him up by taking his hand in yours. the fact that you did not disappear and that your palm is warm and dry against his cold and sweaty one makes him sigh in relief. 'i'm sorry that it's sweaty, i'm just nervous,' he mutters. he kind of doesn't want to let go of your hand now.

'it's alright,' you assure him and don't let his hand go. 'can you give me your phone? i will save my number.'

you don't let go while you do that. you hold his hand securely and jihoon wonders if you also feel like him. if he also feels for you like he is your person. jihoon hopes he does. and even if not - he is determined to take his time and make sure that at one point you will think of him that way. today or tomorrow or after few months or even years.

a/n: hopefully you liked it, let me know! <3 - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen works are here

[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 large 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 color 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 of the evening dragging him away from thinking about you alone in the barracks, and now here he is standing outside the refresher, unable to tear his eyes away from a large picture of you.

"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 Ziva Stars 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.

"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, especially an intergalactic pop star. 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. 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

[prythianpages]

Ohhhh would you ever write more about the witch reader x az. I loved it! I want to see feyres reaction :)

I might! I think I'd be open to making it like a series/au bc witch reader x Az makes me so soft 🥰 and I'm currently obsessed with the song that inspired it bc the song is so beautiful and whimsical and makes me wish I could experience a love like that

if you haven't read the original imagine, you can find it here.

here is a small drabble of feyre's reaction 😊 :

When you and Azriel return to the river house, Feyre is in the sitting room. She's lightly bouncing an agitated Nyx, who teethes at a cool wash cloth. "I know, baby," she coos at the infant.

Her blue-gray eyes are on you as soon as you enter and they light up when she notices Azriel's hands are ungloved and one of them is holding on to yours, fingers intertwined with another.

"How was the trip?" She asks, her lips curling up into a knowing smile.

"It was fine."

"She almost cursed Eris."

You're turning to Azriel with a playful glare and his wings twitch in response, his usual stoic demeanor now much lighter and Feyre knows it's all because of you. "It could've been a nice little hex that'd make his eyebrows fall off, you know. Just something to get him off his high horse."

Feyre laughs at the image that comes to mind. "I hope Eris didn't give you much trouble?"

"He shot an arrow through Azriel's hand."

"No."

You and Azriel exchange another look, missing the way Feyre's eyes grew distant for a brief moment.

**

They're holding hands! Feyre nearly screams into Rhysand's mind and he can feel all her excitement and joy through the bond.

He's sitting outside by one of the tables in their garden with Cassian and Mor on either side of him. If it were up to him, he'd be inside by his wife. But it was her who had kicked him outside, not wanting to overwhelm Azriel and you. "Out you busybodies!" She had exclaimed as she ushered them all out of the house.

"Hey, Cas," he grins. "You owe me twenty coins."

Cassian nearly spits out his lemonade. "What?" He sputters with wide eyes. Mor leans forward in her seat.

Rhysand then shows them the image Feyre had send him. It's of you and Azriel bickering and fussing over one another like an old married couple.

"Let's just call it even." Cassian insists, setting his cup down. "I am the one who got rid of all the dandelion root from her apothecary shop."

"Hey! Don't take all the credit. I am the one who kept her distracted!" Mor cuts in, dramatically throwing her hands in the air. "And also the one who kept Azriel from suspecting anything when Feyre had asked for an escort. Do you know how hard it is to sneak things around those two?"

"Thank you, Mor. Your hard work is much appreciated here," Rhysand says, his grin growing wider as he rises from his seat, knowing it'd only irritate Cassian further.

He catches the glare Cassian sends his way. "20 coins," Rhysand reminds him, holding his hand out expectantly.

"In a way," Cassian begins, not wanting to accept his loss. "I helped you win the bet!"

"That's not my problem." Rhysand replies with a smug shrug.

Cassian grumbles and digs into his pocket. He throws all twenty coins at Rhysand's face, who easily intercepts them with a wave of his hand. They fall gracefully into the palm of his hand instead.

Mor laughs as she also rises from her seat. Twenty coins is nothing to them. It's barely enough to buy a cheap bottle of wine.

Cassian follows shortly after, the three of them scurrying inside and wanting to catch a glimpse of you and Azriel holding hands in person. Although, they find you nestled on the couch with baby Nyx in your lap. You rub the elixir you had made earlier over Nyx's gums, smiling when you feel the babe relax in your arms, as you tell Feyre all about your venture earlier.

Azriel is seated on the armest of the couch right next to you, cutting into your story when he deems necessary. Everyone takes note of the way his hand is resting on the small of your back and one of his wings instinctively curls around your smaller form. They also take note of the lingering scent of your bond in the air, stronger now that you both have acknowledged the bond. Cedar and lavender.

**

a/n: I considered the whole Nyx being in pain to be a lie, a glamor made by Feyre to trick reader into having to go scavenge for dandelion root but decided it was better to just have Cassian and Mor be sneaky instead :)

[kingdoms-and-empires]

Does anyone else ever just wish you could draw/paint?

Like, draw/paint something specific.

Obviously the most obvious one will be characters for alot of people. Who doesn't want to draw the characters in their heads??

But I mean...

Specific stuff

Like, I'd love to draw animals.

And fashion.

Also landscapes and environments.

I'd love to be able to draw something like this, with blurbs of information for the animals and monsters of KaE:

And fashion!

I just love seeing how fashion evolves throughout history and how the rich are dumb as fuck in trying to out do each other in how clumsy/annoying it is to put on cause "you can afford to spend so much time on such dumb shit"

But it's cool.

I have Infinity Nikki to help cure me of that craving of seeing/experimenting with outfits (it's like, a really chill game)

But normal day to day environment stuff

That's something I can't really fulfill as a craving, beside finding artwork of what i mean.

Found an awesome artist who scratched that itch of mine recently, and its helped me describe some scenes in KaE

Jean-Claude Golvin, French archaeologist and architect!

Look at all the cool stuff he's drawn!

Because of the above, I've taken to drawing myself.

Im no good at it, but it helps me. To anyone else, it'd look horrendous, but I can see beyond what's in the paper. Cause its in my head, i just have to place it on the paper so i can like... lock it in my head, compartmentalize writing/drawing/imagination into separate boxes, and keep the flow state going as an author.

Mehhh, i'm just in one of those moods.

Introspective of myself. Which then got me thinking about something I usually think about.

Sometimes, I think about how many great writers and artists there are with no opportunity to vent that creative urge. To flex their imagination muscles. They must be like horses or birds, born to run in the plains and fly in the sky; yet caged by their economic or living situation.

And by the time they're in a position to actually do what calls to them, they're older. With more responsibilities. A career. A family. A whole set of skills and lessons already gained and experienced.

How difficult is it to overcome that initial "but im so bad right now, it'll take me too long to develop into something good" thought?

Is it not daunting to have to "start over" in a skill?

Then there's younger people than you who are by far more skilled at the "thing" than you. Isn't that crushing?

I think it's alot like exercise. It sucks at first. Sometimes you can't even do more than 30 min a day. You think, "What's the point??"

But even if you do 30 min a day for a week, that's a total of 210 minutes for that week. Three hours and a half. That's far more than the absolute zero you would have if you did nothing.

I think you can write, draw, paint, do whatever calls to you for 30 min a day in the least. Because if you keep that up for a whole year; you'll end up with 10,920 minutes, or 182 hours, worth of experience under your belt.

Oh.

Oh shit.

I went on a rant lmao

Any hopeful creatives out there, I hope you guys take some measure of solace in my words. You're not alone. It's never too late to start. The only person you're racing with is yourself, not that other person you compare yourself to. Take your time. Just don't deny yourself!

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE (CH 2) | Michael x Reader

so when i was writing this, my editor Insisted i use a grilled cheese gif for this chapter. you'll see why... i hope you enjoy though LMAO

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: When the door slammed back open with more force this time, you jumped and let out a surprised yelp. Your dad came barreling in, Michael having already disappeared back upstairs as quiet as he'd come. You tried to intercept him from storming upstairs but his horrified expression stilled you. "That was our neighbor Gladys down the street. She said she saw Myers come up to our house about an hour and a half ago."

WARNING: graphic depiction of deaths, animal violence

PREV || NEXT

"Has anyone ever shown you kindness?" Your voice had Michael opening his eyes, blinking as he looked up at you slowly, your hands tangled in his wet, sudsy hair. He was sprawled out on the porcelain bathtub while you washed his hair, the room dim and sleepy and smelling of lavender soap. He had no qualms letting his legs and arms rest upon the rim to have extra room. You’d since become accustomed to him, no longer flushing at his nakedness, so washing the blood off his skin didn’t bother you.

You’d since bought black washcloths and a black towel for Michael so your father wouldn’t get suspicious about any bloodstains. Lounge clothes - some sweatpants and a t-shirt finally in his actual size - sat folded on the counter beside the sink, his navy blue jumpsuit in a pile on the cool, linoleum floor.

For the past few weeks, you two established a routine of sorts. Michael would get hurt or hungry and come visit you. Sometimes he'd watch you sleep but he'd usually be gone by morning. With your dad's presence in the house very touch and go, it was hard for Michael to stay for any extended period of time. Sometimes he watched you from a distance whenever you'd go in the garden but that was the extent of it.

You knew it wasn't normal for him to care about another person so you did your best to make it easy for him. No more lunging at armed police officers for you, you'd lamented to him in a joking manner. You hadn't been able to see his face but you got the impression he'd glared at you.

You'd also taken to touching him more, getting him to reassociate touch with compassion. It wasn't easy to undo years of trauma but you did little things here and there. Brushing his hands with your own, touching his arm when you wanted attention, small things. He was building a tolerance to it, you could tell. Washing his hair now was the most you'd touched him beyond patching him up after run-ins with the police.

But progress was progress.

Today, he hadn't come home bloody but he had come to you for something. He'd shown up at the backdoor, made a beeline for the bathroom, and you'd gotten the message. Bathing him had also become pretty regular, though you still recalled the first few times where it'd ended with him shaking from how overwhelmed he was by your touch.

Now, though, his gaze bore into you, staring up at you like a big lazy cat. Like a lion too content to strike. Your hands had stilled, still poised to scrub at his scalp. He needed a haircut, you noted to yourself.

"Besides me," you clarified as you resumed scrubbing in slow circles. "You don't… You're-" You huffed, trying to find the words. "I feel like people didn't care for you like you needed them to. If that makes sense." 

Were you anyone else, you don't doubt he'd kill you for saying that. Instead, he just glared at you, pretty hazel eyes narrowed to slits. In anger or confusion, you couldn't tell.

That was yet another development. He'd been taking his mask off of his own accord now, even when he didn't have a reason to. The first time he'd done it had been because his hair was too long and sat uncomfortable in the mask, tickling against his ears and neck. You offered to cut it and, while it took some reassurance and thought on his part, you'd come home one day to him sitting on your bed. Scissors in one hand and mask in the other, clutching it like a child would to a security blanket. He hadn't been shaking or looking up at you with fearful eyes but his jaw had been clenched hard as he white knuckled the accursed mask. A wordless question you'd answered with nimble fingers and gentle tugging on his curls.

Having something so sharp close to his vulnerable neck hadn't been his idea of a good time regardless if it was his idea or not. He'd gotten up half a dozen times during the haircut to stand in the corner to come down from what was probably overstimulation. You were patient with him though.

You'd gotten better at reading him. He'd gotten better at leaving you clues.

In the present, he sat up and slid his legs back into the water. Wet hair slipped from between your fingers as he turned to properly stare at you. Michael was interesting to you still. You could tell he was curious about you too. He stared at you often, like when you watered your plants, washed his clothes, or made food in the kitchen. You felt his eyes on you constantly no matter what.

"What?" You asked with a small sigh, staring back at him with the same intensity.

Michael gave you a slow blink, similar to the ones Mayhem gave you as a show of trust. "Don't gimme that," you teased, smirking at him and motioning for him to sit back down. "I just- I always feel bad thinking about it, in retrospect. I mean, you grew up in an asylum alone. Didn't it-"

He interrupted you by sliding a wet hand around your throat, holding you still as though to physically stop your ramblings. Not squeezing, just holding. You got the message there: let it go. He lay back down and you resumed washing his hair, unbothered by that exchange.

Things like that were normal with him. It had freaked you out at first when he'd wrapped his hand harshly around your throat and pinned you in a doorway. But you'd slowly begun to understand him. He didn't have a way to communicate that wasn't through violence or knives.

Or hospital rooms under scrutiny, you reminded yourself with a grimace. You masked it behind a soft tune you hummed, resuming washing his hair.

Once he was cleaned and dressed, jumpsuit in the wash, you ventured back downstairs to make dinner and feed Mayhem. Michael trailed after you, hair dripping dark spots along his shoulders where it was still damp. He didn't like the hair dryer very much and only tolerated you using it to get his hair comfortably damp. No more.

“You’re probably due for another haircut by the way,” you said as you opened the fridge. Mayhem was immediately rubbing up on Michael’s leg, meowing insistently.

He looked down at her, standing comfortably in the doorway to the kitchen. You glanced over your shoulder to look at him and felt struck with the knowledge that, if it weren't for his injured eye breaking the illusion, it almost felt like you just had a boyfriend over. Your face warmed up at the thought and you snapped your head back around to stare into the white, chilled expanse of the fridge. "Umm… anything specific you want tonight?"

When you looked back over at him, you jumped in surprise when he was barely a few inches from you. Jesus, you thought to yourself. You didn't think you'd ever get used to how quiet he moved sometimes.

Michael tilted his head as he stared at the fridge with you. "I need to go shopping soon, huh?"

He didn't say anything but you could almost hear his nod.

You liked how expressive he'd gotten as the two of you began to trust each other. Little things like that made the whole thing feel domestic somehow. 

"Well, hope you like grilled cheese." You snagged the almost-empty package of sliced cheese and dangled it tantalizingly. "I'll go shopping tomorrow, promise. If you want anything in particular, let me know." You said as you grabbed the bread from the cabinet. Before he could say - or, technically, not say - you spun on your heel. "Besides pumpkin pie."

He nodded once and you smirked.

Domestic, your brain said again in an almost mocking tone. You swallowed and tried to focus on the sandwiches and not the way Michael stared at you. You began buttering the bread as the pan warmed up and tried to not envision life being like this forever: painfully domestic and sweet with Haddonfield's best known serial killer in soft lounge clothes you'd bought him, curled up on the couch eating an early lunch together after you'd washed his hair.

The sound of the front door rattling open was out of place and terrifying. Never in your life had you felt as though the ground would swallow you as your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. You spun to face Michael and quickly assessed your options.

There were two doorways that led out of the kitchen - one that faced the living room and another that led into the hallway to the stairs. There was a dividing wall between the two doorways. Meaning if you could get Michael into the hallway, he'd be out of sight for at least the briefest few seconds it took your dad to walk towards you.

"Upstairs, now!" You whisper-yelled, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him towards the hallway. "Stay quiet, he'll go away soon."

Hopefully, you thought to yourself. Hopefully he will.

"You're home early." You called to him as you took your spot at the stove again, spreading butter on bread and placing them in the pan.

Your dad sounded exhausted, shrugging off his outer coat and tossing it atop the back of the couch before slumping in his chair. "I decided to come home early. It's been an exhausting week. But Myers seems to be taking a break from killing these past few days."

You couldn't help but frown. Not killing? Sure you'd noticed less blood on his clothes but surely he'd stopped altogether. So close to Halloween too…

"Cool, I was, uh, making lunch." You called out over the pan sizzling. "You want some?"

The telltale creaks of the wooden floor had your hair standing up on end. It wasn't like normal sneaking around when you had a boyfriend, this was Michael Myers you were hiding. Right under his nose. Even if your dad didn't immediately go for his gun when he saw him, you were still a liar. And an accomplice to his crimes.

"Grilled cheese, huh?" He smiled for the first time since he'd taken on the case. "Want some help? I can-" The sound of his phone ringing cut him off, making him grimace. "I'll take this outside," he sighed as he went back out the door. You sighed with relief and looked towards the doorway to the stairs.

Michael stood there, mask on, gripping a knife tight in his hand. You had no idea where he'd gotten it, since your knives were accounted for.

You tried to seem reassuring. "He's probably going to get called back into work, it's okay." Even though you'd gotten used to it, you still swallowed when you saw the glint of the knife in the dim lighting of the doorway. "He, um, he said you haven't been killing lately?" 

Michael was eerily still. Just staring at you.

"Is everything…okay?" It felt a bit weird asking when he was going to kill someone again. Like it was just a casual hobby of his. "Just let me know, alright?"

He just stared at you. His walls were back up, you could tell, so you tried to not take it personally.

When the door slammed back open with more force this time, you jumped and let out a surprised yelp. Your dad came barreling in, Michael having already disappeared back upstairs as quiet as he'd come. You tried to intercept him from storming upstairs but his horrified expression stilled you. "That was our neighbor Gladys down the street. She said she saw Myers come up to our house about an hour and a half ago." His gun was out, alarming you. "Have you… have you seen anything?"

"No." You swallowed around your lie, quickly turning the stove off, lunch forgotten. "No, it's been quiet. I was out in my garden, mostly."

He didn't seem convinced though. "She said he was circling around the house before coming inside."

At that, he froze. He held a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet. You wanted to roll your eyes at how comical this was but you also couldn't afford to break character. Scared young child of the police detective, home alone with a killer in this house. 

"Where's your cat?" He whispered, glancing up at the ceiling as though expecting to hear footsteps.

Glancing around, you tried to play up your alarm. "I don't know!" You whisper-yelled. "Do you think he's-?"

"Dead, then." Your dad's bluntness made you flinch. "Myers usually kills the pets first. Keeps 'em from sounding an alarm." He didn't even try to look sympathetic as he crept towards the stairs. You followed after him as he crept silently from room to room, pushing the door open slightly before scanning the room with his gun out. It made you anxious and you kept periodically glancing towards your bedroom, dreading the impending inspection. First the hall closet, then his bedroom, then the bathrooms, and finally: your bedroom.

You felt sweat drip down your temple as he pushed open the door. Everything felt tense, suffocating you as you chewed anxiously on the nail of your thumb.

He swung open the closet door and fired at the first sign of movement.

Mayhem yowled, a sharp, piercing sound, then darted past your legs as he took off down the hall. "MAYHEM!" You shrieked in horror, watching blood trail behind him faster than you could catch him. You ignored your dad's stammered apologies and took off after your cat.

The blood trail went down the stairs and out through the back door, which had been left cracked open to let Mayhem come and go as he pleased. Now he was gone. Your heart sank as you ran outside, crying for Mayhem to come back. In the tall, mud-riddled forest it was hard to see any kind of blood trail or spot your all black cat. Minutes ticked by with no response and you fell to your knees, wrapping your arms around yourself as you bawled.

He was your little kitty. And now he was gone.

"Sweetheart, I- I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was there." Your dad tried to explain as he watched you from the doorway. "It- It'll come back, I'm sure."

"You SHOT him!" You rounded on him almost instantly, storming up to meet him and relishing in the way he backed up in fear of your anger. "You SHOT him and now he might DIE out there!" While you didn't consider yourself an angry nor violent person, it felt vindicating to shove him and watch him stumble back. "You don't even CARE!"

"No, I don't!" He shouted, trying to scare you back. "It's just a cat! What if Myers had been there, huh?"

You felt hysteric. "I don't care about that! Fuck, dad, I care about my CAT!"

Suddenly, he'd grabbed you by the shoulders and slammed you into the nearby wall, his voice hissing like a viper when he spoke. "I don't give a shit about your fucking cat. I am stressed enough as it is and I am focused on finding Michael fucking Myers, not your shitty little cat. Let. It. Go."

The sign of movement in the shadows behind him made you smile.

Michael grabbed your dad by the back of his shirt and yanked him back harshly, letting him fall to the kitchen floor. He stood there, knife tight in his fist as he stood over the whimpering man who scrambled for his gun. 

You watched with an empty expression as Michael kicked the gun aside, skittering on the tiled floor and out of reach. "Grab it!" He hissed at you. Michael tilted his head down at him but he tried to not be intimidated. "Grab my gun, just-"

Reality began to settle in as shock wore off. Your ears were still ringing from the gunshots and you could smell the charred butter coming off the stove. "Michael." Your mouth moved but you didn't feel like your words were yours. "I'm okay."

A heavy boot thudded against your dad's chest and you watched him scramble to try and understand. The dark pits of the mask's eye holes bore into you, almost searching for permission.

"You've been hiding him." Your dad gasped in horror. "You've been hiding the man I've been hunting. Right. Under. My fucking nose!" He roared, struggling to get out from under Michael, only ending up grabbed like a scruffed kitten in his attempts to lunge at you. "How long!? How long has he been hiding here?!"

You didn't feel like answering. So you didn't.

He didn't like that though. "What have you two been doing? What, do you nurse him back to health under my fucking roof every night? Is that why you've been buying first aid shit?"

None of this felt real to you in any substantial way. It felt like a movie almost, a sick indie film about a serial killer you'd grown attached to finally snapping and slaughtering your family because you'd finally given him the chance to get close. You watched Michael press the tip of his knife to your dad's sternum and could almost see the anger and hatred rolling off the masked man in waves.

After all, you'd given him a hard line of not hurting Mayhem. And your dad just broke that rule.

You backed up against the fridge and slid to the floor, watching with a distant expression as Michael wrestled the man to the floor. "Yeah." You said quietly, more to yourself than to him. "I clean him. Bandage him. He protects me." A wet laugh left your throat at the absurdity of it all. "We're partners."

No point in hiding it anymore.

"M-maybe I should call Loomis, s-see if I can get you two joint rooms in the fucking asylum-!" The man below Michael yelled out, his words muffling as Michael jabbed the knife into him. Wet squelching sounds that became almost monotonous as hot red sprays erupted from the holes in his neck. Puddles of red seeped beneath the man's body and Michael seemed to relish in the thrill.

"You killed my cat," you mumbled bitterly to the corpse of the man you once called dad.

And you watched as the body ran cold with Michael's anger. He stood up, towering over you as he tracked bloody footprints as he approached you. "Hi." You said absently, giving him a small smile. "You'll have to kill our neighbor. No witnesses."

He tilted his head curiously and you just let your head fall between your knees. You didn't want to talk about this anymore than you had to. "Just- Just get rid of the body, okay? I'll clean up."

Had you looked up, you would have seen his nod.

The stench of bleach burned your nose and made your eyes water as you scrubbed at the now blood-free kitchen floor. You'd opened the windows to air out the smell but it still felt like it was suffocating. But there was no evidence anymore, thank god.

You didn't ask Michael what he'd done with the bodies. You'd kept your head down when he'd lifted it up and carried it with him out the back door and you were content not knowing. It would only serve to upset you.

Clutching the rim of the sink, you let out a long, pained sigh. Things were going to change now. Your father and Mayhem's blood was all gone, the knives would be disinfected, and Michael's jumpsuit would go through the wash again. No evidence any of this had even happened.

Logically, you knew this should upset you. It did, only in the sense that the wet plunging sounds of the knife echoed in your mind. But you couldn't feel anything beyond anger that he'd shot Mayhem. That he didn't care about you, only his work. It infuriated you to think about how little your life would change with him gone. The house was bought and paid for, you knew everything he owned would be left to you, and life would continue on.

He didn't matter, in the grand scheme of things. You repeated this mantra over and over to yourself as you heard the back door open.

Michael stood there, his hands and suit stained with blood. Flecks of dark red stained the white mask in harsh streaks that made you want to hurl. "How, um, how did it go?" You tried giving him a smile but fell short. He approached you and you did your best to hide your flinch when he took your wrist. Red stained your skin and you heard the sickening stabbing again. "Sorry," you mumbled, "I should have done something to- to try to make him leave, or-"

Michael cut you off with a harsh tug on your arm. Your head snapped up to meet his eyes behind the mask, your own wide in confusion. He just stared you down, only gripping you tighter when you tried to pull away.

His silent question felt loud in the little kitchen, even if he said nothing. "I'm… I'll be okay." But you weren't sure if you were telling that to him or yourself. "It was inevitable. I- I just didn't think it would be so soon. But, um, I knew I was… I knew I was going to be sticking with you. Partners, right?"

You didn't wait for any type of response, gesturing to his jumpsuit. "Lets, um, get you into clean clothes, yeah?"

Michael didn't budge.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he lifted his hand towards your face, dragging a bloody finger down your cheek and marveled at the way it stained your skin. A red to match his own,

And as quickly as he came, he left. His footfalls were heavy as he went up to the bathroom and left you floundering in the kitchen. You broke from your trance only when you heard the shower running. Swallowing, you followed his trail upstairs to collect his bloody clothes. You could only hope the blood was fresh enough to come out easy.

When you passed by Mayhem's food dish, you winced at the memory of your cat's blood streaked across the house. You filled his bowls and set them outside, hoping the prospect of dinner would entice him home. 

It was the best you could do, really…

The cops came two days later. When no one on the force had seen or heard from him in a few days, they'd come by to check. It wasn't hard to play up your distress. The five stages of grief had hit you harder than expected. On the first day, you'd just yelled at Michael, slamming your fists into his chest as he watched you curiously. You'd wondered to yourself after sobbing over breakfast how he'd felt after his sister died. You'd only ever heard stories but you wanted to ask him.

"We found him off a backroad down the way with an older woman in the car," the officer interviewing you asked. "Do you have any idea what that was about?"

You swallowed and shook your head. "He, um, he mentioned he got a call from Gladys. That, uh, Myers was outside her house so- so he told me he was going to take her to a hotel and then go back to work." Your voice trembled as you spoke. "H-he'd been working so much, I-" 

The officer gave you a sympathetic look. "I'm so sorry, kid." 

Michael was easily named the killer so you weren't even considered a suspect. What they didn't know was that he was taking this opportunity while the police were busy to kill again, letting out his frustrations that had been building up. 

He hadn't left you alone since your dad had died. Always hovering in doorways or your wrist if you were close enough. You knew Michael well enough at this point to know he didn't necessarily feel bad for what he did. But he was certainly capable of fearing your reaction. You could easily turn him in now, all wound up emotions like a ticking time bomb.

But you didn't. You were partners. A pact now sealed in your father's blood

Once the police left, you wanted to get out of the house. It all felt too suffocating. You just needed a moment without Michael's eyes on you, if such a thing existed. So you'd gotten dressed into proper clothes and went into town. You knew the whole town would be looking at you so you tried to keep yourself presentable while still looking a wreck.

Which wasn't hard, after everything that happened.

News reports of your dad's false crime scene would be all over the news in a day. All over the televisions, newspapers, and your dad's police buddies would be sharing stories in bars over drinks. You felt sick at the knowledge that he'd had a life outside you and your little bubble of fake domesticity with a serial killer.

It all felt like a huge reality check that left you stumbling like a drunk on the curbside.

You snapped back to your body as you stared emptily at some crummy greeting cards in the little general store. You'd been walking the aisles with no clear goal in mind and many of the other patrons simply let you pass with pitiful smiles that made your skin crawl. "I should've looked at the fridge…" You mumbled to no one.

"Hey." A soft voice interrupted your train of thought and you gave a glance over your shoulder. Laurie Strode, dressed in all black like she was attending a funeral. Maybe she was - a funeral for the town. You knew the paranoia of Michael stalking her never really went away and you felt a little bad for her. A part of you wished you could reassure her.

“Oh, um, hi.” You stuttered inelegantly. “What- um-“

“I’m sorry,” she gave you a sorrowful look. You were getting pretty sick of those. “I heard about your dad… Michael is ruthless.”

You swallowed around a lump building in your throat. “Y-yeah. I hope, um, you’re doing okay too.” You tried to give her a reassuring smile but you weren’t sure if it came out like a grimace.

Laurie just laughed, no joy behind her tight smile. “I’ll survive. Always do.”

You said your polite goodbyes and you left her, now even more uneasy. It was jarring to be reminded that life existed outside your little house in the forest, that Michael's actions had consequences that spread far beyond just you.

It made you wonder if Michael’s intentions were what you thought they were. He’d never leave Haddonfield. Not willingly. He’d continue killing with or without you in his life.

And that knowledge made you feel sick.

Your dad's funeral was mostly uneventful. A few of his work friends came to console you but you denied their company when you went to the cemetery. Your dad had told you many times when you were young that, when he died, he wanted to be poured into water used to help grow flowers on your late mothers grave. It had struck you as odd then but now you understood.

Guilt still ate at you. He'd probably haunt you if he didn't get to be reunited with your mom in some way, so you'd bought some daisies - her favorite, according to him - and brought them with his ashes and a bottle of water. Haddonfield's graveyard was nothing spectacular, just rows and rows of headstones. Some newer with fresh flowers and photos, some older and covered in moss and dirt. The forgotten ones always made your heart clench.

You pointedly kept your head down when you passed Judith Myers' grave. Her parents had a joint headstone beside her, a spot they'd reserved for themselves a year after she'd died. According to stories, they'd believed Michael deserved nothing but cremation. No tombstone, no funeral, just death in silence.

The fate of the Myers family had been a horrible story. Even after their son was shipped off to Smith's Grove, the family still received harsh criticisms for what they'd done. While Michael's actions were certainly the focus, some people still believed the parents had some sway in it or had influenced his behavior. He'd only been a little boy, after all. A possibly mentally ill, neglected child whose parents had, allegedly, favored Judith to the point Michael acted out.

A car crash killed them, according to the news. You weren't sure. The timings had been too close and their funerals had been closed caskets. But you'd been too young to really care about that sort of thing. Now, though, you were curious. It felt like you'd get answers somehow if you knew. Regardless, Michael was left without guardianship and became a ward of the state, locked away in a hospital for fifteen years. At first, the town didn't know what to think of him. The poor, unstable boy who now had no one waiting for him if he ever got out. Many villainized him, of course, but some wanted to see him make a full recovery. They saw a traumatized child who needed help.

It was only after Michael broke out of Smith’s Grove and killed again that public opinion on him changed.

You pushed those thoughts away and focused on kneeling before your mothers grave. Your fingers were still damp from the wet earth you'd pulled out as you'd dug a little hole for the flowers all on autopilot. The little flowers looked nice, spots of white and yellow against mucky browns and greens. This wasn't that different from gardening, you thought to yourself as you added the water into the jar of your father's ashes. Not that different at all.

It felt a bit weird. But it was his wish. After everything you'd done, the least you could do was honor that. Besides, you didn’t really think you could cope with having the jar of his ashes in the house you’d let him die in. So you poured the water over the flowers, dirt under your nails as you showered them graciously.

You'd never made a habit of talking to your mom's grave. Your dad did it a few times and you'd seen people doing it before but there was just no appeal to you. Talking to air felt weird and you weren't exactly going to start now. You'd never known your mom, she didn't need to hear your stories.

She’d died when you were young so it wasn't like you knew her. The concept of a mother meant more to you than who she specifically did. When you were growing up, sometimes you'd feel a longing absence that she wasn't there but the woman buried beneath your feet still meant nothing to you. A stranger whose photos lined the walls of your dad's bedroom - photos you would probably store in the attic. Like you'd never really known them. A part of your dad died with your mom anyways so the symbolism felt right.

He’d always go on and on about how much you looked like her, how similar you two were, that sort of crap. Now, staring at her headstone, you wondered what she’d think of you.

The feeling of eyes on you has become commonplace for you now. An is-ness rather than a concern. So you didn't even bother lifting your head. Just slumped forward, cross-legged, and picking at the dirt under your nails, flicking it at the daisies. "Do you ever miss them?" You asked aloud. You knew Michael was close enough to hear, especially since you were alone. "Your parents, I mean. I doubt you miss your sister too much. I mean, I heard what you did with her headstone when you killed those high schoolers." The bitterness in your tone was not missed but it didn't feel right to put words in his mouth.

"I'm still trying to decide how I feel." You sighed, poking at soft petals. "I never knew my mother so I can't miss her. She wasn't part of my life, only her ghost was. But I don't know how I feel about my dad dying. It always felt like I was competing with her for his affection. He loved her so much and could barely spare me a passing glance…" You swallowed and your throat clicked. "Sometimes I wonder if he'd have been happier if I had died and she'd lived.

If Michael Myers had to be the one to hear your confessions, at least you knew he wouldn't tell anyone.

You wiped your eyes and sniffled. "It's weird. I haven't decided if I hate him for that yet. If I hate him at all, even." When you looked up, Michael was staring down at you, face hidden behind the mask. You almost envied his ability to simply hide his feelings away. You'd never been able to avoid wearing your heart on your sleeve. "Do you ever think about if your parents wished it had been you instead of Judith?"

The silence felt suffocating and you broke into a helpless sob. The kind of crying that you did when no one was around and it felt like nothing was ever going to be okay again. Michael sat down beside you in the dirt, silent companionship through your tears.

He didn't say anything. But he didn't have to.

[thefandomenchantress]

General Thoughts About Eden's Garden

I have, at long last, finished chapter one of Eden's Garden. And I really liked it! While it wasn't perfect, I still really enjoyed playing it and am very glad I got to experience it. Since I wasn't around for the Another fangames, this is the first time I've been able to keep up with a project like this as it's coming out, and it's been really cool.

So, without further ado, let's get started! Project Eden's Garden spoilers below. :)

I'll start with my criticisms, since I don't have a lot of them. Honestly, my biggest complaint has to be the technical issues I faced while trying to play this game instead of watching it. But I'm not going to sit here and pretend making a game is easy by any means, so I don't really hold that against the game, even if it was frustrating.

Plus, I'm an idiot. I sat for like half an hour trying to figure out the Non-Stop debate controls and thinking my WASD thingy was malfunctioning and not letting me switch truth bullets, when there was only one truth bullet I was allowed to use at the time. I was just being stupid and not catching on when it only showed me one truth bullet in the corner, haha. The repeated crashing of my game, however, wasn't my fault. But I was able to get my hands on a work-in-progress low-spec version of the game that stopped most of the crashing and stuff! After that, most issues went away, except for after the trial ended and the after-trial dialog wouldn't pop up, leaving me on a black screen even after a restarted my computer and tried a few more times. But I'm not too unhappy about that, it's not like I was missing any riveting gameplay sections, haha. I could just watch the YouTube version of the execution and stuff.

Other than those technical difficulties on my end, there are only a few actual problems I had with the gameplay, haha. The first being that I am terrible at bullet hell-styled gameplay, apparently, and Argument Altercation kicked my ass in normal mode. I really wish there was a way to switch your difficulty on that, or maybe checkpoints, because after about thirty or more tries of not being able to get past stage three, I gave up and ended up just getting my hands on a save file from after the minigame. I may love videogames, but that does not mean I'm good at them, haha.

As for the actual writing, I don't have too many complaints...I suppose if I had to say something, though, it'd be that some of the characters felt like they didn't have enough to do this chapter. Ulysses is probably the main one I felt this applied to, even if I love him, he didn't give us too much this chapter, other than a lore drop during the pharmacy investigation (His limited screentime didn't stop me from growing attached to him, though haha). Other characters, despite getting a little more screentime, felt like they didn't really develop at all in the grand scheme of things. But I don't want to focus in on this too much, since it's only chapter one and most characters usually don't start having any big changes until a murder occurs. And the disproportional screentime may just be the writing style of Eden's Garden being that they focus on a certain group of characters each chapter, when they have the most relevance. Wenona, for example, feels like she's being set up to be a larger player down the line, even if she wasn't a super major character this chapter.

There was a lot more I liked about the chapter than disliked, though! All the characters really grew on me, for the most part. Well...Almost everyone. There is one character who I'm kinda meh on right now, since I'm not quite sure what they're going for yet. He's entertaining, I like him fine, but he's not quite on the same level as everyone else. And that character is:

Jett.

Honestly, I think the main reason I'm having trouble is just how he treats Toshiko.

Jett, why are you picking on a literal child??? What are you doing??? This wouldn't bother me if I knew an explanation for it that gives cool insight into his character, but as is I'm just kinda annoyed at him for it. Then again, I haven't bothered to experience any of his FTEs yet, so it's possible he gives some sort of explanation for his child-belittling ways there, haha.

The Mark and Jett thing was fine, I'm liking the set-up there. I think the only difference that makes me like the Jett and Mark stuff over the Jett and Toshiko stuff is that Damon actually calls Jett out for not respecting Mark's boundaries, meanwhile no one really reprimands him for belittling Toshiko because of her age. When he shares her blackmail, no one says "Hey, man, that wasn't very cool of you." They just shrug Toshiko's blackmail off and say no one should share anything else. Wolfgang even calls her blackmail a "joke". No wonder Toshiko is so desperate to be respected, everyone but Ingrid is so rude to her (I can forgive Grace, though, because the gremlin bit was the funniest thing in the prologue to me).

Of course, if they end up calling out his behavior towards her later, as well as everyone else's, I'll be happy and probably end up liking him more. His whole never taking off his helmet thing is pretty cool, I'm interested to see where that goes and to see any character development he has. And him and Cassidy's little friendship being established through gaming was fun.

...Writing all this out actually made me appreciate Jett a little more, since I don't think I would be able to say this much about some of the other characters...I mean if I felt something other than passive enjoyment maybe they’re doing something right…

Oh, right, there were other characters this chapter. Let's get onto them!

Damon was just as entertaining as last time, I'm excited to see what happens next with him. Him letting Diana defend herself made it seem like he was going to be more empathic to others and improve, but Eva betraying him might mean he starts trusting the others even less than before.

In daily life, Eva...Might've been my favorite. Don't get me wrong, Kai is still my favorite character overall, but I loved Eva in daily life so much. Her "Bweh..." and "Raaaage..." voicelines are some of my favorites in any fangan and I'm happy I experienced all her FTEs. I loved her in daily life, deadly life was...Still fine and good, the execution was super well-animated and cool. But her being the culprit did sort of undercut my enjoyment a little, since it sort of calls into question the truthfulness of certain aspects of her character that made me like her. Still really cool, though.

Kai was great. I'm going to make a post dedicated to him later, where I'm sure I'll ramble on and on for a while, so for now I'll keep it brief. He was just as funny as last time, surprisingly helpful in the class trial, his large amount of screentime was a pleasant surprise to me, I'm super excited to see if he'll be the new support, and his FTEs were really cool. I'm super hyped to ramble about everything concerning him later.

Ulysses, despite his limited screentime, managed to be pretty charming this time around. Him already telling backstory stuff to us makes me a little worried for if he'll die soon, but oh well. Him literally saying "um, actually" when he starts his objection was great. Toshiko calling him ugly in...the Prologue, I think(?), was blatantly incorrect because I really like his design. There's something about his color scheme that I enjoy, idk. Plus, owls are my favorite animal, so I was pretty much guaranteed to like his theming.

Diana being heavily suspected by the fanbase and then being suspected in-universe in the trial was cool, the whole "choose the culprit" minigame legitimately tricked me into thinking it was her for a hot minute...Until I remembered how much unused evidence we had, haha. Excited to see where she goes from here.

Wolfgang...Damn those sprites in the Diana flashback were cool. I should definitely check out his FTEs to get a little more context, but wow. While I'm not surprised he was the chapter one victim, I'm a little disappointed we'll never hear more from him.

Grace was great, her demeanor is kinda similar to another favorite character of mine, so I've become pretty endeared to her. I'm interested in seeing where the bunny symbolism goes, and how she'll react to Wolfgang being gone. She had no FTEs (her actually responding when I tried to enter her dorm (I was doing an experiment to see if I could enter anyone but Kai's and Damon's) jumpscared me haha), so I'm guessing she'll live a bit longer and receive some character development! Yay!

Wenona was fun, her attitude was as entertaining as ever. She's probably one of the characters I most want to go do the FTEs of, I'm interested to hear more about her.

Desmond and Eloise's friendship was fun, the scene where they try to get Grace to let them in Wolfgang's room was definitely the highlight of both their characters for me this chapter. Eloise standing up for herself during the confrontation and Desmond backing her up without hesitation was awesome. Can't wait to see their friendship expanded on (And Desmond being angsty during the closing argument was hilarious).

Toshiko and Jett already had most of my thoughts laid out above. Jett I've mostly finished describing, but I did like Ingrid and Toshiko's friendship this chapter. Toshiko's whole pretending-she's-totally-not-freaking-out-and-being-actively-traumatized thing was good, I liked how she was desperate to sound smart in the trials, it fits her character.

Mark was a little ruder than I thought he'd be going in, but I'm not complaining. While I don't think anything topped "Grace, call the fire brigade" this chapter, some things got pretty close, like his annoyed facial expression when you agree with him. Him not wanting to be acknowledged at all at the gaming tournament was interesting, I'm excited to see where they take his character.

Ingrid...Was fine. I'll be honest, I was a little disappointed at how my view of her failed to change at all this chapter. Even her blackmail was something we learned in the Prologue already. Still, I can appreciate her. Even if she didn't change much this chapter, I still like what she is right now. She's all-around pretty cool, and I like how she makes sure to defend Toshiko, unlike some characters I know. /j

(Her being called "reliable" made me immediately feel like she might not last long, though... :()

Jean is pretty interesting to me so far, Cassidy suggesting that he might just be posing as a 'pirate' was intriguing. Him saying there was an arcade on his ship made me think of a crack theory that he worked at a Chuckie Cheese type place, but instead of there being a strange mouse, you could hang around at his prop ship and take pictures with him and his "crewmates" (Co-workers or employees) in costume, with an arcade and snack bar nearby...His knowledge of machinery stuff is also cool. I should check out his FTEs.

Cassidy's whole gaming gimmick is cool, and I like her, but I think if I'm being honest, her fun design and awesome voice actor kinda carry her for me. I don't think she'd be one of my favorites to hear speak otherwise. Some of her voicelines are just hilarious by themselves, too, though ("I better zip up my fly, my genius is showing" was my favorite, like what the fuck that is so random and funny and she only uses it once). She's a character who I don't think I'd find nearly as funny if the vocal delivery wasn't as on point as it is, but seeing as it's totally awesome and on point I have nothing to complain about she’s really cool haha.

And those are all my general thoughts on each of the characters. Now onto a few individual moments I really liked!

I replayed the Prologue before playing through chapter 1, and something really cool I noticed was that when they're on the train, this happens after Cassidy says she smells something weird:

I thought it was really cool how they subtly foreshadowed his lack of a sense of smell like that! The devs really thought his character through from the beginning, I suppose.

But moving on to chapter 1, specifically the trial. One detail I really liked was this:

“Near the boiler room door, I discovered a thin piece of metal.”

“During the investigation, there was a strange smell permeating the boiler room. It took me a moment to notice, but when I did…”

Damon takes credit for both the scrap metal and the smell.

This happens very directly with the metal, where he says that he discovered it. While he does admit he didn't think the metal was important before, what he fails to do is give credit to Ulysses for pointing it out to him, since Damon didn't notice it until Ulysses did. And when Ulysses did notice it, Damon berated him for even writing it down. And yet now here he is, pretending that he took note of the piece of metal all by himself.

He also takes credit for finding the smell, albeit slightly less directly. But he still makes it sound like he noticed it by himself, when Jean was the one who had to directly point it out to him. And even then, Damon could only smell the generator at first, and Jean had to further explain what he meant. And Damon pretty much plagiarizes his description of the smell without crediting him, too. You’d think a debater would know how to cite their sources correctly, haha.

So long story short, Damon fails to mention that he got help investigating from both Ulysses and Jean. I find that interesting because even though Damon says he can only rely on himself right before this trial starts, he is actively ignoring that he is only able to steer the trial in the right direction at certain points because of the help he received from others. The game is both proving his point about him only relying on himself (+Eva this trial) wrong, while also letting the player further see his mindset. Pretty cool. (Though I’d honestly be kinda pissed if I was Ulysses haha).

I also really liked Eva this chapter. Legitimately the first chapter death I've been most sad about in any Fangan. Usually I see the fake-out support thing coming a mile away, since it's such a common thing in fangans, but they genuinely fooled me with Eva. I really got attached to her and I'm sad to see her go.

I still haven't really fully processed her character, but what I do know is that she's really cool and relatable and her voice actor is very talented. Her design is amazing. Her sense of humor is immaculate. Overall, amazing character I was devastated to see go.

One cool detail I noticed, in order to commemorate my love for her:

After avoiding Grace, which Damon theorizes was because she didn't want her talent mocked, she investigates the Dining Hall people. And yet, even though she mentions Jett and Mark being unhelpful, she says nothing about Kai.

This could be shrugged off by the fact Kai said something helpful about the footsteps when Damon approached, but since Kai says this info like he hasn't shared it with anyone else, I don't think that's the case. Instead, I think this confirms Damon's suspicion that she is avoiding those who mocked her real talent, since Kai is definitely a jerk about it to her face on at least two occasions. She legitimately just didn't speak with him. That really hits home just how uncomfortable Eva was with a lot of the people in the killing game.

(I'll talk more about this in the Kai post, but Eva not mentioning Kai when you enter the dining hall, and Desmond also not mentioning where he went before that, made me actually start worrying that we were gonna find a second body haha, that's why I noticed this).

Lastly, I'd just like to say:

Even Desmond and Eloise being like "dude no stfu" at Diana in this CG was hilarious and I love it.

[bucchiboo]

I'm crying because I love the idea of correspondence between the students leaving next year and I'd love to see more of it. The white day cards are so cute that I just want to elaborate (hc) on handwriting and maybe even writing quirks. Just Malleus (for now...)

Malleus would be really interested in how his partner writes, it's all so fascinating to him and he's a pattern noticer. The noticerrrr. And he sees so much that he even finds himself compiling all the repetitive actions you take when writing -not just what you're writing, and brings them to you to discuss further. The way you slant letters, when your pen lets up, if you type then the frequency of paragraph breaking, how you insert images, etc. I think it'd be something like "Did you know you tend to smudge the paper when you reach the furthest margin, are you perhaps left-handed? Oya, you are? I knew that to be the case." He says with a slight smile and downturned gaze because he knows he ate that. Sherlock Horns.

He would get overzealous about the fact that you're only a word away and would immediately call you with his archaic phone and pester you until you receive it. His Correspondence wouldn't actually be a surprise because you are usually visited by a heavy knock on your door and fae appropriate fanfare when it arrives, that's just etiquette when writing royalty. But, he always calls you the day he receives it so that you know he shall be returning post haste and he intends to dazzle you. In fact, you'll spend so long speaking to each other about what was written to him, that when you finally get his response, it's more or less just recapping what you spoke of two days prior. He can't hide his giddyness, even if he keeps a cool baritone while on the phone. Because you're a kind person, you pretend that his tail happily thumping against the ground is inaudible, because you know he can't help it.

He is going to surprise you by the emojis he uses because WHO taught you that!?!? He learned these from Cater and Lilia, but he doesn't change the way he speaks. It's "Good evening, How have you've been? The summer season of Briar Valley is particularly exhausting and hot💧, I am very bothered by the heat of it all.🥵🥵" and when Lilia intercepts it, he's like "that's a perfect sentence, go ahead and send it. Actually, one note, send more sweating emojis, it's really hot this summer, right?"

Your messages go through a diverse array of moderators and middle men. Those people being his Grandmother, who reminds him that he's a prince, Lilia and Silver (the two who initially opened the letter, and finally his transcriber and narrator, Sebek who scoffs at the quality of the smut you're peddling his young master, who shouldn't even be hearing this, but he'll read on against his better judgement. (It's literally benign, the furthest thing from smut, Malleus argues). His letters would look a little like this:

21.09.19XX Child, It's been nice knowing you.😌 Why do I say that? Since we've met, it seems as if Briar Valley has taken a lead in comedy and our collective temperament could not be more jovial. Your humorous description of your familiar, Grim child, was very well received by my Grandmother, as I was awoken early enough to the sounds of insects humming and birds chirping well into the night to read it aloud to me, guffawing as she spoke. (I apologize, I cannot stop her from opening my mail, but we're working on her problematic behavior, that's a fact.😉) She in particular has asked if she may keep it, you know how older individuals are with their chucklesome cat stories. 🙄 There's this understanding of the world that I just don't possess when it comes to what grabs the attention of the people's comedy, it continues to evade me. For instance, what is the humor of "surprise hot dog 🌭" and why must it be a surprise to be enjoyed? The children of Briar Valley seemingly shout this and end their sentences with it, and I am surprised and annoyed every time. It seems like you have an understanding in the matters of humor, so you are welcome to explain it to me. But I digress, If I sat down and listed to you all the things that escaped me, well, you might find yourself as old as I am by the time we've finished! 🤣The trees and wind must sense the happiness in our friendly union, and have planned accordingly to block out bad weather🌧️ and unforgiving spirits. The weather is nice enough that (forgive me I've overstretched my hand) planned your visit for sooner rather than later. Next time we meet in person, this shall be us ->🕺💃, as I've already made arrangements for a night in a cabaret club in the Capitol for us to partake in. It's a culture so far from the realm of possibility of establishing itself in our quiet little country, that I was astounded when I stumbled across its zoning request permits one day and I rushed to see it in person, paperwork be damned. The smaller fae who perform insist it to be a "cheeky, yet inoffensive showcase of the arts", and after witnessing it for myself, I knew it would be the type of entertainment you'd enjoy.🤫 Even now, it doesn't feel natural to write, like an odd mouth feel that doesn't change as I turn it over and over. A cabaret in Briar Valley, a music club in a quiet kingdom... it's as I've mentioned earlier, Briar Valley has surprisingly given itself wholly to the Joviality of life. Sincerely yours; Malleus Draconia, Heir to Briar Valley p.s Surprise hot dog 🌭

On the other hand, as confident as he is in your responses, he's always a little embarrassed to send something back. It's not fear of his ability, but rather, if you'll care to hear about the day to day of a crown prince who's routine is very boring and full of nothingburger drama. He doesn't understand that his 18 page assessment of his life is literally replacing the cable you can't afford, and when he describes the way the lion prince attacked him during a diplomatic meeting, the colorful language of his response makes you laugh, and then cry, and even gag because "how did he get close enough to gash you!?" You can see the face he's making as he writes this, pouty and angry and even chuckling when he describes the punishment that followed. Just like in his real life, Malleus has a hard time concealing his emotions. He's not shy about who he is as a person, and his writing is not either. The way it flows is a little different from traditional correspondence, if anything, he's sending you disjointed journal entries and prose while also clipping what you send him to respond directly. Your 2 page crapped out response filled with emojis and memes and inside jokes is returned in full by 20 pages of thoughtful dialogue, assessments of politics and fondness of your life, and even sketches of the things around him (okay... just gargoyles and Sebek, but those are things in all fairness.) He has a real zest that he doesn't try to contain, and even his handwriting gives it away. When he's in a good mood, it's very pristine, heavily slanted cursive that his heavy hand oppresses by not dotting his i's or crossing his t's. It's just understood between you two what he means. Likewise, when he's angry or melancholic it's surprisingly very light, almost inelligeble as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. He must be getting up and pacing, because of course he is. When upset or recounting something terrible, his handwriting is unusually neat, funnily enough the sentences are much shorter, as if he's hiding something or thinking long about what should be said next. He's a very wistful person, after all.

Malleus enjoys fine art that seeks to appease the senses and refine beauty, so attached to his letters will often be trinkets like necklaces, earrings, watches, and pocket squares that he found in shops in Briar Valley, or a ticket to a play or music shows that dazzled him. The heavier packages (these tend to come at random) are filled with small desserts, books on the anthropological history of different fae species, woven pieces from more aesthetically competent fae and their fashion, and of course, fragmented pieces of ancient gargoyles he found hiding in deserted rooms of the castle. <- He'll know if you've thrown it away, so hold on to the heavy, weird rock fragment, please.

[aetlasx]

prologue

pair: eddie munson x witch!reader

summary: Ah, memories. You journal your first day of high school, but things quickly take a turn just a few weeks later.

tw: menstruation, pad/tampons, bullying, name calling (pls lmk if there’s anything I missed)

a/n: just stick with me lol. he’ll be in the first part. Also, this is an AU!! For spooky season!! thank you so much for reading!!

*the chat font is the diary entry and it goes back to normal at the end*

August 22nd, 1983 It's been a few months since i've written in this thing. I thought it'd be a good time to start now since I finally made it to high school!

You know what that means? Four more years till I leave this shithole!! Better than five. June was actually waiting by the door when I got home, she really wanted to hear every detail of how it went. I told her about my classes, I have Jonathan in two and Nancy in several. I told her how the school and people were so different from anything I was used to. But, it doesn't take her long to find something wrong with the way I think. She started with her usual warnings and advice, all the things I need to avoid, all the mistakes I shouldn't make. I know she's just trying to protect me, but it feels like she can never have trust in her little sister.

On the other hand, at least Teddy asked if I had fun. He's always been the one who knows how to lighten the mood, especially knowing how his wife is. He asked about my teachers and any clubs that looked cool enough to join. He even asked about Jonathan and Nancy.

Jonathan was definitely not as excited as me. He's quite, but he's always been that way.I know that his mom was excited for his first day of high school, she even convinced him to bring his camera. Right now, I'm trying to convince him to join the newspaper but he just shrugs me off. And Nancy, well, although it's been one–girl is practically glow. Within just 8 hours of the school day, she was able to meet a boy. She kept gushing about him and is pretty excited for the rest of the school year here. I'm genuinely happy for her.

Before June could add her two cents, I interrupted her with how I stopped by Aunt Claudia's after school to see how Dustin's day went. He was already sprawled out on the couch, 'exhausted' from fighting with his new math teacher. It had been a bit since I had seen them, I slaved away my summer at my job so stopping by, I felt grateful that they weren't even mad. I'll have to start hanging out with him again.

Anyways, I’m determined to make the most of freshman year with my friends. I’m ready to prove that I’m more than just a product of this stupid town.

Wish me luck!!

September 16th, 1983

I think I lied. I don’t know where to start…but a four year wait is too long. I don’t know where it all went wrong but it started over the weekend.

Sometimes I’d like to think that if my mom was still around, this wouldn’t have happened. Hell, June is like my mom, why did it happen. I’m talking about mother nature’s gift. It seemed as though no on thought to inform me that a girls first period would be this chaotic.

Nance and I had a movie night planned. I hadn’t really talked to her much, only in class, because her new boy toy or whatever—Steve Harrington, was taking up most of her time. I thought this would be a good time to just catch up and gossip, I was wrong. That Friday was horrible. I ended up throwing up, getting the chills, my body ached to no end. But I was still determined to make movie night happen, especially since June and Teddy were gone for the weekend.

As I was dying on the couch, Nancy finally showed up. But to my disappointment, it was only to cancel. Her and Steve were going out on their first date. I don’t know if it was how hot I was feeling or my intestines twisting, but black spots started clouding my vision. I just remember her screaming for Steve and once I knew it, I woke up in the hospital.

What I’m about to write, I’ll say with confidentiality…probably because I’m the only one reading this. Whatever.

A period is probably normal for all females. What’s not normal is having to go to the hospital and having your best friend’s boyfriend make fun of you because the doctor called you a late bloomer. I mean, she apologized but, if I could’ve just died on that bed, I wouldn’t be here.

Even June lectured me when I interrupted her weekend getaway. The whole ride home she kept complaining and saying ‘how could I not know’ and ‘you just gave us another unnecessary bill’. Like, sorry my baby’s natural response has ruined something for you.

Fuck. That’s not even the worst part. When Monday came back around, everyone was looking at me when I walked in. I know how cliche it sounds after what had just happened but knowing how popular Harrington was and who his friends were, he had already told the whole school by now. During gym, Carol and a few other girls threw pads and tampons at me. I got called ‘Bloody Mary’ and ‘Leak Freak’ in the hallways, at lunch, and anytime anyone had the chance. I tried to stay strong, I even hoped Nancy would say something to me during class or at least when she saw me but she just looked at me with sympathetic eyes. It’s just hard to believe that a few weeks ago, everything was fine. We were making fun of our teacher, gossiping with Barb, and even went shopping but I guess things change. Now when I look at her I’m just consumed with rage.

Jonathan has been supportive, though. The evening I got out of the hospital, he had actually brought over some of my favorite snacks and listened to me cry all night. Even when the mocking was bad, he’s stuck by my side. He’s told some kids to fuck off, walks me to class, and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong but knowing that I have to wake up and go through it again doesn’t really ease my pain.

I feel like my chances of making friends and actually joining some clubs are ruined. When I try talking to some new, they give me dirty looks. When I go to ask about different clubs, they turn me away. I’ve lost hope. Thought this was suppose to be a fresh start but I guess not.

And just to add more salt to the wound, I haven’t been able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes and drift to away, I’m met with such an unsettling environment. The atmosphere is thick, groggy, red. It’s coated in fog, but a man I’ve never seen before always walks through it. He says his name is Henry, he starts talking about my worries and pain. It’s always the same—he says he’s ‘there to help me’, he’s there to ‘take away the pain because he knows what it’s like’. I truly don’t know what has caused my subconscious to create things like this but I guess I’m just tired of feeling like shit.

I don’t even know why I bother keeping a journal around. Sometimes I feel like I won’t even be here in the future to reminisce on the shitty days like this. Why would I even? I guess it’s just easier to write these things down than having to say them out loud. I thought I’d be able to make my sister, aunt, cousin, and friends proud, but I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for this.

Closing the diary, the blonde places it back in the shoebox you hid it in. Pushing it back under your bed, standing from the place he sat. A satisfied smirk on his face.

He’d been following your turmoil closely, knowing that this was just the turning point. Your struggles were feeding into his plans. This entry was straw that broke the camels back—your vulnerabilities, your fears, and your desperations. It was almost too easy.

“Your suffering is almost poetic,” Henry said to himself, walking out of your room, your house, determined to take action now. He planned to finally confront you, to force you to acknowledge the full extent of what your destiny could be with his help—with what he had to offer.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Hehe seeing a lot of NSFW asks, if you're feeling like writing more maybe now the NSFW alphabet for Joshua?

Joshua NSFW Alphabet

➼ Word Count » 1.2k ➼ Warnings » MDNI ➼ Genre » NSFW, Romantic ➼ A/N » Always in the mood for a good alphabet

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's so kind. He'll scoop you into his arms and carry you down to one of Zion's rivers to wash you. It's peaceful, private, and just fast enough to feel good against your skin. Not to mention how cool the water feels, which is always a bonus when you live in a desert.

B - Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Joshua loves your face. He loves the adoring way you stare up at him or the way your features shift depending on how you feel. He could stare at you for hours. You're the most divine thing he's ever laid his eyes on. He personally doesn't have a favorite part about himself. He considers all of him to be stained with sin, so it'd be disgraceful for him to be drawn to any of it.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He would never dare to cum inside of you. Someone as sinful as him shouldn't be allowed something so sweet. You deserve someone younger - someone who you actually deserve to have children with, or at the very least, cum inside of you. Instead, he just releases himself on the floor.

D - Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes the thought of covering your mouth with bandages to keep you quiet. He won't ever mention it. He thinks it may be too degrading for someone like you, but he does think about it a lot.

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He hates talking about his past experiences, especially around you. Mostly because he finds it rude and unnecessary, but he has definitely slept with a handful of women before you.

F - Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary (haha 'cause he's literally a missionary). It's pretty basic, but he thinks it's the best position to be in when it comes to appreciating his partner. He likes being able to look at your face and trace his fingers over almost any part of your body he wants, but most importantly, it's the most comfortable for him. His burns sadly don't allow much room for experimenting, so missionary is what he sticks with.

G - Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He doesn't like being humorous when participating in something so sacred. As a follower of Christ, he takes the deed very seriously and would be ashamed if he ever took you or the act for granted.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He can't grow hair anymore due to the severity of his burns, so well groomed?

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As I've said before, Joshua takes sex very seriously and would do anything in his power to make you feel that. He'll take you by the hand and gently guide you to an isolated part of Zion, where he'll set up a small camp, cook for you, kiss you, and take you to bed. The romantic parts are one of the most important factors to him, and he never fails to make it a priority.

J - Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't masturbate. It can be painful at times and he's too old to be feeling horny all the time.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's generally more vanilla in his kinks, but every now and then, he likes to do some light bondage.

L - Location (favorite places to do the do)

In a nice, secluded spot in Zion will do. Usually, in a cave of some sort, but as long as it's private, he'll be happy.

M - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He's motivated by you're happiness and pleasure. It might sound cliche, but the only reason he's still fucking is because he likes being able to make you feel good. Even if it hurts him, he feels that it's his duty to honor and worship you in such a way.

N - No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He refuses to degrade, harm, or humiliate you in any way. He can't ever imagine anyone doing that to the person they love, and he certainly couldn't imagine doing that to you.

O - Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to give, one because he doesn't feel he deserves something so sweet from you and second because he can't help but cringe at the feeling of teeth against his burn scars.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He prefers to go at a slower pace, one because he doesn't want to hurt you, accident or not, and second, he likes to take his time with you.

Q - Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

The simple answer is no. Joshua doesn't like rushing it with you, especially since neither of you really has to, and would much prefer to take you out on a walk somewhere in Zion before properly pursuing you in that manner. He personally believes that these things were meant to take time, so it's safe to say quickies are off the table.

R - Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

No, never. Hurting you or risking your well-being in any way is the last thing he ever wants to do.

S - Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually, he stops after the first round. He takes his time with it anyway, so it's not like it's disappointing at all. He's just old and struggles to stay horny long enough to please you.

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't think he knows what a toy is, but even if he did, I don't see him using them much at all.

U - Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He hardly ever teases you. His number one priority when being intimate with you is to give you whatever you desire. He couldn't ever imagine depriving you of anything or subjecting you to any kind of humiliation.

V - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Joshua doesn't make much sound, but you'll occasionally hear him grunting above you. It's still pretty quiet, though.

W - Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes to pray with you before and after sex. He thinks it's customary to thank God for granting you both the ability to feel and the chance to find one another.

X - X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's a good 6 inches, bald, and covered in injuries. It's not pretty to look at, but that doesn't mean it can't make you feel good.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It's not very high at all. He's old, and it generally hurts to do. 'Getting it up' is more of a holiday than an everyday occurrence.

Z -Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't like falling asleep afterward, instead, he prefers to hold you and caress gentle symbols into your skin. The Lord gave both of you moments like these to cherish, not to ignore.

[cybertron-after-dark]

No restraints anymore.:

*Gripping your shoulders normally for any possible Boulder x Graham headcanons you have, please please please-

(Can be SFW or NSFW, just really starved for content.)

I think about these dweebs more than anyone should, I think they should have kissed on screen.

We'll keep it sfw for right now, nsfw might happen later

-Pun FIENDS. They'll set each other up for the most GROAN-inducing punchlines, and they've gotten so good at communicating it subtly, nobody else on the team knows when the worst pun they've heard all week is coming until it's already struck. It's gotten to the point where one will OBVIOUSLY set the other up and the other "ignores" it, keeping everyone on their toes until way later when the punchline hits like a brick. It's psychological warfare at this point.

-Boulder can't really eat most human food, and that makes him very sad, because there's so much variety and humans always seem like they really enjoy it. He tries to live vicariously through Graham in that regard by having him describe whatever food's caught his attention. He thanks Graham for his trouble by doing the same thing with various metals, minerals and energon blends that would probably kill Graham if he tried them.

-Cuddles are frequent Graham can be a little shy about physical affection, but he really does love when Boulder holds him. Boulder worries that his armor and treads are uncomfortable to a soft organic, so he'll usually have Graham in his arms, snuggled up in a thick, fuzzy blanket. He keeps one in his cab for that exact reason.

-Boulder likes playing with Graham's hair a lot. It's cute, and he's fascinated by the fuzzy texture. He finds himself idly petting Graham when he's nearby pretty often. It's just kind of relaxing. Graham isnt totally sure of how to feel about his giant robot boyfriend petting him like a small animal, but he's pretty sure he likes it?

-Boulder can be a little insecure about how he looks. Conventional Cybertronian attractiveness leans more towards sleek, trim, speedy, complex optics and biolights, luxury altmodes and minimal kibble. Boulder has approximately... None of that. It's not really a standard he holds anyone else to, just something he's internalized that's a little hard to unlearn. Sometimes it seems like he sees beauty in everything and everyone, except himself. Graham, lacking in the same internalized cultural biases, can't see much of anything EXCEPT beauty in Boulder. He's big, strong, capable, soft-spoken and intelligent, he's a mechanical marvel and the way he can rearrange himself into something else entirely is stunning. He is something wonderful and powerful, and he could never see such a spectacle of a person as an eyesore. Once he picks up on Boulder's hangups, he makes it his mission to help him see that.

-Graham knows he spends a lot of time in his own head, so when he's thinking about Boulder and thinks up something he wants to ask him, or something sweet he wants to say to him, he'll write it on a sticky note so he wont assume he already said it and forget.

-They were both pretty worried about the reaction from the team when they first got together. Graham hadn't realized he liked guys until he fell for Boulder, and neither of them knew how a cross-species relationship would be seen, by the Burns family OR the other Bots. They thought it'd be best to hide the relationship until they were confident enough to announce it. Or, at least, they TRIED to hide it. Neither is particularly subtle or a good liar, so the whole affair was pretty much an open secret. (And then became FULLY open info when everyone sort of acting like they didn't know drove Blades crazy and he finally asked what the deal was. Mortifying, but it did take a lot of pressure off for Graham and Boulder when they got to find out everyone was cool with it.)