#cant deny this too but they all have like an unhinged look in their eyes

[mueritos]

never surprised by the amount of z!onists in social work school (because this career is rooted in colonialism + imperialism) but definitely always frustrated that they get to be in these classes acting like they're upholding a code of ethics while also being a total karen when it comes to BIPOC people literally just being themselves in class lol

[4pfsukuna]

Hellooo, lowk imagine a jealous sukuna x reader fic where he bottles his true feelings for her. That leads to an argument which then leads to reader storming out and meeting w/ her friends to have them dress up as a guy and pretend their her new hook up or smth 😭😭

Debrief: Sukuna would rather die than talk about feelings but you do that thing (exist) that he likes and he cant help himself (crash out)

4868 words.

If someone asked Sukuna how he felt about you he’d say you were just best friends. He’d actually talk so much shit that it could be the fic itself.

But if you were to ask anyone else how they think he felt about you? The majority answer would be ‘down bad’ followed by ‘obsessed’ followed by ‘unhinged’.

Gojo mutters something about pussy whipped.

“And they were roommates” you finish off before placing the cherry red lollipop back in your mouth as you lift the opposite arm to touch the ceiling. Yes the ceiling someway somehow you had convinced the pink haired brute to carry you around on his shoulders something about wanting to know what it fealt like to be his height.

“You're such a nosy brat y’know?” He keeps walking around, switch in hand looking so tiny since his palms are so huge. He was playing the sims and just put one with pink hair and no tattoos in the pool and took the ladder out. You lean down with your pink dyed hair covering his view wobbling slightly but he's quick to steady you.

Before you can retaliate his brothers Choso and Yuji are walking into his apartment not phased at all by the scene except Yuki, chosos girlfriend who definitely is shocked.

You greet them all while Sukuna glares at them not wanting to hear anything not even see the knowing smirks on their face.

The second time they walk in on the two of you your head is in sukunas lap your body elongated on the couch as you scold him for being mean to some of his employees at the tattoo shop. Hes barely listening though your slender fingers tracing his tattoos especially the ones on his bare chest. 

These were the perks of best friend privileges, you could do absolutely anything you wanted to him and hed just let you. Hed glare at you with that look of annoyance and call you a brat but he did that when he was happy too so you brush it off as nothing more than his default. 

He would never admit it but he likes when you dote on hin like this, likes that youre bossy and commanding you never ask him to do anything you tell him. For someone half his size you surely do think you have alot of power of him(you do). He likes the way your body feels against him too because to you the Y in Your space was silent not that he minded your excuse being hes so huge and takes up so much space.

The curves on your body drove him wild especially when you placed himself in his lap, your plush ass sitting right on his dick and if he even looked down he’d have a perfect view of your breast that’s always on display in the low cut shirts you wore.

“Are you even listening?” Your voice pulls his attention as you give him a slight glare, hand wrapping around his bicep… well the part your hand could fit around.

“No” he smirks the clouded over look in his maroon eyes fading as he looks down at you watching you huff and slowly sit up. “Why should i” he challenges loving the way you never back down.

“Because im your bestie for the restie and im always right” you arrogantly scoff climbing into his lap smiling at the eye roll he gives you, the fourth one today by the way, as an arm wraps around your waist to steady you.

“Shut up ‘bestie for the restie’ yuck” he mocks in a high pitched voice always making fun of you for saying stuff like that. He hated it, it was so girly and childish and stupid and he absolutely did not want to be your bestie.

“You actually bullied me into the silly little friendship” he reminds you the day you pranced into his shop bragging about the great colorwork of tattoos you did on all skintones and he couldnt deny your talent. Nor your friendship apparently.

“A woman half your size bullied you? The great lord sukuna. The masochist. The most muscular man in all of japan got bullied by a girl who doesnt use the top shelf in her home because shes to short to reach it” you gasp rhetorically leaning closer and closer making him hang off every word as if you were talking about something else. Its so innocent yet seductive all at the same time.

“Maybe i let the little pup thinks she is for my own amusement” he teases back with a smirk knowing it would get under your skin. Provoking you to get you riled up was one of his favorite pastimes. 

“I will fuck you up” you snap with a vicious glare  angrily sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. His skin burns at the sight remembering the drunk night at the club a few weeks ago and the kiss you shared when you sunk your teeth into his lip. Oh you couldve asked him for his soul and he wouldve told you its already yours.  The next day though you just brushed it off before pestering him about it being so cold in the shop and demanding his hoodie.

“I would love to see you try” his smirk never leaving his face leaning closer to challenge you. Before your mouth can open in retaliation your phone chirps with 5 back to back text and your attention is gone from him.

“Oh its ‘toru” you smile… a bit to widely for his liking before getting lost in your phone.

“What the fuck is a Toru” he sneers unable to keep his jealousy at bay, because who in the actual fuck was toru and why were you smiling at your phone like that.

“Satoru Gojo” you shrug as if you hadnt just named a man that was so famous for gettin around he was known for sleeping with men and women and nobody batted an eye because they were just waiting on their chance.

“And you call him Toru?” He tries to stay calm digs his nails into his palms and digs his heels into the floor.

“Yes sukuna” you hiss not sure why he was asking such a redundant question. You hated being questioned this is actually where you and him were similar you were going to do what you wanted and when you didnt need anybody questioning you or being nosy. You had fucked up though nicknaming another man and reffering to him as just sukuna instead of kuna or even kirby that you called him from time to time.

“Get off me” he snaps and your head snaps up from the phone to his eyes that are actively avoiding you. Well who pissed in his onigiri? What was with the sudden change in attitude.

“Are you actually dumb enough to let that little fuckboy—“ he starts raging, not caring what words come out of his mouth until its to late and he sees the pure rage in your eyes.

“Dumb?!” You snap climbing off his lap and taking a step back from him. While you may seem soft and sweet like a cute little yapper there was a dark very vicious side to you that it seemed he could only trigger and once it was out it was like two fires colliding to see who could burn the most.

“When did you even have the time to meet this fucking idiot” he scowls hating Satoru and maybe he shouldve told you about their rivalry and that he actually knew the man but that would require good communication skills which is obviously something a man whos been crushing on you for nearly a year lacks.

“Maybe if you didnt spend so much time being a grumpy scowling asshole youd make friends too” you snap at him and he nearly has to bite his tongue he didnt give a fuck about friends when he had two annoying brothers, a pain in the ass Toji, Uraume and most importantly you.

“Who needs ‘em when i have you to pester me all fucking day” he snaps and he really didnt mean it so before he can say anything else he turns around to walk away only for you to keep going. You knew he never meant it when he said stuff like that it was part of your banter but this time you were furious and how dare he turn his back on you.

“And now you wont have to worry about me ever again” you snap shoving him on your way out making sure to slam the white door as hard as you could.

“Dont slam my fucking door” you hear his deep voice boom through the walls. So rightfully so you storm back to open it and slam it even harder. You hear “fucking brat” but refuse to not give him the satisfaction because realistically what the fuck was he going to do.

“Hey Y/n, what are you doing at the shop so late?” Yuji ask making Choso, Yuki and Toji look at you along with Maki who cuts the tattoo gun off pausing on her client.

“You being here this late only means one thing: you got a shipment of new tattoo ink or you and your little pink haired boyfriend are arguing…” she smirks, turning the gun back on. “And unless the mail started delivering on sundays id say the later”

“Its not my fault hes such an ass… and hes not my boyfriend” you cross your arms sitting at your station tinkering with all of the trinkets on your desk until you spot a 2x4 cutout of you and Sukuna from a photobooth you found at the movie theatres. Yanking it from its place on the mirror you lay it picture side down ignoring the little scribbles on the back.

So frustrated you tell them about the argument as theatrically as possible expecting for them to be on your side because he was wrong… as usual whenever you two argued which isnt often until recently but when you only receive snickers and hidden looks it only pushes you further into frustration.

“What is so funny, Maki?” You scowl at her crossing your arms over your chest before Choso burst out laughing.

“You two are so stupidly obsessed with another its comical, just last week you were calling him a slut for a woman texting him about a tattoo” she  cackles taking her glasses off because her eyes were watering from laughing so hard.

“She sent him a nude that he kept looking at, which was gross by the way” you stick your nose in the hair and brush your hair off your shoulder.

“She was sending him a picture of her leg” Yuji intercepts being an actual witness to the picture and argument. 

“Yeah and you could see her underwear, very unprofessional if you ask me. I just think if you are a shop owner you should have a bit more professionalism and not allow stuff like that” you shrug licking your gloss covered lips.

“Sukuna… professional? Youre on a roll tonight doll” Toji laughs at you this time spraying his station down with cleaning spray signifying he was done for the day and throwing everything into a big drawer as the rest of your coworkers laugh at the comment.

“You guys are actually the worst and to think i was telling him he should be nicer to you guys” you pout looking at the picture turned flat on your desk.

“I'm going to just say what nobody else is saying— that moron fucking likes you. Its kinda cute the way hes been pinning over you for the last few months” Yuki blurts twirling her blonde hair around her finger from Chosos lap who hisses her name.

“Dont get involved ive been in the middle of their fights, not worth it” he tells her and Yuji just agrees. Maki nor Toji cared enough to get involved preffering to just be bystanders, sometimes the cousins even made bets on who would win.

A solid two weeks goes by before Yuki intervenes. Two weeks of glares, blatantly ignoring another and even bumping shoulder because truth be told you two couldnt go to long without touching another.

Yuki listened as you called him everything but a child of God including a slut, whore, whoremonger and 7 other curse words she wasnt even sure people with a degrading kink would enjoy being called as the two of you watch him tattoo a woman who had obviously been flirting with him the whole time. 

Yuki nearly looses it when its thursday— your day of the week to control the aux so of course everyone is expecting to hear megan the stallion which you don’t disappoint especially playing her newest album. But its when BAS plays that you and sukuna may eye contact before you look away going back to unpacking your ink not missing a single word.

“Im acting like i dont know him in public you treat him like a prize i treat him like hes disgusting” you rap a bit to loudly and the tension gets high in the parlor everyones eyes floating over to him but hes already glaring at you, you feel his glare but choose to ignore him so he does the only thing he knows he can.

“Turn this shit off” he snaps getting up walking over to the power source but is stopped when you finally speak.

“If its not your day on the aux you cant touch it— your rules” you remind him not even flinching or missing a beat he stops looking over at you the first time youve said something to him in weeks your pink curls in a half up half down with two strands framing your face his favorite hair style on you and its like you were doing it on purpose.

 “We aint together but we together i hope nobody dont catch us” you keep going a second later this time your eyes meeting his through the mirror and he almost looses his cool when truth be told when it concerned you didnt take much. All eyes are back on him to see what his next plan of action is knowing hes not going to let you get away with it.

“New rule Megan is banned on thursdays” he smirks watching the way everyone turns back to you bracing for the argument to break out. But thats what he wanted… he was a menace and you knew better. You just unlock your phone with a grin turning on a worse song.

Aint shit by Doja cat and you watch the way his ears burn red with anger as you sing along. He wanted to burn everything down. You couldn't play anything if there wasn't somewhere to play it. But this wasnt a game he wanted to play with you… he didnt even wanna argue with you. He just didnt want you to talk to that white haired freak.

So with a few more hours of listening to your “indirect” shit talking songs somehow all of you survived the end of the night with nobody dying Sukuna ended up leaving early to go meet with Uraume.

 So it’s no shock when you run into Uraume at the entrance of your apartment who sends you a kind smile.

“Hello” they speak politely, bowing at you slightly and sending Yuki a look. Yuki wasn't their favorite person and vice versa but they managed… somehow.

“How are you, it's been too long” you smile, hugging them squeezing in a way that made them slightly uncomfortable as you usually did it being your running joke since Uraume acted so professional all the time. Unaware of the way Yuki snaps a picture and posts it on insta making sure to tag you in it with a small red heart and heart eyes opting out of tagging Uraume for obvious reasons with no idea of the storm that was beginning to brew.

You sigh tilting your head as your black gently used paintbrush glides across the canvas. You weren't supposed to be thinking of him. Weren't supposed to let him live rent free in your mind you were here taking this class with your friends trying to be more in touch with your softer feminine side with a half up half down hair style a black bow tying your now maroon dyed body wave bundles together with a pink crop top and white mini skirt.

Trying to get over your feelings, you were passed the anger now just kinda sad this was the longest you had gone without talking to the bane of your existance.

Ryomen sukuna.

So why were you painting a throne on a pile of skulls and bones while the paint instructor had a field of assorted flowers and a beautiful sky. Before you can dwell on it your phone rings and you roll your eyes at the contact.

“What Choso” you spit into the phone and not that you hated him it's just that every time he called it was for something stupid… every time and this time was no different.

“Fine, im sending you my location now. Besides i don't think this soft girl era class is working anyway” you admit after hearing his request noticing Maki was painting a sword with a gun at the hilt and Nobara was painting a self portrait with a flower in her hair.

“And you want me to believe I’m supposed to just go look him in his eyes and say “No Ryo you're not like this” and he's going to stop destroying everything in his path?” You ask boredly twisting a burgundy colored curl around your finger leaning back in the car seat watching the dark haired man next to you run a hand over his tired baggy eyes. He winces, sending you a quick glance leaning further into his leather car seats. He originally told you he needed to have a talk about Yuki but once you got in the car and saw Yuji you knew it was about Sukuna.

“We have to try something… Y/n… I know it's been 2 months but he's getting worse. Hes not just picking fights anymore he's beating the shit out of people, he's destroying bars and clubs getting us banned and i've bailed him out so many times i'm actually nervous he's going to start putting a dent in my bank account” Choso exclaims pulling up to the bar and you can hear the commotion from the car. 

There's a part of you that enjoys knowing hes spiraling without you. The fact that hes now a complete crash out and is so horrendously down bad for you it nearly makes your heart flutter. But you push that sick flattery down looking at yourself in the side mirror before applying more of your nyx butter gloss on your plump lips.

“If you don't do it for him can you do it for me…please.”Yuji, sukunas younger brother asks, leaning forward from the back seat tall body squishing inbetween the seats of you and Choso. His puppy dog eyes and innocent demeanor are overwhelming… how could you say no. Sighing you look over at Choso with your most vicious glare lash extensions giving you a softer look though and made you look more like a vixen than a murderer. 

“You're lucky he's too young to be a witness or accessory in your murder” you threaten before swinging your door open and climbing out. The bar doors feel heavy as you push it open and you feel disgusted even being here. It was where criminals hung out, where people sold drugs beyond just weed and a place nobody called the cops no matter what happened. You were a lady and had no reason being here. 

But when you’re eyes land on him it’s like everything comes rushing back. How you met, where you met your first kiss first gift first fight and the last. 

Was it shitty to stop coming to the shop whenever you knew he’d be there? Sure but you knew you weren't strong enough to do it with him around. All it would take is his eyes going soft on you and you'd fold.

It’s like he senses your energy, of course he could. He could spot you in a dark room he paused so much attention to you that he knew you anywhere. His eyes light up for just a second. There's a split moment of happiness before the rage returns 10 fold and he destroys everything in his path to you.

“I dont need you following me or doing anything out of pity” he gives you a bored expression before turning back to his messes he created with a proud look.

Scoffing, you look over towards Choso eyes catching a glimpse of the bar and actually looking at it this time. Bar stools were broken and destroyed, the pool table in half and bodies everywhere. The bartender wasnt even behind the bar. He nearly burned it down destroyed… everything. Its like he tore the bar down in search of something  and began throwing a tantrum beating everyone senseless when he couldnt find it.

Turning completely away from sukuna you send a “are you serious look” toward his brother before stepping over the large body of a man, the heel of your shoe getting stuck for a second in the sticky blood. This was beyond your scope, absolutely nothing you could do. He was too far gone.

“Where are you going?” His voice hitting such a soft timbre makes you freeze along with Yuji but Choso has a knowing look. Like he knew all it took was for you two to see another again he no longer feels bad about tricking you saying he wanted to hangout just to get you here.

Sukuna instantly realizes how he sounds and scrambles to let out his rough demeanor.

“How dare you turn your back on me, woman” he seethes and you hated when he called you that it sounded so derogatory. But it reveals something to the other two in the room: all the rough words and acts of aggression was just him being hurt… who would've thought the great sukuna would be hurting and acting out like this all because he missed you. 

He felt abandoned.

Turning back to him you look him directly in his eyes watching the internal battle, you can't even help your eyes trail over all the new muscles and ink on his body… he was the one shirtless in here.

“Dude you're standing in a pile of bodies people you picked fights with. I don't want to bail you out anymore” Choso says, frustrated with his brother who just glares at him unimpressed.

“So leave me i told you i don't need your money just leave me” he gritts out running a hand through his hair. 

“And yuji?” His brother ask

“Yuji will be fine— people leave” sukuna speaks making sure to put emphasis on people leave while looking at you. He didn't get to do that, he didn't get to put you in this situation.

“We’re leaving” you say looking at the door but nobody moves, especially Sukuna who turns his head away from you and it’s like you could feel the heat of the room increasing.

“I said WE’RE leaving” and you pick up his motorcycle helmet and jacket shoving it into his chest and turning to walk out not leaving room for him to disagree. You smile when his heavy footsteps can be heard behind you and he makes sure to push the door open for you so you don't have to touch it.

As much of an ass as he is, he still makes sure to help you on his bike even offering his jacket so you don't freeze or have to worry about your skirt raising up as well as his helmet that still had the stupid Kuromi sticker you put on it months ago.

When he climbs on turning on the bike the engine roaring to life you hesitate wrapping your arms around his midsection which he scoffs at though you miss it over the load roar that has you clinging tighter onto him.

He smirks looking back at you before the two of you are flying down The streets of shibuya his frustration mild as all he can think of is your with the skirt on. He was too good of a driver to let you fall but he still had concern and fuck the way you’re legs looked and when did you dye your hair and—

He slows down pulling in to the garage of your building pulling into his usual parking spot that was spray painted with fire and skulls before cutting the engine. The walk to your apartment is silent. He doesn't know what to say and the last time he said something to you it was the wrong thing. He was starting to fume hating that you had this power over him, hating that he couldn’t just open his fucking mouth and talk swearing that in a past life he must’ve had several that wouldn’t stop moving so now he’s cursed with one that can’t move.

“Thanks for walking me to my door” you awkwardly say twirling the helmet in your hands before giving it back to him, a Kuromi sticker a stark contrast to the deep blood red. He licks his lips, feeling the way you look at him and suddenly feeling so small under your gaze.

“You should probably stop picking fights with people” you finally offer breaking the silence and hes instantly folds.

“I didn’t want to argue with you! I just think you can do better than that fucking cocky ass loser. I can’t believe you still went out with him” he rolls his eyes.

“I meant at bars” you tell him watching the way he gives you a blank stare to arrogant himself to acknowledge his own wrongs.

“And i didn’t go out with him” you add watching him scoff pulling out his phone and holding it up to you. The picture of you hugging Uraume only you can’t tell it’s them just you hugging a man with bright white hair screenshotted from Yuki's instagram.

“D’you think im a fucking idiot?!” He snaps, nearly crushing the phone in his hand which only causes you to laugh as you walk into your apartment kicking off your heels at the door. He follows only because he wants a explanation you were blatantly laughing in his face after being caught in a lie why the fuck was it so funny.

“Is that why your hair is red now? And you started wearing more makeup? And dressing more girly? And stopped coming to the shop as much” alright this was word vomit because what was he saying and what the fuck was he doing? He doesn't waste time with feelings such as these? Doesn’t care about insolent feelings like l—

“You’re an idiot if you don’t realize that’s your own fucking lap dog— its Uraume. They were outside and we were catching up i guess Yuki snapped the picture cause she thought it was cute” you giggle with a hand over your mouth watching as realization sets in.

“And my hair is maroon not red like the color of your eyes but obviously you hate it and my outfit and obviously you hate me because you went two months without talking to me and—“ your dramatically faint in his arms watching the way he smirks down at you when you peak an eye open missing the way it felt being so close to him and how quick his arms wrap around your midsection to stop you from falling.  In a split second your cheek is being cupped in his large palm and his lips are on yours. 

You aren’t expecting it arent expecting the softness of the action or his lips making your whole body freeze and eyes shut. 

Oh.

OH.

FUCK!

He couldn’t help himself honestly his brain moved faster than his body he hasn’t even processed what he did and now he has to find a new tattoo artist, explain to everyone why you won’t be working there any more find a new tiny woman to annoy him and a cliff to throw himself off of—

“I knew this lip gloss made my lips kissable” and he’s back looking down at you with a bewildered expression watching  the way you smile up at him still in his arms a slight dazed look to your eye and he swears he can see the little hearts in your pupils.

“I do hate you” he hisses with a smile pulling your lips back to his and this time you kiss back your hand reaching up to tug him closer making sure he knew exactly how you felt, letting your teeth graze his bottom lip pulling a small growl from him.

“Yeah. I like you too”

[team-frightfur]

TUMBLR DENIES ME TAGS AGAIN BUT THIS TIME I WAS SMARTER. STRONGER. I WROTE MY TAGS IN THE BODY AND COPY PASTED. UNSTOPPABLE.

The atmospheric fade is used sooooooooooo well here.

Oh and we cant forget the accessories. Theyre so hecking cute! The hippos lil XD is to die for and once more the details are insane. Like you actually shaded the seams and pinch! Who hurt you and where can I get some? Also the green glasses compliment his reds so well.

Anyway next we have SVFD's funky lil floral shades (i love them so much you have no clue), the flower necklace is also amazing.

The dragons at the back are harder to make out but, obviously, that just sells the pic more as something lived in and dynamic. Plus, theyre still shaded super well and perfectly for the pic, so theres 0 to complain about.

Also love how I can FEEL clear wings pure joy at being given a hat by little Yugo. Look at that grin, that upturned eye. I've never seen a more overjoyed Beast and SV is RIGHT THERE smiling so hard its jaw's gonna unhinge. Do feel a lil sad about how CW's wings blend into the trees but a comps gotta comp. This is karma for them being the negating dragon. Anyway, I love their accessories, like all the speedroids on Yugo's surfboard (red eye, 2 tri eye and 1 terrortop? Thats the duel links set baybee).

Dark reb is just as happy, but a lil more restrained. I also dk what mon they've got. it has ancient cloak vibes but im no PK expert. Barely play them really. The flowers make it festive either way. The Dark reb pattern on the kite is a nice touch, too!

Ok dragons down, time to scream about 4 small boys! First off, someone get Yugo a shirt before he gets sunburned /joking.

Ok but for real Yuya and Yuris poofy shirts are very summer vibes and very cute. It gives them both a really floaty feeling that suits the piece! Yuya's big ol smile is the cutest thing I've seen all week (plus the fangs are a super cute and nice touch) and Yuris smug "im gonna beat your ass" grin is impeccable. The water guns are really well done, too. Love how yuri's matches SVFD, but curious about Yuya using blue. Is it a ref to his pendulum? Anyway, the shading on their hair (yuyas contrasting values in particular stand out to me) are also so silken and jaw dropping that I feel like you could shear it and weave a silken scarf out of it. Fantastic 10/10.

Yugo's tiny grin is so precious 50/50 and I love how Yuto is kinda cautiously clinging to dark reb as he carefully takes stock of the situation. Yuya and Yuri may be at war, but Yuto and Yugo have chosen peace. For now.

Last but not least, the effect work is really good! I like the refracted light scattered tastefully across the piece to give it some pink and white and add to the sunny vibe. I've already mentioned how well done the addition based atmospheric fade is. The snatches of subsurface scattering like on SV's dark green and the underside of Yuyas shirt are just an extra 10% of perfection.

The thing that gets me about this is that there are no flaws. Zero corners cut. I almost pity you because I feel like this must have simultaneously been the most satisfying and painful thing ever created. I cannot fathom having the heart to do this.

1000/1000 are you a professional artist because holy shit.

My piece for Dragon's den zine.

[gallickingun]

How do you think Tama would react if you begged him to cum inside you while you were having sex? I just want our sweet elf boy to give me a nice creampie

cw: breeding kink, oral (m. receiving), praise, bit o’ dacryphilia!

His thumb is soft against your lower lip, watching with his own unhinged jaw as you bob your head up and down on his cock, the tip nudging your tongue until you are able to take him further, until your throat is tensing up around the thick shaft and you’re drooling down your chin. He swallows, a shininess in his eyes that he gets every time you beg to please him, every time you drop to your knees to prove to him that he’s worth a thousand stars.

“You’re so pretty,” and he doesn’t even mean to say it, not really. Tamaki’s voice is barely above a whisper, and his tongue parts his mouth so he can lick up and over the bow of his upper lip. An exhale shudders his shoulders and his free hand rubs your neck in a soothing motion, and for some reason he wants to kiss you so badly that he can’t see straight.

Or maybe that’s just a biproduct of your pretty mouth suckling all the way to the base of him.

Tamaki’s irises are hidden from you now, his lids unable to stutter open any longer, the further you take him, the more saliva that pools around the base of him until it drips from his balls to the floor. He moans, high and whiney, and his head drops back against the wall behind him, “Baby, ‘m gonna come if you keep that up.”

The thought of being able to taste him is divine, but your thighs throb with the need for something more. You swallow the pool of drool and pre that sits heavy on your tongue, and sit back on your thighs so you can look him in the eyes, seeking out those sweet, darkened irises with a gentle squeeze of his thigh under your petite grip, “T-Tama?”

You’ve wanted this for a while, wanted to beg and plead and cry until he gives it to you, but Tamaki swore he’d go slow, savor every piece of you until you’re tired and then, he’ll do it all over again. But, still, there is something missing. Your eyes are drawn momentarily to the shiny packages littered across your nightstand, taunting you silently, quietly mocking your every movement. You’ve purposefully bruised both of your knees tonight, with the hope that you can draw out such a long, heady arousal from him that it would leak out of you — but not your mouth, not this time.

“Yeah?” he’s trying his hardest not to stutter, you can tell. Your thumb runs over his knee and then you’re cupping your hands along his calves, anchoring yourself to the floor so you don’t float away with how effervescent his gaze makes you feel. You’re squirming on the floor now, the heels of your feet dug into your ass to give yourself some sort of harsh reminder that you need to get this question out of the way, that it will bother you until you know his answer.

You bite your lower lip to bring yourself back to reality and the sentence is slurred, but at least you’ve propelled it from your lips this time, “W-Will you come in me?”

His hips stutter to a stop and you’re worried you’ve run him off. You lick your lips and massage your thumbs in circles against his ankles, drifting palms headed north to administer the same affections to his thighs. Tamaki inhales in a shudder, and his thick fingers slide along your neck until he’s near gripping you at the shoulders, like he might push you further down until the floor swallows you whole. His thumb traces your jawline until he reaches your lower lip, and he cannot stop himself as he runs the pad of his fingerprint against the swell of your lower lip.

“Y-You mean it?” he is hesitant, and you could cry at the sound of his voice breaking the silence. Your mouth laps at the spittle and start of his orgasm that beads against his cockhead, pearlescent and pretty along the purpled tip. A nod has your mind boggling, and all you want is to let him drown you in whatever he’s willing to give you, just to taste him in your womb instead of your throat.

Tamaki guides you to your feet, fingers circled around your wrists to hold you closely, “Angel, I need to know—“

“Yes, I mean it,” your voice is firm and your gaze is direct enough to match. With a gusto you did not have moments prior, you reach out to hold his shaft in your hand, swiveling your palm up and down the length of him so the head disappears in your grasp and he’s already moaning on your first pass. He bucks his hips but then thinks twice, holding you by the hips and angling his pelvis backward so he does not move again, “I-I’m close, c-can’t keep goin’ like this.”

You are a mess when you take another step forward and practically beg him with your words and your gaze, “Then fuck me, ‘jiki. Want to feel you, all of you, inside of me, please!”

Unsure of where your words incited the riot that is his next movements, you allow him to take you along for the ride. Tamaki guides you to the bed and settles between your thighs, wanting to watch the way you fall apart beneath him as he spears you on the thick of his cock and he milks the sticky translucent arousal from between your precious, velveteen folds. He’s slow and deliberate with each thrust, savoring the way your plush warmth steals the very breath from his lungs, sucking him in like it might be the last stroke you ever feel. His palms are tucked under your knees, using the leverage of this position to hold you near folded in half, something you might complain about if it weren’t for the fucked out expression slackening his features.

“Ah, I’m, ‘m cl-close, angel,” he whimpers, and you’re surprised he’s managed this long. You feel a haze cloud your vision and you know it’s the tears that always fall when he fucks you raw on his cock. He’s so thick and deliberate, and you find yourself lost in every bit of him no matter how he takes you. Tamaki’s hips slam into your ass and it stings, and you’re sure that there will be a plethora of reminders of this evening in the form of blistering purple bruises along the curve of your ass.

“Please, Tama’,” you are wanton and uncaring in the desperation to your tone. You buck into him, meeting him more than halfway, the promise of his seed driving you to a new level of hungry. Tears seep down your cheeks and he releases one leg in favor of throwing it over his shoulder, just so he can brush his thumb over the curve of your face, collecting the saltine droplet on his fingertip. You open your mouth in beckoning for his finger, and he obliges you with little question, nothing but adoration and awe in his eyes as he watches your lips mold around his thick digit, suckling and licking at the knuckles.

Tamaki rolls his lips and then his hips and he gasps for breath, “Tell me, love, tell me what you want from me, please, I need you to—“

It is the only encouragement you need to beg for his cock, his come, to tell him that it’s the only thing left to complete you. There is a hole carved out in your innermost parts, and it’s created just for him. You are a desolate wasteland without the depths of his affections, and the weight of his cock between your thighs is but one facet to the gem of your relationship. Your nails are relentless against his back and shoulders, clawing at him like he might be taken from you if you were to let him go. Tamaki indulges you to the fullest, not a single complaint from his full lips as he bucks into you with a sheer force that rivals even the most brutish of men.

“R-Right there,” he murmurs, seemingly to himself, “g-gonna stuff you full, angel, gonna give you all my come until it’s pouring out of you, is that what you want?”

You’re incapable of speech at this point, too fucked out to do much other than listen and receive. Luckily for you both, you’re receptive enough for a thousand lifetimes, eyes widening and mouth parted in a silent begging as you tighten your thighs and cant your hips in time with his rhythm. The pleadings you’re able to muster are little more than musings, incomplete sentences and half-syllables, but he has been with you long enough to know what you mean.

Tamaki seems to put it all together on his last stroke, eyes widening as he falls forward, hips stuttering with aborted, untimely shifts until you feel the warmth inside of you duplicate tenfold, his cock twitching until he’s spent himself dry. Still, Tamaki moves like he might get started up again, half-hard cock still nestled into the sticky heat of your cunt, watching as the milky slick coats his cock in a ring, collecting when he pulls himself out only to stuff you full all over again. You wonder for a moment if he’s doing this with the knowledge that he’s fucking deeper into your womb with each roll of his hips, but you don’t have the wherewithal to ask.

“So pretty,” his words are but a distant echo of earlier, and this time the meaning is increasingly more lewd than it was when he was merely watching you take his cock deeper and deeper into your throat. Now, with the pulsating thick of his shaft finding purchase in the plush of your cunt, his words carry more weight, and this time you know he’s referencing the way your folds coat him in slick, not leaving an inch of him insatiable for your come. He is coated in it, drenched in the mixture of you both, and immediately, the desire to repeat the action stirs his cock from the depths of your body.

“No, you,” you giggle, framing his face with your hands so you can bring him forward for a kiss, “you’re always so pretty, ‘specially when you come.”

Tamaki turns so his cheek is pressed to yours, hoping you didn’t see the lustful darkening of his amethyst irises before he responds, “Wanna see me get downright gorgeous?”

A giggle is shared between the two of you, along with another round of your begging and pleading to be stuffed to the brim, and who is Tamaki to deny you of something when you ask so sweetly?

[neostriatum]

All we are, and all we have...

[AO3] [Dreamwidth]

Title taken from these photos (archived version here) in one of photographer @rabbitinthemeadow's series. All Mando'a translated at the end.

--

Maul inhaled.

This was unusual, given his certainty that this time he had died. It had not quite been the death he had been craving, but it had been an honourable one at the hands of his arch-enemy, and the peace it had granted weighed heavily in his hearts despite their absurd insistence at beating.

Exhaling, he stretched his senses out into the Force. It was the surest way to place himself, and the thrum of the living against his mind was enough confirmation for him.

So. Alive again. And not even on Dathomir.

The walls of the palatial bedroom were obscenely Kryze’s, still holding the decorations and gilding he hadn’t the presence of mind to change early on in his reign. The confirmation laid bitterly on his tongue, and abruptly he was fed up with the idea of living on a planet he had already spent roughly twenty years on the first time.

The Force was a strange beast, and the idea that it could punish him by undoing so much of his life as he had breathed his last sounded about right. But- and he clenched the ridiculously expensive sheets in his grasp, but-

Light seeped into his skin, a thready but still present brush of warmth against his skin and senses. It reminded him of Kenobi, the gentle reassurance of peace as he died. It was almost cruel, how comforting the memory was, especially now that the destruction of the Jedi hadn’t happened yet.

His comm chirped, fracturing the euphoria of the revelation at hand. Maul clapped a hand to his mouth, not sure whether he was restraining a laugh or a sob. The Light was fracturing his resolve to the Sith, and all he could feel was relieved.

Forcing himself to steady, he pulled the comm to him, answering with a brusque, “Maul.”

Hope. What a strange feeling.

--

It was difficult, trying to undermine the goals Sidious had so deeply impressed on him that they were etched into his bones. But no longer did the man’s edicts reverberate in his lungs with every breath he took, filled instead were they with an unrestricted buoyancy that threatened to make him hover at the slightest provocation.

Was this how a Jedi felt? It baffled him, but also explained the way they seemed to flutter through the Force, a marvel of nature instead of a tragedy shaking the ground beneath their feet.

Meditation was at once easier and excruciating. The Force had always been a soul-sucking entropy, to be treaded carefully and yet bent to one’s will. But these shards of light burned, forcing growth in the holes in his soul that had been scraped raw where Sidious had laid claim. Where a grave once stood now blossomed a garden, and beauty caught his eye more often than grief as he accepted the Light making itself comfortable.

His thoughts strayed often, his deaths compounding and overlaid. Many times did he force himself to put his comm away, to restrain the urge to howl in the direction of Obi-Wan Kenobi and bring the entirety of the man’s formidable army upon Mandalore’s heads.

Perhaps, Maul pondered, it would provide suitable vengeance for Kenobi. To conquer the world of his once-lover and reassert balance sorely lacking in this galaxy.

The thought clung to his mind, a thorn catching on cloth, and it unraveled the loose plan. Kenobi - despite his once harshly-denied ties to the Dark - was not the type to exact his rage upon the world, no matter how deeply routed the ditch of grief ran in his heart.

No, only hope would attract hope. And Maul, with his own hearts still thudding painfully at the still-burning loss of his brother, knew Kenobi now better than the man himself did.

With a smirk, Maul gestured one of his soldiers close. There was a trap to be laid, and he knew just the bait.

--

Obi-Wan stared in bewilderment at the missive tied to the trooper in front of him. It was, to put it politely, unhinged chaos.

The trooper wasn’t even one of his - he had checked. And then handed the very long roster of the entire Third Systems Army to Cody to double-check. And then, on Anakin’s insistence, to R2.

“Well, Lieutenant,” He sighed apologetically, “It does indeed look like just a spot of bad luck.”

“If it helps, sir, I’ve got a clean bill of health.” Smoke offered, still looking a bit pole-axed to be in the same room as him and Cody, but faring rather well, all things considered.

Cody sighed even deeper than him, which had the expected impact of Smoke straightening his back to parade-perfect straightness. His commander waved the trooper back to at ease, pressing a thumb to his temple in an attempt to relieve the burgeoning migraine from this shit-show of a situation.

“Healthy except for a shaved head.” The commander commented, and wasn’t that the crux of it. No injuries, nor signs of surgery, though that was no guarantee given Smoke’s… transit time, and that in itself was a bundle of issues.

The good lieutenant shrugged, and, well- that did seem to be that. Only a lingering sign of sedation, but then being sent through the absurdly mundane postal system in an admittedly well-equipped box did carry that sort of assumption.

Helix, moving aside the privacy screens to perform another check on the trooper, patted them on the back, “Think about it this way, vod. You were important enough to be mailed first-class.”

Cody gave up all pretenses at maintaining an authoritative façade and groaned, “Usen’ye, vod.”

The medic made a wry, rude gesture back, chuckling. Helix clicked a few things on his datapad, and gestured to the trooper, “You’re good to go, vod. I’m recommending to put you on light duties in case anything crops up, but everything seems to be in order.”

“Oya!” Smoke grinned, looking forward to their unintentional vacation. Hopping off the cot, they grabbed their helmet and left, a bounce in their step.

“Well at least someone’s enjoying this,” Helix shook his head. He glanced at their Jedi, who was still scrutinizing the honest-to-gods paper that had come with Lieutenant Smoke, “What’s on that thing, anyway, General?”

Obi-Wan startled, smoothing his beard absently. “Oh, some sort of message,” He surmised, “I think someone’s asking for help.”

Cody grunted at that, sidling up to the general to peer over his shoulder. The message itself was in Mando’a, written neatly and precisely. “It is paper, though.” He said, “Are you able to-” “Check it for signatures?” Obi-Wan hummed, already switching the paper to one hand so he could remove the glove from his other. With glove sufficiently bitten and removed, the man mumbled, “Not quite as well as Quinlan.”

The two clones exchanged an amused look at the man’s single-minded intensity for a new discovery. It was dropped as quickly as the glove from their shocked general, a strangled gasp mingling with the dull thud of Obi-Wan’s glove as his hand laid as if riveted to the paper.

“General,” Cody said, tone stiff and demanding information.

Obi-Wan shook his head once, muttering the message out loud, a lilting cant to the words as he absorbed the new information. “K'olar, Kenobi. Jorhaa be mirjahaal.”

The intervening few moments were tense, and Cody wondered whether he should tap out an alert as a preemptive measure when his general’s gaze snapped to his. The blue eyes seemed to glow, something physically impossible for the man’s species and yet perfectly understandable for the scope of his mythological status.

It drew that familiar stirring of faith forth, and Cody nodding in acknowledgement. Whatever the General saw, he approved of, for he nodded back, seeming to fold himself back into his mortal form.

“Gentleman, I have a call to make.” Obi-Wan announced, “I believe we’re going to Mandalore.”

--

This lure of hope was maddening, tugging at his spirit in a fluctuating jerk of attention. Maul took to pacing more, which in turn drew the attention of Kyr'tsad and the few New Mandalorians that lingered in Kryze’s court.

“Alor.” Bo Katan interrupted him while he prowled in search of some way to release all of this damnably energy. Sparring had ceased to entertain him days ago, the thorough victories and the sheer fact that his rage was no longer reliable fuel.

Brave warrior that she was, the Kryze sister merely stared placidly back at his scowl. “Who is it, precisely, that we are expecting? There are rumors growing, and it would be better to quell the dissent.”

He exhaled sharply, feeling the burning warmth of the Light sinking deeper with the action. “Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc,” He chided her, a distant part of him relishing her shock at his smooth handling of this system’s language. “We are heading into a war, Kryze. And I have invited a powerful ally to bring us all to glory again.”

It was interesting, how stark the hope was that flooded his senses. And pleasing - for Maul was right. Hope brings hope, and only shall it grow when given room.

He felt the insistent tendrils of Light settling in his own hearts, and smirked at joyful look that greeted him.

--

Obi-Wan felt it difficult to meditate. He sighed, glancing in the direction of his desk, where that damnable paper was carefully stowed away.

The Force was an insistent swell, burgeoning with ultimately welcome but distinctly unhelpful feelings like joy and anticipation. He appreciated the encouragement to rest his worries, but feeling the remnants of Maul’s Force signature was only ever going to be unsettling.

Should he trust the sincerity ringing forth from Maul’s message? It wasn’t something that could be easily faked, but then specialists in Force artefacts like Quinlan were too far away for a quick consultation, and whatever was brewing now on Mandalore, it needed immediate attention.

Anakin was worried, and that in turn set himself on edge, dredging up the feeling of Satine’s cooling body in his arms and how much it had hurt to breathe through the fracturing of his heart.

And now, exactly like last time, Maul was at the center of it. But now, only Maul was at the center of it.

That in itself was a quandary, for Maul had become so prevalently obsessed with him since their first fight on Naboo. Not that Obi-Wan could say much, for a twin flame burned in his own spirit at the mere thought of the other man. Grief at lost opportunities, yes, but now he had to contend with an overture of… what?

Peace? Was that what Maul truly wanted, now? The Force seemed insistent that it was no lie, and the Force had never led him astray, no matter how confusing the path.

He inhaled, loosing his spirit into the currents of the Force once more. One tone stayed with him, and it was the consistent feeling of hope.

Whatever it was, it would be alright. Obi-Wan had to trust that.

--

Entering the Mandalore system was nerve-wracking on its own, their only steering the stark thread of faith beating along with Obi-Wan’s heart. With Cody at his right hand, and Anakin at his left, he managed to feel unmoored from the reality of how quickly access was granted to the Negotiator as they made their way to the capital planet.

His troops seemed to sense that they were about to escort their general into some battle they couldn’t accompany, and the Force surged with the echo of their prayers as they worked in calm, professional tandem. Obi-Wan found that his heart had room to swell in pride, listening to their manda as they passed checkpoint after checkpoint.

Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end, and he regretfully withdrew from the jatne manda his troopers unintentionally enveloped him in. He inhaled, steeling himself for the upcoming meeting.

“Olarom at Manda’yaim.” Echoed through the Bridge from Mandalore’s flight control.

Obi-Wan nodded in acknowledgement, clapping a hand to Anakin’s shoulder with a smile at the press of well-wishing from his old padawan. He met his commander’s eye, watching the man draw himself up in anticipation.

“You have the bridge, Commander,” He ordered, knowing that the Negotiator and everyone on it was in the safest hands they could possible be.

“K'oyacyi, General.” Cody assured him. The Force bolstered his commander’s sentiments, and Obi-Wan found himself smiling.

“I will, Commander.”

--

Although their assigned diplomatic partner was… unusual, Obi-Wan had still insisted on peacetime protocol rather than the loose-handed play at reconnaissance and body-guarding the 212th had become accustomed to during their general’s usual diplomacy. It had brought sour looks to even the High Council when they had convened at his request, but if Obi-Wan was going to throw all of his faith into the Force’s will, then he was going to follow its pull to the letter.

And with that notion in hand, he arrived with only a complimentary guard and his lightsaber as bodily protection, armor shed and cloak donned. It almost made him nostalgic for the first time he and his master had arrived, guileless but with heightened awareness.

The trip to Sundari was mostly quiet, and it felt good to practice his Mando’a with those who had grown up through the same Mandalorian turmoil as he had, a common ground by which to foster good relations with the guards accompanying him. The variety of dialects was pleasing, and the stories fulfilling.

It made him miss with distinct fervor his own troopers, the camaraderie so similar it was at once dissociative and yet yaim’la. The guards were attempting to be polite to their Alor’s guest, but curiosity was a trait every sentient shared, and so Obi-Wan whiled away the time between his shuttle’s designated landing spot and the palace by sharing tales of home and the front lines, cultivating rapport in the manner he had learned as a Padawan.

The flutter of hope settled warmly across his shoulders with each smile and laugh, Mando’a settling on his tongue as if it had never left from that year traversing the system with Qui-Gon and Satine.

(Maybe Anakin did have a point about that year here.)

New friends tentatively made, they traversed the corridors to deliver Obi-Wan to a very familiar room. Bo Katan Kryze lounged in front of the closed doors, a moue twisting her features despite the curiosity burning in her eyes.

“Kenobi.” “Lady Kryze.”

She scoffed, but stood aside with a nod of her head that still managed a respectful tilt. He nodded to her, feeling the mantle of the Force’s direction settle in his bones.

It was time to see what Maul wanted.

--

For all his planning and treading the edges of Sidious’ intimidating scope of influence, Maul still couldn’t help the stutter of his breath as Obi-Wan Kenobi walked through the doors of this room exactly as he had hoped.

He had abandoned the idea of the throne room as soon as it had occurred to him and his overeager advisors. They were meant to meet on equal grounds, and this antiquated room with its oblong table, seats of the same height, and walls illustrated by tapestries of famous monarchs past would make its mark.

The impression was certainly gathered by Kenobi, curiosity flitting across his face as he recognized that this was neither throne room nor the one more popular for meetings with advisors. He gestured for the other to sit across from him, taking his own seat.

In lieu of speaking, Kenobi instead pulled the missive out of his pocket, sliding it across the table with a flick of his fingers until it sat in the middle, slouching in his chair.

“Tion gar vercopaan par ... me'jorbe?” The Jedi drawled in askance, “Jorhaa'ir be mirjahaal?”

Maul ticked a brow upwards, catching how loaded the tension was between them. He leaned back himself, matching Kenobi’s posture. “Elek. Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc.”

And that irrevocably caught Kenobi’s attention, a considering frown and nudging at his shields the other’s reply. Maul lowered some of them, where the Light was the most enduring, and felt the ripple of stupor from Kenobi at the revelation. The Force bounded between both of them, a thought-quick upending of expectations.

Kenobi broke his gaze, glancing around the room before twirling a finger. He nodded, flicking his wrist in dismissal.

The Jedi leaned forward, “Sidious.”

Maul leaned with him, “Is Palpatine.”

Kenobi made a punched-out sound, not questioning the answer as he tugged at his beard. The Force was an insistent undulation over his senses, now, the familiar press of the Jedi’s signature settled against his own as the other man thought.

It reminded him of the last time he had died, weariness eclipsed by the Light and Kenobi’s own spirit as he was sent off. The sensation coaxed him to close his eyes, mellowed by the reassurance that Kenobi was taking significant part in the future.

He drifted in the Force for a while, buoyed by the Light surrounding and binding him. It was calm, a gentle warmth while he waited for his next directive.

Peaceful.

And interrupted by a firm hand on his shoulder, somnolence shaken from him with determination by Kenobi himself.

“Maul. Maul.” The Jedi called to him, looking altogether too relieved for an accidental meditation. “I was about to call for your guards. Are you alright?”

He gusted out a sigh, ascribing the trembling in his hand as he grabbed Kenobi’s to weariness. While the Force still sung to him, a clarion call of peace that rung in his ears, Kenobi’s presence pressed more forcefully upon him, a rousing direction to bring his senses to bear.

“I’m fine, Kenobi.” He muttered, sitting up and ignoring the way the other helped him do so. The nudge the Force made to speak the truth, however, wasn’t so ignored, “It is no easy thing to change alliances in the Force, Jedi. Not for a Sith.”

The searching, concerned look he bore as gracefully as he could, pulling the paper on the table toward them both. Maul read the words he wrote once more, turning to hand it to Kenobi.

“I can bend Mandalore to my will, Kenobi.” He said, firmly twisting his words together with his memories of the Jedi Purge, “But it will be more difficult to bend your army to yours. We have a common enemy, and I will help you with this.”

“Because they will not listen to me?” Kenobi questioned, frowning.

“Because their will is not their own,” Maul corrected, withdrawing the control chip from a pocket, holding it up and watching the pieces come together on the other’s face, “This is in every clone’s brain. It is Sidious’ doing.”

The lash of Dark intention was unnerving, not only from its originator, but also how aberrantly different it was from the Light he had grown accustomed to. It sat bitterly on his mind, but heartened him at the resolve this Jedi tempered himself into before his own eyes, how similar it was to their last meeting on Tatooine.

It was that blend, that knife-edge Kenobi strode, that spoke hope to his senses. And it made him smile, bouncing that emotion back at the Jedi before him, something real and earnest that drew a sigh and tentative smile from Kenobi.

“You removed one.” Kenobi stated, a cunning light in his eyes. “How do we remove the rest?”

Maul grinned, “Very carefully.”

--

Mando'a Translations

Usen'ye, vod - Piss off, mate

Oya - Many meanings: literally *Let's hunt!* and also *Stay alive!*, but also *Hoorah!*, *Go you!*, *Cheers!* Always positive and triumphant.

K'olar, Kenobi. Jorhaa be mirjahaal. - Come, Kenobi. Speak of peace. -- mirjahal - peace of mind, *healing*, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Kyr'tsad - Death Watch (lit. Death Society) - breakaway Mandalorian sect

Alor - leader, chief, *officer*, constable, boss

Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc - Better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones that you can't. (Mandalorian proverb.)

manda - the collective soul or heaven - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit - also supreme, overarching, guardian-like

jatne manda - good mood - a complex sense of being at one with your clan and life

Olarom at Manda’yaim - Welcome to Mandalore

K'oyacyi - 1. *Cheers!* 2. Can also mean: *Hang in there* or 3. *Come back safely.* Literally, a command; *Stay alive!*

yaim'la - comfortable, familiar, sense of *at home*. Can also mean local to the speaker.

Tion gar vercopaan par... me'jorbe? - You wish for... what reason?

Jorhaa’ir be mirjahaal? - To speak for peace (of mind)? -- mirjahal - peace of mind, *healing*, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Elek - yes

[newbornwhumperfly]

some of them want to use you.

another chapter of my OCs. 

be warned, explicit sex lies beyond this border & its dub-con (only in the most technical sense of the word).

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If someone had told Brax a few weeks ago that they’d be ushering Morja to their quarters for a fuck, they would have smiled thinly and given them latrine duty for a week. They could not have known, when they recruited an enemy assassin into their ranks, that they’d fall for him. 

Well, not...fall.

Respect him. 

Care about him. 

Really want to fuck him. 

Enough so that Brax fumbled with their key as they led Morja into the austere but comfortable quarters, dimly lit by the washroom lamp. As Morja slipped in, Brax pressed Morja against the still-ajar door, hearing it slam as his back collided. Brax ducked into Morja’s space, hands lifting to cup his face. 

His mouth was pliant and opened wide against Brax’s lips, faintly echoing Brax’s moan as their hands roamed the hard planes of Morja’s chest, stomach, explored the lower curve of his back, brushing against the swell of his ass. The man’s own hands had settled, featherlight, on Brax’s hips, now roving ever-so-slowly over Brax’s ribs. 

Needing air, Brax reeled back from kissing, brushing their nose against Morja’s, watching him. That broad, handsome face was no longer blank, focused with all his usual intensity upon Brax, as though they were the center of the world.

That look went straight to their cock.

It didn’t help in the slightest when Morja murmured, low, sonorous, his voice that was always so quiet and restrained now snagged with a breathy desire: 

“Would you...like to fuck my mouth?”

Oh.

Brax’s fingers curl, a flex of their fists as their belly clenched with the thrill of desire rolling through them. It’s been a while since anyone had gone down on them. It’s been a while in general. 

“I’d like that.”

Morja nodded, eyes twin coals, dark and burning as they raked over Brax. They felt swell of desire that Morja’s offer was so focused on Brax’s pleasure warmed them, as did the desperation of the man’s lust. God, but they craved a good fuck. 

They were so used carrying burdens, their own and others’, denying themself, again and again, of adequate care. Let alone indulgences. These days, their sexual pleasure came last. And now, this man, breathless and beautiful, was openly offering to suck them off? Brax thought they could afford to indulge. 

They felt like a teenager again, horny and shaky, almost on the edge of nerves.

Not trusting themselves to speak, they let the backs of their legs hit the bed and sank down, spreading their knees. Morja had practically collapsed at Brax’s feet, between their thighs in a moment. His broad torso was a tight fit between Brax’s stout thighs, but Morja made his fall seem gracefully intentional.

God, Morja looked so stunning like this. So composed, so purposeful, even in his plain eagerness. Rough and knobby as his hands were with their myriad breaks and scars, they ghosted gently over Brax’s inner seam, making quick, careful work of the fastenings.

It was sweet and strange to see such diffidence in a passionate setting, Morja’s familiar behavior sharpening the heat of the moment until Brax needed Morja’s mouth on them now, right now.

As Brax’s leaking cock sprang free of its trappings, Morja brushed his knuckles along Brax’s thighs and paused, hesitance creasing his broad brow as he hovered. 

What was he waiting for? Permission? 

They ventured a firm, “Don’t wait up”, the steely, heated urgency of his voice sending a clear shiver through Morja.

They knew plenty of people enjoyed sexual submission - nothing wrong with that at all, obviously. Brax maintained strict control in all aspects of their life - the bedroom was not much different. They thrived as a guide, a firm and steady hand, and they certainly appreciate deference at the moment, as their commanding tone seemed to set Morja upon Brax’s cock with shocking eagerness.

Fuck.

Fucking Christ. 

Morja was…very good. 

Brax shivered from toe to scalp as Morja’s mouth engulfed them all at once, their length sliding down that warm throat so swiftly that Brax seized up, grabbing onto Morja’s head to steady themself. They almost apologized for the clumsy gesture but the man seemed to be invigorated by the touch.

Brax’s hips canted up into Morja’s face, the man now almost gagging himself on Brax’s cock as though he didn’t need oxygen like other mortals - like all he needed was Brax’s cock thrusting down his open, eager throat. 

It was astonishing that Morja had this effect on him. They didn’t tend to talk a lot during sex (wasn’t one of those vocal types) but right now they felt speechless, staring down at Morja’s dark eyes, lit up with a clear eagerness that defied their usual suppression.

Brax could hardly believe that they made Morja lose control like this, made him so excited, feverish with desire? They’re harder than they’ve been in years from merely getting blown and they don’t trust themselves to speak without betraying their desperate state of arousal.

Brax wanted to hold back, to make this first time linger, but at this rate they were going to climax like a virgin.

They were at that age where they knew what they liked and they’d long since stopped justifying their sexual tastes. They knew they’d be classed as boring and somewhat un-fancy, but that was what they liked. They like their pleasures quick and simple and efficient. They hadn’t had many complaints for certain.

They fisted Morja’s hair at a trick of the quick wet tongue and the pace Morja was setting yanked those black curls at the contact. It did not seem to deter Morja. 

If anything, it invigorated him further. 

Huh.

Well, Brax mused listlessly, he wasn’t really one for rough stuff but, again, not his place to judge. People like what they like. They have a brief flash of Morja at the card game, spaced out and breathless after Jorah’s aggressive kiss, blood glinting berry-red on his lip, eyes as bright at they are now.

There was something to Morja’s fervor to please, his unrelenting drive, his hyper focus and dedication to whatever he did (including, at this moment, trying to suck Brax’s soul out through his cock) which provoked an unusual urge to tenderness within Brax.

They did not relinquish their grip on Morja’s hair, so soft, so damp with sweat, sweat rolling down Morja’s neck and jaw, beads glinting even in the pale dark of the unlit room. But they did place a loose hand on the back of Morja’s head, no pressure, no force, just a solid presence and rubbed their thumb appreciatively over the shaven expanse at the base of his skull.

God, but what Morja was doing with his mouth should be fucking illegal. It was perfect, perfect, perfect.

They were going to cum soon, especially with how nearly frantic Morja’s ministrations has become. And the low, barely perceptible noise he made as Brax’s cock hit the back of his throat? It would steal the very breath of a stronger person than Brax. That little gargle, that little whimper of need, a keen of clear desperate arousal made Brax hum louder than he intended, rough and rasped like a primitive growl. They’d usually be embarrassed and annoyed to have revealed that loss of control in the bedroom but Brax supposed it was fair.

If they could clearly cause Morja to become this drunk on arousal, heedless and hot, it was fitting that Morja should see them a little unhinged.

They gave Morja’s hair a gentle tug to signal him to slide off their cock but it did nothing.

“S-stop, I’m gonna-“

No sooner had they bitten out that first word then Morja sat back on his heels with shocking alacrity, freeing Brax’s cock from that glorious silky wet heat. It warmed Brax’s heart to see someone who was clearly so drunk on desire still be so receptive to consent. 

Morja was a good man. So good. So good with his mouth. 

But Brax has no fondness for spilling down someone’s throat and won’t spend on anyone’s face unless they explicitly ask.

Sunk onto his heels, panting soft yet ragged and barely quivering, Morja fixed his gaze to the carpet, obviously trying to gain control over himself. He watched Brax take their cock in hand and licked his lips, tilting forward urgently.

“Please, please, I can--“

He was so sweet but Brax liked what they liked and shushed the eager man by sliding their thumb over his lips as they untangled their fingers from his hair.

“Gonna...finish myself - ok?”

If Morja was offended or annoyed, it didn’t show. He seemed too dazed to properly hear it.

Brax canted to one side to quietly and closed their eyes as they stroked themself to completion. This method took longer than when fucking (God, they were getting old already) but the immediate sense memory of Morja’s throat had them spilling sooner than usual, coaxing a low shuddering groan from their lips while stars spun behind their lids.

God, what was Morja doing to them?

What had he done to them already?

Brax breathed evenly as possible, trying to regain some control over their heaving chest and trembling hands. Heaving onto their side, every inch of skin softened from the release, they swiveled back towards Morja, still kneeling and now more rigid than before, having risen off his heels.

Brax was no pillow princess and had a reputation as a more than equal giver in the bedroom. 

And after a fuck like...that? 

They wanted to make Morja fucking cry with pleasure. 

They wanted see those thick arms quiver with anticipation as they gripped the headboard and that delectable sweat trickle down his whole broad body, bright focused dark eyes haze and roll with delight, his perfect mouth open and that glorious self-control slip as he moaned and writhed.

Their shifting knee brushed against Morja’s crotch, feeling it’s softness.

Did...did he cum just from sucking Brax off? A warmth, lower and more primal than before, rolled through Brax’s gut. They had to take another steadying breath. If they were a younger, less particular person, the flattery of that fact alone would have them hardening again. 

Quirking an eyebrow, Brax was unable to suppress their slight twinge of disappointment that they were not able to make Morja cum by their own ministrations tonight.

The man was now watching their face, upturned eyes bright and keen, throat clicking.

Yet the hour was already late. 

As much as they might aim for an uncharacteristic repeat performance, it was clear that Morja was tired. He’d been tired even before he had thrown himself at Brax, his body’s square angles struggling to hold themselves in alignment. Grey smudges, stark even against the golden hue of the man’s flesh, conveyed that he likely didn't sleep enough as it was.

Brax themself was pleasantly yet undeniably exhausted, the shock of their orgasm having leeched all the cricks and cramps from their coiled muscles.

So, as Morja fingered the hem of their undershirt, Brax stopped him with a hand on his elbow.

“I’m very tired,” Brax confessed softly, warmed at the little quiver which rolled through Morja’s arm at their words. Wearing out the tireless Brax with a simple sex act? Indeed. They were also surprised. “Another time? When I’ve got some energy in me that is.”

A lesser man would be peeved or even pouty, not that Brax much expected that sort of childishness from the gracious Morja and was not proven wrong when all the man did was nod slowly in agreement, eyes heavy and watchful and warm. 

He really was so sweet. 

Smiling, wide and soft, they ducked forward to rob a kiss from Morja’s pliant, wet, swollen (God) mouth, pressing as much lingering lust as they could into his lips. Morja shivered, nearly imperceptible, beneath their touch, stirring embers in Brax’s blood as they gently stroked his moist cheek with their thumb. 

Brax placed so little weight on “first times” yet here they were getting sappy from a fucking blowjob, he really must be tired. Or it had just been a really good blowjob.

Fuck, they wish they were younger and less tired.

Gliding their fingers a final time through that damp, dark, lovely hair, Brax heaved to their feet as Morja scooted back and out of the way - stayed kneeling, probably knowing it wasn’t wise to stand too quickly.

“Well…I’m taking a shower, so, thank you, Morja.”

Why were they being weird about this? They were a goddamn, professional adult and this was just sex. Not with just anybody, of course, Morja was…important, but it was still just sex. 

Nothing to fuss over. 

Brax bid a hushed good night as they stepped over Morja’s knees on their way to the washroom.

“H-How…”

Brax paused to glance back at Morja, who had risen to his feet in his typical, at-attention, pose. 

Guess the mood was officially gone. 

He seemed trying to ask, to inquire, but failing to form the words. Maybe he was trying to thank Brax back? Maybe the deep-throating had left him a little voiceless.

Suppressing a shudder at the thought, Brax took pity on him and answered the most likely unspoken question.

“We can do this again, if that’s what you were wondering. If...that’s what you want?”

Brax found themself suddenly uncertain, but their twinge of nerves was quickly dispelled by Morja’s quick nod, naked gratitude washing over his face like light over rock. Brax’s sympathy sharpened. They shouldn’t be so easily fooled by that stony exterior - Morja was likely feeling a bit off-balance about this...whole thing, just as uncertain as Brax was. 

No - far more so. 

It was so hard for him to ask for even the most basic shit, seeming to expect less than nothing from anyone. It was awful and tragic and made Brax ache to spoil him.

They smiled at Morja, allowing themself to soften more than they otherwise  might.

“Get some sleep. Next time, I promise I’ll pay better attention to you, ok?”

Even if they were reassuring, they could still leave a partner wanting more next time. They weren’t that far gone. With that encouraging tease lingering in the air, Brax smiled again and slipped into their private shower, oddly, unusually, content. 

As they sagged against the steel wall as hot water pleasantly thundered over them, Brax smiled fully to themself at their promise to Morja, not a little thrilled by the way it (and the clear anticipation of desire) had made the man stop breathing.

Next time, Brax swore to themself, they would try and mirror Morja’s focus in order to repay him.

He certainly deserved it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

i am gonna hide under a rock forever now, bye.