#i love him being so in control and making rook beg to be inside him

[beetlethebug]

i am a dom!bottom! emmrich truther and i will die on this hill. i want this man to talk rook through prepping him. splayed on his back, propped up on his elbows, legs spread and gaze heavy as he says, "that's it, darling. you can press further--that's it. the way your finger feels is exquisite, darling. just like that. doing so well for me." getting a little breathier, a little less eloquent, when one finger becomes two and then becomes three. hands reaching to take both of rook's to hold them once they finally slip inside, leg wrapping around their hips to keep them close.

so much praise as rook begins to find their rhythm. every little cant of their hips, the way their body shudders and shakes. hands running up and down their arms when they moan and babble about how good emmrich feels. emmrich fully composed and steady as rook becomes a shuddering, weeping mess as he praises them and coaxes them to go faster, thrust harder, because he knows that he can take it, darling, and don't you want to help him feel good? that they're doing so lovely, and he wants them to take their pleasure however they wish.

emmrich who prefers being penetrated because of the thrill of the dynamic. the trust that it requires. the control. emmrich settled atop rook's cock, hands on their chest, telling them to be good and patient as he rolls his hips at a pace so slow it's nearly glacial. Running a hand through his hair because he knows what it does to rook to see him a little undone. watching how rook's eyes get dark and glazed as they watch the sweat drip down his collarbone, the flex of his abdomen and muscles in his thighs.

emmrich who will use magic to truss up his partner and driving them wild by how composed he remains even as rook is pounding into him with everything they have. cast never faltering, head lolled back, a hand in their hair as he reminds them that he's fully prepared to keep them here until he's had his fill.

[howtotrainabraincell]

Head cannons bc I can - Assassin’s body parts preferences (and extras...)

AN: I would just like to say that ALL of the Assassin's will protect their love with their lives, not standing for any disrespect or rudeness toward her in any way shape or form. I may not have put it in the description of every Assassin, but it goes without saying. ALSO, plz don't @ me bc this is my first ever spicy post lol

Altair Ibn La’Ahad - loves burying his face in her neck and grabbing her backside cheekily lol, loves bathing with her but won’t deny that’s it’s hard to control himself around her naked body. Comes to her after a mission (if they didn't go on it together that is or if she's not an assassin) to hold her and just melts against her, grateful to have her and be back in her arms alive. Pulls her away ever so often to a corner where he'll kiss her breathless and then just walk off like nothing happened (this man-), loves to chase lol if she runs from him, it sets something deep and primal off in him, and when he eventually catches her? 😳😳😳

Shay Patrick Cormac - definitely breasts lol and has a thing for waists, also loves thighs & has a thing for kissing from the top of her foot to the inside of her thighs, this man can pick up grown soldiers, flip them over his shoulder and then just toss them to the ground like it nothing so he’s strong - tell.me he doesn’t pick up his love and carry her off for some alone time. She won't have to worry about anyone on the Morrigan getting any ideas because Shay has made it VERY clear that she's his and his only. He'll legit fight for her if someone makes her uncomfortable or harasses her and make them regret the day they were born (that is if they can even think afterward bc they'll probably be dead). It - depending on the mood he's in - makes him feel very loved and cared for or very turned on and ready to pin her down, when she kisses the scar over his eye. Don't even get me started on how naughty this fricken man is in Irish Gaelic. (Sir! Control thyself!)

Edward Kenway - an ass man for sure and he loves the thighs too, stands behind her and glares at anyone who checks her out from his spot behind her where he’ll press a possessive kiss to her shoulder while glaring at them. Why do I have feeling that this man has a thing for women who can shoot guns? If she shoots a gun in front of him all pirate-esque he'll literally beg her to step on him haha. Loves him a mouthy feisty woman because not only does it turn.him.on, he gets a kick out of a lovely woman being able to blow someone out of the water with her insults & statements of self-defense. Will also waylay anyone who disrespects her, he'll actually feed them their teeth (don't test him with her)

Jacob Ethan Frye - both the man’s bi lol he can have both if he wants, he for sure does playful butt pats and grabs occasionally but usually when they’re alone (USUALLY & if a Rook bore witness? THEY SAW NOTHING), definitely into holding his love on his lap and whispering dirty things in her ear to fluster her. Will fight to protect her and God help them because they'll have him and the Rooks to deal with (that is if Jacob doesn't crush them and turn them into dust that blows away in the wind lol). Also loves him a feisty and mouthy woman, if she's sarcastic, witty and goofy on top of that? This man is more whipped than whipped cream. Total gentleman even if she can hand his ass to him on a silver platter, he still treats her with utmost respect. Enjoys lying in bed with her and cuddling (give the man all the cuddles STAT) lazily playing with her hair and believe it not - not all kissing with the amorous assassin leads to *wink wink*. He genuinely enjoys laying there with her on a slow day and kissing her sweetly, over and over again. Man is a genuine romantic sweetheart (and nothing will change my mind). It's not an odd occurrence for Evie to wonder where her younger brother is, only to find him conked out on his love's chest just peacefully snoozing away as she holds him reading a book or some files. Totally see him tracing his fingers down her sternum until he reaches her breasts and tracing the insides of them to get her riled up (if he's feeling mean he'll even give a cheeky kiss haha). Also loves to chase her across rooftops and make bets of a spicier nature...

Evie Frye - loves to kiss her loves hands & jaw (particularly that one little spot…) and trace kisses down her sternum, has a habit of cornering her and making out with her lol then she just goes on about her day like nothing happened, plays footsies underneath table surfaces (CHANGE MY MIND). Loves all of her and honestly don't think she would have a preference, Evie's just grateful to have her at all and be with her. Woman was dedicated to being alone as a result of being in the Brotherhood. Think she would get a kick out of witty and playful banter, the more her love speaks the more in love she falls and the more she desires her. She's good with her hands. I said it. Sue me. She.has.good.hands. The woman tis skilled (in more ways than one...) This also pertains to corsets and buttons whether it be doing them or undoing them... Kind think she would like chasing her love through the city too and if it ends up in a garden? The woman internally swoons.

Kassandra of Sparta - breasts she likes pulling her love against her and then looking down to see them pressed against her armor being gorgeous as usual and she loves to grab hips, she will CUT Alcibiades if he looks at her love lol bc she KNOWS what he's thinking about, only lets her hair down around her love and adores laying in between her thighs while her fingers give her a head a very relaxing massage (seriously they can put the woman to sleep lol)

Ratonhnhake:ton/Connor Kenway - I think we can all agree that this sweet man isn't very sexual BUT once he settles down, he does have an appreciation for his loves figure. Loves to hover over her from behind and kiss the top of her head, and when things get more intimate between them, he loves to give her kisses all over her face. Flowers with him would be a common occurrence, often times she wakes up to beautiful wildflowers on her bedside table or on the pillow beside her. This man is a good provider. And if she takes an interest in hunting with him, more than a few times he'll briefly lose interest in hunting the animal and playfully hunting her instead... Feel like he strokes her legs lovingly and takes his time exploring the sexual feelings he has for her. He would love her breasts because they're beautiful, soft and full of life.

Alexios of Sparta - ass for sure he seems like a butt smacker haha she’ll be minding her own business when he comes out of nowhere and gives her a light loving smack. He comes up behind her and literally sweeps her off her feet - no pleasantries, just "you're mine now" lol

Haytham Kenway - breasts has a thing for tracing the tops of them when she wears dresses to get her riled up all while delivering an “innocent” kiss to her flaming red cheek, will randomly stoop to her level to whisper something 😳 in her ear. Get a vibe that he would spoil her with beautiful jewelry and then woo her until it's the only thing she has on, before taking her to bed... Morning sex seems like the norm for him because he's not always there when she falls asleep arriving home late, but when he sees her in the morning, he more than makes it up to her and greets her in very steamy manner. He reminds her to remain neutral when she stands next to him during a meeting as he sits down with his hand hidden by her dress on her backside gently squeezing and acting completely casual about it the cheeky -

Desmond Miles - breasts & when Shaun stresses him out, he presses his head into them lol it’s stress relieving, comes up behind her and hugs her tightly, definitely into spooning he likes the physical contact, and he melts when she kisses his forehead. Before everything he screwed, but now with the woman he loves? He makes love and thoroughly enjoys every second of it with her. Having her by his side through everything means more to him than he can express.

Arno Victor Dorian - this man feels like a worshipper he would love all of her body and take his time with her, but he does tend to go for breasts more coming out of nowhere and kissing the tops of them reverently throughout the day, definitely takes her hand in his and kisses it with full eye contact to the point where it makes her blush, earning a chuckle from him. Tell me that this man doesn't pull her away to corners throughout the day or on a mission and kiss her before walking away casually like nothing happened lol. Got a feeling he's very into whisking his love away just getting her attention and pulling her away to wherever they can have a few moments alone together. Good kisser. I refuse to believe anything else. He swoops in gives a sweet kiss that leaves her flustered, and he stands there watching her with a smile on his face. For some reason I think he's into the whole secret lover rendezvous thing, aka coming in through his love's window or meeting her secretly (it's exciting and he gets her all alone...)

Ezio Auditore Da Firenze - also feels like a worshipping type of man except everywhere, everything, all the time lol, but he does have a preference for breasts often times hugging his love around the waist and burying his face in them. We've all seen how this man has thing for pinning his lady to the wall...do with it what you will. But he does it to her and OFTEN lol. A little more promiscuous in public - stopping of course if she gets uncomfortable - than others and is not afraid to show how he feels about her. Also, a good kisser. I mean COME ON.

Bayek of Siwa - he loves her breasts because beneath them lies her heart and he cherishes the fact that she has given it to him, loves to star gaze with her - they lay there together peacefully as he tells her about the constellations and their meaning. Loves bathing with her just laying back and relaxing, eyes roving her form as she cleans him and gives him a shave (he refuses to shave unless she does it for him bc he loves her touch and how great her handiwork is). Gives the kinds of kisses that melt her like a stick of butter lol, a kiss from him has a lot of emotion poured into it telling without words how much he loves her.

[ticketstomydaydreams]

5:3666

(All We Have: Part Two)

Part One

Colson x Female Reader

Summary: You and Colson fall into a night time studio routine when he starts keeping you company through your insomnia and you decide to work though some past demons

Word count: 3,200 (ish, I lost count editing)

Feels: Fluff with a dash of past trauma

Warnings: Drug & alcohol consumption, domestic violence, cursing, Colson being so sweet it almost makes your teeth hurt

Companion playlist:

Machine Gun Kelly - 5:3666

Warren Zevon - I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

The Vamps - All Night

Halsey - You Should Be Sad

A/N: If you've been affected by anything in this story, please know you're not alone. My inbox is always open and I'm all ears 🖤

______

During the first couple of weeks of moving in, you’d been partying A LOT. The guys wanted to show you just how mad it got, breaking you into their chaotic household, blending the days together. Everyone was hyper and the house was buzzing with energy. You'd been so exhausted from all of it that you'd been all but passing out each night, but you couldn’t lie, it was great fun.

You’d tried to pass on a few nights but Colson would never hear of it, often forcing you out of your room to get involved as the house was filled with people, jam sessions taking place in between drinking games. It was a far cry from your usual homelife, your last housemate mainly kept to themselves so your place was normally pretty chilled. Colson had used your place as a quiet escape over the years, but it seemed you wouldn’t have the same set up extended to you here with this lot.

With the pandemic unfolding, the house had started getting quieter, less people in and out every night and everyone was settling into a lazier way of life. The gang were mooching around the house throughout the day and while the house was still lively at night, it wasn’t quite the party central you’d almost started getting used to. Your normal working routine went out the window as everyone had started working from home mainly and without your daily routine, followed by nights out partying, your insomnia was back with full force.

______

You were lying in your bed, trying to force sleep on yourself but after trying to nod off for a couple of hours, you accepted defeat and got back up. Throwing some sweats on and one of Colson’s huge hoodies (you’d been slowly sneaking them out of his closet, finding that the masses of material drowning your small frame were super comforting), you headed down to the kitchen, turned the stove on and filled the kettle up. You were scrolling through your phone when you heard footsteps on the tiled floor. Colson strolled into the kitchen looking disheveled in a white tank top and boxer shorts, hair ruffled and looking sleepy

“Dude, it’s 3am how come you’re up?”

“Couldn’t sleep, living that oh so fun insomnia life again” you sighed “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I was already awake. Couldn’t sleep either and heard someone moving about so thought I’d come down” He replied, climbing onto one of the breakfast stools

“Yeah, I think it’s not having much of a routine. Hate lying in bed staring at the ceiling so just got up. You want a cup?” you offered, pointing to the chamomile tea you were brewing

“Sure, thanks” he says, taking the steaming mug from you

You sit down at the breakfast bar with him and start chatting, scrolling through instagram as you do. After about an hour, as you’re talking about an article you’re reading, you notice Colson doesn’t respond and you look to your right and see he’s fallen asleep, leaning on his hand, his mouth slightly ajar.

“Hey, sleeping beauty” you whisper, rubbing his back with your hand “Go to bed”

He slightly jolts at your touch, opening his eyes “Nah man, I’m keeping you company”

“Some company” you laugh softly “pretty sure you just slept through all my rambling there”

He leans against your shoulder, closing his eyes again “Hey, at least you’re not sitting here alone. That’s something right?”

“That’s true” you smile, leaning your head against his “You’re very appreciated, do you know that”

You gently push him upright and stand up “Come on, let’s go to bed. I’m pretty tired myself, so you’ve definitely helped”

He’s laid his head down on his arm on the counter, his breathing getting heavy immediately so you pull his other hand making him stand up. He stands up and puts his arm around your shoulder as you walk towards the stairs, your legs feeling heavy as you climb each step, carrying some of Colson’s weight as he sleepily walks with you

Once you’re standing outside your bedroom doors, he pulls you in for a hug

“Night kid, don’t be wandering around bored if you can’t sleep yeah? Just come get me. Nothing worse than sitting up alone at night…”

“Will do. Thanks Col” You squeeze him a bit tighter as he kisses the top of your head

“Night” you smile, as he let’s you go and turns and heads into his room, waving his hand up behind him

Undressing and crawling into bed, your eyes feel heavy as your head hits the pillow. Colson was right, insomnia was a much less lonely experience with a friend.

______

Of course, as is always the way after your sleepless nights, you sleep in super late the following day meaning the cycle continues and you find yourself wide awake as the witching hour approaches. Feeling restless in your bedroom, you get up, and decide to head downstairs and out into the studio because you figure you might as well put this time to good use. You settle into a chair with your acoustic guitar and started playing, stopping and starting as you figure out a melody, working your latest lyrics in with it

“I wanna start this out and say, I gotta get it off my chest. Got no anger, got no malice…”

“I thought I told you to come get me if you couldn’t sleep”

You almost drop your guitar as you hear Colson’s voice behind you, “Jesus, how are you such an enormous human but you still manage to creep up on me all the time?”

“Just a stealthy motherfucker I guess” He laughs, flopping into the chair next to you

“Whatcha working on? That sounded sweet, keep playing…”

Colson knows you sometimes get a bit self-conscious with people watching you sing, so he lights his joint, rests his head on his hand and closes his eyes. You smile as you see what he's doing, thankful he always understands what you're like.

You turn back to your notepad, reading over your lyric outline quickly before repositioning the guitar in your lap and resetting the metronome

___

‘I wanna start this out and say, I gotta get it off my chest

Got no anger, got no malice, Just a little bit of regret

No, nobody else will tell you, so there's some things I gotta say

Gonna jot it down and then get it out and then I'll be on my way

No, you're not half the man you think that you are

And you can't fill the hole inside of you with money, drugs, and cars

I'm so glad I never ever had a baby with you

'Cause you can't love nothing unless there's something in it for you

Oh, I feel so sorry, I feel so sad

I tried to help you, it just made you mad

And I had no warning about who you are

I'm just glad I made it out without breaking down

And then ran so fuckin' far, that you would never ever touch me again

Won't see your alligator tears

'Cause, no, I've had enough of them’

___

“Man, that was beautiful Y/N. I got some chills right there…You just wrote that?”

“Nah, it’s something I dug up from ‘back then’. Been going through some old lyrics and samples while we’ve got all this time on our hands. It’s kinda cathartic to go over some of that stuff now there’s a bit more distance you know”

______

A couple of years ago, you’d been stuck in a really toxic relationship with your ex, Stevie. Your time with him had been a tornado of arguments, drugs and the constant heartache of him cheating on you. Every time you’d get close to having the strength to leave, you’d always cave in and the mess would continue with you losing a bit of yourself each time you stayed. You’d become pretty used to his violent outbursts, he had always been controlling and short tempered, often pushing you and throwing stuff around your apartment. Despite his own frequent infidelity, he flew into a jealous rage with you constantly.

He’d always hated Colson, despite him being one of your best friends, and while he’d play nice to his face you’d always get it in the neck once you were alone about how you and Colson were ‘too close’ and he ‘didn’t trust him’. Before that final night you’d spent with him, things had been pretty good with the two of you for a few weeks, there hadn’t been much drama and so you hadn’t thought too much of inviting him out with you and the gang for a night out clubbing. Your good run had clearly come to an end, when you felt his hand grab your arm tightly and drag you off the dancefloor where you’d been dancing with Colson. You’d been bundled into an uber so quickly, you hadn’t even managed to get your handbag from inside. You saw Colson running out of the club, followed by Rook and Slim who was holding your bag, as the cab pulled away.

Once you were back at the apartment, he flew into a rage. You’d never seen him this bad before, his eyes were dark and when you tried to argue back, calling his jealousy ‘pathetic’ he snapped. He’d grabbed you by the throat and slammed you against the wall, “Don’t you ever disrespect me like that again” he’d spat in your face, before striking you so hard with his fist that the skin across your cheek split open. It was as if his actions had knocked him back to reality, he’d let go of you and you ran to your bedroom, locked the door behind you and started packing a bag. He hammered on the door, begging you to open it and you could hear that he was crying. You looked around for your phone before you remembered you’d left it at the club. Desperate to get away, you opened your laptop and brought up instagram, managing to send Colson a message asking him to send you an uber to his house straight away. You’d thrown your laptop and a few more bits in your bag, the battery dying before you had a chance to wait for a reply, before pulling the bedroom door open and barging past Stevie. He’d tried to grab you, but you’d finally had enough “Never fucking touch me again” you spat, pushing him off you. The hatred in your voice rooted him to the spot and he said nothing as you walked out, the door slamming behind you.

Once you were outside the apartment building, the reality of what had just happened and the situation you were in started to wash over you. You had no phone, no wallet, your laptop was dead. Just as you were starting to seriously panic, an uber pulled up and Colson had leapt out of the backseat. You’d been in total shock and had just let Colson guide you into the cab and then out into his house, up to his room. He didn’t say anything as he led you to his bathroom and lifted you up onto the counter. He grabbed a flannel and soaked it with warm water, rinsing it out before pressing it softly against the cut on your cheek, gently wiping away the blood that had mixed with your mascara laced tears. The tenderness of his actions was almost too much and you started to sob again.

“Hey, hey. Y/N, look at me” he said softly, lifting your chin so you looked at him, his blue eyes misty themselves “It’s okay, you’re safe here. Don’t move, I’ll be back in a sec”

He left the bathroom and returned with a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Putting them on the counter next to you, he crouched down and undid the straps on your heels, slipping them off your feet and then helping you down from the counter. “I’ll leave you to change”

When you came out of the bathroom, Colson was lying in his bed “Come here” he said, holding his arm and beckoning into his side. You crawled under the covers next to him and snuggled into him, his long arms wrapping around you.

“Col…” you said quietly

“Yeah?” he whispered back, stroking your hair off your forehead

“Thank you…”

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve always got you Y/N”

______

“I hated that fucking guy. That night...I wanted to kill him after what he’d done to you”

You see him tense up at the memory and you lean over and squeeze his knee “You’re such an amazing friend, do you know that. I don’t know what I would’ve done that night without you”

"You're a fucking warrior Y/N, you'd have handled your shit. I was just happy you trusted me enough to let me be there for you. You deserve so much better than that" he says, covering the hand you'd placed on his knee with his, staring you in the eyes and returning the smile that's crept across your face

"You know there's been a few punches I've wanted to dole out on behalf of you over the years, but you've never let me" you tell him

"Too right I'd never let you. I never want you in the drama, you're too good for getting caught up in that shit" he replies, pointing at you with mock sternness

"Hey" he says, seeing your expression wash over with a tint of sadness "At least the sleepless nights aren't what they were then…

… If we're gonna work through some old demons this lockdown, I'm sure I've got some songs and lyrics that have never seen the light of day" He reaches over the desk and pulls his laptop towards him "You've inspired me… "

"Oh no, are we gonna fuck our heads up with this?" you joke nervously, worrying that Colson's going to delve into something that's going to upset him

"Nah, I got you covered and you got me, right?"

"True dat" you say, as he holds his fist out so you can fistbump, his eyes now focused on his laptop screen

______

You felt kinda bad, having kept Colson up all night with you the last two nights, especially as you'd got him reminiscing about some tough memories, so tonight you tried to sneak past his room when your restlessness got the better of you.

"Nice try kid!" Colson says as he throws his bedroom door open, causing you to yelp in fright. standing there topless with his sweatpants hung low in his hips, he lights the joint hanging from his mouth "I told you we were in this together now"

"I felt bad, making you stay up with me"

"You didn't make me do shit…Wait a sec, let me find a hoodie. If I have any left in here…" he says, giving a pointed look towards the huge blue hoodie you were wrapped in before walking back into his room and rummaging through his drawers

"Oh shush, you have like a hundred…"

"Right come on" he says, pulling a pink hoodie over his head and flipping the hood up over his messy hair "Let's see what we get into tonight…"

______

And so the nights went on like this, the two of you falling into an easygoing studio routine. If there wasn't anything else going on in the house, you'd eat dinner together then head to the studio and work through the night into the small hours, skipping out the pretense of trying to sleep. You were both pretty productive at this time it seemed, both being proclaimed night owls, and keeping busy during these uncertain times was keeping your minds off the unfolding pandemic.

Considering he’d referred to his home studio in the past as the ‘rage cage’ (and it certainly could still be party central when the entire crew got involved), it was actually a place you drifted towards to relax these days. You’d always worked well together in a studio, but over the weeks spending so much time just the two of you, you became more in tune with each other, noticing when one of you had hit a wall and it was time for bed. Sometimes you'd work in comfortable silence, side by side, engrossed in your own seperate tasks. Sometimes barely any work would get done as you put the world to rights talking about anything and everything in a late night impromptu therapy session.

This evening, you'd been sitting cross legged in your chair for hours now, focusing so hard on editing a song which was driving you mad, you hadn't realised your feet had gone numb. As you try to move, your knees crack and pins and needles shoot through your legs. Colson looks up from the screen he'd been engrossed in after hearing you groan and sees you rubbing your feet trying to bring back the feeling to them

‘C’mere’ he said, before turning his chair towards you and leaning down to grab your legs, bringing your feet up onto his lap. He pulls your socks off and begins massaging your feet. You lean your head back, eyes closed and let out a long ‘hmmm’. You don’t see Colson glancing over at you and shifting in his seat as he lets out slow breath before turning back to his screen

“Now this is the kind of work session I could get used to”, you sighed "You being my studio bitch on hand for foot rubs. Although, I imagine this enjoyment goes both ways Mr Foot Lover” you tease, throwing him an exaggerated wink

Colson throws his head back with a hearty chuckle, and light heartedly slaps your calf

"Keep it in your pants Y/N"

You laugh and wiggle your toes, Colson letting out a dramatic, throaty groan in response. "Those are some sexy little toes though" he states, sticking his tongue out.

Still laughing, you put your hand to your chest, and gasp as you feign prudishness and try to pull your feet away. He grabs both your feet in one of his hands, keeping them in place then leans over the desk and pulls your laptop towards you

"Get on with some work you, this is supposed to be keeping you motivated, not distracted"

He scolds affectionately, with a smile on his face

“Okay, okay, spoilsport” you grumble as you pull your computer onto your lap

Half an hour passes, your legs still on Colson’s lap with him still massaging your feet absentmindedly with one hand while he works, and your eyes begin to feel heavy. You don’t realise you’ve fallen asleep, until you’re awoken by a “woah” from Colson as he catches your laptop which is about to fall. Taking it from your lap, he states “Right, time for bed you”

You check your phone and see it’s already 5:36am.

You stand up and stretch then walk over behind Colson, putting your arms around his shoulders, and resting your chin on his head. Looking at his screen, you yawn “You got much left to do?”

He leans back into you, bringing his hand up to rest on your arm, “Making some good progress so just gonna finish a couple of bits”

“Okay dude” you gently kiss the top of his head and squeeze the back of his neck a couple of times as you turn to leave “Try and get some rest, we’ve got a long day of sweet fuck all to do tomorrow” you say through another big yawn

“Heh yeah, Night Kid” he says softly, letting out a yawn himself. Colson turns and watches you head out of the studio and lets out a big sigh. Feeling the back of his neck still tingle from where you’d squeezed it, he’s suddenly aware of how empty the room feels without you in it....

______

Taglist: @triplexdoublex @thisshitisfuckingdifficult @brightblaqkkheaven

Lace Up! ❌❌

[doorsclosingslowly]

Your death is a number but I cannot count that high (13/16)

In which Maul learns what he has done to his brother.

3.8k | Zombie Savage AU | warning for graphic body horror

The world is sluggishly textured, a mess made of strings of gentle metal and rough sleazoid skin; the breath is soft, and Maul is safe. Tame fat cables undulate and rivets melt into him as if they had finally found their home. The skin does not recede either: it encloses Maul into its arms and soothes the worries in his hearts, the questions, the force battering against it, as green and swollen as summer wind. The skin and the steel are his brother, Maul realizes and has always known.

He must not have managed to catch himself, this time, before he tumbled down onto fallen Savage inside this half-remembered nightmare, must not have braced himself up and grabbed hold of his brother’s face. He must have failed his desperate attempt at controlling air and force and life.

Still, there are no wet gasps—no sounds at all, and no blood on a dirty Sundari floor that he left weeks ago.

There is no frivolous apology gasped out with a weak apprentice’s final breath.

Only the steel and the skin remain.

Maul’s hungry hand digs itself into the warm cables and dissolves into shrapnel, into gristle; the cilia of his lungs and the bone marrow and gut bacteria unravel eagerly into a boy that was never allowed to exist. A boy that is held—that is safe, here, for this moment that lasts forever, because this fleshy soup will not harm him: Savage would never, Savage loves him, and this tangle of sweet metal and worried bone and tender force that is melting Maul down with it is Savage, Maul has always known and remembers over and over with every jolt, every breath, every second the pain of being unguarded does not come.

Outside, the howling force and the spluttering green light churn and spin a cocoon.

Inside, they are safe. There is no more child in an empty facility, trained up to become a pointless attack dog by a malcontent liar. There is no first loss, no dissection, no empty exile. There is no vengeance. There is no heinous defeat at the hand of Maul’s—abuser—Master and there are no lightsabers piercing his brother’s—it’s not his, never was, this disfigured fake—chest and their hands do not have to hold on and cling to the one person they ever possessed. They do not have to stand back up and beg for mercy—they do not have to lie helpless and feel every millimeter of their useless torn ‘saber worm itself into their charred torso—they do not have to feel themselves tossed over and over into walls and floor before their Master carries them off to further torture—they do not have to wake up alone after they failed the one brother they had left—they do not have to lose their sisters, their mother, their clan—they do not have to mourn—they do not have to mourn—they do not have to mourn, here, they do not have to mourn, they are liquefied and safe. They are wrapped in each other, alloyed, and neither the force nor the Mother could assort what is left to make any coherent wholes again. Neither the force not the Mother could let one die and another survive, not when all that’s left of their lives is each other. They are amorphous and safe. They are cartilage and rivet and cortex, oleaginous and oozing and ready to eclose. They do not have to mourn.

They are safe.

They’re safe.

Safe. The feeling is terrific; terror-filled; tearing; suddenly, it is far too alien to bear. Safe. Safe? Reality lays its tumescent eggs into the goo of his conscious, eggs bursting and birthing memory and rationality and dread: bringing forth everything Lord Sidious has ever taught him. Safety is a lie. Maul has never been safe. There is no mercy. The very desire is debasement, pathetic for its infantile holdout against education, eradication. Life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short; it is impossible to bear, and the only reprieve is victory. Passion, strength, power, victory: and Maul but a loathsome worm who lost everything that could ever be taken from him. Legs. Purpose. Grace. Duty. Mother. Title. Planet. Brother, over and over again. Safe? There is no safety in a world of power and irrelevance, where those who wield might will slake their base desires using those who are weak. Where those who wield might will extirpate Maul’s brother before his very eyes and he can only scramble and beg, impotent wretch that he is, for the person he deluded himself into loving. It hurts. It hurts. It shouldn’t. Pain is no teacher, Maul reminds himself. It serves no purpose. He is but a failed apprentice to the Sith, and that dark power will never be his. Pain is pain is pain.

Hope serves no purpose either, save the acolyte’s attempt to protect herself. Savage lives, Ventress had said, and yet, Maul saw him on the cot motionless and her crouched over him with her ‘saber and he begged again and—it is but false hope. Hope is nothing but pain, pain deferred.

Maul’s head rests on the chest he is so sure belonged to his brother, and he forces his hearts to beat louder to drown out the silence where his own rhythm should meet an answer. It hurts. It shouldn’t. Pain is pain is pain, and there is no power to be gained from wallowing in it. From hoping.

He must open his eyes. The false safety will not return, however long he begs childlike again for his brother. The cocoon has disgorged him. He is in the lair of Sidious; he lies unconscious on the sacrificial altar of his brother’s corpse. He must open his eyes.

He does.

The torso looks much worse than it felt. The torso: adorned with Savage’s familiar markings, but that is not all it bears. From his vantage point resting right above the silent hearts, Maul catalogues open sores, suppurating and infested with shining maggots and dark worms, yet clear of any blood. And why should there be blood, when the dead do not bleed, and Savage is dead? Unutterable pain is inscribed gaudy and blatant on Savage’s body. On his brother, whom Maul had left for weeks, abjectly paralyzed by defeat and apathy and fear of his Master—had left him there for weeks, and Maul is learned enough in the decomposition and rot of humanoid bodies to recognize that Savage could not have died weeks ago. Of course, the rate of decay could have been affected by water contact, humidity, the presence or absence of certain insects, availability of oxygen, or heat—though if Master had had the corpse refrigerated for imaginative torments to visit on his failed apprentice, there should not be this many nimble insects inhabiting Savage’s carcass.

This many insects—the body is teeming with steel-shining creatures, far too massive for mere blowfly eggs, and yet there is no bloat. Maul runs his fingers over the belly, carefully pushing aside the shreds that remain of his brother’s old armor and prodding feather-light against unbroken skin, avoiding the edges of burns and slashes so as not to hurt—he cannot hurt a corpse, though the piteous superstition rides deep within him. He can’t hurt Savage. Anyway, Savage’s dead. Dead, but not for weeks. Not for days, even. Not for hours. No bloat. It should have started in the belly—unleashed enzymes should have broken down his intestinal walls—but the stomach is slightly pudgy, soft, warm, not turgid in the least. The muscles aren’t rigid. Its state does not match up with the steel-colored insects, heads like cross-recess screws—the steel-colored…

The corpse moves.

Hot air snorts against the top of Maul’s head, once, twice; the body underneath Maul shudders and stretches. Savage wakes the way he always did in the months he and Maul played at being crime lords, deeply unhappy with his sudden consciousness but far too dutiful to turn over and give in to sleep once more. A warm steel hand touches the back of Maul’s neck.

“This is a dream,” Savage’s familiar baritone rumbles.

Maul rears up and falls to the ground.

“Maul, is that really you? Where did you go?” Savage is sitting up now, the back of his right hand—the arm bisected by a deep wound and full of ferrous maggots though it was whole and hale when Maul last saw him—right hand carefully wiping sleep grit from his eyes. He yawns. “I have not seen you for so long. Is this a vision again? Tell me it is. Tell me where you are, brother. Please—”

Maul scuttles backwards.

“Brother?”

“Lord Maul?”

Voices, taunting. Maul has fallen for these tricks too often—fell for them again, just now, even though the naïve child apprentice was deceived and hurt so often that even he learnt one day not to trust the offerings of his Master. Hope is a foolish pursuit. In the wretched company of his honest brother and loyal fanatic Death Watch, he must have unlearned this most vital of lessons.

Hope is foolish. Mercy will not come. Maul is accustomed to agony.

And yet, he cannot bear this.

Savage’s corpse, moving, and did he not just wonder whether Master refrigerated it to prolong the torture…

“Fight me, Master,” Maul growls. Attempts to growl. It comes out as a plea, a whine, a sob. “Fight me. Kill me. There is no need for puppetry.”

“Brother—”

“Lord Sidious, what do you gain from—”

“Lord Maul! ‘Alor! Maul!”

Rook Kast enters the edges of his narrowed darkening vision, Kast who does not serve Sidious, or does she—? Maul has trusted his senses before, trusted his followers, and it led him here. If even Savage, his apprentice, his brother, was turned into a tailor-made torture, how could he ever discern… how…

A prick in his neck, he must fight, and—

Maul is kneeling on the floor. His head aches, the edges of his vision still bruised—tell-tale sedation. His back is braced against a warm solid chest, and there are yellow-black-metal arms poised at his sides, ready to help hold him up if he should buckle but otherwise not caging him in. Well-practiced, a caution born of prior experience when a feverish Maul attempted to fight his way free, and… Savage would not have shared this knowledge. He would not use it to further the ends of Maul’s Master, Maul’s abuser as he always says. He wouldn’t.

“I apologize for the tranq dart, Lord Maul,” Kast says. She is kneeling as well, a few meters away. “You were having a panic—you were growing slightly discomfited.”

The tips of Savage fingers dance along Maul’s forearm, a comforting gesture. Master would not have known this type of contact soothes Maul. He has never treated—or even witnessed Maul ever before being touched with any kind of gentleness.

“Apology granted,” Maul says.

“What you were saying before—Sidious isn’t here. He’s on Coruscant.” Kast shrugs her shoulders. “While you were—indisposed, I had an instructive conversation with Ventress and the captive General. We are in agreement that Sidious must die. We were waiting for you to wake up before we discuss strategy.”

Sidious is on Coruscant.Where they will fight him. Nobody here is in his employ—they are all his enemies. It must be true, if Savage doesn’t object, because despite the lifetimes of pain inscribed in his brother’s open wounds, the confused state of decay, the person guarding Maul’s back is Savage. Master would never have managed to imitate his mannerisms, his gentle care. Savage is far too alien, too unlike anyone Maul has ever met.

Sidious is on Coruscant. Far away. Too far to hurt Maul. It is a boneless relief—Savage’s hand braces him carefully—and yet… And yet, Kast wants him to discuss strategy for an attack against the unassailable eternal Master of the Sith. She still does not grasp that attacking Sidious is suicide, and neither do her compatriots. She does not understand that finding Savage far away from Him is all they ever could have hoped for; that all the future holds for them now is a desperate scramble to avoid arousing any notice every again, if they want to live. Kill Sidious? Kast is delusional.

If Maul owes any loyalty to Death Watch, for helping retrieve his brother, he must dissuade her. He must tell them again about Sidious. He follows.

On the walk over to the war room, Maul attempts surreptitiously to catalogue his brother’s injuries. It’s not easy, since Savage wordlessly fell into his usual position of guarding Maul’s back, albeit walking much closer behind than he would have, earlier, so close that he would get in the way should Maul have to veer around to protect himself. A tactical mistake, though Maul is not inclined to correct it. He himself is trying to subtly glance over his shoulder. He could order Kast and Savage to halt, so Maul could visually inspect his brother, but then Savage might attempt to engage him in a conversation he does not know how to have. The weeks apart have unbalanced their easy relationship—Savage’s torture has, and Maul’s desperate search, the revelation of how deeply he values his brother—and a repeat conversation about the awful might of the Sith Master is much easier to have than whatever words Savage might expect. So he does not stop.

He listens, instead. The rhythm of Savage’s steps betrays no hidden pain, though they are a fraction more frequent, as if something had shortened his strides.

Maul chooses his path so that he passes under a low-hanging light fixture, and Savage clears it without bumping his head.

Savage’s breath is calm and measured; he does not falter once; he effortlessly matches Maul when Maul speeds up.

He follows behind Kast and Maul into the war room.

Saxon and Jagrub are in there, as well as a random Clone Trooper, Asajj Ventress, and—

Kenobi.

“I was warned that you would show up,” Kenobi says.

Maul bares his teeth.

Behind him, Savage growls. Suddenly, he is so close that Maul can feel the warmth of his skin against his back. Dark cables flare around him to form a makeshift cocoon guarding Maul, and the air crackles dangerous and green.

“In this moment, we have a common enemy. I wish to dispatch this Sidious as fast as humanly possible. I am reliably informed that Sidious did not exactly treat you with kindness, either. He is my priority. I am prepared to forget our—” Kenobi looks pained— “our history, as long as this threat is defanged.”

Maul feels the air vibrate against his skin. He and Savage managed to take on Kenobi once before, though after they had laid a trap, and Maul is still muddled and buoyed by the aftershocks of his dream and Savage’s marked by weeks of unknown torture. They have allies here, but Dooku’s acolyte will likely side with Kenobi again, and Death Watch are resourceful but they still lack the force entirely, and might as well be discounted in a duel of Sith and Jedi. Kenobi and Ventress against Maul and Savage, again. And Savage’s still injured. Kenobi targeted Savage’s weak defenses in the fight on Florral, and Savage was in a decent form then and still tore a knee and lost his arm. He is weaker now, and his survival far more tenuous given Maul doesn’t even know the full extent of his injuries yet. In a fight, Kenobi will most likely kill him. Maul just found his brother impossibly alive after weeks of torture, and Kenobi would…

It’s a calculation Maul never before had to make, because his death would have furthered the ends of the Sith or have proven he did not deserve life in the first place, but Savage was just returned to his side. Even if the demise of a weakling is well-deserved, it would make tactical sense to retreat until he is at full strength once more, wouldn’t it?

“A temporary alliance until we find Sidious is all I propose. Believe me, I’m not happy either.”

Savage would die if Maul attacks now. The walls and the floor swirl in the corner of Maul’s eyes, a faint green vortex—Ventress takes an alarmed step towards him—Savage would die, and Maul wants to murder Kenobi and he wants his brother as far from Sidious as possible and so he says—

“Lord Sidious will asphyxiate us with His mind. Attacking Him is suicide.”

“The Jedi have exterminated plenty of Sith before.”

Maul breathes. In, out, in. He does not remember tasting the ashes of the dead of Malachor. He doesn’t. He would kill Kenobi if he did. And Savage would…

“I fought you,” he growls instead. “I fought you on Naboo and you barely won. I fought you on Raydonia and you needed the aid of Ventress to escape; I fought you on Florral and you barely won, and on Mandalore I beat you.”

Kenobi looks angry. “On Mandalore—” He swallows his words. “Barely, you say? I seem to remember that you were barely half a Sith when I finished with you.”

Savage rests his shuddering hand against Maul’s back. Maul hardly even feels it.

“You barely beat me,” he repeats, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing but a hooded man laughing. “My Master squashed me like a bug. He could do anything He wanted to me, right until I deployed to Naboo, and He toyed with Savage and me on Mandalore despite any skills we might have learned. I watched Him skewer Savage, and I know it was not happenstance but His brag that He controlled every moment of our battle. The power of Lord Sidious dwarfs every single one of us, and He will beat all of us together.”

Kenobi is quiet, but just when Maul begins to hope he has finally met a rational creature, he says, “What can Sidious do against a foe who does not die?”

Maul growls again. He bared his vulnerabilities to prevent a predictable massacre, and Kenobi spins fairytales?

But Kenobi keeps on talking, “You created a technobeast, Maul. Are you too squeamish to use it?”

A technobeast: part machine, part organic Sithspawn mutant. Lord Sidious was not impressed with Maul’s fascination for this area of force manipulation, back when Maul’s studies focused of the elementals of Sith history and technique instead of practicalities for carrying out his Master’s plans. Nevertheless, He allowed Maul the study, if only for the reason that droid mechanics and forceful manipulations of machines was occasionally useful. Technobeasts, Maul recalls, are created by infecting living organisms with the nanogene spore, a technovirus developed through a combination of Sith alchemy and a Force technique called mechu-deru. The virus grows metallic tumors over the bodies of its victims, ultimately lobotomizing their brains and transforming them into weaponized cyborgs. Metallic tumors… like worms that resemble cables, and maggots made from screws.

Does Kenobi mean to imply…

“I entered Savage’s mind and saw it,” Kenobi says. His eyes are heavy, sad, disgusted. “You can deny your crime all you want. I saw you transform your own brother into a zombified machine slave. If you did not mean to use your immortal weapon to take on your Sith Master and take his place, then why did you use mechu-deru on Savage Opress?”

The maggots and worms inside Savage: of course they bore such resemblance to metal. Maul has worked on enough droids and speeder bikes and ships. He should have recognized their components. He remembers that moment on the floor in Sundari palace, reaching for every animating power he could to just keep Savage breathing for a second longer: and Maul has always felt the movement in inert matter, has felt the force presence of droids and ships and treated mechu-deru as a fact of life. And mechu-deru and Talzin’s magic were the only force powers animating inanimate matter, after all. So when he reached out back then…

If Kenobi is right, then Savage is dead, and yet Maul brought him back. Maul took away the vulnerabilities of mortal flesh, and changed his apprentice forever. He plugged up every injury with metal, and every further injury will be fixed with more metal still. Maul has power. He could make the choice Kenobi has already condemned him for. He could use his brother against his Master. He could be safe. With Savage changed, undead, undying, they could kill Sidious, and they would not have to live forever terrified of his reprisal. He could…

The warm hand on Maul’s back retreats.

Maul turns around. Savage looks down at him, one eye tender and worried, the other a crater of sluggish shrapnel.

He still had both eyes when he died.

Mechu-deru is a dark art for a reason. It does not respect bodily integrity, consent, independence. It is never mutual but always imposed by the strongest. It is Sith. To infect a living creature with nanospores means lobotomizing their frontal lobe and rendering them incapable of higher thought. Nothing more than a weapon. Savage might be more powerful now, but truly, has Maul ever valued him for his power? The person who found Maul on Lotho Minor and whom he took on as an apprentice was a decent fighter, certainly, and strong but unpracticed in the force, but Maul treated him the way he did because Savage threw him food in the freighter when he was still spider-bellied and insane with pain. Savage sang him songs and tried not to hurt him. Savage was gentle and he cooked inedible food, and he was the only person Maul could turn his back to and sleep leaning up against, because Savage was not just a powerful apprentice, but his brother, his brother whom he claimed when he lowered guard long before he could even acknowledge the word. Before anything, Savage was his brother.

And Maul turned him into a technobeast.

There are thousands of primitive legends a brainless Savage will never be able to whisper at night. Thousands of bad recipes he will never try. Thousands of smiles that will never grace his face.

Every injury will draw in more metal, until there is nothing of Savage left.

Lord Sidious controlled every inch of Maul’s life when he was young, chose his food and his clothing and knowledge and training and, on Mustafar at the very least, the very air supply. But for want of skill or knowledge of the option, Master never possessed his apprentice as utterly as this.

It’s not conditioning nor fear of punishment that leads to loyalty, no: Maul inserted his will into Savage with the very metal that keeps him alive. There is no choice for his brother now but to obey.

No other option.

Not even death.

For the first time in his life Maul has surpassed Lord Sidious.

In the realization there is nothing but shame.

Feeling cold as a glacier, he allows his eyes to stare straight for the first time at the monster he built out of the only person who ever loved him.

[hibiscuswrites]

Jacob Seed NSFW Alphabet

**Sorry babies. I meant to have this up last night and I fell asleep 😕 ** 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s not overly lovey-dovey. He inspects you, makes sure that you’re ok. He can be rough sometimes, and sometimes he gets caught up in the moment and doesn’t recognize his own strength. So he checks you over after, looking for any bruises or bites. He cleans you up, never forgetting to playfully run the washcloth over your clit just a little too roughly so he can see you jump. Once you’re clean, he’s back next to you, tugging you into his side, having you rest your head on his chest or shoulder. He wraps one arm around you, thumb grazing over the skin of your back and arm. He doesn’t talk much other than to make sure you’re ok.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you, it sounds odd considering how intense he can be, but he loves your back. Sure, your breasts and ass are easily close favorites, but there’s just something about your back that does him in. The curves and lines, the softness in some parts and the rigidity in others. He loves being able to lean forward when he’s taking you from behind and kiss long your spine when he’s being gentle, or bite marks into your shoulder when he’s not. He runs his fingers gently down your spine when you grind down on top of him softly and he rakes them down leaving angry red lines when you’re riding him like a wild bull. Your back is just his favorite.

On him, it’s hard to pick. Even though your body is different, to him a body is just a machine. Meat with a purpose that needs to serve practically. But now that he has you, his chest is his favorite because it’s your favorite. He sees how your pupils dilate when you look at it, how you trace your fingertips over it when you lay in bed together or even when he’s just standing in front of you. He loves the strength of it, the muscle and how so much power comes from it and that easily makes it his favorite.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

It’s a toss-up between finishing inside of you or on your tummy. There’s just something about seeing himself painted across your skin, the vulgarity of it plus how proudly you wear it. Finishing inside of you is up there too though. Now that he knows you’re completely his, he wants to make it known and putting a baby in you is for sure one way to do it. Granted, it’s the act that gets him off more than the actual prospect of being a father. It really just depends on the day.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s thought about fucking you in Joseph's church once or six times. He just loves the idea of it. He’s extremely hesitant to do it because he’d never want to disrespect Joseph, but the thought is definitely one that gets him going. It’s not too much of a secret though because he whispers it into your ear when he’s leaving the sermons with you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s got a little. He probably enjoyed his freedom when he finally got away from the Duncan’s and decided to enjoy life both then as a free man and as a soldier. Of course, it likely stopped when he was discharged and found himself homeless and now with all of his responsibility, sex wasn’t something that held importance until you. He likes to explore and find what you like so he can be good for you, and both his stamina and intensity will more than make up for any lack of experience he may have.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Taking you from behind period. Whether its doggy style or prone bone, he loves hovering over you, being in full control, having you submit to him. He loves towering over and calling the shots

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He can be playful and teasing if the moment allows. He’s never overly serious unless it’s a quickie or he’s teaching you a lesson. He likes to tease you, throw in light degradation if you’re into it and heavy degradation if you really love it. He will sometimes chuckle at you, usually when he finds a wet spot on your panties or when he gets you whining and pouting because you’re so needy.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He’s a mountain man. He will trim up just a little if he knows it’s becoming a red jungle, but it’s always more for your sake really. Enough to not be messy, but still noticeably clear that he’s a man. Ya know, the whole animal thing.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He can be romantic when he puts thought into it. He wasn’t given the privilege to experience relationships and intimacy on the levels that John and Joseph were. It takes a bit more work and thought for him and he’s romantic in how own way. Taking you for hikes, taking you hunting, taking you shooting. Those are ways that he bonds with you. Coming home with a deer slung over his shoulders for you to make stew is a romantic gesture in his eyes. He knows he is likely not the most romantic dude ever, but he does try, and he adjusts depending on what he sees does it for you. If he’s really in for the long haul, he’ll do what he has to do to provide you with the intimacy and romance that works for you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’s got no problem rubbing one out on his one. He’s a busy man, has a lot on his plate. Not only is he the main protector when it comes to his brothers and Faith, but he’s also in charge of training those who are to protect the Project and that isn’t a job that he takes lightly. Whether Joseph is right or not, whether the collapse is coming or not, he has a job and he’s going to make sure that he does it well. That being said, he’s a man with needs and he doesn’t want those needs to get in the way of serving his purpose. He jacks off whenever he gets hard and you aren’t there, sometimes even when you are. He reserves sex for when he knows he has the time and availability and it isn’t uncommon for him to tell his men not to interrupt him for a little while then the need does strike.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise kink, orgasm denial, overstimulation, degradation, breeding kink, use of literal pet names

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He literally doesn’t care. At home? Cool. In his truck? Fine. On the floor in the woods? Alright. On top of his desk? A-Okay. When he wants you, he’ll have you, no matter where you two are. Now of course if that’s something that you aren’t into then he will go somewhere more suitable for you. If he had to pick a favorite, he’d probably go with the kitchen counter. He likes having you bent over, feet dangling, completely at his mercy.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It doesn’t take much. He’s so into you, always ready for you, he can get hard from your smile. You touching him softly, babying him even if he says he doesn’t like it, seeing you with a gun,

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He wouldn’t share you with anyone. He may be ok with someone catching a glimpse when he’s so hot for you he can’t bother to really hide, but over his dead body is another person going to have their hands on you, touching what’s his.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

It's 50/50. Sometimes he loves nothing more than having you on your knees for him, hearing you gag while he thrusts into your mouth, thumb reaching out to brush away a tear. But the others, being in your mouth doesn’t even occur to him because all he wants is to bury his face between your thighs and leave beard burns on the sensitive skin while he tastes you.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s usually more rough and fast. Sometimes his pace will be slower, more about working his hips as opposed to pumping straight in and out of you, but the force behind it is often still that rough, deep technique that gets your thighs shaking.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s cool with them. Due to how busy he can be, he likes being able to take you quickly when he doesn’t have much time. Whether it’s you surprising him at the Center for lunch or offering yourself up in the morning before he heads out, he’s more than game to have a quickie. Sometimes, depending on how much of a dick Rook is being that week, he may have a handful of quickies with you just to relieve the stress and anger.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He loves to experiment. He loves trying new things, touching you in new ways, in new places. He’ll take you on his desk in the Center, on the floor in the woods, somewhere in or around John’s ranch just to piss him off. He isn’t nearly as put off by being discovered as the other two. Sure, he would never want someone leering at you and watching outright, but the thought and thrill of being caught do spice things up a little.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Though he may be older, his stamina is still very much that of a younger man. He still keeps in shape, works hard, and knows how to master mind over matter. Being in the sack is the same. He always makes sure to leave you satisfied and since he is a little old fashioned, he always makes you come first. But he has no issues trying to go again if you want. He includes excessive foreplay as well as denial, so encounters last for a good while.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He’s more of a “what do you need that for when you have me?” kinda dudes, but once he does include one in bed with you, he’s hooked. He loves using a wand on you until you’re begging him to take it away, or stroking himself while he sits in a chair, watching you try your best to satisfy yourself with the toy pretending it’s him. He gets off on it then, loving to include toys because he sees the frustration and how much you wish he was inside of you instead.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

On a scale of 1-10, good old Jake is a solid 13. He loves hearing you beg for him. He’s notorious for making you wait forever to come, only to force orgasm after orgasm from you once he does. He teases you physically and he teases you verbally. It depends on your taste and limits how far his verbal teasing goes. It can be mild and more condescending, “Look how wet you are, pup. Doesn’t take much does it?” to being more degrading and vulgar, “Such a little slut. Can’t even last a few minutes without needing to be stuffed full.” No matter what, he’ll find a way that works so he can tease.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make

His voice is quiet, low rumbles in your ear that makes shivers run down your spine. But his noises are much louder, full growls and deep moans that leave you feeling the vibration of his chest against you. He’s animalistic both in technique and vocalization during sex.

W = Wild Card (Random Headcannon)

He loves when you surprise him at the Veterans Center, perched up on his desk with no panties. You showing up anywhere with no panties is more than welcome but on his desk? Right there on top of his papers? Bare feet resting on his thick thighs while you spread yourself for him? As much as he likes to believe he doesn’t have any, it’s a weakness of his for sure.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

You know damn well he’s packing. He’s god BDE without trying and it isn’t without accuracy. Probably curves up just a little.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His drive isn’t the issue, its more a matter of time. He wishes he had more time and freedom because his drive is still where it was in his 20’s. It doesn’t take much to get him ready for you and not having sex a few times a week is rare. Even when he’s tired and just wants to sleep, he’s rather easy to work up.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

It depends. Sometimes he’s out quickly, snoring before you even have settled your breath, while others he lays there forever, sleep evading him. Sometimes he reflects on you and your love and how different but good his life has turned out. On those nights sleep finds him easily. Sometimes his mind returns to the war, and Miller, the beatings he took as a child, and all of the suffering he endured so that he could find his purpose. On those nights, the sun is coming up once again and he’s barely gotten a wink.

FC5 @belle82devart​

General @a-dorky-book-keeper​  @jigsawlover10​  @titty-teetee​ @crushed-pink-petals-writes​ @felicity-x0​ @vibranium-soul​ @ateliefloresdaprimavera​

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Intoxicating: Drunk!Jacob Frye x Reader

Merry Christmas! I hope everyone has a lovely new year!

So, I’ve never played the AC games but I have watched walkthroughs and have always enjoyed the games, but recently, I rewatched AC Syndicate and never acknowledged a growing obsession for the younger of the Frye twins. 

I have decided to do an imagine with this handsome and drunk man. The reader is an assassin moved after living in England and now lives in America, but has come back to London after letters from Henry Green. Enjoy!

This wasn’t the first time you had seen him drunk. And the very first time you had witnessed it, it wasn’t as disastrous as this.

You had joined the London brotherhood after receiving urgent letters from the only assassin in the capital, Henry Green months ago from America, begging you for your return with the chaos and downfall to the Brotherhood and lack of potential help whilst Templar control took over.

You were urgently more than pleased to return back to the country you had been raised in, but after being moved to America with your attention, you didn’t think you would ever come back.

You were more than surprised to see that you were not the only assassin who had received the message, and upon arriving in London after years of being away, you ran into twin assassins; specifically, you had remembered their decease father and his work.

Little by little - and with the naive plan to start their own gang - you took back London and the boroughs, all with thanks to the increasing recruits of The Rooks.

Bit by bit, you were just as adamant on gaining control against Crawford Starrick and Starrick Industries.

After being in London for a few months and getting used to the English weather once again, it was amusing regarding working with the Frye twins at first, and how differently they behaved from one another.

Evie the oldest was the more serious and studious to her brother, carefully plotting out missions with patience and steadiness. You were at first wary working with her but found that she was caring and thoughtful, thinking to the people and children that lived in orphanages and working in gruelling conditions.

And then there was the youngest, Jacob. Where do I start with him? He was certainly more head-on, - like a bull in a China shop you remember Henry Green quoting - brash yet with an oh-so-charming personality. 

You had been blessed (you could call it that) to work with him on missions in both assassinating templar leaders and gaining control over gang territories, and in those many times you had, you had almost been killed from his audacious behaviour.

After hearing of another successful gain from The Rooks in claiming a full borough with so little casualties, everyone who had been recruited had gone out on a night to the pub, and after promising to ring up Jacob to Evie, you were more than terrified in knowing what you would find upon your arrival.

Getting to the Duke of York pub was easy, thanks to the noise of drunken men loitering around both inside and outside, the men and women were loud but pleased in seeing you here with them.

It was amazing to see how these people were so loyal to both Jacob and the assassins, and it amused you, to say the least how Jacob was so charming to rouse the restless.

Speaking of the assassin, you hadn’t spotted him entirely too quickly, but with some quick nudges from some of the men you knew that they had spotted you in here, you were quick to find his location.

He was situated and crowded around a bunch of men, chugging ale and lager and all sorts of disgusting beverages down in a gambling game, those gathered and cheering Jacob and the man he was competing against.

You took a glance at the number of pints they had emptied, and after asking a female rook for the reason behind this, she had told you that the boss was interested in trying to boast to everyone about how much he could guzzle without even feeling tipsy.

You were not that surprised in finding out how much of a light-weight Jacob was.

“Mr Frye,” Your voice brought those around you to turn to look on you, glazed eyes humming in your presence, “ how pleasant it is to see you this evening.”

His appearance could’ve been mistaken for his normal messiness, his top hat barely sitting properly on his head, collapsed in his seat with his clothes looking slightly more disorderly than usual; as if he had been trying to take layers off but gave up.

“Miss Y/N, how lovely to see you at this hour.” Jacob’s words didn’t slur, but from his body language, he was barely even able to keep his head up, slumped against another male rook to his left. “I would’ve kept some lager for you… but it seems I drank it all.”

“No need, I’m here to pick you up and take you back to your sister. You have some discussions with her on a particular mission tomorrow, and I’m sure she’ll be most… abjured by your appearance.”

“Yes, yes, less talking about my sister, I’m just happy to see you here. Can it not wait longer? James and I were going to participate in a shooting competition, we need someone to keep track of points.” The assassin groaned, trying to pull himself up as he slouched his ale around the table.

Heavens no, an abbreviated Jacob with a pistol are two of the last things to be mixed together. You dreaded, leaning over the table surrounded by others, and successfully prying the pint glass out of his grasp.

Jacob made a sound similar to a kicked puppy: a low whine sounded from the back of his throat, as he tried to grasp back at his drink taken, his beautiful hazel eyes wide in desperation. “But Y/NNNN-”

“No buts, come, I don’t want to drag you out in front of your rooks, do I?” You questioned, your voice trying to hide the amusement over the current affair.

You heard around you the snickers of other men, some taking side glances and whispering to one another not so quietly, all delighted by the entertainment. Choosing to ignore them for now, you could only imagine that it was just drunk men happily watching a sober assassin try to move one of their partners.

Jacob let out another whine, one you had heard many times when he was wrong in comparison to Evie; a sound of defeat. “Fine, you’re starting to spend too much time with her, I say. I do need to get up anyway, been dying for a piss.”

“Charming Mr Frye.” You mused, taking a step back to watch as Jacob attempted to climb over the other Rooks from his corner of the room, hearing the sounds of others groaning and trying to not be trampled over.

“Miss, will you need any assistance taking the boss home?” You turned to see two larger men you were familiar with in assisting in gang wars with Jacob; men twice as tall and beefer than the canned preservative.

“No need gentlemen, how bad can it be dragging him back?”

-

You watched the drunken songs being sung outside and inside the pub you had stepped out from, the night air nipping at your skin and face as you buddled up, watching as some sort of bodyguard as Jacob did his business in an adjacent alleyway.

“Come now, spill it out, how much did Evie pay for you to come to see me like this?” Jacob’s voice carried itself through the alleyway out into the open air you were standing in.

“Nothing, I have seen you in this state before. Just… not so bad.” You eyes glanced to the stumbling, a mutter of a curse word under Jacob’s breath as he stabilised himself with a hand to the wall for balance. “Does she usually pay those to see you like this?”

“Hang on, when did you see me like this the first time?” Jacob retorted dryly from the darkness. “The drunken bet, were you fought some men in the streets shirtless? I saw you run past.”

Jacob made a noise of a chuckle, zipping up as he turned to look back on you. “You were impressed weren’t you?“ He grinned, and even in this light with little of the streetlights dimming, his hazel eyes shone more like coppers mixed with brown.

“Hmm, not in the slightest.” You laughed, earning a pout in return to your remark. Jacob whispered something along his breath, too softly spoken for you to hear that he had asked you something else, maybe in regards to that evening?

“Come now, you’re freezing.” He stated, pulling away to stand away from the wall he pissed against. You noted he seemed to know where he was going, the alleyway was always a shortcut he knew more than you, but you were getting used to being in alleyways late at night.

“I’ve been worse Mr Frye-”

“Jacob. Stop with this politeness. You’re not in front of Evie or even Greenie.” His voice was low on him, lower and more sultry as if he was putting it on for effect for you.

You smirked and rolled your eyes when you took you aside to a different corner, taking your hand into his, and breathing over them to keep them warm. “I appreciate the offer, Jacob, we’ll be back on the train if we hurry up.”

“What is there to hurry for? For me to be nagged at when I return?” You knew that smirk he put on when he wanted his own way, his charm-factor had risen into the hundreds just so he could get you to not resist.

“Wouldn’t you want a little fun Y/N? The night is still young.”

His face hung lower to your own, and from this angle, you could see just how much his pupils had blown wide, some sly look waiting and bubbling in those eyes.

You hummed in thought, it wouldn’t hurt to just spend a couple of minutes away without having to return to the train, right?

You looked at him, neither one of you budging to break eye contact. “You can start by attempting to warm me up.”

“Oh, I can think of many ways of doing that.” chortled Jacob with a purr as he blew wind just below your ear, taking you to his chest as he wrapped the outside flaps of his coat around you in an attempt to keep you warm.

Facing inwards to him did keep you protected from the cold, and you wouldn’t deny that you did enjoy the feel of being this close to him. You could smell the ale strong on his breath, mingled with something muskier but mild to not make you turn your nostrils up at it.

“Is this helping?” He whispered close to your ear, keeping you taut in his arms, “Or do I need to resort to other solutions?”

“I’m sure there are ways of keeping me warm back on the train, hmm?” You suggested, pawing at his torso with needy fingers. “A nice cup of tea, and blanket? Maybe if I don’t tell on you, you can be my little cupbearer?”

“You can always give me an… reasonable reward?” He purred, nipping at your earlobe. “Something that we’ll keep the both of us warm?”

Your body was flush to his, his body leant into you and you have to keep him up. You were enjoying the thrill of hiding from his Rooks, the thought of being caught with their boss was something you couldn’t help indulge on.

“Hurry up then and we can get to the train quick, without me having to drag you all around London.”

“Okay love,” he sang, “as long as I get to have you as soon as.”

-

You heaved and pushed an unconscious Jacob onto his own bed, holding yourself up as you tried catching your breath. After passing out and having to attempt to make a return, you had to resort to taking a carriage and ride him back inside of it.

You didn’t want to imagine the possibility of the police catching you in the act of kidnapping a drunk and unconscious man and throwing him into a carriage, you wouldn’t have been too pleased in having to run faster than them.

You groaned heavily, moving to Jacob’s side as you jabbed him, resulting in the groggy man muttering nonsense to you about trying to stay awake.

You even managed to hide him away from Evie– ooh the nerve of this man! He had to make it up to you in some way-

“Up with your arms sleepy head.” You had successfully pulled at his jacket and tie, trying to throw off his shirt as he tiredly lifted his arms up.

“Hhhgh, Y/N– keep me warm,” Jacob muttered in gibberish, swaying from side to side as he tried to grab at you with a hand. You were too quick for him, leaping out of his way as you grabbed at his hat and threw it to the side.

“I think that’s the point Jacob, you should be keeping me warm.”

“But love, I can’t if you’re not here.” He threw himself back onto the bed, eyes just wide enough that you could see the puppy dog eyes come out. 

“Come here.” He patted the available space next to him.

“Jacob, you’re not that drunk to know from your lefts to your rights, so you’re certainly not that drunk to— hey! Hands off!” 

In the knick of time, Jacob had once again grabbed at you whilst you were speaking, throwing you with his hands around your waist as he threw you back onto the bed, him following soon after to throw himself on top of you.

“Shut up love.” He gruffly spoke against your neck, pressing hot kisses into your exposed skin, hands not seeming to stop in moving over you.

“Jacob, god sake, you can at least kiss me if you’re going to tease me.”You whined, throwing your arms around his neck as you initiated the kiss by pulling him back up to meet you in a feverish kiss, tongues and all.

His sideburns were wispy and ticklish along your cheeks, but you didn’t care, running your fingers in his hair and gaining a stifled groan from him.

Your hands explored his exposed body, fingers dipping over his back muscles, pulling him closer to you if possible as the two of you didn’t break from kissing one another.

“What time did you say you had to go out tomorrow morning?” You gave enough space to ask him, his own lips moving back down towards your neck as he unbuckled the front of your corset and shirt with fumbling fingers.

With a cocky grin, the assassin on top of you looked so predatory above you, with lustful eyes that made you think that he was never to begin with drunk, or the soberness was kicking back in.

With a lick of his lips, his natural charm returned, never failing to make you swoon and your knees buckle.

“I won’t tell Evie if you don’t get me in trouble.”

[swordliger]

Thatcher ABC Headcanons

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

If it was a short go, he usually makes up for it with soft face and neck kisses. Soft touches along his partner's back and thighs are a must as he keeps them close. If it was a long round, he usually lays flat out exhausted. Just telling his partner how much he adores them.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Thatcher is very proud of his torso. One, he is still in great shape for his age and he is fairly sensitive there. Isn't above having his pecs getting some attention, one quick way to get him in the mood. On his partner he loves the mouth. Loves seeing his fingers or dick in their mouth, the way their lips 'curve so perfectly around him'

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Oh boy, hope you keep towels nearby. Thatcher loves painting his partner with his cum, which wouldn't be too bad if the man didn't cum like a racehorse. As for getting cum on him, he'd prefer on a easy to clean spot like the chest and stomach or his ass. Not one for cumming inside his partner, or himself, feels it takes too long to clean up.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He never tells anyone this out right, and will only hint he likes it if his partner stumbles on this, but he loves having his taint sucked and lightly nipped. So the chances of this little sensation being indulged are pretty low.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh he's got experience, and he is not afraid to use it. He knows how to extend a partner's pleasure, and sometimes that means he denying an orgasn or two from them first. But he knows it will make the actual orgasm so much better.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Thatcher is a simple man. Missionary is one of his top 3. Being able to place kisses on his lovers neck and seeing all of their facial expressions really helps edge him on. Cowboy/Cowgirl is also a good one whether he is giving or receiving.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He was always taught sex was a passionate and somewhat sacred act, but younger partners show him the funner side to the moment and he has loosened up. Plus funny sounds and positioning mishaps happen and he can't hide the laughs they bring.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Thatcher is a decently hairy man. His chest has a bit of fur growing, but it's not excessive. Thatcher does like to keep everything in order. So along with keeping his beard trimmed, his nether region gets the same pampering treatments. Besides, he doesn't want a stray hair to ruin the mood.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He starts off very passionate. Tender kisses, soft caresses and a very loving demeanor. (Unless the moment was sparked by teasing and the two are unable to withhold themselves.) As he goes on and gets closer to his climax, he tends to get a lot more animalistic.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Mike typically doesn't need a visual aid to masturbate, and he uses the sessions as a stress reliever more than anything. But for some reason if he doesn't indulge himself in a little ball play, his orgasm isn't as satisfying. This means another session before the day is over.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Nipple play on himself. His torso and pecks are already super sensitive so adding a little pinch, ice or heat is a sure fire way to get him going. He is also a fan of training. Helping his partner learn how to take him completely. Coaching them and praising them just helps edge him to a more powerful orgasm.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Likes more private spaces, his bedroom or car in a secluded spot. And having a good amount of space is a plus so that repositioning is never an issue.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Thigh highs and garters believe it or not. Something about that get up with a few neck and chest kisses will have him rock solid within seconds.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bindings. He refuses to wear them. Would love to use them on his partner but lives by the rule 'if I won't do it, I won't force them to'. But if his partner asks and is enthusiastic about it, sure.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Mike loves receiving, especially if his partner has little to no gag reflex and is more than able/willing to swallow him down. Not the biggest fan of giving, but don't mistake that for him being inexperienced. He can leave his partner in a puddle of their own mess before even entering with his fingers or cock.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

If he is topping, he will start off slow, easing his partner to his size (he knows he's bigger than average) then he will pick up the pace. If he is on the bottom, he likes for his partner to go slow, loving the fact he can feel everything his partner is making him feel

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickies are only with oral. He's not one for going all the way if he can't fully make his partner squirm.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He's not super risky naturally. However if his partner is a bit more wild, he will try out new things. If they fall within his comfort zone of course. The most he will push on his own is semi public sex.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

If he spent the day on his boat, he usually doesn't last very long, no more than a few minutes. If he hasn't been on the boat, expect much longer sessions and at least two back to back. He aims to wear out his partner before a little rest and then coming back for more.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He owns vibrators now, after some intense encouraging from his partner. He is still weary to use it on himself but he loves using them on his partner. But when he is convinced to let the vibrator be used on him, he typically has the most intense and ecstasy filled orgasms he can remember.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Teasing while in the mood is typically where all of his teasing energy goes. Love nips, nipple pinching, making his partner beg, it will all happen. Dirty text is a rare occasion, unless he is far from his partner and desperately missing their company. And dirty talk isn't something he does while others are around. Now if he is feeling especially frisky, quick whispers that leave his partner red will happen

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Loud! Moaning, oh yeah. Growling, you bet. Deep throaty grunts, he's an animal baby. But don't expect a lot of dirty talk however. He's not one for doing it constantly, saving it mostly for during the foreplay.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Rook is a medical assistant in training under Doc's watchful eye.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

I'd say he's above average all the SAS are hung like elephants sitting at 6.5 in(16.5cm)

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Surprisingly high for his old age. He tries to act as though he can control himself but if his partner gives him a certain look or kisses him in the right spot, he is erect before he can even attempt to hide it.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Thatcher does his best to stay awake for a few minutes longer with his partner, mostly so they can both get cleaned up and of course to share a few cuddles and whispered sweet nothings.

[blooming-atlas]

Proposal

Characters/Pairing: Deputy/John Seed

Plot: In which Rook decides to follow Sharky and Adelaide's advice to fuck John Seed. What she didn't expect were the feelings that came with bedding the youngest Seed brother...and his proposal.

Rated: M for mature themes and John being John.

Warnings: None.

A/N: I just wanted to write what would happen if my Deputy decided to listen to her two buds and mess around with John. I’m also none too happy with this fic because I rushed through it...

—- “Deputy, will you marry me?”

Deputy Katherine Mills stared at John Seed. As marriage proposals went, that one was fairly insulting, so much so that for a long moment she couldn’t even react. 

Things in Falls End had been quiet ever since she started sleeping with him, but this was a bit much. So he thought she’d marry him to join his brother’s homicidal death cult? Was she such a desperate case that he thought she’d jump at the chance? Worse, was he right?

Trembling inside, she didn’t know if she’d have the strength to turn him down, even knowing that he’d asked her for the worst possible reason. To give herself time, she turned to get two coffee mugs down from his cabinet, keeping her back turned to him while she concentrated on regulating her breathing, carefully easing her senses back onto an even keel. 

Turning one smoothing ceramic mug in her fingers, Katherine finally managed one normal word. “Why?” She needed to hear it from him. John’s skin had an unhealthy pale hue, and she knew that it hadn’t been easy for him to ask her. How could it be, when they were constantly at each other’s throats AND fucking in the privacy of his ranch? Goddamn her for listening to Sharky and Adelaide...

Like any good lawyer, he began by making his case. “I think we could have a good marriage. We’re both determined people; we understand the power of Wrath, the price of sin. We both have plans for Hope County, and despite our many differences we both want something,” he said smoothly, watching her in an effort to guess her reaction to his proposal, but it was like searching for expressions on a brick wall. “We want what’s best for Hope County. I believe that together you and I can give the people what they want: Peace.”

The coffee was finished. Katherine dumped the grounds, then poured the steaming deliciously scented brew into the mugs. Handing one to him, she leaned against the counter and blew gently on the coffee to cool it. 

“If we’re both trying to kill each other, why bother getting married?” she finally asked. “Why not just keep on the way we’ve been? Fighting and fucking?” 

John’s handsome face softened as he looked at that bright tumble of blonde hair that curled around her shoulders. 

“Katherine, you and I both know our affair can’t last forever. It ends when you kill me...or I kill you.”

Shivering, Katherine reminded herself that John Seed was a damn good lawyer. He knew how to defend and attack, and how to slide under a weak argument. 

No, she wasn’t a woman to sleep around with the enemy, because John was a monster who liked hurting people, but ever since he approached her with an offer to spend the night in his bed she had accepted without hesitation, with the naive belief that a few nights in bed with him would lessen his death-like grip on Holland Valley. Soften just enough for her to strike the final blow and boot him out of his territory for good. 

‘Man, that John really does have a hard-on for you, so I'm thinking you two should just fuck and, er, get it over with.’

‘John wants you really bad. Have you considered he's maybe in some kind of love with you? Yeah, he killed you two or three times already, but he's playing cat and mouse. Just saying, next time you find yourself alone with him, maybe a good long something or other could save our necks.’

It had sounded so easy coming from Sharky and Adelaide...

“It was good last night,” he said softly, his silken words winding themselves around her heart like a vine, tugging her close to him, bending her to his will. 

“And the night before that...and the night before that… Didn’t you like it?” He slid off the chair, coming closer to her, his dark velvet voice seducing her all over again. Standing over her, he calmly drank his coffee, watching all the while over the rim of the mug.

Katherine sipped the coffee too, holding it on her tongue so she could mull over his proposition. She could feel the heat climbing in her face, and she cursed her pale complexion that made even the faintest of blushes instantly apparent. “Yes, I liked it,” she finally admitted grudgingly.

John smiled. “I’d be a good husband. Faithful, hardworking, loyal, devoted only to you and you alone.” She glanced up quickly and saw the sincerity sparkling in the depths of his sea blue eyes, shining brightly as his mood lightened. 

“I’ve never been married before,” he continued, his clipped accent slowly as he thought out his words. “But I think I would like being married to you. Drinking coffee with you on rainy mornings and cold winter nights. It’s raining now; isn’t this nice?” He cupped the ball of her shoulder in his palm, his tattooed fingers kneading the delicate joint, then he deliberately slid his hand inside the collar of her robe, his fingers gliding under the edge of the t-shirt she was wearing to fondle the warm swelling curves of her breasts. “I could make you so happy.” 

Katherine held herself perfectly still, her body quivering inside from the run of pleasure. This bastard wasn’t being fair; how could she think clearly when her body was begging him to tend to her needs? Stubbornness and pride were admirable, but John was fast teaching her how little those things mattered whenever her body reacted to his touch. 

John watched her closely, seeing the soft haze of passion and desire cloud the cool sheen of her green eyes. Her blonde lashes drifted down, her lids growing heavier, and her breath was coming faster between her softly parted lips. 

His own heartbeat was picking up speed as he felt her breasts growing warm beneath his touch, the soft smell of her rising to his nostrils and telling him, without him even thinking of it, that she was his for the taking, before it was too late, he drew his hand back, but the need to touch her drove him to reach for her again, clasping her slim waist and pulling her to him. 

Her coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim, and he rescued both of them, setting his own mug down, then taking hers and placing it beside the other one.Then she was securely in his arms, her small body nestled against his, adjusting herself without thought to the hard contours of his lean, muscular frame, and that adjustment made them both relax into the embrace.

“You see?” he muttered softly, burying his face against the softness of her hair. “We’re meant to be together. Joined together as man and wife.” Katherine laced her arms around his back, feeling the dampness of his shirt where he’d gotten from out of the shower. The fresh smell of water and cologne, luring her in a false sense of security, and she rubbed her nose into the hollow of his shoulder. 

What kind of marriage would she have with him, happy or strained? Would she be content with what he could give he, of would she slowly die inside? I could make you so happy.

At that moment, standing there in the kitchen with their arms locked around each other, she felt that she could ask nothing more of fate, but when it was all said and done, what would happen to the Resistance? 

There were too many people counting on her and the very thought of betraying her friends broke through the soft spell John had cast. Earl Whitehorse, Sharky, Adelaide, Jerome, Mary May, Grace... Those people were her family. She couldn’t do this. Slowly his big hands moved up her back, finding and stroking each separated rib and vertebra. 

“Say yes, my dear,” he cajoled huskily, the first endearment he’d ever used with her, and she melted inside, her resolve weakening. “I want you; I’ve always wanted you, ever since Joseph tasked me with bringing you to Atonement. You refused to bend and even now you continue to deny the will of The Father...you deny me. But I think...I think we can make this work. I know we can make this work. Just say Yes and I’ll give you everything.”

Her face hidden in his shoulder, Katherine closed her green eyes in pain. When he spoke of Joseph, every word was a sword that cut into her heart. How could she ever be strong enough to live with the knowledge that she was considering accepting a marriage proposal from the enemy? How could she live knowing that if she said Yes she would be spitting in Whitehorse’s face? 

“I can’t.”

Abruptly his hands tightened on her, and she could feel him tensing against her body. “What did you say?” A harsh note, barely revealed, told her how much her refusal angered him. She quickly slipped out from his arms and shook her head, eyes glinting with tears as she tried to put some distance between them. 

“I’m saying no,” she said calmly. “I’m saying no to you because what you're proposing is a fantasy that will never happen.”

John swallowed hard. The line of his shoulders was rigid with anger. “Deputy, I never thought you’d do this,” he said, his voice harshly controlled. “I offer you an olive branch and you reject it like the Wrathful whore you are--” The sharp sound of her palm on his cheek echoed throughout the kitchen. John’s cheek stung and two stared each other, breathing hard as they struggled to control the rage that threatened to consume them both. 

"No."

“Get out,” John snarled. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

Katherine brushed past him and quietly left the kitchen. The front door slamming shut behind her.

I’m sorry.

[brightlotusmoon]

TMNT Electrokinetic Mikey headcanon

Did I say I almost don’t want to write a fic about a good TMNT episode with tragic heroic Mikey? HAH I crack me up. Nah, kittens, this is a story for my “Sunshine Child” AU which follows canon with divergence. Either I finish the current work in progress (you know, the Quantum story) or I toss in the events of “When Worlds Collide” into that story and run with it. Oooh.

Headcanons!

Mikey quickly figures out a way to control his electricity powers, because he just…can. His emotional resilience is disturbingly powerful. His mind automatically takes something huge and makes it his. He begs Bishop to hold off on removing the power for a time. Donnie convinces Bishop to give him the draining gun. Mikey trusts Donnie. Bishop, Karai, and Y'Gythgba have doubts, but April, Don, Leo, and Raph are very curious. They know their little brother.

Family moments, with superpowers.

April vs Mikey, Donnie as referee, Casey as a moving target, Leo as spiritual adviser because by the way what happened to that, and later Mikey learns electric based healing and telekinesis and how to cook dinner on a manhole. April shows him how to see auras, he one-ups her by seeing the energy of places and of space.

But first, we get a tender B-Team moment in the lab of check ups and “You’re not supposed to be the dying one” and bandages with superheroes on because those electricity powers singed him a little…he falls asleep while Donnie is hugging him out of sheer fatigue and the entirety of the day finally catching up, everything happened so fast there was no time, and now all the time is here, coalesced into this love between brothers.

And then Raph follows him around touching him gently, talking to him, just to make sure he’s still even there, and Leo makes him meditate and notices how brilliant crackling bright Mikey’s aura is now.

And Mikey himself shrugs and laughs like a mischievous god, but in the dark silence when he’s alone, he is in pain and he separates part of his mind just to the task of holding the electricity inside, and he is afraid, but too proud and excited about being the hero who made the sacrifice, and one day, really soon, he’ll ask Don to drain his powers, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, it can’t be that bad, he’ll master his control. And he falls asleep crying because he’s burning under his skin and his dreams are full of lightning. He wakes up feeling sizzling inside, with a tiny hole burnt in his pillow and he hides it. He reminds himself to ask April how she controls her energy blasts but he’s also thinking he needs to call up Rook to chat about thermodynamics and maybe a specialized arm bracelet to control himself. Every night he thinks “Tomorrow I’ll get Donnie to zap me back to normal.”

[woundedsoul12]

Yessssssssss. This is how I love my Emmrich. So perfect

i am a dom!bottom! emmrich truther and i will die on this hill. i want this man to talk rook through prepping him. splayed on his back, propped up on his elbows, legs spread and gaze heavy as he says, "that's it, darling. you can press further--that's it. the way your finger feels is exquisite, darling. just like that. doing so well for me." getting a little breathier, a little less eloquent, when one finger becomes two and then becomes three. hands reaching to take both of rook's to hold them once they finally slip inside, leg wrapping around their hips to keep them close.

so much praise as rook begins to find their rhythm. every little cant of their hips, the way their body shudders and shakes. hands running up and down their arms when they moan and babble about how good emmrich feels. emmrich fully composed and steady as rook becomes a shuddering, weeping mess as he praises them and coaxes them to go faster, thrust harder, because he knows that he can take it, darling, and don't you want to help him feel good? that they're doing so lovely, and he wants them to take their pleasure however they wish.

emmrich who prefers being penetrated because of the thrill of the dynamic. the trust that it requires. the control. emmrich settled atop rook's cock, hands on their chest, telling them to be good and patient as he rolls his hips at a pace so slow it's nearly glacial. Running a hand through his hair because he knows what it does to rook to see him a little undone. watching how rook's eyes get dark and glazed as they watch the sweat drip down his collarbone, the flex of his abdomen and muscles in his thighs.

emmrich who will use magic to truss up his partner and driving them wild by how composed he remains even as rook is pounding into him with everything they have. cast never faltering, head lolled back, a hand in their hair as he reminds them that he's fully prepared to keep them here until he's had his fill.