#they have made a grave miscalculation

[crplpunkklavier]

an aspect of aa4 that i really dont see talked about a lot is that kristoph had that forgery commissioned before phoenix was ever in the picture. he didnt have that page forged to disbar someone, he originally had it forged so he could use it in court and win the case. it wouldnt have worked, because zak had planned to disappear mid trial from the start, sure. but kristoph didnt know that. this implies that either kristoph thought klavier would just let him get away with forged evidence, or, more likely, that klavier just wouldnt pick up on it at all. and we talk about klaviers guilt a lot and all, but..... in between this and daryan thinking he could smuggle contraband into the country using klavier's guitar, how would it feel to know that everyone you loved thought youre stupid? that they werent just murderers, they were murderers who were banking on you either not noticing them or looking the other way? and how bittersweet must it feel to have proven them wrong. ive said it a lot: i think klavier is one of the smartest characters in all of ace attorney, and yet those closest to him didnt seem to know that about him at all.

[atlantic-riona]

one of my favorite kinds of story is when the scientist does something so monumentally stupid that the regular person observer is like "😶😐😬" in the background, but the scientist is like "don't worry! science and progress will protect us!" and then BAM everything goes to hell in a supernatural hand basket

[starbuck]

me, who has never successfully made a mug brownie: what if i attempted a mug brownie rn?

[incognito-lionbeast]

@oleanderedits

Yeah, pretty much!! After all, who knows how long they’ll be stuck here? May as well get cozy. It may not be his novel this time, but he does remember a fair bit of the plot! Handling the rest of the minutiae is why he grabbed Meng Yao.

And anyway @ Meng Yao: Why bother with Jin Guangshan when you can surpass him? If your father won’t recognise you on his own, then he’s not worth your time. Absolutely not a subject Shang Qinghua has experience with, nope. Could probably stand to internalise his own advice a bit.

As for Xue Yang... wasn’t even really a top 10 favourite character when SQQ totally read his sister’s copies of the novels for uh. Reasons. But look, listen. Maybe if they intercept him early enough, then he’ll be less of a murder hobo.

Or. well. They can’t make him worse.

[izvmimi]

cw: self-indulgent. smut, minors dni. oral (fem!receiving). multiple orgasm mention.

it's once you tip over for the third time that night that the small, still semi-coherent part of you realizes you made a grave mistake.

you miscalculated - give your husband an inch, and he'll take a whole fucking mile (or whatever the equivalent is in orgasms).

a somewhat strangled cry leaves your throat, not unlike a cat yowling, one that cannot possibly be sexy, and you, from somewhere deep inside, find the wherewithal to swat izuku's face and hands away from you, losing strength as laps up the nectar that seeps from between your legs for the umpteenth time, the grip of his hands strong and steady around the fat of your thighs.

"s-stop!" you're nearly crying now, overstimulated, and heart racing in your chest, every part of you buzzing with electricity. you can feel him everywhere, even if the last point of contact is focused - a long, protracted swipe of his tongue from your taint to your clit. you gasp, and your hips buck again in his face, heels digging into the mattress as you try to keep yourself together. cumming again at this point might as well be embarrassing.

he pecks you right on the clit before pulling back and peering at you over your belly. izuku is kneeling now at the edge of the bed, grinning, the shine of his lips, sloppy with spit and other fluid, and you watch him warily as you try to catch your breath, wondering if he's some sort of demon.

"are you sure?" he asks. "you seemed to be liking it." his left hand squeezes at your ass cheek before he lowers you down so that your tailbone can feel the surface of the bed again. your heart still thumps in your chest, brain hazy enough that you can't remember half the shit you learned an hour ago.

... panic reaches you again when you realize that yes, in fact, an hour has passed.

"fuck, izuku, i still have work to do!"

he frowns, then leans over you, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pins you down. he's painfully cute as you look up at him, but you know you can't fight your way out of his grip unless he lets you, and something about that can keep you wet in your panties forever.

he dips down low and kisses you, not without making sure that you come up at least a quarter of the way to meet his lips.

"i think you can take a break," he murmurs. he lowers his weight so that he's laying on top of you, and while he's heavy as he clings, it's a comforting pressure that you've grown accustomed to. he shifts his body so that he's not completely crushing you, and you tangle your legs with his, despite your protests that you need to leave.

you can hear a little bit of frustration in his voice and it stills you. he's a little clingier than usual, understandable since all you do is work and study these days, holed up in a little room, scribbling into a notebook by desk light until the wee hours of the morning. after a few months, he's grown tired of asking you if you were coming to bed every night, especially since you just end up flipping through flash cards under the covers after he physically removes you from your chair.

despite this, he's still tolerated your anxiety and dealt with your silence, outbursts and sensitivity to touch.

it's taken a toll on your relationship and you can tell.

your hands find their way into his hair, twisting the curls between your fingers. and you give in.

"fine, i think i'm done for the night anyway."

the second the words leave your mouth, he's back on top of you again, practically beaming.

you blink, in expectation, wondering how he can look so much like an actual puppy wagging his tail at you, green eyes bright and cheery.

"all night?"

suspicious, you start, "izuku... what do you mean-" but then he's rubbing his shaft right against your entrance again and you suck in sharply through your teeth. his eyelids lower as he watches you start to succumb to pleasure again, and in just a couple fluid rolls of the hips, he induces you to moaning his name again-

screaming his name really, when he bullies himself inside you, buries himself in deep, and reminds you that you can be stuffed full of things other than knowledge.

cock obviously, but also love and affection.

[spicy-pears]

𝑨 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒅 𝑴𝒂𝒏

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: 1-𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕����𝒔𝒚. 2-𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑹𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔. 3-𝑬𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒔.[WIP]. 4-𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍'𝒔 𝑭𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 [WIP].

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨: 𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙡(𝙢 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜), 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙚, 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜,Sadism,sexual vulgarity.[For the dirty readers like myself, the smut is towards the bottom 🤣]

𝙒𝙘: 3.4 k

Disclaimers: I researched a bit on johnny, and per the Pflugerville incident. Breaking into houses is not his Forte. He has tendencies to be extremely wreckless and impulsive. I'll be exploring that a bit more here. Along with mentions of babi sawyer.

I hope you enjoy❣️

Weightless, your warm dream state embraced you. The only God-given blessing, that took away the human flaw of pain. But this was only temporary. Voices, they were chaotic and many. But you could pick out your keeper's voice easily. You began to descend; your senses awoke in a violent rush. Your hip produced a festering burn. Wrists denied circulation as they were tightly bound. your eyes opened to the mesmerizing glimmer of your tears. Although awake you couldn't make sense of anything. Feverish sweat rolled off your heaving chest, as you were hung off the ground like butcher's meat. Your senses conflicted fear with peace you found yourself smiling at a small girl, a curious older woman, and your captor. Johnny's eyes glanced at you for a short moment, as if he knew something was wrong with you already. Your ears finally began to focus, now able to take in the chaos.

"Oh? Is she now? Well, babi's doll could use some fresh bones!" an old man mocked Johnny and topped it off with snide laughter. The older man leans down, getting a good look at you. "With how you roughed her up, how do you expect to keep her?" your eyes strangely couldn't keep up, as the old man shuffled round to meet your burning side. Using a red stick, he pushed up your dress slightly spotting the source of your delirium. "Your little work of art is infected, now she's no use at all!" He sucked his teeth and shook his head with grave disappointment. "Again, she ain't for eat'n old man" Johnny's voice trembled like an angry kettle. As you took witness to the conversation, you realized how badly you miscalculated. There was no section about cannibals, in your "How to tame a psycho" handbook.

"Big boy was allowed to have babi. I should be able to have my own too. I do plenty for this family!" johnny began to argue his case, making his importance and dominance in the family Prominet. "He's allowed that right! He works hard to support the household and does as he's told. All you do is bring trouble and damned mess about!" the older man continued to argue not backing down, to Johnny's bubbling annoyance. "Quit yer' barking at me. Or I may have to put your rabid ass down."

"Well, if she was a virgin, it should take just fine" Suddenly a cold yet maternal voice chimed in, to tame the rising tensions. Instantly you had a feeling this woman had to be Johnny's mother. as no one else in the room but her was sticking up for his passionate pleas. "No! No no no! We just got out of that Flores mess! And we finally just tamed babi. now you want another love child around here!?" you watched the older man quickly shuffle towards her. If her being johnny's mother wasn't already obvious her quick temper made it undeniable. "If you don't shut up! Those big Ol ears you still can't hear what people are saying! Feed the girl. She doesn't eat she don't live."

With a point to prove the old cook took no time to rush into the kitchen. he intended to present to you the most morbid dish he could muster. He hated Johnny's swaggering attitude and Nancy's persistent coddling. He couldn't wait to relish in Johnny's failure; all it took was you refusing to eat. Johnny followed him close behind and began to protest again, "You blind old bat! She's delirious, she can't eat meat yet.". Drayton confidently shot back, "She eats, or she doesn't live. You heard your mother." this time he had Johnny. there was no way he could huff and puff out of this one.

Nancy uncharacteristically took pity on you. She bent the rules for just this once. She took a handkerchief out from the pocket of her house dress. With it tightly balled in her fist, she let it soak in the blood at the bottom of a empty meat tray. "Well, she can still drink, go on sweet boy." Nancy handed johnny your saving grace. And stayed in the kitchen with Drayton, to finish her verbal lashing.

Johnny approached you with the blood-dripping cloth in hand. You tried to show your disapproval by shaking your head no. But in your delirious state, not much of a fight could be done. You felt Johnny's hand caressing your sweat-glistening cheek, ever so gently. As he began to bring your face down towards him, your lips now closer.

You held your lips firmly closed with all the strength you could muster.

"Come on now kitten, drink for me."

For the first time, his voice was heart-rending. You weren't sure if it stemmed from his pride or selfish desires. But he was desperate now, for you to accept his morbid request. Your eyes began to well with tears, watching the seemingly innocent 10-year-old girl. Her dark innocent eyes peering a curious glance at you. Babi would pass off as a sweet child, but she was proudly raised twisted. Close to her chest held her baby doll, something you knew was deprived of all innocence. How could you bring a child into this hellish environment, how selfish and cruel. You became content with the idea of death.

But one final look into Johnny's eyes broke your resolve. Deep down, unknowingly you etched out a part of your heart that cared for him. Your lips slowly began to part, opening your mouth as much as you could. Johnny's relieved gasp was met with drops of cold blood onto your lips, painting your tongue.

"There we are,let it be."

HOUSTON TEXAS.

SEPTEMBER 15, 1989, TIME: 2:00 AM

"I was wondering, 1 month into the search we found you in newt. How did you end up there? Many miles from Austin?"

"I honestly...don't know, the last thing I can piece from that time. Was going to a small-town college bar; in September."

Your eyes were fixated on the TV, examining each and every movement of yourself. Frisking for any nervous twitch, a self-soothing gesture, or even a moment of self-restraint. An aggravated huff radiated from your chest, as your fingertips ran against your scalp soothingly. why? why couldn't you remember anything? You watched your taped police interview so many times, combed through your written statements thoroughly, and attended each and every therapy session and then some to combat the mind wipping delirium. All exasperatingly fruitless, you couldn't even understand why the month of August held such great personal importance. so much so, that your sweet baby boy was named after it.

Your tired eyes began to shut, everything becoming silent and still in your mind. A soft grazing feeling ran up your neck, a feeling you could have sworn was a hand. Promptly your body shot up, and your hand protectively held your neck. Frightened you began to scan the room until they froze on a peculiar sight. Leaning in, you focused on an odd dark shadow casted against the crystal back door. As if shadows had awareness, it quickly moved from your inspecting gaze. You quickly excused it away, figuring it was a wild rabbit again.

Wisley, you called it a night. Not before quietly stopping by your son's nursery. Admiring the sleeping baby from his angelic expression down to his pretty boy lashes. All of which faintly reminded you of someone, someone who is now far from your memory.

TIME 3:15 AM

Your eyes fluttered open to the familiar melody. The upbeat romantic song that played during your wedding, bringing you a warm feeling of safety. The safety you cherished when you were finally found, finally free. But it was strange, your lazy eyes caught the time. 3:15 am, why would he play this so late? . You remembered your husband's disappointed confusion at his broken record player. Which now played eerily off key, deep and slow. Why would he play music on it now? Lazily your feet shuffled against the carpet. And unexpectedly met the soft rattle of your son's comfort blanket. Now Perplexed, you examined the small bat covered blanket. Abruptly, the flashing blue and white lights of your TV caught your full attention.

You felt the fear on your fingertips, as they glided against the wooden stair railing. Holding your breath, in an attempt to stop your heart from beating so violently. With each braved stair, your skin crawled with a stabbing chill that only increased. Until you stopped halfway, there he was. Your baby boy is being held by a shadowy stranger.

"Da-da!" The sweet babble from your baby boy brought you so much dread. He could never piece his babbles into a clear "Pa-pa" or "Da-da", To your husband's dismay. But now sitting on the knee of a stranger, he joyfully rang out his newfound word. The stranger leaned down, playfully shaking a teddy bear. While the smiling babe sucked on his knuckles, feeling truly entertained. Promptly, a pair of mirror dark eyes cut from him to you.

"Does mama remember me?" You knew that build, those eyes, and that damned intoxicating southern twang. With no more stairs to stall the inevitable, you now stood in Johnny's open view. You watched the corners of his mouth, curl into his signature devilish grin. "Well, Hey there kitten!". You were rendered stuck, each attempt to speak was snuffed out with exhales of confused disbelief. Before you could finally say anything, a frantic knock at the door, snapped you out of your confused loop.

"Hey, neighbor! It's me Carol from across the street? I know it's late, but I was looking out the window. You know, As I always do. And I think I saw a man entering your garage." Slowly you turned your incedulous glare at Johnny. Who averted your gaze, paying his full attention to his coo'ing baby boy. You looked up at the ceiling, the new object of your ire. As it received an array of silent French curses.

"Uh! That was just the emergency, pest control guy. I found a rattlesnake in there not so long ago, scared me half to death!" you devised the quickest excuse for the tall scar covered man who took presence in your home. Then the realization hit you, this wasn't a cute little night time visit. You instantly knew johnny was going to kill you tonight.Before carol could walk away, you quickly opened the front door and stammered your desprate request. "Hey, carol? could you watch August for a bit? Even for just an hour, ....please?".

She noticed your desperate distress, before she could ask what was going on. august was already in her arms. "O-oh!" she looked at the tiny heartbreaker in her arms. She looked up, in a second attempt to ask what the matter was this late. Only for her eyes to be met with johnny's. She was frightful under his stone-cold, intimidating stare. "Oh! Goodness!" Carol looked down at August, her eyes gradually widen with revelation. The baby oddly looked exactly like the pest control man. Before she could get in a second look, Johnny shut the front door in her face.

"Now why would you go on and do a foolish thing like that?" You were now alone with Johnny's full upset. He waited for a response from you, but you were silent entering a state of doe-eyed fright. johnny knew that look and knew what it meant. He wasn't here to kill you, as far as he was concerned you are his family. But the look he gave in return was different; it wasn't his hungry grin, nor was it any sign of the bad man. It was rather calculated, he circled you. Letting you take in the unknown expression, and he knew it drove you crazy. The corners of his mouth curled softly, and his eyes appeared gentle. For once you admired the light dancing off his eyes, a rare sight. Then the realization struck you, and at the same time the pain did. This was his calm before his storm.

Swiftly your body was yanked and pressed against his from behind. He began savoring the way your plush ass cradled his now hardened length. With a soft exhale, you felt your needy cunt tighten on nothing. As if your body was preparing itself for a battle. Johnny's soft drifting lips against your neck acted as the carnal declaration of a long night. Sly as ever, you felt him lick his lips against your neck. The tip of his tongue teasingly ran across the small area on the back of your neck. The sweet fantasy ended, with his devilish chuckle.

"Enjoyed yourself?" As he began to pull away, your eyes filled with dismay begging for him to continue. "You know half of the family wanted me to come down here slit your throat and leave. but where's the fun in that?" Johhny would exact his usual cruelty, firmly pressing his finger down on your still very sensitive branding. You tried your best to stand still on your feet. refusing to give him the satisfaction, of watching you crumble weakly before him." we have an hour, right?" He asked you a question, in any other situation he'd demand an answer. but tonight, he didn't need any answers. You were to be thoroughly disciplined. His controlling press got maliciously harder, his fingers almost digging into it. Unable to hold in the pain any longer, you fell to your knees. A hunched-over teary mess, panting as you attempted to collect yourself.

"You know, you have no business being up this late" Johnny knelled down to your eye level. His hand displaying a unexpected gentleness. His fingertips softly taped the bottom of your chin. Promptly, you raise your head to look at him "Time to teach you the house rules.". you felt a swift yanking of your left hand. before you knew it johnny tossed away your wedding ring into a trashcan. You watched his leather boots re-enter your view. Eagerly you watched johnny make a display of taking off his shirt Infront of you. He met your starving gaze, only to unzip his pants. allowing his thick curved length to spring out for you.

"Lesson one, who's the man of the house?" He gave you the sweetest smile. You knew something was up. This felt like a trick question, but you had no desire to navigate his mind games. Your hips began to grind in a circular motion, begging to be fucked. You answered his question with ease, "You Johnny". Johnnys sweet smile slowly curled into a coy smirk. His fingers carefully glided through your hair, only to vandalize your locks with a rough yank. The pull by the top of your hair forced your mouth wide open. Assuming the position, you let your tongue lay out flat, ready to receive him. You felt his eyes impatiently glaring down, before his grip exucted a rough correcting yank. "Follow the curve, memorize my cock." His deep voice firmly demanded you, his gaze sharp and equally dictating.

Johnny was nice enough to slowly thrust into your mouth, allowing you to learn how to follow the perfect upward curve. Your jaw achingly tensed up on the first stroke, as you took in his full girth. Your sloppy warm tongue caressed each ridge from the veins that adorned his length. He'd let out a pleased groan that traveled down his spine. Encouraging him to thrust deeper into your mouth, his pace growing increasingly rough. The tip of his cock began tapping the back of your throat, dipping in deep until he felt your lips meeting his base. Each rough thrust forced your nose to press hard against the base of his cock. Leaving you in a sweet breathless starry haze. Eyes half lidded you enjoyed the bouncing stars that rivaled Exstacy.

He watched you struggle to keep up, your eyes prickled with thick beads of tears. You desperately dug your nails deeper into his toned thighs, each time he denied you a chance for air with his punishing thrusts. He even ignored your needy fingers, trying to tame your aching clit. The view was truly beautiful, your sloppy hot saliva dripping off his cock. While your wet cunt covered your fingers in a constant dripping stream of wasted slick, combined made the perfect lewd puddle.

The grip on your hair tightened, while his length pulsed against your tongue. Your fingertips felt the muscles in Johnny's hip and thighs begin to contract. The rumble of his frustrated moan alerted your eyes to look up at him. god did he love your face, especially when it was an innocent-eyed mess. "Get up" His tone is now dangerously impatient, his hand gesturing you towards the dining table. Your obedient mouth parted ways with his cock, leaving a connected string of salvia as a parting gift. hastily you tried to catch as many breaths as you could. Before you could even take your dress off for him. He tossed away your uselessly wet panties to the side. And proceeded to hike your left leg up over the top of the dining table, allowing you to stand on the other. The new position stretched the muscles in your thighs into a tingling numbness.

Johnny's forceful control of your hair didn't waiver. He kept his heated gaze on you, yanking your head back onto his shoulder. Your pussy stood no chance, he maliciously watched you build yourself up. Your needy well-manicured fingertips rubbed your clit in so many ways. Never once did you stop, nor did you ask for permission. And for that, he wanted to make you suffer all that build-up all at once. Your breath hitched into a soft hiss. Your entrance is teased with a shallow thrust, Taking in the full girth of his tip.

"Impatient whore, you couldn't just wait, could you?" Johnny's hands roughly gripped your ass, spreading you open for his abuse. leaving no room for your squirming, you weren't going to run from it this time. His hips thrusted deep into your pussy with calculated precision. His tip ruthlessly hit the sensitive spot of your cervix. Your loud moan became a choked-out sob, as Johnny kept your head still in his desired position. He had the best view of your Sobbing face and quivering sweat-kissed body that couldn't handle the intensity of your sudden release. Numb your fingertips reached back meeting his rugged abs with a push, trying your best to request for a moment of pause. With a pathetic whimper, you began to beg "Please Johnny, i cant" Which was ignored. With a low demonic growl, his thrusts picked up a feral pace.

Johnny reveled in the symphony of cries, as your oppressed pussy gushed and squelched around him. "Damn!" He cursed Through a deep trembling snarl; his cruel discipline grew animalistic against your broken body. Letting go of your head, his chest firmly pressed against your back. Your hips began to tease back, pushing back in circular movements along his length. For once Johnny began to break a sweat, feeling the tight wet gummy ridges of cunt flutter around him.

In an attempt to stop your antics, his teeth sank into the soft cartilage of your ear. The blood-rendering bite brought a stabbing pain that shot down your spine, freezing your disobedient body still. His hips rocked you into a sensual wave, as he fucked his thick spill into you. overwhelmed your pussy struggled to take the weight of his cock and now his heavy load. He probably pulled his satisfied cock out of your thoroughly disciplined cunt."Still a defiant slut, we'll fix that later" Your head whipped around, eyes filled with yearning as you watched Johnny dress himself back up, his fingers combing his hair back into his signature style. He wore an amused smirked, while looking at your pitiful expression;

"Aww, too bad. Your hour's up kitten"

CHAPTER 2 END.

CHAPTER 3 PREVIEW:

"10-23, empty squad car located on the emergency lane. No sign of suspicious activity, looks like he left the car to move roadkill maybe."

The female officer looked around the empty highway, for any signs of blood or a wounded animal. With no luck, her eyes inspected the inside of the car.

" Uh, 10-13, I see what looks to be...sunflowers? left on the driver's seat?"

Refusing to foolishly taint any evidence, she took her pen and flipped over a card that simply read.

"Family First." Warning: upcoming chapter will be bloody (potential end) of the series.

PREVIEW END.

[amaranthine-enihtnarama]

Les Petits Morts (Marquis de Gramont x Assassin! F! Reader)

(Cat and mouse, do-they-want-to-kill-each-other-or-fuck-each-other, enemies to lovers, two psychotic mfers flirt)

taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose

warnings: freaky behavior, blood k!nk, knife play, violence, what y’all came for (🤨), reader is lowkey a brat hehe, marquis doms ofc bless up, mentions and brief moments of violence, build-up, more story than necessary probably. Romance⁉️

Part Two is here!

Vincent de Gramont had made a grave miscalculation when it came to her. He knew the moment he’d laid eyes on her that he was in danger: her wide, brown eyes shining golden in the rising sun, her fragrant hair swooping over one shoulder, letting the skin of her neck catch the light, and, as she’d finally stepped before him, that haunting scent of jasmine and gardenias, the radiance and bohemian ease she exuded; he was immediately disarmed from the knowledge that she was a killer. She was a slippery figure, shrouded in mystery, in fear. No one knew where she came from, but everybody knew of the story of how she earned her freedom. A young girl, bloodthirsty, filled with fire, tearing open the throat of the Marquis to whom she had been promised, her bloody mouth pulled back to bare a glimmering smile in the face of her freedom. Still, she remained in her former line of work, even more dangerous with her years of being outside of The Table’s shadow.

La Belladonna is what they called her, and she gave no name. She smiled at him, gaze twinkling something wicked. He maintained composure, of course, but he couldn’t break away from that haunting, doe-eyed gaze of hers. He’d expected a woman, but not one like this. He’d imagined a savage before him based on the story that had always been told. Not someone so beautiful, so graceful…so enchanting.

“Bonjour, Marquis,” she greeted, “I do hope you didn’t mind the early morning.”

“I did.”

She laughed, turning away and taking a seat against the wall.

“Well, that’s just too bad.”

She checked her nails; a crimson manicure. Her eyes flitted from it to him. He was confused by the expectation in her gaze. He’d never once seen that look in anyone’s eyes before (except, perhaps, from one of The Table).

“Won’t you have a seat,” she questioned.

He cleared his throat, glancing over to one of his men then slowly moving over to the barrel next to her. She admired the horses with a small subdued smile, then turned to him with a sigh. He surveyed her, unsure what to make of this so-called dangerous killer. He was quite sure he’d met worse. He moved to speak, but she cut him off.

“So, Marquis, why exactly do you require my services?”

“They say you’re the best,” he responded cooly.

Her lips curved into a bemused smile. “They say we’re all the best. Why me specifically?”

He gave a slight smile. “You are able to go unnoticed. Become invisible. I want someone invisible.”

“And why is that? Don’t you have Caine? He’s the best.”

His smile fell. Her eyes widened slightly with the thrill of his upset.

“What? That’s practically public information.”

“In that case, I suppose you already know the answer to your own question.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” she corrected, tapping his nose with a slender cigarette holder and a bright smile, “I know you want John Wick dead, I know you want those aligned with him dead. But I know you not only have Caine, but the entirety of The Table’s resources at your disposal. You don’t need someone like me; you don’t require someone so subtle, it’s certainly not your style. You are fortunate enough to have to ability of using sheer force to achieve your goals.”

She took out a cigarette, placed it in the holder, then put in between her lips. Despite himself, he stole a glance at her mouth, taking in the slight purse of her lips as she lit her cigarette. He watched smoke puff from between them.

“So…what is it you want with me?”

He met her eyes, sitting back. “You’re very observant. Good job.”

Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance, creating a tiny crack in her mask. She gave a slight smile, blowing some of her cigarette smoke at his face.

“Hm.”

He stood, brushing his nose off. “You’re right. If we were looking at this in the short term, I don’t need someone like you. But I am not thinking of the short term.”

Her eyebrows rose in interest. “I’m not a kept puppy, Monsieur de Gramont. I’m sure you recall my exit from the Table. I wouldn’t recommend becoming my boss.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“For my price, I think you are.”

She held his gaze for a moment, finishing her cigarette. She tossed the butt onto the barrel, then gave a light chuckle, shaking her head in amusement.

“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.”

She stood, raking her fingers through her hair.

“I apologize, but I’m afraid I’ve wasted our time. I suggest getting some extra sleep while you can.”

Vincent watched her turn away with unease, swallowing as she started to leave. He shot a look to the men at the door, then walked after her. He moved to place a hand on her shoulder but she turned swiftly, pressing her cigarette holder into his chest, pushing him backward.

“Do not grab me, Monsieur. I cannot be bought. Only hired. I do not make deals, especially not with men like you. There is not a price you can name that would change my mind.”

“I’m quite sure the prices I can name are beyond anything you’ve heard before.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re quite arrogant, Gramont. It’s endearing, but not enough to hold my attention. Goodbye.”

Vincent watched as she turned to leave, but soon slowed down, then halted to a stop. A pressure lifted on his chest. She tilted her head, twirling the cigarette holder between her fingers.

“Do you really want to offer up two perfectly fine men for the slaughter? Just for a silly little price?”

“I would prefer to avoid bloodshed altogether, mademoiselle.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Whoever told you I am a patient woman was misled you, Gramont.”

He smiled. “Whoever told you I am a relenting man did the same.”

***

Milan, Italy.

Belladonna sat back in her chair, taking a long drag from her cigarette in its holder, crossing her legs with a smile. After several months of hide-and-seek with that pesky Marquis, she’d finally shaken off some the men he had tracking her, and killed the rest. Now, she finally felt like she could just breathe, sit back, relax, enjoy her espressos and afternoons by the sea, and then, when she fancied, a night at the opera. As luck would have it, they were performing her favorite; Madama Butterfly.

She poured herself a glass of champagne as the lights dimmed, and as she took a sip her phone buzzed. Her eyebrows drew together in annoyance; she made it clear to her team not to contact her, lest they risk her being tracked again by one of the…

She frowned, reading the text. It was in french, from a sender with no number.

The Italian sun has treated you well, Mademoiselle.

Her shoulders tensed, but she kept her cool. How did he find her? And why the hell did he follow her here? She was quite sure she’d made herself clear with the last two men she got rid of: do not bother me again, or you’ll end up looking just an mangled as them.

Darkness swallowed the theater as the curtains rose, and Belladonna felt a pit form in her stomach. She’d never felt so troubled by anyone as much as she had by this man. He was bull-headed and inescapable—with all of the ability in the world to keep her in his sights. Discretely, she glanced around the balconies in her view, but only saw strangers. Where was he? Where was the son of a bitch this time?

She put out her cigarette harshly, trying to keep her composure. After finishing her glass of champagne, she sent a message in response.

You’re toying with your life, Gramont.

I could say the same for you.

She rose an unimpressed eyebrow, twirling her cigarette holder between her fingers. She set her phone down with a heavy sigh. He just had to ruin everything, didn’t he? Bothering her during her jobs, and now during her time off. Her phone buzzed again. With a clench of her fist, she ignored it.

As she paid more attention to the opera, her mind wandered. Her six-foot-four shadow quickly evaporated into a tiny shadow in the back of her thoughts, and she admired the gorgeous costumes of the singers, the swelling and rhythm of the orchestra, and rested her cheek on her fist in awe as the soprano playing Madama Butterfly began her aria Un Bel di Vedremo.

She could remember the first time she’d heard it; she’d gotten it as a gift from a lover in a period of innocent youth that had become alien to her. The lover she lost as a sacrifice of that innocence. Despite herself, her eyes grew misty from the memory. She watched the soprano’s wistful gaze, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and as she reached the peak of the aria and the orchestra swelled, Belladonna could’ve sworn she could see the singer’s eye’s glistening along with hers.

The music of the aria faded out, and she quickly wiped her eyes as the lights of the house rose. She rose to her feet, glancing around again. Her heart jumped at the sight of a tall, brown haired man in a three-piece suit leaving one of the booths. She hesitated to get worked up—every man she’d laid her eyes on had a three-piece suit on, it didn’t have to be him. Maybe she was just in denial. Although she’d never want to say it, the Marquis was successfully beginning to wear her down.

She dialed a number on her phone. The call was answered before it could ring.

“Yes?”

“The Marquis is here in Milan. There may be some of his men at the opera house. Kill them, would you? Be thorough with it. Wherever they may be crawling about. And leave me a change.”

“Of course, right away, ma’am.”

She hung up, scanning the audience again before leaving her booth. She slipped into a women’s restroom, entering an out-of-service handicapped stall and quickly removing her dress and opening the duffel bag tucked between the toilet and the wall. It was a pity she wouldn’t get the pleasure of enjoying it, it was a lovely piece. She admired it on the hanger with a sigh, tugging on a bulletproof jumpsuit and zipping it up, adding elbow and knee pads. She laced up her black military boots, then unzipped the duffel bag, placed the dress and heels inside, and pulled out the pair of pistols under the false bottom, placing the magazines in the sides of her boots. She slid a pair of blade into hidden pockets in the lower back of the jumpsuit, then tugged on a beanie and a black face mask.

She pushed the duffel bag back in its spot, then stepped onto the toilet, opened the air vent, and with a hop, grabbed onto the ceiling and pulled her way up inside. Her knee and foot made dull impacts with the metallic interior of the vents as she pulled the door up.

She pulled out her phone, going through her messages to find the blueprints one of her navigators had sent. She stalled on a message from that numberless contact, the one she’d ignored before.

You look beautiful in that dress, Bella.

A frown formed on her face at the message. It wasn’t the first of these messages she’d read in these days. Messages occasionally complimented her ways of eluding him, how a pair of earrings complimented her honey brown complexion, how bloody a mess she’d left behind. Still, none were as direct as this one.

Beautiful, she thought. It conjured up an odd feeling, imagining him saying such a compliment. Perhaps if he wasn’t such a foolish nuisance, it might’ve even excited her a touch. She quickly went to the blueprint of the vents and started to crawl towards her escape.

After a sweaty fifteen minute excursion through the vents, Belladonna finally jumped down from a window and landed on a cushy pile of discarded wood. She didn’t allow even a grunt as she got to her feet and rounded the corner, finding a grey-suited body lying in a pool of her own blood a few feet away from her bike. Her cushy hotel was no longer an option, so she had to relent for the secondary location she’d had set up. The only bother would be the chilly night ride.

///

Montemarciano

She’d made it the country house by dawn, and the sun was preparing to break through the horizon. Exhaustion pulled on her limbs, demanding she collapse directly into the earth as she made her way to the door. She let her shoulders slump as she rested a hand on the door. This place was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. She’d made sure it was no registry or map. Yanking her beanie and mask off and taking a deep inhale of fresh, crisp air, she went for her key behind the false brick when a creak sounded inside the house. Belladonna froze, gripping the brick in her hand.

It couldn’t have been the Marquis, but it could’ve been someone else even more dangerous. She stayed in a crouch, crawling towards the back door and seeing it ajar. Her eyes widened, and she pulled out a pistol. Gently, she pushed the door open and slid inside, crouching against the wall like a statue, eyes scanning the living room. There weren’t many places for an intruder to hide.

In the blue light against the curtains, she watched a large figure pass through the room and right by her. The figure entered the bedroom, and Belladonna placed the brick down silently, getting onto her feet.

She slid through the door, watching the figure in the darkness. They sat at her desk, staring out of the modestly sized window as more blue light filtered through the linen curtains of the dark room. She flicked on the lamp. The figure turned and she fired without hesitation, watching as they tumbled to the floor. She leapt over the bed, planting a foot by the stranger’s head and placing her weight into the knee that she dug into their shoulder. The figure had covered their face with their arm and swiped it blindly at her, but she easily knocked it to the ground and trapped their wrist under the heel of her boot.

Cooly, she held the gun to their face, pressing harder on their wrist. A familiar voice swore, letting out a grunt. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Gramont,” she remarked quietly, making out the face beneath her.

He was breathing heavily, eyes darting between the gun and her face. She turned off the safety.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now,” she said.

“Many will come after you. Worse than me,” he said breathlessly.

She smirked, shaking her head. “I said a good reason, Monsieur. Don’t waste your breath.”

He looked at the gun, then to her surprise, smiled a bit. He rose his eyebrows.

“Come now, Bella. Haven’t we had fun these past months?”

“I thought you’d be better at bargaining.”

“If you really intended to kill me, I would be dead by now.”

She paused and tilted her head.

He made a good point.

With a grin, she added. “I really intended to kill you, Monsieur, I would’ve killed you the morning we met.”

She moved the gun away from his face.

“You came here alone.”

“I came to deliver something to you.”

He tried to sit up, but she doubled down her weight onto him.

“Certainly you don’t think I intend to harm you?”

She studied his face, then chuckled. “Not alone, no.”

He let out a breath as she rose to her feet, stepping away from him. He sat up, watching as she trained her gun onto him as he stood. Vincent fixed his hair and his suit, gesturing to the door.

“It’s in the living room.”

“Mhm. Ladies first.”

With his trained on her gun, he passed through the door and she followed silently, pointing it at his head. She flicked the light switch on as they rounded the corner, and lamps lit up, revealing a spare but cozy living room. He chuckled, turning to her.

“Very cute, Bella.”

She didn’t answer, only held the gun to his face. He turned back around, going to the coffee table. There was a large black box, along with two other boxes. One appeared to be a shoebox, the other a mystery. Caught off guard, by gifts, Belladonna’s grip loosened on the gun. She squinted in confusion, almost wanting to laugh.

“What…”

“Your gown tonight was lovely, but it can’t be worn again after you left it in that filthy bathroom. I thought I would replace it for you.”

“…the fuck…”

He stepped towards her, and her gun returned to its leveled aim reflexively.

“…Is wrong with you?”

He smiled, pleased at her bewilderment, although she seemed a bit amused as well.

“What is wrong with a gift?”

“Oh, when it comes from you, several things.”

He chuckled, placing his hands in his pockets.

“We’ve been playing this game for a little while now, and I must admit that I see no end to it. So why don’t we talk it over dinner?”

“It took fourteen bodies to get to dinner, huh?”

He looked away almost bashfully, if his eyes could express such an emotion.

“I thought you’d be easier to kill, I’ll admit that too. And I believe tonight makes twenty.”

His callousness uneased her, but not as much as the glimmer that formed in his eyes when he fixed his gaze on her.

“Come now, is dinner so bad compared to these last few months?”

She narrowed her eyes. He smiled again.

“Think of it as a celebration if you want. Perhaps for your birthday? It’s this weekend, isn’t it?”

In an immediate shift, her eyes darkened, and without warning she flung a knife at his face that he barely evaded being mortally wounded by. Blood poured down his cheek as she lunged at him, knocking him against the wall, but this time he had his footing. He grabbed the fabric of her jumpsuit and whirled around to slam her into the wall with a grunt, but she quickly drove her knee into his stomach once, twice, then kicked him back with both legs, sending him crashing against the kitchen counter. The photos on the wall shook on impact. Before he could even recover she had him on the floor, and his mind quickly went back to the position she’d had him in before and he shot into action, overpowering her just enough to have her beneath him. Still, she was fast, and limber. It seemed like only a moment had passed when she’d locked her thighs around his neck and held his arm at a seemingly impossible angle. He gasped and coughed, feeling the blood pumping in his head.

“You haven’t really gotten your hands dirty like this before, have you Marquis?”

He felt around desperately, and found a saving grace sheathed in her boot.

“You’ve never had your heart race like this, feeling your life threatening to slip through your fingers.”

She twisted his arm further, and he snatched whatever he’d found out of her boot. Her laugh rung in his ears like a funeral bell.

“It’s unfortunate your first real fight turned out to be your last.”

He stabbed her in the upper thigh, and she growled lowly, her hold weakening. He moved in a flash, snatching the blade out of her leg and trying to force her onto the ground, but she began to shimmy backwards despite her injury. He grunted, grabbing at her until he’d finally pinned her down, when he saw her arm go out of his line of sight and something hard slammed into the side of his head. Despite his delirium he grabbed her arm as she hit him again, and forced it to the ground, getting frustrated grunt out of her as she struggled, but he had her.

He caught his breath, his muscles straining to keep her in place. Adrenaline was coursing through his body faster than blood as his sight cleared, and his eyes fixed onto her searing gaze. Slowly, he pressed the blade—a small one, to his surprise—against her neck, watching her swallow. Their eyes locked onto each other. Their blood rushed violently as their chests heaved. Vincent pressed his hand into her chest harder, keeping her firmly on the ground. Her eyes scanned his face with a curious glint.

“I’m not afraid to cut,” he said through puffs of labored breath.

She grinned. “I’m not afraid of cuts, rich boy.”

He dug in the blade, dragging it slowly through her skin. Her fists clenched but she gave no reaction this time. Her eyes only bored into his as the living room filled with warm sunlight. Crimson trickled from the cut, and he smeared it with his thumb as they fell still. He could feel her blood humming through her thundering pulse. Her skin was hot, alive. She watched him, then grabbed his arm, pulling him down with sheer strength. He tensed, preparing for an attack but she just held him by the lapel, a smile dancing on her lips as she leaned up slightly.

“Tell me,” she said quietly, “Has this become business, or pleasure, Vincent?”

His eyes seemed distant as his name left her lips. They drifted to her curved, full mouth, and then fixed onto her eyes. Wordlessly, he took his thumb from her neck and placed it against his tongue, watching for her reaction. She gave none. A challenge.

“Are you pleased?”

To his surprise, she giggled. Her body relaxed under his and Vincent’s head swam with confusing desires. What was this, now that he thought about it, what the hell had gotten into him to chase this girl for months? He looked at her face for answers, finding that same smile he’d seen the first time they’d met. What did it mean?

“Come here,” she encouraged, watching his eyes scan over her in a daze.

He looked at her. Her smile widened, and she beckoned him closer. But with what, he wondered, how could she command him so swiftly without words? Her eyes trailed down to his lips with what part him hoped was the same mysterious hunger that was bubbling up inside him. He leaned closer, breath fanning against her face.

“That’s right,” she said softly, reclining.

He leaned down over her, and for a moment there was stillness between them, a pull that seemed to magnetize them closer. Belladonna’s eyes widened a fraction as the feeling of it came over her, and she quickly head butted him with all the force she could muster. He groaned, clutching his head, leaving him completely vulnerable to her attacks. She managed to twist her way from beneath him, hopping to her feet and grabbing the knife that had lodged into the wall. She sniffed harshly, grabbing his hair and tilting his head up, pressing the point of the blade just below his chin. He stared up at her, eyes half blazing with unspoken fury, the rest uncertainty of what to expect next.

“You surprise me, Marquis.”

He tried to move but her grip tightened onto his scalp painfully. “Ah-ah-ah. I don’t think so. Unless you want me to drain your neck.”

With an even more furious stare, he relented. She grinned at his expression.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to put up such a good fight. The last one I dealt with wasn’t half as good a match as you. I’m impressed.”

A strange swell of pride bloomed in Vincent’s chest despite his indignation. She hummed thoughtfully.

“Dinner does sound nice, doesn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, struggled to swallow in her hold.

“I haven’t been on a date in a while,” she remarked, “Maybe you’ll show me a good time, eh, chéri?”

She let him go, stepping back. Before he could respond, her knee collided with his head. The world went dark.

He came to in the afternoon with the sun beaming down on his face. The back door was wide open, leaving only the sound of birds and the breeze flowing through the golden-yellow grass. He popped his jaw and sat up with a groan. She was gone. If it weren’t for the blood and the dents in the wall he’d have thought it were nothing more than a dream. But he could smell gardenias, he could still taste her on his tongue. He could still feel her racing pulse beneath his thumb, hear her voice. He inhaled deeply, unsure what to think of the feeling passing through him. He couldn’t come to a conclusion, but he recalled something that caused him to smile.

She’d called it a date.

***

Paris, France. Two days later.

She was reclined on a park bench, eyes shut, taking in the sun while her black dress sparkled. He watched her a couple yards away, finding himself rather daunted. She’d told him over the phone he’d know where to find her, and it had taken barely twenty minutes for her to be tracked down. Despite their fight, she looked radiant. Completely unscathed. It was inhuman.

His phone buzzed, and he frowned as he answered. It was her. He glanced up curiously, seeing she had disappeared. He held the phone to his ear.

“Dragging our feet? I’m not a patient lady.”

His searched around for her, but she’d vanished into thin air.

“Go ahead, you can ask…how the hell did I do that?”

He listened to her soft chuckle through the phone with surprising pleasure.

“Come to me, and I won’t make you wait any longer.”

“Awe, listen to that. You’ve been so good at finding me, this shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“You are impossible,” he sighed, turning to scan the park.

“Impossible? This just part of the fun.”

The call ended, and he stared at the phone with slightly furrowed eyebrows. He looked to the bench, noticing something fluttering and went over to examine it. It was a note. He unfolded it, reading sweeping cursive. It was in french, but he knew she’d written it.

Come and get me, chéri. I am a ghost with many faces.

Vincent smiled, eyes crinkling. He pulled out his phone, making a call that was quickly answered.

“Where is she now,” he questioned.

There was a pause. “Well…sir…”

“Mm?”

“It seems like she’s at a cafe.”

“Alright—“

“She’s also at the Notre Dame.”

He hesitated to answer, but kept his cool. “I…see.”

“And the Louvre.”

He moved the phone away, smiling to himself. “A ghost with many faces.”

“Go get her,” he instructed, “Each one.”

Belladonna’s game led him across the entire city. Well, his men, but still. They called him reporting of notes that read ‘warmer’, ‘colder’, or ‘come on, you can do better than that’. Each of her clones proved to be as slippery as the original, and it gave him a thrill and a more subtle concern. He was aware what she was telling him, their game aside. She was showcasing her manpower—how perfectly coordinated her operation was. She wasn’t just a mere assassin, she had built her own network. He’d suspected help, although not to this scale of control. It was clear to him, though, why she’s wouldn’t accept any price. Leaders can’t be bought. She’d left The Table and had somehow managed to build one of her own.

When the evening had rolled in, he simply relented trying to track her down. It was impossible, he’d accepted it. Standing outside the restaurant he’d reserved, he called her.

“Alright, you win. I give up. Where are you, I’ll send a car.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “No need. Just come in.”

“Have you been inside this entire time?”

“God, no. How boring would that be?”

She hung up. He shook his head, going inside. “Mon dieu.”

When he’d entered, she was there waiting, smoking with her legs crossed. Her lips were crimson red like her nails and her hair was curled to a dazzling perfection. Still, as he approached from behind, he could see the bruises on her back and shoulders. He stopped next to her, brushing her hair away from her neck, revealing the bandage over his cut. She turned her head, met his eyes. They glittered as she looked over his face.

“You know, if a date was all you wanted, a whole lot more of your men would be alive right now,” she said.

“Hello to you too, Bella.”

He brushed the bandage with his finger, earning a stare from her. She was smiling at him.

“Why are you here?”

She looked away as if to think, then locked her gaze onto him. “Why are you?”

He smiled in return. “I imagine we’re here for the same reason.”

His fingertips brushed down her neck and over her shoulder as he moved to take the seat across from her. Her eyes followed him, smoke passing through her rouge mouth.

“Well, then.”

She leaned onto the table, eyeing him.

“Do we really need to have dinner, or should we just get out of here and get straight to it?”

A wicked grin spread across her mouth as she surveyed him. He cleared his throat, but smiled.

“I went through so much trouble to get you that dress, I’d hate to ruin it so soon.”

She laughed. “Oh, you’ll ruin it, will you?”

He pressed his stare onto her. “I’ll rip it right off of your body and devour you.”

Belladonna took in his words, absorbing his stare in her deep brown eyes. Her teeth bared in a wide, shimmering smile.

“Not if I eat you first.”

Her cigarette burned out as they were served the first course.

She ignored the food, her eyes fixed onto him. Something about being under her stare made him feel stiff in his bones. The closer he brought her, the more it felt like reaching into a fire. Her gaze was always so predatory. It gave him a thrill of familiarity, and the chill of it, too.

“Eat,” he told her, gesturing to her plate.

She glided her finger over her wine glass, then shook her head slowly, eyes daring him.

“I don’t think I will.”

He paused in annoyance, but couldn’t help how pleased the resistance made him feel. It was plain on her face, she was playing with him.

“Don’t be difficult, now. We’re just starting to get along.”

Her teeth gleamed again. “Or what?”

The response made him pause. He set down his fork, processing what the woman who’d nearly killed him two days ago had just said to him. He leaned towards her slightly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Is that what you want, yeah? You want to be in trouble?”

A soft laugh made her shoulders bounce as she sat back. The toe of her heel nudged his leg underneath the table.

“That depends. What happens when I’m in trouble, Monsieur?”

“You don’t want to be in trouble with me, Bella.”

The warning only spurred her further. “Oh, but I love a little trouble.”

“All you American girls love trouble, don’t you?”

“It’s our middle name,” she teased, “So you’d better be as bad as you say.”

Her eyes flitted from her eyes to his face, zeroing in on his cheek. He was surprised by the warmth that seemed to emerge in her eyes as she leaned forward, tracing the cut in his cheek with her cigarette holder. A soft smile spread across her face. She almost seemed gentle.

“Such a pretty cut,” she muttered, “don’t you like it? A pretty cut for a pretty face.”

“You think my face is pretty?”

She chuckled softly at him, leaning further and caressing the slice with her thumb.

“Of course it’s pretty, chéri,” she murmured, “That’s why I made it mine.”

Wordlessly, Vincent took her hand. He could feel the slight callouses on her knuckles and the bases of her fingers that had been softened by manicures. He turned her hand, pressing his lips against her fingers and kissing her knuckles.

“Si tu me fais tienne, je te ferai tenir.” If you make me yours, I’ll make you mine.”

She turned her hand, brushing her fingertips against his lips, trailing a finger down to his chest. Her fingers wrapped around his tie, and she tugged it out of his vest, carefully pulling him over the table and leaning in for a kiss. His breath caught in his chest and his eyes fell shut from the feeling of her lips against his. With a rotation of her hand she tightened her grip and pulled him closer. He kissed her deeper, tasting a hint of champagne in her mouth and feeling her shuddering breath against his when she broke the kiss for air. She took in his intense green eyes and caught her lower lip in her teeth.

“Alors fais-moi tienne, Vincent.” Then make me yours, Vincent.

“Ah, I thought you were not kept puppy,” he said, a grin threatening to form on his face.

She yanked him, raising a brow. “I am not.”

He gingerly held onto the table with a laugh. “Then what are you doing here?”

Belladonna loosened her hold, dropping the tie and considering him for a moment.

“You may not be able to make me your puppy, but you’re in danger of making me your woman.”

His eyes flashed, and a grin spread across his face. “It’s dangerous, is it?”

“There would be many who would start ringing a funeral bell for you if they heard the news.”

His gaze lowered to her lips. Vincent took her chin in his hand.

“Is that the price to make you mine? My life?”

“It would certainly be one I’d consider.”

“Then it’s the one I’m offering.”

She laughed, looking away. He turned her face to make her hold his burning stare. For a moment, her eyes softened. She seemed to hesitate despite how far she’d escalated the entire situation. But, soon after, she closed her eyes and placed another kiss on his lips.

“Then I’ll tell you again,” she whispered, “Fais-moi tienne, chéri.”

He kissed her firmly, letting out a sigh. “Come with me, Bella—now.”

The minute he’d gotten her in the back of his limousine he tore the slit in her dress up to her torso and pinned her to the ground, undoing his tie and holding her wrists together firmly.

“You’re not getting away this time,” his voice rumbled lowly, “I won’t let you get away.”

He bound her wrists together tightly, watching her skin chafe against its luxurious material. Her breath was trembling. Her skin was already hot for him.

His cock was already hard against her inner thigh—the string of desire had been tugging at him the moment he’d read that note. She let out a heavy sigh, pushing her hips up against him and lifting her arms over her head to drape them over his neck and pull him down to her. Their lips crashed together while her hips ground against him, and a soft moan spilled from her mouth into his as her body started to wrap around him. He kissed harshly down her neck, digging his fingers into her hips and pressing it back down onto the floor.

“Stay still—stay fucking still.”

A laugh bubbled in her chest. “Oh, you’re going to have to work much harder to keep me still, baby.”

He quickly removed his jacket and grabbed his butterfly knife from his waistband. He grazed her leg with the cool blade, admiring the flames of desire that sparked in her eyes from the mere contact. Delicately, he dragged the point down her inner thigh, stopping to watch how her chest rose and fell erratically. He guided the blade lower and lower over her hips, grinning at how they slightly bucked.

“Ah, you want it?”

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she gently pulled him back up to her lips. She opened her mouth against his with a moan, running her foot up the back of his leg.

“Just take me,” she whispered.

“Fuck, stop ordering me around,” he said, lips trembling against her collarbone as he laughed, “I might start to like it from you.”

“Then make me beg.”

He nicked the cut he’d made in her upper thigh, shuddering at the gasp she let out into his mouth. Without wasting even a millisecond he dragged his mouth down over her stomach—and ghosted over her cunt—to run his tongue along the weeping slice. He grabbed onto her as he made his way from the cut to between her legs. His lips brushed her clit and her body seemed to jump a little at the feeling. Vincent couldn’t control himself. He placed a kiss close to her aching core and relished in how her body seemed to quiver at the slightest touch.

“Look at you, so wet…”

He hesitated to leave her cunt alone, but planted a kiss on her hip and then sank his teeth into her, earning a yelp and a soft, lighter moan when he didn’t let up.

“Vincent,” she whispered.

He was close to getting what he wanted, he could tell.

“Yes, chérie?”

His fingers teased through the fabric of her lace underwear—she let out a soft mewl, making his eyes widen.

“You wear these lace panties for me, chérie? You were going to give it up to me that easy, like I already owned your little cunt?”

“Vincent…”

“Est-ce que c'est ça qui te fait mouiller, mon coeur, quand tu es en dessous de moi comme ci ? Quand tu sais que je peux faire ce que je veux de toi ?” Is that what makes you wet, my darling, when you’re beneath me like this? When you know I can do whatever I want to you?

She sounded almost anguished. “S’il te plaît, Vincent.”

“Ah, now I can get a please and a thank you? Is this why you’re so fucking disrespectful to me, Bella? You want to be punished like a filthy whore, then?”

“Oh,” she managed through weak laugh, “I’m definitely disrespectful because I’m a pompous bitch. Why do you think I’m the one that can’t be bought?”

“Mm, but you can be fucked, huh?”

She smiled widely, eyes falling shut.

“Only if they’re as pompous a bitch as me, monsieur.”

He moved away from her hip and went back to her cut, sucking on it hard enough to make a hickey. Her body arched at the sting of it and Vincent could feel her getting slick in her underwear.

“Beg,” he said, taking off the heels he’d bought for her, “Beg for me.”

The words left her mouth in a whisper. “Please, please, just fuck me.”

“Je ne t’entends pas, chérie.”

He closed his teeth around her waistband, pulling it taut and slicing the underwear open.

“C’mon, baby, please?”

“Don’t ask,” he instructed, “Beg.”

In his fervency he nearly pressed his mouth onto her as he tore the rest of the fabric off and laid eyes on her pussy. His teeth sank into his lower lip—this woman was going to be the death of him.

No. No. He had to take his time.

There was nothing guaranteed with La Belladonna, it was what they all said. He couldn’t waste the moment she was wide open and willing for him. He returned to her sweet lips, kissing her slowly, inhaling her scent. He kissed down her neck hungrily.

“Fuck, I need you,” she whispered, “Please, just fuck me. Please, please, Monsieur.”

“Mon dieu, you know exactly how to beg, too. How can one woman manage to push every single one of my buttons?”

“I’m not the only one with a type here, honey,” she said, smiling, “I get what I want, too.”

His hand snaked down to rub her clit—slowly, to take in her expression, her voice. She moaned, grabbing his hair, pressing her forehead against his cheek.

“Oh, god, Vincent. Please…please…”

His fingers slid inside her eagerly, curling and pulling back then thrusting deeper.

“Mm…Vincent…”

“Yes, baby, say it like that.”

His voice was soft against her ear. She melted into the floor of the limousine, her body easing against his hand, just they way he’d imagined it would.

“I knew you’d be a good girl, Bella, I just needed to give you a nudge—“

She gasped loudly at his fingers pumping harshly back inside of her.

“—In the right direction. Don’t you think?”

Her smile even shone in the feeble light the managed to get through the limousine’s tinted windows. She turned her head and kissed him. He returned it sloppily, his head pulsing with blood as his cock ached painfully. Her lips found his cheek, then his jaw, then her tongue grazed his neck, making him shiver. She closed her teeth around his earlobe and tugged harshly. He moaned into her hair, shutting his eyes. He needed her. He couldn’t even keep his head on fucking straight enough to tease her. Months he had to wait—months of clinging onto remnants of her scent, her red-stained cigarette butts and rivers of blood that trailed behind her—months that drove him fucking mad.

“God, you fucking woman.”

He tore his belt open, undid his pants and pulled his dick out, wetting it with her slick. He rubbed the head against her pussy, breath shuddering, mouth drying; he wasn’t sure if he’d survive making love with her, feeling the way his heart thundered out of his chest.

“Take me,” she whispered, “fuck me, Vincent.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He slid inside her gently, but once he felt her, he couldn’t be gentle anymore. His hips drew back and crashed into hers, making her groan loudly and move her hands back over her head. His thrusts were harsh, intense, but his hands slid into her hair affectionately. He kissed her skin like it was the first thing he’d ever tasted, her sweat tasted like sugar to him.

“Fuck, you taste like vanilla.”

Her hands returned to him unbound, and they slid under his shirt. She held onto him and wrapped her legs around his hips as her breath caught with each thrust. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to hang on for him, to have this moment last as long as it could. His body felt perfect against his, his warmth, his scent, his taste. She’d only said words earlier—of course no one kept La Belladonna for long— but he seemed to be the man that just may have the ability—

“Put your hand on my neck,” she whispered, voice shaking.

His hand caressed her neck delicately. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes. Yes, he just might be the one.

“Harder, please,” she whimpered.

“Anything, mon cœur.”

“Faster.”

Her voice was barely leaving her throat. Vincent’s hips moved quickly as he felt her tightening around him. He moaned again, sure his voice managed to reach outside of the windows.

“Fuck, you’re getting so tight, Bella, you’re going to kill me.”

Her nails dug into his back cruelly, pushing him even closer to the edge as the pain echoed throughout his entire back. He managed to reach down and rub her clit again, feeling how swollen it had gotten as her orgasm came closer.

“Come for me, Bella, come, baby,” he encouraged, his fingers working quickly.

She cried out, her voice breaking as she grabbed onto his shoulders. She was just at the edge, her mind was spinning wildly. Her words were unintelligible to him, he’d never caught onto Italian very well.

“Oh, mio caro, sì, sì, ah, cazzo, sì—“

Her legs tightened around him as he slammed his hips against her, watching how her mouth fell open, listening to her gasping breath.

“Sì—sì come questo, tesoro, oh…oh! Non fermarti, per favore, oh per favore—ngh—cazzo!”

He groaned as her pussy clenched around him and she let out a cry, her nails digging so hard into his skin they might’ve been drawing blood. He snapped his hips into her one last time and came—loudly—as he felt for her breasts and grabbed onto them, tried and failed to stay upright, then lowered, his body pressed up against hers.

They laid for an eternity, trying to catch their breath, trying to wait for their heads to clear. Vincent managed to move first and kissed her neck, inhaling the smell of her skin, feeling her pulse starting to slow down. She let out a heavy exhale, eyes opening.

“You are…”

She trailed off into silence for a moment.

“…Magnificent.”

Vincent chuckled, kissing her jaw softly, unable to speak just yet. She smiled.

“Ti terrò in giro per molto tempo, tesoro.”

“I don’t know Italian, Bella.”

She laughed. “I said I’m going to keep you around.”

They looked at each other, and he smiled.

“Oh, are you?”

“Oh yes, Monsieur…for a very long time.”

She lifted a finger, tapping his nose affectionately.

“You keep me, I keep you, Mademoiselle.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling softly. “That arrangement just might be acceptable.”

He smiled. “I’m glad we could finally settle on an agreement.”

Her laugh was weak, but her eyes shone with that sardonic humor that had charmed him so. He slowly pulled out of her, gently sitting her up.

“Come with me. I will take you home so you can rest. We’ll have dinner.”

[inbabylontheywept]

Burning Bridges

“I am Kalrose, commander of the Second Armada of the Akaviri. We are on our way to a peacekeeping operation in the Pegasus cluster. Humanity is not our enemy, but it will be if you continue to detain us in your piss puddle agrarian star system. Step away from the FTL launcher and no one will die. Remain in front and we will plow through your craft. Either way you will not stop us.”

The human freighter acting as a makeshift gate in front of the launcher did not move. If anything, it centered itself more, in order to better face the Akaviri flagship head on.

Then it broadcasted back.

“Your ‘peacekeeping mission’ in the Pegasus cluster is a genocide. We will not stand back and let you commit this atrocity. We may not have the men or the ships to destroy your fleet, but we don’t need to destroy your fleet in order to keep you from reaching the battlefield. Our piss puddle’s name is ‘Zion.’ In time, you will call it ‘Home.’”

Kalrose barely had time to ponder the nature of that threat when the launcher fired up. The EM readings on his ship went mad, and in that brief fraction of a second, he realized he’d miscalculated. Gravely.

He didn’t know how many thousands of safety protocols had been bypassed, but the amount of power flowing to the gravitational core in the center of the launcher was easily nine times larger than the maximum rating. A micro singularity formed within the space lens, and cladding ripped itself off the hull before spiraling at near light speeds around the artificial black hole.

Kalrose had always imagined such a catastrophe as something like a fireball, reds and oranges, lots of shrapnel and clanging. Upon seeing it in person, he realized how foolish that was.

Red glows were for pokers left in hot coals. This was, for one brief moment, a star fueled on steel. It was never going to be orange.

It could only be white.

The accretion disk condensed further, the energy of the reactions happening near it somehow fueling the gravitational anomaly at the center. His comm system moved into a death scream as the material’s blackbody radiation moved past the x-ray spectrum, pure friction converting the material to energy more efficiently than even a fusion reactor could manage. The heat generated finally caused a full structural collapse, the spine of the station melting enough to wrap the whole barrel of the launcher around the spiraling singularity, twirling it in loops like thread around a spool. The reaction was accelerating now, even without electricity being able to fuel the gravitational collapse, the radiation pressure alone managing to hold the system in a highly fragile state of tensegrity. He recognized the feedback loop that was happening, radiation fueling gravity, gravity fueling radiation, on and on until-

There was no air for noise in space, but he could almost imagine the roar that the expanding cloud of ionized metal should have made as it blew past. There it was. The end of the loop. It had run out of matter to feed on, so without a balance to the compressive force it expanded outwards.

He was fortunate that the explosion was violent enough to atomize the particles. Even a fragment the size of a grain of sand would’ve been enough to take down his flagship. As a lone ion, it could be deflected by the same magnetic field that kept the crew safe during FTL jumps.

He stared numbly at the monitor.

One third of the Akaviri fleet, stranded in a farming system. Not even a shot fired.

He realized that the comm system’s scream had been replaced with the quiet pulse of an incoming broadcast. He accepted it without question, too lost to even be angry.

“Take your time recovering your senses. When you’re ready, just send us a message back. We’re going to need every hand we can on the harvest. There’s no one out there we can reach for help after this. It’s just...Us.”

[thegreymoon]

The Story of Minglan

LMAO, I knew I could count on Imperial Tutor Yu! 😂

***

I am cackling 🤣🤣

Honestly, I think Yanran is too stupid to live and I have no love for this character, but the grandparents are great!

***

Screaming at all these idiotic maids!

If they were in the Qi household, they would all be dead by now.

***

LMAOOOO, the way he jumped up like his ass was on fire 🤣🤣

It seems like she severely miscalculated her odds here.

***

Oh, yes, keep digging your grave 🙄

***

I honestly can't stand her.

All she does is cry and look shocked and bewildered, and then runs to Minglan to solve her problems for her, starting from fixing her shitty embroidery, to reclaiming her dead mother's belongings that she didn't take proper care of to begin with, to advocating for her on huge matters such as that of HER OWN MARRIAGE.

Like, grow a spine. Grow a brain. Learn some life skills (like locking up precious possessions, for example 🙄). And if you can't? THEN SUFFER.

The idea of her with Gu Tingye gives me so much ick and not just because his plan is gross and he is deliberately going after her because she is weak and stupid. The very concept of such a strong, intelligent and capable man with this wet rag of a woman makes me break out in hives.

***

And the way they start playing sad, pitiful music every time she shows up on screen, I cannot 🙄🙄

***

No, you don't understand, Tutor Yu!

It was raining that day, so the ground was slippery! And he just... slipped and fell! Onto Manniang! And his dick just went into her vagina! But like... by accident! Because of the dick-to-vagina homing system that is activated in all young men when they are in the vicinity of a prostitute! It was not his fault at all! And then she was pregnant. And had a baby! And then it happened again! And she had another baby! But it was the circumstances, Tutor Yu! Not his doing at all! Please understand! 🙏🙏

***

Are you not ashamed of speaking such blatant lies?

The only reason you're after this particular woman is because she's too weak to stop you from bringing your mistress and illegitimate kids into your marital home!

***

LMAOOOOOO

WHAT IS SHE DOING??? IS SHE TRYING TO SABOTAGE THIS MARRIAGE? BITCH, HE IS DOING THIS FOR YOU!! YOU WILL NEVER BE A FIRST WIFE, GET REAL.

Because even though the grandparents agreed after his pitiful act, THEY AGREED BECAUSE HE SAID THERE WOULD BE NO SECOND WIFE! With her here making a scene at their house, this match is doomed.

***

LMAO, bitch what.

LOL, I love the response "You're completely alive already." Like, shut up.

***

You fucking moron. You imbecile. You deserve every second of being made a fool of because you have a spine of jelly. SAY NO. JUST SAY FUCKING NO. LET HER FUCKING KNEEL, SHE WILL GET UP AS SOON AS HER KNEES GET TIRED. OR BETTER YET, WHEN YOUR PARENTS GET HOME, HAVE HER DRAGGED AWAY. UGH, THIS MAKES ME ANGRY.

***

Good. You are not fit for life.

***

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T CHASE HER AWAY?

I'm pretty certain there is some form of law enforcement here that will very much get rid of her for you, especially since she is a literal nobody, making a scene and dragging the reputation of a well-off house. Let her try this at Gu manor and see how it goes! Oh, wait, she did! And it went as well for her there as it could be expected, lol, she almost got her and her daughter's asses sold into slavery, smh.

[qvrcll]

two’s a crowd

summary: an injury has you tearing at the seams. as leon struggles to communicate his worries, you find yourself in a stalemate.

warnings: wounds / injuries described, proceed with caution, angst / comfort, written with re4r leon in mind

a/n: i was inspired by a thought i had last night about how leon would struggle to comfort / communicate his worry well, so enjoy :-)

It had been a gruesome miscalculation of events, a slight misjudgement on your part and you had merely been paying the price, as your foot staggered backwards and then forward again, failing to regain that clean-cut precision you had harboured before.

A grave injury. A show of your bravery. A medal of your defeat worn on your arm as you clasped it with shuddering fingers.

Your arm was soaked with bloody fluids, flesh fluttering with a wound so severe, it made you choke up in your throat — an axe to the arm wasn’t ideal. Especially now. Or ever. But it was the only way, the only way you could save Leon from having his head sundered in by those senseless villagers. The only way to have him standing here in front of you, blood on his palms and a heavy, unreadable expression as he held you like porcelain.

“What were you thinking?” he rasps, voice bound with a level of strain and something cryptic you didn’t have the mind to decipher yet. All you knew was that you were quickly losing footing, attention to your surroundings be damned and the quivering knowledge that Leon was here. He was alive and you were glad for the price you had paid, however numbing.

Still, he didn’t seem happy about it.

He continues his inspection, staunching the bleeding with calloused fingers, several firm pushes of them to secure some gauze and wrapping against the sewing he’d done on the wound. It wasn’t ideal and you were half unsure if you’d keep put from the pain, but it was enough. It was enough to keep you conscious, walking on the same ground as him.

“I can take care of myself. You didn’t have to—“ his voice blends with an awfully crafted choke and he pauses, shaking his head. It does little to rid of the fears languid in his chest. Molten and liquid, seeping through his skin, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’d be dead otherwise” your voice is raspy, toned with pain and you pin it down to the injury. It could be credit to his argumentative efforts or the feeling of his fingers grazing that sensitive spot against your bicep, or the hurt on his lips, in his eyes, but you barely keep count. Barely breathe properly as he goes stiff above you.

“And what would you be?” he practically spits. You quieten, glance at him through slick lashes as his anger triples.

He had sworn he was merely doing his job, but his worry was painted in a personal hue, a complicated array of emotions. Bolted down by the murk of his past.

But you didn’t choose to know any better, and he had no other way of showing you that he did — that he did know better. He knew you. He knew your pain and he knew of loss and he’d be damned if the two mixed because god, he loved you to the point of transgression.

“That’s one way to thank me…” you tighten your fists, eyes flicking in pain or exhaustion, you do not know. But the flinch in his fingers, the curl in his jaw, the twinge in his brows are loud, they transcend feeling and are imbedded in you like your own heart — you had grown to know this man like the back of your palm and knew regret on him like you knew the weather.

He shifts, awkwardly patting your arm. A rational part of him wants to talk, to tear this tension with his own bare hands. To tell you he loves you, cares for you, through everything complicated. But his heart constricts at the thought of evincing his layers, these deeply calibrated cogs he’d adopted when he’d hardened through the years. Still, he offers you a small glance, cobalt eyes burnished with guilt and that reasonably prickly feeling of ‘have I messed up?’

“Sorry.”

It’s short. Almost lost with the sound of your whimpers and the repeated sound of your foot tapping in anguish. But you catch the corroded flow of sensibility in his apology, the unspoken fear, the way the sound of the word broke on his tongue, cracked with fear and punch. It makes your eyes water, makes your limbs tremble with something… something. Makes you sodden and mushed and so vulnerable, you cannot begin to shake the incursion of tears.

The inevitable feeling of hurt, as you clasp a palm over your face, body shaking with small cries.

Leon flinches, unsure what to do. His arm is in action, inches away from smothering your back with reassuring touches, but he’s not sure if it’s the right thing to do. Not sure if it’s the thing that will burn you. Send you hackling away, fighting against rotten skin and hollowed gums. The thought merely causes his fingers to twitch and he takes the pain, crushes it under his boot and gathers you in his arms instead.

It’s unreal for a minute and neither of you breathe. His breath is in your ear, barely stagnant and it makes you stir with a frown.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I just—just want you safe. Just want to make sure I don’t lose you,” his voice gets muffled in the crease of your shirt, tucked into the hook of your neck. But you catch it, feel it with outstretched, desperate hands, “I can’t lose you. I—“

And it’s merely your whimpers of pain and dolour that take over. He sniffs, feeling it through your skin — your hands come to grip the flesh of his shoulders, a sense of inviolacy you’ve created in each other, encasing the two of you as you find a second of peace, of honesty, some respite in this hell.

And when he pulls away, the two of you lathered with smiles and tears as you chuckle, he picks up the pieces as you clench his hand in understanding, with the pulsing thought of departure.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

The grip of his palm only gets bruising and you’re bounded by the heat of it.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[bluebeary-jay]

hiii!! I LOVE ur writing so much especially your fluff sooooooo

fluff w this prompt?

“fine, keep acting like you hate me.”

CONGRATS ON 1K U DESERVE ITTT ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

HIIII MY FIRST LOVELY 1K REQUESTER 💕💕💕

Okay okay okay so you didn't specify which character you want so I picked Javi cause I already have a few Joels in my ask box buuut I'm actually really happy with how it turned out so I hope you'll like it!! ((There's so much fluff in this one though it's only 1.4K words))

Thank you again, darling, happy reading and i love youu!!! 💖

Javier knew that he made a mistake.

Maybe not a mistake – mistakes so very often had grave consequences in his line of work. More like a miscalculation. A stupid prank.

“A mistake,” Steve told him sternly. “You absolute moron.”

Peña just flipped him off.

Okay, maybe flirting with that secretary in your plain sight was a dumb move, but at the time it seemed like a perfect retaliation. And really, it was you who started all of it by wanting to prove to Javier the night before that he does get jealous when it comes to you.

He didn’t. He doesn’t. What he felt when you let that man at the bar flirt with you for at least twenty minutes had nothing to do with the fervor of hot kisses and passionate words that poured out of Javier after he whisked you back home.

“You were practically green,” you said softly later that night when you two were lying in bed. You had your head on Javier’s chest and he was stroking the skin of your back softly, trying to silence the whirlwind of conflicted emotions inside of him.

“F’course I wasn’t. Just had to make sure that guy wasn’t gonna try anything with you.”

“If you say so. But I think you’re full of it.”

You acted so smug about it, and only stopped after Javier completely tired you out. But what he tried to hide by biting your ear gently and kissing his way down your body was how true your words really rang.

Because deep down Javier Peña knew that he was jealous. He had a good reason for it, of course – you were fucking gorgeous, after all, and maybe he was still slightly insecure about what such a sweet angel was doing with a sinner like him. And besides… This was the first serious relationship he had in years. It was hard to separate the wary side of him that instinctively denied any sentiments and kept everyone at bay from the new him who tried to embrace the warmth and safety your love was giving him.

So that was probably why he decided to get back at you.

And the next day when you stepped out of the chief's office, you were greeted with a sight of Javier tucking the hair behind the ear and complimenting the earrings of the new secretary he was talking to. He made eye contact above her shoulder and sent you a wink when you squinted with disregard, obviously knowing what he was up to.

He also made sure you saw him swiping his bottom lip slowly with his thumb – a move he very well knew always got you hot and bothered.

Though when he looked up again, you were gone.

Maybe he could’ve guessed it’d end like this, Javier thought as he casually (and not at all nervously) walked around the embassy, looking for you. It was supposed to be a payback – for what exactly, even he didn’t know – but it backfired immensely when after his little stunt you opted to avoid him the rest of the day.

And that was a low blow. Because while your attempts at ignoring him were futile, only serving to get Javier going and making him eager to rile you up and see you break, it didn’t give him the same satisfaction when you weren’t there to witness his teasing.

Since you worked in the same building, you couldn’t exactly avoid him forever, but damn if you didn’t try. It took Javier half a day to finally escape work and manage to corner you in one of the file rooms.

You didn’t look up even when he locked the door, obviously aware that it was him you now were trapped with.

“You sure are good at hiding from a DEA agent, cariño,” Javier rasped, a little breathless but weirdly excited from the chase.

But you didn’t move, still casually gathering necessary files. A hint of a smile was dancing in the corner of your mouth and that was the thing that confirmed his suspicions that you weren’t actually mad at him, but only beating him as his own game.

And honestly, as Javier’s eyes wandered over your silhouette, admiring the beauty of the woman he fell in love with, he was willing to let it go.

He slowly sauntered to you, feeling all hot under his suit the closer he got. You always seemed to have this effect on him.

“Are you still mad?” he asked huskily, circling you like you’re his prey. You lifted your shoulder in a half-shrug, and your fake disinterest only turned him on even more. He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you against him and humming with satisfaction when he saw you pressing your lips together to suppress a smile. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, querida.”

You didn’t take the bait like he hoped for, and Peña groaned in small frustration when you continued to give him the silent treatment.

For fuck’s sake, you really had him wrapped around your little finger.

“Fine,” he murmured, breathing hot air on your ear and smirking with delight when he felt you shiver slightly against him. He pressed his lips to the spot below your ear softly, and then continued to go down the column of your neck. “Keep acting like you hate me.”

You didn’t move or acknowledge him in any way, but Javier could see your hand, which was previously sorting through some papers, gripping the shelf as if you tried not to lose yourself in his ministrations. It made him smile to himself and wrap his arms more securely around you, forcing you to take half a step back so that your bodies fitted together perfectly.

“We both know that’s all it is. An act,” Javier murmured, peppering your neck and shoulder in slow, tender kisses. He sighed heavily, with peace he rarely experienced these days, and closed his eyes as he felt your form melting into him. “Serás mi muerte, bebita.”

You stifled a laugh and leaned your head back on Javier’s shoulder, glancing at him with twinkling eyes. “What are you even doing here, agent Peña? Didn’t you have some unfinished business with that secretary?”

“Why, you jealous?” he asked, nibbling at your skin, and you snorted.

“You wish,” you replied but then squealed when he bit your neck unexpectedly.

“Mi nena terca.”

You stopped hiding your beautiful, radiant smile and turned around in his arms, leaning back against the shelf. Javier kept his hand between the small of your back and the harsh metal, not wanting it to dig into your skin uncomfortably.

“You didn’t last very long,” you said, but now your tone was soft, with no traces of mockery or playfulness he heard earlier. “I thought that given how things once were, I’d be the one to eventually seek you out.”

“It’s ‘cause I don’t wanna go back to how things were,” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours, trying to convey to you that he meant every word. “I don’t care about anyone else, bebita. You are the one for me and I want you to know that.”

“I know, Javi,” you reassured him gently, brushing some hair away from his forehead. “You don’t need to explain.”

“Still.” He nudged your nose with yours, inching his lips closer to where he desperately yearned to put them. “Let me make it up to you. Take you out. Somewhere romantic, not that dingy bar like the last time.”

“Because you don’t want to see me flirting with strangers?”

Your seemingly innocent question made the hold he had on you tighten, and Javier exhaled heavily through his nose.

“Fuck, bebita, have you seen yourself? Of course I don’t. You are mine, and mine alone.” He planted a soft kiss on your lips, not looking away for even a second. “And I’m yours.”

It didn’t feel weird, anymore, to say it. It felt right and warm, and wonderful. Javier never would’ve guessed he’d feel like that about anyone, but here you were – so perfect and standing right in front of him.

“I really wanna kiss you,” you whispered, and he mirrored your bright smile, something very few people have ever seen.

“Just to shut me up? Or have you perhaps missed me, too?”

Your lips surged forward, smashing into his eagerly and not bothering to answer him. Agent Peña let the overwhelming love for you guide his movements as he cradled the back of your head and pulled you closer and flush against himself.

Seemed that from the very beginning he didn’t need to feel jealous.

It was clear that you were his and his only.

Serás mi muerte, bebita - You’ll be the death of me, baby

Mi nena terca - My stubborn baby

[welcome-to-sparkys]

Springlocked

TW: gore, Ness dies, springlocking

Summary: Ness saves Abby from being put in the spring lock suit, but at what cost?

A/N: Short little angsty fic here! Not quite security waiter but there's hints of it. This was if Ness took Vanessa's place plot wise in the movie. Just really liked the idea :3 Not a whole lot of editing just wanted to get this out there. May rewrite this at a later date.

Fics masterlist

The sound was something Abby could never completely scrape from her memory. The sight of it all was burned into her eyes. Ness shoved Chica away, saving her from the metal grave, but Ness had miscalculated. He threw himself a little too much in the shove, which quickly reminded him of Newton's laws of physics.

He fell into the maw of Ella's abdomen. The sudden jolt of an adult's weight was more than enough to set off the spring locks.

It was almost like a mouse trap in how quick it closed and crunched bone. Ness began spitting up blood within a minute. The spider-leg-like spindels of metal clamped down on his supple flesh. Agony was inadequate to the sound of his screams.

Blood began to pool on the floor. Drip drip drip... Ness writhed in the machine from Hell, his body involuntarily convulsing as more jabs hit him. The claws sunk deeper...

Abby winced, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her ears with all her might as her shrill scream filled the air alongside Ness's gurgling.

"Abby... Run..." Ness managed to spit out, his crushed windpipe added a thick coarse sound to his once sweet-tone. He wanted her to flee before she'd hear his inevitable death rattle.

Mike dashed into the room, hearing the screaming. His mouth fell agape. What he saw... What he saw was worse than he could ever imagine. He knew he was going to be dreaming — a nightmarish dream — of this moment. Over and over and over again... Wondering, pleading, if he could have done anything different.

Mike scrambled to scoop up Abby. Chica hadn't attempted to pick her up again. The childrens' plan had been unexpectedly foiled. Mike didn't want to leave Ness behind, how could he do that? Yet... Abby needed out first.

He rushed out the exit, setting the poor shaken girl on her feet. "Abby, don't- Stay here." He was out of breath, his mind racing. He didn't give her a chance to respond before risking his life, running back inside.

The murderous robot had left, leaving Ness to die alone.

Well, not anymore.

Mike fell to his knees before Ness, blood soaking his weathered jeans. "Ness, Ness listen to me-" Mike choked out. "I'm going to get you out of here, I promise."

Ness simply... Smiled. How could he smile in a moment like this? "I'm just... Glad she's safe." He croaked. "Tell her I love her, Mike. Okay?" His hoarse voice was growing weaker after each word. Something flickered in his eyes. As if... As if he had something to tell Mike. He opened and closed his mouth, swallowing. God... His mouth felt so dry, despite the blood.

Mike fiercely shook his head. "Don't talk like that, dammit! You're not dying. Not here, not now!" Mike shouted, his pain reverberated in the tiny backroom. "You're not... I can't- I can't lose someone else. Not again." Not when he could have prevented it. Again.

"Mike... Remember her order for me, okay?" Ness said rather calmly. "She loves buttermilk pancakes with chocolate chips in the shape of a smile. Two whipped cream eyebrows to boot." He tried to chuckle, but out came a cough and a splatter of more blood. "Don't forget... Please."

Mike nodded in defeat. He knew Ness was a goner. He knew... He knew Ness knew that. "Okay..." He gently took Ness's hand, it daintly hung out the machine. It was so... Cold.

Mike could see the damage. It made his stomach churn. One of Ness's larger intestines had fallen out from a large rip made in his lower abdomen. It was suspended in the air. It was so unnatural and sickly to see. Yet, Mike refused to turn away from Ness. He didn't dare leave him alone. Chunks of flesh wrapped around the sleek and smooth metal parts.

He sat there, and waited. Ness took his last breath, hoarse and inhuman. Yet he smiled. He was content knowing Mike and Abby was safe. That's all that mattered.

A small sliver of Mike had felt peace, knowing Ness was able to die with that weak little smile.

And then he wept.

The building later collapsed, leaving Afton and Ness inside to rot. Mike swore he'd come back, every night. And he did. He rewound the nature sounds tape, and let it play in that very room. He spoke to Ella, to Ness, letting him know about Abby. How she misses Ness so dearly.

"She wants to visit, you know." The frazzled, sleepless man said to the cold, fowl-smelling machine. "And... And I get her those pancakes. Every Sunday like usual. Chocolate chips and everything." He choked on a sob.

One night, Mike swore he saw the machine move. Just an inch. But maybe... Maybe it meant something.

[gloomy0x0phantom]

Dracule Mihawk - Five Headcanons

『 01 』 S C A R

Mihawk's back is marked by a unique deep scar. In his youth, before becoming the strongest swordsman, Mihawk made a fatal mistake that brought him his biggest shame. He underestimated an enemy, miscalculated a move and ended up with a scar. It starts on his left shoulder blade and ends at the top of his right thigh. Fortunately for him, the blow wasn't fatal, but his ego was gravely affected.

Like all swordsmen, Mihawk considers an unmarked back to be a sign of strength. He intended to protect this part of his body until his death, but ultimately failed. When he felt the blade slice through his skin, but his heart continued to beat, a feeling of failure stronger than death set in. He didn't cry, he didn't scream, he just let the blood fall.

This scar is his biggest secret and, to this day, no one has discovered it. Cautious and calculating by nature, Mihawk is even more so towards his back. When he leaves his home, he always wears his usual coat and never takes it off. When he stays at his castle, Mihawk opts for light sweaters, but never see-through. He takes great care with the fabric of his tops, testing them in the sun and water before considering adding them to his wardrobe. Before the arrival of Perona and Zoro, Mihawk used to allow himself to sleep shirtless, but when the ghost princess came into his life, he had to change this habit.

Mihawk is the best swordsman in the world, and tons of people want to challenge him and take his title, but not a single one is aware that the man lives with a swordsman's greatest shame on himself. Sometimes nightmares invade his sleep to show him what his life would be like if the whole planet learned his secret. The nights he wakes up in a sweat are the worst, and he feels even more pathetic for dreaming such a reality.

『 02 』 S E W I N G

It's a hidden talent that's not really a secret: Mihawk can sew. It's something he learned as a child and came in very handy when he started training with real swords. Little Mihawk mended his own clothes and never asked anyone for help. Unfortunately, the older he got, the more skilled he became with his sword, so there was no longer any reason to patch up damaged garments. So he learned to embroider. Mihawk has always had a keen eye for fashion, especially elegant, high-quality clothing. He didn't always have the money to afford beautiful embroidered capes and shirts, so he learned to make them himself.

Sewing is an activity that allows him to relax after a long day's work. He sits in his living room by the fire, a glass of wine at hand and a sewing project on his lap. This knowledge has allowed him to develop a special bond with Perona, who loves designing her own clothes but isn't particularly handy with needles. He spent many hours training Zoro in sword fighting and Perona in sewing. Mihawk even bought a sewing machine for the Ghost Princess's birthday.

Mihawk will never say it out loud, but he loves the evenings when the trio are together in the living room. Only the crackling of the fire and Zoro's snoring are heard, Perona is concentrating on reading or pursuing a project, while Mihawk sips wine and mends his apprentice's clothes.

『 03 』 M I R R O R S

Imagine living alone in a huge castle on an abandoned island. There are strange noises, huge monkeys fighting in the forest and the days feel like nights. You're so used to being alone, you can't help but jump when you pass a mirror. And that's exactly Mihawk's daily routine. He's lost count of the number of times his reflection has caused him a minor panic attack.

Mihawk is used to being the only resident of Kuraigana Island, so when he walks and suddenly sees a silhouette in his line of vision, his body reacts as if an enemy is approaching. He's broken so many mirrors since arriving on the island that he's convinced he's surpassed 100 years of misfortune. It's a trivial anecdote for most, but for the swordsman, it's no laughing matter.

Following the arrival of Perona and Zoro, Mihawk has calmed down a little, but the ghost princess manages to cause him a few scares, especially when she decides to go through a mirror. Zoro is constantly getting lost, so Mihawk often finds him in particular places, purely by surprise. The two helped him get rid of his silly fear of mirrors.

『 04 』 R O M A N I A N

Mihawk have no patience for stubborn individuals with sensitive egos, and unfortunately, this world is full of them. In his younger days, the swordsman didn't hesitate to throw insults and respond to pointless fights, but the older he got, the more he found a much more effective method of winning those battles: speaking in his native tongue.

As soon as someone bothers him, Mihawk will start speaking in Romanian to piss them off in return. This method is very effective with Shanks and Buggy. He takes great pleasure in answering them in a language they don't understand. Insults, criticism, mockery... the swordsman has no trouble finding words to torment them. Sometimes, he chooses to say sentences that have nothing to do with the conversation, such as: "The sky is beautiful today", "I ate an apple this morning", "That sweater looks great on you, but since you don't understand me, you'll never know". It's very amusing and works every time. Buggy loses his head completely when Mihawk speaks in Romanian, because one, it's very charming, and two, it royally pisses him off! Shanks is much more used to it and has taken the time to learn a few phrases to better understand his arch-enemy.

Mihawk tried once to answer Perona in Romanian when she was annoying him, and it ended very badly when Perona also answered in Romanian and very angrily.

『 05 』 F A C I A L H A I R

When Mihawk decided to grow a beard and mustache, he strategically disappeared for several months, simply because he refused to be seen during the awkward phase. Being seen with a beard full of patches and a mustache reminiscent of a teenager was out of the question. Shanks would never forget that. He'd rather die than be seen in an unattractive state.

His absence gave rise to several rumors, with the most widespread being: Mihawk is dead. The swordsman surprised many when he returned even stronger and looked more elegant and mature. When Shanks encountered him again, he was flabbergasted by the change. He immediately pointed a finger at his rival's face and shouted, "Since when do you have a beard and a mustache!?" To mess with the redhead, Mihawk replied that he didn't know what he was talking about. He was secretly pleased when the Red Hair Pirates started gaslighting their captain, telling him that Mihawk always looked like that. Shanks dropped the subject because every time he talks about it, he sounds like a madman. “I SWEAR HE DIDN'T HAVE A BEARD!”

[starlightshadowsworld]

You don't know what I'd do (for you) Part 3

Part 2 Part 1 and the Prequel, Me and the Devil (Walking side by side)

Part 4

(tw for panic attack and well Atsushi survives what should've been his death and thinks he shouldn't have.)

Atsushi knew something was wrong when he gained awareness and could hear beeping. It sounded familiar but he couldn't place exactly what it was.

But that was beside the point, unless the afterlife was in fact taking place on one busy motorway, Atsushi shouldn't be hearing any beeping.

Perhaps it was Fyodor in acting his vengeance from beyond the grave. Atsushi had died while pissing him off and now he would never know peace again.

It definitely felt like the kind of petty shit the Demon would do. But if that was the case, Atsushi's eyes wouldn't be closed now would they?

When Atsushi opened his eyes he expected many things. The two most constant companions in his life, pain and his cage.

He found neither.

Atsushi wasn't in the cage, wasn't in the cell in Fyodor's base. He was laying in a bed in Yosano's infirmary. He should know, he'd been in here more than most.

But that didn't make any sense?

Was he seeing things again?

But that didn't explain why the blanket felt so soft against his skin. His body was heavy, like it was made of lead. All his energy was drained.

But this wasn't like earlier, when he'd been unable to move because of injuries and restraints.

Maybe he was losing it, again and his brain was trying to trick him into thinking he was safe. It didn't sound like his brain but Dazai had been in his cell.

And was currently sat in the corner of this room, so maybe?

'... Wait what?' Atsushi blinked in suprise, looking to the corner of the room. And sure enough, there was his mentor.

Dazai was sitting in a chair reading his Complete Guide to Suicide book. But even from here Atsushi could tell he wasn't paying attention to it.

But that only begged the question, what was Dazai doing here? He'd seen Dazai before, a trick by his drug filled brain when he was scared. So why was Dazai here now?

"Idiot boy" Atsushi flinched, looking away from Dazai to the familiar face of the Headmaster.

The man's face was twisted in its eternal frown, an anger in his eyes that persisted even now. "You can't even put it together can you? You're so pathetic, you couldn't even die properly."

Atsushi froze.

... No...

It was at that moment Atsushi's gaze lowered to look at himself.

He felt his heart stop as the pieces fell into place. He was connected to a heart monitor, that was what was making the beeps.

He wasn't imagining this, was he? Atsushi really was in the Agency's infirmary.

'... But that's impossible..' Thought Atsushi, eyes widening in terror. If he was in the Agency, that means he'd been found.

It means he survived.

Atsushi thought back to earlier, to the moment Fyodor learned the truth.

How Fyodor's frown turned into an amused chuckle. "I see, you never planned on giving me the book after all." Atsushi glared back at him in defiance. "You won't have it. Not you, not anyone else."

The Demon had stood before Atsushi, and clapped for him. "You really are you're mentors protege, aren't you?" Fyodor smirked at him, cold and unwavering.

"The Cannabalism ability may be beyond my reach now... But I have ways of making you give me what I want."

His eyes shone with mirth. "And I assure you, I don't need you alive for it."

That's where Fyodor was wrong. He'd miscalculated and it took everything Atsushi had to keep a straight face.

He couldn't give anything away, and he hadn't. No matter how much pain Fyodor's clown inflicted upon him. Atsushi had bit his lip down so hard but even he couldn't silence his screams.

Something the clown seemed to take amusement with, as did Fyodor himself.

But never did Atsushi beg for his life. Never did Atsushi beg for for the pain to the stop. He didn't at the Orphanage and he wouldn't now.

And never did Atsushi reveal that Fyodor was wrong. That after everything with Shibusawa, the tiger couldn't be seperated from Atsushi because it is him.

Not even in death could seperate them, but Fyodor didn't know that. Atsushi would die and the key to finding the book would die with him.

... But Atsushi was alive...

That had not been part of the plan. Atsushi wasn't supposed to survive. He wasn't supposed to be here.

Atsushi surviving meant that that the book could still be found. It meant that now Fyodor would go after Atsushi personally and his friends would be caught in the crossfire.

He couldn't breathe. He felt like he was going to explode. That his heart was going to burst out of his ribcage. How could he have been so stupid.

"Atsushi!"

The heart monitor was blaring now, having translated his panic for all the world to hear. Dazai was at his side in an instant. The delight at seeing his mentee awake fading into concern.

Dazai supposed it made sense for Atsushi to wake up in a panic, given how they found him. But it didn't make it any better, at least with this he knew how to help.

"Hey Atsushi" Dazai smiles softly at him like Atsushi world wasn't imploding around them. He took in deep breathes in and out and motioned for Atsushi to copy "In and out, you see that?" Atsushi slowly began to copy Dazai, calming down.

Dazai smiled, encouragingly. "There you go, in and out. You're okay, you're safe now." That appeared to be the wrong thing to say as Atsushi shook his head, his eyes blurry with tears.

"I'm not..." Dazai softened, gently running a hand through his hair. "You are, you're here at the Agency. No one can hurt you here." He grins "they'll have to get through all of us."

Dazai wasn't kidding about that either. Kenji was guarding the door with a sullen face and a stop sign. If anyone tried to hurt Atsushi, they'd be spending a lot of time in the hospital.

And if somehow they got past Kenji... Well... Good luck.

Atsushi shook his head again. "Not supposed to be..." He whispered but Dazai hears him clearly. Dazai blinked in suprise, frowning. "What do you mean, Atsushi?"

Atsushi hates that he wants nothing more than to curl up in Dazai's arms and sob.

He hates that his mentor is being so kind to him like Atsushi hasn't ruined everything. Everyone was in danger because of him, why was he being so kind?

It made Atsushi want to scream.

"You shouldn't have come... You shouldn't have come, I was supposed to die." He looks Dazai in the eye, eyes wide in panic and terror begging him to understand.

"You should have left me to die."

Dazai feels like his heart stopped. Sure he remembered Ranpo and Akutugawa saying Atsushi planned a one way trip... But to hear it from him.

He'd failed him. How could he have let Atsushi fall so far? 'I'm going to fix this, if it's the last thing I do.' He thinks, before pulling Atsushi into a hug.

Atsushi freezes, knowing he should wiggle out of it. But he's exhausted, he's scared and Dazai is here... He's really here and there's no small part of Atsushi that isn't so happy to see him.

"Atsushi, I want you to listen to me closely. If I get anything wrong, correct me, okay?" Asks Dazai, his voice light and soft. He waits until Atsushi gives him a small nod before continuing.

"I think you've set yourself up on an impossible task trying to save everyone. And gotten yourself tangled up and scared." He gently runs a hand through Atsushi's hair as he speaks.

"And I know why you did it, but I really wish you didn't. I know you want to take this all on your own. That you blame yourself, but this not a burden you can bare alone. And I'm sorry Atsushi but I've gotten rather attached to you. None of us want to lose you."

And wasn't that the truth, Dazai lost Atsushi for all of a second when his heart stopped. He had Atsushi's bloody hand print on his face, his mentee's last words being to comfort him.

Dazai wasn't going to lose him again.

"Can you let us save you now?"

Atsushi wants to refuse, because he knows it has to be him. He's the guide, he's the one Fyodor's after all. But Atsushi doesn't want to go back there. He's tired, so so tired...And he's drowning but Dazai's here.

He was dying and Dazai, he realises now that Dazai was real. He had saved him abs Atsushi had felt so relieved to see him.

He didn't want to do this alone.

"Okay" Says Atsushi, looking up to face Dazai. His mentor smiles at him, genuinely and kindly. "Good, and I promise you that Fyodor isn't going to get anywhere near you again."

Redemption arc be damned. Dazai would murder that man himself if he ever got near Atsushi.

And somehow that's enough for the tears, the fear and everything else Atsushi's been bottling up since this whole ordeal started, to crumble.

He was safe.

He was safe in the Agency and Dazai was holding him. He wasn't dying, he didn't need too...He was gonna be okay.

And every time Dazai ruffled his hair Atsushi was reminded this was real.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

You are so generous and kind for magically working catboys into the Halloween theme. Respect, man fr. You’re writing actually inspired me to imagine the stages of reaction Freminet would have trying to get through this nightmare situation lol

Timid Catboy Freminet when you invite him to a horror movie night:

😱😨😰 “Sorry... For a moment there I had the urge to run for my life. But that wouldn't be fair to you.” 😓

Kitty cat probably just wanted an excuse to cuddle but made a grave miscalculation. Yes, he explores the dangerous depths of the sea and does a little murder. Yes, his idea of a scary movie is ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’. Freminet would genuinely try to push through for your sake like

🥲 “I can take it...” 🥲

Spoiler alert - he could not take it. Seriously, if Reader hadn’t helped him out, the poor baby definitely would’ve wound up with his helmet on and clutching Pers for dear life while rocking in a corner repeating

😖😵‍💫 “Don't be scared, Pers. I'll keep you safe.” 😵‍💫😖

Hehe, of course~

These are so funny hjlsjdkfj. The movie's first jumpscare happens and Freminet just...flees the room in fear, tail swatting behind him while he runs lol

I feel as though paranormal horror would be the scariest for our kitty boy. All of the hair on his body stands on end throughout the whole thing while his voice trembles with every word... maybe you'll keep the horror date nights to a minimum 🥲

[sarahscribbles]

Sarah I'm here to bother you and...you'll hate me for it but I'm doing it anyway yknow?

Okay, your nice NSFW filthy prompts, mm yes its a wonderful post.

Anyway, now that I've been intrigued-

Would you so ever kindly write 1, 2 and 11 (bc im filthy like that-) for Loki?

Because........why would I pass up the chance?

Anyway I'll go away now

-Clem

Burned

Prompts: "Do I look like I’m messing around? Do I look like I won’t punish you?”

"Fucking is a reward, but you haven’t been good.”

"Be a good girl/boy for mommy/daddy.”

(I have played around with these a little so they won't be word for word!)

Loki x f!reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 5.8k

Loki Masterlist

It had been nothing but a joke. 

A stupid, painfully transparent attempt to elicit some small degree of jealousy in him and maybe, hopefully, be dragged back to your room for some angry sex. He knew that you loved him, that you would set the entire world ablaze if he asked you to, so you had been certain that your little joking flirtation with someone that wasn’t him would lead to nothing but difficulty walking properly for a few days. 

Though, with the way Loki was now staring at you, you were beginning to believe that you had sorely miscalculated. 

“You want me to fuck you?” he repeated your words from only seconds earlier, his voice deadly quiet. “Darling, having me fuck you is a reward. Do you think you deserve it after that little stunt you just pulled?”

His cool fingers firmly clasped your chin, leaving you with little other option than holding his gaze and watching his green eyes glitter dangerously. “Maybe I don’t, but that rock pressing against me tells me you’re going to anyway.” You smirked up at him, though the narrowing of his eyes had you fearing you may have just dug your own grave. 

He jerked your chin up a fraction higher, his warm breath fanning across the tip of your nose. “Do I look like I’m playing, pet? Do I look like I won’t punish you?”

You inhaled sharply, feeling a dull throbbing begin between your legs. So far, his threats of punishment had been just that: threats. He had never actually followed through with them, something that easily emboldened you. This time would be no different; he wouldn’t actually punish you.

“Oh, no. Are you going to punish me? What are you going to do, Loki? Spank me? Whip me, maybe?” you replied, sarcasm dripping from every word that left your lips. 

Loki’s hand fell from your chin and he took a single step back from you. “Take your clothes off. Right now.” His voice was firm and his eyes steely as they held yours. 

He wasn’t fucking around this time. 

Hot arousal blazed through you, sending your heart hammering like a drum in your chest and soaking your underwear. Rarely had he ever sounded so demanding; it almost had your knees give way underneath you. You unzipped the dress you were wearing, letting it fall from your body and pool at your feet, meeting Loki’s eyes as the material ghosted over your bare legs. 

“Keep going,” he instructed at your brief hesitation. 

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you expecting me to say “yes, Sir?” you said before you could stop yourself. 

Loki’s mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile. “I’m expecting you to stop being a brat and do as I tell you.” 

“Your expectations are too high,” you deadpanned, letting your bra and underwear quickly follow your dress until you stood naked before him. 

His eyes travelled slowly over you, desire flaming in his green eyes as though he hadn’t seen you like this a thousand times before. While once his intense gaze would have had you blush and desperately try to cover yourself, now it only made you grow a little taller in the knowledge that it was your body and your skin igniting such raw, primal longing in him. 

“Beautiful,” he said softly, stepping back in front of you and trailing his fingertips lightly up the inside of your thigh until he reached your clit. Your hips rolled instinctively for more when he began to trace teasing little circles. “And always so ready for me,” he said, removing his fingers far too soon and cleaning them off in his own mouth. The sight almost had you whimpering. 

“Are you going to fuck me, or just stand there fantasising about it?” you challenged, voice turning hoarse from the featherlight touch against your thigh that had been enough to ignite a burning need for him

A wicked grin spread across his face and he clasped your chin loosely between his fingers once more. “Oh, my sweet little whore, what a wonderfully ironic choice of words,” he said. 

Your heart began to beat wildly, threatening to break free from your chest. Maybe you hadn’t miscalculated.

Maybe angry, possessive sex was exactly what you were going to get. 

“Well, don’t let me -”, you began.

Before the sentence could even leave your mouth, Loki bent to grasp you easily behind the knees and throw you over his shoulder, knocking the breath firmly from your lungs. You barely had a second to protest or brace against his back before he tossed you lightly onto the bed against the pile of throw pillows. Not for the first time you were reminded of how easy it would be for him to overpower you, to break you like you were nothing more than a delicate piece of china. He would rather die, of course, than ever hurt you, but the knowledge that he possessed the strength…

You shivered against the sheets. 

Loki remained towering over you at the foot of the bed, silent while his green eyes glittered wickedly and his long, nimble fingers unfastened his belt, pulling it from the loops in one swift motion. 

The quiet sound of it hitting the air had something in your lower stomach twist. “Are you going to spank me, my prince?” you taunted him. 

He let the belt drop to the floor, the silver buckle clanging threateningly off the wooden floorboards. “I think you’d enjoy that far too much, my little masochist.” Your mocking smile faltered for the briefest of seconds, but Loki’s keen gaze caught it like a predator surely catches it prey. “You’re in quite the predicament, aren’t you, pet? I can practically hear the wheels in that pretty little head of yours turning: just what am I going to do to you?” His voice was like velvet as he taunted you, its softness a sharp contrast to the blazing look in his eyes as they trailed hungrily over your naked body. 

You propped up on your elbows just as his knee sank into the mattress between your legs, and all too easily he was hovering above you, pinning you to the bed with just a look. There was another shimmer of green as his remaining clothes disappeared into the air. 

He grasped both your hands in his, making you fall softly back against the pillows. “Am I going to restrain you to the bed? Tie one of your mortal toys between your legs and make you come again and again until you offer me anything to stop?” he murmured, placing your wrists against the headboard with one hand. You felt a faint glow of warmth beneath your skin accompanied by the unmistakable shimmer of Loki’s magic. 

Like countless times before, your hands were secured to the solid beam of wood by silk ties. 

“Or,” he continued, his fingers now settling between your legs to trace teasing patterns against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He drifted so wonderfully close to where you burned for him, only to retreat back down your thigh without so much as grazing you. “Am I going to bring you to the brink of pleasure over and over, getting you closer every time, but never letting you have your release, hmm?” 

“Loki!” you groaned, tugging roughly against the silk ties to pull them taut. “Stop fucking around.”

Still hovering over you, his strong arms caging you to the mattress, Loki’s lips curled into a smirk. “Oh, my darling, I’m only getting started with what I have planned for you,” he purred. “I told you that having me fuck you is a reward, didn’t I?” 

“Then hurry up and start rewarding me, my prince.” Your words held a distinct bite of frustration, the arousal flowing forcefully through your blood robbing you of any attempt to tease or taunt him back. You ached too badly for him, for his mouth, for his cock.  

“I have no intention of rewarding you after the little performance you put on tonight,” he replied easily, the same taunting smirk still on his face. He rested back on his heels and your eyes instantly dropped to his cock standing proud and erect. A fiery heat rolled torturously through you.

Another deep flash of green light drew your eyes back to his hand where you saw the familiar thick material dangling from his fingertips. You inhaled deeply. 

He really wasn’t fucking around tonight. 

“Oh yes, pet,” he said quietly, as though he had read your thoughts, and leaned back in to take your sight. 

Slowly, rich jade green silk settled over your eyes, the smooth material easily obscuring your vision and painting your whole world black. Loki’s long fingers secured it comfortably behind your head, his hand instantly dropping to draw soothing little circles over your hip to still the initial uneasiness that always arose at the sudden darkness; a silent gesture of promise that he was still there. 

Gently, as though you were a delicate china doll, he adjusted your head against the pillows, ensuring that there was nothing that would tug or poke or cause any pain that he himself wasn’t invoking. 

“Beautiful, my darling,” he murmured, bending down to capture your lips in a kiss so chaste that his earlier words and promises slipped wholly from your mind. 

You would have been more than content to simply let him kiss you, so when his lips left yours you audibly whined. “Kiss me again,” you begged hoarsely, not ready to give up the feel of his mouth on yours. 

A puff of his breath hit your face as he laughed quietly. “Do you think you deserve another kiss?” he asked, tracing the backs of his fingers idly along your thigh. 

The tiniest sound of discontent escaped you, your brow knitting together over the top of your blindfold. You were craving him in the most innocent way, desiring nothing more than the feel of his mouth against yours. Surely he wouldn’t deny you that?

“Yes,” you answered simply, all your earlier bravado having disappeared like smoke in the wind. 

He laughed softly again, but you could already feel the brush of his hair against your shoulders. “I’m inclined to agree with you this time, my darling,” he replied, and you could hear the smile in his voice. 

The mattress shifted slightly beneath you and quickly, wondrously, his lips returned to yours. Your own parted easily for him, drinking in the taste of him, the feel of him. You would never be able to get enough. His kiss was deep and oh so slow, as though the hands of time had stopped and all that mattered to him was savouring the taste of your lips. The need to wrap your arms around him and pull him as close as physically possible to you was nearly overpowering, making a pleading whimper sound against his lips. 

Another rumble of laughter shook his chest and he pulled back from you once more. “Distracting me won’t work,” he chimed softly, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. 

“I wasn’t trying to distract you,” you said, desperately trying to reach forward and claim his lips again, though your bound wrists effectively pinned you to the bed. 

“Remember who you’re talking to, darling,” he replied, his lips now beginning to press softly to your collarbone. 

Right. 

The God of Lies. 

“Fine!” you huffed, letting your head fall back against the pillows with a quiet thump.

“We are feeling rather bratty tonight, aren’t we?” he said smoothly, his warm mouth now at your breasts indicating that he was slowly making his way down your body. 

You arched into him when his tongue, wet and hot, swirled around one erect nipple. “Maybe you should fuck the brat out of me then,” you said, gasping softly when his fingers began to pluck and twist at the other. 

“Maybe I will” he replied, sinking his teeth into sensitive skin to draw a yelp from you. 

You shivered at his words, burning with the anticipation of what they were promising and almost giddy from knowing he had only been teasing about not fucking you. Lazily, his lips left a wet trail down your stomach until he stopped between your legs and you felt him use his fingers to easily part you, exposing you fully to him. 

“Soaked,” he murmured. “Who are you this soaked for, darling?” he asked. You bucked suddenly against the sheets when you felt the lightest flick of his tongue against your clit. 

“You, Loki!” you moaned, hips lifting off the bed in a desperate search for more. 

“Again,” he said, giving another tiny flick of his tongue.  

“It’s for you! It’s always for you!” you said. 

“Who do you belong to?” he asked, beginning to trace his tongue in teasing little circles. 

“You!” you cried out, trying with all your might to grind against his face. 

He pulled back for the briefest of seconds, enough to make you whine pitifully. “Let me hear you say it, pet.” 

“I belong to you, Loki!” 

You heard him hum his agreement between your legs. “That’s right. You’re mine. I think a little reminder of that might be what you need, hmm?” 

He didn’t wait for your answer, instead placed his tongue firm and flat against your cunt, effectively pulling any coherant thought completely from your head. The silk around your eyes only intensified every tormenting swirl and torturous flick. Loki could play your body like a violin, your soft sighs and whimpers being the only music he needed to follow, and before long he was driving you hard and fast towards the delicious edge of pleasure. 

You gasped out his name in a silent plea for more, a plea for him to keep doing exactly what he was doing. You were so close. 

“So close.” You murmured. “So close, Loki,” you continued to breathe out. 

Your back lifted into an almost perfect arch off the bed, your bound hands curling into tight fists as the tidal wave of pleasure steadily built. He had you right there…you were right there…right…

“No,” he purred, his mouth leaving your dripping cunt. 

You deflated against the bed, answering him with an anguised groan. “Don’t be an ass, Loki, please!” you pleaded. 

“Oh, my darling, I did warn you that I’m only getting started with you,” he taunted. His lips were quickly on yours again, the sharp tang of your own arousal coating his tongue. All the while, two slim fingers slipped inside you, hooking up expertly and making the breath catch in your throat. “Tell me again who you belong to.” 

“I belong to you,” you answered easily, close to breathless and rolling your hips to meet every pump of his fingers. 

“And who is the only person who gets to fuck this pretty cunt?” he continued, his fingers slowly beginning to pick up speed inside you. 

“You, Loki. Only you,” your voice was little more than a whisper floating from your lips. “Please, faster,” you begged him. 

He obliged easily. If you hadn’t been so lost to the feeling of being propelled towards your release, you would have noticed that he obliged a little too easily seeing as he loved nothing more than delaying your pleasure until you were practically crying with desperation. 

You were soon keening under his fingers, lips rounded in a silent scream as the pressure in your core kept building and building. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Loki’s voice cooed at you, so close that you knew he was watching every microexpression that flickered across your face. 

“Y..yes!” you stuttured out, bracing for the wondrous release that was only mere seconds away. 

“That’s too bad, isn’t it?” he said in the same mocking voice, removing his fingers from you without ceremony. Tears formed instantly in the back of your eyes at once again having your pleasure so cruelly ripped from your grasp. 

“Loki!” you whined, thrashing wildly in the sheets. “Please!”

“Please, what, darling?” he asked, feinging innocence. You felt the mattress shift beneath you again as he stood from the bed, the absence of any further sound telling you he remained where he stood, watching you. 

There was a faint shift in the energy of the room, goosebumps erupting over your skin as he used his magic. You could only imagine what sort of toy he had conjured to torture you further…

“Please fuck me,” you begged pathetically, the ache between your legs burning stronger with each passing second and reminding you of just how joyously close to a release you had been. 

“But, darling,” Loki answered, a hint of disbelief creeping in his voice, “I am fucking you.”

You went still against the sheets, every wheel in your brain turning to try and work out what he meant. He wasn’t fucking you, he wasn’t even touching you. “Loki, wha…” you tried to speak, still furiously trying to work out what he meant. 

“I am fucking you,” he repeated in the same easy voice. 

The room was silent as you fought desperately to find meaning in his words, the only sound being that of your own breathing as you repeated them over and over in your head. Only when you were seconds away from admitting defeat and on the precipice of begging him for understanding did the silk blindfold begin to evaporate from over your eyes, disappearing particle by tiny particle until you were presented with a clear look at what he was doing. 

Fresh, burning arousal pooled instantly between your thighs when you took in the sight of him at the end of the bed. 

He stood there fully naked, glossy black curls tousled around his face, and wrapped in his arms, head thrown back against his shoulder in apparent pleasure, was you. 

His arms were wrapped securely around her - your - body, his long, slim fingers slotted easily between the clone’s legs to massage her clit. She gave a soft moan of pleasure, rocking her hips against each thrust of his hand, to which he only gave her more.

You could only watch in stunned silence as he pleasured her, your mind too consumed with the sight of yourself locked in Loki’s arms while you were somehow still bound to the bed. 

“What is it, pet?” Loki taunted, his fingers between your clone’s thighs picking up speed and making her whimper in his arms. “Have I never shown you this little trick of mine? How impolite of me,” he said, feigning shock. Your eyes were locked on his fingers and how they expertly pleasured your clone, filling the room with her soft gasps and moans of pleasure, and leaving you yearning for his cock. 

“Loki…” you whined pitifully, tugging fruitlessly against your restraints. 

“Yes?” he asked, his face now buried in the clones neck, kissing her on the exact spot that always sent a shiver of excitement shooting down your spine.

“You’ve made your point,” you pleaded, silently begging him with your eyes to stop torturing you.

He laughed in reply, a low, quiet sound that told you he thought otherwise. “I disagree,” he said simply. You watched him guide your clone towards the end of the bed, somewhat mesmerised by how well your body moudled to his. He placed a hand flat on her back, bending her over until her hands landed between your spread legs with a soft thump against the sheets. “You said I should fuck the brat out of you, pet. Why don’t you be a good girl and watch me?” He wound his hand into her hair, pulling her head back to make hold direct eye contact with yourself. 

“That’s…that’s not what I meant,” you replied weakly. 

“You should choose your words more carefully.” He smirked at you, the unmistakable glint of mischief glittering in his green eyes. He adjusted her arms on the bed, pushing her forward by the tiniest degree to leave you with an unobstructed view as he prepared to take her from behind. “Look at you, darling. Look how eagerly you respond to my every touch. Always so ready to please your god.” 

You could do nothing but look, close to enthralled by how you reacted beneath him, how you bent and moved smoothly at every press of his fingertips to your skin, like he was the puppetmaster and you his willing doll. 

From the top of your vision, you could see his mischievous smirk. “Good girl,” he praised you softly. “Keep your eyes on her. I want you watching your own face while I fuck you.” 

One hand remained planted on the small of her back, while with the other he began to guide his cock towards her entrance. He wasn’t touching you, wasn’t laying so much as a finger on you, but still you could feel his phantom touch burn against your skin. When your clone released a soft sigh of contentment and her fingers bunched up in the rumpled sheets, you knew he was teasingly stroking the head of his cock through her folds. A whimper left you before you even recognised it in your throat, followed in close tandem by your hips bucking wildly off the bed. 

Loki gave a small, mocking “tut”. “You can’t feel a thing, can you, darling?” he taunted. 

“No,” you whimpered, your voice sounding pathetic even to your own ears. 

His face twisted with feigned concern. “Poor thing,” he said, curling his fingers around your clone’s hips for leverage as he eased himself slowly inside her. The quiet curses that fell from his lips along with the soft, breathy moans floating from your clone’s mouth as he filled her had you clenching with need, easily pulling from your memory how good it felt when he filled you to the brim. “Norns, if only you could see how your perfect little cunt swallows my cock. So warm and tight. You feel like Valhalla clenching around me.” 

Fresh, scorching heat swept through every vein in your body, the praise he was heaping upon you making you burn for him. Your eyes flickered back to your clone, watching her lips part into a small “o” and shine slightly beneath the light of the room. Her eyes were already beginning to cloud over with pleasure as Loki continued to fuck her steadily, and every moan and whimper of contentment that fell from her mouth only made the pool of arousal beneath you grow. 

“Tell me what you feel, pet. Describe every single sensation to me,” he continued to taunt. 

“What do you feel, pet, hmm? Tell me?” he continued to taunt. 

“I don’t feel anything!” you cried, arching off the best as best you could with your wrists bound. “Loki, please!”

He ignored you. 

“Look at yourself, darling. Look how wonderfully you take me,” he said, the barest hint of strain in his voice. “You were made for me.” Loose strands of hair began to fall around his face with every forceful thrust of his hips, thrusts that had your clones eyes beginning to roll back in her head.

“Loki,” you continued to plead, feeling like a blazing fire had been lit between your legs and each thrust of his hips into your clone only fanned the flames. 

He continued ignoring you. 

“I had such plans for you tonight, darling. Plans to make you see stars,” he said, his fingers now digging into the flesh of your clone’s hips. “What a shame you decided you’d rather be a brat instead.” 

You released a tormented groan. “Alright, fine!” you huffed. “I was trying to make you jealous. I’m sorry!” you continued to plead, the ache between your legs reaching such a nearly overwhelming intensity you would have done anything, said anything that he asked you to. 

“I’m sure you are,” Loki replied, his head beginning to tip back on his shoulders with every forceful thrust into your clone. “But the time for apologies is over.” 

Your head fell back against against the pillows, a loud cry of utter frustration permeating through the room.

“Ah, ah, pet,” he chided softly, using the force of his seider to pull your head forward. “Keep your eyes on her. Watch as I fill her with my seed and imagine it was that your poor aching cunt that I was spilling into,” he taunted. 

With his seider wrapped firmly around you, you had no choice but to watch every micro expression on his face and hers; the baring of his teeth and set of his strong jaw as he reached his release along with every roll of your clone’s eyes and her vice like grip around the sheets between you both. Your cunt clenched and pulsed with every sinful moan that he released, desperate to have his cock driving you towards a blinding climax. 

“Loki…” you whined again, still holding the faintest trace of hope that this was only an elaborate tease, that any second now your clone would dissolve before you and you would feel him slide wonderously into your soaked core. 

His lips curled into a smile, lust heavy eyes beginning to slowly flutter closed. “You sound so beautiful when you beg for me. Be a good girl and keep saying my name,” he said. You let a defiant silence fill the room, causing Loki to laugh. “Still intent on being a brat, aren’t you?” 

“Only because you’re still intent on being an ass!” you shot back, your earlier brazeness beginning to creep back with every passing second that he wasn’t inside you. 

“How very…unfair of you…when I am the wronged party here,” he replied between pants, his release getting closer and closer with each snap of his hips. 

“I said I was sorry!” you shot back, every twist of pleasure on your clone’s face heightening the already fervent levels of arousal coursing through your blood. 

“And I… heard you,” Loki replied simply from between gritted teeth, his eyes now squeezed shut as his pleasure began to overtake him. 

Squirming in a pool of your own arousal you watched his thrusts into your clone become more erratic, heard every sinful moan and curse that slipped from him as he free falled into his orgasm. Your clone gave a shout of pleasure, her sharp, ragged breaths making your stomach twist with need. They were both lost to their pleasure while you completely soaked, frustrated, and desperate for Loki’s cock. 

“You feel…magnificent…as always, my darling,” he panted as he came down from his high.

“Loki, please,” you begged again, trying in vain to force tears from your eyes in an attempt to make him feel pity for you, though he could always see through your pretenses as easy as you could see through glass. 

He remained quiet for several moments, still half lost to the aftershocks of pleasure and, gradually, his deep, laboured breathing began to even out. “Still empty and hungry for my cock, aren’t you?” he mocked huskily, a low groan tumbling from him when he removed himself from your clone.. 

“Yes,” you answered, making your voice as small as possible. 

“Poor thing,” he repeated, sounding entirely unconcerned and turning his attention back to your clone. “On the bed.” He tapped her ass, and you watched as she climbed to settle between your legs. “Closer,” he told her, guiding her so her hands rested on each side of your hips and her face was directly in front of yours. 

“Loki…” you whined again, having believed the night’s torture to be over. 

“You only have yourself to blame,” he chimed, positioning himself back between her legs. You watched, quietly tormented, as he eased back inside her, a low hiss of pleasure leaving his lips once he was fully sheathed. Only seconds after, the silk ties that had been securing you to the bed shimmered away to nothing, once again leaving your hands free. Loki held your gaze with a wicked glint glittering in his eyes. “This time you’re going to touch yourself while you watch me fuck you,” he instructed simply.

It was the quickest you had ever obeyed him. 

Swift, desperate fingers slipped between your own legs to sink gratefully into your own wetness. A placated sigh drifted from your lips at finally being permitted to tend to the ache burning through your tortured core, and in seconds your fingers were coated with your own arousal. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out softly, letting your head drop back against the pile of cushions now strewn about the bed. Already, gentle waves of faint pleasure were building under your fingers, momentarily making you forget about Loki and your own clone positioned between your legs. 

“What did I say, pet?” he chided lightly, once again using his seider to pull your head forward. “Keep your eyes on me, and do not come,” he instructed firmly. 

You answered with the faintest hint of a whimper, but continued to touch yourself to the sight of him fucking your clone. Each lustful moan and grunt of pleasure that spilled from him only sent fresh spikes of arousal searing through your blood. Would you ever crave another being with the same ferocity that you craved him? 

Loki slipped an arm around your clone’s waist to pull her back flush against his chest, bending so close to you that you could easily see the thin sheen of sweat beginning to cover his forehead. His eyes drifted to your hand between your legs, a satisfied smirk crossing his face. “Look at how soaked you are watching me fuck you,” he taunted. “Are you imagining how my cock feels when I’m inside you? How I can make you scream like no mortal man ever could?” 

“Yes,” you groaned, bunching the rumpled bedsheets firmly in your first. His seider still held your head in place, though you wanted nothing more than to collapse back against the pillows and lose yourself to the pleasure that your own fingers were steadily bringing you. 

“My…good…little whore,” Loki panted, burying his face in the clone’s neck. You could hear him kiss and suck the spot under your ear that never failed to make you fall apart for him. “Touching yourself…to the thought…of me,” he said, words becoming throaty and hoarse and the firm sound of skin on skin indicating that his release was only moments away. 

The faint buzz of pleasure that had been building in your own core had evolved into a burning flame that licked and flickered incessantly and threatened to engulf you in the fiery glows of an orgasm. The sight of him before you, his hair tousled messily around his shoulders, teeth bared and almost lost to the pleasure your body was bringing him, was the only aphrodisiac you needed. His relentless chasing of his own release only propelled you towards your own, and soon you couldn’t help but to disobey him, eyes fluttering firmly closed as the fiery flames of pleasure began to sweep through every pore. 

A feeling that lasted mere seconds before your hands were forced back against the headboard, held rigidly in place by Loki’s seider. The sharp, aguished “no” ripped from your throat alongside Loki’s taunt. 

“Did you…really think I’d let you come, pet?” he rasped, his grip around your clone like a vice while the rhythm of his thrusts into her became steadily more erratic. 

You twisted and flailed in the sheets, the burning arousal between your thighs only intensifying with the orgasm that had been stolen from you. “Loki! Please!” you begged, half close to tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please let me come! Please!”

Your pleading went unheard as Loki’s own release shook through him again. Your name tumbled from his lips like a chant as he plunged into his orgasm, melting into a steady stream of groans and Asgardian curses that had you rolling your hips desperately against the bed. In front of you, so close you could see every mark on her skin, your clone erupted in her own climax, the sound of your own voice consumed with pleasure torturing you in the sweetest way.

“Please,” you whimpered once more, though you knew it was of little use. Already coming down from his high, Loki rested his forehead against your clone’s shoulder, giving a final few shuddering thrusts before he went still. The only sound in the room became the laboured sound of his breathing. 

You pulled against Loki’s seider with another quiet whimper, the pathetic sound causing him to raise his head and give you a lopsided grin, still drunk on the aftermath of his orgasm. He pulled out of your clone with a final quiet groan and, with a lazy flick of his wrist, she disappeared like a fleeting summer breeze. 

“My poor darling,” Loki cooed mockingly, maneuvering up the bed to kiss you. “You’re all hot and bothered, aren’t you?” His fingers dipped back between your legs, the wet sound of your sopping cunt making him grin. 

“Yes,” you answered in barely a whisper, a faint sigh of relief following close behind as his fingers caused tiny waves of pleasure to begin washing through you again. 

“Good,” he purred, his teeth sinking into your neck. “Tell me when you’re close.” 

His skilled fingers worked quickly between your legs, pushing you quickly towards release. It took only a matter of seconds before your back was arching off the sheets, wrists again straining against his seider.

“Loki, I’m gonna come,” you breathed out, feeling every muscle in your body tense in anticipation. Release was so close…

“Ask for my permission, pet,” he warned softly. 

You fought against the rising pleasure, every fibre working valiantly to keep it at bay. “Please…Loki, please…please can I come?” you babbled out, a single hot tear of frustration leaking from your eye. 

His reply was swift and soft. “No,” he breathed into your ear, pulling his hand from your cunt. The piercing cry that spilled from your lungs was only silenced when Loki brought his fingers to your lips, silently instructing you to clean them. “Good girl,” he said when your tongue ran obediently over them, his free hand gently brushing away several stray tears that had continued to fall. 

He removed his seider from around your wrists and, still burning with arousal, you allowed him to guide you between the sheets. You curled close to the familiar comfort of his chest, breathing in the heady, masculine scent of him as he wrapped an arm firmly around your shoulders. 

“Have you learned your lesson?” he asked softly into your hair. 

You fought the urge to continue being a brat to him. “Yes,” you answered, your frustration at him clear as day. 

Quiet laugher rumbled in his chest. “Good girl,” he repeated, placing a kiss to your head. A hand reached back between your legs and for one glorious, shining moment you believed he was finally going to grant you release, but all you felt was the faint warm glow of his magic. “Incase of any wandering hands in the night,” he teased.

You gave his leg a gentle kick with your foot. “Asshole.” 

His laughter bubbled in your ear once again. “Sleep well, darling girl.”

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