#fuckwit: HE'S SO BORING!!!!!!

[butwhatifidothis]

I need the people who look at posts talking about Wyll's treatment in both the actual game and especially the fandom and respond with "but i don't like him and I think he's boring" to know that shutting the fuck up is 100% the better option 100% of the time. Him being the only origin character to not have at last 10 hours of content and the existence of mods that literally whitewash him and his dad - among everything else wrong with how Wyll is treated - are not suddenly okay because you, personally, as an individual, don't find him interesting, and your personal individual feelings about him are irrelevant to the issues surrounding his treatment in the bg3 community at large, so like. Stop barging in with your unwanted, unhelpful opinion

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Your Time (TWD One-Shot)

Negan Smith x GN!Reader / requests are open / 18+

Summary: You reminisce over your relationship with Negan and look towards the day to come. Based on the prompt "memory."

Fic type: reflective smut lite, violent in nature, extremely deranged relationship, these hoes do not be healthy in the head

EVERYTHING: @winchxters (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

TWD: @nervoussystemss (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Aw, come on, babydoll, don't play coy with me," Negan's lips spread into a smirk, his eyes boring holes that felt as though they were digging right down into your soul. "I know you love it when I play the big bad wolf."

He was right, of course. Negan was always right. Before the sky fell and the world turned entirely to shit, you'd considered yourself a decent person. Maybe even a good person. But that was before and this was now.

Negan had found you a year or two into the shit. He'd found you curled up, covered in grime and ready to take out the Achilles of the next person who looked at you wrong. Negan had seen past that, as he usually did. He saw past the right now and into the what-can-be of a person. It was one of his many talents.

He'd seen you for what you were. A bloodthirsty killer with a thing for reassurance and praise. Negan knew he could use that. Sure, you'd tried to fit in for a while. Be the goody-two-shoes who baked for the soldiers and wore cute cardigans (not that cardigans had anything to do with being sweet. You could certainly still kill a person in a pastel cardi if you pleased).

Eventually, though, you grew bored with your own charade. You'd spent a good long while out in the muck, killing and maiming and stealing from other survivors. Your fingers began to itch for an outlet and once Negan was made aware of this little urge resurfacing, he was sure to provide you that sweet escape.

Traitors, thieves, enemies. He let you at them all. You were his best investigator, and yes, while you were severely fucked in the head, you were his. He was yours, too. Negan loved your ferocity, your drive. He loved that you were unapologetically violent and cruel, and you made a pretty match for his Saviours leader personality.

Now that wasn't to say you were always itching to rip someone a new one (and sometimes literally). Like Negan, you needed a break here and there. You could be sweet, caring, and more than affectionate when you were in the mood. Just like Negan. It was one of the reasons you both got along so well, from what you could tell.

The couple who decompress with cuddles together after ripping a prisoner's fingernails off stays together, after all.

"Maybe," you ventured, walking your fingers over his bare chest as you both looked up into the stars. God, he was so... firm. So strong. He was perfect for you. You didn't need him to protect you, and you both knew it, but it felt nice that he could if you wanted him to. "I had fun tonight."

"Me fuckin' too, darlin'," Negan replied, a rumble of affection emanating from his chest. Fun could mean a lot of things, but tonight, fun meant having fucked each others' brains out while the latest batch of fuckwits cried over the loss of their friend about eight feet away from you both. Morbid, yes, but also, very hot.

You pinched at Negan's nipple teasingly, giggling at the way he swatted your hand with a hiss.

"Don't be mean, doll." He pulled you closer by the hips and planted a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss on your lips. He forced himself to pull away for a moment. "We got work to do tomorrow. You ready for that?"

You nodded, rolling your hips over his groin. Negan sucked his lower lip into his mouth, eyes glinting with heat. "Play the damsel," you relayed, grinding down on him again in harsh circles. "Get inside, scope the place out and sneak out after dark."

Negan's fingers flexed on your hips, his hips rolling up against yours now as well.

"Uh-uh," he tutted. "I think there's something missing from that plan of yours."

You pouted, bringing your hips to a halt. "Don't kill anyone."

"That's right, baby. Don't kill anyone. Your time will fucking come, sweetness, don't you worry about that."

If nothing else, you knew Negan to be a man of his word. If he said there'd be time for your hobbies, you sure as fuck believed him.

[loptrcoptr]

ALSO if this is the dumbass route they want to go with all this and they want love triangle shit again THEN BRING BACK MARK HARMON

Just finished s4 ep 12 of moonlighting and like. I know I say something along these lines after every single episode of this show but what in the cinnamon toasted fuck was that

Never in my life have I sympathized with any human beings more than I sympathize with the folks who watched this shit in real time in 1987 and had to endure this jack fuckery. I literally cannot imagine the screaming I would have done if my ass had waited around through weeks of reruns for stunts like this. Any of yall who did this the first time around are my heroes because I am losing my will over here holy god. Did you break your tv sets? Rip up the tv guide? I felt the ghost of Rage Quitting past as soon as the episode ended like it was imprinted onto the reels from y’all’s original agony lmfao

[dust-in-her-face]

i am actually sick of seeing the personal life of jj and will. they are so fucking boring. like even when it looked like he was going to croak it was boring. i don’t give a fuck about their kids, i really don’t. i also do not need to see more of jj having a hard time because we’ve been there and done that. several times.

show me what’s going on in the personal lives of alvez and prentiss—what do two single workhalics who see the worst of humanity do to unwind and not let the bureaucratic bullshit and the waking nightmare they live in swallow them whole? show me that. dgaf about romance. just show me how they function outside those fuck ass gray walls.

penelope has her thing. tara has the rebecca mess. show me rossi in grief counseling or talking to his stepdaughter or like his actual kid? a grief counselor? don’t give a fuck about emily smoking. that’s actually kind of a disgusting habit to perpetuate. is her mother even still alive? is the ambassador retired? did emily even have a father like ever? show me how luke’s dog is. also just end this sicarius storyline before s18.

like are we seriously not interested in kate jackson? her character was fucking interesting. she was a us ambassador. and she was a charlie’s angel. come tf on.

aaaand thanks for shooting bailey in the face. rewatching s16. i am looking forward to that again. feels like that fuckwit died for something really fucking dumb. like, y’know, keeping the existence of a serial killer a secret? like, sir, you’re in the fbi. not the cia.

[sgiandubh]

"He's actually paying those PR people? Whatever for? A drunk wombat would be better at the task." I LOL'd because my god have we been asking this very question of both Sam and Cait for years. They're PR is actually the worst. It's honestly hard to believe at times. Absolutely zero idea who either of them are trying to reach. The recalibrating after that VF disaster sent Cait into hiding, I'm not sure she's done another print interview since Belfast promo ended and if the Sam articles are going to continue on this way, he can quit too. Boring.

Dear Quit Anon,

I am flattered I managed to bring a smile or even a LOL, but I am not particularly glad about it. Unlike droves of people who think this PR shitshow is sad, I actually find it mystifying.

You are right. Goddess C went into occultation after that cursed VF interview. There are clear reasons, I think, for that. Also, please take into account the fact that, despite the illusions peddled by some fuckwits in this fandom, there are many things we simply do not know (nor should we, most probably).

As for S, I guess that ever since she went totally MIA (as I said, make-up and fash-un promo don't really compensate), he is overexposing himself. On purpose. Perhaps to protect her (I think so). Certainly to hide something. Since this is no way in hell about being gay (I will die on that hill and I know I am right), the only thing he could hide is well... I don't really need to draw it, do I?

Smoke and mirrors is always a risky strategy. S simply hasn't got what it takes to play that game long term, probably for the same reasons he was never a serious shortlist candidate for Bond. At this point in time, he'd mechanically go with whatever merde du jour is thrown by his imbecile PR on the table. Still, it's high time he'd seriously pull himself together. He can do better, as I wrote in a comment: he can do NYT and he did it very well, recently. And I was glad to see that. But Metro is just disappointing, clueless and tasteless. And it's padding up a press portfolio with amiable, meaningless bullshit that goes nowhere. Or at least nowhere near he wants to be or see himself in, let's say, five years from now.

OL is going to end. It has to. It's been both a blessing and a curse, I said that before. Then, it will be high time to end the fucking Truman Show. He (abstractly) knows that, he keeps hinting about it. “I’m ready for new challenges, but also nervous about what it’s like in the real world” - for some reason, I found this phrase very telling. But I doubt he internalized what probably still feels like a safely remote occurrence, right now.

What are his real projects? For the moment, zero. Directing? I'd love to see it, but he's got no real credentials for that. Bond? I mean, publicly gushing and insisting is not going to manifest it. He needs a real movie, a good one to break that glass ceiling. Is he going to get it? I hope so. But his personal brand awareness is still low. The PR clowns should stop talking to us, in here: we are already here and not going anywhere. All of us: antis, mommies, shippers, fencers, haters, trolls. They should talk to the people who have no clue who S is, and do it differently. He should step out of his comfort zone, ditch the leeches and refuse to discuss his personal life, for a while. There, I said it.

What are her real projects? For the moment, not much. Sure, we have The Cut, where I gather her part is minimalistic, to be kind. We also have The Amateur, of which very little is known at the moment. However, if I am correct, she is not one of the leads. Enough said. And beyond that? Crickets.

Make no mistake. The real litmus test is not now. The real litmus test is 2025. And then we'll see. And I'll still be here, taking weeping Anons because I don't know who said I don't know what I don't know where. Mark me.

[chaotic-purple]

Not a damsel

Cherri, sitting at the Hazbin bar and talking to Angel: “I’m not a bloody damsel, I don’t need saving.”

Angel: “True, you are a bad bitch. And very dangerous, might I add.

Cherri: “Exactly! BUT! I think being rescued from danger by a hottie at least ONCE is a human right, you know?”

Angel: “Ehh…I dunno, kinda means you miss out on all the action, don’t it?”

Angel *Spots Husk coming up to the bar with a crate of supplies*: “Hey, I’ll help ya’ inventory those in a minute”

Husk: “Thanks, Legs.”

Cherri, tapping Angel’s arm to recapture his attention: “No, no, stay with me here! You’ve got in some good hits, but your luck’s gone to shit. Then some total beefcake swoops in, decimates the enemy, and then carries you out of there.”

Angel, scoffing: “Let me guess, he carries you princess style?”

Cherri: “Course he does, fuckwit! Honestly, you don’t have an ounce of romance in your body. No wonder your ‘Pretty Woman’ rip off sucked”

Angel, gasping: “You take that back!”

Cherri, laughing: “Only if you admit that being rescued might not be that bad, you know, if the guy is hot.

Angel, sipping a martini: “Mmm, I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. Only if they were hot though.”

Cherri, slams down a shot: “Well, gotta run.”

Angel: “Hey! You didn’t take back what you said about my film!”

Cheri *cackles* and runs away.

Angel, shaking his head and thinking. Rescued by a hottie huh? What would that be like?

Angel, internally. Boring. Not enough explosions and shit. Need like. Fire and threats and badassery…

Angel, now stuck in a daydream about being carried away from certain doom. He’s not sure why Husk of all people is the hottie in his daydream that’s saving him, but he’s not about to think on that too closely

Angel, now completely zoned out.

Husk: “The hell, Legs? What are you doing sittin’ there lookin’ like a damn schoolgirl for? Didn’t you offer to help with the inventory”

Angel: “Sorry, on it.”

Angel later finds, after a complicated chain of events, that the expectation of being rescued by Husk and carried to safety is nothing like the reality. Husk is the new poster child for how NOT to transport an injured friend.

[lauvra]

A few years ago, I'd watch videos on YouTube with a guy I was seeing while in bed and after each one he'd scroll down to the comments section and I remember being like "huh, why do you do that?" and he was like "I dunno, sometimes they're funny," and this stayed in my head for a long time because it really (and this may be embarrassing or ignorant) never before occurred to me to read the comments on any video I watched -- like, I was there to see the clip what do I care what a bunch of avatars have to say about it? So every now and then, I write a really unhinged but honest content-related comment as if I'm typing in my own personal journal on someone else's video and it's an oddly cathartic act. I do it because so often the comments (and I still rarely look deeply at them because of this) are boring or the slightly more passionate equivalent of a thumbs up or down so it's my mission to bring a way-too-human and ideally unsettling touch to things, it's like my own personal joke that's just for me. It's at my expense at other's expense. I think laughing at your own jokes is important, it's harmless medicinal trolling to type something you can imagine somebody reading and thinking "she's not totally alright up there, but she also appears to have no idea that's the case" but it also has ruined some of my favourite podcasts for me because I get that weird-girl vulnerability hangover and can't enjoy their content anymore oh well the horrors persist. It's just one stupid futile gesture toward preventing myself from taking myself too seriously -- which I definitely need. There was a time I'd do anything to make somebody laugh, like if they joked about kicking me out of a moving car I'd unbuckle and open the door -- I haven't had that level of commitment to the bit in a while, probably because I'm slightly less of a reckless fuckwit, my sense of humour is dumb and has gotten me into a lot of trouble but we all have our crosses to bear. What else? I'll probably say some more stuff.

[kineticpenguin]

The existence of Elon Musk's cult of personality is so inexplicable to me. I mean I guess it's sort of understandable before he got a Twitter account and was buying cameos in the MCU and whatever to market himself as the super electric space genius.

But even the journalists who bought into his hype and even defended him after he bought Twitter have given up on him, because he's been too publicly incompetent, embracing fringe fascist politics, and generally being an irredeemable fuckwit.

Everything he touches turns to shit. Tesla is a joke company, SpaceX blew itself up, and to date the only thing the Boring Company has done besides produce oversized novelty lighters is dig the world's dumbest tunnel in Vegas.

And yet these guys act like Elon's going to personally give them a rocket full of robot whores to Mars or some shit. It's bizarre.

[violetreminder]

Finally beat Infinite Wealth, and BOY do I have some Plot Opinions under the cut

Jesus Fucking Christ that story completely shit itself. Just a full course meal of nothingburgers for a finale eh?

Palekana had a lot of wind up only to just be completely undone in 5 minutes. What was up with the straight up supernatural elements surrounding the cult like the Gun Miracle and Big Shark?? Tossed in the same "woo-woo" hole as Tachibana's blackout gesture from 0 I guess. Not a mention of how we're going to deprogram a literal island full of murder-cultists with Child Soldiers btw just "We put the little girl in charge and Everything Will Be Fine Now"

Ebina is just such a boring and pointless villain too, his entire character feels like SEGA/RGG studio *strongly regret* killing off Ryo Aoki/Masato Arakawa so they just drafted up a dollar store-ass replacement and BOY does it show. "Oh look! Another calculated and power-hungry asshole who hates his yakuza heritage and wants to cruelly dispose of all criminal elements! And he's also LITERALLY Ichiban's brother this time!" Even though this new plot wrinkle kinda makes Old Arakawa look like a complete asshole. and HE gets this big teary-eyed "Im sorry about the sins of my past" spiel from Kiryu??? This angsty-nihilist-fuckwit-nobody saddled with mommy issues who the plot itself seems bored with is really the final antagonist Kiryu faces off against?? This is the best they could come up with?? Come On. They even bring back the name Bleach Japan for the antagonist faction but just like every other plot point in this game that goes absolutely nowhere. Also why the hell was Sawashiro in this story...at all... other than some half-assed attempt at going "No No guys, Sawashiro was actually cool the whole time! He's just working with the villain now because....uh.... he's just that dedicated to Arakawas memory and the wellbeing of all Yakuza! Which is completely consistent with his character up to this point! We promise!"

Like sure I get that a big theme in the Like A Dragon series is "Anyone Can Be Redeemed" but the thing is that they also say there needs to be *work* put in to have that redemption. Sawashiro shows up, says "I'm a good guy now" works for a guy he *knows* is probably a villain, and then just spends the game being his bitch anyways. I knew that Like A Dragon's incredible story was going to be a tough act to follow, but it feels like RGG didnt even try to outdo it so much as they retreaded familiar ground without adding anything of substance. Part of this is Ichiban's Story being hijacked midway to get a similarly halfassed goodbye plot for Kiryu (which is ruined emotionally by a horrible Eng VA)

Fuck man I think I'm gonna tap out of the series for now, at least for any future installments. The plot was actually *that bad*. I know Yakuza isnt a series that is known for its amazing plotlines but It was *THAT BAD*

[hillnerd]

Ron/ lavender- post war auror partners

PG 13 Trigger warnings: language, scar shaming, interogation

--- Ron preferred getting to be the tough Auror in an interrogation. With few exceptions, he was taller than anyone brought in, and cut enough after years of training and working out that he was an intimidating figure. He liked taking the lead, figuring out what the criminal had done, solving the mystery — and there was satisfaction in getting to scare the shite out of a nasty bastard he’d been cleaning up the dead bodies of for months. 

But today he lost the coin flip, so he’d have to play nice.

“And there’s nothing I can do to convince you to help us?” Ron asked, a small smile on his face.

“Eat a dick,” Terrence Cartwright spat.

Ron's smile waned, and he exchanged a knowing glance with Lavender, who had just entered the room.

"Sounds like we're at an impasse?” she said.

Ron nodded, feigning a helpless shrug. "Nothing I said convinced him to confess. Not even the fingerprints seem found at the crime.”

“And nothing’s going to,” said Cartwright, “because I didn’t do anything! It was all that- that Drainko Malfloyle.”

Ron struggled to stifle a laugh at the butchered name. Draco was one of his least favorite people on earth, but he’d been squeaky clean since the war. That didn’t stop people from trying to pin crimes on him for the past decade. 

“Drainko Malfloyle,” said Ron, a mischievous glint in his eye as he glanced at Lavender. “He’s definitely a criminal mastermind. Lavender, with Cartwright’s input, we could finally capture him!”

Lavender rolled her eyes, but a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. 

“I doubt someone as powerful as Drainko Mallfloyle would deal with a petty thief like you, Cartwright.”

“Petty thief?!” Cartwright spluttered. She was going for his pride. Nice.

“I guess I overestimated him,” Ron added.

“There’s no way he could have pulled off those heists. If anything he was just doing grunt work. Right Terrence?” asked Lavender. “You’re not smart enough or ruthless enough to have done these.”

Cartwright’s face contorted into a malicious sneer. “Better than being a scarred-up freak like you.”

Ron clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. Greyback had left her with a series of scars down the right side of her jaw down her neck and mangling her ear. 

“Oh you’re definitely not smart enough,” Lavender said in a bored voice to Cartwright. “We found Muggle footage of you killing the guard.”

Ron’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

She gave Ron a secret smile as she passed behind Cartwright and nodded. “We don’t even need your confession.” 

“Muggle shit? No one will believe that!”

“Perhaps not,” said Ron. “But add in fingerprints and motive.”

“And a witch witness,” said Lavender.

“Oh, you have been busy!” Ron said with a grin.

Cartwright was glowering, but his eyes were flitting to the door, and he had a gross wetness left behind from him nervously licking his lips.

—--------------------------------

Ron leaned against the cubicle wall and watched Lavender as she finished their paperwork. 

“What?” she asked, not looking up from her work.

“Nothing,” he said, looking around to make sure they were alone. He leaned down and let a hand linger on her shoulder. 

She smiled, though she looked tired and not as pleased as he’d hoped. She’d grown so tough since they were teens.

He gave her a soft kiss on the scar along her cheek. “I’m bloody proud of you, Lav.”

Her impassive look wobbled. “I knew he might say something about me… I usually glamour it.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I know… But it gives them something to go for, and it makes me look weak.”

“It makes them look like fuckwits,” he said, gently putting a finger under her chin. “And it makes you look like a badarse.”

“You think?” 

“Of course!” His hand pulled back her hair she’d been hiding around the scar. He kissed the juncture on her neck. “And you know I think you’re beautiful.”

“Oh?” she said, that saucy little smile finally back on her face. 

He continued his kisses up her jaw, reveling in the shiver that ran through her. 

“My place?” he hummed against her neck.

“Mine,” she said, possessively holding his face and bringing him in for a proper snog.

[ask-the-achs]

Another DBX

YUJIRO HANMA VS PARADOX

BRUTALITY!

-----

Kourakuen Underground Arena. Midnight.

*two men were entered for a tournament as they were here for different reasons. One man was here for the 800 million yen prize. The other man was here because he was bored and wanted to see the newcomer who had apparently been defeating people left and right.*

Announcer:in this corner you love him! The strongest creation of God the man who makes nature his bitch! YUJIRO! HANMMA!

Announcer:and in this corner the challenger who believes he can hold a candle to---

*he was soon knocked out by of all things an empty Pepsi can flying at his face at the speed of sound.*

Paradox:Quit your shit. I ain't here for no damn title. ORGE! GET YOUR BITCH ASS OUT HERE! I KNOW WHO YOU ARE FUCKWIT!

*Yujiro soon came out with his aura rising. As he walked closer he caught an aroma. One of a strong man one of power as he looked at his bigger four armed foe he laughed as Paradox had rolled up in Velcro sneakers torn jeans and a button up Hawaiian shirt Yujiro was laughing at Paradox's fashion.*

Paradox:you going to start veiny?

*Yujiro stopped and looked at Paradox*

Yujiro:veiny? That's a new one.

Paradox:eh Roidhead was too simple.

Yujiro:you think I do steroids like a weakling?!

*As Yujiro got closer Paradox picked his nose and flicked it at him*

Paradox:you ain't denying it.

*Yujiro was throughly pissed at Paradox's lack of respect and his aura soon became so powerful it shook the arena and cracked the ground.*

Paradox:crybaby.

*Yujiro unamused soon Punched the bigger Einherjar into the wall behind him as Paradox stood up spitting up something.*

Paradox:hmm....seems that was my tooth. You're not half bad mate. Let's see you take this.

*Paradox soon gave a half assed kick which sent his opponent skidding across the ground.*

Paradox:not a dodger huh? You must be a slow fella.

Yujiro:*from behind* unlike you BOY I'm not rude!

*Paradox didn't get a chance to turn as Yujiro soon grabbed his ear and slammed him into the ground as Paradox stood Yujiro then gave him a sharp kick hard enough to knock him onto his back.*

Paradox:*Getting up.* you done?

*Yujiro looked at his foe roaring only to then jump in fear as Paradox swung his fist in a backhand which sent out a gust of air so hard it cut through the walls of the arena and hit several cars based on the alarm sounds.*

Paradox:...oops.

Yujiro:what the hell was that?

*Paradox shrugged and then kicked Yujiro in the nuts which made him fall back growling*

Yujiro:LOW....BLOW!!!!!!!

*Mad Yujiro put all his strength and rage into kicking Paradox hard enough Paradox's body recoiled as if he had been hit with the moon...again as he went flying through the building into Yujiro's luxury car.*

Yujiro:those fancy cars aren't good for shit. But they make a nice cushion.

Paradox:...ow.

*Paradox got up and threw the car at Yujiro and ran at him.*

*the Hanma soon picked his foe up and German suplexed him in the street his foe got up and threw the muscular man into a stop sign hard enough to warp it completely.*

Yujiro:you're not bad. Not bad.

*he then flexed in a way showing off his back which thanks to his muscles looked like a demons face as Yujiro laughed.*

Paradox:...nice. but...

*Paradox soon in an odd motion started punching himself and when he broke his own nose the pain and adrenaline from the broken nose had his eyes turn bloodshot as the veins in his eyes got redder and redder.*

Paradox:Your ass is FUCKING MINE!

*Paradox took one step. One step and Yujiro soon stuck two fingers into his head.*

Yujiro:careful. I might hurt you.

*Paradox grabbed the man's arm only for yujiro in one second rip Paradox's skin off his face and then throw it into the crowd where the other godkillers were he then saw the group and smiles.*

Yujiro:ooo..one of those women would give me a strong son..*he then saw his skin was brused and his arm was torn. Did...he get hurt?*

*Paradox got up with no more skin on his face and yanked both of Yujiro's ears off then gripped his legs hard enough to break his ankles he then threw the man into a nearby wall then while bleeding everywhere he slammed Yujiro in the ground and started dragging him face first down the street and threw him into a field unaware of the helicopters recording him and showing everyone what was happening*

Paradox:YOU ASS FUCK! ILL ROCK YOUR GODDAMN SHIT!

*Yujiro stood up and growled.*

Yujiro:ill show you the power of the Ogre.

*Yujiro soon charged full of power but also joy. This man this freak this thing! It was giving him the fight of his life! This was the one for his life!*

Paradox:Ogre? BITCH IM THE FUCKING APOCALYSE!

*Paradox completely done with this day charged at his foe only for Yujiro to hit him head on repeatedly and started sending him into a tree and kept wailing on him only for Paradox to kick him hard enough his leg when flying faster then a bullet into a deer hard enough to kill said deer.*

Yujiro:*Startled* what? How? When?

*Paradox soon then grabbed his wrists and spun him around with enough force to tear Yujiro's skin as he was thrown back into the arena...*

*50 miles away.*

*as the world's strongest groaned Paradox charged and slammed his shoulder into Yujiro with the Shockwave dislocating his joints and shattering every rib.*

Yujiro:*weakly* thank....you...warrior....

*Paradox threw Yujiro into the ceiling and then with one mighty uppercut full of rage and pain hit Yujiro hard enough his body for a lack of a better word...Exploded all over the arena.*

Paradox:....FUCK MY FACE HURTS LIKE SHIT!!!

*Paradox rolled over the ground as his body was regrowing his face as the announcer woke up.*

Announcer:what? Who? Who won?

Paradox:*with half his face.* I did...*snatches the mic.* JUST KNOW I KILLED YOUR WORLDS STRONGEST WITHOUT MUCH ISSUES. DONT FUCK WITH ME OR MY FRIENDS!...

*he then yelled into the mic to rub it in to further scare any and all challengers.*

Paradox:AND I DIDNT EVEN GO ALL OUT I DIDNT GIVE IT MY 100% SO DONT TRY ME!

*Paradox soon left yanked the suitcase with the prize money saw the amount did some math on the equivalent for him and started skipping down the street unknownly singing about all the things he'd buy for his lady Thrud*

Paradox: 🎶 A new dress a date of a lifetime makeup all the rings she wants a set of kimonos all the food for her diet and more! ♡♡♡🎵

THE WINNER IS PARADOX!

[jvstheworld]

The Buffy Re-watch: Season 1 character Analysis

Angel:

The mysterious stranger. He brings the cryptic messages to help Buffy. As a character, Angel is kind of bland. We get that he wants to help and he likes Buffy and through that he provides some romantic tension, but up until the reveal that he is a vampire, there's not much too him. There were hints that he was one, he only appears at night, can withstand some serious damage and shrug it off, he's not bothered by the cold and when Buffy says 'bite me' in episode 5 the camera turns is on him. After the reveal, we get some backstory. We find out about his relationship with Darla, that it was romantic/sexual in nature, but no greater info is given because she is killed off by the end of the episode. It's lucky that there was a spin-off or else she would have been a wasted character (something is said in my post for that episode). We also find out that Angel has a very dark past, so dark in fact that The Master considers him one of the most vicious beings to walk the planet, before his curse anyway. I find that kind of funny that the Angel is known for being a notorious killer among vampires more so than the Vampire King himself. The Master has been around for hundreds, possibly even a thousand years, and yet some 240 year old is known for having a worse body count that him? Either he was seriously slacking when it came to killing humans or just kept it very quiet.

Episode 7 is the first time we hear about Angel's curse and nothing much is really said about it. We know what happened for him to get it, doing something absolutely devastating to a Romani girl, around Buffy's age, that affected her whole community and they wanted revenge. In a unique way of punishment, Angel got his soul back, which now makes him all remorseful and brooding. It's certainly an interesting idea, but that's all there is to Angel, just broodiness. I know that this will change with season 2 and 3 and Buffy and even more so in his own show, and I'm going to be honest, I prefer Angel in his own show, however, when it comes to this first season of Buffy, he's rather lacking. You're supposed to give me a reason to A) like him and B) understand why Buffy likes him. Seriously, the only reason I can see as to why Buffy falls for him is 'boy pretty'. That doesn't work in Twilight, and it doesn't work here. Yeah, he shows up occasionally, provides a nice leather jacket and gets a couple of punches in during a fight, but the majority of the time, he just talks and broods.

I understand that it is a short season, so character development outside of the main characters of Buffy, Willow and Xander, is hard to do, but if you want me to feel invested in a possible relationship, then give me more to like.

The only other major interaction Angel has is with Giles. Their first conversation sells how tragic Angel is, the soulful vampire in love with the person who kills his kind. He describes being near Buffy as painful because of their situation. It's just lucky for him that Giles takes pity on him and covers for him when needed.

Angel is a good guy, sure, but in this first season he's just meh. He's bland and boring. Wh*don didn't really want him, so that probably added to why he is the way he is. I just needed a more believable reason as to why Buffy likes him outside of 'boy pretty'. I'm serious, that shit did not work for Twilight. Fortunately, Buffy actually has a personality which makes it watchable, unlike Bella who is the most nothing MC. Angel might be all brooding but at least he isn't an abusive and controlling fuckwit like Edward, so their relationship is bearable, I just need more from it, and Angel. But this is season one, I will forgive it. First seasons can be awkward in trying to get characters right, so Angel gets a pass, but I won't be so forgiving in later seasons.

Just to add, if you like Twilight, that's cool. Enjoy it. I just hate the portrayal of abusive relationships as romantic. Just fuck that shit.

[flock-of-cassowaries]

My family didn’t go to church, but I was given a Catholic Children’s Bible at the behest of my paternal grandmother. And I read it a lot, and became very invested, because the alternative was the system of morality my dad presented, and… I’m pretty sure he’s a fucking psychopath, actually.

So, this dude in sandals, preaching that the most important thing in life is to have empathy for others?

Highly appealing.

But the more times I read through that book (and I read it many, many times, because the 90s were boring AF), the more a lot of the stories started to bother me.

I think the worst one was Job, because it was like - dude, what the fuck?

Are you seriously just ruining this guy’s life to prove a point to your buddy Satan?

Like… that is such an absolutely shitty failure of empathy.

You might as will be the fucking rich nepo-baby brothers from Sucession, bribing an unhoused person to tattoo their initials on his goddamn face.

But they’re characters on an HBO show dramatizing / satirizing the evils of the rich and powerful.

You’re supposed to be the picture of all-powerful compassion.

And you do that.

What the fucking fuck.

…and also, like… what’s your fucking problem with Lot’s wife? 

Like, calm the fuck down.

She is having a natural human reaction to her home being fucking destroyer; a natural, human reaction that hurts no one, except, apparently you, because she’s disobeying your command, and apparently you’re a fragile authoritarian fuckwit?

And why even fucking put the tree of knowledge there?

Like, it just seems like you set them up to fail, and just like… why? Why do that.

…also, why do you want a hoard all the fucking knowledge for yourself? That seems like you just want to keep them in a perpetual state of childhood so they can never think critically about your shit. Which like… kinda fucked up, honestly. Like, maybe you should’ve just made dogs? Though like… honestly, maybe not. Maybe get a tamagotchi.

And also, why are you so insecure about people worshipping the wrong, non-real gods? Like, if you really wanted people not to make mistakes about that, shouldn’t you like… commit to making more regular public appearances? Sort of seems like you want to have it both ways.

Also, if you’ve decided you want to be immortal, omnipotent Greta Garbo up there, fine; but then how are you getting mad at people for not worshipping you?

And like, honestly, if you’re the adult here, how are you fucking sending people to hell just for being born Buddhist or whatever? Like, shouldn’t it just be based on like whether or not they’re kind to other sentient beings? Whether they try to be good? Like… how can you, in good conscience, do that? It honestly just feels like an ego thing which, like… kind of sad, and deeply shitty.

…also, just on a more personal note, when you said to honour thy mother and thy father… did you mean these people?

Like, really?

Because like… I’m fucking trying, but I’m pretty sure that the loving and honouring is only going one way in this fucking household.

(For some reason, Abraham and Isaac never bothered me that much; maybe just because the idea of my dad actually listening to a command from anyone - including god - is fucking unthinkable. Even though he’s nominally Catholic.)

[magicanddaggers]

@neverhangd continued from here

You can’t blame her for thinking he would, though. Most murders may end up concealed by closed doors or deep shadows, but how much of that is necessary when you can slip past unnoticed? When you move with the grace of a cat and the impunity of a shadow? When locks tumble apart at your touch and your lust for blood is at least as literal as it is metaphoric? Anne looks away from Astarion and back to the exsanguinated corpse lying on the bed. She can’t exactly say she cares about the murder—it’s a boon if it’s anything to judge from the amulet around its neck, a skull in the center of a triangle that she’s damned tired of seeing by now—but it’s going to make things more difficult if the others see it this way. She’s been good to her word, keeping Astarion’s condition to herself, helping to catch him live prey when the others are abed at camp, and until now she’s assumed he’s been good to his word. Less sloppy about clues and feeding. It’s clear her mind is made up when her gaze snaps back to Astarion’s, pale green eyes boring down into his blood red stare. “Swear it, then. Swear to me this en’t yer doing.” She’ll help to conceal this if it’s not. If it is, though…well. “I don’t got time for fuckwit liars without the sense t’kill discreetly.”

"Bloody Hells, woman, I fucking swear it wasn't me!" Astarion squeaks out, his voice a bit high pitched and defensive as he raises his hands, also very defensively. His eyes are wide in what can only be described as the fear of the Gods put into him by her accusations as he backs away from being within dagger's distance to her.

Up until now, their relationship had been rather comfortable and cozy, Astarion had found someone who for whatever reason was keen on helping him and keeping him, and his secret, safe and protected. She's even gone so far as to help him find prey that's a bit better than rodents and birds. While he certainly is innocent in this instance, however, he knows how it looks.

"Anne, please, you must believe me..."

But the evidence is, quite literally, laid out before them. The draining of blood, the puncture wounds on the victim's neck. Hells, if he didn't know better, he'd be blaming himself as well. The hunger in his belly is enough to tell him he didn't do this in some sort of deep trance.

But if not him... then who?

Perhaps Cazador sent one of the other spawn's, though he doubted they'd feed on a thinking creature, even being so far away from their Master. He might've been free from the lord's influence at the moment, but the others would still have to follow the rules. No thinking creatures.

Which puts into his head the most unnerving thought he's had since this disastrous adventure began. What if Cazador himself has come looking for him? Surely, then, he wouldn't be hiding, feeding discreetly like this, that was not his Master's style.

But who, then?

"I know..." He squeaks out a little bit once more, then clears his throat and takes a deep, unneeded but somehow necessary breath to calm him before speaking again. "I know how it looks. I don't blame you for accusing me in the slightest, but... I did not do this. We are in the Shadowlands, after all, I would be surprised if there weren't other vampires hiding out in these parts. Or... or Cazador's finally come for me, which would open up a while new world of problems for us all, not just myself. The point is... I didn't do it. I swear."

[neverhangd]

"I would never murder so openly!" Astarion to Anne.

I can’t find the meme :(

You can’t blame her for thinking he would, though. Most murders may end up concealed by closed doors or deep shadows, but how much of that is necessary when you can slip past unnoticed? When you move with the grace of a cat and the impunity of a shadow? When locks tumble apart at your touch and your lust for blood is at least as literal as it is metaphoric?

Anne looks away from Astarion and back to the exsanguinated corpse lying on the bed. She can’t exactly say she cares about the murder—it’s a boon if it’s anything to judge from the amulet around its neck, a skull in the center of a triangle that she’s damned tired of seeing by now—but it’s going to make things more difficult if the others see it this way. She’s been good to her word, keeping Astarion’s condition to herself, helping to catch him live prey when the others are abed at camp, and until now she’s assumed he’s been good to his word. Less sloppy about clues and feeding.

It’s clear her mind is made up when her gaze snaps back to Astarion’s, pale green eyes boring down into his blood red stare.

“Swear it, then. Swear to me this en’t yer doing.” She’ll help to conceal this if it’s not. If it is, though…well. “I don’t got time for fuckwit liars without the sense t’kill discreetly.”

[furious-rogue-stuff]

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 1: Gnawing Curiosity

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 16,500+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Violence, gore, language, mentions of rape, and some feral power play. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 1: Gnawing Curiosity

Work had been surprisingly scarce after the Island crumbled. Stryker had gone to ground for all he knew, and Victor took some pleasure at the mental image of his former employer being tortured or treated like a fuck-up somewhere in Washington. The pleasure fizzled as fast as the thought was replaced with his incurable boredom as of late. He hadn't seen Jimmy since the Island and it took him a minute to wonder if he even cared anymore. A stupid thing to wonder, since the fact he still thought of the runt was proof enough that he still cared.

These sort of musings infuriated Victor. He'd push them back down and concentrate on his rage, which seemed to erase anything else until his mind wandered all over again. He forced himself to not look as bored as he felt sitting across from the man who was quoting him for an espionage job. He preferred the government jobs. The brass gave him his parameters, and let him do the job as he saw fit, as long as his methods garnered the wanted results. They paid a hell of a lot more than most private contracts, and they came with so many perks and immunity privileges that Victor had no problem enjoying his work. Unlike lately with all the bullshit haggling and coddling he had to do just to get paid right for a series of crapshoot jobs. Unable to take it anymore, Victor suddenly rested his hands palm down on the table and rose, startling the man's bodyguards standing at attention on either side of him.

"Get to the point or I walk. You're boring me to tears," he grumbled sardonically and enjoyed the tension in the man's face.

The man was clearly an intermediary, meaning this job was willing to pay a chunk of cash. They had sought him out, and he'd met them at a rendezvous point as specified if his interests were piqued. Now here he was, in fucking Las Vegas of all places, getting dicked around with over some stupid computer codes or some shit, when all he wanted to know was if he was cleared to kill and the wage. The man looked very dubiously at the flunkies standing behind him while Victor feigned mounting irritation.

Truth be told, it had been quite a while since he had an espionage gig. Lately he'd been globe trotting doing people's dirty work and dealing with the drudgery himself—no network or government cleaning crews to cover things up—something that didn't really bother him but he felt on principle should. Making people disappear was old hat to him, and he much preferred the gigs where he got to terrorize a target before killing them with intimate cruelty. Espionage didn't leave much room for the former or latter, to Victor's chagrin, but a job was a job. When it came down to it, Victor was a fucking surgeon at what he did, and he was damn proud of it. His calculating savagery and ruthless keenness made him a global terror among other free agents and dastardly government fuckwits alike. It wasn't because he was good at what he did, but because he intimately enjoyed what he did. This job was already boring him to no end, but he figured giving the little man in the fancy suit sitting across from him an anxiety attack was fun for now.

Until the phone at the end of the conference table rang.

The man nodded to one of the flunkies to take the line as he went over a few key parameters of the mission. When said flunky walked over and whispered in his ear, Victor heard, "She's coming up."

"What?" the man balked at the crony. "Right now?"

Victor's brow quirked slowly before he stood straight—towering over the man even from across the heavy glass conference table. "Is there a problem?" he drawled with a gruff edge to his tone.

"N-No Mr. Creed. I just need to confer with another—!" the man was cut off by a knock on the door. His eyes widened before he nodded to the closest bodyguard to open said door.

The door was pulled open to reveal a woman. The dark red of her top was what first caught Victor's attention. Then the fierce scent that carried over to him when she strutted into the office like she owned the place.

"Mediator," she offered as greeting, not even bothering more than a cool glance over at Victor when she strode to the head of the conference table to stare out the long glass window that looked over the Vegas strip.

"M-Miss Montecristo, I-I thought you…" the man stammered, drawing a blank when the woman turned stoically towards him. The illumination of the bright neon signs outside caught the side of her face in the dim room, allowing Victor to take in her features better.

Angular features, screaming Spanish, or maybe South American, with a warm glow that was tempered into a sun-kissed tan across her skin. Her thick long dark hair was combed away from her face to cascade down behind her shoulders, with a few long strands escaping to caress the sides of her face. His eyes lingered on her mouth, painted a shade of red lighter than her top. Her eyes caught his stare, and he saw the stark color.

"My last commitment was rescheduled, so I can take on your mission," she announced with deliberate crispness before she leaned against the glass window and gave the man an intense stare.

"W-Well," the man was at a loss as he stared at Victor before quickly looking back at her. "I'm afraid my employer has had me contact another free agent" he announced, earning a dry grunt from Victor who was now staring the woman down, sizing her up.

"I understand, that is why I've interrupted these mediations and am accepting the job now," she remarked, her voice as cool as a desert night's breeze to Victor's acute hearing. She didn't have a particular accent, but the flow of her speech seemed…otherworldly, as if she'd traveled and mastered speech in every corner of the world.

"Sorry, miss, but I'm here ironing things out. You lost your chance—" Victor's condescending remark was cut short when the woman stalked towards him. He stood his ground and bared his fangs in warning when she was a few steps away from him, but found himself sneering in confusion when she skimmed right past him, as if he was a decorative plant standing in her way.

"Mediator, confer with your employer. I'm sure things can be rearranged," she spoke and glanced over her shoulder at Victor. His eyes had flickered from the sway of her hips clad in the form-fitting Calvin's back up to her bizarrely colored eyes.

He turned swiftly toward the mediator, his heavy black coat fluttering behind him from the briskness of his movement. "This better not be some bait and switch you're playing," he growled over to the waxen-faced man, giving him a searing glare.

"N-No! Mr. Creed I can assure you—"

"That I was tapped for the job first. You're just the fallback choice," the woman cut in coolly before sitting on the side of the table and inspecting her long black nails casually.

"Who the hell do you think you're talkin' to—!"

"To a very slow mutant, that's who," she cut in again, earning a growl of aggravation from Victor before she glanced sharply at him. She sniffed the air, a deliberate gesture that only he caught. "From one feral to another, move on and play big game cat somewhere else. This is a finesse job, not a field trip," she stated with an edge, her eyes narrowing for the first time.

His expression only betrayed a hint of surprise at her announcement. A fellow feral, eh? He'd never encountered a feral female, and he slightly berated himself for not realizing it sooner. Her scent wasn't tart and musky like most females. It had a heady quality. Something raw but pungent, like soil and…blood…not her blood.

His nostrils flared, and he knew she caught his fronting gesture. She smiled at him, her lips pulling to slightly reveal her gleaming teeth. The phone rang again, and this time the man was so eager to get out of the glaring session between the two mutants to take the call. The man blanched once the voice on the other line did the talking, alerting Victor and causing his boyish lips to scowl despite him.

"Yes sir…understood," the man announced and quickly hung the phone up to stare across at the two mutants. "Your terms have been accepted, Ms. Montecristo."

Her eyes flickered back to Victor in a berating stare. "Go home, cub. You were not suited for this work to begin with," she announced scathingly while her tone remained alluringly poised. She glanced back towards the mediator, ignoring Victor as he started to round the table towards her. "You know where to transfer my fee once you've received delivery," she stated and turned back to Victor. The air between them was crackling with electricity that only two ferals could emanate, his body language flaring subtly with his seething rage while she shot icy dismissal back at him and agilely walked pass him with the quality of a specter.

She moved so quick all he felt was the breeze of her movement caress the back of his palm and the side of his mutton-chopped cheek.

"Hey!" Victor barked as he whirled around to face the door.

"It was a pleasure, Mr. Creed," she announced and strode out of the conference room without even a cursory glance back. Victor lunged over to the door before it clicked closed. When he yanked it open and went to pounce on her, she had vanished down the hall, with only her scent left in her wake.

Fuming calmly, he scraped his calloused palm along his furred jaw before raking it back in his inch-long cropped hair. "You know," he growled as he turned back to the men in the room. "I don't take kindly to being made a fool of," he sneered, his jaw clenched and his blue eyes wild with anger.

"I assure you, Mr. Creed, no one intended to waste your time! She had a courier sent directly to my employer with her terms before she even interrupted the meeting. She was the first candidate—!"

"Do you think I give a shit what the excuse is?" he hissed in as he grabbed the man and hoisted him up. "I'm going to get paid what you quoted me, and if I don't get paid, you and your flunkies are going to take a long trip out that window, and if you're still moving by the time I get to the carport, I'm going to snap every bone that isn't broken," he threatened and jerked the man towards said window before shoving him back into his chair.

"Y-Yes of course! I'll pay you out of my own funds, but please—!"

"Yeah yeah, don't hurt you, just shut up and get to writing!" Victor cut in with exasperation as he gestured for the man to hurry up and write the fucking check. He gave the bodyguards a challenging stare, but they stood uselessly with fear, not prepared to die over a middleman's fuck up.

He snatched the check out of the man's trembling fingers, growling as he stalked out of the conference room. Sniffing the staling scent of the smug bitch who'd made an ass out of him, he followed the trail down to the lobby of the Stardust before stalking out into the strip's cold night. The little bitch had just phased out of sight, but her scent clung to his nose still. Sneering at his surroundings, Victor's mind obsessed furiously over what he'd do to the feral bitch if he found her.

The night sky was gritty with lights and clouds over head as he stalked down the strip, fuming contemptuously and spoiling for violence to take his edge off. A woman had never gotten one over on him like that, let alone when it involved his livelihood. She even managed to gauge the extent of his feral mutation with her mocking "cub" condescension. He fumed, unable to think of what else to do but wander to the closest hotel with a stocked bar.

He sat in a corner tucked around the counter, gesturing broodingly for the bartender. "Bourbon, and leave the bottle," he muttered with an edge as he glowered over the rest of the patrons. It was late even for Vegas, but there were a few people drowning their sorrows over debts and their miserable luck. Most of the bustle was out on the casino floor, where the dings and clicks of slot machines mingled with the sounds of winners and losers. Draining his glass, Victor poured himself another as his nostril's flared from the warm aroma. He was there for a good while, staring down into his glass and letting his mind wander. Fucking Stryker…sometimes he wondered if he had been shortsighted; if the perks and pleasure of doing his job had inevitably made him a glorified attack dog. Fuck knows where we'd be if Lagos never had happened...

The cheers and shouts of a hot streak began to grow more constant over at the high rollers section of the casino pit, which spanned directly out in front of the bar. Victor glowered out at the commotion, his nose wrinkling in a sneer as he lifted his glass back to his lips. His sharp eyes skimmed through the crowd that circled a particular blackjack table, where some self-important bastard was beating the house with his winning streak. The asshole looked like a dapper conman as he went all in on the next bet, his arm propped in a lazy way that at first concealed the woman sitting next to him, until he shifted back into his stool and combed his hand through his dirty blond mop of feathered hair when a cheer went around at his win.

"Son of a bitch," Victor muttered over the rim of his glass, his hand halting from raising his bitter drink back to his lips. The red top, the sun-kissed skin, and those sultry lips all perked up as she sat with her long legs crossed, eyeing the bastard on the hot streak when he glanced at her and ran his finger up her bare arm.

He could see a flicker of desire cross the conman's features when he halted and searched her eyes more keenly, his fingers resting at the dip in her arm. Ms. Montecristo's eyes lowered alluringly as she captured his stupefied gaze and flicked it back to the table. Victor watched as he collected his winnings and bowed out of the game, with the small crowd cheering and clapping at his luck.

Fisting a few bills out of his pocket and setting them on the counter without looking away from the couple, Victor stood and walked to the entrance of the bar just as the guy and Ms. Montecristo left the blackjack table and headed for the closest craps table that sat at a risen section of the casino floor close to a bank of slot machines near the elevators. He stalked close to the wall, following them through the crowds before he hung back against a long row of slot machines.

She looked like a poised goddess next to the cheap floosies and drunk cowboys who were shouting their bets and tossing the dice back and forth. When the lucky bastard picked up the dice, he offered them in the palm of his hand for her to blow them for good luck. His eyes honed in on her lips pursing as they blew over the dice, a stray image of her lips wrapping around his cock jumping out in his charged mind. Setting his jaw, Victor forced his heated thoughts away from sex to instead picture her getting flung into a wall before he slashed her condescending smile right off her fucking face. The ticklings of his rising bloodlust made him smile despite his better judgment.

He watched as she seemingly lost interest in the game and turned to walk gracefully away from the craps table. The once debonair conman practically twisted his neck when he turned to follow her, a desperate rise of anxiety overtaking the man as he grabbed the rest of his winnings and followed her like an eager puppy. Victor's brow quirked at the silly sight; he decided to follow them, a plan of sadistic mayhem sprouting in his vicious mind.

He came around the corner just in time to see the man catch up with her. The bastard pressed the elevator button and fished a set of keys out of his jacket. Victor saw the keychain, and knew they were heading up to the high rollers suite. The elevator opened and Ms. Montecristo entered first, quickly followed in by the stupid asshole so he could eagerly click the doors closed behind them. Smirking, he turned and made his way for the staff access, figuring he'd give the little bitch some time so he could burst in on them just at the juiciest moment.

The high rollers suite sat up on the last floor of the hotel, advertising an incredible view and accommodations that only the man with the most chips could earn, if not the biggest mob connections. It was the only room at the top floor, requiring a key just to gain access to the floor from the bay of elevators in the lobby. Well, that, and the staff elevator tucked down the hall and out of sight from the room's double door threshold.

Victor turned the corner and stared down the long hallway, a smirk pulling at his boyish lips as he began stalking quietly towards the gaudy gold and lacquered doors of the suite. His nostrils flared as they caught her uniquely feral scent, making his mouth water. Her scent had shifted somehow to something earthy but familiar to him.

He hadn't scented this particular shift in a woman's smell in more than a few decades, having become accustomed to pillaging more than enticing his bedmates. It was undeniable, however, that Ms. Montecristo was secreting a pheromone that was keen to his nose, which made him wonder if it was the reason for the man's sudden bumbling adoration of her.

Forcing the door unlocked with his claws, Victor slipped into the suite and extended his senses outward, scoping out the living room just through the foyer. He heard the unmistakable groan of a man coming from the bedroom as he entered the living room and had to stifle his chuckle at how starved and pitiful it sounded. He decided to prowl around the suite and look out the huge wall of windows that revealed all of Vegas, getting a feel for his surroundings and debating about taking advantage of the plush accommodations after he killed the two in the bedroom. Not like he'd have to pay for anything. The thought warmed another chuckled up into his throat as he trailed his extended claws to skim a long tear into the upholstery along the top of a huge suede couch while he eyed the bedroom door implacably.

The sounds were getting interesting, and Victor couldn't submerge his curiosity. He licked his lips when the thought of slipping in and watching them screw lingered in his considerations. Sex and killing were his top favorite things to do, especially when one followed the other. Musing the fun of partaking in both involving the lofty bitch who'd intrigued and made a fool out of him, Victor cupped himself through his black jeans with a wicked longing as he sniffed the air for another whiff of her tantalizing scent. The thump of a headboard striking the wall snapped his attention back to the door just when a cry of pain echoed through the door before it was followed by a shriek of horror.

Taken aback, Victor rushed to the door before he could stop himself, throwing it open just as a gurgle and the shifting of the mattress from the man's thrashing and struggling under the woman became more frantic. The unmistakable scent of blood hit him quickly, sending a mix of instinctual signals and stirring his feral drive to numbly gawk at the scene in front of him. The man was propped against the headboard, thrashing wildly under the voracious mouth latched viciously over his jugular. Transfixed, Victor stood at the threshold of the door watching as she dug her talon-like nails into the man's shoulder. The bone of his scapula crunched under the pressure, and he released another strangled yell as she forced his head to snap to the side by tugging the hand fisted into his feathered hair to the opposite angle.

The man's thrashing began to die down into a series of convulsions and spasms as he was quickly bled out. Life went out of his panicked eyes, leaving his expression frozen in vacant terror. A muffled moan came from her then, as if she had literally drank the last drop of his life right out of him. Victor snapped his mouth shut and honed in on her, sitting astride her victim on a plush queen bed with gold accents and burgundy pillows. A huge mirror spanned the wall and ceiling space right over the bed, an infamous reminder of the sort of debauchery that came with the Vegas nightlife. With a slick sound, she unlatched her teeth from the man's neck, revealing the gaping wound that exposed his torn carotid artery and jugular plainly. She sighed and shoved the corpse lightly to lean against the back of the headboard, her eyes closed as she basked in her bloodlust.

Victor noticed her incisors and canines were carnivorous now as she dragged her tongue across them and savored the gore that still clung and dripped all over her mouth. Her teeth retracted back to those of a human just as she flicked her tongue along her bottom lip. Her eyes opened and a predatory smile crept into her features slowly as she glanced at him from the mirror's reflection.

"Ah," she sighed alluringly, "Mr. Creed. I trust you didn't have much trouble finding your way up." She turned then and slinked sinuously across the bed to cup her face in her hands, regarding him with hooded eyes.

Victor was a reticent man, but no one had ever accused him of being at a loss for words. At this instant, however, he found himself gaping down at her from the doorway, his eyes implacable but his jaw working absently in his surprise, clenching and unclenching until the muscle in his jaw twitched. Sprawled out the way she was under a gaudy spotlight over the bed, he finally noticed the sheen of her skin. It gleamed bronze and seemed to shimmer depending on how she moved under the light, reminding him of scales.

"You're a reptilian-based feral," he stated in a gravelly tone, his brows knitted and his scowl intense as he eyed her.

Her eyes flashed with amusement as she sat up fluidly and regarded him smugly. "What gave me away?" she mused, her lips still stained with blood as she wiped her chin with the back of her hand before smiling. The light was hitting the plane of her chest, the sheen of bronze that seemed separate from her natural tan shimmering as she slinked to lounge sensuously on her side.

"Just now, your skin," he muttered bemusedly as he glowered at her, his hostility of earlier rising like ire in his broad and muscular frame. His nostril flared, savoring the scents that were bombarding him. Her scent was like a veil dragging over his keen senses, and the aroma of blood was making him want to do something impulsive. Like dominate and mount the fierce bitch who eyed him appreciatively all of a sudden. "You've been expecting me this whole time," he rumbled, as he stepped closer to her.

She rose on her hands and hissed a growl, warning him to step cautiously. He froze at the sound as an involuntary smirk crept over his lips to show off his fangs. "I suppose you've been spoiling for a fight since you waltzed in and snatched the job out of my claws," he stated as he prowled off to the side where the marble-clad bathroom was, sizing her up with a contemplative swagger.

Chuckling, she rose and met his gaze with her vivid palm green eyes, the russet ring circling her pupils puckering as her keen eyes surveyed his prowl. "We ferals are a temperamental bunch," she offered simply and smiled at the daggers he glared at her. "Especially one so young," she added as a sly afterthought.

Victor barked a derisive laugh. "Oh, now I beg to differ, viper," he countered disrespectfully and sneered at her, watching as her own patronizing smile faltered.

Her lips tightened involuntarily before the stoic mask flinted back over her features. That's a pretty tense…he mused and decided to catalogue the expression.

"You're still a toddler compared to me, cub," she sniffed the air cynically, the blasé air recovered as she leant back onto her knees. "I can smell the impetuous remnants of the antebellum age which borne you, Creed," she drawled in a smooth jeer.

He growled, and she hissed disdainfully at his challenge when a knock echoed from the foyer. Victor's eyes glanced sideways, but he refused to turn and risk having her lunge for his throat.

"Ah, room service has arrived," she announced with a pleasant air as he looked back at her more intensely, the query flickering in his crystalline eyes. "Please help yourself while I…freshen up," she offered with sultry heat flashing in her gaze as she agilely pounced into the bathroom like a graceful lizard vaulting from one perch to another. He blinked, a grunt lodging in his throat just as another louder knock urged him to turn and stalk back to the foyer.

The bellhop flinched at how suddenly the door flew open and then stiffened as he looked up at the behemoth of a man looming in the doorway. "G-Good evening, sir," he stated and forged on, wheeling the cart decked with covered platters through the door that Victor hastily moved out of the way of so the punk wouldn't pinch the tips of his boots. "I must say this is the most eccentric order ever put together by the kitchen, Mr. DeLaughter," the bellhop remarked as he wheeled the cart into the living room and walked back to the door, a crooked smile on his face. "Have a goodnight, sir," he added and waiting at the door, expecting a gratuity.

Victor looked at the cart and back down at the bellhop, his expression darkening as he slammed the door in the kid's face. He heard him yelp behind the door and the ding of the elevator doors opening and closing before he huffed exasperatedly through his nose and stalked back to the bedroom. However, as he passed the cart he halted, sniffing over it and growling at the exquisite smells wafting up from under the plate covers. Snapping one of the covers up, his mouth instantly watered at the medium rare rack of lamb. Well, it was more the lamb's whole ribcage, and it looked oh so tender.

"That smells divine," she purred, stirring his gaze towards her. She was leaning against the doorframe, her eyes lowered in contemplation of him, her mouth clean from the gore of her kill. "No need to be modest now. Help yourself," she spoke as she slinked around the couch towards him.

She ignored him entirely as she uncovered a lid and inhaled the seasoned and almost raw meat stacked on the plate. His muscles were flexed tight from tension as he growled down at her, hating how hard it was to read her motives, let alone her perplexing behavior.

When she stood up and scanned his features, something snapped in him. He grabbed her and flung her back, unable to repress his burning rage and the nagging feeling she was trying to make a fool out of him again.

She vaulted in the air and landed against the wall where she dug her nails into the plaster before snarling at him. He tried to submerge his surprise as he bared his fangs and snarled back. Shoving the cart away, he prowled in his aggressive stance, spoiling for a clash. Instead, she skated down from the wall to land in a crouch, the couch between them, and tossed her long hair out of her face.

"Must you behave like a petulant brat?" she hissed and stood slowly, a predatory inclination flashing in her angry eyes. "So I took a job from you. It was my job to begin with," she jeered sharply.

"Keep talking to me like that and I'll skin your scaly hide and fashion a new coat for myself," he growled threateningly, incensed with this unpredictable bitch.

She only scoffed mockingly at his threat. "I heard the ruthless Victor Creed was a vicious and brooding bully for hire, but this by far exceeds anything I would've expected from a supposed professional," she chided regally, and before Victor could react, he was flung against his own wall from a shift kick to the gut. Before he could scramble to the balls of his feet, she pounced onto him and clasped her hand deftly around his throat.

A sensation began to lace up his skin as he thrashed trying fling her off of him, but found his arms feeling heavy and useless at his sides. He snarled wildly up at her, but couldn't move as a numbing feeling trickled down into his extremities. She curled down close to him and dragged the back of her hand up the side of his neck and along a mutton-chopped cheek, leaving the same tingling and numbing sensation in its wake. His lips could only manage a sharp sneer, baring his fangs as he seethed at her through his clenched teeth.

"Oh stop your braying," she grumbled, a hint of her Spanish accent slurring into her tone from her aggravation. "This should've been a lesson learned decades ago, cub," she scoffed and sat astride over his broad muscular chest.

"What—th'fuck you do to me?" he spat out and tried to will his body to react, only to manage a slow struggle under her.

The light above her head poured over her arms, and he watched as her skin seemed to flicker from a bronze sheen into a more golden shimmer that complimented her sun-kissed skin. "A reptilian defense mechanism. My skin allows me to secrete pheromones that are transferred through tactile contact with another person, manipulating their own nervous system," she offered simply as she stood off of him and walked gracefully to the cart. "I can manipulate the type of pheromone, lacing either rapture, stillness, or poison into a person through skin contact," she explained over her shoulder as she plucked a piece of lamb and popped it into her mouth, savoring the pink flesh before turning to stare down at him. "As you can guess, my skin was shimmered with stillness, so just touching your skin laced the pheromone to frazzle some of your neurotransmitters, forcing your nervous system to go haywire. The sensation will last for a few more minutes, which is just enough time to talk, eh cub?" she expounded smoothly as she waltzed over and crouched at his side.

It explained why she wore a top that left her lithe form mostly bare. He turned his head as best as he could and glowered at her. "Why not kill me," he slurred, but wasn't stammering as he was a moment ago.

"I figured it would be a great indignity to the both of us if I just poisoned you. We're ferals. We mutants might be a quickly growing species, but there aren't a lot of ferals like you and I," she explained unperturbedly and extended her fingers to scratch affectionately at the scruff on his jaw, as if he was rambunctious pet. "Besides, we both know poisoning you wouldn't kill you, and you went through such trouble to stalk me that I'm a bit flattered. Not everyday one is prowled by the Sabertooth," she purred affably.

His features were implacable and chiseled into a biting scowl as he eyed her. "Didn't know you were a fan," he ground out, the numbness wearing off slowly, his fingers flexing and his muscles beginning to clench against the stillness, as she called it.

"Not a fan, Mr. Creed. My business is information. I know my market and conversely, I make it my interest to know of agents who kill for hire. Anyone sensible knows their competition, as well as stays aware of the industries that crisscross their own market," she spoke, stretching to lean over him so he could see her skin shimmer again. "So instead of lunging at me, live and learn, cub."

He grunted sourly and wrinkled his nose. "So to your logic, not only did I encroach on your job, but I degraded your area of expertise," he snorted derisively. "Tell me, miss, when was the last time you got dominated?" he suddenly mocked, and at the intake of her breath, he knew he had flustered her a bit.

"Bite your tongue or I'll tear it out of your wretched mouth!" she seethed in his face, feeling the wave of hostility wash over him. Her scent fluctuated from earthiness to musk, a musky scent that piqued his interests. Victor couldn't help admire the viciousness of her threat, or feel the electricity it caused in him.

"Oh, did I brush a sore subject?" he sneered and sat up suddenly, the stillness still making it hard for him to be as fluid and agile as he normally was, but flitting away to allow for some mobility. Instead of scampering away from him, she grabbed a fistful of his coat lapels and hauled him effortlessly to his feet, before letting go so he'd stumble onto his knees. He bared his teeth and lunged an arm out at her but she was too quick for him, indignant at being put in a submissive position. "Once this shit wears off I'm going to rip you to pieces, bitch!" he spat as he skulked towards her on his hands and knees.

She rolled her eyes down at him. "When you're quite through, I'll be in the bedroom," she huffed and grabbed a platter to take with her to the room.

Victor bellowed at her, and fell to his side, trying to will every fiber of his body to fucking work already. Lying on his side, he contemptuously mused over how much of a fool he felt like. He had continually underestimated this feral woman and was becoming her puppet for fodder. His mind had been on a steady collision course, but he hadn't bothered to anticipate her feral prowess. He tried to argue that his lapse was purely momentary, but here he was, on the carpeted floor like a useless frail waiting to regain his faculties. Whatever personal berates he had were ebbed away by his trigger temper, which caused him to scornfully seethe and try to ignore that intrigue had played part in his folly.

From the minute she had walked into the conference room, his eyes had roved over her trying to quench a gnawing curiosity he hadn't nurtured in several decades. This woman was a complete anomaly to him, having thwarted his feral instincts with her own, which were far more honed than his. At the very least, he was confident that her little 'stillness' ploy wouldn't work on him again, but she still had two other skin pheromones left.

He flexed his arms, regaining his faculties fast enough for him to skulk into a crouch before attempting to stand. His head rushed a bit, but for the most part he felt like he was owner of his body once again. He lurched over the couch before bracing himself on the back spine. Okay, this was going to be problematic. He wanted to pounce on the bitch and brawl, tear her apart, while a small part of him wanted to dominate her lofty ass. The idea of her begging under him and her sultry mouth crying out and mewling uncontrollably was like a slap that momentarily deterred him from doing anything but contemplating her.

Strategy usually took a back seat to raw instinct, but Victor had been bitch slapped with the fact that instinct wasn't going to help him against a fellow feral, especially one as sly and cunning as Montecristo. She had the forethought to know how dangerous he was, even enough of his background to openly mock him, but still considered him an opponent and a challenge to her autonomy as a female feral. His experience was limited. When he and Jimmy were together, he'd been the clear leader, while Jimmy followed him and respected his alpha status. Of course over the years that slowly eroded into something else Victor didn't want to acknowledge, especially now as he glared at the cart of food and then over at the bedroom, but the fact remained: he was the dominant force, always had been, and he planned continuing to be so.

This woman wasn't going to be intimidated, coerced, or beaten bloody, no matter how much he lamented the last part. She'd clearly been a rogue, not backing down from a challenge to her autonomy or being prowled by any other feral…except tonight. Then he wondered if she had invited his curiosity, nurtured it even.

Oh yeah she did—he mused to himself and growled. The food, letting him stumble upon her kill, even not killing him when he'd made his motives clear were all indicators that she had something else in mind. Impetuous…Cub…She hadn't been mocking him. She had been teasing him! The realization made him feel awkward in his own skin. No one had ever gone out of their way to bait him playfully, not even Jimmy. This was a game to her!

He snarled. Playing games that he wasn't in on…not sure he wanted to be in on, was a dangerous scenario. What he was trying to figure out was whether it was dangerous for her, or for him.

Steeling himself, he growled and stalked towards the bedroom, prepared to show the little viper what he did to people who crossed him.

"Do you know what era was my favorite?" She glanced up briefly from the portable machine resting on her lap; the corpse still slumped besides her.

Victor's eyes roved over her, and the weight that settled on his tongue formed a lump in his throat when he swallowed. He took in her bare legs, sculpted sinuously and stretched out on the bed. She'd shed her Calvin's and that sexy red top, which were now draped over the chair next to the bedroom window, and was wearing a man's silk dress shirt. The dead man's scent was laced on the shirt, so he figured she raided his things. He noticed the clutter of papers and discs that were rifled out from the briefcase still ajar on the foot of the bed, the plate cleaned of the meat discarded on the night table.

He was still in the doorway, sizing her up and trying to pick up a scent of guile from her as she continued speaking, "The 1940s. Everywhere you went, there was such vitality, even during Nazi occupation. Even here, with fear and death just around the corner as war raged in far off continents…you could taste people wanting to live, fighting for it with everything they had. I love that."

"Love, huh," Victor rumbled with a savage gleam in his eyes as he repressed a derisive smirk. "I gotta say this for you," he sauntered towards the briefcase. "You're keeping me on my toes," he sneered and shoved the briefcase carelessly to the floor as he leaned on the bed, purposely invading her space with hostile boasting to cajole a response out of her.

She remained poised and unflinching, eyeing him with a cool air dancing across her features before she flashed him a smile. "What's your favorite period so far, cub," she purred, skating her legs up to cross at the knees as she shut the monitor of the portable machine, her left foot dangling teasingly a few inches away from his face.

Her slim foot was tipped with black toenails, and he knew they were naturally that color because he didn't smell acrid chemical polish. "Don't have one," he rumbled in a measured tone as he prowled onto the bed—the mattress sagging with his heavy frame— her foot casually swaying away as he chomped the air dangerously close to it. The huge mattress was protesting under his muscled frame as he skirted towards her right on his hands and knees, his entire body exuding animalistic interest. "Every decade had its own delicious appeal,'' he mused snidely. He couldn't sense any malice from her, or any wound up tension that told him she was buying her time before she pounced at him. If anything, he was being bombarded by her fluctuating scent.

She smelled of blood and something musky, heady in quality but sweet in sensation as it raked over him in undulating waves. His mouth was watering from the instinctual pull of a male predator prowling around a female predator, and he knew she was eyeing him the way an animal silently cues another that they are lying in wait for their move. He recoiled suddenly, halting and laughing scathingly at her as he announced, "Oh, you want to fuck, is that all? Expecting me to initiate?"

It was her turn to laugh at him. "Oh, aren't you the alpha male. So cute," she condescended and gently placed the portable computer onto the night table. "I like seeing you sweat, cub. Trying to figure me out and decide just when to lunge for my throat," she declared with a heat he couldn't place in her fluid tone. "It really is a scrumptious sight…almost as scrumptious as your scent," she purred and ambled over the corpse to the opposite side of the bed he was skirting.

Fuck. She could smell the lust that ebbed through the fronting and ravenous fury that was simmering under his skin. His brows furrowed with tension before he bared his fangs at her. "I don't like being played with, viper!" he spat and lunged at her.

Just as his hands pawed at her shoulders, Victor was unceremoniously flung into the air when she rolled back and used his own momentum to flip him away from her. He grunted when he skidded into the bathroom and slammed into the sink, demolishing the porcelain basin. Incensed, he roared as he galloped toward her and pounced onto her, flinging them both over the bed before rolling and crashing to the floor.

She hissed and wrapped her legs around his waist, vaulting him over her head so she could roll and land on top of him. When she leaned close to brush the skin of her cheek against his, Victor gripped her by her clothed upper arm and tossed her off of him. She landed on her stomach before crouching into an animal attack stance, her teeth extending to snarl at him.

He was on his feet just as she lunged at him, her nails clawing at him and nicking the side of his neck before he grabbed the back of her head and plunged his claws into her toned belly. She cried out harshly and gripped his wrist before she forced him back against the wall and snapped her vicious mouth towards his throat, his grip on the back of her hair preventing her from gnarling a chunk of him. He twisted his wrist and received a searing gash as her nails dug into his skin while his claws simultaneously gnarled deeper into her abdomen. His pulse spiked and he roared against her lips just as she dove forward and kissed him.

The contact jarred him, so he shoved her away and hesitated when she panted wildly and absently trailed her hand over her belly. His eyes widened at how her puckered slashes began to knit together and returned to smooth skin. It healed so quickly blood didn't even have a chance to seep out of the wounds. She eyed his wrist before focusing her searing gaze on his. "Accelerated healing factors will make this one long dance, Creed," she scintillated and tugged at the tear in the shirt.

"You cunning fucking viper," he scoffed harshly, knowing it shouldn't have surprised him. If she was older than him as she kept boasting, her mutation had to involve some sort of regenerative trait comparable to his. Didn't mean he had to fucking like it. "Doesn't change my plans. I'm still going to skin you alive, just now I think I'll do so after I fuck you bloody!" he growled in controlled vexation as he took his coat off and flung it out to the living room. She couldn't help but laugh, the sound sultry and dripping with allure. "The prospect of getting raped amusing?" he snapped and stalked towards her.

She crawled backwards onto the bed and hummed at him. "Unfortunately for you, Mr. Creed, you can't rape the willing," she offered with a biting edge of seduction as she sprawled onto her side before him.

That did it. His cock was straining painfully against his zipper at her luscious jeer. He'd been half-hard since he walked into the suite, even when she'd had him stunned out of his system. Now he felt a primordial need that paled in comparison to the violent urges he wanted to inflict on her. This was baser than the desire for sexual conquest, and that fact was like a brick to the face. The adrenaline in his blood was floored, with every nerve standing at attention and commanding him to force her into submission and mount her just like the big animal he was. He usually obeyed his urges as soon as they jumped inside of him, just like he would when the desire to kill and devour roared in him. But the fact remained that a willing conquest was alien to him, especially when his current prey was a huntress capable of fighting him tooth and nail for dominance.

Then the situation snapped into full clarity.

"Oh," his baffled mutter was soon washed away by the raucous laughter that burst to life in him, "You sexy, vicious little viper." His voice lowered to a hungry husk when she raised a brow and leaned up on her hands and knees, her muscles tightening in anticipation. "I should've figured it out earlier. Hah," he mused and turned away from her to exit the room, his demeanor dismissive; he'd finally figured out the rules of the game.

She made a noise of confusion in her throat, vaulting off the bed and unto her feet to tentatively follow him. When she entered the living room, he was at the cart, flinging the plate covers to the floor and polishing off a plate of sirloin steak as he considered the other entrees. She blinked at him before looking at his dark heavy coat at her feet. Picking it up with her foot and flinging it onto the back of the nearest chair, she measured her unconsciously fluid lope towards him, her hands twitching impulsively. Her senses were sharp and wary, while his had suddenly diminished to an unperturbed frequency.

All the cues were wrong now. He wasn't the alpha predator drunk with rage or desire. Instead, he was exuding disinterest. Flippancy in a predator towards another predator was tantamount to a challenge, a silent jeer; you're not worthy.

He smelled the shift. She was fuming, growing livid from how he'd disregard her as a predator that deserved fear and challenge.

"Got anything to wash this down with, viper?" Her eyes were boring into him as he tossed an empty plate to clatter on the cart before reaching for another. "Ah, nevermind. The bar is right in here," he snickered nonchalantly as he headed behind the marble counter to his right and rummaged in the cabinets, snatching out a few bottles of scotch and bourbon before walking back around to drop into the smoky loveseat closest to where the cart was. He twisted the bottle of scotch open and took a long swig from it, eyeing her impishly over the rim when he pulled it away from his lips with a content sigh. "What, suddenly not hospitable, frail—?"

She lunged at him, her momentum tipping the couch back and jostling them into a tangle of limbs as they fought to maim and chomp at each other. Bottle of scotch flying out of his hand, Victor barked a berating laugh when he rocked her over his head and flipped to slam down onto her. She head-butted him in the mouth swiftly, cutting his laugh off and causing him to bite into his bottom lip. Suddenly, she wrapped her legs around his waist and dove for his mouth to latch her lips onto his.

The coppery taste of his blood drew a moan from her, and Victor could smell her spike of feral accomplishment as she bit down and drew more of his blood into her mouth. He froze, growling against her mouth before tearing his away and snarling at her. Her hand tried to claw at his face, but he slammed it to the floor before pinning it between their struggling and flailing bodies. The little bitch was trying to touch him for who the hell knew what!

"Nah-ah-ah, viper," he hissed haughtily at her when her other hand tried to scrape against his throat. He pinned that one against his clothed chest, her nails clanking against his dog tags. "You're not playing by the rules," he goaded and she growled like a serpent under him.

"I see it took you this long to realize just what the rules were, brat!" she lunged and chomped at him, but he reared back on his heels before taking her by the cuffed wrists and swinging her away from him. She rolled onto the carpet before flipping into the air and onto her feet like a martial artist. "I guess you were right, cub," she bitingly announced, hissing as she kicked the small coffee table at him.

The table shattered when it crashed against his shoulder and fell in a splintered heap at his feet. "Oh, don't be such a spoiled sport, bitch," he chuckled viciously and stalked over the destroyed furniture to rush at her. When she skated out of his grasp and pounced on him, he used her own momentum to slam her down on the large suede couch. The damn thing sagged and the legs snapped from under them from the force.

Unfazed, she yelled and kicked her long leg up, the heel of her foot connecting with his mandible and snapping his head back with an audible crack. He wavered on his feet, the blow making him see stars before he stumbled over the upturned loveseat. Shaking his head, he felt the whiplash jar down his spine before he popped the vertebrae in his neck back into place like an expert.

"If you open your fucking mouth," she bellowed, pointing a wrathful finger at him, "I'll pump you full of so much poison you'll choke on your own fucking tongue!"

"Oh-ho! Feisty. Keep talking like that and you might get me hot, sugar," he laughed, instigating further by swaggering around her in a wide, slow stride. "And what am I right about? That you're in a rut looking for a fuck?"

This time she returned his contemptuous grin with a chilly smile. "No, that I should've killed you as soon as your brute ass came prowling after me like a horny dog," she seethed as she trailed her hand up her side to snap a button off the now shabby silk shirt.

He snarled a warning. "Your mouth is going to look so good choking on my cock, frail," he growled sadistically, his eyes flashing when she popped another button off her shirt, "Not to mention feel delicious." The lapels were tugging wide, revealing the plane of her clavicle, and the sudden copper sheen that shimmered over her skin. Gold, bronze, and copper. He realized each were the subtle indicator for one of her pheromones. Gold was from the stillness. "Planning on using rapture on me, viper?"

Her eyes flared before cooling bemusedly. "I don't use rapture on the likes of you, Creed," she sneered.

So it was poison then. "Aw, but you'll poison me? How frigid," he bared his teeth in a sinister smirk. "I saw you use rapture on that fucker you bled in the room. What's he got that I don't?" he teased, nostrils flaring at the wave of anger that flooded her scent.

Flickering with something unreadable, Ms. Montecristo's features grew smooth and composed. Victor knew he hit a nerve, but was taken aback when she replied softly, "He was food. You're an animal. I don't play with my food."

He paused in his prowl, contemplating her with blazing eyes. "Why not use it to get what you want?" he rumbled, his gaze intensifying as he stalked closer. "Face it, toots, we both know you want your pretty ass dominated. You've wanted me to mount you since the conference room. Why not caress some rapture into me and get what you want?" he husked in order to submerge the gnawing curiosity he had about her convoluted motives.

She scoffed, and actually turned away to stare contemplatively out the windows at the glimmering desert night. A soft laugh warmed up her slender throat; Victor watched her, roving his eyes over the now translucent shirt that was too pale to hide her tan silhouette, too intrigued to take advantage of her lowered guard.

"Where is the struggle; the battle to take what you want from..." her words drifted and she waved the sentence away dismissively.

"An animal vying to take and be taken," he finished for her, his voice a gruff statement.

That was the drive of most rogue animals. To fight, devour, and dominate another just as strong and feral as them; to lord over an equal or be taken by one worthy enough to square off against you…to be claimed by a stronger adversary and relish in the struggle. You could taste people wanting to live, fighting for it with everything they had. Her words purred back to him. I love that.

"Why take someone unwillingly under the rouse of will," she muttered pensively as she wandered away from him, trailing her nails against the glass as she neared the bedroom. "If you can't see the struggle in their eyes, the fear and thrill, the burning of blood and muscle clawing to be on top, and the pure rapture that comes with the fight for conquest…the vitality of it all," she stated and turned towards him as she leaned against the doorframe. "If all that is numbed and handed off for the sake of empty lust, then what's the point of living like an animal to begin with?"

He totally agreed. She had obviously faced facts that being stronger didn't matter if everyone else was naturally weaker than you. The lure of strength, of dominating, was not about all the weaker people you could crush, but the other stronger people you could clash against; that could tear you down just as savagely as you could tear them apart.

She gazed at him with composed strength, her poised and curvaceous figure barely contained in the now tattered and torn shirt. When she crossed her arms, the shirt's tails rode up and showed a hem of white lace along her hip. His mouth watered as he stared back up into her eyes. He knew his heated look was something voracious and wild from how her eyes lowered in silent instigation.

In three long strides he was in front of her.

Gathering her up in his arms, Victor dove hungrily for her mouth, kissing her roughly and nipping his fangs over her lips bestially. She clawed at his shoulders and wove her legs deftly around his waist as he hoisted her against him, purring when he ground his crotch against her. He stalked into the room and scraped rough kisses along her jaw before latching his mouth over her pulse, pricking his fangs into the skin and savoring the taste of her heady blood. She arched and hissed against him, rubbing herself along the prominent ridge of his erection and dragging her pointed nails down to his collarbones. He shuddered, sinking his teeth deeper into her neck and growling as he sprawled onto the foot of the bed.

He extended his claws and kneaded her round ass, loving the texture of her smooth and burning skin while she clawed her hands down his spine. She suckled hard on his bottom lip before flicking her tongue against his fangs. "Your scent is making me dizzy, cub," she hissed and arched against him when his hands snaked from the small of her back to journey up her sides and cupped her breasts roughly in his warm calloused hands. Shoving his unbuttoned dress shirt hastily off his shoulders and tugging them off his arms, she followed up by forcing the snug sleeveless shirt over his head before he grabbed her possessively and scraped his fangs angrily down her neck to her shoulder.

"Keep calling me that, and I'll stuff that hot mouth of yours with my cock," he growled. His claws raked over the taut muscles and pinched superficial gouges that scented the air between them with blood, the scratches healing quickly before his nails bit into more of her skin. She pursed her lips in amusement against his throat, her tapered fingers digging into the back of his scalp as she scraped her teeth down his neck before clamping her mouth down on the juncture linking shoulder to neck. Victor grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the bed, digging his nails into her skin when she hissed in challenge. "Extend your teeth and bite me for real," he demanded, snarling in her face before she flipped him over her head and rolled to land on top of him.

"So eager for pain already?" she sauntered provocatively against his lips as her canines and incisors extended. "What if I like how you taste and decide to nibble, cub?" She raked her nails down his sculpted torso to start working his jeans undone, nipping at his abdomen while her nails tugged roughly on unfastening his pants.

Victor growled in favor of her ardent suggestion, the pet name ignored as he fisted his hands into her long dark hair and felt the constricting pressure in his crotch ease from the confines of his denim prison. When she freed his erection, she scraped her ferocious teeth down the underside of the shaft before laving the angry welts with her tongue. Victor hissed in pleasure at the sensation, his hips bucking off the bed and urgently thrusting toward her mouth.

She hummed in amusement, ducking away and leaving Victor desperate for the heat of her mouth. A groan of impatience lodged in his throat. He was content with having her suck him off, but a burning urge in his gut began to simmer while he debated about mounting her or pounding into her. An image of her legs draped over his shoulder as he plundered her sent a jolt of pleasure to his groin. The sting of her teeth tickled, making him even more ravenous. A grin played on his lips as he sat up to watch her, stiffening when he saw the corpse still slumped on the bed. The cadaver was blue-faced and left limp, shifting with their movements on the mattress.

Fisting her hair and tugging her up from her delicious oral torture, the sour-faced mutant feral sneered, "Do us a favor and get rid of that? It's stinking up the mood…and I don't like the way it's staring at me."

She peered over her shoulder at the corpse before turning to meet his comical gaze. She laughed lightheartedly and pawed at his chest as she leaned in to muse, "What, you've never forgotten to toss your leftovers?"

Her playful cruelty made him hot. "Just get him off the bed or there won't be anything left of you," he husked, adding thoughtfully, "I wouldn't mind making you my dinner." He smiled nastily when she raised a brow at him.

"You devoured most of the room service already," she sneered and combed her talons through the dark hair of his chest, fingering the chain of his dog tags before idly admiring how they glinted under the light.

"Oh, hunger has nothing to do with it. You've provoked me enough to owe me a chunk of flesh," he tersely snickered and emphasized his point by dragging his fangs down her neck and biting down hard on her shoulder.

Sighing at the heat of his mouth piercing her skin, she hesitated in shoving him away and reluctantly eyed her kill, not wanting things to cool. But, he really didn't like the corpse, so she slinked over and hauled the dead man up by his shirt and arm, lifting and dragging him into the bathroom where she unceremoniously chucked him into the huge bathtub.

"Goodness, the staff will be cleaning this mess up for weeks," she mused and strutted over to stand at the threshold. She crossed her arms, the shirt hanging precariously in a tattered heap on her shoulders, only two buttons holding it closed. The vivid russet around her pupils seemed to glow, standing out in the frond green of her eyes.

Determinedly focused on her ravage-worthy body, Victor leapt off of the bed and slammed her against the wall, pressing into her and clutching at her as he tore her tattered shirt open. She gasped and arched against him, her legs nimbly wrapping around him as she struggled to align her hips with his while simultaneously trying to shove his pants off his hips down to his thighs.

He seized her wrists and jerked them over her head to be pinned brutishly against the wall, thwarting her resolute urging. "Ah-ah, you didn't get permission to undress me, viper," he hissed darkly while his eyes took on a lustfully smoky quality.

"You didn't object, cub," she wriggled against him, nubile and limber as she laughed heartily down at him. "I've allowed you this much, so just how are you going to claim supremacy with your pants still on?" she purred, watching as his eyes flashed angrily at the challenge. It was as if he didn't have her under submission. So she thought she was still in full reign, eh?

"I think you're right, viper," he grinned ferociously, his canines denting his lip. "I keep forgetting you're no ordinary frail," he mocked before tossing her to the bed. When she bounced into the air, Victor took the moment of her freefall to savor the sight of her generous breasts and her hourglass shape as she shrugged out of the shirt.

Only wearing her pristine panties, she landed on her knees and laughed, discarding the tattered shirt. "You're not going to provoke me with silly terms, cub. 'Frail'? If you're going to bait me you need to try another strategy," she jovially teased and combed her hair back out of her face. "Now get over here before I use you for a scratch post," she purred, her teeth clicking as she grinned leeringly at his ramrod cock standing proudly from his pants.

He looked incredibly delectable to her, especially when he shoved his boots and stripped his intrusive pants off. There was no question that he was the most virile and worthy specimen that had crossed her path in her brief eon of life…at least not for many decades. His presence electrified the air around her, tickling her skin and disarming her more than she would ever show.

She hadn't expected him to be the free agent vying for the job when she stormed into the conference room. His scent had been abrasively tantalizing her from the minute she stepped into the hall, a wild and heady mixture of soil, blood, and his own kind of feral musk. Ferociously heady, but surprisingly appealing to her. He smelled warm, as if heat itself melted outwards from his pores. No, she had never seen him before, but his reputation preceded him.

She hadn't been completely sure of who she was contending with until the mediator had flustered his name, terrified of the feral behemoth dressed in black with the eyes of icy water. The fact that the Sabertooth stood across from her had taken her aback. This wasn't his kind of work, nor was she sure he even knew how far he'd strayed into the quicksand of private contracts. But she knew exactly who he was. His work had left a wake of stories and bodies that had most cold-blooded killers stiff with wary respect…and fear.

Fear tasted so delicious.

His eyes caught hers in a silent struggle for dominance just as she crawled provocatively towards him on the bed. Their cues were of two dominant forces unprepared to relinquish control. No matter how much she wanted him, there was no way she was going to roll over and be dominated without a real battle.

"Do you need a written invitation?"

Her teasing jeer made his ire rise, a primal growl rumbling from his chest as he pounced onto her before she could suppress the pleasure that shone in her eyes. They slammed against each other and thrashed wildly for the upper hand, earning them both slashes and stinging wounds that mended just as quickly as the next blow came. Victor pinned her under his barrel chest, grinding against her breasts and charged by the friction of her skin against his. Hissing and arching against him, she purposely slammed her pelvis against his hips, crushing his erection against the heat of her apex before grinding wantonly against it.

Victor roared his approval before clawing his hands between their burning bodies to paw at her god-forsaken panties. When he pulled back to yank the intrusive underwear off her, she dove up at him and slammed him back against the bed, digging her nails into the back of his shoulders as she sunk her elongated canines and incisors into the ropy muscle joining his neck and shoulder. Victor stiffened under her and purred drunkenly, extending his vicious nails and digging them into her back. She mewled and tore into his muscle more before worrying the bloody flesh between her teeth soothingly.

Betraying himself to the bliss of pain and pleasure, Victor allowed her to taste his blood again, her lips pursing and sucking hard on the wound and keeping it from healing. His head was swimming with sensations, but the incensed animal inside of him couldn't believe he was on his back, being devoured by another. The savage half of him that would never listen to reason rose to the surface, and the world spun as he roared irately and slammed her indignantly against the headboard, the mirror rattling above the bed dangerously as he yanked back on her dark mane of hair and bared her throat to his ravenous mouth while his claws dug into the small of her back.

She gasped as his teeth sunk into her throat, blood rising to sputter into his mouth while she arched and clutched onto him. Her reaction jolted Victor and slapped him back to rein his sadism before the animal inside of him ran too wild. He unlatched his teeth from her throat and reared back to stare into her searing eyes hooded with desire. The fact that she was arching and clutching at him wasn't what had electrified him, oh no he had experienced that thousands of times…it was how she did it; not from fear or in the throes of helpless agony, but with desire—wanting and demanding more brutality from him as if his sadism was sweeter than bliss itself.

He watched as the wound his fangs had left on her throat mended shut, her eyes staring into his with a tickle of approval. She exhaled a breath through her mouth like a soft sigh before lulling her head back to stare up at their reflection in the mirror. His eyes followed hers up to the mirror, and he took in the sight of them with a ferocious accomplishment that he reveled in for seconds longer than he should have. When she wrapped her hands around his neck and nimbly ground against him, it took all his control not to ram into her to the hilt. He knew she wanted him to go wild, and as a true sadist he would do anything to prolong her torture, even if it meant delaying his usual bestial repertoire.

Leaving a frail broken and bloody, gasping for death before proudly delivering her to an excruciating end was normal custom, one he had grown to enjoy with every fiber of his vicious being, but one he knew with begrudging resentment and enthralling intrigue wouldn't work on his current prize.

The prey in his arms was willing, ruthless, and hungry for everything he could give and was damn willing to reciprocate with equal intensity and ferocity. She wouldn't break, or fall to pieces from the hot white pain he could inflict. The proof was literally staring at him in the mirror. She was watching him, intoxicated by the heavy current of possessive desire and bestial longing that was in-tuning them to each other. The viper was daring him to mark her; to make her his just before he claimed her body the way a feral should.

He wouldn't oblige her just yet. No, the animal wanted to have at her, wanted to pound into her and latch onto her until he found a way to make her bleed and scream…the animal wanted to devour her, to claim her just like all the other kills. It wanted to relish in her death and climax all at once, but unlike the Sabertooth, Victor Creed still remained and knew he could not devour her. Not physically. She was an enigma the feral side of him was astonished and distressed by all at once. Was it the same for her? No, clearly it wasn't. She wanted the animal…and the animal wanted her just as bad, but Victor craved more than the ferocious glee and fulfillment of crushing the life out of her. It vexed him…worried him, and that made him angry all over again. But the craving remained, viscerally compelling while the anger fleeted away.

No, he wouldn't oblige either of them just yet.

His fist tightened on her hair, yanking her taut as a bow against his chest as he leaned over her. The breath hitched in her throat and her nails dug into his biceps, but he ignored her reactions and pressed his nose against the hot skin of her neck. She smelled sweet and wet, her anticipation like a soft current along her skin that tickled his tongue when he dragged it leisurely from her neck down to the dip of her clavicle. His other hand pawed up to clamp over one of her breasts, the pads of his fingers savoring the texture of her skin as he lulled his mouth down the valley of her chest.

She hissed and dug her nails deeper into his arms, but he ignored the pain and the impulse to retaliate, focusing instead on driving her wild under him. When she wriggled in his grasp, he tugged warningly on her hair and continued committing her to memory. He knew she could sense the wound up tension and bloodlust that emanated behind his every touch and caress, which is exactly how he wanted it. Instead of relaxing under his unabashed touch, she tensed further, her senses frayed and expectant of the claws and teeth that wanted to tear into her but just weren't.

Eyes staring up into the mirror, she watched as he coursed from worrying her studded nipples between his teeth to rub his hand over the lithe plane of her belly. He seemed struck by the smooth texture and hairless skin, tantalized by the uniqueness of her feminine form. She numbly stared as his eyes lingered over the thin shadow that curved faintly down her belly shy of her womb.

When she tensed and jerked from his fingers firmly caressing the length of the smooth scar, he snapped his gaze up to hers in the mirror's reflection. They gazed at each other implacably before he shoved his hand between her thighs and brushed his knuckles along the cleft of her sex, rubbing against her hidden bud. She shuddered and thrust against his hand, gasping when the grip at her hair moved to clamp around her throat instead.

The ire in her eyes aroused him from its intensity while he licked his lips and tasted her on them. Her hands unhinged themselves from his biceps to drag down to his forearms, her glare challenging him to dominate her.

Instead, Victor dove for her mouth, kissing her fiercely before positioning her onto his lap. When he pushed up into her tight heat, she cried out and shut her eyes at the delicious intrusion. Chuckling against her jaw, Victor snaked his hand from her throat to wriggle her wrists together, holding them behind her back in a vice like grip before meeting her captivating eyes with his smoky gaze.

"Now that I have your attention," he hissed darkly, rotating his hips for emphasis. "We're going to mate. I'm going to fuck you with everything I have, and you better damn well do the same. No muss, no fuss, and if you fuss, I'm going to leave you in your rut, no matter how good your cunt is, understood, viper?" he declared nastily and allowed his smirk to creep slowly across his lips as her eyes intensified on him and her lips softened.

Leaning up to meet him nose to nose, despite the strain of having her arms pulled taut behind her, the feral woman returned his smirk. "That's the most sensible thing you've said all night, cub," and with that biting purr, she kissed him voraciously while simultaneously contracting around his throbbing shaft lasciviously.

She savored his groan, their tongues laving over sharp peaks briefly before Victor slammed into her. Biting down on his lip, she mewled in approval before Victor knocked the wind out of her with the pounding force of his next thrust. He rolled suddenly and forced her taut under him, his grip still tight around her wrists behind her back and leaving her precariously supported by his hips between her thighs and her legs around his waist. They were both charged with predatory lust after all the challenging and chest beating, which had ironically been the closest thing to foreplay for both of them in years. Relegating their standoff into a truce where both consensual predators silently agreed to share dominance, the nefarious agent and mercenary lost themselves into the hypersensitive throes of wild sex, literally.

Victor panted harshly as he pounded with abandon into the tight heat of her body, digging his extended claws into her toned thighs and rubbing his mutton-chopped cheek against the inside of her knee while she arched her back off the bed and hummed with pleasure. Crouching over her and forcing her knees to loop over his forearms, Victor suckled on her breast harshly before she raked her talons down his shoulders and hissed eagerly for more. They didn't utter a word to each other, lost in the primordial synchronization of mating. When one wanted to shift positions, the other rolled with them, unspokenly compliant as long as the sensations increased. So when a few rolls and forceful shoves got him on his back with her riding him hard, Victor only growled and thrust up to match her pace, relishing in the unrestrained savagery of their coupling.

Most frails would've been broken and shrieking in agony by now from the force and brutality of his thrusts, if they could even muster enough breath to stay conscious that is. For him, half the fun was in breaking his toy just before he climaxed, so he could feel the life go out of them just as he reached release. Now, however, he found himself attuned to an animal magnetism that left him desperate for her reactions and reciprocity. This was a desire he'd never entertained, but the advent of it left him buzzing for more.

Lunging up to wrap his arms around her, Victor slammed her down to the bed in one fluid motion before kissing her with blistering intensity, one which she met head on by returning his hungry kiss and clinging to him as he lost himself to the animal. In a haze of roaring pulses, flesh colliding against flesh, and ravenous passion echoed against lips and teeth, both ferals managed to fuck each other into the oblivion of mind-numbing ecstasy, sinking talons and claws into sinewy flesh. She cried out heartily and stiffened under him, her eyes radiating the gulf of her ardor while he roared gruffly and mindlessly thrust into her one last time, his usually icy gaze blazing down at her before his arms gave out on him.

Sprawled on top of her, Victor buried his face against her neck, tasting her and relishing the enthralling sense of carnal fulfillment he was basking in. Rolling off of her and onto his back, he spared a long glance at her as she lay beside him. She was breathing raggedly, her lips were delicately parted. Her breathing softened and her eyes remained shut as if sensations were still undulating within her. She looked absolutely tantalizing. An urge to possess her for himself, to keep her like a prized trophy for only his hands and mouth to savor—only his to control and own—knotted in the pit of his stomach, one he suppressed dismissively once she turned her scintillating gaze towards him.

Her eyes were smiling alluringly at him with genuine pleasure, something he hadn't experienced from a woman…ever. The ephemeral sense of awe washed away when her hand cupped the side of his jaw and her nails affectionately scratched the fur of his cheek. Victor didn't recoil from her touch, but didn't encourage it either, even when her hand trailed down his neck to linger on his broad chest. Their eyes connected instead, both seeing the predatory gleam in each other's gazes.

Then as sudden as the gravitating force between them began, it was extinguished once her eyes flinted away from his and she rose fluidly from the demolished mattress to strut into the bathroom. Victor tensed with incomprehension before he rose onto his hands and watched just as she stepped into the glass shower. The sound of water jetting out of the shower spray was all he heard as he tried to deduce what tactic she was playing at now. The wake of her scent had no guile in it…only arousal, damp but still sweet like syrup to his nose. He climbed off the bed and stood at the threshold of the bathroom, staring in while his mind leapt to every conclusion her actions left him.

It wasn't a dismissal. He knew that much from the combination of idle affection and primal boasting in her eyes…but had it been a silent invitation to follow her? Or, did she expect him to leave? His words came back to him like an echo. No muss, no fuss. Then he knew it was another test. A test he had unknowingly initiated. If he had meant what he said, then he could leave satisfied and without further overtures. They were even. She had her job and a marvelous fuck, while he had his check and some of the best sex he'd ever had. The latter was quite a brag considering his lengthy lifespan. Still…he wasn't heading for his clothes, nor was he in a rush to leave the feisty frail when her scent cued more debauchery in store if he stayed.

The steam from the shower was fogging up the sumptuous bathroom, the condensation clinging to Victor's skin as he closed in on her. She'd left the glass door open and had her back to him while she basked under the hot water that ran down her head, trekking over every curve before splashing to the floor. He watched her for a long moment, his senses sharpening against the intoxication of her scent as it wafted at him in the heated room. Her scent had an almost citrus-like base to it under a heady tang that made her stand out from other women. It was pungent and spicy, feral, but so much softer…sweeter.

He watched as she ran her fingers through her thick mane of hair before caressing her palms down her supple breasts and her torso, dragging them around her hips to venture between her thighs. His eyes honed in as her hands rubbed along her inner thighs, watching as she rinsed away his semen before dipping to an angle that invited his leering gaze to parts of her he wouldn't mind committing to memory with his mouth. When she straightened and tossed her hair over her shoulder, she looked back at him as if she'd known he'd been watching her the whole time. No shit she knew. Why the hell else would she have left the door open for you! Victor berated himself mildly while returning her sultry gaze with a cool look and a raised brow. Not that he could feign disinterest when his cock was hard as a rock again and his scent was probably speaking volumes for him.

She turned back to the water, tipping her face up to the surge and sighing with pleasure. Victor had the sudden impulse to mimic the water's course with his mouth and hands, wanting to savor the feel of her eerily velvety skin again. It was as if the scales he'd expected were covered with smooth satin in order to obscure her—camouflage her to the most certain of senses. Truth was, if he hadn't seen her skin shimmer he would've never pegged her for a reptilian feral.

His hand reaffirmed the silken touch of her flesh as he trailed up her stomach, fingertips and claws skating across her flesh firmly after he pressed behind her and shut the door to trap her and the heat inside. His other hand came around to cup her crotch while he pawed at a breast, squeezing cheekily as he pressed against her. When she turned to glance at him, her lips collided against his jaw before caressing slowly along his furred cheek. She pressed against his hips when his mouth captured hers hungrily. Before their kiss intensified, Victor turned her around in his arms and pressed her up against the wall.

They both wanted each other enough to discard their feral need to dominate, wild lust taking the forefront. Losing themselves to the heat and hunger, they took each other, fucking against the smooth tiled wall of the shower stall. Pretense was ignored even further when the shower grew too confined and motivated them to move back into the bedroom.

The sleek tangle of limbs they became on the bed only lasted for a few wayward moments before Victor staked his claim for control by dragging his mate to the end of the mattress. He wrapped her legs around his hips and held her in place, entering her again with one fierce thrust, slamming home again and again as he loomed over her luscious body. She arched her back off the bed and stared up at him with pure rapture in her eyes, letting him manhandle her expertly. The approval and urging in her expression made him so wild that he couldn't commit to taking her in only one way.

When he flipped her onto her stomach, she moaned with anticipation and arched provocatively. He pulled her against him before sliding his ramrod cock to trail the slick valley between her thighs. Gasping at the electrifying contact, she gripped the back of his neck and ground back on his hips, his hairy chest causing delicious friction against her back as he scraped his ferocious claws up her torso to worry her heavy mounds in his rough palms. The sound she made shot a jolt through him, so he bucked against her firm backside and clamped his mouth over her tender shoulder muscle. Instead of recoiling from the fire his mouth tore into her flesh, she encouraged it by cupping the back of his skull and growing taut against him.

Her sultry mouth was causing havoc on his already crumbling control, so when he dragged his mouth to nip at her jaw he was floored by her primal groan for more. Their mouths clashed briefly, a flurry of dueling tongues and scraping teeth before lips worried and lingered against each other for an effervescent moment. The intoxication they both were under was unlike anything either had experienced. Needless to say they relished in each other's clutches, especially when Victor eased back into her throbbing heat.

Ironically enough, the position that garnered the most pleasure for them both involved him spooning her, since it left her open to him and still allowed him access to her mouth and racing pulse while allowing her to meet his pounding thrusts with her bucking hips—not to mention her equally voracious mouth. Her teeth clamped viciously down on his forearm, earning a growl before he reciprocated by biting down and sucking on her pulse.

A shudder rocked through her, accompanied by a sharp contraction of her body around his throbbing sex. It was all Victor could do to frantically pound into her and send her over the edge before he broke. In a flood of sensation, they came undone almost simultaneously. Clutching her against him while she grew taut in his arms, both ruthless ferals released hearty cries and rocked against each other fiercely, prolonging each other's pleasure and causing a sense of completion to blossom over them in a wave of heat and roaring pulses.

It was the most fulfilling sensation he'd ever experienced, feeling utterly complete in the moment. Nothing like it compared. All his other sexual conquests ended with his powerful release, but once the rush of life fizzled and his plaything was left a shallow shell, no sense of power and control he held over their life lingered long enough to satiate him. It was all empty release—except for this moment with a fellow predator.

When she shifted minutely, he was dully aware of how intently he still gripped her against him. Her foot caressed up his leg to brush his muscled calf before she hummed and cupped the back of his neck. Her nose trailed under his jaw before Victor unconsciously returned the gesture by nuzzling her temple and burying his nose in her hair. Their primitive caresses were hardwired, unspoken but articulating approval and the acceptance that could only be relinquished to each other once their claim was complete.

Neither of them spoke, content and savagely sated enough to simply bask in the wild tangle their bodies were interlocked in. Her body was hot as an ember against him, and he was like a stoked furnace that engulfed her. The warmth of their bodies and breaths—coupled with the exhaustion that steadily crept over them—slowly lulled them into slumber, matters of dominance and reprisals forgotten in the bestial afterglow of mating.

                      _____________________________________

Dawn began to crest in the desert horizon, sending blazing rays of sunlight over the Vegas strip and into the sprawling windows of the luxury suite. The warmth caressed the side of his face, making him grunt in his sleep and nuzzle the pillow before he turned away from the light. Her scent clung to the bedding and flooded him with lazy desire when he inhaled and stretched on the bed.

Stiffening, Victor jerked awake and warily shook the sleep off his senses. Growling, he swiped the back of his hand across his eyes before looking around the room. He was alone.

The room was still a disaster zone from last night, but the only thing left of her was the tattered dress shirt and her heady scent. Climbing off the bed, Victor stalked naked out into the other room, following the strongest trail of her scent to find it led to the door. Stalking back into the bedroom, he noticed the portable device and the briefcase were gone too, and his clothes were folded neatly on the dresser. The viper had the time to tidy up while you were knocked the fuck out like a goddamned cat!

He fumed, trying to quell his anger, but failing the more the situation mocked him. He didn't know what made him more irate: the fact that she snuck out without stirring him from his sleep or that he felt like the jilted lover—of course in the loosest interpretation of the term. Creed was accustomed to leaving his playthings broken where they fell, collecting himself and proudly heading on his merry way without a second thought. He'd certainly never been the one left behind like a dozing pet too fucking content on having his belly scratched to notice otherwise. An indolent rage tugged at him, but he shoved it away to instead furiously pull his clothes on.

She clearly had way more practice at slinking away with her prize before the bastard she'd just bled—literally and figuratively—knew what was what. But to get yet another one over on him? Growling lividly at himself, he tugged his black undershirt on before shrugging into his button down and stalking towards his coat. He grabbed it off of the back of the chair in the living room and sneered when he smelled her on it, intertwined along with the myriad of scents that were familiar to him. Throwing it on, he adjusted it over his shoulders before swiping his palms down his sides.

His brows furrowed in confusion as he patted the concealed pocket and didn't feel the slip of paper he'd tucked in for safe keeping. Yanking his hand into his coat and fishing nothing out of the pocket, the fury Victor felt was so intense he saw white for a few seconds. Pulling his fist out of the wall, he roared with the futile wrath he couldn't purposefully take out. Decimating everything in the suite with enough bulk and demolishing the furniture left him panting not from exertion but from the fizzling adrenaline.

Prowling out of the room, Victor left the hotel amidst a haze of surroundings, still under a fog of restrained rage that left him on automatic pilot until he was on the other side of town. The morning was just beginning when he was speeding down the isolated stretch of desert highway in his '70 Wagoneer Jeep, fuming but aptly driving. His grip on the steering wheel was the only thing betraying his fury. Something he realized only after he stopped at a seedy truck stop a few hours away from Salt Lake City and had to pry his hands from the dented steering wheel.

Breezing into the diner, Victor stalked through and was virtually ignored by the other patrons, proving just how sleazy and lawless the establishment was, and found a stool at the end of the counter tucked out of sight just across from the grimy television set mounted into the wall. The waitress loped over and glanced at him over the rims of her gaudy glasses.

"Beer, steak 'n eggs, and black coffee. Steak bloody," he tersely ordered and hunched over the counter, looking surly and more dangerous than usual. The waitress took his order and gave him a look like she'd seen it all including his big bad killer type before walking away.

He was so pissed he could drill through solid rock with his fists. When the coffee was set in front of him, he swallowed it and the bitter taste before the waitress slid the plate of food and the icy beer between his curled hands. He picked up the fork and began wolfing his food, not really hungry but needing to work something into his system besides the nasty coffee and the seething rage. The news was droning on across from him, the sound low enough for human ears but perceptible to his keen hearing.

"—authorities in Las Vegas are baffled by the brutal homicide scene found in the high rollers suite at the Monte Carlo hotel and casino this morning, Janet. The victim, Tommy DeLaughter, is the son of DIA Director Reginald DeLaughter—recently involved in the security breach that occurred at the Defense Department headquarters in Washington. Federal authorities suspected DeLaughter of perpetrating the breach, but have now reason to believe his son Tommy to have clandestinely stolen top-secret information from his father. Just this morning the FBI had placed a warrant for Tommy DeLaughter's arrest, only to have US Marshalls stumble upon the gruesome scene at the Monte Carlo. Vegas P.D. sergeant Walker had no comment when asked over the victim's cause of death…"

The rest of what the portly reporter was saying became white noise to Victor as he honed in on the screen, seeing the recent picture of the stupid bastard Montecristo had bled dry fill the screen momentarily as the reporter impassively spoke. He drank his beer in one long swallow before plopping the empty bottle down on the counter along with a few bills to cover his tab. Breezing out of the bar as quick as he'd come in, Victor strode to his jeep and got in.

The viper was one cunning conniving bitch. As soon as she'd left that conference room she had been on the job, but not too busy to toy with him and get what she wanted from him before leaving him with only his dick in his hand to show for it. The anger boiled up inside of him, but for some reason didn't bristle over. Part of him wanted to skin her alive, tear her limb from limb before crushing the life out of her. Another part of him was impressed. She wasn't someone to be trifled with, and a beastly part of him respected and hated her for it. Visceral impulses were undulating in him, leaving him conflicted and angry all over again before they were settled by the precedent of his outrage.

There was no way in hell he was going to let the viper slip from his grasps. Not unless he snuffed the life out of her for what she'd done to his pride. He wouldn't and couldn't dignify himself or the animal with the thought of letting her walk away supreme. She had to know as much.

Heading east, Victor was struck by that. She's counting on it. Why the hell else would she take his check? She didn't need his money, but she sure got his attention hadn't she? Biting back the smile that threatened to obscure his sneer, Victor ran his fingers through his inch long hair before gripping it with a growl.

"Touché bitch. You got the last laugh—for now."               

                      _____________________________________

The silver of her '65 DB5 Aston Martin convertible glinted under the brilliant West coast sun as she raced down the interstate, the desert landscape speeding by. Her hair whipped around her and clung to the rim of her sunglasses, fluttering back while she held the check up to her nose and sniffed his faint scent as a smile played over her lips.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd played mouse, but she took gloating pleasure in the image of her cat being the very worthy Creed. She was sure he was aware of the game this time around, but wasn't sure just how he'd go about playing his turn. Flashes of the night before crossed her thoughts, vivid and fleeting but fixated on certain details. Like the hard, sinewy brawn of his body, and the heat of his mouth—vicious and soothing all at once. What lingered the longest, however, was how they fit against each other, almost like two missing puzzle pieces crafted from different materials but still meant to interlock together.

When she had woken still in his arms, something inside her had swelled, a sensation she hadn't felt in a short eternity. Thinking of it made her bones itch, as if she was truly swelling from the pulsing rush of the memory. The current he stirred in her was undeniable.

Sure taking his check was petty, but she wouldn't cash it. No, she'd taken it as a souvenir. A memento of his scent. Ferals and their goddamn scent-based memories…was it a wonder she took something? Sure, she'd guaranteed that she and Victor Creed would cross paths, sooner or later—but that's not why she took it. No…after so many years, so many memories, she could barely remember Eirik. It hurt, not remembering him but thinking of him whenever she was so alone. To her, remembering and thinking of someone were two different things. To think of someone was to see them, but not feel them. Remembering was like an ocean of sensation, with every sense tantalized and engrained to the feeling of the memory. She didn't remember Eirik…

If the universe prevented Victor Creed from crossing her path again, then she would at least have a way to remember.

Don't be cruel to those who are cruel with mortality, fate.

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Read Chapter 2: Ravaging Intrigue

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