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February 4 - February 6, 2024
“Reigning is easy. The hard part is determining who wants to kill you and killing them first.”
“Until you barged in.” “I don’t barge,” protested Rune. “I’ve never barged in my life.”
And then they collided.
*SCREAMING*
Kissing him was like the first mild breeze after a long winter.
“Is it blood that makes you want me?” he murmured breathlessly, pulling the neckline of her undergarment down
“Or is it the danger that you like?” he asked, nuzzling the inside of her thigh. “The brush with death that makes you wet?”
“Sweet, depraved creature. I’ve never met anyone with such bloodlust.”
“Stop talking,” she said, “and do something useful with that tongue.” It was all the encouragement he needed.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I’m not exactly in a state for visitors,” Rune said,
And if either of you bring up war with Slödava again, I will take your eyes out.” Rune watched her with something like lustful awe, his mouth falling open slightly.
“Stop self-flagellating,”
“I wish I hated you,” he said softly. “It would be easier.
“You could be loved, Elma Volta. You could grow a garden.”
“If that’s what my bloodthirsty queen so desires.” She glanced at Rune sidelong. “I am anything but yours.” He grinned, but something tugged on the corners of it, weighing it down. “If it makes you feel any better, Majesty, I am nothing if not yours.”
“I want you to lose yourself in me,” she breathed.
His gaze held hers like a gentle embrace. “I already have,” he said.
I've Expired..
“Elma,” he murmured into her neck, until her name became a string of nonsense syllables.
Her hatred had curdled into something else. Something terrifying and dangerous, if Elma let it thrive. Something that might get her killed, or worse — heartbroken.
Don’t fall in love with him.
Tiktok sound 😏
There was never enough time for grieving.
“They hate the idea of peace. War keeps their dicks hard.
Rune could not be him.
Oh shittt
“Oh for—” Rune said, and Elma lunged.
“Self-defense,” he crooned. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he bit down on her earlobe.
“I would not have tortured you.” He grinned. “Don’t lie.”
Elma made a sound of frustration, bucking upward in a vain attempt to dislodge him. “Good gods, what did I say about writhing?” Rune said, breathless. “If I let you go, will you promise not to stab me?” She considered.
“Fine,” she said at last. “I promise not to stab you.” “Or otherwise harm me fatally,” he added. “Fine.”
Cocksure dunderhead or not, Rune deserved peace.
Are you going to take my arm or not? It’s getting tired.”
