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maple-seed · 3 days

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You know, I would be worried about Verity's misunderstanding except I know Cross will explain everything. He's definitely learned by now that he shouldn't leave her in the dark about anything and will fully explain his plans and motivations. Clear and open communication between the two of them. Not a problem at all. 🙄

Poor Verity. One brief moment of vulnerability and she's sure it's her undoing.

I'm going to be echoing some of what @lokisgoodgirl said, the softening of Cross has been so well done. So much so that this:

He looked like the man she’d met that first morning, fleeing his club with her stolen contraband stashed in her bra. That bullet-proof shell of icy control sliding seamlessly back into place.

This felt like a kick in the gut. My reaction was visceral, oof. I felt like I had a flashback to that first chapter of Double Cross. Poor Verity!

I'm sure nothing will go wrong on this road trip.

The previous chapter's Dadthieu confirmation had sent me into a minor giggle fit at the time. I ended up having to explain the situation to my husband. This past weekend, when I read the raccoon line I burst into a full-on cackle. My husband knew immediately that you were the cause, he simply said "What did she do?" I had to take a few minutes to calm down and wipe away the tears before I could fill him in.

Master stroke.

Crossfire - Chapter Fourteen

Pairing: Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston + OFC

Warnings: none

Length: 2.6k

Summary: Didn't you ever learn not to eavesdrop Verity!! No good will come of it!! Apologies for this being a bit bitty. Lots going on in several different places at once.

Chapter List

Full Master List of all works

He knew.

Dammit! He knew!!

Verity paced her turret room, her head spinning with thoughts and her stomach churning with a toxic mix of emotion.

Horror and shame were the first to elbow their way to the front.

Somehow, he’d heard the words she didn’t say. He’d caught her slip. He knew what was on the tip of her tongue. And his first response to that unspoken declaration was to make a run for it. Blood heated her cheeks. How could she be so stupid? They weren’t in love, they couldn’t be. She wasn’t sure either of them was even capable of that emotion.

But the words had felt right at the time. Choking them off, leaving the rest unsaid had taken an almost painful level of effort. She could still feel that pain, lodged beneath her ribs like an open wound.

How could she be in love with him? With him! Scrubbing a fist over her eyes she blinked back tears. It was bad enough that she’d almost handed over her heart, she sure as shit wasn’t going to give him her tears also. If she’d known having feelings would hurt this bad she’d have ditched him at the first opportunity and saved herself the grief.

She winced as another truth slapped her in the face. It wasn’t being in love with him that was causing the pain, she admitted. It was the fact that he clearly didn’t feel the same.

Anger was quick to replace self-pity at the forefront of her mind.

One clean identity, that was all he’d asked for. One parachute to allow his escape. He was going to abandon her. Leave her to get herself out of this mess that he’d created!

A quiet voice murmured that she’d done the exact same thing to him. Worse even, she’d deliberately placed him in the crosshairs of the Eighth Circle before disappearing. Her eyes narrowed. Had this been his plan all along? Was it payback? Pulling her into his schemes to paint a target on her back and then quietly slipping away, leaving her to deal with the fallout?

She scrubbed a fist between her eyes. Either this was a knee jerk reaction to her almost confession and he was running scared from her almost admitting the L word. Or this had been his cold and calculated plan right from the start. Give the Eighth Circle a new target to aim for, while quietly making his escape.

She wasn’t sure which was worse.

She sank onto the bed and buried her face in her hands. Either way, if she’d been in any doubt as to what his reaction might be, had she ever finished her original sentence, she now had her answer.

It was with a sinking sense of horror that she realised she had no idea what to do next. She’d been letting Cross make the decisions and call the shots for weeks now. She’d just assumed he’d have a plan.

A sharp bark of laughter shattered the silence. She’d been right. He did have a plan. It just didn’t include her. The laughter faded and she collapsed back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

She needed to start making decisions for herself, that had to be her number one priority. She couldn’t stay here, Camille had made that perfectly clear. Nor did she want to. It wouldn’t take long for the Eighth Circle to track her down and she had no desire to see this beautiful sanctuary desecrated with guns and violence.

The sound of tyres on gravel penetrated her thoughts and she sat bolt upright, his return bringing with it a potent shot of adrenaline. A cold smile curled her lips as her thoughts cleared. She knew exactly what she was going to do next. She was going to do what she always did.

She was going to fuck with whatever Cross had planned!!

She just had to find out what that was.

Leaping to her feet she sprinted for the staircase, hoping to intercept him before he had the chance to give her the slip again.

The artificial burst of energy lasted until she reached the entrance hall where it abruptly vanished and she sagged against the wall. If she’d had any lingering doubts as to his change in mindset, they were eradicated the moment he walked back into the chateau. Every trace of the man she’d come to know was gone.

The last of the dye had been ruthlessly stripped from his hair. The soft curls clipped back with brutal severity. A sharp, perfectly tailored suit replaced the well worn t-shirt and jeans and even the softness she’d seen in his eyes over the last few days had been replaced with the same cold determination she remembered from the past.

He looked like the man she’d met that first morning, fleeing his club with her stolen contraband stashed in her bra. That bullet-proof shell of icy control sliding seamlessly back into place. The man she’d believed she was falling in love with was nowhere to be seen, and in his place, a stranger.

Barely registering her presence with a glance, he walked straight past her into Mathieu’s office and closed the door firmly before she could even think to follow.

Winded by events, Verity backed away from the highly polished oak, a hand flying to her mouth in shock.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Flinching at the softly voiced question, Verity spun around to find Chris watching her with a concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, “And I wish everyone would stop looking at me like I’m about to break into a million pieces.”

Chris raised his eyebrows at her tone and tutted softly. “So, clearly not fine. What’s up, Bug?”

As the familiar, childhood nickname emerged, Verity felt her anger deflate. None of this was Chris’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I just got an unwanted reality check.”

He stiffened slightly, immediately on the alert. “What happened?”

Unsure how to explain, Verity raised her palms. “Cross is back.”

“From town? Camille said he’d gone to get some things.”

“No, not back here… I mean ‘Cross’ is back!” She made bunny ears around his name to emphasise her point.

Immediately his eyes widened. “Oh shit! What prompted that? He’s been so different since the pair of you arrived. Did I tell you he asked me to call him Thomas!!”

Momentarily distracted, Verity gaped at him. “No way!! What did you say?”

Chris gave a shudder. “I didn’t know what to say. How weird is that! It’s like he's a different person.”

“Well not anymore,” she replied sadly. “I think it was just an act.”

He shook his head with disbelief, “In that case, it was a bloody good act. I was starting to think that there might actually be something going on between you.”

“God, can you imagine!” Verity forced a laugh, hoping she sounded more sincere than she felt.

Thankfully, Chris seemed to accept the act she was presenting and asked, “So what’s the story?”

“I don’t know. He got back, looking like he’d been rebooted back to factory settings - all shiny and new - but before I could ask him what was going on, he and Mathieu locked themselves away in the office and I couldn't get close enough to hear what they’re talking about.”

Chris frowned in thought and then nodded. “I may know someone who can help with that.” At Verity’s questioning expression he added, “Sandrine. She’s always complaining that when he’s focussed on business, her father barely registers her presence. She could be part of the furniture for all the notice he takes.” He gave a grin. “And she’s really sneaky. You’d like her!”

“I do like her! But are you sure you really want to drag your girlfriend into my–” Verity caught herself before she uttered the words ‘love life’ and substituted ‘drama’ at the last moment. Dammit, that was twice in a day, she needed to watch herself!

“Trust me, no dragging will be involved. She loves this stuff.” He scuffed his shoe across the tiles. “It’s a shame really. She’s desperate to be involved in the shadier side of her Dad’s firm, but he has this old school view on the role of women and won’t even address the subject.”

“Why would she want anything to do with this shit? Is she nuts?”

“Possibly.”

“Yeah, well, she’s dating you, so clearly some mental health issues are going on.” she teased.

Chris growled at her in mock annoyance and then shrugged. “So, shall I ask her?”

Eyeing the closed door at the end of the hallway, Verity nodded. “Why not, as long as she’s happy to do it.”

“Trust me. She will be!”

Mathieu glanced up as Cross entered his office and his mouth curved into a smile. “Ah, I see my old friend Thomas Cross has been returned to us. I was beginning to wonder what you’d done with him.”

Cross pulled at his cuff, smoothing out the lines of the new suit. “Your tailor seemed happy to see him too.” He shrugged. “It was Camille’s idea. She thought it might be wise, given what I have planned.”

Watching his friend pour a generous measure of whiskey into a tumbler, Cross settled into a leather armchair.

As he handed him the glass, Mathieu asked, “And what’s that?”

“I think I need to head back to New York.”

Mathieu almost dropped his own drink at that statement. “Go back? Why? You barely made it out of the country the last time. Why? Why would you think of going back when you know they want you dead?”

“I don’t believe they all want me dead.”

“You want to approach Valentina?”

“God no, not her.” Cross shuddered. “Frankly increasing the distance between me and that witch is also part of the appeal.”

“Then who?”

“McKenzie. I don’t think he’s part of the cabal trying to take my head and my vote.” Hands in his pockets, he shifted his weight, wondering how best to explain. “There was a moment, just before the shouting and the shooting, when I think he was trying to tell me something.”

“A moment?” Mathieu sounded sceptical. “How nice for you both. Is it really worth the risk?”

“I think it’s the only move I have left.”

“And Verity? Were you planning to take her with you on this suicide mission?”

“No. I’m not taking Verity with me to New York. I hope I can–” Cross broke off as he noticed an almost silent figure had slipped through the doorway and was studying the shelves on one side of the room.

“Can we help you?” he asked and Sandrine spun round, her eyes wide as if she’d been completely unaware of their presence.

Cross glared at her. No one looked that innocent unless they had something to hide. But Mathieu merely handed her the book she’d apparently been attempting to reach and continued the conversation as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “When will you leave?”

Eyes narrowed, Cross watched as Sandrine muttered something about it being a waste to be stuck inside on such a beautiful day and threw the heavy curtains open.

“Not sure,” he murmured. “Depends on how my meeting goes tomorrow.”

“Meeting?”

Cross raised his eyebrows, his gaze shifting between the two of them.

Finally Matheiu took the hint, and escorted Sandrine gently from the room.

Half an hour later a light tap on the turret door roused Verity from her gloomy evaluation over the state of her own mental health.

Sandrine hovered in the doorway for a moment and then hopped up on the bed, crossed her legs and leaned back against one of the posts.

“I didn’t manage to get much - Thomas noticed me almost as soon as I entered the room and stopped whatever he was saying.” She broke off with a brisk shake of her head, “He’s much more aware than my father.”

Verity gave a heavy sigh, “Never mind, I really appreciate you trying.”

The younger girl raised her chin, “I didn’t say I got nothing. He is planning to return to New York.” She hesitated and bit her lip. “Alone.”

Even though she knew this was coming, Verity winced. Still hurt. Forcing a smile, she reached for Sandrine’s hand. “Thank you for trying.”

“That’s not all. While I was in there I opened a window, you know, to let the room air a little.”

Not completely following her, Verity frowned. “That’s nice…”

“Which meant, when I went to pick some herbs for dinner, I was able to get close enough to hear the end of their conversation.”

Eyes widening, Verity clutched at her arm. “What! What did they say?”

“Thomas was asking for directions to Villandry. He’s apparently meeting someone near the river there, to collect a package.” She gave an apologetic shrug, “I didn’t hear who he was meeting, or what the package is. I’m sorry.”

Giving the girl a grateful pat on the arm, Verity waved away the apology. “Don’t be sorry. That’s perfect and everything I was hoping for. I know what he’s expecting, but I didn’t know where the hand off was happening. How far is Villandry from here?”

Sandrine shrugged “About an hour.”

“Can you show me on a map?”

“I can do better than that. I have a car, I can take us!”

“Us?”

“Yes, you, me and Chris. We can tell Mamma that we’re going sightseeing!”

“I can’t ask you to do that, it might be dangerous.”

Sandrine snorted. “Please! I grew up around these people, I know how to handle them. And I know the combination to my father’s gun cabinet.”

Horrified, Verity flapped her hands, her eyes immediately flying to the doorway in case someone had overheard the rash offer. “No! Absolutely no guns!”

The younger woman huffed and folded her arms. “Fine. No guns, but I’m still coming or I’m not telling you exactly where he’s arranged to meet her.”

Verity recognised the obstinate set to the girl’s jaw. It was an expression she’d worn enough times herself, to know when it wasn’t worth arguing. And she remembered what Chris had said about Sandrine feeling excluded from the darker side of Mathieu’s world just because she was a girl. That must suck. She nodded. “Alright then, but you and Chris keep a safe distance from the actual meeting spot. Mathieu will kill me if you get hurt.

Sandrine gave a squeak of excitement and pulled Verity into an effusive hug. “Thank you!” With that, she hopped off the bed and scampered to the door. “I’ll go and find something for us to wear so we blend in.” Tilting her head, she gave Verity’s jeans and t-shirt combo an appraising look. “No offence but you look very… not french.”

Verity laughed. “None taken. But you’d also better supervise whatever Chris wears. Last time he tried to go incognito he ended up looking like three racoons in a trenchcoat.”

She could see Sandrine internally trying to process that last comment into something that made sense in French and dismissed it with a wave. “Not important. Just saying, pick what he wears too. But be prepared for a row.”

Sandrine sniffed. “That part’s easy. I give him an outfit, tell him he’ll look hot in it and how I’m going to take it off with my teeth. He’ll be redressed before I’ve even finished the sentence.”

“No! No! No!” Verity jammed her fingers in her ears. “I do not need to hear how you sex up my brother. That’s just gross and there isn’t enough mind bleach in the world to erase that image!”

Sandrine giggled and raised her eyebrows, but thankfully said nothing more.

#fic recs #team double cross #racchris #damn I was supposed to come up with a better name for it

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maple-seed · 4 days

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She is a stronger woman than me. I do love a good tease but I would never last. You always write it so well, the resistance, the withholding, the giving in.

“You know how I feel about the horns, oh god-” you mutter, breaking character, clenching as another devilish smile stretches his lips.

I think she speaks for all of us here.

My favorite bit:

“Do you want me to stay in character?” he asks quietly as his clothes disappear- everything but the horned diadem on his head.

🥰 I love a check-in. A little pinch of sweetness and softness in the middle of it all. And obviously it goes without question that the horns remain.

No Mercy [Loki x Female Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki interrogates you....sexually. Warnings. 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Ceremonial erotica. Fun & Games. Soft! Dom Loki. Established relationship. Light bondage. Denial. (w/c 1.8k)

“Do you plead mercy, little one?” Loki’s voice is terrifyingly calm. If it weren’t for the violently hard erection pressed against his thigh beneath those tight, slutty trousers you might actually believe you were in danger. Deny me, you’d challenged him. Make me break. And he has. And he’s close.

“You’ll never make me talk,” you say defiantly. The layer of fear in your voice is fake, but the tremble isn’t.

It feels like you’re dripping on the bed, knees together, folded to the side, hands tied to the posts. Loki’s eyes flicker to the sheets beneath you as you squirm and a slight narrow of his eyes confirms that yes, you are in fact, dripping on the bed.

You’ve been at this for almost an hour. He’s barely touched you. Just a graze of his tactfully deployed fingers, a blindfold, the targeted skim of his breath and the devastation of his carefully chosen words.

Now the blindfold runs between his fingers as he tilts his head, thinking. “My interrogation requires a little more...finesse, then,” he says, making the blindfold disappear in a flash of green. “A touch more...pressure.’ You whine, yanking the thick leather binds wrapped around your wrists. The manufactured innocence on your face is like blood to a free-wolf and Loki’s lips curl in a wicked smile.

“I’ve been doing this a long, long time,” he says imperiously as he unbuttons a cuff. His long fingers make slow work of folding the sleeve up the meat of his forearm. “I may be a Prince, but an Interrogator of the Crown was my calling, I think. Don’t you?” Your chin rises and you nail him with your stare, hoping your tits look as great as you think they do. You arch valiantly towards his quiet wrath and with a deep breath, you deploy your best 50's starlet impression. “You’ll never break me….Loki Laufeyson.” He releases an exaggerated growl that makes new arousal well between your tightly closed thighs. “Is that right?”

A golden flicker licks from his forehead, the horned diadem unfurling from nothing at all. He’s working on the other sleeve as he swaggers to the side of the bed, taking his time. An oil of sweat has formed on your chest and you squirm for real, trying to break free. “You know how I feel about the horns, oh god-” you mutter, breaking character, clenching as another devilish smile stretches his lips. He stands by your head, crotch inches from your face. So close you can see his cock throb through the fabric. So close you can smell the earthy sweetness of his pre-cum. A low rumble of laughter penetrates the air. “I think you’re closer to defeat than you let on, little one,” he says, drawing a cool finger down your cheek. “Desperate to yield to me, desperate to give in to my demands; to furnish me with the carnal knowledge of your body that I require…that the realm requires.” Against every instinct screaming in your body, you yank your face away. “Perhaps not,” he says bitterly. A wave of dark sandalwood fills your nostrils as the mattress dips and Loki mounts the bed one impossibly long leg at a time.

He spreads his knees while he spreads yours. His face is bladed and angular in shadow, smouldering eyes sparkling beneath his battle-crown of gold.

The god reaches forward and runs his huge palms up the front of your thighs. His touch is electric. You buck up, feeling a web of arousal stick against the bedsheets. Loki glances at it through half-lidded eyes, his trunk heaving with heavy, silent breaths. “You bring this on yourself,” he whispers coldly as a strange object appears in his hand. It looks like a little bell with a round, tapered tip. But heavy. It looks heavy. There's a slight amber tint that warms in the low light.

“My seal,” he explains with an air of condescension. He swings it between his thumb and forefinger. “You will submit to me...one way or another.” He leans closer, dragging the cool golden seal over the curve of your breast and a violent shiver wrenches down your spine. “They always do,' he says. "And I have come prepared.” His eyes follow the metal seal’s descent over the dip of your waist, enjoying the shudders of overstimulation they cause. The graze of his raised markings harden your nipples and you strain your neck to the ceiling as he runs a line down the centre of your stomach and pauses at the top of your mound. The weight between your legs is unbearable; it’s an emptiness only Loki’s cock can fill. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” he murmurs sweetly with those dark brows peaked. But it’s an act, trying to trick you – of course. Oh god, he’s so fucking hot, it’s terrible. Every urge screams to cry mercy and have him fuck you like a victorious king; ride him as you hang onto those horns and make him see double. “Do it,” you spit, clenching your teeth. You yank the leather ropes again. “Pervert.” Loki’s brows rise in genuine surprise, a flash of mirth you recognise skating across his face before his features harden again. Role play with Loki is like nothing else. The king of your heart, but king of the performance too. “Very well,” he says, and the cool roll of metal slips against your cunt. He toys with it, pressing its ridged base against your clit and rubbing it in slow, maddening circles. “This seal has started wars,” he says in the same calm, even tone, “ended them, too.” Your stifle a groan of pleasure as the curved tip dips inside your pussy. Its sharp bite seems to melt inside the heat of your slit. “But you may be my greatest challenge,” he purrs as he slides it from the hole. You whimper as he brings it to his lips, rolling it, moaning in a low inhumane frequency. “And since I have just now claimed you with my crest...perhaps your conscience will allow me to claim you with my cock.” Your will to resist is fading fast. Loki tsk’s with feigned irritation as the seal vanishes and his attention turns to the mess beneath your legs. Arousal sticks to your inner thighs in a glistening sheet.

You groan as he flexes his fingers in front of his face, thick veins standing to attention on the back of his hands. He folds all but two, sucking them between his lips and hollowing his cheekbones in the process like an absolute whore. Without a pause, he curls them inside you and the air dissolves from your lungs in a strangled moan of his name. “Doesn’t count…” he warns. You look at him with your mouth open, brow a map of twitching lines. "You have to say it."

Loki kneels between your legs, as cool as Jotunheim ice, pumping his fingers slowly inside your slippery cunt, thumb sliding against your swollen clit with an arrogant smirk on his face. Your hips rise to meet him on every thrust of his palm. Breath comes in short bursts as you clench around his fingers, back arching into his touch as orgasm threatens to ruin you- He slips them out. “Loki!”

The frustration is real - no need to act. The god’s eyes widen in a shameless caricature of innocence. “I have given you every opportunity to yield to me, I have I not?” He pushes the rolled sleeves of his perfectly fitted shirt higher in a targeted attack. Your legs have begun to tremble at the loss of his touch. “And at every opportunity," he continues, "you have stayed true to your loyalties...which I respect."

The ceremonial sincerity in his voice is sickeningly erotic as he hooks his hands beneath your knees. “But pleasure...true pleasure...is a privilege reserved for those who yield to me.”

The sharp cool of his metal diadem stings your flesh as he kisses your inner thigh. He draws closer to your desperate sex, so close you can feel his breath cool against it as he says, “So cry mercy darling, and it will be yours.” He’s really dialled the drama up to eleven tonight. Instinctually you try and lurch your arms forward to grab the curve of his horns and press him deep into your pussy; mad for the feel of his tongue flat and flawless moving against it. “Oh god,” you whimper, fighting yourself. “Good girl,” he purrs, grazing his parted lips over your swollen labia. It’s too much. “Oh god, Loki…” “Good girl, say it...beg for it,” he spits as he falls back on his haunches and reaches for the button of his suit trousers. He looks so fucking mean.

The beat in your chest has turned to syrupy thumps as your legs straighten and contract on either side of him. “You want to be my good girl…” A pop echoes and his cock suddenly weighs in his hand like a weapon. You’re salivating...actually salivating. He pumps slowly back and forth, jaw clenching, his eyes hard as flints. “Don’t make me finish myself on your traitorous face.”

“Mercy,” you gasp. Loki’s grin widens and it touches his eyes. He licks his lips. “Do you want me to stay in character?” he asks quietly as his clothes disappear- everything but the horned diadem on his head.

His shoulders roll and every muscle in his torso tightens, thighs bulging as he clenches against the punishing grip of his fist. You bite your lip, nodding. His eyes flash. “Well chosen,” Interrogator Loki says. The hard edge in his voice has returned with a vengeance and he melts the leather binds holding you with a wave of his hand. “I trust my faith in your repentance is not misplaced,” he says as he crawls up your body with intent. Loki’s hair swings around your jaw, the scent of him, the weight of him. His length presses like metal against your throbbing clit and you buck your hips, trying to catch him. Every thought in your head evaporates as Loki of Asgard buries himself inside you with a shuddering exhale. Your legs wrap around his hips, forcing his ass down, pushing him deeper.

There’s a thud, and then another one; the curve of his horns beating against the headboard. Loki deploys a wolfish smile as his fingers curl around your wrists. “Can’t take any chances with my minx of a prisoner,” he whispers against your cheek. “No mercy,” you moan into his open mouth. It’s a request he understands as he delivers another targeted roll of his hips. “No mercy,” he replies.

A/N - Have I told you guys how much I love you recently? Because I really do. I hope you know that. x

Tags ( in comments - all of you, soz. Normal way is not workinnng)

#fic recs

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maple-seed · 4 days

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Nobody should let me anywhere near their brain. Honestly surprised anyone even lets me talk to them. @lokisgoodgirl should be familiar, she did end up with Thor getting emotional about a drumstick pillow in one of her fics. (though that's not fully my fault, she came into my ask box with that pillow to start with)

I am still swimming in the joy of Dadthieu being canon. 🤭I am not over it. I will never be over it.

The raccoons sent me over the moon.