#cruelwidow.

[makarovs]

✉ (I was at work without web when you reblogged this.)

Are we making this a habit, John? Three times in two weeks. Not that I’m complaining. The nights are getting cool again and a warm bed is fine by me—particularly when the company is so very good.

Got called away for a morning briefing, but it should be through by noon. I’ll pick up something for us to eat on my way back. Due yourself a favor and sleep in, stranger. You earned it. A few times over.

P.S. - There’s a knife under the pillow, a garotte hanging on the back of the headboard and a gun tucked into the bedframe on your side. Make yourself comfortable.

- N.

[makarovs]

She'll give you a hell of a ride, but first you'll open wide and not say a word, because she says not to as she slips the barrel of the Beretta between your teeth and whispers, "Show me what you want." And you—whether for love or lust—you'll wrap your lips around gunmetal and be giving, while she slides on top and straddles you like conquered territory, her finger on the trigger and a promise in her eyes that says if you play along, she'll blow your mind. Self preservation says you should probably care about the context; her scarlet lips curve in a cat's cradle smile that makes you remember—but not care—exactly why.