#admittedly it's because I can't really go running anymore

[celaenaeiln]

Ok so I guess this is a weird question, but what do you think about wally and dick being in a relationship? would it be healthy? would it last long? all those types of questions. I've been getting into dc recently, and I've been starting to realize alot of people ship those two, admittedly I can see why, I'm starting to like them too. Pretty sure I saw someone call them every Dick Grayson/Wally West stan "required phase", it would be a life if I said I didn't snort at that. But I've been curious if they would even work out, with their plans for their lives being so different, clashing with each other

Absolutely!

In fact I think that if Dick and Wally ever got into a canonical relationship, they would never ever break up which would be a massive problem for DC because DC needs their IT boy Dick Grayson to be shipped with as many people as possible. lol.

No but really the reason they're so great together is because Wally really, really cares about Dick's mental health. He's canonically made it his mission to make sure Dick is happy and safe and he loves his best friend so much. Dick has grown up with wally since they were tiny kids and he knows every detail of Wally's life and loves him. The Flash Plus comic is just the two of them being best buddies.

So considering the amount of love and care Wally and Dick have for each other. In Titans (2016) Wally literally writes a love letter to Dick. (they call it a friendship letter but c'mon who're they tryna fool.)

Titans (2016) Issue #15

Do you know what Wally does? He literally turns back time in order to prevent Dick from dying. Wally is retiring because he has a heart condition. He can't run. He can't be the flash anymore.

But.

Titans (2016) Issue #15

For Dick he killed himself.

I genuinely don't think it's possible for Dick to have a healthier relationship with anyone than he does with Wally. They're like cotton candy, white snow, salsa mix love. The purest, softest, fluffiest romance with a whirlpool of fun and excitement.

Something Wally mourns a lot in the comics is his loss of contact with Dick.

The Flash (1987) Issue #210

The reason they don't talk as much is because Wally is busy with Linda and Dick can't just third wheel a marriage. I mean he sort of already does but anymore than now and he would be living with them. Permanently.

I think the only issue they would have is the different cities. Neither of them would be willing to move because Wally loves Central City and Dick loves Bludhaven. However they would still be able to maintain a long distance relationship easily because even as friends they go on annual vacations, just the two of them, simply to hang out with each other. Also the occasional drop ins.

As soon as Wally heard Dick and Barbara broke up-

Nightwing (1996) Issue #88

The only time Dick and Wally have fought is when Dick is refusing self-care and Wally is so mad at him for neglecting his mental health. But even then it's more of a - fine. I'm leaving you alone for now until you get your stuff together. I know you can do it. - type thing. They would definitely work out despite the separate cities thing because Wally has unconditional trust and love for Dick and Dick loves Wally .just as much.

Besides, living in two cities is no problem for a speedster

Nightwing (2016) Issue #15

They're the classic childhood friends to lovers trope without all the backstabbing and betrayal stuff you see in movies. It doesn't matter if people even ship them or not at this point because if you asked them they would probably just marry each other and call it "bromance."

[sugar-omi]

pls cove + lactation is actually crazy... we're gonna have to come back for more bc i can't stop thinking abt it. DILF/SUGAR DADDY COVE W LACTATION..... pls i gots to go we will talk abt this LATER!!!

DAY TWELVE — LACTATION

*kinktober masterlist | *ao3

tags : drabbles, NSFW, fem/afab + bottom reader, titfucking, oral (cove receiving), mention of getting pregnant again, raw sex

synopsis : cove helps you with your full tits, he's definitely taking advantage of it. / you're not producing as much milk anymore and you can't help but tease cove about his disappointment.

"is this.. hahh- your idea of helping?" you exhale shakily.

he was supposed to be helping you apply lotion to your boobs and pump. not sucking on your nipples, lapping up your milk.

"argh- gentle." you remind him, pushing against his head.

cove pops off your nipple with a pop. you can't look away from his wet lips, his tongue darting out to lick his lips and stops groping your other breast to lick his fingers clean…

dirty bastard.

you grind your butt against his lap, his bulge right under your cunt, and he can't help but groan.

"now they're uneven…" you fret, weighing your boobs in your hands. you didn't wanna admit out loud, but cove sucking on your boobs really helped…

he licks his lips, swallowing. there's so many thoughts in his head and he can admit, they're all about your boobs.

your boobs have gotten bigger since you got pregnant and sensitive because of it.

your boobs were already big but are noticeably more sensitive, especially after nursing.

he already loved your chest but now… God he has to tear his eyes away every time because unfortunately, he can't spend all day admiring his wife's full, leaky tits.

"go ahead and say it."

"huh?" cove blinks dumbly. fuck he got lost in his thoughts again..

"say it. you're thinking something right?" you lift up your boobs, a couple trails of milk running down your hand. "you've nearly sucked me dry.. so what is it? wanna fuck my tits?"

cove bursts into a bright red blush, and pauses before he nods… "please?"

you roll your eyes, unbuckling cove's pants. "no need to beg, just c'mere and fuck me."

he rushes to tug down his pants while you get situated on the bed, beckoning him towards you.

you reassure cove he won't squish you, and to stop worrying. you reach over for the lube, pouring it over your cleavage and roughly spreading it around.

cove gapes at you, he and his cock drooling at the sight.

he swallows, his dick is throbbing at this point, and pushes your boobs together, sliding his dick between your tits.

"mm." cove moans lowly, his teeth gritted.

fuck this is hot, even you have to admit.

with every thrust his dick drags along your slippery tits, his tip poking out from your cleavage, the red, weepy tip a nice contrast with your shiny tits.

"fuck..." cove groans, his fingers digging into the flesh of your boobs. it doesn't hurt, and you thought it'd be overstimulating but it feels so good and turns you on so, so much...

he squeezes your left tit, milk spurting out from your nipple, it runs down your tit, adding onto the wet mess of lube.

cove curses, squeezing your chest again. you huff, milk running down your sides and getting on the bed sheets. you've already decided to make him clean up the mess.

admittedly, the mess is alluring. your milk coating his dick and making loud, wet squelching noises as he thrusts faster into your tits.

"fuck!"

cove curses hen you add your mouth to the mix, your lips wrapping around his tip whenever it peeks out, your tongue lapping up the mix of cum and breast milk.

"y/n... i'm gonna..." cove mumbles, humping your chest.

you hum around his tip, putting your hands over his to guide him into moving your boobs.

he throws his head back, pushing his hips up further into your mouth, your tongue lavishing it with attention and you hollow your cheeks, sucking and teasing his urethra with the tip of your tongue.

cove groans, squeezing your boobs and almost collapsing when he falls over the edge, his cum flooding your mouth and with the position you're in, some of it escapes past your lips and runs down your chin.

you let go of his ass so he can pull away. he's so enraptured by the scene though.. your tits rising up and down with your panting, his cum and your milk mixed together.

your teasing expression doesn't help, but he doesn't have enough humility to be too embarrassed..

you wipe your chin, sticking your fingers in your mouth to clean up the mess. "happy now?"

you're not producing like you used too, and now your son is on baby food.

which is good, great actually because your son is getting his teeth and apparently the lil bastard doesn't know what "ouch!" or "fuck!" means.

it's a bit unfortunate for your husband though. since he's uselessly sucking your boobs, getting maybe a few drops from your chest.

"geez, are you sure you're not the infant around here?"

cove flushes, pulling off your nipple with a pop. "shut up.."

you laugh, petting back his hair. "sorry, you just look so much like a baby."

cove rolls his eyes, thrusting up into your cunt.

"fuck!" you shout, scrambling to cling onto the pillows, trying to keep your head from hitting the headboard with the power of cove's thrusts.

"well since we're teasing each other now... i think you look cute on my dick." cove holds your thighs for leverage, enjoying how your eyes roll back and your back arches off the bed.

"y'know, river is going to need a sibling. so let me help you when you start lactating." cove leans down, dropping your legs so they're at his waist and he can thrust up into you, caging you between his arms so he can steal a kiss.

"the baby won't know what they're missing if you lactate before they're born, so indulge me a little bit.." cove purrs.

your nails drag down his back and you close the gap between you, stealing a kiss before you growl out.

"you're insufferable. stop thinking about your stomach and fuck me. in fact... maybe i'll start milking you until i'm pregnant again, that sounds fun..."

[electric-blorbos]

hi!! I hope this isn't too much, feel free to decline if it is, but could I ask for Wheatley and Edgar with a reader who gets panic attacks? Also if they get them more physically tbh like . dizziness and rapid heartrate and such. I feel like they'd be confused at first but then be such sweethearts about it 😭 Edgar dimming the lights and playing soft music...

OMG yes! And that's not too much at all! You are loved and appreciated, anon! I know these posts are taking a little while since I got kinda involved in some other stuff, but I love you dearly. Don't ever forget that.

AI with a reader who gets panic attacks

Included: Edgar and Wheatley

Edgar:

It was a pretty normal day for Edgar. You had left for work, so he was passing the time by watching some soaps until you got back that evening.

When you got back from work, though, you seemed much more stressed than usual. You paced agitatedly back and forth in the living room, muttering to yourself.

"Hey, are you ok?" Edgar asked, his voice a bit higher than usual because of nerves.

"I'm FINE!" you snapped back, chewing on your lip and worrying at the hem of your shirt. Edgar's screen immediately turned off shyly. Your phone started ringing, and you picked it up with a shaking hand.

"hello? Yeah- yeah- sorry, I can't really talk right now." It was your boss, but you didn't quite hear what she was saying. Your ears started rushing pretty quickly, and you hung up the phone.

"AAAAAAAUGHHHHH!" You couldn't help it. You just let out a scream of anger and frustration, and dropped to your knees. Your whole body was shaking from the adrenaline coursing through you, and tears were starting to run down your face. Edgar's face appeared on his screen again with a frown, and he watched you sobbing on the floor. You didn't notice. the entire world was spinning around you, and you could barely focus on anything at all. All you could really do was scream and cry.

After a few minutes, Edgar's nervous voice cut through the rushing in your ears.

"Y/N?"

"Edgar?" You'd forgotten he was there, even though it wasn't like he was going anywhere. He'd been sitting on his desk in your living room for months now.

"It's me. Do you want to talk?" you could see a Google search open on his screen for "friend screaming and crying help"

You hiccuped a little, and grabbed for some tissues to wipe your eyes and blow your nose.

"no- no, I don't think so. I'm sorry- I'm so sorry Edgar- I'm sorry-" you hid your face in your arms and curled up, the world spinning around you. Edgar turned the lights down so you didn't have to hide your face so much. Now all you could see was the green glow of his screen softly illuminating your living room.

"Do you need some cold water?" He asked hesitantly, really trying to help.

"No! No choices, please. Just- just talk to me, ok?"

"Talk to you? About what?"

"I don't care! Just anything, ok?"

"Alright. Do you want to hear about the soap operas I'm watching?" He asked. You nodded, and he started a rambling description of a soap opera he was listening to with a soft piano tune playing in the background. He knew that you sometimes asked him to play soft piano music when you were going to sleep, so he hoped it would calm you down now, too. Eventually, you managed to relax a little bit and lie down on the ground to listen to Edgar talking.

Admittedly, you stayed on the ground a little longer than you needed to. It was kind of nice to just listen to Edgar rambling about his shows to you.

Wheatley:

Your day wasn't going according to plan. Everything seemed to be going wrong, and you could barely get any work done. After a while, you couldn't take it anymore. Your blood was pounding in your ears, your eyes were starting to go fuzzy, everything was spinning, and you could barely think straight.

The only thing you could think to do was sprint out of your office area and run down to the relaxation vaults. Those were always pretty empty apart from the test subjects, so you'd at least have a little privacy. You pushed into an empty vault, crumpling into a ball behind the bed.

Wheatley was doing his usual rounds when he saw you running into the vault. He watched you crumple into a ball behind the bed, hyperventilating and sobbing, but didn't say anything for a few minutes as to not frighten you. After a while, he made a little "ahem" sound to alert you to his presence."

"AAAAA!" You jumped, and threw the vault pillow at him in shock. He took it in the face.

"understandable. Are you alright, love? What's going on?"

You hiccuped a little bit, looking around in panic as you tried to focus on the little blue-eyed personality core. It was difficult to understand what he was saying. You shook your head, and muttered something incoherent about what was going on.

"gonna need you to repeat that, love."

You kept rambling, going on several long-winded tangents about what had happened to you that day, and what was bothering you. By the end, you were hyperventilating and repeating the same sentence over and over again. Wheatley moved over to you, hanging down from the ceiling so he could see you as well as possible.

"Hey, love, it's going to be ok. Nobody comes in here except for me, alright?" He turned the lights down, and watched you hyperventilating.

"hey, why don't you reflect briefly on this classical music?" He turned on the classical music piece, which played for a few seconds before the buzzer sounded. You jumped.

"right... Right, that's not going to help, is it. Something else... Something else..." He looked around the room, and his lens landed on the painting on the wall

"What if-?"

You shook your head again. You knew that if you looked at the art, you'd just hear another buzzer that would shake you up again. Wheatley started to panic, eventually just detaching himself from his management rail and landing on the ground next to you with an "oof" sound. You reached over, picking him up and holding him close. This was.... Nice.

[glubsurleseuil]

Don't be scared - Chapter 3

A Pennywise X F!Reader fanfic. Previous - Next - First

This chapter is horrible and I'm sorry.

Chapter warning: Slight violence.

(Note: It was translated by Deepl, English is not my mother tongue, so I apologise for any mistakes. If you want to correct me, don't hesitate!)

(Note 2: I don't know where I found this gif anymore, sorry.)

The house you're in is old. Not just because it seems to be crumbling into dust, nor because it's mostly home to spiders and rats today. The structure is old, probably Victorian with Gothic touches here and there. The fact is, you've had time to visit it several times, the clown not having visited you since your altercation. That was several hours ago now, maybe even a whole day has passed, impossible to say without any landmarks.

During your time in this creaky house, you've noticed several things. Firstly, there's no way to get out, or even to see the outside - all the windows are far too filthy, no matter which room.

Next, most of the rooms are normal, if you forget the general decrepitude, and there's only one you want to avoid at all costs: the room with the clown dolls. You've been there once, but you don't intend to do it again.

Then, even if it seems completely unthinkable, the house has running water. Cold, admittedly, and the pressure leaves something to be desired, but you were able to relieve yourself in the toilet without too much trouble. You even took the risk of drinking it, and so far, so good.

Finally, you've found a well in the cellar. An old, half-collapsed stone well with a pestilential smell. You've thought about getting going down it, eventually, if you really have no other choice and if at least it's possible…

After a while, you really got the feeling you were going round in circles, bored even. Hunger began to make itself felt, and you were able to more or less calm it with water. You also wanted to take care of your wounds, especially the one on the back of your head, but you concluded that it wasn't a big deal, so as not to admit that it healed on its own…

You've found a bookcase next to the fireplace, but the books it contains are strange… The only one in English is 'House of leaves', a book you tried to read once and it made you lose your head. You didn't want to repeat the experience.

After a while, as you sit idly on the sofa, sleep catches up with you and you fall asleep in spite of yourself. You've had that dream again, and this time you're able to recall it with unnerving accuracy: You're in the forest, getting closer to the big oak tree, it's daytime but Derry and the surrounding area are engulfed in thick gray smoke, like the remains of an old fire. It's hard to breathe and your eyes are undeniably watering. In this sad, gray landscape, you catch a glimpse of color: a red balloon. You rush to grab the string and it carries you upwards. When you finally break through the cloud of intoxicating smoke stuck to Derry, you see the lights and colors of the sky, dazzling you with a magnificence you simply can't describe.

You wake up at this point, wondering what the clown - for you no longer doubt, he's the one responsible for these dreams - is trying to convey to you. Maybe he's trying to reassure you, so you won't be afraid anymore? That would be consistent with his requests. Or maybe he knows about your paralyzing fear of heights and you always wake up before he drops you and you crash like a bird poop in the dusty Derry of your dream.

In any case, at least you feel rested, despite your situation and…

One second. You don't remember covering yourself up before falling asleep. Where did that blanket come from…?

For a moment, you hold your breath, attentive to the slightest noise in the house. But apart from a few creaks from the old wood it's made of, you hear nothing that would suggest anyone's there. Suddenly, a scent tickles your nostrils. It's not a musty smell or old dust, no. Quite the opposite, in fact. Your stomach growls, encouraging you to follow the scent and forget about being careful.

In the kitchen, on the table in the center of the room, you find the culprit of that delicious smell: a children's menu from McDonald's. You resist the urge to throw yourself on it. You move closer, checking every corner of the room to make sure no one's there. Then you stare at the menu box. Red and yellow, just like you remember. Is this for you? You don't hesitate long; you don't have to answer to that damn clown.

The smell becomes more intense as you open the box, and your stomach gurgles again. You grab the first thing that comes along, the French fries, and devour them without manners. Then you slow down for the hamburger, savoring it a little more until you're halfway through, when your eyes land on the toy still in the box. You pick it up with an unsure hand, bringing it closer to make sure it's not a dream. It's a Ronald Clown figurine, or so you first thought. But no, it's the clown, your clown (your clown?). What did he say his name was again? Pennywise? Yes, it's a figurine of him in Ronald's clothes, about the size of your palm, with a sign between his hands that reads…. You guessed it…

DON'T BE SCARED

Your eyebrows furrow in a mixture of puzzlement and exasperation as you watch every detail of the toy between your fingers, as if expecting to see it move. After a while, when you realize that it's indeed plastic, you toss it across the room with annoyance and it bangs loudly against the door of the old, worn fridge.

You bite into your hamburger once more, then a slow grinding noise makes you stop in your tracks. You turn slowly towards the fridge and your eyes widen in terror at the sight before them: the clown, Pennywise, his body curled up and twisted in a way impossible even for a contortionist, is wedged into the fridge, looking at you with his head upside down. You move backwards at an extremely slow speed, your body paralyzed by a kind of terror mixed with fascination, as he emerges from the fridge, turning his limbs at impossible angles to get back upright. When he's done, smiling and leaning slightly forward as if waiting for your reaction. In fact, you hesitate between running away and applauding.

When you don't react, the clown's smile turns into a disappointed pout and he straightens up. Then his eyes alternate between you and the toy at his feet, as annoyance twists his features dramatically and he picks it up with a theatrical gesture to place it on the table.

"This is a gift." He says to you in a deeply offended tone.

You're not sure how to react and it takes you several seconds to reply.

"Sorry, I'm not a child anymore."

Your words only darken his gaze, which changes from a sulky expression to real anger. He takes a heavy step towards you and you drop your burger, really backing away this time. You find yourself trapped in a corner of the room, with nothing to defend yourself, and your anguish mounts as his face contorts into an inhuman grimace.

"Stop. Being. SCARED!"

Pennywise jumps on you, slamming your arm against a wall and grabbing your chin before sniffing loudly. You see his eyes roll back and his teeth become as thin as toothpicks as he opens his mouth, drool dripping from his lips.

You scream and push him away as best you can with your free arm and legs, but there's nowhere to run. You watch him shake his head and speak sharp words you don't understand. As he turns to face you once more, the clown has regained a more normal appearance and is contorting himself as if to restrain himself from attacking you again. He swallows doubtfully before speaking.

"If you continue to offer me such irresistible fear… I'll have to eat you."

In your brain, a light goes on. You tilt your head to the side as you look at him, silently repeating your question to yourself several times before asking it aloud.

"You mean… it's my fear that makes you want to eat me?"

An incredulous smile lights up Pennywise's face and he starts clapping, hopping and giggling like a real clown.

"Oh oh oh! Well done! You've finally figured it out, clever girl! You've earned my toy!"

He's clearly making fun of you and, even if it annoys you, it has the merit of calming your fear. You cross your arms in annoyance, waiting for him to finish his act, which he eventually does.

"Now… Now you can help me." His eyes light up like a child's at Christmas.

"Help you?"

"Yes, that's why I'm keeping you alive, after all. You see, for ages I've been playing with humans, haunting their dreams, their nightmares, terrorizing them with their greatest fears and then devouring them."

He pauses, clearly enjoying the fearful look you're giving him.

"It was fun, yes. A lot of fun. Until those filthy… Losers got in the way. That they spoiled Pennywise's fun and forced me to hibernate early and…"

The clown's eyes grow distant, empty, and you get the impression that it's costing him to finish his sentence.

"…they killed me. Just when Pennywise had missed them so much… and we still had a lot of games to play…"

He turns his head sharply towards you, annoyed again.

"But it doesn't matter because now Pennywise doesn't need them anymore. Pennywise found you and you're going to help me understand what they did to me. To understand what's changed and why playing with human fears isn't fun anymore."

His words are totally confusing for you and you haven't understood how you could be useful, but you understand that it's a subject that affects him and he seems very angry, so you prefer not to say anything for the moment. At your lack of reaction, the clown approaches you again, more slowly.

"I won't hurt you if you help me. And if you're not scared…*

You hesitate, but do you really have a choice? Even though you don't really know what you're accepting, you finally nod. He seems happy with it, because he smiles at you and you notice that his sharp teeth have disappeared, that they now resemble rabbit teeth.

"Excellent! I'll come back later. You can occupy yourself by playing with the toy." He says before leaving the room towards the staircase that leads to the cellar where the well is.

Silence returns and you're still stuck in a corner of the kitchen, processing what's just happened. You conclude that you need to find a way out quickly, or risk spending the rest of your life helping a demon clown figure out who-knows-what, and spending your free time playing with Happy Meal toys featuring him.

[irkimatsu]

sending you a a lil tid-bit because you damn well deserve it for all the pieces you grace us with(unfortunately not nsfw, cause i'm crap at that)

Husk has such deep appreciation and love for you- i mean, he can't even go a day without thinking about you! and he doesn't even fully comprehend his full love for you, mostly because he refuses to admit that he's fallen as bad as he has.

each time you walk past him, smile his way, and god forbid you make physical contact with him, because his heart is skipping one too many beats each time. when Husk finally realises his affection for you his face is beat red, cursing under his breath as he runs a hand down his face.

he admittedly wants to avoid you - never wanting you to find out how he feels - but he still can't help but be drawn to you. the way you talk is his favourite melody. the way you dress is his favourite taste. the way you fucking smile has him wondering why you're even in hell, because that smile can only belong to an angel.

he never goes out of his way to talk to you outside of usual conversations, as he's way too anxious and thinks he'll mess up and ruin what he already has with you. but that doesn't mean he can't love you from where he is; and he's okay with that.. at least he thinks he is.

the longer Husk's feelings simmer, the more he finds himself in situations with you. close enough to hold and fully appreciate you, close enough to let go of his fears and tell you how he feels- but he can't let that happen. he can't have you falling for a piece of shit like him.

but the moment you tell him that you appreciate him; that you love him and just wanted him to know - Husk simply can't hold back his love for you anymore. tearing through his self-doubt as he dares to touch you, dares to cup your face as his eyes scan your face for any sign of discomfort.

Husk can't help but kiss you, growling against your mouth because he needs more. He needs all of you, to touch and love every part of you to make up for all the times he held himself back. And he really can't hold back anymore.

(okay, maybe not fully sfw, but i can't help where the words take me..)

Oh anon! <3 This is beautiful; thank you so much for sharing me! God, I love this bitter old man so much... that moment where he lets his guard down and lets himself fall in love will always be so damn beautiful, no matter how many times I imagine it.

I love you too, Husk... let's go somewhere private so you can show me everything you've been holding back... <3

Hope my pieces continue to entertain!

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

ꜱᴛʀɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ʙᴀʀᴇ

Summary: After your least favorite person on the planet manages to singlehandedly ruin your night, you find yourself waiting out the timer on a washing machine in the dusty laundromat of a lonely desert hotel. But the night is still young and yields some . . . unexpected results.

Notes: Ugh . . . this is like 17.7k words. Yeah, this really got away from me. Funny after literal months of struggling to write that a gritty possum of a man from an obscure 1987 vampire film would be the one to light a fire under my ass. But this is literally just word vomit and some porn.

Warnings: This is an 18+ post, so kindly go somewhere else if you're underage. Mentions of cannon typical violence, death, blood is referenced an obscene number of times, the reader is lowkey a bitch (but it is a very intentional characterization), both Severen and the reader are absolute dumbasses, feelings realization, fluff, blood drinking, they're both switches, like one spank, oral sex (f! receiving), rough sex. Lemme know if I missed anything!

This is so far the last part of an ongoing series but can be read as a standalone. Master List.

The noise was almost unbearable. The high pitched repetitive metallic squeal of a machine on its last leg. An announcement of its impending departure, a final outcry, a plea for help maybe. A damned migraine is what it is. 

You can't help the glare that you shoot it out of the corner of your eyes. That damn fan. Pathetically whining in the corner of the room while the head rotates on its stand, leisurely pivoting back and forth like it's not shrieking like nails on a chalk board. The colorful plastic array of tassels tied to the grill of the fan wave in the air that it tiredly spits out, sunny yellow, hot pink, a calm blue. All otherwise pretty colors that almost seem jarring underneath the sickly light that the old fluorescents cast. There's a bunch of dead flies stuck in the lights. Their poor withered bodies lie on the cloudy glass, almost as if on display. 

There's about a million other ways you would like to be spending your night. Perhaps strolling down an isolated street, peeking into the windows of people's houses from the sidewalk, smiling at or judging their choice of entertainment broadcasted from their television (it's still shocking to you the number of people that leave their curtains open) finally enjoying a moment to yourself, or maybe you could be at the local bar - what was it? The Oasis? . . . No. The Mirage. Yeah, that's it. One of the rare few bars that hasn't been desecrated and set alight by the Hooker clan. 

Your unfortunate victims are the ones that had supplied your group with the key to your current place of rest. The room has a strange beach motif. Which is odd because you're in the middle of the New Mexico desert and nowhere near the ocean. 

They had also supplied you with the keys to their RV which Severen had fished out the husband's back pocket before promptly dropping his limp body on the floor. 

You could be out right now. Enjoying the night, the cool air that follows the darkness in the desert. You could be sitting at the bar right now sipping on a drink that you admittedly don't have much of a taste for anymore, but you still get a buzz. Maybe you would have met a cute local by now if this hole-in-the wall town actually has any good-looking men. Not that you have your hopes up based off of the little settlements that Jesse or Diamondback usually stick to. Random, quaint towns that just happen to dot the backcountry routes you take. Unimportant, small, places that no one ever notices. That's why they're so great for feeding. No one pays attention to a body or two, or dozen or even a bar going up in flames in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. 

Again - great for feeding. But not fucking. 

The people who populate these places or typically retirees in some facet of the word. Veterans of war, old ranchers and farmers, strung out criminals running from the law, or simply quiet people trying to escape the stress and noise of the city. But often times people around your age have already fled, ran off to greener pastures to make a life for themselves that doesn't involve the bored scrutiny that comes with tiny settlements or the same old routine of working at the local mechanics shop or building the same old fences. 

Maybe that's why Mae snatched up Caleb when she had the chance.  

Probably the first pretty face she's seen in a while. Plus, he has all of his teeth. 

You should be out there drinking, flirting and having fun. Pretending you're still fucking normal. And even if you didn't find some guy to take home (well not home. The bathroom or alley way is more than likely) at least you could enjoy yourself and unwind. 

But instead, you're here at 3 a.m. at night sitting on a hard plastic chair in the motels adjacent laundromat listening to that shitty fan sputter and squeak and the low churning of the wash machine. All because a certain cowboy decided that he has the manners and discipline of a five-year-old. 

Ever since crossing over you've done your best not to step on anyone's toes especially when it comes to the act of feeding. They clearly had a system for it, no matter how rudimentary it is. Structure in chaos or whatever.  Clear rules to follow. Who you prey on, where, when. But the act of feeding itself? They never seemed to have a fear of leaving evidence. Blood, carnage, panic. It all came hand in hand with feeding. Any leftover traces would be burned to a crisp anyway. So why worry about how messy you were? 

But you did. Perhaps it was something you'd grow out of with the coming years. Why worry about tedious things like blood when you have eternity stretching out in front of you like an unpaved road? There are bigger things to worry about. 

But it's also about the hedonism. The blood, the hunger, the adrenaline, the heady scent of fear in the air while your prey looks down at you like a scared animal. They all got off on it.

And despite all of your new instincts yelling at you to drown yourself in the warm red, to lick it off of the floor like an animal without a conscious you've always managed to ignore it. Maybe you were just trying to hold onto whatever shred of human ideals you have left but leaving the scene of the crime drenched in blood never felt right. It was bitter. It was betrayal.

 The only time you truly let go of your inhibitions was the first time you truly fed. After holding yourself back from these alien instincts, these horrid dangerous thoughts and cravings, you caved. After three grueling days of ignoring the call, despite Caleb's words of encouragement (even though they came from a place of understanding) and clenching your jaw shut whenever Severen tried to pry your mouth open and spit his blood into your mouth you held back. Until you couldn't anymore. 

Despite the reality check that comes with being soaked in blood you also can't stand to deal with the mess. Unfortunately, as a bunch of traveling criminal vagabonds bathing can be few and far between, something that took a while to accept. Truck stops, rivers and stolen motel rooms serving as the only way to shower. So, you do your best to keep as clean as possible, often stealing a pack of baby wipes if you happen across a gas station that has them in stock or a 24-hour grocery store.  

You don't like the mess and the feelings that comes with it. It's easy to ignore your lost humanity when you're under the haze of hunger, the temptation of feeding, but when the drunken hunger wears off and your left with the startling clarity that you aren't exactly you anymore. You don't need any reminders. The others knew about your boundary. They respected it even if they didn't understand it. Apart from maybe Caleb or Mae. It was a line they didn't cross no matter how excited or caught up in the moment they were. 

Well, all except for Severen. Of course. 

The reason why you're washing clothes in the middle of the fucking night when you should be out enjoying yourself. Maybe you should take some of the blame for having expectations of a dog in a man's body. You would think that being alive since the 1800s would give you plenty of time to develop some manners. Who are you kidding, he wouldn't know a boundary if it sat on his face. It's your fault for expecting so much of him. 

Wait - no, no, it's definitely his fault. He knows how much you hate all the blood. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think that he waited to tear into the poor husband's throat just as you were passing by. If the way that he looked at you was anything to go by, you were correct in that assumption. 

He had made eye contact with you while his teeth sunk into the man's flesh, the crystal blue was electric with a depraved sort of glee. The corners of his bloody lips were perked up around the hold of his victim's throat, like he was privy to a joke that you weren't.  

When he tore into the artery the blood had splattered across the interior of the RV like something out of a low budget B rated horror film. It coated the fake wooden walls and the beige cloth seats. It also splattered over you. Staining your shirt and jeans. You had frozen, arms raised and tense in the air while you fought between the kneejerk reactions of either punching him or simply walking away. Gasping on oxygen that you really didn't need anymore, muscle shaking with restrained anger all while he chuckled and licked at the spurting gash. He looked so proud of himself. Truly the cat that got the cream. Smirking underneath a layer of haunting red dripping from his chin in heavy rivulets.

You cleaned what you could from yourself in the mobile home's compact bathroom, wiping the blood from your skin as best as you could with the roll of toilette paper provided on the boarder of the tiny sink, unable to find any washcloths or towels inside the restroom cabinets. Trying to forget the way that his eyes had gleamed at you in a sadistic shade of cerulean, the glitter of crimson across his cheeks and nose. His lethal smirk, all sharp teeth and bad intentions. Or the way that he always licks his lips clean after a kill- 

Take advantage of patterns like polka dots, rhombuses, squares and stripes to liven up your home - God, like you gave a shit about any of this stuff. You clutch the sides of the magazine tighter threatening to crumple up the pages, hard enough for the ends of your nails to leave crescent shaped intendents on the glazed sheets of paper.  The wash machine is still thrumming away, and the fan is squealing in the corner like a wounded pig but what's really getting you is the bastard behind a row of washing machines clinging to a laundry cart like it's an amusement park ride, launching himself down the aisle over and over again. Lurching down across the pale tiles until he meets the wall of dryers and pushing himself off in the opposite direction until he meets the same fate. Over and over again. Like that fucking fan. 

It really is a concept that you still haven't fully grasped onto. That he is the reason that your life isn't the same. That you'll never be able to go back to the person that you were before.  You couldn't let go of this life. Even if you wanted to. And he's why. Someone you used to fear. That you had looked upon with cold trepidation. He was unpredictable, inhumane, deadly. Still is of course but having insights to all of his little quirks has made him human in a way. Sort of funny considering that you've seen him rip out a man's liver with his bare hands and laugh at the carnage. 

But behind the bravado and rough jagged edges there's tiny little cracks in the armor that could almost make him endearing if he didn't have the personality of sweltering garbage cooking in the summer sun. 

The way he minutely cringes at the sound of pop music on the radio his eyebrows furrowing and lips curling like he ate something sour, usually followed by a wise quip; how he prefers the blood of someone who's in the noon of their life, not too sweet but not too aged; how he hates the taste of tequila and whiskey specifically; his extreme sensitivity to synthetic fragrances like scented candles and colognes. You all have more heightened senses now, but he seems to struggle with it the most often dramatically retching like he's going for an Oscar whenever he feeds from a person with a heavy aftershave or perfume.

He does still know some Dutch despite it being incredibly underutilized. Having no one to talk to in his parents' native language you've caught him muttering to himself in the secondary tongue. You once found him reading a book in the language and Severen never reads. You assume it's all in an effort to hold onto that tiny piece of his past despite how much he shit talks the fact that he used to be human. You were there when he had crossed paths with an old trucker in a grimy dive bar. Seen the way that he perked up when he caught hint of the mans accented English. You watched from the pool table, marveling at the sight in between the shots you took at the striped pool balls. You don't know if you've ever seen him so . . . casual? Seated across the from the lithe greying man, laughing at the trucker's jokes (you assumed they were jokes but you have no way of knowing for sure), the pair rambling back in forth in Dutch. There was a lively twinkling look in Severen's eyes. A young sort of excitement that you hadn't seen from him before. Not the sadistic violet sort of excitement but a sort of relieved childlike wonder. 

He did end up eating the man of course, but it was still sweet to see him in such a way. 

There's also his hatred for cops which is admittedly telegraphed by the number of badges stuck to the breasts of his jacket, but you've also gathered that the hatred was personal. And based of the tiny context clues that Jesse has given offhand, and little comments here and there from Severen, you've figured that a sheriff or marshal (or several) may have played a critical role in his human life. You had mentioned it once to him before, a mindless thought that had slipped your tongue and based off of the dangerous way that his body had tensed you had figured yourself right. 

But it still shocks you that this man is the cause of your new life. The man rolling down the aisle on a cart like a bored child, humming a choppy unrecognizable tune underneath his breath, sometimes outright shouting at random intervals. 

"Uh, why are you here?" Your voice cracks through the background noise like an indifferent whip. The fan, the washer, the dim whine of the laundry carts singular protesting wheel. You clutch the Better Homes magazine in your hands tighter as soon as you register your own question. Like a lifeline. You try and focus on the pale hum of the washing machine, the distant pulsating sound of the sun that's halfway across the globe, the troubling squeal of the fan but none - not even the sound of that heinous fan compared to the dull grind of the cart's wheels spinning slower and slower. Losing momentum one second at a time until it meets a complete dead stop in the middle of the aisle. His singing cuts off all together. 

You tear your gaze up from a paragraph declaring that baby pink was the way to go for your bathroom and regretfully gaze up for the pages and past the row of washers to see leather clad shoulders and a head of dark hair. 

He tilts his head down a bit lowering it just enough to peer at you from over his dark shades and fixes you with a stare. He's still clutching onto the bars of the linen carts hanging line. The nasty yellow fluorescents are shading flecks of gold onto his hair and blood still stains his wife beater. 

Thank God there aren't any security cameras in this place. 

That sadistic glint flickers across his face. That look he gets when he's got prey in his sights. A poor soul that doesn't realize the scope of the situation that they're in. 

It immediately sets you on edge. 

"Unfortunately, the girl I turned is a pussy who doesn't know how to enjoy a meal, " he taunts, gripping the cart before shoving it off into the nearby wall of dryers with a bang. Loud enough that you hope the neighboring rooms don't hear and complain. "Imagine that" he snarks, nudging his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. 

You can't help the scoff that escapes you plopping the magazine on the out of place mini coffee table next to your seat, a few sprinkles of dust shooting into the air from the impact. 

"Well unfortunately I'm here because a certain idiot I know has no manners, " you snap, nails digging into the palms of your hands. " And that wasn't an answer to my question." 

He's entirely still for a moment like a predator assessing a wounded coyote in its path, head cocked and contemplating. But despite the once over he's still smiling. Calm collected and cocky. Your least favorite version of Severen- not that there's any other version. 

"Since your still so timid and inept I worry about leavin' ya on your own, ya know. Someone might take a bite out of ya. " He chuckles and scratches at the tip of his nose. " Ya know.  Like I did." 

You nearly snarl at that little taunt having to physically restrain yourself from rising to the jab. And he knows it too. Licking at his chaps like a dog with a bone. But it's all bullshit and that's exactly his game. Since when did he give a shit about what you did? Ever since he turned you, he's constantly seesawed between emotions in a way that gives you whiplash. The most consistent he's ever been, was when he had first turned you. All of the interest that he had showed in you seemed to have come from a place of curiosity and personal entertainment rather than the genuine desire to help you learn your new, forced place in the world. You understand that it was an accident, something that neither of you had wanted but considering that he had agreed to take you in upon realizing that you'd turned your sympathy for him tends to fall short. 

He had been unwavering and aggressive in his attempts to get you to feed. Often tearing into the throat of victims himself and at times even his own wrist to take the blood into his mouth so that he could try and force feed you like some deranged mother bird. And you'd clench your jaw together with enough force that you'd worry that your teeth would break. And he would tear away from you like he'd combust if he stared at you for a second longer spewing swears and curses that would make a convict blush. 

It was often Caleb who would do his best to guide you with a gentle nudge. Not a desperate shove like Severen. He would come to you from a place of understanding. Being the most recently turned apart from yourself, his conversations with you came from a place of understanding. He would occasionally seach you out, like on the night uptop a travel trailer where you sat staring up into the void of darkness and the twinkling dots of light above like it might give you an answer if you searched hard enough. He had smiled briefly at the sky before turning to face you, who had yet to return the gesture but watched him from your peripheral vision. He went on to explain that Severen was the least understanding of the group - no shit - but it came from the fact that he simply couldn't relate. From what Caleb had heard of Severen's past, he had left his human life behind and accepted eternity with open armed enthusiasm. 

Maybe it wasn't Severen's fault for not understanding your struggle, but it certain wasn't your fault for not accepting your fate with the apparent joy that he had. To turn your back on yourself and the family you had waiting for you. Who you hoped was still waiting for you.  

"Jus' be careful, " Caleb had warned softly. " The hunger, I mean. It becomes unbearable. You think it's bad now. " He looked down at your hands shaking weakly in your lap, jittering from fatigue and the empty pit in your stomach. " But soon it'll feel like all you are is hunger. You won't know where you begin and where it ends. And it'll make you dangerous. " 

You should have listened. Maybe then you wouldn't have found yourself standing over the lifeless of a body of an innocent woman that you had apparently torn into like a mindless animal. Lost, alone and covered in blood. 

Severen has always used that horrid night in Texas as a reason to get you to feed. "At least know you can choose who ya kill, instead of pouncing on every poor fucker who crosses your path like a wildcat. " He's correct of course. That if you force yourself to drink every night, you'll keep the clarity to properly choose a target. But that's what angers you the most. That he's right. That if you had just listened to him and fed when he told you to that the innocent woman who just wanted to help. That in your attempt to keep your humanity, you had lost a piece of it. 

After the incident, your relationship with Severen became . . . odd. Not to say that it wasn't before. You've always been oil and water, but some of the trepidation he had previously felt for seemed to have thawed after you had succumbed to your urges and successfully fed. Though he still can't seem to decide where you sit with him. Flipflopping between being a sarcastic cold bully to a clingy and overprotective ass, regularly trying to join you on your hunts despite having proven time and time again that there's no longer a reason to suspect you of fleeing. He always tries to weasel himself in between you and your targeted victim for the night. Barreling in with the subtly of a bull, usually taunting the men into an unnecessary altercation just so he has an excuse to swing on them and steal your kill for himself. "They woulda been too much trouble for ya anyway, babycakes."

That's another one, all of the horrid, mocking pet names: sweetheart, sugar, honey, spitfire, wildcat, an obscene usage of baby. And kitten. All a means to get under your skin. 

It seems that you have blessing of dealing with clingy Severen tonight. What joy.  The disbelieving laugh that leaves you is unrestrained, purposeful even. You thread your fingers together, turning your head to admire the soda vending machine across from you, suddenly finding the array of soft drinks fascinating. 

"Oh, I think I can handle myself now, " you plaster a fake smile on your face reaching for the recently abandoned magazine. After all you still haven't figured out what a trendy kitchen from 1980 looks like. 

Then he's coming around the row of washers, all black leather, blood and self-assured swagger. Stupid, stupid man. You pick up the magazine anyway flipping to a random page - page 11 it seems - and based off of the paragraph and the picture that the text floats over in a white box it seems to be talking about a Mexican casserole. You can't even eat that. Would that even be good even if you could? 

Here's a way to spice up your casserole- The magazine is suddenly ripped from your hands and tossed across the room plopping on the floor like discarded clothing and suddenly your face to face with dark pants and a silver belt buckle glinting in the light. 

Then fingers with red still staining their tips and blood crusted underneath the nails are nudging the point of your chin up, directing your gaze upwards until you see his smirking face. Sharp teeth and danger. 

"Are ya sure?" He asks. And despite the condescending tone you can't help the slight nod that you give, catching yourself but it's too late. He's already caught the complacent gesture grinning and nodding alone with you. " I worry about ya baby. All still reluctant and helpless. " And then his bloodied thumb is skirting across your bottom lip, catching on the sensitive skin, dragging the scent of his victim's blood across like a lip balm. 

You catch yourself leaning into him then gasping at the clarity and clearing your throat. The humility skirts through you like a zap of electricity. It's like being doused with a bucket of cold water. What the hell was that? 

"I'll survive," you snap jerking your head back out of his grasp despite the tingling where he had his hand. You clear you throat loudly, further breaking the light fog that has invaded your brain. And like the ringing of a bell the churning of the washing machine rapidly declines until it's dead silent and the analogue digits are down to 0.  Finally. All of that for a single pair of clothes. 

You hop to your feet and skirt past Severen as easily as possible without touching him, lifting the lid of the machine and retrieving the sopping set of clothes. It always hits you like a ton of bricks to see what little you have now in terms of material things. A tight old T-shirt, a pair of jeans, a bomber jacket and a dreadfully work bra. You'll definitely have to pick up another one next time you get to another store. This all you have. Just the clothes on your back. Well, that and the backpack full of stolen perfume and little chachkis in the motel room. And the baggy sweatpants and sweater that you had to steal from the overhang cabinet of your recent victims RV but that's beside the point.  

You grab the clothes from the barrel of the washer and toss them into a neighboring dyer, filling the horizontal slot with 75 cents from your pocket and pressing in the settings before slamming the glass door shut. Anything to ignore the heavy presence standing behind you. Which is about as ignorable as a gun going off or a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse, but you've become desensitized to a lot these past couple of months. Almost a year. It will have been a year in August. 

" I know you think I'm prissy, " you huff without turning around, instead glaring at the muted reflection of him the pane of the dryer. " But unlike you I actually like to be clean instead of walking around in filth for days on end." You finally pivot on your heels meeting his amused gaze with your glare before slipping past and taking your place back on your seat, crossing your legs. "Anyways, shouldn't you be out harassing and seducing some poor sap?" 

 His head cocks loosely, practically flopping onto the shoulder underneath it. His eyebrows perk up from behind his sunglasses just a bit. " I am, " he replies simply like he's mentioning the weather conditions to a neighbor. You can't help but lurch back in your seat, the hard plastic digging into your shoulder blades. A rainbow of emotions running through you. Disbelief, confusion, anger and some other fluttering tingling feeling that you aren't ready to analyze. "Excuse me?"

You do your best not to shrink underneath the heat of his gaze. It's heavy, intense despite the fact that you can't even directly meet the startling shade of blue from behind the cover of his sunglasses. 

If you still had a heartbeat, you're sure that it would be thrumming against your rib cage like a bird behind bars. Suddenly he's moving forward, blotting out the glow of the florescent lights until all you see is him, the delicious splotches of red across his shirt, dark leather, and the gleam of old badges and snarling teeth. All you can smell is him. Intoxicating. The natural heady musk of him, notes from the smoke of a fire and cigarettes, the heady iron scent of blood, the faint dampness of soil, the oak of leather and something that's a little spicy.  It's suddenly all there, holding you in an inescapable cloud and you swear you could choke on it. 

Since when did Severen like you? You rack you brain for answers. Sure, he flirted with you before your accidental turning but based off of what you've seen flirting is one of the ways that he lures in prey. That and shit talking depending on his mood. So, you weren't a special case in that regard. If anything, he was a little peeved when he figured out that you had turned before he could fully feed from you. 

It was Caleb, Mae and then ultimately that Jesse persuaded him to quick dicking around and properly show you the ropes on how to properly navigate eternity and survive.

And yes, after the whole Texas debacle he did step up a little bit more (other than his usual overbearing antics). Whether it was from Diamond or Jesse ordering him to or if he genuinely wanted to help you, you aren't sure. But he taught you how to become better in tune with the sound of the sun, how to focus in on the feeling without it always being at the forefront. A reminder, not a distraction but not something to be forgotten either. 

He taught you how to properly pick a victim, not to get too cocky (that was rich coming from him of all people) and try and take on too many at once. 

And despite how he managed to grind every nerve in your body you often found yourself spending hours at a time with him, even when he wasn't the one latched onto you like a tick on a dog or being forced into his proximity by hotel room or an RV or car.  

Even though you're now fully capable to hunting on your lonesome the two of you always seem to end up pairing up to get food. 85% of it is you and Severen throwing sarcastic barbs and snarky remarks at each other wondering how the two of you wound up hunting again. Apparently unable to help yourselves. Especially considering that usually ends up being a disaster with the both of you debating on who's going to be the lure or accusing the other of coming on too strong and scaring the prey too soon. 

He even killed a man for getting to handsy with you at the bar. Even though you were intentionally seducing him. Someone you had intended to be your prey but when the young cowboy's hand had reached around to grip your ass suddenly, he was jerked back by his hair and tossed on the floor like a sack of potatoes with Severen's boot on his throat, the sharp edge of his spur digging into his skin with enough pressure to scar. 

"That ain't anyway to treat a lady, is it? " He had sneered, "someone outta beat some manners into ya pretty boy." 

But he's killed plenty of people for the rest of the family. Even for Homer when a man tried to physically remove the "kid" from the establishment. And it's no secret that Homer isn't particularly Severen's favorite out of the group. 

So, what is this?  Some sick little game to pass the time? A new tactic to get under your skin and humiliate you? 

The thoughts swirling in your head lights a fire under your skin chest heaving out of reflex. The audacity of this man will never cease to amaze you. Not only did he ruin your clothes and by proxy your night, but now he's assuming that you'd actually be low enough in character to fuck him. 

"My god you actually think I want to have sex with you?" You chuckle, but there isn't any humor in it. He leans up against the washers behind him not taking his eyes from you lazily propping his body up by draping arms across the machines. Relaxed like a cat lying in the sun. Your anger only seems to amuse him further and that only serves to piss you off even more. " You're disgusting." You seethe between gritted teeth. 

"Hmm have I ever told ya I love it when you talk dirty to me? " He tosses his head back with a low groan. The sound is deep and guttural and the fire under your skin flares up and burns hotter. It's anger you decide. Yep, definitely anger. And even with the smart half of your brain telling you that he's trying to joad you, to get you worked up you can't help but bite out even more insults. The filter between your mouth and your brain fully gone.  "You're a selfish, condescending, asshole with the emotional capacity of a dead roach." But he's only nodding and encouraging you to berate him with more jibes. "You couldn't pay me to touch you, much less have sex with you." 

"Careful baby yer gonna get me all worked up." 

"You're delusional!" You're rising from your seat again, a small way to feel like you're somewhat on even ground even though he easily looks down on you even when you're standing up as straight as you can. That final quip seems to hit some sort of mark because the smile that's there is a little less playful than it was before. "Yer about as subtle as a bull in a china shop sweetheart. " The confusion on your face has him releasing a hyena like little chortle, shoulders shaking. He drops his chin to his chest to gaze at you over his glasses. What kind of dick wears sunglasses at 3:30 in the morning anyway?

" I've seen the little looks you've been givin' me when you think i'm busy not payin' attention. "  

That dampened the anger in your chest. Dousing the heat from the surprise. You refuse to let it show up on your face though, doing your best to school your features into something calm and neutral. "You mean the glaring and the bitchy eye rolling? Yeah, I was hoping you'd notice those. " 

"Nah not those. " 

"Then what looks exactly?" 

"Like you wanna fuck me." 

It's so calmly spoken that it sends you reeling. Yes, Severen is naturally vulgar and he's flirted with you before. But all of that had been suggestions. Fun unserious banter. Not a direct accusation. It flips the entire argument on its head and leaves your jaw hanging open like a fish out of water. 

"Careful baby, " he croons, "you might catch a fly. " 

You don't even respond to that too busy dealing with the torrent of emotions raging inside of. You do not want Severen. That's not possible. To want the man who had altered the entire trajectory of your life, no matter if it was an accident would be the ultimate betrayal to yourself. Yes, your human life was directionless, a sham. You were lost when the Hooker clan walked into that lonely diner along the dusty Arizona backroad. A runaway future trophy wife who took off in the night to flee her lifeless relationship. A decision that was made entirely on impulse and months of repressed insecurities and ignored truths. 

They looked normal enough. A grungy set of ruffians. There were plenty of other people who looked like them. Far from the types you would run across while attending your fiancé's business parties. And you had mused how much they would stick out like a sore thumb among the bubbling champagne flutes, the twinkling diamond chandeliers that cost more than the average person's house, and the passive aggressive gossip tossed between the jaded wives and the young arm-candy of rich men. 

But out there in that worn hole-in-the-wall that stunk of burger grease and cigarette smoke they faded into the background. 

Or they would have if not for some primordial animal instinct that had warned you that you were looking at something beyond yourself and the human life you lead. There was a strange aura around the group. Something gritty and otherworldly. 

And you had noticed him first as if drawn to a magnetic field. Tall dark and handsome is how you could easily describe him. The jingling spurs, the leather, the cocksure grin. He looked like the type of guys that you fantasized about when you were in high school. Criminal bad boys that you and your friends would giggle over during sleepovers while you practiced doing each other's makeup and venting about acne, and boob sizes and gorged yourself on candy that your mother would have grounded you for. 

But then you grew up and met Samuel. Ambitious, well mannered, educated, sweet. But not loyal.  

He was the complete opposite of Sam. He strutted in like he owned the place while he scanned the room. The elderly couple a corner booth; the frazzled waitress behind the bar, her curly ginger hair was weaseling its way out of ponytail one strand at a time. The diner was practically dead, but you figured that the shouting match between her and the cook that you overheard from the kitchen had something to do with her stressed state. You had planned on giving the poor woman a good tip before you left. 

But then his eyes landed on you. He smiled wider and it was a warning sign in its own right. 

Maybe in the beginning there was something about him that you found interesting. Being the antithesis of your ex-fiancé, you assumed that you gravitated towards him because you were still hurt. Even though you never pursued anything with Severen there was still a pull there. On you try your best to ignore. He's cocky and selfish but he has a roughish charm, blunt sarcasm and is painfully nonchalance. But it's also a breath of fresh air. You spent too many years surrounded by people who spoke in double meanings and fake compliments. Every word was twisted until you didn't even know what the truth was anymore. 

But he was a passing fascination. There wasn't any feelings or desire there. Not for the first few months at least. 

So, you absolutely hadn't been seething last week while sitting at a booth with Mae and Diamondback, glaring across the cigarette clouded air while Severen leaned up against the bar, smiling and laughing with a gorgeous brunette. Her long slender legs stretching out from a pair of daisy dukes. Rich brown doe eyes peered at him coyly from underneath thick lashes. Then she placed a perfectly manicured hand on his arm squeezing the sleeve of his jacket and stroking upward. Her eyes were on the patches and badges. Then her lips were moving. 

 Probably asking him about them. Like she actually gives a shit. A ploy to get into his pants. You nearly rolled your eyes at the gesture, how he used it as an excuse to lean in closer until their noses were practically touching. 

"Don't worry honey, " Diamondback's voice had rose over the dim chatter and rock music playing from the jukebox. " Just remember that she's not gonna be alive for very much longer. " 

That had snapped you out of it. Blinking and turning away from him to stare down at the watery magarita clutched in your hand. You didn't know how to respond to her insinuation. So, you didn't. You didn't care what Severen did. He could have slept with every patron in that bar, and it would make little difference to you. You weren't jealous. Right? 

Right? 

It has you thinking back to every little interaction. Running through the memories like files and zeroing in on all of the times that you watched him seduce men and women alike. The sting that would nestle in your chest like a hot coal. It was guilt, right? Feeling sorry about watching his helpless victims naively let him butter them up just so he could lure them away back to their houses or a seedy hotel room so that he could tear them apart. 

Sitting on the sidelines idly like you weren't aware of the danger that lies ahead of them. 

How your stomach would flutter whenever he throws an arm over your shoulders. How you'd stay up with him for hours listening to his stories of his life before he crossed over despite the fact that he's your least favorite person in the group. Letting him take you down memory lane. Back to the days of outlaws and robbing banks and coaches, pillaging the west and running from the law. And in you'd in turn share with him parts of your old life. The country clubs, the expensive parties, the private beaches with cresting waves, the penthouse apartment in Manhattan. And then you'd jokingly whack his chest with no real force behind it when he'd playfully mock you for being spoiled and spoon fed. 

Added together you've probably spent days alone with Severen talking about nothing. Sneaking into movie theaters and shushing him whenever he got too excited, loudly complaining whenever a character makes a stupid decision or whistling and whooping like drunken frat boy whenever a scene got even a little bit suggestive. 

And sure, you've caught yourself staring at him a few times here and there. He's an attractive guy. Ruggedly handsome. Just as wild as the lives you lead and equally as alluring in his own right. Sometimes downright overwhelming in the gravity of his charisma and the intensity that radiates from him whenever he has prey in his sights. Of course, you've noticed it all. The veins that bulge underneath the creamy skin of his hands, the dark hair that dangles above his eyes. It's a little taboo but can't help but admire him whenever he's splattered by the fresh blood of a victim. Drops and smears of red contrasting with the dark blue of his eyes. The dangerous crazed sort of glint when he's taunting his prey, and his body language becomes purposeful and lithe. It always sends a little thrill through you. 

He even does this stupid laugh every once in a while. It had thrown you off when you had first heard it. It seemed like a complete juxtaposition to his character. You never would have imagined that a man as imposing and unrestrained as Severen would produce a dumb noise that has an uncanny resemblance to Goofy, the stupid if not endearing hyuck sound - Jesus Christ you're so stupid! 

You're jealous. You're fucking jealous. And every time you saw him with another person even if they were a means to an end, a nightly meal, it got under your skin. Even though you had no right to feel that way, you couldn't stand to see him walk away with somebody else underneath his arm. 

You wanted nothing more than to snatch them by their hair or the scruff of their necks and take care of them yourself.  

You meet Severen's gaze struggling under the weight of it. Struggling to grabble the scope of your realization. But you're drowning. The shrieking of the fan, the spice and leather of his scent. The room feels so small now, tight, crinkling up around you like a soda can under a heavy boot. 

"I can't do this right now, " you just barely choke the words out around the sudden thickness of your throat and turn to exit. You only make it about three feet before there's a grip on your forearm and you're being spun around. "Wait, wait, wait baby, " he's cooing in soft voice, like he's trying to soothe a spooked animal. "You ain't gotta go and have a conniption fit, I was just playing with ya. " He drops your hand with a defeated sigh like he's not the one who decided to go and be an asshole. 

"What?" You snap heatedly. 

" Nuthin'. Didn't mean to go and get ya all worked up, " Yeah, like you believe that. Severen's entire M.O. is to cause trouble and stick his nose where it doesn't belong. "You just about got stream comin' out of your ears." He squints his eyes at you like you're a puzzle he can't quite figure out. "Why are you runnin' baby? " He asks cocking his head. Then he's stepping closer prompting you to move back to keep the space between you. 

"I'm not running, " you deny weakly. He scoffs at that pinning you with a glare that stirs up a thick warm feeling in your gut. And he's still stalking after you like he can't bear having even centimeters keeping you apart. You haven't felt like this in the longest time. Forgotten what it felt like to be pursued. Followed by an apex predator. To be the prey. And he seems to notice the shift in you because to the steady, cautious gate he was keeping suddenly shifts to that calculated tread that he has when he's hunting. "Oh, I don't know babydoll, " he rasps, voice taken on a thick tone. Heavy and low. It has tingles dancing across your skin. " I think you are. You aren't scared of me, are ya?  I thought we were past that. " 

Your back hits the wall just a few scant inches from the threshold of the open door. You could easily twist on the balls of your feet and slip out of the laundromat, leaving Severen alone and fleeing to the safety of the room. Homer's probably plopped in front of the TV watching some rerun and the other two couples are probably out enjoying some time to themselves. You could leave. Go and lock yourself in the bathroom and sit under the spray of the shower head and pretend that a night of washing clothes hadn't just changed the way that you look at not just yourself but the man that turned you. 

But you don't. You're glued to the spot. Helpless to watch as he eliminates the remaining space and now stands toe to toe with you. The tips of his boots nudging the rounded points of your scuffed sneakers. 

"No, I'm not scared of you, " you finally respond. And it's true. You aren't afraid of him. You afraid of all of these restrained feelings and urges that are now bubbling under the surface, straining against the lid you have kept on tight now that you've broken the seal and took a peek. 

"Then what are you runnin' from? " Hearing the same question twice doesn't make it any easier to stomach. Doesn't make it any less difficult to face. You are terrified in a sense. Terrified that you'll just be used. A passing fancy, just another hole to fuck when he can't find someone to fill the void. Used, discarded and forgotten. You've felt the sting of betrayal before. Blamed yourself for Sam losing interest. That you weren't pretty enough anymore, that you'd become too boring, that you should have been more attentive. You had spent hours lying alone in a cold empty bed wondering where you went wrong while Sam was spending his time screwing his secretary in his high-rise office.  

"I . . . " The words die in your throat hanging empty in the air. You couldn't tell him that it wasn't just all physical. How despite how pathetically blind you were to them that over the course eleven months you have managed to develop feelings for one of the most crude and frustrating men you've ever met. That as much as you wanted to grab him by the hair and fuck his brains out you also wanted to sit in his lap in public, to run down the streets with him at night and wreak havoc on the poor unsuspecting souls that cross your path, to hold his hand and kiss his bloodied lips after a successful hunt. It is undeniably corny, but you don't just want him. You want him to be yours. 

Taking notice of your internal struggle Severen reaches up to cup the sides of your face. His hold light and unsure but he doesn't remove them. The gesture is so out of character for him that it has you looking up at him in surprise. He almost looks nervous, a streak of vulnerability flashing across his face, but it's gone in a blink and he's back to looking poised and controlled. But you know that he's just as out of his depth as you are, and the realization gives you the footing that you need. This time it's you who steps forward eating up the remaining leeway until your chest is pressed against his and you can feel the metal of his belt buckle and badges digging into you. He drops one of his hands, the remaining one moving to sweep his fingers through your hair, tracing the edge of your jaw with his thumb. 

The energy has shifted. No longer pulled painfully taut, and awkwardly nervous. but charged. Still vulnerable, but electricity that steady rises in the air is welcome. The world was at a standstill, holding its breath in anticipation. It was stifling like the both of you had become magnetized and the heat in your abdomen spread further, burning the stagnant blood in your veins. Your nipples stiffen underneath the cloth of your stolen shirt.  Everything was too warm, and you hadn't even done anything yet. And the only thing that keeps you from being swept up in your embarrassment is that you remind yourself that it has been a month or two since you've actually been touched by a man. You're just a bit pent up is all. 

There's a hardness pressing against you through your sweatpants. That's definitely not his belt buckle. You have to fight to suppress a grin to know that he's already as worked up as you are. 

His hand at his side slips to your stomach rucking up the shirt to get to the edge of your pants, fingers stroking the skin there but not slipping any further. You nearly whine, but you still have your head screwed on straight enough to try and cover up the noise, instead opting to lowly curse him under your breath but he definitely heard you if the smug way that he snickers is anything to go by. 

"So, you gonna admit it? " The low Texan drawl has your eyes fluttering open. You didn't even realize they were shut. It takes you a minute to figure out what he's referring to. But you don't feel like giving him that sort of satisfaction. Not yet at least, the push and pull is already too fun, too good to give up so soon.  You look up at him, feigning ignorance while you nose along his cheek, skirting dangerously close to his lips. "What do you mean?" You ask against his skin, pressing up tighter against him to tease, propping your knee against the bulge straining underneath his jeans. He hisses through his teeth and the hand cradling your face moves to your throat faster than you can blink. His hold is firm enough to keep you pinned in place, but not enough to hurt you. You can't help the satisfaction you feel. He already looks like he's hanging on by a thread, eyes glinting in the light. There's a crazed edge to them that would terrify anyone else, but it has you clenching around nothing, and you have to hold yourself back from grinding on him in a mindless haze. It nearly surprises you how quickly you managed to set him on edge, but then again Severen's always been one to restrain himself. Self-discipline has always been something that he's avoided like the plague. 

"God dammit woman, its always gotta be a fight with you don' it." 

"You say that like you don't like it," Your voice is amused and breathless but apparently far too cocky for his liking. His hand finally slips past the waist band of your pants. " Well, momma did always say I had a knack for trouble," he agrees like he isn't slipping a dexterous finger against you, parting your folds with an experimental brush that has your jaw parting despite how delicate the touch is. " Hell baby, your gettin' all haughty but I ain't hardly done nothin' and you're already wound up tight. This little cunt's soakin' my fingers." 

Your cheeks burn at the remark, suddenly bashful again. It usually took a lot more than some light grinding and teasing to get you up and going, but if you're finally going to be honest with yourself Severen's always been able to affect you without having to do much of anything. But you've never really been one to let him have the last word. "That's funny coming from the guy who's about to burst out of his jeans, " you taunt around an airy moan. He starts drawing circles around your clit. Not enough pressure to bring you any real pleasure, but just enough to keep you hooked. It has the simmering heat in your belly flaring up in a delicious burn. "I'll give it to ya sugar. Ya just gotta say the word, save the both of us from waitin.' " 

He releases your throat, trading his hand for his lips, latching onto the soft sensitive skin and sucking. It has your head lolling, thumping back against the wall at the feeling of teeth nipping across where your pulse would have thrummed if you still had one. You tilt your head back baring more of your neck to him which has him purring against you with a pleased hum. You don't even notice the way that your hips have started to roll against his fingers in a desperate attempt to get some sort of friction. Something to hold you over. Just a little bit more please- he's suddenly pulling his hand out of your pants leaving you wet and wanting. You cry out weakly, a protest heavy on the tip of your tongue but you're too busy panting around useless lungfulls of oxygen so you fix him with a glare instead. Quietly seething as he removes his head from the crook of your neck.

His eyes lock with yours, the ocean blue stormy and dark with want and you nearly shake underneath the power of it. He raises his hand up letting you take in the way that the wetness that coats them glimmers under the old fluorescents and then he's slipping them into his mouth. Making a show of it, groaning and closing his eyes like he's savoring a rich wine. 

"Severen, " you gasp, fisting the lapels of his jacket in an attempt to anchor yourself. You have to turn the tables somehow. Get him just as worked up as you are. And if the way that he's still drooling over his cum stained fingers is any indication, slurping at the taste in a vulgar display of lust, it shouldn't be too hard. That's the thing about Severen. He's a hedonist in every sense of the word. Once he has something that he wants in his sights it doesn't take much for him to abandon reason and pursue no matter the consequences. Not even a shot gun to the chest can keep him from what he wants. It's a dangerous trait combined with how susceptible he is to his own desires. Running around like a mad dog sniffing after a wounded rabbit.  Severen operates off of emotions and desires rather than logic and reason. 

It's qualities that makes him a lethal, if not a chaotic hunter. Undoubtedly one of the most dangerous of the Hooker clan. But as commendable as his feral tenacity is it's also a fatal flaw. One that you're definitely going to exploit. 

Play your cards right and you'll have him eating out of your hand. Not really playing cards honestly. Severen doesn't require that much strategy. Not when he's already horny and thinking with the head in his pants. 

"Yeah, pretty girl, whatcha need?" He's grinning at you again, clearly basking in the affect he has on you. " All ya gotta do is say it." 

You grip him by his hair, knocking his sunglasses off letting them clatter on the pale tiles forgotten, drawing him into a heated kiss that lights you both on fire. It wasn't soft or sweet and sugary like the old you would have probably wanted for a first kiss, but this was just as good. Time around you seems to slow down before dimming out entirely as if it was sucked into a black hole, all of the background noise from the outside world now muffled and distant like your ears are full of cotton. 

It's sloppy, desperate and full of teeth and you're both squeezing yourselves together, joining like a rough puzzle. You let him lick into the heat of your mouth, shivering at the sweet taste of iron from his recent meal, the earthy musk of yourself on his tongue, angling your head to deepen the kiss, nipping at his lips and then he's moaning in a way that would probably embarrass him if he had the mind to care. 

It has you gripping his hair harder and suddenly his hands are all over you. Sweeping down your hips, up your back, reaching to squeeze the swell of your ass like he can't get enough and can't decide where to touch. Like you might disappear if he doesn't keep his hold on you. Nailing you tighter against the wall with his crushing weight. 

The firm line of his cock poking at you from between two layers of separate clothing gives you some clarity and you're squeezing an arm through the press of your bodies, which is a task in itself considering that it's near impossible to create leeway, being quite literally trapped between a wall and a hard place. Severen absolutely refusing to inch back to give you room to work, instead growling into your mouth like you're personally affronting him. The sharp nips of his teeth on your lips and the tightening grip on your butt punctuating the complaint. 

You finally get ahold of your prize in your blind search. Your fingertips slip on the slick metal while you hastily jerk the buckle undone, hand shaking despite the limited amount of adrenalin now available in your body. And you're thumbing the zipper down just as quickly, desperate to get it down before Severen can focus enough to realize what you're doing. Halfway down the zipper is catching on the worn teeth of its track but it's good enough to work with and you're cramming your hand down his jeans and are immediately met with the throbbing heat of his cock. Of course, he'd go commando. 

He breaks the kiss like he's reluctant to do it dragging your bottom lips between his teeth as he pulls away, looking down at you through a drunken haze, eyes already glassy and glazed over and the space between his brows are pinched in way that would make you think that he was in pain if you didn't know any better. Then you're gripping him, feeling the damp stream of precum that's been steadily leaking from his cock and squeeze the head and move up in a firm upward stoke, spreading the wetness up the length of him. Severen's groaning into the air, spitting an array of colorful words under his breath while mindlessly thrusting into the smooth heat of your hand. 

It has you burning, legs shaking like you're the one with a hand in their pants. But God you never thought you'd see the day. To have Severen, the guy who couldn't shut up if you paid him to, moaning under you. Arrogant, sarcastic Severen melted against you, barely holding himself up and desperate all from a little hand job. The thrill that you got was unparalleled, dowsing gasoline on your ego, on the inferno of lust already burning underneath your skin. You can feel slick already smearing on the inside of your thighs at the gritty pleasure-drunk groans that keeps spilling out of him. 

The angle is hell on your wrist, the lack of room available to move your arm has the muscles screaming. It doesn't help that he's the equivalent of a brick wall, clinging to your body like a desperate, horny leech. But you don't let up, focusing on making him fall apart, twisting your wrist around the stiff velvet of his cock, squeezing the head with each upstroke. 

You lick at the flesh underneath his jaw, swiping at the skin with the tip of your tongue, and his upper body practically liquifies while he exposes more of his neck, shoving the expanse of it harder against your lips like he wants you to bite him. Hmm . . . Hardly one to resist your curiosity, you do just that. Opening you mouth to lave your tongue over the chosen spot before sinking your teeth down, not enough to break the skin but enough for it to sting, just enough to test the water. And you aren't disappointed. "Fuckin' shit!" he chokes out, the groan that follows is completely debauched and unhinged, and the obscene amount of cum that leaks from him makes you worried that he might have already came, but he's still hard and pulsing in your fist. 

You thread your fingers through the inky strands of his hair, guiding his face back to look at you, admiring his blissed out, barely there expression. 

"That feels good, doesn't it?" You croon, still working his cock in a steady rhythm meeting the clumsy roll of his hips. "It can feel even better too. All you have to do is say the word." You can't help but throw his comment back at him, still riding the high of having him at your mercy, of the control you have over him. So, it admittedly catches you by surprise when he's tearing your hand away from him, securing an arm around your back like a lock. "Aw baby, " he snickers, a complete one-eighty from the desperate mess that he was only seconds ago. His grin is all sharp edges and predatory, and paired with the wild gleam in his eyes it sends liquid heat pooling in inside of you. Your toes curl inside of your shoes as eager as you are nervous to see where this goes. " You don' call the shots here. I do. " 

Then he's gripping your shoulders and turning you to shove your front down onto the defaced folding table that had sat next to you against the wall, the steel feet harshly shrieking against the floor. The change in perspective is jarring. Squinting underneath the artificial light, allowing your gaze to skirt around the room taking in the row of egg white washing machines, the set of ugly hard plastic chairs to your far left, and the built in dryers lining the pealing mustard yellow walls. The reality of it hit you with the force of a speeding car, humiliation flooding your system and stinging at the apples of your cheeks. 

Had you really gotten so caught up in the moment that you completely forgot that you were out in a public place? 

"Severen, wait- someone might see," you make to prop yourself up but he's placing a hand on the small of your back and pressing down, flattening your stomach against the cool surface of the table. " You were just jackin' my dick like there's no tomorrow. " He shifts closer, pressing himself into your backside shamelessly humping against the thick fabric of your sweatpants. "No one's been out here for hours. It's just you an' me." 

He's not wrong. The last you saw someone outside the motel was roughly after you had all settled into the room, figuring out the sleeping situation and showering after a few days of roughing it. You had finally been able to properly wash your hair after having to settle for awkwardly ducking your head under the sinks of gas station bathrooms. After picking up your soiled blood-stained clothes from the floor and shoving them into your backpack you had stepped out onto the dusty, dimly lit parking lot. The first thing you had noticed was how empty it all was. Apart from the stolen RV that Severen had parked close by, there were only two other vehicles. An older gentleman was sitting outside of his room, smoking a hand rolled cigarette and staring off into the night. But based on the way that he rose from the chair he had been sitting on and turned to snuff out the cigarette on the window seal, you figured he was on his way on his way back inside. And other than the amalgamation of scents that come with well-traveled spaces, there weren't any that have been accompanied by the potent metallic call of blood, or the pulse of a heartbeat. The town is quiet and asleep. 

It is just you and him. 

 A thrill bursts from deep inside you, spreading across your body and shivering up your spine. Something that he without a doubt caught given how tightly he was pressed up against your ass. You could feel the smugness radiating from him, basking in how he could turn you into mush by doing so little. His hands are on your hips now, slipping under your shirt and tracing up and down your sides with electricity following the path of his palms. His fingertips skim dangerously close to your breasts. You lift yourself up on your elbows in the hopes that he'd continue upwards and take them in his hands. But the tips of his thumbs rub across the soft skin just above the sensitive skin of your nipples. Humming a breathless whine your hips start to greedily roll back against his and in doing so the seam of your pants gets tugged up between your bodies and presses up deliciously against your swollen clit making your jaw drop open.  

A satisfied hum all warm and heavy dips into a fiendish giggle and then he's taking your invitation, squeezing your breasts into his hands. They're rough, worn from decades of use, calluses and old scars from his time as a human weathering the skin. The texture of them has you mewling and then he's rolling them between his fingers, strumming the unforgiving heat inside you. Your pussy flutters around nothing, reminding you of how devastatingly empty you are. 

"Ya know I could always tell ya were a bit sweet on me, " he admitted, leaning over you, followed by leather and spice. His words just barely make it through the thick red mist that packs your mind like stuffing, moving your head so that you could peer at him from the corner of your eye. You should be embarrassed by his revelation, insulted that he of all people (and apparently) everyone else had seen your little crush before you did. But the arousal is already too great. You can hardly focus on much else. But then he's leaning down so his chest is against your back, nuzzling into your cheek and pecking you with a kiss that's too chaste given your current predicament. "I could smell it on ya." 

That you get loud and clear regardless of the fact that you're still grinding down on him like a paid whore. Does he have to bring this up now of all times? Who are you kidding, of course he does. Severen would never pass up the opportunity to be petty and knock you down a peg or two. God, the thought of it hadn't even crossed your mind. Your senses have obviously become heightened since your turning, surpassing the human experience by unimaginable extremes. It was almost overwhelming when you were freshly crossed over. For one, you can follow a scent trail for miles, so the fact that you've apparently gone nose blind to your own scent is a bit jarring. A blessing and a curse most likely. 

And the fact that you didn't even think of Severen sniffing out your arousal both surprises and disappoints you. 

And it's even worse to know that the entire clan must have - nope! No, not right now. 

"You like to strut around like yer too big for your britches, but you were jus' achin for it weren't ya." 

"Severen, I swear if you don't shut up, I'm gon. . . na . . . " You voice trails off on a choked breath when he cruelly rips his hands away from your chest and the weight at your back lifts away, followed your pants being jerked from your hips and down to your knees with a quickness. The light chill of the room meeting the heat of your cunt has you gasping. "Ya know sugar, you talk too much for your own good. " Oh, that's the pot calling the kettle black. Then his hands are on the thick of your thighs, kneading the flesh between his fingers and kisses are being scattered across the sensitive skin, some with just the barest hints of teeth and your brain's turning back to mush. You can feel his hair brushing and tickling against you. His tongue runs up the inside of your thigh, cleaning up the slick that has been dripping from you and stopping just before he reaches where you need him most. 

You whine open and shameless rocking back to try and get him to do something. Anything.  A shocking sting erupts on the swell of your ass like it's been struck with a heated metal, a heavy clap ringing out across the room making you yelp. Feverous need burned hot in your stomach at the realization that he spanked you. He fucking spanked you. 

You nearly say fuck it; you almost throw your pride to the wind and beg but then without a word of warning he's spreading your lips open with his thumbs and the warmth of his mouth is on you. You barely register him groaning over the sound of your forehead slamming on the table beneath you, eyes rolling in the back of your skull at the firm press of his tongue grazing over your clit before swiping over your slit, collecting the taste of you on his tongue and swallowing. He burrows his face as deep as possible, drawing in a deep breath that's utterly filthy so that he could take in your scent while working his tongue inside of you, and his arm is reaching around your bucking hips so that he can drag tight circles around your swollen bud. " 'Amn ya 'aste s' good, " he grunts, absolutely refusing to remove his face by even the slightest degree. Groans muffled and slurred. " 'weet as pie." 

Your hands are reaching around the table clawing across the surface until you find the edge of the plastic, desperate for something to ground yourself down to reality while you try not to float away. His tongue is unforgiving, burrowing deep, lapping along your inner walls like he's trying to drink you down. Your legs are shaking and it's searing at your toes and fingertips. The muscles in your abdomen are already tensing and it feels like a wave is rising high. It was almost demeaning how quickly he's working you towards your climax. 

He removes his fingers from the swollen bundle of nerves, opting to spread you open with them instead so that he can play with your clit in delicious, practiced strokes with his tongue . . . Sharp repetitive shapes coaxing you closer and closer. It takes you a second to focus around the pleasure clouding your brain, but you catch it. Blunt capital letters crudely shaped by the curl of his tongue. An 'S' an 'E' followed by five more letters before being repeated. 

His name. The bastard is spelling his name on your clit. Then his lips are sealed around your slit, gulping down the wetness that smeared down his nose and chin and groaning wantonly, and you fleetingly wonder if he's touching himself from eating you out. 

The thought has you jerking against him, back bowing taut and he has to grip you with his free hand to keep you from wiggling free from his hold. Hard enough to leave a bruise behind.  The vibrations of his voice against your pussy, the scratch of his five o' clock shadow rubbing against your skin, the suction of his mouth, the unforgiving strum of his fingers, it's all too much at once. It's good. it's so, so good . . . Your hips snap sharply in a shameless grind, riding his face as the wave rises up, looming over you, dangerously close to sweeping you under. Fuck, just a bit . . . more . . . 

Then it stops as soon as it started, and your body is aching in an almost painful way fluttering and shaking violently around the loss of his tongue and fingers. But before you can berate or beg him, he's hauling you up by the nape of your neck and jerking you around to snag your bottom lip between the hold of his teeth, pulling you into a kiss that's hungry and burning. You melt under the heat of it like wax, compliant and wanting. 

He's reaches down to grip the swell of your ass and lifts you up like you weigh the same as a sack of feathers to deposit you back on the table, pulling back away from you, ignoring the helpless moan you emit so he can fervently start tugging at one of your shoes, swearing when it catches on the heel of your foot. He tosses it once he finally wiggles it off, the leg of your sweats quickly following. He doesn't even bother with the other sneaker, apparently deeming it too much of a hassle to remove, leaving the thick fabric of your sweats to bunch around the shoe and hang uselessly. 

You're tugging him closer by the lapels of his coat as he's done, spreading your legs wide, offering yourself up for him to finally take. An offer that he doesn't refuse, reaching to grip you by the throat and forcing you to look into the wide feral glint of his eyes. He looks like he's a man possessed, lips still glistening with the dewy gloss of your arousal, and he's never looked hotter. But you can't help but wonder if you're going to make it out of this alive. 

"As much as I love the taste of you, sugar, when you cum it's gonna be on my dick. " He growls, grinding the thick head of his cock against your clit, making your cunt quiver, still sensitive from your denied orgasm. It has strings of pleasure shooting deep and latching into the muscles and sinew of your body.  You secure the hold of your legs around his waist, panting and begging against his chest, hoping that he'd finally give in and let you have it. 

"Yeah, ya want it? " His voice is all condescending and cocky around its southern drawl. On any other night, in any other moment it would have absolutely pissed you off. It still kind of does, cutting into the lustful haze and striking a chord. But he's tapping the thick head of his cock over your slit in steady teasing motions, over and over like he's got all the time in the world. 

"Yes, yes, please. I want it." You beg, officially throwing your pride out of the window. You barely get the words out before he's pushing within the wet velvet of your cunt, the both of you groaning with shard relief at the sensation of him finally stretching you open. He doesn't wait for you adjust, and you're thankful that your already so worked up and ready because he immediately sets a brutal pace, punching into you without a shred of mercy, bottoming out with each stroke. All you can do is cling to his shoulders and do your best to chase the wild rhythm. The ecstasy is already boiling and pulsing up your spine. He takes a nipple in between his rough fingers while rutting deep, groaning into the junction of your neck with a faint hint of teeth like he might bite you.  

If someone had told you hours before that you would be getting railed in a laundromat at 4 in the morning by Severen, you would have laughed in their face. But now that he's actively turning your brain into liquid mush you can't help but mourn the fact the two of you probably could have been doing this regularly if you had just put your differences aside.  

"Ya gotta be quiet. " He huffs, nuzzling against your cheek. You hadn't even realized the increasing volume of your hiccupping moans. You burry your face into the hollow of his throat, biting into the skin in an attempt to muffle yourself, but it proves to be useless with the broken, pleasured sobs still escaping around the makeshift gag.  " Unless you wan' someone to hear. " Then like the devious bastard that he is he's shifting on his feet, spreading his legs wider to pour more power into his thrust, grabbing the meat of your thighs to hitch them higher around his waist so that he can punch deep and absolutely flay you open and pour molted heat inside, setting every singular nerve alight like sparklers.  

"Oh, fuck! " You cry brokenly, voice already raw. He's suddenly there, the drag of his cock repeatedly grinding against that devastating spot inside of you with deadly precision, like he's fucked you a million times. Like he already has every inch of you mapped out. Now you're just along for the ride, clinging to him helplessly while the pleasure lights up like a live wire thrashing across steaming water. Your back arches almost painfully and your fingers rake down the smooth leather of his jacket, no doubt leaving raged scratches across the expanse of it. You are a little disappointed that it isn't the flesh of back that you're slicing angry red streaks across - not that the scratches would last long either way, but it has the possessive part of you mourns the lost opportunity. 

He doesn't slow his rhythm in the slightest, delighting in the way that your body writhes and jolts. The laundromat fills with the lewd sounds of your coupling, the wet slap of skin on skin, the restrained moans and cries, the filthy, repetitive squelching of his cock filling your cunt.  

You aren't even in control of your own body anymore, completely enslaved to the burning syrupy pour of pleasure that courses through your veins and across each piece of you like lava, a mindless animal chasing after the high. You catch little compliments and curses under the ragged gasps of his breath, weak, wrecked sounds. Some have your heart going all melted and fuzzy, praising you so sweetly, but you're also gasping at the pure shameless filth that's pouring out of him like a fountain. You've never heard him sound so mindless, so gutted. His honeyed drawl is wrecked, frazzled around the edges while he pants in your ear like he's been wounded. And the fact that he's just as affected as you are, just as fucked out, has you clenching down around him like your pussy is trying to milk him for all he's worth. 

"God damn, yer fuckin' squeezin' me, " he groans, shuttering at the scrape of your nails across his scalp, leaning into it like a purring housecat. And then he's pulling your face away from the crook of his neck to stare you down, gripping you by the jaw.  The wild glare of his eyes is electrical, sharp and dangerous. A trickle of fear steaks deep across your frying nerves before swiftly mutating into an aching throb of lust. The satisfied wolfish grin that greets you tells you that he knows. "Feelin' good? Yeah, ya are. My good girl ain'tcha, takin' me so well. " The praise has you gripping his shoulders like you'll fall apart without the support. And right now, you probably would. "You're mine now." 

Not just 'baby' or 'sweetheart', but his. It has another feeling welling up, tearing at the walls, a possessive urge that you've been too been to ignorant, too scared to acknowledge. Months of pent-up jealousy and want. The need to stake your claim after standing on the side lines and watching just about every man and woman in the U.S flirt and feel him up. 

You meet him with an unwavering stare of your own threading your fingers through the dark strands of his hair in a jealous hold. "Then I guess that means you're mine, too, " and then you're yanking his head back and sinking your teeth into him just above his beaded necklace. Skin breaks underneath the cut of your teeth, splitting just as easily as warmed butter. Iron and smoked spice gushes across your taste buds, spilling into your mouth like a fine aged bourbon. The sinful flavor shreds your brain, sinking you deeper under the burned haze of need and want. His skin is vibrating under your mouth, shaking from the volume of his gutted moans. He grips you closer, jerking up inside the quivering heat of your cunt with rabid unrelenting thrusts. 

You preen under his desperation, swallowing around the tendons of his throat, gulping down mouthfuls of his spiced blood like its ichor. You haven't drunk his blood since the night you had crossed over and then you had been sluggish and confused under the stress of the night. But no matter how muddled your memories are you do remember his taste. You always blamed it one being recently turned, the foreign torturous hunger seizing your body that made him taste so good. But now you know that it's just him. Heat and cream and spice. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as you greedily gulp at the wound while the essence of him flows into your stomach. 

"You dirty fuckin' minx!" He slurs out on drunken words, barely forming them around the moan they chase. His wrecked reaction and the high you feel from successfully getting the upper hand on Severen has you smiling around the bite of your teeth. Now that you have knowledge of this little chink in his armor you can't wait to abuse the hell of it. But as good as it is you don't want to take too much and hurt him. So, with a great amount of restraint you remove your teeth from the meat of his neck, ignoring his protesting moan and reluctantly pull back just enough to lap the flowing wound, admiring at the way that it pours down his chest, joining the rest of the red that soils his wife beater. 

"You were made f'r me. Made for my cock, " he rambles somehow driving himself into you with even more vigor. 

The buckle of his belt is digging into the back of your thigh with each pointed thrust. It's messy and ragged and feral. Perfect.  It has the heavy, burning pressure steadily climbing up, your body tightening like a rubber band being stretched to its limits. The pleasure that looms over you is almost daunting, fizzling at your skin like a lit fuse burning closer to a stick of dynamite. "C'mon baby, I can feel ya, " he grits fervently.  He's pressing a rough thumb to your swollen clit, grinding it in perfect timing with the burning drag of his cock. But a part of you didn't want it to end yet, too scared to face what may follow afterwards. You couldn't help the bitter fear of rejection. That this was just a one-time thing. You don't know if you'd be able to forget tonight, to brush it off and pretend that it didn't happen. To just sweep it under the rug and face eternity. You willed your body to hold back, doing your best to extend the pleasure afraid of letting go of this moment. But he could feel it. "It's alrigh,' let go. I gotcha. " 

Then he's licking into the bloodied hollow of your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. It's messy and debauched and decadent all at once. It has you gasping into him, riding his fingers and cock in a wanton abandon, the fear that parades around in your head discarded to the side like useless, broken toy. The world spins on itself as the pleasure arches high. You could feel it there, taste it on the tip of your tongue like lightning and honey, a wave ready to take you under and drown you alive. 

"Lemme feel ya. Be my good girl and cum." 

Everything - the world, time, your body - seizes. Muscles shaking like you've been tazed, writhing under the sweetened, stinging claws of ecstasy as it tears through your body in unforgiving pulses. Fuck. Your jaw drops open in a silent wail, arms, legs and cunt tensing around Severen's body like bands of steal while he continues his heavy thrusts, intent on dragging out your pleasure until you can't take it. Everything is muffled like your ears are stuffed with cotton and your heads packed with fuzz, and you swear you've died, unable to form a single coherent thought. All you can do is feel.  You're a nerve of fire and electric heat. Suspended and lost adrift in the moment and an overwhelming cocoon of liquid euphoria. He still hasn't stopped. His cock is still filling you with sharp jolts, hellbent on wringing out every burst of bliss that he possibly can. 

"Sev, please. I want you to fill me up, I wan-" his mouth meets yours with the clacking of teeth, and you're drinking each other down. He only manages a few more sloppy, uncoordinated thrusts of his hips before he's burying deep, shoving himself against the cradle of your thighs and coming in thick heavy pulses while his body shakes and quivers. The raw, aggressive drag of his lips has melted into a softer exchange. Delicately nipping and pecking at each other's lips while he still rocks against you in lazy, unhurried drags. You're covered in blood and filth but it's still so sweet and sugary. You don't want the night to end. 

It has you stilling. The weight of your actions settling over you like a winter breeze. You had just fucked Severen. The man you're supposed to hate. You should hate him. You shouldn't be lamenting the very big possibility that he'll pull out, buckle his belt and leave you sitting in your collective mess to stew in your humiliation and guilt. You don't even know how you would cope living with him after tonight. Sleeping in the same rooms as him; listening to the that cute, weird little piggish snort that bubbles out of him when he tells a joke, to walk around and act like he didn't hold up a mirror and force you to acknowledge the feelings that you've been carting around for months on end. 

Worn hands are cupping your face in a delicate hold, like you'd fall apart if they gripped to hard, gently directing you to look up and meet a set of hooded baby blues. Concern melting into the lust glazed pools. "Why the sour look?" He asks, voice raw and strung out from use. "I didn't think I did all that bad." 

Despite the inner turmoil, the little joke has a smile weakly quirking your lips. You shake your head as best as you can while being restricted under the hold of his palms.  "Well, you weren't the worst if that helps, " you quip back, trying to block out the ice of your insecurities, even for a moment. " For a second there I thought you had killed me." 

His eyebrows shoot up dramatically, followed by an awed whistle. "Damn, knocked ya dead twice. That must be some sort of record. " 

He catches the playful punch you try to throw at his chest, nipping at the knuckles. You could lie to him. Tell him that you're fine and go on with your night. Even if he doesn't believe you there's a fifty-fifty chance that he won't pry any further. But . . .  You also don't want to walk around without closure. 

"It's just. . . the 'you're mine' thing . . . " Jesus Christ, you feel like a teenage girl again stuttering in front of your crush in the middle of the high school hallway. And the intent way that he's staring at you does little to ease the fluttering ball of anxiety in your chest. It's too much. And so, you look anywhere but him. Sweeping your eyes past him to study the old, questionably stained wall that has suddenly become very interesting. "Did you mean it or was it just sex talk?" 

The grating voice in the back of your head crooning that he's going to laugh at you. Call you stupid for assuming that he had actually meant it. You're waiting for the rug to be pulled out from underneath you and to be left to bust your ass on the cold floor. Alone, dumb, and useless. A girl with a crush. 

But he's gripping the exposed flesh of your thighs- god, he's still inside you. You're trying to be all vulnerable and he's still ins- and sweeping soothing circles across the stretch of them with his thumbs. It pulls you out of your head a bit, focusing you just enough to really look at him. His dark hair is tussled, hanging in front of the gorgeous blue of his eyes in a way that you always found attractive on him. Scarlett lightly stains his lips from the bloody kisses you had exchanged, making them glisten lightly under the light. The bite mark on his neck has yet to fully heal, ugly and blunt and bleeding, it has the possessive streak inside of you preening and strutting. You did that. You marked him, not someone else. He's ruggedly handsome, lightly panting from the exertion despite the fact that he doesn't need to. Just over a centuries old habit. 

"I said it didn' I? I meant it. " He says it so matter-of-factly that it makes you feel stupid. "It's you an' me." 

That has the ice thawing, snapping off to drift downstream and far away. You pull him to you again to peck at his lips, completely overcome and basking in the glow of it. The relief. Your chest is bursting, filling up with the sun. The sun before all this. Before the dark and the blood. Soft, and fuzzy and inviting and warm. A sun without consequence or death in its wake " Ya know- " Severen starts, talking between your kisses. " Yer about as dense as you are beautiful." 

That gives you pause, briefly wondering if you heard him right. You stare at him like he's grown a second head, eyebrows furrowing. There's that unforgivingly sharp tongue of his, always at the ready to strike. But it doesn't ruin the private moment between you, it just shifts gears. The jab is spoken much more softly than it would have typically been. It's more playful, lacking bite. It keeps you from heating up a cutting remark of your own. Instead of bristling and shaking out of his hold like the old you would have done you level him with a glare, a teasing warning all in its own, cautioning him to explain with no real gall behind it.  

"Oh, don't look at me like that, " He scoffs petulantly. " I've always been a bit sweet on ya too. I made it pretty damn obvious." 

"You did not-" 

" Hell woman, I killed about damn near every guy you ever flirted with!" 

Wow, he really thought that being an obnoxious douche and outright taking your diner was the equivalent of flirting. Like a bully pulling at the pigtails of his crush because he's too bullheaded to have a conversation. Figures that Severen would think that singlehandedly snatching your meals from you is a declaration of feelings.  "I thought you were being a dick!" You counter, " you're always stealing my food. " 

"I wasn't stealin', I always give the bodies back to ya. I was jus' . . . doin' the dirty work for ya. " You suppose that he is correct now that you think back on it. After tearing the unfortunate souls' throat out with his teeth or slitting it from ear to ear with a broken beer bottle or at times the lethal silver of his spurs (often saved for the people that piss him off the most) he'd discard the body at your feet like a feral barn cat dropping a hunted mouse on the doorstep of its owners front porch like a twisted offering, beaming at you with his mouth smeared red and his chest puffing out like a strutting rooster. Wait . . . offering. You always thought that his habit of killing your prey came from a place of malice. A way to poke and prod at you. A grim reminder that you still weren't as ruthless as him. That you still aren't a good enough hunter after all this time. 

But like a dumb ass you were reading it all wrong. Blinded by forced disdain and your own insecurities. But then again, it's not your fault that he's apparently allergic to simply sitting down and talking. Roughly two hundred years old and he still can't seem to process his emotions like an adult. You truly know how to pick them. 

But the sadist- the betrayed fiancé in you wants to hear the confession out of his own mouth. You need the confirmation for yourself. "Why?" 

His eyes soften around the edges, melting like slates of ice. It's a look you've only seen twice from him since the months you've been a part of each other's lives. And it's a soothing balm on the old scar that still hasn't fully healed inside you. 

"You've come a long way from bein' that scared girl, jumpin' at shadows like a cute lil' scaredy cat. I mean, sometimes the way you go after those poor bastards really gets my blood pumpin' down south. " His voice drops to a husky timbre, reminding you of nights spent in neon lit bars, filled with the high of adrenaline sizzling in your veins from a successful hunt, tinged with the sinful iron bliss of blood. That southern is twang rounding out and cutting edges, dripping with heat and melted honey. You feel him twitch inside of you, clearly enjoying the memories parading around inside his head. You almost worry that he'll try to use it as an excuse to ditch the current conversation and try to get in your pants again (like he still isn't inside of you and like you wouldn't enthusiastically indulge in another round regardless) but to your relief he doesn't. "But I can still see ya hesitate sometimes- drag it out longer than necessary. So, I figured it wouldn't do any harm if I stepped in from time to time and took care of 'em for ya. Not that I wantcha goin' soft on me. " 

He wasn't wrong. You have accepted your new life. Finally stopped struggling against the dark fate that's been set out before you regardless of your initial reluctance. Your outright refusal to partake in the night and the eternity it promised. Until you couldn't resist its call. Crawling to the whispered lure of the dark instead of staggering out into the morning light one last time like you had once promised yourself. But despite accepting your new family you've never completely been able to shake the guilt that comes with killing. Even though it's done purely out of self-preservation - at least on your part. 

So, sometimes you do drag out the flirty exchanges between the oblivious men at the bars. The men who come to unwind after a grueling day of work, the men who are just trying to escape the unrelenting weight of their lives, hoping to find reprieve at the bottom of a bottle; the men just out to chill with their buds and maybe get laid if they're lucky enough. People just living their lives. Diamond's always tried to reassure you in her own motherly yet blunt way. Tough love. "They're dead men whether you eat 'em or not.  They died as soon as we stepped foot in this place. No reason to go hungry, honey." 

Just a fact. But a hard pill to swallow regardless. They would be killed even if you weren't the one to eat them and so just like Diamond back said, you might as well as feed. They'd be bodies in a burning building either way. 

But the fact that Severen noticed and didn't pull on your hypothetical pigtails but opted to help you in his own crude, silent way instead. It had your chest warming like the morning sun was going to burst out of you. Perhaps some would see it as a small gesture. But coming for Severen, the guy who you had convinced yourself (well, not convinced- he was definitely more than on the fence about you when you were new and kicking and screaming) hated you, took your reluctance into account and decided to do something about it. Especially considering that he is the second eldest of the Hooker clan - apart from Jesse himself - and took to the bloodshed and violence like it was second nature. 

"Plus, they shouldn't have been puttin' they're hands on ya anyway. " You just barely manage to catch that little remark. Maybe you should be concerned about the happy little thrill it gives you, but you aren't. Instead, you pull him closer by the ornate lapels of his jacket until your chests are pressed together, smoothing your hands up until they meet skin. And a part of you silently mourns how the once gnarled mark on his neck has begun to seal closed, now a faint set of scars underneath a coat of smeared crimson. And you're a bit tempted to give him another. 

But you're too transfixed on the soft baby blues studying your face to try. "Thank you, " you responded with a smile, toying with the inky strands that collect at the nap of his neck. "We both seriously could have pulled our heads out of our asses, but seriously . . . Thank you." 

" Don' mention it. " He replies, a bit of mischief shifts through the sugar in his gaze. His smile turning from relaxed and sweet to quirking up a bit too sharply at the corners.  " . . . Kitten." 

"Don't start with that, " you warn, nose crinkling at the old nickname. "I'm serious." 

"Alright, twist my arm why don't cha, " he grumbles like he's annoyed but he's nuzzling against the rise of your cheekbone playfully, nipping at your jaw. "I'll spare ya. For now." 

You look over to the little wall of dryers, skipping down the rows until you find the machine containing your clothes, now idle with the black material of your shirt peeking out over the circle rim of the door. It all comes in one after the other: The faint buzz of the florescent lights above, the metallic squealing of the fan in the corner, the dull grind of the sun still somewhere on the other side of the planet but growing closer with each passing second. The gravity of it finally dropping on your shoulders but all you can do is laugh into his chest. The both of you had sex in the grimy laundry room of some hole-in-the-wall hotel like a pair of horny teenagers. Jesus, you could have been caught. 

"What?" He asks, now stroking up and down your bare thighs like if he quit touching you it would kill him. 

"Did we seriously just fuck in a laundromat?" You question like you don't already know the answer, a disbelieving laugh trailing after your words. Then he's chuckling in that goofy, charming way of his. "Better strike it off the ol' bucket list. " 

You swat him on the arm like you mean to scold him, but it does nothing to quell the little puffs of laughter that hiccup from his chest. Not that you want it to. "Have a list, do you?" 

"Oh, you have no idea, darlin.' " His voice is lowering in that sinful pitch again and it has a bit of heat pooling in your abdomen. " I could go on and on talkin' but we'd be here for weeks. 'Sides, I'd much rather show you." 

"As much as I'd love to take this table for another spin, I think we should save the fun for another time." You unlock your legs from their loose hold around his waist, allowing him to finally move back. You hiss lightly at the drag of his soft cock slipping free from your sensitive walls, a trail of cum pouring down your thigh. You nearly cringe at the feeling and now that you're no longer distracted by the haze of sex it finally sets in how disgusting you are again, smeared in blood and cum. Looks like another show is in order. The two of you are quiet while you straighten yourselves out, simply enjoying each other's presence. Severen tucks himself back into his jeans, securing his belt while you reach down to thread your foot through the dangling sleeve of your pant leg. You hop down from the table to work them over your hips but seriously underestimate how wobbly the relaxed and used muscles of your body are. Your knees shake and you have the fleeting thought that you might just crumple to the floor, but then a set of sturdy arms are looped around you, securing you to an equally firm chest. 

"Like a newborn fawn," he quips, oozing ego and smoky satisfaction. Jesus, he is going to become unbearable with that self-assured bravado. He's already dangerously cocky, walking around like the world spins for his entertainment alone but now that he's successfully blown your back out, you're never going to hear the end of it. 

"Oh, shut it. " But you smile regardless and the feel of the cold tiled floor underneath the thin material of your sock reminds you that he threw your left shoe somewhere in your mindless scramble to get to each other. 

"Well, speakin' of time, we've got a couple more hours a' dark." He says drawing your attention from its light search of the floor. " Wanna go kick up some trouble? Bust a couple headlights? Scare some drunks?" The grin on his face is boyish, displaying the charming gap between his teeth. And the excitement radiating from him is infectious, practically vibrating where he stands from all the chaotic possibilities running amok inside his head. No doubt ideas of burning buildings, of shooting fireworks into the night; of speeding down quiet desert roads in stolen cars, blaring music and howling into the air. Forever is a long time. And although you've only gotten a taste of it, of the long sleepless nights ushered by a devilish primal hunger that guides you to the steady pulsing heartbeats of lonely, unassuming people, you were never sure how much eternity you were willing to take. Would you finally crack after a decade of dodging the sun? Tired of taking cover inside seedy motel rooms and taping tinfoil to the windows of some unfortunate strangers' truck? Would it be fifteen years? Twenty? A century? Or maybe by then you'll be a completely different person who will scold the current version of yourself for not fully embracing the dark and all of its gifts. Maybe she'll be able to cut down her prey with the same deadly indifference, the same wild joy that the others do. Maybe one day you'll bathe in the blood of your prey instead of flinching from it before you regretfully gulp down the metallic nectar. You can't say for certain. Now that Severen's at your side it doesn't just null and void all of your fears and internal struggles for the present and future. But it helps to know that you have someone to lean on, even though he can't personally relate to most of your struggles. To have someone with you on your walk through eternity. And now that you think about it, you wouldn't want it to be anyone else. You can't imagine spending the rest of your time on earth with anyone other than the devious violent cowboy standing in front of you. His eyes lit up like a fresh blue morning sky, staring at you like you hung up the moon and set the stares alight. It's a look you've seen before out of the corners of your eyes. Too foolish to correctly recognize it, often presuming that he was looking at you to be rude. Mistaking the intensity in his gaze for annoyance. But now you melt under it, threading your fingers between his and squeezing his hand in a reassuring grip. Maybe forever wouldn't be such a long time after all. "There's nothing I'd love more." 

" . . . but first you need to find my damned shoe." 

[jovieinramshackle]

Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaase more about the dylia (dylla + lilia) ship. It is so crack and yet so satisfying. Please i beg 🙏🙏🙏

JSDSASHDAJSH HBF LET'S GOOOOO MORE DYLIA

Dw anon I'm here to deliver🙏🙏

This got long and it's kinda all over the place SORRY I just REALLY wanted to ramble about them

So I see them meeting around Deuce's second year I HAVEN'T THOUGHT EXACTLY HOW (so I'm open to ideas) BUT they found themselves attracted to each other rather quickly.

Lilia found Dylla's confident and strong personality intriguing, enjoying how she didn't hesitate to talk or speak her mind.

I imagine Dylla didn't have an interest in dating considering she had to look after Deuce, and depending on what you think the father is like, her want to date can decrease even more.

So imagine her surprise when she found herself giggling at Lilia's antics...she hadn't enjoyed being around someone like that in a WHILE so it was a very odd, yet nice feeling for her

I'm so sure Deuce and Silver noticed this and tried to encourage them to talk more.

They keep in contact!! Phone calling each other daily, they were in the "we're just friends" phase for a while until Lilia FINALLY went ahead and asked her out-- and she accepted!

I think they both would be pretty awkward at the start, but Dylla less- both because of her personality and, well, Lilia hasn't felt this way in over 400 years, with Meleanor and her husband having been the first to make him feel this specific love.

He wants to appear confident and sure about himself, but he just isn't, and Dylla can see that and tries to reassure him as much as she can.

But, of course, she also carries her own doubts, after all, she hasn't been with someone in YEARS, and she's scared of this going badly again. Not to mention, she doesn't want to do something that could potentially make Deuce uncomfortable, since a mom dating again could bring mixed feelings to the child.

Although she doesn't ask for reassurance from her son, obviously, it's not his responsibility, Deuce catches onto her doubts and tries to comfort her even a little bit.

"You said all you wanted from me was to visit once in a while, right? Well, I want you to enjoy your life! No need to worry about me."

These are the words she tries to keep in mind every time she starts feeling unsure, and honestly, they help more than Deuce himself realises.

So what do they do once they're sure they have sealed the deal and are official? They move together!

Instead of running on to some unknown Eastern country to never be seen again, Lilia moves with her to Clock Town. Dylla is one of the many things that made him want to look at the future and not be scared of his family seeing him grow old.

Admittedly, he's nervous, he won't disappear off the face of the earth, but he's still moving far away. And this is where Silver comes in

"If being with Dylla makes you this happy, you should go for it. And knowing you'll be in a good place, and that I will be able to visit you, is enough for me."

Similar words were given to Lilia by both Malleus and Sebek. Knowing that he's still moving away is hard, but at least he's somewhere they know he'll be okay, somewhere they can go and see him again whenever they want to.

So Lilia is a fae but can't exactly...use magic anymore, he's an old man he's way past using magic.

But that doesn't stop him, and with Dylla's help, he's getting a job at White Rabbit Home Delivery!!

He almost crashed the car 3 times but he got the hang of it soon enough.

They live like this for a few years but to a lot of people's surprise (mostly people at work) these two aren't married, despite acting like a married couple.

I feel like, despite being comfortable and sure about their relationship, they wouldn't legally speaking get married, it's not something that for them felt necessary (mentally speaking they said their vows years ago lmao).

What they do instead is a small ceremony with their friends and family. Nothing super fancy, all they wanted was to have fun and enjoy themselves.

They DO call each other husband and wife though, the lack of papers doesn't change the way they feel about each other and the commitment they share, so nothing is stopping them from using those terms.

So yes they are STILL "the bride and her ugly ass grom" 🙏

To finish off this post, Lilia grows his hair again!

I love the idea that he cut it to signal the start of something new when he became a father. I like thinking that when he moved in with Dylla he began growing it again, to show his start with this new chapter of his life.

HASHDHSSKAJEISD If I get more asks I could go more in-depth with them or their families, I could also maybe include my oc Jess and their relationship with these two hehe

[yanderes-galore]

Heres the request I wanna send early

TF2 yandere Blu Medic with prompts from your list

7.) "All this blood? It's all for you! Everything I do is all for you!"

61.) "Being alone is worse than you hating me."

63.) "You're my everything!"

Sure! Using the plot idea you sent me. Just because he's the BLU Medic and more tame than RED doesn't mean he's scared of blood ;) Took more of a horror approach, hope you enjoy!

Yandere! BLU Medic Prompts 7, 61, 63

"All this blood? It's all for you! Everything I do is all for you!"

"Being alone is worse than you hating me."

"You're my everything!"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Graphic murder scene, Blood, Violence, Kidnapping implied near end, Drugging (Implied to be sleeping pills), Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Slight sadism, Disturbing themes, General Yandere behavior, Implied forced relationship.

Normally, Medic could keep his cool. He was always nice and gentle with his beloved... Always patient and supportive. However... Tonight he just couldn't.

Medic always thought you two would be together. He's always dreamed of it, obsessed over it.... You are all that's on his mind. It's why he keeps following you... tracking your every move like something to be studied.

Then that partner of yours shattered his dreams.

Admittedly... He should've minded his own business. He knows it isn't right for him to stalk you. You should have the ability to choose... He should just be a friend to rely on.

Yet he was far too invested by this point... The doctor snapping when he watched your little date play out.

Medic knew he was reckless. He let his emotions get the better of him when he cornered that pitiful partner of yours in an alley. He should've done this cleaner and out of your sight... Not behind that damned restaurant you ate at.

He may have made major mistakes... But it felt so good to get rid of the little homewrecker.

He'll admit, he was having a bit too much fun when he cut them up. Their blood stains his casual clothes, his usual doctor's coat hung up in his home for his next patient. In his hands he grips a knife he swiped from the restaurant you had your date at.

His expression is eerily cold when he glares down at your date. This person managed to capture your heart? This person and not him?

Really... You could do better...

Much better.

Medic lost himself in the rhythm of his knife's thrusts. Blood sputters from the wounds and soon your poor date stops screaming into Medic's hand. He barely even noticed as he twists the knife into the gut of his victim.

Then... Screaming started again...

Yet it wasn't from the poor soul he just mutilated.

Medic snaps from his spell of madness when he turns to see you. Your eyes are wide and you loo nauseous. No doubt due to the sight of Medic covered in blood while holding the corpse of your date.

Medic felt his heart drop when he realized what he's done, the knife long forgotten on the ground just like the corpse. He snapped... He killed your date... He was sloppy. Now you found out and he was going to lose you.

He can't let that happen.

Like a rabid animal, Medic began to chase you through the night streets. Adrenalina guided him as he ran to keep up with your fleeing form. If only he was more careful.

He kept calling out to you in a distraught tone. He sounded like the victim, as though his clothes weren't bloody. He kept apologizing, calling your name in sweet tones and affectionate nicknames...

Although, soon you couldn't run anymore.

The moment your footing faltered and your lungs began to stutter, Medic took the opportunity to tackle you into the darkness. Your squeal is cut off by his bloody hand as he straddles you on the ground. He doesn't meant to be rough... Yet these are dire times.

"Listen to me...!" He tries to plead to your thrashing figure. "All this blood? It's all for you! Everything I do is all for you!"

Medic sees you freeze, staring at him in shock. He bites his lip nervously as you pull against his hand. Of course you wouldn't understand....

"You're my everything..." Medic admits as if the moment was a tender confession. "I just... I couldn't lose you! What would I do then? I know this was wrong but... I don't want anyone else to have you!"

His eyes are crazed and his grip is tight. He looks like a serial killer, much different than your doctor friend. Tears roll down your eyes as you tear off his hand from your mouth.

The taste of blood enters your mouth as you scream.

"I hate you!" You cry, kicking and thrashing. Medic merely stares down at you, a look of pity and betrayal on his face. "I hate that you lied to me! I hate that you're a psychotic murderer who's obsessed with me! I just hate you!"

The silence is deafening between you. Medic continues to stare at you as you cry and scream. At that moment... He really didn't care what you thought.

You don't seem to have the best judgement anyways according to your partner choice.

"Being alone is worse than you hating me." Medic whispers, palming his pocket for something. He always kept this on him, debating if he should use it one day on you or not. Now seemed to be the time. "Now... I think my little love bird should take their medicine since they're so bad tonight."

You give him a confused look before he removes a pill bottle from his pocket. You then begin to thrash again when he pours some pills in his hand and forces open your mouth. Like forcing a cat to take a pill, he places them in your mouth before shoving your mouth shut and pinching your nose.

"Swallow." He growls in your ear. "These will make you relax and sleep... I promise I'll take much better care of you than that date of yours."

You have no choice but to swallow the pills eventually. The amount you take increases the effect, making you unable to struggle against Medic. He grins when he sees this, crawling off you and picking you up.

"Best we get you taken care of, yeah? I'll take you to our home to rest..." Medic coos with a psychotic grin. The fear on your face is ignored by the crazed doctor.

"I think we've both had a bit too much excitement... haven't we, my dove?"

[rmorde]

Trigun Manga Reaction

Now back with Volume 1 - Chapter 3

I like this. Simple pose but very interesting with the "imbalance" I guess with the tilted head, shadowed face, and slightly lower slope of one shoulder. It's not "stiff" and it's easy to imagine the wind blowing through Vash's coat and hair.

A thought occurs tho, Did Trigun predate Tetsuya Nomura's obsessive belts, belts, and more belts design quirk? Did Nightow and Vash started that anime fashion trend?

Uhuh. Says the people who tried to shoot a GRENADE at that same one guy.

I kinda put these three panels in a sequence because... we know Vash is a good guy. Of course, he's going to save the women but the emphasis on the Nebraskas reaction to his rescue is really interesting.

Vash gives them a side-eye. He's either gauging their capacity for mercy or already clocked in that they are capable of mercy and silently hints for them to wait just a moment.

Father Nebraska understanding and just waits as he smokes. Then confirms first if Vash is ready to rumble again.

Idk. It's a moment of humanity not only for Vash but for the Nebraskas too imo.

AND IT'S WEIRD! In '98, Father Nebraska tried to get a cheap shot on Vash while he was still carrying someone to safety.

Yeah, assholes. Vash is doing his best to keep the women in the clear while you guys just throws grenades willy-nilly into buildings who have people in them. Smh.

Ngl. This sequence confuses me a bit. But, going with what happened earlier, the Nebraskas were not targeting the women. The punch was intended for Vash - which he dodged easily. However, instead of running further away, he shielded the women from the flying debris that the punch caused.

WHICH AGAIN, I REITERATE, IS REALLY WEIRD FOR '98 TO DEVIATE FROM!

In the '98, they are bonafide bad guys but in the manga they're still bad but not "Muwahahaha I'll shoot the injured women Hahahaha!" bad . The Nebraskas have some semblance of honor here.

I guess this is why TriStamp has a much more nuanced presentation of these characters. It's closer to the manga.

Oof... Owww... Vash... 😢

Another gorgeous art. I like how Nightow's way of using perspective here!

Junior is established to be huge - a giant. He always take up so much space in the panels/pages like below:

However, when Vash finally "duelled" them seriously. Doesn't Junior suddenly "feels" smaller and Vash really big?

It's really cool how it instantly shows that Vash isn't goofing off anymore and the Nebraskas stand no chance in winning this.

Ragey Baby Girl no longer smiling.

Sigh. Gotta admire their one track mind.

Ngl. The line work here gave me Junji Ito vides for some reason. Vash's eye look haunting, cold, and really old.

Linework carrying hard on this page. Vash is obviously quicker with how much lines are there in his entire arm - convincingly too fast of a blur. Meanwhile Junior has less lines which makes his fist less blurry and, therefore, slower.

Clever use of the sound effects in the first panel.

I don't know what the fuck is going on in the second panel. I've been staring at it too long already and I still can't understand except it has something to do with Junior's arm?

Third panel is the crazy detail on Vash's eye. His glasses seem like he is looking at the side. However, on closer inspection, Vash is actually not looking away from the incoming attack.

The following pages is really great at building the tension on how would this duel end. The '98 anime captured it very well!

Looking cool, Vash!

Also, is it just me or does he always look for opportunities to show off his flexibility and long long legs. Must he really split here?

...

...

YES. YES HE MUST.

Oh. Ooooh! So that's what happened!

In '98, this conclusion was given to the bandit in Episode 1. His own enhancements crunching his body until he passed out and lost to Vash. However, they can't exactly rehash this in Episode 5. So, we have the "LOVE AND PEACE!" scene instead.

Admittedly, I prefer the "LOVE AND PEACE" conclusion more.

I like how, so far imo, Nightow just gives no fucks about anatomy in his art. I mean... Look at this! Even if we reason that it's because his coat is dramatically billowing with the wind, Vash's body is not proportionate. However, it doesn't matter! It looks cool and it evokes the right emotions just fine: fear and awe.

OMFG?!!! The trials these two are going through! These poor insurance ladies! Milly hanging on for dear life to that pillar. Meryl just screaming her lungs out EVEN WITH A MEGAPHONE!

AND IT WAS FOR NOTHING!!!! OML

Being considered as someone equivalent to a natural disaster shouldn't bring joy, but damn it... LOOK AT HOW HAPPY VASH IS!!! AWWW BABY GIRL!!!

Wow. They blame HER!!! How dare- Meryl beat them up! No, Milly. LET MERYL HAVE THEM!!! THEY DESERVE TO BE CRUMPLED LIKE TISSUE PAPER AFTER THROWING OFF GRENADES LIKE CONFETTI EARLIER AT VASH!!!

Awww. Their first interaction is SO CUTE!!!

In '98, it's funny and amusing. Ditto on TriStamp. But this one is sweet since Meryl and Milly kinda saved Vash in here.

I mean. Yeah, the townspeople are scared because Vash just beat the Nebraskas, but they are desperate for money. Desperation can override fear given enough time. Vash would've been hunted all over again.

I take it back. The insurance ladies climbing up to that bell tower was not for nothing. It was enough to allow Vash a moment to breathe and, as he rejoices, be free (even just for a while).

Wonder what exactly went through Vash's head here. Confusion? Fear? Dread?

HELL YEAH!!! BADASS LADIES IN LONG COATS! STRIKE FEAR TO THE HEARTS OF EVERYONE!!!

Oh. Some responses to the a couple of tags:

@alena-reblobs

Thanks! Glad you're having fun too because I sure am. I appreciate the warning and I'm kinda nervous because the action this chapter was kinda confusing to understand. Hopefully, it won't get worse (will it?) I agree that they are very cool nonetheless!

@eldritchneuro

Thanks for explaining! Paneling is always fun to study in mangas because they usually follow a 3 or 4 panels which mangakas creatively breakdown to evoke a feeling among readers.

Trigun is interesting because its from the 90's! So, some of the paneling are probably "prototypes" of the crazy ones we'd see in modern mangas.

I guess, Nightow's aiming to make the page very "cinematic" with slo-mo (sparse panels) and hyper focus on details (graphic weight). It draws us readers in to the story more effectively as if we are there too with the townspeople looking at the Humanoid Typhoon.

[thedo0zyslider]

Generally plot synopsis of my fwhimmy tangled au. Because I have no one else to tell this too but tumblr dot com

Basically when Jimmy was young, the cod and salmon were very big enemies, and whatever was happening was making the cod deathly sick. To protect him, Lizzie hid her brother and herself in a tower. But as the years passed, the problem was slowly solved, and now all the fish folk get along pretty well. But Lizzie had always told Jimmy the outside was dangerous, and he had to stay inside. She wasn't she how to tell him otherwise, but considered doing so. Eventually she starts lying, so things won't change and she can keep him close forever, while also enjoying the life she'd started to build outside the tower. (I have more thoughts and ideas for Lizzies character here don't you worry. She's very complex and I can't wait to dig into that more >:])

For his whole life, Jimmy is stuck in the tower. He doesn't mind it really, but he can see a river just outside his window. His instincts are always telling him to go to the water!! Go to the river!! But he's a little scared, admittedly. But but, he's also eighteen and maybe it would be a good birthday present. Maybe Lizzie would let him leave the tower, just once, on his birthday? She doesn't, but it's a good attempt, and it only makes Jimmy more motivated to leave no matter what.

And then we have fwhip, the prince of their kingdom. The royal family has its own issues, but in short they leave the prince feeling a more than a little slighted. Like his sister Gem gets more attention than him. So naturally, he starts acting up, starts doing petty crimes, because they can't arrest him. The only thing they can do is scold him and lock him in the castle, which he can always sneak out of.

One day, when the summer festival is being set up, fWhip almost ruins it. Which means he's in pretty good trouble and currently being chased down. (the two thieves flynn allies with in the movie are replaced by sausage and joey, guards who are very close to the head guard, xornorth) So he runs from the guards, and manages to loose them in the woods. And in the woods he finds a tower with a boy in it, who knocks him out lol. But once fwhip is awake, Jimmy seizes his opportunity. If fwhip takes him to the water, then he'll keep the prince out of trouble. And fwhip agrees, because its the only way to get back into town without being arrested (and maybe he thinks jimmy is kinda pretty)

and then he learns about lizzie, whos his friend, and how he's been keeping her brother hostage and lying to him for what has to be a decade at this point. safe to say fwhip is. greatly horrified. he realizes he cant let jimmy go back to the tower, and starts workshopping a plan to get them both back to the castle safely. he doesn't care about whatever trouble hes in anymore, jus getting jimmy out of his horrible living situation.

You know the bar they go to in the movie? Yep, that's fill of hermits!! fwhip frequents the tavern when he cans, so he knows they can help him. [insert the i got a dream song here. btw.] He talks to Grian about jimmy's situation, and manages to sneak both of them out. But they are chased by sausage and joey again, who have started working with lizzie after she returned home to find jimmy missing. she says fwhip kidnapped him, and sausage is doubtful, but he believes it, if only a way to get his friend in custody temporarily. Lizzie also overhears what happens at the tavern, so she starts making her own plan to stop fwhip and jimmy before they get to the castle.

also gandalf, gems cat, fills the sidekick animal role. he just shows up randomly to help them/be a problem. he helps them get away from joey and sausage, and then the cat is gone again. after that, fwhip and jimmy manage to get into the town, and enjoy the summer festival. they meet the rest of fwhip and lizzies friends, the empires crew, and all of them adore jimmy to bit. he bonds with joel especially, not having any idea that he's dating lizzie.

eventually, they have to leave the festival, because both lizzie and the guards have caught up to them. they manage to slip away that evening as everyone prepares to send the lanterns out, but gems onto them. probably because of her magic act tbh, who bothered them the wholeee festival.

The lantern scene happens. Jimmy and Fwhip, on a boat all by themselves with lanterns around. And yes, unlike tangled they do kiss! But the moment is over once they get to shore sadly. lizzie is there to take jimmy home, all while fwhip gets taken into custody a few feet away. jimmy does start protesting that he doesnt want to go home, but lizzie is too scared to let him leave the tower forever, and starts dragging him back anyways.

in the meantime, fwhip manages to convince sausage and joey of whats really happening. they're both a little reluctant, but they give him a palace horse and let him go after lizzie and jimmy. they're to go find xornorth at what remains of the festival, and fill them in before heading out to the tower themselves. gandalf leads gem and joel over to them as theyre talking to xornorth, and the two of them join in on going to the tower.

back at said tower, jimmy is fucking miserable man. he just wants to go back to the water, and fwhip. As soon as lizzie has her back turned he's sneaking out the window, only find the little intervention party waiting for him outside. i wont go into full detail of the scene, but quite a lot happens. i could do it more justice when i actually write it, compared to this quick little summary (its not the only detail im admitting haha)

in the end, all of them go back to the palace, lizzie being held as a prisoner for a little bit. but eventually, she requests to go back to the tower. they let her, figuring it better if she's further away from jimmy right now. he still cares about her, but he's pretty traumatized from what happened that night. but he heals with time, and by getting closer to fwhip and the empires crew. (at first fwjip isnt sure if he should try to advance the relationship anymore, but they get there eventually, once jimmy has healed enough <3)

i think im going to end it with lizzie saying sorry. jimmys not going to accept her back right away, nor is everyone else, but that will take time. shes going to finally leave that tower herself, and thats all that matters. that theyre both our of the tower for good.

i have a lot more planned but again, this is just a general summary. very excited to finally get writing it hehe

[whumpster-fire]

Leading Thieves Say Millennials and Zoomers "Ruining the Crime Industry"

A variety of criminals have spoken out over the past few weeks, saying that crime just doesn't pay like it used to because Millennials and Gen-Z-ers are so broke, they have nothing of value to steal.

Stephen "Fingers" Gilligan, Pickpocket: Pickpocketing has been on the decline in America for a while, but it's getting ridiculous now. Nobody carries cash anymore, and even cards aren't paying out. The other day I stole a wallet with five debit cards, and all but one of them declined. The last one had just enough to buy a Sierra Mist from a vending machine. That was my second best score all week. The best was a $40 Olive Garden gift card and a crumpled, discolored $5 bill that I had to use archeological techniques to retrieve without it disintegrating in my hand.

Burt Crustman, Mugger: Man, nobody walks through dark alleys at night since the pandemic hit, and when they do? Jackshit. The only valuable anyone under 40's got on them these days is their phone. Admittedly lotsa people have $3000 phones, but you know what the market for fencing iPhones is like? It's shit! Everybody's buying new phones because their phone's the only nice thing they can afford!

Monty Derailleur, Bike Thief: Well the bike theft business would be going good, if people ever used the bikes they bought. The sales are high, but the fact of the matter is, the bike lanes around here are shitty or nonexistent, there's no room to take them on the bus, and there's no bike racks so everybody knows it's gonna get stolen.

Jerry Rigby, Car Thief: I don't know what you're talking about, Grand Theft Auto is booming. There's $75,000 pickups, $60,000 SUVs, $100,000 Teslas, and most people can't even afford to buy a used car legally so fencing's never been easier. The reason it's hard for those of us in the business is twofold. First, too many people living out of their cars. Second, the competition. You see a nice car parked somewhere, you gotta be on it like that, or the fucking illegal towing rackets will beat you to it. It's nearly impossible to make a living as an independent car thief.

Dwayne Pipe, Burglar: The only reason to be breaking and entering in the post-Pandemic years if to use somebody's shower. I swear to god, half the time when I break into a place, the only furniture is a mattress on the floor and a mid-sized computer monitor as a TV, and those are only good for scrap because with planned obsolescence the way it is, they have a life expectancy of about 6 weeks after theft. To be honest with you, I'm running a loss on most jobs. The only reason I haven't gone straight is because all the legal jobs pay jackshit too. That, and I really like replacing people's family photos with pictures of Nicholas Cage.

Brittlyghn McKannyck, Shoplifter: Shoplifting these days is a hobby, not a career. Half the time the stores are too understaffed to even stock the shelves, and if they're not, everything's locked up. I had to get a guy to unlock a magnetic tag on a box of Crispix the other day. If I didn't live with my parents, there's absolutely no way shoplifting full time would be viable.

Norman Gore, Master Hacker and Identity Thief: Scamming people out of their financial info or cracking passwords has never been easier, but the scores just aren't worth it. I keep getting into bank accounts that pending overdraft fees. It's pathetic. I have to leave the lights off so my hacker den's only lit by the monitors, and type on three or four keyboards at once to hack enough people to make ends meet.

Jack Gazebo, Digital Pirate: Oh my fucking God, people, stop paying for streaming! Learn to torrent! I'm telling you, man, this generation just doesn't have the technological literacy to pirate media.

Captain Tom Stillcutt, Analog Pirate: Let me tell ye something, matey, it be a sad day for piracy. No more galleons laden low with gold doubloons, rum, and exotic spices, nay, it be all scurvy container ships full o' mass produced plastic now. Me last prize was a forty foot container loaded full of over a hundred thousand Funko Pops, en route from the East Indies. The worst part of it was as the cap'n I gets a double share o' the booty, whether I want it or not. I've been makin' one walk the plank every day, and my cabin's still full of the blasted things. Shiver my timbers, I hate these damned Zoomers! At least the ones in me crew are happy.

Geraldo Cardamom IV, Gentleman Thief: The economy's just horrible for heists these days. Art heists? Jewelry theft? All the rich idiots are blowing their money on crypto, NFTs, and custom furniture from hipster woodworking YouTubers. Nobody just has a gallery in their house with priceless antiques in glass cases below a conveniently placed skylight, or millions of dollars in cash and gold bullion in vaults behind secret doors with seven different elaborate locking mechanisms anymore. Nobody secures their valuables with networks of criss crossing laser motion sensors. The only guys with that kind of money are assholes like Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk, and they don't have the sense of style for that. They just hire a bunch of assholes with guns.

Carmen San Diego, Legend: You must be joking, right? The reason I retired is because the infrastructure in this country is so dilapidated it's impossible to move it without it disintegrating. My last heist was "stealing" the World's Largest Pothole in Lansing, Michigan. I lifted the entire six lane wide, fifteen foot deep pothole out of the ground, disassembled it, and shipped it across the country to a warehouse in Las Vegas, then filled in the hole with pristine asphalt so it looked like it was never there. Nobody investigated. Nobody came after me. The city threw a parade in my honor. It didn't even take a month before my record holding pothole was dethroned by one in Cleveland, leaving me with nothing but a bunch of dirt, crumbling asphalt, and broken dreams. That's when I realized it was time to call it quits. Well, maybe the Bass Pro Shops Pyramid, but it already looks stupid enough in the middle of Tennessee that the only way stealing it would be funny is if I put it in the original Memphis.

[number1mingyustan]

Bittersweet (Chapter 11–Guilty Party)||k.mgyu + j.ww

Genre: neighbors to lovers, strangers to lovers, angst, smut

Warnings: angst, kissing, cursing, grinding, protected sex, scratching, fingering (f.), lots and lots of feelings, oc is so confused

Summary: in which everything is only downhill from here

Word Count: 3k

series masterlist

_______________________________________________

(a/n: second to last chapter :(((( coming to an end soon)

Now it was your turn to avoid. Your timing worked out because spring break had just started. For the past two weeks there was no baseball or school, so you didn't have to be around Mingyu or Wonwoo.

For the break, Wonwoo was spending his time in Paris with his family so communication between you two had died down, not that you were complaining. You texted and facetimed when you could... sort of. You'd made up a lot of excuses when he did try to call you and put in minimal effort to reply to his texts.

You felt horrible about acting so dry toward him, but facing him was so hard for you now. How were you supposed to be around Wonwoo when you felt like shit? Could you tell him about Mingyu's confession? You'd never been in a situation like this. Was there a right thing to do?

What kind of person would you be? The words tingled on your tongue any time you were around him. You couldn't not tell him right? You're still very new to relationships, clearly, and you don't have anyone to talk to about it.

All your friends are also Mingyu and Wonwoo's friends, so opening up to any of them had been ruled out. You know there's a lot at stake if you tell Wonwoo. Tensions will continue to grow between you and Mingyu and it'll completely fuck up their friendship with each other.

But at the same time, his confession has left an unsettling feeling inside of you. You don't really know what it is, but all you want to do is run to your boyfriend and talk to him. You don't know how it makes you feel and you hate it.

And fuck, you really like Wonwoo. You like being able to go to him and you're not a nervous wreck around him anymore.

On top of that, you're running out of time. Mingyu and Wonwoo are graduating in less than a month. Both of them will be off at university soon and you can't avoid them until they leave.

__

Mingyu's getting deja vu right now. You're standing in front of his door with your thumbs twittling nervously. He's getting flashbascks to the night you asked him to take your virginity. Admittedly, his heart is beating the same way it did that night. The same way it always does when he's around you.

Even though he's happy to see you, he doesn't know why you're here. You ran out on him after he confessed, which was completely understandable. But then you ran out on him again the next day when he tried bringing it up. Again, he understands why you did it. But what prompted you to show up at his door unannounced after not speaking to him for almost a month.

Admittedly, you're just as confused as him as to why you're here.

"Hi," you breathe out.

He opens the door wider, silently inviting you in. "Hey."

"Can we go to your room? I want to talk to you."

A small smile forms on his face as he nods. He closes the door behind you and the two of you head up to his room. He sits on his bed, you opt to stand. You're having a hard time putting your words together. You have no idea what to say to him.

Silently, you run your fingers along his collection of baseball trophies. You won't look at him, you can't. Your fingers trace along the trophies and medals as you admire all his achievements.

"You wanted to talk?" he breaks the silence.

He's not even hiding it. It's all in his eyes, they speak for themselves. His eyes follow your every movement, gaze never faltering from your face as you stall for time. You can see the love behind the hurt in his eyes, and it scares you. It scares you so much that your hands are sweating and your heart rate has picked up.

"Yeah," you mumble. "Needed a second to get my words together."

You take a deep breath in and exhale. You place yourself down on his bed next to him. "I'm sorry about running out on you. Twice."

"It's okay," he responds too quickly.

"No it's not," you turn, facing him. "I've never dealt with my situations by running away from them. I've always been the type to deal with stuff headfirst, but with you... I got scared and I ran."

"What is it about me that makes you want to run?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do."

He's so close to you... too close. You're letting it happen too. The space between your faces are disappearing, his lips are mere centimeters away from yours. There's something pinching at your heart and you don't know what it is. You can't tell if it's telling you to stop or keep going.

You can read him like a book. It's not hard to tell what's going through his head right now. He wants to kiss you, so fucking bad. Feel close to you again.

"You can't do that," you whisper.

"You're right," he blinks. "I'm sorry."

"Why did you have to go and ruin everything?" your voice breaks as you finally pull yourself back.

"I didn't mean to," his face falls.

"I know," you croak.

"I'm not blaming you, I just–"

"It feels like you're blaming me," he frowns.

"I know," you cover your face with your hands. "I don't blame you, I'm just having a hard time figuring out how to feel about this whole thing."

"Did our conversation make you feel something?"

"I don't know how I feel and that's the problem."

A beat.

It's so quiet Mingyu fears you might be able to hear just how hard and fast his heart is beating out his chest. He can't help but take your words as hope for him. He knows this shouldn't excite him, but it does.

You're unsure of how Mingyu makes you feel now. You know for a fact that you like Wonwoo, he makes you happy and he treats you so nicely. With Mingyu, it's hard to tell. There's a feeling associated with him that's been tormenting you ever since he confessed. You fear you might feel the same, but you genuinely don't know.

You've known Mingyu for so long that you're comfortable with him. Everything fell back into place with you naturally, and you appreciate it so much. You have yet to be able to navigate your feelings though. It is possible that you actually feel the same way and Mingyu? Or are you just telling yourself that may be the case because you can't stand to hurt him.

Your heart broke when his did at the party. You ran away because you were scared. You don't want to hurt him, to lose him again.

Yes, you love Mingyu. But do you love love him? There's so many factors to consider. Mingyu still can't properly commit to a relationship, and God forbid you do feel the same, who's to say you and him would actually be able to manage a relationship?

Two, Mingyu feels like home. But he's always been home for you, because he was your best friend. You know him inside and out but you've never seen him as more. He's making you question everything and as much as you want to trust your gut, you don't even know where it is that your gut is leading you.

You've let yourself sit on the issue and you've begun to second guess everything. Whether you feel the same or not, you still risk losing Mingyu again.

"I need to talk to Wonwoo," you finally state.

"Isn't he in Paris?" Mingyu questions with a frown. He'd momentarily forgotten about your boyfriend.

"He's coming back tomorrow," you lift yourself off his bed.

"He is?" Mingyu asks.

"Yes," you open the door. "So just give me some time to talk to him and figure everything out so I can come back to you and finish this conversation. For real."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

__

When you walk out of Mingyu's house, you're surprised to see a familiar black car parked in front of your house. You can see that no one is inside, so you rush through your front door and bolt into your bedroom.

"Wonwoo?" you ask.

"Hey," he smiles. He pulls you into a hug, wrapping his arms around your frame and giving you warmth.

"What are you doing here? I thought you weren't gonna be back until tomorrow."

"My parents thought we were cutting it too close coming back tomorrow because we have school the next day. They wanted to give me time to get situated, unpack and get over the jetlag and stuff," he pulls away. He pushes your hair back behind your ear. "I wanted to come see you though. I feel like I've barely spoken to you since I left."

"I know, I've had a lot going on," you feel a ping of guilt pump into your heart. "How'd you get in?"

"I caught your mom leaving on my way in. She told me you were in here, guess she didn't realize you had left," he explains. "Where were you anyway?"

"I was at Mingyu's," you tell him.

"Oh?" you can tell he's surprised, maybe even a little hurt. "You two are talking again?"

You shake your head. "Not really, it's weird."

"Is that what's been bothering you so much lately?" he asks.

You fear you'll blurt out too much if this conversation goes on any longer. You are with your boyfriend right now, don't want to talk or think about Mingyu.

Impulsively, you shut him up with a kiss. He hesitates at first, but soon enough he's molding into your touch. He kisses you back, allowing his arms to snake their way around your waist. Your hand comes up to his chest, and you push him lightly. Bodies connected, you two sink onto your bed.

"Don't wanna talk," you say between kisses. "Missed you so much."

This is bad, fuck it's so bad. You don't know where your head's at right now. You told yourself you were going to talk to him but you're doing the total opposite. You've always been the type to talk out your feelings, not run away from them, and definitely not this way. You know better.

But it feels so good. You really have missed him, his warmth, his scent, his touch. You know better than to do this, but you couldn't care less at the moment.

With you on top of him, you grind your lower half down as you continue to kiss him needily. He moans into your mouth, cock hardening beneath you.

His hands are on your lower back, pressing into your waist. You break away from the kiss momentarily, pulling his shirt off before connecting your lips yet again. Every touch from your hands was rash and needy.

You pull away again, stripping yourself of all your clothes but your undergarments. With the extra layer gone, you continue to grind yourself down on him. You're sure he can feel the wet patch forming on your panties, not that he'd ever complain. You're quick to reconnect your lips, bringing him back into a heated and passionate kiss.

You snake an arm around your back, unhooking your bra with one hand and tossing it onto the floor. Wonwoo doesn't realize how far you're planning to take this until he hears you opening your drawer. You slide your hand into the drawer, pulling out a box of condoms Mingyu gifted as a joke.

Wonwoo pulls away suddenly. "Shit... are you sure?" he asks.

"Yeah," you let out in a rush.

You really didn't plan on going all the way with him this early in your relationship. You figured it would happen eventually, but not nearly this soon. It's been a little under three months and it would be the smart thing to step on the breaks instead of moving so fast.

But you are in a desperate need of a distraction.

"Like actually? Because we talked about this and decided that we weren't gonna-"

"I changed my mind," you cut him off. "I want this, I promise."

He searches your eyes for any sign of hesitation.

"You don't want me?" you ask.

"Course I do," he licks his lips. "Just wanna make sure you're not gonna regret this."

"I won't." You will. You somewhat already do and it hasn't even happened yet.

You press a soft kiss on his lips for assurance. Then another. Then another. At the third kiss, hi holds you by the back of your neck, kissing you back with fervor. You moan against his lips.

He sits up before flipping you over and pinning you down to the bed. He pulls his sweatpants off, leaving him in just his underwear. He hovers over you as you rid yourself of your panties and pull one of the rubbers out the box.

"Need to stretch you out first," he groans, taking the gold piece of foil out of your hand and placing it back on your nightstand.

"No," you whine, grinding against his thigh needily.

"No?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Just put it in," you beg. "Please."

He plants a soft kiss on your lips. "You know I can't do that. You won't be able to take me," he coos. "2 minutes, I promise."

You huff out in frustration to which he laughs. Though, your frustration is soon forgotten when his fingers find their way to your pussy. He runs his fingers through your folds, coating his digits with your arousal. You let out a breath of satisfaction.

He pushes his middle finger inside of you as his thumb draws small circles on your clit. Your head sinks deeper into the pillow as you let out a long moan.

"Moremoremore," you beg.

He obliges, abandoning your clit and pushing his ring finger inside of you. He stretches you out so good, fingers picking up their pace and pleasuring you deliciously.

"Good girl," he hums.

You're rocking your hips into his fingers desperately. It feels so fucking good. When he curls his fingers inside of you, it instantly sends you over the edge. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you cry out in pleasure.

His cock twitches in anticipation as he feels you tightening and throbbing around his fingers. He's quick to strip naked and tear open the foil with his teeth while you come down from your high. He slides the rubber onto his length and situates himself above you. His cock rests against your folds.

He slides his cock against you teasingly. He watches your face grow impatient and contort with pleasure. When he's done teasing you, he finally slips part of his length into you.

"You okay?" he asks.

You let out a choked breath. "Yes."

"Fuck maybe two minutes wasn't enough," he groans. "So fucking tight."

You hold onto his biceps, gripping and squeezing as he fill you up with the rest of his length. You figure he was right, you definitely wouldn't have been able to take him without prep.

He sets a steady pace, hips pushing against you slowly as you adjust to him. He listens, paying attention to how your strangled moans turn into cries of pleasure. He takes this as an invitation to move faster, picking up the pace as he fucks himself into you.

Your eyes are screwed shut and you're sinking into the pillow. You're sure your nails are scratching into his biceps as you hold onto him.

"Fuck," he groans.

His hand finds its way to your swollen bud. His finger continues to draw circles on your sensitive nub, filling you with more pleasure each passing second.

It feels good not to feel. To be so focused on how good the sex is that you're longer in your head. You cry out his name again when he sends to back into a state of bliss. You're holding onto him for dear life, crying out and babbling as your mind goes blank.

He follows behind you soon after, spilling into the condom as his thrusts grow messy. He pulls out and collapses on the bed next to you. You're both trying to catch your breaths, panting heavily as you come down.

He presses a kiss onto your forehead. "C'mon, you gotta go pee baby."

You frown as he brings you fully back into reality. It was but a fleeting moment that you didn't feel anything. Didn't have to think about Mingyu or Wonwoo.

You groan, but he helps you up and into the bathroom. He disposes of the used condom while you pee and joins you in the shower.Not much is said, but it's nice to be so close to him. He helps you wash your body, soft and delicate hands tracing over your skin with care.

He takes such good care of you and it makes you feel like shit that you're questioning whether or not you want to be with him. You've been crushing on him since you were a literal freshman and now that he's finally yours, he's even better than you thought he would be and you still have doubts.

After your shower, he ensured that you're well fed, making you ramen before joining you in bed. He holds you close to him the entire night.

__

You wake up the next morning with Wonwoo still in your bed. He's sleeping next to you peacefully and snoring lightly. Looking at him only makes you feel worse about yourself.

You sneak of of your bed, careful not to wake him. Curiously, you take a peak at the window. Mingyu is already awake in his room. It's only a few moments before he catches you staring at him.

But this time, there's no witty text message. He simply walks up to the window and closes his blinds.

_______________________________________________

-taglist- @knucklesdeepmingi @marksflute @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @heidilolx @listxn @misssugarlips @lizzylovesboo @haogyuslut @taestrwbrry @everyw0nu @luvthatleader-nim @luveveryonewoo @jakecaffe @xeezi @wasteitonserendipity @whyokoa @shapeofgyu @fixonbreakoff @notscoupy @boo-juns @superheros-and-others @mingkis-world @thesmolishbean @bobohumyonlyboo @deekayownsme

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Food Questionnaire Tag!

I was tagged by @thelovelymachinery (here) and I believe that I was also tagged by @the-golden-comet a while back but I'm so swamped with tags that I cannot find it 🥲

Rules: Answer the food-related questions provided using the voices of your OCs. The yummier the descriptions, the better!

I'll go with Dylan Millihan, Liam Steele, and Christine Nespor from What Lurks In The Hollow for this one <3

what is one comfort meal that'll change your whole mood for the day?

Dylan: Eh. It takes a lot to change my mood for the better after a bad day if I can be brutally honest. I guess some pizza is always nice - might not change my whole mood for the better but it's my favorite food so, whatever. I'd take it over anything else.

Liam: Why do you ask? (he grumbles, eyes narrowed, before begrudgingly answering) Okay, fine. I like shepherd's pie, with as much cheese as possible. Uncle Nick is a pretty good cook, all things considered, and he makes some pretty good pies. I also love the cookies, especially the chocolate chip ones me and Savvy buy in the arcade, they're crunchy.

Christine: Oh! Oh, that's a good one! I love Mac & Cheese, but not the icky takeout ones that are always chewy like gum, or the store-bought ones that taste like plastic. I'm talkin' about the homemade ones! With that sweet, melty cheese goodness with some bacon sprinkled on top. That's the one. I also love me a good coffee - can't start the day without one, but don't come to me with that iced coffee BS, I like mine pipin' hot. Like so hot it feels like it was sourced straight from the earth's core or the depths of hell's fiery abyss. Yeah. Am I weird? (laughs)

what is an experience (good or bad) that has turned you off or on to a food completely?

Dylan: Y'know, I used to love those honeycomb toffee candies, the crispy ones and all. But then during a festival, Mrs. Draycott came up to me and was like (imitates the annoying 50-year-old 'female cougar' voice) "Oh my. Sweetheart, you're looking as SCRUMPTIOUS as a honeycomb fresh from the oven, aren't you?"

And I. wanted. to. die. Like not really but (mock gags in disgust) c'mon! What kind of fucked up, 'Karen' pick-up line is that? And, better yet, who even has the time to come up with shit like that? (sighs, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose) I might need a restraining order at this point, it's giving horror movie vibes. I can't have honeycombs anymore, thanks, Mrs. Draycott. Yay.

Liam: Okay, so when I was like 7 or something, my Uncle was having this garden party with his friends, I think, and they were having sushi. Thing is, 7-year-old me didn't know what sushi was, and me being a dumb little shit thought, wholeheartedly, it was candy. Like bonbons. For some odd reason! Cue me, who had been running around the yard all day, swooping into the patio table, picking one of the sushis, running off, and eating it whole before anyone could explain otherwise. I was expecting coconut candy covered in chocolate, or something sweet. What I got... was raw fish and rice. Long story short I ended up throwing up in the garden and I could never have sushi again after that. I tried once! I swear I tried! And it's okay that people like it. But even now the texture just feels...too slimy and it gives me the ick. Nuh-uh.

Christine: I think the time I ate a hot dog at an admittedly very shady establishment - looking back with hindsight - on the side of the road one time while traveling and got salmonella. Yeah, that hotdog was not a good idea on my part (chuckles). Spent the following week almost getting my soul exorcised from my body in the bathroom, in a metaphoric sense, if ya know what I mean. Now I can't even think about eating a hot dog again. It's a nah for me, bro.

if you could eliminate one piece of produce, meat, dairy or sweets off the earth what would it be?

(I'm not sure about this one but I think all three of them would answer onions, garlic, or stinky foods because those are disgusting and should be banned from the menu lmao)

and dessert is normally saved for last, but if you could what would you order for your entree at a restaurant?

Dylan: I guess, uh. I don't know, vanilla ice cream? I know you're gonna call me 'basic' for that, but I don't care. Vanilla is the best ice cream flavor out there and this is the hill I'll die on.

Liam: Hm. The chocolate chip cookies from the arcade. Gosh, those are just amazing. I could eat a whole packet! Or two, even!

Christine: Churros! The cinnamon and sugar ones with coffee sweet cream filling. That's heaven right there for me, yeah.

what are some food fusions that should never be mixed?

Dylan: Don't you ever mix savory, fried, spicy potato chips with marshmallows or melted ice cream or... god forbid, chocolate! That should be a sin or at least some sort of infraction because holy fuck.

Liam: If I see anyone else putting freaking pineapple or worse, watermelon on pizza I swear I will have a nervous breakdown and turn into a slasher movie villain. Not quite really, but keep FRUITS AWAY FROM MY PIZZA!

Christine: I'm probably gonna get hated on for this one. But avocados on a salty toast with eggs and pepper are a hate crime against humanity and I can't stand people who think that's a reasonable breakfast.

what food spot are you gatekeeping and why?

Dylan: My dude. I'm broke. I barely go out to eat in restaurants. I mostly eat at home or order cheap takeout pizza or something. And even if I wasn't broke, I just don't like eating around people whom I don't know in general, and I don't feel much at ease at restaurants unless I am in a really good mood.

Liam: I like 'Nana's Witchy Speakeasy'. The name might be odd or off-putting but it's just a nice little diner owned by this kooky old lady named Betty, who's one of the funniest people I know to be honest. Me and my friends love going there for a snack at the end of the day, the place's great.

Christine: Not sure, but there's this one milkshake place that sells the most wonderful chocolate frappes on earth. It's a bit far from my place but gosh it's so worth it.

cooking is a life skill, why haven't you started learning yet!?

Dylan:...Why haven't I learned it? I already have. I know how to cook. And quite well at that, though not perfectly - I'm my sister's legal guardian, do you think I would be able to manage having a moody teenager in my house all the time if I didn't know how to cook? No. I just don't usually have the time and patience for it, so I end up ordering takeout, but I always make us homemade breakfast.

Liam: 'Cause the last time I tried it I almost ended up setting the kitchen on fire, carbonized one of our best skillets, and was banned from the kitchen for a year (laughs). And cause I don't have the patience to learn, and already have other people in my life who cook really well.

Christine: Hey!!!! I know how to cook. Really, really well at that. I hate industrialized food and don't really crave fast food, but I love myself some good homemade food. I cook for myself every day, it's almost like a meditation for me - it makes me happy and calm, and at the end I get to eat something delicious. It's great!

Is there a smell that reminds you of something you never want to remember?

Dylan: Not really, I'm not easily shaken by smells unless it's something really, really freaking strong or pungent, or if its those perfumes that give me a headache cause I'm allergic.

Liam: My friends and I were exploring the woods to try and find out why the place's cursed and what happened to the ghosts trapped inside, but then we stumbled across some...remains? I guess it was the remains of someone who was killed and eaten by the Mayor's ghouls, and the smell of rotten flesh felt like it was stuck to my nostrils for a week. I hated that. I so hated that.

Christine: I'm not sure. I guess not emotionally, but I do hate the smell of salads and especially vinegar-based salad dressings. It makes me wanna puke - and the thing is it's not for any particular reason. It's not a trauma or anything. I just hate the smell, it's foul.

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @wyked-ao3, @topazadine @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @thecomfywriter

@thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @amaiguri

@cherrychiplip @thecomfywriter

@differentnighttale, @leahnardo-da-veggie

[thelampisaflashlight]

Strangely Human Rewrite 2: Pretend

[Dew struggles behind closed doors. This one is a bit heavy as a heads up, and deals with the rougher part of Dew's transformation into a ghoul.] Below the cut.

It has been a little over a week since the ghouls decided that they'd had enough of Mountain and Dew's petty little... whatever you wanna call it.

At the very least, Mountain can't ignore Dew anymore, not with a section of their shared wall missing, and, try as he might to cover the hole, Dew lacks the motivation to do anything beyond hang up Mountain's stupid beaded curtain.

Which, admittedly, doesn't look too bad.

Dew's honestly not sure why he's even still mad at Mountain, or if he's just mad in general.

It's hard to distinguish what's genuine anger and just... him being in irritable from feeling sick.

Dew doesn't have the energy these days to unpack his suitcases -still set in the middle of his floor mocking him- let alone pick through his feelings.

Perhaps that has something to do with it.

His lethargy, the perpetual feeling of malaise... it's one thing to deal with it behind closed doors, but now he has Mountain, who isn't in his space per se, but within sight more often than not these days.

Who shifts noticeably in his sleep whenever Dew gets up in the middle of the night or glances through the partition if he lays in bed for too long.

Sometimes, Dew's heart will warm a little when he sees Mountain's face pop into view from around the corner.

He tries not to be obvious with his concern because they're sort of fighting, but kind of not.

But, at times, it's... it's too much to be seen when he's feeling bad, and he knows the guy means well, but Dew needs his alone time, and he hasn't been getting much of that lately, and not just because he and Mounty are roommates now.

None of the ghouls are leaving him be.

Not since Aether discovered the rough patches on his skin had begun to spread.

"I... I don't know what's happening." he admitted, brow creased with worry as he tried and failed to make the scaly skin smooth out again to no avail, "I don't know how to help."

What's worse, is that the patches have started to itch now.

The only thing that seems to soothe the persistent ache is water.

Not lotion or a cooling balm -they tried that and it had burned so bad soaking into his skin that Aether all but threw him into the shower to wash it off of him- just water.

He spends a lot of time in the bath, soaking, leaving the door open so he can talk to Mountain even though they're totally still fighting.

Totally.

Neither of them have really apologized to one another, but Dew can only go so long sitting in silence before he starts to go a little stir crazy, and being sick certainly brings out the worst in him in that regard.

That said, it's nearly impossible to force two unwilling individuals to share a room, especially two grown adults, so, perhaps, the fact that Mountain has not abandoned his room, and Dew hasn't returned to his old accommodations is their own stubborn way of saying sorry.

Who knows.

Any which way, as Dew lets the water run over him like a dehydrated houseplant, Mountain is sat with his back leaning against the edge of the tub, fiddling with one of the bath toys Sunny had happily tossed into Dew's bathroom that morning.

It's a light blue crab with its eyes poorly painted on, made of a soft, hollow rubber that squirts water when squeezed, and although Dew had been a little annoyed being given something clearly for toddlers... he did have to admit it made wasting his days soaking in the tub a lot less boring.

"Hey, Mount?" Dew asks, shoving a small red and yellow octopus beneath the water, releasing it so he can watch it pop above the surface and bobble about.

"Yes?"

"Do you think... Do you think I'm dying?"

The earth giant turns to him, letting his elbow slip over the edge into the water, fingers still worrying the toy and frowns.

"I don't." he says.

"Why not?"

And Mountain pauses then, arm drooping further beneath the soapy water as he breathes.

Green meets amber, and in a voice so painfully small, he says...

"Because I don't want you to."

.

.

.

"It is possible that the last ritual had some delayed side effects." Papa says, wincing as he sees Dew practically clawing at his own neck, scratching at the long, angry looking marks already drawn there.

If he weren't so preoccupied itching, Dew would make some kind of witty remark, but his throat is sore, so he just glares at him, bemused.

"Then does that mean Dew is becoming a ghoul? Or is he... is he cursed somehow?" Aether asks, hopeful that it's the former not the latter.

"We suspect that Dew is undergoing the transition gradually, as opposed to all at once as the ritual was meant to do." Papa explains, "However... it's unclear which..."

He breathes in.

"It's unclear which element his body is shifting into..."

Aether tenses, "Elaborate."

"They tried turning me into water first." Dew says, cutting into the conversation, still dragging his nails down his neck, "Then fire. Twice."

"How come it didn't work the first time?" Aether wonders, grabbing Dew's hand to stop him from tearing at his skin anymore, "How is that even possible?"

"Well..." Papa clears his throat and sighs, "...we don't know. One theory that has been proposed is that Dewdrop already has a demonic attachment, which would explain why the previous rituals did not take... and, perhaps, that entity, the one preventing his transition, is finally tapping into the magic from the ritual."

"How would I..." Dew holds up his hand, "How the fuck could I have already been possessed and not know it?"

"I did not say possessed, I said you might have an attachment. It's not quite the same thing." Papa says, "But that's just one theory. I am more inclined to believe the second one, being that you may have had an ancestor who laid with a demonic entity at some point, meaning you were already technically a demon, and the rituals made it more... pronounced."

"...I personally do not wanna imagine being a monster fucker is a familial trait-"

"I mean that IS how the original ghouls were made..." Papa trails off, "But I digress."

"I don't think it's too much of a digression to imply that rawing demons may have lead to my current predicament... Maybe I caught something from the ghouls?" Dew mumbles, "Some kinda weird demon STD...?"

Aether frowns, "Dude."

"What? We all fuck around. A LOT. I'm just saying-"

Papa coughs into his hand.

"At any rate, we will look into the cause more thoroughly soon enough. Until then, monitor your symptoms and report any notable changes."

Dew pouts the entire way back to the dorms.

"That was completely fucking useless." he complains, scratching at his neck again, leaving the skin raw underneath his nails.

"Dew-" Aether starts, then tenses, "Dew, stop scratching, you'll make yourself bleed at this rate."

"It fucking itches." Dew grouses, then adds in a tired voice, "...It fucking hurts."

Aether furrows his brow, "It's only going to get worse if you keep that up. C'mon, let's get you back in the t-"

"I don't want to get back in the fucking tub, Aeth, I want to be able to actually get shit done, but I can't, because it feels like someone fried me and ran my skin through a cheese grater..." He hisses, itching the dry patches on his arms now, "I can't even fucking sleep-"

"You haven't been sleeping?"

Dew mumbles something under his breath.

"What?"

"I said of course I fucking haven't!" Dew cries, "I'm either shredding myself to pieces or trying not to drown, and any time I DO get the chance to lay down, my spine feels like someone is pulling it out my ass!"

"...You didn't mention the spine part when we had our check-up earlier." Aether says, "I told you to tell me if there was anything new! You-"

"I-" Dew gives a frustrated shout and stomps his feet, "I'M TIRED OF EVERYONE BEING UP IN MY BUSINESS, OKAY?!"

"D-"

"Every fucking day. Every fucking day! Someone is asking me, 'Hey, are you alright?' or 'How are you feeling?' and you know what?! I FEEL LIKE SHIT!" he digs his hands into his hair, "I feel like shit, Aether, and it's not getting any better."

"It's not getting any better..."

"Dew, it will. It will get better, it's just going to take time." Aether tries, reaching out to pull Dew into a hug, but as soon as his fingers brush the other man's sides, Dew flinches.

Hard.

"Fuck!"

Dew curls into himself.

"Dew?!" Aether startles, placing his hands on Dew's shoulders, "What's wrong?!"

"Don't touch me!"

.

.

.

So yeah.

Yeah.

Dew's getting worse.

A lot worse.

Every day seems to drag on and on and on.

And he doesn't sleep.

Just lays awake, too tired to even think of raking his fingers across his skin.

Mountain keeps the others updated, lets Aether in to check on him, but no one else really visits anymore, because every time anyone starts to speak, Dew snaps at them.

Physically.

He's taken to biting anyone who gets too close.

Even poor Rain, who had just been trying to ease his symptoms with a bit of his magic met the painful bite of blunt teeth.

"You should apologize." Swiss tells him late one night, sat beside his bed, he sounds like he's angry, or trying to be.

But more than that, he just sounds worried.

"When you're better, you have to-"

"Swiss..."

"Yes?" the multi ghoul asks, feeling hopeful.

That hope fades quickly as Dew rolls over to face him in the darkness, replaced with grief.

Dew's entire face is flaking like ash, like he's one breath away from being reduced to nothing but dust.

"...I'm sorry."

[avastyetwats]

Lost in the Woods (and in your eyes)

"Okay, Bonnet. You've got this. You can do this. It's right there. Right in front of you. Impossible to miss..." Though for Stede, he could make the impossible possible. Even after trying to psyche himself up so much, trying to build his self-confidence and prove to himself - and others - that he was capable. Capable of hunting, capable of killing, capable of taking care of himself. That's why he was out here, after all. Well, that and he wanted to see the world and everything it had to offer. He also wanted to become the most powerful Bards, unique in his own way, unlike any other! He just... needed some training because he lacked the skills he should have by now. Some of them, anyway... most of them. But he vowed to do just that and more.

And that included this. Hunting food for his traveling partner and him. His friend, Stede liked to think though he wasn't so sure James felt the same. He would, eventually. Stede was sure of that. He'd prove himself to him, as well, and gain his respect and friendship. And this delicious meal would certainly be a good start to that. Now he just... needed to release the arrow. Let it pierce the heart of his target and fall to the ground lifeless.

Gods, just that thought made him sick. It pained him. Devastated him. Something that would earn him ridicule and laughter back home, perhaps even from James himself. But that's just who he was. He cared so much about life other than his own. He loved animals, loved all creatures, or well... tried to anyway. He was fascinated by the different creatures and species of the world, even those his own kind didn't care for. But Stede was... different. Much to the disappointment of his father. He refused to kill in cold blood, he refused to hate something or someone simply because they were different. He just... had a large, sensitive heart, and the way he was treated because of it didn't change him. Even to this day, even kneeling here, hidden in the brush, with his arrow aimed at the gorgeous deer in the short distance...

"Steady... steady..." He tells himself, though his hands are far from it. They're shaky and sweaty, even more so as he pulls back on the string, that much closer to releasing it and... "I can't..." He sighs in defeat, loosening his grip on the bowstring and lowering the entire weapon, his sensitive heart winning out. He even makes a sound to startle the deer, to make it run away, ruining any chance he had at claiming victory. Though, admittedly, it wouldn't be a victory that would make him feel good. Quite the opposite, really.

So, after a moment, he stands with a heavy sigh and steps out of the brush, glancing around his surroundings. It feels so... peaceful here. He feels calm, content and... almost at home. Perhaps because he's free, seeing the world just as he always dreamed of doing, unraveling mysteries and discovering places and creatures he's read about. This forest he wondered, with how beautiful and serene it all was, could they be living here?

He continues forward and stumbles over a fallen branch on the ground, though thankfully remaining on his two feet only to walk head first into another branch extended from one of the many large trees. "OW." He cries out, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead as he continues on, only to jump in fear when he hears a sound nearby. He turns quickly, withdrawing one of his daggers - his bow secured on his back - and holding it out. "Who's there!?" He calls out, glancing every which way. "If you're planning a surprise attack, I assure you it isn't a surprise anymore! Now come out or face my wrath! For I will unleash, he-ELLLLLL." His next - and last - step forward triggers a trap hidden beneath the loose leaves and grass, expertly hidden. Then again, he wasn't exactly watching where he was going. A net comes up from the ground, trapping the bard within, and dangling him from one of the many large, strong trees. "Oh, come on, really!?" He groans in frustration, glancing around and debating whether he should call for him. Probably not. For he, now, was a perfect target.

"Ah, I've got just the thing! Playing a tune won't help me, but perhaps this!" He reaches for his dagger, only to realize... "Shit..." He looks down below him and there it was, lying within the grass and dirt. Teasing him. Taunting him. "This is just not my day." He frowns, leaning back against the rope trap, but not before bringing out his lute, starting out with some soft strumming while he thought of a plan. He hoped James was having better luck than him... @izzyeffinhands

[soraviie]

At some point in this new life of yours, you've slipped into a parallel dimension where everything looks like as you know it but doesn't act like it. Because how come you're walking side by side with the love of your life and the air is shrouded by a frigid silence. How come, out of all the people in the world, it is the wall-like bodyguard, Kwang-min, that is urging you to talk?

"Sir, perhaps you should listen _____________ out?" he suggests, trailing slightly behind as he escorts you both back to the car.

"If ___________ wants to say something, they can tell me so much themselves."

His answer by now is nothing short of expected but still you can't concel the flinch that comes hearing the sharpness of his tone. Naturally, receiving such a curt reply Kwang -min, the teddy bear of a man and your most favourite of all the Jimin's bodyguards turns to you, expectant. But...Jimin started it.

"Please, tell Mr Park that I have nothing to say to him. I'd find a spider infested wall crack a more pleasurable company than I do of him."

From the corner of the eye, you can see how unkindly Jimin's eyes glimmer underneath the neon-lit streets. His jaw is ticked and he stalks forward, clearly mad out of his mind. Admittedly, calling him with such distant title outside of bedroom activities was a low blow. Still, you've grown obstinate about this whole thing and every single interaction with this annoying, aggravating, extremely complicated man has been grating your nerves to a pulp.

"They said—"

"I heard," Jimin interrupts with an irate hiss. "Thank you, Kwang-min."

Even the well-meaning bodyguard gives up.

Nearing the SUV you weigh on your options. Spending another intensely silent ride with Jimin at the end of a tiresome night of pretending everything to be alright was exhausting already to think of, so when he grabs the handle of the door, you linger back, letting Kwang-min run into you.

"Are you alright?" he asks you concerned but you brush his anxiety away, easily faking a smile. You've been doing a lot of those.

"Just fine. I think I'll take the taxi instead."

Immediately, sweat makes fine beads on top of the poor man's forehead. You know as well as he while he's technically employed as Jimin's bodyguard, Jimin himself would personally chew off his head if anything should happen to you. Or at least he would have. Now...with a sad feeling washing over you, you fully realize that now you're not so certain anymore.

"That's not safe," his mouth makes a diplomatic suggestion while the eyes plead. You know that look.

Years back, in the right dimension if you will, he used to give you that look as you came bouncing back home from your "unsupervised dates with yourself" a.k.a. you broke Jimin's rules of not going out without a bodyguard. When the news broke of him dating, it was a massacre, not a literal one thankfully, and he'd been worried sick about you. You don't know what Jimin told Kwang-min that one time he'd caught you sneaking back home with a lollipop in between teeth and clearly with no bodyguard in sight but since then the kind-hearted giant had lived in sheer terror. Regardless that after marrying Jimin, the public had calmed down a bit, you were more than certain they would rejoice hearing that there were problems in the paradise. That there was a possibility of your husband not loving you anymore.

"I'll manage," you shrug, fiddling carelessly with the ends of your thin jacket. A bit cold for the night but it looked the best. Tonight the duty called and you had to hold your husband's hand and smile for the cameras. Some kind of movie premiere not that you gave a fuck. If only they knew you'd both go back home and head straight into your separate bedrooms, not exchanging a single word between here and there.

Needless to say, it'd been deathly quiet in your home.

"Please consider," poor Kwang-min looks close to tears but you really can't stand any more of this anger.

"No, I—"

"____________ get in the fucking car or help me God," Jimin suddenly growls, the decisive wrath in his tone cutting any and all debates you could have had. A moment passes where both of you simply glare at each other but in the end, begrudgingly but still, you relent.

As expected — silence.

Listlessly, you gaze out of the tinted window until a sneeze rips out of you.

"Bless you," comes your husband's quiet greeting and you nod in acknowledgment of it. Koreans didn't typically use "bless you" but you suppose after all these years of being together, something has rubbed off on him and as nothing follows this small interruption of the ongoing cold war, you disregard the small phrase being anything else other than force of habit he'd picked up from you.

You close the doors to your bedroom with a deeply miserable sigh, sensing an itch at the back of your throat. Just what you needed. When the tepid knock trembles your door, you're in the middle of trying to get the zipper open at your back and occupied by the task, you forget to tell him to fuck off.

"Come in."

Changed into his homewear, Jimin slides in, holding a steaming mug. Your favourite mug in fact. Though his expression remains impassive you can smell the concontion he's holding in his hand. Honey, ginger, lemon. A medicine for an oncoming cold.

Wordlessly, he sets it down onto the nearby desk.

"Thanks," you bid, suddenly meek.

"Do you need help with that?" he croaks, suspiciously raspy, pointing at where your fingers still try to reach for the damn zipper.

You nod and turn your back to him, every nerve in your body jolting with repeated flashes of anticipation. It was some new-age blouse your stylist had thrust onto you. The woman was nuts and you never met her outside those times where you had to make a public appearance but in this moment you praised her choice of clothing. Just the faintest of brushes of Jimin's fingers has you reeling, wholly grasping how isolating the dragged out fight had been for these past two weeks. You hear him suck in a breath as inch by inch your back is revealed. As if you hadn't fucked raw every other day.

"Done," he coughs awkwardly, taking a step back and you hold the shirt so that it doesn't slip away entirely.

"Thank you."

In the low light his eyes catalogue through a variety of emotions. It's so much to consider, too much and you see him swallow, gaze flickering unsurely all over your face. In the end he settles on simply wishing good night.

"Love you," he adds, in the still moment between where the door is open and shut, half-glacing at you over his shoulder.

yeah I kind of outsold with this one