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e1dritchjackal0pe · 6 months

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Stripped Bare (Severen x f!reader)

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."

#Severen x reader #severen van sickle #near dark #near dark x reader #vampire #slasher x reader #severen van sickle x reader

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tragantia · 3 months

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I've been thinking about the 2nd part to my 'Severen during your period' headcanons, aaand the gremlin man himself has taken possession of my mind and won't leave me alone until I write this. Will I succeed at purging Severen from my system? I don't think so.

Also, I know people normally post warnings and stuff, but Severen is his own warning imo.

Severen Van Sickle – NSFW headcanons

As a bi woman, I have the authoritas to say: yes, he´s a bi king. Big bi energy. Doesn´t actually care about what's what, if he likes it, he's gonna get it. Does it have a penis? Great. A vagina? Cute. Both? Fangggtastic. Count him in, darlin'.

That being said, he loves tits. Could spend hours biting, licking, sucking. Play with his too, he likes it and can cum just from that if you're good.

In the same line as Lestat during TVL, I do think in the past he would have found men to be more appealing than women, simply because he would have had more of a common ground with them, and would have found them more interesting. He would still have had sex with women and gone to brothels regularly. But a real emotional and sexual connection? It would have taken a really unusual lady to achieve that.

Which brings me to... Being from the Wild West, he most likely lost his virginity in a brothel, or at least with a prostitute. Unless you count those times when he was still on his early teens and he and another guy would play with each other, almost innocently, trying to see what's what and how it feels, but knowing very well they can't get caught.

He's got a nice dick, not massive but long and thick. Definitely knows how to use it. Has nice big balls too, loves it if you play with them, he himself will caress them if you're giving him head.

He's hairy, it's sexy, and he knows it. Doesn't wash himself much, he likes his natural smell, and likes to smell himself on his partners as a way of showing ownership. He prefers his partners soft and freshly shaved – may even shave you himself and then eat you out.

He knows what he's doing. He's a pro. Even before being turned, he was nothing but an hedonist, and pretty much lived to do risky shit, drink, gamble and fuck. He's easy to sleep with, but difficult to keep. He can fuck you so hard and good that you'll cry, both from pain and pleasure.

He has no shame. I can think of very few things he wouldn't do when it comes to sex, and even then he may try them once to see what it's like. Also he has like, 1000 kinks. I think if he likes you, everything has the potential of becoming a kink. Pretty feet? He's suddenly into feet.

Also really into dirty talking: if he's so crude on a regular basis, you can imagine the kind of filth that comes out of his mouth in the bedroom. Also LOUD.

BLOOD KINK. I don't think I need to explain. He loves to bite his partners, but this leads to them turning... so he is sure to kill all of them afterwards. The other ones have susprised him in more than one occasion naked and completely covered in blood after his last date got out of hand – again.

If he's turned you, this escalates to a whole new level. He's constantly biting you and drinking from you, even when you're not having sex. He loves it too much, and it makes him feel close to you. It's also a sign of ownership – no one else can bite you like he does. So, sadistic: pain is pleasure.

Also a masochist. If you drink from him, get ready for the most pornographic moan you've ever heard – he's gonna cum hard.

PERIOD KINK. Again, no comments needed, but how can he resist when he catches the sweet smell coming from your pussy? Smells like delicious Christmas dinner to him.

He's a dom through and through. He likes to chase, flirt and seduce, and once he's got you trapped between his body and the mattress (or in the nearest surface) he's gonna let you know who's calling the shots.

Saying this, he does have a very playful side, and you could easily seduce him into letting you do all sorts of naughty things to him. If it feels good and it's depraved, he's all for it.

He will be his asshole self and taint you, mock you and bully you through the entire thing though. It's part of his charm. If you manage to shut him up and make him a moaning mess, he would find it sooo hot.

Will fuck you everywhere and anywhere. If there's an itch to scratch, there's a way.

If you don't have a penis, he may let you use a strap on him. Plus points if he rides you making cowboy noises. You know he would make yeehaw noises during sex. C'mon. You ride him? Yee. He rides you? Haw. 100% would refer to himself as a bronco, and to his partner as a mare etc as if already seen in other fics.

He's very dominant, but I think he has the ability of being very silly during sex and still make it really fucking hot. He would make you laugh and two seconds later you're crying and screaming from how hard he's ruining you. The only time when he'll be completely serious is if he's hate-fucking you or marking territory. Also, spanking? Yes, please?

Why can I see him fucking with his sunglasses on?

Loves to eat you out: he eats pussy, dick and ass like a boss. It's not just how experienced he is, he genuinely likes it so much he's simply really good. The way he moves his mouth and tongue is absolutely sinful. 69? Say no more.

Adores it when you give him head. Easily his favourite thing alongside with drinking blood. He will let you get comfortable and then grab your head and face-fuck you. Will take his dick out and slap your face with it, then spit on you, calling you names and making you carry on. Please swallow his cum and kiss him, he loves to taste himself in your mouth.

Filthy. Loves cum swapping. Will make you squirt if you can, then cum inside you, then lick it all up as he eats you out, moaning like the sex crazed maniac that he is. Loves to cum all over you, and doesn't like it when you wipe it off.

A bit of a breeding kink, even if he's unable to get you pregnant. Loves to cum deep inside you and tell you how he's filling you up, how good your pussy or asshole is milking him, what a good girl/boy you are for him.

Won't. Leave you. Alone. Always trying to rile you up for another round. If he's not having sex, he's thinking about it most of the time (like that Buffy episode when she reads Xander's mind lol).

Unashamedly likes porn. He's mostly into dark BDSM material, the kind of thing that was hard to come across in the 80s. Still, if one day you're in a city with an adult cinema, he's dragging you in and you end up giving each other a handjob as you watch the film. He loves it if you're shy about it, he's gonna ruin that innocence.

Exhibitionist. He loves people to see him having sex. He's good and he's hot, he likes to put on a good show. He would also like to take pictures and make short films with you if you're up for it. He once took a video of his partner jerking him off from behind until he came all over his chest and balls, he genuinely thinks it's the hottest thing ever and would soooo post it online if he could.

I think he had a threesome with the pick-up truck ladies before killing them. So yeah, into threesomes and orgies, and will love giving orders to his partners and having them horny for him, answering to whatever he wants them to do. It's all about the power dynamics. Very territorial with his partner if he has one, though. Won't like anyone else to touch them.

But, nothing beats the blood. Vampires are of course sexual creatures, but Severen legit gets hard every single time he feeds.

Loves to watch you being aggressive and brutal. If he watches you feed, get ready because he's gonna show you just how much he's enjoyed the show.

Very touchy and cuddly. If there is an emotional connection, he will pull you to his chest and cuddle you as he smokes until you fall asleep. Can get very soft after sex, but ooonly if he has a partner. If that's not the case, it's feeding time.

He's basically terrible and so much fun. Would be the best sex in your life – if you survive, of course.

I need Holy Water after this. Was this too long? It probably was too long. Now I'm gonna go and cry myself to sleep because I can't have him in this life 😌

#severen #near dark #severen van sickle #near dark 1987 #bill paxton #severen x reader #severen van sickle x reader #severen headcanons #severen near dark #slashers #vampire

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adalwolfgang · 10 months

Note

Howdy! I was wondering if I may request some Yandere Severen content, pleaseeeee ? Two seem to go kinda hand-in-hand, haha. Cheers, friend!

I am so sorry it took me this long to post this, I've been busy with personal life and hadn't had a chance to sit down and write. I know this is short, which is why I will most likely create a part two, so feel free to message me if you have any ideas on what I should add.

Yandere Severen Van Sickle

Summary: Severen is a manipulative type of yandere and has no problem playing the long game, making sure that you can't ever get rid of him.

Characters: Severen, Diamondback, Jesse Hooker, Homer, Mae, Caleb Colton.

(Future) Warnings: Blood/Gore/swearing/violence, Manipulation, Dubcon, Stalking, Ooc for Severen?, Reader smokes, not proofread

Credit to @cafekitsune for the banner(s)!

Severen and his family saunter into the bar, all taking seats at a booth close to the exit. Severen looked around the bar before his eyes landed on you. Playing pool with some other patrons in the bar. Your scent hitting him like a truck. Immediately, he didn't want you to be a part of the menu. He wanted you alive, and most certainty didn't want you to witness the horrors and blood bath could commence, Severen sauntered over to you. The jingle of his spurs echoing through the bar with each step he took. He grabs ahold of your arm, leaning to whisper in your ear.

"If I were you darlin', I'd get outta' here as fast as yer legs can take ya."

You give a look of puzzlement, staring between him and the patrons you were playing with. At first you thought the stranger was just messing around but the stern look on his face said otherwise. Different scenarios ran through your mind on why he wanted you to leave but you didn't want to take any chances and quickly left the bar.

After Severen and his family had their fill, he quickly exited the bar, sniffing out your scent which didn't take him long. Jesse shouted after him when he took off in the direction of your scent. Still covered head to toe in blood, his clothes stained. His eyes scanned around every direction, desperate to see your face again.

He raced by an alleyway before halting in his tracks and walking backwards to the opening of the alley. There you were, pressing your back against the wall, smoking a cigarette. He smirks to himself, ducking down behind a nearby dumpster before peering over it to watch you. If it wasn't for the fact he was covered in dried blood, he would've loved nothing more than to trot right up to you and introduce himself. He would have to figure out where you were staying and come back later once properly dressed. For now, watching you from afar would have to do. After getting a few more puffs from your cigarette, you toss it to the ground before stomping on it with your shoe, placing your hand in your pockets and walking out of the alleyway.

Severen followed you all the way back to your apartment, keeping himself hidden in the shadows. His eyes trained on you like the apex predator he is. He was closer to you now. If he stopped himself from holding back, he would have been able to reach out and touch you. Your scent and proximity were driving him crazy as you kept walking, oblivious to the danger that walked behind you. All the more reason Severen had to have you. You weren't safe out here alone, and who all to protect you other than him?

When you started making your way inside an apartment building, Severen halted in his tracks. He nipped the inside of his cheek, looking toward the rising sun then back at the building you just walked into. His brow knitted together as he finally decided that he would come back the next time the sun fell. He will take you with him to meet his family and live on the road with them. In time you would learn their ways and adapt. Then, he would turn you. Even if you didn't want to be a vampire, he wouldn't take no for an answer. He had all eternity, so patience was fine by him.

In the end, you would be his forever. No matter what.

#severen van sickle #severen van sickle x reader #severen x reader #severen #bill paxton #near dark #horror movies #slashers x reader #slasher community #slasher x reader

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venus-haze · 1 year

Text

Beast of Burden (Severen x Reader)

Summary: Your plans for a girls’ night out with Diamondback and Mae get derailed pretty quickly once Severen gets involved. Luckily enough, you and your mate both have the same idea of what constitutes a good time and make your mark in the small town that your little bloodsucking family’s settled into for the night.

Note: This takes place before the events of the movie. Reader is a woman, but no other descriptors are used. I’ve never written for Severen before, but I figured I’d at least try. This was fun and self-indulgent as hell, but I hope some people like it. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 5.9k

Warnings: Descriptions of death, murder, excessive violence, and blood. Brief allusions to sexual content but nothing overtly explicit. If you’ve seen Near Dark you know what you and Severen are gonna get up to, and you, as the reader, are not a “good” person in this. Do not interact if you are under 18.

The dingy motel bathroom wasn’t the ideal spot to do your makeup. It didn’t help that the lighting was horrible, thanks in part to your mate hanging over your shoulder, trying to talk you out of going on the girls’ night out you’d been planning with Mae and Diamondback all week. For an apex predator, Severen was clingy as hell.

He had squeezed into the bathroom behind you when you walked in with your small bag of drugstore makeup. Constantly being on the move with few belongings to your name meant you’d be damned if you didn’t get the most out of what you had. Your tube of lipstick was nearing the end of its lifespan, which meant you’d have to drag him out with you to grab another one soon. As you applied the color to your lips, you kept your focus on your reflection rather than him.

Severen was the love of your—you supposed you couldn’t exactly say life, but you couldn’t imagine doing eternity with anyone but him. Human marriages deteriorated after ten, twenty years, while you and Severen were going strong after decades together. Of course, you’d never officially gotten married. Though, the way his face lit up the first time you referred to him as your husband was enough to confirm he considered the same for you.

Still, the two of you had never spent more than a few days apart, the longest stint being a whole four days not long after he turned you. To him, those days felt like years, and hours apart may as well have been weeks. Regardless, the prospect of you spending one night at a bar with Diamondback and Mae was enough to put him in a sour mood.

“C’mon, baby, we can have a whole lot more fun together right here,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Don’t have to go nowhere.”

“It’s one night, Severen. Can I just have this?”

“Want away from me that bad?”

You glared at him through the mirror. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Doin’ what? Baby, c’mon,” he whined.

“You’re not guilting me into staying back again.”

“What if somethin’ happens?”

“You know damn well I can handle myself,” you said, before mumbling, “I swear you sound like my father sometimes.”

He growled, his teeth grazing your neck as he smacked your ass. “More like your daddy.”

That was almost enough to get you to hang back, again. You had a point to prove, though. He couldn’t always dirty talk his way into getting what he wanted. Not to mention, Diamondback and Mae deserved better than a flaky friend. Your lack of response to his antics seemed to send the message.

“Fine,” he huffed, releasing you from his grasp. “Leave me here by my lonesome.”

He was pouting as he sat down on the toilet lid, looking woefully dejected. You couldn’t believe there was a time when you were scared of him. Severen was undoubtedly rough around the edges, but it didn’t take long to realize that he had an unprecedented soft spot for you and loved having your undivided attention. He’d been that way ever since he turned you.

You could remember it so vividly despite over forty years that had passed. A frigid winter evening in 1942, a few weeks after you’d gotten the telegram that shattered your heart in a million pieces. Your fiance had died fighting overseas, blown to pieces with nothing to send home for you to grieve over. The man who you loved and were planning on building a life with was gone. Hopeless and broken, you went on a self-destructive rampage, stealing and fighting your way through the Southwest until your path crossed with Severen’s in a dusty little town in the Arizona desert. He impulsively turned you after your confrontation, sinking his teeth into your throat and dragging you back to the motel he and the rest of the Hooker clan were staying in. They weren’t enthused upon your arrival.

Coming around to him felt like moving a mountain. He terrified you—unapologetically brash, horrifically violent, gleefully sadistic—hell, he wore razor-sharp spurs on his boots for the express purpose of slashing up people’s skin. He had been pleased with how quickly you made your first kill, but didn’t take into account how long the guilt would stay with you. Your reluctance to fully give in to the freedom of the night frustrated him. On the other hand, part of you resented him for not killing you, as you wished to be as dead as your former fiance. You didn’t come to accept what you were, what he was, until you realized that when Severen ripped you from your mundane human life, he gave you a gift you’d guard with your life in the shadows. He was someone you could love without fear of losing.

“Listen, it’ll only be a few hours,” you said, caressing his cheek. “Then when I get back you can have me all to yourself.”

“I don’t think you’re goin’ anywhere,” he said, grabbing your wrist and pulling you onto his lap.

You laughed. “Babe, c’mon! I’ve bailed so many times, Diamond’s gonna come in here and drag me out herself.”

“Damn right I am!” Diamondback yelled, her voice muffled through the door.

You bit back a smile as you ran a hand through Severen’s shaggy hair. “One night without my undivided attention won’t kill you.”

“No, but I ain’t gonna like it.”

“Poor baby,” you cooed.

He glared at you, a petulant child releasing you from his grasp. “Go on, then.”

After double-checking your look in the mirror, you blew him a kiss, which he didn’t find as amusing as you’d hoped. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your makeup bag and opened the bathroom door.

Diamondback smiled when you walked out and threw the bag onto the empty couch. “Shit, I was ‘bout to call in a hostage situation.”

“To who? You could’ve kicked in the door yourself,” you said, before turning to Mae, who was waiting near the TV in the corner of the room. “I’m sorry for the holdup, Mae.”

“It’s alright, Y/N. You look real nice,” Mae said, offering you a kind smile.

You liked her a lot, even though the circumstances she was turned under resulted in nothing less than a shitshow for a few weeks. You helped Mae how you could, even though she was technically Homer’s responsibility since he turned her. Though it’d been a long time, you remembered how difficult it could be to adjust to the life. That’d been nearly three years earlier, and she fit right in with your rag-tag family. It was especially nice for you and Diamondback to no longer be outnumbered by guys.

The three of you bid goodbye to Jesse and Homer, who were playing blackjack at the small table in the motel room. Severen slinked out of the bathroom, his gaze sullen and stormy as he leaned against the doorframe, staring at you. Homer making obnoxious kissy noises at your mate while you left the motel room certainly didn’t help things, as you could hear a crash and Jesse shouting for them to cut it out as soon as the door closed.

Diamondback cackled as she walked over to the car Jesse had requisitioned somewhere in Alabama, and Mae did a terrible job of stifling her giggles. You took it in stride, having accepted Severen’s possessiveness as a consequence of being with him. He’d been a creature of the night for nearly forty years when he turned you, a little over a decade after Jesse had turned Diamondback. Of course, Severen made you one of them mostly on impulse, but that didn’t matter to him. As far as he was concerned, the second he sank his teeth into your skin, you were his, and that was the end of it.

In the forty years since Severen turned you, the two of you rarely spent time apart. His Wild West bravado thrived on an audience, you in particular. So much of your hesitation on hunting went away with Severen’s encouragement and enthusiasm. You felt better about killing when you saw it as a game, as entertainment, rather than for baseline survival. The clan was your family, you were glad to spend eternity wreaking havoc across the country with them, but hunting with Severen made you feel as close to being alive as you could be.

That didn’t mean you didn’t mind a break from the testosterone every once in a while. You learned a lot from Diamondback after you were turned, and sometimes tearing men’s hearts from their chests was all the more fun when it was a girl thing.

Normally, the M.O. for dingy bars was to cause trouble, kill the patrons, and burn the place down. However, the three of you agreed on having a less eventful night and maybe pick off one person each. The rundown dive was the type of place that didn’t bother carding patrons. None of you really had documentation like that, there was no point. Things were just easier if none of you officially existed.

You still had your original driver’s license which had long since expired in 1946. Sometimes, looking at your birth date printed on it made your head spin. Everyone you’d known back then would be in their sixties or seventies, covered in wrinkles and gray hair, their bodies deteriorating on them, but not you. Never you. You couldn’t believe it when Severen had first told you his age, an outlaw from the Wild West days you’d only seen imitated on the silver screen. He was the real deal, a cowboy in the flesh.

Once you, Diamondback, and Mae got your cheap beers, you made yourselves comfortable in a booth tucked away in the corner. No one bothered you, thankfully, and the three of you talked amongst yourselves as you pretended to drink. You tried not to cringe over the bad country songs that were playing. Couldn’t the place at least afford a jukebox with good music on it?

“These dumps are the same in every boonie we stop in, huh?” Diamondback observed.

“We should go back to Vegas,” you said. “It’s been long enough.”

“Fifteen years, guess the cops figure we’re all dead or in Mexico by now.”

“What happened in Vegas?” Mae asked.

Diamondback scoffed. “Besides this one and Severen going through half a dozen chorus girls in one night?”

“I seem to remember you and Jesse holding up a casino or two. Not to mention what Homer did to that one clown at Circus Circus.”

“What a mess,” she laughed. “That was a whole lot of fun, though. You like slots, Mae? Or are you more of a roulette girl?”

She shrugged. “Never gambled like that before, so I wouldn’t know.”

“All the more reason to go back,” you said.

“I doubt Jesse’ll go for it. That place is like Disneyland nowadays,” Diamondback said.

She had a point. From what you’d seen on TV or heard in other people’s conversations, Vegas had been somewhat sanitized since you all were last there. The first time you overhead a couple consider a family trip there, you nearly fell over. Was nothing sacred? A shame, really–it’d been almost boringly easy to feed there, people too absorbed in their own debauches to pay any mind to your family of bloodsuckers until you all terrorized half the casinos and resorts in the city in a matter of days.

Sure, it was fun to shake up small towns, become the thing that went bump in the night and rattled their feelings of safety, but you appreciated the anonymity cities lent. Still, you never went against Jesse’s plans, which tended more toward places with populations in the mere hundreds. He’d gotten everyone this far without much trouble from the cops over the decades. You weren’t one to fix something that wasn’t broken.

You were half paying attention to the direction the conversation had moved to when Diamondback pulled you from your thoughts by asking, “Y’all spot anyone interestin’ in here?”

“I think I do,” Mae said, her eyes landing on a handsome, boy-next-door type wearing a cowboy hat that looked a little too big for his head.

“You’re gonna break Mr. Wonderbread’s heart like that, Mae?”

“How about you Diamond,” you said, “since you’re asking?”

She shrugged. “I figure I’ll pick off one ‘a them guys playin’ pool.” Diamondback’s gaze lifted, and a smirk spread across her lips. “I think I found your man right here, Y/N.”

Before you could turn to look, your mate stood in front of the booth, a wicked grin spread across his face.

“Well, now if this ain’t the prettiest group ‘a ladies I ever laid eyes on.”

Mae and Diamondback laughed as Severen slid in the seat next to you. You did your best to ignore him, taking a sip of your shitty beer and trying not to gag. How did you drink that garbage as a human? It made sense he’d pull something like this, but you couldn’t find it in you to be mad. The faint scent of copper tickled your nose, of course he’d fed before he decided to crash the party, hopped up on the thrill of the kill.

He put his arm around you, giving you a once over. “I know a woman like you can’t be single.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m spoken for,” you answered cooly, playing along.

“Must be some guy to land you.”

“He’s alright,” you said with a shrug, earning a snicker from Diamondback.

Severen raised his eyebrows, amused by your answer as he leaned closer. “Just alright? That won’t do, will it?”

“Should we leave you two alone?” Mae asked through giggles.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“C’mon, Mae. There’s another table around,” Diamondback said. “Let’s leave the lovebirds to it.”

“How thoughtful,” you said, glaring at her.

She smiled. “I’ll let Jesse know to expect y’all back tomorrow.”

You watched as she and Mae walked off, glad they appeared to be okay with Severen’s intrusion. Even though your plans for the night were thrown off track, the two of you always managed to come up with your own fun in a pinch.

Severen grunted as he cased the place. “Y’know, this don’t look like the worst spot to grab a bite.”

You studied him for a moment before giving him a grin to rival his own. “I can think of a better place.”

“Where?”

“Get us a car and I’ll show you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes, ma’am.”

As the two of you left the bar, you could see Mae starting in on her cowboy, and Diamondback getting comfortable with the bikers playing pool. Poor bastards had no idea what was coming.

Some of Severen’s messier and crueler hunting methods had rubbed off on you over the years. When you would hunt on your own, on nights like this where you already planned to, you had a penchant for picking linebacker types, men who wouldn’t suspect a thing when you’d approach them with some line to get them alone. Seeing the fear in their eyes in the split second before you killed them was almost as satisfying as the warm blood filling your mouth. Almost.

“So, what is this great idea of yours anyway?” Severen asked as he walked you up to a car that was definitely not his. From the looks of the blood stains on the driver’s seat, the owner wouldn’t miss it.

“There’s another motel about fifteen miles up the way. I say we find a nice couple to graciously give their room up to us, we have our fun, and then off we go to meet up with Jesse tomorrow night,” you said.

He licked his lips as he shifted his focus from the steering wheel to you. “You sure know what to say to get a fella goin’.”

As the car raced down the highway, endless fields dotted with hand-made signs passed by just as quickly. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, especially in the small towns that dotted the Bible Belt. Wooden signs that had previously been raised to warn of impending damnation in the absence of Christ’s salvation had deteriorated over the years, rapture and end times nowhere to be seen. If only the Bible thumpers knew they had something far more real to fear than hell.

Just as you’d said, there was a neon yellow glow of a motel sign in the distance. The bright sign announced that the Wildwood Motel had color TV and air conditioning, but no vacancies, not that it’d be a problem for you and Severen. When you pointed it out to him, he began slowing down the car, pulling up close enough to the place where you could see who was hanging around the parking lot.

Despite his turning the headlights off, you could see everything clearly, you always could at night. The two of you considered your options, after all, with no vacancies, there were so many people to choose from. Your eyes shot over to a couple who appeared to be in their late-20s or early-30s, a hulking man accompanied by a gangly-limbed woman. The two were smoking outside of their motel room, clearly enjoying the cool night air as neither seemed in a rush to get back inside.

“Them,” you said, pointing to the couple.

“How’re we gonna do this?”

You pursed your lips, pondering your answer for a moment. “The jumper cable thing always works.”

He nodded in agreement, excitedly drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “I love the jumper cable thing.”

More often than not, the two of you would prey on unsuspecting couples, posing as broke and earnest young newlyweds. Your engagement ring from your human life made the act all the more convincing as you never bothered cleaning it, giving the broke, scrappy, and hopeful routine that drew in more suckers than you could count. As far as you were concerned, that was the closest to ethical you and Severen would get. At least they’d die together, one wouldn't be burdened with the heartbreak of losing the other. You were doing them a favor, hunting the way you did.

“I’ll let ya out here. Stall a little bit while I drive up the road,” Severen said. “Won’t go too far.”

“Alright, see you in a few minutes.”

“I’m raisin’ Cain if I don’t.”

You got out of the car, waiting a few moments after he drove away. Most people never noticed which direction you walked up from, but your own peculiarity made it so you were conscious of it, walking up to the motel in the opposite direction Severen had driven, so it’d look like you were coming from wherever he parked the car.

The couple was still standing outside their motel room. You arrived just in time, as the woman threw her cigarette on the ground and looked like she was about to head inside. It wouldn’t have messed things up too much if you had to go with someone else, it’d just be unnecessary time spent, especially when you weren’t exactly sure how close daylight was.

“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother y’all,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows and frowning a bit so you’d appear meek and slightly embarrassed, “but my husband’s back at the car, and we could really use a jump. I’d rather not have to call a tow truck this late—”

“‘Course we can,” the woman offered. “Right, Tate?”

The man at her side nodded. “Sure, don’t see why not. How far’s the car?”

“A little less than a mile up the road. My husband’s still tinkering with it.”

“I got the cables in the back. We’ll give ya a ride over there,” Tate said.

“Thank you so much. I’m Y/N, by the way,” you said.

The woman smiled. “I’m Julie, this here’s my husband Tate.”

“Where’re y’all headed to?” Tate asked.

“Got tickets to a Rolling Stones concert in Nashville,” you said. “My husband’s a big fan.”

An easy enough lie, you and Severen had gone to one of their shows not long after Let It Bleed came out. Of course, the next decade or so resulted in Severen doing terrible Mick Jagger impersonations whenever he really wanted to annoy Homer, who’d throw something at his head to get him to shut up. You didn’t think his rendition of Honky Tonk Women was all that bad.

“Us too! Got one of their tapes in the truck,” Julie said.

You chatted with them, friendly enough, on the short walk to their truck. Julie wasted no time in switching out whatever cassette was in the player for the Stones one she’d mentioned. The tape started up a few seconds into a live version of ‘Sympathy for the Devil.’ At least they had good taste.

On the drive over to where Severen had parked the car, you found that your good samaritans were in town for a few days to visit Julie’s sick grandmother. Julie teared up when she explained how the woman who had practically raised her and was now on her deathbed. You almost snickered to yourself, so are you, lady. At least you and Severen wouldn’t have to worry about getting kicked out of their room in the morning. It’d only happened once before in the late ‘40s, and the situation was messy, to say the least.

“Severen, this is Tate and Julie, they’re gonna give us a jump,” you said, making your way to his side. “This is my husband, Severen.”

“Y’all sure are some stand-up folks givin’ me and my pumpkin here a hand,” Severen said, pressing a wet, obnoxious kiss to your cheek.

You chewed the inside of your cheek at the pet name. He always went overboard with those in situations like this, mocking humans’ shallow sentimentality. Rich coming from a man who called you ‘baby’ so much he probably didn’t remember your real name. You’d let it slide, seeing how much he enjoyed putting on the act.

“Hey, I wouldn’t wanna miss a Stones concert either,” Julie said.

You shrugged. “I doubt this clunker will make it to Nashville.”

“Wouldn’t wanna take a chance hitch-hikin’, you don’t know what kinda sickos are out there,” Severen said.

“What’s that on the driver’s seat?” Tate asked, catching a glimpse of the rust-colored splotches in the upholstery of the stolen car.

“Don’t worry about it, ‘s not mine anyways,” Severen said. “So, where are y’all from?”

“Texarkana,” Julie answered.

“Long way from here.”

“Julie’s meemaw is sick,” you explained. “They’re in town visiting her.”

“Not meemaw,” Severen mocked, almost pulling a laugh from you. “Must be one hell of a truck to get y’all from shithole A to shithole B.”

“Look buddy, do you want a jump or not?” Tate asked, frustration evident in his voice.

Severen ignored him, taking a look at the truck himself. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep your composure as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started looking in the glove box and console like he owned the damn thing. Tate and Julie watched Severen in shock, the man either too furious or too confused to pull your mate from the truck.

He grabbed the cassette tape from the player, hopping out of the truck. “Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out. Shit, ya got a lotta good ones on here, Jumpin’ Jack Flash, Stray Cat Blues, Honky Tonk Women—I do a great Honky Tonk Women once I get a few beers in, don’t I, honey pie?”

“Jesus Christ, you try to do a nice thing—forget it, Jules. Let’s head back,” Tate said.

“See, that’s the thing. We’re heading back,” you said. “You’re not.”

“What?” Julie asked, the look of betrayal on her face sending a jolt through you. And here you thought you and Severen were rusty.

“Your mama never told you not to talk to strangers?” Severen said, throwing his arm around the large man’s shoulders, keeping him in a death grip—as if he could run, not when you grabbed Julie by the hair and sunk your teeth into her neck. She didn’t scream or struggle, a relief, as you weren’t trying to draw that much attention to yourself out in the middle of nowhere.

“Lotta sickos out there,” you laughed, baring your bloodstained teeth as Julie’s limp body fell to the ground.

Severen cackled. “You look like you’re ‘bout to piss yourself, partner.”

Tate slowly looked from you to Severen, whose razor blade grin shone deadly in the silver light of the moon. Tate paled as he could see his fate reflected in them. His legs shook before he collapsed to the ground.

“Aw, honeybee, I think you scared ‘im,” Severen observed, sadistic glee in his voice. He pressed his boot against Tate’s face, leaning down to taunt the man. “My baby wouldn’t hurt a fly. A shitlicker like you, on the other hand, jury’s still out.”

Before Tate could open his mouth to beg for his life, Severen kicked his sharpened spurs across his throat, sloppily at first, just for the hell of it, but then finally with precision to put the man out of his misery and slice his jugular.

You watched with a smile on your face as Severen fed from him. Just as quickly, he lifted his head, blood smeared across his mouth. He gave you a toothy smile, holding up the motel room key he had grabbed from Tate. The howling cheer he let out rang through your ears.

Neither of you bothered covering your tracks much. Most of the time the bodies wouldn’t be discovered for a day or two, giving you plenty of time to get across state lines, ditch the car, and spend some time elsewhere before cycling back. On the drive back to the motel, you wondered where Jesse would bring you all next. He tended to stick with the Southeast, Midwest, and Southwest, but ever since you brought up Vegas to Diamondback earlier that night, you were itching to go to a bigger city.

“Remember Vegas?” you asked as Severen pulled into the parking spot in front of your shiny new motel room. You knew it’d be neither of those things.

“We should go back,” he said. “Been long enough, right?”

You nodded in agreement, glad he had the same thought as you. “Way too long.”

The room was typical for a cheap roadside motel—TV that probably didn’t work, clock radio on the wooden nightstand, outdated decor that fit the place’s hokey theme. Being unable to get sick, never having to worry about any virus or infection came with its perks. While you preferred things to appear clean, you never had to worry about catching anything from a ratty looking bed or a run down bathroom.

Taking a look at the clock, you figured there was about two hours until the sun came up. You went ahead and grabbed the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign that was sitting on the nightstand next to what you assumed was Julie’s makeup bag. After putting the sign in the window, you dug through her makeup bag. Mostly used up drugstore products, but you lucked out with a tube of lipstick that looked new. The color wasn’t half bad either, so you figured there wasn’t any harm in taking it.

When you looked up, Severen had made himself comfortable on the worn-out armchair in the corner of the room. Smiling, you walked over and sat on his lap, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Ain’t this better than some girls’ night out?” he asked, his voice low and husky as he reached down and squeezed your thighs.

“‘Course it is,” you said. “I just thought I’d give you a break from the ol’ ball and chain.”

He tensed beneath you, his grip on your thigh tightening. “You know I don’t wanna hear you sayin’ that shit.”

“I know. It’s just,” you sighed, “humans get tired of each other so fast, and they don’t spend every moment together like we do.”

He sneered at your mention of humans. “We’re better than them. Why’d you even worry ‘bout that?”

“You know why,” you whispered. “I love you so much. I’d walk right into the daylight if you ever left me.”

“That ain’t never gonna happen. You got that?” he said, his voice heavy with conviction. “Maybe I gotta remind you how much I love you.”

You smiled, craning your head back to provide access to your neck. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

He wasn’t one for much foreplay when it came to you, especially not when you offered. You bit hard on your lip as you could feel him break the tender skin of your neck, feeling nothing but his hands squeezing your hips and fresh blood dripping down your neck. Throwing your head back, exposing more of your flesh, your mind hazed, and you briefly wondered how he could still be so insatiable after feeding on two humans already.

You weren’t sure when exactly you’d blacked out, but you could vaguely remember the pink sunlight as it began to invade the room through the curtains. Sometimes you did miss it.

“C’mon, baby, we gotta get goin’. Jesse said to meet ‘im and ditch the car,” Severen said, shaking you awake.

“Alright,” you mumbled, getting up from the bed and shuffling into the bathroom to fix your hair.

Your reflection certainly didn’t surprise you, the big, mean-looking wound on your neck evidence of all of the attention Severen had given you. It was more than enough for everyone to give you shit for a few days when you met back up with them. You clenched your jaw. Fucker did it on purpose.

“Babe, what the fuck?” you shouted from the bathroom.

“What?”

“My neck! Christ, you would’ve thought you didn’t feed last night.”

He snickered, pleased with his work. “Can’t say I’m all bark and no bite.”

“Yeah, ‘cause now you’re in the dog house,” you said, glaring as you leaned against the counter. “Where’re we meeting everyone anyway?”

“Up the road some. It’s near a gas station,” he responded.

Not having much to pack up in the first place, it didn’t take long for you to leave the motel room after that.

The parking lot was emptier than the night before, and the Wildwood Motel’s neon sign read ‘Vacancy.’ You smiled to yourself, it seemed like a lot of people had checked out. Severen threw the room key in a nearby garbage can. The front desk would have a spare, but by the time they actually checked the room, they’d be hard-pressed to get the bloodstains out from the furniture and linens.

The drive to meet up with the rest of the family was short and uneventful. Since you assumed everyone had fed the night before, you hoped that you’d be heading into the next state with no interruptions. You never felt particularly attached to any place since being turned, you supposed it came with the nomadic lifestyle. It was odd to spend more than a week somewhere.

In the distance, you could see Jesse, Diamondback, and Homer outside of a camper, but Mae wasn’t with them. You rubbed your neck as Severen drove up, knowing that’d be all they’d notice as soon as they saw you. Less than a minute later, when you got out of the car, you were proven right.

“We were about to leave without ya,” Jesse said, though his expression shifted when he looked from Severen to you. “Jesus, girl, you look like your head almost got gnawed off from your body.”

Diamondback laughed. “Might have to start callin’ ya Marie Antoinette.”

Homer shook his head, his lip curled in disgust. “Y’all have no shame.”

You didn’t have to look at Severen to know he had a shit-eating grin on his face. “She loved every second of it. Didn’t ya, baby?”

“Dog house,” you said, pushing past your amused family members to get into the camper.

Pulling the lipstick you grabbed the previous night from your pocket, you looked around for your makeup bag, which was nowhere in sight among the clan’s few personal belongings. Being on the move meant traveling light and only keeping what you really needed, but having a makeup bag was one of the few holdovers from your human life.

“Has anyone seen my—“ you groaned upon remembering that you’d thrown it on the couch in the old motel room.

“I grabbed it for ya,” Mae said suddenly, startling you a bit. She opened one of the cabinets in the camper’s laughably small kitchen area.

You smiled, grabbing it from the hiding spot and putting the new lipstick in. “You’re the best, Mae.”

The two of you sat toward the back of the camper, though you could hear Severen and Jesse from outside. It’d be a few more minutes before everyone else came in, as you knew they were busy burning the cars you’d taken to get there. Starting fires was something they’d done long before you were turned, and it certainly wasn’t something they planned to stop doing. You just wished the smell of burning rubber and gasoline wasn’t so disgusting.

When you shifted your focus to Mae, she was staring at your neck. To your surprise, she didn’t start in on you like everyone else had.

“Does it hurt any?” she asked.

“No,” you said, considering your next thought, “with him, it’s like sex.”

“Intimate.”

“Yeah. He’s got better self-control than he used to, believe it or not.”

“Or not.”

“I’m sorry last night didn’t work out like we planned.”

“‘S’alright, Y/N,” she said, before dropping her voice to a whisper. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

You nodded. “‘Course.”

“How do you know if someone’s your mate?”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s even a real thing, technically. Just a word we use,” you explained. “I mean, I thought Severen was handsome when I saw him, but it wasn’t like some bolt of lightning.”

“So I can choose him?”

“Mae, turning someone ain’t something to take lightly. You know that,” you hissed lowly.

“I don’t mean now,” she responded, her voice so soft you could hardly hear her. “You know, in the future. I want what you and Severen have, or Diamondback and Jesse.”

“I can’t stop you from doing anything, but if you do, you gotta own it. All of it.”

“I will. I promise.”

“I’m keeping this between us, okay?” you said, against your better judgment.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You shook your head, folding your arms against your chest. “Don’t mention it, Mae. I mean it.”

She nodded, staring at you for an uncomfortable moment before looking off into space. You hoped her mind wouldn’t wander too much, so that your mild encouragement wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass too soon. Were you ever that lucky?

You tried not to let on that Mae had sprung something so significant on you when you heard everyone else making their way inside. Diamondback rode shotgun with Jesse, while Homer squeezed between you and Mae. Rolling your eyes, you got up, joining Severen on the floor. You laid next to him, your head on his chest.

“I nearly forgot. Grabbed this for ya last night,” he said, reaching into one of his pockets and pulling out a cassette.

You couldn’t help but smile when he handed you the blood-stained tape of ‘Get Yer Ya-Ya’s Out’. Kissing his cheek, you sighed contentedly. Okay, maybe you couldn’t exactly blame Mae for wanting this.

#severen x reader #severen van sickle x reader #near dark #slasher x reader #slasher fandom #slasher community

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trash-gobby · 1 year

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Hello, love!

I was wondering if I could request some HCs for Severen and how he would be with a mate that is a pinup & girly and how he’d be around them and maybe what the Hooker clan would be like towards them as well? Thanks so much 🖤

Severen With a Pinup Girl Reader Headcanons

Pairing(s): Severen Van Sickle X PinupGirl!Reader

Characters: Severen Van Sickle, Reader, Jesse Hooker, Homer, Mae, Diamondback, Caleb Colton

Link: Near Dark

⚠️ Warnings!: I do bash Jesse Hooker for being the grumpy old confederate he is

______________________________________________________________

✨Severen wasn't really sure about his S/O at first. Warming up to anyone is a little hard for him, and your overly girly peppy demeanor.

✨What really drew him to you was your dedication to your aesthetic choices. Your love for the Pinup Style and culture, not giving a crap if people would judge you on the street, or men giving you lecherous looks.

✨Pinup culture of old was very much about exoticizing and sexualizing women for the pleasure of soldiers at war. That was Severen's only impression of the culture and his first impression of you.

✨You convince and show him however how the modern movement of pinup culture is about sex-positive empowerment. Your style is a part of expressing your sexual nature and making it your own. Not just for the male gaze.

✨The way you are willing to passionately and staunchly defend your choices in the face of the often grumpy, judgmental and toxically masculine Jesse is another thing which attracted Sev to you.

✨Severen has always been a rebel who enjoys defying authority. Seeing your bravery and willingness to go to bat for your sub-culture is something he finds super attractive.

✨Your obsession with tight high waisted pants, spending your time perfecting the victory roll hairstyle, and applying a balanced red lip was another big turn-on for Severen. He isn't a perfectionist when it comes to style in the same way, finding your dedication interesting and worth learning from in your relationship.

✨Jesse is gonna judge Severen's choice to make you his mate pretty harshly. He still holds the Pin Up culture as something sexualized only and that you're not gonna be loyal. He doesn't take you seriously or how you feel for Sev. Jesse's entirely conservative attitude won't allow him to even consider the possibility of sexual empowerment through this sub-culture.

✨When Severen confronts Jesse about it and backs up your position stating: You're just stuck in the past, and I ain't gonna waste my time on you if you keep pushing this bullshit on my girl. Jesse decides it's better to just deal then fracture their family due to a disagreement.

#severen x reader #severen van sickle x reader #severen van sickle #pinupgirl!reader #fem reader #pin up girl reader #pin up girl #near dark #near dark 1987 #trash gobby requests

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3d-wifey · 1 month

Text

Thinkin bout Severen from Near Dark, thinkin bout him a lot...

cowboy vampire of my dreams, he means a great deal to me

#3d wifey talks #near dark #near dark severen #near dark 1987 #severen van sickle #severen near dark #severen x reader #bill paxton #bill paxton did his big one with this one #vampire #cowboy vampire #outlaw vampire

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msookyspooky · 9 days

Text

Stay Still

NSFW smut • Established Relationship Afab!Reader x Severen Van Sickle • Lost Bet & Orgasm Delay/Denial • Edging • GentleDom!Reader x Reluctant Brat Sub!Severen • Severen Begging • Vaginal Penetration • Vaginal Muscles/Kegals • Vibrator on Reader • Primal Vampire Instincts

Not proofread nor wordcount

He gritted his teeth. Laying on top of you with a steady 'bzzz' noise filtering through out the room. Only thing to be heard above that steady noise was your little moans and sighs...And his heavy breathing as he practically glared down at you.

You had teased him relentlessly all damn evening and he got cocky. Made a bet with some very fun outcomes and he lost. He was so sure he'd win and have you the one begging and trying not to squirm under him. His pride, his greatest sin, was slashed as a harsh jagged breath forced its way out his nostrils as he closed his eyes.

Your inner muscles had fluttered against him as you shifted to get the vibrator on your hardening clit. You smirked up at him having the vibrator on its lowest setting and directed in areas you knew weren't your sweet spots on that bundle of nerves. Wouldn't want to cum too quickly. No...No, you wanted to slowly milk this man dry while he had to stay still.

"Y-Yn...Yer really playin' with fire. Gonna bring the Devil outta me." He huffed out, panting and glaring.

"So you admit you can't handle it and have zero self control?" You countered teasingly.

He scoffed, "I never said that- Ah!" He softly gasped before hissing like a cat when you clenched your muscles hard around him. "Darlin, c'mon. Ya know I don't handle being bossed around well or stayin' still for too long." He almost sounded nervous as he forced that chuckle. All tensed and strained.

His cock twitched inside you. Begging and aching to thrust deep in your heat. Warm wetness washing over his hard aching cock as your muscles moved involuntarily. He pulled back slightly and you wrapped your legs around him and squeezed tighter.

"Oh, I know. That's the point."

He groaned in frustration. Baring his teeth as this had went on too long. He wanted to just grab your thighs, shove them back, pound you so hard and fast even if it killed you...

"So...Ya gonna admit I'm right?" You asked moaning with a naughty smirk. Letting your teeth roll over your bottom lip. "You have no self control."

"Oooh, damn you-" He groaned out as your muscles milked him when you turned the vibrator up higher on yourself. "YN, this is torture! Pure sadistic sick ass torture!" He grumbled as it faded out to a whine of annoyance.

"Just beg and you can pound me into this mattress."

He glared down at you as you both were positioned in missionary on that mattress. "Never! Do I look like a guy that begs for pussy?"

You playfully shrugged, turning the vibrator up higher as an involuntary moan sounded from your throay and you bit your lip.

Severen instinctively started rocking his hips. It felt good, you wanted him to push you over the edge, but instead you pulled the vibe away from your clit to edge yourself. Getting way too much enjoyment out of this.

"Moving already? Like I said, no self control. Absolutely desperate."

He stopped moving and hung his head with a growl in his throat. Fighting just admitting it and getting what he needed and trying to still win. "You're killing me here!"

"Just beg and this will be over, Severen." You mumbled, eager to get that vibrator back on your aching clit just as much as he was to thrust in your cushioned wet heat.

He scoffed, "Oh pretty please baby, may I fuck yer tight lil pussy because I'm just so weak of a pussyhound? My dick can't take it, I'm so pathetic!" He sarcastically gave mockingly before glaring again as you noticed his body was twitching. "It ain't happenin'!"

"Hey, suit yourself. I can go all night. I got self control unlike you. I can edge my clit alllll night while you just gotta lay there and feel-" You did a motion with your kegels that had him moaning with his eyes closed. "That. All night."

Severen was practically biting his lip and inner cheek till he tasted blood. Ripping sheets under you in the motel room. Twitching and convulsing and trying so hard not to whine or moan. His hips were stuttering and shifting as it took what very little self control he had not to forfeit the bet and just pile drive into that warm welcoming hole you had. His instincts had him feeling like a damn animal.

After a few minutes of feeling yourself so close you got the tingles and heat but not enough to cum; vibrator always pulled away in time...Severen looked almost close to crying in frustration at this point. This had gone on almost 2 hours already and he couldn't handle this anymore! If he was doing it to you he could but being on the receiving end was foreign torture for him.

"Fine! God damn fuck it all, finnnneeee-" He whined pitifully hanging his head. Body laying on you trembling with need. "I-I...Damn it...I..." He struggled but as you both were so close you could taste it he blurted out. "I ain't got it! I need it, pleasssee!...Oh God, please please fuck YN please shit. Baby, I can't handle this, I need you." He mumbled as you he looked at you with a pathetically desperate look hanging his head in shame. His blue eyes looking like a sad puppy right now as he trembled and panted. His cock twitched in you like crazy. Balls ached. Mind was foggy as his instincts were taking over. "If you don't give it to me now...I can't control it! I c-can't-"

Truth be told, you had been past your limit a while ago. Praying he'd say it so you both could have this. But you still had to keep it going.

"I don't know..."

"YN, ya ain't playin' fair!" He argued with a strained voice. He grabbed you desperately fingers digging into your hips as you felt warm at how he looked down at you. His eyes were almost mad with desire as he glared down at you chest heaving even if he didn't need breath.

"...Beg just a little more. For me, just a little more." You were trying so hard to stay in charge but with the way he was looking at you you were losing your nerve to not just let him flip you over, dig his teeth in your neck and fuck you senseless.

"Please let me cum. Please, I can't..." He furiously shook his head swallowing hard. Dark locks hanging over his eyes as he put his head down.

"More." You urged as you pressed the vibrator to your clit with a breathy moan.

"...Fuck! Let me cum! Please I'll do anything, I need you. I need you, Oh God...Oh God I need you. I need to cum in you...Let me, please? Please let me." He whined out not even sounding like himself as he was so lost in pleasure that was so close yet out of reach. "If you don't I'm gonna go insane. I'll go crazy, I will, I really will."

"You need it?"

He eagerly nodded his head. Head rolling back with a groan as you started moving your hips as you got close.

"You're drunk.on it. You need this pussy so bad. All you can think of is how good this cunt makes you feel." You started getting so much more into this, losing yourself. Moaning louder as your own words turned you on.

Him too as he nodded as his cock twitched, "Yes. Yes, its all I can think of. I need it like nothin' else...Baby, I can't!-" He gasped out as your muscles gripped him tighter.

"Good boy. Such a good boy for me. You can-"

He never considered himself into it but you saw how he went haywire not even finishing your sentence before he was like a jack rabbit. It almost damn near hurt! But it was enough to have you over the edge as well before he forced himself deep in you; cumming and growling like a wild animal. Biting down on your shoulder as you yelled out. Blood seeping down your arm as your eyes rolled back with a strained gasping cry.

You both made desperate, panting, loud noises as you both came for what felt like forever. It's like you were in another world for a bit.

He buried deep in you as you both came. Almost collapsing on you in a shaky heap as he couldn't stop giving out exhausted groans and pants.

"That was...Damn...Found something new out bout myself." He tiredly chuckled. "God...S' good..."

You breathlessly nodded and held him close. Like he was an anchor for you right about now.

You both laid there for 10 minutes. The vibrator discarded in blissful silence before you felt him moving again as he kissed where he bit you.

"Sev..." You smirked as he licked at where he bit you.

"I told ya, I need it. You're right, I ain't got no self control when it comes to you." He murmured as he moved in you. Grinding his pelvis against yours.

"Sun..." You tiredly gave looking at the sealed off window and curtain. Tiny bit of pale blue peaking at the far end of a pizza box you both used over the glass. It was probably 5 am or so.

"That sun don't mean diddly shit to me. You teased me too much and got me all riled up and with this second wind I'm liable to take care of business all day until the sun sets...So buckle up, cause now ain't no one sleepin..."

He hesitated before kissing you and saying, "I may have lost but that's cause you're a bully. I'll be good but ya gotta make me." He grinned.

The audacity of you being called a bully by someone like him! It was tossed aside as you felt how he kissed you. Your own blood in your mouth from his lips. You groaned but moved with him, this was gonna be a long day. All you could do was let him ravish you while grabbing the vibe for aa round 2.

#been too long since I wrote for him ♡#severen imagine #severen x reader #severen smut #near dark severen #severen near dark #severen van sickle #severen #near dark 1987 #near dark lemon #Severen lemon #near dark smut

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rock-n-macabre · 4 days

Note

Request don’t mind if I do 😂

I was thinking of prequel to your previous fic I wanna see how this sex deviant couple acted in the beginning and middle events of the movie and around Caleb I think it’ll be funny 😭

Thanks so much for the request, love!!

Wrote this from the POV of if he had a mate during the movie. Prequel to the events in the Love's A Burning Fire series ✨ kinda a bit of random-ness, but with the cute and chaotic dynamics of the duo! Hope this doesn't disappoint 💋✨

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Severen! Will you stop your bellyaching?! You just had your fill and then some!"

I roll my eyes as Severen is pestering Jesse to stop for a quick bite.

You know...as if he didn't just go through a multi course feed of people. Oh! Not to mention he polished off the leftovers of the others.

" 'm a growin' boy, darlin'! Yer gunna stunt my growth!" He groaned, laying it on thick to earn sympathy.

Jesse pulled the RV over to pick up Mae who was cutting it pretty close to being caught in the sunlight. Diamondback gave her a warning of the repercussions of being negligent of the timing of things. Mae simply nodded and kept to herself. Yeah sure the girl was pretty quiet, but way more so than normal. I wonder what got into her.

I get shoved out of the way by an excited Severen as he points out a stumbling figure in the distance and tells Jesse to pull in close to pick up the seemed to be wounded individual for a quick bite. Easy pickins and to quiet Severen's bellyaching?

You bet Jesse was on that quicker than flies on shit.

Severen wrapped the thick blanket around himself as he opened the side door to scoop the unsuspecting figure into the RV, before dropping the boy onto the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Severen swooped on that boy like a vulture and was getting ready to play with his food before Mae intervened. The level of shock amidst the clan was quite something. Normally it was a consensus among the group before one got brought into clan as a mate. Just like with Homer did before he brought Mae in. Severen? Well.... No one wants to argue with him, even though he did get an earful after turning me. But....it went in through one ear and out through the other. What Severen wants, he gets.

That being said, Severen was hungry. The fact that it was decided upon the newcomer would be spared AND without the consultation of the clan. That didn't sit well at all with him. This new guy certainly didn't give proper the vibes of having proper survival traits or anything to offer the clan.

He was useless.

And he was gonna let everyone know it one way or another.

If the fact he didn't get his snack was enough to rile him up, seeing the new guy plop his ass down in mine and Severen's sleeping spot had Severen seething. I was honestly surprised he didn't throw the boy out then and there. I followed Severen to the little dining area where he lounged back after removing his jacket. I crawled onto the table to lay down and was pulled down on top of Severen who looked at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Now, now....it's time to get shut eye there, mister..." I whisper as I lean in. Severen ran his hands up my sides before resting them on my hips and lazily tracing his thumbs on them.

"Can't sleep....." He grumbled.

I rolled my eyes before gently running my hands down his chest.

"Probably because someone got himself all wound up."

Severen let out a scoff.

"Darlin'.... I need somethin' ta satiate my hunger.."

I raise an eyebrow and smirk. He sure knows how to get what he wants. Albeit sometimes in a petulant child sort of way.

"Is that so?...." I whisper as I lean in and he nuzzles at my neck.

I move my hair out of the way, over to one side.Without hesitation he takes a bite - well, what I believe would be gentle in his eyes - and begins sucking on my neck. Sounds of pleasure murmur from him as he laps at the blood. I gently hold his head there as he feeds and he lets borderline sexual moans as he does so. I won't lie, it definitely stirs feelings within me as well between the sensation of the act and hearing his sounds. I feel his leather pants straining at the crotch against me as he slowly grinds his hips against mine and realize that the feeling was definitely reciprocated.

He pulls away eventually as to not drain me dry. I give a small whimper and nuzzle against him as he pulls me to sleep on his chest. Not shortly after, snores were erupting from him and a small strand of drool is escaping the corner of his mouth. I give a small smile and gently rub his chest before I drift off myself.

Hours later as the sun begins to set, I feel Severen start to stir underneath me. I place lazy kisses along his jawline which earns a happy sound in his throat and I grin. I go to stretch and get up , wrapping Severen's jacket around my shoulders, when I hear a grunt of discomfort come from him. Jesse, Diamondback and Homer are all trying to discuss with Mae about the risks of bringing Caleb unwillingly onboard and she just won't take no for an answer.

Severen grumbles before interjecting into the conversation. Voicing his disdain for the newcomer , and blaming him wholeheartedly for why he now is sore from sleeping in the booth. Homer chimes in as well about the negative impact Caleb is having on the clan already. Severen, being still grumpy, can't help but prod Homer during his rant. I shoot Severen a look, putting my finger against my lips to shush him. It's hard enough with Homer's theatrics, we didn't need Severen to push his buttons any further.

It is decided by Jesse to give Caleb a chance. I swear I could see a vein twitch on Severen at the news. Immediately he went over to Caleb and decided to break the news to him in Severen's not-so-subtle way. I couldn't help but smile as Severen went to assert dominance upon the newcomer. Jesse then mentions to Severen that they need to get a new ride and ditch the RV. It was also a way to take Severen's mind off of things and cool down a bit by causing debauchery.

I giggle and let out a shriek as he gives me a piggyback to the car lot. He eyes different vehicles and we notice a motorcycle in the lot as well. We both turn to look at each other for a moment before giving a small shrug. Maybe later on we'd get some alone time to take a joy ride on a motorcycle. Should one trust him with a motorcycle? Not really. But then again...do I have a decent moral compass?

Eventually he hotwires a car to steal and take back for the clan to all pile into. I scooch close to him in the seat during the drive.

"Darlin'...how 'bout we park this thing and.....decompress?..." He gives me his trademark smirk.

"Sev ...later. 'sides...ya still need to eat. Can't have ya runnin' low on me. Speaking of, we need to hit up a gas station pronto." I give a small laugh. He groans and flicks his cigarette out the window as he pulls in to the gas station to fuel up and Jesse keeps driving the RV to a desolate area.

When we meet up with the others who've already began the ceremony of igniting the RV, Severen can't contain himself as he readies his pistol and fires a few rounds to add more fuel to the fire. I wince as I hear him begin to reminisce about the Chicago Fire that him and Jesse had started.

"Severen....honey...I know you're bitter that the textbooks didn't give you credit for the damn fire. But......WE KNOW. Keep it up and you'll be off of pyro duties." I laugh and poke him playfully. He feigns sadness before chuckling himself and pulling me into his side and we head on our way.

I grin as Severen and I sit together in the car and I rest my head on his shoulder. It's all pretty quiet until he starts to try to cup a feel and dips his head to nip at me. I squeak and push him away as Homer looks like he's about to erupt. Severen just smirks at Homer and pretends to look out the window.Out of nowhere, Severen hauled off and punches Homer with a loud THWACK! Earning a screech from Homer before he whips around to look at Severen.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!" Homer shouts, while pummeling Severen's arm with fists of fury. This earns a snort from Severen.

"Punch buggy. No punch backs, lil boner." He gives Homer a smug grin. Diamondback turns around and scolds the two of them, meanwhile Caleb looks startled at the interactions.

"Welcome to the family, dickanus." I chuckle, looking at caleb.

At the remark I made, Severen turns to me with heart eyes before erupting into a fit of laughter before Homer clips Severen upside the head for intruding in his personal space.

It was a long drive until the next pit stop. Thankfully it was only another two and a half hours until we made it to our rest point and we all piled out of the car. I snickered to myself...it was like a damn clown car.

Wait.

It was actually quite fitting especially after the antics of that drive.

We all parted our ways to hunt. Severen got dressed in his finest and I watched him stand on the side of the road, with an extended thumb.

Vehicles passed by without giving him a glance or desire to stop, until a truck with two girls stopped. Of course. I rolled my eyes as he got in the cab and distracted them while I got in the truck bed.

I won't lie, it irked me as I watched him start to flirt with the girls. I balled my fists tightly and I could feel my nails digging in. I noticed him glance through the back window and I popped up my middle finger, earning a smirk from him. Eventually we pulled up to the watering hole the girls were heading to. Once pulled into the lot and they got out, I made my move.

"What y'all doin' with my man, huh?" I crossed my arms and they looked at me with a confused expression, as if to say what was I doing ruining their night. One of the girls approached me and Severen grabbed her friend and latched onto her neck without hesitation.

He was hungry.

Meanwhile, the feeling of jealousy was taking the wheel and fueling my hunger as I tore into the other girl's neck. I pushed the body to the ground after as I wiped at my mouth and looked up to see Severen looking at me with blood lust filled eyes. I saunter over to him and wrap my arms around his neck, keeping my eyes locked on his for a moment before reaching down to gently tug at his bolo tie.

"Ya got something on your shirt...." I whisper as I gesture to the blood stains on his shirt.

"Well ya got somethin' on yer face." He leans down to swipe his thumb over my lips as I go to kiss his thumb. This elicits a growl from him as he pushes me against the truck and captures my lips with his.

Eventually after a heated make out session, causing blood to smear over us even more, we pull apart and examine each other being even more dishevelled than before. I pluck the remaining buttons on his shirt open as I peel it off of him.

"Let's get back so we can get changed and go round two, huh?" I smirk as he wraps his arm around my waist and he walks me over to the passenger side of the door and lets me in, smacking my ass as I get up onto the seat. I grin as he gets in the other side and I resume my spot being under his arm.

"Ya know how much I hate it when ya play with your food..." My fingers trail along his jaw, stopping and rubbing at a lipstick mark left by one of the girls.

He scoffs.

"Well darlin', 'magine how I feel when I see them guys with their eyes buggin' when ya walk past 'em. Flauntin' that bod' of yers. Makes my damn blood boil."

Now it was my turn to scoff and roll my eyes.

"Yes darling. It's indeed a shame.....that you eat my damn prey every single time that happens! Ya damn glutton!"

He smirks. "Glutton for punishment, darlin'."

I run my hand down his chest to over the crotch of his pants before squeezing a bit tight, earning a hiss from him.

"Cruisin' for a bruisin' , cowboy." I smirk as I give another squeeze.

Severen jams the truck into park once we reach back to the meet up area and he pins me against the bench seat of the truck.

"It ain't me tha's gonna be bruised, sweetheart.... I can guarantee that." He hisses as he hungrily kisses me, and paws at my clothes.

It didn't take long before he is fumbling with his belts and zipper and he goes to unzip my jean shorts before snaking a hand down and teasing me, while his lips never leaving mine. I groan into the kiss as he goes to push down my shorts before grinding his hips against mine, prodding my entrance before I feel him enter. I gasp as I reach climax with him and lean into his chest.

Severen goes to light a smoke, rolling down the window, but half swallows the cigarette, choking on the puff of smoke he drew, as he sees Jesse peering in.

"S',about damned time, Severen! Get goin'. We're gonna hit up that little dive we saw along the way. The newcomer needs to be taught a lesson. I've had it about up to here with him. He ain't one of us." Jesse grumbles.

Severen's still sputtering from the smoke before managing to collect himself to speak.

"Ya shoulda just let me get my kicks, Jess'."

Jesse rolled his eyes before tossing our bags into the truck so we could get changed before heading back out. I exchanged looks with Severen before slinking off my bloodied top slowly, feeling his gaze on my breasts before they were covered up.My gaze met his once the garment was on.

"Later, handsome." I wink as I hop out of the truck and wait for him to put on his clothes.

The energy in the air was tense. Severen wanted to attack Caleb for not accepting the lifestyle, and Mae was coddling him instead of giving tough love. Severen showed me how to fight, and was impressed I was a natural with guns, but he too had a rough time with me getting accustomed to killing at first. I remember him breaking down one day in frustration, and then I finally was able to feed. He just couldn't see the same with others as he had with me. I looked at Caleb and shrugged.

"Ya have to.... I know it's hard. But....do you really care about Mae? If ya don't feed...you'll be cast off to the sun to die. Think about it. Make your choice."

I wander off to accompany Severen's side as we walk to the entrance, where Severen couldn't help but make a dramatic entrance. Everyone looked startled as he half broke the door.....if only they knew what was in store.

I watched Severen from the booth as he started up shit with the patrons and bartender. One thing led to another , and eventually there wasn't a mortal soul left unscathed in the bar. I walk over to join Severen as him, Jesse, Diamondback, and Homer all prepare to set the place ablaze.

I give a small hum as I reach up to touch his face when he turns to me and pulls me in close. I graze my fingers across his lips and stubbly jaw , pooling some blood around my finger before popping it into my mouth.

"Boy, you're some messy eater. Can dress ya up , but can't take ya nowhere." I give him a smile. Severen lets out a chuckle.

"Yet here ya are, darlin. Still comin' back fer more. It's like ....ya love me er somethin', I reckon." I roll my eyes as I pocket a pint of Jack. Setting all of the stock on fire would be straight up alcohol abuse.

"Let's mosey along, cowboy. The damn dingus is probably still tryin' to chase down his meal- to-go." I pull Severen out of the building, following Jesse and Diamondback's lead.

We all get into the van as we discover Caleb looking defeated , which was a dead giveaway that yet again he failed to catch his prey."Called it." I huffed before gently holding onto Severen. Feeling his muscles tense, I could tell he was getting ready to rip Caleb a new one. Severen was damned determined this time he'd get his wet dream.

It was an awkward drive to the motel, as Jesse unleashed his thoughts on Caleb and it was a race against time to make it to the nearest motel. Luckily Jesse made it in the nick of time and got the keys to a bungalow. It was a small bungalow, but at least we were now out of the sun.

Severen let out a snarl as Caleb and Mae went down to rest together for the day. I could tell he was at his wits end.

"Severen, honey....cmon. Let's get some shut eye." I murmur and gently rub his arm as we make it over to a chair in the corner. He instinctively pulls me against his chest, and covers me as if shielding me even more from the blooming daylight outside.

All is well until there is knocking and some shouting at the door. This causes Severen to wake with a start, half choking on a snore, and releasing a string of drool that was attached to me. You know, the norm when sleeping with him. He gently picks me up off of him and places me back down on the couch, pressing his fingers to his lips as he gets up. He whispers that it's the cops to us as he nears the window.

Severen opens the window to look outside and is met with a blast of sunlight, causing him to reel back and shout in pain. Instinctively I run over to him and pull him into me, checking over his burns and speaking words to try to provide some sort of calm. All hell breaks loose though when Homer hysterically starts screaming about it being daylight. Severen is annoyed at the outburst of a reaction, especially considering he just got smoked by the sun.

Jesse and Severen spare no time in distributing the weapons as Severen prepares to kick off the battle against the cops. He threatens to pop a cap in Caleb's ass but Jesse stops him. Honestly, we were all probably for it to happen then and there, but we had bigger fish to fry. I lean in to kiss Severen before he motions me to take a step back as he readies the 12 gauge.

"Check out time." He mumbles before firing.

And so the battle began.

The shootout was a massive back-n-forth. Eventually the bungalow was starting to be ridden with holes, letting sunlight stream in. Severen went to help Jesse cover some of the exposed areas with furniture before joining my side on the floor. I immediately tuck into him for shelter as I go to reload my six shooter. Maybe I should invest with something with higher round capacity, but it was the piece he gave me when we first got together. Sentimental value.

Out of nowhere Caleb gave the grand idea of taking one for the team to get a hold of the getaway van. Anything was worth a try at this point. I couldn't help but notice the mischievous glint in Severen's eyes at the possibility of Caleb being caught out in the sun and burnt to a crisp.

It was worth a shot.

Eventually after what seemed like a while, and the group of us huddled in the last patch of shade, the van came barreling through the wall. Diamondback, Jesse, and Homer piled in, while Severen kept me covered while helping me in the back before Caleb peeled off.

That fucker just bought himself some time.

Severen chuckled as he pulled me in close and I laid my head on his chest.

"Ya know what darlin'? I was gettin' to think that we were gonna bite it before I was gonna get a piece of .. that.. " he smirked while giving an ass grab. I rolled my eyes, but didn't have it in me to smack his hand away.

"Severen, you're incorrigible, you know that right?" He gave a laugh before playfully pushing me down and pinning me.

"Guilty. As. Charged."

He says gleefully before leaning down to playfully nip at me and I let out a small squeal. Homer rolls his eyes.

"Can we for one minute not have you two trying to play tonsil hockey?!"

Severen doesn't even flinch as he sticks out his arm and flips Homer off, not even missing a beat during his mouth attack.

I pull him in closer to deepen the kiss and I hear him let out a low grumble as he is more aggressive with the kisses.

Passionate. Chaotic.

I wouldn't have it any other way. We couldn't arrive at the motel soon enough.

When we did arrive, Severen picked up our bags and carried them in to the room and I relaxed on the bed, as Severen went to take part in the tradition of the clan playing poker. I couldn't help but anticipate the game to be over for Sev and I to have some alone time.Maybe go out and steal a motorcycle to take a joy ride on and have some.....action.... Together.

Homer went to get a can of coke after the first match, and Severen was biting at the bit to get..it..on. I came up behind him and decided to tease him a bit, whispering in his ear.

"Sev....I need...you...now. Let's go for a ride..." I murmur before giving a soft little moan in his ear as I give his shoulders a gentle squeeze. He shuts his eyes and exhales through his nose.

"Ohhh darlin', I'm gunna rev you up, that's fer damn sure." He said huskily, accompanied by a groan when I went to nip at his ear.

We were shocked when Homer came back with a young girl. Severen looked like he was gonna make a remark when I saw the glint in his eye, but luckily Diamondback beat him to it and instead asked questions about the girl. Once they found out she was with her father, Severen sprung to go get the man and bring him back.

Guess our alone time would be put on the back burner for a bit.

I sigh and wait for Severen to return, as Mae and Caleb come back all lovey dovey into the room from their escapade.

C'mon, Severen.

I am shocked when the little girl seems to know Caleb. It's his little sister! Great. This is gonna go well. I sigh and cross my arms as the events unfold. Severen comes back with Caleb's father and that's when shit hits the fan.

It seemed like we were gonna get the upper hand until Sarah made a break for the door, causing sunlight to enter and all of us to take cover. Severen took one for the team and closed the door. Once he did, I went to his side and gently pulled him into me before guiding him to the bathroom to get a cool cloth to put against his burns.

Guess playtime was gonna have to wait.

Severen was fuming and just wanting to track down Caleb to end him.

"Goddamnit, I'm gunna make that cocksucker pay! And get my damn spur back! I can't believe I gave him my spur. That sunavabitch! Why I oughta -"

I put the damp cloth against his head and he lets out a low hiss.

"After. First we must rest. We can't do much in the daylight. He ain't worth it. Just let 'em go. It ain't worth it." I try to divert the situation.

He grumbles before we settle in to one of the double beds in the room. He tossed and turned the majority of the time. He wanted vengeance. And his spur. Can't forget that spur. I sigh as I try to rub his back, and he turns towards me. I give him a pleading look.

"I don't want to lose you, Sev. Promise me that. He ain't worth it." I relax into his hand as he gently cups my cheek.

"Nuthin' can tear us apart, darlin' . Trus' me on that."

I sighed and leaned in for a kiss before drifting off. The night time would bring forth Severen's plan to action. The night had its price....and those who went against it would pay.

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((AN: because this gif, albeit not quoted from the film, just is beautiful. And kinda fits. Sorta. Ok, maybe it's just a gift of a gif.))

#severen #near dark #severen van sickle #near dark 1987 #Love's a burning fire series #severen near dark #Sev #severen x reader

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w1nchestersluvr · 1 year

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Being Severen’s Mate

pairing: severen van sickle x reader

warnings: a tiny bit of angst (legit none), swearing i guess, oh and sev!

overprotective and a slight amount possessive - especially when you guys are stopping at a bar or something.

if any drunks end up hitting on you, he’ll probably start death staring you and the man from across the bar. he starts his approach small and makes up for it later. by the time you leave the bar the guy is just a puddle on the sidewalk.

he’ll always bring trinkets and stolen goods he’s found that made him think of you. a necklace, a shirt, favourite snacks, a car, a horse, a gun…. he has more, and they get progressively worse.

so unaware of everybody else apart from you he probably gets you guys into trouble ALOT. the amount of times he’s been kicked out of diners and does not care. he literally only cares how you feel or what you think.

of course he loves PDA. always kissing at your neck when you’re doing something, offering his hand for you to dance with him when a song comes on the radio, a hand always on your ass or in your jean pocket. also piggybacks are his favourite when you’re in a crowded space or just to be close to you.

hollering and shouting in excitement whenever he sees you - especially when you’re dressed up in any way. he does it a lot in public to get a reaction out of you. “woohoooo, there’s my baby” proceeds to come up behind you and press a big kiss on your cheek.

sparingly let’s you wear his flannels simply because you’re his baby, and because he finds it so hot. wants you and only you to wear his leather jacket whenever you can.

carrying photos of you in his inside pocket so he always has you with him.

sneaking into places you shouldn’t at night: parks, festivals, parties, stores, resorts absolutely anything

cleaning him up after feeding, or both of you cleaning eachother up (if you’re a vamp also) and him just staring at you in awe

he gives you one of his rings, as a promise ring to one day show that he’ll marry you. he intends to keep that promise.

dude has adhd i’m sure so have fun trying to sleep, he’ll stay up for hours talking about nonsense or bringing up stuff that happened ages ago, and you’re just like 😐

this man has no chill, forever whispering dirty things in your ear and having an arm slung loosely around your shoulders.

he never stops talking, always grumbling about something, but that always stops when you’re in the room or around… he just goes like 😯

even when you don’t notice it, he’s always got an eye on you, and an eye on others that are looking at you. always has a threatening look on his face to others when you’re in public.

basically, he’s got it bad for you

#severen #severen x reader #near dark #near dark x reader #near dark 1987 #bill paxton #severen van sickle

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kausstar · 27 days

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think about making out with severen after he’s eating someone. especially with the setting of the bar scene, he’s just torn into someone’s neck and the first thing he thinks about is walking towards you to give the rest of his soon-to-be victims a show. his mouth dripping with blood, both your tongues in one other’s mouth, tasting nothing but iron and each other. his hand cupped firmly on your cheek to make sure you can’t pull away from his hunger kisses. everyone watching as he does so, jesse’s eyes rolling into the back of his head at the two of you.

#ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 midnight #near dark #severen x reader #severen van sickle #severen near dark #near dark severen

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 5 months

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You're Just a Fellow, Darlin' (Severen x F!Reader)

Summary: When trouble in paradise ruins your otherwise perfect life, you find yourself fleeing in a rented car and heading off into the sunset. Stopping for a quick bite to eat along your journey in a dusty roadside diner, trouble finds you there too. And things quickly take a turn for the worse.

Notes: Around 11.4k words. This is a prequal to my first fic, Stripped Bare, but you don't have to read it for this one to make sense. Caleb remains turned and everyone lives AU.

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, death, blood. Severen is NOT nice in this. He sees the reader as prey and treats her as such until right up at the end. He gets a little nicer. The reader does not like Severen in this, apart from mild flirting in the beginning, but all those feelings quickly go out the window due to regular Hooker clan antics. The reader goes through it in this. Violence such as biting at and aggressive hair pulling is committed against her, so please don't read if that is triggering to you.

Part II

You should have known it would have turned out this way. It was doomed from the start, feigned interest and superficial attraction embellished underneath plastic "I love you's" and planned kisses. What hurts you the most is how blind you were to it all. Force fed lies by everyone in your life, Sam, his father, your friends- hell even your own parents had told you that you were just making assumptions. Being paranoid.

That all of the late work nights, the impromptu business meetings, the abrupt hushed phone calls throughout the day. They were perfectly normal things. Nothing to be concerned about. "It's just business, muffin. " Your father had told you once, reading the morning paper while sipping coffee from a ceramic mug. " He has to make money for all those pretty dresses you wear somehow."

God, you had been so stupid. You had let everyone blindfold you and muffle your ears because you were too afraid of the truth. Too scared to accept the fact that the man you have loved since you were nineteen had turned his back on you. He spat on your three-year long relationship like it was nothing. All for his secretary . . . And that cute blonde maid at his father's country club.

You can't help glancing away from the cracked backroad to sneer at your left hand that clutches the steering wheel in a death grip. Your ring finger is now startlingly bare, no longer shackled by the thick band of yellow gold and the obnoxiously large sapphire diamond - a horrid caricature of princess Diana's engagement ring. Lack of originality is what it was. And to think you had been so overjoyed when he had gotten down on one knee and proposed. But you do still feel some satisfaction to know that the ring is gone. Sold off in some greasy pawn shop off the street corner back in Scottsdale. About 90 miles behind you. You technically didn't need the money. You had your own little stash of savings despite Sam's insistence that you didn't need to worry about such things. That he'd provide for you. Yeah, right. Initially you had been tempted to flush it down the toilet. The less petty side of you had even contemplated simply leaving it on the table next to his side of the bed. But then you had a thought- why give up all of that free money? It is technically your ring. It was bought with you in mind, right? You could at least get something out of it.

And so that afternoon, you had found yourself standing behind the glass case of a pawn shop. Scanning the numerous arrays of items from the safety of the display case. Everything from antique pistols to frosted bracelets, passing the time while the man on the other side of the counter examined the ring you had proudly worn only a few hours ago, squinting at it through a loupe magnifying glass, delicately turning it this way and that.

"I'll give you five thousand for it," he suddenly speaks, pulling your attention away from a velvet tray showcasing old war medals. You can't even contain the scoff that leaves you, all decorum and self-restrain completely ran thin after the night before. "That's nearly a twenty-thousand-dollar ring." You counter, eyebrows pinching with poorly disguised frustration.

He chuckles with a loose shrug that telegraphs his opinion better than his words ever could. Not my problem, it had said. His stained dentures peeking out from behind his lips when he goes to bite in a horridly dry looking donut, flakes of the glaze chipping and falling onto his button up.

"That's my price. Take it or leave it."

As previously stated, you didn't technically need the money. You had your cheque book, but not all places took cheques. You had your bank card, but a lot of places outside of big, wealthy cities still didn't have the machines to even use them. You needed the cash. And despite the fact that the man is woefully skimming you on the price, five thousand is still five thousand.

So, with a great amount of swallowed pride and defeat you managed to grit out a stiff: "Fine. I'll take it."

And now you're driving down a desolate road, seated inside a rented Ford Escort, with long stretches of the vast desert on either side of you. It's a boxy little car that Sam would have absolutely turned his nose up at. Good. Both of the front windows are completely down, letting the warm summer air tunnel inside the cabin of the car and tussle your hair around. The radio is on full blast, with a random rock music blaring out the vehicle's speakers without care. You tried to find a steady station earlier but had quickly given up whenever the music would dip down low and speckle out into static every time you drove through a patch of slopping hills. It was gorgeous, you have to admit. The way the landscape shifted from soft creams and rich rusted oranges and browns, with saguaro cactuses looming across the expanse of the dry desert floor like tall watching figures.

But what struck you the most was sunsets. The ones you got back in New York were often dull. Muted by layers of pollution and the glow of the city lights, blocked by the sheer scale of the skyscrapers that blocked out the sun. It couldn't compare to the sheer vibrancy that painted the sky out here.

With the sun dipping low, just barely peeking over the horizon, splashing shocking shades of pink and gold across the faint blue. It was also a painful reminder that this was all temporary. That eventually your little joy ride would have to come to an end. You would have to return to New York and face reality. Listen to the barrage of questions and accusations that would no doubt be thrown your way like stones and rotten tomatoes. You couldn't wait for the disapproving glare your mother would give you. The disbelief and disappointment. The excuses from Sam and the arrogant satisfaction that would waft from his parents. They never liked you anyway. Luckily, you still had your own apartment. Thank God that past you had the foresight to keep it and drag your feet on it giving up. That at least means that you won't have to stay with your parents or burden one of your friends by laying up in their place. You're not sure if you could stomach that honestly.

Up ahead you notice a glint of a red light shining in the growing dark from a muted outline. It takes a few more minutes for the building to take shape, but you're quick to recognize it as a quaint little diner. The first thing you notice when you pull into the gravel parking lot is that the roof is in shambles, the old tiles cockeyed and skewed looking like they might take off in a good storm, and a red neon 'open' sign flickers unsteadily from behind a window - the only thing that would let you know that the building isn't abandoned, if not for the couple of cars scattered about out front. And there's a random statue of a horse standing next the dusty glass entrance. It looks like someone tried to paint it brown some time ago, but the paint has begun to chip from years of enduring open weather, exposing the grey base underneath.

It's . . . cute . . . in a rustic sort of way. But you could hardly care about the aesthetic. Your legs could use a stretch and you honestly haven't eaten much today apart from a hastily grabbed bag of potato chips the last time you were at a gas station. And you should have a decent amount of distance put between you and your fiancé - ex fiancé.

The bell above the door chimes when you enter, announcing your arrival. But the first thing you notice is how empty it is. Not that you were expecting it to be packed full and brimming. The lighting is a tired gray tone, which does nothing to combat the cool tones of the white walls and you can hear the light fixtures buzzing with electricity, almost competing with a low energy country song playing in the background. You don't notice any staff, but you do spot an older couple - the only customers apart from yourself - sitting at the first booth to your right, the pair leaning conspiratorially over a collection of post cards spread over the tabletop. Old love birds probably here to see the Grand Canyon and Tombstone. You wonder how long they've been together. How they've managed to find love in someone over all the years. "What do you think about this one, Curtis?" She's asking, tapping a glazed card with a manicured nail. "Do you think he'll like this one?"

You turn away from the private exchange to perch yourself at the L shaped counter, sitting on the tearing and stiff vinyl of the stool cushion and notice a sheet of pale paper sticking out against the faint yellow of the counter. The bold letters atop proudly declare that it's the menu that you notice as the standard font from a computer and the page is laminated with thick strips of packing tape. The low effort does have you wondering if you might be risking the chance of food poisoning, but with the combination of a shitty few days and a rumbling stomach, you can hardly find the energy to care.

Suddenly there's an exchange of yelling coming out from past the serving window that peers into the kitchen, making you pause in your examination of the menu. You can hardly make out the words thrown back and forth, but the tones are heated. It sounds like a man and a woman, and the latter is confirmed when a frazzled woman comes barreling out of the kitchen, leaving the swinging door to slam up against the bar, rattling the glass cake displays and napkin dispensers. And based on the name tag - Rachel it read - she seems to be the waitress. The man's voice must belong to the cook . . . or maybe the owner then. She looks mortified when she sees you, face flushing pink and you do your best to reassure her with a soft smile.

" I'm so sorry you had to hear that, " she tries to laugh but it's strained and short and not at all convincing.

"It's alright, " you replied with a light shrug. "I could hardly make out what was said. And I think the pair behind me are too engrossed in their post cards to notice."

That seems to settle her a bit, shoulders relaxing. Her eyes notice the menu in your hands, and she nods her chin. " You see anything on there you'd like?"

You glance back down on the back, going back down the quaint list available with a hum. "Just a cheeseburger with cheddar and a side of fries is fine. And a coke. "

She's quick to give you your drink before she leaves with your order, slipping back into the kitchen to deliver it personally. And you can't help but feel bad for sending her back into the hypothetical lion's den. You take a moment to breath and really focus on events of today. How you wound up in a dusty diner in the middle of nowhere after spending the first few days of your vacation alongside the country clubs pool in a sleek hot pink two-piece bikini, drinking mixed drinks and enjoying the sun while Sam spent his time playing golf with his father and new colleagues.

And that's how you found him. After days of trying to get him to go out, to go on a date like a normal couple, and him deflecting, saying that he was busy with his father's business friends, you found him balls deep in the young housekeeper that you had seen pushing a maid cart down one of the halls a few days before. She was moaning in that exaggerated way that porn stars do.

For a moment you all you did was stand there. You didn't know how to react, water soaking the carpet from your damp feet, still wet from your recent swim in the pool. And there was a nasty voice in your head telling you that it was your fault. That it was all of your paranoia and insecurities that had drew him away from you. That it had probably made you distant and cold and you were too caught up in your own fears to see the strain you had put on him and your relationship.

But it wasn't your fault. You weren't crazy. You were right the entire time. All of those little glances that his assistant used to send him, the looks that would linger a bit too long. Like the time that you had showed up to his office to surprise him. You had known how stressed he was at his job, the workload pilling up with no end in sight and so you figured you'd pop in and see him. It was after hours but the guard knew you and let you in regardless. And when you were rounding around the corner of cubicles the door of his office had swung open and she had walked out, tugging at the edge of her skirt to smooth it out. And when she had saw you, her body visibly stiffening while she blurted out a quick hello, quickly followed by a hasty excuse for her rushed leaving. Something about being late for something.

When you had entered Sam's office, he looked put together enough, except the first few buttons of his shirt were undone and his tie was on his desk. It was the first red flag that you had avoided, slipping on your rose-tinted glasses. And the worried phone calls to your mother did nothing but convince you that you were trying to make something out of nothing. "You're just nervous about the wedding, " she had said, " Sam is the best thing that's happened to you. Don't go and ruin this opportunity over some cold feet."

And then there you were last night. Him and the maid. She had screamed when she noticed you standing there, nearly kicking him with her foot and sending him off the bed. She was up faster than you could blink, snatching up her clothes and taking a linen sheet with her as makeshift cover, rambling apologies under her breath, saying that she didn't know as she slipped out of the room leaving you to numbly stand and stare at your naked fiancé.

He had tried everything to get you to stay. A pathetic amount of 'I'm sorry's" streaming out of him. Claiming that it wasn't you it was him, it was stress from work, that he didn't mean to, that he'd never do it again. You had spent the night in a separate room, and you were gone in the morning without as so much as a note.

The bell above the door chimes, too cheerful for its gritty environment, and you boredly look over your shoulder to see what other wayward soul has stumbled in. It's definitely an interesting band of characters to say the least, a family you'd assume. With a platinum haired woman ushering a young boy in by the shoulders who looks less than enthused about being guided to a booth on the left side of the diner, openly grumbling under his breath. They're closely followed by a lithe, stoic looking man who looked about as friendly as the mean dog that your old neighbors had chained out in front of their house. The one who would lunge at the fence and snarl whenever you'd walk past to get to the bus stop. The glare he had cast across the room felt like the blade of a cold knife running across your skin. And there was a young couple behind him, the young man's arm curled around the girl's shoulders while she tried to lean into him as they walked, whispering secretly to each other like they were the only people in left in the world.

Young love. They'd be at each other's throats soon enough. Or maybe you're just bitter.

And despite the clear dynamic between the group, the sense of family that comes from them you can't help but feel like you're looking at something odd. There's a faint chill that runs down your spine like some quiet subconscious part of you is trying to get you attention. You feel a bit of guilt gnaw at you. You had no right thinking about a random group of strangers like that.

And you nearly look away but then a hand is catching ahold of the door before it can swing closed and someone else is stepping inside with the sound of jingling accompanying each step. It takes you a second to notice the spurs strapped to the heels of his scuffed cowboy boots. Your eyes continue to trail upwards, past the glinting silver of his belt buckles - two belts? - and up the expanse of his torso, taking in the black leather jacket, decorated with badges and medals and other little embellishments like the tiny metal longhorn heads that decorate the edges of the coats collar. There's a beaded necklace around his throat in a pattern of yellow, red, yellow, and black. And it reminds you of that little rhyme you heard a long time ago about how to tell if a snake is venomous or not.

Red and black, safe for Jack. Red touching yellow, kill a fellow.

You can't help but wonder if it applies to him as well. Then you get up to his face where an all too wide grin sits. Like a jack o' lantern, you muse. But despite the unsettling quality to his smile, you can't deny that he's an attractive man in a rough and wild sort of way. He looked like someone you'd see mentioned in a Rolling Stone publication or in a messy pop culture magazine discussing rockstars.

" Looks like we struck gold again!" He hoots sarcastically, either completely unaware of the volume of his voice or simply not caring and you take note of the southern drawl that honeys his words. His eyes scan over the room, trailing over the older couple in the corner who have since looked up from their cards to squint at the man causing all the noise. He winks at them in a cheeky sort of way, completely shameless. "It's gonna be slim pickins' tonight!"

Before you have time to evaluate that little remark, the waitress is pushing the kitchen door open, carrying a plate holding a burger and fries in one hand. It's either the sudden sound or the weight of your stare that has the stranger looking over in your direction and the hold of his eyes on you seems to siphon the air from your lungs. Blue, the thought rings across your mind, they're a stormy sort of blue.

You turn away from him, like a scolded child who got caught doing something that they shouldn't have and focus down on your plate, the hollow pit of your stomach reminding you why you're even here. To eat, not to ogle at strange men. No matter how handsome they may be.

"Well, they sure are a colorful little group, aren't they," Rachel whispered in an amused sort of way, watching as the family piles into the booth. With the mother, her son and the father filling up one side and the couple on the other. The cowboy straggles behind, instead opting to stay outside the table, leaning over it and propping himself up on both hands while the group discusses something amongst themselves. But you see a bit of unease flit across her face, and it gives you some pause. Surely, they couldn't be that much different from the other types of people that frequent this place. It makes you wonder if she felt what you had. The feeling that came with crossing paths with something dangerous. Like walking into the grocery store and seeing a bear ransacking the shelves.

"I'm sure they aren't as bad as they look, " you encourage before biting into a fry. And she nods along like she's trying to amp herself up. " A customer's a customer. " She replies in a worn but robotic drone, like the words have been drilled into her head. Probably by management. And then she's dipping out from behind the counter leaving you to enjoy your meal by yourself. You nearly moan at the first bite of your burger. It's nothing show stopping. But it's good. Good enough to quell the empty rumbling in your gut with a couple of bites.

"What's a sweet thing like you doin' in a shithole like this?" That sugary voice breaks out across the quiet. And it takes a moment for you to realize that the question is even addressed to you. And you're twisting around on the stool with a mouthful of food bulging from your cheeks while your mothers voice scolds you from the recesses of you mind for having such bad manners. You come face to with a chest covered in a worn white wife beater that's definitely seen better days and you're swallowing the bite of food as your gaze continues upwards until it locks with a set of piercing baby blues.

The rockstar.

"I was hungry," you respond bluntly. Cut and dry. You figured that would have been enough to give him the hint that you weren't in the mood for idle chit chat or mindless flirting, but he doesn't remove himself from the way that he leans against the countertop, suspending his weight on a single elbow and cocking a hip. "Well, shit darlin' I've ate better slop from the inside of a jail cell," he chuckles at his own joke, and you honestly can't tell if the comment was a joke or not. Firstly, the food isn't even that bad. A bit greasy but not bad. Worse case you'd probably get a stomachache, which is pretty small in terms of how awful your past few days have been.

"I'm sorry, are you trying to flirt with me?" you ask, huffing incredulously. "Because, if you are, most guys like to leave out the fact that they've been arrested. "

He doesn't take offence to it like you'd expect, but instead little hiccups of laughter bubble up from his chest like it's the funniest thing he's heard in a while. " Oh, those? Just a coupla thievin' charges." He admitted airily, like he was talking about something casual. Like work or he was commenting on the weather. "Plus, that was years ago. " And he's waving a hand in the air, gesturing like it isn't important, and all you can do is watch him, smiling from disbelief - not amusement - while you rove over his features like they might be the answer to the oddness of the entire situation.

"What is your plan exactly? " You ask, sipping from the straw of your coke without looking away from him. "I mean, you're here with who I assume is your family. Probably on vacation. So, what was the goal? That you were going to sweep me off my feet and we'd grind one out in the bathroom?" You shake your head. At one time you would have had more tact. You would have chosen your words carefully and danced around the topic. But not tonight. You look away to read the clock that hangs above the serving window, silently reading the minute and hour hand. 8:13 it told you. You should probably get a move on in a bit and find lodgings for the night. Hopefully the next town over won't be too far over, but everything is so spread out on the west coast, less compact and huddled than the east." Classy." You remark without any sense to cover your scorn.

"Shit, girl what kinda John's are you used to? I was just tryin' to make a bit o' conversation," he laughs, combing a hand through his hair as he turns just a notch to look over at his family and Rachel is standing in front of their table, no doubt trying to get their order, but she looks tense and rattled. But then again. you've practically known her for five minutes and that seems to be her default state. "I ain't that bad, am I?"

The group doesn't answer verbally instead chortling at the question like a pack of coyotes yipping at the joy of a successful hunt and it gives you the feeling that he might be worse.

"You're about as welcomin' as shit on someone's doorstep, " the kid sneers, and you can't help but gawk at the language that comes out of his mouth and how openly he insults an adult and assumed relative. But what is even more surprising is the way that his mother doesn't make a move to scold him. Instead, it's the cowboy that speaks out, leaning forward like he might leap across the distance that separates them and throttle the kid, hissing out a strained " shut up, Homer before I tan yer hide," between his teeth and then he's turning his attention back to you, the irritated scowl that he wore was now gone in a flash, like a switch had been flipped he was smiling like the exchange hadn't happened. "Aw, shit darlin' - I've seemed to've left my manners at the door. The name's Severen," and he's extending his hand for you take. "Do I get a name to go with a pretty face?"

You let go of the hold you have around your plastic soda glass to accept his hand, exchanging a firm shake. You really don't know why you're even entertaining this random stranger. Severen. An odd name if you've ever heard one. It defiantly fits the leather cowboy rockstar aesthetic he has going on. Sure, he seems a little shady, but he has a sort of magnetic charm that keeps you from tossing a few bills on the counter and leaving the diner all together. It also helps that he seems to be a complete one-eighty of Sam, who was all forced politeness and feigned confidence. His words always seemed a bit too rehearsed, like he was a part of a scripted play and was forced to do improve on the spot. He was always trying to sell something, even outside of the office. Whatever dominate personality was in the room he'd mold himself to imitate it like a chameleon. An old business trick he had told you. And maybe it was. It had certainly worked on you. The empty promises, the constant stream of expensive gifts, the vacations to private islands and resorts. They were all just pretty distractions to keep you blind to his awful personality.

But this random stranger carries himself like time operates on his whim. Like he could tell the world to stop, and it'd quit breathing entirely until he gave it the okay. He was the kind of man that your mother warned you not to go near. The type you'd see hanging outside of seedy bars on the nights that you and your friends would sneak out of your homes to go wander around town, sipping from gas station slushies and gossiping near the old train tracks. And your mother was right to warn you all those years ago. Guys like him can be dangerous. Maybe it's all your bent out emotions getting the better of you, but you kind of like it.

And truthfully, it feels a little validating to have a guy - especially one as attractive as he is to approach you and strike up a conversation. After Sam's betrayal and the menagerie of twisted and self-depreciating emotions that came with it, it feels good to know that you're still wanted. Even if the attention is coming from a random man in a lonely roadside diner that ultimately won't go anywhere. You've never been the type to entertain men. Granted it's mostly due to the fact that you and Sam had officially put a label on your relationship when you were twenty-one, so your experience with flirting and one-night stands are quite limited. But this wasn't something that was going to go anywhere. It was simply something to pass the time before you set off and head back out on the road. Two strangers sharing a conversating before going on with their lives. It was harmless. So, you tell him your name and he parrots it back like he's trying to memorize it and it shocks you how much you like the sound of it dressed under his voice, sweetened under his southern drawl. It's Texan you think.

"A pretty name for a pretty lady."

"You lay it on thick, don't you?"

"Well, I've never been one to skim it when it comes to the truth. " He flashes that charming grin again, and you glance down at the fries and shuffle them around the plate to distract yourself from it. You hate the heated flutter that fills your stomach at the sight of it. "So, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" You shoot back at him, not word for word but you can tell by the twinkle in his eyes that it amuses him, nonetheless.

"About what you said, family vacation. Sightseeing and all that. " You nod along with him, thumbing at the straw of your drink while you meet the dark blue of his eyes. The conversation fizzles out. But not in an awkward or uncomfortable manner. It feels completely natural; the silence that falls over you both. And you just barely register the outside noise. The soft, idle chatter of the elderly couple, the hum of the old lights, the dull drone an energetic rock song, but then a sharp abrupt sound is breaking the spell that fell over you. The sound of someone clearing their throat. Not in the way you might do to dislodge something from your throat but in a way that demands attention and both you and Severen are looking back over to the booth where his family sits. It's the older man who fixes Severen with a stare. Firm and a little chastising. There's another quality to it that you can't make out and it has a cold shiver trickling down your spine. Severen doesn't verbally respond, but the exasperated look he gives the man seems to carry words of its own, the two of them seemingly having an entire conversation with only two heavy stares. It makes you feel awfully singled out. The shift from the flirty banter and light energy to a looming, heavy air happens so quickly that your brain is still struggling to comprehend it. It's like you've been foolishly stumbling about and have suddenly walked into a room that you shouldn't have, and then there's a cold nagging feeling that you need to get up from the stool and leave the building. But you don't.

"We gotta get a move on now, Severen." His voice is resolute and fixed, holding no room for argument and despite the fact that his attention hasn't shifted from the man standing next to you, you feel just as affected by the piercing tone. You just so happen to glance down on the table, noticing the lack of drinks or appetizers on the counter and for some reason it flares up a little red flag in your brain.

Severen sighs in an exaggerated way, like a kid who's been told they couldn't have something and then his attention returns to you, but it feels too stifling. The playful warmth that was once lighting up the blue is now gone. His eyes are sharp and burning with laser focus and you feel like a rabbit caught between a lethal maw. "Sorry to cut our time short darlin,' " he purrs out from an almost manic grin. " You've been a real treat."

It's all a blur then, cuts of color and streaks of light, and you think that you can hear someone screaming, shrill and pained, but that can't be right, right? There's a white expanse above you, stained with water marks and muted from years of being exposed to cigarette smoke. It's all sluggish, like trying to focus when you're several drinks deep and seeing double, but there's a searing, overwhelming sting slicing throughout the column of your neck, and it grounds you somewhat. Enough to blink back the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Enough for you to realize that you're staring at the ceiling and that there's a rough, white knuckled grip threaded through your hair keeping your head tilted at an excruciating degree. And then you can feel a body pressed against yours, an arm cinched across your waist to hold you close.

You can feel a damp heat pouring down your throat and underneath your shirt. Every bit helps you focus. But it's the throbbing ache that takes ahold of your mind and jostles the fog free, lifting the curtain to expose you to all the pain. The sting, the white-hot scorching burn of teeth embedded in the flesh of your neck. There's a tongue laving at the skin held between his jaw, working blood into his mouth. Blood. Your blood. He's biting you. He's fucking biting you!

A freezing cold grips your heart. A terrified fluttering thing that seizes your limbs and keeps you frozen in place while your brain short-circuits between the conflicting commands of either fighting or remaining still in fear. In the midst of your panic some tiny shred of self-preservation takes ahold of you, and you reach into your front jean pocket with a shaking hand while the man continues to gulp at the red that flows from you, moaning around your neck. Your fingers quiver unsteadily, from the fear, the overflow of adrenaline, the blood loss that starts to mist the corners of your vision. But you continue your blind search until your fingertips curl around the set of keys in your pocket. Ignoring the other horrified cries that echo around the diner, the sharp clatter of glass breaking on the tiles, the squeal of someone's shoes slipping across the floor in a wild struggle you secure your grip on the keys and pull them from your pocket as quickly as possible without having them slip from your unsteady hold.

Your sight blurs just a bit. From the tears or the blood loss you aren't sure and the rock song, despite the low volume being projected over the speakers is suddenly too load, drumming in your ears along with the erratic pulse of your heart and the gulping of the man latched to your neck. And your sluggish brain is suddenly grappling with the fact that you might die here.

It's enough to still your shaky resolve, thumbing the key to direct the point of it forward like knife. It's small, the edge quite dull. You'd have to drive it in deep for it to do any damage. It won't kill him, but hopefully it will be enough to get him to let you go.

You draw in a frail gasp, pulling a weak draw of air into your lungs to try and give yourself more focus around the panic that's currently fraying your nerves. Securing your grip around your sweaty palm you don't give yourself time to think, to second guess yourself that it may not work. You're drawing your arm back and striking forward, hoping that you manage to hit something of importance in your visionless jab. You're right in your aim, and the tiny strip of steel is burrowing deep into his side, wiggling your wrist to work it in deeper.

There's a brief feeling of elation, of righteous satisfaction that courses through you when he jerks away from the crook of your neck with a startled yelp that tells you he's more surprised than injured. He practically pushes you away from himself, spitting out insults and curses. The shove sends you falling, your body too weak in your current state to keep you upright, lethargic and drained, and you land on your knees and the heels of your palms. The deep ache you feel from the impact is quickly shoved to the side, while you clumsily scramble back upright, shoes slipping in a puddle of a deep scarlet that you distantly register as blood.

You try not to look, to take in the carnage that taints the room. You try not to notice the young couple who now sit at the bar, sitting side by side while they both drink from Rachel's body like they're sharing a milkshake with their faces smeared red. You try not to see the elderly woman slumped at her booth with her neck sliced open cleanly; blood splattered across the little postcards that she had just been excitedly prattling about sending off to family or friends. And there's a blood trail dragging across the tiles and at the end of it is her husband. And the kid - Jesus even the kid is in on it, curled over her dead husband's body, latched onto his throat.

The sound of Severen's angry cursing has all of their attention snapping over to you, and you feel like a wounded rabbit surrounded by a pack of rabid coyotes.

Everything falls to a standstill like you're all collectively holding your breath, waiting to see who will make the next move. And it's you who does, bolting towards the exit, and you can hear them all collectively move after you, but you don't look back, not even when you hear someone shout out: "God dammit! Someone grab er!"

You're barreling out past the door, and Severen's swearing has melted into a deranged string of laughter, and it follows you on your way out like a taunt, still ringing in your ears while you're crossing the stretch of the parking lot, running faster than you've ever ran in your life. Like you've got the hounds of hell at your heels. Your shoes slip in the gravel, still slick from the blood that had coated the tiled floor and it feels like you're running in a dream, no matter how much distance you cross you're still in place, every foot between you and your car expanding out into a mile, and you think that you might not make it. You feel the tips of someone's fingers brush against the nape of your neck, but you don't even know if it's real or if your brain is just playing tricks on you. You almost miss the handle of the vehicle when you skid to a halt, key already at the ready to slip into the lock, but it's slick with blood and your grip is lose, and you're praying to someone out there, some higher power, or even the universe to not let it slip.

And you can hear the sound of rushed footsteps running up on you and it has another pump of adrenalin shooting into your already overloaded body, and it feels like its frying you alive. And one of them is shouting, a light feminine voice chanting "get her! You have to get her!" with a great deal of panic. You don't let yourself look back up to the diner, no matter how much you want gage the distance between you and them. You can't stomach the thought of glancing up and seeing one of them standing directly in front of you, dripping with blood and gore and so you force yourself to focus on working the key into the slot and twisting the lock open, and you nearly sob with relief when you swing the door open and slip inside the car.

You're peeling out of the parking lot before you can even fully register it, fumbling to slam the driver side door closed, tires spinning in the dirt and gravel while you wildly careen out of the lot and onto the road in an unsteady swerve. And there's an unsettled laughter bubbling from your chest, rupturing from it like a geyser in an uncontrollable fit even though all you really want to do is scream and cry instead, and the music blaring from the radio does little to dampen your current hysteria, but you can't be bothered to reach for the dial and turn it down. Trying your best to breathe so that you can place your attention on maintaining your grip on the steering wheel and getting the hell away from here as quickly as possible. You glance back in the rear-view mirror despite every cell in your body telling not to. You don't want to see them. But you do. Standing out in front of the diner as still as ghosts, faded into dimensionless dark figures from the red neon of the building projecting from behind them in a hellish glow, growing smaller and smaller until they fade into nothing, and the lights are but a tiny pinprick in the distance.

It takes you a moment to register that you're heading back in the direction of Scottsdale, which is now an uncomfortable distance away and now you're cursing the broad expanse of the desert. How everything out here stretches out for lonely, horrid distances. Mile's gapping between towns and houses. But you should have more than enough fuel to get to the gas station that you had stopped at about an hour or so into your journey. You should be okay. You just have to make it there and hopefully they'll have a landline phone that works, and you can call the cops. But what if they don't? A despairing voice laments somewhere in your mind, what if they aren't even open? You have to force the thought away to keep yourself from spiraling. You glance back into the rear-view mirror expecting to see headlights of a car speeding towards you, but it's nothing but a vast empty darkness. They aren't coming after you.

But their lack of chase does little to quell the fear and cold dread nestling inside your body, if anything it fuels the panic. It's suspicious, the way they just gave up once you got to your car. Surely, they had done this before, if the way that they had all walked in the diner with ease and promptly dispatched of all the patrons and employees with a horrifying air of calm was any indication. They did it like it was routine. Like it was normal. And perhaps it was. Maybe this was a normal thing for them, slaughtering the poor souls who cross their paths in obscene acts of violence. But this wasn't even the typical serial killer stuff you often hear about. Kidnappings and stabbings. They were drinking their blood. He was drinking your blood. It reminds you of all the times that your mother used to go off on worried tangents about all the supposed satanic cults that are apparently spreading throughout the country, poisoning the children through rock music and D & D of all things. "I heard it on the news," she had said with a vehemence that you didn't have the energy to challenge anymore. You had never put much stock into it all. The obvious fear mongering that daily new papers and overzealous preachers on the FM radio pumped out in a constant drivel. It had always sounded like bullshit to you, but now that you're speeding down the highway with a massive gash in the side of your neck, shaped by a set of teeth, you're starting to think that maybe there is a shred of possibility to it. You can't help but brokenly giggle at the prospect of it, the insanity of it all. Attacked by a psychotic blood cult. You sound crazy. This entire situation is crazy.

You reach up to touch the wound on the side of your neck, initially flinching at the tender sting. You should probably try to find something to clean it up with, one of your old bottles of water is probably lying around on the floor, tucked underneath some seat, but you can't stomach the thought of pulling over and parking the car long enough to find it. You don't have anything to dress the wound with but luckily it seems as though the bleeding has stopped despite the skin around it still being damp with recent blood. You pinpoint the inflamed edges of the bite with your fingertips, lightly brushing down the expanse of it so not to irritate it any further. It starts just a few inches beneath your ear and stops just short of meeting your shoulder. That's odd. It feels a whole lot thinner than you would expect and less gnarled. Especially considering that it was a grown man that took a bite out of you. It has you flipping the sun visor down and angling it down to properly investigate the damage in between careful glances at the road.

It's difficult to make out from underneath the grimy red coating your neck, but you can see the torn strips of flesh glinting underneath the dim glow casted by the rectangular lights bordering each side of the visor mirror. Two narrow gashes that are nowhere near the size you had expected. The wound is strangely small, the angry indents left by his teeth are thin like they're a few days into the healing process and not just a few minutes old. It must have been the adrenaline making it seem worse than it was. But then again, this entire night feels like it isn't real. Like it's a dream -a nightmare that you'd wake up from at any moment.

Images of the diner flash across your mind, the gore and violence. Rachel's lifeless eyes staring at you, jarringly blank and empty like a broken doll while the young couple fed from her wrist and neck. The red smearing the pale floor, the screaming and banging of pots and pans from the kitchen that had told you that one of them had gotten ahold of the cook somewhere in the back. And it sounded like he was trying to fight them off. And you had left him. You had left him behind without a second thought. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. You had been so desperate to get out and save your own skin that you didn't even think about anyone else or the chance that they might be alive before you ran out. But what were you supposed to? If you had stayed behind even a second longer, he would have killed you. You would have been dead-

A short metallic scrape sounds from the roof of your car. Sudden and jarring and abrupt enough for you to jump in your seat and nearly jerk the steering wheel from your shaky grip. A rattled breath leaves you while you glance up at the cloth ceiling like it'll help identify the cause of the sound, and you all you can do is hope that it's something like the wind even though the idea of it sounds completely stupid. But you can't let yourself think of the other possibilities right now. Not when you're still two seconds away from a panic attack while behind the wheel and doing 85 mph down the road. You should probably slow down some now that you've placed some distance between you and them, but you can't seem to move your foot from the gas pedal no matter how much common sense is telling you to.

And then you hear it again. That harsh cutting noise is slashing through the air over the droning of the engine and Joan Jett's blaring vocals. Definitely not the wind. And there's a dull shuffling that follows after it, heavy and scuffed, almost like -

A large bang erupts from above like a gun shot and a panicked fleeting looks up reveals that there's a dent in the roof, dipping inwards like someone had punched it, and it douses you like cold water and floods your system with another hefty load of adrenaline. The realization that someone is on top of the car. But before you can do anything, the roof above you is bursting open with a shrill grotesque shriek, splitting as easily as tinfoil and a hand is blindly reaching down, frantically snatching at the open air with bloodied fingers. You can't help the scream that escapes your lungs, tearing your already raw throat from its volume. And your already sluggish brain stalls between the directions of either slamming on the breaks or swerving across the road in the hopes of shaking them off that you don't do anything other than try to remain in control of the vehicle and evade the hand trying to claw its way into your hair, its rings snagging on the strands. Rings. You remember the jewelry that Severen had worn on his right hand, how he had tapped his knuckles on the counter when you were talking. He's the one on your car. That's why they didn't all bother chasing after you, because they already had you. He must have leapt on when you were speeding out of the parking lot, too rattled and busy panicking to notice him climbing up the roof.

While you're busy grappling with the situation his hand successfully snatches at your roots, pulling painfully tight at your scalp. You cry out in pain, trying to keep your eyes on the long stretch of road and keep control of the wheel while you reach up to claw at his wrist with your own nails, but it does nothing to deter him. If anything, he grips your hair harder, and you know that you're going to have to stop. Maybe if you break hard enough, you'll be able to shake him free and you can run him over on while you're on your way out of this shithole. So, you remove your foot from the gas pedal in the hopes of slamming on the brakes, but then he's securing his hold on your scalp and harshly jerking your head back against the head rest. Even though it's a dull pain, it's enough to disorient you and then the tires are squealing with the acrid scent of burnt rubber tainting the air.

From the angle he has your head held at you can't see out of the windshield, but you can catch glimpses of the world rushing past you out of your peripherals. Blurs of the desert floor and dried shrubbery rushing past, and the car is harshly jolting over what must be rocks and dips in the ground.

Admits the chaos you're able to free yourself from his grip just in time to see the barbed wire fence that you're approaching at full speed. But it's far too late to anything, not even the brakes would help to lessen the blow and all you can do is watch as the front of the car hits a heavy wooden fence post, crumpling inwards from the impact. Then it all flashes black under a blaze of searing white hot heat, a steady throb traveling across your skull in steady pulses. You can't help but groan from the pain. You have to force your eyes open and blink away the blurriness that obscures the edges of your vision. You don't know if it's been seconds or hours after the crash, but a quick scan of the pitch-black night around you and the thick stream of smoke that pours from the grill and twists up into the air lets you know that it couldn't have been too long.

Then you hear the shifting of feet above you, shuffling against the roof and every step is like a gunshot going off. Another nail in your coffin. It fills you with pure dread, but you're too weak- your brain too muddled to move. You watch as a pair of cowboy boots drop onto what's left of the hood, jostling the body of the car from the weight of it, the spurs jingling in a way that sounds light and cheery, like a set of mocking giggles.

He's dipping over at the waist so that he can look at you, eyes twinkling with crazed mirth and wearing a bloody grin that's too wide. And then he fucking waves at you. You're still too dazed to get out and run, or cuss him out, or do anything, so you settle for pinning him down with a steady glare, hoping that it conveys all of your boiling hatred while you try and shove down the fear running rampant inside your chest.

Then he's excitedly leaping from the hood and landing on the ground hollering into the air like he just got off a rollercoaster. It's horrifying, the blatant joy that he's exhibiting like the killing and the chase were the ultimate pleasure of life. And while he's celebrating, you're doing your best not vomit. From the head trauma or the sudden empty gnawing in the pit of your stomach you aren't sure. But nausea is swimming in your head and gut and you're blindly fumbling for the door latch. You need to get out, you need to vomit, you need to run. And all the while he's dancing in place, clearly riding some sort of adrenaline rush. "God damn, yer a wild cat!" He's hollering, practically skipping over to the driver side door. You whimper under your breath from the pain and the fear and pathetically try to crawl over the center console to get to the opposing seat, but you can hear the door being jerked open while he chuckles and snatches your ankle.

"Get off of me!" You shout, kicking out in the hopes that it would deter him some. Of course, it doesn't. If anything, it seems to amuse him further, even when one of them lands and you strike him dead center in the chest. It doesn't get so much as a gasp of air from him, like there isn't any in his lungs. He still has that unsettling feral grin on his face. "No can do, sugar. Shoulda thought about that before you went an' stabbed me."

The wild fear is overshadowed for a moment, as short as it is. "You fucking bit me!" You snap back, like a child bickering but you're still to dazed and caught up in the moment to even register how fruitless and bizarre the exchange is.

"But you smelt so good, " he croons in a sing-songy lilt, still pulling your wiggling body towards his, now gripping ahold of your hips. "You can't blame a man for wantin' a taste." And he's pulling you up by the shoulders completely unbothered by the way you try to claw and rip at his chest and the exposed skin of his throat. His eyes are lit up under the dull cast of the interior light, barring you completely to the wild nature that lurks inside them.

His teeth are fully exposed behind that horrible grin, and it feels like he's going to try and eat you alive. And you think he is. Of course, he is. Here to finish the job and drain you dry. They were always going to get you. Your car- your only chance of escape is totaled. And even if you somehow managed to overpower him and kill him the group he had traveled with is still out there. No doubt counting the seconds for his return. And the second they realize he's not coming back they'll be coming for you. In this dead empty desert with no houses or towns for miles. You'd collapse from exhaustion before you manage to find help, or some random person finds you alongside the road.

A sense of helplessness rushes over you. A reluctant defeat. And you look up at him like hundreds of others have probably done before you and ask the question that that you've always made fun of the heroines and victims of countless movies for asking: "Why are you doing this?"

But you need some sense of closure at least. A reason for all of the violence and horror that you've endured tonight. You try and focus through your blurred vision to search both of his eyes like you might find something of substance in them. Two deep pools of a smothering blue. There isn't a shred of sympathy in them. He's shushing you in a dramatic mocking sense of kindness, cradling your jaw in his hands like he cares. You try to remove your face from his hold, but he doesn't let you, following your retreating face and caging it between his calloused grip. "There ain't nothin' you coulda done. You were jus' at the wrong place at the wrong time." It's said so matter-of-factly it shreds the final bits of hope that you clung to.

And then he's leaning closer, dropping an arm to nuzzle at the wound on your neck, ignoring how you hiss and jerk away from him, desperate to evade the sting of his teeth, but it never comes. You feel him go still underneath you, muscles seizing like he's been struck, and it also gives you pause letting you focus through your aching muddled head and pick up on the little puffs of breath bursting across your throat. Is he . . . sniffing you?

Your head is suddenly back in his hands and he's peering down at you, squinting in the dim light like he's searching for something and all you can do is force your drooping eyelids open to warily watch him, trying to ignore the persistent vacant throb in your gut. A series of emotions cross his face, bewilderment, anger, and lastly a frustrated sort of acceptance. "You gotta be shittin' me." Then he's tearing away from you, leaving your body to weakly sag back up against the driver's seat while he stomps at the ground and swears. You think about trying to make a run for it while he's distracted and busy throwing a fit over . . . something, but when your place your feet on the ground and try to stand you're startled by how horribly they shake. A tremor runs up your body and has you falling right back down on your seat. The blood loss and your crashing adrenaline rush seems to be catching up to you, leaving your body nothing more than a useless painful quivering mess and you could cry but you'll be damned if you give this bastard the twisted satisfaction of seeing your tears.

The sound of you trying to stand seems to remind him of your presence and he's twisting around to look at you. And the two of you pause in a strange sort of standoff. He briefly gazes back off into the night like he might find an answer somewhere out among the darkness and rolling hills before looking back to you with a dejected sigh. Then he's walking back towards you, lifting his wrist up to his mouth and biting into it without flinching.

The sight of that alone has you trying to scramble back again, but he's on you before you can blink. "Oh, quit yer fussin'. " He chides while holding you close against his chest.

"Wha-" you can't even get the question out before he's sliding a bloody wrist against your open mouth. You flinch away from it, smearing it across your cheek and he tuts disapprovingly like he isn't trying to force feed you his blood. "C'mon now, don' be difficult."

You had fully intended to scold him, whip out some barbed quip to get some sense of having the upper hand, no matter how miniscule it was in the long run, but then a bit of his blood drops along your tongue, and your brain is wiped clean of any coherent thought. You don't know what compelled you to do it, honest to God. But suddenly you're latching onto his arm like it's a lifeline and gulping down the thick red that pours from the open wound. A thick metallic gush coats your tongue and it's almost too much but he's cradling the back of your head to keep you fixed to his arm. Then notes of something salted and faintly sweet rises up from the coppery flavor and you're pulling it into your mouth like its melted sugar. And you think you can hear him murmur something to you, something like, "see it ain't so bad, is it?" but his voice is distant and far away like he's talking to you from under water.

That strange hollow pinch inside of your gut is back. It's like hunger almost, but it's also leagues away from any hunger you've ever felt. It feels like a sharp rabid thing is lose in your stomach, all teeth and claws, scratching at you from the inside, begging for you to give it more. And the flow of blood the pours freely from his wrist suddenly isn't enough. And you're pulling away from him with as much strength as you can muster, successfully standing on your feet and snatching at the clothes on his chest for a completely different reason now. You catch the surprise in his eyes, the little puff of disbelieving laughter that leaves him when he lets you roughly nudge his head to the side and place you mouth on his throat, running the sensitive tip of your tongue along the rough texture of his five-o clock shadow. Just keeping the edges of your teeth there. But you can smell the blood underneath his skin and the wild, gnawing hunger inside of you demands to be fed and then you're sinking them in deep. His skin breaks underneath the pressure and the thick red fills your mouth like nectar. The flow of it is much stronger here, gushing across your tongue beautifully. You almost moan from the elation you feel, the stabbing pain muting out in pale distant throbs and the shaking in your arms and legs dies down.

He groans and grips your hips tightly and whether it's from discomfort or not you don't know. And you don't care. You can hardly think at all, left adrift under the pull the blood that steadily pours down your throat, and if it weren't for the sudden burst of sound to tether you, you might would have floated away under it. Somewhere in the distance a pack coyotes howls and yips rise up like a delighted strip of laughter, the wind rustles over the desert floor like a wane breath, and far past the horizon something warm and primordial rumbles, but it's still hard to focus on over the sound of your own feverish gulping. Even though the foreign, wild hunger has since died down, you don't want to stop. You want to stay here forever and drink and drink and drink.

You're being pulled back from his neck before you can register it, pitifully whining at the loss of his blood. It takes you a few moments to come to, the annoying steady tapping of his hand on your cheek helping to rouse you from your drunken stupor. And the grin on his face is too cocky and smug for your taste and something about the look in his eyes tells you that you've just done something irreversible. That you've sealed your fate and won't be able look back. It takes a minute for your slow-moving syrupy thoughts to catch up. The realization of what you've done hits you with the subtly of a charging bull and your entire body runs cold. He must see the change in you because he's lurching forward and snatching you before you can run off with your newfound strength. "Hold on now, " he's laughing. The bastard is laughing. " I mean, shit the way you were sucking on me, I thought I'd be seein' the big man upstairs soon!"

"Get your hands off of me!" You snarl. Because it had worked so well for you last time, but you don't care. You're angry, you're betrayed. But you can't blame anyone else but yourself and that's what terrifies you the most.

"I can't do that now. It's gonna be you and me sweetpea! " He practically sings." For a good long while."

You can't even form a sentence to ask him why. Why he suddenly has an interest in you, why he fed you his blood, why you wanted his blood. It all fades from the tip of your tongue before you can form the words, and then he's lifting you up like a bag of dog food and tossing you over his shoulder despite your protest. "Oh, hush now. " He scolds you lightly with a few pats on your rear and you try to knee him in the stomach but he's quick to catch the wayward limb. He walks past the totaled Ford, still smoking and crumpled against the fence post and heads off towards the road, whistling jovially as he goes with an arm secured around your waist to keep you held down in place. All while you limply hang from his shoulder, distantly watching the asphalt pass underneath his boots, and the way that the rowels of his spurs slightly rotate between their shanks with each step. You can't help but wonder what your family will think when you never come back home. When a cop or some person on their way into the nearest town spots your crumpled up car on the side of the road or whatever is left of the diner and reports you as a missing person. Or dead.

Will they look for you? You think about your father sitting at the dining room table, awake too early and drinking a mug full of coffee so black that it'll make your lips twists up like you ate something sour and your mother sitting in front of the TV every night to watch her reruns while she picks out a new novel for her book club- which is really just an excuse to gossip and complain about the neighbors.

You may never be a part of that again. You may never see them again. And a heavy lump is inside your throat threatening to push tears up. Even Sam and his cheating and his sweet, dimpled smile and his constant prattle about business sales - you'd take it all back in a heartbeat. You'd take the pain and the lying and the hurt but instead you're here. Tossed over some psychopath's shoulder.

"Calvary's here!" He suddenly cheers, breaking you from your spiral. You have to prop a hand on his lower back suspend yourself up enough to look back over your shoulder, but it gives enough leverage to make out a pair of headlights piercing the through the darkness ahead. The sight of it has a lump of dread forming in the pit of your stomach, heavy and unforgiving. And Severen seems to sense your unease, because he's working a hand up the back of your thigh in what he seems to think are soothing stokes. " Yer gonna be alright, the family is gonna love ya!"

And some helpless part of you still stupid enough to cling onto hope wants to cry out, to beg him to let you go. To pretend that this entire night never happened. But you know its fruitless. You're in too deep now. You were as soon as they stepped into that diner. Whatever happened now you'd just have to hope that you make it out alive. But maybe you wouldn't want to.

"Shit sugar, me and you might have some fun after all!"

#severen x reader #severen van sickle x reader #near dark x reader #near dark #severen near dark #severen #near dark 1987

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