[kerobunni]

aaaa sorry i haven’t been here in ages, i’ve been i. thinking of redoing all of my code and tumblr coding is just um... c’: ii. super busy with prior classes / the holidays and iii. regaining my muse! so sorry to people who i owe posts, i’m really gonna try cracking down on that.

anyways, happy new year you guys!!!

[yavn]

hello 911? hi yeah omg sorry i know it’s late and this is probably so annoying like i hell don’t wanna bother you haha, like i know you’re probs mad at me, are you mad at me? actually don’t answer that it’s okay haha. omg this is so stupid like i sound like such a crybaby right now, like for real i’m listening to myself talk and i’m like “aaahh you’re so embarrassing!!” haha like … omg haha i’m so… anyway. what was i saying? oh right. so i was just stabbed in the chest and

[nikish-sa]

[kuyacore-deactivated20191109]

rosy cities

[jjjjjjjjjjohn]

😇 or 😈?

[kerobunni]

happy halloween aaaa

[supremeputa]

[witchinghour]

WITCHES IN FILM: The Craft (1996), Suspiria (2018), Harry Potter (2001 - 2011), The Witch (2015), The Neon Demon (2017), The Love Witch (2016), The Little Hours (2017), Hausu (1977), Bell Book and Candle (1958), Pirates of the Caribbean (2006 - 2007)

[itsmebilly]

@plumshell

Goosebumps freckled along the span of arms, legs and upper thighs - if she wasn’t careful, her lip might have begun to tremble. A scene of her act that wasn’t part of the performance … therefore a selfish need to hide it surfaced. Her fingers curled against soft palms and oh god had she wanted to peek, to see what was lurking around in the shadows, but the obsession must wait. She will wait - and he should feel grateful that she was, because he might not be fond of the outcome should she decide to ruin his fantasies.

In fact, it seemed she was flat out insulting Billy by purposefully not seeking him out.

Amala did not cower, or cry, or snivel and whine because she sensed a humanity that she hardly had herself, something she hated and despised, yet forever tantalized by. She would never understand the emotional despair one could have, but she could appreciate the rage. The vileness. This was a weakness she exploited, adored, because it was a sign of lost humanity. Nothing but a freedom that she could relate closely to.

The girl kept walking. Slower and slower, biting the plush of her lip until it sparked dull pains.  It’s been so long since someone’s tried to hurt her. Not many were given the chance because in the temptress of a youth’s eyes, bruising flesh and gifted scars was an incredibly intimate affair. She was picky and he happened to have stoked the flames enough for indulgence to be shared.

Nerves sparked and she cradled her frame, let the lace keeping her modesty in fragile tact keep inching down, down, down.. a delicious thought, would her stalker truly torture her? Her teeth felt as if they were humming, too.

And then, her heart vibrated, pulsed until it hurt to breathe.

A blur of clothing, outstretched limbs and a sudden collision had her delirious laughs bubble free. How eager! How untrained. He didn’t even attempt to venture further - had she wound him up so tightly? Nimble as she was, his ‘prey’ had only managed a few steps and if she hadn’t tugged the fishing line so harshly, she might have been able to start a lovely game of cat or mouse - not that she couldn’t later.

His punishment would have to be awfully good for someone as disobedient as her to ever learn lessons, let alone follow them.

Scrambling, pupils were wide and while a resounding thump had signaled her head perhaps had smacked against the floor at some point, it didn’t seem to stop her from squirming, right against him, a half-hearted attempt to flip him on his back. His impatience was alluring, made her head woozy aside the black and blue pluming at her temple. Amala huffed.

He better hope that heals nicely, too.

What’s more important, however, is getting a good look at him; so she does, despite the struggle, chest heaving and cheeks all aglow. There is fear painted beautifully across her face but her eyes.. her eyes speak of a challenge. Amusement, nearly.

There’s no need for words because the hidden, raw indecency of this situation will speak plenty by itself.

The picture was painted. A killer keen on offing this week’s final girl. She was daring, dirty, drop dead gorgeous. Upon their true meeting, drawing even closer than before, he could smell the honey- It was more concentrated. So sweet, he wanted to bury his nose in her lush hair and savor it yet again.

Instead, that sugary hair clumped together in a tight fist rather nicely. He shivered as it rubbed against his fingers. Mania had taken over. Resounding thumps and hushed screams bounced off of the walls that had spoken to him moments ago. They were finally quiet. Violent, messy beating had muffled his own punitive thoughts.

Shaking hands repeatedly slammed a head into the floor. Voices grew dim. Except for his own. He was a screaming, sweaty mess. His lust for her submission kept him lively and right on top of each action. Denim-covered, long legs straddled her squirming body.

“Tonight! Are you going to listen? Tonight! Are you going to listen?”

A thick, curly strand of sweat-slicked hair fell between his eyes. It shook as he rabidly doled out punishing blows. The man’s eyes were bloodshot, dilated, and glossy. Mellow green translated to a golden brown drawing around his wide pupils.

Messy, violent man. Truly a wonder. How does one evade getting caught when they’re impatient and unprepared? Maybe he was just one lucky boy. So noisy…

Billy slapped at the woman’s face and grabbed a hold of it in his calloused hands. He liked the way her lips pursed when he squeezed her cheeks together.

Grunting and leaning in closer, Billy took a deep look into those helpless eyes.

[kerobunni]

@billybadbilly

Keep reading

[itsmebilly]

Keep reading

[kerobunni]

@billybadbilly

Billy was beyond a mad man. He was an absolute wild force of nature that demanded attention. It’s strange.

She hasn’t met someone like her in those regards in a very long time.

These are the moments that are most tense, when she starts questioning her antics and instead, living too much in her head, too much in the moment. It’s prone to allowing mistakes - she might snap her maw at Death, but she isn’t invincible, not entirely.

His touch is starting to somewhat confuse her.

There’s a lack of blunt rage, garbling screams... and instead, unabashed admiring that earns a prompt scrunch of brow, a slight narrow to a watchful gaze. His coo of a compliment makes her smaller body stiffen underneath his rather caging frame, as if she was expectant for a foul remark - which she was, not this gentle candor. Amala will absolutely take it to her grave that this encounter is prolonged purely out of self-centered want, casual inquisitiveness. There are certain confessions she just won’t let out from those confined thoughts of hers, ego clashing with rationale.

Why can’t she just shove him off and kill him already?

Her fingers kept inching along, breath caught in delicate throat. The back of the girl’s head ached and she could feel the air growing hotter, stale.

Blood. So much blood. Sweet and tacky like candied cherries. It’s artistic. 

There was much to atone for; Amala was a sinner of the worst kind.

It was otherwise silent, aside the tick of a nearby clock on the wall, the hushed hums that sputtered loose when grip had begun to make her squirm; no doubt feeding into the persona she cultivated each day. Of course, it’s difficult to tell what is genuine with her and what is purely plastic. Wicked obsession has been all Amala’s known and pined for and no doubt that could not change, even as the world continued to crumble into dust.

Where exactly is she pushing this little endeavor? It takes two to tango, but...

“.. Am not.” Amala loathes how soft her voice gets, a huffed retort, but it’s held under wraps. While Billy’s behavior was interesting, dare she say intoxicating, it’s a game of which she is currently not favored. He’s still on top of her and she’d rather not wrestle into the night.

Not to mention, struggle led to broken nails.

Puffy pout turns imprudent, the pull to her scalp was relished. Hands finding his hips, Amala couldn’t help but wonder as she peered up at him - was this how men felt with her in a different sort of entanglement? 

While her gestures have context, purpose - she isn’t simply dawdling through the motions; he will not get any honesty as to just why she’s treating him like this willingly. It’s less of an instinct for survival and more of a strange, twisted understanding. Bonding.

“How... long have you been up there?”, is mumbled between a quiet sigh. Her attention wavers, comically, down his torso and further - is he -

Another flicker of emotion, thankfully, not humor. Questions will be kept simple and affections excessively sappy . ( Her insides crawl. How weak she is. How persistent for answers. Just who is she anymore? ) At least those disobedient tendencies aren’t so scrupulous as to overpower the fact that if she were to be a spitfire once again too soon, she would surely be offed instantaneously. It’s important to note that she flirts with the spirits, but doesn’t wish to become an addition. 

Barely did those dainty caresses brush what strained against trousers, a feather-light tease. Her teeth bite hard on the inner part of her cheek. Perhaps her breasts swell with excitement, thighs trembling. And even her sounds falter, untrained - yearning. ‘Get off‘ seems to be a resounding declaration that fails to spiral into the abyss. 

Under skin and bone, that vile attitude he knows quite well at this point, is livid, but muzzled under flimsy care.

[nenimkee-wanwee-deactivated2021]

[valtsv]

i call this the “when you’re exploring the gothic castle that you’ve been warned to stay away from by the locals because it’s rumored to be home to one or more vampires after dark” look

[peachyyguts]

[ravenclairee]

No animal nor man can scream like I can with the fury of my recitations.

[itsmebilly]

@plumshell

Goosebumps freckled along the span of arms, legs and upper thighs - if she wasn’t careful, her lip might have begun to tremble. A scene of her act that wasn’t part of the performance … therefore a selfish need to hide it surfaced. Her fingers curled against soft palms and oh god had she wanted to peek, to see what was lurking around in the shadows, but the obsession must wait. She will wait - and he should feel grateful that she was, because he might not be fond of the outcome should she decide to ruin his fantasies.

In fact, it seemed she was flat out insulting Billy by purposefully not seeking him out.

Amala did not cower, or cry, or snivel and whine because she sensed a humanity that she hardly had herself, something she hated and despised, yet forever tantalized by. She would never understand the emotional despair one could have, but she could appreciate the rage. The vileness. This was a weakness she exploited, adored, because it was a sign of lost humanity. Nothing but a freedom that she could relate closely to.

The girl kept walking. Slower and slower, biting the plush of her lip until it sparked dull pains.  It’s been so long since someone’s tried to hurt her. Not many were given the chance because in the temptress of a youth’s eyes, bruising flesh and gifted scars was an incredibly intimate affair. She was picky and he happened to have stoked the flames enough for indulgence to be shared.

Nerves sparked and she cradled her frame, let the lace keeping her modesty in fragile tact keep inching down, down, down.. a delicious thought, would her stalker truly torture her? Her teeth felt as if they were humming, too.

And then, her heart vibrated, pulsed until it hurt to breathe.

A blur of clothing, outstretched limbs and a sudden collision had her delirious laughs bubble free. How eager! How untrained. He didn’t even attempt to venture further - had she wound him up so tightly? Nimble as she was, his ‘prey’ had only managed a few steps and if she hadn’t tugged the fishing line so harshly, she might have been able to start a lovely game of cat or mouse - not that she couldn’t later.

His punishment would have to be awfully good for someone as disobedient as her to ever learn lessons, let alone follow them.

Scrambling, pupils were wide and while a resounding thump had signaled her head perhaps had smacked against the floor at some point, it didn’t seem to stop her from squirming, right against him, a half-hearted attempt to flip him on his back. His impatience was alluring, made her head woozy aside the black and blue pluming at her temple. Amala huffed.

He better hope that heals nicely, too.

What’s more important, however, is getting a good look at him; so she does, despite the struggle, chest heaving and cheeks all aglow. There is fear painted beautifully across her face but her eyes.. her eyes speak of a challenge. Amusement, nearly.

There’s no need for words because the hidden, raw indecency of this situation will speak plenty by itself.

The picture was painted. A killer keen on offing this week’s final girl. She was daring, dirty, drop dead gorgeous. Upon their true meeting, drawing even closer than before, he could smell the honey- It was more concentrated. So sweet, he wanted to bury his nose in her lush hair and savor it yet again.

Instead, that sugary hair clumped together in a tight fist rather nicely. He shivered as it rubbed against his fingers. Mania had taken over. Resounding thumps and hushed screams bounced off of the walls that had spoken to him moments ago. They were finally quiet. Violent, messy beating had muffled his own punitive thoughts.

Shaking hands repeatedly slammed a head into the floor. Voices grew dim. Except for his own. He was a screaming, sweaty mess. His lust for her submission kept him lively and right on top of each action. Denim-covered, long legs straddled her squirming body.

“Tonight! Are you going to listen? Tonight! Are you going to listen?”

A thick, curly strand of sweat-slicked hair fell between his eyes. It shook as he rabidly doled out punishing blows. The man’s eyes were bloodshot, dilated, and glossy. Mellow green translated to a golden brown drawing around his wide pupils.

Messy, violent man. Truly a wonder. How does one evade getting caught when they’re impatient and unprepared? Maybe he was just one lucky boy. So noisy…

Billy slapped at the woman’s face and grabbed a hold of it in his calloused hands. He liked the way her lips pursed when he squeezed her cheeks together.

Grunting and leaning in closer, Billy took a deep look into those helpless eyes.

[kerobunni]

@billybadbilly

Hypnotized couldn’t even begin to explain the crackle in veins, the surge of energy that stirred under smooth flesh, poked and prodded and warned her of her often... reckless ways. Thoughts blurred into thick mirage and for a moment, the demeanor she sported was at ease. Comfortable, with the violence, as if it were second nature - where as in reality, it was simply first. She was what men dreamed of at night in hopes of some sort of twisted purity, yet it was clear, very clear, that was far from the truth. There was no light in this beautiful vessel. Just her. 

Selfish and terrible and with a questionable morality, the two of them ever being fated to meet was either a punishment from the universe or a gift from below.

His fingers sunk past curls, teased against her scalp and shortly after, earned a clench of jaw and grit of teeth. The disassociation with current events was apparent with how her gaze softened, as if she had been tipsy from a bottle of wine and was too faded to face the music. Everything burned until an uncomfortable blanket of warmth filled youthful features, brow relaxed and lips parted. 

Then, her head lifted and smacked into the floorboards again. She isn’t quite stunned, entranced... attentive? There isn’t a word to describe the numbness, the way her muscles tense in a manner that doesn’t fit her situation. Her amusement leaves her eyes and is replaced with something indiscernible. She  wants to sob, for once. She can truly feel.

Her first life had been simple. Boring. Full of rules and names she didn’t wish to remember, full of judgmental stares from strangers she did not know. It had ended how most would suspect - flames. Crack. Her skull gives off a delicious sound.

The second? Well, she can’t recall. It had begun with her crawling from dirt and bones and hobbling her way through gnarled branches. She remembered how she didn’t look the same, how her eyes were such a disgusting brown and she could barely see through a tangled mass of blonde -

A choked whimper crawled up her throat and her frown returned, nostrils flaring. Her mind rings as a wetness slowly starts to spill, soak up and stain. The smell is overwhelming but familiar. Dangerous and uncouth. There’s a panting that makes her fragile chest rattle but it isn’t from exertion, let alone panic. She’s not going to be retelling this tale in the depth of her own memories because she doesn’t want this experience to fade, doesn’t want the brutality to get lost in the dark.

Again and again and again Billy has managed to make her see stars. There’s not a trace of guilt and she doubts he will have any either. Delirious mumbles and laughs are countered by sighs too blissful. Her hands had found their way to his arms, though it appears she’s more content with running her fingertips where they shouldn’t, instead of using those nails and clawing until he bled.

That harrowing croak in her ears hisses at the thought. She wants to. She wants to dig her touch past ribs and watch him shudder at the sight of what she might pull out. Still... he doesn’t deserve her scars, she haughtily remembers. Not right now.

Billy’s screams had left Amala breathless. So much unbridled passion and vigor. It nearly had a voice, a much smaller voice than the rest she listened to wonder how he had gotten to such a point. With creatures like herself, such curiosities are stifled for the sake of killing flowers that might bloom - empathy, compassion. Squirms had begun to shift to straight thrashing around, throat hoarse as a few whines that couldn’t manage to remain locked away. His question is heard and taken to heart. Of course she wouldn’t truly listen. 

Maybe just enough to actually manage to not carelessly lose yet another body to saunter in.

A hateful attraction sinks in like thorns - his hair is boyish, his eyes are easy to read. He treats her like an animal and yet, she inspects him just like one. The strike of his palm, now, that was unexpected; a spike to the senses, even pushing her mouth to form a needy pout. (Him gripping at her like this just makes it worse.) 

Amala can’t swallow, can’t speak, but her hands do. They land near his torso with a touch too soft to match someone like her, wrap around him to keep him close. They may appear pathetic, submissive, but it’s... intrusive. Falsely gentle.

He’s leaning in and she has too, just to prove a point. You’re not winning, angry man. But in a way, she is helpless, because he has given her what she wants and she craves what she cannot have and more. Glossy tears spill down cheekbones and collect on the crevices of his palms. Blood has smeared and already clotted in hair, made the honey scent wafting about... distinct. Take the bait, Amala practically looks like she’s begging for the attention. That at least, isn’t a lie.

  The cat has been caught by the scruff of its neck.

[misakuroi]

night of the werewolf (1981) directed by paul naschy

[candidlykenya]

[itsmebilly]

@plumshell

The temptation to hang up in the middle of his spiel edged at her thoughts like a dog might nip at an owner’s heels - a minor annoyance that was stifled. More than thrilled at the fact she had irritated the stranger plenty, her expression showed no hints of satisfaction aside a smile that perhaps had been truly innocent, in the past. It might pass for it too, in the present. However, behind fluttering lashes and candied sighs, a hidden beast dwells. 

Her eyes are morose. It isn’t the first time someone’s tried to scare her and while she was sure the other on the line - “Billy” , she assumed, was manic.. well. She could be a skeptic. 

Again, her attention wavered, she made space with the speaker and stared so intensely at the phone that she almost expected someone to crawl out. A roll of darkened hues - as if.

Silence followed, aside a bit of stepping around, an impatient hum obnoxiously ending as a loud, tempered whine creeping past her lips; she wanted him to shut up now, justshut up, shut UP, shut up. And like a fool, she didn’t realize he was serious, acting like a child who would tug their classmate’s hair. 

When he finished, there was a ringing in her ears. A frown to an angelic face. Fists were clenched and knuckles pale, cheeks ruddy, pink. If anything, it appeared that the verge of snapping was crawling up her spine.

’I’m going to kill you.’

Why was he so calm? Teeth met tongue and bit.

If he was wanting to have some ‘fun’, she was most definitely someone to fill the role. Because when push came to shove, she just wasn't normal. Survival of the fittest, no? 

Hearing a click, a growl garbled up and she blinked, slowly. “I’m going to killllllll youuuuu”, she whispered. Softly, under her breath, in a tone that was shy, seductive. Repeated over and over and over, until the mimicry grew raspy.

Her arm reared back and she threw the phone, along with the handset, so harshly that it made a sharp crack against the wall. Kill her? Kill her? Oh, he must be a comedian.

With that, she stomped off, muttering to herself, yanking off clothes and frankly, ready for a bath and the comfort of her mattress. The problem with girls like her was the truth was never enough and no matter how dire, their mouths were always filled with bumblebees.

What a tease.

Tick-tock. 

There was an entity stirring in the house that night. Its movements were subtle. Its steps- light and swift. Hands gentle and brushing against the walls. The tactile feeling of the powdery walls made him warm inside. He walked with a slight bounce in his step.

Once upon a time, he had been here before. Not in this very house, but a house. It was real to him. Very real.

The young, abused boy heard his mother’s voice. It gave him chills. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. That punitive parent in his head screamed at him. It was loud, it surrounded him completely. All of the memories suffocated him. 

Billy gasped, falling into the wall, and effectively falling out of his flashbacks. He mumbled to himself. “Shit!” Keep it quiet, Billy.

Creeping around the corner, Billy listened for any cues to reveal himself to his victim. He whispered to himself and continued to observe. His strained, green eyes peeked in to be greeted by her body. 

Exposed.

Billy stood there, waiting. It took all of the power in his body to keep his exaggerated, excited breathing at an inaudible level.

[kerobunni]

Keep reading

[itsmebilly]

Keep reading

[kerobunni]

@billybadbilly

Goosebumps freckled along the span of arms, legs and upper thighs - if she wasn’t careful, her lip might have begun to tremble. A scene of her act that wasn’t part of the performance ... therefore a selfish need to hide it surfaced. Her fingers curled against soft palms and oh god had she wanted to peek, to see what was lurking around in the shadows, but the obsession must wait. She will wait - and he should feel grateful that she was, because he might not be fond of the outcome should she decide to ruin his fantasies.

In fact, it seemed she was flat out insulting Billy by purposefully not seeking him out.

Amala did not cower, or cry, or snivel and whine because she sensed a humanity that she hardly had herself, something she hated and despised, yet forever tantalized by. She would never understand the emotional despair one could have, but she could appreciate the rage. The vileness. This was a weakness she exploited, adored, because it was a sign of lost humanity. Nothing but a freedom that she could relate closely to.

The girl kept walking. Slower and slower, biting the plush of her lip until it sparked dull pains.  It’s been so long since someone’s tried to hurt her. Not many were given the chance because in the temptress of a youth’s eyes, bruising flesh and gifted scars was an incredibly intimate affair. She was picky and he happened to have stoked the flames enough for indulgence to be shared.

Nerves sparked and she cradled her frame, let the lace keeping her modesty in fragile tact keep inching down, down, down.. a delicious thought, would her stalker truly torture her? Her teeth felt as if they were humming, too.

And then, her heart vibrated, pulsed until it hurt to breathe.

 A blur of clothing, outstretched limbs and a sudden collision had her delirious laughs bubble free. How eager! How untrained. He didn’t even attempt to venture further - had she wound him up so tightly? Nimble as she was, his ‘prey’ had only managed a few steps and if she hadn’t tugged the fishing line so harshly, she might have been able to start a lovely game of cat or mouse - not that she couldn’t later. 

His punishment would have to be awfully good for someone as disobedient as her to ever learn lessons, let alone follow them.

Scrambling, pupils were wide and while a resounding thump had signaled her head perhaps had smacked against the floor at some point, it didn’t seem to stop her from squirming, right against him, a half-hearted attempt to flip him on his back. His impatience was alluring, made her head woozy aside the black and blue pluming at her temple. Amala huffed.

He better hope that heals nicely, too.

What’s more important, however, is getting a good look at him; so she does, despite the struggle, chest heaving and cheeks all aglow. There is fear painted beautifully across her face but her eyes.. her eyes speak of a challenge. Amusement, nearly. 

There’s no need for words because the hidden, raw indecency of this situation will speak plenty by itself.

[feral-leader]

🍸

Send 🍸 for my muse to try to drunkenly seduce yours - Still Accepting!

►“Have you ever been satisfied?” He asked his counterpart, though he didn’t look at her and leaned against the counter behind them “I haven’t … though I am looking for someone who can change that and you might be the one.”

[kerobunni]

Amala wasn’t exactly looking for attention, but habits died hard and she wasn’t doing a good job at ‘blending in’. Stuck out like a sore thumb, from the few, visible tarot symbols crawling up her spine, to the clothes that looked straight out of a California dream. In short, she didn’t belong - not here. 

Though, when she snapped out of her daze, a curved brow arched, keen ears seeking for an all, too familiar slurring. The girl didn’t know whether to laugh or say something incredibly rude. Her lips pursed and she scrunched her nose.

“…No. But as intoxicating as your claims are, I’m not the type of girl you’d like to .. mess around with.” A playful purr with a warning he likely would not take. “But count me as curious.” Amala didn’t bother facing the stranger, instead, keeping a buzzed & forlorn stare at a beer that tasted stale and bitter. 

[feral-leader]

⎯  ×  ⎯ “That sounded almost like a threat to me and I hate to tell you but I am now more than curious, sweetheart.” The young male responded smirking, not caring about the fact that he knew next to nothing about this strange girl and she certainly could be telling the truth. That one shouldn’t mess with her, but that excited Frank even more. He was drawn to her like a moth to light. 

“Name’s Frank and now… say again… you’re not the type of girl I should be around? Why’s that? Tell me more about yourself.” The dark-haired male asked and ordered drinks, a shot of vodka for both of them. “Let’s start with simple things, what’s your name, pumpkin’?”

[kerobunni]

@feral-leader

Tongue kissing canines, a minuscule smile curling on parting lips. A slow shake of her head could easily be translated as offhand playfulness - but in fact, it was not a threat, but a omen. She didn’t always sink her pretty teeth so quickly; sometimes she spared some words of wisdom but it was purely up to her company whether they wished to abide or suffer the consequences.

She’d burn this curious boy to the ground. Amala’s grin softened at the promising thought.

Peeking behind tight coils and thick lashes, her tone was purposefully light. Any good gambler never showed all of their cards after all. “…Aren’t you just the little detective? You sure do ask a lot of questions…”, she paused, eyeing the tender and pushing her unwanted bottle aside. Pointer finger slid slowly around the rim of her glass, before she let the vodka give a good punch at her throat. Bound time she felt something anyways. “Frank.” Humming, the girl isn’t sure how to feel about the nickname. It’s.. sweet. Sickening. 

“Just call me Ama. Consider me a… bad influence of sorts.” Another sip, voice barely a whisper.  “You wouldn’t want to be caught up with someone indecent, would you?” By now, pearly whites were fully on display, narrowed eyes akin to a feline caught with the bird in its maw. Her inquiry is honest and screams a million conclusions his mind could drift to.