#spike x vicious

[shewreckz]

happy pride month

[only-fragments]

My favorite ship is two grown men who hate each other.

[spikelovesjulia]

credit: fsx.design

[loveneverfades]

Spike: Like you using her name for your scummy drug deals? I truly pity her for that.

Vicious: If there's anyone who needs pity here, it's you.

[wombbatical]

trying this tumblr thing out again ... here are some doodles i stole from my twt

[wetsoggybeans69]

Cowboy Bebop Characters X Reader Headcanons

(How affectionate they would be)

Spike Speigle

Affection isn't his favorite form of showing love. He usually likes to spend time with you even if you both are doing different things, as long as yall are in the same room, he is satisfied. Although, if you are super affectionate, he won't mind it at all. He will tease you a little but finds it cute.

NSFW

Handsy, strangely loves exploring your body and admiring it. He will beg you to stay and cuddle with him after.

Jet Black

Also, isn't that affectionate; I do have a feeling he would act very gentlemanly like. for example, he would hold your hand whenever walking you home. Again, he doesn't mind if you are affectionate.

NSFW

He isn't handsy, but he does like your touch. It is very soothing to him he will be pretty gentle and slow with you as well.

Faye Valentine

Affection isn't her first way of showing love. She would probably prefer a gift. I do think at first she might be a little surprised. However, she will get used to it after a while. Faye will expect it from you. I could see her getting sassy after if she didn't get enough from you.

NSFW

Faye will be the most affectionate during sex. She would like to run her hands through your hair and trace circles on your back. The odd and genuine affection for the situation would be relaxing.

Julia

Strangely, I think she would enjoy affection. She'll probably give simple and soft forms of it. She isn't super affectionate, but she would give gentle touches. Maybe a kiss on your cheek now and then, or hold onto your arm. She'll even mess with your hair if you put your head in her lap.

NSFW

Again, it's a very soft touch, but it'll be a lot more affectionate and very passionate. Although she can be rougher if you want her to be.

Vicious

At first, he will be confused and shocked when you do touch him. He rarely gets touched when he does. It's when he gets stabbed. I think he would feel threatened in the beginning. He might not feel like he deserves it as well. (Bitch got trauma). WITH ALL THAT SAID! I am begging you, please, give this man affection! He's so fucking touched starved and needs affection desperately. He will act like it doesn't affect him. But, if he is in love with you, and you touch him, I swear to god he will fucking melt in your arms. (If he isn't in love with you, he will shove you out of the way) Vicious would be afraid to do PDA, but if he feels jealous, he will have his hand somewhere on you.

NSFW

Try to tease him and see what happens. (Spoiler you wont walk for 3 years) It's not a very good idea when it comes to this man, Vicious can be very handsy, he's similar to Spike in that way, but it differs when it comes to the reason why. He is doing it to be possessive. Spike is doing it to just feel your body against his (you dont have a problem with that either).

[spike-and-faye]

For real write in your answers in the tags!!!

[roses-for-julia]

I love that the Bebop guide draws attention to Spike seeing Julia as his present at the end. ❤️

[queenofanime]

Cowboy Bebop

Vicious reacting to falling in love

Let's be honest, when he first met you, it wasn't love at first sight. 

He doesn't believe in that, and even if he did, a long time ago, he got his heart broken because of it.

But one thing, he does notice, are your tenacity and persistence because somehow, you crawled your way into his heart.

If you do catch his attention, you're strong and witty. 

And if your personality is bubbly combined with sarcasm, then he actually starts to pay attention. 

Because of his past relationship, I feel Vicious would go for someone who's younger, a tomboy, and someone who's more childish and free. 

 For the relationship to start, you are going to make the first move. Even then, the man will reject you. 

Thus the chase begins. 

Frankly, Vicious doesn't get what you see in him. Deep down, he knows he's a hard pill to swallow and if you do become something, he'll let you down. 

He is an ambitious man, who doesn't care about killing and always gets what he wants. 

Everyone who knows you're in love tries to convince you otherwise. And while everyone might see his personality traits as negatives, you actually admire them. 

Whenever you strike up a conversation, he is cold and indifferent, but deep down, both of you know he's actually listening.  

To Vicious, Julia is an ex-lover; to Spike, she is a soulmate. So when you do enter into Vicious life, he desperately hopes you are his soulmate.     

[softsadsassysweet]

I have a lot of mixed feelings about Julia as a character and I whole heartedly believe that that’s the entire point.

This is a long one so buckle up buttercups.

I have so many questions for her.

Why didn’t she go with Spike when he left the syndicate?

Why did she doubt that Spike loved her?

Why reduce Faye to a messenger after revealing she knew who she was? Why not just have Faye take her to Spike?

Why did she apparently know so much about the Bebop crew, but still never sought out Spike?

What is the whole purpose of Julia as a character?

I relate to Faye and Jet, and their frustration if not their damn near resentment of her existence. From their perspective, she pulls Spike away from them. In Jets words, her name is “like a spell that unlocks a door”.

The audience, just like the crew, is robbed of any kind of access to her. Then before we can even begin to get attached to her, she’s gone.

We have a lot of beautiful poetry, stories, music, and references to classic authors like Hemingway in this series that act as echoes to possibly help explain the story. What if there are other story structures that aren’t as on the nose?

I was driving to Atlanta and listening to “The Great Gatsby”. The week before I had comfort binged Bebop. It all felt familiar and to me they echoed each other. The more I analyzed Julia, the more I saw parallels from the Great Gatsby. She reminds me so much of Daisy.

Just to break it down simply how I saw it:

Vicious would be fulfilling the role of Tom.

Spike in the role of Gatsby.

Julia in the role of Daisey.

The Bebop crew would be in the empathetic role of Nick Caraway.

In the Great Gatsby, the tragedy is told from Nick Caraways perspective. We get all of the context through him and what he sees and understands.

Similar to Daisy, the audience lacks a lot of empathy for Julia’s decisions because our perspective of the situation does.

In order to relate Julia to Daisey, I need to go into more detail about how I view Daisey from the great Gatsby.

Rather than viewing her as somebody who is obsessed with her money and no accountability, I actually see Daisey as a deeply flawed person and a victim of circumstance. I also believe she wholeheartedly loved both Jay and Tom.

She was ultimately a woman trapped between two men who were obsessed with the idea of her. She never got to be herself. She was never truly free.

I understand why we as an audience would see Gatsby as the obvious person for her to choose, but we have a biased view of Gatsby because Nick Caraway is our narrator. The harsh reality of it is that Gatsby was a criminal. He also didn’t accept Daisey for who she truly is. He was in love with the idea of her and who she was in his past. He couldn’t accept her evolving story and that she at one point she did love Tom.

In the wise words of Daniel Sloss:

“If you don’t love 100% of who I am, you do not love me.

You love an idea of me, which you have falsely fabricated in your head.

And it’s not my fault if I don’t live up to those expectations.”

When Spike asked Julia to run away with him she flat out said no and he shot back with “Yes you can.” That was a red flag for me. This appeared strongly to me as a romanticized one sided decision and that he wasn’t listening to her. He also gave her the information on how they were going to run away, he didn’t bother to include her on making the plans.

Just, YIKES.

Gatsby is an unreliable narrator for Daisy just like Spike is an unreliable narrator for Julia.

Julia saw one man who was abusive and controlling, and the other was seemingly good to her but not truly in love with her. And there’s a huge indicator that she doubted Spike really loved her, RIGHT HERE!!!

“Why did you love me.”

To me, Julia refused to have salvation in either of them.

Julia is an impressive character because she ultimately chose herself.

Daisy didn’t get the option of that choice. In my opinion, Daisey was practically trapped with Tom because he had her child and seemingly the most security. She also just committed a murder, and needed the protection. If she chose herself, of course Tom would have her arrested.

Spike and Vicious are two men who are impossible to say no to for different reasons. Julia (IN MY BIG FAT OPINION) chose loneliness over being someone’s idealization. Her inner strength made her truly alive.

“She was a real woman.”

On a more vulnerable perspective, I also believe fear kept Julia from Spike. In Jupiter Jazz there were some incredibly incriminate quotes said about her in a flashback.

Vicious: “Be careful when you’re with that woman.”

Julia: “All women are liars, don’t you know that?”

It seemed like Julia’s gift and what she provided to Vicious and the syndicate, was deception.

This visual in my opinion is an example of her deceptive nature. It feels incredibly sinister to me, not romantic.

Her hand on the back of his head weaving her fingers into Spikes hair feels like she’s snaring her way into his mind. His eyes are covered and most likely closed while hers are wide open. To me, doesn’t appear romantic. She’s in control. Julia sees what’s coming and Spike doesn’t.

I don’t know what Julia’s intentions were. Hell, we had more access to Daisey’s intentions than Julia.

Daisey wanted to be loved. But what did Julia want? I think her actions scream the loudest and this is my own personal opinion.

I believe Julia wanted autonomy.

Even if it meant being hunted, it would be her life. Even if it meant being alone, it would be her life. She wouldn’t be “free” on Vicious’s terms. She wouldn’t be free on Spike’s terms either. Julia chose a destiny that revolved around no man.

Julia chose herself, and that makes her a much more interesting and powerful character than Daisey.

I think however, did Spike surprise her. I think she did feel deep affection for him. I think when she saw him again she was full of regret. I truly feel her plea to Spike in the graveyard was genuine.

Her hand is closed, not ensnared in this moment. Her eyes are closed and she looks peaceful. She’s surrendered control.

Spike’s eyes are wide open and his expression feels hollow and apathetic. To me this indicates the power dynamic has switched.

Julia had a painful case of “what could have been” when she sees Spike again at last.

I think the graveyard was a huge turning point in her story arc. I think that was the moment she truly decided to belong to someone else.

And then after making the decision to be with him, their time is cut painfully short.

To me, she deserved better than just existing as an element of pining for our main character and then suddenly murdered to propel Spike’s arc.

But, Julia has had her own adventures and her own life for the past three years. She is a whole other story we’ve never had access to. She is a whole person outside of the Bebop crews’ perspective. There’s a lot of power in that unknown.

There’s a lot of power with Julia.

[freuleinanna]

Masriel + being stubborn bc of course they are also i love these so much thank you for making them!!

three-sentence fics: reqs are welcome!

sorry it took so long to write this! and thank you so much! <3 this is rebellion timeline, that brief time when they thought lyra was dead, so yeah.. that

'Your little hunger strike won't fly,' a metal spoon clanks against Marisa's teeth, forced with a stern hand as Asriel looks down at her, the other hand grabbing her face, fingers digging holes in her cheeks, 'so I don't care if you feel like starving yourself to death because you're grieving; yes, that was all very unfortunate, but you won't help her now by-'

A bite, hard and sudden—Asriel grunts, then strikes her across the face only measuring his strength at the last moment; Marisa groans but swallows the curses, she only curls her lip in a scowl, eyes glowing with a warning – Asriel reads it perfectly; watching her chest rising and falling with heavy breathing, he also knows he could hold her nose and force food in her mouth until she finally eats - he knows she knows it too.

Her dignity, Asriel hasn't the slightest doubt, has survival instincts of a cockroach, and still he casts the thought away – not like this, not if he absolutely has to; he drops on one knee instead, trying to find a voice as dire and uncompromising as he can: 'Marisa, I don't need you depressed, I don't need you stupid with guilt or grief, I need you,' — yet every word comes out soaked in savage care, and she feels it too; I can't do it without you, that's what he really says, and this time, she chooses to hear.

[vultbae]

small world ❀

art donaldson x female reader

part two (soon)

↳ summary: Art and Patrick were once your peers at the Mark Rebellato Academy —not the nicest ones. Five years later, you've made a friend that can help you fuck with their minds a little.

↳ warnings: making out, dry humping, manipulation, a lot of pettiness, mentions of bullying, and weight!! the dumbification of art donaldson tbh

↳ notes: Istg I be having the most random ideas, but I hope you enjoy!! as always, english is not my first language lolz

word count: 3.1k

Tashi enters the living room with a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes, moving gracefully in a beautiful blue mini-dress. With a soft pop, she eases the cork, instantly pouring the effervescent gold-ish liquid into the two glasses. 

"You shouldn't even worry about them," Tashi says with a wry smile. As she finishes serving you some rosé Veuve Clicquot, she hands you the glass. "What are you—like, the second or third in Europe? They are gonna be broke by their thirties," she concludes, staring at you with confident eyes.

You nod, taking a sip of champagne. "Don't see it as serious; it'll be fun."

Tashi raises her glass, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. "Im just saying, don't stress over men."

You clink your flute against Tashi’s. "Alright."

A year and a half ago, you had met Tashi Duncan, who you believed was a hard-hearted bitch but ended up being a close friend of yours. She is merciless, proficient, and goddamn; she has that vicious aura you worship so much. While living in Biot, you'd always look for the nearest CRT to watch Tashi flawlessly play, enchanted by how she unnerved her adversaries.

During summer break, your father dragged you out of the academy to visit California for a benefaction event. Amidst the glamour and chatter of the event, you caught sight of Tashi —most likely attending due to her relevance spiking around the area. Luckily, your connection rapidly deepened, fueled by reciprocal admiration and tennis dependence.

And the commitment to stay in touch despite the geographical distance worked. Tashi became pretty much your best friend, and you became hers. Aside from the workaholic aspect, the resemblances between you were too much to ignore. Sooner than later, you discovered much about Tashi's personal life, the players she liked and despised, and her daily anecdotes regarding tennis and her intimate life. And that's how you became acquainted with Fire and Ice's peculiar hyper-fixation on Tashi.

Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig.

You thought it was a unique offering from God. You didn't expect you'd get the opportunity to face the golden pair again. When Tashi told you she had met Zweig and Donalson, a powerful sentiment of gratitude washed over you. You nearly fell to your knees when she proceeded to explain they were a walking boner for her. If that wasn't high power granting you a second chance to delight yourself, it was an insane coincidence.

But telling Tashi the backstory was a different pain in the ass. Although she expressed some sort of disgust towards Zweig and Donaldson's brainless carnal-based attitude, you couldn't buy it.  And your skepticisms were demonstrated as valid when she —dreamy voice and all that shit— confessed through the phone she nearly had a threesome with them. A fucking threesome. You couldn't hold it back anymore, so you told her everything.

Tashi was aware of tennis's influence on your household, as you were raised by two renowned tennis coaches from the States. When you turned eight, your parents turned you in at the Mark Rebellato Academy —as if you were condemned to play tennis by default. The detrimental part of your journey was developing thyroid issues when you were twelve. Jesus, twelve years old — the commencement of the preteen period where kids either kiss your feet or bully you. One year after, along with the anticipated weight gain, you met Art and Patrick. And as if you weren't unfortunate enough already, the two —who at the time looked like fucking Beavis and Butthead— decided they didn't like your physical appearance. They hated it.

“Hey, Y/l/n!” Patrick’s voice rang out, sharp and mocking.

You froze, your heart sinking to the underground. You tried to focus on your serve, but your hands were immobile. 

Patrick sauntered over, his smirk widening as he looked you up and down. “What’s the matter, Y/n? Ball too heavy for you to lift?”

You heard Art’s laughter behind your back. He joined in a kind of trembling voice. “Or maybe she’s saving her strength for lunch. She doesn't hesitate when it comes to eating.”

The echo of them and the rest of the kids on the court laughing was a sound that felt like daggers piercing your heart.

After two years of ceaseless bullying and humiliation—which also distracted you from tennis—your parents sent you to The Mouratoglou Tennis Academy in Biot, a small town in France. You are not sure if it was the harassment itself, the low self-esteem, or possibly your undeniable attraction for Donaldson. It didn't matter. By the age of seventeen, you were undoubtedly one of the major promises of European tennis.

So, explaining the theatrical, soap opera-like backstory to Tashi for your detestation of Zweig and Donaldson took time. But when you did, it was worth it because Tashi didn't distrust your testimony, and if anyone was exhilarated to play some moves against them at the beginning, it was Duncan. 

That's the explanation behind Tashi pitching a tremendous party to celebrate her commitment to Stanford. This was absurd, to say the least, considering she had college offers piling up, and no one doubted she would commit to a prestigious school. But Tashi knew you'd visit from France, and this was just the perfect instance to hook you up with both condemned.

Because, of course, her biggest fangirls would attend. 

It didn't take long until the country house was full of people ranging from Tashi's cousins to bare acquaintances. And spotting Fire and Ice was easier than you thought. 

Tashi elbows you discreetly and signs with her head the direction they are standing. "There they are."

Your gaze falls over Art, who is laughing with —who you assume is—Patrick. His features are sharper and more defined. The lanky, slender physique you remembered from his premature teenage years had filled out into a more athletic build, with broader shoulders tapering to a trim waist covered in a light pink shirt. His blonde hair, which was no longer too light, was now strawberry blonde-ish, slightly tousled, and cascading over his ears.

Patrick, standing a few feet away, was equally transformed. His brunette hair, just a bit longer than you remember, frames a face that had hardened over the years—angular jaw, defined cheekbones, and piercing eyes that seem to miss nothing. The fucking smirk is still there, and you can see how he displays it every two seconds at whatever thing Art is telling him.

The interior of your stomach resembles a volcano about to erupt. You feel ambivalent, so many emotions overlapping each other. You see two cute, hell, gorgeous guys, and you wish you could approach them without considering crucifying them before. And you can't help but feel envious at how effortlessly Tashi managed to tame Art and Patrick while the only thing you got from them was hostility.

Your eyes can't seem to unbuckle from them. Tashi catches you slightly frowning at the panorama, and she isn't certain if you are infatuated or planning murder on the spot. "Come on."

You have no time to react before Tashi leads you through some partygoers to reach where Zweig and Donaldson are. Like dogs sniffling fresh meat, it's pathetic how their heads twist simultaneously when Tashi approaches them, conversation instantly pausing. It is as if Tashi's presence was magnetic for them.

"Well, hello, both of you," Tashi greets them excitedly, still holding your hand. "Didn't think you'd come."

Art's eyes widen, "Are you kidding?" he's about to keep speaking, but his gaze merges with yours for a split second, and he shuts off. Dead. Silent. 

"—Stanford's a big deal, Tashi." Patrick interrupts, compensating for the awkwardness of Art's sudden number. "I had to drag this lazy fuck out of his bed, but we made it."

Suddenly, Art's out of the trance, tearing his blue eyes off you to bombard Patrick with a killer look. "Hey—shut up, Patrick."

Tashi sweetly, softly giggles at their word exchange. God, she's good, you think. Tashi turns to gesture to you, "This is my friend, Claire, by the way. She is visiting from the Mouratoglou Academy—

To be fair, Claire is a believable name.

"Wait, the Patrick Mouratoglou Academy? In France?" Art runs over Tashis's sentence, incredulously shooting you a broad-eyed glare. You nod in agreement, still processing you are having a civil conversation with Art Donaldson.

You feel Tashi squeezing your hand at your quietness.

"Yeah, you know it?" you timidly ask, forcing a polite smile that, if you were Art, you wouldn't buy it. But, of course, he's as dumb as a pigeon.

"Heck... Of course, I do. I wish I could go there."

Tashi smirks, enjoying the spectacle. 

Patrick’s investment in the conversation piques. "Mouratoglou, huh? That's impressive. Maybe we could hit the court sometime."

And that's the first time Patrick makes eye contact with you. He's stabbing you with his stare. You abruptly wonder if he's as dumb as Art, probably not. 

You squeeze Tashi's hand.

Tashi leans closer to Patrick, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Hey, Pat... do you remember what you mentioned about erectile dysfunction? My aunt's a sexologist, I think—

Patrick loudly chuckles, apparently alarmed by the deficiency of filtering confidential information. "I need to smoke sum' stronger. Wanna come, Tash?"

Tashi purses her lips, casting a quick glance at you. "Sure."

Your point of view is like a sitcom scene, swiftly panning from Tashi's body leaving your radar to the boy in front of you, staring at you with soothing eyes and reddened cheeks. It's basically comical.

Art's eyes dart around the lively yard before landing back on you. He clears his throat. "So, uh, Claire? That's a cute name."

It takes tons of willpower not to drop the good girl act right there. You attempt to return the sentiment with a quirk on the corner of your lips. "I need to get a drink. Come with me?"

He shakes his head up and down, finding it easier than answering with words.

For the first time in a couple of months, the inside of Art's mind has more than a giant cardboard cutout of Tashi Duncan. He is in awe. 

You lead the way, weaving through clusters of drunk teenagers towards the house. You feel Art's gaze lingering on your back —or ass, you don't know—a magnetic pull that makes you hyper-aware of his presence.

You arrive in the kitchen and quickly grab a bottle of vodka, a can of soda, and a party cup. Art watches you closely with a look of hypnotic admiration as if you were concocting the most complicated cocktail in the world. You want to roll your eyes so badly.

"That dress looks amazing on you." Art blurts out, unable to contain his thoughts any longer. 

You look at him. Art is sitting on one of the high stools by the kitchen island, his elbow resting on the table's sleek surface, supporting his chin with his hand. There is a softness in his eyes completely foreign to you, an infrequent vulnerability that contrasts sharply with the characteristic asshole demeanor you remember.

To Art, you appear almost ethereal, like an ideal concept from a wet dream of his. His thoughts are a kaleidoscope of jumbled fragments of memory that make no sense. You look so familiar... but no. 

There's no way he would forget about you.

You glance up, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. "Thank you," you reply, handing him a drink.

Art sips on his red plastic cup, eyes hooked on yours. "So, uhm. I just realized I never introduced myself properly. Im Art—

"Yeah, Donaldson, I know." you cut him off, leaving him completely silent and confused. "I've seen you play. Not bad," you clarify, with an unconscious hint of pride in your voice.

Art's smile widens. "Wait, you've seen me play?" he exaggeratedly emphasizes me. 

You nod.

His eyes twinkle with excitement. There’s this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "That's, uh, great. Next time you are watching, I'll play better..."

His innate nerdiness and try-hard flirtiness provoke nausea in you. If you didn't know him, it would be a different story. But seeing a former, intense crush who shamelessly bullied you for so long, giving you heart-shaped eyes...

It's fucking bizarre. And it pisses you off.

Art begins conversing about something else. You don't know what—tennis-related, maybe. You are not wearing earphones with noise cancellation, but you can't hear him anymore. It's a blur as his words course through one ear and depart through the other. Immediately. Your brain has simply blocked the action of listening to him.

You step closer, so close you can see the fine lines in his eyes, the flecks of green amidst the blue, with a hint of brown sectoral heterochromia on his right eye. You can smell the faint woody scent of his cologne, something spicy that makes you salivate. His lips keep moving, forming words that dissolve into the dim background noise. The music, the laughter, the chatter—they all blend into a distant hum.

Art's voice vanishes into oblivion as you fix your gaze on his mouth, the curve of his lips, the way they part and close as he speaks. "Art," you say, stopping him in his tracks.

His eyes flicker with uncertainty, puzzlement, and a spark of hope. His adam's apple throbs as he notices you staring at his lips.

You lean in, your breath mingling with his, your heart pounding in your chest. Your hand reaches up, fingers brushing against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin and the slight stubble that prickles against your touch. Art's breath hitches, his eyes widening in surprise, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans in, too.

Your lips crash against his. Although you don't want to make it weird, you fail. It's not a gentle kiss or a precious, out-of-a-book lips meeting. It's fierce, instructing, a clash of sour sentiments and intent. You pour all your frustration, your pent-up anger, and your fucked-up desire to overpower him into that kiss. 

Art's shock melts away and quickly replaces it with an appetite that matches yours. His strong arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours. The kiss deepens, his lips parting to allow your tongue to explore, to taste the unmistakable flavor of cigarette and cheap vodka. You can feel the warmth of his breath and the way his hands tighten on your waist. It's almost as if he's frightened you'll pull away at some point.

And you can only fantasize about the moment you walk away.

—but not yet. You push harder, your fingers tugging slightly in his messy strawberry-blonde hair. He lowly moans into your mouth, a sound that dispatches a shiver down your spine. His hands roam your back, tracing the curve of your spine and dangerously lowering to your ass level. There's a distress in his touch you never thought would come from him.

The way he's dissolving under your venomous touch is already a win for you. You've managed to put him under you. And it's intoxicating, this control you have over him, this ability to make him forget everything else.

You pull back, your lips hovering just above his. Art's eyes are half-lidded, his lips swollen and ridiculously red from the intensity of the kiss. He looks at you in pure infatuation, "What- I... Did I do something wrong?"

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him again. "Come with me."

You peek at the party going outside—most people are outside. The living room is nearly empty, with a few alcoholized individuals entering the country house to refill their drinks. It's perfect.

You take Art's hand, your fingers lacing through his, and you lead him toward the sectional, six-seat couch in the center of the living room. You push Art down onto the couch, and he complies without resistance, his lust-drunken eyes never leaving yours; he nearly chokes on his spit at the sight of you slowly straddling him, your knees sinking into the soft cushions on either side of his hips.

"Jesus, Claire—"

You get the ick at the roleplay name Tashi baptized you with. 

"Shh," you whisper, leaning in to brush your lips against his in a soft, teasing kiss. "You never shut up, Donaldson."

And that's odd for him. He gives it a second thought because he isn't aware of how much he has talked, but definitely not that much. 

The overthinking vanishes as soon as you begin to kiss him again, slowly at first, savoring the way his lips deliciously move against yours. Art's hands rest tentatively on your hips, his fingers twitching as if afraid to hold on too tight. You guide his hands around your waist, urging him to hold you closer. His grip tightens, and you can feel the heat of his palms through the delicate fabric of your black mini-dress.

A sigh rolls out from your throat when you perceive something hard putting pressure against your core —which, because of the dress, is only shielded by thin lace panties. The coarse fabric of Art's light denim jeans rubs splendidly against your pussy. 

A primitive groan slips out of Art's lips the moment you grind your hips against his clothed dick. Suddenly, he breaks the kiss, and his eyes wander downwards. "Shit— you'll kill me," he pants into your mouth.

You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes. They're dark with craving, his pupils dilated. "Then let me."

You are about to attack his lips again, but he hesitates. You tilt your head in confusion, murmuring a low what?

Art starts to speak, his voice shaky and breathless. "I... I was wondering if you wanted to go back to my hotel with me."

Before you can respond, Tashi suddenly appears in your vision behind Art's head. "Claire, there you are," she says, fucking loud with a knowing, manipulative smile on her lips. "Your dad called, he's outside."

You feel a surge of delicious triumph as you see the apparent dissatisfaction in Art's eyes. 

"Sorry, Art," you say, standing up and smoothing your dress. "Maybe another time."

There’s a raw sadness in his eyes, an almost childlike hurt that he can’t quite conceal. He isn't even drunk; he's fully conscious of the stunning girl he just met and now is evaporating as if she was going to turn into a wolf at midnight or something. 

As you are about to disappear from Art's vision, he shouts at you, "I'll see you later, right?"

But you don't answer.

Instead, you hurriedly walk with Tashi to reach the front yard. 

"I didn't lie about your dad being here, though," Tashi clarifies, pointing at the big Jeep parked in front of the country house.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, a smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, alright." You glance back at the house to ensure you are out of earshot. "I think fucking him would've been better. Do you think he's gonna remember about this tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah. This is definitely gonna fuck his head up for a while." Tashi chuckles, "he's pretty obsessive."

You feel a swell of fulfillment at your best friend's words. "How obsessive?"

Tashi smiles. "A lot."

❀

[spikelovesjulia]

とばーりん / tobalin

[loveneverfades]

[wombbatical]

dont look too closely

[spike-and-faye]

BOY HOWDY! We're doing an episode bracket!

How y'all doin'? I've whipped up a little bracket for us to play using hellsite's new poll feature! (I've been abusing polls, I know. They're just so damn FUN).

Good news! It's really ugly because I'm poor and don't have Visio or anything on my laptop. :)

Let's see what Bebop Tumblr's fave episode is!

The game will occur in 6(?) phases, with each poll lasting one week!

Vote for your favorite out of the two episodes and the winner of that pool will move on to the next phase.

Here's my lovely MS Paint rendering of the each phase <3

I'm going to do my best to post links to all the polls to THIS masterpost, so you can click back here to access all the polls instead of scrolling forever.

Happy voting!!!!

PHASE 1 - ROUND 1

PHASE 1 - ROUND 2

PHASE 1 - ROUND 3

PHASE 1 - ROUND 4

PHASE 1 - ROUND 5