#vinnie vincent my beloved

[2000-man1]

He eats pancakes while reading the dirtiest smut on AO3.

[sri-rachaa]

pretty vampire prince in a pretty crown <3

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Anonymous requested a gif collection of Vincent Price with a smooth face. No mustache. Here ya are. <3

[sparkykadachi]

So...me and Jam made it to Vincent...I might have gone a little crazy with the pictures

I have a lot of others. These are just the ones I saved on my phone

[blutomindpretzel]

Lovely definitely runs their tongue under their new fangs over and over, and like while they’re looking at Vincent too. They’re just trying to get used to the feeling, but also love seeing how flustered it makes their boyfriend.

[fankhx-invasion]

Spring Equinox

Before I even begin,

@mangowritesstuff literally wrote half of this!! He is always so helpful adding in edits to make my writing better, and I was absolutely in love with what he contributed to this. Please enjoy!

┍——🥭——- /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ ———🥭——┑

Eyes, green like fresh, spring leaves, gazed over the land that managed to survive the bitter winter's grasp; lifeless grass, barren branches, and thin layers of frost. The celestial scoffed at the sight, mumbling something incoherent yet disdainful under his breath. He despised the death and destruction caused by the wintertide god.

Regardless of how the previous god came and in his wake left behind nothing but a shell of the once lush valley, the younger man couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for him. Hidden behind a looming facade of brimstone, ash, and volcanic smoke, was the kindest man the spring god had the pleasure of knowing.

Taking a branch from the nearest tree delicately into his fingers, a gentle smile formed on his soft lips. He breathed out in a relaxed, focused manner, a yellow, otherworldly glow emitting from the god's fingertips, warm and comforting. The dogwood before him began to bud leaves on each branch, and, as if on cue, plants sprung to life, painting everything in a sea of pastels and vibrant greens.

The deity smiled at the familiar feeling, humming approvingly at the new scene before him. As the lithe god walked through the valley, surveying his creation, he noted the few animals coming out of hibernation. Stretching their legs and yawning, a few even coming up to the gentle man to give him a curious sniff before running back to their packs. The smile on his face widened when he saw the first daffodils of the season beginning to sprout, their soft yellow petals opening to soak up the warm sunshine. As he turned to keep walking, something in the middle of the small bush caught his eye. As the young deity moved closer, he noticed the familiar glimmer of golden jewelry. Perhaps an offering from the mortals, he thought, as he carefully knelt down.

In the center of the small bush was a stunning ankh, complete with a delicate gold chain. A gift from the winter god, he realized, seeing the dainty red garnets arranged in a star in the center of the pendant. As he clasped the shimmering chain around his neck, a sharp gust of cold wind billowed through the valley; a small sign that the god was watching Vincent. Even during the transitions between their seasons and solstices, they still made time for each other, for not even the heavens above, nor the flames below, could keep the two apart.

┕——🥭————————🥭——-┙

[saphabee]

I like Corey being deceptively strong what can I say! Lift the Vinny.

[visceravalentines]

Smut prompt 110 with Vincent my love? He’s so hhhrrrnnngg Yknow

"For your safety, I'll be gentle."

Vincent Sinclair x GN!Reader

Thanks for this, Vince and I have hit a new level in our relationship. 😁

1.6k words

Smut, Vinny gets rough, mild choking, marking, biting, manhandling, creampie

Waking up in Vincent’s workshop always felt like melting out of one dream and into another.  The flickering of the boiler, the sweet, deep smell of wax and earth, the quiet, crackling sound of Vincent playing Chopin or Metallica through his little radio speaker with the volume turned way down so as not to disturb you.  The man himself, bent over his sketchbook or a canvas with his gorgeous long hair like a curtain shutting out everything but his own thoughts.  It was like a fairy tale, some alchemist’s lair. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep.  You remembered what came before.  So did your body.  The dopamine hadn’t quite faded from your veins, even after a few hours’ sleep.  You’d never been with anyone quite like Vincent Sinclair.  He had an uncanny knack for picking up on every detail of your pleasure, every muscle spasm, every gasp.  And he remembered it all, recited it like a litany with his mouth and hands whenever you let him. 

It was unquestionably the best sex you’d ever had. 

You rolled onto your side on his cot, adjusted your legs gingerly around the pleasant soreness between them.  He was sitting staring at a canvas, hands on his knees.  Examining his own work, making notes, finding flaws no one else could see.  He was still shirtless, wearing a pair of sweatpants that was holding onto his hips for dear life.  He was maskless too, a recent and monumental milestone in your relationship. 

You watched him for a while, the way he chewed his lower lip with concentration, the way his hands could not keep still for even a second, long fingers tapping and flexing on his thighs, scratching at a spot of wax in the fabric, rubbing his thumb over his cuticles. 

“Vincent,” you said softly at last.  That sole, precious eye flicked over to you in a sudden realization that you were awake.  The suggestion of a smile graced his lips. 

“My love,” he signed with one hand.  “Come here?” 

You stretched and pushed aside the thin blanket, padded over to him.  He gave the canvas one last look before turning his full attention to you, guiding you into his lap and wrapping his lithe arms around you. 

“You feel good, beloved?” he asked. 

“Wonderful,” you sighed.  You gazed up at him.  “You’re…quite the lover.” 

He had this adorable twisted, close-mouthed grin that appeared whenever he felt genuine mirth.  “I'm telling Bo you said that.”  You laughed out loud. 

Your fingertips traced the invisible lines between moles on his arm.  “I feel like it’s always about me, though.  I want it to be about you.  I want to make you feel good, Vin.” 

Vincent looked down at you with his head cocked, a silent request for more information. 

You ran your thumb over his collarbones.  He still wouldn’t let you touch his face.  “It feels like you’re…holding back sometimes.  I want you to let go.” 

He considered you for a second, leaned down to kiss you sweetly.  “But you are what’s important,” he signed close to his cheek. 

“You’re important.”  You could feel his heartbeat under your hand.  “I want you to take what you want, Vincent.”  His expression was inscrutable, wary.  You kissed him again, stroked his chest, his arms.  “That would make me happy,” you whispered, a breath away from his lips.  “If you used me.” 

His brow was furrowed, but you felt his cock jump against your thigh.  You couldn’t fault him for being reluctant; he took a lot of convincing when it came to doing anything for his own benefit. 

When he finally released you, his pupil was blown, his eye glittering with something besides the candlelight.  His chest rose and fell with the effort of restraint.  “Are you sure?” he signed sloppily. 

You circled his nipple with your thumb, rocked your hips innocuously to coax up his erection.  “I want you to use me, Vincent.  However you’d like.” 

You kissed him again, the tip of your tongue teasing at his lip.  He hesitated for only a few seconds before meeting your persuasion with hunger, pushing your tongue aside to make room for his own.  You loosed a soft moan, arched against him when his hands fell to your hips and squeezed gently.  He took your lip in his teeth, bit and sucked on it. 

You nodded, alight with anticipation.  “Please.  Show me what you need.” 

The words were barely out of your mouth before he was stealing your breath again, kissing you with a fervor he had often brought out of you but never shown himself.  His hands were all over you, under the shirt you wore, groping and grasping at your flesh.  With little effort he repositioned you so you were straddling him, fingers digging into your ass, grinding your bare sex against him.  You gasped when he pulled away from your lips to suck on your neck, hard. 

“Vincent,” you breathed. 

Immediately he stopped, head snapping up to look at you with a mix of concern and craving on his face. 

You shook your head quickly.  “I’m okay.  I’m…god, Vincent.”  You laced your fingers through the hair at the base of his skull and brought his face back to your throat.  You felt his tongue on your skin, goosebumps rippling down your entire body.  He was gripping you tight enough to leave bruises, rocking you against him with increasing urgency.  Those sweatpants were fighting a losing battle. 

He lifted his head again, a pretty flush on his cheek.  You opened your mouth but he cut you off before you could speak. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he signed quickly.  “For your safety.” 

“I – okay.” 

In one fluid motion, Vincent stood and lifted you onto the workbench at the same time.  He shoved the sweats to the floor, erection springing free, the tip glistening with his arousal.  He pulled you against him, hitched your legs over his hips, his cock prodding at your entrance. 

There was a beat, a pause.  He kissed your forehead.  Then his hand was on your throat, pushing you back and pinning you against the wooden tabletop.  You instinctively locked your ankles behind his back.  He eased himself into you slowly, deliberately, his head falling back, teeth bared.  You let out a soft whine, arching your spine against the tabletop.  His grip on your neck tightened and for a moment the basement was filled with stars. 

You gasped, your windpipe jumping against his palm.  He gave a few experimental thrusts and you felt your sore muscles part around him.  The tender sting gave way quickly to an irresistible heat. 

His hands found your wrists and trapped them against the waxy wood at your sides.  He ramped up his pace rapidly, fucked you hard in the shadow of every canvas he’d ever made, his grip almost crushing, his eye blazing.  His hair fell over his face.  He paid it no mind.  You couldn’t tear your gaze away; he was beautiful and terrible, the lust on his face raw and unguarded. 

Without warning he released your wrists and pulled out of you, took hold of your hips and yanked you halfway off the tabletop, easing you to the ground.  He circled his finger in an unmistakable sign. 

“Turn around.” 

You obeyed, panting, faced the table and bent forward.  He grabbed your hips to position you where he wanted you, then pushed halfway into you with a single thrust, drew back slowly, did it again and again until your ass was pressed against his stomach and he was buried inside you to the hilt.  It felt like being coveted, being claimed, being conquered. 

Then he stopped, left you quivering and clenching desperately around his length.  You twisted to look back at him.  He was drinking it in, the sight of you doubled over and helpless in front of him, with a ravenous expression on his face.  He ran one broad hand up your spine, grasped the back of your neck, squeezed firmly.   

A snap of his hips made your breath hitch in your throat.  “V-Vincent,” you whimpered.  He did it again and you cried out. 

The heat of his firm chest pressed against your back.  He laced his fingers through yours, stretched your arms out long in front of you, splaying you over the table.  The angle of his thrusts was indescribable, deeper than you thought possible, and you were powerless to do anything but choke out his name. 

You came apart as he laid kisses down the back of your neck, the simultaneous brutality and tenderness too much to withstand.  Vincent pounded through your climax, driving you into frenzied overstimulation, groaning low in his throat as you bucked against him. 

When he hit his release, he sank his teeth into the crook of your neck, squeezing your hands as he came deep inside you.  You could feel him breathing hard against your back.  Your shirt was damp with sweat from both of you.  Vincent nuzzled your ear before pulling away, his hands on your waist to steady you, or maybe himself, or maybe both. 

You turned around and looked up at him.  His face was flushed, brow knit with concern.  “You okay?” he signed. 

You grinned up at him, wrapped your arms around his bare torso and held him against you.  “I’m so good, love.” 

The relief on his face was quickly replaced with a smile – a real smile.  He slumped forward, pressed his lips to your brow.  You set your head on his chest and listened to his heart rate slow back to normal, overwhelmed with affection for this man who simply could not see how marvelous he was. 

“You know, Vin?  We oughta make you the priority more often.” 

[anexistingexistence]

Here Are Some Names The Listeners Call Our Redacted Boys! Solaire Clan And Shaw Pack Edition:

Angel: Davey/Cutie or Babe/Handsome depending on whether they want to annoy Davey or not

Baabe: Ash/Darling

Sweetheart: My Love/Love (get it? because milo and my love sound similar? yea no, i'll leave-)

Lovely: Vince/Vinny and any (and every) other short version of Vincent or Lover/My Beloved

Darlin: Sammy/Dear

Bright Eyes: Freddy/Moissanite (because it's the most reflective gem and fred is the light of their life, get it? i'm so creative, i know /s (<-but in addition to this: Fred doesn't get it at all and just feels sorta insulted that Bright compares him to a rock all the time))

[eldritchwhispersofficial]

i keep imagining Tim going to Fairmount as a child And Dr. Corenthal instantly being like "Okay this is my new son now ig" I have a very vivid mental imagine of lil Tim quietly sitting in a little graveyard and gently tracing the names on the tombstones and then Dr. Corenthal comes up and Tim's like "They all died on the same day." And Dr. Corenthal looks at Fairmount!Vinnie, Fairmount!Jeff Fairmount!Stephanie and Fairmount!Evan's tombstones and lets out the saddest sigh and is like "Kid, you shouldn't be out here. It's not a good place." Have a little blurb i'll turn this into an AO3 fanfic when I get the chance (also i have no idea how old the MT4 were when they were adopted or what year they died so I just made them all 10-12 and put the date of death as the day of the 10-27-1981 letter) Edit: due to extentuating circumstances (actually fucking reading the wiki) I changed all of their ages to 16-18) Dr. Corenthal looked around. Where was the kid? He'd been quietly coloring in his room, and now he wasn't. He glanced out the window and saw the kid, the new patient- Tim, that was his name, Timothy Wright- sitting in the little graveyard behind Fairmount Children's Home. Dr. Corenthal hesitated. Tim shouldn't be out there. It was cold outside, and... and a burial ground was no place for a small child. He shrugged on his coat and stepped outside. Tim sat quietly in the midst of the four tombstones, solemnly tracing the lettering on them with his index finger. He seemed almost as if he were in a trance, not hearing or not caring about Dr. Corenthal coming up to him. The doctor sat down next to the small boy. "Kid, what are you doing out here? It's cold. You'll freeze." He said. Tim's eyes remained fixed on the tombstone in front of him. "I didn't know you had kids." He said. Dr. Corenthal looked at the tiny tombstone, the hand-carved lettering- he remembered carving those letters into the stone himself with shaky hands and a film of tears, a process which took him most of a week. The words, which read: HERE LIES VINCENT CORENTHAL BELOVED SON BORN JUNE 21ST 1963 DIED OCTOBER 27TH 1981 MAY HE REST WITH THE ANGELS "They all died on the same day." Tim stated. Dr. Corenthal flinched. "They did, indeed." He agreed, slightly wary. Tim pointed to each of the other tombstones in turn.

HERE LIES STEPHANIE CORENTHAL BELOVED DAUGHTER BORN DECEMBER 19TH 1964 DIED OCTOBER 27TH 1981 MAY HER SPIRIT FIND PEACE AT LAST

HERE LIES JEFFERY CORENTHAL BELOVED SON BORN AUGUST 18TH 1964 DIED OCTOBER 27TH 1981 MAY HE DREAM PEACEFULLY

HERE LIES EVAN CORENTHAL BELOVED SON BORN NOVEMBER 22ND 1965 DIED OCTOBER 27TH 1981 MAY HE FOREVER SLUMBER "Why?" Tim asked. "What?" Dr. Corenthal said. "Why did they die? How did they die? Was there some kind of accident?" Tim asked. He looked up at Dr. Corenthal, and the good doctor was struck by how innocent and sweet his eyes were. He had no idea how cruel and evil the world could be. To him, the Tall Man was nothing more than a scary monster, and there were always going to be good people who could save him from the monster. But no one could save Dr. Corenthal. And no one had saved his children. No one had saved Jeffery, poor Jeffery- Dr. Corenthal still remembered his wife's screaming, poor Maryann was inconsolable, she found Jeffery eviscerated, his guts thrown around the room like confetti, and there was blood- oh, so much blood. Poor, poor Stephanie- lying with her arms and legs bent at awkward angles, her skull cracked open like an egg, her eyes blank and lifeless, lightless, no more life, no more Steph. She'd had a nasty fall, trying to stop- to stop the- the boy- from getting upstairs, from getting to Vincent's room, tried to protect Vinnie, but she couldn't- oh God, poor Steph. No one saved her, either.

Vincent, oh god, poor Vinnie- he tried so hard to stop- to stop the boy- even though he knew there was no one he could save, he fought- he tried- he could have run, could have run, the door was right there- but no, no. He stayed. He fought. He died. Poor Vinnie, oh god, collapsing when Dr. Corenthal finally made it up the stairs and into the room, bleeding, Vinnie looking at him with a sad smile, "I love you, Dad." And then no more, no more Vinnie, no more serious eldest child who always tried to take care of the others, no more baking with Maryann after school, no more talented crayon drawings that had turned into the beautiful oil pastels on the refrigerator, no more Vincent, all gone. He didn't want do do it, didn't want to kill him, but he had to- had to protect Linnie, had to protect the only one left, had to save her- had to get the gun, ran down the stairs as he heard the boy, the creature IN the boy- "Papa. Papa, where are you going? Come back." And then the voice, demonic and unholy, "YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME, RABBIT." The humming, that fucking humming, the creature that was in the boy, was in- in Evan, that THING- HABIT. HABIT chased Dr. Corenthal down the stairs of that house, chased him into the room where Dr. Corenthal slammed the door in it's face, heard it pounding, shrieking in an unholy tongue, and he prayed, he prayed for God to save him, and he yanked open the drawer, ripped out the gun, and the door crumpled, the wood splintered, and he was standing in the doorway, he was wearing Evan's body, covered in blood with a knife in each hand, and Dr. Corenthal cried and screamed, his hand shook but he did it, he shot the demon, and then it was over and it's rage filled purple eyes became confused brown ones, and it wasn't HABIT but Evan, Evan asking why, why. And then it was all over. No more Evan. No one had saved his children. No one could save him. Dr. Corenthal suddenly jolted back to reality. "It was a terrible accident, yes." He said. "What happened? Was it a car accident or something?" Tim asked. Dr. Corenthal hesitated. "Timothy, listen. You're young. Small. You don't need to be hearing about what happened to my kids, not now. Okay?" He said. Tim looked at him with those innocent brown eyes, so much like the eyes that had once stared out of the face of his beloved eldest son. "Okay." Tim said quietly. They both stood up, and Dr. Corenthal wrapped an arm around Tim's shoulders. "Do you have any more kids?" Tim asked. Dr. Corenthal thought of Linnie. Thought of how she was getting along, twelve years after the "accident". She was in college now. She was okay now. As okay as she could be. He thought of how easy it was for those innocent brown eyes, so much like the eyes of his darling youngest son, to lie. To hide the dark truth behind them. "No, Tim. They were it. I have no children left." Dr. Corenthal lied. Tim nodded solemnly. Dr. Corenthal turned and led Tim back towards Fairmount Children's Home, glancing back at the graveyard. "Tim, let me give you some advice, okay?" Dr. Corenthal said. Tim looked up at him, and what the good doctor said would stick with him for the rest of his life, through everything, through Jay, through Alex, through Brian, through everything that happened in Rosswood and everything that would ever happen to him again. "There are... things. In this world. Things like the creature who you draw sometimes. And some of them are good, but some of them are very, very bad. Timothy, son, you listen to me. You meet these things? Do not trust them. Do not try to kill them. Better yet, duck your head and run the other way. You understand me, son?" Dr. Corenthal said. Tim was never good at running. He ran, he ran so fast and so far but he never ever made it, the things always caught up to him, until he stopped running. But when he was a child, he understood. "I understand." Tim said. Dr. Corenthal sighed. "Bless you, kiddo."

[mmmmalo]

Nice observation from a mostly OK article about Pulp Fiction:

It is easy to miss, but Vinnie’s “incontinence”—and I mean this in the ordinary sense of the word—is the master key to the movie, and the monkey wrench. Everything bad that happens to Vinnie is signaled by what’s happening in the bathroom. The “fourth man” with the hand cannon is hiding in the bathroom when Vinnie and Jules make the “hit” in the apartment, but Jules takes the hint and Vinnie doesn’t get it. Vinnie is in the bathroom when Honey Bunny and Pumpkin pull their guns at the coffee shop to create the Mexican stand-off. Vinnie is in the bathroom when Mia Wallace mistakes his heroin for cocaine (saving them both from an impending and very disloyal tryst). And Vinnie is in the bathroom when Butch returns for his beloved watch, which is the end of Vinnie. We do see Jules in the bathroom once, and we do see Butch there once: each is washing off the stain of a former life he intends to leave behind. And Tarantino makes it very, very clear that Vinnie does not wash his hands, showing him emerging from the bathroom at Butch’s apartment immediately after he flushes the toilet, still fastening his belt. You think I’m making too much of it. If so, then why do Jules and Vinnie have an argument about washing their hands in Jimmie’s bathroom? And I quote: Jules: What the fuck did you just do to his towel? Vincent: I was just dryin’ my hands. Jules: You’re supposed to wash ’em first. Vincent: You watched me wash ’em. Jules: I watched you get ’em wet. Vincent: I washed ’em. Blood’s real hard to get off. Maybe if he had some Lava, I coulda done a better job. Jules: I used the same soap you did and when I dried my hands, the towel didn’t look like a fuckin’ maxipad.

[2000-man1]

HAWT

[sri-rachaa]

damn now i actually miss adam a lil bit

into the beginning of vincents playlist I goooo

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

His face when David tells him that they should put her in front of a fluoroscope and show her some blood....is PRICE-less... 😆

Vincent Price and Darryl Hickman - The Tingler

[fazbear-enterprises]

Vinny my bestie my platonic beloved my amazing fantabulous friend

GO SLEEB!! MAKE THOSE EYEBAGS SMOL!!!

But dear, if I sleep properly, I won't have time to do anything! The kitchen won't be cleaned to perfection, and I won't have time to practice my crocheting! It just won't do.

- Vincent Bishop

[zozo-01]

A Nightmare (Turned Real)

This is for my lovely, beloved @sri-rachaa who has waited patientlyyyy for this fic!!! Babes, you're finally getting that sleepy Vinny fic!! But um… it's me… can't keep things happy for long, now can I?

CW: Nightmares, mentions of Lovely's turning, foreshadowinggg, playing with seer lore for my angsty purposes >:))

click here for the ao3 link!!!

--

They felt empty. Lifeless.

Lovely looked around and panicked. They could see Vincent and Sam looking at them, and could hear muffled voices coming from the two men. Yet they couldn’t open their own mouth, or move their own body.

They just wanted to wipe the tears off Vincent’s face. Just wanted to tell him everything will be ok.

Please? Vincent has always been too pretty to cry. He doesn’t deserve to feel so much grief that it has to leak from his body to keep him from imploding.

Lovely tried to summon some lighting and-

Why couldn’t they feel their lightning?

Where was the familiar spark that brought them comfort?

The panic that they felt earlier had led to fear. The fear that the powers they adored and cared for vanished. Their shining light from their darkest hour had faded into a dim glow.

They tried to summon all the lightning in their body, expecting a fantastic display of power.

But there was nothing. No spark, no light, no magic.

 For fucks sake, they were able to do it an hour ago, so what had happened? Where was their lightning?

In the midst of their interrogation, Lovely realized a peculiar craving, one they had never experienced before, but had heard about from others.

‘Why the fuck am I craving blood?’

The first thing Lovely felt when they woke up was Vincent’s arms around them. The familiar grip from their lover was comforting and grounded them. They weren’t stuck in that basement with Adam, they were home. Safe. It’s ok. Vincent is ok. Everything is ok.

But that nightmare had felt too real, it unsettled them. It was as if they gained memories from another timeline, one where the night of their rescue played out differently…

A timeline where Sam couldn’t heal them, and they had to be turned.

The empty feeling from the dream had filled them once again. Their blood ran cold and the air in their lungs was starting to choke them. They pried Vincent’s arms from their body and got up. They just need fresh air. Yea, fresh air and a glass of water to forget their… They hesitated to call it a nightmare. Resigning it to be a figment of their fear, a product of their brain coping with their trauma didn’t justify how fucking real it felt.

They held a hand to their cheek, feeling for any tear tracks on their face. Not tears from their eyes, no, but rather the tears from the man they love and the man they consider a brother trickling from their faces onto their own. It scares them shitless how real the tears felt. The tears were warm. Was it because their own body was so cold that the tears felt warm on their face? 

Lovely shivered. No need to remember how cold they were. They rather just forget about the whole thing.

They walked down the stairs, careful to avoid any loose panels in the hardwood floor. The last thing they needed was to wake up Vincent.

Their beloved Vincent, who they love more than the shining sun of their hometown. Who they wish would never be in pain ever again. Who’s only allowed to feel happiness because he fucking deserves that and if they provide him with that happiness, then they’ll stay by his side.

They grabbed a cup and filled it with water. Before they had the chance to drink, a barrage of intrusive thoughts flooded their brain.

Vincent who should never hold their dead body.

Who doesn’t deserve to be forced to turn them to save their life.

Who should never plead for them to stay just a little longer and-

Stop that thought right now. What happened to not thinking about the not-dream dream? We both know it won’t do you any good.

…Oh fuck it, who are we kidding. The image of your dead body has been ingrained into your living soul. Might as well let the vision run its course through you.

Lovely zoned back into reality and noticed ripples in the cup of water. Had they been shaking so badly that the water had been affected? Doesn’t matter, water is water and they were desperate for some liquid down their dry throat.

They chugged the water and finally, for the first time since they woke up, their throat unclenched and they could breathe. The fact that they could breathe again brought them comfort. Could a dead person take a breath? Didn’t think so! Take that corpse-Lovely! You can’t happen because they can breathe and you can’t!

Instead of going back to bed, they decided to sit in the living room for a bit, just until their mind could slow down.

Lovely had learned about seers in their classes at D.A.M.N. Maybe they were one? And the dream had actually been a vision of their fate? They had remembered their professors saying that seers could be anyone and can use any kind of power. Maybe they were a latent seer?

The fact that the dream could come true made the lightning in them itch. Just to make sure, they had made a bolt appear between their fingers. Their core had lit up at the use of their power. Good, their powers are working normally, it would be a shame if it decided to go haywire tonight.

They leaned back on the couch they sat on. It was just a dream. That’s it, end of story. They were no seer. They were safe in their home. Nothing bad has happened.

Nothing bad has happened yet. 

The nagging feeling came back. For the sake of all thing good and holy, can their brain fucking leave them alone for a bit or so help the Meridian they were going to-

“Lovely, what are you doing still up?”

Lovely turned their head and was met with the most adorable sight known to man.

Vincent, clad in his silk pajamas and bunny slippers, had wrapped himself with their large cashmere blanket. His entire body was engulfed, save for his head, in all of his pouting glory. His hair was messy and they were filled with the urge to mess it up a little more.

“I just had a little nightmare, Vinny, but I’m ok, I promise.” They got up and Vincent opened his arms to let Lovely in his blanket forest. Lovely wrapped their arms around his neck and ran their hand through his hair.

He kissed their forehead and wrapped his arms around them. “Mmmmmm, but why didn’t you wake me up? I coulda help,” he slurred his words, sleep was still evident in his voice. His eyes were half-lidded, as if fighting the urge to bury his head in Lovely’s neck and drift back to sleep. “You know I can help too.”

Lovely chuckled at the sweet vampire prince in their arms. “But you looked peaceful and I couldn’t disturb that.” Before Vincent could rebuttal with a ‘it doesn’t matter, I’ll always be there for you’, Lovely pecked his lips. “Besides, it wasn’t a big deal. I’m over it now.” They unwrapped their arms around him, adoring the whine from him at the loss of contact, and held his hands. “Let’s go back to bed, baby.”

He let out a happy sound, his deader than usual mind liking the idea. “Yay! Cuddles!” As excitingly as a tired man could, Vincent shuffled to get back to the bedroom, Lovely trailing behind him. Their heart was melting at the sight of their usual playboy boyfriend being so… fucking cute. They wish it can stay like this forever.

Vincent was laying on the bed when Lovely arrived, his arms open and ready for his Lovely to return to their rightful home. And who was Lovely to deny the light of their life some well deserved cuddles? They both deserve to bask in each other's warmth.

Vincent hummed once again when his Lovely laid their head on his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “You need all the sleep you can get. The E&E Games are tomorrow and you need all the energy, sparky.”

The more Vincent spoke, the heavier their eyelids became. “Mmm, I know, sleep… is important, Damien will be on my ass if… if he found out I…” Lovely couldn’t finish their sentence before they fell asleep. 

Vincent admired their sleeping form. The overwhelming feeling to keep them safe and happy filled him, but those feelings weren’t for tonight. He kissed their forehead and let sleep overtake him, excited for the day to come.

The silent, save for the breathing of the two sleepy people, filled the room and everything was perfect.

Lovely didn’t dream again that night. There wasn’t any need to.

The stage was set for their nightmare to become their permanent reality.