#davy vain
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undergroundglam · 9 months ago
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A glam metal band which originated from San Francisco Bay Area in 1986
On vocals, Davy vain, on drums, Tom Rickard, on bass, ash Michell on guitar, joel proto and dylana nova Scott (steven Adler of guns n roses played with them for a short time too)
Albums:
No respect (1986)
All those strangers (1991)
Move on it (1993)
Fade (1995)
On the line (2005)
Enough rope (2011)
Rolling with the punches (2017)
Disintegrate together (2024)
Genres: glam metal, hard rock.
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calpalpol · 10 months ago
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MY FAVOURITE!!! DAVY VAIN WITH OTHER PEOPLE ON THE GLAM SCENE
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k1ndrwh0re · 3 months ago
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Sebastian Bach of Skid Row hanging out with Davy Vain of Vain !!
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musicmags · 1 year ago
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rockyoushow · 1 year ago
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REVIEW: VAIN "Disintegrate Together"
It’s hard to believe it’s been 35 years since the debut of VAIN “No Respect”. The band’s debut was in 1989, a year where there were so many releases it was easy to fall to the wayside. Their first album seemed to get more praise from the critics than other bands of the Glam genre, probably because it was very real and heartfelt. It’s also hard to believe that their latest “Disintegrate Together”…
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rastronomicals · 1 year ago
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8:49 AM EST March 2, 2024:
Reverend Gary Davis - "Death Don’t Have No Mercy" From the album Love in Vain: The Old Weird Blues (November 2023)
Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm
Giveaway with Mojo 361, with Mick and Keef on the cover
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k1ndrwh0re · 3 months ago
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I GOT THE HEARTS, DIAMONDS, CLUBS, SPADES AND YOUR ASS
Vain // Aces
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welikeimagines-andfandoms · 10 months ago
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Caius, Felix and Demetri trying to convince their mate to become a vampire
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Y/N: “What’s so great about becoming a vampire anyway?”
Felix: “You’ll be stronger then any human”
Y/N: “I’m pretty content with my strength levels.”
Caius: “You will never age. I know how vain you humans can be.”
Y/N: “A. That’s rude and B. I want to age like Betty Davis, where the older I am, the more insane I become.”
Demetri: *sighs* “You’ll be able to drink blood and live your best life as a sexy powerful gothic creature of the night.”
Y/N: “Now you’re speaking my language!”
Caius: “And we will be your humble servants and loves for eternity. Also when you’re a new born you’ll be stronger then any of us.”
Y/N: “So I get to not just boss you all around, but throw you around too?”
Felix: “Please do.”
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all-with-angel · 9 days ago
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ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :A Love Song Seven Ways
...by Benjamin Lazar Davis
❥ Suguru Geto x Reader
Or when Suguru Geto thanks you for staying when you probably shouldn't have.
Made for Angels Birthday Event!
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"Thankyou."
"Hm?"
You blearily blink your eyes open, body shifting against soft sheets. The sun was barely out, a light hue of gray illuminating the room. "For?"
"For staying," Suguru murmurs against your skin, your back pressed against his chest with his arms wrapped around your waist. His breath was warm, voice quiet— As if scared to shatter the moment. Afraid that it would wake him from this dream of paradise. "Through everything."
A hum leaves your lips, carefully lifting yourself to face your husband. His face was tired but content, a little detached as if thinking of a world where he had gone just a bit too far— Spilled blood that shouldn't have been spilled. "Feeling a little sentimental are we?" You joke, hands coming up to cradle his face.
He leans into the warmth of your touch immediately, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he lets his eyes close. Guard down. Worries forgotten. "A little, yeah." A ghost of a smile creeps its way into his face.
You lean forward, placing a sweet, innocent kiss right on his nose. He holds you tighter. You notice the smile grow on his face, tension released from his shoulders.
You remember where the two of you came from, where hes been. What he wanted to do. How he spiraled despite your best efforts. Not that they were in vain, that was proven when he had called you one day when he was supposed to be on a mission.
You picked up the phone, thoughtfully asking about why he would call you in the middle of the mission. He didn't answer you, not directly.
Your heart dropped, you still remember the feeling.
He whispers your name that you think that you hallucinated it. "I need to kill them— These monkeys, these—"
You considered yourself a very polite student, but all formalities were thrown out the window as you rush Ijichi to drive to the village that Suguru was located.
You find him on the sidewalk, hand in hand with two small, malnourished girls. They flinch when you slam the car door shut, you wince, taking a mental note for later, but your eyes meet Sugurus just as quick.
The next few months were— well, something. You had technically gained two daughters and a very mentally unstable boyfriend. It took a while, but you two figured stuff out. Every night you'd wake up to your lover sobbing into his hands, every time he'd hear the rain, every time you woke up to his hands around your neck— crying, pleading and apologizing.
You catch yourself before you could think too hard about those nights many, many years ago. Gliding your fingers through Sugurus hair, you let a smile grace your own lips.
You two were okay now. And it will continue to be okay, as long as you two were with eachother.
"Your welcome."
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A.N. same as the other drabbles, NOT PROOFREAD! Hope i did him justice.... <3
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bayjaruchel · 2 years ago
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Whammy Kiss Me (Whammy Hug)
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---
Pairing: Clapton Davis/AFAB Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven isn't a pointless party game, after all. (3.9k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )
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It's not until the closet door shuts that you realize the gravity of your current situation. 
You've been at the party for at least a couple of hours; you've grown used to the general noise. The slight haziness of the air. You're not quite hammered yet, but you've got one or two drinks in your system. Just enough that you can enjoy the feeling without worrying about the hangover tomorrow. Judging by the way that a couple of people had been giggling and swaying, not everyone who was sitting around the circle shared your sense of self-conservation. 
Although it hadn't been the brightest outside— it was dim, but also somewhat illuminated at the same time with the neon lighting— the single lightbulb hanging above your heads doesn't do much against the darkness. 
Yeah. Heads, plural. 
Luckily, there's only one person in the cramped space besides yourself. 
Unluckily, that person is one Clapton Davis. 
It's not that you don't like him. Actually, you feel the exact opposite towards him, but that's not the point. It's just that— you know, you could spend seven minutes just sitting in silence, doing absolutely nothing— but you're suddenly hyper-aware of the way your knees are brushing. The way there's something in the air. Maybe you're just imagining it, but there's something … restless. Something like—  
Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when he speaks. 
"So," he says, casually. As if you're not within necking distance in a cramped space. "You enjoying the party?" There's that same easy grin on his face. He's completely at ease, apparently. You're not sure if that's because of his ever-present (and sometimes misguided) confidence, or because he's used to stupid little party games like this. It's probably a combination of both. 
"Yeah." You find yourself replying, almost on autopilot. "The punch isn't as bad as I thought it would be." 
Clapton honest-to-god giggles at that. "It's still pretty shitty, though."
"I wouldn't say shitty."  
"Awful, then." He raises his eyebrows. "Let's just say that it's an … acquired taste." 
You can't help but smile. "Fair." He's right— you're pretty sure that the only people who actually enjoy it are the people who regularly attend these parties. Said people usually just come to get drunk, anyway, and the punch works wonders. Magically malicious.  
"It's either that or cheap beer," he muses. "Or wine busted from mommy and daddy's fridge in the basement." 
"Expensive wine?" 
"Could be." Clapton shrugs, pulling his knees closer to his chest. You try in vain not to focus on his arms as he wraps them around his legs. Was it really necessary to wear the tank top? "Maybe," he says. "But I doubt that anyone here would wanna drink it." 
You unconsciously mirror his posture. "Why's that?" 
He snorts. "Too classy." 
It sort of makes sense. You can't really see Josh from Calculus sipping a glass of pinot noir, much less enjoying it. Maybe one has to start from the bottom of the hypothetical alcohol pyramid and work their way up. The bottom, meaning Bud Light. Or Coors Light. All of the Lights. 
"Cheap beer it is, then." 
Clapton's grin is back. 
"Unfortunately." 
You're starting to relax, even if you can still feel your heart pounding whenever his eyes meet yours. Even if your eyes are lingering. When he reaches up to idly run his fingers through his hair, you can't stop yourself from wondering: is it as soft as it looks? 
"How much time d'you think we have left?" He asks, just as you're attempting to reel yourself back in. 
"Uh," you start. Nice. "I don't know— maybe, like, four minutes or so?" Spending a couple of minutes talking about drinks wasn't exactly the plan, but you're not exactly complaining. It's still better than awkward silence. You wonder— again— about how many times he's done this before. How long does it usually take before people give in? 
The muffled music from outside has been reduced to just the thumping of the bass, and the rhythm matches your pulse. 
"Four minutes," he echoes. 
You can't hold his gaze, glancing down at your knees instead. 
"Yeah." 
You can tell when Clapton adjusts himself where he's sitting, but you have a feeling that he hasn't looked away. Not yet. 
"What do you wanna do now?" He asks, innocently. "Four minutes is a long time." 
When you look up, you're proven right. The faint glow of the light doesn't hide anything. It just makes everything feel vaguely dreamlike. And, okay. This is pretty cliche. But you've watched too many movies, seen too many shows—  you know what that look is. That look doesn't mean that he wants to play rock-paper-scissors for the remainder of your time left. 
"I don't know," you manage. "What do you want to do?" 
His eyes dip briefly before flicking back up. 
"I was asking you," he teases softly. "We've already had a pointless conversation." He mimes checking a box midair with his pointer finger. "Check. And we've already sat in silence for a couple of seconds." He repeats the motion on another imaginary box. "Check." 
"Oh, ouch. Talking about alcohol is pointless?" You're a little amused. "So, what's left on the list?" 
Clapton raises his eyebrows again. 
There's a shift in the air. 
"C'mon, don't tell me that you actually don't know." His tone's dropped to little more than a whisper, but due to your closeness, you can hear him loud and clear. Your brief bit of confidence wanes— your face warms, and you pause. Sure, you're well aware of what he's implying— but you're not sure if he's just joking around or not. When has Clapton Davis ever been serious, besides that one time he competed in a skateboarding competition in the sixth grade?  
The lighthearted lilt in his voice is almost gone, though. 
"I know what you're trying to say," you finally reply, matching his volume. And you do want to kiss him. You really, really do. 
"Okay," he murmurs in return. "Well, that's good." He dares to smile, though you know you're weak to it. 
"I don't have to ask you out loud, right?" 
He definitely already knows the answer to that question. 
"Yeah, you don't." 
You've tuned out the outside world, muffled as it already was. The music and noise fade to a quiet hum. You can hear the quiet buzz of the lightbulb— the barely audible clattering as your back moves against the uncomfortable storage shelves— the sound of his sneakers scuffing against the hardwood floor— 
"But if I did ask," he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, "you'd say yes?"  
Your heartbeat thrums in your throat. 
The seconds tick by— you know you can't wait. It's been at least a minute and a half— 
"Just do it," you breathe.   
And he does. 
The first thing you register is how soft his lips are. Then, his hands— cupping your face— your own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. His hair is as soft as it looks. There's no slow build-up because there's no time for that. All you can think about is him— the little sounds he lets out as you kiss, the way he can't wait when you part, his breath briefly coming in soft pants before he leans in to capture your lips again. He tastes vaguely like beer, and maybe that would have bothered you if it were any other guy— but with him, you don't really care at all. His nose presses a little awkwardly against yours a couple of times, but he makes up for it with how eager he is. You know he's not a bad kisser; he's just impatient. 
You lose yourself for a little while. It feels like forever. You wrap your arms around his neck, reluctantly dropping your grip on his hair. His hands start to stray, one anchoring itself behind your neck and the other traveling lower. And lower— 
There's a loud series of knocks at the door. 
Clapton's slower to react, and you're the one to pull back first. When you do, he leans forward to chase your lips—  but stops upon noticing your expression. In direct comparison to you, he just looks giddy. Almost dazed. His hair's a little disheveled from earlier, and he hasn't let go of you yet. 
"Huh," he says, before the door is yanked open. 
You're immediately greeted by exactly what you had expected. Whistles. Catcalls. General hooting. Some "called it!"s and "you owe me five bucks, man!"s. 
Clapton just grins, reveling in it all. Because of course he would. But, before you can get too embarrassed, he's getting to his feet, pulling you along with him as you both exit the closet— exiting what had previously been your own little world. Instead of just rejoining the circle, like part of you expects him to do, he pauses to lean over to you and whisper: 
"Wanna go upstairs?" 
You blink at him. He's still smiling— he almost looks star-struck. You feel that familiar swoop in your stomach. Maybe it's a stupid decision that you'll regret later, but—
"Okay," you agree. 
The whistling doesn't stop as he grabs your wrist, making a beeline for the stairs. The son of a bitch takes them two at a time, and you do your best to keep up. Upstairs, it's quieter than it is on the ground floor, since there are fewer people up here; still, though, you can hear the music echoing through the hallway. A girl's laughter rings out, followed by a string of giggles. 
It's not very hard to find an empty bedroom. You gingerly shut the door behind you, taking a moment to look around. There are one or two posters here and there, and a few photos placed on the dresser. Other than that, it's kind of bare-bones. A guest room, maybe? You sure hope so. While you're distracted, Clapton leisurely sits down on the bed, bouncing a couple of times. 
"Cozy," he remarks, and you turn to look at him. 
"You think?" 
He grins. "Sure do." 
You sit next to him on the mattress. It's not bad. For a moment, he just looks at you. Taking you in. 
But he doesn't hesitate much longer, and leans in. Automatically, you angle your head just so. Unlike before, he kisses you in small pecks at first. One of his hands finds your cheek. However, as the minutes draw by, your kisses grow longer. More languid. He hums into your mouth, and you move closer. Closer, until your thighs are brushing his, and you're nearly off-balance, but it's still not close enough. 
He draws back. This close to him, you can pick out his freckles. His eyelashes are long, framing half-lidded eyes. His lips are still parted. 
"Should I lay back?" He asks, hushed. "Or do you wanna—" 
"Go ahead," you interrupt.  
Clapton flops backward onto the pillows, wiggling around to make himself more comfortable. When you think he's got himself in a good position, you crawl over him. The way he looks up at you— it makes you a little lightheaded, but in the best way possible. His hands find your waist. You can do little but settle against him, pressing your lips to his for the nth time. 
Enthusiastically, he responds, and it's not long before your kisses grow messier. Needier. His hands wander, moving down to rest on your hips, and then lower— you let out a gasp when he squeezes your ass, and he uses the opportunity to pull you harder against him. You're no stranger to how strong his arms are, but, yeah, being on top of him like this is an entirely new experience. He's soft and firm in equal measures, his chest sturdy where it's pressed against yours. His hands are warm when he moves them under your shirt, up your back, making you shiver.  
Bracing your hands on his torso, you sit up. For a second, he's confused, but that quickly fades away as you reach down to pull up your shirt. 
"Holy shit," he murmurs. He scrambles to discard his tank top too, yanking it over his head. You were right— he's toned, but there's still a fair bit of softness there. Of course his chest doesn't have any hair, but at least he kept the trail. You lay back on top of him, the feeling of his skin against yours like this causing you to shudder again. Clapton's hands start to explore once more— square palms, strong fingers. It must be a little bit of an uncomfortable stretch for him, but his thumbs find your nipples, tracing soft circles. 
You briefly enjoy the sensation. Then, your breath stutters when he gently urges you forward and then leans up so he can take them into his mouth. It must be self-indulgent for him, too, because he spends more time than necessary— sucking, flicking his tongue— but it's not like you're complaining.  
When he finally stops, he presses a kiss to the middle of your chest before laying back on the pillows. You move back down, and can't resist the urge to kiss him in return. His jaw— his cheek, which makes him smile. He's already started hooking his fingers in your waistband, and your mild surprise must show on your face, because he abruptly stops. 
"Sorry," he grimaces, "am I going too fast? I - Is that too much?" 
Hastily, you shake your head. "Oh, no. Not at all. It's fine. Just— it just caught me off-guard."  
"Okay." The worry vanishes in an instant. "Okay, I'm gonna." 
You let him slide down your bottoms, and then take them off the rest of the way yourself. His shorts quickly join the rest of the clothing on the floor. Now, you're more or less sitting in his lap— he props himself up on the headboard, his breath heavy as you shift on top of him. With only a few layers between you, you're aware of the shape of him through his boxers.  
You grind your hips with purpose, and he swears under his breath. When you do it again, he muffles himself by kissing you. The friction— you know it's not going to be enough— makes you more desperate, and it must be having the same effect on him, judging by the way he's slightly squirming underneath you. He's not quite thrusting up against you, but it's obvious that if he were in a better position, he would be. When your cunt brushes against him, catching at that angle, he moans openly into your mouth. You draw back only for air. If you could, you'd keep kissing him forever. 
"You gonna let me— mmh — fuck you?" He pants, "ohmygod, 'cause if you don't, you— you are one sick bastard—"  
You smile, although you want him just as badly as he wants you. You're doing a slightly better job at keeping yourself composed, after all. "I don't know," you murmur, "isn't this nice?" 
Clapton bites his lip when you grind down harder this time. "I — well," his hands scramble on your waist, your hips, "it is pretty nice, but, like — I just wanna take the logical— shitfuck — next step, right?" He's looking up at you with wide eyes, "and you are gonna let me, right?" 
"Right," you repeat, your breath catching when you roll your hips at just the right angle, "I am gonna let you, don't worry." 
He's flushed a pretty pink, pupils blown wide, obscuring hazel eyes; you drink him in. "Thought so," he grins. Before you can ask, he's already answering. "And, uh. There's a condom in the pocket of my shorts, if you're worried about that." 
You're in mild disbelief, abruptly halting your movements. 
"In your—?" 
Clapton looks a little bashful, though he's still grinning. "Could you just get it?"  
You're already awkwardly dismounting his lap. "Sure, sure." True to his word, there's a condom in the left pocket of his shorts, and you fish it out without a problem. You glance back at him for a moment, and he doesn't even try and pretend that he wasn't staring. Oh, well. A little clumsily, you get back onto the bed, and move to straddle him again— but he gently stops you. 
"Hey," he says, "can we switch places?" 
You don't need much time to consider it. "Alright." 
Now, he's hovering between your legs, and you're the one lying back. His gaze lingers, but he can't wait for much longer. You lift your hips, and he slides your last remaining piece of fabric off. 
"Fuck," he breathes, just before he gets to work. With the pad of one of his fingers, he collects the wetness that had been gathering, then smoothly slides the digit into your cunt. Swiftly, he adds another, the sensation odd at first, but you know you'll quickly get used to it. When he begins to lightly trace your clit, it only makes it easier for you to loosen up— both figuratively and literally. And he's still adding another. Maybe three fingers aren't strictly necessary, but he crooks them, finding the spot that makes an almost embarrassing noise tumble from your lips. 
You spread your thighs wider. You could definitely cum like this if you let him continue for a while. Glancing up at his face— oh, he definitely would if you wanted him to. He's torn between looking at how his fingers disappear into you and your face. How you're reacting to his touch. It's a little flattering. But as much as part of you wants to see what he's willing to do — 
"I'm — " You feel yourself tense, and you barely stifle an involuntary moan when he thumbs your nub again. "I'm ready. You can —" 
He doesn't even wait until you finish the sentence. He's already pulling out his fingers, tugging off his boxers. Your eyes are immediately drawn downward. Again, you're not surprised that he's shaved. Length-wise, he's probably around average, but girth-wise he's nice and thick. There's a bead of precum at the tip— if he wasn't already tearing open the condom with his teeth in a move that he's probably practiced before, you would've offered to blow him or something. Maybe some other time. 
Your idle thoughts dissipate when he lines himself up and, with an amount of care that nearly belies his previous neediness, presses in. You both moan in unison— he sounds infinitely more strained. He takes a moment to catch his breath, but— 
He starts moving. Little thrusts, at first. Then, pulling out more, pushing back in. His mouth falls open, and you can't resist throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He groans, and you take it in, taking it with his increasing pace. It's good— his thumb finds your sensitive apex again, and that makes you jolt, but you know he's trying to give you a smooth progression between slow and fast. That's not what you want, though. Especially not now. Inches from his lips, you mutter: 
"Don't hold back." 
And that's all it takes. You can vaguely hear the bed creaking when he snaps his hips up to meet yours, roughly fucking into you with almost reckless abandon. Your kisses are sloppy, uncoordinated. But you wouldn't prefer it any other way. You know he probably wouldn't be making those noises if he didn't know they were muffled against you. Some are high-pitched— ragged gasps, moans, and at least one whimper. You also know you don't sound much different. He can't reach down to rub your throbbing clit anymore, due to how he's positioned, but the way that he's angled is more than satisfying in that regard. 
You lose track of time, only aware of his hips colliding against yours— his lips, his hands — the way he's starting to babble. "Fuck, you look so pretty like this," he confesses in a rush, "god, your eyes. I could just — I could just look at you like this forever. If you could see yourself — nnh — you would know." A sharp intake of breath, a few kisses, and then, "Ohfuck. Shit. You're gonna ruin this forever for me. I can't — " 
His rhythm is starting to falter. You can feel the heat pooling low in your gut, the tension that comes before the inevitable release. You tighten around him. His hands braced near your shoulders tremble, and you can see his biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself up like this. 
"Please," Clapton chokes out, and he doesn't specify as to what he wants, but you have a pretty good idea. "I'm gonna— " 
"Do it," you manage, despite your own climbing pitch, "c'mon, give it to me—"    
"Fuck— "  You feel him pulse. For a split second, you wonder how it would feel if he didn't have on the condom—  but your thoughts are quickly overtaken, as you're not too far behind. You twitch, spasming around his cock as your mouth falls open. The tension peaks, the heat spikes— 
He fucks you, gently, as you float back down, riding out your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter shut, and your breath slows, but your pulse is still a fast-paced staccato. 
He gingerly lays on top of you, catching his breath. It's hot against your throat. The world ceases spinning, and you let out a long sigh. 
He mimics it, and you glance down at him. 
You're reluctant to say it, but seriously, this is someone else's house. Guest room or not. 
"We should get cleaned up or something." 
He blinks once, lazily. Seemingly, he's content to lay on your chest. Of course, he's the type to get sleepy after sex. But at least he makes an effort to respond. "Ugh," he says. And then: "Jus' gimme a minute or something." 
You give him a look, and he surrenders. "Okay, fine." 
He slips out with a wet noise, and you only miss the fullness for a moment. Getting off the mattress, he throws out the condom, then accepts the wad of tissues you hand him. It's not the best, but it'll have to do for now. You manage to get most of the evidence of your arousal off before pulling back on your clothes. There's a mirror, thankfully, so you go to try and make yourself look less … fucked. Not that it would really matter. There are definitely people in worse states. 
Clapton stands next to you, but doesn't even try to fix his hair. On him, it looks fashionably disheveled, anyway. 
It's silent, before he interjects: 
"Is this … gonna be just a one-time thing?" 
The strange apprehensiveness is back, and you chance a glance at him. He's not meeting your eyes, but you're sure he's looking at you in the mirror's reflection. 
"I don't know," is all you can think to say, "do you want it to be?" A beat. "We could totally go back to being just sort of friends, if that's what you want." 
Clapton visibly swallows. "I … " 
You wait, patiently. He takes another few seconds. 
"I liked that," he mutters, "a lot. And I— I meant all that stuff. About you." 
He's still not meeting your eyes. It makes you pause. 
"I liked it too," you reply, softly.
The look he gives you next says it all. You know he's not big on old-school romance. He's not big on flowery words— his English grades can certainly attest to that. He's more of an action-oriented guy. Even if you don't get a verbal confession just yet— and you know you will, just not now— you suddenly understand what he's trying to convey. So, you pull yourself together and throw caution to the wind. 
"You wanna get out of here?" 
He beams. 
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zablife · 8 days ago
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Johnny Davis NSFW Alphabet
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A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)
Johnny holds you close to his chest long after your ragged breathing has evened out, clutching your hand over his heart. Even before he professed his love for you, this simple act said it all. And tho he doesn't make flowery promises of devotion, you're touched by the little things he'll say in those hazy twilight moments before sleep. "Gonna paint the kitchen for ya this weekend," he'll mumble as he lights a cigarette. It's his way of letting you know he was listening when you mentioned it was peeling earlier this week.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)
Johnny loves your legs! Feeling them pressed up against him on the bike, intertwined with his beneath the sheets and esp when you lean against the pool table for a difficult shot with your miniskirt riding up.
He'd never be vain enough to confess his fave body part, but you suspect it might be his lovely blue green eyes bc of your numerous compliments. As a man of few words, he expresses himself thru a knowing look or intense gaze. If he thought about it, he'd agree bc he knows he can make you weak with a single glance.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Johnny wants nothing more than to cum inside you, but he knows you aren't ready for kids so he always stops himself, pulling out in time to paint your stomach or backside. If you were really serious about the issue, you'd make him wear a rubber, but secretly you wouldn't mind an accident.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He wants to get you pregnant, claim you as his so every member of the Vandals will know you belong to him and him alone. Seeing you carry his child would be the most incredible honor he could imagine bc that would mean you'd fully committed to a life with him.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)
It might surprise you to know Johnny is fairly inexperienced. He married young, prob straight out of high school, and has only slept with Betty. That's why he's excited to try new things with you!
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Johnny is old school so missionary for sure! It's also due to his romantic side tho. There's nothing he enjoys more than fucking you slow and deep so he can watch your eyes grow glossy with tears before you profess your undying love for him.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Johnny is closer to Benny's silent, brooding than Corky's endless wisecracking normally so he’s decidedly serious in the bedroom. You do your best not to tease him about it, but sometimes his furrowed look of concentration makes you giggle. "Looks like you're doing long division, not fucking a pretty girl!" That usually makes him loosen up, offering you a throaty chuckle in reply.
H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Johnny is like your very own teddy bear, warm and furry. You enjoy running your hands through his chest hair when you make out and he would never deny you that pleasure. However, he's not the sort to shave himself smooth anyway. He barely takes the time to shave his face!
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Johnny is def a romantic at heart! He likes eye contact, soft touches and lots of kissing. Foreplay with him can easily last an hour or more bc he loves to take his time.
J = Jack off (masturbation head canon)
Johnny became accustomed to jerking off in the shower during his marriage to Betty, knowing he had to take care of his own needs. He doesn’t resort to this very often now unless he’s away from you for an extended period time.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Johnny might not approve of knife or gun play, but he’s surprisingly open to using his brass knuckles to pleasure you after you show a keen interest in them.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Johnny loves the peace and quiet of the countryside. Any chance he gets, he's driving out of the city and taking you with him to enjoy a languid fuck on a picnic blanket under a tall oak tree. But if he can't have that, the garage is a close second. Watching you bend over to retrieve his tools always gets him hard.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Seeing you in those cute little sundresses you wear to the Vandals picnics excites him more than anything. The first time you whispered in his ear that you weren't wearing underwear, his heart nearly stopped. He had to drag you away soon after to relieve the growing tightness in his pants.
N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)
He would never agree to a threesome and he doesn't like public sex. He's far too protective of you and what you have.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
At first, Johnny prefers receiving bc he doesn't have much experience giving. However, he's more than willing to take direction from you and becomes a quick study. The first time he tries to quit smoking, he becomes utterly insatiable in his oral fixation. There are some nights you can't escape his hunger, arm clamped down over your midsection intent on feeling your body quiver uncontrollably beneath him as he contents himself sucking on your swollen clit.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 
Johnny is capable of both, tho he prefers to take his time with you. Slow and sensual is his fave so he can lavish you with plenty of attention. A romantic at heart, he likes to savor the connection between you.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
If he can steal you away for a few minutes to feel the tight clutch of your cunt, he's there! That's why he insists on keeping a small office at the back of the bar. The other Vandals might take their girls in a stall or up against the bathroom sink, but you deserve the plush comfort of a sofa.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
For someone who enjoys the thrill of racing motorbikes, Johnny is surprisingly risk averse when it comes to sexual pursuits. He adamantly declines public sex so as not to expose you to prying eyes and he doesn't approve of knife or gun play. He's seen too many friends die or get injured in fights to think of weapons as sex toys.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Johnny surprises you by lasting longer than any of your other boyfriends. He makes it his mission to please you even when you have difficulty reaching orgasm. Your passionate kisses and sweet little whimpers keep him rock hard for hours. And tho you might only go one round, it's more than enough!
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Once you've had Johnny's cock, you realize no toy could compare. When you tell him this, his neck flushes red, even tho he knows it's true. But neither of you lack imagination. After using Johnny's bike to get off, he gets a new idea. He surprises you on laundry day, hoisting you atop the washing machine during the spin cycle to finger you until you're a panting mess collapsing into his chest.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
There is only one rule with Johnny and that is NO teasing!! He doesn't find it fun or playful, just frustrating. It also hits a nerve deep within him that somehow he's being made fun of and that he cannot abide. However, he won't tease you either. He delivers exactly what he promises and that's thrill enough for you!
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Johnny isn't one to make noise during sex bc he loves listening to all your quiet whimpers and moans. It's an ego boost to know he's making you feel good. However, you're often left wondering if you do the same for him bc he barely speaks beyond a few words of gentle praise and his tell tale grunt just before he cums.
W = Wild card (a random head canon for the character)
His most treasured possessions are the dirty pictures you gave him on your anniversary. He went speechless at the sight of you clad in a sheer nightie, breasts pushed forward so your nipples stood out suggestively in shadow. The next pose was even better, you in the center of the bed on all fours, ass up and waiting for him with a come hither stare. Some men might tack them up in the garage to show off, but Johnny keeps them safely hidden in a drawer. Only bringing them out when you aren’t around to help satisfy his needs.
X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)
Before you started dating, you swore his large hands and big boots were an indication of what he was hiding beneath his denim. After your first night together you felt fully vindicated in your theory! He knows he's big so he always takes his time preparing you, easing in slowly so the stretch isn't too painful.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
When he was married, he felt certain his lack of sex drive was due to age and long hours at work. It was rare for him to initiate sex more than twice a month. But when he met you he realized that was all a lie he told himself. His desire for a woman has never been greater than after you got together and now he needs to feel you beneath him at least 3x a week.
Z = Zzz
Johnny succumbs to sleep rather quickly after sex, but only when he's certain you're taken care of. He'll often share a smoke with you, holding it to your waiting lips for you when you're too exhausted to do it yourself. And he never drifts off without a soft kiss to your forehead.
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komotionlessqueenmm · 2 years ago
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Imagine # 1,057
Gif NOT mine.
Year posted - 2023
Rating - SFW (Includes injuries involving flogging obviously.)
Reading time (roughly) - 10 minutes
It's been a while since I watched these movies, so some things are not going to be super accurate. Just roll with it my lovelies.
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Pushing Will aside (Y/n) stepped forward to face Davy Jones. "I will take his place." She stated suddenly, confusing both Will and Davy Jones. "You will take his place?" The Captain asked in bemusement, a amused smirk on his lips. "Yes." She stated confidently, shaking off Will's arm when he tried pulling her back. "(Y/n) what are you doing?" He hissed at her, again trying to pull her away, giving up when she shook him off a second time. "And why should I let you take Mr. Turner's lashings?" Davy Jones asked, several of his crew mates chuckling at the absurd demand. "Because then he'll actually learn his lesson." She stated matter-of-factly before continuing. "Will's a proud man, if you punish him, he won't learn, he'll only disobey you again, and the cycle will continue." (Y/n) allowed the Captain a moment to think before continuing. "But he's also a honorable man, and should I be punished for his actions, he'll think twice about causing trouble." She concluded, and she could tell Davy Jones saw her perspective. "Very well. The woman will be flogged." The Captain concluded, his men quickly grabbing her arms, and pulling her to the mast. "No!" Will argued trying to put a stop to this, he was grabbed by his father and only held back for a few moments before he broke away.
"You can't do this!" He shouted when he reached her, attempting to pull the crew members away from her. (Y/n) pushed them away and faced Will. "Don't." She warned, not fighting the men when they took ahold of her shoulders. "If you interfere, you'll only make this worse for me." She hissed at him, her serious expression turning to shock when the crew mates tore the back of her shirt open. "Captain get a look at this!" One of the guys barked with amusement, turning (Y/n)'s back to Davy Jones who stood with the rest of the crew. The crew burst into laughter, and the Captain chuckled in amusement. Her back bare to his gaze, Will gawked in astonishment at the sight, where over a dozen large scars littered her back. "It would seem this isn't the first time you've been flogged." Davy Jones mused, waving his arm for them to continue. "No no I can't-!" Will shouted when his father dragged him back by the shoulders. "Will you need to stop, if you keep this up, they will whip her to the bone." His father warned, and the young man went slack, knowing his words were true. "But shes- I-" Will muttered, cutting himself off as he locked eyes with her. "I know son, I know." The old pirate pat his sons shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort him. (Y/n) was shoved against the ships mast, her arms pulled around it, and bound tightly with rope. "She doesn't deserve this." Will muttered mournfully, his heart breaking at the sight of the fear building in her eyes. "She's a tough woman, she will be fine." Bootstrap consoled his son, releasing his hold on him, believing Will wouldn't do anything stupid or rash.
The first strike pulled a pained cry from the woman, and blood stained the deck, instantly getting washed away with the rain. Will couldn't control himself, when the second lashing came, rushing forward to comfort her. "Will don't!" Bootstrap shouted, but it was to late. Will stood before her, taking her hands in his, and resting his forehead against hers. One of the crew mates moved to pull Will away from her, assuming he was trying to free her. "Leave him." Davy Jones commanded, knowing Will wasn't trying to untie her, and allowing him to remain so close to her, knowing it would only hurt him more. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Will wept as she was struck again, and again. Her cries choked and breathless, the pain splitting across her back nearly unbearable. "I swore to protect you." His whisper was pained, as he peered into her watery eyes. "I'm so sorry I have failed you." He squeezed her hands, his own heart breaking at the sound of the whip crack. On the eighth whip crack, (Y/n)'s knees buckled and she fell slack against the mast. Will quickly moved his hands to grab the underside of her bent arms, and pull her to stand up straight. Knowing if she was hunched down, the whip was likely to strike her head, and the man wielding damned thing wouldn't care. "It's almost over." He tried to assure her, knowing the sentencing was only ten lashings. "Hang in there." He whispered, their tears mixing with the heavy fall of rain, foreheads resting together.
The ninth strike, and every muscle in her body shook from the shock, and pain of it all. The tenth and final strike came harder than the others, the force making (Y/n) crumble to the ground, despite Will's attempts to keep her upright. "She has the rest of the day to rest, but I expect her to be on deck working first thing in the morning." Davey Jones dismissed, the crew mates departing to go about their work, leaving Will to help (Y/n). "Take it easy, I've got you, I've got you." He murmured quickly untying her hands, and easing her into his arms as gently as he could. She whimpered in pain, clinging to his arms, her body still shaking from the shock and pain. "Easy firefly easy." He murmured softly, the nickname bringing a ghost of a smile to her face. "I'm okay Will." She murmured weakly, trying to stand on wobbly legs. Instinctively Will wrapped his arm around her back, nearly jumping away from her when she cried out in pain. She fell forward in an instant, and Will rushed forward to catch her in his arms. Now chest to chest, his hands rest firmly on her hips. Swiftly he hoisted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, while she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and buried her face into his neck. "I'm sorry, I've got you now." He whispered into her hair as he carried her below deck. Once they were below deck, and away from prying eyes, Will sat her atop a sturdy table.
"I need to clean your wounds." Will stated in a soft tone, slowly moving to unbutton her now ruined shirt. Moving slow enough to give her the opportunity to push him away, should she want him to stop. She didn't fight him, and allowed him to slide the shirt off of her shoulders. Gently he slipped the shirt from her arms, and tossed the ruined fabric aside. He kept his eyes locked with hers, as she sat before him, bare from the waist up. "Why did you do it?" He asked the question that had been burning in his mind like hellfire. "To keep you from causing any more trouble." She murmured, her words only making Will scoff. "Bullshit. Why did you do it?" He insisted. "Because it's what you do!" (Y/n) suddenly shouted as best she could, grunting at the pain in her back. "You protect the ones you love, no matter what it takes." She huffed before slumping forward. Despite the shock he felt at her words, Will was quick to catch her by the shoulders. "You..." He tried to gather his thoughts, a far away look in his eyes. "Forget it." She grunted, holding herself upright and turning her back to him. "My cuts need dealt with." She reminded him, and in a instant Will rushed to work. Carefully he cleaned each of the open wounds, unable to keep his mind from running a mile a minute. His fingers subconsciously tracing over one of the old scars, muttering an apology when she suddenly pulled away from him.
"What happened?" He asked in a soft whisper. (Y/n) chuckled bitterly, glancing over her shoulder. "The life of a pirate isn't an easy one... Especially with a brother like Jack." She muttered the last part so only Will could hear. "Your-?" He cut himself off, knowing if Davy Jones found out, it could end horribly. "He's reckless." She chuckled again. "Just like someone else I know." Will smiled softly when she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I never meant for you to get hurt." Will muttered as he prepped a needle and thread. "Yeah I know." She shrugged a little. "But I also know that what I told Davy Jones is true. Had it been you to get flogged, you would have ended up making the same mistake of pissing off the Captain of the Flying Dutchman." He hated to admit it, but he knew she was right. "And if I was the one to get hurt, you might actually take the time to stop and think, and maybe just maybe you'd learn to keep your head down." She continued, hissing when Will began stitching her wounds. "We can't just do nothing." Will said, trying not to sound angry. "Jack will come for us, we just need to bide our time." (Y/n) said in a soft tone. "Jack? How can he possibly save us? You heard what Davy Jones said." Will argued, trying to keep his hands steady as he worked on her stitches. "He owns one hundred souls... How can he possibly get one hundred souls?" Will's voice was mournful. "Do you know how Jack came to owe Davy Jones so many souls?" (Y/n) asked pain evident in her voice, making Will slow his work.
"To get back the Pearl." Will stated, and (Y/n) chuckled softly. "Eighty souls would have bought him the Pearl. The other twenty were for me." She explained, her words making Will still in his work for a moment. "You see when Barbossa staged a mutiny, and stole the Pearl from Jack, he kept me prisoner. Knowing full well how close me and Jack are, he wanted to rub salt in the wound." She sighed when Will washed away the blood that had spilled as he worked. "I died Will." He froze at her words. "When the Pearl went down, I went down with her. I drowned of all things." She chuckled bitterly. "Jack bargained for twenty more souls to bring me back." She turned to look at Will. "Jack is reckless, a little crazy, and sometimes a selfish coward... But he always comes back, he always does the right thing, and he does whatever it takes for the ones he cares about." Will smiled faintly at her words, she really believes in her brother, and for her he's willing to believe in Jack as well. "You know... Before you told me Jack was your brother, I thought you guys were a couple." Will smiled at the face she pulled. "But I'm glad to know you aren't." He added before kissing her cheek. "I-" (Y/n) tried, but Will cut her off, turning her back around to finish patching her up. "And I'm glad to know you love me back." He added in a soft tone, kissing the nape of her neck, smiling when she shuddered in response.
Once he finished patching her up, he took and wrapped her torso securely with wrappings. And with that done, he removed his shirt, assisted her into it, and buttoned it up slowly. "What about Elizabeth?" (Y/n) asked after a moment, having been unable to think about what he said. "I thought you loved her?" She added. "I thought I did too. That is until I met you." His knuckles brushed across her cheekbone. "How many times have you saved my life, or protected me?" Will asked with a smile. "You need it." She smiled. "Yeah I guess I do..." His smile slowly faded as he thought about what had happened. "I'm so sorry that you had to go through this, that I did this to you... I promise... I promise you I won't let this happen again." Will insisted, resting his forehead against hers. "You know that's what Jack always says, when he gets me into some crazy situation that risks life and death." (Y/n) mused with a grin. "The life of a pirate isn't an easy one, but luckily for me, I was born to be a pirate." She added, making Will smile. "You should get some rest, the Captain expects you to be working on deck in the morning." He helped her off of the table, laid back in the hammock, and pulled her gently to lay chest to chest with him. "Drink up me hearties yo ho." (Y/n) sang softly, a tired smile pulling at her lips. "Sleep love." Will encouraged her, kissing the crown of her head.
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Buy me a coffee sometime? ☕️
(Click the coffee for my Kofi link, IT'S NOT NECESSARY BTW.)
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mclennonlgbt · 9 months ago
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When you offend someone but you won't let anyone else do it because you love that person
Dave Davies: "I sometimes think that Ray was only happy for three-and-a-half years in his life. And those were the three-and-a-half years before I was born. [He] is a vain, egocentric, narcissist arsehole. [But] I won't have anybody call him that except me. Because I love him to death."
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John Lennon: "I'm entitled to call Paul what I want to, and vice versa; it's in our family. But if somebody else calls him names I won't take it."
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k1ndrwh0re · 3 months ago
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Davy Vain's dogs <3<3
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Gogo and Loki
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tavolgisvist · 5 months ago
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If you listen to Colin Hanton, he seems to think when Paul McCartney arrived, Paul definitely had ideas of making his career in music, whereas the rest of us were just having fun basically.
(Rod Davis, 2008, interview with Gary James)
But if it hadn’t been for me, we wouldn’t have got on top. I decided when I was a kid that I was going to be on the top, the veddy, veddy toppermost of the poppermost, and I made it. I was the one who always gave more, did more, pushed more. I was the engine. Paul didn’t have that dream. I had to instill it in him. I know you think this sounds terribly vain, but it’s true and I am vain about it.
(John Lennon in Dakota Days by John Green, 1983)
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artsyhamster · 1 year ago
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I watched POTC some days ago and wanted to draw Izzy as part of Davy Jones' crew. AU thoughts/ramblings taken from twitte runder the cut :o
Davy Jones Pact AU where a younger Izzy almost lost Edward and begged to Davy Jones to grant him immortality (from enemy inflicted wounds, he still aged) so he can keep Ed safe during raids and everything. Davy agreed to about 20 years. [Or maybe 30 even]
So when Ed brings up the idea of retirement, Izzy is very much on board, because his own time has almost run out and if Ed retires, he knows he’ll be safe even when Izzy is gone. But then Bonnet happens and the plan seems to crumble and Izzy gets anxious.
Shit gets fucked, as expected. Izzy still gets shot. He still tells everyone to leave him behind (they refuse) but he explains his time is over, and why his soul is already fucked and begs them to leave and survive so all of this wasn’t in fucking vain. They leave. But Edward & Stede swear to get him back.
No one takes what belongs to them, not even Davy fucking Jones.
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