pete is an early riser. this irks vegas to no end, especially since he's needed twice the amount of sleep after getting shot and he's not very keen on doing that in a cold, desolate, pete-less bed. but pete is a creature of habit, accustomed to training at the crack of dawn from a young age, and he refuses to budge. "i need to stay in shape," he'll say apologetically as he tugs his wrist away from a clingy, cranky vegas. "i'm not about to let you get shot again."
vegas has many problems with this statement, starting with "i got myself shot, idiot," and ending with "you're not my bodyguard, so stop fucking acting like it," but somewhere in between he always ends up twisting the knife too deep, and pete will smile that strained, empty smile that vegas never wants to see again. so vegas has learned, with great difficulty, to let this fight lie.
besides, vegas has discovered a silver lining in all of this: post-workout pete is hungry.
he's sweaty and disheveled, too, if vegas can manage to lure pete to the kitchen before he wanders off to shower, and vegas has always liked him like that. so when vegas has the energy, he'll make tom luad muu from scratch with all of the trappings, slicing up pork blood and intestine and liver in the early light of dawn, leaving them to simmer and burble pleasantly on the stove. he'll pull out strips of chicken he left to marinate overnight (he loves feeding pete meat, he loves it), grill them over open flame, and the enticing scent of it will fill up the kitchen and the hallways beyond. it works like a charm; pete will stumble in nose-first, and the look of awe of his face will settle like contentment into vegas's bones.
and then vegas gets to watch pete steadily work his way through a ridiculous amount of food, humming with satisfaction and moaning in pleasure as he slurps up soup and tears through chunks of meat, licking traces of grease off the corners of his mouth, and something warm and heady will curl in the pit of vegas's stomach -- and he'll get hard. sometimes he'll do something about it, leaning over to taste the salty sweat on pete's neck and the lingering spice on pete's mouth; but most times he finds himself doing nothing but sitting in the intensity of his own love for pete, basking in the warmth of pete's delight, and thinking to himself, this must be what happiness feels like.
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inspired partially by a convo with @fleet-off about vegas's passive horniness and partially by this bingqiu fic about making obscene sounds while eating. hehe
Sunny: do you think im going to end up like an omelette
Tubbo: No, probably not because- I don't know. An omelet is like an unfertilized egg 'cuz it's still got like, the yolk and stuff. But you're like- you're like, growing. So you're just kind of- you're just kind of like- your cells are like, doubling at the minute. You know what I mean?
Sunny:
Tubbo: So you can't make you into an omelet because... You know, because you don't have the omelet ingredients within you! 'Cuz you're a living thing. I feel like I've dug a really big hole.
Hello yall Hope you remember it's His day !! Heheheheheh I finally drew him as a Maid!! I made him fox! but originally, I was going to make it into a rabbit, but I canceled it because the concept overlapped with the other picture I drew a months ago. (Rabbit Hole-)
And perhaps, I'm gonna draw Emily If this Hits many notes >:)