#orb fuzz

[badly-drawn-objects]

fuzz from orb :)

#otherworldly ravenous beast #orb fuzz #fuzz orb #object shows #made in sketch

[eurazba]

"Dude it's my orb, buck off"

#raz drew #I was overcome with a fit of motivation #insp was rabbit and orb #hare #orb #rabbit #furry #sfw furry #furry fandom #fuzz the buzz #raz kush

[orbees]

i am so obsessed w/ these elias dice that @coccolithophore got me they're literally perfect a picture does not do them justice ;____; thank u so much gay!!!

bonus:

^ horrifying moment i did not realize rider was there

#oc posting #orb and friends #oc: elias #i swear i literally Just opened these. and already. cat fuzz #rider tag

[loveisinthebat]

Puffball Friend

#Townsend's Big-eared Bat #Bat of the day #Daily Bat #Bats of North America #FLUFFY #batposting #bat #bats #Cute bats #cute animals #I mean honestly #Look at that #Look at them #They're an ORB #of FUZZ

[sunddya]

request!!

is Loop or Fuzz from ORB ok? (orb is so super cool!!)

i like this guy hes cool (sorry if this is not the best this is the first drawing i've actually put effort into in a while LOL)

#art #object show community #object shows #osc #art requests #otherworldly ravenous beast #orb #fuzz orb #i wanted to do both but i couldn't get loop to look right sorryyy #sunddyart

[goodobjectshowscreenshots]

#submission #orb #fuzz

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

The members of Geelong, Australia-based outfit ORB — Zak Olsen (vocals, guitar, bass), David Gravolin (guitar, bass) and Jamie Harner (drums) — have had a lengthy career, starting in earnest with a lengthy stint in their first band as teenagers, The Frowning Clouds. Since starting ORB, the Aussie trio have released two albums, 2017’s Neutrality and 2018’s The Space Between, which they supposed with a European and North American tour opening for King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard back in 2019. The band’s long-awaited and highly-anticipated album, the Tim Dunn-produced Tailem Bend is slated for a July 12, 2024 release through Fuzz Club globally and through Flightless Records in Australia. The band didn’t intend for six years to pass without an album, but there’s little in life that happens as expected — or as desired. Much like all of us, the COVID-19 pandemic threw a monkey wrench into their plans. And then add side pursuits and the other vagaries of daily life that we all know too well. Tailem Bend derives its name from a quiet South Australian town, whose name caught the band’s collective eye while on tour. For the band, the name conjured images of some long lost prog rock act; however, the town’s name reportedly is derived from the Ngarrindjeri word “thelim,” referring to a sharp bend in the nearby Murray River. Written over the course of 2021 and 2022 and finished in the studio early last year, Tailem Bend‘s material is saturated in vintage warmth and depth while showcasing a bold leap forward in their sound and approach that’s not a complete departure: Continuing to be anchored around their unerring knack for being tunefully hypnotic, the album’s material sees the trio infusing heavy doom-leaning jams with a lighter psych pop sensibility and funky rhythmic grooves. There still fuzzy power chord-driven riffs, but the material also features some mellower passages and a renewed focus on rhythm and space. A deep sense of shared history also informs the album’s material. The Aussie trio reunite with Tim Dunn, who produced several Frowning Cloud albums. The album also features guest spots from former Frowning Cloud bandmate and current frontman of Banana Gun, Nick van Bankel (conga); The Murlocs‘ Callum Shortal, who often plays live shows with ORB (guitar); Leah Senior’s Girlatones‘ and Baby Blue’s Jesse Williams (piano) and Emma Bailey (backing vocals) and Ashely Goodall (backing vocals). To celebrate the album’s announcement and build some buzz on the album, the members of ORB recently shared “Can’t Do That”/”Morph.” The A-side “Can’t Do That” is an expansive jam anchored around fuzzy blues-tinged power chords, a funky and mind-bending, motorik-like groove paired punchy hook that channels a synthesis of Thin Lizzy, Ram Jam‘s “Black Betty,” Black Sabbath and jazz fusion. “‘Can’t Do That’ started out from a demo of mine,” the band’s David Gravolin says. “Tried to sound like W.I.T.C.H., ended up sounding like Thin Lizzy.” The band’s Zak Olsen adds that “Lyrically it’s about having self-respect in low times.” The B-side “Morph” features some heavy yet melodic, Black Sabbath-like riffage paired with Olsen’s reverb-soaked Ozzy Osbourne-inspired delivery singing some trippy lyrics. Play loud, smoke some ganja and then vibe out!

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#Fuzz Club #Geelong Australia #heavy metal #metal #New Audio #New Single #ORB #ORB Can&039;t Do That #ORB Morph #ORB Neutrality #ORB Tailem Bend #ORB The Space Between #psych rock #The Frowning Clouds

[chisatowo]

Hee hee what if I used the fuzzy ooze as an excuse to make my splat 3 agent oc a furry haha wouldn't that be funny (<- knows not what it's wrought)

#rat rambles #splat posting #ok ok so basically its started as be being like hm but what happened to all the other fuzzed guys post story #plus whats the difference between how the ooze was applied that made them still be functional and us just get orbed #and why are they so boringly designed /lh #so I decided to use all of this as an excuse to just do whatever the fuck I want with the worldbuilding for funsies #and then it also became abt nuerodivergence and gender oops #and now Im sitting here listining to i wish i could wear hats by bdg having a Moment abt them because I thought Id listen to it for the #haha funnies since my new agent 3 looks super silly and ugly in most hats and then the second half hit me like a truck all over again #and now Im having god damn emotions over them :/ #anyways her name is check and she is simply my little meow meow #along with grit which is the nickname I have for my version of little buddy #the two of them are autistic little guys staring at you tbh style #theyre besties and also dumb 14 yr olds and also rarely talk to eachother outloud #well they both rarely talk in general again autism #I love them theyve been living in my head rent free

[oceanbaby888]

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS by Oceanbaby888 🔥🐦‍🔥🛸✨

Just my thoughts & observations! Please do not steal my work or repost without credit. Thank you!

While Saturn, Sun, and Pluto are normally associated with power, I have observed the power of Mercury. To know how to manipulate and bend language to your advantage is definitely a skill! We forget that Mercury also rules our daily lives, and when a Mercurial person knows how to find those advantages through language, daily life, etc is not a force to be reckoned with! 💚🤖

I think it is so funny how during the Mercury in Aries transit there have been multiple diss tracks & public rap beefs in the music industry. Notably Kendrick Lamar vs. Drake but also Suki vs. JT. Especially with the North Node currently in Aries. If you postion the day Kendrick released "Euphoria," at 12pm in Santa Monica, CA (the location of Interscope Records), there was a Mercury-North Node conjunction in Aries at an orb of about 3°!!! The same when Kendrick released "Not Like Us" but at an orb of 5°!! Crazy work! 🤯😯

I think Virgos/Scorpios/heavy Plutonian placements (including MC) would make amazing data analysts and data scientists. If you are ever looking for a career that will call for finding patterns and digging deep into data and extracting some finds from it, I think this would be good. These placements are quite patient when it comes to finding patterns in my opinion. 📈

A Pisces that can separate their emotional state vs logical state is also a force not to be reckoned with. Really as crafty as a Gemini (sorry Geminis but y’all can be crafty 🤷🏾‍♀️). Please never underestimate the power of a Pisces that can snap out of their emotional fuzz.

We have to commend the fact that mutable signs are so adaptable to life. As I grow older I notice life is just about change, change, and change.

I’ve noticed that Mercurians really don’t pick sides, I infer that comes from Mercury being the planet ruling neutrality. I think it’s less apparent with Geminis given they are air signs (who are known to thrive off being social), but more apparent with Virgos. 🙅🏾‍♀️

For a Mercury-Saturn aspect time is usually of the essence. 😂😂😂 Not saying they aren’t punctual, but I’ve noticed (myself included) we are very particular about how we spend our time. We don’t like our time being wasted at all and will leave people behind if needed.

🧡🧡🧡

#astrology #astrology blog #astro observations #oceanbaby888 #astrology mention #astrology notes #astro notes #astro thoughts #astrological #Astro

[k-4-ni]

4 WHOLE HOURS (NSFW)

Ever think about what DICK GRAYSON does when you're off to work?

Just dick being a dick (and a pervert)

When he builds up the courage to finally peel his eyes open, hissing through clenched teeth as the sun seeps through the curtains, it feels like it is poking his eyes out.

When he looks over his shoulder, expecting to wake up to your limp and sleepy state, expecting to snag a whiff of your expensive perfume that you insist on putting on before going to bed, expecting to catch a glimpse of your pretty complexion (that he came on multiple times the night before.)

But he didn't.

He found himself staring mindlessly at the vacant slot next to him, a harsh wave of bitter air spreading throughout his skin, his fingers lightly tracing over the wrinkles of the sheets— a trace of you before you left.

He hates— No, Abhors when you go to work, he understands that you have your problems and responsibilities to lay off but why was work so early in the morning? It's not like you'd get fired if you took a day off.

Dick pressed his lips into a tight frown, the realization of your absence dawning on him— the realization that you weren't going to join him in breakfast, or his daily run, or his daily 10-minute session of cuddling and oozing into your warmth, or—

Stop.

He'll be fine, it's not like you're gone for—4 hours.

4 whole hours, 240 whole minutes alone, waiting (im)patiently for you to come back home so he could tackle you to the floor and have a perfect excuse to fuck your brains out— And to jerk off to your panties.

He can't help it, he's the eldest son of Bruce Wayne, the one and only Batman himself, but he's one whiny orb of fuzz and sex when it comes to you, his precious girl, his moon and stars, his honey and his home— his tiny fleshlight he could pound into whenever he likes because he knows you'll be such a good girl and take it like one.

1 hour and a half into the dreadful waiting session as he already has your red-laced panties (his favourite pair) bunched up in his hands and smothered into his nose, Oh god— Your fucking scent.

His calloused hand jerks him off until his brain is absolute mush and his thighs tense and cramp as he feels his stomach coil with that familiar sensation of release, so close— on the rim, fumbling with each breathy word, your name spilling from his quivering lips, over and over again.

The base of his cock drooling with a white and milky ring, his reddened tip oozing pre-cum, wishing it was you and your warm tongue cleaning him up of his mess, his chubby balls pulling taut with each stroke, his brain all fuzzy and a putty mess of filthy thoughts and all sorts of dirty fantasies playing in his head.

One of them, feeling your silky walls tightening and grope around his meaty cock, his tip angry and bulging out with a deep red hue— evidence of his desperate edging as his hips bucked furiously against his fingers, a jolt of electricity surging through his bones— moans and moans dribbling from his lips, heavy breaths and whimpers as he near his blinding release, a sigh of pure bliss and a slimy layer of slick sweat trickling down his eyebrows and temples.

Oh, what he would do just to feel your tight cunt keeping his cock nice and warm, smooching your pelvis with each deep plunge and thrust of his hips.

He was too lost in his fantasies of you, too lost to realize he dribbled a gooey mess of his thighs and the sheets, his tongue hungry for the sweet nectar of sex.

There was no way he was making it.

And there was no way you were going to walk tomorrow.

#tumblr #new writers on tumblr #writer #scenario #dc #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing #night wing #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson

[saintels]

— ꒰ ellie williams x f! reader ꒱ BRAINROT ! !

ellie williams fucking you dizzy until your attitude is gone + fluffy aftercare

warnings: heavy sexual descriptions, dom ellie sub reader, pet names, bratty reader, use of ‘cunt’ and ‘pussy’, jealous/possessive ellie, spanking, slightly vulnerable/insecure ellie

“ya’ never fuckin’ learn. huh, baby?”

you look like heaven.

complexion flushed and blissed, burning heat kisses the apples of your cheeks and the tip of your nose, soft breaths emitting from the perfect little pout of your swollen lips. pearly, sugared arousal glistens as it smears over your lush thighs and the tender lips of your cunt, leaking from your core. she knows some of those juices are mixed with hers, her own pussy creaming all over yours as she scissored you with a hungry, impatient pace. your gummy walls sucked up the pale pink strap so well as she fucked you until your eyes were crossing and your attitude was expelled from you in the form of drool pooling over your lips and saccharine, melodic moans filling the room. her devilish angel, she put you through hell and back until your brain fuzzed and every bratty bubble in your body popped !

you babbled incoherent apologies as she pressed your soft cheek into the pillow, her free hand holding your wrists together behind your back. “so sorry ellie.” “wontalktohimagain…”

“not fuckin’ good enough,” she spat, her tattooed hand coming down to make stinging contact with your behind. your mouth falls open as she once again assaults that spot of your supple skin until it’s raw and scorching hot. “that’s exactly what you said the last time i watched him put his hands on you.”

she was ruthless when she was jealous but it was because she loved you. her sweet little bunny. you were hers and nothing was about to take that away from her.

“was i too rough that time?”.

she reappears from the bathroom with a warm towelette, gently spreading your legs. you hum, her eyes frantically watching your expression in concern. you shake your head. she sighs in relief and whispers a quick “sorry,” as the warm material makes contact with the tender skin of your pussy. your hips jump slightly and she laces her fingers with yours as she finishes wiping you down.

her lips are quick to find yours, softly brushing the pad of her thumb over the tiny sweet beads glistening on your cheekbones. she knows it calms the rapid beating of your heart, filling you to the brim with fuzzy butterflies as her love pours until your full again.

“hey,” the whisper has you fluttering your eyes open, looking into her tired green orbs, “you know i love you right?”.

you nod, lacing your fingers into the shaggy locks of her mullet.

“i love you too, els,” you smile and you can see the disbelief in her eyes, “nothing or nobody is ever going to change that, okay, sweet girl?”

she lays beside you, head tucked under your chin as she gently massages the soft spots of your hips.

“i don’t know why i get so jealous, m’ sorry.”

“you’re human, el, it happens.”

the console slows down the beat of her heart and her pillowy, slighty chapped lips press fluttering kisses to the curve of your jaw before she hears the calm snores leaving your lips, lulling her to sleep with the peaceful melody of the singing wildlife outside the cracked-open window.

sorry, this one kinda sucked :( and i know i promised a full fic last night but i had a really rough day yesterday and i got tired and forgot :( i promise it’ll be up tonight.

#┆ 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐬 #br:elliewilliams #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #brainrot #smut #fluff #drabble #blurb #ellie williams x reader smut #female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #the last of us #tlou #part ii #part 2 #pt ii #x f! reader #lesbian

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

limbo, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: A movie night turns into a happening that wasn't planned. You wake up and see Min Yoongi trapped in the limbo of his nightmares, his fist clenched in your blankets. You had given up on this feeling everyone called love. And yet, you reach over.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; sex with feelings, classic wiyllt; smut (fem reader, flashbacks of fucking, rough sex, mutual erotic choking, m-receiving oral, scratching / marking, many descriptions of hand placements can you tell I have a forearm kink, penetrative sex, choking during orgasm, giving a handjob while being choked, cum-eating / licking cum off your ass); non-idol!AU; fwb but actually lovers who refuse to admit it

--

He was asleep and you could feel his nightmares.

It was achingly quiet when you opened your eyes. Happened all the time, all your life, either due to your inexplicably outlandish dreams or from the crawling parasites everyone liked to call emotions. You would wake up, be irritated that it wasn’t because of your alarm, and then close your eyes again to start the lengthy torturous cycle of falling asleep once more. Always took your time falling asleep, unless you exhausted yourself first.

You could feel his nightmares.

That was why this waking was different this time. The curtains were still open, letting in a wash of moonlight. You glanced down, seeing that the television was still on. Not a big black rectangle mounted to the wall as usual, but instead showing the display screen of the DVD inserted. You picked up the remote beside you and turned it off. The screen went black.

You saw the blurred outline of yourself, ensnared in blankets and pillows.

Beside you, a man.

The paleness of his face stood out even in the imperfect reflection. A whiteish smear surrounded by tresses of black locks. His clothes and surroundings were also black, shades of darkness highlighted by the moon. He was pitched to one side, creating a crease in the shape of his body into the pillows stacked around him.

You turned your head to the left.

He was asleep. His right arm was sticking out of the blankets, his forearm fair and thin against the maroon of the soft cotton. There was a thin silver chain around his wrist, along with a band of black leather, stamped shut with a skull-shaped clasp.

The collide.

You remembered all the details. His face against your face. Your eyelids lowered, seeing nothing but his shaking lips. Body to body, his charcoal grey shirt pressed up to your tight mesh dress with the red slip. You hand was on his forearm, fingertips against his wrist. Tangling the tips of your red-and-black nails on a thin silver chain and black leather, and his hand on your shoulder tightened as you touched his cheek, pulling his lips closer, and there was a whisper between him and you, something about how red your lipstick was, and you felt yourself smile.

“Would you rather I kiss you in places others can’t see, Yoongi?” you murmured.

A scoff of disbelief.

“Just warning you.”

You raised your lashes, staring into eyes that matched the color of dark roast coffee. They burned with the same kind of concentrated, potent energy.

“You don’t find smeared lipstick sexy?”

Rather than giving you an answer, those liquid orbs rippled with pleasure at the challenge.

He had closed the distance.

On this night, now, you looked down and saw that Min Yoongi’s hand was clenched into a fist.

You didn’t know if they were nightmares. It was a guess from the tension fuzzing up the edges of his demeanor. From the furrowed cease in his brow to the splay of his black hair over his face, thin strands clinging to his forehead. The tendons of his neck stood out. A strange noise fluttered in his chest and his head ticked, as if to push aside his hair obstructing the dream view, but the movement only made it worse.

In some ways, you knew Yoongi, but in some ways you were ignorant.

That was how you liked to keep it.

As far as you could tell, Yoongi also played by this rulebook.

You could throw him off sometimes, such as the time you reached up and wrapped your hand around his neck, walking the fingers of your other hand up the white jersey of his loose t-shirt. Curious surprise had flitted over his features, but he hadn’t objected. Instead, he had reached over and experimentally placed his own hand around your neck. You had twisted your body slightly, adjusting the placement of his palm so it matched yours. Fingers on one side, thumb on the other.

You looked into his eyes and clamped down.

Yoongi mirrored you.

There was a sudden gasp in unison and you could see the arousal flood into his eyes.

He was not learned like you, but he had common sense. Followed the same pressure you were doing to him. You were both still fully clothed, the black pleather corset top feeling a little too tight, but there was something better about the discomfort. It amplified the moment. Your hand around his neck, his hand around yours, your impulse leading to his, and your fingers traced over his shirt, fingernails pressing into the thin fabric, erotic patterns cultivating the fruitful tension. Your legs scooting forward between his as you choked each other. Your miniskirt hiking up, but Yoongi was staring at your face, pink lips parted, breathing shallow, dark roast coffee eyes burning, and his tongue flicked the edge of his smirk, enticing you.

You had closed the distance and kissed him, losing yourself in his scent and his tongue.

On this night, you reached down and traced his white knuckles.

Hooking up. That was what it was, but also wasn’t. It felt like an unrefined, crass way to put it, but it was what it was. Impulsive, addictive, intense. It wasn’t planned, at least not by you or Yoongi. The plans were to grab food occasionally, maybe run the same errand if it just so happened that you both needed something from the grocery store on the way, or perhaps the strange coincidence of buying tickets to the same band showcase. Might as well go together, right?

It wasn’t planned.

The first time your fingertips ran down his forearm was an accident, but you saw him shudder. Yoongi had snapped his gaze to you and he immediately knew that you had seen.

There was a warning crossed deep in those dark liquid orbs.

You had touched him again, resting your hand on his wrist, staring into his eyes.

You didn’t push it too far that night. It was just that moment. Neither of you talked about it. Talked about everything else that wasn’t that. Unsophisticated. But the next time it was him standing closer to you, and you had looked up at him. You didn’t shudder, but you didn’t need to. Sparks raced over your skin from the point of clothed contact. A moment, and you didn’t bring it up and neither did he. But after that, it was different.

On this night, as the moonlight washed over the tousled blankets, you reached down and gently relaxed each of those clenched fingers. The tension lessened from his forearm. Yoongi breathed in deep, out of vision, and you could feel his nightmares drift away or, at the very least, not have such a cold grip on him.

You placed your hand over his.

It was cold.

You rubbed his knuckles.

Leaned back against the pillows, which were not ergonomic for optimal rest, but were optimal for movie watching, which was what you had been doing before you both fell asleep. Strange, because the only times Yoongi had ever fallen asleep in your bed was after fucking and that was rare. Only when it was very late and simply ridiculous to drive home to sleep for two hours before driving back to work. Better to simply snooze.

Sometimes the impulse would last all night.

But it would eventually be over.

He would go back to his life and you would go back to yours. That was what it was and that was how you liked to keep it. Human relationships were complicated. Convoluted. It was easy to follow the plot points fabricated by society, easy to get lost in labels and definitions, easy to become frustrated when one doesn’t fit in that narrow coffin-box of the conventional consensus. Harder to thrive in the limbo. It took a certain kind of person to walk that line between heaven and hell.

Your hand on top of Yoongi’s and you closed your eyes.

You had given up a long ago.

Given up on finding that feeling called love.

Lived in the limbo. There was enjoyment in the discomfort, honestly. Maybe that was a result of a lot of things, but it didn’t matter. You had already spent your younger years trying to fit into all these different boxes, thinking you could be as cozy as a cat, and it never worked. You thought you had simply lacked understanding, so you spent your time learning. Still didn’t work. If anything, it was an even emptier feeling, feeling as if you were always playing a role instead of being. In the end, you chose the limbo.

In limbo, you felt the most honest.

And so it was things like this, not quite heaven and not quite hell. Things like Min Yoongi and dark nights of pulling him to you, shedding his jeans and framing his hips with your crowned fingers. Tongue to skin, and you could feel him shudder, his hands circling your head. You drew creative patterns with saliva, up his hips and abdomen, pushing his shirt aside, and glancing up at him.

Yoongi would look down at you with those dark liquid eyes.

It was like drinking in that concentrated, potent energy.

Strong, and your tongue would dance. Your breath hot, washing over his fair skin. Your grip sinking into his body, closer. You could tell Yoongi liked it better when you didn’t use your hands. He liked your caress on his ass as your tongue curled around his hard length. Warm, pulsing, dripping sin in your wake, and you would tilt your head to swallow him deep. No fear. Only rawness. The base of your tongue lowering so the thick head could slip in deeper to the back of your throat. Your tongue sliding out from the confines of your mouth and scooping around his balls, one and then the other, all while pulling in and exhaling from the back of your throat. Pressure. Isolation.

His moan, low and deep, hanging above you like smoke.

Yoongi especially liked it when you became more serious. When you looked up at him cockily and moved your head back and forth, lips parted, jaw slack, the true suction created by the roof of your mouth and your tongue pushing up from below, forcibly rubbing the bottom of the head as you sucked him deep in your throat. Stimulating that thin sensitive skin, precise, gazing at him with fierce intensity and acting as if this was so easy.

Well, it was.

The side of his mouth would always tick up, and Yoongi would always say, “Fuck, you’re so good at sucking dick and you know it.”

Then you would close your lips around his shaft and create that fuckable wet sleeve that would give him that high he had been chasing. The girth filling your mouth and cheeks, your tongue sliding up and down his throbbing length, your hands gripping his hips or even simply resting in your lap to drive the point home further. Relaxed, in contrast to the overwhelming lewd pleasure shooting into the back of your throat, flooding your mouth with the salty, heady taste of cum, swallowing, savoring the thickness and quantity, licking him all over, insistently soft and arcing over his shivering balls, breathing in the scent of sex and familiar cologne.

Sometimes, Yoongi threw you off too.

Once you leaned up against him and stuck your tongue out.

He had licked it before kissing you with a smirk.

Maybe he learned it from you or maybe it was simply his nature revealing himself. Or both. It was hard to know, but such things didn’t matter in the grand scheme of thigs. Better to live in the moment.

This? This between you and Min Yoongi was careful.

You opened your eyes and found Yoongi looking down at your hand over his.

He sensed your movement and his eyes shifted, rising, and now liquid energy was burning into you.

You didn’t move your hand.

His breathing was irregular, but not with the shallow shake of fear.

As far as you could tell, Yoongi also played by a certain rulebook. There were rumors but, more importantly, there was your instinct. There was in the wounded way he spoke about relationships, not just romantic, but all of them. He had friends, but there was a certain depth he avoided with all of them. He didn’t mind their depth of vulnerability and he didn’t avoid his own.

But he never talked to people on his bad days.

In the wash of moonlight, Yoongi breathed out, choppy and rough.

“I missed the last half of the movie.”

You still hadn’t moved your hand and he hadn’t pulled his hand away either.

“It’s a long movie. Maybe we should have gone with John Wick.”

Something curtained over his expression and it wasn’t his long black hair.

“No. You’ve talked about Mr. Nobody before. I wanted to watch it.”

He lifted his body from the dent he had created in the pillows.

“Process it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t fake. Yoongi fucked with his whole body and mind. He didn’t waste his time and it was obvious by the way he seized the opportunities he got. Obvious by the way he was caught up in the moment, trapped in the heat between heated breath, consumed by the thought of your red lipstick smeared over his lips. He knew all the things people said about him. He knew all the things people said about you. But he had cast it all aside to make his own judgement. Society tried to impose dishonest promises of heaven and hell and he cut all the strings that tried to hold him back to slip into this, this between you and Min Yoongi, and there were certain things he didn’t talk about, certain things he didn’t hold on to.

On this night, when he awoke from his nightmares, his hand turned under yours.

Traced his middle finger down your palm, leaving a trail of tingling skin.

His fingers closed around your wrist.

The rush of heat and the sting of lust, rippling, rippling up your arm and across your ribs, burning your blood, and you looked into those coffee eyes, burning liquid energy, people whispering that it was bad for you, people warning that he will stain the bone white of your heart, and your other hand lifted, pushing against the mattress, turning, sliding out of the blankets, interrupting the wash of moonlight over Min Yoongi.

Limbo.

Between heaven and hell.

Yoongi gripped your wrist once it had turned, tightening as you lowered your body over his, your hair tumbling down your shoulders to create shadows, wisps of walls for this limbo, the rules of this rulebook created only by you and Yoongi, his free hand sliding between your bodies, closing in around your jaw and pulling you closer, closer.

“What if I never made the choice to kiss you back then?” Yoongi breathed against your lips, husky and dream-like, still processing the surrealness of the movie hours before.

“Would it be different if I kissed you instead?” you wondered out loud in a whisper.

Maybe, because it might have felt more like playing a role rather than truly being. You wondered and then the wonder washed away when Yoongi kissed you, breathing in your now-familiar scent, deepening the kiss with intense pressure and the way his thumb gently rubbed against your wrist. Contrast. Your blood simmered, aroused by his being.

But this was limbo, not heaven or hell.

You gasped as you broke the kiss and his hand left your wrist, gripping your waist instead.

Your hand on his chin, pushing his head back to expose his neck, and you spied the sly smirk blossoming over Yoongi’s lips, his dark eyes shining, and you dived down, your tongue against his throat.

You felt the vibration of his moan with your lips.

This was not the right answer to your limbo. This was caught up in the moment, burning in the impulse, racing in the intensity, and you could feel it, under your teeth, under your kiss, under your possessive lick up to his ear, breathing hot, his earrings against your lips, and Yoongi’s long fingers were curling into your shirt, lifting it up, up, as your teeth nicked the curve of his ear, kissing that delicate skin as he listened to your whispers in the dark.

“Should I ride you?”

A light scoff, disbelieving. “I can fuck you the way you like.”

He seemed to think you had doubted him in some way. You didn’t fight his renewed energy. Rather than responding, you squirmed against him, pressing your body in all the right places, kissing down his neck, and Yoongi dragged his nails down your back in wanton aggression, sending flares of pain across your body to mix with the fire of pleasure deep within.

This wasn’t planned.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Before you knew it, it had become a compilation of happenings and moments and dreams and then you could feel his nightmares beside you and it had felt so wrong that you couldn’t sleep. Trapped by ghosts lingering in his head, torturing him in his sleep, a feeling you knew all too well, and it had made you reach over and straighten out his fist, taking away the tension in his fingers, resting the warmth of your palm on his cold knuckles.

You had given up on finding that feeling called love.

Not because someone had burned you too deep, but because people had begged you to feel this feeling you just couldn’t seem to feel and it felt so unfair, so unfair to not feel this thing that made people cry in joy, in sadness, in pain. And maybe it was because you had chosen this limbo, this neither heaven nor hell, but you couldn’t leave them like that, so you let them go.

That was you being honest.

You breathed in now, woods and citrus and skin.

Tangled your fingers in his long black hair, adding more darkness to the darkness, and found his lips again. Kisses after dark. Yoongi never said things like I need you. He didn’t even say things like I want you. There was a certain kind of pressure behind words like that. No, instead, there was his kiss. His touch, closing in around your waist, his long fingers fanning over your back, like laces of a corset, pulling your body closer, hardness beneath the blankets and confines of his pants.

In some ways you knew Yoongi and those were his rules.

But it was different than with his friends. Obviously. He didn’t fuck his friends, as far as you knew. It was different because you could feel him in the way he touched you. In the way he yanked your shirt off and threw it to the floor, the way he closed around you with only his arms and hands, touching everything, calm in teasing but intense in tension, rubbing his thumbs over your hard nipples but holding you solidly, in gaze and palms, not letting go.

You opened your eyes.

Liquid orbs, dark roast.

Simmering.

Burning under his gaze and you let Yoongi lift you and push you onto your back, pulling himself out of the blankets, stripping off his clothes and laying claim to your bedroom floor with his discarding.

Everyone else you let go because it had felt so unfair that you didn’t feel.

He climbed over you, condom from your nightstand in his hand, already knowing where it was. Moonlight washing over his skin and shadows over his face. Messy hair from your hands. Scorching hot gaze, and he closed the distance, locking lips possessively, one hand sliding under your back and pulling you up, body to body, your thigh against his erection.

Smearing pre-cum on your skin.

You didn’t believe there was a right answer.

Human relationships were too complicated for that.

But maybe Yoongi was the most special wrong answer.

You kissed him more and he got harder. Breathing in your breath, sucking on your tongue, your arm around his neck, the other hand tucking his hair back behind his ear, flicking his earrings, and the desire vibrated within you, desperate to be fulfilled, but you ignored it for lips and tongue and Yoongi’s delicate moan slipping into your throat.

He rolled the condom down and knocked more pillows to the ground, positioning himself with one hand and spreading out the fingers of the other on the mattress. Your legs on his shoulders.

“Bet you’re tight.”

The corner of your lips ticked upwards. “Find out.”

He pushed in with force, tipping his head back with a groan, and you felt it too, the rising fullness and desire coiling around him, pulsing, your walls pulling him in deeper. Fingers twisting the sheets, tension up your arms, pushing your hips up and squeezing around his girth. The wave, crashing into you, upon feeling his hardness at that depth, and then he bottomed out, gasping as his hand hit the bed, pinning your thighs between your chests.

Staring down at you with those potent eyes.

Saying nothing, but it was written all over Yoongi’s face.

Suddenly you, too, didn’t want to give up any more.

You breathed out with shaking lips.

Yoongi slid out slightly and pushed in with all his force. The sheets beside your head crumpled and so did the ones under your palms. Fingers clenched into fists, and you pushed back, deeper, gasping, building the rhythm. Full. Hard. Intense. The heat of his breath. The tension over his collarbones and chest, his arms locked. The swarming, sublime sensation compacted by the position. His name slipping from your lips, Yoongi, and his eyes flickered to you, dark roast boiling, and your name in his rough, breathless voice, dream-like.

Surreal.

Your hand snapped up and gripped his forearm.

Panting hard, struggling to breathe.

Tightening around his cock and ramming your hips up, igniting the furious pace. Your nails digging into his muscle, but he set his jaw and fucked you through it, the sharp pain only fuel to the fire, caught up in the moment, bated breath, pleasure radiating through you and to him, drowning in lust, heaven and hell bleeding into the limbo, fucking like demons, your other arm pressed into the mattress for leverage. Harder. The taste of his skin lingering on your lips. His dark eyes slashed in shadows of his lashes, layered darkness that made you burn and clench around him, feeling him fill you up again and again, hard and thick and carnal.

You had fucked many times in your bedroom.

Against the wall. On the floor. Against the bed. On the bed. Your nails down his chest, raking lines of pain. Your nails down his back, crossing the lines, X’s in his eyes when he turned his head to gaze into the mirror, the one witness to your brutal red art on his pale skin. His tongue on your chest, curling around your nipples, sucking hard with his fingers stuffed into your dripping, shivering pussy. His palms pushing your head to his crotch, groaning as you took him deep and tight. Fistfuls of his hair in your hands as his hips slapped into your hips, gasping for air, all of it intense.

So many times.

And none of it like this.

Your clenched around him and Yoongi fucked you harder.

Growling in his throat.

Dark brown orbs simmering, a liquid quality about them despite the hardness of his demeanor and the bite behind his sharp words. Simmering, a calm within despite the mounting lust and wet vicious sound of slapping hips, sensual in the rawness of the rhythm.

In the plethora of choice and timelines, Yoongi had chosen to kiss you back then.

In the limbo of in-between, you had kept going, cultivating those happenings and moments and dark nights of Yoongi’s fingers wrapped around your wrists, staring down at you with those dark roast coffee eyes, too caught up in the moment to speak, resorting to kissing you, not just kiss you but not think about anything else but kissing you. That was his honesty. Human relationships were complicated.

Yoongi never talked to people on his bad days.

But, tonight, he found out that you had felt his nightmares and opened his hand so you could give him your warmth.

He tightened his jaw and pressed your thighs between your torso and his chest, the tendons on his neck standing out, using gravity and lust and physical power to fuck you into your mattress, making the pleasure race in your veins, straining your muscles, the searing heat pooling down, down, wrapping around him in a violent squeeze, your walls shuddering and spilling, sloppy and wet and erotic, involuntary flinches seizing your hips, and you threw your head back, vulnerable throat exposed, scalding moan escaping your trembling lips, heavy and sweet viscous juices sticking to his crotch and thighs.

You let them all go, but Yoongi did not let you go.

You felt his hips buck and the low groan tear out from his lungs, his cock twitching inside you, filling the condom, pressing into you as deep as possible to feel the quiver of your inner walls pulsating around him, and you tightened even more, making him hiss and snarl in warning.

The arm you weren’t gripping moved up and knocked your leg aside.

Yoongi wrapped his hand around your neck and choked you as he orgasmed inside you, savoring the ripples of the aftershocks from your high. Immediate. Forcing you to a bloodless lightheadedness, surging pleasure that electrified, shuddering and clenching around his jerking length, thrown into another high, not as strong but just as euphoric, your moan thin and pinched by his hold.

Yoongi tipped his head back and moaned with you, his black hair falling back, his striking face illuminated by moonlight.

His grip lessening a little and the rush of oxygen make your hips jolt and your pussy convulse, again, tingling sparks racing in your veins and sore muscles. Your hand slipped from his forearm, your body ransacked by narrow inhales of stinging air.

His head arced back, leaning down, down, his hand slipping from your neck, his fingers spreading over your chest. Wisps of black strands brushing against your hot cheeks, and Yoongi kissed you like he was thinking of nothing else.

Impulse.

He breathed in, your scent and sex, deepening the kiss with pressure.

When Yoongi broke the kiss, you opened your eyes to dark liquid orbs, leaving you airless and mute.

“You... Your heart is beating so fast…”

Rough pants, his solid palm to carnal drumbeat.

You stared up at him.

I don’t want to give up any more.

Half-smirk.

“Maybe I like you,” you exhaled with a shudder.

He smiled slyly too.

“Hope so.”

The way he held your face after.

You were looking in the mirror after cleaning up. Wondering what you had done, saying something like that. Not dishonest, but surely complicating this human relationship. Did you mean it or was it all because you were too caught up in the moment? Not a lie and yet…

A shadow came up behind you.

Pale hands sliding over your shoulders, long fingers splayed over your neck, and then they rested, like petals of a lotus flower, framing your jaw and lips. Cool skin, pink knuckles, the scent of familiar woody cologne and sex. Bodies in shadow backlit by the wash of moonlight. Black hair against your ear. Dark roast coffee orbs gazing at your reflection. No, the reflection of your eyes. You understood. You could see it too. Your eyes were guarded.

Barbed wire fence in your stare.

Yoongi lifted his head, flushed pink lips against your ear.

There were a lot of things he could have said to turn this into a drama.

Instead, he just closed his eyes and kissed the curve of your ear.

He pulled you back into the bedroom.

You stopped him, wrapping your fingers around his forearm, and you felt his body shudder against you. A ripple. Tangible, distinct, but you turned your head away from his, not willing to be caught by those liquid eyes. He didn’t have a very strong hold on you. You could break away.

You leaned back against him.

“It seemed like… Seemed like you weren’t having good dreams,” you said to the ceiling.

You held on tight, tangling your pinky in the thin silver chain on his wrist.

For a moment, Yoongi said nothing at all.

Then.

“It’s why I prefer to snooze over sleeping over. You can’t control things like that,” he muttered, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’ve tried.”

“That’s why you work so much.”

“Well, I would like to make money to follow you to those cool places you want to go.”

“I don’t really like traveling.”

A light push away.

He pulled back.

“I thought so too,” he confessed quietly.

Your other hand rested on his bare hip. You were still staring at the ceiling and holding his forearm as his fingers fanned out over your neck and jaw. Soft, petal-like touches, his palms caressing your collarbones, and you were sure that Yoongi hadn’t intended to fall asleep. Honestly, you thought you would hate this conversation about this feeling you couldn’t feel. Hate it because how unfair it was that people could feel this feeling so truly and genuinely, heaven at their fingertips, and all you had was this honest limbo.

You dug your nails into his hip.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” you whispered.

The hands around your neck tightened.

“It always hurts. That’s how you know you’re alive,” Yoongi murmured into your ear.

Your hand fell from his arm.

Flexed the muscles in your neck, and his grip tightened as your fingers trailed back and down, down, feeling his shivers caused by your nails raking over his ass and your fingertips grazing his skin. It hurt. Of course, it hurt, the thinning of blood and tightness all over. It hurt and still you forced your hand between your bodies, moving the hardness that had been pressing against your ass, and of course it hurt but it also made you feel alive.

“Careful,” he meant to hiss but it came out in a half-gasp when your hand encased him.

Grasped him tight and slid up and down the length, taut and velvety but too dry, and Yoongi jerked behind you, one hand leaving your neck.

“Fuck, stop, wait–”

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

Yoongi grabbed your wrist and pulled you off him. Brought your palm to his hot mouth.

He licked your hand, slathering it with his saliva.

You sucked in a breath, feeling his tongue on the lines of sensitive skin, across and all over, drenching, flexible warm muscle painting messy patterns. Memories of that tongue rippled through you – on your neck, on your breasts, on your pussy – but then it stopped when he pushed your hand back down, and you wrapped your slippery grip around his hard cock once more, hearing his groan reverberate in your ear.

You wasted no precious breath nor time.

His hand returned to around your neck.

Your head tipped back, resting against his temple, staring at the ceiling, his hands choking you as you jacked him off, rising heat dancing across your skin and in your veins even without looking into those liquid eyes, and there was nothing else you wanted to think about, just the precise pressure and constant wet slapping sound melding with Yoongi’s vulnerable, contained moans, the sound perfectly audible due to your closeness, and you felt your lips tremble, your thin exhale like hot smoke drifting to the ceiling.

You closed your eyes and you could feel him.

Taut and tense and wanton pleasure burning, searing you and searing him, locking his hips to be at the mercy of your ferocious pace, trusting your instinct as you trusted his hands around your neck. Trickles of oxygen when his grip lessened with every wave of heightened bliss when the pocket of your forefinger and thumb rubbed against the swollen head. Pressing against you, your other hand still gripping his hip, harder, as if he was asking for the bruises. Chosen marks to turn into chosen scars. Your name in his husky, hushed voice, trailing off and losing his thought, not that it mattered because you could feel his body and could tell when he wanted more, faster, tighter, his cock twitching, hot and hard, twisting his body towards you more, his lips in your hair.

Hot breath suspended in overwhelming lust.

“Don’t stop,” he growled lowly, words only for you.

You didn’t.

He clenched his jaw with a grinding of teeth and shoved his hips into your ass. Hot and thick, streaming cum onto the soft curve, down your hip and trickling down. Flinch and sharp jerk, more painting in a smear, his drawn-out moan at the crown of your head, all strength lost from his hands and simply adorning your jaw with his hands, pressing his thumb to your lip to open your mouth, all to feel the warmth of your gasping exhale. Blood shot up to your brain and then you were thrown into that starry lightheaded daze, clutching his half-hard cock still leaking onto your hip.

You couldn’t see anything.

Only felt Yoongi surrounding you, his rough fingertips sliding up to your ear and temple.

Your lips parted.

Shaking.

“L… Lick it… off…”

Your voice on the cusp of fallen autumn leaves, fragile and crumbling.

Heavy.

Inhale.

Exhale right into your hair.

Hands gliding from your neck.

Trembling lips down your shoulder blade. Ghosts of kisses dotting your spine. Boiling blood in your veins, sparks all over from his trailing fingertips, and Yoongi got on his knees next to you. You heard them hit the hardwood. You didn’t move, eyes closed, suspended and entranced by anticipation, and then you felt the tip of his tongue draw an arc on your hip.

You opened your eyes as he drew another arc against your skin.

Warm breath and then the flat of his tongue. Uncontrollable quiver and you gasped softly, feeling and hearing him lick across your skin. Sucking up the cooling cum and replacing it with hot clinging saliva, an addictive prickling sensation racing over your ass and back. Your thigh in his hands, those deft fingers spread out to encircle it in his grasp, holding you still.

You looked down.

Yoongi looked up at you, cocking an eyebrow as he licked his own orgasm off your ass.

Black strands over his forehead and you reached up to brush them away, the tip of your tongue grazing your lower lip, caught by those dark coffee eyes and drinking in that potent feeling, admiring the way the moonlight lit up his fair cheekbones. Held breath. He didn’t look away. Burned the memory into your mind. Up, his kisses hovering over your side and ribs, up, and then you were in Min Yoongi’s shadow, his face tilted down to admire you.

You raised your hand.

He gently covered it with his, bringing it to his chest.

Closer and you breathed in his thin gasp, tasting the strong traces of his orgasm.

“Your heart is… beating so fast…” you mumbled to his shaking lips.

Those liquid eyes.

He closed the distance and kissed you.

Some choices were made by chance, such as falling asleep in the middle of Mr. Nobody. Millions of outcomes from both doing something and doing nothing. Your fingers spread out over his back, adorning his frame with your touch, his strong salty taste slipping onto your tangled tongues, and your eyes closed, maybe afraid to look into those liquid orbs that everyone claimed had a hardness in them, but on this night you knew better.

You broke the kiss.

Yoongi’s hand was twisted into your hair, pulling your head back, trailing swollen lips against your throat.

Gentle kisses to amplify the ache.

“Let’s not fall asleep,” you sighed, digging your nails into his shoulders.

His hand rose and he placed it over one of yours, rubbing your white knuckles. Not pulling your hand away. Rather, pressing it closer, weighted, as if he wanted your hold to stay there.

Yoongi’s lips moved against your skin.

You held onto him firmly, not letting go.

He didn’t make any sound.

You held onto him and then pulled him to the bed, not knowing what he said but knowing all the same, for these rules in this limbo were made by you and Min Yoongi, heaven and hell bleeding into each other to create something new. It took a certain kind of person to walk this thin line. On this night of moonlight washing over tangled bodies, Yoongi made it clear that he was not going to let you walk it alone and he didn’t want to give up any more.

And you.

You, too, didn’t want to give up any more.

--

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi smut

[realuity]

draw webby as a creature like her freak brothers

niceys kindness spider! was kind of hard to get her to fit style-speaking in with the brothers poop, but i think taking some artistic, fuzzy liberties helps. she's mainly based on the spinybacked orb weaver here, with a little bit of jumping spider influence (like the big eyes and fuzz.) her face looks a little like wigglys - unintentional but it fits!

in my opinion all spiders are kind women

#webby hatchetfield #hatchetfield

[sunflowersteves]

you once said perv!eddie fucking you with his guitar... please elaborate

- ❤️‍🔥

AH! my love, this is THE ASK of the century

smut below!! foreign objects, DO NOT try this, praise kink, perv!eddie, 18+ only

the nj warlock, bought in a guitar store in 1983 by eddie munson and consisted of mahogany wood with a fixed bridge. it was his most prized possession—his sweetheart.

he wasn’t big on possessions most of the time, but when it came to that guitar? his most valued item. he kept it up on a pedestal most of the time, watching it shine beneath the sun from his window.

so when he finally lets you strum a few songs onto his prized possession, you knew shit was serious. he let you touch his pride and joy.

but Eddie? he’s trying to not grow a boner as he watched you play let’s dance by bowie. he hasn’t meant to have such thoughts about you. he just couldn’t help it.

ever since then, when his fist is on his cock, he pictures his two sweethearts—the top of his guitar fucking into your tight hole. his biggest fantasy.

one night, eddie sings you a song and it was one he has been working on for awhile. he opened his eyes, locking with your own wide orbs.

he can’t help but smirk, though, at your thighs pressed together and you’re squirming in your seat. he stops strumming, “what’s the matter, sweetheart?”

he’s grinning and watching you whine, mumbling under your breath. he sets the guitar down beside him and climbs over to you. he’s laying you down, tapping your thigh and it instinctively widens. “does that turn you on, pretty girl?” he’s lifting your panties aside, “awe, baby, it does, doesn’t it? look at you, all soaked for me.”

he’s looking at you fiercely now, doe brown eyes almost looking ashamed. “do you trust me, baby?”

you smile, “oh, eds, of course I do.” he presses a finger onto your clit—making your hips jerk from his touch. “could I—could I fuck you with my guitar?”

your eyes are wide in request—something you hadn’t expected to fall out of his mouth. he almost looked shy though, midway through the sentence his eyes had trailed down to his lap. he’s still touching you though, slow and gentle circles that’s starting to make you ache.

“eddie—please, I need you. I-I—” you look at him with the most pleading eyes he’s ever seen. “please, fuck me with your guitar.”

he’s waiting no time as he’s rushing to de-string his guitar. as much as he loves the fantasy, he never wants his baby hurt from the clipped ends of the strings. “f-fuck, baby, I need you to open your legs a little wider. that’s it, pretty girl, yeah.”

he’s watching you with excited, wild eyes and lines up the head of the guitar with your pussy. “you say the safe word at any time, okay, sweet girl?” you’re nodding softly and watching as he’s slowly starts to enter the tip of the guitar head.

your head falls back onto the bed, a moan leaving your lips. Eddie’s breath becomes fast paced—watching the turning keys disappear into your spongey walls. “f-fuck, look at you both. my girls—my sweet fuckin’ hearts. shit-shit—”

he’s inserting more of the guitar ever so slowly and whimpering at the sight of the neck of the guitar leading out from your wet cunt.

“look at you, baby, you like my guitar fuckin’ you raw. do you like it, sweet girl? do you like me fuckin’ you with my sweetheart?” you’re moaning out yes and an Eddie all in one. your brain starts to fuzz as he’s pulling the guitar slightly out and then ramming it back in.

“Eddie!” you’re gripping the sheets as tight as you can. the head of the guitar is fully inside of you and it’s big—so fucking big. “sweet girl, you’re doing so well. my good girl takin’ my guitar all nice. fuck—my two sweethearts. all mine, all mine, all mine.”

your back arches into the worn sheets of his bed, screaming from the absolute stretch that the guitar is pulling out of you. tears start to prick your eyes at the sting, but it’s good. it’s really good.

“you gonna cum, pretty? you gonna cum on my guitar? yeah, that’s good. can see your cute pussy all clenching.” you wanna cum so bad and Eddie is letting you—your pussy pulsating against the turning keys of the guitar.

you could feel it—could feel everything. whereas, eddie is on cloud fuckin’ nine. he’s salvaging and cock throbbing against his clad jeans from the sight in front of him.

he’s fucking you with his guitar. shit, he’s actually fucking you with his guitar. he should feel dirty and gross. he should feel ashamed, but he doesn’t.

oh, does he feel elated—absolutely enchanted by it all. your juices are leaking down onto the neck and down toward the frets. your mouth is hung open and chanting his name like a prayer. his day couldn’t get any better.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!” you’re screaming into the air, thighs caving in as your high bursts through you. you’re panting and whining—eddie moving to rub your sensitive nub.

he rides out your high, his own moans protruding out from his lips. his hips involuntarily bucked into the air with a loud guttural moan.

he could feel thick ropes of his cum leak into his pants. his hands are gripping the guitar so hard he thought it might break. “f-fuck, baby—shit—”

you giggle, warm and fuzzy from the high you just reached. he came is pants just from watching you. a blush forms on his cheeks, but you just are gleaming beneath him. “eddie, baby, that was the hottest thing I have ever seen.”

this man is never washing his guitar ever. every time he plays a gig or goes to band practice, he’s going to get a little whiff of your juices from the head of his guitar. and man, does Eddie love it.

#sin sunday༊*·˚ #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #stranger things headcanons #❤️‍🔥anon #perv!eddie x reader #perv!eddie

[goodobjectshowscreenshots]

#submission #fuzz #orb

[minteaspoon]

“Take Me”

a/n: viserys is cackling in the background of this lmao, this is also abo, but you can ignore that if ya want idc

daemyra gets a taste of their own medicine with lucemond, and the same exact situation that happened between them happening with the second sons>:)

bold and italics are Valyrian!!!

*_.*_.*_.*_.* *_.*_.*_.*_.*

*_.*_.*_.*_.* *_.*_.*_.*_.*

It was a day of celebration for everyone in Kings Landing.

The day celebrated the betrothal of Lucerys Velaryon to the second son of House Tully.

Inside the main hall, in front of the Iron Throne, music and dancing and laughing could be heard and seen.

The Lords and Ladies galavanted and gossiped, danced and sang, feasted and laughed.

Some looked over at the Heir to the Driftmark Throne, sat next to his soon-to-be-husband with the Queen and Prince Consort sat beside them, to gauge the brunette’s expressions.

Others couldn’t careless as long as they were able to satisfy their greed.

However, one wasn’t.

The One-Eyed second son of former Queen Alicent Hightower and late King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name.

His keen eye kept track of every little detail on his nephew’s face, not once looking away.

Soon, the nephew catches his eye, and the two gaze into each other’s violet and dark orbs, taunting each other to make a move.

It was the uncle who followed through.

Walking towards his seated heart, he stands at his side, and raises a palm up to offer a dance. It catches the attention of all those in attendance, though they attempt to look dismissive and uncaring.

Lucerys stared at the offered hand, before putting his own on top, and was pulled away from his betrothed and soon to be husband after the feasts and festivities to officiate the marriage.

Sauntering to the center was rather easy, as the excited crowd parted, whispering to one another of how Luke’s first dance wasn’t with his betrothed at their own wedding, but with his own uncle - whom he maimed in their childhood.

The nephew-uncle duo soon started a chain of dance as the music picks up, and more Lords and Ladies join them on the dance floor.

“Do you not feel bored at this procession, my dear nephew? It’s rather dull, and lacks the appeal of a true wedding befitting one of the blood of Old Valyria,” Aemond starts, leaning his head in to whisper to his nephew’s ear.

His eye looked around, and he makes contact with the silently furious gaze of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Black Queen.

“No, uncle, I find I rather like a dull wedding with so little fanfare. I rather dislike an obnoxiously jubilant one, it makes me feel rather…overwhelmed.”

Aemond twirls his heart, before the brunette quickly hits their hips back together with a soft thud of clothing.

“My dear uncle, I fear this betrothal to a mere second son of a lower House would prove to be unfruitful, and utterly flat,” Lucerys softly whines, leaning his head closer to his uncle’s neck.

His warm breath tickles the fuzz on Aemond’s neck.

“You play a dangerous game, my little dragon.”

“We’ve been playing this game since the day you and I came into this world.”

Aemond hums, “this game can go no further, my Lord Nephew, you will be leaving me behind for a mere second son of House Tully. He knows naught of our House, it’s traditions nor its history.”

“Then take me.”

The two went silent for a few moments, their eyes fixated on each other.

“My dear uncle, you know of our family’s importance, of our family’s history and it’s traditions. You’ve known me since I was but a mere babe. You’ve known me for longer than my betrothed.”

Aemond and Lucerys have long stopped their waltz, halting in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded and covered by a distracted and exuberant crowd from the eyes of outsiders. Their heads were leaned in close to each other, foreheads touching, cheeks nearly doing the same. They could feel each other’s exhales on their lips every time they took a breath. All while they kept their eyes on each other.

“So take me, uncle. Cut through the Queensguard. Take me in the tradition of our House. Take me to Dragonstone, and make me your husband, and I’ll make you mine.”

Suddenly, Aemond’s hand shoots forward, and clutches a side of Lucerys’s face. The alpha’s fingers at the back of the omega’s head, threading through his dark curls, roughly grabbing onto the loose strands.

“My Lord Dragon-“

A loud shout came from the Royal Table.

Daemon had stood up, and unsheathed Dark Sister, and was pointing its sharp blade at his one eyed nephew.

Aemond covers Luke, and whispers gently and quickly into his ear, so that only he could hear the next words coming from his mouth;

“Meet me on the back of Arrax tonight, I shall ensure you and that Tully man shall never wed nor know of the marriage bed, now and forever more. We shall fly swiftly to Dragonstone to wed, and consummate our long-overdue marriage in front of the Septons, and Maesters, and Maids. For you, Lucerys Velaryon, are my dearest heart.”

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