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whatifyoulivelikethat · 1 year

Text

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

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satrs · 4 months

Text

Can’t feel my face - bllk x fem!Reader N°15

Tags; angst, insults, a SURPRISEEEEEEEEE(I can't help myself sorry), 2.7k.

"So, you and him, huh?" You turn to look at the driver, a smug smirk on his face. You noticed his smirk waver a bit once you hummed in approval, your eyebrow tugging up in curiosity. "Jealous?"

He chuckled in return. "Jealous she says." He inhales sharply, eyes focused on the road while one hand rests on his thigh, impatiently tapping it to convey that he truly is jealous. "You two ain't official yet, eh?"

You hum again, causing him to smile at your honesty. "Then there's nothing to be jealous about." You were curious. "And why is that?" He snickered, eyes drifting from the street for a second to eye you up and down, eyes halting at your clenched together thighs before his gaze rose up to your face again, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. He shrugged his shoulders sarcastically, a grin on his features not wavering as he drove you to the establishment you both called your workplace.

"That asshole dragged you into this shit?" You tried to stir up a conversation, preparing yourself for your encounter with Reo. The male shrugged again, exhaling as he raised his eyebrows momentarily. "It is what it is. Can't do nothin' about it."

He noticed your head hanging low, trying to lighten the mood. "Look, I don't know what he did to you, but I'm more than willing to beat his ass for it. That servant of his too." A small chuckle rang his ears. "What about your job?"

He scoffed at your question as it was obvious what he'd say. Fuck the job and fuck Mikage too. If he seriously hurt you, he's willing to risk it. There are many other jobs he could look into. Hell, he made enough money in the past months to maybe even do his own business. His own legal boxing club. That has a nice ring to it.

"I got some backup."

【☆】★【☆】

Once you both enter the building, you notice the odd silence that surrounded the club. Oliver grew suspicious, eyebrows crinkling as he peeked his head down the stairs to listen in on any possible sounds - to no avail. He hummed, senses spiking to the top. This is weird. Even in early hours, the club is full of staff and-

His thoughts got interrupted by a small noise coming from the bar at the far back behind the curtains, cautiously shielding you as he took your hand in his, walking up to the spot in question.

And there he was, Reo. Hair fuzzed as they go in all direction, his head laying in the palms of his hands as puffs of frustration leave his mouth. You both look at him, confusion dripping down your faces before you look to the ground, noticing a shattered glass, toxic liquor shining against the shards scattered along the floor.

“What the hell, Reo?”

The purple haired cranes his neck at the sound of your voice, and you almost physically wince at his red shot eyes.

Oliver huffs out a laugh. “He’s lost it now. Not sure if money can fix that problem.” You slap him in the shoulder, earning a dramatic flinch from the man, before you hush him into the nearest backroom.

Whatever the hell was going on with Reo won’t end well with Oliver spiting out remark after remark over and over again.

“You better stay here, I’ll talk to him.” Raising your eyebrow at his scoff, you eye him. “Girl please. You think I’ll leave you alone in a room with that psycho?”

“Yes, I think you will. Now let go off me before I slap the sass out of you, dickhead.”

Admitting defeat, he lets go of your shoulder, a worried expression causing you to soften before you turn on your heels to confront the big Elephant in the room. “Don’t worry,” you try to reassure him, “it’ll be fine.”

As you step into the room, his purple orbs are already fixated on you, awaiting your next move. It’s been a while since you both last talked, going separate ways in a fight, for that matter.

Guilt washes over him as his sulks in his seat, averting his gaze from yours with his head hanging low at the table, finger circling around an empty glass, trying to distract himself from looking at you.

"Giving me the silent treatment?" You laugh, seating yourself next to the man, his gaze wandering around the wooden platform.

Suddenly, a laugh rang from the young man, startling you. Oh yeah, he's going insane.

"I don't know what's more funny", he begins, head lifting as his laugh dies down, hand swiftly wiping across his face before he continues, "the fact that you dare to fuck around in here, in my club, with my employees, or that I'm such a damned fool."

You gulp, brows crinkling in confusion. You don't know Reo for long, but you know him long enough to be conscious of his behavior. But this, even this, caught you off guard. "W-what are you talking about?"

His eyes are furious, teeth gritted together with his hands formed into concrete fists. It's downright impossible to predict his next move. Are you scared? Yeah. Should you've listened to Oliver? Hell yeah. But there is no way to change your decision now, so you might as well stand with it.

"You know what I'm fuckin' talking about." he points his finger at you, and his quick movement caused you to flinch slightly. It's your turn to spit back at him. "Watch your tongue now. If you don't get your shit together right fucking now, I'll go home."

"You'll go home? Home to my apartment, that I bought you, you mean?" Another loud chortle echoes to the room, alarming Oliver in the backroom. Something ain't right. Oliver is quick to storm right into the action, catching the eye of you both in an instant.

The room grows quiet, except from Reo's light chuckle. And in the next second, another glass lands shattered, now right at the feet of Oliver. Before the young boxer can even register the storm building up inside of him, Reo was quick to follow his action with a set of two words.

“You’re fired.”

Two words was all it took to tear the floor right from Oliver's feet, causing him to fall back into his old life again. Just like that. The world is cruel. Even more cruel at the hands of Reo Mikage.

"Pack your shit and get your pathetic ass out of here."

Being a billionaire isn't all just peace, joy and pancakes. It changes people. It changed him. Even if he doesn't realize it, he's slowly becoming the person he always despised.

"You know, Reo", he butts in a breathy chuckle, his multicolored eyes staring holes into the young billionaires face, "you look just like your father."

Red. The only color to describe the thing Reo sees right now, as he jumps up from his seat, ready to thrown himself onto the man before him.

Oliver was about to dodge his punch, but you appeared before Reo just in time, attempting to tear him away from the scene. Unfortunately, he breaks loose, pushing you away with a low voiced 'Fuck off'. "What does a low life like you know about my life, huh?", he barks at the man, breath heaving in rage.

As he was about to go completely insane, a familiar figure was quick to handle the situation, big, broad shoulders guiding Reo away from Oliver and out of the room into the direction of the apartment at the top of the facility.

Another man you fell apart in dispute, how great. Before you know it, tears begin to well up at your lash line, but you're quick to regain composure, hand swiftly wiping them away as you make your way to the basement door.

Once the tears were toweled down, you turn your head to a now leaving Oliver, biting you a quick goodbye before he heads off to the door.

"Wait." You just want to slap your face immediately at your cracked voice. Quickly clearing your throat, you continue, "if you need a place..."

You fall silent at his blank stare, lips formed into a thin line. "Don't sweat it", he responds, disappearing out into the city.

Well, now it's three, eh?

You sigh, exhausted, walking down into the secluded area in the basement, not even bothering to great anyone on your way to your working space.

As you enter your sweet escape, you slump yourself onto the leather couch, throwing your back next to you. Exhaustion washed over you as you pondered for a moment.

Was that really Reo just now? Did you ever even really knew him? And what's the matter with his father? He was seething in anger at just the mention.

"Fuck this," you whisper to yourself, ripping yourself out of your train of thought, a quick glance at the clock causing you to sigh. 3 more hours till the first match. "For fuck's sake."

Yeah, fucks sake. Not only did Reo escort you here three hours before your shift starting, but also didn't even talk to you. Except for his massive outburst, there was nothing else to it.

But this wasn't his intention at all. He wanted to talk, he really did, apologize even. But he didn't. He messed up. Again.

"Fuck!" he kicks his foot right into the expensive car next to him, earning a scolding from the white haired male that got him out of this mess in the first place. "Nuh uh not my car."

Nagi was quick to open the back door, throw Reo inside the backseat before he disappears into the driver's seat, ready to start the engine.

Perplexed, Reo tries to spit insults at him, to no avail.

Nagi, Reo's long trusted friend, already knew how to deal with Reo. And he also knew who he was. He knows that Reo is a good man, but, his fathers way started to rub off on him, insensible to it.

Nagi starts the engine, driving the vehicle to his own home. He glances into the rearview mirror, a small smile on his face at the sight of Reo's pouty face, mumbling some incoherent words as his hands struggle to put on the seatbelt.

"Let's get you away from this mess, blow off some steam, yeah? We didn't hop on the game for a while, how does that sound?"

Reo sighs in defeat, adjusting himself to calm down, "Alright, but I gotta be back in ten. Some guy applied as sponsor of the club. "

Halting at a red light, Nagi turns his head for a moment, facing Reo. "That's good news, no?"

Reo scoffs in response, lifting his shoulders briefly, "I don't know. That guy's giving me nausea. He's up for trouble."

【☆】★【☆】

Ten o'clock. Finally. The start of your shift.

You take a deep breath in once your door opens, bracing yourself for what might come forth. In a place like this, it could be anything and anyone.

Someone who's got the wrong door, a completely beat up boxer at the brink of a coma or maybe even a worker from the top looking for, god knows what.

"Hey ma."

And sometimes, it's Shidou.

A smile creeps up your lips as he walks up to you, hand resting on your hip as he gives your forehead a quick peak. "How's it goin'?"

You sigh, shaking your head to tell him not to inquire any further, earning a confused look in return. "So? Here to dump me again" He laughs, white crowns visible. "I'm here to apologize. Didn't know it was that..", he looked around the room, searching for the right words,"heated, between you two."

Your hands play with the bottom of his shirt, averting your gaze from him. "Plus, ya seemed out of it when you came down here, figured I come see you." His words are followed with another set of kisses to your face, earning a giggle from you in return.

"So, who do I gotta beat up?", he whispers against your lips before planting a soft kiss to them. You bite your bottom lip in return, urging him to sit on the couch, your expression turning serious again.

Shidou watches you intensely as you sit down and explain every detain that he missed out on. He never interrupted you, laughed or did anything of that matter. He just listened. That's what you really needed right now, someone who would listen.

As you conclude, he nods his head in understanding, followed by a short whistle. "Damn doll. I heard about yer new place and all but, the other stuff? Tough."

"Yeah", you respond, head comfortably resting on his shoulder with his arm wrapped around you.

He sits up, looking you dead in the eye with a broad smile on his face, an idea clicking his mind. "Ya know what? Those fuckers want my head on a platter anyway. So why not stay at my place for a while? You know, blow off some steam, maybe?"

His words seemed innocent, but his low tone told you otherwise. Amused, you follow his finger trail down your thigh, caressing the flesh in a teasing manner. "All of em took you from me. But, I was first, remember?"

You nod, gaze flickering from his eyes to his broad grin, "Ya didn't forget about me, did ya?"

"'f course not", you whisper, peaking your lips at his before standing up, walking up to the door to escort him out. "I'm off at three. 'M all yours then."

He laughs at that. Impossible, that's what you are. Never has he met a woman like you, so sure and confident about herself. On top of that, a woman that could have so many men wrapped around her fingers just like that.

If Sae finds out about this, he'll surely kill him for it. Shidou may be a tease, but he's not oblivious to the fact that Sae had feelings for you. Not only was it obvious from his actions, but his words as well.

Before Shidou knew you, he actually already knew you.

To clear the confusion, Sae would often mention you to him, even if it was briefly. Sometimes, Shidou would even overhear your sweet voice on the phone with the red haired, or see your text pop on his friend's screen.

Back then when Sae told him that you, the infamous woman who had Sae wrapped around her finger, would come for a visit at Blue Lock, he had to be there. He was intrigued, not to say the least.

So switching up to fight instead of some no-name newcomer did play out well. He finally met you. And then, he understood what Sae's fuss was all about.

Friendships aside, Shidou is a simple man. He says what he wants, and he gets it. What if that something is the situationship of his friend? The demon is ready to play the all to familiar devil's game.

"Got it. See ya then, ma." He responds, giving you one last look before he walks out into the crowd of noise and light, disappearing from your sight.

【☆】★【☆】

Two more hours, you tell yourself at your nth glance at the clock, hand brushing over your hair to get ready for your next patient.

Today sure is something. First a broken arm, then an inner hemorrhage followed by a concussion. You tried your best to help them with everything in your power before sending them off to the hospital, where they could be treated with better equipment and personnel.

As you linger in the silence of your small break, you failed to notice that you left your door open with your last patient leaving.

A tall, broad figure takes a peek inside, blue hues observing your relaxed self from behind.

"Well hello there. Is this a secret VIP stripper room I didn't know of?"

You're quick to turn your head to the source with your sense in high alert, angry expression, causing him to stop his chuckle. "Not one for jokes? Excuse me."

His half-assed apology almost seemed mocking of some sorts, as he slightly bows with his hand attached to his chest, blue strands of hair appearing behind the bush of blonde, a sly smirk attached to his handsomely pale face.

"Yeah, excuse you." You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. Probably another rich guy who's about to bet his whole fortune on a game, losing his status and prime in a blink of an eye. You're here long enough to know better.

But still, there's something so mysteriously intriguing about him that you can't point your finger on. His deep, ocean blue eyes? Or was it the hay blond hair? Or maybe the barely noticeable tattoo poking from his suit, spreading its way up his neck? "Well, who the hell are you?"

He lifts from his position, orbs prominently shining as he ranks his gaze shamelessly over your figure before halting at your face.

"I'm Kaiser. But you can call me Michael, gorgeous. Pleasure meeting you."

#◛⑅·˚ ᵂᴼᴿᴷ #♡˳ᴮᴸᴸᴷ #kazu s cfmf series*+:｡.｡#blue lock smut #bllk smut #barou smut #oliver aiku smut #sae smut

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realuity · 9 months

Note

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

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minteaspoon · 2 years

Text

“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.”

#lucemond #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #hbo house of the dragon #hbo hotd #hotd #omegaverse #omega lucerys #alpha aemond #daemon targeryan #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys i targaryen #house targaryen #house velaryon #driftmark #aemond x lucerys #daemyra

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thejoyofviolentmovement · 4 months

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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

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triplesilverstar · 10 months

Text

Post glow

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Vash X GN Reader

CW: Post sex, tenderness, not descriptive, sweaty, naked, teasing

Word count: Roughly 600 words

A/N: Just a short soft blurb that I wrote for myself for my birthday which I hope you all enjoy.

Humming low in your throat as a chill seeps into your back, first into the skin a nice cooling sensation as his fingers glide along the center next to your spine. The longer his fingers move the more the cold from the metal sinks into the deeper tissue of your muscles, but instead of tensing up you relax more.

Your fingers spaying open across the warm chest yours resting on, your cheek resting against the metal grates embedded in the sinews above his heart. The muscle underneath a steady thrum in your ear, easing your body more and more into his.

His metal hand is still sliding along your back, a slight tremor to your frame but you have no complaints from the numbing sensation. A reprieve from what had been sweat slicked skin not that long ago as both of your bodies had been intertwined with your hearts racing. Now as the two of you bask in that afterglow and just relax, your mind filled with cotton while your index finger traced the edge of the scar along his shoulder. The jagged skin taunt with the arm attached folded up and behind his head, an impromptu pillow for his damp head.

The dark hairs along the back of his neck that earlier you had seen glisten from the sweat resulting from his actions as you were folded in half under his body. The longer blond locks had been just as wet falling across his green eyes that at moments seemed more aqua but right in that moment were teal in color. Shifting your face against his warm chest, the drag of the metal along your cheek to look at his face now.

His jaw is smooth, yet you know in the morning you’ll see the faintest peach fuzz along that well defined chin. A light shine on it that in the dim light makes his skin look darker than normal. His once more aqua eyes watching you and when he catches your gaze a soft smile gracing his face and a softness reflected in those orbs. The heartbeat under your ear picking up and a short laugh you feel from his ribs shakes your body.

Your fingers spread more to steady yourself, more instinct than anything else since the force is nowhere near enough to dislodge you. His cold metal fingers stop moving along your back, instead gripping the skin under his palm. “Lift your head a little Mayfly.” His voice is hoarse and if you hadn’t of been exhausted it might have sent more than a tingle down your spine. Raising your head from his chest, and he laughs a little louder, his grin growing.

“There’s metal imprints against your cheek” snorting at his words you shake your head with a small giggle. You’ll have to take his word for it, far too content to pull yourself from his loose embrace and the warmth of his skin. His metal hand sliding upwards to rub your shoulder as you drop your head against his chest once more. “How are you feeling?”

“Relaxed, content.” It’s more like a sigh than an answer as the longer the two you relax the more you feel like you’re drifting down a slow river in your mind.

“Well I was aiming for something a little different, but I guess I still reached the goal.” Shifting and tilting his head down, a press of chapped lips to your own sweaty locks atop your head that you feel from the pressure more than anything else. “Happy birthday Mayfly, I love you.”

“I wish it was my birthday everyday if this is the gift I get.” The corner of your mouth catching on the skin of his chest as you smile, back to tracing the edge of another of his scars. “I love you too Vash.”

#vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede #trigun #trigun maximum #vash x reader #trimax #twink writes

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marvelousmagicalaura · 5 months

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This post is gonna be part-theorycrafting, part-praise.

Leras' death in both Realms is so heartbreaking. RIP Leras, He did his best. He did what Ruin either could not or was no longer able to. He heard the thoughts of all humans. He listened to the hearts of men. Leras hoped and trusted in humanity and it paid off 😭😢💔

And I have theories on why he interacted the way he did with Kelsier and Elend. Also, reading these passages again makes me tear up.

Leras’ death in the Cognitive Realm. Leras didn’t know if the atium in the Pits of Hathsin would be burned off by the atium Mistings. He didn’t know if before the Well’s next cycle he would survive the mental decay or Ruin’s attempt to Splinter Preservation. He even disagrees with Rashek’s actions.

I theorize Leras knew three things needed to happen for the atium Mistings and The Hero of Ages to finally occur: 1) Rashek needed to die, 2) the atium in the Pits of Hathsin needed to be “destroyed,” and 3) The Shard needed to survive Ruin’s direct attacks and get to Vin. 1 is impossible without a proper rebellion (Kelsier’s persistence) and sufficient Allomantic power (Vin drawing the Mists). 2 is impossible without someone with the drive to accomplish such a ballsy move. 3 is tricky because Leras’ mind is so frayed, so he likely needed a middleman to pass the Shard onto Vin.

I think Leras saw into the future at some point, and came to the conclusion that Kelsier might be the person for the job. So in Kelsier’s darkest moment - on the night of Mare’s death - he Snapped Kelsier and commanded him to Survive. Maybe gave him metal reserves to burn. I think Leras deliberately bestowed the power of Allomancy to Kelsier and inspired him to escape the Pits; to become the Survivor of Hathsin and fulfill the next steps of the plan. Much like how Kelsier himself told Spook to Hope and keep moving, or commanded him to Survive, or brought him into a vision. Kelsier did all that to accomplish a precognitive plan to encourage Marsh to rip out Vin’s earring; thus allowing Vin to take up the Mists and Shard.

I think Leras pulled the same con on Kelsier, but on a grander scale.

Whatever the reason, Kelsier felt the end like a long, drawn-out sigh. It sent a chill up his spine, and he scrambled to find a thread of Preservation. They had been all over the ground earlier in his trip, but now he found nothing. “Fuzz!” he screamed. “Preservation!” Kelsier… The voice vibrated through him. Goodbye. “Hell, Fuzz,” Kelsier said, searching the sky. “I’m sorry. I…” He swallowed. Odd, the voice said. After all these years appearing for others as they died, I never expected… that my own passing would be so cold and lonely… “I’m here for you,” Kelsier said. No. You weren’t. Kelsier, he’s splitting my power. He’s breaking it apart. It will be gone… Splintered… He’ll destroy it. “Like hell he will,” Kelsier said, dropping his pack. He reached inside, gripping the glowing orb filled with liquid. It’s not for you, Kelsier, Preservation said. It’s not yours. It belongs to another. “I’ll get it to her,” Kelsier said, taking up the sphere. He drew in a deep breath, then used Nazh’s knife to smash the orb, spraying his arm and body with the glowing liquid. Lines like threads burst out from him. Glowing, effulgent. Like the “lines from burning steel or iron, except they pointed at everything. Kelsier! Preservation said, his voice strengthening. Do better than you have before! They called you their god, and you were casual with their faith! The hearts of men are NOT YOUR TOYS. “I…” Kelsier licked his lips. “I understand. My Lord.“ “Do better, Kelsier, Preservation commanded, his voice fading. If the end comes, get them below ground. It might help. And remember… remember what I told you, so long ago… Do what I cannot, Kelsier… SURVIVE. The word vibrated through him, and Kelsier gasped. He knew that feeling, remembered that exact command. He’d heard that voice in the Pits. Waking him, driving him forward. Saving him. Kelsier bowed his head as he felt Preservation fade, finally, and stretch into the darkness.

Preservation’s death in the Physical Realm. This is much simpler, I think.

I think he probably wanted to give Elend hints of his plan for the atium Mistings. I think he was pointing northeast to an area near Luthadel - the Pits of Hathsin and the Homeland. The waves he gave for the questions on the mists and the pointing to Elend’s metals… Leras was giving hints that the Mists were Snapping people into Allomancers.

His final, hesitant wave. The sign that beating Ruin and surviving is a tiny possibility.

The mist spirit evaporating… that’s the Survivor taking up the power to give to the Ascendant Warrior. Preventing the power from being Splintered. Freeing the god’s frayed mind from its timeless burden.

The creature fell still. It was getting harder and harder to see it in the mists. Elend flared his tin, but that didn’t make the creature any more distinct. It seemed to be… fading. “Where was it you wanted me to go?” Elend asked, more for himself than expecting an answer. “You pointed… east? Did you want me to go back to Luthadel?” It waved with half-enthusiasm again. “Do you want me to attack Fadrex City?” It stood still. “Do you not want me to attack Fadrex City?” It waved vigorously. Interesting, he thought. “The mists,” Elend said. “They’re connected to all this, aren’t they?” Waving. “They’re killing my men,” Elend said. It stepped forward, then stood still, somehow looking urgent. Elend frowned. “You reacted to that. You mean to say they aren’t killing my men?” It waved. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve seen the men fall dead.” It stepped forward, pointing at Elend. He glanced down at his sash. “The coins?” he asked, looking up. It pointed again. Elend reached into his sash. All that was there were his metal vials. He pulled one out. “Metals?” It waved vigorously. It just continued to wave and wave. Elend looked down at the vial. “I don’t understand.” The creature fell still. It was getting more and more vague, as if it were evaporating. “Wait!” Elend said, stepping forward. “I have another question. One more before you go!” It stared him in the eyes. “Can we beat it?” Elend asked softly. “Can we survive?” Stillness. Then, the creature waved just briefly. Not a vigorous wave—more of a hesitant one. An uncertain one. It evaporated, maintaining that same wave, the mists becoming indistinct and leaving no sign that the creature had been there. … I don’t know why Preservation decided to use his last bit of life appearing to Elend during his trek back to Fadrex. From what I understand, Elend didn’t really learn that much from the meeting. By then, of course, Preservation was but a shadow of himself—and that shadow was under immense destructive pressure from Ruin. Perhaps Preservation—or, the remnants of what he had been—wanted to get Elend alone. Or, perhaps he saw Elend kneeling in that field, and knew that the emperor of men was very close to just lying down in the ash, never to rise again. Either way, Preservation did appear, and in doing so exposed himself to Ruin’s attacks. Gone were the days when Preservation could turn away an Inquisitor with a bare gesture, gone—even—were the days when he could strike a man down to bleed and die. By the time Elend saw the “mist spirit,” Preservation must have been barely coherent. I wonder what Elend would have done, had he known that he was in the presence of a dying god—that on that night, he had been the last witness of Preservation’s passing. If Elend had waited just a few more minutes on that ashen field, he would have seen a body—short of stature, black hair, prominent nose—fall from the mists and slump dead into the ash. As it was, the corpse was left alone to be buried in ash. The world was dying. Its gods had to die with it.

However, putting these plans into motion isn’t the same as knowing they’ll come true. Leras probably didn’t know if Kelsier would succeed in destroying the Pits’ atium or in giving the Shard to Vin. He certainly didn’t know if Elend would succeed in leading the atium Mistings to the Homeland.

Futuresight in the Cosmere, or at least the Hail Marys and fragile distant possibilities in Leras’ plan, seem to be split into maybes because of free will. If the figures in The Plan made the “wrong” decisions, made different decisions, or lost hope in the world, Ruin would’ve easily won. Their “right” decisions required them to just… live their lives. If Rashek, Vin, and Sazed living different lives meant their Connections to the Shards might’ve been completely different from what we know. Different Connections meant they couldn't hold the powers Leras wanted them to.

Leras listened the hearts of men, gave them nudges and tools, and hoped for the best outcomes.

#mistborn #cosmere #mistborn secret history #preservation mistborn #fuzz mistborn #brandon sanderson #precognition #futuresight

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