#joby taylor x y/n

[danosrosegarden]

spellbound - joby taylor x gn!reader headcanons (NSFW) ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{kinktober: day seven. prompt: quirofilia. 🎃}

{contains: descriptions of fingering (genitals/gender not specified).}

☽ "See something you like?"

☽ It was hysterical, really. Joby hated his own guts one minute, eyes rimmed red with tears as he moaned into your arms about how he was so close to making it big, he could practically taste the stardust granules of success on his tongue. He would curl into a ball in bed and sob about his failure as a father, too. You don't think I'm a bad person, babe, right? Shit, I made mistakes, but I'm not bad, right? Yeah?

☽ Yet the very next minute, his blood flowed with astounding egotistical grandeur. Those were the nights he grabbed hold of you roughly and staked his claim. You might pretend you were disgusted by his crass advances and those filthy words he'd whisper into your ear, but the slicked hair, the chipping black polish, the thick curves and bends of his tattoos, the smooth smirks...everything about that weasel of a man had you whipped.

☽ And in fact, you had seen something you liked. There was something about the way those long fingers plucked at his old guitar strings. The way they combed through the grease of his long hair. The way they'd end most nights pumping steadily in and out of you...there lived a certain fixation inside of your brain focused on his big, smooth hands.

☽ Joby was reluctantly romantic. He liked holding hands, but they usually ended up somewhere else instead of staying laced with yours.

☽ "You look good with a guitar in your lap," you stated. Joby offered you a small grin, moving to set it down. "You look good watching me over there." You tossed back an eye roll. "Cornball."

☽ Perhaps that was was you appreciated most about Joby...deep down, there was a true and passionate desire to make you smile and feel special. And despite that rather lackadaisical attitude he took towards sex, he still seemed to understand the intimacy that came with the act, the trust needed to be present in order for anything to work.

☽ You had grown past the point of butterflies twirling around your gut when stripping for him or your cheeks burning when those long, bony fingers were curling and dragging inside of you. Joby still was and would probably always be lots of fun to fuck. There was always something new to try, some new position to feel exposed in or some cheap, laughable toy he would pick up for you. But it always circled back to those pale, veiny hands. They were divine wherever he decided to put them. Two inside your mouth, getting your slick saliva on the skin so they can slip inside you easier! Trailing down your shivering, sensitive sides! The possibilities are endless!!

☽ It was almost as if your own fingers weren't enough anymore when you touched yourself on your own. He had put a spell on you, always leaving you craving more.

[always-andromeda]

cherry jubilee for my man joby 🥰🥰🥰 i need him to degrade me real bad 😵

– 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

𝐉𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: OKAY, so, I don't think I've ever written literally anything like this sO I hope the level of degradation is enough here? because oh goodness I may or may not have been absolutely losing my shit while visualizing this whole thing.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (MDNI), clit rubbing, teasing and degradation (usage of slut exactly one time lol), pet names (multiple uses of princess), slight overstimulation, slight aftercare from Joby, nothing else I can think of!

Nearly three in the morning. And your boyfriend sleeps somewhat peacefully beside you, almost completely unaware of the turmoil brewing in your brain. Joby snores gently, passed out in the crooked position he’d collapsed onto the bed in when he came home from his band’s show. He was sweaty and exhausted, muttering a small, “hey, baby,” before his eyelids fluttered closed.

You had chuckled softly as he almost immediately drifted off before you fell back asleep yourself. But hours later, now wide awake, all you can think about are his eyes. How through the mist of your dream, you’d heard the screams of fans throwing themselves in his direction. They part like the Red Sea, his eyes set only on you. Somehow, just the thought of his eyes were enough to have you breathing deeply.

Then your imagination jumped to his hands. The way they picked away at his guitar with a practiced ease. And in your mind, they’d been playing you perfectly too. With a mounting ache between your legs, you can’t take the waiting anymore.

You turn, stare through the dark at the back of Joby’s head, and carefully reach forward to rub his shoulder. You whisper his name, “Joby.”

Nothing.

“Joby,” you repeat louder.

Already disgruntled and grumbling, he finally startles awake. He turns to face you with lumbering movements. Eyes bleary, Joby groans, “Whaaat?”

He blinks heavily, thankfully not able to see just how antsy you are as you squirm. You start to explain, “I…I had a dream,”

“Okay?”

“…and I was wondering if you could maybe help me out?” You finish through gritted teeth.

You can barely make out the way his mouth curls into a sleepy, sleazy smile as he gets the idea of the type of dream you may have had. He chuckles, “You want my help, princess?”

“Yes,” you affirm, rolling your eyes.

“Tell me where you want me,” he says breathlessly.

You think for a second before commanding, “Just…just give me your hand.”

Joby presents you with one of his large hands and laughs once more, “Mmmm, bossy.”

Without much hesitation, you take it and shove it down the front of your panties. The calloused pads of his fingertips brush over your mound as you guide him further and further downwards. You try your best to focus on the way his touch makes your skin shiver but instead find yourself listening to Joby’s raspy voice.

He groans from somewhere deep in his throat as his fingers drag between your lips. He’s almost surprised to find a pool of slick already forming and he gathers it with  two digits. “Mmmm, you’re so warm and so wet. Bet you’ve been lying here just waiting for me to do something about this, huh?”

With your head sinking into your pillow, you nod. Using your own hand over his, you model the movements you need him to make over your clit. You quietly show him, though he knows full well just what you need. His fingers fall into the familiar, tight, circular pattern quickly. Right away the action makes a chord in your abdomen begin to tighten and you barely hold back a soft moan.

Joby’s tired voice plays in your ear as he moves in closer, “Let me hear you, princess. Wanna hear your desperate little sounds.”

It’s so late and your mind is already so muddy that you follow his direction without hesitation and let out the breathy sighs that only grow in volume as the pressure of the pleasure builds. You want to be surprised at how little effort it takes on his part to turn you into an absolute mess, bucking your hips against his hand.

The action doesn’t escape Joby’s notice. “God, you’re so fucking needy. Such a greedy girl, waking me up in the middle of the night to use my hand. And after a show, especially,” he chastises you. “You’re lucky my wrist isn’t sore. Then I might’ve told you no. I might’ve let you fuck yourself with one of those stupid toys of yours.”

“You— you wouldn’t—”

“Oh, I would,” Joby chuckles. “It would’ve been so much fun listening to you try to get yourself off without me. Because it’s better when I do it, huh?”

You nod again.

Joby stops rubbing, reminding you that even though your hand lies over his, he’s still very much in control. The pleasure already starting to fade, you whine.

“C’mon, princess. Tell me who’s the best at making you come and I’ll keep going.”

“You,”

“And what’s my name, princess?”

You grit your teeth and try to ignore his teasing tone as you force yourself to say what he wants to hear, “Joby fuckingTaylor.”

Pleased with your submission, Joby wastes no time in continuing. This time, the circles are faster, relentless, and barely give you a chance to catch your breath before the burn builds all over again, this time stronger and more intense than before.

“That’s right. Fucking Joby Taylor is the only one who can make you fucking whine and scream like the desperate little slut you are.”

The combination of his fingers and the bite in his tone on that one word sends you straight over the edge within seconds. You want to feel ashamed at how you whimper and how your legs shake through the aftershocks that ripple through your body. Joby’s fingers press against your clit just long enough following your orgasm that you squirm and manage to get out a weak cry.

Right before the searing sting can fully set it, Joby pulls his hand away, only to pull you closer into his chest. As if he wasn’t already sweaty on his own, you practically stick to him with the thin layer of perspiration covering your skin.

Joby kisses your hair and places his chin on the top of your head before holding you tightly. Softly, you hear him go, “Shhhhh, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You did so fucking good for me, princess. So fucking good.”

Focusing on the sound of Joby’s heartbeat as it slowly subsides, you match your breathing to the soft hum in your core.

As your eyelids start to feel heavy, you hear Joby ask, “Are you all tired out now?”

You nod and this time Joby doesn’t push you to grace him with a verbal reply. Instead, he sniffs lightly, taking pride in his victory.

“Alright, let’s go back to sleep,” he says. “Goodnight, princess.”

With your head against his chest and the hunger inside you satiated. It's five minutes after three when you finally allow yourself to fall asleep, mind only on the gentle rhythm of Joby's hand as he rubs your arm.

[killerlookz]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐝’𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 | Joby Taylor x F! Reader

series synopsis!! | chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

description: 21-year-old wannabe musician, Joby Taylor leaves home with his band, Snake Trouble after being pressured into marrying his girlfriend, Claire when she got pregnant. Too young, and unable to take the pressure of having a family, he heads for California, wanting to make it big in the music industry. As he and the band make their way to Los Angeles, Joby meets a down-on-her-luck reader at a convenience store in Texas. Reader wants nothing more than to escape from her oppressive small town, and she's willing to do anything to get out, even accept a ride out west from four, strange, out-of-town men.

content warnings: not much! mention of a gun, and smoking cigarettes, but other than that- nothing.

word count: 4995 (nice short lil chapter to ease into the series)

The mid-afternoon Texas sun hangs bright in the sky, beating down on your face. You can practically hear your skin sizzling as its burning rays meet your flesh. You cup a hand over your eyes and squint to avoid going blind from the harsh light as you make your way towards the rundown-looking building sat in what felt like the middle of nowhere. In fact Hondo, Texas was just about as "middle of nowhere" as anything got. A small, quiet town, filled with simple god-fearing people who led simple lives. You grimaced under the hot sun, you hated Hondo.

You were now focused on the ground to avoid the glare from the sun as you step across the gravel-filled parking lot, kicking a particularly large rock with an old, worn-out sneaker. The rock tumbled against the tiny stones that littered the lot, clacking about each time it skidded against the ground. You continued, kicking a few more rocks until you found yourself at the entrance of the building- the town's convenience store.

You pause for a moment as you reach the door, taking a deep breath down, smoothing over a hard lump that sits holstered at your hip, covered by the hanging fabric of the ratty old button-up flannel you stole from your dad. A tremble of anxiety rocks your body at the realization of what you plan to do, but money is money, and you need to get the hell out of Hondo. You peer inside the store as you let that deep breath out in an audible exhale, empty. You swallow down hard and reach for the door handle, wrapping your hand around the cool metal before flinging it open. A faint jingling noise rings out as the door opens, signaling that someone has arrived in the store and an old man peers up from the counter, giving you a smile. The old man's sweet, well-meaning gaze makes your stomach flip and your chest tighten, despite your desperation- you weren't completely morally bankrupt. You give the man a tight-lipped smile and a nod before pressing on into the store, all he had to do was comply with your demands and he wouldn't get hurt, you tried to calm yourself.

There's a noticeable coolness to the store, that you're able to appreciate before the impending havoc. Despite the run-down appearance of the store, you were thankful for its decent upkeep of the inside for granting you a nice air-conditioned relief from the oppressive heat of the outside.

The rubber soles of your shoes click against the dirtied white tiles of the store, making your whereabouts within the store particularly obvious. You try taking slower, lighter strides in order to quiet the noise. You go over your plan in your head over, and over again as you head towards the back of the store to the refrigerated section. Flash your piece, demand all the money in the register, as soon as it's in your hands stuff it in your backpack, then scram. It was easy enough, no harm done.

You began to hum to yourself as you paced down the aisles, anxiously playing with the gold pendant that sits around your neck, pretending to be looking for something, while in reality, you were really psyching yourself up.

"Tell sanchito- that if he knows what is good for him," You sing absentmindedly, "He best go run and hide..." You push back the fabric of the tattered flannel, just slightly, grazing your fingers along the cool metal that sits on your belt. "...Daddy's got a new .45," Your nerves having quelled slightly, you begin making your way to the front of the store. "And I won't think twice to stick that barrel straight down sancho's throat," You can see from where you stand in the aisle that the poor old man isn't even paying attention to you, his focus more pointed towards the crossword puzzle in today's newspaper. The poor man has no clue what's coming. "Believe me when I say that I've got something for his punk-ass." You begin to step out from where you stand in the aisle, heading towards the register.

"Was that you?" You hear a voice that you were not expecting, the sudden words making you stop dead in your tracks. You turn to face the sound, "You've got a killer voice." Your eyes widen at the appearance of a man in front of you, someone you surely didn't recognize, and from his accent he certainly wasn't from around here. "Sublime sort of sucks though."

"What?" You ask, furrowing your brows, unsure of what to say, your head cloudy from nearly getting caught in the act of committing a crime. Your breathing is heavy as you stare at the man, looking like a deer in headlights as you quickly cover your side with the flannel.

"That was you singing Santeria, right?" The man asks, and you can barely see him lifting an eyebrow from under the long locks of black hair that fall in front of his face.

"Yeah..." You say, straightening yourself out, "Well, it certainly ain't him." You giggle awkwardly, pointing towards the old man at the register. The man chuckles back, and it's seemingly genuine, which puts a small smile on your nervous face.

"No, really?" He adds sarcastically, which makes you giggle a little more, less awkwardly this time.

"Well- uh- thank you, honey." You nod with a smile, a little unsure of what to do now. Guess it's time to find a different convenience store.

"No problem." The man runs his fingers through his hair, brushing the greasy locks from his face, revealing a bit more of his appearance. He's pale, a little sickly looking, and you note as his fingers card through the strands of hair that his nails are painted, which was highly peculiar for men in this area. You can't lie, as you look the man up and down, your interest is somewhat peaked by this stranger.

"You're not from around here, are ya,?" You shake your head.

"Oh," He scoffs, a small smile appearing on his face, "No," He shakes his head back, "How could you tell?"

"It's everything really," You shrug, "You're very, different." Your voice gets a little higher and your face scrunches as you finish your sentence, hoping you haven't offended this random man.

"Different? He laughs, "Yeah, that's me."

Your expression softens once you realize he doesn't seem to be offended by your comment.

"But um no, I'm not from here- I'm on tour with my band actually, so we're just passing through."

You smile, your interest suddenly very peaked. Band? Tour? For a split moment, you imagine life on the road, getting to travel all across the country, having all new sorts of experiences, and living life to the fullest.

"A tour?" You beam, "Are y'all famous?"

"Well," He chokes, "Not exactly, we're trying to be." He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, a little awkwardly, "We're going to California to try to meet with some record companies."

"California?" You nearly cut him off, asking with nothing but utter excitement.

"Yeah. You ever been?" He asks.

"No," You shake your head rapidly, "I wish! I've never even been out of Hondo."

"No? How come?"

"Well," You simper, "Believe me, baby, I want absolutely nothin' more than to leave but, I ain't got no money." You try to laugh.

"Neither do I." The man laughs back, looking down at the floor before moving his eyes back to you, "Hey, do you want to see the west with me?" He asks hesitantly

"What?" You gasp at the man's offer, having barely known him for 5 minutes and he's offering to take you halfway across the country.

"Yeah." He nods, a bit more confidently this time, "I'll take you wherever you like!"

"But you barely know me," You furrow your brows, "Is that such a good idea?"

"Trust me, I've done stupider things."

You look at the man, unable to believe you're genuinely contemplating going on the road with some random man and his band. Your mind races, what if he's an ax murderer or something, what if this is all a ruse for him to kidnap and torture you. You stare for a moment and swallow,

"Well, it sure beats walking." You nod, a smile plastered on your face. You were planning on running away today anyways, this had to be fate. The man smiles back,

"I'm Joby by the way," He reaches out to shake your hand, "Joby Taylor."

"Hi, Joby." You greet, "My name's y/n." You grip his hand back, returning the shake.

"You got a last name, y/n?"

"y/l/n." You affirm.

"Y/n y/l/n." He repeats, "Very pretty." He nods, "Fitting."

A soft pink tint grazes your cheeks, "Gee, thanks." You look down at the ground, and shift your feet a little.

"Let me grab a few things and then we'll be on our way, hm?"

"Okay." You nod, staying put as Joby left his spot to walk around the store. You play with your hands, linking your fingers together and wiggling them around anxiously.

You can hear Joby walking around the store, his dirty boots scrambling around the floors. You sway back and forth on the balls of your feet, letting the weight of your backpack bring you back down every time you shift onto your toes.

"You want anything?" Joby calls from somewhere in the store. You try to turn and face wherever the voice came from, but you're unable to see him.

"Oh, yeah!" You say, hungry, and unabashedly taking him up on his offer. "Can you get me a coke! Oh- and a bag of potato chips!"

"You got it!" He calls back.

Joby soon emerges from behind one of the aisles with a whole ton of stuff held in his scrawny arms.

"You need some help, honey?" You ask, trying not to giggle at his awkward grip on all of his things.

"Please?"

You walk towards him, grabbing some things from his arms, and practically skipping up to the register, bubbling with excitement and anxiety for your future venture. Joby follows slowly, placing his items on the counter. The old man looks up from his crossword puzzle, greeting the pair of you with a smile. His brows begin to furrow slightly as he gets a closer look at Joby, shaking his head as he begins to ring up the items. Joby chuckles a little, clearly seeing the man's reaction to him.

"And a pack of Marlboro Reds?" Joby asks, pointing just beyond the man at the wall of cigarettes behind him. The man forms a straight line with his lips, nodding once, before turning around to grab the cigarettes off the wall.

"Where are you from, sir?" The older man asks with a rasp in his voice as he places the pack on the counter.

"New York."

"City folk, hm?"

"Not exactly," Joby chuckled, "New York's a big state."

"Mm." The old man mumbles, "It's more city than around 'ere I bet."

Joby smiles politely, "That's for sure."

The man doesn't respond, only continuing to bag up Joby's items,

"Alright, that'll be $12.97" He affirms.

"Shit. That's cheap." Joby chuckles, reaching in his pocket to grab some cash before slamming a few crumpled bills on the counter. Coins clank against the chunky rings that sit on Joby's fingers as the man at the register hands him back his change. The man then turns to you, looking you deep in the eyes,

"You be careful out there, sweetheart." He nods his head forward once, intensifying his gaze.

"Yessir." You smile back, before grabbing the bags from the counter without prompting from Joby.

"You two have a nice day now," The man lifts a hand in salutations, and gives you and Joby a tight lipped smile.

"You too, sir!" You grin, and joby just nods in response as the two of you head for the door. "You know, it's polite to say goodbye back." You tease, stepping outside.

"Well, don't really do polite in New York." Joby retorts. You shake your head and release a quiet, light-hearted scoff.

"From New York but not the city?" You ask, pausing in front of the store for a moment. Joby takes the sunglasses that hang around the stretched-out collar of his shirt and places them over his dark eyes.

"Yeah. Messena." He informs, "Just 10 miles from the Canadian border."

"Canada," You nod, "Must be cold up there then?"

"In the winter." Joby begins walking, and you trail just a few steps behind him. A small, white van sits in the middle of the parking lot, with a logo hastily scribbled onto the side with spray paint, Snake Trouble.

"Is that your band's name? Snake Trouble?"

"Yeah. Pretty sick right?" Joby asks, turning back around to look at you. You go to open your mouth and say something, but nothing comes out, instead you opt to just give Joby a smile, not wanting to insult the stranger who's been so kind to offer you a ride out of Hondo. "Oh! Ouch!" Joby hisses, feigning hurt.

"Oh- no- it's-" You stutter, scrambling to find the right words.

"Nah, it's okay." Joby chuckles, "Once we make it big you'll like it." He says with a confident smirk. His confidence makes you smile back at him, his passion for what he does is obvious, it's something you haven't seen much from the people around here unless you count passion for God or America.

Joby swings open the sliding door of the van, revealing three other men sitting inside the cluttered vehicle with mounts of stuff piled up on the rows of seats. The men turn their heads at the sound of the door opening, their brows all furrowing with confusion upon their bandmates return with a total stranger.

"Well guys," Joby announces, "Looks like we've got ourselves a roadie."

"What?" The man in the passenger seat says, he's got shorter hair than Joby, but it's still black and greasy, and most jarring to you, he has a piercing along his brow bone, small, silver studs stick out from his large, bushy eyebrows. "We send you to the store, and you come back with a chick?"

"Hey, I'm not complaining!" Another man says, this one has a dark, sandy blonde head of hair- almost brown, but not quite. It's pin-straight and swoops across his forehead.

"Yeah," The third one chimes in with a chuckle, "I don't see the harm." This one has shoulder-length blonde hair, and is covered in tattoos like you wouldn't believe.

"Good." Joby huffs,

"Wait we're just letting some random girl in our van? We don't know anything about her!" eyebrow piercing says.

"I know plenty about her, she likes Sublime and she's from Hondo, what else do I need to know?" Joby asks, somewhat sarcastically.

"Joby, come on, man." The man in the passenger seat says back. You look down at the ground, staring at your worn-out shoes, feeling a little awkward being talked about in the third person.

"It's totally cool dude, she needs a ride out west, we're going out west, I'm just being friendly."

"Oh yeah, and how many times has being friendly fucked people over?" He retorts.

"Chill man," Joby lifts up his arms, "We can use all the hands we can get."

"Whatever." The dark-haired man scoffs, "But if we get robbed or some shit, it's your fault."

You furrow your eyebrows, understanding of the man's anxieties of accepting a total stranger into his car, but, still, a little upset he thought that way of you, despite the fact that robbery didn't exactly seem to be out of the realm of possibility for you.

Joby turns back to you, lightly placing a hand on your shoulder, "Y/n," He starts, this is, "James," he points towards the short-haired man, "Matt," the sandy-blonde, "and Devin." the tattooed one. "James, Matt, Devin, this is y/n." He introduces.

The three of them raise their hands to greet you, saying their various "Hi's" and "Hey's" in sync.

"Hey," You smile peering a little further into the van, "Don't y'all just look like some sort of pack of vampires or somethin'" You giggle, noting each of their pale complexions, tired eyes, and dark clothes.

"That's-like- totally the point!" Matt smiles.

"Well then- if you were goin' for undead, you totally nailed it." The group was unlike any sort you'd seen around in Hondo, different for sure, but you couldn't lie, they looked cool. "Y'all are like, those Ozzy Osborne typa' folks."

"Hell yeah!" Matt nods.

"Yeah, Black Sabbath fucking bangs." Devin joins in.

You feel Joby pat your lower back, "You can get in." He urges. You oblige, climbing up into the van, Matt, who is the closest to the door, moves over to make some room for you along the bench. You place the grocery bags on the floor in front of you before settling into the seat.

"Hi," You smile shyly as you squeeze next to the man, lifting up your hand in a somewhat wave.

"Hi." He smiles back, jerking his head upwards quickly as a greeting. Joby slams the van door closed before walking around to the other side of the van to get into the driver's seat. He hops up inside, and shuts the door behind him before putting the van in gear.

"Alright, you ladies ready to get back on the road?" He asks. The group all announces their yesses and Joby begins to peel out of the parking lot.

"So," James starts, turning around from his seat next to Joby, "What's your story."

You look up from where you'd been staring at your lap, "Well," You sigh, "I-uh- I grew up here in, "God's Country" my whole life," You threw up your hands in air quotes, "And I just can't take it anymore. I need to see the world."

"So, you get in a car with four random men?" He raises an eyebrow, "You're not scared?"

"Should I be?"

"No." He scoffs, "I'm just saying."

"Woah dude, you're gonna like, scare her off." Matt says.

You let out a stifled laugh, "Don't worry honey, y'all boys don't scare me." You glance over at Matt and give him a wink, "Hard to be scared by some scrawny men when I got my girl Sheila on me." You giggle, grazing a hand over your hip.

"Sheila?" Devin pokes his head out from behind Matt.

"Yeah," You grin, pushing back the fabric of your flannel, finally fully exposing your hip, and unholstering the gun from your belt, letting the small pistol rest in your lap. "Sheila."

"WOAH! WOAH!" Matt and Devin exclaim, leaning back and throwing up their arms.

"Put that shit away would you!" James demands. You can't help but laugh at the boy's reactions, how typical.

"What the hell's going on?" Joby asks, peering at the rearview mirror.

"That crazy bitch pulled out a gun!" James almost-yells.

"You boys really ain't from around here, are ya?" You scoff. "Been trained to use guns much bigger than this since I was just a girl, y'all have nothing to be 'fraid of-" You squint, "Unless y'all try anything funny- then y'all should know I'm a sharp shot."

"Relax!" Joby urges, "I'm sure she's not going to shoot you, James."

"Don't fret, honey," You smile, lifting up your hips slightly so you could once again place the gun in its holster. "You're in assfuck nowhere Texas, everyone's got a gun."

"Dude, you're like, a fucking badass." Matt exclaims, wide-eyed.

"Not quite," You smirk.

"So what's it like out here?" Asks Devon after a moment of silence.

"It's not like much," You shrug, "Simple town, ya know? Simple people."

"Do you, uh, like ride horses to school and shit?" He continues to question. His question nearly making you choke on your own laughter.

"No, silly!" You swat your hand, "This is the deep south, not the wild west. We're not that behind on the times." You smile, "You boys been outta New York much?"

"Not really," Matt shrugs, "Me, Joby, and James have been friends since we were kids- and we met Devin in community college before we dropped out."

"I didn't drop out," James says, "Just taking a gap year to tour." He follows, quieter this time.

"Pssh, right!" Matt scoffs, "Like, you're ever gonna go back to that place."

"Yeah, dude," Joby chimes in, "When we make it big, you won't ever need that shit!"

"Y'all are gonna make it big now?" You smirk.

"Hell yeah!" Joby says, peering at you through the rear-view mirror, "We're gonna be the next Whitesnake- no- bigger, we're gonna be the next Mötley Crüe, the next Kiss."

"Fuck yeah!" Matt cheers before the rest of the guys tag along. You smile at their enthusiasm, and you haven't even heard their music yet, but you hope they make it, and that they make it big.

"So y'all make metal and such?" You ask.

"Yeah, real heavy shit." Joby proclaims, "You wanna hear?"

"Sure thing," You respond, excited to hear the work that the bands seems to have been talking up so much.

"Check it." Joby says, shoving a disc into the van's CD player, "We just recorded this one, it's just a demo, but it's called Rockin' Away the Night."

The whole band nods along to the sound of the track, bouncing up and down in their seats to the tune of the underproduced, loud guitars, and crashing drums. You have to admit, the song is catchy. And you even catch yourself nodding along with the band. Joby seems to be the most into it, thrashing his head around as he mouthes the words, barely even paying attention to the road. You were definitely familiar with the classic metal bands the guys had mentioned prior, and you could hear the influences, but you were relieved to hear this wasn't a complete copy. It was definitely their own, and despite the track not being the cleanest, or most coherent at times, you could hear the heart, and the passion in the song, making it utterly impossible to not want to just sing along.

The sond came to a sudden holt, the last of the instruments fading out,

"So, what did you think?" Joby asks.

"I dig it!" You beam

"It needs a bit of cleaning up, though, that's why we're headed to California, to meet with some record execs to help us with all that." James adds

"I don't know," You shrug, "I like it raw, I can really hear y'all have a lot of passion for what y'all do."

"Music is all we've ever wanted." Matt nods fervently, his foot tapping on the floor excitedly, "And we're going to get it!" He bangs his fists lightly on his shaking thighs, and as you flicker up to meet his gaze you can see a fire in his eyes.

"That's for sure," Joby says, "Snake Trouble is going to be the biggest name in modern rock n' roll, we're going to go down in fucking history."

"What kind of tunes do you dig? Joby says you like Sublime, you a big ska fan?" Devin asks.

"Yeah," You nod, "They're good. What's ska?" You furrow your brows, looking over Matt's shoulder to answer Devin.

"Modern-day ska fucking blows!" Joby announces from the driver's seat, earning a stifled laugh from you.

"You know like, ska-punk." He tilts his head to the side and shrugs his shoulders, "Like the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Reel Big Fish, No Doubt." Your eyebrows stay furrowed as he lists off bands until you finally recognize one,

"Oh yeah!" You exclaim, "No Doubt, I listened to Don't Speak for like two weeks on repeat when the guy I liked asked out another girl my sophomore year of high school."

"Gwen Stefani is fucking tight." Matt nods, "Hot too."

"Yeah too bad she makes pop garbage now." James rolls his eyes.

"She's always made pop garbage." Joby says.

"Not true!" Matt defends, "Tragic Kingdom is a staple of female fronted rock."

"No," Joby interjects, "Live Through This, Sexless Demons and Scars, and Juju are staples of female-fronted rock, Tragic Kingdom is junior high pop trash."

"Well Joby, not all of us like to only listen to depressing angry shit." Matt huffs.

"Settle down, boys," Devin huffs, "What about you, y/n, what do you think about Gwen Stefani?"

You look down on your lap, trying your best to think of all the Gwen Stefani songs you knew, which, was admittedly, not very many.

"She sings that song that goes like, I'm just a girl, oh, little old me, well, don't let me out of your sight." You mumble the lyrics somewhat to the tune you can remember.

"Yes! That's off Tragic Kingdom!" Matt exclaims.

"Oh, well I like that one," You smile.

"There, it's settled, Gwen Stefani is good." Matt claps his hands before holding his arms out, signaling his winnings in the argument.

"Whatever," Joby chuckles.

"Yo, Joby, man, it's like too quiet in here, put something on!" Devin yells over Joby's shoulder.

"I'm driving dude, I can't really look right now." Joby reaches over and opens up his center console, "You know where the CDs are, take them out and ask the little lady what she wants to listen to." You can see him wink at you through the rear-view mirror and you smile back.

Closest to the console, Matt leans over and takes out the stack of CDs that reside inside of it.

"Here you go, little lady," Matt repeats, mocking Joby.

"Why, thank you!" You say, grabbing the stack from him. You looked through the stack, trying to find something to listen to, you either didn't recognize or didn't particularly like. Finally, after a bit of sifting you found a suitable album, the dark cover and brooding faces that stared back at you on The Cranberries' Everybody Else Is Doing It So Why Can't We? sent a wave of nostalgia through you, and you smile, picking it out from the stack. You open the cover, and take out the disk, "This one!" You announce, handing it up to Joby.

Joby takes the crystalline disk from your hands and ejects the Snake Trouble disk that sat in the car's CD player, replacing it with the one you gave him. As the album starts off you begin to stack up the CDs you sorted through and put them back into the center console, before closing it.

You listen along to the dreamy-sounding instrumentals of the opening track, 'I Still Do', saying back and forth in your seat.

"Didn't know you were a Cranberries fan, Joby!" Matt teases upon hearing the opening vocals.

"It's not mine, man!" Joby defends, "It's Claire's!"

"Hey-hey-hey, nothin' wrong with a bit of Cranberries!" Devin says.

"Who's Claire?" You ask, a bit disappointed at least half of the band seemed less-than-impressed with your album selection.

"Nobody." Joby said firmly, a bit of harshness in his voice that took you aback.

Matt looked over to you and shook his head slowly, motioning a slicing action across his neck as his eyes went wide and jaw clenched.

"Oh," You raised your eyebrows, "Sorry." You said sheepishly.

"Joby, man, can I get a cigarette," James says, lightly slapping Joby on the arm.

"Uhh- yeah," Joby slowly takes one hand off the steering wheel to reach into his pocket, fishing out the red and white pack of cigarettes before handing it off to his bandmate.

"Thanks man." James nods, pulling a cigarette from the pack.

"Anyone else?" Joby asks.

"If you don't mind," You speak up, a little anxious to ask of something from him.

"Mmm," Joby hums, "Give 'er one." He urges James, who turns around and hands you a cigarette. You place the stick in your mouth and roll down your window, waiting for a light.

"Here," James says, lit cigarette hanging between his teeth, handing a lighter off to you. You grab it from him with a simple, thank you, and cup your hand around the edge of the cigarette, shielding it from the wind as you flick the lighter's rusted metal flint. A flame erupts from the small, red lighter, igniting the end of your cigarette, and you sit back in your seat, starting to inhale.

As you relax in your seat the opening drumbeats of the Cranberries Dreams fills the van from it's blown out speakers.

"Can you turn this one up?" You ask Joby, who hums in response, turning up the volume. You smile as the instrumentals grow louder with the switching of the volume, the dreamy, nostalgic atmosphere of the song flooding your brain with happy memories from when you were younger. You lean your head against the edge of the window, your hand resting on its open ledge, cigarette smoke blowing in the wind. You let the memories pass through your mind, they were the last remains of your life in Hondo, which was soon to be no more.

It was weird knowing you were leaving, something you yearned to do for so long now, but now it was really happening. You couldn't help but recognize the small ache in your heart as you took a drag of your cigarette that resulted from leaving the only thing you'd ever known. But the ache wasn't all bad, this was a new beginning, a chance to really live your life away from the restraints of your oppressive small town.

With a smile on your face, and the wind in your hair, you sang along to Dolores O'Riordan's airy vocals, "Oh my life is changing everyday, in every possible way, and oh my dreams..."

You watch out the window, and with another drag of your cigarette you pass Hondo's greeting sign,

This is god's country, please don't drive through it like hell.

a/n: yay! chapter 1 is out, i'm sooooo excited for this little joby mini series, he is SEVERELY underrated when it comes to dano characters. this part is a bit short, but, i figured a nice, short lil intro was better than just throwing a million words at y'alls faces right off the bat. Hope everyone enjoys <3

tags: @creme-bruhlee @spicedchaiandromeda (i accidentally got too impatient, and am releasing this early, so i didn't wait too long when asking for tags, so if anyone would like to be tagged in the next coming parts, let me know <3)

[littleoddwriter]

Could you do a joby taylor x plus sized reader fic? It would be so good!

Comfortable | Joby Taylor x PlusSized!GenderNeutral!Reader

Hey there! Thanks so much for the request, I really hope you like what I've done with it! <3

summary; You finally buy some clothes you've been wanting for a long time, but never felt comfortable enough to do it. Joby encourages and helps you.

notes; Plus Sized!Gender Neutral!Reader; Insecurities; Self-Esteem/-Worth Issues; Implied/Referenced (internalised) Fatphobia; Anxiety; Implied Sex; Comfort; Fluff.

When you first met Joby at a bar, you had been incredibly nervous and dumbfounded. This gorgeous man was talking to you and paid for a drink for you - not that he would have had to do that to talk with you, but you appreciated the gesture - it just seemed surreal to you. After all, you were more used to your friends getting hit on and for you to be ignored if not looked up and down with disdain on some occasions. 

On that first night with him, he had wanted to sleep with you, but you didn’t feel ready for that, no matter how gorgeous he was. You have never gone home with a random guy before and you had become too anxious to make him your first. 

To your pleasant surprise, though, he was okay with it and asked you out on a proper date, then.

That was almost half a year ago and you have met up regularly and even slept with each other since. He made you feel comfortable, safe and valued. Things you had never really had the pleasure of feeling with anybody, not even your friends. 

Of course you didn’t feel comfortable all the time, at least not about the way your body looked, but you did feel good with him beside you. Those were times where you could just be you, no matter what. Because Joby was always himself, too. He didn’t care about appearances or perfection or anything likewise. He only cared about being real. And he made you feel that.

After all, he’s proven to you time and time again that he wanted you to be ‘the realest you’ that you could currently be without any regrets. 

Which was why when you voiced your dismay about wanting to wear some clothes that were more revealing and even tight-fitting, but unable to do that because you felt uncomfortable just thinking about anyone seeing your body, Joby stopped you mid-sentence with a kiss to silence you.

“Baby, no,” he murmured, cradling your face in his hands and stroking his thumbs over your cheeks, “Listen. W-why don’t we, uh, go buy those clothes for you, huh? And, and, and, uh, you can just - you know - wear them around, um, me. You know I like the way you look. I’d, uh, love to see you in those outfits.” With the way his stutter came out during his proposal, you knew he was nervous to say it, making you believe his words even more. 

Looking Joby into his eyes for a long moment, you sighed and kissed him, which he reciprocated instantly. 

“Is that a… yes?” he whispered once you broke the kiss.

Chuckling softly, you nodded, “Yeah. Thank you, babe.”

“For what?”

“For making me feel better. For letting me be, well, me. For allowing me to be comfortable around you. Just, thank you.” It all shot out of you so quickly. After all, you’d always wanted to thank him for those things.

“Hey, you have really nothing to thank me for,” he said softly, “I love you, you know? Uh, I wouldn’t want you to be miserable when you’re with me.”

Your mouth opened in shock.

“You love me?”

“What? Of course I do,” he responded immediately.

“But you never said it before,” you retorted, then.

“I- uh, yeah, I was nervous. Didn’t wanna move too fast for you.” He looked slightly embarrassed at that.

Beaming at him, you finally said what’s been burning on your tongue for a while now, “I love you, too, Joby.”

Smiling, he gave a sigh of relief before kissing you again, putting all the passion and love he felt for you into it. 

______

A couple of days later, the two of you went to the mall to buy those clothes you’ve been eyeing. 

Inside the store, it was quick work to pick out each item. A few shirts and a few pairs of pants. The shirts were tight-fitting, revealing even. The pants were also more on the close fitting side than what you usually wore. 

You knew what sizes to get and so you didn’t dare trying them on; even though Joby kept insisting on it. You told him you’d try them for him at home, but you didn’t want to do it at the store. Thus, he relented. 

At home, he put the bags in the bedroom. You followed him there, feeling nervous now that the prospect of you wearing them for him to see hung in the air.

“It’s okay if you don’t try them on right now, baby. I don’t wanna pressure you or anything,” he told you gently, coming up to you and putting his hands on your waist. 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it. Just, uh, promise me not to laugh if I look stupid, okay?” Your face grew hot. You doubted that he’d ever laugh at you, but the fear was still there, no thanks to all those people closest to you that did.

“I promise,” he said and crossed his heart, “Cross my heart. Okay?”

Nodding, you put your hands on his, squeezed them and removed them from your waist. Then, you picked up the bags and went into the bathroom to try on a pair of black jeans and a dark blue, tight-fitting shirt. 

Anxiously, you stood inside the bathroom. You were ready to come out and let him see you, but you were far too nervous. You looked stupid. It only accentuated everything you hated about your body. But at the same time, you liked that. You wanted to own it. 

So many people in your life have taken a piece of your self-esteem and self-love and exchanged them with their opposites, leaving you with years and years of feeling terrible and uncomfortable, such as hard work to put it all back together the way it was supposed to be. It wasn’t fair. And you wanted to finally feel good about yourself again; especially in clothes you wanted to wear.

“Y/N? Baby, are you okay?” Joby called through the door, gently rapping his knuckles against it. 

“Y-yeah! I’ll be out in a minute, sorry,” you responded, wincing slightly. You were safe with him. You knew that. You just had to get over yourself. For yourself.

Softly, you heard Joby step back. You decided to go out and to show yourself to him, then.

With a deep breath, you opened the door and stepped out, not looking at Joby when you did. 

First, you only heard a sharp intake of breath from him. And then, “Wow. Just- wow. Baby, you’re so fucking hot!”

Surprised, you finally looked at him. 

“You really think so?” you asked in disbelief.

Joby nodded enthusiastically with a bright smile on his lips, “Fuck yeah! I mean it. You look so good.”

Unable to suppress your own smile, you thanked him softly.

Afterwards, you showed off all other pieces to him, feeling more comfortable and at ease with each one. 

In the end, Joby was the one who took off the last shirt and pants you had bought. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so good in your body.

[imagine--if]

not sure if this is the right place but i’d like a dano matchup ^_^

18 y.o, female, vegetarian, goth/punk/emo fashion style and music taste :-) i love coffee, art music, and the rain!!!

i’ve never done one of these before so i hope this is right O_O

(Yeah, you're in the right place!! Everything's absolutely fine 😊)

I match you with...

Joby Taylor!

Joby's kind of gothic in his own way - he listens to a lotta metal and he's in a band, so your styles would get along perfectly!

I feel like he might even try going vegetarian just cus you are, but he'll probably fail before the day's up 🤣

You paint each other's nails in dark colours a lot (you paint amazingly, he gets half the bottle around your fingers 😂🖤)

Yep, coffee's his go-to drink when he's forced to get up before noon every day lmao, and although he's not great with arty stuff other than music, Joby's really supportive and admiring whenever you're creating 😊

I'm sorry, but dancing in the rain??? Yep, he's up for it 😏

[smellydano]

nasty || joby taylor

joby taylor x afab!reader

warnings: nsft (mdni), choking, spitting, impact play, mouth fingering (?), hair pulling, rough sex, cumplay (kinda?), pls lmk if i should add more !!

synopsis: you meet joby at a bar after playing a show and have a nasty hookup 😳

word count: 2555

a/n: i got CARRIED AWAY with this ,, he is so hot i want him to be inside love me ,, this is kinda bad i proofread but it’s a little repetitive but it’s fiiiiiine

“you’re so hot, fuck.” joby whispered as he trailed sloppy kisses down your neck.

you just met this guy at the bar not even 2 hours ago, and he’s already in your apartment, in your bed, making you weak.

the night started with a local band playing at a bar, your friends dragged you out to go for some drinks and see a show after a long week. after sitting at a table for a while, you’ve downed a couple drinks.

the band enters the stage, the greasy lead singer grabbing the microphone at the top of the stage, guitar hanging off his shoulder, “hey, we’re-uh, snake trouble.” the lanky guy introduced themselves, very monotone. they start to play a couple songs, when you noticed the lead was staring right at you. you locked eyes for a moment, then breaking it with an eye roll. you didn’t hate band guys, but you knew most of them were grimy douchebags who usually just tried to get into as many girls pants as they could.

you and your friends left your table to hang by the bar, the building getting slightly more crowded from usual show attendees and people looking to get drunk on a friday night.

as the band concludes their set, they start putting away their instruments and packing up, while the usual bar music played. the main singer picked up a beer from the side of the stage and took a swig, looking over at you for what felt like the hundredth time. you caught him staring again and laughed, giving him a slight smile. this gave him the confidence to stroll up next to you at the bar. you watched as his lanky frame covered with a leather jacket walk towards the bar.

“hey, uh, what’s your name?” he asked awkwardly, shifting towards you. chuckling, you playfully scoffed, “(y/n), what’s yours?” you looked at him, taking a sip of your drink. he watched as you placed the glass down, “joby, joby taylor.” you nodded and hummed as your response. you turned over to your friends to catch the conversation, but he coughed, clearly trying to get your attention.

you huffed and turned your body towards him this time, looking at him with eyebrows raised. “so uhh, did you like the show?” he asked, taking a drink.

“yeah, it was, you weren’t too bad.” you trailed off, trying to give him the hint that you weren’t interested in his type. you knew exactly how these guys were. guys that are part of a band, no matter the size. they think they’re hot shit, super cocky. doing whatever to try and butter up some girl to take her home. you knew he needed some humbling. but you secretly started to like the minimal attention he gave you, throughout the show and now at the bar. but, you didn’t want to give him that idea. you didn’t want to boost his already inflated ego.

he looked at you, smiled as he licked his bottom lip. he knew you were playing hard to get. he saw it as a challenge. “thanks, i’ll take it as a compliment.”

“so uhh, what are you drinking?” he questioned. this guy doesn’t quit, you thought to yourself. in fact, he didn’t want to quit, he wanted to keep talking to you. he kept looking over at you during the show for a reason. he thought you were the hottest person in the bar.

“tequila sunrise, you?” you answered, leaning on the bar towards him.

“uhh, just a beer. just, uhh, whatever my drummer got me.” he stammered, a mix of his usual speech and alcohol flowing through him.

“sorry, i, uh, i get nervous talking to cute girls like you.” he looked at you and smirked, trying his absolute best to pull you. saw that coming, you chuckled awkwardly, respecting the attempt. “thanks, you’re pretty cute too i guess.” you teased, falling for his trap as much as you didn’t want to.

as you leaned over the bar to order another drink, he slyly looked lower to your ass. you handed over the cash to the bartender and moved over towards him again, catching his stare. he pulled himself out of his trance, looking back at you with a smile. you rolled your eyes and hit his chest. he smirked, watching your cheeks turn red.

for someone that was trying to play hard to get, you couldn’t stop giving him the attention he wanted. the way his leather jacket wrapped around him, his painted black nails around the neck of the brown glass bottle, the rings on his long fingers that clanked against it. you couldn’t stop thinking about his fingers, how they look, how they’d feel. how they’d work inside you.

your friend ended up ordering shots for you and the rest of your friends, it slid over to you as you looked at him. “i’ll take a shot as well.” he said to the bartender, who whipped up a shot in mere seconds. you looked at each other and took it together, slamming the tiny cup onto the bar. your face scrunched as you swallowed the potent liquid, coughing a little. as a chaser, you finished your drink you had sitting on the bar. he looked over at you and laughed, “don’t do shots often?” he said, comparing his reaction to yours, which was blank.

you giggled, shaking your head. “shut up, i don’t do them often!” you punched his arm, smiling at him. he smirked and rubbed his arm, pretending to be hurt.

after a while of random chatter, the recent consumption of alcohol taking over you, giving you more confidence. “hey, wanna go dance?”

he nodded quickly, finishing the half empty beer he had in his hand and slamming it on the bar. you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the crowded dance floor full of sweaty bodies, bored by deftones played as you stood facing him, swaying with him.

his hands slowly snaked their way to your hips, pulling you close to him. you could smell how surprisingly nice he smelt, like cologne and leather, maybe a little musk, but definitely mixed with sweat. his hands trailed to your ass, drumming along with the loud music that filled the bar.

he glanced down at you, leaning in to kiss you. you laughed at him, “what do you think you’re doing?” you teased him, you had him exactly how you wanted him, wanting you. he chuckled in a flirty tone, hands migrating to your waist, playing with the hem of your shirt. “what do you think i’m doing?” he teased back, giving you a stupid shit eating grin. you tilted your head, “that’s why i asked you.”

he rolled his eyes, pulling you in for a kiss. you were taken aback, but didn’t want to pull away. you leaned into the kiss, a hand grabbing your jaw. he broke the kiss, “do you want to get out of here?” the feeling of the courage from the alcohol made you want to say yes, but you knew you were gonna make him work for it.

“hmm, maybe. where would we go? what would we do?” you question him, looking at him in playful confusion. he grinned, “oh i have an idea…”

——

“you’re so hot, fuck.” joby whispered as he trailed sloppy kisses down your neck.

you two were on your half made bed, joby hovering over your frame, running his hand down your chest. he grasped at your breasts as he bit his lip, letting out a hum. “you have some really nice tits, babe.” he breathed out into your ear, you grabbed the back of his neck to pull him in closer. you wanted him so bad, but what happened about playing hard to get? as much as you wanted to deny any moves he tried to pull tonight, you wanted him to fuck the ever living shit out of you. you wanted him to do everything to you. you wanted him to do the nastiest shit to you.

he made his way back to your lips, rushing in for a sloppy kiss, shoving his tongue in your mouth immediately. you touched his tongue with yours, which drove him crazy. he explored your mouth as much as he could, before pulling up to breathe. “fuck.” he cursed, gripping your waist.

“what are you into?” you asked awkwardly between kisses, not sure how to ask him to absolutely destroy you in bed. he broke the kiss, looking at you with confusion. “uhh, i don’t know, whatever you want?” he exhaled, still leaning over you. he leaned back down to place kisses on your neck, making his way down to your collarbone. “i-i just want you to, maybe do some nasty shit w-with me.” you choked out, ready for him to be scared off and leave.

“whatever you say.” his words muffled from him making welts on your neck. you felt him smirk, running your fingers through his jet black hair.

he trailed his hands up your small tank top, pushing it up and off of you. he threw it on the ground and took off his jacket and top, throwing them in the same place as your shirt. as soon as he saw your tits, he replaced his hands with his mouth, sucking on your nipples, leaving marks all over your chest. you moaned, watching him mark you all over.

he lowered himself down towards your cunt, unbuttoning your pants and pulling them down and off of you. as he lifted himself up and pulled his pants down, you couldn’t help but noticed the bulge in his boxers. he slowly peeled them off as your mouth opened wide, a smirk crawled onto his face as his cock sprang up. “like what you see?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “shut up, just keep going.” you said as you pushed his head back down.

he pulled down your panties and groaned, “fuck, you’re this wet? already?” you blushed in embarrassment. he looked up and you and shook his head, smiling as he placed his lips on your cunt. he swirled slow circles on your clit, gaining a loud whine from you. this only fuelled his ego, something you wanted to take down a notch.

he pushed his nose against your clit, his tongue pushing against your hole. you gripped his long hair, moving with his head. he pushed his tongue inside and started fucking you with his tongue. you moaned and pulled at his hair.

you pulled his face out of your pussy by his hair, looking at him with desperation in your eyes. “i need you to fuck me, please. i need it bad.” you begged. he gripped your hips, pushing himself up over you. he held himself on his knees on the bed, pulling your cunt towards his cock. he pulled one of your legs over his shoulder, the other one resting on the bed. he pumped himself before slowly entering your pussy. you let out a loud moan, throwing your head back. you panted as he started thrusting in and out at a quick pace, holding your leg up high onto his chest, gripping it harshly.

“look at me.” he demanded, grabbing your jaw. you looked up at him, “open your mouth.” you followed his orders as he put his thumb in your mouth, pulling your mouth open. he looked into your eyes and got closer to your mouth, spitting into yours. you were shocked, but very turned on. he let go on your mouth, continuing his thrusts. “show me.” you opened your mouth with your tongue out, gaining a loud groan from him as he saw you swallowed the spit. “holy fuck, you’re so hot.”

his hips started slamming into you faster, his hand pinched your nipple as you let out a guttural moan. he rolled the bud in his fingers as he watched them bounce when his hips crashed against your pelvis. you let out a loud moan, grabbing his hand and bringing it to your throat. you looked at you with wide eyes, but wrapped his hand around it, choking you. he groaned, biting his lip and pushing harder. you wheezed from the lack of airflow, whines coming out as squeaks.

he pulled out quickly, dropping your leg to the bed. “give me your ass.” you flipped yourself over, getting on your knees and balancing yourself on your elbows. you arched your back, wiggling your bum in his direction. he laid a harsh smack on it, you whimpered at the sudden sting. he let out a dark laugh and placed a hand on your hip and pushed himself inside once again. he laid more rough slaps on your ass, spitting on it occasionally. you felt a burning sensation in the pit of your stomach, knowing you’re coming close to finishing.

he pushed your back down on the bed, grabbing your arms and placing them behind you. your head pressed in the sheets, he continued to slam into you while gripping your wrists together with force. “oh my god, joby!” you screamed into the mattress, then moved your head so your cheek was on the bed. joby adjusted himself so his knee was bent, giving him a better angle. he leaned over you to push the side of your head into the mattress, “you’re such a fucking slut.” he grunted as his cock reached deep inside you. you let out a yelp, panting heavy as your body felt light.

“fuck, your pussy’s so good.” he groaned, letting go on your wrists. you placed them back down on the bed as he pulled your head up by your hair. “ahh! joby please!” moans falling from your mouth. his hips started to slow down, you could feel he was close to cumming. you were also very close. “joby, please, i think i’m close!” you whined.

“fuck, just like that please keep going! ahh i’m gonna cum!” you cried out, feeling that oh so familiar feeling. he plowed into you hard, your pussy clenching around him. you felt his cock twitch, gripping your waist. all of the sudden, your orgasm washed over you, crying out in pleasure. you held onto the sheets, whining loudly as he kept pumping inside you.

“shit, i’m gonna cum.” he fucked out your high then pulled out, jerking himself fast until he splattered all over your back and ass. he let out a series of grunts, groans and growls. he slowly finished himself off, catching his breath.

he took his fingers and swiped some of his cum off your back. with his hand still grabbing your hair, he pulled you up against him and placed them in front of your mouth. without hesitation, you opened your mouth wide. he slid his fingers inside against your tongue, sliding them in. you choked on them as he pushed them further. he pulled them out, letting you down onto the bed. you flopped onto your stomach, slipping your hands under the pillow under you.

“that was, nasty.” you giggled, looking over at him as he fell down to his side, letting out a huge sigh. he chucked as he saw your back, his cum plastered all over you.

“yeah, i-uh, get freaky.” he chuckled.

——

NOT THE KLITZ REFERENCE ,, i’m so sorry that was so cringe

requests always open! (i promise i’m working on my requests anons :D) pls like/reblog if u liked this! ty for reading 🖤🍄🧚🏻

[danowh0re]

༄❀ - 𝐏𝐀𝐔𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐎

Literally taking requests anytime! I only write gn and male reader. Fluff, angst and smut is all welcomed! ☟︎︎

Haven't wrote for jimmy tree, David Sweat, but i am taking requests for them too!!

One shots!!

❤︎ - (Calvin weir-fields) trans!reader (ftm) grinding on knee while calvin is writing (nsfw)

❤︎ - (Calvin weir-fields) male!cis!reader annoying Calvin while writing and he ends up doing something about it (nsfw)

Series!!!

❤︎ - (Edward nashton) being close with waiter!reader

Headcanons/concepts!!!

❤︎ - (Alex jones) character hcs

❤︎ - (alex Jones) in a relationship

❤︎ - (Alex Jones) crushing on reader

❤︎ - (Alex jones) crafting

❤︎ - ( Brian f.f.n) relationship

❤︎ - (Brian f.f.n) cuddling

❤︎ - (Brian f.f.n) road trip

❤︎ - (luis ives) bf treating his princess

❤︎ - (percy dolarhyde) wooing y/n

❤︎ - (percy dolarhyde) relationship

❤︎ - (Calvin weir-fields) relationship

❤︎ - (Calvin weir-fields) partner with daddy kink (nsfw)

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) relationship

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) first kiss

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) meeting his family

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) dwayne crushing

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) social s/o | part 2

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) cuddling

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) finding out he's colourblind

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) y/ns birthday

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) y/n having a nightmare

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) y/n having a panic attack

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) y/n being short

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) teaching German

❤︎ - (hank Thompson) male reader relationship

❤︎ - (hank Thompson) icons/gifs

❤︎ - (jay - okja) relationship

❤︎ - (Edward nashton) having a dog

❤︎ - (Edward nashton) s/o with glasses

❤︎ - (Edward nashton) comforting y/n

❤︎ - (Edward nashton) eddie x Bruce x reader having a panic attack

❤︎ - (Edward nashton) y/n talking about interest

❤︎ - (eli sunday) relationship

❤︎ - (eli sunday) crushing

❤︎ - (eli sunday) crushing on male reader

❤︎ - (joby taylor) relationship headcanons

❤︎ - (joby taylor) first kiss

❤︎ - (joby taylor) comforting y/n

❤︎ - (klitz) crushing on goth reader

❤︎ - (klitz) dating him

❤︎ - (klitz) dating opposite

❤︎ - (klitz) comforting soulmate

Moodboards/gifs/icons!!!

❤︎ - (Brian f.f.n) gifs

❤︎ - (nick flynn) icons/gifs

❤︎ - (klitz) gifs

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) smiling icons

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) icons

❤︎ - (dwayne hoover) icons/gifs

❤︎ - (joby taylor) layout

❤︎ - (jay - okja) gifs | part 2 | part 3

❤︎ - (Edward nashton) icons | part 2

❤︎ - (paul dano) gifs

❤︎ - (percy dolarhyde) gifs

❤︎ - (eli sunday) icons

Prompts!!!

❤︎ - (klitz) nsfw headcanons

❤︎ - (eli sunday) nsfw headcanons

[the-a-word-2214]

Broken Hearts

summary: loosely based on the character Joby Taylor in For Ellen. (Y/N) meets a drifting musician at a bar.

pairing: Joby Taylor x reader

word count: 887

soundtrack: The Diary of Jane (acoustic)

warnings: language, mention of sex, suggestive dialogue, mention of divorce

The tight skirt you wore hugged your thighs as you sat down at the dimly lit bar. Your best friend had urged you to go, so you begrudgingly said yes.

“Please! Just do it for me, you’ve gotta get back out there babe.”

She pleaded to you earlier in the day. She practically threw an unbearably short skirt at you to wear.

With your pepper spray on hand, you set off for the bar that was a few streets away from your house. You knew it wasn’t going to be crowded, so you opted for that one.

You spotted an empty seat in between a dark-haired person and a man that could only resemble a pedophile.

“A whiskey sour please.”

The bartender mixes your drink before putting it on a napkin in front of you.

“Can’t handle your alcohol, can you?”

The man in black speaks up as he takes a swig from his beer.

“‘Scuse me? What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well I just mean that you can’t take your whiskey straight. A whiskey sour is pretty diluted. You can barely taste the alcohol.”

A smirk toys at your lips as you nod.

“Touché.”

He takes the last swig from his bottle before ordering another. You look at him from the corner of your eye, his dark clothes and black nail polish intrigued you. The many rings on his hands accented his slim fingers. You wondered what his fingers could do to you...

“You see something that you like?” He cocks an eyebrow up at you as he pulls out his equally black wallet to set down his dollar bill for the beer.

“Hm? Oh uh no. I guess not.” You rub the back of your neck and mentally curse yourself for looking so obvious.

“Well, if you are, maybe we could swing by mine.” He’s awfully cocky, isn’t he?

You sigh, tapping your fingernails against the wood of the bar that you’re leaning over.

“Yeah, I’d like that. It’s not everyday that you meet a broody guy like you, huh?” He smiles and slaps down another bill for your drink.

You drive with him back to his house, a quaint little place. You fiddle with your mittens as you pull into his snowy driveway. He takes off his aviator sunglasses before folding them and hanging them off of his shirt.

He gets out and opens your door, you finally see his face this time. Expressive eyebrows and somber eyes, your favorite.

“Thanks.” You take his hand as he leads you inside, his hand slipping into your back pocket almost immediately. Before he knows it, you’re wrapping your legs around his waist as he tugs your towards his bedroom.

——————————————————

You gently stroke the face of the man that you fell asleep with, in his bed. He slowly opens his eyes and smiles at you, pressing kisses to the hand on his face.

He sat up and grabbed the acoustic guitar that sat next to the bed. He began writing down lyrics on a bent notebook that he kept on his bedside table.

“So you really are a musician. I just thought it was an act.”

He strums a few chords before tuning the instrument in his lap. By this point, you’d seen nearly all of his tattoos except for the one that sat on his shoulder blades.

You bit your lip in thought, recalling all of the heated memories from last night.

Your head came up to rest on his shoulder, your arms wrapping around his waist.

“Could you play me a little something?”

He begins with a soft tune, his mouth finding some of the missing lyrics as he goes along.

“If I had to, I would put myself right beside you”

“So let me ask you, would ya like that? Would ya like that?”

He starts off softly before the tune and lyrics swell into a chorus that is equally as haunting. If you didn’t have any clouded judgement, you’d think that he had a hit on his hands.

“May I ask who Jane is?”

He stops, touching the strings. His eyes search yours as though he were looking for something.

“She’s my daughter. My ex won the custody battle during our divorce. The story is about a guy searching for a girl that he can’t have. It’s not about romance, it’s about my relationship with my daughter.”

His words grow quieter as he speaks the last sentence.

“I’m sorry, that sounds terrible.” You touch his shoulder as he offers you a small smile.

“It’s fine, I’ll find a way to see her one day.”

This drifter before you was much more than a failed musician. He was a broken soul who just needed mending to get back on his feet again. Your heart leapt as he pulled you into his warm embrace.

You cradled his head as he traced shapes on your shoulder.

“Could I treat you to some breakfast? I think I’ve got some eggs in the fridge. I’m pretty sure I’ve got some orange juice too.”

You nod as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

He pulls on his sweatpants and stalks towards the kitchen. This stranger was making you breakfast...what a pleasant surprise for an evening that started off bitter.

[eve18ahs]

Joby Taylor x femreader

love is all I need

Y/n and Joby have been together for 8 months they met 2 weeks after the divorce. They met at bar he was in the corner and she didn't want him to be alone so she joined him. The became friends but there was romantic and sexual feelings but they never talked about it. So by together they were roommates and friends. But deep down Joby had to fight the arge to rip off her clothes and fuck her until she wet and weak for him. And for Y/n she thought of him everywhere she went worried if he was ok. But there was no denying she wanted to pin him to the bed and ride his dick and mouth. They had separate bedrooms so the two could play with themselves but the other one not knowing that one another was thing about them while masturbating.

One day while Y/n was making pizza Joby ran in and crashed his lips to her's "Y/n I want you so bad I want to feel you and taste you." Y/n let him because she knew he would slow down soon giving her a better chance to kiss him "Joby fuck me. I love you you fucking handsome dork." So he turned off the oven and they ended up naked in bed playing with each other's hair. Her love was want he need she needed his too.

[babybluebex]

Hey I love ur writing 😭💕 I was wondering could u write a fic for Joby Taylor where he sees you at a bar with ur friends and wants to take u home (which u do bc duh it’s fuckin joby) :P I feel like joby would be so good in bed.

i finally wrote this lol it's a bit of a fade to black situation bc i can't be assed to write a full smut scene rn

You typically didn’t go for guys like him. You yourself were pretty clean-cut and you usually went for guys that were the same way, but your friend’s elbowing and nudging and whispers of “The singer’s so hot” couldn’t be ignored. She was right after all; the singer was hot. He was the kind of hot that made your stomach turn and your legs tingle, especially when his dark hair fell into his eyes as he sang. You didn’t want to admit how hot he was, though, and you clapped as the band finished their song. 

“Thanks for coming out,” the singer said into the microphone. The venue wasn’t huge, just an average-sized bar, and you hadn’t even intended to see the band perform. You and your friend Chelsea had only meant to meet for drinks after work, and the band got onstage as you finished your second glass of wine. The crowd that did seem to come for the band had dwindled since the start, people much more alternative than you’d ever think to be, and you watched the singer turn and say something to the guitar player. The guitar player nodded, and the singer returned to the microphone. “We’ve got one more song tonight, this one’s… It’s called For Ellen.” 

It was a slower song, still as rock as the other ones, and you watched him as he grabbed the microphone and wet his lips. He looked out at the crowd as the guitar intro played, and you fell breathless when his eyes seemed to lock on you. There was no way he saw you, though; you were in the very back of the venue, sitting at the bar with Chelsea. You had almost successfully convinced yourself that he was just looking in your direction, and then he winked one of those dark eyes at you. 

“Jesus Christ,” Chelsea said. “Did he just wink at you?” 

“Apparently,” you mumbled. “I don’t think it was at me, I think it was… I don’t know.”

“I think he did,” Chelsea said as he began to sing. “Are you gonna try to talk to him after the show?”

“Fuck that,” you laughed. “If he comes and talks to me, sure, but I’m not fuckin’ going to him.”

“Think you’ll fuck him?” Chelsea asked, and you laughed again, this time at her audacity. 

“I don’t plan on it,” you said. “But, like I said, if he comes up and talks to me, y’know. Whatever. We’ll see what happens.” 

The conversation ended there, and you finished your drink as you watched the band perform. Everyone was stellar at their roles, the guitarist and drummer and bassist all talented, but the singer drew your eye more than anything. He wore black jeans that didn’t quite fit his slender frame, with a white belt that did little to actually do its job, along with a white tank top and a black hoodie. The stage lights glinted off of the necklaces earrings he wore, and he continually pushed the same strand of blackish-brown hair behind his ear. You couldn’t see him well enough to discern an eye color or much of anything else about him physically, but Chelsea was right: he was hot. He was a good singer too, singing about someone that he loved and lost, likely the Ellen that the song was named after, and you made a note to compliment his voice, if he did in fact come up to you after the show. 

The song ended and he finished his singing, and the bar clapped as he did a little half-bow. “We’ve been Snake Trouble,��� he said. “Thanks for coming out tonight, we appreciate it.” 

“Snake Trouble,” you echoed as the singer hopped offstage. “That’s a shitty band name.” 

Chelsea shrugged. “You should tell him that,” she said. “He’s coming over here.”

“Oh, God,” you groaned, turning back to the bar. “Here we go.” 

You felt his presence next to you, and he quickly called out to the bartender: “Can I get another PBR?” Then, you finally turned and looked at him. He was much taller than you anticipated, and you smiled when you found him already looking at you. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said. “You like the show?” 

“It was good,” you nodded, sipping at your wine. “Not what I usually listen to, but it was good.” 

“That’s cool,” he said, and he exchanged money for the brown beer bottle that landed in his hand. “There’s something about live music, y’know? Makes you rethink what you like and know.”

“For sure,” you said. “I really liked that last song, For Ellen.”

The singer nodded and took a drink, and he said, “Yeah, it’s… It’s one of the more personal songs on our record. S’bout my daughter.”

“Aw,” you cooed. “That’s sweet. How old is she?” 

He watched you for a moment, just long enough for you to gauge the green-brown hues of his eyes, and he shook his head as he laughed humorlessly. “I’m not drunk enough for that yet,” he said. “What’s your name, babygirl?” 

Usually, you would have protested to the nickname, but the way his voice dripped like sweet honey, his mouth situated in a half-smile, made you swallow down your protest. Damn Chelsea, she had you clocked from the start. If he wanted to fuck, you’d agree. You told him your name and, when he repeated it, testing it out, you swear that you had never heard your name said so beautifully. “I’m Joby,” he told you. 

“Joby,” you echoed, pulling the same stunt that he had with you, and you watched his back straighten as your lips wrapped around his name. Joby. It was a good name. “Nice to meet you, Joby.” 

“Nice to meet you too, babygirl,” Joby said. He took another sip of his beer, and he grunted gently before he swallowed, wanting to keep your attention during the silence. “I’ve never seen you around here before.” 

“I typically don’t go to rock shows,” you told him. “Or bars. But, y’know, a hard day at work, we need a drink.” You looked over at Chelsea, only to find her out of her seat, leaving it empty. “Jesus, where’d she go?”

“Oh, your friend,” Joby said. “Yeah, she’s over at the stage, talking to James.” You turned again and found your friend exactly where Joby said, sitting on the edge of the stage and flirting with the guitar player. You silently cursed at her for leaving you alone, but you turned back to Joby quickly. 

“Guess that gives us some alone time, huh?” you said, and laughed when Joby nodded enthusiastically. “Anyway, how do you know that I don’t come here often? Do you keep a tally of all the chicks that come in?”

“Only the ones worth keeping track of,” Joby said with that same half-smile as before. “And you fit the bill.”

“Right,” you chuckled. “Well, I hate to tell you, but I’m not really worth keeping an eye on, especially your eye.”

“Why not?” Joby asked, his eyes narrowing playfully. 

You hummed for a second, thinking, and you said, “Because I think your band name sucks,” you replied. “Because I’m not really your type and you’re not really my type either.”

“My band name sucks?” Joby repeated, and you smiled as you nodded. 

“Snake Trouble? I mean, come on,” you sighed. “It sounds like you found a band name generator online and went with the first name it gave you.” 

“Alright, alright,” Joby said. “So, you hate my band. No trouble, baby. You did say you liked the last song, though.”

“It was the only one I liked,” you shrugged, and Joby feigned offense, his mouth opening and eyebrows furrowing. You laughed at him, and he dramatically put down his beer bottle. 

“I can’t believe this!” Joby gasped. “The hottest girl here hates my music! This is— What a tragedy! I can’t believe it!” 

“Whatever, calm down,” you smiled and took a sip of your drink. “I thought you looked hot, so that’s what matters.” 

“But you just said I’m not your type,” Joby argued, and you sighed.

“Being hot and being my type aren’t mutually exclusive,” you said. “I can appreciate that you’re an attractive guy and still not want to fuck you. That’s the only reason you came over to me anyway, right? To try to get in my pants?” 

“Fuck, you’re good,” Joby mumbled, rubbing his jaw in faux-defeat. “Yes, okay. Maybe that was the only reason I came over here, but, now that I’m here, I just like talking to you.” 

“Bullshit,” you replied, and Joby laughed. “Alright, let’s pretend I was into you. What would you do next?” 

“Okay,” Joby said, taking a drink of his beer and setting the bottle back on the wood top bar. “So, if you were into me, next, I’d ask you if you knew how to play pool, and you’d say you didn’t, and I’d insist on teaching you.” 

“So, do it,” you said. “Teach me.” 

“It’s less teaching and more just shoving my dick into your hip,” Joby admitted, those green eyes flashing with mischief, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I’d kiss you at some point, and by that time, you’ve been in my arms and felt my dick, and you’d beg me to take you home.” 

“Joby,” you said. “Teach me. It’ll lower your ego to strike out, you could do with a smaller ego.” 

“I don’t strike out,” Joby told you as he helped you down from the bar stool, his hand pressed flat against your back. “I’ve had more wins than losses.”

“Whatever,” you said, and you let Joby lead you to the pool table. Truthfully, you had no idea how to play pool, and, while you didn’t exactly intend for Joby to actually teach you, you would go by your own philosophy that it would be good for him to be brought down a few pegs. The table was unoccupied, the small crowd in the bar focused on other things, and Joby retrieved a pool cue from the wall.

“You ready?” he asked, holding out the cue to you, and you sighed. 

“Alright, I’ll be honest,” you said. “I actually don’t know how to play pool. You legitimately need to teach me.” 

Joby did that half-smile of his and rolled his eyes, and he said, “Alright. Just so you know, that’ll make it harder for you to say no to me.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” you told him. “C’mon, do your little shtick, let’s see it.” 

“At least pretend like you want it,” Joby said under his breath, and he was quick to press himself against your back, his hands gliding along your arms until he had you fully enveloped in his arms. “You hold the cue like this, okay? And…” He took a step forward, pressing himself fully against your back, and your breath hitched when you felt him against your ass, already deliciously hard. “Lean forward a little, so you can actually shoot, y’know.” 

“Jesus,” you giggled, and you instantly hated yourself for it. It was such a cliche thing to do, especially when you were supposed to be resisting his charms. You weren’t actually impressed by the feel of his hard dick pressing against you, were you? “It doesn’t take a lot to get you started, does it?” you added, hoping to play off your involuntary reaction as part of the ribbing. 

“Well, not when I’ve got such a pretty girl in my arms,” Joby chuckled, and you flushed at his words. “Oh, you like that? When I call you pretty?”

“At least we know you have good taste in women,” you said. Even though you were trying your hardest to laugh him off, he had you cornered. You really didn’t like him, did you? Was it just because he was hot? That had to be it. 

“Good taste, huh?” Joby said, and he smiled. “I bet you taste good.”

“Oh, creative word play,” you scoffed, but his arms held onto you in a way that made you feel weak in the knees. It was getting harder and harder to resist him, but you had to keep your wall up, at least for just a few more minutes.

“Would you let me?” Joby asked, those big green eyes widening as he titled his head curiously. 

“Let you do what?” you asked coyly, and Joby sighed. 

“You’re making me work for this, aren’t you?” he laughed in amusement. 

“The fun’s in the chase, right?” you offered, and you finally broke free of his grasp, pushing the pool cue fully into his hands. You started to move back to the bar, to your drink and seat, and you cast him a look over your shoulder as you settled back on your stool. 

“I thought you said that you didn’t want to fuck me,” Joby said as he siddled up next to you, grabbing his own beer back. 

You shrugged. “Maybe the tide turned,” you said. “Try me.”

Joby licked his lips and bit his bottom lip for just a moment, examining you, looking you up and down. If it was ten minutes ago, you would have hated how obviously he was checking you out, but it was just part of his charm now. The hot, greasy singer from the band was totally into you, and you just might be into him too, as long as he didn’t fumble his offer. Finally, he released his lip and moved closer, pressing himself right up against you, and he brought his mouth just inches away from your ear. “I wanna take you home,” he whispered, and you shivered as his hand snaked up and down your thigh, his finger lingering deliciously. “I’ll eat your pussy, see if you taste as good as you look.”

“And you’d fuck me?” you asked, and Joby nodded. 

“Oh, babygirl, I’ll fuck you,” Joby whispered. “I’ll fuck you so hard that you won’t even remember my name. You won’t be able to walk tomorrow, you’ll just be all weak and pathetic and begging for more. So… How about it, sugar?” 

“Damn!” you exclaimed. “I wanted so bad not to want you, but… You drive a hard bargain, baby.” 

[danosrosegarden]

zombie - joby taylor x gn!reader headcanons (NSFW) ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{kinktober: day two. prompt: choking. 🎃}

{contains: joby sucking at communication and aftercare, a fairly toxic relationship, descriptions of fingering (genitals/gender not specified), and mild descriptions of breathplay, of course.}

☽ Being Joby Taylor's lover was complicated business. He would fill your nights with a windstorm of blazing, bedazzled color; so blindingly bright he was, flying into your life and colliding with your tender heart at a million miles per hour, coloring your blood with sparkling supernova dust. But then he was gone in the morning, leaving you to mourn the empty, wrinkled sheets of the bed on your sunray-speckled lonesome. You'd close the blinds and block the shimmering sunshine to brood in the darkness of your bedroom. What were you doing wrong? Why did he always leave without a text, without a call, without a kiss, without a single trace left behind? And for Christ's sake, why did you keep crawling back?

☽ Maybe it was because he was a fucking disease, blackening your lungs and gnawing away at the meat. He was a festering zombie bite; you could feel the skin rotting away at the teeth marks, could smell the stench of decay in the air, could practically taste the mold growing in your body. He was pervasive, grabbing tight hold of every one of your thoughts and spinning it into desire for more of him. You'd normally turn your nose up at guys like him. You were too busy and accomplished to play into their schemes.

☽ Yes, he'd fuck you rough all night until your whole body trembled and your throat was stripped raw and hoarse, then he'd leave when the rising sun wavered low in the sky and you were fast asleep, and yes, that made you so angry, you could spit. But there was something darkly addictive about the cycle. And maybe he didn't even mean to be cruel...maybe there was something inside of him that was aching. Maybe he'd watch your sleeping body rise and fall, maybe he'd trace the dip of your waist, and it would all reek too heavily of what he'd done before. Maybe he was just scared.

☽ Any which way, there was no room to complain in the midst of the process...he was far too busy with making you twitch and plead for more to listen to your accusations. And fuck, was he good at what he did. Nothing filled you up like those long, bony, black polished fingers. He knew just the spots to brush against that made you cry out and beg for more, please, give me more.

☽ Joby brought out all that was hungry and wild from deep inside of you. Were you even into half of the shit you were into now before you two had met?

☽ You suppose it was about the trust. What's sexier than placing your life into the hands of your partner? And you trusted him enough that when those icy, slender hands wrapped themselves around your throat and pushed, you could feel the sparks shooting between your legs.

☽ He'd let you breathe in short bursts, only allowing for a couple gulps of air before pressing down again. It was thrilling; he was normally so lax about everything. The bedroom was the one place he could really just let go and be wild.

☽ Was it even fair to expect you to leave when he was such an expert at clogging your veins with those filthy thoughts of his hands around your throat? It was as if you were under a spell, bound forever to mindlessly stumble for his scent and follow his trail. Did you ever have a chance of breaking the cycle when it was him?

[danosrosegarden]

asking nicely - joby taylor x gn!reader headcanons (NSFW) ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{kinktober: day eighteen. prompt: edging. 🎃}

{contains: switchy sex and descriptions of edging/orgasm denial.}

☽ Thrilling. Bewitching. It was gripping, getting to push Joby's buttons. He was accustomed to tugging your hair back, spitting in your mouth, pinning your hands down and watching you squirm...anything that pushed you down to bend at his will turned him on.

☽ He would never tell you how much electrified pleasure it brought him to see you taking control, but honestly, he didn't need to. His writhing body and breathy groans said it all for him.

☽ But sometimes it was a daunting challenge, having to ask nicely, having to forfeit his sweetest pleases and thank yous, having to be a good boy for you. He wasn't exactly used to that surrender of power yet. All he knew was the wavering shock that surged through his body when you snatched your pumping hand away from him boiled his blood in the most magically erotic way possible.

☽ His fingers gripped the sheets tightly and his thighs trembled something wild as your slick hand abruptly quit stroking him again. He threw his head back and bucked up into the air, desperate for any amount of relief. He was at the breaking point where he'd do anything just to feel the wave of built-up warmth crash over his body.

☽ In his head swam plans, bubbling dreams of torturing you when he took his rightful place back. He'd hold your orgasm over your head, swing it from side to side and watch your big, tear-glossed eyes dart to follow its movement. See how you like it.

☽ He nearly broke out in hysterically tired, achingly crazed laughter when he heard the sound of his own begging ringing in his ears. Please, please, please...he was a scratched record, skipping over and over, pathetically praying for release. He despised how whiny he sounded. He felt like an obnoxious brat. And maybe that's what got him so hard and leaking...getting the rare chance to hear his voice break with desire. To feel his mind melt with passion and need. To jerk and wiggle in your arms. To feel safe and comfortable while doing all this. Protected. Nurtured. Cared for.

☽ And maybe just a dash humiliated. He's not admitting he likes that, though. ;-)

[always-andromeda]

Hi Meda! 🥰

I wanted to write a little Christmas blurb for Joby, but I thought sharing it with you was a great idea since I love how you write and I particularly love your Joby fics 🖤

I wrote on my notes "Christmas Joby fic where he's all grumpy but discover the Christmas spirit thanks to the reader"

Just a fluffy Christmas fic idea hihi

I would love to read your version of this!

Have the nicest day 💕

– 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐉𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭・2,410

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲・you're a mean one, Joby Taylor...

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞・this is just a little thing that I wanted to put out since the holidays haven't been super fun this year and writing Joby always makes things better lol. I haven't done a bunch of writing since getting covid so we're trying to get back into the swing of things. thank you dearly for this request, odd! and I hope you had a lovely holiday! (and lmao not me mentioning my own personal inserts for Joby's bandmates and sprinkling in my headcanons for his childhood; just indulge in my holiday fluff and move on y'all lol)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・Joby doesn't understand the Christmas spirit, bits of angst, but mostly just pure comfort and fluff, nothing else I can think of!

Joby takes a long drag from his cigarette. Then let the burn of smoke replace the odd emptiness in his lungs. He's still cold; still freezing inside the too thin material of his leather jacket. The lining manages to hold the stench of tobacco better than any sort of heat. Steps away from his own apartment, he can easily seek the solace of an insulated room.

Yet, he keeps himself at a distance, whittling down his cigarette. These days never seem to end. Since the shift of fall to winter, you've been in a bright, ineffable mood. Every time you had to do anything, holiday music became your soundtrack. The Christmas tree that you'd wanted now lit up a corner of his apartment. A corner that was usually delegated for dirty clothes that he needed to bring to the laundry room. The stench of stale take-out is now replaced by the scent of sugar cookies. Or snow clinging to the limb of a pine tree. Whatever bullshit candle you'd picked up from the store while grocery shopping.

Each of these things were foreign to him. Sure, he knew about the hallmarks of the holidays. But he knew it like a song that he couldn't quite grasp the lyrics of. Though he could hum the tune, the words themselves escaped him. He can't think of a time where he'd known this kind of warmth. Joby spent most of his holidays on the road. He'd found family in the shitty bars his band played cheap Christmas Eve shows for. There were plenty of other sad saps like him who had nothing better to do than spend the holidays wallowing in their own misery with drinking buddies.

As soon as you asked him what he wanted for Christmas, it hit him that no one had asked him that since he was little. And even then, it's not like he'd ever grown up with the means to receive the things on his wish list. Something about the question makes him recoil. It's a bit too close for comfort; he doesn't let himself get this deep into a relationship. But when it's you, it's disarmingly simple.

He thought he'd be immune when you both decorated the tree. He couldn't even bring himself to grumble when you asked him to put the star on the top. It only got worse when your kisses started tasting of peppermint, marshmallow, and mocha. That had him leaning a bit more into you every time, searching for that warmth he didn't know he'd even wanted. That craving scares the hell out of him.

It's why he takes this breather on Christmas morning. It's why part of him hopes that he freezes to death on the porch before he has to go back inside. Because part of him is terrified of those frigid defenses melting away. But his cigarette has nearly burned down to the filter.

Joby breathes out the last puff of smoke with a small cough and flicks the butt off into the snow. It disappears along with his excuse to avoid the inevitable. Because, in truth, the prospect of exchanging gifts with you makes him feel nearly as lightheaded and overwhelmed as a night out after a long show.

Turning to open the door, he's immediately greeted with the scent of sugar and spice from cinnamon rolls you'd put in the oven. Then there's the slow melody of Christmas music playing in the kitchen. It's all sleigh bells and the sound of a choir, a genre that he isn't particularly fond of, but he'll tolerate it today.

"Are you finally ready to open presents?" you ask eagerly, lips curling into a hopeful smile. You're over in the corner of the living room, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, practically rocking back and forth with excitement like a little kid.

"Yeah, let's get it over with," Joby grumbles, grabbing the Santa hat he'd set down on the coffee table before stepping outside. He pulls it snug over the top of his head and sits beside you.

"Jesus, Mr. Grinch, you smell like a goddamn smokestack this morning."

Joby leans over and gives an exaggerated grin, "Grinch? Does that mean I've got garlic in my teeth too?"

"Oh my god," you chuckle. "That is not the lyric."

"Then what's the lyric?"

"You've got termites in your smile. The garlic's in your soul, baby," you tap his nose and he scrunches it, shooting you a mocking look.

"Hey, you're lucky I even stayed awake during that shit. Cut me a little slack."

With mock offense, you gasp. "Never. How the Grinch Stole Christmas is a classic cartoon and it's not my fault you were raised in the wild without it." Though your tone is teasing, the jab doesn't hit him that way. That's another part of Christmas that is lost on him. He had no clue that there were traditions. Holiday movies that you watched regularly. Little activities that you did with loved ones. Christmas carols that you were supposed to know like the back of your hand. All things that weren't priorities when you were raised by a single mother that usually worked over the holidays.

You notice how quiet he gets over the joke and quickly correct yourself, "That was mean, I'm sorry. Let's get to presents, yeah?"

Joby sniffs, feigning no resentment at the remark. "If you can't wait any longer, then tear it up, princess." He shrugs with a bit of a smirk.

"Okay!" you exclaim, bending over to pull the two wrapped presents from under the tree. You both promised to keep it simple, fully aware that the band's merchandise sales wouldn't have supported an overly indulgent holiday. But you assured him up and down that that would be okay. The cost and quantity of presents didn't matter as long as you got to share the day with him. You'd managed to reiterate that philosophy throughout all of your time with him. You didn't care it he was broke or if he managed to win the lottery on one of the dozens of scratch tickets he bought over the course of a month. As long as he stayed your Joby, you didn't care.

You hand the present you'd wrapped in green patterned paper and topped with a shimmery gold bow to your boyfriend, watching his expression shift from his usual nonchalance to a new nervousness. It only deepens when he glances at you as you inspect his wrapping job on your own present.

Truly, you weren't planning on saying anything more about his wrapping abilities. The more you talked about what you wanted to do with him for the holidays, the more you learned that he didn't really get to experience any of that. So, there was a good chance that nobody ever taught him how to wrap a gift, period. But you couldn't hold back a snicker when you noticed that he'd taped up practically every messily folded edge of the wrapping paper. The pattern was striped red and white like a candy cane. And guessing by the crushed green bow on top and the bashed in corners of the box, you assumed that he'd had it bouncing around the back of his car for a few days before it made it underneath the tree.

Joby blinked quickly and cleared his throat before saying slowly, "Sorry about the wrap job. It's not nearly as good as yours is."

You snort, not being able to find any sort of disappointment inside you to show anything but endearment towards his effort. "No, It's super cute. I like how you chose the biggest bow you possibly could. Very...imposing," you joke. "Maybe next year I'll teach you how to use a little less tape though." You begin your struggle to tear the paper off of the box.

The promise of next year makes Joby's stomach twist and turn. It takes a few more seconds for him to redirect his attention to the gift in his lap. The rectangular package was smaller than yours and he couldn't help but feel partially relieved at that. And even though he was deliberately moving at a snail's pace, the immense amount of tape you were working with ensured that he opened the present in his lap before you opened yours.

That's when he realizes that the package isn't a box, but a book. A book with your handwriting scrawled across the front in black marker saying: Our Memories. With a trembling hand, Joby opens the book and skims over the inscription on the inner cover.

I know this isn't much. But I love being with you and I hope this shows you that. Because you're kind of cool or whatever sometimes. I'm just being stupid. I love you. Merry Christmas, Joby. ♡

As he flips through the book, he takes in page after page filled with pictures from his shows. There's one of Joby and his bandmates backstage, laughing over some joke he doesn't remember. There's one of him holding his arms out for you after a show. There's one of you during a band practice awkwardly holding Joby's guitar while he watches you with an adoring eye. Amongst the pictures are little tokens from dates long since passed. Old receipts from fast food dinners in his car. You'd written lyrics from songs you'd listened to with him during late night drives. There are tickets from his shows that you insisted on buying even though he assured you that you could just go backstage with him for free. He momentarily wonders if that bit of your stubbornness was planned just for this. Joby wouldn't put it past you to be this thoughtful and sentimental.

"How did you...where did you get all of this stuff?" Joby laughs incredulously.

You smile hesitantly, "Oh, you know James takes insane amounts of pictures at like all of the gigs. So I just asked him to print a few. The rest I kind of just...already had saved?"

"You kept all of this?" Joby asks. It's not accusatory; it's more of him genuinely wondering. Wondering what makes him so special that someone would just decide that his dumb doodles on restaurant napkins would be so important that you'd keep them. Why you'd want to remember him at all is a bewildering thought.

"Of course," you scoff. "I like having little things that remind me of you." Like cherishing him is the most natural thing for you to do. But the excitement for the gift in front of you overpowers your urge to completely gush over him. Joby isn't much of a gift giver. His idea of a surprise is grabbing you snacks from the convenience store on his way home from getting gas. So the prospect of having some small thing directly from him already makes you want to scream.

You tug on the flaps to open the box and are face to face with a teddy bear, packed so tightly in the box that you're surprised the package hadn't popped open on its own. Pulling on the limbs, you set the large bear free from its cardboard confines.

Suddenly, Joby feels as though he's walked into a Michelin star restaurant in leather and denim; the gift giving version of underdressed. Underprepared, unqualified, and unworthy of the love you have just given him.

When you look up at Joby again, he begins to explain, "Oh, uh," he fiddles with the torn flaps of paper on his own present. "Remember the last time the band went out of town without you, you said you missed having someone to sleep with? So I thought that uh...next time I'm on the road, he can hold the fort down, ya know..."  Joby shakes his head, not able to fight the rising embarrassment in his expression. "I'm sorry, that sounds so stupid. I should've-"

Joby can hardly get the self deprecating comment out before you cast the plush bear aside and lunge into his arms, wrapping your own arms around his neck. "Are you kidding me?" your voice is muffled against the leather jacket covering his shoulder. "It's perfect. I love it."

Gently placing a hand on your back and attempting to return the tight embrace, he says, "Are you sure? It's not...it's not too cheap, right?"

"Joby, I literally picked up that blank scrapbook for less than a dollar at the Goodwill. Besides, we promised not to stress about spending a bunch of money. I promise you, I love him. But I love you even more."

Joby holds onto you a little tighter and clenches his eyes closed, keeping back the tears that gather at his bottom lash line.

You pull away for a little bit and cup his cheeks. Your lips are so soft and so close to his own chapped ones as you start to whisper, "I'm just gonna need your help naming him."

Joby stares at your soft lips and replies absentmindedly, "Yeah, what are you thinking?"

"I'm really liking Malcolm," you tease. Joby winces at the dumb joke.

He reaches past you to grab the stuffed bear. "Okay, good thing I kept the receipt. Because I think someone's Christmas present is getting returned."

"No, no, no, you can't take him after I've just adopted him! That's cruel!" you giggle with a whine.

Joby clicks his tongue and corrects you, "Ah, cruel is thinking about naming your new cuddle buddy after my idiot bassist." Malcolm is just the right amount of clueless that he would get a big head over the joke. And Joby is just the right amount of cocky to get offended by it. "Think of something else, princess."

Your eyes get big like a lightbulb went off in your head, "I think his working name should be the Grinch."

"The Grinch? I thought I was your Grinch?"

You press your hand over his chest and Joby swears that he stops breathing for a moment when you pause, seeming to listen intently. Finally, you conclude with a gentle peck to his lips, "Nope, not anymore. I'm afraid your heart has grown three sizes this day, Joby Taylor."

Grabbing onto your chin, Joby pulls you back to his mouth to give you a deeper kiss. As you turn your head and sigh into the kiss, Joby smiles to himself. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, does mean a little bit more.

[always-andromeda]

Strawberry creme for joby please i wanna kiss that man so bad

– 𝐀 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝐉𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: whoo it is early and already you all are giving me a chance to be crazy about Joby. I love you people.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: no smut but there are suggestive elements, reader's gender isn't specified but they are wearing lipstick, nothing else I can think of!

More than anything, Joby likes games. Sure, he won't turn down something quick and easy. That never fails to get his heart pounding and his mind racing.

You meet his shameless stares with furtive glances from over your glass. It makes him chuckle under his breath when he realizes that you think that little maneuver would throw him off. Joby Taylor always knows when he's being watched, that's one thing that performing did to him. It made him bolder and very aware of his affect on people.

But, please, for his sake, give him a challenge. Give him a reason to actually give a fuck about the night ahead of him. Because when all of that want builds up in his chest, it makes the payout that much more satisfying for him. Like the buildup to a chorus, he wants the tension and then the unbeatable high.

It's why the first time you kiss him, it feels like a bomb went off. It's a combination of your fuzzy mind, clashing teeth, the taste of cigarettes, his frantic touches, and your sweaty palms grasping the edge of his leather jacket. It's like he's trying to get as much of a fix as he possibly can before you have a chance to leave him.

His lips miss their mark in the middle of the make out, landing on the corner of your mouth and you feel his hot breath as he whispers hoarsely, "Wanna come back to my place?" But really the question is only a formality to him. Joby hardly waits before he starts gravitating lower towards your neck, already planning on claiming you for the night with some marks of his own.

"Actually," you wedge yourself away from the stranger's grasp. "I can't. I have work in the morning." Whether that's true or not, Joby can't quite figure out. He's too lost in the taste of your tongue lingering on his.

For once, Joby Taylor is speechless. His mouth hangs open and his eyes are glazed over as he assesses the situation. He half expects you to smirk before declaring that you were just messing with him and pulling him back in for more.

Instead you pull out a wadded up napkin from your pocket – one you'd used to blot your lipstick with earlier on in the night – and ask, "Have a pen?"

And of course he does, a songwriter like him always keeps something to write with on him in case inspiration hits. But he didn't think that this type of inspiration would strike him tonight as you click the pen.

He watches as you jot down your number on the sheet, right next to the crimson imprint of your lips. Still his mouth hangs open dumbly as you hold the napkin steady against his palm and he feels the nub of the pen press against his skin through it. Then you click the pen once more before leaving it in his open hand.

The next thing you leave is a faint lipstick stain on his cheek when you get up on your toes and kiss him gently and purr in his ear, "Now you know where to find me."

And you better believe that even though Joby will wash that lipstick from off his face in maybe a day or two, that napkin will never leave him. He's still got a game to play.

[always-andromeda]

Character headcannon meme: Joby, number 24

24 | What they wish they could change about themselves

If you were to ask him that, he’d chuckle and bitterly reply that he’d change his luck. Because Joby Taylor has never been dealt a good hand in his life and he wears the resulting chip on his shoulder with pride. Maybe if he had better luck, he would’ve been born with more talent that set him apart from every other guy parading around like a rockstar. Maybe he would’ve had more money. Maybe he would’ve had more connections.

But really…if he’s being honest with himself…there are too many things he’d like to change to even count. He’d hone his focus on something other than all of the destructive vices that got him so low in the first place. He’d make himself more motivated to start giving more of a shit about himself; and by that, he means actually taking care of himself. He’d make himself more willing to commit to things. Because time and time again he runs. And part of him thinks he always will.

> send me an ask about character headcanons! <

[always-andromeda]

Bar Hopping | Joby Taylor x fem!Reader

Joby Taylor x fem!Reader

Word Count | 805

Author’s Note | I’m on a liiiiiittle bit of a Joby kick right now…ngl…let’s blame that on those behind the scene tattoo photos.

Warnings | smut (MDNI), fingering, dirty talk, dub-con, use of pet names, nothing else I can think of!

You have no clue how Joby convinced you to do this. How he had you on his lap, practically molded to his body on the booth of the table. You aren’t the type of person who likes these displays of affection. Didn't like the vulnerability of making out in such a public place. It's nearly midnight, the late night crowd having long since passed through this off-putting place. Only a few stragglers line the bar, engaging in their own drunken conversation. But they're nowhere near enough to hear Joby’s words; his tone hushed as he delivers dirty sentiments.

“You’re gorgeous,” his hot breath fans across your neck, “Lucky I don’t lick you up right here…”

He sticks his tongue down your throat and you remember how he got you there. How he coaxed you up on the hill of his thighs and cooed that it would all be fine.

No one would see.

But they certainly have a chance of hearing him as he reaches a ringed hand between your legs, right up that skirt he’s been admiring all night.

Daring to make you really squirm, Joby brushes his fingers against the growing wet spot right at the center of your underwear. As soon as you feel the pressure, you nearly jump from your spot on his lap.

He's ravenous. But do you really want to entertain his boldness? Does he think he’s going to fuck you in this disgusting bar? Make you cum while sitting in a booth that reeks of cigarette smoke and old peanut shells? He must be out of his mind because, of course, all signs point to yes.

"Joby, not here." Your hand grabs his wrist, pulling his hand a little bit away from your heat. "Wait until we get home."

"Wanna fuck you now—" He slurs, forcing his hand deeper between your thighs, easily overpowering your own strength. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

If you looked up the term “sleaze ball”, you’re sure you would find his face. There’s his classic lazy smile. The one that tells you that he’s drunk off his ass and horny as all hell. It’s a blend that only turns the dial on his bullshit even further. He swipes his tongue over his lips, and drags your panties to the side. And you’re the definition of putty as you let him have his way.

He rubs two fingers across your folds, coating his fingers in their wetness before easing them inside you. They slide right on in until the warm, welcoming metal of his rings hit your lips. And just like them, you’re another one of his accessories, fitting snugly on him.

Then Joby fucking Taylor has the audacity to say, "Need to make you feel good..." as he rips a whimper right from your throat.

"Gotta keep quiet. Don't wanna get kicked out." He whispers, a smirk waiting at the edge of his directions.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your head into the groove beside his shoulder. With an open mouth, your teeth find the leather of his jacket and bite down hard just to hold back the desperate whines as he pumps wickedly in and out of your soaking cunt. 

Grateful that the shitty rock music at least drowns out the soft, wet squelch as he works, you can't help but wonder if the leather does that good of a job of muffling your moans. All you know is you can feel his long fingers ruining you in this filthy bar and your head is heavy from the weight of your alcohol. As the buzz in your brain and between your legs swirls together, your eyelids threaten to flutter closed.

He whispers, "You like that, baby girl? Does it feel good?"

Your approval comes out in a muffled whimper and your hand tightens on your grasp of the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

"Yeah, I bet it does. Good girl." He purrs.

Even while drunk, he manages to bring you closer to the edge than anyone else ever has. Has you humping—almost bouncing—against his hand and cinching your hold on his upper half, trying to use him to steady yourself for the impending quake. Your thighs shake; cunt clenches around his fingers. And with one last push into the meat of his large palm, you're releasing all over his hand.

You're not only the type of girl who will make out with her greasy boyfriend in a dingy old bar. Now, you're also the type who will watch her boyfriend suck her slick off of his fingers before washing it down with the last sip of his beer. And though you feign shame as you tuck your head deeper into the crook of his neck, secretly, you're the type of girl that loves it.