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eff4freddie · 6 months ago

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No Outbreak AU!Joel Miller x AFAB Reader

Words: 7.7k of basically porn lols

You confess to Joel one of your filthiest fantasies, something you've never told anyone before. He's a good man, but you underestimate just how much he will do for you.

Warnings: Minors DNI. Explicit. Free use. Public sex. Praise kink. Beer bottles and dirty dive bars. Tiny lil breeding kink if you squint. Like seriously guys, this is filth. I've gone a little shy of myself? Like wow we are learning some things about Freddie tonight.

Like most wildfires, neither of you were sure where the first ember landed. Joel preferred dive bars, liked the blues on the juke box, the fact that he would wear his flannel and jeans flecked with paint and wood shaving and no one would notice. He knew you preferred the fancier places, occasionally would make an effort, but knew you also didn’t mind sometimes slumming it with him, sometimes just leaning back into a booth and letting the neon red light leech over your skin. You’d never admit it to his face, never give him the power over you, but you didn’t really care where you were so long as it was with him.

You liked it when he lifted the beer to his lips, saw his throat work to swallow it down. It reminded him of the times you’d made him gasp, groan, as he worked his cock into your throat. It felt like an intimate thing, the chords of his muscles working just right there under his skin. Sometimes you reached out, ran your fingertips under his collar, made him shiver. He’d grab your fingers, put them on his lips, press a kiss to them, tell you off for lettin’ ‘em get so cold in the night.

On these nights, when Sarah’s with the sitter and you’re winding down from a long week of work, its these nights when Joel takes you out in a pretty dress or a shirt skirt, waits in his truck while you slip your panties off and puts them in his pocket, helps you down to the street with a hand gripping the back of your thigh. It’s these nights, when Joel’s worked up from the job site, when he’s stressed about Sarah’s teenage rebellious phase, when it’s been a while between drinks, that he’s handsy with you, pushing himself into a booth in a dark corner and pulling you down on top of him, perched in his lap with your legs spread over his so that he can face you out to the bar, open your thighs just as someone walks past, lets you feel the breeze on your cunt while you hide your face in his neck and burn, either from embarrassment or from how wet he’s made you, showing you off like this, you tucking his hands under your bottom to stop him slipping them into you while you try to concentrate on the specials board.

‘Shy, baby?’ he’d tease you, pulling your hair off your neck to bite at your jaw line, whisper dirty nonsense into your ear while you fought for some kind of decency, some way to cover yourself up, at least until you’d finished your first drink.

It was one of those nights, when he’d finally relented and let you eat your meal in peace, that he’d got it out of you, the confession that set the whole thing in motion, the idea taking root in Joel’s mind so swiftly that the tendrils of it spilt into his veins, spiralled down to his cock, made him harder than he ever remembered being.

You knew this about Joel. That it wasn’t a jealousy streak, or an insecurity, that it wasn’t even so much of an exhibitionist streak for him. It was just that he liked showing you off, liked knowing that of all the men in the room who were undressin’ ya, wantin’ ya, he was the one with his fingers buried in your cunt while you struggled to act like nothing untoward was going on. He liked the power of it, the power he had over you, and you wondered sometimes how far he would go with it. What would happen if you were ever found bent over with his cock buried inside you, his hands on your hips pulling you back into him, his teeth bared and his sweat dripping onto your back. You knew without having experienced anything like it that he would probably keep going, that he would like the watching. That he’d probably goad the audience into coming closer, commentate for them, let them see what he, and only he, was wringing from your body as it clamped down around him. The thought of it, the image of it in your mind, kept you awake at night, your cunt throbbing. You felt the pride in it, you supposed, that he desired you so dearly he wanted to show off that he had you.

You knew all of that when you confessed to him what you were thinking about, three beers in and his hand on your knee, rubbing little circles with his thumb, sliding his whole hand over your skin and back down again, not even noticing he was doing it. You watched his pupils blow wide, the far away look come over him as he imagined what you were describing, the way he swallowed, hard.

‘You want that right now?’ he asked, and he looked like a kid on Christmas morning, not quite believing he’d actually been given the bike he’d asked Santa for.

‘No, not right now, probably not ever,’ you said, flopping your head onto his shoulder and listening to his quickening heartbeat in his neck. ‘Just like to think about it, is all.’

‘Baby you can’t say that to me and not…you have to know what you’re doing to me,’ he all but whined, and you giggled.

‘You wouldn’t mind it?’ you asked, pulling up to look at him again, study his eyes, knowing that you were way out on a limb now. You saw not an ounce of hesitation on his face.

He barely got you out of the place before he had you bent over the bed of his truck, your hands clawing for purchase on the chrome as he drilled into you right there in the parking lot, your face buried in your arms in the hope that the darkness of the night was protecting you both from being arrested.

He didn’t bring it up again for another few weeks, both of your jobs getting too busy, Sarah getting too demanding and fourteen, the world conspiring against you to rob you both of your dirty Fridays. Joel was getting pent up, the idea of it bouncing around his mind too often for him to concentrate, but his bones were sore of a nighttime, and he only had the energy to relieve himself in the shower before climbing into bed and switching off the light. You didn’t mind it, had been together a long enough time now to know there would be ebbs and flows. He held you as you slept, he kissed you in the morning even as you tried to shove him off and scold him for his morning breath, promised to take you out when your schedules were clear and knew that he meant it, that he was a man of his sometimes limited words. Sometimes it just went with the territory of wanting him always, you knew, that there would be aching times of not-having.

So you were surprised when you came home from dropping Sarah off at her friend’s for the night and saw his truck in the drive, expecting him much later if the week had been anything to go by. You heard him in the shower and figured he was washing off another stressful day, intending to leave him to it, except that for a man with basically one good ear he was surprisingly adept at knowing where you were at all times, and he emerged, towel wrapped loose around his hips and dripping onto the carpet, to pull you by the arm in with him. You just managed to strip out of your jeans before he was on you, pulling your wet bra off your skin, slipping your underwear down your legs and throwing them into the sink.

‘Won’t need those tonight,’ he said, simply, as you gawped at him, the water running off his shoulders and into your eyes. You leant forward, resting your forehead on his chest. It had been an intense few minutes.

‘Where we going tonight?’ you asked, and he didn’t answer, instead pulling back from you and bending to lift your leg up, hooking it over his elbow. You leant back onto the cold shower tile, the water beating down on your chest, as he dripped your favourite body wash onto a loofah and ran it tightly over your skin, crouching down and slipping your leg over his shoulder to run it up and down the inside of your thighs, each time his fingers sweeping closer to your cunt, the heat and steam of the shower making you light headed as your clit throbbed for him. He was teasing you, working you up and you knew he was going to leave you like this, that this is how the whole night would go unless you did something about it, pushing yourself off the wall and crashing your pussy into his mouth, the sharp angle of his nose landing hard on your clit as he gasped.

It hadn’t been the plan but he wasn’t above improvising. In his head he was just going to tease you a little, make sure that you were up for what he had planned, but this was just as good, just as effective. He was careful not to let you come, careful to keep you right on the edge, the suds and the water running over his mouth and nose as he lathed at your clit, ran his tongue up and down your seam, not letting it dip inside where he knew you wanted him. He looked up your body, watched your hips shudder and the muscles in your tummy roll and contract as you tried to draw him in deeper. He grinned, a huffled little laugh into your pussy. You were furious when he drew back, wet hands trying to grip his hair and keep him there. He held you to him, wrapped you warm up in a towel even as you cussed him out, madder than a barn cat at having had your pleasure interrupted. You were perfect like this, he thought, watching you huff, wild for him. He reminded you to dress for a night out. He made sure your underwear stayed in the sink.

You were still pissed, but your curiosity got the better of you when he missed the turn off for the bar, heading instead over the railway track and further out of town. If you had been speaking to him you would have asked where he was taking you, but you were refusing to let him off the hook for his cruelty in the shower. Twenty minutes later, when he pulled up to a bar you’d never seen before, a couple of dirt bikes parked out the front and a few trucks in the lot out the back, he gave you a little tap on the knee. You turned to him, eyebrows shooting up.

‘Figured we better go where no one knows us, baby,’ he said, and he was grinning at you in a way that made your belly flip, an electric bolt shooting straight between your legs.

‘What are you up to, Miller?’ you asked, as he leant over and undid your seatbelt. He made you jump down out of the truck yourself, striding as he was towards the bar. The bright red OPEN sign buzzed over the door, the sound of it reverberating into the air beneath it where you stood, your nerves jangling in tune. Surely he wouldn’t, you thought. You pulled your short skirt down, worried now that without underwear a strong breeze would expose you to anyone passing by. He held the door open for you, darkness behind him and the sounds of clinking glass, tinny guitar over a shitty sound system, chatter and drunkenness.

‘Trust me, baby,’ he said, and you did, you knew you did. He held his hand out to you. You took it.

Once inside you could see a bit better. The bar itself was quite small, a couple of men sitting around it drinking beers and whiskeys. There was a row of booths under the blacked-out windows, a pool table in one corner. By the bar a hallway led down to the bathrooms. You shivered when you saw it.

He led you by the hand to the corner of the bar right next to the hallway, the single stool.

‘This is where I’ll be,’ he said to you, putting your hand on the bar to feel how solid it was, that it was real and that this was happening, to ground you. He pulled you forward, five or maybe six paces down the hallway, to a piece of wall right by the men’s bathroom. He backed you up against it, letting you glance over his shoulder to the stool where you had just been.

‘This is where you’ll be,’ he said to you, his voice heavy and thick and you recognised the want in it, the need. He spun you around, kicking your feet apart and holding your hands up above your head. You tried to breathe but couldn’t seem to get enough air, tried to expand your lungs but you could only puff and gasp, your stomach doing somersaults as he positioned you. He pushed them into the wall, the two of them held together under his palm.

‘You don’t move them from here,’ he said, stern and calm at the same time. ‘You look over your shoulder you’ll see me, but you don’t move these from here. Nod so I know you heard me, baby,’ he said. You nodded your head, your nose almost grazing the plaster of the filthy wall. He pulled your hips out so that you bowed slightly, your arse sticking back behind you. He ran his hands over the back of your thighs, leant down to cup your bottom as he ran his hands up and over, pulled your skirt over your hips.

Your heart was racing so hard you could feel it in your knees, your whole body thrumming as he exposed you to the room. You heard no shouts or protests, your eyes slammed shut and your face buried in your arm. You could feel cool air on your skin as he moved away from you, and you yelped, a bolt of panic shooting through you. You lifted your head and he was there again, his arms over yours as he covered you, brought his mouth down to your ear.

‘You can do this baby, I’m right here,’ he said, and you felt like you might scream or cry or come, you weren’t sure which or what you preferred, your mind scrambling to keep up with the fact that he was letting you play out one of your dirtiest fantasies, that he trusted you this much, that you knew he would keep you safe, would stop it from going too far if you needed him to, that you wanted this, that you wanted to give it to him.

‘Two rules,’ he said, when he could tell you were coming back into yourself, that you were listening. ‘Hands stay on the wall,’ he said, his voice rough and low as he stopped to chew on your earlobe. You could feel you were wet, could feel you were shivering. You hadn’t had a good look at the men in the bar. You weren’t sure if you were glad of it.

‘Second rule,’ he said, and now he was running his hands over your hips and down your belly to rub little circles into your clit. You shuddered, pushing back against him, felt that he was throbbing. ‘No coming ‘til I say so,’ he said, and then he was gone, your body cold and aching where he had just been.

You lifted your head and turned to watch him over your shoulder, your spine twisting to see without moving your hands, now resting palm-down above your head. You saw him calmly order a beer from the bartender, who didn’t bat an eyelid at you standing, skirt over your arse and bent at the waist, the seam of your pussy exposed to the entire bar, your thighs quivering as you felt the slick start to collect on your skin.

All you could do was try and breathe. Try to keep your knees from shaking, your legs from collapsing underneath you. You turned your face back to the wall, your nose resting on the brick, as you gulped down air and tried to swallow on a bone-dry throat. Maybe nothing would happen if you just stayed completely still, you thought. Wasn’t that how they survived the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park?

You could hear the toilet in the men’s room flushing, the tap running as the dude, mercifully, washed his hands. You knew you were seconds away from being confronted, that he would have to squeeze past you if he wanted to get back to his table, that maybe the others wouldn’t have seen you tucked away as you were down the side of the bar, but not now, not where Joel had positioned you. You closed your eyes, the humiliation of it mixing with heat in your cunt, and you couldn’t decide what you wanted to happen, couldn’t quiet your mind enough other than to count backwards from 10 and try to force your lungs to work.

10. You heard the door swing open, the rush of air ruffling the skirt over your lower back.

9. Footsteps striding out of the bathroom, stopping abruptly.

8. A short, sharp exhale of breath. A ‘what the fuck?’. Surprised, but not angry.

7. A long, heavy second or two of silence.

6. A slower footstep. Another. Towards you.

5. A hand, warm and foreign, on your hip as he moved behind you.

4. The thunderous sound of your voice in your head telling you to just stay still, stay still, stay still.

3. A nervous little laugh as he slid behind you, his hips to yours to get past you on the wall. His hand still on your hip but gripping, fingers squeezing at your flesh.

2. A soft swipe of your cunt as he clears you, his fingers gently fluttering over your seam as you stand, exposed and wet.

1. Your gasp, all of the breath you had been trying to get suddenly sweeping into your lungs, a needy little whine on the exhale, a shiver.

And a few moments later, laughter, a group of men on the other side of the bar, a hint of disbelief in it, a hint of awe. You blinked your eyes open, your body quaking. You couldn’t turn your head, wouldn’t turn your head to Joel, but you knew he was there, knew he was watching you quiver, knew he would stop it if it got too much, that you wouldn’t have to ask him, that he would just know. You felt heat on your cheeks and a twist of something in your gut. For a moment you wanted to skip forward to the aftermath, to Joel holding you in bed and loving on you, recounting the events that hadn’t even unfolded yet as you felt the heat of his skin and the strength of his arms, the muscles ripping under his skin as he kissed the shell of your ear and let you drift to sleep, wrapped up in him.

Joel gripped the neck of his beer bottle harder than he intended, barely registering the cold on his hands. It had been his idea to set this up, he knew that, had rented the whole place out to make a safe space for you to play, had vetted the guys from the job site, had been careful to select the ones he knew would treat you right. Still, though. Still, he could see you were shaking, trying so hard to be good for him with your hands pushed into the wall, and he doubted for just a second, wondered whether he should call it. He could see you were slick between your thighs, could hear that you were breathing heavy. But he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t feel a surge of something a little like jealousy at the way the eyes of the guys travelled over your delicious curves, curves he had – up until this moment – reserved the sole right to traverse. He wondered if the guys would be able to stick to the limits once they had you under them. He was ready to pull you out of there the moment something got out of hand, but he worried, now and for the first time, that by then it could be too late.

You swallowed over your dry throat. You were trying to stay in your body, to close your eyes and give yourself over to it, but you were still struggling to quiet your mind. This is what you had wanted, and you knew Joel would never push you further than what you had told him you would go. You knew that. But did the other guys? You considered for a moment, the thought occurring to you like a lightning bolt, that Joel had worked you up in the shower precisely so that you would be horny enough not to run for the door the second he tried this. You almost wanted to laugh, except that you were too scared to lest you lose all control.

There were more footsteps, coming towards you from beside the bar, and you swore you heard a group of men cheering the man on. He wasn’t hesitating, whoever this stranger in the bar was, probably having spotted you from across the room. You kept your eyes on the floor, your head hanging low between your shoulders. From this angle you could see your ankles, the heels Joel insisted you wear even though you could barely stand in them, realising now why he wanted you off balance, why he wanted you unable to run for the door. Two pairs of trainers appeared between your ankles, a rough hand coming down to rest on your left butt cheek. It wasn’t a slap, wasn’t even a particularly hard grope, but you whimpered anyway, slammed your eyes shut and immediately wondered if it was better to look or not.

And throughout it all your pussy throbbed. Even if you were in turmoil it knew exactly what it wanted, was hungry for the attention and the desires of all these men, was having a fucking field day knowing Joel was watching you, wanting you, from across the room.

The man behind you slid two fingers over your seam, his breath on the back of your neck as he leaned over you. You shuddered, his skin rougher than Joels, as he prodded at you, eased your lips open and ran his fingers up along the flesh there. You realised he was collecting your slick, felt him pull away and his lips smack around his hand as he, presumably, sucked you off his skin.

‘Jesus, boys,’ he called to his friends over the other side of the room, and you startled. ‘She’s fuckin’ sweeter than honey and dripping onto the floor.’

Under the cheers you swore you heard Joel chuckle, and you shivered. You wanted this man to touch you again, almost whined when he instead moved back to his table. You were sweating, could feel that the small of your back was damp, felt like you had a fever, some kind of delirium, the pulsing of your cunt so intense it almost hurt.

You heard more shuffling footsteps, now, three or four sets, as you realised the table of friends were making their way over to you. You shivered, turned a wild eye over to Joel, who was sipping at his beer and watching you, nodding gently at you to keep you there. You kept your hands on the wall. You wanted to be his good girl.

‘And we can touch her wherever?’ a guy was saying, and you moved your face back to the wall, arching your back slightly, practically waving your cunt in the air.

‘She ain’t protesting,’ a voice said, and you recognised it as the man who had just touched you. To demonstrate his point, he extended his hand to your face and stuck two of his fingers in your mouth, and you sucked them willingly, tasting a hint of yourself on him. You felt your eyes close all by themselves, smiling as the man gasped.

‘Holy shit,’ someone else commented, and you were slapped hard on your arse then, the sting of it making you whine. A finger quickly followed, probing you open again, your copious amounts of slick easing the entry.

‘Like this?’ the voice said, and you realised he was asking you a question, and you nodded your head. ‘Yeah, you like this,’ the voice affirmed, a finger finally sinking into your cunt. You felt yourself spasm, throwing your head back and groaning, your hips rolling all on their own.

‘Tight little thing,’ someone said, and you grunted as another finger was added. You were being pushed into the wall, your face lying on the brick, your hands still planted above your head.

‘Ease it on her a little,’ a third voice said, and you felt another hand snake around you, this one cold on the fingertips, as it slid over your clit.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, the pleasure of it shooting through you. You could feel that you were clamping down on the fingers inside you.

‘She liked that a lot,’ the man beside you said, and he pulled his fingers from your mouth and dropped them to your tit, rubbing the nipple through the barely-there shirt Joel had picked out for you tonight.

You were whimpering, gradually losing control of the sounds you were making, of your little cries into the noise of the bar, and you could hear them snickering, laughing at your pleasurable distress, at the ache and thrum of your cunt, at the way you were so wet you were leaking down your thighs.

You were losing your grip on your thoughts, felt them slipping through you, unable to catch them as they dripped past. From somewhere a memory stirred itself up, sitting on Joel’s lap in the bar you always go to, his hand pushing on your clit from outside your panties as he shielded you from the rest of the patrons, whispering into his ear that you fantasised about being used by strange men, about being set up by him to be groped and fondled, to be watched as men took their pleasure from you, to have to wait for them to be done with you, to be bored of you, before you were released. ‘But they never get bored of me, not really. Sometimes they let me rest for a bit. But they want me that bad, they can’t stop.’

‘How long’s this all take, when you think about it?’ he asked, feeling even through the fabric of your underwear that you were dripping.

‘Sometimes hours,’ you whimpered, breathless just at the thought of it. ‘I’m free for their use, for hours. For hours,’ you said.

Now, with your hands against the wall in just the position you had described to Joel weeks before, you bite your lip. God, how long does he plan on keeping you here? You want to come already, want to push down on the hands behind you and flood them with your spend.

These men, though, these three, are just teasing you, and right when you start to rock your hips they pull away again.

‘Unreal,’ one of them says, as if you’re a work of art hanging on a wall in a museum, and you want to howl at them, want to grab their hands and put them back on your skin. You resist the urge, biting down hard on your bottom lip. Joel said no coming, so maybe you should be grateful. Even if you’re now quivering. Even if you’re not sure your legs will keep you standing.

You take a couple of shaky breaths, coming down enough to notice that your shoulders are starting to ache. You roll them, careful to keep your palms connected to the surface, trying to push the hair out of your eyes by running your face along your forearms.

You’re not sure how long you stand there. You try counting the songs on the jukebox but they all sound the same to you, and it’s hard to decipher when one stops and the next one begins. Every now and again there’s the sound of glasses being dumped into the trough behind the bar, clinking ice and peels of male laughter. Once or twice, someone walks past on the way to the bathroom and pat you on the arse, put a hand on your lower back and bend you further, pushing you until your sweet little cunt is more fully exposed. But no one is bold enough to touch, no one is as forward as the three men from before, and you’re feeling a twinge of disappointment settling in between the arousal and the shock. These scant touches aren’t nearly enough, and you realise that you’re pining for someone to come and tease you, play with your cunt or your tits until you’re gasping.

You chance a look over your shoulder at Joel and see that he’s turned away from you a little, his beer in his hand while he chats to a man beside him, and his casual disregard for your predicament infuriates you as much as it sends bolts of heat to your cunt.

You’re being ignored, you realise, and it makes your tummy do weird flips you don’t fully understand. You start to arch your back again, weave your hips in slow circles in the air. You don’t have a lot of mental capacity in this moment, so it’s only later you will consider that Joel had made sure you would beg for any attention, knew that you would be outraged at not being the centre of attention in this moment, that you would reach a new level of depraved heat just to get the eyes back on you. It had maybe been half an hour and you’d gone from praying no one would see you if you didn’t move, to trying to scent the air around you with your cunt, luring them to you like a siren on a rocky cove.

Now, though, now all you want is for someone to touch you, someone to ease their hands onto your skin and feel the heat of it, coo at how mean your man is, how silly for letting a pretty little thing like you out of his clutches. You realise you allowed to close your legs and you do, wrapping one foot behind your ankle so you can rub your thighs together. The skin slides easily and you sigh, gently.

You’re wrapped up in it, your ears tuning out the noise around you to properly concentrate on the thrum of your cunt, so you don’t realise there’s someone behind you until they’re basically on you, kicking your legs apart and arching you back again.

‘Naughty girl,’ the voice says, and it’s not Joel and you’re marginally disappointed but also it means this isn’t over yet, and you grin back at him.

‘Not sorry,’ you say, and you’re pulled back then, almost bent over in a right angle as your hands slide down the wall but stay on it, your arms now covering your ears.

You just barely hear a grunt, then something cold and hard is pushing at your lips for entry, and you realise that you are being fucked in a strange bar with a beer bottle in front of however many strange men, and you groan at the insanity of it, at the filth. He’s twisting it, his other hand finding your clit, and you’re throwing your head back now, your hair falling down your back as you arch, the glass so smooth and cold inside you that you wonder for a second if you’ve fogged it up. Its thrust into you three, four, five times before the man slips it from you, and you hear him take a swig of it, the taste of your cunt on the glass as he lifts it to his lips. He groans, rests a hand on the small of your back as he sips.

‘Sweet?’ someone calls out, and you hear him laugh.

‘Heaven,’ he says. ‘Come get yours before I ruin her.’

You hear chairs being pushed back, and looking down at the floor you count seven pairs of shoes assembling in a line behind you. You can hear some guys are still playing pool, the crack of the 8 ball as someone breaks. You look for Joel’s along the line of shoes behind you. You don’t see them.

There are fingers in your cunt again, two or maybe three, you’re not sure, and you have moved up a little, your tits pressed to the wall as they grope you from behind. It’s delicious, exactly the right pressure in exactly the right spot, as if someone has given them all a manual to your body. Someone lifts your leg under the knee and twists your hip so that you can rest your foot on his thigh, and then you’re even more open, even more exposed. You close your eyes, your spine twisting to keep both arms on the wall, but in this position one man can get underneath you on his knees and lick up into you and you gasp at the feeling of it, the warmth of his tongue compared to the cold of the bottle, and you’re really sweating now, want to rip your top off and pull the skirt from around your waist just to get it out of the way, but someone is using it to hold you still, the fabric bunched under your tits so that you won’t fall. With one mouth on your cunt someone else is behind you with his fingers inside you, and someone else is holding your tits in his hands, his thumbs squeezing and rubbing at your nipples.

Over your shoulder you can hear someone commentating for his friend. ‘Fuck, you thought she was wet before,’ they’re saying, and the way they’re talking about you like you’re not there, like you’re an object for them to play with, a doll, a toy, has you bucking against the tongue on your clit, against the fingers inside you. They’re setting you on fire, the embers catching on gasoline. It’s heaven and its torture and its so, so much.

Fuck, you’re going to come and you can’t stop it. But you have to, you promised Joel. You’re almost wailing now, trying to get the feeling out in some way so that you won’t tip over the edge, and the guys are laughing.

‘Listen to her hollerin’,’ someone says, and you can’t keep your eyes closed anymore, open them to see a bunch of men standing around you, all of them palming their cocks through their pants, as one man crouches under your form, his shoulder pushed hard into the wall to get under you. You can’t see the man behind you but one is off to the side, his eyes on our cunt as he bounces your tits in his hands.

‘Oh, hey beautiful,’ one of the men watching says when he catches your eye. He’s handsome, they all are, you realise, and they’re all in their early 30s and they’re all incredibly fit, and if you had any presence of mind in this moment you would consider that this was an odd coincidence, but as it is right now you just want their cocks in your mouth, want their come dripping over your tits and your face. The one behind you, with his fingers buried in your cunt, is grinding against you and for a deranged moment you consider freeing him from his pants and slipping him inside you.

‘She’s so fucked out,’ someone laughs, and you’re gasping, crying out as if that will stop you from coming, but it’s not enough, the cliff is right there. You’re rolling your hips, your mouth agape and gasping when you’re not howling for relief.

‘Like a bitch in heat,’ someone says. ‘Hey, tag out.’

All of them stop, hold you steady for a second. You’re panting, your legs weak as you lean your weight on the wall. You can feel yourself receding from the cliff again, can feel the throb in your cunt easing off just enough that you can think. Your leg is dropped back to the floor, and you are jostled back into position as the men rearrange themselves, and you realise they’re taking turns using you. Even without their hands on you, the thought alone could make you come. You want to turn your head to look for Joel but they’re crowding around you, and for a second there’s a drop of panic in your belly before it’s replaced again with wildfire. You know he’s there. Know he’ll stop it if he needs to.

‘Holy shit, she’s still so tight,’ someone says, slipping back into place in your cunt, and another man laughs. ‘Get the bottle again, stretch her out.’ Their hands are probing again, a man finger-fucking you from the front now, another holding you up from behind as they twist you off to the side. They’re all staring at your cunt, at where you’re spreading open to take them, marvelling at the intrusion.

‘How many fingers you reckon she can take?’ someone asks, and you buck your hips away from it, away from how obscene it is, from how irrevocably turned on in makes you.

‘Joel said not to mark her,’ someone says, and much later you will recall this, recognise this as the moment you might have realised he had set all of it up, including who these men were. As it was you were too busy trying to quell the rushing bliss thundering through you, trying to hold back the cracking dam with your pinkie finger and good will.

‘Scoot over, then,’ someone says, and you are moved again, your legs opened up a little further so that two hands can be inside you at once, their fingers moving just out of sequence enough that they rub at different speeds, forming a relentless piston, a wave of pleasure that’s going to drag you under, fill your lungs.

You can’t take it. Your eyes are blurring from unshed tears, the respite from moments ago disappearing under the weight of the bodies covering you. Are your hands still on the wall? You open your eyes a crack to check. You want them to throw you over their shoulders and slip their cocks inside you, one in front and one behind. You want to roll on the floor with them, have them line up and sink yourself down on them one by one like some kind of deranged Goldilocks. You want every last one of them to come on you, in you, to breed you, to make you theirs.

You can feel your back arching, can feel that you’re rearing up again, the pleasure twisting up your spine and elongating it, your head pulling hard up and away from your shoulders. You’re holding your breath, trying to keep the orgasm away, but it’s bolting up on you.

‘I can’t, I can’t,’ you’re saying, and you’re not even sure what you can’t do exactly. Can’t hold it back, can’t take anymore, can’t stop. Can’t come like this, not allowed to. Joel’s good girl.

‘Hey!’ a voice booms from the bar and you recognise it immediately, Joel standing up and moving towards you. He’s seen you struggling, has seen your hips rolling and heard your wails as you tried to hold back for him. ‘I said no comin’!’ he bellows, and you groan. Your knight in shining armour has arrived just to keep fucking torturing you.

‘Joel!’ you cry, whine, nearly in tears for the need of him. Suddenly you don’t want any of these guys, you just want him, want his smell and the sweet softness of his flannel, want his eyes on you and his whispers in your ear. Want his cock inside you, his come claiming you from within. He’s shouldering his way to you, pushing the guys out of the way, and then he’s with you, your heart racing as his hands are on your shoulders, turning you back to the wall.

‘So good f’me, baby, I know, I know,’ he’s soothing you and you realise you’re sobbing, your breaths coming in deep huffs.

‘Please, please,’ you’re calling for him, and you feel his arm around your waist, feel him scrabbling around to undo his belt and pull down his fly, at the same time as he’s lifting you up and pulling you down on his cock, the fit of him so perfect inside you, his skin inside yours. The guys are watching and you don’t care, because finally he’s with you again, finally he’s the right one, and you’re groaning and gasping, calling his name as he whispers filth in your ear.

‘None of these men get your come,’ he’s saying, ‘none of these guys. Just me that makes ya come, ya hear me?’ and you’re nodding.

‘I want you to make me come, Joel. Only you, only you.’

‘Can feel you grippin’ me, baby,’ he’s babbling, and he’s not sure he’s ever been so hard. He was so patient, watching the guys take you apart bit by bit, until your eyes were unfocussed and your mouth was hanging open, gasping and trying so hard to catch your breath. He could see it in the strain of your muscles, in the way you were panting and hollerin’, that you were holding off for him, that you were keeping yourself sweet and well behaved out of love for him, out of desire, and despite all the other men in the room that wanted you he knew in that moment you were his, that you were his good girl, his, his, his.

It hadn’t been his plan to fuck you like this, but he couldn’t help himself when he heard you callin’ for him. He’d thought he’d just let you come on their hands or their faces, or that you would eventually break and he’d get to slap your arse a little as punishment, but not that you would nearly snap every bone in your body, let your sinew scream and strain, just to stay his good girl.

He surges forward, gripping you to him with one arm, and raises his other hand to cover yours, still pushing into the wall of the bar. He can feel that the skin is ragged underneath, that the exposed brick has grazed you from your effort of keeping your hands there, and he resolves to bathe you in warm water and lick every inch of broken skin the moment he gets you home.

But not yet. Right now, he’s pushing himself further inside you, lifting you up a little so that you’re just on your tippy toes on the floor, balancing on his cock so he can get even deeper inside. You’re keening, your whole body shaking, and you’re not sure you’re going to survive this but you really, really don’t mind going out this way.

You don’t even have words. You can barely get air. You just entwine your fingers with Joels’ where he holds your hands to the wall, tuck your chin to your chest and howl, the orgasm crashing over you and rolling almost immediately into another one, Joel behind you and fucking up into you while you know you still have an audience, while they’re coming onto the floor at your feet, jerking it to the idea of them being the ones to be inside you, of their cocks splitting you open and feeling your cunt milk them dry. You don’t care about any of them, don’t care that they want you so much they’ll settle for their own fists, because all you want is this man, this one inside you and coming deep into your cunt, this one who loves you, who carries you now in his arms with warmth and strength, who is holding you up as he ruts his spend into you, as he gasps and cries out for you, in this very fucking public dive bar just off the highway, where you know you can never step foot again.

He doesn’t let you sink to the floor, no matter how badly your legs want to give out on you, but is instead wrapping his hands under your knees, under your arms and lifting you to him.

‘Dirty down there, baby,’ he says, and you open one eye to see the streams of come decorating where you were just standing. The men have all disappeared, knowing that the fun is over, and Joel has wrapped his coat around you at some point, and your muscles are loose and stretched and shaking, suddenly cold from the chill of your sweat in the open air. You tuck your head under his chin, listen to the way he grunts, quietly, when he pushes open the door with his shoulder and carries you to the car. You feel him drop you into the passenger seat of the truck, feel him put the seatbelt on you and turn the heater up as soon as the engine starts.

You can’t move, your whole body spent. You realise by how dark the night is outside the car window that it has been hours. That he has given you everything you asked for, and then just a little bit more. You crack one eye open to watch him as he drives, the streetlights strobing over his face, the scruff on his cheeks, the pointed angle of his nose, the greys appearing by the day in his hair.

You feel your eyes drift shut again, the heat of the car and the warmth of his jacket soothing you down to sleep. He has given you something you only ever dreamed about, something you never even hoped to one day have. You don’t mean the guys in the bar.

Tag list:

@kyloispunk

@604to647

#joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader

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julietsbody · 11 months ago

Text

ultraviolence

words : 2,261

tags : gun kink , fucked with a gun , predator / prey , reader has a prey kink , peacekeeper ! snow , light sadism , size difference , size kink , obsessive behavior , power play , creampies , orgasm delay / denial

a/n : idk what came over me whilst writing this im gonna be so honest…. semi inspired by Cherienymphe‘s “everybody knows that i’m a good girl, officer” fic!!! its so good

p.s : this is also posted on my ao3!!! ( divider by pommecita )

snow barely had any empathy for people, let alone any districts. he was a man who fell into poverty himself, but he got out of it, he was a capitol and he’s friends with those that come from the highest statuses. normally people felt pity for those in the districts, they scavenged for food, or proper clothing. not snow, he thought it was a game to watch them snatch up fresh bread and run like their lives depend on it. because it does, they survive, they live another day and satisfy their hungers, if they get caught, they’ll be dead in seconds— especially if coriolanus catches them.

he liked the power he had, the fact that he could do almost anything he desired and get away with it because the districts had been committing a crime anyway, he just stopped them from doing it any more. he liked that they would cower underneath him, beg for their lives, he liked that he had the power to give them a simple warning, to let them off the hook, but he never did.

not until now.

he found himself chasing yet another bunny, heavy boots padding behind your thin, poorly made shoes.

something about the adrenaline rushing through your veins had a heat developing in between your legs, like it was a primal reaction, an animalistic urge. he nearly noticed in the way your steps staggered, but that could be lack of spacial awareness, which he noted that you had. you were so busy running in straight lines you didn’t even bother to juke him or to hide.

easy prey, aren’t you?

he thought that at first, until your steps suddenly changed, turning to the right.

and you had disappeared between the greens and tall trees, his wild eyes raced around the all too silent forest. he tuts, a low taunt, “where are you, bunny?”

his voice came out sing - songy, having your breathing shake from the tree you hid behind, your thighs pressed together.

how was a hunt so intimate, so sexual?

“why are you hiding from me, bunny?” his voice is softer, as if he’s pouting.

you hear his boots snap twigs with ease, crush leaves into fragile pieces, dip through mud. he was getting closer, like a wolf stalking it’s prey, like he knew where you hid. you tried to hold your breath, to keep yourself hidden, but it was no use. he rounded the corner, and you ran into a sprint again, nearly dropping the bread you had taken.

if you hadn’t dropped it then, you were sure to now.

his arms took you into a threatening hold, at first pushing you into a tree, then slamming you against the floor when you wriggled at his grasp. his panting breath, your fearful whines, the begging that sat on your tongue silently, it was as if sex had been happening even with your clothes on. your tears well with tears at being slammed on the hard ground, and he feels the fabric of his pants tighten at the sight.

“please,” here comes the begging, music to his ears, “it’s my first time stealing, i’ve never done this before—“

“is that so?” his head cocks to the side, holding down your wriggling hands, “i’m sure i’ve seen you before, doll.”

“you must be mistaken,” your puffy lips part, breath heaving as you try to pull away from him.

it doesn’t work, he just simply holds you down, he easily could with one hand if he wanted to, “are you calling me a liar?”

it was embarrassing, truly, being so turned on by the way his voice deepened with firmness, by the way he held you down with such ease, “of course not, i would never—“

“you just did, though,” his tone is biting, typically he doesn’t let conversations last this long, but something about you was different. his eyes catch on to the way your thighs are rubbing together, not in a way to try to free yourself from him, but where you crave friction. “my, my, what do we have here?”

his hand taps against your thigh, pulling up the hem of your dress, his eyes land on yours, waiting for confirmation.

you immediately nod, it’s so quick, impatient, he adores it.

his long fingers lace around both of your wrists whilst the other pries your thighs apart, noticing the way fluids soil your panties.

“how cute,” he observes out loud, allowing his hunger to show in the way he nearly rips your panties apart whilst harshly tugging the, down, watching how your legs immediately fall apart into a spread, panties hanging off your ankle for dear life. you were so desperate, you were willing to do this in the woods, present yourself to a peacekeeper just because you had gotten horny merely off a chase.

his hand smoothes against your right inner thigh, feeling goosebumps form in prickles, and the way you shiver underneath each touch. his hand is large against your cunt, a single finger moving through it to feel the wetness, your hips immediately buck, desperate for more.

his chuckle is soon silenced by his hand raising to his mouth, just so he can taste your slick.

removing it with a pop, a curt smile tugs at his lips, sweet, like honey.

his hand smoothes down your inner thigh again, and you realize he’s teasing you, “officer—“

his thumb is threateningly close to your cunt, “hm?”

“touch me,” you breathe out, “please.”

how funny is it that the last time you said please to him you were begging for your life?

“like this?” his eyebrow quirks, pad of his thumb moving to swipe against your clit, your back arches ever so slightly.

the whine that emits from you is far too loud for his liking, so he hushes you with gentle shhs, thumb rubbing slow circles on the bundle of nerves.

“you don’t want people to hear us, hm?” he hums, “to find out you’re letting a peacekeeper touch you in such ways, truly scandalous.”

he can imagine it being front page of the district newspaper, girl caught fucking peacekeeper in woods!

your fingers twitch in his grasp, finding his movements far too slow, and he finds your movements and whines far too annoying.

he moves to plunge a finger into your cunt, making your whines hush to whimpers, unintelligible words.

“real impatient, aren’t you?” his finger moves slow at first, watching the way your hips move against it in response, “maybe i should just put you in your place.”

he removes his finger, watching the way you desperately clench around nothing. his hand moves to grab his machine gun, which he had ditched as soon as he threw you to the floor, he finally releases your wrists, you have a chance to run if you wanted to, but you didn’t— because you didn’t want to run, because the fear that filled you when he aimed his gun at you had even more of your fluids escaping the oyster between your legs.

he moves to cock it, taking it off the safety.

“fully loaded,” he reminds you, but also seems to be reminding himself.

he seems to believe you don’t believe him in the way you look up at him through glossy eyes, and he moves to aim his gun at a nearby tree, one to your right, directly behind you. and he shot, birds cawed as they flew away from the loud shots, he noticed how you flinched, immediately moving to the safety of his grasp, and he only smiled, how adorable that you find safety in the man who had enough power to kill you in seconds.

he hushes your fears, not reassuring anything about your safety as he moves the gun tip your legs back apart, one of his hands leaving it as he wraps it around your wrists once more, holding you back down in a missionary position. the hand on his gun was less steady now, finger tight against the trigger, it had you biting your lip. he traces along your inner thigh with the tip of the gun, “you’re gonna be a good girl, right?”

he watches you immediately nod, so eager, “yes, yes, officer.”

his gun passes a trail down to your cunt, pressing against your clit, he could shoot right now, the finger on the trigger was so tight, so unsupported. he could slip once and shoot directly into you, something about that thrilled you more, made your hips buck against the gun, practically riding the weapon. he admires your desperation, the way your face twists with pleasure as you move against the cool material that built the gun.

he eventually pulls the tip of the gun down, until it’s at your entrance.

he watches your eyes widen as the metal dips inside of you, spreading you open with ease.

your hands flail in his tight hold, “it hurts— officer, wait—“

“hm?” he pauses for a mere second, “sweet bunny, you can take it.”

the pain soon subdues to pleasure as he begins moving the gun again, pumping it in and out of you and coating the black of the weapon with your milky slick. whimpers of pain soon become moans of pleasure, the tears that had built a gloss over your eyes dipping down your cheeks as your eyes close, hips bucking against the weapon.

“easy, bunny, easy,” his voice is strained, like seeing you cry awakens something within him, when your hips stop moving against his gun he continues to pump it, faster this time, “good girl, gonna cum all over my gun?”

you nod, more tears escaping as the thrill of your possible death and the pleasure from the weapon that may cause it becomes all too much. a deep groan vibrates from his chest at the sight of you crying, lips parting to continue, “that’s it, good, good.”

it’s as if you crying is enough to have him reaching his climax already, as if seeing you cry felt like jerking off.

the gun widens the more it goes into you, stretching you until you’ll be nothing but a gaping mess from his gun when he’s done.

so filthy, to be easily stretched out by something that has killed many, how terribly cruel of you, to be cumming on it.

and the man who had done it is merely watching, admiring you like this was an art gallery, and you were the center piece. he notices the way you near your orgasm, as your hips can’t help but grind down on the gun, moans escaping past your nearly bitten to bleeding lips. and you start calling out to him, “officer, officer, please— can i cum— please.”

a mere plead, and if snow was a good man, he would say yes, but he wasn’t one.

“no, bunny, you ran from me,” his finger slides against the trigger, staring at you with a new tint glossing over his eyes, “do you think you deserve to cum?”

“yes, i need to, i want—“ your breath quickens, mindlessly grinding down onto the gun.

“no,” he pulls the gun out, depraving you of every wish. he notices the way you whimper, thighs pressing together and rubbing in desire to form friction. there was none, and soon he was tossing his gun to the side, tugging his pants and boxers down ever so slightly to free his cock, then prying your legs apart once more.

he carefully moves himself between your legs, his hand around your wrists finally freeing them, admiring the red ring he left from how tight his grip was. the same hand moved to fall against your throat, fingertips dipping in to your delicate skin as he guides his dick to your entrance, carefully pushing into you. he feels you tense underneath him at the feeling of him filling you once more, the length and girth enough to reach your intestines, you were sure of it.

once he bottoms out, he notices the way a bulge appears at your pelvis, popping up against the skin then falling to a settle with each thrust. his other hand moves to your mouth, his fingers spreading your pillow lips apart, your salty taste pressing against your own tongue.

“taste yourself, bunny, so sweet, hm?” he grunts with each thrust, practically manhandling you with each snap of his hips, fingers dipping down your throat. he watches your eyes roll back, mumbling pleas for the satisfaction of your orgasm to finally come, your bodily fluids sticking to his pelvis and his dick, your walls pulsed around him, drooling onto his cock.

he nears his climax almost immediately, nose scrunching slightly, “cum, cum for me, sweet bunny.”

“officer—“ your back arches off the earthy ground as you finally reach your climax, moans vibrating against his flesh and he continues to thrust, riding out your orgasm, overstimulating you until he’s practically fucking you dumb. eventually, he bottoms out, pumping you nearly full of his cum. he moves his hand from your mouth, sticky from your saliva, and takes your panties off your ankle, pulling out and plugging your hole with your own panties. just so you don’t lose any of his cum.

“there, now you can walk around with my cum inside of you, how sweet.” he takes his hands off of you, moving to tuck his softening dick away and standing.

he offers your limp body a wink, swiping up his gun, and following up with a, “don’t let me catch you again, doll.”

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #tbosas #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus smut #coriolanus x y/n #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tom blyth

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tropes-and-tales · 1 year ago

Text

Too Much for You

Day 3: Collaring (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Smut (Oral, m!receiving; oblique talk of other sex acts; oblique talk of power dynamics in the bedroom); 18+ only.

Word Count: 2865

AN: This was requested by the lovely @callsign-frostbite!

The Hard Deck is often segregated by cliques, like a high school lunch room: the fighter pilots post up by the pool tables and piano, the fixed wing aircraft pilots claim the stretch of the bar with the dart boards and juke box. The bar proper is the neutral zone, but the two groups rarely mix.

Bob Floyd falls in with the fighter pilots because he’s the back-seater for one, but he feels like he might fit in better with the darts-and-jukebox crowd. They are more sedate, seem more confident in themselves. There’s less of a nightly dick-measuring contest.

It doesn’t hurt that you’re part of the darts-and-jukebox crowd: the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, poured into your uniform so it fits like a glove. You move with that same quiet assurance as your fellow fixed wing pilots, but you’re like a bright point of light, always pulling Bob’s gaze to you. You’re fascinating to watch: when you’re playing darts, when you’re leaning over the jukebox, when you’re dancing a smooth two-step to the songs you pick.

Hangman is the one who first notices Bob’s puppy-dog staring, follows the WSO’s blue-eyed gaze across the Hard Deck where you and the other pilots drink and converse. Hangman nudges Nat, who whispers in Rooster’s ear, who beckons Javi over, and within minutes, the whole crew is watching Bob watching you.

Hangman is the one who first tells Bob not to bother.

“She’s not the one for you, Baby on Board,” he tells Bob while he clasps his shoulder, jostles him a little in his seat. “You need a shy gal. A homebody who will greet you at the door with fresh-baked cookies. A Betty Crocker-type.”

Nat scoffs, shakes her head. “You make him sound like a complete square.”

“Well…” Hangman trails off, shrugs with a wide smile. “I mean…”

“He’s not a complete square, Bagman.” Nat crosses her arms, and she squares up to her fellow fighter pilot. “And anyway, what’s wrong with her? She’s cute.” She tilts her head in your direction.

It’s Javi who has the dirt on you, which sounds like so much of the usual Navy outlandish gossip. He leans in close and tells Bob all about you.

“Her call-sign is Nix,” he says, and he keeps his voice low, as if you might hear over the din of the crowd. “Because she flies one of those Poseidon recon planes. But she’s a complete freak, man. I served on a carrier with a guy whose roommate’s brother dated her. She’s totally into that freaky bedroom shit. She’d eat you alive.”

Bob swallows hard, but he can’t help the flush that breaks out across his cheeks…or the faint throb of lust that drums along with his heartbeat.

“What do you mean, freaky stuff?” It’s Nat who asks the question; his pilot turns and watches you with frank interest now.

Javi shrugs, takes a sip of his beer. “BDSM stuff.” He looks at Bob, gives him another shrug. “Sorry, man. She’s too much for you.”

-----

After the fact, Bob bristles at his teammates’ collective verdict.

Bristling leads to simmering, which leads to outright resentment. The days pass, and Bob teems with indignation. How dare Bagman? How dare Javi? How dare any of them make assumptions about him? Sure, he’s quiet and unassuming and a back-seater, but it grates on his nerves how they act like they know him that well.

They don’t know him at all.

Even their dumb nickname for him: Baby on Board. They forget that he passed the same rigorous training they did, that he graduated from Top Gun just as they did. He’s a goddamned grown man, and they treat him like a boy.

The two cliques at the Hard Deck rarely mix, but halfway through a Friday night, Bob taps into his latent courage—the courage his teammates fail to recognize—and marches over to where you stand by the jukebox. He can hear Hangman behind him, trying to urge him back before it’s too late, but you catch sight of Bob’s approach out of your peripherals and turn to watch him. You neither frown nor smile; your expression is exactly neutral. Bob digs deeper into his hidden reserve of courage, and he holds out a hand.

“I’m Lieutenant Bob Floyd,” he says, and he hopes his teammates can see how he doesn’t stutter, how he meets your gaze levelly because he’s a goddamned man and not a boy. “I heard you fly the new P-8 Poseidon.”

“I do.” You hold your hand out to shake his, and you gift him a smile that seems guarded. “Though it’s a few years old now.”

“Still new by military standards.”

Your smile relaxes, and you drop your hand. “Very true. Are you a pilot?”

Bob shakes his head, tells you he’s a weapons specialist officer, and the conversation flows naturally to your respective aircrafts, the systems on each, and if Bob admired you from afar, he likes the obvious love you have for your airplane even more.

He spends the rest of the night with you, and the hours fly by like nothing. He leaves with your number, and the feeling is better than even the confused look on Bagman’s smug face—that quiet, unassuming Bob Floyd pulled the number of an unattainable fellow pilot.

-----

If you’re into freaky bedroom stuff, it doesn’t make an appearance right away. You and Bob take your time—it doesn’t help that you’re both active duty. There’s a stretch of time, just as your burgeoning relationship is on its shaky new legs, where you’re both deployed on separate missions.

Bob thinks it’ll be the end of the thing between you, but somehow strengthens your relationship. Absence making the heart grow fonder, all that cliched stuff. When you’re finally both back stateside, you make it official: Bob Floyd the WSO and you, the pilot who flies surveillance missions—an official couple.

Your first month as a couple, it’s that awkward period where you’re just figuring each other out in the bedroom. It’s clumsy at first but passionate, the two of you abandoning any pretense of coolness for the ardor that you have for each other.

Bob loves all of it: the time he spends between your thighs, coaxing orgasms from you with his mouth. The time you spend on your knees doing the same for him. All of the varied positions, you riding him, him riding you. The quickies and the love-making where you spend entire hours reveling in each other’s bodies.

BDSM stuff, Javi had said. Bob only has an inkling what that may mean. He imagines whips and chains, a gimp mask, tears of pain. He is open to nearly anything you might want to do, but the idea of pain in the bedroom makes him wary. He doesn’t want to hurt you, even consensually. If it is something you demand, he might have to end things.

The thought tortures him. Each day, he falls more in love with you. Each night, he is slow to fall asleep at the unspoken fear that you may be too much for him and the inverse: that he may not be enough for you.

Bob should have remembered that the Navy is little more than a hive of gossipers. People tell tales, and truth get twisted in the retelling.

Javi and his buddy’s roommate’s brother. Your alleged ex. It was a ridiculous game of telephone. The topic kinda comes up organically over dinner one night, talk about exes, and it leads to Bob blurting out his fears. That he’s not adventuresome enough for you. That when you inevitably ask him to tie you up and whip you, he won’t be able to satisfy you.

The look on your face is priceless. You gaze over your plate at him and ask, “huh?”

He can’t turn back now. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “BDSM stuff,” he clarifies. “I don’t…I don’t think I’m into that.”

“Bobby—”

“But I’ll try.” He cuts you off, and he feels sick to his stomach to have brought his silent fears to light with so little finesse. “I’ll try, sweetheart.”

You set your fork down with a quiet clink, and you reach across the table and take his hand. When he chances a look at your face, you don’t seem angry or disappointed. Instead, you smile at him softly.

“You can’t believe everything you hear,” you tell him.

-----

Javi and the gossipmongers in the Navy are half-right: you are not into BDSM.

You are into playing with power dynamics.

Bob gets an education in an entire spectrum of sexuality he’s never even considered before. He’d be ashamed—embarrassed, maybe, as he usually is when it came to frank discussions about sex—but you’re an amazing teacher and, well….he finds that perhaps he’s into playing with power dynamics too.

And you’re both switches. You’re both capable of being dominant or submissive. The possibilities are endless. Bob’s mind boggles at the surfeit of scenes the two of you could play out, and it boggles further to find that those scenes make him fall more and more in love with you. It always felt hokey, talk of how sex was a way to build a connection. Bob never had it before, but now?

Now he has it.

-----

The day goes poorly for Bob: Hangman continues to live up to his nickname, and his rivalry with Rooster spills over to the rest of the TOPGUN pilots. Bob and Nat get paired up with Jake during a dog-fight exercise, and they lose over and over because the man is incapable of teamwork.

Bob can’t control Jake.

Bob can’t even control the plane. He has to cede control to Nat, and he’s usually fine with it, but he feels extra helpless as a back-seater during exercises like this.

But Bob, if he asks nicely, can control you—so when he gets home, frustrated and irritable, he asks if he can be in charge.

You gaze at him a long moment, and your eyes get steadily darker as your pupils dilate.

“Of course,” you tell him.

-----

Bob in charge: he makes you change into the sweet powder-pink lingerie he bought you. A casual cotton dress. He has a housewife kink, he’s found, and he likes to play around with the dynamic of pretending you’re waiting at home for him.

Lingerie, dress. He also helps you put on the collar, a deceptively simple silver band of metal. Not too tight. There’s a little hook at the end for a leash, but neither you nor Bob ever use it. The collar is just a visual reminder of who is in charge, and who is being led.

Bob in charge: he orders you onto all fours. He sits on the couch, freshly showered after his shitty day. He leans back, splays his legs wide. He crooks his forefinger at you.

“Come here, kitten,” he says.

It’s as simple as this. He gives you an order and you obey. He’s in charge; he tells you to crawl to him on hands and knees and you do. You kneel in front of him, your hands on your thighs, your eyes fixed to his face in an expression of adoration. You wait for his next order.

There’s no frustration like with Hangman. There’s no fickle controls like in the back seat of his and Nat’s plane. There’s no dog-fight practice where they lose Maverick in the sun, where they have to do hundreds of push-ups on the tarmac until Bob’s arms burn and his cold fury simmers.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“I want to make you feel good, sir,�� you answer, and your voice has a deference it normally doesn’t. Bob feels the tension of his day bleed away bit by bit, then all at once.

Bob in charge: he orders you to put your mouth to him. He’s already half-hard, but he loves the feeling of your warm mouth on him, coaxing him to full life with your worshipful tongue laving him, suckling against his sensitive tip until he’s hard as iron and throbbing in your mouth.

He lays a hand on the back of your head, another tame display of dominance, but he doesn’t force you. He shifts it to cup the side of your face as you take him to the root, your nose pressed against the sparse, coarse curls at the base of his cock. Keeps his hand there as you bob your head, as you take deep breaths through your nose.

You’re reverent when you’re submissive. You always take your time. You cup his balls lightly in one hand, and when you feel them start to draw up—a sure sign his orgasm is approaching—you back off a bit. You release him from the warm confines of your mouth and draw the tip of your tongue over the prominent vein that runs along the underside of his cock. You lick the tip of him, suckle there again until he’s breathing harsh, punched-out breaths. Then you engulf him again, hollow your cheeks and actually hum against him, and the tip of him bumps against the back of your throat until your eyes water.

A lone tear breaks free when you blink, and Bob shifts his hand, brushes it away. He taps you on your chin lightly.

“Eyes on me, kitten,” he orders you, and a moment later, you look up at him.

You look beautifully wrecked: eyes wet and liquid as you gaze at him, your eye makeup streaked and ruined. Your lovely mouth stretched wide around his cock.

“You look pretty as a damned picture,” he tells you, and it’s true. He holds you in this position for a beat, wants to commit the image to memory. He wants to carry this moment with him for future frustrating days—when TOPGUN is grueling, he wants to remember that he has this to come home to.

Not just a gorgeous woman on her knees with her lips wrapped around him, either. You’re that, of course, but you’re more. You’re also the woman who orders him around, who calls him a “good boy,” who cups his face the way he’s cupping yours right now. You’re also the woman who ties him to the bed and teases him relentlessly. You’re also the woman who spends long, lazy Sunday mornings with him, making love in a languid, sleepy way that feels like heaven.

You’re also the woman who flies a spy plane, a lieutenant in your own right, a no-nonsense aviator who commands respect with your quiet competency in a field full of blowhards and jackasses.

Bob releases his hold on your face. He slips his hand down to your throat, and he hooks his forefinger around the metal collar, now warmed from being against your skin.

He tugs it gently. “I’m close,” he warns you. “You gonna take everything I give you? Swallow it down, kitten?”

You pull your mouth away long enough to answer. “Yes, sir,” you tell him, and you sound just as wrecked as he does. He knows what this game does to you. He knows your powder-pink panties are slick with your own arousal, your pretty little pussy likely twitching and clenching around nothing, waiting for him.

He nods, and you bend your head to him again. Your mouth is wonderfully warm, surrounding him, and you pick up your pace. Your hand on his balls squeezes him gently, and he feels his orgasm—delayed several times now—thundering towards him. His hips judder upward, involuntary, chasing the feel of your wet, sucking mouth, and you gag lightly against the action but you never stop.

You never stop once he’s given you an order.

A moment later, the heavy tension in his belly snaps, turns to light and heat that crackles along his spine to the base of his skull, crackles down to where his balls pull up taut in your hand as he comes. He groans out your name, swears as he pulses in your mouth, and each throb of his cock is answered by you swallowing against him, the slim column of your throat working to take everything he gives you.

And you clean him up at his order too, your tongue shyly running over his softening cock, and then your hand tucking him back into his sweatpants before your eyes find his face.

“Thank you,” he tells you. He hooks his finger under your collar again, gently leads you from the floor and onto his lap, and he wraps his arms around you. He presses his head into the side of your neck and sighs out the lingering bit of his frustration from the day, but he’s completely relaxed now. Once he’s recovered, he’ll repay you, but for now, he wants to bask in his post-orgasm glow with you on his lap and in his arms.

And he thinks back to Javi’s words, all those months ago. She’s too much for you, he’d said. Which turned out to be completely untrue: you’re just enough for him. You’re perfect for him.

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd #top gun maverick #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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incorrectquoteswwdits · 1 year ago

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I know we have the Masterpost but an Anon has also sent me this really detailed summary of the episodes!!!

Spoilers follow! WILL spoil you on the background and things that we were missing/any gaps in Episode 1 or 2. Big thanks to Anon! Thanks for typing this out!

@azirafuck if you’d like to add this to the masterpost feel free!

“Spoiler that I haven't seen mentioned yet and you might be interested in: The reason Crowley and Aziraphale are involved in Nina and Maggie's love life is because Aziraphale lies to Michael, Uriel, and Saraqael.

Long babbling explanation with lots of background on Maggie/Nina:

Aziraphale is Maggie's landlord because her record shop used to be part of Aziraphale's bookshop and he still owns that part of the building. Maggie is super behind on rent but Aziraphale doesn't care and has to convince her to let him forgive her debt in exchange for an £8 record. They seem to be pretty friendly and she special orders records for him. She is infatuated with Nina but they barely know each other.

Early in the day of ep 1, Maggie goes to Nina's for a coffee, they talk briefly about the record shop (Nina thinks it's dumb because no one buys records anymore). They're interrupted by the naked man in the street.

Gabriel goes to the bookshop and talks with Aziraphale. Aziraphale invites Crowley to the coffee shop to try and tell him (insert the sneak peek).

Crowley doesn't want to be involved and doesn't want Aziraphale to be involved. He tries to convince Aziraphale to just drop Gabriel off somewhere and when Aziraphale says no he gets mad and storms out. (Other sneak peek) He smokes it the street and then shoots out lighting that cuts power and cell service in Nina's shop.

Meanwhile, Maggie has gone back to the shop to gift Nina a Nina Simone record, but Nina just says she doesn't have anything to play it on. Nina also at this point mentions she has an overbearing partner at home who will be upset if she's home late so she's trying to hurry Maggie out. But when the power goes out Nina's security system automatically engages and locks them in. They're stuck in there a few hours, Nina pulls out some wine and Maggie admits that she's never really drank or partied, wasn't ever wild as a teenager, etc. Eventually Crowley comes back, they're able to get his attention, and he fixes the power. Nina's partner has sent her many texts and voicemails angry and anxious that she's late.

That night, Aziraphale and Crowley perform a miracle to hide Gabriel that they think is small and unnoticeable (if we each do half a miracle neither side will notice) but it ends up being massive and heaven notices.

The next day, Gabriel, despite not being able to remember anything, starts singing Everyday. Aziraphale doesn't know the song so he goes to Maggie to ask her about it. She starts gushing to him about how embarrassed she is for trying to give Nina the record and everything she admit the night before and how in love she is but it's stupid because Nina has a partner anyway. Aziraphale kind of brushes it off, saying they will discuss later because he needs to know about the song. She gives him the record and tells him about the pub. (She keeps sending them records for their juke box, they keep sending them back because they all just end up playing Everyday)

Almost immediately after, Michael, Uriel, and Saraqael show up at the bookshop to question him about the miracle. He lies and says the miracle was to make Nina and Maggie fall in love. Michael says they're going to send someone to check on that. Aziraphale tells Crowley and they decide that they need to make Maggie and Nina actually fall in love before heaven finds out about the lie. Crowley says they need to catch them in the rain so they get wet and huddle under an awning and Aziraphale says they need to throw a grand ball like in a Jane Austen novel. (They seem to settle on trying both, but neither happens in ep 1 or 2)”

(MY NOTES: AHHH??? NINA AND MAGGIE??? MAGGIE IN LOVE WITH NINA WITHOUT HER EVEN KNOWING HER?!! NINA ALREDY HAS A PARTNER?!! A BALL OMG WE ARE GOING TO SEE A GRAND BALL IN THAT EPISODE PLANNED FOR N AND M, BUT CROWLEY AND AZIRAPHALE WILL JUST LOOK AT EACH OTHER I STG

#Good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #good omens spoiler #now that I know every main detail I can die in peace #Thank you!#Go2 spoilers

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jpitha · 2 years ago

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A Matter of Scale

The issue with the humans is that it's a matter of scale. Deathworlder or not, a single human - while intimidating - isn't that dangerous.

All of them is another story.

We had thought us the pinnacle of evolution. A species beyond compare. Why would we think otherwise? with our hard carapaces, sharp vision, and powerful weapons, the small furry forest creatures that called themselves 'K'laxi' were no match. They had only a small handful of planets colonized and a scant dozen starbases between them. They had a toy empire of only themselves. We took their own warp gates and started attacking them slowly, methodically. They presented no threat, so we saw no need to hurry.

Occasionally, our scouts heard of another species that was friendly with the K'laxi, calling themselves Humanity. We only heard descriptions from captured K'laxi. Taller than they were, no fur, bipedal, mammalian species from a world larger and wetter than their own. Supposedly they had massive strength and a strong constitution. Some had said that they were deathworlders, but we know that was just propaganda. Deathworlds looked nice from a distance, but were inhospitable to sapient life.

Everyone knows this.

We weren't worried about the humans. Just another species to subjugate. After we crush the K'laxi, we'll move on to them.

Since everyone uses the gate system, we are able to attack with complete surprise. It was different at this planet though. This planet was a small, lighter world like the others, but also had a strange starbase at a Lagrange point. It was very large and not of K'laxi design. Much heavier looking, it was made of huge rings interlocking in a spiral shape. An officer guessed it must be a human starbase. Assuming we found the humans laughable military, we turned to attack the starbase after locking the gate.

As we approached the starbase, two small ships detached from it and ran headlong towards us! Our commander laughed, thinking it was a suicide run and ordered everyone to attack. The two ships dodged and juked around the missiles and energy weapons we fired. They used small shaped charges which slid the ship out of the way of our missiles at the last second and were able to withstand the relentless fire of our weapons.

A few minutes after the attack started, both ships did something that surprised all of our analysts. With missiles and shots all around them, they both generated wormholes and left the system.

They escaped.

Our scientists knew about wormhole generation, but everyone knew it was much too dangerous for sapients to use! It was a death sentence. At best, you could send goods through it, but the energy costs were enormous. Better to just use the warp gates.

Still not understanding the monumental mistake we had made, we turned back towards the starbase. The distraction of the ships leaving bought time and it had begun to change. The concentric rings of the starbase had slid together and moved around, revealing massive batteries of anti-ship weapons, missile racks containing hundreds of missiles and the rings had become like thick armor.

The battle was very difficult. We lost many ships to the missiles and fire from the starbase, but we reached the docking ring, forced our way on and began to sweep the station, attacking everyone we met and claiming it for our own.

The humans fought back.

In one report, a single human female held off more than two dozen warriors by attacking with makeshift weapons while her K'laxi colleagues ran to escape ships. She was killed, but not before she took out 10 of our finest warriors.

In another, two human security agents held an entire platoon of warriors off while more K'laxi and Human adults and children escaped. Their human firearms subjected our warriors to withering fire while the humans just stared blankly, firing and changing targets. When they ran out of ammunition, they took their rifles, and started swinging them like clubs into whoever was left. Our shots almost did nothing! They'd take a hit, wince, and continue to fight. They were finally killed by a heavy weapon platform that was brought in.

Still more used surprise and trickery. They would hide in the common areas and throw trash and junk to make it sound like they were somewhere else. We'd turn and they'd attack our backs.

It took more than a week to take the station and in that time, the humans helped nearly all the K'laxi onto escape ships which streaked towards the planet.

As they retreated, the humans denied us use of their own weapons and devices. They'd destroy them, they'd trap them to explode, they would ruin computers and servers and even the star base's AI itself fought us. It would slam pressure doors down when we walked under them, it would randomly expose parts of the starbase to vacuum, blowing warriors out into space.

We could take the starbase, but could not hold it.

Less than 3 days after we declared the station taken, there was a massive spike of energy, and more than one thousand human ships linked into space though their infernal wormholes. All different sizes, all a riot of garish colors including 3 'dreadnoughts' that were easily three times the size of the already huge starbase.

However, instead of attacking immediately they sent out a signal.

"It's done. Stop fighting now. Save yourselves."

Fleet Command puzzled over the message for hours. Some minor commanders figured it was some kind of trick and rushed the human flotilla. One of the dreadnoughts fired once and the ship was just...gone.

At that, Fleet Command declared the cause hopeless, and ordered us to stand down and surrender.

And then something amazing happened. The Humans came on board, first in their polished black pressure suits with their massive rifles, and then, with no armor and no pressure suit, their commanders came aboard. They wanted to meet and see what we needed. "What?" We cried. "You could destroy us with a whisper. Why are you trying to help us?"

"We are offering to help you because you need help."

They had learned about the trouble we had back on our homeworld, how we were in the process of ruining our home with industry and pollution and with a wry smile they said "Yeah, we had that problem a while back too. We can help."

With humans, it's a matter of scale.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are warriors #humans are humane #sci fi writing #writing #humans are space australians

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nolongerapileofashprobably · 1 year ago

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Okay so my genuine thoughts on the final scenes of Totk

So having Link go through the final ‘dungeon’ and wind up exactly where we started the game, with those rocks we ACHED to break bc it was instinct, only to get that satisfaction after EVERYTHING and to see that Zelda’s fate was foretold millennia ago. Turning into a dragon WAS her only choice. And for good reason.

Ganondorf’s fight. WOW. That was genuinely so beautifully done. He ALSO dodges how Link does. To have Ganondorf dodge something, the entire action moving in slow motion, only to then have LINK do the same the next move?? Poetic cinema people. And the champions arriving 🥹 only to then have them all fucking thrown to the side when he takes in his doubles to regain his own strength? Absolutely insane and hands down my favorite boss fight in the entirety of the Zelda series. Yeah. That’s how much I enjoyed it as a player.

Can we also just talk about how concerned everyone got and how they yelled his name when he was taken from the underground??

And THEN the final fight with Ganondorf swallowing a secret stone and becoming a dragon. It brings Zelda’s sacrifice to light. She did it out of selflessness and love. He did it out of selfishness and hatred. GOD do I love characters that juxtapose each other. Zelda is a girl who was given the responsibility of a power she never wanted while Ganondorf is a megalomaniac who sought the destruction of peace because of his own selfish desires. Seeing the difference between them in that final fight as two dragons… it was EVERYTHING.

Zelda’s dragon form was tiny compared to Ganondorf’s dragon form. She protects. He attacks.

It’s so beautiful to see how Zelda, who isn’t mentally awake, first instinct are to save Link. She quickly maneuvers so she can not only juke out Ganondorf, but also then save Link who was flung into the air in the process. Link clutching onto her dragon fur? Or whatever?? And understanding that while the sages are all still underground, he is not alone in the sky. She’s going to be by his side this entire time.

For someone who was alone the majority of the last game… this was so fucking emotional and beautiful to see.

Them lowkey explaining calamity Ganon by also using dragons this game was a really nice consistency touch btw I was digging how focal dragons were to the entire game this time around.

And then the final bit. That SCENE. Rauru and Sonia channeling their power through Link, who was incredibly confused before he realized what they must be doing, and got SO determined. Turning Zelda back and even getting his own hand back in the process??? Insane to see. Zelda was so so loved by Rauru and Sonia despite only spending a short amount of time with them. And that just makes my heart hurt when we consider what actually happened.

And when Link falls unconscious, which is completely logical when you think about the fight he just went through, the altitude he was at, and channeling enough magic that it reversed the effects of an all powerful secret stone???? Yo he went through a LOT!

And he wakes up, already on the alert bc man is freefallin only to then realize that Zelda is back and she’s also falling. And she’ll hit the ground a lot sooner than he would at the rate they’re going.

Link couldn’t reach Zelda in the beginning of this entire thing. But this time? This time he not only reaches her hand, but he pulls her in close, shields her head as best as he can, and prepares them to hit the water. Once they do, he carries her out of the water. Gentle, oh so gently, laying her down and kneels over her as she begins to wake up.

And one of the first thing Zelda does as she wakes up is to take him in and looks him over to see if HE’S hurt. Just like she did in the beginning of the game. And everything click. They won. He defeated Ganondorf and she was granted the impossible by Rauru and Sonia to turn back into a human.

And Zelda IMMEDIATELY rambles on about everything. About how much has happened. How much she has to tell him.

And finally. Finally. She looks at him and smiles so fucking gently that it drives me INSANE with how much she obviously adores him, and says, “I’m home, Link. I’m home.”

Because home is right there. Right by his side. In this Hyrule that they’ve been rebuilding together. The one they lived the past half decade ish together in a house Link bought and traveled across Hyrule no matter what the issue was. In the Hyrule where she is so beloved by everyone.

Zelda is home.

#and if that doesn’t make you SOB then I don’t know what will #this was an absolutely insane game and I’ve still got so much to do #don’t even get me started on the fact that you build a dream family home in this game too.#like. that tells us SO MUCH #they’re in love your honor #botw zelink #zelink #totk zelink #totk spoilers #loz totk spoilers #loz tears of the kingdom spoilers

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evilthotiana · 8 months ago

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I hate Abstract Hip Hop African Music Afrobeats Alt-Country Alté Alternative Dance Alternative R&B Alternative Rock Alt-Pop Ambient Ambient Dub Ambient Pop Ambient Techno Americana Art Pop Art Punk Art Rock Avant-Garde Jazz Ballroom Baltimore Club Bedroom Pop Blues Boom Bap Brazilian Music Breakbeat Breakbeat Hardcore Bubblegum Bass Caribbean Music Central African Music Chamber Folk Chamber Pop Chicago Drill Chillout Chillwave Classical Music Cloud Rap Conscious Hip Hop Contemporary Folk Contemporary R&B Country Country Soul Dance Dancehall Dance-Pop Deconstructed Club Deep House Detroit Techno Disco Downtempo Dream Pop Drill Drill and Bass Drone Drum and Bass Drumless Dubstep Dub Techno East Coast Club East Coast Hip Hop Electro Electroacoustic Electronic Electronic Dance Music Electropop Emo Emo Rap Experimental Experimental Hip Hop Experimental Rock Film Soundtrack Folk Folk Rock Footwork French Hip Hop Funk Funk brasileiro Funk Rock Future Garage Gangsta Rap Garage Punk Garage Rock Ghetto House Ghettotech Glitch Glitch Hop Glitch Pop Grime Hard Bop Hardcore [EDM] Hardcore Hip Hop Hardcore [Punk] Hardcore Punk Hip Hop Hip Hop Soul Hip House Hispanic American Music Hispanic Music Horrorcore House Hyperpop Hypnagogic Pop IDM Indie Folk Indie Pop Indie Rock Indietronica Industrial Industrial & Noise Industrial Hip Hop Industrial Techno Instrumental Hip Hop Jamaican Music Jangle Pop Jazz Jazz-Funk Jazz Fusion Jazz Rap Juke Jungle Krautrock Math Pop Math Rock Memphis Rap Microhouse Midwest Emo Minimal Synth Minimal Techno Minimal Wave Modern Classical MPB Neo-Psychedelia Neo-Soul New Wave Noise Pop Noise Rock Northern American Music Nu Jazz Outsider House Plugg PluggnB Plunderphonics Political Hip Hop Pop Pop Rap Pop Rock Pop Soul Post-Bop Post-Hardcore Post-Industrial Post-Punk Post-Punk Revival Post-Rock Power Pop Progressive Breaks Progressive Electronic Progressive Pop Psychedelia Psychedelic Folk Psychedelic Pop Psychedelic Rock Psychedelic Soul Punk Punk Rock R&B Reggae Regional Music Rock Shoegaze Singer-Songwriter Slacker Rock Slowcore Smooth Soul Sophisti-Pop Soul Soul Jazz Sound Collage Soundtrack South American Music Southern African Music Southern Hip Hop Southern Soul Spiritual Jazz Spoken Word Synth Funk Synthpop Tech House Techno Traditional Folk Music Trap Trap Soul Trip Hop UK Bass UK Funky UK Garage UK Hip Hop West African Music West Coast Hip Hop Western Classical Music Wonky

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writerownstory · 2 months ago

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She glances at the sleeveless boy—Luke, she guesses, only to find he’s already looking at her. His face turns a light shade of pink once he realizes he’s been caught, but then his eyes flick to the boy in front of him.

“It’s okay. Just please, keep it down. Or maybe play at a normal time?” Julie considers throwing in that she’s trying to protect them from Flynn’s wrath, but decides against it.

“Of course,” he agrees. “We—”

He’s cut off by loud buzzing coming from inside the apartment behind him. The three of them immediately cover their ears, with Luke quickly turning around to reveal a third boy with a bass guitar strapped to his shoulders and frantically pulling different cords from the amp next to him.

“I’m not doing it! I can’t get it to stop!” Reggie shouts.

The blonde boy hurries over and rips the power cord out of the wall, effectively silencing the amp.

As Julie brings her eyes back to Luke, she realizes there’s a 4th person present. An older man stands next to the amp. He looks like a roadie Julie’s mom used to have to help her out at her shows. “Wait, can you see me?”

She tries to avert her gaze, but it’s too late. “You can see me!” the ghost exclaims.

the Juke Ghost Whisperer AU no one asked for❤️‍🔥

#guys i’m so nervous about posting this but i’m excited to share !!!!#what an oxymoron #pls don’t mind the moodboard’s quality #i’ve been on the struggle bus this week #anywayyyyyyyy #my writing #juke fic #julie and the phantoms

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mahuhumaling · 7 months ago

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JATP Season 2 Wishlist

that i wrote in my notes app back in:

and realized i never posted it here? tbf i'm rarely on tumblr. but because i really miss them rn i want to share my ✨ brainrot ✨ that i had back when i thought they were getting a renewal.

Carrie Wilson

she was my biggest flaw in Season 1. I wish her "redemption arc" is fleshed out more in Season 2; give her either more context & backstory to validate her reason for unnecessarily antagonizing Julie, or screentime to properly address how she's just projecting an emotion completely different into bitterness and anger into Julie's recovery

show particularly her earlier dynamic w/ Flynn and Julie? Maybe as Flynn calls her out, we'd get flashback glimpses prior to Rose's death (maybe even Double Trouble temporarily being Triple Threat 👉🏽👈🏽)

for some reason i'm picturing a scene where she's in her dance studio (she has one in their mansion, of course) practicing some of her Dirty Candy routine when she keeps messing up and not in the right mindset to keep dancing. i feel like the best (maybe easiest but whatever) way to guide the audience into her artist mind is to make her be a perfectionist. in frustration, she blows up for a minute before slumping onto the ground and reminisces her fun times with Julie & Flynn

also when you have her develop, please don't make her lose her femininity and the bubblegum pop music, it's great

Old Songs Resurfacing

it'll prove how detailed & thorough you are as a screenwriter if you pay off the songs mentioned in Season 1 in passing to be actual songs in Season 2

Unreleased: Get Lost, Long Weekend, Crooked Teeth, My Name is Luke, and if that riff from the scene in EP. 5 that spurred on the Bobby reveal isn't from one of these songs, add that too

Demo Album: Late Last Night, Lakeside Reflection, In Your Starlight

Willex

imagine your queer couple gets to have their first kiss first than your het main couple, not only will that settle Madi & Charlie's statements about being uncomfortable in doing a kissing scene and maintaining the priority of Juke's emotional over physical relationship, it would also make an powerful statement

Reggie's Character Arc

i know that he initially had an arc that involved a romance with Flynn but because of the ages of who they casted, they scrapped it and didn't have time to rewrite the scripts for him as filming neared, so they have time to adapt to how jeremy portrayed him for season 2: a lovable dork who craves familial love

since there's a possibility that lifers can now see the boys, maybe some found family trope for Reggie and Ray Molina?

he has pretty much formed a parasocial relationship with him at this point

so why not instead of a love interest, Reggie can have his character arc develop & we see his family before thru flashbacks and paralleling those in the current times because he sees Ray as a father figure

picture this: it's raining, Bobby opens the garage door to the sound of knocking, the boys find Reggie soaking wet and out of breath when he tries to say he doesn't know where else to go then the boys immediately figure out another fight in the Peters household happened. Reggie tries to talk again when Alex (because even though they're the airhead-sarcastic duo, they know they love each other) runs up to hug him and tells the other he doesn't have to say anything

cut to a freshly showered Reggie, quietly watching tv with Bobby, Luke, and Alex in the garage, eating whatever

also a solo acoustic country song, pls. just to make him happy

The Aftermath of the Deaths

for both the boys and Rose

we get parallels about how Bobby dealt with trauma and grief to Julie

like, the reason why the clothes are still in there (are to have costume changes for the boys) is because Bobby immediately moved out of the house (therefore also the garage) and left the clothes there because he couldn't bear to burn it, or visit the boys' houses to break the news to their families and return the clothes, or donate it somewhere so he just...left it. it would make for a more solid reason (for costume changes) and an emotional context as to how Bobby really tried to forget them because it was "easier."

it would also make sense why Carrie and Julie ended up friends. Rose probably was there for Bobby when they discovered what happened at the alleyway, so they stayed friends over the years and had their respective families but still kept in touch, (bonus points if absolutely nothing romantic happened between them! yay to normalizing platonic male-female relationships) and why Rose would immediately think of Bobby's three late bandmates to send for Julie when she was on her deathbed

Bobby never really "moved on" (because grief is a really complex thing). it's showed that he has a therapist and everything, and this could definitely have some aftereffects on his daughter. Carrie growing up seeing her father be this amazing rockstar but a negligent father and only showing love in ways she doesn't need (like riches and fame and connections to the music industry) because he's actually a really lonely man on the inside and no one can see that except for Bobby's spouse and Carrie. it'd explain why Carrie is spoiled, and other negative character traits that Carrie has on the surface

it's even why Bobby changed his name to Trevor: 1) Bobby is so closely associated to Sunset Curve and it's an absolute pain to be reminded of that every day, 2) it's a stage name and artists really do get that

More Worldbuilding

they already had some pretty creative concepts/ideas in the first season, so why not expand/expound on them a bit more

the instruments are attached to their souls that's why the boys at first can only touch them, like how Willie's skateboard and helmet are attached to him

which is why when they attach themselves to the world of the present, they gather up energy and focus on touching tangible things like the picture frame

this may follow the logic toward the end where they are finally able to touch Julie because she has become attached to their souls. emotionally.

More Creative Collaboration

i believe in the principle that when a story is finally released/published/told to the world, the world shares it. this is also visible in film/tv where when the scripts are finished and actors receive them, the story becomes part of theirs to work on. which means that they have some sort of autonomy over their characters' motivations, a chance to be heard of their ideas and pitches, and why some certain scenes wouldn't work, etc etc. it doesn't just become the director's story nor the screenwriters'.

the actors' ideas such as Perfect Harmony and their solos from Nothing to Lose are great because they let them in. they took risks, and it paid off incredibly well. more of that please. have them be a part of the writing process, (also the story), but never forget what made the music production great in the first place. be coherent and don't be like others that let too many hands work on one piece—it will lose its sound, its identity.

Julie Knowing

that Nick is possessed by Caleb. ohmygOD. hear me out.

the same S1 ending will play somewhere in 2x01, but it will be revealed that Julie was watching through the window the entire time and when she opens the door to receive the flowers, that last look she gives him is actually her scheming.

determined to get Nick back, imagine The Promised Neverland's level of mindgames Julie could play with Caleb because we already know our girl's smart

Free Willie Willie's Freedom

since the boys feel indebted to Willie's help, they insist on helping him too with getting rid of Caleb's stamp

maybe through his connection with Alex? or maybe Willie's family or friends who are still lifers (which is unlikely but either way). he needs to be saved !!

Song Sequences Ideas

juke counter melody duet like Rini's "Even When/The Best Part," Shane & Mitchie's "Wouldn't Change a Thing," or dodie & Jon Cozart's "a love song/a non love song"

emotional carrie ballad paired with lyrical hiphop choreo

willex song - i absolutely have no idea where this could go directionally but maybe alex on an acoustic guitar with a really soft sweet tune

reprises of S1 songs but in the complete opposite of their original style (the fandom's lonelier All Eyes on Me version, i see u)

nick guitar solo - just because Sacha actually plays, idk how it'd fit in to the plot yet but hey

Nothing to Lose (Reprise) - back in the '90s, a producer manipulates Bobby to sign a record deal to become a star but on one condition: disassociate himself with Sunset Curve, to which he first declines until he slowly gets persuaded. (sort of like Todrick Hall's So Lucky to Be You meets Lyn Lapid's Producer Man)

"So how about it, Bobby Shaw? Do we have a deal?"

"Trevor."

"I'm sorry?"

"Call me Trevor Wilson."

i'm pretty sure someone made an animatic with this idea too but i cannot for the life of me find it !!

7. Season 2 starts the same way as Season 1 does before the opening song plays

Black screen that reads a text "Hollywood 1995"

a pan down to the Orpheum's overhead sign that reads "SUNSET CURVE SOLD OUT"

cut to the interior with Rose finishing up her cleaning when a stage manager calls out: "Sunset Curve!" to which Bobby abruptly stops his pacing back and forth to look up. he and Rose look at each other. music swells until...

cut to him running onto the alleyway, "are they still not finished eating? those gluttons are dead to me i swear—" he cuts off his own words when he sees the boys getting dragged onto stretchers. but we, the audience, don't see it. just a close up of bobby as the ambulance lights reflects his face. rose comes up behind him, still clutching their t-shirt.

[i honestly have no idea if Bobby should get on stage because it just proves Luke's theory of The Orpheum's opening bands eventually becoming big & successful so it'll explain the Trevor Wilson fame even though at first he only did it for the boys, or if he shouldn't because according to the article Julie googled he ran away immediately after they were pronounced in the scene] but either way, this is how the opening starts.

then it progresses to Rose and Bobby respectively having children so they could parallel each other blah blah

8. Julie plays a simple song on the piano while the guys watch her in awe

Storytelling through Props

let's dive deep into Rose's luggage/suitcase and use the props to head for Julie's emotional attachment with them

they already did it with the wardrobe: Rose wears the black leather vest in the pilot while Julie wears the same thing in EP 6

add depth to the characters' relationships like us finding out Julie's multilayered necklace is actually a gift from Carrie or something

SOYON ANN YOU'RE A GIFT FROM GOD. Bobby's necklace is present in both young and old!him

**Rose in flashback scenes should be wearing clothes we've already seen Julie in Season 1 just for greater effect.

The Bobby Conflict

definitely needs to be brought up again by Season 2; they only discarded somewhere in the middle because more pressing matters like the boys' existence blipping away was pushed to the forefront of the story

however, The Bobby Conflict changes. it'll be cleared up that he was offered a record deal as a solo artist by a manipulative producer. and given that the poor boy is only 17 (too, maybe), he agrees. what he doesn't know is the contract's fine print: giving up Sunset Curve's royalties

that information clears it up to the audience and the band, so the conflict becomes this: Bobby's Survivor's Guilt. god wouldn't that be so good tackling that in a kids'/family show.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #julie molina #reggie peters #luke patterson #alex mercer #carrie wilson #bobby wilson #trevor wilson #willie #bobby shaw #ray molina #carlos molina #rose molina #flynn taylor #uranus

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goodnightmemes · 1 year ago

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THE CRAFT (1996) SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ I can't stay home and watch daytime TV for the rest of my life. ❜

❛ The almanac says today will bring an arrival of something. ❜

❛ We need someone to call out the corners-- north, south, east and west. ❜

❛ I am sorry. My defenses are up. People here have been really rude to me. ❜

❛ He comes on to anything with tits. ❜

❛ Everything in nature steals, you know. Big animals steal from little ones. ❜

❛ Maybe you're a natural witch. Your power comes from within. ❜

❛ I had a dream about you. In my dream, you were dead. ❜

❛ Man invented God. This is older than that. ❜

❛ Do you guys worship the devil? ❜

❛ Sometimes I will want it to rain, and a pipe will burst in my room and it will just get flooded. Or I will want it just to be quiet, and I will wish for it, and I will go deaf for three days straight. ❜

❛ Nothing makes everything all better again. ❜

❛ Maybe he was just trying to save face then... because... he's going around the whole school saying that... you're the lousiest lay he's ever had. ❜

❛ Why'd you lie about me? ❜

❛ Look, I don't want to go out with you again. Okay? Please stop begging. It's pathetic. ❜

❛ She's gonna cry, and then I am gonna cry. We're all gonna cry. ❜

❛ You girls watch out for those weirdos. ❜

❛ We are the weirdos. ❜

❛ Did you tell your friends? That you're a lying sack of shit. ❜

❛ Did you ever play that game, light as a feather, stiff as a board? ❜

❛ I think she doesn't want to be white trash any more. And I told her, "You're white, honey. Just deal with it." ❜

❛ Ever since I was a little girl I said, “All I want in life is a juke box that plays nothing but Connie Francis records.' ❜

❛ It's just that I can't stop thinking about you. I don't know why, but I think I love you. ❜

❛ I don't know what's happening to me. I can't eat. I can't sleep. ❜

❛ When you open a floodgate, how do you undo it? You unleash something with a spell. There is no undoing. It must run its course. ❜

❛ You should let him suffer. ❜

❛ It's not for you to judge suffering. ❜

❛ True magic is neither black nor white. It's both because nature is both. Loving and cruel, all at the same time. The only good or bad is in the heart of the witch. ❜

❛ Whatever you send out you get back times three. ❜

❛ You want to invoke the spirit? You must be experienced to do this. It's very dangerous. ❜

❛ You know, the serpent is a very powerful being. You should respect it. ❜

❛ Listen, all I am saying is I think it's enough already. ❜

❛ I know you think we're getting what we want now, but it's going to come back to us threefold. ❜

❛ Are we actually having a theological conversation here? ❜

❛ I mean, it's fun, it's scary. I mean, who gives a shit? ❜

❛ Stop trying to win them over, because it won't work. ❜

❛ How do you know what I look like? We're talking on the phone. ❜

❛ I disagreed with them once, and they turned their backs on me. That's not friendship. ❜

❛ Sometimes it's like we're one person. Know what I mean? ❜

❛ You should have seen the look in his eyes. It was so weird. They seemed empty, like it wasn't even him. ❜

❛ You're a witch! They were right. ❜

❛ The only reason you're in love with her is because she cast a spell on you. Sad, but true. ❜

❛ You don't even exist to me! You don't even exist. You are nothing. ❜

❛ The only way you know how to treat women is by treating them like whores! ❜

❛ He's sorry? Oh, he's sorry! He's sorry! He's sorry! Sorry, my ass! ❜

❛ Don't touch me! Everything I touch turns to shit. ❜

❛ You know, in the old days if a witch betrayed her coven... they would kill her. ❜

❛ I know I don't know you very well, but I just didn't know where else to go. ❜

❛ And now, it's like everywhere I turn, they're all around me. No matter what I do, ❛ they're still there. I don't know what to do. ❜

❛ She's inside my dreams. She knows what's going on inside my head. She can read my mind. ❜

❛ I can't control it. I always end up hurting somebody. ❜

❛ You must invoke the spirit. ❜

❛ If it isn’t real then why are you still bleeding? ❜

❛ Run! Run back up to your room like the little coward that you are. ❜

❛ What's going on? Why aren't you dead? ❜

❛ He came to me. Saved me. And he wanted me to give you a message. You're in deep shit. ❜

❛ By the way, what happened to [name]? They rushed out of here without even saying good-bye. That's bad manners. ❜

❛ Relax. It's only magic. ❜

❛ Look. I know I am a little crazy. I don't mean to be. ❜

❛ It all got out of hand, and I am sorry. No more games, okay? ❜

❛ We were just wondering, do you still have any powers? Because we don't. ❜

❛ Hold your breath until I call. ❜

❛ Be careful. You don't want to end up like [name]. ❜

#rp meme #rp prompt #sentence starters #sentence meme #roleplay prompts #role #inbox meme #askbox meme #rp prompts #rp memes #*movie

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1mnobodywhoareyou · 3 months ago

Text

Wrath of Venus

idea credit to @floating-in-the-blue courtesy of this reblog (I also recall some back and forth in the tags but i can't be bothered to find them). Title/band name credit to @legolasghosty. And motivation credit to every single person who sent a rose. This happened exclusively because I didn't want to give Bex snippets to people who don't read Bex 😅. It'll hit ao3 eventually. When i can think of tags. May or may not become a proper AU. Hope y'all enjoy.

JatP | 1404 words | G | ambiguous/pre-Juke | alive AU

Julie’s thoughts are interrupted by an unexpected voice to her left. “Hey, you come here often?”

Julie turns toward him, eyes narrowed as she takes him in from head to toe. Brown shaggy hair, captivating smile, broad shoulders… She grimaces as she notices the cut off tee but continues her inspection anyway, taking note of his black pants - surprisingly absent of tears or holes, the countless chains hanging from his waist complete with dangling folded wallet…

“How does anything stay in that?” she asks, pointing to the offending accessory.

He scoops it up and flips it open. “Little secret I have,” he responds with a sly grin. “If you keep it empty, you don’t need to worry about it.”

Julie rolls her eyes. “Broadcasting your poverty isn’t as cute as you seem to think it is.”

He offers a resigned shrug in response. A pause and then, “I’m Luke, by the way.”

“Julie.”

“Julie.” He repeats, saying it slowly like he’s feeling her name out in his mouth. She does everything in her power to keep from rolling her eyes. This is one of the worst parts of being involved with the music scene in LA. Men who feel like they’re entitled to her because she exists. Them and the men who feel like she’s an interloper who doesn’t belong there. If she’s really lucky, she’ll encounter a two in one. She’s trying to figure out which this Luke guy is when-

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Sure, the dingy bar isn’t a great place to hang out or be found, but it’s unfortunately one of the few places for some of the best acts to get their start. And if she wants to keep her edge over her competition, this is where she needs to be. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Could ask the same of you,” she counters.

He sputters for a moment and Julie hides a proud smile behind her glass as she takes a sip of her drink.

She waits patiently for him to recover.

“My band’s playing tonight,” he finally says.

Great. He’s one of those.

She nods politely, choosing to keep her thoughts about guitarists and lead singers to herself. He gives off lead singer energy.

She starts to spin herself back toward the bar when she feels him slide onto the stool beside her. His energy seems to have shifted from that of casual bar patron looking for a hookup to overly excited puppy desperate for attention. She eyes him curiously.

He immediately takes the opening she’s inadvertently offered. “We heard this is the best place to get noticed by this killer agent. Took us weeks to even get booked. And everyone’s so good! Can’t wait for our set.” He looks out toward the floor, scanning the small crowd that’s gathering. “Hope she’s here tonight.”

Julie looks up at the bartender who’s trying their hardest not to laugh. She sends them an amused wink. Julie knows that the staff here are discreet, she’s built a solid relationship with all of them over the last several years and they’ve always got her back when needed. Willie’s been a constant through the ups and downs of her wading her way through this world.

Julie hums in acknowledgement as she tries to decide if she wants to brush this guy off or find out more about him. You know, for work. Obviously.

Curiosity wins out.

“Have I heard of you?”

This time it’s Luke’s turn to consider her carefully.

“I don’t know. We’re still pretty small and-”

“Try me.” Julie can’t help but be amused by how quickly this guy’s energy seems to shift.

“Well, uh…” he stammers.

“Unless you’re lying to pick up women in the bar?”

His eyes widen comically. “What?! No! I promise I’m in a real band that’s playing a real show tonight. Well, set. A small set.”

“Okay,” she gestures toward Willie, silently asking for a copy of tonight’s event poster. They’re not even hiding their eavesdropping at this point and immediately hand her one. She reads through the list, glancing back up at Luke once she’s done.

“Well you’d be cutting it too close to be the next act. I know for a fact that you’re not Midnight Madness or Whisper Cats. And you said it’s your first time playing here so I doubt you’re the headliner. Which means you must be Sunset Curve?”

He sputters at her again. This time she doesn’t bother hiding her grin.

“How did you do that?!” he asks once he’s recovered.

Julie shrugs. “I know things.”

This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. He eyes her carefully and oh, Julie knows that look. That’s the dude in any male-dominated space’s “I’m about to test you” look. She loathes that look.

He glances up at the bartender, as if he’s considering ordering a drink to fully settle in next to Julie, then back at the stage, then back at Julie.

She raises an eyebrow, part curiosity, part challenge. She’s been here before. Her part in the game never changes, she just needs to wait for them to make their move.

“So who’s your favourite band, then?”

And there it is. She narrows her eyes at him. His tone is just slightly different than most of the guys she encounters but she can’t quite figure out how or why.

“You wouldn’t know them.”

He scoffs. Julie suppresses an eye roll.

“Try me,” he challenges.

“Fine.” She leans forward, into his space, and stares at him. “Wrath of Venus.”

He hums consideringly and takes a long moment to think. Julie waits for the inevitable response of his made up opinion, usually negative, of her completely made up band.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of them,” he finally answers, far too earnestly. “What kind of music do they make?”

This time it’s Julie’s turn to sputter as she’s completely caught off guard. She glances back at Willie who offers her a sympathetic shrug and smile but no actual aid. She glares at them before turning back to face Luke.

“They’re a hard rock girl group,” she finally blurts out.

Luke hums thoughtfully. “That makes sense. I still don’t know enough women-fronted groups. I’m working on it though.” He shimmies his phone out of his pocket. Or tries. From the look of things, his pockets are deeper and tighter than is ideal.

He lets out a small, victorious shout once he finally succeeds. He unlocks it and taps around. “Can you tell me their name again? I want to look into them later!”

“Uhhhhh…” Julie stalls, trying to come up with literally anything to cover her ass. “They’re not on any streaming services yet. Still really new. Up and coming.”

“Oh,” Luke says, dismay clear in his voice, as he pockets his phone again. “I guess I’ll have to keep an eye out for some shows. They’re from here?”

“Uh, no. They, uh… They just come through town once in a while. When they can afford it, you know?”

Luke nods. “Yeah, I do. I’m so glad we actually live here.”

Julie notices the current act finishing up from over his shoulder. She nods toward the stage. “You’re almost up.”

Luke turns toward the stage in a panic. He scrambles off his barstool. “Nice to meet you, Julie!” he calls as he darts off.

She breathes out a sigh of relief. Willie sets a refill of her drink down next to her.

“Say. Nothing,” she warns them.

They mime zipping their lips shut but don’t bother trying to hide the amused grin.

“Watch them actually be good,” she grumbles as she lifts her glass to her lips.

And they were. Really good. Enough so that Julie had to go and properly introduce herself after their set. Thankfully, there wasn’t any real opportunity for Julie’s fake band to come up again as she was introduced to the other band members and they exchanged contact information. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for managing to maintain a professional front through it all.

And after getting over his shock that she was indeed the Ms. Molina from Dahlia Records he’d been hoping for, a downright giddy energy overtook Luke. It would take much longer than is reasonable for Julie to admit how endearing she found it. And would continue to. For better or worse.

#julie and the phantoms #fanfic #jatp #juke #happy juke jeudi!#<- i never get to contribute to that!#julie molina #luke patterson #nobodys fics #wrath of venus

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