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bootleg-nessie · 6 months

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Rating band names based on their accuracy:

(I keep updating this list so check back later)

The Beatles: 3/10. None of these people are beetles, they’re just a bunch of fruity guys from Liverpool with matching haircuts

(Edit: changed from 0/10 to 3/10 because John Lennon beat his wife)

Pink Floyd: 4/10. There is not a single person named Floyd in the band, but some of the members do arguably look kinda pink

Nirvana: 10/10. Getting high and listening to Nirvana is roughly what I imagine actual nirvana to be like

Foo Fighters: either 0/10 or 10/10. I have never seen foo in real life so either they’re pretending to fight a problem that doesn’t exist or they’re doing an absolutely fantastic job of fighting it

The Eagles: 0/10. Same as the Beatles, there is not a single eagle in this band. The name is misleading and we have all been lied to

Queen: 6/10. Partial points for Freddie Mercury

Led Zeppelin: 0/10. I don’t think any of these guys have ever even seen a zeppelin, let alone one made of lead. A lead balloon would crash faster than my hopes and dreams

The Rolling Stones: 3/10. There is not a single stone in this band. Some points added because I’m pretty sure they rolled quite a few

U2: 0/10. Despite what the name says, I am not a member of this band

Metallica: 9/10. Naming a metal band “Metallica” is like naming your dog “doggy”

Red Hot Chili Peppers: 2/10. These guys are not chili peppers. They’re not even that hot, let alone red hot

Guns N’ Roses: 0/10. How the fuck could a gun or a flower play music

Backstreet Boys: ?/10. Depends entirely on their current given location

Simon and Garfunkel: 10/10. No notes

The Doors: 1/10. Jim Morrison is kinda shaped like a door tho

Chicago: 4/10. The number of people in this band does not come even remotely close to the population of Chicago. Points added because it originated in Chicago

Earth, wind, and fire: 2/10. This is even more innacurate than Chicago. Points added because wind instruments were often used

Def Leppard: 3/10. There is not a single leopard in this band. Some of the members are probably kinda deaf by now tho

The Beach Boys: ?/10. Accuracy depends entirely on location

The Black Eyed Peas: 6/10. Not sure what the hell an ‘eyed pea’ is but the black part is pretty accurate

Imagine Dragons: ?/10. Depends entirely on whether or not they’re thinking about dragons.

Cage the Elephant: 1/10. Why would you do that. Let the elephant go

Green Day: 0/10. They’re not even green

The Police: 0/10. There is not a single cop in this band

KISS: 5/10. I’m sure they probably kissed sometimes

The Monkees: 0/10. Are you fucking kidding me

We Butter the Bread with Butter: 8/10. I can’t verify this but I have no reason to suspect that they’d lie. Butter seems like the most logical thing to butter bread with

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard: 0/10. I got really excited about the concept of a lizard wizard only to be let down. My disappointment is immeasurable

They Might Be Giants: 5/10. I googled everyone in this band’s height, the tallest guy’s only 6’1 so I wouldn’t exactly consider him a giant. Then again, I can’t really argue because the claim was only that they MIGHT be giants

The Presidents of the United States of America: 2/10. None of these people are Joe Biden nor are any of them former presidents. This is incredibly misleading. I’m pretty sure “Lump” was written about my first girlfriend tho so I’ll give them a point or two

Gorillaz: 2/10 Not quite but we’re kinda close genetically so I’ll give them partial credit

The Killers: ?/10. I have no way of verifying if they’ve actually killed before but the fact that they’re not in prison tells me probably not

The Offspring: 10/10. These guys are definitely somebody’s offspring

Arctic Monkeys: 1/10. They are neither monkeys nor are they from the arctic

Thirty Seconds to Mars: 1/10. It takes WAY longer to get to mars than that

Beastie Boys: 8/10. They’re pretty beast on the guitar

Jimmy Eat World: 1/10. Slow the fuck down Jimmy, you’re biting off way more than you can chew

Hole: 9/10. One point deducted because I’m pretty sure they had more than one hole

Rage Against the Machine: 10/10. They did exactly that

Alice In Chains: 0/10. This is illegal. Let Alice go

The Band: 10/10. This could not possibly be more accurate

Nine Inch Nails: 1/10. I can’t find any good pictures of their feet but from what I can tell their fingernails definitely aren’t nine inches long

Bush: ?/10. Not quite sure about this one, felt uncomfortable asking

The Who: 2/10. I’m not dealing with this “Who’s On First” bullshit

Radiohead: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a radio for a head

Queens of the Stone Age: 0/10. This band should be called “five random dudes from the modern era” but FRDFTMA is a bit of a mouthful

Soundgarden: 2/10. Sound does not grow in the garden

Sonic Youth: 5/10. They’re not exactly youth anymore but the sonic part checks out

Talking heads: 8/10. There’s more to the band than just a bunch of disembodied heads but the heads do tend to talk

The Cranberries: 0/10. Decent music but I only added them so that the Beatles and Freddie Mercury weren’t the only fruits on this list

The Wiggles: 8/10. They do tend to wiggle a lot

Blue Man Group: 10/10. Yep!

Weezer: 5/10. They all look like they definitely have asthma

Limp Bizkit: 3/10. While the visual image of baked goods playing the guitar is hilarious, Fred durst is not a biscuit. Points added because he probably has erectile dysfunction

Stone Temple Pilots: 0/10. None of these people are accredited as being licensed to pilot anything, much less an entire stone temple. Stone temples don’t need pilots anyways

Wasted Youth: 8/10. I guess it really kinda depends on how you frame it but yeah, they probably wasted a lot of it

Them Crooked Vultures: 3/10. These are people and not birds but Dave Grohl’s posture is kinda bad and John Paul Jones is so old that his neck kinda looks like a vulture’s so I added some points

Audioslave: 0/10. Slavery is illegal

Traveling Wilburys: 4/10. Sure, they traveled a lot but not a single one of those lying bastards was named Wilbury

D12: 6/12. There were only 6 people in this band

NWA: 10/10. I’m a little too white to safely comment on this one but I’d say they nailed it

Jet: 1/10. A real jet would be way too loud

Goldfinger: 0/10. Not a single person in this band has a finger made out of gold

No Doubt: ?/10. I can’t really be too sure how Gwen Stefani felt but I think it’s probably a safe assumption that she had some doubts

The White Stripes: 3/10. I bet if you stripped them down naked and made them stand shoulder to shoulder and squinted really hard they’d probably look more like white stripes

Screaming trees: 3/10. They scream occasionally

Garbage: 2/10. I think they’re being a little harsh on themselves, their music isn’t THAT bad

Butthole Surfers: 5/10. Not even gonna touch this one

Megadeth: 3/10. To be fair, some of the former members are dead but only a little amount of death, not mega death

Dead Kennedys: 2/10. Last I checked Kennedy was still dead but neither he nor his clones are members of this band

Cake: 0/10. The cake is a lie

Cracker: 8/10. Most of them are

Tool: 7/10. I don’t know much about their music but they sure look like tools

Counting Crows: ?/10. Is this what emo kids do instead of counting sheep? Accuracy depends on whatever bird they happen to be counting at the moment

Dave Matthews Band: 10/10. It certainly is

Oasis: 1/10. Their music is the opposite of an oasis

Blur: 2/10. They are not that fast

Barenaked Ladies: 0/10. If I wanted to be this disappointed I’d reestablish a connection with my biological father instead

Meat Puppets: 10/10. Technically, aren’t we all?

Live: 8/10. Apparently they still do live shows but I deducted some points because I’ve only ever heard their music on Spotify

ABBA: 9/10. I’m still not giving any points to Guns N’ Roses but that’s mostly out of spite

5 Finger Death Punch: 8/10 I guess it probably depends on how hard you hit them but this seems to be the usual amount of fingers to punch somebody with

All American Rejects: 9/10. They’re all rejects from America so I don’t really see any issue with this

T. Rex: 0/10. Even if any of these people WAS a T. Rex I don’t think their arms would be long enough to play their instruments

Free: 0/10. Unless you steal their music, in which case it becomes a 10/10

The Strokes: 3/10. To my knowledge, none of them have had a stroke but I still added a few points because the name was probably accurate for other reasons

The Smashing Pumpkins ?/10. Another thing I have no way of verifying but this seems like a waste of perfectly good pumpkins

Therapy?: ?/10. The hell are they asking me for? I don’t know their medical history

Twenty One Pilots. 0/10. There’s only two of them and neither is a licensed pilot

Finger Eleven: 0/10. Leave the poor Stranger Things girl out of this

Fall Out Boy: 9/10. I conferred with an expert on this one who confirmed that they are in fact boys who had a falling out

Cream: 8/10. Considering this was the OG supergroup I’m sure a lot of people did in fact cream when their music came out

Edit: humans aren’t fucking monkeys. Stop saying we are

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kedreeva · 2 years

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When I was a kid, maybe 14 or so (which is, you know, 20+ years ago), I belonged to a Yahoo! mailing list for an anime called Gundam Wing. It was mostly populated by other teens, of varying ages, as it was started by a teen and her friends. Eventually it migrated, when Yahoo! groups started as forums, and even branched off into non-GW related stuff in a second forum.

One of the things I remember the most clearly is the oldest person in the group. Her name was Steelsong. She was a 40-something Dom with a sub whose name we knew even though we knew nothing else. She ran her own fanfic archive because the web was still handmade HTML and navigated in webrings and I’m pretty sure Google didn’t exist or was only barely, barely launched and not well known. She was kind and patient and we loved her. She treated everyone on the group with the respect given any adult, even though most of the rest of the world was still treating us like we were children. Not teenagers even, but children. She never once condescended to any of us, never made our youth a barrier to her respect, never treated us like we were incapable of being full people or like we were less than her because we were young.

I remember that she hosted our fanfiction, as absolutely terrible as it was (and I still have some of it, I am WELL aware of how cringingly terrible it is, just absolute nonsense garbage), right there alongside of other fic that was soul-achingly beautiful. Not a separate section for her friends or for kids, just right there like we were good enough to feature alongside other authors. I never once received crit from her that I didn’t ask for, only support. Only love. I am still writing today partly because Steel was so kind about our fic, fanfic and original.

I remember that when I started doing clay sculpture, she commissioned a tiny pair of dragons from me, to support me doing artwork. She sent a check my mom cashed for me, and my mom helped me mail it when it was finished. It broke in transit, and Steel assured me that she mended it and that it was still beautiful. It was a small gold dragon curled up with a small silver dragon.

I remember that her patience knew no bounds. I remember that she was there for us, regardless of reason. When we wanted to know silly things like what to do with a single AA battery, she answered. When we had serious questions about sex, she answered. When we had questions about writing, she taught us. When one of our group members, a young gay teen in Australia, ended up in the hospital and then stopped making posts, and we all knew what had happened, she let us talk to her about it because we couldn’t go to our own parents, even though we had just lost a friend.

She was not a replacement to my parents, but she was an extra parent, in some ways. A friend, certainly, but someone that had been through more life than we had and was willing to pass on knowledge if we asked for it. Someone older that we trusted with things that were too uncomfortable to go to our parents or teachers or whatever about, because we already knew she wasn’t going to judge us or something, and that we would get an honest answer.

I don’t know why I’m remembering this so hard tonight, and I’m not sure if there’s a point to sharing this, except that I know she’s gone now. She was ill the last time we spoke, and her site went down a long time ago, and I miss her. She was a huge influence on my life, then and now. She was hope, for me, that life as an adult didn’t have to be boring, it wouldn’t have to mean giving up the things I loved and Becoming Only Responsible With No Fun. Her presence meant I had hope I could still write and play with friends even when I wasn’t ‘a kid’ anymore. And she’s gone, and I miss her, and I wanted to share her from the perspective of youth, and the perspective over twenty years later has provided me.

And I think of her, when people go off about older folks being in fandom with younger folks. I’m an older folks now, or at least middle aged folks because there are certainly folks older than me still, but I wasn’t always. I’ve been here since i was a younger folks, and I know how much Steel’s presence and support meant to me, how much she helped not just me but everyone on that group. And I think of the people saying older folks don’t belong in fandom, and that they shouldn’t interact with younger folks at all, and I just think... I can’t agree. I needed that kind of solid presence in my life back then and even at the age I am now, I need the folks older than me to stay. I want them here.

So I guess, like, if you’re here and you’re 40 or 50 or 60 or 70 or 80 or whatever, I want you here in fandom with me, still. Your presence here is a comfort. It is hope. It is a reminder that life will continue to be fun, even as I get older, myself. And if you’re younger and you have this sort of elder in your groups, I hope that they are like Steel. I hope they are kind and patient and supportive, and that knowing them gives you hope for your own future. I hope in twenty years you look back and remember them fondly.

#steelsong #personal #stories about ked's life #dash stretcher #fandom #god she would have loved ao3 so much #i wish i could tell her about the good things that have become

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dateko · 7 months

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a/n: another rando drabble... twas hiding amidst the dust in my drafts... i will never get to see the four of these silly geese happy ever again and they only exist in my google docs where nothing bad ever happens to them...

“Sensei, what is Sensei to you?” Yuuji asks suddenly, causing Gojo to stop in his tracks.

“Huh? Me?”

This time, Nobara groans. “No, you blindfolded idiot! That Sensei!”

Gojo follows his young student’s gaze as she tilts her chin towards the field where the second-years are training.

There, standing beside the ever-adorable Panda, is you. You watch with a proud smile on your face as the second years spar with one another, calling out praises along with death threats coming from Maki. It doesn’t take long for you to notice the first years and their slender mentor watching you from the steps. Your lips fight to bite down a smile as you throw out a wave, watching Satoru lift his mask to wink at you.

“See! See! Like that!” Nobara starts again excitedly, pointing at her teacher. “What is that woman to you?”

“Eh?” Gojo raises an eyebrow before lowering his mask. “She’s… A close friend of mine.”

“Sensei, you’re being secretive.” Yuuji offers him a skeptical look, to which Nobara nods along with adamantly. “Fushiguro, what do you think?”

Megumi glances at your figure with a dragging sigh before walking in front of his classmates. “If you ask me, she’s the one.”

Thing 1 and Thing 2 erupt with rowdy exclamations, practically bouncing off their teacher. Megumi continues to walk with a somewhat satisfied expression. The boy’s known you his entire life. Especially how much you mean to his blue-eyed benefactor.

“B-but how do you know she’s really the one?” Yuuji asks this time, fully invested in his teacher’s love life.

Gojo shrugs nonchalantly. “I have good eyes, you know.”

“Well, now I just feel sorry for her. She has to deal with you every day!” Nobara deflates immediately, unsure of how to feel knowing someone she respects is romantically affiliated with her headache-inducing instructor.

“Hey! It’s a blessing to deal with me!”

A pair of footsteps sneak up behind the group. “Deal with who?”

With a hand on your hip, you stop to tilt your head at the pairs of wide eyes looking at you. Even beneath his mask, you can tell Satoru looks more than guilty.

“Something on my face?” You pat a hand on your cheek, wondering why no one’s said anything to you.

Nobara breaks the silence by walking up to you with her head down, a downcast expression on her face. “Sensei… I’m so sorry for you…”

Confused and admittedly very concerned, you shoot Gojo a look before patting Nobara’s head reassuringly. And your lover holds a sheepish expression as he holds his hands clasped behind his back, an old habit he used to do when he knew he was in the wrong.

“Alright, I might as well just say it,” Gojo starts, fixing the collar of his jacket. “I told them about us.”

Your eye widen at his words, lips sputtering for a normal response. “You told them we’re married?”

“Wait, married?! Meeting each other with good feelings is one thing, but married… Sensei, I thought you were better than this…" Nobara shakes her head dramatically before walking off, flashing you a disapproving look before dragging Yuuji along with her.

You watch the younger student walk off with a confused brow before returning to face your lover, who is grinning wildly at you. He's clearly over feeling guilty about exposing your little secret. Your questionable silence comes to Gojo as a queue to pull you into a loving embrace, a quiet apology for blowing your cover.

Without skipping a beat, you return the hug, giving up on trying to scold him. You squeak when Gojo rocks the two of you back and forth, pressing never-ending kisses on your jaw. “Just an FYI, Megumi was the one who told them.” He mutters, nose pressing itself into the crook of your neck.

You gasp, holding his face while you step back to look at him. “He wouldn’t do such a thing!”

“He said that you were the one.”

“Isn’t that what you said?”

“Shut up.”

You let out a giggle, a sound Gojo could listen to for hours on repeat. “You used to be so corny when we dated. Still now.”

“I don't think I could ever stop being corny. Only when it comes to you.”

#ignore this actually i just wanted to get rid of all the shet accumulating in my drafts #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x you

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thepersonnamedsam · 11 months

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you already know how much I love gen z driver! could you maybe write something of how would it be if gen z reader’s birthday happened to be during one of the gp’s? how everyone acts and makes it all about her?

happy birthday!

pairing: the genz!driver x '23!grid

summary: it’s the genz!drivers birthday, and it just happens to be the miami gp!

word count: 1.7k

warnings: some swear words and some google translated spanish and dutch :)

note: oh i just love all of your request, especially that one, bc i’m a birthday lover myself! have fun reading it and feel free to request more!! <3

masterlist/ taglist

The first people to congratulate her, were her parents. They called her, in the middle of the night; they forgot that time zones exist. But her heart was full when she picked up the phone at 3AM and both of her parents where singing ‚happy birthday‘ to her. What wasn’t so good, was that she had to be asleep, because it was a Sunday and race day! But it didn’t matter, it was her birthday!

Two hours later, her phone was ringing again, but this time not because someone was wishing her a happy birthday, no, it was her alarm. But today it was okay. 5AM on your birthday doesn’t feel that early, does it now? At least it didn’t for her.

Andy, her personal trainer, knocked on her door at exactly 6.30AM, holding a tiny cupcake with a candle in it. „Happy birthday, y/n!“, his voice cheerful and happy. Her smiled widened and her heart full with love again. „Thank you, Andy.“

„Are you ready for the race?“, Andy asked her. She nodded and closed her hotel door. „I’m excited to see Danny again and Nando and all the other people of course. Oh and definitely Lewis.“, Birthdays were her thing, she always missed them in school, either she had them on a weekend or she was on holiday. So, being surrounded by people who are important to her, was the best present she could’ve gotten.

On the way to the paddock, Andy let her pick out the music, her car playlist was blasting on full volume. Tongue Tied by GROUPLOVE was her favourite song at the moment, that’s why she was singing at the top of her lungs to the lyrics.

„Take me to your best friends house, go around this roundabout, oh yeah“, she looked at Andy as if he would follow the orders of the song.

The music died down, as they arrived at the paddock. Press was already waiting on her, they knew it was her special day and hoped to get some good footage of the birthday-girl. Usually the media annoyed her this early in the morning, but today, nothing could’ve ruined her day. She smiled and waved to the camera, spoke to some press people and had nice conversations with all of them.

The media always tried to find some gossip, especially on the young driver, but not today. They were happy to see her this happy.

As she set foot on the paddock, people were congratulating her. Pads on the back, some strokes on her arm here and there, everyone was nice to her, and who doesn’t enjoy some attention sometimes. Especially if it’s for something you didn’t work for. It was her favourite day of the year, Christmas is second.

„Danny!“, she shrieked as soon as she saw him. She sprinted towards the Australian and jumped into his arms. „I missed you so bad!“ Daniel just laughed and hugged the young driver. „Happy birthday, y/n.“

Her smile was consistent and contagious, every person she smiled at, they just had to smile back. Even Max smiled at her. Well, he always smiled at her, she was one of the persons that could make him smile.

„Max, can you give me a piggyback ride?“, she looked at him with puppy dog eyes and he just couldn’t deny her. „Of course, zus sister.“

As Martin Brundle spotted the two, he motioned to his cameraman to put the focus on them. „And now we see Max Verstappen carrying the birthday girl y/n. It is not rare to see the young driver interact with the different drivers. Let’s wish her a happy birthday“, he talked into the camera. „Hello you two, happy birthday y/n, am I the first to congratulate?“, the older man looked at her with an amusing look on his face. „Martin, as much as I love you, you are hopefully not the first person to wish me a happy birthday“, she looked at him with a serious face.

„Did Max congratulate yet?“, a challenging look on Martins face, he pointed at the camera and said: „Remember, this is a livestream.“, Max‘ cheeks turned a pretty pink colour and y/n gasped. „He did not!“, she gasped. „Max, you didn’t wish me a happy birthday?!“ - „I’m sorry, schat darling. Happy birthday, my dear.“

But how could she hold a grudge against a face that looked like Sid from Ice Age?

Fernando was the next person she saw, and he instantly grinned at her. „Oh Nando, do you know whose special day it is today?“, she singsang to the oldest driver on the grid. „Hmm, let me guess, is it Roscoes?“, he laughed as he saw her shocked face. „How could you, I thought we were friends?“ - „We are, we are, cariño darling. Feliz cumpleaños happy birthday, y/n.“

„How old are you now, 5?“, he laughed at her. „Har har, very funny Nando. How old are you turning this year, 60?“ She was always getting irritated fast. He grabbed her by her hip and pushed her into a side hug of his. „Don’t ever change, cariño.“

„Don’t have a plan for that, who’d change something as fabulous like this“, her hands were pointing to herself. „But on a serious note, Nando, do you know where Lewis is? I’ve been searching for him.“ Fernando only shook his head, he didn’t know where the British driver was. He rubbed over her hair as she left his side to search for her mentor.

„Oh Lewis! Your favourite person is looking for you“, she shouted over the paddock, with no luck. She didn’t even see a trace of Lew, none. But what she did find, was a monegasque driver with the number 16 and a spaniard driving under the number 55. They were arguing over some bullshit, as always, as they spotted her. „y/n! Over here“, Charles shouted over to her and waved his hand. She ran over to them and greeted the older drivers with a side hug. Carlos quickly kissed her head as he wished her a brilliant birthday. Charles even sang the first to lines of the song.

She was a bit embarrassed, but she enjoyed the attention of the two Ferrari drivers. „I love you guys, but have you seen Lewis?“, she smiled at the two as they rolled their eyes. She just wanted to see her favourite person on the paddock. She loved them all equally, but you couldn’t deny that Lewis definitely was her favourite. „I think I saw him at Mercedes, his motorhome“, Charles told her, she totally missed the sarcastic undertone of his and just skipped along to the Mercedes garage.

Before she even set a foot in the motorhome, Toto Wolff approached her and squished her into a hug. „Alles gute zum Geburtstag, liebes! Happy birthday, darling! How are you, so happy to see you“, he whispered into her ear. She loved Toto. „Hi Toto!“, she grinned up at him, „I’m good, thank you. Do you know where Lewis is?“ Toto laughed and pointed to his drivers room. „Thanks!“, she yelled as she took off.

She hasn’t been to her own motorhome, just wandering around the paddock and taking in all the attention from the others. And as she knocked on the door, she knew she’d receive the best attention of them all.

„It’s open“, she heard and busted into the tiny room. „Hello, your favourite human on this planet has arrived and will be gracing your presence from now on!“ She grinned at him and he only laughed and embraced the girl. „I have a present for the birthday girl? do you know where she is“, he joked and turned around to grab her present. „A present? Aw Lewis, you shouldn’t have, you totally should have.“

The present contained some gag gifts, such as a Mercedes hat and shirt, or some shirts with funny pattern on it. But the original present was a necklace. It wasn’t anything special, really. It was a simple silver necklace with a tiny turtle as a pendant. Her eyes were tearing up, so she quickly wiped them away.

„Is this one of the necklaces that makes you a godparent of a sea turtle?“ - „It sure is, have fun with“ he turned the pendant around and looked at the engraving on it „Yertle. He is now your godchild“, he smiled at her and motioned to y/n to turn around, so he could put the necklace on. „Thank you so much, it means a lot“, she hugged him as a thank you. He smiled at her, he adored the young driver and was grateful that he was apart of her journey.

„Thank you, love you Lewis!“, she yelled to him as she sprinted out of the motorhome. She was finally headed to her own garage. They had planned a surprise party for her and Lewis was the distraction. As she reached her motorhome, she didn’t see anyone. „Hello, is it not race day?“, she joked into the dark.

„Happy birthday, y/n!“

She jumped, her heart was racing, but she had a giant smile on her face. Her heart, once again, was full, full with love.

„Ahh, thank you guys!“, she squealed and sprinted into the engineers and mechanics, just like she won a race, which she hasn’t, by the way. She hugged all of them, thanked all and smiled the biggest smile she ever smiled. „I’m so grateful for all of you! And now, let’s win this race!“

She didn’t win, but was one of her best birthdays so far. And the after party was her personal highlight of the day. There was a huge pile of presents, just for her of course.

Lando was the DJ, Max was standing on a table, preparing to do a toast for her and Danny was laughing and pointing his camera at everybody.

The evening was definitely something she’d remember, maybe not Max‘ toast, as it was very embarrassing;

„Dear people, we have gathered here to celebrate not only my win, but also a birthday of some special person. She is not our girlfriend, which we are all happy about, but they’re all jealous of her, y/n! Happy birthday, you beast, come up here!“

The alcohol definitely made it more bearable, but the fact that Pierre had to drag you to Mac spoke for itself.

„Pierre, let me be, go back to your boyfriend“, she spoke harshly to the French man, but he ignored her with a smirk on his face and brought her up to Max.

„Ladys and gents, the birthday girl herself!“

It was one of the better party’s she attended and when she looked at all the posts she’s been tagged, she found one particular that she liked the most.

daniel3.jpg

Liked by yninsta, charles_leclerc and 473’827 others

daniel3.jpg happy birthday to my personal favourite female driver of all time! let’s raise a glass or two, to all the things i’ve lost on you ;)

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yninsta i am the only female driver…

landonorris that’s why your his fav

yninsta rude af

daniel3.jpg don’t fight kids

charles_leclerc happy birthday y/n!

carlossainz55 yeah, feliz compleaños to our fav girl

pierregasly liked by pierre gasly

f1girly we love all the drivers in the comments, y/n is definitely the paddock princess

likedbypear oh yes, idk if i want to be her or with her

yninsta be definitely with me, c’mon

neymarjr happy birthday y/n!

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #fernando alonso #genz driver #daniel ricciardo #lewis hamilton x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #max verstappen x reader #pierre gasly x reader #fernando alonso x reader #toto wolff x reader #female driver

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wqnwoos · 2 months

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“vernon,” you declare, with a level of magnanimity you only reach when it’s past 11pm. “i have a question for you. of the philosophical kind.”

your best friend glances up through the brown strands that fall over his eyes. “okay,” he agrees half-dubious, half-intrigued. “hit me.”

you sit heavily on the couch beside him, throwing your head against the back of it, staring up at the ceiling with deep, ponderous solemnity. “why is it called being in love?”

vernon considers. “i don’t think that’s very philosophical,” he says, after a moment. “the google definition of philosophy is the fundamental nature of knowledge, existence and reality.”

you cast him a look. “how the fuck do you know the google definition of philosophy? just like that?” he shrugs. you sigh, affectionately. “of course you do.”

there’s silence for a moment, broken only by the soft hum of the washing machine in your other room. your roommate is gone for the weekend; it’s just you, and now vernon, because he knows you don’t like being alone at night.

finally, you speak. “you didn’t answer my question.”

vernon doesn’t miss a beat. “it wasn’t philosophical. i felt misled.”

he’s being annoying. “you’re being annoying.” your best friend is so annoying, but you think the most annoying thing about him is that you can’t kiss him to shut him up.

“besides,” you say, “isn’t love our knowledge, existence and reality?”

slightly more thoughtful silence, broken by — “damn,” vernon says, impressed. “you got me there. that was deep.”

“right?” your enthusiasm with yourself makes him smile, a crooked and charming lift of his lips. you’re still talking, admirably excited and animated for two in the morning. “what i mean is like… why can’t you be in anything else? you can’t be in friendship.”

vernon nods, slowly. “like us, you mean.”

“yeah. like us.” you pause, hesitating on the edge of what you’re about to say. “we’re not in friendship, nobody says that.”

he’s smiling, leaning back against the couch. “i mean, we can start saying it, if you want.”

“i’d rather say something else.” you squeeze your eyes shut, because suddenly this is a lot more daunting than you’d thought, and your hands are getting kind of clammy, but you’re committed now, and so — “i’d rather say we’re in love.”

silence for the third time tonight, and this one makes you want to implode. “eventually, i mean!” you’re already rushing your words, tripping them over each other in your hurry to force them out. “i’m not like, in love with you right now. maybe. nearly, i think. and i don’t —”

when vernon interrupts you, it doesn’t feel like an interruption, it’s so soft. “did you… did you set up this whole conversation just to confess to me like that?”

you open your eyes to look at him, sheepish, apprehensive, embarrassed, all at once. “maybe?” and then you’re rambling again: “because there are some flaws in my argument, you know, because technically you can be in acquaintance with someone or — ”

vernon interrupts you for a second time, which is so unlike him, but you’re not going to point that out. not when his hands are cupping your cheeks, his lips are brushing yours and he’s smiling as he kisses you, soft and sweet and honeyed.

and he pulls back just the barest inch to murmur, with your noses bumping and eyelashes brushing and the cheesiest smiles on both your faces — “i’m nearly in love with you too.”

an / u will literally have to pry friend 2 lovers vernon out of my cold dead hands. sorry i can’t stop writing it but also i’m not sorry at all

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm @phenomenalgirl9 @lightnjng @strnsvt @onlyyjeonghan @athanasiasakura

#vernon fluff #vernon x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #vernon fic #vernon scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fic

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nomazee · 6 days

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Um hello! Is the 1k event thingy still up?? If so I would like to request a classmate! Dr ratio x reader at 2:47 am?

it's actually sickening how much fun i had with this i was giggling at my own jokes while typing this out... this was so fun to write THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

A blaring, aggravating, shrill sound wakes you up. Your hands go to cover your ears, protecting your sanity from the noise ringing somewhere from the tangle of sheets on your bed. Hands flailing around desperately to find the source of the piercing chimes, you writhe around in agony until you finally latch onto your phone.

The brightness of the screen digs into your corneas as you lift up the device to see the caller ID of whoever had the guts to bother you on a school night.

It comes to no surprise that the caller name reads “VERITAS FUCKING RATIO” in all caps with no contact photo. Your eye twitches and the grip on your phone tightens, just a hair away from leaving finger-shaped dents in the metal.

Begrudgingly, you answer the call, tucking the phone next to your ear with nothing less than displeasure. “Veritas. Why are you calling me at—” you pull your phone back to check, “—almost three in the morning?”

“The works cited page,” Veritas Fucking Ratio informs you matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of sleepiness in his voice, nothing that could possibly chip away at his good image, of course. “You did it in the wrong format. It’s supposed to be APA. This is a science project, not a literature project.”

You might kill him. The project in question is to be presented tomorrow— today at ten in the morning. Ratio and you had been working on it for an entire two weeks, broken up into intermittent hour-long sessions because he was adamant that you split up the work instead of rushing to do it all the night before. Stupid self-righteous gorgeous beautiful academic genius-freak. Yeah, it definitely helped you in the long run, but he acted so sanctimonious about it that you refused to admit the benefits.

“Veritas,” you imbue the syllables of his name with poison, as much as you can when you’re swaying as you sit up on your bed and fighting demons to not fall back asleep. “This is such an easily-fixed thing. Do you know what time it is right now? Why are you even awake? You know, I am supposed to get a full seven hours of sleep every night, and I was already cutting it short today, and you woke me up before I could even hit REM sleep. Do you know how upsetting this is? Fix the goddamn works cited yourself!”

For once, Veritas is at a loss for words. The other end of the line is so quiet that you have to double check and make sure he hasn’t just hung up on you. Perspiration builds on your palms, thinking that this is it—this is the exact moment that you make Veritas-Fucking-Ratio snap and delete your name off the project credit slide, and you’re going to get a 0 because he will wipe off any evidence of your work from this plane of existence, and you will spend the rest of your measly life chasing after your MLA-turned-APA works cited page, too-little-too-late.

“I’m awake because the— well.” He pauses, and his voice sounds so far away and unobtrusive that you’re almost worried. Your breath stills in the middle of your diaphragm. Waiting. “The works cited is one thing. But I wanted you to look at the slides, if you can.”

If you can, he says, as if he’s giving you a choice, which he literally never has during this entire process. You had no role in choosing the topic, or the slide theme, or what days you worked on the project, or how often you worked on the project (because god forbid you procrastinate a little bit, right?!), but now, at almost three in the morning, Veritas is saying something along the lines of oh please my dearest project partner, I request that you open the Google Slides at once, but only if you would like to! I would never infringe on your free will at three in the morning, because I respect you as a partner. Or something like that. That was pretty much the gist of it.

A raspy sigh escapes you, and you claw your busted laptop off the nightstand next to you, opening it up and squinting at the LED screen as you punch in your passcode. “You know, I have done a good job at going along with all of your whims, Veritas, the least you could do is fix the works cited for me. Seriously, how did you even miss that? You’re so detail-oriented, but you didn't even realize the format was wrong until tonight? Who even cares, seriously… it’s just a slideshow…”

Your voice trails off as the slideshow presentation finally loads in. You see Veritas’ default profile picture blink in the upper right-hand corner, signaling that he’s viewing the slideshow with you. The slideshow which has apparently undergone a huge makeover.

It’s—pleasant to look at. This entire time, you and Veritas had been editing a default, white-background black-serif-font-text slideshow. He refused to change it, telling you that it’s unprofessional to do anything too embellished, to which you fruitlessly said, Veritas, we will die early deaths because of the hole in the ozone layer, would you at least make it easier on my poor soul by letting me choose a pokemon-theme slide? Veritas had pretended like he couldn't hear you (in a very quiet library room, mind you), but the twitch in his brow gave him away.

Now, though, the slides are decorated. It’s a really nice theme, complete with custom icons and graphic blobs of color—your favorite color, might you add. It’s—pretty. Dare you say, cute, but you think Veritas would vaporize your entire presentation if you called it cute.

“Did you— this— did you pay for this slide theme?”

“You— n— mn,” he trails off into an unintelligible mash of mumbling, and you hear a loud THUD that sounds awfully like the phone being thrown onto a mattress. Fabric shuffles around, before you hear Veritas’ voice again, clear and composed. “Sorry. I dropped my phone.” What a loser, and a liar, and an endearing freak. You really wish he video called you because you need to see his totally-very-ugly face.

“I thought this was unprofessional, Veritas,” you say teasingly, a smile lining your words as you try not to giggle right into the phone. “What made you have a change of heart?”

“Nothing,” the typical firmness of his voice has returned, much to your dismay. “The works cited is still wrong. You have to fix it.”

“Oh, whatever you say, honored Ratio,” you open up your trusty citation-generator, ready for a long fifteen minutes of copying and pasting information. “Hey, you must be free after class tomorrow, right? Since the project is pretty much over, right?”

“Yes,” Veritas answers after a moment of hesitation, only a hint of doubt in his voice.

“That’s great. Keep your schedule clear, then.”

(You fix the works cited slide, wish Veritas sweet dreams, and then wake up in the morning to completely ace your presentation. The minute the period ends, you drag him out of the classroom and into a coffee shop, paying for some five dollar pastry and joking that it’s payback for the cute slideshow theme that he definitely paid five dollars for. Veritas is an awful liar, and you tell him that, and he can’t even find the strength to deny it.)

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

#nora hits 1k #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #dr. ratio x reader #honkai x reader #ratio x reader #i love this man he's like a wet piece of bark #like a rained-on plank of wood #this drabble is longer than my dan heng one im sick... dr ratio will not overtake my favorites leaderboard.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

Text

Kickstarting the Red Team Blues audiobook, which Amazon won't sell (read by Wil Wheaton!)

Red Team Blues is my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller; it’s a major title for my publishers Tor Books and Head of Zeus, and it’s swept the trade press with starred reviews all ‘round. Despite all that, Audible will not sell the audiobook. In fact, Audible won’t sell any of my audiobooks. Instead, I have to independently produce them and sell them through Kickstarter:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/21/anti-finance-finance-thriller/#marty-hench

Audible is Amazon’s monopoly audiobook platform. It has a death-grip on the audiobook market, commanding more than 90% of genre audiobook sales, and every single one of those audiobooks is sold with Amazon’s DRM on it. That means that you can’t break up with Amazon without throwing away those audiobooks. Under the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act, I can’t give you a tool to convert my own copyrighted audiobooks to a non-Amazon format. Doing so is a felony carrying a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for an act that in no way infringes anyone’s copyright! Indeed, merely infringing copyright is much less illegal than removing Amazon’s mandatory DRM from my own books!

I’ve got amazing publishers who support my crusade against DRM, but they’re not charities. If they can’t sell my audiobooks on the platform that represents 90% of the market, they’re not going to make audio editions at all. Instead, I make my own audiobooks, using brilliant voice actors like Amber Benson and @neil-gaiman, and I sell them everywhere except Audible.

Doing this isn’t cheap: I’m paying for an incredible studio (Skyboat Media), a world-class director (Gabrielle de Cuir), top-notch sound editing and mastering, and, of course, killer narrators. And while indie audiobook platforms like Libro.fm and downpour.com are amazing, the brutal fees extracted by Apple and Google on app sales means that users have to jump through a thousand hoops to shop with indie stores. Most audiobook listeners don’t even know that these stores exist: if a title isn’t available on Audible, they assume no audiobook exists.

That’s where Kickstarter comes in: twice now, I’ve crowdfunded presales of my audiobooks through KS, and these campaigns were astoundingly successful, smashing records and selling thousands of audiobooks. These campaigns didn’t just pay my bills (especially during lockdown, when our household income plunged), but they also showed other authors that it was possible to evade Amazon’s monopoly chokepoint and sell books that aren’t sticky-traps for Audible’s walled garden/prison:

https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/columns-and-blogs/cory-doctorow/article/90282-we-wrote-a-book-about-why-audible-won-t-sell-our-book-and-snuck-it-onto-audible.html

And today, I’m launching the Kickstarter for Red Team Blues, and even by the standards of my previous efforts, I think this one’s gonna be incredible.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

For starters, there’s the narrator: @wilwheaton, whose work on my previous books is outstanding, hands-down my favorite (don’t tell my other narrators! They’re great too!):

https://wilwheaton.net/

Beyond Wil’s narration, there’s the subject matter. The hero of Red Team Blues is a hard-charging forensic accountant who’s untangled every Silicon Valley finance scam since he fell in love with spreadsheets as as a MIT freshman, dropped out, got his CPA ticket, and moved west. Now, at the age of 67, Marty Hench is ready to retire, but a dear old friend — a legendary cryptographer — drags him back for one last job — locating the stolen keys to the backdoor he foolishly hid in a cryptocurrency that’s worth more than a billion dollars.

That’s the starting gun for a “grabby next-Tuesday thriller” that sees Marty in between three-letter agencies and international crime syndicates, all of whom view digital technology as a carrier medium for scams, violence and predation. Marty’s final adventure involves dodgy banks, crooked crypto, and complicit officials in a fallen paradise where computers’ libertory promise has been sucked dry by billionaire vampires.

It’s a pretty contemporary story, in other words.

I wrote this one before SVB, before Sam Bankman0Fried and FTX — just like I wrote Little Brother before Snowden’s revelations. It’s not that I’m prescient — fortune-telling is a fatalist’s delusion — it’s that these phenomena are just the most spectacular, most recent examples in a long string of ghastly and increasingly dire scandals.

Red Team Blues blasted out of my fingertips in six weeks flat, during lockdown, when technology was simultaneously a lifeline, connecting us to one another during our enforced isolation; and a tool of predatory control, as bossware turned our “work from home” into “live at work.”

The last time I wrote a book that quickly, it was Little Brother, and, as with Little Brother, Red Team Blues is a way of working out my own anxieties and hopes for technology on the page, in story.

These books tap into a nerve. I knew I had something special in my hands when, the night after I finished the first draft, I rolled over at 2AM to find my wife sitting up in bed, reading.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I had to find out how it ended,” she answered.

The next day, my editor sent me a four-line email:

That. Was. A! Fucking! Ride! Whoa!

Within a week, he’d bought Red Team Blues…and two sequels. I finished writing the second of these on Monday, and all three are coming out in the next 22 months. It’s gonna be a wild ride.

Kickstarter backers can get the usual goodies: DRM-free audiobooks and ebooks, hardcovers (including signed and personalized copies), and three very special, very limited-run goodies.

First, there’s naming rights for characters in the sequels — I’m selling three of these; they’re a form of cheap (or at least, reasonably priced) literary immortality for you or a loved one. The sequels are a lot of fun — they go in reverse chronology, and the next one is The Bezzle, out in Feb 2024, a book about prison-tech scams, crooked LA County Sheriff’s Deputy gangs, and real-estate scumbags turned techbros.

The third book is Picks and Shovels (Jan 2025), and it’s Marty’s first adventure after he comes west to San Francisco and ends up working for the bad guys, an affinity scam PC company called “Three Wise Men” that’s run by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest and an orthodox rabbi who fleece their faithful with proprietary, underpowered computers and peripherals, and front for some very bad, very violent money-men.

Next, there’s three Marty Hench short story commissions: the Hench stories are machines for turning opaque finance scams into technothrillers. While finance bros use MEGO (“my eyes glaze over”) as a weapon to bore their marks into submission, I use the same performative complexity as the engines of taut detective stories. Commissioning a Hench story lets you turn your favorite MEGO scam into a science fiction story, which I’ll then shop to fiction websites (every story I’ve written for the past 20 years has sold, though in the event that one of these doesn’t, I’ll put it up under a CC license).

Finally, there’s a super-ultra-limited deluxe hardcover edition — and I do mean limited, just four copies! These leather-bound editions have Will Staehle’s fantastic graphic motif embossed in their covers, and the type design legend John D Berry is laying out the pages so that there’s space for a hidden cavity. Nestled in that cavity is a hand-bound early draft edition of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues. The binding is being done by the fantastic book-artist John DeMerritt. Each copy’s endpapers will feature a custom cryptographic puzzle created especially for it by the cryptographer Bruce Schneier.

I often hear from readers who want to thank me for the work I do, from the free podcast I’ve put out since 2006 to the free, CC BY columns I’ve written for Pluralistic for the past three years. There is no better way to thank me than to back this Kickstarter and encourage your friends to do the same:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

Preselling a ton of audiobooks, ebooks, and print books is a huge boost to the book on its launch — incomparable, really. Invaluable.

What’s more, helping me find a viable way to produce popular, widely heard audiobooks without submitting to Amazon’s DRM lock-in sets an example for other creators and publishers: we have a hell of a collective action problem to solve, but if we could coordinate a response to Audible demanding the right to decide whether our work should have their DRM, it would force Audible to treat all of us — creators, publishers and listeners — more fairly.

I’ll be heading out on tour to the US, Canada, the UK and Germany once the book is out. I’m really looking forward to as many backers in person as I can! Thank you for your support over these many long years — and for your support on this Kickstarter.

Today (Mar 22), I’m doing a remote talk for the Institute for the Future’s “Changing the Register” series.

[Image ID: A graphic showing a phone playing the Red Team Blues audiobok, along with a quote from Booklist, 'Jam-packed with cutting-edge ideas about cybersecurity and crypto. Another winner from an sf wizard.']

#pluralistic #wil wheaton #drm #chokepoint capitalism #Monopoly #audible #amazon #audiobooks #sf #science fiction #post cyberpunk #cyberpunk #technothrillers #thrillers #heists #cryptocurrency #red team blues #marty hench #kickstarter

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bloatedandalone04 · 1 year

Text

Love Language

➪the one where you’re all clay needs to keep himself calm before surgery (and after).

Warnings: sam does not exist here (sorry not sorry f that b), mentions of surgery, surgery topics, hospital themes, anxiety, clay's surgery is successful and his mother is still alive, heart transplants (you saw the movie, you know how it goes), heavy topics, 'what is the healing process of a heart transplant' was definitely googled more than once while writing this.

Word Count: 2.3k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine <3

The sun peered into the room through the thin, white curtains - the same ones Clay has begged you to let him replace more than once now. It heated the room to the perfect temperature, not too cold while also not making you break out into a sweat.

Lying fast asleep beside you was possibly the most beautiful man you had ever seen. His face was pressed to the pillow, his arms lifted and hidden under said pillow as he often fell asleep on his stomach, the front of his body pressed to the mattress.

You reach over and gently trace your index finger over the various freckles that scattered his back before laying your palm flat against his skin, the faint beat of his heart bringing you a sense of comfort you never knew you needed.

The glow of the sun made his skin look golden, his face relaxed and his hair messy from moving in his sleep.

In other words, he was just perfect.

You lift your body, your elbow digging into the bed as you hold yourself up. Unable to stop your wandering lips, you lean over and press a kiss to his bicep, and another to his shoulder blade.

Though your touch was feather light, it still woke him up as though his body couldn’t help but react whenever you showed him any type of affection. His eyes opened in a squint due to the light that invaded the room, the corner of his lips turning upwards in a boyish grin. “Hi,”

“Hi,” you murmur back, trailing your hand further up his back before tangling it in his light hair.

He gives you a look that has your heart swelling before he lifts his head just to bury his face back in the pillow. You grin at his shyness, a personality trait you would’ve never imagined he had. With billions behind his name, a successful mother, a future set in stone, and a whole city that belonged to him; you expected him to be arrogant, spoiled, ruthless, even.

But no, he was none of those things.

He was kind, had the persona of an angel, something that prompted you to give him the nickname, your angel. He had a smile that could make any okay day an amazing one, the charm to sweep anyone off their feet, and a heart as big and sweet as anything in the entire world. Even though his heart was fragile and could betray him at any given moment, he still didn’t let that change his view on the world, the beautiful thing it was.

To put it simply; Clay Beresford was the embodiment of everything good in the world, a light so bright that he had no idea just how much he lit up the darkest corners of damn near everyone he’s ever met, a man so perfect you found yourself believing you were stuck in a dream every time you woke up next to him.

Massaging your fingers into his scalp, you fill with a sense of happiness at the content sigh that escapes him, silent in sound but evident in the way his shoulders raised and dropped slowly.

You move closer to him, brushing your nose against his arm. “Why are you hiding from me?” You ask quietly, your hand flattening out his messy hair.

He lifted his head just enough for him to be able to murmur, “I’m not hiding from you, baby,” the corners of his lips turned upwards as he continued, “Just from your awful excuse of a curtain.”

You gasp, taking your hand away from his head to give his shoulder a gentle push. “Hate them all you want,” you shrug, meeting his eyes when he turned his head to look at you. “I’m still not letting you buy me new ones.”

Clay laughed quietly, shifting so he was now on his back. His right hand came up to grab your left one, his eyes fixated on the large diamond that found home on your finger.

With your free hand, you reach over and gently press it against his shoulder, your fingers firmly poking against the few small knots you felt. “What are you thinking about?” You nearly whisper, afraid as though you would ruin the peaceful atmosphere if you were to talk at your usual pitch.

His blue eyes met yours once again. “You,” he simply answered and you felt a heat rush to your face. Keeping your hand locked in his, you lean down and press your lips to his mouth, an innocent kiss that grew heated when his left hand grabbed your hip and pulled your body on top of his.

Your upper body was covered by his white dress shirt he wore to the dinner party last night, the shirt being the first thing you grabbed once you woke up this morning, while your lower half was covered by a thin black lace.

Clay has told you many times now that he loves the way you look in his clothes and it brings out a possessive side he never knew he had. You were just so beautiful, and you looked past his family drama and his heart problem and chose him.

There weren’t words that are strong enough to describe his love for you or how much he adored you. You were one of the few things in his life that felt normal and right, and it was no surprise that he couldn’t hold back on asking you to be his forever just eight months into the relationship.

You started out as his mom’s assistant. Lilith was a sweetheart right at the start, showing you around her massive house with the patience of a new teacher, smiling at you and encouraging any questions you might have had.

You remembered exiting the kitchen and entering the front hall just as Clay returned home, his eyes tired and his form slouched. It was almost comical how quickly he straightened up and how wide his eyes opened. Lilith’s dismissal of his sudden appearance was one you’ll never forget. “Oh, that’s Clay, my son. Don’t worry, you won’t see much of him,”

How wrong she was.

From that day on, Clay did any and everything he could to see you, even for just a split second. He’d prolong quick conversations, give you a long answer instead of a short one to any question you had, and was always there to greet you when you arrived in the mornings.

You were kidding yourself when you made a promise that you wouldn’t fall for him. You fell for Clay hard and fast, and it seemed as though he fell for you just as bad. When you became official, you quit being Lilith’s assistant as you felt weird about it and didn’t want your source of income to be from his mom.

No matter how much money the Beresford name had, you still felt cheap whenever Clay or his mother offered to pay for something. You knew it wouldn’t faze them, and you appreciate their kindness, but you refused each and every time.

“You do realize that you’re entitled to my money once we’re married, right?” He’d ask you every time you refused to let him pay for you.

You always respond with, “Yeah, well, we’ll figure that out when we get there,”

His hands slide up your back when you break away from his mouth and begin placing kisses along his jaw. You move onto his neck and shoulders before moving further down and stopping right above where his heart was beating in his chest.

A small bit of sadness filled you as your mouth hovered over that place, your hands pressing into the sheets on either side of his body. Clay noticed this, but before he could ask you what was wrong, you leaned down and placed a kiss to the skin of his chest, just over where his heart is.

He held back a shiver as you placed another kiss and then another, your eyes closing when you felt his hands reach up to caress the sides of your face. Butterflies are set loose all over his body as you kiss him with a feather light touch, acting as if you’d break him if you were to be even the smallest bit rougher with him.

“Hey,” he quietly said, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that fell from your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking your head, you rest it against his chest, the faint beating against your cheek making you smile slightly. “I just love you,” it was hardly audible, but he heard you as clear as day. “So much.”

“Baby,” he says quietly, brushing your hair away from your face as he tries to get you to meet his eye. “Now it’s your turn to tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You wipe away your tears and clear your throat. “It’s nothing,” you answer, looking up at him and caving at the look he gives you. A shaky sigh leaves your lips as you crawl over his body and move to lay on your side next to him. Your fingers trace over the skin you had just kissed while his rubbed soothing circles onto your shoulder. “I was just thinking about how much I will love your new heart, maybe even more than I love your current one.”

Clay grinned down at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “There’s no doubt in my mind that my new heart will love you just as much as the old one does now,” he says quietly before adding, “Thank you for never giving up on me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Clay spent a week in the hospital, his pager going off a few hours after you and him got out of bed after your heart to heart talk.

His surgery was a success, his body taking the new organ with no problems at all and rendering him a new man.

You were by his side throughout the whole process, your own heart beating rapidly during the five hours he was under. The sense of relief you felt when his doctor came to the waiting room to inform you and Lilith that it was a success was indescribable.

He woke up an hour or so after the surgery, and a couple more later you were finally allowed to briefly visit him. You instantly started crying, which caused him to cry as well, still a bit drowsy and high off the medication.

Despite the doctor’s request of not getting too close to him, you couldn’t help but press multiple kisses to his face, working carefully around the ventilator, before settling on holding his hand as gently as you could. He looked so tired and weak and worn out, making your heart break the smallest bit as you thought about the long road to recovery he had ahead of him.

Now, four weeks into his recovery process, he was doing well. He would have multiple pain sessions everyday where his chest would ache beyond anything he could ever describe. During those moments he would tightly hold your hand or wrap his arms around your middle while pressing his body to yours until the pain subsided and the quiet groans faded.

You grew closer than ever. You had taken an LOA from your job at the small café downtown to take care of him, looking after his every need with no hesitation. He was in bed for the most part, only getting up to walk the short distance to the bathroom attached to the bedroom or up and down the hallway outside the room to keep him somewhat active. Even then you were no more than a few feet away from him, a nervous look on your face and a crease in your brow

Secretly, the days you spent with him in bed was your favorite way to pass the time. Like right now, your chin resting gently on his shoulder while your index finger lightly ran up and down the scar on his chest. The bandage and stitches had long since been removed and all that was left was a long line from the start of his chest down to just above his lower abdomen.

Today was a good day as he hadn’t felt a single ounce of pain yet, his arm wrapped around you and his fingers lazily tracing shapes on your bicep. His half lidded eyes stared at the ceiling, the only sounds filling the room being your breathing and the low hum of the air conditioning.

Breaking the silence, you keep your voice quiet as you ask, “How are you feeling today?”

Your head lifted slightly with every breath he took, his shoulder rising with every inhale. Just being able to feel him breathe made you fill with a sense of happiness, the stress of the whole thing fading away with every day that passed. “Good,” he answered, his lips turning upwards when he added, “Better than ever.”

You close your eyes at that, exhaling quietly. “Good,” your hand moves from his scar and rests on the skin above his heart, the faint but strong beat making you smile. “You’re still you.” You say quietly and lift yourself up, propping your upper half on your elbow.

Clay furrows his brows as he watches you lean down to press your lips over his heart. He was brought back to the morning of his surgery, just hours before he got the page that a transplant was available, where you did exactly what you were doing now, but on his old and weak heart.

“My angel….New heart, new life,” you continued, kissing his skin once more before meeting his eyes. “Still the same you.”

Clay lifted his hand to stroke your cheekbone with his thumb, the rest of his fingers curling under your jaw. “I’m still me,” he confirmed, matching your small grin with one of his own. “And my heart still loves you just the same.”

#hayden christensen #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen gif #hayden christensen edit #clay beresford #clay beresford x reader #clay beresford imagines #angst #fluff #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine

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kedsandtubesocks · 2 months

Text

dance away your cowboy blues

Country Singer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: who knew the man with the voice of an angel could break your heart this bad?

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, modern/no outbreak AU & Joel has both his daughters, exes to lovers with eventual husband!Joel, angst followed up by good sweet fluff, concert venue, light drinking mention, Joel being stubborn & bad at feelings, hints of spice, fools in love, reader is addressed as ‘honey, darlin,’ use of song lyrics in fic, Pearl Jam & Taylor Swift song mentions, soft & heartbroken!Joel, lovesick!Joel

word count: 6k

a/n: here we are - the last installment in our ‘Let’s Rodeo’ series & I’m so incredibly grateful to finally make it here, also this is my mini tribute to our boy and his SAG award! The main song Joel sings is this one and I highly recommend! Thank you to my forever babe @the-wild-wolves-around-you for letting me scream about plot holes & aiding my Joel brainrot, @tightjeansjavi for always being down to chat about Joel, and to @lowlights & @ahauntedcowboy for being my ever guiding forces for this series, thank you all… And finally to you reading this, thank you so much ♡

A year ago, Joel broke up with you on a warm early spring morning.

He arrived at your apartment, sat you down and shattered your world. You felt every range of emotion as he simply stood there like a man of steel.

So upset and angry, you wanted to rip your heart out and throw it at him.

Then later that week you found out his record was officially getting picked up and you crumbled.

Ending your relationship simply because he was about to step into true proper fame - you never took Joel to be a man so somberly callous. However, you began wondering if that’s what fame sometimes did to people.

When curiosity gnawed too hard, you’d Google him or even check Spotify. Simply catching glimpses of how big he’s gotten sent you spiraling. Last Thanksgiving, your favorite aunt threatened to lock your phone away when she found you upset in the bathroom after discovering Joel was performing at the Dallas Cowboys holiday game.

From that point on you refused to even check any amount of social media or update on him.

A few clunky first dates and a couple of ghosting experiences later, you’ve now decided to simply work on yourself and embrace the selfcare of being single.

It’s why when your best friend called you earlier today eagerly explaining how her parents had extra tickets to the Rodeo tonight, she playfully teased how she knew you didn’t have anything planned for this Saturday night.

You almost hung up on her, but you excitedly scrambled to get ready.

Now the smell of fried foods, popcorn, and beer cloud the air. The fairgrounds hold a chaotic but controlled lively energy. You never knew so many cowboy hats could exist in one space.

Once you meet up with your best friends' parents, you’re transported to a whole new area you never believed could exist during a rodeo. Lux and cozy, the VIP lounge gleams with its elevated experience. You knew your best friend’s mom worked for the construction company managing the arena. You just didn’t realize how big of a hookup it was. The VIP tickets allowed for full premium dining along with a couple of free drinks.

More importantly - it came with the best concert seats.

“In the dirt” is how they’re described because the tickets are literally stationed on the floor, in the dirt of the rodeo stadium, right by the stage.

Ecstatic and bubby energy now fills you. The food being served is divine and you gladly enjoy the free various drinks.

“So wait, did we figure out who’s performing?” You ask curiously while you lounge taking advantage of the nice seating area.

“Uh, I think my dad said it’s that band named Midland is performing today.” Your friend answers but then is quickly pulled away to meet more of her mom’s coworkers.

You’ve never heard of the band, but for a free concert you’re open to enjoy some live music.

It’s a trait you gained from Joel.

Because of him you grew to love music performances, the energy that comes with hearing the band, being among the hum of the crowd. The trips around Austin seeing not just him perform, but enjoying other concerts with him, let you appreciate and admire live shows.

Waiting for the concert allows you to enjoy some of the actual rodeo event. But the main performance of the evening soon arrives.

“You kids go enjoy! We’re getting a little too old and are just gonna stay back and enjoy the free food.” Your best friend’s mom grins with a wink.

The ticket advertisement wasn’t joking when it said close to the stage. The ground level truly sits on the dirt floor. The arena swallows you whole surrounding you like a strange fishbowl. A small crowd already lines the front railing closest to the stage. However sneakily you find a nice open spot by the side that gives a clear sight to the stage.

Even if you don’t know the band, giddiness bubbles in you electric.

You take in the massive general admission floor section already packed full. The band must be popular. So you take plenty of pictures and happily enjoy the time with your dear friend.

The lights dim and excitement crackles in the air. The stage lights up. The large backdrop screens on the stage flutter to life beginning to showcase different picturesque black and white shots of Texas.

Midland, you remember, is a city in Texas so the images make sense. A low strum of a guitar begins playing. The melody dances soft but in a quick beat, a hypnotic tune trying to rev up the crowd.

The tune brews up its intended magic that you even get swept up in the anticipation. The sound gets faster and the strumming is rather simple but so striking.

Then the music stops. Suddenly the lights of the entire stadium shut off. Wild galvanized screams erupt.

The lights brilliantly dance forth back to light. They all focus now on the performer who, like magic, now appears on the stage with the rest of the band.

And the lead singer is Joel.

Your knees almost give out.

Dressed in the most dangerous plaid green button up, it so simple yet beautifully compliments him. More grays pepper his beard and highlight his tousled curls. The brilliant stage lights bask him in a heavenly glow.

Your soul momentarily leaves your body the minute his voice sings his first note.

Instantly your best friend whips towards you panicked. She rapidly screams asking if you’re okay as she apologizes over and over.

“My dad must have gotten the dates wrong! God I should’ve fucking doubled checked or some shit!” She cries deeply apologetic and hurt.

You earnestly tell her it’s not her fault and it’s alright. It was just an unfortunate mixup.

“Do you wanna leave?” Your friend leans closer to you. Her eyes shine understanding and considerate. “We didn’t pay for these tickets and I promise you my parents will completely understand. We can say fuck it and bounce.”

You haven’t even completely processed it’s Joel. It’s like your brain went cloudy and now blinking out of the fog, your eyes return to the stage.

Joel isn’t an extroverted man. He’s reserved, quietly charming, even holds a gruff but poised grace. But right now, he’s an absolute sun on the stage. He’s radiant, naturally swaying to the music while singing his soul soul.

Maybe it’s the piece of you still horribly in love with him, or just the curiosity to see how this goes, whatever it is - you shake your head no.

“We can stay.”

Your best friend’s eyes go wide as saucers hearing your answer.

“Are you sure?” She presses and you nod your head.

“Yeah, let’s stay. Afterwards we can laugh about how old he’s gotten.” You laugh bitterly about him looking more aged even after a year.

When truthfully the stronger wrinkles around his face, the vibrant grays, all of his aging only intensifies his striking looks.

A canyon wide sized hole rips through your heart.

The song flutters to an end and the crowd claps with a thunderous roar. With a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder your dear friend nods then turns back to the concert.

You pray this isn’t the worst decision you’ve ever made.

Then Joel speaks.

“Howdy everyone,” his voice is still so devilishly thick and smooth as a shot of moonshine. His accent does his home state proud. The crowd absolutely adores him, screaming loud just hearing him speak.

“Thank y'all for comin’ out tonight. I’m Joel Miller and m’here to sing y’all a few songs.” So simple, casually eased, and it’s so Joel.

His gruff southern charm made you fall in love with him so fast and now it’s a unique brand of magic charming everyone under his spell.

Joel strums a few notes, rapidly shifting the tune and transitions into the next song.

You now fully soak in Joel.

He seems otherworldly, a god of music reincarnated as a Texan cowboy. You think back to the days sitting in his living room and listening to him play. You were honored to see that side of him, to hear him strum to life so much magic.

During the holiday’s Joel’s daughters, Ellie and Sarah, would often pester him to sing silly songs. He’d grumpily obliged but you knew he basked in their attention and love.

He loved to sing. You always knew he was destined for the stage like it was woven into his veins.

You still remember the day one of Joel’s acoustic performances blew up online gaining so much attention. The excitement and absolute joy you felt then still lingers in the corners of your heart. Although, those feelings have been gathering cobwebs.

There’s of course a bitterness seeing him, but also, an unbearably small twinkling pride knowing he’s here living his dream. The song finishes and again the stadium rumbles in applause.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” Joel asks and your heart jumps hearing his voice again.

The crowd cheers back at him.

“Good good, let’s keep it goin’.” He yells back and then strums the guitar sharp.

That’s when the stage slowly starts moving.

It’s slow but with the surprise purpose to look out to the entire crowd. For some reason you almost laugh thinking of that man, who couldn’t even remember how to FaceTime on his ipad, on a full rotating platform.

However, the lyrics start and you realize he’s singing a heartbreak ballad.

If you’re going out with someone new, I’m going out with someone too…I won’t feel sorry for me, I’m getting drunk but I’d much rather be somewhere with you…

It’s hard hearing him now with how exhilarated the crowd screams at the stage moving. But you try to hear how the rest of the song unfolds.

At the chorus, your throat tightens.

I can go out every night of the week, can go home with anybody I meet, but it’s just a temporary high… ‘cause when I close my eyes, I’m somewhere with you

The words sting every inch of you, but you believe it has to be just a simple heartbreak story and isn’t about you, isn’t directed at you. Yet the words feel like sharpened edges of a broken mirror that seem to reflect every moment of your time with him.

Then the stage rotates to your side of the floor.

There’s no way he can see you or will even spot you. There’s a whole crowd stretching before him. You’re just a fish in a sea of fans.

Joel continues strumming, allowing his voice to so beautifully carry the emotion.

The stage, in its slow movement, is now front and center to your line of sight. Some girls at the very direct front of the railing scream and wave frantically at him.

A small smile tugs at Joel’s lips as he waves back. Joel’s eyes scan the rest of the crowd -

And that’s when he spots you.

Quickly, you rationalize he could be staring out behind you at someone else alongside the side railing.

But Joel’s eyes even narrow trying to focus more. Your gaze stays on him, like something inside of you refuses to waiver.

His eyes flicker with realization then turn into full moons.

He knows it’s you.

Joel continues singing the chorus but emotions cloud his face. His brows are furrowed hard, almost confused like he’s trying to really comprehend what’s going on.

You understand. You’d be so confused too if you were in his position. You’re still even baffled as to why you stayed in the first place.

The stage starts shifting back to the main center direction

But Joel cranes his face to the side, refusing to have his eyes leave.

His focus stays on you.

It’s obvious enough that your best friend now shakes your body.

“Is he staring at you?!” She tries to whisper but she ends up partly screaming.

You think maybe it’s a hallucination.

Yet Joel’s deep inky eyes stubbornly stay locked on you as he sings now.

If you see out on the town and it looks like I’m burning it down, you won’t ask and I won’t say… but in my heart I’m always somewhere with you…

Your world twists warped, melting into a sea of so many emotions you can’t stay afloat.

Joel finishes his song and the crowd enthusiastically cheers. Yet, it sounds muffled as a numbness crawls over you like a thick soupy fog.

You should leave. You need to. But you’re here now. And decide to see the end of this. If he’s singing about someone lingering within him, then you might as well make true to those lyrics.

Joel lowers his face for a moment and shakes his head. The mic faintly picks up his cough of a disbelieving laugh and your heart sinks.

“Alright folks, let’s jam.” He announces composed and brings his guitar to life.

He’s beautiful walking around with it. Strums effortlessly until he shifts from one guitar, his classic, to a more sleek all black styled one.

Joel lets the music and band take over while he makes the switch. He also leans in to whisper something to the stage hand.

Then as if nothing, Joel steps back into the limelight and illuminates the stage.

He walks around freely now that the stage stopped rotating. The current song is lively with a great beat and you hate how badly you want to bounce around to its infectious sound and the way Joel’s voice elevates the tune.

Caught up in the melody, you don’t notice until it’s too late. Joel walks over to the side of the stage directly facing you.

The guitar carries a large piece of this song’s bridge allowing his eyes to flicker across the crowd.

Until they return to your gaze. Stuck in his stare, Joel suddenly cocks his chin towards you.

Most of the crowd around you screams at his simple action. Even your best friend yells out a loud ‘holy shit’ but you stay quiet.

Not knowing how to react, all you do is stupidly shrug.

It’s awful, not even the best reaction you can give.

But Joel barks a laugh, a true laugh that thankfully happens at the tail end of the song, but your knees go weak.

You made him laugh.

On stage.

Heartache finds its way back into your system fiercer than ever and it poisonously tastes of adoration as well.

Joel transitions into another song. This time moving around the stage more towards the other side.

Yet, either his eyes flicker back to you, or he ends up walking to your section.

A part of you wonders if he’s doing this now to mock you, almost showing off how good he is knowing you’re here. You don’t believe Joel would be that heartless, but you hate how that option still lingers.

“He’s been walking over here a lot.” Someone even behind you even notices.

“Well he is old.” Someone yells back. “Maybe he’s just trying to keep his joints in shape.”

You almost want to snap back that he’s looking damn good for his age and in good enough shape that he kept you bent like a pretzel for practically a whole weekend, but you swallow back the protective bite.

You simply go back to enjoying the show, and it’s fantastic. You can’t deny that. Joel is a performer, keeps the crowd focused and engaged. He isn’t showy or dramatic but takes control of his presence on stage.

You think of the days seeing him at small bars around town, sitting on a stool playing till his heart's content.

Then he booked Stubb’s in Austin and when you watched him own that stage - you knew this was meant for him.

You’re reminded of that so vividly tonight.

“Alright, gettin’ to the end here.” He announces and the crowd sounds heartbroken.

“I know, i know,” he coos back soft and low. “But just wanted to say y’all have been lovely.”

So many shrill shrieks crack in the room and you almost roll your eyes.

Your best friend snickers beside you. “Gotta give it to him, man can work a room.”

She’s right of course. Though it’s still so surprising for a man grumpily reserved and introverted at times.

“This next one I hope maybe some of y’all will know.”

He strums the cords to Pearl Jam’s ‘Alive.’

What gained Joel traction online was his renditions and covers of various songs. He added his own country twang and twist to all the songs he covered.

Pearl Jam happened to be one of Ellie’s favorite bands. A hollow nostalgia rip through you, thinking of the two girls you miss.

The crowd ignites recognizing the familiar rock ballad now turned into the tune of a country song by Joel’s touch. He owns the solo and his husky voice melts into the lyrics beautifully.

Under your breath you sing along. You used to sing along when you cooked breakfast at his place or during drives with him and the girls.

It’s a beautiful fondness, yet one still barbed and so aching.

The song ends with the intense but small burst of fireworks that has the stadium cheering. You even clap.

“Appreciate y’all.” He addresses the crowd. “That’s a one of my daughter’s favorites so always means a lot when I get to play it.”

A smile you can’t fight tugs at your lips at the mention of Ellie.

“Now my daughters, they’re like night ‘n day.” Joel continues and your heart fills up so overwhelming fast for those girls.

“One of them, like I said, loves some Pearl Jam. Now my other daughter…” Joel pauses.

“She’s a big fan of someone by the name of Taylor Swift.”

The crowd absolutely explodes and you think you even feel the arena shake. Sarah honestly was a big fan and Ellie loved to tease her about it so much.

“Normally for this next and final song, I’d play ‘‘shake it off.’” Joel had a few songs of hers that he covered. That one was a fan favorite.

“But tonight, I'm itchin’ to play somethin’ else.” He continues.

You even perk up curious.

“So let’s end this on a high note, yeah? Sing along if you know this one.” Joel concludes.

Then the drums begin and the song bursts to life.

The stadium swims in a dizzying frantic energy.

The way Joel sings, he’s pouring his heart out. He’s memorizing. Utterly heart wrenching.

This is the finale, the end of this strange unreal dream you’ve wandered into. You wonder if he feels it too.

The song’s chilling bridge comes and Joel walks to stare directly at you.

I thought I had you figured out, can’t breathe whenever you’re gone. Can't turn back now, I'm haunted…

His eyes never leave yours.

The lyrics sear through your heart. You think about screaming the song to back him. He’s the one who left, the one who’s ghost lives among your ribs.

Then Joel hits the final high note, lets his voice carry the powerful finale, and the crowd roars in earth shaking excitement.

It’s magical, magnetic and utterly devastating in both the best and worst ways. Another few sets of indoor fireworks go off and the show ends.

Joel wishes the crowd a beautiful night and you’re left in a tangled web of emotions.

Your best friend immediately turns to see if you’re okay. While the crowd starts leaving, you and her take a moment. Out of the edge of your focus, you notice a crew member of the arena approaching the side of the rail. You don’t think anything of it.

“Excuse me,” until that crew member stands in front of you on the other side of the barrier.

Blinking absolutely confused you turn towards the man.

“I’ve been asked to escort you backstage.” He explains and your best friend gasps.

You wonder if the ground opened below and dropped you into a free fall.

Quickly you stammer out that you couldn’t. There's no way. Maybe the man must’ve mistaken you for someone else.

“Mr. Miller said you’d say something like that.” The crew member says reaching into his pocket to hand you something.

It’s a keychain.

Not just any keychain, but the one you gave Joel.

It’s a cartoon armadillo, dressed up as a cowboy, holding a guitar. When you first saw it you immediately thought of Joel. His daughters got a kick over it, giggled at how cute it was, and your heart had bursted when you saw it constantly among his keys.

Now the worn little cowboy creature sits waiting for you. It’s sweet marble like eyes stare up at you like a day hasn’t gone by since you gave Joel this.

Your best friend gasps, maybe not fully recognizing the keychain but understanding the significance.

You ask the crew member if your friend can maybe accompany you backstage, but he shakes his head a sad no.

“Then I…I can’t.” You shakily breathe out.

“Yes you can!” She interjects. “You gotta at least hear him out!”

You turn to her and find determination fiercely burning in her eyes as she nods.

“But what about you? I don’t want you or your parents waiting around for me.” You urge.

“Don’t worry about me or especially about them!” She reassures, even offering to wait for as long as you need.

You’re grateful, unbearably so and embrace her tight.

“You call me if he gets stupid. I don’t care backstage or not, I’ll go get you.”

You laugh watery at her well meaning threat and thank her. With a quick sweet goodbye, you follow the crew member along the rails until exiting.

The walk out to the backstage area fills you with a hurricane of emotions. What else could Joel say to you? A part of you wonders if he’s going to be cruel about this, having you simply show up to his dressing room just to laugh so arrogant and smug about how wonderfully famous he is now.

No, Joel isn’t that type of man.

Or you hope fame hasn't warped him into that type of man. Arriving at the green room door, your heart races loud in your ears.

The crew member knocks and before you can compose yourself, Joel opens the door.

He’s bathed in the golden amber light of the backstage room. It highlights all those grays again but also illuminates more of the time passed on his face. More winkles line against his eyes and when he fully stares at you, you wonder how different you might look in his eyes.

A jackrabbit like urge rushes over you to maybe flee, call your best friend to come get you.

“Thanks for comin’,” he mutters out. “Was worried ya wouldn’t show.”

You want to bitterly joke that you didn’t want to, but the armadillo keychain you hang onto holds the truth.

The door closes leaving you and Joel alone. Awkward stale air chokes the space.

You simply keep your attention on examining the room. His classic weathered jacket rests thrown over the couch. The rider is stacked with so many classic Joel snacks like his favorite jerky, popcorn, and even a few familiar favorite treats his daughters love.

Then your eyes catch the mug on the counter and you grin softly.

It must be filled with Joel’s classic drink - chamomile and ginger tea with honey for his throat.

“It’s…yeah. That’s it.”

You didn’t even realize you said anything out loud until Joel replies casuing your heart to jump. Finally your eyes find his.

It's a curse that your greatest heartbreak is this handsome. Exhaustion weighs in you and feels ancient, like if you carry the sum of so many lifetimes before.

“So…You wanted to talk to me?” You speak first, trying to keep yourself strong.

“I…uh yeah.” Answering so cryptically, his shoulders deflate. “How ya been?”

“Good.” You answer simple, curt almost.

There’s too many things that could’ve slipped out if you said anything more. Like how you selfishly kept one of his shirts and hate that the smell of him on it has faded like a wistful memory. Or how you can barely listen to Dolly Parton or Johnny Cash anymore because you’re reminded of Joel singing along to their songs.

So you turn the conversation back to him.

You ask how the girls are and Joel perks up, eyes shimmering with fatherly pride.

“Good, yeah they’re good. Uh, Ellie’s playing softball for the school again ‘n Sarah’s busy with student council. They’re still just bossin’ me all around.”

“As usual.”

You both say the same line at the same time and it chokes you up.

Joel inhales and his lips press tight, a hard line. The air tightens. No one says anything and now annoyance, frustration and maybe even a bit of panic claw at you.

“Joel, why am I here?” You ask him again.

Sighing, so weary and tired, he looks down.

Feels like ages pass between you and him. The faint noise of the stadium leaks into the room muffled.

You think of your best friend waiting and of your own heart waiting to end this.

“Look, it was good to see you,” you half lie. “You did great, hope you and the girls take care”

You turn to walk out.

That’s when he blurts out your name and you stop.

“I miss you.” He exhales.

“Miss ya so g’damn much. Every fuckin’ day.” He mutters.

When you turn back around, he stares at you unwavering. You don’t know what to say.

“Seein’ ya out in the crowd…thought m’heart was gonna give out.” He barks a weak laugh.

“Almost stoppin’ the fuckin’ show just to make sure it was you… y’look beautiful as ever.” His eyes haze over slightly, almost nostalgic.

Suddenly a heated spark rips into your chest, jagged edged and angered.

“You broke up with me.” You snap, voice already raw.

“I know,” Joel nods. “Worst damn decision of m’life.”

Your lips tremble. Everything hurts like a live wire is burning up your veins.

“Then why? Why did you do it?” You croak. You want to scream, maybe even storm out and not even give him the chance to speak.

“What? Did Mr. Big Country Star hate having a partner that wasn’t famous too?” Venom leaks bitter and poisonous in your mouth, choking your throat.

“Y’know god damn well that ain’t it.” He snarls back hard.

“No actually I fucking don’t know Joel.” You reply with a fierce bite. “You so conveniently left out any real damn reason why you were breaking up with me.”

“I said our paths were going in separate directions.” He glares hard at you now.

“And that’s about it!” Your voice raises and you hate it.

The tears come quicker than you hoped for and you hate that more.

“No real explanation,” you exhale, wanting to stay as calm as you can. “You couldn’t even give me that…what else am I supposed to think?”

Even dabbing away your tears, your composure is slowly slipping.

“I couldn’t do this to you,” he breathes out and it’s broken. His eyes are shimmering obsidian pools.

“This life, all the fuckin’ mess that comes with dating someone in the limelight, I couldn’t just throw that on ya.” He explains and the truth rings out a quiet hum.

“And you didn’t think to talk to me about this?” You whisper out now hurt. “Joel, I thought we were a team.”

“We are- were.” He slips and corrects himself fast. “I just knew if we fuckin’ talked about it you wouldn’t have understood.”

“Understood what?” You’re frustrated and it leaks into your voice.

“That I didn’t want ya fuckin’ hatin’ me!” He finally screams the weighted truth.

Stunned quiet but still slightly confused, you ask Joel what he means.

Pain travels across Joel’s handsome face as his jaw clenches hard.

“This shit…it takes away a lot.” He croaks out. “Hell I’ve even missed things with the girls. Didn’t want ya sacrificin’ your life or wakin’ up one day and realizin’ how much you’ve lost ‘cause of me…couldn’t let myself do that to you.”

Your chest aches like a rocket got shot into you. You’re angry he took that chance for you to decide, but you understand.

Joel never wants to be the cause of pain to others, especially those he loves.

He agonizes so much over his decisions and how corrupting he believes he is. When in reality every action he takes you know simply stems from his endless deep devotion to keep those he loves safe.

His decision to end your relationship was him, in his own frustrating Joel way, trying to keep you safe. Even if it was from himself.

Your lips tremble and you cuss bitterly hard under your breath.

“You damn stupid man.” You hiccup. “I didn’t…I don’t care what life fame would’ve given me with you. I would never resent you. For better or worse I just wanted a life with you, that’s all I ever wanted.”

Through a few sobs, you wipe the tears fogging up your sight.

Before you can see it happening, strong sturdy arms suddenly wrap around you and shock you breathless. Curled in Joel’s arms, it’s like a sad coming home party and you cry even more.

“M’so sorry, my darlin’.” Joel whispers against your forehead.

“I hate you.” You don’t. Even on your hardest days, you never could.

“I know, hate my fuckin’ ass too.” Joel replies.

His arms squeeze you tighter.

“Never stopped lovin’ you. Never will.” His voice wavers and now your arms wrap around him.

“You left.” You whisper back so small while tears continue to prickle in your eyes.

“I know honeydew, ‘n I’ll never forgive myself for it.” He replies fiercely like a strike of lightning with its bright force. “Been a fuckin’ mess without ya. Tommy would be the first to agree and the girls too.”

You absorb his words, basking in the safe haven that is Joel. Hours, maybe days pass just in his arms.

“Please forgive me, baby.” He whispers hoarse against your head.

You nod a soft yes.

Because even the part of you that wants to yell and stubbornly say no knows the ultimate answer is, and always will be, him.

“Of course…I love you.” You mutter half dazed against his strong chest. “Love of my life.”

Pressed so close to him, you feel how hard he swallows and his arms squeeze you impossibly tighter against you.

He says your name and you hum out a soft noise.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes, which have sort of glazed over, snap open wide.

“What?” You mutter out, maybe think you misheard him.

“Marry me.” Joel repeats himself.

You practically squawk like a confused bird and scramble in his arms.

“Joel Miller, you can’t be serious?!” You shriek through the tears still lingering in your voice.

Your face snaps up to him. His face is composed, almost serene in a way as he look at you with molten eyes.

“Serious as that g’damn ring I bought ya.”

His words are a mumble but so soft and unwavering. Your soul leaves your body like you were thrown into a cold lake.

“You what?” You stammer out.

“Y’heard me.” He nudges his chin to you. “A ring. Bought it after you dropped everything to go take care of the girls when they got sick.”

Too many emotions overwhelm you and the tears return with a vengeance.

Joel, like a steady man in the storm, places his warm hand on your face to gather you back into his embrace. He places the softest kiss to the side of your head.

“We gotta have a chat about discussing your feelings with me more, Miller.” You manage to chide him through your tears.

“I know.” He mutters against your skin while he continues softly kissing you with utter tenderness. “‘N I’m not lettin’ ya go again.”

You squeeze him hard, trying to burn his memory into your arms worried you’re going to wake up and find this is just a heartbroken hallucination.

“Baby,” he begins.

“Hm?”

“Stay with me for the night.” He urges. “The bus got plenty of room-”

“Ooo, is this what you say to all your groupies, Mr. Miller?” You tease with a snort.

“Behave.” His hand playfully squeezes your hip but his underlying somber tone even with his chuckle ignites a familiar heat brewing in you of the times he’s reprimanded you like that before.

“No groupies.” Joel reassures you. “Only you sweetheart, only ever gonna be you.”

His words flutter into your heart and make a nest there.

Gently you draw back to stare at Joel. Your hand moves to his face, aching to just touch him. Even in his arms you’re waiting for him to vanish from your touch as if he’s a figment of your wrecked heart, a ghost of lovers past haunting you now.

But his stubble tickles against your palm. Running warm as usual, his face feels like a soft morning sun. Your thumb strokes his cheek and his eyes close, melting into your hold.

Gently you place a soft kiss against the corner of his lips.

Joel now tilts his head so he can deepen the kiss before you can even draw away.

It’s not a consuming passion that you expected. No frantic fierce clash of lips or an overflow from a year passed between you two.

Instead it’s a soft welcome home. It’s a kiss you’ve given him when he’s come home late or when you leave for work.

Because his blood, his soul, you believe are simply stitched into the very fabric of you. It’s like a piece of you is returning back to you, or maybe back to your other home with him.

“So you gonna stay with me?” He mumbles against your lips.

“I don’t know Miller, you haven’t even offered to sign anything for me. What kind of famous country singer are you?” You smirk against his lips.

He laughs, hearty, a true wild deep one sweeping you into its joy.

“Hell yeah I’ll fuckin’ sign something for ya, our marriage certificate.” He snaps in classic grumpy Joel fashion and you almost think about dragging him to a courthouse.

You text your friend a million apologies and even take pictures of all the signed merch you’re bringing back to her.

Now in the cocoon of Joel’s cozy bed on his tour bus, among the warmth sheets, you hold the ring up in the dim light inspecting it. Because of course your secretly romantic man kept the ring with him.

“You sure you weren’t keeping this around for someone else?” You ask.

“Fuck no.” He growls low. “S’yours…only yours.”

From behind his arms slide around you and you’re encompassed by his swallowing presence. His beard scrapes against your shoulder.

“If ya don’t like it, can get ya another one.” He mutters casually but hesitant softness peeks out from under his gruff tone.

“It’s perfect.” You reassure him.

It’s the ring Joel got you then and it’s the ring you want now and always will. You even tell him that.

The kisses places on your bare shoulder whispers of his devotion.

“Honey.” However, his voice now is hesitant and makes you pause on your ring inspecting.

“I gotta ask…but do ya have my armadillo keychain?” Joel asks with an utter somberness.

You burst out laughing and it shakes your body.

“Honeydew, I’m being serious!” He growls out. “Want that lil’ fella back!”

Wheezing with giggles you lean back against Joel, floating so blissfully floating in renewed adoration.

Twisting in his arms your lips find his.

“Tryin’ to distract me ‘cause you lost him, huh?” He mutters.

You snort, shaking your head.

“No I just love you so much, you dumb cowboy.” You tell him.

“Your dumb cowboy. For better or worse.” He vows, kissing you back firmer now.

“For better or worse,” you nod breathing into him.

In this carved out slightly cramped space it feels holy, sacred, chapel like. You’re even afraid it might be gone tomorrow morning. However, the ring on your finger is the steeled reassurance it isn’t going anywhere.

But, just in case, you gather this glory and Joel into your arms with the promise of never letting go.

#my heart is so full and I can’t thank yall enough I wish country singer Joel could perform for you personally in your living room #let’s rodeo fic series #country singer!joel miller #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller x f!reader #Joel miller fic #Joel miller fanfic #Joel 🤎

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morganbritton132 · 9 months

Note

Pleaseeee I need the live stream audience’s (and their fbi agent) reaction to Steve pulling the nail bat out to defend Ozzy’s honour. The series is so amazing thank you for giving it to us!

Considering the fact that Eddie got Steve to sit down on the bed, kissed his forehead, and then left Steve, Ozzy, and the live-stream to go ‘talk’ to Dan, the unanimous reaction among the chat was, what the actual fuck.

Steve, mindless to the live-stream, flops back on the bed with a loud sigh and doesn’t even complain when Ozzy, still wet from what little time he had in his pool, jumps up on the bed next to him. Steve ruffles Ozzy’s wet fur and tells him, “You deserve nice things, buddy. If an asshole breaks your things, you have every right to break their face. That’s justice, right?”

Ozzy puts his paw on Steve’s chest and Steve nods, “You get me.”

Meanwhile, the chat is blowing up with people being like ‘adorable’ and ‘cute’ and ‘I wish he’d pet me like that’ while other people who aren’t incurably horny are just like, ‘are we going to talk about the bat? Why the fuck does that thing exist? Why does it look used? Why is it being wielded by a middle school teacher with fucking ease???’

“He’s a jock,” Eddie answers. “Of course, he has a bat. All jocks have bats.”

‘NOT WITH NAILS IN IT’ The chat explodes.

“Home security?” Eddie tries with a shrug. “I’ve been trying to get him to GET RID OF IT for decades now.”

Steve doesn’t even lift his head when he says, “I got rid of my axe.”

“You had your axe taken away from you,” Eddie replies because that was true. After the gates were officially closed, the government confiscated everything that so much as breathed in the direction of the Upside Down. Both Steve’s axe and Eddie’s sweetheart were taken.

The only reason the nail bat survived was because the government didn’t know it existed.

A couple days later when half his live-stream chats are still filled with people being like ‘why was he so comfortable holding it?’ and ‘this is a prop from a music video, right?’ and ‘please answer or I’m going to actually die,’ Eddie does provide an answer. He says, “Try googling Hawkins, Indiana. I think that’ll answer all of your questions.”

It does not.

It actually asks a lot more questions.

The introduction of the somewhat-alluded-to-before nail bat to the Steddie Conspiracy Forums causes absolute chaos. No one can agree on anything. It validates so many theories and creates dozens more especially when Steve lets it slip in the background of another live-stream that Jonathan actually made the bat and Steve just never gave it back.

Meanwhile, the only benefit to Steve’s particular brand of shitty parents is that he learned how to girlboss gaslight gatekeep from absolute pros. Anytime one of his students asks him about the nail bat, Steve acts like he has no idea what they’re talking about. He has literally never heard of such a thing, “Like the animal? Their fingernails?”

As for their agent.

Their reaction was heard across all the office cubicles in the basement of the building. Just a loud, disbelieving, “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

#Ozzy: *putting his paw on Steve’s chest to say stop acting this way*#Steve: *interpreting it to mean what he wants it to mean*#I like to think that nail bat is in the Hawkins File but is unconfirmed because the FBI could never find it #It's mentioned briefly during Dustin and Lucas' debriefing in 1984 but the FBI didn't give enough of a shit about Steve to #check under his bed for the bat so Steve just kept it. The same thing happened with Nancy's gun from season 2 #But his axe was taken while they were being decontaminated after going into the Upside Down. Steve's still bitter about it #eddie munson tiktok saga #eddie munson #steve harrington

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asterias-record-shop · 9 months

Note

BINGOO! Can you please write a Miguel O’Hara sugar daddy story with prompt 15? I’m not creative enough to write a description for this but could you add a mention of the age gap? Miguel is Like 30 or something. Reader is young and wants money ofc. They met online and are meeting up irl. Thank youu

—𓆩[mi menté, cuerpo, corazón, y alma]𓆪—

I am so sorry anón honey, I got completely carried away!! I hope you enjoy it though!

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[updated bingo card!]𓆪 𓆩[bingo masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[join the bingo taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Modern AU! CEO! Sugar Daddy! Soft! Miguel O'Hara x Sugar Baby! Fem! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, smut, angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 3.1K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - You loved being a sugar baby. Truly, you did. The only con was the fact that you had to get with someone who was literally a hair away from dying, so when Miguel found you, it was truly a saving grace. After a while, he made you cut off all of your other sugar daddies, easily matching what they give you and more. Things have gotten weird lately, though… and you’re not sure how to take it, even when he says everything is ‘strictly pleasure’.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - cursing and foul language || obsessive behavior || sugar daddy & sugar baby relationship || possessive! Miguel || his wife and daughter do not exist anymore 🤍 like at all || Latina coded reader || featuring Jessica Drew as another CEO because we love her (spider-verse variant) || sugar daddy & sugar baby relationship turned real relationship || i speak rancho spanish so i write rancho spanish, it ain’t google translate so it might not make sense- || miguel is lowkey an asshole so he is an asshole now || fighting || you make him fix himself || i’m ngl, i don’t know what the hell i did but i had fun and there’s smut so enjoy || this is so much more kinky than it initially was going to be- || kinda OOC Miguel || sub turned dom! reader || sub! Miguel || sounding || cbt || slight oral || praise & degradation || riding || non-protected sex || cumming inside || ending is supposed to be humorous I’m not weird ||

Finding a sugar daddy that wasn’t quadruple your age was hard. Very, very hard. What was wrong with men? Couldn’t they just become billionaires at twenty-five?

Bastards.

Oh, but then Miguel O’Hara came along. A man in his early thirties that absolutely towered over you at 6’9”, built like a fucking god with looks to match and wealth to pair.

In the beginning, though, you had your doubts, so many doubts. You didn’t know what made him drawn to you in the first place, mainly because you had over five sugar daddies and he easily matched the prices immediately and made you get rid of them. He easily matched all your prices, doing even more before purchasing a test to make sure you were ‘healthy’.

After that, everything else happened extremely quickly - him buying you a car, jewelry and clothes, but the most recent was having you move in with him in his extremely large mansion. The first thing you noticed was that he had nothing in his home that gave it personality. No pictures, just crazy expensive art and photographs of things that were also crazy expensive.

He didn’t even have plants. Or a dog. Or a cat, something to give him some sort of personality besides that stupidly hot face. And stupidly hot money, but that’s why he was at work while you were at a shelter, promising yourself that you’d take some sort of pet home. You had settled on a kitten, a tuxedo kitten with a little bow tie and a mustache, along with small little mittens on his paws.

He immediately curled in your lap, a giggle falling from your lips as you stroked the back of his head. “I’ll take this one… I’m gonna name him Hart.”

And with that, you took him home. You bought him his own bed and all of the toys he could ever want or need, and you sat in the closet you had made his room as you wagged the cat toy in front of him, Jessica on the phone.

“Y/N, I really think you’re going to kill him bringing that cat into his house!” She laughed, snacking on her latest craving.

“Oh, he won’t! You’re being overdramatic, he’s gonna love Hart,” you wiggle the stick some more, the kitten swatting at it as you heard Miguel’s loud voice yell out for you. “Oh! He’s here, I’ll call you later Jess! Love you!”

“Don’t get killed!”

You giggled as you hung up and quickly stood, running out and fixing your skirt. “Miguel!”

He was tired today, you could tell. His body was more tense than you had ever seen, the buttons at the top of his shirt undone and his tie loose with his blazer open. You paused, his clenched fists making you swallow slightly. You had your share of violent lovers, and you sure as hell weren’t going to have another.

“Hola, mi reina,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he set down his briefcase and his fists unclenched. He softly set his hand on your hip, kissing softly against your temple as he sighed. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day.”

You inhaled as he softly pressed kisses down your temple around your eye, along the apple of your cheek. “Wh-What happened?”

He shook his head, his hands going from your hips to the pretty skin of your thighs that was exposed by the skirt. “Stupid idiots who don’t know how to fucking do their job.”

You hummed softly as you stroked the back of his head, twirling the locks of his hair with your fingers as you kissed his sharp jaw. You were already on your tiptoes, his hands supporting you as he ducked down. “I’m so sorry, Miguel,” you whispered as he let out a soft hum. “I uhm… I got something.”

“Ah si?” he responded, his hands slipping under your skirt to tease your pretty cunt. “Es esto, mi reina?”

“No,” you giggled, shaking your head. “Lemme show you.”

He smiled as you dragged him along, pulling him toward the closet you turned into the kitten’s room before turning around. “You can’t get mad.”

He started to cross his arms, raising a brow. “Why would I get mad?”

“You won’t be mad because you can’t. That’s my whole point,” you say, nodding firmly. “Okay?”

“You can’t say I can’t get mad and expect me not to get mad.”

“Oh, shut up!” You laughed, shaking your head as he hummed softly and leaned down. “Just… trust me.”

He hummed again as you opened the door, the loud mews of the kitten making his eyes widen. You felt your smile disappear as you inhaled, shaking your head as you turned around. “This is Hart! He’s a little spy,” you giggled, kissing the kitten’s small head. “H-He was named after-”

“I know who he’s named after, Y/N,” Miguel growled, glaring at the kitten in your hand. “Why is it in my house?”

“Our house,” you correct him, a scoff falling from his lips. “What?”

“My house,” he basically growled, stepping forward as you started to step back. “Just because I fuck you like a ragdoll and cum inside of you like a cumdump doesn’t mean that this is your house.”

You inhaled as you held the kitten closer to your chest, scoffing. “You’re a fucking bastard, Miguel O’Hara. This is strictly business as always, isn’t it? You fucking asshole.”

He scoffed as you went around him, shaking his head. “This is mine, Y/N! All of it!”

“It might be yours, Miguel, but you don’t want it! You keep this giant house full of nothing that you love, nothing that you care for! You don’t even have a damn plant here!” You yelled at him, inhaling as you sent him a glare. “You’re a self absorbed bastard, Miguel.”

“I have you here,” Miguel spoke, something that completely betrayed his previous words. “You’re… all I could ever need.”

“You don’t need me though. The only thing that you fucking need is a damn whore,” you shake your head, keeping Hart close to your chest. “I will get myself a lawyer to get myself out of this contract, and we’ll never have to see each other again.”

“Y/N, wait-”

“No! Fuck you!” You were already rushing to your room - which was sadly one you shared with Miguel - locking it before he could come in after you.

“Y/N, amor… mi amor, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not!” You yelled, sighing. How could you ever think this would go any other way? “Just… go away!”

To be honest, you weren’t sure what made you think you could love him. Actually love him and have it reciprocated, but you didn’t want to leave. You had worked so hard in this relationship with Miguel, gaining his trust and what you thought was his love, for fucks sake you couldn’t lose it now. What he said just… got to you.

It wasn’t until you heard a soft knock that you unlocked the door, Miguel slowly stepping into the room. “What do you want?”

“I just… look at this,” he gave you the binder, swallowing. “If you uhm… look at it, it annuls our last contract… if you sign it, mi amor-”

“What, are you gonna try and bribe me?” I ask, softly scratching Hart’s ear before he gives you the binder.

“Perdóname, amor,” he whispers, slowly falling to his knees in front of you. You certainly weren’t expecting this. “Read it.”

“Summarize it for me.”

“It says that you own me,” he says, tilting his head. “Everything I own, you own. Everything I am is yours,” he takes your hand, softly kissing against your wrist. “I’m sorry… that it took me so long to see how important you are to me. Soy tuyo, mi mente, cuerpo, y alma.”

You swallow as you stare at the dotted line, looking down at him as he kisses your skin. “Tu cuerpo? Es mío?”

He groaned as your hand shapes his jaw, softly tugging on his hair as Hart jumped down, sauntering out of the room as though he knew what was about to happen. “Todo es tuyo, mi amor,” he whispers, groaning as you pull his hair so he’d stare up at you. “Todo lo que quieras, es tuyo. Nomás me digas y es tuyo. Todo, todo es tuyo.”

You hummed, sighing as you moved your hips to come off the bed slightly. “Show me. Show me that you belong to me and I’ll sign it.”

He hummed, sending you a smile as he started to kiss against your wrist. “Of course, mi reina.”

You smile slightly as he starts to tug off his shirt, carefully unbuttoning and kissing along your calf before slipping off your heels. “If this keeps going, Miguel, you need to know that I’m not putting up with your bullshit.”

“Ya se, mi reina,” he whispers, his tongue flattening up your thigh as he pulls down your skirt. “I’m aware.”

“I’m going to sign that shit in your cum.”

He laughed, nodding. “If that’s what you want to do, mi amor.”

You tilted your head down at him, raising a brow. “That raises no red flags?”

“No, they’re actually green.”

You hold back a laugh as he slowly stands up, already taking off his clothes before you put up a finger. “I’m in charge, right?”

“Yes,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “What would you like me to do, hm?”

“Get on the bed,” you say, standing and slipping off your clothes. “Why are you just standing there? Go.”

Miguel smirked slightly, but followed your orders, his bare body looking perfect against the bed. “Well, what do you want me to do next, mi amor?”

You hummed, staring for another few minutes. “Get hard. I’ll be back.”

You go into your closet, but after hearing Miguel’s moans, you knew he listened to what you said. It wasn’t until you went into your drawer filled with sex toys did you know what you wanted to do - oh, you were going to make him sob. You grabbed the small silver toy you had never had the chance to use on him, biting your lip as you finished taking off the rest of your clothes and fixing your bra and underwear.

It was normal to makeup with Miguel with sex, then talk about what happened and why it should never happen again before you fell asleep, resulting in Miguel waking you up with breakfast in bed and another lavish apology gift.

When you walked out, you smiled when you saw Miguel bucking his hips into his hand, his thick cock dribbling precum out of his bright red tip. “Look how pretty your cock is, baby… so, so pretty.”

He lets out a dry laugh, groaning. “Oh yeah? Que vas hacer?”

You giggled, slowly sliding between his legs and taking out the metal sounding rod. “Voy a jugar con lo que es mío.”

He lets out a choked moan as the cold tip of the rod dragged in a circle along the tip of his cock, already lubed up so you wouldn’t hurt him, a giggle escaping your lips as you slowly pushed it into his cock. He lets out a choked moan as you laugh, watching as it slowly disappears inside of his cock.

“Hijo de su pinche madre,” he cursed, groaning as he bucked his hips, stomach clenching as you watched his body slowly fall to your mercy. “Amor, please, please- I'll be good, I just need to fuck you.”

“Cállate,” you ordered, giggling as you pushed it inside until the ring was showing, your mouth latching onto his balls and sucking softly. “Come on, be a good boy and fuck it.”

He cursed as he starts to roll his hips, following the sounding rod as he groaned loudly. One of your hands rubs along his thighs, giggling as you stared up at his face all scrunched and desperate. He really did make a good sub.

“Come on, don’t stop now, Miguel, you’re doing so good,” you move away from his balls but continue to cup them, moving so that his fat cock was settled on his abdomen and you rubbed your now bare pussy against his shaft. “Come on baby, I know you want to cum. As soon as you cum, I’ll put your cock in me and I’ll let you fuck me.”

He groaned loudly, almost growl-like sounds falling from his lips as he forced his hips to go faster, fucking into the sounding rod as he rubbed against your wet cunt. You couldn’t hold back your own moans, the friction of his cock perfect against your cunt and he wasn’t even inside of you yet.

“Amor, please, please!” He was begging to cum, even if he didn’t quite know it yet, a groan falling from your lips as you continued to squeeze and rub his balls. He had never been this quick to cum, and you knew you’d have to try this again soon. “I’m close, chingao, I’m close.”

You let out a laugh as you watch the sounding rod start to be pushed out, pushing it back in as he whined. “Not yet, amor mío.”

“Por favor, mi vida, necesito- fuck!” He screamed out as you continued to hump against his length, pushing and pulling the rod in and out of his cock.

“Say it again. That you’re mine.”

“Fuck, I’m yours! Soy tuyo, mi mente, cuerpo, corazón, y alma, ¡chingada madre!” He yelled out as you finally let go of the sounding rod, watching it pop out of his cock and a perfect, pornographic cumshot follow. You moved your hand from his balls, lifting your hips as you continued to pump his shaft. You watched as the pearlescent liquid spurts onto his toned abdomen, smiling before cupping your hand in front of his tip and gathering his cum.

He panted, watching as you slowly smeared it along your cunt and placed the sounding rod onto the nightstand. “Next time we need to go bigger.”

“Whatever you say, amor,” he whispers, groaning as you pull his cock to push into your cunt, another loud groan falling from his lips. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“I know,” you spoke, laughing slightly as you gasped. No matter how many times his cock was inside of you, you never got used to it. “Fuck, Miguel, It’s like you get bigger every time.”

“Maybe I do,” he smirked, offering that playful wording as you finally sat on his pelvis, groaning loudly. “Look at how perfect you look with my cock inside of you, mi reina. Fucking perfect.”

You whimpered, groaning as you started to roll your hips, his cock feeling as though it was deeper than it ever was. “N-No, no.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “No what, amor? Tell me.”

“Stop that,” you order, knowing damn well if he kept talking like that you’d soon be on your back begging for him to fuck you. That’s now how it was going to happen, not today. “I’m in charge. Not you.”

“I never said you weren’t, amor-”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips firmly to his as he held your hips, helping you rock onto his cock. “Stop talking.”

He laughs as his other hand pulled you in for another firm kiss, your hands searching for the contract before his hips slam up into you. You pulled away, gasping as he lets out a loud groan, cursing. “Thought you needed some help, mi amor.”

Your hands claw against his shoulders as he keeps your chest pressed to his, using his strength to easily thrust up into you. For fucks sake, he couldn’t even let you have this, but you weren’t complaining as he grunted underneath you and you felt his cock rub against every place you ever wanted him to be. He repeatedly thrusted into you at that perfect rate to hit that spot inside of you that just made your body go limp, stomach twisting and turning.

One of the pros of having a man who knew your body like the back of his hand was that you could always count on him making you cum.

You gasped as his cock finally thrusted against that perfect spot that easily made you come undone, mind blurring as you basically see stars right as your nails dig into his skin. Your cunt clenched and squeezed his cock as a result of your orgasm, a hissed groan falling from his lips as he thrusted a few more times and finally came inside of you.

Your eyes rolled back, the added feeling of his cum spurting inside of you, filling you up as your inner thighs started to register slight heat from the power of his thrusts. You panted as you started to sit up, Miguel letting out a slight laugh before you grabbed the sounding rod and the contract.

“Q-Qué estás haciendo?”

You looked up at him, giggling as you dipped the rod into his cum. “I said I was going to sign it with your cum.”

“Mierda, Y/N, don’t do that!”

“What?! You think I was joking?! I said it was a red flag!”

Thank all of you so much for supporting me!! Even though Bingo requests and Bingo itself is done, I have my next event already planned - please stay tuned!! Requests are closed but they will be open when I clear my inbox, and again, thank all of you so much!!

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