#everything sucked except for the concert

[junk-story]

Going through it on multiple fronts today and I can’t help thinking a multiple DVD purchase from CDJapan would fix everything

[signoraviolettavalery]

Also La Zarra's concert dates were cancelled without her permission, probably because of the middle finger gesture she made during Eurovision, which I'm PISSED about, so clearly nobody in the ESC 2023 class is having a good time right now

[douglasthealien]

Turns out that heavy concert + less than five hours of sleep + period starting = extreme light headedness and feeling like I'm going to pass out

[sabrinajenre96]

The quiet scars after the storm

Michael Robinavitch x Resident!Reader

Warning: angst with comfort, hospital setting, rooftop moment, found family, pregnancy reveal, emotional healing, soft domestic vibes

POV: Reader’s POV

---

The rooftop was quiet.

Not silent, not really—not with the hum of traffic far below, the occasional rattle of a vent kicking on, and the ever-present pulse of the hospital itself. But quiet enough. Familiar. Steady. Like always.

Except tonight, it wasn’t empty.

I paused at the doorway, fingers curling around the edge of the door. There he was, back to me, leaning against the ledge like the weight of today had finally knocked him off his feet. Except he hadn’t fallen. Not physically. But the morgue earlier... that had knocked something loose in him. I’d seen it. Everyone had. The moment his composure shattered, and he’d cried like a man trying to hold the pieces of the world together and failing.

Michael.

My Michael.

“You stole my spot,” I said softly, stepping forward.

He didn’t turn around right away. But I saw his shoulders rise with a deep breath. “You always have a way of finding me up here,” he murmured.

“That’s because you always come here when something breaks,” I replied gently, standing beside him now. “And today? A lot broke.”

He gave a dry, bitter laugh. “You can say that again.”

I let the silence sit with us for a second before I spoke again. “What Jake said... it wasn’t okay.”

“I know he’s grieving,” he muttered, eyes fixed on something out in the distance. “But accusing me like that... like I didn’t try—”

“I know,” I cut in. “I saw her chart. I was in that trauma bay. Her heart was gone the second that bullet hit. You did everything you could. More than anyone else would’ve.”

Michael finally looked at me, eyes glassy but holding. “His mom was there.”

“I know. She apologized,” I said with a shrug. “I told her not to worry. But it still sucked.”

He looked down, scraping a hand across the stubble on his jaw. “Lilah okay?”

I blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. “Yeah, she’s fine. She went to the ballet studio after tutoring some kids. Didn’t want to go to the concert—said it was too overwhelming. My mom picked her up after and took her home.”

Relief softened his expression. “Good. She didn’t answer my calls... I was worried.”

“She’s a teenager,” I smirked. “Selective hearing. Selective replying.”

Michael nodded slowly, a faint curve to his lips. “At least one teenager loves me.”

My chest squeezed. I knew what he meant. Jake’s words had cut deeper than any of us expected. Not just the blame. The venom. Like Michael wasn’t human. Like he hadn’t held that girl’s hand until her last breath.

“She adores you,” I said, voice firmer. “She asked you to adopt her because you showed up every single day when no one else did. She’s yours.”

He glanced at me. “I needed that.”

“I know.” I reached into my pocket. “And... speaking of needing something—this might not be the perfect moment, but...”

He took the folded paper from my hand slowly, almost like he already knew. Opened it. Stared at the grainy little sonogram picture in silence.

“You’re—” His voice caught. “We’re—”

“Pregnant,” I finished, soft and sure. “Again.”

His eyes widened, glassiness returning for an entirely different reason this time. “Despite today, you still manage to give me the best news of my life.”

I smiled. “I do what I can.”

He laughed—a real one, tired and shaky but real—and pulled me into a gentle hug. His hand hovered at my waist, almost reverent. I felt his fingers brush the hem of my black scrubs and the soft cotton of the white shirt underneath.

“I don’t even want to think about how we’re breaking this to Lilah and Harlow,” I joked, forehead resting against his. “Harlow’s already recruited Mousse for her schemes. A baby will just be a sidekick.”

“She’s four and already building an empire,” he mused, eyes closing. “We’re in trouble.”

“Big trouble,” I agreed. Then I held out my hand, fingers open.

“Let’s go home.”

He laced his fingers with mine without hesitation.

Together, we left the rooftop. Step by step, down the stairwell. Past the ghosts of today. Past the things we couldn’t change. Past the wounds we would nurse together.

Because we always did.

[callie-the-creator]

ayato aishi being in love with an idol!reader would include...

sfw. warnings: yandere and obsessive behavior but that’s about it.

author’s note: this was also posted on my wattpad account, just wanted to share it here!

• the only reason ayato knew of your existence was because he heard your name a few times brought up at school. at first, he thought you were a student at akademi but something in the back of his mind told him that he had the wrong idea. he ended up shrugging it off. that is, until he saw a 3d billboard of you in tokyo, telling the watchers below to buy tickets for your upcoming concert.

• this whole time, y/n was an idol? ayato felt like a complete idiot when he realized this and spent the next few minutes, just standing there on the sidewalk, watching the same billboard cycle through other things until you popped up again. when you did, ayato took his time admiring your features. it's no wonder you were so popular at school...you're gorgeous.

• with that, ayato hurried to his house whilst he looked up everything about you and once he was in his house, he listened to every single song that you have ever sung. unreleased, popular, underrated, instrumental, acapella, you name it. you just so happened to have over 45 songs! for someone who was in the music scene for such a short amount of time, you did have a lot of albums...but that's alright!

— while it wasn't ayato's usual taste in music, he was willing to make an exception for you and only you.

• ayato is the type of guy to see someone wearing a piece of your merchandise, walk up to them, and say, "oh, you like y/n l/n? name 5 songs."

— insufferable, yes, but he had to assert dominance and show every single follower that he was your number #1 fan! if someone claims to be it, they're dead wrong. literally.

• he hates how some of the guys at his school also knew who you were and thought you were attractive. ayato knows that realistically, it was bound to happen but he still hates having to deal with it and it's not like he could do anything about it too, just suck it up.

• if you're the type of idol to dye your hair differently with every single album debut, ayato carefully tracks for any leaks on what color it would be because he's been debating on matching with you. he's lucky that akademi high school isn't strict when it comes to uniquely colored hair (as some schools force students to dye their hair black, even if a person's natural hair color is brown). of course, he would stick out more but he didn't care. it's a way he can show his support for you and there's nothing wrong with that. 

• has only been to one of your concerts since, he won't lie, the tickets are a bit pricey and his part-time job could hardly cover it. the concert was really cool to experience— especially since ayato doesn't get out much— and he loved seeing you in person, but some annoying fans in front of him wouldn't stop holding their signs up in the air blocking his view but still tried to have a good thing by waving his light-stick and chanting in perfect harmony with the other fans.

— he would've gone a vip pass instead, but if he did that, ayato would have become flat-broke and that would in turn make him receive an angry lecture from his parents about finances.

• ayato has sent you loads of fan mail, some by name, others anonymously. he's sure that you get thousands by the hour but if there is even the slightest chance that you might read at least one of his, he'll take that opportunity

• whenever you describe your ideal type in a man in interviews, ayato makes it his duty to meet the criteria. you want someone with a little bit of muscle? he can work out more. you want a man who can cook? looks like ayato will be joining the cooking club at school. trust me, he will do anything to be viewed perfect in your eyes

• although his first-ever time seeing you in person was pretty much a bust, ayato made up for it by teaming up with info-kun to see where you would be in japan and finding your location by fan sightings. it was from there that ayato was able to find you in shibuya but it wasn't good news, actually. you were mad at the paparazzi trying to take scandalous photos of you and when ayato realized this, his head began to spin and he, too, started shouting at them to give you some space and to back off.

— when you realized this, you turned over to see just who was coming to help you since you weren't expecting it and mouthed a small 'thank you' which sent ayato's heart soaring.

• ayato has purchased an ungodly amount of merch from you, whether that be shirts, water bottles, limited-time ramen, or soda cans, he's even ripped off pages in magazines solely because your face was on it.

• alas, he still needs to find a way to worm into your personal life. it's a little hard to do that with just how many bodyguards you have and have lots of cameras in your house, too many for him to be able to capture you without any issues...

[aaazade]

HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM ── EPISODE ONE 𖤐

⤷ 𝄞⨾ 𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒

AUTHOR'S NOTE : i do not own any of these characters except my own. minors, please do not interact as this is mature content with dark and sexual themes. all of my characters are black women so please respect that as you read! all lowercase is intended in this writing. PAIRING: rockstar!sukuna x tourmanager!blackreader RATING: 18+, again mdni WARNINGS: yandere-ish moments, rock band, reader is black, usage of being held hostage, dírty talk, vampire!sukuna, dubcon, biting, drinking blood, slowburn, eventual smut, sort of angsty, stalker!sukuna, set in mostly southern cities, attempted mind control, secret society, royalty, masked men, usage of foul language, assault and battery (not on reader)

𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: when tour manager!reader gets sucked into the rock world after big time group ‘dark curse’ seeks her out to plan and arrange their tour in the us. heinous secrets unfold about the group as she gets closer to the pink haired lead singer in the ‘bone demon’ mask. does she run for the hills or does she play cat and mouse? find out in "houston, we have a problem!"

deep wine velvety curtains creaked under your grip, anxious irises brimming over the surface of the masses roaring below the stage. backstage, the thrum of the bass vibrated the walls with a resonance that pounded through the protective ear buds you and the crew wore. the wind lapped through the humid open arena, like lashes from the deep currents of waves rushing against jagged edges of rocky cliffs.

dark curses, the japanese band you and your sister were hired to be tour managers for, succeeded in finishing their first tour stop in houston, texas. 

“sis? everything’s alright? we got to make sure the boys end up at the hotel.”

your head swiveled to meet the sweet gaze of your older sister, hayden, who’s deep red manicure stroked your shoulder in typical, concerned sibling fashion. 

“i’m fine, just making sure that everything is wrapping up soundly out there. i’ll call the hotel and you’ll have the tour bus come to the back right? like usual?” you maintained with a graceful simper, something in between grateful and awkward. 

“you know it, girl! call me when you’re done so we can walk to our car together!” and with a dapple of a kiss to your cheek, hayden was off, heels clicking into the distance. 

set to do your own job in hopes that the night will be over sooner than later, your feet pick up the pace, only settling down once you reach the dressing room area. no chances of a bad call when the service is best where the band resides before and after their concert. booking the best of the best is mandatory in this career field, nobody likes a cheap tour manager. so, you diligently do your job acknowledging the price and qualities is up to standards of the band’s liking. 

but… when chills travel down your spine like electricity cracked down with the following boom, you immediately stop in your tracks. it almost feels.. predatory. like the gaze of an animal hiding in verdant bushes in the stocky forest waiting. watching. hoping that something sweet and delightful prances by to slaughter. 

whipping around ready to high-tail it, you surveyed your surroundings, close to a gazelle when a mountain lion roar is heard nearby. a curious scarlet gaze examined the soft dips and curves you presented from the silhouette of your metallic jumpsuit. sharp, angular features, a full set of bitten, red lips that looked as if he had just previously enriched in a pomegranate, and thick strands of sakura-colored hair pulled into a low braid cascading down past his ribs. dark ink trailed from the highs of his cheekbones past under the collar of his onyx leather jacket. he was undeniably ethereal, like those old stories mama used to tell about fallen angels. how they were once mystic angels, but had been casted down onto earth to walk with the rest of the sinners.

ryomen sukuna. lead singer of ‘dark curses’.  you weren’t quite familiar with the group out of their professional pretense, however, something swirled in the pit of your stomach at the lilt in his husky somber. 

“somebody’s all jumpy.. i like that. much more alert than our last manager.” maybe there was a teasing tone in his voice. maybe the way his fangs that gleamed in the dark trenches of the backstage were all just a prop. maybe something isn’t rig-.

“what happened.. to your last manager?” you didn’t mean to vomit those words out, your anxiety clutching the beating tremors of your heart and shocking your nerves. but, your natural instinct to fight or flight was starting to zero in. eyebrows furrowing as your feet began to back up to create more distance. 

and to that.. he snickered in delight, heavy laced boots stalking close just enough to be arms distance away from you. your eyes held a hardened resolve but your body shuttered, reacting involuntarily to his scent of deep umber and smoke. 

“so what? are you perchance riding in the bus with us? there’s more than enough-”

“no, we have a chauffeur to make sure you guys have as much comfortability as possible. i… appreciate the offer though.” a small, forced grimace tilted the corners of your mouth along with the narrowing of your eyes before moving to step side him. the melodic chime of your sister calling out to you rung much louder as your heels click farther and farther away from him. 

but under his breath, you swore you heard a faint mumble that strung your shoulders tighter. 

“you won’t always be able to avoid me, [...].”

“are you sure it’s him, hayden? there’s no fucking way it can be, right?”

you and your sister sprawled out of the expensive cotton sheets of the hotel’s king sized bed. orange hues from old tiffany lamps ablaze the white plaster walls, creating a soft glow away from the moonlit path shining from the balcony window. It had been three days since the last time you both had seen the group, recuperating to be ready to venture out on the road to the next city, atlanta.

but, tragedy had struck in the deep city of houston. hayden broke through the door late in the chilled evening to announce the news. your driver, an older man named clark, was brutally assaulted in what seemed to be a mob attack that led him to be unconscious in a hospital bed. this wasn't like clark to get in situations that would incur violence in the first place.  something’s in the water.. and you had a feeling that it’s closer than you think. 

“it’s him, [..]. i’m for certain that it’s him, i already paid his hospital bills and sent our condolences. i mean-.. he has a family. grandchildren. i can’t imagine how they feel right now.” 

your older sisters’s breath trembled, eyes perspirating with wet unshed tears as she stumbled over her words. your reflection matched hers, an unmistakable sorrow simmering between the both of you. 

 “I’m thankful for ryomen offering us to ride in their tour bus. that was kind of him. ” she softly wept, dapping her salty tears with the silk sleeve of her pajamas, a brand that you were sure she had no idea the name of. 

wait.. what? 

your gaze whipped towards hers, questions spiraling in your mind as if someone blew a house of cards down. how did he know? was he told by hayden? why would he go out of his way to offer up the tour bus that was presented to them? so many question, yet an extreme lack of answers. 

swirling like lightening through the depths of a tornado was the tone of his voice that day when you left his side. those words.. the words she was so sure she had mistakenly heard.

 ‘tomorrow,’ you settled in your mind with a harden resolve. tommorow, you would observe and keep your distance. 

the sky painted plum and raspberry delight in brush-like strokes in the eerily early morning in houston, texas. morning dew dipped in the sage beauty of the long stems of grass as they ventured past the parking lot in the journey towards the tour bus. the city was quiet, like it was holding its breath. waiting for something to arise. 

outside , near the broad doors of the bus, a man with smoky brown hair wrapped into two loose ponytails on the top of his head tipped them an angled smile. not forced, but not genuine either. his chestnut eyes sunk in with purple hues decorating the bags under his fair  skin as if it has been decades since he last felt a soft pillow support his head. 

in his broad hands, sparked what looked like an old rusted lighter burning the orange end of his cigarette to life. as you two soared past him, offering small hellos, he stood in silence only blowing out puffs of smoke from his lungs. 

choso, you recalled his name from the research that you and you sister conducted on the group. he was the drummer, preferring not to speak unless spoken to. an odd one, you heard rumors he prefers to write their pieces in the cemetery with the two guitarist. 

“okay then..” you muttered, already feeling a bit weary of your surroundings. 

stepping up into the tour bus, the air thickened with invisible smog, constructing around your throat and squeezing like a vice. again, the damn feeling of being watched surfaced, but this time you neglected the carnivorous examination.

instead, your eyes scampered over towards the interaction between your sister and the two guitarists, satoru gojo and suguru geto. they both stood at staggering heights, so far up that both of them had to sulk under the overheads of storage trunks right above their seats. 

it almost felt intentional to you. the starking extreme differences.

platinum white strands against long obsidian locks. icy blue like an alaskan spring against a deep hazy violet, a winter’s bloom. boyish charm versus a sly fox’s seduction. so similar, yet the distinctive differences flow with each of their complexities. 

oh, one more thing. 

both of their gazes turned a little darker at the sight of your sister. while satoru grinned and hopped up from his seat to usher hayden between the two, suguru placed his arm around her waist and tugged her closer. between the three of them, no space was required. they breathed in each other’s air. lost in the world of three.

clearly, this has been ongoing, and once your sister peeked over her massive playthings to lock eyes with you, it confirmed all you needed to know. 

“later..” you mouthed, narrowing your gaze at her. she is grown indeed… and older, but you were sisters. And she damn sure would have been riding your ass if you kept any parts of your love life from her. 

not that you had any-

“ooh, i was wondering where your claws went, tiger.” damn him and his chilling baritone voice. you didn’t have to turn in his direction to pick guesses on who had a thing for frightening you. his slender fingers gestured to the spot next to him.

“ryomen.” you huffed, eyes simmering with defiance. you plopped arrogantly across from him, which only made the amusement dancing in his scarlet orbs all much more fiery. 

he played with the darker ends of his pale pink hair, down and in pristine condition. He wore black on black, opting for something comfortable on the drive then the leather ensemble you saw him in the days before. 

“i see you ended up here, just like i knew you would.”

silence simmered in the air, your brows furrowing with time as his words sunk into your chest, falling deeper into the rhythmic beats. how? how did he fucking know? the more and more you questioned his behavior, the more it starts to sound like a sick horror movie. 

he leans closer, hand closing in on the soft curve of your jawline. his calloused hand tilted your face just a bit closer.. noses nearly touching in earnest. You sucked in a breath, heat flickering in the depths of your stomach as your brain tries it hardest to catch up with the change. 

attempts were fruitful, that blazing expression of his mirroring the crackling allure to yours. 

you hadn’t noticed that your sister watched, that choso climbed back on the bus, or that wheels began to roll. no. it was almost like he had you hypnotize with that flicker of a scarlet glow in his irises-

“mmm, go to sleep, tiger. the road ahead will be long.”

there was no room to question him and his strange behavior. your eyelids fluttered with strange obedience, darkness creeping in from the corner of your vision. haziness wooed you into a pair of strong, cold arms before you dipped into an abyss of sleep. 

all work belongs to to @aaazade please do not copy, translate without permission, or post my work! let me know if anyone would like to be apart of my taglist as i post each episode. hope you enjoyed episode one!

[thirteenheavens]

Please write for hoshi smut like him fucking you after a concert, giving in all of his stress lol heheheh

Quick and Stress-Free|| Kwon Hoshi

Notes: love a good quick fuck

Hoshi enters the bedroom, still dressed in his concert outfit. He looks tired and a bit worn out, but his eyes light up when he sees you in bed watching TV.

"Hey, baby," he says, walking over to the bed and climbing in next to you. "I missed you." He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, burying his face in your neck. "The concert was crazy," he mumbles, his voice muffled against your skin. "I'm so glad to be home." You can feel his body tense up as he talks, and you know he's still stressed from the performance. "You did great, I saw the videos," you say, running your fingers through his hair.

Hoshi looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I need to unwind," he says, his hands roaming over your body. "And I need you." Without warning, he pulls you on top of him, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. His hands grip your hips tightly as he grinds up against you, his cock already hardening in his pants.

"You're so needy tonight," you say, breaking the kiss to look at him. Hoshi smirks up at you, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Can you blame me?" he replies, his hands sliding under your shirt to cup your breasts. "I've been thinking about you all night. Seeing you here, in bed... it's driving me crazy." He sits up and pulls your shirt off, tossing it aside. His lips latch onto one of your nipples, sucking and biting gently as his hands roam over your body.

"I need to feel you," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "I need to forget everything except for you." Hoshi flips you onto your back and starts to undress, his movements hurried and urgent. He's too impatient to fully undress, so he just unbuttons his pants and pushes them down along with his underwear.

"I want you now," he says, positioning himself between your legs. "No more waiting." He grabs your thighs and pulls you closer, his cock pressing against your entrance. Without any warning, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion.

"Oh god," he moans, his head falling forward as he starts to move. "You feel so good." His pace is rough and fast, driven by his need to release all the tension from the concert. His fingers dig into your hips as he pounds into you, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. Hoshi slows down his pace, his thrusts becoming slower and deeper. He leans down to kiss you, his lips moving against yours with a newfound gentleness.

"Sorry," he whispers between kisses. "I just needed to get that out of my system." He takes his time now, savoring the feeling of being inside you. His hands roam over your body, caressing your skin with a tenderness that contrasts with his earlier urgency.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes drinking in the sight of you beneath him. "So perfect." He angles his hips just right, hitting your g-spot with each deep thrust. His breathing becomes more ragged as he feels you clenching around him, but he doesn't speed up again. Hoshi continues to fuck you slowly, his movements growing more and more deliberate as he empties his mind of all thoughts except for you.

"I'm so close," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "But I don't want to cum yet." He reaches down and rubs your clit in small circles, wanting to bring you to the edge with him. "Cum with me," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. The slow buildup has been driving you crazy, and the combination of his cock filling you up and his fingers on your clit finally pushes you over the edge. You cry out his name as you cum, your pussy clenching around him tightly.

Hoshi grits his teeth and follows you, spilling his hot seed deep inside you as he moans your name. "Fuck... that was amazing," he says, collapsing on top of you. Hoshi pulls out of you and rolls onto his back, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you close, burying his face in your hair.

"I needed that," he says, his voice muffled. "You always know how to make me feel better." He holds you tight, his body still trembling slightly from the intensity of his orgasm. The tension from the concert has completely melted away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment.

"Thank you," he murmurs, kissing your forehead. "For being here for me."

[monkeytrick]

I've been putting off making this for a bit bc it straight up sucks to be doing this twice in succession but, in short --

I moved from Wisconsin to Alabama earlier this year to stay with my dad, and now I'm preparing to move back to Wisconsin on my own. I've had to help pay the bills for both my dad in AL and my mom in WI since I moved here, and to make things worse, my dad has been unemployed the entire time I've been living with him, and I recently caught my mom full on lying about needing me to give her money for bills before using it on a concert ticket lol. In addition to all this, I recently had a pretty expensive medical treatment for an abcess which in turn made it so I had to quit my job a bit earlier than expected. Generally not good or fun, especially when winter is approaching and time is of the essence regarding a move up north.

I've been planning to move back out for about two months beforehand bc on top of everything my living situation is like, legitimately very unsafe for reasons I'd rather not get into (I can discuss it in private if you'd feel weird giving me money without knowing details but yknow) and I'm also in an INCREDIBLY rural area rn compared to my town in Wisconsin which is full of people I know who have been willing to help me out. Hence why I'm heading all the way back there instead of just fucking off somewhere else in AL.

Thank you to everyone who helped me out the first time I had to ask for moving help and I'm incredibly sorry I have to do it again. I will say that I have things planned out much more thoroughly than I did the first time I made a post like this and I also have pretty much everything on my side except for money lol. As always, if you want me to draw a little cartoon for you or write a stupid little poem or do anything to make you feel like you're getting your money's worth PLEASE let me know and I'll make it so.

(^Very small simple examples of stuff I draw IF you have any interest) Otherwise:

PP: @deankyfun VM: @deankyfun $App: $DeankyFun

My tentative goal is $1,500. Will reply to this post once a week with the date and how much I've received. Thank you so much if you're able to help seriously love you all

[theoldsports]

| Irish Coffee |

summary: twenty four was the wrong age for everything, except maybe picking up girls in bars at the holidays. Rafe Cameron x Reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: bars, alcohol, passing mention of sexual assault, death of a parent mention.

Rafe Cameron hated karaoke. It was shitty ego-stroking from typically the very intoxicated or the very tone deaf. He didn’t think anyone ever felt good about their performances on that rinkydink stage anyway. It was unpleasant for everyone involved. Truth be told, Rafe thought karaoke was pointless entirely. If he wanted to hear a good version of a song, he would go on Spotify and find one. He thought karaoke was a selfish sport made fun only for the singer, and never for the listener.

In summation, it was fucking stupid.

When he got in Topper’s Jeep, Rafe had been too tipsy to fully comprehend that it was karaoke night at the Swordfish. Now, with another tumbler of b-list bourbon between Rafe’s knuckles, he moped on a stool at the bar.

He felt old when he went out with Kelce, Topper and their other friends. He had started college while some of the other boys he’d grown up with were in their junior year of high school. Rafe didn’t have friends. He wasn’t good at keeping them and didn’t like it when they complained about their problems that weren’t even really problems. The persona he had crafted for dealing with friends, though, had gotten elaborate enough to where Rafe thought they didn’t notice that his heart wasn’t in it.

He didn’t have friends, he had the people he drank with. That was better than drinking alone.

Being twenty-four sucked. Too old for ragers, too young for drinks at the country club. Too many big problems to solve, but everyone thinking he was too young to solve him. Rafe wondered, if he drank enough, could he blackout the whole of his twenties and then he wake up in his thirties locked and loaded?

Some drunk whore was finishing up a song Rafe had only heard in Sofia’s car. She’d played it often. He didn’t know what it was called. It was by one of those superstar white girls with the zillion dollar concert tickets. Rafe didn’t like it. He didn’t like Sofia either anymore. He didn’t like to think about her anymore.

His heartbeat raced. His could feel it beat in his neck when he drank too much. It didn’t used to be that way. The human body couldn’t fail from misuse before thirty, could it? Rafe took a sharp inhale through his nose to push the frantic thoughts away. Everyone leaves eventually, he reminded himself; a mantra. Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.

Topper was on Ruthie leaning up on the wall near a booth. They were out of commission til she got pissy at him for breathing wrong, or something, and they all had to make excuses to leave. Normal Friday night.

Rafe wished he’d stayed home.

A DJ mumbled that the next person was taking the stage, singing Hard Candy Christmas by Dolly Parton. Arguably, this was Rafe’s favorite Christmas song because it had been his mother’s favorite Christmas song.

It was also the week before Thanksgiving and Rafe didn’t think he could stomach Christmas yet.

“Shit…” Rafe muttered into his glass of bourbon.

The girl supposed to sing was being pushed up into the tiny stage by a group of drunk girls. Presumably a bachelorette party by the looks of it. The girl onstage had a frown of surprise on her lips. It was clear to Rafe that she didn’t know this was going to happen. A girl in her party, wearing a veil headband, called out: “Please! This is our song. Please do it for me? You sound so pretty, [Y/N].”

All of her friends were calling and chanting for her to sing. The girl, [Y/N], looked embarrassed. She was very put on the spot.

Eventually, with all the cheering, pleading and encouragement, [Y/N] walked to the center of the stage where the microphone stood.

“Forgive me if this is dogshit, my friends signed me up,” The girl said over the karaoke track’s intro. A few of the girls she was with cheered. “I didn’t come to butcher Dolly in front of y’all.”

This yielded a chuckle from her audience. Rafe rolled his eyes. He was less interested in her humble act, and more interested in where he knew from. Rafe knew a lot of people, and he was starting to cling to the barstool to do what his legs were struggling to do. [Y/N] was a common enough name, but this girl looked so fucking familiar to him. His drunk mind leafed through the catalog of women in his brain. [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], where did he know her from?

Her clothes weren’t anything special. Standard bachelorette party fare. A little too short, but not quite slutty. She was a bridesmaid, maybe the maid of honor. Rafe wrinkled his nose in thought. His contacts stung dry against his eyes. He had stared at a screen too long in the office and now he was sitting under a vent in November. Who the hell left the A/C on in November?

[Y/N]. Rafe hadn’t hooked up with her before. He didn’t think he had, anyway. She didn’t appear to have botox in her face or filler in her top lip with the way she expressed so freely. That meant she couldn’t have been the kid of one of his dad’s business contacts.

He looked at her friends for clues. Immediately, Rafe recognized the bride. Wendy. Rafe had hooked up with Wendy a few times in high school. He was surprised to see she was still on the island; Wendy had been smarter than that. So Rafe probably knew [Y/N] from school, then. What classes had they shared? He tried to place her.

[Y/N] was working through the slow first verse. She didn’t have a perfect, trained voice. Her voice was the kind of voice that sang in the kitchen on Saturday mornings to the radio. A smirk pulled at Rafe’s lip. She wasn’t forcing it, and she wasn’t so drunk that it was pathetic to listen to. “I hate singing in front of people…” she said.

[Y/N] knelt and set down what appeared to be an Irish coffee, and put her left hand over eyes. No ring, Rafe thought. He almost puked at the thought that looking at babes in bars now came with seeing if they were married or engaged, before giving them the once over. Being twenty-four sucked. The girl swayed from side to side on her feet as she moved from the second half of the first verse to the chorus.

…Maybe I'll just get drunk on apple wine.

Me, I'll be just fine and dandy.

Lord, it's like a hard candy Christmas.

I'm barely getting through tomorrow,

But still I won't let sorrow bring me way down…

The girl took some liberties with how she improvised the line endings or creating a harmony line instead of the melody during the way too repetitive chorus. It wasn’t like she was doing something revolutionary, but she also wasn’t just up there doing a cheesy impression of Dolly.

It was a welcome change of pace from the guy’s attempt at some Jimmy Buffet number a few songs ago. Rafe loved music. He loved it. That’s part of why karaoke was such an affront. Rafe played the piano; he was okay. His mom had put him in lessons right after kindergarten and it was the only thing he had stuck with until the end of high school. That was how he honored her memory.

Wait, kindergarten.

[Y/N] sat next to Rafe in kindergarten and early elementary. Holy fucking shit.

Rafe was a walking ad for Ritalin until he was about ten. Arguably, after that too. No one ever helped him out. He was also spoiled, he knew that. The kid talked out of turn, couldn’t follow the classroom expectations, never sat still, and ended up with his green light getting downgraded to a yellow light by the end of everyday. The tantrums he would throw over it where earthshaking. It was exhausting. [Y/N] sat next to him because she was not disruptive. Miss Lisa, their kindergarten teacher had loved [Y/N]. She loved her not only because she was good kid, but because she talked back to Rafe. [Y/N] used her position as calm-girl-forced-to-sit-next-to-shitty-boy to her advantage. She tattled on him daily. Debatably, that made his behavior worse, but the pair had fun sometimes. Rafe hadn’t thought about her in years.

[Y/N] wrapped up the song, trilling fine and dandy… I’ll be fine… over and over with the tinny backing track. He wished she could sing this song along with a guitar the way she deserved. Unexpectedly, Rafe found his hands applauding and his glass on the counter.

Quick as a flash, Rafe stood on unsteady feet and rushed towards the stage. [Y/N] rounded up her Irish coffee and pivoted towards her friends that clapped delightedly at her. Her hands were peeled away from her face now. Rafe almost smiled. Almost.

“Hey ladies, can I steal [Y/N] here for a second?” Rafe hollered over the music as he slumped towards their party.

Wendy’s eyes lit up in immediate recognition. “Rafe Cameron…”

“Hi Wendy,” Rafe said effortlessly. “Congratulations, by the way. You look great.” Rafe’s hookups were getting married now, and he was going to wake up tomorrow single and hungover.

“Thank you, hon. You look pretty good yourself… Please take her. Buy her another drink before we go. We need her loosened up a little.” Wendy giggled.

“Hey!” [Y/N] protested. She was eying Rafe uncertainly. She was trying to place him the same way that he had her.

“Please, ladies, next round on my tab. Congrats, seriously, Wendy,” Rafe said with a sleazy, false grin as a few of the women cheered. “I’ll bring [Y/N] back in one piece.” Gently, Rafe placed a hand on her elbow and angled her away towards the bar. The two walked in relative quiet.

All [Y/N]’s friends giggled. Rafe’s force dimples dropped when they were out of the ladies’ eyeline.

“Excuse me,” [Y/N] started. “Not tryin’ to be rude. Have we… Do I know you? I didn’t catch your name and…” She asked, staring intensely at Rafe. “Is this a setup, because Wendy’s always trying to—“

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Rafe cut in, stopping. He was drunk and forgot his manners. Great impression. Rafe cleared his throat and tried not to slur. “Rafe Cameron. You probably don’t remember me… I… You’re [Y/N] [L/N], yeah? You sat beside me in, like, fucking kindergarten and stuff.”

[Y/N] eyes widened in recognition. “Oh my god!” She gasped. “Rafe! How are you? Oh my god, you’re so tall!” [Y/N] laughed happily. Her faced buzzed warmly from the alcohol.

Rafe nodded at her amused comment. “Yeah, I’ve been busy since I was, y’know, nine.” He snorted.

“You transferred, right?”

“Yeah, Saint Mary’s.” Rafe replied. His mother’s trust had paid for catholic school after she died. He transferred out around the time he was ten.

“I can’t believe we never crossed paths again. You know Wendy from Saint Mary’s then?”

“Yep, that’s right,” Rafe paused. “Come on, lemme get you another drink. You’re the reason I didn’t fail first grade.”

[Y/N] smirked. “That’s probably true. You were an awful student.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe smirked. “Way to treat a guy buying you a drink,” he started his walk towards the bar, prompting [Y/N] to follow him. “You got Bailey’s or Jameson in that thing?”

The girl looked down into her nearly empty mug. “Jameson.”

“Smart girl.“ Rafe said easily. [Y/N] blushed. Even drunk, Rafe didn’t miss that expression on her face at those words. Almost too easy.

“Well, if you’re paying then tell the man to make it a double Irish too.”

“Very smart girl. I like the way you think.”

[Y/N] easily followed Rafe to the bar. The man’s broad shoulders slumped drunkenly as he cut through the crowd. When one was as large, imposing and beautiful as Rafe Cameron, crowds parted like the Red Sea. “So, uh, how are you? Did you do the whole college thing, or…?” [Y/N] asked broadly. She next to nothing about him. He wasn’t even the kind of childhood friend to get added on Instagram.

College. That was the default question at their age. Rafe hated this question, but he couldn’t let [Y/N] feel rejected for that question. “I mean, yeah. For a while. I was at Wofford for a year, but I never finished. I like what I do now, though.”

[Y/N] nodded. “And what exactly do you do?”

“Real estate development. I took over for my dad l when he passed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, we get by,” Rafe turned to the bartender, waving a hand for his attention. “Another Maker’s Mark, neat, and a coffee with double Jameson. Put the anything else the bachelorette party orders on my tab.” Rafe said. He certainly didn’t need another drink, but he really liked having something to do with his hands. Rafe would probably have less substance abuse-related issues if he knew how to conduct his body in public in some way that wasn’t a poor impression of his father.

“Very good, Mr. Cameron.”

[Y/N] narrowed her eyes at Rafe. “Big spender… You that much of a regular that they know your name at the bar?” In her world, guys [Y/N]’s age didn’t get called ‘Mr.’ anything anywhere by anyone. The guys she knew still drank shitty PBRs in punk clubs and had girlfriends they had nothing in common with. Rafe’s polish and pedigree didn’t rub off even in such a state of intoxication.

Rafe didn’t have a good excuse. The implication of [Y/N]’s statement was accurate. “Sure,” he replied. He moved through the rest of his sentence like a gunshot to prevent an awkward conversation. “Hey, why’d you pick Hard Candy Christmas?”

“I didn’t pick it. Wendy did.”

Rafe nodded slowly. “Right. Why did she pick it for you, then?”

“Because it’s my favorite Christmas song.”

“It’s my favorite. It’s probably half of the Smoky Mountains’ favorite too. But why?”

“I didn’t realize this was hardball—“

“Please... I asked you a question about Dolly Parton. You sounded good.” Rafe responded. His drink was passed over the counter. He held it close to his chest and leaned his right elbow down to press it into the bar.

“Um, thanks. It’s… I had shitty couple years. I sang that song everyday for months at a time, I think. Wendy and I would go for these drives with the top down and just… Belt that shit out. Makes the bad days better.”

Rafe half-smiled. “So, year-round?” He said accusingly.

“The song? Like, not at Christmas?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, yeah. She says it’s like a Hard Candy Christmas, not that it is one. That’s grounds for year-round. It’s so much more than a Christmas song.” [Y/N] bit back with a smirk. The bartender returned and placed another white coffee cup and saucer in front of [Y/N] with a nod. The girl slurped a sip down without cream or sugar. She barely made a pinched expression at what was obviously a strong drink. Rafe was moderately impressed. He liked that [Y/N] was drinking brown liquor in black coffee this late on a Friday while all of her friends held White Claws and Daiquiris,

“My head hurts. This is the opposite of the Die Hard’s a Christmas movie thing.” Rafe jabbed.

“Anything can be a Christmas movie.”

“Then, so can a song.”

[Y/N] paused. “Damn.” she sighed. She wasn’t sober enough to get her arguments straight.

Rafe didn’t want to conversation to end. [Y/N] was the most intelligent person he’d spoken to all day. It wasn’t saying much, but was noticeable. He asked another question. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie, if you think that’s true?”

“American Psycho.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s not a—“

“Rewatch it. Not having this argument,” [Y/N] chided. The girl glanced over her shoulder at her friends. They were all staring at her and pretending they weren’t. “Listen Rafe, I appreciate the drink. It was really great to see you tonight. I gotta head back to Wendy now. Bachelorette party only happens once. If you’re lucky… But, hey, thank you again—“

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” [Y/N] asked. She had no idea where Rafe was taking this. Rafe pushed up the left sleeve of his brown sweater.

“What my favorite Christmas movie is.”

[Y/N] looked at him funny. “What’s your favorite Christmas movie?”

“Eyes Wide Shut.” Rafe replied coyly.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” [Y/N] smiled fully, finally. Rafe damn near smiled back. She took a small step away, gesturing to where her friends stood.

“Can I give you my card? Maybe we catch up sometime.” Rafe asked plainly.

“Yeah, maybe!”

Rafe pulled his business card out of his wallet and extended it to [Y/N]. She looked down at it, cheekily saying: “Let’s see Paul Allen’s business card…” her eyes widened at the writing on the card. “CEO? Of a development company? THE development company on the island.”

“I told you I took over my dad’s business.”

“Rafe, I… I’m barely a grant writer at a 501-c3. How are you a CEO… You’re… twenty-three?”

“Twenty-four two weeks ago.”

“Happy birthday,” [Y/N] said flatly. “What’s happening? Why are you talking to me?”

“Because you helped me pass first grade. I thought I already said that.” Rafe’s eyes never left hers. They were so blue. Too blue. Too blue to be real. Rich people were too pretty.

[Y/N] took a very long sip of her coffee. “That’s wild. I’m sorry, but that’s wild. You made me feel vastly inferior and I’m the friend with my shit the most together.” [Y/N] told Rafe, with a smile on her face.

“I know you gotta get back. I’m not gonna the asshole that kept the girls waiting, but call me. Listen, you’re pretty, so is your voice. We should catch up.” Rafe said. Was he asking her out? That was weird. That was weird, right?

Hesitantly, [Y/N] looked back at her friends again. They were too invested in her conversation with Rafe. Hopefully, they would all drink so much that they forgot it happened.

“Do you like karaoke, Rafe?” [Y/N] changed the subject.

“I hate it.” He replied instantly.

“Why are you here?”

Rafe gestured with his glass to where Topper and Ruthie were making out. “They gave me a ride. And you don’t seem too keen about it either.” He said with a shrug.

[Y/N] couldn’t figure out what Rafe’s game was. He had turned from an unsettling child to a freakish adult. He was blunt and brisk, and either frustratingly honest or an alarmingly good liar. Maybe both. She stared up at him.

“What?”

“What?” Rafe raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m gonna go. It was good to see you. Thanks for the drinks,” [Y/N] took a step back. She started to walk away slightly, still facing Rafe. A looked of what could be interrupted as self-loathing crossed Rafe’s face. He didn’t bullshit enough with her during the conversation to be perceived as likable, and she was leaving. Of course. Nobody liked Rafe when they actually knew Rafe. [Y/N] stopped, thinking. “Rafe?”

“Yeah?” His eyes slid back to her.

“Can you do something for me?”

“Maybe?”

He was going to say no, but it would serve as a litmus test for what kind of man Rafe was. It would help [Y/N] sleep easier to know what kind of bullet she dodged by losing Rafe’s business card after tonight. “Okay, we have a scavenger hunt thing for the party. It’s stupid. One of those… Do X number of shots, get someone to give you a BLANK, take a picture of three of you doing… whatever. Y’know?”

“Sure, yeah. What are you asking?”

“One of the items on the list is Maid of Honor and a stranger accomplish a task she’ll regret tomorrow. Like I said, it’s a trashy fuckin’ list.”

“Are you asking me to hookup with you, or…”

“Worse. Do you know the song Don’t Go Breaking My Heart by—“

“Absolutely not—“

“Let me finish. I said do you know the song Don’t Go—“

“I don’t do karaoke.” Rafe said forcefully.

“Do you want to go out on a date with me, or not?”

Rafe was stunned silent. His mind worked overtime. He suddenly felt extremely sober, in spite of his drunkenness. He sucked his teeth.

“I don’t do Elton John. Sorry.” He muttered finally.

[Y/N] nodded, knowingly. It was a setup anyway. She couldn’t be disappointed. She knew he’d refuse and she could leave knowing she had made the right choice ditching him. “That’s a’right. Maybe some other—“

“But, if you really want me to do this, let’s at least stick to the Christmas thing you’ve got going here.”

“You don’t look very… holly jolly.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” he deadpanned. Rafe was the strangest combination. “Stop givin’ me grief here. Your favorite Christmas movie is American Psycho. Let’s do Baby, It’s Cold Outside—“

“Whoa, waaaay too rapey.” [Y/N] protested.

“American. Psycho. How is that song—“

“Wait, do you know Fa—“

“Fairytale of New York?” Rafe finished.

“You know it?”

“My family’s Irish Catholic.”

They both stood still and looked at each other. Well, Rafe stood as still as he could, but swayed a little on his feet. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Why was he agreeing to this?

For as manipulative as Rafe Cameron could be, he was effortless to play for validation and a pretty pair of eyes looking back at him.

Everyone leaves eventually, Rafe reminded himself. His mouth and his brain were not in agreement. Rafe had lost control of his body as he blindly followed [Y/N] to sign up for the next karaoke slot.

They passed Topper and Rafe held onto his glass like an anchor. He should have switched to beer. Why did he have another bourbon? Topper pulled his face away from Ruthie long enough to look at Rafe as if to say what the fuck are you doing? without any words. Rafe grimaced at Topper, barring his teeth slightly in response.

Rafe leaned in to [Y/N]’s ear and clumsily pushed her hair back. “I’m not a singer… This isn’t gonna be good.” He whispered. Chills crept up [Y/N]’s spine at the sensation of his breath. He knew his way around rhythm and music theory. Rafe was an asshole about music, actually. Jazz, classical, whatever. It was his secret no one else got to have. It’s not his fault that most of the motherfuckers he hung out with only listened to guys with the word ‘yung’ in front of their names. Still, all of that musicality couldn’t make him a singer.

“It’s karaoke.” [Y/N] said like it was obvious. She dragged Rafe towards the stage. “You’re so serious… Stop frowning; you’re gonna get lines on your face. We’re both gonna suck. I wouldn’t make you do this if it wasn’t for Wendy anyway. Promise.”

“This is so dumb; this better be some fucking date…”

[Y/N] pried, with difficulty, the rocks glass out of Rafe’s fingers and set it with her mug on a tabletop by the stage. As she pulled him up to a microphone, she said: “You know the words. Sing the damn song.”

And as the track started to play, and [Y/N] stupid friends all cheered, Rafe slurred the words he knew from every drunken family Christmas party he’d ever had. And he smiled. Just a little.

[maudie-duan]

Summary: In a crowd full of adoring fans, Harry can’t seem to take his eyes off the girl standing front row, who won’t look up from her phone—I mean, why the hell come to a One Direction concert, have one of the best spots in the house, and not look at him, at least once??? What happens when Harry takes it upon himself to get Romee’s attention? Will he be “that” asshole, or is he as charming as he thinks?

Word Count: 768

A/N: I had a little inspiration from @howling-wolf97 

I read their One Shot called “Your Texting!” <— 

I couldn’t stop thinking about how well they nailed Harry on stage, and so this is what my brain came up with—of course, we're getting Harry on stage being Harry, eventually, but different era. 

Warning: Mature, Eventual Smut, Strong Language, Angst.

I thought it was an asshole move to steal the phone of a fan for self-amusement, but maybe that was Harry’s thing—I guess he didn’t physically take the phone from my hand; my friend did—I knew nothing about One Direction except that they were a boy band and that my best friend was obsessed with them. She had been begging me for months to go to this concert. Eventually, I said yes, but let me back up and explain how this all happened and how Harry Styles ended up with my phone.

Let me start by telling you that just to get to the concert, I had to take two different planes. I couldn’t for the life of me find a round trip from Oklahoma to LA. Nothing about the trip had been easy, so I wondered if this would be the fate of everything that was to come. 

Did I mention that there was a twelve-hour layover?? By the time I got to California, I felt dead. All I wanted to do was crawl into my friend's bed and cry—because I should also tell you that sometime during my flight to LA, my boyfriend messaged me and basically said, “I think we should see other people…”

Well, actually, it said this:

This was one of the first things I saw when I landed, so I think you can understand how the concert was the last thing on my mind—Who sends their girlfriend of four years a shitty half-ass breakup—because that was essentially what he was doing, right?—And why would he wait until I left town to tell me this?—It had been less than 24 hours since his dick was inside me—to say I was pissed was an understatement.

I didn’t message him back. I didn’t want this to ruin my trip, and I was so excited to see my friend, who I rarely got to see anymore since she was going to college in California. I wanted to go and not only have a good time with Clara, but I also wanted to celebrate her because it was a big fucking deal to finally get out of Oklahoma like we had always dreamed of doing, and here she was. I was so proud of her and wanted to share these memories with her. 

The concert was the first thing on our list. Clara kept droning on about how her dad “outdid himself” and sarcastically spilling about how her parents’ divorce had finally been working in her favor. 

“I’m just saying, Rome, we’ll be so close that we’ll be able to see them sweat.” Clara gushes. 

I roll my eyes, “Clara, how old are they?” I ask, genuinely curious to see if she should be this excited about a group of “boys.”

Clara grabs her phone, pulling up each of their Instagram profiles. She made a point to over-explain minor details that I’m sure I would have no use for later, but as she went on, I got sucked in:

“So you’re telling me that people—” I start.

“No fans—” Clara corrects me, “They’re not just people. We’re faaaannnns,” she draws out.

“Okay, so “fans” really believe that. Wait—” my eyes search her face, trying to remember each of their names, “Is it Larry?” 

She belts out laughing like it’s the funniest thing I’ve said all night, and I know I’m more amusing than that, but I shrug it off and listen. “No—H-A-R-R-Y,” she over annunciates “And, Louis.”

“So, Harry and Louis are a thing?” I questioned, a little skeptical because she had yet to show me any real evidence, except for a few videos that “maybe” could have been edited.

“Like they’re just fucking behind the scenes?” I ask.

She silently nods, gazing down at her phone, smiling a smile you would give a newborn baby, “Yeah…” she breathes out, “They’re perfect…”

“Wait—wait—wait—” I say, snatching the phone from her hand. “So you’re telling me…that this hot fucking dude…is gay?” 

We’re both staring down at a picture of the guy with longish brown hair covered in tattoos, and I’m having the hardest time accepting that he is even the slightest bit gay—I’m mean, if he is, good for him, but I’m not even a fan, and selfishly I want every odd to be in my favor. 

“I know, he’s hot, right?” She voices, stealing my exact train of thought. She has the same look as before, admiring her beloved “boys.” —and I fall back on the bed, grabbing my phone to re-read Shawn’s message. Thinking of what I’ll say when I finally see his stupid fucking face. 

A/N: This was just for fun. Not sure if I'll continue. If you're interested, I'll definitely start a tag list!! let me know! hope you guys enjoyed!!

[jay-m3]

Home [21] - Visitor [8]

Imagine: Them watching you do/watch sports

Male reader insert Warning* language, suggestive scenes

Characters: Adam, Alastor, Lucifer, Vox, and Val

Adam

Adam never was into sports. Sure he had watched some games here and there but he wasn't interested in it. Then you came into his life where football became a huge talk topic between you two. Like his concerts but this is your thing. As a supportive boyfriend, he attends to your games like how you attend his concerts.

Except, he'll support in his own special way and he's going to have fun. He'll have banners of your teams' logo, face paint in a unique rock style form, a blow horn that he'll blow every time your team has made a touch down and a jersey of your number plastered on (which he lifts, 'Suck it' is written on his stomach with an arrow pointing down at his dick every time he's on the big screen).

His sighs, tossing the now empty thin cardboard plate to the empty seat next to him. The cheese of the nachos that he ate stains his jersey which he just tries to dab away before the smell of hotdogs lifts his attention to the guy who is selling them.

"One hotdog here! With everything!" He calls out to the guy who nods and makes his way towards him. He pats down his pants to locate his wallet and thankfully he found it right before the guy reaches towards him.

"Here you go- hey, wait a minute. You're the person who is dating number (#)?" The guy questions which Adam smugly smirks at getting recognized as being the person who's dating one of the best running back player on the field.

"Yup." He pops the 'p'.

"Been dating him for a year now and since then, he always made a touchdown." He proudly announces even though it's not a true statement.

There were times where you're tackled down and end up losing but the majority of the time, what people has been focused on, was how much a better player you've been once you started dating Adam. He's your breakout is what your team teases about you.

Getting the hotdog, Adam sits back down, returning his attention to the field. Taking a big bite of the delicious greasy food, he watches as you quickly zag your way to the touchdown only to get bulldozed down by a guy at least twice your height.

Adam jumps up ready to release angry shouts only to choke on the food that was in his mouth.

Alastor

Alastor has seen some games here and there, just watching along while getting the gossip of men around him. That was the only reason he would watch, until he met you.

You're such a big fan of soccer. Always getting easily distracted by the sport on tv when passing by Vox's tv displays. He'll have to drag you away while you whine and pull from the firm grasp around your shoulder.

"Oh Alastor, that man will walk on broken glass if you demanded it. Why not let him do something he likes for a change?" Rosie gestures to you, who was straining a smile as you talk to a group of men in cannibal town.

Fine, Alastor will compromise. He'll let you watch soccer when it was in season, without disturbance nor making the old telly go staticky. A treat, he'll say.

So when the time came, you prepared snacks and drinks, wearing your jersey and some face paint. As much as you looked ridiculous, the softer spot inside Alastor was satisfied with making you happy.

After a few game nights passed, you begged Alastor to watch one game with you. Even putting in that you'll let him dress you how he wants for a whole month.

As tempting as it was, Alastor refused. Not wanting to waist time by watching from the old picture box to see if the men kicked a ball to victory.

Thankfully, Rosie had your back.

"Oh? Well, remember that time when we went out to the buffet with my late husband? (M/n) didn’t want to go, didn't have to but guess what? He did, as a gentleman. Not complaining nor squeamish at the way we ate all those sinners. As your partner, he went along to experience something you like. Why not do the same?"

So, here he sat next to you, the box displaying the game.

"Go for it! Go for it!"

His eye twitches as you jerk forward, watching intensely as the player runs.

Alastor sighs, picking up the cup of tea that he made for himself, taking a sip-

"WHAT THE FUCK!? HE PUT HIS HANDS ON HIM!"

Alastor side eyes you, eye twitching as you continue to curse out loud as if they can hear you.

'This is going to be a long season.' He slouches slightly in his seat.

Lucifer

Lucifer has never kept up with sports. It wasn't something he was interested in, not even when the sinners made a big deal about it at days.

But his curiosity had peaked when you would show him clips of a baseball game while babbling about whatever is happening.

It wasn't really the game he was curious about, it was how you would get so into it.

Asking opinions that you'll just answer them yourself. Collecting a lot of baseball cards only to stash them away in a protective glass case along with figurines, jerseys, baseballs and all of that. He can't keep track on the things you'll bring home.

It wasn't until he saw a billboard about there being a game near that you were just like him. Instead of ducks it was baseball.

If he ever got a chance to see a duck again he would be over the moon, with that thought, he bought you two tickets with the best seats.

A great decision as he sees you look around in awe, getting so hyper focus on the game when it started that you ignored him.

It was fine, he was prepared for this. He got up...and left.

Not from the stadium, just aimlessly walking around. Buying food for you and himself, stopping by the merchandise store, and just randomly walking up and down the many stairs.

When he gets back, he makes sure you eat something before zoning out for a little bit, watching the players do what they're supposed to do.

He wasn't interested, not really knowing what's going on. But from what he learned, if you hit the ball it wasn't a strike...he thinks.

He snaps out of it when an urge to do something again gets him on his feet only to remember about the bag you brought.

"This is for you. I know you're not interested in the game so I brought some stuff to keep you entertained."

He opens the bag to see many little items that will definitely keep him entertained. He is going to take you out on another game for this.

He smiles softly at you when you cheered.

You are truly amazing.

Vox

When he started dating you, it was very clear that you love hockey. You brought it up on your first date, stating clearly that it's one thing you can't miss watching.

Vox took it to heart.

With a lot of scheduling meetings and a little hypnosis, he was sponsoring your favorite team (In the near future, he'll gift you the company once your married).

All games, he'll get you both best seats on the house.

At first, he didn't get the game so he'll search up all the rules not wanting to make a fool of himself. But if he still doesn't understand, he'll only ask once. Won't ask the same question.

He also has tabs of your favorite players on his phone. He doesn't want to mixed them up accidentally.

Most times when nothing really good is happening, he'll step out to make calls and check on his own company.

All in all, he'll get really into it, especially when a brawl starts up. He's actually louder than you, encouraging the fight and smack talking the other team. Actually, you had to back up your man when another fan going for the other team starts something with Vox.

Once the game is over, he'll suprise you by taking you to the back. The team that you follow on every social media platform is now infront of you.

Before you can run off and meet all the players, you hug Vox tightly and kiss him with so much passion.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You're the best boyfriend ever."

Vox watches on, electricity zapping up his antennas' as he saves the audio of you saying that. He'll replay it once he's alone.

Val

He found out you did sports was when you came out of the bedroom with your uniform on.

At first, he thought you wore those for him. You know, role-playing type of thing. But when you completely ignored his advances, he made a big deal of how your just giving him blue balls at this point. That was when you told him you played volleyball.

It piqued his interest, not the sport but on the many players that will dress in those small tight shorts and sweating through the thin layer of sleeveless shirts.

He'll go to your games at random times. Either for inspiration for a new sports porno or just to mess with you backstage. There were many times you two almost got caught in the locker room that at this point, a small group of your team already knew where you were if you were missing.

This time, after a good blowie, Valentino watches your game. Relaxing back as he runs his eyes over your form. He didn't have to be anywhere at this time so why not enjoy the view. Planning to convince you to do a little role play of being a bad player getting punishment from the coach.

That reminds him, he needed to buy the uniform pronto. Taking out his phone, he sends a text to Velvet-

He quickly looks up when the sound of a loud smack and gasps filled the room. Apparently, someone from your team has spiked the ball down on one of the opponents' face.

Disappointment passes through him that he didn't get the chance to see it until the opponents cross the barrier of the net.

He perks up quickly, a smirk crosses his features as a fight breaks out.

"Don't get your pretty face messed up!" He yells out, blowing out smoke as arousal shimmers inside him.

'Yup, a punishment is in order.'

[ohbabydollie]

Hi dollie!! How do you think jschlatt would be with s/o ex k-idol?(kpop idol)

(Sorry for any writing errors! English is not my first language 😭😭)

at first he truly thought you had came from a foreign country to texas because you wanted change

and you may not have corrected his assumption

but it was refreshing, seeing someone who didn’t know who you were who treated you like anyone else

and was it really your fault you wanted to keep it as that?

that was until someone stopped and asked for a picture, assuming it was him before seeing them wrap an arm around your waist and snap a photo

maybe it was just a one time coincidence until more people asked you for photos, ignoring and pushing schlatt aside to take pics with you

now he needed the truth

so you came clean and told him everything from your time in training to the retirement

you explained everything and he sat there listening with the occasional question

once you left for the night, he immediately went looking on youtube for any videos of you

from lives to concerts, he stayed up the whole night watching videos of you

then looking for merch of you

call it an impulse buy or whatever

but he sold out almost all the ebay merch except for a lipstick he was still bidding for

photocards, shirts, hats, etc. all of you

listening to your music and trying to learn the dances

he hides it though, embarrassed of his new hobby and even cleared out a decent sized closet for all his stuff

people call it a “shrine” but it’s not!

it just has some flowers and a few candles and your photocards…

yeah, that’s the one door no one is allowed to open

he thinks it’s so cool and will occasionally flex it to anyone if he feels like it

“last time i checked you couldn’t pull a idol so suck it”

your fans shit on him from time to time tho, but lovingly except the parasocial few

ur n.1 fan ended up being your boyfriend

[alex110370000]

Joost Klein x insecure!Goth!Gn reader

Request by @mybloggyblogblogshitpost

You were about to go out to an after party for bf Joost’s concert and you were having him help pick your outfit, as you put on one you were about to step out and show him but then felt a wave of insecurity, joost sat waiting and then started to wonder what was taking so long.

As he gets up to knock on your bathroom door where you were changing he heard heavy breathing and got concerned opening the door to be taken back by the most beautiful sight to him, you wearing a long black flowy dress with lace ends (or whatever fit u want 🙏🏻) he walked you both into the shared bathroom, “my you look beautiful, Schat~” he whispered in your ear, his breath hitting your neck and shooting electric waves down ur spine.

He picked you up and put you on the sink, the cold of the porcelain against your bottom sending chills through your body as you cling to his shoulders, “I love this outfit but it would look better on the floor, Liefde.”

He moves closer his lips grazing ur neck, “Joost, please” you coo. That’s all he needed as he immediately started attacking your neck and running his hands down your body moving from your ass to your chest to peel off your top as he kisses down your chest leaves marks on the way. He sucks on one of your buds as you let out whines, he lifts your hips and removes the rest of your clothes except your under garments, “please- joost.” You whine as he rests on his knees under you as his nose bumps your clothed privates, he peels down your under garments as he goes to work licking you up and down and sucking the sensitive areas, you were practically screaming his name as your pull his hair earning a moan that vibrates against you, making you more sensitive. You pull his hair harder as you get close, but before you could say anything he pulled away, you look down at him with a pout, “it’s okay love be patient”, he says as he flips you over pressing your chest into the cold sink making you hiss.

He kisses down your back as he unbuckles his belt and lets his pants fall, “are you ready Liefde.” You almost moan a quick yes, he slowly rubs his tip on your hole as he pushes in earning a moan from you as he starts to bottom out. Once he bottoms out he starts at a slow but steady pace slowly going faster making you moan as he groans in your ear leaving more marks on your neck and shoulders.

He goes faster as he gropes your ass repetitively snacking and groping making you yelp out more, he pulls hair bringing your head up to look into the mirror above the sink. You look and see how much of a mess your are, black make up smudged and hair all messy.

His pace gets more uneven and sloppy as you both finish, once he finishes he falls over onto your back breathing heavily.

Once he regains energy he sits down the toilet seat as you sit. He runs a hot bath,” I’ll be right back love.” He says before disappearing into your bedroom then returning with candles and your favorite bath salts, you can’t help but smile and pull him in for a gentle kiss, “thank you love.” You say as he goes to set everything up lighting the candles and pouring in the salts and shutting the water off, he gently picks you up bridal style and puts you in the tub then shortly getting in.

Once you guys finish the bath you guys watch a movie and call it a night

(I got rlly lazy towards the end im sorry but I hope u like :3 )

[sirenc0re]

hello, sirenc0re! i come here to ask if you have any RTC character headcanons that you wouldn't mind divulging?

ohhh i have a few! these are somewhat disorganized, i dont think ive really shared these outside of a single reddit comment. anyways:

penny loves boybands ofc (backstreet boys, nsync, obviously 'seven up' before it split) but further than that i think she likes 60s-70s pop too- fleetwood mac, kate bush, the beatles, etc

ezra is the one that's genuinely really into gangsta rap. NWA, tupac, snoop, dr dre... and of course eminem (though he isnt really a gangsta rapper. it's adjacent) i think rap in general is something he likes. though he's like, a smartass. so i think that at least early on he would "like" it the same way he likes penny's boybands (something to mock as the pinnacle of empty and vapid commercialism) before he actually starts appreciating it as art (JK-47 notwithstanding) and not something he has to prove against. so im saying he would genuinely like tribe called quest. it's in my mind. i am manifesting it. as a side note, i jokingly wanted to be like AND HE LISTENS TO MACKLEMOREEEE but im a hard ass and in the timeline that exists in my head it's 2009. and in 2009 mackle had the penis song as the first track of his debut album. make of that what you will

ocean's whole straight-lace schtick is her twisted version of a teenage rebellion against her hippy parents. she also makes herself seem better off than she actually is. im of the firm belief that pretty much everyone in uranium (except perhaps constance's parents and misha's adoptives) is broke. and i think that with her parents lifestyle, ocean would be on the lower end of that spectrum and it's a big insecurity of hers that she tries very hard to project against to varying degrees of success

noel says he was saving up to go to france, but if you looked at his bank account there would be maybe 200~ saved there. most of his wages went to supporting himself and his single mother

post-cyclone au, i think ocean would shift away from politics and become a personal injury attorney

post-cyclone au, ricky becomes a sci-fi erotica author… i like to think he's extremely successful in that particular niche

post-cyclone au, ocean and noel's relationship becomes wayyy less hostile. they still 'fight' but all the venom has been sucked out of their words. one time he tripped her in the hallway inbetween class periods, which prompted her to halfheartedly kick his ankles, which leads to a 'fight' that gets her in trouble in school for the first time in an actual decade (she's pissed)

post-cyclone au, constance's epiphany about life being beautiful makes her a lot more bold. which is to say she now has the confidence to go on a million little sidequests for no other reason than to experience the bounties of existence. penny wants to go to a concert 3 hours away but she's still banned from the bus? constance knows how to drive and the unlimited trust of her parents, hop in

very much inspired by ray winter's take on misha when he was answering asks about it so i've absorbed it because it makes sense: misha was a class clown back home and pretty well-liked. he's such a solid and passionate dude, and way more kind than he's allowed to be because everything in canada seems to hate him. i believe that his 'attitude' problem mostly stems from loneliness, (which is kinda exerted on him but also enforced by him after a certain point since i think he retracts himself into his phone with talia rather than be in the real world where he is miserable) and that he would have done so much better if he had one genuine friend he could talk to. in a post-cyclone au, he gets a bunch of those, and no longer feels like all of those emotions are being stiffled or bottled up

those are all the HCs that are relevant i think ^_^

[doomslugthedestroyer1]

Types of Beatles fans

This has been done before but whatever The young fan: Probably from age 11-15, is just discovering classic rock. Famous for their "I'm born in the wrong generation" antics. Makes really bad memes and edits of the the Beatles and probably simps over George or John. McLennon shipper.

Old woman fan: Is an original Beatlemaniac from the 60s. Has really fond memories of the Beatles growing up and definatley simped for some/all of them. Likes early era beatles music best. Kinda odd but pretty nice

Old man fan: Also grew up with the Beatles, thinks all modern music is terrible and lacks all musical genius. Probably inspired by the beatles to play an instrument. Has very strong opinions about everything rock relates. Hates Gen Z, also hates Yoko Ono

Fan who hates the Beatles: Fan who goes out of their way to make fun of the Beatles all the time, and makes jokes about their music sucking. Hates at least one member of the beatles, if not all. Normally a really funny band kid

Scary old man fan: "Oh YoU'Re A FaN? NaMe FiVe SonGs ThaT TheY WrOtE" The aesthetic girl: Exclusively wears vintage outfits, owns a record player and approximatley $300000 worth of records, as well as 10 beatles posters. Probably saw Paul or Ringo live. Solo album fans: Loves All Things Must Pass and Ram. Refuses to listen to Plastic Ono Band. Thinks revolution 9 is a masterpiece.

Paul Lesbians: Hates men but makes an exception for Paul. Definitely has gone to a concert. Also likes Roger Taylor

Middle aged music teachers: "GUYS LISTEN TO THE BEATLES THEY'RE GOOD MUSIC"

Regular fan: Owns an Abbey road shirt and doesn't participate in the nightmare of the fandom.

[treefory]

Wiggle’s concert

1025 words

The early morning sun rose over the Shimmering spring sand. It's gorgeous ray’s slowly lit up Wiggles warm orange fur. With a yawn she sat up in her hammock and put on her pink star sunglasses and her boa that hung on its ropes. Her paws met with the sand below her as she stood.

Gramble slept peacefully on the ground in his sleeping bag. Razzbys and kweebles snuggled up to him but scurried away into a bush when they saw Wiggle, Gramble opened his eyes sleepily as they did.

“Good morning darling!” Wiggle purred as she picked up her banjo that leaned on her hammock post.

“Oh good mornin’ Wiggle…” the pink grumpus yawned. “Yer’ up early.”

“Well of course! I just know today is the day I make my new hit single!”

Gramble gave her a warm smile “Ooooo that’s amazing Wiggle! when you're done show me what you got!”

“When I’m done I won’t just show you, I’ll show the whole world!” And with that she walked off.

When she made her way to her spot overseeing the sandy shore. She sat down on her towel, plucking at her banjo’s strings. “All I have to do is find a rhythm first and the rest will come naturally…”

— — —

Wiggle aimlessly played her banjo. “Oh that’s not the right note…”

Twang

“Not that one..”

Pwing

“Oh come on…!”

With an angry huff she laid her banjo on the ground then sat on the ledge of her cliff, gazing upon the sandy shore and for a moment she let her mind wander. She remembered her last concert, adoring fans, flashing lights, and all the autographs she signed. It was all she could have ever asked for, but one thing was missing.

A concert worthy song, and “do the wiggle” was anything but that.

In the midst of her gazing she noticed Gramble walk across the shore with chocolate pods in his paws and kweebles following behind. He squirted some chocolate on the sand, his kweebles now swarmed around the puddle.

“Mornin’ Wiggle!” He called out to her. Her eyes met with her muse with two chocolate pods in his paws. “How’s your song goin’?”

“Worse than I hoped, darling.” She sighed as she took the pod handed to her. “I just can’t find the right rhythm! Nothing I play sounds right.”

“Hmm, maybe you need to change your instrument?” Gramble sat next to wiggle on the cliff, both watching the kweebles play with each other. “Trying something new could be just what you need.”

“But what would I use? All my instruments are in Snaxburg.” She said after squinting some chocolate syrup in her mouth

“Hmmm” Gramble said as he tapped a digit on his chin, thinking. “Oh! Watta bout’ this?” He said as he eyed the hanging instrument next to him.

“My triangle?”

“Yeah! Why not?” He picked up the triangle’s beater. “It might just do the trick.”

He gently tapped the hanging instrument with its beater.

TING

Its high note rang out across the beach and for a moment everything was silent.

“Mmhh, I don’t think the triangle is what I need. But thank you for-“ Wiggle stopped as her attention was drawn towards the water

Two Small tornados quickly appeared over the water. everything in its way twisted up into its wind, including a misfortunet crapple. Out the water emerged two waffle-like bugsnax. “Waffstackarak! Waffstackarak!” The two called

“Now what in grumps name is that?!” Wiggle yelled as the Waffstackaraks crawled their way to the shore

“Oooo I’m not sure, but they look feisty!” Gramble answered

The Waffstackaraks looked around as everything ran and hid except Gramble’s kweebles, who were too busy playing

“Waffstackarak!” The waffles cried as they began twirling their legs. A vortex appeared over their heads that began pulling in sand, seashells, and the kweebles.

“CHARWEE!!! JOEWEEE!!!!” Gramble cried as the two watched his beloved snax get pulled towards the tornado

“Gramble wait, no!” She called as Gramble ran to their aid. “You’ll get sucked up too!” Wiggle watched as her muse scooped up his two snax and tried to take them to safety, only to get himself caught in the tornado.

She had to do something and she’d have to do it fast. She snatched the triangle from its string and grabbed its beater. She stood on the rock’s ledge and held the instrument above her head

TING TING TING TING

And like that, everything stopped. The twisting legs of the Waffstackaraks stalled as they looked to where Wiggle stood. As the tornado disappeared Gramble fell to the ground, his kweebles running for the bushes

Wiggle paused for a moment, then tapped the triangle again. “Waffstackarak!” The waffles cried happily as they began to walk towards her.

“Ooohhh….” He moaned as he rubbed his head “Wiggle what are you doin’?”

“Uh I don’t know, but I have a plan!” She called, still taping the triangle. “Just go hide!” Wiggle started walking down from her spot and towards the Waffstackaraks. The two snax now cooed their names and swayed to the triangles beat as they followed Wiggle to the shore

“Follow me waffles, follow me! Follow me back to your home, to the sea from where you roam! Leave me and my muse alone, so go back to your ocean throne!” Wiggle sang desperately while ending her final line with her pointing towards the ocean

“Waffstackarak! Waffstackarak!” The snax cried happily as they began walking into the water. Wiggle watched as the two disappeared amongst the waves.

“Bravo, Wiggle! Bravo!” A voice called from behind a log, followed along with some clapping

Wiggle dropped her instrument and ran over to her muse “Gramble darling! Are you okay???”

“I’m okay. Ah, just a little sore… I’m sorry about bringin’ those snax here…”

“Oh it’s okay, darling! You were only trying to help.” She said as she pulled back Gramble’s strabby hat. “And I guess a different instrument was what I needed to make a new song.” She joked as she planted a kiss on his forehead.

“Even if it meant kinda risking ya’ life?”

Wiggle shrugged. “I’ve had worse concerts.”