#baby’s first artist alley

[emmaspolaroid]

It’s day 1 of MCX!!! I’m literally vibrating with anxious energy aldgkhakdjs but I’m so excited!!

[witchywithwhiskey]

when in hell, do as the demons do

pairing: demon posing as a tattoo artist!steve rogers x tattooed!female reader (number and type of tattoos aren't specified but it's more than two)

summary: new york city tattoo parlors have a tradition of offering special deals on friday the 13th, but when you decide to try out a new shop in brooklyn, you get much more than you paid for—and end up selling your soul to a charming demon.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, monsterfucking, dubcon because magic, sex pollen elements, nonconsensual bonding, soul bonds, demon tricks, bdsm (no safe word but with check-ins), choking, sadism/masochism, pain play, very brief blood play, nipple torture, pussy spanking, face slapping, rough body play, finger sucking, dacryphilia, fingering (f receiving), degradation kink, master kink, praise kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart, plaything), begging, teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, biting, marking, cockwarming, aftercare, happy ending

word count: 14.5k

a/n: here's my first halloween fic for 2024! i came up with the idea on friday the 13th last month and liked it for a halloween idea so here we are! this is the fic i was talking about in my poll here, which helped me decide to make steve a demon, but i'm not great at world-building/magic-building so if the magic doesn't make sense, i'm sorry! i just wanted to write some sex pollen-y tattoo artist smut and it turned into a whole thing. this fic really got away from me 😬 whoops. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

halloween fics masterlist

The first time you heard the story—the urban legend whispered around New York City tattoo parlors—you were getting your second tattoo. You were young, but not so naive, and yet, when the woman named Wanda Maximoff told you the tale in her vaguely Eastern European accent, a chill raced down your spine. 

It went like this: There was a young person who wanted to get a tattoo, and they were lured into an unfamiliar shop on Friday the 13th by the special deals they were offering. (Where the shop was located in the city varied based on who was telling the story, but Wanda had said it was a small parlor tucked into an alley in the Bowery.)

The person in the story didn’t know the shop or the artist, but they were so enthralled by the artist’s beauty and work that they made the hasty decision to get a tattoo of a symbol they didn’t understand. It was the last decision they’d ever make, because by the time the tattoo was done, they’d been unknowingly enslaved to a dark force—having sold their soul to a demon.

When Wanda had finished the story, her piercing green eyes stared at you long and hard, her mouth twisted to the side as if she was stopping herself from saying more than she should. There was a warning in her expression you didn’t understand, and you hadn’t been able to stop the fear that burrowed into your heart. For a second—just a second—you’d believed the strange, witchy woman. 

Then you’d scoffed, laughing away your fear, and insisted the story must’ve been started by a grumpy old tattoo artist who was tired of the influx of customers on Friday the 13th. It was well known that most New York City tattoo shops had special deals every Friday the 13th, and you asserted the story was just supposed to frighten away naive tattoo novices who’d get something impulsively and regret it later. 

Wanda had pressed her lips together, an inscrutable look on her face, but only nodded once before returning her focus to your tattoo. In the silence that had followed, you’d been left alone with your thoughts, and you mulled over the story, repeating your rationalizations to yourself until you believed them. 

But a sliver of fear and intrigue remained for the rest of your session and when you were done, you were relieved to leave Wanda and her creepy story behind. Something like that—accidentally selling your soul to a demon when getting a tattoo—didn’t happen in real life, and it certainly wouldn’t happen to you. 

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until, of course, it did happen to you.

Over the years, you heard the story repeated time and time again in countless tattoo shops across the city, and the fear you’d felt listening to Wanda recount her version of the tall tale transformed into curiosity, then a dark kind of delight. It wasn’t something you wanted to push away, but to hold close to your heart, to cherish.

As you got older, you found yourself telling the story to younger folks when you crossed paths with someone who hadn’t heard it. And every time you told the story, you found yourself unconsciously replicating Wanda’s Eastern European accent, making the story as scary as you could. 

Each time you saw apprehension in the eyes of those you told the tale to, something inside you unfurled and grew stronger. You’d smirk when the tattoo novices scurried away, some leaving whatever shop you were in entirely, and a shiver would race down your spine, so much like the fear you’d felt when you first heard the story, but it was no longer that. It was a quiver of devilish mirth. 

You told yourself it was normal, how much fun you had scaring off the younger folks in the tattoo shops you frequented, laughing along with the artists you knew so well. You told yourself you were just taking part in tradition by repeating the story. You told yourself there wasn’t a darkness in your heart that was wakened by the story, and craved something you didn’t quite understand.

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until you walked into Hell and your entire life changed.

Hell was the new tattoo shop that had opened in Brooklyn at the start of October, though you’d been hearing talk of it for months before then. You’d been curious about it, and the fact that none of your friends or any of the artists you frequented knew much about it made it all the more intriguing. They didn’t know who owned the shop or who was working there, and you were desperate to find out.

It wasn’t a conscious decision you remembered making, but late in the afternoon on Friday the 13th, you took the subway to Brooklyn, getting off at the stop closest to Hell. 

The day was brisk, the chill of autumn clinging to the air even as the sun shone brightly above the city. You wore a thick sweater, a skirt and some tights with your most comfortable boots to make the trek deep into Brooklyn, and you were glad for it. It was a longer walk than you’d been expecting, but pleasant enough while the sun was high.

By the time you made it to the shop, though, the sun was dipping low behind the brownstones of the nearby neighborhood and your cheeks were chilled from the crisp autumn breeze. It was a relief to see the red neon sign for Hell, and you skipped quickly down the last block to push through the door of the nondescript exterior.

You were met by a rush of artificial heat that made you smile, pleased by the respite from the frigid autumn air, which swirled around your ankles as the door closed behind you. The warmth of the parlor kissed your cheeks and thawed through your icy fingertips while you looked around. 

You were surprised to find that Hell was unexpectedly inviting. 

Inside, the tattoo shop was decorated in dark colors that fit the theme: inky blacks, vivid reds, luminous yellows and burnt oranges. But, though it could’ve been dreary, Hell looked alive and lived-in, with cozy black leather sofas in the waiting area, and artwork decorating much of the wall space. When you looked closer, you saw that many of the pieces depicted creatures of the dark. 

As you studied the artwork, you noticed a theme: Demons cavorting with human women, specifically fucking human women. You felt a tingle of something bloom between your thighs. The art was salacious and wicked, and yet, you didn’t feel disturbed by any of the imagery, only intrigued. Even a little bit aroused. 

A clearing throat pulled your attention away from the art and to the redheaded woman standing behind the counter. She asked if you needed help. 

As you approached, you noticed she was beautiful, and had a cold smile on her face, her green eyes watching you in a way that unsettled you. It took you a long moment to realize her gaze reminded you of Wanda, even though the women looked nothing alike. But you felt uneasy as you walked up to the counter.

Your smile was tentative as you inquired if the shop had any Friday the 13th deals, adding that it was tradition, just in case the woman was new to the city.

Her green eyes raked over your face in an obviously assessing look, and you felt like your heart and soul were being judged. You nearly huffed a laugh at the thought, because it was so ludicrous, but managed to keep still and remain expressionless while the woman stared at you.

After a moment, she smiled again and the expression was friendlier, like she was greeting an old friend. She introduced herself as Natasha Romanoff and apologized because all but one of the artists had gone home for the day since their appointments were done and they didn’t get too many walk-ins, being a new shop and all.

Just then, a man stepped behind the counter as if appearing out of nowhere—though, at the time, you rationalized that you’d simply been staring so intently at Natasha, you hadn’t noticed his approach. Without missing a beat, Natasha introduced the man as Steve Rogers, the owner of Hell and the only artist still around on that Friday the 13th.

“What willing sacrifice do we have here, Nat?” Steve asked, sidling up to the counter and pressing his hands on top to lean toward you. 

The first thing you noticed where his eyes—such a pure, beautiful blue that they looked like the perfect, endless sky. But as your gaze wandered over his face, you realized his eyes weren’t his only gorgeous feature. He had a strong brow that gave way to silky blond hair; a straight, sloping nose that led down to a pair of plump, pink lips with just enough of a cupid’s bow, that you wanted to lick it. 

A rush of warmth filled your cheeks at the thought and you dropped your eyes to Steve’s broad shoulders, pausing to admire the way they filled out his simple black t-shirt. His thick biceps were covered in stunningly intricate tattoos, all done in dark ink that contrasted with his pale skin. They extended down to his hands, still planted flat on the counter. 

As far as you could see, there was only a small space of bare, unadorned skin at the base of Steve’s throat—all the rest of him seemed to be covered in tattoos that snaked beneath his t-shirt. You wondered idly if his tattoos covered his whole body, eyes trailing down to the black jeans he wore, and quickly shoved the thought aside. 

Raising your gaze back to Steve’s face, you hoped your expression wasn’t giving away your thoughts, but the charming grin that spread across the hot tattoo artist’s face made you think he had an idea you were checking him out. And he liked it. 

“Or should I say,” Steve went on in a slightly lower, more rumbly voice, leaning further across the counter with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. He was close enough that you got a hint of his cologne—leather and firewood—and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted, warming and tingling and yearning for him. “What sweet thing do we have coming to barter their soul for some new ink?” He winked at you, all charm, and you nearly swooned.

“I-I was just asking if you had any Friday the 13th deals,” you stammered, unsure how to act under the blinding light of Steve’s charm. You’d known and talked to your fair share of attractive tattoo artists in your life, but Steve was on another level. He was hot and alluring in a way you couldn’t put into words, which was how you found yourself blurting, “It’s tradition.”

Steve’s grin hitched higher, and he stared at you a second longer before ducking down behind the counter to rifle through the shelves. 

“Well, I’m not one to turn my back on the old ways,” he said, lifting his head to catch your eye. He gave you a look that made your knees weak, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you, before returning to his task.

Finally, he seemed to find what he’d been looking for and stood up, brandishing a piece of paper on which some simple tattoo designs were sketched. It looked like any other sheet of designs you’d see in any other tattoo shop, and you didn’t think anything of it, turning your attention back to Steve’s handsome face.

“We didn’t have anything planned,” he explained, crossing his arms and leaning down on the counter. 

The position made him slightly shorter than you, while emphasizing the expanse of his shoulders and the thick mucles of his biceps and the veins of his forearms. It was only because his hand pointed to the paper, pulling your attention away from his big body, that you remembered he was telling you something. 

“But if you pick from these, I’ll charge you $113—how’s that sound?” He raised his eyes to yours, and you noticed how long his eyelashes were. 

For a long moment, you just stared at Steve, your mouth slightly parted while you admired his beautiful face. You had the urge again to lick his cupid’s bow, and your body warmed pleasantly as you imagined doing exactly that. Sitting in Steve’s lap and licking him all over…

With effort, you managed to pull yourself from the tattoo artist’s spell, shaking your head to clear it while you processed what he’d said. The price he’d named was a typical deal for New York City, even with the Friday the 13th discount, so you nodded absently. 

“That sounds good,” you muttered, bending over the counter to look at the sheet of paper he was still pointing to. Even his hands were attractive, with skulls tattooed on the backs and other symbols you didn’t recognize decorating his knuckles. You couldn’t help but think his hands would make a pretty necklace if they were wrapped around your throat…

Shaking your head again, you furrowed your brow and forced yourself to focus on the paper with all the designs. There was some cute Halloween-themed stuff, like black cats, witch hats, ghosts and the like. There were also some stylized numbers, like 666, and a couple pentagram designs along with other symbols you recognized.

But the one that caught your attention was something you’d never seen before. It was made up of exquisitely delicate curving lines that formed what loosely looked like an infinity symbol. There were some twists to the design that made it look harsher, more archaic.

“What’s this?” you asked, pointing to the design that called to you and looking up at Steve. Your breath caught in your throat when you met his gaze, and your voice sounded awed as you went on. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A secretive, conspiratorial smirk tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips and he leaned in a little closer, his scent invading your senses and his breath ghosting over your cheek. 

“It’s a design of my own making,” he said, his voice pitched low and intimate as he looked at you in a way that made warmth curl around your heart and trickle down to settle low in your belly. “It’s special—why, do you like it?”

It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull your gaze away from Steve’s, but you forced yourself to look back down at the paper, your finger tracing the sweeping curves and the sharp points of the design. 

“I do,” you said slowly, thinking about where on your body it might look nice. There was a spot on your ankle where you felt it would look good, like an anklet. But before you could get too attached to the design, you lifted your gaze, giving Steve a serious look. “It’s not a tribal symbol, or any kind of cultural appropriation, right?”

Steve placed a hand over his heart, like he was making a vow, and said, “I promise it’s not from any culture of man.” 

His strange answer piqued your curiosity, but you brushed your questions aside. Later, you’d understand his odd turn of phrase, but in the moment, you chalked it up to Steve playing into the theme of his shop. You figured anyone who named their tattoo parlor Hell would be a little peculiar, and you didn’t think it was a bad thing. Especially when he was so hot.

Looking back down at the paper, you let your eyes trail over the looping design a few times, feeling yourself sinking into…something. A thrilling shiver raced down your spine, a mix of delight and terror that you found intoxicating and you had to shake yourself to remember where you were and what you were doing.

Raising your eyes to Steve, you told him you wanted the design, and once the words were past your lips, you felt a sense of rightness. You weren’t the type of person to get tattoos impulsively, but this one was calling to you, and you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to get a tattoo from the hot shop owner. 

Besides, when in Hell…

Steve slid the paper off the counter and stood up straight, his eyes going sharp as he looked between you and the design. You got the same sense you had with Natasha, that Steve was judging your heart and soul and determining whether you were deserving of the design you’d chosen. You found yourself hoping desperately that he decided you were.

After a moment, an impish smirk pulled at Steve’s mouth before his expression shifted fluidly into one of theatrical uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, drawing out the tension of the moment and stroking his jaw like he was thinking. “I was hoping to save this design for someone special.” His blue eyes pinned you with a searching look, a charming smirk on his lips. “Are you special, sweetheart?”

Steve’s charm was turned all the way up, and you felt flustered under the weight of it. Not to mention that the way the pet name rolled off his tongue made you want to do anything he asked. Twisting your fingers self-consciously, you ducked your head a little. 

“Well, I—I don’t know,” you admitted, but for some reason, your thoughts strayed to the dark pleasure you sometimes felt when you frightened others with scary stories. Did that make you special, or just a little bit depraved? You didn’t know, but you hoped it was both, and that both were equally appealing to Steve.

The tattoo artist leaned back down on the counter, the veins of his forearms bulging from his skin as he crossed his arms. Since he’d ducked down, he could easily catch your lowered gaze.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” he purred softly, his tone inviting you to lean in. So you did. 

A soft smile curled your lips when you smelled his cologne, and you relaxed a little while he kept talking in that alluringly deep voice of his. 

“Where would you like my design on your body?” 

A shiver of desire thrummed beneath your skin at the implication of Steve’s words. There was something so enticing about the way he’d phrased his question—his design on your body. It called to the darkness buried deep in your heart, and you began to suspect he somehow knew you were a little depraved. Like him. 

Steve held your gaze for a long moment, and you thought you saw something shift in the depths of his blue eyes, like a shadow passing in front of the sun. But it was gone just as quickly, and you questioned whether your eyes were playing tricks on you. 

Shaking yourself free of your strange thoughts, you finally managed an answer. “My ankle.” But it seemed your mouth had a mind of its own, because you found yourself flirting with the hot tattoo shop owner, a smirk curving your lips as you went on. “Do you think my ankle would be worthy of your design, sir?” you asked with feigned innocence.

As you watched for Steve’s reaction, you were rewarded with the sight of his eyes darkening, his pupils blowing wide like he greatly enjoyed the fact that you were flirting with him. His mouth spread into a hungry grin and he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully while he considered you, finally coming to a decision.

“Mm, I think your ankle is the perfect place for my design, sweet girl,” he rumbled, smiling to himself like he’d made a joke only he understood. Then his fingers were trailing lightly along the line of your jaw, distracting you with the tingling warmth they left in their wake as he stood up. “I’m going to enjoy this very much,” he murmured enigmatically before pulling away.

Your mind was too frazzled by his touch and how bereft you felt without it to wonder over his words. Besides, he was already calling for Natasha, who emerged from the back of the shop to help you through the rest of the intake process. It was only then that you realized she’d left you and Steve alone at the counter a while ago. 

She slid smoothly in front of you with that friendly smile of hers while Steve retreated into the back to begin setting up. Natasha walked you through all the paperwork, none of which was new to you. That was why you felt comfortable not fully reading the fine print. 

You should’ve read the fine print. 

Once everything was signed, Natasha led you into the back and showed you where to stow your purse. She pointed to the privacy screen where you could take off your tights and boots, then helped you into the tattoo chair at Steve’s station. 

When you were settled, Natasha bid you and Steve a good night and grabbed her own things before leaving out the back door. It was a little abrupt and you were left feeling confused.

You asked Steve if the shop was closing for the night—it seemed a little early, especially for a Friday. And he explained that he’d decided to close the shop early since they had no more appointments and were unlikely to get any other walk-ins. 

For a moment, you fretted over keeping him late, but he waved away your concerns. 

“There’s no where I’d rather be than tattooing my design on you, pretty thing,” Steve murmured charmingly while he pulled on some black latex gloves. 

The earnestness in his voice soothed your anxiety and you relaxed back into the black leather chair, your legs propped on the footrest while Steve created a stencil of his design. Soon, the two of you were so engaged in a discussion about where exactly on your ankle to place the tattoo that you forgot you were alone with the handsome owner of Hell. 

After trying a few things, you decided to have the beautiful design lay across the front of your ankle, the sides wrapping around to the back so it’d look like a permanent adornment. You smiled when Steve complimented the placement you’d chosen and felt heat suffuse your cheeks at his praise. 

It all felt mostly familiar to you, someone who’d gotten a fair amount of tattoos in your life. But what you hadn’t been prepared for was the way Steve’s hands would feel on your body, the smoothness of the latex belying the warmth of his skin as he curled his fingers around the back of your leg to pull your foot onto his lap. 

Warmth cascaded from the top of your head down through the rest of your body in a gentle, tingling shower, settling heavily between your legs. You pressed your thighs tight together, both to stave off the ache that was building there and to make sure you didn’t accidentally flash the hot tattoo artist.

You weren’t looking at Steve’s face, your gaze tracing the dark black ink decorating his skin and curling beneath the cotton of his shirt, but you thought you saw something flicker over his expression as he took in your reaction to his touch. You almost thought you saw dark shadows creeping into his gaze, blotting out his blue irises and making him look…demonic. 

But when you flicked your gaze up to his, his eyes were a normal, glittering blue. You gave him a small smile and internally shook yourself, chalking up the moment to a trick of the light.

It was dim in the back room, with only a few warm lights positioned in Steve’s corner of the space. Natasha had closed up the rest of the shop, leaving you and Steve alone in the space, which was separated from the front by a wall and a doorway covered in a thick, maroon curtain. 

The walls of the shop were painted black and covered in more of the same artwork you’d seen in the waiting area. The main difference was all the tattoo equipment and the floor that was a bare dark wood, instead of the burnt orange carpet that covered much of the front room. 

Hell was dark, eerie and intimate, and you suspected the atmosphere must be getting to you, that was the only thing that explained what you’d seen in Steve’s eyes. Yes, that must be it, you told yourself, settling into the chair and letting Steve get to work.

The buzzing of his tattoo needle filled the silence and you prepared yourself for the pain that you knew was coming. Little did you know just how much pleasure you’d feel that night as well.

Nothing about the tattoo process seemed amiss until more than halfway through, when you began to feel a strange kind of tingling in your ankle where Steve worked, the sensation slowly creeping up your leg. It settled heavily between your thighs, making your core ache with a yearning emptiness as your slit leaked wetness into your panties.

It wasn’t painful, the tingling feeling, but it was unnerving, like it didn’t belong to you, and you couldn’t understand where it was coming from. 

“Uh-uhm, Steve?” you started, a hint of a whine in your voice, though it was mostly drowned out by the concern you felt. You sat up straight, forcing yourself to ignore the urge to rock your hips and grind yourself against the leather seat of the chair. “Can we take a break? I feel…weird.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Steve purred, instantly pulling the needle away from your skin and wiping away blood and excess ink with a small towel. After he’d deposited the tattoo gun and cloth on his station, he turned back to you, blue eyes filled with concern as he removed his gloves. “You ok?” he asked, his warm hands massaging the back of your leg that was still draped in his lap.

The urge to moan at the feel of his bare hands on your skin was almost undeniable. It felt so good to have his strong fingers kneading your muscle and you flopped back into the chair, pressing your lips together to stifle the sound of pleasure that wanted to slip free. But you couldn’t stop the way your hips squirmed, your body aching for something… 

“I think so,” you said, finally answering Steve’s question with a tremulous smile. You still felt the odd sensation pulsing up your leg and slipping between your thighs, prompting a delicious throbbing in your core, but forced yourself to ask, “There’s nothing strange in the ink, right? Something I could be allergic to?” 

An allergy was the only explanation you could come up with, even though it didn’t really make sense. You’d gotten plenty of tattoos, surely you would’ve had an allergic reaction years ago if that had been a possibility. And the way you felt wasn’t like any allergic reaction you’d ever heard of. 

You looked at Steve with wide, imploring eyes, hoping he could make sense of what you were feeling.

He shook his head, his fingers working higher to knead the muscle of your calf, nearly pulling a moan from your lips that would’ve drowned out his answer.

“I promise the ingredients are all-natural,” he said, his tone earnest and reassuring. “There’s nothing that would cause an allergic reaction.”

Your head fell back against the leather chair, missing the way Steve’s mouth curved into a devious smirk, and tried to gather your thoughts. The strange tingling sensation had calmed, you thought, having been replaced by the feeling of warmth that Steve’s touch inspired. 

Shaking yourself lightly, you told yourself it must’ve just been the tattoo needle hitting a nerve or something. You’d never had that feeling before with any of your other tattoos, but it must’ve been something to do with Steve’s method. It hadn’t been painful, so it didn’t mean something was wrong. It was fine. You told yourself you would be fine.

“Ok,” you said softly on a sigh, letting yourself sink into the comforting massage of Steve’s fingers. Your body felt a little heavy, a throbbing desire pulsing in your core, but suspected it had more to do with the hot tattoo artist’s fingers than anything else.

Blinking your eyes open, you met Steve’s steady, patient gaze. 

“We can keep going,” you said, giving him a smile that you hoped looked brave.

You must’ve succeeded, because Steve’s mouth curved into a pleased grin and his hand slid higher up your leg and settled on your thigh just above your knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. His big palm on your bare skin sent a riot of sensation through your body, and when he squeezed you, you felt a mirroring clench of your inner muscles, your body aching to be filled.

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured affectionately, his blue eyes glimmering with so much proud satisfaction that you felt your face heat and you ducked your head to hide a giddy grin. 

Steve gave your thigh one last squeeze before pulling away to put on a new pair of gloves and refill his tattoo needle.  While he worked, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh silently, your skin feeling much too cold without him touching you.

For the rest of the tattoo, you tried to sit still while the tingling warmth rolled through your body, settling deliciously between your thighs and teasing your throbbing core until you were dripping into your panties. You had the absurd urge to spread your legs, to beg Steve to fill you—with his fingers, his cock, anything, so long as it put an end to the ache pulsing insistently in your body. 

You tried to be good, to be still and quiet so Steve could finish your tattoo. But apparently you weren’t doing as good of a job as you hoped. 

“If you keep squirming, ‘m gonna have to tie you down, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, his head bent low over your ankle while he worked diligently. 

His voice was so low and deep, you swore you could feel it in your belly, the delicious rumbling tenor teasing your clit, and your hips shifted again, your thighs clenching tight against your needy slit. 

“Sweetheart,” he growled in warning, his hand gripping your foot firmly and tugging on it hard enough that you slid a few inches down in the chair. 

It took every ounce of your self-control not to whimper with desire at the evidence of Steve’s strength. Your imagination flooded with visions of him tossing you around in his tattoo chair, bending you over while he pressed his bulge into your ass or flipping you onto your back and folding you in half so he could pound into your pussy. 

A whine clawed up your throat, desperation flooding your body and making you want to writhe and beg and plead, but you bit it all back. Forcing yourself to be still, you asked, “Are you almost done?” in a tight, tense voice. 

“Almost done,” he confirmed, his voice soothing. He looked up briefly, giving you a rakish grin. “You can be good for me, can’t you, sweet girl?” 

Your heart lurched in your chest. It was all you wanted, to be good for Steve. So you nodded eagerly and tried to relax back into the chair. Your fingers were digging into the padded leather of the armrests and you pushed yourself deeper into the reclined seat, doing your best to ignore the heat and desperate, aching, insistent need pounding through your body.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you said on a small huff, your eyes shut tight so you couldn’t see Steve’s reaction. Your voice was little more than a whine as you went on, “I’ve never felt like this.”

You heard Steve chuckle, the sound rolling over you like a deep, delicious wave. Then, just barely over the buzzing of the tattoo needled pressed to your skin, you thought you heard him say, “Just wait, sweet thing,” in a dark, ominous voice you hardly recognized.

But you didn’t have a chance to try to parse out what he meant, because suddenly, you felt the sensation of a cold, hard shackle closing around your ankle.

It felt so real, and so at odds with the sensation of Steve pulling the needle away from your skin, that your whole body jerked. Quickly, you sat up and stared down at your leg, but there was no metal cuff. Only the tattoo. Finished.

Fresh black ink shimmered from your skin, and you had a brief moment to appreciate the artistry of Steve’s work, the beautiful, intricate design of the symbol. The phantom feeling of a manacle wrapped around your ankle remained, and you looked up at Steve, finding him wearing a smug, devious smirk. 

You couldn’t make sense of his expression, and in the next breath, it didn’t matter, because the fire that had been simmering in your blood suddenly blazed into an inferno. You couldn’t help the pained cry that fled your lips as you fell back into the chair, desire burning a demanding path through your body and tearing through your mind. 

Your legs fell open on the leather seat, a pornographic moan slipping from your lips when the cool air of the tattoo shop brushed against your inner thighs. Your fingers tugged fussily at your sweater, trying to claw off the once-cozy garment that suddenly felt too heavy and constricting against your scorching skin. 

Your eyes swiveled in your head, seeking and finding Steve, who was standing beside the chair and staring down at you. His gaze was lit with a depraved fire and his mouth was curled into a delighted grin.

“Aw, poor little plaything, are you feeling hot and bothered?” he cooed at you in a mean, patronizing tone that was so at odds with the charming affability you’d come to expect from the tattoo artist that you felt like you’d been slapped. 

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Steve’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, his smile hitching wider, growing more hungry and more eager at the same time. Leaning over your squirming body, Steve stroked the tips of his fingers down your cheek.

Your body’s reaction to his touch was instantaneous. The burning, blistering pain of need calmed enough that it no longer hurt, and you chased Steve’s fingertips instinctively, associating his contact with relief. He let you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, chuckling darkly when you sighed happily, your mind moving too slow to process what was happening.

“Should we get this cumbersome sweater off you, sweet thing?” Steve murmured, his hands curving around your shoulders before stroking down your sides. His thumbs brushed over the tips of your breasts and your spine arched off the chair, pushing into his touch, needing more. 

You were so hot, so achy, so needy, and you somehow knew Steve was the only one who could help you feel better. Distantly, you knew it was highly inappropriate to let your tattoo artist undress you, even one as hot as Steve, but in that moment, you didn’t care. His touch through your sweater wasn’t enough—you needed him to touch your bare skin. 

So you nodded frantically, whimpering, “Yes, please, Steve, help.”

The man laughed, a dark, evil chuckle rumbling from his chest. 

You didn’t understand what was funny, but you didn’t protest because his big hands slipped under the hem of your sweater and he touched you properly. His palms were warm, his fingers calloused and rough against your belly. 

You sucked in a surprised breath when his touch sent sizzling tingles of pleasure through your body, gathering in your throbbing slit and making more wetness gush into your panties. 

If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve felt embarrassed over how wet you were from Steve sliding his hands up your stomach, but all you could do was revel in the pleasure his touch brought you. Your mouth curved into a delirious smile as you stared dazedly up at the supernaturally handsome man like he was the center of your universe.

Slowly, almost torturously, Steve slid your sweater up until it bunched above your breasts and he paused. His hands wrapped around your ribs, thumbs stroking over your skin beneath the band of your bra. He stared down at you, his blue eyes nearly glowing with hungry desire as his gaze raked over the lace containing your breasts.

Your chest heaved with your gasping breaths, and you took the moment to try to settle. The fire in your blood didn’t burn painfully with Steve touching you, but you still wanted—no, needed—more. Your hips squirmed in the leather seat and a whine clawed up your throat until it spilled free.

“Steeeve, please,” you begged, staring up at the tattoo artist with wide, imploring eyes. At the same time, you lifted your arms above your head and sat up a little in an effort to get him to pull your sweater the rest of the way off. Instead of spurring him to move, though, it had the opposite effect. 

Steve went still, closing his eyes like he was savoring the sound of your whining voice and begging words. When he opened them a moment later, they appeared darker—the soft, sky blue of his irises darkened to an almost midnight black, with inky swirls of darkness creeping in from the edges.

Then he blinked, and his eyes went back to normal. 

You were too distracted by your body’s need to think much about the fact that his eyes had gone nearly pitch black—that he’d looked, for a moment, like one of the monstrous demons from the art adorning the walls of Hell. 

Your delirious, desirous mind let the moment slip by unquestioned, instead focusing on your lust—and on Steve. 

“Lift up for me, pretty thing,” he cooed, his tone almost gentle despite the grit and gravel in his voice. 

You did as he said, lifting your back away from the chair so he could pull your sweater off, leaving you in just your bra, skirt and panties on his tattoo chair.

In the short moment when Steve’s hands deserted your body, the blazing inferno of need returned. You groaned in pain, reaching for Steve and latching on to his wrist. The burning sensation abated the second you touched him, but you didn’t stop there, dragging his hand back to your body and sighing in further relief when you pressed his palm to your breast. 

You didn’t know if Steve pushed you back into the chair or if you fell back and he followed, but he leaned over you, his big hands kneading your tits through your bra. A moan tumbled from you as you sank into the feeling, melting beneath his touch. It just felt so good—and the rougher he got, the harder he groped your tits, pulling and pinching on your nipples through the lace of your bra, the better it felt.

“That’s it, plaything, moan for me—let me hear how much you love it when I abuse your tits,” Steve growled, leaning so far over you that his head blocked out the light above the chair. His face was contorted into a greedy expression, his eyes sharp and hungry as he watched pleasure dance across your features. “You’re such a dumb little doll, you have no idea what’s heppening to you, do you?”

His tone was mean and mocking, but your body responded to the deep tenor of it all the same, wetness gushing between your thighs while your hips writhed on the leather seat, seeking something to grind against. 

Your mind was hazy with lust and pleasure and confusion. It took you a long few moments to understand what he’d asked and when you did, it sparked a bit of fear. But even that dissolved into pleasure and you moaned, your hands clinging to Steve’s wrists—not trying to pull him away, just anchoring yourself to him. 

“Wha-what’s happening to me?” you whined breathlessly, blinking your eyes up at Steve with an equal amount of uncertainty and trust. You still didn’t realize he was the reason for what was happening, but you’d come to learn that soon enough. Not that it would matter.

“Oh, baby, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that,” Steve cooed, his tone changing so quickly back to gentle and reassuring, it nearly gave you whiplash. 

Still, pleasure swirled in your chest at the sweet praise in his words, even if they were more than a little condescending. A smile curled the corners of your lips, but you forced yourself to focus. There was something you wanted to know—something Steve knew, and you were determined to get the answer from him. You knew it was important, even if you couldn’t remember why.

“Steve, pleeease,” you whimpered, your words dissolving into a moan when he shoved the lace cups of your bra down and pinched your nipples harder, pulling and twisting them until your spine was arching up off the leather seat. It took you a long moment to remember your train of thought and continue on. “Tell me, Steve, please, I can handle it—what’s happening to me?” 

A wide smirk spread across Steve’s face and his eyes flickered with shadows that seemed to want to consume his gaze the same way he looked like he wanted to consume you. Bending over your squirming, twitching body, Steve’s face hovered just above yours, an evil kind of mischief in his expression. 

“If I tell you, do you promise you’ll take it like a good girl?”

Images assailed your imagination—Steve shoving his cock deep in your cunt, growling at you to take it like a good girl while he fucked you like a bat out of hell. Steve pounding into your mouth, grunting his pleasure as he spilled down your throat and ordered you to take it like a good girl. Steve stretching your ass around his cock, smoothing a hand down your spine as he cooed at you in that meanly patronizing tone to take it like a good girl. 

A loud, debauched moan slipped from your lips as bliss pulsed through your body. It took you a long moment to push the images from your mind and gather your scattered thoughts enough to blink your eyes open and nod up at Steve.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you said fiercely, knowing somewhere deep down that if you were a good girl for him, the visions you’d had would become a reality. And you wanted so badly for them to become a reality—at any cost. 

A devious, delighted grin spread across Steve’s face at your answer, satisfaction shimmering in his eyes. Then one of his hands let go of your breast and skimmed down your body, over your hip and down your leg until his fingers circled your ankle, just above the tattoo he’d given you. 

“This design you chose, it’s not just something I designed—it’s my mark,” he purred, putting emphasis on the last two words as if you’d know what that meant. But you still didn’t understand what your tattoo had to do with what was happening to you. His explanation just made you more confused.

“What does that mean?” you whimpered, your voice desperate and pleading. You wanted to understand, you wanted to be good for Steve and grasp whatever it was he was trying to tell you, but the meaning of his words was still out of reach.

“Think hard, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, his voice turning sweet in a way that had your belly swooping deliciously. 

When you still didn’t seem to understand, Steve’s hand slid down, his palm covering your fresh tattoo and you gasped. His touch against the mark felt like he was yanking on a thread that had been tied behind your belly button. It felt like you were tethered to something…to him, you realized. 

You were tethered to Steve by some sort of magic. The mark he’d tattooed on your skin had bound you to him…

All the air fled your lungs as comprehension sank into your mind. Your face twisted in shock and understanding, though the expression didn’t last long. 

“There it is, that’s my girl,” Steve praised, squeezing your ankle and pressing his palm more firmly down on the mark. 

The touch dragged a reluctant moan from you as pleasure swirled through your body, and you weren’t certain if it was your own or the result of the bond between the two of you. When you got control of yourself, you glared up at the devious tattoo artist, letting him see the betrayal written plainly across your face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, baby,” Steve rumbled, his other hand wrapping around the front of your throat and tipping your chin up while he bent down until there were mere inches between you. “You heard the story, and you ignored its warning.” He tsked at you, shaking his head when you only narrowed your eyes in anger. “You weren’t careful about getting tattooed on Friday the 13th and now you’re enslaved to a dark force—you’re enslaved to me.”

He didn’t give you a chance to react to that declaration, only closed the distance between your lips, covering your mouth with his own to steal a kiss. And, god help you, what a kiss it was. 

Steve’s mouth slanted perfectly to yours, his lips soft and seeking as they brushed against yours. His tongue flicked out, licking along the seam of your lips as if asking for entry, and you were helpless to the pleasure he offered. 

Your lips parted with a soft gasp, an invitation if ever there was one, and he wasted no time slipping in. Steve took possession of your mouth, plundering your body while his hands held you firmly pinned beneath him. 

It wasn’t long before you were moaning into his mouth and kissing him back, your fingers plunging into his soft, blond hair and nails digging into the skin at the nape of his neck until he was growling into your mouth. 

His hand around your neck squeezed harder, choking you lightly in retaliation for the bite of your nails and you pulsed with so much heat, you cried out sharply, the sound transforming into a whine of need. 

Steve nipped your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the coppery taste mixed with the heat of his tongue as he licked it from your mouth. When he pulled away a moment later, you could see the traces of red staining his lips—though that wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the sight of his eyes. 

Writhing shadows had blotted out the blue irises of his gaze, leaving only two fathomless pools of darkness shimmering in the warm lights of Hell. A shiver raced down your spine, unease and curiosity filling your chest as you stared at the suddenly inhuman visage of the handsome tattoo artist. 

Steve Rogers was still attractive, even with the unnatural eyes of a demon, but the shadows in his gaze changed the terrain of his face. His teeth looked sharper in his mouth, and the curve of his smirk looked more cruel. His jaw looked more angular and his body seemed bigger, broader, more intimidating as he loomed above you. 

And yet…

You liked how Steve looked when he’d shed the pretense of humanity. He was somehow, impossibly, hotter. More dangerous, sure, but also freer in a way that you found enticing. 

It took you a moment, your mind swimming with pleasure and the tingling remnants of his kiss, to pinpoint exactly what you liked about seeing Steve without the guise he must’ve been wearing. He was more himself. And this version of him, this demonic visage, called to the darkness inside of you in a way that made you feel like he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

Pressing a palm to your forehead like you could push that thought straight out of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the present. “Nooo,” you moaned in a small voice, mostly to yourself because you were already thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to belong to Steve, especially if he belonged to you, too. 

But, for all you could feel the bond between you and the demon strengthening and solidifying as your tattoo healed supernaturally fast, his desire and lust mixing with your own, he still couldn’t read your mind. And he must’ve thought you were protesting the newfound connection between the two of you.

“Ohh yes, sweetheart,” Steve growled, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat and tipping your face up so he could see your eyes. 

The two shimmering pools of darkness were writhing with agitation, and you stared at them in wonder, your mouth falling open with awe. They were just as beautiful as his human eyes, looking like the surface of the deep ocean at night. 

“You’re mine, pretty little plaything,” Steve rasped, his voice low and dark and vehement, like he was determined to make you understand your new reality. “Your heart, your body, your soul—it’s all mine,” he went on, pausing only to capture your lips in a brief, but searing kiss, like he was marking you all over again. “You’re bound to me for eternity, baby, enslaved to all my whims, and I bet you know what I want rigt now.”

You did know. You could feel Steve’s lust slinking through the bond, flooding your body and creating the burning need that was so painful when he wasn’t touching you. But beneath it, you could feel your own desire, too. The yearning you’d felt for the tattoo artist that had only grown since you’d discovered his true nature as the demon from the Friday the 13th legend. 

Watching your face keenly, Steve let go of your ankle, grabbing one of your wrists and bringing your hand to the bulge in his pants. It was so big and hot and hard, even through the stiff denim of his jeans, that you whimpered. But you didn’t pull away, letting Steve use his grip to make you stroke his cock. And when he groaned his pleasure, your fingers tightened, giving his thick length a curious squeeze. 

“This is what you do to me, pretty girl, this is why you’re the one I chose,” he growled, his voice so deep, it sounded animalistic. “I knew from the moment you walked into my shop with your sweet little skirt and your dark little heart that you were going to be mine—and now I’ve got you.” 

It occurred to you to ask what he meant about your heart, but you suspected you knew. He’d looked deep into your heart and soul saw the darkness there—and it was exactly what he wanted. 

The knowledge that you were what he wanted filled you with a sense of pride, and you took over from Steve. You stroked his cock through his jeans without his guidance, squeezing him while you stared up at him, devotion written across your face while you pressed your throat into his hand, knowing the tattoos on his fingers were making a pretty necklace.

“You’re my precious little plaything, aren’t you, baby?” Steve cooed at you, sweeping his thumb over your jaw and swiping it across your lower lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy being mine.”

You ducked your head, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking on him, your eyes going heavy lidded as you nodded your agreement. Steve grunted a pleased sound.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he purred, pressing his thumb onto your tongue and pushing deeper into your mouth. “You’re gonna be such a good fucktoy for your demon master, aren’t you?”

You could feel Steve’s cock twitch beneath your fingertips and you squeezed him harder, moaning when you felt an answering pulse deep in your cunt. The burning desire that had been held at bay by the realization of what exactly he was and what he’d done to you returned with a fury that would not be ignored.

“Yes, master,” you murmured obligingly after tipping your head back to slide him from your mouth. You pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb and smiled up at Steve, your eyes hungry and eager.

The demon’s gaze darkened further somehow, filling with greed and lust and just about every sin you could imagine—all promising to do dirty, filthy things to your body in the name of slaking the desire that burned brightly in both of you. 

“I knew you were perfect,” he growled, grabbing your throat and pulling you in for another kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss inciting the fire in your body to burn hotter, making the throbbing between your legs impossible to ignore. 

While he kissed you breathless, your fingers kept stroking his cock through his jeans, your other hand sliding beneath the hem of his t-shirt to rake your nails through the thin trail of hair dusting his abs. Both of you groaned at the contact, Steve’s tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips thrust against your palm. 

Just as quickly as he’d dragged you into the kiss, Steve pulled away, shoving you roughly back into the chair. Your back hit the padded leather, a light, “oomph,” of surprise tumbling from your lips. One of his hands gripped your thigh possessively, fingers digging into your soft flesh while he leaned down and pulled a lever somewhere on the chair.

The footrest dropped away, allowing Steve to step between your legs, his hands groping roughly at your thighs, your hips, your tits. A low rumbling growl sounded in his chest every time his hand touched a piece of your clothing, as if they offended him personally. You squirmed in your seat, trying to find the words to beg him to take off the rest of your clothes, but all you could manage was a desperate whine.

“Are you still feeling hot, baby?” Steve asked, his tone playfully condescending as he skimmed his hands up your bare legs and tugged on the hem of your skirt—which, at that point, was barely covering anything with the way your legs were splayed open around his hips. “Should we get rid of the rest of these tiresome clothes?” 

You were nodding your head before he even finished his question, his hands making quick work of unzipping your skirt and tugging on it until you lifted your hips so he could drag it down along with your panties. He stepped back so he could pull them off your legs, raking his gaze up your body and pointedly looking at your bra.

“Take it off, fucktoy,” he growled, his tone going mean again. 

The quick change of his mood had you gasping with surprise, even as his rough voice made you gush more wetness between your thighs. You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the demon’s mercurial moods, but you liked the unpredictability—it meant you’d never grow bored.

Scrambling to do as Steve said, you pushed forward from the chair to unclip your bra and ripped it off, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. When that was done, the demon shoved your legs open and stepped back between them, pushing your legs up to drape over the armrests of the chair.

“Good girl,” Steve rumbled, stroking his hands down your thighs, digging his fingers in suddenly, hard enough to make you squeal and squirm. He chuckled, looking like he enjoyed your reaction, and pushed your legs wider, spreading you so fully, you felt a twinge of discomfort in your hip. But the pain was soothed away a moment later by the pleasure throbbing through your body.

A sharp exhale gusted from Steve the moment he laid his eyes on your bare pussy. He was staring down at you like you were everything to him, like you were the center of his universe. He looked like he was a mere second away from getting down on his knees and worshipping at the altar of your body.

More surprising than the way he was looking at you was what you could feel through the bond tethering you to the demon. You could feel his devotion in your soul, the sensation curling round your heart and filling you with a sense of adoration that was both yours and Steve’s. 

As much as you were his, you knew, with absolutely certainty, that he was yours, too. For better or for worse.

But the longer Steve stared down at your body, his hands unable to stop touching you—exploring every inch of your skin, his palms cupping your breasts, thumbs stroking over you nipples before he curved his fingers around your ribs and skimmed down to your hips, feeling you, learning you—the more you began to believe it wasn’t so bad being bonded to a demon.

You hadn’t noticed your gaze had drifted away from the demon, staring unseeingly over his shoulder while you reveled in the feel of him touching you, until his hand came down sharply on your slit, slapping your pussy so sharply, you cried out in surprise, tears springing to your eyes. Pleasure and pain burned through you, writhing and fighting for dominance, and you were helpless to the sensation.

“Eyes on me, fucktoy,” Steve growled, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. His fingers dug into your cheeks, his face looming over yours while his hand came down again, spanking your cunt and making your whole body jerk in the leather chair from the sharp, stinging pleasure. “You’re my dumb little cock slave, and you’ll look at me like a good girl when I’m playing with you like you’re my own personal fuck doll—got it?”

The demon punctuated his seething question with another spank to your pussy, and it was the hardest of all, but though you expected pain, you felt only pleasure. A loud, pornographic moan, spilled from your lips while your mind swirled, your whole body throbbing like you were one big nerve ending. 

Forcing your eyes open, you found Steve watching you expectantly. You gasped for air and scrambled for words “Yes, master,” you cried, surprising even yourself when you shouted, “I’m your good little fucktoy!” 

Steve seemed appeased, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth while his fingers rubbed through your drenched folds. “You are, baby,” he assured you. “You’re such a good little plaything for your master.” 

His words were an alluring purr, soothing you. Then, he surprised you by shoving three of his fingers into your cunt, making your whole body shudder from the unrelenting and sudden fullness.

“Oh god,” you moaned, pleasure ricocheting violently through your body. You squirmed in the chair, feeling your pussy spasm with delight, your wetness gushing out of you and dripping down between your ass cheeks, making a mess on the chair. 

“God’s not going to help you now, sweet thing,” Steve rumbled with a smirk, pulling his fingers out of you before pushing them deep into your sopping wet hole again. “You sold your soul to me, He has no dominion over you anymore—you’re mine for eternity.”

His thumb rubbed your clit and you cried out helplessly, barely hearing his words as your body focused on the pleasure he was giving you. He pushed deeper, his fingers stroking a spot inside you that had your spine arching and your hips bearing down on his delicious intrusion. You were so wet, he fucked you easily with his three fingers, spreading them wide to stretch you open. 

“Oh fuck,” you whined, your whole body shaking with need while the demon fucked you slowly with his fingers. You watched them slide into you, your folds swollen and puffy from his rough spanking. He was moving with a torturous laziness and you squirmed, mewling for more, “Faster, Steve, please.” 

Suddenly, Steve’s fingers pulled free from your obscenely wet pussy, and a second later they were being shoved into your mouth. Your sweet, musky taste exploded on your tongue as the demon pushed them deep, making you gag on his slick fingers while he loomed above you. 

“What did you call me?” he seethed through gritted teeth, the dark shadows of his eyes roiling like a churning sea.

“M’m sowwy,” you mumbled around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin and tears spilling onto your cheeks. 

Steve’s mood immediately calmed at the sight of your tears and he made a soft shushing sound as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. “There, there, my sweet little plaything,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss and lick the salty tears from your skin. “I like it better when you call me master—can you be a good girl and call me master?”

The way Steve was bent over you, the bulge in his jeans pressed into your leaking cunt and you rubbed against him like a cat in heat, your hole aching to be filled, but you knew you had to answer his question first. 

“Yes, master,” you whimpered, “I’mma be a good girl, I swear.” 

“That’s my girl,” Steve purred, swiping the drool from your chin and pressing a kiss to your mouth. It was sweet and slow, his mouth praising you without words and making your head spin with the feeling of affection slipping through the bond. 

When he pulled away, Steve gave you a stern look, his brow lowered over his black eyes and his mouth pressed into a firm line. 

“Now, I can feel you rubbing your cute little cunt on my cock, baby,” he rumbled, his hands groping your thighs, but not pinning you down to make you stop. So you kept humping against him, your body shameless in its need for him. “But I want you to use your words—what do you want from your master?”

“Fuck me, master—please, oh g-fuck, I need your cock, master, please, please, please give it to me,” you babbled, blinking away the last of your tears to stare up into the handsome face of your demon. 

You could still feel his lust and desire and fondness thrumming through the bond he’d created, but beneath that, deep in your own heart, you felt your own affection swell. You’d had a crush on Steve before he’d sealed the bond, and—god help you—those feelings didn’t waver in light of his trickery. If anything, every touch, no matter how rough or soft, only strengthened them. 

Steve’s fingers dug into the plush flesh of your thighs, his grip possessive as he stared down at you with a satisfied smirk. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you beg for me, baby—not for a millennia, at least,” he murmured, ducking down to capture your swollen lips in a kiss. 

At the same time, he rubbed his bulge against your sensitive pussy, making you cry out so that he could swallow the sound down. 

Kissing him back, you whimpered into his lips, need burning through your body and making you impatient. Your fingernails raked down the front of Steve’s chest, reveling in the way his firm muscles contracted, and the sharp little breaths he took. 

You hooked your fingers under the lower hem and tugged the shirt up with a desperate whine until Steve yanked it off over his head, breaking your kiss for only a second. 

Your fingers explored the smooth planes of Steve’s chest, brushing over his beautiful tattoos as you traced his hard muscles. All the while, he kissed you, devoured you, his own hands kneading your thighs and your tits and plucking at your nipples until you were writhing mindlessly beneath him. 

“Please, master,” you keened, arching your spine and pushing your tits into his palms. “Fuck me, pleeease!” You tugged demandingly on the waist of his jeans, your fingers fumbling to undo the buckle of his belt.

Steve only chuckled maddeningly, rubbing his clothed cock into your sopping wet pussy while he pressed kisses to your jaw. 

“C’mon, baby, you can beg better than that, can’t you?” he rumbled, his tone playful and warm, but it quickly turned dark and demanding. “Beg me to split you open on my dick, to fucking ruin your pretty little pussy with my fat demon cock—use your filthy mouth, sweetheart, tell me all the dirty things you want your evil master to do to you.”

“Oh fuck, yes,” you groaned, squirming beneath him and humping shamelessly against his bulge. “Please, master—please ruin me, hurt me, abuse me,” you cried, not knowing where the words were coming from, but you suspected they were being ripped right from that dark place deep in your heart, your soul. “Fill my holes with your demon cock and pump me full of cum, wanna be bulging with your seed, master—wanna be your dumb little fucktoy for all eternity. Make me yours, please!”

You cut off on a broken, desperate sob, and Steve’s mouth covered yours with an animalistic roar, kissing you hard—like he was branding you all over again. It made you moan louder, kissing him back just as fervently.

Your head spun from Steve’s kiss, but you could feel his hands fumbling between your legs. Then, the hot, hard length of him smacked against your swollen, smarting pussy, making you cry out into his mouth. 

Steve drank down your sounds greedily, like they were the nectar of the gods. His tongue pushed into your mouth, licking into you as if trying to lap up your pleasured noises straight from their source.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” Steve praised when he pulled away, his voice silky and earnest in a way that made your heart warm in your chest. 

His mood had switched again, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the way it could shift like the wind. It was exciting and thrilling—like riding your own personal roller coaster. But no matter how his mood seemed to shift, you always felt his affection through the bond. Your demon was just fickle about how he liked to show that affection.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, ‘m gonna give you exactly what you want, sweet thing,” Steve went on, rubbing his hot, hard length through your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness. “Gonna bury my cock in your holes for an aeon, keep you dumb and drunk on my cock, gonna make you my precious little plaything.” 

“Yes, master, please,” you whimpered, your hands finding Steve’s waist and pulling your bodies closer, your ass sliding to the edge of the chair. “Fuck my tight little hole, please—please!” 

Something in Steve seemed to snap, and with a snarl, he folded you in half in his leather tattoo chair, pushing your knees to your chest and lining up the head of his cock with your weeping entrance. In the next breath, he shoved his cock deep into your cunt, splitting you open with such a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure that your screams filled the whole of Hell. 

Steve gave you only a moment to adjust to the sheer girth of his thick, massive cock before he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, the sound of his thighs hitting your ass making a loud clapping sound. 

Your mouth fell open, the most obscene, pornographic moans coming from your lips. Against your will, your eyes slid closed.

Grabbing the back of your head to hold it still, Steve slapped your cheek—hard—making your eyes fly back open. The stinging pain blurred into a deep, aching pleasure, and your cry of surprise devolved into a lewd moan. 

“What did I tell you, fucktoy?” Steve growled, slapping you again, harder. The pools of his eyes churned dangerously, his mouth twisted with determination as he reminded you of his earlier command. “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

Though you knew his strikes were meant to be punishing, he was keeping a tight leash on his strength. His hand smarted but he never truly hurt you. 

It was more degrading, feeling Steve slap your face, and you enjoyed it much more than you would’ve expected. The sounds of your desperate, depraved pleasure spilling freely from your lips. 

When you managed to focus your gaze on your demon, you found Steve watching you with a smug smirk on his face. 

“Do you like it when I slap you, sweet thing?” he cooed, his hips driving into yours, fucking you deep and hard with his thick cock while he held the back of your head. He didn’t wait for an answer, slapping you again, letting your face twist to the side before forcing you back to look at him. “Do you want me to hurt you more, pretty girl?”

“Yes, master!” you cried, surprising even yourself. But you were greedy for the mixture of pain and pleasure Steve offered, finding you were quickly growing addicted to the wicked way he made you feel. “Play rough with your fucktoy—please, master, I want it!”

“Good girl,” Steve purred, grinning wider and using his free hand to slap your tits, your thighs, anywhere he could reach. The sharp smacking sounds joined with the clapping of his hips against your ass and the obscene wet noises of your pussy being fucked. “You’re such a perfect little plaything, baby, taking it like such a good girl for your master.”

Steve leaned more heavily on top of you, his hips pressing his cock so deep, you sobbed with pleasure, feeling like he was pushing into your cervix. Pain and pleasure made your mind spin, and your hands clung to Steve’s thick biceps, your nails digging sharply into his skin.

Your demon hissed out a breath at the bite of your nails, his hips stuttering and fucking more powerfully into you. He slammed against a spot deep inside your cunt that had you thrashing beneath him in the leather chair, clawing at him even more.

“Fuck yeah, sweetheart, hurt me back,” he growled, his tone taunting you meanly as he went on. “Show me what ya got, I can take it.” 

Darkness rose inside of you, and though it was tempting to believe it was solely the effect of the demon’s mark on your body, you knew it wasn’t. This was the darkness that had grown within you over the years, the one that had called out to the demon and had been so pleased when he answered your call by binding you to him for an eternity of sinful servitude. 

Skimming your hands up to Steve’s shoulders, you didn’t miss the way he looked a little disappointed at your light touch. You curled your lips in an impish grin—the only warning you gave him before you dug your nails deep into his skin, dragging them down over his inked shoulders and biceps as hard as you could.

Though you didn’t break skin, dark red lines appeared on his pale skin where it shone through and Steve groaned loudly, his hips twitching before he picked up his pace. He fucked you faster, with punishingly violent strokes that had you babbling an endless stream of pleasured noises.

“That’s it, plaything, let it out—take it out on me,” he growled encouragingly. 

You didn’t know what exactly he was prompting you to let out, but you suspected it had something to do with the darkness churning in your chest. And his reaction, his pleasure in response to the pain you’d given him, lit something inside you. The darkness unfurled further as you finally let it free, and you felt Steve’s encouragement through the bond you shared.

Tilting your hips up so that Steve could pound harder and deeper into your pussy, you reached around to his lower back, raking your nails up the long length of his muscles. You pressed so deep, you would’ve gouged into a human’s skin. But your demon was made of sturdier stuff, and he simply grunted in pleasure, fucking you harder—so hard, it nearly hurt.

Steve was glorious above you, his demented coal-black eyes staring down at you with a fathomless greed you could feel thrumming in your own heart. It made you want to hurt him. It made you want to love him. 

Frightened by both impulses, you grabbed Steve by the back of his neck, digging your nails into his skin as you pulled him down. Instead of kissing him, though, your face buried into the crook of his neck and you sank your teeth into the spot at the base of his throat, the one free of ink, biting him hard enough you thought you might actually pierce the demon’s skin.

He tasted like fire and smoke and salt. 

Steve’s growling groan rumbled in his throat and you felt it against your cheek, moaning in answer while you licked his warm, golden skin. You sucked on him hard, wanting to leave your own mark on your demon, sinking your teeth in further while his cock pressed deep inside you.

Your demon allowed it for a moment, then his hand wrapped around the front of your throat and he pushed you away, pinning you hard against the back of the tattoo chair while he climbed on top of you. The back gave way until you were laying flat and Steve’s big body was covering yours. 

The chair rocked dangerously, but stayed upright and Steve caged you in beneath him, fucking you in slow, lazy strokes.

“You bite me like that again, sweetheart, and ‘m gonna blow my load way too soon,” he grumbled, glaring at you, though there wasn’t any heat to it. Especially since you could feel his pleasure through the bond. 

“Oops,” you said, unable to hold back your giggle. Steve didn’t look nearly as amused as you felt, so you forced yourself to look a little contrite as you pouted and simpered, “Sorry, master.”

Shaking his head and huffing a laugh, you felt his humor slip through the bond and saw his mouth flicker in a smile. 

“Baby, baby, baby, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” he purred. Tilting his head to the side, he considered you with smirk. “You’ve only been bound to me for an hour and I’ve already corrupted you, sweetheart.” 

He ducked down, dragging his nose from the base of your throat up to your jaw, nipping at the spot just below your ear that had you moaning softly. Your legs clung to his sides, holding him close in the cradle of your body while he kissed your neck.  

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, even though you both knew it was the darkness in your heart that had drawn him to you in the first place, not that he’d corrupted you. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me, master,” you said sweetly, lifting your hips to meet Steve’s languid strokes, gasping when the tip of his cock hit that spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars. 

At your words, Steve huffed a laugh, burying his face in your neck and mumbling against your skin, “As if I’d ever be able to let you go.” He rocked into your body, wringing another moan from you as he grunted his own pleasure. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good, ‘m not gonna last much longer.”

“Master, please, ‘m so close,” you whimpered into his ear. You wrapped one of your arms around his broad shoulders while your other hand dove into his soft, blond hair. You clung to your demon while he dug his arms beneath your back, holding you pinned beneath his body so he could rut ferociously into you.

“Bite me, baby,” Steve growled, pounding into you with short, hard thrusts, grinding the base of his cock against your clit with each one. “Mark me—show me I’m yours.” His voice was a desperate, greedy rasp, his need thrumming through your body through the bond, and you couldn’t think of doing anything but indulging him.

Your teeth sank deep into Steve’s neck, in the one spot that wasn’t covered in ink, and sucked hard on his skin, licking his throbbing pulse point at the same time. He growled wildly, his thrusts turning harder and meaner, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your clit and rub ruthlessly.

You didn’t know which of you came first because it seemed like you both pushed each other over the edge in the same instant. 

The coil of pleasure deep in your belly snapped suddenly, and pleasure exploded through your body, leaving devastation in its wake as you screamed your release. At the same time, Steve groaned, long and loud, his cock throbbing deep inside your cunt while he spilled his seed into your fluttering channel. 

Your demon kept fucking you as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, your body clinging to his and milking his cock while he held you crushed to his chest. 

Your gasps for air turned to deeper breaths as you slowly came down from your peak, and you were distantly aware of Steve hauling you up from the chair and spinning around to sit while you sprawled in his lap.

As you recovered together, Steve’s fingertips danced up and down your spine while your head lay on his inked shoulder and you watched the red indents of your teeth slowly fade from his neck. A frown pulled at the edges of your mouth, and you wondered how on earth he’d managed to get tattooed if it was so difficult to leave a mark on his skin.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked in a deep, gruff voice, like he’d been on the brink of sleep. 

It took you a moment of being confused about how he could’ve possibly seen your frown before you remembered the bond. You still felt the tether to him, like a string tied behind your belly button, but you didn’t feel a tug on it until his palm skimmed down to your ankle and his hand closed over the tattoo he’d given you, which was healed somehow. 

“How did that heal so fast?” you asked, sitting up twisting around to look at your ankle. The sweeping, delicate curves peaked out from behind Steve’s hand, and you brushed your fingertips over the inked lines with wonder. 

“There was a drop of my blood in the ink,” Steve answered, and when you looked at him, he wore a mischievous smirk. “I told you the ingredients were all-natural, didn’t I?” he asked charmingly and shot you a wink, making you laugh and shake your head. 

But then your eyes fell on the spot on his neck where you’d bitten him. He’d healed so fast, you couldn’t see any trace of your teeth anymore, and you brushed your fingers over it sadly. Steve caught your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to each of your fingertips.

“There’s a special method to tattooing a demon,” Steve answered your unasked question, skimming his free hand down his chest and over all the other ink on his skin. “I can teach you how,” he offered.

Your eyes had drifted down to his chest, tracing the lines of the tattoos that had been hidden by his shirt, but at his words, you glanced up—and were surprised to see the darkness had receded from his eyes, leaving them a bright, sky blue. The look he was giving you was earnest, and you felt it reflected in the bond that hummed in your body.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, ducking your head into the crook of his neck and licking the spot you wanted to mark. 

He still tasted like fire and salt and smoke and you wanted to savor him for an eon. With a sigh, you gave into the urge, licking and kissing him idly while you cuddled into his chest. Steve held you securely, your body still impaled on his half-hard cock while his cum dripped out of you, and you thought you could stay like that forever. 

Instead, after a few moments, you asked, “So what happens now? Do you take me back to hell or the underworld or whatever?”

A chuckle rumbled in Steve’s chest. The sound reverberated through your sternum where you were pressed together and you smiled into his neck.

“I figured we’d stick around Brooklyn for a couple decades, then we can head down below,” he murmured, tracing patterns on your lower back with one hand while the other gripped your ass possessively. “I think you’ll like it there—I’ve got all kinds of fun toys to play with.”

You could hear the depraved excitement in his tone and snorted a laugh. But then something occurred to you and you pushed up from his chest to sit back so you could see Steve’s face. He looked confused by your suddenly serious expression.

“When you say toys, you don’t mean other people you’ve bound to you, do you?” you asked him with your eyes narrowed. Your focus was almost entirely on the bond, waiting for his reaction. You knew you’d be able to tell if he was lying, or hiding something.

But you felt only amusement from him, and watched as a grin spread across his face. “Nah,” he said, his hand wrapping loosely around the front of your throat to pull you in for a kiss. “I’m not actually the demon from the urban legend,” he confessed. “It’s just one of the ways we trick pretty little humans like you to sell your souls to us—you really should’ve read the fine print of that contract you signed.”

You huffed an exasperated laugh, because what else could you do, and kissed your demon again. He chuckled into your kiss before deepening it, his mouth sliding possessively against yours. When he pulled away, he nipped your lower lip, soothing the sting away with his tongue as he growled into your mouth. 

“You’re the only soul for me, sweet girl.”

Your heart beat harder in your chest, and you felt his deep affection swirling with your own in your belly, twining together around your heart to create something real and deep. It was something that would grow and strengthen over the millennia you spent together.

You knew in that moment that there would be no running from the demon you’d unknowingly bound yourself to, and that you wouldn’t want to escape him anyway. Steve may have tricked you—and you’d make him grovel for your forgiveness for at least a century for that—but he was yours now, just as surely as you were his. 

“You’re the only demon for me, Steve Rogers.” 

You moaned for your demon when his hands grabbed your hips and began bouncing you on his hardened cock. His cum was still leaking out of your cunt, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared. Your kisses turned messy with your grunts and groans of pleasure, your bodies pushing each other toward the edge of another release as you gave in to the insatiable need you both felt for the other.

It would be a long time before that need was finally sated—so long that it was no longer Friday the 13th by the time you stumbled out of Hell, Steve’s heavy arm draped around your waist. His strong body kept you upright on unsteady knees while he walked you to his brownstone around the corner.

For years after that fateful Friday the 13th, you helped Steve keep up appearances as a tattoo artist, playing his devoted girlfriend during the day. Then at night, he took you home and made you his personal plaything, bending you over and fucking your ass with his fat demon cock or unloading his cum down your throat. 

In the rare moments when you weren’t fucking, Steve taught you how to tattoo, and the method of how to tattoo a demon specifically, all so you could leave your mark on his skin. You tattooed an outline of your teeth marks on his neck, in the spot he’d left open for you since the night you’d met.

You’d even included a drop of your blood in the ink, even though Steve said it wouldn’t strengthen the bond. But afterward, you did feel like you were close to him, and he admitted he felt it, too. 

Years later, Steve surprised you by asking you to marry him, and though you thought it was a little unnecessary, you said yes. It just seemed a bit like overkill to have a whole wedding ceremony when your souls were already bonded for eternity, but you had to admit it was a good time. Plus, all your friends and family cried happy tears—even the demons. 

Finally, when it began to get suspicious that you and Steve weren’t aging while the humans around you were, Steve passed on ownership of Hell to one of the other artists and he took you down below to the real thing. He carried you across the threshold of his house and welcomed you home, where you’d live happily together until you decided to go topside again.

There in hell, Steve spent centuries shattering you apart with his cock before rebuilding you, only to break you down into his dumb little fucktoy all over again. Together, you used every toy Steve owned. You were your master’s good little plaything while he delivered pain and pleasure that sent you to new planes of existence. 

Then, of course, Steve taught you how to use them all on him, too, because your demon master liked a little bit of pain, too.

You’d loved your time in Brooklyn with Steve Rogers, the tattoo artist and owner of Hell, but you loved your time in hell with your demon master even more. Together, you allowed yourselves to be truly free and give in to your darkness together. You allowed yourself to love him, and let him love you in return. 

It was everything you could have dreamed of, living a happy life for the rest of eternity with your demon in hell.

And all you had to do was follow one rule: When in hell, do as the demons do.

[pumpkin-cake]

hi this request isn’t for S4 i hope that’s ok!

but takes place in s2 where five strands everyone?

his spouse gets stranded a year and a bit before he gets there

and they made a career for themselves as a singer? maybe they have some sort of siren power or they are just naturally talented !?

but he finds them on a billboard or something that says where they will be performing next and they have a reunion where the reader has a love hate reaction to seeing him?!

sorry if this is a lot!!!

totally okay! i like all the other seasons better than 4 anyway lmao- this is actually an idea i have for my upcoming reboot of a five story i'd written, so i'm excited to sort of test it out! this turned out a bit more fem reader coded, but no she/her pronouns are used last i checked.

also my swiftie is coming out for this story, sorry to all you non-swifties ;-;

divider credited to @cafekitsune (lmk if you'd like me to remove it or anything of the sort!)

warnings: taylor swift (i love her actually but some people don't so)

The last thing you remembered was holding hands tightly with Five, and then he was ripped from your grasp, and you were falling ass first into an alleyway. Where did he go? Where were the others?

"Five..?!" You cried, hurrying out of the alleyway and bumping into somebody, who glared at you and walked off. You looked around and spotted a newspaper box, and you were over there before you could think. Your eyes scanned the paper. Year, year, what year was it?!

1960.

The sixties?! What the fuck?! All you could do was drop the newspaper to the floor, collapsing against the building wall beside you. You were the only one there. Some of your found-family wasn't even here yet, you'd imagine. There had to be some kind of time frame. You felt bad for whoever was put the farthest. Were you put the furthest in the past? What if you were super old by the time you found everyone again?! Well, you are already old, but what if you looked like it?!

All you could do was wait. You knew Five, he'd stop at nothing to save you and his family.

Unfortunately, there wasn't exactly anywhere to go. You looked pretty young and had no identification. You were wearing strange clothes, you didn't fit in. This felt like the apocalypse in a way, loads better obviously, but being alone? The worst feeling.

You had to stealth around, stealing and pilfering where you could. Sitting in alleys in the rain, starving. That was until you were dumpster diving behind some sort of bar. The heavy door creaked open and you froze inside the green box.

"Them damn raccoons again." A heavy southern accent was muffled to you, but you could tell it was a woman. You heard heels clicking on the ground and the dumpster opened and a broom whacked you in the head.

"Ouch!!!"

"Oh my heavens, yer a person!!!" The woman exclaimed, dropping the broom with a clatter. She reached over and helped you out of the trash, her nose crinkling. The woman was wearing a scantily clad flapper dress, a cute headpiece adorning her blonde hair. "What're ya doin' inside the trash, sweetie?" She asked with worry, brushing some garbage off you like it was nothing.

"Uh...I'm so sorry, I can go." You apologized, ready to get out before she called the cops like everyone else.

"Oh no, baby, no. Here, you come in, we'll getcha somethin' to eat." She assured you, ushering you inside. Some other women (and some men) that were dressed similarly didn't seem to mind. "Most of us here, came from poor too, we'll take ya in." She smiled, taking you to the back and providing you with a meal.

"Thank you...." You said, completely shocked at her kindess.

"Oh! Right, my name's Jess, nice to meetcha." She cooed politely, and you gave her your name through bites of food, making her giggle. "Tell me, sweetie, can ya sing? Dance? Anything of the sort?"

You paused. A golden opportunity was just presented to you. 1960. Some of your favorite artists haven't even been born yet. Not to mention your power dealt with your voice, similar to Allison's. You were frequently named The Siren in Umbrella Academy material. And, you didn't have any stigma to using it like Allison did.

"I write songs." You blurted, and a wide smile came across her face.

"Do ya?! Oh, you'll have to show Bruce then. He's the owner of the place." She hummed, and soon you were cleaned up and sitting in a private room on a nice sofa with a guitar in front of a sleazy looking man who looked like he'd run some kind of club with sexy women around to exploit.

"Alright, sweetheart. Show me whatcha got." He said, a fat cigar between his greasy looking fingers.

You took a deep breath. "Um...so...this song is called...." Shit, you had to think. You didn't have much time to come up with the song to sing. You had to pick a song that was popular in the modern era, maybe it would be good here too? But maybe you should stick to country. You were in Dallas, Texas after all. Not to mention you'd need to change some words if needed.

"C'mon, don't have all day." Bruce took a puff of his cigar, blowing the smoke into your face.

"Um. It's called...Mean." You blurted, and began to strum the guitar. Taylor Swift had been a hit as a country singer, this was a good idea in your mind. You were careful to control your power, and also make it believable. A southern accent and changing the word 'football' into 'baseball'.

As you sang, Bruce stopped focusing on his cigar and was completely focused on you and the shitty guitar you managed to make sound so good.

You finished the song and had a job immediately, with a small lie that you were 18. No liquor, but you could have beer! Thus began your career in that small club, becoming friends with the women who worked there. Soon enough you had the money for a small apartment. You despised the creepy looks men at the club gave you. All you could think of to continue was Five. He'd find you, right? Surely!

But after years? It was tiring. Dancing in sexy outfits in front of men with cigars, smoke and alcohol filling the air. The harsh lights on you while you had to make acoustic country covers of Taylor Swift songs. The more sexual songs like 'Dress' and 'Don't Blame Me' were your least favorite. You'd just have to withstand it. For days. And days. And days. And weeks. And years.

Five crashed into Dallas after witnessing the second apocalypse, with his hand empty. He forgot which sibling he'd been holding onto, but he knew he had you in his other hand.

"Shit, shit, shit!" He had hissed to himself, looking around and calling your name desperately. He'd never admit how panicked he currently was, and composed himself immediately upon the meeting of Elliott, some weird nerd.

"Alright, before I do anything." Five walked up to the man, looking up at him with fierceness. "Do you know anything at all about someone by the name of (Y/n) (L/n)." It was more a demand than a question. "If I find out you've been lying, I'll kill you." He threatened.

Elliott cracked immediately, telling Five he'd seen a billboard of that name recently. He didn't listen to music much, but their name was everywhere. Five was instantly gone, and was amazed to see your face on a huge billboard. You? A star? Not that you weren't talented, you absolutely were! You just weren't that kind of person. He asked around and found the club, teleporting in without an issue.

Ordering a drink, he sat as close to the stage as possible. A sleazy man you would absolutely despise walked out with a grin, golden teeth shining under the light as he began to speak. About you. Five clenched the glass of whiskey in his hand. This asshole looked so smug. Like you were his property.

Then you walked out with a shining silver guitar. He felt his breath leave him. "My God..." he hissed under his breath. You were gorgeous. He wasn't a fan of the makeup on your face, red lips and such. But you were glowing, looking so confident in yourself. You started singing 'You Belong With Me' by Taylor Swift, and he understood the situation quick. The folks around were immediately entranced, and it made him sick. You were using your power to reel them in, keep you popular and making money.

Your eyes met his and you faltered for just a moment, but no one else noticed as you kept singing. After the song was over, you gave him a look and walked backstage. Within seconds he was back there, so relieved to finally see you again.

"A singer, huh?" He said with a lopsided smile nobody else in his family got to see. "Not what I expected."

Your face dropped a tad, tears filling your eyes. "That's all you have to say to me?" You asked, and Five panicked. He hurried over and very gently held your face.

"No no, sweetheart, I'm sorry if that came off wrong. I'm so glad to see you." He quickly said, letting you fall into him for an embrace. "How long was I gone for?"

"Three years." You murmured, and he sighed.

"I'm sorry, I'm here now. You looked really good up there." He said softly. He decided to not tell you about the upcoming apocalypse. At least, not yet. When everyone was together.

"Thanks." You said with a weak smile, not at all letting go. Last time you let go, you were without him for 3 years. You didn't ever want to let go again.

fuck im sorry that ending was so rushed, but if it wasn't i wouldn't have had this out

[604to647]

Skittles

3.8K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: You catch Detective Tim Rockford in a compromising position.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please) - but it's all fluff (things start to move towards spicy near the end)!  Talk of prostitution (sex work is work!), nicknames (Shutterbug, baby), feather light dusting of angst, soft!Tim as usual 💕

A/N: Another instalment of The Rockford Portfolio! Because the collection of one-shots is non-linear, they can all be read as standalone - though there is a reference to something that happened when they first met in Marine Attraction. This one can take place anytime, but I imagine it to be earlier on when Tim and Shutterbug have started dating for a few months/they're in a newish established relationship. Graffiti Alley is a real place! There might be others, but the one I frequented (and where the moodboard pics were taken is in Toronto, behind Queens Street).

Series Masterlist

Photography themed dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

“Thanks for your help, Darlene.”

“Sure thing, boss.  Sorry no one showed.”

“Not your fault.  You sure it’s this alley though?”

Darlene, seasoned pro at the world’s oldest profession and one of Detective Tim Rockford’s longest standing and most trustworthy informants, gives him a withering stare, “I think I can remember where I gave the guy a blow job, Timothy.”

“Geez Louise, Darlene, alright – I’m sorry,” Tim throws his hands up in mock surrender.  Over the years, Darlene has provided him countless pieces of good intel – usually regarding the comings and goings of suspects or other persons of interest in his cases; her information always panned out - he didn’t have any reason to doubt her.

Theirs was a mutually beneficial arrangement, as most cop-informant relationships were.  He never busted her for soliciting, and to be honest, he probably wouldn’t have even if she didn’t help him.  In Tim’s mind, sex work was work and Darlene and her fellow sex-workers had the right to make a living, as long as everyone was being safe and no one got hurt.  He had a tendency to emphasize the safety part – Darlene and a few of her closer friends knew that if a client were to ever get rough or out of hand, a call to Detective Rockford would bring about an appropriate response. 

That Darlene had once tried to use Tim’s business card as a get-out-of-jail-free card was another story.

Early on in their arrangement, Darlene had offered to include some additional ‘perks’, but Tim had never taken her up on it; the power imbalance didn’t sit well with him and she eventually stopped offering, the possibility of their relationship being anything other than strictly professional evaporating years ago.   He knew other cops that didn’t object to mixing business with pleasure, and while Tim didn’t judge, it wasn’t for him. He saw it as his responsibility to take care of his informants, and he did so by paying Darlene one of his higher informant rates and providing her with some security in the knowledge that he was but one phone call away if she ever needed help; in return, Darlene kept an eye out for information that could help with his cases and she nearly always delivered.

Unfortunately, today was not one of those times.  Darlene had called and said that she had it on very "good authority" that a few of Mr. Pie’s men had been hanging out a lot in Graffiti Alley.  Darlene had overhead the men in question talking about Mr. Pie’s distribution network – an area of the Pie organization that Tim had been heavily investigating.  And as a result, Tim’s spend the better part of his Saturday sitting in his car with Darlene, parked in an inconspicuous alcove in said alley waiting for her to identify any of the men should they turn up.  No dice – during the daytime, Graffiti Alley is almost welcoming: people walk their dogs here, photographers and artists with sketch books come to be inspired by the ever changing graffiti art, even tourists wander through to admire the colourful murals. Apparently, the less than savoury characters only emerge at night.

Tim hands Darlene the envelope with her informant pay, which she accepts eagerly, “And do you have the other stuff?” 

“Of course.  Not my first rodeo, Darlene,” Tim reaches his long arm into the back seat of his car and grabs a small plastic grocery bag and hands it to her as well.

“Yesssss… you got Skittles this time,” Darlene digs into the bag, eyes eagerly looking over the selection of candy that Tim's given her as part of their agreement.  She selects the package of Skittles and starts to tear it open – eager for her sugary reward.

“In the car? Be carefu-,” starts Tim, but it’s too late.  Darlene pulls apart the wrapper just a bit too aggressively and the bag of candy explodes, scattering the little sugary rainbow orbs all over the front seats and floor of Tim’s department issued Crown Vic.

Darlene shrieks with laughter, “Sorry, boss!! I’ll clean it up!” and starts scooping up all the candy she can see.  Tim helps as much as he can, but he’s already groaning at the near guaranteed prospect that they won’t be able to find every spilled Skittle and days, weeks and even months down the line, he’s going to periodically find candy in his car – crushed, melted and sticky. 

Darlene leans over the centre console, hands groping around the floor of the driver’s side, feeling for errant candy.  Tim closes his eyes and sighs, “Don’t bother, Darlene.  And don’t eat candy that’s been on the floor, okay?”

“Tim?”

Tim’s eyes snap open at the sound of your voice coming from somewhere outside the car, not too far away.  He turns his head and looks out the window to you standing across the alley, a small smile of surprise on your pretty face – clearly not expecting to see him in Graffiti Alley where you had come to shoot photos.  Tim’s about to roll down his window to greet you when Darlene chooses this exact moment to pop her head up so it’s now visible to you from outside the car and Tim watches as your face goes from bemused to shocked.

---

You love Graffiti Alley.  It runs behind one of the city’s busier, more fashionable streets downtown. An alley in every sense of the word: dirty and lined with the bins and refuse discarded by businesses that only cared to maintain a posh appearance for their front of house.  But what the back walls lining the alley way lacked in cleanliness and refinement, it made up for in vibrant and exciting graffiti art.  You’ve come to admire and shoot the murals in Graffiti Alley many times before, but you returned often – the street artists frequently paint over, around, and even collaborate with each other so there’s always something new to see.  After a delightful brunch with your friends in the same part of town, you made your way over to Graffiti Alley with the intention of trying out a new lens you had downloaded which you suspected would pick up on the saturation of spray paint colour rather prettily.

Noticing several new murals you’ve never seen before, you had happily snapped pic after pic, rather pleased with the results when you checked your camera roll.  You’re looking through your latest set of photos, thinking that Tim might particularly enjoy a few of the bolder, stylized tags, when, almost as if you manifested him, you look up from your phone and see him sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, partially hidden in a shady alcove along a wider part of the alley way.

Tim's eyes are closed and he looks like he’s sighing – you knew he was working this afternoon, but looking around, there’s no one in this alley save him and you; thinking perhaps he’s taking a quick break, you call out his name.

Spying the look of recognition on his face when Tim turns to face you, you’re about to start walking over when the head of a woman pops up into view and based on the angle at which she appears, the only place her face could have been prior to surfacing had to be Tim’s lap.

You’re not sure what your facial expression conveys upon realizing that you've just caught the man you’ve been dating in the middle of receiving a blow job in a dingy back alley, but internally, you’re stifling a nervous type of laughter – this is awkward and mortifying.  Maybe later, you’ll remember to be hurt, but right now your confusion and embarrassment for the situation are protecting your heart.

Your instinct is to run away.  To put as much distance between you and Tim’s daytime dalliance as possible, as soon as possible.  The instant you spin on your heel, you hear the car door opening and Tim call out your name.

Only able to take two steps before you hear, “Shutterbug! Please don’t go!” accompanied by Tim’s hurried footsteps catching up to you, stopping you in your tracks - it'll be impossible for you to outrun him if he insists on chasing after you with those stupid long legs of his.

Did he even have time to zip up his pants?! You cover your eyes before turning around, not sure if you can choke down what would undoubtedly be a sign of hysteria if you have to come face to face with Detective Tim Rockford being caught with his literal pants down.

Tim puts his large, warm hands firmly over yours, gently pulling them down before he says softly, trying to catch his breath, “Baby, I promise it’s not what it looks like.”

Still afraid to look, you keep your eyes closed, and say in a rather sarcastic voice, “I’m not sure what you mean, Tim.  What does it look like?”

You hear Tim give a low chuckle, and your eyes fly open, Does he think this is funny?!  You’re ready to give Tim a piece of your mind but your outburst dies in your throat as soon as you see the desperate, near panicked expression on the big, strong detective’s face.  Normally so stoic and formidable (save with you), you don’t think you’ve ever seen Tim look quite so vulnerable.

He must register the change in your attitude, because Tim gently takes your hand in his and makes to lead you back to his car; the driver’s side door is still flung open and through it you can see the pretty, though tired looking woman sitting in the passenger seat looking at the two of you rather sheepishly. Softly, Tim pleads, “Come with me please, Shutterbug.  I’ll explain everything.”

When you arrive next to the car, the woman gives you a small nod when Tim introduces you to one another.

“Baby, Darlene is an informant who’s helping me with the Pie case.  She’s actually helped me with many cases over the years.  We have a long-standing professional relationship,” he hopes he's properly emphasizing the strictly business nature of his and Darlene’s relationship, “… part of which includes her exchanging information for diabetes.”

Tim makes a sweeping motion with his hand and for the first time you notice that the car floor mats, driver’s seat and all the little nooks and crannies of the centre console are all positively littered with Skittles.

You giggle, “There’s so much candy.”

“Yeah, well, I splurged for the family pack to be nice,” Tim rolls his eyes, but his shoulders release a little of their tension at the sound of your laughter.

Darlene comically holds up her hands to show you both of her fists, clenched full of candy, “The bag exploded and I was just trying to salvage what candy I could from the floor – Skittles are my favourite.  I promise I didn’t have your boyfriend’s dick in my mouth.”

You laugh loud and true at Darlene’s frankness – any and all uncertainty or insecurity you've been feeling evaporating in an instant.  When you feel Tim’s arm wrap around your waist, you lean into the firmness of his hold.  Looking up, you find him already gazing at you with look of devotion; he whispers, “Promise.”

Studying the earnestness in his eyes and the softening of his normally steely countenance, you believe him and whisper back, “Okay.”  The smile that breaks out across Tim’s face is nothing short of mesmerizing, warming you through and through – though you see it only for a moment before his mouth descends upon yours.  Lightly brushing your lips repeatedly, Tim nuzzles your nose and presses his forehead to yours – anything to stay close enough to feel the soft fan of your breath; he expresses his relief, his contentment and his desires, all without words.

“Dammmmnnn boss, you’re soft for her.”

“Darlene,” Tim’s voice stern, signaling an end to today’s stakeout.

“Right, got it.  Me and my bag of candy will be going now – sorry for the mess and … yeah, well, you know.  Anyways, I’ll call you if I see those guys again,” and with a wave of her rainbow colour stained hand, Darlene exits Tim’s car and saunters down Graffiti Alley.

Finally alone, Tim cups your chin with one of his paw-like hands, the other cradling the back of your head, and in a tender tone he pledges, “Baby, I would never, okay? Never with Darlene or any informant.  And now, not with anyone but you.  There’s only you.”

You kiss him softly to match the promise of his words before deepening the kiss, licking behind Tim’s teeth and letting his tongue tangle with yours so he knows you believe in him.

When you break apart, you’re in a teasing, jovial mood about the whole situation, “Not even with Darlene?  She seems fun.”

“She’s a handful is what she is,” Tim grimaces.

“But you still make sure she’s okay and take care of her,” you suspect that it’s no small deal to your gentle giant when people make the effort to help him; you look at him lovingly, appreciating that while he may not broadcast his kind and considerate nature, it likely drives all his decisions and actions.

“Well, I try,” Tim looks bashful under your admiring gaze.  He gestures to the mess in his car, “And look where it gets me.”

Giggling, you offer, “Want me to help you clean up the car?”

“Nah, there’s a car wash place nearby that has those vacuums.  I’ll take it there.  You wanna come, Shutterbug?”

Nodding, you go help Tim brush off what candy you can from his seat before rounding the Crown Vic and doing the same to the passenger seat.  Tim insists on putting down his jacket for you, and although you don’t think it’s necessary, you made yourself a promise when you first started dating Tim that you would never pass up an opportunity to see him wearing his gun holster.

As luck would have it, a high school soccer team is running a fundraiser at the car wash today, so you and Tim don’t have to do anything but sit on a bench and wait for the car to be cleaned.  You stifle a laugh as you watch Tim give a nervous, pimply teenager his keys after flashing his badge. Only when he returns do you tell him that he’s had a green Skittle stuck to the back of his slacks the entire time.

Tim sighs, with no actual air of annoyance, as you turn him around where he stands and take your time unsticking the candy from the fabric, making sure to run your palms unnecessarily over the swell of his ass, pretending to look for other rogue Skittles.

Tim looks back over his shoulder down at you, “You just about done there, Shutterbug?”

“Nope,” you chuckle, giving his butt another once over with your grabby hands before lightly slapping each cheek, watching in satisfaction at your boyfriend’s cute booty dancing a little. “Now I'm done,” you announce cheekily to Tim’s amused silent mouthing of 'Finally' to the sky.

Wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling your legs into his lap, Tim presses a soft kiss to your temple as you snuggle into his soft embrace.

“You know, I thought I might lose you today,” Tim confesses into your hair.

Tilting your head up, you meet his tired eyes, the rich browns deep and swirling, “Like if I hadn’t believed you and Darlene, and just left?”

Tim sighs and looks pained, reliving the flash of fear that ran through him earlier that you might want nothing more to do with him, “I would have understood.”

Cupping his distressed face in your hands and running your thumbs soothingly over Tim’s facial scruff, you hope he feels your sincerity when you assure him, “It’ll take more than that to get rid of me, Detective.”

“Don’t want to get rid of you.  Wanna keep you always,” murmurs Tim, closing the distance between your faces.  Mouth pressing to yours sweetly, unhurried but full of feeling – Tim drinks in your returned affections, thirsty for your reassuring and calm touch.

After your affectionate display attracts the hoot and hollers of the carwash teens, the two of you break apart, smiles goofy.  Still a ways to go before the car is finished, Tim asks if you shot any good photos in Graffiti Alley and you happily take out your phone and walk him through today’s captures. 

You’re nearly done showing him the colourful murals that caught your eye today when Tim suddenly straightens, “Wait, go back please, baby.”  You swipe back a few pictures until Tim points at a bright stylized tag and you give him your phone so he can study the screen.  After a minute or two, he resumes scrolling slowly through today's street graffiti pics, pausing only to take retrieve his case notepad from his jacket pocket – flipping to a page of notes and using it for reference while he intently scrutinizes your photos.

Silently, you watch the cogs in Tim’s mind turn, lost in his theories and the problem solving nature of detective work that he loves so much. You're always fascinated seeing him like this: in his element, where his brilliant mind and the shrewdness of his instinct meet, and he can seemingly conjure solutions to problems you don’t even understand out of thin air.

When he gets to the end of today’s camera roll, a brilliant, heart stopping smile illuminates the detective’s entire face, the type that if you weren’t already sitting would make your knees buckle.  He looks at you, roguish grin on full display, “Shutterbug, I have good news and bad news.”

Your shout of “Noooooooooooooooo!! Not again!” carries across the carwash, causing the teenagers to furiously debate amongst themselves who's to be the poor soul who has to come over to tell the two of you that Tim's car is clean.

You're incredulous. Your boyfriend really has to stop confiscating your phone for police work.

---

It’s a little past midnight when a persistent knocking wakes you up.  When you open the door to a sheepish looking Tim, he apologies but you don’t mind the late hour – not when you spy the glow of success stamped all over his handsome face and the spring in his step when he enters your apartment.

It’s clear that Tim, having gone straight to the precinct after dropping you at home this afternoon, hasn't gone home.  You pull him towards you for a tender kiss, concerned for the long hours he keeps, “You’ve been at work this whole time, detective?”

Taking off his jacket and shoes, Tim nods but looks the opposite of tired.  He’s excited and elated at the way the puzzle pieces of this case have started to fall nicely into place today, in large part thanks to you.

“Special home delivery,” Tim holds out your phone, voice full of gratitude.

“So my photos helped?”

Did they ever.  Tim eagerly shares with you the fruits of your joint labour – when you showed him your snapshots earlier, he had recognized some symbols discreetly painted into the graffiti art in a few of the photos.  The same symbols appeared over and over in coded messages that the police had intercepted between Mr. Pie and his distribution network.  The messages were unreadable and a source of great frustration for the detective squad until today, when Tim realized that the code breaking key was hidden in plain sight all over Graffiti Alley.  Tim had spent the rest of the day with the LAPD Cipher Team, decoding the messages they had on hand and setting up stings and operations necessitated by the freshly revealed information.

It had been a good day.  Tim grins at you and thanks you earnestly for your contributions. 

Slipping your fingers under the smooth leather of Tim’s holster straps, you give them a little pull – instead of pulling him towards you, Tim’s solid frame remains unmoved and your actions cause you to tip into his space.  Eyes all innocent, you blink at Tim, “I want to be paid in candy too”

Detective Rockford is on you in an instant, hungry and eager to reward you - for your help, your understanding of the nature of his work, your understanding of him.  Mouth never leaving yours, his hands roam expertly over your lithe body, slipping under the soft silk material of your lace trimmed sleep set.  Meanwhile, your delicate hands are decidedly less gentle as you tug and pull at Tim’s belt, pants, dress shirt buttons, undershirt – breathy whimpers of victory attempt to escape your occupied mouth every time your fingers relieve Tim of another piece of clothing. No patience for order, you litter your floor with his clothes to create a telltale trail leading to your waiting bed. 

A shirtless Detective Rockford rests his head on your fluffy pillows as you climb on top of him, worshiping you with his eyes, still unable to believe his incredible luck that such a goddess would allow him to worship at her alter.  You worship him right back – tracing soft shapes over his hard chest as you marvel at the goodness housed within and the quiet strength of his broad shoulders and muscles.  Though your touch gives him nothing but pleasure, Tim removes your hands from his chest by your wrists and brings them to his lips, gently kissing them before raising them over your head so he can remove your camisole.

With you straddling his hips, bare and gorgeous only for him, Tim hardens fast under the plush globes of your ass. Willing himself to slow down, he slowly skates his thick, rough fingers over your delicious curves, bringing his large palms to a rest just under your breasts.  You're just beginning to tremble with arousal from Tim thumbing your nipples, pretty peaks already pert and hard from his attention, when a frightening thought enters your mind, 

“Wait, Tim!  Wait!”

Sitting up at your urgent tone, Tim wraps his arms around your waist, lightly running his commanding hands up and down your spine in a soothing manner – eyes full of concern.

“If you used my photos in your investigation, does that mean we have to break up?” you remember the conflict-of-interest protocol that separated you from your handsome detective for seven months the last time he used your photos in his casework.  The idea that you’ll have to part from him again threatens to break your heart.

Happily, Tim would never let that happen.  “Don’t worry, baby.  We went and shot our own photos today to enter into the file - we won’t use yours as evidence,” he presses his plush lips against the sweet spot on your neck that he discovered the first time he slept with you, “Never breaking up with you, Shutterbug.”

“Good,” you breath, grinning before pushing him back onto the bed, your body falling on top of his.  Ghosting your open, wanting mouth over Tim's lips and inhaling the intoxicating, woodsy scent that always leaves you dizzy, you murmur, “Wanna keep you always, Detective Rockford.”  And then you kiss him.

[superbatweek2024]

We know that the superbatweek 2024 edition is over, but we have some bonus content for all of you!

The Bonus Tracks is our way to present to you all the prompts we recieved for the event.

Stay tuned for more Bonus Tracks!

A-AU cathegory of prompts under the cut.

A/B/O dynamics

Omega Bruce must have a mate A/B/O slavery mercyfic Omegaverse Undercover mission gone wrong, arranged marriage au, Krypton survives au, omega Bruce, terms of endearment/pet names, scars, trust, mind-controlled Batman, World's Finest 2022, wingfic

Accents

New Jersey accent Bruce and Kansas accent Clark!

Accidental baby acquisition

Accidental Identity Reveal

Accidental Marriage

Aliens

Alien Creature x Eldritch Horror Alien Invasion/Alien Rule Alien planet

Amazonian Clark

Clark is raised by the Amazons

Amnesia

Amnesia fic Bruce loses Memory and thinks Clark’s his boyfriend

Angst

Angst or Hurt/Comfort All Star Superman angst

Animal shifter/Animals

Getting turned into an animal Cat owner Clark and dog owner Bruce

Arranged marriage

Arranged marriage / royalty AU Marriage of convenience (that turns into true love)

Alternative Universe (AU)

Adoption Swap (Bruce is raised by the Kents, Clark is raised by Alfred) Artist!Bruce Astronaut Bruce and Alien Kal-El! Astronomy Professor!Clark Athlete!Clark & Musician!Bruce Justice League Band AU Superbat: bridgerton edition Kal-El's rocket lands behind the Wayne manor, childhood friends AU Cafe au no capes just two shop owners going at it Coffee Shop AU College party Batfam cryptid AU Dark AU Dungeons & Dragons Doctor Bruce Wayne Doctor!Bruce & Hairdresser!Clark Doctor/patient AU Eldritch AU Professor AU English Professor Clark and History Professor Bruce Superman got really into writing Bruce Wayne RPF for money. (Inspired by ship-to-ship combat.) Fantasy AU Clark is a wildfire fighter Doctor Bruce/Fireman Clark Doctor!Bruce & firefighter!Clark medical drama Lesbians!!!!!! Ghost-singer!Clark & Popstar!Bruce Gladiator AU Gotham By Gaslight Stuck in a time loop of the same day together Hallmark AU High school/college AU Historic AU/period-piece Historical AU How to Train Your Dragons AU Injustice Universe Justice Lords Krypton Lives Krypton survives or the Waynes live OR both at the same time! :D Rival mafia bosses “ Bring your kid to work day” Book/movie AU (e.g. Titanic, Sherlock Holmes) A King and His Knight One's a knight, one's a prince Mer AU Middle Earth AU Musician AU Mythical Creatures AU where one isn't a superhero, just a civilian No capes/powers AU Novelist Clark Kent Office Romance Origin Swap (Bruce is Kryptonian, Clark is human) Other earths Personal trainer!Clark & Masseur!Bruce Golden Age of Piracy AU In that alley way at 8 years old, a red lantern ring finds Bruce Wayne Role-reversal Rogue swap Royalty AU Royalty!Bruce & Waiter!Clark Serial killer AU Superbat as Sherlock and John Soulmate AU where Clark Meets “Matches” First Professional Sports AU Superhero Academy teen romance Supernatural Teacher(s) Theater AU: we’re the romantic leads and we hate each Time Period AU Undercover Boss Bruce Wayne falls for Planet intern Clark Kent Villains AU Warworld Clark and Space!pirate Bruce Wayne Western AU/Cowboys AU

[bisexual-horror-fan]

It happened. Let's talk about it under the fucking cut.

Hello! I am here to regale you with the tale of how my Saturday at Fan Expo went! So it started with how I could not fucking sleep the night before. Fitful, I kept waking up over and over and finally got out of bed before nine. I hung around for a while, did a face mask, painted my nails, showered, got ready and into my fit for the day. We departed slightly after noon and grabbed some food and made our way to Toronto. We get there and park in the usual place and make the couple block hike to the convention centre, the check in process went smoothly and then, it was time to shop around. 

We went from the North building to the South building, much more interested in checking out niche’ vendors and artists’ alley, I was in there for less than an hour before I had to break away to run to the photo op. Mr.Bex gives me a kiss on the cheek and told me, “Try not to cum in front of them.”

“Easier said than done!” I called as I run off. Now, last year it took me forever to get back to the North building, so I left with an hour before my time I had to be there. On the way, I see a Ghostface in a very cute almost magical girl outfit, short flouncy skirt and a bedazzled pink mask. I am looking at them, they see me looking, and they give me a pose and a peace sign, I grin and give one back, a super fun moment. I get to the North building and the photo op space in less than twenty minutes. So that means I get to toddle around the dealers floor. I do so, take in some cosplays, contemplate some purchases, they had an old full sized classic Scream one poster for twenty bucks, but I passed on it. 

Finally, it’s time to go get into the actual line. I’m in line 13, in the first group for the Matt and Skeet time slot, and I made like six friends while in line. Everyone was very into my outfit, one girl had a tattoo on her arm that said, “My mom and dad are gonna be so mad at me.” We were all losing it. Another girl was there with her partner and she was in a 600 dollar custom fitted movie accurate Ghostface costume, with the glitter fabric and all, it was shockingly impressive. She especially liked my shirt and was impressed by the fact I made it, and asked aloud, “Why don’t they make shirts like those and sell them?” I laughed and told her, “Well, I’ve considered it, I won’t lie.” 

It is a surreal experience listening to this assortment of hot gothy early twenty-something scream fans, many who came from whole provinces away just for this, just to be here for them, talking about how hot they are and how down bad they are while I stand next to them, having written a couple of hundred thousand words about the characters they love in question. I almost told em I wrote fic, almost. 

While waiting around, Matt ended up coming out into the line-up space?! There was a fan in a wheelchair, and he wheeled em back personally while chatting them up and giving high-fives, he was five feet from me. The photo op starts late, I don’t care, it’s fine. We scan tickets, drop bags and then are in the same curtained off space as them, they let in small groups at a time to keep it moving smoothly. My heart is fucking pounding. We make it back, there was a family in front of me, their middle kid was dressed as Ghostface and their baby was in a scooby doo onesie and Matt held him for the picture, so cute. 

Our especially extra Ghostface friend from the line was right in front of me, and then it’s my turn. I make sure my extra shirt is pulled to the side, Two Boys Are Better Than One proudly displayed, and I move. I greet them with a “Hi!” 

Skeet gave me a very cool sounding “Hey” and Matthew made eye contact with me and gave me a polite nod with a, “Hello.” That I can only say was said in a very him way. 

I asked, as I was moving in, “Can I be in the middle?”

And Matt had this expression with that sort of half smile he does, brows pinched together as he nods, telling me like it should be obvious, “Oh of course.” 

I get in between them, and Matt’s hand is on my shoulder, Skeet’s hand is on my lower back and my hand is on Matt’s lower back and my other hand holding onto Skeet’s side (and fucks sake he is firm.)

I got an extra second because the photographer directed me to lower my head, so I wouldn’t get glasses glare, I assume. I revel in the extra seconds and contact, the picture is snapped, and I break away, without thinking I sort of pat Skeet’s side, and he returns the gesture and tells me, “Good job.” 

Skeet fucking Ulrich told me good job. 

Bury me now. I am done for.

I get my bag, I get my picture, I get it framed, and I go find Mr.Bex. He and I leave the con, we get back to our car, and then go to a tattoo shop where my friend Mel gave me my You Might Be The Killer tattoo. We drove home, I slammed several slices of pizza, and now I am writing this for you! 

It was. Fucking amazing, I loved it so much, it was more than worth every penny. Now I can officially say, I am That Cunt that wore a shirt baring my super pornographic smut fic’s title on my tits while getting a picture with the two guys who inspired it all.

And speaking of inspiration, just you wait to see the fic I am going to write after this. 

[egcdeath]

someone in the crowd

pairing: joel miller x popstar!reader

summary: you and joel found your start as local musicians thirteen years ago, but ultimately drifted apart. after seeing him again, the two of you embark on a night of questionable decisions. 

word count: 10k

warnings: ANGST. angst, angst, angst, alternate universe: no outbreak, an emotional rollercoaster, a bit of fluff, right person/wrong time, no use of y/n, cursing, alcohol consumption, kinda emotional infidelity but kinda not, mentions of cheating, mentions of heated situations, everyone makes questionable decisions, a surprise guest ;)

author’s note: this fic has been my baby for the past few weeks. i really really hope you enjoy reading it as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it because it’s probably something that i’m most proud of writing in a really long time :))

— — — —

Your heart pounded brutally against your ribcage and perspiration slowly began to form along your hairline the same way it always seemed to do before any of your shows. While you still found yourself anxious in anticipation of performing in front of an audience, your nerves now were far better now than they were thirteen years ago, when you had to find a shot of something strong to soothe your racing mind before going onto the stage of a dingy bar, then dispersing your leftover adrenaline by making out with your partner in the alley of the bar where you’d just sung your heart out. 

But your nerves weren’t the only thing that had changed since then. In the time that had passed since you first began your artistic pursuit, you’d gone from open mics at bars where you reluctantly sang covers of whatever was popular on the radio to performing your own original work to sold-out arenas. While your career had changed drastically within the past thirteen years, your love life had also shifted significantly, as  you’d finally managed to settle down after what felt like a lifetime of fleeting encounters with a man you’d met at one of your earlier shows. 

Tonight, the many aspects of your growth seemed to come to an intersection: performing in your hometown of Austin, in a sold-out arena full of fans anxious and eager to hear you perform live. Amidst the sea of strangers and devoted fans, your husband and daughter had flown out to watch you perform as well. Despite the nerves that being in front of a crowd brought to you, the knowledge that your family would be right there, cheering you on brought you a profound sense of comfort. The idea of curling up on the couch in a fancier-than-usual hotel between your husband and daughter after a night of giving your all to perform sounded particularly appealing, especially with the exhaustion of being halfway through your tour beginning to set in. 

As you stood in the wings, your stage manager straightened up your outfit and dabbed away a bead of sweat on your face before giving you a friendly smile. She wished you luck as she adjusted your earpiece, the decrescendo of your opening act encouraging the crowd to scream out in anticipation of your show. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as your lungs expanded, and felt the vibrations from the cheers of the exhilarated crowd. 

You began your show as you always did, your nerves dissolving into pure adrenaline as the screaming crowd gave you all the encouragement and confidence you needed to find your footing, and more importantly–to have fun. You sang and danced hard, putting on an extra show as you knew the hoops your family had to jump through to specifically come out to see you. It was far easier to give it your all knowing that the people you loved most and hadn’t seen in months were there standing in the crowd, grinning at your every move. You just hoped that you’d be able to see them in the sea of faces below you and with the harsh strobe lights beaming above you. 

Unsatisfied with being almost halfway through your set and still not being able to identify the people you were specifically looking for, you took the opportunity to sit by the edge of the stage while performing a slower, acoustic song. Sure, it wasn’t the safest, and your security often recommended against it, but it was always a hit for your fans, and always a good opportunity to scope out the crowd. 

As you began to play the first few notes of a song that you’d written nearly a decade ago, but was always a fan favorite, your eyes floated across the crowd. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, you finally spotted your husband, your daughter on his shoulders as the two of them grinned adoringly at you. You couldn’t help but smile, your chest filling with warmth at just the mere sight of the people you loved, but hadn’t seen in such a long time. At just one glance, you were ready to toss the guitar down and throw the whole tour away, just to spend the rest of your life with your family.  

But that wasn’t the only face you noticed that caught you off guard as you sang. Like your eyes were magnetically drawn to him, your eyes fell on a familiar, yet slightly older face. At first, you didn’t believe it–but you knew you would know that face anywhere, regardless of how much time had passed. It wasn’t hard to recognize the same soft, yet sad eyes, scruffy beard–albeit a bit grayer—and angular nose that looked back at you, paired with a teenager by his side singing along to your every word. Locking eyes with him in that moment instantly sent a flood of emotions over you. Your mind temporarily blanked from the lyrics you should’ve been singing—your mind suddenly filled with Joel Miller. 

Joel Miller who you’d met at a bar over a decade ago. Joel Miller who sang covers of Neil Young and swayed along to whatever songs you’d sang that night before singing your praises into the shell of your ear. Joel Miller who you’d fallen in love with in record time—who you spent hours with talking in diners until the sun rose, and walking around the city showing each other your favorite spots and daydreaming about what it might be like when you two grew old and successful together. Joel Miller who broke your heart for the first time when he broke the news to you that he was becoming a father. Joel Miller who kickstarted your career by giving you a fresh, new set of emotions to draw on when writing and producing your first album. Joel Miller who you hadn’t seen or thought of in over thirteen years, except for the fleeting ‘what-ifs’ that occasionally plagued your mind as you fell asleep at night. 

You stuttered as your brain caught back up with the performance at hand. You were still slightly reeling from the dichotomy of seeing your own husband and daughter, to your former lover and his own kin, the weight of it all throwing you off just the slightest bit for the rest of the night. 

— — — —

This was wrong. You should’ve been in your hotel room, lounging in a soft robe and eating overpriced room service with your family while watching a stupid movie—just like you’d been planning to do since your husband had told you that he and your daughter were coming to visit. They had flown out specifically to see you from halfway across the country, and yet, here you sat picking at the peeling booth of a diner you’d spent many late nights in a whole lifetime ago with your mind scattered–yet on anything but your family. 

The staff was all different now, except for an older woman working the register who had worked there before you learned of the diner and would likely work there long after you forgot about it. The hideously checkered floor—one that you’d made fun of with your former companion on many occasions—had a few more cracks in it than you remembered, but other than that, the building felt much like a time capsule. Down to the untouched menu, it was all perfectly preserved in time. It was hard not to think about the many late nights you’d had there, talking, drinking shitty, stale coffee and splitting a plate of overly sweet pancakes until the sun rose to celebrate a successful tiny gig with Joel. 

So many of your memories in the city were tied to the man, and yet every other time that you’d returned to Austin, you hadn’t ever felt like this. It was a consistent stop on all of your tours, regardless of how far and wide you were traveling. At first, part of you had always hoped that you would see Joel again, especially in the first few years after he’d left you to go raise his child. You’d lost hope of ever reconnecting with the man quite soon after, only to find a light in the tunnel with a new love of your own. 

Things had obviously changed since then—with you moving on and falling in love with someone else, even having a child with him. Yet, part of you still fondly reminisced on those younger days when you were so naïve and hopeful for the future. Where in all versions of your future, you were spending your life with Joel—before it all came crashing down with the shocking confession that he was just weeks away from bringing a child into the world. 

Despite each visit to the city making you feel further and further removed from your past, the diner where you sat, paired with the haunting picture of Joel with his daughter at your show tonight made you take a rather long stroll down memory lane–a street that felt entrenched with memories and emotions of the past.

You nibbled on cold fries as you lost yourself in thought. You really should head back to your hotel now. Your husband was probably tired of waiting for you, your daughter likely fast asleep by now, and this whole trip down memory lane had been nothing short of juvenile—an unrealistic fantasy that you shouldn’t even have been entertaining. You flagged down your waitress for the bill and left her a hefty tip, fully prepared to get up and close this chapter of your life for good.

As you gathered your bearings and began to scoot out of the booth, your eyes stopped on a familiar, yet aged, face for the second time that night. For a moment, your face fell as you were overcome with every emotion you had been fighting off for the last few hours—hell, the emotions you had been fighting off for the past thirteen years.

His eyes had that same sad look in them that you remembered from the last time you saw him– the night he told you he was going to be a father. His eyes had that same sad look that yours had now, filled with thirteen years of festered hurt and guilt from the knowledge that you should’ve moved on by now. The knowledge that you did move on, but still had your resolve break with one simple look at the man. 

“Oh-“ you exclaimed, not really knowing what to do or what to say. There wasn’t exactly a playbook for talking to your first love and first real heartbreak over a decade later. In fact, you weren’t even sure that he had any interest in interacting with you. 

“Uh,” Joel began with a stutter, clearly just as frazzled as you. You immediately began to feel dread grow in the pit of your stomach, the deer-in-headlights look in his eyes making you fear that he wanted nothing to do with you. 

“Hey,” you greeted, not quite sure how to approach the situation. Part of you wanted to run away; to get up and leave as you planned, effectively leaving behind your history with Joel in that diner booth. But the bigger part of you–surely ruled by your heart rather than your brain–wanted to stay. Invite Joel to sit with you, talk about life and all that you two had missed in the last decade until the sun rose and pulled you away from your reverie. 

“Long time, no see,” Joel commented, the startled look on his face not even leaving for a moment. You wondered if he was going through a similar internal conflict as you, torn in half by his head and his heart. You wondered which one he would listen to. You wondered which one you’d listen to.   

“Yeah, I guess it has been a while,” you agreed, the sensible side of you pushing you to make dry, awkward small talk, as if the two of you weren’t entrenched in an extensive history. For a moment, the logical side of you seemed like it might win. The night was still young, and you’d already had the chance to at least say hello to Joel. That had to be enough closure for you. Now, you could go home, curl up next to your daughter and husband, and make up for the time you’d lost with them while being on tour.

But things were never that simple, were they? Not with Joel, at least. 

“Do you want to sit? Catch up?” you offered, words a bit rushed together as if if you didn’t say it quickly, you would lose your opportunity altogether. Between not knowing what Joel’s response would be, and the war waging on between your heart and your head, you knew that you couldn’t take the moment of boldness for granted. As much as it would make sense for you to get up and move on, you weren’t sure that you could handle yet another what-if hanging over you for the next however long. Your family would still be in that hotel room when you got back, but you might never get another chance to see Joel again. 

“Sure, I guess. Do you want me to sit?” Joel asked, the cautious and slightly uncomfortable smile on his face and tense itching of his neck letting you know that he was open to sitting with you, but still felt a bit off. You supposed you felt similarly, the gray area of wanting to give into your heart, who was begging and urging you to see the man once more, and your brain that was screaming at you to be smart. To remember that you had a happy family and successful career waiting for you back at home. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t want you to. Do you want to sit? Because you don’t have to if it’s gonna make things weird,” you attempted to reason, not sure if you were more so giving yourself or the man across from you an out. 

“I think I already made things weird,” Joel commented as he slid into the booth across from you, rubbing his hands on the front of his jeans as he did so. “As long as ‘weird’ doesn’t get me detained by your security detail.”

Joel’s joke didn’t quite land; a comment that felt like being woken up from a deep sleep by a freezing bucket of ice water. A reminder of just how far you’d drifted—the fact that it truly had been years since the two of you had been together, and in that time, your lives had gone down two very different routes. 

You couldn’t even force yourself to let out a stifled laugh. You just gave Joel a sad, pressed smile. One that obviously wasn’t real, and one that he easily saw through. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, his big, brown eyes expressive as always. Such a loaded word coming from the man you’d loved a lifetime ago, before things ended so abruptly. Somehow you understood that his apology was for more than just making a joke that was in slightly poor taste. Those two words almost felt like a lifetime of built up emotion, words that you’d desperately been waiting to hear since you had been told that Joel was bringing a baby into the world. 

You shook your head, not even being able to find the words to respond to something you found to be so heavy. Instead, you much rather prefer to move on from the topic at hand. “It’s fine,” you dismissed, a fake smile finding itself on your lips. 

“I can’t believe we both had the same idea,” you chuckled awkwardly, trying your best to change the subject and loosen the thick tension that had fallen over the two of you. The sooner you finished catching up with Joel, the sooner you could give your head and your heart closure. This was for the best, right? Besides, with how awkward this conversation was shaping out to be, you were sure that you would never wonder how things might’ve worked out with you two again. 

“Yeah. They did always have good coffee here,” Joel teased, looking to you for some sort of affirmation which was granted once you laughed aloud—maybe a little harder than what was warranted. But that was just how things always were with Joel. Even after all he put you through, and after all those years apart, he still made your heart swell in a way that everything just felt better. You forgot that when you were together jokes were funnier, music was more beautiful, and you were just… happier. It had been a while since you’d felt like the person you were when you were around him.

“You are such a liar,” you laughed out, feeling just the slightest bit more relaxed as the two of you fell into a familiar, almost comforting rhythm. You could’ve sworn that you’d had this very conversation with him a number of times before. “You know that pot has been sitting there untouched for hours.”

“Just how I like it,” he commented before gesturing for a waitress and ordering himself a mug of said old coffee. You couldn’t help but grin as you shook your head and rolled your eyes at him. After all these years, he still was the same little shit you always remembered him being. After all these years, and the different ways your lives ended up being, he was still Joel, and you were still you, and after one short interaction, you were beginning to wonder if you were still in love with him in the way that you had been all those years ago.

“Well, what’s new with you?” you asked as the waitress dropped off his mug of lukewarm coffee. This was safe, pleasant small talk. Nothing meaningful or weird, just two friends catching up. 

“Where do you want me to start?” Joel asked with a raised brow. You had no way to be completely sure, but it seemed as if he was beginning to feel a bit more comfortable in the way that you also were. 

“Wherever you see fit. I need to know what I missed out on after I left,” you leaned forward the slightest bit, attempting to push down the thoughts and emotions that were beginning to bubble in you just below the surface. 

“Always so nosy,” he chuckled, taking a hearty sip from his mug. “Let’s see. Where did we leave off?”

“Uh, here, actually, I think. You just finished playing at The Lounge, we came over here, you told me you had to tell me something, and I swore you were gonna ask me to move in or something. You were really nervous,” you paused to laugh a humorless laugh, not because it was funny, but because you were impressed by just how naïve you’d been. “We sat down, ordered pancakes to split like usual, and you told me you got someone pregnant, and that the baby was being born soon. I couldn’t fucking believe you, so I asked you some questions before I left. I think maybe that’s where we left off.”

Almost immediately you regretted the words pouring out of your mouth. You guessed you hadn’t realized just how hurt you still were from what Joel had done to you years ago, but you especially hadn’t realized how hard it would be to hold back once you started. 

“Good memory,” he replied, looking down into his mug to avoid eye contact with you. You shrugged nonchalantly, as if you hadn’t rerun that night in your mind thousands of times, and as if it wasn’t painfully obvious in your recap. Maybe it was petty to bring up something that you both clearly regretted, but you had a feeling that it was going to exit your system eventually. You hadn’t exactly taken the breakup well, and you had been discovered by a label so quickly that you never had the chance to go back and hash things out with Joel. 

“Please don’t like, feel bad,” you immediately tried to correct, noticing the hurt written across the man in the booth’s face—whatever brief satisfaction you gained by airing out your qualms with him was immediately replaced with regret. “I’m fucking with you, Joel,” you lied, hoping to preserve his feelings. This clearly wasn’t something he was proud of, and it was wrong to throw the mistakes he’d made back into his face, especially when he didn’t exactly deserve it. “It was just a shitty joke. I’m sorry.”

“We’re just on a roll tonight with bad jokes, I guess,” he seemed to sigh, despite the humorous front he was attempting to put on. “You don’t still hate me, right?” His question felt genuine and remorseful, and for a second, you felt a pang in your gut for ever making someone you loved feel like you hated them.

“Of course not,” against your better judgment, you reached across the table and set your hand on top of his. “I never hated you. Really. I mean, you hurt me pretty badly, but I don’t even think I have it in me to hate you. Trust me, I tried.”

The two of you shared yet another slightly awkward laugh, one that broke the tension between you, but also was thinly veiled with the sadness and remorse of your past. Bringing your hand back to your own lap, you rubbed your now slightly clammy palms on your pants. 

“Can we just start over? I don’t want things between us to be…like this… forever,” Joel explained, a sheepish look on his face.

“Like what?” you asked, having an idea, but still genuinely curious to see what the man across from you thought was going on. 

“Like we’re dancing on eggshells, or something. I miss when everything we would say wasn’t followed by ten seconds of awkward silence and an apology.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, before scoffing and shaking your head. “I mean- I didn’t mean to do what you just said you didn’t want us to do. It’s just hard to be normal when… you know, we happened.”

“I get it,” Joel agreed. “What if we just… I don’t know… Pretend? That things between us were fine for the night? Just old friends reuniting after a long time?”

“Sure,” the deal sounded like the perfect way to stay mostly detached, while still giving yourself the opportunity to reconnect with Joel. A compromise that allowed your logical and emotional side to win. Reunite with Joel, but not cross any boundaries, just like old friends did.  “Friends,” you agreed. 

“So ‘friend’ I cut you off earlier. What’s new with you?” you asked. 

Joel smiled as you spoke, seemingly happy with the agreement you'd settled on—to be civil as friends. “Well, I had a daughter, Sarah. She’s thirteen now, and she’s genuinely the light of my life. I’ve got a lot of regrets, and she’s not one of ‘em. Other than that, not much has changed. We moved into a new house. Expanded the contracting business a bit. That’s pretty much it.”

“And how’s Sarah’s mom?” you asked curiously, anxious to know if Joel had moved on with his life in the way that you’d forced yourself to. But then again, the two of yourselves found yourselves in a diner that held so many memories of you two, and that had to mean something. 

The man across from you shook his head as he seemed to recall the events that must’ve transpired between them. “We tried to make things work for years, but it just wasn’t the same. There wasn’t any real love between us. Not like-“ he cut himself off before saying anything more, but the knowledge of exactly where he was going felt like a quick dagger to your chest. You tried to ignore the way your breath briefly hitched at the information. “We got married after Sarah was born, and divorced a few years later. I only see her on holidays or to drop Sarah off on her weeks.”

It almost gave you a sense of perverse satisfaction that things never worked out with the mother of Joel’s child. Knowing that you’d been pushed to the sidelines, only for things to work out with her. To know that Joel still got some sort of karmic retribution for what he put you through. You wondered if Joel curled up at night and thought of how he could’ve done things differently, and for some reason, that image of a desperate, pathetic, and remorseful Joel brought you an inkling of contentment. 

“I’m sorry about that,” you said simply, knowing damn well that even after all of these years, you were pleased that the pain Joel had inflicted on you had come back to him. 

Or maybe—a voice in your head began—you were pleased that Joel likely still thought about you. Wished he’d done things different with you. Prayed every night that he’d just get to have another shot with you, a chance to make things right. Of course you were pleased. Clearly you were just as not-over Joel as he was not-over you. 

But were you really not over Joel? Sure, he passed your mind from time to time, but it wasn’t like you were actively unhappy with your relationship and family. You were finding yourself to be more and more conflicted with every second you spent in this booth with the man. 

“It’s fine. That’s life,” he flashed you a smile that fell flat and almost felt more like a frown. “But what about you, Ms. Superstar?”

“Oh,” you chuckled stiffly, “It’s not really like that. But uh, I got a pretty great record deal right as everything went down with us, got to record some music and I guess people listened to it. The rest of that is history, I think. I met my husband through a mutual friend on my first tour—well, I guess someone else’s tour. I was just opening. But we had a daughter a few years ago. She’s pretty great too,” you shrugged. 

Talking about your family brought on a bout of profound guilt, one you worried would stay with you for a long time. You really shouldn’t be here, indulging yourself with fantasies of Joel. Not when the father of your child was just an Uber ride away, and waiting patiently to see your face again.

“That’s all great. So I assume things are going well with you?” Joel asked, a general presumption about everything you’d just told the man. Yet somehow, it almost felt like he was curious about your love life, the same way you had been moments before. The truth was that your love life was great. Sometimes almost too great, making that anxious part of you wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. Part of you was beginning to worry that staying here too long was going to end up the catalyst that led the other shoe to drop. 

“They are. Really good,” you smiled politely, despite feeling a bit off. “Hey, I’m sorry to cut things short, but I think maybe I should get going,” you suggested, the guilt that had been quietly eating away at you all night finally beginning to rise to the surface. You pulled your wallet out and began to dig around for enough cash to cover Joel’s coffee, but were pulled away when Joel exclaimed something above you.

“No!” Joel yelped out almost involuntarily, “No,” he repeated, this time a little quieter and a little more level headed. You were surprised by the enthusiasm, but slightly intrigued. Given his little outburst, you peered at him curiously, raising a brow before he spoke once more. 

“I just think we still have a lot to catch up on. I mean, definitely leave if you want to. I’m not gonna stop you, but when is the next time we’ll get a chance to talk like this again? I don’t… I want to hear everything. Not just the sparknotes version. I guess if I wanted that, I could go on Wikipedia or something.”

“You’ve looked me up on Wikipedia?” You laughed, as if that were your only takeaway from what he’d just said. Guilt be damned, if Joel felt like he needed to talk to you so badly, maybe you needed to listen. If you left him now, you’d be wondering forever about what he wanted to talk to you about. 

“Obviously not,” he scoffed, although you saw right through it. “That’s not the point, though.”

“You’re right,” you agreed. “Fine. I’ll stay with you, but we need to do something else. This booth is starting to hurt my legs,” you kicked your legs out forward, accidentally brushing against Joel’s knee. “How about a walk?”

“That sounds perfect.”

— — — —

The walk was something that sounded much better in theory than it actually was in practice. Just a few minutes after stepping outside of the diner, and you’d already had a fan spot you and ask for a picture–an awkward predicament for Joel, who had somehow become the photographer of the night. The awkwardness of your little photoshoot had somehow found itself replicated into your conversation, where a heavy, awkward silence had put a roadblock in the flow of your conversation.

“So…” you trailed off, unsure of where to even start with Joel, especially after the loaded conversation you’d had just minutes prior. 

“So,” he mimicked right back to you, similarly unsure of where to begin with you. 

“Did your daughter drag you out to my show or vice versa?” you asked, toeing the line between joking and curiosity. Part of you wondered–or maybe even hoped–that you still came to mind every now and then in that same way that he still occasionally popped up on yours. 

Joel chuckled to himself, looking away from you as your eyes curiously bore into him. “I didn’t realize you could actually see faces up there with all those fancy bright lights in your eyes and such. But Sarah’s been a big fan for years now.”

“Yeah, you’d be surprised,” you chuckled stiffly, trying to fight the slight disappointment of the letdown that maybe Joel had never attempted to listen to you again, despite music being something that the two of you connected so strongly over. “She ever force you to listen to anything?”

“Force me?” Joel asked, glancing over at you. “I don’t know if I would say that, considering I introduced her to your music in the first place.”

“You’re kidding,” you laughed out in disbelief, and maybe even a bit of delight. Maybe he had been thinking about your music even after all this time. You wondered if he’d ever listened to your older songs, the ones clearly inspired by him and the feelings he’d put you through, and thought about how things might be different if you two were different. 

“Serious as a heart attack,” Joel said, almost proudly. If you were being completely honest, it made you feel a little proud too. Joel had truly watched you find success, and it almost seemed like he'd been supporting you the whole way–from shitty local gigs to sold-out arenas. 

“And she liked it?” you asked, although the fact that she had come out to your concert in the first place seemed to answer that very question.

Joel shrugged, but the smile on his face and raise of his brows told you everything you needed to know. “She did try to get a spot as close to you as possible.”

“Does she know? That you and I…?”

“Were a thing back in the day? Nope. Maybe I’ll tell her when she’s a little older. But when that day comes, I need to know, did you ever write any songs about me?” Joel asked, looking at you mischievously, as if he already anticipated the answer. “So I can let her know which songs she should take off her playlist, of course.”

“What do you think?” you shot back, deadpan, a bit embarrassed to be confronted with the person who had inspired so much of your work asking if he had inspired any of your work. “Okay,” you stopped him before he could answer, hoping to spare yourself just a bit of embarrassment. “I don’t write my own music,” you lied.

“Don’t lie to me. I still have lyrics that just happened to end up in a song on a cocktail napkin.”

“You kept that?” you asked, laughing as you looked at Joel. 

“Is that stupid?”

“No, I just… you could probably auction that off on eBay or something.”

“I’ll remember that next time money gets tight,” Joel teased. “But really. It’s a nice reminder of the old days.”

After a long period of silence, Joel finally looked to you as he popped a question. “Do you ever think about how things might’ve been if…?” 

He didn’t need to finish the question for you to know where he was going. 

“No,” you lied swiftly, thinking of your husband and child back in your hotel room, probably watching a movie as they waited for you to come back, or playing one of your daughter’s new favorite games. For a second, you thought about what it might be like if it were Joel and Sarah sitting in that room. But you and Joel were just friends for the night, and friends didn’t fantasize about how things might’ve been different if you took things a step further. 

“Never?” Joel asked, clearly not believing you. 

“Joel,” you sighed exasperatedly. “I’m married,” you attempted to shut down the conversation with a flimsy argument, but by the look he was giving you, you knew that not even he believed that you believed what you were saying. “Fine. When you left me, I thought about it a lot. You’d promised me so much. We were supposed to travel the world on a sold out tour together. Record albums together,” you lamented almost involuntarily. What came out of your mouth almost felt like a desperate plea, “Do you even remember?”

“How could I forget?” Joel replied quickly, almost sentimentally. You couldn’t be sure if he meant it like that, or if that part of you who reminisced on all of the ways that things could have been different were projecting onto him. 

“We were so stupid,” you muttered, kicking a pebble that appeared by your foot. You felt even more stupid in the moment, trying to connect with a lost love when you had someone you currently loved waiting back home for you. You covered your face in shame hands over your eyes as if not being able to see would be able to absolve you of your negative feelings. 

“We were kids,” Joel corrected, not appreciating the way you degraded your past selves, “and you did record albums. You got to travel the world with shows sold out on your own. That’s infinitely more impressive than whatever I ended up doing.”

“Raising a whole human being is pretty damn impressive,” you argued. “And a well adjusted one, at that.”

Joel scoffed at you, looking over at you in disbelief. When he noticed that your hands were covering your face, he gently nudged it away so that you would look at him. It was almost embarrassing how the most simple, brief touch still sent sparks down your spine and brought you back to when you were an unsure twenty-something, needing a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder from Joel, or getting your ass squeezed tenderly in a makeout session far too heated for the back of a bar.

“You’re doing both,” he argued. 

You laughed aloud, “Barely. I’m barely home long enough to see her. It’s my husband doing all the heavy lifting when it comes to raising her. I just FaceTime her every now and then,” you sighed. “I missed her first steps. Her first tooth growing in and her first tooth coming out. First day of school. All of these firsts I missed by being on the road, that I’m never gonna have the chance to redo again. It sucks, because I love what I’m doing, but I don’t love not getting the full experience of motherhood. It almost makes me wonder,” you cut yourself off, but had a feeling Joel already knew where you were going with that thought.

“I bet you’re doing better than you think you are. I mean, what kid can say that they grew up with their mother being an international star? All my daughter can say is that her dad was a failed local musician.”

“You need to give yourself more credit, Joel,” you gently punched him in the arm. “You’ve always been more talented than me. If you didn’t retire so early, you’d probably be bigger than me.”

“Well, I don’t know about all that,” he explained, genuinely seeming to believe that he wasn’t in the same league as you when it came to talent. “Besides, you’ve always been the more palatable artist of the two of us.”

“You’re plenty palatable. Back in the day, you had that group of middle aged men who showed up every Saturday night at Bitter Pint just to hear your covers of Steely Dan songs? They loved you.”

“They were only there to avoid their families and get drunk every week, and you know it,” Joel squinted, raising a brow at you skeptically.

“But your 70’s dad rock was always a plus for them. Why else would they come to that same bar?” you smirked, feeling as if you’d gotten him with that answer. You truly felt like he deserved to know just how talented he really was. 

“Fair point,” Joel finally conceded, a smile creeping up onto his face as he thought about some of the more fond memories from your shared past. 

“You can’t rewrite history with me, Joel. I was there, remember? I could probably tell you the name of all the regulars and their opinions on us.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you prove it. Remember Jessica Simmons?” Joel challenged you, as if your memories from that time of your life could have ever faded.

“Oh my god,” you laughed as you began to recall, “as if I could ever forget her. She had the biggest crush on you ever, to the point where it got kinda embarrassing. She thought you were so hot, and so talented, and the amount of times I had to hear her slur, ‘Ohmygod he’s so sexy and he’s sooooo good at guitar’ to her friends was frankly a little ridiculous. She also hated me.”

“Despised you,” Joel corroborated, laughing as he did so. “I remember, you thought you had this genius scheme of getting her to walk in on us in some nefarious position.” 

“Don’t act like it wasn’t genius. She never bothered me again after seeing us in that bathroom.”

“She also screamed like she was being axe murdered until we all got kicked out,” Joel added, making the two of you burst out in laughter.

“Ah,” you finally gasped out once you finished catching your breath, nearly keeled over from the pain of such hard laughter in your stomach. “I wonder what she’s up to these days.”

“Definitely not coming to your shows, I can tell you that much,” Joel teased.

“Woah, what happened to me being palatable?” you teased right back.

“I mean, not everyone has the same palate,” Joel explained, sending you right back into a fit of laughter.

“Do you still play?” you asked out of the blue once your laughter had subsided and a comfortable silence filled up the air.

“Eh, not really since Sare was born. It’s hard to be a single, working dad and still have time to do things like that.”

“Even now that she’s a little older?” you asked, trying not to hold on too much to the fact that Joel was still single. He may have been off the market, but you were very much not. 

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’. “I play for her sometimes. Some of her friends when they beg me to during sleepovers. But other than that, I’m really rusty. I’d be booed if I ever dared to play in public again.”

“Are you kidding?” you asked, not really believing it at all. Joel had always been extremely talented, which was part of what drew you to him in the first place. You were sure some things had changed or faded with time, but you had a hard time believing that his talent was one of them.

“No?” Joel said, sounding a bit confused. Despite the confidence he had when it came to performing, he never seemed to have that same confidence when it came to actually believing in his ability.

“Oh my god, Joel. You know what we should do?” The idea struck you by surprise, and it probably wasn’t the greatest idea in the entire scheme of things, but you’d already pushed down your guilt and inhibitions so far that night, that you couldn’t even stop yourself from suggesting what you were about to suggest.

“Absolutely not,” he said, already sensing where you were going with that train of thought.

“Oh, c’mon. Let’s just go back to the bar. They’ve been open since the dawn of time, so it’s not like they’ve been shut down. They probably still do open mics too. You can go up there and sing!”

“No way,” he immediately shut you down. 

“Yes way. I bet you’re not rusty as you think, and you’ll see just how much fun you’re missing out on.” You remembered just how much Joel liked being on stage, just how comfortable he was and truly how good he was. His performances always felt effortless, and you always genuinely admired both his stage presence and aptitude for singing. 

“I don’t...” Joel began to trail off, genuinely sounding quite unsure about himself. He’d always been a bit less confident than you when it came to believing the praise and affirmation that he was, indeed, good at what he did.

“Please? I’m only gonna be in town for one night,” you attempted to bargain, despite you having a little more time than you told him about. The truth was more like you were giving yourself one night with Joel. Just one before you went back to the real world, and had a chance to think of the implications of what you’d been doing. “Just think about how much fun you used to have. How much you used to love it?”

“I don’t know,” Joel groaned. “I don’t know if I loved playing as much as I loved the company.”

“That is a bold faced lie,” you scoffed. “I see right through you, Joel Miller. C’mon. Let’s go.”

Reluctantly, he agreed once more, still, to this day, not being able to tell you no. Like everything that seemed to surround Joel, that seemed to thrill and frighten you at the same time. 

— — — —

If you thought you needed to stop entertaining this idea of what-if while you were sitting alone in a booth, reminiscing on Joel, you certainly needed to stop entertaining whatever it was that was happening now. Yet somehow, being around the man made you act in ways that you never would have acted otherwise, which was how you ended up in that same bar where things began with the two of you, and taking shots of vodka like you were twenty-somethings once again.

“Hey, don’t forget why we’re here in the first place,” you reminded Joel, passing him a tumbler of whiskey that you’d just taken from a bartender. 

“And what would that be?” Joel asked, feigning ignorance as he brought the glass up to his lips. “Drinking?”

“Singing, you goof,” you nudged him, feeling far more loose after a night of breaking the tension and an hour of consuming liquid courage. 

“Oh, I don’t remember that being part of the deal,” Joel lied, the mischievous little smile on his face making you roll your eyes playfully.

“Liar,” you laughed. “C’mon. You told me you would sing, so you should go sing,” you suggested, now with a mischievous look of your own on your face. Was it so wrong to want to hear your former lover perform all these years later? You remembered how much Joel used to enjoy it—perhaps even more than you—yet he’d told you that he hadn’t done it in years. 

“Nooo,” Joel laughed, gently pushing you back. “Why don’t you go up there and sing? You’re the professional here.”

“Nuh-uh. I already performed once tonight. I don’t have another one in me,” you argued back. “Why don’t you show me you still got it?”

Joel sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, his exasperation only egging you on. 

“You didn’t really think you could bring me to the bar where we met, and not expect me to want to hear you sing,” you couldn’t help but smirk as you spoke to him. “Pleaseeee?” you begged making a poor attempt at puppy dog eyes and sticking your bottom lip out in a dramatic pout.

“Fine,” Joel finally conceded, downing the majority of his glass and passing it to you before pushing himself off of his barstool and looking to find the stage manager. 

You were rather satisfied for yourself, partially because you hadn’t thought about the real world in hours at this point, but mostly because you were getting a chance to see Joel perform after years of being estranged from him. As you ordered yourself a water, you were caught off guard by hearing the sound of Joel’s voice through a speaker, prompting you to turn around and look at the stage. 

Joel checked the microphone to see if it worked, tapping it twice before settling down in the seat in the middle of the stage before leaning forward slightly to speak into the mic.

“This is dedicated to my former partner in crime. If I’m a little rusty, feel free to dedicate all of your hate, anger, and rotten tomatoes towards her, as she forced me to come up here,” he pointed you out in the crowd and you shook your head to yourself, a smile sneaking up onto your face before you could even help it.

As Joel began to play the first few notes of his song, it became concerningly easy to get lost in a new fantasy. With the light shining on him as he sat on a little stool, his knee angled to support the instrument, and his raspy singing voice beginning to filter through your ears, it was difficult not to imagine how things might’ve turned out in a different world. 

A world where Joel had told you about his child as soon as he saw that pregnancy test, and a world where you decided to stay and work things out. A world where the two of you kept working together, eventually being discovered, and using each other to help boost your individual careers. A world where you would bring his infant daughter to his tour bus, and he’d bring Sarah to yours. Maybe after a while, you’d even go on tour together, your devoted fans in love with the love you two so obviously had for each other. A world where you two would take a break after your big breaks to expand your family even further. One where you two held hands in the audience of the Grammys while you received your first, and well earned awards.

A world where you still would’ve ended up in this very bar, celebrating years on the road together, and how far you’d managed to come from where you started. A family you adored and careers you were passionate about. You’d watch Joel on stage with watery eyes, heart full with the knowledge that you truly couldn’t have made it this far without the man performing in front of you. 

But this wasn’t that world. Joel had let you down one too many times in the course of your relationship–and no matter how good he made you feel temporarily, it didn’t negate the heartbreak he brought upon you. It didn’t change the fact that there had been someone else by your side through every milestone and important moment in your career. It didn’t change the fact that Joel wasn’t the one there to help you mend your heart after shattering it into pieces, and he certainly wasn’t there when you needed him in the same way that others in your life had been. The reality was harsh and brutal, but it was the truth. 

As you stood in the crowd with watery eyes, you concluded that it would never be that world—and that maybe that was for the best. 

Once Joel returned, you were nursing a new drink in your hands, trying to snap out of the whiplash that both your fantasy and reality had brought to you. By now, the glassy look on your eyes was gone, and you were feeling slightly better about the whole ordeal, but something felt undeniably off.

“Not too bad for being rusty,” you teased once Joel came back. It was far too easy to fall back into old patterns of endearment with him. 

Joel flushed, somewhere between flattery and the liquor catching up to him. “Thank you. I forgot how much I liked it up there. I think they really liked me!”

“So much for not being a crowd pleaser,” you winked, setting your drink back down on the bar. 

“Oh, stop it. I’m blushing,” the two of you laughed, and for a moment, you caught your reflection in the mirror. It suddenly became very surreal, seeing yourself in the same bar in the same place you’d been all these years ago, yet in a totally different position in life. For a second, you swore you saw a flash of your younger selves, warm cheeked as you teased each other after a performance. For a moment, you yearned to be back there once again. To do it all over, with the knowledge and experience that only years of life would’ve given you. What would you tell your younger self? That girl who could place the minute your entire world had fallen apart? Would you tell her that things got better? Or would you tell her that years later, you were still naively a fool for the man who broke your heart?  

“Well, you already got what you wanted from me. Now to get even, I’d like to request a dance,” Joel extended his arm out to you and you accepted it, lost in the moment as much as you were lost in your thoughts. In all honesty, it wasn’t exactly the best idea, but what was one more bad idea in a night full of them?

“Well, a dance is only fair,” you agreed.

The next artist who went on stage picked a slower song, one that you and Joel had danced to together a lifetime ago. The two of you slowly swayed, his arm draped around your neck and your arms wrapped around his hips, as if he were in danger of slipping away from you. 

“You know, I never loved anyone the way I loved you,” Joel all but mumbled seemingly out of the blue. The two of you swayed gently, the music in the background fading as you zeroed in on the feeling of Joel’s arms around your waist, and the familiar comfort and nostalgia it brought you. 

His confession felt like yet another bucket of cold water dumped on you, pulling you back to the real world for a moment, and making you realize that the gap between the two of you was slowly beginning to close. 

“Joel…” you cut him off, not sure if you could handle taking that information in. Not when you knew you had a life waiting for you back home, a man who put your broken pieces back together patiently waiting for you, ready to love you unconditionally.

“It’s not too late, you know,” he added with a whisper.

With his nose pressed against yours, you finally mustered up some self control, telling your heart no for what seemed like the first time that night despite the longing deep within your chest and the loosening of inhibitions given to you by the amount of alcohol you’d consumed. 

“It is,” you whispered right back, looking away and pulling yourself away. “I don’t love you anymore.”

The admission shocked even yourself, with the words seeming to tumble from your lips before you could stop them. As much as you wished it were a lie, you knew that the truth was in the statement somewhere—or else you wouldn’t have said it. That small part of your heart that still aches and yearned for Joel that had been lying dormant but was reawakened by a night of reunion vehemently disagreed with your statement, but the majority of your heart now belonged to someone else. One night with an ex couldn’t change that. 

“You don’t have to love me,” he practically pleaded with you, his eyes wet and twinkling under the soft lighting of the bar. “Just pretend with me tonight.”

“I’m sorry, Joel. I can’t do that.” The confession and your reaction seemed to sober you up quickly. Here Joel was, asking you to betray everything you knew over a few fleeting feelings and uncomfortable what-ifs. Your reaction was almost a visceral one, slipping out of Joel’s arms as you thought about your younger self. You’d probably be delighted by the proposition in the same way that Sarah’s mom was delighted by the proposition. But things were different this time. You had things to lose now. You loved your partner. You loved your daughter. That, you knew for sure. You couldn’t be any more sure that you loved Joel as much as you were sure that you loved the mystery that surrounded him. 

“Please,” he begged you, just wanting you to play along with him for just a little while longer. Maybe an hour ago, you would’ve indulged him one last time, but somehow, things suddenly felt infinitely different.

“No Joel,” you argued, beginning to pull away from his grip that was beginning to feel too suffocating. “Don’t you get it? This is the same attitude that landed us here in the first place. You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too. That’s not how the world works. That’s how you end up with an accidental pregnancy with someone you had a one night stand with while being in a relationship with someone else. I don’t mean to be rude or upset you, but we’re not twenty somethings anymore. We’re adults, and actions have consequences. I can’t let you tear my marriage apart because you regret how you did things last time.”

“But things aren’t the same this time,” he pathetically argued, frown lines deepening on his face.

“You’re right. They aren’t,” you agreed, not elaborating, but briskly wiping away a tear that had slipped down your face in the midst of your lecturing. “I think I should go.”

“Okay,” he agreed, not bothering to argue with you this time around. In your final look at Joel, you caught a stray tear roll down his face and watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallowed lump of emotions. 

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared out the backseat window of the cab you’d called, hoping to be able to hold back the array of emotions this night had brought upon you. Against your best attempts, a steady stream of tears burned your eyes and stained your face as you attempted to process all that had gone down. It should’ve been no surprise that your night with Joel ended up crashing and burning, but it didn’t change the fact that you just wanted to get back to your hotel room and pretend that everything was normal. You desperately craved to be held, a lifetime of exhaustion feeling like it was creeping up on you 

If it weren’t so pathetic, it would almost be ironic; at the beginning of the night, you’d set out to bring yourself peace and closure over a failed relationship and lost love, yet somehow, by the end of it you had somehow felt even more disgruntled.

Tipping your cab driver and wiping your face with your sleeve, you stepped out of the car, greeting the doorman at your hotel before trying to collect yourself once more in the elevator.

Finally feeling like you had made it back to Earth after years out in Space, you gently shut the hotel door behind you, doing your best not to wake up your daughter, as she was a light sleeper. You crept further into the room, discarding your clothes as you did so, and fighting away the gnawing guilty feeling growing in your stomach. You squatted by your suitcase, quickly throwing on a ratty old pajama shirt and loose shorts before stepping into the bathroom to splash your face with some cold water to really ground yourself. As you approached your bed, your heart warmed with the view presented in front of you. 

What you were looking at was nothing short of a picture of domestic bliss. Your daughter clung to your husband’s side, clearly having fallen asleep in bed with him at some point in the night. A children’s book was splayed over his chest, and reading glasses were still perched on his nose. You grabbed both of the items, setting them aside on the nightstand, and waking up your similarly light sleeper of a husband in the process. 

“Hi honey,” he muttered sleepily, turning his head slightly to give you a sleepy kiss as you held yourself above him. 

“Hi,” you greeted him, the simple peck he gave you paired with the domestic moment you almost felt like you were interrupting reminding you after everything tonight, that you really weren’t missing out on anything. “Missed you, Frankie,” you muttered quietly, doing your best not to stir your daughter as you found your place in bed next to the two of them. 

“Missed you more,” he replied, bringing a hand to your cheek to gently cup it. “What time is it?” he asked. 

“Late,” you replied simply, swallowing the guilt-flavored bile creeping up your throat. You’d wasted a whole night going down memory lane when your family had come out specifically to spend time with you after not seeing you for months. “‘m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We have the whole day tomorrow together. Get some sleep, okay?” he suggested, rubbing his free hand up and down your arm, as if he sensed something off in you. 

“Okay,” you agreed, trying to extinguish some of the awful feelings burning brightly through your mind. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he closed his dark eyes once more, and the sleepy, content smile on his face let you know that he meant it. Despite everything that had transpired that night, the room felt like a little slice of normalcy, leaving you to feel like the only thing that had changed. Frankie was quick to drift back off to sleep, leaving you to get comfortable in bed. You maneuvered yourself in a way that wasn’t exactly ideal for your already sore hips and back, but allowed you to cuddle your daughter, while also having some physical contact with your husband–both of which you desperately needed after such a whirlwind of a night. 

As you closed your eyes, your mind drifted off to a far away place. After an exhausting day of performing, and an even more draining night of reconnecting with your ex, being overcome with sleep felt like a welcome relief to all that you’d put your body through during the day. Warmth filled your body once more, a concoction of pleasant endorphins releasing in you as you could only really think about one thing. 

Joel. 

[unleashed-fest]

UNLEASHED FEST: WEEK TWO

And that's it, week two is over! Feast your eyes on these gems, check out what you might have missed this week and tomorrow we'll bring you the full anonymous masterlist before reveals in a few days!

🐾

🐾 FIC

Creature Comforts (Draco/Harry, M, 86k)

When Draco is turned into a werewolf, he does not expect to be given a postbellum bedroom in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, nor does he expect to find a whole new set of friends.

When Harry is turned into a werewolf, he does not expect to make a whole new set of friends. He could have anticipated, however, falling even harder in love with the stubborn, acerbic, workaholic prat who’s been hovering at the fringes of his life for the past seven years.

This is exactly what happens.

Raising Kids (The Other Kind) (Pansy/Neville, E. 4.8k)

"Pansy exhaled deeply. “Neville,” she said slowly, “When I suggested we get a pet, I meant a cat or a dog. I never mentioned a fucking goat.”"

When Pansy suggested they get a pet to practice their parenting skills before trying for a baby, she hadn't expected Neville to walk in the door with the world's worst behaved goat.

The Cat that got the Créme (de la Potter) (Draco/Harry, E, 22.6k)

Draco's doing fine after the war. No, really! He's a repentant, industrious employee by day and a gorgeous, vigilante cat by night. So what if he's been disowned by his parents (father)? Life's great!

And, when he gets into a spot of trouble? Pffft … he's going to save himself! Easy peasy. The Chosen One is not actually required. He just happens to be there. It's not like Draco went looking for him … or anything.

Ripped Apart (Draco/Harry, E, 4.3k)

Following his father’s failings in the war, nobody in the Wizarding World knew of Draco’s affliction - his father’s punishment being his son handed over to Greyback to do with as he pleased. Somehow Draco had managed to claw his way back - pun intended - into some form of acceptance in society again, although he knew there were those out there who thought he should be in Azkaban - or dead. He’d also fallen in love, with none other that Harry fucking Potter. If they know we’re dating, it will only be worse for him, Draco thought as he walked through Knockturn Alley on the way to the apothecary. Draco couldn’t know at that moment how wrong this thought was.

Scales and Sorcery (Draco/Harry, E, 13.9k)

As toddlers, Harry Potter and Draco’s lives change when they befriend each other on James Potter’s Romanian dragon reserve, where Draco is hatched as a rare shape-shifting Hungarian Horntail. The two quickly become inseparable, and as they grow up together, their bond deepens into something truly magical and unbreakable.

Follow them on this unique coming-of-age journey of self-discovery and first love, where Harry finds his soulmate in the most unexpected of creatures.

Kaleidoscope (Harry/Ron/Hermione, E, 39k)

Dear Mooney and Padfoot,

It’s been months, and I’m sorry.

Harry discovers old letters written by his father, and uncles, while organizing Hogwarts' archives. Desperate for any type of connection to the dwindling memories of his parents, he embarks on a journey to become an Animagus with Ron and Hermione - Leaving his job, his emotions, and his fiancée by the wayside. Maybe if he digs around in the past for an answer, the universe would be kind enough to help him out… Unless said universe was sick and tired of Harry Potter looking backwards instead of forwards.

Wherever He Leads Me (Draco/Harry, E, 11.2k)

Draco never knows when a certain someone’s stag Patronus will block his path as he’s trying to sneak out of a memorial or leap on his pelvis during yoga class.

He doesn’t even know if Harry Potter is sending frantic messages via stag on purpose.

But he does know that whenever the stag appears, he’ll follow it.

No matter where it leads.

🐾 PODFIC

Trevor the Escape Artist by DrPansyParkinson (Pansy/Neville, G, 30-35min) Trevor the Master of Escape feels his reputation being ruined because a certain someone keeps successfully locating him and bringing him back to his owner. Trevor is often found in bathrooms because he likes humidity.

[blankvort]

tangentially animal-related hcs 4 the mean girls crew bc i am now responsible for giving a goldfish daddy issues

cady

inexplicably allergic to dogs and always in the first four stages of grief about it. don’t @ me about the medical semantics i just want her to suffer a little

tried to get a job at petco the second she turned eighteen but learned of the above information in the most destructive job interview since janis’s application to be the local coffee shop’s cool gay barista (they were worried that she’d swear at fighter-jet-takeoff volumes if she touched hot coffee) (she did, but only because they started playing a shitty pop cover of one of damian’s fave show tunes) and came out of the building a puddle of mucous and tears

grossly fascinated by the grossest of primitive functions. her insta page is all dope and authentic until you find a selfie taken using the back camera 0.5x with the corpse of an effervescent snail and a bunch of reels telling you how to narrow down what bird species are destroying your garden by the splay of their shit

has a miniature aneurysm whenever movies get stuff wrong about animals. artistic liberties are granted to janis alone. like sure if she’s in the theater she’ll sit through the movie fisting popcorn down her throat but as soon as she gets out of there the entire mall becomes a soapbox for dissecting the bullshit sexual dimorphism of giving female animals eyeliner

thus while i know the headcanon of her loving the lion king is basically canon i think she’s absurdly secretive about it. like she’s burying her merchandise and blu-ray copies under her bed in the dead of night while secreting more sweat than should be possible. she could come out to her parents and elope to antarctica no problem but liking the lion king which implies that lighter manes = stronger lions is a death sentence

probably got banned from a bunch of zoos for interrupting field trips 

janis

had one of those angel/wolf/dragon/whatever hybrid phases as a kid like all good artists. did those like. not quite furry but not quite human animal art commissions on twitter for a while for the funnies but discovered a lucrative market and never turned back

does not know how to hold human or animal babies. like she’s good at taking care of them in terms of general physical and intellectual nourishment but that limp wrist is not supporting any necks properly

mercilessly makes fun of the whole “would you love me if i was a worm” trend. she doesn’t even love most humans what makes you think she has any answer for you regarding that other than that she’d turn you into a super deep art piece museums would purchase for exorbitant amounts

that being said she feels like a vivarium girlie to me. she’s nocturnal like a pillbug and post-canon constantly tries to convince the plastics that her pacman frog is poisonous

feeds her meticulously decorated ant farm gourmet meals every day. anyone else gets microwavable mac and cheese at best

this one probably won’t make sense unless you’re a jenny nicholson fan but she has a fake id for buying wine and turning the corks into those hallmark craft animal sculptures (and selling the open wine bottle to mrs george in back alleys)

damian

his grandma owns the most omnicidal chihuahua in the state of chicago. it’s how he learned to dance with such mental and physical dexterity. how else would he have survived visits to the nursing home

^ attempted to adopt the chihuahua’s children to have his own bruiser woods moment. turns out, even with his classically trained tenor voice, puppies and janis respond to the “drop it” command much the same way. that is to say they do not drop it and the puppies ran away with ninety nine per cent of his anastasia-inspired music box memorabilia

has a love-hate relationship with cats the musical. like memory is one of his top ten karaoke songs but he’s not going to admit it until he’s several fruity seltzers into the night. wishes all the actors in the movie had been replaced with real cats picked off the street before anything else was approved

played milky white in a scammy local production of into the woods and so so so embarrassed about it. he had to be on stilts the whole show

stuck a fish in regina’s backpack sometime in sophomore year but found karen feeding it and talking to it about her worst fears and greatest dreams felt too guilty to continue with the next phase of his plan (sticking a very hot picture of janis in regina’s backpack) (karen probably would’ve tried to talk to the photo too)

regina

musical specific but i think she didn’t Exactly do a matching animal costume with gretch and karen because 1) what can you dress up as when your friends are going as a cat and a mouse. cheese? 2) had cady not moved into the neighborhood, she’d have gone as a sexy lion to ease into the prospect of. you know. with shane oman but going as a sexy lion when your shiny new homoerotic frenemy has a lion pin on half her clothing isn’t quite a non-questionable choice

had a warrior cats phase she keeps under lock and key in the very depths of her closet. her closet is an iceberg of issues that goes shein -> homosexuality -> warrior cats and climate change is doing a number on it

fried a couple of janis’s ants alive with a magnifying glass sometime before middle school. she’s never flirted normally in her life

the bulk of janis’s furry commission clientele. she has so many emails for alternate accounts that she could get every american president ever suspended from twitter if national security let her. that’s including the dead ones

remember the nigh-rabid chihuahuas damian had. yeah she’s been raising those in secret for a few years now. mrs george doesn’t notice because regina hides them in her hair and extensions are, like, totally in or whatever

had a horse girl phase. all her drawings of horses came out like this meme tho. the art freaks nickname was born out of jealousy

gretchen

chose to be a sexy cat for halloween to match with karen because she has no sense of identity. also because she remembers regina’s warrior cats phase

actually a guinea pig person. i’ve never met a guinea pig person but she feels like one. they’re both in dire need of daily interaction and likely polyamorous

but also peri-canon gretchen could not keep a pet alive she’d spend every cent of the wieners fortune on buying the animal’s love

speaking of. her family bought a stable to fuel “her” horse girl phase. she just wanted to make regina happy and couldn’t stay on a saddle if there was an escalator that plopped her right on the horse

cares about the puppy bowl more than she cares about the superbowl

instinctively pets cute animals. if they bite her then she deserved it

karen

chose to be a sexy mouse for halloween because tom and jerry was having a media marathon and she’s into that sort of power dynamic

believes in unicorns more than she believes in horses. this is because she had a horse girl phase for the hottest of seconds before realizing that none of the ponies at the apache trail sale had horns and thought they had their horns cut off for aesthetic reasons

animals love her so much. survived a jellyfish attack because the jellyfish sensed she just wanted to pet something shiny and absolutely respected that. pests of all shapes and sizes evict themselves stat when karen says her mom doesn’t appreciate her hundred thousand dollar lotions being invaded by peril-bringing insects. strays follow her 24/7. gretchen is jealous (of the animals)

thinks tigers are very sick zebras

thinks blobfish are cuter when they’re all flesh putty out of their natural habitats but would also break into a zoo if she thought the animals were being mistreated

was banned from australia at the age of eight because she tried to have a sleepover in a kangaroo’s pouch

aaron

mean girls insta described him as a golden retriever so i’m also hcing him as being allergic to dogs <3 equality

becomes deeply fearful of all fauna after falling into a research rabbit hole for the sake of connecting with cady. what do you mean buffalo are some of the deadliest beasts on the planet and not just a type of chicken wing

kevin g

a preteen vsco girl in her granola advocacy era stuck in a teenage boy’s body. he has saved more turtles than any natucate volunteer by repurposing his rejected business cards to make a selfie stick long enough to stick him in the same selfie as gretchen wieners. the selfie stick has been in progress since daycare. he has also gone to the hospital more than any natucate volunteer do not trust this man with shop class equipment

[atlasisreal]

YOU WERE AT *WHAT*????????????????????

yes it's true. the atlasisreal deep lore is that I attended dashcon in 2014.

that me 💕

anyways if you wanna hear my recollection of dashcon it's under the cut.

i was literally just a teenager at the time but seeing dashcon ads on Tumblr I was like. it's in Schaumburg??? like 30min from me??? I HAVE to go this is going to be the coolest thing ever. I love Tumblr all my mentally ill friends and supernatural gifs are on that website. I bet they're gonna have the coolest party ever.

LMAOOOOO

so i asked for the dashcon tix for my birthday! it was for me and my best friend (who attended and even cosplayed Homestuck with me despite not knowing anything about it) and my mom, who was mostly excited about staying in the nice hotel and swimming in the pool. I was so hype for this. anyways we get there and as people have previously talked about vis a vis dashcon, it was so hilariously underwhelming. the first thing you had to do was walk into the registration hall. I think most people have seen pics but they had written "Welcome DashCon" or something to that effect on the ground using blue painters tape, and the hall was empty asf which was really funny because they had set the table up aaaaaall the way at the back so you just got to walk across this big empty hall towards ONE PERSON sitting at a table (who in retrospect I'm pretty sure was the 19 year old they'd foisted this thing onto). she was super nice at the time though so shout out to that interaction.

we pretty much immediately headed for the only actual show floor area, which was the artists alley. if dashcon attendees are hard to find, I'm sure dashcon exhibitors are fucking unicorns bc there was... maybe 30 booths, if I'm being very generous. that being said, I got to meet nd Stevenson at dashcon! he was really nice, and complimented my cosplay. it's kind of fun to get to say I met the artist and author behind nimona and lumberjanes and she-ra at fucking DASHCON lol. hopefully next time I meet him it will be as a fellow professional comics artist huh who said that

gotta take a moment here to stress something. dashcon was very poorly planned and executed. this is true. BUT. the atmosphere, especially on the first day, was so joyful and connected. everyone was so stoked to be at THE Tumblr convention. all of us were weirdos who liked the weirdo website enough to show up in person for all our weirdo friends. We were all exchanging urls and taking big group photos and going to grab lunch together. people were very open and friendly. and I know that's my perspective as well, obviously there were plenty of things going horribly wrong behind the scenes, but having only been an attendee, it really wasn't the worst experience.

anyways so the day was fun and weird and a little boring because dashcon had fucking nothing going on but anyways so the scamming part. they called everyone into this main ballroom and stood on a little stage up front and were like "HEY IF WE DONT RAISE $200,000 THEYRE SHUTTING US DOWN" which definitely did NOT break my tiny little idiot baby heart. I definitely was super self aware and knew this was a dumb scam and I definitely DIDN'T cry and run to the hotel pool to tell my mom. she however immediately went "they're scammers and we paid for our hotel room so whatever lol". my bestie gave them $10 and after the fact was (rightfully) SUPER pissed about it because she WAS smarter than me and figured out the scam thing faster.

I think besides that scam thing the other thing I remember thinking was such fucking bullshit was that we would be walking past the ballroom where Welcome to Night Vale was supposed to perform and the line was insane. It was literally SOOOOO many people. I remember being a little bummed that I hadn't gotten tickets which was.... obviously a short lived regret. when they announced the night Vale cancellation I definitely realized shit was hinky.

a majority of the photos I have are from ballpitstuck! there was a Homestuck meetup at the ball pit, but a lot of us had found each other already and had been hanging out in little feral packs of homestucks, so we all meshed super well and basically immediately all became besties. we ended up kind of collectively agreeing to post stuff in the "ballpitstuck" tag, which is hilarious. I actually made fanart at the time! It's somewhere in the depths of my art blog. I've probably posted most of these before but for posterity:

we were cringe. but we were free. no but for real I did have so much fun hanging with the homestucks.

anyways the rest of the con was pretty much just hanging out and watching everything burn from the inside out. my favorite part was watching Tumblr react to dashcon in real-time, because everyone AT the convention was posting about it, and everyone who wasn't at the convention was actively following the updates. by the time we left I just remember being like "I think we've just experienced something very interesting". and now there's a Wikipedia page and a sarah z video about it so.

anyways shout out to my dashcon homies(tucks)

[daftpatience]

baby's first really big convention!! I'm going to be at the Edmonton Expo artist alley (table A525) with tapiocaghost from September 15-17!

btw the 17th is actually my birthday!!!! I'm really excited since tabling is one of my favourite things. come say hi if you're going!!

I managed to slip in a new bit of merch for Baldur's Gate 3 in time sooooo 👀

[emmaspolaroid]

but more importantly my table came together really nicely and I’m in a really great spot!! I’m still pretty nervous but it’s also starting to feel exciting!

went to set up for the con and the poster man has 3 TPN posters and I screamed and ran and I think I scared him a little but he only takes cash so I was like “very well I will be here tomorrow with cash see you at 7AM sir 🫡”

[w3ath3r-0f-sw34t3rz]

remember that time i chose a top ten for all of my favorite artists? no you don't but i'm gonna re-do it. and so

forcing myself to pick a top ten (in no particular order except for the top 3) for my favorite artists. why? because!

cavetown

this is home

boys will be bugs

it's u

devil town

pyjama pants

snake & the prairie dogs

smoke signals

a kind thing to do

pigeon

let them know they're on your mind

cavetown offline edition

rocket ships

rain

evergreen

alien waves

winter coat

thank you

petrify

ghost boys

vacation with the ghosts

candle

conan gray

alley rose

fight or flight

the exit

comfort crowd

winner

best friend

footnote

lonely dancers

heather

bourgeoisieses

chloe moriondo

take your time

waves

killbot!

cry

exhausted

hotel for clowns

plastic purse

cdbaby<3

slacker

hearteyes

taylor swift

you're on your own, kid

cardigan

who's afraid of little old me?

enchanted

don't blame me

you're losing me

new year's day

champagne problems

lover

cowboy like me

boywithuke

migraine

out of tune

bad things

zoning out

so cold

falling for you

kind of sick of life

bad luck

heart of ice

problematic

penelope scott

cigarette ahegao

gross

moonsickness

born2run

lotta true crime

rät

runaway

sin eater

lavender

shuffle

beabadoobee

take a bite

1999

bobby

the way things go

the way i spoke

talk

coming home

apple cider

coffee

this is how it went

melanie martinez

evil

field trip

nymphology

pacify her

drama club

teacher's pet

carousel

brain & heart

cry baby

glued

mother mother

the matrix

arms tonite

bit by bit

weep

legs away

wisdom

forgotten souls

oh ana

love and truth

until it doesn't hurt

olivia rodrigo

obsessed

deja vu

vampire

all-american bitch

lacy

ballad of a homeschooled girl

traitor

teenage dream

good 4 u

can't catch me now

phoebe bridgers

graceland too

the gold

i know the end

scott street

would you rather

funeral

chinese satellite

icu

motion sickness

demi moore

mitski

first love/late spring

texas reznikoff

my body's made of crushed little stars

bag of bones

geyser

francis forever

crack baby

a pearl

strawberry blond

washing machine heart

tv girl

the blonde

blue hair

better in the dark

taking what's not yours

loving machine

pretty boy

not allowed

it almost worked

louise

summer's over

alex g

i wait for you

16 mirrors

thorns

runner

break

early morning waiting

mis

treehouse

time/space

know now

the neighbourhood

sweater weather

you get me so high

ferrari

flawless

the shining

greetings from califournia

reflections

sadderdaze

lost in translation

softcore

lana del rey

happiness is a butterfly

fishtail

the greatest

music to watch boys to

chemtrails over the country club

not all who wander are lost

born to die

let the light in

say yes to heaven

west coast

beach bunny

good girls (don't get used)

vertigo

racetrack

deja vu

prom queen

scream

painkiller

rearview

blame game

ghost

arctic monkeys

r u mine?

why'd you only call me when you're high?

fluorescent adolescent

arabella

mardy bum

balaclava

the jeweller's hands

fireside

505

i wanna be yours

who is this for? me. thank you

[britt-kageryuu]

Morning Day 2

First | PREV | Next

-------------------

They woke up fairly early, but they were caught up with people taking up the bathrooms across their rooms. The each took turns washing up, then fighting over space in front of the mirror getting their makeup looking good.

Donnie was getting their costume on, they were forced to do the interviews in the morning and early noon, so they decided on a version of a Senkuu Ishigami cosplay. This would be a different level of torture, but it was his agreement to have Mikey on M&G. The they would switch with April for the interviews.

Leo was going to be in the Artist Alley helping with the table until Dontron and Miguel switched. For the day he was dressed up like his Usagi, though he couldn't bring a sword because weapon checks can be a hassle. He wasn't looking forward to being stuck in the booth later.

Mikey volunteered to grab breakfast since he wasn't in a rush to get ready. He grabbed a couple breakfast pizzas, burritos, and a little something for lunch later. Hs also double checked everything Leo would need to take to the table for the day. And warn him not to do anything stupid.

Raph would be wandering around, he heard about a couple panels/workshops that sounded interesting, and was looking forward to shopping around. Though he wasn't going to be dressed up today, he was wearing some of their merch, and a Star Warrior jacket.

After everyone who was going in right now was gathered, they left to tap in for the day, and Donnie was getting Shelldon in a little costume, and River took over for Shelldon.

~▪~▪~▪~▪~▪~▪~

🧡

Mikey finished his breakfast while setting up his model, along with messing with what would appear on screen ar the booth, mainly just made the background a paintable surface for him to mess with while talking to guests.

The first number of people to walk past the holoscreen at the booth were watching him draw his Mandarin Paints logo while asking for pictures or just asking questions.

A bit more into the morning Mikey showed off some of his dance skills with some guests, and was having fun drawing random stuff for people walking past.

Up until someone decided to question his Psychology Degree... It was not pretty, and many people had to just stop and watch the trainwreck of a smackdown Mikey delivered.

At least he didn't unleash the full Wrath of Dr. Delicate Touch on the poor fool, just Dr. Disappointed.

💙

Leo wasn't having a terrible time, but so many people kept asking were Mikey was, and it wasn't annoying so much as a bit irritating to repeatedly say 'He stayed up very late to get some restock in, and we let him sleep in.'

One upside was just chatting with CJ when no one was asking to buy something. CJ had been traveling solo more recently, and it was nice to catch up and hear some of the stories CJ had about were he went.

The most interesting thing from the morning was some high and mighty artist tried to claim Leo stole their work, and was selling it. Leo let them yell and complain, while recording them, claiming they saw specifically Leo steal their stuff, and demanded to have 'their work'be returned with compensation.

Leo loved to look on this persons face when Leo calmly and loud enough for the eavesdroppers to hear, "Hey, listen, I get that you might be jealous of the art on sale at this table, but I got some news for ya. This ain't my table. I'm not the artist for this table, nor am I an artist in general, my baby brother is though." Leo could barely keep the smugness out of his voice, "And I sure as hell don't need to steal your work. So why claim you saw ME supposedly steal Your work Hmm?"

The person had realized they were in trouble, and tried to run, but they didn't get far before Con Security got them, Leo gladly handed over a copy of the video for evidence against the troublemaker.

Some parts of social media were going wild with this for days, and that Artists reputation was probably never going to recover. Especially not after possible legal stuff was brought up when mentioned.

💜

Donnie wasn't having the worst time with doing interviews, though they were getting stopped more for getting his picture than anyone wanting to give an interview.

Even if all Donnie planned to ask was, 'what's your day job?', since that was a fairly popular thing to ask when at events, if only for the slight shock value of hearing someone in Realistic Armour say they were a software engineer or something.

Though they also wanted to add in, 'Well I'm a tech engineer, but got dragged into this ridiculousness for a sponsorship deal.' at least once, but again not many want to stop to answer questions on how they're liking the Con.

Though they did end up having a delightful discussion on how data management wasn't taken very seriously, with a person in a fluffy dragon fur suit.

The switch off time couldn't have gotten there any sooner.

❤

Raph was having a pretty great morning.

There had been a panel for one of his favorite shows, and they had the creators there, and the voice actress for Raphs favorite characters.

Then he got on a call with Star while walking around the Dealers Hall, picked up a gift or two for her, she liked this one series that was older and harder to find now.

But he wondered how he didn't see the Build Your Own Plush booth before, the line was long, but worth it.

Though some people recognized him from yesterday, and wanted to ask how strong Raph was. So there's now some pictures of him flexing while multiple people hang on his arms, and a few of him carrying one or more people.

And he thankfully still had time to get to the workshop he wanted to check out. They were going to show how to crochet some simple videogame enemies, and looked like fun.

-------------------

Masterpost

I'm gonna stagger posting a bit, because I want to be sure I like how I wrote things out, especially since I'm still having a bit of trouble figuring watch to write the guys doing on their own.

Which is part of why I split these up in to like Morning and Afternoon posts.

Also if it isn't obvious I can't really write out drama without rushing it a bit, if only because I forget about pacing things out when I want to get to the resolution.

[ketchup-monthly]

Superfam as Musicals

with help from @space-specs because both of us like musicals and have issues (also sorry but most of these musicals are ones we recognize, so your less well known favorite musicals may not be featured ): )

Clark- Fiddler on the Roof (clark is jewish and also fiddler is a classic. i watched it with my family last december and uhhhh yeah the music is so good, i think clark would really like it)(he prefers the movie version tho)

Kara- Wicked (its the homoerotic friends to enemies for her. also everything about the musical is fantastic)(specs' favorite musical)

Kon- Beetlejuice (its so kon-core. there is not one bad song in the entire soundtrack, alex brightman kills in the titular role, and im not sure if kon kins beetlejuice or lydia, but i think the answer is yes)

Jon- The Lightning Thief (i refuse to believe that Jon didn't read the percy jackson books because one of his friends had an older sibling who read them and recommended them to him. the musical does a wonderful job of adapting the story and again, there is not a single song in it that is not jam-worthy)(plus its just a really fun adventure story for a kid to put themself into)

Lois- Newsies (obvious, but accurate. also the idea of lois in an outfit like the costumes in this musical is fantastic and i think she'd look really good in it)

Ma Kent- Cats (this is one that i feel a lot of people may take issue with because people suck and refuse to admit that the stage production of cats is actually pretty good. martha, however, especially the one portrayed by k callan in lois and clark: the new adventures of superman, is an artist who loves the abstract and weird, so i think cats is right up her alley.)(the 2019 movie does not exist, but the 1998 recording of the stage production absolutely does)(i love this musical and people can fight me -ketchup)

Pa Kent- Little Shop Of Horrors (this is just a fun musical that we think he'd enjoy. this is also a musical that we think kilowog would enjoy and we think that if kilowog and pa got to interact than it would be all over for clark and hal)(also the music in this one is great and its.....about an alien plant that ends up attempting or succeeding to take over the world and i think that's a bit ironic considering the kent's alien baby that many think is going to take over the world)(plus, like our pick for ma, i think eddie jones' pa from lois and clark would really like this one)

Otho-Ra- Matilda (this is one that kinda hurts a bit. its about a group of children rising up against and fighting an oppressive evil that forced them to act militant when all they wanted was to be children and get to have fun. undoubtedly otho dreamed of something like this for years, and finally when clark rescues her, she's unsure what to do with her life. the music is fun, the staging is fun, and its cathartic for her)

Osul-Ra- The Lion King (look its the 1994 disney classic but on stage and its fantastic. its a spectacle. the music is something any child would recognize, the costumes are incredible, and all around its just a fantastic translation from film to stage. he would absolutely adore it, and then if he wanted to watch the movie again to hear the soundtrack, he could!)(you cannot tell me that clark and lois did not show their new kids the disney renaissance movies. they did. they told me so themselves)

John Henry- Hadestown (listen. this may not be an expected one here, but this musical goes hard and the thought of him singing some of the lower songs??? sign me up. i think nat probably introduced him to it, or someone else he knows, and i don't think he liked it too much at first, but upon his second and third listen, he was into it)(plus a lot of the songs have a steady beat and rhythm that i think would be soothing to tinker to)

Nat- Six (this is first off, such a pick for someone who definitely remembers having to learn about King Henry VIII in high school. also the cast is gorgeous and the music is upbeat and catchy, and i think she would get down to "Haus of Holbein")(haha get down. get it?)(also i think she'd really like cosplaying as one of them. she'd look great)

Karen (Paige)- The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals (bet you didn't think we'd include Starkid musicals on here, didja. well. we did. anyway tgwdlm is a great example of cosmic horror, and personally i think it somehow gives more to the genre than its successor, Black Friday did, even if i like it better. the story of tgwdlm can be told from a few different perspectives, whether the current in the story is what is happening to paul as the musical progresses, or, my favorite method, as if everything has already happened and inevitable (the ending song) is what happens right before the story begins with the opening song)(anyway, mini-rant aside, i also just think that she'd absolutely delight in a musical that makes fun of musicals and the musical genre while embodying it perfectly)(plus. y'know. cosmic horror)

Kenan- A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum (tbh im not sure he really knows exactly what's going on in this musical but neither do i, and he definitely has fun with it. the story is silly as hell, the music is good, and there's a lot of slapstick comedy as well as the clever little jokes and wordplay)(this is one that i like a lot but don't watch too often because its just a lot to take in and process -ketchup)

Jimmy- Kinky Boots (i am pushing my he/him lesbian Jimmy agenda and i will until i cease breathing. anyway this one is gay and the music is by Cyndi Lauper???? the icon herself??? absolutely he would enjoy it)(tbh we're not too familiar with this musical but every song we've heard from it has been really good and the visuals are pretty good too)

Cat- Moulin Rouge (the Cat we think of specifically is the one from season one of lois and clark: the new adventures of superman, and i absolutely think she would dress up as a character from this show as often as she could. the opulence and aesthetics fit her pretty well, and the jukebox-ish nature of the musical suits her much better than a musical where the story and music are written by someone specifically for the show)

Perry- Rocky Horror Picture Show (i think perry and my grandmother would get along and one of my grandmothers favorite musicals is rocky horror picture show. she watches it every year on halloween)(also i think that while its no elvis, i think he would enjoy the rock influence on the music and the threatening aura looming behind the goofiness of the antics in it)(yes he can dance the time warp. no he will not admit to it)

Bibbo- Waitress (is it a little on the nose? yeah. however i think he gets genuinely emotional over this musical because he knows/knew people, people close to him, who were in similar situations that didn't end well. plus its just a really good musical. emotional as hell, but super good)

Lex- The Phantom of the Opera (do i really need to explain? i will anyway, but it feels pretty self explanatory)(its a classic, the music is operatic, and rich people like operas, right? plus i think the story would pull him in, even if he doesn't exactly enjoy the entire show. its a good show, there's a reason it was one of the longest running shows on broadway, and i think he'd vibe with the tragic toxic love between Erik and Christine, as one sided as it may be)(sorry lex. youre a very tragic toxic gay)(this is one of ketchups favorite musicals, and has been since they were young and went with their family to see a live production of it for their mom's birthday)

Mercy- Dracula das Musical (yes, the german version of Dracula the Musical, which goes much harder than the english version, which flopped spectacularly when it came out. however i think she also really enjoys the korean production, where dracula has bright red hair, and the japanese production, which was done by an all female cast, and had a lovely tragic toxic lesbian story of dracula and mina)(i think she would enjoy the vampires and just how good the music is)(god, "nosferatu", "zu ende", and "roseanne" just go so hard)(this is another of ketchups favorite musicals)(please check out the versions of the musical i mentioned, they're absolutely worth a watch, i promise -ketchup)

Hope- Sweeney Todd (did i give the hot lesbians dark musicals? yes i did. anyway. sweeney todd is really good and i think hope would enjoy it very much)(also its a sondheim so you know it slaps so hard)

The Eradicator- Stomp (its just a fun performance to listen to, but especially to just watch. i think he stumbled upon it, literally, at one point, and just stuck around to watch the rest of the show because he was confused and interested in what was going on)(its technically not a musical but technically era isn't a real boy so its okay)(it is a musical experience and a stage production though)

[jayzfort]

Remember that time? || Panville

A/N- I've decided to embark on a series of short drabbles centered on non-canon ships, such as Panville, Fremione, Harmione, and Druna. However, my main focus will be on Panville/Fremione. These drabbles will each have a specific theme. For example, in 'Remember when?', we'll take a trip down memory lane with Pansy and Neville, tracing their journey throughout the years. As for Fred and Hermione, I'm contemplating a similar approach. Perhaps we'll witness them navigating the complexities of married life, with Fred as the proprietor of a joke shop and Hermione serving as the Minister of Magic. Also, the pictures I have used, are not mine. Credits to the original artists. If at all anyone wishes for me to tag the artists, please let me know. Thank you.

Remember when we met accidentally?

Pansy observed her husband, Neville, tending to the plants in their backyard from the kitchen window. Setting aside her dishwashing duties, she abandoned the dishes and the drying cloth and made her way to the backyard greenhouse. Leaning against the door frame, she watched Neville potting a Belladonna plant with his back turned to her. It had become a habit for Pansy to twist her wedding band around her finger, a silent reassurance that despite the trials they faced after the war, everything had turned out alright. She had transformed into a better person.

Smiling at the sight of Neville engrossed in his botanical pursuits, she decided to playfully comment, "Nice arse you've got there, Mr. Longbottom." Startled, Neville turned to her, his face flushing red. Despite his heroics during the war, Pansy loved how her remarks could still make him blush. "Why thank you, but please, keep your comments to yourself. My wife won't be too happy; she's very possessive," he replied with a chuckle.

"That I am, and perhaps you should relay that message to the young women who flirt with you every time you visit Diagon Alley," Pansy retorted matter-of-factly, earning another laugh from Neville as he wiped his hands on a rag. "I'm going to miss you, Nev," she murmured, resting her head on his chest.

"Don't worry, love. I'll only be gone for a month, and then you'll join me," Neville reassured her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "A month is a long time. You're choosing your Hogwarts plants over your wife. I'll remember that the next time you come asking for plant-growing potions," Pansy joked softly.

"Parkinson, who taught you to be so dramatic? Aren't you supposed to be the independent pureblood woman you were raised to be?" Neville teased, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Shut up, Longbottom," she replied, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him.

"Baby, Remember when we met after the war?" she asked softly, her gaze lingering on their wedding bands, which gleamed in the sunlight filtering into the greenhouse.

"Please have a seat, Pansy," Headmistress McGonagall instructed as Pansy entered her office, her mind swirling with apprehension. After clearing up the potions desk following her last class with the fourth-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, Pansy had received a summons from the Headmistress via her patronus, leaving her feeling uneasy throughout dinner. With the recent capture of ex-Death Eaters, even those who had previously been granted leniency, Pansy couldn't shake the feeling that she might be called in for questioning as well.

"May I come in?" Pansy politely knocked on the door before entering the office, where she greeted McGonagall before taking a seat opposite the headmistress.

"Pansy, I have some news that I would like to discuss with you first," McGonagall began, her tone serious. Pansy nodded, her nerves evident as she fidgeted with her nails, a habit she had developed during the war when feeling anxious.

"I hope you remember Mister Longbottom, Neville Longbottom," McGonagall began, and Pansy couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the mention of that name. It was a name that haunted her, stirring up memories of regret and remorse every time it crossed her path – in newspapers, in crowds, anywhere. She had often fantasized about approaching him, falling to her knees, and pleading for his forgiveness for the countless reasons that weighed heavily on her conscience – from the taunts she had subjected him to during their school years to her inability to intervene when the Carrows tortured him during the war.

"Yes, Professor," Pansy replied, her voice catching in her throat. She felt an uncomfortable lump forming, rendering her speechless as she could do little more than nod in response to McGonagall's words.

"I have decided to appoint him as the Herbology professor after the Christmas break. Pomona took immediate retirement after she broke her leg going to the greenhouses last week." The revelation that Neville would be taking on the role caught Pansy off guard. It was an unexpected twist.

"I hope you have no problem, considering you'll be colleagues with an ex-classmate," McGonagall concluded. Pansy felt a mix of emotions flood over her. On one hand, she was relieved to be spared from questioning. On the other, she was apprehensive about facing Neville, the person she owed so many apologies to. Masking her true feelings with a practiced smile, she replied in a professional tone honed from years of navigating the intricacies of pureblood society.

"Of course, it will be delightful to have a colleague with whom I've shared seven years of classes," she said, rising from her seat and exiting the room.

Fast forward to the Christmas break, with most students having returned home for the holidays, Neville had arrived and was settling in. He easily mingled with the other teachers, who quickly warmed up to him. Even the few students staying behind during the break found themselves drawn to Neville's friendly and amiable demeanor.

However, it seemed that Professor Parkinson, Head of Slytherin and Potions Master of Hogwarts, was the only one giving the new professor the cold shoulder. It wasn't intentional; she simply couldn't bring herself to approach him and pretend that the past hadn't happened.

Rumors began circulating among the sixth and seventh year girls, the ones known for their mischief, suggesting that Pansy and Neville had attempted to date in their seventh year but had a falling out. Little did they know, their seventh year was overshadowed by the war.

One day, a deep voice interrupted her thoughts, a voice that belonged to a tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man. Neville Longbottom stood in her office, a sight that caught her off guard. He exuded confidence, with his sharp jawline, disheveled sandy hair, and muscular arms straining against his rolled-up sleeves. My god, he was going to be the death of her.

"Neville—sorry, Professor Longbottom? Uh, how may I help you? Please, come in," she stammered, trying to compose herself. But facing Neville, now transformed into a confident and striking man, was proving difficult. His presence seemed to fill the room, and she found herself unable to meet his gaze.

"Sorry, Professor, I was caught off guard. How may I help you?" she continued, turning away to busy herself with potion ingredients.

"Pansy? You know there aren't any students around. You don't need to be formal. We're classmates," he remarked casually, sensing her discomfort.

"I believe formality is necessary, especially during work hours. What is it that you need?" she replied, her tone more curt than intended. Instantly, she regretted her sharpness, reminded of how she had treated him during their school years.

"Plant growth hormone enhancement potion, please," Neville requested, keeping it simple. But then he realized that his recent interactions with the Potions professor had been a bit tense, so he decided to take a chance.

"Professor, I've noticed that I've been warmly welcomed by the students and all the other professors, except you. Is there another way you'd like to welcome me? Perhaps a late-night rendezvous at the greenhouses?" he added, flashing a playful wink.

Pansy found herself at a loss for words. Was Neville Longbottom flirting with her? As much as she wanted to feel flattered, guilt consumed her. She couldn't ignore the fact that she had made his life miserable during their seven years at Hogwarts. She had been a terrible person, allowing him to be bullied and tortured. If she were in his shoes, she would never forgive herself. In fact, she might even take legal action to keep her away.

"Flirting? You have the audacity to flirt with me after everything I put you through?" Pansy burst out, her voice rising with each word. She couldn't contain the surge of emotions flooding her, the guilt, the regret, and the self-loathing.

"How can you pretend that the seven years at Hogwarts didn't happen, that I didn't make your life a living hell? I was cruel, Neville. I let you be tormented, I stood by and did nothing. If I were you, I wouldn't even want to look at me, let alone flirt!" Her words came out in a rush, fueled by years of pent-up remorse and shame.

Neville's expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding. "Pansy, that was a long time ago. We were kids, and we've both grown since then. I don't hold any grudges, and I certainly don't blame you for what happened. We've all made mistakes."

But Pansy couldn't shake off the weight of her past actions. "No, you don't understand. You were always kind, always brave, even when I didn't deserve it. I'm sorry, Neville. I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Neville approached Pansy slowly, his gaze gentle as he reached out to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Pansy, it's okay. We were both different people back then. We've all made mistakes, but that doesn't define who we are now."

His touch was comforting, a warmth spreading through her as she met his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity and compassion reflected in them. "You were just as much a victim of the circumstances as I was. We were all caught up in something much bigger than ourselves," he said softly.

Pansy nodded, a sense of relief washing over her at his understanding. "Thank you, Neville. For being so understanding, for forgiving me," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared past hanging in the air between them. Then, with a tentative smile, Neville suggested, "How about we start over? Leave the past behind us and focus on the present. Friends?"

Pansy returned his smile, feeling a glimmer of hope blooming within her. "Friends," she agreed, knowing deep down that their bond would only grow stronger with time.

As they shared a brief moment of camaraderie, both Pansy and Neville couldn't help but sense the unspoken connection between them, a silent acknowledgment that perhaps, just perhaps, their journey together was far from over.

The warmth of their embrace lingered for a moment longer, enveloping them in a cocoon of shared memories and unspoken promises. But just as quickly as it had begun, their intimate moment was interrupted by the sound of three loud shrieks, echoing through the greenhouse.

Neville and Pansy turned towards the source of the noise, their children rushing towards them with boundless energy. August, their son, reached out eagerly for his mother, while Alice and Francesa clamored for their father's attention.

"Well, we had a good 15 minutes to ourselves, didn't we?" Pansy remarked with a playful grin, scooping up August into her arms as their daughters enveloped Neville in a tight embrace.

Despite the interruption, there was a sense of contentment in the air as they gathered together as a family, the love and warmth shared between them serving as a reminder of the precious moments they cherished together.