#and I have absolute feels about leaving New Orleans

[some-bunniii]

My Charming Red Savior [2]

・❥ Two odd visitors and a mugging. Can’t you stay out of trouble?

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

x: he’s back!! a little longer this time, 8k words. enjoy!

That evening after meeting Alastor, you sat at your friend’s dining table, your mind racing.

Your finger aimlessly twisted that gold ring he had magically placed on your digit, as you explained what happened. The creep harassing you, Alastor swooping in to save you. All of it laid out for your friend to digest. Which she wasn’t taking it very well.

“I mean, I'm glad that demon helped you out of that, but you should have gotten away as soon as possible! Haven’t you heard what he’s done, what kind of deals people have made with him?”

You sighed, feeling a bit frustrated with your friend's skepticism. "Look, I get it, you're worried. But Alastor isn't what everyone makes him out to be. He helped me when I needed it most. Besides, who are we to judge someone solely based on rumors?"

Your friend leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the ring adorning your finger. "What about that? What if it's some sort of trap he set for you?"

You instinctively pulled your hand back, a protective gesture. "Don't be ridiculous. Alastor wouldn't do something like that. He's... different."

"Different? More like dangerous," she countered, reaching out to grab your hand. "Come on, let me see that ring. We can take it to someone to see if it’s been magically altered."

Dangerous? He saved you from someone dangerous! Yes, he was a demon. A sinner, who probably did some bad things, and most likely continues to do bad things. Except, for the fact he didn’t leave you, a defenseless nobody, to be taken off and.. you couldn’t even think about it. 

You jerked your hand away from her hand, the ring glinting in the lamplight. "There’s nothing wrong with the ring, you’re just being paranoid. It’s.. comforting, actually."

Your friend sighed, frustration evident in her voice. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. Please, at least consider what I'm saying."

You softened, realizing she was only looking out for you. "I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I’m not a child, I can make my own decisions."

Your friend relented after a moment, sinking back into her chair. She nodded slowly, agreeing with your statement.

At that moment, your friend’s husband had entered the room. A large pot of steaming foodstuff in his oven-mitt protected hands as he walked. 

“I hope you guys are hungry!” He said cheerfully, the tension in the room easing with his upbeat demeanor. You quite liked him, he had some good jokes and cared about those around him.

You smile gratefully, welcoming the distraction from the intense conversation. “Absolutely starving,” you reply, grateful for the opportunity to shift the focus to something more light-hearted.

Your friend’s husband sets the pot on the table, filling the room with the delightful aroma of home-cooked food. “Well, dig in!” he encourages, serving everyone generous portions.

As you take a bite, the flavors dance on your palate, and your eyes light up as you eat. 

“What is this?” You turn to her husband, who looked up from his bowl, face stuffed with food.

“Crawfish Étouffée! A popular dish from New Orleans, back on Earth. Do you like it?”

You nodded vigorously. Is this what Jambalaya tastes like? If so, you really needed to try it. Maybe, you’d see Alastor again, and he could give you that recipe he had mentioned? 

As your thoughts drifted back to the red demon, your finger began to twist the ring around your digit once more. Why did it bring you such comfort? You had no idea. 

Sometimes, if you put your hand to your face, you could smell faint traces of his scent, that you had first memorized when you walked side by side with him. It smelled like an old cologne, something that you couldn’t quite recognize from your days. Maybe, it was back when he was alive? 

Lemony, hay-like and grassy. A whiff of licorice. Something peppery too? You couldn’t quite place it. But every deep inhale sent you into a lull. A trance, almost.

Your finger still mindlessly caressed the golden band a while later, during the early hours of the morning. You had been sweeping the front doors to the formalwear store you worked at, tidying up before it would be opened for customers. 

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, did you get pulled back into reality.

“Pardon me, miss. Are you guys open?” 

Turning around to address the voice, you find no one. It wasn’t until you looked down did you see the demon man. He resembled that of an imp. Dark red skin with thin, striped horns that peaked out of the top of his head. 

He wore a white turtleneck, with long white hair that curled around his chin. His eyes were unreadable, hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. They were Ray-Burn glasses. You could immediately tell from the bridge, which were curved to resemble a half-circle rather than an oval. 

You also knew how high-end that brand was, and it wasn’t easy getting a pair either. The wait for those was no joke. And, this style was from their newest collection, which meant that he had to be of some importance to get one so soon.

His posture also struck you as odd, especially for an imp. He stood tall, shoulders back, head held high. Despite being a part of one of the lowest social classes in Hell, the demon regarded everyone and everything around him with an air of confidence and assertiveness. 

It was also odd that he was wearing sunglasses so early in the morning, there wasn’t really much light to need protection from. Maybe he had some bat genetics in him?

You smiled at him, but shook your head. “I’m sorry, sir. We’re closed right now. You’ll have to come back later.”

The imp visibility deflated at your words, a frown etched on his face. You could see his eyes through the shades just enough to show them flicking down the streets. 

“Oh, okay. That’s fine, I guess. Thanks, I'll just.. have to figure something else out.” 

He backed away, as he scanned the nearby stores again. He muttered to himself, too quiet for you to hear, but his tone sounded scolding. As if he was berating himself. The demon bit his lip, as if he was contemplating something.

A pang of sympathy hit you, as you watched him become more anguished. It seemed like he really needed whatever was inside, and you didn’t have a reason to deny him business other than to follow the official hours of operation. 

Placing the broom against the brick wall, you pulled out a set of keys. The demon turned slightly as he heard its jingle, and you met his shaded gaze. 

“There isn’t really anything else I need to do before opening though, so I suppose it’s not a big issue letting you inside.”

The imp perked, a smile blooming on his lips at your words. You bent to turn the lock with a click. Pulling the door handle, you pulled it behind you, allowing the demon to follow you inside.

“That is so kind of you! Truly, you don’t get to meet many kind and considerate people in this place.”

Well, it was Hell. Being friendly to strangers was not a common occurrence. You just weren’t one of the, well, bad ones. Sure, you had some flaws, you weren’t a resident for no reason. But, you prided yourself in having a reasonable moral code.

“Don’t worry, I know what I need. I’ll be quick!” The imp promised, as he passed through the entryway. The large room was dark, besides the morning light casting through the windows.

You flicked on the lights, and the overhead lamps lit the interior of the store. There were mannequins lining the dark-blue walls, styled in different tuxedos and dress shirts. Next to them were rows of shelves, each specific to a type of garment. There were dress pants, vests, shoes, and smaller accessories like ties and belts. 

As you walked behind the black-granite countertop, the imp had hurried over to a mannequin facing out of a glass display. He reached down near its feet, a small shelf lifted from the floor. A pile of red suits was neatly tucked next to the display. 

Gingerly, he lifted to the top piece, examining it thoroughly. After a few moments, he brought it closer to his chest, before turning to you. Your hands tapped against the display of the digital cash register, readying it for service.

You looked up just as he placed the garment on the counter, your eyes scanning the suit. Strange, he was still wearing those shades. You simply smiled at him, before pulling the item closer to you. Carefully, you unfolded it, examining its form.

It was a beautiful red tuxedo, with golden lapels. Dark-red buttons, with white cuffs. It was a women’s suit, which was rare for you to see, since the store mostly marketed towards men. 

“What a wonderful piece!” You exclaimed, your tone dripping with customer-satisfying professionalism. “Getting this for a special someone?” 

The imp nodded. “For my daughter. She runs a hotel a few blocks away, up the hill. The Hazbin Hotel, if you've heard of it? She needed a new suit, and this was the perfect fit.”

The hotel that was supposed to help sinners with redemption? You’ve heard bits and pieces, mostly when you watched that disastrous interview with Katie Killjoy. You couldn’t recall who ran it, though.

“A little, but you sure do have an eye for style!” You nodded, grabbing the small tag from the sleeve to input the information into the register.

“Well, it was my sweetheart who picked it out first,” the imp gushed, “I can’t take all the credit, I'm not good at these sorts of things, anyway.”

“Do they have a background in fashion?” 

“No, they’re an artist,” the demon beamed, his voice growing softer as he spoke of his lover, “I can promise, you’ve never seen a real painting until you’ve seen theirs. If it were my way, I'd fill every billboard with them, instead of those.. repulsive pornography ads they have downtown.” 

The imp held a look of pride and admiration as he spoke, obviously having full confidence in his claim. You pulled up the item on your screen, and read him the price. It was not a cheap suit, but the demon had no reaction to the total and simply pulled out his wallet. 

“Is business running smoothly at the hotel? Do you guys get a lot of guests?”

The imp contemplated for a moment, before pulling out a large sum of money, placing it gently on the counter. You reached for it, before licking your finger and counting through the bills.

“Not entirely. It just opened recently, and, with the demons it caters to? Hah, there’s not many around here with the mindset of redemption. But, I'm going to be helping her out, supporting her with the work.” 

What a nice father, helping his daughter out like that. If only someone like that had helped you when you were younger, maybe you would be stu-

“Especially when it comes to keeping an eye on some of the.. colorful characters she calls staff. Like that Radio Demon.” As the imp spoke, you could hear the disdain in his tone, as he uttered that name. Your head shot up from the bills in your hand at his words.

Radio demon? Alastor? Alastor was working at the Hazbin Hotel? 

“As in, the tall red guy with deer antlers? Carries a staff around with a microphone on it?” You questioned him, excitement lacing your voice.

“Yes. Do you know him? Word of advice, stay away from that demon. He’s nothing but a self-serving, pompous show-off.” 

That couldn’t be true, could it?

Quickly, you placed the bills into the cash register, pulling out change to hand to the imp. As he took the money in your hand, you found it right to defend Alastor.

“He helped me out of a tough spot awhile ago, practically saved my life, actually.” 

The demon regarded you for a moment, eyebrows raised as he took in your words. He didn’t argue, seemingly trying to leave as fast as possible. Back to the hotel presumably. “Hmph. Well, just be careful, you never know with demons like him.”

You were about to wish him farewell and turn away, before his hand lifted once more. Looking down, he held another stack of money in his hands, you could faintly read ‘100’ on one of the bills alone.

“For your kindness,” the demon stated simply, giving you a wink, “I enjoyed our short chat, there’s not many people down here I'm interested in talking to. Go treat yourself.” 

Your eyes widened at his words. How did he have so much money he could just.. give it away?! You almost wanted to reject his offering. But, money was money, so you took them from his grip. 

“I-I don’t know what to say, but thank you! This is very generous of you.” 

He only shrugged, sending you a charming smile. “I am indeed a very generous person. Just don’t spend it on drugs, or anything like that.”

As you handed him the small pink bag, his shaded gaze landed on the ring on your finger, and he leaned in just an inch to get a closer look.

“Boy, that is a fine piece of jewelry you’ve got there! Very nice, was it from a lover? It really makes a statement! Just curious.. do you by any chance know where you got it from?”

You tilted your head, wondering why he wanted to know, was he planning on getting one himself? You just shook your head, you couldn’t really tell him it magically poofed onto your finger by the same demon he held negative feelings for. 

He nodded, muttering something like ‘that’s fine’, before pivoting away from you towards the door. 

“Adios!” He called, a hand in the air in farewell as he strolled to the exit. The bell above the door jingled as it closed behind him, and you saw him step near the curb, away from your view. 

Suddenly, a flash of gold illuminated the small window on the door. Crossing the room, you peeked out the large display window. There was no one on the street, even when you cranked your head to both sides of the street. It’s like he just.. vanished. Strange.

You flipped the large sign on the window from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’ before returning behind the counter. Your fingers still holding the money he gave you, your mind elsewhere as you waited for the day to begin. 

Your thoughts were still on that encounter when the assistant manager walked up to you a few hours later. He was a rather short, plump man with small horns protruding from his head. His skin was a pale blue, his figure resembling that of an ox. Alan was his name. 

You weren’t very fond of him, he always threw flirtatious comments and jokes at you. Always insisting to join you behind the counter, or lean right over your shoulder when you worked. He reminded you too much of that creep from the streets, which made you uncomfortable.

What was up with you always attracting the questionable suitors? Maybe your friend at the cafe was right, you weren’t going to find ‘The One,’ you’d just have to settle for less.

Alan would always try and pry into your personal life, asking if you had a lover, or kids. You’d simply change the conversation as smoothly as possible. If you told him we’re single, he’d no doubt try and court you. Which made you nervous, he didn’t seem like someone who could take a rejection. 

You weren’t able to say, ‘why yes, I have a hubby of my own!’ because you never had proof. Without a ring, and the rest of your co-workers aware of your singlehood, you knew lying to him would have consequences.

Not to mention, he was your boss. He had power, and unless you wanted to end up homeless on the street, you had to keep a friendly facade with him. 

Luckily, he wasn’t around much. Except today your manager had meetings out of town, and he was the substitute. So, for now, you were stuck with him.

“Hey, you still know how to use that sewing machine in the back, right?” He asked you after you had finished assisting a customer near the large display window.

You nodded, curious about his question. In truth, being a tailor sounded much better than working for customer service. You had spent late nights slowly practicing the craft, on that ancient sewing machine in your basement. Maybe, you’d use that money the imp gave you to buy a new one.

“Well, Darlene just called in, which means I got no one as my seamstress. We’ve got a few pieces in need of mending, you think you can handle that?”

“Oh, sure! I can do that, no problem.”

It was then you heard the bell above the front entrance jingle slightly and the creak as the door opened, which caused you to turn sharply to greet the newcomer. Except.. there was no one there.

That was strange. There were other customers milling about, but you were standing in a position that made it impossible to miss anyone exiting the building. 

“Must be having strong winds or something.” Alan remarked, and you turned back to him. As you moved, you noticed the corner next to the doorway was more shaded than usual. As if a large black shadow had taken residence there. Perhaps an overhead light went out? You’d have to check on that later. 

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you something,” Alan started, a flirtatious smile on his lips as he lowered his voice, “I’ve got VIP access to a new club that just opened a few blocks down. I was thinking you and I could get some drinks and have a little fun, whatcha say?” 

You groaned internally. Not this again. How were you going to say no this time? 

“Well, I mean, um- you see the thing is…”

Your eyes went down to the ring on your digit, that little A shimmering in the light. Maybe, you could use this.

“… I’m already taken!” You exclaim, your hand shooting up to give Alan a front row seat at the prize on your person. 

“You are?” He asked incredulously.

“Mhm!” You nod your head vigorously. “As you can see, this is my wedding ring. I eloped not too long ago, hence why it’s not common knowledge.” 

Hopefully, he would buy your lie.

Alan stood there, his eyes flicking from you to the ring. Was he going to try and fight your claim? It seemed like he wanted to. Before you even gave him the chance to, you whipped towards the door being the counter to start mending.

You had only used the machine in the back a handful of times, but you were trying to become more familiar with it. Nodding, you quickly slipped into the back room. The hum of the old sewing machine greeted you like an old friend as you fired it up and began to mend the pieces in need of repair.

The rhythmic clacking of the needle against fabric filled the air as you lost yourself in the task at hand, the radio beside you playing soft old-timey melodies in the background. You continued this calm pace for a few hours, thankful to be away from Alan and the bustling state of the store.

Until a familiar static-laced voice broke through the music. 

“Hello, sir! My, what a hellish morning it is!” 

Your foot instantly moved off the pedal nestled under the table, the vibrations from the machine ceasing as it stilled. You strained your ears, is that who you thought it was?

“Oh, why hello there! How can I assist you today?” You heard the loud, boisterous voice of Alan as he welcomed the newcomer. Quickly, you left your seat, and peaked through the small crack in the doorway. 

Your breath quickened as your eyes landed on the tall, red demon. Alastor. How did he get in here? You didn’t hear the loud bell jingle at his entrance.

He sported his usual red coat, with his staff resting lazily in his grip as he stood before the demon. He had a large smile on his face, but his eyes spoke differently. He looked absolutely bored, disinterested in the man before him and his surroundings.

“I’m simply here to adjust some wear-and-tear on my suit,” he remarked, “as you can see, my sleeve has taken quite the nasty wound.”

He lifted up his arm, displaying a tiny piece of missing fabric from the cuff. It was a clean slice, as if someone had taken a knife and barely nicked it. Nasty wasn’t exactly how you’d describe it, more like itty bitty. 

“If I may..” Alan leaned in slightly, reaching out to inspect the tear. 

Alastor only pulled his arm back, rejecting the gesture with a subtle yet firm movement.

“I prefer to handle my own attire, thank you,” Alastor stated, his voice carrying a hint of disdain as he withdrew his sleeve from Alan’s reach. His smile widened further, as he stared at the demon. 

Your boss recoiled slightly, taken aback by Alastor’s abrupt refusal. “Oh, of course. My apologies,” he stammered, attempting to regain her composure, “but not to worry, sir! We’ve got fabrics that match and a seamstress to do the work. Let me go grab her for you, I'll be right back!”

You saw Alan turn in your direction, and you backed away from the door. Your heart raced as you realized you were going to actually be face to face with Alastor again. How would he react to your presence?

You shot into your seat, spinning around towards the machine. You stepped on the pedal, and the machine hummed to life once more. The door opened, and Alan poked his head in.

“Hey, there’s a customer who needs some assistance. Get out here.”

His head disappeared from view, leaving you alone once more. Exhaling a large breath to ease your nerves, you rose from your seat. Quickly, you walked over to the door and gripped the handle tightly. Another deep breath, and you pulled it open gingerly before taking a step outside. 

Your boss was back beside Alastor, who towered over the man. As you slowly entered the room, Alastor’s eyes moved to you. They lit up with interest, the smile seeming to shrink slightly. The crooked edges on his smile softened too, appearing more genuine as he regarded you.

“Ah, there you are, my dear! I was hoping to find you here.” Alastor called to you. He stepped right past Alan, completely ignoring his presence as he strode up to you. 

As he closed the distance, you became awfully aware of how fast your heart was beating inside your chest. That smell of lemons and licorice hit your nose as he stood before you, and it eased your nerves as you took a quick inhale of breath. 

He turned, allowing Alan to see both of your faces as he slowly reached out to take your hand. His thumb gently grazed against the gold band and it spun slightly. Your breath hitched at his touch.

“It is so nice to be able to visit my dear wife at her place of work,” Alastor started, his gaze shooting to Alan as he spoke, “and, to meet her lovely coworkers! A pleasure indeed.” 

Did he hear you telling Alan about your ring? He couldn’t have, but there seemed to be no other reason for him to bring up the whole marriage farce.

Alastor turned back to you, finger still softly caressing your hand as he turned his attention to his sleeve. 

“It appears I’ve gotten into another miscommunication with an overly confident adversary, similar to what I spoke to you about before. Would you care to assist me, my love?” 

Your eyes momentarily snapped to Alan, who had turned a paler shade as he watched Alastor’s actions. Now, he was finally seeing who your ‘husband’ was. It appeared to be quite a shocker for the demon.

Your gaze flicked back to Alastor, who stood next to you. That grin of his hiding whatever emotions he was feeling as he slowly released your grip, indicating for you to lead him away.

“Thank you for coming to visit, Alastor. I can stitch that up for you, you’ll just need to let me take it for a bit.” You smiled at him, doing your best to play the part with professionality. What, were you supposed to just start calling him pet names like ‘honey’ and ‘babe’?

“I think I'd prefer keeping it on.” Alastor said curtly, adjusting his collar.

He wanted to still be wearing it while you fixed it? That meant you couldn’t use the sewing machine, without risking injury to him. 

“… I suppose you can just follow me, then.” You replied, turning away as you beckoned him towards the back room. 

Alan didn’t follow the two of you, maybe Alastor’s comments threw him off. You hoped they did, you had enough of that guy for one day. 

You opened the dark gray door, pulling it wide so Alastor could follow behind. The back room was a cozy nook from the busy establishment, half of it transformed into a makeshift tailoring nook. A small step stool nestled among tall mirrors allowed a multi-angle look for customers getting a fitting.

Rolls of fabric lined orderly shelves nearby, accompanied by an array of sewing essentials. In the corner, a small table and chair housed the ancient sewing machine. You walked forward, before realizing 

“Oh, i’m sorry, I don’t have another chair. Let me go get one!” You pivoted to go find a spare, but Alastor only lifted his hand in a sweeping motion, brushing off your attempt.

“Not to worry, my dear! I’ve got it under control.”

He reached a hand forward, gripping the air like he was grabbing the top of the backrest of a chair. He tugged at the air, and a plume of green smoke wafted from his fingertips as he pulled a wooden chair from the smoke.

You stared, mesmerized as he dragged it next to your seat. He gingerly lowered himself, and plopped into the chair. That had to be powerful magic, for him to be able to produce such an object easily from thin air. Just like he did with the seasoning.

Quickly, you gathered the necessary essentials to begin fixing his garment. A couple of needles, some dark red thread, and multiple fabrics that you seemed the closest to his suit’s color. 

While you collected the items in a small bin, Alastor sat comfortably behind you. His nails clicking against his cane rhythmically as the music from the radio filled the room. 

He hummed softly along to the melody, obviously familiar with the tune playing. You had heard it before, a classic rendition of ‘Once In A While’ by Lennie Hayton. It was a softer tune, and an orchestral piece that allowed you to drift into a comfortable lull. 

As you carried the bin back to your seat, you nestled in beside him. There was a small distance between the two of you, your knees a few inches from grazing each other.

“May I?” You asked, holding out your hand to take his sleeve. You thought Alastor was going to react negatively to the gesture, like he did with Alan. Instead, he carefully reached out his arm, allowing you to pull his sleeve down to the surface of the table. 

You tried very hard not to touch his skin, as you adjusted the tear on his cuff to face you. Grabbing a few pieces of fabric, you began to hold them next to his sleeve, attempting to find the perfect match.

“So, what happened this time? Surely, not that snake demon from before.” You spoke, trying to spark conversation with your ‘husband’.

“Ha, I’m glad you do remember our last conversation! I was worried you'd forgotten as the days went by.” Alastor started, sinking deeper into his seat. He placed his cane against the table, 

‘Of course, I'd remember,’ you thought, ‘I can’t get you out of my head, no matter how I try.’

“I had found myself in a rather lively discussion with a particularly vexing imp. Tiny thing, but full of mischief and malice. Managed to get itself tangled in my grip during our little altercation.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I must say, it put up quite the fight for something no larger than a rat. But fear not, I emerged victorious, albeit with a few battle scars.” 

Alastor gestured towards the tear on his sleeve, his eyes sparkling with amusement. You smiled at his words, a small chuckle coming from your throat as you pulled another piece of fabric to his cuff.

Finally, you found the color that matched his attire, and you carefully began cutting a large piece from the roll. 

“I’m going to have to hand sew your tear, is that okay?”

“Of course, my dear! Just try not to poke me, hm?” 

You nodded with a smile, before plucking the small needle from the table. 

With nimble fingers, you carefully align the edges of the fabric, pinching them together to ensure a snug fit. Holding the needle firmly between your thumb and forefinger, you begin to weave the thread in and out with practiced precision, creating neat, tiny stitches along the seam.

“I have been meaning to ask, how did the seasoning I gave you fare?” Alastor spoke, his eyes filled with intrigue as he waited for your response.

“Oh! It was fantastic!” You beamed, your mouth watering slightly as you recalled the wonderful dinner from that night. “They made Crawfish Étouffée, and it was very delicious.” 

“Ah! Yes, that dish was a staple back in New Orleans, when I was alive. Folks would gather all over to get a taste of my mother’s own twist on the delicacy. She was quite the cook, and her skill never faltered.” 

As you listened, you realized his voice softened quite more when he spoke of his mother. That static in his tone seemed to disperse as he mentioned her, and you caught a glimpse of his true voice behind that radio overlay. 

“Well, now that I've gotten a glimpse into such an art. I really am interested in trying your Jambalaya.” You spoke genuinely, your fingers still delicately lacing the thread across his sleeve. 

“I am pleased to hear that,” Alastor hummed, “I’ll have to bring you a sample the next time I'm in the area.”

Silence filled the room, other than the music that wafted from the radio’s speaker. You continued to adjust and stitch together his sleeve, very close to finishing the mending work. 

Even though there were no words spoken between the two of you, the silence was not awkward at all. The two of you simply sat comfortably in each other's presence.

Behind you, the slight crack in the door allowed you to hear the loud voice of Alan, as he spoke to another customer. Alastor’s ears twitched slightly as he heard the demon speaking, his body tensing momentarily.

“Has that wretch been bothering you often?” Alastor spoke after a moment, the static in his voice growing thicker as he spoke of Alan. His claws slightly dug into the table, a faint trail embedded in the wood.

“Well, he doesn't treat me like that succubus did. But, he does not drop the subject of us becoming romantically involved. It gets.. uncomfortable, I guess.”

You sighed as the words slipped from your tongue, a frown forming on your lips as you thought of his many attempts to swoon you. Alastor’s head tilted at your words, that smile cracked even wider as you continued to carefully slip the needle through the fabric. 

“Would you like me to ĐɆVØɄⱤ Ⱨł₴ ₴ØɄⱠ?” 

You jerked your head up at his words, surprise etched on your face as you turned to him. His voice had changed, the last bit of his sentence distorting into pure static, and you almost didn’t catch his words.

The room crackled with energy, causing your hair to practically stand on end. It was chilling, and you shivered subconsciously at the feeling. The room seemed to darken as Alastor stared at you, his pupils shrinking to resemble radio dials.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, your tone never faltering from its original octane. Which surprised you, since this powerful demon was looking at you with such murderous intent.

‘It’s not you he wants to murder.’ the voice in your head whispered. Which made your heart flutter, was Alastor wanting to kill for you? That was.. unconventionally sweet. 

Is that what he did to the succubus the other night when you weren’t looking? 

“If the little oaf can’t keep his words to himself, then there is no place for him to continue to sour your mood.” Alastor explained, his eyes taking their original form slowly as he spoke, and the distortion in his tone subsided.

The shadow festering around you slowly shrank away from your seat, illuminating the room once more. That cold feeling that gripped at your shoulders vanished. 

It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling that left you, even if it smelled of darkness and destruction. It felt almost.. comforting to you. Like the shadow was pulling you into a protective hug, the chill cooling your heated skin into a soothing embrace. 

You only shook your head, “He doesn’t need to die for something like that. And, he’s my boss. Without him, the store wouldn’t run as well.”

Alastor only huffed, leaning back into his seat. His claws left the table, and were instead enclosed into a fist, as he rested his chin atop of it. 

“At least the poor bloke ceased in his courting when he realized another had already taken that place.” He shrugged, his eyes glancing down to the gold ring on your hand.

You halted, the needle hanging in the air mid-stitch. How did he know about you and Alan’s conversation? More importantly, what were his feelings about you still wearing the piece of jewelry? 

“Oh, right. Yes, I’m sorry for still wearing it, I know it was just for that moment and it was stupid for me to think I could keep it-”

“Nonsense! Do not fret, my dear.” Alastor interjected, brushing off your worry. “Think of it as a small gift to rectify the situation you were forced into that night.” 

A gift? He wanted you to keep the ring? 

“You could even go as far as to perceive it as a good luck charm, ha-ha. Trouble seems to never escape you, and if this ring can even give you an ounce of protection, why not keep it on to ensure nothing like that night happens again?”

You smiled at him, your eyebrows raised as you listened to his words. A tiny ring, protecting you? You doubted it.

“Well, thank you, Alastor. It is really nice to know someone cares in that way.” 

Alastor hummed softly in response, his toothy grin softening into a lipped smile as he turned his attention back to the music playing softly. 

The thread tightened snuggly between the two fabrics as you finished the final stitch, your other hand reaching to the small scissors next to you. Carefully, you snipped the thread as close to the sleeve as possible, and you leaned back to take a look at your work.

It looked perfect, like the garment had never taken a hit in the first place. Alastor pulled his arm back slightly, turning it over to inspect it thoughtfully.

“I must say, you have such talent with a needle and thread! When you told me you worked as a door girl, I never expected knowledge of tailoring to be in your resume as well!” 

Your cheeks heated as his compliment, and you began to slowly stand from the seat. For a moment, you wished there was something else wrong with his coat that you could fit. If only to keep him here a little longer.

What a selfish thought. You silently reprimanded yourself for such thinking, Alastor had no doubt better things to do than sit here and chit chat with a powerless nobody like you.

Alastor also left his chair, and he adjusted his collar. He gripped his cane, straightening his posture as he turned to you. 

“It seems every time we’re together, our conversations are never dull. Thank you for assisting me, I’d love to continue our talks but it appears I have other business to attend to.” 

“Back at the hotel?” You asked, as you walked with him to the doorway.

Alastor stopped in his tracks, his eyes widened slightly at your words. He tilted his head at you. “Forgive me, my dear, but I do not remember telling you such a thing. Where did you hear that from?”

Fuck. He never had told you about his place of work, and you writhed slightly under his stare as you tried to come up with an explanation.

“Oh, it’s just an imp had come in this morning, buying a tuxedo for his daughter. He said she ran the Hazbin Hotel. He also said you worked at the hotel too.”

‘And he doesn’t seem to like you.’ you added silently.

Alastor’s grip around his cane tightened, and his smile widened as he thought for a moment. A small chuckle escaped his lips, it sounded dark.

“Are you sure it was an imp, my dear?” He asked slowly.

You nodded, recalling the conversation. “Yes, short with white hair and red skin. Sunglasses too, weirdly. He was quite nice, actually. He gave me some money for helping him, nobody has ever done that for me.” 

“Ha! What a kind soul he must be. Did he say anything else to you, by chance?”

You shook your head, “no, not really.”

“A surprise, really. That imp has a knack for using his charm to bend others to his whim. I'm sure that gesture of his was nothing more than to sweep you off your feet for his antics. I’d keep your distance from demons like him, if I were you.”

Was Alastor.. jealous? He couldn't be. But, it seemed like the feelings between the two were mutual with the way he spoke with disdain. 

The imp seemed like he had someone he cared deeply for, anyway. You were sure his gesture wasn’t anything more than kindness. Although, you didn’t think Alastor would believe you if you told him.

“But, as you previously mentioned, yes,” Alastor changed the conversation, for his sake it seemed, “I do reside at the hotel in exchange for my services. Redeeming sinners is no easy feat, it needs special hands to mold such a dream into reality.”

“Well, I'm sure you’re doing a great job.” You spoke, doing your best to voice your support for him.

Alastor smiled at you, before nodding in agreement. He pulled the door open, and stepped through the doorway. You followed him, stopping at the threshold as he turned back to you. 

He lowered himself slightly, a small curtsy in your direction. As he lifted himself, he leaned closer to you.

“Until we meet again, my wife.” He spoke loudly, most likely for the others in the vicinity to hear. His voice was like honey to your ears as that faint hiss of static dispersed from his tone when his lips settled on wife.

You really did like his voice, and hopefully, you’d hear what it really sounded like more often. His eyes settled on you for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say more. He didn’t, instead turning towards the register across the room.

Leaning against the doorway, you watched Alastor stroll to the cash register. Alan stood behind the counter, and he seemed to shrink slightly under the taller demon’s gaze.

The sharp edges of Alastor’s smile returned as he watched the demon quickly ready the digital display for check-out. His pupils dilating slightly, eyes narrowed as he waited.

You had watched him leave the store, watched him stroll down the street without a glance at anyone else. That mild boredom taking over his features, like it had when he had first arrived.

For the rest of your shift, as you sewed buttons back into place or trimmed stray threads that stuck out of garments, your thoughts continued to stray to events earlier in the day. To that imp, to the ring on your finger, to Alastor and those fluffy little ears on his head.

You were still deep in thought when you clocked out, your feet carrying you out the door as your path led you to the bus stop a few blocks down.

It was a small blue sign, with the symbol of a bus engraved into it. There was no one around, the empty streets quiet as you plopped onto the bench to wait.

Your hands reached into your bag, pulling out your phone from its pocket. You scrolled through your notifications, before clicking on a message from one of your friends.

You were so deep into the screen in front of you, that you didn’t hear the quiet footsteps approach the bench. You didn’t see the knife pointed directly at your face, or the masked man who’s gaze traveled down your form. 

“Hey, you!” A voice coated with malice addressed you.

Your head shot up, and you reeled back at the large knife right in front of your nose. Your heartbeat quickened as you scrambled off the bench, the man only keeping pace with you as you backed away.

“You seem like a nice young lady, and I’d hate to ruin that pretty face of yours. Just give me everything you’ve got, and we can go our separate ways.” 

“I don’t really have anything for you to take!” You said breathlessly, your hands shaking as you pulled miniscule items from your bag. He only ripped the entire thing from your grip, throwing it behind him. 

“What about money? Hand everything over, sweet cheeks.”

You grimaced, before pulling the stack of bills the imp had given you from your person. He ripped them from your grip, before stuffing the money down his pocket.

“That’s all I have, I promise! Please let me go.” You begged, your back hitting the wall of an abandoned building behind you.

You prayed for someone to come to your rescue. Alastor graced your mind, that he’d swoop in to save you once more to save you. He was right, trouble never seemed to leave you.

This time, you’d let him tear this guy apart.

“What about jewelry, huh? I see that ring on your finger, it must cost quite a pretty penny.” The thug sleazed.

Instinctively, you brought your hand to your chest, trying to shield the band from his stare. The demon only closed the distance between the two of you, his mask grazing against your chin as he abruptly yanked you forward.

“Don't fight me, you bitch! Just give it to me, don’t make this difficult.”

His rough hand encircled around your wrist. It was harsh against your skin, and you winced in pain.

“Let go of me! I’ve already given you enough, just leave me alone!” You screamed, hoping someone would come to your aid.

He raked his hand down your finger, the ring slowly moving down your digit as he tried to dislodge it.

It was a snug fit against your skin, and it took him a few moments for him to begin pulling it off your finger. Tears pricked at your eyes as adrenaline pumped through your veins, but you dared not to move with the knife slightly pressing into your side.

Another tug, and the ring grazed over your nail as it was pulled harshly. It wasn’t able to make it past before something strange happened. 

The ring ignited in a green flame, and the thug’s hand shot away as he yelled in pain. It licked at the tip of your finger, but you felt no heat from its touch. 

You barely had time to blink, or scream before the ring exploded. It burst into a large cloud of green smoke that engulfed your figure. Shielding you from your surroundings. Energy crackled in the air, paired with a chill that made your breath visible as you gasped.

It felt like someone had reached out and gripped at the collar of your top, and you felt a much gentler tug and you were pulled backwards.

The smoke seemed to vanish, and you were drenched into darkness. You felt your feet lift off the ground, as if you were floating.

The problem, you had no idea where you were. Your heart felt like it was going to burst as you squeezed your eyes shut. It felt like hours went by, but in truth, it was only a matter of a few seconds that darkness surrounded you.

Just as quickly as it started, it ended, and your closed eyelids were hit with a ray of light. There were voices surrounding you as your feet touched on solid ground, the floor softer this time, like carpet.

The chatter stopped abruptly as you settled in place, and for a moment you felt like curling into a ball and hiding from whatever scene you had been thrusted into.

“Ah, there you are!” A familiar voice exclaimed next to you, static dripping from their words. “I was wondering how long it would be until you showed up!” 

Wait a second, was that Alastor speaking? Was he responsible for whatever the hell just happened?

Your eyes slowly opened, revealing a large room covered in dark red wallpaper that cracked with age. Gold framed the edges, and lights mounted on the walls illuminated a few paintings that filled the empty space.

It looked like a lobby. Couches nestled in a corner around a small box tv. Next to that was a small bar, bottles of liquor stacked on shelves behind the counter. 

Your eyes trailed away, before they landed on a small group of demons in front of you. Your breath quickened in fear, as you quickly scanned over their figures. 

There was a woman in a red tuxedo, her mouth slightly parted in surprise. Long platinum-blonde hair tied into a neat ponytail as it traveled down her back. Beside her, a tall snake held a hand to his chest as he leaned back slightly, as if he was more afraid of you than you were of him. 

There were a few others too, but your mind was racing so fast you weren’t able to get a settle on their frames before you eyes were bouncing around for an exit.

It wasn’t until you felt someone’s arm snake around your elbow did you whip your head to the side, Alastor’s large smile greeting you as he laced his arm with yours in comfort, no doubt noticing the way your knees were about to buckle. 

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, my dear!” He exclaimed, as if your arrival was expected and totally-not-strange whatsoever. His eyes were soft, doing his best to calm you with his familiar presence. You opened your mouth to speak, even though you weren’t sure exactly what to say.

“Who the fuck is that?” The fuzzy, pink spider demon piped up from the shocked onlookers. A pair of hands on his hips as he regarded you with confusion. 

Your lips upturned into a faint smile, and you lifted your hand for a half-hearted wave.

“Um, hi..?” 

I hope you enjoyed part 2! Sorry for that cliff hanger 😭 i hate doing that but had to end it somewhere haha

and.. hold up yall…

for real?! i did not expect this my first month on this app, nor at all really 😍 what started as “just this one luci one-shot..” became so much more!

Thank you all for the support and love you’ve given me, lowkey itching to buy a computer just for writing (yes, all my fics have been written with sore thumbs haha)

HUGE thanks to @spoiled-slutt for being my beta reader and helping me brainstorm ideas for this part! They’ve been an amazing help, and you should definitely check out their works if they interest you! <3

have a great day, my swans! 🦢

—

taglist:

@the-tortured-poet @anonymousewrites @coleisyn @froggybich @chewbrry @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @plapperlapapp @wonderlife974 @kottenox @cherry-cola-100 @the-shark-named-sharon @rae-pottah @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @corpsebridenightamare @pweewee @nijiru @ourfinalisation @anuttellaa @nonetheartist @bunnypeew @cryptidghostgirl @hxzbinwrites

[wholoveseggs]

(Quick note: I typed this all out using Elijah’s name but I wanted to say if you don’t think this would fit his character, I think this could also make sense with Kol. Don’t feel pressured to write anything!!)

Hello Lissa! I had an idea about reader and Elijah’s first time together but reader is also a virgin. I know that you’ve wrote a lot of readers first time fics with Elijah but it’s such a sweet trope and I absolutely love how he takes care of the reader in your writing.

How much do you know about dragons? (Don’t worry this isn’t going that way.) In a lot of myths and legends dragons are described as being attracted to virgins because of their purity. My idea is that the latest threat looming over their heads is some type of dragon and no one is too worried about being taken because none of them are virgins and they assume reader isn’t either. But Elijah, being her best friend notices the way her heart begins to race everytime they mention it and all of her other little nervous habits and pulls her to the side. She ends up confessing the truth to him and he tells her it’s nothing to be ashamed of and then after a bit of conversation offers to take her virginity. For safety reasons, obviously, or at least that’s what he’s telling himself. With an eventual confession between them about their actual feelings.

For Safety Reasons

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Kol Mikaelson x f!reader} A dark legend. A looming threat. And Kol Mikaelson offering a very unconventional solution.

♡♡ Hellooo sweet anon!! I decided to use Kol for this one, mostly for the banter hehe.. enjoy xoxo ~ ♡♡

6k words - Warnings: Smuttt, virgin reader, first time, lots of teasing, oral (f!receiving), Kol being unbearably good at it..., blood-drinking, friends-to-lovers but still pretending it’s casual, a brief Elijah cameo (I can't help myself) cocky yet affectionate Kol, lot's of giggles and awkwardness && maybe a dragon...

Chaos was the order of the day in New Orleans. Strange rumors had been circulating throughout the French Quarter about something that was wreaking havoc on the city and no one seemed to have a clue about what it could be. It had been targeting young people and killing them in the night, leaving behind nothing more than a bloodied pile of flesh and bones.

Naturally, this caused quite a stir amongst the supernatural residents of the city, and they were all eager to get rid of the threat. Even the witches had no idea what it was, which meant that the problem wasn't going to go away easily.

And that was why a meeting was called in the compound, by Klaus. He needed all of the factions to come together and discuss how they were going to fix this problem.

You were sitting with Kol, whose nose was deep in an old book. You weren't even sure what kind of book it was. It was in a language you couldn't understand, and so old you feared it would poof into dust under Kol's very hands.

"Whatcha reading?" you asked him, leaning against his side a little.

Kol didn't answer you right away, and when he did, it was only to mutter the word 'purity' under his breath.

"Purity?" you questioned. "What are you talking about? What does this have to do with the attacks?"

He didn't look up at you. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and you could tell he was working something out in his head. "Nothing. It's probably nothing."

You looked at him in confusion.

"It's just an old legend about dragons...It's an archaic notion," Kol answered. "A myth. A legend. An idea that was created centuries ago."

"An idea? What do you mean?" You were getting more and more confused.

Before he could explain anything further, Klaus stood up from his seat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Kol set his book down on the table, and you noticed an intricate drawing of some sort of reptile-humanoid creature. It was hideous looking, with sharp teeth, claws, and bat-like wings.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the page, even as Klaus began to explain the killings happening in the city. Something about this creature just drew you in. The ink on the page seemed darker the longer you stared at it, the jagged lines of its claws curling as if ready to tear into something...or someone. You shivered, unable to shake the feeling that it was watching you.

"Do we have any leads on what this is? What is its weakness?" One of the witch leaders spoke up.

"If we did, it would already be dead," Klaus retorted.

"Perhaps we should stop trying to track it down, and instead focus on figuring out what it wants," Elijah suggested. "If we know what it wants, perhaps we can negotiate with it."

"What makes you think this thing can be negotiated with?" another witch demanded. "We have no idea what its agenda is. Why are these young people being targeted? Why hasn't anyone seen this thing?"

"Perhaps there's a link we haven't found yet," Kol chimed in. "Something we're missing."

"You sound like you already have an answer, brother," Klaus said. "Speak your mind."

"It's more of a theory, really," Kol admitted. "One based on legends."

"Let's hear it," Elijah prompted.

"Right, so, the victims. They're all young, yes? Unmarried?"

The room fell silent as the supernatural residents of the city nodded.

"What if it's...what if they're all..." Kol trailed off.

"All what?" Klaus demanded.

"Virgins," Kol finished.

Silence fell once more as the room considered Kol's words.

"So, what, this thing enjoys a virgin sacrifice? Is that what you're suggesting?" Klaus's voice was incredulous.

"I'm saying this creature feeds on innocence. On purity." Kol gestured to his book. "According to legend, dragons enjoy the dark and they are drawn to virgins. They're a delicacy, apparently."

Elijah hummed thoughtfully, reaching for the book Kol had been studying. He flipped through the fragile pages, his brows knitting together in concentration. “If that’s true,” he mused, “then we may have a way to predict its next victim.”

A slow, dawning horror crept through you as the conversation continued around you. No one in the room seemed particularly concerned… Why would they be? The assumption was clear: none of them fit the criteria.

But you did.

Your heart kicked against your ribs, your fingers tightening in your lap. You forced yourself to stay still, to breathe evenly. The last thing you needed was anyone noticing how much this conversation was affecting you.

Unfortunately, Kol noticed everything.

He had been watching you as soon as he mentioned the word virgins. At first, he thought maybe you were just unnerved by the idea of a beast roaming the streets, but then he saw the way your breathing had shifted, the way you refused to meet anyone’s eyes. Most telling of all? The rapid, frantic rhythm of your pulse. This was more than that…

Realization flickered in his dark eyes, something unreadable passing over his face before he leaned toward you, voice low and teasing. “What’s got you all jumpy, darling?”

You stiffened. “Nothing.”

Kol tilted his head, amusement dancing on the edge of his smirk, but there was something deeper beneath it now… something knowing.

“You sure about that?” His voice was softer now, more serious. “Because I could’ve sworn your heart nearly burst out of your chest a second ago.”

Your throat felt too tight. You could feel the weight of his stare, could practically hear the thoughts clicking into place behind his dark eyes. He knew. You had to get out of here before anyone else picked up on your growing panic.

You pushed up from your seat, trying to make a quiet escape, but Kol was already on his feet, catching your wrist before you could slip away. His grip was gentle but firm, and the warmth of his fingers sent another unwanted shiver through you. “Come with me,” he murmured, already steering you toward the hall.

You barely registered the questioning look Elijah sent your way before Kol tugged you through the compound, weaving through its corridors until you were somewhere quieter, more private. Only when he was satisfied that no one could overhear did he turn to face you fully.

“Tell me,” he said, voice low but insistent. “Tell me why you reacted like that.”

You hesitated, staring at the floor, but Kol wasn’t having it. He took a step closer, crowding into your space just enough to demand your attention. “Darling,” he pressed, “are you a virgin?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your entire body tensing.

Kol let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

He looked back at you, his usual playfulness tempered by something else… Concern? Possessiveness? Whatever it was, it sent your pulse racing even faster.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” he continued, his tone serious.

You nodded, barely able to speak past the lump in your throat. If the legends were true, you were exactly what this thing was hunting.

Kol cursed under his breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Then, in true Kol fashion, he exhaled heavily and shot you a wicked smirk. “Well, love, there’s an easy way to solve this problem.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

Kol arched a brow. “I mean, it’s simple. If this thing is only after virgins, all we have to do is make sure you’re not one anymore.”

Your stomach flipped. “Y-you cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.” His smirk widened, but there was something else in his eyes now, something unreadable. He shrugged, feigning casualness. “Think about it. It’s not a bad idea.”

You gawked at him. “Not a bad idea? That’s your solution?”

Kol leaned in, voice dropping to something dangerously low. “What? You don’t trust me to take care of you?”

Your lips parted, your brain struggling to catch up. Kol had always been a flirt, but this was different. His teasing carried weight, an offer laced in his words.

For safety reasons, obviously.

At least, that’s what you were telling yourselves.

Your cheeks warmed. You wanted to tell him no, wanted to shove him away and storm off. But the heat pooling low in your belly begged to differ. And, as much as you hated to admit it, Kol had a point.

If the creature was only targeting virgins, then losing your virginity could be the solution. The easiest, most convenient solution. And with Kol... Well... It wasn't exactly like you were opposed to the idea.

Still, the whole situation was enough to have you shaking. Your hands twisted in your skirt, a nervous habit Kol was quick to notice.

He sighed, expression softening, and reached out to gently cup your cheek. He rubbed his thumb along your jaw, his touch warm and soothing.

"Or you can die a horrible bloody death? I mean... If you are that disgusted by me," he teased.

You huffed, shoving him. "Ass."

He laughed, tugging you closer and leaning in until his breath was ghosting across your lips. "So, what'll it be, darling?"

You bit your lip, staring up at him. There were so many reasons why this was a terrible idea, but none of them felt important anymore.

"Where?" You asked so softly, that normal hearing would have missed it.

Kol didn't miss it, and his eyes lit up with a hunger that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. He took your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "Tonight," he promised. "My room. Just after sunset."

"Sounds romantic," you replied, it meant to sound sarcastic, but came out a bit breathier than intended.

He smirked, squeezing your hand. "See you tonight, darling."

"Yeah," you whispered, heart hammering wildly as he let go of you and disappeared back down the hall.

Your palms were sweaty, your skin tingling where he touched you. You weren't sure if you were excited or terrified. Probably both.

All you could hope for is that you weren't making a huge mistake.

Kol's room was located in the attic of the compound. It was a smaller space, with a slanted ceiling and a large cosy bed tucked into the corner. It was simple, compared to the rest of the house, but it was undeniably Kol.

Your gaze swept over the cluttered surface of his desk, over the stacks of books and notebooks, the old photos and the trinkets from his travels.

"See anything you like?"

You whirled around, heat spreading through your cheeks. Kol was leaning against the doorway, his dark eyes sweeping over you. Why?!! Why did he have to look so good in just his t-shirt and a pair of jeans? It was not fair.

But you pulled yourself together enough to tease him back, "Rather odd choice of bedroom, all the way up here with the spiders."

Kol scoffed, shutting the door behind him. "I'll have you know I quite enjoy the solitude. Besides, no one will hear us from all the way up here."

You tried not to focus on the last part, but failed miserably. He was grinning at you with that same mischievous smirk he always wore, and you had no doubt he knew the effect his words were having on you.

"So... Uhh. How are we doing this?" You asked awkwardly, feeling the need to break the silence.

"Hmm." Kol walked past you, settling down on the edge of his bed and looking up at you with a devilish glint in his eyes. "Well, that's entirely up to you, darling."

He reached out his hand and pulled you into his lap, and a soft squeak escaped you at the sudden motion. You shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the feeling of his hard chest pressed against your back was doing nothing to ease the butterflies in your stomach and Kol's smirk widened.

"What is it?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Do I make you nervous?"

You huffed. "Just not used to...being this close, is all."

"We've cuddled before," he pointed out, his hand sliding further down your side, resting just above your hip.

"Not like this... That was a friendly snuggle. This is a..." You paused, not sure how to finish the sentence.

"Snuggle with benefits?" Kol supplied, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Sure," you giggled. "Something like that."

He chuckled, pressing a light kiss against your neck. Then he gently lifted you and moved you into the center of the bed, so that you were lying down and he was hovering above you, braced on his arms. "So, do I?" He murmured.

"Do you what?"

"Make you nervous."

You swallowed. "No," you lied, and he chuckled again, leaning in until his lips were ghosting over yours.

"Really?"

You nodded.

"So, if I kissed you right now..." He trailed off, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

You held your breath, heart pounding.

"...That would be fine with you?"

"Uh huh."

"Okay," he breathed. Then his mouth was on yours, warm and gentle and so full of tenderness that you couldn't help the moan that escaped you.

He smiled into the kiss, his hands moving down your sides, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him. The sensation of his body pressed against yours sent a rush of heat through you, and you arched into him, eager for more.

He slid a hand underneath your shirt, his palm brushing against the bare skin of your stomach, and the contact was enough to make you shudder. He groaned, pulling back just enough to whisper against your lips.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," you panted. "Just... sensitive."

"In a good way?" he teased, and you rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest.

"Don't get cocky."

He laughed, kissing you again and shifting his hips against yours, and the feeling of his hardness grinding against your core had you moaning into his mouth.

"You seem to like my cockiness," he teased, rolling his hips again and you whimpered, burying your face in his neck.

"Shut up."

"Never," he growled, kissing your cheek and pulling back just far enough to strip his shirt off and toss it to the floor. You had seen Kol shirtless countless times before, but this was different.

You ran a hand over his stomach, marveling at the feel of his abs flexing beneath your fingertips. You traced a line down the center of his chest, letting your nails scrape lightly against his skin.

"I guess you are pretty fit," you teased, and he smirked.

"You don't need to guess," he purred. "I know you think I'm hot."

You scoffed. "You are not getting a bigger ego, I won't allow it."

"It's too late," he said, capturing your mouth again, kissing you deep and slow. He shifted his weight onto one arm, trailing the other down the side of your body, tracing a line down to your waist.

"Now," he whispered, his fingers trailing along the hem of your shirt, teasingly skimming beneath the fabric. "Can I see more of you?"

You bit your lip, nodding.

He lifted your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. His eyes roamed hungrily over your exposed skin, and the sight of his pupils dilating made your pulse skip.

You barely had time to register the rush of cool air against your skin before Kol’s hands slid up your sides, his fingers toying with the straps of your bra.

"May I?" His voice was softer now, patient, but the heat in his gaze made your stomach flip.

You nodded hesitantly, but as soon as he reached behind you, unclasping it with ease, a fresh wave of shyness flooded through you. You instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, cheeks burning.

Kol let out a soft, amused chuckle. "Oh, darling," he murmured, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. "No need to be shy. You’re breathtaking."

You bit your lip, hesitating. His hands gently traced the curve of your arms, coaxing them away, his expression utterly captivated. He pressed a gentle kiss against your shoulder, then traced a path with his lips, following the curve of your collarbone. His touch was light and careful, as if he were afraid of hurting you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, half-heartedly trying to tug him away. "Kol..."

"Yes?" He hummed as he kissed his way down the center of your chest, pausing just above the valley of your breasts.

"Y-you don't have to do that...I'm fine, really," you stuttered, cheeks flaming.

"Did you think I was just going to shove my cock in you unceremoniously and be done with it?" Kol chuckled.

"I... well..."

"That is not my way," he assured, his lips ghosted over the swell of your breast, his warm breath teasing you.

You didn't get a chance to respond, because his tongue found your nipple, and all coherent thought fled.

He circled it slowly, sucking gently, his other hand finding your breast, massaging the soft flesh. He teased and played, switching between the two until both of your nipples were hard and aching.

His lips were soft and warm and so damn perfect, and you could feel the heat of his tongue as he moved further down your body, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the way.

His fingers hooked in the waistband of your skirt, sliding the fabric down over your thighs and tossing it onto the floor. His lips traveled over your stomach, nipping lightly at your hip bones.

"Really.. you don't have to, Kol," you said weakly, despite the fact that every cell in your body was screaming at him to keep going.

He ignored your protests, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours as he placed a kiss right above the hem of your panties.

"These are cute, did you wear them just for me?" He murmured, tracing the edge with his thumb.

"N-no," you stammered, and he chuckled.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Maybe you should stop asking me questions then," you shot back, and he smirked.

He lifted your thighs, draping them over his strong shoulders, his eyes locked on yours.

"Can I?" He purred, and the sight of his dark gaze, framed by your legs, had your heart pounding.

You nodded, and he rewarded you by dipping his head, running his tongue slowly over your clothed sex. The heat and smell of you sent a shudder through him, and he groaned, pulling you closer.

He licked and sucked, his tongue pressing against the soaked fabric, teasing your clit. He could feel the way it swelled under his touch, and the sound of your breathy moans was making him painfully hard.

“You are so lovely,” he murmured against the damp lace, his breath hot and teasing. He placed another slow, deliberate kiss over the fabric before glancing up, mischief glinting in his dark eyes. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”

You let out a shaky exhale, fingers tightening in his hair. “I…I never said stop.”

Kol smirked, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, scraping his teeth lightly against your skin. “Good girl,” he purred, and the two simple words sent a wave of heat pooling deep in your belly.

Without further teasing, he hooked his fingers beneath your panties and dragged them down your legs, his gaze locked onto yours the entire time. You swore you could feel the weight of his stare, the way he was drinking you in like a man starved.

Then his hands were on your thighs again, urging them apart, and he lowered his mouth to your aching core, licking a slow, deliberate path from your entrance up to your clit.

You gasped, and he chuckled, repeating the motion and adding more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow, pleasure pulsing through you as he worked his tongue over you. His movements were practiced and sure, like he already knew exactly what you liked, and your breath caught in your throat as his tongue slid lower, circling your entrance before pushing inside.

The feeling was unlike anything you had experienced before, and you couldn't stop the desperate whimpers from spilling past your lips. He rubbed your clit with his thumb, his eyes flicking up to watch your face as he lapped at you. You looked down at him and the sight of him buried between your legs, his dark hair falling in his face, his cheeks flushed with need, was enough to have you coming apart.

Your orgasm hit hard, ripping through you with an intensity that had you crying out, trembling under the force of his skilled mouth. He didn't let up, didn't pull away, just kept working his tongue until your back was arching. You feared you would pull out his hair with how tightly you were gripping it, but his muffled groan and the way his tongue was thrusting deeper inside you only urged you on.

You came again, the second one more intense than the first. By the time he was finished, your thighs were quivering, and you were a panting, sweaty mess.

"Fuck," you gasped, and Kol chuckled, placing a light kiss on your inner thigh.

You slowly caught your breath, and Kol kissed his way back up your body, pressing his lips against your throat.

"Still nervous?" He murmured, and you shook your head, wrapping your arms around him.

"Not even a little," you said, and his lips curved into a smile.

"Good," he said, and then his mouth was on yours, his tongue brushing against yours, and you could taste yourself on his lips. "You are such a pretty little thing, darling. So fucking perfect."

"Shut up, you don't have to be charming, it's just me."

He smiled, brushing his nose against yours. "No, darling, I want to. I'm going to make this good for you."

"Kol..." You didn't know how to tell him that it was already better than anything you could have imagined.

He kissed you again, softer this time, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"I promise I will go slow, okay?" He whispered, and you nodded, biting your lip.

He slid a hand between you, unbuckling his jeans and pushing them down over his hips. You took in the sight of him, the muscles of his stomach flexing, the faint lines of his abs, the v shape that disappeared into his boxers.

He was hard, and you could see the outline of his length straining against the fabric. It made you a little dizzy, seeing how much he wanted you, and you swallowed, reaching out to run a hand down his stomach.

"I want you to know...," he began, and you looked up, meeting his eyes. "I'm not just doing this because I want to protect you."

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile.

"I also happen to really, really, want to fuck you." He added.

You giggled. "So eloquent."

"What can I say, I'm a poet at heart."

You laughed again, and he leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss.

"If I do anything you don't like," he murmured against your mouth, his hand sliding down the side of your body. "Or if you want to stop, just tell me, and I'll stop, okay?"

You nodded, and he kissed you again, one of his hands was planted beside your head, holding him up, while the other was freeing his cock from his boxers. You could feel his erection pressing against your inner thigh, and the sensation sent a wave of heat washing through you.

"Kol, wait, before we..." You began, and he froze.

"What's wrong?"

"I want you to bite me," you blurted.

"Rather kinky for the first time," he teased as he gently spread your legs, settling between them. "We can work our way up to that,"

You blushed at the way he was looking at you, his gaze roaming over your bare form. This was it, there was no going back now. Not that you wanted to.

He brushed his nose against yours, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "My sweet darling," he murmured, and you melted into his touch.

He reached down, grabbing himself and giving his length a few lazy strokes. You spread your legs a little wider, and he positioned himself, his tip brushing against your entrance.

Kol let out a deep, satisfied groan as he eased himself fully inside you, his forehead dropping against yours. The stretch burned, but it wasn’t unbearable… more like an unfamiliar pressure, a new sensation that left you gasping for breath.

"Well," he exhaled, voice low and teasing against your lips. "That was the big event. Congratulations, you are no longer a virgin."

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers curling into his hair. "Well, I guess we’re done here then," you shot back, mimicking his tone.

Kol huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he nudged your nose with his own. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his hips rolling forward just slightly, making you gasp. "We’ve only just begun."

Your body twitched beneath him, still adjusting, and he paused, watching your face carefully. "Still with me, darling?"

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah… just, um, a lot all at once."

Kol smirked, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. "That’s the idea, love."

He started moving, slow and measured at first, his hands gripping your hips as he tilted your body just right beneath him. The feeling was overwhelming, the sensation of him moving inside of you making your breathing increase.

"That’s it," Kol praised, his tone smug as he watched your expression shift. "I knew you would feel so good around me."

You huffed, biting back a moan as he rolled his hips again, this time a little deeper. "You just have to make everything about yourself, don’t you?"

Kol chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your throat, his lips lingering over your pulse. "Would you have me any other way?"

You wanted to argue, but the way he angled his thrusts perfectly against that growing ache inside you stole your breath, leaving you clutching at his shoulders instead.

Damn him.

"You’re taking me so well, darling," he murmured against your skin, his hand skimming down your thigh to hook your leg around his waist, deepening the angle.

Your moan was borderline embarrassing, and Kol grinned like a man who had just won the lottery.

"Shut up," you mumbled, flustered by his smugness.

"I haven’t even said anything," he teased, rolling his hips again, sending a sharp wave of pleasure through you.

You whimpered, arching into him, and he groaned, his mouth finding your collarbone, nipping at the skin there. His fangs scraped against you lightly, and you wanted to feel them sink into you.

"Kol," you breathed, voice hushed.

He glanced up at you, slowing his thrusts just slightly. "Hmm?"

Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch. His lips hovered against your throat, his fangs still barely grazing the sensitive skin there.

"Please… I want you to…," you whispered.

Kol’s body stilled completely.

His dark eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. “Darling…" His voice had lost its usual teasing lilt, dipping into something rougher, more serious.

"I mean it," you murmured, stroking your thumb along his cheek. "I want to feel you."

Kol swallowed hard, his restraint visibly slipping. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, tilting your head to the side in silent invitation, your eyes closed, heart racing.

He watched you for a moment, the way your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, the way your pulse jumped under your skin. You were the most precious thing in the world to him, and he couldn't believe that you were here, willing, trusting him.

His lips brushed against the hollow of your throat, feather-light. He felt your heart skip, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Easy, darling," he whispered, and then his fangs sank into your flesh.

The pain was sharp, a stinging ache that had you sucking in a breath, but then the pleasure hit, a heady rush of warmth that left you dizzy. It was unlike anything you had felt before, a strange, euphoric sort of high. You could feel his lips move against your skin as he drank, his hips resuming their steady pace, his hands holding you firmly beneath him.

His tongue flicked out, swiping over the puncture marks, soothing them. Your blood was hot and sweet, and the sound of his name falling from your lips in a moan had him nearly feral with desire.

You were overwhelmed, every sensation heightened by his bite, the feeling of his lips on your skin, his cock deep within you, his hands gripping your hips. He was everywhere, his touch lighting up every nerve, his voice rough and breathless in your ear, calling you his darling, his love. The connection had always been there, lingering in the background, and now it was like a floodgate had been opened. You could feel his adoration, his lust, his possessive desire to claim every part of you, and the intensity of it was almost too much to bear.

You were close, so close, and he could feel it. He could feel everything. He could feel the way your muscles tightened around him, the way your heartbeat quickened, the way your skin flushed beneath his touch.

He would easily burn the world down just to stay in this moment. To make it stretch out forever, the two of you wrapped up in each other, bodies and souls entwined.

You clung to him, lost in a haze of bliss, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave, crashing down, sweeping you away. He followed soon after, groaning as he came undone, his movements growing erratic.

He rode out his climax, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside of you. Then he collapsed against your chest, his breathing ragged, his body slick with sweat.

You could feel his heart pounding against yours, and the sensation made a giddy laugh bubble up inside you. He lifted his head, his expression equal parts shocked and amused.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your laughter, the two of you tangled together, a mess of limbs and sheets. Then he sat up, pulling you into his lap, your bodies still connected, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

"I fear I'm going to keep you in my bed for the rest of eternity," he mused, stroking a hand through your hair.

You giggled, snuggling closer to him, your arms winding around his neck.

"It's a good thing I like you then." You teased.

Kol grinned, kissing the tip of your nose. "Just like? You wound me."

"Hmm," you hummed, pretending to think. "I suppose I like you a lot."

"Well, I suppose I like you a lot as well," he quipped.

"Good," you sighed, resting your head against his shoulder. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

"Not ever," he whispered, sealing the promise with a kiss.

You were still catching your breath, tangled in Kol’s arms, when a sharp knock on the attic door made you both freeze.

"Kol, there's news."

Elijah’s voice.

Your stomach dropped as your eyes snapped to Kol’s. He looked equally unimpressed, his smug post-coital bliss evaporating into exasperation.

"Go away, Elijah," Kol called, his chin resting lazily atop your head. "This is hardly the time."

There was a pause.

Then another knock, firmer this time.

"It’s important, Kol."

Kol groaned, flopping back against the pillows dramatically and pulling you down with him. "Honestly, you’d think he’d know better than to interrupt such a special moment."

You smacked his chest, still mortified by the thought of Elijah standing on the other side of the door. "Kol, just tell him to leave before-"

Before you could finish, the door creaked open.

Elijah stepped inside, his face composed… until he saw Kol in bed, bare-chested, disheveled… and then you.

Wrapped in the sheets.

Still very much in Kol’s lap.

A rare, almost human moment of horror flickered across Elijah’s usually unreadable face. His shoulders went stiff. His eyes widened ever so slightly.

And then, very slowly, he turned his back to you both, adjusting his cuffs as if that could somehow fix this situation. "I… was not aware you had company."

You wanted to sink into the mattress and disappear. Kol, however, was completely unbothered. If anything, he was amused beyond words.

"Well, perhaps you should learn to take ‘go away’ seriously," he said cheerfully, pulling the sheets up around your shoulders in a poor excuse for modesty.

You buried your face against Kol’s chest, horrified.

Elijah cleared his throat, clearly regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. "I’ll be brief."

"Please do," Kol drawled, stroking your back. You buried yourself further against him, wishing you could vanish.

Elijah took a measured breath, ignoring Kol completely. "We caught the killer."

Your head snapped up. "What?"

Elijah nodded, still very pointedly looking at the ceiling rather than at either of you. "Turns out, it wasn’t a dragon. There was no mythical beast involved at all."

Silence.

Your stomach twisted. "What?" You repeated.

"The culprit was a rogue witch," Elijah continued, clearly eager to finish this conversation and erase it from his memory. "He was targeting young people he believed had latent magical abilities, using ritual sacrifice to steal their power."

You stared at him, blinking.

Kol tilted his head. "So… no dragons stealing virgins, then?"

"No, Kol." Elijah replied flatly.

Kol nodded slowly, taking this information in. "Ah."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Kol laughed.

Not just a chuckle. Full-bodied, amused beyond reason, utterly entertained.

You, however, were not laughing. And neither was Elijah, who shot a quick glance at his brother, confusion written all over his face, before turning away again.

"I will leave you both to… whatever this is." Elijah said, gesturing vaguely at the two of you. "Just... please make use of the lock."

He was gone in a flash, and you buried your face against Kol again, mortified.

"This is not funny, Kol!" You cried.

Kol, of course, was still laughing, you tried to squirm out of his arms, but he held you tight, pulling you back against his chest.

"I can't believe you're laughing right now!" You huffed, smacking his arm.

He snorted, his body shaking with laughter. "I'm sorry, love, I just..." He shook his head, still chuckling. "This whole situation is hilarious."

"To you," you grumbled, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Doesn’t change the fact that you were absolutely desperate for me." He said, and you glared at him.

"Shut up." You muttered, pulling the sheet around you.

Kol's lips curled into a smirk, and he pulled you closer.

"Don't pout, love," he purred, brushing his nose against yours. "Don’t be shy about it now. The damage is done. Your virtue has been thoroughly ruined."

You groaned, covering your face. "I hate you."

Kol grinned, crawling over you again, his weight warm and familiar as he kissed your jaw. "No, you don’t."

You sighed, relaxing just slightly as his lips trailed along your collarbone.

After a moment, Kol shifted, resting his forehead against yours, his voice quieter now. "Do you regret it?"

You hesitated.

Because, no. You didn’t. Not even a little. The two of you felt so connected, like a missing piece had finally slotted into place.

Your eyes met his, and you shook your head.

"No. Never."

A smile tugged at his lips, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. "Good."

"But, um," you bit your lip, glancing towards the door. "I'm definitely never looking Elijah in the eye again."

Kol snorted, and the two of you dissolved into a fit of giggles, tangled in the sheets, the stress and fear of the last few days finally fading away.

Because you were safe, and Kol was safe, and that was all that mattered.

Everything else would just have to wait.

[mrs-delaney]

Hide | Chapter 5.1 | This Must Be The Place

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC) Word Count: 23.9k Requested: No | Yes Warnings: Mild language, sexual content, recreational drug use, intense emotional realizations, that moment when you know there's no going back, and two people fighting against what's becoming increasingly undeniable

A Few Quick Notes: 📌 This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it's been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any other platform. Please respect my writing. 📌 Want to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or message me! 📌 Requests: Open

Author's Note: There are moments that divide your life into "before" and "after." Moments that change the trajectory of everything that follows.

This chapter is all about that turning point. The slow realization that this isn't just a weekend fling. That connection—the kind that hits like a train and leaves you questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself.

For Joe, whose entire life has been defined by careful planning and deliberate choices, it's about recognizing that sometimes the most important things in life are the ones you never saw coming. It's about standing in a space that feels more like home than the place he's lived for years, and confronting what that might mean.

For Riley, who embraces spontaneity and lives in vibrant color, it's something else entirely. It's about the surprising vulnerability of actually caring what someone thinks—of wanting Joe to see and appreciate the world she's built. It's the unfamiliar feeling of wanting someone to stay, when she's always been comfortable with people passing through her life.

They're opposites in so many ways: his measured calculation against her joyful chaos; his carefully constructed world against her authentic, lived-in one. Neither of them came looking for this collision of worlds. Neither expected how perfectly these differences would complement each other, creating something neither has experienced before.

This chapter explores that pivotal moment when two people from completely different worlds suddenly find themselves standing on common ground—that exhilarating, terrifying space where you realize you're falling, and it's too late to stop.

I hope you feel every tremor, every aftershock, every moment of recognition as these two realize that whatever is happening between them, it's bigger than either of them anticipated.

Your comments on the last chapter absolutely blew me away. I can't wait to hear what you think of this one. 💜✨

Happy reading! It's a long one.💛🏈

Taglist: @wickedfun9 @starsyoongi @amiets2 @palmettogal508

Joe's stomach tightened as the plane began its descent into Louis Armstrong International Airport. He gazed out the window, watching the Mississippi River snake through the city, its muddy waters glinting in the late afternoon sun. A restless energy thrummed in his chest, unfamiliar and irritating. He didn't get nervous before playoff games—so why did the thought of seeing Riley again have him checking his phone every five minutes?

As the driver pulled away from the airport, Joe took in the city's transformation. Mardi Gras had claimed every surface—purple, green, and gold banners draped from balconies, beads dangled from tree branches, and storefronts glowed with festive lights.

"You picked quite a time to visit," the driver commented, maneuvering around a barricade.

Joe smirked. "Yeah. I came down a few times in college, but it's been a while."

Back then, New Orleans had been a blur—teammates, booze, Bourbon Street, bad decisions. A weekend of chaos, gone by Monday. This already felt different.

By the time they reached his hotel in the Quarter, Joe understood why his agent had pulled strings to get him a room here. The streets were packed with people staking out spots along the parade route, the city already pulsing with energy.

It wasn't until he stepped out of the car and saw the historic mansion-style hotel—balconies wrapped in twinkling lights, right in the thick of it—that it hit him.

His assistant had booked the Quarter.

Joe exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw. He'd told Mark and Bill he wasn't staying anywhere this public, wasn't taking that risk. He could already hear their reactions in his head.

Not a smart move, man. Too many cameras. Too much chaos.

He could've called, had her switch him to a quieter spot Uptown. But instead, he just grabbed his bag and walked inside.

Maybe he was being reckless. Maybe a small part of him liked that.

The manager greeted him with a broad smile, all Southern charm and warm hospitality.

"Mr. Burrow, we're delighted to have you with us," he said knowingly. "We've upgraded you to our finest suite—balcony overlooking the parade route."

Joe accepted the ornate key with a nod. "Appreciate that."

The manager lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Between us, we're booked solid. But when we heard you were coming…" He shrugged. "We made it work."

Joe huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Yeah, I bet you did.

Upstairs, he stepped onto the balcony, inhaling the thick, sweet air. The hum of a streetcar rumbled in the distance, the faint strains of brass instruments floating up from somewhere nearby. The scent of powdered sugar and fried dough curled through the breeze.

He pulled out his phone.

Joe QB: Just landed. City looks wild.

Her response came almost immediately.

Riley: Wait till you see it with me. Still good for dinner tonight?

Joe QB: Absolutely. Can't wait to see you.

Riley: Rest up. You'll need your energy for this weekend!

Joe smirked, fingers hovering over the keyboard before he typed again.

Joe QB: Forgot how packed the city gets during Mardi Gras. You okay with eating at my hotel? The restaurant here looks solid.

Riley: Yeah, it's pretty crazy out right now. I've been out all day and just got home—something quieter sounds perfect.

Joe exhaled, relieved. She got it without him having to explain. Another thing about her that just fit.

Riley paced her small back porch, her fingers trailing along the worn wooden railing. She’d spent the morning out with friends, then had lunch with Egan and Marcus at their spot in the Bywater—a proper New Orleans day before the full-on Carnival chaos set in. Now, finally home, she had time to breathe. To think.

The afternoon air held that particular New Orleans quality—humid and heavy with the scent of magnolias and something sweet from the corner store down the street. Her wind chimes, a gift from her mom, tinkled softly in the light breeze, nearly drowned out by the distant sounds of Carnival—brass bands tuning up, voices calling back and forth, the occasional burst of laughter from neighbors already deep in the spirit of the season.

Joe was coming. Today.

After weeks—no, just a couple of weeks—of texts and late-night calls that had quickly become the best part of her day, he was actually going to be here. In her city. In her world.

She exhaled, trying to shake off the restless energy buzzing under her skin.

THE DOLLS 👯‍♀️🍷

Laura: So lover boy lands today, huh?

Riley rolled her eyes, though there was no one to see it.

Riley: Shut up.

Haley: You’re nervous. I can feel it from here.

Riley: I’m not nervous. It’s just dinner.

Laura: Sure, sure. Just dinner with the guy you’ve been talking to every night for like two and a half weeks. The guy who cleared his schedule to come see you during Mardi Gras, no less—when the city is packed. Totally casual.

Haley: I need details. What are you wearing?

Riley: I hate both of you. I’ll send you pics later.

Laura: Love you too. Call us tomorrow with ALL the details.

Haley: And I mean ALL of them 👀

Riley set her phone down, shaking her head. They weren’t wrong.

She was nervous—which was ridiculous.

Riley Carter didn’t get nervous about men.

She’d been on stage in front of thousands, done live TV performances without breaking a sweat. But something about Joe Burrow made her feel off-balance in a way she wasn’t used to.

She tried to focus on work, flipping through pages of song lyrics for their new album. She should be working—there were still lyrics to refine, melodies to play with. But her mind kept drifting.

Would dinner be awkward after all this time talking but not seeing each other? Would the chemistry they’d felt in New York still be there?

She glanced at the notebook beside her, pages filled with scribbled phrases, half-finished verses. She wasn’t writing about him. Not directly. But maybe, in the margins of late-night thoughts, in the quiet lines she hadn’t shared yet, he was there anyway.

By the time evening arrived, Riley had changed outfits three times before finally settling on a vintage-inspired black dress with a dramatic slit up one side. The cinched belt at her waist added just enough structure, while the fringed shawl draped over her shoulders softened the look. She layered on gold necklaces that caught the light when she moved, the perfect touch of bohemian flair.

As she slid the vintage dress over her head, Riley felt the familiar calm settle over her. This was her element—creating a first impression, a visual story. The nervousness from earlier faded with each deliberate choice, replaced by the quiet certainty that had carried her through a hundred performances.

With each discarded outfit and final selection, Riley felt herself shift from the woman who'd been pacing her porch to the one who commanded stages. Dressing had always been her armor, her ritual, her way back to herself.

She snapped a quick mirror selfie and sent it to THE DOLLS  group chat.

Riley: Final verdict?

Laura: Holy. Shit.

Haley: 10/10. You look insane.

Laura: He’s gonna lose his mind.

Riley smirked, tucking her phone away.

She pulled her hair into a loose updo, leaving a few tendrils framing her face. It was that perfect balance—effortless but intentional. Exactly what she wanted.

She had just swiped on the final touch of lipstick when her phone buzzed again.

Joe QB: Can’t wait to see you.

A slow warmth spread through her chest.

Of course, he couldn’t.

She smiled, tucking her phone into her small crossbody bag, then grabbed her keys and headed out.

Joe's hotel suite was spacious and elegant, with high ceilings, antique furnishings, and tall windows that overlooked the lively streets below. He'd ordered dinner from room service well in advance, arranging for it to be set up on a small table near the windows, complete with candles and a bottle of wine. If they weren't going out, he still wanted the night to feel special.

He'd spent more time than he'd ever admit choosing his outfit��finally landing on a black button-down with a subtle texture, the sleeves rolled to his forearms, paired with light-wash jeans. Clean, simple. Put-together without trying too hard. He wanted to look good for Riley but not like he was overthinking it.

He was nursing an Old Fashioned when a knock sounded at the door, and his pulse quickened. He'd spent the flight mentally preparing for this moment, reminding himself to play it cool—to not be as obviously affected by her as he'd been on Fallon. But all that preparation vanished the second he opened the door.

Riley stood in the hallway, and his breath caught.

Even after picturing this moment a dozen times, the sight of her still hit him like a perfect spiral to the chest.

She moved with easy confidence, her black dress dramatic yet effortless, the slit offering glimpses of long, toned legs as she walked. The fringed shawl draped around her shoulders gave her a bohemian flair that was uniquely Riley—a woman who didn't follow fashion rules but created her own. But it was her smile, warm and genuine, that had his mouth going dry.

"Hi," he said, his voice steady despite the effect she had on him.

Riley stepped in first, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, her hand resting briefly on his chest. "Hi yourself," she said, her voice warm. She glanced around the suite, taking in the details. "This place is gorgeous. Nice move with the room service."

Joe's eyes followed her as she moved further into the suite. "Glad you made it through that crowd out there," he said, stepping forward to pour her a glass of wine. His movements were deliberate, unhurried. "Red okay?"

Riley's smile widened. "Perfect. And it was worth braving the chaos to see you."

"You look amazing," he said, his tone appreciative but matter-of-fact as he handed her the glass.

"Thank you. I'm not even going to tell you how many outfits I tried on tonight, but I'm glad it was noticed."

Joe raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. "Worth every minute you spent on it."

A slight flush touched her cheeks, something that rarely happened to Riley Carter. She covered it with a quick smile, her eyes lingering on his for a moment before she gestured toward the elegantly set table by the window.

"I really do appreciate this, by the way," Riley said, gesturing toward the elegantly set table by the window. "Eating in. It's crazy out there tonight."

Joe nodded, moving toward the table himself. "I forgot how packed the city gets during Mardi Gras. Didn't want to risk dinner turning into a meet-and-greet."

Riley laughed, following him. "Yeah, nothing kills the vibe like someone asking you to sign their baby in the middle of a meal."

Joe smirked, pulling out her chair. "Has that happened to you?"

"Actually, yes," Riley admitted, settling into the seat he offered. "I was two drinks in and signed the poor kid's onesie before my manager could stop me. Mom was thrilled, though."

Joe let out a real laugh, shaking his head. "That's insane. Please tell me there's a picture."

Riley smirked, picking up her drink. "Somewhere out there, I'm sure there is. Probably framed in that kid's nursery."

Whatever lingering awkwardness melted as they settled into the easy rhythm they'd built over weeks of late-night calls and teasing texts.

The food was incredible—blackened redfish for him, shrimp and grits for her, and shared appetizers of boudin balls that reminded Joe of his LSU days. As they ate, Riley told him about her life in New Orleans—the house she'd renovated almost entirely by herself during COVID, how their recording sessions had moved to the city, her eccentric neighbor who practiced trumpet at odd hours but made up for it with homemade desserts.

"I love my neighborhood," she said with a laugh, eyes bright as she sipped her drink. "Especially during Carnival. The parades don't run through my street, but we're close enough to catch them on Magazine. And I'm taking you to Muses tomorrow night."

Joe's fork paused midway to his mouth. His expression shifted, Mark and Bill's warnings already echoing in his head.

"I wasn't really planning on hitting the parades," he admitted, setting his fork down. "The crowds, the visibility—"

"Which is exactly why I asked for your shirt size the other day," Riley cut in, eyes glinting with mischief. "I've got the perfect disguise planned. Trust me, no one's going to recognize Joe Burrow in the middle of Mardi Gras when I'm done with you."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "A disguise?"

"Oh, you're in for it. And the parade's worth it—huge floats, incredible energy, and the best part? It's an all-female krewe, so the throws are next-level. You have to catch a shoe."

"A shoe?"

"Hand-decorated high heels. It's a thing," she explained, grinning. "They're coveted."

Joe shook his head, amused. "My Mardi Gras experience is mostly a blur of Bourbon Street and bad decisions."

Riley smirked. "A couple of drunken college weekends?"

"Pretty much."

"Well, tomorrow you're getting the real experience," she promised. "And seriously, don't worry about being recognized—I've got you covered."

Joe exhaled, still uncertain. He'd always been careful about situations like this—anywhere with too many cameras, too many variables. It wasn't that he minded being seen with Riley, but the thought of losing control of the night, of getting caught up in something messy, had his guard up.

Still, when he looked at her, at the easy confidence in her smile, the anticipation in her voice, he found himself making a decision.

"Okay," he said finally, leaning back in his chair. "I trust you."

Riley's lips twitched. "You shouldn't," she teased.

As the meal progressed, Joe felt himself unwinding in a way he rarely did. Conversation flowed easily between them—her bandmates' antics in the studio, his superstitions in the locker room. She made him laugh, really laugh, and it struck him how much he'd missed that. How much he'd missed this—talking to someone who didn't expect anything from him beyond being himself.

Riley took a sip of her drink, then leaned in slightly. "I'm really happy you rearranged your schedule to come here. I know it was probably a headache. You must be booked solid even in the off-season."

Joe grinned, brushing it off. "I wanted to see you again."

Riley tilted her head, studying him. "That easy, huh?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. It was an easy choice."

She lifted an eyebrow, like she was waiting for him to elaborate.

Joe leaned back in his chair, gaze steady. "Doesn't matter how crazy things are—if I want something, I make time for it."

Something flickered in her expression—surprise, maybe. Or something softer.

"You haven't even been here a full day," Riley pointed out, her voice quieter now. "And during the craziest time of year, no less."

"Doesn't matter," Joe said simply. He held her gaze, unwavering. "Already worth it."

A slow, genuine smile spread across her face, and Joe felt a quiet satisfaction settle in his chest.

They lingered over dessert—warm bread pudding drizzled with bourbon sauce—but Joe found himself more interested in Riley than the food. The animated way she spoke with her hands, the slight crinkle at the corners of her eyes when she laughed, the thoughtful pause before she answered his more serious questions.

"What?" Riley asked, catching him staring.

"Nothing," Joe said, smiling. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"About how different you are from what people assume," he admitted.

Riley tilted her head, intrigued. "Different how?"

Joe hesitated. "In interviews and on stage, you're this larger-than-life personality. But when we're together, you're…"

"Less?" Riley suggested, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her tone.

Joe shook his head. “No. More. More real. More you.”

The tension in her shoulders eased.

"It's nice," she admitted. "Not having to be 'on.'"

Joe nodded. "Same."

He glanced toward the balcony doors. "Want to step outside? The view's pretty incredible."

Riley smiled. "I'd like that."

The balcony was small but perfect, with a wrought iron railing and an unobstructed view of the oak-lined street below. The scene was quintessential New Orleans—streetcars rumbling past, people strolling with go-cups in hand, the occasional burst of music drifting up from somewhere nearby. With Mardi Gras in full swing, the energy was heightened—revelers in costumes, masks and beads catching the light as they passed.

"This is gorgeous," Riley said, leaning against the railing while Joe poured them each a drink from the room's well-stocked bar.

“It is,” he agreed, handing her a glass of bourbon before joining her. “There’s just something about the architecture here. It’s different—has a kind of charm you don’t see in newer cities. These old houses have so much character.”

Riley took a sip, her gaze drifting across the historic homes. "Me too. When I bought my place, I could've gone for something brand new—modern, sleek, no history—but that just didn't feel like me. I wanted something with soul."

Joe studied her in the dim light, struck by how effortlessly she belonged here. She didn't just live in this city—she was part of it, woven into its rhythm.

"I can't wait for you to show me tomorrow," he said.

Riley turned to face him, warmth flickering in her expression. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She hesitated for just a moment, then seemed to make a decision. "Come back with me tonight."

Joe raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Not to stay—unless you want to. Or not. Whatever," she added quickly, suddenly flustered.

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. "That was impressively awkward."

"Yeah, well, you know what I meant," she huffed.

"I do," he said, still grinning. "And yeah, I'd like that."

They finished their drinks in easy silence, the hum of the city filling the spaces between them. When Riley set her empty glass on the small table, Joe knew she was ready to go.

"Let me grab my stuff," he said, stepping back inside.

While Joe packed, Riley arranged for a car. Ten minutes later, they were settled in the backseat of a sleek black sedan, the city lights blurring past the windows as they headed toward her neighborhood.

Joe glanced at her, noticing how she twisted the rings on her fingers. “Having second thoughts?”

Riley turned to him, moonlight casting soft shadows across her face. “No, just… wondering if this is your kind of scene.”

Joe shook his head, voice warm but firm. “Riley, I grew up in Athens, Ohio. Trust me, I’m not used to anything fancy.”

That earned him a real laugh, her shoulders relaxing. “Fair enough. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

When the car pulled up in front of a narrow shotgun house painted periwinkle with coral trim, Joe felt a rush of curiosity. The ornate woodwork along the porch, the tall windows framed by salmon-colored shutters, the intricate details that stood out even in the dim glow of the streetlights—it was unlike any place he’d ever been, but somehow, it suited Riley perfectly.

The wide front porch had a welcoming, lived-in feel, with wicker chairs, a porch swing, and potted plants spilling over their containers. A soft glow shone through lace-curtained windows, and the whole place had an effortless charm, like it had been here forever, belonging to the city as much as the city belonged to it.

“This is me,” Riley said as she thanked the driver, her voice light but laced with something vulnerable.

Joe followed, taking in the street around them. Lush gardens spilled onto sidewalks, and other shotgun houses—each painted in its own distinctive colors—stood proudly, their porches strung with Carnival lights or decorated with hanging ferns. Music drifted from somewhere nearby, and a couple across the way waved to Riley as they rocked on their porch swing, plastic cups in hand.

Joe glanced back at the house. “I love it.” And he meant it.

Riley smiled, pleased as she led him up the steps. “It’s a work in progress, but it’s mine.” 

When she opened the door, Joe stepped into another world entirely. The narrow shotgun layout revealed itself as he looked down the hallway that ran the length of the house, rooms connected directly to each other, but it was the décor that caught him by surprise.

The walls were painted a deep, rich emerald green that somehow made the small space feel larger, more enveloping rather than confined. A massive ornate gold mirror dominated one wall, reflecting the warm light from vintage lamps and string lights draped across the ceiling. Everywhere he looked, there were plants—hanging from macramé holders, perched on windowsills, sprawling across bookshelves. The furniture was a collection of vintage pieces that shouldn't have worked together but somehow did—a burgundy velvet sofa covered in patterned pillows, carved wooden tables that might have come from different continents, chairs that looked like they'd been rescued from elegant homes of another era.

For Mardi Gras, she'd added purple, green, and gold accents throughout—a garland draping over the mirror, a small Mardi Gras mask display on a shelf, and a bowl filled with vintage glass beads on the coffee table. It wasn't tacky or overdone, just enough to acknowledge the season in her own stylish way.

And yet, despite all the bold colors and eclectic details, the place didn't feel overwhelming. It felt warm. Lived-in. Familiar in a way that didn't make sense.

Joe had spent years living in spaces that never felt fully his—team hotels, his modern, almost impersonal apartment in Cincinnati, the house he'd just bought but hadn't had time to make his own, the home he grew up in that hadn't felt like home since he left for college. Places that held him, but never quite held onto him.

But standing here in Riley's home, something shifted inside him—a tectonic plate of emotion he hadn't known existed suddenly moving. It wasn't just that her space was beautiful or interesting. It was that every corner of it seemed to breathe with her presence, to tell her story without a single word being spoken. Nothing was there by accident. Nothing was just for show.

"Home is where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there."

The lyric surfaced in his mind with such clarity it was as if someone had spoken it aloud. This Must Be the Place. His dad used to play that song on Sunday mornings, vinyl crackling on the old turntable while pancakes sizzled on the stove. The song that had been playing in the background of his life's happiest, most ordinary moments—yet he hadn't thought about it in years.

Something tightened in his chest, a physical sensation to match the emotional realization washing over him. He took a deep breath, feeling strangely like he might cry, though he couldn't have explained why.

What really captured his attention was the art. Every wall was a carefully curated gallery of framed pieces—antique portraits, botanical illustrations, butterfly specimens under glass, and what looked like vintage medical drawings, all housed in ornate gold frames of different sizes and styles. The effect was both chaotic and harmonious, like walking into the home of an eccentric collector who had gathered treasures from across time and space.

"Wow," Joe said, unable to hide his genuine amazement, grateful for the chance to focus on something concrete rather than the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. "This is… incredible."

Riley watched his reaction carefully, a hint of vulnerability in her posture. "It's a bit much for some people."

Joe wanted to tell her everything—that he just walked in and already felt more at home than in places he'd lived for years, that something in her careful curation of this space spoke to a part of him he'd been ignoring, that in just thirty seconds she'd managed to upend everything he thought he knew about himself and what he wanted.

But how did you say something like that without sounding unhinged? Instead, he let his eyes move over the space again, taking in the warmth, the layers of history, the unmistakable her in every detail.

"It's perfect," he said, turning to her with a smile that must have conveyed some fraction of what he was feeling, because her shoulders relaxed immediately. "It's so completely you."

And in that moment, though he couldn't have articulated it yet, something fundamental changed in him—as if entering her world had revealed a version of himself he hadn't known was possible.

"Tour?" Riley asked, gesturing down the hallway, unaware of the revelation still reverberating through him.

"Absolutely," Joe replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

She led him through the house—past the living room with its velvet sofa and record player in the corner, through a small dining area dominated by an antique table surrounded by mismatched chairs. Each room was another chapter of her story, and Joe found himself cataloging details he'd normally never notice—the worn spot on the arm of the sofa that spoke of hours spent reading there, the collection of vinyl records organized not alphabetically but in what must be some deeply personal system, the bowl of guitar picks on a side table.

Then they stepped into the kitchen, and something in Joe shifted again.

Unlike the dramatic dark walls of the living spaces, the kitchen was painted a soft sage green with open shelving displaying a collection of glassware and ceramics. A wooden dish rack sat beside the farmhouse sink beneath a window lined with small potted herbs and dried flowers hanging upside down. A linen curtain hung beneath the counter instead of cabinet doors, and an old wooden table with four simple chairs sat in the center of the room.

It wasn't just a kitchen—it was a sanctuary. The heart of this house that somehow already felt like it contained a piece of him.

His own kitchen in Cincinnati—sleek, modern, barely used—flashed through his mind. Takeout containers and protein shake bottles. A space designed for efficiency, not living. Not this... whatever this was that made his chest ache with a strange mixture of longing and recognition.

"This countertop was my one big splurge," Riley said, running a hand over the butcher block, oblivious to his internal earthquake. "Everything else I did myself, but I couldn't cheap out on this."

Joe leaned against the doorframe, steadying himself. "It's nice." An understatement. "I can see why you cook so much when you're here."

"Yeah," she shrugged, "after months on the road, I need a real kitchen."

He looked at her hands as they traced the grain of the wood—hands that wrote songs and played instruments, but also hands that had built this space from nothing. Hands that created home. The contrast with his own life—where other people arranged everything, where convenience trumped connection—felt suddenly, painfully stark.

"So, can we try cooking something in here tomorrow?" he asked, surprising himself with the question.

Riley smirked, crossing her arms. “You wanna help me?”

“Absolutely,” Joe said, stepping closer. “I don’t mind taking direction.”

"Is that right?" Riley's voice dipped slightly, a slow smile playing at her lips. "Then I guess we're cooking breakfast tomorrow. And by breakfast, I mean brunch, because I'm not getting up before nine."

"I'll adjust my schedule," Joe replied, expression serious, eyes teasing, while inside, a voice whispered that he'd adjust far more than his schedule for this woman if she asked.

The air shifted, the space between them shrinking, charged with something beyond mere attraction. It was recognition. Understanding. A terrifying sense of potential.

Riley took a step toward him, eliminating the distance between them. "I should probably tell you," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "I've been thinking about kissing you again since New York."

Joe's pulse quickened, his eyes dropping briefly to her lips. The honesty in her admission—the vulnerability of wanting something and simply saying so—struck him with unexpected force. His world was full of strategy, calculation, never showing your hand. Yet here she was, laying her cards on the table without hesitation.

"That so?" he managed.

"Mmm," Riley nodded, her hands sliding up to rest on his chest. "I've got a pretty good imagination, but I'm curious if the reality measures up."

Joe's grip tightened at her waist, pulling her closer. A lifetime of careful restraint, of measured responses, and yet with her, everything felt inevitable. "Yeah? Only one way to find out."

The first touch was electric, not just a physical spark but something deeper—as if kissing her was another form of coming home, of recognizing something essential. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her fully against him. Riley made a soft sound of approval, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as she deepened the kiss. She tasted like the bourbon they'd shared on his balcony, and something uniquely her that made his head swim.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, Riley rested her forehead against his, a smile playing at her lips.

"I'd say the reality holds up pretty well," she murmured.

Joe laughed softly, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. What he wanted to say was that nothing in his imagination could have prepared him for this—not just the kiss, but this entire night, this feeling of stumbling into something that might alter the entire course of his carefully planned life.

"I'd have to agree," he said instead, the understatement of the century.

Riley stepped back, taking his hand and leading him toward the back of the house. "Come on, I want to show you my favorite spot."

He followed, like he suspected he might follow her anywhere now, this woman who had somehow, in the space of a single evening, made him question everything he thought he knew about what he wanted from life.

The back porch was as charming as the rest of the house—string lights crisscrossed overhead, providing a soft glow, and an outdoor loveseat faced a small yard where an ancient oak tree stood sentinel, its branches adorned with a few strands of Carnival beads that caught the light like stars fallen to earth. The tree had been there long before the house, before any of them, its roots deep and certain in ways Joe had never allowed himself to be.

They sat side by side, Riley with a glass of bourbon and Joe with a local beer she'd insisted he try. The night wrapped around them, the distant hum of the city mingling with the gentle tinkling of wind chimes. After a few minutes, Riley shifted closer, tucking herself against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Joe's arm wrapped around her, his hand settling on her waist with a rightness that startled him—as if they'd done this a hundred times before, as if his body remembered something his mind was just discovering.

"This is nice," Joe said, feeling a kind of peace he hadn't known in years—maybe ever. A peace that had nothing to do with winning or achievement or the constant forward momentum that had defined his life. "Really nice."

"It is," Riley agreed, her voice soft in the darkness. "Sometimes I forget how much I miss it when I'm in LA. Everything there is so…"

"Polished?" Joe suggested, thinking of his own carefully constructed public image, the way he'd learned to sand down his edges, to present only what was expected.

"Exactly," Riley nodded, her hair brushing against his neck. "Here, things aren't perfect. They're real."

Joe studied her profile in the dim light, the curve of her cheek, the slight upturn of her nose, the way shadows played across her face. He was struck again by how at ease she seemed here, how she fit so effortlessly into this eccentric, beautiful neighborhood—not trying to stand out or fit in, just existing as herself. It reminded him of the feeling he'd had earlier, stepping into her house—that seismic shift inside him, that recognition of something he'd been missing without knowing he was missing it.

The constant pressure to be Joe Burrow—franchise quarterback, leader, role model—it fell away here in this quiet backyard with this woman who saw through all of that to something more essential. Something he was just rediscovering himself.

"I can see why you love it," he said, the words inadequate for the revelation behind them. "It's nothing like Cincinnati."

Riley turned to face him, a smile playing at her lips, eyes searching his. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Joe didn't even have to think about it. "Good," he said, his voice sure in a way that surprised even him. "It’s good."

The moment stretched between them, comfortable and charged all at once. When Riley leaned in to kiss him again, it felt natural, inevitable, like the resolution of a chord that had been building since they first met. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, with a sense of exploration rather than urgency. Joe's hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing along her jawline as her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

There was no performance in it, no calculated move, no awareness of anything beyond this moment, this connection. For someone whose entire life had been mapped out in plays and strategies, the simple act of being present—fully, completely present—felt like its own revelation.

They stayed like that for a while, trading kisses that ranged from gentle to breathtaking, talking in between about everything and nothing. The hours slipped away unnoticed, the city quieting around them as the night deepened, as if the world was giving them this pocket of time outside its usual demands.

When their last drinks were finished, the conversation naturally turned to the day ahead.

"So what exactly is this disguise you have planned for me tomorrow?" Joe asked, curious but also aware of the familiar weight of caution returning—the reminder that outside this sanctuary, he was still Joe Burrow, with all the visibility that entailed.

Riley's eyes lit up with mischief, the soft porch light catching gold flecks in her irises. "It's Mardi Gras, baby. Nobody looks twice at anything. I'm thinking a hat, maybe some sunglasses, definitely a bandana. And beads. Lots of beads."

Joe raised an eyebrow, skeptical but feeling a new willingness to trust her, to step outside the careful boundaries he normally maintained. "You really think that'll work?"

"It will," Riley assured him, her confidence infectious. "Look, people are expecting Joe Burrow. They're not expecting some guy in aviators with a bandana over his face, looking like a tourist who's been day-drinking since noon."

Joe laughed, shaking his head, imagining himself transformed, anonymous in a way he rarely got to be anymore. "When you put it that way…"

"Trust me," Riley said, squeezing his hand, her fingers warm against his. "I know this city. And I know how to blend in when needed."

She yawned then, failing to stifle it behind her hand, and Joe glanced at his watch, surprised to find it was well past midnight. Time had become elastic, hours passing in what felt like minutes.

"Bedtime?" he asked, his voice softer now in the quiet night air, aware of a new intimacy in the simple question. 

"Yeah." Riley stretched her arms above her head, her movements slow and unhurried, comfortable in a way that spoke of absolute trust. "Today caught up with me."

Looking at her in this moment—relaxed, unguarded, beautiful in the most honest way—Joe felt that certainty again, that sense that he'd stumbled across something precious and rare. Something that might ask him to be more than he'd ever allowed himself to be, something that might require him to dismantle the careful walls he'd built around his life.

Riley stood from her chair, leading the way inside. Joe followed, still struck by how natural this all felt—being here in her space, the warmth of her presence wrapped around him like a second skin. His overnight bag was already by her bedroom door, where he'd left it earlier. The way she'd invited him had been so casual, so typically Riley, that any potential awkwardness had never even had the chance to exist.

 They moved through the house together, Riley turning off lights as they went. In her bedroom, the emerald-green walls glowed softly under the warm light of a bedside lamp. Like the rest of the house, the space was layered and lived-in—a vintage bed with an ornately carved headboard, mismatched pillows piled high, plants hanging near the window, framed art covering every inch of available wall space. It wasn't just decorated; it was curated. Every piece told a story. Every corner felt like her.

 And unlike his own bedroom—functional, minimal, a place for sleeping and nothing more—this room felt alive with meaning. He realized suddenly that he had always approached his living spaces as temporary, even after buying his house. Always waiting for the next contract, the next move, the next phase. Never fully inhabiting the present.

Riley nodded toward the far door. "Bathroom's all yours if you want to change first."

 Joe grabbed his bag and disappeared inside. When he returned, now in a T-shirt and sweatpants, Riley had already changed into sleep shorts and an oversized band tee, her hair piled into a loose bun.

The casual intimacy of it all settled over him like a revelation. This wasn't the practiced intimacy of hookups with women who wanted Joe Burrow in their bed. This was something else entirely—something honest, something that asked nothing of him but his presence.

No pretense. No expectations. Just this quiet, uncomplicated moment between them. 

When they finally crawled into bed, Riley curled into his side without hesitation, her head resting on his chest like they'd done this a hundred times before. Joe's arm wrapped around her, his hand instinctively trailing through her hair.

“This is nice,” Riley murmured, her voice already heavy with sleep.

“Very nice,” Joe agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

The understatement nearly made him laugh. "Nice" didn't begin to cover the profound shift happening inside him—as if after years of living according to carefully constructed plans and expectations, he was discovering what it meant to simply exist in a moment without analyzing it, optimizing it, or preparing for what came next.

As her breathing evened out, Joe lay awake for a little while longer, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the city outside the open window. He hadn't realized how long it had been since he felt this settled. Not just comfortable—but right.

 The thought hit him the same way it had earlier, standing in her living room, that old song playing in the back of his mind.

“Maybe I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.”

The lyrics felt like prophecy now, as if they'd been waiting for this moment to reveal their meaning to him. Talking Heads couldn't have known about a quarterback from Ohio or a singer from New Orleans, and yet somehow they'd written the perfect words for this night, this feeling.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn't set an alarm. Didn't think about practice schedules or media obligations or what came next.

He just held Riley closer, let his eyes slip shut, and let himself be. In this bed, in this house, with this woman—that felt like more than enough.

Joe woke to sunlight filtering softly through lace curtains and the distant sound of a saxophone drifting lazily from somewhere down the street. For a second, confusion hit—the unfamiliar ceiling above him, the warmth of someone tucked comfortably against his side. Then it all slid neatly into place: Riley. Her house. Falling asleep with her pressed softly against him.

He relaxed immediately, letting himself sink into the pillow, enjoying the rare, unhurried peace of the morning. There was no alarm ringing, no film study, no training session demanding his attention—just this moment, quiet and perfectly calm.

He glanced at his phone: 9:26 AM. Later than he'd slept in months, maybe longer, and somehow, he felt no rush to get up.

Riley stirred slightly, tightening her arm around his waist, pressing her face sleepily into his chest. Her hair was everywhere, tangled across her pillow, partially obscuring her face. Joe watched her quietly, noticing small details he hadn't gotten close enough to see the night before—the delicate tattoo behind her ear, the faint scatter of freckles over her nose. She looked peaceful, unguarded, completely different from anyone he'd ever known—nothing rehearsed or controlled, just effortlessly herself.

Her eyes fluttered slowly open, hazy and unfocused. "Morning," he murmured softly, brushing a stray strand of hair gently away from her cheek.

She made a muffled, sleepy noise against him. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine-thirty."

Riley groaned, pressing her face deeper against his chest. "Too early."

Joe chuckled quietly, sliding his fingers lazily through her hair. "Thought you said nine was acceptable?"

She sighed dramatically, voice muffled by his skin. "Nine is just the earliest acceptable hour. Not the one I prefer."

Despite her complaints, she didn't pull away—instead, she settled closer, relaxing comfortably against him. Her eyes opened again, softer this time, gaze steady on his face. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Best I have in forever," he admitted honestly, surprising himself with how easy it was to tell her something true.

Riley stretched lazily, catlike and comfortable, and Joe's attention sharpened instantly. His eyes drifted along the curves of her body, catching on the way her thin t-shirt had ridden up to expose a strip of smooth skin at her waist. He felt warmth spreading through him, slow and steady.

She caught him staring and raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging playfully at her lips. "See something interesting?"

Instead of answering, Joe reached out deliberately, his hand sliding across that exposed skin with confident purpose. Riley's breath hitched audibly, her eyes suddenly fully alert.

"I've been waiting on you to make a move since New York, my guy," she said, the bluntness sending a thrill through him.

"Have you now?" Joe murmured, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. Without hesitation, he shifted over her in one fluid motion, his weight pressing her into the mattress with deliberate pressure. His eyes locked with hers, taking in her surprised expression with quiet satisfaction.

"About damn time," Riley breathed, her hands immediately sliding up his back, pulling him closer.

Joe dipped his head, claiming her mouth with the same decisive confidence he brought to everything that mattered. No hesitation, no uncertainty - just clear intent. Riley responded immediately, arching beneath him, a small sound of approval escaping her.

He broke away just enough to see the challenge and desire flickering in her eyes. "Better late than never, right?"

"Just shut up and kiss me again," Riley laughed softly, tugging at his shirt impatiently.

Joe grinned and kissed her again, deeper this time, lingering until he felt her melt beneath him. When she tugged at the hem of his shirt again, he sat back just long enough to strip it off, tossing it aside with casual confidence.

Her eyes widened appreciatively as she took him in, openly admiring. "Jesus Christ, you're hot," she breathed, fingers immediately tracing the contours of his chest without hesitation.

Joe laughed under his breath, genuinely flattered by her candor. She wasn't shy, wasn't careful—just honest in a way that felt incredibly refreshing after years of carefully managed interactions.

He dipped his head again, kissing along her neck, letting his teeth graze her skin in a way that made her gasp. His hands found the hem of her shirt, and he looked at her with quiet intent. Riley immediately lifted her arms, allowing him to pull the shirt over her head in one smooth motion.

He sat back slightly, just looking at her—no clever remarks or practiced compliments, just taking her in. Riley flushed slightly under his gaze but made no move to hide herself, bold and confident even now. When she reached up to touch him again, Joe caught her wrists, pinning them gently but firmly above her head, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

"Not yet," he murmured softly, feeling her pulse quicken beneath his fingertips.

Riley bit her lip, looking up at him with eyes full of playful defiance. "Okay, baby," she teased softly, testing his grip slightly. "You're in charge."

His free hand traced a deliberate path down her throat, between her breasts, across her stomach, watching her reactions with focused attention. Riley was unlike anyone he'd been with before - completely unfiltered in her responses, every reaction genuine and unguarded.

When he finally released her wrists, Riley immediately reached for him, running her fingers appreciatively down his chest. Joe leaned down, kissing her deeply before trailing his mouth lower, following the path his hands had taken. Her hands slid into his hair, guiding him with a directness he found incredibly arousing.

"Joe—shit," she whispered sharply, urgency rising in her voice. "Stop fucking teasing me, please."

He glanced up, meeting her eyes with a slight smirk. Without breaking eye contact, he hooked his fingers into her shorts, slowly pulling them down her legs. Riley lifted her hips to help, kicking them off impatiently once they reached her ankles.

She was completely bare beneath him, her breathing uneven, body fully open and unguarded in a way that set his blood on fire. Rather than asking permission, Joe simply read her reactions, confident in his ability to understand what she wanted.

He pressed kisses up her inner thighs, feeling her muscles tense with anticipation. When he finally tasted her, Riley's breath caught sharply, her hips arching off the bed, fingers gripping his hair to guide him exactly where she wanted.

"Oh my god," she gasped breathlessly, completely unrestrained in her pleasure, pulling him deeper into the moment with her honesty. "Right there, don't stop."

He had no intention of stopping. The way she responded to him, open and vocal about exactly what she wanted, was unlike anything he'd experienced before.

"Fuck," she whispered raggedly, voice breaking slightly as she tugged urgently at his hair. "Joe— right now."

He moved back up her body, eyes meeting hers. Riley reached blindly for the nightstand, knocking something aside before finding what she needed, pressing a condom urgently into his palm.

"These need to go first," she said, tugging impatiently at his sweatpants.

He shifted, trying to pull them off without breaking contact, but they caught around his ankle. After a brief struggle, he kicked them free, nearly toppling off the edge of the bed in the process. Riley's soft laugh made him smile despite himself.

"Smooth," she teased, laughing softly.

"Shut up," he murmured, kissing her quickly to silence the laugh, though he loved the sound of it.

Joe positioned himself above her, one hand braced beside her head, the other guiding himself to her entrance. "Look at me," he said, his voice low with desire but steady with certainty.

Their gazes locked as he pushed into her slowly, groaning softly as pleasure shot through him. Riley's breath caught sharply, legs wrapping around his waist, nails digging into his back as she adjusted to him.

"You good?" he asked, his voice rough but controlled.

"So fucking good," Riley gasped, matching his intensity effortlessly. "Don't you dare stop."

Joe began to move with deliberate, deep thrusts, quickly finding a rhythm that had Riley gasping beneath him. He could feel her getting close, feel the way she tightened around him, and he wanted nothing more than to watch her come apart.

"Fuck," he groaned roughly, his own control slipping. "Come for me—I got you."

She came apart instantly, body shuddering as she cried out his name, her complete surrender pulling him over the edge right after. He buried his face against her neck as his own release overwhelmed him, feeling a connection that went beyond the physical.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, breathing ragged, slowly settling back into themselves. Joe pulled her against his chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns across her back.

"Well, shit," Riley finally murmured breathlessly, smiling up at him. "Worth the wait."

Joe laughed softly, feeling completely relaxed. "Glad you approve."

She tilted her head up, eyes bright and playful. "Definitely five-star review—though you might want to work on stamina."

Joe groaned dramatically, shaking his head. "Annnnnnddd she's already talkin' shit."

She laughed warmly, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. "Can't let you get cocky. Besides, we have plenty of time to practice."

Joe smiled, pulling her closer. "Guess I'd better clear my schedule."

"Maybe your schedule could use a little chaos," she said softly.

He pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead, breathing her in. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "Maybe it could."

She shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at him. The amusement in her expression remained, but there was something else there too—a vulnerability that made his chest tighten.

 "Just so you know," she said, her voice quieter now, "I don't usually do this."

Joe arched a brow, unable to resist teasing her just a little. "What, sleep with guys you just met?"

Riley rolled her eyes. "Not the part you wanna focus on, dumbass. This." She gestured vaguely around the room, then at herself—bare, open, here in her most private space.

 And Joe understood immediately. It wasn't about the sex. It was about the fact that she'd let him in—into her home, her sanctuary, into parts of herself she didn't share easily.

"Riley," he said, his hand finding her face, thumb tracing along her cheekbone with a gentleness that surprised even him. "I know what this means. And I'm not taking it lightly." His voice was steady, certain in a way few things in his life had ever been. "This is..." He exhaled, searching for words adequate to the feeling expanding in his chest. "Fuck, I don't even know how to explain it. But it's not just a hookup for me either."

She held his gaze, and he could see her usual guardedness flickering—like she wanted to believe him but wasn't used to letting herself. He wondered how many people had failed to see the real Riley beneath the stage presence, how many had treated her as less than the remarkable person he was discovering.

Then, finally, she smiled.

Not the practiced, camera-ready one. Not the confident, teasing one.

A real smile. Just for him. And in that moment, Joe knew he was in trouble of the very best kind.

Through the window, they could hear the distant sounds of the city waking up—people laughing, music starting, the rhythm of Carnival day beginning. But here in her bed, wrapped in each other, they existed in their own world, one where footballs and microphones and public personas had no place.

Joe turned his head toward her, letting his eyes move over her face, her lips, the wicked little gleam returning to her eye. Then, smirking, he said, "I'd say we should probably run that back later. Just for confirmation purposes."

Riley burst out laughing. "Confirmation purposes?"

"Scientific method," he said with a straight face. "Need multiple trials to verify results."

Riley shoved at his chest, still laughing. "Wow. Who says romance is dead?"

And as her laughter filled the room, Joe realized he'd never felt so completely himself with anyone—no calculation, no performance, no carefully constructed image. Just Joe and Riley, finding something unexpected and precious in each other.

Joe woke again later to the warmth of mid-morning sun streaming through the lace curtains and the enticing scent of coffee drifting from somewhere in the house. He blinked, disoriented for a moment by the emerald walls and unfamiliar ceiling. The space beside him was empty, the sheets still carrying Riley's scent.

A glance at his phone confirmed what the quality of light suggested—it was nearly noon. He smiled, remembering Riley's insistence that she wouldn't be up before nine. Apparently, she'd meant it.

He stretched, feeling pleasantly relaxed in a way that had nothing to do with sleep, then pulled on his sweatpants and t-shirt before following the twin lures of coffee and Riley toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was warmer than the rest of the house, bathed in golden light that filled the space with a honeyed glow. Outside, the sounds of Carnival celebrations were in full swing—music from a few streets over, the occasional burst of laughter, the distant thump of drums. Joe paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of Riley moving around the space with practiced ease, filling an old-fashioned percolator with coffee grounds.

She wore his Bengals t-shirt—the one he'd pulled from his overnight bag last night—the hem hitting mid-thigh. Her hair was piled into a messy bun, tendrils escaping to frame her face. She looked like she'd been awake for maybe fifteen minutes, still soft around the edges, and something tugged in Joe's chest at the simple intimacy of catching her in this in-between state.

"Breakfast for lunch?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Riley glanced up, a slow smile spreading across her face when she saw him. "Breakfast is a state of mind," she replied, her voice still rough with sleep. 

"Hey, babe, can you grab some mugs?" she asked, the term of endearment slipping out so naturally neither of them commented on it, though Joe felt a quiet thrill at the sound of it on her lips.

He pushed off the doorframe and reached for the open shelving. He pulled down two mismatched mugs—one with a delicate floral design, the other an old Mardi Gras souvenir with faded purple and gold lettering.

"These work?" he asked, setting them on the counter beside her.

Riley glanced over and grinned. "Perfect." She poured the coffee, handing him one before hopping up onto the counter, her legs swinging slightly beneath the hem of his t-shirt as she took a careful sip.

Joe leaned against the opposite counter, watching her. There was something almost surreal about being here in this kitchen with this woman, as if he'd stepped into someone else's life—a life with more color, more texture, more spontaneity than his own carefully managed existence. And yet it didn't feel foreign. It felt like discovering a room in a house he'd lived in for years but somehow never noticed.

"So, about that breakfast you promised me…" he said, his voice teasing.

Riley held up a finger, eyes closed as she took another slow sip of coffee. "Let me get through a couple of sips first, and then we'll get started."

Joe huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Not a morning person, huh?"

Riley cracked one eye open. "Not even a little bit. And it's technically afternoon, which just proves my point."

He watched her morning ritual with fascination—the way she cupped the mug with both hands, the small sigh of contentment after each sip, how her entire body seemed to wake up gradually, bit by bit. It was nothing like his usual mornings of alarm clocks, protein shakes, and immediate workouts. This slow unfolding of a day was something he'd forgotten how to do, if he'd ever known at all.

"Alright, I'm ready," Riley finally declared, setting her mug down with purpose.

She hopped down from the counter and moved to an old record player in the corner of the kitchen. After flipping through a stack of vinyl, she pulled out a weathered Allen Toussaint album, a small smile playing on her lips. "Perfect breakfast music," she declared, setting the needle down carefully.

The warm, crackling sound of New Orleans funk filled the kitchen, and Riley swayed slightly, her body instinctively finding the rhythm. Joe marveled at how music seemed to flow through her, as natural as breathing. She moved to the refrigerator, hips still swaying subtly to the beat.

"What're you in the mood for?" she asked, peering inside. "Traditional breakfast or something more fitting for Mardi Gras?"

"Whatever you've got," Joe said, moving to stand behind her, his hands settling lightly on her hips, drawn to her like gravity.

Riley looked over her shoulder at him, smirking. "Not an answer, Burrow." There was something about the way she said his last name—half teasing, half intimate—that made his skin warm.

"What's fitting for Mardi Gras?" he asked, genuinely curious, wanting to learn her world.

"Well," she said, turning in his arms to face him, "we could make king cake. Traditional Mardi Gras breakfast. Or we could do biscuits and gravy like my Papa used to make."

"King cake sounds interesting," Joe said. "But I'm guessing that takes a while?"

"Good guess." Riley ducked under his arm and opened a lower cabinet, pulling out a mixing bowl. "Let's do Papa's biscuits. They're quick, and they go great with coffee after a... busy morning." The slight blush on her cheeks made Joe smirk, memories of their earlier activities sending a pleasant warmth through him.

She began gathering ingredients—flour, butter, buttermilk, salt—lining them up on the counter with practiced efficiency. Joe watched her hands, fascinated by their sure movements, the same hands that had traced patterns on his skin just hours before.

"My grandfather taught me this recipe," she explained, measuring flour into the bowl. "Said no one should leave his house without knowing how to make a proper biscuit."

"Was he a chef?" Joe asked, genuinely interested in the pieces of her history she was sharing.

"No, just a man who believes food is love," Riley said, a softness in her voice that spoke of deep affection. "He said anyone could follow a recipe, but it took heart to make something worth remembering."

Joe nodded, thinking of his own grandfather's lessons about football—not just the mechanics, but the heart behind the game. "I get that."

He watched as she cut cold butter into the flour with two knives, her movements quick and confident. "Can I help?"

"Sure," Riley said, sliding the bowl toward him. "Just finish cutting this butter in until it looks like coarse crumbs."

Joe took over, mimicking her technique with a natural precision that surprised them both.

"Not bad, mister," Riley nodded approvingly as she finished. "Now we add the buttermilk."

When the dough was finally ready, Riley stepped aside. "You mix while I get the bacon started."

Their shoulders brushed as they traded places, the small kitchen bringing them into constant contact. Joe took over the biscuit mixture, studying the consistency of the dough as Riley moved to start the bacon.

"Gentle with it," she instructed, glancing back at him while arranging strips in the cast-iron skillet. "Biscuits need a light touch. Just fold it together—don't knead it like bread."

Joe nodded, his hands moving with surprising confidence as he applied her advice. His fingers worked the dough with measured precision rather than the heavy-handed approach most beginners used.

Riley turned from the stove to check his progress, ready to offer more guidance. But as she watched his careful movements, her expression shifted to surprise. "Wow. You're actually... perfect at this. First try?"

Joe shrugged, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "I pick things up quickly." His movements remained deliberate, handling the dough with the same focused attention he might give to studying game film. "It's all about touch, right? Knowing exactly how much pressure to apply."

When the dough was finally ready, Riley showed him how to pat it out and cut perfect circles with a juice glass. The biscuits went into the oven, and they moved on to the eggs.

“How do you want your eggs?” Riley asked.

“Mmm, I don’t care,” he replied, shrugging.

Riley glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. “That’s not an answer. Most people have pretty strong opinions about their eggs.”

Joe shrugged, eyeing the ingredients she had laid out. "Everything else you're making looks so good, I'm pretty sure I'll be happy with however those eggs turn out."

"Scrambled it is," she agreed, whisking the eggs with vigor. "Can you grab the cheese from the fridge? And the hot sauce?"

They moved around each other in a seamless dance—Joe reaching for ingredients while Riley manned the stove, their bodies constantly finding excuses to touch. Riley bumped her hip against his as she reached for plates; Joe's hand rested briefly on the small of her back as he passed behind her; fingers brushed as they transferred items from counter to table. It was choreography they were creating together, learning each other's rhythms in real time.

"Papa always said you could tell if a relationship had potential by how well you cooked together," Riley said, grating cheese into the eggs as they began to set in the pan.

The casual mention of "relationship" hung in the air between them, neither acknowledging it directly, but both aware of its weight.

"And how are we doing?" Joe asked, flipping the bacon one final time.

Riley glanced up at him, a smile playing at her lips. "Not bad, Burrow. Not bad at all."

The song changed to a more upbeat track, and Riley's hips swayed to the rhythm as she stirred the eggs. Without thinking, Joe slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her into a gentle sway that matched the music.

Riley laughed, but she didn't pull away, instead leaning back against him as she continued cooking. "Careful there, mister. I might burn breakfast."

"Worth the risk," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, realizing he meant it in ways that extended far beyond breakfast.

By the time they finished, the kitchen counter was laden with perfect golden biscuits, crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs laced with melted cheese, and sliced fresh fruit that Riley had produced from the refrigerator at the last minute.

"This might be the best breakfast I've ever made," Riley declared, surveying their handiwork as she pulled two plates from the cabinet.

"We make a good team," Joe observed, the simple truth of it settling comfortably between them, carrying implications neither was quite ready to voice.

They loaded their plates and settled at the small kitchen table, knees touching beneath it. The first bite of a biscuit—still warm, slathered with butter and honey—had Joe groaning in appreciation.

"Told you," Riley said with obvious satisfaction. "Papa's recipe never fails."

"These are incredible," Joe agreed, reaching for another. "Better than any restaurant."

"Of course they are," Riley said with mock offense. "You think I'd serve you mediocre biscuits after this this morning?"

Joe nearly choked on his coffee, but recovered with a laugh. "Definitely raised the bar."

Riley propped her bare feet up on the empty chair, comfortable in the silence that settled between them. Then she nodded toward the bacon on his plate. "You gonna eat that?"

Joe pushed the plate toward her. "Go for it."

She snagged the piece, taking a bite with obvious satisfaction. There was something disarming about her straightforwardness, her lack of pretense. She simply asked for what she wanted—whether it was his bacon or his presence in her bed—with a refreshing directness that he found both foreign and appealing.

"So what was college Joe Burrow like?" she asked suddenly. "Same perfect poster boy, or did you ever actually get wild?"

Joe raised an eyebrow. "You really want to know?"

"Obviously," Riley said, leaning forward, her eyes bright with curiosity that seemed genuine rather than performative.

"Let's just say I wasn't always this..." He gestured vaguely at himself, searching for the right word.

"Buttoned-up?" Riley suggested.

"Careful," Joe corrected, the distinction important somehow. "There was this one time after we beat Oklahoma in the playoffs. The whole team ended up at this bar in Athens. I climbed on top of the bar, did some kind of victory dance that ended with me falling into a table of drinks."

Riley's eyes widened with delight. "No way. Please tell me there's video."

"If there is, my agent's buried it deep," Joe said with a grin.

"I think there's more college Joe hiding in there than you let on," Riley teased.

Joe smiled, thinking briefly of his more structured days with Olivia, how different things had been then versus his more recent casual encounters. "The wild nights were definitely there, just... selective. Reserved for big wins and bigger losses." He shrugged. "What about you? Any embarrassing stories you'd rather keep off social media?"

Riley laughed. "You want embarrassing? Just YouTube 'Riley Carter stage fall compilation.' It's a tragic collection of my greatest hits—and by hits, I mean me hitting the floor."

"There's a compilation?" Joe asked, already reaching for his phone.

"Oh yeah," Riley nodded, wincing. "Chicago, I thought there was one more step than there actually was. Seattle, I tripped over a monitor. Nashville, someone threw a bra that I stepped on and went down like I'd been shot." She counted them off on her fingers. "My personal favorite is Denver, where I actually fell into the drum kit. Pete never lets me forget that one."

"And there's video of all of these?" Joe asked incredulously.

Riley groaned, putting her hand over his phone. "Unfortunately, yes. Multiple angles. The Denver one is particularly cinematic—you can actually see the moment I realize I'm going down. The look on my face..." She shook her head. "Pure terror, followed by the cymbal crash heard 'round the world."

Joe laughed, genuine and unreserved. The sound filled the small kitchen, and Riley found herself smiling too, even at her own expense. It struck him that he rarely laughed like this anymore—without calculation, without awareness of how it might be perceived.

"But seriously," Riley said, pushing her empty plate aside after they'd both stopped laughing, "if you want to hear about my real adventures, we had this van when we first started touring. Complete death trap. No AC, exhaust leaking into the cabin, and the passenger door would only open if you kicked it in exactly the right spot."

"You named it, didn't you?" Joe asked, somehow knowing this about her already.

Riley grinned. "The Beast. Spray-painted it on the side ourselves. That thing survived two full tours somehow, held together by duct tape and prayers."

"Where'd it finally die?"

"Middle of nowhere, Wyoming," Riley said, shaking her head at the memory. "Three in the morning, all of us sleeping in shifts because we couldn't afford hotel rooms. Pete was driving, hit a pothole, and the whole undercarriage just... gave up. We had to wait six hours for a tow, sitting on the side of the road passing a bottle of Jack back and forth to stay warm."

"Sounds miserable," Joe said, but his eyes were bright with interest, captivated by this glimpse into her journey, so different from his own carefully managed ascent.

Riley shrugged. "It was, but also kind of perfect? Like, we were broke as hell, but it was the four of us against the world. And somehow people still showed up to those gigs, even though nobody knew who we were."

Joe nodded, understanding what she meant. Some of his best memories were from before the fame, when it was just about the game and the team, not the brand or the expectations.

"So," she said, reaching for her coffee, her tone shifting slightly, "the band's touring again this summer. We're starting with some smaller intimate venues across the West Coast."

Joe nodded, his expression shifting as reality began to intrude on their bubble. "How long?"

"About two months for the smaller dates," Riley said, watching his reaction carefully. "We wanted to do these more intimate venues first - kind of a treat for the core fans who've been with us from the beginning. Just clubs and theaters, keeping it raw."

"Cincinnati's not exactly on the way to anywhere," Joe said, his tone light but the question underneath obvious.

Riley tilted her head, studying him. "I've heard they have these things called airplanes now. Revolutionary technology."

Joe smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Training camp starts in July."

"Look at us," Riley said, leaning back in her chair. "Already trying to figure out the logistics."

"Is that bad?" Joe asked, something vulnerable in the question.

Riley considered this, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "No," she said finally. "This is just... unexpected."

The word hung between them—unexpected. This connection, this comfort, this sense of rightness in each other's presence. None of it had been planned, none of it fit neatly into their separate lives, and yet here they were, sharing biscuits and bacon and something neither was quite ready to name.

Riley took a final sip of her coffee, eyes meeting his over the rim of her mug. "So, what do you want to do with the rest of our day? The parades don't start until later, but I could show you around my neighborhood if you want. There's this amazing record store a few blocks over, and the best po' boy shop in the city."

Joe smiled, but she caught the slight hesitation in his eyes. "That sounds great, but..."

"You're worried about being recognized," Riley finished for him, understanding immediately.

He nodded. "Yeah. Especially here." He didn't need to elaborate—they both knew his LSU history made him practically royalty in Louisiana.

"Fair enough," she acknowledged. "But we can keep it low-key." She stood and moved to a drawer, pulling out a plain dark bandana. "This and some sunglasses should help for a quick neighborhood walk. Nothing suspicious about a guy covering his face during Mardi Gras. Basic tourist move."

Joe took the bandana from her, considering it. "This enough, you think?"

"For a walk around the neighborhood? Should be," Riley said, though her tone carried a hint of uncertainty. "We'll save the full disguises for the parades tonight. For now, keep your head down, avoid purple and gold anything, and let me do any talking if someone approaches."

Joe nodded, his expression still cautious but willing to try. "I'd like that—seeing your neighborhood through your eyes."

"Good," Riley said with a decisive nod. "Let me just get changed, and we can head out. The record store owner keeps a stash of rare vinyl behind the counter for me, and I want to see if he's got anything new."

The simple prospect of walking through her neighborhood streets, just the two of them experiencing ordinary moments together, felt unexpectedly appealing—even with the risk. No cameras, no expectations—just Joe and Riley, discovering each other's worlds one small piece at a time.

"Put that on," Riley said, nodding toward the bandana as she headed toward her bedroom. "And maybe lose the Bengals shirt too. We're going for anonymous here."

Joe grabbed the bandana from the counter and eyed it skeptically before folding it diagonally. He slipped off his Bengals shirt, replacing it with a plain gray tee from his suitcase.

"Better?" he asked, tying the bandana around his neck, ready to pull up when needed.

Riley emerged from her bedroom in green and white striped wide-leg pants and a vintage black Misfits t-shirt, her hair tucked beneath a plain black cap. Her gingham tote bag hung from her shoulder, and gold rings glinted on her fingers as she assessed him with a critical eye, head tilted slightly.

"Almost." She reached up to adjust the bandana, her fingers brushing against his neck. "There. Now you just look like a tourist trying too hard to blend in, which is perfect. That's exactly what we want."

"That's not exactly a compliment," Joe said with a wry smile.

"It wasn't meant to be." Riley grinned, adjusting her tote bag. "Ready for the Riley Carter exclusive neighborhood tour? Limited time offer, far superior to those overpriced French Quarter walking tours."

Outside, the day had bloomed into perfect New Orleans weather—warm but not yet stifling, the air thick with moisture and the scent of magnolias from a neighbor's yard. The street was quiet compared to the bustle of the Quarter, though Carnival energy hummed just beneath the surface. Beads draped from tree branches caught sunlight as they swayed in the light breeze, and the distant thump of drums suggested a small second line forming somewhere nearby.

Joe pulled the bandana up over his nose as they passed a group of neighbors drinking coffee on their porch. They waved at Riley, curious eyes lingering on Joe for just a moment before returning to their conversation.

"See? Easy," Riley said, bumping her shoulder against his arm. "Nobody cares who you are here. They're too busy living their own lives."

As they turned the corner, an older woman with silver locs piled atop her head called out from her porch.

"Riley Carter! Where've you been hiding, girl?"

Riley's face lit up as she changed course, pulling Joe toward the mint-green shotgun house. "Ms. Josephine! Just busy with the album. How are you?"

The woman's keen eyes shifted to Joe, not missing how Riley's hand was still linked with his. "Can't complain. And who's this?"

"This is Joe," Riley said simply. "He's visiting for Carnival."

Ms. Josephine's eyes narrowed slightly, then widened with recognition that made Joe tense. But instead of saying anything about football, she just smiled knowingly.

"Well, any friend of Riley's is welcome here." She gestured toward the house. "Antoine was just asking about that Bill Withers record he lent you."

"Tell him I've got it safe," Riley assured her. "I'll bring it by before I head to LA."

"You coming to Sunday's gumbo gathering?" Ms. Josephine asked. "Antoine's making his famous file gumbo."

"Wouldn't miss it," Riley said, though Joe noticed the subtle acknowledgment in her eyes that he'd be gone by then. Their weekend together had a clear expiration date that neither wanted to mention.

They walked a bit further down the street, with Riley occasionally pointing out neighborhood landmarks—the corner store where the owner still kept a tab for regulars, the tiny coffee shop that served the best chicory blend in the city, the house where a famous jazz musician had lived in the 1950s.

"And that's Ms. Bellamy's place," Riley said, gesturing to a butter-yellow house with elaborate gingerbread trim. "She's been here since before Katrina, knows everyone's business, and makes a praline so good it'll make you cry."

As if summoned by her name, the statuesque woman appeared on her porch, arranging Carnival decorations with mathematical precision. She spotted Riley and gave a small nod of acknowledgment, her eyes scanning Joe with unmistakable curiosity before returning to her task without comment.

"That's basically a hug from Ms. Bellamy," Riley whispered with a smile. "She doesn't waste words on just anyone."

"You know all your neighbors?" Joe asked, genuinely surprised. In Cincinnati, he knew his security guard by name and occasionally nodded to the couple down the hall, but that was the extent of his community.

"Not all, but many," Riley said. "It's different here. People sit on their porches, talk across fences. It's how I stay grounded when everything else gets crazy. These people don't care about streaming numbers or tour dates—they care if I remembered to bring back their casserole dish or if I'm taking care of that rose bush Edith gave me."

Joe watched her as she talked, her face animated with genuine affection for this place and its people. He tried to imagine a version of his life with this kind of community, this sense of belonging to something beyond the team and his career. It was both foreign and strangely appealing.

"What?" Riley asked, catching his contemplative look.

"Nothing," Joe said, then reconsidered. "Actually, it's just... this isn't what I'm used to. Where I live, privacy means isolation. Here, it seems like privacy and community coexist somehow."

Riley nodded thoughtfully. "That's it exactly. People here respect boundaries, but they also show up when it matters." She pointed to a bright turquoise house across the street. "When Katrina hit, Mr. Jerome there took in seven neighbors and their pets. Nobody had to ask—he just did it. That's New Orleans."

They rounded a corner, and the quiet residential street gave way to a small commercial strip—a neighborhood bar with its doors already open, a plant shop spilling greenery onto the sidewalk, and at the end of the block, a weathered storefront with "RESURRECTION RECORDS" painted in faded red letters above the door.

"Fair warning," Riley said as they approached the record store. "Elvin is a character. Local legend, played with Buddy Guy back in the day. He's going to tell you at least three outrageous stories that are probably true, offer you something to drink that's definitely illegal to serve without a license, and try to sell you records you didn't know you wanted."

"Sounds like my kind of place," Joe said, genuinely intrigued. This was as far from the sterile, corporate music stores he occasionally visited as he could imagine.

Riley's hand found his, fingers intertwining naturally. "Just remember, follow my lead. And whatever happens, do not—under any circumstances—mention LSU."

Before Joe could ask why, she was pulling him through the door, a bell jingling overhead as they stepped into another world entirely.

The bell jingled as they stepped inside Resurrection Records, and Joe's senses were immediately overwhelmed. The store was smaller than it looked from outside, every inch of space utilized to the point of controlled chaos. Vinyl records filled wooden crates that lined the walls and created narrow aisles throughout the shop. The air smelled of dust, incense, and vinyl – a combination that was somehow comforting despite being entirely foreign to Joe's usual environments.

From behind a counter cluttered with vintage audio equipment, a tall man with salt-and-pepper dreadlocks tied back in a loose ponytail looked up. His weathered face broke into a wide grin when he spotted Riley.

"Well, if it isn't the prodigal daughter herself!" His voice was deep and gravelly, the kind that only decades of whiskey and cigarettes could produce. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about your old friend Elvin."

"Never," Riley said, making her way through the cramped space to give him a quick hug over the counter. "Just been in the studio cave. You know how it goes."

"That I do," Elvin nodded, then shifted his attention to Joe, eyes narrowing with open curiosity. "And who's the stranger?"

"This is Joe," Riley said casually. "Joe, this is Elvin Baptiste, legend of the New Orleans blues scene and keeper of vinyl treasures."

Joe stepped forward, hand extended. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Elvin studied him for a moment, taking in the bandana and sunglasses with obvious amusement before shaking his hand. "Any friend of Riley's..." he began, then paused, his grip tightening slightly on Joe's hand. "Wait a minute. I know you from somewhere."

Joe felt the familiar tension seize his shoulders. Riley shot him a quick, reassuring glance before turning back to Elvin.

"He just has one of those faces," she said smoothly. "Joe, why don't you look around while Elvin shows me what he's been holding for me?"

Understanding the escape route she was offering, Joe nodded and drifted toward the nearest bin of records. Behind him, he could hear Elvin's voice drop as he leaned in to speak to Riley.

"That's not just some guy, is it?" he whispered, though not quietly enough.

"Elvin," Riley's tone carried a gentle warning. "Not today, okay?"

There was a pause, then Elvin's laugh. "Your secret's safe with me, Riley-girl. Now, about those imports I promised you..."

Their voices faded into the background as Joe began flipping through albums, relaxing into the anonymity of the task. He moved methodically through the bins, not really searching for anything specific but enjoying the tactile experience of thumbing through the cardboard sleeves, studying the artwork of bands he recognized and many he didn't.

Near the front of the store, he noticed a small section labeled "STAFF PICKS" in hand-painted letters. Curious about what kind of music the eccentric Elvin might recommend, Joe wandered over. The collection was eclectic—everything from obscure jazz recordings to punk albums to what appeared to be world music from regions Joe couldn't even identify.

And there, propped front and center, was Talking Heads' "Speaking in Tongues."

Joe's entire body went still. The exact album. The exact song.

With hands that suddenly felt clumsy, he pulled the record from its place of honor. The sleeve was worn at the edges, but the album itself was clearly well-preserved. He flipped it over, and his eyes immediately found what they were searching for in the track listing: "This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)."

The room seemed to recede around him, the chatter and clattering of vinyl fading to a distant hum as he stared at those words. It wasn't just any Talking Heads album. It was the album. The one with the song that had materialized in his mind the moment he stepped into Riley's house, the one his father had played on those Sunday mornings when everything felt right with the world.

"Home is where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there..."

The coincidence was too perfect, too precise to be random. Joe wasn't superstitious—his entire career was built on practice and preparation, not luck or fate—yet standing here, holding this specific record in this specific store in this specific city with this specific woman... it felt like the universe was trying to tell him something.

He glanced over at Riley, still deeply engaged with Elvin at the counter, completely unaware of the cosmic joke or profound message or whatever the hell this was that had just landed in Joe's hands.

The intensity of his reaction frightened him. This wasn't how Joe Burrow operated. He didn't assign mystical significance to old records. He didn't experience emotional earthquakes in dusty shops. He didn't believe in signs from the universe.

And yet.

Everything about his time with Riley had been peeling back layers he hadn't known existed. The way her house had instantly felt more like home than his own carefully designed apartment. The way her chaotic, vibrant life made his structured existence seem hollow by comparison. The way she filled spaces—physical and emotional—with meaning and history and warmth.

He'd been haunted by that damn song since he walked into her house. And now here it was, literally in his hands, as if it had been waiting for him.

Joe tried to rationalize it away. Talking Heads was a popular band. This was probably one of their most famous albums. Of course it would be in a record store. Of course Elvin might select it as a staff pick. There was nothing supernatural about it.

But the explanation did nothing to quell the tremor that ran through him, the sense that something fundamental was shifting in the bedrock of his carefully constructed life.

Even with Olivia—who he'd genuinely loved during those years together—he'd maintained the walls that separated Joe Burrow the quarterback from Joe the person. She'd ended things not because they didn't love each other, but because she'd wanted more of him than he'd been willing to give, more than football allowed him to give. Or at least, that's what he'd told himself at the time. Looking back now, he wondered if it had been his choice all along—football hadn't built those walls; he had.

He'd spent years building those defenses around himself—the disciplined quarterback, the calculated public figure, the man who left nothing to chance. But in less than twenty-four hours, Riley had somehow slipped past all his defenses, not by force but by simply showing him a different way of being. A life full of color and history and connection. A life where things didn't have to be perfect to be meaningful.

And here was this record, this physical manifestation of the feeling that had overwhelmed him in her living room. This tangible proof that the earthquake he'd experienced wasn't just in his imagination.

Joe became aware that his heart was racing, his palms sweaty against the cardboard sleeve. He felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he'd accidentally revealed something deeply private in public. Glancing around, he was relieved to find that no one was paying him any attention—he was just another customer browsing records.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. This reaction was irrational, disproportionate. It was just a record. Just a song. Just a coincidence.

Except he knew it wasn't. Not really.

This moment, this discovery, was crystallizing something he'd been feeling since he first walked into Riley's world—a longing for something he hadn't known he was missing. A recognition that the life he'd built, for all its success and discipline and achievement, lacked the very thing Riley seemed to create effortlessly around her: a sense of belonging. Of home.

The realization was devastating in its simplicity. He, Joe Burrow, NFL quarterback with the carefully curated public image and meticulously organized life, was homesick for a place he'd never been. For a feeling he'd only experienced in fragments—in his childhood home on those Sunday mornings, and now, inexplicably, with Riley.

It wasn't just that he was attracted to her. It wasn't just that he enjoyed her company or admired her talent or found her intriguing. It was that being with her felt like remembering something essential he'd forgotten. Something about who he could be, who he maybe was supposed to be, beyond the uniform and the expectations and the constant performance.

Joe looked down at the album in his hands, realizing his grip had tightened to the point where he might damage the sleeve. He forced himself to relax, to breathe normally, to appear outwardly calm even as his internal landscape was being completely reconstructed.

He had to buy this record. It didn't matter that he didn't own a turntable. It didn't matter that he had no practical use for it. It didn't matter that bringing this physical manifestation of his emotional revelation back to Cincinnati would be like carrying a live grenade into his carefully ordered existence.

He had to have it. If only to remind himself, when he inevitably returned to his real life, that this place, this feeling, this possibility existed.

"Hey, find something good?"

Joe nearly jumped at the sound of Riley's voice beside him. She was looking at him curiously, her head tilted in that way he was already beginning to recognize as her trying to read him.

"Yeah," he said, holding up the album with a certainty that contrasted with his internal turmoil. "This one."

Riley's eyes dropped to the album in his hands, and for a heart-stopping moment, Joe thought she would somehow see everything—the connection to the song that had played in his head in her house, the seismic shift happening inside him, the terrifying vulnerability he suddenly felt.

Instead, she just smiled. "Talking Heads, huh? Solid pick. That one's a staple."

The comment landed harder than it should have. Of course it was.

"I don't even have a record player," Joe admitted, keeping his tone even.

Riley lowered her sunglasses slightly, studying him. "So why buy something you can't even play?"

Joe looked down at the album, thumb tracing the edge of the sleeve. He considered what to say, but some revelations weren't meant for sharing. Not yet.

"Just feels right," he said simply, with the quiet confidence that came naturally to him on the field but rarely off it. "I'll figure out the rest later."

Riley held his gaze like she wanted to push for more, but after a beat, she just nodded. "Fair enough."

With a grin, she nudged him toward the counter. “Come on, Elvin’s pouring us a drink while we settle up. But take it easy—one’s plenty. Any more, and we’ll be on our asses before the parade even starts.”

Joe followed her to the counter, the record clutched in his hand like a talisman. He'd come to New Orleans expecting a brief escape from his routine, a pleasant weekend with a woman who intrigued him. He hadn't expected to find himself contemplating the fundamental architecture of his life, questioning choices he'd made so automatically he hadn't even recognized them as choices.

And he certainly hadn't expected to find himself holding a physical manifestation of that questioning in the form of a decades-old record.

As Elvin poured them each a finger of amber liquid in mismatched glasses, Joe stole another glance at Riley—her easy confidence, the way she belonged so naturally in this cluttered, chaotic space. The way she seemed to belong everywhere she went, not because she blended in but because she carried her sense of self so completely.

That was what he wanted, he realized. Not just her, though he wanted that too with an intensity that surprised him. But what he truly coveted was her rootedness, her ability to be fully present in her life, to create meaning and connection wherever she went.

The record in his hand was a promise to himself. A reminder that another way of living was possible. That somewhere beneath the carefully constructed edifice of Joe Burrow, NFL quarterback, there was just Joe—a person capable of feeling at home, of belonging, of recognizing when something mattered beyond all reason or practicality.

But as he placed it on the counter and reached for his wallet, there was no hesitation in his movements. Whatever this meant, whatever shift was happening inside him, he was embracing it head-on.

He'd come to New Orleans to visit Riley, but he was discovering himself in the process. And that revelation, more than any Talking Heads album or cosmic coincidence, was what truly shook the foundations of his world.

After leaving the record store, Riley suggested they grab a drink before heading back to get ready for the evening's festivities. For now, Joe was keeping a low profile with just the essentials—mirrored aviators and a bandana he could pull up if needed. His head was still buzzing slightly from Elvin's homemade bourbon, a potent concoction the old man had insisted they sample before making their purchases.

"A little liquid courage for the record collector," Elvin had called it, winking at Joe as he'd carefully wrapped the Talking Heads album.

Riley was still in her green and white striped wide-leg pants and vintage Misfits t-shirt, her hair tucked up in a messy bun under a plain black cap. Her black sandals clicked against the pavement as they walked, the gingham tote bag now containing their record store haul swinging at her side. The gold rings on her fingers caught the afternoon sunlight as she gestured down a side street.

"There's a place around the corner," she said, tugging him away from the more crowded streets. "Little dive bar that tourists never find."

They weaved through growing crowds of revelers, many of whom were already in various stages of costume despite the early hour. The energy in the Quarter was building steadily, street performers setting up on corners, vendors arranging displays of masks and beads, the scent of food and alcohol mingling in the humid air.

Joe was still processing what had happened in the record store, the strange convergence of past and present that had left him feeling both unmoored and somehow more grounded than he'd been in years. He found himself gripping the small paper bag containing the Talking Heads album a little too tightly and consciously relaxed his hand.

"Here," Riley said, stopping in front of an unassuming door tucked between a voodoo shop and a vintage clothing store. The weathered sign simply read "The Jimson Weed" in faded paint.

Inside, the bar was dim and cool compared to the increasingly humid afternoon. Old cypress beams crossed the ceiling, and the walls were covered in local art and faded photographs of musicians who'd played there over the decades. A small stage in the back corner suggested live music happened regularly, though at the moment only a Blues playlist filled the air.

The crowd was sparse—a few locals at the bar nursing drinks, a table of what looked like visiting college students, and an older couple in the corner sharing a plate of something that smelled delicious.

Riley slid onto a barstool, and Joe took the one beside her, careful to keep his profile turned away from the door. The edge of Elvin's bourbon was beginning to wear off, leaving behind a pleasant warmth and a slight loosening of the constant vigilance he maintained in public places.

A tattooed bartender with a shaved head approached, his face breaking into a genuine smile when he spotted Riley. "Well damn. Riley Carter emerging from hibernation."

"Hey, Marcus," Riley said, leaning across the bar to bump fists with him. "You know I can't stay away from your Sazeracs forever."

Marcus's eyes shifted to Joe, curious but not intrusive. Joe tensed slightly, waiting for the flash of recognition, but it never came. Instead, Marcus just extended his hand. "Any friend of Riley's is welcome here."

"Thanks," Joe said, shaking it firmly. "Joe."

"You caught Elvin's special reserve, huh?" Marcus asked, noticing the record store bag. "Man's been bottling that stuff since before I was born. Still haven't figured out what's in it."

"Pretty sure it's at least 90 proof," Riley said. "Joe here needs something to take the edge off."

"Say no more," Marcus nodded, already reaching for glasses. "Two Sazeracs coming up."

As he moved away to prepare their drinks, Riley turned slightly toward Joe, her knee bumping his under the bar. "You've been quiet since the record store," she said softly. "You okay?"

Joe met her eyes, momentarily thrown by her perceptiveness. "Yeah, just... processing. The record thing. It was unexpected."

"The vinyl bug bites hard," Riley said, clearly misinterpreting his introspection. "First it's one album, then suddenly you're installing custom shelving to hold your collection."

Joe nodded, grateful she hadn't somehow intuited the deeper significance. "I'll have to borrow your turntable sometime," he said, the suggestion carrying more weight than he'd intended.

"Anytime," Riley replied, something flickering briefly in her expression that made his chest tighten.

Marcus returned with their drinks—amber liquid in rocks glasses, each garnished with a twist of lemon peel. As he set them down, his eyes flickered to Joe's face, recognition dawning in them.

"Enjoy," he said simply, then paused before moving away. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Hey man, my cousin's a huge Bengals fan. Just wanted to say that playoff run was something else."

Joe tensed, his fingers tightening on the edge of the bar.

Marcus seemed to read his discomfort immediately. "Don't worry," he said with a casual shrug. "We get musicians, actors, all kinds through here. House rule is everybody gets to drink in peace."

"Appreciate that," Joe said, relaxing slightly as he reached for his glass.

Riley shot Marcus a grateful look as he moved away to help another customer. "Told you," she said quietly. "Marcus is good people."

Joe took a sip of his drink, the flavor complex and strong—rye whiskey, bitters, and something sweet with a hint of licorice that cut through the lingering taste of Elvin's moonshine. "Damn, that's good."

"Told you," Riley said, taking a sip of her own. "Man's a wizard."

"You hitting Muses tonight?" Marcus called from further down the bar where he was pouring a beer.

"Wouldn't miss it," Riley replied. "Got a spot near Napoleon and St. Charles."

"Smart," Marcus nodded. "Garden District's gonna be a nightmare this year. Heard they're expecting record crowds."

Joe watched as Riley surveyed the room, seemingly relaxed but with a constant awareness that he recognized from his own experiences with fame. Even in minimal disguise, she was careful—monitoring exits, tracking who entered, keeping her back to the wall. It was subtle, probably unconscious, but he noticed because he did the same things.

"So how long have you been coming here?" he asked, genuinely curious about this piece of her history.

Riley traced the rim of her glass with one finger, smiling at some private memory. "Since before anyone knew who I was. This place is special—one of the last real local spots that hasn't been completely overrun. Marcus has owned it for twenty years, keeps the tourists out by never advertising and charging too much for domestic beer."

"Smart strategy," Joe nodded, respecting the intentionality behind it.

"The band played our first real gig here," Riley continued, her voice softer now. "First place that ever paid us actual money instead of just free drinks."

"How'd that go?" Joe asked.

Riley laughed, the sound warm and unreserved. "Complete disaster. We were so nervous, Pete broke two strings in the first song, Andy was late because his car broke down, and I forgot the lyrics to our opener—just stood there humming until the second verse." She shook her head at the memory. "But the crowd was drunk enough not to care, and Marcus kept booking us anyway."

Her expression turned thoughtful, and she glanced toward the small stage. "He saw something in us before anyone else did. Before we even saw it in ourselves, really."

There was something about the way she said it—a quiet gratitude, a recognition of how far she'd come—that made Joe want to know everything about her journey. Not the version in press releases or interviews, but the real story, with all its struggles and triumphs.

"Your turn," Riley said, nudging his arm. "Tell me something about Joe Burrow that isn't in the ESPN highlight reel."

Joe took another sip of his drink, buying himself a moment. What exactly did he share with her? The Talking Heads album was still weighing on his mind—This must be the place. If he wanted to be known, truly known by her, he needed to offer something real, not the carefully curated anecdotes he saved for media days.

Home is where I want to be...

The lyric circled in his head, reminding him of what had drawn him to Riley in the first place—her authenticity, her ability to be fully present in her life. She'd been honest with him, sharing stories of her early struggles without polish or pretense. Maybe he owed her the same.

"I worry sometimes," he said finally, his voice quieter but steady. "About how long I can keep doing this. The knee, the appendix..." He looked down at his drink, turning the glass slowly between his fingers. "Every time I come back, I tell everyone I'm not thinking about it. That I'm just focused on the next game, the next season. But sometimes, late at night, I do think about it."

Riley watched him, not rushing to fill the silence, giving his words the space they deserved.

"Football's all I've ever wanted," Joe continued. "But lately I've been wondering what comes after. What I'm going to be when I can't be that anymore." He shook his head slightly. "Sorry, that got pretty heavy for afternoon drinks."

"Don't apologize," Riley said, her expression serious but warm. "That's real. Every performer thinks about the shelf life of what we do. My voice won't sound like this forever. Your body won't move like that forever. It's normal to wonder what's on the other side."

Joe nodded, relieved by her understanding. "Yeah, exactly. Most people think we're crazy to worry when we're at the top of our game. But that's exactly when it hits you—knowing it can't last forever."

"So what's the answer?" Riley asked. "What does Joe Burrow do when he hangs up the cleats?"

He laughed softly. "That's the million-dollar question. Coaching, broadcasting—those are the expected routes. But I don't know if that's me."

"What about something completely different?" Riley suggested. "You strike me as someone who could excel at just about anything you set your mind to."

"Maybe," Joe said thoughtfully. "Wouldn't that be something? To completely reinvent myself?" He straightened, shaking off the momentary weight of contemplation. "Anyway, that's probably more than you bargained for when you asked for a fun fact about me."

Riley shook her head, her eyes holding his. "No, it's exactly what I wanted to know. The real stuff." She raised her glass. "To second acts and new beginnings—whenever we need them."

Joe clinked his glass against hers, feeling a strange lightness. He'd never spoken those fears aloud, not even to teammates who shared the same unspoken anxieties. Yet here in this dim bar, with a woman he'd known for barely a day, he'd found the words.

"Enough about uncertain futures," he said with a smile. "Tell me about this parade you keep promising will change my life."

Riley's eyes lit up, and as she launched into a detailed explanation of the Muses parade traditions, Joe found himself simply watching her—the animation in her gestures, the genuine enthusiasm in her voice. In her presence, even his deepest worries seemed less daunting, more like challenges to be met than shadows to be feared.

After their second drink, Riley checked her phone and straightened. "We should probably head back soon," she said. "I still need to get ready, and you haven't even seen your parade disguise yet."

"On a scale of one to complete transformation, how extreme are we talking?" Joe asked.

Riley's smile turned mischievous as she slid off her stool. She dropped several bills on the bar—far more than their drinks cost, Joe noticed—and gave Marcus a quick hug. "That should cover us and a little extra for the tip jar," she said.

Marcus shook his head with a smile. "Always too generous, Carter."

"Consider it an investment in my future drinking," she replied with a wink.

Joe observed this small interaction with interest. Another glimpse of her character—the casual generosity, the way she treated service workers not as invisible background characters but as important parts of her story.

As they stepped back into the late afternoon sunlight, the streets were noticeably more crowded than before. Joe pulled his bandana up as a precaution. The energy had shifted—more costumes appearing, music louder, the atmosphere charged with anticipation for the evening ahead.

The two Sazeracs had left a pleasant warmth in Joe's chest, just enough to lower his usual guard. As they navigated through clusters of tourists already adorned with beads and masks, he found himself walking closer to Riley, their hands occasionally brushing until she finally caught his with her own, intertwining their fingers naturally.

"I'm good," he said, squeezing her hand. "Just forgot how hard a Sazerac hits. And whatever the hell Elvin gave us probably didn't help."

"Not used to real drinks, huh? Too busy chugging protein shakes?" She bumped her hip against his.

Joe scoffed, his free hand landing on her waist. "Please. I could outdrink you and still wake up for a workout before you even thought about getting out of bed."

Riley raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh, is that right?" She squeezed his hand, tilting her head. "Don't play with me, sir. You do not want that smoke."

The casual touches, her fingers linked with his, the easy banter—it all felt at once new and strangely familiar, as if they'd known each other much longer than a handful of hours.

As they turned onto Riley's street, the residential area slightly calmer than the main drags, Joe found himself surprisingly eager for what came next. His thumb traced small circles on the back of her hand as they walked, a gesture so natural he didn't even realize he was doing it until he felt her respond with a gentle squeeze.

"Alright," he said as they climbed her porch steps, reluctantly releasing her hand so she could unlock the door. "Transform me."

Inside, the late afternoon light filtered through the lace curtains, creating patterns across the wooden floors. The record from the store sat on her coffee table, a physical reminder of his earlier revelation. Joe found himself staring at it, almost disbelieving of how much had shifted within him in just one day.

"Make yourself comfortable," Riley called over her shoulder as she disappeared into her bedroom. "This might take me a few minutes."

She paused at the doorway, turning back to catch his eye. "No passing out on my couch, mister."

"No promises," Joe replied with a lazy smile, though he was far from actually drunk—just comfortable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

He settled onto her couch, the worn velvet somehow more inviting than his own pristine furniture back home. The combination of Elvin's bourbon and Marcus's Sazeracs had left him pleasantly buzzed, his usual hyperawareness softened around the edges.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself simply exist in this space—this house that had somehow felt like home from the moment he'd stepped inside. The distant sounds of Carnival filtered through the open windows, but in here, in Riley's world, there was a stillness that felt sacred somehow.

"Ta-da!" Riley's voice broke through his reverie.

Joe looked up and froze. She'd completely transformed in the thirty minutes she'd disappeared into her room. A light purple wig framed her face—not a vibrant electric color, but a softer lavender that somehow looked surprisingly natural despite being obviously fake. Her face glittered with gold and purple sparkles concentrated around her eyes and cheekbones, making her features shimmer in the light. But it was the outfit that really caught his attention—a black crop top that exposed just enough skin to be interesting without being too revealing, paired with sequined shorts in alternating bands of purple, gold, and green that caught the light with her every movement. She'd paired the look with her black high-top Converse, a leather jacket slung over her arm.

"Damn," was all Joe could manage.

Riley grinned, giving a theatrical twirl. "Now you."

She grabbed his hand and pulled him into her bedroom, where she'd laid out his disguise on the bed—a purple snapback with a fleur-de-lis embroidered on it, mirrored aviators, and a bandana in Mardi Gras colors. There were beads too, lots of them, and a white t-shirt with "Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler" printed across the front.

"Subtle," Joe said dryly.

"The beauty of Carnival," Riley said, handing him the shirt, "is that nobody looks at faces. Everyone's staring at costumes, masks, floats. The more you blend in with tourists, the more invisible you become."

Joe changed quickly, pulling the shirt over his head. Riley stepped closer, reaching up to adjust the hat on his head. Her fingers brushed his temple as she worked, warm against his skin. They stood close enough that he could smell her perfume mingling with the faint scent of the bourbon they'd shared. He found himself fighting the urge to pull her closer, to close the small distance between them.

"There," she said, her hands lingering at the sides of his face as she stepped back slightly to examine her work. "How's it feel?"

Joe looked at himself in her full-length mirror, hyper-aware of her standing just behind him, her reflection meeting his eyes in the glass. Between the hat pulled low, the aviators, and the bandana that he could pull up when needed, he was essentially anonymous. He looked like every other out-of-towner in the city for Carnival.

"Weird," he admitted. "But good weird."

"Perfect. Egan texted—they're already at her place with drinks flowing. Six, maybe seven people."

Joe hesitated, something tightening in his chest. "They all know who I am?"

"I may have mentioned I was bringing someone," Riley said with a casual shrug. "And Egan may have figured out who you are. She's smart like that."

Joe felt his shoulders tense. So much for anonymity. Mark and Bill's warnings from their last conversation replayed in his head.

"Look, we're not trying to kill your vibe here," Mark had said, that forced casual tone he used when he was actually concerned. "But it's Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Joe. The whole city is one giant party, and Riley Carter isn't exactly known for taking it easy."

Bill hadn't even attempted to be subtle. "Her world is different, man. We've all seen her Instagram. Those afterparties go until sunrise. That crowd lives for that shit. One video of you getting wild with her friends, and suddenly we're not talking about your comeback season anymore—we're explaining why you're doing tequila shots at 3 AM."

Joe had brushed them off then, but their words hit differently now. The Riley he'd spent the morning with—cooking breakfast, showing him her neighborhood—seemed miles away from the party girl they'd described. But maybe he was about to see that other side of her, the rock star who thrived in chaos and crowds.

"So much for anonymity," he finally said, his tone more resigned than angry.

"Hey," Riley said, stepping closer, her eyes clear and confident. "These are my people. They've had my back through everything. They know how to keep things quiet."

Joe nodded, but couldn't shake the uneasiness. Every new person who recognized him was another potential leak, another possible viral moment. And if things did get wild tonight—well, Mark and Bill would have a field day with the I-told-you-so's.

"We don't have to go," Riley offered, reading his expression. "We can head straight to the parade spot."

"No," Joe said, making a decision. "I want to meet your friends. Just..."

"Just be prepared to slip out if it gets weird," Riley finished for him. "I get it. We'll have an escape plan."

Twenty minutes later, they were walking through streets that had transformed completely from earlier in the day. The energy was electric now, people in various states of costume filling the sidewalks, music pouring from every direction, the air thick with the mingled scents of food, alcohol, and anticipation.

Joe had the bandana pulled up over his nose and mouth, the hat low over his eyes. He looked like dozens of other revelers—anonymous and unremarkable in the sea of Carnival preparations. But beneath the disguise, his mind was racing. These were Riley's people. Her world. And he was about to walk right into it.

"Nervous?" Riley asked, glancing at him as they turned down a side street away from the main crowd.

"A little," Joe admitted. There was something about her that made it easy to be honest when he'd normally deflect. "I'm not great with new people to begin with. Add in the whole..." he gestured vaguely at himself, "...this thing, and yeah. A little nervous."

"If it helps, they're more nervous about meeting you," Riley said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Egan's been texting me non-stop. 'What's he like? Is he cool? What should I not mention?'"

Joe raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "What did you tell her?"

"That you're just a regular guy who happens to throw a football really well. And that if anyone says anything about the Kansas City game, I'll personally remove them from the balcony."

That got a real laugh out of him, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "Appreciate that."

As they approached a faded blue double shotgun with a wide front porch already filled with people, the bass of music thumped from inside. Bottles clinked, laughter erupted, and Joe caught the unmistakable scent of something that definitely wasn't tobacco. He inhaled slightly, a small smile playing at his lips. Off-season had its perks, after all, and it's not like he was getting drug tested tomorrow. Still, Mark's voice nagged in his head: Just be smart about it, man. No phones, people you trust, no exceptions.

Riley seemed to sense his hesitation, her hand finding his and giving it a quick squeeze. "Two hours, max," she promised. "Then we hit the parade. And if you want to leave sooner, just say the word."

Joe nodded, squeezing her hand back before reluctantly letting go. In Cincinnati, nobody touched him casually like that. He was already missing the contact.

They climbed the steps, and a woman with a short undercut and colorful tattoos spotted them immediately, breaking away from a conversation to rush over, drink sloshing precariously in her hand.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, hugging Riley tightly. She pulled back to examine the wig, nodding with approval. "Love this color on you. Different vibe from last year's blue situation."

"Thought I'd change it up," Riley said, adjusting the wig slightly. She turned to Joe with a look that said ready? "Egan, this is Joe. Joe, Egan—my oldest friend in New Orleans."

"Hey," Joe said, keeping his voice casual pulling the bandanna down. He'd perfected the art of the neutral greeting after years of meeting strangers who already knew everything about him.

Egan's eyes sparkled with recognition, but she played it cool, leaning in to give him a quick hug that caught him off guard. "Nice to meet you," she said at a normal volume, then lowered her voice to add, "Your secret's safe here, promise. We're not the type to blast stuff on social media."

"Appreciate that," Joe said, relaxing slightly at her obvious discretion. Maybe this wouldn't be the disaster his team had predicted.

"Come on," Egan said, leading them toward the door. "Everyone's inside. Fair warning—Tomas brought his infamous punch, and Jeremy is already three drinks in and talking about the Saints' defensive line, so maybe steer clear unless you want to debate NFL strategy all night."

Riley shot Joe an apologetic look, but he just shrugged. "I can talk defense with the best of them."

"That's what I was afraid of," Egan said with a laugh. "Get ready for the football interrogation of your life. He's been preparing his takes all day since I told him you were coming."

Joe couldn't help but smile at that. At least he'd be on familiar territory talking football, even if everything else about this night was uncharted waters.

As they stepped into the crowded house, the door closing behind them, Joe instinctively pulled the bandana down from his face. Out there, in the streets of New Orleans, he needed to be anonymous. But in here, among Riley's trusted circle, he could just be Joe. The air was warm, thick with conversation and music—the rich aroma of good bourbon mingling with something savory cooking in the kitchen, the subtle notes of perfume and cologne, and the unmistakable sweet scent of good flower hanging in the air. This was a long way from his quiet place in Cincinnati, and somewhere between terrifying and exhilarating.

A tall guy with long hair pulled into a messy bun spotted them from the kitchen doorway and called out over the music. "Carter! Get over here! The jungle juice is going fast!"

"That's Tomas," Riley explained, tugging Joe toward the kitchen. "His jungle juice is legendary, but I've seen it take down people twice your size."

As they navigated through the crowd, Joe felt the weight of curious glances but was surprised by how normal it felt. No one was making a big deal of his presence. No phones appeared, no one asked for selfies. Riley's friends greeted him with casual nods or quick introductions—like he was just another friend she'd brought along.

In the kitchen, Tomas was pouring something purple from a massive crystal bowl into mismatched cups. The sweet, fruity smell barely masked what had to be at least three different kinds of liquor.

"The man of the hour," Tomas said, looking up at Joe with an easy grin. He extended his hand. "Good to meet you, man. I'm Tomas."

"Joe," he replied, shaking the offered hand. "That looks intense."

"Family recipe," Tomas said proudly, ladling two cups. "Great-grandfather was a bootlegger during Prohibition. So, that fourth-quarter conversion against Baltimore? Man, that was something else. The way you read that defense—"

"Right?" Joe replied, immediately animated. "They showed blitz but I could tell by the safety's position they were dropping into coverage. It was all about that pre-snap read."

Riley gave Tomas a look that said now you've done it, but she was smiling. Joe took a long sip of the jungle juice, the sweetness barely concealing the serious kick of alcohol.

A guy in a Saints cap who'd been listening from the edge of the kitchen stepped forward eagerly. "So that's how you knew? I've been arguing with my buddies about that play for weeks."

"You must be Jeremy," Joe said, extending his hand. "Egan mentioned you're the Saints expert around here."

"Guilty," Jeremy admitted with a grin, shaking Joe's hand firmly. "Been obsessing over our defensive schemes all season."

"Actually, your coordinator's making some interesting adjustments," Joe said, comfortably leaning against the counter. "That Tampa-2 variation he ran against the Rams was pretty innovative."

Jeremy's eyes lit up. "You noticed that? Most people missed it completely. The way he disguised the coverage pre-snap was brilliant."

"Damn, that's good," he said, genuinely impressed.

"Told you," Riley said, nudging him with her shoulder. "Tomas makes it once a year, just for Mardi Gras."

A woman with long braids appeared at Riley's side, nudging her with an elbow. "You gonna introduce us, or what?"

"Joe, this is Jen," Riley said. "We went to music school together before she abandoned me for law school."

"Best decision I ever made," Jen said, her eyes moving to Joe with open curiosity. "Your girl's a nightmare to tour with."

“Okay, rude,” Riley said, taking a sip of her drink. “I am a delight to tour with.

Jen snorted. “Sure. If your definition of delight includes panic-packing and losing your phone daily.”

Joe turned to Riley, amused. “That sounds… about right.”

Riley just shrugged. “I like a little chaos.”

The guy in a beanie passed by, already smoking. He paused, offering it to Riley with a casual nod.

Riley took it smoothly, inhaling and holding for a moment before passing it to Joe without comment or question. No big deal.

Joe took it with the same casual confidence he brought to everything else. Off-season had its perks, after all. He inhaled with practiced ease, the familiar routine more muscle memory than conscious thought. The tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying in his shoulders melted away as he exhaled low and slow.

He passed it back to Riley, who took another pull before returning it to its original owner. The entire exchange happened with the ease of people comfortable in their choices – no hesitation, no side glances for permission or approval. Just adults making their own decisions.

The conversation around them hadn't even skipped a beat, Jeremy still deep into breaking down some defensive formation with the same enthusiasm as before.

Joe settled back, feeling the pleasant warmth beginning to spread through him. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he wasn't calculating risks or considering optics. He was just... here. Present. And it felt good.

Joe felt himself settle.

Maybe it was the jungle juice, maybe the weed, maybe just the hum of the night, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about who might be watching.

He wasn’t thinking about the headlines, or the cameras, or Mark and Bill’s warnings.

"So Joe," Jeremy said, leaning forward, "what are you guys looking at in the draft this year? Our mock drafts have you taking that offensive lineman from Alabama."

"Oh God," Riley groaned. "Please talk about something else besides football. We'll never make it to the parade."

But Joe was already engaged, comfortably settling into the topic. "We definitely need to strengthen a few positions," he said, casually confident in his standing with the organization. "I've been watching film on some of the top receiving prospects. Our front office knows I have thoughts."

Jeremy leaned forward, clearly impressed. "They actually let you weigh in on draft picks?"

Joe shrugged, but there was a quiet assurance in the gesture. "It's my offense. They want to make sure whoever they bring in fits what we're building. I was in the draft room last year."

"That's how it should be," Jeremy said, clearly thrilled with this insider perspective. "When you've got a franchise quarterback, you build around what works for him."

Joe gave a slight nod, taking a sip of his drink. "And honestly, that Alabama lineman you mentioned? Wouldn't hate that pick."

As they were preparing to leave for the parade, Joe found himself in a final conversation with Jeremy and Tomas. The three had moved from defensive schemes to debating the league's best venues, finding common ground despite their team loyalties.

"Man, I still haven't made it to a game in Cincinnati," Tomas admitted, finishing his drink. "The atmosphere looks incredible on TV though."

"You should come out next season," Joe said without hesitation, pulling out his phone. "Here, put your numbers in. I'll set you guys up with tickets."

Jeremy's eyes widened. "Seriously? That would be insane."

"Absolutely," Joe nodded, his tone matter-of-fact as he handed his phone to Tomas. "Good seats too, not nosebleeds. And I can get you both field passes before the game."

"That's... damn, thanks man," Tomas said, clearly surprised by the genuine offer as he typed in his number and passed the phone to Jeremy.

"Riley's friends are my friends," Joe said with an easy confidence. "Just let me know which game works for you."

Riley, returning from saying goodbye to Jen, caught the end of the exchange. The pleased surprise on her face told Joe everything he needed to know - he'd just breezed through an important test he hadn't known he was taking.

"Already stealing my people, Burrow?" she teased, sliding her arm through his.

"Can't help it if they have excellent taste in football," he replied with a half-smile, tucking his phone away.

Twenty minutes later, Egan clapped her hands over the music. "Alright, parade time! Muses waits for no one!"

A flurry of movement followed—jackets thrown on, drinks drained, beads tossed over heads, masks adjusted. Someone passed Riley a silver sequined mask, and she slid it into place effortlessly, her eyes flashing behind it.

"We better move," Jeremy said, downing the last of his drink. "Last year Egan left me behind when I took too long."

"She's not joking about the parade waiting for no one," Joe observed, already on his feet and adjusting his bandana. He pulled his cap lower, ready for what came next.

Riley appeared at his side, eyes bright with excitement. "You ready, babes?"

Joe looked at her, taking in the way she vibrated with energy. The way the city felt alive around her, like it moved in sync with her heartbeat. He nodded, already moving toward the door. "Let's go."

As the group spilled onto the porch, the night swallowed them whole—music spilling from open doors, the distant wail of a brass band tuning up, strangers laughing like old friends. Joe stepped confidently into the current, making his way through the crowd with Riley's hand in his, no longer feeling like a visitor but like someone who belonged in this moment.

The parade route was already packed three-deep when they arrived, but Egan navigated with confidence toward a small section that had been impossibly preserved amid the chaos.

"Trahan family real estate," Riley explained, catching Joe's questioning look. "Egan's family has been claiming this exact spot for generations. I've been watching Muses with them since we were in high school."

A cluster of people waved as they approached—a mix of ages and styles that somehow fit together seamlessly, like most things in New Orleans. Joe recognized the easy familiarity of a group that had history together, the kind of connections that ran deeper than occasional meetups.

"Finally!" called a woman who had to be Egan's mother, their features mirroring each other. "We've been fighting off spot-stealers for an hour!"

"Worth the wait though," Riley called back. "We brought reinforcements."

The introductions were casual, unforced. Val and her husband Marco, Egan's parents Marie and Louis, a couple of cousins whose names blurred together. Nobody made a big deal about who Joe was, though he caught the flash of recognition in their eyes. Here, he was just Riley's guy, which felt both strange and surprisingly comfortable.

"So you survived Tomas's jungle juice," Val said, handing Joe a red Solo cup filled with something that smelled like whiskey and fruit juice. "That alone earns you parade privileges."

"It was touch and go for a minute," Joe admitted, taking a sip. Good bourbon, not the cheap stuff.

Marco appeared with a flask, topping off Joe's cup. "Insurance against the wait," he explained with a wink. "Muses runs on New Orleans time."

Riley slipped her arm through Joe's, leaning into him. "Marco's family has been in the Quarter for four generations. His grandmother used to tell us stories about the prohibition-era tunnels under his building."

"Some of them are still there," Marco said proudly. "Though now they're mostly full of old Mardi Gras props and my aunt's preserves."

Joe found himself drawn into their easy conversation, the kind that flowed without the weight of expectation. Nobody asked him about football strategy or his rehab progress. Nobody treated him like Joe Burrow, franchise quarterback. He was just another body in the crowd, anonymous behind his bandana, free to soak in the moment without performing for anyone.

A roar went up from further down the route, and the energy of the crowd instantly shifted, people pressing forward in anticipation.

The energy in the crowd was electric, the anticipation crackling through the streets like a live wire. Riley's grip on Joe's hand tightened, her eyes locked on the approaching float.

"Here we go," she said, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. She glanced up at him, noticing his bandana had slipped slightly. Without a word, she reached up and adjusted it, making sure it covered his features properly. Then, with a quick smile, she rose on her toes and pressed a quick kiss against the fabric over his lips.

Joe blinked in surprise, feeling the warmth of her lips even through the bandana.

Joe glanced down at her, the excitement in her expression making his chest feel weirdly tight. He'd never seen anything like this—felt anything like this. He wasn't just watching Mardi Gras; he was in it, part of it, woven into the chaos like he belonged.

When the float got closer, Riley waved, calling up to one of the masked riders. Beads flew in every direction, but Joe could tell she was tracking something else entirely—the real prize.

"Every year since I was a kid," she said, voice raised over the noise, "I've made it my mission to catch a shoe."

Joe glanced down at her, amused. "And how's that been going for you?"

She shot him a look. "I have a collection, thank you very much."

Still, he could tell she wanted this one.

And when a glittering shoe sailed just out of her reach, Joe didn't hesitate. "Getting you a shoe," he said decisively, gripping the backs of her thighs before she could protest and lifting her onto his shoulders in one smooth motion.

Riley let out a surprised laugh that turned into a whoop of delight as she settled her weight against him. Her thighs tightened around his neck, her hands bracing on his head for balance.

Joe planted his feet wider, holding steady as the next float rolled up. The women onboard were throwing wildly now, and he could feel Riley's excitement vibrating through her legs.

"Hey!" she yelled, waving both arms. "Right here!"

One of the masked riders spotted her, held up a glittering purple shoe, and sent it flying in a perfect arc.

Riley reached up and snatched it out of the air like she'd been waiting for that exact moment her whole life.

Her triumphant scream was loud enough to make Joe's ears ring, but he couldn't stop smiling as she pumped the shoe in the air like a championship trophy.

"We got one!" she shouted, and the people around them cheered, caught up in her infectious joy.

Joe shook his head, grinning. "That was all you."

She didn't hesitate before throwing her arms around his neck.

Neither did he before pulling her in.

As the parade continued, the crowd surged and compressed around them. Joe maintained his position with the same calm awareness he showed in a collapsing pocket, creating a small space for Riley without seeming to exert effort. His hand rested comfortably at the small of her back, guiding her through the masses with subtle, assured movements.

Joe scanned the crowd, quickly spotted a better viewing angle for the next float, and guided Riley toward it with a light touch at her back - decisive but never controlling. They arrived just in time to catch the front of the next procession.

When a flask made its way through their group, Joe took measured sips - enjoying himself but maintaining his characteristic control, even in celebration. Riley tucked herself against his side when the crowd pressed in closer, and Joe's arm draped over her shoulders as they swayed to a brass band.

The parade energy built as floats continued to pass. Joe caught several strands of beads tossed his way with the same easy precision he showed on the field - one-handed catches that drew appreciative cheers from nearby revelers. He draped them casually around his neck, collecting quite a collection as the night went on.

At one point, Riley reached up and selected one particularly vibrant strand of purple beads from his collection. With deliberate slowness, she removed it from around his neck and then looped it back, her fingers lingering at his collar, a touch that said more than words could. Their eyes met briefly in the carnival lights, a moment of connection amid the chaos.

The night continued to unfold around them, and Joe moved through it with the same quiet confidence he brought to everything else - present, engaged, and completely at ease in this new experience.

A hand appeared in his peripheral vision, offering him a flask. He took it, nodding in thanks before taking another swig.

"You surviving?" Tomas asked, grinning as Joe handed it back.

Joe followed his gaze to Riley, who was still showing off the shoe to Egan, her whole face lit up. He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Something like that."

Tomas smirked, tipping the flask toward him in a lazy salute. "Good. Would've been a shame if we had to carry you out."

Joe huffed a laugh, tapping his cup against Tomas's flask before the other man wandered off. Something warm settled in his chest—something weightless.

When Riley reappeared at his side, still clutching the shoe like it was made of gold, she looked up at him, her hand sliding into his like it had been there all along. "You good?"

Joe took in the music, the crowd, the easy way she fit against him.

"Yeah," he said, meaning it completely. "I really am."

The parade's final float disappeared around the corner, leaving behind streets littered with beads, empty cups, and the lingering notes of brass bands. Riley's friends were already making plans, voices overlapping in the post-parade high.

"Egan's cousin knows the bartender at Vaughan's," Val announced, waving her phone. "Says he can get us in the back door, skip the line."

"Definitely hitting that," Tomas agreed, slinging an arm around Marco's shoulders. "You two coming? The night is still young!"

Riley glanced at Joe, her eyes slightly unfocused from the bourbon they'd been passing around. She leaned into him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his ear.

"What do you think? After-party at Vaughan's? Or..." she trailed off, the unspoken alternative hanging between them.

Joe felt the pleasant buzz of alcohol in his system, his inhibitions softened just enough to be dangerous. He looked down at her, at the way the streetlights caught in her eyes, at the purple beads still looped around her neck.

"I'll do whatever you want," he said, meaning it completely.

Riley studied him for a beat, then turned back to the group. "I think we're gonna pass," she announced. "It's been a big day for the out-of-towner."

Egan's eyebrows shot up, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "I bet it has."

"Text me tomorrow," Val called as Riley grabbed Joe's hand, tugging him away from the group. "Details required!"

"No promises!" Riley shouted back, already pulling Joe down a side street that would take them toward her neighborhood.

They made it half a block before Riley stumbled on a broken piece of sidewalk, pitching forward with a surprised laugh. Joe caught her around the waist, his own balance not exactly steady.

"Whoa there," he said, overcorrecting and nearly sending them both into a parked car. "I think we might be a little drunk."

"A little?" Riley snorted, leaning heavily against him. "I passed 'a little' somewhere between Tomas's jungle juice and Val's flask."

Joe steadied them both, one arm firmly around her waist. "Maybe I should carry you."

"You absolutely should not," Riley said, poking him in the chest. "You're as drunk as I am. We'd both end up in the gutter."

"I'm a professional athlete," Joe protested, puffing out his chest dramatically. "My balance is impeccable."

To demonstrate, he attempted to walk a straight line down the sidewalk and immediately almost veered into a streetlamp.

Riley doubled over, laughter echoing off the old buildings. "Oh yeah, very impressive, Burrow. Gold medal performance."

Joe straightened up, flashing a sheepish grin. “In my defense, that lamppost came out of nowhere.”

"Clearly," Riley agreed, rejoining him and slipping her arm through his. "Maybe we should support each other. Safety in numbers."

"Teamwork," Joe nodded seriously. "Smart."

They made it another block like that, weaving slightly but mostly upright, exchanging snippets of conversation that dissolved into laughter. Joe couldn't remember the last time he'd been this relaxed, this unconcerned with who might be watching or what tomorrow's headlines might say.

Riley stopped suddenly, almost toppling them both. "Wait. Important question."

"Hit me," Joe said, steadying himself against a wrought-iron fence.

"Are you hungry? Because I'm suddenly starving, and there's this place that makes the best drunk food in the city just around the corner."

Joe realized he hadn't eaten anything substantial since before the parade. "I could definitely eat."

"Follow me," Riley said, tugging him down another street. "But fair warning—I'm about to ruin all other late-night food forever."

Three blocks and several near-falls later, they stumbled up to a tiny window built into the side of a brick building. A handwritten sign advertised "NOLA's Best 2AM Eats" despite it being nowhere near 2AM.

The man working the window nodded at Riley like he saw her every weekend. "The usual, Carter?"

"Times two," Riley confirmed, leaning heavily against the counter.

Five minutes later, they were walking again, this time with paper boats filled with what Joe could only describe as the most perfect drunk food he'd ever seen—crispy fries smothered in a spicy crawfish sauce and melted cheese.

"Oh my god," Joe mumbled around a mouthful. "This is incredible."

"Told you," Riley said, looking smug as she popped a sauce-covered fry into her mouth. "Local secret. Tourists never find this place."

They ate as they walked, pausing occasionally to steady themselves or to savor a particularly good bite. At one point, Riley reached over with her thumb to wipe a spot of sauce from the corner of Joe's mouth, the casual intimacy of the gesture making his heart stutter.

"You know what's nice?" Riley asked as they turned onto her street, their food long finished. "This. Just walking home like regular people. No cars, no security, no schedule. Just...wandering."

Joe understood what she meant. For people like them, spontaneity was usually the first casualty of fame. "It's been a minute since I've just wandered anywhere."

"Me too," Riley admitted, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Tour life is hyper-scheduled. Every minute accounted for."

"Same with the season," Joe said. "Even the 'free time' isn't really free."

Riley hummed in agreement. They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the connection between them needing no words.

"We're here," she announced eventually, stopping in front of her house. She fumbled with her keys, dropping them once before successfully unlocking the door.

The door to Riley's house flung open with excessive force, followed by the sound of her laughter bouncing off the walls. Joe stumbled in behind her, catching the doorframe to steady himself as he kicked the door closed with his foot.

This time when their lips met, there was no bandana between them.

The kiss was clumsy at first—both of them still unsteady from the night's revelry, finding new equilibrium in each other's arms. But what they lacked in coordination, they made up for in enthusiasm. Joe backed Riley against the wall, nearly knocking over a small table in the process. They broke apart, laughing.

"Maybe we should slow down," Riley suggested, her words slightly slurred. "Before we break something valuable."

"Good plan," Joe agreed, though his hands remained firmly on her waist. "Responsible. Smart."

Riley pressed her palms against his chest, gently pushing him back. "Stay right here. Don't move."

"Not going anywhere," Joe promised, swaying slightly as he watched her navigate the dimly lit hallway with exaggerated care.

Riley returned with two glasses of water, pressing one into his hand. "Drink this. Future you will thank present you."

"Future me is a smart guy," Joe agreed, downing the water in several long gulps.

Riley watched him over the rim of her own glass, eyes bright with mischief and something warmer. "Today was fun."

"Mmm," Joe hummed in agreement, setting his empty glass on a nearby table. "Best parade ever."

"Told you," Riley said, a hint of pride in her voice. "Muses is special."

Joe stepped closer, crowding her against the wall, his hands finding her waist again. "You're special," he murmured, his voice dropping lower.

Riley's breath caught, her eyes darkening as she looked up at him. "That's the bourbon talking and other stuff."

"Nope," Joe said, popping the 'p' sound. "That's just me talking. Bourbon's just making it easier to say."

Riley laughed softly, setting her water aside to loop her arms around his neck. "Is that right?"

Joe nodded solemnly, his face close enough that she could smell the sweet, woody scent of bourbon on his breath. "I've been wanting to tell you all day. You look... incredible. Like something out of a dream."

Riley’s fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, her expression softening. “Look at you, with the smooth talk,” she murmured, but the way her eyes softened gave away how his words affected her.

Joe’s lips curved into a small, almost hesitant smile as his hand slid up her back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Riley breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t felt this way in… maybe ever.”

Something shifted in Joe’s gaze, the teasing edge giving way to something deeper. He searched her eyes, his own more serious now. “Me neither,” he admitted, his tone low and honest. “Not even close.

”Their mouths met in a kiss that tasted like bourbon and desire, sweet and hot and demanding. Riley pressed closer, her body arching into his. The Muses shoe she'd been clutching all night finally fell forgotten to the floor as her hands found better things to hold onto.

"Too many clothes," she complained, tugging at the buttons of his costume jacket.

"Agreed," Joe murmured against her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. "This outfit is... complicated."

Riley laughed breathlessly, pushing him back slightly. "Come on."

They stumbled down the hallway, shedding pieces of their costumes as they went—his jacket in the hall, her skirt pooling at the doorway, his shirt somewhere near the foot of the bed. By the time they fell onto the mattress, they were both down to their underwear, skin flushed with alcohol and desire.

Joe hovered over her, his eyes taking in the sight of her against the tangled sheets, hair splayed around her like a golden halo. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could think.

Riley's eyes softened, her hands coming up to frame his face. "So are you," she whispered.

Their lips met again, the kiss deeper, slower, full of something neither was quite ready to name. Joe's hand slid down her side, over the curve of her hip, fingers hooking in the waistband of her underwear. Riley arched into his touch, a soft sound escaping her throat.

"Joe," she breathed, the single syllable holding a question and an answer all at once.

"Right here," he replied, understanding perfectly.

The rest of the world fell away—the sounds of distant revelry filtering through the window, the scattered pieces of their costumes marking a trail to the bed, the knowledge that tomorrow would bring complications and distance. For now, there was only this—her body against his, the taste of her on his tongue, the way she said his name like it was the only word worth saying.

Later—much later— they lay tangled together, bodies cooling in the night air. Joe pressed lazy kisses along Riley’s shoulder, missing once and landing on the pillow instead.

She giggled, rolling toward him. “We should get some water.”

“Probably,” Joe agreed, but made no move to get up. His arm flopped dramatically over her waist. “My legs don’t work.”

Riley poked him in the ribs. “It’s my house. Guest gets the water.”

“I just ran a marathon,” he countered, gesturing vaguely at the bed. “Need electrolytes.”

She snorted. “Three minutes is not a marathon, Burrow.”

“Felt like one,” he mumbled into her hair, already half-asleep. The bourbon, the parade, and their enthusiastic—if chaotic—activities had finally caught up with him.

Riley sighed, giving in as she slipped out from under his arm. “Fine, lazy. I’ll get the water. Future us will thank me.”

“Future us are suckers,” he muttered, still mostly out of it.

She just smiled, shaking her head as she padded toward the kitchen, already imagining him half-asleep when she got back.

The last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him was Riley shifting closer, her head finding the perfect spot on his shoulder, her body fitting against his like a missing puzzle piece.

Home, he thought hazily as consciousness slipped away. This feels like home.

[klausysworld]

This request might be too much and I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. So pls ignore if it does.

My idea is Klaus x human reader. Klaus and her become close and form a friendship. She’s dating someone for 4 years now and it starts to get abusive (mentally/physically or both). She finally confides and confesses to Klaus after he notices something is off. He basically helps her get out of it when one day said boyfriend follows her into the mikaleson house and tries to get reader out of there aggressively. The mikaelson’s hear the commotion and Klaus does something.

Flash forward to Klaus and reader in an established relationship, though reader is scared to be intimate as she’s still struggling from last relationship. One day Klaus and reader are getting into it and Klaus pulls her by her ankles to bring her towards him and it triggers her fight or flight (as Klaus doesn’t know last bf used to do that when hurting reader) and so instantly she hits him in self defence and then profusely apologizes. But Klaus is just understanding and holds her and tells her he loves her and if all he gets is holding her. Then he can live with that. The way it ends can be however you want.

Just been going through some things and needed to feel and I absolutely love your style of writing.

Again pls ignore if this makes you uncomfortable, that’s not my intent! Thank you!

(Triggering content, please don't read this if it might trigger you and know that both myself and so many people are there for you to talk to)

Her protector

Klaus had been concerned for a few weeks now.

Y/n was a sweet human, she was kind even to the Mikaelsons and had become close friends Rebekah after helping her choose a necklace for a party she was hosting. Rebekah proceeded to insist that Y/n come and that she would love to make some friends here in New Orleans.

If Rebekah was honest, she was surprised when Y/n actually showed up, with a vampire boyfriend no less. Either way she showed the girl around and they got talking, drinking and dancing. Y/n's boyfriend had seemed sweet, loving and on top of that he was friends with Marcel, one of his few day-walkers.

At that point everything was still okay. Mostly.

Until Klaus had come over and attempted to flirt with Y/n. Her soft cheeks had started to turn pink when a man, a vampire, slung his arm over her shoulders from behind her and gave Klaus a threatening glare. Rebekah let out a tipsy giggle and smacked Klaus's arm

"Leave her alone Nik, she's taken and my friend" she grinned but Klaus only stared back at the other guy. Y/n glanced between the two for a second and Bex rolled her eyes. "Come on Y/n, let them gaze at one another" she laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her away.

Klaus didn't like that anybody thought they could challenge him, he didn't care if the girl was married if he wanted to flirt with her then he would. There was no harm done but the man before him was acting as though he had slaughtered his family.

However Marcel had seen the two in a silent stare down and threw his arms over both of them "My two best guys" he grinned "Lets go get a drink"

And so somehow Klaus found himself some-what drunk and laughing with this man, it was only the next morning when after he woke did he realise the way the guy spoke about his lover was a little off. He talked like he owned her, like she was a toy.

Klaus brushed it off though, it's not like he hadn't done similar things. Besides it's not like her knew her.

Until he did. And she was so lovely that it confused him.

Often Rebekah would have her over, painting each others nails, one of those time Klaus had stumbled in covered in cuts and scrapes. Rebekah offered a tut and a shake of her head but Y/n was already at his side, her hand on his arm while she asked if he was okay.

"He's fine, it's his own fault anyway. Always starting fights" she mumbled while watching her new friend help her brother sit down. She asked Rebekah to go get him some blood which she reluctantly did, handing it to Y/n and watching in interest as she lifted it to his lips. Klaus's eyes watched her with interest as his lips wrapped around the top and he began to gulp down the red substance. She checked his wounds were healing as he drained the bag of every last drop.

She had offered to help him clean up but he shook his head and told her to enjoy her day with his sister.

After that she was always nice to him, making him a drink if she was already getting one, bringing him back to eat when her and Bex had been at a cafe or something. She would tell him his hair looked nice or that she liked certain colours on him. One way or another she always made him smile.

Y/n knew that Klaus was lonely, often sad or grumpy. She had seen it and been told it so she made an effort to brighten his days. Rebekah always said it was nice seeing her brother a little happier and she was glad that them being originals didn't put Y/n off.

Their friendship grew strong and so did Klaus and Y/n's. Until one day when Y/n's boyfriend had seen her fixing Klaus's hair, using her fingers to curl the top pieces. He didn't say anything to her then but once she came home accusations were thrown at her. She was called a cheater and a slut, desperate for attention and fucking stupid if she thought either of the Mikaelsons thought of her as anything more than a toy.

She slept on the couch, crying her eyes out and cancelling her plans with Rebekah for the next day.

She tried to spend less time with her but Bex only got upset and ended up at Y/n's house instead. Y/n thought that he wouldn't get mad if it was just Bekah and no Klaus. So she and Rebekah went to hers more often than not and the few times she went back to the abattoir she would try avoid Klaus.

She was always polite of course, smiled at him and said hello but she didn't get too close if she didn't feel that she had to. Nor did she say anything about how he looked, even when he wore her favourite henley and grew his curls a little longer.

The only times she gave him some extra attention was when he was physically injured. She couldn't help herself. She couldn't let him struggle alone and in pain. So she would be there with a warm, wet cloth wiping away any blood while she held him a blood-bag to his mouth.

"Have I upset you recently sweetheart?" he asked quietly as she cleaned the stains off his neck

"No?" she whispered and he lowered her head to look up at her and catch her eyes

"Then why won't you look at me?" he questioned and she shrugged, looking into his eyes

"I am" she stated and he hummed

"You haven't been very nice to me lately, love" he told her and she nibbled her lip nervously

"I didn't mean to upset you" she murmured but he just stared at her for a moment

"I haven't seen you around much" he muttered

"I've been at home more, Bekah comes to me instead" she mumbled, and he nodded, leaving the conversation at that.

But he didn't know that when she got home her boyfriend had her by the hair, telling her that he had seen her talking with Klaus. Seen her caressing his face and going into his room. She tried to explain that he was hurt and that she was helping him but he couldn't care less.

"Bet you were fucking helping him" he seethed "Bet he gets all pent up after starting wars. Needs to get his frustration out hm?" he laughed cruelly and she shook her head

"No, no- I would never! You know I would never-" she cried but he refused to believe her.

"You were always such a whore, can't go ten fucking minutes without begging for it" he growled, dragging her to their room. She was useless at fighting back, he was a vampire and significantly bigger than her. So when she was thrown onto the bed and grabbed tightly by the ankles, she couldn't kick at him without him snapping her legs.

She hid away after that night, telling Rebekah that she was sick and didn't want to see anyone for a few days.

But once a week had passed and her boyfriend was still angry at her no matter what she did, she knew she needed to get out and see someone or she would go mad.

Rebekah and her had gone to a coffee shop, Y/n wanted to be somewhere public and without the risk of Klaus or her boyfriend showing up.

Rebekah could tell something was wrong though, Y/n was never that quiet or skittish. She was walking a little funny and did't eat much at all. And at any mention of Klaus, Y/n shut down the conversation in seconds. It made Bex think that her brother had hurt her or scared her so when they both returned home, she began to accuse Klaus, questioning and demanding.

It only made both Mikaelsons to become worried. They didn't realise how their whispering about Y/n caught her so called lovers attention and made him go back to her furious.

He always seemed to be flooded with anger recently. He hadn't ever been so horrid for so long in the past. Accusing her of cheating was something that always had happened, his jealousy had always been an issue but never this bad. Maybe it was because he knew that Klaus wouldn’t back down if he wanted her. Maybe it was because of whatever drunken conversation the two had on the first night they met.

Either way there was no excuse.

All there was, was fear and pain. And she knew that she needed to get out. The only people who could save her from a psychotic vampire was an even worse one.

So she climbed out her own bathroom window and ran, caught a cab and then climbed in through one of the Mikaelson's windows. It was late, dark but it was the best time for her to escape. What wasn't helpful was the amount of night-walkers that were downstairs. Most of which, were close with her boyfriend so she was screwed.

However, whether it was luck or fate, Rebekah and Marcel came down the stairs, arguing which made the others scatter off. It gave her the opportunity she needed.

She darted up the stairs, as quietly as she could and to Klaus's room. Trying to open the door but it was locked making her knock quietly "Klaus?" she whispered desperately "Klaus please" she begged, her eyes leaking with tears. She banged her fist agains the wood of the door making her wince from how her wrists had been held just hours before.

A tired grunt sounded from the other side before the door was ripped open, a very annoyed hybrid on the other side though his demeanour dropped when he felt a body latch onto his, arms around his mid-section and face in his chest.

He looked down, his eyes fully open now. "Y/n?" he mumbled, his hand cupping the back of her head.

"Please help" she whispered and he gently scooped her up, flicking the lamp on and putting her in his bed. She was in. sweatpants and one of her boyfriends shirts so he assumed she must've been in bed before she came. He quickly grabbed some sleep pants to cover himself up as he was in only his boxers.

He then sat beside her, letting her pull herself closer to her with a soft cry leaving her lips. He held her close in his lap and shushed her gently "What's happened?" he asked gently but she shook her head.

It was only another minute before Rebekah was at the door, she had heard the crying and recognised it as Y/n. Her face dropped and she came rushing in. She got onto the bed as well and stroked her hair "Y/n..." she breathed, holding her hand. Klaus and her exchanged a look as they listened to her try and hiccup her tears away.

"Sweetheart it's alright" he whispered, rubbing her back under the shirt before he noticed her face scrunch in pain and he frowned. "She's hurt" he mumbled and Rebekah quickly sat up straight, lifting her top slightly despite her protests to see the bite marks in her flesh.

"Christ" Bekah gasped and Klaus's expression darkened. He lifted her up to straddle his lap sp he could have a better look at her but she began to cry out hysterically at the position and he quickly lay her back down, guilt and worry consuming him when she crawled to Rebekah instead. Bex wrapped her arms around her and whispered quietly for only Y/n to hear. "Who did this?" she uttered, her fingers gently running through her soft hair. "Was it..." she trailed, but the look on Y/n's face was enough.

"I didn't know where else to go- he knows so many people" she sobbed and Rebekah nodded

"He won't touch you now" She whispered, looking to Klaus who was halfway out the door to find Marcel. "Nik's gonna take care of it all okay?"

"What's he gonna do?"

"You don't need to know that honey" she murmured softly.

They waited for a little while, Y/n stayed in Rebekah's arms and started telling her everything that had happened. By the time she was finished they were both crying and wrapped up in Klaus's duvet

"The worst part is that...I do think that I have feelings for Klaus" she whispered "he was right-"

"It wouldn't matter if you were actually sleeping with another man, under no circumstances does he have the right to lay a hand on you. You're not any of those things he called you, you're an angel" Rebekah told her, stroking her hair gently. Bekah glanced up to see Klaus stood in the doorway, eyes soft as he made his way back over.

He had heard Y/n admit to her feelings but knew that now was not the time to tell her he reciprocated them, he knew she would need time. So instead he just came back to his bed and shifted in beside her so she was between him and Rebekah.

"He ran as soon as he saw me but I promise I'll find him and I'll kill him" he whispered, gently brushing his hand over her back. "It'll be okay, just close your eyes sweetheart, I'll protect you" he promised, sharing a look with Rebekah as they all laid down and he flicked the lamp off.

After that night, Y/n slept in Klaus's bed every night. He kept her close to him during the days too, pressed to his chest with his arm around her. She was much quieter after everything, he could sense her embarrassment but he didn’t understand it. It wasn't her fault this had happened to her. He tried to talk to her about it but she wouldn't look him in the eye and he was only making her uncomfortable so he tried not to bring it up. Instead things seemed to go back to somewhat normal, they complimented each other and had their usual conversations which were mostly about random things to keep their minds off any supernatural drama.

Klaus hadn't been going out much recently which meant she didn't have to clean him up but sometimes when they lay in bed to go sleep she would trace his face.

Everything appeared to be going well for a little while before Y/n's boyfriend showed up out of the blue. It was one of those unfortunate times that Klaus was out.

He sped behind Y/n while she was in the kitchen, slapping his hand over her mouth to silence her screaming as he lifted and dragged her toward the exit. Growling in her ear and called her a filthy whore, saying she would never escape him.

What he didn't know was that one of the other vampires saw him and were under direct orders to call Klaus if he was spotted.

Klaus came rushing in, his teeth straight in the man’s neck causing him to drop Y/n to the floor and cry out in agony as the werewolf venom too quick affect.

Klaus had Y/n in his arms within a second, vamp-speeding them to his their room. Her face was held against the crook of his neck, encouraging her to breath in his scent and calm her breathing.

“He’s gone” klaus whispers “He’ll be dead by tomorrow” he told her gently “And a werewolf bite is a slow and painful death for a vampire” he reminded. “He deserves to suffer” he muttered and she nodded slowly.

“I hate him” she uttered.

“I know you do sweetheart” he mumbled as he pressed soft kisses to the side of her head.

Everything was a little better after his body was found. She felt safe in the house without the risk of him grabbing her. She was able to sit with Klaus and Rebekah without the worry of someone watching her.

But it didn’t stop the night terrors. She would wake up screaming thinking that he had come back to life and had taken her, tortured her. Instead, however, she would find Klaus. Out of breath with a healing bruise on his face from where she hand fought back in her sleep. The apologies would start tumbling amongst her sobs but he would just pull her close and kiss her better. Promising it didn’t hurt and that he understood.

Often he would go into her mind, with her permission, and give her better things to think about. Give her peace.

That helped her a lot, between Klaus’s affection and Rebekah’s constant company, she began to feel happy.

She and Bekah went shopping a lot, went out for lunch again or just sat in Bex’s room talking and giggling. They both felt as though they had gained a sister of sorts. Rebekah was so glad to have Y/n and to be able to help her, she also really hoped that Y/n and Klaus would get married so that they were sister-in-laws.

Rebekah was their biggest supporter, always telling Y/n that Klaus wouldn’t ever hurt her and that he already loved her so she didn’t have to worry about the rejection. But Y/n was still nervous, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for another relationship.

But eventually, months down the line, kisses on the head became kisses on the lips. Their hugs became cuddle sessions and instead of eating in the same room they cooked together and ate together. Klaus planned extravagant dates while Y/n arranged much simpler but just as intimate ones. Klaus would beg Y/n to let him paint her and she begrudge dress up for him and pose.

The only issue in Y/n’s mind was that she didn’t feel comfortable enough when Klaus would touch her more sexually. As soon as the gentle touches became more frustrated, more needy, she couldn’t handle it.

But over time she got a little better, heavy make-out sessions became more and more common and part of her thought that maybe sex was on the table until something triggered her.

Klaus had his hands all over her, his tongue in her mouth as she moaned softly. Her hands were curled into his soft curls as she tugged gently. His hands slid up her top and her back arched slightly. Everything was going well, her legs were round his waist and soft little pleas left her lips for him to give her more.

He pulled away slowly, his nose just brushing hers as he sat up. He smiled down at her as she followed suit and sat up with him, her legs dropping down.

“You ready sweetheart?” He whispered and she nodded, his smile widened and he took ahold of her ankles. Just as he went to pull her closer, a panicked cry left her and her foot kicked him in the chest, hard.

His hands let go of her and he held his chest in confusion before looking up and seeing the fear in her face. His expression softened and he raised his hands in surrender “Y/n, love, it’s just me” he told her gently. “It’s okay” he whispered, cautiously he shifted closer.

“I’m sorry” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears “I’m so sorry” she repeated, pulling her knees to her chest.

Gently he brought his hands out and picked her up, pulling her onto his lap “it’s okay, it was my fault” he mumbled, kissing her lips gently

“It’s not your fault- it’s mine, I’m broken” she cried but she shook her head.

“It’s his fault” he whispered and she let out a soft sob. “He hurt you, but you’ve never been broken. You’re just still hurting”

She sniffled and nuzzled close “I just…I wish could-“

“I know…I know but we can wait. We can wait for as long as you need” he murmured softly.

“But…what if I can’t…like ever?” She whispers but still he smiled

“Then I’ll just hold you and kiss you and take you to dinner like usual. I believe I owe you a bouquet of flowers, no?” He hummed and she wiped her eyes with a sniff

“You do?”

“I do, come on, we’ll go pick a bunch” he held her close and lifted her as he stood, carrying her down the stairs listening to her little laugh as she pressed her face to his chest. She knew not many men would be as loving and understanding as he was, she knew Klaus wouldn’t hurt her nor would he ever leave her.

[harmfulb1tch]

Sweetie, I love you

Ship: Alastor x wife!reader

Warnings: slight mentions of sexual relations, other than that, tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: After-care and pillow talk with Alastor, after a date for your anniversary.

———————

You and your husband had just arrived from date night in cannibal town. You had been married for 95 years, that day being your anniversary. The night had been perfect: flowers, dinner at a nice restaurant and then dancing. When you arrived at the hotel, you were feeling a bit… frisky. When you and Alastor arrived at the hotel, he made love to you. You knew he wasn’t one to particularly enjoy that kind of acts, but he did so anyways. You always theorized that when you two had sex, it was more about the power he had over you than actual pleasure. You didn’t mind, but today it seemed different. Instead of his dominant nature, it was softer, fuller of love. You knew that Alastor loved you, but that feeling never transcended to the bed.

Now, you were laying on your tummy, just wearing a pair of black panties. Your body was covered up to your waist with the duvet. Alastor had gone to the bathroom after cleaning you up to leave the towel he had borrowed. You were almost asleep when you felt the mattress shift. You then felt your husbands clawed hands softly caressing the back of you bed. You turned your face to him, looking him in the eyes.

“That felt amazing Al…” you said softly, sighing at the feeling of his hand going up and down your back. A smug grin spread across his face and he laid down next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“That’s very good to know, my love…” you loved his voice. The staticky sound of it relaxing you further. You kissed his nose sweetly.

“Thank you, for… you know…” you said, a blush spreading across you face. He chuckled softly and stroked you face.

“You’re welcome, my dear” he said, kissing your sweaty forehead.

“I love you, you know?” you had told him everyday since your first date, but it never grew old. A soft smirk spread across your face.

“I know, my dear. You remind me of it every day… “ A blush spread across your face to his words.

“S-sorry Al… for being annoying… I just really do!” You stuttered, suddenly really nervous.

“No need to apologize, dear! You know I love it…You actually make me feel quite the special man!” He said in his jolly, radio voice. You turned and laid on his chest. He smiled softly at this and wrapped his arms around you.

“Hey… Al?” You said. He was almost asleep already and his heart skipped a beat at the sound of your voice.

“Yeeeees?” He responded.

“When did you know you had fallen in love with me?” That question made his eyes grow a bit wider. He wasn’t expecting the question, but answered confidently.

“I’m not actually quite sure! I remember always thinking you were the prettiest girl in New Orleans when we were alive. You looked ethereal in my eyes. But I cannot pinpoint the moment I actually started loving you. I think one day it just… happened. I do remember a specific moment when I realized I had fallen hard for you. It was the day we went dancing to the bar near the radio station. It was pouring like crazy. I lent you my coat so that lovely dress of yours didn’t get wet. I was escorting you home when you fell into a mud puddle, you got soaked! Remember?” You nodded, fondly remembering that day. “I laughed at the fact you were soaked and then, you pushed me down and I got soaked as well. And even so, I have never felt as attached to you as I do now. If I could marry you all over again just to spend a whole day with you, I absolutely would” he finished. You were almost in tears.

“Really? If you had to do it all over again, would you have married me that day in New Orleans?” You asked so you could keep hearing his beautiful words.

“Yes, I would have… If I could turn back in time, I’d marry you all over again, no doubt about it…” with that, he kissed your hairline. You sniffed a little bit, having been moved by his words.

“I love you, sweetie…” you said, hugging him closer.

“And I you, dearest” he pecked your lips.

After that, you fell asleep in his arms. To the feeling of his hands on your hair, and the rhythmic up and down of his breath.

[shellbilee]

Hello fellow Aussie! 🇦🇺❤️

It’s my birthday today and I was wondering if I could put in a request for a Glen Powell fic?

Maybe they’ve been doing long distance for a while (they met when she was in the US from Australia for a holiday) and Glen decides to surprise her with him turning up at her door for her birthday or something?

If you can’t..it’s all good 😊

Have a good night! 😁

I am a week late, but happy birthday Queen! I hope you had the greatest day and got absolutely spoilt rotten.

Apologies to all my Hey There Darlin' readers, the next chapter update was delayed because I wanted to put this together for my favourite fellow Aussie. (Next chapter will be up ASAP).

So here's my little gift to you @queenslandlover-93, which would never be enough to thank you for all of your constant support on my work. Much love to you sweets!🩵

---

One Afternoon in Austin

A Glen Powell RPF One Shot Pairing: Glen Powell x Reader Words: 5.5K

You glance down at your phone for the hundredth time, inhaling a long breath when you see no new notifications on the screen.

You sigh, lips stretching into a somber smile at the sight of your two smiling faces pictured on your home screen.

God you missed him.

It had been 18 whole hours since you'd spoken to Glen - not since he'd face timed you at 12.01am, determined to be the first to wish you a happy birthday. You'd answered within three rings, feeling your whole body warm when his gorgeous face appeared on the screen, teeth flashing in the effortlessly handsome, all-American smile that you loved so much. 

Glen.

Even ten months later, you still hadn't quite gotten used to the fact that you were dating Glen Powell, and if you were being honest, you weren’t sure you ever would.  If someone had told you a year ago that you’d be in a serious relationship with one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors, you'd have snorted and laughed out loud. 

You'd met Glen when you were solo traveling through the USA last June. You'd been about halfway through your twelve week trip, having started high on the west coast and working your way down South and across, making it to Texas. The plan had been to spend a few days there, first in Austin, then Houston and a couple of other places, before moving onto Louisiana to New Orleans.

Two days into your Austin visit - staying in a modern little air BnB not far from the city, you'd been coming back from a run through the suburbs when you'd come across a little tan and white dog standing alone on the sidewalk. You remembered stopping and looking around, waiting to see if anyone would appear, hoping that someone was walking their dog off lead and hadn't caught up yet. No one appeared to be out searching for it, the surrounding houses seemingly quiet.

You'd knelt down and whistled for the dog, smiling when it wandered over to you immediately, tail wagging and panting happily. You'd cooed at the tiny animal, patting its fluffy head, sitting down on the grass beside it so you could get a better view of its collar.

The dog's name had turned out to be Brisket, a fact you'd found both adorable and amusing, flipping over the metallic name tag to find a phone number engraved on the other side. Deciding that Brisket must have wandered out of his yard and was now lost, you'd picked up the tiny dog and walked the rest of the distance home to your air BnB. Letting Brisket out into your yard, you’d gotten him some water and set about calling the number from his name tag, sitting down on the back porch next to him as you’d listened to the phone ring. 

The phone had ended up ringing through to voicemail, and you’d soon discovered that Brisket’s owner was a man named Glen with a deep Texan accent. You still remembered smiling at the sound of his voice, some part of you internally swooning as you listened to him tell you to leave a message after the tone.

You’d left a quick message, telling him your name and how you’d found Brisket, and that you’d brought him home with you to get him out of the afternoon heat. You’d sent a quick text as well, detailing the same, in case he was otherwise indisposed and unable to take a call. 

Fifteen minutes later you’d been relaxing on the backyard grass with a trashy romance novel, Brisket snoozing peacefully by your side, when your phone had started ringing. Immediately recognising the number as Glen, you’d answered, not at all surprised to hear a panicked voice greeting you instead of the calm, easy going one that had spoken to you in a voicemail.

You’d reassured him that Brisket was fine, healthy and laying happily by your side, explaining that you didn’t have a car, but that you could get an uber to wherever he needed. Glen had offered to come to you but you’d politely declined, not entirely comfortable with giving your address to a stranger when you were traveling solo, instead asking where he was and insisting that you’d go to him. You’d soon discovered on your maps that he was only a ten minute drive from your air BnB, promising that you’d be there soon and that he had no reason to worry about Brisket as he’d thanked you profusely. 

Exactly twenty-three minutes later your Uber had arrived at what you could only describe as a modern Texas mansion, and you remembered the way your jaw had instantly dropped as your eyes had run over the sheer expanse of the property. Telling the Uber driver to stay put, you’d lifted Brisket into your arms and made your way up the palatial driveway, feeling the beginnings of sweat at the back of your neck from the hot Summer afternoon as you’d knocked on the enormous wooden door. 

The Texan royalty, as it turns out, was Glen Powell.

You remembered eyeing off the huge black Ram in the driveway, an expensive black SUV and a smaller white BMW next to it, deciding that you must have stumbled onto some kind of Texan royalty judging by the house and cars in front of you. You’d chuckled to yourself at the thought just as you’d heard the sound of the front door opening, turning around to find a sight that you’d not at all been prepared for.

You’d tried your best not to stumble over your words, certain you looked like a gaping goldfish as you'd introduced yourself and passed a happily wrigging Brisket over to him, thankful for your sunglasses as you’d looked back at him. You remembered thinking that he somehow looked even more handsome in person than he did on screen - a fact that you didn’t think was at all possible, assuring him that it was no problem when he’d thanked you again for finding Brisket. It had taken everything you had not to audibly moan at the sight of him, hoping that your blatant staring wasn’t totally obvious as you took in his stubbled beard and effortlessly charming smile, golden tanned skin and thick, muscled arms.

God.

What you hadn’t known, and would eventually discover weeks later, was that Glen was just as shocked to find you when he had opened his front door - a gorgeous young woman standing alone with a smile that had quite literally stopped him in his tracks and left him momentarily lost for words.

He’d thanked you again and you’d promised him that it was really no issue at all, offering a small wave as you’d turned to make your way back to your waiting Uber. Just when you'd been thinking that meeting Glen Powell had to be the highlight of your trip, you'd heard Glen call out your name and tell you to wait. You remembered turning around to face him then, only to find him taking a step towards you with Brisket still in his arms.

He’d proceeded to ask if you'd wanted to come in for a drink, adding that he had to somehow thank you for finding Brisket. You'd declined of course, reasoning that you had to get back to your Uber - and even now you could still remember the distinct feeling of every single fiber of your body screaming at you to reconsider as Glen continued to insist you stay.

“Please come in?”

He’d asked again, the look on his face making it near impossible to say no, emphasizing that the least he could do was offer you a drink and temporary reprieve from the afternoon heat. You remembered standing there for a moment, seemingly frozen in place, weighing up your potential options.

Get back in the Uber and go back to your air BnB.

Or;

Take up the offer for a drink with one of the most attractive men you’d ever met. 

Thinking back to that moment now, you wondered how you ever possibly considered otherwise.

Giving in to Glen, you'd jogged back to the Uber and thanked him for waiting, telling him he could go before making your way back to Glen at the front door. It was at that moment that you’d felt Glen’s eyes on you - running subtly over your figure, suddenly becoming self conscious that you were still sporting the shorts and tank activewear combo you’d worn on your run earlier. 

On the transcript of your life, this was certainly not the outfit you’d envisioned wearing if you ever came across a gorgeous Hollywood celebrity.

Anyway.

He’d invited you in and you’d accepted gratefully, instantly thankful for the cool of the air conditioner as you followed him down the enormous hallway. He’d since put Brisket down, the tiny dog now happily trotting alongside his owner, the sight making you long for Flynn, your three year old Australian Shepherd dog back home.  

The sound of voices at the end of the hallway made you stop in your tracks, Glen turning around and looking back at you concerned. You’d stammered wide eyed, telling him you didn’t want to interrupt if he had people over, instantly feeling like an intruder despite Glen’s genuine insistence that you weren’t. He’d stepped towards you then - close enough that you remembered the exact moment the scent of his sweet cologne hit you, his sage green eyes looking back at you earnestly and promising that you weren’t interrupting, that it was just his family that was over for a barbecue.

That new information had sent an instant tidal wave of nervousness crashing down your spine, your heartbeat immediately heavy in your ears. Now not only were you being invited into Glen Powell’s home, you were also seconds away from spontaneously meeting his family. 

Fuck.

You remembered laughing then - a short, giddy bubble of laughter, Glen’s face splitting into a smile as you did so. Your laugh had been one of incredulousness, your brain unable to fathom the situation that you were currently in.

Of all the things you’d imagined you’d do whilst on your solo travels, this was most certainly not one of them.

Glen had gestured with his hand for you to follow him and somehow your frozen feet were able to oblige, the hallway opening up into an expansive open kitchen and living area, complete with enormous glass french doors that opened onto a luxury deck and pool outside. 

You remembered not knowing where to look first - at the enormous turquoise pool, or the insanely stunning view of rolling hills and a lake behind it, the luxury styled interior of the house or the adorable little blonde girl in her swimmers that was staring curiously at you from the back doorway.

Almost immediately she’d spoken, pointing and asking her uncle Glen very loudly who you were, her voice making the rest of the people outside stop and look inside. You remembered your face flaming then, embarrassment flushing your skin as you'd fought the urge to sprint back towards the front door.

You didn’t have a fear of public speaking but in that moment it felt like you had spontaneously developed one.

Glen had informed his niece - who you’d soon discovered was named Gwen, of your name and explained that you were the girl that had found Brisket and brought him home, an older lady suddenly appearing from somewhere inside the house and clapping her hands happily when she’d spied Brisket at Glen’s feet.

As it turned out, it was Lauren’s and Will’s house - Glen’s sister and brother in law, and Witt, their son and twin brother of Gwen, had accidentally opened the back gate and Brisket had wandered out, unbeknownst to everyone at the barbecue. Glen, who had just finished grilling had whistled for Brisket to offer him a cut off of steak, only to find that Brisket had gone missing and that the back gate was open. Just as everyone had scrambled to find keys to go out and look for him, Glen had picked up his phone and seen the text from you, prompting everyone to relax knowing that Brisket was safe.

The lady had turned out to be Glen’s mother Cindy, Glen immediately introducing the two of you as she offered her own thanks for finding Brisket before pulling you in for a hug.The gesture had taken you by surprise but offered a surprising amount of comfort, the nervousness that had your knees threatening to give way slowly easing.

Fifteen minutes later, you’d been introduced to the entire Powell family and were seated on an outdoor lounge by the pool next to Glen’s younger sister Leslie, wine in hand and nominated an additional judge of the pool diving contest between Gwen, Witt and their dad Will. You’d clapped and laughed your way through it, thankful for your sunglasses for the second time in less than twenty minutes when Glen had taken his shirt off and joined as a fourth participant in the contest. 

God.

You remembered biting the inside of your cheek so hard you’d drawn blood, using every ounce of strength you had to look away when Glen had emerged from the pool, water droplets sliding down his golden, muscled form. 

Later you'd found yourself sitting and talking with Glen’s other sister Lauren and his dad Glen Senior, telling them all about your trip in the US so far and how you’d come to find yourself in Texas. They in turn had asked you about yourself and you’d shared about your home back in Australia, your job, Flynn and your family, Glen coming to join at some point later sitting down on the lounge beside you with a drink refill.

You’d talked and laughed with the Powell’s for the rest of the afternoon, all of your nerves from earlier having seemingly disappeared. It was like you’d known them all for months rather than only an hour, feeling right at home with the bubbly, extraverted, Texan family. They’d asked you about your plans for the remainder of the trip, offering their own tips and recommendations for the rest of your time in Texas which you’d accepted gratefully, making mental notes to adjust your itinerary.

Eventually the afternoon had faded into early evening, Glen Senior and Cindy saying their goodbyes and wishing you all the best for the rest of your trip, Leslie following suit soon after and making you promise that you’d say goodbye before you left Texas. 

You’d grabbed your bag announcing that you should probably get home too, Glen interrupting and insisting that he’d take you on his way back home. You knew better than to decline his offer, concluding that based on the day you’d had there was no reasoning with him. You’d said your goodbyes to Lauren and Will, thanking them for their hospitality for the afternoon, comforting Gwen with a hug when she’d gotten teary at you leaving - the two of you having bonded earlier when you’d told her that her diving was as good as a dolphin's and she’d told you that they were her favourite animal. 

Glen had driven you home then, the two of you settling into a comfortable silence, Brisket snoozing peacefully on your lap in the passenger seat. Pulling up to your air BnB, Glen had asked what your plans were for tomorrow and you’d informed him that you hadn’t quite decided yet - but you were tossing up between going out to see Lake Travis, or heading out into the hills to visit the country sights. 

Flashing you a smile that had made you momentarily lose your train of thought, Glen had offered you an alternative option - let him take you out for the day to show you a side of Austin from a local’s point of view. You remembered staring back at him then, your brain trying to ascertain whether or not you were dreaming that Glen Powell had just asked you to spend the day with him, looking at his perfectly handsome face and uttering an animated yes to his proposal.

He'd kissed you on the cheek and wished you a goodnight, telling you that he’d pick you up at ten AM before thanking you again for finding Brisket. You’d laughed and assured him for the tenth time that day that it was really no problem, thanking him for having you today and saying your own goodbye. He’d waited until you’d unlocked the door of your air BnB and you’d waved as you’d walked inside, your cheeks hurting from smiling as you’d closed the door behind you and leaned back against the wood.

Unbeknownst to you, the plans for the rest of your solo USA trip were about to be turned completely upside down. 

The next day with Glen turned out to be everything you’d imagined and more, the two of you talking, flirting and laughing from the moment he’d picked you up. He’d started the day by driving the two of you out to Lake Travis where you’d spent the morning stand up paddleboarding, Glen showing you his favourite spots on the lake and telling you about his family’s lakeside ranch a few hours out of Austin. Next was lunch from what Glen had promised was ‘the best Texan barbecue house’ in all of Texas, ordering his favourite steak sandwiches which quickly became the best meal you’d eaten on your trip so far.

After lunch he’d taken you on a hike through one of Austin’s national parks, the end of which had brought you to one of the most incredible sights you’d ever seen - a waterfall that spilled over a huge bowl-shaped canyon into a large swimming hole below. Glen had convinced you to walk the perimeter through the cave-like canyon until you were standing beneath the falling water, looking up at the natural sight in awe as Glen had snapped several photos of you and then the two of you together.

Looking out at the sunset, sitting beside Glen with his arm around your shoulders, you remembered thinking that this day - a day that would forever go down as one of the best days of your life, couldn’t possibly have gotten any better. 

After your hike he’d taken you over to wine country, where he’d introduced you to his good friends Daniel and Amy - owners of one of the most well-known vineyards and breweries in Fredericksburg. They’d given you a private tour of their venue before you’d sat down for drinks, looking out at the picturesque green vineyard and seemingly endless rolling hills, a stunning Texas sunset bathing everything in a gorgeous, orange glow.

And then, just like that, it had.

Glen had driven you back to your air BnB and you’d promptly invited him for a drink, not quite ready to end your day with him. He’d happily accepted your proposal, parking his truck and following you in, sitting down on the living room couch as you’d gotten you both a beer. 

What followed was an evening of more stories and laughs, more flirting and mischievous teasing, the tension only growing between you as the night went on. Eventually though, as if neither of you could no longer fight it, Glen had leaned in and kissed you, his lips moving against yours with a soft, passionate want.

That passion quickly became tangible, like a craving neither of you could satisfy, lips and hands growing desperate until you’d both lost several items of clothing and Glen was asking where the bedroom was. 

You remembered thinking in that moment - when Glen was carrying you to the bed, his lips pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to the hollow of your throat, that there would be no coming back from this. You’d sleep with Glen Powell, and tomorrow this would become nothing more than a fond memory for the both of you. 

After all, he was a Hollywood celebrity and you weren’t. 

He lived in Texas and you lived in Australia.

It would never work.

And so you’d decided, as Glen had laid you down on the bed and kissed his way down your body, that you’d forget all about tomorrow and just enjoy tonight.

Every single, sweaty second of it.

And all three delicious rounds of it.

When morning had arrived you’d fully expected to wake up to an empty bed, pleasantly surprised to instead find yourself wrapped in Glen's arms, his chest pressed firmly against your back. He'd felt you stirring, pressing gentle kisses to the back of your neck, his actions teasing soft moans from you that quickly turned into a tangle of sheets and naked limbs all over again.

What followed was two more days with Glen, the two of you spending almost all of your time together - him showing you all of his favourite things about his hometown, and even catching up with his sister Leslie again when she'd joined you both at a live music night that had ended with the two Powell's introducing you to line dancing. There'd been endless stories and laughs and adorable cuddles with Brisket, constant flirting and stolen kisses, and several more rounds of what had quickly become the best sex you'd ever had.

You'd proceeded to become only more and more infatuated with Glen, even despite the constant nagging feeling in the back of your mind telling you that this would soon all have to come to its inevitable end. You’d known that conversation was coming, like a looming tornado that threatening to destroy your happy bubble with Glen at any moment, and on your last night in Austin as you’d sat on Glen’s couch with Brisket on your lap and wine in hand, it finally happened. 

You’d told him that it was okay, that you had no expectations of him and that you’d known all along that this was only ever going to be a vacation fling, assuring him that you’d loved every single second of your time and adventures together with him. Glen had been silent for a long moment then, looking back at you as he’d sat beside you on the couch with his gorgeous green eyes boring into your own, eventually taking your hand in his and telling you just how wrong you were.

He’d told you that he’d never before met a girl like you.

He'd told you that he’d never felt the way he had about someone he’d known for only three days.

He'd told you that he’d loved every single moment that you’d spent together and that he knew if he didn't tell you how he felt, he'd be forever wondering.

You swore in that moment that you’d forgotten how to breathe, your heart in your throat as you'd realized the implications of what Glen was saying to you.

You remembered wondering if you were really going to do this, if you could actually be in a relationship with Glen - in a relationship that was not only long distance, but also with a famous celebrity. You knew it would turn your world upside down and back to front a million times over, but the longer you’d looked back at Glen, getting lost in the gaze that was seemingly looking right through you, you’d realized that above all else, you were willing to try.

You’d fallen into his arms then, falling into one another over and over again, first on the couch, and then the shower, and then finally in his bed, eventually drifting off to sleep wrapped around one another as the evening ended and morning brought with it the inevitable tomorrow.

The rest of your trip had seemingly flown by, seeing the sights and experiencing the best of New Orleans, Jackson, Memphis and Nashville, making your way north to Boston and later New York where your twelve week trip would come to an end. Though those six weeks couldn’t compare to the time you’d spent with Glen in Austin and you’d missed him terribly, you’d spoken to him almost constantly throughout the rest of your travels - sending photos and videos, texting and face timing, following his advice and recommendations of the best places to go and see. 

What you hadn’t known and would only find out upon checking into your hotel room when you’d arrived in New York, was that Glen had organized to fly up to surprise you. You remembered feeling like you’d won the lottery when the hotel concierge had advised that you’d received a complimentary room upgrade to a suite, and just as you’d thought that your trip couldn’t possibly have wrapped up any better, you’d opened the suite door to find Glen waiting for you.

When you’d finally gotten over the shock of seeing him again, after you’d jumped into his embrace and kissed him with all of the emotions that you’d held in since Austin, Glen had taken you out for a romantic night on the town - and continued to do the same for every night that followed for the rest of your trip.

Eventually your solo travels had come to an end, Glen kissing you tenderly and promising that you’d see each other again soon, holding you tight in his arms as you’d sat outside JFK airport on the day of your flight home. You remembered trying to take in everything about your last few minutes with Glen then - the smell of his cologne, the feel of his lips on your hair, the warmth of his chest as he held you pressed against him, desperate to prolong your last moments together not knowing when you’d next get the chance.

A tender goodbye that you swore you wouldn’t ruin with tears, one final kiss that you’d forever commit to memory and a promise that together you could make this work, you’d waved to Glen and made your way through the departure gates, boarding your flight home to Australia.

The months that followed had given you a new found respect for people in long distance relationships, missing Glen more than you thought possible - even with your constant communication. Some small part of you had expected your relationship to fizzle out a week after you’d arrived home - that your time with Glen would be nothing more than a memory, a story you told people about when they’d ask about your overseas travels, but just as you’d promised on your last day together, you and Glen had made it work.

He’d come to visit you three months after your trip, staying with you for two whole weeks in October. You'd shown him around your city in the same way he’d done with Austin, introducing him to your friends and eventually your family after your sister had all but begged to meet him, your dog Flynn loving Glen just as much as Brisket had you.

Those two weeks had been incredible, and as close to domestic bliss as you'd ever gotten, loving waking up to Glen each morning and falling asleep wrapped in his arms each night. Then there was the sex - both of you obviously desperate to make up for the three months apart, spending the first two days of his visit practically locked inside and christening every surface of your house.

All too soon it was time to say goodbye again, but not before you'd made plans to see each other for Christmas. You'd flown back to the states for the holidays two months later, the Powell family welcoming you back with open arms, Brisket especially happy to see you as he'd happily licked at your face. You’d gotten to experience your first ever Winter Christmas that year holing up at the Powell's family ranch, eating, drinking, dancing and laughing all the way through to New Years Eve, feeling nothing but love as you celebrated with Glen's sisters, parents and the twins.

The rest of that trip had gone by all too quickly, and soon you were saying your teary goodbyes all over again before you’d headed back home to Australia. This time you hadn't been able to plan your next visit with Glen - his latest film projects beginning and finally introducing you to life as a famous actor's girlfriend. You'd found yourself feeling consistently grateful for your job, friends and family then, their presence keeping your mind busy and away from thoughts of Glen’s chaotic schedule and the fact that you had no idea when you'd next get to see him.

It was at the Powell’s annual New Year's Eve party that Glen had told you he loved you, just as the clock had struck midnight and everyone had erupted into cheers of happiness. You remembered that moment vividly, your heart still racing whenever you thought about it, the two of you standing on the edge of the lake as Glen had wrapped you in his arms and kissed you, pulling away just enough so that he could whisper those three perfect words. 

And so, that had brought you all the way to June - nearly five months since you'd last seen him, as Glen had worked insane hours on a four month long shoot for his newest movie. Alongside the Australian Winter, made worse by the fact that you missed your boyfriend more than you'd previously thought possible, June had also brought with it something else seemingly upsetting - your birthday, also known as your thirty second lap around the sun.

Still, your friends had pulled out all the stops to celebrate your day - your three closest girlfriends taking you out on a spa date complete with a full body massage, facial and pedicure, followed by a tasting and lunch at the most stunning of vineyards which had continued well into the early evening. Your boozy, extended lunch had later turned into dinner and cocktails at a rooftop bar in the city, which soon turned into singing and dancing at a nearby karaoke bar despite your vehement protesting.

That's how you'd come to find yourself sitting in the booth with one of your friends, looking down at your notification-less phone as the other two girls performed an intoxicated rendition of It’s Raining Men on stage.

Though the girls had spoiled and pampered you on your day, it hadn't quite been enough to completely take your thoughts off of Glen and that fact that you hadn't heard from him all day. You knew he was busy with his shoot - having since learned that sometimes they could go for several hours at a time, knowing that there were many occasions where he just wasn’t able to have his phone on him in the middle of all the chaos. Still, despite not hearing from him since the early hours of the morning, he'd still somehow managed to spoil you on your birthday - organizing your favourite coffee and breakfast to be delivered to your door this morning, alongside the biggest bunch of stunning red roses that you'd ever seen. 

When you'd arrived at the winery for lunch later there'd been a second bunch of flowers, this one somehow bigger than the last, an exotic mix of eclectic tiger lillies and striking orchids, the colours bold, bright and beautiful. Alongside them had been a note, short and simple in the way that was classically Glen, telling you that he loved you with his whole heart and that he hoped you were having the best day with your friends for your birthday.

You and the girls had called it a night just before midnight, your own tipsy performance of Proud Mary signaling the end of your birthday. You kissed and thanked your girlfriends, incredibly grateful for the three of them in your life, waving goodbye to them in the taxi and making your way inside.

In any other circumstance, Flynn's lack of barking at your arrival would have alerted you to the idea that something was up, but in your several-drinks-too-many state you didn't quite pick up on that. So when you opened the front door to your house and found Glen standing in your kitchen looking back at you with the biggest smile on his face, all you could do was stare back at him momentarily - your brain a whirring mix of alcohol, surprise, overwhelm and love.

Eventually you separated enough that you could ask him what he was doing here and why he hadn't told you, Glen smiling and explaining between kisses that he was never going to not see you for your birthday. As it turned out he had the flight organized weeks ago, and had enlisted your friend's help to keep you busy while he made the long haul flight over, having planned all along to surprise you at the end of the night.

You ran at him then, bounding into his waiting arms and holding onto him with everything you had, burying your face in his neck as he whispered happy birthday baby in your hair. Depositing you on the kitchen bench he'd cupped your face and captured your lips in a tender kiss, both of you pouring all of the thoughts and emotions from your months apart into your intimate embrace.

Just as you launched into your next barrage of questions - about his latest project, about the film shoot, about his family and about Brisket, Glen had tilted your chin and silenced you with a slow, heavy kiss, the action leaving you breathless and momentarily lost for words.

“All of that can wait” Glen breathed, lips hovering over your own as his hand moved into your hair, “We’ll have time for questions later darlin’”.

“Later?” you asked, voice barely louder than a whisper, letting out a shaky breath when his free hand cupped the back of your bare thigh and pulled your body flush against his.

“Later” Glen affirmed, his silky voice low and his Texan accent thick, his intentions instantly clear when he rolled his hips into yours with a breathy, almost desperate groan, “First I’m gonna take you to bed and give my girl a proper happy birthday”.

---

TAG LIST FOR GLEN POWELL FICS:

@angclvings @auntiegigi @friedchips94 @memories-in-bw @maeleelee @jessicab1991 @bellaireland1981 @queenslandlover-93 @itsjustkhaos @kneelforloki @djs8891 @lovemesomevesey @entertainmentgirl80 @buckysteveloki-me @stankface @meldizzzle

[pannman]

Jazz vs rock

Featuring Alastor x reader

Reader jamming to rock music*

Alastor: can you turn that clashy collection of noise down!?!

Reader: Alastor I'm wearing headphones!

Alastor: I have very sensitive ears

Reader: sounds like a you problem

Alastor: I'll make it YOUR problem if you keep grating my ear drums with that absolute trash

Reader: just cause it's not your favorite genre doesn't mean it's trash

Alastor: perhaps you can listen to some smooth Jazz at the very least so you're not offronting my bleeding ears

Reader blurts: jazz is boring!

Reader covers their mouth instantly... the damage is already done*

Alastor: HOW DARE YOU!!!

Reader: I didn't mean it! I-I...

Alastor: -you know Jazz is rooted in the history of my home! It was actually invented there! It was a mixture of many different cultures coming together. I was alive during the height of New Orleans style Jazz. Running my radio show I actually got to interview many of the greats and I'll have you know...

Alastor continues to talk*

Reader: fascinating... real... real fascinating...

Alastor: honestly if that's how you feel about Jazz you must not have experienced it properly... COME WITH ME! And leave those horrid headphones here. I'm going get some culture in you even if I have to force it

Reader: I was joking! I-I love Jazz!!!

Alastor: Oh really?

Reader: yes, I just like listening to it on my own time

Alastor: so you were paying attention to what I said?

Reader: uuuuhhh...

Alastor: when was the height of new Orleans jazz music?

Reader: ......

Alastor: Ha! nice try! Now let's go!

Note from me: while researching for Alastors info dump I gained a greater respect for Jazz music than I had before. I know there's not a lot of facts in there but I still wanted to avoid false information

[boundbyeclipse]

Hii, I just want to start off by saying that your writing is absolutely amazinggg seriously! And I’ve now seen that you uploaded a prompt list so I was wondering if you could do prompt 5 from angst, and specifically maybe if it would work out Kai saying that to reader because she’s an original vampire? You don’t have to do that of course it’s just an idea and then maybe if it would be possible to combine that with prompt 2 from smut?

Anyway i just want to say again that your writing is amazing anddd im so happy that you write for Kai cause we really need more Kai fanfics out here

hello, darling! ♡ i cannot describe how grateful i am hearing such words, it’s exactly what keeps me going! and yes, we do need more fics with kai on here, i totally agree with you. glad to be one of those who can give people what they want! feel free to request, leave feedback, give ideas or just ask anything in general ♡ + i decided to portray kai simply as a powerful witch in this fic, no bad background, no murders, no sociopathic behavior. will this make any sense? i don’t know. anyways, i hope that you like it ♡

tags : witch!Kai, female!reader, original vampire!reader, Kai with a lingerie kink, a little fight, hickeys, oral sex, make up sex (?), Klaus and Rebekah mentioned

♠️ 5. “Why would I help someone like you?”

⛓️ 2. “I like it when you say my name like that”

“So, what are you here for?” Kai asked as he tilted his head sideways, standing across the room.

“I need your help”

Ever since your brother has gone missing, you have been nothing but desperate to find him. You’ve searched for ways to know where he is, and there was nobody who could help you track him down. Not a single witch wanted any business with the Mikaelsons knowing their past behaviors and stubborness. Every time you pleaded for help, they would turn you down and leave you with no other choice but to keep trying. And as much as you had no good of a relationship with people in Mystic Falls, this was your last chance. Your only hope was no other than Kai Parker.

The man who you once had a romance blooming with.

“Seriously? Why would I help someone like you? You and your family left Mystic Falls without saying goodbye, know how much that hurt me? You left me. I thought we really had something. You Mikaelsons are all about leaving things and people behind just for your own sake”

You shook your head as you took a few steps closer to him, gulping as regret began washing over you.

“It’s just because my family wouldn’t let me. I wanted to, Kai, I really did. But I was forced to leave and I had no time to come and say my goodbyes. And I’m sorry for that, okay? I’m really, really sorry. I know it’s plain stupidity of me to show up like this out of the blue, but I really need you to help me”

“And of all those witches in New Orleans, you chose me? Is it because you wanted to see me again? Or is it because you think that I’ll help you since I’m the only one who cares?”

Tears welled up in your eyes when Kai said the very last sentence. Does he still care? Even after your unnanounced disappearance? Maybe there’s still a little spark in his heart just like there is one in yours. There has to be. It’s in his eyes. You can see it. Yes, you’ve managed to adapt to a new location, new life, but no matter what you did, Kai never left your mind. He was always there.

“Probably both, if I’m honest. Don’t lie to me now, Kai, admit that you actually do still care. Admit that we still have something”

Silence stands in between you both as Kai avoids to give you an answer. It’s almost crystal clear that there are feelings lingering between you both, even after all this time of not seeing each other. The connection, the way your hearts beat in sync, the way you look at one another. It gives it all away. Love has never left your poor souls.

“Fine. What do you want me to do?” he finally breaks the silence, drawing your attention back to him as you were lost in your thoughts.

“It’s my brother. Klaus. I need you to do a locator spell on him. He’s been gone and no one wanted to help me. Someone must’ve taken him and imprisoned him”

Kai walked up to the table and grabbed a map, unfolding it and placing it down. He lit up a few candles and put them on the sides. He shot you a look, from which you understood that he needed a personal item or anything with your brother’s DNA on it.

“Oh, right. Here” you came up to him and handed an old ring of Klaus’s that he used to wear a lot.

“I’m gonna need to draw some blood from you since you two are related. Just a little bit. Shall I?”

You nod and watch as Kai grabs a knife, then taking your hand in his gently. Your eyes meet at that moment, the skinship creating a pretty much awkward atmosphere in the room. Kai clears his throat while you look away for a few seconds, knowing deep inside your heart that you have missed this so much. It was so nice to feel his skin again since the last time you saw him. It brought back many memories and it hurt. You really wanted things to be good again. You wanted Kai back.

He cut your palm and you squeezed it into a fist, allowing drops of blood to drip onto the map below.

“Give me your hand now”

You gave him your other hand to hold as Kai began to chant a spell to find Klaus. The small drops of blood began moving to connect into a big one, leading to the location of your brother.

“He’s in New York” you sighed in relief, letting go of Kai’s hand as he revealed the location. You could only nod before speaking.

“Thank you” a faint whisper could be heard.

As you stood up from your seat ready to leave, you heard a low, full of desperation voice that called out your name. You froze in place, feeling the way every muscle in your body tensed up once your eyes met.

“Wait” he says, voice shaky and husky, eyes glossy and wide open as he stands in front of you, his quickened heartbeat reaching your ears. He was nervous.

“I admit it. I admit that I still care. And I really was angry that evening when you left, I really was. I tried to move on, had other girls hit on me, but it never worked out. Not in their favor. Because it was you who occupied my mind day and night, I couldn’t let any other woman get to know me because I always held on and waited for you. I was even willing to wait for however long I should. I’m sorry, ____, I shouldn’t have lashed out like that”

You let out a choked sob, running over to Kai and pressing your lips against his, indulging yourself into a passionate kiss. You then pulled away, lips parted as you looked into Kai’s blue eyes, his pupils dilated. The tension was growing with each second that passed.

He did not hesitate and pulled you into another kiss - this time, a deeper, lustful one. His strong hands held your hips firmly, constantly pulling them against his own body, soon finding their way to the back of your thighs. You felt his fingertips digging into your soft skin, leaving you breathless and craving for something more. You pushed him against the wall, ripping his shirt open, buttons flying everywhere on the floor. Kai let out a little moan as your lips kissed on his neck, leaving wet traces on it. He grabbed you by the waist and fumbled with the hem of your shirt, pulling it up to take it off. He attacked your exposed chest with bites, sucking on it lightly as he left marks here and there.

“Kai” you moaned out loud, head thrown back.

“I like it when you say my name like that”

It felt so ecstatic to feel him again. You have almost forgotten how soft his skin was, how much his touch brought you to your knees, how beautiful he sounded whenever you kissed his neck. But tonight, everything came back to you.

Soon you both were left nearly naked, clothes scattered all over the room as you were on top of him in his bed. Your nails left scratches on his stomach as you kissed down his v-line, listening to Kai’s breath hitch in reaction to the sensation. You smirked against his flesh, enjoying the little whimpers of his. Your hands then played with his rock hard length, stroking it agonisingly slowly in order to tease.

Your dominance was short lived as Kai sat up and flipped you around, now hovering above you, his fingers digging under your panties to rub circles on your wet clit.

“Oh my god” you wailed, arching your back and gripping on the mattress.

But then, to your surprise, your phone that you left on the drawer in the room started ringing. It stopped Kai from doing what he was doing, but quickly enough his lips curved into a smirk. He leaves you lying on the bed for a brief moment, grabbing the phone and bringing it to you. The person’s name showed up on the screen and your eyes widened.

“Pick up” he challenges you as he hands you the device, hovering above you and continuing to tease you with his hands.

“Kai-“

“Come on. Pick it up” his eyes darken and you’re left with no other option but to oblige. You grab your phone breathless, watching as Kai lays down and positions himself in between your legs, kissing your pulsating core through the fabric.

You gulp as you swipe right to answer the call.

“Rebekah” you say, trying your best to not sound suspicious. It’s hard to do so once Kai pulls your panties aside and dives in, using his tongue to please you. He licks a stripe up your folds, causing you to bite your lip to suppress the moans that were fighting to slip out.

“Did you find Klaus?”

“Y-yeah, we found him. He’s in New York” you spoke with a pretty shaky voice, fearing that she’s going to catch on and embarrass you right here right now.

“Are you alright? What’s going on?” she asks.

Damn it.

“Yes, I’m okay. Just- Just head there, I’ll join soon”

Rebekah sighed, “Okay. I’ll leave you to your fun then”

You quickly hang up and Kai giggles against your cunt, to which you can only respond with a huff. But your mind is taken back to where it was when Kai sits up and aligns himself with your entrance, his tip brushing against it. You choke on your breath, looking at him with pleading eyes.

“Stop teasing, please”

“I will. Because I cannot hold it any longer either” he groans as he pushes himself into you, making your mouth open wide as you gasp. Kai leans in and kisses you, moving his hips back and forth as he grabbed your hands and placed them above your head, intertwining the fingers. He wasted no time in picking up the pace, the bed now creaking and bodies layered in a coat of sweat.

It did not take long before you both felt your climaxes coming. Kai sat up and pulled you in, now holding your body close to his as you worked your hips back and forth, your faces so close your lips brushed against each other’s. You buried your fingers in his hair, tugging on it lightly while Kai took a good squeeze on your ass.

Both of you had your heads thrown back once you reached your ends, fireworks exploding in your bodies. He held you tightly throughout your orgasm, then planting a kiss on your forehead as loud breaths filled the room.

“I so wish I could stay” you confessed, caressing his cheek as you two now stood near the bedroom door.

“You don’t have to. I’ll come with you”

“What?” your eyes widened, thinking you might’ve misheard him.

“You heard me, angel. Now let’s take a shower and go help Rebekah to get your brother back, alright?”

You nodded, pecking his warm lips as you followed him down the hall to the bathroom.

[destinyisastar]

I'm the Fool 🥀

Alright I haven't written a single thing in MONTHS! So, one of my current interests is Hazbin Hotel so here is an idea for an Alastor story!

Think of the song Goddess by Laufey for future reference. This is just a part of the story (which may be the reason the title doesn't make sense yet) tell me if you'd like to see where else this can go! *This was written with a fem reader in mind*

Alastor x Reader

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀 🥀🥀🥀

Imagine:

You were an outstanding jazz singer. Your voice would send chills to anyone that was nearby. You wanted to be famous and knew that one day everyone would know your name. Your next stop on your tour for fame was in a bar in New Orleans ran by a woman named Mimzy.

It was tiny little place nothing too big, but it was better than nothing. Mimzy greeted you and your crew at the door. She showed you to your dressing room and gave the crew time set up on stage.

"Alright everyone! Settle down! Settle down now!", Mimzy takes a breath, "We have a special show for you all tonight!" cheering could be heard.

"Now you all know that I only give you what's best, besides the liquor here of course!" Mimzy giggles to herself," No, today we have a chance to see and hear a new rising star!"

You hold a hand to your heart, closing your eyes and take a deep breath.

"Please give a big loud welcome to the singing sensation Darling Y/N!" Whistling, cheering, applauding all sounds of praise can be heard.

You step on to the stage, waving. "Hello! Nice to see all you folks here tonight! Can't believe you all came here tonight to see little old me, it's simply a pleasure to be here tonight!" You giggle lightly. "How bout we get this show on the road!"

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀 🥀🥀🥀

You take a bow on stage, "Thank you all for an amazing night!"

Stepping off the stage gleefully you make your way towards the bar. "Darling! That was perfect, absolutely stunning, your gonna make it big, and when I say big, I mean big bucks!" Mimzy grabs you by the arm. "You'll have to remember me when you make it big after all I'm giving you the help you need for your little stardom." She gives you a wide grin.

"Yes, I'll remember you, I just need to make it there first, and it's not all about the money." You tell her calmly.

"Why of course it's about money, everything is about money, you can't be famous without being rich!" Mimzy laughs. "Silly girl, you still have a lot to learn!" Mimzy takes hold of your hand and begins to walk you through the small club. "I have an idea! Why don't I be your manager?! I can be a big help! I'll get you into all the clubs you need. "

You never really thought about having a manager, you like taking care of things yourself.

"Well, at the moment, Mimzy, I'm really not looking for a manager, I'd just like to keep singing wherever I go, it doesn't really matter where." You say smiling at her.

Mimzy's face scrunches up a bit and she holds your hand tighter. "Well, that's fine I guess but you'll need me one way or another." She mumbles and lets go of your hand. " Whatever, I'd like for you to come back again, you brought in a hefty amount of people, and they absolutely adored you!"

"You really think they did?" You ask shyly.

"Of course I do! Didn't you hear all that cheering? That was all for you and that voice of yours."

You smile, "Yeah I did hear it."

Mimzy grins, "Even though you didn't make me your manager, I'm gonna hold out on your deal that you'll remember me and give me a part of your fame, so I'm gonna introduce you to someone."

"Who's this someone?" You follow Mimzy as she leads you to a table in the corner. You start to feel nervous.

"He'll want to introduce himself, so I'll leave that to him." Mimzy takes a look at you, "Don't worry dear! He's nothing to be afraid of!"

At the table you see a man sitting there with a glass in his hand. You take a moment to take him in. As if he could feel you staring at him, he looks right into your eyes. He stands up from his chair and meets you both halfway.

"Alastor! There you are! Why are you all the way over here?! I thought you'd be in the front!" Mimzy puts her hands on her hips. You stand behind Mimzy suddenly feeling shy.

"Why Mimzy you know I'd want my own view." The man named Alastor says smiling.

"I picked out a seat specially for you for that exact reason!" Mimzy huffs briefly. She puts a hand on the small of your back and pushes in front of her. "Don't be shy now." She whispers to you.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, quite the pleasure Miss Y/N." Alastor holds his hand out and you take it with a stutter. " Pleasure to meet you as well." You say to him feeling that your hand is a bit sweaty.

He takes your hand putting it up towards his lips and gives it a light kiss. Your face begins to warm.

"My, your voice is absolutely beautiful. I don't think I've ever heard such heavenly sounds before." He tells you letting your hand fall yet not fully letting go of your hand.

"Thank you for the compliment, although I'm not that great to be compared to heaven."

"Nonsense my dear, have some confidence in yourself! You are bound to be heard by the heavens themselves."

"You give me too much praise mister." You look away from him, feeling small in his gaze.

"The praise is very well intended, and please call me Alastor." You look back towards him.

"Ahem, Alastor" Mimzy nudges him, and he lets go of your hand. "Tell them what you do."

Alastor takes a look down at her and fixes his glasses," Yes, yes Mimzy I will," He looks back at you giving you a smile. "My dear I am a radio host in fact I'm the most famous host in all of New Orleans, and I'd be most delighted to have you as a guest."

"Really? I'm not all that special, I haven't got much experience, I don't think I'm radio material yet..." You begin to ramble.

Alastor just smiles and tilts his head slightly, "My dear," You look at him and give him a smile of your own. "It would be my pleasure to have you there with me."

You take a minute for yourself, "Alright I'll give it a shot," He grins even wider, " you'll help me right, Alastor? "

"Yes, of course I will darling."

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀 🥀🥀🥀

Alright! This just the beginning, please give me your thoughts. I haven't done this in a while. I'll start posting again soon enough once I make myself write again.

Have a good day!!

[christinebloodwrittings]

Die in your arms #4

Alastor x Fem!reader

Taglist: @littlebluefishtail @maxlynn17 @vxllys @modifiedmonster @sirens-and-moonflowers @qardasngan

Warnings: Implied SA, imprisonment, trauma, mentions of blood.

Masterlist

Proofing made by: @littlebluefishtail

March 1914. New Orleans, Louisiana.

Seven am to seven in the evening, Mondays and Thursdays. Tuesday and Wednesday he gets up at six anyways, but prepares breakfast for both before he leaves. He calls around eight A.M everyday, to check in before the show starts, then he comes back at ten pm, sometimes eleven. You had his steps studied. Well, almost. 

After three months, you discovered that Alastor is very unpredictable. His mouth says words but his eyes show the opposite. He keeps his body language at bay as much as he can, but there are times when he betrays himself. When he’s in pain for example, he’s bad at hiding stress and headaches.

In the dead of night, he returns from ‘work’ reeking of watered down blood. He does that every single Thursday, but the frequency has increased every week since Christmas.  

What kind of trouble can a scrawny radio host like him get into? 

One Saturday morning, a day in which he only writes the scripts for his upcoming week, he was more tired than usual. “Morning” he saluted you without taking his eyes off the semi-blank pages, taking occasional looks at the newspaper. 

He also had your steps memorized. Decisive but soft steps, he also noticed how you walked on your toes instead of putting the weight mainly on your heels, and you don’t like using shoes. 

He only had seen your routine when he’s - obviously - inside the house. It goes without saying that you act way more ‘at home’ or ‘comfortable’ when he’s not around. He was more than aware of that fact.  

He detested your ‘tiptoeing’ or ‘walking on eggshells’ attitude around him. Not in a controlling way, but in a ‘could you please acknowledge that I'm not a threat?’ way, otherwise he felt like his bastard step-father who caused his mother to behave in much the same way. 

Within the first three months he realized he hated your careful demeanor, in an absolutely selfish way, because he wasn’t doing much to atone it, other than avoiding being too ‘present’ or ‘involved’. But then he realized that was exactly what he needed to do in order to create the home atmosphere he started craving.

So, that Saturday morning, after breakfast, he sat nearby as you added a compost of your own making to the soil. Although he thought he was making a good move towards you, he was so difficult to read that you felt as if he was going to pounce on you at any given moment.  

How fucking invasive! You thought, adding more and more strength into the hole making for the tulip bulbs. Why was he staring at you like that? A normal wife would be more than flattered to have her husband’s attention like you do, but you have seen the passive yet menacing stare of a tiger at some point. The feeling is exactly the same as how you felt under his watch, like a prey preparing itself to run for their life.

That, until you decided it was enough…ten minutes after he sat down that is. 

“What’s going on?” he opened his eyes to your strong tone of voice. Which, by the way, has improved quite a bit compared to the dry, hoarse voice you had in November. “I can’t have some coffee in the yard of our house?” He avoided saying ‘my house’ on purpose, - avoiding being an asshole -.

You stabbed the small shovel hard into the dirt and turned to look at him. “The fact that you’re there doesn’t bother me, the staring is the fucking problem” alright, point strongly taken, but the “What about it exactly?” question was bugging him, and unconsciously slipped past his lips. 

You closed your eyes, swallowing a lot of words to just say, “I feel your stare burning the back of my head”, then another deep breath for the following, “If I have to be honest, it does make me angry”, among other feelings. It did feel strangely formal to talk like that, but Rosemary did scold you for the excessive use of foul language, and you really wanted to avoid that from happening again.

“I just…I like watching you work the dirt” he was tongue tied, he had literal goosebumps of excitement. “Do…You want to help?” he nodded, like a kid being offered to lick the frosting off a spoon. It felt off, wrong, but you weren’t going to get more information off the distance. 

If you were going to live in the lion’s den, you might as well get some ways to crush him. 

“Then come here and make yourself useful” you hand-motioned him to get closer. 

It came out harsher than he intended, but he felt like he'd taken a good step. He made you say ‘I feel’, which in the few psychology books he had read, was a way of communicating what your body couldn't. 

You took a quick glance back at him, that turned into a solid minute, just to watch him rolling up his sleeves, realizing that he was not as scrawny as you thought. But of course the suit hid all of that. 

“So, what can I do, boss?” He chuckled as you shook your head. “Your fingers are larger so make a hole deep until the brim reaches your second finger joint, not your knuckle” Your hands were considerably smaller than his, he found that adorable. 

Bossy, he thought. 

On the other hand, you weren’t going to lie, Alastor is a very good looking man. The mustache was a bit much, but the smart look his glasses gave him, his chocolate skin color, light brown eyes. And his hair! He had a haircut where the left side was kept gel smooth towards his nape, while the right side had a fringe of curls hanging down over his glasses. The side without gel looked fluffy and soft.

Damn you, good looking monster. You bite back. 

“Is there a way to predict what color they will turn out?” you heard him, far away, echoing in the distance. Which was odd considering he was just a few feet from you. “No, you just plant them, with the green tip up, and just wait” the sunlight flickered above you, but you figured it was just a passing bird.

“What color are you hoping for?” his voice was suddenly close, his side of the dirt already done with what you had asked. “White or maybe pink tulips” you answered softly. 

He didn’t want to push his luck, given that you eyed him up and down, “You also gave me roses and mint, I planted the seeds separated because they do not like each other, they compete for nutrients like leeches” you made worm fingers near your face, just to show him how nasty they were. 

He seemed to listen intently to what you were saying, not in a ‘I’m forced to do so’ way, but really interested, he saw you turn your eyes away from him, light shining and fading just as quickly. “How do you know so much?” he copied the way you tucked in the bulbs with dirt, as he wondered. 

“My mind is a little foggy, but I just know” you lied, it was from the first book your father gave you, an herbology book to put some color to the garden. Oh how you missed the vines with tiny pink flowers growing outside your window.  

“Where I grew up there was a big cinnamon tree. I never developed a taste for tea, but my mother loved her black tea with a stick of cinnamon.” He once called it sock water in front of his mother, when he was a very young boy, she tickled those words away. The memory brought him a tender smile.

“How wholesome” memories slipped off your mind, especially your mother’s face and voice. “You don’t remember anything from your childhood?” you suddenly heard him from in between the void, “Not much, but I do remember smells, lights, and the taste of apple pie…” crunchy crust, soft inside, the lovely taste of cinnamon. But then, there was just darkness, where could everything else be? “Other than that, it’s…pretty blank”.

“I’m not a fan of sweets, but my mother had a recipe for apple pie, I can try and take a crack at it, if you wish” In contrast with his brown skin, he had lighter coloured marks going upwards into his forearms. “Your mom liked sweets?” you wondered, feeling his eyes following your stare up his arms. “Baking made her happy” Him eating them was the thing that made her happy, you thought, and you weren’t wrong.

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to try”, success! He had made a good step forward. 

Soft jazz played from the gramophone near the stairs, a cheerful tune with no lyrics, just the drums, bass, and the occasional trumpet solo. When the high notes were struck but the pace never fastened, he heard you humming in repeat, softly, just for yourself. Truth be told, he noticed that any tune that carried enough feeling through the bridge brought a smile to your face.

When the needle moved to another song, he started humming as he kneaded the dough. The piano was his favorite, you could tell by the way he made the movements of the keys against the marble of the counter, and his feet moved to press an invisible pedal. 

“Cinnamon and a splash of lemon” he added to the filling, your hand flinching away a little when he tapped the bowl, prompting you to move it more to the space between you.

He was so close.

He gave off a smell of tree bark, freshly cut grass and rainwater. Very pleasant, charming, and dangerous. But you remembered every poisonous stench of the men that attended the brothel, he not only was a threat, he was a true rose. Beautiful and inviting, until you get too close and get caught by its thorns. But, somehow he didn’t smell of sweat off alcohol, like other men. 

You gave off a smell he couldn’t adequately describe. He couldn’t get close enough to try, either. Though, he was quickly distracted by the sight of your bare hands, a knot tying a noose in the inside of his throat.  

He remembered having your hands in his, but he had never seen them without gloves or bandages. Your right ring finger was crooked, a cut where it was obvious it had been sliced ​​like a ham and glued back onto your right middle finger. Both of your hands had healed scars on their knuckles, and what looked to be cuff scars on your wrists.

Despite the time, there were parts of your skin that would not return to their original color, nor any amount of cream and ‘regenerative’ treatments would help either. Your knuckles were forever disfigured, no wonder you were still using bandages despite them being already healed. It did caught his attention.

He wondered, what the hell happened that forced you to fight to that extent?

He swallowed a lump of saliva, then pointed to your right hand, “Does it hurt?” then moved down to also ask for your wrist. You looked up at him wondering what was the purpose of the question, if it was pity or just curiosity, but you couldn’t tell by the look on his face only. 

Shrugging your shoulders you turned back to the bowl, mixing the filling, “Not anymore” you limited your answer to a half told truth. “You don’t have to answer, but, is there a reason for the bandages?” You thought about his question for a minute, not paying attention to how his eyes scanned your up and down.

“Comfort, that way I avoid unwanted friction and looks” the way you shot him an accusatory sideway eye, made him choke down a scoff. “May I?” he took a deep breath trying not to laugh, to ask for your hand. He had his over yours, with the intention to simply touch, but you ended up putting your hand over his knuckles.

‘So, not touch but look, I can do that’ he thought as he pulled a little to get your hand closer as he adjusted his glasses. He hummed, inspecting the variety of reliefs and depths. Definitely the result of a crude fighting style, yet strong.

The wrist lines though, those weren’t made by the police handcuffs. He mentally noted that it had to be a bigger and thicker kind of cuff to make such a damage, and also a lot of resistance. 

Thinking about that just made his knot worsen.

He gently motioned his hand down, your hand shakily coming back to the side of the bowl. “I noticed you were looking at mine earlier” from the corner of your eye you saw him roll his sleeve higher, “If you wish, you can do the same”. You put the spoon and bowl aside, with one hand you grabbed hold of his index and middle finger, pulling down gently yet no less tensely. With your other hand you touched the pale streaks of skin upwards. Causing all sorts of chills up Alastor’s spine. 

Alastor didn't know if he regretted his offer or if it was a good idea to begin with. You looked like a blind person reading braille as you touched him. There was the amusing way you made sure he couldn't grab you if that was his intention, that took his mind aside from his nerves. In the position he was in, Alastor recognized that you could easily twist his fingers if he did something wrong. 

'So cautious, I like it' he thought now seeing how you simply observed the skin he was so mocked for.

He heard you humm and set his arm to his side, then your attention went back to the mixing bowl. Just like that. So it was okay for you to invade his personal space, but not the other way around?! Perhaps he could see how far he could push that boundary.

“Did it hurt?” you spoke softly, but he couldn’t tell if it was out of concern or curiosity. “Yes, but I don’t regret it” another humm, this time in understanding.

A deafening silence was created. To alastor the music of the gramophone seemed so far away, echoing in between thoughts and questions. 

“Can I try something?” He bit his tongue as soon as he spoke, but he couldn’t take his words back when they already had caught your attention. “Another recipe?” you could hardly believe you sassed him, how did he get you so comfortable?

“No” he laughed, “I’ve never been fond of physical contact, but-” the feeling of his skin that had lingered on your hands began to burn, had you done something wrong, will he do something to punish you for taking such liberties? He offered, how could he be mad?! doesn't matter you were going to make sure to block anything he was thinking of doing. 

“Oh, then I overstepped, I’m sorry” Alastor felt as if you had shut a door straight against his face, “No, it feels odd but, unlike others you don’t do it…with bad intentions”. He saw you eye him up and down sideways, would that mean you opened the door again, just a smidge? “I just want you to know, that you can touch me whenever you feel like it” he was probably shooting himself with that invitation, but he wanted to know if you’d take his hand or grab him by the arm - so to speak.

One motion, you made one downwards with your finger for him to move a bit to your level, given that he’s taller than you. But he had to be ridiculous, instead of bowing down, Alastor knelt down in front of you again. Just like the night after the wedding. And with a fucking shit-eating grin, definitely enjoying your confusion/flustered mix of emotions. 

Before your peripheral blind spot, you spotted a knife, if you were quick enough you could grab it and slit his throat. End this whole farce once and for all. It had become oh so annoying, his smile, his confidence, and his false sense of chivalry.

He was mocking you, with every smile and soft, considerate touch. He's a fucking monster, just another pervert of the bunch, he'll be quick to take advantage of the slightest spark of trust you give him.

'But still...' you brought your hand to his face, running down his jaw to the Adam's apple on his neck. 'What a nice sternocleidomastoid, how would it look skinned and open?' under your hand you felt him swallow. Was he nervous? How shameless.

'You're studying me and you're not ashamed to show it’ Alastor mocked mentally, his eyes locked on yours. His mind was alert and yet his body surrendered to your warmth. While having your hand on his neck, it was like looking at himself in a mirror. What a depraved look you had, he felt as if you were visually making your way between every strand of his muscles, perhaps seeing how many ways to make him scream in agony.

"Soft," you whispered unconsciously. As soon as he appeared, your predatory gaze disappeared, your hands moving up to his hair, enjoying his well-defined curls between your fingers.

Where did your blood-hungry look go? It was a drastic change, almost as much as going from one song to another. From a dull and sadistic one to an innocent and happy one, how interesting.

Both of your hands were in his hair now, drawing his face to your collarbone. Now that he was close enough, he tried to decipher, what was your smell? Dirt, dried blood, burnt skin, alcohol and bandages, what a sad aroma. He was suddenly so depressed, he couldn’t enjoy being so close to you. 

“May I?” he put his hands up, aiming for your arms. "No…unless. If I put your hands on a specific spot, do you promise not to move them from there?" how about giving him the chance to slip and give you a reason to harm him? A fake image of trust to feed his ego.

Your heart started pumping loudly inside your ears, as you put his hands up the sides of the unmarked sides of your waist. Unmarked, but not untouched. He felt how a shiver went up your skin, even through the thick layers of fabric. 

An image of brown and red leaves flooded your mind, warm sunlight and a swing, your legs swinging back and forth, the momentum making the wind lift your hair. Oh how you missed not having to feel invisible hands touching your skin, eyes on the walls, mirrors and dark corners. Just living under the warmth of the sun and the spring breeze, sweetly and innocently.

The sound of the needle hitting the end of the record pulled you back to reality. You took a deep breath, and notice just how close you were, your unmarked cheek pressed against the crown of his head, arms around his neck.

As soon as Alastor felt you move back, he immediately removed his hands from your waist. Reluctantly closing his eyes as he was kicked down by the cold again. Couldn't you stay for five more minutes? But he just silently turned to watch you walk around the kitchen island and change vinyl records, with an inevitable longing stare you never caught sight of.

“What language is this?” you muttered to yourself, attempting to read the burgundy cover. “It’s French” his face was so close, you could smell his shampoo again. “Mon coeur s'est envolé, it means ‘My heart flew away’” Since you’ve never heard French before, you couldn’t tell if he was being truthful, he might as well be just speaking gibberish to impress you. 

“You speak french?” you looked up at him. “A variety. I speak Cajun, after all I’m creole” You hummed again, this time an ‘oh’ he couldn’t decipher. “It’s a waltz version of the original, would you like to play it?” he moved the needle up for you to put the A side up. 

He had you almost caged inside his arms. His right one down the level of your eyes, the other out of sight. But how come you didn’t feel so threatened? Still possibly in danger, but…how come?

To Alastor you seemed so tense, hesitant. He really wanted to hold a steady pace with you, but somehow he kept going backwards. What drove you to be so extreme with your emotions? 

Most of the time you look at him like a pest, others you don’t even look at him at all. That bloodlusted stare was the most sincere sight he had of you since he met you, and he couldn’t settle with just those crumbs, he wanted more. 

“Could you say something else in French?” oh wait, were you actually interested? Alastor smiled and got his face as close to your ear as he could without pressing himself at all to your back. “What would you like me to say?” his breath and velvet voice tickled your ear, “Anything”.

He took your hand, raising it so he could softly kiss your scarred wrist, “J'aimerais t'embrasser” he whispered against your ear, as if he was telling you a secret, something for your ears only. “What does that mean?” he softly lifted your hand, turning you around on your heels. “It means, you owe me a dance” his hand pulled your back from the same height you allowed him to touch, just so your chest could be closer to his, “Would you do me the honor?”.

‘What the hell is wrong with me?’ Alastor slapped himself internally. In his way of thinking, there were two possible options that could explain what was going on with him. 

The hug you gave him made him go too far out of his comfort zone where he felt in control and he tried to counteract it by making you feel uncomfortable. Or he was actually enjoying your company.  

Utterly preposterous.

He put the pie to bake, then started the song again.

[wizardpink]

Devil's Minion fic but told entirely from Louis' perspective, where he and Armand find out about Daniel's Parkinson's diagnosis and Louis can tell how absolutely devastated Armand is. But Armand doesn't know that Louis caught he and Daniel together in the 70s/80s but never said anything, because a part of him hoped Armand would turn Daniel and leave with him. But of course he didn't and they continued on trapped in their sham marriage. But now Louis is watching Armand, someone he does feel SOME love for, losing the love of his life in real time, and he thinks about Lestat. And he thinks about Lestat. And he thinks about Lestat. To the point he can't stand the thought of letting Daniel die before reuniting he and Armand one last time. It would be too cruel even for the guy who promised to stay in a loveless marriage for eternity to punish his ex husband. That's why he initiates the whole interview. It's why he teases Daniel with false memories of Alice that are really papered-over memories of Armand, or why he agrees to feed on Armand in front of Daniel and then goes WAY beyond what Armand agreed to talking about the taste of his blood and his swimming habits. It's why he offered Daniel the gift the day Dr. Bhansali visits, when he expects BOTH Armand and Daniel to be most receptive to the idea. And why towards the end of the interview, when Armand proposes offering Daniel the gift a second time under the guise of extending the life of their testament to each other for eternity, Louis says absolutely, what a stellar idea, we'll have Rashid decorate the dining room and make sure our boy is as comfortable as possible. And finally why he had no fear of leaving Daniel with a pissed off Armand after the betrayal reveal. Because at that point despite truly appreciating Daniel for what he revealed during the interview, he needs to get out of there asap because he can't stand to look at either one if them right now. He'll get over it quickly enough because let's face it, in the back of his mind Louis always knew Armand was behind it all. And he loves Daniel now more than ever. So when he finds out Armand turned Daniel after all, after he ran straight to New Orleans and Lestat, I know he had to laugh. "We're all so fucked up, my god."

[yarafic]

Imagine~ Damon is your best friend. He notices that he has feelings for you when a guy starts talking to you

No one really understood why you became best friends with the older Salvatore. Your friends thought you were mental. That being friends with Damon Salvatore will be your downfall. Even Ric, who hangs out with Damon did not approve of the relationship. He thought that you will end up getting hurt or worst killed by Damon, himself.

Nevertheless, you shook your head and told Ric that wasn't going to happen. Then he reminded you about Vicky Donavon and Rose, who both were killed by Damon. You kept shut for a minute and replied back saying that yes, Damon killed Vicky to turn her into a vampire, but Stefan ended up killing her fully at Halloween party. While Rose, he killed her so she wouldn't be in pain anymore.  Ric would roll his eyes and say that wasn't the point. You should consider stopping yourself from making excuses for Damon's actions.

Which you found that statement to be the dumbest thing that Alaric has ever said. He has done some outrageous things in his time and now, when helping Elena Gilbert. Alaric and the Scooby Doo gang are a bunch of hypocrites.  The way that they judge those that make a little mistake or who, they become friends with as well.  It feels just like yesterday when the Mikaelson's were in town, you became friends with them. Even spend most of your days hanging out and chatting about life. You got along well with Rebekah and Klaus. When Elena and the Caroline caught word of your friendship with them, they were absolutely furious. They stop talking to you for months, they even wouldn't look your way. Rebekah found it annoying that they would act like this towards you and Klaus said loudly for them to hear that your group of friends do not own you nor do they have the right to control every aspect of life.

When the Mikaelsons left Mystic Falls, your heart broke, but Klaus and Elijah said that you had a home in New Orlean's whenever you need it. Just to make sure that you do not bring any of your pesky little friends with you. It has been two years and still kept in touch with the Mikaelson family, Klaus has been pleading (more like begging) for you to come to New Orleans to meet the new edition of the family. He spoke with Hayley, that he wants you to be the godmother of their child.

Which is how you were currently standing in the middle of your room with piles of cloths all round you. Not only cloths but gifts for you godchild and the rest of the Mikaelson. To even meet Freya, the times you have been on the phone with Rebekah; you were introduced to Freya. The two of you got along so well that you are so excited to meet in person.

As you put together outfits and collect all the gifts, Damon came barging into your room. Throwing himself on your bed while making your luggage fall to the floor.

"Please be careful!" You exclaim as you pick up your cloths and luggage that he drops to the floor.

"I can't believe that you are leaving me." Damon says as he plays with one the plushies on the bed.

I'm not leaving you. I am just going to see my best friends that you hate." You murmur back to him as you fold clothes and shoving them in the luggage. You can see that you are almost done putting everything away.

"How about you take a break and let's go to the Mystic Grill." Damon suggests as he looks at you. You huff in annoyance and gave him a glare, you point at everything on the floor and replied back, "I can't leave until I finish packing everything."

Damon groans and throws a plushie at you, the plushie hits your head and lands inside the luggage. You shook his head side to side, you can't believe you have to endure him for all and eternity being friends with him. You had a feeling that you regret becoming friends with Damon Salvatore (okay that is a lie, you adore being friends with him. He has been the only one that been by your side since for ever). Maybe he is right, you have been doing this since the morning. Maybe a little the break wouldn't hurt, yet again you wouldn't have to worry if you loose your flight cause Elijah and Klaus got you a private jet to pick you up. You were hoping that one of them will be waiting for you in the jet.

"Please!" Damon pleas as he goes to his knees and begs, you stifle a laugh and moves your hands to tell him to stop. he begs even harder, you shook your head and told him to stop.

"Fine, let's go to The Grill." You replied, while dusting yourself off.

"YES!" Damon screams in joy, runs out of the room and rushing down the stairs. "Come on, I'll buy."

I bag my bag from the chair thats in the corner and walked out  of the room. I meet Damon outside and said, "Please we both know that you are going to compel the workers to get it for free and the only time you pay for anything is when Donavan works."

Damon gets up from the bar and to answer his phone. He gestures that he'll come back. You nod your head and went back on eating your fries and drink your soda.

"Hey" I heard a voice call me, I turn around to see my next door neighbor. I smiled and gave him a small wave, then turn around to face the bartender. Thinking that he will walk away, he slide across from you on the other seat.

"Did you came here alone? "He questions while startling you, placing your hand on your chest to reassure yourself. you rolled your eyes and place a sweet smile on your face, before you could twist yourself to face him. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and gives you a tight squeeze. Grimacing from the interaction, you began praying that maybe Damon could come and save you. If there is one thing that you absolutely hate is when that you do not know comes up and touches you. You only have ever allowed your friends and family to hold you in their arms or touch (in a respectable way of course). But your neighbor is not one of those people, you laughed it off.

"I'm not alone." You replied to him as you take a sip of your drink.  Your neighbor raises his brow and looks around to see your "companion".

"You know you don't have to lie to me." He says while chuckling, "you could've been honest with me. It no shame on coming here alone."

You open your mouth in shock, not this man being such an asshole. Why is Damon taking so long. Who the hell is he talking to and why of all times did they decide to talk to him at this moment.

"Tell me beautiful, what are doing here all on your lonesome."

I hold back a scoff and I have gave him a tight smile. "Like I told you before, I am here with someone but he went outside to take a call."

His grin widens and shakes his head, not believe a word that is coming out of your mouth. He raises his brow and scoffs, he wraps an arm around your shoulders. He leans in closer to you, you tried to push back but he wouldn't budge.

"Come on, baby."

"Can you remove your arm and give me space." You replied as you try to remove him from your space.

Damon walks back into the Mystical Grill, he told everyone to not call him. That he was going to spend all the remaining time with you before you left to New Orleans. But no! Little Gilbert got in trouble and they need him, so Damon replied back that in the meantime they can conjure up a plan to save Pocahontas. He will spend his time with you and personally hand you to Klaus or Elijah.

He looks at the bar to see you and a man talking. A bubble of anger burst through his chest and he began stalking towards the two of you. Why does he feel this way? He shouldn't feel jealousy towards this interaction but he does. He hates how close this man is towards you. Now that he fully opens his eyes, he could tell you uncomfortable posture. He quickens his paces and puts his hand on his arm and removes it.

"How about you step back?" Damon barks out, with a menacing look on his face.

The man stumbles aback and replies, "Leave us alone man. I saw her first."

Damon becomes with anger and pushes him away from you.

"She came with me. She is mine."

The stumbling man lands on the floor from the push that Damon gave him. He looks up to give him a glare but the Salvatore man bought out his fangs out to scare the coward. Upon seeing his face, he scuttles out in fear of The Hrill.

Damon turn to look at you in worry and begin to check for an injury.

"Are you okay?" He questions as he cups your face.

"I'm yours?"

Damon smiles and mutters to you, "Your mine and I'm yours." As he leans down to give you a kiss.

In the background you can see Matt Donovan take a picture to send to the group with a simple text saying finally!

[wholoveseggs]

Hello lovely! I was wondering if you could whip up a little something about the reader because self conscious and comparing herself to Hayley maybe she’s a little chubby and such so when Hayley comes back into their lives she’s a little worried. But Elijah always the gentleman comforts her with some good ol sex 🤪🤪 if not feel free to ignore 💕

Reminder

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Your relationship with Elijah feels like its unravelling with the arrival of Hayley and a cutting nickname from Klaus. Fortunately, Elijah knows just what to do to make you feel loved.

♡♡ Thanks for the request, this one goes out to all my thick thighed brothers & sisters. May you all find an Elijah to suffocate between them. ♡♡

4.5k words - Warnings: smut, face sitting, Klaus being cruel, Elijah being sweet.

When you are a vampire time passes differently, things change around you, and sometimes you feel like the odd man out. When you first met Elijah everything was different. Culture, language, even the food and the music. He was captivated by you instantly, he whisked you away from your difficult life and kept you in his bed. Making sure you knew how much he loved every inch of your body. He was your first and only lover, the man who turned you and showed you a world you never thought was possible.

Centuries had passed with just the two of you, then Klaus returned to your lives and with him came the lovely Hayley Marshall. Pregnant, doe eyed and absolutely beautiful.

You weren't jealous at first, Elijah was devoted to you and only you. His heart was yours, that was all you cared about. But Klaus brought his chaos with him, and your noble lover had to keep Hayley safe. She needed to be protected, so Elijah spent more time with her and less with you.

You were alone, and it left a hollow feeling in your chest. You felt forgotten and unloved. Elijah did his best to spend time with you, but it wasn't enough.

Then your mind started playing cruel tricks on you, making you see Hayley and Elijah together. She was so pretty, her body was tall and thin, while yours was plump and soft. You had nightmares of Elijah touching her, kissing her, making her moan his name.

It made you want to throw up.

The whole thing made you feel irrational and insecure, Elijah loved you, he told you all the time, but still the thoughts lingered.

It wasn't until Klaus gave you a certain nickname, that it truly got under your skin.

Little wolf he would purr, calling Hayley to him, the words fell off his tongue like honey. It was such an affectionate term, one with many layers of meaning. It was beautiful and sweet, and Klaus seemed so proud to call her this.

But then there was his nickname for you, Elijah's little cherub. 

It was not meant as an endearment, but as an insult. Klaus was right, you did look a little like a cherub, soft, round cheeks, and a full, thick body. It hurt you, even if you tried not to let it get to you. You told yourself that Klaus wasn't important, his opinion didn't matter. But the words he spoke stuck in your mind.

Everything was going fine, you had mastered keeping your insecurities under wraps, until Klaus and Elijah announced that they were throwing a ball. 

It was Elijah's first time hosting one since the two of you moved to New Orleans. He was a natural at hosting parties, he knew just how to make everyone feel welcome. It was a trait you didn't have. You were too quiet and reserved, people would get bored with you and leave. Elijah was the life of the party, everyone wanted to be around him. You were afraid you would ruin it for him.

You never felt good in gowns, you felt big and bulky. The ones you tried on just made you look worse. You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, you looked like an overstuffed pillow. There was no way you could go out in public like this. You even dug out an old corset to try and make yourself look smaller. It just made your breasts spill out over the top. You were mortified and threw the thing in the garbage. You were starting to wonder what Elijah saw in you.

When he entered your bedroom, you were sitting on the bed, resigning yourself to the dress that you knew didn't suit you. He had been busy with the ball, and hadn't noticed your sour mood. He was all smiles, telling you how beautiful you would look in your dress, and how proud he was to have you by his side. He was dressed impeccably as always, and you felt frumpy and out of place. How could you possibly look good next to him?

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes," you replied in a small voice, not wanting to burden him with your troubles.

You walked downstairs and the guests began to arrive, all the while Elijah's hand rested on the small of your back. He left you to go greet some guests and you spotted Klaus. He grinned and you saw the flash of his dimples as he made his way over to you. You knew he was going to make a comment, you dreaded hearing what it was going to be.

"Hello, little cherub," he smirked, and your heart sank.

"Please don't call me that," you whispered, fidgeting with the fabric of your dress.

"Why ever not? You do look like one," he said, his eyes roaming your body.

"Klaus, stop it," you warned, not wanting to deal with his teasing.

"My brother certainly does seem fond of you, which is odd, considering his type usually looks more like..." he gestured to Hayley, who was across the room talking with Elijah.

You frowned, trying to swallow the insecurity bubbling up, but Klaus still noticed, "Did I hit a nerve?"

"No, why would you?" you lied, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"Don't be too upset, cherub, you may not be his usual type, but he seems to enjoy the extra cushion."

His words hit like a punch to the gut. You couldn't believe he would say something like that. It was true that Elijah was quite fit and lean, while you were much softer and thicker. It made you insecure and now that he pointed it out, it felt even worse. You looked over at Elijah, who was talking to Hayley, they looked so good together, she was a perfect match for him.

"You really are an ass," you told him.

He chuckled and said, "I never said it was a bad thing, I think you are rather lovely,"

Elijah glanced up and saw the distress on your face. He immediately excused himself from his conversation and came to you. He could tell that something was bothering you.

"What did you do?" he asked Klaus.

"Me? Nothing," Klaus shrugged. "I was just complimenting your lovely companion," he continued, smirking at you.

Elijah's attention was on you now, he knew something was wrong. His brow furrowed, he could sense your anguish. But before he could say anything Hayley joined the group, her eyes moving from Klaus, to Elijah, and then settling on you.

"Oh, hello," she said, trying to sound friendly.

You nodded politely, not wanting to be impolite, despite the way her presence made you feel. It wasn't her fault, she had no idea you felt this way.

Elijah's hand brushed over the small of your back, trying to comfort you. He didn't realize it, but his touch was having the opposite effect, it was making you even more self conscious. Did he feel obligated to touch you like that? Did he do it for show? Was he just being polite? Your brain was coming up with every reason possible to feel terrible.

You didn't know how much longer you could stay here, watching them, surrounded by a sea of beautiful people, feeling more alone than ever.

You looked over at Elijah, and saw him gazing at you. His eyes were filled with adoration, but it was hard for you to believe it. The voice in your head kept repeating, that Klaus was right, he doesn't really love you, he's just too polite to say anything.

"I was hoping to get a proper tour of the house," Hayley said, interrupting your thoughts, "I've never seen the upstairs rooms, will you show me y/n?"

The question caught you off guard, you had no interest in spending time with her, and it felt like she was just being polite. You wanted to say no, but that would have been rude. So instead you smiled and nodded, following her out of the ballroom and into the hall.

You led her upstairs and she stopped, her eyes scanning the pictures on the wall. Her fingers gently brushed over the frames, and she pointed out an old portrait of the Mikaelson Family.

"God, they are all so beautiful," she sighed, and you knew she was right. Rebekah was stunning, Klaus had a wild, handsome charm, and Elijah was a classic, elegant beauty. They were all perfection, and you had no idea what they were doing with you.

"Is that Freya?" she asked, pointing at another portrait, "she's stunning,"

You nodded, feeling awkward. This was the last place you wanted to be.

Hayley smiled, turning her attention back to the wall, and continued walking. You trailed behind, feeling out of place, and unsure of what to say. Hayley stopped in front of a particular painting, a portrait of you and Elijah. She smiled, and you felt your heart skip, it was your favorite portrait of the two of you.

"You two look so in love," she said, and your stomach twisted.

"Yes, we are," you replied, trying to sound sincere, when really all you wanted to do was cry.

"How did the two of you meet?" she asked.

"He turned me in the 16th century, I was his seamstress," you explained, smiling a little.

Hayley looked at you with surprise, her eyebrows raised, "You fixed up his suits?"

"Well, he wasn't exactly wearing suits back then, but he's always been very fashionable. He liked the way I stitched his shirts," you told her.

"How fast did you two fall in love?"

You bit your lip, and answered, "Well, he persued me for quite a while before I agreed to be with him,"

"Why? Were you scared?" she asked, a smile playing at her lips.

"No, not exactly," you blushed, looking down at the floor.

"Well, what was it?" she asked, genuinely curious.

You gave Hayley a skeptical look, women that looked like her never thought about these kinds of things.

"I mean, he's so gorgeous, and I'm..."

You looked down at your body, your mind conjuring up a list of flaws. Hayley could see the change in your demeanor, she could sense your discomfort. She stepped closer, her hands coming to rest on your arms.

"There's nothing wrong with you, I think you're pretty," she smiled, her hands giving your arm a comforting squeeze.

Your eyes darted to the floor, and you felt the blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Thank you, Hayley," you murmured.

"And Elijah thinks the same thing, I've seen the way he looks at you," she added, her voice taking on a more serious tone.

You glanced up and saw the truth in her eyes, there was a softness, and a hint of jealousy.

"Thank you," you said, a blush rising on your cheeks.

"Of course," she smiled, "I hope I can find a man who looks at me the way Elijah looks at you,"

The words hung in the air, and you couldn't help but ask, "How does he look at me?"

"Like you are the most beautiful thing in the world," she replied, and her voice sounded wistful.

She turned her gaze to the portraits and continued her exploration. You followed, and as you got closer to the end, Hayley paused, her gaze lingering on the portrait of Klaus.

"I hope our child has his dimples," she sighed.

"And not his ego," you teased, and her face split into a grin.

"That's fair," she laughed, her hand falling on the slight bump of her belly.

You continued your tour of the house, showing her the rest of the rooms, and trying to keep the conversation light. Hayley was kind, and didn't seem to notice your discomfort. When you returned to the ballroom, Elijah was standing with his brother, their heads bowed together, discussing something. He looked up when he saw you and his lips curled into a smile.

Hayley's eyes flicked to Elijah and then back to you, "See, there it is, that look,"

You blushed, and turned your head away. Elijah looked at you with love and affection, but your doubts still lingered.

"Did you enjoy the tour with the little cherub?" Klaus asked, his lips curling into a smirk.

Hayley gave him a warning look, her voice laced with an unspoken threat, "Don't call her that,"

Klaus held his hands up in surrender, but the damage was done, you felt so humilated and embarrassed, you had enough of Klaus and his cruel comments. You had enough of him constantly making you feel bad about yourself. He made it impossible for you to feel secure in your relationship. You felt uncomfortable in your dress, in your own skin, surrounded by people who were objectively better than you in every possible way.

"I'm going to bed," you announced, your voice quiet.

Elijah's brow furrowed, and he reached out to grasp your hand but you pulled away.

"I'm tired," you said, turning on your heel and marching out of the ballroom.

Elijah's eyes were locked on your retreating form, a frown on his face.

"Why did you call her that?" Elijah asked his brother.

"It's nothing," Klaus shrugged, a grin spreading across his face, "she's just a little sensitive,"

Elijah's frown deepened, and he glanced over at Hayley.

"She's a sweet girl, just a little insecure," Hayley sighed.

"Insecure about what?" Elijah asked.

Hayley glanced at Klaus, and he shrugged.

"She's just not really comfortable with herself," Hayley finally said, giving Klaus a pointed look.

He had no shame, his grin only grew wider, and he said, "Come on, she is rather plump, isn't she?"

"But she's so sweet and adorable," Hayley added, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.

Elijah's jaw tightened, and his expression darkened, he looked back and forth between both of them.

"You had no right to say those things to her," he told Klaus, his voice laced with anger. "She has a difficult time when it comes to seeing her own worth, you know that, she's been struggling with these issues since the day we met," Elijah continued.

"It's nothing, Elijah," Klaus shrugged, "she'll get over it, she's probably crying into her pillow right now."

The image of you, curled up in bed, sobbing, broke Elijah's heart. He clenched his fists and his eyes narrowed. Klaus really did go too far this time, he really upset you. Elijah would make sure it never happened again.

"Excuse me," he muttered, glaring at his brother before turning around and storming out of the ballroom.

Once you were safely locked away in your bedroom, you sobbed, and the tears wouldn't stop. You had done your best not to show anyone your jealousy and anger, but now everyone knew how pathetic and insecure you really were.

You didn't hear the door open or close, you didn't know Elijah was in the room until his arms were around you, holding you tight against his chest. He didn't speak, and he didn't make you look at him. He simply held you and let you cry until you had no tears left.

Once your sobs had subsided he tilted your head up and kissed your cheeks, catching every stray tear with his lips. He wiped the rest away with his thumb, his dark eyes were filled with worry.

"What happened, love?" he asked. "Tell me what's wrong."

You looked at him, feeling foolish and embarrassed. He had no idea you had been feeling this way. No one did, but now it was too late. You took a deep breath and forced the words out.

"What is it that you see in me?" you blurted out, your face red.

Elijah frowned, looking completely taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

You sighed, frustrated with his cluelessness. "I mean, look at me! I'm not exactly a supermodel."

Elijah chuckled and cupped your cheek, his hand was so warm and soft. "I'm looking," he said, his gaze raked over you and it made you blush.

"I don't understand," he continued, looking into your eyes. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

You huffed and tried to look away, but he held your chin. "I am serious. Why would you ever doubt my attraction to you?"

You bit your lip, still not sure if you should tell him the truth. "It's just...Hayley is so gorgeous, and tall and thin. Then Klaus just calls me your cherub, like I'm some stupid child."

Elijah's gaze softened and he shook his head. "Darling, Klaus was trying to get a rise out of you, don't let him get in your head."

"But he's right... Look at me, compared to her, and Klaus, and the rest of your family. I'm not even that attractive," you muttered, avoiding his eyes.

Elijah frowned and took your hand, placing it on his chest. "Can you feel that?"

You nodded, your hand could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart.

"It's yours," he said softly.

He kissed you, and your heart fluttered, feeling lighter already. His hands slid down your back and gripped your ass, he pulled you closer and you gasped. His tongue slipped into your mouth and teased yours, tasting you.

His hand moved lower and he pulled your dress up, his fingers trailed over the lace of your panties, feeling the warmth and wetness.

"I will tell you this once," he whispered, his teeth grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You are perfect."

His hand dipped into your panties and stroked you, making you moan. "So wet, all for me."

You gasped and pressed your face against his shoulder.

"Tell me who this belongs to," he demanded.

"You, Elijah, it's yours," you whimpered, grinding against his fingers.

"Yes, that's right," he purred. "This sweet, little cunt is mine. Only mine."

He pushed you onto the bed and pulled your dress over your head. He groaned when he saw you wearing the matching set of black, lacy bra and panties. 

He started kissing and marking his way down your body, starting at your neck and moving lower, biting and sucking as he went. You gasped and moaned as he reached your breasts. He undid the front clasp and licked a stripe up the middle, before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, and teasing the other with his fingers.

"These are so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, sucking until they were hard peaks. "So big and soft," he hummed.

You ran your fingers through his hair, needing something to hold onto. You whimpered and arched up against him, the feeling of his hot mouth was driving you insane.

You squealed and tugged on his hair a little harder when you felt him bite down. He chuckled and sucked hard, letting your breasts go with a loud pop. They were covered in rapidly healing hickeys, and he looked very pleased with himself.

He kissed down your stomach, admiring your soft belly. He cupped it, and squeezed your thighs, making you gasp.

"My perfect girl," he mumbled against your hips.

He hooked his thumbs into your panties and slid them down your legs, you sat up on your elbows to see what he was doing.

He slid them off and leaned down, kissing and sucking on your inner thighs.

"These perfect thighs, squeezing my head when you cum on my tongue," he said, his stubble scratched and tickled you. You let out a breathy giggle as his hands roamed your body, gripping your waist and thighs. He growled with satisfaction, biting the flesh and sucking marks into your soft skin.

"Elijah, stop teasing," you groaned, becoming impatient.

He chuckled and suddenly pulled you into his lap. He held you close and looked into your eyes.

"I love every bit of your body," he hummed, holding you firmly against him. "Every perfect curve, and every soft inch.”

He gave your tummy a small squeeze and kissed your pouting lips. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.

You blushed and avoided his gaze. He cupped your cheek and tilted your head up, his fingers traced your features, his gaze was filled with adoration.

"Those beautiful lips, those gorgeous eyes, these perfect cheeks, your soft, little nose," he cooed, kissing your face between each word.

You giggled and tried to hide your face in your hands, feeling a little overwhelmed.

"And this ass," he said as he kneaded the flesh, he lifted you up and smacked it, making you yelp. "It should be in the Louvre."

He kissed you again and slowly grinded against you, his hands explored your body, caressing and squeezing. 

He scooted down the bed and laid back down, looking up at you with a wicked grin. He kept his gaze locked with yours as he pushed your ass forward, signaling he wanted you to sit on his face.

"Elijah, no, I-," you gasped, completely embarrassed. You felt so shy and nervous, not wanting him to look at you up close like that.

Elijah sat up and kissed you. "Do you think you will hurt me?" He asked, his lips brushing against yours.

"No," you breathed.

"Then what's the problem?" He asked, brushing his knuckles over your cheek.

You let out a shaky breath and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I don't know."

Elijah looked into your eyes, a kind smile on his lips. "If it kills me, you have discovered quite a loophole when it comes to killing an original," he said, gesturing to his face and grinning.

You giggled and pecked his lips. You closed your eyes and tried to calm yourself, it was hard to explain your nerves. You'd been intimate with Elijah before, more times than you could count, but you couldn't shake your insecurities.

Elijah sensed your hesitation, he kissed your neck softly and leaned up to whisper in your ear. "Please sit on my face, I want to eat your sweet pussy until you scream."

His filthy words made you shudder and you knew you wouldn't be able to say no, so you bit your lip and took a deep breath.

"Okay," you whispered.

Elijah laid back down and gave your hips a gentle tug, pulling you into position.

Your entire body went hot when he spread your thighs apart. He kissed the insides, making you moan.

"There's a good girl," he hummed as his lips danced across your hot skin. He positioned you over his face and you could feel his breath ghosting over your most sensitive area.

He looked up at you and gave you an encouraging smile. "Sit,"

You bit your lip, but slowly lowered yourself down, inch by inch. He grabbed your ass and pulled you down fast, making you let out a squeak of surprise.

The heat pooled between your thighs as Elijah nosed at your center, teasing the soft skin. You moaned and tangled your fingers in his hair, rocking against him.

You felt a sudden sting as he nipped your thigh. "Stay still, let me do the work."

He licked a stripe up your core, groaning as he tasted you. He spread you open with his fingers, pressing his tongue flat against you, he licked long and slow. He buried his face deeper, lapping and sucking at your clit.

He licked and sucked and kissed, moaning against your soaked cunt. Your eyes rolled back, you tightened your grip on his hair and cried out. The noises he made were obscene, you could hear his mouth sucking at you, and it only made you wetter.

He looked up at you, his dark hair was a mess and his lips were covered in your slick.

"You taste divine, my love," he groaned. "So sweet, just for me."

He sucked hard on your clit, his hand reaching around and grabbing your ass roughly, squeezing and slapping the soft flesh. He growled and began fucking you with his tongue. His hands spreading you open and pressing his face as deep as possible. He buried himself in your pussy, licking, and sucking like it was his last meal. You came hard on his tongue, your thighs squeezing his head tight as you fell apart.

He soothed your flushed skin with his tongue, sucking on your clit once more, making you twitch. You tugged on his hair, gently pulling him away, not able to take the overstimulation.

You moved back and sat on his chest, trying to catch your breath. Elijah caught your wrist and brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. He was covered in your wetness, and his chin was glistening. He grinned at you, completely satisfied with himself.

You snorted and leaned down, kissing him softly. You hummed, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Elijah rolled you onto your back and pinned your wrists above your head. He pressed his forehead against yours, smiling as you stared at him with a blissful, dazed expression.

"You are so perfect," he breathed, nuzzling his nose against yours.

He kissed down the side of your face and nibbled on your ear, his free hand trailing down your body, cupping and squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts, your hips, your thighs.

"Every inch of you," he whispered.

"Elijah," you sighed, blushing from the attention.

Elijah hummed and reached down to his pants, undoing his belt and pushing them down his legs. You reached up and helped him undress, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor.

You pulled him close and kissed him, wrapping your arms and legs around him. You could feel him pressed against you, his thick cock hot and heavy against your thigh.

"Look at what you do to me," he purred, kissing down your neck.

He reached down and guided himself to your entrance, rubbing the head against you. He slid inside easily, your body opening up for him.

He rocked his hips slowly, grinding his pelvis against yours, making you moan and grip his shoulders tight.

His eyes locked with yours as he fucked you slow and deep. You clung to him, your nails leaving marks on his skin.

"You see how perfectly we fit?" He groaned, taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. "Look at us,"

You both looked down, watching as he thrusted in and out of you, his slick cock disappearing into your body.

"My love, my beautiful girl," he moaned, his voice thick with emotion. "I need you to understand, no one else will ever come close to comparing. You are everything to me."

He buried his face in your neck and kissed and nipped the soft skin. "This perfect body, your heart, your soul, I will never find anyone like you."

You whined and clawed at his back, you could feel the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, you were overwhelmed and so grateful.

"I love you," you choked out, burying your face in his shoulder.

"And I love you," he breathed.

He held you close and fucked you until you were trembling, tears streaming down your cheeks, clinging to him as you climaxed, shaking and crying his name.

He finished not long after, groaning and gasping as he spilled his release inside you, holding you tight.

You both laid there, panting and covered in sweat. You felt light and dizzy, your muscles felt like jelly and it took all your strength to not fall asleep right then and there.

"I want you to know, I mean every word I say to you," Elijah said quietly, kissing your temple.

"I know, Elijah," you hummed, smiling up at him. "Thank you for reminding me."

"Always."

"And Elijah?" You smiled and nuzzled his neck.

"Yes, my love?"

"I think your ass is the one that should be in the Louvre."

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[evenmyhivemindisempty]

What are Boyd's characters dream holiday destination?

Steve Murphy: Myrtle beach! It’s the ideal budget golf trip - there’s tons of great courses nearby, plus he can relax at the beach once he’s had his daily fill of driving himself insane trying to perfect his swing! I bet Steve’s dream vacation is a solo one - he just wants to chill by himself with some cocktails and trade stressing about work for stressing about his short game.

Donald Pierce: Madrid! It’s warm and pretty and it’s got excellent seafood! There’s tons to do, beautiful landmarks to see, sangria to get drunk on, and it’s damn romantic with a date! He’d absolutely get into watching bullfighting too. Pierce doesn’t really wanna go to a country where he doesn’t speak the language, but I do think he’s got enough familiarity with Spanish to get by.

Cap Hatfield: Aw, Cap would be so into Iceland: soaking in the hot springs, hiking along the elf trails, and especially seeing the northern lights. He bundles up with a thermos of hot chocolate and gazes in awe!!

Clement Mansell: He’d absolutely choose New Orleans! It’s the birthplace of jazz, but it’s also got a great hip-hop, rock & roll, and metal scene! Clement would have a great time enjoying the music, the food (although he’s picky about his gumbo!), and the drinking.

The Corinthian: Oh, Vegas for sure. It’s glitzy and gorgeously tacky, and it’s got surprisingly excellent food. He can play it as high class or as trashy as he wants, and on the same night too! He loves exploring all the excess the strip has to offer, having the best meals, picking up boys at clubs, and then killing them!

Eli Klaber: Calistoga in California wine country! I don’t think Klaber would want to leave the country, but he does want to feel pampered and luxurious. He’d adore staying at an all-inclusive spa resort; he’d get to travel around the area on wine tours, and then come back for a mud bath or a hot stones massage.

Ty Shaw: Ooh Ty would go for a Caribbean cruise. Either a family friendly one if he goes with the whole Shaw clan, or one of the singles sex cruises if he’s alone. Either way, he’s gaining 10lbs from shrimp and coming back with an STI. He’s having the best fucking time, and taking so many pictures. He likes the stuff on the ship as much as the places they stop at, too.

Quinn McKenna: You know? Weirdly, I bet it’s Kyoto. I think he’d find it really peaceful, hiking through the forests, exploring the temples and shrines, and you can’t convince me Quinn isn’t obsessed with sushi! Also, high-key I think he’d love a place where almost nobody speaks English - no chitchat!

[zot3-flopped]

Two months prior to its release, would-be doyens of Swift’s Tortured Poets Department have taken its barbed track listing very literally, leading to intense, often nefarious speculation regarding Swift’s six-year relationship with the British actor Joe Alwyn, which seemingly ended in early 2023.

The album’s title, revealed onstage at the Grammy awards, was quickly linked to a December, 2022 interview with Alwyn and Paul Mescal in which they revealed that Andrew Scott started their group chat, the Tortured Man Club. (“It hasn’t had much use recently,” Alwyn said: you wonder if it’s undergone a recent revival.) Swift revealed the leading track list a day later: My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys, So Long, London, I Can Do It With a Broken Heart, The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived, to name a few, sending fans wild with speculation.

Swift, obviously, has every right to sing about her relationships however she wants to (no apologies to Eamonn Holmes). But in the absence of any music, some fans have spread baseless, dangerous and even libellous allegations about Alwyn’s conduct (which, for obvious reasons, I can’t repeat).

Last month, a brief fan-shot video of them dining in a New Orleans restaurant in December, 2022 was recirculated online with AI-doctored audio that made it sound as though Alwyn is saying “you don’t get to tell me about sad,” a line printed on the back of one of the new album’s four physical editions.

When Swift recently told a crowd that she was “lonely” when writing her 2020 album Folklore – some of which was co-written with Alwyn during the pandemic, a lonely time for most – fans took that as further confirmation of their theories. A live medley of three songs that all appear to reference cheating threw petrol on the fire.

Swift could make this stop. She is no stranger to airing her displeasure with the likes of Ticketmaster, Scooter Braun, Spotify and Apple Music, and, occasionally, politicians. Before she released Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) last year, she gave a veiled speech at one Eras tour date effectively asking fans not to go after John Mayer, whom she dated when she was 19 and he was 32 and is understood to be the subject of that album’s Dear John.

“I am not putting this album out so you should feel the need to defend me on the internet against someone you think I wrote a song about 14m years ago when I was 19,” she said in Minneapolis.

But for whatever reason – and obviously, no member of the public has any idea what transpired between her and Alwyn so far – this time she has opted to stay quiet.

Establishing a baseline for conduct is neither commercially risky nor unprecedented: just last week, Ariana Grande said, after the release of her post-divorce album Eternal Sunshine: “Anyone that is sending hateful messages to the people in my life based on your interpretation of this album is not supporting me and is absolutely doing the polar opposite of what I would ever encourage”.

It feels like the endgame of a cat-and-mouse act that’s gone too far. Swift’s gestures towards meaning have led every single thing she does to be considered a kind of marketing, a clue to be solved. It leaves a superstar who’s usually hot on her messaging open to misinterpretation: hints about her personal life are turned by some fans into witch-hunts for anyone perceived to have wronged her; her current silence on politics allows politicians to invoke her name, from the New South Wales police commissioner quoting Swift’s anti-haters lines while defending police to Joe Biden joking that the matter of her apparently much sought-after endorsement is “classified” on Late Night With Seth Meyers.

When Swift made a blandly neutral handwritten post encouraging US citizens to register to vote on Super Tuesday, some fans speculated that her unusual left-leaning handwriting was the real indication of her loyalties – suggesting they’re so starved of substance that they’re reading into empty messages because of this dynamic she has established. (The more likely explanation is the insane way she holds a pen.)

For Swift to only direct fans as to her wishes when it suits her, it weakens her status as a truth-teller. If the comparisons with Dickinson mean anything, she might remember that nothing in the world has as much power as a word feels like the endgame of a cat-and-mouse act that’s gone too far.

[svltzmans]

message in a bottle - h.m.

a/n: hello hello!! i'm currently working on all the requests in my inbox and this one is so cute!! i love writing cute little fluffy romantic stories <3 i hope y'all like them!!

warnings: none :)

hope's yearly trip to new orleans to visit her family was always something she looked forward to. as much as she loved living in mystic falls and being surrounded by close friends, she always yearned for the part of her that was missing.

however, there had been some major changes in her life since the last time she visited new orleans.

she had fallen deeply for someone that it would be difficult to leave, even for a little while.

y/n was absolutely thrilled that her girlfriend got to visit her family. she knows how close they are and how little they got to see each other in person.

however, she knows it won't be easy to go without seeing hope for a full week. to say the couple is attached at the hip would be an understatement.

y/n's first day without hope was full of distraction. she did every activity she could, desperately trying to avoid feeling hope's absence.

hope's drive to new orleans was uneventful, except for her attempts to zone out and pretend y/n was in the passenger seat.

when hope finally arrives and greets her family, she immediately feels empty without y/n's presence. she brushes it off, trying to reconnect with her parents and aunts.

while in the middle of a conversation with klaus, a text pops up on hope's phone.

hey, love. i miss you. how is it in new orleans?

hope smiles as soon as she realizes the text is from y/n.

"what's the smile for, darling?" klaus questions, seeing that hope is profusely blushing as she types a response.

"just a funny text from a friend," she responds, trying to control her excitement about hearing from y/n.

hope hadn't told her family that her and y/n were dating. it wasn't that she didn't want to, but she just didn't feel ready. she didn't want her visit to only be focused on her love life, especially because her dating a girl might be a surprise.

klaus dismisses the subject, but hope can tell he's suspicious. she silently curses her tendency to blush.

so far so good. miss you more. can i call you later? wanna hear your voice.

hope finally sends her response to y/n, unable to hold back another smile.

rebekah had prepared an extravagant meal for hope's arrival, and hope thought it was entirely overkill.

nonetheless, she was grateful, and she sat at the table surrounded by klaus, hayley, freya, rebekah, marcel, kol, and elijah.

the group effortlessly falls into conversation as if they had never been apart, sharing laughs and stories.

hope debates telling them about y/n, but stops herself, wanting to properly introduce them to her when the time comes.

when hope finishes her plate, she's quick to excuse herself to her room. she insists that she's tired from the travel, although her overly happy demeanor suggests otherwise.

as soon as she closes the door behind her, she dials y/n's number.

"hey, darling," y/n's voice sounds velvety through the receiver, and hope can't help but to kick her feet a bit in her bed.

"hi, beautiful. how was your day?"

"it was okay. it would have been so much better with you. how's your family?"

"loud, but good so far," hope laughs, hearing y/n's giggle from the other end of the line.

"i can't believe it hasn't even been a whole day yet. i miss you like crazy."

"you're just obsessed with me, aren't you?" hope teases, giggling at y/n's affection.

"guilty as charged."

as the group continues to talk in the kitchen down the hall, they can't help but to tune into hope's conversation.

they blame their enhanced sense of hearing, but their interests are all piqued by the romantic nature of hope and y/n's conversation.

"that sounds a bit more than friendly," freya breaks the silence, smirking knowingly.

"you would know, wouldn't you?" rebekah teases, and the table erupts in laughter.

"should we say something?" marcel questions, almost feeling guilty for continuing to listen.

"she'll tell us on her own time, right?" hayley adds, trying to relieve marcel's guilt.

like clockwork, hope walks down the hall, having just ended her call with y/n.

"guys, can i tell you something?"

the group all nods in unison, already sure they know what hope is going to say.

"i have a girlfriend."

"it seems you've forgotten we all have vampire hearing, love," klaus responds, earning a dirty look from hayley. "what! it's true!"

hope turns a deep shade of red, realizing that her entire family had heard her flirt with her girlfriend over the phone.

after a few seconds of silence, the entire mikaelson family burts into laughter, as if they were all aware of the awkwardness of the situation.

"love you, hope," elijah smiles, giving hope an encouraging pat on her back.

"love you too."