#heartbeat of new orleans

[samsdisneydiary]

Discover the Heartbeat of New Orleans, Disneyland's Living Mural

Discover the Heartbeat of New Orleans, Disneyland's Living Mural

[mermaidsirennikita]

Do you think St Vincent would have lost his shit if he wouldn't have prevented the bullet to hit Evie?

Yes I think his duty as a romance hero is to wither up and die if that happens and I am being 100% serious

[magicalqueennightmare]

The Hybrid's Little Witch

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Just a one shot of Klaus and his little witch giving into their feelings

Fluffy (ish) smut

“Don't you fucking turn your back on me!” You were so angry you were nearly shaking. You could feel your powers rolling just under your skin, threatening to slip out but you maintained your hold on it, telling yourself no matter the anger you held that the hybrid in front of you was indeed friend not foe. 

Klaus spun to face you and a part of you was surprised to have blue eyes looking back at you. You'd expected the golden eyes of his beast to be looking back at you. “Why are you even still in New Orleans? You did your job little witch. Hayley and Hope are safe, any coven that was a threat to them have been eliminated”

“I don't answer to you Klaus and you don't own New Orleans. Hayley called me here to help protect her daughter or are you forgetting she's one third witch? She needs someone here to help with all aspects of who she is as she grows and Freya shouldn't be forced to stay in one place. I'm not leaving”

In a single heartbeat he was in front of you, hands on either side of your head effectively boxing you in if you didn't want to use your powers on him. A portion of your brain registered the fact that you had a wall at your back and a hybrid in front of you but the majority of your brain refused to cower. 

He wanted anger, wanted rage, you'd give it to him. While it was true things had calmed down but after everything you knew being complacent was a mistake. He leaned down close enough that his lips nearly brushed your ear as he spoke “Her daughter? Are you forgetting that Hope is my daughter as well?” 

You turned to look at him noticing how close your faces were before raising your chin defiantly to look him dead in the eye “and are you forgetting the number of times I've risked my life to ensure she was born, to ensure she stays alive and healthy? I'm owed a little slack even from you”

Damn him a smirk slipped onto his face as he said “Is that it little witch? You think I haven't shown you proper respect?” The last year came crashing down onto you at that moment, every time you'd faced a new threat, every moment you'd swallowed the pain so Hayley wouldn't know what protecting her and Hope was doing to you and every ounce of loneliness you'd felt your entire life mixed in with your anger. Anger that was now pointed at Klaus whether it was earned or not.

Your magic uncurled without you having to think about it and he stumbled back from you as if he'd been tased, hand splayed out across his chest. You felt a surge of pride mixed with a tiny bit of tension leaving your shoulders despite knowing you may very well be about to fight with the father of your best friend's child, the hybrid you were so damn attracted to yet refused to act on it.

“You haven't Klaus. I've done nothing but fight for your family since the moment I stepped foot in New Orleans. Yet you walk around like I'm a pet Hayley picked up and dragged home. I may not be as old as your family but I've seen hundreds of years pass. I could be anywhere in the world and I chose to be here. I get it, your past dealings with witches have been shit but I'm owed the respect I've earned even if you fucking hate me”

He rubbed his chest a moment and your eyes flickered towards the length of skin that showed from the unbuttoned henley, the long expanse of his neck and the curve of his collarbone distracting you. Jesus christ, the reasoning behind Hayley getting pregnant was crystal clear but you and he were hardly friends. He hated witches and that's what you were.

Another smirk slipped onto his face and he shook his head “That's where you're wrong, love. I don't hate you”  you scoffed not letting your guard down but curious as well “How am I wrong?” He took a step towards you and you shook your head so he stopped, holding both hands up to say he wasn't coming any closer. “I don't hate you. Quite the opposite in fact”

You let just enough of your magic seep out to make the air in the room thicken just slightly “Cut the shit Klaus and say what you mean” he looked you up and down before running his thumb across his bottom lip “I've been trying to ignore how much I want my child's Godmother” 

You felt your stomach flip “What?” He shrugged “You're beautiful, Intelligent, lovely with Hope. The fact that you're absolutely dangerous just adds to the allure. Hell if Elijah hadn't fallen for Hayley and Kol wasn't head over heels for a witch himself I'd have to fight them for your attention more so than I do as you being their friend”

“So, what baiting me into argument after argument was your form of flirting?” You zapped him again from pure frustration and he growled before moving faster than any other vampire you'd seen. He had you backed against a wall with your arms pinned over your head and was staring into your eyes “Tell me one time you don't want me as much as I want you little witch. That's all it takes” 

Your chest was heaving like you'd run a marathon and you knew he could hear your heartbeat but in that moment you didn't care to be embarrassed of it. He was right, you wanted him. “And if I do want you?” You asked with a slight smile. He returned your smile before saying “Then I do this” he caught your lips in a bruising kiss, flicking his tongue against yours and swallowing the moan that the action pulled out of you.

You struggled to free your hands but his grip held tight. He pulled back to look at your eyes “Tell me what you want” you swallowed twice before saying “I want you to fuck me Klaus, hard” the smile he gave you made heat shoot straight to your stomach “Thought you'd never ask” in one fluid motion he released your hands and scooped you up into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

—----------

You hooked your arms around his neck and he moved from your lips down across your jaw then to the sensitive flesh of your neck. He rolled his hips against yours and a gasp left you at feeling his hardening cock through the layers of jeans between it and your sensitive core. When he bit down just below your pulse point you moaned, fingers digging into his shoulders “Bed Klaus. You're not fucking me against a door dammit”

He chuckled against your skin “See? That dominating side of you. Can't wait to have you begging underneath me” You glared at him “I swear on everything” in a blur of movement he was up on the stairs and in his bedroom kicking the door shut with his foot then putting you down on your feet but backing you against the door in the same fluid motion. 

He was everywhere, lips and teeth teasing your neck and jaw, hands roaming across what of your body he could reach while his hips rutted into yours pulling low moans from you at the action.  One hand slid up to wrap around your throat as his mouth claimed yours. Your hands found his chest, clawing at his shirt, begging for more access to him “Eager are we?” He teased before leaning back from you enough to pull his shirt over his head and tossed it behind him. 

He reached for your shirt but stopped with his hands just shy of it. He glanced at your face for permission and the moment you nodded he pulled the shirt over your head and a grin slipped onto his face that made your knees weaken “Oh I'm going to enjoy this”  another quick kiss to your lips then he moved to your neck, biting down on the spot he previously had which made you moan his name.

—----------

Instead of stopping he continued down, when he got to your still clothed breasts he reached behind you with one hand. You felt the clasp give before your bra was pulled from your body and tossed somewhere in the room. He reached for one of your breasts, teasing the nipple between his fingertips. Your breath was already coming in fast pants. It'd been a little too long since you had sex and the feelings that the hybrid was bringing out of you with so little action so far was a bit alarming.

When he lowered his mouth to the other one, your back arched off the door. He barely grazed your nipple with his teeth but you felt your legs quiver. “Love, when was the last time someone touched you? Other than your own hands?” He murmured and you closed your eyes in an attempt to slow your breathing “Before I came to New Orleans”

You half expected to see teasing in his eyes when you opened yours but instead there was a hunger there “Then I'll have to make sure you're satisfied” you weren't sure what he meant before he sank to his knees in front of you. “Klaus” you tried to find your voice but he simply tapped your left leg “Lift your foot”

—------------

Within moments your boots and jeans were off your body leaving you in just a simple pair of black lace panties. “May I?” He asked and you nodded. He slid them off your legs and smiled up at you and gods the heat that flooded throughout your body at that moment could've torched the states between Louisiana and the Atlantic. 

He dropped one of your legs over his shoulders before his head dipped between your thighs. The first swipe of his tongue was tentative, testing. When your fingers burying themselves in his hair was the answer he dove in. He was like a man starved and he meant to devour you to feed the hunger. 

When his teeth grazed your clit you would've collapsed had it not been for his grip on you “Oh fuck Klaus” he added two fingers in with his tongue, curling them up to add pressure to that spot deep inside of you and that was all it took to push you over that edge. The burst of pleasure made your vision go soft around the edges. He worked you through your orgasm and only let up when you begged softly “Please Klaus, too much. Too much” 

He rocked back on his heels, keeping two fingers inside of you to tease at your still sensitive clit “Already begging? I thought more of you” you knew your words would fall flat considering your legs were shaking but you still felt the need to say “Fuck you Klaus”

He buried his fingers to the knuckles and you moaned loudly “I believe that's where we're headed love” he pulled his fingers out and held your gaze as he sucked them into his mouth, rolling his tongue around them “Heavenly”

—--------------

He stood and when he got to his feet he picked you up, leaving you no choice but to wrap your still shaking legs around his slim waist. He walked over to the bed and laid you down almost gingerly. You looked up and realized he was still wearing jeans “You're overdressed Mikaelson” he grinned “Then by all means, come relieve me of them”

You sat up and moved to the end of the bed, pulling him to you by the front of his jeans. You made quick work of the zipper, pushing them off his hips. He helped you kick them off along with his boots. He was left in a pair of black boxers and the way his cock was straining against the material made your mouth water. “Take what you want” he spoke and you slid your hand below the waistband of his boxers, wrapping around his hard cock.

He groaned lightly as you began to stroke him. When you pushed his boxers down to be able to lick a strip from the base of his cock up to the head, rolling your tongue around to collect the beads of precum leaking out. 

You sank your mouth down on him, taking as much of him as you could. When he hit the back of your throat you twisted your tongue around him as you worked your mouth.  You could feel his hips tense and knew he was trying to hold back from thrusting into your mouth. He spoke your name twice before stepping back to pull himself free of your lips. 

—-------------

“Get in the bed” you scooted up to the pillows and he smiled, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking it lazily as he took in the sight of you laid out completely bared in his bed. He licked his lips then climbed into the bed. 

There was almost an animalistic quality to him, a predator finally catching his prey. He started at your hips and worked his way up your body. You knew even with your healing you'd still be littered with marks from his lips for a day or two and something stirred inside you at the thought of carrying marks from Klaus. 

When he got to your mouth he caught your lips in a bruising kiss that made your fingers bury into his hair. You felt his hard cock against your inner thigh and pulled back from the kiss “Fuck me already Klaus” 

His hand slipped between you and you felt the head of his cock teasing at your entrance before he sank himself inside of you. The feeling of him stretching you caused you to close your eyes tightly. Klaus wasn't exactly small. After a moment the stretch gave way to pleasure. 

He peppered kisses across your jaw and chest until you opened your eyes and met his. He took that as a go ahead and pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back into you. You gasped and he grinned. “You wanted it hard little witch?”

You nodded “Please” he chuckled and rolled his hips in a tight circle, watching your face as he did so. “Quit teasing Hybrid” you warned and he nodded before setting a punishing pace.

You were so damn close to that edge and wanted nothing more than to fall over but Klaus slowed his pace forcing your eyes to fly open “What the fuck?” He shrugged “You want to come, keep your eyes on me little witch. I want to watch you fall apart” 

You nodded after a moment and he resumed the pace he knew you liked and when his fingers slipped between you to rub tight circles on your clit it took everything in you to keep your eyes open “Let me feel it” you felt that pressure burst and fell over that edge, your eyes watering in an urge to close them against the pleasure rolling through you. 

You could feel his hips falter slightly and knew he was close. He buried his face into your neck and you felt his fangs tease the skin there, not biting but just applying enough pressure to make you clench around him as he came burying himself deep inside of you. 

—-------------

When he drew back he smirked at you before catching your lips in one final kiss before pulling out of you. He moved to lay down next to you and pulled you over on his chest. “What now?” You asked once your breathing had returned to normal “Well this by far more enjoyable than fighting” 

You raised your eyes to him and laughed “Are you really proposing we start fucking regularly?” He shrugged “I want you, you apparently want me. Come on love it doesn't have to be some epic meant to be thing but this was enjoyable for us both and we have to get along for Hayley and Hope's sake” 

You shook your head and started to laugh but it turned into a yawn. “Get some sleep” he urged and even though you knew you should leave you found your eyes drifting shut. You were satisfied, warm and like it or not safe in Klaus’ arms.

[cinnamon-galaxies]

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲

(human!Alastor x f!reader drabble)

Masterlist

Some poetic and reminiscing thoughts from (human) Alastor about his darling-doe. This is unlike anything I've written before. Honestly, I’m not even sure what this is. I wrote it a while ago when I was severely sleep-deprived.

I know he's no longer human in this, but he's telling us about a time when he still was. That's why I tagged it as human!Alastor.

CW: Possessive thoughts, mention of murder and manipulation

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

I remember the day I first saw you so clearly as if it didn’t happen almost a hundred years ago – back then, when we were still human, nothing but mere people made of flesh and bone, born to live, and living to die. Oh, what a beautiful sight you were, so beautiful – the most beautiful creature of them all. Not only your face resembled the image of a goddess, but your soul shone so bright it made even the darkest of times turn day. You were a true angel sent from heaven, a kind soul and oh so fragile. Glancing into those beautiful doe eyes of yours made me want to ruin you. To take you with me, poison your every being and make you mine – and mine only.

It feels as if it was yesterday that you introduced yourself to me. That radiant smile on your lips, those long lashes framing those shining eyes like they’re the most valuable painting in this world, and I've lost myself in you. You made me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things, I didn’t even consider I was able to feel – because I never felt them before. I've heard those tales. Even read those tales about unconditional love. About how the heartbeat increases whenever you’re close to the one you desire. About how much you crave their touch, their voice, their love – completely and utterly devoted to the one person in this world. One out of billions of people. But I never dared to think I would ever feel the same. Did I feel the same? I was obsessed with you; wanted to possess you in every way possible. And when those full lips of yours parted and your angelic voice entered my ears for the first time, you already had it all. And I knew I wanted you to be mine – and mine only.

Were you fascinated by me? Oh, you were. I saw it on your face. In the tiniest details that betrayed your overly polite expression that you so strongly tried to keep professional. I saw that you were intrigued the very moment you laid your eyes on me. It was like fate had sent you to me. Like my mother in heaven twisted all the odds in my favor, just so I could meet you. Oh, the way you smiled at me. The way you looked at me. How your voice slightly raised when you spoke directly to me. It made my heart flutter and it filled me with an emotion I never thought to ever be able to feel my whole life. And I wanted you to be mine – and mine only.

We met again, after that night. More often than appropriate. In parks, at the bank of the Mississippi, at professional events and at a restaurant I so carefully chose. One that I knew would only serve the best of New Orleans’ cuisine. To make you acquainted with my home and my culture. To prepare you to be on my side. I saw you once, I saw you twice. I saw you an umpteenth times. And yet I was waiting for the perfect moment to ruin you – to make you mine – and mine only.

Were you as corrupted as I? Were you – beside your angel-like nature – capable to make the change, to become one like me, and sacrifice your very being to the darkness of twisted human nature? The desire to kill, the desire to hunt with you grew with every passing day. Day to day I've been waiting for the moment. For the perfect opportunity to make you see my true nature. To make you see my grim twisted morality, to make you see my darkest of secrets, to make you accept it with a smile, to make you succumb to your own darkness, to make you fall, to make you mine – and mine only.

The night we first shared a kiss felt like a dream. An oh so beautiful, yet so tragic dream – because I knew that once your lips touched mine, everything between us would change forever. I remember how you stood before me, much like the day we met, though that angelic smile of yours was replaced by a warmth that exceeded every ounce of adoration you gifted to me before. And then you leaned in, and we kissed. That feeling of your soft lips against mine wasn’t anything like I imagined before. It was so much more, an overwhelming explosion of fireworks. Oh, the hunger that roared on my inside, the need to pull you closer and take everything of you – in this very moment – was unbearable. But I waited. Because at this moment I already knew you were mine – and mine only.

Oh, you were my darling.

My darling-doe.

My angel.

My everything.

And now, I will make you fall.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

[awkward-walking-potato]

Would you do a request for Gambit with a partner with anxiety? I love fluff and I so don't feel like there's enough Remy fluff out there 😭

Steady as a Card in the Wind

The night air was warm, the sky above the New Orleans skyline clear, with stars twinkling faintly against the inky blackness. Remy LeBeau—better known as Gambit—sat on the balcony of his apartment, a deck of cards flipping effortlessly between his fingers. He loved the quiet moments like this, the times when the city seemed to settle into a peaceful hum, and he could just breathe.

But tonight, his mind wasn’t at ease. He glanced over his shoulder at the open door leading into the apartment, where you had retreated not too long ago. You had been quiet all evening, quieter than usual. The subtle signs of your anxiety had been there—your fidgeting hands, the way your eyes kept darting around the room as if looking for something to anchor you, and the way you’d withdrawn into yourself, your usual bright demeanor overshadowed by something heavier.

Remy sighed, setting the cards down on the small table beside him. He hated seeing you like this, hated that there was something gnawing away at your peace of mind, and that he didn’t know how to fix it. He had always prided himself on being able to read people, to charm his way through almost any situation, but when it came to you and your anxiety, he often felt helpless.

But he wasn’t about to let you suffer alone.

He stood up, slipping through the door and into the dimly lit living room. You were curled up on the couch, a blanket pulled around your shoulders even though the night was warm. You hadn’t turned on any lights, and the only illumination came from the soft glow of the streetlights outside.

“Chère,” Remy said softly, his voice a gentle caress in the stillness of the room. “You alright?”

You glanced up at him, trying to muster a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah… I’m fine, Remy. Just… tired, I guess.”

He knew you well enough to know that was only half the truth. Your anxiety had a way of creeping in, taking hold, and making even the simplest things feel overwhelming. And right now, it was clear that it was getting the better of you.

Remy crossed the room, sinking down onto the couch beside you. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his touch light and careful, as if you were something fragile that might break if he wasn’t gentle enough.

“You know, you don’t gotta put up a front with me, ma chère,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “I can tell somethin’s on your mind.”

You looked down at your hands, the weight of his gaze almost too much to bear. “It’s just… I don’t know. Everything feels like too much lately. Like I’m not doing enough, or like I’m just not enough. It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help it.”

Remy’s heart ached at your words. He’d seen this before, the way your mind could twist things, make you doubt yourself, make you feel small. And he hated that there wasn’t a simple fix, that he couldn’t just take away all that pain with a snap of his fingers.

But he knew better than to dismiss your feelings or try to downplay what you were going through. Anxiety wasn’t something that could be reasoned away; it was a constant battle, one that you faced every day. And all he wanted was to be there for you, to help you fight it in any way he could.

“It ain’t stupid, chère,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Your feelin’s are real, and they’re valid. Don’t ever think you gotta apologize for feelin’ how you feel.”

You leaned into him slightly, your shoulder brushing against his. “I just don’t want to drag you down with me.”

Remy wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer until you were tucked against his side. The warmth of his body was comforting, his steady heartbeat a reminder that you weren’t alone. “You ain’t draggin’ me down, ma belle. We’re in this together, remember? When you’re feelin’ low, I’m here to lift you up. And when you’re feelin’ strong, I’ll be right beside you, cheerin’ you on.”

You let out a shaky breath, your anxiety still coiled tight in your chest, but the weight of it felt a little more manageable with Remy beside you. “I’m trying, Remy. I really am. It just feels like… like my mind won’t stop racing, and I can’t keep up.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment as if he could will his own strength into you. “I know, chère. I know it’s hard. But you’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through so much already, and you’re still here, still fightin’. That ain’t nothin’ to scoff at.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his warmth. “I just wish it didn’t feel so overwhelming all the time.”

Remy’s hand traced soothing circles on your back, his touch steady and reassuring. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes. And it’s okay to lean on me when you do. You don’t gotta face this alone.”

The sincerity in his voice brought a lump to your throat, and you blinked back tears. “Thank you, Remy. For always being here for me.”

He tilted your chin up with a gentle finger, his red-on-black eyes locking onto yours. “Ain’t nowhere else I’d rather be, chère. You’re my world, you know that? I’d do anythin’ to see you smile again.”

You managed a small, genuine smile this time, the love and concern in his eyes enough to chip away at the walls your anxiety had built up. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Remy.”

He chuckled softly, the sound like music in the quiet room. “Oh, ma belle, it’s me who’s the lucky one. You’re the best thing that ever happened to this ol’ thief.”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his, and for a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, comforting space. Remy’s presence, his love, was like a lifeline, grounding you when everything else felt out of control.

“Let’s get outta here for a bit, huh?” he suggested after a few moments. “Clear your head, get some fresh air. We’ll take a walk by the river, and I’ll show you some of my favorite spots in the city.”

You hesitated, the thought of leaving the apartment a little daunting, but the idea of being out in the open, with Remy by your side, was appealing. “Okay. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Good. C’mon, chère. Let’s get goin’ before I change my mind and decide to keep you all to myself here.”

You laughed, a sound that felt good to let out after the tension of the evening. “Lead the way, Gambit.”

Remy stood up, offering you his hand, and you took it, letting him pull you to your feet. He kept hold of your hand as you both stepped out onto the balcony and then made your way down to the street below. The night air was cool and refreshing, and the sound of the city’s heartbeat—a mix of music, laughter, and the occasional car horn—was a soothing backdrop to the quiet conversation that flowed between you and Remy as you walked.

As you wandered through the streets of New Orleans, hand in hand, Remy pointed out the places that held special meaning for him—an old jazz club where he’d spent many nights listening to music, a little park where he’d often gone to clear his head, a hidden alley where the two of you had once shared a stolen kiss, laughing as you ran from the rain.

With each step, each story, the tightness in your chest began to ease, and you felt a little more like yourself again. Remy’s presence, his love and unwavering support, was a balm to your anxious heart, and as the night went on, you found yourself smiling more, laughing more, feeling lighter than you had in days.

By the time you returned to the apartment, the weight of your anxiety had lifted just enough for you to breathe easier. Remy led you back inside, and as you settled onto the couch together, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that no matter how dark your thoughts got, you’d always have him to help guide you back to the light.

And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew that with Remy by your side, you’d never have to face your fears alone.

[lizardkingeliot]

The thing is tho... okay.

Here's the thing.

AMC’s Interview with the Vampire has so effectively driven home the point that Lestat loves Louis without condition and will continue loving him to the same degree forever regardless of the passage of time and regardless of what Louis has done that sometimes it's easy to forget that, like... Louis doesn't actually know that. Sometimes I'm really just like what do you MEAN Louis de Pointe du Lac doesn't know he's Lestat de Lioncourt's heartbeat now and forever Louis de Pointe du Lac do you even watch the SHOW.

Anyway. I don't know what I'm trying to say here but I think it's something about the romantic angst of it all. The way Lestat is going to be forced to betray Claudia and Louis in Paris during the trial leaving Louis with the belief that Lestat doesn't want him. He will view this as a rejection and this is the reason why he is going to spend the next 77 years of his life with Armand. This is why he couldn't just reach out to Lestat post-Paris and try to work things out. I’m not saying anything new here, I know. Most of us have worked this out already. It took me a while to get there yesterday when I was digesting the episode because, like I said, Lestat’s love is so obvious it’s easy to forget Louis really doesn’t know. But listen….

Louis is deeply unwell in 1973 San Francisco. When Lestat asks him why he’s ill all I can think right now is… well. Because he doesn’t have you. Even before he walked into the sun he was ill because he doesn’t have you. Ill in New Orleans after the deed was done. Ill in Paris and sustaining himself with memories so vivid it was like Lestat was there in the room. Ill in San Francisco when Armand could have ended it all by relaying Lestat's words to Louis, and didn't. Ill in Dubai searching the well of memory trying to find his way back to something like sanity again...

But listen. Sam Reid said Lestat very much thinks Louis is dead after 1973. This tracks. It fits very neatly with the ~theme. With what this season is trying to do wrt the romantic angst of it all. Maybe Lestat is still locked up in a dungeon or underground somewhere sleeping, maybe he isn't. Maybe he's rotting away in New Orleans, wrecked with grief, thinking about walking out and greeting the sun every morning when it rises and he's reminded Louis is gone. I guess we'll find out soon enough…

But listen. There's not some great conclusion I'm trying to arrive at with this post. I'm just spinning my wheels thinking about how delicious the tropes on this show truly are. To separate a love like that, to have Louis believe Lestat doesn't want him and have Lestat believe that Louis is dead. Well, friends... that sounds like a recipe for a grand reunion to me. And maybe what I'm trying to do with this post is toss another coin in the wishing well of a potential season 3. Because you can't have a love story like this that is destined to end in a reunion only to come back the next season to pretend it doesn't matter. I don't know. Maybe you can. But I really hope they don't. I really hope when they come back together at the end of this nightmare, when Lestat is finally permitted to have a voice of his own, that voice will be echoing through the halls of their home, because he'll be telling his story to Louis.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 3. You Showed Me Colours You Know I Can't See With Anyone Else.

Prequel to The Last Great American Dynasty.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Swearing, 18+.

Summary: In the shadowy underworld of New Orleans, where power is currency and loyalty is a fragile thread, you find yourself entangled with Remy LeBeau, a charismatic and dangerous mob boss. What begins as a chance encounter soon evolves into a complex, intense relationship that neither of you saw coming. Taglist: @cannibalcoyote

The club beneath the bar wasn’t the kind of place you found by accident. It was hidden deep in the building’s underbelly, far removed from the more polished scene upstairs. To get there, you had to know where you were going—there were no signs, no obvious entrances, just a series of unmarked doors and shadowy hallways that seemed to twist and turn with a kind of deliberate confusion. It was as if the building itself was trying to keep the club a secret.

The journey down felt like a descent into another realm. You’d wind your way through back corridors, past storage rooms stacked with crates of liquor and supplies, the air growing cooler and more still the deeper you went. The lights along the hallway dimmed, casting long shadows that flickered against the narrow walls. Then there were the stairs—two flights of them, narrow and steep, their steps worn from years of use, the kind of stairs that made you feel like you were heading someplace forbidden, someplace you weren’t entirely sure you were supposed to be.

The bar above was already sunken below street level, but the club? The club was buried deeper still—subterranean. As you descended, the air grew colder and damp, the walls closing in, and the hum of life from the world above faded away. All that was left was the growing thrum of the music below, a bass-heavy pulse that throbbed through the walls like a heartbeat. It was faint at first, a distant vibration that seemed to come from the earth itself, but with each step downward, it grew louder, more insistent, until it was all you could hear.

And then you reached the door.

Pushing through the heavy, unmarked entrance, you were met with a rush of sensation—a wall of sound, light, and heat all at once. The club opened up before you, cavernous and alive, a world unto itself. It was like stepping into a hidden city where the rules of the world above no longer applied.

The room was vast, yet somehow intimate, the ceiling low enough to feel oppressive but crisscrossed with massive iron beams that gave the space a raw, industrial edge. Neon lights flickered and danced across the walls, bathing everything in electric shades of violet, crimson, and cobalt blue. The lights pulsed in time with the music, casting shifting shadows that played tricks on your eyes, making the space feel as if it were constantly moving, breathing.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat, perfume, and something more primal—something heavy and intoxicating, like the scent of expensive whiskey and the faint burn of smoke. The ceiling, low and crisscrossed with metal beams, added to the sense of being enclosed, like you were in a bunker or a vault, sealed off from the rest of the world. It felt dangerous, exhilarating.

The crowd was a living, writhing thing, a sea of bodies moving in rhythm with the music. They pressed together, fluid and chaotic, lost in the throb of the bass and the flashing lights that turned everything into a blur of color and motion. People danced in a way that wasn’t quite dancing—more like they were surrendering themselves to the music, letting it take control. It was wild, frenetic, and completely uninhibited. There was no pretense here, no performance—just pure, unfiltered energy. This was a place where you could lose yourself, where the rules of the outside world didn’t apply. Here, names didn’t matter, and neither did the time.

The music was relentless, a deep, throbbing beat that worked its way into your bones, vibrating through your chest and making your heart beat in time with it. The DJ was hidden in the shadows, barely visible behind a fortress of equipment, but their presence was felt in every pulse of sound that reverberated through the room. The bass was so deep, it was like the walls themselves were breathing, the whole room thrumming with an almost primal energy.

The bar at the far end of the room gleamed under the neon lights, its surface dark wood polished to a high shine, a stark contrast to the raw industrial feel of the rest of the space. Behind it, shelves lined with bottles of top-shelf liquor glowed gold, the amber liquid catching the light and shimmering like treasure in a vault. The bartenders moved with precision, pouring drinks with practiced ease, their expressions unreadable beneath the flashing lights. Every drink was an act of indulgence, each cocktail a small luxury in a place that felt like it was on the edge of ruin.

Plush velvet couches were scattered along the walls in small, intimate alcoves, offering a place to retreat from the chaos of the dance floor. The contrast was jarring—the softness of the velvet against the hard, industrial edges of the club, the sense of privacy these spaces offered in a room that otherwise felt so exposed. Here, deals were made, secrets were whispered, and connections formed that would never see the light of day.

But even in these alcoves, the energy of the room was impossible to escape. You could feel it in the air—the tension, the heat, the way the music seemed to crawl under your skin and take over, making everything else fade away. The club had a way of stripping away the outside world, pulling you deeper into its orbit until nothing else mattered. Time blurred, and the boundaries between people, between reality and whatever this place was, seemed to disintegrate.

There was a kind of freedom in it. A dangerous, seductive freedom.

Here, in the depths of the underground, you could be anyone. Or no one at all. You remember the night everything truly changed between you and Remy LeBeau—the moment when the line you’d been walking for weeks finally shifted, and you understood exactly where you slid into his complex, enigmatic life. It wasn’t a grand gesture or an explosive confrontation; no, it was something quieter, something subtle but undeniable, like the way the tide changes direction without anyone noticing until it’s too late.

It had been weeks since you’d last really spoken to him. Weeks of tense silences, of stolen glances across the bar. You weren’t sure what was worse—feeling like he was purposefully avoiding you, or the gnawing suspicion that maybe you’d done something to deserve it. Either way, it was hard to shake the feeling that you were being punished for something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, and that uncertainty gnawed at you in the quiet moments when the bar was empty, or when you caught sight of him from across the room.

And of course, you still saw him. Every Wednesday and Friday, like clockwork, Remy was there. Wednesdays, he’d show up with the brunette—a woman who sometimes had a laptop open in front of her, typing away in a focused silence, other times just sitting quietly across from him as they shared a meal. They looked comfortable together, like they had an understanding that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. There was something almost intimate about the way they interacted that made your chest tighten, though you couldn’t quite figure out why. She wasn’t flashy, wasn’t trying to draw attention, but there was a quiet importance in her presence that you couldn’t ignore.

Fridays were different. Fridays, he showed up with his crew. The VIP area upstairs would be cordoned off, laughter and the hum of low conversation drifting down to the main bar. There was always a low, rowdy energy that followed wherever Remy and his group went. A magnetism that demanded attention, even from the far corners of the room. People would glance up at them, curious, drawn to the easy confidence that bled from their table, the way they seemed to own the space without even trying.

And every now and then, James would catch your eye with a grin, sending you on some small errand—usually something pointless, like delivering a fresh bottle to Kate or running a message up to the VIP section. “You take it,” you’d huff, catching on to the game, but no matter how many times you protested, you always ended up climbing those stairs. Always ended up delivering whatever it was they needed.

And each time, without fail, you felt his eyes on you. Remy’s gaze was like a physical presence, following your every move with a quiet intensity that was impossible to ignore. It was like he was studying you, reading every step, every gesture, every word you exchanged with the black-haired woman or Kate. You could almost feel the weight of his attention, heavy and deliberate, and it left you feeling both exposed and strangely aware of yourself in ways you didn’t want to admit.

Kate, of course, didn’t miss a beat. She always greeted you with that mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling with humor that felt just a little too knowing. “Getting your steps in today?” she’d quip, her voice light but laced with something that made you feel like she knew exactly what was going on, even if you didn’t.

“At this rate, my ass better look amazing by summer,” you’d reply, rolling your eyes and nodding toward the stairs you’d already climbed a dozen times that night. But underneath the banter, there was always that unspoken tension, that sense of something simmering just beneath the surface, something neither of you had the words for yet.

And then there were Saturdays.

Saturdays were for the club—Remy’s domain. The rules changed on Saturdays. The bar upstairs was one thing, but the club? That was something else entirely. It was a place where business could be done in the shadows, where deals were struck under the cover of strobe lights and pounding bass, where no one really knew what was happening because the music was too loud and the lights too disorienting.

On some Saturdays, Remy would show up with a beautiful woman on his arm, making it clear she was his for the night. He’d walk in with that casual swagger, the woman clinging to him, her eyes bright with the promise of a wild night. Other times, he’d arrive with his crew, accompanied by a red-haired woman who was as striking as she was dangerous. You could tell she was a force of nature—enigmatic, sharp, and always composed in a way that made you feel like she knew something you didn’t. Together, they’d settle into the plush couches in the VIP area, bottles of the most expensive liquor in the club lining the table, and you’d find yourself watching them from behind the bar, even when you didn’t mean to.

You had a love-hate relationship with the club. On one hand, you thrived on the energy—the music that pulsed through your veins, the rhythm that had you dancing behind the bar as you mixed drinks, the way you could lose yourself in the beat even as you worked. You loved working with Carol, the older blonde woman who had taken you under her wing when you first started. Carol had taught you everything you knew, from how to handle a rowdy customer to how to make the perfect cocktail, and over the years, she’d become like a sister to you.

But the patrons were... another story. They were rowdier, more demanding, and far more likely to get handsy after a few too many drinks. You’d learned to handle them, of course; you had to, working in a place like this. But some nights, like tonight, the crowd was just a little too much. The air felt thick with something you couldn’t quite name, and the staff were worn down, moving slower than usual, weighed down by the constant demands.

Through it all, though, Remy was always watching. You could feel it, even when you couldn’t see him. He never intervened directly—he knew you could handle yourself—but there was a quiet, unspoken understanding between the two of you. He never let things get too out of hand. His eyes would track the room, making sure the chaos didn’t cross a line. It was comforting, in a way, knowing he was there, but it was also maddening. You didn’t need his protection, and yet, there was a part of you that found it hard to shake the feeling of being watched, of being... taken care of in ways you didn’t ask for.

The first strange thing that night happened in the bathroom. The moment when everything began to stretch, like an elastic band pulled too tight, on the verge of snapping.

You had ducked into the bathroom for a quick break, promising yourself it’d only take a minute. But once inside, the noise of the club muffled behind the heavy door, you found yourself staring into the mirror. You took a deep breath, letting the tension ease from your shoulders, and began to fix your hair. A few strands had fallen out of place during the rush of the night, and you tried to recreate the style you’d left the house with. It was a small, quiet moment—a chance to catch your breath before heading back into the chaos.

The door creaked open behind you, and when you glanced up in the mirror, you saw her—the red-haired woman who had arrived with Remy earlier in the night. She stepped inside with the same effortless grace she always seemed to carry, her presence filling the small space instantly. For a brief moment, the two of you locked eyes in the mirror, and then she offered you a soft, knowing smile.

You nodded in acknowledgment, pressing the soap dispenser a few times, trying to act as though the sudden intrusion of your solitude didn’t rattle you. But it did. She had a way of unsettling people, and in the quiet of the bathroom, away from the flashing lights and thumping bass, her presence seemed even more intense.

“You looked like you needed a minute,” she said, her voice low and smooth, not quite a whisper but just loud enough to carry in the silence.

You blinked, caught off guard by the casual intimacy of the statement. You weren’t sure what to say, so you just shrugged, offering a half-smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Long night,” you replied, your voice sounding smaller than you intended as you rinsed your hands under the cold water.

Jean leaned against the counter, her gaze lingering on you for a beat too long before she turned toward the mirror, inspecting her own reflection with the kind of detached interest that only someone like her could pull off.

Jean’s eyes lingered on you longer than you expected, her gaze sharp and curious, but not in an unkind way. There was something about the way she looked at you, as though she already knew more than she was letting on. Still, you offered her a polite smile, masking the discomfort stirring inside you. You weren’t used to being scrutinized like this, especially not by someone like her—someone who radiated a kind of effortless poise that made you feel both intrigued and defensive at the same time

“I’m Jean, by the way,” she said casually, as if you didn’t already know. She reached into her purse and pulled out a sleek tube of lipstick, applying it with a practiced precision that made the simple act seem like a performance. Then, without missing a beat, she held the tube out to you, her eyes gleaming with a quiet challenge.

You shook your head, offering a small smile in return. “No, thanks,” you said, your voice steady but polite. You weren’t sure what game she was playing, but you weren’t interested in becoming an unwilling participant. Jean just smiled to herself, tucking the lipstick back into her purse with a graceful, almost dismissive motion. The way she moved was calculated, like everything she did had a purpose—even this seemingly casual encounter.

"So, busy night, huh?" she asked, leaning back against the counter, her posture relaxed but her eyes still on you. She was studying you, you realized, and that realization sent a flicker of unease through you. You could feel her sizing you up, and you couldn’t help but wonder why. What did she see when she looked at you? What was she trying to figure out?

You rolled down a few sheets of paper towel, drying your hands with more focus than necessary, using the small task to ground yourself. “Yeah,” you replied, your tone noncommittal, not wanting to reveal too much. “You could say that.”

Jean nodded, but the silence that followed wasn’t an empty one. It was thick, heavy, as if there was something unspoken hanging between the two of you. Her gaze hadn’t softened; if anything, it had deepened, like she was peeling back layers without your permission. It was unnerving, and you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a casual bathroom conversation.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to read her, trying to figure out why she’d suddenly decided to engage with you. She had never spoken to you before, and now, here she was, leaning against the sink as if she had all the time in the world. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of test, like she was probing for something specific, some reaction. But what?

“You seem... distracted,” she said, her voice softer now, almost thoughtful. Her words made your stomach flip, but you kept your expression neutral, refusing to give anything away.

“I’m fine,” you replied a bit too quickly, the words coming out sharper than you intended. You immediately regretted it, but Jean didn’t seem fazed. If anything, her smile widened, just a fraction, as if she could see right through your attempt to brush her off.

“I get it,” she murmured after a beat, her voice lower, more intimate now. There was something in the way she said it, something that made your pulse quicken. She wasn’t just making small talk anymore; there was a weight to her words, a knowingness that unsettled you.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly feeling dry. “Get what?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the tension in your voice betrayed you.

Jean met your gaze, her eyes unflinching. “I get what it’s like to be... watched,” she said simply, her words hanging in the air between you. It was an innocent enough statement, but there was an edge to it, a deeper meaning that made your chest tighten. She wasn’t just talking about the club, or the way patrons sometimes eyed the staff. No, she was talking about something more personal—something that had to do with him.

Your heart raced a little faster. You didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that her words had hit their mark, but you couldn’t help the way your body reacted. You could feel your pulse in your throat, a subtle thrum that echoed the tension threading between you and Jean in that tiny bathroom.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes still locked on yours, reading every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. “Remy,” she said, as if the name alone was enough to explain everything. And maybe it was. “He watches you... a lot.”

The air seemed to thicken around you, and you felt your stomach drop at the sound of his name on her lips. You weren’t sure if she was trying to unsettle you, or if she was genuinely offering some kind of insight, but either way, her words left you feeling exposed, like she had peeled back a layer of your carefully constructed armor.

“What are you getting at?” you asked, your voice quieter now, tinged with frustration, but also something else—something you weren’t quite ready to admit. You didn’t like the way this conversation was making you feel. You didn’t like the way it was forcing you to confront things you’d been trying to ignore for weeks.

Jean’s smile softened, but it didn’t lose that knowing edge. “I’m just saying... he’s not as hard to read as he thinks he is,” she said, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. She leaned in just a little closer, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite name. “When Remy watches someone like that, it’s not out of boredom. It’s because he’s paying attention.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. A part of you wanted to brush her off, to laugh it away and pretend like this conversation wasn’t affecting you. But you couldn’t. The truth of her words settled in your chest like a weight, heavy and undeniable. You had felt his eyes on you for weeks, always watching, always present, even when he wasn’t close. And now, here was Jean, confirming what you had been trying to push aside—what you had been too afraid to admit to yourself.

“And that bothers you?” you asked, half-expecting her to confirm the jealousy you thought must be lurking beneath her cool exterior.

But Jean surprised you. She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Bother me? No, not really.” She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied you again. “But it might bother you.”

Your pulse quickened, and suddenly, you felt like the ground beneath you had shifted, like Jean had just opened a door you weren’t ready to step through. “Why would it bother me?” you asked, though the answer was already sitting heavy in your chest.

Jean’s smile turned almost sympathetic, and for a brief moment, you saw something softer in her eyes. “Because you’re not just some girl behind the bar to him. And I think you know that.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to argue, to deny it, to say that you were just doing your job, that whatever attention Remy gave you was meaningless. But you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew Jean was right.

You had felt it for weeks—the way his gaze always found you, the way he watched you with that quiet intensity that made your skin prickle and your heart race. You had tried to dismiss it, tried to tell yourself it didn’t mean anything, but now, standing in this tiny bathroom with Jean staring right through you, the truth was impossible to ignore.

You weren’t just another face in the crowd to Remy LeBeau, and that realization sent a jolt of fear and excitement through you in equal measure.

Jean pushed herself off the counter, straightening her posture as she adjusted the strap of her purse. “Just... be careful,” she said, her voice softer now, almost a warning. “With Remy, things get complicated fast.”

And with that, she turned and walked out of the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts, the air still heavy with the weight of everything she had just said.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your heart pounding in your chest, and for the first time, you couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.

Something had changed. And there was no going back. From your spot behind the bar, you had a perfect view of the VIP area. It was a vantage point you rarely paid much attention to—usually too busy mixing drinks or handling a rowdy crowd—but tonight, you found yourself watching. Watching them.

Jean moved with that same quiet confidence you’d witnessed in the bathroom, her drink held delicately in one hand as she reentered the secluded section. She slid effortlessly back into the scene, her presence commanding attention without asking for it. The dim lighting of the VIP area cast a soft glow over her red hair, making her look almost ethereal as she approached Remy.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you watched her place a hand on his shoulder, leaning in close to murmur something in his ear. It was an intimate gesture, the kind that sent an unexpected ripple of something—jealousy? anxiety?—through you. You couldn’t hear what she said, but you could see the way her hand lingered, her fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of his jacket. It was subtle enough not to draw too much attention, but there was a familiarity in the motion that made your stomach twist.

Remy didn’t react much. His face remained impassive, his expression unreadable as he listened to whatever Jean was saying. But then, in the middle of it, something happened that caused your breath to catch in your throat.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours.

It was so quick, so subtle, you almost didn’t believe it had happened. But it did. In that split second, his gaze found yours across the room, cutting through the smoke and the low lighting like a thread pulling you into his orbit. He didn’t give anything away—no smile, no smirk, no hint of what might be going through his head. Just a look. A brief glance. But it was enough to send a jolt through you, like you had been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Your heart skipped a beat, though you couldn’t say why. It wasn’t like he hadn’t looked at you before—Remy was always watching, always tracking your movements with that quiet intensity—but tonight felt different. Tonight, there was something in the air, something unspoken hanging between the three of you. Jean’s words from the bathroom echoed in your mind, the weight of them pressing down on you now more than ever.

“He watches you... a lot.”

You tore your eyes away, focusing on the task at hand—pouring drinks, handling orders, acting like everything was normal. But it wasn’t. You could feel it. The air felt heavier, the weight of their attention lingering on you even when you weren’t looking. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted tonight, like the ground beneath you had subtly shifted, and you were the last one to notice.

You tried to push the thoughts aside, tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter. You didn’t have time to get wrapped up in whatever was going on between Remy and Jean. You had a job to do. And yet, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the drinks in front of you, your mind kept drifting back to that brief exchange.

Did Jean see something you hadn’t? Did Remy?

Your hands moved on autopilot as you mixed another order, but your mind was elsewhere—trapped in the space between Jean’s knowing gaze and Remy’s watchful glance. You couldn’t help but wonder what Jean had said to him, what had passed between them in that quiet moment. Was she telling him about your conversation in the bathroom? Was she warning him? Or maybe she wasn’t talking about you at all. Maybe this was all in your head, a product of too many long nights working in this place, too much time spent wondering what, exactly, was simmering beneath the surface of Remy’s attention.

But deep down, you knew better.

Something had changed tonight. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. You could feel it in the way your skin prickled whenever you caught sight of Remy’s figure in your peripheral vision. You could feel it in the way Jean’s words kept replaying in your mind, over and over, like a warning you couldn’t quite decipher.

You set the drink on the counter with a little too much force, the glass clinking loudly against the wood. Carol shot you a glance from the other end of the bar, her brow furrowing in concern. “You okay?” she asked, her voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts.

You forced a smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah, just... long night,” you muttered, wiping down the counter with a rag as if that could somehow scrub away the unease bubbling inside you.

Carol didn’t press further, but you could feel her eyes on you for a moment longer before she turned back to her own set of customers.

You glanced back up at the VIP section, half-expecting to see Remy still watching you, but he wasn’t. Jean was sitting beside him, her posture relaxed, her hand no longer on his shoulder. They were talking now, but whatever conversation they were having seemed far removed from you. Remy’s attention was back on his crew, his body language easy, casual, as if nothing had changed at all.

But you had changed. Something in you had shifted, and now you were acutely aware of the weight of his gaze, even when it wasn’t on you. You could feel it, lingering in the back of your mind, a constant hum of awareness that refused to be ignored.

You busied yourself with another round of drinks, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling inside you. But the truth was, you couldn’t stop thinking about that glance. That brief, fleeting moment when your eyes met his across the room.

Because in that moment, you realized something you had been trying to ignore for weeks.

You weren’t just another face in the crowd to Remy LeBeau.

And now, you weren’t sure what to do with that realization. <><><><> The thin thread of the night finally snapped at 1:51 AM.

You knew this because you had glanced at your watch, mentally counting down the hours until your shift ended at 3 AM. It was a ritual at this point—checking the time, calculating how much longer you had to endure the chaos of the club. The energy had been simmering all night, stretched taut like a rubber band, and you could feel it was close to breaking. But you hadn’t expected this.

It didn’t take much, if you were being honest. You’d seen worse over the years—much worse. You’d heard more vulgar words, dealt with more aggressive patrons, and usually, you handled it without a second thought. But tonight, something felt different. The tension was thicker, the air charged with an undercurrent you couldn’t quite place. And then there was him.

The man at the center of it all had been pushing buttons from the moment he stepped through the door. Handsy. Mouthy. You knew the type all too well—arrogant, cocky, the kind of guy who believed the world revolved around him. But what stood out, what made your stomach twist just a little tighter, was the way he seemed to be performing. He wasn’t just harassing you for the sake of it. No, he wanted an audience. He wanted to be seen, wanted to be noticed—by you, by the crowd, but most of all, by Remy LeBeau.

And notice, Remy did.

It started off small—a few offhand comments that you and Carol had brushed off. Carol, with her blonde mohawk and sharp brown eyes, had been working the other end of the bar, serving drinks while keeping a wary eye on the man. Every time he got a little too loud, a little too suggestive, she’d shoot him a glare and say, “Okay, that’s enough.” But her warnings fell on deaf ears. He kept pushing, kept drinking, kept testing the limits of what he could get away with.

By the time he turned his attention to you, several hours and several drinks later, his inhibitions had melted away, leaving only the worst parts of him on display. You felt his eyes on you, that leering gaze that made your skin crawl. You’d been through this a hundred times before, and you’d learned how to handle it. Abigail had a strict rule: When you work the club, you don’t leave behind the bar unless absolutely necessary. Part of it was logistics—there was always a demand for drinks—but it was also for your safety. If anything kicked off, you had radios, and security was always nearby. It was a system that worked. Usually.

But tonight, the man didn’t care about rules. He didn’t care about the bar or the space between you. He wanted a reaction, and when you told him he’d had enough to drink, that he was cut off, you saw the shift in his eyes. The thin veneer of control he’d been holding onto dissolved in an instant, and suddenly, his hand shot out, grabbing the front of your shirt in a tight fist.

The force of it yanked you forward, your body slamming against the counter as he tried to drag you over the bar. The shock of it hit you first—how could this have escalated so quickly? You weren’t afraid, not yet, but your adrenaline spiked as you tried to pull back, your hands scrambling for purchase on the slick surface of the bar. Your eyes darted toward the security on the floor, hoping someone saw what was happening, but the crowd was thick, and the noise of the club swallowed your silent plea for help.

But before you could even call out, Remy was there.

It was like he had materialized out of the shadows, moving faster than you’d ever seen him move before. One moment, the man had his hands on you, his grip painfully tight, and the next, he was being ripped away, spun around so fast that his head snapped back in shock. Every muscle in your body tensed as Remy’s hand shot out, catching the man by the collar and slamming him against the bar with a force that made the glasses rattle.

And then, in one smooth, terrifying motion, Remy pressed the barrel of a gun inside the man’s mouth.

The cold metal glinted under the dim lights of the club, and the entire room seemed to freeze. The music still throbbed in the background, but it was as if the dancers, the patrons, the staff—all of them—had forgotten how to move, how to breathe. The pure, unfiltered rage on Remy’s face was something you had never seen before, and the sight of it sent a jolt of fear through your chest. For a split second, you thought he might actually pull the trigger.

The man who had grabbed you—so arrogant and full of bravado just moments ago—was trembling now, his eyes wide as the cold steel pressed harder against his lips. He had wanted Remy’s attention, and now he had it.

All of it.

Remy’s voice was low, almost a growl, as he spoke. “Ya ever touch her again, and I’ll end y’.” His finger hovered over the trigger, the click of the safety flicking off loud enough to cut through the music. The threat wasn’t just words—it was a promise, and everyone in the room knew it.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. You wanted to say something, to stop this from spiraling further out of control, but you couldn’t move. You were frozen, trapped in the intensity of the moment, your mind racing to process what was happening.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jean. She moved quickly but gracefully, her red hair catching the light as she crossed the room. She didn’t speak at first, just placed a gentle hand on Remy’s arm, her fingers brushing the gun with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place in the chaos of the moment. Her expression was calm, but her eyes—those eyes that always seemed to know more than anyone else—spoke volumes. It was a silent plea: Not like this. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Not in front of her.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if Remy would listen. The tension between him and Jean was palpable, the fury still radiating off him in waves. His grip on the gun never wavered, his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. You could feel the weight of his anger, the way it filled the room, suffocating everything in its path.

But after what felt like an eternity, Remy flicked the safety back on, the sound almost as loud as a gunshot in the stillness of the club. He lowered the gun, slipping it back into the waistband of his pants with slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

When he finally let go, the man crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath as if he had been holding it the entire time. Remy took a step back, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, and you realized then that this wasn’t just about the man who had grabbed you. This was about everyone in the room. This was a message, loud and clear.

Remy LeBeau was reminding them all who he was—and who you were.

You were under his protection. Not just that, but in some unspoken way, you were his. His to protect, his to defend. And anyone who disrespected that, who crossed that line, would be dealt with swiftly and without mercy.

The weight of it settled over you as you watched Remy, your pulse still racing, your mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. He wasn’t just a man who controlled the underground world of New Orleans; he was a man who commanded respect, who held power in his hands like it was second nature. And tonight, he had made it clear that you were part of that world now. Whether you wanted to be or not.

You caught his eye then, the heat of his gaze locking onto yours from across the bar. His expression was unreadable, but there was something there—something dark and possessive that made your stomach twist. For a moment, you just stood there, the noise of the club slowly returning around you, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Jean lingered beside him, her hand still resting lightly on his arm, her presence grounding him in a way that both comforted and unnerved you. She gave you a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of what had just transpired, and you found yourself nodding back, though you weren’t sure what you were agreeing to.

And as the crowd slowly began to move again, the music picking up where it had left off, you realized with a sinking feeling that nothing would be the same after this.

You weren’t just another face in the crowd anymore.

You were something more. Something dangerous.

And as you stood there, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for a glass, you couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for you—what that meant for the future.

Because now, you weren’t just working in Remy LeBeau’s world.

You were part of it. <><><><<><><><><> From where he sat in the VIP section, Remy had a perfect view of you behind the bar. It wasn’t something he had planned or even consciously acknowledged; it had just become a habit—a quiet, unspoken one that he hadn’t let himself fully unpack. His eyes kept drifting back to you throughout the night, watching the way you moved, the way you handled the chaos of the club with a quiet efficiency that never failed to impress him. There was something about the way you navigated the room, how you blended into the pulse of the place yet stood out to him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

The night had been relatively calm, at least by his standards. Business as usual. Drinks flowed, deals were whispered over tables, and the music throbbed like a heartbeat through the dim, smoky air. But even in the haze of the club, Remy could sense when something was off—when the subtle rhythm of the night began to shift.

And tonight, he felt it happen the moment that man walked through the door.

Remy had clocked him from the start, a loud, obnoxious guest who had already downed more drinks than half the room combined. He wasn’t the first or the last of his kind to come through the club, but there was something about him that rubbed Remy the wrong way from the very beginning. The man’s energy was chaotic, unfocused, like he was looking for trouble, daring the night to push back against him. Remy didn’t like him. Didn’t like the way he moved, the way he talked, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long on you.

Remy’s gaze narrowed as he watched the guy lean over the bar, his posture aggressive, his voice just loud enough to cut through the music. You were behind the bar, trying to keep things moving smoothly, but Remy noticed the subtle shift in your expression—the way your smile tightened around the edges, the way your shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. No one else would have noticed, but Remy did. He was always watching, always paying attention when it came to you, though he wasn’t sure why.

Or maybe he was.

The man was getting louder. His gestures became wilder, his movements more erratic with each drink. His words were slurred, but the intent behind them was unmistakable. Remy couldn’t hear every word from where he sat, but he didn’t need to. He knew the type all too well—handsy, cocky, convinced the world owed him something. The kind of guy who thought he could say or do whatever he wanted because no one had ever taught him otherwise.

Carol, working the other end of the bar, had already shot the man a warning or two, her sharp eyes narrowing in irritation. But he wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. His focus had shifted entirely to you, and that’s when Remy felt the first stirrings of anger coil in his gut.

He leaned back in his seat, fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as he watched the scene unfold. Jean, sitting next to him, said something—something inconsequential that barely registered in his mind. His attention was locked on the bar, on you, and on the man who was clearly getting too comfortable, too bold. Jean, always observant, noticed the shift in Remy’s demeanor, the silent tension in his body that told her something was bothering him. She followed his gaze, her eyes landing on you and the man who had caught Remy’s attention.

Remy’s eyes darkened as the man leaned in closer, his body language crossing a line that should never have been crossed. You were doing what you always did—keeping things professional, trying to diffuse the situation without making a scene. But Remy could see the tension building, could feel it in the air like the crackle of a coming storm. His jaw clenched as he watched the man’s hand graze too close to yours as you slid him his drink. He saw the way your smile faltered for just a moment before you caught yourself, how you stepped back to create more space between the two of you.

But space wasn’t enough. Not for this guy.

And then it happened.

The man’s hand shot out, grabbing the front of your shirt before you had time to react. It was sudden, violent, and Remy felt something cold and vicious flare inside him. Your body jerked forward, slamming against the counter as the man tried to drag you over the bar, his grip on your shirt tightening with a force that made Remy’s blood boil. The shock on your face was instant—your eyes wide, your mouth slightly open as you struggled to pull back, your hands pushing against the bar in a desperate attempt to steady yourself.

In that moment, something in Remy snapped.

He was on his feet before he even realized he was moving, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he shoved it back. The club was still loud, the music pounding in the background, but in Remy’s mind, everything had gone silent. His focus had narrowed to one singular point—the man who dared lay his hands on you.

Remy’s movements were swift, fluid, like a predator stalking its prey. His pulse thrummed with barely contained fury as he reached into the back of his waistband, pulling out the gun he always kept hidden there. People instinctively parted to make way for him, sensing the danger radiating off him in waves. His expression was calm—too calm, the kind of calm that preceded a storm—but there was a cold, lethal fury in his eyes that made anyone who caught a glimpse of him take a step back.

He wasn’t thinking about the crowd anymore. Wasn’t thinking about the consequences. He could feel the knot in his stomach, a blind rage that he hadn’t felt in a long time. But underneath that rage, there was something else, something more dangerous. Something that had to do with you.

He had always protected his own, always made sure the people under his roof were safe. But this was different. This was personal. The thought of anyone laying a hand on you—of this man thinking he could do what he wanted without facing the consequences—made something dark and possessive rise up inside him, something he didn’t want to name.

He reached the bar in seconds, and before the man even had time to register what was happening, Remy’s hand shot out, gripping his arm with a force that would undoubtedly leave a bruise. The man’s grip on your shirt loosened as Remy yanked him back, spinning him around so quickly that his head snapped back in shock.

The club seemed to hold its breath as Remy shoved the man against the bar, his forearm pressed hard against the guy’s chest, pinning him in place. And then, in one smooth, terrifying motion, Remy pressed the barrel of his gun inside the man’s mouth.

The cold metal glinted under the dim lights of the club, and the entire room seemed to freeze. The music still throbbed in the background, but it was distant now, muffled by the weight of the moment. The rage that had been simmering beneath Remy’s calm exterior finally boiled over, but it wasn’t wild or uncontrolled. It was cold. Precise.

Remy’s grip on the man tightened, his knuckles white with the effort it took to restrain himself from pulling the trigger. He could feel the man shaking beneath his hold, could hear the muffled sounds of panic as the cold steel pressed harder against his lips.

He felt the rush of power, the satisfaction of knowing that he could end this man’s life in an instant. But more than that, he felt the burning need to make sure the man knew who he had messed with. That this wasn’t just about some random bartender. This was about you.

The man had wanted attention after all.

Remy’s voice was low, barely more than a growl as he leaned in closer, his dark eyes locked onto the man’s trembling face. “Ya ever touch her again, and I’ll bury y’.” His finger hovered over the trigger, the click of the safety being turned off loud enough to echo through the silence. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

He felt the weight of his own emotions swirling inside him—rage, protectiveness, something much deeper and darker that he didn’t want to name. He hadn’t let himself admit how much he cared, how much he watched you, how much you’d quietly slipped under his skin. But seeing you in danger, seeing someone touch you like that—it had torn something open inside him that he couldn’t ignore anymore.

The man nodded frantically, tears welling in his eyes as he choked around the barrel of the gun. Remy held him there for a moment longer, his eyes flicking up to you, just for a second. And in that second, you saw the storm raging behind his calm façade. You saw the way his gaze softened slightly when it landed on you, even as his grip on the man remained unyielding.

He was doing this for you.

Jean stepped forward beside him, her presence a quiet anchor in the chaos. She didn’t say anything, just placed a gentle hand on Remy’s arm, her touch pulling him back from the brink. Her eyes met his in silent understanding, a reminder of where they were, of the eyes on them. Not here. Not like this.

Slowly, with a control that spoke volumes about the fury still simmering beneath his skin, Remy flicked the safety back on and lowered the gun. He didn’t look at the man again as he stepped back, his gaze fixed on you, making sure you were okay.

And in that moment, you realized something that left your heart pounding in your chest.

This wasn’t just about protection. It wasn’t just about the club.

This was about you. And Remy LeBeau wasn’t going to let anyone touch what was his.

Not now.

Not ever. <><><><><><><><><>><><>

As the night slowly resumed around you, the music picking back up, the patrons cautiously returning to their drinks and conversations, you continued your work, though everything felt different now. Your hands moved on autopilot, pouring drinks, taking orders, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. The scene that had unfolded moments ago kept replaying in your head—the way Remy had stormed across the club, the fury in his eyes, the cold precision with which he had handled the situation.

And the way he had looked at you afterward.

That look left a mark, something unspoken but deeply felt, and you couldn’t shake it. It wasn’t just that he had protected you—it was the way he had done it. Remy wasn’t just any man stepping in to diffuse a situation. No, he had made it personal. The intensity in his gaze, the possessiveness, the raw, quiet anger—it had all been directed at the man who had touched you, but in some twisted way, it had also been for you. It wasn’t just about keeping the peace. He didn’t care what anyone else thought, how it looked, or even the consequences.

He cared about you.

And that realization had left a knot in your stomach, one you couldn’t untangle. You’d always known Remy was dangerous, always felt the weight of his power in the club, but this was different. Tonight, he had crossed an invisible line, drawing you with him into something deeper, something heavier.

You were part of his world now, whether you liked it or not.

As the moments ticked by, you couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing would ever be the same again. Every time you caught a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye, that knot tightened a little more. You tried to focus on your work, tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to you, wrapping around your mind like vines you couldn’t cut loose.

Carol noticed. Of course, she did. She had an eye for this kind of thing, sharp and intuitive. She sidled over to you as you were wiping down the bar, her presence a quiet comfort in the midst of your internal chaos.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low, barely audible over the music. “You should go home.”

You blinked, looking up at her in surprise. “What?”

“You’ve had enough for one night.” Her tone was firm but kind, and you could see the concern in her sharp brown eyes. “I can handle the rest with Clint. We’re almost done anyway.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words faltered. Carol wasn’t asking. She was telling you. And in truth, you wanted to leave. You needed to. Your hands were still trembling, your heart still racing with the echo of everything that had happened.

“You sure?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d meant for it to be.

She gave you a tight smile, her mohawk catching the dim light as she nodded. “Trust me. We’ve got it. Go clear your head.”

You didn’t need any more convincing. With a nod of thanks, you untied your apron and slipped it off, hanging it behind the bar. Clint, who had been watching from the other side, gave you a small wave, his usual grin tempered by the weight of the night’s events.

As you stepped out from behind the bar, you felt the weight of the club fall away from you, but the knot in your chest remained. The noise, the lights, the people—it all seemed distant, like you were walking through a fog. You moved toward the exit, your steps slower than usual, as if your body was still processing what had happened.

When you finally pushed through the heavy doors and stepped out into the night, the cool air hit your face like a slap of reality. It was startling at first, the sudden contrast between the warmth of the club and the crisp bite of the night air. You inhaled deeply, the cold filling your lungs, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like you could breathe again.

But that feeling didn’t last.

The sounds of the city buzzed around you—distant car horns, the low hum of conversations, the occasional whoosh of a passing car—but you barely registered any of it. Your back was pressed against the hard, rough wall of the club, the gritty texture grounding you in the moment when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

You needed to breathe. You needed time. You needed everything you didn’t have right now.

Your mind was still reeling from the confrontation inside, from the way Remy had looked at you, the way he had spoken, the way he had handled that man like it was nothing. You’d known Remy was capable of violence—everyone in the club knew that—but seeing it up close, seeing it for you, was different.

And it terrified you.

But it wasn’t just fear twisting inside you. That was the worst part. Beneath the fear, beneath the shock, there was something else. Something deeper. Something you weren’t ready to face.

Slowly, you crouched down, sliding along the wall until you were sitting on the cold ground, your back pressed against the rough brick. You rested your head against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Each breath felt deliberate, controlled, as you fought to keep yourself grounded, to push back the confusion that threatened to overwhelm you.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to be far away from here, from the noise, from the confusion, from the weight of everything that had just shifted in your world.

But most of all, you wanted to escape him—the intensity of his gaze, the way he had looked at you like you were more than just another bartender, like you were his. That thought alone made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

Because as much as you wanted to run, as much as you wanted to pretend that nothing had changed, you knew deep down that something had. That look in Remy’s eyes, the way he had stepped in without hesitation, the way he had protected you—it had stirred something inside you, something you weren’t ready to admit.

You couldn’t deny it anymore.

You’d always felt something for Remy LeBeau. It was impossible not to. He was magnetic, dangerous, and every time his eyes found yours, there was a spark, a pull. You’d ignored it for as long as you could, kept things professional, kept your distance. But tonight… tonight had changed everything.

He had crossed a line. And maybe, just maybe, so had you.

The city hummed around you, but all you could hear was the echo of his voice in your mind, the low growl of his threat, the way his eyes had softened when they landed on you. Your heart pounded in your chest, not from fear, but from something else—something you weren’t ready to name.

But as you sat there, the cold seeping into your skin, you couldn’t escape the truth anymore.

Nothing would ever be the same again. The door to the club swung open behind you with a soft creak, and the approaching footsteps echoed lightly against the pavement. You didn’t turn around—you didn’t need to. That steady, familiar presence was unmistakable, grounding you before you even saw him.

Steve Rogers.

He crouched beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. The warmth of his touch cut through the coldness that had settled deep inside you, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone in this mess. Steve had always been like that—solid, dependable, always knowing when to step in without needing to say much.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low, filled with concern.

You nodded, even though the motion felt more automatic than truthful. The storm of emotions swirling inside you was too tangled to unravel right then, but you offered what you could. “Yeah,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips. “Just... needed a breather.”

Steve’s brow furrowed, his gaze flicking back toward the club, as if the memory of what had happened inside still hung heavily in the air between you. You could see him trying to process it—trying to make sense of Remy’s actions, of the chaos that had just unfolded. His instincts were to protect you, but even Steve couldn’t quite wrap his head around what had just happened.

“What’s goin' on between you and LeBeau?” he asked, his voice carefully measured. There was no accusation in it, just a genuine curiosity. “For him to do that… it’s gotta be something.”

You exhaled heavily, shaking your head. What was going on between you and Remy? You didn’t know. There was no explanation for the way he affected you, no logical reason for the strange, magnetic pull you felt every time he was near.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice raw with confusion. “We’ve had, like, three actual conversations. That’s it. But…” You trailed off, searching for the words to describe the indescribable. The way Remy’s presence seemed to shift the air around you, the way he saw something in you that no one else did. But nothing you could say would make sense—not to Steve, not even to yourself. So you just shrugged, feeling more lost than ever. “I don’t know,” you repeated, quieter this time.

Steve’s eyes searched yours, his concern deepening. He wasn’t just asking out of curiosity; he was worried. Steve had always been protective of you, always looking out for you like a brother, and the fact that someone like Remy LeBeau had inserted himself into your life—it clearly didn’t sit well with him.

Before Steve could say anything else, though, the sound of footsteps approaching made both of you tense. Another presence stepped into view, and in an instant, the air around you thickened with something unspoken.

Steve straightened up, his body tensing as he rose to his full height. You looked up slowly, your heart skipping a beat when you saw who was standing there.

Remy LeBeau.

He stood casually, leaning against the wall with the easy confidence that always seemed to follow him, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette. The familiar flick of his lighter broke the silence, followed by the crackle of burning tobacco. He took a long drag, his eyes fixed on you, before exhaling a slow plume of smoke into the night air.

Steve was the first to break the silence, his voice calm but edged with tension. “You shouldn’t have brought a gun in there,” he said, his gaze steady, locked on Remy. “You should be kicked out for it.”

Remy didn’t flinch. His expression remained cool, unreadable, as he took another drag of his cigarette. His dark eyes flicked briefly to Steve, and when he spoke, his voice was low, smooth, that thick Cajun drawl rolling off his tongue like molasses.

“Then kick me out,” Remy said, his tone laced with an almost lazy defiance. “Ain’t stoppin’ you, mon ami.”

The tension between Steve and Remy was palpable, a thick, invisible cord stretched taut between them, threatening to snap. It was in the way Steve’s broad shoulders squared, his jaw clenched tightly with the effort of holding back words he wanted to say but chose not to. And it was in the way Remy stood, deceptively casual, his posture loose, but his eyes—those dangerous, dark eyes—were locked onto Steve’s with an intensity that spoke volumes.

There was a quiet kind of violence in the air between them, not the kind that exploded into fists or fury, but the kind that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to boil over. You could feel it pressing in on all sides, filling the space until it seemed almost unbearable, the weight of it settling deep in your chest.

Steve’s restraint was admirable, but you could see the conflict churning behind his eyes. His sense of duty, his unwavering belief in doing what was right, was at war with the growing frustration he felt toward Remy. To Steve, rules were not just guidelines—they were the foundations on which he built his entire life. And Remy? He was everything Steve wasn’t: unpredictable, wild, a man who didn’t give a damn about rules or boundaries if they got in the way of what he wanted.

But beneath that frustration, there was something else—a deeper concern. Steve wasn’t just angry because Remy had broken the rules by pulling a gun in the club. He was worried about you. Worried about what Remy’s presence in your life meant, about the kind of danger and chaos that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Steve had always been the protector, the one who kept you safe, and now it was clear that he wasn’t sure if he could protect you from this—from Remy, from the feelings you were starting to develop, from whatever this strange, magnetic force between you and Remy was turning into.

Remy, on the other hand, was a man who lived by his own rules. He didn’t play by anyone else’s game, and he certainly wasn’t about to start just because Steve Rogers told him to. There was a defiance in the way he stood, in the way he held Steve’s gaze without blinking, as if to say, You don’t scare me. You’re not in control here. But there was more to it than that. Beneath the surface, beneath the cocky arrogance and smooth indifference, Remy knew exactly what was at stake. He wasn’t oblivious to the way you and Steve were connected, to the unspoken bond between you two. And for all his bravado, he respected it, even if he would never admit it out loud.

The silence between them stretched on, thick and heavy, until it was almost suffocating. You could feel your own breath catch in your throat, your heart pounding harder with each passing second. Part of you wanted to step in, to say something, to diffuse the tension before it spiraled out of control. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. This wasn’t just about you. This was about them—about the unspoken battle between two men who, in their own ways, cared about you more than they would ever be able to say.

Steve’s hand twitched at his side, his fingers curling into a fist for just a moment before he forced them to relax. It was a small gesture, but you saw it, and you knew what it meant. He was holding himself back, forcing himself to stay calm when every instinct inside him was telling him to step in, to do something. But Steve was nothing if not disciplined, and he knew that this wasn’t a battle he could win with force. Not tonight.

Remy’s lips curled into the faintest hint of a smirk, just enough to needle at Steve without outright provoking him. It wasn’t a challenge exactly, but it was close enough. He took one last drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling into the night air like a ghostly reminder of the tension still lingering between them. His eyes never left Steve’s, and for a brief moment, something passed between them—something that felt almost like an understanding.

It was subtle, barely noticeable, but you saw the way Steve’s posture shifted. The rigid tension in his shoulders softened, just a fraction, and his stance became less defensive. He wasn’t letting go of his frustration, not entirely, but he was stepping back. He knew this wasn’t a fight he could have right now. Not with you in the middle of it. Not when there were bigger things at play.

For his part, Remy seemed to sense the shift, and the intensity in his gaze eased, just slightly. The smirk faded, replaced by something quieter, something that almost resembled respect. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. The challenge was still there, but it had softened into something less volatile. The two of them had reached an unspoken agreement, a temporary ceasefire. They both knew they weren’t done, that this tension would come back, but not tonight.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, the tightness in your chest easing as the tension between them finally began to recede. Steve’s eyes showed what he needed to say to Remy but couldn’t. Keep her safe.

“I’ll see you later,” Steve said quietly, his voice softening as he spoke to you, not Remy. The words were laden with meaning, with the weight of everything that had just transpired, and with everything that still needed to be said. But he didn’t press. He was giving you the space to make your own choices, even if every fiber of his being wanted to protect you.

You nodded, feeling the gravity of the moment settle over you. You knew what his unspoken words meant. He was leaving you with Remy, and that meant more than either of them would ever admit out loud. Steve trusted you, even if he didn’t trust Remy. And that trust… it was everything.

With one last look at Remy, Steve turned and walked away, his footsteps steady and sure as the club door closed behind him with a soft click. The night felt suddenly quieter, colder, without the weight of his presence, but there was also a strange sense of relief. The storm had passed, for now.

Remy watched him go, his expression unreadable, though you could sense the tension still lingering in his frame. As the smoke from his cigarette dissipated into the night air, he finally turned his attention fully to you, his eyes softening in a way that belied the sharpness he had shown only moments before.

“Didn’t mean t’cause trouble for you, chère,” he said, his voice low, the Cajun lilt softer now, almost apologetic. “But I ain’t gonna stand by when someone’s messin’ wit’ you.”

You exhaled slowly, your heart still racing from the quiet intensity of the standoff. “I know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. And you did. You knew that as wild and unpredictable as Remy was, he had acted out of something deeper—something that had nothing to do with rules or consequences and everything to do with you.

The silence between you and Remy felt suffocating, thick with tension, charged not just with the weight of what had happened—but with everything that was still unsaid. The night air was cool against your skin, but all the heat of what had transpired inside the club still clung to you, making it hard to breathe. You stood up slowly, brushing off your legs more out of habit than necessity, trying to collect yourself, trying to focus on anything but the confusing storm of emotions swirling inside you.

When you turned to face him, Remy stood there, casually leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. But beneath his easy posture, you could see the coiled tension in his frame, the way his eyes followed your every movement with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. He had always been like that—watching you with a sharpness that made you feel like he could see right through you, see all the things you tried to hide.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, though it trembled ever so slightly. You weren’t sure if it was from the lingering adrenaline or something else entirely. “What happened in there… it didn’t have to go that far.”

Remy’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something in them that wasn’t anger or defiance. Beneath the layers of cool confidence and the cocky smirk that usually adorned his face, there was something softer, something almost vulnerable. It was rare to catch him like this, his guard down, his emotions barely concealed behind that mask he wore so well. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke billow out before speaking.

“He put his hands on you,” Remy said simply, his voice low and even, as if that explained everything. “That’s all I needed to know.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up inside you like a wave you couldn’t hold back. “Yeah, but pulling a gun? In the middle of the club? That’s not…” You trailed off, searching for words that could express the storm of emotions you were feeling. “That’s not how you handle things, Remy!”

His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. For a brief moment, you thought he might snap back, lash out with a sharp retort like he so often did when he felt cornered. But instead, he sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to carry with it more weight than just the events of the evening. His shoulders dropped, just slightly, his posture softening in a way that caught you off guard.

“Maybe not,” he admitted quietly, his voice almost a whisper now. “But I don’t handle people touchin’ you well. I don’t handle people hurtin’ you well.”

There it was again—that intensity, that possessiveness that sent your heart racing and made your head spin. You didn’t belong to him. Not really. But the way he had acted tonight, the way he had stormed into that club and made it clear to everyone that you were his to protect—it was undeniable. It was written in every action, in every word. And that terrified you.

You swallowed thickly, trying to regain some semblance of control, some sense of yourself that wasn’t tangled up in the complicated mess that was Remy LeBeau. “I can take care of myself,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended, as if by saying it aloud, you could make it true.

Remy’s eyes softened at your words, but his gaze didn’t waver. He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropping to that low, almost dangerous tone that always seemed to reach deep into your chest and twist something inside you. “I know ya can, chère,” he said gently. “But tha’ don’t mean ya have t’.”

His words hung in the air between you, and you found yourself at a loss. How could you argue with that? How could you argue with someone who had just put everything on the line for you, someone who had stepped into chaos without a second thought because the idea of you being hurt was something he simply couldn’t allow?

The silence between you stretched on, heavy and full of all the things neither of you were saying. You wanted to be angry. You should be angry. But the truth was, you weren’t. Not really. Because despite everything—despite the recklessness, the chaos, and the fact that Remy had just complicated your life in ways you hadn’t even begun to process—you couldn’t deny the way your heart responded to him. Something had changed tonight, something that couldn’t be undone, and the weight of that realization pressed down on you like a tidal wave.

Remy took one last drag of his cigarette, the orange ember glowing brightly for a moment before he flicked it to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot with a deliberate motion. His eyes never left yours, dark and intense, but there was something different now. The sharp edges were softened, replaced with something that made your heart ache in a way that scared you more than anything that had happened tonight.

“Let me take y’ home,” he said quietly, his voice so soft you might have missed it if you weren’t standing so close. There was no demand in his tone, no arrogance or bravado. Just a simple offer, laced with a sincerity that made your chest tighten.

You stood there for a moment, frozen, the weight of everything pressing in on you. You could feel the conflict warring inside you—the part of you that wanted to push him away, to tell him you didn’t need him, that you could handle your life just fine on your own. But then there was the other part, the part that couldn’t deny the comfort you felt in his presence, the safety you had come to associate with him, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

Your throat felt tight, and when you finally nodded, it was almost imperceptible, a small movement that spoke volumes. Because the truth was, despite everything, despite the chaos and the confusion, you wanted to go home. And more than that, you wanted him to take you there.

Remy’s eyes softened even further as he saw your silent agreement. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t need to. The small, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at the corner of his lips was enough to convey the relief he felt. He reached out then, his hand brushing lightly against your arm—just a soft, fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt of warmth through you that you couldn’t ignore.

He gestured toward the street, where his car was parked, and you followed him silently, your heart still racing, your mind still spinning. The walk was short, but every step felt heavy with the weight of what had just happened—what had been set into motion between you.

When you reached his car, Remy opened the passenger door for you, a simple gesture, but one that felt intimate in a way that made your chest ache. You slid into the seat, the smell of leather and cigarette smoke filling your senses as he closed the door behind you. Remy climbed in beside you, the door shutting with a quiet thud that seemed to echo in the stillness of the night. The familiar scent of leather and tobacco filled the small space of the car, wrapping around you like a reminder of him—of all the things he was, all the things he never said out loud. He didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he just sat there, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly you could see the tension in the way his knuckles turned white against the black leather.

The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. It was more like the calm before a storm, the moment when everything hangs in the balance and you’re not sure if you should brace yourself or let yourself breathe. You could feel the tension radiating off him, a tangible thing that seemed to fill the car, pressing in on you from all sides. His jaw was clenched, the muscles ticking beneath his skin as if he were holding back something he couldn’t quite put into words.

He had been reckless tonight—more reckless than usual—even for him. And it wasn’t just the gun he’d pulled, or the way he’d stared down Steve without flinching, without backing down. It was something more than that, something deeper. You could feel it in the way he looked at you now, like there was a storm raging inside him that he was barely holding back. Something had shifted between the two of you, and whatever it was, it scared him as much as it scared you.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his heart doing a slow, painful roll in his chest. You were sitting there, quiet, waiting. Maybe waiting for him to say something, or maybe just waiting for him to start the damn car. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Because if he started the car, if he took you home, it would mean the night was over, and he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

Remy had never been a man who thought much about the future. He lived in the moment, took what he wanted when he wanted it, and never let himself get too attached. Attachments were dangerous. They made you vulnerable. And vulnerability was something he couldn’t afford. Not in his line of work. Not with his past. But with you… Damn it, with you, it was different.

He hadn’t planned for this. He hadn’t planned for the way you’d slip into his life, a little bit at a time, until you were everywhere. In his thoughts. In his dreams. In the way his heart seemed to kick up a little faster whenever you walked into a room. He hadn’t planned for how much it would matter to him when you smiled at him, or how much it would tear him apart when you looked at him the way you were lookin’ at him now—like you were tryin’ to figure him out, tryin’ to understand why he was so damn complicated.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, his hands tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creakin’ under his grip. He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t just walk away. Not now. Not after tonight. He had made that clear the second he’d seen that guy put his hands on you in the club. The second he felt that flash of possessiveness burn through him like wildfire.

He’d seen red. He hadn’t thought. He’d just acted. Because no one—absolutely no one—was gonna touch you like that. Not while he was breathing.

But it wasn’t just about protecting you. It wasn’t just about making sure you were safe. It was more than that, and he knew it. Hell, he’d known it for a while now, even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it. You weren’t just some girl he was looking after. You weren’t just some fling, some distraction to pass the time.

You were something else. Something more. Something that scared the shit out of him.

Finally, Remy turned the key in the ignition, the car rumbling to life beneath you. He glanced over at you one last time, his eyes dark and serious, like he was trying to tell you something without speaking. And maybe he was. Maybe you didn’t need words to understand what was happening between the two of you.

As he pulled away from the curb, the city lights flickering through the windows, he couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted. Something fragile, something he wasn’t sure he could hold onto—wasn’t sure he deserved to hold onto—but he was damn sure gonna try.

Because for the first time in a long time, Remy LeBeau had something worth fightin’ for. <><><><><><><> When Remy finally pulled up in front of your building, the soft hum of the engine faded into silence, leaving only the quiet of the night and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat. The car came to a stop, but neither of you moved. The street outside was still, the occasional flicker of a streetlamp the only sign of life. Inside the car, the air felt thick, heavy with everything that had happened and everything that had yet to be said.

You stole a glance at him from the corner of your eye. His hands still rested on the steering wheel, though his grip had loosened. For a moment, you thought he might say something—something that would break the tension, the uncertainty that hung between you like a fragile thread. But Remy remained silent, his gaze fixed ahead, his face unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice softer than usual but firm in its resolve. “I’ll walk ya’ up,” he said, the Cajun lilt in his words gentle, almost hesitant.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Part of you wanted to tell him no—that you didn’t need him hovering, that you could make it up to your apartment just fine on your own. You’d done it countless times before. You were independent. You were strong. But tonight, after everything that had happened—the fight, the gun, the raw intensity in Remy’s eyes when he had stepped between you and danger—well, tonight was different. There was a part of you, a part you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, that wanted him there. That needed him there.

Without another word, the two of you stepped out of the car, the night air cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the car. The quiet of the street seemed to mirror the silence between you as Remy fell into step beside you, his presence solid and reassuring, like an anchor in a world that suddenly felt too unsteady. The narrow staircase that led to your apartment loomed ahead, but it felt longer than usual, each step charged with an unspoken tension.

He didn’t say a word, but you could feel him beside you—his quiet strength, the subtle protectiveness in the way he moved. It was like he was always aware of you, always making sure you were okay, even if he didn’t say it out loud. His hand hovered near your back, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. The air between you buzzed with something electric, something neither of you seemed ready to confront.

When you finally reached your door, you paused, fumbling with your keys. Your fingers felt clumsy, as if the weight of the night had finally caught up with you. The lock clicked open, but you hesitated, turning to face him, searching for the right words. But they didn’t come. Your mind raced, your heart pounded, but your mouth remained silent.

For a long moment, you just stared up at him. There was something in his eyes as he looked back at you—something deep and complicated, like he was wrestling with feelings he didn’t quite know how to express. You had seen Remy in all kinds of situations—cocky, charming, dangerous—but this was different. There was a vulnerability there, hidden beneath the surface, something he tried to mask with that same hard-edged exterior he always wore.

Finally, you managed to speak, though your voice was barely above a whisper. “Thank you,” you said, the words simple but heavy with meaning.

Remy’s expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing just for a moment. His eyes, usually so full of playful mischief, now held something else—something quieter, more raw. He didn’t say anything right away, just looked at you, and in that silence, you could feel the weight of everything that had gone unsaid between the two of you. The tension that had been simmering for so long, now bubbling just beneath the surface.

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement, as if he understood what you were really saying. And maybe he did. Maybe he understood better than you gave him credit for. His hand brushed against your arm lightly, his touch warm and fleeting, like he was allowing himself that one last moment of contact before pulling away.

For a second, you thought he might say something more—something that would explain what was happening between you, something that would put words to the emotions swirling inside his chest. But instead, he simply nodded again, his lips pressed into a thin line. He turned, his hand already on the railing, ready to descend the stairs and disappear into the night.

But as his foot hovered over the first step, something inside you twisted, a sharp, aching pull that you couldn’t ignore. You weren’t ready for him to go. Not like this. Not with so much left open, unresolved. The thought of him walking away, of the night ending with him just… leaving, stirred something deep within you—a fear, a longing, an ache that felt too big to name.

Before you could think better of it, your voice broke through the stillness, stopping him in his tracks. “Remy,” you called, your heart hammering in your chest, your voice quieter than you intended but still louder than anything you’d said all night. “What… what happens now?”

He froze, his back still turned to you, his body caught in that space between staying and leaving. The streetlamp above cast his silhouette in shadow, and you could see the way his hand clenched briefly at his side, as if he were wrestling with something inside himself. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, the distance between you suddenly feeling like miles rather than inches.

Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he turned to face you again. His eyes—those red-on-black eyes that had always been so hard to read—were darker than usual, shadowed with something deep, something conflicted. The playful charm that usually danced behind his gaze was gone, replaced by something heavier, more serious.

“Wha’ happens now?” he repeated, his voice low and rough, like gravel scraping against stone. The question lingered in the air, thick with the weight of everything neither of you were saying. He let it hang there for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure how to answer, as if he was testing the words, feeling them out before he spoke again.

Finally, he took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I don’ know, chère,” he said, his voice quieter now, more measured. “I don’ know what happens next.”

There was a vulnerability in his words, an admission that he didn’t have all the answers, that maybe he was just as lost in all of this as you were. It wasn’t like Remy to admit uncertainty, to let anyone see the cracks in his armor. But here, in the quiet of the night, with just the two of you standing on that doorstep, he didn’t try to hide it.

“I’ll see ya’ ‘round,” he finally added, his tone carefully neutral, the words almost too casual for what they carried. But there was something in the way he said it that made you feel like it wasn’t just a throwaway line. It was a promise, but one laced with uncertainty, with the tension of things left unresolved.

He took a step back, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. And then, without another word, he turned and started down the stairs, his figure slowly disappearing into the shadows of the street below.

You stood there, frozen, your heart still pounding in your chest as you watched him go. And even though he had promised he’d see you again, the sight of him walking away left you with an ache—a deep, hollow longing that settled in your chest, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t ready to let him go.

Not yet.

Not like this.

[saxamophone]

🎶 `Wireless Fic Claim

Fuck YES it's @hd-wireless reveal time and I love this fest so much. It's bangers only, all the time, every year, and I'm just happy to be here.🧍‍♀️

Thanks very much to @nv-md for the ideas/beta. A true giant among us, and the pinnacle of what fandom represents: collaboration, kindness, enthusiasm, and humor.

A big thank you to the mods! And to the readers and commenters: I love you, I love you, I love you.

And a huge shout-out to @emsuemsu for the prompt Heartbeat by Childish Gambino. Obsessed the requests to 'make it painful but in a sexy way,' 'HEA or not?', and 'all the infidelity!' This was so fun to write.

Rated E; 22k words

Tags: EWE, Eighth Year and Beyond, Explicit Sexual Content, Alcohol, Break Up, New Orleans, Southern Decadence, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Researcher Harry Potter, Angst, ALL THE ANGST, Infidelity, cheating, I'M SAYING IT AGAIN INFIDELITY

Summary:

Harry hates Draco. Draco hates Harry. Only it's not hate, not even a little bit. Featuring: a cooperative independent study, golden hour on wrecked sheets, water from fountains of dubious origin, purple Mardi Gras beads, and a bird with silly legs. Also featuring: heated arguments, infidelity, unquenchable desire, and heartbreak. Over and over again.

Read on AO3.

[neesieiumz]

ma bellamour ⇴ ”someone as beautiful… could love someone as me” ⸻ c. kamo

Part I. Part II

synopsis ⇴ "Ooh, love is beautiful, love is wonderful!" ⸻ ma belle evangeline.

warnings ⇴ 18+. sm*t. soft-dom!choso. minors do not interact. fluff. mobster!au. (this shows up more in part ii) inn-owner!reader. takes place similar to new orleans but it's not! has lots of time skips as well. single-mom!reader. yuuji is a little kid in here. choso is the best big brother as well. black!coded reader. afab reader. female anatomy. sukuna ryomen is his own warning. however, he is only in a small part in this part. mentions of torture. there are also ocs in here, the most important one is reader's daughter, who is also named evangeline as well. choso has a huge scar on his chest, it's for the plot. descriptions of torture. no beta readers cause I need to get this out in time. choso art credit — affectbitter on twitter

writer’s notes ⇴ THIS IS SO LATE I KNOW! It was supposed to be a Valentine's Day gift for you all but I was indecisive about how to do it! y'all must know where I got inspired for this work. my favorite Disney princess movie! as you can tell it's pretty long... but I really hope you guys enjoy It!

word count ⇴ 9.9k

The air smelled of old car oil, and the rumbling sounds of the cars going up and down the cracked streets. The sidewalks were filled with people, constantly moving up and down, with all walks of life interacting with each other. He held his brother close to him, feeling his chest move up and down as he slept soundly. They were covered in dirt and grime, exhaustion weighing heavily on his eyes. The train journey was long and tiring, and he could feel his stomach cramp up in hunger and dehydration. His clothes were heavy with sweat and dirt, adding extra weight to his already weary body. However, he still pressed on, the feeling of his little brother’s heartbeat close to him. Choso maneuvered through the crowds, pushing through until he rounded a corner. A hanging sign, deep oak colored with fancy shimmering light green words caught his attention, Marina Inn, Bed and Breakfast. There were floral designs around the sign, in the same light green sparkle color the words were in, a simple but eye-catching design. 

However, what really had his attention was the words under it, an obvious sliding sign, for those who wished to change the words under them, now said capacity: Vacancy. He could almost collapse in relief, everywhere he had gone was full. According to conversations he overheard, a huge fair was in town, attracting all kinds of people worldwide. So to see somewhere with some kind of space where they could rest their heads. He approached the door, slowly bending down to place the suitcase in his hand on the concrete ground, careful not to wake Yuuji. He then opened the door, using his foot to prop it open before bending down, and picking up his luggage back up. He stepped inside the hotel, the door slowly closing behind him. 

It was cozy, the lobby as Choso glanced around, a fireplace roaring with a flame in front of him. Dark-colored wood, matching the color and material of hanging signs outside surrounded him. The banister of the stairs led up to the upper levels of the inn. A brim-brick fireplace, roared with an orange-red flame, the heat engulfing the area. He took a deep breath, his shoulders unintentionally relaxed, this aura, this palace had a familiar sense to it. One he had not felt in a very long time. He glanced down at his sleeping brother, the tufts of his pink hair moving up as he softly snored. Beside the fireplace, was a desk, the check-in desk. It was empty currently, and his eyes landed on the sign standing on the desk, next to a bell. 

Ring for assistance!

He placed his bag down once again, shuffling Yuuji in his arms to give himself some reprieve, before pressing the bell two times. He waited for a moment, taking in his surroundings just a bit more before a sweet voice called out from the back:

“I’ll be right with you!”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just waited, resting his now free hand on the one holding his brother. Choso soon heard footsteps approaching him, getting closer and closer before the sound of heavy breathing got closer as well. 

“Sorry bout the wait, there was a grease clog in one of the stoves and my fixer ain’t coming until tomorrow,” your voice was much clearer as you came out from the back, approaching the desk. 

You had yet to look at him, but Choso had seen you. Your hair was wrapped in a white scarf, now obviously stained with dirty black-yellow grease. Tied around your neck and clothes was once a pure white apron, stained with the same color grease stains. You also wore a simple creme blouse, along with a yellow-and-white checkered skirt, flowing all around you. They were both covered in grease stains as well. Choso slowly shook his head, slightly mesmerized by your very form, despite the grease and grunge.

“It’s fine,” he finally pushed out, “I’m not in any kind of rush anyways.”

You nodded your head, and that’s when you finally looked up to see who was in front of you. Your eyes widened in concern at his state of being. 

“Oh my, you must have come a very long way, I’m assuming you’ll be needing two rooms?” You said, pulling out a book. 

Immediately, he shook his head, “just one please.”

You glanced between the two of them, “are you sure, sir?”

He took a deep breath nodding his head, “yes, one is just fine, preferably with two beds if you have it?”

You hummed,, before flipping through the large book, “we have available rooms with two beds, if that’s what you prefer.”

“Will that cost extra…?” he could help but tentatively asked.

He left with only so much money, enough for the train tickets to get all the way here and some food for Yuuji. You look at him, before peering down at Yuuji sleeping soundly in his arms. Smiling softly, you shook your head. 

“No, it won’t be extra, depending on how long you can stay of course?”

Dropping his clunky rectangular suitcase, he trudged through his pocket, before pulling out both his wallet along with a folded napkin. He tried to reach over, but with Yuuji still in his arms, he couldn’t fully open up the wallet and napkin. He grumbled, reaching over and over again but he still couldn't reach. He whispered a curse to himself, before jumping as he felt a hand gently tap him on the shoulders. He looked over and it was you, no longer standing behind the counter desk. You held your hands out, glancing down at Yuuji before looking at Choso.

“I can hold him, if you wish to get settled first?” You asked him.

Immediately, he shook his head, “oh no, I couldn’t bother—”

You shook your own head back at him, “nonsense, it is no bother to me at all. Plus, he reminds me of my daughter.”

Choso doesn’t know why that singular piece of information dampened his heart, is it the idea that you were married? He had no time to focus on that, he thought to himself as he leaned down, allowing you to slowly scoop Yuuji from his arms. The small pink-haired boy whined for a moment taking a deep breath, and with no extra beat, he relaxed in your hold, snuggling against your form and unconsciously making himself comfortable. Your sweet smile slightly reverberated in his heart as you slightly rocked him, walking back to your post behind the desk. With his newly-freed hand, he was able to open up his wallet, pulling out the last few bills in it. He placed that on the desk, before reaching towards the folded napkin, revealing the secret stack of bills. His heart slightly dropped at what he had to do to get them, the life that he had to leave behind for something better. 

He looked up at you, “how… how much would a week stay be?”

You hummed, looking away from Yuuji to look at him, “one week…?” you questioned.

You told him the amount, and he could feel himself almost fall to the floor with relief. He had enough for that, luckily, unfortunately, he’ll have to dip into the blood money he took, currently wrapped up in the dirty napkin. He pulled out a few extra bills, before putting his now empty wallet and the folded napkin back in his pocket. He then handed you the money, which you thanked him for before placing it in a drawer you must have unlocked while he was distracted. With your free hand, you handed him the log-in book, telling him where to sign his name and date. 

He handed you back the book, allowing you to look at his name, “Choso Kamo,” you tested on your tongue, elongating the “o” in his last name.

He straightened up, unconsciously as spoke his name. He watched you turn back around, picking up the key that dangled around your neck. With no warning, you pulled the key right off your neck, before sticking the keyhole in the wall. Twisting and turning the key, Choso heard something unlock before the wall split into two sides, before opening up, revealing the rows of keys. They were all the same color, rustic brown with a dangling tag hanging off the end of each of them. Maneuvering your pointed hand, you ‘tsked multiple times to yourself, figuring out which key to give them. You soon picked a key in the top right corner, the very key in the top corner. You dropped the key in your pocket before closing the hidden wall, hearing the familiar click before twisting your key, and pulling it out. 

Turning around, you stepped from behind your post once again, smiling over at Choso. 

“Follow me, and don’t forget your bag!”

With that, he was hot on your trail as you led him up the stairs, the sounds of your more dainty steps combined with his more heavy ones. The wood squeaked under him, and he almost thought he was too dense for these stairs. However, you paid the sounds no mind, continuing up the stairs, passing the second floor, the hall split into two directions, making some kind of ‘L’ shape, with the stairs being right at the corner. You continued to lead them up the stairs, heading up to the more quiet, more private third floor. It only had one hallway, looking straight ahead. The low ambiance eased the pounding headache he constantly ignored. You lead them down the hallway, passing by a few doors, before stopping two doors away from the end of the hall, in which another door stood.

You pulled the key out of your pocket, before sticking it into the keyhole in the doorknob and twisting it open, the door clicking open. An indescribable feeling ran through Choso as he looked upon the new room, where he would be laying his head for an indescribable future. It was spacious and looked as if a family was supposed to live there instead of two brothers. He said nothing as the two of you walked into the room, there was a living room and a bit towards the back, seeing the opened door leading to a bedroom with a large, readily made bed. He looked over to the right where you were heading, seeing another opened door and finding a much smaller bedroom in there. You pushed the door open further, revealing a simple room, with a bit more color than the environment in the makeshift living room. It was obviously a children’s room, which made it perfect as you slowly reached down, pulling the sheets back before placing the small child on the bed, before pulling the soft blankets over him. 

You soon turned back to Choso, pressing your index finger against your lips, he nodded slowly before the two of you tip-toeing out of the room. Once out of the room, you reached out, slowly closing the door behind you with a soft click. 

“This room is definitely more than the amount I paid, with all due respect ma’am…” he trailed off, soon realizing he didn’t know your name. 

You giggled a bit, before giving him your name, “and I don’t know what you mean Mr. Kamo, last I checked this was my inn, so I made the prices.”

The sound of your name rang through his head, as you hummed, before turning to the right, heading toward the much bigger bedroom. He couldn't help but shake his head, before following right behind you. He entered the room, and the size of it surprised him. 

“Here is your bedroom of course, please make yourself comfortable as much as possible, lunch was already served one hour ago but dinner will be at 7:30!”

You turned towards him, before dropping the key in his hands. He was still in slight shock at your amount of generosity, and how well you have treated him in so little time. 

You reached up, placing your hand on his shoulder, “get some sleep, Mr. Kamo, please.”

You waited a moment, only beginning to leave the moment he nodded his head. He heard your heels clicking against the wooden floors, before hearing the door squeak open. The door soon closed shut, and now Choso was left alone, nothing but his thoughts supposedly running rampant. However, he couldn't find the amount of worry and fear he had been so used to the moment he left his old life. Dropping the suitcase, the loud bang echoed through the room affecting him. He was like a zombie, slowly taking heavy steps reaching and going to his destination. The moment he reached the bed, he fell over, eyes closing shut and the moment his head hit the pillow, he was out. Gone to the world around him. 

Choso awoke with a sharp breath, fear striking his heart as sweat bullets appeared on his face. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. For a moment, he thought he was back at that place, shrouded in a certain darkness he wished to never experience again. Pushing himself up, he glanced around at the cozy, rustic brown-colored room before his memories slowly slipped back to him like the rushing waves in a mirror.

He escaped. He escaped, he escaped with Yuuji. 

Yuuji!

Quickly, he shot up from the bed, feet banging against the wooden floor before stomping out of the room. Scurrying across the room, he swung Yuuji’s door open, expecting to see his little pink-haired brother laying across his bed. Instead, he found an empty-made bed, with a piece of paper sitting neatly on top of it. His heart skipped several beats, feeling it drop as he basically jumped towards the bed, snatching up the piece of paper. 

The handwriting of the first line was too neat to be Yuuji’s. However, the second line looked more like the way he writes. 

Yuuji will be downstairs with me -- Y/n

P.S., you still snore too loudly when you sleep. :( 

Usually, he would have chuckled at that, but his racing heart and brain gave him no time. Crumpling the paper, holding it tight as he left the room, stumping away towards the stairs. Choso got to the stairs, a sudden burst of energy fueling him as he quickly scaled down the stairs. As he got closer to the first floor, he began to call out his name.

“Yuuji! Yuuji, are you here?!”

The moment his eyes landed on the inn lobby on the first floor, the back door flew open, revealing the bright-eyed young child. Choso's heart sighed in relief, the heavy beats immediately relaxed as he made it to the bottom floor. At the same time, Yuuji ran up to him, arms wide. Choso scooped him the moment he was close, holding him close to his heart. After holding him for a bit, he shuffled him around to look at his face, quickly checking over for marks on his face, bruises, and cuts that were not there before. 

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he couldn't help but ask, slowly sliding to the floor. 

The little one shook his head, “no, the nice lady helped me out!” He turned around slightly, pointing towards the back.

He looked up, only to see you standing there, but not only you. Gripping at your long skirt, was a little girl, just around Yuuji’s age as well. She had a blue dress on with pink patterns, and her hair was in little braids, with black and blue beads at the end, held in two ponytails. Her eyes were unwavering as they looked at Choso, continuing to hold on to her mother’s skirt. Looking back up at you, you still wore the same outfit as earlier, only wearing a new apron with no grease stains but rather stains of blue, and floury-chalky white. 

“My apologies if we caused you any distress,” your sweet voice rang out, “Yuuji couldn’t wake you up, so I wrote a note saying where he’ll be.”

You stepped forward, holding the little girl’s hands as you did so. Choso took a short breath before standing up fully, shaking his head. 

“No need to apologize, it’s just… it’s been a while since Yuuji left my side like that.”

You nodded your head, “of course, I understand completely.”

He nodded his head, before looking at Yuuji once again, fully taking in his state of being, “Yuuji, why are you covered in wet flour and…” he took a moment to lift up his coat jacket, sniffing it, “is that blueberries?”

He smiled widely, his white teeth shining against the light, “we were making blueberry muffins!!”

Choso’s eyes quirked up for a moment, “oh really?” He looked back up at you, seeing you nodding your head to confirm.

“We had just put them in the oven when you arrived, they’ll be done by the time people finish their food.”

He nodded his head, glancing around for some kind of clock to see the time.

6:34 pm.

Luckily, he still hadn’t missed dinner yet, he thought to himself as he could feel his stomach squeezing and turning from the lack of food from the past week. 

“Mr. Kamo, I’d recommend you freshen up, those clothes look dirty and old from your journey.”

He nodded his head again, yeah, a shower would do him wonders right now. He then turned to face Yuuji, “you’ll be okay without me, at least for a little more?”

He nodded his head, giving his older brother a thumbs up, “I’ll be fine!”

Choso glanced at you, before looking back at you, “stay with Mrs. Y/n, okay? Listen to her, alright?”

He nodded his head once again, “I will!”

He let out one final breath, before looking up at you, “can you continue to watch him for me, until I come back?”

You nodded your head swiftly, “of course, go get cleaned up!”

You basically shooed him as Yuuji walked back to you, standing right beside your daughter before whispering in her ear. The two of them smiled at each other, before basically running back into the kitchen and back room. Choso turned around, beginning to walk up the stairs, before taking a moment to look back, seeing your figure turned around, following behind the two rascals whose giggles could be heard throughout the lobby. Choso couldn’t help but smile at the sounds of Yuuji’s happiness, something he hadn’t heard in a long time. 

He scaled up the stairs once again, arriving back on the third floor before heading to his room. Choso went back to his room, pulling out another outfit to wear before heading to the bathroom. The bathroom still felt a bit humid from its last use, but he paid it no mind. He shrugged off his old, dirty clothes, placing them in a trash bag he found. He turned on the tub, putting it on the hot water as he waited for it to fill. As steam began to willow through the bathroom, he took a moment to glance at the mirror, his naked body staring right back at him. His scarred hands ran across his scared body, old bruises that hadn’t healed properly, and gnarly scars, scattered across his torso and waist. The most prominent one was the huge reddish-brown scar stretching from his right shoulder, all the way to his lower left hip. As his fingers slowly traced the gash, memories invaded his mind.

He writhed in pain, blood gushing, seeping into his off-white shirt. Above him, he can hear pained sobs, high pitched screams as Yuuji is pulled away from him. Choso cursed, the pain immobilizing him as he could hear his brother’s voice fade further away from him, but he could still hear him screaming his name. 

“...LET GO OF ME! CHOSO! PLEASE DON’T DIE!”

“Quiet, brat!” A stern voice called out.

For a moment, Yuuji’s tears and sobs hushed out of fear. The strong voice turned towards Choso’s writhing body. 

“This is his punishment, be quiet unless you want the same fate.”

He was sniffling, and his brother was sniffing but he didn’t cry out again. All Choso wanted to do was get up, hold him, and tell him everything was gonna be alright. To take him and run as far as he could. Yuuji, his little brother… 

Heavy footsteps soon began to fade, and he could hear something squeak, a door beginning to close. 

“Let’s just see if you can survive this, Choso?”

Darkness surrounds him once again, silence loudly ringing in his ear. His heavy arms pressed against his wound, hoping to somehow, someway, stop the bleeding. The metallic smell of blood hit his nose. He can’t die, and he won’t die, not when Yuuji still needed him. He needed him, they needed to get out, out of this place, out of this life. 

Choso Kamo will not die here. 

With a sharp breath, he forced himself out of the flashback. He glanced back, seeing the tub nearly filling up. He turned around, turning off the faucet before grabbing a clean rag, and slowly stepping into the hot water. He shuddered, taking another step into the heated water. He dipped his rag into the water, before scrubbing the soap along the rag before beginning to wash his body. White suds soon turned brown, evidence of just how dirty he was. 

He sighed, relaxing in the tub. 

To new beginnings, and a new life. 

He felt… renewed, that was the best thing he could describe himself. He thought as he jogged down the stairs. Once he made it down, there were a few more people in the lobby, congregating and talking amongst themselves. He trudged through them, using a simple head nod to greet those who would look at him. He knew what they were staring at, the thick bandage-like mark on his nose, obscuring some of his faces. Most people would just stare, too intimidated by his size to even ask about it. He paid them no mind, hearing Yuuji’s voice come from the open doorway towards the right of the lobby. There were more people in there, all sitting at different tables, with plates of food in front of them as well. He looked around the room, making eye contact with a row of long tables, with trays of hot food steaming from them. The smell wafted through the hair, the savory smell of roasted, seasoned chicken, pasta, and other foods. The sounds of Yuuji speaking got louder and he turned around, only to find him and your daughter sitting at a table in the corner. They both had half-eaten plates of food in front of them, as well as two coloring books in front of them with crayons scattered in front of them. 

He headed towards them, smiling as he headed towards them. As he got closer, his figure must have moved in their peripheral vision because they both looked up, looking straight at him. Yuuji smiled, shouting his name, pushing himself out of the chair before running up to him. Choso scooped him again, holding him close once again. The stains from before were cleaned up, and he now smelled of chicken and pasta. 

“Was the food good?” Choso asked him, his heart warming at his enthusiastic nod. 

“Miss Y/n is an amazing cook! Better than you!”

He tried to ignore the pang in his heart as he said that, smiling in his face. Yuuji gasped, before squirming in his arms. Choso bent down slightly, letting him go as he slid down to the floor before going back to the table. 

“Choso! This is Evageline!” Yuuji held her hand, bringing her closer to you. 

Your daughter, Evangeline, shuffled around, looking everywhere but at him. Just like how his appearance sometimes was off-putting to adults, children can find it unappealing as well. These types of interactions hurt his heart a bit more than with adults. Even so, he took a breath, before holding out his hand. 

“Hi there, Evangeline, my name is Choso. I’m Yuuji’s big brother.”

She glanced down at his hand, before looking back up at him. She was still a bit apprehensive, even taking a point to take a step back a little bit. However, before Choso could say anything, he could feel a figure approaching them from behind, standing right behind him.

“Now that’s not how we greet guests and people, is it Evangeline?” 

He stood up, turning around to face you, this time without any apron on your body. You walked around Choso, taking your daughter softly by her hand and turning her towards you. 

“Hey love,” you spoke softly towards her, “what’s going on?”

Evangeline whispered in your ears as Choso rose back, Yuuji came around the two of you, wrapping his tiny arms around Choso’s legs as the two of you looked at him. You whispered back into her ears as well, Evangeline nodding along with your words. Once the two of you finished speaking with each other, you rose up, holding her in your arms before turning around to the two of them. 

Evangeline looked at Choso before holding out her hand, “sorry, Mr. Kamo. My name is Evangeline.”

Choso couldn't help but smile, reaching out his own hand to gently shake hers, “it’s nice to meet you Evangeline.”

You placed her back down as Yuuji went back to the table with Evangeline, not before telling Choso that he saved a seat for him. You sat with them as Choso walked over to the food table, picking up a plate before stacking it high with food. He grabbed a glass, filling it with water from the pitcher before walking back to the table with you and the children. He placed his plate down, sitting down right beside his brother, picking up his spoon and fork. As he ate, the feeling of hot warm food, not bland as well, was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Choso, look!”

He must have been too focused on his food, looking up at all three of you staring at him. He could feel bits of food scattered around his mouth, which must have set off the little giggles from their mouth. 

“You look funny,” Yuuji laughed, covering his mouth as well.

Evangeline copied him as well, the two of them giggling away at Choso’s countenance. He looked over at you to see an amused smile on your face as well. Choso could feel his cheeks redden as he reached out, grabbing a napkin to wipe away his mouth. 

“My apologies,” he mumbled, reaching over to tickle Yuuji’s laughter only got louder. 

You shook your head, “no problem, I’m glad you're enjoying the food.”

The conversation flowed between the four of you, mostly between Choso and you as the kids were mainly focused on who can make the best drawing of Choso. He asked you about how you became the owner of this inn, and you delved into a great story about your life here. How this has always been a family business, originally founded by your great-grandmother. You had grown up here, as did your mother and your grandmother as well. Families grew here, before going out the world and making their own marks in the world. You told him the story of how your father saved your business, from a group of thieves with dangerous weapons as well. Unfortunately, he had lost his life in the attack but drove them away enough for the police to get there. You pointed over to the back wall where his face was memorialized on the wall of the dining hall, which was always his favorite place in the inn. You let off a bittersweet chuckle once you had told him that. Choso couldn't help but place a hand on your shoulder, trying his best to provide some comfort to you. 

“Thank you,” you sighed, placing your own hand on top of his, “I just hope he likes the way I run the inn now?”

He smiled, “I’m sure he’s very proud of his daughter.”

You thanked him once again, before feeling a tug on your arm. You looked over at your daughter, who gestured for you to come closer. You nodded along to her words before slowly rising to your feet, taking her hand before leading her away from the table. 

“We have to go do something, but it was great having a conversation with Choso. I hope to see you around the inn as well.”

You waved bye to the two of them, Evangeline did so as well, but more so Yuuji than Choso. That’s fine, he thought to himself, as the two of you headed out of the dining hall. As the two of you walked away, the people all around the dining hall greeted you, smiling in your faces as they complimented your food. The two of you soon disappeared through the open doorway, leaving just the two of you. He glanced over at Yuuji, who stuck his tongue out as he put the finishing touches on his portrait of him. He simply smiled, and ruffled his hair for a bit, before continuing to eat his food. 

Three days had passed, and no luck in finding a new job. 

Choso was at his wit's end, and he didn’t know what to do. He had constantly relied on your help with Yuuji, watching him as he went out into the world, giving his name to anyone who would hear him. No luck. No one would hire him, no callbacks to the inn, no nothing. He refused to want to dip into the folded money, which he had now placed into the bottom left drawer in his nightstand. Blood money, as he’s called it multiple times. However, the week was soon ending, and he needed to find another way to pay for another week in the inn. 

His head hung low as he trudged back into the inn lobby, hearing your voice talking to the new guests in the front. As he turned to the left, he looked over at you as you were instructing the new people on what to sign. For a moment, he looked up, and the two of you locked eyes. You smiled, waving at him, and him immediately waving back. One of the guests caught your attention and you turned back to her, speaking in that high-pitched people-pleaser voice he had heard you use so many times. With his heart lifted up just a bit, he continued up the stairs, soon making it to his room. It was empty, as Yuuji was still downstairs, most likely hanging out with Evangeline in an obscure corner of the inn. He soon made it over to his bed, laying across, letting out a deep, heavy sigh. He was tired, so tired of the constant job hunt, however, they couldn’t stay at an inn forever. He needs to do this, to provide a better life for Yuuji. 

A sudden knock came on the door, and his body sprang up in reaction. 

“Choso…? Can I come in?”

It was you, as you laid another knock on the door. Immediately he shot off the bed, shrugging off the suit jacket you allowed him to borrow. 

“Y…yeah!” he stuttered, walking slowly towards the door. 

He stood in front of the door, taking a deep breath before slowly opening the door. You stood on the other side, a small smile on your face as he looked at you. You wore long baggy, flare-out pants, and a simple black shirt tucked in with a belt as well. You weren’t wearing a scarf that time, your long braids hanging loose, falling to right around your waist. 

“How was the job hunt?” You asked him as you took a couple of steps into the room. 

He blinked, watching as you entered the room, unable to do anything but close the door and watch you for a moment. He soon snaps himself out of it, following after you as you take a seat on one of the seats. 

“I haven’t heard back from anywhere, so… not great.”

You hummed, nodding your head for a moment, squinting your eyes for a moment, before looking up at him. 

“On a scale of one to ten… how good are you at handy-man stuff? Like fixing stuff, etcetera, etcetera.”

He was confused, “if I had to guess… a good six maybe? Why?”

You blinked, “that’s all I need. My last handyman quit on me, so I need someone else.”

He distinctly remembered your meeting, you covered in grease as you complained of the same stove which gives you problems once again. 

“Wouldn’t your husband do things like that?”

Your face dropped for a moment, “husband?” you asked. 

His eyes widened for a moment, “...you’re not married?”

You couldn't help the snickers that came out of your mouth, covering it up immediately with your hand, “Choso, I’m not married. You’d think I’d have a handy-man if I was married?”

You couldn't help the wide-pressed smile at the sight of his cute face slowly turning red from embarrassment. 

“I… apologize, for assuming you were married.”

You shook your head, now showing off your smile, “no no it's fine, trust me. I’ve heard the worst assumptions. So about the handyman job…? You’ll no longer have to pay to stay here!”

He perked up a bit, as it hit him, you were offering him a job right here. Which would be even better for him, being close to Yuuji and watching over him much better. He can’t always rely on you to keep watching him. However, that also means they don’t have to leave the area, and with Yuuji and Eva attached by the hip. It was a win all around.

He nodded his head, “I’ll accept it.”

You smiled immediately standing up, “great! Because the grease stove is broken again and I am not fixing it!”

He stuttered, as you suddenly pulled him up from his seat, “wait I didn’t think we were starting right now!”

He could hear your laughter sound a little mischievous, much like when he would see Eva and Yuuji play a game and she would win multiple times. 

He now sees where she gets it from, he thought as he pulled out of the room. However, he couldn't help the smile that formed on his face as you dragged him downstairs.

He now wore the apron you wore when the grease stove broke the last time as you stood behind him, peering in on him as he got the new clog out. Yuuji and Eva stood behind you, watching Choso battle against the gas-grease stove. 

Once he finished, covered head to toe in black-yellow grease, you easily rewarded him with a glass of lemonade, which you enjoyed with the kids as well. As you stood there, wiping away his face that was stained with dirty oil, the smile the children shared was unseen to the both of you. 

The sun glared down as you sat outside in the back of the inn, your fan in hand. Today was a lazy day for you, not much traction as many of your guests enjoyed the city. The back table you sat at was surrounded by your friends, girls you had known since high school, and other places. On the table, a pitch of ice-cold lemonade sat along with smaller finger snacks you had made for their visit. Your hair, now in distressed long locs, wrapped up high in a scarf, matching the color of your multi-layered sundress. Your eyes were covered with sunshades as chatter flowed among the five of you. As you spoke, you could hear the sounds of laughter from the large yard not too far from you all. In the freshly cut grass, there stood Choso a wide smile on his face as he entertained the two little ones. He wore a sleeveless tank top, covered in grass stains and sweat. His hair was up in two spiky-like buns, a few strands of jet black framing his face. 

It had been five months since Choso and Yuuji became permanent fixtures in your lives, and since then you couldn’t imagine how you lived with them. Eva, having a constant friend around, has done wonders all around for her happiness. You also helped Choso with enrolling Yuuji into Eva’s school and were even put down as a guardian for him as well. Things that would constantly break would be magically fixed by him, and sometimes he would even help you with cooking dinner for the guests who would enjoy it. It was like the four of you had your own little family.

“Wow…” the sudden high-pitched tone of adoration broke you out of your trance.

The conversation spoon stopped as you noticed the rest of your friends looking the same way you were. 

The kids have gone back inside at this point, probably to cool down from the sweltering sun while Choso remained on the large lawn, using a rag to wipe away the sweat on his face, he began to walk towards them. 

“Girl,” one of them called out to you, “where did you find this man?”

You rolled your eyes at them, picking up your glass before taking another long sip. As you did so, Choso was within range of your table, and you could collectively hear sharp inhales all around you. Some of your friends even took out some of the fans to cover and cool their faces down. All this while a deep gnarly intensity was building inside of you, all while you sat there as Choso approached you all. 

“Ladies,” he nodded, giving off a shorter smile as your friends waved daintily at him. 

His eyes then wandered down to you as you placed your own drink down, looking up at him as well. His minute smile expanded as he stood right near he bent over, grabbing the only untouched glass of lemonade you had poured out for him. He stood straight up as he downed the whole thing in just a few gulps. The sweat on his body and the drink mixed together as he drank the sweet-sour beverage, your eyes followed along the clear-like liquid as it trailed down his neck soon reaching the valley between his pecs. 

The sound of coughing broke you out of your trance as you turned away from Choso, glancing at the rest of your friends who looked upon him as well. A couple of them glanced between the two of you, eyebrows quirked. However, before you could do something, the loud thud brought your attention back to him. 

“I’ll head back inside, you leave those two alone for a while and they’ll end up in chaos all over again. Thank you for the lemonade, Darling.”

With no other words, he walked back inside the opened door, following behind the muffled voices of chaos inside the inn. You let out an almost silent breathy sigh as you turned around the moment he was out of view from you. You could feel heat all over you, looking up and seeing four pairs of eyes right on you. 

“What…?” you asked, although you couldn't suppress that smile on your face. 

The friend to your left spoke first, “you acting like we didn’t see that. Girl… we are not stupid.”

You let off a tense chuckle, “what? What are yall talking about?”

That same friend rolled her eyes, “she’s really acting like we don’t have eyes.”

You reached over, filling up your almost empty glass to the top, before taking another sip of it, “how about we enjoy this lemonade and this beautiful day. It’s rare that we all can spend time like this with our busy schedules!”

Your other friend spoke up next, “so what we’re hearing is that Choso is single”

Your friends jumped as they heard your glass slammed back against the table, the drink spilling all over the table, your hands, and the outer glass. Heart racing as your friends glanced amongst each other, letting off small smiles and smirks amongst each other. You sat back once again, sipping your cold drink and fanning your fan in your face to cool yourself from the added heat of bashfulness that struck you like a bolt of lightning. Luckily, another one of your friends pulled the conversation into a different topic, relating to drama between people you used to go to high school with. 

The get-along went on until the sun began to set and they all soon had to return to their own homes. You told them not to bother with the clean up, as you had some responsibilities around the inn to get to. There you stood in the kitchen washing dishes and beginning to put them away as you heard heavy footsteps enter the kitchen. 

“I’ve put them to bed, if you don’t mind, they wouldn’t be separated from each other so they’re having a sleepover in Evangeline’s room.”

You smiled at the thought of the two cuties snoring away underneath Evageline’s bright pink covers, like peas in a pod those two were. 

“Thank you for that,” you said, continuing to wipe the water away from the dishes. 

He began to step closer toward you, his footsteps becoming louder and louder, “do you need any help with anything?”

You immediately shook your head, ignoring the pounding of your heart rattling between your ears, “mh mmmhh, no I’m fine. I can handle it all. You should head to bed, you’ve done a lot of fixing around this place.”

By the time you finished speaking, he was behind you. His bodily heat was radiating off of him, causing you to shudder silently, inhaling sharply. He let off a low hum, the sound reverberating through you as you hunched over slightly, catching yourself as your knees wobbling. Your hands were soapy, causing you to stagger and teeter, squealing as you felt yourself begin to fall. Large, rough hands wrapped themselves around you as they held you steady, slowly pulling you back up with ease. You glanced back, seeing Choso’s face right near your own. 

“You alright, darling?”

You nodded your head, unable to say anything at that moment. He smiled, his hands still on you as he shifted his body to your left side. He stood right beside you as his hands slid down from your shoulders, before landing right on top of your wet hands. With ease, and due to your slight trance, he was able to pry your hands away from the sink before slowly guiding you away. 

“Let me finish off the plates, go sit down by the fireplace, darling.”

“Wait—” before you could protest, he grabbed a rag before wiping your hands clean.

You let out a short gasp, mouth wide as he basically took over the last of your chores. You glanced between him and the opened door, revealing the inn where the fireplace was still blazing. Smiling, you turned around, your footsteps sounding off as you left the kitchen. The low dulcet sounds of jazz sounded off from your record player as you entered the small, comfortable lobby. You sat on the loveseat right next to the fireplace, sighing at the radiating heat, relaxing into the softness of the couch. Along with the music, you could hear the clink of glass against the metal sink, and the sounds of suds being pressed out of the sponge, washing away at the dishes.

You thought about the past, how your life has changed once again. How, despite you not showing it, your life was slowly becoming bleak. An everyday cycle for both you and Evangeline, of waking up, walking her to her bus, walking back, making breakfast for the guests, cleaning up rooms, organizing everything, Evangeline coming home, making dinner for the guests, cleaning up again. Not to mention, hospitality for new guests as well as dealing with rowdy guests as well. 

Choso and Yuuji have been a light in an increasing vignette of darkness within your life. 

“Darling,” a soft voice, shook you out of your trance.

Slowly opening your eyes, which you had no idea you even closed, you looked up only to lock eyes with Choso’s dark, concerned-filled ones. 

“You alright?”

You nodded your head, sitting up fully to look at him. His arms were covered up once again, wearing a thin jacket as he held his hand out towards you. Smiling, you placed your own in his much larger one, before he pulled you, squealing at the sudden force. You stumbled upon your steps, before feeling his other hand slide around your waist, stabilizing you once again. 

“I’m sorry, it seems I still don't know my strength,” you heard him say, feeling his fingers rub circles on your side. 

You shook your head, ignoring the heat that ran through your body, “it’s fine, perfectly fine.”

He hummed, before glancing around, and looking at the record player not too far from you. For a moment, he let go of you, before stepping towards the player. Slowly increase the volume, just loud enough to take up the lobby, but not too loud as to wake up the few guests you had. You couldn’t help the smile as he stuck his hand out towards you, bowing slightly. He honestly looked a little silly, but your heart clenched as he asked you, 

“May I have this dance?”

You shifted your head, eyebrows curling up, “what’s the occasion?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “no reason. Just because, darling.”

Every time he called you darling, you could swoon into the moon. However, instead of flying away, you accepted, placing your hand in his once again before being swirled away into a world of sweet jazz and melodious waves of motion. Your hand in his, sticking out while the other rested upon his broad shoulders, while you felt his other hand resting right on your waist. As you two danced away, looking at each other for a quick moment before looking away, still holding each other close. 

“I just wanted to thank you, darling,” he mumbled lowly in your ear. 

You blinked, “thank me… for what?”

“Changing my life, saving me.”

You hummed, curled your eyebrows up, and looked up at him, “how did I do that?”

He looked around the inn lobby before looking back down at you, “giving me a chance, helping me with Yuuji… I’d never thought my life could end up like this.”

The hand resting on his shoulders slowly slid up. Reaching and caressing the side of his face, heart-melting as he nestled up against it. 

“I should really be saying this about you, my life has been so much brighter since you two arrived here.”

He shook his head but you wouldn’t have it, “I mean it Choso, this was a blessing to me, you are a blessing to me.”

He said nothing, as your steps began to slow down, as you bored into each other’s eyes. Nothing could interrupt your silent conversation, as you felt his hand that once rested on your waist slide down to your hips, dangerously close to your bottom. You took a step closer towards him, as the hand you placed on his face slid back, intertwining with his dark hair. There was barely any space between the two of you, and nothing holding the two of you back as Choso leaned down, hastily pressing his lips against yours.

You gasped out his name, before being overwhelmed by him. You found balance in gipping his hair, and his shoulder, feeling his overwhelming stature pushing up against you. His free hand copied his other hand, resting right at your hips before gripping them, bringing them close. For a moment he let go of your lips before whispering,

“Jump.”

With no other words, you jumped right into him, his arms holding you up as you wrapped your legs around him as best as you could. Your dress rode up, mint-green fabric bunching at your waist as the two of your locked lips once again. Choso stumbled backward a bit before feeling him sit down right on the couch where you just sat at you. You rested yourself comfortably on him as your fingers unravel the two messy buns in his hair. Your hips moved along against him, and you could feel his hard-on pressing against you through the thick fabric of his jeans. 

“Choso,” you gasped, releasing the kiss to take in a deep breath.

However, you couldn’t do anything but let out breathy moans as Choso began to lay kisses all along your neck. 

“We should, fuck, we sh… should probably go upstars, Choso before a guest comes down here…”

He hummed against you, feeling his hands massage your ass before gripping it tightly, suddenly standing up. You squealed, a smile appearing on your face as he basically took you towards the stairs, carrying you up the stairs. He was careful not to make too much, as he took you past the second floor of the much more inclusive third floor, where only the four of you were staying. Approaching his door, he kept you up with one hand as he fished out his key, unlocking it with ease before hauling you inside. The room was dark, as it was empty due to the sleepover the kids were having in Evangeline’s room, which was connected to your own. 

You shrieked a little as you were suddenly thrown onto soft blankets and pillows. Pushing yourself up, your eyes landed on Choso's form, his silhouette illuminated by the low lantern light from the makeshift living room, as he slowly peeled away his jacket, once again revealing the arms you previously drooled over. Licking your lips as he soon reached down, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants before throwing them into an indescribable corner. He then kicked off his boots, and slid the door close, completely enshrouding you in darkness before climbing right on top of you. Your hands rested on each side of his face before pulling him down for another deep kiss. His hair, no longer contained in its buns, tickled your hands as your fingers dug right back into it. His hands dug under your dress, pressing up against the back of your knee before slowly pushing your leg back, your dress scrunching up further and further. Moving your hands from his face, before nimbly slipping your fingers through the thin straps of your dress before beginning to slowly pull them down, right along with your dress as well. 

Choso helped you out, pulling the rest of the fabric down, and exposing yourself to him. You hadn’t worn a bra, leaving you in nothing but the cotton panties you wore underneath your dress. He threw the dress on the floor before beginning to slide down the bed, letting go of your kiss. Stomach twisting in anticipation as he laid ghostly kisses against your abdomen, fingers strumming at the hem of your panties. They then hook underneath the thin fabric, before slowly pulling them down, the sudden cool air causing you to shiver and gasp in the dark room. You lifted your legs, fully exposing yourself to him. Gasping, back arching against the bed as you felt a thick finger pressing against your cunt, your seeping arousal dripping against them. Sweat began to drip down your body as heat arose within you, toes curling as you felt his finger slowly sinking within you. 

“So beautiful,” he mumbled against you as you jolted, moaning out into the air.

You couldn’t say anything as he continued to finger-fuck you against the bed, his body sliding up back to you. It was bliss upon earth, and it only increased further and further as he acted upon you. He towered over you, taking in your every expression, every twitch and quiver you made. You were so wet for you, your slick drenching his finger and parts of his hands, you were ready, perfect for him. Slowly he pulled his finger out, taking a moment to lick and suck away at your arousal.

“God I can’t wait,” you heard him whisper before feeling his hands pressed up against the back of your knees, bedding you further and further into the bed, until your body couldn't take any more stretch.

His one hand easily pressed you back, and his other one soon left your body. A few moments passed before you were suddenly gasping, the feeling of his tip, the thickness of it pressing up against your hole. For a few moments, he swiped up between your soaked labia, his actions pulling out short, breath-like moans out of you. 

“Choso, fuck, Choso please,”  you moaned out, begging for him to press into you, take you in any way he wished. 

He almost came right then and there, and could no longer hold himself back as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. Choking on your spit, your head was thrown back in complete ecstasy as he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside your pussy. For a moment he slowed down, stopping all of his movements. Just as you were about to complain, he darted, suddenly thrusting himself. Your body convulsed, a scream leaving your wet lips. 

“Fuck fuck, you okay, Love?” He groaned, his deep voice causing you to shake underneath him. 

Euphoric, cloud nine was within your reach as he began to slowly rock his hips into you. Both hands pressed up against your knees, allowing him the balance to reach deep within you. Your words came out garbled, jumbled for the mind-numbing pleasure with a few twinges of pain that accompanied this overwhelming feeling. Your hands now freed, they dragged themselves against his naked back, nails digging into his skin. As he continued to fuck you slowly, he leaned down, pressing soft kisses against your cheeks and neck. 

As you let out another choked sob, Choso whispered in your ear, pressing sweet words into you. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry love, bare with me.”

Your face twisted, gasping as another sharp thrust took the breath straight out of you. He could feel himself reveling in the way your face and body convulsed under him, your reactions so delicious to him as he continued fucking you slowly. He ached for more of it, he wanted to make you feel like this all the time. cHoso could feel it taking over his every being, his every sense. Sweat dripped down his face as he began to pick up the pace, his moans intensifying with every slam. The sounds of your arousal dripped all over him, mixing with the sweat that was building on your body, the warm air and stench that was permeating through the air. 

“So, so so deep,” you slurred, your nails digging into his skin, breaking through. 

“Yeah baby?” he mumbled in your ear, as he pounded into you. 

The nickname caused you to thrash against the bed, a loud moan echoing through the room. Immediately he shushed you, a hand leaving the back of your knee, going to your lips, pressing his thumb against them. 

“Shhhh, don’t wanna be too loud and wake up the kids?”

You shook your head, the taste of his slightly salty thumb pressing up against your tongue. He steadily removed the pads of his fingers as he leaned down, whispering “good girl,” right beside your ear before suddenly pulling you up, his hand now around your waist as he sat up. Squealing, you asked Choso what he was doing, but he shushed you as he stood up on his knees for a quick moment, before flipping the two of you onto the bed. You now sit right on top of him, shuddering as his dick reaches new depths in the new position. You then sat back against your ankles, feeling his hands slide upright to your hips, gripping into the fat and muscle underneath. Stabilizing himself, propping his legs up causing you to gasp, hands flying down and grabbing at his broad shoulders. With no hesitation, he began slamming back up as if nothing interrupted him in the first place. The sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoed through the room once again. 

Choso couldn't help but be transfixed by your blissed-out look, tongue lolling out, lips wet with spit, and head thrown back in ecstasy. Every whisper and whimper you made went unnoticed in his presence. From the moment he met you, he knew just how much you would change his life. 

You suddenly let out a shrilled moan, nails breaking skin once again, “Choso, god I’m gonna come.”

A familiar feeling of urgency zapped through him, feeling heavy heat building up within, similar to you as well. Hair sprawled out on the pillow under him as his grip on your hips became bruise worthy as he didn’t let up, surrendering to the aching of the building climax within him. All he could do was focus on your moans, your words driving him further and further. 

“Coming, fuckfuckfuckfuck, I’m coming!”

With one final squeal, you throbbed and tightened around him, Choso’s throwing his head back at the sudden soaked tightness around. Hips lifted high into the sky as you shook and trembled above him. Your own overflow caused him to reach his climax, his orgasm spilling right into you, filling you right up. Deep heavy breaths echoed through the room from the both of you as your body felt heavy, slumped with sudden tiredness. You could feel Choso lift you off of his cock, feeling your body slump over as he carefully laid you across the bed. Eyes heavy, you whined as you could feel his body heat move away from you. He quietly shushed you for a moment, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. You could hear his steps walking away from you, before hearing the faint sound of water rushing, and the squeaky sounds of a sink. He soon came back, hearing his steps get closer to you. You forced your heavy eyes open to see better, only to jolt as the feeling of something cold and wet slid all across your thighs. CHoso wiped away the mixture of cum that was seeping from you, as what dripped all along your inner thighs as well. 

Once you and he cleaned up, he put the rag away in a place where he’ll take it tomorrow before climbing right back into the bed with you. A smile instantaneously took over your face as you snuggled into his broad build, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. There were no words exchanged between the two of you soon after that, the sounds of your breathing lulling each other to sleep, and the added safety of you being in his arms. 

Though as you fell asleep, Choso couldn't help but worry as he gazed upon your relaxed, tranquil countenance. His mind ravaged him with fear, memories of a time before, is this all too good to be true? To be here? With someone, who he loved ever so dearly? He thought of the family he created, of how much Yuuji enjoyed it here. He gazed down at you once again, before placing a kiss on your temple. He snuggled into the bed, making himself comfortable.

No. He will be happy. 

Choso Kamo will be happy. 

taglist --

@homewithnobodies @mimi-sanisanidiot @swinginprunegothcop @foxthroats

[illumose]

darling • Klaus Mikaelson

⋆⭒˚.⋆ PAIRINGS: female reader x klaus mikaelson

⋆⭒˚.⋆ CONTENT: vampires, mention of a possible attack, a little bit of fluff

⋆⭒˚.⋆ SUMMARY: one night in New Orleans, you cross paths with a mysterious man and learn that vampires exist.

masterlist

Midnight strolls became your source of serenity. Maybe it was because of the way New Orleans transformed at night. Music filled the streets and aromas of spices infused the air. You walked past a couple making out on a bench, their bodies incredibly close. At night, people lost all sense of dignity. You couldn’t count how many people you witnessed behave like complete animals. It became a running joke with your best friend. Each week, you’d meet and exchange odd anecdotes. One time, she saw a man pee from the top of a tree into a glass bottle. Weirdly, he managed to fill it without wasting a drop on the pavement.

This time, you decided to stroll through the French Quarter. Lights sparkled and laughter erupted from bars and restaurants. Everyone knew it was the place to go. The place where you could drink endlessly, dance all night long until your legs gave out, and meet a cute boy to take home. You descended into

Someone moved past you in a brisk. A breath brushed your neck. You turned and saw a figure disappear inside a narrow alley. Perplexed, your eyes narrowed on a dark shadow. Was it a bat? A cat? You felt watched. Before you could even scream, hands covered your mouth.

"Don’t talk, darling. Someone’s been stalking you."

The voice was deep and held a hint of danger. You stood still, eyebrows furrowed. You tried to get out a few words, but the hand prevented any sound from escaping your lips. The man tossed you around. Your vision was blurred, you had moved from the French Quarter to a spot near the water.

"You should be more careful, darling. Some people have wicked intentions."

You focused on the man with a British accent with short curls and a wide smile. "Who are you? What happened?" Words rushed out of your mouth. Your breathing was erratic.

"A vampire almost made you his next meal," he said with a shrug, almost as if it were normal.

You were on a bench overlooking the Mississippi. The stranger was handsome. Such a shame he was a creep.

"There’s no such thing as vampires," you laughed, rolling your eyes. "I think you drank too much." Monsters did not exist. Your grandmother was a firm believer in the world of supernatural beings. She thought that UFOs had already colonized the planet and that witches performed spells to keep humans unaware of their existence.

He remained utterly silent. His steps were fast. Way too fast to be from a human being. His incisives changed into pointed daggers and his eyes turned yellow.

"What…" Your heartbeat picked up. This was a dream, a nasty dream. Vampires were old tales from Eastern Europe.

His eyes narrowed on your neck. He cleared his throat, painfully aware of your blood pulsing through your veins. “It’s risky to go out so late, ans alone, darling."

Before you could reply, he vanished. You scanned the surroundings, looking for him — a stranger who apparently saved you from a swift and painful death. You felt drawn to him. He oozed charism, even though he could have killed you with his sharp teeth.

Biting your lip, you wondered if he was still here, somehow hidden in the shadows. What you didn't know was that a year ago, his gaze randomly stopped on you. He was on his balcony, admiring the view, something he rarely appreciates. You were walking along the river, humming to the tune of a Ray Charles’ song. You looked deliciously sweet. And for the first time, he did not feel the need to feist on you.

From that point forward, every once in a while, he’d follow you and make sure you reached home unharmed. He knew how aggressive Marcel’s vampires could become during tourist season.

[et7432]

Tourist Trap

Klaus Mikaelson x FEM! OC

Summary: A young woman, new to New Orleans, goes on a vampire tour and unknowingly captivates a mysterious stranger. Drawn to her, he quietly joins the group, his intentions as shadowy as the city itself.

Word Count: 4783

As the evening blanketed New Orleans in an array of soft purples and crimson hues, Eleanor waited for her tour to begin.

The restless woman shifted her weight from foot to foot, her impatience growing as she waited for the tour guide. They were already behind schedule and she couldn't understand why they weren't here yet.

This ritual was sacred to Eleanor, a cherished tradition passed down from her mother. Whenever they found themselves in a new city, they would embark on a supernatural tour, exploring the hidden mysteries and secrets of each place. It was their unique way of getting to know the town better. But this time, Eleanor was going alone for the first time. After graduating college, she had made the bold decision to move to New Orleans, despite her mother's protests about the cost of living there. She couldn't resist the allure of this mysterious city, and she was determined to uncover its secrets on her own. As she walked through the crowded streets, she could feel the energy and history pulsing through every building and alleyway. This was her journey now, and she was ready to embrace it with open arms.

Silent anticipation hung in the air as the tour guide, dressed in a striking gothic black costume adorned with silver chains and spikes, emerged from the shadows. In one hand, they carried a vintage gas lantern that cast a dim flickering light around them. The crowd huddled closer together, eager to hear the stories that were about to be told. The tour guide's dark eyes scanned the group introducing themselves as Madame Esme before starting their eerie tales of ghosts and ghouls lurking in the city's oldest buildings. They spoke with such passion and conviction, it was hard to tell if they were simply acting or truly believed in the supernatural. Either way, they had captured everyone's attention and sparked a sense of curiosity and fear within each person standing before them.

"We can begin this tour of terror, unless you'd rather turn back now. The choice is yours, but once we start, there's no going back," Madame Esme warns with a sly smile.

Eager eyes scanned the surroundings, from left to right and back again, but not a single person dared to break free from the tightly packed crowd. With a commanding voice, Madame Esme spoke, her words hanging in the air like a call to adventure. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it's time to begin our journey." The anticipation was palpable as the group slowly started moving forward, their feet shuffling along in unison, ready for whatever lay ahead.

Underneath the iron lampposts draped with Spanish moss, their silhouettes moved like ghosts themselves. The city's streets seemed to be alive and whispering ancient secrets as they passed a series of grandiose mansions that bore witness to New Orleans' storied past. Eleanor could feel her heartbeat synchronizing with the rhythm of the city; every cobblestone and shuttered window felt mysteriously familiar.

Madame Esme, with a dramatic flourish of her hand, pointed towards an opulent building nestled in one corner. "Beware," she warned in a hushed tone, "for it is said that vampires reside here. One wrong step and you may lose your neck." Laughter rippled through the crowd, some brushing off the warning while others shivered with a mixture of fear and excitement. But Eleanor remained pensively silent, unable to believe in such fantastical creatures despite Madame Esme's tales. The building loomed over them, it's dark windows seeming to hold secrets and dangers within. Eleanor couldn't shake a strange feeling that they were being watched by something unearthly in that moment but she brushed it off as being caught up in the emotions of the tour.

Unbeknownst to her a figure had silently been watching them from his perch on a dark wrought iron balcony above Klaus was watching everything unfold. His lips unfurled into a smirk at Madame Esme’s comment - He couldn't recall the last time someone had even dared to come within arm's reach. It had been so long that he almost forgot what it felt like to have a neck in danger of being lost. Almost.

He lifted the heavy crystal whiskey glass to his lips, the liquid inside a deep red that matched the coating on his tongue. The aroma of iron and alcohol filled his nostrils as he took a sip, relishing in the taste of fresh blood against his palate.

Klaus had grown accustomed to seeing Madame Esme, the self-proclaimed master of fables and tales, weave falsified stories about his kind. He absentmindedly glanced down at a brochure that a tourist held in his hand, advertising 'Vamp Nights: A Nocturnal Tour'. His interest was piqued even further by the irony of it all - unsuspecting tourists eagerly signing up for a tour of ghostly haunts, completely unaware that they were currently sharing space with one such entity in the darkness just beyond their reach. With a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, Klaus marveled at how easily fiction blended with reality in this world of illusions and make-believe.

Madame Esme's voice rang out over the eager crowd, her words dripping with both fear and fascination.

The woman spreads her arms towards the shadowy establishment before them, a twisted grin spreading across her lips. "This," she hisses, her voice laced with excitement, "is where they come to quench their thirst for blood." She pauses, relishing in the shock and fear radiating from her companions. "A den of monsters," she spits, her eyes blazing with sinister glee as she awaits their reaction.

As she leaned in closer, her voice lowered to a hushed tone, “They snatch people off the streets and drain them of their blood, keeping them as personal supply.” Eleanor's eyes widened with both fear and fascination at the thought.

Whispers rippled through the onlookers as they imagined the eerie reality of such a place, a shiver running down their spines. The air was thick with anticipation and a hint of danger, making it impossible to look away from the mysterious building in front of them.

A smirk dances on Klaus's face, his brows arching in amusement at the woman's dramatic display. She is cluelessly trapped in an outdated narrative - one where vampires are savage beasts that prey on unsuspecting humans. The reality, however, is far more complex and intriguing: they are not only astute hunters but also charismatic leaders who have human followers willingly sacrificing their blood. He chuckles lightly, his teeth grinding subtly as he resists the temptation to reveal his fangs in response to her ignorance.

Klaus's gaze swept over the throng of humans, a sea of faces blurring into insignificance. His attention was abruptly arrested as it landed on a woman standing slightly apart from the crowd. Her long hair shimmered like molten gold under the dim lights, flowing down her back in soft waves that danced with every slight movement she made. An ethereal aura seemed to surround her, setting her apart from the rest of the mortal beings around her.

She was different, he noted. It wasn't just her physical appearance but something more profound and alluring. The way she listened to every tale spun by their guide held an intensity that suggested a deep thirst for knowledge rather than fear or mere curiosity. Each question she asked was laced with genuine wonderment, not dread or apprehension like most humans who learned about his kind.

Humans were fleeting creatures to Klaus, their lives mere blinks in his eternal existence. Yet this woman had ensnared his attention in a way no one else ever had before. She seemed trapped within an hourglass frame and time stopped for him at that moment.

Suddenly, he realized that the tour group had moved on without him and he was left alone amidst the pulsing nightlife of New Orleans. He felt an unfamiliar pang of disappointment as he lost sight of the golden-haired woman amidst the crowd.

Driven by an inexplicable urge to find her again, Klaus pushed through a room filled with his kind indulging in their dark desires - vampires quenching their thirst with human blood - completely oblivious to his presence or his sudden departure.

He emerged onto the crowded streets of New Orleans, searching for that unique aura among mundane mortals. He didn't understand why he was doing this; it went against everything he stood for and yet there he was – hunting not for blood but for a connection with someone who intrigued him beyond comprehension.

Through the labyrinth of blues bars and vibrant street performances, he strode with unswerving devotion. Bourbon Street drank him down in a dizzying frenzy of painted ladies, giggling tour groups clutching frosty Hurricanes - their lurid green glows deepening the shadows beneath cast-iron balconies bursting with flowers.

In the midst of blaring horns and crowded streets, Klaus’s heart beat in time with a familiar melody - hers. As he walked, the sound pulsed through his veins like a clock maker fine-tuning his masterpiece. It was her music, more powerful than any band playing in dimly lit clubs, that filled him with a sense of urgency to find her again.

The streets of New Orleans were alive with the sounds of jazz and the chatter of tourists. Ignoring the distractions, he pressed forward, his focus solely on finding her. He navigated through the crowded sidewalks with determination, his eyes scanning every face for a glimpse of this woman. The warm air was thick with the scent of Cajun spices and sweat, but he hardly noticed as he weaved through the excited crowds in anticipation of their reunion.

With a sly grin, he searched the crowd until his eyes landed on her - the stunning beauty among the tour group. He effortlessly maneuvered his way into their midst, determined to make her his for the night.

As Klaus approached the woman, he spoke in a hushed tone, his words dripping with insincerity.

"I hate that I’m late to this," he lied trying to sound disappointed, causing her to abruptly spin around and face him. Eleanor's heart fluttered as she caught sight of the man before her - unbelievably attractive, with his perfectly styled blond hair gelled into place, long and luscious eyelashes framing his piercing gaze, and plump red lips that seemed to beckon for a kiss.

His alluring accent rolled off his tongue, a hint of English in his seductive tone - her absolute favorite. She couldn't help but admire his sharp jawline and chiseled features, which were accentuated by the dim light of the street lamps. Her expression betrayed her thoughts as she struggled to maintain her composure in the presence of this handsome stranger.

He caught her eye, a sly smile playing on his lips. She couldn't help but take in every inch of him, her gaze lingering on his toned muscles. He knew she was admiring him, just as he had hoped she would.

Her words tumbled out in a tangled mess, laced with unmeaning accusations and judgement. "Are you meant to be a part of this tour tonight?" she queried, the words escaping her lips in an unplanned rush. Klaus merely inclined his head affirmatively.

"I generally steer clear of such expeditions - they strike me as rather trivial," he confessed, his voice carrying a note of nonchalance. He paused for effect before adding, "But then again, who's to say? Perhaps there's a grain of truth lurking beneath these tales," he suggested with a smoothness that belied the uncertainty of his statement. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Eleanor couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't right about this man’s behavior.

"I forgot to introduce myself," he suddenly spoke again, his voice soft yet confident. "I'm Klaus."

His words caught her off guard and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for judging him so quickly. She hadn't even offered her own name in return.

"Eleanor," she replied curtly, not wanting to give him any indication that she found him charming. But her facade didn't seem to faze Klaus as he flashed her a charming smile.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman," he said with a wink, causing Eleanor's cheeks to flush with heat. She could feel her resolve weakening under his gaze and it frustrated her.

As the tour group continued down the old, winding streets, Eleanor scoffed and rolled her eyes. She traced her fingers along the rough edges of the ancient stone buildings, feeling their weight and solidity beneath her fingertips. "These stories must be made up," she said with a dismissive huff to the handsome stranger walking next to her. The tour guide's voice droned on in the background as she shook her head in disbelief. "It's all just for show," she muttered, unimpressed by the supposed history of the city.

Klaus's voice was laced with equal skepticism as he challenged her, "Why do you doubt the existence of Vampires?" His hand brushed against hers and for a moment, a shiver ran down her spine as if confirming that they were indeed surrounded by centuries of legends and secrets.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, surprised by his direct question. "Well, for starters, vampires are creatures of fiction. They don't actually exist," she replied confidently, crossing her arms over her chest.

Klaus chuckled softly, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Is that so love? And yet you're on a tour about the supposed hauntings and legends of New Orleans."

Eleanor felt a slight flush creep up her neck as she realized the irony in her argument. But she quickly composed herself and retorted, "I'm here for the history and culture of this city, not for silly tales."

Klaus tilted his head to the side, studying her with a seemingly genuine interest. "But don't you find it fascinating? The possibility that there could be supernatural beings living among us?"

Eleanor rolled her eyes again, feeling annoyed at how easily he seemed to be taunting her beliefs. "There's no proof of that," she argued stubbornly.

Klaus chuckled again and leaned in closer to whisper in her ear. "Perhaps I can show you some proof myself," he said with a hint of seduction in his tone.

Eleanor's heart skipped a beat at his words and she couldn't help but feel drawn to him despite her better judgment. But she quickly shook off the feeling and scoffed at him. "Please, spare me your cheesy lines."

Klaus simply grinned at her response and straightened up his back as they walked in sync. They continued walking through the streets, Klaus kept provoking Eleanor with subtle hints about the existence of vampires and other supernatural creatures. Despite herself, Eleanor found herself listening intently to everything he said and secretly enjoying their banter, basically ignoring the tour all together.

Madame Esme's swift footsteps came to an abrupt halt in front of a grand mansion nestled within the French quarter. Its tall, foreboding structure seemed to loom over them, its darkened windows appearing as ominous eyes peering into the hearts of those who dared to approach it. The group huddled closer together, whispers of fear and curiosity passing through them like a wave.

"I hope everyone has enjoyed this tour," Madame Esme announced, her voice carrying a hint of finality. "For this will be our last stop for the evening." Disappointed murmurs spread throughout the crowd as they exchanged glances with one another. Klaus and Eleanor, lost in their own world, seemed to have missed the announcement. But Madame Esme was not one to tolerate rudeness and cleared her throat loudly, causing Eleanor to jump in embarrassment at being caught so blatantly absorbed in Klaus' company. The grand mansion before them exuded an air of mystery and intrigue.

The mansion's weathered brick exterior was cloaked in a luxuriant tapestry of Spanish moss, which had been permitted to flourish freely over countless seasons and generations. The grand balconies of ornate cast iron, reminiscent of the French Quarter's distinct architecture, reached out towards the endless expanse of cerulean sky above, seeming to puncture it as they offered refuge for a multitude of twittering songbirds. There was a cryptic charm about this place - an immense shadowiness veiled behind extravagant affluence. A sudden hush descended upon them all, which only served to amplify their senses - each murmuring zephyr through the semi-exposed trees encircling the mansion resounded more ominously against Eleanor's already amplified anticipation.

Her eyes, having returned from celestial heights, locked onto Klaus's. His gaze sparkled with a devilish allure, hidden beneath thick, dark lashes. It was as if he possessed the power to peer into her very essence, yet he cloaked himself in an intoxicating veneer of respectability. The tension between them was palpable; a delicious dance of desire and restraint.

"Let me introduce you..." Madame Esme finally broke free amidst rising tension catching hold onto speculations threading hushed conversations running wild intruding excited chatter cutting abruptly silent among tour members caught off guard "...to Maison de la Lune Sang," she gestured grandiosely toward towering formidable sight casting long vague shadows farther than eye can fathom "the jewel crown keeping New Orleans' unnatural history alive."

Her voice takes on a hypnotic tone, luring both locals and tourists alike with each word. Every breath is held captivated as she speaks, her eyes shining with an otherworldly intensity. "Legend has it," she begins, drawing in her audience closer, "that this property still belongs to a family of ancient vampires. They have maintained ownership for centuries." The crowd leans in, entranced by the tale of immortal beings who have walked among them for generations.

Eleanor's lips curl into a smirk, her arms folding across her chest as the tour guide's words wash over her. "Here we go again," she murmurs, her voice laced with an enticing mix of cynicism and amusement.

"Still not a believer?" Klaus' voice is low and husky beside her, his words dripping with playful challenge. His laughter rumbles in his chest, a sound that sends a shiver down Eleanor's spine.

"I refuse to succumb to such absurd fantasies," she murmurs, her voice dripping with a beguiling self-assurance that electrifies the space separating them. A wave of anticipation surges through Klaus, an untamed yearning to shatter her skepticism regarding the reality of vampires. The delicate enchantress is perilously near his tantalizing trap. Madame Esme continues the tale of a supposed vampire family. “The bloodline dates back to the first recorded history of New Orleans. They are said to dwell

within these imposing walls during the day, appearing after the sun sets to wander amongst mortals.”

Shivers broke out amongst the crowd, even while some laughed dismissively at the notion.

Eleanor spared a sideways glance at Klaus, his face impassive, a perfectly crafted mask of indifference. Yet his eyes glinted with a challenge and beneath the cool facade, there simmered an intensity that was impossible for Eleanor to ignore. Without realizing it, she found herself holding her breath as he turned his gaze towards her.

"You're not scared, are you?" He teased her lightly, his lips stretching into a half-smirk that seemed to hold secrets only he knew.

Eleanor rolled her eyes and crossed her arms tighter across her chest, feigning exasperation. And yet there was a tiny prickle of excitement tickling at the back of her mind. A sense of danger intermixed with adventure was playing out right in front of her.

"I'm not a believer of tall tales," she replied, meeting his gaze head-on.

"Ah!" His laughter echoed through the silence that had fallen over the crowd. "But tales always hold some measure of truth."

Eleanor met his assertion with a skeptical huff just as Madame Esme resumed speaking about an unfortunate history of mysterious disappearances and events surrounding the mansion. Strangely enough, with every passing minute under the eerie shadows of Maison de la Lune Sang and under the addictive spell of Klaus's presence, Eleanor found that she wasn't quite ready to return to sanity and reason just yet. Maybe because it was all too unreal, or maybe because reality was too dull in comparison.

Something about this night, about the strange tales, and the captivating stranger beside her made her feel more alive than she had felt in a long time.

"And so," Madame Esme halted, allowing a heavy silence to fill the room as tangible as fog rolling in from the bayou. She pivoted, her gaze piercing through the wide-eyed crowd held in her thrall, a cunning grin playing at the edge of her mouth. "Keep your wits about you, my dear ones. This city is more than just a pulsating heart of jazz and sweet beignets. Hidden beyond these weathered walls are entities that defy our understanding." Her words sent a shock wave through those gathered, many gripping their companions tighter, their minds spinning into an abyss of potential horrors lurking in the twilight's gloom. “Let’s pray for an uneventful night and accept my thanks for embarking on this moon-drenched exploration of New Orleans’ vampire lore.” The crowd cheered for her as she took a bow. Some people began to disperse while others lingered, chatting excitedly about the tales they had heard.

Eleanor scoffed once more but this time there was a noticeable lack of conviction in it. She turned towards Klaus, ready to refute the ridiculous folklore presented to them only to freeze mid-sentence. Klaus had been watching her intently throughout Madame Esme's tale and his gaze was unsettlingly intense. It wasn’t the playful banter that had been their game since they met earlier. This was different- darker and more dangerous.

"Still not a believer?" He repeated his question earlier, his voice dropping into a whisper that sent an involuntary shiver down Eleanor’s spine. His facial expression was impossible to decipher adding another layer of intrigue to his already mysterious persona.

“Why are you so eager for me to believe?” Eleanor asked, her doubts shadowing her tone. Her insides jumbled at the slight curl of his lips- a smile that was far from innocent but dangerously inviting.

“Because,” Klaus paused, leaning in so close that Eleanor could feel his breath fan across her face. She held her breath, the rational part of her screaming to step back, but something about his magnetic aura kept her rooted in place. "Sometimes," he continued in a faint whisper, "truth is stranger than fiction, dear Eleanor."

As he withdrew from their intimate closeness, leaving Eleanor staggeringly breathless in his wake, the grand old mansion looked more ominous than ever against the backdrop of the darkening sky where stars had begun to twinkle.

"Why linger, Eleanor?" Klaus' voice was a low, sultry murmur, each syllable enclose around her like wisps of smoke. His eyes, dark and bewildering, held hers with a teasing dare. "If you're so certain all this is mere fantasy, why haven't you made your exit yet?"

A devilish grin traced itself onto Klaus's face, his eyes glinting with an almost predatory mischief. "Could it be," he drawled out, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Eleanor's spine, "that you're secretly pining for a glimpse of the supernatural?"

Eleanor chuckled lightly, her heart pounding in her chest as she met his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was magnetic, pulling her in. "Perhaps I am," she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper.

As he took a step closer, Eleanor could feel the heat of his presence engulfing her. The air crackled with tension, and she found herself unable to look away from him. His hand reached out, gently trailing a finger along her jawline, sending shivers down her spine.

"Do you want to experience what it’s like?" Klaus's voice was a low, sultry murmur that caressed the night air. Eleanor felt her heart flutter, racing to beat out a rhythm wild as untamed horses at his enticing proposition. "Experience what?" she managed to stutter, her words punctuated by an uneasy titter that slipped through her lips. A cocktail of fear and thrill bubbled within her, its intoxicating essence coursing through her veins like a vintage wine.

A wickedly charming smile curved Klaus's lips, his eyes shimmering under the moon's silver glow.

With a speed that was both startling and thrilling, he had Eleanor pinned against the coarse brick wall bordering the imposing mansion. Eleanor’s heart pounded in her chest as she tried to process his vampire quickness which left her both stunned and electrified.

The others on the tour were long gone, leaving them completely alone at this moment.

A soft, ethereal glow emanated from Klaus's eyes, transforming them into molten pools of gold that left her breathless. "This... this can't be possible," Eleanor whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and fascination.

Klaus leaned in closer, his enticing scent enveloping her. A smirk played on his lips as he murmured, "And yet, my dear Eleanor, you've spent the entire evening insisting that such enchantments belong only in fairy tales." His words were a seductive caress against her skin, making her heart flutter uncontrollably.

As Klaus's lips hovered tantalizingly close to Eleanor's, a rush of conflicting emotions surged through her. Fear mingled with an inexplicable thrill, sending a jolt of anticipation down her spine. She was acutely aware of the dangerous allure Klaus possessed, a magnetism that seemed to draw her closer despite the warning bells ringing in her mind.

With a sudden clarity, Eleanor realized that she was teetering on the edge of a precipice, caught in a dance between reality and fantasy, between the mundane world she knew and the seductive unknown Klaus represented. The air around them crackled with an undeniable tension, a palpable energy that seemed to bind them together in a web of anticipation and desire.

As Klaus's gaze burned into hers, a silent question hung between them, unspoken yet understood. In that suspended moment, Eleanor made a choice, a daring leap of faith into the unknown depths of her own desires.

Eleanor closed the gap between them in one quick movement, her mouth meeting his in a passionate kiss. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess as Klaus's lips devoured hers. She could feel his body heat radiating onto her, his controlled yet intense movements sending both exhilaration and fear through her body.

As she felt Klaus pull back slightly, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation, Eleanor was powerless to resist him. The alluring spell he had cast over her was too strong to break.

With a low growl of satisfaction, Klaus deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of her mouth with an intoxicating skill. Eleanor's senses were overwhelmed as she lost herself in the heady rush of pleasure, her hands instinctively tangling in Klaus's hair.

Eleanor felt the solid strength of Klaus's torso through the thin fabric of his shirt, a tantalizing pressure that ignited an intoxicating thrill within her. As they pressed into each other, the world around them seemed to dissolve into irrelevance, their feverish hunger for each other consuming all else.

Just when she felt as if she was about to be engulfed by this overwhelming desire, Klaus pulled away with a suddenness that left Eleanor gasping for breath and grappling to regain her equilibrium. Confusion clouded her mind as she tried to comprehend what had just transpired between them.

A deep, amused chuckle resonated from the depths of Klaus's chest, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light. "Oh, Eleanor," he teased, a playful grin dancing on his lips. "You were so adamant about not believing in vampires. Did you really think I wouldn't rise to the occasion?"

At his words, an understanding washed over Eleanor - this was all part of Klaus's tantalizing game. Even though she realized she was being cunningly manipulated like a pawn in his supernatural world, she found herself powerless against the magnetic pull of his captivating gaze.

Klaus's eyes twinkled with an impish spark as he leaned in closer once more. His voice was as smooth as aged whiskey as he murmured into her ear, "Shall we continue our little escapade?" The sensation sent tremors rippling down her spine like icy droplets cascading down sun-warmed skin.

She knew she should resist, protect herself from the unknown depths of Klaus's world, but a part of her longed to surrender to the intoxicating pull he exuded.

With a soft gasp, Eleanor found herself nodding in silent agreement, her lips parting in anticipation of what was to come. Klaus's grin widened, a predatory glint flickering in his eyes as he took her hand, leading her through the mansion's iron gate.

[literary-motif]

Selfish

Dontis x Reader

Dontis succumbs to his anger.

Warnings: references to depression, reader shoots somebody

The day had gone well, contrary to your expectations. It had started dreary, the overwhelming feeling of being lost in the world pressing down on your chest particularly hard as soon as you got out of bed. You had wanted to fall back into it, bury yourself under the comforter to drown out the world. 

The walk had felt like a natural alternative — an uphill climb as you dressed, snatched your keys from the counter, and got out. You had thought about picking up something to drink and lounge on a park bench until the brightness of the morning light faded (and with it another aimless day in a life that was slowly passing you by) but as you walked past the coffee shop, a familiar face stared out of the window. 

Dontis’ eyes lit up when he saw you, a gentle smile on his face as he motioned for you to join him. Thus the day had continued, with you walking aimlessly around New Orleans with him, arms interlocked while conversations flew from niche facts about mythics you had been previously unaware of to the recipe for his homemade pumpkin bread. 

“Centuries,” he said, stabbing a finger in the air to corroborate his point. “I spent centuries perfecting it.”

“I never thought you were so passionate about bread,” you chuckled, raising your gaze to the red sky. Dusk had taken you by surprise. It seemed as if the day had skipped from dawn to dusk in a heartbeat. You supposed Dontis had a way about him that made time pass in the blink of an eye. 

“I am passionate about many things,” he replied, nudging your shoulder, “pumpkin bread happens to be one of them. I can make some for you one day, and I am sure you will agree that mine is the best.”

Dontis stopped suddenly, making you stumble from how abruptly he had frozen mid-step. His eyes were wide, searching the street for something you did not know. He looked concentrated, panicked.

“What?” you asked alarmed, slipping your arm out of his in case you needed to reach for your gun. 

Hunter, he called you occasionally. With the need to avenge your father gone, sometimes it was easy to forget you were — but instinct always kicked in. 

Dontis did not reply. He did not need to. Right at the edge of your perception, you heard a strangled cry for help and a choked-off scream of terror. You were moving before you were conscious of it, Dontis right beside you as you sprinted down the street, turning into a dim alleyway where two figures stood hidden. 

Your stomach twisted at the sight, a familiar feeling of rage and disgust churning in your chest. 

A vampire. She had a terrified man pinned against a wall, her teeth buried in his throat as she drank messily from him while he writhed in pain, trying to push her away with shaking hands. His eyes were wide with panic, darting around the alley in desperation for some sign of help, escape. 

They widened more when he saw you. His chest spasmed, but he did not have the air to scream — only his expression of fear and anguished begged you for help. 

The vampire spun around as she heard you, janking the poor man with her and tearing a large gash into his throat. He cried out, the tears gathering in his eyes finally escaping as he succumbed to a wave of horror and pain. 

Dontis approached them cautiously, hands raised placatingly. “Hey, it’s alright,” he began, his voice leveled and soothing. It was the same tone he had used with you in the beginning, lacking the quiet resentment for having outsmarted him. “You can feed without hurting him.”

She eyed Dontis wearily, not trusting his good intentions, but she made no indication to flinch back or attack as he drew closer. Her mouth was smeared with blood, her pupils dilated from the dinner she had just snatched.

“My name is Dontis,” he said, giving her his warm smile. “Let him go, come on. I can show you how to do it properly. I have had many vampire friends over the centuries. Believe me, I am well versed in every aspect of your nature.”

The man whimpered, shaking terribly in the vampire’s grasp. 

“I can help you,” he said, reaching out a hand — if to gently pry the man from her grasp or tug her away from him, you would never find out. 

A shot echoed through the alley. Dontis jumped. The man flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as if the reality of his situation would disappear in the darkness. 

The vampire’s gaze was wide. She slumped against the wall, releasing the man with a final grunt and a poisoned bullet. Your gaze was fixed on her, the gun clasped firmly in your hand. 

“No!” Dontis roared, sinking to his knees, hands hovering in front of the slumped figure, trying to think about the best course of action while shock kept him in place. The feeling was foreign. Having lived as long as he had, it was a rare occasion to catch him off guard. He had lived through unimaginable horror, had weathered betrayals, and lost people dear to his heart over and over and over again. 

He liked to think his heart had become acquainted with suffering, but seeing the twitching figure of the vampire before him — so clearly a fledgling, recently turned and overwhelmed with their new impulses, in need of guidance, in need of help, cut through the layers of numbness and brought him back to a time where he had seen dozens of mythics tortured and slaughtered because humans simply feared what they did not know.

Her terrified eyes met his, a strangled whimper escaping her as the poison of the bullet worked its way through her body, dragging her further down, and pulling her into the depths of an eternal sleep. 

Dontis reached out a hand, slowly moving it to her cheek to offer comfort as she slipped away. He pretended not to notice her flinching, he pretended not to notice his eyes watering as she leaned against his palm, her hand shooting up to grip him as if she could escape this sinking, drowning feeling by clinging to him. 

He pretended not to see her eyes fearfully glancing towards you, still standing immobile before them both. The man had bolted, running away as fast as his legs could carry as soon as you motioned for him to go. Muttering gasps of gratitude as his heart raced, gradually calming down from his panic while he ran away. 

A mythic killed because of human ignorance. A vampire killed because of human fear. A fledgling killed because of your selfishness.

She trembled under his palm, her grip involuntarily loosening as she succumbed to the poison. Dontis gathered her in his arms, holding her tightly until he stopped feeling her body shaking, until the heart pounding frantically in fear ceased to beat. He squeezed his eyes shut, lowering her back against the wall gently, knowing vampires took care of their own. 

There was blood on his hands, a prominent stain of her blood against his chest, but as he rose and turned to face you, for the first time he saw clearly how much deeper your hands were stained in red. 

“Why?” he asked, keeping his voice level despite the turmoil raging in his chest. 

You took a deep breath, looking him in the eye. There was not an ounce of regret in your gaze, not a breath of sorrow for the life lost — for the one you had taken. 

“Vampires are dangerous,” you said, your voice steely cold. Hunter, he called you. Sometimes he forgot you were. “This one could not control her impulses, and she was feeding off a human. I could not stand by and let her tear that man’s throat out.”

“I had it under control,” he said, clenching his fists. The injustice was making his blood boil. How dare you kill someone to protect your own? How dare you shoot before attempting talking, reasoning, discussing. This spilled blood could have been avoided. So many bloodied conflicts could have been avoided if people just took the time to listen before reaching for their weapons, letting their own fears guide them, that the other might strike first. 

“I could not take that chance.”

“You did not want to. You humans, you’re too convinced of your superiority, thinking a human life is worth more than that of a mythic,” he spat, the anger seeping into his tone catching you off guard. 

You blinked, staring at Dontis with wide eyes, searching his gaze as you tried to make sense of the darkness you found in his eyes. He looked angry. He sounded angry. But you had never thought he could be. 

He sounded less agitated after you tried to kill him. Even then, he had looked at you with a quiet understanding in his eyes, talking you through the misunderstanding, comforting you afterward with no resentment towards the harm you had meant inflicting on him. 

The fury burning in his eyes now felt so uncharacteristic, that you found yourself at a loss as to how to react. You felt like you did not know the person before you at all, and the thought that this Dontis was unpredictable — that there was a layer to him previously unknown to you — made your body tense. 

“She was a fledgling,” he said quietly, the anguish in his voice slowly chasing away the scorching rage for a moment. 

You narrowed your gaze. “She was dangerous.”

The fury returned in full force. His face darkened like the sky before a storm, and Dontis took a step forward as he screamed at you, trying to make you understand, trying to mend the divide between humans and mythics in your mind and cut through your years of training to shut your heart off and block out the suffering and death you caused. “She was a child!”

You flinched, taking a step back from him on instinct as your hand flew to your belt, resting on your gun. 

His eyes followed your movement. You saw the flash of betrayal glinting in them. 

“Do you want to shoot me too?” he asked tonelessly, the bleak monotone a striking contrast to the voice you had heard moments ago, so full of pain and anger and emotion. “Go ahead. You’re selfish enough to shoot everything that scares you without thought. Go on if you’re afraid of me. You mindless, heartless murderer. Shoot me then, like you did her!”

You stepped back further, fighting the instinct to do just that. You knew Dontis. He would never hurt anyone. Would he? He looked angry enough to tear your heart out or entice you with whatever powers he had. You were sure he could hear your heart trying to carve its way out of your chest. 

“Stop it,” you whispered, your hand on the gun twitching. No, he would not hurt you. You were sure of that. You let go of the gun, raising your open hands to show him you were not going to shoot him. 

Dontis looked at you for a long moment. “I never want to see you again,” he said, the anger slipping, replaced with hurt and utter disappointment. “Leave. Return to your purposeless life and do what you must. Even your father came to tears when I called him a murderer, but you—”

“Dontis—”

“No,” he said, holding up a hand. “We are through. You are perhaps the only person on this earth I never want to cast eyes on again.”

His words sliced through you like a knife, leaving you breathless as you stood frozen, trying to think of a retort, trying to figure out if he was serious. Before you could mutter a word, Dontis gave you a last dark, bitterly disappointed look — as if you had shot him, buried a knife in his back, and torn out his horns in a heart-wrenching act of betrayal — and turned his back to you. 

Dontis’ anger was rare, but it consumed him whole, turning his usually understanding and comforting character into one so ruthlessly cold that you felt all your strings being snapped at once, the life you were painstakingly beginning to build up crushed in an instant by an echo of your past, an unforgivable mistake — to Dontis’ eyes, and the longer you thought about it, replaying the scene of the fledgling vampire, her terrified eyes, her bruising grip as she desperately clung to life, to your eyes as well. 

Perhaps you were beginning to understand. Dontis was not around to take note of it, true to his word that he never wanted to see you again. 

Honoring his wish was the only thing you could do, leaving your family’s emblem on his doorstep before leaving New Orleans, a silent plea if not for forgiveness, at least as a token to appease the anger you knew still boiled in him when he thought of the vampire you had killed. 

Not forgiveness for the blood on your hands. Never that.

[belladonnadawn]

Memento Mori

Going against Dontis' wishes, you found yourself in the labyrinth with one thing in mind only: to save him. CW: Blood, gore, and death.

Dontis x Reader

The streets of New Orleans were filled with colors and loud celebratory music, it was lively and festive– a contrast to your current state. Your mind was clouded with doubt and anxiety; you could only think about him and him only. The world felt like a different place with no one to be alone with. 

You have contemplated everything, there’s not a day when his words slipped through your mind. Dontis’ compassion and faith never ceased to amaze you. But you know how trimedian works– there’s no fair fight in their ideology. When it’s time to strike, they strike. When it’s time to kill, they kill. There’s no mercy between two sides, it will all end in death.

Driving down near the lake, took a deep breath as you reached your destination. You turned off the engine faced by silence. The weight of the situation continues to trouble you. You could turn back and hold on to that vow, or you could hold on to that conviction and assure yourself that he’d be alive and well. 

It took you minutes– you chose the latter. If you can capture Dontis and lock him in your basement, what more can others do knowing that it’s a raging war?

You took a deep breath, your decision as strong as ever. Gathering your belongings, you prepare yourself for what might you encounter. 

Descending down the labyrinth, you could feel your heart beat out of your chest. Your footsteps light as you reach the base, careful not to attract any unwanted attention. The place was dark and damp, the ambiance only added to your fear.

As you went down the labyrinth you could see corpses– supernatural or human. It was a disturbing sight, one that would haunt you until the day you die. 

You went deeper, exploring every corner carefully. The place was strangely quiet, you never liked silence, it made you listen to your own heartbeat. And you understood from a very young age that if you can hear it, they do too. 

Taking the corner, your heart stopped as a hand suddenly grabbed you. You didn't hesitate to immediately draw your weapon. Pointing it to them, your eyes widened as you finally faced him.

"What did I say about getting involved?!" Dontis whispered angrily, pulling you closer to him. You felt a wave of relief, seeing him alive and well– but still, you can’t help but feel guilty for going against his wishes.

You shake yourself out of his grasp, "You may be mad at me, but I can't let you die here."

"By making yourself an enemy? A target? You know that I am more than capable– we are more than capable." Irritation seeped through his voice, almost unrecognisable from the sweet and gentle Dontis you knew. 

"I know that you're angry, but I just can't watch knowing what might happen." Your voice cracked, looking at him with concern. “I can’t lose someone again. I can’t lose you.” 

Dontis' eyes softened, "I understand, but there are risks you can't just blindly take. You're safer than dealing with these once more.”

“I know, but please understand–”

“It’s over.” You both turned to see a blonde man walking towards both of you, interrupting your discussion. Your eyes landed on the unconscious person that he was carrying from his back, and landed back to his face. Blood stained their clothes as they wore the same weary expression, exhausted and pained from what the battle had brought them. 

Dontis nodded, wearing the same empathetic face. “We need to get in contact with others and see their situation. Both of you need to go back and rest, Xanthus. We’ll handle the others.” 

You nodded as you heard his name. Xanthus, the vampire with the bond. Dontis mentioned him to you multiple times, but seeing him personally in this setting felt surreal. 

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Xanthus asked, his face filled with concern.

“We can. I’m not alone anymore, remember?” Dontis gave him a reassuring smile.

Xanthus glanced at you before turning back to Dontis, he nodded. “Take care. And don’t hesitate to contact me.” He said firmly.

“I will.” 

And with that, he departed leaving both of you alone together. Dontis handed you a device to help you communicate with others. “Don't worry, that's an extra.” He gave you a small smile. 

“Where shall we begin?” 

“Finally, we thought we're done for.” A woman sighed, holding someone and herself up as her wounds continued to bleed. “Those bastards. Never thought that they'd hide their place here.” She groaned.

“At least we're able to find you, imagine our shock when we saw your location.” Dontis sighed.

“Well, imagine my shock when I found out their location after they dragged me under the lake.” 

Dontis turned to you, “This is Fran and that one's Samia.” He introduced. 

You gave them a nod, as you tried to help them up.

“We'd like an introduction right now, but I don't think it's the right time.” Fran groaned as she carried Samia. 

“We need to get out of here while we still can.” They all nodded, walking outside the place as fast as you can.

After twists and turns, you were finally able to find the path that led outside. All of you hurried towards the exit with Fran and Samia in front of you as you both guided them to the exit. You and Dontis held the heavy door open from each side, letting them escape first.

As you were about to leave, a loud deafening sound filled the room followed by a thud. You turned to see Dontis, falling to his knees while clutching his chest. Everything happened too quick, it didn't register until you saw a gun pointed in his direction, smoke billowing from the barrel. A small gasp escaped your lips as you saw the person behind it– Audric, that bastard survived! 

Rage filled your body, you quickly drew your weapon beating down the already beaten man. His eyes widened, finally noticing you. Before he could retaliate, you lunged at him and sliced his neck. You saw his head roll on the floor, this time it was finally over.

Running towards Dontis, you pulled him closer. Your eyes widened as you examined his wound. The bullet from the shotgun left a hole on his chest, making him bleed quicker than you expected. 

"[name]..." Dontis croaked out weakly.

“No, no– you can do this. You can regenerate!” You held him close, frantically doing whatever you can to save him. 

The sight of his gaping wound as blood continues to flow from it was maddening. You tried to patch it up, hoping that pressure would help his case. But as his warm blood flows from your hand, hope slipped away with it.

You removed your jacket, wrapping the wound with it. Your hand reached for the radio, calling for immediate back up. And with all your might, you tried to drag him outside. 

Painful groans escaped his lips as you dragged his body, “[name], w-wait.” 

You stopped, not wanting to hurt him further. Kneeling, you cupped his face, “Come on, few more steps and we're out. We can do this!” You spoke, trying to convince him– or yourself. You tried to ignore the amount of blood that continued to stain the floor. 

As you looked at him, the lessons about creatures like him replayed in your mind. He was immortal, but he was not invincible. Back then, you would've exploited it, but now witnessing his limit was torturous. You fell to your knees, sobbing your heart out. “I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.”

Dontis gave you a weak smile, his hand gently wiped your tears. You held the back of his hand, not wanting to let go. Even though he was the one hurting, he still found a will to comfort you. 

“I… understand what I signed up for… I accept my fate.” His voice was weak compared to the lively and joyous one you used to hear. 

“I don't, so you better hold on until they come back for us!” You tried to be strong, but how could you when the source of that strength was slowly fading away from your grasp.

Dontis nodded and he chuckled weakly, “You're remarkable…  that's what… I love about you…”

“Don't you dare close your eyes, Dontis, or I'm going to be so mad at you!” You applied more pressure to his wound, trying to prevent him from bleeding out. It was no use, he was getting more pale as he lost more blood. 

He looked at you once again, his eyes filled with love; a gaze that you'll always long for. Dontis’ hand caressed your cheek. His warm touches are now weak. “[name], the sky was a… shade of purple yesterday.”

Your heart dropped, feeling the heartbreak physically. At that point your world slowly crumbles as the reality of the situation hits you. You shook your head, still in denial of what was currently unfolding. You wanted to scream, to wail, to stop the time or rewind it so you're able to save him. But you knew it was impossible. Death is inevitable. 

“Dontis…” You tried to speak without your voice shaking, but you failed. “T-The clouds rolled in orange hues…”

A small smile formed on his lips, his body slowly resigned. You watched as he succumbed to his fate, holding his hand that once held yours. “I love you.” You whispered, kissing his cheek for the last time. 

For a moment, everything crashed down. The reality that you won't be able to see his smile, hear his voice, or hold him close was maddening. All you have was his cold body that you continued to cradle in your arms. What a cruel fate, for they have taken what you truly cherished once again.

Pattern banner from Cafekitsune.

[nalyra-dreaming]

I know many people think Lestat woke up when louis geart stopped beating but that wasn’t confirmed right? Cuz how would he know that?

Okay, so...

This is one of those things that is "in-between the lines", where many things between Louis and Lestat are. Lestat tells the reader that they must read between the lines in TVL, so that is something to be kept in mind as intentional.

There are a few things that must be considered here, imho:

In "Blackwood Farm" Lestat tells Quinn that the "angels" took his soul with them:

"They left my body there for my friends to watch over," he explained, and for the first time since I'd seen him, he looked troubled, indecisive, even faintly confused. "But my spirit they took with them," he went on. "And in a realm as palpable as this very room they set me down to do their bidding, always threatening to snatch back this right eye, to take it forever if I didn't do what they bid me to do." [...] "I don't even know which of my bodies was the true one — the body that lay on the floor of the chapel of St. Elizabeth's, or the body that roamed with the so-called angels. I was an unwilling trafficker in knowledge and illusions."

Now... Lestat is at the mercy of these "angels" in spiritual realms for years. Years.

He wakes once from a more dreamlike state (as the unpublished book details) to help Armand and the others hunt down the riff raff in New Orleans.

But that is not the same state he is afterwards, because there he was commenting on what was going on around him... and later in Merrick, David notes that Lestat's soul does not seem to actually be there.

"Once again, I had the distinct impression that his soul was not in his body, not in the way that we believed it to be."

This later state is what Lestat is telling us of in "Blackwood Farm."

Now, David sits down and warns Lestat that Louis will attempt suicide.

Louis sits down to say goodbye to Lestat.

Lestat does not wake from neither plea nor goodbye.

So what does wake him?

It could not have been an outward change, because he was alone at St. Elizabeth's when Louis put himself into his coven in the courtyard of Rue Royale.

It could not have been David, who was also at Rue Royale, nor could it have been Merrick.

The show has picked up on what Louis said about their heartbeats, and elevated it, and I do think it is important.

"[...]the drum was my heart, and the second drum had been his."

Louis notes in the book that even after the turning he hears Lestat's heart:

"His heart I still heard like the beating of a drum."

(For vampires, their hearts also sync up with the heartbeats of their victims when they feed, but then that victim's heart stops, of course.)

In "Prince Lestat" Lestat makes note that he also recognizes vampires by heartbeat, or at least certain ones.

Now, in "Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis", we get to Louis' account of the Merrick event, which is an important aspect of it all. Because he narrows it down:

"But the etheric body, the Amel body, was still in you,” said Fareed. “It had to be or you couldn’t have been revived.” “That’s true,” Louis said. “It was there inside me and it would have remained there until the ashes were scattered. It would have remained suspended, waiting, waiting for how long we don’t know. Remember the old admonition from Magnus, Lestat? Scatter the ashes? Well, no one scattered my ashes and I was brought back—by your blood, and David’s blood, and Merrick’s blood too." [...] “My heart had stopped,” said Louis. “There was no blood pumping in me. All circulation had stopped when my heart stopped. That is how I was dead.”

I was speechless. Then slowly it dawned on me. It came back to me what Kapetria had said...something about the invisible tentacles—or the cord—being the only part of us that was not filled with blood.

And here it all comes together, imho.

The cord. The heartbeat. The heart that stopped.

"We are joined by a cord, a cord you cannot see, but it is real."

Louis and Lestat "share a heart", they hear each other's heartbeat. They are also joined by a cord, not just then when the events in PLotRoA are reached, but also because Louis is Lestat's fledgling, and Amel's "tendrils" reached/were given from Lestat in/to Louis.

When Louis' heart stopped that tendril of the spirit Amel snapped.

Lestat, in the spiritual realm at the time, must have been able to feel it.

When Louis' heartbeat stopped the cord snapped.

And Lestat immediately woke up.

(Since they already introduced the cord... I'm quite sure that will be the same in the show if and when they go there.)

[klausysworld]

Hello, can you imagine where you are the girlfriend of Klaus and a werewolf and they love each other very much and when they travel together to New Orleans the witches kidnap you and tell you that you are pregnant (hope) and when Klaus finds out he gets angry and says things horrible and leaves you to get killed (basically chapter 1 of the originals) so you, scared and thinking that Klaus would kill you, contact your friend bonnie to break the link with sophie and you manage to escape, and when klaus he realizes what he did, is very sorry for what he said and returns with Elijah to the witches to see that you disappeared and the witches tell him that you escaped, which leaves Klaus heartbroken, on a mission to find the love of his life and his daughter.

You’ve lost your girl

Pt 2 Pt3

I was sat on the dirty floor of the grounds of a witches cemetery thing with an overly confident group if bitches.

Elijah was stood in the doorway quietly conversing with the one called Sophie, his facial expressions giving away nothing as he glanced over to me, i nodded my head with a sarcastic smile and thumbs up making the corner of his mouth twitch.

Honestly, what the fuck was this. I’ve been sat here in the dark for like a week, minimal food and water and the only conversation was

“i can’t believe that we’re letting that beast have a child”

which resulted in somebody having a broken nose and my hands being tied up and behind my back. Thankfully Elijah had demanded that they undid them, they did so without question.

Now we were just waiting for Klaus

Elijah approached me slowly, a look of bewilderment on his face, weird he’s showing emotion but okay

“it’s true…” he whispered, okay he was kinda freaking me out

“‘Lijah there is no possible way that i am pregnant, he’s literally a vampire, half wolf or not he’s still dead” he shook his head instantly

“i can hear it’s heartbeat” he muttered lowering himself to get closer to me, his hand reaching out to hover over my stomach

“no…that can’t be right…he’s dead” we locked eyes silently arguing before he took my hand with a sigh

“he is only half dead y/n, this is happening and we will all be here for you should you decide to keep it…even if you do not, we will still support you, i can give you my word on that”

“oh god Klaus, he’s not going to believe it is he? He’s going to think i slept with someone else or something- Oh my god Elijah i swear to god i did not, you know that right?” both our eyes were wide as he nodded vigorously

“i know that, Niklaus wouldn’t think that, he loved you and he knows you love him, come let’s get up and wait together”

and so we waited

and waited

eventually he turned up, and we both stood there watching as he threatened every witch in the room before turning his attention to us

“it’s a lie” was all he said but Elijah was quick to destroy that thought

“you can hear the heartbeat Niklaus” he sighed watching the rage build in his brothers eyes, softening for a split second before hardening once more

“you’ve been with somebody else!” he yelled, an accusatory finger pointing at me, my mouth opened to speak but he was already storming towards me, hovering over me in a threatening manner

“i brought you into my house, gave you my love and my loyalty and you do this!? You think that i or anyone else in my family will accept you and another mans child? You will not be welcome, not now and not ever.”

Tears streamed down my face silently as i took in his hateful glare, there was not an ounce of love evident, if this was the first time you saw this man, you would fear for your life and run.

My heart hurt, i could faintly hear Elijah trying to reason with Klaus. My own breathing was all i could hear, a quiet ringing in my ear echoing through my head. Muffled yelling was all i heard until suddenly there was a silence and they were gone. A very pitiful Sophie stood in-front of me, for the first time in a week she hasn’t looked annoyed or angry at me

“i know that you are trying to save your coven but can i borrow your phone real quick? if you’re going to kill me before Klaus does i need to say goodbye to someone” i whispered, my voice breaking when i said his name. Hesitantly she nodded and handed me her phone unlocked

“i’ll give you a moment alone” she smiled slightly before walking out

stupid.

I rushed through the phone calling the only number i could remember from someone in Mystic Falls

“who is this?” Caroline asked from the other side and i sighed in relief

“Care, it’s y/n. I can’t explain right now but i need Bonnie like immediately, please say she’s with you?” i spoke quietly glancing around the room. I heard some shuffling before the phone was passed about

“Hey whats wrong?” Bonnie, thank fuck for Bonnie Bennet.

“You know i love you and i wouldn’t ask you to do something unless it was absolutely necessary right?”

“what’s wrong? are you hurt?” she asked hurriedly

“can you do an unlinking spell from there? Im in New Orleans, pregnant and linked to a witch. I need to get out and get to you guys and i will explain everything but i need you to do this right now, my time window is small” i rushed heading approaching footsteps

“get out now, i’m doing it as we speak you just need to get out, just run, get a cab. If you don’t have money say you’ll pay when you arrive, straight to my house yeah?”

“thank you” i whispered before hanging up.

My footsteps were fast as i bolted for the exit, shoving the witch who tried to grab me and making a run for the busy streets. Pushing my way through the crowds until winding up in a cab praying that Bonnie had done it in time.

My fingers drummed against my thigh as i watched the car pull up outside Bonnies. Both her and Caroline cane running towards it with concerned faces. I was safe.

———————————————————————

(third person)

Klaus and Elijah were aggressively throwing each other around, clothes torn, hair a mess and supernatural faces on display

“Y/n would never do that to you and you know it! You’re a coward and a pathetic excuse of a man, you will step up to be the father you longed to have. Do not abandon this child!” Elijah demanded while flinging Klaus as a nearby wall

“That child is not mine! I will not sit by and watch the women that i love fawn over another mans baby! I will not be her option! I cannot have children, I cannot procreate, we know this! Rebekah had searched for centuries to see if it were possible! I can’t, i mentally can’t sit there and be a happily family with her when she has slept with another, she is meant to be mine!” he cried, tears slipping past his glossy eyes, rage, confusion and devastation mixing together

“Niklaus you are half werewolf, you have only recently unlocked this side to yourself. Y/n is also a werewolf, together you are far more likely to conceive a child. You know that one of her first fears was that you would accuse her of cheating on you? She was afraid you would do the very thing that you did. She loves you as much as you do her, do not loose somebody who finally loves you unconditionally, she was willing to move away from her family, live with us, a group of original vampires. For gods sake Niklaus, Kol tried to kill her the first time he knew her to be a wolf, Rebekah was instantly mad that another women was in the house but she stayed for you. She got to earn our trust for you. She would never hurt you.”

Klaus and Elijah both stood breathing heavily as Elijah watched his brothers mind run. Silence followed them as they returned to the witches for Klaus’s love.

All the witches looked like they were ready to sprint, eyes wide and the scent of fear heavy in the air

“where’s Y/n?” Elijah asked warily watching as Klaus searched the few rooms

“uhm- she sort of-“

“escaped. She’s gone and unlinked, we’ve lost our leverage and you’ve lost your girl”

within seconds nearly every witch was dead.

Throats torn, heads missing, blood everywhere.

Elijah didn’t dare intervene his brother. Every emotion crashed over in such a small amount of time as he threw anything he could whether it be objects or people. His voice bounced off the walls as he yelled a jumble of “she thinks i hate her” , “she’s gone” , “she’s never going to forgive me” , “she’s pregnant” and “my child is gone”

Eventually Klaus somewhat calmed down and immediately dragged his older brother to the car beginning to drive back to Mystic falls, it’s the only place she could be and he needed to find her before she got away again.

[hd-wireless]

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻 Heartbeat 

🎵 Explicit, 22,791  ❗ Warnings/Tags: Harry Potter EWE, Post-Canon, New Orleans, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Researcher Harry Potter, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Eighth Year Cooperative Project, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Alcohol, Southern Decadence, Angst, Infidelity, Cheating, ALL THE INFIDELITY PLEASE BE MINDFUL, First Time Blow Jobs, Anal Sex Song  🎵 Prompt: Heartbeat by Childish Gambino 

🎵 Summary: 

Harry hates Draco, and Draco hates him in return. Only it's not hate, not even a little bit. Featuring: a cooperative independent study, golden hour on wrecked sheets, strawberries in the summer at Grimmauld Place, water from fountains of (dubious) origin, purple Mardi Gras beads, and a bird with silly legs.  Also featuring: heated arguments, infidelity, unquenchable desire, and heartbreak. Over and over again.

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