#new orleans area bars

[stone-cold-groove]

Scenes from home, past and present.

[dinogoofymutated]

Hi there! I'm currently watching the original X men series to catch up to 97, and I'm in love with Gambit.

Would it be possible to ask for Remy and reader to be on a secret mission, and the Ole "make out so they don't suspect us" trope comes in, and gambit kinda (obviously) has feelings...?

It could be sfw or nsfw, either is perfect! Thank you for all that you do, I've been trying to find fics for the xmen for a while 🙏🙏

Kinda spicy! Gambit/GN!reader

YESS!! YESSSS!!! I legit had a dream about this situation with remy the day before you sent me this ask and I was cackling in joy when I saw this! I basically hyperfixated on it because I love this trope.

TWS: sexual themes n shit, no explicit smut. As always, reader written while picturing fem! but no specific pronouns mentioned. Semi-public making out and touching. Nipples be touched but size and type of breast not mentioned.

-Ps- reader can see heat signatures for plot purposes. I usually try to keep powers ambiguous but it was a NEED!

"In here, quick!" Remy's thick draw catches your attention, just before he yanks you into an alley. The two of you were in New Orleans, looking for a specific mutant Xavier wanted to talk to. The only downside was that Remy still had a warrant out for his arrest, and wanted posters plastered all over the city from bourbon Street to the garden district.

"Don't worry Cher. You said. NOPD 'dumber than a sack of rocks, you said!" You gripe at him. Remy laughs, tugging you around the corner. The alleyways on Burbon street are mostly private areas, owned and sealed off by the bars that line the storefronts- but Remy knew this city like the back of his hand. However, things had changed since he was here last. That became apperent when the two of you reach the end of the alleyway and there's a brand new brick wall, a dead end.

Remy curses and skids to a stop, causing you to slam into his back. You send him a dirty look as you whip around, eyes adjusting to the brick surroundings. It's hard to make out the figures of the cops through the walls of the busy bar in in front of you, too many people crowding the street for drinks even this late at night. You strain your eyes a bit, but are able to make out the stiff-shouldered men, heat signature slightly elevated from booking it after the two of you. Unfortunately, they're headed towards the mouth of the alleyway.

"Damnit." You mutter, turning back to Remy. He understands what you mean just by looking at your face. He hums, thinking for a moment before he begins to take out a playing card. You grab his arm to stop him, trying to ignore how warm his skin is against your own.

"Don't. The explosion will just lead them to us." You say. Remy nodds, glancing at the corner before suddenly caging you against the wall of the alleyway. You try not to blush as he does so. Remy smirks at you, and you think your heart might just explode. You remind yourself that this is standard Remy behavior, but it doesn't stop your face from heating up. You can only hope it's too dark for him to see you properly.

"Well, there is another way we could fool those pigs." Remy says, quieter than before. You cock an eyebrow at him before looking back over in the direction of the alleyways opening, able to spot the cops as they begin to enter. In your peripheral, you see Remy running his fingers through his hair to flatten it. You open your mouth to ask him what he has in mind, but the sound of footsteps cut you off.

"-Well, if you're going to do something, you better do it quick!" You whisper back at him. Remy pushes you further against the cold brick, his hands drifting down to your waist as he leans over to wisper in your ear.

"Trust me, Cher. I'll take care of you." His words cause goosebumps to rise at the back of your neck, and you hardly have time to react before he's kissing you. Your eyes are blown wide, heart thumping wildly as you start to slowly relax into the kiss.

Unsurprisingly, Remy is a really, really good kisser. It's hard to focus while he's touching you like this, kissing you deeply like he loves you. He nips at your lip, and you gasp, having forgotten about everything else already. His tongue darts into you mouth, caressing the skin he finds there. You let out a small moan as one of his hands drifts lower, caressing your thigh and hiking your leg up just a bit. Your own hands slowly slide up his chest, drifting to his neck.

The heat in your chest is unbearable when Gambit separates from the kiss, a string of spit connecting your mouths before he wipes it away, nothing but affection on his eyes. You're panting for breath while he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, and then lower. Remy places wet kisses on your neck, sucking and biting as he tries to swallow you whole. You thread your hands through his soft hair as his does so, fully encouraging him to ravage you in whatever way he would like. One of his hands begins to slide under your shirt when a cough startles you out of your heated state.

Your first instinct is to turn towards the noise, but Gambit is quick to cup your cheek and pull you into another heated kiss before your head could move a centimeter. He keeps you occupied as his other hand fully caresses the skin beneath your shirt, squeezing and caressing your chest. You hear another exhausted sigh from the cops. You crack and eye open slightly, knowing they cant see you do so in the dark. One of them begins to raise his voice, but the other smacks him on the shoulder.

"Just another pair of drunks. We've got bigger things to worry about right now." The cop says. You could practically hear the other roll his eyes before they turn to and walk away. Gambit brings your attention back to him and only him when you feel a finger brush lightly against your nipple. You gasp, and Remy chuckles, playfully biting your lip as he pulls away. He's smirking as he looks at you, and you can only imagine what you look like right now.

"Looks like you enjoyed that." He teases, voice low and husky. You can't seem to pull your thought together properly when he's looking at you like that. You nervously look away, hands playing with his collar.

"And if I did?" You ask, glancing back at him to gage his reaction. He looks surprised at first, face morphing into a lovestruck smile before he tries to cover it up with a smirk. Didn't stop you from being able to see the heat rise to his cheeks, however.

"Then gambit thinks we should do this more often."

[crushedsweets]

some old OCs from when i was in highschool (2019-2022)!

ok so i havent touched this universe in YEARS so i was struggling to even remember their names, but its basically a SUPER MESSY lesbian romance-drama...

SO the story is called Speakeasy. It's set in a coastal area with streets that are reminiscent of New Orleans and San Francisco. Main locations are The Bar, Maggie's basement, the Pier, Honey's cabin, Angie+Rue's apartment!

The main character is Rue, a vampire butch lesbian who runs away from home when she finds out the violent way her parents acquired blood for the family! She has a few really rough years before meeting an elderly vampire named Nana, who was taken care of by a witch named Honey. Nana helps Rue with blood. Nana takes Rue to a ballet recital, in which she meets Angie, a human ballerina. THEY FALL IN LOVE

Eventually, Nana passes and Rue has to find a job at Speakeasy, a Monster bar filled to the brim with. interesting critters. . .

She uses the bar as a guilt free blood supply because they have a whole donation thing going on with humans. It's a Low blood supply, but one none-the-less. THAT IS until there is a shortage.

In Rue's desperation, she meets Maggie, a ghoul grave robber that gets blood in Far Less Ethical ways. But it does the job.

Maggie ends up developing an absolutely unhinged obsession with Rue (as she does with several members, Sasha being one of them) and starts stalking her.

Things spiral until Rue loses her job, friends, girlfriend, and has to start working for Maggie to make a living.

of course other things occur in the meanwhile, but thats the gist of it... might post some more characters later!

[carame1bunny]

‎ ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

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The beginning of something, yay! I really hope you like it and I’ll try to write as fast as I can. I want the chapters to be way longer, so I’m going to try working on it! Enjoy! xx Bunny

warning: none, maybe Alastor being a cocky bitch:)

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Alastor didn’t even know how he ended up here. Sitting in his car and driving to the loveliest jazz bar in New Orleans, The Red Magnolia, his favorite. Rosie, an old and dear friend of his, has recommended him to a manager, even though he didn't ask for it. He wasn’t interested in making any deals, but went to the “meeting” for her sake.

He knew he had a way with people, so he could have easily succeeded in business, however, his heart was always set on radio. Even when he was a little kid, putting on a show for his mother and pretending to be a radio host, his microphone consisted of a stick and a rock stuck to it with a few layers of cheap tape. Well, he was a real one now— the best one in all of Louisiana at that. Yet, it was sometimes good to make some investments and add to his wealth. After all, money opened doors charisma alone could not.

The humid air carried the familiar scent of lingering perfumes and magnolias, it was spring after all. There was no spring in New Orleans without magnolias. The distant hum of the city was mingling with the sound of his engine.

He snapped out of his thoughts when his eyes began recognizing the area around the bar. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the chatter of late-night revelers grew louder. It was busier than usual, which made him frown. He hoped that it wouldn’t get too popular, he didn’t need people recognizing him left and right whenever he came here. It was lovely to speak to his listeners and hear them praise his hard work, but not when he came here to have one or two glasses of rye and look for his next victim. That, he preferred to do in peace.

He parked his car and made his way in through the back room. The young woman cleaning in the back immediately perked up and went to stand in front of him.

“W-welcome, Mr.Leblanc!” She stood rigidly, clutching her cleaning cloth like a lifeline. He towered over the girl, who was obviously very flustered by it. He smiled smugly, pleased when he was able to make the ladies blush and stammer. And he loved when men were nervous around him, afraid of his words that could shatter their fragile little egos.

“Mr.Devereux is waiting for you in his office.” She fidgeted with the hem of her uniform. “Shall I lead you the way?” She looked up at him. She was pouting her lips, trying to make them look plushier, and tried to open her eyes up wider. It was pathetic.

“Thank you, buttercup.” He flashed a grin, and stepped aside to go up the stairs. The somewhat little bar had a decoration that was just perfectly his taste— dark red, black and gold. The warm, flickering glow of candlelight danced against the rich walls, giving the place an intimate, almost theatrical ambiance. The jazz band’s music filtered through the floor, it made him smile. Jazz had always brought him comfort, and it was his Mama’s favorite. He paused for a moment on the landing, letting the smooth rhythm of the music fill his senses. The black door of Mr.Devereux’s office taunted him, he reminded himself that he won’t let Rosie talk him into any more crap.

After a quick composing of himself, he knocked and stepped in slowly. Mr.Devereux was a short little man well into his forties; his head was balding and his body rounding. He kinda reminded Alastor of a garden gnome. He stood up fastly, nearly stumbling over his own feet, at least he wouldn’t have a big fall.

“Mr.LeBla—”

“Just Alastor.”

“Alastor, in that case… Just call me Rob, I’m very pleased that you were able to make it!” He shook his hand with the little man and smiled tightly when he felt the man’s sweaty palm. It made sense, he was awfully nervous, and could barely look Alastor in the eye. He recognized this kind of nervousness in men. Sweaty palms, red faces and the constant furrow of their brows, it was the matter of money. “Brandy?” Rob offered, his own glass already filled to the rim. He mumbled a ‘sure’, and sat down on the chair that sat before Rob’s desk. Once delivered, he sipped at his brandy and hummed at the burn in his throat.

Once he fell back in his seat, Rob spoke. “I was glad when Rosie told me your name, after I burdened her with my troubles.” He chuckled, his chubby fingers massaging his most likely aching temples. “Look, I’m going to cut to the chase, because it’s awfully urgent.” Great, Alastor thought, let’s get this over with.

“There’s this lady…Y/N Valmont. We have gotten her half a year ago. Her face is real pretty, voice like a siren. However, we cannot afford to keep her. Even though people adore her, the bars pay way less for her time.” He swallowed his brandy in one go and continued as soon as the liquor went down. “Mostly because she's a woman, and because she’s unmarried, they expect her to… how can I say this nicely? Do you understand?

Alastor was at a loss, he had no idea what this had to do with him and why “No, Mr.Devereux, I don’t know what you mean. Care to explain?” He had an idea what the proposition was, but he wanted to hear it from Rob’s mouth.

“They expect her to whore herself out, kiss the ass of the male audience. And obviously, she refuses to, stubborn little lady she is, but she can be real sweet when she wants to b—“ Al silenced him by putting a hand up. The other man immediately retorted back into his chair and straightened his back.

Now he spoke what he had on my mind the whole time since he stepped in the Red Magnolia. “What does this have to do with me? I am nothing, but a radio host.” Being humble was always a safe way to go in his opinion.

“Alastor, you have power, you are heard by all of New Orleans. And I have heard that take part in investments from time to time, she could be your greatest investment.” He was stumbling over his words, a new layer of sweat formed on his reddish face.

“If she says she doesn’t want to be courted around, then what would change if I “bought” her from you?” Alastor crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. There was a somewhat awkward silence in the office, the only thing that was heard was the jazz sneaking up and through the floorboards. He could also nearly hear the gears turning in the other man’s head, he was really thinking hard about how to say his next few words.

“Well, people will eventually know that you’re her sponsor and gossip will come around. They will assume you’re courting her and that’s it. No one will expect her to whore herself around. All you have to do is sponsor her, pay for her numbers, her dresses and everything that helps her doll up. I would say… 80 percent, and we will pay the rest. We will manage her, and you just pay.”

He was confused, and just a tad angry. “Then what?” He raised an eyebrow. His lips were stuck in a grin.

“Then, once people accept that she does fool around with a man, especially New Orleans’ beloved radio host, they pay her and us properly, at least we hope so.”

They talked about details, and he thought… Fuck it. It wasn’t a lot of money, at least to him. Even if the plan failed, he would get the money back from the Red Magnolia, and it would bring him more attention.

“So, when can we expect you to decide?”

Alastor chuckled and offered his hand. “I’m in.” He never did anything like this, never acted so spontaneous, he always thought things like this through. But, a good deal is a good deal.

They shook hands, and while Mr.Devereux was working out the paperwork, Alastor decided to head down to the bar. The bar had three floors, the ground floor, where the stage was, around it the dancefloor along with tables with their seats, and of course the counter in the corner. The second and third floor were only balconies, the second had even more tables and sofas, it was more of a section where the guests could talk. The third was only used for the offices, no guests were allowed up there, there was barely any lighting even, only some oil lamps on the walls. The band was playing a soft tune, and people were dancing. His eyes got stuck on a couple. A girl with reddish hair and adorable freckles was resting her arms on the shoulders of, most-likely, her lover, a man with black curly hair. He recognized the lady, she sometimes played the piano right here in this very bar, her long and toned fingers telling the truth of her life’s passion. Even in the dim lighting, he could see the way they were looking into one another’s eyes, their sparkling gazes and soft grins told him everything he had to know. His eyes suddenly picked up a glint on the girl’s finger, a diamond ring. Now that he was looking at the young woman, he could see it. The very bottom of her abdomen was rounding up, her hips softer than usual and a light glow adorning her face.

In moments like this he wished he lived a normal life, a life where he could have fallen in love with a girl, marry her and eventually have a little one of his own. Maybe that way… he could have made his Ma prouder of him. However, he quickly snapped out of it. He didn’t care about all that, no woman could compete with the love he had for radio and the thrill of taking a human life. He wasn’t meant to settle down, or have a child, no.

He looked at everyone’s faces, but no one could see him, he couldn’t blame them, even he himself was struggling to see up there. However, as his eyes roamed around, they caught another pair. He felt his chest tighten for a second, his gaze caught another. Sleek updo and a pink dress. A young woman, who was sipping her cocktail and ignoring the seemingly cocky guy talking to her. She had the sweetest face he ever saw, shy smile and big doe eyes.

Suddenly, Mr.Devereux came up beside him, putting the papers in front of him. He was forced to rip his eyes away from her, so he could read through the contract. It took him quite some minutes to finish reading, he could feel her eyes still lingering on him. While he didn’t date, he enjoyed being around the ladies, they were either his dearest friends or his toys. Maybe this new little skylark could be useful to entertain him, until he gets bored, of course. Once finished, he saw how everything was written as they agreed on.

“So, are you satisfied?” Mr.Devereux asked, motioning to the contract. Alastor got his pen out of his breast pocket and just before making it official, he flashed his eyes again to the girl, who was just zoning out while wrapping her lips around a cigarette. Yes, a new toy is just what he needs. He spoke once he signed every paper.

“You’re damn right I am, Robert.”

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taglist: @jyoongim @lovingyeet @adamwarlockislife-blog @that-dumb-bitch @midorichoco @alastorswifeee @sugurubabe @captainfia @alastorssimp @iheartalastor @speedycoffeedelight @1o-o1 @kimmis-stuff @qu1cks1lversb1tch @chibistar45 @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @redfoxwritesstuff @fries11 @certifiedcrybabyyy @sirens-and-moonflowers @rapturenyx @visara-valentina

[klausysworld]

Peaceful Power

Valentines day.

Klaus didn't care for it nor understand it.

If you truly loved your person then why did you need a special day to prove it? Every day should be valentines day.

But Y/n loved love so much that something about valentines day was so magical for her.

She was a very calm soul.

Despite being a witch in New Orleans, her patience and compassion was everlasting. They were traits that Klaus deeply admired and was eternally grateful for. Not many people would be so tolerant of him.

She offered other methods to settle his rage.

The first few times he found it silly and embarrassing when they would sit on his art room floor, gentle music in the background as they closed their eyes and meditated until they felt the weight of the day lift off from their shoulders.

She had made him playlists of songs that she knew he would like and were peaceful enough to settle his nerves when he should need to.

A few times he had let her guide him through a yoga routine or two however those sessions almost always ended up with him testing just how many positions he could actually get her into before she was too exhausted for him to carry on.

She was his serenity.

So when she had expressed her passion for valentines day, he knew he couldn't disappoint her. Not that he believed there was a way to disappoint her at this point.

Now Klaus was quite romantic anyway, his main love language was gift giving and acts of service followed closely behind so he wasn't too sure how to really impress her.

However if there was something Klaus was known for it was his dramatic flare.

It was because of this that Y/n found herself blindfolded and wearing noise cancelling headphones while sat in fist class while Klaus stroked her hair and fed her the over priced airplane food. He would of course lift her headphones to whisper to her throughout the flight to ensure she was sated, thankfully Y/n was just fine with the arrangement and rather excited for where they were wind up.

He kept her covered right until he got her to their hotel.

Only when he had her stood on the balcony with the view of the sea before did he allow her senses to return.

A glowing smile lit up her face at the sight and she quickly spun around to face Klaus. He beamed back at her, chuckling when she leaped into his arms and wrapped herself around him like a koala. His grin grew as she repeatedly kissed his face and he spun her around playfully until she dropped her legs back down and leaned over the balcony pointing at the beach excitedly.

"It's so beautiful!" She gasped but he wasn't looking at the landscape, he was just looking at her. "Where are we?" she whispered, her soft voice expressing her astonishment.

"Italy" he answered with a smile as she turned to face him in amazement, "Amalfi Coast to be exact" he added and she squealed.

"For how long?" she asked excitedly and he shrugged

"For as long as you would like" he told her simply and she practically bounced where she stood.

Klaus eventually coaxed her into the hotel room, surprising her further as she was overwhelmed by the valentines theme spread throughout the apartment.

Heart shaped balloons rest in the corners of each room, pink and red candles made the hotel smell heavenly and a sweet little meditation area was set up in the lounge. Their bedroom was covered in heart shaped pillows and roses. Y/n was expressing her appreciation all night before finally resting, her mind filled with anticipation of what would come the following day.

Morning arrived and they spent valentines day on the water, giggling and smiling as they spotted dolphins and reached their hands into the sea to see the fish shimmer. Klaus braided her hair and gradually slotted more and more little flowers into the strands as they day went by.

They ate at a sweet little place just down the road from where they were staying before heading to a cocktail bar and finally laying against the coast, watching as the sun hid below the ocean line and the moon slowly found its way to the top.

"I've always loved the moon" Y/n whispered softly, looking at Klaus from where her head lay on his chest. "It's so peaceful but so powerful, you know?"

"Just like you" he uttered and her heart melted

Klaus's gaze remained on her as her cheeks blushed rose and her eyes softened to the point where he worried that he had made her cry. A singular tear slipped past her eyes before she kissed his lips and tucked her head under his chin comfortably.

"I love you" she mumbled, her voice weak as he wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled the top of her hair.

"I love you so much more, my little valentine"

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 13

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"Beautiful people, beautiful problems."

summary: both of you and joel still feel the shadows from your past and...a mysterious man...

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 13

masterlist!

previous | chapter 12

next | chapter 14

The warm, sultry air of Louisiana clung to your skin as Joel eased the truck into the grand driveway of the hotel. The fading sunlight bathed the building in a soft, golden hue, casting long shadows over the narrow streets of New Orleans. The hotel stood like a relic of a bygone era—elegant, stately, and dripping in the charm of the 1920s. Wrought-iron balconies curled around its façade, their intricate designs reminiscent of a time when craftsmanship was an art form. Tall, arched windows, framed by deep green shutters, gave the place an air of mystery, while the soft glow of gas lanterns flickered against the approaching twilight, welcoming you into a world where time seemed to slow down.

Joel parked and turned to you with a knowing smile, catching the awe in your eyes as you took in the opulence. “What do you think?” His voice was warm and easy, like the honeyed notes of a Southern drawl.

You exhaled, still mesmerized by the hotel’s vintage charm. “It’s beautiful, Joel. Feels like stepping into another time.”

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and comforting. “Only the best for you, darlin’.”

You stepped out of the truck, the cool tiles beneath your shoes a stark contrast to the heat lingering in the air. Together, you began unloading the bags, your hands brushing his as you reached for the same suitcase. His touch, steady and reassuring, anchored you in this unfamiliar, yet intoxicatingly beautiful place. The hotel, with its antique grandeur and whispers of a decadent past, made you feel both lost and found all at once.

As Joel handed the last bag to the bellhop, you let your gaze wander. The lobby was a perfect blend of sophistication and old-world elegance. Polished marble floors gleamed under the soft light of crystal chandeliers, their glow casting a golden shimmer across the room. The furniture—plush velvet armchairs in deep, jewel tones—was arranged in intimate clusters, as if inviting whispered conversations and stolen moments. A baby grand piano, aged and stately, sat silently in one corner, as if waiting for the night to bring music and life to its keys. The quiet hum of voices, paired with the soft clink of glasses from the bar, added to the atmosphere of quiet luxury.

Joel, noticing your awe, smiled wider. “Go on, have a seat. I’ll grab the keys,” he said, nodding towards the seating area. “I’ve already made the reservation online.”

You settled into a velvet armchair near a set of towering windows that looked out onto a lush courtyard. The ironwork from the balconies extended here, wrapping around the garden where ferns and jasmine climbed the walls, filling the air with their sweet scent. The atmosphere was a mix of tranquility and hidden stories, as if each corner held secrets from a hundred years ago.

While Joel checked in, you let your eyes drift across the room—the shimmering marble, the vintage chandeliers casting a soft, romantic light, and the fresh flowers that added pops of color to the rich, muted tones of the décor. 

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted someone—an older man, perhaps in his 50s, with a salt-and-pepper beard and wearing a black leather jacket. He was standing near the entrance, leaning casually against the wall. There was something familiar about him, though you couldn’t quite place it. His eyes were on you, and when your gazes met, he smiled—a small, almost knowing smile—and nodded in your direction.

You glanced behind you, thinking that maybe he was acknowledging someone else, but there was no one there. Your heart skipped a beat, an uneasy feeling settling in your chest. Despite the oddness of it, you smiled back, trying to be polite. But there was something in his eyes, something that sent a chill down your spine, though you couldn’t figure out why.

He looked like he wanted to say something, his lips parting as if he was trying to speak to you from afar. But before you could make sense of it, you heard Joel’s voice, warm and reassuring, pulling your attention back to him.

“Got the key,” Joel said, walking towards you with a satisfied smile on his face. You turned back to where the man had been standing, but he was gone. The spot where he had been was empty, as if he had never been there at all.

You blinked, your mind racing. Had you imagined it? Or was it just a trick of the light? But the unease lingered, a faint shadow in the back of your mind. You wanted to mention it to Joel, but something held you back, the moment passing as quickly as it had come.

“Everything alright?” Joel asked, noticing the slight frown on your face as he handed you the room key.

You forced a smile, pushing the strange encounter to the back of your mind. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

He reached out, his hand brushing against your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Good,” he said, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he led the way toward the elevator. “Let’s get settled in, and then we can figure out what to do for dinner.”

You felt the weight of the day beginning to lift, but there was still that sense of stickiness clinging to your skin, the remnants of the journey. “I need a shower,” you said, almost sheepishly.

Joel nodded, a teasing glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, pretending to take a deep whiff. He scrunched up his nose in mock disgust. “Yeah, you sure do, darlin’,” he said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Smellin’ like a long road trip in the middle of summer.”

You smacked his arm lightly, unable to suppress a laugh. “You’re so mean.”

His laughter joined yours, rich and comforting, echoing in the grand hallway of the hotel. The bellboy appeared to help with your bags, his polite demeanor contrasting with Joel’s playful teasing. As the three of you stepped into the elevator, the smooth hum of it moving upward felt like the beginning of something new—a journey you had only just embarked on, with so many more miles to go.

Joel turned to you as the elevator doors closed, his expression softening. “So, what do you wanna do while we’re here in New Orleans?"

You shook your head, smiling shyly. "I follow you, Joel. It’s my first time out of… well, you know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

He gave you a look filled with warmth, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Then we’ll make sure your first time’s unforgettable. Music and the foods, You’re gonna love it.”

***

After shower, You changed quickly, and soon enough, the two of you were out on the streets, hand in hand, the world around you pulsing with energy. The French Quarter was alive—vibrant colors, wrought-iron balconies covered in creeping ivy, the smell of spicy Cajun food mingling with the sweet, smoky air.

Street performers played jazz, the music dancing through the air like something you could reach out and touch. It felt surreal, like you were stepping into a movie, every moment dripping with possibility.

Joel led the way, his grip firm but gentle on your hand. “You ever hear music like this before?” he asked, glancing at you with a soft smile.

“No,” you replied, wide-eyed, trying to soak it all in. “It’s beautiful. It’s like… it fills the air, like it’s a part of the city itself.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd, ever protective, but he kept his tone light. “Yeah, Feels alive, doesn’t it?”

You smiled, but that same uneasy feeling crept up again. It was subtle, like a whisper in the back of your mind. The crowd, the noise, the rush of the city—it all felt too much for a moment. You glanced around, your eyes scanning the faces of strangers passing by, and there it was again. That feeling.

You tried to shake it off, but something about it gnawed at you. The man from the hotel lobby flashed in your mind—the way he looked at you, too familiar, too knowing. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine as if he could be watching you even now.

Joel must have sensed your discomfort because he squeezed your hand a little tighter, pulling you closer. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low, concerned.

“Yeah, I just... It’s nothing," you said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Joel studied you for a moment longer, his brow furrowing in concern, his gaze soft but questioning.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice gentle, the warmth in his eyes wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Babe?"

You nodded quickly, pushing away the thoughts swirling in your head. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, feeling the words stick in your throat like sand. "Maybe just tired. I don’t know. It’s been a long day."

Joel’s eyes lingered on you, searching for the truth beneath your words. “Maybe we should head back to the hotel,” he suggested, concern lacing his voice. “You could use some rest, and we can grab a bite there.”

You shook your head, not wanting to ruin the moment, not wanting to burden him with your worries. He was already carrying so much, and the last thing you wanted was to add more weight to his shoulders.

"No, no," you said, forcing a small laugh. "I'm fine, really. I want to explore this town with you. Just the two of us. Let's keep going."

Joel hesitated, his protective instincts kicking in, but he eventually relented, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright. But if you start feelin’ tired, you tell me, okay?”

You nodded again, trying to push away the lingering unease that clung to you like a shadow. The feeling of being watched, of someone’s eyes burning into the back of your neck, wouldn’t go away, but you didn’t want to tell Joel.

You didn’t want to add more to his already heavy heart, didn’t want to give life to the quiet fear that still lurked inside you—the fear that one day, your father might come and tear Joel away from you. That he’d come and steal this happiness, this safety, this love you’d found with Joel.

Sometimes, that fear still gripped you, like a hand squeezing your throat, making it hard to breathe.

It haunted your quiet moments, that dark corner in your mind where your father’s voice still echoed, telling you that you weren’t enough, that you didn’t deserve love.

But with Joel, you felt whole, like you finally had something that was yours.

You glanced at Joel, his strong presence beside you anchoring you to this moment. Maybe you were just imagining things--the man-- just like your father’s lingering shadow.

The man in the hotel lobby, the feeling of being watched... it was probably all in your head. You were just on edge, your mind playing tricks on you.

But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling. You were sure you had seen him before, though you couldn’t remember where. But, you didn’t want to dwell on it. Not now. Not when you were here with Joel, trying to enjoy this fleeting moment of peace together.

Joel’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. “You really okay, though?"

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “I’m fine, Joel. Really."

He smiled, a slow, easy smile that made your heart feel lighter. “Okay."

As you walked side by side through the vibrant streets of New Orleans, the city seemed to come alive around you.

You took a deep breath, trying to let the warmth of the night soothe you, trying to focus on Joel’s steady presence beside you. His hand slipped into yours again, his fingers lacing through yours like they belonged there, and for a moment, the world felt right again. You held onto that feeling, clinging to it like a lifeline, pushing away the shadows and the fear.

As the two of you strolled down the lively streets, you glanced up at Joel and said, “I’m getting kinda hungry.”

Joel smirked and gave your hand a playful squeeze. “Well, lucky for you, we’re in the land of good food. How ‘bout we stop at the next place that catches our eye?”

You smiled, feeling the tension ease a little. Just being with him made you feel safer, like everything was going to be okay. “Sounds good to me.”

A few blocks later, you spotted a cozy-looking restaurant tucked between two colorful buildings. The windows were lined with flickering candles, and the smell of rich, spicy food wafted out every time the door opened. Joel nodded towards it. “What do you think? Cajun food might hit the spot.”

You grinned, already imagining the warmth of gumbo or jambalaya. “Let’s do it.”

Once inside, the restaurant felt intimate, filled with the low hum of chatter, the clink of silverware, and the occasional burst of laughter. Joel guided you to a table near the back, and as you sat down, he gave the menu a quick glance before turning his attention to you.

The two of you bantered back and forth, finally Joel ordered for both of you, suggesting dishes you couldn’t even pronounce. You watched him, his hands gesturing as he spoke, his voice soft and easy. There was something calming about how natural everything felt with him.

As you both waited for the food, the warmth of Joel’s hand covered yours on the table. His thumb lazily traced circles against your skin, a gesture so small but filled with tenderness.

You looked at him and asked softly, “After this, where do we go next?”

Joel leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing slightly as he thought. "Hmm," he mused, glancing around the bustling restaurant as if searching for an answer in the air.

“Well, darlin', where do ya wanna go? We could just keep drivin'. Maybe head to Alabama, or...” His voice trailed off, and he gave you a smile that softened all the edges of his rugged face. “Maybe even stop somewhere near the Gulf. Find ourselves a beach, relax for a bit.”

Your eyes lit up at the thought. “That sounds perfect.”

Joel chuckled, the sound deep and low. “We’ll just take it one town at a time. Motel to motel, ‘cross the states, just you and me.” He squeezed your hand gently, his voice turning more thoughtful. “Eventually, we’ll make our way to California. Like our plan."

The thought of it made your heart race. Just you and Joel, together, no one to come between you. “I’d like that,” you whispered, smiling softly.

You were about to say something more when the question bubbled up inside you, almost catching you by surprise. You hesitated for a moment before asking,

“Joel... do you miss Ellie?”

His grip on your hand faltered for a second, just long enough for you to notice. Joel's eyes darkened, and for a moment, he looked away, his jaw tight, the memories of Ellie lingering in the corners of his mind. He stayed silent for what felt like minutes but was only a few seconds, before nodding slowly.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice thick. “I do. Very much."

You could feel the weight in his words, the ache that he tried so hard to bury. Ellie was a part of him, in the same way you were becoming. And even though he tried to keep her at arm's length to protect himself, that love—Joel’s fierce, unyielding love—was something that couldn’t be silenced.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you said quietly, guilt bubbling up inside you. “I didn’t mean to take you away from her.”

Joel squeezed your hand again, this time more firmly. His eyes softened as he looked at you, all traces of tension melting away. “Stop that,” he murmured, shaking his head. “This ain’t your fault. None of this is.”

You bit your lip, but the words tumbled out anyway. “But—”

“No,” he interrupted gently but firmly. “You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” He leaned in, his forehead almost touching yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’d go through hell to keep you safe, babygirl. And I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

His words hit you like a prayer—like an old psalm sung at dusk, filled with the weight of promise and sacrifice. Joel had become your protector, your keeper, like an Old Testament shepherd guarding his flock. And though you were not without your own strength, you knew that in his arms, you had found your refuge.

Without thinking, you leaned forward and kissed him, your lips pressing softly against his in a way that felt both new and familiar. Joel kissed you back with a quiet intensity, his hand resting on your cheek, the world around you fading into the background.

For the first time, you weren’t afraid of being caught. The street, the noise, the people—it all disappeared in that moment.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Joel smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Beautiful girl, my beautiful girl."

But before you could answer, something on the TV in the corner of the restaurant caught your eye. It was a news report, the kind you usually ignored, but this time it made your stomach twist.

Pastor Ben and Jamie Lee.

Both missing. Their faces flashed on the screen as the anchor discussed their sudden disappearance and the ongoing search.

"Oh my god."

You stared at the screen, feeling the air shift around you. Jamie Lee—his name alone was enough to bring back memories you had tried so hard to bury.

You hated him for what he had done, for the pain and humiliation he’d caused. But despite everything, a part of you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy.

After all, forgiveness was what you’d been taught all your life. Turn the other cheek. Forgive those who trespass against you.

Still, it was hard to reconcile that Christian kindness with the anger that bubbled inside you. Jamie had sinned, deeply. If anyone deserved to be lost, it was him.

Joel noticed your sudden stillness and followed your gaze to the TV. His expression darkened, but he said nothing, just watched. You couldn’t see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the fear and guilt clawing at his chest.

He had done what he thought was right—what he had to do. But now, with their faces plastered on the screen, the weight of his actions pressed heavily on him.

You whispered, almost to yourself, “I hated him. But... no one deserves to just disappear like that. Not even him.”

Joel stayed silent, his grip tightening around your hand, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin like a distant drumbeat. He wanted to tell you, to let you know that he had done this for you—for your safety, for your peace. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Not yet.

Joel’s heart ached with a weight that was impossible to shake, even as your words hung in the air between you like a fragile thread. I hated him. But... no one deserves to just disappear like that. Not even him. He swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon beyond the courtyard.

You didn’t know. You couldn’t know.

Joel’s mind churned beneath the surface, a storm no one could see. The truth of what he’d done was buried deep—buried like Jamie and Pastor Ben, like the bodies he’d laid to rest in the dark soil, far away from your innocence, your gentle heart. He’d done it for you, every twisted, violent act a means of protecting you from men who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.

Joel’s pulse beat heavy beneath his skin, the thrum of it like a drum, steady and relentless, as memories played behind his eyes. The sharp edge of the shovel digging into earth. The crack of bone. The blood, The silence afterward, so thick it felt like drowning. He had been methodical, precise. He’d done worse in his life—he’d done what he had to do, and this was no different. 

"Joel?" You ask him, because he seems like he lost in his own thought, "Are you okay?" you ask again.

Joel blinked, dragged back to the present by the sound of your voice, soft and concerned. He turned to you, his jaw tightening before he loosened it, forcing the tension out of his muscles. He hadn’t realized how far he’d slipped—back into those dark corners of his mind where the past bled into the present, where every sound and every silence reminded him of what he’d done, of the graves he’d dug.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

But you weren’t convinced. You tilted your head, your eyes searching his face, looking for something he didn’t want you to find. “Are you tired? We can take the food back to our hotel," you said.

Joel shook his head, offering you a quick, reassuring smile. "No, no, it's fine," he said, his voice steady. “We’ll eat here.”

Moments later, the food arrived, and you both shared a quiet, peaceful meal together. The evening was warm, the hum of jazz floating through the air as the city bustled around you. After dinner, you strolled hand-in-hand through the streets of New Orleans, the city alive with music and energy. The twinkling lights, the sound of laughter, and the scent of spices in the air made it feel like a dream. You had fun, really let go, and it felt like Joel did too—his laughter mixing with yours, his eyes softening when they met yours.

But when you returned to the hotel, the warmth faded as you began to unwind. You changed into comfortable clothes, wiped away your makeup, and kept chatting with Joel from the bathroom, the door cracked open so he could hear you. You told him about the jazz show, about the new friends you’d made with him by your side. The night felt alive in your words, full of joy, but after a while, you noticed the silence from the other side of the room.

“Joel?” you called, your voice carrying a little more concern. You stepped out of the bathroom and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off into space. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, his broad shoulders tense, his whole body still, like a statue weighed down by invisible chains.

“Joel, what’s wrong?” you asked, walking over to him, kneeling in front of him so you could see his face. “Did I do something wrong?”

His eyes flicked back to you, as if pulling himself from some dark place in his mind. His brow furrowed, and he quickly shook his head, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “No, no, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained but soft. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You held his gaze, feeling the unease creeping into your chest. “Then what is it?” you pressed gently. “Are you sick?”

Joel opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. How could he explain the storm raging inside him? The news he’d seen earlier—reports of missing people, whispers of investigations—it sent a chill down his spine.

He couldn’t shake the thought that maybe it wouldn’t be long before the police found where he had buried Jamie and Pastor Ben. Maybe it wouldn’t be long before they came for him, before they tore him from you, or worse—before they dragged you back to your father, back to the hell he had tried so hard to save you from.

Inside his mind, the thoughts churned like a rising tide, each one more suffocating than the last. He saw it all—the flash of blue lights, the handcuffs tightening around his wrists, your face crumbling as they led him away.

He imagined you back in that house, imagined the way you’d be stripped of the freedom and love he’d tried to give you.

He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.

But he couldn’t tell you any of this.

The truth was like a sickness in him, spreading through his veins, poisoning everything it touched. Every moment with you was a borrowed one. The walls felt like they were closing in, and no matter how much he wanted to pull you close and keep you safe, the fear of what could come next gnawed at him relentlessly.

“Joel?” your voice brought him back again, your hand resting on his knee, warm and gentle. “Please, talk to me. I know something’s wrong.”

He let out a long, shaky breath, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “I just… got a lot on my mind, sweetheart,” he said quietly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothin’ for you to worry about.”

But you could see it—the heaviness in his expression, the way his body tensed like he was carrying a weight too heavy for one man alone.

“You sure?” you asked again, your voice a whisper now, full of concern. “I can help. I’m here.”

"Joel. It's both of us now against the world. Just you and me. I will be with you no matter what, Joel."

Joel’s heart clenched at your words. The truth in your voice, the unwavering loyalty, wrapped around him like a lifeline. He wanted to believe it—to hold onto the idea that with you, he could face anything.

But the weight of what he had done, the fear of what might come, pressed down like a crushing force. He couldn’t risk destroying this fragile happiness, this fleeting freedom that both of you had fought so hard to claim.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, so full of love, of trust. Joel wanted to give you everything—his heart, his soul, his truth. But not yet.

His love for you was too deep, too raw, and the fear of losing you, of losing this, gnawed at him in ways he couldn’t put into words.

Instead of speaking, Joel cupped your face, his rough hands trembling slightly as they held you. The silence between you grew thick, but his lips found yours—softly at first, as if he were testing the waters, afraid of losing himself in you completely.

But the kiss deepened, and something inside him snapped. It wasn’t just desire, it was a desperate need—an overwhelming, aching need to feel alive, to drown out the darkness clawing at him from every corner.

He kissed you like a man starved, pouring every unspoken fear, every unexpressed emotion into that moment. His lips moved with a fierce, breathless intensity, his hands tracing the curves of your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

"Joel..." You moan as his touch was urgent, seeking comfort, seeking release from the turmoil spinning in his head.

Joel’s breath hitched at the sound of your voice, his name tumbling from your lips in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. His hands slid up your body, fingers tracing the soft lines of your waist, your hips, the curve of your thighs. His touch was rough, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like he needed you to drown out everything else.

"Say it again," he growled against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he pressed his body against yours. His breath was hot, his voice low and gravelly. "Say my name again, baby."

"Joel..." you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him even closer, your heart racing as the heat between you grew. His mouth found yours again, and this time, the kiss was hungrier, deeper—like he was claiming you, like he needed this, needed you to ground him, to remind him that this was real.

His hands roamed, exploring every inch of you, each touch more possessive than the last. "You feel so good," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "I need you... right now, baby."

You arched into him, your body responding to his every touch, his every word. “Joel… I need you too.”

He groaned softly, his mouth trailing down your neck, his hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt, lifting it higher until it was tossed aside. He kissed you again, harder, more intense, his body pressing you into the mattress, every movement filled with the weight of his need.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice rough and ragged, full of a quiet possessiveness as he kissed your collarbone, then lower, his hands gripping your hips, steadying you beneath him. "You understand? Mine."

"Yes," you whispered back, your voice trembling with want, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. "Yours, yours only, daddy."

You realize when you said that, your eyes widened, face red. The word slipped out before you could stop it—daddy—and as soon as it did, your eyes widened, your breath catching in your throat.

Heat rushed to your face, your cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to say it, not like that, but the way Joel had been touching you, the way he made you feel so safe and wanted, it just… came out.

For a moment, there was a stunned silence, Joel’s lips hovering just above your skin. Then, his eyes darkened, and a low, gravelly chuckle escaped his throat. He tilted his head up, looking down at you with an intensity that sent a shiver through your whole body.

“Oh, baby…” His voice was deeper now, rough with desire. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips grazed your ear. “What did you just call me?”

You swallowed, heart pounding in your chest. “I–I didn’t mean—”

But Joel cut you off, his mouth crashing against yours in a bruising kiss, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t get enough of you. When he finally pulled back, his gaze burned into yours. “Say it again,” he demanded softly, his voice laced with something dark, possessive.

"Say it for daddy."

Your pulse raced, your body tingling under his touch. “Daddy…” you whispered, breathless, the word trembling from your lips.

Joel groaned, his hands roaming over your body with renewed hunger, the heat between you intensifying. “That’s my good girl,” he growled against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“You like calling me that, huh? Feels right, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, a soft moan escaping your throat as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Yes… daddy.”

He growled again, his teeth grazing your shoulder as his hands wandered lower, claiming every inch of you like he was staking his claim.

“You’re mine, baby. All mine,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he kissed his way down your body, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “I’m gonna take care of you, make you feel so good.”

Joel’s breath was ragged as he leaned back, his eyes dark with hunger as he reached for the condom, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. His gaze never left yours, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race even faster.

You watched, your body trembling with anticipation as he rolled it on, his jaw clenched with restraint. He was trying to hold back, but you could see how much he needed this—how much he needed you.

He hovered over you, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not gonna be gentle tonight, baby. I need you too much.” His voice was low, rough, full of a barely contained edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, your breath catching as his hand slid between your thighs, teasing you, making you gasp. "I can take it," you whispered, your voice breathless with want. "I want you, Joel... I need you."

With a growl, Joel positioned himself, his grip tightening on your hips. He entered you slowly, but even then, the sheer force of it made you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body adjusted to him. The pressure was overwhelming, the stretch sending shockwaves of pleasure through you as he filled you completely.

“Goddamn, you feel so good,” Joel grunted, his teeth grazing your neck as he moved deeper, setting a rough, desperate pace. He couldn’t hold back, his need too great, the weight of everything pressing down on him pouring into every thrust. “So tight, baby… so perfect.”

You moaned his name, your body arching beneath him, each movement sending pleasure spiraling through you. His hands gripped your waist, holding you steady as he moved harder, faster, his body pressing you into the mattress.

Every thrust was deep, forceful, as if he was trying to chase away the demons that haunted him, burying his fear and paranoia in the way he claimed you.

“My beautiful girl, such a good girl you are.” he growled, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your moans. “No one else gets you like this. Only me. You’re mine, baby.”

You could only nod, lost in the sensation, your body responding to every rough touch, every demanding kiss. “Yes… Joel… only you…” you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure as he took you over the edge, his rhythm relentless, his grip possessive.

He groaned deeply as his pace quickened, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each thrust. “I’m never letting you go,” he rasped, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

“Never.”

Your body tightened around him, the intensity of his movements pushing you closer to your breaking point. You moaned his name again, the sound filling the room as you clung to him, your heart pounding in your chest.

Joel's grip tightened on your hips, and the bed creaked beneath the force of his movements, each thrust rougher than the last. The headboard knocked against the wall in rhythm, and your moans filled the room, mingling with the sound of his ragged breathing.

The pressure of his body against yours was overwhelming, and yet, even in the roughness, there was a tenderness, a care in the way his lips found yours between every deep, hard thrust.

“Joel...” you gasped, your voice shaking as your fingers dug into his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself against the intensity. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, the roughness somehow exactly what you needed.

Every time he moved, it sent you closer to the edge, your body tightening around him, the friction almost unbearable.

“You’re so perfect,” Joel growled against your lips, his mouth claiming yours in a fierce kiss. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, a stark contrast to the way his body pounded into you. “So damn perfect, baby... Can’t get enough of you.”

The bedframe rattled against the wall as he thrust harder, the sound only heightening the heat building between you. Your back arched, your head tipping back as you moaned his name again, your body trembling beneath him. “Joel... oh God...”

He kissed you deeply, swallowing your moans, his lips rough but full of passion as he gripped you tighter. “I’ve got you,” he rasped between kisses, his breath hot against your mouth. “You’re safe with me, baby. Always.”

Even though his movements were rough, almost desperate, he made sure you were okay—his lips constantly finding yours, his hands steadying your body, his murmured reassurances grounding you in the midst of the intensity.

You felt the pressure building inside you, your whole body tightening as you clung to him, every nerve ending on fire as he pushed you closer to him.

The pressure inside you coiled tighter, your body trembling as the pleasure built, inching you closer to the edge with each of Joel’s rough, relentless thrusts. Your eyes fluttered shut, lost in the overwhelming sensation, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Joel... I’m so close...” you moaned, your voice barely a whisper, your body arching beneath him.

But Joel’s hand moved to your chin, tilting your face toward him, his dark eyes filled with intensity as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Look at me,” he growled softly, his voice rough with desire. “Open your eyes, baby. I want you to look at me when you cum.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through you, making your heart race even faster. You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze, the connection between you sparking like electricity. His eyes were dark, hungry, filled with so much need that it made your whole body tremble.

“That's it,” Joel murmured, his pace quickening, thrusting deeper, harder. The bedframe rattled against the wall as his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you closer to him, pushing you right to the brink. “Stay with me, darlin’. I wanna see you fall apart for me.”

Your breath hitched, your body tightening even more as the intensity of his movements pushed you to the edge. His eyes never left yours, and the way he was looking at you—like you were everything he needed—made you feel like you were unraveling beneath him.

“Joel... oh my God...” you moaned, your voice shaking as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your entire body shuddered, your nails digging into his back as you came, your eyes locked with his the whole time, just like he asked.

Joel let out a low, guttural groan as he felt you tighten around him, his own control slipping. “That’s my girl,” he rasped, his lips brushing against yours, his voice thick with desire. “So beautiful...”

He thrust into you harder, chasing his own release, and with a deep, broken moan, he followed you over the edge, his body shaking as he came, holding you close like he couldn’t bear to let go.

"Fuck!"

Joel cursed under his breath, his chest heaving as both of you struggled to catch your breath. His body trembled as he pulled out of you, quickly disposing of the condom and tossing it aside. When you started to shift, thinking it was over, his strong hand gripped your thigh, keeping your legs open.

“Who said I’m done?” he growled, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes widened in surprise, your heart pounding all over again as you watched him, your body still sensitive from the intensity of before.

Joel leaned down, kissing a trail across your stomach, his lips dangerously close to the heat between your thighs. His breath was hot against your skin, and your pulse raced as he moved lower, his hands spreading your legs wider.

“Joel...oh my God,” you whispered, your voice breathless, but he didn’t respond with words. Instead, his mouth found the soft skin just above your core, kissing and teasing until you were trembling beneath him again, your hands gripping the sheets.

He looked up at you through hooded eyes, his hands firmly holding your hips in place as his lips hovered over your most sensitive spot. “I wanna hear you moan my name again,” he murmured, his voice rough with lust.

“Louder this time.”

And then, without warning, his mouth was on you, his tongue teasing you with slow, deliberate strokes, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body. You gasped, your back arching as you moaned his name, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured you like he couldn’t get enough.

“Oh God, Joel,” you cried, your body trembling, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of sensation. He was relentless, his mouth moving with expert precision, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you as you writhed beneath him, completely at his mercy.

Joel groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and you moaned even louder, your body tightening again as the pleasure built all over. He looked up, eyes dark with need, watching every reaction, every moan as he drove you closer to the edge once more.

Joel’s fingers joined in, sliding inside you with a slow, deliberate thrust that made your whole body jolt. His mouth stayed on you, his tongue moving in sync with the rhythm of his fingers, fast and relentless. The sensation was overwhelming, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you.

Your legs trembled uncontrollably, the intensity almost too much to handle. "Oh God, Joel!" you cried out, your voice shaking as your body arched off the bed, your hands clutching at the sheets as if you were holding on for dear life. His fingers were fast, his tongue even faster, and it felt like you were on the verge of falling apart all over again.

“That's it, baby,” Joel rasped against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “Let go for me.”

Your eyes rolled back, the heat coiling tight in your belly, spreading through your limbs like fire. You couldn’t stop the moans spilling from your lips, couldn’t stop the way your hips moved desperately against his hand, chasing that release you craved.

“Joel... I— I can’t...” you gasped, your voice trembling as you felt yourself nearing the edge, your body overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch.

“You can, darlin’,” he growled, his eyes never leaving your face as he pressed deeper, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot. “Cum for me.”

His words were the final push you needed. With a cry of his name, you shattered beneath him, your entire body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Your legs trembled uncontrollably, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you lost yourself in the sensation, the world spinning around you.

Joel didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you until you were completely spent, your body trembling, utterly at his mercy.

Finally, Joel pulled back, his lips lingering on your inner thigh before he released a satisfied breath. Just as you thought he was done, he spit softly on your sensitive core, making your body jolt with surprise.

Without hesitation, his mouth was back on you, licking slowly, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. The sensation was too much, your overstimulated body trembling as his tongue tasted you again.

He worked his way up, his lips trailing kisses over your stomach, then your breasts, before finally reaching your mouth. He kissed you deeply, and you could taste yourself on his lips, the intimate mix of your desire on his tongue.

It was raw, electric, and it made your heart race all over again.

As his mouth moved against yours, you felt the weight of his body pressing into you, his hands holding you steady, his fingers trailing over your skin like he owned every part of you. “You taste so good,” he whispered against your lips, his voice husky with lust.

You gasped softly, your hands clutching his shoulders as you kissed him back, feeling the intoxicating mixture of you on his mouth. "Joel..." you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, still dazed from everything he’d just done to you.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. His lips ghosted over your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"Tell me, baby, you like tasting yourself on my lips?"

You chuckles at his tease and nodded, your cheeks flushing, unable to form coherent words as his mouth claimed yours again in a fierce, demanding kiss.

His tongue teased yours, making you feel every inch of the connection between you. His hands roamed your body possessively, grounding you in the moment, and as he kissed you deeper, he left no doubt in your mind that you were his.

“Let’s go to sleep, baby,” Joel murmured against your lips, his voice soothing, still laced with the remnants of the heated moment you’d just shared.

He pulled away slightly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes softening as he looked down at you.

You nodded, still feeling the warmth radiating from your body, but a sense of comfort washed over you at the thought of resting beside him. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice still thick with emotion.

As he settled beside you, you turned onto your side, facing him. The room was dim, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over his features.

You could see the tiredness etched on his face, the weight of everything that had happened still lingering in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You wanted to make sure he was alright, even after everything. “You seemed a little lost there for a moment.”

He paused, the moment stretching between you as he considered his response. “I'm fine, doll.” He brushed his thumb over your cheek, grounding you both in the intimacy of the moment. “Being here with you is more anough for me,”

You felt a smile tug at your lips, a warmth blooming in your chest at his words. “I want to be here for you, Joel. You don’t have to go through everything alone.”

He nodded, his expression turning serious. “I know, and I appreciate that more than you know, baby.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just promise me you’ll stay close. I don’t want to lose you.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, but you pushed the fear away, focusing on the warmth of his body next to yours. “I promise,” you said, your voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

With that, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close against him. The world outside faded away, and for that moment, all that mattered was the comfort of each other’s presence.

As you settled into his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat began to lull you into a sense of security, a cocoon of safety that you had longed for.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep, your dreams filled with warmth and the unshakeable bond between you and Joel.

"Night, Joel."

***

and im back, wazzup people! ENJOY SOME SMUT CUS WHY NOT! strongly suggest listen to heaven by julia michaels and cherry by lana del rey

[cowpokeomens]

Blood Born

Hi hello! Sorry I disappeared, life has just been happening lately no matter how much I tell it not to. Anyways, below the cut you'll find Noah Sebastian with a mysterious secret doin the nasty bc I'm nothing if not a monster fucker.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, mentions of weapons, dirty nasty p-in-v smut, Noah's monster cock (canon), praise kink, there's some biting too. I think that's everything but I'm really tired so if I missed something, let me know! Enjoy!

________________________________________________________

New Orleans had always been one of Noah’s favorite cities.

He’d been partial to the French, anyway. Liked the way they baked absurd little confections, the way they fucked without remorse- the way they’d put each other’s head on a pike just to get a leg up in court. He’d been fortunate enough to be endowed with a pretty face, and there were few things the French liked more than that. 

Which is where he found himself now, walking through the French Quarter, looking for dinner. There were approximately a million restaurants with old signs beckoning him inside, but Noah had lost a taste for that kind of food long before he stepped foot in this city. 

He smelled you before he saw you. 

It was the off season, if such a thing existed for a city like this. You were bundled up in a jacket, hurrying through the streets. It was chilly, even for this time of year, the wind making its way through your hair to whip in every direction. That must have been what blew your scent his way, the intoxicating scent of jasmine and an uninterrupted heart beat almost making him stiffen up where he stood, across the street from you. He mourned your scent as you ducked into a building, trying to escape the chill. You didn’t reek of alcohol the way most people in this area did- if he had to guess, he’d say you probably hadn’t had anything stronger than a glass of wine tonight. The thought of how that would taste had him darting across the nearly empty street to follow you into the building quickly.

He didn’t get a good meal often. The drunken strangers he usually managed to entice sated him in the way a pint of blueberries would satisfy a black bear. It was hard to find a sober person who would let you bite them, and the ones who did come along were, well, strange to say the least. As if he had any moral high ground. 

The inside of the building was warm, dimly lit. He spotted you immediately, in a far corner by the bar, alone. 

Blessed be to the old gods and the new. He thought to himself. He wouldn’t even have to lure you away from a group. He could easily seduce an individual, but multiples were hard when he was hungry. 

He made his way over to where you sat, sitting around the corner so he could face you, but not be in your personal space. “Whiskey neat, please.” The bartender nodded once, pouring something foul and cheap-smelling into a glass with an ice cube. Noah fought back a grimace at the stench. 

“Oh, come on, Remy, don’t give him the fucking Jack Daniel’s.” A voice called next to him. “If you want to cheap out, do Crown. Who the hell voluntarily drinks Jack?”

Noah slowly turned his head to where you sat, frowning at the bartender, who was rolling his eyes in return. He did remake Noah’s drink though, with something decidedly more palatable. 

As he sat the drink down and walked to another patron, Noah turned to you. “Thank you. I was having a difficult time coping with the thought of that on my palate.”

You flashed him a grin. Briefly, he wondered what it would feel like to breathe again. 

“No worries. Remy likes to give the tourists the bottom shelf shit, but you seem like the sort of guy who knows his whiskey.” You took a small sip of your wine, something deeply red that made Noah shift in his seat ever so slightly. 

He inhaled once. “Grenache?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You know your wines, too. How could you tell?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Lucky guess.”

You cocked your head to the side curiously. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I’ve never been here before.” Noah responded, emotionless.

“January is an odd time to visit for someone who’s never been here before.” You prodded further.

Noah couldn’t fight the smirk on his face. “Must you always play with your food?” Jolly had sighed once. “Maybe if I had a better tour guide, I would know that.”

He turns to look at you know, registers every emotion that crosses your face. Your pupils widen noticeably, your back going a little straighter. You were making this too easy for him. 

“You’re in luck, I happen to know a gal.” You’re beaming at him- a sweet, lopsided grin as you take a gulp of your wine and introduce yourself. Noah watches the movement of your throat as you do so, responding with his own name. He takes a moment to drink you in. 

Your jacket is gone now, but you’re still wearing a sweatshirt for a school he’s never heard of (Which, to be fair, is most of them.) Dark jeans cling to your legs where they sway idly from the barstool, your feet not touching the ground. Your hair has been pulled away from your face, but a few wisps escape and kiss the sides of your cheeks. He realizes, almost startled, that you’re beautiful. 

A dignified kind of beautiful, not the otherworldliness that his kind manages. He knows he’s attractive, but it’s the same kind of beauty that humans see in tigers, snakes-  A warning sign, a mark of predation. The kind of beauty you admire from the other side of bullet proof glass. 

You, though- you’re so warm. He can feel your warmth, even from over here. It transcends physicality; Warmth that is visceral, in your eyes and your lips and the scrunch of your nose reacting to the cold. 

“Hey, you okay?” Your soft voice shakes him out of his thoughts. “You looked sad.”

His eyes lock with yours, finding such human concern that if he could have wept, he would. You looked like you cared for people. He had not been cared for in a very long time. 

“Yes, sorry. Zoned out for a second there.” He quickly finished off his drink. “I would love to take you up on that offer, though. It would be nice to see the city from a local’s perspective.”

He was a dirty liar. He knew the earth of this place before the French could even see it from their ships. It was wild then, and wild now- though in different ways. He could see the old wild in the eyes of workers practicing their vaudou and the shadows that lingered at the edge of the swamps surrounding the city. It beckoned, a siren’s call out to the murky depths of the region. Colonizers said they “settled” the territory, but everyone old enough to remember knows that lands like that don’t settle. 

He supposed he was, in some ways, a marriage of those wilds. He remembered the things that lurked in the shadows… and now he was the thing lurking in that same darkness, however many lifetimes later.

“You know,” You interrupted his thoughts again, grabbing your coat in the process, “You get this really old-and-wise look on your face when you zone out. Are you thinking about war crimes, or mac ‘n cheese?”

He smiled despite himself. “Mac ‘n cheese.” 

You blinded him briefly with a smile in return. He knew instantly that he would regret this, but followed you out the bar nonetheless, throwing a bill onto the counter without looking back. 

You walked alongside each other in companionable silence until you spoke up. 

“So, what brings you to the city alone?”

Noah smirked at the ground. You didn’t even try to disguise your inquiries. It was refreshing.

“I was supposed to be visiting friends, but they’re not here anymore.” It wasn’t a lie- not the truth, but certainly not a lie. 

You frowned. “You didn’t think to check that your friends lived here still before you came?” 

Noah shook his head. “I was actually just passing through- decided to stay a few days.”

You nodded, as if his non-answers made any sense. It reminded him of how he would nod at the eloquent words of his elders when he was a child, like pretending he was wiser than he was would somehow allow the wisdom to materialize out of sheer will. A thought occurred to him. “How old are you?”

“Oh, I’m 25.” You responded, turning to cast a glance up at him. “You?”

He found he didn’t want to lie to you. “Older than you.” Was the answer he settled on. 

You snorted, surprising him. He raised an eyebrow in question. 

“Come on man, that’s like, the most ‘Guy Older Than 27’ thing to say.” You rolled your eyes at him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone rolled their eyes at him. 

He grinned anyway, not looking at you. “Fair enough. I am older than 27.”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Why so cryptic? Scared I’ll send you back to the nursing home you escaped from-”

You were cut off as he crowded you up against a wall, staring down his nose at you, arms on either side of your head. “You’re kind of mouthy, you know that?”

“Then shut me up.” Your words were rushed, like they escaped before you could think them over properly. He hesitated for only a second, then leaned in to kiss you. 

You bloomed like a flower in spring for him, lips parting in a gasp, chest heaving as color rushed to your cheeks. He felt drunk as his tongue traced your lip, hands coming down to grasp your hips. You parted after only a few moments, breath ragged. 

“I live about a block from here.” Your intentions were not lost on him. 

He took a step back, gesturing for you to lead the way. You finished your nighttime stroll soon after, quickly pulling out your keys to unlock your front door.

Noah pauses at the door. Some of the superstitions were all too true. You turn around to face him, framed by the light of your entryway. 

“Well, come in then. It’s cold.” You urge him, holding the door open. He lets out a breath he didn’t need.

He follows you inside to the warm interior. He’s taking in your interior decoration choices when you pounce, pulling him to your mouth. He happily obliges, deepening the kiss and wrapping an arm around your back. He felt your hands come up to his chest, pushing him away. 

“Did you want to stop-” He began, until you interrupted him. 

“No, but thanks. I’m just trying to get us to a flat surface that isn’t my hardwood floors.” You gave him a sly smile, taking him by the hand and tugging him through the house. 

His eyes could see in pitch black, but he was still thoroughly impressed by how you could navigate in the dim light. You must have lived here for a while.

You flung open a door with ease, still pulling him behind you. He could see the bed as you shoved him onto it, crawling on top of him. He was grinning as you leaned in to kiss him again-

Then you stopped. 

He suddenly realized, not reacting quickly enough as you scrambled off him and flipped on the lights.

“Your teeth-” You began, then froze as you took in the sight of him. He already knew what you were seeing. Blood vessels protruding around his eyes. His irises, sclera- blown pitch black. Cold skin even paler than usual. He could feel them now, behind his lips-

Fangs. 

“What the fuck is going on?” You were too calm, given the circumstances, given your words. 

Noah could only imagine the look on his face; Shame, embarrassment, regret. “I’ll go-”

“No no no, nuh-uh. You’re going to stay right there and explain what’s going on or I’ll scream bloody murder and Mr. Joe will come over with his 42 and we’ll have real problems.”

Noah stilled, though probably not for the reason you were wanting. “I’m sorry, did you just threaten to shoot me? I grew teeth, I’m a big scary monster, you can’t just shoot-”

“Yes I can! And I will! I’m crazy! I’m not scared of sexy scary monsters, I’m from backwoods Louisiana, pal! I’ve been hunting! I-”

“You think I’m sexy?” Noah could feel his eyes returning to normal as he grinned at you.

“Shut up.” Your voice cracked, betraying you.

Noah stood up, cocking his head to the side. His fangs were retracting now, disappearing from view. He gave you a long look. 

You looked pissed, which was new. He was more accustomed to fear, knew how to respond to it, soothe it. You had a glint in your eye that looked different from just anger, almost like-

Betrayal. The earth whispered to him. 

He took a deep breath. He could still smell arousal on you. “I’m sorry, this wasn’t… how I wanted this to go.”

“Then how did you want it to go?” You threw back at him. 

“I- I don’t know! I thought we could hook up and then I’d leave when you fell asleep and I’d find some rando on the way home and-” He stopped short, unsure of how to continue.

“And what?” You prodded, sounding fearful for the first time that evening. Good. You should be scared. He was a monster- an old one. For all you knew he ate virgins and burned down villages. 

He looked down, unable to meet your eyes. “And… drink their blood.”

You exhaled, long. “You kill people to eat?”

His neck snapped up at you. “No, no! Oh my god, no. Just a nibble and I’m on my way-” He stopped at the giggle you let out. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just,” You straightened your face. “You eat people and refer to it as a ‘nibble?’”

“I don’t eat people.” He deadpanned, giving you a look. 

“You just drink their blood.”

“Right.”

You both stared at each other for a long moment. 

“So why-” You began.

Noah motioned for you to continue. 

You blinked. “Why the fangs, then? If you weren’t going to… y’know.” You averted your gaze.

A movement Noah quickly mirrored. “Oh, um. It’s like- an arousal thing. Pretty girl kisses me, fangs pop out.”

You were looking at him again. “You think I’m pretty?”

He met your eyes. “Yeah. Prettiest thing I’ve seen so far, and I’ve been around for a while.”

You took a slow step towards him. “How often do you eat?”

“Um, once a week, if it’s good. Maybe twice if it’s not.” He responded automatically, trying not to think about how bizarre this conversation was.

Your head tilted slightly. Another step. “How long has it been? Since you’ve… fed?”

He was watching you carefully now. Then, very quietly, he said “Two weeks.”

Something like concern flooded your eyes, and you almost winced at him. “That’s a long time to be hungry.”

He could see your jugular on your neck, pulsating with life. He said nothing in response. 

You took another step. “Would it help if you… fed on me?”

He looked at you sharply, processing your words in seconds. “No.”

“Why not?” You countered, cocking a brow.

Why not? The earth whispered at him again, voice a caress in his ear. He could smell you- Alive, fresh and-

Fertile. The familiar voice supplied. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. I’m not going to tell her she smells fertile, he retorted. 

“You can’t think of a good reason.” You assumed, staring almost directly into his silence. 

“I could hurt you.” He supplied helplessly.

“And that’s worse than hurting someone else?” 

He tried again. “No- it’s not, but-” A deep breath, “I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”

You placed a hand on his arm, too warm and too close. “Then I’ll just hurt you back.” You were so close to him, when did you get this close- “You look awfully hungry, Noah.” You murmured, looking up at him through your lashes.

It was impossible for him to misread your body language as his hands came up to grip your hips, tugging you closer to him. He could feel your nipples hardening where your bodies met. 

“You can tell me to stop, okay? Whenever you want, just say the word and we’ll stop.” He was panting now, salivating in anticipation as his canines slid back out. 

You nodded. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Then you kissed him again, sliding your tongue over his fangs in a move that made him outright moan into your mouth. He scooped you up in what was obviously a feat of superhuman strength, chucking you onto the bed. 

He made quick work of your clothes, pulling your shirt over your head in a swift movement that had him pausing to stare. “Blessed be to the old gods and the new.” He breathed, taking in your pert nipples, breasts swaying at his hasty movements. He leaned in, running his tongue from your sternum, up through your breasts, stopping only at your neck. “Do you taste as good as you look, love?”

Your cheeks reddened. “Let’s hope so.” 

He grinned, a wicked, awful thing, tugging on your pants until they slid off, leaving you in just your underwear. “Wanna see a trick?” 

You did not want to see a trick, you decided as your body betrayed you and nodded anyway. 

He came down to eye-level with your mound, slowly and carefully hooking a single fang on the fabric, sliding it directly through your panties until they were completely torn open. 

You gaped, unable to form words. 

“Sorry, those were cute. I’ll make it up to you.” Noah promised as he spread your legs open for him. 

You felt exposed, vulnerable. Your entire body went red as he watched you. He ran a finger up your slit, making your entire body shudder. “Oh? Baby likes that?”

You nodded, blinking rapidly. Noah swatted your inner thigh, not enough to hurt, but enough to get your attention. “Use your words.”

Your cheeks grew even pinker. “Y-yes, I liked it.”

He leaned down, caging you in. “Want me to fuck you?” 

“Please.” You whispered. His eyes went pitch black again. 

“Good girl, already knows to beg.” He backed off of you, tugging off his turtleneck sweater, revealing a fully tattooed torso. Your mouth went dry at the sight. “Again.” He demanded.

“Please.” You obeyed, still barely above a whisper. 

“Prettier.” He demanded again, unbuckling his pants.

“P-please, Noah, please-”

“Almost there.” His pants hit the floor, revealing a pair of equally as inked legs.

“Please, I’ll be so good, Noah, please, let me be good-”

“That’s a good girl, good job. C’mere.” He sat back down on the bed, the outline of his cock clearly visible in his briefs. You wanted to feel, to taste.

You obliged his command, crawling over to straddle his lap. 

“Here’s how this is gonna go, pretty thing.” He began, sliding a finger inside of you as he did so. You gasped, latching onto his shoulder for support. “I’m going to get you nice and loose, then you’re going to ride me, like this. Understand?”

“Yes sir.” You stammered as he added another finger. 

“Ooh, nice manners.” He praised, dropped a kiss to your jaw. You shivered at his touch. “When you feel like you’re close, you’re going to tell me, and then I’m going to bite right-” he rubbed a small line on the side of your neck- “Here. Does that sound okay?”

You nodded, then remembered to say “Yes, yes, sounds wonderful, sounds amazing, Noah fuck me please-”

He chuckled quietly, lifting you up ever so slightly to align himself where he had pulled down is briefs. “You ready?”

“Noah I swear to whatever gods, old and new- fuck.” Your rampage broke off into a moan as he slid himself into you. His thrusts were short at first, letting you adjust, until you finally sank all the way down. 

You were panting when you finally bottomed out. “Big- ‘S so big.” You whined, clenching and unclenching on him involuntarily.

Noah’s breaths were equally as ragged. His hands had come to rest on your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on them. “Whenever you’re ready.” He placed another kiss on your forehead. 

You waited another few seconds, then pulled up experimentally. The drag of him inside you had a long moan escaping your throat. You dropped down, gasping, rising up again. You repeated this until you were riding him in earnest, moans and gasps escaping you both. 

You didn’t know how Noah was managing to hit that bundle of nerves inside of you every time you sank down, but he was. You draped your arms on his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him deeply, fangs tugging on your lip ever so slightly. “You look so good riding my cock baby, look so good with a big cock in you, like you were made for this-” Noah’s profane train of thought continued on until it was white noise in your ears. You registered that your thighs were shaking from the effort, but you couldn’t stop, not when you were so close-

“Close.” You panted. “Fuck, Noah, I’m so close, so close-”

He pulled your hair to the side quickly, teeth lining up with your throat.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum-” 

The world went white as Noah sank his fangs into your throat and you came, release squirting all over the both of you as your body shook. 

You panted as he sucked at your throat, eyes fluttering shut. One of his hands was rubbing at your back, the other snaked around your waist. You stayed like that for a few minutes more, until you almost felt light-headed and he released you with a soft “pop.” 

You blinked at him sleepily as he laid you down against your pillow. He stood up, tugging up his boxers and turning to walk away. “Are you leaving?” You slurred, sounding sad even to yourself.

You could hear his little laugh. “No, I’m getting you a snack and some water. I know I’m dreamy, but I can’t have the ladies passing out on me.”

You rolled your eyes as he disappeared, faint clattering alerting you of when he found the kitchen. 

When he returned, you were more alert, taking the water and gulping it down. You took a second to look at him. 

He was beautiful before, but now- wow.

His hair was silky, skin still pale but not so lifeless. His eyes were richly dark, amusement seeming to dance in them. “Y’know,” You began, “You’re really pretty when you’re not starving to death.”

If he could have blushed, he might have. “Back at you.” Was his response, handing you crackers.

You nibbled on them while he went about dressing himself. “You’re not staying?” You did your best to not sound disappointed. 

Noah shot you a smile. “Sadly, no. I have to get back to my hiding hole before the sun comes up.”

You nodded, looking down. “Will I get to see you again?”

“I have a feeling you’ll be seeing entirely too much of me.” Noah responded, sounding amused. 

“What makes you say that?” You questioned, confusion written on your face. 

“Because you broke the cardinal sin of running around with a vampire.” Noah grinned, looking devious. “You invited me in.”

[sprite-and-the-bunnydragons]

The Chain as Weird Things I’ve Done, Part 3

based on this and this

Time: beat older brother in their first Pokemon battle together (brother won next), now too scared to challenge again

Warriors: keeps surface areas clean and tidy. Do not look in the closet. Or drawers. Or anything not in direct line of sight. WILL know if you disturb the chaos inside

Twilight: made nunchucks for flying squirrels

Sky: had some NONALCOHOLIC drinks at a dry bar in an unfamiliar city, proceeded to accidentally break into someone’s car, yelled “whoopsiedoodles”, and ran away

Legend: has an absurd amount of nicknames. Getting called by given name feels like getting whiplash

Wild: got food poisoning in New Orleans. Still ate gumbo at a cooking demo. Zero regrets

Hyrule: gets “anime eyes” when excited

Four: outlawed from playing sardines after the Cabinet Incident

Wind: constantly scares people on accident from Natural Sneakiness

[thirtysomethingloser92]

1. And If I Get Burned, At Least We Were Electrified.

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.

A deep yawn slipped from your lips as you descended the creaky wooden stairs, each step bringing you closer to the dimly lit bar area below. The comforting warmth of the takeaway coffee in your hand did little to fully shake the lingering sleep that clung to you. With your crossbody bag pressed tightly against your chest and your phone occupying your other hand, you navigated the sudden shift from the bright, sunlit morning outside to the bar’s shadowy interior. The contrast was jarring, momentarily disorienting, and you found yourself squinting, blinking a few times as your eyes adjusted to the low light.

The faint smell of stale beer and cleaning products hit your senses, and you paused briefly, the familiar atmosphere slowly wrapping itself around you. Just another day, you thought, taking a slow sip of your coffee to wake up a little more. Your footsteps echoed softly on the wooden floor as you made your way further inside.

“You’re late,” came a voice from behind the bar, breaking the silence. You glanced up to see James, your friend, leaning casually against the counter. His signature smirk was plastered across his face, his arms crossed in front of him. A white cloth was carelessly slung over his shoulder, a familiar sight after years of friendship and shared shifts.

Without missing a beat, you held up your coffee cup as if it were a shield against his teasing, “There was a line,” you replied defensively, trying to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. You could already tell this was going to be one of those days. You slipped your phone into your bag and moved to the side office, the small room barely big enough to hold the essentials. The bag hit the floor with a soft thud, a sigh escaping your lips.

As you stepped back into the bar area, you noticed one of your colleagues struggling to maneuver a trolley full of alcohol bottles into the storage area. You made a mental note to help them later, but for now, your attention was fixed on James, who was watching you with an amused expression, his arms still crossed.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Well, in the spirit of full disclosure,” he began, “we just had Remy Lebeau’s crew here.”

You froze mid-sip, the coffee catching in your throat as you swallowed too quickly. You coughed, eyes widening as his words sank in. “Why?” you rasped, narrowing your eyes suspiciously as you glanced around the bar. “Who owes him here?”

James straightened up, unfolding his arms but keeping that smirk on his lips. “No one, apparently. They’re looking for a—quote—neutral spot for a meeting—unquote.” He paused for emphasis, eyeing you as if to gauge your reaction. “So they gave the boss lady a shit ton of money to close the bar down for the night. They’ll be here for some kind of meeting.”

You blinked, the implications hitting you immediately. “Thank fuck I wasn’t here,” you muttered under your breath, relief washing over you. “And thank fuck I won’t be here! It’s Friday, I’m off at 3.”

James’ laugh was genuine this time, the deep, rumbling sound filling the quiet bar. But there was something in that laugh that made you wary. He leaned back on his heels, arms once again crossing over his chest in that way that told you bad news was coming.

“And that’s where I rain on your little parade.” His grin widened, almost gleeful now. “Kate called in sick.”

Your heart sank, the coffee now feeling like a lead weight in your stomach. “No...”

“You’re replacing her, 10 to 10,” he said, the words like a hammer to your carefully laid plans.

Your face fell as the reality of your situation settled in. “I had plans,” you mumbled, the words barely audible even to yourself. Visions of a quiet evening at home, maybe catching up on that show or finally finishing that book, all crumbled before you like a house of cards.

“Not anymore, you don’t.” James’ laughter followed you as you stared at him in disbelief. He didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic. Instead, he turned back to the dishwasher that had just beeped, signaling the end of a cycle. He reached in to pull out the dozens of hot, steaming glasses crammed inside with the same casual ease, while your mood plummeted further.

You stood there in the middle of the bar, still holding your now lukewarm coffee, mentally kicking yourself for not calling in sick yourself this morning.

As you and James cleaned up the bar, the sound of heels echoed from around the corner, sharp and deliberate, cutting through the silence like a knife. Abigail emerged, a folder in her hands, her expression as unreadable as ever. She came to a stop in front of you, her gaze flicking briefly to the takeaway coffee cup still in your hand. Abigail Norman was not a woman you forgot easily. Even before she spoke, her presence commanded attention with a force that could quiet a room. She was older, though you could never quite pinpoint her age—somewhere in her mid-fifties, perhaps—but the years had done nothing to soften her sharp edges. Her dark brown hair, carefully styled into loose curls, framed her face in a way that might have made someone else look approachable, even warm. But for Abigail, it only sharpened her already severe appearance. Her features were angular and precise: high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and hooded eyes that always seemed to be calculating something just out of your reach.

Her makeup was meticulously applied, but not overdone. The crimson lipstick she wore was a signature of hers—bold, unapologetic, and a signal that she was not to be trifled with. A soft brown eyeshadow and a thin line of eyeliner emphasized her dark eyes, which, despite their cosmetic enhancement, remained cold and distant, like two polished stones. They were the eyes of someone who had seen too much and trusted too little.

She dressed in business attire that was both elegant and intimidating. Today, it was a tailored gray suit, the pants perfectly hemmed to reveal the iconic red soles of her Louboutin heels. The suit accentuated her slim frame, adding to the impression that she was not just a businesswoman, but a force of nature. Every step she took echoed through the bar, the sound of her heels against the floor an almost ominous reminder of the authority she wielded.

Abigail was not known for small talk or pleasantries, and she had little patience for anything she deemed frivolous. You’d once cracked a joke about money laundering, given the sheer number of businesses she owned—bars, restaurants, and even a high-end boutique or two. But one sharp glance from those cold, steely eyes had shut that down fast. It wasn’t just that she didn’t find it funny; it was as though the mere suggestion that she could be anything but above board was an insult she wouldn’t tolerate.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence,” she commented, her tone clipped, not bothering to hide her irritation.

You forced a smile, already bracing for the lecture. “Traffic. You know how it is in New Orleans,” you lied smoothly, though you knew it wouldn’t land.

Her eyes shifted to the cup in your hand, and a small, knowing smirk tugged at her lips. “I’m sure it was.”

Abigail’s gaze lingered for just a moment before she moved on, her sharp eyes scanning the bar. As usual, she missed nothing. Her presence alone was enough to make you and James fall into line, though you both tried to keep things light with your usual banter.

“I suppose you’ve heard about tonight then?” she asked, not really waiting for an answer.

You nodded. “I have.”

“And that you’re working 10-10 now. Kate’s called out,” she said, barely looking up from the checklist in her hands.

Feigning concern, you put on your best sympathetic face. “Oh, that’s a shame. Is she okay?” you asked, handing your cup to James, who silently tossed it into the bin behind you.

Abigail didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You know what Kate’s like. She cries about wanting the shifts, so I give them to her, and she never shows up.”

Her eyes flicked up from the checklist, pinning you with that steely gaze. “I know how much you two enjoy making running commentary about our guests,” she said, motioning to you and James, who was now trying to suppress a grin. “So for tonight, I suggest you both shut the hell up. Make Mr. Lebeau and his friends comfortable, or I’ll make sure neither of you work in this city again.”

You and James both nodded, the threat as real as the woman standing before you. It wasn’t the first time Abigail had reminded you of the precarious position you held, and it wouldn’t be the last.

As she turned to leave, she paused, looking back over her shoulder. “Also, neither one of you are very subtle,” she added, her eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement, though her face remained perfectly neutral.

Once she was out of earshot, you and James exchanged a grin, the tension lifting slightly. You both knew better than to push too far, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun in the meantime.

“Think she’s planning on making herself the queen of New Orleans?” you asked, grabbing a bottle of cleaner and spraying down the benches.

“Oof,” James scoffed. “If she is, she’ll be making the mad dash to her hairdresser in about thirty minutes.”

You chuckled, as if this was a conversation you’d had before. “Maybe we should be protecting Remy Lebeau from her,” you commented lightly, reaching for a bottle of top-shelf whiskey and pouring three shots in quick succession.

“Here’s to 11 a.m. shots and Remy Lebeau possibly becoming our new boss daddy,” you laughed, raising your glass. James and your other colleague snorted in response as they grabbed their own glasses.

You all knocked back the shots, the burn of the alcohol barely registering, before a voice called out from the back room.

“You’re paying for those.”

You winced, but couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. <><><><><><><><><>

The clock on the wall ticked over to 8 PM, and the bar was eerily quiet. You and James had been killing time for the past hour, throwing crumpled paper into a small recycling bin behind the bar. It was a poor substitute for the bustling Friday night crowd that should’ve been filling the place with noise, laughter, and chaos. Normally at this time, the bar would be packed, with bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the hum of conversation and clinking of glasses filling the space. But tonight, it was dead. The absence of life felt unnatural, and after a while, the silence started to crawl under your skin.

“So, what were your plans for tonight?” you asked James, taking another shot at the bin and missing by a mile.

He lazily handed you another crumpled paper ball, shrugging as he took a long sip from his water bottle. “I was gonna take Nat out to that new Italian place by the river, but, well... as you can see, that all went to shit.”

You winced slightly, knowing how hard it was to get a reservation at that place. “Is she at least understanding about it?”

James chuckled, retrieving the paper you’d missed and making the shot himself in one smooth motion. “Yeah, when I told her the reason, she said it was fine. She’ll just hang with her sister tonight.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “It helps when you’ve got someone understanding.”

James raised an eyebrow at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “What about you? Any hot date I need to know about?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you tossed another paper ball. “Not even close. Honestly, I think I’m done with dating until the men of New Orleans decide to pick up their game.”

James laughed, a low, amused chuckle. “Ouch. That’s rough.”

You grinned, pointing at him. “Oh, you’re definitely included in that Barnes.”

Before he could respond, both of you froze at the sound of Abigail’s voice echoing from the hallway. You exchanged quick glances, panic flashing in your eyes, and immediately scrambled to clean up the mess of paper and empty cups you’d left behind. It was a mad dash to make the bar look like a professional establishment again, both of you trying to act like you hadn’t just spent the last few hours goofing off.

Abigail entered the bar, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, followed by a man in a white suit and four others trailing behind him. The man in the white suit was large, with a thick neck and broad shoulders, clearly someone used to commanding respect. Abigail stopped in front of you and James, her cold eyes flicking over you both with an air of disapproval.

“And this is our bar staff,” she said, her voice dripping with an almost forced politeness. “If you need anything, feel free to ask them, and they will be happy to provide it.”

You and James forced smiles, but yours felt more like a grimace, especially when Abigail shot you a brief but pointed glare. The men nodded silently, then moved toward the large circular table for twelve that had been set up in the far corner of the bar. The man in the white suit took his seat at the head of the table, while the others flanked him, standing like silent sentinels.

Abigail leaned in close to you, her voice a low, icy whisper. “Try to be a bit more pleasant when Mr. Lebeau arrives.” Her tone left no room for argument—it was a warning, and a familiar one at that.

You exchanged a quick glance with James, both of you tensing slightly. The red-haired waitress was already at the table, nodding furiously as the man in white pointed to various items on the menu. You could tell by her expression that she was nervous, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to keep up with his rapid questions.

And then, as if on cue, you heard it—the loud, fake laugh that Abigail reserved for only the most important guests. It echoed through the quiet bar, signaling the arrival of the man you’d been nervously anticipating all night. You were midway through complaining to James about how hungry you were when the door swung open, and your head automatically turned.

Remy Lebeau walked in, and the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. It was as if all the air had been sucked out, leaving only the weight of his presence. He was the kind of man who didn’t need to announce himself—his mere existence did that for him. He wore a dark blue suit, perfectly tailored to his lean, muscular frame, with the top button of his white shirt left undone, giving him an air of casual confidence. His hair was dark and not overly styled, it fell slightly on his forehead. His face was sharp, angular, with a jawline that could probably cut glass. Five men walked in after him, each dressed in a type of calm and casual neatness that if you didn’t know any better, you would say it was a group of friends having dinner after a day in the office. But of course you knew better.

If New Orleans had a king, his name was Remy Lebeau. In the underworld, he was a legend, a figure whispered about in dark corners and back alleys, where people knew better than to speak his name too loudly. He was the kind of man that everyone respected—whether that respect was born out of admiration or fear depended entirely on which side of his temper you’d found yourself. Few dared to cross him, and those who did rarely lived to tell the tale.

Lebeau wasn’t just any mobster. He had clawed his way to the top with a combination of sheer cunning, brute strength, and a ruthless disregard for anyone who stood in his way. His nickname, "The King of New Orleans," wasn’t just a title; it was a statement of fact. Every racket, every scheme, every underhanded deal that went down in the Crescent City had his fingerprints on it. And if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be long before it did.

Behind his suave, charming exterior—and he was charming, that much was undeniable—was a man with an iron will and a heart as cold as the Mississippi in winter. His reputation for cruelty was well-earned. A hard hand and an unforgiving nature defined him. If you owed him money, you paid. If you crossed him, you disappeared. And if you made the mistake of underestimating him, well, you didn’t get the chance to make that mistake again.

Lebeau was a master of contradiction. He was known for his impeccable manners, his smooth Cajun drawl, and his love of fine things—tailored suits, expensive bourbon, and even finer women. But beneath that polished exterior was a man capable of terrifying violence. He could be laughing with you over cigars one minute and have you dragged to the bayou the next, never to be seen again. His crew was fiercely loyal, but not because they loved him—because they feared him. And in Remy Lebeau’s world, fear was the currency that bought loyalty.

He was also a man who understood the value of appearances. He kept his hands clean, at least on the surface. His legitimate businesses—clubs, restaurants, even a few high-end hotels—were fronts, a way to launder the dirty money that flowed through his empire. But everyone knew the truth. No one got that rich, that powerful, in New Orleans without getting blood on their hands. And Lebeau’s hands were soaked.

In moments of generosity, he could be magnanimous, even charming. He’d be the first to buy a round of drinks for the house, to shake hands with the mayor, to slip a generous donation to the church. But that charm was as much a weapon as the gun tucked beneath his tailored jacket. It disarmed people, lulled them into a false sense of security, right before he made his move.

But it wasn’t his appearance that struck you the most—it was the way he carried himself. There was an undeniable magnetism about him, an aura of control and danger that radiated from every step he took. His movements were smooth, deliberate, like a predator who knew exactly where he stood in the food chain. His smile was charming, almost disarming, but his eyes told a different story. They were dark, calculating, like he was constantly sizing up everyone around him, deciding who was useful and who was expendable. He had the kind of eyes that could flip from warmth to ice in an instant.

When those eyes finally met yours, you felt a chill run down your spine. Though he was smiling, you could see the darkness beneath it—this was a man who didn’t get where he was by being nice. He was dangerous, and you knew it. Every instinct in your body told you to be cautious around him. This wasn’t someone you wanted to cross; this was someone who could ruin you with a single word, and you wouldn’t even know it was coming until it was too late.

As Remy walked further into the room, the men at the table all stood, their posture stiffening as if his presence alone demanded respect. He gave them a nod, his smile never faltering, but you noticed the way his eyes flicked back to you and James for just a second longer than necessary. It was a glance that made your stomach tighten.

Abigail greeted him with her usual over-the-top enthusiasm, her laugh grating on your nerves even more than usual, but you were too focused on Remy to pay much attention. The way he commanded the room without even trying was unsettling, to say the least. You’d heard the stories about him—the King of New Orleans, the mobster with the iron grip on the city’s underworld—but seeing him in person was something else entirely. He was more than just a rumor, more than just a name whispered in hushed tones. He was real, and he was right in front of you.

James nudged you lightly, pulling you out of your thoughts. You quickly tore your gaze away from Remy and focused on the task at hand, your heart still pounding in your chest. The night had just begun, and already it felt like it was going to be a long one.

As you moved behind the bar, you couldn’t help but glance back at Remy one more time. He was talking to Abigail now, his voice low and smooth, though you couldn’t make out the words. The way he stood, the way he moved—it all screamed power. And for the first time in a long while, you felt completely out of your depth. This wasn’t just another high roller or VIP. This was someone far more dangerous.

And tonight, you were in his world. <><><><><><><><><> Laughter rippled through the large table, catching your attention as you and James busied yourselves tidying up the bar. Remy clapped one of his men on the shoulder, saying something that sent the whole table into another round of chuckles. So far, the evening had remained friendly, the mood around the room still light. But beneath the surface, you could feel something else—something tense, something electric.

You’d been working overtime all evening, and the exhaustion was starting to creep into your limbs. The idea of the weekend, of not having to come back here for two full days, was practically the only thing keeping you going. You’d lost count of how many times Abigail had swanned in, fluttering her lashes at Remy, each time asking with exaggerated sweetness if he and his entourage were enjoying themselves. You and James had exchanged plenty of glances, barely holding back your amusement every time she left the room.

You kept your voices low, but it didn’t seem to matter. Every time the two of you snorted in laughter or made a quick quip at Abigail’s expense, Remy would glance up from the table. His eyes would lock onto yours, that ever-present smirk playing at the corner of his lips, like he could hear every word you were saying. His gaze pierced through the dim lighting of the bar, and each time, it felt like he was looking right into you, like he could read your thoughts. The intensity of his attention was unnerving, and yet… there was something magnetic about it. You couldn’t help but feel drawn in, as if some invisible current connected the two of you across the room.

“We’re so getting fired by the end of the night,” James muttered, crouching down to grab a few bottles from the drink cupboard. His voice was light, but there was an edge of real anxiety behind it. “Might need to learn how to make our feet look real pretty, ‘cause that’s the only way we’ll be paying rent this month.”

You laughed, but the tension in your gut didn’t dissipate. “Speak for yourself. I’m more worried about getting killed before the night’s over. If not by the guys in here, then by Abigail herself. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.”

James stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. “You think Abigail sleeps?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You didn’t notice the subtle shift in the atmosphere as you continued stocking the shelves. “Yeah, upside down on the rafters, like a bat,” you joked, letting out a laugh just as you felt a slight nudge at the back of your feet.

The laugh died in your throat as you turned and locked eyes with Remy Lebeau, leaning casually against the bar. That smirk—the one that had been haunting you all night—was wider now, more pronounced. His presence sent a jolt through you, and you immediately looked down at the floor, your heart racing. You knew you were in trouble. A man like Remy didn’t sneak up on people without a reason.

“Abigail’s y’ boss, right?” Remy’s voice was smooth, with that thick drawl that rolled off his tongue like honeyed whiskey. He wasn’t even acknowledging James, his eyes fixed solely on you, that grin never leaving his face. There was a playfulness in his tone, but underneath it, you could sense the weight of his power—a reminder that playful or not, he was not a man to be taken lightly.

You swallowed hard, trying to salvage the situation. “She’s a great boss,” you managed to say, though your voice sounded a little too high-pitched for your liking. “Really,” you added, though the word trailed off awkwardly as Remy raised an eyebrow, his amusement deepening.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the silence stretch between you, making you feel more and more like a deer caught in headlights. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he handed James a large bill, his eyes still locked on you. “Grab me ‘nother bottle of wha’ we been drinkin’,” he said, though it was less of a request and more of a command.

James took the money, but you were already moving, grabbing the bottle from the shelf with shaky hands. As you passed it to James, Remy gave you a small wink. “Keep th’ change,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. Then, without another word, he pushed off the bar and strode back to the table, leaving you standing there, breathless.

You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart still pounding in your chest. James, who had been watching the entire exchange with barely concealed amusement, finally let out a snort of laughter. “Well, that was something. Should I start looking for job openings now, or wait until morning?”

You shot him a look, though the humor in his eyes made it hard to stay irritated. “Oh, we’re definitely screwed. I’ll let you know if I find a job that’ll take us both.”

Before you could say anything else, the red-haired waitress wandered over, her eyes following Remy as he walked back to the table. She glanced between the two of you, curiosity written all over her face. “What was that all about?” she asked, leaning against the counter.

You shook your head, trying to shake the lingering tension that clung to you like a second skin. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be spending my weekend job hunting after tonight,” you muttered, finally tearing your gaze away from Remy and focusing on the waitress. “What about you? What brings you into the lion’s den?”

She glanced toward the kitchen, then back at you, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Abigail wants me to cover you while you take your break. Vis has made something for dinner in the back.”

“Oh, thank god,” James groaned, handing over the white cloth he’d been using to clean the bar. “I was starting to think I’d have to start nibbling on the bar snacks.”

The waitress listened as he gave her a small list of tasks that needed handling, but you were only half-listening. You couldn’t shake the feeling of Remy’s eyes still on you, even from across the room. Every time you let your guard down, every time you let yourself slip into the rhythm of the evening, there he was—watching. Observing. Every smile he flashed at his men, every laugh he shared at the table, felt like it was tinged with something else. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was a dangerous edge to his presence, something that made your skin prickle with nervous energy.

As you and James made your way toward the kitchen, you cast one last glance over your shoulder. Remy was leaned back in his chair, his arm draped casually over the backrest, and his eyes were still locked on you. That smirk was back, curling at the corner of his mouth like he knew something you didn’t. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the room disappeared—just you and him, caught in that charged silence, where everything seemed to hang on the edge of a knife. His gaze was intense, like he could see right through the bravado you wore like armor, right down to the nerves fraying underneath.

You turned away quickly, your pulse kicking up as you tried to steady your breathing. Vis, the older cook, handed you a large burger with fries on the side. The comforting smell of sizzling food and the clatter of pans usually made the kitchen feel like a safe haven, but right now, it was a sanctuary from the tension simmering in the bar.

“How’s it going out there?” He asked, his voice low and gruff, as if he knew exactly who was still on your mind.

James grabbed his food and shook some salt over the fries, leaning casually against the counter. “Well, in the space of several hours, we’ve watched Abigail try and find herself husband number—what is it again?” He glanced at you with a knowing grin.

“Four,” you mumbled around a mouthful of fries.

“Four,” James repeated, drawing out the word with exaggerated exasperation. “We’ve been dying of hunger all night, and our lovely head barmaid here has been making bedroom eyes with a certain mobster.”

You choked, spluttering and coughing as you struggled to catch your breath. “I’ve been what now?”

James waited patiently as you recovered, his expression not unlike that of a cat who caught a canary. He turned back to Vis, who watched the scene unfold with quiet amusement. “Anyway, Remy overheard us talking smack about Abigail, and now we’re pretty sure we’ll be fired by tomorrow. He’s definitely gonna tell her.”

You nodded, your expression grim as you took another bite. “He’s absolutely gonna tell her,” you agreed, though the thought of Remy tattling on you seemed oddly out of character, “Anyway, I’m going to go eat this out the back. Its getting a bit too stuffy in here for my liking.” “It’s cold out there,” Vis pointed out, “Don’t forget a jacket.”

You gave the chef a warm smile as you told him you’ll be fine, you just need a bit of a breather. But all you could feel was the weight of the evening pressing down on you. The kitchen was too warm, too stifling, and the thought of Remy’s lingering gaze still made your skin tingle uncomfortably. Grabbing your plate, you pushed the door open and stepped into the cool night, the clamor of the bar fading as you settled onto an old crate against the wall. The night air was a welcome relief, crisp and biting against your heated skin.

You were midway through your burger when the door creaked open again, and Remy stepped out, his presence as effortless as ever. He gave you a nod of acknowledgment before fishing a cigarette from his pocket. With a flick of his wrist, he lit it, the glow briefly illuminating his face in the dark. He took a long drag, then held the pack out to you.

You shook your head, feeling awkward now that the bustling bar was behind you. Out here in the cool night air, the streetlights casting long shadows, there was nowhere to hide from Remy’s sharp, knowing eyes. The way they seemed to take in everything about you—every nervous glance, every fidget—it made you feel exposed. Vulnerable, even. You were used to fading into the background when things got too intense, blending into the noise and activity of the bar. But now, with just the two of you standing outside, there was no escaping his attention.

Remy shrugged casually, slipping his cigarette pack back into his jacket pocket and leaning against the brick wall beside you. He exhaled a plume of smoke, the scent of tobacco mixing with the crisp night air. “Should really quit, I know,” he said, his voice carrying that lazy, Southern drawl that somehow made everything sound like a suggestion rather than a command. “These things gonna kill me ‘fore I even see my next birthday.”

You smirked despite the tension crawling up your spine, popping another fry into your mouth as you tried to keep things light. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, and when you glanced over, his eyes were still on you, unwavering. “So, it’s no’ jus’ reserved fo’ the staff, huh?” he teased, his voice warm but edged with something you couldn’t quite name. “This is jus’ who y’ are.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, your heart picking up pace. His gaze had that effect on you—like he could see past the words you were saying, right into the truth of you. Unsettled, you looked away, pretending to be absorbed in the few remaining fries. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I’m overtired and not really thinking straight.”

Remy tilted his head slightly, studying you in that quiet, intense way of his, like he was weighing your words carefully. “Then why y’s till here, if y’ wasn’t suppos’ t’ be?”

You shrugged, your fingers nervously picking at the edges of your half-eaten burger bun. The question hit a little too close to home. “One of the other bartenders called in sick, and…well, rent’s due.” The words came out casually, but there was a weight behind them, a kind of resignation you hadn’t meant to let slip. You quickly looked down, embarrassed by how vulnerable that admission felt.

There was a beat of silence, and when you dared to glance up, Remy was nodding slowly, his expression thoughtful, as if he understood more than you had said. He took another drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nose. “That’s fair. Gotta keep the lights on somehow.” His eyes flicked back to you, assessing, but not unkind. “You like workin’ here?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. No one ever really asked you things like that. You paused, really thinking about it for the first time in a while. “Yeah, I do. It’s not so bad, you know? Except for the occasional rowdy customer or—”

“—or Abigail,” Remy finished for you, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His laugh was soft, but it caught you off guard, and despite yourself, you found your own lips curling into a smile.

You rolled your eyes with a half-laugh, the tension beginning to ease from your shoulders. “She’s not always that bad. Just… selectively intolerable.”

Remy’s smirk deepened as he flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the pavement, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Selective’s one way t’ put i’,” he said with a chuckle, his tone light but carrying that ever-present edge of danger. “Y’ got some guts talkin’ about her like that when she’s just inside, though.”

You laughed, but it was a nervous sound, the kind of laugh you let out when you’re caught off guard but still trying to play it cool. “Yeah, well… I’m learning to live dangerously,” you teased, though the irony wasn’t lost on you. You were standing next to the most dangerous man in the city, and yet somehow you felt more at ease with him than you did with your own boss.

Remy’s eyes softened, just a fraction, but enough for you to notice. “Danger, huh? Don’t seem like th’ type t’ go lookin’ fo’ it.”

You shrugged, your fingers still toying with the edge of the burger wrapper, trying to keep your hands busy so you wouldn’t betray just how on edge you felt. “I’m not, usually. But tonight’s been…not my normal clientele.”

He didn’t ask what you meant by that, but the way his gaze lingered told you that he understood more than you  were saying. There was something magnetic about him, something that pulled you in even though every rational part of your brain was screaming at you to keep your distance. He was dangerous, yes, but there was something else there—something that made you want to know more.

Remy took a final drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and crushing it beneath his heel. “Different ain’t always a bad thing,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. He pushed off the wall, standing a little closer to you now, the space between you growing smaller, more intimate.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his presence. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth noticing in that moment—made your skin tingle with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. You weren’t sure if you should say something, or if the silence between you was enough. The air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and possibilities you weren’t sure you wanted to explore.

But Remy didn’t push, didn’t rush. He simply stood there, the smirk on his lips fading into something softer, something more genuine. “Y’ got more goin’ on than people give ya credit for, don’tcha?” he asked, his voice low, almost conspiratorial.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “What makes you say that?”

He shrugged, but his eyes never left yours. “I can tell. Not jus’ anyone can handle a place like this. Or people like me.” His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning.

You felt your heart skip a beat. The way he said it—so casually, so matter-of-factly—made you realize that he wasn’t just talking about the bar, or the job, or even Abigail. He was talking about you. About what he saw in you. James poked his head out, eyes flicking between you and Remy, noting the flushed cheeks and the lingering grins. “Duty calls,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze curious.

You nodded quickly, grateful for the excuse to escape the intensity of the moment. But as you turned to head inside, you felt Remy’s gaze on you once again, and when you glanced back, he gave you a slow, knowing smile.

“See ya ‘round, chérie,” he murmured, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. And as you walked back into the bar, your heart still pounding in your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly that smile meant—and what it might mean for you.

As you walked back into the bar, the door swinging shut behind you, your heart was still racing. The cool night air clung to your skin, but inside, you felt flushed, like you were carrying the heat from that encounter with you. You could feel the remnants of adrenaline, the way your pulse hadn’t quite settled, the way your mind kept replaying his words, his smile, the way his eyes had looked at you like he saw more than just a bartender.

You slid behind the bar, grateful for the familiar rhythm of your work, hoping it would ground you. But even as you wiped down the counter, as your hands moved through the motions of stocking bottles and refilling glasses, your mind kept drifting back to him. To the way his presence had a gravity all its own, pulling you in despite every logical part of your brain telling you to be careful.

James sidled up next to you, his posture relaxed but his eyes still sharp. He wasn’t going to let this slide, not without at least poking at it a bit. “What was that about?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips, his voice light but his curiosity palpable.

You shrugged, trying to play it off like it was nothing, even though you felt like you were still vibrating with the leftover tension from that moment. “Just talking to the customer,” you said, feigning indifference as you wiped down the already clean counter. Your heart was still beating a little too fast, and you weren’t sure if it was from the adrenaline or something else. “Same as any other night.”

But it wasn’t the same as any other night, and you both knew it. This felt different—charged, dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with the usual rowdy patrons who came in and out. This wasn’t just about serving a drink, or even dealing with a VIP customer. This was about you and Remy, the way he looked at you, the way his words seemed to carry more weight than they should have.

James raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your attempt at nonchalance. He didn’t say anything, though, just gave you that knowing look, the one that said he had seen plenty and understood more than you were letting on. But to your relief, he didn’t push. He just turned his attention back to the bar, though you could tell his ears were still perked, waiting for whatever was going to unfold next.

You tried to shake it off, to focus on the task at hand—anything to distract yourself from the way your mind kept circling back to Remy. But it was hard to push it away. Every time you closed your eyes, you could still see his smirk, could still hear that low, teasing tone in his voice. You couldn’t help but wonder what that smile meant—what he had seen in you that had made him linger, that had made him stay out there with you just a little longer than necessary.

And what did it mean for you?

This wasn’t just a flirtation, a passing glance with a handsome stranger. This was Remy Lebeau—the man who held the city in his hands, the man whose name alone made people straighten up and walk a little faster when they heard it whispered in the streets. He wasn’t someone you could afford to get involved with, not in any way. But the way he had looked at you, the way he had spoken to you, made it feel like maybe you already were involved, whether you liked it or not.

The truth was, you had felt something in that moment. Something more than just the usual anxiety that came from dealing with someone dangerous. There had been a spark there, something electric, something that made you want to know more, even though every instinct in your body told you to be careful.

And that terrified you.

Because Remy wasn’t just a man. He was a force. He was the kind of person who could change your life in an instant, for better or worse. And right now, you didn’t know which way that scale was going to tip.

You glanced back toward the table where Remy had returned, his posture relaxed, his attention seemingly back on his men. But even from across the room, you could feel that pull—the magnetic tension that seemed to hum between you, even when you weren’t speaking, even when you weren’t looking at each other.

James was saying something, probably making a joke to lighten the mood, but you barely heard him. Your mind was still on Remy, on that smile, on the way he had said your name like he knew you, like he was already planning the next time you’d cross paths.

And deep down, you knew that wouldn’t be the last time.

“Hey,” James nudged you lightly with his elbow, bringing you back to the present. “You okay? You’re zoning out.”

You blinked, forcing a smile as you nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… tired.”

But you weren’t good. Not really. Because now that you had felt that spark, you weren’t sure you’d be able to ignore it. And as you glanced back at Remy once more, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen the next time you found yourself standing alone with him.

And whether you’d be able to walk away as easily.

The steady hum of conversation and bursts of laughter from the table in front of you kept pulling your attention. You glanced up again, eyes instinctively seeking Remy in the crowd. But this time, he wasn’t looking at you. Instead, his head was turned slightly, focused on the man beside him. They sat close, their postures loose and comfortable, like old friends sharing stories over drinks.

Remy’s mouth curled into a small, easy smile as the man spoke, his hand moving to gesture lazily at something across the room. Whatever it was, Remy let out a low chuckle, a deep, gravelly sound that sent a ripple of warmth through the air. His usually sharp, predatory gaze had softened—just for a moment—as if he had let his guard down in this pocket of calm.

It was almost unsettling, seeing him like that. You had grown used to the intensity that clung to Remy like a shadow, the way his presence always demanded attention. Even when he wasn’t looking directly at you, you could feel him, like a storm brewing on the horizon. But now, in this moment, it was like watching a different man altogether. He seemed... normal. Like he could be anyone sitting at that table, sharing an inside joke with an old friend, without the weight of everything else he carried.

Your fingers drummed lightly on the bar as you watched them, an unexpected knot forming in your stomach. It was easier when he kept his distance, when there was that invisible line between you—barmaid and mobster. Simple. Clear. But the way he laughed now, the way he seemed so at ease, chipped away at that separation. It made him feel closer. More real.

James nudged you with his elbow, snapping you out of your thoughts. “You staring again?”

You blinked, heat rising to your face. “I’m not staring,” you muttered, shifting your focus back to the glass in your hand, though you couldn’t resist sneaking one more glance.

“He’s off duty,” James teased, his voice laced with amusement. “You don’t have to be so on edge. You know, the guy probably eats breakfast just like the rest of us. Maybe reads the paper in the morning. Hell, I bet he even feeds the pigeons.”

You snorted, the mental image of Remy LeBeau sitting on a park bench, casually tossing breadcrumbs to pigeons, almost making you laugh out loud. “Yeah, sure. Right after he settles some ‘business’ with those same pigeons.”

James shrugged, grinning. “I’m just saying. Maybe he’s not as dangerous as he looks.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts lingered on what James said. There was truth to it, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. Remy had a way of shifting between worlds—one minute he was the dangerous, unflinching mobster who could snap a man’s neck without blinking, and the next he was... this. Calm. Collected. Human.

A sudden bout of laughter from Remy’s table broke your train of thought. You glanced up again, almost instinctively, and this time, your gaze collided with his. It was brief, but unmistakable—his eyes locking onto yours for just a heartbeat before he turned back to the conversation at his table. It sent a spark of electricity down your spine, and you quickly looked away, feeling foolish for even thinking it meant anything. But then, like a needle scratching across a record, a low comment from one of the men at Remy’s table cut through the noise. The words were muffled, too quiet for you to catch, but the effect was immediate and unmistakable.

The entire table went silent.

The tension in the room thickened, settling like a storm cloud about to break. You could feel it in the air—everyone could. It was the kind of silence that pulled everyone’s attention, even the staff at the far end of the bar who hadn’t heard the comment. All eyes flicked to Remy.

He sat perfectly still, his body unnaturally calm. But his jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck flexing as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes narrowing as though he was silently counting down, trying to rein in whatever fire had been lit inside him. For a moment, you dared to believe he might let it pass.

But you were wrong.

In slow-motion clarity, you watched as Remy stood up, the chair scraping against the floor in a sound that made your skin crawl. His calm was terrifying—more menacing than any shout or slam of fists could have been. His movements were smooth, deliberate, as if every action had been calculated long before the man had even opened his mouth.

Without a word, Remy reached across the table, his hand moving with deadly precision. In one swift motion, he grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and yanked him out of his seat like he weighed nothing. The man barely had time to react before Remy slammed him against the wall, the sound of the impact echoing through the bar with a sickening thud. The force was so great that even the picture frames on the wall rattled, one of them dropping to the floor with a sharp crack . Your heart pounded in your chest, and you could feel the heat rising to your face as you tried to process what you were seeing.

Beside you, James shifted nervously, his voice barely above a whisper. “Should we… step in or something?”

But you both knew better. This wasn’t a situation where stepping in would make any difference. This wasn’t a bar fight you could break up with a few words or a polite request to “take it outside” like you usually did. No, this was something else entirely. This was a warning. A lesson. A reminder of who had the power in the room.

Remy held the man pinned against the wall with one hand, his grip firm and unyielding. The man tried to muster some semblance of defiance, but his bravado crumbled under the weight of Remy’s gaze. You could see it—the transition from anger to fear, from cocky to desperate. His eyes widened, darting around the room as if searching for someone to save him, but there was no escape.

You couldn’t hear what Remy was saying, but you could see his lips moving, his face inches from the man’s. His words were quiet, almost a whisper, but they carried the weight of a death sentence. Whatever Remy was telling him, it was enough to drain the color from the man’s face. Sweat beaded on his brow, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he tried to stammer out an apology or explanation, but the words sounded hollow, useless against the force that was Remy’s quiet fury.

For a moment, it looked like Remy might go further—that he might actually snap the man in two, right there in front of everyone. His knuckles were white, his muscles tense, and you could feel the room collectively hold its breath, waiting for what would come next. But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Remy released him.

The man stumbled, his feet awkwardly finding the ground as Remy let go. He nearly collapsed, his legs shaky, his breathing ragged. But before anyone could fully process the shift, Remy’s demeanor changed—like flipping a switch. His cold, calculated anger melted away, replaced by a smile that sent a chill down your spine. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was the smile of a predator toying with its prey.

Remy wrapped an arm around the man’s shoulders, pulling him close in what would have looked like a friendly gesture to anyone who hadn’t just witnessed the violence a moment earlier. The man flinched at the contact, but he didn’t dare pull away.

“After this, mes amis,” Remy announced to the table, his voice loud enough for the entire bar to hear, “we’re gonna take a little drive.” His tone was light, almost jovial, but the menace was still there, just beneath the surface. The kind of menace that didn’t need to be shouted to be understood. He guided the man back to his seat with a firm, almost fatherly pat on the back, forcing him to sit beside him like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t just slammed him into the wall with the force of a hurricane.

The other men at the table nodded stiffly, their expressions tense, eyes flicking between each other but not daring to meet Remy’s. They knew better. They understood. Whatever unspoken rule had just been broken, Remy had laid it down again, and none of them were going to challenge it.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, your hands trembling slightly as you grasped the edge of the bar for support. Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Part of you wanted to look away, to pretend you hadn’t seen it, to go back to the safety of serving drinks and keeping your head down. But another part of you—some darker, more curious part—couldn’t stop watching.

Remy’s control was absolute. He didn’t need to raise his voice or make a scene to remind everyone who he was and what he was capable of. He had made his point in a way that was far more effective than any outburst could have been.

Beside you, James let out a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper. “What the hell just happened?”

You shook your head, still trying to process it yourself. But deep down, you knew exactly what had happened. Remy had sent a message—a reminder that he wasn’t someone to be crossed. And the man he had just tossed around like a rag doll had been lucky, if you could even call it that. Because whatever was waiting for him on that “drive” Remy had promised, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

You glanced over at the table again, your eyes catching Remy’s for a brief moment. He was seated now, his posture relaxed, his arm draped casually over the back of his chair. But his eyes were still sharp, still watchful. He caught your gaze, and for a split second, that smirk returned, the one that made you feel like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

And in that moment, you realized Remy hadn’t just sent a message to his men.

He had sent it to everyone in the bar—even you.

From your vantage point behind the bar, you watched the scene unfold, your heart pounding as you tried to process what you’d just seen. Remy’s easy laughter and casual arm draped around the man were a stark contrast to the tension that still clung to the air. It was a performance, you realized—a carefully crafted show of dominance that ensured everyone in the bar knew exactly who was in control.

James nudged you again, his voice a nervous whisper. “What do you think he said to him?”

You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from the table. “I don’t know. But whatever it was…it wasn’t good.” You could see it in the way the man sat rigid, his eyes staring straight ahead as if afraid to move, afraid to breathe wrong in Remy’s presence. Remy, meanwhile, carried on like nothing had happened, taking a swig of his drink and engaging in light conversation with the others.

But the atmosphere was different now, the easy camaraderie that had existed before was replaced by something darker, something that hinted at the dangerous undercurrents that ran just beneath the surface. You watched Remy, the way he settled back into his chair, his arm once again draped casually over the backrest, that same smirk playing at his lips as he caught your eye from across the room.

It was a reminder, you realized—a stark, unmissable reminder of who he was and the world he navigated with such ease. And as you returned to your work, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of intrigue and caution pull at you. Because for all the light-hearted banter and stolen moments, Remy LeBeau was still a mobster, and the line between charm and danger was thinner than you’d ever imagined. <><><><> As the night drew to a close, the clock ticked past 1 a.m., and the once-boisterous group began to quiet down. Abigail, her smile as wide as ever, finally made her way over to Remy. They exchanged words in hushed tones, their conversation a murmur that contrasted sharply with the occasional clinking of glasses and the fading laughter of the last few patrons. Abigail’s eyes kept darting toward you and James, her gaze narrowing slightly as if she was calculating something behind that carefully maintained facade.

You shook your head slowly, dreading the inevitable fallout. You could feel the tension in the air like a charged current, waiting to discharge. The bar had mostly emptied, with only a few lingering stragglers remaining—those who seemed to follow Remy wherever he went. The man Remy had thrown against the wall was still around, standing with one of the stragglers, but you knew better than to think Remy would let him leave just yet with the rest of them.

You let out a loud yawn, the exhaustion of the night weighing down on your shoulders like a heavy cloak. It had been a long shift—longer than usual, or at least it felt that way. The hum of the bar had finally quieted, and the last few patrons had trickled out, leaving behind the faint smell of spilled drinks and cigarette smoke. You placed the final glasses into the washer, the repetitive clink of glass on metal soothing in its predictability.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a familiar figure moving toward you with that easy, confident stride. Remy.

You straightened instinctively, your muscles tensing in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the strange, magnetic pull that seemed to exist between the two of you. His presence had a way of making the air around you feel heavier, charged with a kind of energy that made your skin tingle. It was a subtle thing, but undeniable. You could feel it in the way your pulse quickened whenever he was near, in the way you were hyper-aware of his every movement.

He noticed Abigail’s hawk-like gaze following the two of you, her suspicion palpable even from across the room. Remy, ever perceptive, gave you a reassuring nod, a silent message that said more than words could. His demeanor had shifted again—gone was the edge, the danger that had simmered beneath the surface earlier in the night. Now, his voice was softer, almost kind, as he stopped in front of you.

“Ge’ some sleep, chérie,” he said, his accent curling around the words in that warm, lazy way that made them sound like a personal invitation. “Migh’ come back ‘nother day.”

Your lips curved into a tired smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The exhaustion was hard to mask now, and you could feel the weight of the night settling into your bones. “It was lovely meeting you,” you replied, your voice polite but lacking the energy to match his charm. The words felt mechanical, like something you were supposed to say in a situation like this, but they didn’t quite capture the knot of emotions tangled inside you.

Remy’s smirk widened just slightly, the kind of smile that made you feel like he could see right through the veneer of formality you were clinging to. There was something almost predatory in the way his eyes lingered on you, but not in a way that made you feel unsafe. No, it was different. It was like he was waiting, biding his time, knowing that whatever tension simmered between you hadn’t been fully explored yet. And maybe, just maybe, he was as curious as you were about where it might lead.

He slapped the top of the bar twice in a casual farewell, the sound sharp in the silence of the now-empty room. It was a gesture that felt oddly intimate, like a private joke shared between the two of you, even though nothing had been said. Then, with one final glance, he turned and walked away, his movements unhurried, as if he knew he’d be back.

As he strolled toward the door, you felt the strange pull of chemistry hanging in the air—an invisible thread connecting you, even as he put distance between you. There was something unspoken between you, something that hummed quietly beneath the surface. It wasn’t just attraction, though that was certainly part of it. It was more than that—a kind of recognition, maybe. Like he saw something in you that you hadn’t fully acknowledged in yourself yet.

Abigail’s eyes followed Remy until he disappeared out the door, her expression unreadable. You braced yourself for whatever sharp remark she was about to throw your way, her usual cutting tone still echoing in the back of your mind. But instead, she surprised you.

“Go home,” she said curtly, her voice devoid of the malice you had come to expect from her. It wasn’t exactly friendly, but it wasn’t cruel either. More like… resigned. “Have the weekend off. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

You blinked, taken aback. That was unexpected. You exchanged a quick glance with James, both of you waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Abigail to say something that would tear the moment apart. But she didn’t. She just turned and walked away, her silhouette disappearing into the night with the same cold efficiency she always carried. Her departure left a strange silence in the bar, like the calm after a storm.

James let out a low whistle, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Looks like your flirting saved our asses tonight,” he said, though his words were more playful than accusatory.

You turned to face him, arching an eyebrow, though you couldn’t help but smile at his ridiculous conclusion. “How does Nat put up with you?” you asked, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. The sarcastic remark was half-hearted, more reflex than anything, but it was enough to cut through the lingering tension that had wrapped itself around the night.

James chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed his own things. “You know, I ask myself that question every day,” he replied with a grin that softened the mood.

But even as James’s lighthearted banter faded into the background, your mind kept drifting back to Remy. The way he had looked at you, the way his presence seemed to linger in the space long after he had left. There had been something between you tonight—something more than just polite conversation or casual flirtation. It was like a spark had been struck, and now you couldn’t help but wonder if it would catch fire the next time you crossed paths.

And deep down, you knew this wouldn’t be the last time.

As you and James locked up the bar and headed out into the cool night air, you felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation swirling in your chest. The night was over, but it didn’t feel like the end. Not really. There was something unfinished, something unresolved between you and Remy.

You could still hear his voice in your head, soft and teasing: “Migh’ come back ‘nother day.”

The question wasn’t if he would come back—it was when.

And when he did, you weren’t sure if you’d be ready for whatever was going to happen next.

But you couldn’t deny it anymore. There was chemistry between you, that much was obvious. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized how much you wanted to see where it would lead. <><><><><><>

The morning light filtered through the curtains of your small apartment, a sharp contrast to the dim, muted atmosphere of the bar from the night before. Your home was modest—cozy, even—with mismatched furniture that you’d accumulated over the years. A secondhand couch, a coffee table you’d found at a flea market, and a few pictures on the walls that gave the space a touch of warmth. It wasn’t much, but it was yours, and after nights like last night, it was a refuge.

You barely had time to adjust to the daylight before your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. Squinting, you glanced at the screen. Abigail. The clock read exactly 11 a.m., and you groaned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you answered.

“Get your ass to the bar now,” Abigail’s voice was sharp, no prelude or explanation.

Still groggy, you sat up, the weight of the previous night settling in your chest. The encounter with Remy had left you rattled, though you hadn’t fully processed why. There had been a strange tension between the two of you, something unspoken but potent. And now, with Abigail calling so early, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were about to find out exactly what that something was.

You fumbled out of bed, grabbing the nearest comfortable clothes you could find—a well-worn hoodie and sweatpants. It wasn’t the kind of outfit you’d be proud of in public, but right now, you were barely awake enough to care. After a quick rinse of your face, a splash of coffee into a travel mug, and a hasty brush of your teeth, you grabbed your keys and headed out the door.

The drive to the bar felt like a strange déjà vu of the night before. The streets were quieter now, the sun casting long shadows as you passed by familiar landmarks. When you arrived, the bar looked different in the daylight—less of a shadowy haven and more of a place that had seen its fair share of stories. The kind of place where, if the walls could talk, you might not want to hear what they had to say.

You pushed through the door, the familiar ding of the bell echoing through the empty space. The bar was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual clatter and hum of conversation. You made your way upstairs to Abigail’s office, your unease growing with each step.

Her office was a stark contrast to the dim and worn bar below. Sleek, modern, and cold. The minimalist artwork lining the walls and the polished chrome furniture gave it the feel of a high-end corporate boardroom rather than a place where bar brawls were settled on a nightly basis. Abigail sat behind a large, imposing desk, her posture perfectly composed as always, her gaze assessing you from the moment you walked in.

“Sit,” she commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite her. You obeyed, sinking into the chair, though its stiff, uncomfortable leather only added to the tension coiling in your gut.

Abigail wasted no time. She reached into a locked drawer, pulling out a large envelope and sliding it across the desk toward you. “I don’t know what the fuck you did last night with Remy LeBeau,” she began, her tone clipped, “but one of his men dropped this off for you early this morning. Of course, you weren’t here, so I said I’d make sure you got it. They called it a ‘tip.’ Just for you.”

Your eyes flicked down to the envelope. It was bulky, the edges slightly crumpled, and your name was scrawled across the front in messy handwriting. You hesitated, the weight of Abigail’s gaze heavy on you, before gingerly opening it. The soft crinkle of paper filled the silence as you pulled out its contents.

Bundles of hundred-dollar bills all wrapped with a security seal.

Your heart raced as you counted the bundles—four of them. Four thousand dollars. More money than you had ever seen in one place, let alone held in your hands. But it wasn’t just the money that left you reeling. Tucked between the bills was a hastily scrawled note, the handwriting jagged and hurried: Now you won’t need the hours for a while.

Your stomach twisted. The note was simple, but the implications were anything but. Why had Remy given you this? What exactly had you done to deserve such a generous “tip”? And more importantly, what did he want in return?

You looked up at Abigail, who was watching you with an expression that was equal parts amusement and something else—something darker, more knowing. She tapped her pen rhythmically against the desk, a small, satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

“He’s even booked a table for him and some friends for lunch next Wednesday,” she said, her voice light but tinged with sarcasm. “So call us even for your constant shit-talking about me.”

Your eyes narrowed at her, but the knot of anxiety in your chest tightened. “So, he told you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of what you were even asking. Did Remy say something about what you said about her?

Abigail’s smirk widened. “No, he didn’t have to. But when I spoke with him after you left, he had nothing but good things to say about you. And James, too, though,” she paused, her eyes flicking to yours with a hint of something like approval, “especially you.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. The way she said it, the way Remy had apparently spoken about you—it left you feeling off-balance. What exactly had he said? And why did it feel like there was something more behind his compliments?

“He really enjoyed your company,” Abigail continued, leaning back in her chair, her tone almost casual now. “He said you handled yourself well—better than most. And that’s not something he says lightly.”

You bit your bottom lip, your mind swirling with questions. Was this all just a game to him? Some kind of test that you didn’t even know you were taking? And what did it mean for you that you had somehow passed it?

Abigail’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Have a good weekend,” she said, her tone signaling that the conversation was over. She leaned forward, turning her attention to the paperwork on her desk as if you were already dismissed.

You stood, the envelope clutched tightly in your hand, the weight of the money feeling both like a gift and a burden. As you walked out of her office, the door closing with a soft click behind you, the sense of foreboding that had settled in your chest deepened.

The drive home was a blur. By the time you unlocked the door to your apartment, your hands were trembling. You tossed your bag onto the couch and sank down next to it, the envelope still in your lap, staring at it like it might explode. Four thousand dollars. It was a lifeline, no doubt about it. That money could cover rent for months, give you breathing room you hadn’t had in years. But it was also a tether. A thread that tied you to Remy in a way that you hadn’t asked for, but now couldn’t escape.

You looked around your apartment—the small kitchen with its chipped countertops, the worn rug that had seen better days, the cozy couch that you’d collapsed onto after countless late shifts. This place had always been your sanctuary, your escape from the chaos of the bar. But now, even here, the weight of last night lingered.

As you sat there, the events of the previous night played over and over in your mind. The way Remy had looked at you—like he saw something beneath your surface, something deeper. The chemistry between you had been undeniable, even though you’d tried to ignore it. And now, with this money in your lap and his voice still echoing in your head, you couldn’t shake the feeling that last night had set something in motion. Something that you weren’t sure you were ready for.

The envelope felt heavy in your hands, but not as heavy as the unspoken question that hung in the air:

What would Remy want from you next?

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What a beauty. This 1840 Creole Cottage in New Orleans, Louisiana was a 2 family that was converted to a single family. 3bds, 3ba, $465K.

This is lovely- 1 large sitting room with 2 fireplaces, b/c they took the walls down and left the fireplaces. So pretty.

Love the way they finished the stairs and left the exposed brick. The floor looks original, but if it's not, it was very cool of them to choose wide planks.

The perfect reading nook. Also great for doing needle work, studying, or even fitting it with a small desk.

Great dining room. The old brick walls with the vertical joints are fabulous. Another fireplace, too. Like what they did to it- they kept it even though it's not functional- the stencil is a great idea.

Brand new large kitchen. Love the backsplash and white cabinets.

Cute little counter or bar.

They made a small powder room with a space-saving pocket door.

This area is currently a home office.

This bedroom is a good size, b/c NOLA homes aren't known for large bedrooms. Double doors open to the deck.

They usually have small baths, too, so they made a nice shower room in here.

Stackable laundry fits in a closet.

The primary bedroom is very large. It has a beautiful fireplace.

Plus a small office area. Look at how they cut the writing table to fit into the window.

When they took the wall down to make the room larger, the other side became a sitting area for the primary and it also has a fireplace.

In addition, it has an en-suite with a vintage tub.

The yard has decking surrounded by beautiful gardens.

And, look at this- It's like being on vacation.

[nthspecialll]

Hiii! I love all your character analysis posts and theories so much, and was wondering if you have done any theories about where the gang was before Blackwater, by chance? I think I saw a post recently mentioning Montana but I can't for the life of me remember if it was you who posted it or not! 😅

But I've wondered about their locations before RDR2 a lot and would love to hear your thoughts about it. I remember reading a very early page in Arthur's journal about how they were in the Northen Grizzlies? But apart from that I can't remember anything else about locations, if there were any mentioned. And I'm sorry if you have done a post like this already, it's just a little piece of the backstory I'd like to hear theories about 😊

I have not talked about it but I definetely can! Also thank you for liking my stuff!!

Well, firstly, some places that exist in real life does not exist in red dead and those are the places on the map. Texas is New Austin, New Orleans is Saint Denis and Luisiana is Lemoyne, meanwhile Californa and New York does exist in game, meaning we can't completely be sure what places exist unless they are directly mentioned.

Firstly, we know they have been in Chicago, that is where Dutch and Hosea met! Then in 1877 the pair went to Kettering, Ohio, where they scammed 300$ out of the residents, later that year we know that they met Arthur in the Northern states somewhere, which could also be Montana! We do not know more than it was someplace in the North.

We also know some time before they met Arthur, they went to Blackwater once but exactly when we do not know.

In 1885 we know they were in Illinois, saving and picking up John Marston and two years later they robbed their first bank Lee and Hoyt, which we do not know where is.

But between then and 1898, they robbed 36 banks across the frontier as stated by Ross in rdr1, which is where we get the famous "We were told there was a price when we reached 50." The wiki page of the VDL gang does say they came to Montana in 1898 but they won't give me source to confirm it, which is a little annoying, but just mentioning it.

We know at some point between 1893 and 1898, after Bill joining the gang, they went to Canada, him, Arthur and Uncle robbing a bank together.

At some point between 1895 and 1897, we also know they went to Tocson Arizona, where Javier and Arthur robbed a bank together with Karen who dressed up as a nun and hid firearms under her clothing.

We also know that for a while they would return to the same places for Arthur's romances. Both with Eliza, where he could pop by every few months and for Mary, whom they at least returned to after 1894 when Abigail joined, and before the deaths of Annabelle and Bessie.

Either way, now we come to the fun parts, around winter 1898, the gang was up in what is called the Northern Grizzles, we only have access to the western (Around Mount Hagen) and Eastern (O'Creagh's Run), so I would assume that the Northen are outside the map, probably up above the Wapiti Reservation somewhere.

They traveled down the "Western Foothill of the mountians", not sure what road they took as it could be one off map, which I would honestly guess, probably traveling around the cold of Colter and coming in from left side of the map. Either way, they most likely ended up somewhere down by and Big Valley, which can match up with the fact that Arthur mentions that life was good and food was easy to find. That area does have a lot of easy food access and so forth.

Now I have seen a few people say Dutch met Micah in Strawberry, which is honestly very fair assumption, it matches up with a lot, but a simple fact is forgotten, Strawberry does not have a bar, which is where they met.

I would say that Micah most likely had been in Strawb and done, whatever business he had with Slim and Martha (I believe their names were), and traveled up and out of map where he met Dutch and then decided to join them back down.

Afterwards they traveled down to Blackwater where they "hid in plain sight" right outside town as Arthur says he does not like being so close to the town, and considering how close they were to Valentine, I would guess they camped at the ledges where Charles and Javier hides when going to find Sean, either there or the other side of the town.

Blackwater Camp:

But even though they were camped so close to down, Arthur funnily enough still stayed in town from time to time. It does however not seem that they were settled there or in Big Valley for very long, as Arthur also says that they have been running more than normally those weeks.

Now we get to a bit that confuses me because suddenly the group goes from the southern part of the map down in Blackwater, to suddenly appearing up by Spider Grove by Colter, and Arthur mentions that they headed "east over the Grizzlies" so they went west from Blackwater, out of the map, and then up North only to go east again. Not to mention that it seems they did it in a fairly short time, they haven't had proper time to talk about what happened, they were still shook, Davey was not yet dead from a gut wound and Jenny was burried not far from where we first see the gang?

See that is a little confusing, but I hope that answers your question! I had a lot of fun answering it at least, rereading Arthur's journal and all.

[stone-cold-groove]

Scenes from home, past and present.

[gothiccharmschool]

You’ve met Trent Reznor?? Please please tell us more

AHAHAHAHAHA. I met him very briefly one evening.

~ sets the Wayback Machine to October 1995 in New Orleans ~

A friend's band were going to perform at Anne Rice's Vampire Ball, and my friend invited me to come visit. I had gone through a horrible break up that summer, and it sounded like the perfect thing to distract myself.

My friend's band and I stayed with another local band, and I spent almost the entire trip watching both bands performing in tiny NOLA clubs. The night they played the "biggest" club was the night that Trent Reznor was hanging out with a bunch of friends (including, IIRC, Marilyn Manson, but I stayed the hell away from him).

Anyways, I ended up going to the bar at the same time as Trent, and while waiting in line we made idle chit-chat about goth/industrial/fetish scenes in different areas. He came across as someone who was trying not to succumb to social anxiety; very sweet, a little nervous, and probably waiting for some drugs to kick in. He also came across as ... look, I've been on the fringes of the kink scene for years. I have friends who are much more active (or are pros), and even I could tell that Dominant was not Trentlet's preferred scene.

Again, very sweet guy. I wish I'd gotten to talk to him more, but his pack of Cool Friends swooped in and took him away.

[splatooshy]

🎄🧛✨

NEW ORLEANS, 1914 - lore dump

okay so this au (which is always canon to me. in every fic of mine.) was inspired by a few things:

that interaction between kol and damon at the mikaelson ball in s3. “have we met?” “i’ve met a lot of people, and you… don’t particularly stand out.” makes me giggle. they’re so petty and for what.

the fact that marcel would absolutely despise damon. like i can’t imagine two people who would get on WORSE than them. especially since marcel is all about looking out for the little guy (even if it means going against his immediate circle), while damon looks out for his immediate circle only.

i just think that kol hitting on freya, getting rejected & then thinking to himself “ah, she must be a lesbian,” is hilarious. and i think that freya and damon would get on well, partly considering their similar mindsets with the small but profound list of people they’d do anything to protect. and also how freya’s life story is pretty much buck’s, the main character in call of the wild.

SO BASICALLY,

damon steps foot into the quarter and instantly manages to piss off marcel & his witches, but isn’t a big enough issue for klaus to take note of.

he and kol bump into eachother one night, and kol’s instantly suspicious of this young vampire who claims he doesn’t know who the mikaelsons are, and doesn’t bow down to marcel (revels in pissing him off, even). he finds damon refreshing (someone clueless but enthusiastic about vampirism, dislikes marcel, etc.). they then go their separate ways after a night of good fun.

the next night, he’s cornered by the witches in an alley next to the bar he’s in, and freya, who thought he looked pretty / interesting, (maybe saw him befriend her brother?) rescued him because why not. (maybe he reminded her of the man she loved once? maybe she was just getting fed up with the witches in the quarter. who knows). anyways so they become friends, eventually roommates.

so a month or so goes by, damon and freya now bffs, are sitting at a cafe maybe? or a park? idk. anyway, kol struts up (he sees the beautiful woman on a date with that fellow he bumped into a little while back, and decides to ask her out), introduces himself to freya, who goes, “not interested. thanks.” and kol’s all 💡 aha! “one for the ladies then? no matter,” and immediately starts flirting with damon. kol will not be dissuaded from the notion that freya is a lesbian, despite being told so & the fact that she, too, is sleeping with damon. he’s very supportive of her, though.

NOTES

“stirrer in the cauldron” refers to kol poking about the witchy area of the quarter.

witches sensing eachothers magic/family magic — when kol touches freya he can feel the ache of a phantom limb, and since he doesn’t know what that means, he just assumes it’s because she’s powerful/he’s into her. or that it’s because he’s jealous of her magic.

freya owned ‘call of the wild’ first. finds it relatable and inspiring. she gives it (and a copy of little briar rose or smth) to damon for christmas with an inscription (january 2014, dowager fauline cottage / something similar) that damon’s been trying to puzzle out ever since.

“It’s cute that you think this,” she gestures to all of him, “is intimidating.”

It's inconvenient. Damon looks down enough to glare at his traitorous dick. It always gets him into these situations.

FREYA’S FUCKBOY ERA

Freya smiled almost patronizingly. “Oh come on Damon, don’t play dumb. And here I thought that you were more than just a pretty face.”

“it’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Freya sighed, patting Damon on the cheek, “because there’s nothing up here.” Damon pouted as she poked his temple, pupils still blown from his recent feed.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?” Freya smirked, giving him the least subtle thrice-over Damon’s ever seen.

i can’t find the rest of my notes on this but i’ll rb with more if i do (i have two massive files that aren’t organised - they’re in there somewhere)

[themarysuep]

I believe Carol and Kamala would be so careful with the Rambeau house because they'd want it perfect when Monica returns. But... it just doesn't work out with them:

*For context: it's summer vacation post-Ms Marvel s1. Let's say Kamala spends some of it in Louisiana after the moving scene.

1. Carol trying to train Kamala in combat. Kamala is just not having it so she ends up using noor (when they're supposed to be sparring) and sending Carol (who didn't anticipate it) through a wall.

2. Them always being behind on laundry and Carol is always messing up loads. She somehow causes a flood in the house. She's used to her super advanced and different system on her ship.

3. Kamala attempting to make something like haleem. While she knows how to do it, she's never been away from Muneeba in her life, so her practical skills leave a lot to the imagination and she starts a kitchen fire. On top of the kitchen fire Carol started.....the previous day.

4. Carol is always 2 seconds away from throwing the remote at the TV because it's slow, complicated and ancient. Again, she's used to advanced tech on her ship but earth is still behind.

5. Sometimes they forget to lock the doors and one time a homeless person just wandered in.

6. They visit a lot of places in New Orleans and Kamala always encourages Carol to make friends. She's always telling her to go to a bar or to adult parties without her. Carol is not interested and doesn't even want anyone in the house.

Eventually...the Khan's (or Nakia) demand that Kamala return to Jersey. Carol and Kamala both kind of master everything at this point. Kamala makes them the perfect desi meal. Carol does a final load laundry for her and Kamala perfectly. And Kamala finally lands a blow without using her powers. Kamala goes home knowing they're both going to be okay. Carol has adapted to earth. She also won't be as frantic 24/7 about Kamala's safety bc she can defend herself with no powers.

But Carol also realizes it's insanely quiet and lonely without Kamala. She became accustomed to Kamala's constant talking, singing and even not-english music. It makes her accept that Kamala is right, she doesn't have to be alone or live that way anymore. She sees Kamala left a flyer on the counter for her. It's for a new bar opening in the area and she actually ends up going.

Kamala leaves a typical Kamala style note with something like--

stop acting your age (62). please go - ms marvel

[d-criss-news]

Darren Criss' San Francisco Spots

Darren Criss loves sharing music and places with a sentimental meaning. The award-winning actor and singer takes a trip down memory lane and shares all of his favorite places in his hometown, plus he curated some spots he's loving right now.

Amoeba Music I’m probably the last generation of people growing up going to record stores and buying albums. Amoeba was such a fun place to go to. It was like an exclamation point on my hang-out day in the Haight. I loved going there, checking out albums, and listening to as many as possible. You could scan the bar codes and check out the music. There were always a lot of great artists coming through. It was a cool place to hang out, being around music and record people."

Wasteland "Haight-Ashbury has all these great vintage stores. I really got into vintage clothing when I was a teenager. I remember I bought some bell bottoms here that I thought were really cool. I used to wear those at school, and I was like, 'Man, I'm so hip.' I love Wasteland."

The Alembic "This spot opened after I left San Francisco, but when I go back to the Haight, I love to stop by here. As a cocktail bar owner, I’m pretty choosy about cocktail menus, but they have a great one. I pay a visit every time I’m in town."

Golden Gate Park "Golden Gate Park is very dear to me. I’ve enjoyed going there recently as Outside Lands is now a fixture of the city. I loved going to the park for runs. I had soccer games and practice there, too. I’ve just had a lot of fun here walking around all times of the year. I love when it’s foggy and cold, and you have to dress up warm for a walk. I have a Pavlovian reaction when I smell the eucalyptus trees in the park. I have a very strong connection to the place."

Japanese Tea Garden "One place in particular that I’ve always loved in Golden Gate Park is the Japanese Tea Garden. My wife and I are big Japanese culture fans. We taught ourselves to read, write, and speak Japanese during the pandemic, so it’s a big part of our life. I’m a fan of Japanese gardens, and I’m a big tea drinker, so it checks all the boxes for me. It’s a beautifully curated, traditional Japanese garden. It’s a peaceful place to have a contemplative moment in the park."

Marina Green "When I was younger, we lived in the Marina, and I spent a lot of time with my parents at Marina Green—going for runs and doing stuff with my dad. My dad was a big runner. He always loved it there."

Crissy Field Center "Crissy Field is a special place to me. I used to ride my bike here. In fact, it’s where I learned how to ride a bike. This park was fun for us because, obviously, our last name is Criss. So it became ‘Hey, this is our field,’ where we could ride our bikes. It’s an old abandoned landing strip for planes. They’ve transformed it into this really beautiful nature reserve in the past twenty years. A lot of the natural wildlife is coming back to the area, and it has completely been revitalized."

Bourbon & Branch "I recently did the Hedwig and The Angry Inch musical on Broadway, and then I did its tour. I first got into the musical when I was growing up in San Francisco, so I would be remiss not to do it in my hometown. We were stationed at the Golden Gate Theatre in the Tenderloin, and there’s a cocktail bar close by that I’m particularly fond of. You can have a quiet drink there. It’s especially nice after a show when I don’t want to use my voice too much. It’s my idea of the perfect cocktail club."

CreoLa "CREOLA is another newer spot I’m very fond of. It’s a great cajun, New Orleans–style seafood restaurant. My wife and I got married in New Orleans, and we love that city. I just stumbled onto this place when I went here for Sunday brunch. They had a lovely dixie jazz combo playing, which was such a nice treat. I had a delicious crab benedict here—one of the best I’ve ever had."

The Music Store "My brother and I grew up getting a lot of music from The Music Store. We were really into bluegrass. My brother is a banjo player, and we’d go see a lot of local folk and bluegrass bands there. Shelby was the guy that ran the store, and I was always fond of him. You know, even at that point, I realized that having a mom-and-pop record store was special. I hope it can live on forever."

Great American Music Hall "Every Sunday, I’d check the datebook in the SF Chronicle and look for great shows to go to when I was growing up. I saw one of my first concerts at the Great American Music Hall. I saw Phantom Planet open for American Hi-Fi there. I must have been 14 or 15 years old. Phantom Planet is a band that I've continued to love throughout my life. I even ended up playing with them, so the Great American Music Hall has a special place in my heart."

Stonestown Galleria "I spent a lot of time here, particularly during the holidays because that's where I did all my last-minute Christmas shopping. I went to Good Guys for electronics, cool walkmans, portable CD players, and Tower Records to look at records and buy cool stuff there. The mall was a one-stop-shop for my brother and me during the holidays. And, we'd go to the food court, get a hot dog on a stick, and go see a movie."

Seniore's Pizza "San Francisco is not a party city. It can be hard to find late-night eats. The only place that you can get a pizza after a night out somewhere is Seniore’s Pizza. It’s a place where you can find a bunch of young kids trying to squeeze in a pizza right before the whole city closes. It’s definitely a fixture for local San Francisco kids."

Submarine Center "Submarine Center is hallowed, sacred ground. It’s in the ‘last meal’ kind of category for me. The sheer ecstasy that I have going into that little room and having one of the best sandwiches in the world is something that I do wish upon everybody in the world. Whatever sandwich you pick from the menu, it's going to be delicious. Submarine Center is a big leading player in the show of my life."

Philosophers Club "If you want to live like a West Portal or Sunset kid, you hit up this dive bar next to Submarine Center. But if you’re one of the homies, you’d call it the Philly Club. So if you ever want to get a sandwich and hit the Philly club, tell 'em Darren sent you!"