serena

“Lestat, you don’t have to do this,” Louis stressed.

“She has to learn, it’s either this, or we are exposed,” Lestat said, shutting the coffin. Under the pebbles you laid, crying, begging for forgiveness. Despite your attempts to break free, the coffin wouldn’t budge.

“Louis, please, Lestat, I’m sorry,” you screamed, your voice falling on deaf ears, as he shut the door of the basement, leaving you alone at the bottom of the townhouse.

“Neither of you are to let her out, a few days will teach her a needed lesson,” he pointed at the two. Louis looked distressed, knowing his companion was right, despite his desire to argue. While Claudia frowned, saddened by your cries, but knew better than to go against her father’s words.

“I’m sorry,” you kept crying. If only you could take it back. This was your second time acting so careless, and you knew better than to think Lestat would let you do this a third.

From the moment Lestat turned you, you were a wildflower. He loved how animalistic you became, while Louis enjoyed how sweet you remained. Claudia was happy to finally have someone new in their lives, other than the two.

You were exceptional at hunting, and Lestat became lenient, oftentimes letting you wander. You’d find your meal, and quickly and efficiently discard the mess. However, when the arrogant salesman came into the bar, speaking to everyone as if they were beneath him, your tongue tingled at the sight.

The thought of him submitting and begging for mercy turned you on beyond comprehension. Biting your lip, you stood, approaching him, intentionally bumping his shoulder. His hand went to your waist, as he began to apologize, while his eyes not so discreetly roamed.

“Garret Anderson, darling,” he introduced, as you shook his hand.

“Hi,” you smiled, mischievously.

“Not him, choose someone else,” you heard Louis’s voice. Usually, you’d listen, but you couldn’t this time, not when the smell of his blood made you feel feral in the best way.

“Would you like to dance-

“Come with me,” you ignored him, grabbing his hand to pull him out of the establishment. He grinned, thinking he had won a prize when he was walking straight into the trap.

Pushing him into the dim alley, you slipped your tongue into his mouth, pressing your body against his own.

“Oh, I don’t think I got your name”

“You don’t worry about my name, sugar, just focus on my voice,” you told him, as he looked into your eyes.

“Ok,” he nodded, hypnotized.

“Y/n, Lestat doesn’t want you to choose him,” Claudia said, as you bare your teeth.

“It’s too late,” you spoke, biting his neck, drinking his life away.

“Please,” you heard him inaudible beg, his grip loosening from your arm, as his form began to weaken.

“What part of not him did you not understand?” Lestat asked, snappily, standing behind you, as you released the man, watching his corpse sink to the wet ground.

“Was I supposed to play with my food?” You pouted, the action usually worked, but this time he kept the harsh gaze.

“This man is related to Tom Anderson and the last person he has been seen with, was you,” he said angrily.

“I didn't know, and I always clean up after myself,” you defended.

“That isn’t the point, you get the order to choose another and you still chose to disobey, putting all of our lives at risk, again,” Lestat said, trying to keep his composure, feeling himself about to yell.

“We can talk about this when we get home, Claudia and I will clean up,” Louis said, hoping to de-escalate the situation.

However, after the body was burned, Lestat continued to yell, before deciding to bury you in the rock-filled coffin, as a punishment. 

You weren’t sure how long you were locked away, starving. It could have only been days, but on an empty stomach, it felt like weeks. You cried for too many hours, begging, trying to communicate with Louis and Claudia - but no one ever came. No one would come, you’d be left here to starve to death until Lestat was ready to release you.

You began to dream, imagining yourself on all kinds of adventures. Traveling to different countries, tasting the different people, none of which Lestat planned on doing soon. He made the rules and you all went along, occasionally finding compromise. Finally, after what felt like forever, the coffin was opened.

Louis worriedly pulled you out, Claudia dusting the rocks off of you. Lestat didn’t say a word, standing behind the two, watching as they tended to you. Slowly approaching you, he placed his hand under you jaw, making you look up.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said, before making his way upstairs.

“Y/n,” you jumped, snapping out of the trance as Louis opened the coffin, holding his hand out for you to grab.

“Sorry,” you smiled sheepishly, as he grinned, helping you out.

“It’s alright, why don’t you get dressed, and we’ll be waiting on you,” he winked, leaving you to change.

As you made your way down the stairs, you kept your eyes down, feeling his gaze.

Claudia was first to swing the door open, excitedly skipping out of the house - Louis not too far behind. Gulping, you went to follow him, when Lestat grabbed your waist, stopping you.

“You look nice, ma chèrie,” he complimented.

“Thank you,” you smiled, rushing to join Louis.

You didn’t wander, staying close with the group, choosing the easiest target. You’d always preferred your meal flamboyant, the loudest in the room always had the sweetest blood. However, you were too afraid to upset Lestat, ending up in the cramped coffin again.

Cleaning your mouth, you sat on one of the many benches in the park. You were still hungry, starving actually. The pathetic excuse of a human was no where near filling. As Lestat and Louis approached, their meals close behind like lambs being led to the slaughter, you got up.

Entering the house, you were about to follow Claudia upstairs, when Lestat grabbed your hand, leading you back down.

“I want you to be more vigilant about prey, not neglect and starve yourself, come, we have a plus one,” he told you, before announcing to the trio of men you’d be joining them.

“Do you think there is more to life than New Orleans?” You asked your coworker, Carol.

“I ain’t got time to think about that Y/n, I’m 24 and already a widow with an infant,” she huffed, wiping the table.

Opening your eyes you stared up at the coffin, trying to think back. You didn’t remember too much about your mortal life, not even your family. You worked at a bar when you met Louis and Lestat, both incredibly charming. You were interesting to them, this wasn’t anything new for Lestat, he had no problem admiring multiple people. Louis on the other hand, was surprised by his interest. You were easy on the eyes with the kindest soul, lighting up the room with your presence.

You ended up getting pneumonia and despite taking the needed medication, you began to succumb. On the brink of death, you saw him, was he a god? angel of death? You didn’t know, tiredly watching as the two men exchanged words of agreement, before he lifted you, biting your neck.

You remembered the agony, throwing up as your body rejected your soul, killing itself. Louis carried you, while Lestat led the way, and the rest of your memory was gone.

Opening your coffin, you looked around the room, each side of you was a black coffin, empty. Noticing the small note on Lestat’s as you climbed out.

‘Louis and I have business to attend to this evening, I trust you will hunt with Claudia, ma chèrie’ - L

Sitting the letter down, you walked down the stairs. Knowing Claudia, she had already left. Slipping on your shoes you began to walk the streets. The memories replayed in the back of your mind, as your feet aimlessly moved. Recognizing your surroundings, you slowed down, staring into the bar you’d plucked the Anderson relative from.

Suddenly, someone bumped your shoulder, catching your attention. An older woman, holding shopping bags.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry-Y/n?” You were stuck like a dear caught in headlights.

“God has brought my baby home, don’t just stand there and give your mama a hug,” she sat the bags down, as you cautiously approached, letting her tightly wrap her arms around you.

You were thankful for the times you practiced restraint and self control. It had been nearly three years of being a vampire, stuck at 26 and you grew better and better at controlling your urges around mortals, despite the occasional slip ups.

“Mama?”

“Oh baby, I knew you’d come back eventually, how was New York?” She asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“New York?” You questioned, confused.

“Why don’t you come home, just for tonight?” She asked, hopeful. Slowly you nodded, letting her lead you to her car, handing the bags to her driver, you sat in the back seat next to her. Looking around, you hoped your surroundings would seem familiar but you had no clue where you were headed. After nearly fifteen minutes of driving, and your mother gushing about how much you were missed, the car began to slow down.

As the large house came into view, you frowned, unable to remember living there. The driver parked, and the front door opened.

“Did you get-Y/n? Y/n is back,” the younger boy who was exiting the house stopped, jumping for joy, screaming inside. A few more people came out, a familiar face catching your attention.

“Y/n,” the woman screamed, running to you, colliding into you, as she wrapped her arms around your waist.

“Carol, can you make sure Y/n is made comfortable,” your mother asked.

“Of course, mama,” she nodded, grabbing your hands, leading you into the house.

“What’s with your eyes?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” she let it go, as you stopped near the stairs, seeing all of the portraits. Family portraits. You stood amongst them, in the photos, even a painted portrait of yourself, along with your siblings.

“Daddy is going to be very happy to see you,” she smiled, pulling you up the stairs to a bedroom.

“Where is he?” You asked, eyeing the room before you sat next to her on the bed.

“At the sugar mill, duh, you know he’s a workaholic,” she laughed, before sitting up.

“So how have you been? The last time I saw you, you were going on and on about that De Pointe Du Lac,” she smirked, biting her lip.

“I’m fine, Louis is fine,” you nodded.

“My god, you married him? I hear he has a popular business in the quarter-

“No, we have a…companionship, if that makes sense,” you mumbled, as she raised her eyebrows.

“Oh? That’s nice-

“Daddy’s home,” the younger boy burst into the room, his eyes focused on you.

Standing up, you followed Carol from the room, down the stairs. Seeing the men and women standing downstairs, you stared plainly. These were your siblings and yet you couldn’t remember or feel a thing.

“It’s good to see you,” the man, your brother, smiled, pulling you into a side hug before you followed them into the dining room.

Your father sat already, at the head of the table. Turning to face you, he stood up, you could hear his heart pounding, trembling. Slowly approaching you, you spoke up.

“Daddy,” you tried to sound as normal as possible, when he slung his arms around you. He began to cry, while you listened in on his thoughts. You were his favorite.

“You two come sit, stop crying before I start too,” your mother laughed, as your father pulled away in agreement.

“So how was New York?”

“Yeah and why didn’t you say goodbye, like you send a letter and disappear for three years,” your younger sister interrupted.

“Deloris, stop it, I’m sure Y/n wanted to stop by but couldn’t,” your mother interjected.

“I-New York was fine, very beautiful,” you said, accepting one of the many bowls of food being passed along. Taking a small piece of meat, you sat it on your nearly empty plate.

“You came just in time for Joseph’s engagement, he’s met a fine young lady from Gretna, Sarah, she’ll be here in a few days,” your mother pointed at your brother.

“Finally, he’s nearly 30 and we never thought he’d get married,” your younger brother said, making everyone laugh.

“Congratulations,” you told Joseph.

“Thank you, and have you married, or are you with someone?”

“I have companions,” you smiled, nervously.

“Multiple?” Your father asked, stunned.

“One of them is Louis,” Carol clapped.

“The De Point Du Lac? I hear he lives with that French man-

“Lestat De Lioncourt, god to be under him for a night”

“Deloris, watch your mouth”

“Sorry”

“You managed to stay in contact with him, but couldn’t reach out to your family?” Your father spoke, a saddened expression.

“It’s complicated,” you mumbled.

“You don’t think it’s a bit…scandalous to have two lovers, who is the other?” your mother asked.

“Lestat,” you said, clearing your throat, bracing yourself as nearly everyone gasped.

“Lucky,” Deloris snickered.

‘Y/n, where are you?’ You heard Clauia’s voice, but you didn’t respond.

“Y/n, please tell me you're joking,” your father shook his head.

“I don’t think this is a laughing matter,” you said, straightening your posture.

‘Y/n, where are you at?’ Louis asked, making you clinch your jaw.

“You kept in contact with those peculiar men, but it never crossed your mind to come home,” he slightly raised his voice.

“I said it was complicated,” you screamed over him, stabbing the fork into the meat, breaking the plate, before standing up, going to storm out of the house.

“Y/n, wait,” your mother chased you, stopping you before you could leave.

“I’m sorry I came here,” you apologized.

“No no, everyone is handling you being home differently, stay, you can go up to your room, here, I have something for you,” she reached for your cold hand, her warm thumb brushing over your veins. Leading you upstairs in the room, she went to the nightstand, pulled out a diary, handing it to you.

“I kept it, in case you ever came home, and I made sure no one read it,” she smiled sadly, kissing your forehead before she turned to leave.

‘Ma chèrie, enough of this, come home’ Lestat said. You knew they were probably worried, for him to also use his powers to reach out to you.

‘I won’t be home tonight,’ you spoke, sending the message.

“Did you say something, honey?” Your mother stopped, turning to face you.

“No, ma’am,” you shook your head, watching as she exited the room.

Opening the book, your fingers traced down the words, the minor annotations, and little drawings on the side. You could still hear your vampire family faintly in your head when the room door opened.

“Hey, Daddy is sorry, he’s too ashamed of how he acted to face you right now, but I’m just letting you know, that Joseph, Antony, and Loretta left,” Carol spoke.

“Ok,” you chuckled.

“Also, I apologize in advance for the noise, Frankie is coming home soon and he is still a handful,” she laughed.

“Frankie?”

“Yes and he is going to be so excited to see his favorite Aunt,” she said, before shutting the door.

Closing the curtain, grabbing a pillow, and climbing under the bed, you read the diary. Entry to entry, you consumed the thoughts of your former self, your heart growing more confused as you began to remember. By the time you finished, Claudia and Louis became silent while the sun was peeking into the room.

Slamming the book shut, your mind ran wild, questioning everything you thought you’d known. Your nails digging into the floor. Feeling the bloody tear slip down your eye, you quickly wiped it, as a you heard a soft knock.

“Y/n? Y/n?” Your mother called out, a bit of panic in her voice.

“I’m under here,” you called out, waving from under the bed.

Lifting her dress, she moved to the floor, her eyes widening seeing you.

“What are you doing under here, honey?” She asked.

“I…I recently was diagnosed with a disease, my skin doesn’t react well in the sun anymore, burning, irritation, the doctor says I should avoid it altogether,” you said, almost feeling guilty for lying, hearing how much it saddened her thoughts.

“I see, give me a few hours and I’ll make sure things are more comfortable around here, you try to get some sleep, love you”

“I love you too,” you said, watching as she left the room.

‘Y/n, please tell me you are okay, we can’t sleep’ you heard Louis’s voice.

‘I am fine’

‘Where are you?’

‘That is none of any of your concerns’

‘Don’t be like that, what's the matter-

You shut your eyes, blocking out Louis’ voice, taking deep breaths, you thought about the words from the diary, as the sleep passed over you.

‘Mama and daddy have been arguing as of lately. I’m 25 with no boyfriend or engagement, still living with them. Daddy doesn’t see a problem with it, I have more time to find the perfect husband he argues, while Mama thinks I’m not even looking. I haven’t been, but that’s because as special as New Orleans is, no one seems special enough to catch my attention. Since the issue has come up, I’ve found myself with Carol more. She is trying to find a new husband, a new father for Frankie, since his dad died in the Navy’

“All of the bachelors come here, you just might find yourself a treat,” Carol giggled, as the two of you sat at the table. The fancy restaurant in the French Quarter wasn’t too interesting to you. You were already wealthy, and guaranteed quite the inheritance, while all of the women stood around, almost looking as if they were waiting on their lottery ticket.

“Do you ever wonder if there is more to life, than New Orleans?” You asked her boredly, as she made eye contact with the banker, waving at him.

“I ain’t got time to think about that Y/n, I’m 24 and already a widow with an infant,” she told you, standing, before walking to the man, sure to sway her hips, reeking of seduction.

Now alone, you sipped your wine, leaning back in your seat. The few men who looked your way eventually backed away, as you kept a scowl on your face.

“If you keep your face like that, it might get stuck,” you heard, making you turn to face the crèole man.

“If only I could see the appeal of this restaurant, then I wouldn’t frown,” you told him, as he sat down.

“I agree, everything is so tasteless and looks so-

“Cheap,” you and the blonde-haired man said at the same time, making you smile.

“I’m Y/n,” you held out your hand.

“Louis de Pointe du Lac,” he accepted your hand, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

“And you, do you have a name?”

“Lestat De Lioncourt,” he said, taking your hand from Louis, kissing your knuckles.

“Would you like to get out of here?” Louis started.

“Sorry boys, I hope you didn’t think I was that easy,” you pouted, laughing as Carol approached.

“You ready to go?” You asked, seeing the look of disappointment on her face.

“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms.

“It was wonderful to meet you both, goodbye”, you told them, standing up, and walking with Carol back to the car. Looking back, your eyes met theirs once more before you were on your way.

‘Lestat and Louis, there had been plenty of rumors that the two were lovers, even I was sure they were. However, they continued to reach out, inviting me to spend time with them. Carol’s friend, Lucy, thinks they might be competing to win my hand in marriage, but I think it’s far from that.’

“Mr. De Lioncourt hasn’t taken his eyes off of you all night,” Lucy bumped your shoulder, as you stood amongst the women. You were trying to not be “shameless” keeping your contact with Lestat and Louis to a minimum. However, their eyes had been glued on you from the moment you entered the party, and they weren’t even hiding it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” one of the women rolled her eyes, perking up, as they approached.

“Ma chèrie, you never responded to our letter,” Lestat told you, as you stared at the two of them surprised but confused.

“With your flowers,” Louis said, as you gasped.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice a note with them, they are in my room, I’ll look when I’m home”

“Please do, we’re dying to know your response,” he told you, slinging his arm around Louis as they walked away. All of the women frowning in jealousy, while Carol laughed at them.

‘They are together, Lestat and Louis are together, but they like the idea of sharing? After a night of passion, I think it’s best that I stay away from the fabulously handsome men. I could never explain what happened to anyone without being judged, and so I will keep it to myself. They have been trying to reach out, but I am throwing every letter away. I hope they can understand.’

“I’m assuming you’re not a party girl?” Louis asked you, making you jump, swiftly turning around.

“This kind of party isn’t my thing, all of these people, hoping to get on my father’s good side, it's pathetic,” you crossed your arms, as he approached.

“How did you find where I was?” You asked him, tilting your head. You were hidden in your mother’s miniature hedge maze, sure no one would find you.

“I followed your scent, you always smell nice,” he grinned, while you rocked back and forth on your heels.

“You shouldn’t have followed me, what if I was a monster? luring you away from everyone,” you smirked at him.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t be the monster”

“Why do you think that?” You squinted at him, making him laugh.

“You’re too cute, too precious, you should be more careful, you could’ve been being followed by a big bad wolf,” he taunted.

“I can defend myself perfectly fine”

“Is that right?”

“Of course,” you smiled, watching as he leaned forward, his lips pressing against your own. Wrapping his arm around your waist, you moaned, before he pulled away.

Gasping, you noticed Lestat standing only feet away. Taking his usual confident strides, he stopped in front of Louis, the two sharing a passionate kiss. As the kiss broke off, he walked around to you, his hand softly going to the back of your neck, before he pulled you into a kiss.

“Be our companion…”

“Our’s alone…”

“Ok,” you agreed, not understanding at the time, the situation you'd put yourself in.

Standing in front and behind you, they took turns, kissing from your neck to mouth, slowly removing the articles of clothing. By the time you were finished, they laid in the grass, smiling, praising you, while you hurriedly dressed.

“I have to go,” you told them, running away, your hand going to your neck, where a bite mark resided.

‘My intuition was wrong about the two, Lestat and Louis are dangerous. Lestat seemed possessive, he didn’t like the idea of me entertaining another man besides him or Louis. But Louis, he seemed convinced I was perfect with the two of them, they both just seemed delusional. I recently caught the pneumonia virus and I’m trying to heal, and get over the fact that I was sick for my birthday but their constant sending of gifts isn’t making me feel any better.’

“Y/n, honey,” your mother called out, making you open your eyes.

“Yes?”

“It is safe to come out,” she said, as you slowly made your way out, noticing the windows covered by a board.

Leading you down the stairs, you felt uncomfortable seeing your siblings stare at you like an animal in zoo.

“Mama told us about your skin condition, I’m sorry, I-we can have the engagement at night,” Joseph offered.

“I couldn’t do that to you-

“It would be a pleasure, I want you there, and Sarah won’t mind, she’ll be here tomorrow”

“Then I’d love that,” you smiled, nodding.

“Wonderful, I have something you can wear,” your mother clapped.

“I was hoping I could talk to you, about something,” you told your mother, as she sat on the sofa.

“Okay, what’s on your mind?”

“Do you remember when I was sick, with the pneumonia?”

“Yes”

“When I was staying in the hospital-

“Hospital? You didn’t stay in a hospital, you were in your room. We were so worried, when you first caught it, but your body fought hard, you were better in no time,” she said, her hand on her heart.

“How long was I here before I left, for New York? Reading the diary has my brain a little foggy,” you told her.

“Only a few days after, I believe, before you left your letter,” she said, looking away at the memory.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, trying to remember what happened. The fuzzy memory slightly coming back.

“It’s okay, honey, you’re here now,” she waved.

Sitting up in bed, pillows propped up behind you, you listened to the vinyl jazz music. Playing low in the room you hummed lightly. Everyone had left the previous day, going to see relatives, but you were still too sick to go. Although you were already feeling better, no longer bed-bound with a nasty fever. Hearing the sound of the front door opening, your ears perked up, as you climbed out of the bed. Stopping the music, you slowly tiptoed out of the room, stopping at the top of the stairs

“Ma chèrie, it isn’t nice to ignore people who care about you,” Lestat said from the bottom of the stairs.

Shaking your head, you went to run, bumping into Louis. Who also, didn’t look too happy, backing down the stairs, you froze, seeing Lestat slowly walk up to you. You were trapped, dropping to your knees, you shielded yourself.

“Please,” you covered your face, gasping in confusion as you were lifted, carefully brought to the sofa in the living room.

“You haven’t seen any of our letters?” Louis asked angrily before Lestat spoke.

“You ignored us out of society-inflicted shame,” Lestat started.

“No, it was nothing more than casual sex,” you said before he squished your cheeks together.

“If you weren’t so afraid of being judged by society, would you continue to deny yourself the pleasures you deserve?” Lestat asked, sitting next to you.

“One of you bit me, I don’t think I want either of you,” you told him as he chuckled before you noticed his abnormally sharp teeth. Fangs.

“She doesn't want us, hear that Louis, we’re being rejected by our companion,” Lestat laughed loudly, as Louis stared at you as if you had two heads.

Suddenly, the front door opened, and your parents and your younger siblings entered the house. Doing a double take, your father frowned.

“What's going on in here?”

“Nothing Daddy, we're just talking,” you stood up, moving in between him and the two peculiar men. Looking at them, you noticed the fangs in Louis's mouth.

“I don't think so, you two boys need to leave my house,” he said, the look on their faces showed they were highly offended at the choice of words.

“I am no boy, I am much older than you…” Lestat stood up.

“Don't hurt them,” you told them, your eyes going from Louis to Lestat.

“Perhaps we can get to an agreement, they are spared, in exchange for your companionship,” Lestat offered. You searched for his face, trying to see if he was serious, while he stood, waiting on your response.

“Fine,” you sighed, watching as Louis approached your family, putting them into a trance.

“You came home and went straight to bed, Y/n was feeling better and decided to spend time with some friends tonight-

“You should grab your things, ma chérie, and don't worry, that shame and fear instilled into you will be no more in a short while,” he told you, ushering you to go upstairs, while Louis made up a story to your family.

By the time you finished packing, they were gone, only Louis and Lestat waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. Not saying a word, you followed them to the car, trying to let the realization sink in, but it still all seemed surreal.

Entering their home you nervously followed them, into the bedroom.

“You can meet Claudia later,” Louis said, as they stared at you.

“Your daughter?”

“Our daughter,” he corrected you, but nodded.

“Ok”

“Y/n, the love that we’ve grown for you, it’s inhumanly, meant to be shared for an eternity, we can give you that,” Louis told you.

“You’re scared, I can make sure you don’t feel any pain, I can give you a piece of everlasting life. None of the things you have in this life hold any value to you, but I can give you something you will cherish,” Lestat told you.

“Choose us and we’ll choose you for the rest of eternity,” Louis said, before you hesitatingly nodded.

“You won’t be in pain for long,” Lestat told you, before he pulled you close, biting into your neck. Falling limb in his arms, he laid you on the bed, cutting his wrist, feeding his blood to you.

Shortly after, your body felt like it was on fire, your vision blurry. The two men stood over you, talking, Louis asking for a favor and Lestat debating on if he wanted to give in.

“Do it, before it’s too late, please,” he said, before Lestat looked at him, nodding, and facing you.

“Look at me, ma chèrie, you used to be a waitress at a bar…we were frequent customers when you met us….” As Lestat told you the fabricated story, he made sure to completely conceal your memory of your mortal life, as Louis requested.

As the memory came to mind your hands went to your eyes, trying to stop the bloody tears from leaking. The memory that changed the way that you viewed your maker and companions.

“Are you alright dear?” your mother asked, worried.

“I'm fine, mama, just happy to be home,” you told her, making her smile.

“Awe, honey, I'm glad that you are home, we all are,” she gushed, pulling you into a firm hug, before continuing with her conversation with your sibling.

‘Y/n’ Louis called out to you.

“Excuse me,” you said, getting up, going to the bathroom.

‘Leave me alone, please’ you told him.

‘Where is this coming from?’

‘I just need this time away, it’s just me time’ you told him, staring at your reflection.

‘Y/n, are you coming home?’ You heard Claudia.

‘Eventually’

‘Alright, love you’

‘Love you too’ you told her, before leaving the bathroom.

“Y/n, I just wanted to apologize for my outburst last night. What you do in your private life is your business, and I’m happy you’re home,” your father said, nervously, as you came back into the living room. Smiling, you didn’t say anything, approaching him, pulling him into a hug.

As night fell, everyone turning in for bed, you went to the backyard, thankful to find a few rodents to feed on. With your hunger satisfied, you went to your room. Sitting at the desk, you ripping a piece of paper from the diary, grabbing an envelope from the drawer.

‘I don’t think this companionship will work out anymore. Lie after lie, neither of you have been honest or truthful with me. I thought relationships were built and thrived on trust. Not ours, a big lie to feed both of your delusional obsessions. Stay away from me. I will be leaving New Orleans soon, probably headed back to New York’ you wrote, placing a stamp on the envelope.

“Hey,” you called out, as you went outside stopping the teenage boy on his bike.

“Bring this to Lestat De Lioncourt, his address is 1132 Royal Street,” you hypnotized the boy.

“But that’s all the way in the French Quarter,” he said in a monotone voice.

“I know, you will go right before the sun rises and it is okay because you were paid to do this,” you told him, watching as he smiled.

“You’re right,” he nodded, accepting the letter, before taking the money in his other hand, stuffing it into his pocket.

“Go on now, it’s getting late,” you told him, as he nodded, riding home to his house as you went inside.

“Y/n, you okay, darling?” Your father stood at the top of the stares.

“I’m ok, daddy,” you smiled, going upstairs to your bedroom.

Just as the sun began to rise, the young boy peddled his bike, careful to stay out of the way of any cars. For a second he wished his dad could have driven him, the 30 minutes bike ride would have been much shorter in a car.

Finally, he arrived, panting, he approached the townhouse. Opening the gate, he approached the door. Knocking softly, before speaking.

“Mail for Lestat De Lioncourt,” he said, pushing the letter through the mail slot, before he left to peddle home.

Still wide awake, Lestat stood from his piano, approaching the door, stopping. He watched at the young hand slipped in, the letter floating to the floor, before the sound of the footsteps became distant.

Reading the letter, he felt a series of emotions, sadness, rage, disappointment.

“Louis,” he called out, his companion jogged down the stairs in confusion.

“Yeah?”

“Y/n remembers,” he gulped, as the two looked at each other.

“Looks like we’ll have to make a stop tonight,” Louis said, before going back to his coffin.

“You’re just as beautiful as Joseph said you were,” you gushed to Sarah. The house was filled with guests, the sun had set not too long ago, and the night was still young.

“Oh my, thank you, he talked about you all the time, I never thought I’d meet you,” she said.

“Y/n, come here,” Carol called from the kitchen, before you excused yourself, joining her.

“What?”

“Mr. Alexandre is asking to see you,” she lightly pushed you in the direction of the living room.

“Who?”

“He’s one of Daddy’s associates, he’s young, rich, and handsome,” she said.

“And why don’t you talk to him?”

“He wants to speak with you and I’d prefer his brother, I hear he’s a widower,” she whispered, as you turned, walking towards where the man stood, amongst a few other businessmen.

“Miss Y/n,” the man called out, stepping forward.

“Mr. Alexandre,” you said, accepting his hand.

“If I could have a moment with you…”

“You may,” you said, walking into the hallway with him, near the stairs. You could feel his colleagues staring at the two of you.

“What is it?”

“I was hoping I could take you out for dinner, perhaps the steamboat, there is a nice band that plays-

“I am sorry, but no thank you,” you shook your head, about to leave, but he gripped your forearm.

“A little birdy told me that you have a thing going on with the European and crèole man in the quarter, I thought they were homo-

“Mr. Alexandre, my personal business is none of your concern”

“Then to have that little girl with them, like she’s their daughter, it’s twisted. You don’t need to get involved with them, tarnishing your reputation,” he said, making you think back to the society-inflicted shame Lestat spoke about.

“Do not speak about my reputation or any of them,” you shoved him, watching as he collided into the wall. A few people gasped, coming to see what was the commotion.

“Y/n, what happened?” Your father asked as the front door opened.

Along with a gust of wind Lestat, Louis, and Claudia all walked in, heads turning as everyone murmured about them. All of the eyes were on them and they never looked their way, solely focused on you.

“Y/n, why haven’t you come home?” Claudia ran to you, pulling you into a hug. You could feel how tense she felt, you frowned at the thought of her being upset.

“I’m sorry,” you told her, closing your eyes and taking in her usually sweet scent.

“Y/n,” your mother called out, now standing next to your father, a confused expression in place.

Before you could say anything, Lestat turned her way, gasping, you stepped up, when he turned facing you. Immediately you stopped, your eyes going down, while he moved closer.

“Madame,” he held out his hand, accepting hers, before placing a soft kiss on it.

“Get away from my wife,” your father said, taking her hand back.

“So you was gonna leave home?” Louis asked you, taking off his glasses.

“You lied to me, both of you did,” you told him.

“Louis, what is she talking about?”

“Nothing, go wait outside Claudia”

“Louis-

“It’s okay, go wait outside,” you told her, watching as she walked away, bumping the shoulder of a few guests, scaring them.

“You…both of you, did this to me, and for what? to satisfy your fantasies-

“To save you, you don’t belong with these people, their rules and principles, your nature goes against all of it. You could have never been happy with the way they wanted you to become,” Lestat told you.

“Y/n, it’s not safe to be around any of them, how long do you think you’ll be able to resist your urges, it’s best to leave them where they’re at,” Louis told you.

“Is this the brainwash they both feed you, two queer men trying to destroy and isolate everything you’ve known. I wouldn’t burden you with such ideologies,” Mr. Alexandre said, standing up, limping off the pain.

“And what are those ideologies, you speak of?” The tension thickened in the room as Lestat was in front of him within a flash.

“I-I-“ he began to stutter.

“These ideologies include being unapologetic even if it goes against society, not putting limitations on yourself, and redefining what family is. None of these things you know anything of because you think Y/n is as brainless as the rest of these women,” Lestat said before roughly grabbing his jaw.

“You could learn a thing or two before you let your mouth run so loosely,” he said, shoving him, watching as he collided with the wall, breaking through the wallpaper.

“Now you-

Lestat raised his hand, freezing everyone in the room, as your father began to yell.

“Your memory was wiped away, but everything has been real. Our love, Claudia’s love, nothing was forced. These people have caused you nothing but anxiety and shame, but if you want to throw us away, for them, I won’t stop you,” Lestat screamed, storming away, as the bloody tear slipped from his eyes.

“I thought I could balance both lives, it isn’t possible,” Louis told you, as you kept your head down.

“Is it possible to take away their memory, I won’t kill them, if they could just go on with their lives like before I was here,” you asked, while he immediately nodded.

Lestat had been right about so many things, how different you were, the restrictions you felt in your previous life. You weren’t ready to be on your own, you still needed your family. Perhaps it was better for you to not have been aware of the truth, to begin with.

“That can be arranged,” he said, motioning for you to go outside with Claudia. Stopping in front of your mother, you kissed her cheek, before leaving the house.

Getting into the backseat of the car with Claudia, she intertwined her fingers with your own. Lestat didn’t say a word to you, walking back into the house, as everyone unfroze.

After nearly 15 long minutes, the two left the house. You could see the party continuing, Carol could be seen with a small boy in her arms, accepting him from an older woman. The entire ride home was painfully quiet. The faint music from the locals could be heard as the house came more into view.

Claudia went to her room, while you meekly followed the two to your shared room. Stepping out of their clothing, they were preparing for rest, when you stopped.

“Lestat, I-please make me forget again,” you asked, making them look at each other, before staring at you.

“After all of this-

Moving to your knees, you crawled to him, prepared to beg to him, as if he was your god. Raising his eyebrow, even he looked surprised by your actions.

“Please make me forget, and we can go back to how we were,” you told him. Reaching for his hand, your head laid upon it, begging for your wish to be granted.

“Stand up, ma chèrie”

“How was the hunt?” Louis asked as you and Claudia both entered the house.

“Wonderful,” you laughed, plopping next to him. Lestat sat at his piano, idly pressing the keys that still managed to sound effortless.

“What are you doing?” You asked Louis, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Catching up on the paper, gorgeous,” he smiled, flipping the newspaper.

Your eyes widened at the image of the article, L/n Sugar Mill family home is burned down, leaving no survivors after an extravagant engagement party.

“Wow, and that was such a nice house,” you said, pointing out the picture, before picking up a nearby book.

“It was,” Louis agreed lowly, the trio briefly making eye contact.

With your memory wiped once again, the last thing any of them wanted was another situation that could cause you to want to break away from them. No one could ever come close to loving you like the three and they made sure there was no would who would awaken your memories, tearing you away from your little family.

"Is something upsetting you?" He asked, while preparing for bed, beginning to strip himself of his clothes. As if he didn't fucking know.

"Now why would you think that?" You hissed, removing your makeup from the day.

"You have said barely a word to me since I came back from hunting, mon cher." He pointed out.

"I'm tired." You told him, not sparing him even a glance. He took that as a challenge.

"I've missed you." He told you, approaching you where you sat in front of your vanity. He put his hands on both your shoulders, slowly stroking the skin there with his thumbs. The smallest of goosebumps were left in their wake, and you knew Lestat could feel them. You saw him smirking slightly at you in the mirror in your peripheral vision, but your eyes stayed glued on yourself. Smug motherfucker.

"I'm right here, Lestat." You sighed.

"That's not what I meant." He kissed the top of your head, then the crook of your neck. "Missed having you. Being with you." He purred between kisses. "Yes, so much so that you've been so kind and mindful of my feelings. That's what I've been feeling all day, 'missed.'" And now that you'd finally admitted your irritation, he pressed hard right into that open wound.

"If you hate me so much, then leave me.” He snapped, taking his hands away from your shoulders and backing up a few feet. “Go make a fledgling of your own. But you and I both know you won't." He crossed his arms in a tight knot across his chest. He knew that for some reason, one you couldn't even fathom, your heart belonged to him, and even through all his unbearable behaviors and habits, your adoration for him never waivered. And that was, perhaps, more maddening that all the things he did, combined.

You were seeing red. Why did he have this power over you? Why did you want to grab him from the front of his shirt and kiss him? Why did this magnetic energy exist between the two of you, pulling you to him and him to you? It tugged on your heart and your mind painfully, so you didn't fight.

You turned around, staring at him with furrowed brows for a few moments. In his silent blank expression, he dared you to do something, anything. And then, before you could really think about it, you got up abruptly and paced over to him, grabbing his undershirt right at the hem and pulling his face to yours. Your lips collided with his, almost violently. Your hands were frantic on each other, desperately seeking purchase on your clothes. You managed to slide off the white undershirt from his body, and then pull his pants and underwear down.

He stepped out of them, and you kneeled at his feet, taking his cock into your mouth all at once, looking up at him with angry eyes.

"Yeah, that's right. You act so upset, but by the end of the night, you still end up on your knees for me." He said smugly, caressing your head. And that was the last straw. You pulled off of him, and stood up, taking several steps away from him.

"I could stop right now! Leave you hot and bothered! Do you want that?"

"You've missed fucking as much as I have, mon cher. You're flushed even now. Your heart's pounding."

"I fed less than an hour ago." You tried to explain, crossing your arms and looking away from him, but he wasn't buying it.

"You're addicted to my touch. You can't breathe without it." And you hated that pompous tone of voice.

"Yeah, I'm so hooked on you that I'm gonna fucking leave. Prove to you I can." You huffed, heading for the closet.

"You can't."

"You wanna fucking try me right now?" Steam came off your words, as you spun back around in his direction.

"You know what? Don't- just..."

"What?!"

"If I am upsetting you... then maybe you should take your feelings of anger.... out on me."

What? Oh.

He was such a fucking brat.

He'd been pissing you off on purpose. Pushing you in all the ways he knew would get to you the quickest, hoping it would be enough to make you abandon self-control. And you felt so stupid.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"It doesn't matter what I like, it matters what you do. Don't you wanna punish me?" Fucking liar. He wanted this. He's been wanting it.

You thought about it for a second. God, you wanted to wipe that smile off his stupid perfect face.

"I have a gift for you."

"You chose a funny time to give it to me." He rolled his eyes and sighed, before kneeling beside the bed and retrieving a box. You waited for him to explain, but he only started at you for a few beats before rolling his eyes.

"Jjust open it." He stood back up and handed it to you. You gave him a questioning look before taking the box and ripping the top off it.

It was.. it was a harness. And a sex toy. The harness itself was black, but the toy was a deep blood red.

"You want me to use this... On You?"

"Only if you'd also like it. You were so angry with me, you still are. Don't you want to have me in this way, to make me submit to you?" He tried to rein it in, to appear cool-headed and unaffected, but he was excited. You could hear his heart beat quicken. A faint tint of red covered his skin- blood sweat.

"Would you? Submit? We've messed around with it before, but never..." You trailed off.

"Let me be completely and totally honest with you." He said, kneeling slightly so he was eye level with you and he put his hands on your elbows. His eyes were hooded and he licked his lips. Then he leaned in so his mouth was at your ear.

"I want you to fuck me so hard, I can't even think." You gasped at his words. "I want you to take all that anger, all those pent up feelings, and hurt me with them." "This whole time, you've been acting this way, so that I'd- so that I'd fucking punish you?"

"Maybe." You could feel his smile on your neck as his lips met with the skin there.

"And I thought you were a brat before." He moved his head back to look you in the eyes. You were gonna give it to him, he could see it, even if he couldn't read your thoughts anymore. He looked too happy about it. So you turned him around and pushed him onto the bed, face first.

He laughed breathlessly at the suddenness of it, but he took his cue to go onto his hands and knees regardless.

"What's the point in punishing you if you enjoy it?" You asked him, slipping off your nightdress over your head. He looked back at you over his shoulder through his lashes. You grabbed the harness and strap-on from the box, feeling them in your hands for a few moments. You dropped the harness at your feet and stepped into it, pulled it up. You put the silicone cock in place, then tightened the harness against you.

And Lestat looked like the fucking cat that got the cream.

You kneeled onto the bed behind him, shoving his head forward. He didn't get to look at you.

He was shaved completely between his legs, a beautiful sight. You rubbed your thumb against his hole, which twitched around nothing. You were surprised with your sudden confidence, but welcomed it. You had touched him here before, just never with a toy. Never like this.

"Already fucking desperate for it." You teased, spreading his cheeks to fully reveal the tight ring of muscle.

"I'm always desperate for you." He breathed.

"Spread yourself for me." You instructed him, and watched as his chest fell into the bed and his hands came backwards to hold his cheeks open. Tasting him was irresistible. You blew onto the fluttering hole, pulling a gasp from Lestat, which morphed into a whine when you began to lap at him. He shivered as your tongue pressed against him.

You pulled his dick back from between his legs so you could slowly jerk it while you licked him, using the spit which dripped down from his hole down to his cock as lube. You felt as he grew from hard to harder under your fingers. Your other hand joined your mouth, and you backed away for a moment to spit on his hole and then you used it to press into him with a single finger. He clenched around you, pulling your finger in.

You made sure to keep your movement on his cock slow, allowing your hand to merely ghost around him, as to not get him close to that edge too soon. And it was driving him mad. He tried to keep his mouth shut for as long as he could, and you could practically see him shaking with the effort.

"You're teasing." You could hear how tight his jaw was clenched in his stiff tone of voice.

"Yes, I am. You deserve it." You retorted, moving your face away from his hole. You put another finger inside of him. He spread his cheeks even wider, inviting you to go faster, harder. And knowing that's what he wanted is what persuaded you to go even slower. Impossibly slow.

"Mon cherie, please! I'll do whatever you wish, just stop this incessant teasing!"

"I like you begging. But if you want me to really touch you, really make you feel good, you're gonna have to do better than that." You smirked, leaving your fingers inside of him but taking your hand away from his cock.

"Please! Please! I'll be so obedient. So good for you. I'll make you cum over and over with my mouth if you wish it! But I need you- need to feel you inside of me." His nails began to dig into his own skin where he continued to hold his cheeks open for you, no doubt out of frustration.

Deciding his begging was satisfactory, and ignoring the tingle of arousal it caused at the bottom of your stomach, you added a third finger inside of him after spitting on his hole again. He moaned in satisfaction, slightly pushing his ass further into the air.

But you didn't want to prep him too much. You wanted the first push of the strap into his tightness to burn just a little. You knew how good that felt from when Lestat fucked you. So you took your fingers away and leaned over him to open the drawer in the dresser to the right of the bed. Your tits pressed up against his back and the strapon was pressed against his sex.

"Finally.” He growled, crazy with need. You grabbed the oil in the drawer and pushed it closed, roughly. And then you sat up, opening the small glass jar and turning it upside down a foot or so about his hole and watched it drip onto his pink pucker. He gasped when the cold liquid hit his skin.

You turned the jar right side up and screwed the cover back on and threw it next to his head on the bed. You grabbed the toy at the hilt and rubbed it against him a few times before pressing into him, faster than he was expecting, forcing a shocked shriek from his lips.

His hole tugged on the toy, clamping around it.

"Relax, Lestat." You whispered, dragging your nails from the back of his neck to his waist, just hard enough to raise goosebumps, where you let your hands settle and caress. You kissed trails up and down his back, sucking on the skin occasionally. And slowly, the thrusts became easier and smoother. When you felt no resistance, you began to quicken and roughen the pace. He went from making small breathy sounds to moaning in abandon.

"You're such a slut for this aren't you?" He didn't reply, too choked up on his own sounds of pleasure. So you dug your nails into his venus dimples, causing him to bleed.

"Yes! I'll be anything for you!" He squawked in response, biting into the pillows.

"As long as you're the center of attention right? You don't care how I treat you as long as I give you attention? That's why you've been acting like a brat?"

"Mmph!" Lestat whimpered, back arching further, ass rising into the air. Unable to resist, you spanked the right cheek, grabbing it after to fuck into him better.

"I could degrade you, humiliate you, and you’d love it. Wouldn’t you?" Your nails jabbed into his skin gently, leaving pink marks in their wake, stark against his smooth pale skin.

"Oui! Je te veux juste. Want everything you'll give me." His voice was rising as you thrust into him faster still. Right hand still on his ass, you used your left to roughly grasp his hair to haul his back against your bare chest. He gasped as it happened, but he rested against you when he realized what you were doing, letting his head lull back onto your shoulder.

You kissed at his neck, slowing your hips. He tried to kiss you, but you yanked on his hair, eliciting a delicious groan from him.

"I didn't say you could kiss me." You told him, resuming your gentle sucking and biting at his neck. You could taste the blood intermingled with the sweat adorning him.

"Je suis désolé." He offered, afraid you'd grow cold on him. Afraid you'd pull out and leave him desperate and wanting, like you threatened before. He couldn't bear the idea of it. He needed you. You kept him in that position for a little while, stoking the flames of his growing desperation. Your hands went to his chest, barely touching his nipples. So hard, pretty and pink for you. You rubbed your thumbs in circles over them, before alternating to pinching, and that made him make the most gorgeous sounds. But then, you started growing tired of it, and decided he didn't deserve your gentle kisses or touch.

"You're only ever polite when you want something." You bit hard into his neck then, with your dull human teeth, abruptly pulling the strap out almost all the way before pushing into him again. Hard. Your hips snapped against his. You pushed his face back down into the mattress and he yelped in surprise.

He was moaning into the pillows, shameless and uncouth, his hands digging into the silk sheets at his sides. You held him at the pretty incline of that ridiculously small waist of his to prevent him from pushing back onto you. As much as the idea of him fucking himself onto the toy enticed you, opening himself up like a perfect little whore for you, you would decide how he would feel pleasure tonight, not him.

Which is why, when he tried to sneak one of his hands between himself and the mattress to touch at his painfully neglected cock, you retaliated by pinning both his hands behind his back.

"Please, mon cher, I need you to touch me there. Please! I'll be good for you. I promise." He looked over his shoulder as best as he could with his arms pinned, brows furrowed. He looked pathetic, lips swollen from the harsh kissing from before and from him biting them. His hair was a golden halo around his head.

"Turn around." You ordered him, sternly, releasing his hands from your grip, and he smiled big, revealing his fangs. He eagerly flipped onto his back, and spread his legs wide for you. His hips arched into the bed, and he put his hands above his head. He looked positively sinful like this.

Your left hand rested on his thigh, and you trailed the right from his right knee to his inner thigh to his hole. Pink and puffy from being fucked into with your strap, it quivered under your touch, giving into the pressure your finger applied easily, tightening around it as it pushed inside. The muscles of his stomach fluttered from the sensation of it.

"Still so tight for me." You crooked the finger so it would brush against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him.

"Mon dieu!" His legs fell impossibly wider, trembling a bit.

"Aw, baby, your legs are shaking." Your left hand, still on his thigh, rubbed it gently, forgetting for a moment that you were supposed to be mad at him. He bathed in the unexpected kindness you offered him, mouth gaping and letting out little gasps. His eyes were scrunched closed, and he looked too beautiful. And your rage dissipated into desire momentarily, so you took the opportunity to surprise him with your mouth.

You closed your lips around the head of his dick, so red and swollen at the tip. His head snapped down to look at you, watching you bob slowly on his length. And when you added another finger inside him, alongside the first, his eyes rolled back into his head, which collapsed back onto the pillows.

"I won't.. I won't last like this. It's too much." You could tell he struggled to speak. To think.

"You going all dumb on me already?" You smiled at him after releasing his cock from your mouth with a pop. He nodded feverishly, empty headed and pleasure filled.

You sat up, positioning yourself between his legs. You slid the strap-on into his hole again, as much as you could. You drove in and out of him a few times, before spitting down on his cock and taking it into your hand.

"You treat me so well. Make me feel so good." He voice was so broken and frantic now, a far cry from the smooth confidence he usually excuded.

"You have a funny way of showing it most of the time." You argued, starting to allow your hand to drift away from his dick, but he grabbed it before it could get too far and he led it back. "I'm sorry! Please! I'll be so good for you! I'll be-" He moaned so sweet then, in reaction to a particularly deep thrust. "I'll be your good boy." And so you kept your hand between his legs, swinging your wrist up and down his length, tightening your grip so it was on the verge of being painful.

"Yes!" You were fucking him with deep slow thrusts now, your hand a fast blur on his cock in contrast.

"Want you to come for me, baby. Can you do that? Can you be good slut and cum for me?" Your voice was belittling and praising all at once and he got off on it, pulsing in your hand. He hummed out a response, drowning in the pleasure, unable to speak.

You kissed him, passionately, and he gasped into it. Your lips trailed to his neck, and you allowed your fangs to protract before biting into him. He nearly screamed at the sensation. He came, hard, shooting red stained ropes onto your hand and his chest. You stroked him firmly through it. His blood tasted sweet with his orgasm. You suckled on the wound for a few seconds before pulling your mouth away, and your strap out of him.

You lifted your hand to your mouth to taste the blood infused cum. And then you slid backwards off of the bed before slipping off the harness.

Lestat was still coming down from his orgasm. His heart was pounding, albeit slower than before, and slowing more with every passing second. You laid next to the left of him on your side, head propped up with your arm. Your other hand trailed your fingers from his eye brows, down his nose, to the small crevice in the middle of his bottom lip. When his eyes opened, his pupils were still blown.

For a second he thought you were done.

Your right hand flew to his cock, and began tugging on it.

"Cher, I can't.. I-" His nose was crinkling and his brows were creasing. Poor baby.

"You'll take what I give you." You told him, as he grabbed into the sheets with one hand and onto you with the other.

"So- ah! I'm so sensitive." You used his cum as lube, not letting it go soft. Why put quick vampire refractory periods to waste?

"I know, baby, I know." You were talking to him so mean now, mocking him.

"But you're just gonna take it aren't you? You're gonna let me do it, because you love me and you want my attention."

"Yes!" He squeaked, trying not to let his body convulse. How cute. He was trying so hard to be a good boy for you. His chest muscles tensed and flexed with the effort. He buried his face in your neck, making cute, pathetic little sounds.

"I want you to come again for me." You told him, moving your hand faster.

"I don't know if I can." His voice was muffled as he spoke against your skin. "Not this soon after-"

"You will, because I told you to."

"Okay... Okay." He would say yes to anything right now. His brain had short circuited, and he couldn't muster even a single thought.

You kept stroking him, and he kept whimpering into your neck, growing louder and louder. He was getting closer already, again.

"You gonna come again for me baby?"

"Mmm!" You smiled, watching his cock as you jerked him quicker.

"Gonna-!" At the last second he ripped his head from the nook between your shoulder and neck to watch his cock cum. You pumped it as it shot all over himself again. He was trembling and was moaning, so girly it didn't even sound like him.

You took your hand away, and lapped at it again, tasting the blood. You used it to wipe Lestat's hair from his blood-sweat covered forehead. He was panting, mouth open wide.

"You did so good for me. So good." You caressed his forehead as he came down from his orgasm.

"I love you." He whispered through the heavy breaths.

"I love you too. But you're still a brat."

He laughed at that.

"I promised you something..." His throat worked, hoarse, "something about me using my mouth to make you come, over and over." His fangs had retracted, and he smiled, eyes still closed. "Yeah, I think I remember you saying that." When he finally did let his eyes fall open he looked so breathtaking. Cheeks red. Eyes glossy, small red tears in the corners. Blood on his lip from biting it so hard. And then, suddenly, he kissed you, grabbing your face with both his hands. You laughed into the kiss, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pushed you onto your back.

He kept kissing you, just on your lips for a short while, before letting his mouth travel to your nipples. He alternated between the two, using his fingers to play with the one he wasn't sucking. And just when you felt you couldn't take anymore, and you needed to be touched between your legs, he moved his body there.

You stared at him, looking up at you with wide eyes, and you buried your hands in his hair.

"My beautiful boy." He looked like an angel. Or maybe, more accurately, a devil. He was perfect.

He kissed your inner thighs gently, before giving your cunt a lick from bottom to top. You sighed from the pleasure. He took your clit into your mouth and suckled at it, using one of his hands to finger you all the while.

"You're so fucking wet, cher." He parted from you for a second to whisper, amazed. You hadn't even noticed, too distracted and consumed by giving Lestat pleasure to think of your own. He kept at it, sucking your clit, occasionally giving it very gentle nibbles, and fingering you. You got lost in it. In him. And with the images from a few moments ago devouring all your thoughts, him writhing as you fucked into him, him spreading his hole for you, him cumming so beautifully twice, it didn't take long for you to get close yourself.

You told him when you were on the edge, and he quickened the pace just a bit, to push you over. Those few seconds before it hit were divine, heightened by Lestat humming against your clit. And then you came, hands clutching into Lestat's golden waves.

He didn't stop, not until your body felt limp under him. Your eyes were shut tight, and Lestat surprised you with another kiss.

Despite what literally everyone around him may suggest - Carmy, Sydney, Tiff, even Nat- he’s not stupid. He might do stupid things, sure, but who doesn’t? Surely everyone in Chicago has also taken a shower in black mold particles at ungodly hours of the morning after sticking a broom through the ceiling. 

Surely. 

Okay, so he’s not a genius. No kitchen prodigy like Carm or Syd, not some gajillionaire like Tiff’s boyfriend. But he’s not dumb. Which is why he finds himself standing in front of the most cutesy, decked-out, offensively charming bakery he’s ever seen in his life. 

Tiff’s been not-so-subtly pestering Richie about Eva lately. Not that Eva is ever a bother to him – if anything, she’s pretty much the only sunshine in his life these days. With The Bear’s renovations sapping all of his energy, everything he’s hearing through the grapevine about Frank, and, hell, his own conscious breathing down his neck about purpose, he takes time with Eva where he can fit it. 

Which, he guesses, is basically the problem. The past two times he’s called Tiff, she’s ribbed him about pulling his weight when it comes to Eva’s school events. He can’t pick her up from school, most days, so the responsibility falls on Tiff. Beyond that, Richie’s not sure how helping out in a first-grade classroom is exactly in his wheelhouse. But Tiff’s not backing down, and he loves his daughter, so he decides to bite the bullet and ask Eva if there’s anything going on at school she wants him there for. Beats walking back to Tiff with his tail between his legs to ask for information, he thinks. He figures it won’t be that bad. Parent-teacher conferences? Light work. Talent show or school play? A breeze. Low risk, high-reward type shit. Because what else did six-year-olds even do at school? He’d helped Eva with spelling practice before, and that was about it. His brain took a long moment to catch up to reality when, in response to his question, Eva excitedly told him that her class was putting on a bake sale with the rest of the elementary school in two weeks. It took him all of thirty seconds to realize how overwhelmingly fucked he was.

Every avenue his brain took turned into a dead end. His only potential savior, his knight in shining armor in the form of Marcus Brooks, is in the wind. Curse fucking Copenhagen and Marcus being a baby genius. Like everyone else around him these days, it seems like. He doesn’t even bother asking Syd and Carmy, knowing he’d only get sympathy from one and a fuck off from the other. No baked goods to save his ass from failure. He’s so, so close to just hanging his head and telling Tiff he fucked up, or worse, asking her for help. But that option goes poof too, because the next time he’s on the phone with her, she beats him to the punch with an upbeat recounting of how overjoyed Eva is to have her dad at school soon. And now that he knows that? He’s locked in. There’s no way he’s going to let her down, not without hurting her feelings and embarrassing himself in the process. He knows one thing for sure: he’s going to have to knock this out of the park. This means he needs to find a foolproof way to get something Eva and her friends will like for the bake sale. No box mixes - he could probably figure it out, but making enough for multiple classes of kids? More cupcakes would be burnt to a crisp than servable, he’s sure. No storebought shit, either. He just knows Tiff will somehow get wind of it and find a way to mention it one too many times in passing conversation. He simply refuses to be the dad who shows up to one singular school event and gets judged to death by the elitist moms for his Jewel-Osco cookies. It stumps him every time he tries to think about it, but Richie is committed to finding a solution. 

Maybe committed is a little strong. Almost 100% of his brain power (and his patience) goes toward The Bear every day, and trying to come up with a source for Eva’s bake sale brings him nothing but additional stress the minute he ponders it for more than a second. He knows it’ll be worth it; the process is just less than ideal. And the deadline is starting to close in on him. 

Which is precisely why Richie’s contemplating becoming a God-fearing Christian when the answer jumps out at him in the midst of a renovation supply run. Literally jumps out at him. He’s on his way back from the Ace Hardware ten blocks west of The Bear, walking because Carmy’s apprehended the van for god knows what yet again.

The shitty plastic bag full of spackle, caulk, and paint samples is slung over his wrist, tumbling down to settle in the crook of his bent elbow. He’s almost back to The Bear when the stupid 10-cent bag catches on something and rips wide open, sending all his supplies rolling out onto the sidewalk. Fuck, he’s muttering under his breath (read: loud enough for the entire street to hear), fuck me, literally fuck me. Stupid fucking bag, that’s capitalism at its fucking finest-

He manages to gather the strewn renovation materials haphazardly into his arms, ready to resume his commute back to the restaurant as he looks dejectedly back at the gutted plastic bag, still blowing in the breeze from its prison on the metal curve of a sign hook. Dough Boy.

Wait a fucking minute. Richie looks up, putting two and two together as he rips the bag remnants off the sign. Creamy white paint exterior, sky blue pinstriped awning, large windows underlined by overflowing flowerboxes. The words fresh-baked daily curl across one window in pink paint. Pastels affront his vision from every angle, his senses on overdrive before he’s even stepped inside. It was like he’d just stepped into a Gilmore Girls wet dream, but right now, it was the answer to all his prayers. It’s fate. It has to be, or at least Richie thinks so, and he’s sending a kiss up to the Big Man in heaven above just in case. Maybe he’s finally being done a solid after what seems like a never-ending cycle of wake up, work, lose his shit, sleep, repeat. He clumsily pushes the door open with his hip, refusing to let his armful of repair shit keep him from finally triumphing over the bake sale situation. A bell rings when he slips inside, tinny and high-pitched, something that would typically make him want to rip his hair out but sounds like music to his ears right now. 

And damn, the minute the door closes behind him, he knows he’s made the right choice. The inside of the bakery matches it’s outside – all light colors and pretty, flowy designs. Most of the tables are filled, people of all ages talking and laughing at a volume that rises over the soft music lilting in the background. It’s precisely the type of place Eva would love, just like the “pink flower ice cream store”, an ice creamery with pink floral wallpaper she always begs him to take her to. More than all that, it smells fucking good, even from where he’s standing. Richie’s mentally floating toward the counter like the proverbial cartoon man levitating toward a pie already. 

Arms still precariously balancing all the supplies, he sidles up to the counter, eyes appraising the countless types of baked goods in the case nearby. His brain is running a mile a minute, spinning with thoughts about which ones Eva would like and how looking at all this shit is making him hungry. There’s every type of thing he could imagine - breads and croissants, cookies, cupcakes, and a fuck-ton of stuff with French-looking names he can’t even pronounce in his head. 

Wait, shit, he realizes suddenly, what kind of stuff do people even eat at bake sales?

“Hi! How can I help you?” A cheerful voice cuts through his internal monologue. He whips his head up, ready to explain his current dilemma, but instead finds that all semblance of coherent thought has promptly exited his head. 

Your hair’s pulled back, a pink pen tucked behind one ear that wobbles a bit precariously from the force of your sweet smile. You look about Carmy’s age, but without any of the same stress signs – no frown lines dug into your cheeks or forehead. Everything about you matches the bakery to a T - milky white sweater rolled up above the elbow, a light blue apron that matches the awning outside, dusted with flour catching his eye first. There are little initials embroidered near the top hem, professional in the non-pretentious sort of way that makes him willing to bet money on the fact that you’re the top dog at this establishment. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, expression cheerful and expectant, clearly waiting for him to fill the silence with an answer. 

Richie blinks a few times, as if trying to windshield-wipe his brain.  Some light’s turned off up there, because all thoughts of his original mission seem locked behind some uncrackable vault. Holy fucking wow. Maybe he needs to get out more. 

“Uh, yeah, um-” Jesus fucking Christ. “I, uh, hi,” The urge to parrot back your greeting overcomes him, and he’s mentally facepalming so hard when the stilted words leave his mouth. He’s suddenly keenly aware of the fact that he looks so fucking idiotic carrying all this home-improvement paraphernalia into his arms with no vessel to put it in. Fucking fuck. 

You, for all his scrambling, are patient, waiting quietly for him to find the words, although he doesn’t miss the way your smile twitches wider when the returned hello tumbles its way out of his mouth. This is his own personal hell. 

After what feels like years to Richie, he gets himself to utter a sentence with a decent amount of sense to it. “I’m, uh- my daughter has a bake sale at school comin’ up, and I’m looking to find something for her to bring.”

You nod as if he’d been that coherent the first time, not missing a beat. “Okay! What were you thinking? Cookies, cupcakes, or maybe an assortment–?” He’s struck by how happy you seem. Not in a fake, telemarketer sort of way, but like you genuinely really like your job. Unfortunately, that thought gives way to the fact that your question reminds him just how clueless he is about this shit. 

“Uh… I don’t-” he responds clumsily, trailing off in a way he hopes conveys the sentiment help me, please. The hardware store supplies jostle in his arms as he fields the frustration of not being able to fidget with his hands. 

Your smile softens a bit, like you’ve just read every single thought in his head word-for-word. “First one?” You ask knowingly, and there’s no pity there, but Richie still kind of feels like you might also think him stupid.

He finds it in himself to huff out a laugh, if only to fill some space. “Yeah,” he admits, “and I’m not exactly a whiz in the kitchen, so…” You smile wider at his laugh, which he greatly appreciates, the tension in his muscles dialing back a little. “No worries,” you say easily, “how old’s your daughter?” He’s surprised by the question a bit. He figures it makes sense, considering a six-year-old’s palette is bound to be different than a fifteen-year-old's, but the care with which you ask takes him aback. 

“She’s six.” You nod, like his answer just unlocked the secrets to the universe. You slip the pen out from behind your ear and begin to scribble things on a notepad. Richie’s eyes are glued ot your hand until your voice once again snaps him out of his thoughts.

“I could do cupcakes? Most kids never turn down a cupcake, and I can do half chocolate and half vanilla for good measure. Or, if your daughter has any favorite desserts, I can do that too.” You look up from the paper, offering another smile, and he almost hates how much more at ease you put him each time you do that. He forces himself to think about your question instead. Is there anything specific Eva would want? Her favorite sweet treat was definitely ice cream, and he was smart enough to know that it was not a bake sale food. Besides, you were right. Kids love cupcakes. Everyone loves cupcakes.

“Cupcakes’re great, thanks.” He fills in, to which you nod again, turning back to the notepad. “How many did you want to order?” You ask, and once again, Richie’s floundering for an answer. There were twenty or so kids in Eva’s classroom, if he had to ballpark it.  Probably quadruple that in the elementary school, at the very least, but every other kid was also supposed to bring an item as well. Guessing at the math was making his head hurt.

“Uh, maybe…thirty? forty? I dunno, her class is like twenty, but I guess everyone’ll want one, probably. And other kids are going.” He’s trying really hard to sound like he knows what he’s talking about. You nod again, and he’s not exactly sure if you’re just giving him the benefit of being an active listener or if you actually think his estimate has some merit. 

“Three dozen feels like a good number,” you say as you continue to scribble on the notepad. He almost laughs at the way you say it – casual, with enough levity to make it feel like you’re figuring it out with him, instead of just gently guiding him toward the right conclusion. Once you’re done writing, you look up at him again. “When’s the bake sale?”

“‘Bout a week and a half from now. The 15th, I’m pretty sure.”

“Okay,”

you say, continuing to write on your little paper while maintaining eye contact in a way that’s kind of…scarily impressive. “I can just take your name and number down, and I’ll give you a call in a couple of days to confirm the order and get some payment information, and then I’ll call again 48 hours before so we can find a good time for you to come pick them up!” 

Richie’s grateful for the fact you don’t ask for payment immediately – not because he can’t afford it, but because his wallet is currently buried somewhere deep in his jeans pocket and reaching for it right now would basically require him to immediately acquire the skill of juggling seven items at once. He nods, rattling off his name and number when prompted, and watches as you rip off the page from your notepad, fold it neatly, and slip it into your apron pocket.

“You’re all set!” You tell him cheerfully, and it takes Richie a couple of seconds standing there awkwardly to compute that means it’s time for him to leave.

“Thanks, uh...y/n,” he says again, your name slow on his lips as he squints to read your name tag from where he's standing, “for the help, and everything.” You smile wider, if that’s even possible, and he finds himself smiling too, a real one that stretches most of the width of his face. He’s just turning to leave when your voice pipes up once more, halting him in place. 

“Richie?” You’re calling his name, and the sound of it sends a jolt of shock through him, even though he literally just gave you his name for the order. His head turns to look at you, and he’s equally as surprised to find your arm outstretched, a paper bag in your extended hand. It’s much thicker than the lucky stupid Ace Hardware one had been, and the thought makes him realize why you’re giving it to him.

“For your stuff. Figured you might need one,” you explain as he reaches the same conclusion himself. Again, there’s no sarcasm in your voice. No teasing, or judgment, or any of that, just an unfiltered attempt to help him out. After you already spoon-fed him plans for the bake sale he’s supposed to be participating in. He can feel the tips of his ears start to go warm, quickly distracting himself from the feeling by carefully dumping all the items into the bag you're holding open before taking it from your hands. 

“Thanks,” he says again, his smile going a little bit sheepish. “Seriously. Wasn’t looking forward to three more blocks holding all that shit.” He internally cringes at the curse word that’s so easily integrated into his vocabulary. He doesn’t know what kind of person you are, if that’s the sort of thing that might bother you. Usually, he wouldn’t give a flying fuck – his sailor mouth is going to get him in trouble with people, stranger or not, but for some reason, the embarrassment is creeping its way back up his neck. 

You take it in stride, laughing softly at his comment about carting all his unwieldy items back through the streets of Chicago. “Happy to help,” you say, and the words reverberate through his skull all the way out the door and down the street as he leaves the warmth of the bakery and resumes his walk.

There’s a bit more pep in his step after crossing off the most significant question mark on his list of to-dos, and his arms are grateful for a more efficient way to carry his purchases. He hasn’t checked his phone, but he’s sure Carmy’s going to be even more annoyed with him than usual for taking his sweet ass time to get back to The Bear. He doesn’t mind, though - he knows he’ll probably be busy replaying every word of the conversation he just had with you in his head while he gets lectured by Carm and Nat. 

He’s no idiot, after all.

taglist :: @melonlovesthings @dumbbandpoetic @bigblueworld

a/n :: there was an ask in my inbox for this and idk where tf it went but hopefully whichever anon that was finds this!!

You head back to what you were doing before Hughie’s interruption, unloading the takeout you'd brought onto the table. In the midst of placing the burgers and fries and various condiments in the center, you hear the muffled sound of an engine pull up outside and then fizzle off. Car doors slamming follow accompanied by some voices. If you'd been paying attention, you might have realized an additional person chatted along with your expected two.

But you don't catch that until the door swings open. Before you can look, the deep baritone slices across the space right into your ears.

"So, is she part of your team too?" the man asks.

You freeze. Your heart drops into your stomach. It's almost as if your body has a biological reaction to that low, rumbly way of speaking. You recognize it anywhere. It played over speakers and filled your bedroom most nights of the week when you were younger. The face it belonged to had been plastered across every surface that could hold a poster.

But it can't be his. He's been dead since before you were born. For some odd reason, your mind must have decided today would be a fun day to play tricks on you. To make you think the man of your teenage dreams had been resurrected and brought to you through some sort of star-crossed luck.

You shake your head and swallow down the ridiculous idea before turning to face them. But when you do, he is right there.

Soldier Boy stands between your teammates in all his glory, his brows raised as he assesses you. He sports modern civilian clothes rather than his uniform. It's kind of off-putting to see him in something so current, but the discrepancy doesn't keep your heart from racing. Every other part of him looks just like he used to on your tv screen. His features are still perfectly sculpted. His hair sits on his head soft as ever.

You honestly think you might faint. Your knuckles grip the back of a chair to the point of cramping as you stare at him like he'd risen from the grave right before your very eyes.

"Is she mute or something?" he asks next, still looking unimpressed with you.

Hughie glances between you and him in confusion, not understanding what's stolen your words away. But on the opposite side of Soldier Boy, Butcher eyes you with a small smirk on his face. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the wall before walking over to you and patting your shoulder.

"She talks. Must be feeling a bit shy 'round a stranger," he says.

The physical contact seems to snap you out of your little starstruck daze. You straighten up and shrug his hand off.

"I- I'm not shy," you stutter and smooth your clothes out. "I just um... I think I recognize you from like some old movies my mom used to like. Caught me off guard. Sorry."

A shaky breath expels from your lungs, and you hope the cover-up is enough to stave off any further questions. Luckily, that seems to be true as a grin spreads across his face.

"Your mom, huh? She still around by chance?"

You bristle at the sleazy way he asks the question. It's ridiculous to feel jealous over his interest in a lie you made up, but you still feel it prickling at you.

"No," you answer before turning back to the table to empty the rest of the fast food bag.

You shoot a glare at Butcher who's still grinning at you. Of course. This was why he hadn't told you. It wasn't part of his normal failure to consider anyone else's feelings or his typical manipulative ways. He did this to fuck with you.

He was the only one who knew about your soft spot for Soldier Boy. Though, soft spot was an understatement. Attachment might have been more appropriate. Undying love and devotion also good possibilities.

You adored the guy. Part of your lie had been true, you'd gotten it from your mother. She introduced you to his movies and showed you all the tv appearances she'd taped. You inherited her small collection of posters and t-shirts, and styled your room to reflect your Soldier Boy centered world. Eventually, your obsession superseded the one she experienced in her younger years. That was probably because her love for Soldier Boy fizzled out not too long later when she met your father. Yours stayed strong as you kept to yourself and focused on getting through school.

You'd confessed all of this to your team leader one night after too many drinks. Years had passed between now and the height of your obsession, so your drunken-self figured it was fine. The information came out hiccuped amongst a flood of giggling. You had found it so funny, that you had been so hot for a supe when now, your entire life revolved around taking them down.

Honestly you thought, or at least hoped, that Butcher hadn't cared enough to remember it. But clearly you were wrong.

The four of you sit down to eat the food you bought. You're across from Hughie while Butcher takes the seat opposite Soldier Boy. He obviously finds it amusing to dangle the other man in front of you, taunting you with what he knows you want but will never admit to.

You try your hardest not to stare, but it's a challenge. You're not eating much. Your appetite pretty much vanished with the shock of his arrival. Instead you rest your cheek on the heel of your palm, attempting to keep your eyes on the table and not his face.

The whole thing is just too weird. It's like you've been transported to the fantasy world you used to imagine to fall asleep. In there, Soldier Boy, or Ben as you called him in your dreams, went everywhere with you. He took you to the mall, accompanied you to the family gathering you didn't wanna go to, sat beside you on the bench at the park while you listened to music alone. Imaginary Ben stroked your hair when you failed a test, told you he loved you when you cried, and rubbed your stomach when you had cramps.

He was always there for you in those years, filling the void everyone else's lack of attention left. 

That was until he started to fade away. He popped up less and less as you adapted to life and found other people to fill your time. And then one day he just wasn't there anymore. You strolled through the mall with your friends. You went to see your family without anyone on your arm. You sat on the bench alone.

You outgrew the posters and the t-shirts. It all went into a storage bin tucked away in your closet. He went with it. Not thrown away, but no longer a part of your days. Looking back, it feels like you had two different lives — the one when you loved Soldier boy and the other where you remembered him.

But he's actually here now, sitting a foot away from you. Only everyone else can see this version of him, and he writes his own dialogue. Somehow you're just supposed to pretend like it's normal for you.

The guys chatter amongst themselves, but you barely hear it. You consider asking Butcher if you can leave. You'd do damn near anything else to get out of this situation. Your younger self would probably slap you across the face, absolutely maim you for fumbling your chance with him, but you just can't take it. It's like he's radiating humiliation and shame that projects only onto you.

Before you can speak up though, Butcher and Hughie rise from the table. You look up at them, desperation glimmering over your irises.

"Sorry, love. You're on soldier-sittin' duty for the next few hours," Butcher tells you as he goes to grab his coat.

"It's just until we get back," Hughie adds, sensing your discomfort with the situation.

Pouting and rising from your chair, you follow after them. You ignore Hughie and stare right at Butcher putting on his trench coat. "Can I come with you instead? Please?" you ask.

"Why? Thought you would be excited to get some one-on-one time with your-" he starts but you cut him off.

"It's too weird," you whisper. "Plus, he’s not gonna listen to me anyways. Can I please come with you?"

"'Fraid not," he tuts. "This one's for me and Hughie. You'll be fine for a couple hours."

"Butcher," you say, on the verge of begging.

But he holds no sympathy for you. Hughie gives you a kinder look. "Just put on the tv. He seemed pretty interested in filling in his gaps about the world on the drive here."

You weakly nod, watching them gather their remaining things before departing. Their absence leaves you and him alone in the room. It's quiet except for the crinkling of his wrapper and the thundering beat of your heart.

Turning back towards him, you force yourself to return to the room and clean up the other trash Butcher and Hughie had left behind. You gather the greasy papers while trying to keep your hands steady. They're shaking pretty bad, but moving them disguises it. At least you hope so. You don't want him seeing how nervous you are. It's stupid and pointless, but a small piece of you still wants to look cool and collected in front of him.

When you finish, you head over to the small couch that sits against the wall. You can feel his eyes on you. One thing you realize now that your juvenile fantasies failed to account for was that you really had no clue what to talk about with him. What was there to say to someone born nearly a hundred years ago? What could you bring up when he'd missed the last forty years of life? You decide to fill the silence with what Hughie had suggested.

"Do you wanna watch tv?" you ask.

"Not really, but what else is there to do in this shit hole," he says and shrugs.

You nod, reaching for the remote and flicking the screen to life. The first station is on a commercial break. You switch it to the next which is playing a basketball game. Finally, you get to the numbers playing movies and scroll through to find a good one.

While you occupy yourself with the television, he stands from his chair and heads in your direction. He plops down on the couch next to you, spreading his thighs and draping his arm across the back of the sofa. You keep your eyes locked on the screen ahead. There’s no way you’re gonna look over at his open lap. If you do that, you won’t be able to fight off the heat that keeps trying to rise into your cheeks.

You can still feel him looking at you though. The constant weight of his curiosity makes it hard not to shift around in your seat. Your thumb keeps tapping through the channels until you come across one showing something you recognize. It takes you a few seconds to place it, but as soon as you do, you go to skip it.

Before you can, he straightens up. "Wait- what's this? This looks familiar," he says, eyes narrowing.

You glance over at him, blinking a few times before giving an answer. "Um yeah... it's the remake of Red Thunder that came out a few years ago," you explain. You work hard to keep your voice even.

He looks over at you, astounded. "Remake? What do you mean remake? They just did it over again?"

You nod. "Yeah, y'know. Like how Scarface is a remake of the old one from the thirties... Like that."

He scoffs. "They tried to remake my movie?" he asks, still in disbelief. He examines the tv again. "Which one's supposed to be me?"

You wait a few seconds, looking for the updated version of him. "Um... that one," you say and point to the younger actor dressed in Soldier Boy gear.

He laughs, the sound booming across the room. "That guy? That's who they chose to play me?" he mocks. "Jesus, if that's the type of man you kids think a hero is no wonder the world is in the state it's in."

"Yeah..." you say, a little smile rising to your lips. Your nerves begin to settle. This isn't so bad when you keep your mind off your feelings… even if he does talk a little bit like your grandfather. "I like the original way better," you continue.

"Oh do you now?” he asks. That start of a smirk on his face is nearly audible.

"Mhm. This one is just kind of boring," you answer, eyes flitting between him and the screen. "They took all the romance stuff out, and we're not in the cold war anymore so the bad guys are just some vague, random evil army. Plus, I don't understand why they didn't just use one of Vought's new supes instead of imitating you." 

The words flow easily, just as they did to all your friends when the movie had first come out. You don't have as much trouble expressing yourself when the topic of discussion is one of your favorite subjects.

He nods as if he's genuinely interested in your points before commenting. "I thought your mother was the fan?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, your heart rate picking up again under the spotlight of his attention. It wasn't too big of a slip up. You can play it off like you had with your initial anxiety. Though you can't focus enough to answer while gazing into his cocky eyes, so you look down at your lap.

"She was. But I saw some of your movies too. Doesn't take a genius to know they were better than this stuff," you shrug.

There's a little pause. Your heart beats impossibly faster. But he just chuckles and turns back to the tv. "You sure you've only seen some of my movies? Sounds like you know more than a casual fan," he goads.

Hesitation creeps up on you. Maybe this is your opportunity to tell the truth. You can just confess your thing for him like it's an embarrassing story. Maybe then it won't hold so much power over you and this will be a whole lot easier. Your palms flex against your thighs as you steel yourself.

"Well... more than some. I've seen a lot. I just didn't wanna weird you out or anything," you admit, doing your absolute best to seem casual. Maybe they should give you the Oscar they never offered your beloved.

"There you go. Be honest," he praises, and you think you feel something throb between your legs. You glance up at him for a second before your eyes drop back down. He shakes his head. "It doesn't ‘weird me out.’ I'm used to the attention y'know. I lived with it longer than you've been alive."

"Yeah, but I didn't want things to be uncomfortable. Make you think I was like obsessed or something."

"Well are you like obsessed or something?’ he teases. Something in his tone tells you he already knows the answer.

"No," you deny immediately.

"It would make sense if you were. It'd explain why you're so nervous," he says, his voice smooth as polished marble.

"I'm not nervous," you defend.

"C'mon, sweetheart. You can't look at me for more than a second, and I can hear your heart beating faster than a baby bunny runnin' from a wolf."

You practically swoon when he calls you sweetheart, but you force your eyes up and onto his. No matter how many butterflies erupt in your stomach, you're intent on being professional. That little childish crush is a thing of the past, you're sure of it. You're an adult now with a real passion for your job.

"It's just that you're kind of intimidating," you reason. "It's weird seeing a movie star in person."

"A movie star? You flatter me."

Rolling your eyes, an involuntary huff slips from your lips. "You know what I mean. It's just different talking to you like in real life and not just seeing you on a screen. That's it."

"Is that all? I don't know if I believe you, honey. I recognize that look on your face," he says.

"What look? I don't have a look," you say.

"No, you do. You have that look I used to get from the girls hanging around outside set. They'd stand there with their little autograph books, waiting to get a glimpse of Soldier Boy," he says, eyes almost twinkling as he reminisces. "Only every time I'd go over to sign something for 'em, they could never get their eyes off their shoes. Always looking down, stumbling over their words. I don't typically go for you younger girls, but it was pretty cute."

You feel your cheeks heating up along with a small smile forming on your lips. Just like that, your commitment to professionalism has started to wane. It's dumb, but you can't help yourself. He basically called you cute. You just count yourself lucky you haven’t started giggling.

"Yep they used to do that too. That little smile," he continues.

He's making you malfunction with only a handful of words. Your head spins, but you're powerless to stop it. You can't help reacting like one of those girls because, inside, part of you is still one of them.

"C'mere, sweetheart," he says next before patting his lap.

You know you shouldn't. If Butcher and Hughie came back and saw you like this, it would be the humiliation of a lifetime. But you can't resist him. It's easy to declare your commitment to acting professional when the situation is only a hypothetical. When it becomes real, presented right before your eyes, it's a different story entirely.

Tentatively, you scoot towards him, eyeing his thighs. His hand comes to your back between your shoulders to urge you along.

"I'm not gonna bite you, bunny," he says with that action-hero smile.

More timidity pumps through you at the repetition of that term. You find the courage to close the rest of the gap and crawl into his lap. His arms welcome you, shifting you around on his thighs into a comfortable position.

"Perfect. Feels better like this, doesn't it?" he says.

That palm on your back strokes up and down. He runs it along the length of your spine, bringing a chill over every area it touches. You keep your gaze on your hands in your lap until his fingers tap beneath your chin and redirect your vision onto him.

"Don't hide those pretty eyes from me. That's how I know what you're feelin’. They give so much away.”

You honestly believe you're seconds away from melting into a puddle, from slumping over against his chest and becoming some boneless rag doll for him to play with. You can only imagine how stupid you look if even half of the lovesickness you feel reflects on your face.

"Tell me — have you ever thought about this before? I bet you have," he murmurs.

Of course he's right. You'd envisioned yourself on this very lap countless times when you were younger. But a part of you still clings to the idea that you should hide how absolutely pathetic you are for him. You shrug.

"I guess..." you answer. The words come out airy, almost as if your voice is getting away from you.

He simply smirks at the reply while rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth over your chin. "Yeah? You imagined sitting my lap, hm? Dreamed of me holding you close?"

"Something like that," you reply, feeling as though your throat was constricting.

He chuckles at your squeak of a reply. "Well, how do I match up to your dreams? Am I everything you hoped I would be?" he asks. His voice drops, and there's no question about what he wants from you now. Something you would give without hesitation.

"You're doing a pretty good job," you say. You try to adjust yourself to face more towards the tv, but he keeps you pinned in place.

"I haven't really done anything yet," he says.

A little bout of silence rises between you two. Neither of you say anything. The only sound is the hushed chatter of the tv in the background. Despite the lack of conversation, his eyes stay on your face. His fingers caress your cheek before smoothing down to your neck.

"How'd a pretty girl like you get involved with those two jackasses who brought me here anyways?" he asks.

"It's a long story..." you say. Your skin is on fire everywhere his fingers trace. They're working over your throat down onto your collarbone and shoulders. 

"Too long for you to care about right now, yeah?" he asks, completely smug.

You nod though because smug or not, he's correct about that. Recounting how you got involved with Butcher ordinarily wasn't too hard. But in this moment, on his lap, it seems like the effort of a lifetime for your foggy brain.

"You're too soft and sweet for hunting supes," he says. Despite poking fun at you, he remains gentle and soft, careful not to really upset you and break you out of this docile little haze he's got you in.

"It's not so bad,” you say.

"Sure, sure. You're strong and independent, can do anything a man can and all that. I'm just saying-"

Talk talk talk. So much talking, and you can barely focus on a word he's saying. Your eyes are lingering on his lips. They look so soft and smooth. Nothing’s touched them in forty years. He’s definitely noticed your stare. And you know that means you should stop. You can’t though. You want it, and he’s practically offering it up to you.

He continues speaking, however. “- I can think of a few things you’d be much better at. Things that don’t involve your little hands getting bloody.”

“Like what?” you start to ask.

“Maybe something like this.”

That hand on your chin tugs you closer. Before you register what’s happening, his mouth is on yours. Electricity zaps all through your body like a live wire. You lean into it without thinking, pressing closer and molding your lips to his.

He chuckles as your arms slide up to loop around his neck. You swallow up the low, rough sound, not disconnecting from him for a moment. His hand flattens out along your jawline. It allows him to hold you right where he wants you for a series of more kisses, all of which you reciprocate.

“Atta girl,” he mumbles in the brief interval where you’re forced to drawback for breath. “Not so shy now, are ya?”

You shake your head before diving in for more. He receives you by opening his mouth. His tongue gently flicks over your lip. He slides it against your own as things become deeper. The heat inside you no longer holds the sting of shame or embarrassment. It aches now. It burns with pure want, clustering in the pit of your stomach rather than in your face.

He leans back into the sagging couch. His hands ensure you move along with him. With a firm grip on your waist, he boosts you closer and shifts you around so your thighs are parted across his own.

A small whimper leaves you. You can’t help it. Your bodies are even closer now. Your center is pressed right against his lap, right where his cock is. You can’t feel it yet, but the idea is enough to send phantom sensations rippling through you.

You feel his lips curling into a smirk against yours. Those hands leave your waist. They dip lower, sliding across your curves to grip onto the plush flesh of your ass. That gets a real moan out of you. Your head falls back, away from his mouth. He doesn’t let you go too far though. A second later, his affections move to your neck. His kisses are hot and wet, tongue laving over your pulse point and teeth nipping sensitive skin.

Just a few simple touches, and his strength shines through each one. The firmness with which his fingers knead your ass is unlike anyone else you’ve ever felt. You’ve been with muscular guys before, but nothing like this. Strong is too weak a word to describe the undercurrent flowing through his grasp.

You roll your hips down in an exploratory swivel, something faint to see if you could find some friction. He aides you. His fingers tighten around your ass, pushing you down harder and then dragging your core back over his lap. 

You suck in a little gasp.

“That feel good, huh? Your pretty pussy’s getting wet for me, isn’t she?” he asks with another rotation of your hips.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. You push your upper-half closer to him so that your chest squishes against his own.

To your dismay, he stops you from fully holding on. He nudges you backwards and boosts you off his lap entirely so that you’re standing on your feet. A whine builds at the front of your mouth, but before you can protest, his fingers come to the button on your jeans.

He flicks it open, looking up at you as he yanks your pants down. “Been forty years since I got some tail. Let’s not waste any more time,” he says in explanation.

You nod along and step out of each of your pant legs, kicking the garment aside. You also take your t-shirt off. The fabric lands on top of your discarded jeans. Once you’re left in just your bra and panties, he tugs you back down.

Your bodies come together with a thud. The material of his sweats grazes your tingly inner-thighs. Before you can get back into rutting yourself on him, he runs his palms over your legs. They’re pretty smooth for someone of his age and experience. You always imagined something a little rougher, something that would contrast against the smooth nature of your own flesh. But forty years in a cryo-tank hadn’t given his skin much opportunity to become weathered.

His hands find your ass again, one coming down to give it a quick smack. Your hips jolt in surprise at the sudden sting. He soothes it away by rubbing over the heated area. His fingers dig into your malleable skin harder now that it’s bare to him.

“Skin’s baby-soft,” he murmurs mid-grope. “Been wanting someone rougher to come and mark it up?”

Your eyes flicker over his mocking smirk, heat filling your face. You grind yourself on him again with a whine. It feels so much better with your clothing out of the way. Even though the thin cotton barrier of your panties keeps you from rubbing down on him raw, the material is skimpy enough that it doesn’t impede. Instead it adds a little extra spark to the building pressure between your legs. Your eyes roll towards the back of your head, fluttering as you rock yourself forward and back.

He helps out just like before. His hands rein your movements into a steady rhythm. In between your bodies, his bulge starts to form. With each swipe of your covered cunt across his lap, you feel it becoming more and more prominent; hard and solid right up against your soaked folds.

“Just like that, get yourself ready for me,” he praises with another slap to your backside. “I’ll teach you how to really ride.”

You moan while biting your lip. Your hips work faster on him. Being so close, so lost in his feel and scent, has freed you of your previous trepidation. You’ve lost the ability to be stuck in your head with him like this.

He shifts you over slightly so that you’re lined up with the flat top of his thigh. It makes no difference to you. You keep your hips moving like nothing’s changed, grinding your throbbing clit down onto the firm muscles in his leg.

“Fuck,” you whimper. Your arms wrap over his shoulders once more. You squish your face into the crux of your elbow.

This time he lets you stay. He wraps an arm around you and lazily pats your back. “Good girl. Keep going. I gotcha.” His voice rumbles beside your ear. “Better than any dream, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you whimper. “Fuck- so much better. You- you’re perfect.”

While you continue to pleasure yourself on his leg, he lifts his hips off the couch just enough to push his sweats down towards his knees. He takes his cock out. It’s fully hard now, stiff in his hand as he gives it a few strokes.

You don’t notice at first, so wrapped up in your own bliss. But when he starts pulling you center again, you lift your head and glance down through heavy-lids.

You’d imagined him big, but seeing his cock for real makes you feel like you didn’t imagine big enough. His length is long and moderately thick. It’s flushed for you, the tip shimmery with the slightest bit of pre oozing out.

Your mouth waters. You want to taste him. You want to show him how badly you want it. You want to drop to your knees and think about nothing but how good he fits in your mouth.

But you know you have limited time. Butcher said you had a couple hours, but he’s also unreliable and a liar and purposefully fucking with you today so… you don’t want to take any chances.

He doesn’t seem too eager to have you like that anyways. He gives you a slight boost and pulls the soaked material of your panties to the side. The silky skin of his tip replaces the feeling. He drags himself across your entrance once, twice, and then nudges inside.

Your teeth sink into your lip as your head falls back slightly. You still can’t understand how this is real, but it undeniably is. The feeling of him working himself in, inch by inch, is not a figment of your imagination. That sweet stretch is absolutely real, and it consumes you more with every passing second until your ass is flush against his thighs once more.

He groans. “Shit, that’s good.” The muscles in his jaw flex. “Haven’t felt anything this nice in a longgg fucking time.”

Your walls flutter around him, eliciting another hiss from between his gritted teeth. Every noise he makes feels as good as a physical touch. You can’t get enough of hearing his voice strained with pleasure — pleasure you’re giving him.

You rise on his lap before sinking down. The rhythm is slow to start, a way for both of you to get used to the feeling. His hands squeeze your hips hard enough to bring a little burst of pain. You like it though. You want more of it.

He smacks your ass again. “C’mon, bunny. I know you can do better than that.”

Your hands plant themselves firmly on his shoulders, giving you the leverage needed to go a little faster. You bring yourself up and then down in quicker succession.

“That’s it. Such a good girl. Show daddy what you’ve been dreamin’ about.”

A shudder tears through you. Your muscles feel weak, like the simple string of praise had loosened them up completely. It doesn’t matter though. You start to bounce faster. Your body works with a mind of its own. It doesn’t let you slow down.

He slides in and out easily with how wet you are. Every drag of his cock on your insides is a straight shot of bliss. You feel even better when he grips your jaw and pulls you in for another few kisses. His mouth moves against your own before moving along your jawline to the space below your ear and then onto your neck and collarbone.

“Every inch of you tastes so fucking good. Like cherry pie,” he mumbles. “I’ll have to try out that pussy of yours next.”

“Mhm, fuck,” you whimper.

You keep riding as his teeth nip at one of your bra straps. The noises of your skin on his fill the small motel room. His tight grip on your waist helps you maintain the rhythm, pulling you down hard and boosting you up quick

The tip of his cock bumps up against your g-spot and gets a squeal out of you. Your nails dig into his shoulders as a way of bracing yourself. Neither of you slow down. You stutter slightly, but his hips lift to meet your movements. His fast thrusts strike at that angle over and over until your legs are quivering to the point that it truly feels like they might give out.

Luckily for you, he makes sure you don’t go toppling to the floor. The firm weight of his hands guide you closer to his body. Your weight shifting gives him the leverage to take over pumping in and out of you.

Your cheek hits his shoulder as your head fills with a warm, thick fog. He pounds into that sweet spot inside of you over and over. You can hear him grunting beside your ear, low and strained sounds that have your stomach full of butterflies.

“Pretty, pretty girl. You were worth the wait,” he mumbles alongside another deep thrust.

You whimper, lazily nodding your head against him. “You- mm- you were too.”

Sweet, tight heat coils in your belly. You know release is creeping up on you. Your eyes flutter shut, waiting for it to take over. You don’t notice his hand sliding between your bodies until you feel the pads of his fingertips rubbing at your sensitive clit. Your hips buck into the pleasure, and your walls clamp around him hard.

He lets out a deep laugh that only makes you tighten up more. 

“Yeah, that’s a good girl. I know what you need, babydoll. Let go for me. Let me see how good you look when you cum,” he says.

His fingers keep swiping at the little bud between your legs. Syrupy shots of bliss shoot through you, pushing you along, taking you to the edge. It’s no time at all before a round of shudders rack through you. Your arms latch around his neck while your thighs clamp on either side of his. Embarrassing strings of whines trickle into the air.

“I- I- fuck,” you whimper. “Feels so- so fucking good, god.”

The last word to leave your lips is pitchy and broken. Your release cuts it short. Moans replace any coherent praise you could have given him. You bury your face in his neck and pant against the warm skin. Vaguely, you can feel his arms tightening around you. One of his hands rests between your shoulders while the other stays at your waist. He keeps pumping up into you, fucking you through each and every wave of orgasmic euphoria.

He’s less clingy as he finishes. His hips snap up into you a few more times before he groans loud and deep. He maintains the solid grip he has on you, hands still clamped around your waist as he spills inside. His chest rises and falls under your own, puffing quick with the exertion of finishing.

Your eyes stay closed for another several seconds as the room goes quiet and your nerves stop buzzing. His thumb lazily drags back and forth in tiny lines along the base of your spine. That almost makes you shiver more than anything you did on top of him.

With the fog of lust clearing from your mind, you separate from his chest and sit up straight. He’s relaxed as can be, head tilted back against the couch, watching you with the same lazy appraisal you’re giving him. Now that your entire body isn’t thrumming with want for him, he doesn’t seem so intimidating. You know that’s not the truth, that he could still crush any of your bones with minimal effort if he so desired — but in a weird way, you just don’t feel like you’re perpetually looking up at him now. It’s not negative, but the mystique is gone. The man of your dreams doesn’t exist anymore. Soldier Boy is flesh and blood, sweaty and spent beneath you.

You roll off of him to the other side of the couch. You’re pretty sure not much time has passed, but you don’t want to risk anything. You’re gonna be well and dressed when Butcher and Hughie come back. The two of them will be none the wiser that anything out of the ordinary occurred.

He stretches for a moment before adjusting his own appearance.

“Gotta say, I’m in no rush to do whatever it is they thawed me out for now. You’re much more fun.” His voice breaks the silence.

A small smile cracks on your face. “Yeah… think I’ll be pretty distracted too.” You look over your shoulder at him.

Little comments bounce back and forth between the two of you with nothing substantial really being said. That’s ok with you. The fact that you really just fucked Soldier Boy has left your mind void of conversational skills.

After the two of you are back to looking plain as you had been before, your collective attention returns to what’s left of the Red Thunder remake still playing on the tv.

“Who’s the head honcho nowadays? Was it Homelander they said?” he asks you. “Guy must not be able to get it done if they’re remaking this old shit.”

You laugh softly and nod. “Yeah… I’m sure Butcher will tell you allll about him when they get back.”

The two of you watch the remainder of the movie, with you chattering here and there about things you don’t like or little facts you know. It’s nice in a weird way. Feels almost like something you would’ve dreamed up all those years ago.

Your little bubble of fantasy bursts when the car doors slam not too far from the motel room entrance. You sit up a little straighter, smooth out your hair a bit, trying to make sure you look totally normal before Hughie and Butcher walk in.

Soldier Boy makes no such effort. His eyes rest on the tv while his legs stay spread and his posture slightly slouched.

The door creaks open and shuts just as quick. Hughie enters first with Butcher right behind him. You keep your focus on the tv. But even though you’re not looking, you can feel Butcher’s curious stare.

“We got everything we needed, so we should be good to go for tonight,” Hughie says, not giving the two of you any real thought.

You nod and take the chance to look over at him walking towards the table all of you sat at earlier. In your sweep of the room, you catch Butcher’s gaze lingering on the two of you. 

“Seems like everything went well here,” he says. You know from that lilt in his tone the words aren’t as innocent as the untrained ear would believe. You know he wants to poke and prod and expose your new dirty little secret, but you won’t let him.

You shrug. “There wasn’t a ton to do here, so yeah,” you huff like it’s obvious.

His boots squish on the cheap carpeting as he takes a few steps closer. 

“So just smooth sailin’. Nothing out of the ordinary happened?”

You roll your eyes. Does he somehow know what you did? Is he sick enough to have left cameras or something?

“Yeah. Everything’s the same as you left it, boss.”

He laughs, brief and short, a prelude to his killing strike.

“’s funny cause I don’t remember your shirt bein’ on inside-out when we left.”

Your eyes zip down only to find he’s right. The seams on your shirt puff out as they do on the interior side of the fabric. Heat rushes into your face. You grab the lumpy throw pillow jammed between your hip and the couch and chuck it in his direction.

“Shut up,” you huff as you take off towards the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind you.

His laughter carries after you, and there’s a bit of Soldier Boy’s as well, lower and deeper in timbre.

“What can I say? She’s a super-fan.” His voice rumbles through the thin walls.

You want to be offended, to go back out there and tell him and Butcher off, to not put up with any of their shit. But hearing him talk about you in that sugar-coated, condescending tone of voice, openly acknowledging he’d been with you… it wouldn’t be honest. 

By the time the study session fizzled out around 6:30, their study session having devolved into Charlie making jokes about the headmaster’s eyebrows, Neil had convinced everyone to come hang out in his and Todd’s room. “Just for a bit,” he promised Cameron, who was already muttering about tomorrow’s Latin quiz. They spilled into the room in a tangle of books and laughter, Charlie immediately claiming Neil’s desk chair and Knox flopping dramatically onto Neil’s bed.

The door was slightly ajar, lamplight spilling into the hallway. Inside, Todd was on his own bed, cross-legged, leaning over his notebook, scribbling something in that small, neat handwriting of his. His pen moved quickly, his gaze fixed on the page, brow slightly furrowed in that way of his that meant he was concentrated.

He looked up at the noise, a quick, shy smile lighting up his face. “Hey,” he said, voice soft but warmer than it had been at the start of term. “Did I miss much?”

Neil grinned. “Not unless you count Cameron’s lecture on metaphor analysis. You’re safe.”

“Yeah, we didn’t even get through half of the poem before Pitts started complaining about hunger,” Cameron confirmed, rolling his eyes in that affectionately exhasperated way of his.

Todd ducked his head, brushing the back of his hand against his cheek in that unconscious way he did when he was embarrassed. “Right.”

That’s when Charlie’s gaze drifted toward Todd’s desk. Lying there, partially tucked under a folded Latin assignment, was an envelope: cream paper, handwriting that was definitely not Mrs. Anderson’s sharp, joyless script. And there was something about it—maybe the faint smudge of lipstick on the corner—that made his eyes gleam with the promise of chaos.

Charlie was next to the desk in an instant, snatching up the letter with the speed of a seasoned troublemaker. “Hey—” Todd’s voice shot up half an octave as he lunged for it, but Charlie was already holding it out of reach.

“Well, well, well,” Charlie drawled, turning it over in his hands. “What do we have here?”

“Charlie!” Todd’s face flushed so fast it was like someone had lit a match under his skin. He made another desperate grab, but Knox had already leaned over to get a look.

“Fancy stationery, Todd-boy. And is that perfume I smell?”

Todd’s ears flushed crimson. “Give it back.”

Pitts, catching the sight from where he leaned against the wall, let out a slow whistle. “Oh, this is interesting.”

Knox’s eyebrows shot up as he read over the first lines while Charlie showed him, and then he grinned like Christmas had come early. “Todd… is this from a girl?”

Neil blinked. “Wait, what?”

Cameron looked up from where he was setting down his books, frowning in confusion. Pitts and Meeks both turned to stare at Todd, eyes wide.

“Don’t tell me…” Charlie said, his voice rising in mock scandal. “Anderson’s been hiding a girlfriend from us?”

The room erupted.

“You—?!” “Since when?!” “You—Todd—you have a girlfriend?” Meeks blurted, sounding half delighted and half baffled.

“How?” Cameron asked flatly, brows raised. “No offense, Todd, but…”

Todd was still trying to grab the letter back, muttering something incoherent. Charlie danced away from him, reading the return address aloud before Todd tackled him in an uncharacteristic burst of boldness.

Knox snatched the letter in the hand-off, holding it above his head. “Gentlemen, this is not a drill—Todd Anderson has a girlfriend!”

Todd’s entire face was red now. “Yes.” He squeaked out. “Yes, I do. I have a girlfriend. Are you happy now?!?” He made another grab for the letter.

“Ecstatic,” Charlie said, handing the envelope to Steven while blocking Todd's path again.

Neil’s face lit up like Christmas morning. “Todd, that’s—Todd, that’s wonderful!”

“If you say so,” Todd hissed, clearly referring to the current situation, finally wrenching it back with his ears blazing as Neil openly chuckled.

“Yes!” they chorused, grinning like wolves.

“God, Anderson, this is—this is huge!” Charlie laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, peace—just let us see what’s got you all red-faced.”

Todd clutched the envelope to his chest for a moment, looking like he was deciding whether to bolt from the room entirely. But in the end, maybe some small part of him liked the pride curling under the embarrassment—because yeah, he had a girlfriend, and none of them did.

“Oh, admit it, Todd,” Knox said, flopping back onto Neil’s bed. “You’re smug as hell right now, and you should be.”

“Fine,” he huffed, trying to hide the proud smirk curling at the edges of his lips, handing it over to Neil. “But—don’t—just—ugh.”

Neil’s grin softened into something warm as he unfolded the letter. “This is adorable,” he said after only a few lines. “She’s telling him about a new Elvis record she bought…”

“A girl who likes Elvis? Keeper,” Charlie declared.

“…and how she’s learning to bake butter cookies and might send him some.”

“Oh, come on,” Cameron groaned good-naturedly. “Now I want a girlfriend who bakes cookies.”

Steven muttered in agreement, while Knox elbowed Cameron. “Bet you’re jealous, huh, Cam?”

Cameron crossed his arms, trying not to smile. “I’m not jealous. Just… cookies are nice, that’s all.”

Then Charlie spotted it—the faint lipstick mark at the bottom. His jaw dropped theatrically. “Is that—? It is! She kissed the paper!”

The room roared with laughter.

“God, she sounds so sweet,” Pitts said.

“She is,” Todd blurted out before he could stop himself.

Neil looked at him then, his smile crinkling his eyes. “I’m happy for you, Todd.”

“I’m happy for me, too.”

And that proud little smirk stayed on his face for the rest of the night, no matter how much Charlie teased or Knox recited your words in an overly high-pitched voice. Because for once, Todd Anderson felt like he was allowed to have something—someone—worth being proud of.

His train of thoughts gets interrupted by another message from you.

You: [3 attached pictures]

You: Can't decide which ones to get :(((. Help me.

Yeah. Jack is fucking screwed.

There you are in all of your beauty. He seriously thinks his heart stops beating for a few seconds as his eyes focus on the pictures.

They are pictures from changing room. And you are shamelessly pouting while you pose with nothing just a lingerie. A smoking hot lingerie.

One black. One pink. And one purple.

There's an immediate strain in his pants as he takes you in.

You: Hello??? Where did you go? :( This is an emergency.

You demand his attention. And that finally breaks him out of the trance. He decides that you are like a love siren, trapping his mind with your smiles and your body. But not that he's complaining.

He instantly scrambles to type in the responds, and opens the payment app just like you taught him how to do it.

Handsome: [Jack sent you 300$. Accept the payment by tomorrow.]

Handsome: All of them.

Is all he types in before he leans against the washing basin. He needs to breath through his fucking erection before he can get back to the ER.

He can practically imagine your giggles as you read his text. And it screws up with him even more.

You: Jack! I wasn't asking for money. And how much do you think these cost??? I'm sending it back.

Handsome: I dare you.

Handsome: You can just buy some more. Or go get the cake you love so much.

Handsome: You better be wearing one of them when I get home, doll. Text me when you get home as well, please!

Your response comes flying in almost immediately. But Jack doesn't dare to look at it, not when he knows how much you love to rile him up and tease him.

He just hopes to survive the shift (that only just started) without any accidental hard-ons.

But knowing you, that's pretty much impossible. He is doomed to receive a dirty text from you. Because you are a little minx.

Being their "endless fountain" has definitely had its perks, including money, sex, and even, in some cases, what feels like love. However, Lestat would never tell a human that he loves them he finds them most inferior. Louis did promise to change you in ten years if you stayed around long enough, that was five years ago so you're just about there.

Being with them both is like living in the clouds and it's normally great until nights like this where Lestat's being pushy and needy and doesn't take no for an answer. He wants sex, sex from you, from Louis, and you, he just wants to be near you but he had drained you too much last night and Louis had to pull him off of you.

To combat Lestat pesterin' you, you lay in Louis's lap as he reads to you. His skin was warm against yours due to your body struggling to process the blood loss it had experienced the day prior. Louis smelled like whiskey, fresh cut wood, and a faint smell of a book that had been cracked open after being left up on the shelf for so long; It was the perfect comforting scent to put you to sleep. He read to you quietly until you fell asleep, his pointed nails languidly dragging over your scalp, your heart had slowed as if on queue to tell Louis you're finally getting rest.

Lestat opens the double doors at the same time, being as loud as he can not even trying to hide his jealousy. It pisses him off how easily Louis can comfort you and how your heart beats beside his.

"Lestat, you don't have to make your anger so obvious to everyone." Louis said as he kept his eyes on his book, trying not to give in to the bitchy blonde man stomping his feet like a child having their first temper tantrum.

"Well, if I'm angry it's both your fault, you both lounge around as if I don't exist!" Lighting a cigarette to try to help calm his irritation and nerves as he rounds the couch catching a glimpse of you, so pale, so soft, so fragile, like a butterfly.

"If you wake her, Les..." Louis threatens but not as in a way to be cruel but moreso out of protection, you're weak and tired and this is the much-needed rest you need.

"She's at such peace with you it almost makes me sick." He blows out the smoke through his nose, rolling his eyes as a bit of show that he's annoyed even if both Louis and he know he's lying, he loves you just as much as Louis.

Louis knows this because the one of the few days you went out on your own Lestat heard a scream and could've sworn it was you and had searched the whole city to make sure you were safe and in Louis's words "a man doesn't worry so much unless he at least feels some typa way for someone else." which of course made Lestat scoff and stomp home.

"The way she clings to you, balling your shirt in her fist like she's afraid you'll disappear." Lestat took another drag with feigned annoyance, it's the same way he looks at Louis. He ashes the cigarette before he approached you both, his fingers trying to be gentle for the first time in ages, watching the way Louis's fingers gently guide along your scalp but he scratched you by accident.

You whimper but stay asleep, a bead of blood forming where the cut was which made Lestat panic a little and back up.

"Mon Cher, it's fine she didn't even wake. Just be careful with your nails." Louis cut his thumb with his pointer finger and smoothed his blood over the small cut to heal it. "Try again."

Lestat rakes his knuckles softly down your back, your body leaning toward his hands, and his breath hitches, you don't mind his touch? You aren't shying away from him like you usually do, his eyes found Louis with the expression of surprise and a faint light of happiness.

"I don't know how you do it, Louis. It seems impossible for me. She doesn't care for me like she does you."

"You should see her when you sing in the other room, you think she's content with my reading? That's nothing like when you sing." He smiles as he thinks about it. "She is so content and happy, she's like liquid against whatever or whomever she's lying on. Lestat, she does love you regardless of how you feel about her. She keeps talking about how she wants to sleep with us in our coffins, she loves us both equally and would not be parted from us."

"Can I- Can I hold her?" Lestat asks with a worry that's uncharacteristic of his unfeeling and uncaring nature for humans, he's hidden himself for so long, afraid he'll lose everyone close to him so much that he hasn't noticed how rough and cruel he's been to you.

Louis nods seeing how much this means to Lestat, he trusts his lover to be gentle with their other. Lestat gently kissed her up with one arm around her back and the other under her knees, his scent of cigarettes, lavender, and, leather, something so intricate, interesting, and complex which caused you to stir a bit but ultimately you stayed asleep as he lowered you into his coffin and got in alongside you, playing with your hair like Louis did. He tucked his face into your neck, feeling your pulse against his lip, normally he'd be drinking from you but for once (since Louis) he's holding himself back content with just feeling you close, letting your pulse lull him to sleep like the most beautiful symphony he's ever heard.

Louis stayed up reading his books, keeping an ear out but trusting Lestat wants to be gentle for once. Lestat can save his roughness for once you're given "The Dark Gift" when you can keep up with them both a lot more than your human stamina allows.

The pain of losing your husband was indescribable.

Your entire world had been flipped upside down and nothing made sense to you, weeks blurred together in a mess of half hearted condolences and a dozen meetings regarding bank accounts and donations. It was hard to keep track of it all on your good days and impossible on the many terrible ones.

Sammy was your only relief from it all which was ironic considering he had been driving you crazy only a few months beforehand.

He wasn’t a bad guy at all, in fact you really liked him and the almost boyish charm he brought to your husband and family. You thought he was a bit immature at times but he was a sweet guy and it was nice for Nate to have a partner that was also a best friend.

You felt a little differently when he found out about Tammi cheating on him, the entire mess with the pregnancy and the new boyfriend and his rapidly switching emotions throughout everyday now.

Nate was too good of a friend to let his partner go homeless or sleep on some random person from the departments couch so he took Sammy in. You didn’t mind it at first but you started to miss the privacy and comfortability of your home that was lost when you had somebody in your living room moping.

Clearly neither one of you had been thinking about it after Nate died.

You’d found him in the hallway of the hospital and collapsed into his arms, the last thing you really remembered before you blacked out with grief and despair. You had vague memory of Sammy getting you up off the floor and sobbing beside you as you both dragged your feet outside to his truck.

It took a long time for him to stop crying enough to be able to drive safely and even longer to get inside once you got back to your house.

The smell of Nate and the traces of him were overwhelming and you threw up in the guest bathroom only a few feet inside. After some time, your eyes landed on the folded blankets still on the couch in the neat way Sammy left them each morning in an attempt to not take up much space during the day.

You glanced over at Sammy to see a vague moment of realization behind the puffiness of his swollen eyes, red from crying and his sniffles filling the silent room. Then he looked extremely embarrassed and guilty like he was mentally preparing himself to be kicked out on top of everything.

Instead you softly told him to order a pizza for dinner before forcing yourself up the stairs to your room.

The weeks that followed were just as hard as you could imagine, worse even, but you had a sense of relief with Sammy there. He was married to Nate in his own way, a partner that you had to give your loyalty and attention to full out, getting the same in return if you were lucky and you both had been.

Sammy understood you and your grief in a way nobody did and he was quick to handle the hard stuff, answering all the knocks on the doors from the neighbors attempting to be helpful and shutting down anybody sending letters about payments and insurance.

He helped with the kids, both with daily task and in those quiet moments you’d catch him on the couch with your eight year old son as he softly explained that Nate wasn’t coming back but that he was still loved and cared for, being watched over by his father for the rest of his life.

So you never asked him to go and he didn’t, becoming apart of your daily life alongside the hole that sat where your husband used to.

Now it had been two months and he was still there. Things had felt a little easier during your day to day routine but you still had a dozen moments a week where you thought you weren’t going to be able to push through it.

Tonight was one of those moments which is exactly why you were currently standing in your dark living room and crying next to the sofa, staring down at a sleeping Sammy who was stirring awake the longer you stood there sobbing.

It took him a few seconds after prying his eyes open to register what was causing the noise that woke him up, sitting up abruptly in a panic as he took in the state of you with a pitying look. You and Sammy often watched movies on the couch together, sometimes entire marathons that ended with the both of you a little closer than you had started.

But this was different, sinking down with your knees hitting the cushions first as you wrapped around him.

He sighed and held you tightly, one large hand rubbing your back soothingly while the other cupped your head to keep you in place so you didn’t fall backwards. You buried your face in his shoulder as you sobbed and he stayed quiet for a while as he let you calm down enough to speak.

“Did you have a nightmare?” He asked softly after a bit and you shook your head the best you could, taking deep shuttering breaths into the fabric of his shirt before picking your head up.

You stared at him, features a little blurry through your tears and the darkness of the room but you could see the concern he always held. His hand came up to your face to rub a thumb across your wet cheeks, continuing long after they stopped flowing.

“I spilled some coffee earlier on my way to work.” You start to whisper to him and he nods as he listens patiently. “So I washed the blankets.”

You stop there and the realization settles in his expression at the same time another round of sobbing hits you.

“I washed the blankets Sammy. I can’t even smell him anymore.” You cry as you suck in sharp painful breaths.

He holds you and holds you, not letting go even when you’re so exhausted you can’t even really produce a cry anymore. You feel him start to shift your bodies once you’ve calmed down a little bit but you keep your face pressed into his neck to try and avoid any sight of reality around you that will bring back the pain of what you’ve lost.

You’d almost considered getting rid of the family pictures entirely but Sammy had talked you off the ledge weeks ago.

“You sleep here.” He whispers and moves you so you’re laying down on the couch and he’s sitting up beside you, stroking your hair so it’s off of your wet face. “I’ll get the air mattress out of the garage for the night.”

He moves to leave and your hands shoot out to grab at any part of him you can, landing on his wrist while the only balls up the fabric of his shirt. You tug him so he’s sitting back down and he gives you a curious but apprehensive look.

“Stay with me?” You whisper it but it lands hard and he sucks in a breath as he glances up and around the room, no doubt catching sight of one of the many large frames showcasing you and your happy family from a few months ago.

“Yeah yeah okay.” He says reassuringly and even through your despair you can see the slight nervousness radiating off of him as he shifts you a little bit more against the cushions so he can lay down on his back beside you.

It’s a tight fit, barely able to squeeze himself on the couch most nights let alone an entire other person.

You can’t help yourself from sliding your arm over his chest and clinging to him tightly, leg intertwining with his to try and get as close as possible without laying ontop of him. You’re just so overwhelmingly sad and he’s the only person you feel like you have left in the world who can understand you, the only one you can hold in the middle of the night who won’t judge you for it.

You try your hardest not to cry as you lay with him but it’s nearly impossible when he’s holding you back, arm going underneath you so you’re practically hugging as you slowly fall asleep.

—

It’s a little awkward the next morning but you give Sammy props for trying his best to pretend it’s not.

He’s slightly stiff when you greet him in the kitchen, he must have left the couch a bit before you, but he doesn’t mention your breakdown or your desperate request for him to stay with you.

You can barely stomach looking at him without a weird feeling of guilt building up even though you really hadn’t done anything wrong. He leaves for work and you bring your son to school, dropping off the baby at Nate’s mother’s afterwards until you’re left with nothing but you and the overwhelmingly empty house.

You spend the day cleaning things that are already spotless and zoning out whenever it’s time to dust one of the picture frames or Nate’s movie collection.

At some point you call your sister and halfway confess to what had happened the night before even though there was really nothing of importance to say.

“I mean he’s hot.” She seems to agree judging by the casualness in her tone, you hiss her name in scolding and you can almost hear her rolling her eyes on the other end. “You can’t beat yourself up for wanting somebody around. Sammy is a good guy and you’re alone for the first time in over a decade.”

“It’s not like that at all. I’m still married, I love Nate.” You hate that it feels like you’re having to defend yourself despite nobody actually making an accusations. It’s the truth and you know it is but there’s still a weird tug in your gut when you think of Sammy and how gentle he’s been to you and the kids.

“But Nate’s gone now.” She says sympathetically and it may sound harsh but you feel a small sense of relief from it.

Everybody else walks around like you’re a ticking time bomb, words dry and practiced because they’re too scared of saying the wrong thing and setting you off or making you cry.

He’s in a better place or he’s watching over you, yes sure if you believe in that sort of thing, but the truth is exactly as your sister stated it. Nate is gone and he’s not coming back, you’re alone again.

You think about it until the sun is setting and the door opens, keys jangling as Sammy sets them in the bowl near the door and takes off his shoes. He sighs once they’re kicked away and works on his jacket next, eyes catching yours where you’re standing in the kitchen and on your fifth glass of wine.

He stares down at the nearly empty bottle on the counter beside you as he approaches and you know your glossy eyes give away your state even if the visible evidence somehow didn’t.

“The kids?” He says it in a whisper and you’re glad his tone isn’t as judgmental as it could be.

You feel a warmth at the question, at his concern for your children.

“With my mother in law.” You tell him back and he nods in light relief, even though never doubting your motherhood skills. “She wanted some time with them.”

“Did you have a bad day?” He asks next and it’s careful in the way that you hate from other people but appreciate from him. You know what he’s actually asking and you sigh, dumping out the rest of your glass and rinsing it under the sink faucet as you shake your head.

“I’m fine, just unwinding.” You clearly had done more than that considering the way you’re stepping forward with slightly damp hands and starting to undo his tie.

He tenses up but doesn’t make any move to stop you or shift away, just staring down at you gently as you move your fingers around the fabric. You can’t meet his gaze, knowing exactly how concerned it’ll be so you stare straight ahead at the almost too tight buttons on his shirt.

You eat dinner in silence, something you’d made a day or two prior that he softly mumbled he would heat up. You knew it was primarily for your benefit and you were thankful because you could already feel the headache building by the time you actually sat down to eat something.

It had been an hour of laying in bed, tossing and turning before you were getting up and heading down to the living room like you had the night before.

You weren’t crying this time but your heart was heavy and luckily Sammy was already awake so you didn’t have to experience a second round of guilt by disturbing his sleep again.

His eyes landed on you with no surprise and you wondered if he had been expecting you to come down again. You stood there awkwardly, shuffling on your feet and trying to think of what to say while his solid gaze warmed you up without your permission. His fingers drummed on his stomach patiently, not rushing you to speak but ever so attentive to your body language.

“Come upstairs?” You eventually managed to push it out in a tight whisper and his hand froze, clearly not expecting that.

“You sure?” He said quietly back but he was already sitting up and taking the blankets off of his legs as you nodded your head.

To make matters worse, if you weren’t already damned, you bent down to grab his hand in yours. You told yourself it was because you were scared he’d change his mind halfway up the steps but you selfishly had just been so depraved of any contact that the warmth of his palm felt necessary.

You were both silent as you led him to your bedroom, the room you used to share with your husband. His reading glasses were still on his bedside table along with a book he never finished and you hoped Sammy wasn’t paying as much attention to detail as you were, but you knew he always was.

You didn’t speak again until you were both lying in the large bed with a few inches of distance between you. He was on his back, eyebrows furrowing as he stared up at the ceiling and you were facing him on your side, that sick feeling back again.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper and it breaks the silence heavily like a shout, his head turning towards you. You didn’t realize you were crying until his face fell and he was suddenly on his side too, a hand coming up to your cheek to wipe at the steady streams.

“It’s okay.” He says it softly and that makes you cry again. “I promise you it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You hope he can understand you through your sobs but either way he moves closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest where you immediately deflate and rub your palms over his strong back.

“I’m not okay? It helps me too.” He soothes as he holds you tight and he has to repeat it a few times for you to calm down.

You pick your head up after a few minutes, on your stomach now directly beside him, pressed together in a single line down your frames. You’re sure you look like a disaster, hair a mess and eyes constantly swollen from your breakdowns but you just want to see his face.

He sighs and brushes your hair back, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary.

“Sammy.” You start but he shushes you gently and shakes his head, frowning slightly.

“Let’s just sleep.” He mumbles and you hesitate before nodding and shifting forward so you can lay your head against his chest.

-

There’s no pretending something hasn’t changed now between the two of you despite nothing actually transpiring.

You’re currently handing him a lunchbox as he stares down at it with a pained expression, eyes flickering to you in question in a way that makes you flush.

“It’s lunch.” You say simply like it’s a meaningless gesture but you’re sure you’re both thinking the same things.

Thinking about how it’s a very domestic thing to do for somebody, especially considering just a few months ago he was sitting in your backyard teasing Nate for the little love notes you left inside of his bag everyday.

That wasn’t the only wife like thing you’d begun to do and he was returning it nearly tenfold. You’d iron his ties and help him take off his jacket after a long shift and he was teaching your son to throw a ball and fixing that loose cabinet door you’d been complaining about for years.

Not to mention the fact he now slept in your bed every night, only following the routine of you padding down and asking for a week before he was just naturally gravitating there towards the end of the day.

You felt your mother in laws judging gaze whenever Sammy came along to a baseball game or sat in the truck outside the house when you went to pick the kids up from a weekend with her. She never mentioned it but you could tell it bothered her, that she was silently scorning you for having him still living in your house.

You didn’t know how, and frantically couldn’t be bothered, to explain to her or anybody else why exactly you didn’t kick Sammy out when Nate first died. They could send gift baskets and Facebook condolences all they wanted but they could never understand the sheer pain of living alone in a house that used to hold a family.

They weren’t there for the nights you couldn’t even close your eyes and when your son refused to go to school until his dad kissed him goodbye, having to explain over and over that he was gone despite barely processing yourself.

And they similarly had no awareness of the pain Sammy was going through either, the night terrors and near PTSD from watching something so brutal happen in front of him. He didn’t talk about it with you because he didn’t want to give you that image and you were grateful but you could tell it destroyed him.

You had asked him over dinner one night if he ever thought about seeing somebody to talk with and he had muttered back that he was already seeing you, halfway making an attempt at a joke that fell a little flat and hit too close to home.

“I can see it’s lunch.” He says back and you feel like he wants to continue with something else but he doesn’t, pursing his lips and telling you thank you. You nod and hesitate awkwardly before giving him a hug that definitely makes the already incriminating situation worse.

He returns it, a little too tight and far too lengthy, before you’re breaking apart and he’s thankfully leaving.

Your son asks you on the way to school that day if Sammy was his dad now and it takes a strong grip on the wheel to keep yourself steady between the lines.

You aren’t sure what you’re doing and you’re completely torn between the two evils of indulging in something that could possibly make you feel some sense of happiness beneath the mountain of grief of living the rest of your life miserable because others don’t believe you deserve it.

It’s too soon now but when will it have been long enough?

You ask yourself that for the rest of the week and try to not be swayed by your little interactions with Sammy, the feeling of him against your back as he holds you in his sleep or the sounds of his breathing that comfort you endlessly when you’re having a hard time drifting off.

He’s alive and his lungs are filling with air, his heart beating and you feel nauseous for being so grateful for that.

It’s four months after losing Nate that you finally sit down and have a real conversation about it. Sammy looks mildly sweaty like he’s imagining this is going to go in the complete wrong direction and it probably doesn’t help that you’re trying to keep your expression as blank as possible.

“Nate is going to be my husband until the day I die.” You start as softly as you can and you try to ignore the pained look that passes by Sammy’s face. You know he doesn’t feel any sort of jealously or possession over you, he’s a good guy who feels the same amount of guilt you do about this. “I might not ever love you the way I loved him.”

He waits a long second to see if you’re going to continue before he nods slowly, your hand extending across the table to take his in yours and squeeze it tightly.

“That’s okay with me.” He eventually says and his eyes lock on yours to showcase the sincerity.

The worse part is you know he means it. You know he’d live the rest of his life in second place to Nate without a care in the world and you’re ashamed that you’re not positive you could do the same if the roles were reversed.

You even felt a little sick when he went over to Tammi’s the other day to check in on some things at the house, brewing in the living room for hours until he came back and then scanning every inch of visible skin to see if she might have touched him.

“Could you love me at all?” He speaks again and his voice breaks a little, the first show of slight selfishness from him.

You don’t hesitate before you’re nodding and you hate the way the tears fall without your control, wiping at them with your free hand but keeping the other in his.