🖤 Sookie Surprise: A Halloween Fic About Delusion, Desire, and Undead Glow-Ups🐈⬛🩸
The trio pulled up to Fangtasia a little after 10:30 PM.
The line outside was long but moved quickly. At the door, Willa Burrell stood looking sleek in a micro-short lace black dress and lace-up high heels, her stance both inviting and authoritative.
"Hi, Lafayette!" she beamed the moment she saw him.
"Hi there—" Lafayette started, but before he could finish, Sookie all but shoved past him.
"Hi, Willow! I'm Sookie, remember me?" she asked, her voice dripping with expectation.
She didn't even notice she'd said the wrong name. But one thing Sookie was sure of—Eric must have mentioned her to his new progeny.
Willa didn't correct her. Instead, she simply smiled, nodding in recognition. "Welcome. Tell Ginger you have VIP service." She handed Lafayette a sleek black card with 'VIP' embossed in bold red.
Lafayette grinned, feeling somewhat reassured. "Thank you, honey." He winked at the brunette before asking, "Tara in there?"
A flicker of something passed over Willa's face before she answered. "She's here… go on in."
That was all Lafayette needed. He sashayed inside, James and Sookie close behind.
The newly renovated Fangtasia was stunning. A sprawling dance floor, golden cages with writhing dancers, a bar gleaming with brass and mirrored glass. Even the floors sparkled with embedded gold flecks.
But Lafayette's sharp eyes went straight to the stage—where Pam sat like a damn queen.
Draped in a crimson off-shoulder ruched blouse, skin-tight black leggings, and knee-high red boots, the blonde exuded power.
Lafayette let out a low whistle. "Lawd, the Ice Queen still serving looks."Pam was literally dressed to kill.
And yet… There was still no sign of Tara.
"That looks like the VIP area," James said loudly over the pulsing bassline of the club's music. He gestured toward a sleek door on the right side of the dance floor.
Sookie barely heard him. The moment she stepped inside the newly renovated nightclub, her breath hitched. Towering, sultry images of Tara, Willa, Eric, and Pam adorned the walls, their gazes smoldering even in still form. But it was Tara's picture that made Sookie's stomach twist.
Tara, her childhood best friend, had always been rough around the edges—jeans, sneakers, and a permanent scowl at the ready. The Tara in these pictures, though? A full-blown femme fatale. Dark, piercing eyes, glossy lips, and a body wrapped in midnight leather like she owned the world. Sookie swallowed hard, a heat creeping up her neck.
It wasn't jealousy, of course. No, of course not. She was just... surprised. That was all. Tara had never cared about this kind of thing before. Why the hell did she look like she belonged on the cover of a vampire fashion magazine now?
Before she could process it, her gaze snapped upward. A big, red neon sign glowed over a guarded door.
Sookie clenched her jaw. Tara had a whole damn club named after her...?
A hulking man in a black tracksuit loomed in front of the entrance, arms crossed like he was daring someone to start trouble.
"I think we supposed to give this to you, big bear," Lafayette cooed, batting his lashes at the bouncer. If he was intimidated, he sure as hell didn't show it.
The man didn't speak—just took the cards and stepped aside, letting them through.
The VIP lounge was dimly lit and luxurious, with swanky tables and plush chairs arranged for optimal indulgence. A massive one-way mirror stretched across the room, giving them a full view of the club without being seen. The music from outside trickled in softly, just enough to feel like a heartbeat.
Not a moment later, Ginger teetered in to take their drink orders.
"Damn, this ditzy bitch still here lettin' random vampires chew on her narrow ass," Lafayette mused the second she left, shaking his head. "You see all them bite marks on her?"
James chuckled, leaning back with ease. "It's a lifestyle for some humans."
"Mm-hmm. I just hope her dumb ass gets our orders right. That hussy dumber than a box of hair."
James laughed, shooting his lover an affectionate glance. "Right on, lover. A positive is the only type for me."
Lafayette smirked, pleased, and the two shared a look that needed no words.
Meanwhile, Sookie sat stiffly, barely hearing them.
"You awfully quiet, sweetheart. What's on yo' mind?" Lafayette asked, eyes sharp despite his easy demeanor.
Sookie startled. "Oh, nothin'. Just takin' it all in," she lied smoothly, forcing a smile.
The truth was, she felt like an outsider in a place that used to feel familiar. She had pictured Eric lounging on his throne, watching her with that unreadable expression, ready to summon her over so she could finally tell him—and Tara—about her new life.
Instead, Pam sat there, cool and detached, as if Sookie's presence barely registered.
Sookie's fingers curled into her lap. She wasn't jealous. Nope. Not one bit.
She just really, really needed a drink.
"Geez," she sighed, plastering on another smile. "I could really use a drink right now."
Not a second later, Ginger strolled back in with a tray full of cocktails. "Pam said the first round is on her," the platinum blonde chirped gleefully, her red lips stretched into a wide grin.
Sookie and Lafayette were momentarily shocked into silence.
"Please tell Pam we appreciate her generous hospitality," James said smoothly, handing Ginger a twenty-dollar tip.
"Well, this is new," Lafayette drawled, tilting his head. "Vampire Barbie is playin' nice for a change. I ain't even mad—what she want, though?" He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Thirty-five minutes and two strawberry daiquiris later, Sookie had grown restless. By the third apple martini, Lafayette's dirty jokes had everyone in the VIP room cackling. With each drink, he became more animated, much to James' delight. At one point, he got up and did a dramatic reenactment of Ginger's famous scream, complete with flailing arms and a slow-motion collapse onto James' lap.
"Baby, I swear to God, she gotta be part banshee," Lafayette declared, sipping dramatically from his martini.
"Or part Chihuahua," James mused, biting back laughter.
"You mean full-blooded Chihuahua," Lafayette corrected. "High-strung, shaky, and will hump any leg in sight."
The room erupted in laughter, except for Sookie, who had checked out of the conversation entirely. She drummed her fingers against her thigh before standing abruptly.
"I'm gonna excuse myself to the ladies' room," she announced, but no one was paying attention. James and Lafayette had already launched into a full-blown debate about whether vampires could get seasonal depression.
Sookie pushed her way through the crowd and made it to the restroom, where she handled her business, washed her hands, and reapplied her rouge lip color. She gave herself a once-over in the mirror and nodded approvingly.
But instead of heading back to the VIP room, she took a right—toward Eric's office.
A tiny voice in her head told her this was a bad idea. A much louder voice told the tiny voice to shut the hell up.
Without knocking, she twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open.
And instantly regretted every decision she had made in life.
Her breath hitched, her doe eyes widened, and her mouth fell open in horror.
There, in all their undead glory, were Tara and Eric.
Tara—completely naked—was straddled over Eric's equally nude, muscular form, moving in a way that left no room for interpretation. Her toned back glistened under the soft glow of the office light, and her long curls bounced with every roll of her hips.
Meanwhile, Eric—her Eric—had his head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut, his hands gripping Tara's waist like she was the last meal on Earth.
Sookie made a strangled noise. Something between a gasp and a hiccup.
"Eric! Tara! Oh My—Tara!" she croaked, barely recognizing her own voice. She wasn't even sure she had spoken aloud until—
"WHAT?" Tara snapped, not even bothering to pause her movements. Then, as if registering the voice, she turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of the blonde gaping at them from the doorway.
"Oh. Hey, Sook." Her tone was so casual, that she might as well have been answering a FaceTime call. "What are you doin' here?"
Sookie blinked. Once. Twice.
She shoved past a group of vampires near the dance floor, nearly sent a waitress flying, and burst through the doors of Fangtasia like she was fleeing a burning building. The cool night air hit her face, but it wasn't enough to wash away the image seared into her brain.
What the hell were they thinking?
Scratch that—were they even thinking?
Inside the office, Tara huffed and gave a halfhearted attempt at looking guilty. It lasted all of three seconds before she shrugged and resumed exactly what she was doing.
Because, honestly? She wasn't sorry at all.
"Is you gonna tell me why you sittin' here lookin' like you just seen a ghost?"
Lafayette huffed, rushing toward Sookie. He had seen her storm out of Fangtasia like a bat out of hell and figured she'd either drunk too much or had one of her patented dramatic meltdowns.
She didn't respond. In fact, she was just sitting there, arms crossed, lips pursed, staring straight ahead like someone had told her they were out of sweet tea at Merlotte's.
Lafayette's eyes narrowed.
"Sook, you plan on parkin'-lot-pimpin' all night, or you got a damn point?"
Sookie shuddered, her entire body twitching with disgust. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't unsee it—Tara and Eric, all entangled like some supernatural porno. Her face twisted like she'd just smelled a dead possum.
She clipped, shaking her head. She still refused to make eye contact, probably because she knew if she did, she'd pop a blood vessel from sheer irritation.
Lafayette cocked his head. "What you mean, you ready to go home? We just got here. Besides, Tara wanna see you."
"Tara...! Tara...!" she practically growled through clenched teeth.
Lafayette instinctively took a step back. Homegirl was lookin' straight-up cray-cray.
"Yes, Tara. You know, the reason we came here in the first place?" He gave her a once-over, watching her face go beet red. "Damn, Sookie, you look like you one deep breath away from throwin' yourself onto the hood of James's car and faintin' like a plantation wife."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Eric Northman is a Viking -and like a Viking, Eric takes what he wants. From the sticky floors of Merlotte's to the supernatural underworld,
