#iwtv fanfiction

[bloodofakashainme]

Drowning Jacob Anderson in dirt and then expecting me to be normal about it is like telling a fish not to swim.

[irisbleufic]

5,000 words, complete; direct sequel to "Trade the Game You Know for Shelter." Set the day Daniel's Harvey Milk interview goes to press in the Berkeley Barb, which Armand considers cause for celebration and surprises. Unfortunately, somebody else has a surprise for them, too. Winter holiday nonsense and terrible humor otherwise.

TEASER:

“Selfish, but fun,” Daniel echoes as Armand drags him toward the half-open garage door, pushing him under. “What could go wrong?”

“Nothing,” Armand says lightly, guiding Daniel by the shoulders toward a tarpaulin-covered object in the corner. “Do you trust me?”

“Uh, I risk bleeding out almost every time we fuck, so…yeah,” Daniel teases, grinning as Armand rolls his eyes. “I trust you.”

Armand tugs the corner of the tarpaulin sharply. “Just because I’m not inclined to drive anything with four wheels doesn’t mean I can’t—”

“What the hell,” Daniel says, staring at the vintage motorbike. “I would never have implied such a thing. Where’d you get that?”

“A collector in Los Angeles,” Armand replies. “It’s not identical to the one I had in the forties and fifties, but it’s close enough.”

[nile-the-empathy-cleric]

Chapter 3 of Play Dead is now up

We start getting some of Armand's POV and oh boy, am I sorry. I'm evil, I like to cause pain.

Ego Death will update hopefully tomorrow or Thursday. It's taking me way longer to edit than anticipated. Being sick did not help. Anyway, thank you for being patient and supportive 💗💗💗

[schusseltier]

Some scenes from Delicate Machinery

[erebus0dora]

this might get an accidental double publication bc the web connection fails me, but still-

-this belongs to @nile-the-empathy-cleric, the author of the gorgeous Ego Death. this might also be the first commission of mine in three years that's not a slow thing brewing for a long-term friend.

anyway. them touches and tenderness. we all need this 💜

[ichorai]

ménage à trois.

pairing ; lestat de lioncourt x vampire!gn!reader x louis de pointe du lac

synopsis ; “you turned him,” you said to lestat with a disapproving frown. louis was sleeping fitfully in a coffin between the two of you, skin charred and covered in dust and burns. lestat didn’t have to tell you—you put the clues together and figured out that louis had run into the morning sun without knowing what it would do to him. “you were always the selfish one, weren’t you? i could never have anything for myself.”

words ; 3.8k

themes ; angst, a bit of fluff, vampires, polyamory

warnings / includes ; super toxic throuple dynamics, blood/murder, covers the first two episodes of iwtv, reader is a writer, louis is infatuated <3 and lestat is well... lestat...

there will be a second part (claudia incoming)!

You met Lestat de Lioncourt in 1780—six years after he was turned, and three years after you. It was a wild and tumultuous affair the two of you shared. You and Lestat clashed just as much as you molded together. While he was possessive and greedy, you longed for freedom and space. Eventually, after many bloody rows, the two of you parted ways with reluctant, half-sincere promises of a distant reunion. 

Louis de Pointe du Lac was yours before he was Lestat’s, as he oft forgot. By 1908, you were a regular patron of his establishment in New Orleans—though less for the sex and more for the stories. The women there were immeasurably fascinating. With enough liquor and sweet talking, they would answer each and every burning question you had. When Louis caught wind of one of his customers bringing pencils and parchment of all things to the bedrooms, he’d confronted you about it, curious as to what you were doing to the working girls—especially when they always came out flush-faced and giggling.

“I’m a writer,” you told him with a sweet smile. Close-lipped, hiding your fangs. “I hope you don’t mind. The women here have lovely tales to tell.”

Louis returned the grin after a second to overcome his surprise. “I’m sure they do. Why here, though?”

“Your establishment has the highest rates of colored women. Not many are willing to listen to what they have to say.” You fiddled with the buttons on your jacket, and tipped your head down into a nod. “I’d best be leaving. The night is late, and the sun will greet us soon.”

“Not a morning person?” Louis asked, falling into step with you as you made your way to your convertible.

A huff of a laugh fell past your lips. “You could say that, yes.”

From then on, Louis went out of his way to greet you like clockwork. Every Wednesday and Saturday you came, bright-eyed and pencil ready. Those days, Louis watched you come by nightfall and leave before morning dawned, always making sure to exchange pleasantries. One of the nights, you asked if he had any stories to tell you—though there was little talking or writing that night. It was hard to jot down what he was telling you with his head between your thighs.

You were, by no means, a possessive vampire. You liked to keep your options open and drift from place to place. But around a year and a half later, you heard of Lestat landing in New Orleans, sucking the furniture stores and libraries dry—and setting his eyes on Louis. Your Louis.

You and Louis were not lovers, and the same would apply to your and Lestat’s relationship. You would say you were far closer to being friends with the two than lovers. Though… the prospect of love was not a far away concept to you. Not when it came to Lestat and Louis.

“You turned him,” you said to Lestat with a disapproving frown. Louis was sleeping fitfully in a coffin between the two of you, skin charred and covered in dust and burns. Lestat didn’t have to tell you—you put the clues together and figured out that Louis had run into the morning sun without knowing what it would do to him. “You were always the selfish one, weren’t you? I could never have anything for myself.”

“I’m sorry, did I spoil your little toy?” Lestat said, leering over you with a grin.

“He wasn’t a toy. He’s a friend.”

The blonde vampire’s hands reached out to caress over your face, soft and cold. “A friend that you fucked.”

“On occasion.” Your nose wrinkled. “You fucked him, too.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. It would have surprised you if Lestat hadn’t fucked Louis.

“Don’t be jealous, my darling,” he said, eyes glinting dangerously. “I’ll fuck you, as well. You need only ask. It has been a long while, no?” 

He kissed you then, tasting of sweet blood and sharp wine. As angry as you were with him, you didn’t push him away. With Lestat, it was hard to say no. That morning, you fell asleep in his coffin, limbs woven together. Come sunset, you were already gone.

It took you a few days to get around to forgiving Lestat. Louis made you softer—his inexperience to vampire life was ever so endearing to you. When you explained to Louis that you were also a vampire—one with a deep history with his maker, he stared at you with widened eyes.

“It’s no wonder I never saw you during the day,” he said, Lestat’s arm slung around his shoulder. “But why didn’t you kill any of my girls? How could you resist it?”

“Older vampires find it easier to resist temptation,” you told him with a dangerous, fanged smile. “Besides—I wanted their stories more than I wanted their blood. I can find food… elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” Louis glanced between you and Lestat, the first thought vanishing from his mind just as quickly as it came. “Wait, were you two—did you… did he turn you, too?”

A bark of a laugh fell from your lips. “Oh, Louis, my dear, no. Lestat may have left hundreds and thousands of fledglings in his bloody wake but I am not one of them. My turning will be a story for another time,” you assured him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Louis smiled and nodded as if he was in a daze. To his side, Lestat looked visibly annoyed. Whether he was jealous of you or Louis, you couldn’t tell.

Sharing is caring, you greedy whore, you said to him without moving your lips. Lestat only stared at you with those icy blue eyes and huffed out a dramatic sigh.

“Well, since the fledgling has already taken a liking to you, would you like to stay?” Lestat gestured around his decorated halls. “There is more than enough room here for three coffins.”

As always, saying no to Lestat was usually not an option. 

“You could just say you’d like me here. Don’t have to be dragging Louis into it,” you told him, patting his chest with a mocking simper.

“Yes, yes, fine—I’d like you to stay, as well. I’ve missed you terribly.” Lestat moved closer to you as if he was going to kiss you, but you leaned away at the last moment and grinned at Louis.

“Louis, hon, how about we get a nice fire started and you tell me all about what mean ol’ Lestat did to you the first few hours of your turning? I love hearing about new vampire experiences. It’s been so long I can hardly remember mine.” You offered Louis your arm and gestured to the living room. The man looked to Lestat, almost as if asking for permission, but turned away just as quickly to take your arm. 

Louis, in his hunger and youth, had impulsively killed an important man in town. Lestat had already angrily berated him enough whilst tossing the body into the cremator. You were more gentle with your approach, taking Louis’ hands and goading him to wash the blood off and change into a new set of clothes that weren’t soaked with his kill.

The amusing thought that you and Lestat were raising a child and parenting together briefly crossed your mind. But then again, the two of you had both fucked Louis before and were most definitely going to again in the future, so perhaps it wasn’t the best analogy. 

“Here, put this on.” you handed Louis, stripped naked and scrubbed of the blood, a fresh button-down whilst Lestat was off cleaning up the mess Louis had made. “That was real dangerous what you did back there, you know. You’ll get detectives sniffing around and swarming you like ants to a honey pot. They don’t take kindly to black folk, neither.”

“I know,” he said, shrugging on the shirt. “I was hungry.”

“I know,” you parroted, though your tone was considerably softer. You placed your cold palm against Louis’ face and he leaned into it for a few silent moments. “Just be more careful next time, alright? Lestat and I have centuries of experience between us—you can trust us.”

Louis’ face contorted at the realization. “Sometimes I forget that this is gon’ be forever. That I won’t just wake up and you two will be gone. That I’ll be human again and my brother will still be around and my ma would still be asking me to come over to her house for dinner every Sunday.”

“Forever isn’t always a bad thing,” you said, voice soft and soothing. “It is daunting, yes, but you still live from day to day just as the mortals do. You’ll grow more comfortable in your skin with time, I promise.” You hesitated to say the next few sentences. “Lestat, as much as you admire his strength, is just as afraid as you sometimes. He’s afraid of being lonely. I confess, I have been afraid to be lonely more than once myself, but I have made peace with the fact that I will be alone sometimes. Immortal life makes it inevitable. My point is, though… you aren’t alone. Lestat is not as godly as you think he is.”

“And are you?” Louis asked.

“Do you think of me as godly?” 

One of his shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. “Most of the time.”

“I’m still a person,” you reassured him. “Lost to time, perhaps, but a person nonetheless. And you are, too.”

Your words seemed to placate Louis, though only momentarily. He parted his mouth open to say more, but Lestat dramatically stormed in the room, expression still creased with anger. After decades upon decades of knowing him, you knew by now that he would get over it eventually—it wasn’t really that big of a deal. But Louis, quite shaken up by the kill and his maker furious with him, couldn’t shrug it off as easily as you. The two of them went to their respective coffins angrily. 

Hours later, whilst you were writing up drafts of your most recent discussions with a few townspeople, you heard the two of them quietly exchange words of apology and plans for the future from their coffins. You smiled down to yourself. The romance between them was strong, you knew. You wondered if you ever had the same connection with Lestat. Or even Louis. You were growing quite fond of him. And you’d always been fond of Lestat, even though he irritated you to no end. 

When Louis bought the most expensive, the biggest, and the brightest club in the district, he made sure to pay all the working girls and musicians twice what they earned before. The doors were now open to anyone, not just folks with light skin. And he even had a room especially booked for you—always decked with the finest pencils and pens and papers and books and the most heavenly chairs imaginable—Louis was a man who thought out your every need. It startled you to think that your fondness for him may be far greater than just fondness. How would Lestat feel about you falling in love with his fledgling? Louis was yours first. And before that, you and Lestat were also each other’s for a time.

With Louis still at the club entertaining guests, Lestat heard your thoughts as soon as you returned from your work—you didn’t bother hiding your mind from him, because he had ways of getting information out of you regardless. 

“I don’t mind,” he said, greeting you as you changed out of your attire into more comfortable clothes for home. He hung by the doorway for a moment before slinking closer to you, running his hands up and down your bare skin. “We can share, my love. I don’t mind—not with you. And I’m sure Louis wouldn’t mind sharing you with me.”

“Rather presumptuous of you,” you replied.

“Not presumptuous if you’re thinking it,” Lestat said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then several more up your neck. “Don’t resist us. It can be the three of us together. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“There’s a reason I left you in the first place,” you whispered. “You are possessive and mean when you want to be.”

Lestat tilted your face so his lips hovered just an inch over yours. “That may be true… but you’ll stay for Louis.” 

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He knew you better than anyone undead or alive.

“I will.” 

“Good,” he said, and then kissed you as if he was going to devour you whole.

Many moons later, you walked into one of the house’s many bedrooms, about to enquire if either of the vampires had seen your notebook lying around anywhere, when you saw Louis lying on the bed, tears of red slipping down his face. Lestat dabbed the blood away with a napkin.

“What’s going on?” you asked with a concerned tone, sitting down next to him on the mattress opposite Lestat. 

“My nephew,” Louis practically spat out the words as if they had scorched his tongue. “I was so afraid I would… I could hear his heart—his tiny little heart—and I wanted to rip it out and eat it. I’m a monster.”

There was a moment of silence as you studied the young fledgling.

“If you’re a monster, what does that make me?” you whispered, leaning down to press your nose to the back of his ear. “You didn’t kill him, Louis.”

“No, but I could have.” Another bloody tear slipped down his eye and slotted against his nose bridge.

Whilst Lestat wiped his face again, he said, “You have to stop seeing them, Louis. They’ll grow fearful of you if they haven’t already.”

“No,” said Louis, voice hoarse and quiet. “I can’t do it.”

“It’s a rite of passage for all of us,” Lestat went on. “If you love your family, as I know you do, spare them all the pain that you are causing them.” Knowing Lestat’s relationship with his mother, you found his words quite ironic. Louis didn’t need to know about that right now, though. 

“My siblings spent many decades looking for me once I ‘disappeared’,” you told Louis. “It hurt to distance myself from them, but I was protecting them.”

Louis glanced up at you. Sitting with your back to the lit fireplace, there seemed to be an angelic glow framing you. “I didn’t know you have siblings.”

“Had,” you corrected. “They are long gone now, though many of their children’s children and further generations remain. They lived long and happy lives even after I left.”

“I ain’t never gonna have a family of my own, am I?” Louis lamented. “No sons, no daughters.”

It was silent for a moment when you and Lestat locked eyes. The blonde looked back down at his fledgling. “We’re your family, Louis.”

“You should just throw me in the incinerator,” said Louis. “Make another one.”

“What a waste that would be,” Lestat remarked.

You nodded. “And if he did, I would rip him apart limb from limb. You are not replaceable, Louis.”

“The both of us have been on this Earth for around two centuries and we can confidently report that you have no twin,” said Lestat. “No one as angry, as stubborn, as unaccommodating, as maddening—”

Louis frowned. “Sound like trash to me—”

“—as loving, as dedicated, as thoughtful, as imperfectly perfect as you’ve become. You’re a challenge every sunset, Saint Louis. We’d have it no other way.” Lestat waited a second before nudging you to agree with him.

“Yes,” you jumped to say, perhaps a second late. “Louis, hon, I don’t want to force you not to see your family. You’re free to tell them the truth if you’d like. Let them see you as a monster, as a murderer—because they certainly won’t see you in the same way we do. I’m just saying… letting them go may be the less painful option.”

Louis squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply. Though he said nothing, you knew that he knew you were right. 

“Here’s an idea… let’s take a holiday,” ventured Lestat. “What about Rome?”

“Rome sounds lovely,” you said with an excited grin. It had been a handful of decades since you last stepped in Europe. Most of your recent years had you traveling much of North and South America.

“Rome? Rome, like, Italy?” Louis said, cracking an eye open to scrutinize his lovers. 

“Would you prefer Rome, Wisconsin?” Lestat fired back, which made Louis sit up on the bed and shake his head.

“I can’t just pick up and go to Rome. I got a business to run!”

You snaked your arms around Louis from behind and pressed your nose into his neck. You could hear his thoughts of how nice you smelled and smiled against his skin. “I’m sure you have many trusted work buddies that can manage the Azalea for a few days.”

Louis and Lestat bickered some more about transporting the coffins after that, as if they were an old married couple. You only listened in amusement and kissed down Louis' jaw.

Finally, Lestat relented his plans of Rome and instead brandished tickets to another opera. 

“I can spend a few days apart from the two of you to go to Rome myself,” you said, arching your back as if you were a cat and sprawling down on the mattress to watch Louis and Lestat upside down. “I can bring back souvenirs. The Italians have the most divine oil paints—”

“Don’t go,” Louis blurted, interrupting you. “Don’t—not yet.”

For a moment, you studied him with curious eyes. His thoughts were telling you he wasn’t sure if he could handle being left on his own with Lestat without you. Codependency was a common trait amongst vampire couples, you knew this, but that didn’t mean it was at all healthy. Nonetheless, you reluctantly nodded. “Alright. I won’t leave. But we do have to get out of the country at some point—it’s important to see more than America, Louis.”

“With that, I concur,” Lestat chimed his agreement. Then, he seized both of your arms and began to drag you off the mattress until you laughed and twisted up to get onto your feet yourself. “Come, my darlings, I’ve had suits made for us.”

There was a methodology to going to the opera to keep eyes off of you. You would go in first, alone. Then Lestat, with Louis walking a pace behind him, masquerading as his valet. It was degrading, all three of you knew. But it was the early 1900s, and there was little more you could do without drawing attention from passersby. 

Though the opera was a cheap affair, you were considerably entertained until the tenor entered the stage and began to sing all the wrong notes. To your ears, which were sharp, but not suited to the intricacies of musical notes, his singing was strangely off but still fine. To Lestat, however, he was not at all amused. His jaw muscles clenched and his fingers curled and uncurled over the sheet music he had brought. One glance his way and you already knew he had made his mind on who would be that evening’s supper.

Hours later, when Lestat had taken the young singer to your hotel room, you wondered if he was planning on simply fucking some sense into him before biting into his throat. Instead, Lestat sat down by the piano and played the notes, forcing the singer to sing. He pointed out each and every flaw, tone growing harsher with each mistake. 

Louis watched the two with a nauseous stomach and an uneasy mind. You tried to pull him away to another room, tried to kiss him until he forgot about Lestat and his fixation on the poor man, but Louis’ mind was adrift.

“Louis, this is meant to be a vacation,” you reminded him, massaging your fingers over his tense shoulders.

“How can it be a vacation when he’s in the other room about to murder some guy for a note he sang offkey?” Louis asked, a tad too loudly for your preference.

“Lestat gets this way sometimes. You know this by now. He gets angry, he gets sucked in, he gets tunnel vision until something is done exactly how he wants it to be done. It doesn’t affect us, though, not really. Dinner is dinner, Louis.”

Louis crossed his arms. “You have animals for dinner most of the time. And you kill people who deserve it. Lestat, he just—that man could have a family, a whole life ahead of him!”

“The same could be said for the people I’ve killed,” you replied easily.

“No, no, it’s different!” he vehemently said. “You killed the rapists, the child-fiddlers, and even the slave-owners back when they were still around! Lestat, he—”

“I know,” you said, tone firm. “Louis, I know.”

“Do you, though?” Louis shook his head in incredulity at your nonchalance and walked back into the main room where Lestat had just struck the young tenor across his vocal cords, destroying them beyond repair. “Why do you do this, Lestat?”

The blonde licked the blood off his fingers. “Well, I like to do it. I enjoy it.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Louis. “You don’t have to humiliate him like that.”

In a burst of outrage, Lestat yelled, “Well, I don’t say that you have to enjoy it! Kill them swiftly if you have to, but do it! Embrace what you are! You are a killer, Louis!”

You walked into the room at that, brows furrowed. “Will you two stop it? All this yelling and drama—this was meant to be a vacation!”

“How can it be a vacation when we haven’t even left this damned country?” Lestat bitterly replied. “I should have gone to Italy with you and left Louis here to scavenge through corpses until he rotted away.”

“You don’t mean that,” you angrily said, volume rising. “You’ve had decades to temper your anger issues, and yet you haven’t changed a single bit!”

Lestat raised his nose in defiance, picked up the tenor (who had crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap), and swiftly carried him to the couch where he would slowly drain him of his blood. Louis took to sitting and watching the dying man’s last thoughts. A part of you wondered why, if he was so horrified by Lestat's cruelty, did he bother to stay and watch—though you didn’t stick around to ask. Instead, you retired to the bedchambers without saying goodbye to either of them. Lestat left you a chalice of the singer’s blood by your coffin as an apology of sorts, but it was left untouched. 

[inklore]

crucified

premise: when his fingers slip between your open thighs you know there’s no other god you’d give yourself over to. no other god who can feed you, starve you, with such a loving hand.

pairing: lestat de lioncourt x human!reader

word count: 852

contents: blood and blood drinking, cult au, scars, inflicted wounds and cuts mentioned, foreplay, ownership kink, religious undertones.

note: if there's a sign up sheet i'm at the top of it hehe.

haunted hoedown day seven.

The cuts no longer hurt. 

No longer give your flesh that rippling sting through your nervous system for longer than seconds before the euphoria hits. 

Before the reminder of why you’re cutting yourself open with a blade to begin with. Why your fingers and wrists stain with the smell of copper for days after because you’ve bled so much for him. 

Always for him. 

The scars on your flesh only grow the longer you stay here. Stay with him. Worship him the way a man like him thinks he should be worshiped. 

Except he’s not a man.

Inhuman. 

Monster. 

God. 

The titles mean less to you than the beauty of the magic that is him. 

Lestat. 

You have a backstory. Something sad and traumatic that explains how you got to be here. How you’re on your knees in front of him, blood spilling down your arm—a new scar for him to lick clean. To heal with his tongue as he drinks from the bounty you’ve presented for him. 

A symbol of your devotion.

A symbol of your love. 

But you can’t remember anything but Lestat. Can’t think of a thought that doesn’t have him wrapped up in it. That isn’t a chant screaming out his name or making your insides swell until you have no choice but to relieve the burning. 

Sometimes with your own hand.

Sometimes, when you’ve proven yourself, he'll help you. 

Rid you of an ache that he’s caused. Take pity and use your body for selfish needs that stick with someone even after they’re no longer human. 

“It’s what you were made for.” He’ll whisper in your ear as his hips roll slowly between your thighs. 

And you’ll eat it up. Cling to him like something small and fragile who doesn’t want to be weened off the poison that gives them their only comfort. 

It’s why you showed up here tonight. Why you’re in his room, at his alter, knees digging into the hard floor, blood dripping, hooded eyes looking up at his smiling face. 

His legs spread, back against the velvet covering of the chair he’s in. 

A throne for a god. 

A monster. 

There’s a plead on your dry lips, falling down to his feet, licking his ego. It makes his hips shift, makes something in his eyes turn from hunger to starvation—something worse than thirst, than want, than need.

He loves his pets, but he loves them even more when they're bleeding for him. 

When they need him.

Elation makes a weak smile pull up the corners of your mouth as you watch him move to his knees in front of you. Joining you on the floor, showing you that yes, he’s going to give you what you want, what you need, even if that means stooping down to your level of frailty, to show his mercy. To show the kindness of a good god. A god who loves his people just as long as they’re offering up their lives in his hands.

Their blood on a perfectly scarred wrist that he’s wrapping his lips around and sucking from. 

Gasps and whimpers, head pointed towards the sky, eyes fluttering, insides burning, as he feeds from you. As he takes your offering, your gift, what he’s owed, what you’ll always give him—what you’re made for. 

His lips parting from your flesh to run the tip of his tongue over the cut, wet mouth pressing against the rough skin of past cuts he’s had his mouth against—tongue inside, fingers scooping up your devotion and pressing to your lips so you can taste the sweetness for yourself. 

“Do you like it when I bleed for you?” Your vision no longer blurry as you murmur the words. As his mouth hangs open centimeters away from yours, blood drips from his bottom lip and onto your white nightgown. 

His hand coming to hold the side of your neck, nails skating across your sensitive skin, making your jaw twitch on a silent moan. “Yes, ma petite.” He whispers before pressing his mouth against yours.

Yes, little one.

Yes, darling.

Yes, meal.

“When you taste this sweet, how could I not?” His tongue licks into your mouth, coats your tastebuds in the coppery flavor of your own devotion. Of your own demise. “Swallow it. Swallow and see why I keep you around.” His palm presses against your throat, waiting, wanting, daring you to swallow against it. 

Waiting to feel your throat bob as you do what he says and take back what you’ve offered him. Replenishing your senses with the blood that already beats within your veins to keep you alive—that you’ve relinquished to the monster who only keeps you alive when you’re spilling yourself of that life.

But when his fingers slip between your open thighs—the skillful press and pull of them—you know there’s no other god you’d give yourself over to. No other god who can feed you, starve you, with such a loving hand as Lestat can. 

When you come on his fingers, you know that this is truly what you were made for. 

You were made for him.

[thelemonbandit]

Fanart for this wonderful fic that I cannot stop thinking about!!

If you want PERFECTLY characterized DM go check it out!

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Le Petit Mort

Summary: That period comfort fic.

Pairing: Lestat de Lioncourt x human!afab!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Content Warnings: Period Blood Flavoured Porn 18+!, Soft!Lestat, A Tiny Bit Angsty, Oral (F Receiving), Period Blood :), Comfort, A Little Somnophilia, A Surprising Amount Of Lestat's Musings About Human Biology

A/N: I just want to crawl into his ribcage and wrap myself around his heart.

No pressure tags: @notgilderoylockhart @queer-crusader @blueberrypancakesworld @theprettiesthead @midnight-mess

And it′s easy done

Our little remedy

And the reason comes on the common tongue of your loving me

- Moment's Silence By Hozier

Eventually, at the point where the latest hours of the night exchanged a brief shake of hands with those of the early morning, the city quieted down. Lamp-lit streets gradually guided fewer creatures of the night, or those who believed to be such, back home, and the spontaneous bursts of music after someone had swung a bar door open died out just like the plenty of colorful lights illuminating the window frames of the neighborhood; one going out after the other like a tiring sparkle of fireflies.

Lestat watched the city quarter slowly slip into a brief slumber, knowing that it would only take a mere handful of hours for the bustling on the streets to start anew, hungry bodies eager to fill themselves with hot beverages and takeaway sandwiches to soak up what was left from the night before. Daytime activities not meant to be entertained by him, however, much more so by you when you’d wake with him already gone, hiding away from the sunlight you were to let yourself bask in with every little stroll of yours to pick up flowers or enjoy some ice cream on the pier whilst he slept to pass the hours between being with and without you again. The pleasantries of being human.

With time, he’d forgotten most about it, had trained and taught himself not to care about the things so far out of his reach but that only lasted until you had come along, crossed his nightly path, slightly yet dangerously enough swaying on a pair of glittery high heels and black mascara running down your face, swept along the soft curve of your cheeks by a wash of heavy tears. Lestat had been out to feed and yet, your appearance that night had evoked a sense of pity inside the rotten pit of his ribcage that had thrown the hunger aside and instead led him to find out what this city had done to you on that particular night.

The undead tried not to dwell on this memory for too long for it wouldn’t bring him anything other than sorrow over something that wasn’t even lost to him yet, quite the contrary, still resting calmly in his embrace.

Exhaling a tender hum, you nuzzled your face against Lestat’s chest, slumbering away soundly whilst he watched over you. The vampire found himself perfectly content with that, having concluded that you couldn’t possibly entertain him at all hours of the night, especially not during the work week. The weekends, however, posed as the sacred frame of time you could actually spend time with one another without any overly negative repercussions. Not so seldomly, he felt a pang of guilt rumble through him for fucking your sleep schedule like that - yet another one of those things the vampire preferred not to sit in longer than necessary.

Shushing the unwelcome musings from his mind, Lestat placed a tender kiss to your hairline, one hand caressing down your back before coming back around your hips again, a hardly noticeable, miniscule tremble making his palm rest just above the waistband of your checkered pajama shorts; he liked them, enjoyed seeing you comfortable.

He had to double-take but it was there, right beneath his fingertips, pointed nails like stained glass barely touching your soft skin, a thrum going through your lower abdomen, a telltale pull inwards not yet strong enough to wake you. If he focused, he was able to feel the muscles tugging, preparing to shed and rid themselves of another months worth of lining and for a moment, he found himself flush with almost childlike wonder and adoration for the human body having well timed mechanisms for everything, be it antibodies to fight against an oncoming cold or an empty womb ready to start the cycle anew.

Sometimes, rarely but not less earnest, he missed it, missed that feeling of an itch scratching at the back of his throat as snow fell outside and he'd warmed himself in front of a fire that burned like vermillion and Amber whilst feeding from a bowl of soup. But then again, the longing withered with the remembrance of coughing his lungs out for weeks, bronchi ablaze with infection and rendered sticky with amounts of mucus that had left him wondering how he hadn’t drowned within himself. Lestat shook the memory with an accompanying, slight shake of his head, fingers still curiously following the pull and tear underneath your skin. It would render painful quickly and he wouldn't want you to wake up with this hurt ripping through your body like that, no, he much rather have you wake up gently and with enough time to take something to help with the discomfort before tucking yourself back in.

The hand that had been resting carefully dipped down, fingers slipping past the elastic easily before they curved and felt tacky wetness; a severe lack of arousal in the current amalgamation but he'd gleefully correct that in time.

A sheen of pinkish red glossed index and middle finger up to the knuckles as he withdrew again and he eyed it for a moment as you softly stirred in his embrace, you wouldn't wake just now, only a little turbulence that ebbed away quickly.

There was no second thought as Lestat raised his hand just enough to gingerly pop both fingers into his mouth to suck them clean. The traces of fresh blood were hardly even there and yet they gave him a brief head rush, fangs pushing through out of sheer instinct and the aftertaste leaving him craving more.

He sucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, dragging every last bit from between his taste buds as he pondered briefly and figured that you wouldn't mind as he slowly shimmy away from you just the tiniest little bit, enough to crouch down, shoulder against the mattress and fingers pulling at your shorts until they hung loose around your thighs. Lestat had to remind himself not to bite…only taste. There was no need for any harm in what he was wanting to do, tongue darting out to lap at you gently to pull from a source that came without violence and again, it egged him into a frenzy as the slightest taste of your blood swept into his mouth.

He hummed into you, palms splayed at your lower back and you groaned in return, subconscious eventually catching up to the careful ministrations.

“Huh?” Your voice low and sleep-drunk as your eyes fluttered open and dropped down immediately.

With Lestat's broad hands warm against your back, the dull sensation of pressure from within didn't come to you immediately, the battling pleasure so kindly donated by your lover spreading much more intense.

“Your bleedin’, ma belle.” Lestat mouthed against your throbbing cunt before pulling away just enough to look up at you, chin glazed with traces of red and fangs prodding against a glistening bottom lip.

If you hadn't been comfortable resting on your bed, you'd have probably just toppled over because the view from above rendered your knees weak in a heartbeat.

“Oh.” It trickled from your mouth, entirely content with what was happening and just in time before the air got knocked from your lungs as Lestat leaned back in, the width of his tongue snaking through soaked labia and eventually pushing inside, gently stretching you around the taut and nimble muscle.

Your fingers found his head, taking a fistful of honey-blonde curls to pull him flush against you as he coaxed a wash of little noises to feather from your lips and into the bedroom.

“You're impossible.” The words came breathless and slightly hoarse as the bridge of your lover's nose nudged against your swollen clit, flushed flesh pressing dangerously close to predatory jaws.

Lestat laughed into you, the vibration nearly sending you flying past the threshold already but you held back, kept tethering on the edge as he fed from you; each and every clench and throb of your cunt easing the growing discomfort whilst pulling the fresh red from you.

If it had been up to Lestat, he could've done it all night, for hours until the sun would come up, however, he was still attentively listening to your body and the way it reacted around him; tongue fucking into you, curling and curving against your insides. He felt how your muscles grew tighter, pressure growing and ready to snap in the very next moment.

He wanted you to let loose, to taste you coming all over his mouth and chin as your blood rendered sweet with the rush of release; a special delicacy. And for a few strokes of his tongue, he pressed in even further, nose rubbing against your sensitive clit. Lestat could feel the electricity jolting through your body, you practically vibrated above him, thighs twitching before the firework of blissed out sensations got set into motion.

A muffled Fuck got lost in fabric and feathers as you shoved your face into a thick pillow, the trembling if your body outside of your control as the contractions flushed any sort of pain right out of you and Lestat lapped at you like a feral animal, immediate overstimulation making you writh as he held you in place until he deemed himself sated.

He pulled away at last, the wet sound emanating from amidst your thighs making your face flush with heat.

“You French pervert.” You groan out halfway laughing.

“Je t'aime, aussi.”, Lestat looked up at you, grinning widely with his cheek pressed against your skin, “I reckon you get something to ease the pain, love.”

“But I have, don't I?” You smiled back, chest swelling with warmth and an overflowing gush of love.

“You sure do, but I was thinking about something that would actually let you sleep, no?”

[nerdmutant]

sometimes a family is three ex husbands, their emotional support journalist boyfriend, and the real rashid who has custody over them

[myosotisa]

every day i look for him - and every day i meet the same fate

[bloodofakashainme]

THE LOUSTAT MARRIAGE KISS WASN’T SCRIPTED. I REPEAT — THE LOUSTAT MARRIAGE KISS WASN’T SCRIPTED.

EVERYBODY, WAKE THE FUCK UP🚨

[mossycakes]

writing granpire molloy having the sort of sex that would literally kill him if he was still human

[devils-minion-cult]

Devil’s Minion Fanfics (Armand/Daniel)

I was an award-winning writer, but now all I write is gay fanfiction.

My Devil's Minion fanfics (EXPLICIT and toxic af):

The Dark Gifts - multi-chapter WIP - updates paused

Bratty Daniel Supremacy Series - 3 short fics that can be read as one-shots or in order

Other fun goodies:

Devil's Minion Fanfic Author Discord Server (MUST be a DM fanfic writer to join)

Deeply disturbing fanfic recs (the deadest doves I can find tbh)

My DM-coded Fang Bangers playlist (vampire playlists should all be less sad and more horny)

[velvette-creations]

To be loved by death

Interview with the Vampire: Santiago x fem!reader 

Rating: Explicit 

WC: 1.5 k 

Prompt: “That’s an awful lot of blood” for @sweetspicybingo (Hurt/Comfort Bingo Collection)

Warnings: Heavy on the blood play, stalking, oral (f receiving), manipulation, mind control, biting, thigh riding

Summary: You become Santiago's prey

A/n: Ben Daniels as Santiago has a hold on me. First time diving into writing for this fandom that I've loved for so long

A sense of dread crept up your spine as you took the last sip of your coffee at the quaint cafe on the corner. Your eyes darted around, but nothing suspicious lingered in your view. You placed the cup back on the saucer, the ceramic clinking together as you stood and left the money on the table. You hurried across the cobblestones, feeling like someone or something was following you. It was a feeling you couldn’t explain, but it felt like danger loomed in the distance, concealed in the shadows of night. 

Your pulse pounded in your throat. Heady and unstable. The pavement slapped beneath your worn leather shoes, the pointed heels scraping against the grooves. One unsteady movement caused your downfall and sent you spilling across the ground. Your palms scraped against the concrete as the rough surface tore through your stockings and resulted in skinned knees. Tears of humiliation burned your eyes as you swallowed down the pain. You were thankful this pathway through the park was abandoned this time of night; otherwise, you would have curled into a ball of shame.

“My, my, you took quite the spill.”

You lifted your head at the sound of the voice, shaking the loose curls out of your face as you peered around, your heart racing with anticipation. It was quite odd because it sounded like the voice surrounded all sides of you, echoing through the stagnant night air.  You gasped as a man appeared in front of you. Older with coiffed white hair and stunning blue eyes. Eyes that were not of this world, and something about them made you shiver. The black cape he wore surrounded him ominously as it billowed around his legs.

“What were you running from, ma chérie? Was a wolf chasing after the little lamb?”

You scooted away from him, your palms leaving a trail of blood along the cold ground, frowning as he taunted you. How dare he? He didn’t know you and had no right to be so condescending. If you were in a better mindset, you would have slapped him across the face for his brazenness.

“What’s wrong, chérie? Cat got your tongue.” A smirk crossed his face as he loomed over you. He was taunting you, and it made your blood boil.

“You are rude, monsieur,” you frowned, finally finding your voice while you slowly stood as pain surged through your body. You felt wobbly and lightheaded from the sight of your blood smeared against the concrete—a crimson gash reminding you of your folly.

“I have been told worse,” he chuckled. His demeanor shifted as he followed your gaze to the ruby blood sparkling in the dim light of the lamppost illuminating the park. “That is a lot of blood, chérie.” 

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for your concern,” you murmured, pushing your stinging palms together and cursing yourself for not wearing your evening gloves.

He tutted gently, stepping forward with intricate grace, and instinctively, you wanted to run. A cold dread set over you. Had he been the one you were running from? The looming dread from the shadows, the breath on the back of your neck, the mysterious figure who had set you on edge that sent you sprinting through the park toward the safety of your apartment. This feeling had followed you for a week; perhaps now, the answer stood before you.

“Of course I care, ma chérie,” he chided, stepping closer and drawing your hands into his. His long nails reminded you of spun glass. You stood frozen, fixated on his unnatural, spectral blue eyes as he lifted your palms to his mouth. His warm pink tongue rolled from his lips as he lapped at the tiny droplets of blood that clung to your scraped flesh. A scream felt caught in your throat, yet you were paralyzed. Pointed fangs extended from his mouth, dragging across your wounded flesh and splitting it wider. He reminded you of a cat enjoying their dish of cream.

“Please,” you whimpered, voice faint and cracked.

“The sweet essence of fresh youth,” he sighed happily, your blood splashed around his mouth, “You are going to be quite the treat, ma chérie.”

You trembled like a lamb caught in the wolf’s jowls.

~~

You waited in your apartment every evening at the same time. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months progressed and still, he kept the same schedule. The night ticked away, and the city of Paris was still alive as people enjoyed the treasures offered in the seclusion of darkness. As if on cue, you rose onto your bare feet and padded onto your balcony. The gentle breeze wafted through your loose hair as the hem of your black dress tickled your calves. You were mesmerized every night as he floated above the dimly lit streets and toward your balcony. Santiago. You were his dark bride, offering your flesh and blood to satiate his voracious appetite.

You gazed up as his hand cupped your chin and pondered how easily those long glass nails could puncture your skin. His lips were cold as ice as they pressed against yours. Warmth spread through you as blood bubbled to the surface, spilling down the corners of your mouth as he laid the first mark of the evening. Wordlessly, he took your hand, guiding you into the privacy of your apartment as the doors closed behind you. You moved as if under a laden spell as your fingers unbuttoned your dress, letting it pool around your ankles and leaving you in silky undergarments. Ones you had scrimped and saved for, savoring the delicate fabric as it slipped through your fingers.

Santiago stepped closer, using his claws to tear them to shreds until you stood naked before him. Not a single tear dribbled from your eyes at the loss of the treasured garments. You moved in a daze, slowly dancing in place to an invisible tune as he removed his cape, leaving him in dark trousers, a white undershirt, and suspenders. His piercing blue eyes remained fixed on you as you continued your silent dance before he pulled a chair into the center of the room. You straddled his thigh before skimming your hands over his muscled arms, marveling at how an older man kept in such shape. You supposed there were many mysteries about him that you would never uncover.

His mouth grazed over your neck, leaving the flesh pure and unmarked until he reached one of your breasts. His tongue rolled over your nipple until it stiffened under his touch. The sharp pain made you gasp and rock against his thigh as your blood oozed into his welcoming mouth. It was intoxicating; the pain was quickly replaced by euphoria. Lust unraveled through your body as Santiago continued to claim your flesh, savoring each drop of warm, delicious blood. Your arms circled his neck, one palm pressing against the back of his head to hold him closer.

Moving gracefully and quickly, he lifted you into his arms and placed you on the bed. He kissed his way down your belly, leaving a light trail of your blood over your quivering flesh until he lay between your splayed thighs. Pain and pleasure blurred together as he feasted on your thighs while his tongue claimed your slick cunt. Blood and arousal intermixed and clung to your flushed skin as your fingers buried in his white hair. The sweet release rolled through your body like waves crashing through the ocean. You knew he savored the blood more.

“Sleep, ma chérie. My sweet little lamb. I will return to you tomorrow night,” he whispered as his fingers gently slipped against the tender skin of your eyelids and closed them. A deep slumber grasped your body, pulling you under the swirling darkness of dreams.

Santiago tucked the blanket around your body, a few sparkling, wet, ruby droplets clinging to your glowing skin as the rest dried into a vexing crust. The next day, you would indulge in a hot bath and scrub yourself clean. He lingered for a moment, watching your chest heave with your shallow breaths, hot blood pumping through your veins—an intoxicating ichor that called to him. How selfish it would be to drain you and deny him such a treat.

“What win I, if I gain the thing I seek? A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy. Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?” The words rolled from his tongue, ever the skilled orator and performing, falling onto deaf ears before he disappeared into the black night. You were left to your dreams.

You dreamt of your malcontent Santiago, giving your being over to him as his fangs and claws ripped apart your flesh. Consuming you until you were nothing as blood dripped from him. The wolf feasted upon the lamb. To be loved by death. To be wrapped in it’s tender embrace. What divine bliss. 

The next evening, Santiago did not arrive at your door, but instead, a courier who delivered a card and a wrapped box. Nestled inside the box, between layers of white tissue paper, lay a set of silky undergarments to replace the ones ruined the previous night. Inside the white envelope was an invitation to the Théâtre des Vampires on an evening of your choosing.

Join me, ma chérie. Perhaps you will welcome the dark gift. 

Your thumb traced over the elegant cursive of his signature. Answers awaited you. Time to let death embrace you.

[bacytar]

Pockets full of posies

...IN WHICH— in which you fail to escape your sickeningly obsessed vampire partners.

Match up ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 yan. Lestat and Louis x reader

triggers_ predator vrs pray themes, power imbalance, sucking blood, kidnapping, sadistic tendencies

Authors musings: hello everyone, this fic although a poly one is a bit more centered around Lestat. In the future I will be making more Louis content. Anyway this is first time posting a full blown one shot so I really hope you enjoy.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Lestat knew about your little plan to escape them. Hell, he practically knew even before yourself. It all just made it all the more enjoyable to hunt you down.

He watched as you carefully gripped the edge of the train, tentiful not to make a sound as you pulled yourself in. Nesseling yourself in between two crates you finally feel yourself relax. You rummage through your leather messenger bag till your hands curl around the cool hilt of an aged dagger.

This wasnt your first attempt to escape and you hoped it would be your last. It had taken you ages to regain the minuscule amount of trust you had. You didn't have a set direction where you wanted to go. Just anywhere away from them felt enticing enough.

As the train moved, the cargo rattled beside you. A specter of a smile starting to creep upon your lips.

You had lasted much longer than you had ever had before and for that, Lestat could almost applaud you. If only he wasn't the first to let you in the first place. You wouldn't have heard him if all else wasnt silent. His footfall was quite, a trademark of a seasoned predator.

You tried your best to slow your beating pulse as your blood rushed in your ears. A low chuckle escapes Lestat's lips as he knocks on the wood of the train car.

"Did you scurry off in here my rabbit?"

You carefully extract the aged blade from your bag, ready to strike when the inevitable hits you. Lestat continues to hum as he creeps closer to you.

"Are you perhaps...here." He violently pulls back a crate, its remnants splintering with contact with the wall behind him. "No, not here..." He extracts another crate, which splinters, and its contents sprawled. He laughs, a cruel yet beautiful sound as he creeps toward your hiding spot. You can do nothing as your eyes meet. His gaze is wild and hollow and threatens your spine with a chill.

You remember the blade gripped in your hands and lunge forward but he is far too fast. This only seems to serve to amuse the vampire as he simply plucks the blade from your trembling hands and tosses it aside. You are helpless against his devastating grip as he smiles down at you.

"This was fun, but it's time to go home. Louis is worried sick." You scowl gathering the spit in your mouth and projecting it right at Lestat's face. "No! I won't! You're both horrible. Id-" Lestat cuts you off with a dry yet mocking laugh. "You know ma belle, I was going to let you off easy and just take your disobedience as entertainment. But no, I think you deserve something else."

Lastat's fangs protract as he slowly widens his mouth and lowers it to your neck. You could practically feel his sadistic smile as he sank his fangs into you. Your lips open in a silent scream as blinding pain pulses beneath his bite. You want to fight back but your body is unresponsive. Perfectly still as any good pet should be. It wasn't until the rim of your vision began to darken he parted from your neck.

It was raw and sore. A feeling you never enjoyed, though Lestat seemed to. He panted, enjoyment dripping from his features. "Mhm, I forgot how good you tasted." You had no biting remark back as he carried you bridal style out of the now-stopped train.

The ride back home was awkward and quiet. You tried to stop yourself from glancing at Lesatat because whenever you did your eyes seemed to meet without fail.

"Home" was just how you left it. Wild vines trumped the entrance, and warm light spilled from the windows only illuminated by the darkened sky. You didn't want to be a songbird in a gilded cage made of shadows anymore than you did when you left that evening. But alas you felt your free will diminish as Lestat placed a strong hand at the nape of your neck, guiding you in.

There you found Louis pacing. "Louis guess who I found." Lestat sang, pushing you in front of him. Louis immediately looked up clearly relieved. He didn't approach you immediately, instead slowly stepping toward you as if you were a caged animal that might just run from any swift movement.

Once he reached you he hugged you tight, his grip just as tight as Lestat's. Burying his face into the good side of your neck, he breathed, his breath slightly tickling you. "I was so worried..." He pulled away from you allowing you to see the worry and desperation that marinated in his gaze. If he wasn't crazy you would feel bad for him.

His hand grazes the side of your wounded neck, the leftover blood already caked onto your skin. Louis sucks in a breath, clearly tempted but able to restrain himself. "I-I see you have already had your fill huh." Lestat smiles and presses a kiss to his lips. "Just a quick snack."

Louis kisses your forehead then your cheek. His lips lingered longer than what was deemed comfortable. "You must be so tired after your... exploits," he said the last word as if it were poison. "Why don't we head to bed early." before you are able to answer or even interject Lestat answers for you "That sounds like a wonderful idea!" leaning down to your ear he whispers "We'll just have to bathe you tomorrow."

The three of you migrate up the steps. Both Louis and Lestat help you into your "night" attire before helping themselves, making sure your eyes are on them as they do so. Sinking into Louis's coffin altogether was a tight and suffocating fit, that tempted you to crawl out. You were trapped in a tangle of limbs until the sunset again.