promise me you’ll never — Lestat x GN!Reader — Part 1 (SFW)
warnings: angst, abandonment issues, Gabriella >:[, mention of incest, mention of incestuous child abuse/manipulation, cheating, swearing, mention of sex
context: s3 tvl, established relationship, vampire!reader has been with Lestat since the first TVL concert
a/n: a fic 🤯🤯 but yes, this is the SFW chapter, I’ll be dropping the follow-up which will be NSFW separately so those who want to avoid it can do it easily. anyways enjoy <33
Furious was an understatement.
You storm out of the van, head swirling, vision blurring with rage. You didn’t want to come back. Even as the sun threatened to crest in the sky, you kept going. One foot followed the other in a sickening march away from what had once started to feel like home.
You could easily hear him walking behind you. “Get back in the van, mon cher!” He calls out, as if this is simply another tantrum he is burdened by dealing with. “The sun is soon to rise, come to coffin! Don’t be stupid, now, viens-a-moi!”
You whirl around to see him standing a good few paces behind you. “Stupid?! That’s what you think of me?! I know who she is, Lestat! That’s not just your Italian fuckbuddy, that’s your mother! You think I’d want to lay in your coffin after seeing that?! Get away from me!” You continue to storm off, your arms crossing in defiance as if trying to deny the whole situation.
Lestat scoffs in a way you’ve never heard before. “Sofia is a friend! Gabriella is my mother, come on now, get my history straight!”
“They’re the same person!” You don’t bother turning to speak, knowing he’s still in pursuit and can hear you just fine. “I thought I could ignore it, I really did, maybe you’d even stopped doing it, but no! I find you and her, in the coffin we share, moaning and groaning and — ugh!”
“I don’t groan, my dear, I grunt.” You hate when he does that. When he’s scolded and he instead replies to the least important topic at hand. “Groaning is for you when you accuse me of… hey!” His voice breaks. “Don’t walk away from me!”
“Stop following me!” You shout back. “I don’t wanna look at you, or talk to you, or anything!”
Lestat laughs, but the noise is nearing on wet. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” You speed back to him so you can look him in the eyes. He stumbles back at your sudden proximity, but in an attempt to save face, he forces a grin, and leans in to kiss you. You push him back with a palm to the chest. “If you follow me, I may just-“ before you can finish, your fangs click out, revealing their full length as your mouth opens before your next word. Your meaning is evident, and for a few moments, Lestat pauses. You can’t quite read his expression, whether it’s anger, snark, defensiveness, or… something more mellow.
“…fine.” He straightens, raising his head and pressing his lips together. His eyebrows climb his forehead. “Have your fun.” In spite of yourself, you attempt to invade his mind, but he rather forcefully blocks you out. Your brow sinks.
. ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ .
It has been two weeks since you left. You’ve been spending your days asleep in the attic of a high-class hotel — a perfect place to meet other vampires as well as have easy access to prey. The blood is sweet and, particularly when Lestat tours in the venue right next to the place, riddled with drugs.
Your head has only recently stopped spinning and started forming thoughts again. It’s a few hours until sunrise, and you’ve left your attic hideout for a walk. The late-night air is cool on your skin, slightly sticky with humidity. You inhale and let it dampen your lungs, only to begin to sputter as the grotesque scent of cigarette smoke invades the (somewhat) clean air.
“Look who’s come craaaaawling back!” A wet voice shouts, thick with a French accent and a drug-induced daze. You blink away the smoke that’s been puffed into your face to see Lestat. His hair hangs low, heavy with sweat, and his face shimmers with the same substance. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are puffy. Faint red streaks adorn the sides of his face, and you realize —
“You’ve been crying, haven’t you?”
“No,” he snips a bit too quickly. “It was for the fans. My adoring fans. You know, none of them left until half an hour after I stopped singing.”
“All, what? Twelve?” Your snide hurts even yourself a bit, and guilt nips at your gut. You’re forced to remind yourself of what he’s done.
“I didn’t even sing and you left.”
You blink a couple times. Before you can retort, he cuts you off, his voice suddenly ascending to a shout.
“You left!” He cries out, careless of how his voice echoed down the street. “You didn’t even tell me goodbye! Why haven’t you come back to me? Pourquoi tu n’ai pas viens a moi?! Why?!”
Your chest hasn’t felt so heavy in years. His eyes brim with tears of blood as he looks at you expectantly, but also hesitantly. As if he fears your response. And who or what has Lestat ever feared before? The lack of answers your brain generates is enough to send you into a mild panic.
“Lestat, I won’t believe you don’t understand my reasoning. You’re clever, aren’t you?”
“Stop that! Gabriella is… she’s…” His eyes frantically search the night to his left, as if an answer is hiding there.
The night goes still. Even the crickets cease to sing. All that remains is the distant chatter from inside the venue. It takes a few moments for Lestat to look at you, and when he does, you hear him in your head.
“I can’t say it. I don’t want to. I don’t want to tell you my history with her. What we’ve done. It’s… I’m… I can’t do it, mon cher. What we’ve done is-“
“No. What she’s done to you.”
It finally makes sense. The fear. The justifications, the skirting around the problem, the fear in his eyes, the confusion. You almost feel ashamed that it’s taken you so long to realize the situation at hand.
Wordlessly, you close the distance, hugging Lestat with all your might. It shocks you when he squeezes you back with the force he does. The breath is forced from your lungs, and his nails drag down your back.
“Don’t leave me,” he rasps. “Not again. Not ever again, don’t do it, you can’t.”
“I don’t want to,” you murmur in his ear, feeling tears pool in your own eyes as he hiccups and stutters over breaths. “I don’t plan on it. I was just upset.”
Lestat breathes out, “I don’t want to upset you…”
“I wouldn’t think you do,” you reassure him. He trembles in your arms, and you bury your face into his neck, breathing through his hair. He does the same to you. It takes a long time before his nails finally loosen their grip on your coat. He doesn’t let go of you even then.
He speaks lowly, as if afraid you’ll hear his voice crack with emotion once more, “…come to coffin with me tonight?”
You smile faintly. “Not just to sleep. I want to go home.”
He scoffs. “A van is hardly a home.”
“It’s not the van,” you reply. You pull back just enough to cup his face in your hands and look him in his eyes. Gorgeous, vibrant, that blue-purple color that’s lived in your heart since the day it appeared in your world. He leans into your touch, turning his face to kiss your palm. Finally, you speak again.
(ending a/n: sorry if this is rushed too, it’s late and almost time for my nightly call with my partner 😍😍 I wanted to get this done beforehand tho. I hope I made some good food 🙏 feedback is much appreciated. ily thank you for reading <3)
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