HOmegaEra

It was a cool autumn night in Paris, and while mortals slept, the undead were busy welcoming their newest member to their coven inside the old auditorium. The Vampire Armand stood proudly in front of the stage, looking up at the Theatre’s founder and poster child Lestat de Lioncourt, giving him notes and stage directions he knows full well Lestat will not listen to. Next to Lestat was Y/F/N Y/L/N, a freshly turned vampire herself.

Today was Y/N’s audition to join the Theatre des Vampires, and although nervous, she felt at home already among the other thespians in the room with her. With her lifelong love of theatre and literature that only intensified in her newly immortal life, Y/N knew she was in good company. She caught herself stealing glances at Lestat, as if against her will, but she knew she couldn’t help herself. Of all the vampires in this room—the stage director and Coven leader Armand, fellow company members Eglee, Celeste, Estelle, Sam, Gustav, and Quang Pham in the seats, as well as the gifted violinist Nicki hiding in the wings—there is something captivating and enchanting about this charismatic blonde actor. Y/N felt immediately attracted to this man, and she was both alarmed by and pleased with this sudden revelation. Lestat could feel Y/N’s attraction to him, something he found adorable, endearing, distracting, and quite arousing. Lestat gazed at her, a charmingly wicked smile on his face as he admired the young vampire in front of him. Armand, annoyed but pushing the uneasy feeling down, turned to look at Y/N.

“Welcome to the Theatre, dear Y/N. The Coven and I are interested as to how you found yourself in Paris, and how you found us. Please, enlighten everyone,” Armand said, with a slight air of both curiosity and mild arrogance rolled together. Y/N quickly moved her glance from Lestat to Armand and shivered slightly before she answered.

“Hello all, my name is Y/F/N Y/L/N, and I was visiting when I was given the Dark Gift. I have been in Paris ever since. I heard about the Theatre through my maker, and through discovering the Theatre, I found out about the Coven.” As she told the truth, she felt Santiago staring daggers at her, full of amusement.

“So, little miss Y/L/N, it seems as though you enjoy the arts, is that right?” said Santiago, with a slithery snark. Y/N nodded her head. “A birdie told me that you’re auditioning with one of Shakespeare’s lesser works, yes?” Y/N nodded again. Lestat’s blueish violet eyes widened as he grinned a little bigger.

“Yes, I will be reading as Rosalind disguised as Ganymede. I hope you find it suitable,” she said politely, trying to stifle a small tinge of laughter. Santiago exaggerated his giggle to mock her slightly before speaking again.

“Hmm, I assume you would like to have someone read with you. I wonder who that could be…” Santiago’s voice trailed off as he shifted his glance from Y/N to the left of her.

The slender, blonde, and devilishly handsome vampire beside Y/N spoke before she could even have the thought to respond. Watching from the wings, the violinist Nicki put a hand to his forehead with a quiet groan.

“I volunteer myself. I know the play by heart,” said Lestat. He shot Y/N a soft but sly grin as he placed his hand on his chest, reeling in the blush that appeared on her face. Armand had to hold back a scoff as Lestat offered to read with her. “I’m quite curious to see how she does, if I may.” Lestat gently bowed as he spoke to her, with a smile on his face and intrigue in his heart. Lestat was many things, and subtle was not one of them. Y/N nodded, smiling slyly back at him.

“You may,” Y/N said, bowing slightly. Her cheeks cast a rosy glow upon them as she smiled. Santiago chuckled to himself, and Armand choked down another scoff as he looked back to Y/N and Lestat.

“As you wish. Lestat, you will read with Y/N as Orlando, starting from his entrance after Jaques exits the scene. Y/N, you will follow.” Armand crossed his arms over his chest as he watched the two vampires in front of him on the stage.

“Yes, maître,” said Y/N, slightly nervous but strangely excited about reading alongside this hauntingly tempting creature next to her. She got herself into character quickly, trying to fight off the thought of how sweet Lestat’s blood might taste on her tongue and how soft his full lips must be, among various other salacious and primal things that she wasn’t aware of that she needed or wanted. It wasn’t an unwelcome thing—Lestat had something disarmingly attractive about him. Y/N felt drawn to him somehow, but she tried in vain to hide it. Lestat cleared his throat and prepared himself as well, his own pale skin turning a faint pink as they moved to the middle of the stage. Butterflies fluttered inside their bodies as they began their scene. After a few seconds of silence passed, Lestat launched into character.

“My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.” Lestat said, remembering the lines from memory as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. Despite her nervousness and giddiness, Y/N began herself.

“Break an hour’s promise in love? He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts and break but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o’ th’ shoulder, but I’ll warrant him heart-whole.” Y/N matched Lestat’s intensity and focus as she spoke her lines. Astonished by her delivery, he carried on with his own lines.

“Pardon me, dear Rosalind,” continued Lestat, feeling a rush of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach, the pleasant sensation only growing stronger as she went on. Lestat watched her as she moved effortlessly through her audition, overcome with awe, very nearly stumbling on his own lines as a result. Armand and Santiago watched from the bottom of the stage as Y/N and Lestat kept going.

Armand watched from the front row and noticed Lestat’s immediate and oddly natural chemistry with Y/N and was well aware of the subtle attraction and quiet infatuation she felt towards Lestat. Armand could feel it through her, and it bothered him. He couldn’t help it; he began to feel his face turn green with envy. Santiago, however, was greatly amused at what was unfolding in front of them—and he relished the drama of it all. The rest of the Coven watched from the seats intently, some engrossed, some unbothered. Nicki leaned up against the wall backstage, a pained expression etched on his features. Looking on at his former lover floating across the stage with a woman whom he had only met mere hours ago and watching her fall under his spell just as he had, Nicki shook his head, a grimace forming on his face.

With all due respect, maître…maybe we should keep an eye on the new one, said Santiago, filling Armand’s head with his thoughts without moving his mouth. It’s only a matter of time before our dear founder tries to take her to bed with him…you know as well as I do how he is. And seeing how she’s looking at him—Armand did not want to hear this. Lestat and Y/N were too immersed in their scene and lost in each other to hear them through their own minds.

Armand cut him off. Enough, Santiago. I know very well how Lestat operates. Let them finish. I’ll allow Y/N to continue, for now. We shall decide what measures to take when the time is right… As Armand and Santiago sized Y/N up, she breezed through her audition.

“Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humor, and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now an I were your very, very Rosalind?” Y/N continued as she blushed and smiled at Lestat. Anything he did in his impromptu performance, she followed with masterful skill.

Lestat slowly walked closer to her, his gaze never leaving her eyes. Lestat looked at Y/N, smirking as he brushed some of his long blonde hair behind his ear. He let the silence expand for a second before he continued.

“I would kiss before I spoke.”

Lestat and Y/N gazed at each other as if they were the only beings in the room, amusing Santiago morbidly and annoying Armand profoundly. A mixture of admiration and a deep hunger formed inside Lestat’s chest, and Y/N’s heart pounded against her ribcage. She gulped quietly as she tried to keep up with Lestat. Determined to give the best audition she could despite having to act opposite the most gorgeous creature she has ever laid her eyes on, alive or dead, Y/N tried to fight off her own desire building within her. Soft gasps could be heard from the other vampires watching them from the seats.

“Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking—God warn us—matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.”

Sensing Y/N’s struggle to maintain her composure, Lestat met her energy with his own words. “How if the kiss be denied?” He looked at her for a beat, cocking his head to one side quizzically. Y/N answered him with a playful shrug.

“Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.”

Lestat continued his teasing, delighted by the thrill Y/N gave him. “Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?”

Y/N pretended to scoff. “Marry, that should you if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.”

Lestat looked at Y/N with a look of mock surprise. “What, of my suit?” he said, his voice harboring a more sensual tone this time.

“Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am I not your Rosalind?” Y/N floated across the stage like a ghost, every single movement calculated and carried out so smoothly.

“I take some joy to say you are because I would be talking of her.” Lestat’s face reddened slightly as he noticed how Y/N’s jaw dropped, but only for a second before she kept going.

“Well, in her person I say I will not have you.” Y/N let out an exaggerated giggle as she playfully spun around slowly.

A dramatic sigh escaped Lestat’s lungs. “Then in mine own person I die.” He looked back at Y/N as she turned to face him again.

“By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come; now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will, I will grant it.” Y/N gazed at the vampire in front of her, only inches separating them now. Lestat reached out to gently caress Y/N’s cheek as they looked deeply into each other’s eyes, making her blush even more obvious in her face now. He has her right where he wants her, and as fate or some other mystical thing would have it, Y/N is right where she wants to be. Once again, Lestat drew the silence out for a beat too long before he spoke.

“Then love me, Rosalind.”

Y/N’s voice trembled a little as she leaned into Lestat’s touch. His unbroken focus on her made her feel slightly faint just from the way he looked at her, but she kept her cool as best as she could. “Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.” She shyly smiled up at him, trying and failing to hide her quiet swooning.

Lestat hung on to every word that left her lips as if he had never heard such language spoken before. Of course, he was no stranger to the stage himself, having been the Theatre’s main selling point for a few years now. The act of performing on a stage in front of an enamored audience always thrilled him, but she…she was different. This new and sudden but pleasant feeling cut him way deeper, hit him harder—he knew that she was something magical. And Lestat wasn’t quite sure where to put that desire and hunger, so he decided to do the thing he does best: he needed to have her all to himself, by any means necessary. Lestat was delighted to find that the feeling was so clearly mutual.

Santiago watched Lestat enchant Y/N as they continued with their performances. He gasped quietly as he saw Lestat become smitten with Y/N, rolling his eyes. Just look at those two! Can you believe them? They’ve made eyes at each other from the second she came through the door. They’ve only just met a few hours ago and he’s looking at her like Venus de Milo herself…and she looks as if she’s about to melt through the floor. Armand found himself becoming more and more annoyed as Lestat and Y/N carried on like they were, and Santiago took notice. Maître, you’re grinding your teeth…

Armand huffed quietly. I said let them continue. Y/N is smarter than we realize. If she doesn’t know who she’s getting herself tied up with, she will. I can guarantee that. Armand maintained his mildly annoyed expression as he crossed his arms over his chest. I see potential in her. We can use that potential.

Santiago, ever the drama queen but also the suck-up, tried to push Armand’s buttons. How shall we do that, maître? I wonder what our violinist has to say about this…I can’t imagine he’s especially thrilled about—

Armand cut him off once again. Be silent now, Santiago. Nicki is the least of my worries right now.

Now mildly aware of the growing discomfort in the pit of Armand’s stomach and Santiago’s antagonizing of him, Lestat continued to read with Y/N. He was enraptured by her, this was true—but he also found quite a bit of amusement in making Armand uncomfortable. Y/N, less aware of the effect her performance is having on the Coven leader and his all-too-willing sidekick, matched him masterfully.

“And wilt thou have me?” said Lestat, sultry and low.

Y/N nodded her head and smiled. “Ay, and twenty such.”

Lestat felt his heart flutter in his chest as he moved closer to her. “What sayest thou?”

Y/N gently bit her lip then let it go with a smirk. “Are you not good?”

“I hope so.” Lestat rolled his eyes in a sassy manner.

“Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?” Y/N went on, closing the small space between herself and Lestat.

The vaguely pained expression did not escape Armand’s face. Still wanting to maintain some sort of order and power over his Coven, Armand kept his focus fixed on the two vampires on the stage in front of him.

Santiago, an evil grin taking shape over his features, watched Lestat and Y/N’s bond become deeper by the second as Y/N continued. “Come, sister, you shall be the priest and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando.” Y/N gently reached for Lestat’s hand, and he placed it in hers, tangling their fingers together. She looked to where the audience would be sitting. “What do you say sister?” Y/N looked back up at Lestat as he gazed back at her, their vampire eyes blown out with love and desire for each other.

After what felt like an eternity, Lestat put his finger under Y/N’s chin and gingerly tilted her head up. He started to move down to press his lips to hers, and she moved up to meet him. He closed his eyes, and her eyelids fluttered shut as his lips gently—

A groan could be heard from Armand as Santiago abruptly rose from his seat and applauded loudly. Lestat and Y/N snapped out of their trance and pulled away from each other, no longer able to hide their blushing. The rest of the Coven began to applaud as well. The vampires Sam and Gustav were enthusiastic in their encouragement of the new potential member of the Coven and her undeniable and palpable chemistry with their Theatre’s founder. Celeste looked on with a proud smile on her face, while Estelle clapped wildly. Eglee rolled her eyes before eventually joining in with her applause. Backstage, Nicki shook his head again as he quietly left the auditorium, quietly cursing under his breath.

“Very well done, Y/N. Very well done indeed,” said Santiago, sounding giddier than he probably should. He looked at Armand. “What say you, maître?” he asked with mock amusement.

Armand once again did not listen. He looked up at Y/N as Lestat released her from his gentle but bold embrace. “Exquisite work, Y/N. Exceptional. While we evaluate your performance, you are welcome to remain here with the Coven. We have provided a coffin for you near your maker’s.” Armand started to dismiss everyone before he turned back to Y/N. “We do expect you to keep our hours, curfew is three o’clock sharp.” He shot a subtle but menacing glare at Lestat. Lestat rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself as he turned his back to him. Armand looked at Y/N again. Lestat smiled warmly at Y/N as he winked at her.

Still reeling from everything that just occurred, Y/N nodded and bowed. “Yes maître, I will. Thank you all.” Armand dismissed Santiago and the rest of the Coven, and they all left the auditorium.

It was then that Y/N heard a sensual and seductive voice inside her head.

Très bien fait, ma chérie. I’m impressed.

Y/N turned around to find Lestat leaning against the piano on the stage, his arms crossed over his chest, looking her up and down, dripping with genuine curiosity and insatiable desire. She blushed and smiled as she met his gaze.

“That’s very sweet of you to say, Lestat. It really means a lot to hear.” Y/N walked over to him, slightly nervous but not at all deterred. “You were amazing yourself.”

Lestat rolled his eyes playfully at her compliment but accepted it. “You flatter me, mon amour.” He stood up straight and walked over to her, looking down at her with that softly sly smirk again. “I must say, my dear Y/N, you are quite the actress. Many have come and gone from this theatre, but none have bewitched me so like you have, ma petite fleur.”

Y/N swooned at his words, slightly taken aback by the sincerity in them despite the obvious attraction. “Oh, you’re too kind. It’s not often I’m in the presence of someone so…” She caught herself getting lost in his eyes again—something she has by now realized is very easy to do—before she continued. “So…enchanting as you.”

Lestat chuckled lowly. “Is that so? Well, you have captivated me too, love,” he said, pausing briefly as he took the sight of her in. “I haven’t seen such talent on this stage in quite some time, Y/N.” She blushed deeper as she took a second to gather her thoughts. Y/N sighed softly before speaking.

“Thank you! I’m just happy that I can finally do what I love to do. Up until today, I thought it was unfortunate that I couldn’t do this kind of thing when I was mortal, but I don’t have that feeling now that I’m here. In an odd way, it feels right like this.” Y/N chuckled lightly.

Lestat listened to her words intently. “I know that feeling very well, mon coeur. For what it’s worth, I’m quite glad you wandered into our midst. I can see already that you’re passionate about the Theatre, and it’s refreshing. You’re simply lovely.” Y/N smiled at his words of admiration and encouragement. “I cannot wait to see what other talents you possess, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he said with a smirk, appreciating the slight drop of her jaw. Noticing the positive tension on her face, Lestat spoke gently to her. “Oh, and don’t be nervous, chérie. There is nothing to be afraid of. I have no doubt you’ll fit in here, I am sure of it.” He traced her jawline affectionately before tilting her head up to bring her eyes to meet his, just like he did during her audition. “And, if I may be so bold, I would love to get to know you better. If you’ll have me, of course.” Y/N’s eyes widened as she swooned. She nodded as she stuttered slightly.

“I’d love to, Lestat. I would be honored.” Y/N felt her heart jump into her mouth. The gorgeous blonde vampire in front of her reveled in how flustered she looked as he spoke to her.

“Very well then, dear Y/N. We’ll continue our little conversation after your initiation tomorrow.”

Y/N gulped. “My…my what?!”

Lestat giggled slyly. “You heard me correctly, ma chérie. Welcome to the Theatre, darling. You’re one of us now as far as I’m concerned.”

“But…Armand said—” Lestat gently placed a finger over her lips to shut her up as he spoke lowly to her, sultry and dripping with desire.

“Shh, ma jolie fille…never mind what that manipulative gremlin Armand said.” Lestat let his finger gently drag across her bottom lip before letting it go. He brushed some of her hair behind her ear as he continued. “I’ll be seeing you backstage afterwards, yes?”

There was no way for him to be coy about his appetite for her any more than he had earlier. The vampire Lestat de Lioncourt, the Brat Prince himself, was anything but shy about his unquenchable thirst for Y/N; it only grew exponentially in the few hours since he met her.

Y/N felt as though the air had been knocked out of her lungs as she nodded. “Of course, Lestat. You will.” She smiled at him, trying to regulate her breathing.

Lestat smiled wickedly at her again. “Très bien, mon amour. I’ll see you then.” He caressed her face again before turning to walk away. “Bonne nuit, ma belle. Sweet dreams.”

Y/N could feel her heart pounding in her throat as she smiled. “Good night, Lestat. I hope you sleep well.” Blushing, she beamed at him, and he smiled back, a blush of his own on his face.

With that, they left the room. As she lifted the lid to her coffin next to the others to crawl inside it, Y/N gasped as she heard Lestat’s voice in her head again, stopping her momentarily.

1800s/1900s New Orleans

♱ he loves to dress you like a painting. velvets, lace, gloves, and jewelry he “borrowed” from noble corpses or lovers long past. you don’t ask, but you always accept.

♱ he has a thing for pressing his cold lips to your palm, dragging fangs along the delicate skin there without biting, teasing, promising.

♱ he murmurs in French, sometimes it’s something dirty, or it’s poetic, but it’s always intense. the room usually increases in temperature.

♱ he tells you you’re the only real thing left in a world that decays too quickly. his need to immortalize you wars with his fear of condemning you to the same curse.

♱ you become lestat’s muse. his obsession. a reason to write, sing, stay.

♱ he keeps a lock of your hair in a glass locket, wears it beneath his shirt.

♱ and when he leaves for days at a time (as he sometimes must), you always find a new book on your nightstand, annotated in his spidery handwriting: “this reminded me of you.”

♱ lestat’s touch is delicate and devastating. he worships your body, revering every inch like it deserves to be painted.

♱ he can be greedy, but only after he’s memorized your breath, your pulse, the way your voice catches when he’s just hovering, lips ghosting your neck.

♱ he loves control, (shocker) but he’s not cruel. he’s theatrical in bed—slow at first, making a show of undressing you, calling you “darling,” “mon chérie,” “my angel” as if your very existence is an indulgence he’s not allowed to taste.

♱ he feeds from you before intimacy but not during—he says it’s too much, your time together is too sacred.

♱ sometimes you wake up with his bite already healing on your thigh or collarbone, and he just smirks from across the room in candlelight like he’s proud of his restraint.

♱ you share a townhouse in the french quarter. lestat insists on keeping a piano in every room with a hearth. he plays at twilight while you sleep, melancholic sonatas drifting through the halls like smoke.

♱ he’s jealous. (another shocker) not violently, (hmm) but visibly. anyone who looks at you too long will find themselves unnerved by a sudden drop in temperature or lestat’s hand gently, threateningly, resting at your waist.

♱ if you ever offer your blood to him willingly, it undoes him. lestat sees that as trust in its purest form. his bite is slow, intimate, almost like a kiss—he moans into it, as if the taste of you makes him dizzy, drunk, helpless.

˚₊‧⁺⋆♱

Théâtre des Vampires Era

♱ this is more of a fwb relationship

♱ it’s not “love,” not really. not aloud.

♱ but he comes to you after every performance—still in costume, paint smudged, shirt half-buttoned, voice hoarse from monologues and mock-death scenes. and he needs you. desperately. like the applause isn’t enough.

♱ you're his little secret.

♱ in public he’s dramatic and aloof, kissing your hand like you're nothing but a muse. behind closed doors? he's on his knees for you, whispering in French about how your cum tastes better than blood.

♱ you don’t live together, but he leaves clothes at your place. his shirts are too big, too silken, and smell faintly of old roses and stone crypts. you sleep in them anyway.

♱ lestat is a performer: he makes sex a performance, too. he strips like it’s a scene from a play, slowly, confidently, like he knows the exact moment your breath will hitch. he holds eye contact the entire time.

♱ he loves to tease.

♱ he won’t touch you at first. just watches, sprawled in your bed or his, one arm behind his head, make up still on. he murmurs instructions, or worse, praises: “that’s it, mon cœur… show me how much you want me.”

♱ biting and blood-sharing are foreplay more often than not.

♱ not full feeding. just enough to make your head spin. he’ll sink his teeth in and press his mouth to yours before you can even breathe, tasting himself and you on your tongue.

♱ he likes to fuck you on rich surfaces.

♱ velvet curtains, costume tables, fainting couches, marble floors, against mirrors, still half-dressed in his stage clothes.

♱ once, he took you in the opera box after the crowd has left, still panting from the rush of performance.

♱ you read to him when he’s too wired after a show to sleep.

♱ sometimes he pretends to fall asleep against your thigh while you speak, but you’ll catch his lashes fluttering, that small smirk tugging at his mouth.

♱ it’s “just physical” but when you sleep in his bed, he watches you like he’s memorizing the shape of your spine, your mouth, the sound of your breathing.

♱ you once found a sketch of you in one of his journals. not of you naked, not posing, just asleep, with his coat draped over you and your hand curled near your mouth. in the corner he’d written: “heaven has gained another angel.”

˚₊‧⁺⋆♱

rockstar era

♱ you were hired to keep lestat from burning the world down. but of course from day one he makes it impossible.

♱ he calls you “boss” just to see you twitch, kisses your cheek during interviews, and flashes his fangs at you before going on stage.

♱ he ignores your emails and reminders but shows up to meetings shirtless and wet from the shower. says, “you wanted me on time, didn’t say dressed.”

♱ everyone assumes you’re sleeping together. You aren’t. 

♱ but you both start to think about it.

♱ you constantly catch him looking at your mouth when you talk. he lingers too long when handing you a water bottle after a show, his fingers brushing yours like you're made of fire

♱ he starts singing your name onstage during soundcheck.

♱ “this one’s for the boss,” he purrs before launching into a filthy, growling ballad about obsession and surrender.

♱ after one particularly brutal show, you corner him backstage, yelling about his set running late and flipping off the press.

♱ he crowds you against a wall, grinning, soaked in sweat and fake blood, voice rough. “you like it when I misbehave. admit it.”

♱ the first time you fuck, it’s backstage.

♱ some green room or soundproof booth. he’s just come off stage, breathless and wild, pupils blown wide. you’re arguing, again, and then he kisses you hard, mouth tasting like blood and champagne. you claw at his leather jacket, and he groans like he’s waited centuries.

♱ he worships your neck. duh.

♱ that’s where he bites you first, slow and deliberate, asking permission with his eyes but not his mouth. he says you taste like want and lust.

♱ his hands are everywhere, greedy but reverent. he grips your hips like he’s trying to memorize your rhythm, your heat, the arch of your back when he thrusts just right.

♱ he’s a vocal lover—filthy, poetic, and a little desperate.

♱ he calls you things like “divine,” “mine,” “my sweetest addiction.” but it’s the way he moans your name, half-whimper, that makes your knees give out.

♱ after? he pulls you onto his chest, licking blood off his bottom lip, looking smug and ruined. he says, “so, boss... any notes on tonights performance?"

♱ you try to be professional again.

♱ he ruins it by texting you selfies in bed, wearing your shirt. “miss you already.” you saw him two hours ago.

♱ he starts writing songs about you. some are sexy. some are heartbreaking.

♱ one makes you cry in the middle of a tour bus ride. he kisses your hand after and says, “I meant every word.”

♱ sometimes, when the band’s asleep and it’s 3am, he wraps himself around you in the dark and whispers, “you make me feel human again.”

˚₊‧⁺⋆♱

hehe if you made it this far ty for reading!! this was my first time writing him! and ik there aren't many lestat x reader things on tumblr so I rlly appreciate the likes, reblogs, & comments :)

“Everything okay in there?” You asked, fidgeting nervously on the plush sofa in Lestat’s dressing room. He had gone into the bathroom to change - not like his usual exhibitionist self, you thought as you stifled a grin. At least 5 minutes had passed since he disappeared into the cramped bathroom, and you were beginning to worry just a bit. What worried you most, however, is that for five whole minutes, he had remained completely silent - even more out of character for your beloved silver-tongued exsanguinator.

“Lestat?” You called out as you rapped softly against the bathroom door. Just as you leaned closer to press your ear to the door, it swung open. You leapt back in surprise with a frightened shriek, playing it off with a shaky laugh. Inhaling deeply, you took a moment to collect yourself before turning to face him. “Shit, babe, you scared me-” When you turned, your breath caught in your throat, and your words escaped you - immediately washed away like the tide as you took in the glorious, libertine, fucking hot sight in front of you.

The statuesque blonde vampire stood haughtily in the doorway, looking you up and down. A knowing smile spread across the brat prince’s lips as he watched your cheeks flush just from the sight of him. He stepped closer to you, and you took your sweet time admiring him. You weren’t ashamed to stare, drinking in every intoxicating little detail.

He was all ready for the night’s show, but this time he was trying out a different look than usual. Lestat wore a long, black dress made of sheer fabric that hugged every curve of his perfect body. The dress was sleeveless with a low, plunging neckline that showed just enough of his bare chest to be deliciously obscene. As your gaze traveled down his form, you saw that the dress had two long slits running up each side. They exposed every inch of his sculpted thighs, and your eyes followed this tempting expanse of bare skin all the way back up over his hips, to where his well-defined Adonis belt peeked out from underneath his skirt.

Smoky black eyeliner rimmed his grey-blue eyes, giving them even more definition than usual. It was all too much for you to handle - this maenadic beast before you, commanding every ounce of your attention and holding all your desires right in the palm of his clawed hand. Lestat’s face darkened into a debauched, hungry smile, and he watched in predatory delight as you struggled to form a coherent thought. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, and you almost hated him for it. Almost.

“How do I look?” He practically purred, slinking past you to lie on the couch with long, outstretched legs. You quickly sat beside him, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. Lestat reached out and instantly pulled you closer, placing one hand on your inner thigh with a low chuckle.

“You look fucking…amazing,” you breathed, and  reached up to run your fingers through his long, honey-blonde curls. He leaned into your touch, and you took this as an open invitation to trail your fingertips down his exposed chest. This earned you a heady sigh from him, and you took no small satisfaction in seeing him react to you so shamelessly. Usually he at least tried to feign disinterest for a little bit…after all, he loved a good cat-and-mouse chase. But this was different. His desire was palpable, and it charged the air between you with an irresistible electricity. And then you realized. 

Oh. 

It wasn’t just for you. He liked the outfit too.

“What do you think?” You asked, stroking his hair before groping his bare chest yet again, with more urgency this time. He groaned and let his eyelids flutter shut momentarily, exhaling shakily. “Look, baby,” you urged, tilting his chin up to admire himself in the dressing room mirror, “Look at how fucking pretty you look right now, Lestat.” He did as he was told, never one to turn down an opportunity to gaze at his own reflection. You smiled, enjoying the way he eye-fucked himself so openly. Something about it was always so strangely endearing. Suddenly, he gripped the back of your head roughly, tangling his fingers in your hair dragging you closer to him until your lips met in a frenzied kiss. You settled yourself into his lap, straddling his hips as he slipped his tongue between your parted lips. He pawed at you needily, palming your breasts and letting his hands roam over every inch of your curves. A small moan escaped your lips, and you broke the desperate kiss for just a moment to catch your breath. Lestat whined under his breath the moment you pulled away. When you looked back up at him, you saw both his lipstick and yours now mingled in ruddy smudges on his face and around his lips. You giggled fondly at the sight and smoothed his tousled hair - which he then proceeded to tousle even more - before tenderly wiping away the smudged lipstick from his face.

“Here,” you said, your voice so low it was almost a whisper, “Lie back and let me fix your makeup, baby.” Slowly, Lestat laid back on the couch, studying your every move in silent wonder. You positioned yourself on top of him, still straddling his hips, and you leaned in close with both makeup and brushes in hand. As you looked down at him through eyes that were heavy-lidded with lust, he returned your gaze with an expression of all-consuming need. Your lips were mere centimeters apart and you ached to close the distance, but not yet…no, the show must go on.

You grabbed a tube of rosy pink lipstick from his vanity table and leaned in close, softly dabbing it across his lips - all while never breaking eye contact with him. “Oh, this color is much better for your complexion, amoureux.” You murmured playfully, and he scoffed at you, rolling his eyes. You took his distraction as a chance to skate a free hand down the length of his chest, his torso, slipping under his skirt to cup his groin. He gasped, and you felt his swollen cock twitch.

You let out a delighted groan as you traced your finger along a thin elastic waistband, feeling the sheer fabric of a black lace thong. You caressed him greedily, and felt his bulge straining against the lace. The faintest whimper slipped past his open lips, and he bucked his hips against you. “Please, mon cher, I need you,” he panted, and you grinned as you felt him twitch again.

“But I just fixed your makeup.” You said matter-of-factly. The vampire rolled his eyes once more.

“Putain de merde,” he muttered impatiently, flipping you without warning and pinning you beneath him on the small sofa. You protested, but he quickly shut you up with another urgent kiss, his lips crashing against yours, claiming you. You caressed his hips and cupped his ass in your palms before digging your fingernails into the soft flesh. He whined as he began helplessly grinding against you, tugging at your lower lip between his teeth in frustration. Lestat bit down, drawing blood that he quickly lapped up with a primal, guttural moan. You kissed him again, tasting the traces of your blood on his tongue and shivering.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You tugged at the waistband of his thong, yanking it down his thighs and letting his throbbing, hard cock spring free. You gripped his shaft, stroking up and down his length slowly and running your thumb over the glistening head, smiling to yourself as you felt precum already dripping there. He gasped at the sensation, before grabbing you by your wrists and pinning them above your head with preternatural speed. 

You were completely at his mercy now – he reveled in every second of it. Lestat let out a low growl, and roughly spread your legs apart with his knee. He could already tell how wet you were, and his fangs dropped as he felt the growing heat of your arousal through the crotch of your panties. You blushed as he teased your clit through the damp cotton fabric, coaxing you to moan out his name. Slowly, he pulled your panties down and repositioned himself so his face was between your thighs, hovering eagerly just inches above your dripping cunt. He sighed softly, and you felt the heat of his breath ghosting over your swollen clit. You let out a low moan and reached out to stroke his hair, gently trying to bring him closer. Laughing smugly at your impatience, he leaned in to nuzzle against the thicket of dark curls between your legs, and groaned to himself as he inhaled deeply. “You smell so good, mon coeur, but I bet you taste even better…”

Sighing softly, you spread your legs wider to give Lestat easier access to where you needed him most. You felt the warmth of his breath grazing the bare skin of your thighs and whimpered, eager for more of his touch. Slowly, he pressed a trail of tender kisses along each of your inner thighs — pausing for just a moment to bite down, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. You felt a surge of pain coursing through you that quickly melted away into stinging pleasure that left you crying out for more. Lestat nuzzled against you again, unable to resist – he needed to taste you, needed to feel you come totally undone beneath the attentive ministrations of his skilled fingers and tongue. 

Finally, after a few moments of unbearable teasing, he got his mouth on you. Lestat’s tongue darted out to taste you, gently lapping at the wetness between your legs. You squirmed at the sensation, moaning loudly as he buried his face in you, desperate to taste every last drop of delicious, hot arousal. He teased you with his tongue before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit, sucking on it and letting out a low hum that sent a jolt of electricity straight through you. Lestat was relentless in his need to devour you. Every little sound of pleasure that slipped from your open, panting mouth, every buck of your hips and every desperate dig of your nails into his back only made him hunger for you more. 

Slowly, he dragged his tongue down, and you felt his nose nudge against your throbbing clit as he began lapping at your entrance. He groaned as he tasted you, burying his face deeper into you with reckless abandon. You felt Lestat’s tongue hungrily snaking between your soaked lips, spreading you open so he could push his tongue inside you and taste you straight from the source. You whined at the feeling of his tongue fucking into you, arching your back and chasing the sensation. He pressed into you deeper and deeper, gently stretching you open, and you gasped in pleasure as his nose rubbed against your clit with every curl of his tongue inside you. Since his mouth was preoccupied, Lestat used the mind gift to praise you, pressing silently into your thoughts. His words were warm and inviting, flooding your mind with pleasure that only intensified every sensation as he thrust his tongue deeper into your cunt. 

“You taste divine, mon amour. You’re so beautiful like this, letting me claim you and taste what’s mine…such a good girl for me, that’s it, just lie there and take it…so perfect…all mine…”

That praise was your undoing – a few more strokes of his tongue was all it took to leave you trembling and crying out in overwhelming ecstasy. You were practically vibrating beneath him, but he didn’t stop - instead, he went right back to lapping fervently at your sensitive clit. Reaching down, you gripped a fistful of Lestat’s hair as you rode out your orgasm, grinding against his tongue until you were too overstimulated to take anymore.

You sighed deeply, watching fondly as Lestat gazed up at you from between your legs. His lips and chin were glistening, soaked, and he kissed his way up your body to press his mouth against yours. You tasted yourself on him with a ragged groan as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you deeply. He stroked your hair, moving his hands down to cup your breasts and roam slowly over every inch of your curves. He took his time exploring and worshipping your body, reminding you of just how beautiful he found you with every kiss, bite, and reverent caress.

But Lestat was growing impatient. He slid one hand between your legs, rubbing your soaked pussy and using the wetness left on his fingers to slick up his aching cock. He gripped your hips hard enough to leave a mark, pulling you flush against him, and you gasped as he rubbed the head of his cock against your opening. Lestat held you close, finally entering you with one long, deep thrust. “Fuck!” You cried out, and you felt yourself stretching around him.

He nuzzled against the crook of your neck, teasing the sensitive skin there with little kisses and nips that he soothed with an eager tongue. He thrust into you slowly at first, savoring your warmth and wetness before gradually increasing his rhythm. As he pushed himself deeper into your aching cunt, you felt him moan against your neck. His fangs grazed your delicate skin, sending a sick thrill through your core. Suddenly, he bit down, nearly pushing you over the edge. He fucked you savagely, and the cramped room filled with a vulgar symphony of moans and obscenities. Lestat made an indecent slurping sound as he drank deeply of you, and it was almost too much to bear. When he had his fill, he lapped at the fresh bite mark with his tongue, long and torturously slow licks that threatened to push you over the edge. Your thighs began to tremble as you crept closer to the brink of another orgasm.

“That’s it, mon cher, give up that tough facade.” He goaded, with a sudden, deep thrust that made you throw your head back and scream. “I know what seeing me dressed like this does to you. I could see it all over your face,” Another achingly deep thrust, “I knew I could break you.” That was all it took. His words, his voice, his eyes on you…his hands holding you down so helplessly….that dress…and the way he rolled his hips into you, fucking you like he was determined to ruin you for anyone else. You came again, hard, crying out his name and quivering as wave after wave of bliss racked through your body until you were spent. He kept going, only slowing his pace slightly. In and out, in and out, again and again. He released his grip on your wrists, and you tangled one hand in his long hair, using the other to drag your fingernails down his back. You felt him shiver at the sensation, and he let out a long, low groan. You tightened your hold on his hair, and he buried his face in your neck. He breathed deeply, trying to muffle the needy whimpers that betrayed just how close to coming he was.

Lestat’s brow furrowed, and he swore under his breath as you clenched yourself around his cock. In and out, in and out, he tried to keep going, but it was too much - he was barely holding on. He clung on to your hips desperately, fucking harder and faster until finally, at the very last moment, he pulled his cock out of you with a profane, wet sound. Shamelessly, all while maintaining eye contact with you, he stroked himself to completion into the damp crotch of your panties.

“Keep these on for the entire show,” he growled in your ear, trailing kisses along the crook of your neck and across your jawline before gripping your chin in his hand, forcing you to look directly at him, “And don’t you dare change, mon coeur. I’ll know.”

“SHOWTIME, MR. DE LIONCOURT!” You heard his stage manager yell from outside the dressing room. His makeup and hair were utterly wrecked; anyone who saw him would immediately guess what had just occurred in this cramped little room. You both laughed, and he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead before flashing you a devastating smile as he bounded out the door, making his way to the stage. “This isn’t over!” He called over his shoulder, always determined to have the last word. You took a moment to compose yourself, smoothing your hair and quickly fixing your makeup before running to take your seat in the audience just as the stage lights came up.

Golden-haired, alabaster-skinned, dressed like he didn't belong in this century at all- dark coat, silk shirt, a smirk on lips too red to be natural. Lestat.

"Bonsoir, ma belle," he purred, his French rolling off his tounge like sin. "Walking alone at night? You should know better."

You froze, heart skipping. "Do I know you?"

His smile widened, preadatory. "Not yet. But you will."

He fell into step beside you, too close, his presence magnetic and terrifying at onve. You should've pulled away. You should've ran. But instead, you let him lead you down the quieter streets, away from the music, until the buildings grew older, grander, until he stopped before an estate that looked like it had been plucked from another century.

Inside, it smelled of wax and roses. Candles glowed against crimson drapes and marble floors. A piano sat silent in the corner.

You swallowed. "I shouldn't be here."

His laugh was low, amused. "Oh, ma cherie, you were always meant to be here."

The kiss came first- slow, claiming, his mouth was soft but insistent. His hand fangled in tour hair, the other pressed to the small of your back, drawing you into his chest. You gasped against him, and he took the opportunity to deepen it, teeth grazing your lip until you whimpered.

"Such sounds," he murmured. "Do you even know what you're doing to me?"

His hand trailed lower, bunching the fabric of your dress. His fingers slipped between your thighs without hesitation, brushing your panties. pressing until you squirmed.

You tried to squeeze your legs shut- instinctive, overwhelmed- but he clicked his tounge, prying them apart with ease.

"Non," he said sharply, eyes gleaming. "Keep them open for me. Always."

Your breath hitched as his fingers slid inside, deliberate, curling until-

"Lestat!" you cried out, your body jerking when he found that spot, that devastating place inside you.

"Ah," he grinned, fangs flashing. "There you are."

He pressed again, and again, watching the way your face twisted, the way your thighs trembled. You tried to close them, but he pinned you wide, his strength inhuman, his gaze alight with hunger.

"You'll take it," he hissed. "Every inch, every wave. Until you forget your own name."

Your body beytrayed you, arching into him, your moans echoing off the velvet walls. His thumb toyed with your clit as his fingers worked your g-spot mercilessly, until tears blurred your vision.

"Too much?" he tauted. "Or not enough?"

You sobbed out his name, and his mouth descended on your throat, sharp teeth pricking you before sinking in. Pain laced for a moment, then pleasure flooded, mingling until you couldn't seperate them. Your orgasm ripped through you, violent and wet, but he didn't stop. He milked every aftershock, every twitch, until you were begging.

When he finally pulled his fingers free, you thought it was over. But then you felt him at your entrance, thick and hard, his hand gripping your hip like iron.

"No," you gasped weakly. "Lestat, wait-"

"Shhh," he crooned mockingly. "I'll be gentle."

He wasn't.

He sank into you in one slow, brutal thrust, stretching you until you cried out. His grin was wicked, his fangs glinting in the candlelight as he watched your face.

"Mon dieu," he whispered. "So tight. So perfect. Mine."

Each thrust drove deeper, relentless, hitting that spot inside you again and again until your legs shook. You tried to resist, to push against his chest, but he only laughed and pinned your wrists above your head.

"You thought you could deny me?" he snarled, pounding harder. "Non, ma belle. You belong to me. Every scream, every drop of blood, every shiver."

You shattered again, your body wracked with overstimulation as he fucked you through it, his own groans growing ragged. He bent to your ear, his voice a dark promise.

"I'll fill you, mark you, ruin you until you can't take another step. And still, you'll beg for more."

When he came, it was with a feral growl, his body pressed deep inside yours, his fangs sinking into your throat once more as his seed spilled into you.

You lay trembling in the candlelight, skin sticky with sweat and blood, your body aching, your mind reeling. Lestat licked the wound on your neck, sealing it with his tounge, then pulled back to admire his work.

He cupped your cheek, almost tender despite the cruelty in his smile. "See? I told you, ma cherie. You were always meant to be mine."

"We're gonna have to move soon. Water's gone cold."

Lestat hums underneath him, his muscles barely stretching and rippling the now tepid water surrounding them in the spacious tub. Louis is sitting between his legs, his back snug against his chest. Lestat is holding him and softly drawing hearts against his abdomen. Lestat kisses his temple and Louis smiles, reveling in the attention. Reveling in Lestat's love.

"I love you."

The words are a featherlight whisper, laden with emotion that pierces down into the depths of both their souls, and Louis softly smiles again when he feels the slight hitch of Lestat's breathing upon hearing those sacred words.

"I love you, too."

His voice is rough and choked from his earlier crying and screaming when he violently orgasmed inside Louis, so violent he busted the tiles on the wall surrounding the tub, but the overwhelmed tears are still there threatening to erupt at the smallest provocation. Louis has to admit it moves him, touches his heart in a secret place that Lestat always reacts like this when Louis gives him verbal assurances of his love, but it also pains him with guilt, because he can't help wondering if hadn't withheld all those years, hadn't deliberately led Lestat to believe he was unloved, maybe Lestat wouldn't always be so shocked and amazed whenever Louis says it.

"You're thinking too hard, mon cher. That stress is going to come right back if you don't stop."

He's kissing down the side of Louis' neck again, his mouth currently sucking another hickey just beneath his earlobe.

"You did thoroughly fuck it outta me," Louis hums with a soft moan as Lestat gingerly bites him, taking a small drink to satiate his never-ending desire for all things Louis.

Louis gladly opens up to him with a blissful moan, feeling his spent cock pitifully twitching in need where it rests underneath the water and letting Lestat see the crippling love literally bleeding from his soul, and he feels Lestat's fangs retract as a healing kiss is pressed to the wound. Lestat nuzzles his nose into Louis' neck with a small whimpering sob, and Louis smells the tears as Lestat softly cries against him at the glimpses in the blood, the undeniable proof of Louis' love for him.

"I am sorry, you know."

His voice is gruff and faltering. He's barely able to get the words out, but he feels the way Lestat responds, the way his body moves with the weight of Louis' words as if engulfing him further into the embrace upon Louis expressing any remorse for anything. It's a pattern, Louis has noticed. Lestat instantly defaults into protective mode when Louis even skims the surface of his past with the guilt and depression and grief.

"Sorry for what, mon cher?" It's a whispered kiss against his shoulder, but Louis hears the underlying concern. He's always terrified of Louis spiraling again.

"Hey," Louis whispers, turning his head slightly to push his nose into Lestat's temple where his face rests against Louis' shoulder. "I'm not going into the grief anymore, love. Your light is my beacon."

Lestat worshipfully whimpers as he kisses Louis' neck.

"I only meant I'm sorry for never telling you. No matter how many years pass, I'll always hate myself for never telling you that I love you."

"Never hate yourself on my behalf, mon cher. It breaks my heart to think you see yourself as anything less than extraordinary."

"Such a poet," Louis whispers with a tearful grin.

"I'm serious," Lestat turns his head to look at Louis.

"We've hated ourselves long enough, my darling. I'm.....learning to be more gentle to myself, because I know it's what you want. It's what you see in me.....your love for me—" Lestat's voice breaks.

"Yes," Louis quietly confirms, knowing where Lestat is going with this.

"Can't my love for you help you, too? Don't I love you enough to make you understand how much I need you to be gentle to yourself? My Louis must be treated with the utmost love and care," Lestat smiles through the tears before kissing Louis' cheek.

"Yeah," Louis whispers, turning his head in search of the lips that are immediately on his own. "Your love is always enough, baby. Your love is what keeps me alive."

"I can't live without you, Louis. I can't. I love you more than the whole world."

He's kissing all over Louis' face now.

"Don't stop," Louis hums, throwing his head back and allowing Lestat entrance to him once more. "Lemme show you how I love you more than the whole world, too."

And with those words from Louis and an exhaled whimper, Lestat climbs from behind Louis to face him in the tub, the cold water be damned.

Hours later, as the first streaks of sunrise melt over the horizon outside their windows, Lestat carries Louis from the demolished tub to their bedroom and without another word, he curls into their bed, keeping Louis snug in his arms to wrap them in blankets. Louis clings to him, snuggling into his chest and tucking his feet between Lestat's calves to keep warm.