#fledgling reader

fledgling looking lestat: rubbing against him and purring like a cat while he scratches your chin

Lestat doesn’t know it, but he’s kept from seeing the Horrors™ just because eldritch fledgling loves him a lot <3

—

Lestat is half laying on you, scrolling through his socials with one hand while the other absentmindedly scratches at your scalp. He smells like your shared body soap and the coppery undertones of blood. He turns his head to press kisses onto the curve of your jaw, smiling against your skin when that inevitable, rattling purr starts up in your chest.

You lean into his touch, eyes going iridescent and half-lidded. You’re content enough as you are, comfortably sitting together and watch at him look at things he likes (pretending you’re not actively staring at his soul and everything that makes him).

But he tosses his phone to the side and throws his arms around your shoulders, mouth meeting yours with a wordless sound that you identify as unabashedly happy. And then you have a lap full of him, lukewarm and happy and his soul’s shining like sparklers in the dark.

(Sometimes you want to look deeper—to peel back the layers and drive your fingers into the sinew and curl up in his ribcage and breathe him in.

uhhh cw for mentioned cannibalism and attempted suicide then murder of an unnamed character

—

“Y’know, sometimes I feel like you’re one bad day away from eating me.” It’s a valid concern, you think, but Daniel says it so casually that it’s very obvious that he’s not concerned at all.

Lestat scoffs, rolling his eyes like he’s offended for you, “Don’t be silly, Daniel, mon chou does not bite.” And then he goes back to dabbing up the blood on your chin.

“Yeah, Daniel, I don’t bite.” You grin at Daniel from over his shoulder, not bothering to retract the rows of sharp—and very not vampire-like—teeth protruding from your gums.

“Right.” Daniel averts his eyes with an amused huff. “And I’m Oprah Winfrey.”

You really like Daniel, he’s cool. He got over the whole nightmare fuel thing quicker than most, learned to avoid prolonged eye contact if he wanted to sleep well. Can’t say the same for the guy whose blood Lestat is so lovingly wiping from your skin.

Another fledgling that called himself an Armand Truther or some other equally insane thing, made you laugh right up until he described all the ways Lestat should suffer. You… don’t remember much after that, came to just in time to see him bashing his own head against the wall until his skull cracked open, letting out noises that could only be described as a feral kind of terror.

You didn’t ignore the hunger it summoned because who are you to deny a free meal?

His fledgling:

You screamed as the werewolf barreled at you like a ongoing freight train.

And you were scared out of your mind as he tried to claw through the door.

But it closed on him hard and you heard a disgusting squelching noise and a pop and the werewolf split right open.

Blood and guts and bone and muscle.

Splattered everywhere and you watched in horror and relief staring at the werewolve's gore.

If your heart wasn't dead it would be racing.

Right about now and you slowly slid on the floor ignoring the rancid smell of gore and blood and you burst out laughing.

Not that any of this was funny it was because out of sheer luck that you survived this entire ordeal in the first place.

You sat there for a minute before forcing yourself to get up and walk away.

You were alive and that's all that mattered running off you ran outside.

You had a bone to pick with Lacroix.