Lestat was carrying her - he was always carrying her. The girl was attached to him, the same way that vampires like them were attached to the taste of blood. It was in their veins, their very being, to be close to one another.
“Papa -” Your little darling said, as you trailed along a half step behind, smiling at the scene. “Will I marry a man like you one day, like how Mama married you?”
He let out a deep chuckle, a very pleased smile on his face.
“There is no other man like me, ma petite,” He said, kissing her cheeks, rosy with their fresh kill.
“Oh,” Your little darling frowned. “Can I marry you too then?”
“No, I don’t think your mother would like that,” Lestat said, looking over his shoulder at you, his expression playful. “But I will always be in your life, from now until the end of forever. Will that do?”
Your daughter looked petulant at the rejection, but eventually threw her arms around her father’s shoulders again. “I suppose,” She sighed, with a weariness that sounded beyond her years.
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( I wrote this draft a while ago, and only now edited and finished it, so hopefully I'll still like it after my next viewing of IWTV lol. I tried to balance romance with Lestats naturally manipulative and toxic side. And I tried to make a neutral set of headcanons for something I think would really depend on the type of person.)
- When he can, and when he wants to be, Lestat is like a dream personified: one you feel so vividly and yearn for so ardently that you pray you’ll never breach the waking world again. He sweeps you off your feet; both figuratively and literally, until all that’s left of you is a foggy haze that can think only of fairytales and fantasy.
- And yet, the dream is bound to end as nothing short of a nightmare.
- Lestat views mortals as toys, things he can do with as he pleases, and dispose of as quickly and as often as it suits him. He hardly ever takes into consideration the feelings and the value of those around him, save for when he decides he wants them: and even then, he can’t help but play cruel little games.
- Lestat’s love, in general, is a game. It’s a game of cat and mouse, one that only he ever manages to win. No matter how long it may take, no matter how hard you may try to avoid it, no matter how much it might hurt you, you’ll end up being his in one way or another, even if it kills you....
- At first, Lestat is very open about his infatuation with you, introducing himself to you in the dead of night as you walk the streets or sit in your garden. He apologizes for scaring you, ignoring how strange his sudden appearance may be; how it seems almost impossible for him to be where he is right in that moment.
- Though you're too distracted by his physical appearance to truly consider the logistics. Too distracted by his complexion and his hair that seems to be glowing in the moonlight, how striking his eyes are, how expensive his clothes are. He's completely foreign to you; both in physical attributes and status, and because of that, you're taken with him from the start.
- Being with him is thrilling, it's exhilarating, and it feels almost dangerous, so comparably taboo to everything you've ever been taught to yearn for. You would have never imagined that you'd be sneaking away in the middle of the night, tiptoeing past your parents room or climbing down the steep side of your home's architecture: all to meet with a man who only ever appears to you in dark corners and secluded spaces. You would have never imagined slipping back inside just as the sun rises and hiding your exhaustion in the morning at the breakfast table, knowing that if your father ever found out he'd lock you away.
- But just being with Lestat is enough to make you forget about any and all consequences that you may face. He's able to strip away your worries: waxing poetic about how he loves you and how he'll never allow anything to happen to you. About how he's capable of giving you a life that you couldn't even imagine.
- He's worse than the devil when telling you how he'll let you live deliciously: promising you no more pain or sorrow for the rest of time, how not even sickness or death could ever touch you again. But only if you'll trust in him, love him, accept him, him, him, him. His tone is never above a whisper yet it's deafening, rendering the world around you silent so that all you can hear is the beating of your heart and the softness of his voice.
- When he talks to you about the future, it's as though he can read your mind: as though he understands you on some deep and emotional level, perfectly summing up your deepest and darkest feelings that you do your best to hide. He promises to change the things you wish to change, to give you the things you have always yearned for, to rid you of the grievances and the heartaches that you have grown to worry about. Out of everyone in your life, it is a complete stranger who seems to know you best, and it makes you feel as though you are somehow one in the same, connected on some otherworldly level.
- He flirts with you in your more lighthearted moments together: making you laugh and flush and hide your face. He speaks so smoothly, so charmingly, so intelligently. All the boys you've ever met have either been perfectly plain or dreadfully boring, and Lestat is the total opposite: so full of life and passion and romance. It's like he holds your heart in his hands and tells it when to beat.
- He calls you such beautiful things: things reserved for your parents or the letters between history's greatest lovers. Some are comparably innocent to others, holding the affection of a guardian rather than a lover. Pet, lambkin, sugarplum, treasure, angel, beloved, darling, dove, lover, my love, my dearest, my heart, etc. Not to mention when he speaks in his native tongue.
- It's easy to forget who you actually are when every name he seems to call you is a term of endearment or your name spoken in a tone that you've never heard before. He makes it seem so foreign and different: makes you feel different.
- And when he feels his words are no longer enough, he moves on to gifts: covering you in gems and jewels and satins. You tuck them away in the bottom of your dresser, keeping them hidden away from your families prying eyes. The first time you visit his home, you're shown a room that's already made for you: it's closets and dressers full of luxuries that you've never known.
- When he zips and clasps you into them, his fingers linger on the pulse beneath his touch. He kisses your wrists and your neck as his hands slide across your body, listening to the heartbeat racing in your chest and the thoughts crossing your mind, knowing that his affection is filling you with burning heat.
- It's an age of innocence that you live in, and Lestat is a creature of sin: when he woos you, it's bound to include seduction and lust. He wants to sway you towards a life of debauchery, the type of life he has lived for quite some time, the type of life that he can give to you: one without punishment and restriction, one with only pleasure.
- He tries to lower your inhibitions: tries to trap you in a whirlwind of excitement, and romance, and affection, until all that's left is a dizzying love that makes you want to give yourself to him and only him. When he feels he can get away with it, he'll lean in close, staring straight into your eyes as his mouth draws nearer to your own. A grin pulls at his lips, feeling as though he is seconds away from stealing a kiss and sealing your fate.
- It's then that you pull away, wanting to; needing to, preserve your chastity, not wanting to allow yourself to get carried away and do irreversible damage; to be a fool for the sake of love. On one hand, he loves it. On the other, it infuriates him. He soothes himself with your touch, pausing only for a moment as your head turns away from his own before dropping his face into the crook of your neck or burying it in your hair, feeling your softness against him; a promise of what he is capable of winning as long as he can remain patient.
- You're so soft, so warm, so sweet: all attributes he tries to imitate himself; wanting you to trust him more than anything. He drapes himself across you, lays his head in your lap or rests his chin on your shoulders, wanting to seem gentler than he is. He is a monster, yes, but he's determined to convince you that he is not: as though he holds less control than he actual does, as though he is weaker than he is. Perhaps in a way, he is weaker: weak for you, for your touch, for your acceptance, for your love.
- And in convincing you that he is weak for you, he manages to win you over and turn you away from your family, planting seeds of doubt in your mind and ideas about running away with him. He introduces you to passion, to all of the things your family taught you to stay away from because they're sinful and will lead you down a dark path. He questions why something so beautiful and pleasureful would be so wrong for you to engage in. Why god would mean to keep you from enjoying them, from enjoying life and enjoying him, enjoying all the pleasure that he convinces you to let him give to you.
- At some point, he will find himself an entry point into your regular life: likely by attending a party that you and your family are at, and making himself known as an honored guest or sponsor; someone that the people around him are bound to respect and trust. He pretends not to know you when the two of you are introduced, though the way he looks at you when he kisses your hand will tell anyone who's watching that that is simply not the case.
- He plays nice in the presence of others, treating you more like a child than a potential wife: acting like a protective uncle when in the company of your family, friends, or suitors. He cultivates a close relationship in public with you under this pretense, lowering your families guards and making them believe that he truly has your best interests in mind. When other men come around, he is not seen as a competitor, but rather a guardian, someone that they must convince to like them if they wish to get close to you
- Yet for all of this acting, there always comes a time in the middle of the night when he finds you alone, acting as though a switch has been flipped and he cannot keep himself off or away from you. He grabs you from amongst the darkness, concealing your shrieks of surprise as he holds you close to him, growling about how he's missed you and cooing at you as grumble about how he's treated you all evening. He reminds you that you must keep your love a secret; whether it was initially his idea or your own, and against your better judgement, you begin to soften once more; forgiving him as he smiles at and hugs you close to him.
- He keeps you close to him at parties once he feels he has earned the right to; or even when he feels he hasn't, urging you to sit with him at his side and leaning into you so that he can murmur little comments in your ear, grinning as you giggle and try to hide it. You sit at his side as he plays the piano, watching his fingers fly across the keys as he quietly makes lighthearted conversation or teasing quips.
- In the presence of others, his affection turns gentle and innocent: tapping your chin, booping your nose, patting your cheek, escorting you around by your interlocked arms. In private his affection is more intimate: brushing your hair from your face, toying with your jewelry, lingering caresses, purposefully placed hands, long and gentle kisses. It's hard to grow used to the difference: how he can be one man one moment, and seem like a totally different one the next.
- But Lestat enjoys this difference, this game of his that he gets to play with you. It's a game he takes even further in an effort to make you jealous, to make you even more interested in him: to invoke some kind of strong reaction in you and bring the two of you closer in the long run. It's a rotten and dangerous game that he plays: brushing you off in favor of another, disregarding how happy you are to see him, taking pleasure in your confusion and disappointment.
- He expects to bite then lap at the wound like a dog, be the one to hurt you then strip you of the pain. He expects you to eagerly accept his undivided attention later on: for you to feel fortunate for the scraps, to wait for his beck and call. And how rewarding it is for you when you ensure that his plan backfires. Two can play at that game, you reason, and you watch as he conceals his own jealousy in response to your actions.
- When he stands you up during your nightly meetings, you don't show up the next day yourself. When you're at a mutual party, you dance and stay by the side of a boy your father boisterously insists you'll marry one day. When you need fresh air, you take the boy with you and sit in the garden side by side. And oh how Lestat could snap his neck like a twig: drain him right in front of you and sully your little saintlike dress. There's still a chance that he will....
- Your attention is like a drug to him and when he is left with none of it, he festers in sickness and in agony, rotting from the inside as he suffers from withdrawals. He must remind himself to be patient when he thinks about sweeping you away, about making you his and forcing you to stay with him until the end of time.
- He'll undoubtedly interrupt you, whether during your sit down with your potential suitor or after it happens: either scaring the boy off with the sheer tension and anger that radiates off of him, or stealing you away when his back is turned, grabbing you in the blink of an eye; reminiscent of times when you were both in much more jovial moods. His ability to suddenly appear will never cease to shock you, to startle you before you gain your bearings and sigh at the sight of him; whether in relief or annoyance.
- It's in these moments that he has to be very careful. He feels the need to turn you, to ensure that you're not going anywhere, but in doing that, he is playing a very dangerous game. Lestat believes that you could grow to love him over time, that you would get over the initial resentment of being turned once you realize the gift that he's bestowed upon you. But what if you don't? What if he loses you all the same? You'd be as good as dead then, wouldn't you? Immortal and yet refusing to be by his side. He wouldn't let you, but that's besides the point.
- If he does manage to quell those urges, manage to convince himself that now is not the time to change you, then he must decide on how to deal with you accordingly: decide if anger is the way to go, if sorrow is, if kindness should prevail above all else. Sometimes his temper gets the better of him and his sweetened words turn sour, making you wonder if the man standing before you is the same man you've grown to love.
- Oftentimes, you respond just as angrily, lashing out at him in the same venomous way, your pain and your exhaustion showing through. He can't help but love it, love the anger and the passion that you show him. He finds your fury exhilarating: proof of why he chose you in the first place, proof of how perfect you are for each other.
- It's then that he turns on the charm: smiling and laughing in amusement, somehow turning this rage of yours into a bonding moment. It's baffling to witness, and it gives you much to think about. It's in these moments that he might be forced to turn you, seeing the conflict on your face, hearing the words leave your lips, orders for him to leave you alone, how you never wish to see him again.
- He can't allow you to make that decision, to leave him and be rid of him forever. He'll ensure that you're unable to: that no matter where you go and no matter how far you run, he will continue to be the only one you can turn to, the only one who can understand and guide you. You'll learn to love him then, he'll make sure of it. Despite all the aggravation, a life without him will be even more unbearable, ...and you'll realize that soon enough.
- There's a very likely chance that he'll woo you after he bites you, that he'll turn you during your first meeting, or feed from you and later convince you to let him change you. For the sake of these headcanons, I've pretended as though there's a reason he's unable to steal you away in the middle of the night and run away with you. Just let it be known that under different circumstances, he might react very differently when trying to win you over.
- That being said: Lestat does try to give you the choice when deciding whether or not to change you; regardless of your history together. Although, it isn't much of a choice, is it? It's either change or die: a sort of "pick your poison" type of scenario.
- I can see him making his secret known in an attempt to win you over and intrigue you, to fascinate you with his mere existence and draw you towards him even more. Your interest in him facilitates his beliefs about you: about how you're made for his world and not your own. The fact that you're not terrified of him; that you still yearn to be near him even after learning what he is, proves to him that you're different from everyone else, that there's a reason he chose you out of every other person on Earth.
- Logistically, you know that things like him should not exist: that even if they do, they're dangerous and should be avoided at all costs. And yet, you find yourself incapable of of doing so. Knowing that he exists frightens you, and yet it fascinates you even more, making you want to continue seeing him: scared of losing this double life of yours that has allowed you to see things beyond your own comprehension and the set of beliefs that you've been taught since birth. If you turn from him, you risk going back to a normal and boring life, forced into realism after getting a taste of true fantasy.
- It's a hard decision to make; whether you'll choose to continue seeing him or not, yet you should rest assured that Lestat is seldom finished with a person even when they fully believe him to be. If he wants something, there is simply no preventing him from having it. And the thing he wants most is you....
Imagine impressing Lestat with your dancing in a cabaret club.
Although you were part of a troupe, you had your own scene in the show, one that made everyone in the audience forget that there was anyone else at all. All of the men stared with their eyes on you, their breaths growing heavy as they ogled. You were turning slowly on the stage, your hips rotating as the light shone through the gauzy costume, showing the silhouette of your body underneath, driving them all crazy.
Normally, Lestat was above such things. He had slept with many people, both men and women, and among them were the most beautiful. And yet, he had found himself with his mouth slightly open, leaning forward to try to get a better look, the blood that he had as an appetizer burning hot within his stomach.
A dance that would have a better place in a brothel, and yet, you somehow made it look more beautiful. Less scandalous. You weren’t revealing anything but the shape of your body, no flashes of nipple or shake of your buttocks, just the pure form of a human being.
Lestat got to his feet, removing his hat in awe, wanting absolutely nothing to risk impeding what was in his direct line of sight. You were not bleeding, but he could smell your blood as if you were. He could smell the sweat sticking onto your skin, beneath the perfume that you wore. He could smell the paste that you had brushed your teeth with - mint - and could almost taste it himself, licking his lips.
And as the show ended, with your garter being tossed into the stage for the hungry men to fight for like a pack of wolves, Lestat slipped towards backstage, fixing his hair and replacing his hat as he went. He had to have you, one way or another.
You were humming to yourself as the loofa went over your skin, a song that you had been playing for days. One of Lestat’s, of course. His voice had the ability to make everything he ever sang into an earworm. The soap glided over your legs, washing your thighs carefully, making no inch was untouched.
Because of your humming, you were oblivious to the fact that someone had walked into your bathroom, was standing there, creating shadows where they were none. The room was brightly lit and yet - Lestat just had a way of making it … atmospheric. His deep-set eyes were on the silhouette behind the translucent curtain, the way you were bending over, he couldn’t look away.
You were washing over your stomach now, up over your chest. The scent of your favorite body wash was tantalizingly strong in that moment, before it would be lessened by the water as the suds were washed away. Lestat moved closer - less stepping, more of a phasing - until he was right outside of the curtain. He was so close - he could almost - taste - you -
He moved the curtain aside and you finally noticed him, your hands coming up to cover your body purely by instinct, your breath freezing in your throat until you realized who it was. “Lestat -” You said, with a small groan. “Must you scare me constantly?”
“Must you tempt me constantly?” He retorted back, his eyes wandering without the least bit of shame. Even if you were human, bodies were beautiful. Yours might as well be on a platter right now, perfect plating, the curtain being the cloche. “Can I join you?”
You bit on your lower lip, enough to bring the blood just beneath the surface, causing Lestat to lick his own. You were only a member of his band, basically a nobody, and yet - he was making you feel like you were truly a somebody.
He didn’t wait for you to accept. Fully clothed, in his garments that probably cost more than your first apartment, he stepped inside, and closed the curtain behind him.
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Imagine your daughter with Lestat overhearing his language.
The shouts carried through the house. They echoed off of the walls, to your ears, and to the ears of the little one who had been in your arms, whom you have been teaching colors to in that moment. Red. Rouge. Blue. Bleu. Green. Vert.
You winced as you heard the shouting for it was never anything good. He had a great temper, your Lestat, a dramatic streak, but usually when it was warranted. He made his way to the room that you were in and leaned against the doorframe, his hair mussed, his lips tinged red with the blood that he had been drinking.
“Merde,” He said again, quieter this time as the wheels inside of his brain were turning, thinking on the situation, and on what to do about it.
“What is it, my love?” You asked, your eyes staring up at him, as were the wide ones of the child in your arms. Her little arms were reaching up, wanting her père to hold her. Lestat obliged, stepping forward and picking up the child, which was second nature to him now.
“I was caught by the police, I had to kill an officer,” He said with a sigh, as your little one started to play with his hair. Or rather, tangle her fingers in it. “They taste of grease, those officers.”
“Merde,” Your little girl repeated Lestat’s earlier word, making him look down at her, and then sigh again.
“I’m glad she understands,” He said. “I was able to bring the body to the back for cremating, but you know how these police are. One goes missing and they cause chaos.”
“I’m sure you left no trace,” You said, standing up. “You’re the best hunter I know, the best killer. It will be alright.”
“Merde?” Your daughter said in a roar that rivalled Lestat’s from when he had come in. You rolled your eyes, and moved towards the two, kissing the top of her head.
“Now that is going to be harder to get rid of,” You said, about your daughter’s swearing.
You leaned back against the chaise lounge in your parlor, your eyes looking over the blonde man that had charmed his way into your home, past your butler, past the maids who were now watching boldly, giggling in a way that you had never heard them giggle before. And it was all because of Lestat, coming to visit the owner of the home, with a simple offer of ‘A night to remember.’
“I heard it being told,” You started, your head slightly tilted to one side. His stunning eyes were on your neck, and you could tell by the expression on his face that he was having many thoughts about it, none of them innocent. “-that you can read minds, Lestat de Lioncourt.”
“It’s one of my .. many talents,” He said with a smile, continuing to stroke the furniture in your home. He wanted to show you that he was good with his hands, it was another trick of his. To run those long, ringed fingers against the wooden doors, creating a contrast of the dark, intricate carvings and the paleness of his skin.
“Then take a little peek inside of my mind, you have my permission, and there, you will find your answer,” You said, your voice drawling with the special accent that only those who grew up in New Orleans could master.
‘I see through your tricks, Lestat. Every little move is so calculated and unnatural, it makes you the least trustworthy person that I have ever had within my home. I would not trust you to walk a dog, let alone take me out on those streets tonight. Now, unless you plan on taking my door out for an erotic adventure, I suggest you leave before I ring for police who are stronger-minded than my staff.’
Though you were not sure if the rumors were true, if somehow this blonde man could read the minds of others, you were making your thoughts clear, concise, loud. Not only that but your expression told the world what you were thinking of, rejection, and Lestat’s cocky smile began to turn into that of a spoiled child who had never had the word ‘no’ spoken to them until now.
“Is that really what you think of me?” He asked.
“Indeed. Now please leave.”
Insulted, the princely blonde adjusted his jacket and tore out of the house, scaring my maids with the ferocity at which he walked, which only brought a chuckle to your own lips.
Imagine giving Lestat your virginity on your wedding night.
NSFW Below Cut.
Lestat had promised that he would be turning you on your wedding night, but he wanted you to be pure, virginal, very human when he first took you as a wife. He was old fashioned about these kinda things sometimes - he could sleep with anyone, but he wanted to be your first, your only, and to feel that break when your hymen would be torn by him.
He couldn’t deny the pleasure that he felt, once he took that initial thrust, the smell of your blood flooding through his senses as it caused you to get wetter. And as much as he wanted to continue, to show you what pleasure means, he could not resist moving down your body at lightning speed and licking up those few drops, mixed in with your natural nectar, a taste deliriously delicious.
Gnawing at your inner thighs, he appreciated it while he could, because this was only going to happen the one time - this blood, this breaking - but he would be hearing those sweet noise again, he’d be tasting the sweet juiciness again, but it’ll be different because you’ll be like him - undead. His enjoyment of your warm flesh was not taken for granted, he knew he’d be remembering this for a long time. He let out a moan of your name before sliding up, licking the salty sweat from your naked body, trailing from mound, across your belly button, between your breasts, up towards your lips once more, where you didn’t protest the metallic taste of your blood on his breath.
“Lestat,” You murmured into the kiss, your mind in a state of gratification as he made sure that nothing hurt, getting into your mind and overlapping all remnants of pain with pleasure. He entered you again, slowly, pushing every inch in, kissing your lips and your neck as your back arched underneath him, pushing you closer.
“Ready for eternity?” He asked, his fangs protracting.
“Yes,” You gasped, having never felt so eager for anything before in your life. Your heart was fluttering quickly with all of the anticipation, the longing, the love, the ecstasy. He took his sweet time in biting you while thrusting into you, going into a heat like a female cat, a frenzy, but making sure to pull himself back at the last minute, to smear his own blood against your mouth, encouraging you to drink, entering a new world of love and death at the same moment.
