Summary: You didn't expect all 4 of your partners to be so protective of you when you catch a cold.
(The reader is gender-neutral and is 18+. The race/ethnicity is preferably Black/Poc.)
(Marco and Paul are mentioned, but it features mainly Dwayne and David.)
“Shhh! You’re being too loud.”
“No! You are!”
“You both are. Shut up. You’ll wake them.”
It took you a second to really understand what you were hearing. There was a slight plugged-up feeling in your ears, and the sound of your TV playing had you slightly confused. The minor cold you had was taking a deeper effect on your body than you thought.
The voices sounded familiar and before you could get up and see who or what was in your home, you heard them speak again.
“Paul, what’re you doing?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”
Oh, it’s them, you thought, sitting yourself up. Just as you reached over to turn your bedside lamp on, one of the boys, Dwayne, had pushed open your door, peeping his dark brown eyes and dark head of hair in to see you.
“Hey creeper,” you teased, pushing your covers aside, attempting to get out of bed to hug him and the others. Before you were able to even place a foot on the floor, he had appeared by the side of your bed, and moved your legs into his lap, before sitting down.
“How you’re feeling,” he asked, raising a hand and placing the back of it to your forehead.
It felt like such a relief to feel his cold skin against your clammy and sweaty one that you couldn’t help but close your eyes in enjoyment.
“You're too warm,” he noted. “Have you eaten today?”
Opening your eyes, you tried to ignore the worry on his face and reassure him. This cold came a couple days ago, and there was a slight difficulty getting rid of it. Even though, you're better now, the first few days were full of the boys constantly surrounding you with worry and fear for your health.
The sound came from outside your door and somehow you and Dwayne both knew who the culprits of the crash were.
“I’ll check on them, then I'll bring you some soup,” he told you, taking away his hand, therefore taking away the coolness that you were cherishing.
“You don’t have to-” He had already moved your legs back down to the bed, and made his way to the door.
“I’ll be back,” he said giving you a small grin, before walking out.
You didn’t understand it. You would think that people who have been alive for so long would know that a simple cold is harmless. At first, you thought it was endearing to see them worry over you, but it soon became overbearing to the point that you chose to stay home for a while, rather than be with them in the cave. You never thought all of them would turn into four clingy, vampiric mother hens with no sense of boundaries. It began to make you wonder as they constantly worried over you, Do they think I’m weak or something?
“Not weak.” You heard him before he came into the room, his figure slowly walking through the doorway and looking at you. Even in your sick state, you could still feel the intensity of David’s gaze and his aura.
“If you don’t think I’m weak, then why’re you here? Shouldn’t you be at the boardwalk?”
Walking over to you, he moved your legs to his lap and sat in the same spot that Dwayne had occupied. He sported his usual small, sly grin as he looked over you, but you could still see the worry in his eyes.
“We already ate before we came over.”
“You didn’t answer the first question,” you pointed out, reaching out for his hand and he quickly placed his in yours.
“You’re not weak,” he responded, lowering his gaze to your intertwined hands, loving the sight of them. He and the boys had never felt such protectiveness over someone before and they weren’t going to risk anything happening to you. “You’re vulnerable.”
“I can take care of myself. You don’t need to babysit me.”
Suddenly he let go of your hand, then stood up, placing your legs back on the bed.
"David, what're you-"
Before you could finish your question, he picked up the bit of the blanket you had kicked off and placed it back on your body, covering your legs and lap.
"We're not babysitting. We're protecting you. Shut up and let us."
You wanted to say something else, but Dwayne had already returned with a bowl of soup that you could see had steam rising from it in one hand and a large towel in the other.
"Dwayne, you didn't have to," You told him, but you could feel your mouth already watering at the sight. You hadn't realized till now that your cold had taken so much of your appetite away.
"Don't worry about it. I wanted to." Stepping around David, he laid the towel down in your lap first, then sat the bowl of soup down with your spoon already sitting in it, waiting to be picked up. It was a strange but funny sight watching such a brooding, leather clad punk like Dwayne taking care of you. If they weren't so annoyingly clingy before, you would have found it adorable how all four vampires quickly became at-home nurses for you.
"Thanks. I really appreciate it, but..."
"We're staying til you're better." David told you with finality in his tone.
"David-"
He bent down and placed a kiss upon your forehead, already making up his and the others' minds about this.
"Eat and then rest."
He gave you one last look that told you to listen to him before walking out, heading to the living room and checking on Marco and Paul.
"Do what he says," Dwayne told you, taking a seat next to your legs, and picking up the spoon. He scooped up some of the soup and held it out for you. "We want you to get better."
Letting a sigh of defeat, you leaned forward and took the spoon into your mouth, letting him feed you. I guess 4 Mother Hens helping me isn't too bad, you thought, enjoying the warm, savory taste of the soup.
Content warnings: some graphic descriptions of violence, reader makes lestat reflect on how much of a bitch he is, twilight mentioned, third person perspective (no use of Y/N)
Author’s note: i didn’t really have a plot for this one, i just like the idea of calling out lestat’s toxic behavior and demanding he do better and him getting all hot under the collar about it
masterlist
Readers of the tarot populate New Orleans much like any other vermin, though without the discretion shown by rodents and cockroaches. They line the lanes of the French Quarter at tables and in storefronts, prowl the beer-spattered pavement of Bourbon Street in patchouli-scented droves, draining tourists of their coin in exchange for phony, rehearsed glimpses into futures steeped in sensation and driven by desire.
Lestat is almost fond of them for their theatrics, but more so for the blood they draw in. Whether theirs or their victims, it all tastes sweet once it breaks across his tongue.
The tarot readers’ flair for the dramatic is what confuses him about the woman he currently stalks; not entirely out of place, but not quite the same brand of mystic kitsch marketed by her peers. She does not advertise herself; merely sits on a bench and shuffles her cards, drawing one every so often when her gaze lands on a passerby. Sometimes she’ll call to an unsuspecting pedestrian and offer a reading; others she lets slip away, with seemingly little reason as to who she chooses and who she doesn’t. Visibly wealthy, visibly average, obviously foreign, obviously local, disgustingly intoxicated or dissuadingly sober, she plucks them almost at random, adding dollars to the crocheted pouch she keeps tucked in the waistband of her skirt every time someone takes the bait. She seems good at what she does, even if she only tells her thralls what they want to hear.
Somehow, she’s intrigued her observer for more than just a meal, and he hates her for it.
The crowds die a little just as the sun starts to set; people disappear into restaurants, bars, cafes, and houses to indulge in dinner and drink, letting the wet summer heat be dulled by nightfall, full bellies, and a pleasant buzz. In this quiet hour, Lestat saunters from the shadowed pavilion he’d taken up residence under for the afternoon, keen to confront his mark without the press of other bodies, the distraction of business to be done.
“You’ve been watching me, monsieur.”
She says the words without looking up, slipping her cards between deft fingers. Even with just a single word, her French sounds ugly, muffled by a lack of confidence and an even greater lack of understanding, her vocabulary limited to little more than the few words picked up from exposure to the city.
She flicks a card free from the deck and holds it up by the corner, between two fingers like one would a cigarette: The Devil.
Lestat chuckles, charmed despite himself.
“It seems you know me by my other name.” He takes a drag from the lit cig in his hand, mimicking her. “How did you gather that I’m French?”
“I was watching you, too,” she explains. “Capturing unsolicited attention is dangerous for a woman; you learn to determine who’s a genuine threat and who’s just a pervert.”
“Which one am I?”
She doesn’t answer the question, instead returning the Devil card to its home and resuming her shuffling, letting it disappear amongst its brethren.
“You carry yourself like a Frenchman,” she notes. “Graceful, arrogant, astute, vapid. And you chain smoke; most Americans don’t take time to savor their cigarettes in a park on a nice day. We like our nicotine hits to come as quickly as possible.”
Lestat seethes as he draws the cig from his lips and offers her a pull. She’s clever, and clever women are difficult, less tempted into darkness and solitude by his silver tongue. She declines the offer, but gestures an invitation for him to sit beside her; he does, keeping his distance, not chancing to scare her (yet).
“Do you make your living this way?” he wonders, gesturing to the cards, loathing that he’s genuinely curious.
“No,” she answers. The cards go away, slotted into a cardboard box that wears decades worth of tatter and the name of a long-shuttered jeweler. “I work a full time job. I just like doing this for fun.”
“Running a grift is a strange idea of fun,” Lestat comments.
“No more strange than watching a woman run a grift for three hours before approaching her.”
The corner of her lip quirks in a teasing smirk, and the vampire finds himself swayed. He chuckles for the second time that evening, hoping it comes off cold but knowing his amusement seeps through, poisoning the sound and making it something sweet.
“Touché, ma cherie,” he concedes. “I suppose I could have asked for a reading, but I try not to get into the habit of being lied to.”
“The cards don’t lie,” she says, running her fingers over the box in her lap. “They’re just cards. They can’t tell the future any more than a fortune cookie or manic preacher can; they only reflect back what we see in them.”
“You speak as though you believe in their power,” Lestat presses. She shrugs.
“I decide how much power they have. That’s the fun of the read, I guess; convincing the other person of their power.”
“It seems you had many people convinced. How do you do it?”
“How do you seduce women?” An amused, knowing gleam in her eye as she meets his gaze. “You tell them what they want to hear and sugarcoat what they need to.”
“You make the unfair assumption that because I am French, I must seduce many women.”
His tone is teasing, his body leaning towards hers as he flicks ash onto the ground at her feet. To his dismay, she laughs, an enchanting melody from the throat of a dove.
“Does that not just come with the territory of being French?” she teases him back. “You’re not nearly as aloof as you try to seem, Monsieur de Lioncourt.”
The familiarity with which she says his name; the fact she knows his name at all; halts him. How does she know him? He rarely leaves the women he lays with alive, has no intimate social ties to speak of, and would remember if they had met in passing or she was one of the lucky few he chose not to kill. And yes, she’s certainly mortal, the way the blood pulses through her, the primal scent of her flesh. She placidly awaits his response, and he struggles not to let his infuriation show.
“I never asked your name,” is what he settles on.
“I never offered it,” is what she retorts.
Lestat burns his cigarette down to the filter and lets it fall, pressing it out under the toe of one Italian leather loafer. Her scuffed, well-worn boot scratches at the cobbles beside it, a gentle, bemused smile still on her face.
“Jog my memory if you would, cherie,” he demands. “How is it that we know each other?”
“We don’t,” she confirms. Her tone is flippant, too casual, and it takes everything for him not to rip her trachea from the tender flesh that surrounds it. “Just like everyone else, I’m fascinated by the city’s supernatural history. Your name comes up a lot in the state archives, if you didn’t know.”
It’s Lestat’s turn to laugh; a brave, fragile thing that would falter under scrutiny. For the first time with a mortal he feels translucent, exposed, naked beside her in the public square.
“Foolish girl, you jest, surely,” he dismisses her. “That is my grandfather, who I’m named after. You truly cannot believe in the immortal, non?”
“Lestat de Lioncourt has no birth certificate and no death certificate,” she states as easily as saying the sky is blue. “There are no passenger or immigration records of him, though he was a known foreigner. His name has been on the deed to a house on Royal Street since 1905, which was moved under the ownership of an overseas law firm in 1940, along with all his assets. He was never married, had no children, and was presumed gay by most of New Orleans society. There are several oral histories from people who were children in the 1920s and 30s mentioning the men who ran the speakeasies and didn’t age, their random disappearance right as the Second World War came as a distraction from the salt rings and Bibles and poppets left outside their door; the same door listed as belonging to Lestat de Lioncourt. Presumably the same Lestat de Lioncourt still living there today as the landlord of three converted luxury apartments. You could be better at covering your tracks, non?”
Never has he been mocked so openly by someone he could kill so easily. He resists the desire to light another cigarette, to murder her in cold blood and plain view. She continues to fix him with that pleasant smile that feigns innocence, the beautiful, soft curve of her lips and cheeks mingling his hatred with longing. His body begs to fuck her, make sweetest love to her, then leave her dead in a gutter like a common whore. His unmoving heart palpitates for the first time in nearly a century.
“You cannot possibly know what I am,” he hisses.
“You’ve never been seen during daylight,” she replies. “Common folklore gives me a few good guesses.”
They sit silent for several tense moments, staring at each other, sizing each other up. Eventually Lestat smiles back, allowing all his cruelty to curl its edges, hoping to frighten her into forgetting his name.
“I am a monster, it is true,” he concedes. “I watched you all afternoon thinking of the ways I could tear you limb from pretty limb.”
“Not just that,” she counters. He quirks a brow and her expression grows infuriatingly knowing. “A woman can tell when she’s coveted.”
“Have you ever been stalked by a vampire, little mouse?” Lestat wonders aloud, mocking her. “It feels much like human seduction, and is the reason we’re so skilled at cornering our prey. No one can resist carnal pleasure when it’s offered so willingly, so… expertly, as we do.”
Got you.
The thought cuts through his mind like a guillotine blade. Her voice echoes, dulcet music, and all at once he knows she’s right; she has got him.
“Vampire, huh?” she says in an amused huff of breath. “You’re not sparkly and made of porcelain.”
Lestat groans, running a large, exasperated hand down his chiseled face.
“Those books are so fucking stupid,” he sighs. “A housewife’s dirty fantasies she was too chaste to give any true name to.”
She laughs, genuinely laughs for the first time since they met.
“What?” he snaps.
She shakes her head, still giggling, removing her tarot deck once more from its box and beginning to shuffle again.
“You’re so easy to get a rise out of,” she explains. “Everything everyone ever wrote about you is true. It’s like you were pulled right from the pages of local myth and just… manifested here, planning to eat me.”
She pulls a card from her deck, studying it a moment.
“Did you actually read Twilight?” she asks.
“If I answer truthfully, do I get to eat you?” Lestat bites.
“No,” she replies, removing another card and placing it beside the first. “I appreciate you asking permission, though.”
“I never ask permission,” he growls.
“But you won’t kill me without it,” she retorts. She meets his gaze once more, all the humor gone from the glint in her eyes. “I’m still here and it’s completely dark now. We’re alone. If you didn’t want my permission to kill me, you wouldn’t be waiting for it.”
In truth, Lestat had no idea what he was waiting for; he’d long since given up on making a meal of her, long since lost his appetite for her because of how horrendously entertained he finds himself with her. She is intriguing in a way that hasn’t jolted him since that night in the red light district; since Louis and his show of violence. She is no less vicious in her attack, but instead of drawing a blade she draws cards and knowledge. He looks to the suits in her lap: the Two of Pentacles and the Devil, now turned on its head.
“What do they mean?” he asks, trying to regain control, knowing she’s the only one who can return it.
“Balance,” she answers, holding up the first card. “Usually of finances when the pentacles come up but it can be other things, too. Work-life balance, the give and take of lovers, an internal balance within oneself… it’s what you make of it in the context of the reading, really.”
“And the Devil?”
“Reversed it signals the breaking of bad habits,” she tells him. “Or embracing the dark side of one’s personality.”
Lestat huffs a gentle laugh, draping his arm over the back of the bench behind her.
“Well, I certainly know exactly which one is true of myself,” he scoffs.
“People usually do,” she replies. “Just not the one they’re ever willing to admit to themselves.”
He wants to kill her. He wants to wrap her in white and a diamond and give her his name. He wants her to stop seeing him so clearly, yet never wants her to look away.
“You do not know what I am capable of, agneau,” he warns her. “I am not human.”
“It seems like what you feel is human,” she replies. “Isn’t that enough?”
It’s a question Lestat has never asked himself, and now that it’s been posed for him, he has no answer. He is a god, capable of creation, destruction, salvation or hellfire, mortal beings falling to his whim like dandelion seeds whenever he chooses to breathe. But he has never considered that his emotions still surrender to humanlike desires, the pitfalls that come with them. He has always considered himself perfect; she is holding a mirror to his face and proving him foolish.
She watches him closely, her expression fallen into one of genuine concern, a tenderness she does not owe him.
“You’re thinking very hard,” she notes.
Lestat hums deep in his chest, all his anger washed away under her scrutiny, her unspoken empathy.
“You have given me hard things to think about,” he tells her.
She stows her tarot deck once more, collecting her things before standing and brushing her skirt down, its hem falling nearly to her ankles; a style he hasn’t seen in great popularity since the 1950s at least. She is modest, provocative, and she is beautiful.
“I know you don’t eat, but I’m going home to cook dinner,” she says. “You’re welcome to join me if you want.”
Lestat grins at this, the absurdity, breaking into a laugh.
“You would invite a vampire into your home?” he scoffs. “Cherie, that is giving me permission to kill you. Non, I will buy you dinner.”
It’s her turn to laugh, a sound he swears he could never tire of hearing.
“Did I just ask a vampire on a date, get rejected, then get asked on a better date by that same vampire?”
Lestat chuckles as he rises, offering his hand which she gingerly takes, met with a low bow and a soft kiss to the back of her palm.
“You may have me well matched in discussions of philosophy, agneau, but in matters of romance, I am king.”
Warnings: strong language, allusions to sex and concerns of assault, mind reading, dysfunctional found families, Lestat admitting he used to be kinda sexist
Author’s note: okay so i forgot the canon that vampires can’t hear the thoughts of their spawns? so for the sake of a little fantasy delulu time let’s just ignore that. this is more of a character study than anything else bc i just think they’re neat.
masterlist
“You fucked Lestat?”
You gritted your teeth, hissing out an embarrassed breath and gesturing for Daniel to lower his voice as the patrons at the tables around you glanced over at his exclamation.
Your former boss and constant mentor had gotten a lot more brash since the vampire Armand jumped him and made him a bloodsucking creature of the night. He used to be straight up insufferable; at least until he allowed the cracks to show during a late night editing session several years ago, in which he revealed how much you reminded him of his daughters, how much he cared for you in a way that was deeper than just a writer and his assistant. He was still insufferable afterward, but you were bonded, considered him family; the pissy, dangerous uncle with a heart of gold you never had.
Which is why you didn’t appreciate him delving into your thoughts and witnessing the orgasm the vampire-turned-rockstar you’d been interviewing with him for the past month had given you just two nights prior.
“Okay, first of all, shut the hell up,” you snapped in a hiss-whisper. “Second of all, you promised not to read my mind, you freak.”
“Hey, that one wasn’t on me,” Daniel retorted gruffly, downing the rest of his whisky in one swig to clear his mind of the traumatic image of Lestat’s face contorted in ecstasy. “That one was so strong I had no choice but to see it. Now I won’t be able to think of anything but what Lestat’s cock feels like when I look at him for the rest of this project.”
You gagged. At least he hadn’t seen you naked. You liked him way too much, despite him being himself, and didn’t want any need to cut ties with him to arise.
“Seriously though, what have I told you about getting personally involved with a subject?” Daniel quipped. He’d recovered from the shock of it all, now glaring at you sternly over the rim of his frameless glasses.
“… To not do that,” you answered sheepishly.
There was a reason you never followed him into the journalism field, only helping on the Lestat project because he’d asked you to, offering to pay twice your annual salary for your assistance; you were way too empathetic, too loving to detach yourself from the people you encountered on personal interest projects like these. It had happened with much less disastrous results when he’d interviewed Louis and Armand, leading to an all-too-close friendship with Louis that persisted even after the project was over and the book published.
A friendship which, thinking of it now, was probably in serious jeopardy now that you’d knocked boots with his ex husband.
“Oh, he’s pissed,” Daniel answered the thought without it being voiced. You scowled, wanting to throw the nearest, heaviest object at him.
“Quit reading my thoughts!” you demanded. “Why is Louis even in your head right now anyway?”
I heard him say you fucked Lestat. That can happen, kind of a subconscious thing when vampires are socially connected like us.
Louis’ disembodied voice seethed in your head, but not with anger at you like you’d expected and feared; he was gunning for Lestat, ready to tear the balls from his scrotum for seducing you, a defenseless mortal, when you already had so much stake in vampire entanglements being Daniel’s protege and Louis’ platonic companion.
You groaned, standing abruptly, shaking the glassware on the table noisily as you did.
“I’m leaving,” you spat. “I need two seconds away from you overgrown mosquitos.”
You stormed out of the restaurant, not caring how much of a scene you made, red in the face that Daniel was trying to suppress laughter at your dig. You were thankful that he didn’t try to call you back, knowing your limits, always respectful of the cooling-off periods you took when you would inevitably butt heads.
The city was cool and peaceful as you exited the building and walked along the river, watching the skyline on the opposite bank and taking deep, heaving breaths.
You felt so stupid for falling for Lestat the way you did, letting him into your bed when you knew every red flag about him; least of them that he would eat you if you weren’t careful. It had been so long since you’d felt so wanted though, and fucking him had made you feel more than just desired; he’d romanced you, devoured you, made love to you in such a way that you felt like your soul had been touched, kissed, worshipped via the senses of your skin. Every second thought was a memory, of his soft laughter, his husky voice in your ear, his stubble scraping the insides of your thighs as his nails dug into your plush skin. You could still feel his lips, the tenderness of them, their ghosts making their way from your jaw to your neck to your breasts to your stomach and lower, lower, until he was playfully nipping at your ankle.
You sighed heavily. You wished he meant any of it.
At least you see he’s a liar.
Louis’ voice cut clear through your own internal monologue, making you grit your teeth.
You won’t make the same mistakes I did with him.
“Louis, I’d really like a moment alone,” you quipped out loud. “I don’t want you in my head right now.”
I’m just making sure you’re okay. It’s a lot, I know, but it’s all ‘cause we care about you.
“Maybe, but it’s also because you all hate Lestat,” you grumbled. “Daniel maybe not so much but you, you especially hate him. You’re going to hold my own stupidity against him when I’m just as to blame as he is for fucking my best friend’s ex.”
Lestat has supernatural powers of manipulation. He could have compelled you into sex and made you feel like it was all your idea.
What Louis didn’t know is that it was your idea. Much as he still loved to pretend that Lestat was this infallible supervillain, all superficial charm and evil intentions without any real substance, the truth was that somewhere, Lestat still cared for him, and in the years since their parting had learned to respect him. You noticed it throughout your friendship with Louis in the way he kept his distance, never pressing, never begging for forgiveness or for Louis to take him back as a lover; it became even more apparent when you met him for the first time and his eyes hardly strayed from you, his attraction to you as little-guarded as every other emotion he felt, but he never once did so much as even flirt with you. He knew what you meant to Louis, knew that acting on his desires would hurt him deeply; it was you who'd crossed the line, asking if he'd like to meet you for dinner after shooting under the guise of "getting to know him better, without lights and cameras in the way", you who invited him to your hotel room, you who told him it was okay, he could kiss you if he really wanted. None of it had been compulsion; you spent enough time around vampires to know when your thoughts had stopped being your own.
"Don't make me a victim," you snapped back at Louis. "You know me better than that."
I know Lestat better than that, too.
"So what, you think Lestat only fucked me to get on your nerves? Because I'll be honest, Lou, I've spent enough time with him to believe that he's not the same bitchy abuser he was when you were together. He's let a lot of it go."
Don't defend him.
"Don't belittle me!"
She's right, Louis. You're infantilizing her. You and I know well she is not some helpless damsel.
"Oh for fuck's sake, not you t-"
You stamped in an angry fit, turning as you tossed your bag onto the cobbled sidewalk in frustration, expecting the lane beside you to be empty but instead meeting the striking blue eyes of a lean, elegant man perched under a nearby streetlight. He grinned at you, amused, stubbing out his cigarette under a studded boot before sauntering towards you.
"... I didn't think you'd actually be here," you told Lestat, stating the obvious.
"I knew you and Daniel were dining nearby to exchange notes," he explained. "I was coming anyway, to offer to walk you back to your hotel, when I heard you arguing with my old paramour. Bonjour, mon cher."
You clenched your hands, focusing on the press of your nails into the lines of your palms, affectively blocking Louis from intruding on any more of your thoughts. It took effort, but it was possible.
"I don't want him to hear us. Please," you begged Lestat. "… I would really like it if you walked me home."
"Of course," he replied. "You have my word."
He bent and gathered your abused bag from the pavement, returning it to you before offering his arm. You took it in a tentative grasp, resting our fingertips in the crook of his elbow. Together, you made your way along the riverside.
The walk was silent for several minutes, time spent basking in the beautiful weather, the unusual serenity of the empty street. With every gentle breath of wind you could smell him, metallic under the musky sweetness of expensive cologne, the same scent you found on your sheets the morning after he'd spent the night. He raised his opposite hand to cover yours where it lay on his sleeve, giving your knuckles a gentle squeeze.
"I presume he found out about us," Lestat speculated, breaching the subject much more gracefully than you would have.
You nodded, a pit of shame opening in your stomach and starting to gnaw at you.
"Yeah. And even though I'm the one who started it, he's convinced you compelled me to get back at him."
Lestat tsk'ed, sucking on his teeth.
"Dégoûtant, those of our kind who do such things. The sex is no fun if your partner is an unwilling puppet. Louis remains certain I did the same to him."
"You stalked him and killed the priest he was confessing to."
"We fucked before that. No coercion necessary."
You glanced over to find the man fixing you with a teasing smirk, another pulse of his fingers around yours.
"Ma cherie, I knew if I were to have you, you would have to come to me of your own volition," Lestat continued. "I knew you would not come willingly if I tried. You were 'off limits', for lack of a better term."
"Because of Louis," you finished his thought.
He sighed softly, tilting his head back as he searched for the correct words.
"... Not just because of Louis," he finally stated. "You are very protective of yourself. I do not think you are entirely aware of it, but you hold your knowledge of your worth like a shield. It is what drew me to you. Instead of fawning over me or outright hating me, you made me feel as though I had to prove myself worthy of you, gain your favor and acceptance to exist in your eyes, let alone seduce you. You demand your permission be given before others may lust after you. It is quite sexy, for a certain type of man."
"And you're that certain type of man?"
Lestat chuckled.
"Excessive eagerness bores me in a lover," he mused. "I enjoy a challenge, and yours is uniquely beautiful."
You considered his words, feeling yourself start to ease. He certainly didn’t sound like a jilted lover trying to get back at an ex, but an inherent distrust still tugged at you.
Something vibrated at your side, pulling you from your thoughts. Lestat huffed as he separated from you to remove his phone from his jacket pocket, laughing jadedly as he showed you the caller ID: Louis de Pointe du Lac. He flicked the call to voicemail, and a moment later turned up the speaker so you could hear the message Louis left.
“I know you’re with her, bitch. Pick up.”
Lestat chuckled, shaking his head as he pressed delete.
“He used to tell me I was melodramatic,” he joked. “I suppose there’s more of my blood within him than either of us realized.”
He took your arm again, pressing himself close into your side, keeping you near.
“… Truthfully I did not want Louis to ever know,” he confessed. “I can feel his adoration of you. He wishes only to protect you the way…”
He didn’t finish the thought, but you heard it as clearly as if you had your own telepathic abilities.
“I know I remind him of Claudia,” you responded. “And in his defense, you do have a habit of killing the women he cares about most.”
Lestat huffed out a soft laugh, jaded, guilty. Perhaps even remorseful.
“He was going to leave me no matter what,” he murmured. “I attempted to delay the inevitable and in so doing I destroyed us both. He does not want the same fate for you, but I cannot deny it, agneau; I want you badly.”
The admission chilled you, warmed you, sent currents through your core to your limbs to your head that made you dizzy. How exhilarating it was to be coveted by the man you desired most.
“I can’t be caged, Les,” you warned him despite the tender thrill of it all. “My willpower is much stronger than Louis’. I’ll only hurt you worse if you try to chain me up.”
“You make me want to be better, despite my propensity to… well, to not do that,” he replied. “Louis… his love for you, what happened between us… the value you know you have. You are a goddess to me. I lay myself at your feet and beg forgiveness. I will do everything to deserve it.”
“… Then you did mean it,” you noted after a beat. “When you said the other night that you want to be with me.”
“I always mean that when I say it,” Lestat replied. “I want forever with you if you will take it.”
“Forever is a big ask after one night together,” you relayed. “If we last… ten years together, I’ll consider it.”
Lestat chuckled, lifting your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles.
“Ten years is nothing to an immortal life,” he said. “I would wait hundreds if you asked.”
As you came up to the entrance of your hotel, your phone began to ring. You sighed, digging through your bag until you found the offending device and checking the caller ID, though you knew you wouldn’t need to. You sent Louis to voicemail, opening up your messaging app to text him instead.
I’m fine, you told him. Les and I are just talking through some stuff.
It didn’t even take a few seconds before his reply came through.
You’re calling him “Les” now?
You rolled your eyes, typing furiously, quickly, before setting your phone to silent and shoving it back into your bag.
I called him Daddy the other night. Would you prefer that?
Lestat laughed as he read over your shoulder, cradling your head in one of his hands and pulling you close to kiss your temple. He let his lips linger, his nose buried in your hair, the act so loving you felt yourself wanting to melt into him, into eternity and oblivion with him. You knew better than to give in so easily.
“I like the way you bite,” he confessed. “Feisty women used to irritate me, but I have come to appreciate them. I like the way you wear your spirit.”
Your expression softened as you looked in his eyes. You knew this change was because of Claudia, his guilt over the part he played in her death. You didn’t say as much, simply lacing your fingers with his and leading him through the sliding glass doors into the hotel lobby.
Daniel was waiting for you inside, leaned against one of the ugly chairs in the lounge by the reception desk, launching himself gracefully off it and striding towards you with purpose as you entered. You tried to remove your hand from Lestat’s, but he held firm.
“Louis’ about to get on a plane and use your severed head as a punching bag,” Daniel gruffed, looking at the fellow vampire. “Very vivid imagery I’m getting here.”
If you weren’t speaking to Louis, Daniel would be. He tried so hard to act detached but the truth was he cared just as deeply for Louis as he did for you. It was sweet, in a fucked up way. You tried not to remember the fact that Daniel was very disappointed about not fucking him, high off his ass, in a coffin when they first met in the 70s.
“Tell Louis I’m fine,” you told him. “I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”
“You’re mortal,” Daniel rebuffed, “you’re practically a lamb in a lion’s den. Armand erased my memory and took my own agency away from me for fifty fuckin’ years and you think this asshat won’t do the same or worse to you?”
“Well for one thing I’m not tweaked out on twenty different kinds of heroin and ecstasy so I’ve got that working in my favor.”
It was a low blow, and you regretted it the moment you said it. You shrank back at the hurt in Daniel’s eyes, but you could feel something involuntarily within him, like he knew he deserved it. He sighed, glowering at Lestat.
“Lie to me and I’ll find out and feed you your own testicles,” Daniel warned. “Did you compel her?”
“No.”
An answer without hesitation, firm, paired with a gentle squeeze of your hand. Daniel sized him up for a moment before backing down, but only slightly.
“Call Louis,” he said to you. “Or he’ll kill your little concubine here.”
You smirked a little as he gestured to Lestat, the tension between the two of you broken.
You gonna be okay? Need me to keep watch tonight?
A slight shake of your head and the issue was dropped. Daniel nodded, placing a hand on your shoulder as he passed you and gripping you tightly, a silent acknowledgement of his care. You watched as he slid out the hotel doors, no doubt off to hunt now that the night’s drama was subsided.
“To be loved by some of the worst people living in this or any era,” Lestat mused, lighthearted. “How does it feel?”
You laughed softly, wrapping your arm around his sinfully tiny waist and folding into his side.
“Exhausting,” you replied. “It’s like I’m living in an episode of Real Housewives, except instead of a bunch of middle aged gold diggers I’m surrounded by disaster gays who have all fucked each other at least once.”
“Daniel’s not my type. At least you’re safe from that.”
You held each other in the elevator up to your floor, the walk to your room silent in a comfortable way. Lestat paused at the threshold after you slid your key in, standing close but not crossing into the room. His eyes traced your features, gentle, reverent.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, barely a whisper.
You shook your head, your nose almost brushing his.
“It’ll only cause more problems if you’re here when I call Louis,” you regretfully explained. “I don’t want to drag up any of the bones that should stay buried.”
Lestat nodded, conceding despite how tense you could feel he was, every muscle contracted against the press of rejection, no matter how fleeting, how gentle. You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, palms laid on his chest, holding the kiss firm until you needed to breathe. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you pulled away, stealing another kiss from your forehead.
“I will be listening if you need me, or want me,” he told you. “Bonne nuit… my sweetest love.”
You resisted parting from him as much as he did you. You wanted nothing more than to curl into your mattress like you did with him before, when your bodies were spent and still tangled in each other, his head on your chest and his hands tracing every curve they could reach. He was impossibly easy to submit to. It scared you. It thrilled you.
Louis answered your call after the first ring, going on a minutes-long tirade about the dangers of being alone with Lestat the moment he picked up. You laid back on the pillows on the bed and just listened, letting him release his rage to make way for more civilized conversation.
“You remember we already had sex, right?” you drawled once he quieted. “And that I’m neither dead nor undead and he has in fact called me.”
“That isn’t my point,” Louis snapped.
“Lou, please,” you begged, exasperated, exhausted. “I don’t want to fight. If you’re upset with me for sleeping with Lestat because he’s your ex and that’s a shitty thing for a friend to do, I can accept that. I’ll walk away from him forever if that’s the reason you’re doing all of this because the last thing I want is to hurt you. But if it’s still about what happened between you two, with Claudia, I don’t want to be dragged into that. That’s for the two of you to resent each other over for eternity. The Lestat I know has grown from that and I want to give him the chance to show me as much.”
Louis was silent for several moments, no doubt considering the very uncomfortable truth that he actually didn’t care what you did with Lestat so long as the man treated you well. He was likely pacing, prowling back and forth along the pit of his living room, shoulders tense and teeth slightly bared. You simply waited, allowing him to work it through and come to you with his own conclusion.
“You’re sure he didn’t compel you?” Louis asked after ages, his voice resigned.
“You and I both know Lestat only wants a lover who’s willing. He’s an asshole but he’s not that big of an asshole that he’d rape someone.”
“… Yeah, unfortunately he does have a heart somewhere inside him,” Louis surrendered. “He likes it when people doubt he does but he does have one.”
“Nobody doubts he does,” you said with a slight smile. “He’s very bad at keeping it hidden.”
Louis chuckled softly, and you could practically feel the weight lifting from his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he told you. “I just can’t see another person I love get hurt by what’s between Lestat and me.”
“You won’t,” you promised. “If he does anything even a little bit out of line he’ll have hell to pay from all of us. And honestly I think he’s just… tired. Tired of the pain of it all. You hurt him too, you know.”
“I know,” Louis murmured. “I also know that if anyone’s got enough love and strength in their heart to handle him, it’s you. You’re good at dealing with toxic men.”
“I know,” you deadpanned. “It’s literally the only thing I ever do.”
Louis laughed, genuinely laughed, the sound rolling from his stomach and into the atmosphere, cracking your heart wide open. You didn’t hear him laugh nearly enough, and he deserved to.
“I miss you,” he confessed, mirroring your own emotions. “Come to Dubai when you and Daniel are done blowing smoke up Lestat’s ass. We can drink coffee and do yoga and catch up on all the trash TV we missed watching together because of the time zones.”
You smiled, wishing he were in the room so you could pull him into your arms. There was nothing better than to hold him, to know you were loved for yourself and nothing else; no ulterior motives, just affection between two souls.
“I’ll be there,” you replied. “I’m gonna need a fucking vacation after this anyway.”
Another laugh, refreshing and reviving as the first birdsong in spring. You would never not be thankful for these men, you realized, surrounded not only by their problems but by their love in all its varying forms. It was humbling.
“I love you, Louis,” you said, not thinking, just feeling.
“I love you, too,” he echoed. “You should get some sleep.”
“I should,” you conceded with a sigh. “I’ll text you tomorrow. Let you know if Lestat’s back on his old bullshit.”
“He won’t be,” Louis stated, quiet, firm. “He knows what good he has with you.”
Your chest tightened, fluttered. There was no way you could be as good as that, but you would always allow Louis to let you believe it.
“Goodnight, Lou.”
“Goodnight, lamb.”
You stood and tossed your phone on the bed, sighing heavily, rolling your shoulders to release some of the tightness in them. Your head felt light in a good way, clear like coming out of a bad migraine. You crossed the room to the balcony doors and slid them open, stepping into the night and just allowing yourself to breathe.
“Is he over his little tempter tantrum?”
Lestat was there waiting for you, perched on the railing like a stray cat, his eyes just as bright as he watched you come toward him. You laughed, shaking your head, but moving no more hesitantly into his open arms.
“You’re ridiculous,” you chided. “Please don’t make this a habit.”
Lestat grinned, showing his teeth, hooking his arms low on your waist and letting you lean on him as he stole a peck from your lips.
“Take me as I am, cherie,” he playfully begged. “When I love, I love viciously, and for always.”
You held his face in your hands, your thumbs smoothing over the high points of his sharp cheeks, watching the way his lashes drooped with longing as he looked back at you. He still had a lot of proving himself to do, but you would hold him close to your heart until he earned the key to it.
“Stay with me tonight,” you whispered. “No sex. Just hold me while I sleep.”
“I will always,” he breathed. “As long as you want me, I am yours.”
You took Lestat’s hand and led him inside, shutting the doors and the world along with them. You slept cradled on his chest that night, his eyes glowing in the darkness of your room as he watched the hours creep on into blushing dawn through the cracks in the tightly drawn curtains. Your soft snores were like gentle melodies to him, every little imperfection a gift, a new beauty for him to unravel and cherish. When you finally woke and were quietly surprised to find him still at your side, he ached, his love for you solidifying itself in his long dead heart in that very moment. Daniel and Louis thought themselves your protectors, but he would maim himself, stand in open sunlight, drive the stake through his own chest if it meant ensuring your safety, your trust in him.
If he himself were the monster he was protecting you from, he would kill the beast thousands of times, again and again, until it no longer chased you.
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Her gaze darted between the pair as her mind raced to catch up with the information she’d been given, their dark, lust-filled irises watching her watch them. Vampires were real, she thought for what felt like the thousandth time. And they’re standing in front of me…claiming I’m their mate. A frown carved across her brow as a cloying silence stretched across the room, David and Marko seemingly content to watch her struggle with her newfound reality when her gaze dropped to the floorboards. Had old, Mr Emerson laced the brownies Lucy delivered with some of his prized weed? Am I high right now?
As much as she wished to believe her rushing thoughts, the satin bindings around her wrists and the throbbing of her clit effectively squashed her fragile attempt to make sense of everything. This is real, she thought, lifting her stare from the grainy patterns of the floor. And I’m in some…weird, vampy heat…
Her thoughts seemed to jolt her from her stunned silence as she shot up from the mattress’ edge, uncaring of her bound wrists, mind locked on a single target. To get away from them and the lulling thrall of their scent as she slipped past David and his icy gaze sparked with animalistic delight, or the devious smirk curling Marko’s lips.
She’d read enough omega-verse novels to know what happened to her–the omega–of a mate bond or pack bond if she allowed herself to grow lost in their thrall. She knew the primal urgings of her body and what it wanted–who it wanted. She knew, but still, she fought the tantalising haze begging her to succumb–to let them fuck her senseless.
You’ve only got to say the word.
Let us help you.
You’re ours.
A startled yelp tumbled from her lips as the lavender ribbon around her wrists pulled taut, sending her stumbling back before she peered over her shoulder, following the ribbon across the room, past David’s hip to Marko’s beaming face. Her heart jackhammered in her chest as her eyes trailed from Marko’s expression to the lavender fabric tied firmly around his left wrist, a neat bow perched at the back of his hand as he lifted it and waggled his fingers in a taunting wave.
“Going somewhere?” Marko drawled; as satisfied as the cat who’d caught the canary.
“She truly believed she could get away from us,” David said, turning to Marko with a smug grin before his unnerving gaze resettled on her. “You’re ours, just as that aching cunt of yours is ours.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, gritting the words out from between clenched teeth.
“Am I?” David drawled, cocking his head as he gestured to Marko with a flick of his wrist. “Then let Marko untie you, and we’ll let you go. Simple as that.”
Gingerly, she angled herself so she half faced the door and half faced the blonds, stare flickering over their faces as a naive swell of hope blossomed in her chest. Without acknowledging her screeching instincts, she started toward the pair–her second mistake of the night–desperate to be free of the unnatural ache in core and the desire it evoked in her to be filled, to be fucked, to be bred, to be knotted.
What the fuck is wrong with me? She thought, snapping herself from her spiralling, lust-filled thoughts a moment too late as the haze cleared from her eyes and David moved with preternatural speed, grasping her throat in his leather-clad hand and shepherding her toward Marko.
“Let me go!” She bellowed, struggling against Marko’s grasp, legs kicking out at David.
She hoped her voice would carry across the night sky, even if she knew nobody lived close enough to hear her–to save her. But still, she tried. Kicking and squirming as Marko situated her between his thighs, grabbing her unbound wrist and looping the lavender silk around it, stifling her struggles with unnatural ease whilst David watched on with a quirked brow.
“Don’t tell me that you truly believed we’d let you go,” David crooned, icy gaze flickering to Marko.
David’s head dipped in the same breath dread lodged itself in her chest and something sharp pierced her throat, wrenching a garbled and panicked scream from her mouth. Fangs, she thought with tear-cusped irises, struggling to free herself from Marko’s grip as David stepped closer until all she could see was him. You’re being torn into by fangs. Fight back, dammit. Fight or you’ll die.
As her instincts clamoured in her skull like the ringing of a war bell, and her neck smarted with white-hot agony with every mouthful of blood Marko swallowed, her attempts to free herself became feebly weak and floundering. Her eyelids fluttered with a weight and sluggishness she loathed, battling to keep them open as David stooped ever-so-slightly to hold her gaze.
His lips tugged into a soft almost sympathetic smile, gloved hand outstretching to brush a stray piece of her hair behind her ear, voice tinged with an otherworldly command she recognised and dreaded all the same.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’ll be okay when you wake,” he said, thumb stroking her cheek as his gaze darted to Marko over her shoulder. “Sleep now, try to escape us later.”
“Sleep?” she rasped out with a wince, heart jolting in her chest when Marko’s arm banded snugly around her waist and her vision swam with dark spots. “You’re…killing me.”
David’s head shook with a fondness she was sure she imagining, Marko’s fangs retracting from her throat as her lids slid shut and darkness plunged across her senses. The glacier-eyed vampire’s murmured response was the last thing she heard as Marko tightened his grasp on her and pressed an affectionate kiss to the crown of her head, the awaiting abyss of unconsiousness dragging her into its arms with nothing but David’s words left to clamour across the void.
“If only that were true, little mate, but it’s not. We want you alive…ours for eternity.”
The Musketeers premiered on BBC One on 19 January 2014 and ran from 2014 to 2016, with a total of 30 episodes.
Inspired by Alexandre Dumas' novel, it starred Tom Burke, Santiago Cabrera, Howard Charles, and Luke Pasqualino as the four loyal swordsmen in 17th-century France, who fight for justice and protect the King and Queen from various threats.
⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️ Athos ⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️
⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️ Aramis ⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️
⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️ Porthos ⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️
⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️ D'Artagnan ⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️
"I'm looking for Athos!"
"You've found him."
"My name is d'Artagnan, of Lupiac in Gascony. Prepare to fight. One of us dies here."
"Now, THAT'S the way to make an entrance."
– 1x01 Friends and Enemies
The series blends historical drama,
action,
intrigue,
and humour,
with a healthy serving of family,
romance,
and plenty of friendship,
brotherhood,
and swashbuckling goodness!
"I want… Athos and his friends… silenced for good."
"Musketeers don't die easily."
– 1x10 Musketeers Don't Die Easily
⚜️ Thanks for an amazing show! ❤️🔥⚜️
"Look to your left, now your right... A Musketeer is never alone, Brujon.
Remember that."
– 3x03 Brothers in Arms
This drabble was brought on by this post from @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic
This story was also inspired by the haircut and dye that I want. (Also in this, if a vampire is invited into your house, they have a reflection)
You had everything laid out before you, the box bleach mixed up in the small bowl, the aluminum sheets to separate the layers, the brush that was currently applying the mixture to the ends of one of your many layers. You decided to bleach the tips of your new shag haircut that Paul had given you, and though you knew it was going to be a tedious pain to do, you wanted the look...what you hadn't expected was the platinum blonde vampire appearing behind you, a box of hair dye in his hand. You were close to all of the boys, but you'd be lieing if you denied that David intrigued you the most. Maybe it was cause unlike the others, he wasn't an open book, or maybe it was cause he just had that mysterious air about him, whatever it was, seeing him standing in your bathroom was a shock.
"Hello" you spoke, hand pausing it's motion as you looked at him through the mirror.
"Hello" he spoke, placing the box down beside your bowl, you looked down at the box, looking at the woman with platinum blonde hair, before looking back up at him.
"Can you do mine too?" He spoke after a moment, his question causing a smile to grace your lips. Maybe this was the way you could bond a bit more with him, so with a nod you spoke.
"Make a deal?" You asked, causing him to raise an eyebrow.
"Help me with the back and I'll do your hair" he was silent for a moment before he took his gloves off, sitting them on your bed before grabbing a pair of rubber gloves and putting them on, you smiled at him as you handed over the brush, holding the bowl and foils in your now free hands as he began to work.
"Thank you" you spoke after a moment of silence.
"Thank you" he nodded, and you both fell into a comfortable silence, before you started to smile, causing him to raise an eyebrow.
"I finally get to see what your natural color is" you giggle, causing him to roll his eyes, but smile nonetheless.
Yoo! Could you please do #40 with David where his s/o has some deep trust issues and always think people will leave her behind because she's not good enough? Ps: Your writing is so good! 💜
Thank you so much! I hope you'll like this 💕
---------
David had known that it would be difficult to get to know you. The real you that is. He saw your walls and knew you wouldnt trust him that easily. So, for once he decided to take things slowly. He always showed up whenever you needed help on the boardwalk - whether that was because you couldn't reach something on a shelve in a store, because the surfnazis bothered you or because you didn't want to go on a ride alone - he always somehow ended up being there.
David had done that for a while, coming closer to you, trying to talk to you. It took him a while, but after a month or two you finally began to open up. The walls were still there, of course, but you opened the door a little bit- allowing him to know you a little, but not good enough.
It was the safe way of knowing someone. Keeping them at bay while also getting to know them a little. It made that if they decided to leave you it would hurt less- or not at all. Attachments were messy, and you knew that it was very likely that David would leave you too.
Until he didn't. He actually came to look for you whenever you didn't show up on the boardwalk. He was happy just listening to you ranting about whatever was on your mind. He told you things - personal stuff, things that happened at his place, anecdotes - in a way that made you feel liked. Cared for. He always seemed to go out of his way for you, making sure you knew that he was there when you needed him.
After months of hanging out like this - on the boardwalk, where you became friends- you began to feel troubled. He was more than a friend. You knew that, and so did he. The way you felt butterflies around him, how you couldn't help but feel shy whenever you did something mildly embarrassing... You had begun to like him, more than you probably should, and it scared you. David was a moderately wild person. He grew bored quickly - so why wouldn't he with you? Maybe he'd only become friends with you because he pitied you, hanging out on the boardwalk with almost no friends. Maybe he was just trying to have an excuse to spend time away from his brothers, and was that the whole purpose behind your friendship...
You sighed, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Part of your mind was telling you to relax- he hadn't left you yet, had he?
"Y/N?"
You looked up when you heard him calling your name. Turning around you saw him sitting there, at the edge of your bed.
"David? How- how did you get here?"
"Your window was open. I climbed."
"You -" you looked out of your window, looking at the stoned of your house. "How?"
"Practice, I guess."
"What are you doing here?"
"I was missing my girl."
"Your girl?"
"Yeah."
"But we're not dating or-"
"You know I would if you'd let me. I like you a lot, kitten."
"I- I know, I just-" you sighed, sitting down next to him. He knew about your broken friendships. How the people you trusted most had treated you like shit. He knew how it scared you to trust new people, knowing that the possibility of them hurting you was there.
"You can't get rid of me that easily, you know."
"No?"
"No."
"So," you looked at him, "you're basically saying you're a cockroach?"
"A handsome one."
"I do like you too, you know."
He hummed in response, looking at you.
"I will not leave you, as long as you want me to stay around. I promise you."
You sighed, a soft yet sad smile on your face.
"I'm difficult, aren't I?"
"No more than I am. You shouldn't worry about that. I love you, no matter what."
You hugged him, feeling safe in his embrace, a comfortable warmth washing over you. As much as it scared you, you knew he wouldnt lie to you. So, in that moment you decided.
44 and 47 with David. Maybe the reader says 44 and then David says 47??? Thx in advance
I hope you like it!💕
--------
Last night had ended in a way you hadn't expected. You hadn't even planned on it happening - it just kinda did. All you'd wanted to do was hang out on the boardwalk with your friends.
It had been fun, David and the boys taking you to the concert, causing mayhem, them crashing a bonfire party. You'd loved it- the electricity you could practically feel radiating off of them, how alive they were and made you feel... Especially David, who had shown you a completely different side to him.
Gone was the intimidating leader for the group, yes he was still intimidation, but he was also way more welcoming. Inviting. He'd smiled a genuine smile instead of his infuriating smirk. He'd flirted with you - more so than normally. You felt your cheeks heat up thinking about it. The two of you had been circling around each other for a while now, and you were wondering when something might happen that would push you two to be together. Maybe last night had been it?
First he'd danced with you, which was a first. David didn't dance - that's what he'd said. And yet, he had done it with you. Holding you close to him as you swayed to the music. It had been oddly romantic for him, but it had been nice.
After that he'd taken you to get some take out, before taking you to the cave. Things had escalated there. First it had been a make-out session. Then it soon turned into a night you couldn't forget. The way he'd felt against your skin, how he managed to let you forget yourself completely- to let yourself go....
A tired smile played on your lips. You'd just woken up, David still laying next to you, looking more peaceful than you'd ever seen him. His vampiric face showed. The accenturated bones that normally looked so sharp seemed soft now. You softly held his hand, thinking about how he'd asked you to turn- to be like them. Like him. You hadn't been sure if this was what you wanted, but now... You were sure you loved him, and that you didn't want anything else ever again.
"What are you smiling about?"
"You're awake?"
"Have been for a while," David chuckled, "You looked pretty cute."
"You looked peaceful."
"Contrary to popular belief, I am."
You looked at him, before chuckling. "Yeah, right."
"Yeah. Anyways," he turned to his side, his head leaning in his hand, "What were you smiling about?"
"I have made up my mind."
"About what?"
"I want you to be mine."
"Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?"
" Yes?"
David chuckled, cupping your face in his hand. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."
"Does- does that mean we are now?"
"Together?" He smiled as he saw you nod. "Yeah. We are."
Sorry this isn’t super specific but can I request something sweet and cuddly with David? I think there’s a sweetness about him that does get focused on a lot 💕
Agreed! I hope you like this!💕
-----------
Not once in his immortal live had he wanted someone to be with. The idea of him - the fearless leader of the lost Boys - having a mate was being laughable. Yeah right, as if he'd care about anyone that wasn't part of the group. As if he cared if someone came into his live, suddenly turning it upside down simply because they existed in the same town he did.
When he'd met you he had been certain that he wouldn't fall for you. He didn't do love. He wasn't one for the romantics, and you're presence surely wouldn't make him one, right?
Maybe it was the way you smiled whenever you greeted him at night, somehow always managing to brighten his mood. Or maybe it was the way you could distract him from some fool on the boardwalk. Perhaps it was even just the fact that you willingly sought him out, willingly hung out with him. Because, barely a month after meeting you he knew he could not lie to himself anymore. He loved you - and now that he had you, he didn't want to let you go.
He wanted to share the evenings with you, picking you up from your place and going down to the beach. The two of you would walk along the shore, staring at the sea while holding hands, talking about whatever was going on in your lives. He'd tell you about the boys, maybe even a little bit of his own history. You could tell him about your school or your job, your friends or family, maybe even a simple thing as deciding which colour you wanted to paint your wall. You could tell him everything, and all he wanted was to hear more.
Maybe, instead of a walk down the beach he would sit you down and make a fire. Sometimes he would bring a guitar, or borrow yours if you played, and the two of you could sit there for hours, talking and singing, making music, until the fire died out. He would try smores if you liked them, making sure he got the right things with him. Or, occasionally he'd bring stuff so you could bake food on the fire. Perhaps, he thought with a small smile, the two of you could just sit there, staring at the flames, kissing as the fire warmed the both of you.
Perhaps he could take you to the boardwalk, showing you the best rides, and making sure the two of you got the best seats. After all, he's been coming there for decades, he ought to know the good rides. He would definitely try and win you a stuffed animal if you saw one that you liked, liking the way he could so easily impress you. The way you'd smile whenever he handed it to you was more than worth it. He didn't even mind holding it for you if you had to use the toilet - no shame in winning a gift for his mate, right?
Some nights he would take you out to a fancy restaurant - liking the way you dressed up a bit more than usual. He'd let you order whatever you wanted, and often encouraged you to try new things. If you'd tell him it was to expensive, he'd shake his head, telling you that it definitely wasn't, and that even if it was it didn't matter - you were his, and if he wanted to treat you he would.
He would find it endearing if you wanted to pay for your share, often telling you that if you really wanted to pay you could do it next time. He paid for the both of you, notice complaining about the costs. Seeing you all smiling - knowing that you felt special.. Hé loved it.
Some nights he would take you to the movies, one time a horror, the other time some other genre. While watching horrors, he'd hold your hand, cuddling you or kissing you whenever he noticed you became to scared. During romances he'd paid close attention to the scenes that made you smile and giggle most - he would definitely keep it in mind. He loved just watching you, the small expressions you had throughout the movie, he loved it.
If you'd asked he'd definitely take you to the theater, a play, opera or musical - it didn't matter to him. He quite liked them, and if you enjoyed it as well, he'd definitely take you to a show as a date.
He would show you the small, unique stores on the boardwalk, hoping you'd like them as much as he did. After that, he'd take you for a ride, loving the feel of his arms around you.
Maybe he'd take you to the cave, where the two of you could read together, make out - or make love - or just listen to music. He'd hold you, listening to your soft breathing, the steady heartbeat. He'd loved the feel of you in his arms when you slowly drifted off to sleep, snuggling up to him.
Or maybe he'd drive you to your place, where the two of you would watch TV, or play some boardgame. Maybe if you liked the two of you could bake something together.
No, David had never thought that he would fall in love, but when he met you... When he met you he did.
Sometimes you just know things aren't going well. Sometimes you wake up and you know that today's the day that it will be done. You notice it, in the tiny things. How he would be a bit more distance. Spent a little less time with you. How he was hesitant to kiss you, or hug you. How he often took off before the night was even over. Small thing, but put together it was quite a big deal. Besides that - you couldn't deny that it hurt.
With an almost heavy heart you made your way to the boardwalk, mentally preparing yourself for the drama to come. How you were so certain you didn't know, not that it mattered. The second you stepped on the boardwalk and saw him standing there with his friends, you knew it. He saw you, his ice cold eyes even colder than usual when he walked towards you.
"We need to talk. Now."
You followed him quietly as he walked into an alley.
"What's wrong?"
He didn't say anything, instead looking you over, head to toe. "It's a shame."
"What is? David, you're scaring me."
"Good."
"What?"
"You're supposed to be scared."
"David, I don't - what's going on? Did something happen? Did someone say something or-?"
"Shut up!" David growled - and you could've sworn you saw yellow eyes instead of blue ones.
Quietly you nodded, backing into the corner, not knowing what to do.
"How can you be okay with this? How can you agree to us killing people without throwing a fight?"
"What?"
"How are you okay with what I am?"
This was not the David you knew, not the man that was proud to be a vampire. Not the man that could turn from sadistic to sweet within seconds, not the man you knew.
"David? Please, what happened?"
"You should leave."
"I won't. Not until you tell me what happened. I - something is wrong, and I know it, and I really do not like it."
"Nothings wrong with me," he growled lowly, "except for you. You are what's wrong. You don't make sense."
"Because I'm not scared?"
"You don't know how stupid you're being."
"I think this whole self-pity thing is also quite stupid, but you don't hear me complaining."
"Y/N. I mean it. You don't know what it's like, you don't kill the just to hear their screams. To see how long it takes until you break their legs. You can't handle that- and you shouldn't handle me doing that."
"It's just a part of you, you can't help it."
"I'm a monster. You're this funding perfect human. Leave. Go on and do whatever the fact you want. Don't ruin it-"
"Will you shut up? What happened that you ended up so low tonight? Did someone say something? Another fight with the main vampire? I don't know what you're deal tonight is David, but I love you. And that means all of you, human side and vampire side. So stop trying to put yourself below me or whatever, alright? You're good enough for me. More than."
David scoffed, before you took his hand, pulling him towards you.
"Just listen, alright? I love you for you and nothing will change that."
He hugged you, sighing. He didn't apologise, but it wasn't needed. As the two of you sat down on the beach a little while later, he hugged you like nothing ever happened.
"He got into my head," David grumbled, knowing Max was disapproving of a human in the family.
What do you think of #12 with David? Where the boys are surprised that he has a soft spot for his s/o and shows it. You are one of my favorite Lost Boys fic writers, and you always do David justice! 🧛♂️
I try😊😅💕 I hope you like this!
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He wasn't easy to love. He knew that. Hell - you knew it as well. He was cold, distant. It was often his way or the highway, whether he meant it or not. Fact is, it was hard to love him. And somehow, no matter how cold he could be, you managed to care about him. To get him to care about you. Not that he ever showed it when others were around - damn him and his ego - but when the two of you were alone? Those were the moments he showed you how much you meant to him.
It was a cold and rainy night, dark clouds hanging threathfully over the town. You were supposed to meet him about an hour ago, and still you hadn't shown up. It was unlike you to be late, and eventhough David hated to admit it, he was worried. When you didn't show up for another fifteen minutes, he decided he had to go and look for you. After all, he'd hated it if something were to happen to you, and maybe there was just something going on that stopped you from going out.
Rain began to fall down, thick and heavy drops of water pounding down on the ground. You were shivering, stumbling forward. You tried to replay what had just happened in your head, but it was foggy already. Something about complaints from a customer. How you could no longer work there. How your boss who was also your landlord just kicked you out without warning. It didn't take long or you were completely soaked, the wind making you feel even more miserable than you did already.
In the distance the churchbells rung, ten - eleven times. Shit. You picked up your pace, knowing David didn't like waiting. You were almost two hours late and- you bumped into someone and fell on the ground, painfully landing on your arse.
"Are you okay? What happened?"
"David?" You took his hand as he reached out, helping you up. "I'm so sorry I'm late, please don't be mad too, please I -"
"Kitten, why would I be mad? I was just worried. It's unlike you."
You nodded quietly, shivering still. "I know."
"What happened?"
You told him, about getting fired and losing your job and how suddenly everything that went wrong at the restaurant had been blamed on you.
David didn't respond, instead taking of his coats, gently putting the leather coat on your shoulders. It was warm, comforting. Dry from the rain. With a surprised look you looked at him, smiling shyly. "Thank you.."
"You're staying with me," he told you, hugging you. "We'll pick up your stuff tomorrow. You don't have to worry about a job anymore."
You were quiet, climbing on behind him on his bike. He waited till you hugged your arms around him before driving off, taking you back to the cave. Once there, when he stopped and got off, he noticed you'd fallen asleep behind him. He couldn't help but smile, looking at you asleep in his coat.
Not wanting to wake you he lifted you up, carrying you down the stairs and into the cave. The boys were quiet when he walked in, the only sound coming from the radio.
"What happened?" Dwayne asked, making space on the bed so David could put you down.
"A rough night. Were going to help moving their stuff tomorrow."
"Y/N is moving in?" Marko looked up. He'd liked the idea of you living with the boys, so he was glad it was finally happening.
David nodded, before sitting down and lightening a cigarette. Paul had turned the music down, only now looking at your sleeping form.
"Whoa-" he looked at David, then back at you, "You let Y/N wear your coat?"
Everyone knew that you didn't touch his coats. It was a certain way to get him pissed. Nobody touches his coat, but him. And yet, here you were, asleep and wearing one.
"Like i said," David let out a small sigh, a small - almost loving - smile forming on his face, "they had a rough night."
Three days. It had been three days since David had last seen you out. Normally you'd show up at the boardwalk every night, staying at their place during the weekends. Normally you'd smoke with them, or drink, and just have a good time. It was a routine he quite liked - mainly because he liked you. So, when you didn't show up for the third continuous day in a row, he got worried. He decided to take the ropes in his own hands, leaving the boys behind, going to your appartement.
A firm knock on your door woke you up. You'd bene covered in three blankets, a by now cold cup of tea standing on the nightstand. Slowly you got out of bed, feeling sore all over. You made your way through the hallway to the door, getting started by a second knock. Quietly you opened the door, surprised to see him standing there.
"David?" Your voice was raw, and it was obvious your nose was stuffed. Not only did you feel not well, you didn't look the best either. Thank the cold you were dealing with for that.
"Can I come in?"
You nodded, stepping aside and closing the door behind him.
"What're you doing 'ere?"
"I wondered where you'd been the past few days," he shrugged, taking his coat off and sitting down on your couch.
"I'm sick."
"I see that. Why didn't you tell us? We can help if you needed."
"I'm fine."
"Yeah-" David stopped talking as he heard your stomach, "sure seems like it. When was the last time you ate?"
"I don't know," you sat down on a chair across from him, covering yourself in some blankets.
"Kitten, you can't do that!"
"I think last night...? I slept all day."
David nodded, standing up. "What do you want to eat?"
You frowned.
"I'm here now, aren't i? Least I can do is make sure my mate's taking care of themselve."
"Oh."
David smiled softly at you, kissing your forehead. "I care about you, and that bloody routine of yours."
"Where I hang out with you?"
"Yeah."
You couldn't help but smile, looking at David as he walked into the kitchen, grabbing some pans.
"What are you doing?" you asked, blowing your nose, before washing your hands in the kitchen.
"Making you dinner."
"You don't have -"
"I do. Now sit", he smiled, helping you in the counter, blanket and all. Quietly you watched him make some pasta, the smell delicious. It didn't take long before he was finished. He handed you a bowl and a fork, waiting for you to eat.
You weere tired, quietly putting the bowl down. It felt to heavy in your hands. David couldn't help but smile at you, kissing you softly.
"Here," he held out a fork with some pasta on it, "you need to eat a little."
Shyly you took a bite, the idea of him practically feeding you slightly embarrassing. David didn't seem to mind, instead patiently helping you.
"You really got it bad, hm?" he sighed softly, helping you hop of the counter. Instead of putting you down, he grabbed a blanket and sat you down on the couch, letting you lean against him.
"You still got those sunblocking curtains?"
You nodded quietly. "Why?"
"No way am I leaving you."
You smiled softly, snuggling up against him. "Thank you."
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