Archive of Our Own ^beta

September 12th, 1948

Dear diary… My word, hasn’t it been ages since we last spoke? And we’ve talked for so long, across so many years. Parts of you seem like a distant friend, now. Someone who knew me in a different time, a different stage of life. You knew me as young, wide-eyed Claudia. How brash I must have seemed. How callous. Like a child.

I hope you can forgive my occasional silence. It’s funny, recently I’ve felt like I no longer needed you. Which is true, to a point… Sorry about that. But back to our old friendship. In the old days, when I was stuck in a house with 'Daddy Lou and Uncle Les', two men obsessed with one another… I was little more than their toy, their plaything, their trophy. The glue to a broken marriage. I didn’t feel like I was allowed to be a person of my own. Sure, Louis loved me too, in his own way. But I felt like I was suffocating, and so I lashed out and hid my secrets within your pages. You’ve remained a constant companion since, a source of comfort as I walk through life. Like that time I left. I studied at a real university! For a brief time, I could be me! I could be curious, I could learn, I could breathe! Do you remember, diary? I no longer collected trophies – didn’t feel like I needed to. Don’t know why.

Anyway. I think that’s when I really grew up. I ran into Bruce, and I came home a grown woman, for better or worse. Not because of what he did, mind you. At least, not due to simply the physical act. I got far enough with Charlie to call myself a woman in that way, if you ask me. No, it was the scars he left on the inside. That callous taking left me quiet, more thoughtful, and all mature in ways I could thankfully never have imagined before.

Anyway, after that, with my newfound maturity and some of my old tempers, I came back and helped Louis end something he could not on his own. We became equals. Real friends. Even if he is still a pig-headed fool who will sideline me for the wrong man on occasion.

And life just became a whirlwind after that. The war. The theatre coven – bunch of cunts, putting me in a doll’s clothing, acting like they like me, like they care, like I’m one of them. It was all a farce. I told you all about it, I know, but it’s relevant to bring up. Because the thing that brings me back to you tonight, that is making me feel like I have a secret I cannot easily share with anyone and thus must confide to the pages of a notebook that cost an arm and a leg with the current paper rations… Is her.

Diary, it’s like she looked right into my mind and saw me. She saw me. Unlike that fucking coven, who see those frustrations and think it’s all a hilarious joke to torture me with, she sees me and understands and won’t linger on it. I killed men before her very eyes – men who would do unto her as Bruce did unto me – and she didn’t scream, she didn’t run. She helped me clean up the blood. She’s seen me in that stupid blue dress and still saw the woman beneath. She looks at me with these big, wide, calculating eyes, and the smile that follows, tells me she likes what she sees. That gaze makes me shiver.

Her name is Madeleine. She’s French – God help me, like Louis I’ve fallen for a damn frog, but I promise, she ain’t nothing like Lestat. She don’t carry a core of cruelty in her. She understands how to care for someone without needing to rend them to pieces first. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. I feel like I don’t know her all that well, if I’m honest. But diary, despite us only having met each other a few times over the years, she likes me. Wants me, even. She defended my actions to Louis and Armand, she stood up for me and took my hand. And diary, in that moment, in that touch… I was lost.

September 6th, 1949

She wants to be with me. Not for the power, not for the immortality. She wants to turn for me. I can’t believe it, diary! I think I might faint, I’m so dizzy.

And yet, at the same time, I can believe it. The energy between us… It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. When I fell for Charlie, it was joyous and overwhelming. A sparkling river with wild water rapids. But Madeleine… It’s like the deepest ocean has opened up beneath me and swallowed me whole. It’s dark and engulfing, but also thrilling, frightening and yet oddly soothing, all at once. It is an unknown force that cradles me. Diary, I think this might be love.

Louis might be an idiot sometimes who sidelines me for man after man, but he’s made it up for me and then some. Armand chickened out, coward that he is, so Louis took it upon himself to turn Madeleine. He did it for me, he gave me my immortal companion! Diary, forget all I ever said about him, because he has earned the highest love and praise. Especially for succeeding! I mean, she could’ve ended up like that revenant vamp, mangled and misshapen. But she didn’t. Louis’ turning worked, and now… I have a partner.

 September 12th, 1949

I showed her my nature a year ago. Now, she’s like me. And diary, she hunts like she was born for it. Maddy don’t got a cruel bone in her body, but her soul – if we got a soul, that is – is stronger than elephant bone. She’s a survivor, diary. She does what she must, and that thought helps her minimize any remorse she might feel. She was shaped by war, and while that would be a tragedy in any other story, it is a blessing here. She's pragmatic beyond belief and knows how to bottle up those pesky human emotions when they get in the way. Louis, bless his heart, could never be like her.

Anyway, I didn’t come here to gush about her hunting skill, believe it or not. Today, I had some unavoidable chores – holes in the roof that need patching, before the morning sun gives us a rude and deadly awakening. Maddy offered to help, but she’s still so freshly turned, diary. She don’t last long without a feed before it drives her a little… well. It ain’t good for the mood, is all I’m saying. I could never be mad at her, but her cranky moods are not exactly what I would call fun. Good thing then that she’s such a prolific hunter, right? She can go out by herself and find food without trouble. She’ll be fine, she’s survived worse. That’s what I kept telling myself. I tried to keep the thoughts from spilling into her head, diary, but I don’t think it worked.

I’ll get to the point soon, I promise. I just think a little build-up is important, is all. So you understand where this came from.

She told me to stop worrying. Not exactly the most helpful thing to say. Naturally, I responded with a list of advice. After all, the secret was out – my insides were churning with worry over her first solo hunt. Now, it ain’t often Maddy laughs at me, but that got her to laugh, just a little. And then, diary, do you know what she said?

“Oui, maman.”

Diary, I just about died.

She left with those words. Oui, maman. They echo around my mind even now as she’s out there, draining her next meal. I don’t know why it’s got me in a chokehold like this. Maybe because no-one has ever called me that, has ever had any reason to. After all, if I take off the makeup and the fancy dresses Maddy makes me, I still look like the youngster I was when Les turned me. My body never quite made it to adulthood, not like my mind did. But then, Maddy never noted my body or my youthful features. Only that time we’d been apart for a while and she mentioned how I hadn’t changed a bit. But she sees my spirit, diary. She knows I’m older than her, even if at first glance I don’t look it. She makes me feel like the woman I am.

Oui, maman.

She better return quick, because if I don’t hear it again, I might explode.

September 13th, 1949

 Dear diary,

Let me regale to you the tale of her return, for it is a tale that still thrills me every waking moment i think back to it. The events proceeded as follows:

For my looks, I'd stolen the finest, most grown-up dress I could find in this shining town, along with some accessories. I did my make-up - nothing too garish, just some accents for the eyes and a dark lip. A refined dark lip does wonders to age my face, I've found. And I waited for her to return like that. I tell you, diary, all that went through my head was a memory of my early years in this form, of a gaggle of girls calling me names as I passed them in the street. I was nervous, diary. What if Maddy would laugh? What if she too would dismiss me as a little girl playing dress-up? I've known her for long enough to understand from an objective point of view that she wouldn't, but that don't lessen the anxieties, now, does it?

Of course, I needn't have worried.

She returned to me still messy from her kill. Her hands, her face, all tinged a dark red that made that hair of hers glow like a halo in comparison. Diary, she's like a fiery angel of death to me, consuming me like the flames that birthed my current form. She remakes me just like that every day, but in that moment, I had never felt more attracted to her, soaked in the blood of her kill.

I stood there, holding my breath as she saw me in my elegant finery. But as she raked her gaze over me, contentment from her meal was replaced with a new kind of hunger. There was no laughter like I had feared. And so I proceeded.

"You've made a mess of yourself," I told her, my voice a little hoarse. Her gaze darkened, and she, my perfect companion, instantly understood the game.

"Oui, maman," she told me breathlessly.

Strange, how these two little words could make her suddenly sound so young, and make me feel my age. I wonder if she heard my thoughts rattle around my skull when she left me after uttering them before. They weren't said as any joke this time 'round, though. I looked upon her, and it felt right.

"Let me get you out of these clothes, sweet thing," I told her as I stepped closer. "Let Maman clean you up."

I drew her deeper into the house, away from the gaping maw of our front door and the eyes of the world. She would be all mine tonight, private and secluded.

Perhaps it would have made sense for me to take her to the bathroom, but I had other plans. The bedroom was to be our den for the next day, week, month - as long as I could keep her. I gently stripped her of her clothes, and she let me, with that same hunger for me in her eyes. When she was finally down to her chemise, she was shivering a little in anticipation. "Are you going to take care of me, Maman?" she asked, the weight of the word increasing with each utterance.

"Is that what you want?" I asked, stepping close, but not touching. I wanted to feel that anticipation build. "You want me to take care of you, help you like you can't help yourself? You need Mommy to take care of you?"

"Yes," she replied, surging forward. But I held her at distance with a hand against her chest, and she swayed back a little. I realised this strong, sharp, pragmatic woman was quickly turning to clay in my hands, soft and malleable and willing. Because she let herself. Because she trusted me to catch her as she let go of those defenses she built over the years in order to survive. And she did so with a fervent need. Diary, I cannot put to words the wonder, the ache in my heart, and the rush of blood to the head - and other places - this realisation caused. I cannot tell you if this trust was well-founded or perhaps severely misplaced, but in that moment, it didn't matter. It was like witnessing a miracle.

"You ain't kissing your Maman with that filthy mouth," I told her firmly, trying to repress the wonder I felt in order to continue the game. "Sit down, darlin'." And she did, breathless and eager but oh so neatly on the edge of the bed. Oh, I knew just what I wanted to do to her.

I moved in and straddled her, a precarious balance, but we managed with ease as she leaned back a little to accommodate for me in her lap. I took her face in my grip, gentle yet firm. "Don't move, baby, let Maman clean you up." And then, diary, I leaned in and licked the blood right off her face.

Oh, that first gasp! It send a thrill through me as much as it audibly did her, diary. The electricity we both felt in that moment was unlike anything I've ever experienced. Her body was right there against mine, warm from the kill, heaving softly with a breath we no longer truly need. I felt it move against me, taut like a bowstring as she wanted so bad to move and touch me. But Maman had said no, and diary, I will tell you this: Maddy is such a beautiful woman, so strongwilled and independent… But when Maman asks her to do something, she loves to obey.

So I continued to clean her face with slow, deliberate drags of my tongue. The dried flecks of a dead man tasted acrid and poisonous, but I could taste the sweetness of her skin beneath. Her eyes slipped closed as I lavished her, her breath slowly growing more labored. I briefly dipped into her mind and was quickly intoxicated with her lust. But along with that lust, her mind was also blanketed with a fog of contentment. She wanted - oh, how she wanted - but she also felt safe, felt cared for.

Proud as that sentiment made me, she was slipping too far into that warm safety blanket. I wanted her with me, aware and squirming and needy. God, diary - I wanted to fuck her. So I squeezed her cheeks a little, a silent signal to get her attention. When her eyes opened, they were heavy-lidded. I smiled at the sight and leaned in, letting her think for a sweet moment that she was going to get that kiss she'd been craving.

And then I spat all that dead blood I'd lapped up right in her face.

I think we were both equally shocked. I felt frozen as I watched that pink froth drip down the side of her nose, across her lips - oh, I felt filthy, I wanted to force it into her mouth with my tongue right there and then, but neither of us should swallow it for fear of a very swift end to our game - and down her chin. It was once it dripped down between the swell of Maddy's breasts that she let out a whimper, and the way she moaned, ever so softly - " Maman…" It had us bucking our hips together in perfect desperate harmony.

Diary, I couldn't help myself. I surged forward and kissed her, despite my reservations, against all reasoning. She groaned as the poison taste hit her tongue, shuddered as I forced it upon her, shared it with her. And I must admit, it thrilled me to equal measure. I felt myself throb at the thought of making her taste something wrong, at sharing that wrongness with her. We were doing something forbidden together, whether by vampire standards or by sexual ones. It was forbidden. It was intoxicating.

I pulled away after what felt like a breathless eternity, and for a beautiful moment, a fragile pink thread connected our lips just a little longer. it was one of the hardest things I've had to do in recent years, to tear myself away from her, but I was not going to risk vampire food poisoning, I just wasn't. Good thing little old creative me had another plan.

I dragged her into the bathroom this time, where a toothbrush lay in wait. I'd once purchased it for cleaning (I never wanted to let my dwelling get to the same state as Louis and Lestat had), but it had so far gone unused. "Come, darlin'," I told her. "Show Maman how well you can brush your teeth, hmm? Get them nice and clean, and don't forget to spit it all out." Oh, diary, she turned such a bright shade of red, you should have seen it! But she behaved impeccably, with a perfectly polite "Yes, Maman" before getting to work. I stood just behind her for it all, pressing myself up against her body to feel every move. I am so relieved that I shot up early, for our heights aren't too dissimilar. It allowed me to nuzzle into the crook of her neck, making her shiver once again.

When she finished, she bent over the sink to rinse her mouth, and God help me, like a lecherous old man, I placed my hand between her shoulder blades and kept her there with a silent command, exclaimed with no more than a gentle pressure. I praised her so sweetly, right as I ground against her ass, rubbing her back ever so lovingly in perfect contrast to my actions. I felt giddy with the power of her willingness to stay right there, her willingness to give in for me.

Maddy came up squeaky clean, and I took the brush - equally rinsed and clean - from her fingers. "Mommy's turn," I told her before putting the brush that had just been in her mouth right into mine. She stood with her back against the sink now, but our bodies were still as pressed together as they were a minute ago - only, this time our legs were intertwined, groin to groin. I could feel the heat of her core against mine, and I needed our clothes to be off. This time at least, I had the decency to spit over her shoulder into the sink. We had to untangle ourselves of course so that I too could rinse my mouth, and I prolonged the torture by sending her back to the bedroom ahead of me. When I followed, it was with a warm, damp washcloth in my hand.

I gently wiped the remaining poisoned spittle off her face, her cheeks, her chin, her heaving chest, her ever-vigilant gaze studying me intently as I moved. "Will you help undress me, Maman?" she asked innocently, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Why, can't my baby to it herself?" I asked.

"I like when you do it." The spark I knew so well of her had returned to her eyes for that moment, revealing just how much she enjoyed the game.

How could I resist such a request? I barely needed to hold the fabric; simply brushing my hands up her sides made her chemise follow, up and up until her perfect breasts came into view. "You're so beautiful," I told her earnestly, and the blush crawled from her heady gaze down to her chest where her nipples were budding against the chilly nighttime air.

"Maman -" She hesitated, uncharacteristic. "Will you touch me?"

"I don't think a Maman should wanna touch her Baby like you're askin' of me, darlin'," I replied.

Damn those sharp eyes, for they looked straight through me. Direct as ever, even in her youthful role, she noted: "You want it too."

With a groan, I surged forward and palmed one of those perfect breasts. It felt so soft, diary, and yet so firm, I couldn't help but knead the flesh and watch her respond with needy moans. Before I knew it, I had sealed my mouth around the other and bit down.

"Maman-!"

I quickly retreated, having shocked myself a little with the roughness of the act. It was a miracle I could, for her blood was singing on my tongue like milk from the gods. "Maddy, I'm sorry -" I started, but she shook her head and gripped my wrist, pulling me right to her cunt. As my fingers slipped between her folds, she shivered violently.

She was soaked.

"Please, Maman," she begged, "I need you to taste me."

I shook my head, but it was part of the game again as the brief shock had worn off. "You can't keep asking these things of me, Maddy," I told her sternly, but I was taking my own clothes off now too. I needed to feel the cool of the air and the warmth of her body, and quickly, or I might go mad.

"Please!"

Her eyes were filled with that fire again, burning with a certainty of everything she wanted, and a certainty that she would get it. Diary, in all my years as a vampire, having consumed hundreds of victims, none have ever begged as sweetly as her.

"Move back onto the bed, Chérie."

"Oui Maman," she gasped, a smile hiding in the corner of her mouth. Oh, I was never going to be able to deny her, not in anything. "You're going to take care of me, right?"

"Who else?" I retorted as I crawled up after her, stalking my newest prey. I felt my four fangs grow within my mouth. "No-one can take care of you like your Maman."

"No-one," Maddy agreed. "No-one can protect me like you. No-one has seen what's out there like you." Her hand reached for mine, and for a moment, the game hung suspended between us as she locked eyes with me. "I trust you."

She was right. Much as she might have experienced, I had experienced the same, and more. I had seen more of the world too. I was older, and for a glorious moment that ran deep into my core, she reminded me of it, and let me know that she saw me. Diary: she saw me.

I squeezed her hand, swallowing down the emotions before diving down between her legs and licking a long and languid stripe up her lips.

Her taste was leaking out already, but I refused to penetrate her immediately. Her shivery moan and squirming let me know it wasn't quite enough for her either, but I needed her to become desperate for it. I needed her to leak onto my tongue right through those fiery curls. And so I peppered her thighs with kisses, nuzzled into the hair that hid my treasure, let the tip of one of my fangs run along the edge of her. I kissed the mound above that sat right below her belly and laughed as she raised her hips for better contact.

"Maman, s'il te plaît, je t'en prie -"

Oh, her voice was wavering, diary, and it was the loveliest sound. She'd earned it. I finally let my tongue slip between her folds and lapped at her slick, groaning as the taste hit my tongue good and proper. A little salt, a little musk, and yet also a hint of sweetness. She was so wet and slippery, I felt my own cunt throb and leak. With a groan I started lapping it all up, looking for the spots and pressure that made her shiver most violently. That beautiful nub at the top was engorged, and I could feel it throb against the tip of my tongue as I rubbed and flicked it. I couldn't help but let my fingers slip between my own legs, where a similar slickness waited for me, and groaned into her cunt, shaking from the sensation.

Her voice rang out again, this time composed enough to speak English for me. "Don't - I want to make you feel good, I want to make you come, Maman," she panted. "Let me do it."

I pulled back and looked up to see her gaze, dark and serious and full of need. "Okay," I agreed sweetly and retreated my fingers from my cunt. We both watched with slight awe as a string of slick kept them connected for an inch or two before it broke. "My baby ready to feel her Maman inside her?"

"Ma-?" she managed before letting out a shocked moan, as I had slid my self-slicked fingers right into her hungry cunt. "Oh," she gasped, "oh, fuck -"

It quickly devolved into nothing but French after that, as well as wordless moans as I fucked her with quick and steady hand. I kept just enough space for my mouth to latch onto her clit, where I licked and sucked until her core contracted and her legs spasmed around me and she cried out. While still in the throes of her orgasm, I nicked one of her folds with my fang - a little extra rush with a lasting sting to remember me by. It would heal quick enough, but the strangled sound she let out and the extra gush of fluid on my tongue told me she didn't mind the pain in the slightest.

I lapped up some of the slick that had come rushing from her, making her squirm and cry out with how sensitive her cunt was, before finally pulling back. She looked beautiful, fucked out and boneless, a state of liquid akin to the halo of her hair flowing out over the pillows. When she met my gaze, her pupils were blown, eyes dark as the night, begging me to drown in them.

Except Maddy had promised me an orgasm too.

So I came up to lean over her face and cradled it. She melted so sweetly into my touch, diary, I almost felt bad for what I was about to do - if I hadn't seen how she'd responded before.

I spat out her own slick, right onto her half-open mouth, forcing her to taste herself, then slowly smeared it out across her cheeks with that palm that had cradled her only moments ago.

The shock froze her again briefly, but this time it was different. With a shudder, she seemed to slip into a deeper state of mind as her eyes fell closed. "Swallow it down for me, baby," I told her in a low voice. "Go on. You can this time."

Her tongue darted out and gathered the taste of her slick before taking it in. She obeyed quietly and reverently, shuddering as I pressed a feather-light kiss against her lips and caressed her throat. "That's good, that's perfect," I told her. Her head tilted towards me, searching for the source of my voice in hopes of stealing a kiss, but I kept her in place. "Ready to make your Maman feel as good?"

She barely managed to open her eyes at that. That same thing that had dragged her mind down into the oceanic depths had taken her voice too, it seemed, but she nodded, and that was all I needed. I climbed up over her, then lowered myself down, facing away from the headboard and down her body while my cunt covered her face.

I could feel her gasp against me, and shivered from the air of it against my clit. I also felt the dampness of her cheeks against my upper thighs from where I'd crudely shared her own pleasures with her. It was perfect. "Go on," I told her. "Now you can kiss your Mommy with that mouth."

I felt her lips move, the words muffled, but I could swear I could lip-read her blindly in that moment: oui, Maman. And although I knew of her skill and had experienced her devotion and confidence as she pleasured me before, she now seemed clumsy and almost inexperienced. It didn't seem to be a calculated part of our game per se - she truly seemed so out of it that she was struggling to remember just how I liked it. But it did feel fitting, so I teased her mercilessly about it.

"Such an innocent sweet thing, aren't you? Do you need Mommy to show you what you like? Maybe you should just keep nice and still for me with your tongue out, and I'll ride it and use it until I'm satisfied." I felt myself dripping at my own words, diary, I won't lie. But it was her, too. The way she shivered and moaned beneath me, the way she squirmed and groaned as I kneaded that gorgeous chest of hers and leaned forward to bite at her tummy, leaving little teethmarks behind. The way she loved everything I gave her, how she enjoyed this as much as I did - it was thrilling.

It was the strangest thing that brought me over the edge. The angle was awkward, but Maddy was trying desperately to wrap her lips around my clit, so I leaned forward and angled my hips just so that she could. She suckled my clit with contentment then, and it was the realisation that she reminded me of myself when I was little, sucking my thumb for comfort.

It shocked me, to climax from such a thing. But her deep contentment, her sense of safety and comfort that I had given her… I loved her so overwhelmingly much in that moment, diary. Simultaneously my equal, my sharp companion of the night, and my ward. I never want to let her go.

I brought her back slowly and gently after that. A freshly dampened warm washcloth to wash her face, my thighs, our bodies until we both felt refreshed. With each slow administration, she rose further to the surface, until she woke, sluggishly blinking against the dim light of the table lamp on my nightstand. "Hello," I said when I realised when she was with me again.

"Hello," she replied with a little smile.

"Where did you go?" I asked, curious.

"Somewhere wonderful," she replied. "Somewhere safe. But I never left your side. I never will." And then she kissed me slow and deep.

"Good," I replied softly. We fell asleep like that, naked, entangled, warm and content. And I knew in that moment I would never leave hers either. And no matter what might come our way, we'd always keep each other safe.