Hey I was wondering if you be open to write a NSFW Alphabet for Lestat and Armand separately ? I love your writing and works . If you can’t make this request then that’s okay ✅
Helloo! 💕
I'm in my bed waiting for sleep, so I'm going to answer this now in the best way I can! (I'm keeping it as gender neutral as possible)
So, a little gift for everyone while I work on the other stories in the list.
Lestat de Lioncourt
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Sex with Lestat is never the same so even aftercare changes based on what kind of dynamic occurred between you too.
When It's rough with Lestat fucking you hard and fast, he is the one taking care of you afterwards and he's very soft with his touches and words. He caresses your face and looks into your eyes to see if you're alright, before moving down your body to leave sweet kisses, checking for any tension or pain.
When you're the one fucking or riding him, he tends to go into subspace, especially if he trusts you enough to let himself go. Lestat likes to be held afterwards as you tell him how good he's been for you.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Lestat loves his chest a lot, and his torso in general and loves showing it off. He walks around shirtless most of the time when there is only the two of you. He loves also his hands and fingers as they can create the most beautiful melodies with piano and violin, but also with your body.
Lestat loves everything about your body, but if he had to choose he would say your thighs. They're soft and warm, and he loves having them around him anyway he can. It's also his favourite place to bite and drink from you since it is very close to your most intimate parts.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
Lestat cums a lot, and often. If you want to swallow or not makes no difference to him, whatever makes you confortable is fine to him. But he has a thing for marking you with his spent, particularly on your face and ass. It gives him a sense of ownership that he can't really get enough of.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
There aren't many secrets connected to sex that Lestat is afraid to reveal. Though, he sometimes he wishes he could duplicate his body to get the chance and thrill to make love to himself. For real.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
I think it's pretty clear given what we know about him. And Lestat puts that knowledge to good use every single time -- finishing unsatisfied is not in his vocabulary.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Anything that would allow him to see your face. Missionary, mating press and lotus are his favourite and they can be done on any kind of surface for his great joy.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Only when you're making love. When dawn is close and you're both sleepy, he lets out his softest and goofiest side. It's enjoyable on a completely different level.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Oh yes, the carpet matches the drapes and there is not need for imagination considering his love for low-rise leather pants while he performs on stage. Still, they are perfectly cured but he would never shave completely and doesn't need you to do it either.
Lestat grew up in a time period where depilation wasn't really a thing, after all.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Lestat is a sweetheart in bed when he has a strong emotional and physical connection with the other person. He would say the most romantic things you've ever heard in your life, with a vomit of filth following right after.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
I would love to say he doesn't need it, but Lestat feels everything so very deeply and this also applies to sexual desire. He came untouched on stage while performing so, if the need arises and he's alone, he would touch himself without a second thought.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
There are many I believe, but the top three for me are: praise kink, overstimulation and exhibitionism (not fully in public, but where he might be seen like against the window or on a balcony at the top floor of a building).
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
If he needs intimacy the bedroom, anywhere in the bedroom. Probably the bed is left for the last round of the night.
Otherwise, any surface is feasible to him as long as it's perfectly clean.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Well, Lestat's libido is very high (we know why) so he truly doesn't require much. A prolonged eye-contact could lead anywhere with him, and I think it's beautiful.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Anything that involves even a slight dubious consent for both, or multiple, parties involved.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Lestat is both a giver and receiver. He really likes oral sex, it's fun and it's filthy in several ways.
Considering his age is very skilled, but being old doesn't make anyone good at something by default. Lestat is good because he has a talent, he knows how to lick, suck and how to change the pace to get the best reactions out of his partner.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
As everything else with him, it depends on the situation, but Lestat feels best at a slower pace where he can roll his lips deep inside you. The same goes when you're riding him, soft and deep is how he likes it.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Of course. Right before a show, right after, in the car on the way to a party -- he's efficient, five minutes is all he needs if he cannot take his time properly.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Lestat is always open to suggestions especially if proposed by his partner, as he feels most desired that way. He'd give a try to anything as long as consent is respected.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Who needs to do cardio at the gym when there is Lestat ready in your bed? He goes multiple rounds if he can indulge with your body for hours and he'll make you come several times each session.
Stay hydrated.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Lestat doesn't mind them, there is no toxicity in him in that sense. He's not jealous of an object, but he sees it as an opportunity to keep the pleasure going even in the brief refractory periods he requires between rounds.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Look, Lestat is a brat. Teasing is foreplay anywhere and anytime, so never lower your guard otherwise you've already lost the war before the battle starts.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
Loud as fuck 90% of time, but there are moments especially while making love that he goes quiter and lets out small whimpers right in your ear.
When you ride him, though, he whines a lot. You need to put your hand on his mouth sometimes or muffle his sounds in some ways. He likes it, of course.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
He sometimes wait for you on the bed wearing lingerie. Mostly yours.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
It's a vodka bottle. (Cit.)
It's not extremely long, but surely above avarage. He's thick, though, and he's learned how to be mindful with it.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Sky high. You punished him with no sex for two days once and he started apologising for things he never did.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
After the post-coital buzzing finally calms down, he falls asleep quickly with you in his arms. And he purrs.
---
Armand
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
He's very ritualistic even with this act. He rests just for a couple of minutes before getting up to fetch a wet cloth to clean your body thoroughly.
If he feels safe with you, he might let you do the same to him.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Armand loves your neck. One of the reasons is very obvious, considering the pretty vein that runs there, but also the neck muscles never lie. He can monitor your emotional and physical state just from that.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
He prefers finishing inside for it's cleaner in his mind. Also, Armand likes the idea to leave a something of him in your body afterwards.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
With modern technology he discovered a passion for nudes. No one has painted him for centuries, so he does it with his phone (or iPad).
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Similarly to Lestat, he's very experienced due to his past and trauma. Using those skills to bring pleasure to a person he loves and truly cares about makes him feel slightly better about it. It feels cathartic.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
I think he likes trying different positions where he can body his partner's body as he pleases; he wants to test your limits even in those situations.
With this said he enjoys Chair-y On Top, a lot.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Extremely serious during intimate moments, it's too intense for him to be goofy about it.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Like every aspect of his being, Armand is very cured. He doesn't shave fully, but he trims every three days.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Armand is very suave and romantic when he allows himself to just be himself and with you, and if he's comfortable with you might reach new levels of intimacy throughout your time together.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He normally doesn't, his restraint is very strong. Sometimes he even thinks that denying himself any pleasure even from his own touch is a punishment he deserves.
If he reaches a limit, he might go out hunting to release some tension.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Quite a few. Some are still dormant I think, but surely: edging, shibari and blood play.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
He wants you to be comfortable as usually a session with him lasts hours and he doesn't want you to be in pain when not necessary.
So mostly the bed, sofa, even the floor but only if there are cushions and a carpet to make it more manageable.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
The second you start playing with his hands, you have his full attention. Put a single finger in your mouth and suck on it lightly and you're done for. I don't make the rules.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Blindfolds. He gets scared if he can't see what’s being done to his body, and he would never put you such a practice either even if you wouldn’t mind.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Oral sex to Armand is devozione, it doesn't matter if he's giving or receiving.
But if he has to choose, he'd prefer to give. Mainly, he likes doing it with the partner standing up to see how long it takes for them to crumble under his actions.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
He changes based on his moods, so you never know what to expect. He likes to give hard and fast thrusts, but he always pulls out slowly until only the tip is inside to torture you.
If you're riding him or fucking him, he likes to see you let loose, getting lost in his body with abandon.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
No quickies for him, he needs to take his time to enjoy you fully and his need arises when he cannot indulge his desires, he waits.
The longer he waits, though, more intense the sex will be afterwards. You're in for a ride.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He's seen things on his iPad he's never imagined before, and when he finds something new he wants to try he brings the iPad to you immediately. No words uttered but you feel the intensity buzzing under his skin.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
It's not like Armand goes many rounds, it's just a single never-ending session where you stop counting the orgasms at some point and Armand comes only at the end. A bit of self-inflicted edging.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He likes to try new things so he does enjoys toys, but only uses the ones that help enhance the experience.
He has a fascination for vibrators and cock rings alike, they have different levels and he can play with that a lot.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Armand is a teasing menace. He doesn't do explicitly which is worse, and when you beg him to stop and do something he'll pretend not to know what you're referring to.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He's not loud, but he whimpers a lot with an occasional groan. But when the pleasure is really intense he goes completely silent, the only clear sign is the deep frown on his face.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Spanking. He wants you to act like a brat so that he can satisfy his need to leave marks on your skin -- and he asks you questions with every spank, if you stay quiet or if you give wrong answer he starts again from the beginning.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Not too big and not too small, not too thick and not too slim. The perfect size to touch all the sensitive spot, with a slightly protruding vein on the underside.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
When he's not in a relationship, he doesn't really think about it that much. With a companion the situation is quite the opposite; he doesn't manifest it explicitly but you know when he wants you by the way his hands keep touching even the smallest sliver of your exposed skin.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
It takes quite a long time to fall asleep afterwards, and he likes it that way. Armand's soul is quiet rarely so the bliss he feels after sex is something he really treasures and he tries to make it last as long as he can.
✶ ⠀ what being lestat de lioncourt’s lover is like :
1910’s lestat x mortal fem!reader ⟢ masterlist 18+mdni
starting off strong, he’s a drama king. he pouts when you leave, sighs like he’s auditioning for an opera, and insists he’ll “wither away without your company” as if he isn’t immortal. he’ll even clutch his chest when you tease him.
he stares at you when you talk. he simply just admires the view of the woman he loves. your mere existence is the most intoxicating and beautiful distraction for him. sometimes you’ll catch onto him staring and go, “lestat, are you listening?” he’ll just simply reply, “of course, mon cher” with a soft grin on his face as he looks at you like you hung the moon — obviously he wasn’t listening.
he never raises his voice when he speaks to you. he’s always soft with his tone. he’s too reverent of you to ever be loud. with every word he speaks, there’s love in his voice for you. the quieter he gets, the more serious he is. even when he’s angry, he talks to you like he’s afraid the sound might break you. his control is proof of him trying to be good.
he spoils you rotten. to him, he has a beautiful, whiny doll he created. he gifts you with luxuries a girl could only dream about, holds you close to him every night, and makes sure you have everything your heart desires. even when you complain about something small, he just leans down to rub your cheek and go, “mais vraiment, ma belle. what is it that you need?” — half teasing, half serious. his world revolves around you and it stops when you’re inconvenienced.
he loves your attention. he needs it. a glance your way can make him grin like he just discovered the sun. when you’re quiet, he paces, he worries. it’s a tragedy for him — a true injustice of you ignoring him. he’ll lean close when you finally speak, his voice soft but insistent, “parlez moi, ma belle, je meurs sans vous,” because again, he’s a drama king.
his apologies are even dramatic. expect flowers, an apology letter, and a gift of something he heard you think about. he can’t live knowing that you’re angry, so you never go to sleep that way.
he’s very affectionate. he needs your touch and lives to feel the softness of your skin. he’s always kissing you or his hands are always resting somewhere — the small of your back or your thigh. he needs to feel you. he’ll have you curled in his lap as he hums to you, reads, writes, talks, or just so he can hold you. he’s possessive in a way.
the jealous type. not the loud kind, but the kind that lingers in the room. his smiles turn tighter, his tone a little too polite, his eyes too focused. he doesn’t make a scene, but you feel it. the temperature drops a few degrees. the silence stretches. when you finally notice, he’ll just say, “does he make you laugh like I do?” — again, he’s a drama king.
protective. he’d kill for you, yes, but also he’s always there when you’re out. he petitions that he goes with you when you say no. “i just don’t want you out there alone, ma petite,” he’d say as he’d grab your waist, trying to be persuasive — he is. he’s clingy, he just won’t admit it. he calls it his love and protection for you.
his heart flutters when you tell him he can drink from you. to him, it’s an act of devotion and reverence when he does it to you.
his favorite position is missionary. but not in a boring way. he likes to watch you squirm under him and moan his name as he gives your body what it wants. he’ll wrap your legs around him and pound into you until you’re too dumb to remember anything but, “lestat.” he loves to see your jaw drop and stay there with your eyes rolling back as he makes you come undone for him over and over again.
he’s a romantic. he sets the mood with perfection. lestat was always the romantic type. he’d make a trail of roses to your shared bed, light candles, and make sure your favorite melodies are playing. once he’d get you in bed, he’d pamper you with kisses all over and treat your body like it was the most precious thing he’s ever laid his hands on.
sweet talker (is that a surprise?) he doesn’t stop talking either. he could be whispering the sweetest words in your ear as he pounds into you relentlessly from whatever position he put you in.
he moans in your ear when he’s inside you to make sure you know what you’re doing to him. sometimes he can’t help it, sometimes it’s to undo you even more. it’s his way of praising you.
“you feel so good, mon cher.”
“one more, hm?”
“taking me so pretty — so wet for me.”
he bottoms out and stays there sometimes just to watch you pout impatiently underneath him with your soft whines. “why so impatient, ma petite? you know i’m eventually going to give you what you want,” he’d tease.
he eats you out with devotion and precision. he does it to please you, of course, but he can’t help but to get turned on as well from the way you react to him.
he’s dominant. however, he lives for when you ride him. he craves it more than blood sometimes. he gets really vocal when you ride.
he can be mean, of course. sometimes he fucks his frustration right into you until you see stars. he’ll whisper the meanest words to you, yet he’ll still hold your body with care. he knows what you can take, and he knows how to push your limits. “so pathetic, ma belle. you’re already crying under me.” he loves to see you dazed with desire and teary-eyed from his cock drilling in and out of you. you’re his own personal art.
he’d last forever if he wanted to, he just can’t always bring himself to do so when you look so pretty while you’re all spent and spread open for him after having multiple orgasms that night simply because he couldn’t stop chasing the high of seeing you make those pretty faces and sounds that you made from the first one. eventually, he’ll get all in his head and boom, he’s coating your walls with his warm, thick cum — moaning your name as he did so.
The Talamasca is on Armand’s tail, and he doesn’t like it. He does, however, take an eldritch interest in you. The little pet Rashid brought along to Paris as a supposed ‘cover’. You should’ve known your mystery job and the free trips would come back to bite you in the ass.
Takes place a few months after season 2.
THIS WORK IS 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
WC: 9.3K
Warning! Armand is a bit of a psycho so please keep in mind this is nawwwwttttt a healthy dynamic and the consent is VERY dubious (nonexistent, let's be real) to say the least. Expect some OOC stuff for everybody involved. DUB/NONCON, Reader gets into it after a bit, AFAB fem!reader (sorry, it's what I know how to write), hair long enough to get in your face/grab, breasts, smut, penetrative sex, p in v sex, blood drinking, bondage, mind/body control, crying, overstimulation, flogging, rashid gets cucked lol (rashid gets treated very poorly in this), knives, blood, porn with plot, inappropriate use of vampire powers, mind reading, pet names (dear, ma biche, pet, good girl) oral sex (f & m receiving), blood cum? idk bro, if i missed anything please let me know!
This is perverted. You've been warned.
Whoever Rashid needed to stalk in Paris better deserve it. You grumbled and moped a little, sad you couldn’t spend as much time with him as you’d like. You had surprisingly become good friends with him over the years. Perhaps the friendship was one sided, but you liked him either way, and the gig he’d had in the UAE had kept him away for months.
The deal was mutually beneficial. You didn’t need to get a ‘real’ job and got many, many free trips out of it. Whatever company Rashid and his boss RJ (and you, technically) were working for got a cover story out of it. They knew anybody running a background check on you would come up empty handed, and questioning you would result in nothing because you didn’t know what was happening in the first place. You just had to be present, sit there and look pretty. They could use your name and likeness however they liked, and plant you with recording equipment anywhere.
You didn’t ask too many questions. That’s the way ‘the company’ liked it. It was probably illegal, but they took care of all your tax returns and possible threats to your safety. You weren’t too worried about it, even when you probably should care more.
It was a good gig, what could you say?
You’d met Rashid in a random café, and while it seemed like a coincidence at the time, you now knew better. The Company™ had probably scouted you for your role. Whatever. Big Brother is always watching, and all that.
Whoever Big Brother was in this case, they seemed to be extra present in Paris.
It wasn’t often you noticed them. You’d learnt to ignore the feeling of being watched. It was likely due to paranoia that you always felt like your every step was being monitored.
Paris was different. While it usually felt like it might be traffic cameras and satellite images, in Paris it felt like a physical presence. Someone specific was tracking your whereabouts with their own eyes.They were retracing your steps mere seconds after you took them. Ignoring it seemed like the best thing to do, as always, but it set you on edge nonetheless.
The art gallery was as normal as any other ‘assignment’ you got. You were mic’d up and all you had to do was walk around and look interested in the art. Everything you needed was provided for you either in the safehouse or by Rashid, who brought it to the safehouse.
“Signal’s good. Remember your training?” Rashid didn’t look at you as he spoke. He rarely ever did.
“Yeah, yeah. Watch my surroundings but don’t be weird about it. If I really need help desperately, mention cucumbers in conversation, yada yada,” you had gone over protocol with him numerous times. He huffed a little and met your eyes through the mirror. You rolled your eyes, but gave a small, reassuring smile.
“I know, be serious about it. How many times have we done this?” Rashid just shook his head in response. Maybe you felt a little bit too safe, knowing someone else was always listening. You knew it wasn’t for your safety that they were listening, necessarily, but it still helped.
You gave yourself one last lookover in the mirror before turning around, grabbing the phone and bag set out for the evening and checking Rashid for the ‘go’. He gave an awkward smile and a thumbs up, your signal to leave. You gave a thumbs up back and closed the door behind you.
The safehouse was only a few streets away from the gallery, so the walk over was shorter than you’d expected. The weather was dreary and humid. Your skin felt clammy. You scanned the surroundings for cars, only lingering on the unmarked navy coloured van for a split second. This was the correct place Rashid had routed the phone to, you were sure of it, yet there was no real fancy art gallery in sight.
Illegal, then.
A little more inconspicuous lingering inevitably brought you to the unsuspecting entry. You showed the bouncer the invite tucked away in the small purse matching your outfit and made your way inside, making sure to hand your jacket to the attendant and to make small talk.
You were handed a flute of what you were sure was unnecessarily expensive champagne, but knew better than to drink from it. Rashid had been very strict about not only the risks of alcohol, but also the risks of being spiked. You had to stay alert. Danger hides in the smallest, darkest corners.
The gallery was a maze. You ended up in a small room near the end where an auction was being set up. Some paintings were already being taken off the walls, purchased for such exorbitant amounts they no longer felt the need to auction them off.
You walked around aimlessly, admiring some of the paintings longer than others. No expert, but you could still admire those that were aesthetically pleasing or interesting to look at. With more people coming in, the quiet gallery was slowly turning noisier. You made sure to pause by each small gathering of people, hoping to pick up something useful on the hidden mic. You were never told who or what you were recording or looking for. The less you knew, the better. Then no information could be tortured out of you in the event of your capturing.
You stopped by a painting that caught your attention. It was almost like it had been calling your name from across the room. You abandoned your full glass on the tray of one of the waiters and crossed your arms, trying to decipher the painting, and what exactly had made it so alluring. Others seemed to walk by it, paying it no mind. You couldn’t take your eyes off it. Your chest tugged with the feeling of needing to look at it.
People slowly filtered out of the gallery space and into the auction, which was starting any second now. You couldn’t look away. You had to, you had to join the auction. But you couldn’t.
“I can see why this caught your attention,” an accented voice spoke, startling you out of your stupor. Your head whipped around, instantly meeting the most hypnotising, unnaturally bright amber eyes.
The man reached out his hand, presumably for you to shake. You tentatively took it. His grip was stronger than he looked.
“Armand,” he introduced himself. You told him your name. Your real name. Why did you do that? You had a very basic alias to use in situations like these. It was even on the fake invitation. There was no time to dwell on the matter.
“The unique, originally bright red colour in this painting was achieved by using the blood of a doe, if I recall correctly. Not the best idea, considering how it oxidises, but it’s interesting to see it age over the years.” Right. The painting. Your attention returned to it, but it didn’t seem nearly as captivating as the man to your right anymore. His features were sharp. Your eyes followed the slope of his nose down to his lips. A bit dry. He was gorgeous.
“Come with me,” he beckoned you, walking towards an exit you hadn’t noticed until now. You walked with him wordlessly as he placed his slender fingers on the small of your back, gently guiding. A small voice in the back of your mind was asking you what the hell you were doing, but it felt like the right thing to do. A part of you knew that this was who you were here to see and record. His presence was captivating and his hand on your body felt right.
Armand led you into a dimly lit alleyway. He sent away the large man by the door with a wave of his hand and took out a cigarette. He offered you one, which you declined. No taking things from strangers on the job. The job. You looked at the dark door falling shut, no knob on this side.
“Don’t worry. We can go back in a little. Let’s talk first, ma biche.” He blew out the smoke elegantly. The nickname sent a chill up your spine for no apparent reason.
“I need to get back inside for the auction,” you tried, but even to your own ears it didn’t sound all that convincing.
“Now, we both know you’re not here for the art, are you?” It was followed by another long drag of the cigarette and an amused smile. You shook your head. You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t stop telling this alluring man the truth. You should probably alert Rashid, if he was even still listening.
At the mere thought of alerting Rashid, Armand’s eyes snapped to your collar, exactly where the microphone was hidden. He flicked the cigarette to the ground and leisurely stepped closer, coaxing you to step backwards until your back was met with brick. He turned his face and blew out the last smoke before trailing his hand up your arm and towards your collar, leaving a trail of goosebumps wherever he’d touched. Under different circumstances, you would’ve enjoyed his attention to a certain degree. But right now, your heart was beating out of your chest. You held your breath as he fingered the fabric, feeling around for the small device.
He leaned in close, almost like he was going in for a kiss. You could almost imagine it. Instead, a wicked grin was painted on his lips. “Cucumber,” he spoke directly into the mic, meeting your eyes right before he crushed it between his fingers. He knew your code word. Had your mission been doomed the second you’d left the safehouse?
He leaned back a little, but didn’t loosen his grip on your collar or step back. “What I can’t figure out is, do you know why you’re here?” His expression was one of feigned concern. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What was he asking? What did he want from you?
“I don’t know anything, I promise,” you pleaded. He was amused by your panicked tone. Was this some kind of joke to him? His fingers let go of your collar, instead tracing over the dampened skin of your neck and feeling for your pulse.
“You’re afraid,” Armand observed. You didn’t speak. You only watched as his smile slowly turned into a snarl, canines expanding into fangs. What the fuck what the FUCK WHATTHEFUCKING VAMPIR- Your struggle in his grip was involuntary and futile. You stood no chance. He was a predator, and you were the prey that walked right into his trap.
You didn’t know what you’d expected. Pain, sure. That was what came first. You could feel the skin of your neck giving and making space for the sharp teeth puncturing near your jugular, followed by a burning sensation travelling down your spine. Your hands shot up to grip his upper arms as you winced and clenched your teeth in pain. One of Armand’s hands was cradling the back of your skull, almost soothingly, preventing you from hitting the brick wall. The other was on your shoulder, making sure you kept your neck craned and no reflexes could get in the way. His lips moulded around the puncture wounds. He sucked. You felt the blood rushing out of your body and into his.
A gasp escaped when you finally unclenched your jaw. What started as excruciating pain quickly became one of the most addicting feelings you’d ever felt. It was indescribable, the surge of pleasure, the way your heart was racing. Your grip on his biceps loosened.
You were quickly becoming lightheaded from the mixture of pleasure and the loss of blood. He needed to sto- Before you pass- before you died.
“Stoooh- ah,” you tried to pry him away from your neck. Armand was like a statue, unmoving. Made of the finest bronze, stone cold yet slowly warming as your blood filled his veins.
“Don’t speak,” he whispered against your skin. Like the voice of a lover.
Black spots filled your vision and your grip on Armand failed, arms dropping to your side as you slowly sagged between him and the wall. He held you upright in an effortless embrace, still feasting on your blood, You were becoming cold. Your fingers and toes were going numb. You curled into Armand’s now warm touch.
“Rest,” was the last thing you’d heard before losing consciousness.
___
“-ay have taken too much. But she’ll wake.”
“She’s not of any concern to you. She’s a pawn- No. She’s not even on the playing board.” Rashid?
“You should have thought of that before bringing her to Paris.” The voice lulled you into a false sense of security. It was strangely smooth and soothing.
Your eyelids felt too heavy to lift, so you didn’t try. 5 more minutes couldn’t hurt.
“Ah, you’ll find your little pet has woken up.”
Not a pet, you wanted to object. No sound left your lips.
“Not a pet, hmm? Then what would you call someone being led around the world by an invisible leash? Bait? Perhaps that is a more suitable term for the way the Talamasca has been deploying you.” He crouched next to your body lying on the wooden floor.
Talamasca? Where had you heard that before? God, your head hurt. A hand gently brushed the hair out of your face.
“Rashid here is wondering why it is that I haven’t killed you yet,” Armand informed you when you’d finally opened your eyes. You couldn’t help but wonder the same thing. That got a dry laugh out of Armand.
“Why is it you went after me, Rashid? You could’ve gone after Louis. I’m sure he’d be a lot easier to find. He’s predictable. Not to mention how he leaves a significant paper trail,” Armand ignored the topic of your death.
“Don’t worry about Mr. du Lac,” was all Rashid responded,
“Why? I highly doubt he has been ‘taken care of’,” Armand got up, rising to once more stand eye to eye with Rashid and leaving you to take in your surroundings, still too dizzy to even think about getting up.
“Mr. du Lac…” Rashid closed his eyes and turned his head, tsking.
“Killed 32 people in Dubai? How fascinating.”
Rashid cursed inwards. Clearly, that wasn’t information he had been willing to indulge.
“Please, just hand her over and we’ll get out of your hair for now,” Rashid’s voice sounded defeated.
A sly smile made its way onto Armand’s face. “I don’t think I will.”
No unmarked black car. No other ‘agents’. Usually when things got ‘sticky,’ Rashid had help before ever needing to get involved himself. Cucumber!!
“It’s quite interesting how you’ve altered her mind, I must admit.” Armand’s eyes turned to you. You were lifted into a seated position against the wall of this scarcely decorated living room by an invisible force. Armand crouched over you, gripping your chin between his pointer finger and thumb. Such a bright orange that they were almost luminescent, his eyes. Even if you’d wanted to look away, which you didn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to. Your entire body was locked. Stuck.
“She remembers bits and pieces. No whole truths, of course. No names, no faces. Even the Talamasca is nowhere to be found. Fascinating work.” He released your chin, but it remained in the same position, your eyes staying locked on his.
“You agents are hypocrites, you know. You make use of the supernatural only when it suits you. A witch did this, no?” Armand turned his gaze back over his shoulder, questioning Rashid, who looked genuinely confused. Armand paused, gaze flickering back to you.
You felt the hold on your body weaken, finally able to take a deep breath and slump back against the wall. Your head was still reeling from the blood loss you’d suffered at the hands of this… being. You pushed your palms against the floor, trying to lift yourself to stand.
“Rest,” Armand spoke pointedly. You ignored his command and slowly put weight onto your feet. It was a microscopic change in the stone of his expression, but you’d seen the way Armand’s eyebrows furrowed. Confusion? Frustration? You didn’t want to rest. You wanted to go home.
No words were spoken as Rashid suddenly dropped to his knees and let out an agonizing groan.
“Your thoughts are loud, Rashid,” Armand stated, annoyed as he walked to grab a chair. “How neither Louis nor I caught onto your facade in Dubai is beyond me. Alas, we were… preoccupied.”
He placed the chair behind Rashid and proceeded to telepathically (?) lift him onto it. At this point it was no question that it was Armand exuding the invisible force. You were too dizzy to follow his movements around the dingy room, and thus unable to guess where he’d procured rope from. He used it to tie Rashid to the chair in various spots. Rashid looked at you helplessly, but knew there was little you could do, especially given your state.
When he was done tying Rashid up, his attention returned to you. Yet again, he crouched down to your current height on the floor. He softly placed his palm against your cheek. You looked past him at Rashid, who was trying to take out whatever fabric Armand had stuffed in his mouth to gag him for the time being. You quickly lost control of your sight, being forced to meet Armand’s gaze again.
“I thought taking you and leaving you somewhere to bleed out and for them to find might have taken their attention off of me long enough for me to slip away unnoticed. I don’t particularly like being followed.” Why was he telling you this?
His thumb was rubbing small circles into your skin, and you felt tears well up in your eyes. If he was going to take more blood you were going to die.
Another small smile. “Not to worry, ma biche. I miscalculated my earlier feeding. I won’t be taking any more blood from you tonight.”
Tonight. Tonight? Did he intend to keep you around for longer? He was reading your thoughts, you finally realised. Every single private moment to yourself was no longer your own. It had become clear over the last few minutes there were no secrets to be held. It was obvious he found your human thoughts amusing.
“We’ll see how long I’ll keep you.” He said with a tight-lipped smile. It wasn’t very reassuring. He took your hand and hoisted you up by your arm, having you to lean on him as you tried to find your balance. He walked you to the dilapidated bed in the corner and haphazardly threw you onto the mattress. It was more comfortable than the floor, at least. Why couldn’t he have put you there in the first place?
“Did you know,” Armand started, walking back to the other room. “Your Rashid is hiding a little secret?” You sought eye contact with Rashid, who was still struggling against his restraints, having worked up quite a sweat. He frowned, before pausing and looking at you with sympathy.
“He holds myriads of secrets from you, of course. But there’s a few in there more interesting than others.” Armand walked through the open door holding several items you couldn’t make out with your blurry vision. He set them down at the table near Rashid, who in turn took all of them in one by one.
“For starters, you were never supposed to go on more than one mission. You’re reckless, unsociable, and Mr. James has a strong disdain of your friendship with Rashid.” Mr. James must be RJ’s last name, you guessed.
“Correct! Raglan James.” Armand confirmed your thoughts.
“Rashid was supposed to kill you before going to Dubai to infiltrate my house.” Armand picked up a knife from the table. He held it up, blade gleaming in the moonlight seeping in through the yellowed curtains. You looked at Rashid questioningly. Is it true?
A tentative nod. Armand was telling the truth. The next questions were obvious. Why? Why did he have to kill you? And why didn’t he?
“All in good time, I promise.” Armand walked over to the bed and sat on the edge elegantly, the frame creaking slightly under his weight. He grabbed your arm and brought the knife to it. Your heart was beating in your throat, but you were unable to move. “I could do it for you, Rashid. Easy clean up. There’s not too much blood left in her, anyway.”
He nicked your skin with the tip of the blade, summoning a drop of blood. He lifted the knife to his mouth, giving it a kittenish lick. Rashid was thrashing in the chair, trying to speak through the gag. He was glaring daggers at the vampire, perhaps trying to yell at him with his mind.
Armand ignored him, using his elongated nails to dig a welt into his own finger. He smeared a droplet of blood over the incision he’d made on your arm, healing it in an instant. He brought the finger up to your lips, tugging at the bottom one and sticking it inside. The taste of his blood was unlike anything you’d ever had. Maybe like an ancient forgotten fruit ripened just right. You reached for his wrist, desperate to get more. Very nice hands, you noticed. You gripped him tight and closed your eyes at the flavour.
“That’s enough,” Armand snatched his hand back. You shot up, feeling suddenly energized and wanting, needing more of his blood. “You’ll get more soon,” Armand patted your cheek patronisingly.
“I’ll tell you another one of Rashid’s secrets if you stay on the bed for me,” Armand promised, like you were in any position to refuse his requests. He got up, grabbed the back of Rashid’s chair with two fingers and dragged him so he was at the foot of the bed, directly facing you. You didn’t dare move. You could already feel the surge of energy Armand’s blood had given you dwindling. It had only been a few drops, nowhere near enough to make up for the amount he’d taken.
You looked for the knife, now on the bedside table. Armand tutted disapprovingly, even with his back now turned, busy with something out of your line of sight. “What did you want to do with that, dear?”
“I don’t… I’m–” you couldn’t answer. What could you possibly do to get yourself and Rashid out of this situation alive? He could read your mind, move things telepathically, control your body against your will… You were helpless.
“It was a hypothetical question, ma biche,” Armand smiled. It almost looked genuine. “But just for your consideration, why don’t you pick it up?” He gestured to the knife. You wanted to refuse, but your hand moved of its own volition. You held the knife with a shaking hand, the other gripping the sheets. Armand only tilted his head, and the knife was at your throat.
“Don’t you want to hear Rashid’s secret?” He taunted. You shook your head ‘no.’ The knife instantly got closer, blade biting into your skin, threatening to draw blood. “I think you do.”
You were surprised how long it had taken for full on tears to start rolling down your cheeks, but now that they’d started, they wouldn’t stop. Armand looked at you with mocking pity. You felt like you were locked inside a cage. No control. “Look at Rashid, dear.”
You blinked away the tears blurring your vision and looked at Rashid, really looked at him. He looked guilty. Scared, sorry, but mostly guilty.
“Tell her, Rashid.” Armand took the fabric out of his mouth. Rashid took a second to gather his thoughts and wet his lips, suddenly refusing to meet your gaze. Armand wouldn’t have that, grabbing his chin and forcing his eyes back on yours and the knife still in your hand.
“Come on, you can tell her,” Armand jeered. He was holding Rashid’s head so he couldn’t look anywhere but at you. Rashid was breathing rapidly, nearing on hyperventilating.
“The reason…” Rashid sputtered, drool on his chin. You held your breath. “The reason I had to kill you was the same reason why I didn’t.” Which meant exactly nothing.
“Come now, Rashid.” The way Armand kept repeating his name felt like a jinx. Rashid shook his head in Armand’s grip, refusing.
“Fine.” Armand’s eyes darkened as he said it. He released his grip on Rashid’s head harshly. He stuffed the fabric back into his mouth, grabbing tape from the table and ripping off a piece to tape over Rashid’s mouth. He ripped another few pieces off, and you stared in horror as he taped Rashid’s eyelids open. His dark brown, splayed open eyes quickly filled with tears, unable to blink and unable to look anywhere besides you.
Armand’s demeanour had changed over the last few minutes. He was becoming more erratic. It was eerie and set you on edge.
His attention returned to you. You were no longer dizzy, and your tears had stopped flowing as freely, only a few escaping every now and then. Your arm was becoming tired with the strained effort of holding the knife at your throat involuntarily. You gasped for air when your hand suddenly dropped the knife. You were scared to move it, terrified it would get stuck in your grasp. Armand took it away from your body and put it back on the bedside table. He sat back down on the bed and slowly wiped your tears.
“Don’t you just think she looks even more beautiful with those tear-stained cheeks?” Armand turned to Rashid, who only sat stoically and watched. Armand tutted. Not the reaction he wanted.
“I won't keep you waiting any longer. I’ll tell you the secret.” Armand’s eyes held a manic quality to them. A sick gleam. He made sure you were sitting upright against the headboard and held your hands in his, placing them in his lap. “Rashid believes he’s in love with you.”
You could’ve seen it coming, considering the context of how your night had been going. Yet you didn’t believe it. You looked at Rashid, who eyed more checked out than ever. “He kept sending you out on missions to spend more time with you, and when ordered to kill you, he refused. He knows this was a trap. He knows it’s his fault you got caught in the crossfire. Don’t you, Rashid?”
Rashid nodded bleakly, knowing he had nothing left to lose. It was his fault you were here with him. It was his fault Armand took you. He had gotten too close, too soon. Armand had sniffed him out, and taken you in response. It was Rashid’s fault you’d almost died, and would likely die tonight. If only he’d left you alone after that first mission. He knew what Armand was like; always playing with his food.
Armand was toying with your fingers absentmindedly, running his thumb over the back of your hand. “Want to know something incredibly funny?” He asked, seemingly directed at nobody in particular. What could possibly be funny about all this?
“She has no feelings for you. None. You’re her friend. The things you’ve imagined doing with her never even crossed her mind. Me, however…” Armand let a smug grin take over his face. “Gorgeous, she thought. She enjoyed the feeling of my hands on her body. Even as I was draining her she was thinking of pleasure. Not you, Rashid. Never you.” You felt heat rise to your face in embarrassment. It was true. You couldn’t look at Rashid, or Armand for that matter.
“And now you’re going to sit there and watch as I take her apart.” Your eyes widened and you retracted your hands on instinct, but Armand held them tightly. You thought back to the knife in fear. What did he have planned?
“Rest.” He placed your hands by your sides and slowly released them. The atmospheric pressure had returned and you were once more unable to move. Armand climbed onto the bed and hovered over you, placing a hand on your cheek and slowly leaning in. He only placed a small peck on your lips before Rashid was thrashing in his chair and shouting profanities through his gag. Armand didn’t even move, kissing you again as Rashid’s chair raised into the air and dropped to the floor violently, shutting him up.
Armand kissed you again, with more intent this time. His tongue ran over your bottom lip forcefully. You were still stunned by the events of the evening, but found yourself even more stunned when you started kissing him back. The worst part? You couldn’t tell whether it was your own doing or his. He hadn’t lied to Rashid, you’d found Armand attractive. Your mind was running circles trying to make sense of everything and trying to catch up with the sensations your body was experiencing.
His unoccupied hand found the hem of your shirt and fiddled with it. He broke the kiss and quickly lifted your shirt over your head. You struggled against him, but the fabric gave away easily with his sharp nails and vampiric strength. He got up from the bed and stood in front of Rashid as he dragged you down the bed by your legs and made quick work of the fancy pantalons Rashid had prepared for you for the night. You’d already forgotten all about the art gallery.
You tried to close your legs, but an invisible force held them apart, exactly where Armand had placed them. It gave both men the perfect view of your underwear. You reached your hands down to cover yourself, but they instantly snapped back up, now locked above your head.
Why was he doing this? What could he possibly be getting out of this?
Armand wrapped his hands around your ankles leisurely and leaned over you, placing a small kiss on your inner thigh. “I cannot blame you for wondering why, ma biche,” he spoke against your skin. “But I’m simply entertaining myself.”
What about this was entertaining? Rashid’s thrashing in the chair? Your tear stained cheeks? Your racing heart? Armand’s fingers traced your sides, up to your covered chest. You tried to move away from his touch, but your hands and feet were still impossibly locked by his doing. You could only squirm, to his abject amusement. For a second you thought he was hugging you, with the way he was putting his arms between your back and the mattress. He unclasped your bra and tugged it over your head, leaving it at your wrists. You desperately wanted to reach down to cover yourself, but knew you couldn’t. The struggle against your invisible binds only gave the men a show of your uncovered breasts bouncing with your movements. The second you realised, you stilled.
Armand hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and your hips raised unpromptedly. He grabbed your underwear and turned around, bringing them to Rashid’s tearstained nose. “This is the closest you’ll ever get, Rashid.” Armand said. Rashid attempted to turn his head away, unable to close his eyes, but Armand proceeded to rip the tape off his mouth, take out the fabric inside it and stuff your panties inside, reapplying the tape. “A gift, if you will. I can be generous.”
His attention returned to you, now fully undressed. You stupidly wondered where your shoes had disappeared off to. Every instinct, every nerve in your body was telling you to hide, to get away. Your inability to move was starting to make you claustrophobic.
Armand was unbuttoning his blouse agonizingly slowly. You tried to steady your breathing and to calm your racing heart. This was happening. You were probably going to die, as was Rashid. You were scared, yes, but human nature has a funny way of getting its wires crossed. The anticipation burning in your stomach was slowly transforming from fear into something akin to desire. A fresh tear welled up in your eye, rolling down the side of your face. You were getting fucking wet, and you knew Armand could tell.
A suppressed smile was fighting to break out on his face the entire time he was undressing. He folded all the clothes strewn across the room neatly, placing them on the table where he’d taken the knife from. He’d kept his underwear on, but you could see them straining well enough. A small blotch of red had formed on the front of the light blue fabric.
“Vampire physiology. Blood is the only thing that goes in, and thus the only thing that comes out.” Armand enlightened you, as if simply telling you a fun fact. You didn’t care about the blood. You just wanted him out of your head.
“Quite impossible. You have such loud thoughts, just like our dear friend Rashid over here. I’m surprised you haven’t thought yourself into a migraine just yet. Now…” Rashid’s chair suddenly moved a few steps back, giving Armand all the possible space he could need to walk around the bed freely and Rashid a proper seat for the show.
Armand had all the makings of a proper predator. His eyes were zeroed in on yours, so striking. His posture was eerily still and focused as he placed one knee on the bed and proceeded to lean over you. He placed his hands beside your head, trapping you in the cage of his body. He had eyed very lean upon your first glance. This close you could tell the underlying muscle was no joke.
He leaned in as if he was going to whisper in your ear. Instead, he placed a small peck beneath it. A shuddered breath left your lips. You hadn’t forgotten the feeling of his fangs, nor the taste of his blood. Anticipation was a silent killer.
Another kiss was placed on your jawline, followed by one to your jugular. The sharp intake of breath at that one pulled an amused sound out of the vampire. One of his hands slowly dragged up to your head, his elongated fingernails scratching your scalp lightly as he gripped your hair for better leverage, while he leaned on the other. A small whimper escaped you, the sound foreign to your own ears. Armand kissed back up underneath your ear and sucked a little, but never bit down like you were expecting.
“Will you be good for me?” He whispered. You nodded feverously. The hand in your hair tugged sharply, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Words, ma biche.” He took the hand in your hair and cradled your cheek, running his thumb over your lips.
“Yes, yes I’ll be good. I’ll be good. Please just– please don’t kill me,” you pleaded. He tilted his head, pretending to think it over.
“Not tonight,” he promises. “But you’ve got to earn it.” What that meant, you could only contemplate.
His hand left your face, skipped past your navel and reached between your legs. Your first instinct was to start thrashing, but you knew better. You’d be good. You could be good. He never broke eye contact as his middle finger slowly dipped between your folds, exploring and making himself familiar with your body. You were strung taught. All your muscles locked in anticipation of what he’d do next.
Only a small, singular circle over your clit wrecked a sob from your body. Your limbs were becoming static staying locked in the same position for too long. Armand noticed, of course. He didn’t say a word, but released his mental grip on your body. You didn’t dare move a muscle.
He was nice enough not to dip his fingers inside on account of his elongated nails. How considerate.
It was killing you how gentle he was being. He was precise, as if he were stringing a guitar. Tightening the strings, strumming your nerves to correct your tune. He slowly moved down, his lips catching on your nipple, but not settling to do anything with it. You had to really battle your body to not be disappointed at it. He moved backwards, off the bed, kneeling on the floor. He tugged you closer to the edge, making himself comfortable between your thighs.
He looked up at you through his lashes, making sure you were watching him as he gave you a long, dragging lick over your folds. He held onto your twitching hips, nails digging into the skin. He gave a few open-mouthed kisses. Fuck, he looked so good between your legs, but you couldn’t do this. Not now. Not with him. Not with Rashid watching.
“Please…” it was pathetic.
“Please, what?” Armand questioned, never quite putting his mouth where you needed him most.
“Please! Just…” Stop? Continue? Your mind and body were at war. A frustrated huff left you as you wriggled in his grip. He dug his nails deeper, nearly drawing blood. A harsh reminder of who was in charge. He then gave a small kiss, right above your clit.
“Ah–!” Your attempt to suppress the sounds escaping you was unsuccessful. A high pitched whine echoed through the room when he finally made contact. A small lick, followed by a sucking that sent your head reeling.
Fuck, he’s obviously done this many times before. He knew exactly which buttons to press, where to lick, where to suck. Your microexpressions and his ability to get inside your head meant he knew when to apply pressure, and exactly where.
He circled his tongue around your clit over and over. He never even had to come up for air. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, you hadn’t yet decided. You knew you couldn’t hide anything from him by now, but it didn’t stop you from trying to keep your mind on anything besides the horrifying fact of how quickly you were climbing towards your climax.
“Don’t hold yourself back,” Armand prompted, his eyes giving enough warning for you to obey.
“Oh, fuck,” you breathed out. Your jaw went slack, your hands searching for something to hold onto to ground yourself. You couldn’t already be coming. You couldn’t. Yet–
“Ha-aaah! Hnng–” You couldn’t stop the high-pitched whines from escaping as all your muscles pulled taut. Your eyebrows scrunched, your entire body wanting to curl in on itself as you came harder than you’d ever have in your life.
Armand gripped your hips tightly, making you unable to ride out your high against his mouth. You could only take the pleasure he was giving you in exactly the way he wanted you to. Your chest was heaving with every breath. When you’d expected him to stop at the obvious point, he continued. He never let up his pace.
“Stop, stop! Fu– I can’t, I can’t,” your hips moved of their own volition, trying to move away from the stimulation. His hold on your body prevented you from moving as he continued his onslaught. One last groan and Armand moved back, releasing his hold. You had to catch your breath, shuddering and gasping as he got up, casually wiping his chin.
“Gentle, you said?” It was an off-handed remark. You’d already forgotten you’d even thought it.
“I never said anything,” you tested, although shakily. You’d thought it. You instantly regretted it, the agitated glance through his lashes enough to shut you up.
“I thought you said you were going to be good,” his hands ghosted over several objects on the table, but it was out of your sight. He hovered and paused before seemingly having made his choice. He picked one object up from the table, turning it in his hold to look it over. A leather flogger.
“Sit on the edge of the bed,” he instructed. You hastily obliged, scared to find out what would happen if you made him wait. He didn’t strike you as someone with patience. You tried to make yourself comfortable. It was difficult to ignore the fact you were naked in front of Rashid, or that he’d just watched you cum. You attempted to sit up straight.
“You’re going to count for me,” he said, dragging the fringe of the flogger between his fingers. “And then you’re going to thank me.”
“Okay.” It came out as a croaked whisper.
“Okay…?” He was suggesting something should come after. A title. God, what could a vampire want to be called in a situation like this? You panicked. Master? Daddy? Just Armand? Armand seemed to think it over a little as well, not having thought this through beforehand.
“Maître,” he settled on, looking at Rashid. Whatever was behind the knowing, secretive smile Armand suppressed, you’d never know.
“Okay maître,” you repeated. Ma biche. Maître. This guy sure had a thing for French.
“Close your eyes.” You really didn’t want to do that, but he didn’t give you much choice. In anything. You closed your eyes. In any other situation, you would’ve risked peeking. But he’d know.
You heard the rush of the flogger going through the air before it could hit the skin of your right breast. You gasped, more in shock and out of the anticipation of the hit than anything. “One. Thank you, maître.”
‘Good girl,’ a soft whisper. Or? It hadn’t been out loud. He’d said it inside your head. Shit, that made you shudder.
Another hit. Left breast. It stung, leaving a burning sensation behind. You clenched your teeth, before remembering you had to count. “Two. Thank you, maître.”
The next touch of the flogger scared you, but was soft. He dragged the fringes over your boobs, letting them get caught on your hardened nipples. He dragged it down your stomach and over your thighs.
Smack. A hit to your outer thigh. “Three. Thank you, maître.” You wondered whether there was a specific number he was working up to, or if it was just an exercise of showing his control.
Your hands moved to your knees and they forcibly spread open. You tried to close them, but found you were once again locked inside your own body. Your eyes were itching to open, your legs itching to close. Another hit, your inner thigh this time. You gasped loudly, mouth falling open. The amount of force he was using hurt, yet apparently not enough to stave your body from responding.
You were mortified. Fuck, he’d already made you cum once, pulling it out of you. Wasn’t that enough. Was he going to hit another one out of you? You could feel yourself throb at the thought. This was not a turn on. This was life or death. Your stomach still fluttered.
His hand suddenly grabbed your chin harshly, pushing his thumb inside your mouth, almost cutting your tongue with his nail. “How many was that, pet?” Shit, you’d already forgotten to count.
“Four, I’m sorry,” you pleaded around his finger. “Thank you, maître,” you quickly added. Your chin was thrown aside, drool now dribbling down it. With your eyes still closed, you could only imagine what a mess you looked.
“Turn around and bend over.” You could hear him grab something else from the table. The pressure was released, and you were free to move. You kept your eyes closed and kept your hands on the bed, turning around and bending over the edge. It was an awkward angle, you couldn’t kneel, but standing was a bit too tall. Your ass was in the air, your arms spread out on the duvet. You put your weight on your torso and braced for impact.
Smack. Oh my god. You let out a yelp as something undeniably smaller, harder and more rigid hit your ass. Fuck, that stings. “Five! Thank you, maître.”
You pushed your face down on the mattress and grabbed onto the duvet, clenching it tight. A wince was already etched into your features. You did your best to take deep breaths and steady your mind and heartbeat.
The ‘whoosh’ on the next hit was exaggerated and clearly audible.
“AH!- Fu- Six! Six. Thank you, maître.” The hit to your other asscheek was much harder than any of the others had been. The riding crop, which you’d now figured out is what he must’ve been using, caressed your backside. You prepared for another hit, teeth now digging into your fist.
He continued to hit the inside of your thighs and your ass, sometimes purposely hitting the same spot twice. By the end your tears had returned.
Smack. The last one hit directly onto your pussy, making you lose your balance and nearly fall off the bed. “Twenty! Thank you, maître. Thank you.” Your voice was unrecognizably hoarse. You flinched when his hand caressed your ass, softly rubbing and soothing the spots he’d hit the hardest. Nobody addressed the obvious, perhaps to save what little dignity you had left to cling to. You were drenched and shaking.
“You can open your eyes again. Kneel on the floor, now.” More instructions. Was this ever going to end? You did as he asked, taking your time. Your eyes fluttered, sticky with tears. You let your body drop off the edge, dropping onto your knees. You slowly turned around, shuffling awkwardly and sitting down on your heels. You kept your eyes on the floor, but could see the raised skin on your thighs and boobs from where they’d been hit.
Armand stepped in front of you and turned your face upwards, letting you look into his eyes. “A treat, for behaving.” He’d removed his underwear, allowing you to finally see him in full. Of course he was fucking big. Fucking hell.
It was strange to see the red beginnings of precum come out of his cock, but it didn’t linger in your mind. The only thought lingering was the divine taste of his blood, and the fact he was offering you more of it. You didn’t hesitate to lean down and wrap your lips around the tip. You licked at the slit, more concerned with getting his blood in your mouth than with his pleasure. You were corrected on the behaviour quickly.
“It’s not a lolly,” he hissed– almost cat-like, pushing inside your mouth swiftly. You struggled at the sudden intrusion, coughing instinctively. “Breathe through your nose, dear,” he bit out through clenched teeth, clearly fed up.
You did as instructed. You positioned yourself in front of him properly, cock never leaving your mouth, embarrassed at your previous haste to get a taste. You took a few deep breaths through your nose and brought your hands up to his hips. A slight hollowing of your cheeks prompted a small, satisfied sigh from the vampire. “Yes, good. Better.”
You continued your administrations, desperate to get more of the bloody precum into your mouth. You knew better than to expect he’d give you the full load this soon, if even at all. You steadied yourself against his body, running your tongue over his length. Another small bead hit the back of your tongue and you closed your eyes at the flavour, savouring it.
What the fuck.
You went to take your mouth off him to come up for proper air, but one hand on the back of your skull and that plan was discarded. He thrust his hips forward, sending him deeper into your throat than you could take. A few more thrusts and he removed his hand, letting you fall backwards against the bed and gasp for air, coughing. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face.
A choked sound came from behind him. You looked up and between Armand’s legs, and you locked eyes with Rashid, who you were horrified to discover you’d forgotten was in the room. His eyes were bloodshot, his face wet with tears. Your eyes trailed down to the unignorable; he was hard. Precum was already staining his pants.
The fucker was getting off on this? Betrayal and repulsion washed over you as you moved to stand. Even in that state, even with your friendship, he proved to only be yet another fucking man.
Armand wasted no time using his vampiric strength to move you onto the bed and into whichever position pleased him. Your head was near the end of the bed, facing Rashid. You were leaning on your arms, elbows pushing into the sheets, just like your knees. He pushed his palm flat against your back, prompting you to arch your spine. It must’ve looked obscene, with your ass up and face down.
He ran his thumb through your wetness, spreading it around. Your stomach fluttered as you awaited the inevitable. You’d known it was coming. You were still so fucking wet, whatever lingered from your first orgasm mixing with new arousal dripping between your thighs.
No warning, no preparation. You felt the blunt head of his cock at your entrance and expected him to push in slowly. He did at first, bullying the head inside until you felt the ‘pop’, signifying it was fully in. It burned. You clenched your teeth at the intrusion. He didn’t let you settle in it for long before pushing his entire length inside harshly.
“AH– Sto– Fuck!” You tried to turn around to bat at him to get him to slow down. He grabs both your arms and pushes your head into the mattress. One of his hands holds both your hands behind your back, the other holds onto your waist as he slides out and pounds back in.
He was going too deep, too hard. You still hadn’t recovered from the intrusion. Your insides were burning and had yet to adjust to the stretch. The rim of his head, the veins along his cock, you could feel it all dragging along your walls with every thrust of his hips.
“Squeezing me so tight, ma biche,” Armand grunted. He set a brutal pace, and your mortal body could not keep up. The sound of skin on skin– of his balls slapping against your pussy with every thrust– filled the room crudely.
“S-Slow down– Ah– please,” you managed through gritted teeth. His thrusts were interrupting your train of thought.
“You’ll take what I give you, puce.” Armand let go of your wrists and grasped your hair, tugging your head up. You steadied yourself by placing your hands beneath you. Your breasts were now crudely on display for Rashid, bouncing in tandem with Armand’s cock inside of you. Your head was held in the exact same position by Armand’s telepathic power as both his hands reached around your torso. He took both your nipples between his fingers and tugged. He pulled and twisted them painfully, making your face scrunch up in pain.
Fuck. The pain of the stretch was starting to dissipate. It was starting to feel good. Really good.
Just as you were getting into it and letting yourself shamefully enjoy it, Armand pulled out and flipped you over onto your back. His orange eyes were so dilated, you could’ve mistaken them for normal, human ones.
He leaned over you, placing one hand beside your head. The other gripped his length and guided it back inside your pussy. The immediate harsh thrust punched the air out of your lungs. The new angle proved fruitful. He knew exactly how to angle his hips to keep hitting that one part inside you that had you seeing stars.
Your fingers came up to his shoulders, needing something to hold onto. Your nails were digging into his skin, but he didn’t care. He was enjoying taking you apart. Seeing the look of unadulterated pleasure on your face? Priceless.
He kept hitting the spot over and over and over and– Fuck, you weren’t going to last.
“Please, please!” You begged. You were getting close. So close. Just a little more. Please.
“Beg for me. More.”
“Please maître, fuck! Please let me– Oh god,” You could feel yourself getting tighter, blood rushing, heart beating wildly. Just a little mo-
“AH!–” You came the second Armand’s teeth pierced the skin of your neck. He only drank a little, fucking you through your orgasm. You went slack against the mattress, black spots filling your vision. He stopped drinking, licking the last blood droplets all while still thrusting his cock inside you.
You blinked a few times, trying your best to stay conscious. “Hah, ah–” He was fucking the sounds out of you harshly, trying to reach his own climax. It was quickly becoming too much, but you were too fucked out to complain. You could only lie there and take it as Armand pounded into your limp body.
He sped up, getting close. He was ignoring your morality by now, thrusting so hard that you knew you were going to be more than just sore tomorrow. If you even got to see tomorrow.
He pulled out at the last second, knowing you wouldn’t have wanted his spend to go to waste. He urged you to sit up, bringing his pelvis closer to your face. “Drink up, dear,” he instructed, stroking his cock with one hand and cradling your head with the other. He brought his tip to your lips, which you accepted gladly. You licked the ridge under the head, egging him on to come quickly.
His jaw went slack, revealing his sharp fangs, your blood still coating his face. His eyes were closed in pleasure as he came inside your mouth. The fucking flavour. The blood coating your mouth; it was too good. You could’ve almost come again just from the overwhelming flavour and rush of energy the vampiric cum was giving you. It was like doing the most euphoric drugs on the planet. It was like you hadn’t known until now that you had been an addict, and you were finally, finally getting another hit.
Armand pulled his cock out of your mouth, wiping it clean on your lips and cheek. He let you fall back against the pillows and headboard, too high on his blood and fucked out to form a coherent thought.
You were left discarded on the bed, tracking Armand’s every move with your eyes. He was seemingly done with you for now. He grabbed the neatly folded stack of clothes he’d taken off your body and handed them to you, prompting you to snap out of your haze and immediately hide your body and get dressed.
Armand walked over to Rashid. There was watery cum dripping through his pants onto the wooden floor. He’d come untouched, just from watching you and Armand.
“I’ll be in Jakarta in 2 weeks,” Armand says. He removes the tape from Rashid’s face, as well as the bindings keeping him tied to the chair. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He was letting Rashid go? He was letting you go?
“Same time?” Rashid questioned, taking a water bottle Armand handed him, as well as some new clothes.
“I’ll e-mail you the address. Make sure she wears the red underwear next time. You know I prefer it.”
“I know, I know. Just want to switch it up every now and then.” Rashid shrugged, an easygoing smile on his face. What the fuck was going on?
Armand’s attention returned to you, a pitying smile on his face. He cradled your chin and made sure you were looking him in the eyes before speaking.
“You will not remember this. Your mission went well. You got the intel you needed from the gallery and safely met back up with Rashid at the safehouse. You never saw me. You don’t know Armand. You don’t know vampires are real. You have never heard of the Talamasca…”
this was both an idea that came to me after the first episode and a request I received right after that comment: eye-patch!brat-tamer!Armand -- sort of.
Pairing: armand x healer!reader
Warnings: smut
Word count: 4098
a/n: I'm having fun in creating some sort of plot for some of these requests, that's why it's taking me a bit longer to write. So here is a new story for everyone!
Summary: After Akasha's destruction of the world, you had to perform your duties as a healer even if it required you to leave everything behind. Even your companion, Armand.
Disclaimer: english is not my first language
In the supernatural world healers tend to stand on the sidelines.
They have existed since the beginning of time, evolving during the centuries but never falling victim to the the threat of extinction.
Your family had been one of the longest-lived among the healing community and, after Akasha's destruction of the world, you were the last one standing.
It was your duty as healer to offer your powers during trying times, the Talamasca reaching out to you as soon as the first drop of mayhem fell on the world and you answered. You never stayed in a single place longer than two weeks, moving back and forth between countries and continents to reduce the number of victims as much as your abilities could allow.
You had been raised to be ready for times like this.
You had only one regret.
You had left your companion behind. You had left Armand without saying goodbye. If you closed your eyes now, you would still see the last time you had seen his face, eyes unaware that they would not ne able to meet yours again after that day.
Two years had passed since then. The defensive shield you had raised to stay safe and hidden prevented you from reaching out and contact Armand, and him from the doing the same.
You just hoped he was still alive. The chances were high, he was immortal, you were not and yet here you stood. You wondered if he wished the same, if he too spent days and nights unable to sleep with a heart heavy with nostalgia and heartbreak.
You missed him. If you could exchange the oxygen in your lungs for a chance to be held in Armand's arms once more, you would.
But you had a duty. And duty came before love, that had been your father's first teaching when you were only five years-old. Thirty years later you could still hear his booming voice as a reminder.
You were in Toronto now. The wave of destruction hit stronger here than in most areas, making your stay longer and more dangerous. Luckily, with the city in ruins, it was easier to hide and to stay alert for any unwanted approach.
You had found a small apartment in an abandoned building, stable enough for you to move in for a few weeks. You had managed to retrieve a big storage of supplies, filled with non-perishable food and herbs you needed as support during your healings.
Those were there only for emergencies, for the times when you had completely drained your body of its powers and needed to give it time to recover, so you could provide cures even when your abilities couldn't be of service.
You had followed your training to the letter. Your parents would be proud, even though they were no longer on this world to witness it. This apocalypse made sure of that.
That night you had finally succeeded in getting back to your apartment to rest after two days of no sleep, little food, and hands on never-ending bleeding bodies. Even feeling clean enough water cascading on your skin felt like a miracle to you, a blessing.
You were eating instant noodles, the taste almost nauseating but your body could not afford to skip another meal, as you watched the news on your phone, only a small lamp switched on the small living room. You hated to be surrounded by complete darkness, but you knew you could not draw too much attention to your shelter even with the neon signs still on in your neighbourhood. Never lower your guard.
You knew you had been careful when you got back, all your senses on alert way after closing the door behind you just to be sure you were actually alone. That's why you felt the blood in your veins run cold at the sound of light footsteps inside your apartment.
You held your breath, your muscles growing still as you waited for the approach. And, then, your heart started beating wildly in your chest.
Not out of fear.
"Armand, is that you?" you asked to the darkness beyond your living room.
A familiar figure stepped into the light and your breath hitched in your throat at the sight. You had imagined this moment countless times since you left, and yet now that it was actually happening it didn't feel like the way you had expected in the slightest.
You stood up from where you were eating on the small sofa, taking careful steps towards Armand who was standing there in complete silence. Your emotional core was a volcano spurting out lava lapilli as you could not understand the extent of your inner turmoil. If you were happy, or excited, or scared, or everything all at once.
You could not settle on a single sentiment because your eyes were focused only on Armand's face, on the eyepatch that was now covering his left eye, a deep scar showing outside of its borders.
Armand had lost an eye.
"What happened to you?"
You were now a few feet away from him, your body unable to step even closer, your words met only by silence and stillness, and not the ones that used to give you comfort while standing in Armand's presence.
"How did you find me?"
Still silence.
You swallowed around nothing as you tried to figure out a way to move forward, to get a reaction out of him.
"Are you going to answer me? Why are you here if you're just going to stand there unmoving?"
This time it was his turn to step forward, closing the distance even more between your bodies. The intensity in his gaze never changing even now, the feeling of being scrutinized from the inside out soothingly familiar.
"You left me."
Three single words. Enough to trigger a shiver down your spine at the coldness. You knew Armand would be furious and yet you could not accept the confirmation of your fear.
"I had to. I could not refuse the call when it came."
A twitch in his fingers. "You could have told me." Phalanges cracking lightly with the movement. "I could not reach you. I could not find you. You could have been dead and I wouldn't have known."
You took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I had no choice."
"No. Choice."
"You would have tried to stop me."
"Yes."
Another deep breath. "I could not allow that. Your wish could not have been ranked above the oath I swore to my kind."
"Your kind?" The contempt in his voice was like a dagger in your heart. "People who won't bat an eye while sending someone so fragile right in the eye of the hurricane."
"I'm not fragile—"
"I am immortal. A vampire," Armand continued without listening to you anymore. "And I have lost an eye still."
"I am not human either, Armand."
In a blink of an eye, the remaining distance between your bodies finally nullified. Armand's hands were on the top of your arms, squeezing the flesh without any intention of hurting you. "You are mortal. You could meet your end in a single second of distraction."
"I know. But I'm here."
Armand closed his eye, the strain to rein in the wildfire burning inside him clear in the way his hands were shaking. "It is not enough to repair two years of imagining you dead."
"I'm sorry."
"Neither are apologies."
You wanted to hold him, but with his hands still restraining you, you could not move. "What do you want me to do?"
Armand opened his eye again, the amber of his iris blinding you. "You come back to me, and you won't leave again."
A knot tightened in the pit of your stomach, because you wanted to say yes. You wanted to go back to how your life was before, to feel the comfort of his embrace again and live entangled together for the rest of your life. But it was not your place to make this decision.
"I can't."
You barely felt the whoosh of air, only realizing you were moving when your back landed heavily against the wall. Armand's body was fully melt with yours, putting increasingly stronger pressure on you as you felt the concrete behind digging into your back.
Still, Armand's actions were measured in a way that prevented you from feeling any pain.
"This outcome cannot be accepted."
You shook your head. "I cannot leave the people behind. It's not fair."
"Fair?" You could feel his breath on the skin of your face, your nose brushing against his. "So it is fair to force me to watch you die, because that's the end lying ahead if I let you go out there again."
"I promise you I won't die."
"Do not make promises about something you can't control." Armand leaned forward, forehead resting lightly on yours. "Your body is too easily breakable."
"I can protect myself."
Armand moved back again, gaze meeting yours. "Another vampire in my place would have killed you in a second. That's how simple it is to breach your defences." You felt the tension leave slowly his body. "Death would be preferable compared to what others would do to your body. I will not allow this scenario to become a reality."
"Arm—"
"There is only so much of your disobedience that I can tolerate. No more."
"Please, let me expl—"
You body was turned to face the wall in a second. Your hands paralysed above your head by Armand's mind as his were slowly descending down your sides, before moving to your front.
You felt his fingers unbutton your shirt, taking their time with each button as if you both had all the time in the world.
"Did you let anyone touch your body in the same way I'm touching it now?" Armand asked bitterly in your ear, the tip of his fingers caressing the skin of your belly after removing the last of your buttons.
"I could never."
He hummed. "Shall I simply trust your words? I know how lustful you can be."
Your breathing was ragged, all your senses waking up at once with just a single passage of Armand's touch.
"I swear. My focus was only on my duties as a—"
"Yes, duty. You keep repeating that word," Armand interrupted you again, as his hands moved lower to unfasten your pants. "A cloak you love hiding underneath to justify your unacceptable behaviour."
You felt your pants fall down your legs bunching around your ankles. Goosebumps raised on the skin of your thighs as the chilly air of the room touched them.
Armand's hands moved to the side of your legs, ascending slowly as his fingernails pressed down on your skin leaving a trails of scratches in their path upwards. You shuddered at the sensation the action provoked in your core, a warmth starting to spread in your centre.
Their journey never stopped, making you arch your back as much as the restraints allowed you when Armand's fingers passed over your ribs. The intensity decreased slightly the moment your open shirt turned into a barrier between his skin and yours.
Armand was touching your upper back now, fingers inserting themselves in the little space between your neck and the collar of your shirt.
"Are you going to tell me you haven't touched yourself once either?" Armand's voice reached you again, the sound so low and dark that was shaking you to the core of your soul.
You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. A short-circuit generating in your mind and burning your synapses as you struggle to formulate a single coherent thought.
You heard a sharp noise coming from behind you, Armand's nails cutting through the fabric of your shirt effectively ripping it in half. An efficient way to get rid of another piece of clothes that didn't require any unnecessary movement from you.
Your shirt fell on the ground in shreds, joining your pants at your feet. You were now standing only in your underwear, your body shivering from the cold and from the slow torture you were subjected to by Armand.
Your body was turned abruptly, allowing you to look Armand in the face again while your arms were still kept firmly above your head and against the wall. The tip of your fingers starting to grow numb from the prolonged position they were caged in.
Armand was staring down at you, the amber of his eye now a darker shade. He was waiting for you to answer.
"I have," you managed to utter between short intakes of breath. "And I have always imagined it was you touching me, but I could never…"
You stopped.
"Yes?"
"I could never reach an orgasm on my own."
A twinkle passed through Armand's gaze at your words. It was brief but you caught it before it could disappear again behind his usual mask.
"Do you want me to fix this woeful predicament for you?" Armand asked you, the tone bordering on patronizing, as he rested one of his hand on your belly an inch above the hem of your underwear.
"I do."
Armand's lips quirked up into a smirk. He was wearing a knowing expression on his face as if you had just fallen in his trap, no matter what you were going to say next.
"Only if you promise to leave this place with me, never to come back."
You pursed your lips at his demand, your stare hardening. He was unmoving in his conviction, but so were you.
"I already told you I cannot abandon—"
Armand let out a deep sigh before you could finish your sentence. He was hell-bent on interrupting each time you opened your mouth, while still demanding you to answer his questions. Another dimension of his power plays.
Armand bent over to his middle, hands coming to rest on your waist as he lifted you from the ground and put you over one of his shoulder in a swift movement. Your arms were now free from their previous restraints, though they could not be of much help as they moved quickly to grip the back of Armand's shirt for balance.
"Wrong answer," Armand commented firmly. "Again."
He was taking you toward your bedroom. You could try to rebel against his hold, albeit without any success, though that would only postpone the inevitable, and make your situation worse.
You were at Armand's mercy now.
He threw you on the bed unceremoniously, the remind of his strength sending a thrill down your spine.
"Maybe if I give you what you're craving," Armand continued, staring at you from the bottom of your bed while his hands moved to remove his clothes in a calm manner, "you will be more inclined to follow my instructions."
This composure he was presenting you was all an act. You could perceive the emotions boiling under the surface.
Slowly, you shifted your body back towards the headboard, your hands supporting you in the slide on the mattress. Your eyes never left Armand for a second.
When he was done with his clothes, standing proudly naked in front of you, you forced your gaze to not drop lower than his chin fighting against the temptation to admire his full figure again after years apart.
Feline-like Armand climbed on the bed, inching closer to you in a calculating pace. You sat still in your spot. There wasn't much you could do beside wait for his approach and pay close attention to every single one of his movements. You knew, though, that keeping an eye on him would have been pointless — not that you could stand a chance in this battle — but you had wished to put up a better fight at first, at least.
Just like a black panther, Armand jumped on you, getting a hold of your body and successfully putting you on your knees with your front turned towards the headboard. Another ripping sound followed. The last two pieces of clothing still on your body lay now on the duvet completely torn.
Armand inched even closer as he pressed his front right against your back, one of his arms circling you around your belly, while his other rested across your shoulders with the hand pushing your head back by putting pressure below your chin.
From this position he could keep his stare straight to your face and, even with your vision upside down, you could not escape the intensity in his gaze.
The arm on your stomach moved lower, his fingers finding your centre right after. You gasped at the touch and your mouth opened slightly at the feeling. Armand was studying your expression, paying attention to any minute change.
His fingers pressed down on your clit, attacking you suddenly with quick and firm circles, your wetness making the slide easier. A moan left your lips at the sudden sensation, the sound filling the otherwise silent room.
He was going hard on you right from the start, building up your pleasure fast without giving you the chance to fully enjoy the feeling. Armand wanted you to reach your climax in mere seconds and, embarrassingly enough, he was going to succeed.
You tipped over the edge with a high-pitched whine, promptly silenced by Armand's hand raising to cover your mouth from its previous position on your chin.
His palm was pressing down on your lips, your sounds muffled against his skin as his ministrations on your clit never stopped.
You could feel your legs begin to shake, the pleasure in your core now bordering on overstimulation but you could do nothing besides welcoming the sweet torture.
Your hands came up quickly to grip his wrist, not to remove his palm from your mouth, but as a way to anchor yourself and have your fingers visible to Armand's eye. Deprived of your ability to speak, you were going to tap against the back of his hand if the sensations were about to get too overwhelming for you to handle.
The purpose of this moment was to teach you a lesson according to Armand's fashion, not to hurt you. And you knew Armand would want you to stop him, and not to endure unwanted pain in silence.
The fingers on your clit never slowed down, and the overstimulation washed away in your limbs as a new peak was coming up from the horizon. The wet sounds coming from between your legs only increased, your wetness now dripping down the skin of your thighs and on the bed.
Your second orgasm hit you mere minutes after first, the heat so fierce that you were almost glad to have Armand's hand on your mouth to cover how loud you were screaming. Your legs felt like jelly, convulsions taking hold of your nerves as you struggled to keep yourself upright on your knees, Armand's arms doing most of the work.
Two of his hands entered you while your body was still in throes of pleasure, hitting the sensitive spot right behind your clit to prolong your climax for a few seconds longer. Tears blurred your sight before starting to fall down your cheeks, while your screams turned into whines at the never-ending pleasure you were experiencing. You knew you were covering Armand's hand with your drool, but none of you seemed to care in the moment.
All his focus was on your face and on his fingers fucking you at an unforgiving rhythm, and the squelching sounds that followed after each thrusts were a further proof of how responsive your body was to his ministrations.
Armand pulled his fingers out after slowing down his pace. He could have pulled another orgasm out of your body, but you could see in his eyes that he had other plans. He let your body go and, without his hold helping you keep yourself in position, you fell face down on the mattress.
"Are you willing now to abide to my request?"
You were panting against the pillow as you willed your lungs to take two deep breaths before slowly turning your body around to rest on your back. You looked at Armand, the usual tension in your muscles gone after coming twice in a few minutes, but your stubbornness was still burning alive in your veins.
"No."
"Pity."
Armand laid down next to you, mirroring your position on your back before reaching out to lift your body again. He manhandled you in the way he desired and, with your limbs still shaking with aftershocks, you simply let him.
Not that you had a problem with Armand taking full control of your movements.
He put you on top of him, straddling his hips, your chest resting against his as you didn't even try to lift yourself up in a sitting position, knowing full well that you would fail.
"Let's try another method, since you didn't seem to understand the first lecture," Armand whispered in your ear as a warning. All you could do was shiver in response.
Armand moved your arms to your back, his left hand taking a hold of both of your wrists, the grip tight enough to stop any movement, while his right hand reached for his length aligning it with your entrance.
He pushed inside you, your walls so pliant and wet made his entrance quick and smooth. Armand stopped only once he was completely bottomed out in your pussy, and you moaned at feeling so full of him again.
Armand stayed still for a moment, now both of his hands keeping your wrists and arms restrained against your back. You simply sat there, waiting, your cheek resting on his shoulder as your ragged breathing tickled the skin of his neck.
You heard Armand hum deeply in his chest and then, with careful movements, he lifted his legs propping his feet up on the mattress.
It all happened quickly. One second you were both lying still with his length warming you from the inside, the next Armand was pounded inside you with total abandon.
The spike of pleasure in your core was immediate, with you being so sensitive after the previous orgasms, but you had no more energy to scream. Your mouth was open and no sound was coming out of it, only quick and shallow breaths punched out of your lungs with every hard thrust of his hips.
"Shit, shit, shit," you mumbled against him, no other coherent thoughts generating in your mind.
Armand's pace never faltered as he fucked you from below, the hammering sounds of skin against skin resonating everywhere around you.
Your knees locked against his waist as you reached your peak again, the strong feeling draining you of whatever remaining strength you still had in your body. You collapsed on his chest, shaking wildly while you distantly felt Armand meet his own end and filling you up with his release.
With your body completely spent, the dam you had built around your heart crumbled down and all the emotions you had carefully repressed in the last two years burst out of you in a desperate cry.
Armand was already there to hold you tight against him in comfort, as if he was expecting this reaction out of you.
"I'm sorry for leaving you, I'm sorry—"
You apologised over and over, Armand shushing you softly in your ear. "I know, my love. The idea of you dying out here alone tormented me, I looked for you everywhere."
"I didn't want to leave you," you managed to say between hiccups. "I had no choice."
"You should have told me, we would have found a solution together."
You shook your head, still hiding your face in his neck. You had been feeling so lost and broken without Armand by your side, and your parents' death had been your last straw. You shut the world out completely right after that.
"I don't know what to do," you cried. "I don't want to leave you, but I cannot abandon my responsibilities."
Armand was caressing your head softly, his nails scratching your nape in soothing motions.
"I will stay here with you," Armand stated firmly. "But the moment this apocalypse finally ceases, we disappear from the world. Just the two of us."
You kept quiet for a few seconds, Armand's heart beating calmly below your chest. "Yes."
There was no need to say anything more. Both of you would endure and survive time and time again, that was all that mattered. As long as you were doing it together.
You had learned your lesson.
---
Now I'm working on the Old!Daniel x reader, and I'm ovulating. I feel so wild already about it.
how daniel molloy feels after trying to conduct an accurate interview about vampires, but his subjects are louis de pointe du lack of information, lestat de lyingcourt, armanipulator, and claudead.
Summary: Ever since you met that beautiful – and strange – man at the park, your life was turned upside down to nurture the desires of two lonely vampires.
Notes: There it is, the winner of the poll. I'm a show-only loser and english is not my first language, so please keep that in mind. I would have written this as a full one-shot, but I’m quite busy so it is just some headcanons. If anyone still want me to write the other two options, just send a request. Enjoy!
You saw him first. Hopping along the rocky streets of San Francisco, your recently polished shoes clacking against the rocks on the floor. Snapping photos with your old camera of the pedestrians and establishments. You weren’t thinking of anything specific to photograph, just moving to catch whatever attracted your eye. When you stopped at the park.
Children ran free by the grass, screaming in excitement until they couldn’t breathe, playing tag, or maybe they were playing off being pirates – or super heros. You could see adults – presumably their parents – atop picnic blankets and wooden tables, chatting amongst each other in a casual manner. Aiming your camera at the scene, you held your breath when you saw a young man in the background, watching the people as you did.
He was tall, strangely so since his stiff posture made you think of a shy child. His dark skin shone against the bright sun. His hair fell on his shoulders in little, delicate waves. He was beautiful, striking even, something in him reminded you of a piece that belonged in a museum.
His eyes, big and brown, were drowning within a profound longing. Was longing the right word? It didn’t feel right.
Then you shyly approached his young form, hesitant steps along the pavement. Maybe it was pity. Maybe something on him sparked interest in you. Maybe you just saw yourself inside those eyes.
Armand was surprisingly easy to talk to. You two spilled in a conversation about how the city changed over the years. He told you he has recently arrived in the city with a friend. And you told him about yourself too, family, friends, jobs, your passion for photography. It was nice, if it wasn’t for the moments where Armand would stare at you when you speak, his eyes burning into yours, as if he could somehow see inside your mind and read your thoughts.
As you left, your mind wandered what his deal was before quickly shrugging off. It’s not like you would ever see him again? Right?
And you were right. You wouldn’t see him again, but he would see you plenty. Again and again.
Of course, he spent the last weeks carefully learning everything he could about you. Where you lived – a small, cheap apartment close to the center of the city. How many clothes you owned – twenty two. Which path you took for your job – two blocks straight, right, left, and right again. The way you held a drink – right hand, fingers relaxed against the cup, almost daring to drop. Everything he couldn’t see by reading your thoughts. If you would fit with him and Louis. The results were promising.
Watching you pass your days, eating greasy, low effort put, food with a shy grin, the way you would get easily startled by the sudden sounds coming from your window, how you preferred to quietly watch people go about their days – just like him – instead of putting yourself to talk with them. You reminded Armand of a deer.
He wasn’t certain why exactly he was doing this. If it was some sort of attempt of apology for what he did to Claudia. Or if he was simply jealous of the family Louis had with Lestat and wanted to do the same, this time better. Or if he just attached to your feeble mortality and youthful self. The way you carried no burdens on your shoulders… he almost felt guilty for throwing rocks at your glass house.
So, after months of making sure you would be perfect for the part he had for you. Carefully breaking into your house, taking on what he could, and dismissing Louis’ questions about his whereabouts. He watched you enough. Mornings. Afternoons. Nights. Enough time to almost feel like you two were already a family. Only then did he approach you again.
As always, he watched you from your window – you were getting ready, preparing yourself to go to a bar – you were nervous. He didn’t even need to read your mind to know. Just by watching the way you frequently wiped sweat off your palms every few minutes he could tell.
In the bar – tacky place, his nose twisted – you sat in one of the corners, the flashing lights would give you a migraine soon and the alcohol wasn’t hitting like it was supposed to. He sat in front of you, an awkward smile plastered on his face. There would be no mistakes this time. Louis would see.
With his newfound research, it was almost impossible to not charm you into his embrace. You found his staring unsettling? He had mastered how many seconds he could look at your eyes before politely turning his gaze. You liked cats? He mentions the majestic orange cat that often appears in his apartment’s window. The friend he mentioned also likes photography, do you know?
Before you notice, you are following Armand to an alley behind the bar. You cross your arms and press yourself against the wall. Something on your chest clenched. A dreadful lump in your thoughts. You decided to ignore the sirens in your head by thinking how beautiful Armand looked in his button up green shirt and high waist pants.
But instead of initiating anything, he started to talk. Your muscles went rigid as he mentioned how much of a good fit you would be to his family, how much “Louis” would like you, how much happier you three would be. And suddenly you couldn’t move, his eyes burning into your souls as thousands of needles punctured every nerve of your body. You couldn’t bolt. You couldn’t push.
His face was closer now, warm breath brushing against your erratic one. Empty eyes taking hold of your mind– ack!
White pain washed over your head as his teeth sank inside the flesh of your neck. Hot blood gushed into his mouth. Your memories flashed inside Armand’s mind. The momentarily empty memories of a fragile mortal. He sensed your despair, your fear – like a squirming fawn against the jaws of a wolf. His arms enlaced around your waist as he felt your thoughts become lighter and lighter. Armand couldn’t help but notice how small you looked under the blanket of unconsciousness. For a moment, his thumbs caressing the fragile skin of your cheeks, he considered just taking you home instead.
Louis was not happy. Struck with a blind wrath of a sight of a still alive human laid at his couch, he was sure he would throw it out of the window after what Armand dared to propose. To give them the dark gift – to be their child.
How dare he? To pull this shit after everything. After what they– he did to Claudia. To propose replacing her? What he’s thinking?!
And they discussed; Armand’s calm demeanor twisting Louis’ nerves. Affirmations of this being a second chance, not a replacement. Promises that they could do better, that they are better in response to his fears of dooming another soul. When a sob echoed through the room, breaking from your own throat as fat, quiet tears streamed down your face.
Your frantic heartbeats thundered in Louis’ ears. Desperately. Thump thump thump thump. It muffled the sound of your nonsensical babbles for mercy. He could only focus on your eyes. Your trembling, watery, mortal eyes. Begging for his help. How many times did Claudia look at him in the same way?
His eyes went over Armand’s, who stared at you two with an unreadable expression. A silent conversation went over them, not even with their thoughts. Just a single shared look and Daddy Lou had once again returned.
One of his hands came to rest over your eyes, feeling in his skin as your sobs shook your whole body – he couldn’t do it otherwise. And bit the reddish, harmed skin of your neck. Your cries intensified, it hurt so much, Louis felt like actually killing a child. Through your eyes he could see your life, feel it. You two shared many interests – how lovely. He repeated again and again in his head, it’s for the best, this time it will be better.
And, when you finally sat up, screaming and demanding about what they had done to you. Louis could only give a sad smile as he walked away, not wanting to see what was next – seeing Armand erase a lifetime of memories, family, friends and moments until there was only a blank state for them to mold. He would finally have a family again.
Even with the rather rocky start, life with those two is not all bad. Especially now that your heart has been remade to beat only for them – no grudges! Louis and Armand in the end of things just want your adoration and company. Give that freely and your 90% in the way of a perfect, peaceful life.
Louis had turned others before. Madeleine, however, had always been more Claudia’s creation than his. He could sense the bond between maker and fledgling, but he had never truly known Madeleine. His role in her immortality had always been for Claudia’s sake. But with you?
He couldn’t read your thoughts anymore, nor could you read his. However, the bonds that formed between the bite and turning were almost as strong. He felt you in his mind all the time and soon your feelings became his too. He hoped you felt the same.
He found joy in bringing you to his little getaways in gay bars – teaching you how to hunt, to use your gifts for the best outcome. Beaming like the sun when you proved to be a great student. It reminded him of his initial years with Lestat.
He would share with you some of his stories – no mentions of who made him or the reason of why he grieved so much. But things like his childhood in New Orleans or his late passions, like photography. He even showed you his old camera. You can feel his grin shrinking when you say you don’t remember ever taking a photo before.
Armand is not behind in any way. He's almost desperate in his pursuit of your love. Your meals are hunted directly by him, and sometimes on him. Laying down in his coffin at the first rays of sun, snuggling in his chest, Armand will simply offer his wrist. His nails will scrap your scalp as you suck on his blood. It’s his favorite bonding activity.
While Louis teaches you how to be a proper vampire, Armand teaches you how to deal with your new life. He gives you thousands of hobbies; piano, chess, reading or even cooking meals you couldn’t possibly eat. All so you can stay close.
He is not fond of telling stories of his life as much as Louis is, but if you ask, he shall weave some tales in his time as leader and director of the Théâtre des Vampires.
Where misbehaving will get you depends on who is on the receiving end. Louis almost embraces the certainty that anger brings. For a few brief moments, it drowns out the guilt. He won’t do anything harsh – at least you hope – but you get away unscathed. Emotionally speaking of course, haha!
With Armand it will depend on who he's feeling like that night. If it is the Good Nurse, then he will simply remind you how good, how better your life is since they arrived, innocently offering you a place at his side and his duty fully prepared wrist. If it is the Gremlin though… Well, he can just terrorize you back to your place.
Your new life is so perfect now, right? Nothing can, nothing will disturb it. Not even the new and fascinating boy brought to your home to his death.
I love you so much it feels like I'm being skinned alive. and I like it. I like the ache. because the pain means it's real. pain means you live in me. pain means I'm devoted.
Looking for Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss Roleplay Partners!
Hi there!
With the second season of Hazbin Hotel finally out, I couldn’t help but get excited to find new roleplay partners to write scenes with!
I’m 22 years old, from Brazil (so please forgive any small English mistakes — I really do my best!), and I mainly use Discord. I’ve been roleplaying for about 7years, consider myself a passionate writer, and truly enjoy creating deep stories and genuine friendships with my RP partners. I’m patient and totally fine with delays, as long as you give me a heads-up.
I love well-built plots and I’m also a big fan of Helluva Boss, so I’d be thrilled if we could do a crossover between both shows!
I’m looking for someone who can play Lucifer, Stolas, and Fizzarolli to interact with my original characters. Of course, I’m also open to playing characters you enjoy — I like keeping things balanced and fun for both sides.
Since we’re dealing with Hell, some mature themes may appear (violence, drug use, strong language, etc.). I’m also open to smut scenes, including some specific kinks, but I’d prefer the RP not to revolve solely around that — I want it to have real story and character development.
If you’re interested, feel free to message me here or send me a friend request on Discord!
Looking for Hazbin Hotel/Helluva Boss Roleplay Partners!
Hi there! With the second season of Hazbin Hotel finally out, I couldn’t help but get excited to find new roleplay partners to write scenes with!
I’m 22 years old, from Brazil (so please forgive any small English mistakes — I really do my best!), and I mainly use Discord. I’ve been roleplaying for about 7years, consider myself a passionate writer, and truly enjoy creating deep stories and genuine friendships with my RP partners. I’m patient and totally fine with delays, as long as you give me a heads-up.
I love well-built plots and I’m also a big fan of Helluva Boss, so I’d be thrilled if we could do a crossover between both shows!
I’m looking for someone who can play Lucifer, Stolas, and Fizzarolli to interact with my original characters. Of course, I’m also open to playing characters you enjoy — I like keeping things balanced and fun for both sides.
Since we’re dealing with Hell, some mature themes may appear (violence, drug use, strong language, etc.). I’m also open to smut scenes, including some specific kinks, but I’d prefer the RP not to revolve solely around that — I want it to have real story and character development.
If you’re interested, feel free to message me here or send me a friend request on Discord!
