Intro | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 |
Oneshots
i dont wanna be your friend, i wanna kiss your lips
somebody else
blessed be, the mystery of love
Black Widow (* includes smut)
symptom of your touch *
Squid Game*
three times young-il and gi-hun kiss, and two times they don't
Interview with the Vampire
pretty boy, consumed by death (Armand x Female Reader)*
i want to feel you from the inside (Armand x Female Reader)*
and my blood is all i see (Armand x Female Reader)*
I have an odd request…period sex with lestat or armand? If not that’s okay! Love your work 💕
Hi!!💕 Sorry to keep you waiting, darling!
Here is a little something about period sex with Lestat and Armand, let me know if you want me to expand it further!
Lestat
Lestat loved eating people out, and if you were on your period it was like gifting him heaven directly.
You sometimes tried to avoid him during those days, especially at the beginning when the flood was quite intense knowing he would pounce on you in a second.
Not like you didn't want him to, but you were aware that if you let Lestat have his way with you, he'd gladly spend the whole night between your legs, face pressed in your pussy without coming up to breathe even once.
That was the main reason why you were now hiding in your hotel room instead of being out and about with the band and the rest of the crew. You told Lestat you had a few errands to do, and that you weren't sure you'd be back before dawn.
He pouted a little, but Christine appeared like on cue to take him away for rehearsals.
It was for the best. Your period had two or three months throughout the year where it became quite unbearable for the pain and the amount of blood flowing out of you.
You had been going back and forth from the bedroom to the bathroom to wash and change every thirty minutes, and with your cramps hitting you deep in your belly, and in your lower back, you felt like you were going insane.
You were standing in the shower for the uptenth time that night, your body leaning forward with your head resting against the tile, looking for any kind of comfort as you watched your period blood going down the drain.
You heard a door open, but it sounded so far away you thought you had only dreamed of it. Even if it weren't the case, you had no energy to care.
"You lied to me," Lestat said bursting through the door of the bathroom.
You only hummed in response, not even turning your head in his direction.
"Ma petite?"
"I heard you," you mumbled, "but if I move even an inch I will fall down on the floor, and this fucking blood won't stop coming out."
There was a rustling in the background and a second later you felt Lestat's hands on your waist, turning you around to face him, your back now against the shower wall.
"You should have told me, chérie, I would have taken care of you."
You shook your head. "You don't have to do this every time."
"It's my pleasure," Lestat said softly. "Besides, I don't think it's right to let all this free blood go to waste."
Lestat disappeared from your line of view as he kneeled down in front of you, his hands lifting your legs on his shoulders.
"Let go," he whispered against the skin of your inner thigh. "I'll hold you up."
You didn't need him to tell you twice, your body relaxing completely right as his mouth made contact with your centre.
Lestat moaned at every lick against your lips, the feeling sending little pleasant shocks along your nerve endings. A couple of times you even heard him swallow loudly, underlining how much blood was leaking out of you in that moment that Lestat was gladly drinking down his throat.
His hands gave little squeezes to your legs in comfort every now and then, while his eyes fought against the need to close in pleasure just to keep making eyecontact with you, to check your physical state during the whole ordeal.
Now you knew that you should never have Lestat skip your periods, for both of your sakes.
Armand
Armand was less manifest regarding his interest and passion for period blood, but he was obsessed with it nevertheless.
Also, he was very in tune with every change in your body during your cycle, and the days before he stood physically very close to you, as if he couldn't help himself.
He could smell it on you. A tinge of iron seeping through your natural scent.
In the last few weeks you had been discussing about kinks you wanted to try, and somnophilia came up as something you wanted to do with Armand, as he was the person you had felt safe the most in your entire life. Especially in a vulnerable situation where sex and sleep combined.
So you weren't exactly surprised to be pulled from your slumber by a spike of pleasure shooting up from between your legs, your eyes opening slowly as in your mind you were trying to get your bearings.
A quiet whimper slipped from your lips the moment you realized what was happening, Armand's tongue moving in and out of you in a slow but steady pace.
You were lying on your side, one of your legs pulled up against your chest while the other rested relaxed along the side of Armand's body.
There was another feeling burning up inside you, deep in your lower belly, one that you recognised immediately when the fog of sleep fully cleared from your mind.
Your period had started while you were asleep and, of course, Armand noticed before you could, getting down to business without wasting a single second.
"Babe." Your voice was a little above of a whisper.
You could smell the blood too now. What was not getting inside Armand's eager mouth, you could feel it trickle down the skin of your leg, surely staining the bed.
"Let me do this for you, my love."
A new shiver travelled across your body at hearing how hoarse with arousal Armand's voice had turned. The act like a sacred ritual he needed to perform.
You didn't say anything further after that. You just laid there on the bed, welcoming the pleasure Armand was giving you with his mouth.
When he deemed his tongue not enough to reach his goal, you felt two of his fingers enter you. He moved them back and the forth, the tips crooking on their way out to coax even more blood out of you, while also caressing one of your most sensitive spots.
You were now squeezing your pillow in a tight grip with both of your hands, your mouth open as short breaths were coming out of it in rapid succession.
You had only one thought in mind: you were going to demand this treatment every month from that moment on.
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…”
good morning to horror fans, fat bitches, people with psychosis, they/thems, people who can’t drive, trans women, witches, and single dads. the rest of you... you’re on your own
the tags on that edit from tiktok u posted...........armand and dumbification????????? i think im abt to faint holy shit ur mind
you've just opened a bag of winds, i hope you know that <3 /// ARMAND / F!READER, 18+ MDNI, 1.2K ⋆✴︎˚｡
paris!armand who first sees you at an underground cellar turned jazz club in post-ww2 paris. he’d gone there to stake it out for a group hunt, gauge any particularly wealthy patrons. by the time he returned to the theater, he’d half forgotten about the hunt entirely; santiago had to pry, but that went as well as you can imagine.
at the club, you're caught in a heated back-and-forth with a man who's clearly not worth a second more of your time. you approach armand with a slim cigarette tightly between your fingers—all the bravado in the world—lips pursed as you ask him in (endearingly, adorably) broken french if he thinks your outfit is provocative.
it is: a deep-blue velvet skirt that hugs you in all the right places, armand's stained-glass eyes trailing after every trick of the lights over your curves. he can see halfway up your thighs without even straining his neck. your blouse is a cheap, frilly thing, but you wear it well. your tights are sheer, and the tease of naked skin that's peeking through the nylon is enough to have his mind wandering, mapping veins he knows are there.
it's clear you recruited him in hopes of coming to your defense against your... who's that little insignificant worm you have with you? a boyfriend, a fiancé? clearly not a husband, judging by the glaringly obvious emptiness of your ring finger. just a worm, then. and he'd had his fun.
"i don't know which answer you seek, madame," armand shrugged, eyes catching on yours like a honey-trap. "the polite one, or the honest one?"
oh, your expression then? if directed at any other man, in any other century, in any other place, it would've made emperors bow down for a whacking. but not armand. not here, and not now.
"yours," you bite back, eyes making a show of trailing down his figure, cigarette finding its way between your lips before you blow the smoke right in his face. "...so?"
wordlessly, armand plucks the cigarette from between your fingers, nails faintly scraping against your skin, biting down his grin when he feels you twitching. you watch him, this stranger who thought it right to test you, provoked and intrigued in equal measure.
lips closing around your lipstick mark on the butt of the cigarette, he takes a deep drag of smoke. without breaking eye-contact, he echoes inside your mind: "i think you look exquisite, puce. it's a shame he doesn't, isn't it? a shame, easily remedied..."
he knows right then and there that he has you. hook, line, and sinker. your look around insecurely, hands tugging at the bottom of your skirt, eyes searching for the trick; the shadow on the wall. you don't know the shadow's standing right in front of you. he revels in the way all that confidence melts into an uncertain pile of doubt, of exposure.
expertly turning the cigarette in his hold, he places it back between your gaping mouth. his thumb lingers, swiping on your bottom lip, some of your lipstick smearing on his skin. with a bent forefinger, he taps the underside of your chin, and turns on his heel.
on his leisurely stroll back to the theater, he's overcome by the urge to fuck that attitude clean off of that head of yours. clearly, someone ought to. he's not worried, though; he knows he'll see you again. he won't be able to help himself.
"can you hear me, puce?"
"u–uh, uh-huh, uh-hu–uuh—"
you're nodding dumbly, bent over his desk in the theater, face smushed against his script drafts and drooling onto the papers. you're dressed in one of his dress-shirts, his scent on you like a mark, and absolutely nothing else. your feet are dangling off the desk, curling like loose hairs with every roughly calculated thrust. and your mind, usually sharp as a razor, now reduced to a mumbling, moaning mess. music to his ears.
nothing's left inside your mind but armand. his weight on your back, pressing you down against hard and cold mahogany, making you feel as though there's no space for your lungs to expand anymore. his lips on the side of your neck, mouthing at your sweaty skin. his fangs teasing at your veins, the smell of your thrumming blood making his mouth drool. his hands, splayed on top of yours on the desk and covering them whole, keeping you still for him like a butterfly pinned for display on a corkboard. his butterfly. (<3)
he kisses you softly in the ear, letting his own sounds spill for him, because he knows how much you love hearing him. and, really, it's clear by the way you clench around him, sucking him in like you need him to take root inside you. he drags his fangs up and down your earlobe, lips curling in a smirk when he feels a shiver wreck your frame.
"mon petit chou," he coos, moaning lowly, "use words, hm...?"
he knows you can't. or, rather, he's not letting you. he's using the mind gift to dig around that pretty skull that loves nothing more than causing him headaches. he's drinking in those distant zaps of sensations from your point of view as his hips slap against yours. best thing is? he can sense you trying to form words, the syllables materializing, your mouth opening to give them form. but he shooes them away, scattering them like crumbs, leaving nothing behind but his name, his weight, his cock.
he loves that you don't fight it, that you welcome it. he loves how much you love it. back arching for him, pussy squelching for him, milking him for all he's got. made for him and him only, even if you didn't know it. you'll know it soon enough.
he loosens his control of your mind once he feels you tiptoeing on the edge, letting you go and feeling your saccharine cries washing over him. you come around him thrashing, mind thrown into the deep end as everything rushes in at once, his name a litany. you sob, shuddering: "oh–oh, arm–ah–nd, arma—!"
you hiccup wetly and brokenly. when he feels that rhythmic pulse around him, his jaw hangs open in an open-mouthed smirk and his brows form a desperate, euphoric 'Λ' shape. hips losing focus, he pistons and makes your body jump every time your skins meet, surely bruising you in the process. he doesn't care. he wants to see you purple from him, and he knows you want it too.
he comes with a brutal, resounding thrust; impossibly deep, skins one, painting you in thick ropes of crimson until he's dripping out of you. he's twitching aimlessly now, mouth drifting from your nape and across your shoulderblades, kissing your puffy cheeks and murmuring: "mmh... ma chouchoute, mon petit chou... mine, yes?"
he's smushing his cheek against yours, smiling when he feels your grin and nod. afterwards... he turns you around, scripts flying everywhere, giving you a lingering kiss before his palms grip onto your thighs and open you up, nearly spread-eagle. he eats you like this, cleaning you up, using the mind gift not to dampen your thoughts this time, but to swim in them. to hear how much it aches and how much you love it, thoughts spiralling sweetly as he drives you to another climax. this one sweeter, because he's there to lick it up.
"mon petit vieux, armand..." you coo when he comes up, one palm covering your mouth to stifle the cheek-splitting grin and failing completely. your giggles turn into a gasp when his palm comes down the meat of your ass, the slap stinging and delicious.
"behave," he clicks his teeth, but his smile gives him away.
A/N; woah. i did not know i had so much to say. when anon orders dumbification armand but the chef sprinkles in a bit of that brat taming house-special sauce and adds complimentary patronizing terms of endearment fries... we're eating good tonight! oh to be his little butterfly sighhh <3 also, mon petit vieux means my little old man, which made me do sommersaults once i found out bc it's the cutest fucking thing ever for armand :'3
(puce = literally "flea" (sweetheart, darling, etc) / mon petit chou = literally "my little cream puff" (sweetheart, darling, etc) / ma chouchoute = my favorite/darling/pet / mon petit vieux = my little old man!)
⭒ ݁ . read on ao3. my masterlist. leave a reblog and your thoughts!
In 2018, I wrote down a passing thought in my cheap little leather-bound journal I was writing a collection of songs in that would go on to become Preacher’s Daughter. “If I finish this album the way it needs to be finished, it will change my life, and it will leave a hole in my heart for years that I won’t know how to fill.” I’ve always had a knack for eerily accurate self-premonition. Preacher’s Daughter certainly left a hole, and it certainly changed my life, but only on the outside. All the songs I wrote for it were about characters, a girl in a “faraway” place living her “faraway” life, albeit still parallel to mine, but wholly detached from me. Willoughby was doomed to be closer to home. I wrote Nettles and Waco the same week, the first week I spent in the Alabama house where I would finish Preacher’s Daughter after so many years of trying. The difference was I wrote them about me. There were no characters at first; it was just me. In fact, I wrote them in an attempt to hide from Ethel Cain for a moment. She eventually devoured those little ditties too, of course, as she always does. In hindsight, I’m glad I had to share them with her. I couldn’t have carried the full weight of them myself, I know that now. My premonitions were out in full force; over the course of the next few years, I’d script out my own life in the same morbid fashion I always have. Maybe it was a lesson in not training my eye downward as I’ve spent the majority of my life doing.
I had 3 weeks for the holidays between mixing and submitting Perverts and jumping back into the maw of taming an unfinished Willoughby Tucker. I spent the first three months of 2025 on probation, unable to go much of anywhere, awake only when the sun was down. I’d never mixed a record of that magnitude, which was daunting with deadlines immovable. I remember 9am on my 27th birthday rolling around after being awake for hours whittling away at mixes, announcing the album and entire tour before going back to mix an album that still wasn’t done. I’ve never cried so much finishing a record, and that was before it was even out. Combining your Saturn return, your first shot at true love, and the longest tour of your life is something I would never recommend to anyone. It was the death of both ego and everything around it. I couldn’t be more grateful. Never in my life have I been so turned inside out, so uprooted and unraveled. Looking back, I needed it more than anything.
Thank you to everyone who listened. Ethel Cain and Willoughby Tucker will always be my children, my burnt offerings, what I leave in the storm. Sometimes I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I also fear it’s the only way. Ethel Cain, Willoughby Tucker, I really will always love you. I feel as though in this moment here, saying goodbye, you and I are closer than ever. I hope you can forgive me.
and my blood is all i see (armand x female reader)
No tw, but this is literally just a shortish period porn without plot. We also have some pussy eating so yeah. Dont judge me.
Im thinking of opening requests too but idk maybe once ive done the plus size reader fic?
You were on your period. That fantastic time of the month that put all your hormones into a blender and sprinkled them on top of cramps and crap skin.
You, like most people that have periods, hated this time of the month. You parkoured from irritable, to horny, to just miserable. While Armand was slightly older than yourself, his experience with periods was pretty much nil. He knew what it was vaguely, but not enough for his liking. Nights on your period would be spent with him looking up various remedies for cramps, with varying degrees of success.
“You know sex can help with the throes of menstruation," Armand says as you sit shoulder to shoulder in bed. You try to recall if you’d mentioned your period at all today. “Vampire senses my dear.”
“Stupid vampire senses. Did you look this up on your Ipad?" you ask, laughing a little.
"Of course. However else would I gain further knowledge on how to help? As you know my last lover was Louis and he did not possess a uterus."
"You know what would help? Not talking about your ex," you reply, scowling. It was irrational jealousy, you had no reason to dislike Louis. But there was always a niggling feeling that he was Armand's one that got away.
"My apologies, my love. Louis was a large part of my life, I can't erase him from the memories I share with you."
"I get it. You know who I was thinking about earlier? My ex boyfriend. Oh he was so hot, and really fucked me so good."
Armand clenches his jaw, his expression stony. "A little melodramatic but point taken." You smile, smug etched around your face. A silence falls between you. "You don't really think about your ex do you?"
You laugh and he looks offended slightly. Armand had a tendency to be blank faced, you assume it's a defence mechanism but you've never really asked about it. It was rare for him to have the facade slip, but you were eternally grateful for it when it did. It showed that he trusted you and you never took that for granted.
Scooting over to him with no grace whatsoever, you cup his face with your hand, his head leaning into the touch. Even after all your time together, he was still touch starved, still needy for any touch you could give.
"Hm no, I do think about this one guy though," you say, your thumb stroking his cheekbone. "He disappears a lot, and he's kind of cold."
Armand looks at you with a small smile on his face before pressing a chaste kiss to your hand. "He sounds dreadful, you should dump him."
"I would, but I'm pretty besotted with him," you reply, ceasing your movements. Looking into his eyes, you want him to feel every syllable. You wanted him to be wrapped in your love, you knew he sometimes saw love as transactional, but you hoped that slowly he would know your love had no conditions.
"What a lucky guy," Armand observes, peppering kisses on your still hand and moving up your arm. You squirm as he kisses at the bend of your elbow, the featherlight touch of his lips tickling. Moving up over your clothed shoulder, he reaches your neck and automatically you move to allow him more access which draws a small chuckle from him.
"Shut up," you mutter but there's malice in it. He doesn't respond, instead kissing at the spot behind your ear that makes you exhale a little. He's facing you now, leaning in to kiss you and you close your eyes, your lips meeting. There's no passion behind it, just romance and you can feel him push you back onto the bed as the kiss deepens. You taste mint as his tongue finds yours and you can smell the cologne you bought him; bergamot and oakmoss with a little bit of honey.
His hands never leave your face as he kisses you, but his knee nudges your legs apart and he settles between them, the weight of him pressed on top of you. Moving back down your neck with his mouth, his fingers trail at the hem of your top, his face moving far enough to ask you a question with his eyes.
"I'm on my period," you remind. He looks at you like you've not said a thing. "It's just a little...I don't know. Gross?"
"My love and light," he says, taking your hand into his. "I drink blood on a nightly basis. I do this because I have to. Let me do this because I want to, because I want to make you feel nothing but pleasure."
You nod, letting him continue. He discards your top, unclipping your bra with one hand as he strokes at your side. He's gentle as his hand moves to your breasts, running a finger around your nipples, the buds hardening. You moan softly as his mouth replaces his finger, and your hand moves under the fabric of his shirt, the skin cold and smooth under your palm.
You shift your thighs a little in arousal, so turned on and this was barely foreplay for you both. Sometimes Armand would take hours just touching and kissing you, like he was trying to memorise every molecule of your body.
Moving down, he taps your leg and you shift your hips up, letting him pull down your trousers and throw to the floor. You can feel the clothed outline of his hard cock pressing against your inner thigh as his hands move down your hips, stopping at the waistband of your panties. You groan inwardly as you remember what panties you’re wearing. Your Day 3 period panties; stained and sagging at the hips but oh so comfortable.
“Can I?” Armand asks. You nod, any insecurity about your undergarment preferences out the window as he removes your underwear. He dips a finger between your folds and you moan softly. It’s hardly even a touch but you’re so sensitive there during this time of the month. His fingertip is red and you try hard to stop the internalised shame that you know shouldn’t be there.
Armand puts the finger in his mouth, red no longer there with a swipe of his tongue. His eyes are dark as they look at you, the kind of dark after he's fed. It's not often you see it, Armand prefers you keep away from him. Not because he lacks self control but because he doesn't want you seeing "the monster he is."
Settling himself between your thighs, you lull your head back onto the pillows, willing your body to stop being so tense. You want this, can feel your cunt tighten around nothing but anticipation as Armand moves towards your pussy.
His tongue is tender, almost testing as he licks at you. It relaxes you immediately and your legs open a little more as his tongue starts to circle your clit, each touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you.
The faint smell of copper fills the air as Armand devours you, his tongue lapping in between your legs like a man starved. 'Oh god," you moan, grabbing a fistful of his hair, the soft strands winding their way around your fingers
"No, just me," he mumbles against your folds, the vibration ticklish. You look down at him in awe, his expression (from the half you can see) is bashful, all bright eyed with glee.
"The one time you make a joke and it's when you're face deep in my pu-" your sentence trails off into a deep groan as Armand fucks your hole with his tongue. His fingers move to your clit as he licks at your most private place, eating you from the inside. "F-f-uck, Armand."
Your legs begin to shake as you can feel your body tensing up, your orgasm beginning to approach. You grab at his hair, keeping him in place as you buck your hips onto his tongue. With a moan you're cumming against his mouth, and you can feel the gush between your legs as your thighs clamp his head. You exhale shakily as your body untenses itself and you lie there, your vision a little blurry. Your throat is dry, your thighs are sore and you feel entirely spent.
His face is bloody as he comes up, mouth and lips all red, and you realise then, this is you marking him as yours. Your blood is now in him, where it will remain until you no longer bleed or breathe.
"Satisfactory?" Armand asks, a knowing look on his face.
"Fuck off, you know it was," you reply, scrunching your nose as he wipes his fingers. He goes to wipe his face and you place a hand on his arm to stop it. "Leave it." Part of you is disgusted, wants to tell him to wash his face, scrub at it until nothing remains. But the other part, the perverted part of you that very rarely gets seen enjoys the sight. Much like a man likes to see his cum painted over someone's face, the essence of you smeared all over him is incredibly arousing.
He’s still hard and you lean over, tugging the collar of his shirt to get his attention. Raising an eyebrow at you, he smirks, unbuckling his belt at too slow a pace for you.
“Hurry up,” you whine, opening your legs wider at him. His throat bobs as he swallows, his tongue darting out to lick his lower lip as his eyes don’t divert from between your legs. Remembering where he is, Armand gets rid of his fabric constraints with a blink of an eye. You can see he’s desperately hard, the tip slick with precum.
Kneeling between your legs, he pulls one up to wrap his waist before he pushes deep into you. You both moan as he’s inside you. You’re tighter than usual but the stretch feels good and you can feel your muscles relax a little around him. He goes slow, too slow, pulling all the way out and then thrusting back in, bottoming out in one thrust.
You know he’s teasing you, wants to hear you beg for it, beg for him. “Armand, please, my love.” Nestling his head in the curve of your neck, he thrusts into you hard, his hips hitting the back of your thighs. You can feel his gasps against your skin and then he’s turning you onto your side and hitting something new deep inside you.
You shuffle your head up so he can slip his hand underneath you, his fingers trailing along your collarbone. You throw one leg behind over his hip, your hand moving to his ass to push him into you deeper. The bed is creaking with every thrust and you’re almost incoherent at the pleasure that alights around you.
His thrusts become more erratic as he’s close to cumming and with a groan he spills his seed into you, warmth filling you. His head rests against the back of your shoulder for a sec, and you turn to press a kiss to his nose.
He pulls out, the evidence of your intimacy now a dark circle on the sheets. You look down at your body, blood smeared on your inner thighs and you smile.
Maybe there were some positives about having a period.
