likes: iwtv, yellowjackets, twd, labyrinth (1986), ariana grande, and ethel cain + the hunger games, and bridgerton ANDD vintage stuff, history and historical fashion, music, and medieval things and the tudor era + fantasy stuff
dni: trumpies, racists, homophobic people, transphobic people, zionists, or u support ice, or anything along those lines
characters I relate to: armand, lestat de lioncourt, dean winchester, lottie matthews, lucy gray, elphaba thropp, natasha romanoff, finnick odair, and eloise bridgerton
some facts abt me: I write music, I sing, edit, write, and I do theatre!! Im also a Aphrodite and Hecate devotee, as well as someone who practices witchcraft!! Im also INFP, and i edit more on my tiktok (_may133_) !!
i pause everytime i hear the first note of a house in nebraska because nothing will ever measure up to the first moment i heard that note while driving back to my home state in the middle of the night
okayy so i recently watched s.1 ep.7 of hotd so can we get like coven leader armand with a short tempered alicent-like reader?
A serious trigger warning for domestic violence and allusions to SA. Please take care of yourself and do not read this if you are at all triggered or uncomfortable with reading about that.
note: manipulation (not just armand), blood drinking (consensual and not), violence but no gore, NUCLEAR family, Santiago is a scapegoat for violence for me idgaf, reader is as morally gray and repressed as Alicent is in the show, hints to nsfw
Being under your maker, Vincent's, care was a privilege. It was something you were reminded of every night of your existence.
He was the one who graciously allowed you and your children to reside in his family's home under careful supervision. They were your responsibility, your burden, and your reason for living all at once.
They had come from your human flesh and were given a chance at survival with your tainted blood. The sweet agony of hearing their screams during birth and their subsequent transformation was almost unbearable. It meant they were alive, and that was one of the worst things they could be under Vincent's roof.
You fantasized about what your life would be like without the burden of your children. If perhaps you had never allowed yourself to be entranced by Vincent in both life and death, you would already be in the ground. Rotting seemed preferable to the life you led with your family.
The oldest of your children, Alexander, was disappointing. He failed at virtually everything a vampire of his age and caliber should have already succeeded at. His own coven, fledglings, responsibilty you had the unfortunate privilege of having at half his age. None of the hopes you had for him never fully realized, and you made sure to mention it whenever you got the chance. You were not deaf to the gossip and insults that were hurled his way by other members of the coven; you simply stopped caring to refute them ages ago.
Helen and Dante, your third and fourth-born respectively, were your saving graces. They had enough sense to hide away far out of sight from the rest of the coven's prying eyes before they could embarrass you further. You made sure they had a semblence of status as your children, but your efforts only distanced themselves further away. They were sweet and pliant in a way that gutwrenchingly reminded you of yourself, long ago. Before the blood and the killing and Vincent.
And then there was Amon. He was the only one out of your children that truly saw you. The only one who steadfastedly assured you that you had made the right choice in staying with Vincent, among other things. You tried your best to ignore that glint in his eyes when he looked at you. It was like he saw you as more of a person of interest, a fine specimen rather than his mother and superior. What terrified you the most, however, was his willingness to defend your honor over the smallest of slights. While it was…rewarding to see the aftermath of his attacks, you scolded him endlessly that he was not yet free to do whatever he wished and that he was no coven leader.
That seemed to work, if only for a short while. But nothing stuck forever, and then there would be another crisis for you to tend to.
Despite his best efforts, Amon remained as equally troublesome as Alexander. It sickened you to think what would become of your oafish older sons and unsullied younger children.
Vincent was another story entirely. It was one of your deepest sources of shame, how you came to be his.
—
You could hardly look away from him. A vampire with dark olive skin and piercing orange eyes was before you, a beauty unlike anything you had ever beheld. His lips were engaged in conversation with Vincent, an exchange between coven leaders. It was a sight you were accustomed to, but never was a leader as poised and attractive as this one.
"Ow! " You whipped your head around at the sudden exclamation from behind you. Dante was rubbing his arm, with Alexander looking a little too innocent for your liking. The look you shot the two of them made their backs stand a little straigher.
"Are they going to be a problem, Signore Vincent? " The Parisian coven leader, Armand, asked your maker.
Vincent coughed, springing you into action by offering a steady hand on his back and a handkerchief. He waved you off, but leaned on your palm as he responded.
"No, Maître. You must forgive my children, they are quite adept at, " He paused to ponder a gentle description of your sons. "Unruly displays of affection. But I swear to you that we will cause no disruptions to your troupe. "
"Very well. " Armand flicked his attention between you and Vincent before stepping aside and allowing you all further into the theater. You guided your maker to a seat as he began his coughing fit.
Alexander, ever the 'charmer', immediately honed in and began chatting up a dark haired vampiress. Amon sulked in a corner, joined by his sister shortly after. Dante was quickly singled out by members of the band and was in enthusiastic conversation with the musicians.
"You're doing it again. " You looked down at Vincent. At your confused look, he said, "Pinpointing every one of them, keeping tally marks of their transgressions and concocting a speech for later. "
"I don't concoct. " You said, incredulous.
Vincent seemed to disagree. He took your hand, and it took everything in your being not to wrench it out of his clammy grasp. "Stop your worries. Everyone is safe, and you need not be so guarded. "
Training your face into a strained grin, you wordlessly nodded. You gently unslipped your hand from him and whispered.
"I'm going to coffin. Tell the children I said good night, please. " His smile and soft eyes haunted you on your trek from the foyer of the theater to the inner bowels of the building. You found your shared coffin with relative ease, considering its position in the middle of the room. Your children's coffins encircled the space to make it seem like a mausoleum.
You contemplated locking yourself in the coffin with a padlock, never to emerge for anyone or anything ever again.
"That would not be wise, " A voice spoke from the ether, jolting you from your thoughts of passive despair.
"Maître? I apologize, I did not mean for my thoughts to be so…intrusive. " You offered, clasping your hands together, knuckles turning white. The coven leader, your new leader, approached your form with a confidence you had not seen Vincent carry himself with in ages. You maintained eye contact, his golden irises never once wavering to blink or drag his gaze up and down your body. It was like he was psychically trying to pry open your soul, hold it in his hands for the both of you to see.
What terrified you the most was the fact that you wouldn't have denied him that privilege.
He leaned close to your face, still fixated on you. "Are you unhappy with your lodgings? Is the space my coven has graciously prepared for you and your family inadequate? "
You shook your head. He beckoned you to speak. "No, not at all, Maître. I simply…" Your gaze left his as your mind drifted to your maker. "I do not easily acclimate to new surroundings. I..wanted to find comfort on my own, rather than disturb Vincent with my tossing and turning. "
"Your Vincent does not tolerate you getting comfortable? "
"…Quite the opposite. Vincent revels in making me as uncomfortable as possible. " You hanged your head in shame. You didn't catch the split look of understanding that showed on Armand's face before he spoke.
"I see. " He turned his head towards the coffin, still unopened and the newest one from the local funeral parlor. He lifted the lid with one hand, and you tilted your head to look at the interior.
"I was told that this particular lining is quite lush. " He took your hand, ignoring the slight flinch the moment his flesh grazed yours, and placed it on the inside walls. The fabric lining the interior was unlike anything you had felt before.
"Is this velvet? " You looked at him in disbelief, gasping at his soft smile and nod. You backed away from the coffin as if you were burnt. "I-We cannot thank you enough, Maître. Truly, this is a gift we do not deserve-"
"Nonsense. " Armand gently interrupted your protests. "You are vampires, same as the rest of us. We all know the importance of rest, and the place where we choose to lay our head greatly influences our ability to hunt. " He took your hand once more, finding your wide-eyed gaze as he placed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. "Another influence happens to be the person we lay with, as well. " You gulped, mostly in shock and partly to smother the simmering lust you felt bubble underneath the flesh Armand's fingers found.
Just as you were about to act, whether to act upon your desire or push him away, you would never know. A scream and the sound of objects being thrown snapped you and Armand out of your shared reverie. You snatched your hand back, immediately speeding away towards the building commotion.
The main foyer was in disarray, chairs and wayward bottles were in pieces on the floor. A crowd of vampires were shouting profanities and pleas to stop fighting, and you couldn't tell where your maker and children were. You managed to zero in on a flash of your youngest child's, Dante's, hair color. Your hair color. Your child was the one in danger.
You launched yourself straight into the crowd with your supernatural speed, inadvertedly knocking several members of Armand's coven to the ground with the force of your appearance. Dante was being held to the floor, screaming and bleeding from the head, an older vampire whose face you could not see cackling at his despair. Helen lay crumpled on the floor next to him, although you were unable to see any wounds. You acted without thinking and slit the throat of the vampire holding Dante down, picked his shocked form up and threw him to the side.
You kneeled to Dante's writhing body, your questions almost inaudible by his cries of pain. You shushed him quietly, bringing his and Helen's head to your lap. A quick nick at your wrist made the blood come flowing out and into your son's mouth. As he began to suckle, you locked eyes with the closest vampire, one with curly parted hair and a frightened look.
"Where is my maker? Where is Vincent? " He shook his head. "My Alex? And Amon? " They all stared, slackjawed and wide eyed.
"FIND THEM. NOW! " Your voice boomed throughout the room, spurring the crowd into action. Dante unlatched himself from your wrist with a groan, and you gingerly smoothed back the hairs on his head. You moved your bleeding wrist to Helen's mouth, urging her unconscious mind to drink.
"Shh, love. Where is your father and brothers? What happened, Dante? " He swallowed before speaking with blood stained teeth.
"Vincent wasn't feeling himself, he-he asked Alexander to escort him outside. I think he was with Eglee, so he ignored father. Amon said he'd do it. I don't know where they went, but next thing I knew Santiago was throwing his arm over me, and-and he was squeezing so hard! Helen tried to stop him but he didn't. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry. " Dante continued rambling, breaking down into sobs that you shushed away.
You helped Dante sit up so you could hug him properly. Helen made a small sound in her sleep, and you sighed in relief. You wanted to sob, too. You settled for squeezing your children harder.
—
Both coven leaders were talking in Armand's office. Amon returned alongside his ailing father immediately at your psychic command. They were supposedly on a father-son walk, one filled with revelations and a structured bond as your two youngest children were actively in harms way.
You replayed the moment you shared with Armand at your coffin. How foolish were you to think that something as trivial as a coffin was enough to signify a true alliance. Your anger showed in the rhythmic pattern your nails made against the wood of your seat. There was a pain steadily growing throughout your jaw with how tightly you held it shut for fear of unleashing a frenzy held deep within your soul.
The sound of footsteps approaching you caused you to stand, arms crossed and your teeth clacking in rage and impatience. Vincent slowly entered the room, helped by Alexander. You crossed the distance in a flash to deliver a blow to the head to your son. His head cracked against the wall, and his face morphed into one of betrayal and hate.
"That, " You pointed at him, swatting at Vincent's attempts to corral you away from Alex. "Was only a fraction! Of the pain your brother and sister endured in your absence. " You raised your hand once more, but lowered it almost immediately. You scoffed and shook your head. "You are no child of mine. If only it were possible to return to my mortal years, I would've ensured I would never be able to bear a son as useless as you! " You screamed at his putrid face, all twisted into a scowl, as if he had any right to act indignant. Vincent tried once more to calm you, but you ripped yourself away from his grasp.
"Out. " You dismissed your oldest disappointment out, and he left with nothing but a slam of the door. Your maker, despite his weakened form, was sturdy enough to pin you to the wall you had knocked Alexander into just moments ago. You squirmed in vain as Vincent began to bombard you with his own form of torture.
You could do nothing as his fangs sunk into your neck and began to drink. The feeling of his mouth suctioning your blood into him, nourishing him as it weakened you, was one you were all too familiar with. There was a cobweb in the corner of the room, and you wondered if the spider that created it was satisfied with its work or if it too was miserable in the web of its making.
After what seemed like hours of feeding, Vincent finally unlatched himself from your neck and allowed you to collapse to the floor, hard. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and you noticed he stood a little straighter, maintained his balance a little easier now that he had his fill of you.
"Armand has allowed us to stay, grazie Dio. Groveling is something I despise doing, you know that. " He nudged your head with his shoe. "Isn't it? I was asking you a question, dear. "
"Yes. I know. " Your words tumbled out like a small child still learning syntax.
"And yet, I had to do sooo much of it. No thanks to your, " He hissed out the final word as if it pained him to say it. "Theatrics. " His hand found your scalp, tugging you up onto your tip toes. You grasped at his hold, fighting to be let free, to fall to the ground so you wouldn't have to look at him.
"I believe a thank you is in order, dearest. Would it not be for me, you would have been outcasted. Discarded without a second thought. " He pouted his lips and you wanted to rip them off. "But your children need you. Your husband needs you. We can't live without you, carissimo. " His lips grazed your cheek as a blood-tear trickled down your face.
"Well? "
"T-Thank you, Vincent. I wouldn't-could never live without you or the children either. " You managed to choke out as his tongue lathed up the trail of your tear. He hummed against your skin.
"Of course, my love. I expect Armand to feel that same regret from you, alright? " He smiled at your confused expression before pressing a kiss to your lips.
"He requested to see you tonight. So I expect to hear nothing more of this nonsense after you are done with him, yes? "
"Yes, Vincent. "
"Hm, what a good pet. "
—
You made your way to Armand's office on unsteady feet. Everyone else had gone to coffin, although you suspected that they had simply confined themselves to rooms in the Theater to avoid interacting with you and your family anymore. You couldn't find the energy to blame them, or do much of anything but trudge slowly to Armand.
The only thing that kept you moving was the thought that you didn't have to spend the night with Vincent's fangs buried in your neck. Not even to feed. Just to hold in his jaw a reminder that he could take away your Dark Gift as easily as he had given it.
Armand opened the door himself before you had a chance to knock. You did little more than sway for a minute before him before he caught you. Any strength you had left in your body was fading quickly, and Armand understood that you needed to feed.
He cradled your head so tenderly you almost sobbed. You wrapped your arms around his midriff, and he allowed it. You smelled his blood, but you ignored the urge to latch onto him and drink in favor of being held for just a moment longer.
"I will not let you go. Please feed, you need to regain your strength. " He whispered close to your ear. You allowed his wrist to rest on your lips and you suckled. Armand let out a sigh, and he began to stroke your head. Mentally, you asked the question:
"Why are you being so kind? I attacked one of your own, I should be punished! "
"Based on your state, I say you have suffered enough. Santiago was out of line, and he was swiftly dealt with, thanks to you. " You paused at your feeding to gaze up at his face. "You were brilliant. Santiago needed to be silenced, and he was. I understand that you were just trying to protect your children. Your protectiveness is…admirable. "
Your face was in Armand's hands. Once again, you allowed yourself to be picked apart and looked upon with total vulnerability by this entity in front of you. Armand smiled as he wiped away a drop of blood from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He offered the smudged liquid to you, and you allowed the tip of his finger to press against your tongue. You closed your mouth, lathing his appendage in your saliva, never breaking eye contact with Armand once. He slowly pulled away his thumb from your mouth, and you pressed a kiss to the tip of it before he removed it entirely.
He smiled at your rejuvinated face, your eyes filled with that same lust from eariler that night. Armand allowed you to pull him in, to press your lips against his and taste his blood. He guided you to his coffin, allowed you to manipulate his limbs to your liking, and later hold you in the afterglow of your communion.
"Maître? " He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder and hummed. "Did…Did Vincent beg you? "
"What? "
You turned to rest your chin on his chest. "Vincent. He told me that he begged and groveled to try and convince you to let me stay. Is what he says true? "
Armand stroked your cheek. "Quite the opposite. It felt like I was the one convincing him to allow you to stay. " The change in your demeanor was immediate. He continued.
"Like I said, I was moved by your dedication to your family. Vincent, on the other hand, saw your devotion as, and I quote, 'a fucking nightmare'. " He gently patted your face to bring your focus back to him. "I have no reason to lie to you. Please, if you truly want the best for you and your children, you know that it no longer involves Vincent. "
"But he said…was all of it a lie? " Your breathing started to get heavy, and Armand pinched his face together in pity. He pressed your face into his naked chest as you sobbed, your tears leaving a bloody mess in its wake.
He had no reason to lie, but that did not mean he had a reason to tell the truth, either.
author's note: I really apologize to the anon that requested this, I hope the length makes up for the wait!! I really got lost in the plot sauce :( I hope you all enjoyed reading!!!
cw/tags: sensuality, drug abuse, alcoholism, implied sa, reader is very much a perfectionist, hint of manipulative armand, lots of death, fluff!! and no proofread. (word count: 3,424!!)
summary: the days leading up to your big performance of swan lake, and the growing tension between Armand and you.
The next few days after practice you'd find yourself strolling the streets of San Francisco with Armand. You'd discuss any topic you could—art, music, books or anything that peaked the two of your interests. You hadn't smoked as much the past few days. It felt like Armand was a drug himself, one you could take forever if you could've. Of course there was nothing established between the two of you, just a strong bond that was teetering into something more.
After practice today him and you decided to walk along the pier, you wanted to discuss Swan Lake, he just wanted to listen to you. He seemed to be an intent listener. While you droned on about a topic you'd liked, his gaze would roam over you. Not an uncomfortable gaze—it more was a gaze of 'Are you truly there? Or did I make you up?'
"I really hope you'll be coming to see the show." You smiled over at him, his pace matching yours as you walked along the pier.
"I wouldn't miss it. I'm looking forward to see how you portray Odette's character, although I would've loved to have seen how you'd play Odile." He returns your smile, him gazing over you once more.
You stop close to the railing of the pier, looking out into the ocean. You cross your arms, leaning against the railing. "I love the ocean—but it's been the same view I've seen since I was a kid. I would love to see Paris in the winter..." You look over to Armand, his gaze meeting yours in a second. He paused to let his eyes search yours for a beat.
"I would take you whenever you would like to go. Just say the words and we can go see Paris." You turn yourself back to the water, watching the ripples of dark blue.
"Maybe another time—after the performances... but I also don't want you to go through the trouble of getting us both to Paris. It is a really kind offer though." You smile softly, your hands fidgeting with your sleeve.
"You do that a lot. The fidgeting. Did I say something?" You look over to see Armand's face twisted in emotion—sadness, fear, guilt—none of which were the dominant emotion. Those lovely amber eyes of his tinting to a near crimson color. Your hearts sinks.
"No, Armand, not at all..." You feel guilty for even looking at him now, knowing you caused the evident distress. "If I was sad you wouldn't cause it. It's always been something I've done—I think about things sometimes from the past that I still want buried. It can hurt but I try not to show it." You finally meet his gaze. "Please, never think you have caused me sadness, I am so sorry."
Your apology had surprised him, his eyebrows lifting slightly, and his eyes widening. "I understand. I just wanted to make sure I hadn't hurt you."
You lean closer to him—your voice dropping to a whisper. "You couldn't hurt me, Armand. I think you are probably one of the best things to happen to me in years." You pull back to smile at him—your hand hovering near his before retracting it. He lets out a sigh.
"Thank you for saying that. That is very kind, more than you could ever know." His hand finally finds yours and laces them together. Your gaze drops down to your now joined hands before back to those eyes of his you've come to love.
For a moment neither of you speak. It's like the two of you were frozen in time, like statues of lovers from long ago. The world had fallen around you both—leaving the two of you alone in the quiet dusk.
After a beat you pull back—and the loss of your touch caused clear distress upon his face. "I should be heading back. My director said I need to get good sleep the days leading up to the performance."
Armand nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Your director is right. I can walk you back if you'd like." You let the thought run in your mind for a beat, before agreeing. So you both begin walking back to your place.
Once you had reached your place, Armand and you turned back to each other again. Armand's eyes trail over your lips for a moment before flickering back up to meet your gaze. "I've enjoyed our walks this last week." Heat rushes to your cheeks, as you nod.
"I have too, Armand." You turn back to your apartment for a beat, debating whether or not to invite him inside. Uncertainty clouded your mind until Armand spoke again.
"I need to be heading back to my place too. I am excited for your performance Friday." A soft smile appears on your face—your gaze meeting his again. "Goodnight, Mon étoile." He says in a tone only you can hear.
"Goodnight, Armand." His gaze quickly drops to your lips again before he starts off down the sidewalk.
The next day you had woken up late—you immediately grabbed your backpack before heading out to your car. Your car took off down the street—the radio mumbling something about a body found in an alley a night ago. You turned off the radio, looking at the pack of cigarettes in your door before putting them in some compartment away from you.
As you walked into your studio, the company's dancers and your director crowded into a circle—some girls makeup had been stained from tears. Before you can say anything—your director ushers you into a corner.
"What is it? Why is everyone crying?-" Your director grips your shoulders, a tempest of emotions on his face. He quickly brings you into his office, sitting you down in a chair. He slumps down in his chair, sighing out.
"Cora... was found dead in an alley last night." Your hand quickly covers your mouth. Cora, the dancer for Odile was the body found in that alley? "I can't have this company ruined again." He tilts your face up to meet his gaze. "I need you to dance both, I know you've practiced both, so you now must do both for the sake of the company." He releases your face, taking a deep breath in. "Come in early tomorrow, try your hardest to remember the steps. I cannot have this company fall apart. I am sending everyone home today except for you. Practice as long as you need." He swiftly walks out of the room, leaving you breathing heavily and your palms shaking.
You had to perform both parts of Swan Lake now. The whole company was counting on you to not screw this up. You quickly walk outside the the backside of the studio, reaching in your bag for a singular cigarette to boost you, and there was nothing. "Fuck!" You sit down against the wall, your hands gripping your sweater. Tears threatening to spill, but after a beat nothing came.
The next few hours of practice you pushed yourself—you had to be perfect for this performance. So you kept going, and going, and going. This whole performance was going to be relying on you. You got the role you wanted—it just didn't feel like it was the correct way. Why would anyone kill Cora anyways?
After five hours of extensive, hard practice you made it back to your apartment. When you go to your mailbox, you surprisingly have a letter. You open it up to find it to have been from your mother. She was coming to the performance tomorrow. After everything, she was coming—but in her own words she said "to watch you fail." You crumple the paper up before throwing it in the trash. Walking up to your apartment with tears stinging your eyes.
Cora was dead, you have to memorize a whole new character before tomorrow night, and your mother was coming to see you fail your performance. You drop your bag on the floor, searching for something to help ease your mood. Weed, or alcohol—but once again there was nothing. You just wanted him—Armand. You sink into your bed, your eyelashes wet from the unshed tears. You turned over, stifling your sobs into the pillow below you.
Around ten minutes later, a soft knock was heard at your door. You wipe away the traces from your sulking before opening the door. There stood Armand—his eyes widening as he saw the state you were in. Before you could explain he gently grabbed your waist and sat you down on your bed.
"What had happened to you, hm?" He cooed, gently tracing soft circles on your hand. Before you can speak, the tears return—this time in a more hysterical manner. Armand tilts his head at you. "Can you breathe with me?" He brings your joined hands to your heart, his gaze never leaving yours. Your breathing begins to calm down after a beat, your free hand wiping away your tears.
"I am sorry." You mutter, your gaze falling to the ground. Armand pauses, his free hand coming up to tilt your face so your eyes meet.
"There is no reason to apologize. I just want to know what is hurting you." His thumb wipes away a fallen tear, before resting at the corner of your lips. "Or we don't have to talk about it. Not right now."
You pause for a moment, taking a minute to process what all is happening. You had just gone from crying, to peacefully sitting with Armand. "I don't want to talk about it right now." Armand nods, your joint hands now resting against his leg.
Your breathing had finally slowed—a quiet tension now laying across Armand and you as if it were a shared blanket. Without realizing you both had subconsciously leaned closer to each other, your gazes roaming over the other with soft reverence—before meeting once again. Armand's hand trailed up your arm, coming to rest at your jawline, keeping the two of you looking at each other. Your free hand came to the nape of his neck, threading through the dark curls there. For a moment you two just gazed into each others eyes, as if the whole world had fallen away. With a gentle motion, Armand finally pulled you closer—giving you one final chance to back out, and when you didn't, he finally kissed you.
The kiss started gentle, like waves lapping against the shore in the early morning—until the pent up passion between the two of you had gave way, as if a thunderstorm had replaced the gentle morning. The next thing you had known is that you were lying back against your pillow, Armand's body above you—and in that moment you'd had never felt safer, it felt as if you belonged in his arms. You pulled back for a beat, catching your breath—before Armand began to trail kisses down the side of your neck, his free hand coming over to lock with yours. Your other hand found itself threading through his curls, Armand leaning into the warmth of your touch. Before anything else could happen, you finally spoke. "I love you, Armand." He pulls back for a beat, stunned by your words, before his hand came to rest on your cheek.
"I love you too, mon coeur." Before he had finally reconnected your lips, drowning the two of you in the sensation once more.
In the morning, as the sun began to come up—you awoke to Armand's arm around your waist. The scent of iris flowing throughout the room. You turned over to him, gently running your hands through his hair to wake him up. He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze immediately finding you—a gentle smile on his face.
You returned his smile before getting out of bed, "I have a bit of a long day—I'm about to head out to run through the performance." You leaned over towards him, kissing him gently before getting dressed. You felt his gaze once more, everytime you moved across the room, as if he was your own personal audience in a performance.
He finally gets out of bed with you, your eyes immediately gazing over him as well. The whole night had felt like heaven before you were to be thrust into hell with the ballet tonight. Right before you can walk out the door, he kisses your forehead and mumbles, "I can't wait to see Odette and Odile tonight." You smile tiredly at him, taking a beat to breathe, then walking out the door.
You walk into the rehearsal room, determined to finish this performance as quick as you possibly can. Luckily your director scheduled the other performances for later in the month. Your scene partner had given you a once over, making sure you were okay after the news yesterday. Once you nodded, the orchestra had begun to play, the character immediately snapping into place.
After a few hours of rehearsal, it was time the the grand performance. You were in your dressing room—letting the makeup brush across your face, the gentle touch reminding you of Armand's. Before you can reminisce further about last night, there's a knock on the door. "Miss, you have someone requesting to speak with you. An older woman." Your eyes widened, jaw slightly dropping. Your mother. You couldn't shy away now, you had to prove her wrong about every shitty thing she'd ever said about your passion.
You walk out of your dressing room, your head held high as you see her. It had been months since you last saw her, after a huge fight over your future. "Did you get my letter?" Her grating voice hurt your head, after years of calling you horrid things, she acts like she can just show up to your job.
"I did, yeah." You fidget with the fabric of your skirt, not meeting your mother's gaze. She gives you a glance of disapproval.
"Let's hope you aren't as much of a failure as your father was." Before you can rebuttal, she walks past you to the auditorium. After a minute you walk after her, earning confused glances from the company's dancers. Then you finally stop hard in your tracks after you feel a grip against your wrist. You look up to see who the hand belongs to, and your eyes widen in fear the moment you see who it his. Your old ex? Old hookup? Whatever it was, it was awful and left you fucked up.
You pull back immediately, letting your voice drop to a mutter. "What the fuck are you doing here?" His gaze hints at something more, like he's here to make you feel worthless.
"I can't come see an old friend perform? That's cold." You immediately pull your hand back, but before you can his grip tightens. "Can you give me a minute, it's only fair after evading me last week-"
"Let me go, now!" Your face twists in anger as you shove him back, almost sending him into another person behind him. A security guard grabs your ex, and drags him away, and behind the unfolding scene was Armand, worry, confusion, and something else you couldn't place on his face. You quickly turned away, trying to not cry away your makeup.
You had finally made it onto stage, after everything in the last week—you were performing, and you were absolutely perfect. You had to be. Your eyes glanced out to the audience every few seconds. What did Armand think about the situation earlier? Was he angry at me now? What was he thinking. What did your mother think of you onstage, after years of her cruel and vile words. You couldn't give up now, you couldn't give her that satisfaction. So you danced, and didn't even miss a beat.
You had given a great performance, your director had already dropped off roses from someone in your room—and you did have a few minutes before your grand finale. Odette's death. What's the harm in a single cigarette to keep you going? So you grabbed a light and a cigarette and finally walked out into the back alley.
You leaned up against the wall, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. A few seconds into the drag and you heard a strange noise. A few yelps and small cries around a corner in the alley, the sounds accompanying it sounded as if something was hissing, and eating.
You finally turn the corner, and on the ground you see your ex, with blood surrounding him—and Armand standing over him with a bloodied face. You pause, your whole week flashing before your eyes. And now even more importantly, Armand, the man you had finally fallen in love with, kissed, and slept with—the man with the most gentle hands to ever hold you, stood in front of you with bloodied lips, and rage in his amber eyes. Before you can properly process anything you walk back inside, eyes widened from the horror.
You walk back to your dressing room, "Finale in five!" You heard from outside. You had to finish the finale, didn't you? It was what you had been working for. Or was it the need to prove yourself? Too many thoughts started taking over. Just make it through the finale.
You walked back onstage, your dance less forced and more as if you had lost yourself. You got the things you had wanted now, but was it worth it. After everything, was this what you truly wanted? The first man you had ever said I love you to turned out to be the devil?
You looked out to the audience, and instead of catching the gaze of your mothers, you saw Armand. His expression a puzzle of too many emotions. Your eyes widening as you heard a voice in your head that was not yours.
"You were not meant to see that, mon étoile. I really wish you hadn't had seen it." How was he talking to you? You fell out of your turn too quickly. Bringing you back to reality. The music came to the crescendo, the spotlight on you as if it were a cruel joke now. You just had to finish it. And so you took the dive, the crowd erupting with applause.
Before anyone could throw roses you ran off into the wings, grabbing your bag prepared to take off somewhere as quickly as possible. Before you could make it out to a car, you felt your body cease it's movements. You felt his presence before you had seen him, it was Armand. "Please, let me explain." You had no choice, he could kill you with his bare hands. You hesitantly nodded.
You sat in his car, your leg bouncing up and down in the passenger seat, your eyes still wide from the shock the past thirty minutes had brought you. "I am not human, if you haven't realized." You look over to him, his gaze not leaving the road. "And I never meant to scare you with the scene you just witnessed. He didn't deserve to live after what he had done to you." You felt a sense of ease wash over you, as if someone was holding and comforting you. "Cora. She was a gift, I know you wanted both roles." He killed Cora too? You let your eyes close, guilt of what you had let happen to her. Before you can cry, the car stops.
"I need blood to survive—and I will not apologize for wanting you safe, mon coeur. But I never meant to scare you." He turns to you, awe on his face. "You were truly lovely on that stage—you danced so beautifully." You flinch as he reaches his hand out to yours. Armand pauses, a flash of guilt in his eyes. "I would never hurt you. I couldn't hurt you. I know I have just told you these seemingly impossible things, but I have never loved someone as I have loved you. You are truly the most important thing in the world to me. I never meant to hurt you." Your gaze finally notices the fear in his.
"I know... I was just scared of how quickly everything happened." His eyes met yours, adoration in his gaze. He smiled softly has his gaze roamed across you. You couldn't feel any other emotion except happiness. Armand chose you. You were the most important thing to him in the world. So you returned his smile. Before leaning in to kiss him.
i never intended pt. 2 to take such a long time to come out but i hope u like it 😭 -clara
cw/tags: sensuality, drug abuse, alcoholism, implied sa, reader is very much a perfectionist, hint of manipulative armand, lots of death, fluff!! and no proofread. (word count: 3,424!!)
summary: the days leading up to your big performance of swan lake, and the growing tension between Armand and you.
The next few days after practice you'd find yourself strolling the streets of San Francisco with Armand. You'd discuss any topic you could—art, music, books or anything that peaked the two of your interests. You hadn't smoked as much the past few days. It felt like Armand was a drug himself, one you could take forever if you could've. Of course there was nothing established between the two of you, just a strong bond that was teetering into something more.
After practice today him and you decided to walk along the pier, you wanted to discuss Swan Lake, he just wanted to listen to you. He seemed to be an intent listener. While you droned on about a topic you'd liked, his gaze would roam over you. Not an uncomfortable gaze—it more was a gaze of 'Are you truly there? Or did I make you up?'
"I really hope you'll be coming to see the show." You smiled over at him, his pace matching yours as you walked along the pier.
"I wouldn't miss it. I'm looking forward to see how you portray Odette's character, although I would've loved to have seen how you'd play Odile." He returns your smile, him gazing over you once more.
You stop close to the railing of the pier, looking out into the ocean. You cross your arms, leaning against the railing. "I love the ocean—but it's been the same view I've seen since I was a kid. I would love to see Paris in the winter..." You look over to Armand, his gaze meeting yours in a second. He paused to let his eyes search yours for a beat.
"I would take you whenever you would like to go. Just say the words and we can go see Paris." You turn yourself back to the water, watching the ripples of dark blue.
"Maybe another time—after the performances... but I also don't want you to go through the trouble of getting us both to Paris. It is a really kind offer though." You smile softly, your hands fidgeting with your sleeve.
"You do that a lot. The fidgeting. Did I say something?" You look over to see Armand's face twisted in emotion—sadness, fear, guilt—none of which were the dominant emotion. Those lovely amber eyes of his tinting to a near crimson color. Your hearts sinks.
"No, Armand, not at all..." You feel guilty for even looking at him now, knowing you caused the evident distress. "If I was sad you wouldn't cause it. It's always been something I've done—I think about things sometimes from the past that I still want buried. It can hurt but I try not to show it." You finally meet his gaze. "Please, never think you have caused me sadness, I am so sorry."
Your apology had surprised him, his eyebrows lifting slightly, and his eyes widening. "I understand. I just wanted to make sure I hadn't hurt you."
You lean closer to him—your voice dropping to a whisper. "You couldn't hurt me, Armand. I think you are probably one of the best things to happen to me in years." You pull back to smile at him—your hand hovering near his before retracting it. He lets out a sigh.
"Thank you for saying that. That is very kind, more than you could ever know." His hand finally finds yours and laces them together. Your gaze drops down to your now joined hands before back to those eyes of his you've come to love.
For a moment neither of you speak. It's like the two of you were frozen in time, like statues of lovers from long ago. The world had fallen around you both—leaving the two of you alone in the quiet dusk.
After a beat you pull back—and the loss of your touch caused clear distress upon his face. "I should be heading back. My director said I need to get good sleep the days leading up to the performance."
Armand nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Your director is right. I can walk you back if you'd like." You let the thought run in your mind for a beat, before agreeing. So you both begin walking back to your place.
Once you had reached your place, Armand and you turned back to each other again. Armand's eyes trail over your lips for a moment before flickering back up to meet your gaze. "I've enjoyed our walks this last week." Heat rushes to your cheeks, as you nod.
"I have too, Armand." You turn back to your apartment for a beat, debating whether or not to invite him inside. Uncertainty clouded your mind until Armand spoke again.
"I need to be heading back to my place too. I am excited for your performance Friday." A soft smile appears on your face—your gaze meeting his again. "Goodnight, Mon étoile." He says in a tone only you can hear.
"Goodnight, Armand." His gaze quickly drops to your lips again before he starts off down the sidewalk.
The next day you had woken up late—you immediately grabbed your backpack before heading out to your car. Your car took off down the street—the radio mumbling something about a body found in an alley a night ago. You turned off the radio, looking at the pack of cigarettes in your door before putting them in some compartment away from you.
As you walked into your studio, the company's dancers and your director crowded into a circle—some girls makeup had been stained from tears. Before you can say anything—your director ushers you into a corner.
"What is it? Why is everyone crying?-" Your director grips your shoulders, a tempest of emotions on his face. He quickly brings you into his office, sitting you down in a chair. He slumps down in his chair, sighing out.
"Cora... was found dead in an alley last night." Your hand quickly covers your mouth. Cora, the dancer for Odile was the body found in that alley? "I can't have this company ruined again." He tilts your face up to meet his gaze. "I need you to dance both, I know you've practiced both, so you now must do both for the sake of the company." He releases your face, taking a deep breath in. "Come in early tomorrow, try your hardest to remember the steps. I cannot have this company fall apart. I am sending everyone home today except for you. Practice as long as you need." He swiftly walks out of the room, leaving you breathing heavily and your palms shaking.
You had to perform both parts of Swan Lake now. The whole company was counting on you to not screw this up. You quickly walk outside the the backside of the studio, reaching in your bag for a singular cigarette to boost you, and there was nothing. "Fuck!" You sit down against the wall, your hands gripping your sweater. Tears threatening to spill, but after a beat nothing came.
The next few hours of practice you pushed yourself—you had to be perfect for this performance. So you kept going, and going, and going. This whole performance was going to be relying on you. You got the role you wanted—it just didn't feel like it was the correct way. Why would anyone kill Cora anyways?
After five hours of extensive, hard practice you made it back to your apartment. When you go to your mailbox, you surprisingly have a letter. You open it up to find it to have been from your mother. She was coming to the performance tomorrow. After everything, she was coming—but in her own words she said "to watch you fail." You crumple the paper up before throwing it in the trash. Walking up to your apartment with tears stinging your eyes.
Cora was dead, you have to memorize a whole new character before tomorrow night, and your mother was coming to see you fail your performance. You drop your bag on the floor, searching for something to help ease your mood. Weed, or alcohol—but once again there was nothing. You just wanted him—Armand. You sink into your bed, your eyelashes wet from the unshed tears. You turned over, stifling your sobs into the pillow below you.
Around ten minutes later, a soft knock was heard at your door. You wipe away the traces from your sulking before opening the door. There stood Armand—his eyes widening as he saw the state you were in. Before you could explain he gently grabbed your waist and sat you down on your bed.
"What had happened to you, hm?" He cooed, gently tracing soft circles on your hand. Before you can speak, the tears return—this time in a more hysterical manner. Armand tilts his head at you. "Can you breathe with me?" He brings your joined hands to your heart, his gaze never leaving yours. Your breathing begins to calm down after a beat, your free hand wiping away your tears.
"I am sorry." You mutter, your gaze falling to the ground. Armand pauses, his free hand coming up to tilt your face so your eyes meet.
"There is no reason to apologize. I just want to know what is hurting you." His thumb wipes away a fallen tear, before resting at the corner of your lips. "Or we don't have to talk about it. Not right now."
You pause for a moment, taking a minute to process what all is happening. You had just gone from crying, to peacefully sitting with Armand. "I don't want to talk about it right now." Armand nods, your joint hands now resting against his leg.
Your breathing had finally slowed—a quiet tension now laying across Armand and you as if it were a shared blanket. Without realizing you both had subconsciously leaned closer to each other, your gazes roaming over the other with soft reverence—before meeting once again. Armand's hand trailed up your arm, coming to rest at your jawline, keeping the two of you looking at each other. Your free hand came to the nape of his neck, threading through the dark curls there. For a moment you two just gazed into each others eyes, as if the whole world had fallen away. With a gentle motion, Armand finally pulled you closer—giving you one final chance to back out, and when you didn't, he finally kissed you.
The kiss started gentle, like waves lapping against the shore in the early morning—until the pent up passion between the two of you had gave way, as if a thunderstorm had replaced the gentle morning. The next thing you had known is that you were lying back against your pillow, Armand's body above you—and in that moment you'd had never felt safer, it felt as if you belonged in his arms. You pulled back for a beat, catching your breath—before Armand began to trail kisses down the side of your neck, his free hand coming over to lock with yours. Your other hand found itself threading through his curls, Armand leaning into the warmth of your touch. Before anything else could happen, you finally spoke. "I love you, Armand." He pulls back for a beat, stunned by your words, before his hand came to rest on your cheek.
"I love you too, mon coeur." Before he had finally reconnected your lips, drowning the two of you in the sensation once more.
In the morning, as the sun began to come up—you awoke to Armand's arm around your waist. The scent of iris flowing throughout the room. You turned over to him, gently running your hands through his hair to wake him up. He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze immediately finding you—a gentle smile on his face.
You returned his smile before getting out of bed, "I have a bit of a long day—I'm about to head out to run through the performance." You leaned over towards him, kissing him gently before getting dressed. You felt his gaze once more, everytime you moved across the room, as if he was your own personal audience in a performance.
He finally gets out of bed with you, your eyes immediately gazing over him as well. The whole night had felt like heaven before you were to be thrust into hell with the ballet tonight. Right before you can walk out the door, he kisses your forehead and mumbles, "I can't wait to see Odette and Odile tonight." You smile tiredly at him, taking a beat to breathe, then walking out the door.
You walk into the rehearsal room, determined to finish this performance as quick as you possibly can. Luckily your director scheduled the other performances for later in the month. Your scene partner had given you a once over, making sure you were okay after the news yesterday. Once you nodded, the orchestra had begun to play, the character immediately snapping into place.
After a few hours of rehearsal, it was time the the grand performance. You were in your dressing room—letting the makeup brush across your face, the gentle touch reminding you of Armand's. Before you can reminisce further about last night, there's a knock on the door. "Miss, you have someone requesting to speak with you. An older woman." Your eyes widened, jaw slightly dropping. Your mother. You couldn't shy away now, you had to prove her wrong about every shitty thing she'd ever said about your passion.
You walk out of your dressing room, your head held high as you see her. It had been months since you last saw her, after a huge fight over your future. "Did you get my letter?" Her grating voice hurt your head, after years of calling you horrid things, she acts like she can just show up to your job.
"I did, yeah." You fidget with the fabric of your skirt, not meeting your mother's gaze. She gives you a glance of disapproval.
"Let's hope you aren't as much of a failure as your father was." Before you can rebuttal, she walks past you to the auditorium. After a minute you walk after her, earning confused glances from the company's dancers. Then you finally stop hard in your tracks after you feel a grip against your wrist. You look up to see who the hand belongs to, and your eyes widen in fear the moment you see who it his. Your old ex? Old hookup? Whatever it was, it was awful and left you fucked up.
You pull back immediately, letting your voice drop to a mutter. "What the fuck are you doing here?" His gaze hints at something more, like he's here to make you feel worthless.
"I can't come see an old friend perform? That's cold." You immediately pull your hand back, but before you can his grip tightens. "Can you give me a minute, it's only fair after evading me last week-"
"Let me go, now!" Your face twists in anger as you shove him back, almost sending him into another person behind him. A security guard grabs your ex, and drags him away, and behind the unfolding scene was Armand, worry, confusion, and something else you couldn't place on his face. You quickly turned away, trying to not cry away your makeup.
You had finally made it onto stage, after everything in the last week—you were performing, and you were absolutely perfect. You had to be. Your eyes glanced out to the audience every few seconds. What did Armand think about the situation earlier? Was he angry at me now? What was he thinking. What did your mother think of you onstage, after years of her cruel and vile words. You couldn't give up now, you couldn't give her that satisfaction. So you danced, and didn't even miss a beat.
You had given a great performance, your director had already dropped off roses from someone in your room—and you did have a few minutes before your grand finale. Odette's death. What's the harm in a single cigarette to keep you going? So you grabbed a light and a cigarette and finally walked out into the back alley.
You leaned up against the wall, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. A few seconds into the drag and you heard a strange noise. A few yelps and small cries around a corner in the alley, the sounds accompanying it sounded as if something was hissing, and eating.
You finally turn the corner, and on the ground you see your ex, with blood surrounding him—and Armand standing over him with a bloodied face. You pause, your whole week flashing before your eyes. And now even more importantly, Armand, the man you had finally fallen in love with, kissed, and slept with—the man with the most gentle hands to ever hold you, stood in front of you with bloodied lips, and rage in his amber eyes. Before you can properly process anything you walk back inside, eyes widened from the horror.
You walk back to your dressing room, "Finale in five!" You heard from outside. You had to finish the finale, didn't you? It was what you had been working for. Or was it the need to prove yourself? Too many thoughts started taking over. Just make it through the finale.
You walked back onstage, your dance less forced and more as if you had lost yourself. You got the things you had wanted now, but was it worth it. After everything, was this what you truly wanted? The first man you had ever said I love you to turned out to be the devil?
You looked out to the audience, and instead of catching the gaze of your mothers, you saw Armand. His expression a puzzle of too many emotions. Your eyes widening as you heard a voice in your head that was not yours.
"You were not meant to see that, mon étoile. I really wish you hadn't had seen it." How was he talking to you? You fell out of your turn too quickly. Bringing you back to reality. The music came to the crescendo, the spotlight on you as if it were a cruel joke now. You just had to finish it. And so you took the dive, the crowd erupting with applause.
Before anyone could throw roses you ran off into the wings, grabbing your bag prepared to take off somewhere as quickly as possible. Before you could make it out to a car, you felt your body cease it's movements. You felt his presence before you had seen him, it was Armand. "Please, let me explain." You had no choice, he could kill you with his bare hands. You hesitantly nodded.
You sat in his car, your leg bouncing up and down in the passenger seat, your eyes still wide from the shock the past thirty minutes had brought you. "I am not human, if you haven't realized." You look over to him, his gaze not leaving the road. "And I never meant to scare you with the scene you just witnessed. He didn't deserve to live after what he had done to you." You felt a sense of ease wash over you, as if someone was holding and comforting you. "Cora. She was a gift, I know you wanted both roles." He killed Cora too? You let your eyes close, guilt of what you had let happen to her. Before you can cry, the car stops.
"I need blood to survive—and I will not apologize for wanting you safe, mon coeur. But I never meant to scare you." He turns to you, awe on his face. "You were truly lovely on that stage—you danced so beautifully." You flinch as he reaches his hand out to yours. Armand pauses, a flash of guilt in his eyes. "I would never hurt you. I couldn't hurt you. I know I have just told you these seemingly impossible things, but I have never loved someone as I have loved you. You are truly the most important thing in the world to me. I never meant to hurt you." Your gaze finally notices the fear in his.
"I know... I was just scared of how quickly everything happened." His eyes met yours, adoration in his gaze. He smiled softly has his gaze roamed across you. You couldn't feel any other emotion except happiness. Armand chose you. You were the most important thing to him in the world. So you returned his smile. Before leaning in to kiss him.
i never intended pt. 2 to take such a long time to come out but i hope u like it 😭 -clara
