Volturi kings x fem reader (separate), smut, some controlling elements, dirty talk, ect. Also I've never written for twilight and I have very specific versions of the kings living in my head so be nice 🥲
Caius, who would want you on your back with your legs wrapped around his waist while he pummels into your poor, spasming little human cunt. Who rests his cold forehead on yours, staring unblinkingly into your wet eyes as his upper body remains eerily still - an inhuman contrast to his lower body jack hammering into you. His hands are braced on the head board behind you, millennia of precision and restraint honed into his arms as they work to stop his forehead from smashing your face in, while keeping you pressed down onto the feather pillow below you with his sweet, sweet pressure.
Caius who would mock you as you mewl and look up at him like you're shocked and disgusted at how good his balls feel slapping against your clit.
"Oh? Does that feel nice dolly? You want my venom in your belly and your cervix bruised from me? Dirty little minx."
Aro who would want you in a similar position, but with your legs over his shoulders and one ankle in his grasp as he marvels at your pointed feet. His ancient mind imagining his venom dripping from the arch of it. Yes, that freaky mf definitely has a foot fetish. He'd have a pillow under the small of your back to angle you slightly higher, but he'd still be above you. His hair falling like an inky curtain around both of your faces as he grins down at you with crazed vermillion eyes, too many teeth, and fingers slithering into your mouth. They press down until you gag and roll your eyes back, because it's just so delicious to be defiled like this.
Also the Aro I have in my head isn't the biggest fan of slow lovemaking or hard, cold fucking. I feel like he'd be less about pace and more about rhythm. He's like a fucked up peacock trying to show off what he can do with his hips, and God can he use them. He'd bury himself balls deep in you and then roll his hips sickeningly slow while rubbing tight little circles into your clit. When he gets really cocky he rests his hands on his hips and look down at you from up his nose, oozing superiority.
Aro at your neck, dragging the sharp tip of his nose across it, up the column, around the shell of your ear. He's whispering filth in Italian - and chuckling giddily when you tighten around him like a fist, just as he predicted.
"oh, oh, oh! - dolcezza, my most belissima girl, take it, take it, take it!"
You will be called a good girl approximately 82 times, and he will probably cry into your boobs when he cums. (He told me himself 😘)
Marcus, who would want you sat up on your knees as his arms wrap around you from behind, your head turned sideways to look up at him from under your lashes. He'd root his fingers in your hair, close to the scalp, and hold you still while he fucks up into you at a moderate pace. I think modern Marcus awakened by a new mate, especially a human mate, would be the epitome of a soft dom. You'd be called "sweetheart" and "tesoro" and all the good shit, but he'd still be a tad controlling during sex (and in general), because now his only purpose in life is to protect you, which translates as constantly controlling you through touch and positioning.
He'd also growl in your ear and need every inch of him touching you and reveling in your warmth. Ladies and disappointments Marcus Volturi is a neck nuzzler!! He just wants you, in any way, but having your back to his front really riles something primal and long dead in him. Also, kind of gross, but he's obsessed with everything that comes from you, including your sweat. He sees it as proof of his effect on you, and your time together.
As a Daniel enjoyer, can I just say, the racism is the point. The ableism is the point, the bag on her head as she cried, the student used aggressively, the estranged daughters. This is a boomer monster. Remember how he lectured Lestat's head on having carved out a path for himself? That's boomer talk. You dislike him by design, because he is a bad person and I'd never seen a so thoroughly boomer evil on tv, it's very interesting and timely, you just gotta understand that it's not a blind spot in the writing, it's intentional. Just like it's intentional that Armand torture Louis, and the shockingly evil ugliness of that. The ugliness of incest, of murder, nothing is sanitized.
They're wealthy predators, the discomfort is the point.
Aro, the most controlling , conniving , bastard alive- crumpling in the least expected place.
His bed chamber.
One could argue that a vampire was already weak to their soulmates wishes, naturally obligated to provide that happiness. Aro’s soulmate takes it, breaking down their partner piece by piece
In the Palazzo Dei Priori, Aro is king. Here, in the low lamplight, under his partners hands, he’s an offering. Laid out among sheets too expensive- methodically, he’s dissected.
Experienced hands caressing too cold skin, pressing deep into marble that will never bruise. Love bites that will never break skin. Love between them is a lesson in patience.
Hot mouths against chilled skin, tongues behind too sharp teeth. The absolute illusion of control that Aro gives up- willingly.
Notes- Yes, I know I abandoned this particular account for a while, but I'm going to try and do better to start writing on here again. I missed you all and I hope you enjoy what I have coming up!
Summary- You're his bride and he intends to, without a doubt, claim you as his own. You can get to know each other later on. (1,792 Words)
Warnings- DUBIOUS CONSENT, Yandere(?), Loss of Virginity, Cunnilingus, Size Kink(Kinda?), P in V sex/Penetrative sex, Forced Marriage, Temp Difference
It was arranged so quickly. The moment Marcus found light coming back into his eyes from one special little human Aro was quick to ensure this liveliness remained. Marcus is useful to Aro, he'll be even more useful when he has reason to exist again. So, you were plucked from your group and locked away in a fancy little room.
In only a few hours your world is flipped on its head. Vampires are real. Vampires are here in Volterra, Italy. Vampires have kings. Vampires have special gifts. One of the vampire kings decided to keep you. In a few days you'll be married to that king. In a few weeks you'll be turned.
Everything skillfully moved so quickly you barely had time to process a single thing. You met the king, Marcus, a tall and broad man who held an air of emptiness around him. Yet, he stared at you with such deep contemplation you couldn't understand it. He had dark hair that fell to his shoulders. Crimson eyes that look like they hadn't actually seen for years until now. He looked like a sculpture, a Greek God made out of marble and turned to flesh.
You'd be a liar if you said you didn't feel an odd pull towards him.
The first meeting he said nothing as you pressed yourself against the opposite wall, crying and pleading to go home. The second meeting he told you his name and asked for yours. The third time he woke you as you slept, offering you fruits. The fourth time he showed you the castle garden. The fifth time you were in a wedding dress being ushered down an aisle towards him.
Your heart pounded in your ears during the entire ceremony. The ring on your finger felt weighted with things you couldn't begin to understand. His lips on yours was like icy stone, yet burning with need.
In mere hours you were in an unbelievably large bedroom. His chambers, as he called it, were filled with shelves on one wall. Those shelves were filled with books. A large desk holds parchments and scrolls. There was a balcony but it was hidden by heavy maroon curtains. The bed frame was made of gold, twisting upwards in four posts that have burgundy sheer drapes over them. The sheets are creme colored silk and the blankets are the same shade of burgundy as the sheer drapes.
"You look out of place in your white dress, my bride." Marcus's cold hands land on your shoulders just as fast as his warm voice hits your ears. His nose brushes your neck. "Is there something to be done to make you more comfortable?" He asks softly.
You shake your head softly. You're still tense, you know what's coming next. You both want it and fear it. Then again you don't know if you actually want it or if you've been convinced you should want it.
His frigid, large hands trace your sides before undoing your dress. You shiver as the dress falls.
"Lay down for me, Kardiá mou." He gently pushes you towards the bed.
You feel exposed and out of place as your back falls against the silk sheets. Your heart beating faster once again.
"Such beauty..." Marcus whispers almost reverently as he strips away his robes.
Slowly, piece by piece you are both left bare before each other. His cold skin against yours as he kisses you with the same desperation as during the ceremony.
"Tell me, my darling, do you love me?" He whispers against your lips.
"Love?" You ask back quietly.
"Yes. Do you love me?"
You hesitate, because you don't know. "I hardly know you."
A rumble comes from his chest. You aren't sure if it's a laugh or a growl but it makes you stiffen.
"You will." He says with a hint of promise. His hand brushes your hair back. "You will, Psychí mou."
He kisses you again, more feverishly. Your head feels fuzzy with the intensity. His hands trace down, he cups your chest. Groping and kneading your flesh till your head spins more. Each small gasp you make he swallows like it's his own personal oxygen. One of his hands travels lower despite your anxiety.
He hushes you as you try to pull away. "Don't worry, my love, it will feel good." He promises.
You tremble as his fingers move lower and he swipes his pointer finger through your folds. Marcus rubs his knuckle against your clit, the bundle igniting at the action. A gasping whine leaves your lips, and for the first time you think you see him smile.
"See? Kardiá mou is already enjoying it." He kisses your cheek. "Aren't you?" He asks rhetorically.
He tilts his head as he watches your reactions. His left hand is still kneading your breast while his right hand rubs those nerves soft and slow.
"Have you ever been touched before?"
"N-no..." You breathlessly admit.
"No..." He repeats with relief, as if you said yes it would be a personal affront to him. He hums. "I'll have to be gentle with you even more then, my bride."
Abruptly both administrations stop. You almost miss it, but you're also a little glad he pulled away. Your thoughts are short lived as he moves his head lower.
"What are you doing?"
He smiles, just a little against the skin of your thigh. "If I stretch you with my fingers I won't get the satisfaction of tearing your hymen with my cock."
Your heart stutters with your words. "W- what?"
"I'm going to pleasure you with my tongue, my precious bride, that way it won't hurt as much when I claim you." He explains patiently with a hint of dark excitement.
You almost choke as his frozen cold tongue lands on your heated cunt. You feel like you can't breathe as he licks up. You hadn't expected this. Your hands flail a bit as you try to figure out what to do.
He pulls away only briefly. "Grab the sheets, grab me, whatever you need, Koúkla mou." He says gently, but his voice is darker now, thick with desire.
One of your hands grabs the sheets. Your other hesitates, but the second he dives back in you find yourself grabbing his hair. His silky strands are as soft as the sheets. You could almost be distracted if it wasn't for how deeply he's licking you.
His tongue traces around your hole, his nose rubs your clit. Then he goes back up, sucking on that tiny bundle like it's his favorite thing. You feel your back arch slightly off the bed, you can't decide if you want to pull away or receive more. The heat of your pussy is stark against his cold mouth.
"Please, please, please~" You plead mindlessly.
You can feel him smile as he moves his mouth faster, more intentionally. Right before you can reach that peak that you had never felt, he pulls away.
Leaving you breathless as he kisses back up your stomach to your neck. Each chilled kiss makes you shiver. Goosebumps blooming over your heated skin.
"Are you ready, my perfect bride?" He whispers against your neck.
"Ready?"
"For me to finally claim you..." His fangs brush your neck. "As my wife."
"I- I don't know." You whisper back.
His nose brushes your ear. "Such sweetness... You don't have a choice."
You tremble as he uses his fingers to spread your folds open. His frigid cock swipes your hole. You squeeze your eyes shut as he opens your legs wider. You bite your lip as you feel him start to push in.
You gasp and cry out as he starts to enter. It only takes a moment for you to feel the pressure and the release of it. Marcus rumbles again as a few dribbles of blood coat his cock.
"You're doing so well, Psychí mou."
He's half way in when he pauses only for a moment before continuing to push deeper in.
"You're... so small, Koúkla mou... so tight..." He says against your neck.
In one final quick move he buries himself to the hilt. You let out a screaming cry at the pain. He stays perfectly still, cooing and soothing you through the pain.
He remains for a while. Silent and steady as you cry softly.
"You're doing wonderfully, my bride." He says with a soft smile.
He moves one hand down to where the two of you meet. He rubs your clit softly with his thumb. Gentle and slow circles that make you melt.
"That's it, my darling." He encourages.
He finally makes his first thrust. Lightly pulling out, slow and steady, before just as softly sliding back in. The mixture of liquids makes it smoother for him to do so.
Then he does it again and again, and again. Before you can even realize it he isn't being soft and slow. His pace is steady as he pounds into you. Harder than a normal human can but not enough to hurt you. He murmurs as he leaves kisses over your neck about needing to turn you soon. He murmurs about how perfect you are. The metal bed frame bends as he grabs one of the bars with his right hand while his left grips your thigh to hoist your leg up.
He grunts soft and quiet, you can barely hear him over your own whimpering moans and soft pleads for him not to stop. He captures your lips, bruising them like he left marks on your neck.
"Say you love me." He commands you darkly. "Tell me you love me, Psychí mou."
Lost in the pleasure you don't quite think of what he's demanding. You oblige despite logic. "I love you, I love you, I love you~" You repeat in between whimpers.
"My perfect... beautiful... wife." He pants softly as he gets closer, accentuating his words with thrusts. "Say it again."
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you." You moan as you get closer to that peak as well.
Marcus growls. "Again."
"I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you!" You cry out, your body tensing with need as a coil twists in your tummy.
He thrusts harder, growling up until you let out a pleased cry of release. Your liquids squirting out around his cock. He bites into your neck as he cums after, filling your burning hot core with startlingly cold cum. You yelp at the bite, as his fangs burrow into your skin, but you're so spacey you can hardly keep your eyes open.
You fall asleep to him licking your neck clean and the sound of his voice.
"I love you as well, my wife, Zoí mou."
~Loose Translations (Cause I don't know Greek and used a website)~
A lot of people on twitter like "I can't believe they made Armand a twink" do you think Daniel Molloy is the voice of god and absolute truth? do you think Daniel Molloy saying that stripped Armand of his hair and body fat? Do you think Daniel Molloy has the twink gift??
Hi! No worries if you're not into this request, but would you be willing to write Armand and a f!reader in an established relationship, who is deeply insecure about her physical appearance? Sorry if this is a weird ask 💖💖
beauté incertaine.⠀⠀the vampire armand x female!reader.
wc. ⠀⠀950+⠀⠀⠀⠀warnings.⠀⠀theme revolves around physical insecurities. if the topic is triggering to you, do not continue reading. religion (catholicism) used as a metaphor. female reader, referred to as a girl within the text. french terms of endearment. physical touching.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀𓊈 𓋹 𓊉⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ story continues below the cut.
the mirrors inside of the théâtre des vampire were cruel, mocking up your appearance as if emanating a ghostly laugh. they multiply you, fracture your immortal body, candlelight dancing across your skin, magnifying any and all flaws of your visage. though you had once been painted a goddess, a spectacle of beauty, you felt far from one in your immortally sculpted body, bewitched by haunting thoughts of self - hatred.
you stood before one of the mirrors, shifting left and right as you examined yourself with frustrated precision. the echo of applause ghosted the corridors, a performance upon the stage. the laugh of mortals echoed throughout the ancient walls, yet you were far from humored by the performance reflected in the glass in front of you.
your reflection stared back at you like a poorly cast role. the costume itched at your coldly kissed skin, the neckline exposing the protruding veins of your ghostly complexion. you imagined the audience's eyes dancing upon you, crawling over your sinful skin. even here in the presence of a coven in which you had been loved by, you felt on trial.
“why do you not close your mind tonight, ma biche? you tend to withhold,” it was as if darkness itself started to speak, the ghostly tone of armand’s voice filling the air, his presence pulling you from your ill - fated thoughts like a gust of wind. despite the older vampire growing to be your lover, you grew a sense of unease at his ability to hear every little thought in your beautiful head; you had not realized you had let him in in a time of weakness.
you do not turn, your icy pupils locking upon his in the reflection of the damned mirror, impossibly still and impossibly young. “i do not belong on that stage,” you spoke, “not in something revealing such as this. shows too much.” silence stretched, the soft footsteps of your maître and man approaching. what you had spoke was a bend of the truth that danced inside your mind, and your lover sought to see right through you.
armand studied the glass as if it were a holy object, his auburn pupils dancing upon your corroded skin as if you were the goddess athena. “they will believe anything,” he spoke, his words calm and icy, “blood, death, miracles, fairytales. all lies, they believe, but you believe the mirror? fille idiote.”
his fingers reached out for you slowly, his sharp nails dancing lines upon your shoulder where the costume slipped and you flinched before you could even stop yourself. armand paused, cooing softly at his love. the pause is terrifying, yet fear did not bloom inside of you for your lover was careful in your presence.
“this again,” by the tone that poisoned armand’s words, you could tell he was displeased, not surprised. you dared not speak another word for the other already knew what you would say next, and you trusted him with those confessions. in the reflection of the mirror, armand’s gaze began to sharpen, yet with a dangerous focus rather than anger.
“do you know how many bodies the théâtre des vampire have buried beneath this city?” armand began to pace, his steps ticking like a lesson, “how many beautiful things that have been reduced to dust in time?” your body had become beckoned to face him, and he lifted your chin with a ghostly touch, forcing your eyes back to the mirror.
“and yet, in all that, in all the sorrow and disdain of the world,” armand paused for a brief moment, letting out a slow sigh that expressed his disbelief in your unheavenly thoughts, “this is what troubles you?” his hand began to slide from your jaw down to your throat, as if to remind you that you were beautifully his.
“you think desire is somehow democratic,” armand spoke, his thumb pressing just enough into the flesh of your neck for you to feel your heartbeat under his skinless patience, “that it must be earned through submission to life, through approval.” he paused momentarily, “but i am older than that philosophy and i find it to be pure bullshit.”
the filth of his words almost made you laugh for your own pain was comfort, yet all you could do was breathe out his name as if this were some sort of catholic confessional. armand leaned in closer, his lips now ghosting upon your ears in not a kiss, but in a comforting action. “you are beautiful, unmistakably beautiful, because you are unfinished,” the words were chaste and devastating.
you shuddered, yet leaned upon his touch like a soft blanket. “i am afraid i will hate this body forever, that i will never come to peace with it,” there was no point in hiding your frustrations when armand could already read every last bit of them.
armand’s eyes darkened with devotion, the glare sharp enough to wound your potent flesh. “then i will love you forever,” he replied simply, letting his hand slip from your neck down to your lace - covered waist as though mapping a familiar sculpture.
“forever is a long time to endure my inner hatred,” you murmured, looking away from yourself inside of the reflection of the mirror. armand did not force your gaze to return, yet smiled in knowing, soft sorrow, “i have been patient in life for 500 years. i can be patient with you for hundreds more.”
you felt his certainty settle over you like a comforting veil, a promise to your undying love despite your immortality. in the mirror, you no longer were able to identify where your doubt ended and his devotion began. and perhaps that was the true gift that inhabited the maze of which was the vampire armand.
I beg you to write more for iwtv more specifically Armand smut. I have no real ideas other than a hate fuck. Like reader (gn or afab) is in the position Daniel was and then he just takes frustrations out on them
armand x reader
warnings | smut, afab!gn!reader, (implied) vampire!reader, hate sex, semi-public sex, degradation, humiliation, possessive behavior, blood drinking (he’s a vampire let’s be fr), creampie
a/n | happy halloween my loves <3 i love how innocent and adorable he looks in this gif. why r u so kitty coded i hate u. but thank you so much for requesting this, i rewatched iwtv with my girlfriend, and they love it so much, and ofc i brainwashed them into loving armand too. so i just had to write this request, since armand has once again dominated my mind. also shout out to the other request i got to write armand i got a while back !! i hope you all enjoy my armand musings once again <3 crossposted on my ao3
"filthy," he bites. "filthy whore, this is all you’re good for."
you were a newly accepted vampire in armand’s coven. yet, you still had to prove your place among them. you messed up, a small task that just simply slipped your mind as you were too entranced by santiago's musings. perhaps the maître was jealous that your attention was elsewhere, but he would never confess that.
your body was pressed sharply over the surface of his office desk; your hands clawing for purchase. his slender, yet impossibly strong one, pressed down on your shoulder, keeping you still and compliant for him. and as you try to choke out a strangled moan of affirmation, armand just hisses and drives his hips harshly into yours.
"shh–sh, be quiet. do you want everyone in the theater to hear you?"
his cock stretched you out, and with it came a searing ache that beckoned hot tears to your eyes and a dull warmth in your core that liked the pain. armand's rough grip molds you into the perfect little doll for him to use. anything to make your maître happy. his thrusts are quick and heavy, full of need to make sure you know who you belong to.
he will fuck until you come undone beneath him, your nails digging into the wooden edge of the desk and eyes rolling back in a blinding pleasure. he drives you wild with his touch and thrusting into you so deeply and powerfully that it sends tremors racing up your spine. it takes everything in you to stay conscious at times, and even then, he will take full advantage of the weakness in your mind, breath, and soul.
"desperate thing," he taunts your state of mindlessness. “look at you, you're practically drooling all over my scripts…”
you’re utterly and completely gone—mouth wide as you pant and mewl beneath him, drooling while you grind back to meet the furious thrust of his hips. he has his other hand clawing at your hips, pulling and pushing your pelvis against his own to match the pace of his thrusts. he looked down at where both of you met, how you wrapped around him, squeezed him so well, how there’s a ring of red slick settled at the base of his cock.
and though armand may feign composure, it slowly began to crumble. “such a tight cunt, no wonder santiago wants his hands on you.” he let out a shaky breath at the way you clenched around him at his words.
as you’re fixing your lips to whine dumbly, a slim hand is clamping over your gaped mouth, muffling your cries of rapture. armand is pulling you upright by the hand that holds your face, pressing his chest to your backside so that he can fuck you closer—his nose pressed to the back of your neck, lips, and fangs, brushing your shoulders.
“didn't i tell you to be quiet?” it’s a low, scarily calm whisper, lips pressed to your ear so that you really hear him, “you’re going to keep quiet and take what you’re given. noisy little thing, i know you’ve wanted me to fuck you like this, sometimes it's all you can think of, isn't it? i’ve heard you whine my name while you touch yourself when you think you're alone.” a dexterous hand is creeping up your neck, choking you.
the repetitive, dulling strike of his balls against your swollen clit forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your skull, you fall limp in his grasp, like some sort of doll for him to play with. all you can do is whine and writhe against him, your limp, fucked-out body suspended in the air as he drills in and out of your desperate cunt. and oh, how you suck him in so greedily in too, like his cock is made for you.
fuck, he’s going to kill you.
with that, you clench around him again, and his pace quickens just a beat. it’s heaven. the way he’s fucking into you, hes keenly aware with how good he's making you feel, especially when he snaps his hips forward, tip kissing your cervix. you’re a mess in his grasp, taking everything he gives you as your thighs shake.
he lowers an arm to your front, rubbing small circles at your clit, and you let out a litany of whines into his hand. all you can hear are sounds of your skin slapping together—and his breath catching as he gets close. he listens to every noise, taking note of how wet you sound as he rams back into you.
every thrust, every circle, pulls you closer, and you know he’s right there with you by the way his thrusts go uneven. he lets out the smallest of whines, fangs now biting into your neck, your delicious blood now spilling into his mouth—you sob into the palm of his hand.
the coil in your stomach snaps, and your muffled sounds are far beyond pornographic as you cum, coating his cock. and when he cums, it feels more like he's trying to mark you as his own than actually reach fulfillment. he drinks from you a second more before pulling away. cum spilling out of you in and down your shaking legs, and his breath falters. he takes in your ruined state, commits the sight of your submission to memory, and then manhandles you around to look at him.
he looks up and down your form with his beautifully golden eyes, something close to tenderness pools in them. "let's get you cleaned up, yes?"
armand is the type to cover your mouth while fucking you into the mattress
leant over your back, working you slow and hard. all you can feel is him, so full of him. each thrust making you see stars and ball your hands in his stupidly silky sheets because it’s just so much. every broken ‘please’ that escaped you was music to his ears.
“shhh,” his hand suddenly covered your mouth. holding you still. “quiet now. that’s it… taking me so well,” his voice steady in your ear. a stark contrast to the way his hips met your ass over and over again, leaving you mindless from pleasure. “good, so good for me, just take it.” the rhythm of his hips picked up, effectively turning your brain off.
it’s not that he doesn’t want to hear your broken moans and whimpers, he just loves how your eyes roll back when his palm muffled your pathetic sounds. the display of control over you, using you so thoroughly, lit a fire under him. armand liked you best like this, a toy he can use, love too hard, and break over and over again. obediently, you took it over and over again.
he shut his eyes with a soft groan, focusing on how you felt around his cock and muffled sounds from beneath his palm.
leaning your head back to catch your eye, he taunted, “do you like when i take you like this?” driving as deep into you as he could for emphasis, “thoroughly mine.” another hard roll of his hips, and his sickeningly soft voice guided you. “just take it, take it all, my favorite toy.”
I've actually gotten to the point in my volturi obsession that if I interact with fandom/canon content it pains me and if I don't it pains me. Like why can't they just be real and can we please have a second renaissance 🙁
You are a bunch of evil twats for forgetting what a beauty of a character Aro of the volturi can be if written right. LETS GO PEOPLE WE DONT HAVE ALL DAY. Mama’s starving for some Aro content. /lh
