This list will be updated as time goes on! This will remained pinned on my profile. I have been reached out to help by different people, so I thought this would be very helpful!
Thank you so much to everyone who helped us by donating and sharing. You are our seco… Ahmed Shamia needs your support for Help Shehab Famil
Our sweet days were lost,here In Gaza Strip. and we lost everything we gained with… Ahmed Koka needs your support for Help me support my
thinking about bestie helping armand take a bath after he stumbles home to her completely distraught and covered in blood.
maybe armand’s overwhelmed by how much he misses her, maybe he unintentionally started unpacking something traumatic from his past, or maybe he’s even run into marius.
idk. the point is armand ends up in bestie’s home, barely able to speak or look at her while covered in someone else’s blood. he hates himself for letting her see him like this, but when he finally meets her gaze, there’s no judgement there, only compassion and understanding.
she guides him to the bathroom without asking any questions, and she starts running a bath for him. she only breaks the silence to ask armand if he needs help getting undressed.
bestie sits near the edge of the tub the entire time. she’s careful to not look at him more than she needs to as she cleans him up. it isn’t sexual at all, but it’s so intimate armand is further overwhelmed by it.
she uses a shampoo that he’s mentioned liking the smell of before. after he’s done, she brings him a pair of sweatpants and a shirt he’s asked to sleep in before.
then, she guides him to her bedroom. she tucks him, even if it’s too early for him to go to sleep. she asks him if he wants her to stay or go. after that’s answered, she asks if he’d prefer silence or if he wants her to talk or read to him.
in a way, the process is meant to comfort both of them because she might not be able to make him feel better, but she can make sure that he’s clean and recovering in a safe environment.
Warnings: vaginismus, talk of past experiences, light smut.
Word count: 1732
a/n: this came out of nowhere, but it's how I deal with my issues sometimes.
Summary: Your relationship with Armand was going well, maybe too well. He had told you all his secrets, the only problem was you never told yours.
Disclaimer: english is not my first language
AO3 - Masterlist - Next
One of the things that Armand most appreciated about you since the beginning of your relationship was your patience with him.
You knew what Marius did to him, or at least, you made him fully aware of what Marius did to him. The grooming. The abuse. Not to mention how he was used at the brothel when he was no older than a child.
He was carrying a lot of pain and trauma, and you knew Armand thought he could only be loved through his body not his heart. That his skills were the only bargaining chip he had to get anything close to a companionship.
That was how it had always been. He had only known that reality.
That's why Armand didn’t understand how to deal with the dynamic he had built with you, at first.
Your touches never went further than cuddles, your hands never straying below his waist, as if it was a kind of intimacy you didn't seek from him.
He was so focused on learning how to accept this soft approach, that he didn't think even for a moment that there might have been additional reasons behind your actions.
And as long as you could, you were going to keep it that way.
--
You managed your act for a few months, longer than you had expected considering how sharp and observant Armand's mind was -- but he was finally healing something inside his soul with you, and you couldn't really blame him for not noticing your own struggles.
The truth was you loved Armand, both your minds and hearts were connected in ways you never thought possible. But you also desired him, you craved a physical intimacy with him.
There was one single problem: your body didn't work properly. You had been diagnosed with a pelvic floor disorder long before you had met Armand, and you had hoped to keep it a secret as long as you could.
When your previous partners had found out you had vaginismus, they had disappeared without a second thought. The hurtful words they had said was the last memory that remained of them.
Broken.
Defective.
Damaged goods.
That's why you were scared to tell Armand the truth. What if your love was not strong enough to withstand this burden. What if he left too.
You knew that moment was close. You had noticed how your relationship was changing.
The longing looks you exchanged were getting darker and lustful. Your touches lingered longer and were getting closer to places you had not explored of each other. But you were always the one to pull away first.
Even without words, you knew Armand felt he was finally ready for a more physical connection with you, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. Your truth kept getting stuck in your throat. You weren't brave enough.
It all came to a breaking point one winter night. Armand had just gotten back from a hunt earlier than usual and you were sitting on the sofa wearing your robe, with only your underwear underneath.
You had meant to get ready for bed before Armand got back, but you were so lost in the book you were reading to bother getting up from your spot and change into your flannel pajamas.
"To what I owe the pleasure of such a beautiful sight," Armand said as soon as he laid eyes on you.
You jumped at the sound of his voice, dropping the book on the floor.
"You are back early." You were doing your best to avoid his gaze, your hand moving slightly to fully close your robe around yourself.
Armand had seen you in your underwear before, that was not a problem, but you didn't know how to handle the heavy stare he was giving you in that moment.
You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't notice Armand moving until he was kneeling on the floor in front of you.
"Talk to me, my love." He was looking at you with the softest eyes, but the pupils dilated were betraying the lust simmering underneath his skin.
He wanted you, and when you raised your head to match his gaze you knew he was seeing the same feeling reflected in yours.
"I'm fine," you whispered softly, as you felt one of his hands caressing your calf in slow movements, his touch inching higher with every stroke.
You fluttered your eyes at the sensation, taking a deep breath as you felt a wave of desire raise in your lower belly. You tried to lift your leg with the intention to slip away from his fingers, but he was faster. He gripped your ankle, preventing you from getting away.
"Armand–"
You had no chance to say anything further, because in a blink you found yourself straddling his hips, with Armand sitting on the sofa in the spot you were in before.
Your eyes widened at the position. You couldn't pretend not to see his lust anymore now. You were lying on it. You could feel how hard he was even through his pants, and you knew he could feel your wetness too, even with your underwear still covering you.
"Talk to me," Armand said more firmly, "I promised not to look into your mind, but you're making it very difficult, my love. I know there's something you're not telling me."
Your hands tightened on his shoulders, as you felt the muscles in your back and neck tense with nervousness.
A few seconds passed as you gathered your thoughts, and Armand waited patiently without moving an inch.
"I want you," you admitted finally, Armand's hands crawling immediately under your robe at your words, and resting lightly on your hips. He pulled you closer, making you slide more firmly on his lap. A light moan slipping from your lips.
"Do you?" Armand whispered softly in your ear.
You nodded, resisting the urge to start moving your hips against his cock through both of your clothes.
You took a deep breath as you pulled you head away to look at him in eyes again. "But I can't have you."
"Of course you can, my love."
You shook you head, your hair following your movement. "My body doesn’t work in the right way. I can't have sex, Armand."
He went completely still at your words, you weren't sure he was even breathing. "I don't understand."
"I have vaginismus. My muscles are too tight, making difficult and painful any kind of penetration."
You said it. You didn't run away. You kept staring at him, bracing yourself for the inevitable reaction.
"You never had sex?"
"A couple of times, before the diagnosis. It felt like getting repeatedly stabbed." You shivered at the memory. "I tried other times afterwards, but with no success."
"Is there a therapy? A cure?"
"Therapies, yes. I've been doing them for a few years now, but I don't know if they're working."
Armand frowned in confusion. "Why?"
"My last partners never wanted to listen or to try. They found my condition demoralizing, making their experience disappointing."
That was what most of them said in multiple different versions.
Armand's gaze hardened, as you felt his hands squeeze your hips. "Did they hurt you?"
"Not physically," you replied. "When they realized they really couldn't get inside, they disappeared."
You were making it sound so simple, but you didn't feel like getting into the details of each encounter. Not now that you were trying to understand what Armand thought about the whole situation.
His questions were something new and you weren’t sure what to expect.
He stayed quiet for a while, his grip still strong on your body.
"Please, say something," you begged. "It's okay if you don't want to be with me anymore, but say it."
His gazed hardened even more. "You think I want to leave you?"
You nodded not trusting your voice.
You felt his anger radiating off of him, as he raised both his hands to your face. He held you in place, staring at you so intensely you thought he could reach your soul.
"I love you. This won't change anything between us." He placed a small kiss to your forehead before pulling back again. "When I told you about my past you never even thought of leaving, why would I?"
You felt your eyes sting as you tried to hold back the tears. The tension completely leaving your body at his words.
You leaned forward, kissing him deeply on the lips.
"I love you, Armand."
He kissed you back, his hands going back to their place on your hips under the robe. He pulled you closer again, your chest pressing fully against his.
Your lust came back at full force, as did his.
This time you didn't hold your hips still as they started moving, sliding slowly on his cock.
"I want to feel it," Armand said, interrupting the kiss.
"What?"
"The tension in your muscles. Let me touch you, I want to understand."
You looked at him for a moment, waiting for fear to creep inside your mind, but all you could feel was love and trust.
You nodded.
"I'll go slow. If anything hurts or feels uncomfortable, you stop me. Okay?"
"Okay."
You felt his right hand slowly move downward, his eyes never leaving your face as he studied your reactions.
He moved your underwear to the side, his fingers sliding softly between your folds. A low hum resonated in his chest as he felt your wetness.
"You feel amazing, my love," Armand whispered on your mouth. Two of his fingers were tracing outside your lips with delicate strokes. "Here."
Of course, he had found the spot immediately.
"There," you confirmed.
"Will you tell me how to help you?" He asked, never once stopping his soft massage on your muscles.
"Yes," you replied, "I really want to have sex with you, Armand."
He hummed again at your words. "I can't wait to fuck you, little one. I know you look beautiful when you come."
You whimpered at his words, pressing down strongly on his fingers.
Armand moved his index higher and started to circle around your clit.
"Fuck," you moaned, your own fingers sliding through Armand's curls as you tried to ground yourself.
He already knew how to touch your body better than you.
Maybe it was time for the two of you to finally heal together.
---
So I don't know what this is, it was meant to be just a little blurb but this came out.
I see very little works that touch the topic of vaginismus or any of the other pelvic floor disorders, so I wanted to fix it as a person who has the condition.
Do you think I should explore more and write other of these moments between reader and Armand? Let me know!
What an astute observation, you think to yourself snarkliy, and you're sure he hears the thought.
It's true. Over the past 72 hours, you've maybe gotten a combined 4 hours of sleep. When you signed up for interviewing vampires, you knew it would be atypical hours. And honestly, you were pretty nocturnal yourself. But this was…different.
This was insomnia. Plain and simple. You couldn't fall asleep. Once you fell asleep, it wasn't an issue really. You'd toss and turn but you'd get some rest. Better than none.
It was the falling asleep itself that was the problem. You were still exhausted, ready for sleep, begging for it, but it would not come.
"Give the man a prize. Observant as ever, Armand." Your eyes are lidded in both fatigue and annoyance. The living room is pretty dark, save for the small lamp on the table beside you and the glow of the tv. It's some nature documentary about deep ocean creatures; you'd thought the relaxing visuals and the ambient water noise would coax you towards sleep. Nope.
None of your usual tricks were working. Not tea, not a hot bath with lavender, not weed, not doubling up your anti anxiety meds (don't try that at home kids), nothing was working. And it was starting to affect your job. Louis had asked you were alright a few times now, even Daniel had checked in on you. It was awkward, the pity felt weird. Or maybe it wasn't pity and it was simply concern, you know, a thing that people can feel towards you. The fatigue was making you depressed, sad.
"It's hard to miss, I haven't been attacked during our sessions in three days."
"Consider yourself lucky, it's only a brief respite." Your head rests on a pillow, your body splayed out on the enormous couch.
"I'll be counting the seconds until you've recovered." The fondness in his voice still catches you off guard.
It's been a bit since your first solo session, and since then…progress has certainly been made. He's been more amiable towards you. An undercurrent of tension playing just beneath the surface. But it hasn't…worsened things, or made things awkward. It's almost as if you're both playing a game, and it's one you both enjoy immensely. You still want to win, of course, but that's the fun in it: the other person is trying to win just as hard.
Not to mention the night you stumbled home drunk just before sunrise…
He watches you momentarily, from the edge of the living room - he loves to perch, you've noticed - before walking over to the couch. With a touch of his hand to your calves, you shift them off so he can sit. What catches you completely off guard is his grip around your ankle. He sits, gets comfortable, and places your legs on his lap, hand resting on your lower calf in a way that can only be described as possessive. Perhaps protective, if you're looking at it kindly. Your skin prickles and your ears get hot. He's never been so casual with touch before. Your nerve endings are screaming in satisfaction and agony simultaneously; satisfaction because any touch is like heaven to you, and agony because it is not enough. Thank god you've gotten a little better at shielding your thoughts.
"I'm sure we could have the good doctor prescribe you some sleeping medicine?" He offers, gazing half-heartedly at the TV as images of an angler fish flash on the screen.
A noise of frustration escapes your throat, "They don't work on me, unless it's a full blown sedative. Normal shit like Valium has no effect on me. My physiology is odd." Lots of things don't work on you; sleeping medicine, lots of allergy medicine, local anesthetic, caffeine. Who knows why. Maybe god decided to play a practical joke on you.
Armand seems surprised by that, "Really?"
"Really. Why do you think I reeked of weed last night? Usually I can smoke a little and conk out. But this time…it's different." He tenseness underneath your legs and a stab of regret runs through you.
"Not because of anything in particular, relax. Nothing about our recent sessions or anything that's happened here is causing it. Sometimes I just…can't sleep." You do your best to assuage his anxieties. It's funny. You know you're not his favorite person, but he seems to want to…protect you from certain things. Ugly truths or unsavory scenes, violence, cruelty, etc. He's an interesting creature.
"Yes, the scent was quite overpowering."
"Sorry."
"Don't be." His thumb has pressed into the meat of your calf absent-mindedly, pressing and rubbing in small little circles. It's…nice.
The screen goes red, as the image of Vampyroteuthis Infernalis, or 'The Vampire Squid From Hell' appears on screen.
"Why are you watching this? Will it not give you nightmares, seeing such fearsome creatures before bed?"
"I'm currently living with two fearsome creatures who I see before bed every night, so no." You smile gently, and even though you don't turn to look at him, you can feel the smirk settle on his face. His thumb nail digs into your skin playfully, a warning far too teasing to be sincere.
"Funny."
Silence lapses momentarily as you stare at the undulating form of the squid.
"Is it odd to hear about creatures named after you? Or…be confronted with vampires in pop culture?" It's a question you've been meaning to ask. He pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts - he always does this when you ask him these kinds of questions. Like he's taking the time to actually give you a meaningful answer. You shift, no longer laying on your side but on your back, leaning against the pillow you've stuffed against the arm of the couch. You can see his face now, painted in the colorful glow of the TV.
"I can see why humans named it such, the Vampire Squid From Hell. It is quite fearsome." His hand has shifted to your shin, letting the tips of his nails drag back and forth over your skin, featherlight. It's strangly comforting.
"As for pop culture…it's interesting, more than anything, to see what humans come up with in terms of story. The lore isn't always accurate but it's…nice to see us represented in different lights than just 'monsters'."
"Mm. Have a favorite?"
"I'm partial to A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, despite how new it is. The original Nosferatu is interesting enough, though I'm not a fan of German expressionism-"
"No you like the romantic era of art. Classical." You interrupt him, not unkindly.
"I do. Though I seem to remember you do as well." He's picked up on your avoidance of talking about yourself sometimes and seems to have made it a part of his life's mission to turn your own questions back on you as often as he can.
A sigh escapes your lips, "Yes, you remember correctly. Bram Stokers Dracula was a formative film for me. Still tear up a little bit."
"That explains quite a lot. I believe you would say 'that tracks'." The smile is audible in his voice. You sit up slightly, and narrow your eyes at him, mouth agape. He turns to you eyebrows raised and smiling, the picture of amusement.
"I can't believe you just used modern slang. Who are you and what have you done with the Vampire Armand?" You playfully admonish.
"One can only hear something for so long until it bleeds into their own vernacular." He counters.
"I could kick you right now."
"You won't." And he's right. This is too nice. You slump back down, arms crossed indignantly, glancing back at the TV briefly. It strikes you, how so many people might call these creatures monsters, and how beautiful you think they are. That seems to be a running theme for you. Finding beauty in the monstrous.
"A lot of humans often use vampirism as a metaphor. Queerness, otherness, love and consumption, sexuality. Not for nothing, I think vampiric media is some of our best. It certainly resonates with a lot of people. I don't know if that's comforting or not, but there are swathes of people who are more than sympathetic to you." Your eyes droop a little, but you're no less tired.
A deep breath has his chest rise and fall, though he does not require it.
"It's not comforting but it's not…discomforting. It baffles me, that humans could sympathize with things meant to kill them."
"Humans will sympathize with anything. We pack bond. We stare at monsters and ask if we can pet them, stare at wild animals and ask for cuddles. Why should that instinct stop at vampires?" You should be writing this down. You should be recording this. It's good stuff, but you wouldn't dare move. Wouldn't dare break this moment of peace with him.
He eyes you again. "Speaking from experience, are you?"
"Of course." It's your lack of hesitation that has him thrown. Your complete unabashed confirmation.
He's not looking at you now, eyebrows furrowed and staring ahead at nothing.
"It's a part of who we are, as predators. Everything about us is disarming to our prey. It is how we are made. Any sympathy might just be the result of evolutionary manipulation on our part." His tone is melancholy. It doesn't suit him, though you know from the interviews that he seems to be melancholy quite often.
"You underestimate humans ability to connect. Maybe it's because you've been so far removed from them." It's not a judgement. Just an observation. He knows it too, turning to you. Just looking at you, maybe looking for something.
"Not all of them are as kind in their assessment as you." His hand has stilled, just holding your ankle softly. It's a welcome feeling.
"Then seek out the kind ones." You know it's advice that you should be taking yourself. Your loneliness, your anxiety, they are so massive within you that they threaten to swallow you whole. You should be seeking out the kindness. Instead, you retract into yourself, fearful of possibility, fearful of change and of future, of rejection and fearful of what could go wrong. Your thoughts must be loud or you must have not been concentrating because Armand is rubbing you calf again, giving you a concerning look.
"Your sleep deprivation is worsening your mental state." It's not a judgement, just an observation.
"I know, I'm aware, but that doesn't make it go away." Your response is sad, full of understanding, and hopeless in a way. It's moments like these where you feel as if there is nothing you can do but soldier through, as unhealthy as that is. But it's how you've lived your life.
You're both silent for a few minutes, just existing in each others space. It's nice. The fish swim by on the screen, a nautilus, bioluminescent sea cucumber, copypods that shoot glowing goo out into the open dark water.
"I might be able to help you sleep, if you're amenable to that." Armand breaks the silence. His voice is tentative, small, a drop in a bucket.
What? Your eyes shift to his in question, "Help me sleep?"
"Yes. It wouldn't be hard. Or uncomfortable for you." He seems to be genuine, though he hasn't looked at you since he's said it.
You're not quite sure how you feel about having a vampire jn your head. It's happened before, and you can't make up your mind on how to feel. On one hand, it's miraculous. Being able to hear his thought that he shares with you, the sheer power he has, it's awesome in the literal sense of the word. On the other, it's terrifying. The being perceived of it all, the fact that he's in there and could do anything. Dangerous.
And yet.
"You want to help me sleep. Why?"
He sighs, "For one, your depressing thoughts are loud. Don't, say you're sorry. You have no reason to be." He silences you before you can apologize, your mouth snapping shut.
"Additionally, it doesn't feel right to spar with you when you're like this. Feels unfair. Like you better at full health." He's smiling again, and it's a pretty thing.
"Only if you're comfortable, of course." Ever the gentleman. Turning it over in your head, you sit up, eyeing him. He eyes you back.
At this point, you'll try anything.
"Alright. But not out here. I'll wake up with the worst crick in my neck if I sleep on this couch." Slowly, and with great effort, you swing your legs up off of him and off the couch, loving to a sitting position. Absentmindedly, you click off the TV and just sit there for a moment.
"Am I standing yet?"
A laugh, "I'm afraid not"
"Goddamnit." And you're standing. Your whole body aches, protesting leaving the warmth of the blanket snd the couch, protesting the movement.
"Ok." You sigh, and turn to walk to your room. Armand follows behind you, not too close, not hovering.
Your room is an extension of you. A bit messy, a little unorganized, but so very you. It reminds you of your college dorm, in a very fond way. It feels familiar, even though you've only been here for a little while. Walking in, you sit on the edge of your bed, fish out a pill from the little orange bottle on your nightstand and swallow it with a swig of your water bottle.
Armand is stuck in the doorway, watching you, looking at the room.
"Sorry it's a little messy."
"Don't be sorry, it's very you."
Warmth spreads through your chest. To be known, and all that…
He stays there a little longer, and your brows furrow. Armand hasn't been in your room before.
"Don't tell me you need an invitation." There's a lilt to your voice, and he's rolling his eyes at it.
"I don't need one, no. But I wanted to give you the chance to. This is your space. You haven't entered my bedroom." He shrugs to seem nonchalant but you can tell, he's incredibly chalant, old fashioned thing that he is. 500 years old..god, you forget sometimes, how different of a time he is from.
"Thank you. You're welcome to come in Armand." You say as you pull back the covers, sliding yourself under them, rubbing your legs together like a cricket.
He enters the room and you suddenly understand why he was giving you the benefit of inviting him in. Armand in your room is…well it sure is something. You pray to god you haven't left out anything embarrassing for him to pick up on, but that's the least of your worries.
A vampire. In your space. That you allowed in. There is something that started buzzing in the atmosphere somewhere as soon as he stepped in. Jesus, how will you sleep now. His fingers catch on the edges of the balled up bedsheet you threw onto your dresser.
"No sheet?"
"No, it makes me too hot and gets tangled up in my legs." He nods, like it makes perfect sense. You sleep on the left side of the bed - it's at least a queen - farther from the door. He walks over to the opposite side, and sits on the edge.
"It would be better if you got comfortable first."
"Right." You crawl down further under the covers, arrange your pillows how you like them, and move to lay on your right side, so you're facing him. He's brought himself fully onto the bed, leaning against the headboard casually, one leg stretched out and one bent, his elbow resting on it.
"Ok…you're not just gonna…snap and I'm out right? That would be…jarring." You blurt out, suddenly nervous.
He chuckles, low and warm. "No. Close your eyes." You oblige.
You feel the bed shift as he leans over to shut off the light, plunging the room into darkness. A fan whirs somewhere, the white noise a necessity for you to fall asleep, vampire compulsion aside.
There's a vampire in your bed, and you're line with him in the dark. Terror should be seizing you. You should be running, screaming. But it does not, and you don't. In fact, you feel safer than you've ever felt before. And in this moment, you don't care about how that might make you ducked up or insane. Right now, you're just excited to sleep.
Featherlight at first, his fingers brush over your forehead, your brow, smoothing away any tension. They eventually find your hair, skimming over it gently.
"I've been waiting for you for a long time." He starts, voice syrupy and dreamy and like a velvet robe. You knew what compulsion sounded like, knew what it felt like.but instead of fighting it like you had before, you slowly, very slowly, welcomed it as he continued.
"You have been searching for me, all your life, especially recently." His hand moving lazily over and through your hair, playing with it. The repetitive motions lull you further into relaxation along with his voice.
"With every sunrise seen by tired eyes, every cup of coffee that fails to rouse you from your fatigue, and every aid that has failed you, I have been waiting." His words weave a web around you, the beginning of one, but you don't feel fear. You're still aware of things, still present in your own mind, but things have…filled. Rough edges have been smoothed out as his words wash over you.
"I know you seek me. The warmth of a blanket, the softness of hands on your skin, the gentle drift from conscious to unconscious. I am here now, and you can cease your search." Tension in your body is melting away, limb by limb, everywhere. Your breathing begins to even, and your eyelids are so heavy you could not have opened them even if you wanted to.
"And who can blame you? You have been unfairly kept from me. But it isn't your fault. Not at all, not even close. Sometimes these things happen. But it's been long enough, hasn't it?" It has, you think to yourself, and a part of you aches. To be spoken to kindly, sweetly, gently…it's beyond words, how nice it feels. Nice isn't even the correct word, but you don't think there's a word out there that properly describes what you're feeling.
"Yes, it has. But you don't have to worry anymore. I'm here now. Nothing will harm you, there is only you, and me, in this space. Nothing waiting to swallow you up, in fact, it doesn't exist here. You are free of it. Let it go." And you do. You have so much worry. Bundled up in your chest, knotted up in your blood vessels and arteries like a cats cradle. You're protective of it, strangely; it's been with you all your life. But you let him pick apart the tangles and loops, let him comb through them with deft hands.
"You don't have to fight. You don't have to be strong now. Let it take you, let yourself be. Let yourself rest. You deserve it. It is as easy as breathing for you." And it is. It's all falling away with every exhale, every pass of his fingers through your hair, on your scalp.
"Like coming home after a long drive, like sitting down after hours standing, like coming home to the person you love…" his voice has both quieted and intensified. Like it's a gentle whisper coming from inside your head.
"Let go. You are holding on so tightly. Let go, and slip into dreams. Into watch. I'm here now. Rest." And with no hurrah, no warning or sign, you gently slip into unconsciousness, the last thing you feel being his hand in your hair.
He stays for far longer than you'll realize, long after your breathing has evened and your mind has slowed to that of sleep. Staring at you, as if you were some mysterious work of art.
Sympathetic to vampires…finding beauty in monstrosity. You perplexed him.
With the grace and agility that could only be attributed to his vampiric nature, he rises. Barely making a sound. He stares at you a moment longer and before he can stop himself, he reaches out and smooths the hair away from your face on last time, hand lingering on your delicate cheek.
"Rest well." He whispers your name like a prayer, guilty and reverential, before slipping away, further into the penthouse. But not before feeling the waves of peace, and safety, and affection rolling off of you.
He feels it, bottles it, and stores it deep in his chest cavity, and it's almost enough to warm his whole body.
"baby... s'okay" you coo at him, trying to speed up the process a bit.
he's on top of you, his eyes fluttering shut as he relishes in the sensation of you wrapped around his length, taking all of him. he's trying his absolute hardest not to bust right here, especially because he just bottomed out.
"i- i cant-" he takes strangled breaths, shaking his head and letting it fall down to rest on your bare chest. your hand instinctively comes up to meet him, running your fingers through his inky black hair. he leans into the contact.
"jay, im sure you won't cum if you just move a little" you try to bargain with him, the feeling of him just sitting inside you instead of pistoning in and out of you is becoming increasingly frustrating.
he wasn't even gone that long! maybe a month at most. some mission he was dragged away on. not a day went by that he didn't call or text you, going on and on about how much he missed you! how he wished it was your hand instead of his fucking his dick raw every night.
"y-you don't get it, baby..." he licks his lips, looking down at where the two of you are connected, then back up at your impatient face. "i jus- jus missed you so fucking much" he complains, leaning his head down to press soft, gentle kisses to your forehead, your eyelid, the tip of your nose, your cheek, and anywhere else he could reach.
you have to take your bottom lip in between your teeth in order to hold back a smirk. you've never seen him this pathetic.
you experimentally roll your hips against his. he lets out a loud groan, "fuck!" he reaches a hand down to grip your hip hard enough to bruise, his other hand staying at its position on the bed beside your head. "don't fucking- mfph!" he tries not to focus on just how tight and warm and wet you are compared to his hand.
you wince at his iron clutch on your hip. "jason!" you whine, "just move baby, please" you pout, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
he meets your gaze, "angel-" he whimpers, his head falling back down. you don't miss the feeling of wetness against your bare skin. is he seriously crying?
"honey..." you purr, "it's okay, i know you missed me" you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, making his breath hitch. "you've been so neglected, huh?" you ask patronizingly. he nods.
your sweet, soothing words are enough to make his balls tighten, sending him over the edge. who knew all it took was just a few words to make jason todd cum?
he lets out a soft, muffled moan against your skin as his hips buck into you, spilling warm sticky release deeeep inside of you.
"f-fuck!" he whimpers. he feels overwhelming embarrassment, lifting his head to look at you, tears still falling down his flushed cheeks. "m'sorry honey, m'so sorry" he shakes his head, hand traveling to the back of your head to bring it to rest in his palm.
you can't help but huff a laugh, "don't be sorry..." you speak gently. "we can go again, yeah?"
cw: jealous reader, no implied romance, just friendship, mentions of abuse/neglect in foster homes, mentions of suicide
a/n: woah lots of content warnings. I decided last night that my writing is trash and writing angst always makes me feel better so here we are
“I’ll be right back,” Jason said. “I saw a really fancy car and I bet the tires would sell for really good money.”
you hadn’t thought much about it, just told him to be safe.
you and Jason were a team, you always had been and always would be. But he didn’t return that night, or the next day, or the day after that.
you immediately thought the worst. You assumed he was dead.
Gotham was not a safe place for kids like you. You were always in constant danger. If the police saw you, they’d put you in the system, and there was a good chance the home you’d be put in would be abusive. And if the cops didn’t catch you, a trafficker would. you shuddered at the thought.
You tried to survive by yourself for as long as you could, but without your best friend you eventually got caught. A bakery owner called the police when he caught you stealing bread from him, and the police put you in the system.
you were stuck in a foster home.
at first it wasn’t that bad, but once cps stopped checking on you, things changed. Your foster parents were horrible. They’d yell, throw things at you, and call you names.
you had a younger foster sister though, and she was the sunshine in your darkness. But even her light was dimming. She had dealt with the abuse for months and didn’t know how much she could take.
“I’m sorry,” she told you one night with tears in her eyes. “I just don’t think I can take any more of this.”
your foster parents were gone that night so she locked herself in the bathroom. You cried, screamed, banged on the door, and begged her to not do this.
there were no phones in the house so you couldn’t call anyone.
“Please don’t do this,” you begged through sobs. “You can’t leave me here!”
there was no answer.
you fell asleep crying next to the bathroom door that night.
you woke up to the feeling of the collar of your shirt being pulled and you were immediately slapped across the face. Your “parents” made you watch as she got wheeled away on a gurney.
cps moved you to a different foster home after they had ruled your fosters sisters death as a suicide.
this one wasn’t as bad but it wasn’t much better. Your new foster parents neglected you, but at least it was better than the physical abuse you had experienced.
They didn’t care about you at all. They never made you meals, never took you to school, and never bothered to even talk to you. So you learned how to do things by yourself.
you and free reign of the whole house. They didn’t really care what you did as long as you were out of the way. So you learned how to cook and you started cleaning a lot. You didn’t even know if they enrolled you in school so you didn’t bother going.
one day, you decided to watch tv as you cleaned. And as you turned it onto the Gotham news channel, you say a boy who looked very familiar standing next to the one and only Bruce Wayne.
The news reporter said his name and you swore your heart stopped. Jason Todd. Your Jason.
The broom fell from your hands and clattered on the floor. Your Jason got adopted by Bruce Wayne. He wasn’t dead, he was thriving.
he looked different, polished. His teeth were bleached white and his hair was cut and combed. Bruce Wayne judged him as the cameras started flashing. Jason smiled. A fake smile, but still. You missed that smile.
you couldn’t help being jealous. You had experienced abuse and neglect after Jason disappeared, and he was living the privileged life. He didn’t have to witness a young girl throw her life away, he didn’t get burned by cigarettes every night, he didn’t have to cook every meal for himself.
You turned the tv off immediately. You couldn’t watch him smile at cameras. You assumed he must’ve forgotten about you, there was no other logical explanation to why he hadn’t come back for you.
he used to be like you, a street kid, but now he was doing interviews with Bruce Wayne.
what you didn’t know is that Jason didn’t forget. He tried to go back to you to tell you but he couldn’t find you. And after weeks of not being able to find you, he stopped trying.
but he didn’t stop thinking of you. To jason todd, you were still his best friend. And you always would be.
a/n: if u liked this, please like, comment, reblog, and check out my other works!!
p.s: I got a request to make a part 2 so follow me to stay updated or ask me to tag u in it!
Your head hurt. Like, stake through your forehead hurt.
Migraines were never fun, but especially not when you were trying to stream so that your audience had their bi-nightly entertainment.
The guys didn't help much, given that they were always loud. The screaming match over whatever stupid steam game Smitty convinced you guys to download was too much when combined with the light from your monitor.
You'd been falling more and more quiet for the past hour, now barely talking at all, just moving your character around and trying to get through the session. Ideally, you'd be done soon and able to curl up in bed with no light, no sound.
Just your blanket, water bottle, and weighted eye mask.
Pure heaven for a migraine.
"How many more times am I going to fucking fall!" Matt screamed. The rest of the guys began laughing, sending another spike of pain through your skull.
Puffer and Pezzy both began making fun of him, Droid and Smitty both cackling in the background. When your phone buzzed on your desk, you ignored it at first, just locked in on your own character.
But then the device buzzed again, more insistent. With a small huff through your nose, you picked it up, squinting at the light.
You okay?
You're really quiet.
As you read them, a third text came through. This time, a gif of a concerned bear. That one had your lips quirking up into a ghost of a smile.
Migraine. The yelling isn't helping.
Do you need anything?
Just for this session to end.
You looked back up to your monitors, scanning chat for a moment, most of your viewers asking if you were alright or why you were so quiet. For a rare moment, you ignored them, going back to moving your character through the map, doing your best to just beat the damn game so you could go to bed.
Without warning, your office door creaked open, footsteps coming closer. On instinct, you muted yourself and turned to see Nelson standing behind you, holding one of his hoodies out.
Slowly, you stood and took it from him, sliding it over your old Nirvana shirt. The fabric swallowed you and it was just as comfortable as you knew Nelson had been hoping.
"Thank you," you mumbled. "I'm ready to go to bed."
"You should go ahead and get off for the night," he whispered. One of his hands came up to cradle the side of your face, his eyes softening with worry as you pressed your cheek into his palm.
"I feel bad leaving before we beat the game. We're so close to the end."
He shook his head, a sigh falling from his mouth. "If you don't get away from the screen and the noise, it's just going to get worse."
"I know," you told him, "but I just...I did really want to play this one. I was looking forward to today's stream. I can't give up a stream day."
"You can if it's for your own health." His thumb traced across your cheekbone, your eyes closing at the comfort in the gesture. "Come on. Let's get you to bed. We can try again another day, alright?"
"Okay," you whispered. "Okay."
"Good." He leaned forward to press a careful kiss to your forehead. "I'm getting off, too. I'll make you some tea for bed."
"You don't have to." Your eyes opened again, meeting his. "You can stay on with the guys for a while longer."
"Not when I need to take care of you." Your smile grew a little despite the ache in your cranium.
"You're so sweet it's sickening."
"You love it, though."
"I do." You leaned forward into his chest, giving him a hug. "Alright, I'll close out. See you in five?"
"Hopefully less."
The guys, as always, were understanding about you leaving, though you heard them start to tease Grizzy when he said he'd be leaving, too. You talked to your chat for a minute, explaining why you'd gotten so quiet and why you were getting off, apologizing for the short stream.
By the time you were done, Nelson was already in your guys' bedroom, a cup of your favorite tea on your nightstand next to your filled water bottle and eye mask.
As you laid there, curled into his side in the quiet, blanketed in darkness and his hoodie, you finally felt the pressure behind your eyes lessening. That night, you fell asleep with his hand rubbing soothing circles onto your back like he could take away every ailment you ever had.
it’s the soft click of the door that brings you out of your thoughts. you have been there, waiting for dean for what felt like hours but in reality, he had just took a ten minutes shower. too long for you. you were laying on his bed, scrolling through social media when he came back in the room and a smile appeared on his face when he saw his hockey jersey on you, pajamas style.
“this might be the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen in my life.” he said while changing and you smiled at him. “you say that every time you see me, dummy.” the words leaving your mouth only made him shrug and he came closer, falling onto the bed next to you, making the wooden frame creak.
“yeah? probably because you are the prettiest thing ever.” his face leaned closer; a peck to your forehead, one to your cheek and the last one onto your lips. you couldn’t stop laughing before he kissed you properly, one hand moving to cup your cheek and tilt your head to the side. dean sighed against your mouth before pulling away. “you smell like my body wash.” his words were said quietly.
“i want to keep this shirt forever.” you only replied back to him, leaning your face closer to his own just to brush your nose against his jawline. his expression softened, all fond and warm before he hummed. “yeah, looks better on you anyway. keep it.” he nodded before kissing you again, suddenly rolling on his back and pulling you with him, bringing a loud laugh out of your mouth.
₊ ֹ ˖ BF!GARRETT ABSOLUTELY LOVES SEEING HIS JERSEY ON HIS GIRL ﹙ even if he’s mad at her ﹚ ᱺㅤㅤ ୨౿
there were three things in the world that got garrett going the most. first was hockey. second was when you put him in his place. third was discovered recently.
a newfound interest: you in his jersey.
he’s had lots of girls wear his color and number in the stands, cheering for him during games, but he’s never ever had an actual girlfriend put one on.
until you.
in his eyes, it’s basically like walking around in lingerie, so what happens when you put the said jersey on, that’s reaching your knees almost, as a trump card when you’re both fighting?
tonight was supposed to be a get together between you and allie and the guys, a movie night she and dean insisted on to get some quality time.
and you were excited for it; you’d be lying if the idea of cuddling up with garrett throughout the night didn’t get you all warm and fuzzy.
but the asshole just had to ruin it by starting an argument (he started and you dragged it out for no reason but we’ll just ignore this bit) this morning over something stupid you don’t even remember.
you didn’t talk for the whole day because, well, you’re both stubborn as hell; neither of you was willing to be the first one to apologize.
so hence you pulling the card on him, strutting into the living room where everyone’s sprawled on the couch, logan and grace—the only ones on the floor because it “keeps them grounded”—logan’s philosophical bullshit.
garrett’s eyes heat up, arousal already seeping through his pores as he tracks your movement. just as he thinks, for the sake of his friends, you’ll sit next to him, you go right next to allie instead, separating her from a very much annoyed dean and cuddling up with her the whole time, glaring at garrett.
he glares right back.
for fuck’s sake, he can see your black panties from where he’s sitting. he’s glad tuck and dean are closer to you so they don’t get the view.
graham <3 : is that an invitation to get fucked?
he’s still eyeing up your legs as he pulls out his phone, sending you a quick text. you know damn well what he mean. overall you were the one to put them on. his favorite pair on you.
you: get fucked <3
you answer right back.
graham <3 : i admire the enthusiasm. should we go to my room to follow through?
you: boringggg
from all the time that you’ve been with him you damn well sex is never boring with him, but you text back anyways , annoyed at him and his dirty mouth that always paints your cheeks red and your panties a little too wet, you make a show of putting your phone away, further pissing him off.
but he knows he can't stay mad for long when he has you bent over his bed later, while your shake and writhe with his name on your back as he fucks you so good you can't remember what you were even fighting about.
iwtv seasons one and two was like being tucked into bed and read a heartbreaking story by Louis du pointe du lac. The Vampire Lestat is like your blackout drunk uncle trying to tell you an anecdote at a family gathering
If they catch anyone so much as hints at disrespect toward you, Louis isn’t one to hide his discontent. He’s very obviously tense and snippy, while Armand becomes deadly silent with a hard stare, on where you think he’s playing mind tricks on the person. And sometimes he is. You’ve had more than one “gentle” argument with them about overdoing it.
When you didn’t live with them yet, Louis insisted that he walked you home from every outing, even if he doesn’t technically need to, especially since you were out with friends—his need to make sure you’re safe is almost compulsive. He also likes going to outings with you in case you want to leave early and don’t have to go home all by yourself.
Armand, however, blends his protectiveness with possessiveness. If someone were to get too close or speak to you too familiarly, he doesn’t really make a scene. He would just places a hand at the small of your back, ease it around your waist and pull you a little close. Sometimes he’d lean close to whisper something to you in a language you don’t even understand, but his gaze never meeting the other person on the person until they looked away.
They both hate the idea of you being around people they don’t trust or like. Like the friends of your friend. Louis is more diplomatic; he’d offer to come with, just to he could be there incase something happens. While Armand is more likely to make those people “disappear” from your orbit entirely. That only happened once thought and he was a total jerk.
Everyday moments that you share and that they love is how you’re always cold. Louis is the gentleman who drapes his coat over your shoulders or insists on walking with you pressed to his side, his body just slightly warmer than the air since he recently fed. Armand, on the other hand, likes to trap you between his arms and whatever seat or wall you’re near, letting his unnatural heat seep into you until your skin prickles, lightly tracing the tip his nose over any expose skin.
Louis buys you flowers almost weekly—never the same kind twice—and quietly places them in a vase before you even wake up. When you didn’t live with them, they would be delivered fresh in the morning for the vase in your kitchen and the one in your bedroom. When you did begin to spend more time over there place, they were everywhere. The kitchen, the dining room, the living room, your bedside table.
Armand doesn’t buy flowers; though he did help with the arrangements of the ones on you bedside table. His way of giving was somehow always finding rare items for you, where that be jewelry, books, ticket stubs to old bands you like, movie posters. Even old ceramics. The pamphlets from his old plays were some of your favorite though. He spent a lot of time and money on E-Bay on his iPad.
You like to make playlists for them both, sometimes after you all watch a movie tighter and you really like the soundtrack, or after noticing a new genre they seemed into. Louis listens to every song in order, no matter what. He didn’t like breaking the natural progression you’d put them in for some reason. Armand skips around but can recite your track list from memory—because he’s made a point to listen to the songs when you’re not around, just to feel closer to you. He also knows within songs you like best and plays them for you when you’re doing things around the home.
When it comes to romantic gestures, Louis is more of the “soft dates” kind of person—late-night walks, reading French poetry to you while you sit in the bat he ran. Or simply just quietly admiring you from across a candlelit table.
Armand loved an intimate grand gestures. Exclusive after-hours tours of museums, the aquarium and dinosaur ones were your favorite. He liked dates in secret gardens, taking in the beauty that nature had to offer. He once rented an entire orchestras to play for you alone in a Théâtre. Sometimes they plan things together. Louis would handle the intimate details while Armand handles the spectacle, so you end up with evenings that start quietly and end in something unforgettable. And then sex.
Oddly enough, they both admired your human and immortal difference. They both secretly love that you need sleep. Louis likes to sit by your bedside, reading or journaling while you drift off, and would occasionally brush his fingers over your hair. Armand was more inclined to join you in bed, not sleeping but lying perfectly still, memorizing the way you look at rest. Sometimes he’d even allow you to lay on him, rubbing his hand against your back to get you to drift off.
They tease you about your heartbeat for some reason. Especially when they make you nervous with their intense gazes or their flirting. Louis was more gentle about it but Armand did it with a wicked smirk. Louis will rest his hand against your chest when you’re anxious to soothe you, rubbing in circles. Armand would bring you into his arms and make you follow his breaths, your chest pressed together with every inhale. He also likes to press his lips to your pulse just to feel it quicken.
You’re prone to getting little injuries—paper cuts, cuts in the kitchen, bumping your knee, etc.—and Louis fusses every time, running to fetch bandages. Armand finds it oddly endearing and will kiss the injury like he was the key to healing all.
Other things that go in is that Armand likes to steal your lipstick, smashing his lips against yours right when you put it on. He’d then go and kiss Louis, transferring it to him. It was silly but it made you laugh every time seeing you all wear the same shade, that’s why kept doing it. He also liked to pick out what you wore.
Louis always makes sure there’s a human-friendly snacks in the house for you, even if you tell him you can fend for yourself. He likes to watch you eat them, as if you were some even on television every time you ate potato chips.
If you fall asleep on the couch, they have a silent argument over who gets to carry you to bed. Or even if they should carry you since you were a light sleeper, debating on just sleeping around you tonight. Louis usually wins, but only because Armand lets him.
omg I loooove Armand and bestie soooo much!!!! Need more of this new era of openly needy and pinning Armand. Since he’s incapable of expressing his feelings like a normal person lmao I feel like his newfound clingyness would set off a bat signal in bestie’s brain about his desire for love and affection and she would indulge him arguing that it’s harmless. Like I could see Louis having to go away for a few days for some reason and Armand taking that opportunity to practically glue himself to bestie’s side 24/7 like a clingy cat lol.
openly needy and pining armand who uses extreme attachment to compensate for his inability to express his feelings in a normal way is here 🥰
also i exaggerated (and made up some stuff about) louis's implied role in art/business dealings during the modern era for the sake of plot here :)
----
There is no definitive sound or shift that pulls you out of unconsciousness, but some instinctual part of you seems to know to squint your eyes open.
You let out a breath, keeping your gaze focused on the ceiling before shifting onto your side. The faintest implication of daybreak is bleeding through your curtains, but the distant light tinging the material isn't enough to make morning feel near.
The hours between the early morning and middle of the night transform the penthouse's guest room into something overwhelmingly shadowy, a quality your mind never seems to dwell on when Louis's nearby.
You continue to study the darkness until the shapes begin to solidify themselves a little more. After another moment, your vision adjusts enough for you to distinguish his figure from the surrounding shadows.
"Armand?" His name leaves you with an unexpected raspiness.
He moves forward slowly, the sound of his footsteps even as he approaches you. There's something easing about the consistency of his pace. You study his shifting outline as he continues forward.
"I didn't mean to wake you," his voice is low, quiet, as if that might be enough to turn hazy reality into a forgotten dream.
There's something beneath the softness of his words that encourages you to lift your head, "I know." You mean the response. Something about Armand's presence seems much too hesitant to feel intentional. "Are you okay?"
He shifts slightly, his fingers bending by his side before straightening again. There's a steadiness to his fidgeting that's almost enough to dismiss his unease. You extend an arm slowly, taking his hand as carefully as you can manage. Armand lets you squeeze his palm to yours.
"I'm fine," the response feels strangely hollow, "It's just--it's been some time since I've been alone."
That makes sense. From your understanding of their relationship, Louis leaving town on his own to finalize an art deal isn't extremely common. Even when Louis travels to visit you, he rarely does so without Armand.
You should have assumed that Armand was struggling with Louis's departure. At first, he seemed okay, remaining by your side throughout the evening...but that was before you left him alone to go to bed.
You drag your thumb against his knuckles. "77 years is a long time to get used to someone." His hold on your hand tightens. "Louis will be back the night after tomorrow."
"I know," the response feels distant.
When he doesn't ease, you exhale. "Do you want to stay in here?" The offer feels much more shy than it should. Armand has stayed in your room before, though Louis usually joins you at some point.
After a long stretch of silence, he nods once, his chin dipping downwards so subtly you're convinced you wouldn't have noticed it if you had been watching any less closely.
You shift slowly, pulling your hand away from his before moving towards the other side of the bed. The part of your bed that you don't usually sleep on is colder than the side you've been lying on, but it's difficult to mind the sacrifice. Armand needs the additional warmth more than you do, anyway.
He sits down at the edge of the bed. For a moment, there's a stillness to him that feels overly rigid, but before you can dwell on his tension, he eases, his spine relaxing as he pulls back your sheets.
Armand's movements almost always feel particular, not exactly sharp but certain. You think it's this certainty that makes it possible for him to move as quietly as he does.
You don't mind it when he's quiet. There's a consistency to his presence that's comforting enough without the addition of sound.
He sets his head against your pillow; you have to work at focusing on the ceiling instead of him.
"Go back to sleep," his voice is more startling than it should be. Maybe you're not as subtle as you think you are.
Instead of owning up to any over analysis, you deflect, "I am."
"No," he sighs, "You're not." Armand continues without so much as giving you an opportunity to defend yourself, "I can tell by your breathing."
Vampire senses never let you know a moment of peace. You push yourself into a sitting position, resting your weight against your forearm. "You said you'd stop assessing my breathing patterns."
"I was not assessing you--
"You're a liar," you mumble, tone a little more argumentative than you feel as you try to suppress a laugh.
He lets out a breath before shifting onto his side. You extend an arm on instinct, pressing your hand against his arm in an incredibly halfhearted attempt at pushing him back down. He places a hand over yours, anchoring your palm against him.
Armand drags his thumb against the side of your wrist. "You lied first."
"Fine," the concession is surprisingly easy, "Then I guess we're both liars."
He tilts his chin downwards, the shift is small and irrelevant, but it manages to morph his proximity into something less insignificant. "I guess we are."
The silence returns, only this time it feels larger, like something that's apart of both of you. Armand is the first to think to break it, "It wasn't my intention to wake you."
His voice is too soft, too somber. You squeeze his arm as gently as you can manage. "I know."
He hums once in acknowledgement of your response, but something about the sound feels oddly flat. Before you can overanalyze the reaction, Armand shifts towards you. He places a kiss against your cheek before straightening again. "You should go back to sleep."
You nod once, but it takes you a second to think to act on taking his suggestion. Once you do, you shift back, moving to lie down. As soon as you're settled, Armand moves closer to you before lying down, his head coming to rest against your chest.
You set your arm against his back, smoothing circles against the fabric of his pajama shirt. "Was your evening okay after I went to bed?"
"It was fine," he mumbles, "Standard." You're not sure what kind of answer you expected. Armand spent most of the evening lingering by your side. You haven't been away from him long enough for anything too significant to have happened. "I fed, then spent some time in the living room."
Hm...something about his description of time spent alone in the living room feels intentionally vague...and familiar... "I know 'spending time alone in the living room' is code for 'played on your iPad'."
He sighs, letting out a breath against your collarbone. "It is not code."
"So you weren't on your iPad?"
Armand lets out another tired breath. "Either way, 'spending time in the living room' isn't a coded phrase."
Still no denial. You smile to yourself as you drag your nails down his upper back. "Did you check on our Minecraft world?"
"I added more materials to your chest, but I didn't work on the farm expansion without you."
There's a balance to sharing a Minecraft world, and you're glad that you and Armand have been able to find one. You never have to worry about lacking materials in your shared world, and he also never builds the things you're looking forward to adding on to.
"That was nice." You continue to trace your nails against the fabric of his shirt. "I want more sheep."
Armand shifts slightly, his hand coming to rest against your shoulder. He drags his thumb over the collar of your T-shirt and onto your skin. "We can get some tomorrow."
Right...tomorrow. The first and only full day without Louis. "I'll wait for you to wake up, then." You feel like you should be offering him something more, but you're too tired to think of anything that might be interesting to him. When you spend time with Louis, the two of you seem to just know what to do. "We can also work on the additional floor we were talking about."
"We can do that in the early evening." Armand continues to drag his thumb against your shoulder. "Is there anything else you want to do tomorrow?"
Right...tomorrow. "Do you want to do anything tomorrow?" Something about echoing the question feels like a cop out. "As you know, Louis is like 90 percent of my social life, so I'm fully available."
"90 percent feels generous for the amount of time you spend together." You roll your eyes at the comment. Louis is your best friend, but it's not like you can never do anything without him. "We could go into the city."
The offer is more surprising than it should be. After all, the concept of going somewhere with him, and only him, shouldn't feel particularly strange or significant.
When you don't immediately respond, Armand continues, "I know you enjoy those kinds of outings."
You scoff. "Don't make me sound like a party girl."
"You do own a lot of tops that you refer to as 'going out tops'."
Rude. "'A lot' feels like an exaggeration." You move your hand away from his back. "And like the kind of comment made by someone I wouldn't go out with, so..."
"I was joking."
You turn your head, doing your best to glare at him from your current position. "Really? You don't just hate all of my tops?"
He sighs. "No, I do not hate your tops."
"That sounds convincing."
He lifts his head enough to look at you. "Darling, wonderful light of this world, I adore everything that you wear."
Ignoring his blatant sarcasm, you beam. "I'm such a wonderful dresser and person."
Armand eases again, his head coming to rest against your chest again. "You're also incredibly humble."
"I know." You return your arm to its earlier position, your fingertips tracing shapes against his spine. "Can I pick out your outfit for tomorrow?"
"So you do want to go?" There's a suddenness to the question that you're not sure how to take.
"Yeah," the response feels cautious, "It sounds fun...and you never want to do anything, so--"
He's quick to interrupt you with a counter, "I do things."
"Not with me and Louis." It's not the fairest comment, but it's not untrue either. Armand tags along when he's feeling up to it, but he's completely comfortable staying home or doing things on his own when he isn't interested in your plans.
Armand moves his hand away from your shoulder and onto your lower arm. He drags his fingertips against your inner wrist. "Isn't that how you two prefer it? Your own little world?"
His response manages to dig itself into your chest with an unnerving sharpness. Does he really feel like you don't want him around? "I like it when you're there, too."
He remains silent for so long, you almost convince yourself that he fell asleep without hearing you, but then he lifts his head slightly, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. "You should go back to sleep," he says, his voice little more than a whisper, "You're no good to me if you're too tired to do anything tomorrow."
The change in subject feels suspiciously sudden, but you don't want to push him into discussing anything too upsetting now. Your eyelids are also starting to feel much to heavy for you to focus on much else.
"Okay," you say, more to yourself than to him, "Goodnight."
He continues to trace his fingers against your wrist. "Goodnight."
Bestie wrangling a tipsy affectionate Armand OMMGGGGGG and you know deep down she’s eating up all the affection
There was once a time in which the low groans of floorboards and door hinges only pulled you out sleep because of their eeriness. However, you've grown so accustomed to those sounds being followed by apologetic greetings and the soothing feel of cool skin against yours that you no longer find yourself scared of what you hear in the middle of the night.
Tonight seems to be an exception.
Instead of being carefully lulled out of sleep by gentle footsteps, you were yanked out of it by the heavy sound of the penthouse's front door falling shut. And instead of waking up to one or more vampires in your room, you've woken up to no one. Which is...odd.
A more rested version of yourself might have briefly considered offering Louis and Armand their privacy, but you're drowsy enough to be willing to seek out immediate attention. So you halfheartedly untangle yourself from your sheets without a second thought.
The night's cool air immediately presses itself against your skin. You wrap your arms around yourself as you step out into the hall. From your vantage point, you can tell that the main living room light is on.
As quietly as possible, you continue to walk forward. You're not delusional enough to think that you're capable of evading their notice, but it's instinctual to do what you can to keep from startling them.
It doesn't take long for you to get caught. "Great," Louis sighs, "you woke her."
You part your lips, but you can't bring yourself to immediately respond. Louis and Armand are standing near the entryway, both of them still wearing coats which means they can't have been here for long. They're also standing close together, which isn't particularly strange. In fact, everything about them could pass for normal if it wasn't for the blood staining Armand's chin.
You recover from your surprise as you quickly as you can manage, stepping away from the hall and crossing the threshold to enter the living room. "It's okay," you say, your voice raspy with sleep, "I wasn't that asleep." A partial lie that you're sure they can completely see through.
"Clearly," Louis mumbles, his tone deeply unimpressed. He places a hand against Armand's arm in a way that feels a little too pointed to pass as casual affection. There's a sharpness there that almost makes the contact seem like a necessity.
You take a step towards them. "Armand, are you okay?"
He blinks, angling his head to one side as he looks at you. Armand's full focus always feels consuming, but there's something particularly heavy about the way that he's staring at you now. "You're here."
You're not sure what you're meant to do with the statement. His words also feel a little too slow, almost slurred. "Yeah," you finally answer, "I'm here."
Armand tries to take a step forward, but Louis doesn't let him get too far. Instead of trying to talk to Louis or shrug himself out his hold, Armand reaches an arm out towards you. "Come closer."
Once again, Armand's words feel noticeably dragged out. There's something familiar about the change in his speech pattern, but it takes you a moment to place it.
You glance between Armand and Louis, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing. "Is he drunk?"
Realizing that he's no longer the center of your attention, Armand lets his arm fall to his side. Louis adjusts his hold on Armand to keep him moving any further. "He decided to drink from someone stumbling around looking for a bar that was still open." Louis looks over at Armand, his expression slightly chastising. "With no warning."
Considering how annoyed Louis is, you really should be more concerned about Armand randomly deciding to pick up a late night meal from a bar, or at the very least more concerned about the unlucky person that Armand ran into, but all you can think about is Armand's drowsy expression.
"He's never drunk." The comment is meant to be an observation, but the joy in your voice is audible.
Louis sighs, "Do not find this funny."
"There's nothing amusing about this." Armand is trying to sound stern, but his attempt at warning you to leave him alone falls flat as he tries to pull his arm out of Louis's grasp.
"No," you mumble, voice heavy with sarcasm, "this is not amusing at all."
Armand tries pulling away from Louis again. This time, Louis lets him slip out of his grasp. Armand starts to walk towards you. He manages a few stable steps before nearly stumbling over his own footing. You instinctually close the gap between the two of you, your hand finding his arm to keep him steady.
"Don't make fun of me." Wow, that stranger's alcohol blood content level must have been lethally high.
You squeeze his shoulder. "I'd never," you promise, your voice saturated with as much sincerity as you can manage. "We should get you ready for bed before sunrise."
Armand's eyes briefly narrow, his head tilting to one side again in a way that almost feels confused. You're not sure what he might be uncertain about, but you're not given the chance to dwell on your curiosity. Armand moves with no warning, pulling you into a too sudden hug.
You don't mind his proximity, but you're not prepared to support the bulk of his weight. You shift back slightly as you try your best to support him.
"Leave her alone." Louis still sounds irritated, but at least his cautioning feels gentle. "You're still covered in blood."
"He's fine, Louis." You place a hand against Armand's back, smoothing circles into the material of his coat. "I already knew about the vampire thing, remember?"
"I didn't realize you were so tough considering that last time we watched a horror movie together, you refused to go to sleep by yourself for three days."
An uncomfortable warmth begins to crawl its way up your neck. Louis must really be over this if he's taking that tone with you. "Please, like you wouldn't have been in my room anyway." You continue to drag your hand against Armand's back. "Besides, that movie was about an axe murderer, not a vampire."
Armand lifts his head slightly at that, resting his chin against your shoulder. "And you're not scared of vampires?"
The question feels like a challenge. Before you can remind Armand that the vampires you do know stumble home drunk just to act like overgrown house cats, he turns his head, pressing an open mouthed kiss against the side of your neck. You can feel his teeth brush against your pulse point.
"Armand," Louis mumbles, his reprimand once again more annoyed than actually concerned.
"He's fine," you defend weakly, "I'm a way worse drunk."
Armand hums once in agreement. You roll your eyes before adjusting your hold on him. "Okay." You place a hand on each of his shoulders, trying your best to encourage him to straighten. "Come on, let's get ready for bed."
His hold on you tightens. "I'm comfortable here."
"I know," you say, "but you'll be a lot more comfortable in your pajamas."
He lets you create a little more distance, following your lead as extend your arms to push him back slightly. "Okay, let's go."
Louis walks towards both of you. He places a hand against your shoulder, turning you slightly so that he can take a better look at your neck. He frowns. "It's all over you."
Louis's eyebrows pinch together in a way that conveys such anguish, you can't bring yourself to care about the sticky feel of damp blood against your skin or the fact that its definitely going to stain your favorite pajama shirt.
"It's fine," your voice feels weak, fragile. When Louis continues to just stare at the stains on your collar bone, you bring a hand to the side of his face. He lets you turn his head so that he has to look you in the eye. "Louis, I'm fine. Promise."
He holds your gaze for a long moment before finally nodding. "Just--" Louis sighs, glancing between you and Armand. "Just stay with him, I'll get you both something to clean yourselves up with him."
He still feels incredibly deflated, but you can't think of anything else to say to him right now, so you agree, "Okay."
Louis carefully pulls your hand off of his cheek before pressing a kiss against your knuckles. With that, he turns away from you and his companion.
Armand lets you pull him towards the couch. He sits down without being asked to, but doesn't let go of your hand until you're right next to him.
"You okay?" The question is more of an excuse to fill the silence than anything else. "I don't really know what to do with a drunk person that isn't worried about a hangover."
"I'm fine." There's nothing assuring about the way he slurs out the words.
Without further comment, Armand begins to tug on the sleeves of his coat. You don't realize that he's trying to take it off until he reaches for its collar.
"Are you--" He continues to struggle with material. "Do you need help?"
"I'm capable of taking off my coat." For someone that sounds so sure of themselves, Armand is definitely struggling to get the fabric off of him.
You sigh, pulling your knees beneath you on the couch so that you can lean over him. "Relax, it's not a big deal," you mumble, placing a hand on the collar of his coat, "The number of times Louis has had to help me into pajamas after drinking..."
Armand stills, letting you shift even closer to him as you start pulling the coat off of his shoulders. "Your lack of self preservation will never not surprise me."
You let out a heavy, lifting Armand's arm so that he can bend it out of his sleeve. "All Louis does is unzip dresses and make sure I don't trip over anything." Armand leans forward, making it possible for you to push the jacket further off of his shoulders. "Don't make it into something weird."
He hums once, the sound incredibly dismissive. You choose to ignore it, guiding his other arm out of the coat. "There," you say, holding up the bundled up fabric like a trophy, "All done."
You ease back into place, only this time, you settle so close to Armand that your knees touch. Without a clear goal in mind, you're not sure what to do with yourself, so you focus on folding his coat. You set the fabric down on the other side of the couch.
When you look again, Armand is already starting you with wide, unflinching eyes. "You seem comfortable with the..." He lifts a hand, halfheartedly gesturing towards his own neck to remind you of the blood staining yours.
You lift a shoulder in a vague shrug. Sure, it feels a little odd and slightly unsanitary to have some stranger's blood on your skin, but Armand hadn't meant anything by it. He was just trying to be affectionate.
You don't have a good way to go about explaining that to him, so you offer him something a little easier, "It's not like it's mine."
He's still staring. "You're not repulsed?"
The words feels too coherent, too sober. You let yourself sit with his question for a minute. Once you're ready to answer, you reach for his hand. He lets you intertwine your fingers together. "Nothing that comes from you repulses me."
Armand squeezes your hand. The longer he's quiet, the easier you find it to look at him. His expression isn't exactly blank, but there's something incredibly distant behind his gaze. "I don't know what to do with you," he says it so quietly you're almost not sure if you were meant to here it.
You blink. Maybe this is the start of some kind of drunk rambling. "I don't think you need to do anything with me."
His eyebrows pinch together briefly. You wonder what he could possibly be so pensive about in his current state. "I don't want you to leave."
The words feel heavier than they should, the weight of them immediately pressing into your chest. You can feel the blood in your own veins betrays you, an uncomfortable warmth crawling up your neck that he's definitely capable of noticing.
You part your lips, but the sound of Louis's footsteps saves you from having to respond.
Louis sits down next to you, sighing as he hands you a damp paper towel. "Here," he tells you, "see if you can get him to sit still long enough to help him."
You gently pull your hand out of Armand's grasp before adjusting your hold on the paper towel. You shift your weight onto your knees again, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you bring the paper towel to the side of his face. "Does that mean he was a handful?"
"More than a handful," he starts, "You try dragging him through the streets without being noticed while he's covered in blood and stumbling over himself."
You force yourself to fully focus on dabbing the paper towel against Armand's chin to keep from laughing. "I so should have been there."
"So that I'd have to drag you around too?"
You turn your head enough to glare at Louis. "I'm a perfectly self sufficient drunk."
"I have to carry you if the walk home is more than two blocks and you're wearing heels that are higher than three inches."
You let out a heavy sigh, dragging the damp paper towel down Armand's skin. He seems so calm now it's hard to imagine him being as difficult as Louis is describing. "Because you always offer."
"And I'm always happy to." Louis places a hand against your back, the contact almost annoyingly assuring. "But I don't need to deal with two of you at the same time."
You scoff before refocusing on Armand. "He doesn't appreciate us."
Armand places a hand against your forearm, his thumb dragging against your skin. He's staring at you with such wide eyes, you nearly forget that you're supposed to be helping clean him up. "Not at all."
"Okay." Before you can register what's happening, Louis pulls you back. The action isn't aggressive, but it's enough to get you to loose your balance. You don't exactly fall, but you do somehow end up sitting on Louis's lap.
"Louis," you gasp, tone scolding enough to mask the laugh trying to crawl its way up your throat.
"What?" He says, playing into his nonexistent confusion as he leans towards you. Louis begins to press a flurry of kisses against the side of your face and neck. "You said I don't appreciate you enough. I'm appreciating you right now."
His affection is so over the top and lighthearted, you can't help giggling as you halfheartedly try to untangle yourself from his grasp.
You get to enjoy this for about a minute before Armand lets out a flat sigh, "I don't have it in me to keep you from crushing your darling's delicate bones."
It's a relatively passive remark, but it's enough to make Louis stop. You frown at Armand. Sometimes Louis can play off those kinds of comments, but there are also nights in which reminders of how easy it would be to accidentally hurt you weigh on him a little more than usual.
"Don't be mean," you mumble, pulling Louis's hand onto your lap.
Armand is quiet for a minute, glancing between you and Louis in a way you don't really understand. Then, wordlessly, he reaches over, carefully straightening your bent legs so that they can rest over his lap. He settles a hand over one of your ankles, his thumb dragging itself against your skin. "Next time I'll wait until I hear something snap."
You bend your foot out of an instinctual desire to contradict him. This doesn't deter Armand at all. If anything, it just makes him tighten his hold on you. "Just make sure it's actually a bone and not just my patience."
"And how close are you to losing your patience now?"
You try to pull your foot away, but Armand doesn't let go of you. "Extremely."
Even though you have nothing left to say, you can't bring yourself to look away from Armand. You hold his stare, letting yourself openly study the exact hue of his irises. His eyes feel much closer to an amber-brown than a true orange tonight. He drops his gaze before you can decide if his eye color really looks that different or if its just the lighting.
"Okay," Louis says, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder, "no bickering."
When no further arguments break out, Louis brushes your hair away from the side of your neck. He takes the damp paper towel, now more pink than white, out of your hand. Louis wipes the paper towel against your skin.
"There." Louis pulls the paper towel away from your skin. "You're all done." He then looks over at Armand. "We need to get you out of those clothes and into something you can sleep in."
You take that as your sign to move. Carefully, you untangle yourself away from them so that you can stand. Armand watches you as you take a few steps forward.
You've been enjoying tonight's turn of events, but you're not sure what you're supposed to do now. Offering to help Louis with Armand feels like the right thing to do, but there's a chance that now that they're winding down they'll want their privacy.
Louis stands before offering Armand his hand. With Louis's help, Armand makes it back onto his feet. Louis tries to guide Armand away from the couch, but Armand remains still, "Aren't you coming?"
Louis answers before you can, "Of course she is."
The response, though assuring, is a little too presumptuous for you to be okay with it. "Excuse me?"
"Don't make him work for it tonight." Louis brings an arm around Armand's shoulder to make him look extra vulnerable. "He was asking for you the entire way back."
You feel your face grow warmer than it was a second ago. "You were asking for me?" Armand won't look at you. "That's adorable."
Armand lets out a heavy sigh, his posture slumping slightly as he tries to bury his face into Louis's shoulder. "You said you wouldn't tell her."
Louis places a hand against Armand's back, smoothing comforting circles against the fabric of his shirt. "No, you said I wouldn't tell her." After another minute, Louis gently pushes Armand off of him. "Come on. Bed."
Armand frowns, but eventually nods. Louis glances in your direction, a silent request for your assistance. You walk forward, doing your best to keep yourself from grinning as you take Armand's hand.
"I don't need your help." Armand's tone is sharp but he doesn't try to make you let go of his hand.
"I know," you say, your smile apparent in your voice, "I'm just doing this because you missed me."
Armand lets out an exhausted sigh. "I'm having my first headache in over 500 years."
----
Armand killing the vibe whenever bestie is paying more attention to Louis than to him: 😈
Is it bad that I wholeheartedly believe that children of darkness Armand would have a somnophilia kink 🥀 We've established that he and Bestie see each other when he sneaks into her room, and that he also enjoys watching her sleep. It isn't impossible to think that he'd wake her up by doing stuff to her and she'd go with it because she missed him
…Wait. There’s a vision here…
I don’t know how far it would go while Bestie’s asleep, but Armand would definitely make his way into her bedroom late at night and feel something when he sees that she’s already fallen asleep.
She looks so innocent and vulnerable, her lips slightly parted and her breathing perfectly even. There’s no one there to look out for her, no one to protect her from any lurking vampires with dark intentions…
He approaches her bedside quietly. At first, he only wants to brush a few stray strands of hair away from her face. But the longer he watches her, the more overwhelmed by sentiment he becomes.
Suddenly, a part of him is irrationally hurt that she’s sleeping so soundly without him. Armand has been suffering since the moment he first laid eyes on her, and here she is, sleeping without giving him a second thought.
He tries to force himself to resent her, but she just looks so endearing when she’s asleep :( She wouldn’t hurt him on purpose :(( And he’s been so neglectful because of his responsibilities as coven leader :(
So Armand leans towards her and presses a barely there kiss against the side of her face. She’s so warm and she smells faintly of a perfume he gave to her as a gift. He kisses her again, this time a little firmer. And then he’s kissing her the same way he would if she was awake.
The fabric of her nightgown is thinner than the material she usually wears. Her warmth is a lot more overwhelming like this. He leaves a trail of kisses down her neck.
Bestie wakes up at some point. She’s still drowsy, but she still reaches for him. She ends up lazily tugging on the strands of hair at the back of his head, which only encourages Armand.
Every once in awhile, they break apart to exchange their usual greetings, mumbled “i missed you”s and “you were gone too long”s.
i NEED to see Louis having the biggest crashout of all crashouts over reader. He don’t play about the people he loves in his life.
Also, Im so curious about how he reacts/talks about her without her being in the room. We know he’s caring and funny to her face, but I want Daniel to notice Louis indeed does have someone close to him in modern age and ask him about her. Will Louis show Daniel her paintings Louis has in his home? (anonymously purchased with the highest offer, just so his bestie racks in some dollars. Bc we all know bestie reader would give him her work for free)
a/n i can't put into words how much i love this. louis is so lighthearted around reader, but he becomes so deeply un-chill the second something reminds him of her mortality.
omg the interview potential is too good 😭. i love that you used the word 'notice' bc i think daniel would pick up on a vibe (similar paintings all over the penthouse, louis periodically looking at his phone and smiling, louis occasionally using phrases that feel gen-z) so when reader actually comes up daniel's like yeah. there it is.
anyways, here's a fic that explores both louis talking about reader and louis crashing out over reader and her mortality :)
----
There's something about the painting serving as the living room's focal point, and the smaller piece in the foyer, and the art work decorating the guest room. Not necessarily a style or a specific theme, but some underlying quality that conveys a sense of unity between them.
"Are you recording yet?" The prompting is small and far from an accusation. Daniel still finds himself shifting slightly, his gaze tearing away from the painting as if he's been caught staring at something not meant for him to notice.
"Uh--yes." It takes him a second longer than it should to meet Louis's stare. "That's an interesting painting."
The corner of Louis's mouth tugs itself upwards at that, not quite a smile but something that feels incredibly warm. He turns his head slightly, looking back at the painting as if to re-experience the details of it. "It's from a dear artist of mine."
Daniel's immediately thrown by the phrasing. His attention shifts away from Louis and onto Armand, whose lips are pressed together but is otherwise giving no indication of how he feels. "...An artist of yours?"
"Don't get him started." Armand's warning feels much too tired to be amused.
Louis halfheartedly glares at his companion before returning his focus to Daniel. "There's an artist, and she's..." Louis trails off, his eyebrows drawing together as he thinks through the best way to make his point.
"His very best friend in the world," Armand finishes for him, the words flat in their blatant sarcasm.
"Stop it," Louis sighs, the defense so halfhearted Daniel has to believe that this is an argument they've had regularly enough. "She is my friend, but it...it sometimes feels so much more important than that."
Okay. So Louis has a friend--an important friend--that Armand doesn't seem to like. It's hard to imagine them embracing other vampires these days, but the thought of a human girl so casually and openly important to Louis and disliked by Armand is even harder for him to grasp.
"Yes, she's like you," Louis offers after a beat, "And it's not like that. She's--like family to me." Daniel's questions are distracting enough to dull the usual annoyance he feels when Louis enters his mind. "And Armand's a lot more accepting of her than he'd ever say."
Armand's gaze flits towards Louis. His lips are still pressed together, but he's not exactly frowning, and there's something behind his eyes that almost feels thoughtful. It's not so much his expression as it is his blankness. It's a neutrality that almost feels methodical. "Clearly."
Daniel reaches for his pen. This 'friendship' seems like the kind of thing that might warrant a few rewrites of the more current chapters. He'll need extensive notes for the sake of continuity.
"So," Daniel starts, "This artist..." Louis provides your name. Daniel writes it down, making a mental note to look you up online before his revisions for the sake of accuracy. "How old is she?"
"Twenty-two." It's not the most surprising thing. They've mentioned other friends and acquaintances in passing, and they're often close to the ages they resemble...but Daniel's never seen evidence of them in their home. And Louis has never spoken so fondly of a human before.
Daniel looks at the painting again. He still hasn't been able to decipher what makes your work feel so cohesive, but he's starting to think it might be feeling. For the briefest moment, it's almost enough to make him wish there was a way to keep someone he doesn't even know away from them.
"I know," Louis says flatly, something behind his eyes briefly hardening. "But we're...careful. I ne--"
"Does she know?"
For whatever reason, the question seems to remind Louis of his fondness for you. "She knows." Daniel resists the urge to sigh. Twenty-two and willingly running around with vampires. He's not exactly in a position to judge, but it's difficult not to.
Louis relaxes slightly, his hand moving to rest against his knee. "She even knows about you."
"Really?"
"Please, they don't go long enough without speaking for her to not know anything." Another passively-aggressive comment from Armand. Still, there's relevance in what he's implying. How close are you and Louis? And why does he choose to spend so much time with you?
Daniel hums once in acknowledgement of Armand's words as he finishes writing down his last thought. "Why?" The question feels like something crafted by a very bad journalist. Daniel tries again, "Why her? What about her made you want to be her friend?"
Louis is quiet for a long moment, and to Daniel's surprise, Armand allows it to pass without any sort of comment. "When I'm around her, I can almost remember what it felt like to have sunlight touch mortal skin."
There's an affection there that's impossible to deny. If Daniel didn't think you needed to be a part of this before...
"She sounds--nice."
Louis eases at Daniel's tentative approval. "She's funny, too." He relaxes, allowing his shoulders to slouch as he leans forward. "And talented--during her gallery debut, an anonymous bidder paid a hundred-thousand dollars over asking price for her first piece." Daniel writes down the detail. "I've got more paintings I can show you later."
Daniel has a feeling this isn't as much of an offer as it is an inevitability. He agrees anyway, "Yeah, later." He turns to a new page in his notebook, writing your name at the top before drawing a bullet point beneath it. He'll need to figure out where you fit within the larger narrative. "So how did you meet her?"
----
Interviewing vampires isn't that different from interviewing humans. Not when you disregard the lack of effort it'd take them to end your life if they dislike your line of questioning and focus on the stiffness that characterizes the beginning of each interview.
When individuals, human or otherwise, are made to dissect their thoughts and memories, they tend to be slow to share until they've answered a few questions and start to feel like they're having a genuine conversation. Daniel's used to the phenomenon, used to the shallowness of the answers provided earlier in the evening. What he isn't used to, however, is Louis's irritation.
"It felt like what you'd assume it'd feel like." The answer is so nondescript, Louis might as well have not said anything at all.
Daniel's instinct is to ask for elaboration, but Louis gives him a look that feels like a warning not to. Daniel glances at his notes, thinking through his latest line of questioning. Is this...a sensitive subject?
"Don't mind Louis." Armand's responds, answering the question that Daniel has yet to ask out loud. "He's beside himself because his darling angel hasn't answered him in almost two days."
Louis turns his head to look at Armand. "I'm not beside myself." The correction is sharp, but Daniel can't help but feel like Armand might have a point. Louis straightens to face Daniel again. "It's not like her. She either answers or tells me she's going to be busy."
It's a concern that's almost unnerving to witness. "...The artist?" Louis dips his chin downwards once in silent confirmation. "She's twenty-two, she probably just forgot--"
"She wouldn't forget me." There's a harshness to the interruption that Daniel sometimes forget Louis is capable of.
"No," the response is more a result of an instinct for self preservation than a genuine attempt at agreeing with him. "I didn't mean it like that." Surprise aside, there's something interesting about Louis's defensiveness. "There are a lot of reasons for someone to not answer their phone."
Louis's quiet for a moment, his expression slowly morphing into something more neutral. He's not exactly easing, but it's a step in the right direction. After another second of silence, Louis parts his lips. Before he can actually speak, he's interrupted by the ringing of a cell phone.
Louis picks up the phone from the couch. He accepts the call so immediately, Daniel already knows who's on the other end. "Give me a minute," Louis mumbles as stands up.
Daniel sighs, leaning forward to pause the audio recording. At least Louis has a reason to come back in a better mood.
----
"No texts, no calls, you turned off your location--"
"I didn't want you to freak out."
The response only amplifies Louis's irritation. You didn't want him to freak out. What do you think he's been doing for the last day and a half? And what could possibly be so bad you needed to cut him out completely to keep it a secret?
Louis resists the urge to scoff. "What happened that was so bad you needed to keep it a secret from me?" The words are sharper than he usually is with you, and his phrasing isn't exactly fair, but he's not feeling very patient right now.
"It's not a secret--I just needed a second to deal with it before telling you." The vagueness only annoys Louis further. "I hurt my wrist." You pause, thinking through your wording, "I was out with a friend, and someone tapped the back of his car and I instinctually put my hand on the dash, and the pressure snapped my wrist."
What. "You were in a car accident?"
"No, it--" You cut yourself off with a partial sigh as you think through how to proceed. "It was a total fender bender. Josh's car isn't even totaled."
That's nowhere near as assuring as you think it is. "Thank God for that. Your arm's broken, but Josh's car is okay."
"My arm is fine." The defense means very little to him. "It's only my wrist." Louis rolls his eyes at the technicality. This is what he gets for leaving you alone. "But it's in a cast now, and in four to six weeks it'll be off."
The thought of you existing in New York by yourself, even more vulnerable than usual leaves a pit in his stomach. "I'm scheduling a flight."
"You don't need to do that." There's nothing surprising about the protest. "It's not a big deal, I've been checked out and the only thing wrong with me is my wrist." When Louis doesn't respond right away, you continue, "A lot of people break things."
Louis has never liked that kind of argument. You're not meant to be lumped into such a general category. "Those people aren't you."
The directness of the comment seems to soften you. There's a moment of hesitation, and then a reluctant sigh. "You're busy, you've got your book thing, and Armand--"
"If he has a problem with it, he can come, too." This should be enough to make the suddenness of their trip seem a lot less dramatic to you. Armand and him visit you semi-regularly, and they are over due for a trip. The thought of Armand being there might even be easing to you.
There's a brief stretch of silence, and then a careful, "You guys don't need to stop everything because I'm accident prone."
It'd be fair to argue that this isn't a result of your clumsiness. You were in someone else's car, and they weren't paying attention to the roads enough to keep you safe. Josh--you've mentioned him a few times in a variety of contexts, and Louis has yet to find a reason to be a fan. But that doesn't matter right now.
You're alone and even though you're not complaining, Louis can't help but imagine the pain you're probably in. You don't need to be lectured, and you don't need to hear anything that might make you worry about Josh. After a moment, he offers you something small, "Not your accident."
He wonders if there's a chance that you're injured in any other way. You said that you only broke your wrist, but that doesn't mean the accident didn't result in any superficial injuries. "Thanks." The word feels small. "I didn't call during a bad time, did I?"
Louis briefly thinks of Daniel and Armand waiting in the living room. "It's never a bad time to hear from you. Even when you're calling to tell me you've been in an accident."
"I considered texting, but I didn't want to give you a heart attack." He can hear the smile in your voice. "I really didn't like not talking to you."
It'd be easy for him to hold onto his worry, onto his anger, but he can't stand the thought of you being physically and emotionally wounded. "I didn't like it either." It didn't take much to hide this from him. There are so many ways in which you could be hurt, in which something could happen to you that he'd have no way of knowing about. "I also don't like the thought of you all alone."
There's the briefest crackle of static and then a soft sigh that feels like a yawn. "You sound like my mom."
"She's not wrong."
You sigh, the sound so familiar in its exasperation Louis is almost comforted by it. "You two have been on each other's side since Christmas."
The memory of meeting your mother when she came to visit you during the holiday season is one he's extremely fond of. It had been a brief shift, a small window into who you were before him, but everything about it had made him feel so normal. "I can't help that she's always right."
The crackly hum of movement briefly returns. Louis can picture you adjusting your hold on your cell phone. The thought is so tangible it only adds to the weight of your absence. "Why don't you come here?"
"Really?" He can hear the excitement bleeding into your voice. You recover quickly, the gentle static of movement briefly taking over the other end of the line. "You--you think that'd be okay? You have that writer over, and you're doing your--"
"Daniel's fine." In all honesty, Louis isn't sure if Daniel will mind another person around, but it doesn't matter. Injured or not, he can't imagine ever telling you to stay away from him. "He may even want to ask you a few things." That's true enough. Daniel was intrigued by the thought of Louis having a mortal friend. You'd be a good way at rounding out the modern era.
You're moving again. It isn't difficult for Louis to imagine you in your bedroom or on your couch, a heavy throw blanket on your lap. "I get to talk about you to a journalist?" The words are much too amused. "I'm going to tell him about the--" You're interrupted by your own laughter. "The club in Milan, with the LSD guy that smelled like--"
"Don't," it's a halfhearted attempt at stopping you, "We said we'd never tell anyone about that."
"I don't know, I think it's a story that deserves to be immortalized."
It's only an expression to you, but the reminder of the concept of permanence tarnishes the little peace the conversation has managed to bring him. Without intervention, you'll eventually vanish and leave him the sole holder of your shared memories. If he's not careful, that day might come sooner than it needs to. However, with intervention...
He pushes against the thought immediately. The prospect of turning you, of separating you from your soul for the sake of keeping you here is one that he only considers when he is at his most selfish.
Besides, he doubts he'd be able to bring himself to turn you himself. Armand is repulsed by the idea of having a fledgling, but there's a chance that he'd come around to the idea if you were the one to ask him. For all of his complaints and your shared bickering, something about the way that Armand never attempts to retaliate against you makes Louis think he might have a greater soft spot for you than he'd ever admit to.
Still, if Louis is allowing himself to imagine a completely self indulgent reality, the thought of Armand turning you doesn't fully fit into his ideal version of your transformation. Not when Armand's blood doesn't flow within his own veins. He banishes this thought more immediately than the last.
"Maybe I could be convinced to let you share that story if you agree to something."
You sigh in a way that's so incredibly telling. "You're not flying to New York to help me fly to Dubai."
Louis's not sure if he's more amused or irritated by your ability to read him. "I don't like the idea of you traveling by yourself, especially with a broken wrist."
He can practically feel you rolling your eyes. "It's this or no trip."
Louis doubts that you're extremely firm in this position, but he's willing to let you have a win. "You wouldn't do that to me."
You yawn, the sound low and tired. "Tough love."
"I'm not keeping you up, am I?" It's not particularly late, but there's a chance your body's exhausted. He'll have to read up on human injury before you get here. "You sound tired."
"The doctor gave me some pain killers for my wrist, and they make me kind of drowsy."
Great--you, all alone in your apartment, with a broken wrist, and painkillers in your system. The sooner Louis can get you here, the better. "You should get some sleep, I'll send you the flight information as soon as I have it."
"Okay." Your lack of questioning reveals more about your drowsiness than your words ever would. "Do you want me to send you my credit card info?"
"I've got it."
You let out a small breath that indicates resistance. "Louis."
There has to be a line somewhere. "It's this or no trip." He means the echoed phrase as much as you meant it, and Louis is convinced that you can that you can tell.
His hollow threat works. After a second, you give in with a small, "Okay." Wow, you must be more tired than you're letting on. "How long should I pack for?"
Louis isn't in the mood to think about your eventual departure. Fortunately, there's one topic that almost always works as a distraction. "Pack light, we'll go shopping when you get here."
"You so get me."
Louis smiles at that. "I know." The silence that follows feels a little less like a choice on your end. "Get some sleep, I'll send you the flight details tonight and I'll call you tomorrow." And then, just because he's not ready to let go of all his worry just yet, he adds, "Please answer."
"I was trying to spare you."
He doesn't doubt that at least some of your motivations were noble, but he also knows you, and he knows how you feel about his general wariness of the world around you. "That was the opposite of sparing me."
"Fine." You let out a breath, and Louis can practically feel you rolling your eyes. "My beloved Louis de Pointe du Lac, I promise to never intentionally ignore your calls again." The sarcasm in your voice isn't enough to taint the sentiment. You really do mean it.
Louis is nearly overwhelmed by his fondness for you. Things will be better, easier when you're here. "That's all I ask." You're quiet in a way that makes it impossible to not feel your drowsiness. "Goodnight, love you."
"Goodnight," you echo, "Love you. Tell Armand I said 'hi'."
"I will," he says, "Now get some sleep."
You mumble a response he can't fully make out before hanging up.
----
It's earlier in the evening than Louis wants it to be.
You're asleep in your own apartment, but it's difficult to not think about things much more gruesome than that. You kept the accident from him so easily, and you're at a greater physical disadvantage than you usually are.
You're also alone, not that you're safer when you're with others. The thought of the boy that allowed the accident to happen only adds to Louis's irritation. Josh. Josh, who crashes vehicles. Josh, who must have done something to make you think the accident was your fault in some way.
Louis pushes against the feelings. Josh, the details of the accident, the state that you're in. There will be time to deal with all of it later. He just needs to get through tonight. You'll be here tomorrow.
"It's still early," Louis's words are sulkier than he wants them to be, "We could go out for a bit."
"If you want to." Armand's response is slow and almost painfully nondescript in a way that suits the way he's been all evening.
Louis lets out a partial scoff. "What is it?" Armand angles his head to the side slightly in a display of synthetic confusion. "You've been passive aggressive all evening. What is it?" Armand doesn't respond. "Was it my worry? The phone call? The fact that I can't leave her alone like that?"
"You shouldn't have left her at all." The response is surprising enough to briefly silence Louis. "I told you it was only a matter of time before something happened to her."
The novelty of Armand almost expressing concern over you fades, leaving an unstable irritation in its wake. What right does Armand have to accuse Louis of abandoning you? Maybe if Armand didn't treat you like a puppy he didn't want, you would have wanted to live near them. "I didn't leave her--she chose not to move."
"You could have tried harder."
Louis blinks, his surprise clouding the potential anger. "Maybe if you didn't threaten her after every comment."
Armand's eyebrows draw together as if the possibility of you not enjoying your halfhearted spats had never occurred to him. "I have never once attempted to hurt her."
The distinction means very little to Louis. It's a statement that doesn't need to be made, because if Louis had sensed so much as an inkling of actual malice towards you on Armand's end, Armand would have never been allowed to be alone with you.
"We're different than her." The words are directed at Armand, but Louis's thoughts still latch onto the ways in which they apply to him as well. "After awhile, it has to be off putting to always be reminded of that."
Armand notes the thinly veiled self hatred immediately. As exhausting as it is to constantly hear about the poor saint cursed to be surrounded by such vile creates, it's even more draining to watch these sentiments impact Louis...and you.
He stands from his spot on the couch slowly, approaching Louis with slow, measured steps. "If you believe she's afraid of either of us, you are severely underestimating her."
Louis eases, the corner of his mouth tugging itself into something that comes close to resembling a smile. "You're not wrong about that." Armand extends an arm, placing a comforting hand on Louis's shoulder. Louis reciprocates the gesture, his hand coming to rest against Armand's forearm. "It's just hard not to worry."
To Armand, the response is a painful understatement. Louis worries about all that could happen in his absence, he worries about all that's wrong about his presence. Things would be so much easier if he'd get over the paranoia of 'ruining' you.
"You wouldn't have to worry so much if she was here more." Armand drags his thumb against Louis's shoulder. "Maybe this visit should be a little longer."
Louis's expression softens at that. "I'll do what I can to keep her here while she has a cast." He's never once asked you to leave, but he's aware of the temporary nature of your visits. You start missing your home and the access to whatever you need to create whatever you want. "But she starts to miss her home, and her studio."
"There's space here," Armand offers carefully, "You could give her a room." Louis's eyebrows pull together at the suggestion. "You're different when she's with you." Armand continues to trace patterns against Louis's shoulder. "And it's important we preserve that."
Louis's eyebrows draw together again, his confusion a little sharper this time. "Preserve it?"
"Human emotions are fleeting. The more time she spends away from you, the more likely she is to find more permanent relationships." Armand doesn't have to meet Louis's gaze to know that the implication has served its purpose. "And if she finds other people, falls in love and gets married, you can't expect things to stay the same between you."
Armand squeezes Louis's shoulder a little more firmly, a gesture meant to convey something comforting. "As your companion, I'm capable of grasping your relationship and even then, sometimes it's difficult to accept. Do you think some human boy would have the same patience? The same understanding?"
Louis frowns. Worrying about losing you to your mortality is a simple thing, but accepting the fact that he could just as easily lose you to change is nowhere near as easy. "I'm--I'm not going to make her do something she doesn't want."
Armand has to work at keeping his expression neutral. Louis's obsession with your free will is often a limiting thing. "Then we'll make sure she wants to."
