tailor-made
Initial request: Need me some desparate, intense and really fucking dirty post-lestat, pre-louis france Armand smut
Pairing: armand x reader
Warnings: smut
Word count: 4555
a/n: I don't know why I wanted some plot for this one, but it slowly went out of hand. I do like the result, I hope you all will too. Let me know!
Summary: You fled from your family expectations and now you work in Paris as a dress-maker. Armand wants you to design clothes for Théâtre des Vampires, and for himself.
Disclaimer: english is not my first language
Life wasn't easy. It has never been easy for you, the disowned daughter of a prestigious family that didn't obey their orders and refused to marry someone she didn't know. A man at least twice your age.
The war only made everything worse for you.
When you fled home you took as many of your valuable possessions you could carry with you, to have something to sell that could allow you to start anew in another city. Paris was big enough for you to hide and cover your tracks, so it was the safest option.
You had managed to find a two-room apartment, way below the standards you were raised in, but you didn't mind. You would have lived in the sewers, if it had granted you the freedom you desired.
After the first few months of struggling with your new life, trying to understand how you could survive on your own once the money you had gained from selling your belongings ran out, you found a sort of balance. You got close to your neighbours and offered your skills in mending and designing clothes to start earning and create a small turnover — you had mentally thanked your family for indulging your passion for fashion, providing the education you had wished for.
It took you more than a year of small labour to finally buy a little shop two roads away from your small apartment. Your prices were low as people could not afford to buy that many clothes during the war, and repairing the ones they already had, cost them even less.
Still, despite how bleak the world had turned out to be, having something to occupy your days helped you keep your head and mind above water. Sometimes you barely left your shop, working at night providing a sense of comfort and calmness around you that quieted your inner turmoils. You often went back to your apartment when dawn was starting breaking in the sky.
It was during one of those nights that someone entered your shop way past midnight, probably attracted by the light still on reflecting on the curb outside in the street.
"I'm closed at the moment," you said at the man in front of you, your hand slowly going under your desk to get the knife you always hid there out of safety. You never had to use it before.
"Yet your door was open and you're still here. Working."
The stranger had a nice voice, smooth as velvet and way lighter on the consonants than any person you'd encountered before. He sounded melodious.
"There's no one around at night in these streets, especially not out to buy clothes."
The man was standing in the middle of the room, eyes on you with a colour so unnatural you wondered if it was simply a trick of the lights.
"And yet here I am."
You tilted your head to the side. "You want me to believe you're not here to rob me or attack me, but you're interested in my services?"
The man stepped closer to the counter, the only piece of furniture standing between you. "You don't seem very scared for someone who believes I'm here to commit a felony."
"I accepted the fact that if anyone were to come here at night was to harm me, and I couldn't really stand a chance," you replied, shrugging your shoulders slightly.
"Fascinating."
"Not really." He was still staring at you, those unblinking eyes fixed in yours. "So, are you actually here for my clothes?"
A slow blink.
"I have a theatre company down in Pigalle. Some of our stage costumes are quite old and we need replacements, would you be willing to design them for us?"
This time it was your turn to stare. A part of your brain was telling you you should be scared of the man in front of you, yet no fight or flight instinct was kicking in.
"I can do it. Have you set a budget?"
"Money is not a problem," the man said with a slow movement of his hand. So elegant. "I'll have someone deliver our necessities tomorrow night."
He turned around swiftly, moving towards the door as a way to tell the conversation was over.
"Wait," you blurted out quickly. "Can I at least know your name?"
"Armand."
In a blink he was out the door and out of sight.
---
That became your new life in the following months. Someone from the Théâtre des Vampires would come once every week with new requests or to mend a few costumes. Usually, it was Celeste or Estelle, but sometimes Santiago appeared. The girls were nice and they stayed long enough to keep you company till late in the evening. Santiago, on the other hand, always looked at you as if he wanted to eat you. And not in a nice way.
Armand never showed up again.
Estelle had told you he was their maître, so you imagined he must have been too busy with their plays to bother to come. You didn't mind, you were just curious to see him once more.
That's why it took you by surprise when you saw him enter your shop one winter night, almost six months after the first time.
"Good evening, monsieur."
"Good evening, mademoiselle."
The side of your mouth twitched into a small smile. "How do you know I'm not married?"
Armand stepped towards one of the shelves where all the new fabrics were on display, his eyes scanning them carefully. "We have made some progress in the last century, yet a married woman still wouldn't be as free as you are."
"I see," you commented, placing down the dress you were busy sewing before Armand came in. "And does this bother you?"
"Not at all," he replied, firmly, his attention still on the fabrics. "Having a common man try to tame you would have been the worst outcome for you. Your pretty head always so luminous would have dimmed in less than a year in marriage."
A quiet gasp left your lips at his words, stunning you into silence. How could he know about this?
"Why are you here tonight?" you asked, your voice surprisingly stable given how you were actually feeling.
Armand finally turned to look at you, his amber eyes like a beam in the night. They were truly unnatural, no trick of the light as you initially thought.
"In a couple of weeks we'll have the première of our new show, I would like a new suit fit for the evening. I want your impeccable taste to dress me."
His request almost surprised you more than his previous words. You weren't expecting him to come to you with a commission.
"It would be my pleasure," you said, picking a sheet of paper from one of the drawers below the desk. "You can write down your measurements. Have you chosen a fabric?"
Armand turned back towards the shelves, his hand caressing a specific piece. "I'd like to have it in this colour."
You left your spot behind the counter to reach him and see clearly his fabric of choice. You were standing less than two feet from him, his scent tickling your nose but you couldn't point out the fragrance. Tobacco and something spicy.
"That's mummy-brown. My favourite shade of this colour." You looked at him, your eyes scanning his figure. "It would go very well with your complexion."
Armand was staring you down. From up close he was even taller than you thought, you only reached his shoulders.
"I trust your judgement," he said, his attention fully on your face. "But I'd like you to take my measurements. I want the suit perfectly tailored, and previous dressmakers didn't have your eye."
You blinked quickly, taken completely off-guard. "Yes, of course. We can do it now, if you have time."
"All the time you need."
"Follow me, then."
You took him to the back of your shop, where you had mirrors and a stand for clients to step on to make the job easier for you. Armand positioned himself without requiring any instruction from you.
"Would you mind taking off your jacket? I need to see your arms and back to measure you correctly."
Armand did as you asked, placing the jacket carefully on the bench next to him. You barely followed his movements as your eyes were fixed on his upper body.
"Is something the matter?"
You head jerked automatically back towards his face at his question. "No, it's alright. I was just expecting your body to be leaner. I thought you had less muscular mass."
"Have you imagined my body often?"
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from reacting, willing your face to keep the blush at bay. "That's not what I meant. It's my professional instinct that kicks in when I look at a person, to see what might look best on them."
"Any suggestions for me?" Armand asked, a little smirk forming on his face.
"You don't need it. From what I've seen you're very aware of your commanding presence and you dress accordingly to your status."
"You're being generous."
"I'm being honest. It's your choice to believe me or not."
Without further ado, you got into work starting from his legs, each time scribbling down the measurements on the sheet you had brought with you. The position was a bit awkward when you stopped to think about it. You were on your knees, while Armand's looming and even taller figure was towering over you. You could feel the weight of his power pressing on your shoulders but, surprisingly, that only seemed to trigger a sense of thrill in the pit of your stomach.
Once you were done with his legs, you stood back up to your feet, raising your head to look at Armand, who had been awfully quiet and still during the whole process.
"Do you mind stepping down, so I can take your place?" you asked in your best professional voice. "I need to measure your bust, arms and shoulders, and I'm going to struggle from down here."
"Of course," Armand replied immediately, following your request.
You lifted your leg on the stand as you moved to take his previous position, when you felt Armand's hand on the small of your back help you with the movement. His other followed right afterwards, resting softly on your waist to prevent your body from losing its balance.
"Thank you," you murmured awkwardly. "But I could manage on my own."
Armand's lips quirked a bit in the corner, but didn't comment anything further.
You were the same height now, and close enough for you to fully let his scent invade your senses. It was a unique fragrance, and you could not deny how affected you were by inhaling it inside you. In addition to that, his eyes were mere inches from yours in this position and you noticed for the first time, despite the peculiar colour that no human could possess, how warm they felt when they made contact with yours.
"Is there something wrong with my face?"
His voice brought you back to reality. You diverted your gaze, blinking quickly to get your focus back completely. You fidgeted with the tape measure a couple of times before continuing with the task at hand. Thankfully, Armand's stillness was helpful, your mind now set again on getting all the required measurements you would need for his suit, but you were aware his attention never strayed away from you for a second, so intense it actually felt like a touch on your skin.
"All done," you said, as you removed the tape from the front of his shoulders. You raised your head instinctively to look at him, a loud gasp leaving your mouth at his proximity.
You could feel his breath on your cheek, certain that Armand could feel yours as well.
None of you moved for a few seconds, bodies frozen in the moment as you simply stood there staring at each other. You were the first to step away, jumping down quickly from the stand so you could grab your sheet again and write down the last measurements.
"I'll have your suit ready in a week, is that okay with you?" you asked, giving Armand your back. You didn't know what had just happened, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him for the time being.
"Yes."
"Do you need anything else?"
"I'd like to invite you to the première of the show, if you're interested in coming to see it."
You stopped writing on the paper at his words, still keeping your back turned. What were you supposed to say? Would it be awkward for you to attend? Santiago tried to convince you a few times, but you always used your work as a fair way to refuse. But it was Armand asking you now, and somehow all the nerves in your body were compelling you to say yes.
You willed your body to turn back around, feeling brave enough to make eye-contact again. "I'd love to."
The words were out in the air now, and you knew Armand wouldn't allow you to take them back. Luckily for you, you had no intention to.
---
The day of the première you spent an awful amount of time in front of your wardrobe to choose an appropriate dress. When you used to go to the opera with your parents, you had always worn your most expensive gown as the occasion was also meant to show off your family's wealth.
You didn't know what kind of show you were about to see, but you had a feeling you should go with a more sober outfit, though still elegant enough to look good. You opted for a cinnamon brown A-line skirt with three red ochre buttons at the top that matched with the silk shirt you had in the same shade of colour.
You decided not to wear any tights underneath. It was a cold night, but you loathed the feeling of their texture on your skin. Your winter coat would be enough to keep your body warm.
You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror and, when you felt quite satisfied with the result, you put on your Victorian boots and left your apartment.
Your walk towards Pigalle was quicker than you thought, the cold air forcing you to speed up your steps as your heels clicked loudly on the cobbled streets. A small crowd was gathered outside the entrance, moving slowly inside the theatre.
Your assigned seat was in the fourth row right in front of the stage and, as you waited for the show to start, you looked around the place to commit it to memory.
It was smaller than the theatres you used to attend and less opulent, which you took as a good sign. It was very dim lit though, the dark walls casting a shadow on all the audience. As you studied the upper levels on your right, your gaze stopped at the figure standing against the wooden banister taking in the scenery below.
Armand.
His attention shifted towards you in a second, giving you a small nod as a welcome that you returned with a small smile. It was interesting to see him in his element, as it had been the other way around until now.
When the few lights around the stalls were switched off, you diverted your gaze. The show was about to start.
You didn't know what you were expecting to see, the poster outside not giving much away, but surely not small plays all circling around death. And all brutally executed.
You resisted the temptation to look up at Armand in judgement, as you weren't getting the reasoning behind such macabre choices, though you were sure it was clearly showing on your face.
Everything changed with the last scene. You frowned as a young girl came running on stage screaming. Normally you would say she was truly giving all of herself in the act, but deep down you knew she wasn't performing.
The girl was really frightened.
You leaned forward slightly, your eyes moving around on stage before settling on Santiago busy bewitching the audience with his monologue. That's when it happened. You saw two fangs shining in his mouth a second before they came down to bite violently on the girl's neck.
This wasn't a play. It was real. You didn't have any proof of that, but your brain had already decided that was the only possible truth.
As the girl supposedly fainted in Santiago's arms, you finally turned to look at Armand. You found his eyes already on you as if he was waiting for your reaction. It made sense now why everybody in the company had eyes so unnatural, because they were.
Because they were all vampires.
You stood up from your seat quickly, almost running out of the theatre. It wasn't out of fear that you were leaving before the play ended, that was what was scaring you the most.
The scene you had witnessed excited you. The idea that you'd been interacting with creatures that could have ended your life in a blink sent shivers of exhilaration down your spine. The fact that you had been alone with Armand, his face close enough to bite your neck if wanted to — but didn't — was awakening something deep in your core you had never had a taste of before.
You realized your body was taking you to your shop. It was closer to the theatre, and it was your shelter in a way that your apartment could never be. You needed to be in a safe territory, because you knew even without seeing him or hearing him that Armand was following you.
You entered the shop slamming the door behind you without stopping to see if it would actually close or not. You didn't turn on the lights in the main room, opting to wait in the back where you had taken Armand's measurements a fortnight before.
You switched on the two lamps you had in the corners of the room to have a clear enough view of your surroundings. You had hoped to have enough time before his arrival, so that you could slow down your breath and heartbeat, but you weren't so lucky.
The steps were light but you managed to hear them anyway. Or better, Armand wanted you to hear them. Still you were not prepared at the effect the sight had on you, the moment he stepped out of the dark. His grim shadow projected on the walls behind him thanks to the light of the lamps.
"You know the truth."
"Yes."
Your voice was barely above a whisper, and still ragged.
"You're scared."
"No."
Armand tilted his head to the side, amber eyes blaring even brighter than usual. "Prove it."
You went to him, your body not hesitating once as you sidestepped the stand in the middle of the room to reach him. You stopped right in front of Armand, your gaze meeting his as they seemed to be compelled to do each time you were to share the same space.
"Look into my eyes, Armand. Do you see fear?"
You made it sound like a challenge. It was probably a stupid move, a move someone would do if they didn't have a single regard for their own life.
Still, Armand did as you asked. He was scanning your face for an answer, so profoundly you could almost feel him inside your head. Maybe he was.
The silence stretched, your breathing starting to pick up again in anticipation. You could feel your fingers twitch next your sides as you waited.
Armand was on you before your mind could start to process his approach. His lips crashing against yours in a rough kiss as one of his hands got tangled in your hair, while the other went to the small of your back to press your body closer to his.
You followed out of instincts rather than experience, taking a hold of his face and shoulder. His tongue slipped in your mouth the second you parted your lips to breathe. He was devouring you in a way you should have expected from a vampire, and you were struggling to match his rhythm.
Armand broke the contact first. His eyes searching for yours while he pushed your body backwards, placing his hands on your hips to direct you. You back met the table you had against the wall before he lifted you to sit on it with frightening ease.
"You never say or act the way I expect you to. It's maddening how you can disrupt my balance by simply existing."
You were so disoriented by the whole situation you weren't sure if he was giving you a compliment or insulting you.
"Are you going to kill me?"
Armand let out a breathy laugh, the air touching the skin of your face softly. "Do you think I would be standing here between your legs if I wanted to kill you?"
"I don't know. It seems fitting for your kind to seduce your preys before you eat them, makes the hunt more palatable."
"Such a brilliant mind you have."
You gasped the moment you felt Armand's hand touch your leg, caressing the skin behind your knee before moving higher toward your thigh, your skirt rising to welcome him. You knew where he was going and yet you didn't how to prepare yourself at the contact.
Your legs opened wider on their own accord, showing Armand how willing your body was to have him touch you. When Armand reached your centre, he simply let his palm rest against it, his hand covering all of your core.
You were wet. He could feel it through the fabric of your underwear, still you kept still. You let your back relax against the wall behind as you waited for his next move.
Armand moved your underwear to the side, two of his fingers coming up to your clit applying pressure with fast and firm circles. You moaned loudly at the action, more intense than the way it felt when you touched yourself alone in your bed deep into the night.
His rhythm never faltered, each precise flick on your clit eliciting a reaction out of you. A light jolt of your legs, a sweet whimper from your lips.
Without warning, Armand entered you with one of his fingers, the sensation so overwhelming in its suddenness that your back bowed into an arch as if on command.
You could feel your muscles stretch as Armand pressed it to the hilt, his palm making contact with your clit again. He stayed there, giving no sign he had any intention to start moving.
You opened your eyes that you didn't even realise you had closed, and looked at him. As expected, Armand was already staring at you, expression unreadable.
"You've never lain with a man."
It wasn't a question. He knew based on a single finger inside you.
"That's true."
"If you feel pain, you stop me. I'm not interested in hurting you."
You took a deep breath. "And in what are you interested in?"
Armand's eyes darkened as his finger started moving slowly inside you. "Seeing you cry in pleasure."
The tip of his finger curled against a specific spot inside you, the sudden sensation making you open your legs even more. Armand kept attacking the same spot over and over again, as your whimpers started to grow in volume filling the small room.
A second finger joined the first, your walls immediately welcoming the intrusion without any resistance. You could feel your wetness dripping down your skin and on the table below you.
Armand never stopped the sweet torture, only increasing the pace every few seconds. Your breathing was getting more ragged and you couldn't keep your eyes open any longer. The second his thumb started pressing down on clit, giving it quick flicks that matched the pressure of his fingers inside you, you were done for.
Your climax hit like a tidal wave, your whole body trembling in response as your legs locked against Armand's waist. You wanted the feeling to last forever but you wanted to run away from it at the same time. You had fully lost control of your body and mind.
When the intensity slowly decreased, you managed to open your eyes. Armand's gaze already there to provide you comfort, his pupils so large that they were engulfing completely the amber of his irises.
"No tears in your eyes," Armand commented. "Let me rectify that."
You had no time to react — not that your current situation would have allowed you to — as Armand pushed your legs back against your shoulders, your skirt dropping down on your waist exposing your centre fully to the room and to Armand's focused gaze.
"I'll try to be gentle, ma chérie, but my control is hanging by a thin thread," Armand said, voice showing his effort in restraining himself.
"I don't care," you managed to utter. "I want you, Armand."
That was all the permission he needed. In a single, smooth movement of his hips Armand pushed forward. You didn't know when he had pulled his pants down to his thighs, but considering how out of your mind you were during your orgasm, you weren't really surprised you hadn't noticed.
"Armand, fu—"
You didn't get to finish your sentence. The feeling of Armand's length entering you taking all your breath away. You were expecting pain, like in the stories you had heard when you were old enough to understand, but nothing came. Only a crushing feeling of pleasure.
Armand set a brutal pace from the beginning as he saw you get lost in the throes of bliss after the first thrusts.
The table you were sitting on kept bumping against the wall at every snap of Armand's hips against the skin of your thighs. Those were the only sounds in the room, other than your erratic panting and the occasional moan slipping through Armand's lips.
You weren't going to last. Your hands coming up to hold Armand's wrists, while his hands were still gripping the back of your knees keeping you in the same folded position against the table and wall.
The orgasm hit you both at the same time out of nowhere. You let out a scream so loud and raw you struggled to recognise as your own. Armand sinked his nails in your flesh, breaking the skin, a low groan resonating in his chest.
You stayed in the same position for a few minutes, not that you could do much with your body positively drained. Your sight was blurred, wet tears staining your lashes and your cheeks.
"Are you still with me?" Armand asked, lowering delicately your legs back on the table.
You nodded not knowing if you were able to utter a complete sentence.
Armand's hands were moving softly on your skin, trying to stop the tremors in your muscles. "Now that I found you, I think I'm going to keep you."
You blinked slowly up at him, not really registering his words, as you felt your body gradually drifting off.
"Forever."
---
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