Im about to crash out

In the supernatural world healers tend to stand on the sidelines.

They have existed since the beginning of time, evolving during the centuries but never falling victim to the the threat of extinction.

Your family had been one of the longest-lived among the healing community and, after Akasha's destruction of the world, you were the last one standing.

It was your duty as healer to offer your powers during trying times, the Talamasca reaching out to you as soon as the first drop of mayhem fell on the world and you answered. You never stayed in a single place longer than two weeks, moving back and forth between countries and continents to reduce the number of victims as much as your abilities could allow.

You had been raised to be ready for times like this.

You had only one regret.

You had left your companion behind. You had left Armand without saying goodbye. If you closed your eyes now, you would still see the last time you had seen his face, eyes unaware that they would not ne able to meet yours again after that day.

Two years had passed since then. The defensive shield you had raised to stay safe and hidden prevented you from reaching out and contact Armand, and him from the doing the same.

You just hoped he was still alive. The chances were high, he was immortal, you were not and yet here you stood. You wondered if he wished the same, if he too spent days and nights unable to sleep with a heart heavy with nostalgia and heartbreak.

You missed him. If you could exchange the oxygen in your lungs for a chance to be held in Armand's arms once more, you would.

But you had a duty. And duty came before love, that had been your father's first teaching when you were only five years-old. Thirty years later you could still hear his booming voice as a reminder.

You were in Toronto now. The wave of destruction hit stronger here than in most areas, making your stay longer and more dangerous. Luckily, with the city in ruins, it was easier to hide and to stay alert for any unwanted approach.

You had found a small apartment in an abandoned building, stable enough for you to move in for a few weeks. You had managed to retrieve a big storage of supplies, filled with non-perishable food and herbs you needed as support during your healings.

Those were there only for emergencies, for the times when you had completely drained your body of its powers and needed to give it time to recover, so you could provide cures even when your abilities couldn't be of service.

You had followed your training to the letter. Your parents would be proud, even though they were no longer on this world to witness it. This apocalypse made sure of that.

That night you had finally succeeded in getting back to your apartment to rest after two days of no sleep, little food, and hands on never-ending bleeding bodies. Even feeling clean enough water cascading on your skin felt like a miracle to you, a blessing.

You were eating instant noodles, the taste almost nauseating but your body could not afford to skip another meal, as you watched the news on your phone, only a small lamp switched on the small living room. You hated to be surrounded by complete darkness, but you knew you could not draw too much attention to your shelter even with the neon signs still on in your neighbourhood. Never lower your guard.

You knew you had been careful when you got back, all your senses on alert way after closing the door behind you just to be sure you were actually alone. That's why you felt the blood in your veins run cold at the sound of light footsteps inside your apartment.

You held your breath, your muscles growing still as you waited for the approach. And, then, your heart started beating wildly in your chest.

Not out of fear.

"Armand, is that you?" you asked to the darkness beyond your living room.

A familiar figure stepped into the light and your breath hitched in your throat at the sight. You had imagined this moment countless times since you left, and yet now that it was actually happening it didn't feel like the way you had expected in the slightest.

You stood up from where you were eating on the small sofa, taking careful steps towards Armand who was standing there in complete silence. Your emotional core was a volcano spurting out lava lapilli as you could not understand the extent of your inner turmoil. If you were happy, or excited, or scared, or everything all at once.

You could not settle on a single sentiment because your eyes were focused only on Armand's face, on the eyepatch that was now covering his left eye, a deep scar showing outside of its borders.

Armand had lost an eye.

"What happened to you?"

You were now a few feet away from him, your body unable to step even closer, your words met only by silence and stillness, and not the ones that used to give you comfort while standing in Armand's presence.

"How did you find me?"

Still silence.

You swallowed around nothing as you tried to figure out a way to move forward, to get a reaction out of him.

"Are you going to answer me? Why are you here if you're just going to stand there unmoving?"

This time it was his turn to step forward, closing the distance even more between your bodies. The intensity in his gaze never changing even now, the feeling of being scrutinized from the inside out soothingly familiar.

"You left me."

Three single words. Enough to trigger a shiver down your spine at the coldness. You knew Armand would be furious and yet you could not accept the confirmation of your fear.

"I had to. I could not refuse the call when it came."

A twitch in his fingers. "You could have told me." Phalanges cracking lightly with the movement. "I could not reach you. I could not find you. You could have been dead and I wouldn't have known."

You took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I had no choice."

"No. Choice."

"You would have tried to stop me."

"Yes."

Another deep breath. "I could not allow that. Your wish could not have been ranked above the oath I swore to my kind."

"Your kind?" The contempt in his voice was like a dagger in your heart. "People who won't bat an eye while sending someone so fragile right in the eye of the hurricane."

"I'm not fragile—"

"I am immortal. A vampire," Armand continued without listening to you anymore. "And I have lost an eye still."

"I am not human either, Armand."

In a blink of an eye, the remaining distance between your bodies finally nullified. Armand's hands were on the top of your arms, squeezing the flesh without any intention of hurting you. "You are mortal. You could meet your end in a single second of distraction."

"I know. But I'm here."

Armand closed his eye, the strain to rein in the wildfire burning inside him clear in the way his hands were shaking. "It is not enough to repair two years of imagining you dead."

"I'm sorry."

"Neither are apologies."

You wanted to hold him, but with his hands still restraining you, you could not move. "What do you want me to do?"

Armand opened his eye again, the amber of his iris blinding you. "You come back to me, and you won't leave again."

A knot tightened in the pit of your stomach, because you wanted to say yes. You wanted to go back to how your life was before, to feel the comfort of his embrace again and live entangled together for the rest of your life. But it was not your place to make this decision.

"I can't."

You barely felt the whoosh of air, only realizing you were moving when your back landed heavily against the wall. Armand's body was fully melt with yours, putting increasingly stronger pressure on you as you felt the concrete behind digging into your back.

Still, Armand's actions were measured in a way that prevented you from feeling any pain.

"This outcome cannot be accepted."

You shook your head. "I cannot leave the people behind. It's not fair."

"Fair?" You could feel his breath on the skin of your face, your nose brushing against his. "So it is fair to force me to watch you die, because that's the end lying ahead if I let you go out there again."

"I promise you I won't die."

"Do not make promises about something you can't control." Armand leaned forward, forehead resting lightly on yours. "Your body is too easily breakable."

"I can protect myself."

Armand moved back again, gaze meeting yours. "Another vampire in my place would have killed you in a second. That's how simple it is to breach your defences." You felt the tension leave slowly his body. "Death would be preferable compared to what others would do to your body. I will not allow this scenario to become a reality."

"Arm—"

"There is only so much of your disobedience that I can tolerate. No more."

"Please, let me expl—"

You body was turned to face the wall in a second. Your hands paralysed above your head by Armand's mind as his were slowly descending down your sides, before moving to your front.

You felt his fingers unbutton your shirt, taking their time with each button as if you both had all the time in the world.

"Did you let anyone touch your body in the same way I'm touching it now?" Armand asked bitterly in your ear, the tip of his fingers caressing the skin of your belly after removing the last of your buttons.

"I could never."

He hummed. "Shall I simply trust your words? I know how lustful you can be."

Your breathing was ragged, all your senses waking up at once with just a single passage of Armand's touch.

"I swear. My focus was only on my duties as a—"

"Yes, duty. You keep repeating that word," Armand interrupted you again, as his hands moved lower to unfasten your pants. "A cloak you love hiding underneath to justify your unacceptable behaviour."

You felt your pants fall down your legs bunching around your ankles. Goosebumps raised on the skin of your thighs as the chilly air of the room touched them.

Armand's hands moved to the side of your legs, ascending slowly as his fingernails pressed down on your skin leaving a trails of scratches in their path upwards. You shuddered at the sensation the action provoked in your core, a warmth starting to spread in your centre.

Their journey never stopped, making you arch your back as much as the restraints allowed you when Armand's fingers passed over your ribs. The intensity decreased slightly the moment your open shirt turned into a barrier between his skin and yours.

Armand was touching your upper back now, fingers inserting themselves in the little space between your neck and the collar of your shirt.

"Are you going to tell me you haven't touched yourself once either?" Armand's voice reached you again, the sound so low and dark that was shaking you to the core of your soul.

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. A short-circuit generating in your mind and burning your synapses as you struggle to formulate a single coherent thought.

You heard a sharp noise coming from behind you, Armand's nails cutting through the fabric of your shirt effectively ripping it in half. An efficient way to get rid of another piece of clothes that didn't require any unnecessary movement from you.

Your shirt fell on the ground in shreds, joining your pants at your feet. You were now standing only in your underwear, your body shivering from the cold and from the slow torture you were subjected to by Armand.

Your body was turned abruptly, allowing you to look Armand in the face again while your arms were still kept firmly above your head and against the wall. The tip of your fingers starting to grow numb from the prolonged position they were caged in.

Armand was staring down at you, the amber of his eye now a darker shade. He was waiting for you to answer.

"I have," you managed to utter between short intakes of breath. "And I have always imagined it was you touching me, but I could never…"

You stopped.

"Yes?"

"I could never reach an orgasm on my own."

A twinkle passed through Armand's gaze at your words. It was brief but you caught it before it could disappear again behind his usual mask.

"Do you want me to fix this woeful predicament for you?" Armand asked you, the tone bordering on patronizing, as he rested one of his hand on your belly an inch above the hem of your underwear.

"I do."

Armand's lips quirked up into a smirk. He was wearing a knowing expression on his face as if you had just fallen in his trap, no matter what you were going to say next.

"Only if you promise to leave this place with me, never to come back."

You pursed your lips at his demand, your stare hardening. He was unmoving in his conviction, but so were you.

"I already told you I cannot abandon—"

Armand let out a deep sigh before you could finish your sentence. He was hell-bent on interrupting each time you opened your mouth, while still demanding you to answer his questions. Another dimension of his power plays.

Armand bent over to his middle, hands coming to rest on your waist as he lifted you from the ground and put you over one of his shoulder in a swift movement. Your arms were now free from their previous restraints, though they could not be of much help as they moved quickly to grip the back of Armand's shirt for balance.

"Wrong answer," Armand commented firmly. "Again."

He was taking you toward your bedroom. You could try to rebel against his hold, albeit without any success, though that would only postpone the inevitable, and make your situation worse.

You were at Armand's mercy now.

He threw you on the bed unceremoniously, the remind of his strength sending a thrill down your spine.

"Maybe if I give you what you're craving," Armand continued, staring at you from the bottom of your bed while his hands moved to remove his clothes in a calm manner, "you will be more inclined to follow my instructions."

This composure he was presenting you was all an act. You could perceive the emotions boiling under the surface.

Slowly, you shifted your body back towards the headboard, your hands supporting you in the slide on the mattress. Your eyes never left Armand for a second.

When he was done with his clothes, standing proudly naked in front of you, you forced your gaze to not drop lower than his chin fighting against the temptation to admire his full figure again after years apart.

Feline-like Armand climbed on the bed, inching closer to you in a calculating pace. You sat still in your spot. There wasn't much you could do beside wait for his approach and pay close attention to every single one of his movements. You knew, though, that keeping an eye on him would have been pointless — not that you could stand a chance in this battle — but you had wished to put up a better fight at first, at least.

Just like a black panther, Armand jumped on you, getting a hold of your body and successfully putting you on your knees with your front turned towards the headboard. Another ripping sound followed. The last two pieces of clothing still on your body lay now on the duvet completely torn.

Armand inched even closer as he pressed his front right against your back, one of his arms circling you around your belly, while his other rested across your shoulders with the hand pushing your head back by putting pressure below your chin.

From this position he could keep his stare straight to your face and, even with your vision upside down, you could not escape the intensity in his gaze.

The arm on your stomach moved lower, his fingers finding your centre right after. You gasped at the touch and your mouth opened slightly at the feeling. Armand was studying your expression, paying attention to any minute change.

His fingers pressed down on your clit, attacking you suddenly with quick and firm circles, your wetness making the slide easier. A moan left your lips at the sudden sensation, the sound filling the otherwise silent room.

He was going hard on you right from the start, building up your pleasure fast without giving you the chance to fully enjoy the feeling. Armand wanted you to reach your climax in mere seconds and, embarrassingly enough, he was going to succeed.

You tipped over the edge with a high-pitched whine, promptly silenced by Armand's hand raising to cover your mouth from its previous position on your chin.

His palm was pressing down on your lips, your sounds muffled against his skin as his ministrations on your clit never stopped.

You could feel your legs begin to shake, the pleasure in your core now bordering on overstimulation but you could do nothing besides welcoming the sweet torture.

Your hands came up quickly to grip his wrist, not to remove his palm from your mouth, but as a way to anchor yourself and have your fingers visible to Armand's eye. Deprived of your ability to speak, you were going to tap against the back of his hand if the sensations were about to get too overwhelming for you to handle.

The purpose of this moment was to teach you a lesson according to Armand's fashion, not to hurt you. And you knew Armand would want you to stop him, and not to endure unwanted pain in silence.

The fingers on your clit never slowed down, and the overstimulation washed away in your limbs as a new peak was coming up from the horizon. The wet sounds coming from between your legs only increased, your wetness now dripping down the skin of your thighs and on the bed.

Your second orgasm hit you mere minutes after first, the heat so fierce that you were almost glad to have Armand's hand on your mouth to cover how loud you were screaming. Your legs felt like jelly, convulsions taking hold of your nerves as you struggled to keep yourself upright on your knees, Armand's arms doing most of the work.

Two of his hands entered you while your body was still in throes of pleasure, hitting the sensitive spot right behind your clit to prolong your climax for a few seconds longer. Tears blurred your sight before starting to fall down your cheeks, while your screams turned into whines at the never-ending pleasure you were experiencing. You knew you were covering Armand's hand with your drool, but none of you seemed to care in the moment.

All his focus was on your face and on his fingers fucking you at an unforgiving rhythm, and the squelching sounds that followed after each thrusts were a further proof of how responsive your body was to his ministrations.

Armand pulled his fingers out after slowing down his pace. He could have pulled another orgasm out of your body, but you could see in his eyes that he had other plans. He let your body go and, without his hold helping you keep yourself in position, you fell face down on the mattress.

"Are you willing now to abide to my request?"

You were panting against the pillow as you willed your lungs to take two deep breaths before slowly turning your body around to rest on your back. You looked at Armand, the usual tension in your muscles gone after coming twice in a few minutes, but your stubbornness was still burning alive in your veins.

"No."

"Pity."

Armand laid down next to you, mirroring your position on your back before reaching out to lift your body again. He manhandled you in the way he desired and, with your limbs still shaking with aftershocks, you simply let him.

Not that you had a problem with Armand taking full control of your movements.

He put you on top of him, straddling his hips, your chest resting against his as you didn't even try to lift yourself up in a sitting position, knowing full well that you would fail.

"Let's try another method, since you didn't seem to understand the first lecture," Armand whispered in your ear as a warning. All you could do was shiver in response.

Armand moved your arms to your back, his left hand taking a hold of both of your wrists, the grip tight enough to stop any movement, while his right hand reached for his length aligning it with your entrance.

He pushed inside you, your walls so pliant and wet made his entrance quick and smooth. Armand stopped only once he was completely bottomed out in your pussy, and you moaned at feeling so full of him again.

Armand stayed still for a moment, now both of his hands keeping your wrists and arms restrained against your back. You simply sat there, waiting, your cheek resting on his shoulder as your ragged breathing tickled the skin of his neck.

You heard Armand hum deeply in his chest and then, with careful movements, he lifted his legs propping his feet up on the mattress.

It all happened quickly. One second you were both lying still with his length warming you from the inside, the next Armand was pounded inside you with total abandon.

The spike of pleasure in your core was immediate, with you being so sensitive after the previous orgasms, but you had no more energy to scream. Your mouth was open and no sound was coming out of it, only quick and shallow breaths punched out of your lungs with every hard thrust of his hips.

"Shit, shit, shit," you mumbled against him, no other coherent thoughts generating in your mind.

Armand's pace never faltered as he fucked you from below, the hammering sounds of skin against skin resonating everywhere around you.

Your knees locked against his waist as you reached your peak again, the strong feeling draining you of whatever remaining strength you still had in your body. You collapsed on his chest, shaking wildly while you distantly felt Armand meet his own end and filling you up with his release.

With your body completely spent, the dam you had built around your heart crumbled down and all the emotions you had carefully repressed in the last two years burst out of you in a desperate cry.

Armand was already there to hold you tight against him in comfort, as if he was expecting this reaction out of you.

"I'm sorry for leaving you, I'm sorry—"

You apologised over and over, Armand shushing you softly in your ear. "I know, my love. The idea of you dying out here alone tormented me, I looked for you everywhere."

"I didn't want to leave you," you managed to say between hiccups. "I had no choice."

"You should have told me, we would have found a solution together."

You shook your head, still hiding your face in his neck. You had been feeling so lost and broken without Armand by your side, and your parents' death had been your last straw. You shut the world out completely right after that.

"I don't know what to do," you cried. "I don't want to leave you, but I cannot abandon my responsibilities."

Armand was caressing your head softly, his nails scratching your nape in soothing motions.

"I will stay here with you," Armand stated firmly. "But the moment this apocalypse finally ceases, we disappear from the world. Just the two of us."

You kept quiet for a few seconds, Armand's heart beating calmly below your chest. "Yes."

There was no need to say anything more. Both of you would endure and survive time and time again, that was all that mattered. As long as you were doing it together.

You had learned your lesson. ---

Now I'm working on the Old!Daniel x reader, and I'm ovulating. I feel so wild already about it.

"You are invited..." The words you had read only two weeks ago, an invitation to yet another gathering of socialites in yet another ostentatious setting. Your mother was most insistent on you going, you were her eldest child, and she has been desperate for you to get married. You had tried to reason with her.

"A masquerade is the worst kind of ball to try finding a husband! Mother please!"

And the words only slithered in one ear and out the other as she was already picking out your dress robes for the party. Your mask selected the next day when she had dragged you out to the shops in Paris.

And with a corset laced so tight you could barely breathe, you had been ushered from carriage to steps to ballroom...

You usually spent these events talking with other ladies at your reserved table, but they slowly are taken from the table. Slipping away as they are offered the hands of gentlemen asking for dances. Alone, you watch ladies dance, hearing the orchestra's music ring out into the space surrounding the sea of masked couples waltzing. If you listen closely enough you could hear their steps, in sync with one another. Past the waltzing sea, you thought you could see a lone man, standing across at the other side of the room, but the sight of him was quickly lost...It was at this point in the evening that the feeling of being watched would fail to leave you as the night continued.

You could feel his eyes on you from all the distances he had been in the room. He lingers, everywhere and nowhere all at once, for the moment you turn to try and see him... he disappears. For most of the evening, you could only capture glimpses. Brief. Fleeting. You stand, desperate for air, walking to the nearest balcony, opening the double doors, and looking out into the view of the night.

The cold of the night air embraced you, allowing you a respite from the heat of the room. The bodies all in one space... you hadn't realized it had been getting to you. All you felt was a rush, having spent the night circled like prey, watched by a man unknown to you. And the feeling, hadn't left. He was right behind you, staring at your figure on the balcony, your eyes unaware as you look up at the night sky. Steps across the floor, traveling to the double doors, as they open you could once more hear the distant symphonies of the orchestra. The doors close, you refuse to look back at your company despite your curiosity's screams. His steps hesitant, but halting nonetheless when he closes the distance, standing next to you.

"Vous êtes seul, pourquoi?" You are alone, why? His first words to you, his voice, soft and kind. You turn your head, looking at him. He had on a black mask, it covered down to his nose... and despite your restricted view of his face, a yearning filled your veins. Blood rushing through you as your heart's beats surpass its normal pace... His hair was tied back, a black bow securing it into place. The silk of the bow paralleled the look of his hair, you could tell it was soft just by looking... but you still wonder what it would feel like against your finger tips. You turn your head to look down at the city, hearing the clops of horse hooves as carriages are pulled along the cobblestones.

"J'ai été invitée, ma mère m'a obligée à venir ici." I was invited, my mother she made me come here. You could hear a soft hum from him in response. A shiver trails up your spine, you could feel it through the layers of your clothes. "Monsieur, pourquoi m'avez-vous suivi ?" Sir, why have you followed me?

"Vous me fascinez, mademoiselle." You mesmorize me, miss. He steps closer to you, the fabric of his clothes brushes against you. "Ton esprit, il tend la main vers moi." Your mind, it reaches for me.

"Qu'est-ce que tu dis?" What are you saying? You look at him, your head tilting up... you fixated on his eyes. They're ethereal... such a unique shade, one you'd never seen before. Even the mask couldn't hide their beauty.

"Votre main, mademoiselle. Puis-je danser avec vous ?" Your hand, please, miss. May I dance with you? The question makes your breath hitch. You glance at the door.

"S'il te plaît?" Please? You step hesitantly back towards the double doors. He walks over to them, opening them for you, offering you his hand. His hand was cold... gentle as he pulls you with him to the ballroom's dance floor. His other hand delicately places itself along your waist. The hand in yours simply repositioning to hold yours, he intertwines his fingers with yours. Intimate.

He leads you effortlessly through the dance. His eyes trailing over you. You could feel a rush through your body at every step and turn. You could feel yourself get closer and closer to him as the music progresses, carrying your movements along with him. His hand slips from your waist, over to your back, pushing you closer to him as his fingers spread along the fabric of your dress. The act makes you gasp softly. Your hand previously on his shoulder slowly slips down to his chest. And when the song ends, he halts, eyes connected to yours as they have been for every measure, every note, of the music carrying the two of you. Your chest rises and falls, his remains still, not even breaking a sweat from any of it. In the absense of the music, there was nothing. Silence. Empty, intimate space where the world around you was nonexistent.

"Je dois y aller, mademoiselle." I must go, miss.

"S'il vous plaît, ne le faites pas." Please don't

"Je dois le faire avant de faire quelque chose d'irréparable." I must before I do something I cannot take back.

"Dites-moi votre nom, Monsieur." Tell me your name, Sir. You squeeze his hand, holding it with both of yours. "S'il vous plaît... avant de partir, je dois savoir." Please… before you leave, I must know.

"Armand."

"Armand." you echo, one of your hands moving to his chest without realizing. "Je penserai à toi, Armand." I will think of you.

"Au revoir." Goodbye. He slips from your hands and the air feels as though it has been knocked from your chest, hollowing your lungs. You quickly left after that, hoping with a desperation that you'd see him once you went outside... but all you could see was your carriage at the bottom of the steps, waiting for you.

He plagued your mind like a fever. Your etiquette lessons fell on deaf ears. You could focus on nothing... spending most of your time in your room, writing by candlelight in your journal. And nearly every sentence was simply a plea, a thought, a yearning for him. A man whose face you never got to see, but his eyes... his touch-- it stuck with you. It was sealed into your skin like cold sweats. He haunted your nights, slipping into your dreams, touch so vivid it felt as though he was really there... but every time you woke from your slumber, hoping to find him, he wasn't there.

Unexplainable, following an abrupt waking, you find yourself slipping out of bed and traveling down the stairs to leave your home. Yet another dream had tormented you, and a prayer echoed in your mind that air would sober you. Your bare feet bring you past the yard of your family’s estate. Outside, guided by nothing but the moonlight, your only light source as you stumble onto the nearby cobblestone street.

Dew from the night air laid among the cobblestones under the flesh of your feet. A light, patchy fog lingered across the expanse of the path. You walk, unsure of where to, absent in mind as you walk forward. Nightgown clinging to you, the long skirt of it went to your ankles, it lightly swaying in the night’s wind.

Footsteps along cobblestones begin to linger behind you, the steps much louder than your own as the owner clearly had shoes on… Your body shivers, trembles wracking you in waves. You take one step back, turning to look behind. The silhouette of a man in the dark, eerily it was familiar to you. Your eyes were failing you, not even the moonlight could bring your eyes any closer to clear recognition. He continues to walk towards you, you take hesitant, fearful steps back. Until... you can't. He brought you to a moment, where all could only disappear into silence. Caught in a glamour the closer the silhouette gets. You stand, debilitated by the eyes that you now recognize, his steps pause. He was still in the mask... robbing you of the sight of the entirety of his face you had an abundant alacrity to know.

You wanted to memorize every pore...

He steps to his right with slow deliberate steps... circling you, his eyes scanning every detail of you.

"Il fait terriblement froid dehors comme ça..." Awfully cold to be out like this… "Mademoiselle" the title came in the form of a whisper, a breath of him, brushing over your ear even despite the distance between you he was failing to close despite your mind's wishes for it... "Mauvais rêve ?" Bad dream?

"Non." You could say nothing else... you didn't trust yourself to.

His steps come closer, figure behind you... His hands hesitantly slip over your arms, sliding down slowly as he whispers to you.

"J'entends votre cœur. Je me demande… qu'est-ce qui peut bien faire battre votre cœur à tout rompre, ou… qui ?" I can hear your heart. I wonder... what could possibly be making your blood race, or... who? His lips brush the back of your ear, breath like smoke rippling over your skin... your body, from where he was touching you outward feels goosebumps spread. You stay quiet. "Quoi… ou qui ?" What... or who?

"Toi." You. A confession whispered through your shakiness...

"Mm." A hum. Simple, but frustrating in response to your vulnerabilities so blatantly on display for him. "Tu m'as attendu ?" You've waited for me?

"Je le suis toujours." I still am.

"Vous devez être patient" You must be patient.

"Je ne veux pas l'être. J'avais envie de te voir." I do not want to be. I've wanted to see you.

He turns your face to the direction of your home. "Votre balcon." Your balcony. "Chaque nuit." Every night. His hand caresses your cheek, resting his head against yours, his other hand slipping from your arm to your shoulder, his body pressing against you from behind. "À distance, jusqu'au moment venu." From a distance until the time comes.

Your eyes close briefly... but in a panic when you feel every part of him leave you, your eyes open. Looking around you... it was like he was never there. You ran back to your home. The high was lost; you were sober now.

Like a fool when you step into your bedroom, you found yourself rushing to your balcony. You wait there an hour, before dragging yourself back to your bed. He wasn’t there.

But in your dreams he was... and when the sun rose and set, you went to your balcony…

He stood, still in his mask, looking up at you. You rest your arms on the railing.

“Mon ange” The words came from him, but his lips did not move…perhaps they did… maybe you were simply fatigued. You’d been rather tired. Restless from your dreams, waking up feeling as though hands had traveled across your skin only to see no one there.

Seeing him did nothing to quell your wishes to see him. The longing had grown, an avarice welling within your heart. You need him to be near. He was too far for your liking.

“Monsieur.” You call to him, motioning for him to come up to the balcony. He glances at the door, looking back up at you before taking hesitant steps. You rush down to let him in, practically running down the stairs, opening the door for him. He walks into the room, you wordlessly lead him to your bedroom and to the balcony. You sit, and he sits with you, immediately. The air shifts, a feeling you’ve never felt before, at least not with him. Less need for a guard.

“You’re here,” you say, glancing at him.

He nods, “I am. I said I would be.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” You adjust, resting your back against the balcony to face him.

“And the next night, and the one after that.”

“Are you an angel?” You smile softly, head tilting.

His head tilts, mimicking the movement of yours, mirroring you. “An angel?”

“Oui.” You nod, “an angel.”

He shakes his head, “Non.”

“Hm.” You nod, you crawl closer, sitting on your knees in front of him. “How long have you come here?”

“Since that night,” he confesses, his eyes trailing down your face, landing on your neck. You look over the details of his face that are visible to you. The mask… your hand reaches, hovers near his face. He glances at the fingertips. Your hand smooths over his jaw up to the edge of the mask. His breath hitches when he feels your hand, soaking in the physical touch, his eyelashes fluttering as he closes his eyes. His lips were slightly parted, he was beautiful… your hand inches closer to the edge of the mask. You try to lift it to take it off, but his hand rushes to grasp your wrist. Eyes piercing yours, irises burning fierce, pupils aiming directly for yours.

“Don’t, Mademoiselle.” The words were soft, harsh, low. You nod, fingertips forming a loose fist so he knew you wouldn’t reach for the mask again. His hand releases your wrist with care. “Très bien,” his praise has an embarrassing effect fluttering within you. Your chest feeling a pressure from restraint. You rest your hand on your lap, running, holding your own wrist he'd held... tracing where his fingers had been.

"How long do you stay?"

"Most of the night."

Your eyes meet his, "You don't sleep?"

"Not when you do, mon ange." He looks at you, "You haven't been sleeping well, have you?"

You look down, "I've slept fine."

He shakes his head, "Come." He stands, offering you his hand. You take it and he lifts you in his arms, walking you to your bed. Tucking you in gently, carefully, with a soft touch as he sweeps hair out of your eyes. He sits on the edge of the bed. "Rest, mon ange." His whispers wash over you with a tenderness. A drowsy feeling settling into you, your body becoming weightless. The usual persistent dreams accompany you with the feeling of his hands...

He visits you each night, asking about your day. He only allows you to stay up and talk to him if he's sure you aren't too tired to do so. On the nights he makes you go to sleep early, you usually wake to a flower on your bedside table... an apology for not being able enjoy his company for as long as desired.

One night... he wasn't there. An odd occurrence since it had been over a month of him visiting you on your balcony. It worried you. And when you woke after that night of worrying, tossing and turning in your bed... a flower and a letter sat on your bedside table.

"Mon Ange,

Sincerest apologies for my absence, I had a prior engagement. You must meet me at eight o'clock. Same place we met, don't keep me waiting. I'll send a carriage.

Yours, Armand."

The carriage pulls to a halt, horse hooves clicking lightly against the cobblestones as they come to a stop. The coachman opens your door for you. You bow your head slightly as you step out, thanking him.

Walking up the stairs, your heart rushes the closer you get. Your shoes echo with your steps as you travel inside the building. It was dim, empty, not as many candles lighting the room as there were that night. The air was heavy... or maybe that was just your corset. Either way, your breaths weren't coming to you as easy as they normally would.

“Très bien,” a praise echoes behind you, the soft words followed by steps, his steps. "You're early."

"You wanted to see me."

"Very much, mon ange." He circles you, pausing in front of you before stepping closer. His face, still adorned in the mask, only lit faintly by candlelight. You step closer to him, closing distance. Your hand lifts, caressing his jaw, head tilting as you watch him lean into your touch-- as he always does. Your thumb caresses the skin above his jawline. His eyes close, taking a soft breath. He was consistent with this. He craves physical touch, his body language conveys it to you anytime he is near you.

"Please," you plea softly. You wanted to remove the mask...to see him. Bare witness to all of him.

"Please?" He echoes, eyes still closed.

Your hand lifts the bottom edge of his mask. His eyes open, one of his hands grabbing your wrist, but it was too late. You drop his mask. His eyes glare as they observe every inch, every muscle, every pore-- focused entirely on your expression. His lips parted and you could see the fangs he had, you hadn't seen them before.

"Now I see you," you whisper.

"And do you still like what you see?" He asks, the words soft, harsh, low. Restraining his anger as the fire in his eyes grows, his grip on your wrist tighter.

"You thought I would not?" Your other hand goes to touch his face, allowing the opposite to remain in his grip. Your fingertips do not get the chance to caress his skin, his other hand grabs the one reaching for him. He pulls your hands down to your sides before pulling your body against his, kissing you. He steals your breath, one hand planted on your back, keeping you pressed against his chest as the other rests flat on the fabric of your dress robe. His hand slides up the fabric until the fabric ends, fingers meeting your bare skin as the hand travels over your chest. Your breath hitches against his lip, he doesn't stop. No pressure applied as his hand lightly wanders.

His lips parting from you doesn't last. He leans down, your head tilting back when you feel the position of his. His nose slid across the skin over the side of your neck, lips softly pressing to the skin. His tongue trails up ever so slightly as he kisses the skin. The hand once on your chest moving down to join the other on your back. You were scared to breathe.

"I can feel your pulse on my tongue," he says the words against your skin. "Am I making your heart race?"

"Yes."

“Très bien."

You can feel your skirts lifting, his hands bunch the fabric of them, lifting your body without warning and plopping you down onto the nearest table. Your eyes widen, feeling one of his hands push you down by a hand on your chest before sliding down your dress journeying over bust and corset to your lifted skirts. His hands position in the bends of your knees, pushing your legs up and out. You look at the ornate ceiling above, chest frantically rising and falling as you feel the tip of his nose brush over the back of your inner thigh. Breath from his lips passing over the skin before you feel the distance between mouth and thigh close. His fangs graze over you, and then you can feel his mouth open wider before his teeth sink into you. You let out a pathetic whimper, feeling your blood travel from your body to his. A groan is muffled, pressed into your thigh as he continues to sip at the wine of your flesh, drinking from your vein. Shamefully, every bit of it stirred something in you. You could feel it drip from between your legs, ache collecting in the depths of you. A tender kiss and his tongue sliding over punctures tells you he had finished that part of his indulgence, the punctures tingle before you stop feeling them-- as if they were never there.

You could feel the silk of his hair brushing against both your spread thighs, his mouth was hovering over your cunt. His tongue slides from your perineum, catching everything that could drip down, seeking your taste as his tongue travels up ever so torturous, teasingly slow. Circling your clitoris before his tongue slips down inside you, sucking vulgarly as your legs shake and your mouth opens to cry. You could only grip at your skirts, doing your best to stay still even as muscles twitched in your body, but you willed yourself not to even think of squirming under him. Your body was his altar, and this was his worship. On his knees for you as he drinks your offerings with the desperation of a dehydrated man stranded in a dessert finding his oasis, blessed. No intentions of stopping until you fall from the precipice, his hands gently grip at the back of your thighs he held apart steadily. His claws slightly dig into the skin. You could only gasp as your eyes close, vision straying as the muscles in your abdomen twitch. The little death. He took everything you gave him, and even when there was nothing else to give he didn't stop until you whined from physical pain, overwhelmed and overstimulated, nerves shot between your tense, shaky legs.

He stands, "Keep your legs apart." it was a demand, one that you physically could not defy. You could hear the fabric of his pants rustling, before you felt him once more.

"Is this what you want?" He asks, pulling your body closer to him harshly, palms flattening by your sides on the table.

"Yes, monsieur," you whisper, looking into his eyes, your chest rising and falling, the action briefly calling his attention.

"You won't be able to marry."

You say nothing.

"You won't have children." One of his hands reaches down. "You won't see your little sisters, or your overbearing mother." He lets out a gasp, stroking himself, looking down at himself briefly.

"You're going to die."

The words make you freeze, he looks up at you.

"And you will be reborn." He leans further over you, his bare thighs pressed to the backs of yours, legs still spread for him. "Say please."

"Please," you beg.

You gasp when you feel him push into you, inch by inch slipping inside you, a stretch with a slight sting and pleasant pressure filling you before he stops, a heavy breath escaping him.

"Decades roaming this Earth and it has taken me this long to find you." He whispers, leaning down to kiss you, his hips rolling into you as soft moans slip between you. When he parts from you, "I'll pass my sickness, infect you as mine," he whispers with labored breath as he fucks into you, pressing his lips to yours as though he needed your kiss to live.

His hands slip up, grasping your waist as he continues thrusting inside you, groaning against your lips. The table beneath you creaks, the furniture scraping the floor, but neither of you cared, way too lost in each other. He parts from you, nose brushing against yours briefly before his hips roll further into you, harsher, faster. He revels in your whimpers, ravaging you with a muted violence, a territorial claim of his hunted prey.

"Do you want it?" He asks, teeth slightly gritting as he restrains. "A trade. Passing of your current life, to one with me."

"You accept," the words echo in your head. You nod through your shakiness, through your quiet moans.

"Words, mon amour," he commands.

"Yes."

A hand slips into your hair, harshly gripping as your neck is bared to him, head lifted by force. Fangs abrupt, penetrating the skin, drinking from your neck. His hips remain in constant motion, thrusting over and over, his cock twitching inside you as he gets his fill of the blood he steals from your veins. You can feel your body becoming weaker, even as the pleasure wracks you in waves. His mouth parts from your neck, his thrusts slowing as he takes his wrist, ripping some of the skin open with his teeth. He presses it to your lips, your hands grip the offering. Your weak body gaining more energy the moment the blood begins to slide down your throat. Eagerly you consume it, feeling your slowed heart pump faster, faster, dancing with his as you drink the renaissance he offered you from his vein. His hips speed up, grunting as his hair slips from where it had been tied back, the silk falling around his face. You moan against his skin, gulping as your cunt kegels around his dick, you fall from the precipice, cumming around him. He forces his wrist from you. His hips halt as he grunts, feeling your cunt squeeze him as he spills inside of you, whimpering. He rests his body on top of you.

"There will be pain," he breathes the words against your ear, "Sweet pain, mon ange" he whispers.