Hi! Welcome to my corner of the internet filled with my filthy musings <3 I am currently working on some fics for Armand from IWTV (2022) and Bucky Barnes. I am really excited to dive into writing, so feel free to send asks or prompts. Some of my other favorites that you can send messages about are:
Joel Miller - The Last of Us
Steve Rogers - Marvel
Coriolanus Snow - The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes
Clark Kent/Superman - DCU
Viktor - Arcane
Peter Parker - Marvel
Bruce Wayne/Batman - DCU
Ken Kaneki - Tokyo Ghoul
Kaz Brekker - Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows
Din Djarin - The Mandalorian
Also, almost any of the above characters as vampires :P
Notice: Most of my writing will be smutty in nature and may delve into dark content. I am not responsible for what you consume. I will put trigger warnings and content descriptions on all my posts, but it is up to you to use your discretion.
I'm just starting out, so be kind! This is all for fun
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i don't consider myself much of a shipper but everytime i am reminded of armand and Daniel i just. it's so funny. i am 500+ years old. you are a terminally ill 70 y/o human journalist who i psychologically tortured and kept in my flat for a week in the seventies. i might be your wife. i define myself exclusively on others. will you be my nepo fledgling. ignore the fact that i said i would never make one. i'm making people walk into traffic. let's make a vlog together
When Santiago makes the mistake of bringing an escort back to the theatre, Armand knows he cannot let it slide. Anything too far risks pushing the coven into a coup d'état, so how can Armand show he's still in charge without upsetting this delicate balance?
Tags: improper use of mind gift, Armand is really Mr. Psychosexual torture, mild blood kink (vampires ofc ofc), degradation
Content warnings:
Dubious consent via mind gift
Descriptions of blood and of consumption
Degradation via use of misogynistic language
Brief descriptions of strangulation/choking
This is a work of fiction. My writing of these acts does not mean I condone or support the act itself. If you have concerns, feel free to submit a suggestion.
Do not feed my work into ANY generative AI model. I do not consent for my work to be used as AI training data.
"Oh, dear Santiago… you never were the cunning one…”
Santiago froze, his fangs buried deep in your neck. As the man descends the steps, he retracts before dropping you to the floor, his sole focus on the man in front of him.
An almost halo of light surrounds the man’s hair, painting as a near-angelic figure come to grant you salvation. Yet as you fixate on him as your anchor, you realize there is no salvation here.
He grabs Santiago by the collar of his blood stained shirt—your blood—and forces him against the wall of the green room.
Santiago is paralyzed, and stares to you for a moment. You avert your eyes to his attacker instead, fascinated by the development. Your mortality hung in balance either way—what difference would it make if Santiago or a stranger were to kill you?
He spoke. Softly, as though explaining to a child why it’s rude to hit your friends, though with the threatening edge of someone who’s been waiting, maybe excited, for this.
“For the violation of law four: a vampire shall not reveal their true nature to a mortal and let that mortal live,” He leans forward, and spoke to Santiago in a hushed whisper.
It’s the same tone your clients use when they ask for more than you can give. A gentle push, a pathetic plea, but using subtext to apply the threat should you refuse.
The Angel releases Santiago, who immediately falls to his knees. He tries to meet your eyes, wearing pity and remorse.
“Dear Maître… I never intended on letting her live…”
While the words are intended for the man, the plea for forgiveness extends to you. As if he were a spider pleading with a captured fly for forgiveness, while he continues to wrap you in his web.
“A little slip of the tongue here, a joke there…” Something in his words makes you feel like he’s draining your blood again, you feel lighter with every plea he sings to the man. “What difference would it make for her to die under a bridge or die here? If I kill her tonight or tomorrow?”
The man scoffs and averts his attention from Santiago, who remains grovelling at his feet. While Santiago is an actor, the mawkish sentimentality of the stage leaves him a fool in earnest interactions.
The angel then turns his attention to you, crouching to the floor as he grabs your wrist. He presses two fingers to your wrist pulse point, all without addressing you directly.
“If only you had fully drained her before I returned, then you could’ve pretended to be cleaning up a previous kill, and I could’ve pretended to have loyal children. Yet you failed to even subdue her.”
He stands and drags you up with him. Any remaining blood in your body rushes from your brain, leaving the world spinning as he holds you upright by your wrist, as though you were a doll. Despite your vision blurring, you can make out the soft facial features of a young gentleman, no older than twenty.
“I’m sorry Maître. I never meant for it to go this far… you see that she-”
“Enough.”
He drops you. You don’t feel yourself hitting the floor.
“Get up.”
You’ve never felt heavier, as though you could sink through the ground and down six feet at a command. But his command invigorates you, as if the words themselves were pulling you back to your feet.
He watches, scanning you over again without meeting your eyes, and turns back to the stairs. Santiago watches, looking from you to the man and back to you again, as if asking for your intervention.
But it doesn’t matter. You’re too weak to even look back at him, much less interject. Besides, any remaining strength is reserved for your survival.
“Come.”
You ascend the stares behind the man. Though makes the world spin faster, you follow. He addresses Santiago a final time without turning to him.
“You are dismissed.”
Santiago calls back, but you can’t make it out. It seems irrelevant to the man in front of you as he doesn’t address it further. Though you have no reason to care what happens to Santiago, you can’t help but wonder what leverage or power this man has over him. Whether it’s the same threat he has over you, or if there’s even more at play.
You follow him through the theatres back rooms. Past disorganized props, discarded wigs, strewn costumes, and catches your tired eyes. That is until you pass through two rows of coffins, lined neatly as though you entered a group funeral. He doesn’t stop, and you even seem to pick up the pace.
After another flight of stairs, you are led into a cozy office with two chairs. He turns one around and sits in the other. You half-collapse in the available chair.
He mumbles something, and crosses to the desk behind you. It’s only now you realize you’re still bleeding and staining your chemise. You reach up to touch the puncture wound in your neck, and stare at the blood on your fingertips. It’s colder than you thought it would be.
“Drink.”
He hands you a glass of water, and you realize he poured it from the carafe at the desk. Your hands shake as you lift it to your lips, and you choke down a sip before the glass slips from your hands.
But it doesn’t hit the ground.
He’s holding it in his hand as if he hadn’t handed it to you at all.
“Careful, it’s crystal.”
He returns your glass and takes his seat.
It’s only now you have the energy and the stillness to fully observe the man in front of you. Though his face still wears the mask of youth, his eyes are exposed, revealing wisdom beyond his years. He leans back in his chair, lighting a cigarette while scanning you over again.
This moment could be a painting, but he breaks the illusion when he speaks.
“I am Armand. I’m the director for the Theatre des Vampires performances.” He glances to your bleeding neck, and takes another drag, “How long has Santiago been seeing you.”
You avert your eyes to your glass and swirl the water inside, focusing on the simple motion.
“A few days… he’s been twice before. Tonight was the first night we left together.”
Armand suddenly shifts forward and grabs your chin, as though he appeared in a blink. He tilts your face up to look at him.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
He’s colder than you thought he’d be, yet the touch of another is comforting. It doesn’t demand or take, save for your attention.
Satisfied, he releases your chin and relaxes. You partially miss his touch, and glance to his hand before remembering his penchant for eye contact. Armand flicks his cigarette ash onto the floor as he stares back at you.
“Where did he meet you.”
He’s humiliating you. This must be intentional. But this isn’t the first time you’ve embarrassed yourself for your own safety. You steady yourself.
“A brothel. It’s nearby. You wouldn’t know it.”
“Depends. How many of you are there?”
“Five other girls, two recently vanished. The madame thinks they ran away.”
He smothers his cigarette into his arm rest.
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t.”
“Tell me, do you know what happened to the girls?”
Hot and cold. You saw what he was capable of with Santiago, and you remember the demands he made of you earlier, marching you up the stairs while you were close to fainting. Yet now he’s warm, drawing you closer. You could tell him anything.
You should tell him everything.
“Fuck.” You whisper to yourself and take a sip of your water. This briefly breaks the eye contact, and you remember where you are.
You don’t know this man, what he’ll do to you, or what he’s even capable of.
With Santiago there were rules. He would supposedly take you back to his room, you’d spend the night, and it would be over. While the rules ended up meaningless, it provided a guide of some things that you could expect.
You can’t expect anything here.
“Armand? What am I doing here?”
“What do you mean?”
He only speaks in questions, and what value do yours hold if there’s always a follow-up?
“Santiago brought me here, and I think he was going too far… but you stepped in. Why?”
“I believe we can help each other.”
He rises, moving over to sit on the wooden coffin at the end of the room.
Another coffin.
His expression is mirthful, and he gestures to the empty spot next to him.
“Sit with me, and I promise to explain the coffin. I don’t believe death is contagious.”
He’s joking, trying to set you at ease, but everything in this room and this interaction just feels wrong.
But as if running towards death itself, you move to sit next to him.
He pulls out another cigarette, handing it to you. You accept and hold it to your mouth as he lights it for you.
You linger for a minute as he holds the lighter, still enjoying the sensation of another body next to yours.
He leans back, propping himself up with one hand while he lights his cigarette with the other.
Now you’re the one staring, but not in the scanning, methodical way that he looked at you.
You take your time, slowly tracing your eyes from his resting hand. Faint veins line his arms, and you follow them up his shoulders, where they disappear beneath his rolled-up red shirt.
The vertical lines of his shirt make the already lean man even slimmer, and your eyes follow these lines down to the tan waistcoat, snug against his body. You watch his chest rise through the waistcoat as he inhales the cigarette smoke and wonder just how well it hugs his figure.
Does he do this on purpose, to encourage imagining him without clothing?
He exhales the smoke and taps the ash on the coffin before turning back to you.
“Your Madame has had two girls go missing, yes? When did you last see them?”
You exhale, and replace the air in your lungs with smoke, allowing it to soothe you from the inside.
“Nicole disappeared from her room during the night two weeks ago. She didn’t take any of her belongings, she just vanished.” Hot ash falls on your chemise, burning a small hole in the already tattered fabric. You pay no attention to it, but Armand leans forward to brush the remaining ash off your dress.
“Apologies, I didn’t want your…” He pulls away and glances down to your undergarments, “…dress to be damaged further. Please continue.”
“It’s fine. Santiago left my coat somewhere; I’ll look for it in a minute.” You smother the cigarette butt on the coffin and adjust yourself. His touch, though brief, still reverberates through your skin. “Yvette disappeared with a gentleman a week ago. I never saw him, but another girl said he paid Madame for the night, and later he returned alone with more money. She didn’t hear his explanation, but apparently Madame was indifferent.”
It’s uncomfortable to think that tomorrow morning Santiago could return with enough money to make Madame forget you exist. Explain it as running away while you could be on the bottom of the Seine.
“And you only met Santiago recently?”
You shake your head.
“No, he’s been a regular for a few weeks. Nicole was his favourite,” You chuckle to yourself, and glance to Armand, “He was… always weird. A few times he just wanted to talk, and he would tell her stories about a coven of witches who massacre the mansions of nobles in the night.”
He smiles, and smothers his own cigarette butt next to yours, and lets his hand rest closer to you.
“What else did he do?”
You stop and glance back to him. He’s playing a game of humiliation and continually skipping your turn.
“I don’t know what you mean, Sir.”
He sighs, choosing to humour you.
“I mean in bed. You are a terribly pious whore.”
You laugh.
“This time I’m spending is free mind you. This is charity, staying here with you instead of being available to someone worth my time.”
“Charity?” He leans forward, inches from your face. “What about this is charitable to you? What are you giving to me? Because right now I can’t even get simple information from you.”
You’re frozen as he stares, a deer in deep amber headlights.
“I’ve given you the wrong idea about this conversation. You will give me what I need.” Without looking away, he wraps his hand around your neck, “Now, you can swallow your pride like the common slut you are and tell me what I want to know…” His hand grows colder, numbing your skin as he tightens his grip. “Or I can take what I need and everything else in the process. Your memories, feelings, every experience and thought you’ve ever had will belong to me as well. I will search every millisecond of your life if necessary.”
He leans down, face inches from yours. All you can see is his overwhelming eyes, the colour burning itself into your retinas.
“Do you understand me?”
“Yes… maître.”
The title slips from your tongue so naturally, too naturally.
“Good… focus for me.” He slowly moves his hand to cup your chin, tilting you up to stare at him. “You and Santiago… what would he do? Spare me no details, ma petite salope.”
His words send a shiver through you, Madame kicks men from the brothel for such language.
But in Armand’s domain he will do as he wishes.
“He’d pay for two hours but only spend fifteen minutes fucking me, the rest was reserved for his monologue… sometimes I would fall asleep, and in the dark he couldn’t tell the difference.”
He traces a finger along your lower lip, stalling your speech.
“Go on…”
The shaky breath you take does little to steady your nerves. Perhaps he just wants blackmail on Santiago, is that the source of his power?
“He… he wanted me to thrash and try to kick him off. The first time I didn’t try, but the second time I realized how strong he is.” That evening he had left bruises on your wrists from his grip, “When he had “won” he would fuck me… and then he would…” Your words trail off as you find yourself staring at Armands lips, pulled into a cruel sneer.
He leans further into you, his breath caressing your neck as his mouth makes its way to just above your ear.
“Would what?” He whispers in your ear, resting his hand on the back of your neck as he pulls you closer.
He’s close enough you can feel his heartbeat, or is that yours?
“He would bite me,” Your voice shakes as you search for the words, “Like he was kissing me. Sometimes clients bite softly but this was… he loved seeing me bleed.”
“I understand,” Armand murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Blood is…”
He trails off as his hand roams your upper back, tentatively sliding it beneath your dress. Even just a finger beneath your clothing sends your adrenaline soaring.
“Blood is…?” You ask, setting a cautious hand on his shoulder. No matter how afraid you may be you can’t stop touching him.
He moves his hand back to your neck and sadistically presses a finger to the bleeding wound. You wince, but don’t pull away as he smears your blood along his hand.
“Armand-”
His finger finally lifts, exposing more of your blood to the stinging air.
“Just a moment little salope,”
He slides a line of your blood over his tongue.
Blood is apparently special to both him and Santiago.
“That is correct… and yours is particularly sweet.”
“Armand?”
“If only Santiago had brought you to me instead… but he wanted you all to himself.”
He continues musing as he places light kisses along your neck and your jaw, “Help me teach him a lesson, won’t you?”
Fear forms a pit in your stomach, fear of what’s happening, of what this man is, but most of all what he’s doing to you.
For what follows the fear is need. Raw unbridled need for his touch, and you need it now.
Credits:
For the beautiful dividers: @pixopix on tumblr
For the cover photo: @lfnmrs on pinterest
This is crossposted on my AO3 Account Temperaynse.
I had to split this into two parts bc it was taking so long too write. Whenever I write a new character in a fanfic it usually takes a few days to get a draft I'm happy with, but the SECOND I'm happy with it I have to post it or I'll go back and keep editing later lol
Thank you so much for reading! I hope to have the second part out soon, let me know if there's something specific you'd like to see.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Daniel cant even maintain eye contact with Armand
Imagine standing next to a horny demon who practically oozes desire, you're constantly aware of it, not only because you're exceptionally good at reading people, but because you can feel his emotions, you feel him
Bro the Boner 3000, Daniel is sentenced to an eternity with a horny demon
the vampire armand distracting his newfound human “companion” after each beg of the passing of the dark gift with a kiss, sliding his hand down to their beautiful throat, unmarked, sliding his thumb over their pulse point and the slight jump of his fingers that come with it. he tells them about the perils of immortality and how companionship is poisoned once you become each other’s forever. tells them how the now is much more valuable when it’s temporary.
he does think of it. watching over you as you sleep, how easy it would be to drain you of your succulent blood, feast on you as you turn cold before he finally grants it to you and ends the ritual with his torn wrist to your gasping lips. make you his forever. but he just as easily passes the thought when he hears your heartbeat slow as you fall deeper into your slumber, your jumbled thoughts becoming dreams harmonizing with each breath that passes through your warm body.
and he does contemplate it in the moment. you sit on his thighs, arms hooked under his as he cages you, scratching your nails against his shoulders and whimpering and panting as he rolls his hips up to meet your weakening rhythm of grinds — whining when he pulls your hair from your neck and buries himself in it, dragging his tongue against your pulse and scraping his teeth at your soft skin. he bites, fangs not bared and not deep enough to puncture in any way but he truly considers it for a moment and he pulls back, slips his hands downwards to press at the bottom of your spine and deepen the arch in your back and reach further inside you, slowing his pace to test you and allow himself to clear his head. he wouldn’t turn you out of lust, wouldn’t bring unto you what was done to him, even as he reads the disappointment in your mind.
perhaps he should plan it, were it ever to happen, which it won’t, armand’s not impulsive. but he doesn’t always.. make the correct decision. and when it comes to sentimentality, he is weak.
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Eric has validated a long running fantasy I think many of us have had about old Daniel absolutely laying into Marius and personally that’s enough to keep me going for two years.
This is what I’ve been saying about Daniel. He was flanderised this season for sure, and he’s very irrationally angry right now, but at the core of who he is, he is still a man who lived as a human in the 21st century where morality was very very different to every other character so there was not a chance he was ever going to just be cool with the man who utterly broke the love of his life. There was just no way he was going to take it.
The chances of Daniel Molloy calling Marius a nasty old pedo right to his face just increased dramatically to me. It’s not the productive thing to do and it will upset Armand but it’ll be satisfying for us. Vindication after having to suffer through Blood and Gold. Call him exactly what he is.
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Lestat be like I hate Armand he's a rotten moldy bread kill yourself etc. etc. and then remember Armand like a beautiful melancholic doe-eyed angel in his memories
