#vampire aemond

[flowerandblood]

The Last Drop (1/?)

[ modern • vampire • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: description of blood drinking and bleeding in general, sexual tension, angst, memories of murders of both humans and animals, descriptions of violence + a lot of sadness ]

[ description: Encouraged by the information that the town he has landed in is not known for having the most vigilant police in the world, he decides to go on a little hunting trip to finally quench his burning thirst. However, not everything goes according to plan. (A lot of sexual tension, grumpy, gloomy Aemond). ]

Yes, Ewan's recent photoshoot inspired me to return to the vampire theme, this time in a modern version. I liked my idea for the character and their dynamic so much that it won't be a oneshot, but a mini-series! The general idea is that vampires in my world no longer produce their own blood, so they must drink the blood of others: however, once it enters their veins, the blood they drink takes on their own taste and smell, which attracts victims like a lure.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The night was cool and crisp, the sharp air pleasantly filled his lungs. Even though he didn't actually need to, he breathed: it allowed him to remember that he was alive.

The centuries he had spent in perpetual, primitive thirst, starving himself, only to finally succumb again, wove together in his mind into chaos. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since his body had gone cold and no blood flowed through his veins.

Nor was it flowing through his heart, although he needed it.

That was why he had to eat.

He made frequent use of the blood that was stored in hospitals, as did others of his kind; nevertheless, to his disappointment and dismay, this was not enough for him.

No matter how many litres of blood he would drink from a plastic bag, he still felt a hunger that only passed when he sank his fangs into someone's neck.

He didn't understand why he couldn't stop himself – why, despite doing what he was supposed to do, he couldn't fool his nature.

At some point he just stopped trying.

He didn't kill, or at least he tried not to, however, his victims didn't show gratitude for his generosity – for fear that someone would recognise him, he kept changing his location, having several flats across the country.

Alys had told him about this town – she assured him that the police did not act too quickly here, and that it was easy and pleasant to eat in peace in the large, badly lit park. Indeed, when he arrived he found, walking the quiet streets at night, that the place had enough inhabitants to remain anonymous.

This was his chance.

Although he usually watched and followed his prey for long days, that night, as she passed him, he felt a hot, strange shiver and his heart, half-living, half-dead thumped harder in his chest. He turned behind her immediately and stopped, feeling a drop of cold sweat run down his back.

She was young.

Too young for his taste.

If he overreacted and lost control, she might not survive.

But she smelled so incredibly good.

He felt his fangs lengthen involuntarily, his jaw tense as he took a slow, heavy step behind her, into the depths of the park lit dimly by only a few night lanterns.

She was probably coming back from work from a night shift at some club or bar, because she had a rucksack slung over her shoulder – even though it was the beginning of winter, she was wearing only a jumper, scarf and trousers, her hair loose, their scent reaching his nostrils even though she was far ahead of him.

Fuck, I'm not going to make it, he thought, desperate, feeling his desire intensify for some reason – his senses sharpened and his hands clenched into fists as she turned into a dark side street, between the trees.

Now.

He found himself there within moments and froze, ready to attack, seeing the void in front of him – her scent was clear, but somehow she had vanished into thin air. He swallowed hard, biting his lower lip with some kind of feeling of regret and disappointment, looking around.

"Are you thirsty?" He heard a soft, calm voice behind himself and turned suddenly, feeling his heart leap to his throat with fear.

How could she be standing far behind him when she had just been in front of him?

What was that question supposed to mean?

He wanted to lunge at her, but hesitated as he saw her cock her head, pointing her hand back at her rucksack.

"I have a few bags full of blood in my backpack. I can give them to you if you need them. I have more at home." She continued, undaunted.

He felt his lips part involuntarily in disbelief when he noticed that, indeed, her face was pale, her hair unnaturally shiny and thick, her eyes sparkling with some disturbing gleam.

He was so thirsty that he did not notice that she resembled him.

She lowered her hand and blinked, seeing that he was still silent, looking at him with some kind of worry, as if he were a stray, hungry dog.

"What do you need?" She asked at last, and his gaze fled to her neck, to the blood of others that her heart had just pumped.

Blood that would have her own unique taste.

"Not here." She said, moving suddenly ahead, as if she had changed her mind. "Come with me."

He didn't know why, but he did as she said.

Usually it was the others who obeyed his orders, but now he didn't have the strength to stand up.

Perhaps he didn't even want to.

He was so terrified, intrigued and excited that he was breathing through his mouth.

It had been a long time since he had felt his own heartbeat so clearly.

He didn't know where she had got so much courage to let a stranger, much less a man like him, into her flat. To his surprise, it was cosy and colourful, full of flowers and plants, prints and posters, soft blankets and cushions in fancy patterns.

He stood in the middle of the corridor, not knowing what to do with himself, unable and unwilling now to just throw himself at her.

She pulled off her shoes and backpack, entering the living room without turning on the light, just as he seeing clearly in the dark – she sat down on the couch and held out her hand to him, a warm smile on her face that had a hint of comfort in it.

"Come here. It's okay. You've been brave." She said softly, as if praising a small child, her tone of voice filled with serenity and melacholy, as if she had known him for years.

He didn't know why he pulled off his shoes and coat, looking straight into her eyes, why, drawn by some unknown, mystical force, some strange warmth that filled his chest, he approached her.

He watched, breathing heavier and louder, as she lay on her back, still holding her hand outstretched towards him – he grasped her fingers uncertainly in his, thinking with some kind of tenderness that they were as cold as his own.

And yet, for some strange reason, though he was dead, it seemed as if life was still pulsing within her.

He was ashamed to admit to himself that he felt not only desire at the thought, but arousal as he lay down beside her, smelling her scent more and more clearly with every movement.

There was something intimate about the way she looked straight into his eyes without fear, the way her fingers combed slowly through his short hair, the way they were both silent for a moment, just breathing.

"– it's okay –" She repeated in a whisper, running her knuckles over his cheek, making him feel a squeeze in his throat for some reason.

He was moved.

When was the last time he'd been close to someone in this way?

He moved closer to her, feeling a wonderful shiver of excitement and anticipation run along his back as he leaned over her neck – his lips, swollen with desire, ran tentatively over her soft skin.

He heard her quiet sigh, her hands clenched on his body as he slid his slick tongue out, trailing the tip of it over the crook of her neck. He felt his erection pulsate, pushing against her thigh as he opened his mouth wider and his fangs slowly sank into the delicate structure of her flesh.

The fact that she was a stranger to him, unlike Alys, whom he had known for years, made him, for some reason, not dare to be aggressive – even though he could certainly hurt her if he wanted to, he decided to show his gratitude for her understanding and be polite.

There was something pleasurable about being able to focus only on the taste of her blood as it spilled over his palate – because of the way it circulated inside her body, it was warm, though not like that of a normal human being. He didn't mind, because it was a strangely refreshing taste, while at the same time providing him with a feeling of comfort – he thought the last time he felt like this was probably when he was an infant, drinking his mother's milk.

Safety.

He took one sip, then a second, and a third, one hand holding under her back, the other trailing slowly over the skin of her neck and jaw, for some reason wanting to feel her this way – her flesh grew warmer from the gentle rubbing of his fingers.

There was something in her blood that gave him the conviction of her kindness, and he was surprised by this discovery – he felt his heart begin to beat more slowly again, and his muscles, all sore a moment before, relaxed.

He wondered if she felt that he was completely hard.

When he pulled away from her, he closed his eyes and just nestled his face against her chest, tucking his head under her chin. He swallowed hard as she placed a soft, warm kiss on his hair, stroking reassuringly his cheek and back with her hand – he knew their closeness was just an imitation of what they both desired and needed, but he was too desperate to deny himself that.

He would never have asked for it out loud, but for some reason he craved what she offered him.

He wanted to hide.

He didn't need to sleep to survive, but he liked to rest that way, even more so when he was tired and relaxed. That girl, whoever she was, didn't try to escape his embrace, which gave him the feeling that she wouldn't do anything they both might regret.

When he woke up, he could see through the thick, bright curtains that the sun was already high in the sky – he murmured, snuggled with his face into her cheek, not having the strength or desire to move.

Now, in the light, he could look at her clearly.

She had been transformed when she was no more than twenty years old – of that he was certain. Her behaviour and appearance, in his mind, indicated that this sudden, frightening change in her life was recent: fifteen years ago at most, maybe less.

He swallowed quietly and stood up, deciding there was no point in prolonging it – the girl turned towards him and rubbed her eyelids, sleepily.

"Are you leaving already? Wait until sunset." She muttered.

He froze and cursed in his spirit, glancing at the window.

If it had been cloudy he would have survived somehow, but in full sun the burns was the least he could hope for.

She stood up, apparently seeing what he was thinking about, and moved lazily towards the kitchen, massaging the back of her neck.

There were no more marks from his bite, but her neck was all dirty with blood.

She reached for a plastic cup with a straw that looked like an old Coca-Cola packet and began to drink from it, slurping loudly. She raised an eyebrow when she saw that he was staring at her without saying a word.

"What? You made me thirsty." She explained, however, without a hint of resentment or regret, looking into her fridge, filled from top to bottom with plastic bags filled with blood.

"If you want, I can make blood tart or jelly. Or soup. So you won't be hungry again." She said, still continuing the activity of drinking through a straw from a plastic cup.

"What?" It popped out of his mouth, probably because he didn't understand what he had just heard.

"You know, food. I miss it sometimes. Mixing it with blood makes it nourishing, tasty and more interesting than blood itself. It's good with ice as a drink. I once put it in a soda maker to make bubbles inside, but the experiment failed." She said with a sincere sadness that made him just hide his face in his hands.

Was she serious?

"Sit down. I'll make us some jellies. Blood and raspberry. Yummy." She decided on her own, apparently completely not needing his opinion on the matter.

Indeed, he decided that he couldn't leave as long as the sun was shining so hard, so he sat down, watching in disbelief as she pulled out the gelatine, bowl, blood, raspberries and a few other things she apparently needed to create whatever she had in mind.

Looking at her with pity, he stated with a kind of melancholy that it had been a long time since he had watched a woman cook – the last time was when he had seen his mother as she was baking a cake, his favourite one: yeast with plums.

He felt a sting in his heart at the thought that he could still recreate the taste of it in his head.

"Do you live here? In this town, I mean." Her curious voice snapped him out of his reverie.

He looked at her, or rather at her back, watching as she stirred the steaming liquid in a small saucepan.

His thumb began to pick at the cuticles around his fingernails as his whole body screamed for him to do what was better for him, which was to lie.

"Yes. Since recently." He replied.

"Oh, I see – I've been living here for four years now. I'll probably have to move out soon. For now, they think my unchanging appearance is due to good genes." She said softly, pouring the contents of the saucepan into two ice cream goblets.

God, she really does make fucking blood jelly.

He blinked and looked at her, hearing the silence around them, recognising that he should answer something after all.

"Thank you. For yesterday. For your understanding." He said finally, his thumb digging into his skin too hard, creating a small, red wound along his fingernail.

Blood.

He saw her flinch and look over her shoulder – her eyes were big, as if she was surprised by something, her lips parted slightly, as if she felt arousal.

"– oh – do you want a plaster? –" She muttered, turning back – he noticed that her hands were shaking as she set the cups down in the fridge.

He lifted his finger to his lips and licked the bright red, sticky liquid from it.

"– no need –"

He saw her reach for her plastic cup, her eyes closed as she drew a few deep, greedy sips from the straw.

His manhood twitched in his trousers with delight at the thought that she craved his blood.

He swallowed hard when she came to him close enough that he could smell her clearly again – the psychological advantage he thought he had gained over her dissolved into thin air when he realised he wasn't driven by desperation then.

She smelled so good.

She tasted so good.

Maybe he could stay with her longer?

"Maybe we could be friends?" She asked.

He looked at her, feeling that his eyes were wide open in disbelief. Seeing that he had opened his mouth to answer something, she continued quickly, as if she feared she knew what he would answer.

"I have no one here. I don't trust myself enough to spend time alone with other people. I'm afraid of hurting them. But with you, I don't have to be afraid. You're new here too, so... I want you to know that you can count on me in times of need." She said quickly, stammering a few times, as if she was ashamed of her own words.

Was that why she had brought him to her home?

Because she was lonely?

"I don't know." He muttered, this time answering honestly.

"Okay. I just wanted you to know that the door to my house would be open for you."

After all, you don't know me completely, he thought.

You don't know if I didn't kill someone yesterday, if I won't hurt you, rob you, destroy your life out of boredom, for fun.

"How can you be so naive?"

He wasn't sure if he'd really said the question or if he'd only heard it in his head, but her expression told him that the words had left his mouth after all.

"You think so?" She muttered, heartbroken, as if his opinion meant something to her.

Why?

"I was thirsty and you allowed me to satisfy my hunger. You invited a strange man into your home. I could have raped you, I could have killed you. I still can." He snorted with a wide grin, looking at her in disbelief.

He saw her swallow hard, something moist shining in the corners of her big eyes.

"Maybe that's what I wanted. Maybe that's what I hoped for."

He felt a twinge in his stomach at her words, serious and filled with regret.

What were they really talking about now?

Was she hoping he would kill her?

"What do you mean?" He asked, running his fingers over the soft material that covered the armchair he was sitting on.

I can end your torment if you want me to and drink your blood to the last drop.

"I am alone. I can't talk to my parents or the friends I had before I…" She mumbled and drew in air loudly, apparently trying not to cry.

He was wrong.

It probably hadn't even been ten years since she'd been transformed.

How was it possible that she was doing so well?

Young vampires were usually feral and hungry, seeking pleasure in orgies full of blood. She, meanwhile, lived in her small flat like some kind of hermitage and worked as if nothing had happened.

That's why she cooked food, that's why she dressed the way she did, that's why she decorated her flat according to contemporary fashion.

She didn't want to let go of her old life.

"I'm sorry." He said and once again, he was honest. "In truth, I admire your self-control."

"I killed my dog. My best friend. A labrador with big, brown eyes." She mumbled out, fiddling with her fingers, whooping with the tears that began to run down her face one by one.

She had no one to tell about this, so she treated meeting him like a confession.

"I see. Then you ran away from home?" He asked calmly, for some reason feeling towards her words nothing but understanding.

His father's numb body lying on the floor beneath him, his loud panting when he finally regained his composure – he could see perfectly his lifeless eyes open in horror, his mouth spread wide, his throat ripped apart as if it had been torn by an animal.

He loved him, but he never noticed him.

He showed him no support when his eye was taken away, instead comforting his daughter from his first marriage.

Why was it always her and never him?

"Yes." She muttered wearily, her breathing deep and laboured, full of suffering.

"Do they know what happened to you? Where are you now?" He asked further, and she shook her head.

"Good. You did the right thing." He stated.

He raised his hands slightly in the air, surprised, as she sat on his lap and snuggled into him, embracing him around the waist.

She was sobbing like a little child, and in a way she probably was one – torn away from her family and what was familiar to her, she was wandering around the world alone and aimless, filled only with longing and grief.

He struggled to accept the thought that he understood her all too well.

He shuddered when he felt her warm, heavy breath on his neck – his hand ran over her back reassuringly, giving her wordless permission to take what she needed.

Comfort.

He'd only let Alys drink his blood so far, but for some reason he couldn't and didn't want to refuse her – he closed his eyes and sighed, tilting his head back as he felt her fangs slowly dig into his skin with surprising gentleness.

He heard something that sounded to him like a grunt of pleasure when she swallowed a loud gulp of his blood – his lips parted as her hips rolled forward, brushing it against his half-hard erection.

His fingers clenched on her flesh as he involuntarily reciprocated the movement, reaching out to meet her – they both began to breathe louder, as if surprised that they were taking pleasure in two forms of intimacy at the same time.

Their bodies rubbed against each other in calm, gentle harmony, his nose sunk into her soft hair, which he combed with his fingers, the sound of her swallowing arousing him more and more with each passing second.

She needed him.

He wanted to be needed.

He always had.

When she finally pulled away from his neck she pressed her cheek against his chest, exactly as he did then, and took a deep breath, as if she had accomplished some great achievement by not drinking his blood to the last drop.

"…shall we eat our jellies?"

[farity]

In the Red of Night, part 2

Pairing:  Modern!AU Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary:  Aemond likes coffee.  And sugar.  And other things.

Warnings:  Future smut.  A lot of angst.  A lot, a lot.

“What do you want, Alys?” he asked in their ancient language.

“You know the answer, Aemond.”  Her voice was syrupy, with a tinge of bitterness that came with long-nurtured anger.  “Your pledge of eternal devotion, you know, nothing much.”

Aemond rolled his eyes.  They had had this particular discussion a hundred times over as many years.  He was finished with her, had been almost since the beginning, when he realized she had only made him in order to keep him on his knees before her. 

“Goodbye, Alys.”  He clicked off the call before she could argue, blocked the new number she’d used, but had the feeling that sooner or later, there would be a showdown and only one of them would walk away.

He remembered being nineteen, angry with the world, and finding her, huddled in a corner after a battle where he had murdered most people in the castle.  Her eyes had called to him, and she had seduced him and twisted him into knots to get him to do her will.  He hadn’t realized that she looked so very young for her age.  He hadn’t seen how others looked at her, how they gave her a wide berth when she walked past.  In the frenzy of newfound lust and violence, he had not noticed so many things about her.

When she told him she could fix his eye, he laughed in her face, told her there was no eye left to fix.  That night she’d given him wine mixed with something he couldn’t name, and his lost eye, miraculously, began to form again within its empty socket.  He’d spent hours in agony, fists at his side as she chanted over him, telling him over and over that it was for the best, that he had already endured so much pain and could do so a little bit longer.  By the time the pain finally ebbed, his face was soaked with tears and his skin was covered in a thin film of sweat.

“I will need to cut the lid open,” she told him the next morning, not looking at him, as he walked to her, holding one hand over his face, over where he could feel the eye settling into its final structure.  “Come here.”

She’d cut open the stitched membrane with one quick flip of her wrist, and peered in, wrinkling her nose.  “It is almost formed.  I would not let anyone see it for now.”  She went back to her mixing and brewing of potions and eventually he realized she was done talking to him and walked away like a chastened child.

He’d kept the eye patch on for days, even past the time when he could see with both eyes as clearly as he had the minute before Lucerys Velaryon had cut him and changed his life.

He won every battle after, returned to her bed every time, letting her fuck him numb into blissful oblivion to forget the dead and the carnage, and eventually it was time to face his uncle Daemon, looming in the skies on Caraxes, waiting for him and Vhagar.

Alys had cooked their supper and told him this was the time when both he and Daemon were meant to die.  “But you will not,” she’d said, straddling him, “I have ensured that you shall not die tonight, Aemond.”  She’d loosened his breeches and sank onto him, her hips rocking as she bit down on her lip.

Her mouth had filled with rich, red blood, and when she’d kissed him, he’d swallowed mouthful after mouthful of it until he was gasping for breath and had nearly choked on it.  “My beautiful Aemond,” she said dreamily, teeth outlined in red, “you and I shall rule the realm together.”  He’d leaned back and closed his eyes while she drove him to a furious peak, her strange blood now part of him.

He’d left both determined and terrified, and when Daemon had jumped off of Caraxes to stab him, Aemond had undone his saddle tie and leapt in the air and parried off the blow, sending Daemon falling to his death in the waters below.  Caraxes had roared and Vhagar had wanted to engage, but Aemond had flown back to Alys and pledged himself to her.  “Not yet, Aemond, right now it doesn’t mean anything.”

Aemond had not understood, but he hadn’t resisted when she’d sunk her teeth into his neck that night.  He owed her his life, he’d thought, telling himself he’d return to her, her hot bed and her cold heart.

But the next day he’d left alone on Vhagar, pulled by some loyal instinct towards his family.  He’d gone home to find his sister was dead and his mother was hysterical with grief.  Through the rage and heartbreak, he tried to get through to Aegon, and had realized that it did not matter how many battles he won, how many he killed.  They were as doomed as Old Valyria had been.

So he’d fled before she could catch up with him.  He’d cut off his hair and left the city, had learned to disguise himself beyond a cape and a hood.  Even if anyone thought him a Targaryen, the fact that he had two eyes immediately dispelled any suspicions of him being Aemond.  Ironic, he’d thought, to now find safety in being thought a bastard.

* * * * * 

He heard her laugh, a deep, throaty sound that broke him out of his reverie, and he turned to see her with a customer.  He was about her age and looked like a meathead.  She had to smile and pretend she found every customer entertaining, he told himself, but he didn’t like how meathead kept glancing over at her and made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

He’d been coming to the coffee shop for a few weeks now, and had already given up going to his other usual hangouts.  She was there a couple of hours before opening every single day, he would see the lights turning on from his windows and smile and then force himself to wait until she turned the sign on the door.

There was nothing about her that should have called to him, he mused, his usual disdain for most people letting him glide through cities and countries without ever finding anyone who made him want to stay longer than the usual.  She was perfectly ordinary, nothing remarkable about her looks other than her eyes, which were so expressive he sincerely hoped she didn’t play poker or she’d go bankrupt.

Still, here he was, every day, looking forward to seeing her.

“Since you’re here every morning,” she’d said a few weeks after the shop re-opened, “and you clearly love sweets, would you try a new recipe for me?”  He’d looked up to see her giving him a shamelessly toothy grin, holding a small plate with some kind of dessert on it.  When he tried to peek, she lifted the plate higher.

“Only if I can pay for it.”

She rolled her eyes at him.  “You can’t pay because it’s not on the menu yet.  And I might change a few things.”

“Fine,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.  “I will give you my expert, free opinion.” He watched the plate be placed in front of him, her slim hands moving smoothly as she added the cloth napkin and fork to the side.  There was a generous slice of some kind of apple cake dusted with golden sugar crystals and served with a healthy dollop of whipped cream.  “This smells amazing.  What’s in it?”

“You’ll have to tell me,” she grinned at him again, turning around with a flourish and leaving him to his tasting.

A woman with a little boy came in and she went to greet them.  He watched her take a tiny bit of a display slice to offer to the boy, who began bouncing in place.  Aemond ran his fork through the cream, speared a bite of the cake and placed it in his mouth.

He might be a chocolate lover through and through, but this whatever-it-was, was delicious.  The tartness of the apples was grounded by the spiciness of the batter, the whole thing gilded by the sugar crystals.  The sweet cream she’d added on the side lifted the whole thing.  There was a hint of alcohol as well, barely enough to taste, more to round out the whole flavor profile.  

This was an elegant, well crafted dessert and she could probably charge whatever she wanted for it.  He closed his eyes, letting the various flavors bloom and meld on his tongue. 

Once the little boy and his mother left, she came by his table, one eyebrow raised as she approached.  “What do you think?”

I think you’re captivating.

He took a moment to organize his thoughts, caught her fingertips tapping nervously against her thighs.  “The cognac was unexpected but it works.  The cardamom is elegant, and the cream is the perfect accompaniment.  I think you have captured autumn in dessert form.”

Her eyes grew wide and she pressed her lips together, trying to contain a smile, but failed.  “That’s exactly what I was going for,” she whispered excitedly.  “Any suggestions?”

A thousand lewd ideas crossed his mind, but he shook his head and kept his face composed.  “No, it is perfect as is.  I would not change a thing.”

“Thank you,” she reached over, giving his hand a squeeze before she took his plate and fork away.

Aemond stared at the spot on his hand where she’d touched him.  It was the first time they had had any physical contact and he felt dizzy with want.  He nearly reached out to keep her from walking away, stopping himself before he lunged to grab her.

* * * * * 

“Does he have a younger brother?”

You turned to see Katie, your employee, staring dreamily at Aemond through the little window on the kitchen door.

“I have no idea,” you said, smiling, and she turned, giving you an incredulous look.  “What?”

“Um, he’s totally into you, boss, and I’m not stepping into that situation, but if he has a younger brother that looks like him, I would totally smash that.  Totally.”

You scoffed.  “There is no situation and he is not into me, K.  He is a nice, respectful customer and one of our regulars.”

“Maybe if you didn’t wear those ugly shirts, he’d ask you out.”

Wow.  You looked down at the oversized t-shirt you wore, your apron cinching it in at the waist.  

“Uh, there are our shop shirts, you know?”

Katie made a mean little sound.  “Doesn’t mean you need to wear one that’s three sizes too big.  You’re kind of cute with those round little cheeks.”

What the fuck.

“Hey, help me with that tray.  And I’m not here to be asked out.  I’m here to run my business.”

Katie kept whatever thoughtless comment was about to come out of her mouth to herself as she opened the swing door out to the counter, and began to refill the case.  

* * * * * 

You were gathering your things, along with two of the savory pastries you’d put together that afternoon.  It had been a good day.  In fact, it had been a good week, better than the one before, which had been better than the one before.  Katie had gone home a few minutes before, giddy with delight as you gave her half a batch of the pastries so she didn’t have to cook dinner for herself, or even make breakfast the next day.

Turning out most of the lights, you carried your bag and food container out the back door, where your car was parked.  The alley was quiet at this time of day, the mid-afternoon caffeine seekers long gone and the dinner crowd not out yet.  You closed the trunk and turned around, jumping when you realized there was someone there, not ten feet from you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

You pressed a hand to your chest, smiling nervously.  And then you realized it was the customer from this morning, and he had a large bouquet of flowers in his hands.  “It’s okay, I just didn’t realize you were there.”  He took a step forward, almost blocking you from getting into the driver’s seat of your car.  

“I wanted to ask you if you’d have dinner with me.”

“Oh.”

“Here.  These are for you.”

You nearly took a step back.  “That’s really sweet, but I can’t accept them.”

He looked at you, as if not understanding your words.  “I bought them for you.  I like you,” he insisted.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.  I have to go.”

“Oh come on,” he said, sighing.  “I’m just asking you to dinner, I’m a nice guy.”

“Hey, bossy boss, what’s going on?”

You turned at the sound of Katie’s voice.

“I forgot my subway pass,” she said, walking over to stand next to you.  You had never been so glad to see her before, and you grabbed her arm.  “Give me a ride home, will you?” she asked.

“Excuse me,” you said, not looking at the guy or the flowers or anything, just wanting to get away from him.

He watched impassively as you and Katie got in your car, still holding the flowers in his hands.

* * * * * 

Aemond scrolled through various screens, rubbed his eyes at the endless columns of numbers and acronyms.  He glanced at the bottom right of the laptop screen, and saw that it was half past 4 in the morning.

He had been so engrossed with his work that he hadn’t checked on the coffee shop, and when he looked out his windows, expecting to see the lights on, he noticed that everything was dark and quiet.  He heard a distant siren, slowly getting louder, and when he looked down the street saw an ambulance and a couple of police cars coming down the street.

Fear began to crawl down his spine, icy tendrils of it extending fingers out throughout his body, and he ran out of the loft, slammed his hand on the elevator button three times before he decided to make his way down the stairs.  

“Mr. Targaryen?  Sir?”

He heard the night doorman call after him as he ran across the street as the paramedics and cops began filtering through the front door of the coffee shop.

No no no no no no no.

"Sir, you need to stay outside.  Sir!”

* * * * * 

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This fic

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[qyburnsghost]

October is like a month away. I hope you lovely writers decide to make some spooky/dark/monster sexy Aemond fics (smut pleassssseeee 🤤 ) for Halloween 🎃 . I don’t care the pairing ! All I care about it is him being the mmc! He makes the perfect villain/monster/dark entity daddy 🥹

[mondstaub1]

Lucemond fanfiction idea

In a medieval time count Aemond Targaryen rules over his land from a dark and glumy cassle. Many of his servents have fled in fear claiming the fair skinned man to be an evil vampire who drinks the blood of his servents. The people fear him but their was no evidents and so far no one had died, it was impossible to be sure but that did not stop people from fearing and avoid the cassle and his count. But not all had the chance to do so however. Some still came to the cassle in surch of works and hopes of a better life. One of those people was the orphan boy Luke. After the death of his family the boy had no where to go and without a craft to learn or land to farm a job for count Aemond was his last option. It did not take long for Luke to learn that not only were the stories and of Aemond being a vampires very much true but the count desired far more from him then just his blood.

[queenoficeandfire]

Thinking about Aemond Targaryen kissing my neck, leaving hickies to show who I belong to, and Aemond as a vampire making me his mate/eternal bride

[endless-ineffabilities]

revel in my depravity (a horrorfic)

vampire Aemond x f!reader

On the run and plagued by a violent past, you seek refuge in an eerie roadside motel. But your temporary sanctuary becomes a labyrinth of horrors as you encounter Aemond—an alluring patron with secrets beyond your darkest fears. Your sanity is soon put into question as this twisted tale unfolds.

Remember who you are. Remember where you are. Remember who the silver-haired man is.

themes/warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT, vampire Aemond, mental illness, psychological manipulation, abuse of power, graphic horror elements, sexual content with dark undertones (dubious consent, toxic dynamic, obsession), language, angst

a/n: this will be my very late contribution for the spooky season and what might be my darkest fic yet! This is a long oneshot, slated for release in early December (soz for the delays, but promise to make this as killer as possible 🔪🔪🔪 !!!) Heed the warnings and proceed with caution!

to be notified of release—add yourself to the taglist, comment below, or bookmark my masterlist. The story will also be linked here.

[aemondsbabygirl]

Dear god

This was so sexy! Her devotion to him, and him trying to control his urges!! I’m gonna need a long moment to come back down from this 🫠

Sanguine Obsession (Vampire!Aemond x Human!Reader)

Before I got into my usual summary, this fic is part of a collab with a bunch of my lovely moots! @lady-phasma came to us with an ask about period sex and Daemon and being as lovely as she is, she offered us all the chance to collab on it. Choosing our own characters and how to play the story.

Please find the masterlist of everyone's fics here [link].

All boards included are made by yours truly!

Summary: The Targaryens are well known for their supernatural existence, and you are one of many brought into the service of Prince Aemond - a vampire. When you moon's blood surprises you, the Prince acts in a way you could never have expected.

TW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, afab reader, mentions of vampiric feeding, mentions of blood, menophilia (period kink), oral (fem receiving), p in v sex, Aemond as a vampire (could be a warning in and of itself), period sex.

Words: 3088

Serving Prince Aemond Targaryen was an honour, to you and your family at least. On the outside, the Targaryens were ordinary royals, save for the dragon riding, of course.

But there was something deeper and darker within the family. Like a dark shadow that hung over the Red Keep, an apt name for the home of supernatural beings. The Targaryens had ruled through blood and immortality for centuries, and you were not the first to serve the One-Eyed Prince. Not all the dragon-blooded royals were vampiric, though each one of them was not entirely human.

The call had come just less than a month ago. A letter bearing the seal of House Targaryen arriving to your father. Though it was phrased as a question, it was clear there was only one answer to the request.

We request your eldest daughter to serve at the side of Prince Aemond, as have many that have come before her. She will be well cared for and protected whilst in the Prince’s service.

Your father had not hesitated. Informing you immediately that preparations were to be made for your travel to the capital.

Now, it was almost two full months since you had arrived at the Keep. Prince Aemond was stoic, but not unkind. In fact, you had soon found his presence an odd comfort. Sitting with him in the library as he read, fetching whichever book he needed. Watching him train under the shadow of the evening, becoming his most fervent supporter every time.

You had known what the Targaryens were before you came into the Prince’s service. Every citizen in Westeros knew, it was not a secret they kept hidden. The family mostly kept stores of blood within the Keep, preferring the convenience of it over hunting. Others, however, chose to hunt, choosing their prey and hunting ground carefully to avoid large populations.

Prince Aemond was the latter. Choosing to hunt wherever he could but there was one task he had never forced upon you. There were times when the Prince was unable to hunt, and he always seemed dissatisfied with drinking stored blood from a goblet. He never said it openly, but the prince enjoyed the chase, the feeling of bringing down his prey and feeding fresh.

In those times, you could see the war in him. When he would look at you with a hunger, or more specifically your throat. Watching the pulse of your veins when you would lean close to hand him his next cup. And eventually, you had picked up the courage to ask.

“My prince, if there is something else you need of me, please say?” you had asked softly, trying to keep your nerve.

Aemond had only hummed low, a sound you were so used to hearing, but you knew he was avoiding answering you.

You had knelt at his side, hands resting on the arm of his chair.

“Please, I feel I know what it is you need. You have not been able to hunt for weeks…”

That had been the push he had needed. From then on, when he could not hunt, he would ask to feed from you. And you agreed, every time. Finding yourself often curled in the Prince’s lap as he sank his teeth into your flesh and drank his fill. He was always gentle during these times, the way he would hold you as he fed bordering on romance. Always in his embrace, bodies pressed impossibly close.

Even the Prince would eventually admit, you were the first of his servants that had ever offered their blood to him, an act that had both shocked and enamoured him to you. But he had never admitted that this act of service had, without a doubt, furthered the desire he had felt the moment he saw you.

For the first month of your service, you had managed to avoid the Prince during your moon’s blood. Seemingly coinciding with his hunting routine. His mother and sister had helped you stay out of his presence by claiming to need you for other tasks. He had never questioned it, with his mother explaining that he knew the reason, and understood why they took such measures.

This month, however, you were unprepared. The Queen and the Princess were visiting their Hightower kin in Oldtown. There was no one around to help you with the unexpected surprise. You tried your best to complete your tasks for the Prince while spending as little time in his presence as possible. Something he noticed immediately.

Every morning you would hide spare smallclothes within your gown, knowing that at any point in the day you might need them. Taking extra rags from the Maester to make sure you did not risk leaving the blood-stained cloth on your body too long.

But what you did not know was that Aemond had noticed. In reality, he could smell it days before you bled. A small change in scent that told him what was to come. He did his best, this time, to ignore it. Knowing you had no choice but to remain at his side. He was not due to hunt for another two days. But the scent of you was becoming more and more tempting.

It all came to a head when you did not appear in the library that morning. Aemond always read during the daytime, the library drapes heavy enough to block out all the sunlight. He gave you a little time, knowing from his books that a woman’s bloods could take a toll physically and he knew better than to expect you to ignore your own health for his sake.

But when another hour passed, he felt concern gnawing at him. Closing his book, Aemond made quick work of the walk to your chambers. He had not even reached the door before he could smell it.

The coppery scent filling his nostrils and making his mouth water. He stood stock still at your door, his thirst begging him to enter and take his fill. But his concern for you demanded he find a way to fix whatever had made you late.

“My lady?” was all he could muster, his hand resting on the handle.

Inside, you froze. That morning you had woken to what could only be described as a bloodbath. The deep red liquid having stained your sheets and nightgown through the night. Cleaning up the aftermath was taking far longer than you expected.

“M-My Prince, I…Please do not come in,” Your voice was frantic as you folded the soiled sheets and stuffed them into the sack you would take down to the washroom.

Just the tone of your voice had Aemond even more concerned. The need for politeness soon lost to his concern as he pushed the door open despite your protests. When he entered, the scent near overtook him. And not just the blood. A smell akin to fear on you.”

“I…” You could not form a single word. There seemed to be no connection between your mind and your mouth.

Aemond’s jaw locked tight, doing everything he could not to inhale if he did not need to. His eye scanned the room. The scent lingered at the sack by the door, which he assumed held your sheets. But the copper tang was greatest around you, and he could see the scrubbed spots where you had tried to clean your stained skin.

“You are…bleeding.” He said, barely forming it as a question, his voice tight with restraint.

You could see the faint push of his fangs against his lip as he spoke. A sight you only saw moments before he would feed from you. In this moment, it was the first time you seemed to fear him.

“I apologise…I..I tried to clean it but…”

The words died on your lips when you saw Aemond staring only at your stained nightdress. The memory of your conversation with his mother ringing in your mind.

“One thing you must know, my dear, your moon’s blood will smell far different to the blood that flows in your veins. It will be much more intense of a scent. More enticing,” the Queen explained before continuing on with the plans they had in place to help female servants of the family during that time of the month.

Now, it all made sense. You had never seen Aemond like this, except when his teeth were pierced deep into your neck, or any other flesh he had chosen for a feed. Yet, you still felt no true fear. Nothing about the Prince had ever caused that feeling in you.

Aemond however, had no thought in his mind except your scent. The deep red that stained your skin. The points of his fangs almost piercing his teeth in preparation of drinking.

“Is this why you were late this morning?” he asked, his eye finally meeting yours, the pupil blown wide, eclipsing the ice blue of his iris. All the air left your lungs and your hesitation seemed to frustrate him.

“Answer me,” he growled, taking a purposeful step towards you.

“Yes, my prince. It was unexpected, and I could not leave behind such a mess and there was no time to clean...”

You were stopped short when Aemond closed the distance between you. You would often forget he was not human, but the speed at which he appeared in front of you abruptly reminded you of it. You held your breath as his head dipped to press his nose against your neck. You could feel the puffs of air on your neck as he seemed to fight himself for control.

“I could smell it. Every moment for the last three days…”

The curve of his nose pressed against your neck, nuzzling over the spot he had bit you so many times before. And you could not hide your shiver as he growled again.

“You smell so sweet…”

You wanted to move, to back away and put as much space between you and the Prince as you could. But your body was working against you. Instead, leaning closer into his form as he breathed you in again.

It was only when you whimpered as the sharp, cramping pain in your lower body reared itself again, that Aemond snapped out of his reverie.

“It hurts, does it not?” he asked, and you could only nod, feeling Aemond smile against the skin of your neck. His entire presence was intoxicating, and every ounce of self-preservation had long left you.

“There are ways to relieve the pain. I read about them, fascinating really,” he mused, and you opened your mouth to ask what he could possibly mean.

You had an inkling, having read some books yourself. And the implication of what he was referring to had your heart hammering in your chest.

Aemond’s arm snaked around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest. The bloodthirst inside him threatened to take over with every second he was close to you. You were almost hypnotised by him, wondering if this is how his victims felt when he hunted them down. Hazy, drawn into his embrace without any control of their actions.

Your silence made him chuckle, and he could already smell not only the blood but the slick that pooled between your thighs at his touch.

“Do you want me to help, sweet girl?” Aemond whispered, his lips now brushing against the skin of your ear.

You nodded gently but that was not enough for him.

“Words, I need your words,” His tone now a little more of a command than before.

You swallowed loud before answering, your voice barely more than a breathy sigh.

“Yes, my prince.”

That was all he needed. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he walked you back towards your bed. The sheets had been hastily changed moments before Aemond had entered your room, but that seemed to matter little.

Aemond made quick work of your nightdress, making your breath hitch when he pressed his nose into the sanguine stains. And the groan he released at the heady scent had your thighs clenching together. The dress was quickly discarded as Aemond returned his attention to you.

It was only then that you became quickly aware that you were entirely bare whilst Aemond was still fully clothed. Before you could even reach out for the clasps on his leather tunic, Aemond had the garment tugged open and on the floor, leaving him in only his light shirt and breeches. It was not the first time you had seen him dressed more casually, there were times you would enter his chamber of a morning or after he had trained to see him dressed quiet casually.

But this, without a doubt, was different.

“The books say,” Aemond began, using some of his vampiric strength to move you with ease up the bed, “that finding your release helps with the pain of a moon’s blood…”

You bit back a moan as he spread your thighs, the coolness of his skin quickly soothing the warmth in your body that was always brought on by your monthly bleed. Aemond hummed to himself as the full scent of you was revealed to him, his mouth watering as he saw the sticky trails of your bleed on the skin of your thighs and the flesh of your core.

“My prince…” you whined, not really sure anymore what you were asking for.

You wanted to hide yourself from his gaze, feeling like prey trapped in the claws of a predator, that singular blue iris staring you down as he took a deep inhale. Just his closeness was enough to distract you from the dull ache of the muscles in your hips and down. Aemond, on the other hand, was drunk on your scent alone, the sweet, metallic tang filling his nostrils and making his head spin.

You gasped at the cool touch of his fingers against your slit, tensing as he dipped an experimental finger in between your folds. Taking his time and letting your body relax into the intrusion. It went against everything he was to not devour you there and then. His mouth watering the closer he got.

His fingers pushed inside you slowly, his eye staring intently as the mix of your blood and slick pooled around his fingers with each movement. Aemond could already feel you relaxing, the muscles in your thighs already less tense on either side of his head.

But he needed more. The beast within crying out for a taste. Warring with the human need to bring you as much pleasure as he could. He had always found you beautiful and the dutiful way you served him was simply an extra boon.

“Will you allow me a taste, sweet girl? Let me bring us both satisfaction?”

His voice was so low and so smooth it had you sighing out in pleasure. Your hips already canting themselves closer to him.

“Yes, please,” you said softly, eyes already closing as Aemond’s fingers trailed small patterns either side of where you needed him most. Never close to where you needed him.

His eye found yours, and the look told you that he needed something else.

“My…my prince please, I need it...I need you…” you begged, the only thought in your head now was feeling him.

You felt him smirk against your skin as his title fell from your lips. He could get used to hearing it that way, so soft and breathy with pleasure.

You had anticipated either the return of his fingers or even the feel of his tongue. Instead, you felt the push of his face against you, burying his face as close as he could get. As if he wanted nothing more than to inhale the scent of you. But you could not hide the depraved moan that slipped from your lips when his tongue finally breached your entrance.

Aemond groaned against you. He had tasted your blood before, but nothing like this. It was like he was consuming the very essence of you. Everything tasted stronger and it took every ounce of control he had to not sink his teeth in as well. The wet sounds of his tongue between your folds should have made you blush, but you were too lost in your pleasure. His hands held your hips tight, planting you to the bed as he devoured your bleeding cunt.

“Yes, oh, my prince…oh…” Your words verged on incoherent but every time his title spilled from you, Aemond growled and renewed his movements with even more vigour.

Soon you were arching your back, pushing your hips down towards him before Aemond’s hands planted you back to the bed. His grip was strong, tugging you down and burying his tongue as deep as it would go. Lapping up everything you gave him. He could feel your blood and arousal spilling down his chin as you reach your peak, soaking into the fabric of his undershirt. But he could not get enough. Only when he could feel you desperately try to pull away did he slow himself down.

“That’s it…oh my sweet girl…” he cooed, pressing blood tinted kisses to your thighs before pulling away.

You were lost. Head hazy and heart hammering as you slowly came down from your high. And your cheeks flushed as you locked eyes with your Prince. His icy iris staring up at you, pale skin stained the deepest red with the mix of your blood and your juices.

Aemond softened when he saw your body relax. He was as satisfied as you were now. His pleasure was your pleasure. His fingers were quick to bring the wayward drips from his lips and chin to his mouth, not wasting a drop. Your taste was like nothing he had experienced, even now. He had never fed this way before, and he was already desperate to do so again.

“Do you feel better?”

The question made you sit up on your elbows and you could not help but smile down at him. The ache in your thighs and stomach was gone. Your body flushed but relaxed.

“Yes, my prince, thank you,”

Aemond crawled up your body, bringing you close and urging you to curl into him. Now, it was his turn to serve you. His loyal servant, more than deserving of the same care in return. And he internally vowed to keep you at his side, especially during your bloods. He could not deny it.

He was obsessed.

@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @khaleesihel @multyfangirl

@thenameswinter99 @legitalicat @tumblin-theworldaway

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[flowerandblood]

The Last Drop (2/?)

[ modern • vampire • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: kissing, description of blood drinking and bleeding in general, sexual tension, angst, toxic relationship with Alys ]

[ description: Encouraged by the information that the town he has landed in is not known for having the most vigilant police in the world, he decides to go on a little hunting trip to finally quench his burning thirst. However, not everything goes according to plan. (A lot of sexual tension, grumpy, gloomy Aemond). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He was only supposed to stay in this town for three days, eat to his heart's content and return by train to one of his flats a few hours away.

Or at least that was his plan.

He didn't know why he was standing outside a nerdy club where, from what he understood, game and board enthusiasts ate popcorn and nachos while sipping drinks.

Admittedly, he worked on a laptop and using a computer made his life a lot easier: he didn't have to show up at the company as he did his tasks remotely, but he was still far from a fan of modern technology.

He felt that it was killing something, although he wasn't sure what.

She told him that she worked there and that he should come visit her on her shift. She said something about drinks with an extra element, which surely was blood, that she wanted to prepare especially for him.

He was unable to grasp neither the full absurdity of the situation nor why he was just standing outside the entrance like an idiot, instead of returning to his quiet, well-ordered life.

To Alys.

He sighed, glancing down at his phone, seeing that she had sent him another two new messages, several missed calls showed that she was starting to get impatient.

He swallowed hard reading the last message, recognising that he didn't feel like letting Alys play with her at all.

He wrote back and tucked the phone into his pocket, running down the stairs to the premises which were twinkling with lots of coloured lights and neon.

As he stepped inside, he immediately heard 80s electronic music – the Depeche Mode track I just can't get enough was pounding from the speakers around him. The club's clientele was mostly very young, dancing in front of large monitors following the instructions of some character, singing karaoke, playing at a PlayStation or bent over large boards, planning the entire game.

"Hi!" He heard a cheerful voice from behind the bar – when he looked there, he saw her and her wide smile, her hair pinned up in a ponytail on top of her head.

He didn't understand why her eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of him, and why he felt a pleasant warmth at the thought.

Was he so desperate to be noticed and needed?

He thought he was pathetic, but still his feet carried him further to the counter behind which she stood.

"I'm so glad you're here. Would you like to try the drink I mentioned yesterday?" She asked immediately, while her shift mate started to serve another customer.

He just nodded, for some reason embarrassed and overwhelmed, sitting down on one of the high chairs just off the bar.

He saw that she had gone to the back room and then returned with a bottle in which he was sure there was blood.

He looked around anxiously, but no one took any notice.

"I'm going to make a drink for my friend with rum, ice, cherry and apricot juice." She said aloud, pouring something that was certainly not cherry juice along with the other ingredients into a shaker.

He couldn't hide his surprise at the fact that he didn't see any sign of discomfort or fear on her face that someone would discover what she was doing – on the contrary, she seemed delighted to share her next treat with him again.

Although he didn't admit it out loud, fuck, her blood jellies were so good.

She poured the contents of the container into a nice tall glass and put a cardboard straw in it, placing the whole thing right in front of his face.

"I hope you will like it." She said lightly, immediately moving on to attend to the customer behind him.

He reached for the glass, raised it to his lips and hesitantly took a sip from it. He had to bite his lower lip to hold back a smirk of amusement.

It was delicious.

For some reason, being with her made him feel like a human again and maybe that's why he came back.

Maybe that's why he couldn't leave.

"What do you think?" She asked aloud, preparing an order for a second customer, already with completely normal ingredients.

"Very good." He admitted, throwing her a drawn-out, satisfied look.

For some reason, he was smiling.

Her shift ended an hour later so, as per her request, he waited for her at the exit. As she came out of the back room, one of the guys, similar in age to her at least in appearance, clearly drunk, approached her.

"– hi – shit, I know I'm drunk and – you know – but – fuck, will you give me your number? – sorry if I'm imposing –" He mumbled, clearly stressed and filled with emotion.

He saw that this confession had impressed her and did not make her uncomfortable, however, he knew she would refuse.

She, unlike him, was not playing with her food.

"Forgive me, but I already have someone." She said and looked up at him, surprising him completely.

He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"– oh – I'm so sorry – I thought –" The boy began to babble, clearly embarrassed, wanting for sure now to erase from her memory what he had said and just disappear.

"– it's okay – you're really sweet –" She assured him warmly and walked past him, throwing him a horrified, apologetic look.

"You already have someone?" He sneered, walking up the stairs at her side, stepping out into the fresh night air at last.

"Sorry, I didn't know what to answer. Don't be mad. Otherwise he'd be getting his hopes up." She said with sincere concern, grabbing his coat sleeve, clearly wanting him to accept her explanation and look at her.

"Nevermind." He said, not knowing what he was doing here.

I should go home, he thought.

"If you want, you can rest in my apartment." He heard her voice and swallowed loudly, thinking that he shouldn't.

He shouldn't, but he ended up lying in her bed anyway, with his fangs sunk into her fragrant neck, snuggled into her soft flesh. Her fluffy pyjamas, consisting of trousers and a shirt buttoned up the front, smelled of some pleasant, delicate washing powder.

He had to undo a few buttons to reach the hollow of her neck, or at least that's how he explained it to himself – his hand, as he drank her blood in slow, lazy sips, brushed her plump breast under the material, founding itself there completely by accident.

Every time his thumb, also by accident of course, rubbed her hard nipple, something on the edge of a sigh and a moan left her lips: her body tensed like a string, vulnerable and responsive to his every move.

It occurred to him that what he was doing, as well as the reactions of her own body, were a surprise to her – she was certainly not as experienced in these matters as he was, if at all.

That thought aroused him even more.

When he finally pulled away from her, he wanted to take his hand from under her shirt, but her fingers stopped him, pressing it back against her skin. He sighed as she turned with him, when, trailing her knuckles along his long jaw, this time it was her moist lips that reached his neck.

He licked his mouth and flinched, feeling the dull pain and sting as her fangs dug slowly into his flesh. He closed his eyes, focusing on the softness of her breast under his hand, kneading it gently in his palm, feeling the wonderful, intimate scent of their blood all around them.

Sip after sip she quenched her thirst, cuddling up to him like a small child – he couldn't help the pleasant shiver that ran through his lungs as she threw her leg over his hip, pressing her body against his.

When she finally pulled away from his neck, she laid her head on the pillow right next to his – their lips, chins and cheeks were all sticky with blood. When she leaned towards him, they simply kissed: he grunted with delight, feeling their mingled taste melt on his tongue, and pressed her tighter to himself, clasping his free hand in her hair.

It doesn't mean anything, he repeated to himself, forcing his tongue deep into her throat, rolling with his hips back and forth, rubbing his swollen erection against her lower abdomen.

He was simply tired and she was a break from the monotony of his life.

He would get bored with her quickly, as he did with all the women before her.

He opened his eyes as she pressed her forehead against his, listening to their loud, raspy breaths. He gasped as her fingers ran down his cheek, as the tips of their tongues brushed invitingly, clicking with each lazy lick, sending a delicious, hot shiver down his spine.

It was one of the most perverse sensations he had ever experienced in his life.

He was unable to contain the pleasant, warm feeling that spread through his heart as she combed her fingers through his short hair – to his displeasure, she broke the caress and kissed the tip of his nose.

He was fully hard, but he had no intention of taking more from her than she was willing to give him.

"Why did you come?" She asked in a whisper, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

He simply looked at her for a moment, wondering what he should answer.

Why he had actually done it again.

"I don't know." He replied finally. "I don't know the answer to that question."

His words did not discourage or sadden her, as she smiled with understanding.

"I see. Rest now. I will too." She said softly.

They both lay on their stomachs, embracing each other with their arms around each other's waists – their foreheads still touched as they both closed their eyes.

For some reason, he wanted to feel her close.

They weren't friends, just some strange kind of lovers, he realized with pain, but he felt a strange discomfort at the thought, indicating that he himself wasn't sure he believed what he was trying to tell himself.

What had he really come for?

What was he expecting?

Was he simply curious about how her drink tasted?

How their night would turn out?

Would he drink her blood again?

Will they have sex?

Will they fall asleep next to each other?

He closed his eyes, recognising that it didn't matter.

For the first time in many years he had fully quenched his hunger.

The thought that this was surely the last night he would spend with her filled him with a strange kind of sadness and regret – he held her close in his embrace, knowing that he would eventually have to tell her that he didn't live here at all.

That he had lied to her.

When she woke up and lifted her head, she saw his face – she smiled sweetly in a way from which he felt a sting in his heart.

Although all sticky with blood, she looked so innocent.

"I lied to you." He said.

She blinked and shook her head, surprised and horrified, her expression one of complete consternation.

"What do you mean?" She muttered.

"I didn't move here. I just came for a while. You know. To eat." He explained, feeling that for some reason his heart was pounding in his chest like crazy.

Why was he scared?

"Oh. I understand. We don't know each other well yet, you had every right to act like that. Don't worry." She said reassuringly, making him feel an uncomfortable tightness in his throat, a wetness under his eyelids that he hadn't felt in years.

What was happening to him?

"There's someone out there waiting for me. And I don't want her to find out about you. It would be dangerous for you. I'm leaving today." He whispered with surprising difficulty, hearing, shocked, that his voice broke at the last sentence.

He saw her eyebrows arch in pain, her nose twitched as her eyes turned red with tears, the request and plea for him to stay written on her face so clearly that she didn't need to say anything.

Instead of stopping him, however, she let him go and pulled away slightly.

"Your friend?" She asked, not looking him in the eye, but at his chest.

He had a feeling that if he opened his mouth, he would cry.

He let his broad, pale hand raise – his fingers ran gently across her cheek in some hopeless attempt to comfort her.

"If I could, I would take you with me." He said with difficulty, hearing, embarrassed, how pathetic it sounded.

She laughed, but it was a chuckle full of sadness and disappointment, from which he felt a cold, unpleasant shiver.

"Is that how it is with you? Do you play separately and then come back together?" She asked.

He swallowed hard, feeling as if a stone had fallen to the bottom of his stomach, dragging him down.

He felt ashamed at the thought of how accurately she had judged him.

"Go back to her, but don't mention me. I don't need any more problems, much less a jealous woman on my mind." She said, rising from the bed at last, leaving him with emptiness and coldness all around.

"Of course. I'm not going to expose you." He muttered, raising himself up on his elbow, stupefied, feeling like he'd woken up from some deep sleep.

It wasn't real.

"Do you need blood? I can give you a few bags." She said calmly, standing with her back to him, pacing the kitchen as if she were preparing to make herself breakfast.

"No. No need."

The sky outside the window was cloudy, exactly as his thoughts – he was sitting in a train car filled with people, and although he usually struggled to control himself, he felt no hunger.

Her blood satisfied him.

He lowered his gaze, wondering why he didn't feel like he was coming home at all. Usually after such a journey he was tired and discouraged, relieved to return to what was familiar to him. Now, however, he felt like he was sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, damp underworld of his heart.

What was really waiting for him there?

He got the answer as soon as he crossed the threshold of his flat.

Alys was waiting for him with candles all around her, which she must have lit beforehand. She looked very good: an elegant knee-length black dress perfectly accentuated her physical assets, her long hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

He didn't know why, but the sight of her made him feel uncomfortable.

Is this how it is with you?

Do you play separately and then come back to each other?

It's not like that, he thought.

It's just that when I go home, she's already waiting for me there.

Always.

"What's that face? Did you kill someone?" She asked with a hint of amusement, rising from the couch, a pretty, ornate goblet filled with blood in her hand.

Fresh blood.

He didn't want to know where she'd gotten it or who'd paid for it.

"No." He replied wearily, putting the keys down on one of the shelves in the corridor.

I don't have the strength for this, he thought.

"I've missed you. This city is so boring when you're not around." She said softly, combing her long nails through his short hair.

He felt an unsettling shudder when she did this: unlike her touch, in which there was first and foremost a desire for comfort, there was pure sexual intent in Alys's.

She wanted to get straight to the point.

He closed his eyes as she embraced him from behind, as her lips placed a kiss on his neck, as her free hand slowly slid down his torso between his thighs. She froze, not finding there what she had clearly expected.

He wasn't hard.

"What's the matter? Aren't you in the mood? Didn't you miss me?" She asked, and he sighed, taking her hand from his crotch.

"No." He replied again, pulling his coat off his shoulders.

He felt the atmosphere around them grow thicker, knowing that her momentary silence was not a good sign.

She was preparing to attack.

"Are you in love with some poor human girl again? You'll get over it, as you always do. She'll eventually grow old and die, and you'll come back, seeking comfort from me." She muttered with a kind of certainty in her voice that annoyed him.

"What are you doing in my flat?" He asked dryly, knocking her off guard.

She looked at him, wrinkling her eyebrows, increasingly frustrated.

"I came to say hello to you. I was hoping for a warmer welcome." She replied coldly.

Welcome, meaning wild sex full of blood?

"I don't recall inviting you. I want to rest." He said dryly, sidestepping her, feeling some kind of frustration and regret.

Because of you, I had to leave her behind.

She needed me.

But if I had stayed with her, she would have found out what a jealous monster you are.

Alys was able to reconcile with his female human lovers because she knew they would eventually disappear – she herself did not shy away from such excesses, fucking young, handsome boys whenever the opportunity arose.

A female vampire, however, would be a threat to her.

"Ah, yes. You only need me when you cry and miss your mummy. When the remorse and memories of how you killed your father come back. But don't worry. I know you better than you know yourself. Have fun, and when you're done, come and we'll forget this conversation." She said dispassionately and grabbed her coat, putting on her high-heels on the way, leaving his flat with a loud slam of the door.

He rested his hands on the countertop and leaned forward, for some strange reason feeling relieved.

He was alone.

He sat down at his old oak desk and opened his laptop – he sighed heavily as he saw 46 new emails from work, knowing he would have to wade through them all one by one.

He had always loved reading, and over his far too long life he had read so many books that he thought he might be able to make some money from it. He therefore became an editor and translator for a publishing house that released volumes of poetry, but also books on history and philosophy.

He liked this job: he received assignments by email, and could discuss them over the phone. His employers were happy with his work, and his readers praised the fidelity of his translations and revisions, so in the end he managed to live on that alone.

He used an alias and false documents so no one has yet realised that he has been several other people in different countries over the past decade.

He could, of course, like other vampires, simply kill rich people and steal their life savings, however, he knew that in the long run such a life was very miserable: for obvious reasons it is then easier to draw attention to yourself and you still have to hide.

He had enough of that.

Maybe that's why she made such an impression on me, he thought.

She lived as if nothing had happened.

He sighed, running his hand over his face, feeling nothing but remorse at the memory of the expression on her face when he told her he was leaving. He didn't understand why those three days had affected him so much, why she, a stranger, had made him doubt himself completely as a person.

Maybe it was because he had touched her even though he shouldn't have: she had no obligations to anyone, he knew, however, that by entering into any kind of intimate relationship with her, he might be exposing her to Alys' wrath – and even though nothing but a kiss had actually happened between them, he had the feeling that they had had sex at least a few times.

This kind of unforced, intense intimacy, this touch full of desire and need for closeness, was so painfully sincere that it went beyond what he was usually familiar with: what he had done was not only out of his physiological needs, but out of something much deeper.

Something more sad, more pathetic, more real.

Some part of him wanted to be human again.

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love

pairing | young aemond x vampire!reader

word count | 4.1k words

summary | aemond becomes obsessed with his mother's newest lady-in-waiting. he seeks her comfort after aegon takes him to the brothel.

tags | AFAB reader, older woman/younger man (more like older girl/younger boy), delusional aemond, angst/comfort, aemond pov.

note | my first time posting, also I really wanted to see what it would be like with a vampire in hotd, PART 2 coming soon.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

He was ten and two when Aemond Targaryen first laid eyes upon your bewitching figure. At first, he was convinced it was a mere trick of his own mind, a mere mirage conjured forth by imagination and longing.

Clad in a resplendent gown of deep wine red, you appeared nothing short of ethereal, your skin seeming to glow beneath the vibrant hue of her attire. Your hair, intricately braided into an elaborate updo, lent an air of regal sophistication to your youthful appearance. It was no wonder that you had swiftly ascended to the ranks of his mother's most esteemed ladies in waiting.

Despite his tender age, Aemond was keenly aware of the profound allure that you exuded. You could not have been more than eight and ten, and yet you possessed a rare and ineffable grace that captured his young heart with an instantaneous and profound intensity.

In that fleeting moment of their initial encounter, he became resolutely certain that, when he came of age, you would be the one he would take as his wife.

He despised them. The sheer sight of Aegon and his nephews filled Aemond with deep-seated resentment. It was a reminder of the injustice he felt deep in his bones. Aegon and those bastards, useless and undeserving, had been gifted with dragons, while Aemond, a true warrior, was left without one. As if to add insult to injury, they had gifted him a lowly pig, a cruel mockery of his situation.

Consumed by anger and grief, Aemond could not contain his rage any longer. He stormed into the Dragon Pit, the heat and fury of the dragons surrounding him. In the chaos, he narrowly escaped being burnt alive, only to find himself scolded by his mother.

And then he was seeking solace in her arms. Rare as it was for her to offer comfort, Aemond clung to her, desperate for any shred of comfort in the face of his overwhelming emotions.

Before their moment could fully settle, a soft, melodic voice filled the room. "Your Grace - Oh, I apologize for interrupting," your voice wafted into the chamber, causing Aemond to hastily pull away from his mother, his back turned as he hastily wiped away the traces of dirt and tears from his face.

Aemond straightened his posture and steadied his breath, turning to find you standing in the doorway, your eyes filled with genuine concern and compassion. He felt a pang of embarrassment as he realized he had been caught in such a vulnerable moment.

"It's alright, My Lady," his mother, Alicent, reassured you as you approached them. Aemond couldn't help but notice the weariness in his mother's expression. Did comforting her son take such a toll on her?

Alicent gave Aemond a brief, tightening look before turning to her lady-in-waiting. "Perhaps you could see my son back to his chambers," she suggested, her tone laced with a hint of exasperation.

It was clear that his mother was eager to pass him off to her lady in waiting, but Aemond couldn't bring himself to feel too upset. Since his lady love happened to be the one assigned to escort him, he had no complaints. Despite their six-year age difference, Aemond was confident that once he reached his maturity, their age gap would no longer matter.

"Of course, Your Grace," you said with a respectful bow of your head. Your gaze slowly shifted to the prince, and he nodded as he made his way out the door, with you following close behind.

"You're wondering about my appearance," Aemond murmured softly, his focus fixed straight ahead as the two of you strolled through the corridors of the Red Keep.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and Aemond savored the sound, filled with pride knowing he had elicited it. "Tis not my place to ask questions, My Prince," your warm voice filled his ears, "But judging by the ash and dirt on your fair skin, I would venture that you were likely at the dragon pit."

"It's unfair," Aemond grumbled indignantly, feeling an unjust injustice in the situation. Immediately, he wished he could take back his words, realizing that he had unintentionally come across as childish when he was supposed to be displaying to you his maturity and wisdom.

"The world can be cruel and unjust, My Prince," you replied with a saccharine sweetness in your voice, "But that is why it is imperative for you to assert your authority and take command of your destiny."

Aemond angled his head to catch a glimpse of your elegant profile, admiring not just your physical beauty but also the astuteness of your words. "And how can I accomplish that?" he inquired.

You turned to meet his gaze, your eyes locking and causing his heart to skip a beat. You bestowed him with a subtle yet meaningful smile before you said, "By refusing to accept a life you do not deserve."

"And what of you," Aemond inquired, "What do you believe you deserve, My Lady?" If you were to marry him, you would lack nothing; he was prepared to grant you any request you might make.

"It’s difficult to say," you murmured, tilting your head thoughtfully. Even that Aemond found endearing, "Some individuals believe they are worthy of the entire world, whereas I value simplicity."

Aemond raised an inquisitive silver brow, "Simplicity?"

"Stability and security. A serene life," you explained. Then you glanced down and offered him a warm smile, "Perhaps we can continue our discussion another time, your grace."

Aemond was scarred. Left disfigured and crippled, condemned to a life of one-eyed hardship due to the foolish actions of his bastard nephew. He had once thought it a fair exchange, an eye for a dragon, but now, lying in his chamber chambers, sedated by the potent poppy milk, he questioned his own judgement.

Aemond frowned as he noticed they had reached the doors to his chambers. Before he could utter another word, you nodded courteously and departed. He was determined to offer you a serene life. As his wife, he would spare no effort in providing for you. And in turn you would be his serenity.

As he lay there, disabled and near death, he longed for your presence. Perhaps that was why he willingly surrendered to the effects of the poppy milk, for it allowed him to see you in his dreams. He took solace in slumber, for it was there that he could find you, if only in his mind.

But despite his yearning to see you in waking life, a part of him hesitated. He did not want you to witness the repulsive scar that marred his once-perfect face, especially the swollen and oozing scar where his left eye once was.

The pain from his injuries radiated through his body, a burning fire within him that consumed all other emotions. Aemond's thoughts turned to vengeance, as he vowed to take back what was stolen from him. His mind was set on becoming the best warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, one to surpass even his uncle, Daemon Targaryen, and he would not rest until he had retribution.

He would not accept a life he did not deserve, as his lady love had told him. With the biggest dragon in the world by his side, Aemond was determined to become even better than his past self. And then, you would be his. His lady love would be his wife, and together, you and him would rule with fire and blood.

He longed to shed his skin. The scorching heat in the chamber had become unbearable. The wine she had offered him churned in his gut, causing him to fight the urge to expel it.

Following the feast of Aemond's thirteenth nameday, Aegon had hinted at a surprise for him. Little did Aemond know that his elder brother would lead him into the depths of a pleasure house. Without a chance to protest, Aegon vanished into a sea of bodies and silks.

Next, Aemond found himself ensconced in a chamber bathed in the soft glow of flickering candles. Obscene tapestries adorned the walls, depicting the most intimate of acts between man and woman. And then, a woman entered. She was of an age exceeding even that of his own mother.

She cooed at him, showering him with soft words and adulation. Soon, she was touching him, disrobing him. Aemond wanted to protest, to scream for her to stop, but his vocal cords betrayed him. His body quivered as she caressed him, whispering into his ear.

Once it was over, Aemond was left in a daze. His body no longer felt like his own. Swiftly, he scrambled to dress himself, fleeing the brothel in a disheveled state, He didn't care where Aegon was, all he could think about was reaching you.

His heart pounded in his chest as he raced through the secret passageways of Maegor's Holdfast, his lungs burning with each desperate breath and tears falling down his pale cheeks. He bypassed his own chambers and his mother's, instead making a beeline for the guest wing where he had roamed many times in an attempt to get a glimpse of you.

Finally, he reached her door and pounded on it frantically, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to compose himself. He had to see you. He needed you.

As the door creaked open, his eye widened with the realization that you and him had not spoken since he had lost his eye, and he had carelessly left his eye patch behind in the brothel. He feared that you would see his disfigurement. Before he could flee, however, the door swung open.

You stood before him, ethereal and captivating. Your locks cascaded down, some strands delicately tucked behind your ears. Cloaked in a deep crimson silk robe, which accentuated your graceful form.

Though your initial expression seemed perturbed by the intrusion, it quickly softened as your gaze fell upon Aemond. Your eyes wandered over his disheveled appearance and his one glassy eye, and a wave of concern washed over your features.

And without a second thought, he threw himself into your soft body, wrapping his arms around your waist as he laid his head against your stomach. Almost instantly his tears returned and after a moment, your arms came around him hesitantly, offering him your comfort.

Gently, you extracted yourself from his arms and offered your hand to him and without hesitation, he took it. Your skin was soft, yet cold, providing relief to his overheated body. You led him into your chambers which was simple and minimalistic, but all Aemond could focus on was the coolness of your touch.

Guiding him to the chaise in your chamber, you gently urged him to take a seat. As you walked away, Aemond mourned the loss of your touch, but you soon returned with a goblet in hand, offering it to him.

With a hint of wariness, Aemond took a tentative sip, finding the water refreshing. He greedily drank, while your worried eyes remained fixed on him.

As he finished the water, you placed a hand on his wrist, your concern evident in your touch. "You must tell me what happened, my prince," you urged, your voice soft but determined.

Aemond’s gaze turned away, a tempest brewing in his heart. “Shall I summon your mother, then?” you suggested, your tone a mere whisper laced with concern.

At the mention of his mother, Aemond’s eye snapped back to yours, desperation flickering in his gaze. “No. No, please don’t do that,” he pleaded, his voice a hushed urgency.

Swallowing hard, Aemond felt the weight of his brother's casual cruelty descend upon him. “Aegon,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, “he said it was a surprise. A rite of passage, he called it. He told me it was time to… get it wet.” He faltered, the memory crashing over him like waves against a rocky shore. Closing his eye, he inhaled sharply as his pulse quickened, “I can still feel it. Her hands were everywhere, warm and suffocating. I didn’t know how to make it stop... so I just waited until it was done.” Pain and confusion tangled in his chest, threatening to spill over.

He felt your gentle touch then, your hand gliding from his wrist to envelop his own in a tender squeeze. “Oh,” you murmured softly, your voice a balm against the chaos within him

But as you slowly withdrew your hand, a wave of panic surged through Aemond, tightening his grip on yours. “No…” he breathed, desperation creeping into his tone. You hushed him gently, your grip reassuring as you leaned closer. “Calm yourself, my prince. I intend to run you a warm bath, to cleanse you of the filth from that place.”

He nodded, though a nervous knot twisted in his stomach, and watched as you glided away into the adjoining bathing chamber. As Aemond took in the chamber surrounding him, he noted its unadorned simplicity. No treasures adorned the walls, no personal tokens to lend a semblance of warmth or familiarity. Yet, a heavy goblet rested on the table before him, catching his eye. The reddish liquid within gleamed like blood in the dim light, causing a shiver to race down his spine. He forced his gaze away, willing himself to ignore the unsettling thought as he waited for your return.

Moments later, you reemerged, the soft fabric of your robe trailing behind you. “Your bath is ready, my prince,” you said gently, cradling in your arms a neatly folded bundle of his clean clothing.

“How did you retrieve my clothes so swiftly?” Aemond asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

You averted your eyes, but he caught the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Your chambers lie but a breath away from mine."

But his chambers were on the other side of the castle?

Aemond's heart raced, not out of insecurity concerning his form — for he considered himself a Targaryen, and his lineage was his strength. Yet, the hole of his left eye gnawed at his pride. You met his gaze with an equal measure of courage, undeterred by the scar that marred what once was a handsome countenance. It was still the body of a boy, and though he was thirteen, he could not shake the flicker of embarrassment that flared in his chest.

Stealing a furtive glance towards you, Aemond found comfort in the fact that your eyes were cast downward, filled with allocation rather than scrutiny. With a swift motion, he shed the last vestiges of his clothing, and with that, slipped into the warmth of the steaming bath. As the water enveloped him, a sense of relief washed over him, mingled with surprise. The oils that swirled within the bath carried your fragrance, soothing and familiar, reminiscent of sunlit fields and the gentle sway of blossoms in the breeze.

"Shall I fetch a maid, my prince?" You asked, your voice soft and gentle. Your eyes finally settled upon him, he could detect an undercurrent of genuine concern.

"No," he replied curtly, his tone sharper than intended, the remnants of his pride still gnawing at him.

Aemond could hear you hum softly as you came to kneel by the edge of the bath, your fingers trailing in the water as you offered him a placating smile, radiating warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill of the world outside. Aemond’s gaze remained fixed on you as you began to scrub away the remnants of what had happened just before.

“Does it still hurt?” you asked softly, your eyes momentarily flitting from his face to the scar that bisected it before you continued your ministrations, your cloth gently gliding over his skin as if to erase the memories of that night.

“Stings sometimes,” Aemond replied, a shadow of shame dancing across his features.

You nodded, your hands deftly working to cleanse his face, but your gaze lingered on his empty eye socket—an echo of loss and pain that pierced deeper than any physical wound.

He cast his gaze downward, feeling the familiar pang of discomfort rise. “It’s… ugly,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

With an unexpected tenderness, you cupped his face in her hands, guiding him back to meet your gaze. “No, my prince,” you countered softly. “Not ugly. Merely different, a testament to your strength. You might even adorn it, you know.”

Adorn it? Aemond raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued despite the prickling pride that flared. “With what?” he asked, fixing his single violet eye upon you, momentarily captivated.

A gentle smile danced on your lips, a flash of mischief flickering in your expression, illuminating your features in the dim light. “Why not place a jewel in it, perhaps? What’s your favorite jewel?”

He shrugged, a habitual defense against showing too much of himself. “I don’t know,” he replied, his voice low.

The question hung in the air as you added, “Mine are sapphires."

Aemond’s thoughts drifted momentarily, recalling the dresses you had worn, swirling fabrics in hues that bespoke your grace. A pang struck him; “I’ve never seen you in blue.”

You shook your head dismissively, your eyes averted, as you responded, “It does not suit me, my prince."

“Impossible,” he mumbled, the word escaping in a barely audible whisper. He found it hard to believe you could not wear something so exquisite and innocent as blue, just as he found it hard to believe himself worthy of your affection. You were a jewel in your own right, far surpassing the treasures of the crown and the markets.

Once Aemond was freshly scrubbed clean and clad in his simple garments, the flickering torchlight cast shadows upon the stone walls of the Red Keep. You regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Are you ready to retire to your chambers now, my prince?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond's heart sank at the thought of leaving your presence. The heavy weight of what had occurred a few hours ago felt more burdensome than ever. He cleared his throat, struggling to imbue his tone with the command expected of a Targaryen, "I wish to stay here."

Your brow furrowed slightly, and he could see the hesitation in your eyes, but you nodded nonetheless, leading him back toward your bed where you made to arrange the bedding around him. His lone eye followed your every movement, drawn to the curves of your form and the gentle way you tended to him. As you turned to leave, Aemond’s instincts took hold. With a swift motion, he grasped your wrist, his grip tighter than he intended. "Stay with me."

Your expression shifted to a sternness reminiscent of his mother, a reminder of the propriety and decorum that governed your lives. "That would be most inappropriate." Your tone was firm.

"Please," he murmured, his voice dropping to a near pleading softness.

With a heavy sigh that betrayed your weariness, you succumbed to his request, moving to the far side of your bed and, to his joy, sliding beneath the sheets. Aemond felt a rush of daring coursing through him like wildfire; he subtly shifted closer, resting his head on your chest. For a brief moment, he feared rejection, his thoughts racing to the taunts of his nephews and the ache of the void left by his lost eye. But then, as if sensing his need for solace, your arms enveloped him, warmth flooding through the cold shadows of the brothel.

In that cocoon of stolen intimacy, Aemond found refuge. The bitter weight of Aegon’s taunts, the pain of his injury, and the disquiet of the brothel faded away like whispers in the wind. He was no longer Aemond, the one-eyed prince; he was simply a man seeking comfort from the woman he loved.

Weeks after, Aemond strode into his chambers with the weight of the day's demands heavy upon him, only to halt in his tracks at the sight of a delicate gift-wrapped parcel resting atop his oaken table. Unease prickled at the edges of his mind as he approached, an unfamiliar crested insignia embossed on the fine paper hinting at its sender. With practiced grace, he unwrapped the offering, and there within gleamed a sapphire so vivid it whispered of the sea’s depths, glinting alluringly in the candlelight.

A smile unbidden flickered across his features, for he knew—knew it was from you. A token of your affection, bright as the glory of House Targaryen itself. It swelled his heart, igniting a warmth that had grown chill. He could envision your soft gaze as you selected the gem, the way your laughter danced through the air like the sweetest song.

Determined to express his gratitude, he spent the day scouring the halls of the Red Keep, threading his way through the throngs of courtiers and servants, all the while searching for your familiar figure. But fate, it seemed, had conspired against him. The hours slipped by like sand through his fingers, and as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows throughout the stone halls, bitterness sank into his bones.

After the evening meal, his resolve led him to seek his mother. With a furrowed brow, he pushed the door ajar and entered, expecting to find answers from her. But the sight that greeted him was far from comforting. Alicent sat hunched over a letter, the wax seal shattered beside her, her expression dark and heavy with unspoken words that lingered in the air like the scent of damp earth before a storm.

“Aemond?” she murmured, as if startled from a reverie, her voice a mere whisper, laden with melancholy.

He watched her for a moment, his previous thrill of joy eclipsed by her obvious distress. “What troubles you, Mother?” he ventured, stepping closer.

Alicent lifted her head, her expression a fragile mask that crumbled the moment she met his gaze. A semblance of a smile teased her lips, but the sorrow beneath was palpable. “All is well, my son,” she lied.

He knew the bond his mother shared with you, the girl who had nestled herself in the depths of his mother’s affection, unlike the numerous ladies-in-waiting who flitted about like storm-dodging sparrows. To Alicent, you were not merely a servant but a girl she cherished as if you were her own blood.

But Aemond’s sharp eye caught the glimmer of distress that lingered in her tone. He advanced further into the room, his gaze honing in on the parchment that lay forgotten in her delicate grasp. “What is it?” he pressed, his heart beginning to thrum in his chest, sensing the foreboding weight of something unsaid.

Alicent's voice was tinged with sorrow, a shade that unsettled Aemond's heart as she whispered the name of his beloved, “It is from her.” The chill of her words struck him like winter's breath. “She has decided to leave the Keep."

In that moment, it felt as though the very foundations of King's Landing trembled, the walls echoing his anguish. Aemond's heart tightened painfully, a dragon's fang sinking into his chest, yet Alicent remained blissfully unaware of her son’s turmoil as she set the letter down upon the polished mahogany table before turning away, her silhouette retreating into the shadows of her room.

Stinging tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eye. You could not have forsaken him; you would never abandon the bond the two of you shared, so why had you departed? Aemond seized the letter, his hand shaking with urgency, his eye darting across the elegant script. You had spoken of a deep homesickness, a yearning to reconnect with your family. You graciously thanked his mother for her kindness during your stay.

Yet, amidst your carefully penned words lay an abyss of uncertainty. No mention of where you had gone, nor any promise of when—or if—you would return. Only your name, signed with elegant flourish and the seal of your house—a sigil that felt as foreign to Aemond as a stranger’s face.

— Mikaelson

[farity]

In the Red of Night, part 9

He hated himself.

He hated himself all the time, but mostly after he'd fucked Alys. Every single time the moment he came, as blissful as an orgasm could be, tore off another little piece of his soul.

Aemond wondered how long until there was nothing left.

This time he'd turned away from her, ignored her hands reaching around his torso, trying to move him back to her for a second round. She was always hot for him, always touching him, making sure he knew who owned him.

"Sir?"

Aemond blinked and as the memory faded, he saw that the flight attendant was looking at him expectantly.

"Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you. Sorry."

"Not at all, sir."

He thought of her now. The woman who had captivated him with her kindness and her laughter.

He hadn't ever had a relationship since Alys. Various affairs, mostly with married women because they could not claim ownership of him, and it suited him to keep things superficial.

The look in his woman's eyes when he'd approached her, the night he'd turned her. It had been the biggest gift he could ever have hoped for.

There wasn't even the hint of fear in them. She was nervous, to be sure, who wouldn't be, but her trust and belief in him had been so complete that she'd extended her hands out to him.

He had asked her more than once if she wanted to wait, and when she asked him back, "for what?" he hadn't had a proper answer.

"I love you, Aemond," she'd said, "I am yours, and I want our life to start now."

And it meant dealing with Alys because he wouldn't spend the rest of his existence with Alys hovering over them, a dark cloud always ruining their sky.

And she wanted Alys to pay for ruining her dream, along with a dash of unfounded jealousy.

"Then we deal with her together."

He had held her while he drank from her that night, while she became dizzy from blood loss and while her heart began to fail and while she drifted closer to death, and she never, ever showed any fear, not even as her eyes closed.

Once he'd torn his wrist open and began feeding her, the stillness of her body terrifying him, worrying him that he'd waited too damn long, until her fingers began fluttering ever so slightly and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He'd continuing dripping his blood into her mouth until she'd started coughing, and then he'd allowed his blood's healing process to take over. He'd turned her onto her side, wrapped himself around her, and let the turning commence.

* * * * *

Alys had not been able to find where the little barista whore had gone, and it unnerved her. Once she got the scent of a human, she would know it anywhere and there was no trace of her. That sickly sweet, cloyingly kind pumpkin spice bitch was nowhere to be found.

Maybe she'd grown a brain cell and left the city, after her little garbage shop and her situationship with Aemond were done, she'd left somewhere to cry about it.

Good.

Let the grown ups play, Alys thought.

Once she had Aemond back, his fealty, his vow to be hers forever, not to mention his resources, she could do what she hadn't been able to do back then. Rule the world.

He'd left her then, and all her power hadn't meant anything any more. Not even when she'd stolen a servant's newborn babe and presented it as Aemond's, as the rightful heir to the throne. Without Aemond at her side, she was nothing. Just a woman who frightened people, and the world kept evolving to deal with those.

She had been drowned and hanged, shot and stabbed, and every time she had lain there, pretending to be dead, crying tears of anger because her plans had failed again.

It was different now, with Aemond almost in her grasp. When she had him by her side, in her bed, things would be different.

Finally.

She had less than a week until he returned. Everything had to be perfect for him to come back to her. She had contracts ready to go, so many of her investors didn't even believe she knew Aemond Targaryen. Imagine when they found out they were partners in this new venture. They'd come crawling to her.

They thought her delusional, grasping. Alys's hands fisted at her sides, they would never say that to a man. A man had vision, ambition, but she got called insane.

If that was the playing field, then she would have the greatest teammate of them all by her side.

* * * * *

"She's sleeping."

Aemond said nothing, merely stared down at Arya Stark's face as she blocked him from going into the bedroom.

"She needs her rest, she's been working hard, and you and your cock can just wait."

Behind Aemond, Gendry closed his eyes at her choice of words.

"Hmm."

Aemond turned and went back to his laptop. "Tell me when she wakes up."

"You really need to work on your interpersonal communication skills," Gendry said as he placed his hands on her waist.

Arya smiled. "I love your positive attitude. How long have you been telling me that?"

Gendry didn't reply. Instead he kissed Arya and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Aemond checked his security. There had been a flurry of activity from Alys while he was gone, between her people scouring all the locations where Aemond or his woman might be, to emails sent to various financial leaders. Little did Alys know those leaders had just turned around and asked Aemond what was with all the messages from Alys.

He'd told every single one of them that he had no intention of working with the woman and that they need not bother with her.

As obnoxious and prickly as Arya Stark was, he trusted no one better when it came to self defense. As skilled as Aemond himself was, he was too close to be an effective teacher, and between Arya and Gendry, they had enough fighting and weapons knowledge worthy of the best ops teams in the realm.

Everything was in place.

He had let Alys skulk around for far too long. He'd hoped she'd find someone else to obsess over, some other fool to torment and manipulate, but if that was not to be, then a more permanent stop was needed.

It was absolutely his fault. He'd allowed her delusional dreams of power to grow unchecked and then he'd vanished, and now she was endangering not only him but the woman he loved.

* * * * *

Waking up was different now. You still retained your human schedule for the most part - a period of activity and a period of rest, mornings created of years of routine that were tough to leave behind. But now it was more of taking in information gathered by your sharpened senses, then approaching the day as needed.

You were damn glad that training with Arya had stopped - for now. As your strength grew, so did the possibility of truly injuring yourself or others, and Arya had taught you how to keep your strength in check for your daily activities, and when to dig deep into the well of power when you needed it.

You would need it soon, if the messages from Aemond were true.

The moment his name came to your mind, you turned, scenting the air.

There was Arya's combination of forest and sky, Gendry's constant leather and steel, and there - there was Aemond, his signature mixture of peppermint, spices, and the almost sweet scent of his skin.

You opened the door to find him standing there, one corner of his mouth raised. "You're awake."

You smiled, throwing your arms around his neck. He was home. The feel of him against you was everything, and you pressed a kiss to his neck. "I have missed you."

"Are you well?" he asked, always careful and measured even now.

"Aemond," you murmured, pulling him into the bedroom.

He kicked the door closed behind him as he took your mouth, the hunger and need he'd been feeling now unchecked as he began to undress you.

You were just as eager, pulling up the cashmere sweater he wore until he tugged it over his head, hands roaming over his shoulders and back, reacquainting yourself with the feel of him against you.

Shoving you back onto the bed, he tore off your leggings and underwear, pushed your thighs open and began to feast between your legs. He fell into the rhythm he knew you liked, long, steady strokes with the flat of his tongue, one hand covering your breast as you moaned and whimpered.

You came, quickly, the pleasure tearing brutally through you and then his fingers tightened on your hips as he continued pleasuring you. Your head fell back, your moans growing louder as he drove you to a second orgasm.

"Aemond-"

He hummed against you, sending you over the edge and still, despite your fingers pulling at his hair, he continued devouring you. You felt yourself begin to fall again, and this time, when he was done bringing you back down, he pulled back, kneeing your legs further apart.

You had barely caught your breath when he drove inside you, but you reached for him, needing more, until you could take his mouth and sigh against his lips.

He wasn't tender, each snap of his hips knocking the breath out of your lungs until your cries filled the room.

"Come for me," he demanded, one hand fisting in your hair.

Undone, you let your head fall into his grasp and surrendered.

* * * * *

You couldn't stop touching him. And he couldn't stop marveling over the feel of you against him. You laid on the bed, intertwined, merely breathing each other in.

"How was Scotland?"

He nuzzled your cheek. "Rainy. Beautiful."

"How is Alys?"

He looked at you. "The same. Power hungry."

"She is beautiful."

Aemond gave you a look. "Whatever beauty she has on the surface is only covering her rotten cruelty."

You said nothing and he cupped your face. "Please, do not tell me you have worried about this, of all things."

You felt your cheeks warm but you shrugged. "You have history. Sometimes it counts."

"It counts to remind me that she needs to be be stopped. Do you doubt me?"

"No."

"Do you doubt my love for you?"

"Of course not."

"Good. For I do not doubt yours."

You pressed your cheek against his chest, let him wrap his arms around you. You would go over the plan until it was second nature, and when it all started, you would not waver.

* * * * *

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[sapphirehearteyes]

THIS WAS EVERYTHING!!!!!

Reader is quite literally living the dream- on a dark rainy night coming upon a mysterious castle that is home to the alluring vampire Aemond who proceeds to make love to her then claim her as his own & turn her into a vampire… I mean, does it get any better than this?!?!!

This was the perfect, most perfect, vampire Aemond story and I was completely enchanted!!!! READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN’T, it’s stunning!!! 🔥🔥🔥

Dark Devotion

Vampire!Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Rating: E (Explicit) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Once again, gothic horror romance vibes. The monster gets the girl. Fear, horror, and explicit PiV sex. Slightly non-con as Aemond compels reader, but reader definitely consents (you'll understand when you read it).

Word count: About 5.2k

Synopsis: Running from your old life somehow leads you directly into the arms of a monster, one that shows you pleasures you never could've dreamed of.

Author’s note: I know I have been completely MIA and inconsistent but tbh my life has been incredibly stresseful and I lost all motivation to write for a while. This is the first thing I've written in months that I am genuinely proud of. I even made a whole ass moodboard for it! I truly hope y'all enjoy. Happy Halloween! P.S. Comments will make my entire day and earn you a kiss on the forehead!

I am no longer using a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

Aemond Masterlist

There was a phrase you heard quite a few times in your village as a little girl, ‘the night is dark and full of terrors’. Your mum would always roll her eyes and mumble something about ‘religious fanatics’. You were always inclined to agree with her, that is until this night. 

This night truly was dark and full of terrors. 

Thunder cracked loud enough that your ears rang as rain poured something awful. The harsh droplets pelted at your skin and the sky split in half as a lightning bolt landed merely a stone’s throw before you. 

Your horse neighed in panic loud enough that you could hear him over the bellowing wind as he reared back on his hind legs, causing you to slip and fall off and land directly on your backside in the mud. 

You gasped in shock and did not even have time to call out before your horse bolted away, leaving you drenched and muddy on the forest floor. 

Instead of crying you merely turned your head up towards the sky, embraced the pain of the harsh rain against your cheeks, and screamed at the heavens in frustration. 

You managed to pull yourself up before the mud sucked you in below the surface of the world, adjusted the hood of your cloak once again over your head, and trudged forward. 

Your boots sloshed through the dampened forest floor and you thought that perhaps the naysayers in your village were right. Maybe the gods were punishing you for your promiscuity. 

When you laid with the soldier passing through your village and allowed him to take your maidenhood, you were convinced there would be no consequences. 

You were no one, nothing, and not having your maidenhood intact changed nothing other than the subject the gossipers in town clucked about. 

It seemed it also changed the gods’ vengeance towards you. 

This night was dark and full of terrors, that much you could sense as fear shot down your spine. 

You increased your pace, fearing the creatures that could be lurking in the woods, desperate for some sort of shelter. The feeling of eyes watching you from time to time during your journey became steady and unceasing. You felt uneasy, the hair on the back of your neck stood straight up, and you knew it had nothing to do with the cold in the air. 

Eventually you had no other choice but to ignore the feeling, having looked behind and around you dozens of times in search of your stalker to no avail.

You trudged along for what felt like hours, not once finding anything that could serve as a temporary shelter. That was, until you somehow stumbled upon a near debilitated castle. 

As it came into view, you shuddered at the feeling the crumbling building invoked in you, but any shelter was better than none at this point. 

Stone walls with vines nearly overtaking them towered over you as you rushed forward towards the large wooden doors. You looked up and thought you saw a pair of gemstone blue eyes glowing in the dark from a window at the top of the tower, but you blinked and they were gone. 

You shook your head, sure your tired eyes were playing tricks on you, and reached for the handle of the door. 

You took a shuddering breath and pulled the heavy door open. Shock filled your very being as you were overcome with warmth and light. 

While the outside of the building was shabby, the inside was magnificent. It was well kept and well lit. A home fit for a king, with a grand staircase was directly in front of you and an elderly man in a servant’s outfit was walking down it.

“Young lady! Who are you and how dare you come into this home uninvited?” the man chided as he descended the last of the steps and stood before you. 

“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t know anyone lived here, I was merely searching for shelter from the awful storm,” you said, eyes wide- portraying how stunned you felt. 

The man’s stern facade crumbled and he smiled warmly at you, you let go of your held breath and managed a small smile back at him. 

“Ah, yes, I tend to forget the master’s illusion on the outside of the building. He does it to keep the unwanted away,” he said. 

“Illusion? Like magic?” you asked. 

“Well, yes, of course. Come in, let’s get you out of the cold. You must be miserable,” the man said as he ushered you inside and closed the door behind you. 

“Alfred,” you heard the voice of a man call out from another room. His voice caused a shiver to go down your spine. 

“Yes, sire,” Alfred, the man before you replied, and the man with the shiver-inducing voice came into view as he rounded the corner and came into the entryway where you stood. 

Your breath caught once again as you saw the most striking and beautiful man you’d ever seen in your life. 

He was tall, nearly impossibly so, with long silver hair that fell nearly to his waist. He moved with the grace and control of a lethal killer. His facial features were sharp, as if he was cut from marble. His skin of pale white only emphasized his most distinct feature, an eye of sapphire that covered part of a scar that cut across his forehead and cheek. His remaining true eye was also a distinct blue color, nearly matching the sapphire one perfectly.  

Ethereal was the word that arose in your mind as he strode towards you, amusement twinkling in his eye as he took you in. 

“And who might you be, lovely?” he asked. 

After entirely too long of a pause, in which his amusement appeared to only grow as his beautiful lips curved into a smirk, you managed to stutter out your name. 

He repeated it back to you, leaning closer towards you, and your heartbeat sped into a gallop. He titled his head, almost as if he could hear it. You dismissed the thought, deeming it absurd. 

“My name is Aemond. Welcome to my home. Tell me, how exactly did you manage to find your way here?” he asked curiously. 

You leaned in closer with him, not realizing that your face was merely inches from his at this point, utterly drawn in and intoxicated by his presence. 

You were filled with a desire to please him and as a result you began rambling. “I was attempting to move away from my village. Take off and find a new life, but then there was a series of unfortunate events including running for my life, becoming irretrievably lost, and then becoming something I’m certain looks similar to a drowned rat after my horse was startled by the storm and I stumbled around for hours attempting to find shelter.” 

“Oh you poor sweet thing. Let us take care of you,” he purred and rather than set you at ease, something in the words made you feel as if your misadventures were far from over. And yet, you were entranced by his gaze and could not so much as force yourself to look away or take a step back. 

His smile grew wider as you nodded meekly. 

Finally, Aemond released you from his gaze as he turned to Alfred and asked him to fetch the maid Portia to assist you in cleaning yourself up. 

Before you knew it, you were being ushered up the stairs and into a room you could only assume was a guest room by an elderly woman with a sweet round face. 

She helped you to remove your muddy sodden clothes and you groaned in relief as you slid into a warm bath. You smiled warmly at her as you scrubbed your body and she cleaned your hair, all the while chattering to you about her love for her husband Alfred and their happiness working for Master Aemond. 

“Can you tell me about him?” you asked curiously as she helped you to dress. 

The dress she helped you into was of crushed velvet, sapphire blue like the gemstone in Aemond’s eye that had so caught your attention. The dress had a corset and plunging neckline that emphasized your curves. 

Portia hummed as she led you to sit down and began working on your hair. 

“He is a bit odd, yes. Intimidating and perhaps even scary to some, but he has a good heart. And is loyal and protective to those he cares for. He has treated my husband and I very kindly,” she said with a caring smile. 

Her words put your heart more at ease, still slightly worried about the new surprising circumstances you had found yourself in. 

“Does he typically extend that same kindness to visitors?” you asked, nervousness coloring your tone a bit. 

“It depends on the intentions of the visitor. A sweet thing like you? You’ll be well taken care of,” she said. 

“Does he often have ill-intentioned visitors?” you asked curiously. 

“It does happen from time to time, those in the nearest village hold hate for him in their hearts. Old prejudices I suppose, but no matter!” she said, changing the subject and her tone as she turned you around to view yourself in the floor length mirror. 

“Take a look at yourself, my dear. You look stunning, see? All the horror of the day washed completely away,” she said soothingly as she ran her hands up and down your upper arms. 

Your breath caught in your throat as you saw yourself. She was right, you’d never seen yourself look so beautiful before. You actually looked fit to reside in such a lovely home, unlike before, unlike any other time in your life. You’d never worn such a beautiful and expensive dress. You ran your hands across the soft fabric, up your torso and thought that it was the perfect inviting dress for someone else to touch you in. 

Images flashed in your head of the soldier you allowed to touch you, never while you wore something so pretty, but pleasurable nonetheless. Romps in the hay, literally as the two of you would often meet in your father’s barn and he taught you the art of a pleasure you’d never known before. 

You were not disillusioned about it, you knew there was no love between the two of you. You knew he would one day have to move on without you, but when he left town just as others found out about your affair, you were frustrated at being left alone with the consequences of a choice the both of you made. 

The townspeople, the people you grew up with, turned on you and called you a whore. Even your own father fell victim to their hateful whispers about you and kicked you out of his home. Only your mother helped you, sneaking you out in the dead of night and gifting you her horse to aid you on your journey into another life. 

You shook your head slightly in an attempt to clear those thoughts, the memories of both pleasure and pain, and smiled at your reflection. 

“Thank you, Portia, your efforts are greatly appreciated,” you said as you turned and embraced her in a warm hug. 

She squeezed you before releasing you and leading you out of the guest room and back down the grand staircase. 

You followed her into an elegant dining room, a fireplace lit - the fire crackling and warming the spacious room. The table was large enough to seat ten people, but only two place settings were set next to one another, somehow creating an intimate dinner even in such a large room. 

Aemond sat at the end of the table, and stood as he saw you. 

“Good evening, you look magnificent,” he said, voice as velvety as your dress. 

You did your best to hide how his words flustered you as you smiled softly and curtseyed. 

“Thank you, sire. But, this is too much. I did not mean to interrupt your your evening so and I-I’ll never be able to repay you-” 

He reached a hand out and you placed your hand in his. At the brush of your skin against his, your words fell off. 

His hands were cold, and yet- the mere brush of his fingers against yours filled your body with heat. 

“There is no repayment necessary, the pleasure of your company will be more than enough if you would please dine with me,” he said. 

“Of course,” you breathed out as you allowed him to guide you to your seat. 

Your nose was filled with the aroma of a hearty stew in a bowl before you and your stomach growled in anticipation. 

You gave Aemond a sheepish look even as he chuckled. 

“Eat, of course. You must be near ravenous. I’m familiar with the feeling,” he said, and his voice dipped lower. His eyes appeared to flash at his words, causing your heartbeat to jump, but you were far too hungry to think about it and played it off as a trick of the light, a reflection of the fire in his gemstone eye. 

You tucked in and struggled to hold in your groan of satisfaction at the taste of the soup. 

Aemond poured you both glasses of red wine and you thanked him as he handed you yours. 

“Are you not going to eat?” you asked him, suddenly feeling self conscious that you were shoveling mouthfuls of stew and bread into your mouth while he merely sipped on his wine and watched you. 

“Oh I intend to. Just not right now, I had what you might call a late afternoon snack,” he said and something about his words had a chill run up your spine, despite the warmth of both the room and the soup in your belly. 

“You told me of your journey here, but tell me about yourself. I find myself fascinated by the entirety of you,” he practically purred, and you immediately forgot your apprehension at his previous words. 

“I feel the same way about you,” you replied breathily. 

He smiled, a full glorious smile that made you feel as if the storm had ended and the sun had come out. But there was a glint, a sharpness, and with a start you realized his canine teeth were elongated. 

He must have seen the fear in your eyes as he reached over and grasped your hand gently. You felt that on fire feeling in your skin once again, but also felt all the fear wash out of your body. 

“Tell me about you,” he requested again, voice soft and low, a tone that caused you to wonder if that was how he spoke to his lovers late at night. 

You were filled with compliance, with a desire to please him, and so you did as you were asked, and told him everything about yourself. You told him of your childhood, your parents, your likes and interests, your dreams for a better life. 

He watched you with rapt attention, murmuring questions to prompt you to further share with him about yourself. And, oh gods, when he looked at you that way, his sapphire gaze so intense, you wanted to share yourself completely. 

“What had you so desperately searching for a new life?” he finally asked. 

So you explained, shamefully, how you laid with a man and became the village whore for merely choosing your own pleasure over mediocrity for once in your life. 

You looked down at your empty bowl, toying with the spoon, while you waited for his reaction, for his disgust and dismissal of you. 

Long cold fingers gently grasped your chin and lifted your head up to meet his gaze. 

You were enraptured by his undivided attention. 

“There’s no need to listen to the opinions of small minded individuals. Pleasure is nothing to feel guilty about. Especially when there are so, so many pleasures in life to discover,” he said and the soft lilt of his voice along with the dark tone made your toes curl. 

You wanted to experience unknown pleasures, you wanted him to teach you, to explore with you. 

You bit your lip, nodding slightly in agreement, and his hand slid up from your chin to curl around your jaw. His thumb stroked the apple of your cheek and you shivered. 

He pulled your bottom lip from between your teeth and you waited, nearly shaking with anticipation, for him to press his lips against your own, to replace the pressure with some of his own, and he smirked as if he knew what you were thinking, but pulled back. 

He sat back in his chair, far enough from you that you no longer felt intoxicated by his scent and presence, and you let out a soft breath of disappointment. 

Amusement and desire both seemed to dance in his gaze. You took a sip of wine, looking away from him to clear your head, and took a breath to steady yourself. 

“Will you tell me about yourself as well, sire?” you asked. 

“Aemond,” he corrected. “Please call me Aemond, sweet one.” 

“Aemond, I’d love to hear about you,” you requested once more. 

It seemed he had the same response to hearing his name drip from your lips as you had when he said yours, for his eyelid fluttered closed and his hand clenched into a fist, but the next breath he had composed himself once more and nodded. 

“My life… it feels as if it has been an eternity. A lonely one at that,” he said and this time you reached over and took his hand, holding it in support. 

“I was treated as if I were unwanted from the moment I was born, my eye taken hatefully when I was merely a boy, and then as a man I was deemed a monster. I was driven out of my home, my family did naught to protect me, and it took me far too long to find a place to call my own. Still, others that encounter me call me a monster and I find myself alone most of the time,” he explained and your heart hurt for him. 

“Why do others call you a monster? Your gemstone eye?” you asked as you leaned closer to him once again. 

This time you leaned in and placed your hand on his face, tracing the length of his scar with your thumb as you gently held his cheek. 

“Hmmm,” he hummed in a noncommittal sort of agreement. 

“I think it’s beautiful,” you said, your voice so soft it was practically a whisper. 

It was evident he heard you as he practically nuzzled his face into your hand. He gripped your wrist and ran his nose from the palm of your hand to the inside of your wrist, breathing in deeply. 

His actions, though gentle and loving, caused an inexplicable feeling of fear to drip down your spine, particularly when his lips pressed against your skin. You’d never realized what a vulnerable place in the body the wrist was, a bundle of veins, until Aemond pressed his perfectly curved lips against it. 

But as soon as it came, the fear was gone as Aemond looked up at you and you met his gaze once more. 

You reached out and pushed his silver hair out of his face where it had fallen and tucked it behind his ear. 

His long gorgeous hair was so soft you yearned to run your fingers through it and learn of his response, learn of the noises he would make when in pleasure. 

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, appearing as entranced by you as you were by him. 

You could do nothing to hide the way his words flustered you, as the weight of his attention had you pinned down and unable to move. 

He caught your hand and held it in place against his hair. 

As he leaned closer to you, his movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator trying not to spook his prey. 

Your heart began to sprint and you were certain you would never be able to slow it again. 

His sharp nose brushed against yours, and the anticipation was so strong you forgot how to breathe. 

Aemond hummed softly before he finally, finally pressed his lips to yours. 

As his lips moved against yours you felt inherently changed, different. It felt as if a shadowed hand with sharp talons dripping with blood had reached through your chest and gripped your heart and claimed it. 

You were his, his, and you were prepared to swear to him your utter devotion, your life. You didn’t quite understand what you were experiencing, but you didn’t care as he deepened the kiss. As he claimed your mouth you gasped, letting out a small whimper. This gave him the in he needed to slide his tongue against yours. 

You shuddered, gripping his hair tighter as he lifted you with an ease that should not be possible and sat you atop his lap. 

Your dress prevented you from straddling him like you wished, but you could not complain as he gripped your waist tightly. You ran your hands from his face and his hair to his shoulders, down to his arms, gripping him tightly and kissing him deeply, with everything you had, with utter devotion. 

You let out a small yelp of surprise as your tongue explored his mouth and brushed against something entirely too sharp. 

He tore his lips from yours and met your gaze. Your chest brushed against his as it heaved while you attempted to catch your breath. 

Fangs, you recognized. Those were fangs in his mouth, made for sinking his teeth in. 

You could not discern how you felt, what you thought, for the utter fire for him burned through you. 

He traced your jaw, then the line of your neck down to your collarbone, slowly, achingly slowly as you wanted nothing more than for him to kiss you again. Then, his lips followed the same journey his fingers had just taken. You shivered, your head falling back as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Tell me you are mine,” Aemond ordered, and his breath against the sensitive skin of your neck made you shiver. 

“I’m yours,” you replied breathily and you could feel his smile against your throat. 

“Tell me you want me,” he ordered. 

“I want you,” you whined, and his grip on you tightened nearly to the point of pain, but you could not focus on that. No, not when you felt those fangs graze against that most sensitive spot on your neck. 

The night is dark and full of terrors, the words rang through your head once more and your breath stopped as you realized you had fallen into this beautiful monster’s trap. Fear shot down your spine and made your body tense and freeze. 

“Hmm,” he hummed in reassurance as he pressed a kiss against your vulnerability. 

Your body responded immediately, you relaxed completely, becoming nearly ragdoll like in his arms. He lifted you, holding you as he stood, and walked into the next room, a sitting room of sorts, and laid you on a chaise. 

“Aemond,” you breathed out. 

He kneeled next to where you laid. 

“I care for you,” he said as he brushed a hand across your cheek, “I don’t wish to compel you.” 

He kissed you once more. At the feeling of his lips against yours, you were reborn. You had control over your body once again and you yanked him atop of you, deepening the kiss. 

He groaned into your mouth, and pulled back slightly, causing you to whine in protest. 

“You truly want me?” he asked, his tone sounding surprised. 

Your survival instinct had long since gone quiet as a result of you continuously ignoring its protests. 

“Yes,” you said and pulled his lips to yours again. 

“Perhaps we can make a deal then,” he said, trailing his lips down once more to his favorite spot on your neck, where your veins were most vulnerable.

“If you give me what I want, I will reward you with everything you desire and more,” he said and you again felt the sharpness of those fangs. 

You let out a shuddering breath. 

“Yes,” you agreed, all logic disappearing as desire overtook your very being. 

And you knew. You knew and he knew, that his compelling magic was gone, the desire you felt for him this entire time was real and true, not due to compelling whatsoever. There was something more, something deeper at play here, and your choice was your own as you chose him, completely. 

And with that, he groaned lowly and sank his fangs into your neck.  

Sharp indescribable pain is what you expected but instead it was like a dull buzz of pain nearly overwhelmed by pleasure. 

He ran his hands down your body, ensuring he paid special attention to your breasts and you gasped his name. 

Aemond’s hand slipped up your dress, inching up your burning hot skin, and finding the wetness between your legs that awaited him. 

You whimpered softly as he brushed your panties aside and finally touched you where you wanted him the most. 

His nimble fingers spread your slick and quickly found a rhythm circling your bundle of nerves as he continued to drink your blood. 

As the heat inside you built, he pulled his teeth from your neck and slowly dragged his tongue up your neck, licking up every last drop of blood from your skin. His fingers moved in perfect time with his tongue, and with no notice your release hit you, overwhelming you completely as you moaned loud enough to echo through the room. 

“Absolutely exquisite,” he said as he pulled back from your neck and looked deep into your eyes. 

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, and you stared at him as your chest heaved, absolutely entranced. He then replaced his thumb with his bloodsoaked lips. 

He groaned as you kissed him eagerly, your blood in his mouth not causing any hesitation whatsoever. 

“I need you,” you gasped. 

“I have needed you for an eternity,” he replied as he began untying the corset of your dress. 

You moaned as the cool air hit your skin and he slowly and gently removed the beautiful dress from your body, leaving you completely bare. You turned and looked at the pile of sapphire velvet on the floor. 

He gripped your chin, turning your head to look at him once more. You helped him to remove his shirt, and then watched eagerly as he unbuckled his belt, beginning to make himself just as bare as you. 

“I must admit something to you,” he said and your mouth ran dry as the hard length of him sprung free. 

“Yes,” you asked breathlessly as you reached and wrapped your hand around him. 

He let out a sound low in his throat, something similar to a growl, as you began to move your hand up and down his length. 

“It is not happenstance that you found yourself in my home. I must confess that I have been watching you for a while now. I needed you. I needed to taste you, to make you mine. I influenced your journey here, guided you, so I could finally show you my devotion,” he said. 

“Then make me yours, completely,” you pleaded and guided his length to line up with your wet heat. 

With a groan he nodded his head and pushed himself inside you. 

He filled you, inch by glorious inch, and you could do nothing but gasp for air as you felt fuller than you’d ever felt in your life. 

You reveled in the press of your naked chest against his, as you pulled him close enough that you couldn’t tell where your body ended and where his began.

You were one with the vampire atop you, and you’d never felt more intense pleasure in your life. 

When he was certain you were ready, he kissed you, surprisingly tenderly, before he pulled out nearly all the way, and pushed back inside you, sinking to the hilt. 

His tempo was slow and deep, as he gazed deep in your eyes and told you how beautiful he found you. 

“Perfect, so perfect,” he praised as you mewled for him when he tilted your hips up and hit a spot of pleasure inside you that had never been found before. 

Aemond continued his pace, holding you tight, as your nails dug into his back. 

“Come for me, darling, I can feel how close you are,” he purred in your ear. 

He slipped his hand between your bodies and found your bundle of nerves once more, stroking it and you nearly screamed as your release wracked through you. 

You felt you had reached heaven, somehow, in the arms of your ethereally beautiful monster lover and it took you several moments to come back down. 

So lost in your pleasure, you had not even felt a sting of pain as he sunk his teeth into your wrist. He gulped your blood, moaning in pleasure, as he continued to pump himself in and out of your tight wet heat, chasing his own release. 

You tangled your other hand in his hair, and gripped tighter around his cock, urging him on, encouraging both his release and for him to continue to drink from you. 

He groaned as his release found him, sinking deep inside you, bringing ecstasy to you both. 

You shuddered a breath as his movements slowed and stopped. He pulled his teeth from your wrist, and murmured your name, like a praise- like a prayer, with utter devotion. 

As he looked at you, you reached up and wiped your blood from where it had dripped down his chin. 

He brought your wrist to his lips once more, and before you could protest that you were beginning to feel lightheaded, he surprised you by licking the wound clean instead of sinking his teeth back in, just as he had with the wound on your neck. 

You watched in fascination, as his saliva magically closed your wound, leaving only a small scar. 

He looked up and grinned at you, your blood coating his teeth, and you whimpered and pulled him into another kiss. 

He kissed you languidly, tongue moving against yours, as if he had all of eternity with you. 

“I have never tasted anything so divine,” he purred against your lips. 

“I have never felt so wonderful in all my life,” you said back as you pulled back enough to look upon him once again. 

“I can feel it. Can you feel it? You are to be my eternity, my everlasting, my one true mate. I give you my utter devotion. You said you wanted to start a new life. Start it with me. Let me turn you and we can be together forever. Stay with me,” he pleaded. 

And so you did. 

Yes, this night was dark and full of terrors, but this terror had wrapped himself around you, sunk deep inside you, and devoted his entire being to you, offering you pleasure and love unlike any you’d ever experienced before. 

And so, later, when Aemond fed you his blood and turned you and you opened your eyes into this new life, becoming a terror yourself, you grinned and kissed your vampire mate, prepared to spend forever by his side. 

[qyburnsghost]

For always in her there was a dark place full of despair,

And a great driving force to make meaning because there was none.

-Anne Rice

This is a gift to @flowerandblood for making my dream come true! Vampire Aemond.

The story is in its first stages so I made a vague moodboard ?

She’s an amazing sweet and dark romantic writer and I’m devouring everything she puts out but especially this!!!

Read it here ! Sweet Kiss, Sweet Blood

[spellofwinter]

it's just me and my evil barbie collection against the world

[humanpurposes]

The Way You Taste

The lines between friendship and 'more' are becoming difficult to define with you and Aemond. You don't know what's holding you back, but lately you can't shake the feeling that someone is watching you.

modern!vampire!Aemond x reader

Main Masterlist

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, blood play, creepy stuff (tis the season), mentions of murder and violence

Words: 3.8k

A/n: Happy Halloween/Halloween Eve 😼🖤 (depending on your timezone)

You can’t shake this feeling lately, like someone is watching you.

The season doesn’t help. The clocks went back a few days ago and the new cycle of daylight has thrown you off your axis. The mornings are bright but the night comes quicker. You watched the sun fade from the window in your office and by 4pm it was dark. Insanity.

Sure, you can wear your big coat and a scarf to fight off the cold but your limbs still feel shaky and unsure. And it still feels like there are eyes on you everywhere you go; work; the coffee shop round the corner; the supermarket; the gym; your own unassuming flat on the quiet side of Queen’s Park.

Dany’s obsessed with the news stories, always sending you videos and articles with the latest updates and theories. It began about a month ago when a student was found behind some bins in a service yard off Silk Street with a knife in her neck. She was only eighteen, from a small town in Dorne, eager to get a degree and start her life. She had been out with her flatmates at a well known pub in a busy part of town, went outside for a smoke and that was it. According to the police she might have had a chance if someone had found her. Instead she was left to bleed out for hours.

There have been three deaths in total, the student, a 30-something-year-old regular at the club Seven Heavens, and a bartender at Falling Star. Dany thinks the culprit must be some insane conservative with a twisted sense of morals and decency, determined to punish those who actually live their lives– or so she’s seen online.

You don’t know who the culprit is, you don’t really want to think about it. You can’t stop noticing every face you pass on the street, on the bus, on your way into the office, and you wonder, could they be a killer?

Your hands tremble and fumble with the keys to your front door. The key is funny, you have to sort of push it and pull it as you twist it, but the door opens and you scurry inside. The keys are tossed into their usual dish, your coat and scarf thrown on their hooks, shoes off, bag set down on the floor carefully so you don’t smash your laptop. 

You should lock the door. You will lock the door but your head is pulsing and the cold weather has left your throat dry. You need tea, or water. Maybe you could treat yourself to both. 

There are exactly three rooms in your flat. Bedroom, bathroom and the rest of it. The sight of your sofa covered in papers and notebooks fills you with dread but you move on to the kitchen and clear a space on the counter, setting out a glass and a mug. Teabag in the mug. Water in the glass. Water in the kettle. Fuck, the dishes are piling up. 

Your finger is an inch away from the switch on the kettle when your phone rings. The noise is faint, coming from the hallway because it’s in your coat pocket. So you go back around the counter, past the sofa and into the hallway. The ringtone sounds sharper the closer you get and once you’ve got the phone in your hand the name Aemond Targaryen appears on the screen.

Your heart lurches. You let the phone ring for another second before you answer in an airy voice, “hi.”

There’s a soft hum on the other side. “Hello, you. Did you get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Good day?”

You have to stop yourself from making a sound of exasperation. There’s only so much you can enjoy about a job when you give everything and get seemingly nothing back. “Fine. Long. Emails.”

Aemond hums. Maybe it’s meant to be sympathy but you have this same problem with Dany, the disappointment when they don’t hear what they want to. 

Dany had been the one to introduce the two of you around the end of August. Aemond is a cousin of her’s and at the time had just moved to King’s Landing from Oldtown. She didn’t know him particularly well, but said he got on with her brother, Viserys, which didn’t paint the best image in your mind. But then you met him and right away you knew he was unlike any other man you’d ever met. He was striking; tall, perfect posture, long silver hair, perfectly fitted suit. And his voice, gentle yet chilling. Hypnotic. 

He asked for your number the second time you met and you had given it to him on the basis that an exchange of numbers wasn’t a commitment. Maybe it meant nothing, maybe he just wanted to be friendly. Sometime over the last two months, ‘friendly’ became text conversations into the early morning hours, became phone calls, became coffees and dinner.

“Is everything okay, Aemond?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

You’ve wandered back into the living room. All the clutter makes you anxious. “Need to clean up a bit, get myself some food.”

“Can I come over?”

“Oh, um, I’d rather you didn’t, my place is a mess.”

“Come over to mine, then. I’ll make you dinner.”

You catch your lip between your teeth. 

You and Aemond had gone for dinner last Saturday night. He told you to wear something nice, picked you up in a cab and took you to a steak restaurant where you knew you could barely afford a side dish, let alone a main. He told you to order whatever you wanted, picked expensive wines to go with the food, insisted you get a dessert, and covered the whole bill.

He saw you home. It would have been a shame to end the night before 9pm, so you invited him in. You showed Aemond around, not that your place is spectacular, but he liked what you did with the bedroom, the plants and the postcards on the wall. In the living room you picked out a bottle of cheap white wine from the fridge. Harmless fun, surely.

All self restraint was gone. You were half delirious and cosying up to him on the sofa, telling him about your job, your shitty boss, your obnoxious coworkers. If you had your way you’d start your own blog or magazine, or disappear to a coastal town and write a novel, but that wouldn’t pay off your student loans or pay for a place to live. 

You told him about Dany’s new friends. She had her own startup with her family’s money behind her, and it was doing well but she didn’t have time for anything else. She was unreachable during the week, and every weekend she had started hanging out with her employees. Your chats are filled with photos she's sent you of pints and drunk selfies in clubs. And she never invites you.

But Aemond was there, the only person in weeks who had made any sort of effort to see you. You held his face in your hands and told him how beautiful his lips were.

Then he kissed you.

That took you by surprise. He moved you into his lap, trailed his hands along your legs to the hem of your dress, and all the while your lips moved together so perfectly. You wanted it to happen, more than you had allowed yourself to admit, but you hadn’t expected it. You pulled away and so did he. Something didn’t feel right. Something was holding you back.

He’s Dany’s cousin, you told yourself. 

“It’s alright,” you say, moving your bag to the sofa, paper and pens shifting around it. “Shit– I’ve got some work to do.”

“On a Friday night?”

It wouldn’t be so unbelievable, you staying in on a Friday, but Aemond has a way of picking up on the smallest of details. Maybe there’s a give in your voice. Maybe you’re breathing too heavily– now you’re thinking about it and you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

“I’m fine, honestly, don’t worry about me.”

“I do, that’s the problem.”

You can hardly think over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. And gods, you feel so guilty. Why do you feel so guilty? “It’s just that now’s not a good time.”

“Now as in, right now?”

Now as in this moment. Today. This year. Until you feel that you’re ready, only, you don’t know when you’ll be ready.

“Aemond, you know I think you’re wonderful, I mean, I hope you know that. And I… appreciated dinner last weekend. I just…”

There’s a flow of breath through the speaker, a slow exhale that sets your nerves alight. Aemond has a way of tapping his fingers when he’s impatient or when he’s thinking. You picture him drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“I thought I was being rather direct in what I wanted. I hate to think I’ve imposed,” he says. 

It’s hard not to overthink this kind of thing, after a lifetime of drunk flirting, harmless fun, no strings attached, “not looking for a relationship” and men keeping their options open. Aemond is intelligent and generous. He has an eye for detail, a way of reading you, and a self assuredness that means he can breeze through life effortlessly.

He’s perfect, and you’re not. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Aemond is silent. No breathing, no sign of life. It’s like that for a few seconds, but it feels like minutes. And finally he says. “I understand perfectly.” 

“I really am sorry,” you say, but the white noise of the call is dead. 

You finally make yourself that cup of tea. Dany calls and you don’t want to answer. But you do. She’s on her way to the pub. 

“It’s Jon’s birthday and we’re going to Falling Star!”

You don’t want to hate her for being around other people, but why can’t she do it without rubbing it in your face? “Enjoy. And don’t die,” you say.

“I’m too pretty to be murdered,” she says. A slew of true crime documentaries and faces in newspapers would say otherwise, but by then she’s already hung up.

The rest of your evening is a peaceful one. You don’t pay much attention to the dating show you put on the TV, more interested in an algorithm of videos, cats making funny noises, a man shoving his wife’s face into their wedding cake, a tribute to the three victims of the Silk Street murders– no new news there, new economic policies, fantasy book recommendations…

You check your messages. Dany’s just sent you a photo of her pint.

You scroll a little further down and hover your thumb over your chat with Aemond, but you don’t open it.

Nothing in particular wakes you. Still half asleep, you’re aware of your body, the exposed parts of skin against the fabric of your bedsheets, the rise and fall of your chest. Instinct tells you it’s a few hours after midnight. There are no strange noises, no sources of light, just the cold air beyond the duvet, pulled up to your chin.

Then it starts to slip away. 

Your hands struggle to catch up with your mind. You think about grabbing the edge and tugging against whatever is trying to pull it off you, but you can’t. The fabric slips through your limp fingers, dragging over your body until there’s no weight on top of you. Your limbs are frozen in place, curled over on one side, dressed in an old t-shirt, panties and nothing else. Your skin crawls at a silent breeze, but you can feel it again, eyes on you.

Then there are fingers, stroking along your bare legs, closing around your ankles. 

Your eyes blink open, adjusting to the darkness and you can see that the bedroom door is wide open. Without looking, you feel an awareness about the room, a presence looming at the foot of the bed. It pulls on your legs, dragging you further down the bed, positioning you flat on your back.

Even in the dead of night, the gleam of silver hair is undeniable.

“Aemond?”

His gaze meets yours. He smiles and starts to pull at the buttons on his shirt– trust Aemond to show up in a dream wearing a shirt and slacks.

The haze of sleep lulls your mind and sharpens your senses. You run your hands up your thighs, admiring every inch of his skin as it’s revealed to you.

Shirt discarded, his hands come to his belt and linger on the buckle. He hums and it infuriates you how even the slightest of sounds makes you desperate for him. But the belt stays where it is, so do the slacks. 

His palms fall to the mattress and he crawls towards you like an animal. You’ve rarely seen that side of him in real life, maybe that night when you kissed, the way he groaned against your mouth and grazed his teeth over your lips…

His hands are on either side of your head. The colour of his eyes and the line of his scar are difficult to make out in the dark. His body leans against yours, slowly pressing his weight on top of you, making a home for his hips between your legs. You don’t just let him do it, you wrap your legs around him, pulling him in closer as your hips start to rock. 

He leans down, placing a firm, slow kiss against your lips. You try to follow him as he pulls away, but he moves down to kiss your neck, then the base of your throat.

“You can’t lie to me,” he mutters against your skin, “I know what you need.”

He lifts your t-shirt enough to expose your breasts, taking one into his hand and squeezing, just to the precipice of pain. You’re already moaning when he takes the other nipple into his mouth, bruising and licking and sucking. 

With every moment that passes you feel the control slipping, his and yours. Perfect, sweet, refined Aemond, gripping his fingertips into your flesh like claws, restless and grinding himself against you. You thread your hands through his hair, surfaces of bone, chin and forehead, fall against each other. 

Aemond slips further still. He trails his lips along your sternum and your stomach, positioning his face between your legs. There’s no more pretence. He parts your thighs with his palms, pulling your underwear down your legs before he runs a single finger through your folds. You feel how effortless it is, how wet you are for him.

Until his finger is replaced by his tongue in slow, agonising licks. His eyes are on you, but the rest of him is obscured by your own body. You rock against him to chase the feeling, keeping a hand on his head to keep him where you need him. 

It’s like a silent conversation. He takes your queues, responds to your moans and the way your jaw slacks when he finds the right spot.

You watch his shoulder shift and feel the pressure of his finger at your entrance. He doesn’t push it in, not yet.

“Aemond,” you whisper.

He hums against your cunt and you feel it in the rest of your body, an echo through your bones and your blood.

He wants you to beg.

“Aemond, please,”

He slips inside you and you’re weightless. 

The noises you make aren’t conscious. You feel the air flowing through your lungs, the sound in your throat, panting and moaning as he nudges against the flesh inside you. 

It rises and rises until the pleasure tears through you. Aemond holds you in place with a palm splayed on your stomach, unrelenting, working you through the high.

“Aemond,” you whimper, “I can’t take it,”

He pulls away from you, and still gasping for air he comes to his knees on the bed, hovering over you. “You taste too fucking good,” he says.

You’re still writhing in the afterglow when he reaches for something in his back pocket. The shape of it is obscured in the darkness but you can see how he’s holding it, like he’s holding up a pen. It doesn’t even occur to you that it could be anything dangerous. 

“Are you going to let me have another taste?”

You should say yes, that’s how these things go, play along and see where you end up.

He leans over you again, on one hand. You watch the way his hair falls, the way he draws his tongue over his lips. 

It happens too quickly for you to make any kind of protest. Aemond puts the object into your face and there’s a stinging sensation on your lower lip. By the time he has pulled away you feel a liquid pearling at the cut he’s made, wet and warm. 

“What… what the fuck?” you utter.

Aemond surges back into you, a man starved, kissing your bloodied lips. His tongue delves into your mouth and you can taste it, the sweetness of your own arousal, the metallic tang of your own blood.

“Too good,” Aemond growls under his breath, “too fucking good,”

You meet him with hunger of your own and feel his mouth break into a smile.

“See? I knew you wanted this,” he says as his hand curls around your neck, “desperate little thing, aren’t you?”

Your body is screaming for another release. You rake your nails down his back, press your chest up and into him.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Aemond.”

“So why do you keep pushing me away?”

You pause. There’s hardly any space between you, the tips of your noses are the slightest move from touching. You see the stains on Aemond’s lips, the darkness in his expression.

“I’m not ready,” you say.

Aemond huffs to himself, you’re unsure if it's amusement or disbelief. He sits back on his haunches, grabbing you by your wrists to pull you up. He doesn’t let go. His hands are so much bigger than yours, curling around your forearms. “I could give you everything, do you know that?”

You feel yourself frown.

“Why aren’t you ready? What’s stopping you?”

There are so many imperfections in your life. People like Aemond and Dany, they make life look easy because it is easy for them. If they work it’s something to fill the time. 

Your eyes are starting to sting. “I– I have things I need to focus on. I can’t get caught up in this, I can’t distract myself.”

Aemond’s mouth curls into a small smile, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “I could take the distractions away. I could make you mine.” He brings one of your wrists to his lips, placing a delicate skin against it, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. "Why deny yourself the pleasure I could give you?"

It’s an enchanting idea, a life outside of a job that makes you miserable, untethered to a friend you can feel is drifting away…

You feel your head nodding.

“Good girl,” Aemond mutters.

You expect him to kiss you again, or lay you down on the bed and fuck you. Instead he reaches for something beside him. The knife.

You flinch away and get as far as the headboard. Aemond still has one hand on your wrist and pulls you back in. 

He takes the blade to his chest and makes a shallow cut down his skin. Your insides turn and tighten at the sight, unable to decide if you’re terrified or fascinated. 

You know what he wants you to do. That’s always the way with dreams, somehow you just know what you need to, even if what’s happening in front of you doesn’t make sense. 

You lean forwards, bracing yourself against his firm torso, tongue out, licking along the cut. His blood pools and burns on your tongue. It’s bitter and sweet, and you relish it.

Aemond moans, cradling your head in his hand.

He pulls on your hair to tilt your chin up. His face is full of admiration and you preen at the praise.

He moves your head down, to the bulge in his slacks. With his other hand he undoes his belt and you pull it away eagerly. He seems pleased at that and makes quick work of freeing his cock.

You delight at the sight of him, watching his hand work himself to hardness, precum glistening at the tip, and take him into your willing mouth. His sighs of pleasure spurn you on, your own arousal rising in your belly. 

Aemond’s grip on your hair tightens as he starts to thrust into your mouth. “Good girl,” he coos, “my perfect girl,”

Until he decides he’s had enough. You hardly comprehend it as he draws you away from his cock, turns you around and positions you on your stomach.

You gasp as he enters you, the sweet sting of stretching around his cock. It’s worth it when he reaches so deep inside of you. You can hear him gritting his teeth as he moans, like he’s torn between desire and restraint. 

And you wish you could watch him while he fucks you, moving in and out of you, his hands digging into the flesh of your ass, the blood dripping down his chest– you can still taste it.

Aemond’s hair tickles against your skin as he leans down, keeping his brutal pace. “Mine,” he misses against your ear, “you’re fucking mine.”

You cry out as your second orgasm washes over you, soft and simmering as he fucks you through it.

You press your fingertips into the mattress, basking in the heat of your skin, the dampness of sweat, the taste of blood on your lips…

When you open your eyes again daylight seeps through a gap in the curtains. You’re still on your front, still in your t-shirt. You move your hand between your legs and find a damp patch on your panties. 

Your legs and your arms are aching. You feel feverish, hot and cold, restless in your own skin. It’s that time of year, you suppose, flu season.

You can’t stop thinking about that dream. It almost makes you laugh, the absurdity of it, Aemond sneaking into your room, and the blood– the blood. 

It would make sense to be disgusted by it, but you’re not. You feel a sort of pressure ghosting against your lips and your tongue. You imagine the sight of him, his toned torso, offering his very lifeforce to you, and tasting yours.

“Mine,” he said. 

You drag yourself out of the bed. Everything hurts. Even setting out a clean t-shirt and sweatpants exhausts you. Worst of all is the hunger starting to appear in your stomach, the kind that twists and churns.

Maybe a shower will put your head right. It’s amazing how many problems can be solved by warm water. You move in slow, sluggish steps to the bathroom. With the water running, you turn to the sink and reach for your toothbrush, catching sight of your reflection.

Something about your face feels different, and you’re not sure it’s a bad thing. You can’t pinpoint it, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt so beautiful.

There is one thing though, a scab on your lower lip, right where Aemond had cut you in the dream.

“I could take the distractions away. I could make you mine.”

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates!

[sapphirehearteyes]

THIS WAS FUCKING DIVINE!!!!!!

Holy fuck this was just perfect and I actually read it twice for REASONS

I loved how you wrote her feeling her survival instinct kicking in and then being smothered by Aemond’s vampire powers!

And gah, how he missed his love!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I would love to see how the transformation proceeds if you ever feel like adding an additional part but as is it’s still perfect!

Highly recommend this- especially for spooky season!🧛‍♂️🔥🎉🖤🙌🏼

La Petite Mort (Ptolemaea)

Summary- Aemond has waited generations for this moment and he will not let it slip through his fingers.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ DDDNE. DUBCON. NSFW. Female reader. Dark Aemond. Blood. Gore. Kidnapping. Obsessive behaviour. Vampire mind control? Reincarnation. Biting. Vampire venom makes you horny. Fingering. Cunnilingus. P in V sex. Overstimulation. Technically character death. This is unhinged.

Author’s Note- It’s a spooky season special and I’m so nervous about this one besties. I know that vampire Aemond is a whole thing but it’s a thing for a reason that’s just his vibe. This is darker than usual so plz read the warnings and read at your own risk. Also special thanks to @aegonx for beta-ing for me ilysm🫶🏼The rest is on AO3 link belowww

dividers by me lmao

She knows she's screwed when her car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, but her phone battery dying all but confirms it.

Throwing it into the passenger seat with a guttural sigh, she drops her head into her hands and fights the urge to start crying in frustration. She knew that traveling at night was a bad idea but she had managed to talk herself out of her worries, convincing herself that she would be able to make good time with so few cars on the road. She regrets it now, stranded on the shoulder of some half abandoned backroad, no other people or cars in sight. The rain is coming down in buckets, heavy enough that she's surprised that it hasn't yet flooded the street, raindrops pounding on the roof of her car like a drum.

There isn't so much as a porch light back here. Nothing but heavy forest that makes her feel as if she is lost in time and she is sure the longer she is alone, the more likely her mind is to play tricks on her.

She flicks on her hazard lights as she tries to decide what best to do. Staying in her car seems unsafe somehow, stuck on the shoulder of the road beside a corner. Though the street is empty now, another car will show up at some point and she can already see the inevitable car crash in her mind's eye. But leaving the safety of her car seems just as bad.

She doesn't know what's in the surrounding woods and with visibility as bad as it is now, with the rain coming down and the moon just barely able to provide some semblance of light, there is no truly safe option.

There are no nearby homes. No other cars. No payphones or a way to charge her own phone. She is completely and hopelessly stuck.

Though she knows it's pointless, she still reaches for her phone, holding down on the power button in vain. The empty battery graphic flashes up at her, the charging cable beneath it feeling almost mocking now and grunts angrily, throwing it to the side again. But just as she is about to resign herself to a night of sleeping in her car until morning, there is a flash of headlights in her rearview mirror. She pokes her head up, eyebrows furrowed as she turns and watches a car slow until their window is equal to hers, the glass rolling down.

A man's face greets her, one that seems to be about her age. His face is contorted with vague concern as he looks at her, an eyepatch concealing a third of his face. He has a kind of air about him, regal and almost ethereal to the point where it's almost unsettling. It's nearly otherworldly in a way that almost feels... wrong.

Looking at him, she feels a primal lurch in her stomach, as if the man before her isn't quite right. It's no wonder she feels that way, with his near flawless skin and silver hair that must cost a fortune to dye. That's likely no problem, with how expensive his car looks. She thinks it must cost at least four times her own but she's thankful for just how ancient her car is now, rolling the manual crank until there is a large enough crack for her to speak, the rain immediately splattering inside and wetting both her door and face.

"Car trouble?" he asks and she forces a polite smile despite her irritation at her predicament.

"Unfortunately. Do you know if there's a gas station nearby?"

She had already been to a gas station this evening, less than an hour ago. Though her car had shown no signs of betrayal when she had been filling her gas tank, she thinks that it may be too far to walk to now.

The concern on his face morphs into sympathy. "None that will be open so late. Do you know what's wrong with it?"

She gives a frustrated shake of her head. "No idea. It was completely fine and then it just started sputtering and crapped out."

"Have you called a tow truck yet?"

The question makes her pause. As polite as this man has been thus far, she has no interest in informing him that her phone is dead. And though he has given her no reason to think otherwise, his line of questioning is beginning to border on a few too many to be seen as simple concern for a stranger. She wants to believe that is all it is but he's looking at her a little too earnestly for her to ignore, his eyes following her every move as if the rain threatens to shield his view.

"Not yet. I was going to try some friends first, try to save some money. They don't live far from here so I shouldn't have to wait long."

That’s a boldfaced lie but he doesn’t need to know that.

"I wouldn't leave your car here for long if I were you," he warns, turning to look over his shoulder toward the corner. "It would be best to call a tow truck to really save yourself some money. You'll have a couple thousand in damages if you leave it here."

Read the rest here

[desireangel]

Honey & Venom Masterlist

Vampire!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

summary: In exchange for an escape from his death, the curse upon Aemond had seemed an easy price to pay for an eternal life of strength and power. But when the time comes for his debt to be collected and a mysterious illness sends you to the doorstep of the reclusive and fearsome Lord of Harrenhal's century-old castle, Aemond is faced with the other half of his soul and the agonising realisation that perhaps the cost of his salvation will also become his downfall.

warnings: MDNI - Strictly 18+ ONLY. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Blood, sex and horror. Gore. Heavy smut. This is set centuries after the Dance of Dragons: some deviations from canon. Dark!Aemond. Aemond and Alys are psychos together.

Dividers: @cafekitsune @bernardsbendystraws

▻ prologue ▻ chapter one