vampire!valarr â the coffin is lined with the deepest, softest black velvet, the color of a moonless sky. the inside is cool, a sanctuary from the sun he can no longer bear, smelling faintly of sandalwood and frost. he arranges you within it as if preparing a sacred offering, his movements slow, reverent. he lays you back, your head pillowed on the plush lining, and settles over you. his silver steak, longer and finer than in life, falls like a curtain around your faces. he moves inside you with a deep, relentless rhythm, the velvet whispering beneath you with every thrust. his mismatched eyes glow faintly in the dark, fixed on yours.
his fangs brush your throat, not piercing, just teasing. âhm?â he murmurs, his voice a soft, hypnotic hum against your skin. his hips snap forward, a fraction harder, making you gasp. âwhatâs wrong, pretty girl? am i being a little rough?â he kisses the corner of your mouth, his lips cool. âtell me.â he doesnât wait for an answer. he sinks his fangs into the side of your neck, not to feed deeply, but to leave a bruising claim. the dual sensation-the deep, filling stretch of him and the sharp, sweet pain of his bite-makes you arch and whine, a helpless, eager sound. he drinks a sip, just a taste, and pulls back, licking the twin wounds. a soft, dark laugh rumbles in his chest, vibrating through you both. âyou are,â he whispers, answering his own question. âyou enjoy it. being so good for me, so perfect.â he kisses you, and you can taste your own blood, metallic and intimate, on his tongue.
âdo you taste as sweet everywhere?â
vampire!aerion â the coffin is carved from a wood so dark it's almost black, polished to a high sheen, and lined with blood-red silk that feels sinfully smooth against your bare skin. he throws you into it, not lays you. thereâs no reverence here, only hunger and impatience. he's on you before you can orient yourself in the dark, pushing your thighs apart. the silk is cold, his body is cold, but the friction between you is fire. his blue eyes burn like twin suns in the darkness, full of madness and something sinister.
âlook at you,â he sneers, his voice a cruel, breathless rasp. his hips hammer into you, the coffin creaking with the force. âtrapped in a box with a monster. and you're wet for it.â he leans down, his fangs gleaming. he doesnât tease. he bites to hurt. he sinks them deep into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, and he drinks. not a sip. a greedy, pulling draw that makes you cry out, a sharp mix of pain and shocking, unwanted pleasure. he groans against your skin, his rhythm turning jagged and frantic. âyouâre enjoying this, arenât you?âhe pants, pulling back. blood-your blood-smears his perfect, cruel mouth. âfucking pathetic.â he licks his lips, watching you writhe beneath him, trapped by his body and his bite. âbut it's what you deserve. it's what you wantâ he flips you over onto your stomach, the red silk slick under your cheek, and takes you again, harder, his fangs finding a new spot to claim as he drinks you down.
âyour pulse is racing, dove. is it because of fear..or something else?â
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vampire!aerion who can hear the exact change in your heartbeat when his teeth graze the column of your throat.
vampire!aerion whose mind gets hazy when he hears you gasp as his teeth sink into your skin.
vampire!aerion who feels himself getting hard when your head lolls back from ecstasy, gaze hazy from the blood loss.
vampire!aerion who wraps his hand around the side of your throat, tilting your head back further so he can suck at your blood more comfortably.
vampire!aerion who doesnât miss the throaty whimper that leaves your mouth when his teeth sink in further, canines drawing dangerously close toward your artery.
vampire!aerion who shivers in pleasure when your fingers slip into his hair, tugging at the silver ends when his grip on your throat gets tighter.
vampire!aerion who smiles against your skin when your hips grind against his, as youâre perched upon his lap.
vampire!aerion who doesnât stop you when your fingers rake down the bare porcelain skin of his back.
vampire!aerion who moans in satisfaction when he feels rivulets of blood run down his back as remnants of his skin gather under your fingernails.
vampire!aerion who doesnât stop sucking your blood even as he sinks into you, being welcomed by the warmth and tightness of your cunt.
vampire!aerion who grinds his hips against yours, timing his thrusts so the mushroom tip of his dick meets your gooey spot at the same time as your blood rushes into his mouth.
vampire!aerion who lays you down, planting his knees between your thighs, spreading you until your whimpers of pain mix into moans of pleasure.
vampire!aerion who shivers when you clench around him, fingers tugging on his silver ends, voice wrecked and still begging for more.
vampire!aerion who cums quickly, hips not stopping their movements until pleasure starts fading into overstimulation.
vampire!aerion who moans when he feels the warmth of your blood paint his chin, as you rut against him until youâre screaming, nails digging into his pearly shoulders until they leave crescent marks on his skin.
vampire!aerion who finally draws back from you, sitting back as he watches you, panting and dizzy beneath him.
vampire!aerion who fights the moan that tries to slip from his mouth at the sight before him, your hair fanned out across his silk pillowcases, drying blood rubbed into the expanse of your throat, your eyes, hazy but satisfied, looking up at him as you fight the heavy grip of sleep, lips drawn apart in quiet huffs.
vampire!aerion who lays on top of you, mouth wrapping around your tits, teeth scraping against your nipples until his hot tongue circles them again and again as you moan tiredly.
vampire!aerion whose hold never falters, even as you fall into sleep.
vampire!aerion who hums in satisfaction when your chest is covered in your own blood, the colour painting your skin.
vampire!aerion who lies down next to you, fingers tracing the column of your throat as he admires the many bite marks that litter your skin
vampire!aerion who buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hold on your waist tightening.
vampire!aerion who falls asleep basically on top of you, legs slotted between yours, breaths matching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest.
There is no intimacy more sacred or more damning than a vampire's love. To bare your throat is to offer mortality itself, trusting their fangs will take only what you are willing to lose. To be turned is to be unmade by devotion: to die in their arms and awaken eternal, bound by blood and hunger and a choice that was never truly yours. That is the terror. That is the gift. Aerion gave you both. You have never been more alive than the night you died for him.
Warnings: Manipulation, Yandere themes, possessiveness, kinda non-con turning , blood , slight gore, suggestive towards the end
Vampire!Aerion x Human!Reader
Vampire!Aerion who first saw you at a charity gala hosted by his family's foundation. You were a catering assistant, balancing a tray of champagne flutes, entirely unaware that the pale, silver-haired man in the corner hadn't blinked in seven minutes. He was supposed to be schmoozing donors. Instead, he watched you laugh at something a busboy said, a real laugh, unguarded and warm and felt something he hadn't felt in over a century: hunger. Not for your blood. For you. He left the gala without speaking to you. He spent the next three nights outside your apartment building, just watching the light in your window.
Vampire!Aerion who engineered your "accidental" meeting a week later. You were at a small bookstore, reaching for a poetry collection on a high shelf when a hand pale, long-fingered, cold, plucked it down for you. You turned. He was beautiful in a way that made your chest ache. "This one," he said, his voice low and faintly accented, "has a sonnet about fire and ice. I thought you might like it." You asked how he knew you were looking for that book. He smiled slow, dangerous and said, "I didn't. I just hoped." He lied. He had followed you here. He had watched you browse for twenty minutes. He had memorized the titles you touched.
Vampire!Aerion who courted you with an intensity that should have terrified you but only made you feel seen. He sent flowers every morning, black dahlias, your favourite, with handwritten notes in elegant script. He appeared at your coffee shop at exactly the time you took your break, as if by magic. He quoted your favourite poems back to you, lines you'd never told anyone. When you asked how he knew, he said, "I listen. That's what makes me different." He didn't mention that he could hear your heartbeat from across the street, or that he'd spent hours outside your window, learning the cadence of your voice when you talked to yourself.
Vampire!Aerion who waited three months to kiss you, and when he finally did, you understood why people wrote sonnets. His lips were cold, colder than any living person's but they softened against yours like melting snow. He cupped your face with hands that trembled (from restraint, not nerves) and pulled back just enough to whisper, "You have no idea what you've done to me." You thought he meant romantically. He meant that your scent warm blood, sweet breath, the salt of your skin, was driving him to the edge of a hunger he hadn't felt since his human death. He hadn't fed in days. He wanted to make sure he wouldn't hurt you.
Vampire!Aerion who, after six months of dating, finally told you the truth, but not all of it. He took you to the Targaryen estate, a crumbling Gothic mansion hidden in the hills, and showed you a portrait gallery. Faces that looked like him, spanning four centuries. "We don't age," he said carefully. "It's a genetic condition. A rare one." You were sceptical but young and in love. You believed him. He didn't mention the fangs. He didn't mention the blood. He told himself he was protecting you. Really, he was trapping you.
Vampire!Aerion whose father, Maekar, called him into his study one night and gave him an ultimatum: the family was moving to a new continent in six months, as they did every seventy years to avoid suspicion. Aerion could come with them, or he could stay and watch you grow old and die while he remained unchanged. "Turn her," Maekar said, his voice like grave dirt, "or leave her. There is no third option."
Vampire!Aerion who spent three weeks agonizing before he decided to manipulate you. He hated himself for it, truly hated, but he hated the thought of eternity without you more. He started small: mentioning how tired you'd been lately, how pale you looked, how the doctors could never find anything wrong. He took you to "specialists" (Targaryen associates) who hinted at a rare blood disorder. He held you while you cried. He offered you a solution: a experimental treatment, very exclusive, very private. "It will change you," he said, his eyes wet with real tears. "But it will keep you with me. Please. I can't lose you."
Vampire!Aerion who was the one to bite you, because he couldn't trust anyone else to be gentle. He waited until you signed the consent forms (forged, but you didn't need to know that). He waited until you were in the Targaryen basement, surrounded by candles and antique medical equipment that looked more like torture devices. He held your hand and explained what would happen, the bite, the blood exchange, the three days of fever. He left out the part where you would hate him for it, at first. He left out the part where you would wake up hungry and terrified and furious. He told himself he would earn your forgiveness. He had eternity to try.
Vampire!Aerion who held you through the turning, even when you screamed. Even when you clawed at his chest and called him a monster. Even when you tried to run and he had to pin you down, whispering apologies against your sweat-soaked hair. He didn't sleep for three days. He didn't feed. He just stayed with you, letting you bite him when the hunger became too much, letting you drink from his wrist because your own fangs hadn't come in yet. On the fourth morning, you opened your eyes. They were violet now, like his. You looked at him, and for a long moment, there was nothing in your gaze but cold fury. Then you said, "You should have asked me." He nodded. "I know." You were silent. Then: "Don't ever lie to me again." He promised. It was the first honest thing he'd said in months.
Vampire!Aerion now, five years later, with you by his side as the Targaryens prepare to move again, this time to a new country, a new name, a new century. But you don't mind. You've learned to love the night, the cold, the quiet eternity of it. You've learned to love him, even knowing what he did. Especially knowing what he did. He still brings you black dahlias every morning. He still watches you sleep (you don't need to sleep anymore, but you like the pretence). He still whispers your name like a prayer when he thinks you can't hear. And when you catch him looking at you with that old, hungry, guilty love, you pull him close and remind him: "I chose this. In the end, I chose you." he holds you so tight you forget you don't need to breathe. He's still a monster. But he's your monster. And you wouldn't trade eternity for anything.
Vampire!Aerion who, when you're both hungry for different things, lets you drink from him first. He tilts his head back, baring his throat, and you press your lips to his pale skin. He shudders, not from the bite, but from the intimacy of it. He's been alive for two centuries, and no one has ever tasted him like this. No one has ever held him so carefully. When you pull back, your lips stained red, he looks at you like you're the only thing in the world. "My turn," he murmurs, and pulls you into the darkness.
Vampire!Aerion who, when he feeds from you, doesn't just take. He gives. He holds you close, his mouth at your throat, and he lets you feel everything; his hunger, his devotion, his centuries of loneliness. It's overwhelming. It's terrifying. It's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced. When he pulls back, he kisses the wound, and it closes instantly. "I love you," he whispers against your skin. "I love you. I love you. I love you." He says it like he's been waiting his whole unlife to say it aloud.
Vampire!Aerion who, on the nights when you're both restless, pins you against the wall of the estate's library with bookshelves towering around you, candlelight flickering and kisses you like he's trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His hands are cold on your waist, but you don't care. You pull him closer, and he groans a sound so human it makes your chest ache. "You're going to be the death of me," he says. You laugh. "We're already dead, Aerion." His smile is sharp and hungry. "Then let's make the most of it."
Vampire!Aerion who, after feeding, wraps you in silk and carries you to the bedroom. He lays you down like you're made of glass, even though you're stronger than any human now, and he takes his time. He kisses every inch of you with cold lips and warm devotion and whispers things in Old Valyrian you don't understand. "What does that mean?" you ask, breathless. He smiles against your collarbone. "It means you're mine. And I'm yours. And nothing, not even death, will ever change that." He proves it all night long.
Notes:
The urge to write a gothic horror about Vampire!Aerion is consuming me,But I gotta finish PR Stunt and Chivalry firstt đđ
I wassss gonna wait till tmr to post this but I couldnât wait đ
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i just got the most delicious anon request for vampire!valarr/aerion.. currently writing it and having the time of my life (p.s. it has to do something with a coffinnnn)
