#Dracula Fanfiction

[ibrithir-was-here]

One of our ongoing Issues in Blood of My Blood is Dracula's use of Romanian, when he is very self-proffessedly Magyar.

What do you think of this possible solution: since Stoker makes a point of telling is that the immediately local population is extremely cosmopolitan, what if one of his brides was a Romanian speaker, taken from among the peasant population rather than Hungarian nobility? That would account for him using Romanian specifically for terms of endearment, and overwhelmingly in the (inappropriate) feminine forms.

It might be like how I don't actually speak Italian, but I have Italian grandparents so I have picked up assorted endearments that I use almost exclusively in child-directed speech. (Sorry actual Italians).

Maybe Romanian is Dracula's Love Language (ha), but he doesn't actually speak it (doubly appropriate)

Oooo honestly his using Romanian as his Love Language (xD) could definitely work within our own Canon precedence.

In @see-arcane 's supplimental novella "Domestic", Dracula's first bride, before even the three, is Countess Dolingen, and he calls her "Draga Mea" as well

For my part I've always kinda had a headcanon for this universe that perhaps Dracula's mother was Romanian? A marriage to try and make a local alliance perhaps? And that he could have gotten it from her? If not, then perhaps from whatever nurse probably did the actual raising of the nobles ' children. A local woman brought into the castle while the parents were off wining, dining and warring.

Anyone else have thoughts on how to help square this?

(Gonna tag the other co authors not yet mentioned but really anyone could jump in if they have a good thought :)

@bluecatwriter @thegoatsongs @pinkninjapj

[bluecatwriter]

For the kiss writing prompts - 41

Thanks for the prompt, I really enjoyed writing this! Since you didn't specify a ship I decided it was going to be Jonathan/Mina. :D

(Send me a ship and a number and I'll write a kiss.)

(All kiss ficlets here.)

41. A kiss... because the world is saved.

Mina watched as Jonathan stood shakily, framed by scraps of cloud and stars in the sudden darkness. Seward and Arthur had taken Quincey's lifeless body from his arms, but she could not see them or Van Helsing, as if the swirling snow had engulfed them. In this moment there was only Jonathan— a moment ago a white-hot avenging angel, now teary-eyed and trembling. Her Jonathan.

A great swell of feeling, bigger than the sea and fiercer than the winds that mowed down forests, broke inside her. He could not be real, it could not be over so soon, this must be some delirious vampiric dream, he would melt in the wind— no, she must believe he was there. She needed him, she needed him more than she had all those weary days apart in the summer, more than when she wed him, more than when he enfolded her as her mouth was full of the devil's blood. She needed—

Then he was here, in her arms, and he was real. His mouth was real, pressed against hers with devouring force, his arms were real, locked around her so hard it hurt, his body was real under her hands as she grasped at his shoulders, his neck, his hair, as if gathering scraps from blowing away in the wind. She could not come up for air, not when she needed to feel her lips against every part of his face, the freezing pink skin of his nose and ears, her body pressed against him through the cruel layers of clothing keeping them apart. They would never be apart again, she swore— she would burrow inside him and make her home in his ribcage, curled around his heart like a dragon guarding its hoard. 

We won, the thought came to her, breaking over her like a wave. We won, she thought again deliberately, feeling her mind breathing fresh air again for the first time in weeks. We won…

She kissed him again, tears flowing freely even as relief bubbled up like golden light inside her. In the blaze of their love, she thought, it was a wonder that the snow didn't melt around them. 

[mantisshrimpfrommars]

TMA x Dracula story

I´m working on a little fanfic that is like a crossover of The Magnus Archives and Dracula (the book). I dont know if anyone is interested, but if you are, please read what i have so far and tell me what you think and if i should continue writing it:)

(This part is mostly Jonathan Harker´s POV, with just a bit of Martin at the end)

Summary: The story takes place after the end of both stories, so spoiler warning for that. What happens when two strange men appear on the streets of London, one of them seemingly in the process of bleeding out, during Jonathan and Mina´s evening walk?

------

Jonathan Harker:

The air was quiet and still, not a bird to be heard nor a man or a dog. The moon sat proud in the sky, gazing down at the streets below, casting long shadows, silvery and soft, as Mina and Jonathan walked arm in arm down the streets of the city. Late evening walks had become a common occurrence for the couple in the months following the death of Dracula, when sleep had failed them, and nightmares ran rampant in the house of the Harker’s. Now, nearly a year later, the habit still brought them peace and quiet in a turbulent world. This night had started, like so many before it, with a sleepless sigh and a kind hand. Not a word needed to be uttered before Mina took Jonathan´s hand in hers and led him silently toward the waiting door. “Thank you, dear,” he whispered after a while, not willing to disturb the reverent stillness. Mina said nothing, only brought his hand to her lips for a brief and gentle kiss.

They walked onward, through the sleepy streets of London. It seemed almost like a spell had been cast on the world, leaving it dream-like and quiet. Like the streets themselves were holding their breath. Suddenly Jonathan stopped as a freezing chill ran down his back, leaving raised hairs in its wake. The air seemed wrong to him in some way, and the shadows seemed to darken and stretch toward them. Everything had become too quiet, too dark. Mina looked at him with concern clear in her eyes: “What is it, my love? Are you alr- “

Her words were cut off by a sudden burst of energy, like a thunderstorm condensed into a single moment, coming from an alleyway just up ahead. A flash of light and sound, there and gone, leaving nothing but a muffled voice behind. Jonathan looked at his lovely wife, trying to keep the panic out of his eyes. She was looking right back at him with an expression that perfectly mirrored his own. She hesitantly gestured toward the alley. Jonathan nodded and drew out a small knife he kept on his person at all times. It was no kukri knife; no, he would never get away with that. Just something small that brought him a sliver of peace.

As they approached, the voice became a bit clearer. It seemed to be that of a male, muttering something so full of sorrow and desperation that Jonathan´s steps quickened just a beat. He glanced around the corner and froze. The first thing he noticed were their clothes, which was stupid and irrelevant, but he could not help it. He had never seen such peculiar clothing before. There were two of them, there huddled on the ground. A large man, all soft curves and soft wavy hair, and a smaller one, lying in the other´s arms, who looked almost brittle with his too-thin frame and long grey-streaked hair. Then it finally registered. The blood. Red ribbons, rushing from the smaller man’s chest in blooming fury. The larger man´s hands were stained crimson with it as he tried to stop the never-ending current. He was crying, sobs wracking his large form as tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the pools of red beneath. “I´m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please don’t go, Jon, please. I can´t do this without you. I´m sorry”.

Mina was quicker, as always, to register the situation. She rushed forth, removing her coat and pressing it to the mans wound: “Jonathan, we need to find Van Helsing, or maybe Seward. He´s going to die!”.

Jonathan shook off his shock. “Yes, of course. I don’t think we have much time. I think it best we bring him to the Professor. It is not too far, and I am sure he will know what to do”. He approached the pair of them, laying a comforting hand on the larger man´s shoulder: “Excuse me, sir. What´s your name?”

The man glanced at him, startled and confused, like he had not been aware of his presence. “M- Martin. Martin Blackwood”.

Jonathan smiled encouragingly. “It´s very nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwood. My name is Jonathan Harker, and this is my wife Mina Harker,” he said, gesturing to Mina. “We are going to try and help you. We know a doctor who I’m sure will be able to do something for your friend. It´s not far. Can you carry him?”

----

The trip to Van Helsing´s place seemed much longer than it should have been, but that was probably to be expected considering the circumstance. They must have made a strange sight to any onlookers, the four of them. It took several rounds of knocking to finally rouse the Professor. Finally, the door opened, just a crack, revealing the night-cap and spectacles of their dear friend: “Friend Mina! Friend Jonathan! What are you doing here so late into the night?”

Mina gestured urgently to the strange pair behind them: “I am afraid that it is a bit of an emergency, Professor. Can you help him?”

It was like a switch had been flipped as Van Helsing went from ´Friend´ to ´Doctor´. He gestured for them to enter, lying the injured man down on a bed in one of the spare rooms. Then he ushered them all out and shut the door behind them. No-one was to interrupt him, save for an emergency. This left Jonathan and Mina alone with the strange and grief-stricken man in the drawing room. The man, Martin, stood still for a moment, before collapsing into a chair, like a puppet with it´s strings cut. He seemed to be all out of tears, only staring blindly at the wall in front of him. A cloud of misery and hopelessness seemed to envelop him, so thick and oppressive they could all but touch it. Mina sat gingerly on the chair beside him: “Mr. Blackwood, right? Van Helsing is a great doctor, and I´m sure he will do everything he can to save your friend. He´s in good hands”. She did not say that he was going to be all right, as she knew full well that she had no right to make such frivolous and empty promises.

Martin looked at her dully but tried for something resembling a smile. It came out as more of a slight wince, but the sentiment came across either way. “Thank you,” he said, voice much softer than Jonathan had anticipated. “I really appreciate your help. Sorry for dragging you into this whole bloody mess”.

This strange man´s gaze wandered around the room, taking it all in, before finally landing on Jonathan. He smiled lightly, which felt horribly out of tune with his eyes, which seemed like endless pools of tiered resignation. When he spoke again his voice seemed almost dream-like: “I really thought that that was it; that was the end for us. I mean, I guess it still could be… for him”. He fell silent for a moment. “I really don’t know what I would... Here, now, whatever this is…”. He trailed off.  

Mina smiled sadly at Martin: “How about a cup of tea, while we wait?” She stood up as the man nodded numbly. “I will be right back. Jonathan, would you mind accompanying me for just a moment?”. Jonathan just nodded and followed after her. As they got out of earshot, she spoke up: “You know as well as I do that there is a not insignificant chance that the small one is going to die, that is a real possibility that we need to consider. Want do we do then?”

“What do you mean, my love?”

Mina sighed: “I just mean that, well, they don’t seem… how should I word this? They don’t seem to be from around here. I´m not entirely convinced that, were the other one to die, that Mr. Blackwood would have any place to return to.” She looked hesitant for just a moment before continuing on: “Also, well that was quite queer back there at the alley, wasn’t it? I don’t think that the events that have played out this evening were … natural. And please don’t tell me that I am just being paranoid after all that happened last year. You must admit that what we saw was strange-“

Jonathan put a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled encouragingly: “you know I would not do that, Dear. And I do agree with you, it was very peculiar. Mr. Blackwood does seem like a nice fellow, but we can never be too careful. Maybe it would be best if we kept an eye on them. After all, we are rather more experienced with the supernatural than the average person”.

“Yes, exactly. With what we know and have seen, it rather feels like we have a responsibility when it comes to the strange and peculiar. And I am in no way claiming that Mr. Blackwood and the other man are anything like that Monster, but as you say, we can never be too careful”, she said. Then Mina, beautiful and perfect Mina, leaned forward and kissed him right on the lips. Jonathan´s mind went blank, head filled only with his wonderful wife and her soft lips on his. In that moment, like so many that came before it, he vowed to do anything and everything he could to make her happy, no matter the cost. Eventually, the moment ended as she moved away, leaving him a bit dazed and blushing as she continued on toward the kitchen: “Please make sure our guest is alright, Dear. I will be right back”, she called over her shoulder.

---

The night stretched on and on as they waited, anticipation and dread building steadily until it had taken the whole house into its crushing embrace. The teacups lay empty and abandoned on the table in front of them. The only sound to be heard was the relentless ticking of the grandfather clock in the sitting room, a testament to the hours as they marched on one after the other. And still the door remained shut. Jonathan had tried to fill the oppressive silence with small talk here and there, but it didn’t really feel appropriate in these circumstances. The tiredness seeping into his bones encouraged him to lay his head on Mina´s shoulder. Her hands were quick to envelop him, which did nothing to keep him from falling into sleep´s embrace. Finally, moments after the clock had announced the break of dawn, the door opened and out came Van Helsing, tired but satisfied. The change in Martin was immediate as he stood up, staring pleadingly at the man.

“He is alive”.

---

Martin Blackwood:

Jon was alive. He was alive. Martin could finally breathe again; the awful crushing, suffocating feeling finally relenting its grip on his lungs. He gasped in greedy lungfuls of air, until his chest felt close to bursting. He was alive. He was alive. Everything would be alright. They could figure out where, or more pressingly, when they were together.

Martin felt the soft pressure of a hand on his shoulder and looked up. The woman, Mina, was looking at him with unbearable sympathy clear in her dark eyes, like he was something fragile; a cracked vase full of water that could fall apart at any moment. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes and was sure he looked utterly pathetic. He closed his eyes for a moment and held his breath, trying to gain some semblance of control. Then he looked resolutely at the strange doctor, Van- something or other, and spoke: “I need to see him”, then choked out a soft “please”.

-------

Thanks for reading this, please let me know if anyone would be interested in reading this. And if you have some constructive criticism to help me improve my writing, that is always welcome:)

Sorry for any spelling/gramatical errors; english is not my first language

(Thank you very much, @s-ourbuns , for catching the typos. If you have more notes, please let me know:))

[hattiecursedsigh]

Howdy! Here is the Google Form to take part in the Dracula Secret Santa 2024! Please fill this in to let me know you will be joining in the fun. You will need an email to send the form through. Thank you everyone who has reblogged and said they are interested! :D

If you haven't read the original post, I recommend you do that before filling in the form. I will be posting a FAQ soon.

[fattummyt]

Dracula Vlad Tepes | Mathias Cronqvist/Female Reader - Monthly Cycle - Chapters 1 & 2 🌶️

Summary: What sick irony that both your cycles line up in such a way.

Author's Notes: Y/N = Your name. Fan art by me! This fic is yet to be completed. I'm 4 chapters deep into writing and am not happy with how slowly the story is progressing! Sorry AO3 users, you can pummel me later. Read Ch. 1-2 here on AO3!

Warnings: mentions of blood, periods, menstrual cycles, slight obsession, food tampering

Tags: sexual tension, eventual smut, cravings, instincts

Chapter 1: Cravings

Vlad awoke to a strong, metallic scent filling his lungs.

The rather familiar and enchanting scent of blood.

He didn't know what the source was, but the many innumerable ideas struck fear in his heart.

He rushed through the halls aimlessly seeking the scent before happening upon the open door to your bedroom.

“Y/N, I—“ From the light cast in from the hallway, he found the room empty of you, though upon closer inspection, he could make out a blood stain upon your blanket.

His heart thrummed with an instinctual mixture of excitement and alarm. There was but a brief lapse in judgement where he admonished the rather messy state of your bedroom, before recognizing the possible danger you were in.

"Y/N!" He shouted. "Y/N, where are you?" He called out to you.

"I'm in the bathroom." You answered weakly, voice echoing from down the hall.

He approached the bathroom, the door cracked open just enough to find you sitting on the floor, cradling your stomach.

"Y/N are you alright?"

You sat up, hurriedly responding. "I'm fine-- I'm fine. Don't-- don't come in."

There was a labored sound to your voice, as if you were in pain or distress.

He wasn’t convinced, “I found blood on your—"

"It’s just--“ You sighed, recognizing your rather immature insistence to hide such a natural occurrence. “That time of the month again, Vlad. That’s all."

There was a momentary pause.

“That time of the month.” He muttered to himself, exasperated. “How obvious.”

He should’ve known. Even with the door barely cracked, it was clear the scent of blood was coming from you.

What sick irony, he thought. It seems both your cycles line up in such a way.

“You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t hosted a mortal woman in quite some time. The presence of blood alarmed me.”

"Yes, well. It was my intention to keep this from you, however, yet again your senses prove wiser." You replied rather impatiently.

"Do you need anything? A glass of water, perhaps?"

"No, thank you, Vlad. Please, go back to bed." 

"Understood." He answered.

Discomfort still raged in your belly, but it was bearable enough to rest for now.

You returned to your room to find your mattress stripped and a new top sheet laid across your bed.

Despite your earlier insistence, you smiled to yourself, silently thanking Vlad for the rather thoughtful gesture.

Surely, he of all people, would take no issue with witnessing the sight of blood.

In better spirits, you thought to thank him for his help if he were indeed still awake.

When you approached his bedroom, you noticed what sounded like quiet shuffling inside.

"Vlad." You knocked, the noise coming to a sudden halt, earning no response.

"I just wanted to thank you for taking my things to the wash. I appreciate it." You paused, hoping for a response from the man, but there was no answer.

Perhaps he had turned in for the night, you thought.

"Good night." You replied before turning and leaving for your room.

Vlad's heart raced with adrenaline as he waited beside the door, listening to your departure, a clothing hamper clenched in hand.

As soon as you were far enough away, he tore into your belongings.

Ravaging your bin until he found the source.

His hands trembled as he looked down at the bloodied linens and garments.

"What am I doing?" Vlad whispered, or rather, cursed to himself. "It's this cursed feeding cycle I-- I must learn to control my urges." 

Never had he felt a greater need to drink blood from another.

His body ached, craved your blood.

For now, however, he'd have to settle his urge by tasting them.

Chapter 2: Hunger

Entering a woman's bedroom was never a welcome occasion, especially when uninvited.

Vlad never invited himself to these intrusions in privacy, but you failed to rise for breakfast in the morning and the sun was hanging lower in the sky, nearing time for lunch.

Feeding a human guest felt archaic to him. Do they still eat meals at three points of the sun cycles?

Do they partake in these exotic things called siestas?

His human literature had grown dated over the years as did his human interaction.

Nevertheless, he was tasked by your great grandfather with seeing to it that you fall to no harm– even if that means your own doing. Which is what made last night's events particularly anxiety inducing.

But mortal women have proven to be a particularly unique kind of fragile, in a way that is contradictory. Easier to break than they are to crack.

Upon entering, he felt the immediate regret of his decision.

The acrid scent of menstrual blood filled the room. It was a distinct scent from that of spilled blood. One not easily covered by a night's worth of scrubbing.

He'd hardly the time to adjust to it, its effects dizzying just from coming in contact with the scent.

Your family descended from a bloodline of mortals with a particularly strong and delicious type of blood.

It's no surprise your father sent a letter ahead, warning him of your arrival.

If the effects of your scent on him served as an indicator, your blood was like a spiced mulled wine. A rare indulgence, and difficult to not over consume.

If only you'd arrived even a week later, perhaps he'd been in a better state to host a menstruating woman.

He neared your bed, narrowly avoiding the many items you had strewn about the room as he approached.

You remained undisturbed. Despite the creaky door and his unrestrained foot falls, you slept peacefully. As if a hungry apex predator wasn't stalking the halls of this domain.

“Y/N.” Vlad whispered gently, failing to raise you. He leaned in a bit closer, speaking louder now. “Y/N. Wake up, please.”

Worry began to puncture his cool exterior. He leaned in, gently pulling away the blanket that obscured your upper half. Still, you rested peacefully.

Perhaps if you'd the idea of the brutal tortures he'd enacted upon men twice your size you'd sleep more guarded. Instead you laid upon your back, an arm tossed listlessly shading your eyes, head turned to the side, seductively baring your throat.

“Ah, that. The perfect place to bite. To feed from her…”

His tongue glossed over his fangs, so briefly, he'd almost didn't realize how close he'd leaned in. The bridge of his nose nearing contact with your flesh.

He quite enjoyed this time fate allowed him to watch over you as you slept, though that all nearly met its end as you shifted to your side. A quiet moan escaped you.

“Are you finally awake now?”

That seemed to give you the wake up call you needed as you gasped, snapping suddenly to an upright position.

“It is only me, Y/N.”

Your shoulders relaxed with an exasperated sigh as you were struck with a sudden sense of recognition. Followed by embarrassment as you tugged at the collar of your white nightgown which had slipped dangerously low during your difficult slumber.

“Jesus– Vlab.” You muttered sleepily, barely making out his name.

He has the presence of mind to not react at that moment… later however, he'd have quite hearty chuckle at that.

“Why are you waking me–” You paused, watching his angular brows arch defiantly at your tone. “What are you doing here?”

“Apologies, I did not intend to scare you. But you did not rise for breakfast so I grew concerned for you.”

“Breakfast– what time is it?” You gasped, briefly blinded as you parted the large curtain panels just behind your headboard. Your wrist was abruptly met with a cold, solid grasp, holding you in place.

“Careful, Y/N.” Vlad growled lowly.

Before you could register what had happened, your body reacted, freezing. Neither fight nor flight took over as the sensation of his flesh alone spread goosebumps across your arms and legs. Your clothes suddenly feeling too warm.

Smoke danced across your peripheral vision, followed by a sizzling hiss from Vlad’s fingers as he freed you of his grip. Dark, flame licked burns spread across his hand and fingers where the light had briefly shed its rays. Adrenaline rushed in now and horror filled you as you recognized the consequences of your error.

Deeply, you weren't sure of Vlad’s mortality. Perhaps anyone could own a centuries old mansion, sport fangs, pointed ears, and piercing red eyes. Perhaps they could even have claw like nails. But to burn at the sight of the sun? This was confirmation.

“Ah, that's right. He is a monster.”

That thought caused something quiet to stir in you. Fear, surely.

“I suppose I should've seen that coming, yes?” He chuckled, giving his hand a casual shake as if it were briefly doused with a splash of water, before resting at his side once more.

A shaky, “Oh God.” was all you could muster at first. “I’m sorry, Vlad I…” Your voice rumbled with a pleading fear he'd only witnessed during successful hunts of mortals. Though from you it filled him with a mixture of darker lusts.

“Worry not. ‘Tis but a flesh wound.” He replied swiftly. “But you're hurt– your hand.”

“I should be the first to apologize for alarming you.” He turned his hand over, his pinky and ring finger already partially healed. “Vampires. We are much more sturdy than mortals might believe.”

“But enough about that.” He smiled briefly, fangs peeking between his parted lips. “Your breakfast is served.”

Behind him was a clothed cart ornamented with various dishes and saucers.

“Oh– Vlad!” Hailing from your family's humble farm, you'd never experienced such courtesy. Breakfast in bed.

Pork sausage, coffee, toast with cinnamon, eggs, potatoes.

“I don't know what to say.”

“Say nothing of it. As a guest in my home you can anticipate pique accommodations.”

You scooted toward the edge of the bed, eagerly nearing the cart when a sudden pain struck you.

He paused, inquisitively, taking a brief step closer before you spoke.

“I…” your voice trailed off, a hushed gasp followed by a stifled groan.

“Are you o…” His nostrils flared with familiarity.

“Ah, yes. That. How could I forget?”

It was hardly within his control, his scenting. The sound of a weakened prey causes an instinctual reaction in vampires. A desire to hunt. To feed. If not for your eyes pressed shut in pain, surely you'd be puzzled by the unmistakable tremble in his lips.

“I… apologize, I don't think I can eat now. I'm–”

“Please, Y/N, rest. I will not trouble you further.” He left for the door.

Though only brief, the column of light that spilled through the parted panels casts you in a truly immaculate image. Had the fellow who committed his image to oil 700 years ago not passed, he'd consider a commission in order.

Without a movement of his hands, the door moved shut behind him. Cutting your gaze.

As he continued down the hall he glanced over his hand, a sense of frustration glimpsing his brows.

“The regeneration is taking longer than usual.”

He pushed worry to the back of his mind, chiding.

“No matter. I'll have a sufficient amount of blood to restore me later tonight.”

[cant-say-tomorrow-day]

guys hear me out HEAR ME OUT...

Dracula, but it's Smosh...

Dracula: Damien! Spookiest guy, vibes fit the best, and could probably do the most accurate accent if he chose to. Oh and there's also that recent Games video where he bites Keith, so... he has an audition tape.

Renfield: Tommy; my vision for this is that he plays him like he plays Mental Illness... "Helloooooo Dr. Seward, it is me, your mental patient! I am going to eat a rat now and you are going to watch! Teeheehee!"

Jonathan Harker: Shayne would be really great for this, honestly. I think he'd be able to play into the creeping fear slow descent into terror incredibly well. He makes the best bewildered expressions too.

Mina Harker: Courtney, and not just because of Shayne's role. They would kick some serious ass as Mina, I think seeing her as an investigative character who can put all the pieces together would be really cool.

Lucy Westenra: Amanda would get a kick out of three guys proposing to her, c'mon. Plus I think she would make the role really campy and play into the damsel aspects in such a silly way, it'd be so fun to see.

Arthur Holmwood: I want to say Trevor for this, mostly because he's always so fantastic in the Gentleman videos and I think he'd play up the aristocracy part of the character really well if we're going for a more comedic tone, which I think we are considering it's Smosh.

Dr. Jon Seward: Maybe a weird pick, but I want to see Angela for this. I just love the idea of her playing someone very practical and level-headed, and then getting more and more confused as the story goes on and shit just keeps getting crazier and more fucked up. She also has great chemistry with both Tommy and Angela.

Quincey Morris: Spencer would be perfect, honestly. We've seen him do a southern accent a few times and it's always golden. I also think his sassiness and wit would really make the part stand out.

Van Helsing: I'm actually really stuck on this one. Damian would be perfect, if he wasn't already playing Dracula. So apart from that, my gut is actually telling me Anthony. I think that he has the right visual aesthetic for it, I think he'd have fun playing someone so cooky.

[scarlet-came-back-wrong]

Reading Dracula fanfiction from the 2000s is a wild ride sometimes. Vlad III hangs out with Tod from Elisabeth. Seward cucks Henry Wotton and Arthur marries Marian Halcombe. Dracula and Lucy split the Crew between their respective harems. There is a retelling from Dracula POV written by a fourteen year old that is miles better than The Dracula Tape by Fred Saberhagen, the published book with a similar premise. Erik and Christine are also here somehow (and both are vampires, of course).

[nocturnalnella]

Alright, so I get the impression you definitely do not write requests, or at least don't plan to in this moment.

BUT I wanted to propose an idea for a Drac oneshot that you might like. Perhaps you could incorporate it as a sort of separate thing to your main story that is connected to it? Idk it doesn't matter.

Let's envision it... reader is sitting by the fireplace, reading or just generally being busy, she's got a small but irritating scab on her thigh or something because the dry air of winter isn't agreeing much with her skin. Dracula doesn't say ANYTHING when he notices her unconsciously picking at it. Because he knows if she peels it, he gets to lap it up. What a freak, right?

I feel so normal about this 🤗

Notes : It’s short but I did not know how far you wanted it to go 🩸

Warnings : blood play, violence ( sexual context )

Words : 315

Pairing : Dracula x Female reader

A Flickering Flame.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Y/N sat cozied up by the fireplace, the warm glow of the flames dancing across her face as she turned the pages of her book. She had been meaning to get back to it for days, but the dry air of winter had been playing havoc with her skin. A small, pesky scab on her thigh had been driving her mad, and she found herself constantly picking at it, trying to scratch the itch.

As she read, her fingers absently reached down to probe the tender skin, her nails grazing the scab. Her eyes never wavered from the page, but her hand moved involuntarily, a habit she was powerless to break.

Dracula stood in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her with an unnerving intensity. He had been watching her for some time, studying her as she read, her face aglow in the firelight. His gaze drifted down to her thigh, where her fingers continued to pick at the scab.

He couldn't help but smile to himself as he recalled the countless times he'd seen women like her, driven mad by the simplest things. The way she was so lost in her book, oblivious to his presence, was almost...amusing.

And that scab on her thigh? A little present just waiting to be unwrapped.

Without making a sound, he glided closer, his eyes never leaving hers as he reached out to gently graze the scab with his fangs. Y/N's eyes flickered up to his face, startled, as she felt a shiver run down her spine.

For a moment, they locked gazes, and Dracula's eyes flashed with hunger. Then, with a swift, gentle bite, he sank his fangs into the tender skin of her thigh.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock as a wave of pleasure washed over her. She tried to pull away, but Dracula's grip was gentle, his hold firm. As he drank from her wound, his eyes never left hers, drinking in the sight of her as if it was the only thing that mattered.

"Oh," she breathed, feeling a strange sense of abandon wash over her. "Oh, God."

Dracula's response was low and husky, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, please. Don't be dramatic. It's just a little snack."

As he drank on, his eyes never left hers, and Y/N felt herself melting under his gaze. She was lost in the depths of his eyes, drowning in the hunger that burned within them.

But for now, it was enough that he had taken what he wanted. Enough that he had claimed her as his own, if only for a moment. As he lifted his head, his fangs retracted, and he smiled at her with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Thank you," he said, his voice dripping with charm. "That was lovely."

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She was still trying to process what had just happened when Dracula vanished into thin air, leaving her sitting alone by the fireplace, her thigh throbbing with a strange new pain.

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

[nathanolsenart]

Tiny Dracula #1 is now live on Kickstarter! Pledge your support today to receive a special early bird discount!

[aster-blogging-dracula]

Reading BlueCatWriter's Dracula along with Dracula Daily

Ok so I've been meaning to read all of @bluecatwriter 's wonderful Dracula hc fics in order for a long time but I never have time to get with it so I decided to read it along with Dracula Daily this year.

If anyone else wants to do the same, here are the dates (or aproximante dates*) for each fic. (idk if someone has done this already but oh well) (BlueCat if you read this feel free to correct me if i got any date wrong)

*(Since there's 2 pre-canon fics and 2 days of may before dd, i'm setting those fics on those dates. Dates of undated fics are also adjusted to not overlap with date of other fics)

*(The order during the varna stay is a bit wacky since the book gets pretty vague for 2 weeks there but I tried to adjust it as well as possible.)

1-A picnic in may. May 1st 2-Home before you know it. May 2nd 3-I too can love. May 16th 4-Three letters. May 19th 5-The prisioner. May 28th 6-Tonight is mine. June 29th 7-Stay awake. August 14th 8-In sickness and in health. August 24th 9-Full of vague fear. August 24th 10-A golden afternoon. August 31st 11-A doctor’s confidence. September 2nd 12-I come to my friend when he call. September 2nd 13-Blood she must have. September 7th 14-After the transfusion. September 7th or 8th 15-Sleeping beauty. September 10th 16-The wolf in the window. September 17th 17-Sympathy. September 18th 18-Things will be different. September 19th 19-My only son. September 19th 20-Come, my husband. September 29th 21-These others. September 29th 22-Lucy’s second death. September 29th 23-How good and thoughtful. September 29th 24-Brandy, bath, and beadtime. September 30th or October 1st (preferably the former since the dd entry is slightly shorter that day) 25-A pale orphan. October 2nd 26-You will not call in vain. Between September 30th and October 11th?? 27-Renfield’s death. October 3rd 28-Safe for one more moment. October 3rd 29-A week in varna. Between October 15th and October 27th? 30-Waiting. Between October 17th and October 27th? 31-Hungry. Between October 17th and October 27th? 32-Judge moneybag. Between October 15th and October 27th? 33-How i miss my phonograph. October 24th 34-Mem. get recipe for mina. Between October 15th and October 27th? 35-Farewell, sweet friends. October 30th 36-Starlight on the sereth. October 31st 37-Step into the light. Between October 15th? and November 6th (if reading in one sitting wait until november 6th)

38- Love multiplying. November 7th onward

Omg guys it's may already I'm so exited for this. This year I know I will be up do date with everything even tho I'm busy with my End of Degree Project because the dracula fixation i caught last year is a part of my life now I have been planning this so long guys.

[yallemagne]

Jonathan receives a summons calling him away to someplace unfamiliar, and Mina eagerly rushes him out the door for the opportunities such an adventure poses. He's unsure, and this time guided by experience, something in his gut telling him this is too soon, he isn't ready. He'll never be ready.

All this stress for something so frivolous as a camping trip?

[ibrithir-was-here]

Blood of My Blood: Ever After

And here we are. At the end. I honestly don’t know what to say, this project has been such a crazy harrowing wonderful experience from start to end. I’ve had the immense pleasure to work with so many wonderful people and make so many wonderful friends because of it, both those who collaborated and those who screamed along with us xD

This story and you all came about during a very hard year and picked me up and got me through. Thank you all so so much.

I do plan on doing a little Epilogue for this, but probably gonna take a small break and just enjoy as the new Dracula season rolls in.

To my wonderful co-writers, @animate-mush , @see-arcane , @bluecatwriter , @pinkninjapj , @thegoatsongs , I don’t have words enough to express my gratitude and admiration for you all. Thank you for the last two years, and may many more years of happiness and creativity come to you all 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

[bluecatwriter]

Two different people requested "Write a kiss… out of anger" for Jonathan/Mina! This is set a few days after the October 3rd attack. It's also a lot more PG-13 than the other kiss ficlets I've written because, y'know, JonMina are just like that.

(Send me a ship and a number and I'll write a kiss.)

(All kiss ficlets here)

CW: Mild self-harm, mention of past assault, non-explicit rough sex

A kiss… out of anger

Mina flinched away from her reflection in the mirror— she had just come over to grab a comb, but she could hardly bear to look at herself, even in the tiny mirror of the vanity in their room at the asylum. The mark on her forehead was alarmingly red, even though it didn't hurt unless she or Jonathan touched it directly. Seeing it there made her feel like she was staring at someone else, as if her limbs were not in the places she expected them to be. She grabbed the comb and quickly turned away.

"Do you need help?" Jonathan asked. They were both in their night-clothes, and Jonathan sat cross-legged on the edge of their bed, his kukri knife gleaming on the nightstand beside him. 

"I'm just combing my hair," Mina snapped. 

Jonathan was not one to flinch, but she knew him well enough to see that her tone had stung him. The past few days, she hadn't seemed to be able to control the sound of her voice— it came out harsh and snappish, no matter how much she tried to moderate it. Especially when she and Jonathan were alone. She gulped, feeling guilt choking her like a knot in her throat. "Thank you for offering," she said, hoping that her words would make up for it.

Jonathan smiled at her— the small, weary, brave smile that had been on his face all too often lately. Mina still felt like neither of them would ever truly smile again. Her whole self, body and mind, were a gaping wound. The adrenaline of the first three days after her attack had worn off, and now they were both just exhausted in every way.

She turned her back to him. Sitting in a chair and placing the comb on her lap, she began to unpin her hair, letting the coarse curls fall to her shoulders. Although she couldn't properly brush her hair unless it was wet, she could untangle it somewhat, and she set to work on the loose ends with the comb, gripping her hair tightly above the comb's merciless teeth to lessen the pull on her scalp.

The comb ran smoothly over the first few bunches of hair, but on the fourth draw, it snagged on a tangle. Mina knew that she should work through it patiently, that it would come undone with some coaxing, but she just wanted to go to bed. She gritted her teeth and jerked the comb through the tangle, tearing through the hair. She couldn't stifle the little gasp of pain.

She heard Jonathan's feet hit the floor, as if he had jumped up, but she stubbornly kept her back to him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Mina bit her lip and ripped the comb through the tangle again, feeling stabs of pain in her scalp. "I'm fine." Another drag of the comb, another pain so sharp it felt like needles pushed into her skin. She exhaled, loosening her grip on her hair and pulling the comb hard into the tangle again. (The pain was familiar where the monster had gripped her, but this time it was herself, she was in control…)

Jonathan's voice took on a warning edge. "You're hurting yourself."

The tangle was ripped out, but she grabbed another handful of hair and found another to push the comb into. Hot pain flared across her head. "I'm just combing my hair."

Jonathan was right behind her now, his hand touching her shoulder. "Mina—"

"Let me be!" she snarled, flinching away from him.

For a moment, thick silence hung over the room. Mina had folded over herself, still gripping the comb stuck in her hair, her heart beating hard. She kept waiting for her shell to crack, for her to break down crying and beg his forgiveness, as she would have done in the past. But she felt as if she was encased in a layer of bronze, unmoved by his concern. It frightened her, this hardness, and yet she could not let go of its grip any more than she could let go of the comb.

Jonathan had circled to stand in front of her, and now he knelt. His movements were all gentleness, but his voice was firm. "I will not let you be if that means you will harm yourself."

She squeezed her free hand into a fist, pressing it onto her lap, still unable to meet her husband's eyes. Her skin felt flushed, her knuckles growing white. "I am not a child in need of a nursemaid to comb my hair."

The silence grew heavier. She could detect no specific change in Jonathan's unmoving body, but some sort of sixth sense told her that he had tensed, and she felt his emotions gathering like a storm. Her heart beat harder.

When he spoke, his voice was like stone. "I will not stand idly by and watch you tear at yourself like this." 

She raised her head suddenly, finally letting go of the comb, which dangled in her hair. "If I'm such an errant child, command me to stop."

His eyes were pale in the dim light, and only the slight working of his jaw betrayed his frustration. "I will never command you to do anything. Only entreat."

Hot tears welled up in her eyes. Oh no, Mina, we must not tell you of our plans. It's safer this way. Your nerves couldn't handle it… "You have entreated me enough lately."

He flinched as if she'd slapped him. "I will apologize a thousand times more if it would help."

"It won't," she snapped, turning away from his gaze. She felt a heat rising in her— twin forces in her breast, one horrified that she could be cruel to him, one burning with the triumph of releasing the anger built up inside. Where was her compassion, her modesty, her concern for her own husband? He had already apologized, several times. Was this the poison of the monster's blood, seeping ever deeper into her flesh— but it so, why did it feel so exhilarating? "If I am to be treated as a child, I would rather it be under direct orders, rather than benevolent concern for my well-being."

"Mina, please—"

She stood abruptly, wrenching the comb from her hair, which sent such a spike of pain along her scalp that her tears escaped her eyes, running down her cheeks.

"Mina!" Jonathan cried, grabbing her arm. The comb dropped from her hand and she found herself collapsing against him, thumping both fists against his chest as a sob wrenched out of her throat. 

His arms collapsed around her, and she raised her head and slammed her lips against his.

Hot blood seeped into her mouth— was her lip split, or was his? It didn't matter. She moved on pure instinct, anger and desire becoming indistinguishable as she clawed her fingers into his back, fighting to pull herself closer to him. His arms were iron bands tugging her closer as she devoured his mouth, both of them gasping and unable to come up for air. She dragged him toward the bed, their legs bumping clumsily, and she fell back on it, pulling him down on top of her. Her blood was hot, every nerve straining with desire. She loosed her lips from his just long enough to order him, "Ravish me." He obeyed without hesitation, his hands icy against her feverish skin as he pushed her further onto the bed and rucked up both their night-gowns.

Sometimes when they made love, Mina felt that they were blended into one being. This time, it felt different— she could feel the lines of her own body, sharp and steady. Her mouth against his jaw, the rasp of his cheek, the friction of her sweaty body against him, her fingernails clawed into his back. 

Moments of sickening memory flitted over her, remembering how the monster had invaded her mind and her mouth, blending them together, how even now her mind was not safe from his interference. She closed herself against those thoughts, focused on Jonathan, encouraging him with ever more desperate, "Harder. Harder." Her lungs gulped in the cold air, her heartbeat thundering in her chest, her senses filled with the smell and sound and taste of the man who loved her. 

Caught up in the moment, she could almost believe that the past had been some dim nightmare. This— this was real. She squeezed her eyes shut and let her tears fall freely.

When they had both ridden out the wave of their climax, they sank deeper onto the bed, Jonathan's weight fully pressed against her. She felt their breaths heaving against each other through their chests, and smoothed her palms along Jonathan's back, feeling the indents of her nails in his skin. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck and let out a sigh.

For a long time they lay like that, Mina staring up at the ceiling and savoring Jonathan's weight on her. Then in a small voice, she said, "I'm sorry."

Jonathan squeezed her, now gentle. "You do not need forgiveness. I do."

She ran her fingers into his hair, feeling the silky texture. She couldn't quite piece together words right now, but perhaps she didn't need to.

At last, Jonathan rolled off her, leaving her feeling weightless, as if a breeze could blow her away. Her kissed her lips softly and asked, "May I brush your hair for you?"

Mina nodded, pulling the blanket around her as she sat up. Lock by lock, Jonathan's gentle hands untangled her hair. 

~~~

[mantisshrimpfrommars]

TMA x Dracula au (part 2)

Here is part 2 of my TMA x Dracula AU story! (here is part one: https://www.tumblr.com/mantisshrimpfrommars/782086438440271872?source=share )

This story is now also on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65276164/chapters/167934298#workskin

Special thanks to @s-ourbuns for proofreading the story, you are amazing:)

Martin Blackwood:

Jon was alive. He was alive. Martin could finally breathe again; the awful crushing, suffocating feeling finally relenting its grip on his lungs. He gasped in greedy lungfuls of air, until his chest felt close to bursting. He was alive. He was alive. Everything would be alright. They could figure out where, or more pressingly, when they were together.

Martin felt the soft pressure of a hand on his shoulder and looked up. The woman, Mina, was looking at him with unbearable sympathy clear in her dark eyes, like he was something fragile; a cracked vase full of water that could fall apart at any moment. He could feel the tears welling in his eyes and was sure he looked utterly pathetic. He closed his eyes for a moment and held his breath, trying to gain some semblance of control. Then he looked resolutely at the strange doctor, Van- something or other, and spoke: “I need to see him”, then choked out a soft “please?”.

The doctor nodded and gestured toward that cursed door that had stood there mocking him for hours as it stood in between him and the man he loved. (Never had anyone hated an inanimate object as much as he had hated that door… well maybe except for Jon with that poor umbrella). He steeled himself for a moment before following him in. The air was thick and oppressive, the odor of herbs and something heavier permeating his every sense. The room was decorated in that same strangely cluttered gothic vintage style as everything around here: a so-called “oriental rug” on the floor and patterned wallpaper adorned the walls, partly hidden behind an abundance of paintings hanging in gilded frames. A lot of very strange nick-nacks and decorative items adorned crowded shelves and cabinets. Martin thought he saw a pair of taxidermied frogs frozen in the middle of a bloody sword fight inside of a glass dome, and a rough looking taxidermied hare with large and slightly traumatized eyes staring straight down at him from atop the shelves. He shuddered slightly and turned away. He had more important things to worry about.

There, lying in a stranger's bed, was the unconscious and sickly form of Jonathan Sims, his torso wrapped like a mummy in white bandages and hair laying in a halo around his head. His skin was pallid and ashen; the scars adorning him only added to the fact that he looked more like a corpse than a man. An almost unnatural stillness lay over him, and Martin´s mind flickered uncomfortably back to the hare on the shelf. The cloud of dread returned to him full force, filling his throat and lungs and leaving his hands cold and numb. He sat gingerly on the bed beside Jon, trying not to rustle him too badly as he did so. He brought a hand up to his lover´s face, just shy of touching it, and tried as he could to steady his racing heart. “Jon?”, he choked out. It sounded more like a sob than anything. The man beneath him said nothing; did nothing. Still as a tomb.

Martin looked back at the trio huddled in the doorframe, trying their best to look as if they had not been staring at him. He didn’t really care that they were. He didn’t really care about anything at that moment, except for his lover lying motionless beside him. He looked pleadingly at the doctor. “Is… Is he…”. He couldn’t get the word out; it clung to his tongue and caught against his teeth as he tried to spit it out. If he said it, it would become real. A real possibility. If he said it, it might be true.

The doctor stepped forward, his bushy brows creasing as he looked down at Jon. When he spoke, Martin noticed absently that he had a very distinctive accent, though he could not quite place it. “You are asking if this man is dead, correct? He is not. Even though he probably should be, considering all things. He lost a lot of the blood, and I am not quite sure that he is completely out of the woods as of yet, but he seems to be stable at least. If he gets worse, I would suggest that we perform what we call transfusion of blood, that is to transfer the blood from full veins of one to the empty veins of another. It hopefully will not come to that, but if it does, I think it best you give the blood, as you seem to be the most closest to him-“.

“What? No!” Martin could not believe what he was hearing from this ´doctor´.

The man looked surprised at the interruption. “What do you mean, my good man? I assure you; it is the latest the technologies has to offer. I have done this before with great success”.

Martin let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “You can't just mix blood between people based on how ´close´ they are. Me and Jon don’t have even remotely compatible blood types. And even if we did, there are so many other factors at play than just the broad categories, so it would be way too risky. Are you even a doctor?” He knew he was getting worked up, but he couldn't help it. He had trusted this man to take care of Jon, for some godforsaken reason. He had trusted the kindness of those two strangers, and their unquestionable faith in this man. It felt a little too close to betrayal in this sleep deprived and stressed-out state.

The couple in the doorway looked a bit baffled at the situation. The man, Jonathan, stepped into the room. “Now see here, sir. I understand that you are upset, but that does not give you the right to disrespect Van Helsing. He is a brilliant doctor and professor, and doubtlessly one of the wisest men of our time!”

Time. Right. Because based on what he had seen so far, they were most definitely in a different time than they had started in. He had very little knowledge of architecture and clothing styles, but with what he had seen so far he would guess they were sometime in the 1800s, maybe? And whether they had only travelled through time, or if they were in some sort of alternative world, he had no idea. But either way, it would not really be fair of him to judge these people based on his own knowledge from a different time far in their future. This probably was the latest and greatest contemporary medical knowledge had to offer, even if it was oversimplified and dangerous nonsense. He sighed. Oh, how he wished Jon was awake. He would know what to do.

“I´m sorry, I didn’t mean any offence”, he said as he looked back at the doctor, Van Helsing, but he did not look offended in the slightest. He looked more intrigued than anything, looking at Martin with a dark and strangely knowing stare that reminded Martin vaguely of Jon. God, Jon. Please be ok.

As quickly as a cloud passing over the sun, his expression changed and was replaced by a polite smile. “You have no need to apologize. I am afraid Jonathan here has tendencies to be very protective over those he considers his friends, and I find myself so lucky as to be counted among them”. He did not ask any questions, though Martin could clearly see he wanted to. “We will speak more at a later time. For now, I must insist that my patient gets the rest he needs without the interruptions. The three of you look exhausted as well after this night’s misadventures. I suggest you get some of sleep as well. You are of course welcome to stay here. Friend Jonathan, if you could show our guest to a spare room?”

“I won't leave him.”

“I do believe it would be in both of your best interests. I will keep a vigil eye on him and wake you if there are any changes” Van Helsing insisted. Martin was already shaking his head.

“No. I won’t leave him. I´m sorry, I just can´t.” The mere thought of leaving his side, of not knowing if he was ok, sent a cold wave of panic through him. He also didn’t completely trust these people, especially the doctor. Their kindness seemed genuine enough, but there was something in the doctor's eyes that set Martin's teeth on edge. It seemed that he did not trust Martin and Jon either; none of them did. They had the same weary nervousness about them as he had become so accustomed to, both in himself and the people around him, after starting his work at the Archives. It was not the naïve and blind terror of victimhood that he had seen in many of those who flocked to the Institute in a desperate attempt to gain some semblance of control over the horrors that clung to them like a malicious shadow. No, this was different. More familiar. It was the paranoia of one who has faced the shadows of the world, unblinking; of someone who has dealt with monsters and come out triumphant, but in the process realized just how dangerous the world really is.

Which could only mean one thing: whether these were the Fears in some form, or different dangers; they were not free yet.

---

Thanks for reading, and have a great day:)

[fattummyt]

Dracula Vlad Tepes | Mathias Cronqvist/Female Reader - Nicked 🌶️

Summary: An accident has left you with a harmless wound from Dracula's fangs. Ancient texts state that the bite from a vampire's fang has the ability to send humans into an extremely aroused state... but what about a nick?

Author's Notes: Y/N = Your name. I was recently inspired to make some art for this one. Tumblr gets to see it before AO3! AO3 readers had to wait a four year gap for chapter two, but Tumblr gets it all at once! I'm sorry AO3 readers I love you!!

Warnings: brief mentions of blood, slight reader injury, loss of control, restraints

Tags: extreme sexual tension, smut, aphrodisiacs, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, sweat, guilt, begging

Chapter 1: Tingling

As typical with the drab scenery of the manor, Castlevania was still and lifeless this afternoon.

The only place you could find solace in living--or rather, bubbling-- things was Vlad's elaborate laboratory that he was gracious enough to let you use.

You'd passed most of the day taking down notes in your leather-bound artists block completely undisturbed by your host. So needless to say, you were completely oblivious when he-- as mischievous as he is dashing-- drew close to you from behind and gazed over your shoulder, muttering, "Intriguing."

Instinctually you raised your hands in defense, nearly popping him right in the jaw.

Typical of the vampire race, Vlad's reflexes were plenty fast, but in this instance, not fast enough.

"Damn." He cursed, nursing his bloodied lip.

"God-- I'm sorry, are you okay?"

He exhaled, stilling his rising anger. "It's alright. It's just a mere flesh wound. Believe me, I've healed from far worse."

"Don't sneak up I'm me like that! I was so--"

He licked away the blood from his skin,  freezing momentarily as a look of shock painted his face.

"Give me your hand." He rushed to your side, flipping over your palm to reveal a good-sized set of nicks on your knuckles.

"You're bleeding." He gasped.

"Oh, I suppose you're right. It's just a flesh wound, nothing to worry about."

Vlad was not as satisfied however, cupping your injured hand ever so urgently.

"Y/N. Was this would already there or did my fangs cut you?"

Aside from less than thirty seconds ago, Vlad had never held you so close. You worried he could see the nervous sweat or the anxious tremble in your fingers.

"I-I'm not sure. It's so small I barely noticed."

"--Tell me Y/N." He stared into your eyes with a deep intensity. "Did you enter with this wound or not?"

You reflexively pulled your arm against your side, "--Why are you so concerned? It's a simple nick, nothing more."

He strummed his fingers through his hair nervously, pacing back and forth as you looked on, like a concerned spectator.

"--What does it feel like?" He interjected.

"Nothing, Vlad. It's a nick--" "--WHAT does it feel like? Is there a sting? A tingling? Tell me, what are you feeling in your hand right now?"

You swallowed tentatively at his sharp change in tone, glancing down at the floor.

"I suppose it tingles a bit."

With the rise of his hand, a book levitated from the ceiling length bookcase decorating the far wall, falling open on the table in front of him.

His eyes scanned the page with a look of strict dedication only to be replaced by a look of worry.

"Vlad, what in heavens is happening?"

He blinked the looming thoughts away, collecting himself. He shut the book with a newly relaxed visage, turning to face you.

"I apologize for my sudden change in demeanor, but." He swallowed. "I'm afraid you will not be returning home tonight, as you originally planned. You must remain here in my manor for the evening."

Taken aback by his statement, you backed away from the man.

"What do you mean I 'must remain'? That wasn't what we agreed upon. I must return to the village before sunrise or the people will grow suspi--" "--When you were wounded by my fangs, you were poisoned with a powerful aphrodisiac." He continued, reluctance tinging his voice. "If you leave now... you will not arrive before it begins to take effect."

"A vampire aphrodisiac...?" You scoffed, smiling in disbelief. "I do not believe in such things."

"This is no matter of magic nor fairytale. The ancient texts confirm it. Therefore. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to leave this manor."

You glared at each other in prolonged silence, save the sound of bubbling beakers.

The slim chance that you believed him steadily began to grow as you felt your hand begin to tingle and throb.

"Well." You started. "How do you intend to treat me?"

Your whimpers seemed to echo through the manor as Vlad paced every corridor in its entirety. Even in the deep dungeons below, he felt the call of his namesake falling flippantly from your lips.

As he neared your door again, your distress seemed to have died down to just tired whimpers until he entered the room.

"Vlad." You swallowed, voice hoarse with desperation. "Look at me, please, Vlad?"

"No. Y/N. You don't know what you--"

"--Touch me, please, Vlad." You urged, desperately rubbing your thighs together. "Please, sir, I'm so hot."

"Don't. Please. Y/N, stop." He pleaded, riddled with guilt and shame.

Even now, limbs tied to the bedposts in what is quite essentially your cell, you appeared more defiant than ever.

"Vlad--" You mewled, tugging against your restraints as he pressed his hand over your mouth.

Racing thoughts came looming back into his mind as he stared down at you, sweat dotting your skin.

What a poor, pitiful soul. You asked of none of this. It was his own actions that led to this. How cruel it was of him to tie you down as if you were some sort of vile creature.

In truth, it was he who was truly vile.

A deep tugging in his gut urged him to right this wrong, in some way. To offer you some mercy as a form of relief.

He raised the hem of your skirt to your knees, spreading your legs apart, his hands gliding across your sweat gleamed flesh.

Your muffled pleas fell silent as his hand slipped up your thigh, grazing your thoroughly soaked panties just enough that he noticed the shine upon pulling his hand away.

Your lips moved against his palm as he met your gaze, searching for a sign of consensus in you.

"May I?"

You nodded fervently, your eyes communicating such desperation as your thighs trembled for the touch of his hand.

"Forgive me..."

He raised his hand, unbuttoning his cape, letting it fall to the floor, followed by his ornate black trenchcoat.

"As I'm sure you'll soon become aware that it's been some time since I've..."

His hand hovered over the bodice of your off-shoulder blouse.

"Accompanied a woman in this way."

You watched in lip bitten suspense as his talonous nails dragged down the center of your laced up waistcoat, severing the ties, almost seamlessly.

Your body inadvertently arched as his fingers trailed down your stomach, ghosting over your pelvis.

"Please." Just barely audible, fell from your lips.

Chapter 2: Throbbing

Vlad pulled away to roll up his sleeves and immediately the aching need began to course through your body yet again.

"Please touch me." Mouth uncovered, you whimpered, practically shivering in anticipation.

"Hush now, please. Spare your voice, Y/N. I'll see to it that you're taken care of."

He smoothed his two fingers across your sodden panties, rather shocked to find your lips a bit swollen and puffy.

"My, you're quite further along than I expected. Your inner thighs are covered in ecstasy." He admonished. "How very inconsiderate of me to have kept you waiting."

With as little force as it would require a mortal to shred a sheet of paper, Vlad ripped at the seams of your panties, rendering them useless as he pulled them free from your body.

"Please allow me to offer you some retribution."

Vlad slid his two fingers between your lips, a look of quiet reverence painting his expression.

You gasped, breathing out a shaky moan as he brought his fingers to either side of your clit, rubbing alongside the sensitive spot before gliding thickly over it.

An inadvertently deep groan left his throat, as you throbbed rapidly against him, your moans growing louder as he massaged you in circles.

You panted, his hand pinning your skirt against your stomach rising with your impending orgasm.

"Vlad." and "Please." and some other mixture of orgasmic incantations chorused him as you quickly reached the peak of your orgasm.

Grinding harshly against his fingers as he continued determinedly, his eyes fixated on his task, driving you to your quick and noisy completion.

You looked on in quiet shock as he freed his hand from between your legs, examining his thoroughly slicked fingers and palm before bringing them to his lips.

He savored the taste of you, your musky scent enchanting him, one by one, he desperately sucked what was left of your essence from his fingers.

"What a splendid treat."

"More." Your voice, hoarse from begs and moans, pipes up.

"More?" He added.

“Inside me.” You begged, a desperate tremble in your voice as your body burned for his touch, damn near tears.

Perhaps this was going too far.

Though he thoroughly enjoyed himself, pulling these moans from you; free will to tease you and treat you in such a way.

He'd never forgive himself for it.

You braced your thighs together, a need for pressure growing that much more intense under his watching gaze.

Vlad couldn't possibly turn back around and abandon you in this state.

Sweat permeated your skin and the sheets beneath you, tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

He'd never, even in his most sordid imagination, in his most carnal fantasies, he'd never imagined you so shamelessly craving him. Damn near begging him to spread you open.

Perhaps if he were of stronger will he could resist.

You parted your thighs obediently, readily offering him access as soon he leaned over your form.

Oh, Vlad was sick with how drunk this power over you made him.

You bore no shame in your excitement, your ecstasy, your glee.

Your chest rose and fell as your eyes followed his hands, a smile bitten back between your lips.

His fingers pressed into your tight, wet pussy and he practically shuttered.

With the warm, familiar sensation, something, which laid dormant in him, throbbed to life. Practically rising with need.

How long had it been since he'd last had reason to grow erect, let alone masturbate?

Almost as if you recognized it, the desperate, pained expression on his face, you rushed to beg again.

“Vlad–”

"No-- no."

He urged his hand over your mouth, once again.

This was not about him and his petty needs for self stimulation. This was about you. 

"More, more. Please." You slurred beneath his hand.

He had to help you in some way. 

"Deep inside me Vlad."

To ease your growing discomfort. 

“I need your cock.”

To make you cum. 

He freed his hands from your mouth,  fingers grazing over his cock, earning a subtle jerk of his hips.

He hissed, “My cock. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, Vlad please. It's what I've always wanted.”

It was a treat all its own to watch you become so uncomposed, but to hear you admitting your salacious desire for his body… Vlad could not possibly refuse your call.

Removing his trousers was simply a task he was uninterested in busying himself with, merely slipping his cock free of his fly would suffice your hurried pleas.

The sensation that overcame him as he leaned over your form, skin glistening, clothes shredded by his efforts, your heels curving behind his thighs felt truly predatory.

You pulled it out of him.

You begged it of him.

To ravage you.

To make use of your holes as his own plaything.

Your deepest, darkest desires were steadily dripped into his present mind, diluting his rational thoughts into animalistic urges.

He was frenzied, no longer striving to assist your orgasm, but bringing yours on by chasing his own.

"Deeper-- deeper--"

He severed the ties binding your limbs to the bed frame to grab under your knees, lifting your legs higher. There, he found the impressive spot he was chasing. Where every thrust in pressed the head of his cock deeper in, enough that you'd be seeing stars.

The communication between you two had devolved into high pitched breaths, answered with fevered grunts, chorused by the instrumental of smacking flesh.

He was nearing his end, nails carving boldly into the headboard as his hips smacked against you. His heart raced with excitement, chasing the precipice of his pleasure, his cock throbbing as he was overcome with a jolting sensation he’d not felt in a millenia.

Vlad had collapsed on top of you, his hair ravaged, yet his head clearer.

Far clearer than he’d felt in some time now.

And as for you, slowly, more awareness returned to you. The dark circles at the edge of your vision began to lighten as your other senses, long neglected to focus on your intense pleasure, came back into focus.

“Y/N.” He whispered, caressing your face, voice gentle and low. “How do you feel?”

All you could muster was an exasperated laugh, waving your hand as if to beg for surrender.

He chuckled, glancing between you at the trail of cum spilled across your stomach.

“My. We’ve made quite the mess, haven’t we?”

“We have.” You smiled, biting your lip rather bashfully, as if all a sudden embarrassed by the pleasureful affair.

“I’ll go grab a towel--” “No.” You answered quickly.

“No?” He asked.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, guiding his head down, where he laid against your exposed chest.

“Stay with me, Vlad . ” You whispered.

Your heart panged rhythmically in your chest.

Perhaps even more so than the exhilarating sex, listening to your heartbeat was one of the most foreign, yet nostalgic sensations he’d experienced today yet.

“I can honor that request.”

Secretly, quietly, he hoped that perhaps, one day, if you allowed it, you'd come to know the effects that his bite may have on you yet.

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Mina's Diary

Chapters: 64/64 Fandom: Dracula - Bram Stoker (Novel 1897) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jonathan Harker/Mina Murray Harker, Mina Murray Harker/Lucy Westenra, Jonathan Harker/Quincey Morris, Mina Murray Harker/Quincey Morris, Arthur Holmwood/Quincey Morris/John Seward, John Seward/Abraham Van Helsing, R.M. Renfield & John Seward, Mina Murray Harker & John Seward, Arthur Holmwood/Quincey Morris/John Seward/Lucy Westenra, Mina Murray Harker & Lucy Westenra, Dracula & Lucy Westenra, Dracula & Mina Murray Harker, Dracula & Jonathan Harker Characters: Mina Murray Harker, Jonathan Harker, Lucy Westenra (Dracula), Lucy Westenra's Mother, Sister Agatha (Dracula), John Seward, Arthur Holmwood, R.M. Renfield, Quincey Morris, Abraham Van Helsing, Dracula Additional Tags: Inspired by Dracula - Bram Stoker (Novel 1897), Book compliant, Bisexuality, Period Typical Attitudes, 1890s, Historical References, Historical Inaccuracy, Slow Burn, Epistolary, POV Multiple, Historical Accuracy, polycule, Polyamory, Threesome - F/F/M, (in the emotional sense), Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Racism, Internalized Biphobia, Internalized Misogyny, Gothic, Horror, Dreams and Nightmares, References to Dracula - Bram Stoker (Novel 1897), South Asian Mina, Rape Recovery, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Vampires, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Character Death Series: Part 1 of Accounts of Carpathian Vampire Summary: Inspired by Re: Dracula and Dracula Daily, a semi-weekly updated fan fiction from mostly Mina's perspective. Exploring themes of found family, heroism, love, relationships, perspective, slaying the monster whilst fighting your own and more… (now completed!)