#cold dracula takes

[ubyr-babaj]

"Oh, the protagonist's abusive ex? Oh, he's a total narcissist! So Renfield escapes and hits it off with a cop who has anger issues!"

[see-arcane]

After reading and watching several adaptations, I have come to the conclusion that Quincey gets much more respect than Jonathan. Yes he appears much less, but he gets his heroic sacrifice when he does instead of getting bastardised. Three times I have seen him be the one who kills Dracula without Jonathan. In two of those he has the kukri.

Also idk if vampire Quincey is underappreciated, there is a novel all about him.

And in this one Jonathan is revealed to have been a cowardly cheater all along.

You know. Sometimes I think I might be going too overindulgent with my Harker Horrors and lavishing of attention on my favorite special little haunted gothic heroine lad.

And then I get lovely reminders like these that not only am I not being indulgent, I have to actively burn every daydream of an inhibition I have as a writer to unfuck 126 years' worth of doing the whole cast dirty, but Jonathan Harker the absolute worst.

[chibishortdeath]

He is made of glass, wears a necklace of teeth, smokes, and will try to mimic your appearance and replace you, but he is your friend!!! :D I love the X68000/Chronicles doppelgänger he’s one of the enemies of all time :3. Banger music in that level too, Tower of Dolls is one of my favorites!

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

I'm starting Mission to Zyxx Season 5 now, and I have feelings about that.

First, it generally scares me when people hype anything up at all because there is no guarantee that anyone values the exact same thing I do to the same degree. Even if I trust the creators of a thing to value something and try to do right by it, that doesn't always necessarily mean it will be successful, especially if that involves doing something wildly different than what made it good in the first place (I have been burned this way before). I guess I'm just hoping they continue the format of goofy improv shenanigans for the majority of it with something more planned and emotional in the finale if they want, like they've been doing all along. I'd think they would, and I've heard nothing bad about the ending, but I guess it still makes me nervous because I'm so close to the end and I want it so badly to stick the landing. I'm setting my expectations on the floor so I can be surprised instead of disappointed, but honestly, I don't need it to be better, I just need it to be on par with the rest.

Second, and more briefly, I'm happy it's (hopefully) ending before it has a chance to decline. I am so on board with that philosophy. But on the other hand, finishing a thing that I really, really like and knowing there's not another one out there gives me a special kind of heartache. Like, I know there will be other good media, and stuff that's good and unique in other ways, but I know for a fact that there are no other podcasts out there that have the same mix of a balance of off-the-wall improv and structured narrative, quality comedy, fantastical sci-fi setting and loveable characters, and high quality production. There are other things out there with many of those qualities, but nothing that checks every one of those boxes. It's a lightning-in-a-bottle thing that very much feels like the right people had to be in the right place at the right time to do it. Attempts to do it again would feel hollow because it had to be born out of necessity and passion and the talents of the people involved, so if you switch out the people it loses the reasons it's great, and if the same people tried to do it again it'd feel tired. That makes me so, so grateful it exists, but also so, so sad that it doesn't, and I'm 80% of the way done. When it's over, it's over.

Anyway. Now that that's all out there, I'm just gonna finish listening and have fun. Wish me luck.

[rivilu]

Oh I can't take this seriously in the slightest 😭

[primordialchoice]

I have totally forgotten that Lilith is also known as the succubus and a... vampire? There was this text I read (which was misogynistic as hell tbh) in which she is explained as extremely cold because it is the man that brings heat to a woman, and therefore Lilith constantly seeks that warmth from others.

An idea would be to have her seduce people for the purpose of consuming their blood in order to add warmth to her body when she's in the mortal world. Kinda like camouflage.

[ophelialoveshandsomemen]

Say what you will about Van Helsing 2004; hate it, love it, be indifferent, But the All-Hallow's masquerade ball went sooooo hard and it had zero right to do so! It's a fun, campy, monster mash movie with wonderfully dated ( and expensive) cgi and non-stop action meant to be a popcorn flick one takes out to watch around spooky season. And it has this* chef's kiss* GORGEOUS 6 minute sequence plopped arbitrarily in the second act, which unexpectedly surpasses nearly every other ball in the last 30+ years of film( notable exception being the Cinderella 2015 ball) for literally no reason other than to be dramatic af.

Like feast your eyes on this Gothic masterpiece!!! Who doesn't want to immediately live in this picture?!??

They used those candles with oil in them so that they would have real candles, real string orchestra( I believe), probably around 100 real life extras( something which is tragically absent in modern film), said extras are all in beautiful fully decked-out costumes( which are in luxuriously dark colours, but nearly no fully black, another thing you cannot say for much modern cinema), REAL CIRQUE DU SOLEIL PERFORMERS for all the acrobatics!!!! Hell, instead of filming in a sound stage, where they could control the reverb and the acoustics and the size of the set and the bloody lighting ( they apparently had a heck of a time emulating the firelight for this sequence) and the temperature( it's very cold in stone churches!) better, they filmed in a Baroque church in Prague! As I said, peak dramatic splendour, jfc...

Think about that a second...They filmed a vampire masquerade in a Baroque Catholic Church( St. Nicholas' in Lesser Town, if you were curious) with amazing over-the-top acoustics and marble statues and real, tiled floors and marble pillars and a choir loft which they very much utilized, covered the pipe organ and the altar with a grand brocade curtain so it wouldn't be so obviously a, you know, a church! And there's a gold gilt elevated and canopied pulpit into which they put two vampire kiddies for, again, the sake of being dramatic.

And the costumes! They remind me of the 25th anniversary Phantom of the Opera Masquerade costumes. Same quality, like they're old, well-cared-for costumes pulled out of a warehouse, instead of fast industry churn-outs. With lots of trim and colour and masks and lace and feathers and..just...ugh.. they are all perfect! Just look at all the head pieces on the ladies and the hats on all the gentleman ( save Dracula of course) and the powdered wigs on the musicians. ANNNNDD! The dresses are historically correct!!!!!! It's the 80's bustle era! Nobody does the 80's bustle era in film anymore and it's a bummer. Oh and one other thing! Anna's ( and other women's) hair, at least here in the ball, is also historically accurate because it's all pinned up! None of those fucken modern beachwaves at a ball! Everybody's got updo's!

Gah, I swear, Dracula in his gold cloak really does things to me in this scene!

By the way, the acrobatics are bonkers in here for just background stuff!! Especially the random guys on unicycles and the dude playing the violin whilst standing on a ball...Like....WHAT?

Anyways, all this to say, that this masquerade ball feels sooo real and tangible and because of that it blows every other film out of the water, and no, I will not change my mind!!!!!

Here's a few more gifs, bcuz, why the hell not, this scene is sexy as fuu*ck?

Alright I need to go to bed now.

[armchairaleck]

Not a lot of time for research at the moment, need some magical creatures for spell components.. something that sounds a little sinister, y’know connotations of death and destruction.. I know I’ll scrape the wiki..

And we have.. wait for it.. Adoraburrs, Brightbells, Bumble-Scorps - yep they even manage to make a combination of a SCORPION AND A BUMBLEBEE sound cute.. it should be horrific, but no.. aww team dark mage, you didn’t kill a bumble-scorp did you? So cruel..🙄

I mean I get the message, when Ezran comes in riding a banther I can see what they’re saying.. but just one or two truly terrifying ones would be nice?

Personally I’m looking forward to the cuddlemonkey massacre but that’s just me.. /s

[pinkmirth]

Hiiii! Hope you are well!

Hey I know you are Alucard's number 1 fan🥰 but I was wondering if you would consider writing something (maybe smutty🫣) for us girlies who prefer his daddy.

Sincerely, a Vlad girlie!!

as much as i adore adrian, i cant deny that he gets half of those looks from his father . . . dracula lovers surely deserve a treat too, so here’s a little handful of hcs for papa vlad >.<

protective to the very ends of the earth, is what he is. vlad’s doting to the point where it could come across as concern— but when you have the very king of the undead as your beloved, there isn’t much to fear.

with a man of his stature, over seven feet with the broadest shoulders, largest hands and coldest gaze, just know that the size kink is turned all the way on. though he has to crouch a bit lower to just kiss you, he’ll always make sure to meet you where you stand and shower you in his affection.

let’s give a reminder as to why the people call this man the ‘impaler,’ because he’s packing enough to pull at least five orgasms from you. vlad’s a good 220 cm tall, of course he’d have so much to offer you in bed. there, he takes things ever so slowly; interlacing his hands with yours, careful of his claws, while his other cold palm goes to press against your waist, pulling you into his imposing frame. firm muscle and cool flesh is what you feel when in his grasp. his thrusts are paced, thoughtful, and just enough to make you writhe and mewl beneath him. his goatee grazes your skin as he comes to plant a kiss to your forehead, his breathing heavy and rasped. vlad groans out his endearment, hips throttling forward to slam into yours. as you hold onto him for dear life, legs entangling behind his waist, he goes on to whisper how greatly he loves you.

[goddessofvalyria]

THE SWEET TASTE OF BLOOD | Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: Aemond Targaryen was a vampire and he always dreamed for centuries of her, a princess from a fallen kingdom destined to be his. One day, that dream became true.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, SMUT, She/Her pronouns, oral (f receiving), fingering, sexual tension, sex, blood, blood sucking, biting, blood play. A little bit of Dark Aemond. This one shot is inspired/has the vibes of "Bram Stocker's Dracula".

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 4230

The wind howled through the twisted branches of the dead trees, a mournful sound that echoed through the desolate, mist-laden landscape of the Foreign lands. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale, ghostly light over the land. The castle loomed in the distance, its towering spires piercing the darkness like the fangs of a monstrous beast. It was an ominous sight, a place that had long been abandoned by the living but was far from empty.

The Lost Princess stumbled through the dense fog, her feet dragging over the uneven ground. She was weak, her clothes torn and dirty from weeks of wandering through the wilderness. Her kingdom had fallen, her people scattered, and she had been left with nothing but her dreams—dreams that had led her here, to this cursed place. Dreams of a castle, a dark prince, and a destiny she could not escape. She had thought they were mere fantasies, the desperate imaginings of a lost soul. But now, as she stood at the foot of the castle gates, she knew the truth. This was where she was meant to be.

“Who… who lives here?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind.

Suddenly, the great iron gates creaked open, as if summoned by her words. She took a hesitant step forward, drawn by an unseen force, a compulsion she could not resist. Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the wild pulse of the storm around her. She knew she should turn back, that no good could come from entering such a place. But something—a whisper in the wind, a shadow in the corner of her eye—compelled her forward.

Inside, the castle was as she had seen in her dreams: vast, dark, and foreboding, with high ceilings and walls lined with ancient tapestries. The air was cold, the silence almost suffocating. She moved through the hallways, her footsteps echoing off the stone floors, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

And then she saw him.

He stood at the far end of the great hall, bathed in the dim light of a dozen flickering candles. He was tall, with silver hair that fell to his shoulders and a sapphire glinting in place of his left eye. His skin was pale, almost luminescent in the candlelight, and his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile as he watched her approach.

"Prince Aemond Targaryen" he whispered, recognizing her from his dreams. The name sent a shiver down her spine, a strange mix of fear and familiarity. She should have been afraid, and yet…

"Welcome, my princess" Aemond's voice was smooth, a dark velvet that seemed to caress her very soul. "I have been waiting for you."

His words were both a greeting and a confession. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his desire. It was as if he had been waiting for her, not just for days or months, but for centuries.

"You… you know me?" she stammered, her mind reeling.

"I have seen you in my dreams, just as you have seen me, I know" he replied, stepping closer. "You are the one I have been searching for, the one I have longed for. You are mine."

The princess felt a rush of emotions—fear, confusion, anger. "I am no one's" she protested, taking a step back. "I am my own."

Aemond's smile widened, revealing the tips of his fangs. "You say that now, but soon you will understand. You are mine, as I am yours. We are bound by fate, by a destiny that cannot be denied."

She turned to flee, panic surging through her veins, but the doors slammed shut behind her with a force that rattled the walls. She was trapped.

"Let me go!" she cried, her voice breaking with fear. "Please, let me go!"

Aemond was upon her in an instant, his movements faster than her eyes could follow. He caught her by the arm, his grip firm but not painful. "You cannot leave" he said softly, his breath warm against her skin. "Not now. Not ever."

Tears streamed down her face as she struggled against him, but he held her fast. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Because I need you and you need me" he whispered, his voice almost desperate. "Because I cannot be alone anymore. You are the only one who can understand my pain, my suffering. You are the only one who can save me from this eternal darkness."

She looked up into his eyes—his one remaining eye a vivid violet, the sapphire a cold, unfeeling blue. For a moment, she saw the truth in his words, the loneliness, the despair that lay beneath his cruel exterior. And in that moment, she felt a strange, inexplicable connection to him, a pull she could not resist.

"I… I don't understand" she murmured, her voice trembling.

"You will" he promised, his lips brushing against her temple. "In time, you will" and then he locked her in her new chambers.

"Let me go!" she screamed knocking the door, but he never came back. "Let me go, fucking bastard!" after hours spent to screams, she knew that she needed to surrender. Those dreams were too vivid, too realistic and she never have talked to anyone. After the fallen of her kingdom she was the only one survivor and she left in the night or she will be dead from her enemies, those rebels who let the war begins.

It was her dreams that had led her there.

Two moons passed soon, and the princess lay in her chambers, feverish and weak. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow and labored. She had grown ill from the cold and damp, and she had not fed since she had arrived, or rather, she had refused. Aemond watched over her, his expression unreadable every night, entering her chambers. He had promised himself that he would not harm her, that he would not give in to the darkness that consumed him. But now, as he watched her suffer, he knew he had no choice.

If he did not bite her, she would die.

Aemond Targaryen sat in the dim light of the chamber, watching the Lost Princess as she lay feverish on the bed. Her skin was pale, a sickly sheen of sweat covering her body, and her breaths came in short, labored gasps. The fever had taken hold days ago, and nothing he did could break it. Her suffering was like a dagger to his heart, twisting deeper with every pained breath she took.

“I cannot let you die” he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of his emotions. “I cannot lose you.”

The princess trembled, her body wracked with fever. She turned her head away from him, her eyes wet with tears. “Stay away from me!” she pleaded, her voice weak but filled with a resolve that surprised even her. A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, a silent testament to her fear and despair. “I would rather die like my family than live like this.”

Aemond flinched at her words. He could feel the sting of her rejection, the pain of her fear. She still did not understand—could not understand—the depth of his love for her, the madness that gripped his soul for centuries, compelling him to do whatever it took to keep her by his side. His obsession, his love, his need—it was all-consuming, and he could not bear the thought of losing her.

"You do not mean that" he said, his voice low and urgent, trying to reach her through the fog of her fever. "You do not understand what you are saying. You are confused, and the fever… it is making you delirious."

She closed her eyes, as if trying to shut him out, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants. “I would rather die” she repeated, her voice a mere whisper. “I would rather die than become a monster.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, anger and fear warring within him. “You speak of death as if it is a choice,” he hissed, his control slipping. “But I will not allow it. I cannot allow it. I need you, and I will not lose you—not to fever, not to anything.”

The princess turned her head, her eyes blazing with a feverish intensity. “It is not your choice!” she spat, her voice trembling. “You cannot decide my fate. I would rather die with honor, as my family did, than live as one of the damned.”

His face darkened at her words, a shadow passing over his features. “Your family is gone” he said coldly, his voice like ice. “They cannot help you now. But I can. I can save you.”

“Save me?” she cried, a desperate, bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Save me by damning me? By turning me into a creature like you?”

Aemond’s patience snapped. He moved swiftly, his hand reaching out to press her down against the bed, his strength easily overpowering her weakened form. “I do this for you” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “For us. You do not understand now, but you will. In time, you will see.”

She struggled beneath him, weak and feverish, but defiant. “No,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please, Aemond… don’t do this. I beg you, let me go.”

His expression softened for a brief moment, a flicker of pain in his eye. “I am sorry” he murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing against her throat. He could feel the weak flutter of her pulse beneath his touch, a fragile, fading thing. “Forgive me” he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

Then he bit her.

She screamed, a sharp, agonized cry in the moment his fangs pierced her skin, he felt a rush of warmth, of life, of power. Her blood filled his mouth, hot and sweet, and he drank deeply, savoring the taste, the connection, the bond that formed between them. He could feel her life mingling with his, their souls entwining, becoming one.

The princess gasped, her eyes flying open as the pain of his bite gave way to something else—something deeper, something primal. She could feel him inside her, his thoughts, his emotions, his desires. She could feel his love, his obsession, his desperation. And she realized, with a sudden, startling clarity, that she had always known him. That she had always been his.

As he pulled away, her body went limp, her eyes closing as the fever broke, her breathing evening out. Aemond cradled her in his arms, his heart pounding with a strange mix of relief and fear. He had done it. He had saved her. But at what cost?

"You are mine" he whispered, his lips brushing against her forehead. "Forever."

And deep within her, the princess felt a stirring, a dark hunger that mirrored his own. She was his, now and always. Bound to him by blood, by fate, by a love that would last for eternity.

The castle doors swung shut behind them, sealing them inside, together, forever.

Outside, the storm raged on, the wind howling like a chorus of lost souls, mourning the fate of the princess who had wandered into the darkness… and never returned.

The black castle in the Foreignlands had grown colder since the night Aemond Targaryen had bitten his Princess. Shadows moved like living creatures along the walls, and the ancient stones seemed to hum with a dark energy. The castle was a place out of time, a twisted realm where day never fully broke and night reigned eternal.

The princess wandered the halls, her steps light and cautious, the silk of her gown trailing on the cold stone floors. Her body was different now—stronger, faster. Her senses were sharper; she could hear the faintest whisper of wind, see every detail of the darkness, smell every scent that wafted through the air. But more than anything, she could feel a new, gnawing hunger that clawed at her insides—a hunger she didn't understand and was afraid to satisfy.

Aemond watched her from the shadows, his single violet eye following her every move, his sapphire eye cold and unfeeling. He knew the transformation had been difficult for her. He could feel her fear, her confusion, and her anger. She had not yet embraced what she had become. She did not yet understand the power that flowed through her veins.

"You must feed, my love" Aemond whispered one night, stepping from the darkness to stand beside her. "You cannot resist it forever."

The princess turned to face him, her eyes wide with a mixture of longing and fear. "I don't want this" she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I never asked for this."

Aemond reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "No, but it is what you are now. It is what we are. You are mine, and I am yours. We are bound together, forever."

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't know how to live like this" she confessed. "I don't know how to be… this."

Aemond's expression softened, a rare flicker of tenderness crossing his features. "Then let me teach you" he said gently. "Let me show you how to embrace what you are, how to wield the power within you."

One night later. . .

Aemond sensed the stranger before she did—a faint heartbeat in the distance, a whiff of human scent. Someone had dared to enter his domain, his castle. His lips curled into a predatory smile.

"Tonight, my love" he whispered to the princess, who stood beside him, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Tonight, you will learn what it means to be one of us."

Together, they moved through the shadows, silent and swift. The princess could feel the energy coursing through her, the thrill of the hunt awakening something deep inside her. She glanced at Aemond, his face a mask of calm, predatory intent, and felt a strange sense of comfort in his presence. He had promised to teach her, and she trusted him, even in this.

The stranger—a lone traveler who had lost his way—wandered through the darkened halls, his torch flickering in the gloom. He was muttering to himself, his eyes darting nervously from side to side. The princess could hear his heartbeat, fast and erratic, like a frightened animal. She could smell the fear on him, a scent that made her mouth water, her fangs itch.

"Go to him" Aemond murmured in her ear, his voice a seductive whisper. "Feel his fear. Taste it. Let it guide you."

She hesitated, fear and hunger warring within her. "I… I don't know if I can."

Aemond's hand was on her shoulder, firm and reassuring. "You can" he insisted. "You must. There is no other way. Trust yourself. Trust me."

She looked at him. "Do it" he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Claim what is yours."

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, moving closer to the stranger. The man turned at the sound of her approach, his eyes widening in surprise and fear as he saw her. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, she was upon him, her new strength and speed carrying her across the room in an instant.

She could feel his warmth against her, the frantic beat of his heart beneath her fingers. She hesitated, her fangs poised over his neck, and for a moment, she thought she might pull away. But then she felt Aemond behind her, his presence a dark, comforting shadow, and she knew she could not turn back.

With a surge of determination, she sank her fangs into the man's neck, a rush of warmth flooding her mouth. The taste of his blood was intoxicating, a dark, rich elixir that filled her with a powerful, primal energy. She drank deeply, feeling the stranger's life force flow into her, feeling his heartbeat slow and then stop altogether.

The man whimpered, his eyes squeezing shut, but before he could utter a word, she sank her fangs into his neck. The moment his blood touched her lips, she felt a rush of warmth, a surge of energy that flowed through her veins like fire. The taste was intoxicating, a dark, rich elixir that filled her with a heady sense of power and pleasure.

Aemond watched her, his expression one of dark satisfaction. “Yes” he murmured, his voice thick with approval. “Yes, that’s it. Drink, my love. Drink deeply.”

She did as he commanded, drinking deeply, feeling the man’s life force flowing into her, mingling with her own. She could feel his heart slowing, his body growing weaker, and it filled her with a dark, thrilling pleasure. She felt Aemond move behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his lips brushing against her ear.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive growl. “Do you feel the power, the life flowing into you?”

She nodded, unable to speak, her senses overwhelmed by the rush of blood, the heady mix of fear and pleasure. She could feel Aemond’s hunger too, his own desire mingling with hers, and it drove her on, urged her to drink more, to take more.

Aemond lowered his head to the man’s other side, his own fangs sinking into his flesh, drinking deeply. Together, they drained him, their bodies pressed close, their breaths mingling in the cold, dark air. The man’s life faded between them, his struggles growing weaker until, finally, he went still.

When it was over, they pulled away, their lips stained with blood, their eyes glowing with a fierce, predatory light. The princess felt a surge of exhilaration, a thrill of power and satisfaction that she had never known before. She turned to Aemond, her chest heaving, her body trembling with the aftershocks of their shared feeding.

Aemond looked at her, his face flushed, his lips curved into a dark, satisfied smile. “You see?” he said, his voice a low purr. “This is what we are. This is what we can be together.”

She stared at him, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps, her body alive with sensation. “I… I understand now,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I feel it… I feel everything, Aemond”

He reached out, pulling her close, his hands sliding over her blood-slick skin. “Good” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers, tasting the blood still lingering there. “You are very good girl, princess.”

They kissed, the taste of blood mingling on their tongues, their bodies pressing together in a fierce, primal embrace. The princess could feel the heat of him, the hunger, the desire, and she responded in kind, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

They moved together, a slow, seductive dance, their bodies slick with blood, their hearts pounding in unison. Aemond pushed her back against the cold stone wall, his lips trailing down her neck, his hands roaming over her body. She arched against him, a low moan escaping her lips, her body alive with need.

He kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding over hers, tasting the remnants of their shared feast. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, feeling the hard press of his body against hers, the heat of his skin, the intensity of his desire.

“Do you see now?” he whispered against her lips, his voice a low, seductive growl. “Do you see what we are, what we can be?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes half-closed, her body trembling with need. “Yes, I see.”

He smiled, a dark, wicked smile that sent a shiver down her spine. “Then let us become one,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “In blood and in body.”

Without another word, he swept her into his arms, carrying her to a stone altar in the center of the room. He laid her down upon it, his hands roaming over her body, his lips trailing kisses along her neck, her collarbone, her breasts covered. She moaned, her body arching beneath him, her skin alive with sensation.

He moved over her, his body pressing against hers, his breath hot against her skin. She could feel his hunger, his desire, his need, and it mirrored her own. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, urging him on.

"I need you" she whispered, Aemond began to undress her, he brought his hands to the laces of her dress starting to undo it, he brought his hands to her bodice, then to her slip undressing her frantically. Her body was beautiful, divine, a temple to be loved and honored. Her skin was white and smooth like that of any noble, perfumed and fucking inviting.

Their kiss was fierce, primal, driven by a hunger that went beyond mere physical desire.

Aemond whispered her name and then pressed his mouth against hers again, stripped of his clothes, naked above her he looked like a devil: the strongest, most beautiful and dangerous. He was like that, an enigma. He had the body of a warrior, toned abs and a strong and soft chest that she wanted to kiss. His arms were long and veiny just like his hands. Under the soft moonlight that entered the castle windows, the vampire prince looked at his princess, caressed her blood-stained face and went down with his blood-stained hands on her body, both dirty and covered in the scarlet red liquid.

"Mine for eternity" he hissed leaning down, kissing her where her heart was. Her blood-stained skin was fucking hot, the feeling of his lips wrapped around her breasts drove her crazy, she arched her back when he wrapped his lips around her nipple and she ran her hands through his silver hair. Aemond felt her melt under his touch, he slowly moved down with kisses and opened her legs.

"Aemond…" she whispered feeling the blood running down her body, dirty as well as Aemond's. "My beautiful damned princess, my… bride." he gently opened her legs, placed a kiss on her wet cunt.

"Oh!" a moan escaped her lips when she felt Aemond's mouth press against her pussy. She began to move her hips against his face, her legs tightly wrapped around his head, shaking, arching as she moaned his name that echoed through the dark walls of the castle. All she felt was his mouth and fingers making her feel pleasure.

Aemond curled his fingers inside her, his tongue licked her clit and felt her come, she cummed over his lips. "Aemond…oh!" she trembled so much. Her prince rose from her body, took his long, hard, wet, precum-tipped manhood in his hand and rubbed himself against her.

"I've never done this before" she whispered feeling small against the rock beneath her. "I'll be gentle" Aemond whispered licking his lips, their bodies claiming each other. "And with that I take you as my bride" with a sharp thrust he began to move slowly inside her. "And I take you as my husband" she whispered feeling the invasion between her thighs.

"Wet, tight, ready just for me" he whispered unable to hold back his little moans His hips suddenly slammed harder against hers.

They moved together in perfect harmony, their bodies slick with sweat and blood, their cries echoing through the darkened halls. She could feel the power building within her, a dark, consuming force that threatened to overwhelm her. But Aemond was there, guiding her, grounding her, his touch both tender and demanding.

"Do you feel it?" he whispered, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Do you feel the power, the strength, the life flowing through you?"

"Yes," she gasped, her nails digging into his back, drawing blood. "Yes, I feel it."

He fucked her against the stone altar, his cock tearing her open with every thrust, her moans echoing off the stone walls of the castle. She moaned, a mess, letting herself be used. Lost in pleasure, lost in those kisses that tasted like sin.

Aemond kissed her, drawing a moan from her, making her submit to him and his thrusts. Hell, he was drunk on her, on his bride, on the woman he had waited for centuries and who he could now love and who was his.

He groaned, his body shuddering against hers as he reached his climax, his fangs sinking into her neck, drinking deeply. She cried out, her own release following moments later, her body convulsing beneath him, her vision going white with pleasure.

When it was over, they lay together, their bodies intertwined, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Aemond held her close, his lips brushing against her forehead, her cheek, her lips. "You are mine" he whispered, his voice soft, almost tender. "Now and forever, wife."

She nodded, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, her body still tingling with the aftershocks of their lovemaking. "And you are mine" she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "Forever, husband."

The castle was silent once more, the shadows creeping back into their corners, the air thick with the scent of blood and sweat. Outside, the storm had passed, the wind dying down to a soft, mournful whisper.

They lay together in the darkness, their bodies entwined, their souls bound by blood and by love, forever.

This was the sweet taste of blood.

[ubyr-babaj]

Also when it comes to "true to the text" adaptations, we need to know which text we're talking. The last time I read "Dracula", it was about xenophobia and hypocrisy disguised by Victorian sentimentalism. Idk what "Queer friend group is hunting an abuser" YA everyone else has been reading for the last two years, I definitely don't have it in my library.

[ddejavvu]

hear me out... spencer reid with hickeys I can imagine him getting all nervous and reader just gives him like 20 on his neck and he puts on a scarf and the next day Morgan tugs it off and l o s e s it poor thing WHAHHA

"That's... a new look." Morgan raises an eyebrow at Spencer's purple scarf with a confused half-smile on his face, like he's trying to be supportive for Spencer's sake but doesn't know how.

"I'm cold." Spencer blurts, avoiding the man's eyes and staring down at his paperwork. He's a behavior analyst, he'd pick his mannerisms out as shady if anyone else did it, but he can't seem to appear casual for the life of him.

"Okay..." Morgan sits cautiously at his desk, "Something eating you, pretty boy? I know we're not supposed to profile each other and all, but you seem tense."

"Nothing's wrong." Spencer dismisses in that same clipped, tight tone.

"Right," Morgan drawls, "Okay."

There's a moment of awkward silence in which Spencer scrawls in information on the form he's looking at, and Derek stares at him.

Then he tries making peace, "Here, uh, lemme help you with that."

"With what?" Spencer wants to glance up, but doesn't want to see any hidden amusement in his coworker's eyes, "I know how to fill this out."

"No, I mean-" Derek reaches over his desk, fingers outstretched towards Spencer's neck, "The- scarf."

Spencer jerks away like Morgan's touch will sear his skin, eyes wide and panicked, 'No!"

"Reid," Morgan drawls, hand still stiff in the air, "What's your problem, man?"

"I- It's nothing." Spencer huffs, "I'm getting coffee."

He stalks off to the kitchen, but Morgan isn't deterred.

"Pretty boy," He calls, rushing to join Reid at the counter, "Listen, usually when people show up with a giant scarf on and don't let anyone touch it, they're hiding a hickey."

"I'm not hiding a hickey," Spencer pours sugar into his coffee by the pound, nearly emptying the container as he stirs it in, "I'm going to file a workplace harassment complaint against you if you don't stop."

"Sensitive," Derek marvels, keeping the hand that's creeping towards the back of Spencer's neck out of the man's line of sight. Then, quicker than Spencer can stop him, he grabs hold of the purple cloth and yanks, revealing that Spencer was telling the truth.

He's not hiding a hickey, he's hiding twenty hickies. Fifty, maybe, Derek can't tell because they run into each other like someone had sucked him like a leech.

He doesn't care about being dramatic; his jaw drops.

"Holy shit!" Derek whoops, holding the scarf over his head and pushing against Spencer's chest when the man tries taking it back, "You're- Jesus, did Dracula get to you? Oh my god," He laughs, not even bothering to quiet down as Hotch stalks in, a stern frown on his face at the noise level.

"Give it back," Spencer manages to overpower Derek, only because the man is too busy jeering to use his full strength. Spencer wraps himself tight in the scarf once more, avoiding Hotch's eyes as he finishes stirring his coffee.

"I've gotta go break the news," Derek rushes out, headed straight for Penelope's lair, "Babygirl!"

The silence in the kitchenette of the BAU is stifling, and if Spencer weren't hiding an army of hickies so dark that they nearly painted him purple all over, he'd take off his scarf for some relief. He's silent as he finishes stirring his coffee, and tries to drown out Penelope's excited shriek.

Hotch makes quick work of the coffee pot, and stands beside Spencer to put minimal cream into the substance. Before he leaves, while Spencer is still sugaring up his concoction, he clears his throat.

"Congratulations," He murmurs as he claps Spencer on the back once, nearly ramming the man into the cupboards he's weakly clinging to, "I have an old turtleneck somewhere that I can bring you, if this is gonna be a regular thing."

[just-some-user-hunny]

~ Vladcard is a striking being. There's something heavy to him. Something ancient. The true form of Alucard. Despite being the form of his youngest years, this is him from a time from his oldest memories. An infamous warlord. Armour and sword slick with the blood and tears of his enemies and own people. A name- a legend.

~ There's something that separates Alucard from Dracula. A somberness to him- stoic and grounded. They are both cruel in their respective way, but the difference is stark. Alucard is playful and sadistic- like a cat toying with a half-dead mouse. Dracula is more serious with his cruelty. There's no playfulness or casualness to him. He commits his acts with reason. With intent. No matter how trivial or cold they may be.

~ Dracula is more tender and doting. Whatever semblance to warm humanity that dwells within him shines through for you. Fond, warm looks are often cast upon you whenever you are within eyesight- a slight smile content on his lips as he dotes on you like an ancient wise stag over his little doe. A shielding presence that dwarfs you with his sturdy armoured form, swallowing you up in steel and a blood red cloak.

~ He's beyond gentle with you- Alucard has always been gentle with you, but he's not practiced in the art of touch or affection. Dracula is, however. Often you'll find him offering his imposing gauntlet for you to take, tucking you close under his arm and cape to keep you close with him. He also has a tendency for being more outwardly affectionate. Cupping the nape of your neck and lightly caressing the skin there with armoured fingers, or lightly stroking your cheek with his knuckle. Peering down at you with such devotion and passion it leaves you shy.

~ He is incredibly indulgent with you. Whilst teetering on the edge of an intimidating and sweet figure of staggering authority, he's very patient with you. Purring to you with his thick dulcet voice, his accent is suave and pretty to your ears- and he knows it very well. Often complimenting you and chiming the odd pet name here and there- not much different from your usual Alucard. Draga Mea... Luna vieții mele... And he'll smile at you fondly whenever you show him that endearing confused expression on your face at his words, which are obviously foreign to you. His sweet human.

~ There is one thing that has seemed to remain the same however, and that is his keenness to show off. He lathers up your praise, either it be compliments or words of astonishment. He laps it up like a greedy cat, pressing your palm to his cheek and keeping it there. Each little compliment or curious remark rewarded with a stubbly kiss to your palm.

I feel I may have fallen a little short here. Hopefully I think of some more stuff for Vladcard, because really he's so cool. I'd love to hear your guys thoughts and headcanons of him!!! <3

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Final Girl.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: 'Girl' Is In The Title But Reader Is Gender Neutral, Death and Blood, Mentions of Guns, Manipulation, Implied Kidnapping, and Spoilers for the Ninteenth-Century Novel Dracula.

The night you met him was, by no coincidence, also the night you learned what it meant to feel your blood run cold.

‘Met’ might’ve been an exaggeration. You didn’t meet him so much as you stood still and stared at him – lumbering down the hallway, clutching a gore-splattered butcher's knife, his suit disheveled and stained with a dark, blotting substance you couldn’t bring yourself to put a name to, in your fear-induced paralysis. With the manor's high ceilings and dim lighting, he seemed impossibly tall, his black eyes blank and terrible, his smile manic in a way that sent a chill up your spine, that left you frozen where you stood and unable to run as he came to stand in front of you, as he raised a hand and—

And pointed to the book tucked under your arm, a yellowed paperback beaten to hell and back from weeks of loving abuse. You’d spent hours wondering if you should bring it with you, if there was anyone else on the face of the planet who’d be stupid enough to bring a book to a mascarade ball, but you figured you’d have to step out for a breath of fresh air at some point, tonight, and phones weren’t really an option at this kind of thing. Looking back on it, you struggled to remember why you’d spent so much time agonizing over something so inconsequential, especially when whoever found your body likely wouldn’t pay it a second glance. “Is that—” He started, pausing to wet his lips before correcting himself. “Is that Bram Stoker’s Dracula?”

You blinked several times, shifting your weight. “It is,” you managed, eventually, just before the point of no return. “I… I’m only a few chapters in, though. They’re only on the second blood transfusion.”

His smile widened. “I’m reading it for the second time, now. That’s one of the best passages - you can practically feel the dread mounting in the prose.” While he spoke, you stole another glance at his attire. With your shock beginning to fade and your nerves given a few seconds to cool, you could see that he clearly hadn’t just walked out of a crime scene. His clothes were wrinkled, but not torn, not displaced the way they would’ve been if he’d been in a real fight, and he was covered in a cartoonish amount of (presumably fake) blood. He couldn’t have meant for it to be realistic, not unless you were supposed to believe he’d bled twenty people dry on his own.

He must’ve noticed you staring. His rambling trailed off into an airy chuckle, his free hand drifting to his blood-soaked shirt. “I’m afraid I might’ve misread my invitation,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. You were almost in awe of his nonchalance. Showing up to a masquerade ball in a costume fit for a b-rated haunted house would’ve left you catatonic for… god, the rest of the year, at least. “That’s how I found my way back here, actually. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to stay in the ballroom for very long, considering I’m dressed for a very different party.”

“No, no, that makes a lot of sense! I mean, a costume party would be more in-season.” You felt like an idiot. You could only hope you hadn’t looked as scared as you felt. “Honestly, I’m just surprised they let you in with a prop.”

He glanced to his ‘knife’, too, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this little thing?” He took the blade in his free hand, bending it downward. Unceremoniously, it snapped into two pieces as easily as if it’d been made of little more than tin foil and plastic - which, to be fair, it probably was. “Most people struggle to see me as a threat, for whatever reason.”

“The doormen probably just felt bad for the strange man who showed up to a charity gala covered in blood.” You spared a small smile, then genuinely brightened, taking up your novel and fishing out the spare mask you’d shoved between the pages while you were getting ready. He should’ve counted himself lucky that you could never be bothered to find a real bookmark. “Mine came in a set of two,” you explained, signaling for him to bend down. A little too easily, he obeyed, stooping just low enough for you to work your spare mask over his head. It was cheaper than anything you would usually like to show off – the base simple black cloth, the embroidery meaninglessly gaudy, the main body kept in place by little more than a simple white ribbon that never seemed to sit just right, but he accepted your offering with a grateful hum. “It’s not much, but—” You paused, buttoning his suit jacket, doing your best to make it look a little less like he’d just walked out of a bad slasher movie and a little more like a tragically color-blind, but ultimately well-dressed party-goer. “It should get you through the door.”

He straightened his back, and you thought you might’ve seen something spark in his dark eyes. Then again, it could’ve just been the moonlight. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Oh, right – that was something most people did before offering to fix a stranger’s clothes, wasn’t it? You rushed to introduce yourself, and he did the same. “Chrollo Lucilfer.” And then, offering you his hand, “Perhaps I’d be more warmly received with a plus one?”

As hesitant as you were to slip back into the ballroom on the arm of a disheveled stranger who’d already made an impression of his own, it would’ve broken your heart to turn him down. That, and you might’ve had a weakness for disheveled strangers who fell on the more handsome side of the spectrum.

You laughed as you threaded your arm through his, letting Chrollo guide you back to the main event. A second passed with only the sound of your footsteps and distance music to fill the quiet, then another. Eventually, you broke the silence. “It’s very well-written,” you started, trying to fight the urge to fidget. “But… I don’t think I’m the right audience. I care too much about Lucy. Seeing her go through so much and knowing she’s not going to make it is just—” You sighed, shook your head. “It’s agony. Especially when the villain is literally in the title. I mean, I know the characters don’t know that, but still.”

“The benefit of a voyeur's perspective.” For all his glowing praise, he didn’t seem very offended. “I think the dramatic irony is part of the appeal. By the time the tension breaks, it’s nearly too painful to keep going.”

“Which is exactly why it hurts to read,” you groaned, slumping into his side. “I get why it’s happening, but I just can’t stand spending so long on the build-up knowing how it’s going to end. It probably doesn’t help that Lucy’s one of my favorites, either. Well, aside from Mina, but it wouldn’t be fair to compare her to the author’s self-insert.”

The two of you came to a pair of rounded oak doors. There’d been a pair of attendants stationed outside when you left, but Chrollo didn’t seem to mind shouldering it open himself, ushering you inside with a smile and an idle gesture. You took a second to steel your nerves, still not entirely prepared to throw yourself into a very crowded room filled with very loud music and very eager socialites, then crossed the threshold, coming face to face with—

Carnage. Pure, unadulterated carnage.

There were bodies everywhere, each corpse mangled and bruised and broken in every possible way. Dark blood and broken glass covered the formerly pristine ivory floor, and the walls were painted with the remnants of gunfire. A few people were still standing – the murderers, you figured, judging by the blood on their outlandish clothes, the weapons in their hands, the indifferent agitation written across their expressions as you stared at them in horror, as your heart threatened to give out for the second time that night. The tallest man you’d ever seen pointed a hand-held machine gun in your direction, but Chrollo found his way back to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “Hold your fire,” he said, casually, as if you weren’t standing at the edge of a bloodbath. As if he’d known what he was leading you into. “I think I’m going to keep this one.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The air hitched in your throat as he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back and forcing you to meet his unblinking stare. You’d been right the first time. There was never anything his eyes could’ve been but terrible. “I always did like Mina.”

There was never anything he could’ve been but a monster, prowling for his next kill.

“I guess I just have a soft spot for survivors.”

[dragongirlpoet]

Dark Signs

Part I

<Read Part II here>

Alucard x female reader

Synopsis: A flirty, playful night with Adrian takes a dark turn. (1.6k words)

TW: Dark fantasy, horror, blood, smut (explicit) 🔞

This is my first attempt at smut, and who better than my bby Alucard as MC. I hope you enjoy it!

“…And there, in the dead of night, under a moon so maroon, the White Wolf prowled — ravenous. Sturdy were its footsteps, calculated were its gait. Ahead, still as a rosebud in a windless twilight, its prey lay splayed out — helpless. 

Something about its small intakes of breath, its unsuspecting demeanour, made it all the more enticing for the imposing predator. Ever so slowly, the White Wolf, eyes like the golden gleam of a rising dawn, emerged from the thicket, pressing forward, inching closer, closer, closer…”

Body hovering over mine, Alucard’s words were a rasp above my cheek. The antiquated tome he had been reading from now a forgotten humdrum between our bodies. As velvet lips collided into me, I melded into his being. He was a hypnotic wave crashing into shore, and I was but delicate driftwood being dragged underwater.

His kiss was insistent, impatient. I had no escape, no cavity of air to quell the lack of oxygen in my lungs. Still, I kept going, because he was the only breath I needed. My fingers clawed ruthlessly at his back — muscle and bone Herculean from years of battling night creatures and evil forces. Skin so utterly cold, yet I wanted — needed — more.  

His body was a frigid storm to my fervent summer. “You are glorious as the solstice sun, darling. With you I am forever warm, within you I live eternally,” the confession falling easy from his lips the day he had taught me how to hunt.

Faces lost in each other, bodies entwined and limbs tugging like our lives depended on it, Alucard let his hand roam under my nightdress, finally finding solace in the swell of my chest. I shifted slightly at the unusual chill. Was he ever this cold?

Over the months I had become accustomed to his half human intricacies. His unnerving stillness, his undeniable thirst for blood try as he might to hide it, his erratic need to stay up nights in a row roaming the castle “just to be sure…” 

I was no fool. Those witching hours almost always had him back in his childhood room — he would stare, as if entranced, at the spot he had staked his father. And I would see the grief in his eyes — the absolute contrition at his travesty, one he wished he could take back, but couldn’t. 

Alucard, the son of the great Dracula and benevolent Lisa Tepes, the almighty dhampir. A being so beautiful he could bring a kingdom to its knees, yet one so cruelly tormented by his past.

“Baby, eyes on me.” My eyes fluttered open, realising I was lost in the wrong moment. He crashed his lips into mine once again. 

As if in a bid to stop my obsessive thinking, he started to grab at my breast, kneading furiously, thumb toying with my nipple. I leaned in closer, but alas my human endurance had reached its limits and I pulled away for air. 

“I want to know what happened to the prey. I am most opposed to unfinished stories,” I tried to play coy in between ragged breaths. Nose to mine, he wore a smirk on his handsome face. He had a playful glint to his stare — contemplative, as if taunting me to continue with my officious fib. 

Alucard picked the tome up from my stomach, grazing his fingers ever so slightly over my abdomen. He trailed the book slowly down my navel, its cracked spine against my bare skin sent fireworks to my core. I watched with bated breath as the print finally landed where he wanted it — in between my legs. He dragged its spine down, then up again, repeating the motion, teasing, eyes never leaving mine. 

Satisfied with how wet my undergarment had become, he hushed, “I think it better if I showed you instead. Don’t you agree, princess?” 

“Ye..yesss,” 

“Do you like that?”

“Yesss…”

“Open your legs wider.”

I obeyed. Submitting to him was easy. Too easy.

“Let’s see just how wet you are for me, hmm?” 

Without warning, Alucard ripped my soaking cloth off my hips and plunged two fingers inside. I cried out at the shock and how good it felt, and as if by instinct grabbed his hands and guided them deeper into me. Alucard let out a stifled moan at my brazenness, his erection growing fast under his black britches.

He watched with eyes half-lidded, completely spellbound as I bounced into his hand, my breasts rising and falling with every thrust. Body and mind so turned on he reached urgently into his pants and started stroking his length. 

For a long moment we just sat there, eyes locked on each other, legs spread wide, our sex stimulated. And what a profane sight it must have been for our bed chamber was filled with nothing but wanton “fucks” and the squelching of his fingers coated in my lust. 

I fucked myself into his fingers harder, and reached desperately for his cock. With more force than necessary, he caught both my wrists with his free hand and pinned them to my stomach. “That’s for later,” he chided. 

Alucard was usually wary of his inhuman strength around me. But tonight, tonight he was carnal, rough, like an animal being let out of its cage. His knuckles went white with how much pressure he had put on my wrists, and I bit my lip knowing it was going to bruise. 

As if to edge me further, Alucard pulled his fingers out and gazed at them ever so intently, admiring the slather of fluid glistening like diamonds on his digits. If his etherealness hadn’t killed me, then perhaps what he did next would have driven me close to death. With deliberate calm, he brought his fingers into his mouth, swiping his tongue over my juices, savouring every single trickle.

My dhampir, hair like a divine cascade of golden waterfalls, on his knees, drinking my lust as if it were vital sustenance, yet all that he was was in direct contrast to his reverence — powerful, dominant and deadly. I marvelled at his masculine elegance — the way his pectorals tensed as he licked his fingers dry, how his faded sanguine scar stood distinct against his alabaster skin, the definition of muscles that ran down his pelvis…

I swallowed. 

“God, you taste so good. Only for me, yes?” 

“Yesss…” Being thoroughly educated and well-read, I was fairly ashamed it was all the vocabulary I could muster.

And it would seem that more crude words were soon to follow, as Alucard then dove in between my thighs and sent his tongue plunging — deep, depraved — into my clenching walls.  

“Fuuuck, Adrian!” 

Hearing his name sent him over the edge, and he started sucking hard — wet pillow lips against wet pillow flesh. I was heaven and hell collided, rising from it like the luminescent birth of a star. I ground my core into his face, hands grasping his woven-gold hair, willing him to dive further into me. 

Alucard groaned in pleasure against my clit. Powerful, cold hands gripped my thighs apart, and my sweet lover lay soft kisses to the insides, thumbs expertly caressing my sensitive folds. In all his vampire glory, he bared his fangs ever so slightly, sharp teeth just barely peeking through, grazing them over my clit and thighs, nibbling, never breaking skin. I was undone. 

“Adrian…Adrian please…”

“Please what?”

I was all heavy pants and delirious to give a coherent reply.

Head still positioned at the apex of my thighs, his eyes raked over his masterpiece — delicate features coated in sweat, nipples hard from stimulation and the soppy, pulsating cunt laid out like a feast inches from his mouth. What a mess he had made of me, and a mess he was most certainly proud of. 

From in between my legs, Adrian was a fallen angel from a paradise unknown. His eyes like gold afire were so wholly glazed over they looked like one with the smouldering flames nestled atop our chamber candles. 

Patience waning, he asked again. “Please…” humming the words into my clit…“what?” A loud moan escaped my lips. I arched my back in sheer pleasure, feeling the build up in my core.

He dragged his fangs against my thighs, eyes fixated on mine, drinking in my desire. 

“I want…I want…” my chest heaving so violently from how close I was to release.

“What do you want?” Adrian moved to whisper against my ear. This was too much. 

“I want…I want you to turn me.”

Alucard went very still, his pupils blown wide. Everything went very still. The flames lost its dance, the curtains absent of sway.

“What did you say?” His voice was still water with undercurrents of danger. 

His statuesque figure towered over me, pinning me under. 

“I said, I want you to turn me.” 

Alucard held my stare, and as I took them in, an unearthly shadow seemed to lurk beneath those incandescent irises. 

If my question threw him off guard, his unsettling stillness made it clear he wasn’t most fond of surprises. It took a long moment before he finally moved, his supernatural speed having him by the window in seconds. 

Frustration soon shrouded my orgasmic high. I forced my spent body off the reprieve of our mattress. He was going to answer me whether he liked it or not.

“Adrian! You cannot disregard my question any longer! I’ve wanted this from the first time you made love to me, don’t pretend it was never asked of you,” exasperation evident in my tone.

“Peril or not, I am not afraid. I…”

A sudden squall of wind extinguished the flickering flames. Our bed chamber was plunged into chasmic darkness, summoning a bitter chill that seeped through the wooden floors. There, still as a predator hunting prey, hovered the glowing golden orbs of Alucard's eyes, the blacks of his pupils far wider than I’d ever seen. 

“A…Adrian?” 

Part II

[gladoswantscake]

Need You, Crave You, Love You - Dracula x Reader (DBD)

Summary: In need of help comes with a price

Warnings: Captivity/kidnapping, horror, blood, mild swearing

A/N: This take place right before you are taken by the Entity

Available on AO3

"I am no good nor evil, simply I am, and I have come to take what is mine." (Ptolemaea, Ethel Cain)

It happened so fast. One second, you struggled to see through the storm and found yourself in submerging water. You managed to escape your car after hitting the front glass multiple times before the cold water sunk you further underwater.

You swam until you felt dirt beneath your cold hands and slowly regained your balance. You took a moment to look around you. A large dark cloud illuminated by lightning with large spikelike legs emerged from the cloud close to you. Maybe you were seeing things? You turn away from the water and look for any light source within your view.

As the rain slightly lightens up, the harsh wind picks up. Strange deep whispers call out from behind you. You then turn to see fog emerge from the water and towards you. Your eyes widen, and you make haste through the wooded area.

Everything began to look the same the further you ran deep into the forest. You started to lose hope until a small light shined through the trees. A house not far from where you stood. Just a bit up the mountains.

As you ran closer to the house, your legs burned, and you lost all feeling throughout your body from the prolonged exposure to the frigid weather. Luckily, by the time you arrived, no fog nor sound was made; pure silence.

You gave the large wooden door a few sharp knocks. "Hello?!" You knock again. This time, the door slowly opens. You hesitantly poked your head inside, seeing the large and empty place only accompanied by several lit candles to light the inside. The storm isn't letting up anytime soon, and the longer you stay outside, the more you risk dying from frostbite weather.

The large door shuts behind you. It's much quieter now since you were out of the storm.

"Hello?" Your voice rang out.

The room you stood in consisted of old architect of carved dark wood and large antique paintings. It was a rather beautiful room, and whoever lived here took great care and pride in their home.

Only taking a few steps deeper into the room, a voice startles you.

"Good evening. I bid you welcome." The deep voice says.

You whip your head towards the voice. A tall man stood just a few feet away from you. "I'm sorry for walking in here. Your door was unlocked." You apologize. "I got into a bad accident from the storm. And my car is gone. It was the closest place I could find help."

His eyes never leave you as the tall man walks towards you. "An accident?" He questions.

"Y-Yes, sir." You stutter from the cold.

The man's skin was pale, just not as pale as yours. His long white hair slightly swayed with each step he took. His white facial hair was sharp-looking and neatly groomed. There was not a single flaw on his face, and his attire was odd. It wasn't something you'd see today. It looked as if his evening attire was from centuries ago but better tailored. The colors he wore were deep red, crimson, and black, which perfectly suited his figure.

"My condolences." He places his hand on his chest.

"I'd hate to disturb your evening, but do you have a phone I could borrow to call a friend? I can be on my way."

He smiles and lets out a short chuckle. "My dear, I'm afraid a phone does not exist within the walls of my home." His eyes travel down to your drenched clothing in a stalking manner.

"Rest assured, you have not disturbed my evening." He begins slowly walking around your shivering self. "Although you are an interesting guest." His voice lowers as he makes his way behind you. A hint of an accent can be heard in his voice.

"I'm sure I have been an interesting individual: Showing up drenched and injured." You made a weak laugh to bury the anxiety.

He finally circles back, facing you. "Injured?" He raises a brow.

"I honestly don't know where exactly. It might've been my shoulder when I crawled out of my car window. I'm too numb to know, but I can manage it if it's just a scratch. Do you have any bandages I can patch myself up?"

The man's lips slightly grow upwards upon hearing your injury. "Of course. Please follow." He turns his heel, and you follow him into another room. The halls were dark and slightly warm. It was much better than the outside.

"Your home is beautiful." You say. I see you put in a lot of work."

He turns his head and smiles. "I take great contentment into making my sanctuary a place of comfort."

He leads you into a brighter, lit room. The fireplace gives the room a better view of your surroundings. He guides you to a large couch to sit on.

"I am surprised you have not dwelled into fear. Mortals who've stumbled upon me would have cowered."

You watch him light a few large candles. "I don't think you're intimidating." You glance around the neatly organized room: A couple of large bookshelves and a few pieces of sitting furniture.

"Intimidating? He finishes. He strides towards you. "I am pleased to hear that." He sits down next to you, just close enough for his clothed knee to brush against yours. The rich and smokey fragrances coming from his attire made your heart flutter. "Tell me, is it my presence that's intriguing you? Making your heart thump so loud?"

You stared, not knowing what to say. It felt like your words became twisted whenever you tried to speak. The longer the man's eyes never left you, the worse your heart beats. You could feel your cheeks flare up the closer he closed the space between the two of you on the couch. His aroma was entrancing you.

He takes his hand into yours. "Tell me," His thumb traces over your veiny hand. "Is my presence causing you to feel so strained? Or perhaps you've never met a man like me?"

He could read your mind, expressions, and thoughts so well. You couldn't think of anything to reply to him.

The warm heat from the fireplace thawed your freezing body, and you now feel warm liquid travel down your forearm. You slowly look down, seeing a dark crimson liquid paint your pale arm. It looks like you did cut yourself really well.

He looks down at your arm. A good amount of blood was running down from your shoulder, where you complained earlier. A smile creeps upon his face. "My you are hurt..."

His pale, slender fingers gently wrap around your forearm, causing you to tense up due to his cold hand. His other hand collects a sample of your blood with his fingers, bringing it to his lips to taste the warm metallic flavor.

He takes a minute to savor the fresh, lukewarm blood that was exposed to his tongue. He then hums to himself, "Your blood is so pleasing to taste." He slightly leans in towards you. His cold hand remains on your forearm. You could finally see something even more off: His eyes, a bright amber color. His other hand finds its way to your face, and his fingers cup your chin.

"Such lusciousness and magnificence you have presented to me. You remind me of my previous lover." His fangs finally appear with a large grin. "I need you."

"You get the fuck away from me." You finally speak.

Without giving him a second to respond, you shove him with all you might with your free hand. The feeling of his sharp fingernails digging into your forearm caused you to yelp. Ignoring the pain, you quickly bolt out of the room.

You ran to the front door to open it, but it wouldn't budge. You cursed to yourself. You didn't have a second to think as you heard him call out for you. With no other choice, you ran as far as you could within the dark manor.

He's never had a human captivate him so much. With the isolation swallowing him whole for many years, his craving for another being became intense. Perhaps it was why the isolation made him behave the way he did. He wasn't going to kill you. No. He was determined to make you his and part of him. It'll take time for you to surrender, but he has plenty of patience.

You hid in a spare bedroom. The room was cold and dark. Thankfully, a full moon shone through the window, allowing you to see the room. You locked the bedroom door and walked up to the window. You could see the strange cloud from earlier, only closer to you now. You quietly attempt to open the stubborn old window.

You tried to lift the window a few times, but it wouldn't budge.

"No, no, no." You whine. "Open, damn it!" Anger formed into tears as you soon discovered there was no way out.

Then his voice came from the other side of the locked bedroom. The stinging pain from your forearm caused you to look down. You didn't realize how much you bled. That was why he was able to find you so quickly.

"Go away!" You cried out. You pulled your bleeding arm to your clothed chest to try to prevent yourself from accidentally making a bigger mess.

He could hear you break down into pathetic sobs from the other side. "Please don't fret, love. My intentions aren't to hurt you." He reassures.

"I just want to go home."

"I'm afraid your loud pleading cries fall on deaf ears." His hand wraps around the doorknob to twist, only to find out you locked the door. He chuckles to himself. "This will only make things difficult if you keep this door locked. All that I ask is to see you."

Momentarily, no noise came from the other side. Then, soft footsteps grew louder towards him. The lock on the door slowly clicked, followed by the door opening. You stood before him, sniveling, knowing your fate. Your puffy eyes look up at him. You frown through tears.

His brows lowered as he raised his thumb to brush a tear down your cheek. A small smile forms on his lips, big enough to display his fangs, knowing he has you in his grasp. Your soft, fragile skin and eyes remind him so much of 'her.' He's waited so long to have someone that showed any resemblance to her. Maybe God grew bored of punishing him for centuries.

He takes pity for scaring you. "I apologize for my behavior. It's just been so long since I've seen something so exquisite before me." His thumb traces your warm cheek. "You have no idea how long I've waited for you." His accent thickens.

"Please…" Your voice let out a pathetic plea to him.

"What is it that you yearn for, my dearly beloved?"

You wince as you feel his warm breath hit your ear. You could feel his lips travel to your neck, leaving feathered kisses.

His fangs teasingly gently graze your puncturable neck. He could feel your veins pulsating beneath his sharp teeth. He was greatly aroused by it. He knew better than to turn you. It would be selfish of him. But he couldn't risk the chance of losing you. He'll convince you to join him. He'll make sure of it.

"H-Home." You whisper.

"You do not feel at home? With me?"

You wanted to say no but couldn't. You feared that anything you say that didn't align with what he wanted to hear would upset him even more. "What...are you?"

He pulls away from your neck. "A vampire."

"You...you're real..."

"I'm sure you know my name from the stories you've heard about me."

His hand lowers to lift up your uninjured hand. His cold lips kiss your knuckles. He takes his time feeling his lips against your skin and taking in your faded aroma. It's been a long time since he felt the touch of another person who he craved for. He couldn't let you go.

He lowers your hand and cups your jaw. "Let me take care of you." His free hand slithers around your waist.

It felt like you were in a trance. You couldn't move or speak. Only watch him tenderly touch you as if you were an injured animal.

"Stay with me, and I will give you anything you desire." Your body is pulled closer to his. "Let me make it right."