#count dracula x reader fic

[bunnyluvx]

spending rainy nights with you.

featuring: vlad dracula tepes x gn!reader.

summary: you're reading late at night, and your husband grows impatient waiting for you.

warnings: minors and ageless blogs dni regardless of content.

tags: fluff | one-shot | vampire! reader | established marriage | clingy! vlad | you fight like an old married couple (you are an old married couple)

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! finally a new fanfic after 4 months. i'm really proud of this one so i hope you all like it! thank you to everyone who gave me advice, i really needed it. i appreciate you all so much! p.s i made the dividers featured, so please do not use them.

date started: 5:02PM, december 31st, 2024. date finished: 5:56PM, january 8th, 2025.

ib: @creativepromptsforwriting ♡ | wc: 2.9k | ao3

Darkness cradles the Earth in a loving embrace while the clouds cry. The moon cannot give its glow for beings below, and the stars are unable to watch the wonders of the night unfold for long without the clouds covering their view. It has been this way all evening, rain pouring down anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour, stopping for around the same amount of time before starting again. The plants and animals of the forest are grateful for the sky's nourishment, and the clouds feel so encouraged by nature's gratitude that there are no signs of this pattern letting up anytime soon.

You appreciate the weather, too, for it is perfect for reading. At the moment, you find yourself sat in one of many libraries in the castle. The rocking chair that you find yourself in is rather comfortable, and the book in your hands pulls you further into its story with every word you follow. In your most comfortable nightwear with a blanket on your lap and a cardigan around your shoulders, not many other things come to mind when you try to think of a better way to spend your evening.

"I'll be to bed soon, dear. I'm almost finished with this chapter." Your voice breaks the comfortable silence and echoes across the wooden shelves enveloping you in your little corner to reach the ears of the rather large man that is making a very poor attempt to hide.

Standing not far from you, partially behind a bookcase, is your husband, Vlad Țepeș. You've felt his presence for the past few minutes, deciding that you would wait for him to speak first, but as quiet lingered in the air, you quickly realized that he wasn't going to announce himself. Your history with Vlad goes far beyond your marriage, for the two of you were some of the first vampires to ever walk the Earth. You were good friends for a very long time, and to save the novel-worthy story, you found each other after many years of being separated and romance fiercely set ablaze. No divine being could send you someone that's close in comparison to him, and he could say the same about you.

There are a few more moments of silence before you feel wind hastily rushing against the back of your neck, followed by large, strong arms tightly wrapping around your shoulders and cold skin resting right where the air had just wafted past you. Many would find it hard to believe that Count Dracula is a clingy lover, but this behavior is of no surprise to you. For as long as the two of you have been together, Vlad has always craved closeness. When he is without you for a certain period of time, he searches the castle to take his rightful place by your side once more. He didn't have to look for long tonight, for he knew exactly where you were.

You have been obsessed with this book that you found in the library, and while he is glad that you are enjoying it, it is taking your attention away from him. This is not something that pleases Vlad very deeply, so he is planning on making some changes tonight. "You've been in here for hours. Come to bed, now." His deep voice comes with a rumble from his chest, tone composed of a gentleness reserved for you alone.

His plea does not go unheard, for you know that all he wants is for you to snuggle up with him and doze into night's comfortable slumber together. Fondness takes hold of your heart as a small, tender smile curls onto your lips. It's difficult to refuse him such an innocent ask, but it is just as difficult to pull yourself away from the narrative in your hands, so you assure your beloved, "There isn't much left. You'll be alright a few minutes more."

This earns a disappointed groan from Vlad, burying his face further into your neck. "How much more is there?"

You tilt your head and take each remaining page between your fingers until you find the next chapter, and when you find your answer, you tell him, "Three pages."

Another groan grates from Vlad's throat, prolonged from the previous one as he nestles impossibly further into your skin with his large frame leaning against the back of the wooden chair. "Remind me why we sleep at night." Your darling requests, peaking up at your face.

"Hey, you don't have to sleep at night if you don't want to. It was your idea to change your sleep schedule so that we could match," You grant Vlad his request and recall the commitment that he made to sleeping throughout the night so that the two of you would be able to be together when the sun comes up.

You have preferred day to night for as long as you could remember. You have no reason for favoring daytime other than feeling that the Earth is so much more lively and bright. The plants are so vibrant beneath the sunlight, and there are so many things that you want to experience that you wouldn't be able to otherwise. Vlad always knew that you enjoyed day more than night, therefore adjusting your sleeping schedule accordingly; As a result, Vlad told you that he was going to start sleeping through the night too. At first, you were a bit worried about such a major change to his routine, but he insisted that he wanted to see the world through your eyes. This has been the arrangement ever since, and you cannot help but feel so smitten by the idea that he is willing to introduce such adjustments to his agenda in order to be with you.

With this transition in his life, Vlad knew that he was going to be groggy. While he has a substantial amount of energy compared to most vampires, this does not exempt him from needing the same amount of sleep. Have no doubt when he swears that there is nothing that he would change about dedicating himself to your lifestyle. You were right when you said that it was his choice, but unfortunately, it does not cure the fatigue that he often finds himself with when he stirs from his night's rest.

In attempt to adjust to the pattern he promised you, he likes going to bed early. Vlad tries to be tucked in anywhere from seven to nine P.M, and typically, you are by his side. You go to bed around the same time that he does, if not a little later, so when he was preparing himself for bed without you, he got worried. He figured that you would come to bed soon, so he laid down in attempt to fall asleep. As the hours ticked by with still no sign of you, he became restless, eventually making the decision to go look for you.

A defeated huff leaves Vlad's lips as he rests his forehead against the back of your neck again. One of many reasons why he fell in love with you was because of your smart mouth, and you pick the most bedeviling times to use it. "I know that," He mumbles lowly, peaking back up at you before resting his chin on your shoulder and closing his eyes.

"You know that I can't sleep without you. Please, come to bed." The count pleads again, sweeter this time.

You almost give in to his honeyed words, their innocent warmth daring to bewitch you. Nevertheless, you keep your composure while your eyes remain on the page before you, as they have throughout the entire conversation, "You will be just fine, dear. Only a few minutes longer."

Vlad has learned much about patience in his life, especially when he found you again. All good things come to those who wait is something that the dark-haired vampire has commonly watched play out, so normally, this wouldn't be the end of the world for him. He would do naught more than pout and refuse to detach himself from you until you came to bed. Tonight, however, Vlad will not be indulging in your distractions. Quick to stand, sending a blast of wind against your back once more, the count steps to your side before lifting you up into his arms. You yelp at the unexpected change of location and almost drop your book in the process, barely being able to catch it by its spine before holding it closed to your chest and leaning against your husband. "Vlad!!" You exclaim, laughter tickling its way from your lungs moments after.

"No. I have had enough. You are coming to bed with me." The vampire declares as he begins to make his way towards the library's exit.

"Vlad, put me down!!" You demand, only moderately annoyed with him as you flail in his grasp in attempt to escape, "Right now!!"

"Nope. So sorry, my dear, but your book is going to have to wait." Vlad proclaims, lips tilting upwards in a cheeky grin as his head turns to the side so that radiant red eyes can meet yours, "Your husband requires your attendance to the nightly snuggle session. You're late."

Any attempts you're making to escape the security of this man's arms are greatly failing you, so you decide to admit defeat now rather than later. His strength serves well, and while you are grateful for it most days, this is a good example of the cons of being married to one of Earth's most powerful vampires. He can, and will, wrangle you around whenever he pleases. Your bottom lip pokes out from its place as you lean against the man's chest, determined to uphold your front of unwavering stubbornness.

Amused by your dramatics, Vlad rolls his eyes playfully and allows them to close while a chuckle vibrates up his chest and past his lips. He opens them again to admire your sullen expression, musing, "Oh, come now. I can't be that bad of a cuddler since you're pitching a fit."

Your pout is quick to dispel from your face, a long sigh expelling from your lungs just afterwards. You avoid eye contact as you agree with him, "No, you're not."

Another chuckle escapes the mouth of your lover, a sound that you are secretly glad to hear that reassures you that he isn't taking you seriously. He draws you closer to his chest as he softly murmurs against your forehead before placing a kiss to it, "Don't worry, you can read more tomorrow."

You sulk and avoid eye contact for a bit before dropping the act. It wasn't much longer before you arrived into your shared bedroom, the door coming open to reveal a sight that has grown comforting to you over the years. The room is decorated primarily in red and black, as you both adore the colors, but there are a few distinct shades around too which sets apart your individual styles. Assorted trinkets rest across dressers and shelves from the many travels that you two have taken over the years, gifts and ornaments that you've made for each other through a plethora of shared anniversaries that always bring a smile to your face every time you pay mind to them.

Variously styled mirrors, decor, and paintings hang on the walls. There is no real purpose for the mirrors other than to enhance the elegance of the room, as they are too high for both you and Vlad to see anything from. The paintings, however, hold much importance to both of you. Each illustration that lays across your walls tells a story from one of your memorable moments together. Vlad personally hired the best artist he could find to perfectly capture your most treasured experiences, and whenever you are having a bad day, all you have to do is look up to brighten your spirits.

Your husband walks over to his side of the bed and holds you above the center before dropping you onto the soft surface, causing you to puff out an exhale before your laughter sings into the air. You lay yourself across the bed and remain still while Vlad adjusts the canopy draped over the wooden post by his pillow before he launches at you. With no time to move away, he plops over your stomach, the impact of his weight causing you to wheeze. You look down at him with an astonished grin on your lips as he lays in momentary silence before lifting himself off of you to settle onto you comfortably. You sit up and adjust all of the pillows behind you before leaning back against them, prying your book open again before it is promptly snatched out of your hands and slammed onto Vlad's nightstand. You laugh and try to reach for it, imploring for its return, but that is quickly shut-down by the vampire hovering above you, "No. Sincerest apologies You'll get it back tomorrow."

Slowly, he stations himself on top of you with his head against your abdomen just under your chest. He is mindful of your body language to ensure your comfort, and when he descends his full weight with no awkward shifting or complaints from you after a few minutes, he concludes your contentment with the position and nestles his head against you with closed eyes. Your arms lift as he gets himself cozy, and once he relaxes, you wrap your arms around his shoulders while your fingers begin to comb through his hair. A smile graces the vampire's lips as your touch serves to soothe all worries away from his mind.

You cannot stop the smile that grows onto your own face as you watch his lips curl up. No soul, alive or dead, can say that they have experienced Vlad Țepeș' joy the way that you do, and for this, you are grateful. Vlad has spent so much of his life keeping up a cold, merciless profile for all vampires that dare to step to him, but charades with you are unnecessary. All of the walls that he spent centuries building are torn to shreds in your presence, and no matter his methods, they could never withstand your blinding iridescence. There is comfort in your arms that he has never found in another, and this tranquility that he has the luxury of being the only person to experience is something that he holds close to his heart. This is not something that you do knowingly, for it is who you are. You are a constant source of peace that quells the ever-roaring fire in his soul to a quiet crackle. You are what inspires him to be curious about the world, you keep his thirst for knowledge abundant with your differing perspectives, and he firmly believes that your ideas could change the world.

It's truly a shame that your eyes cannot convey the amount of love that you hold for this man, but they are doing their best. Your gaze displays your overwhelming adoration for him, and he surely feels how loved he is. When you look at him, Vlad knows that he is admired in every way he never dreamed of. Your eyes do not have to meet for him to know that you look at him like he is the greatest thing in the world, and that is all you could ever wish for. You finally decide to break the silence after watching him rest for a bit, teasing him, "Is this going to be your spot for the night?"

Any thoughts that Vlad was having before you embraced him have completely vanished. Now, it's just you, him, and your warm bed. All he can muster out is a low, "Mhm."

You giggle as you recognize his sleepiness and lift your legs slightly, asking, "Then can we at least get under the covers so that we don't freeze to death?"

A lazy, amused smirk curls onto Vlad's face at your suggestion, his nostrils flaring in a huff. "I'm not even sure that we can freeze," He admits.

You chuckle and move your hands from his hair onto his back to pat it. "Well, I don't want to risk finding out. So come on."

An agitated groans leaves your comfy husband before he begrudgingly eases himself off of you so that you could get under the covers. The two of you adjust the pillows to their normal spaces and you shake off your cardigan to toss it aside before you slip your legs beneath the sheets. A corner of the sheets lay open, and you lift them up to welcome him inside. Vlad's lips form a gentle smile, and his eyes soften affectionately at the sight before he climbs into the covers and rests himself back on top of you. Your fingers return to threading through his hair, a blissful sigh respiring from his lungs as he resumes a comfortable position. You look down at the top of his head with the same benevolent expression that you wear every time that you look at him, and your voice comes out soft when you say, "Goodnight, my dearest. I love you."

The words that you tell him every night are words that he could never tire of hearing. When you say it, he knows that you mean it, and it fills him with ease to know that when you wake up in the morning, he will get to hear you say it again. "Goodnight, my darling. I love you too." Vlad returns the sentiment, falling into an inescapable slumber with you not far behind him.

@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3

[yakultf4thesoul]

Okay, writers, hear me out…

CountDracula!Ewan I need to read a fanfic like this, Tag me or whatever but please I need it

[6lostgirl6]

Can you please do a Dracula fic for me where it is modern times and you are Dracula’s mate. He sees you and immediately knows what/who you are to him. He goes about trying to court you but he does it in the same way you would way back when. You find it cute and sweet, seeing as how most guys put minimal effort in and just wanna get in your pants. Basically you guys fall in love and he tells you what/who he is, you obviously accept it, and maybe ends with you asking him to turn you. Which he’s obviously gonna do.

Thank you. 🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️

Chivalry Is Undead

Pairing: Modern!Vladislaus Dracula x Fem!Reader

TW: Dracula haunted by your death, blood mention, dead bodies mentioned, reincarnation, mentions of past life, Dracula hissing at you, turning.

There was only one moment in time in which Vladislaus Dracula was able to find a sense of true happiness in his life. This was the time he felt like he was truly a human being rather than a monster, a tyrant. The time in which he still had you, his long lost wife.

Now, centuries later, he was considering taking a trip across the world to ease the pain of losing the only thing he had ever truly loved and felt that he could never recover from. The trip from Romania to America was rough, staying in the cargo hold of a boat until they reached land. By the time he was able to step out, the entire crew was lifeless and drained of all blood.

A few days after he arrived in the city, he decided to explore the area and get to know the city a little better.

It was impossible not to notice how out of place the vampire Lord stood in the crowd. He was dressed in clothes that would remind people of the Victorian era. It didn’t help that he was the only one to carry an umbrella during the day without a sign of rain. However, he also caught the attention of multiple women, none of which interested him. His beloved wife held a special place in his heart, there was no room for any other.

After walking for a while, he was suddenly hit with a very peculiar scent in the air. Dracula paused in his steps, his eyes widening as he took in the sweet aroma. His undead heart would have skipped a beat if he were human.

He could smell the scent of his beloved.

He hastened his steps, effortlessly pushing through the crowd as he did so. He wasn't going to let any disgusting human get in the way of him finding his lost love. He paused again, standing in the spot where the sweet aroma was at its strongest.

Suddenly, he widened his eyes in shock as he looked across the busy street and a rare smile appeared on his face. His pupils began to dilate as he stared across the street. There you were, standing near the crosswalk with a device in your hand that he remembered was a cellphone.

He couldn't imagine anything more beautiful than you; the exact image of the beloved he lost so long ago. The sensation of moving towards you itched in his body. He was tempted to forget about the traffic in front of him and just appear before you. It was your touch, your presence, and your entire being that once soothed his tyrannical soul. He missed you and desperately wanted you back in his arms and that is exactly what he'll do.

You were watching something on your phone, waiting for the pedestrian signal to change so you and a small crowd of people could cross the road. Soon, the pedestrian signal turned green, allowing you and the small crowd to begin walking across safely. After crossing the road, you went to walk down the sidewalk when you suddenly bumped into what seemed like a brick wall, causing you to drop your phone. 

With the stranger's quick reflexes, he was able to grab your phone before it could land on the pavement.

“Apologies, Miss...” He said, his voice was deep with a Romanian accent, handing out the device towards you.

"Thank you so much." You said with a sheepish smile, taking your phone back from the handsome stranger. "I'm really sorry, I should have been paying better attention."

Damn, even her voice is the same...

He waved his hand towards you dismissing your apology with a friendly smile. "No, do not apologize, the fault is mine. Might I ask your name?" He asked with curiosity.

You found him awfully charming and you gave your name out instantly. "What's your name?" You asked, just as curious about the handsome stranger. In that moment, the stranger took your hand not holding your phone and pressed a kiss upon your knuckles. You felt your heart skip a beat. 

“What a gorgeous name…” He muttered, staring into your eyes. 

Dracula’s keen hearing was able to sense your nervousness and your immediate attraction to him. His mind was hazy and fangs aching to make their claim upon your delicate throat. To claim you as his mate so he would never lose you again. "You may call me Vlad, my dear, I have traveled all the way from Transylvania for sight-seeing." 

“You’ve come a long way…” You uttered, your gazes were still locked on one another, unable to break the connection between you both. 

“I have, but I believe the agonizing trip was well-worth it, to see true beauty such as yourself.” He commented, smirking a little when he noticed the warmth flooding your cheeks. “I was exploring the city, but it would be lovely to have someone like you accompanying me. Would you like that?” 

Your eyes softened, giving a smile from his charm, he was quite different from the other men you would see around the city. It warmed your heart to have a man show genuine interest in you and want to merely spend time with you. “I would love that.” 

Dracula felt relieved as his eyes softened from your acceptance. He held his arm out and you quickly wrapped your arm around his own, elbows linked together. It was very old-fashioned you can admit, but you couldn’t help but prefer it. However, you couldn’t place it, but the gesture was oddly familiar, as if he’s done this with you before. 

Your relationship with Vlad has been going well for a few months now and you are happier than you have ever been. Since becoming his unofficial tour guide, you have spent almost every day with him. You have even been on a few dates with him, unable to resist his sweet nature and silver tongue. Dates that consisted of fine restaurants and extravagant tours of the city that you had never had the opportunity to experience before. However, you noticed that Vlad was very vague when it came to specifics about himself. In particular, he was not interested in discussing his past, his finances, or his methods of obtaining them and his need for carrying an umbrella everywhere. When you asked him why, he mentioned it was because he had a rare skin condition that would become irritated if exposed to direct sunlight.

Despite his mysterious behavior, you still found him extremely charming and you noticed that you were starting to grow intense feelings for him. However, as your relationship developed and your feelings grew, you began having dreams, strange dreams. More like nightmares because you would always dream about ancient times where you and Vlad were once married where the dream would end with your impending doom, you were never given details of your ultimate demise.

You never bothered to tell Vlad, not wanting to push him away or make him think you were crazy because you dreamt that you were his wife in some past life, you never wanted to ruin your chances with him. For instance, you were going on another date with him tonight, deciding that you both would meet each other in an extravagant park that was quite a distance from the city.

After getting into your car and making the drive away from the city, you arrived in the parking lot near the entrance of the park. Glancing outside your window, you turned off the engine before stepping out onto the concrete. It was just after dusk and the skies were starting to become darker as the minutes moved on. After locking your car, you headed over to the entrance and looked around. 

Part of you disliked Vlad not having a cellphone, due to him hating technology, but you had no way of getting a hold of him should you ever needed him or his location. Checking the time on your phone, you sighed as you were about to put it away. You were becoming a little anxious that you might have been stood up.

“Looking for something?” A pleasant voice whispered in your ear, thick Romanian accent sending shivers down your spine. 

You jolted slightly, gasping as you turned towards the person. Standing behind you with an amused smirk was Vlad, seemingly entertained by your reaction. You rolled your eyes and playfully smacked his arm, knowing that it wouldn’t hurt him. “You scared me!” You exclaimed, a teasing smile plastered on your face. 

“I apologize, my sweet.” Vlad replied, staring intently into your eyes. He thought it was delectable how scared you became, even if it only lasted for a meer moment. He was dressed in black with a thick overcoat. “It’s rude to scare the lady that captured my heart.” He continued, reaching out to take your hand in his own. He couldn’t resist touching you.

You felt your cheeks grow a little warm, gripping his hand as you both entered the park, enjoying the scenery. However, you were still a little distracted from the dreams you’ve been having. Usually, you were able to ignore it until you went home where you could reflect after your dates with Vlad. Now though, your mind was constantly replaying the dreams in a loop. You didn't notice how distant you became the more the date went on, getting lost in your own head.

Dracula noticed you were more quiet than usual, opting to replying in short answers or needing him to repeat himself. Dracula may have been old, but he understood when someone is thinking about something, something very important.

He stopped you both when you appeared next to a fountain, turning towards you and taking both of your hands in his own. "What bothers you so, my sweet?" He asked, concern evident in his gaze.

"I'm sorry..." You muttered, a little embarrassed from your behavior. "I've just been thinking about some things."

"Like what? Does something trouble you?" He questioned, squeezing your hands. Everything was feeling very familiar again, and you were starting to feel a little weird.

"I've been having...strange dreams lately. Dreams that seem very real and like I've been there before. But it's impossible, right? Dreaming about something that's never happened?" You explained, but it only left you asking questions.

Dracula swore his heart jumped to his throat. Could this mean you were starting to remember your past life with him? Was his mere presence and time spent with you the answer to getting you back?

"What do you dream about?" He stepped closer, his gaze refusing to leave your own. "What is it, my sweet?" He was eager to hear your answer.

"It's really stupid, it's like we've met before? The dreams start with us being married during an ancient time and the dream ends with me dying in some way and leaving you behind...the dream never gives me answers though..." You explained, voice low. "But, we were really happy and I woke up crying sometimes."

"It's because it was real..." Dracula replied, his eyes soft and if he could, tears would have been gathering in his own eyes. "It was real, my sweet..."

"But that's impossible, Vlad." You stated, a little confused from his reaction. "Past lives don't exist and even if you were alive during that time, you would be dead right now."

Dracula sighed, before looking around. He didn't sense anyone else in the vicinity, meaning that the both of you were completely alone. For once in his immortal life; he felt nervous, nervous for your reaction.

"Come, my sweet," Leading you by the hand, you both walked over to the fountain, sitting down on the stone structure. "There is something we must discuss."

"Vlad...this isn't because of my dreams, right? It's okay if you think it's weird..." You started before Vlad politely cut you off, showing his hand.

"My darling, the dreams you've been experiencing are very much real. Centuries ago, you were the love of my life and we were once married. My pride, arrogance, and selfish desires caused me to lose you forever. However..." He gripped your hand tightly. "I have you once more, in this life. I've been given a second chance at happiness my darling, with you." He explained, he didn't want to beat around the bush.

You stared at him, slightly in shock from his explanation. Your mind was going a mile a minute, and crazy as you may seem, part of you believed him. However, the logical part of your mind screamed at you to wake up. If it were true, how is Vlad here?

"Then how are you even alive, Vlad?" You questioned, looking into his eyes.

"Because...I am a monster, my darling." He hesitated before continuing, "I am Count Vladislaus Dracula and I am a vampire."

"W-What?" You asked, standing up and backing away a little. Not allowing you to escape from him again, Dracula stood up and closed the distance between you both once more. He towered over you, his intense gaze staring into your own. "Vlad, that's not-"

"Search your feelings, you know it to be true." He stated, grabbing your hand.

"Vlad, this is such a stupid j-"

Suddenly, Vlad appeared in front of your face, hissing down at you with glowing eyes, fangs protruding from his gums and jaw slightly unhinged like a snake. His face was monstrous and for the first time, you were scared of him. You screamed in fear, struggling to remove yourself from his grip as he wrapped his arm around your waist, gripping your wrist with his other hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The monstrous face of Vlad returned to normal, pulling you close as tears gathered in your eyes, trying hard not to sob into his chest. He felt horrible that he had to show you this way, but he didn't know how else to convince you he was telling the truth. "You needed to see, darling, I'm sorry for scaring you." He caressed your hair.

You sniffled, your face pressed against his chest as Vlad continued caressing you, trying to calm you down. His monstrous face tormented your mind, however your heart was screaming that you needed to hear him out.

"M-My dreams..." You pulled away slightly, looking up at him as he moved a free hand to caress your cheek, wiping away stray tears from your skin. "W-We were really married...?"

He gave you a small smile, before nodding his head. "Yes, my sweet, but now we are given a second chance. This time, I will do everything in my power to protect you and keep you with me forever." He promised.

"But you can't..." You replied sadly. Vlad was a vampire, an immortal creature that would continue living for many more centuries, while you could die at any moment. You felt your heart breaking, knowing that even though you had a second chance, you would still lose him.

Unless...

"Unless you change me..." You mentioned, causing Vlad to look into your eyes with an unreadable expression. However, you didn't realize how much Dracula wanted to sink his teeth into your throat and change you right this second. However, he maintained himself as you continued speaking.

"Is that what you want, my darling?" He asked, pulling you close as his other hand moved to cup your other cheek. "Do you wish to become mine eternally?"

"Yes." You answered, wrapping your around his neck which made him want to purr from your affectionate touch. "Yes, I want to become your wife once more."

Without another word and breaking your gazes, he wrapped an arm around your waist before dipping you slightly. From this position, all you could see was the face of your former lover and the stars above.

"Your wish is my command." He uttered, before leaning down, which made you close your eyes instinctively.

You were bracing yourself, awaiting for the pain that would engulf you when Vlad would sink his fangs into your neck. The pain that would ultimately change your life forever. However, that never happened as you felt the man of your literal dreams pressing his lips against your own. You gasped slightly, the kiss between you two quickly becoming passionate.

Dracula couldn't hold back the pleased growl rumbling from his chest. The ability to finally have you in his arms again and tasting your sweetness through the kiss almost made him lose control. However, he wanted to make the change romantic and less painful.

Behind your closed eyes, more memories were revealed like a record player and you felt tears swell into your eyes once more. You remembered everything and your heart shattered, knowing how much pain your husband has been through since your departure.

Reluctantly, Dracula pulled away from the kiss, staring down at you with a pleased smile. Your heart was frantically beating against your chest and the way you were staring up at him made him feel an intense longing. "Are you ready, my darling?"

"Always for you, my king." You uttered in Romanian, your eyes full of devotion locking onto his own.

Dracula's instincts were going mayhem as his eyes widened, hearing those sweet Romanian words fall from your lips, uttering a name that you once called him centuries ago. He missed you so much, and he finally found you, he finally had his beloved wife once more.

"My queen..." He replied in Romanian, smirking down at you as his fangs extended.

Next thing you knew, was the excruciating pain in your neck as the love of your life sunk his fangs deep within your throat before you lost consciousness.

Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed @ghoulgeousimmaculate @britany1997 @scaramantica

[serene-sun]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖞 𝕺𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓, 𝕻𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖎𝖉𝖌𝖊 𝖁𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖊

Summary: After a multitude of wrong doings at your catholic church, you and four other nuns are sent on a mysterious transfer to a ministry nobody dares speak of. On behalf of the Count Copia, you are welcomed after a suspenseful journey. Author Note: This is the first chapter to my new series based on some of my favorite movies like Dracula, The Phantom Of The Opera and Labyrinth. You might even get some references to some others as well as a few ghost lyrics. This is going to be a build up to smut, and this will be a romance one obviously but beware this is major corruption kink coming your way. If you need some help, the ghoul in this chapter is Aether, and half of this is quite literally the exact script of Dracula. You can even look it up and see! Please enjoy, all feedback in my inbox is greatly appreciated.

Chapter one of my new series, “𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝕱𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝕺𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘”

In a Coach in the Carpathian Mountains, a young woman reads to four passengers from a travel brochure.

“Among the rugged peaks that frown down on the Borgo Pass are found crumbling castles of a bygone age.” The woman is knocked from her seat by a bump in the dirt rural road.

“I say, driver, a bit slower!” Another woman says, her black veil crooked as she shakes in the mobile. 

“No, no! We must reach the mountain before sundown!” The driver says, a crack in his voice as the silent erie sound of the forest starts to swallow all sounds.

‘And why, pray?” One of the female passengers asks, closing the bible in her lap.

“When the sun sets the demons start evoking the mountain side like raging wolves and hyenas, desperate for any vulnerable being to feast upon!” The driver replies as they are enveloped in a cloud of fog, the steep road getting more bumpy.

You held tight onto the rosary in your hands, a charm of Jesus Christ on the cross between your palms as you listen to the man speak.

As the vehicle stops in the center of the small village on the ridge, the passengers eagerly step out of the transport and into the rich moist soil. This is a small village of three homes and one or two inns, mainly farmland and water sources as it fits in a small acre. 

A woman from the nearest inn steps out of the entrance as chickens follow, her hair is in a messy bun and there is soot smudged across her face and clothes with a few patches holes in her dress and apron.

“Oh dear, let me help with your luggage sisters.” She says, wiping her hands on her sides to rid of the grim.

“Oh do not worry madam, we are to arrive up top the mountain by tonight.” you say as she grabs a leathery bag.

“Tonight? But the sun is already half set? The gate keeper, he is afraid. Good fellow, he is. Wants me to ask if you can wait to go on after sunrise.” She says as she sets the luggage back into the trunk.

“Im dearly sorry but im afraid we have specific orders from our adviser to be there by sundown, and I fear we are already late.” You reply, hands still clasped together.

Was what the driver said true? Why would it? Perhaps he was only trying to scare the group of young women.

“And who needs you on the mountain? Who sent you faithful young holy women to the dark abbey?” The innkeeper says in disbelief, she studies the very christian and catholic constant theme on the luggage and clothes.

“Count Copia, I assure you, we are here on holy deeds.” You say, willingly ignoring the description of the abbey, surely it was not truly an unholy place, it was an abbey after all.

‘Count Copia? And to the ministry?” She hides her hands in her apron pockets with her brows knitting.

“Yes.” You nod slowly, unsure of what she means, is he not the holy man they were sent to serve? 

“No, you mustn't go there. We people of the mountains believe at the castle there are devils. Count and his ghouls!  They take the form of wolves and bats, goats and succubi. They leave their coffins at night, and they feed on the blood of the living.” She says, placing her hands on your shoulders and eagerly rushing you inside, “Look at the sun! Its already gone, come we must go indoors.”

“But thats all superstition. Why I…I cant understand why…” You try to reason as the door is slammed shut after the other nuns enter.

“But wait, I mean, just a minute. What im trying to say is that im not afraid. I've explained to the driver that its a matter of holiness and god filled right, We've explained it and we must arrive soon.” You say as she pokes at the fire, letting out a cough into her hand.

“If you must go then take this for your mothers sake,” the innkeeper hands you a small vile of blood, “This will protect you..”

‘W-what is it?” You ask, the other sisters surrounding you in curiosity.

“The blood of christ!” She says, eyes wide with fear.

For a moment you feel the need to call help for the woman, she must be a poor paranoid soul. And there is no way she of all people would have the blood of christ.

The sisters gather back into the small mobile and quickly ride upon the foggy dark mountain as the red piercing sun drowns in the horizon. 

When the car stops in the pitch black court yard, the car hurriedly drives away.

“Wait! Driver! Our luggage!” 

The groups attention is brought back to the stone path to the large entrance doors as it is lined with lit candles that come of flame. The dancing red light illuminates them to follow, you take the lead, as you seem to be the least terrified. 

You push open the large black doors and step into the Obsidian floor of the main castle. Its dark just like outside and candles suddenly egnite.

The nuns look around the room, taking in the shadowed paintings, murals, and stained glass.

A footstep spooks you as the sound comes from a taller man at the top of the main stair case.

“G-Good evening.” You bow your head slightly in respect as you can only make out his shape.

“I am…Count Copia..” He says, thick italian accent in his voice as he begins stepping down the long stairs.

“Its very good to see you. I don't know what happened to the driver and our luggage and…well…with all this..I thought I was in the wrong place.” You say, hoping to not sound rude, but there wasn't a cross in sight and the stained glass showed depictions of devilish things instead of virgin mary and jesus.

“I bid you welcome.” The count says,

Outside the large windows, there the howl of a wolf.

“Listen to them…children of the night. What music they make!” He smiles hauntingly.

The older man starts walking off down a corridor lined with paintings and candles. The hall is painted dark red with black trim. One candle stick is consumed with spider webs, it catches your attention as you follow.

“A spider spinning his web for the unwary fly. The blood…is the life, Ms…” He invited you to say your name.

“Ah of course, My name is Sister _, from the western Catholic church of god.” You say with another pleasing bow.

The man hums, his eyes darkening, “Im sure you will find this part of the ministry more inviting.” He says as he opens the doors to a larger room, it has five beds, dressers, nightstands and even an chest at the foot of every bed. Theres two couches on either side of a coffee table in the center of the room, accompanied with a vase of dead roses, a fire place, and two other chairs of black leather. What is most questionable is why the room is a circle, not one corner.

‘Oh rather! Its quite different from outside. Oh, and the fire! Its so cheerful.” You say with a smile.

“I took the liberty of having your luggage brought up. Allow me.” He says as he takes the groups wool capes, he hangs them on a coat rack.

‘Oh yes, thank you.” One of the sisters says as she sits on the neatly made bed. 

The room is painted a deep purple, black trims and wall designs. The curtains over the large windows were a pitch black, and the beds were of black steel and neatly covered with purple silk sheets and purple cotton. The room was lit with candles and a chandelier.

You pick up the letter on the bed, but you accidentally cut your finger on the sharp note card.

As a droplet of blood rolls down your finger, the man quickly turns away.

“Oh dear im sorry, its just a paper cut, I didn't know you were squeamish.” You apologize as you grab a napkin cloth and hold it.

“The infirmary is on the main hall to the left, I hope you shall never need it.” He says as he holds his hands behind his back.

“Thank you,” You smile.

‘I will have a ghoul take you there, and get a bandage.” He says with a large swallow. 

You tilt your head, “ghoul?” You ask, what is with this odd abbey?

Suddenly, out of the darkness of the room, a masked entity approaches you. His silvery devil mask shines in the candle light, through the slit shines his piercing white eyes, pupils so thin and slit like a snake your unsure if they're even there or if its the shadows playing tricks on you. Hes in a nice suit attire, a skull tie and button up pants. His dark hair is slightly wavy and is cut short at his ear and neck, he has a calming presence and you notice his ears are long and pointed. You take in the fact that this man was not infant human, but rather a demon. 

So the innkeeper was correct? About unholy ghosts here?

He leads you to the infirmary, the walk there is silent as you continue to study his form. He has a spaded tail, and his hands are a pale muted purple and his veins are visible in a lighter white color. The ghoul had long sharp claws too, as well as a thicker build. 

He opened the door to the infirmary, he lets you sit down as he gathers materials to address the minor cut.

As he comes back, he kneels in front of you and takes your hand. The pads of his fingers are rough but smooth, hes very gentle and has a calming affect to him.

You swallow, your afraid to speak.

The ghoul parts his lips, like hes about to speak but doesnt know what to say, “Your heart is racing.” he says, deep voice like a deep cave filled with echos and shadows. Its warm and heart filled, he truly means no harm.

Your hands tremble as you shiver, “w-what?”

‘Ah uh…sorry…I meant that your frightened and there is no need too be.” He quickly blurts out, like he hasn't talked to a stranger in years.,

“This is not what i was expecting..” You say as you start to ease up.

“Nobody does, don't worry, you are safe.” He says as he cleans the wound. 

“This…is not a place of god is it..?” You finally ask as he lets go to cut a piece of gauze to use.

“No. It is not.” He looks into your eyes.

You had the feeling that when your church said they were moving you, that it wasn't because you were the best sister of god there. You had started asking to many questions and you always knew that when they transferred people it was never for the better but to rather rid of the so called delinquents that questioned god. In a way you knew you would be thrown out, but not like this and to the wolves.

“Im sorry…I just…I don't want to die..” you start to tear up, ‘I don't want to burn for eternity.”

The ghoul quickly looks up at you, ‘no no no don't worry,” He chuckles, “Your not going to die here and you wont burn for eternity, I doubt god even knows you exist.” 

Your taken aback some, “But don't you eat people? Kill us for blood? Sacrifices and such?” 

“Your demonology books are far outdated…” He says as he wraps your finger.

“So….you ghouls are…kind?” You say, standing up.

He nods, “yes, everyone here is.”

You look down at your feet, “I apologize, I feel I need to introduce myself and start over.” 

The ghoul stretches his hand out, “You may call me Nameless Ghoul.”

You take his hand, “Im Sister _, I hope we can be friends.”

[free-for-all-fics]

Tanz der Vampire/Dance of the Vampires and Dracula Musical Prompts! These are written with the German productions in mind, but really any adaptation could work. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these ideas and I’d love to read it! ❤️🩸

1. You’re Count Dracula’s daughter/son and Graf von Krolock’s wife/husband. Describe what your immortal life and marriage is like. You may have been addressed as Countess/Count Dracula while you were still unmarried and later Countess/Count von Krolock after your marriage, but as the biological daughter/son of Count Dracula, you’re still technically a Princess/Prince. Your father was a Prince of Wallachia in his mortal life and later became the King of Vampires, after all. You’re vampire royalty; your beauty, charm, family name, etc. made you highly sought after by men and monsters alike. But there was no better a match for you than Graf von Krolock. He’s a handsome and charismatic nobleman with a flair for dramatics. He’s technically lower in status than you, but you don’t care. You love him for reasons far more important than rank, so you’re not too bothered with the fact that you married down.

In all your centuries together, you’ve never for a moment regretted your choice to take him as your husband and eternal mate. Moving from Castle Dracula to Castle Krolock was easy since it immediately felt like home. You’re no stranger to acting as Mistress/Master of the Castle; you loved making Krolock Castle your own and adding your own personal touches, whether it be the interior of the castle or the garden/cemetery outside. Maybe it’s because you wished to have a son or daughter that your husband later turned Herbert and adopted him as yours and his son. If you wanted an heir, he would kidnap anyone of your choosing from a human village and turn them at your request. Herbert may not be yours by blood, but he would be your son in every other sense.

2. Beauty and the Beast AU: You’re Sarah’s sibling and Graf von Krolock is fixated on you instead of her because he believes you to be the reincarnation of his beloved husband/wife/lover. You look and act exactly the same, it’s uncanny. He kidnaps you, maybe half mad with grief and delusional from his centuries of black melancholy and loneliness. While you’re technically a prisoner in his castle, he doesn’t treat you like one. The castle is your home now so he lets you explore freely. You may go anywhere you wish, except for one locked door. That room is forbidden. You can’t leave the castle grounds or go beyond the garden/cemetery. He won’t let you. If he’s not watching you, there’s always another vampire or servant who is.

“What’s the story with the locked room upstairs?”

“It belongs to the late Graf/Grafin. We don’t go in there.”

“It might help me figure out what’s going on if I could take a look inside.”

“Best of luck. That door locked itself up tight the day of his/her funeral. There’s not a key in this world that’ll open it. Many have tried - myself included, I regret to say. If you’re really going to try opening that cursed door, if you’re really going to try breaking in to explore the late Master’s/Mistress’s room, the only advice I can offer you is this: Don’t let the Master catch you. Do you understand? Don’t let him catch you.”

During your captivity, you’re haunted by nightmares of lying dead on a stone bench deep within the castle’s chambers. The chamber can be accessed only through the window, set high in Krolock’s castle wall. A large bat flies in and hovers over the bench, regurgitating blood onto your dormant body. Your corpse starts to interact and bond with the dripped blood. Within seconds, you’re once more resurrected as a vampire. You wake up in a cold sweat from these night terrors. You either wander the castle halls in the dark and get lost, only to later be found by Kukol or Krolock himself. Or the Count is either lingering in your doorway or leering at you from over your bed, watching over you and waiting for you to awaken.

He lets you partake in the annual Dance of the Vampires, a celebration when the undead come to life in the cemetery and the castle again lives its former glory for one night only. He gifts you a beautiful suit/dress and protects you from the other vampires. He’s made it more than clear that only he or Herbert are allowed to dance with you. Are you truly his long lost love reincarnated or has the Count‘s mind succumbed to madness from centuries of existential pessimism? Are you truly a flickering light of hope in his shroud of black melancholy? Whether you remember your past life or not, could you ever find it in your still beating heart to love him despite him being your captor? Would you let him damn your soul and give you his vampire kiss so you can join him in eternity and save him from this inhabitable hell of loneliness?

3. Graf von Krolock was once deeply in love with you, Dracula’s daughter/son. You were his beloved wife/husband and eternal mate, but something happened where you were either killed by vampire hunters or died tragically. Your father was devastated by your untimely death. In his grief, he blamed your husband. Count Dracula and/or Graf von Krolock may have avenged you by hunting down, brutally killing and sucking the blood of the humans that took you away from them, but it didn’t make either vampire feel any better. They were still hollow. Even if your death wasn’t murder and was an accident, they’d still set fire to the villages and instill fear in the humans for what was done to you. Blood was spilled and heads rolled. No man, woman, or child was safe from their wrath.

Your father and husband never reconciled their relationship following your death. No matter how drawn out or excruciatingly painful they made the deaths of the hunters that slayed you or how many centuries passed, nothing could numb the pain your absence brought upon them. Your husband has never remarried; no mortal nor vampire could fill the void you left behind. No matter how beautiful, smart, etc., no one could ever hope to take your place. You were his mate, his one true love. Your old bedroom doubled as your personal study and it was one of your favorite rooms in the entire castle. It’s still exactly as you left it. Torn apart with grief, Krolock either keeps it locked up tight and has Kukol hide the key out of his sight so he’s never tempted to step foot in your room ever again. Or he’s the only one who’s permitted to hold the key and enter. He personally sees to keeping it clean and orderly, free of any dust or signs of decay. You wouldn’t want your favorite room to be neglected and left to rot away with time, so he keeps it pristine for you. He knows you’ll never step foot in this room or his castle again, but cleaning keeps his mind busy and helps him cope with your loss. This room brings back once happy memories of you now marred by tragedy, but it makes him believe for a few fleeting hours that you’ll come home.

“What’s the story with the locked room upstairs?”

“It belongs to the late Graf/Grafin. We don’t go in there. Ever. Only the Master would be allowed to go in and out. It’s best not to ask questions or go poking around.”

“It might help me figure out what’s going on if I could take a look inside.”

“Best of luck. That door locked itself up tight the day of his/her funeral. There’s not a key in this world that’ll open it. The Master likely carries it on him or keeps it somewhere hidden. I wouldn’t even try, if I were you. You’d be dead the second he caught you snooping around in places you weren’t supposed to be.”

To this day, Count Dracula refuses to have anything more to do with Krolock, citing what he believes is your husband’s failure to protect you. They haven’t spoken since the day of your funeral. Dracula is unyielding in his belief that Krolock could’ve or should’ve done more and that your death is your husband’s fault, even if it’s not actually true. You were his only surviving child and heir, and he only wanted the best for you. He didn’t approve of your choice in husband. If you had listened to him and never married Krolock, maybe you’d still be here. But you went against his wishes and married him anyway, and now you’re gone.

The King of all Vampires has held onto his grudge against your husband for centuries and isn’t going to ever let go of it unless, by some miracle, you’re brought back. Speaking of which, a group of humans are spending the night in the abandoned ruins where you supposedly died. They’re here to tell scary stories and urban legends, but get much more than they bargained for after they inadvertently resurrect you with their blood. The first thing you do upon awakening is kill and feed from the humans closest to you. You’re so weak and feel like you’ve been starving for centuries. You can’t be bothered to chase the others while they scream and flee in horror upon realizing you’re more than just a legend. First, you want to find and reunite with your father and husband. What happens next?

4. You’re Graf von Krolock’s beautiful and enchanting daughter, but have no interest in men. While Herbert has fallen in love with Alfred, you’ve been trying to claim Sarah’s heart. Neither you nor your brother understand subtlety; it’s in neither of your vocabularies. You’re both laying your seductions on thick, uncaring if your approach makes Alfred or Sarah feel awkward and uncomfortable. Awww, they’re both so cute! Herbert is very playful and fun. He loves playing games and chases Alfred all over the castle. The poor man is scared half to death as he tries in vain to run away and escape your flamboyant brother. Once Herbert finally catches Alfred, he holds him tightly in his strong embrace and carries him off to his bedroom, where he will read him poetry and tease him all night. He wants to take his sweet time seducing the boy before he bites him. He wants to make love to Alfred first. He wants Alfred to want him, to give in and reciprocate his love.

Meanwhile, you’re obsessed with Sarah and constantly interrupting her many baths to spoil her with extravagant gifts such as a beautiful red dress and matching red boots. You’d love nothing more than to join her in that tub and explore her naked body. You can tell she’s been sheltered her entire life and has never experienced the touch of a man nor a woman. You doubt she’s ever touched herself and would love to show her how to do it. She’s so innocent and naive; you want to corrupt her so bad and show her the sins of the flesh, just as Herbert wants to do with Alfred. But you’ll be patient for now and turn up the vampire charm once she arrives at the Vampire Ball, wearing your gifts. You’ll dance with her all night and you’ll bite her to turn her into your heart’s companion. She’ll be your mate, your lover for all eternity.

Krolock either steps back and lets you and your brother handle it, or he actively encourages you both to pursue your romances but leaves you to bite your lovers yourselves. He’s too wrapped up in the Vampire Ball or his own existential pessimism to watch over you or your brother’s activities. There comes a time when each vampire must turn their first human, and there’s no better time to learn than now. Either way he’s not going to come between his children and their newfound paramours. Despite your differences and his serious disposition, your father loves you and Herbert more than anything. He’s just too fucking exhausted all the time, wrapped up in the festivities or crushed by his own black melancholy. He can’t be bothered to always get involved with your and your brother’s whims or…whatever this is. He’s raised you both well enough over the centuries that he trusts you know what you’re doing.

5. You’re just trying to donate blood but your lovers/husbands, Count Dracula and Graf von Krolock, are acting like total weirdos. They’re both leering over you the whole time and have no concept of personal space. If you have a fear of needles, they’re running their long fingers through your hair and scratching your scalp with their long nails as they kiss your forehead to comfort you. They’re making sure you have plenty of snacks and water so you don’t pass out. But they’re both eager to taste that sweet, sweet blood. You knew you should’ve left them at the castle, but they were stubborn and insisted on coming with you. Bringing vampires to a blood drive is like bringing them to an all-you-can-eat buffet. If they leave your side, it’s because they’re bothering the other nurses trying to take blood, insisting that it shouldn’t be that hard to find a vein. They’re asking inappropriate questions about where the blood is stored and if they could have a bag or two to go. No, they can’t have any blood bags. This blood isn’t for them, it’s for the countless humans that need it. The poor patients and nurses look nervous and probably think the vampires are going to eat them.

You knew being a human and having two vampire lovers/husbands was going to be incredibly awkward and uncomfortable, but they seriously have no chill when it comes to blood. Even after their centuries of vampirism, you have to bribe them to behave with promises of letting them bite and drink from you once you fully recover and your blood replenishes. If your arm wasn’t stiff from having a needle or tube in it, you’d face palm so hard. This is the last time you’re bringing them with you when you donate blood. These Counts are lucky they’re so handsome, charismatic, and amazing lovers in bed. Sometimes you don’t know what you’d do with them otherwise. They love having you sandwiched between them every night so they can lay their heads on your chest and listen to your heartbeat. It’s like music to their ears. They can almost dance to the beat. It’s one of their favorite sounds, apart from the noises you make when they make love to you. Hopefully when they finally turn you into a vampire, life with them will be less chaotic. Spoiler alert: Eternal life with them is even more chaotic than it was when you were mortal.

6. Dracula didn’t kill Van Helsing’s wife, Roseanne. Instead he turned her into a vampire and put her under his thrall, either as revenge against Van Helsing or because he was in love with her too and felt spurned when she decided to marry Abraham.

7. Underworld AU: Roseanne was a vampire and Dracula’s biological daughter. She fell in love with Abraham Van Helsing, a human man. Even though it was against vampire law, she and Van Helsing continued their secret love affair, whether or not he ever knew she was a vampire. They eloped and Roseanne later became pregnant with a Dhampir child. Upon discovering her pregnancy, Dracula killed his own daughter. He loved her, but the abomination growing in her womb was a betrayal of him and the entire vampire race. He did what he had to do to protect the species. Since his wife’s murder, Van Helsing has sworn revenge on Dracula and has dedicated his life to vampire hunting, determined to slay the Vampire King himself.

8. You’re Professor Abronsius’ grandchild and either Krolock or Herbert are in love with you. Instead of Sarah, you’re the one who gets seduced and kidnapped by vampires. Your grandfather is so busy with taking his notes or exploring the Count’s library that he gets easily distracted and sometimes forgets what he’s doing. Wait, why is he in this castle again? Oh yeah! To rescue you from the bloodthirsty vampires. Right, right. He loves you, never doubt that. The moment he realized you were gone, he was desperately searching for you. But it’s no surprise you were kidnapped right from under his nose in the first place. Even if you had kicked and screamed, he was probably deaf to your cries for help, having blocked out all noises. He often forgets the world around him.

When he does finally come to rescue you, he’ll probably ward off the vampires by lecturing and admonishing them. Poor Abronsius never even realizes it, but it’s already too late for you. Krolock or Herbert has already bitten you. By dragging the newly transformed you out of the castle, your grandfather didn't exactly save mankind from the vampire plague. You can’t return home with him. Krolock’s castle is your home now. The Count and/or his son will come after you to bring you back. Your grandfather walks off singing about his "victory” while you’re starving. That young assistant of his looks so appetizing. Just one bite won’t hurt.

9. Count Von Krolock spends a lonely and melancholy life in his old castle in the mountains, in the company of his son Herbert and his servant Koukol. Krolock has never been the same ever since he lost you, the love of his mortal and/or immortal life, to an unforeseen tragedy. Your untimely demise was so long ago that the Count has lost track of time and can no longer remember when exactly you died. Your body has since been laid to rest in a beautiful mausoleum near his castle cemetery. He’s given you only the best. The most beautiful coffin/casket, flowers from his garden, etc. The epitaph on your grave has worn down with time and is practically illegible. But he still remembers the words he had lovingly engraved underneath your name. Ever since your death, The numbness and loneliness of his existence is interrupted only at the annual Dance of the Vampires when the undead come to life in the cemetery and the castle lives again, for one night, its former glory.

You’re not a vampire, but you rise from your grave with the rest of the undead. For one night only, your body is magically restored and you become flesh. You’re just as beautiful as you were the last time Krolock saw you alive, before you were taken from him. Your voice is the same, your hair is the same, your scent is the same, etc. You and your beloved Count make the most out of the few hours you have together. You dance the night away in each other’s arms before the Count escorts you back to your beautiful resting place. He holds your hand as he helps you climb back into your coffin/casket and gives you one final kiss before you return to your annual slumber. He closes the lid just before the night ends. Just before sunrise, your body decays once more. He can never bear to watch you change back. But he can still hear it. It’s just as unbearable, or maybe even worse. He retreats back into the castle before the sun can burn him.

“Until next year, my love.”

[rapturously]

𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟, 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞.

┊ count orlok x fem!reader.

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: after uncovering an heirloom thought to be long-buried and forgotten to time, your flesh is joined as one with the enigmatic count.

read part one here.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.0K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: heavy smut, willing consent, vampire antics (bloodplay, blood drinking, scent kink), extreme possessive & obsessive behavior, biting, scratching, making out, tearing clothing, unprotected p in v sex, loss of virginity, sex with a rotting vampire, cunnilingus, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, title kink (use of my lord), dracula references, a relationship based on lust/obsession/possession and not love.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: writing this has given me joy about writing again & it’s a fantastic feeling! loved working on this fic! thank you to everyone who has shown such love and support for my work, this is why I write and it means a lot to me! I hope you guys enjoy!

𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞.

Each night since he had first fed from you followed a similar pattern, lulled into a sensual subservience by his shadow, soothed by the allure of his voice. There was an innate lack of physicality that perplexed you, as if he were waiting for something else.

This enforced isolation by daylight allowed you to traverse the castle grounds, to explore the hallowed halls of this macabre mausoleum — you never felt truly alone. His presence stayed with you, a shadow haunting your steps.

Beneath the crunch of frozen undergrowth, you wandered. Within the shroud of the Carpathian Mountains, the fortress had seemed monumental, but in the flesh, it was smaller, a labyrinth of stone. It gave you ample time to admire the architecture and study his home.

The village became a mere afterthought, abandoned to the recesses of your mind, buried away, never to be uncovered. Your Lord was not physically present, more often than not, and you began to burn for his touch.

Phantom caresses and arduous visions could only sustain your craving for him for so long. He was not unkind, simply aloof and enigmatic, a being that seemed to give you everything you wanted, and nothing at all.

He had swathed you in clothing finer than you could ever imagine, fit for a noblewoman, lavished you in fine trappings and allowed you your own chambers. Even then, you wanted more — you wanted to be with him, beseech him to stay.

Wisps of warmth emerged from your lips as you stepped beneath an archway, the stone older than your predecessors. The grounds, still and eerie, retained a wealth of history, his ancestors still buried somewhere within the catacombs.

Orlok, you’d learned, was his ancestral surname, passed down through a noble lineage of a royal bloodline that far exceeded that of your own. He spoke nothing of his own beginnings, preferring to keep it all concealed within the dark.

For most of your life, you’d been taught to fear strigoi, tales of bloodsucking predators looming in the night, coming to snatch the innocent from their beds. You still felt some unusual uneasiness with your Lord, but it was humans you feared more than anything, those that tried to kill you.

Timeworn rags of your old life were left behind, scattered to the wind like a shattered memory. Whatever void was left within you, he filled — like a goblet overflowing with wine, leaving you satiated.

Within dust-laden corridors, you managed to find your way from the castle’s exterior grounds to a spacious hall, one that you had not yet seen. A singular door, tall and scaling, sat before you, the doorknob possessing the head of a gargoyle.

It was untoward for you to go prowling around within the Conta’s private dwellings, and yet, curiosity seemed to get the better of you.

Left unlatched, you gently pushed against the wrought-iron surface, chest lurching with a flurry of anxiousness as it groaned in protest. Sluggingly, it began to fall open, revealing a private study, wreathed in still-burning candlelight.

It was dark, lacking any windows or inklings of natural light. Scaling stone walls were lined in archaic paintings, several massive portraits gilded in frames of tarnished gold. Shadows danced along the bannister, uncertainty swelling within your stomach.

Each painting must’ve been familial, finely-crafted imagery of his ancestors. There was only one that seemed torn to shreds, almost nonexistent as you approached. The name was worn by time, difficult to read, Dacian muddied with the rotten gold of the frame.

The study seemed to have little use, chaotic and visually disorganized, with books and parchment strewn about, the fixtures dilapidated and old. An oaken desk remained scattered with various documents, but it was one item that had ensnared your attention.

A locket, the silver having faded to an ugly, distorted brown, all color and liveliness stripped away. It was inappropriate of you to pry like this, but some unforeseen force compelled you to take it, to open it and peer inside.

Trembling digits slipped around the ornate chain, finding the hinge of the trinket as you opened it. To your surprise, there was a small, painted portrait of a young woman — beautiful, in your eyes. Her attire was ripped from that of royalty, with delicate features and a regal, dignified posture.

Upon closer inspection, she resembled you to an uncanny degree, eyes beset by kindness.

A soft exhale of surprise tore past your lips, thumb tracing over the curve of the locket, brows furrowing together. This stranger’s likeness seemed to replicate yours, almost supernatural, and yet, you couldn’t be farther apart, separated by class and the insurmountable reach of time.

It hadn’t been disturbed for many ages, but the peculiarity of it did not seem to leave you, even as you placed it back down. Perhaps, he’d known of your presence all along, but it did not seem to fit the mystique of it all.

Departing from his study, you closed the door, greeted by the vibrant rays of sunset.

It became a tedious game of awaiting dusk’s arrival, watching as the sun began to slip beneath the mountains, orange rays turning to violet. With twilight encroaching, you knew he would soon awake, emerging from the shadows.

A sliver of your being felt compelled to ask about the locket, but you did not want to invoke his ire, if he were anguished over it. He had left it behind for a reason, buried beneath mountains of parchment, and there must’ve been a reason for it.

The forlorn dinner hall remained empty, save for the roaring hearth, brought to life by your Lord. As you entered through the massive set of wrought-iron doors, you caught a glimpse of his form, sitting closer to the fire.

Even from afar, your gaze was ensnared by the bundle of white, gossamer cloth he carried, the fabric reminiscent of your nightgown. Claws pinched at the material, twisting it between his fingertips as he brought it closer to his visage.

A strange spark stirred within your stomach, a familiar heat that seemed to ignite some crackling tension, allowing it to permeate the air. A hitch formed within your throat as you closed the door, the thump of it reverberating throughout the stone ceilings.

A hoarse rasp emerged from Orlok, an unsteady inhale as he absorbed the scent of your garments. In the time between, when he slumbered within his tomb, it was your smell he longed for, akin to that of some mortal addiction.

As you entered the hall, he withdrew your gown from his countenance, able to sense your beating heart, growing erratic in his presence. Black hues craned to peer over his shoulder, masked by the thick fur of his overcoat.

The bane of his being, his obsession, his lifeblood — during his days of arduous slumber, his thoughts crawled with you, of your amorous cries and keening body. There was a newfound ecstasy in the coming of dusk, when he could see you again — no vision placed within his mind’s eye.

He was not an oblivious creature, not impervious to your misadventures within his castle. Your scent lingered, permeating each corridor with a peculiar bouquet of warmth, one that only you possessed.

Your living presence breathed a certain exuberance into the veil of his shadow, where life was little more than a meaningless sentiment. His decay only seemed stilled by your heart, a precious thing, something that he deeply coveted.

It was in his nature to possess, to consume — he welcomed you into his tangled shroud, a dark haze that often invoked such fright. Your terror had subsided into carnality, a frenzied passion that he shared in, but had not yet acted upon.

Peering into your heart, the Count saw your wandering about within his study, mesmerized by paintings of his predecessors — and then, cradling a tarnished locket. A growl of agitation rippled through him, coupled with a rousing anger.

“Thou has traversed to places of grave importance,” The gravelly, thunderous lull of his cadence sent shivers of dread down your spine, born out of a gnawing anxiousness. He knew that you’d gone into his study, a place he considered to be private. “Why?”

A stab of lurching dread lunged for your stomach, sending a shiver throughout your body. It was foolish of you to believe that he wouldn’t suspect your prying, hands idly clutching at the fringe of your dress, an attempt at relieving tension.

Slick perspiration licked along the back of your neck as you faced his sharp accusation with a shrewd countenance. “I am sorry, my Lord, I did not intend to disturb your study.” It was a feeble attempt at mending the friction between the both of you.

“But you did,” A living reminder of terror — of his true nature, that of undeath and obliteration. Despite his innate obsession with you, he was still capable of wielding an icy wrath that made you tremble with trepidation. “I command thee to speak.”

A guttural growl erupts from his rotten diaphragm, a snarl that causes you to straighten, gooseflesh raking along your spine. He beseeches you to tell the truth of what you saw, something that your eyes were never intended to see.

“The locket,” A wisp of a murmur slips between your lips, tone softening in a valiant attempt to uncover the mystery of your ancient doppelgänger. “Who was she?” It was an innocuous inquiry, born from a naive heart.

Centuries without a thought of the past, only centered around you — you had brought an onslaught of lamenting with you. The Count did not answer, neglecting to shed any clarity on the woman who bore your own visage.

It was his own hubris that brought about his use of necromancy, thinking he could resurrect one that had long been dormant to the world. For such an action, his flesh was cursed in undeath, roaming the nocturnal world as a harbinger of pestilence, of one’s darkest desires.

“Of little importance.”

There was a fracture within you, a war that waged as you stood with bated breath, pondering his statement with perplexity. You did not believe him when he said this, digits curling into the rough embroidery of your gown.

“I do not believe you.” Lacking an ounce of defiance, your tone screamed of someone who yearned to know more of this shadow that haunted your every step. The Count’s displeasure was visible, countenance twisted into something of sheer anguish.

Within the space of a singular breath, he manifested before you, firelight draining from your surroundings until all that was left was pitch and silver. He was intimidating like this, leering over you like a dark statue, black hues swirling with an unbridled fury.

He was often indiscernible, a presence without any sentiment, and only you could taste them upon your tongue. Now, he seemed to bristle with an unsteady rage, cold breath fanning across your face, his scent one of the yawning grave and frostbitten flesh.

“You do not know what you speak,” His voice was like a poisonous thorn, a clap of thunder that rattled the castle’s foundations. The Count still cradled your nightgown in one hand, twisted in a fist between his claws. “It is a lament, nothing more.”

Clinging to a misbegotten past — within your marrow, you knew that it was a shadow of someone he once coveted, just as he possessed you now. Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, your gaze flickered to the bundle of pale fabric bunched within his grasp.

A flutter stirred within your heart, a skipped beat that elicited a soft gasp from your lips. His shadow blanketed you in his carnality, his obsession, his veneration — it sparked a fire within your belly, one that nearly seared your bones into ash.

Words died upon your tongue, stuck within the depths of your throat as you searched for a proper retort, and nothing emerged. A void of silence seemed to stop you in your tracks, allowing for a tumultuous tension to brew instead.

The Count lingered, hovering in above you, the tip of his nose brushing across your scalp. A gust of your scent invaded his senses, euphoric and overwhelming, a most wicked affliction.

“This lament shares my face,” Threads of a darker temptation began to pull at you, his allure unmistakable, like that of the great unknown. Your utterance gave him pause, body sharing in your space. “Why?”

He would have you in every lifetime, in every century — he would devour time if it meant that he could possess you. It was an ugly obsession, a vexation that you did not fully understand, this hunger that only you could satisfy.

A singular claw languidly danced across the exposed flesh of your neck, pulse pounding away beneath your jaw. It was a sensual touch, one reserved for lovers, a caress that seemed to make your knees tremble.

“𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫����𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.”

There was a weight to his confession that stole every shred of air from your lungs until you were left with nothing but a burning. An audible hitch formed within your chest, nerves set ablaze. A fire smoldered within your belly, one that demanded to be extinguished.

Crimson strings of fate, tethering you to him — perhaps, you were intended to be here all along.

Through black forests and silver blades, through snow-laden woodlands and the maddening cries of your once-kin, you had found him. His salvation was not in the form of some fantasy or fairytale, but through him alone, this carnivorous darkness — you were made for him.

With an unsteady exhale, you happened to feel your back lean against that of the hall’s grand door, the steely bite of icy iron sinking through your dress. It wasn’t the uncertain gait of fear, but of bewilderment — exhilaration.

To be coveted in a way that transcended the bonds of humanity, to anchor yourself to this being of carnage and lust — it was a sensation unlike any other. Your tongue felt like lead, heavy within your mouth as you attempted to conjure the right words, anything to convey your devotion.

It was unspoken, your need for him — he could smell it, oozing from your pores like sap from a tree, wafting from your being, the sweetest of scents. He cornered you, his impenetrable darkness corralling you against the door, and yet, you felt not an ounce of dread.

“This flesh is bound to thee, the object of all that I desire,” He rumbled, the lull of his cadence nearly bringing you to your knees, and the flame only grew tenfold. You had not known such reverence in your lifetime — and you knew that you never would again. “You are mine.”

Through bated breath, your heart heaved with ardor, body crawling with the lap of a lascivious heat that refused to cease. “I am yours.” It was a promise, made in the throes of your Lord’s possession, vocalized.

Without coherence, your hand blindly clamored forth, reaching for him in a way that you hadn’t before. Warm, silky digits found his chest, which expanded with each hoarse rasp, a low growl escaping him.

Your embrace evoked a dark, ravenous famine within him, one that threatened to devour you whole. He watched with a thinly-veiled rapture as you sank forth, hands finding his haggard form, clinging to him like a drowning woman.

Rough-hewn furs drifted beneath your fingertips, and at last, you felt him — as real as the dust-laden stone beneath your feet, no longer feeling like some ghostly omnipresence. Claws languidly dragged themselves against your crown, perusing through your tresses in one drawn-out caress.

The soft, pliant curve of your mouth enticed him so, the very essence of temptation, like the lull of a siren’s song from oceanic depths. He wanted you to invite him in, as one would invite a godly presence, let you crawl to him.

Black hues bored into you, indiscernible with an amalgamation of emotions, some hidden to you. A sharp exhale split through your ribs, one that shook with an encroaching exhilaration. Your gaze did not tear away out of fear, transfixed upon him.

“Kiss me,” It emerged as a whimper, a plea of such intense desperation. He had only ever appeared to you as a veiled shadow, never to feel the lively flush of your skin, or the pulsating of your heart within your throat. “Please.”

It was as if his breathing became unnaturally laborious, more than it had before, threaded with a desirous exhale. This act of physicality would inevitably lead to a point of no return, flesh bound as one in some grim eternity.

Your mind had never wavered — not once did you show an ounce of spite or a will to depart from his side, digits beginning to curl into his tunic. You hoped that your touch would beseech him to act, and yet, he remained eerily still.

“You know not what you desire.”

He wanted to hear your devotion firsthand, spilled from your throat, laid bare like a sinner’s shameful confession. A twinge of pathetic frustration began to burn your features, body pressing closer until your chest had brushed against him.

“I do, my Lord, I do — I beg of you,” Breathy, wanton pleas left you in myriads, gaze glistening with an unrestrained ardor. Whatever he wanted from you, he would have it — you belonged to him. At last, his rotting lips ghosted above yours. “Take me — all of me.”

Control seemed fleeting, and you danced along the knife’s edge of desire, hoping to let it plunge into you like a mortal wound. Those elongated claws brushed across your cheek, coming to cradle your jaw in a way that only a lover could.

A throaty sound erupted from your chest, wisps of air ripped from your diaphragm when his lips collided with yours. You had not tasted anything like him before — a decay sweeter than demise. Passion took root, followed by lust.

The prickled coarseness of his mustache scratched against your mouth, and yet it hadn’t felt so heavenly before. Elation rushed through you like the swell of a tempestuous tide, prompting you to mold yourself to his own frame.

A growl stirred within him, one that evoked his possession over you, his domineering will. He tasted life within your lips, the warmth of fire, burning away the forlorn chill of the grave.

It was as if your surroundings had melted away, reduced to an endless sea of darkness, with only him as your guide. A ravenous pull laced itself into his kiss as he pressed you further, a sharp nail tracing across your jugular.

“To your chambers.”

The sharp, gravelly rumble of his cadence tore at your thoughts, ensnaring your attention as you straightened. Pitch-colored hues glowered upon you as you peeled yourself from him, obeying his command as you returned to your quarters.

He had not followed, manifesting beside the window as you shut the door, wrought-iron groaning in protest, echoing throughout the halls. The penumbra of his oppressive shadow fell across you, tangling you within the visceral gnarl of his obsessive desire.

Moonlight pooled through the singular window of your room, liquid silver casting a ghostly light upon his towering physique. No longer aghast by his haggard features, a man reanimated, you inched closer, seeking him once more.

You yearned for his mouth, for his all-consuming kiss, stepping forward until you were merely breaths away, lacking any shred of nervousness. Had you not been fantasizing of this for some time, you might’ve been terrified — instead, you felt excitement.

“Reveal thine flesh, for it belongs to me.” He rasped, desiring to see you closely this time, unable to flee from his gaze. With each visit of his shadow upon you, left him unable to truly revel in your eternal beauty.

Gooseflesh raked across your spine, accompanied by an arousing flame that ignited within your belly, burning so intensely that it threatened to scorch you, too.

You had not experienced an exhilaration quite like this — as longed-for like dusk that yearned for the moon’s enchanting silver.

Trembling digits found the front ties of your dress, untangling them with insistent tugs before you turned, back facing him. A gathering of silken ties and string pieced it all together, and your hands attempted to make swift work of their hindrance.

The feather-light embrace of claws raked across your bare shoulder, roughened pads of his spindly digits absorbing the heat of your skin. A wisp of icy breath rasped from him, hoarse and labored along the nape of your neck.

A shiver of elation rolled across your spine, lips parted with bated breath as he loomed ever closer, towering over you. God, did you want him, needed him — needed him like air, a strangled gasp of desperation.

Gnarled talons bunched themselves within loosened threads, and with an inhuman display of strength, he ripped your dress. Dark hues seemed to flicker, swirling with such lust — he wanted to bite into your passion, let it consume him.

“My Lord.” A wanton mewl slipped past your lips, listening to the shred and rending of fabric as the Count tore it from your body. Tugging your arms from the puffy sleeves, your breasts were exposed to the chill of your chambers.

His dismembering of your garments continued, elongated fingers and talons prying it all away, unraveling you, revealing you to him. Those large, gnarled hands smoothed over the curve of your hips, pushing the dress down, down.

A guttural growl unfurled from within his chest, a sharp noise that rattled your bones with a needy thrill. His initial tenderness was entirely unexpected, silently admiring the unblemished plane of your flesh.

The sharp bridge of his nose slipped against your throat, lips pressing a vigorous kiss there, roughened tongue lapping over your saccharine skin. With a keening moan, you sank into his hold, bristling at the sensation of a hand encircling your breast.

Teeth grazed across the hollow between your throat and shoulder, temptation oozing from your pores before he bit. A ripple of pain spread from his bite, enough to taste the coppery pool of your blood.

It was not a harsh bite, not intended to feed — that would come last. His penchant for your cruor called to him like a hymnal, rough tongue dragging over the wound he’d made. Talons caressed your breast, kneading at the pliant mound.

One palm closed around your neck, caging you in against his frame as he greedily lapped at oozing droplets of crimson. You felt euphoric, eyes pleasantly half-lidded as you stepped from your dress, bare-skinned and willing.

His touch evoked an enraptured ardor from you, a need so overwhelming that it seemed to wash over your core. Arousal hung heavy within the pit of your stomach, molten heat that oozed like honey between your thighs, scent ambrosial to Orlok.

The cool metal of his signet pressed against your jugular, nails cupping your chin. As he withdrew his lips from the hollow, stained in a sheen of crimson, he continued his trail of kisses along the nape of your neck, rumbling with a low rasp.

Each ragged, raucous breath he drew was accompanied by an invasive gust of your musk, vetch and bellflower, native wildflowers found within the Carpathian Alps. It was intoxicating, and he inhaled once more, lips sealed to your shoulder.

At last, he permitted you to look upon him once more, noticing the doe-like sheen to your gaze, the unusual fondness you held for him. Your desire mirrored his own, softer in-nature, but just as vivacious.

Without hesitation, your hands silently clamored toward his gaunt visage, a mask of ghastly appeal, features sharp and haggard. You wondered what he might’ve looked like in life — comely and regal, handsome; a true pylon of nobility.

Warm palms cradled his face, pads of your fingertips wandering across his cheekbones, over patches of decay and rot, over tangles of scars that would never fade. He seemed enamored — obsessed in an unholy sense, drawing to you like a shadow to a pious moon.

“Without thee, this hunger remains eternal — without thee, I cannot be sated.” The thunderous purr of his raspy cadence sent shivers down your spine, body calling out to him. This lust he filled you with was one of sheer ecstasy.

A simpering gasp ripped through your diaphragm, bringing with it a wave of want. It was as if your entire being was tethered to him in some supernatural manner — two souls, once adrift — now, two bodies joined as one.

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, and yet you conveyed your sentiments through your lips, coaxing him in for another kiss. This entanglement was of a primal sort — impassioned mouths, teeth, a moan emerging from your throat.

His hand held your throat, claws sweeping beneath your chin, along your jaw as he reciprocated with his own famine. He was ravenous, kissing you with a yearning fervor that made your flesh scream with a pleasurable fire.

“I burn for you,” It was a mewl, a wanton utterance that made his bones sing. Orlok snarled, a possessive sound, one that seemed to savor your vocalized lust. “Please, do not stop.” You pleaded, seeking his rotten lips once more.

There was a crawl to your kisses, but a necessary one. He withdrew, enough to shed his overcoat, a mountain of fur and fine fabric, now discarded alongside your dress. A hitch formed within your throat, longing to see his flesh.

A nail traced across your lower lip, holding your face with a smoldering possessiveness. Your gaze did not falter from the Count’s, whose pitch-dark hues burned with lust. Tenderly, you kissed the pad of his thumb, able to hear the hitched rasp of his breath.

With a longing embrace, your digits fluttered to the front of his fur-lined tunic, weathered and worn by time, finding the column of embroidered buttons. He did not recoil or foil your movements, pressing slow, hungry kisses to your jaw.

As you sluggishly began the process of disrobing him, you caught glimpses of rotting flesh, grey and ashen, preserved in his current state. To lay with a strigoi often meant that you would be forever tainted by darkness — tainted, you would be.

In life, ages ago, the Count was imposing and well-muscled, much of it still preserved, beginning to succumb to the slow gnarl of decay. Each warm stroke of your fingertips brought him to heel, craving you in a most abhorrent manner.

The silken-and-cord wrap that held the elongated tunic together came next, working in gentle silence as you untethered it from his person. Talons continued to grope at your body, leaving behind faint scratches, some deeper than others.

No longer burdened by the weight of sin, you felt weightless — able to drown yourself within his veneration, his obsession. It was a dark and twisted thing, an ungodly sentiment, and you remained unfettered.

It was your mouth that beseeched him for another kiss, mouths entangling, rough and hungry. The stiff, coarse bristles of his mustache scratched against your silky skin with each kiss, a low moan stirring within your throat.

He tastes dreadful — of ash and brimstone, like damp earth pulled from a tomb, and yet, your lips urge him to continue. Crimson stains sharp indents of teeth in the hollow of your shoulder from where he bit, now bruised.

Pushing his tunic aside, you were exposed to taut, haggard arms, his complexion grave-like, rotting — his perfection was unparalleled, in your eyes. Your palms spread wide against his bare chest, as cold as ice-laden snow, able to feel each heave of his hoarse breath.

The warmth he draws from you is akin to bloodletting, sucking the rot from a festering wound. He savors it, a kiss of light that he shall never taste, your passion blanketing him like sun warmed rays.

Wordlessly, you pull away, bare feet dancing across the deteriorating rug covering cold, stone floors. You move onto the bed, gossamer sheets ruffled from use, the curtains seeming to flutter of their own accord.

Sinking into the feathered duvet, you await his presence with bated breath, and he moves like a liquid shadow. You do not recall seeing him shift onto the bed to join you, clothing entirely absent. His physicality is pointed, spindly, gaunt — your breath hitches with excitement.

Patches of sinewy rot blanket his flesh like blotches of colour upon a canvas — time was not a generous creature. A lonesome beast, awakened by the grace of the maiden, you. He crawled over you like a shadow, a growl reverberating within his throat.

Drawing your legs apart, his tall, taut frame slithers between your thighs, each ragged breath one of obsession. His putrid musculature covers you, hand coming to cup your chin, elongated digits extending toward your crown.

Talons brush through your tresses, downy and soft, a stark juxtaposition to his wretched state. His gaze meets yours, evoking a subtle gasp from your mouth as you reach for him, palms finding their purchase at the nape of his neck.

The protrusions of bone are felt beneath your fingertips, the icy temperature of his flesh. Exhilaration stings your lungs, liquid heat becoming a swirling tempest within the pit of your stomach. One palm cradles the back of his skull, inviting him in for a kiss.

A moan sears your throat, bubbling forth before his mouth devours yours — frighteningly hungry, hips beginning to still against yours. You feel the swell of his member press into your core, setting your nerves ablaze.

Teeth scrape across your lower lip, dangerously sharp, like the serrated edge of a blade. His kiss is like that of a tempestuous storm — dark, foreboding, consuming — you wade into his waters with a girlish giddiness.

Reciprocating his kiss, you feel his claws begin to dig, raking against your scalp as his obsessive nature rages like a gust of furious wind. Whatever fleeting prick of pain you feel, it pales in comparison to twined mouths and the lap of his tongue.

A leathery palm encircles your breast, covetously kneading at the pliant flesh, nail flicking over the sensitive peak of your nipple. A gasp tore from your chest, lips colliding with his with such desperation, reveling in his caress.

Before him, before pledging yourself to him, you had never been touched — any kisses you received were fleeting and lifeless, momentarily bliss that lacked want. It was obsession you craved, the repressed desire to be coveted.

Lips moved in an ecstatic dance, a fervent union of flesh and lust, a twisted reverence. Carnality bled into your ministrations, your mouth paling in comparison to the domineering force of his kiss.

In one swift breath, his lips peeled themselves from yours, only to greedily smooth over the column of your throat. He worshiped your flesh, listening to the erratic pounding of your heart, hastily galloping with encroaching excitement, a sensual thrill.

Down, down — in a sluggish descent, Orlok continued his wet string of kisses, a low rumble coagulating within his chest. Like coarse bristles of a comb, his mustache tickled your flesh, mouth finding the pliant curve of your breast.

A myriad of whimpers escaped you, hands continuing to cradle his head, thumbs caressing along the nape of his neck. His noises were sounds of satisfaction, savoring the lively smolder of your skin as you stroked him.

Vigorous kisses planted themselves across your breasts, your sternum, above your heart — he did not bite, not yet. He was agonizingly slow, drawing out your pleasurable torment, causing you to writhe beneath him.

“My Lord,” You mewled, palms drifting towards your sides, fisting at the sheets as he slithered downward. A violent warmth stirred between your thighs, now slick with arousal. “Please, please …” Delicate pleas tapered off into whispers.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

It was his voice, so crystalline within the recesses of your mind — your body trembled, awaiting the inevitable wave of bliss. He offered his lust freely, like that of a shadowed plague that swept across you, gnawing away at your bones.

He inhaled — a hoarse, horrible sound that expanded throughout his diaphragm. The feminine scent that had mounted between your legs was nearly as tempting as that of blood, saliva beginning to pool within his maw.

With a lingering kiss pressed to the angular curves of your hipbone, the Count growled, mouth dipping further, until he reached the heat of your core. Claws raked across your thigh, pressing down into your supple flesh, leaving behind the marks of his possessiveness.

His tongue raked hot embers over your cunt, wet and ravenous as he began to lap at your core. Your noises emerged, unrestrained moans that tapered off into wanton whimpers. It was unexpected, his actions, yet not unwelcome.

Talons searched for your hand, dainty and delicate within his massive palm, fingers intertwining with your own. You used this as an anchor, heels digging into the bed beneath you as he greedily lapped at your aching slit.

Legs twitched and quivered from exhilaration, gooseflesh taking up residence along your spine. A wash of icy air fluttered across your stomach, over your breasts, nipples beginning to pebble with the sudden draft.

Sloppy, damp sounds resonate from below, the noises of a greedy, covetous creature whose hunger knows no bounds. His tongue possesses a mind of its own, dragging over your cunt in desirous strokes that leave you wanting more.

Fire unfurls from within you, a lustful burn that seeks to sear the both of you. It only grows in intensity with each flick of his tongue, snaking across your cunt as he savors your taste.

Joined hands rest atop your hip, his digits splayed over your lower stomach, claws occasionally piercing your flesh. No longer a stranger to the blissful pain he brings you, a moan leaves you, one that vocalizes the depths of your enjoyment.

“More,” You croak, back arching from the feathery surface beneath you, as if pulled into his darkness by some invisible force. He can taste your want upon your flesh, yearning oozing from your pores like sap from ancient bark. “More.”

The soft, desperate crooning lulls the Count into sating you, mouth greedily exploring your cunt, dipping into each crevice. It is then that his tongue laps over the pearl of your slit, causing a spasmodic tremor to pulse through your body.

A raspy, guttural growl shakes his throat, seeking the pearl of your cunt once more, dragging his tongue over it. You squirm, prompting him to continue, delivering long, wet strokes of his tongue to that sensitive clutch of nerves.

A crescendo of moans escape you in droves, your ecstasy vocalized to the black nothingness of your chambers. The curtains flutter, with bluish moonlight pooling in, its silvery glow tarnished by wisps of dark cloud, dancing across your body.

The Count continues to devour your cunt with his greedy laps and light graze of his teeth, hand snaking down to hold your thigh aloft. A tendril of drool drips from his lower lip, slavering as a wild animal would over their prey.

His tongue leaves you, shaking and forlornly, head angled towards the supple, velvety flesh of your inner thigh. With a sickening, wet sound, he bites into the skin, breaking it with ease as his mouth is filled with your tantalizing cruor.

A hapless mewl leaves you then, and from his wound, you feel a startling wave of ecstasy. Pain becomes pleasure, bliss — your hands are left to claw at the sheets, bringing the fabric into the confines of your tightly-wound fists.

Dexterous fingers seek to stimulate you even still, circling around your clit with a peculiar expertise. The muscle in your forearm flexes from use, tugging at the sheets with desperation. As he laps at your blood, your hips jolt into his palm.

He sups of your blood, tonguing over the freshly-made indent, still oozing with crimson. With a lap of his mouth, he moves to the pearl of your cunt once more, thin maw wrapping around it, stimulating you with his suckling.

Slurred cries of ecstasy slip past your lips, back arched, keening into any sliver of friction he offers. The air is stale, the scent of copper and decay fresh upon the wind, invading your senses like some noxious plague.

There is a primal messiness to his devourance, chin steeped in your blood, mouth latched to your cunt as he evokes bliss from you. A rush of white-hot delight sears your bones, blanketing you in a wave of pleasure, stomach swirling with a violent heat.

He brings you to your peak, claws digging into your hips, caging you in against his mouth. It is his unorthodox appetite that entices you so, an amalgamation of crimson ichor and your arousal, tongue sluggishly raking over your core once more.

Pitch-dark hues rove across your body, drinking you in, bewitched by your devotion. With a sluggish crawl, he begins to make his way along your form, mouth scraping across your flesh as he ascends, seeking to join you together.

The aftermath of your release lingers heavily between your legs, matted with your nectar and remnants of blood. A low snarl erupts from his throat, welcomed by the sensation of your silken digits cradling him once more.

It is he who kisses you — rough, unyielding, the piquancy of darkness. He ensures that you savor it all, the concoction of blood, your nectar, his unwavering veneration stinging your mouth.

Instead of repulsion, you were elated, clamoring to reciprocate his devouring kiss with one of your own. Your hand cups the back of his rotting skull, the other caressing around the nape of his neck. A wheezing inhale leaves him, as if he is attempting to swallow down your beguiling scent.

The incessant swell of his member nudges against your core, causing a shiver to roll down your spine. Talons rake along your flesh, scratching you like a hot-iron brand, his mark emblazoned upon your soul. He gropes at your breast, nails beneath your chin.

Each heated, consuming kiss leaves you struggling for air, each gasp one of desperation as you draw him closer. The closeness between you is one of a strange intimacy, his garish form bared to only you, a creature of gaunt bone and grey flesh.

Take me, take me, take me — your voice screams within your mind, like some incantation that you become transfixed by. Your Lord hears your cries, teeth drawing forth a drop of blood from your lower lip, skin breaking apart to reveal a pearl of crimson.

Without hesitation, his tongue drags across your mouth, taking with it your blood, setting fire to his lust. His spindly frame is enough to keep your legs apart, hips urging themselves against your own as his cock pushes into you.

The sudden intrusion makes you moan, foreign and unfamiliar, yet terrifyingly wonderful. His ragged breathing seems to hitch, his member taking root within your cunt as he sluggishly rolls against you. The pace he sets is somewhat erratic and rough, made to rut.

It had been many torturous centuries since he had last lain with a woman, the one who bore your countenance. The Count did not think of her now, focused upon you, this enchantress.

Some omnipresent force bids you to search for his gaze, black hues ensnaring you, visceral pits of carnality as his hips cascade into yours. Your body is flush against him, breasts heaving with delighted cries as you cling onto him like a drowning woman.

Friction dances between conjoined bodies, igniting your flesh with a feverish pitch as you feel his mouth clamor for yours once more. Unabashedly, you kiss him, tongue reaching into the cavern of his mouth, able to hear the soft wheeze from his throat.

Each prolonged snap of his hips send you reeling, cunt clenching around his cock, as if you are coaxing him deeper inside of you. He is sheathed like a blade within a scabbard, claws groping, scratching, reaching within you.

A brief ripple of pain wafts from your kiss-swollen lips, puffy from the bite he delivered. As tongues perform a desperate ballet, you hear him growl, a half-groan that coagulates within his maw, expressing his satisfaction.

Miraculously, your body bears the oppressive weight of his obsession with ease, blood slowly oozing from bites pressed into your hollow and thigh, marked by garish talons. Some have broken the skin, and yet your ardor for him remains entirely unvanquished.

The needy rut of his hips brush against your pelvis, cunt stretched around the swell of his cock. With another drag of thrusts, his possessive kisses come to a crawl, filling you with a twinge of disappointment. You miss the gravely chill of his mouth as he makes his descent.

He seeks your chest, a surge of sanguine ichor pumping throughout your veins, beside your breast. The Count does not intend to drain you, merely keeping himself satiated until the next dusk.

The rough pad of his tongue smooths over your jaw, planting a string of covetous kisses along your neck. Spindly, narrow digits press beneath your chin, holding your throat with a light pressure, claws extending toward your splayed tresses.

The notched bridge of his nose brushes along your jugular, teeth lingering beside your delicate flesh. You remind him of fine velvet, perfection beneath his hold, a plane of softness, all belonging to him. Invidious is he, seething with a yearning that only you can satisfy.

Still, he continues, his path of darkness one that leaves you wrought with exhilaration, continuing to rut your hips into his. The vigorous ministrations of his thrusts seem to momentarily pause, cock still inside of you, filling you in a way that only he can.

A pleading moan flutters from your lips, palms rooted to his ashen flesh, pillowing his rotting skull as he kisses along your body. Your back begins to arch, an incessant release mounting within you, arousal warm and slick between your thighs.

Honed, wet fangs seek the warm cavern between your breasts, sternum rising and falling with excitable sighs. A low, wanting snarl reaches your ears as Orlok bites into your chest, beside your left breast.

The damp crunch of teeth rending through flesh echoes throughout your chambers, accompanied by greedy, putrid gulps as he sups your blood. Pain blossoms throughout your breast, unfurling like the petals of a wilting flower.

There is an understanding of his appetite — you know that he would not bring about your demise, even if he willed it to be. The sudden swirling of your cruor within his maw seems to invigorate him, hips urging to life as his cock drives deep within you.

A whimpered gasp rips through your diaphragm, body reacting viscerally to the sudden drive of his being. Again, his pace is erratic, driven by lust and primal instinct above all else.

Wandering digits caress the nape of his neck, fingertips nearing the base of his skull, your other palm splayed out between his shoulders. You cradle him against you, feeling the arch of his physique as he ruts into you, pounding away at your cunt.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 — 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.

The hoarse baritone of his thunderous cadence invades your mind, making your thighs twitch, legs involuntarily squeezing near his pointed waist. Your cunt clenches once more, evoking a growl from within his chest as he drinks.

His head lifts, chin stained with crimson, teeth hidden behind his mustache. Pitch-dark hues rove across your pleasured countenance, finding you to be enchanting, beauteous.

Warm palms dance along his frame, causing him to hiss, a low, delighted sound that instills him with desire. The bite embedded within your chest oozes with crimson, crescent teeth indents likely to scar. He laps at your blood, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Nearing your peak, you writhe, clutching onto him, begging for more through strained whimpers. The Count does not cease, sluggish thrusts of his hips forcing his cock deeper, deeper — until there is nowhere else to go.

Reaching for one of your hands, he pins it out to your side, claws dragging across the feeble flesh of your wrist, coming to interlock your fingers together. It is a gesture that makes your bones burn, flesh searing with such fervent desire.

His hands dwarf yours in size, locking your arm into place, your other palm left to cradle his head. Warm, vermillion ichor oozes onto your chest, rivulets of blood trickling over your breasts.

Without hesitation, he openly rakes his tongue over the trails of crimson, seeking your sanguine cruor, cock urging into you with a sense of finality. It is then that his attention is drawn to your lips, swollen and agape, deliciously tantalizing.

Mouths join together through the ecstasy of your shared release, hips beginning to stutter as you rocked against him. His cock drove deeper still, driving into your cunt as you reached your climax. It was relief he felt, the sensation of fullness.

Upon his lips, you taste the coppery sting of your own blood, accompanied with his own stale breath, the coarse prickling of his mustache. You cry out into him, feeling him swallow your moans, eating your pleasured sounds.

Squeezing at his hand, he seems unfettered by your grasp, nails digging into his ashen flesh, body rolling into him once more before you begin to settle. The aftermath of your release is a dizzying one, white-hot haze blurring your senses.

A low purr reverberates from his diaphragm — a drawn-out sound that blankets you in a strange sense of comfort. He stills, mouth receding from your own, ogling the remnants of cruor left behind from your heated kiss.

“You are mine.”

Dacian is known to you, a captivating language that only sounds mysterious and dark from his tongue. You sink into the mattress, able to feel his cock inside of you, ministrations having ceased, and yet he remains.

You welcome it, digits stroking from the base of his skull to his sharp, defined features, like warm kisses peppering his icy flesh. Exhaustion floods through you like the crash of an ocean wave upon the rock, and you recline completely.

He does not move from you, blanketed across your body in a possessive way, head coming to rest entirely against your collarbone. It is your saccharine breath he feels wafting across his visage, like the first inkling of springtime.

Joined hands rest beside your head, and you feel elated — a joy not felt before in your melancholy lifetime. His monstrous frame does not detract, and in the silvery pools of moonlight, he seems more picturesque than ghastly.

“I am yours,” Through a tender whisper, your eyelids grow heavy with encroaching sleep, tired from what proved to be a lengthy entanglement. He had supped enough of your blood this night. “Forever yours, I will remain.”

As you drift away into a blissful slumber, your paramour remains, claws perusing through your tresses, allowing such twisted obsession to eat him alive. You sate him in a way that no other has done before — whole, fulfilled.

By the time the first light of dawn creeps over the line of the Carpathian Mountains, he is gone — but the stains of his teeth are not.

With contentment, you know that dusk shall come again, and you will be sated once more.

[changbunnies]

Devourance (18+)

♡ Pairing: Dracula / Nosferatu!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: vampire au, dracula / nosferatu au, 1800s au, human / vampire relationship, horror themes, reincarnation, soulmates, smut

♡ Word Count: 3.9k

♡ Summary: Hyunjin has crossed oceans of time to find you– the one who's blood calls to him, who beckons for him in the dead of night, who yearns for his touch against all conceptions of what one must and must not desire. The ancient Vampyr has an appetite for you; an appetite that won't ever be sated.

♡ General Warnings: reader has depression (referred to as melancholy), reader is a lucid dreamer, usage of vampire abilities (invading dreams, shapeshifting, heightened senses), hyun's true form is very Creature Vampire so. still sexy if ur a monster fucker like me but some of y'all may not like that lmao

♡ Smut Warnings: does having sex with someone inside their dream count as somnophilia? idk !!, outdoor sex (kind of; it's a dream so they're not really outside lol), wet dreams, pet names (my love, my heart), referenced biting and blood drinking, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: originally, when i was planning my late kinktober fics, this was strictly a dracula au (as i love the 1992 movie and have a beautiful copy of the book sitting in my horror novel collection <3) but i saw the nosferatu remake in theaters and it rotted my fucking brain lmao so this became a blend of both ! i hope you enjoy it, cause i had a blast writing it <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

It starts as a dream; a waking one, so vivid and lucid that the line between conscious reality and imagination blurs, all perception of time and space bending and warping to what your subconscious mind feels most safe and familiar.

Your hands clasped together, a deep breath before you close your teary eyes, your souls desires laid out in a whispered prayer– "Come to me."

Who are you asking for? Who will heed your call? A friend you wish to have, but have yet to obtain? An imaginary prince charming who will right all the wrongs of your life with his presence alone? God himself? Death?

You do not know– all you know is that you are desperate for an escape from the melancholy that permeates your life, seeping its way into every crack of your porcelain heart, as thick and murky black as tar. It sticks to you, wraps itself around every cell, clinging to you in a loveless embrace.

Even in your dreams you cannot escape it; so often you hear tale of joyous dreams. Dreams in which you stand upon the altar, waiting to be wed to the love of your life, dreams in which you share a dinner with one you admire, or dreams in which you have coveted all that you desire.

You are regaled with recollections of dreams full of simple pleasures; warm and nostalgic, dreams of playing in the front yard as a child, with your mother's freshly baked bread wafting to you from the open window. Dreams of early school days, where one's only worry in the world was what they'd play when they got back home.

For some, dreams are entirely nonsensical; there is often no clear purpose, nor story, nor concrete feeling– but it is pleasant in its own right, and entertaining to recall the absurdities in which you found yourself in the middle of.

You do not experience such simple pleasures.

While for others, dreams are a pleasant escape from everyday life, a blissful end to an arduous day of work, your dreams are an extension of your reality. They offer no comfort, nor joy, nor escape from your bleak, mundane existence. You are ever as aware of yourself whilst asleep as you are while conscious, feeling every emotion just as strongly as you do in the light of day.

You wish you could say you have adapted to life with your melancholy, or learned to be at peace with it, or that you don't mind having no escape. But the truth of the matter is that your dreams being not a safe haven as they should be tolls on you, made worse by the fact that even in the sanctuary that should be your mind, you are utterly alone and miserable.

So there you stand in your waking dream, wishing for a change. A mirror of your reality, your status within your dream reflects the state you were in before falling to sleep. You are in your bedroom, as pitch dark as you left it when blowing out the candles, the only illumination coming from the moon shining through your balcony doors.

You stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped and eyes closed as you whisper your prayers, the same lily-white chemise you wore to bed draping your body. So perfect a recreation of your surroundings, that were it not for the fact that you so vividly remember adhering to your sleep routine and laying your head against the pillows, you might not even be able to say that this was a dream at all.

And though it is just the confines of your mind, and you are certain no one but God can hear you (if he will listen, and hasn't yet turned his back on you), you plead. 

"Come to me. A guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, a spirit of any celestial sphere– anyone, anything. Please, hear my call."

There is naught in the room but silence when you are finished; you are as alone with your thoughts as you ever are. You take a breath, blink away building tears, readying yourself to try again– and then, to your greatest surprise, there is a response.

For the first time in all your many dreams, a voice answers you– soft, an indistinct whisper akin to your own, but you hear it echo in the silence of your bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, a soft gasp leaving your parted lips as you look around the room.

Slowly, you lower your hands, taking an unconscious step forward, closer to where the voice calls to you from your balcony. You cannot yet discern what the voice is saying, nor can you see their figure, but you watch breathlessly as the lock on your balcony doors seems to unlatch itself, a sudden gust of wind pushing it open.

The air is cooler than you'd expect for a late spring's breeze, but you do not shiver or shrink away from the sudden chill; instead, you tentatively take another step, following the unfamiliar, beckoning voice. The voice becomes clearer the closer you step to the balcony, and though you see nothing out of the ordinary before you, you feel them.

No, to say you do not see them is not right– invisible in your mortal gaze, yes, but the moon casts their shadow on your wall, your curtains billowing with the steady breeze capturing their inhuman silhouette. And surely it is merely a trick of shadow that makes the figure appear so inhuman– because how else can you grapple with so foreign a creature standing before you?

You rationalize the impossibly tall silhouette as the moon elongating their shadow, the sharp and pointy length of their nails having simply become exaggerated, the unnatural point of their ears the result of a penumbra trick. Their figure vanishes with each fall of your curtains, reappearing with each rise; but their shadow ever lingers, eerie black against your ivory walls.

Their shadow serves as a reminder, you think– that even when you cannot see them, they will be there. Watching, beckoning, waiting; the voice, once so indistinct and otherworldly, is now crystal clear in your ears. Soft but luminous, it calls you as you take another cautious step closer.

"You," the voice starts, and though soft, it is an aching rasp– reminiscent, you think, of when one has fallen ill, or of times when one's throat has grown stiff from disuse. You have no further time to ponder if this is the man's– creature's?– natural inflection; for in just a few more careful utterances, their tone smooths, the soft voice becoming silken.

"You," the male voice repeats, smooth as satin and utterly mesmerizing, "I have heard you. And I answer in turn– come to me."

The shadow moves along your wall then, creeping closer to you; it feels as if it envelops you, embracing you with a blissful warmth you've never before felt. It clings to you with each step, but it does not feel like the melancholic tar you are accustomed to; it is a gentle ribbon, guiding you further with promises of sweetness you have so long craved.

Holding now to the railing of your balcony, you look to the gardens below. There you see him, standing amongst the tall, twisting trees and blooming lilacs. He gazes up at you, eyes black as a void, and yet they still shine in the light of the moon.

And just as a void promises to, his look swallows you whole. You lose yourself in the dark, hypnotic pool of his eyes, stumbling forward almost blindly, with one simple thought– you must go to him.

You are before him in an instant, though you have no recollection or understanding as to how. Did you walk off the balcony and fall below? Did you turn back and trek through the house to make it to the gardens? Is this the absurdity of dreams that normally eludes you, or is a greater power at work?

The answer seems of little importance; bewitched by the man standing before you, you find that logic and rationality hold no value. He is here, perfection and beauty embodied wholly– the answer to your prayers; that is all you care to know.

Your hand trembles, your utmost desire now to reach out and feel him beneath your fingertips, to confirm that he is not just a figment of your dream– that there really was someone in this world who could hear you from beyond, and cared enough to respond to your call.

Hair as black as his eyes, a few long strands falling over his perfect cheekbones, while the rest is tucked behind his normal, and not at all pointed, ears. He has full, plush lips shaded in an enchanting, muted red, with a little mole under his left eye and utterly flawless, pristine skin.

He is ethereal, and radiant, and he is here for you– and while his eyes hold a darkness you have never before seen, his smile is impossibly tender. He takes your trembling hand in his own, and you can feel his nails poke your skin as he closes it around you.

They are long, yes, but not as long and pointed as his shadow would've led you to believe them to be. There is a part of you that decides you were correct to think his features were simply exaggerated and warped by shadow, though the deep recesses of your heart and mind know this isn't true.

Whatever he is, whoever he may be– he is not of this world, you know that for certain. For who else in the world could hear you? Who would have the power to meet you in your mind? A trickster, an angel, a devil? It matters not, you decide; for perhaps, in some ways, you are not of this world either.

Perhaps you have always felt melancholic, twisted, and odd, because your destiny did not reside with your fellow man– perhaps it lied here, with this creature who wears the mask of the beautiful sort of prince charming you've yearned for.

His shadow was the truth of his being, you innately know, and yet it gives you no fear. He squeezes your hand, a reassurance, while the other rises to cup your cheek in his palm, a tender rub of his thumb along the skin where he holds you. His gentle touch is ice cold, but it spreads warmth through your body regardless– because oh, how you've longed for the companionship of another.

"You are for me," he whispers as he inches closer, your noses on the precipice of touching, "and I, you. Do you believe in destiny?" He stares at you, observing you closely as he awaits your answer. You swallow, heart quickening as you hold his gaze.

"Yes," you utter softly; for in the depths of your soul, you feel it– the immutable pull that tells you this is where you must be. Beside him, in his arms, at his side for all eternity– and he will love you, this you know true; because even down to the very marrow of your bones, your body says it is so.

He has searched for you for an age; not someone like you, no. You. Only you. And his delight to finally have heard his beloved's call, and to answer– it is an unparalleled joy, one that he expects you to share. For even in your mortal life, your blood sings for him just the same as it did those many, long centuries ago.

You were promised to him then, as you are now– and he will have you, just as he did then. First in sleep, as you are now, but someday soon he will find you in the physical world once more. He will hold you in his arms, your reunion as joyous as it is profane. Rejoice, as you join him back to your true home; the castle, your castle, where every moment was spent in unholy exuberance.

"Do you remember?" he asks, voice honey-sweet, "remember how we once were?"

You do not, not really– your mind has no recollection of the man before you. But your soul remembers, has carried the weight of centuries of love and longing with it all this time, waiting for the moment all the feelings harbored within could finally be unearthed.

"I know you," you answer, truthfully; because while this is your first meeting in this life, you recognize him all the same. In the deepest recesses of your memory, he is there, gazing upon you with the same reverence he does now. He holds you close, kisses you tender, his touch along your skin slow and gentle, his name a whispered prayer on your lips.

Hyunjin.

His eyes light up when you call his name, a smile growing on his perfect lips. Hyunjin would know you anywhere, and there was never any doubt you were his love– but all the same, it is a great relief to hear his name fall from your lips again after so many years spent longing for it.

He kisses you then, doing his utmost to relay the depths of his passion, while also holding the carnality he feels for you at bay– the last thing he wishes to do is overwhelm you with his appetite too soon. You are his affliction, his every desire, he must have you; and he can only pray that you will not deny him, or yourself, the pleasure– but only when the time is right.

"You will be mine once more," he says; a statement, not a question, between kisses to your lips, "as I am eternally yours." Your nerves tingle, blood alight as you return his affections, meeting his lips with urgency.

"I will have you," he continues, almost breathless as his lips begin to trail down your neck, "Will you swear it? That again, we are for no one but each other?" His breath tickles your skin, the points of two sharp teeth touching the sensitive pulse point. You shiver as his fangs linger there, closing your eyes as your heart thunders in your chest.

Hyunjin can not truly drink from you here, not in the confines of your dream, but his teeth against your neck serve as a reminder– that your blood is his greatest temptation. Should you promise yourself to him once more, he won't be able to resist you– as there is no taste sweeter than the blood of his beloved.

"I swear," you whisper your promise; for you will never fear him, nor can you deny the ecstasy that comes when he drinks from you. “ever-eternally, I am yours.” 

He is a beast of nightmares, a plague set upon the world, a ruinous omen of death, your immortal Vampyr; and you are safe in his hold. For he loves you and needs you too greatly to cause you any harm– an affection that contradicts his nature, but what a welcome contradiction it is. 

When you meet his gaze once more, his eyes burn with desire; it has been an agony, truly, to have such carnal desire for you all these centuries. And he could do naught with his desires but wait– wait for the day you would return to this world, and pray that your body and soul would still sing for him the way it once had. 

Hyunjin could have taken concubines, could’ve shared his castle with any great number of men or women– but they would not have been you. None can sate him the way you can, none can spread such flames of passion through his icy veins, none can make his eternally still heart feel as if it beats. It is not a vain promise when he says you are the only one for him– he means it with every fiber of his immortal being.

Your heart and soul, now free from their sepulchre, burn with need. He can hear the erratic thump of your heart, the blood rushing through your veins, can smell the arousal pooling between your legs. You desire him, just as he desires you– and he decides then that the time is right; there is no need to be cautious and careful with his affections.

You want him, and he wants you– and you will have each other, now and forever.

Hyunjin kisses you once more, hungry and urgent. He pulls your body flush to his own, holds you tightly as the wind rolls quickly past you. You realize, when you pull away to catch a breath, that your surroundings have shifted. Now in the center of the estate’s hedge maze, he lies you down on the stone bench beneath the grand statue of Mnemosyne.

You shiver against the cold stone, but he warms you with another kiss. His tongue meets your lips as his hand dances around the bottom of your chemise, lifting it up just enough to expose your lower half. His hands find your thighs, the points of his nails digging at the soft flesh as he squeezes you in his palms. 

It elicits a needy sound from deep within, one that you almost don’t recognize as your own. You feel the sharp points of his teeth with your tongue, while he spreads your legs apart to make more room for himself between them. He tugs your panties away with haste, and there is no shyness to be had when he separates to look at the way you glisten under the moonlight for him. 

He takes a moment to stare, licks his lips before looking back up to meet your eyes. You hold his gaze as he frees his cock from his trousers, swallowing as you look down for just a moment, and then back up to him. You are both eager, it is clear– and he will have neither of you wait any longer; you have both waited long enough. 

“I will have you,” Hyunjin repeats as he grabs your hips, lifting your bottom up from the stone bench and aligning you with himself. His thighs support you, while his feet stay firmly planted on the grass and stone below. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he removes one of his hands from your hips, using it to find leverage on the stone as he leans over you. 

You can feel his cock pulsing against you, excitement and anticipation building exponentially in your gut. “Mine again,” he whispers as he captures your lips in another kiss, “You are mine, my love.” 

He presses inside you as slowly as he can manage to, and you gasp, hands reaching out to cling to his arms. Thick and full, you let out a shuddering moan when his cock is sheathed fully inside your wet heat. He moans with you, the centuries of building need finally melting into the pure bliss he’d been longing for. 

But he refuses to rush– his thrusts are slow and fluid, precise and calculated, searching for the spot he knows will bring you utmost euphoria. You let out a high-pitched moan, followed by a curse, when he succeeds; and he smiles before he grits his teeth, determined to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

“Hyunjin, oh, please–” you whimper, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves as he picks up his pace. He wanted to drag it out longer, truly, he did; but the mind is a powerful thing, and even whilst in a dream, the pleasure that you both feel is entirely real. 

And how much longer can one who has held centuries of lust and yearning hold back? Especially when the object of his every desire is moaning and begging for him so sweetly?

He could never resist you– not then, and especially not now. And long has he craved to hear his name spill from your lips like this again; so much so that the sound of it sends him into a frenzy. 

“Again,” he utters, equal parts desperate plea and urgent demand, “call to me, say my name.” You oblige easily, his name falling from your lips in a tantalizing mantra; and you feel his cock throb violently with each salacious whimper, his every thrust laced with desire and urgency.

He releases his grip on your hip, moving his hand to your center and pressing his thumb on your clit. Your breath catches, eyes rolling back as he rubs your clit in steady, practiced circles.

“Cum for me, my love,” Hyunjin urges; he is on the precipice of release himself, and he needs you to fall apart with him– it is the only way he can truly be satisfied. Your thighs tremble, whimpers broken by harsh breaths; and you let go of his arms, reach up to his face and pull him down into a desperate, needy kiss. 

He moans, and if his flesh were mortal, he is sure that goosebumps would’ve risen over every inch of his body. His thrusts lose their fluidity, becoming quick and choppy as he chases the high your body promises him. You clench tighter, toes curling and body quivering as you finally cum, your every moan of pleasure captured by his lips. 

His hips still as his own high takes him, his cock fully pressed inside, his cum spurting in long, sticky spurts. Your kisses are breathless, impassioned, but no longer urgent– they are soft promises of love, of eternity together in bliss.

You smile at him when he pulls away, and he looks at you just as tenderly as he had before, stroking your cheek and indulging in the heat it offers his thumb. You’ve never felt so relaxed, happy and at peace– but just then, you feel a sudden jolt.

It is a sign that your consciousness is returning to reality, and you will soon find yourself back in your bed, with the morning light shining on you from your balcony. Hyunjin, an invader in your mind, feels himself being pushed out– for he can not stay by your side beyond the bounds of your dream just yet. 

There is fear and uncertainty that peaks within you as you fight to stay asleep just a moment longer– but he is quick to calm you, kissing you one last time before you the sun’s rays shine down on you.

“I will find you again in the waking world, my heart,” he says, squeezing your hand in his before he starts to fade once more into shadow, “this, I promise.”

You rise with a start, blinking rapidly and lingering, unshed tears falling from your eyes as you raise your hand to your heart. Just as expected, it is morning now– the late spring sun is bright and warm, and birds chirp in delight as they welcome the dawn of a new day.

You frown, feeling the erratic thumb of your heart beneath your fingertips as the melancholy claws its way back around you, reminding you that it has not left. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, you realize a short moment later, and for the first time, you blush.

And then you giggle– and the melancholy, though ever present, now has a weaker grasp. You wonder, as you rise from the bed and prepare for your day, how long it will take for Hyunjin to find you. Days, weeks, months? 

You hope it is soon– but if it is not, you know what you will do. Every night, when you blow out the candles and fall asleep, you will call to him. You’ll invite him back into your mind, greet him with a soft kiss, and revel in his tender touch.

You will make love, you will smile, and you will talk of the future with greater enthusiasm than you have ever known– for he is your destiny, your truest love, your one and only immortal Vampyr. Ever-eternally.

[pininghermit]

Right Infront of My Salad?

Request: @dreamtogether2000 I was only doing it because I was curious but then I got Obsessed?! Please this with gn reader is everything I love! Go Buck Wild.

AN: First of all what a pick. Second of all, thank you for requesting this. I love writing crack fics especially this one was awesome. I hope you like it. We shall name this the Tropesvania Event- feel free to request

Genre: Fluff

Pairing(s): Adrian Tepes x GN Reader

Summary: Obsessed-gn-drabble

“They are, to put it mildly…” Lisa cringed, glancing into the camera, “obsessed with each other.”

“They’ve lost it. Whatever this is, it’s worse than anything unholy,” Dracula deadpanned, his tone dripping with the resignation of a centuries-old vampire.

Somehow, it had come to this: Dracula and Lisa, dragged onto Dr. Phil, seated stiffly next to their son, Adrian, and you. The root of the chaos.

Yet, the elephant in the room remained unaddressed. And riding triumphantly atop that elephant, entwined as if nothing else in the world existed, were Lisa and Dracula’s beloved son and you.

It had all started innocently enough, during the honeymoon phase of dating. At first, Lisa had found it endearing. Adrian gushing about you had been a breath of fresh air.

Every detail about your smile, your laugh, your favorite book had been recounted with an enthusiasm so pure it melted even Dracula’s icy heart.

Lisa had helped Adrian pick out the right outfits, thoughtful gifts, and conversation topics to avoid awkward silences. Dracula had joined in too, bemused by the adorable mess his son had become under the spell of young love.

Then, they met you.

From the moment of that first introduction, you had stormed into Castle Dracula like a burst of spring sunlight, your chaotic energy scattering the stoic gothic gloom.

Supper, once a quiet affair for three, transformed into a nightly event for four. The castle seemed warmer, brighter—alive. Though neither parent would admit it, there were moments they almost welcomed the change.

It was as if the wintery gloom of their home had been replace with fistfuls of spring shoved up ever nook of the castle.

But young love is nothing if not overwhelming.

Catching the two of you making out had been amusing at first, Dracula turning a delicate shade of crimson and retreating with an indignant swoosh of his cape.

But the charm wore thin quickly. After exactly twenty-three incidents of stumbling upon you in her lab, Lisa’s patience finally snapped.

And yet, here you were.

“I love you,” you giggled, nestled against Adrian, your hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, the matching rings on your fingers glinting in the firelight.

Across the room, Lisa and Dracula watched from the couch, their expressions somewhere between weariness and acceptance, as Adrian’s face lit up to match yours. “I love you more,” he replied earnestly, leaning in closer.

“Noooo,” you drawled, sticking your tongue out at him playfully. “I love you more.”

Adrian pressed a kiss to your cheek, his golden eyes brimming with adoration. “I love you more than anything.”

Lisa saw Dracula’s face turn a distinct shade of green. Whether it was from the sweetness of the hot chocolate or the relentless PDA, she couldn’t say.

The count excused himself abruptly, clearing his throat as both parents caught sight of Adrian’s hand slipping under the blanket.

A single day. Adrian had been gone for one day to retrieve an ancient tome.

It had been an ordeal pulling him away, his golden eyes darting anxiously between you and the door as he nodded solemnly to your endless instructions about his health. To Lisa’s surprise, you had smiled and sent him off with a merry wave.

It unsettled both parents when you slammed the door shut immediately afterward only for your composure to crumble into pieces.

“I miss him,” you whimpered, staring forlornly at the cracks in the stone floor. “However shall I endure this?” you sobbed, burying your face in your arms.

For hours, you parked yourself by the door, refusing to move, before embarking on a grieving tour of the castle. Every room bore witness to your dramatic laments as you sprawled across tables, sighed mournfully in hallways, and flopped listlessly onto chairs.

Lisa and Dracula followed at a safe distance, watching in silent horror. By the end of the day, Lisa questioned her son’s doting nature, and Dracula could only mutter, “I'm too old for this Lisa.”

When Adrian finally returned, all hell broke loose.

You bolted toward him the moment the doors opened, nearly tripping over the carpet in your haste to reach him. Lisa and Dracula stood frozen in place, watching the soap opera that Castle Dracula had somehow become unfold before their eyes.

But it wasn’t the excessively affectionate reunion that left them speechless. It wasn’t even your tearful declarations of love or Adrian’s matching intensity.

It was the bold black ink scrawled across Adrian’s arm.

Your name. Permanently tattooed, proud and unashamed.

The sight left the family in stunned silence, each member processing the revelation in their own way.

For Lisa, it was an emotional breakdown, complete with head-in-hands groaning. For Dracula, it was a mental and spiritual crisis, punctuated by a mumbled, “By all the dark powers… what has he done?”

Meanwhile, the happy couple remained blissfully unaware of the chaos swirling around them, lost in a world that consisted of only each other.

Castle Dracula would never be the same again.

[reaveries]

▬  𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲

gif credit to @robpattinsongifs (much higher resolution on their account)

summary: late-night visits from your definitely human boyfriend

pairings: edward cullen x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k (approximately 7 minutes reading time)

a/n:  I’ve had this baby marinating in my drafts since January, when I was going through my bi-annual Twilight Renaissance. I was actually in the middle of writing a RE2R Leon Kennedy fic today and decided to put on a twilight playlist, and then I just knew I had to finish this one. It’s my first *published* non-RDR fic heehee (I have so much in my drafts, it’s insane). Anyways, enjoy (pardners)!

masterlist archive of our own

It’s that dreadful time of year again. 

The sun is making its curtain call as students from the nearby elementary school trip over themselves running home. Little girls and boys have sticky remnants of lunch peeking from the corners of their mouths and the grass is still slick from morning showers. But dusk is impatient in February, and its eagerness is encouraged in a town hidden beneath perpetual overcast nine months out of the year.

The school children ran past her window minutes ago when the sky had been painted brilliant indigo. Now, when she looks up the only thing left to see is her own dark reflection and the warm orange glow from a candle on the sill. Its tall flame stutters, collapsing and rising with the damp breeze. 

A page turns, disrupting the otherwise quiet room. The only other noise that can be heard is a soft pitter of water dripping onto the floorboards from a coat hanging off the closet door. 

She reaches for a mug sitting on the corner of her nightstand and promptly sets it back down upon finding it empty. It returns to its spot atop crumpled receipts and library hold slips belonging to the growing stack of books accumulating dust at her bedside. These books tower over the permanent nightstand residents: lazily discarded beaded necklaces, a sample bottle of floral perfume from Christmas, two little ceramic bunnies purchased from an antique mall in Port Angeles last summer, car keys, and drugstore chapstick. It might be worth convincing her to let go of some of these post-object permanence discoveries, but that is a matter for another time.

In a desperate attempt to comprehend the words she’s reading, she rolls onto her back and extends her arms straight in the air so the book hovers a foot from her face—a change of perspective to freshen the mind.

It does not help. 

No matter how much she shifts or squints, the antiquated prose remains stubbornly uninviting. She can’t fathom why anyone would willingly subject themselves to something so archaic and convoluted and furthermore, recommend it as one of their favorite novels.

With a huff, she adjusts the headphones at her ears, hoping the music will clear her mind. But despite her best efforts, the book slowly drifts closer to her chest and her eyelids grow heavier as the music lulls her into a dreamless sleep. 

When she wakes to cold fingers grazing her jaw it’s impossible to tell whether she’d fallen asleep or if she just blinked. The weight of the headphones gently disappears as they’re pulled off and set down on the nightstand. She grumbles incoherently and stretches out her legs, not unlike a cat after a long, difficult day of lounging around. Her eyes begrudgingly flutter open and immediately find him only inches away. He’s watching her, peering down with a twinkle in his amber-colored eyes.

“Edward…” she whispers.

“Dracula,” he says, eyebrows raised as he makes the observation. “I thought you didn’t like Gothics.”

She reaches a finger into the book on her chest and folds the page over before tossing it carelessly into the sea of knitted and quilted blankets at the foot of the bed. With the haze of sleep still clouding her eyes, she smiles sheepishly up at him.

“I’m trying.”

He chuckles lightly and brings his hand to her hair again, brushing stray strands off her forehead and tucking them behind her ears before leaning down to place a chaste kiss above her eyes. Though his lips are soft, the icy touch of his skin sends a shiver down her spine. He’s always cold; a result of his anemia, he says. However, the downpour that's dampened his hair and clothes to his skin has chilled him even more so.

In an effort to sit up, she raises herself onto her elbows and catches a glimpse of the bright red digital numbers on her bedside clock.

“You’re late, you know,” she chides, watching him settle uncomfortably at the head of the bed. He sinks down among the pillows, their plushness contrasting humorously with the stiffness of his demeanor. He reaches behind his back and tugs free a stuffed rabbit lodged between him and the headboard, then sets it down softly beside himself.

“I had to make a quick stop. I hope you can forgive me,” he says in a hushed voice, so as not to make too much noise in the resting house. His eyes flit towards the nightstand and she follows them to see a new item sitting amongst the disorder. A tall styrofoam cup with steam rising thinly from the lid. Coffee. 

The mug she just finished sits right beside it. She’d considered brewing more but that was before being rendered unconscious by Bram Stoker nearly an hour ago. Her heart swells at his thoughtfulness, but a more pressing question comes to mind before she can voice her gratitude.

“How did you even climb up here with that?” She asks, reaching for the cup with both hands.

“I’m very…agile.” There’s a look in his eyes that tells her there’s more to it, but she chooses to ignore it for now with a shake of her head.

The taste is immediately harsh, significantly more bitter than how she makes it herself. Any trace of a smile dissipates and is replaced with a pronounced look of disgust.

“Good God, Edward,” she exclaims. “Decaf? What did I ever do to you?”

He laughs and takes it from her hands, leaving her still reeling from the unexpected taste. “As much as I love staying up with you, you need sleep,” he says, a hint of sternness in his voice. “You didn’t get any last night and you don’t hide it well.”

He says the last part sweetly, tilting his head to the side and following her motions with his eyes, watching her pick up the stuffed rabbit by its cotton paw.

“Don’t hide it well?” She repeats, the indignation in her voice contrasting with the softness of the toy as she raises it high into the air and brings it down against his chest with a soft thud. “Well maybe I wouldn’t have to hide anything if you—weren’t—keeping—me—up—all—night!”

With every word, the rabbit hits his forearms poorly attempting to shield himself from the blows. Edward grins as she attacks him, the soft toy barely making a sound against his arms. He watches as her hair falls across her face in the midst of the unrelenting attack, the warm glow of the candle casting a soft halo around her.

But then, his amusement fades as he sees the exhaustion in her eyes. 

He gently takes the rabbit from her and sets it aside before grabbing her arm mid-swing and pulling her into his chest. She sighs heavily and surrenders, relaxing against him. "I’m sorry," he whispers, his lips brushing against her hair. “I’ll let you rest tonight.”

Despite his tender words, a residual half-baked frustration lingers inside her. “How did you manage to stay awake in class?” she mumbles into his sweater, the words muffled. “I mean, you didn’t get any sleep either.”

He chuckles, as if privy to some inside joke.

“Well, someone had to take your notes for you,” he says, his fingers trailing through her hair in a soothing motion. “And besides, you looked so peaceful drooling away.” 

She looks up at him, a hint of a drowsy smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I did not drool,” she insists.

He grins down at her, his eyes alight with fondness. “Of course not.”

She groans and buries her head into his chest, to which he responds by encircling his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

“I’m never falling asleep in front of you again,” she grumbles.

His chest rumbles beneath her cheek as he laughs. “Alright, angel.”

He shifts his hand from the crown of her head to the curve of her back, tracing languid circles over the fabric of her t-shirt as the room fills with a comfortable silence. The rain outside grows heavier, tapping against the glass with a more insistent force. Her body is warm against his and he can feel the steady thumping of her heartbeat as if it's his own. A few minutes slip by, and he senses her breathing even out and deepen. Without disturbing her, he reaches for a nearby blanket and drapes it over her, then turns his gaze to the candle on the windowsill.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, as the dwindling flame fades out of focus. 

This is his favorite part of the day.

Vague arrays of soft, muted hues and shapes swirl around in his vision, overtaking the warm surroundings of her bedroom. They morph into recognizable figures after some time, and he can hear them speaking when he focuses. For the most part, they sound as if he’s underwater and they’re conversing on the shore. But every now and then, a clear phrase emerges.

Suddenly, the floating shapes assimilate into a figure resembling him and he realizes what this dream is. It’s a recurring one he’s particularly fond of. He settles in and pulls her closer as the scene ebbs between reality and distortions of the unconscious mind. 

He can’t remember how he used to pass the night hours before he met her. Books, records, films--looking back, they feel hollow compared to nights spent like this. Part of him hopes he’ll never know what it's like to want for this. But these dreams, and her thoughts in the waking hours, assure him he won’t ever have to find out.

[ellastone-olsen]

The Legend of Sleepy Valley - Wanda Maximoff (part 1)

★Pairing: Vampire!Wanda Maximoff x f!reader

Summary: no one had ever seen the family members living in the huge estate nearby. maybe this is not just the case and they are hiding something. legends surround this place and soon you will find out for yourself where is the truth and where is the lies. this is the first time a vampire will not kill her victim.

★Warnings: NSFW 18+ (in future parts), dark au, blood, stalking, mentions of murders, nightmares, slowburn

★Word count: 2.6k

★AN: I decided to re-read Dracula and an idea came to me. this is my first series fic and the first part is preparation for the most interesting things. maybe there will be one or two more parts, I don’t know how much my imagination will suffice.

The small village of less than one hundred fifty people could not boast of special wealth, but as they say, human blood is not water, this is the true wealth that these people had. If only they knew about it.

Away from the crowd of dilapidated houses stood the old estate of the Maximoff family, whose history dates back to ancient times. No one could say exactly how long ago they settled, but every generation of people who lived here knew who lived in the ancient “castle” as the locals called it. Family members did not often catch the eye of the village residents, preferring a secluded life without “good neighbors” nearby. All you knew about them was information gleaned from the legends that parents told their children, passing on these terrible stories from generation to generation.

One of them said that it was the Maximoff family that was behind the disappearance and fatal diseases of ordinary peasants who lived in these parts. If someone’s livestock died, it means that people’s turn will soon come. No one could explain exactly how they were involved in this, which is why they were legends. Some said that all the troubles began with the arrival of the first ancestor - Konstantin Maximoff. As soon as this man set foot on the dead, poor soil of these regions, terrible things began to happen.

But who are you to believe in stupid old legends? Now is not the time when people rely on fairy tales. This was the age of computer technology and the Internet, so you could read horror stories on Google. It’s a shame that the stories turned out to be true, what’s even worse is that you learned this from your own experience.

“Why did you kill me? Why did you kill me?" You looked in horror at the doorway in which stood a man... no, a child, judging by his height, about 7 years old, but his face was not visible. Only glowing beady pupils and a dark silhouette, that’s what you could make out in the pitch darkness of the tiny room. “I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill you.” You tried to move, but it was all in vain. The body froze like a heavy marble stone. The brain was already awake, but the limbs were stuck to the mattress of the bed. Heart beat out a fast, ragged rhythm, threatening to jump out through ribs. No one would come to the rescue, you knew. “Why why did you kill me.” The hallucination repeated these words like a prayer in the temple of the Lord God, to which you were ready to go any minute. What to do, what to do, probably the same as always. Scream.

An eardrum-breaking screech escaped from your chest, maybe someone will hear it? But absolutely everything that happened was only in your head. Together with the scream, flashing flashes began to hit eyes, a good sign that the method was working. If anyone had heard the screeching, they would probably have gone deaf.

You suddenly sit up in bed, breathing as if you had run a marathon and won. It was all over, but the fear remained. Sleep paralysis was never limited only to the state of paralysis itself; even after them, anxiety was with you, sticking to the subcortex of consciousness like soft molasses. You turned on the light in the room and picked up the phone. The clock showed 3:42 am, if you are lucky, within an hour you will fall asleep again. Your finger clicked on the messenger icon and you entered a chat created specifically for communication between people living in your village and surrounding area.

Your eyes quickly scanned hundreds of messages and ads for old junk when photos of the scene caught your attention. It was talking about another cattle killing of one of your neighbors. People, as always, wrote that these were wolves or pumas, which often live in these parts. At least the claw marks were definitely not left by a human. A terrible bloody mess, what more can you say. Soon panic will sweep the village again, because everyone knows that this will be followed by the death of one of the residents. Damn it, sitting at home all day long again was the first thing your sleepy brain generated. Well, let it be, but you will get some sleep for the first time in the last couple of months.

The phone slowly fell from your hand onto the soft, fresh sheets and your lead-filled eyelids fell into your eyes. Finally the long-awaited dream. You saw your past, but more exaggerated. Winter frost, a scarf that covers half of your face and you don’t know where to go. The picture changed and you found yourself on the red carpet, walking towards the door at the end of a hundred-meter corridor. There are white walls and camera flashes all around. You didn't know where you were going, but it seemed like a good place. The door opened revealing a round room with a bunch of people and animals. A ginger cat similar to yours came up to you and you extended your hand to pet him, but the animal grabbed you with its teeth, biting over and over again. The claws passed along your forearm, leaving red droplets of blood, the wonderful dream again became a nightmare and you opened your eyes.

Your room again. The lights were off. It's strange, you didn't seem to turn it off. Perhaps mom woke up and walked past the room. Your gaze could not focus on anything, you looked around, blinked a couple of times and looked into the doorway. Someone was standing there again. A woman with long hair, you would think it was your mother, but she had short shoulder length hair. Again, hallucination is the first thing that came to your mind. You tried to bend your leg to make sure that this was the case, but the movement was easy and you sat down in fear. The figure was still standing in place and eyes accustomed to the darkness could discern clothing in the form of a knee-length dress, boots and a jacket, it seems? The head of the unknown woman in your room tilted to the side, she was also looking at you. She studied, as if deciding what to do next. It seemed that being noticed was not part of her plans.

"Who are you?" the vocal cords did not produce anything louder than a whisper. And only now did you notice a strange pain in your hand, in the same place where the cat scratched you in your sleep. You grabbed the forearm of your left hand, feeling the moisture under your palm and lifted it to get a better look. You couldn’t see anything in the darkness and you licked your palm to feel the metallic taste. Liquid scarlet blood was streaked and still leaking from the scratches, not deep enough to leave scars.

In response to your action, the stranger loudly sniffed air and seemed to... growl. But people don't know how to make SUCH sounds. “Did you do this?” you extended your palm to her, but instead of answering, the dark figure disappeared outside your bedroom. You wanted to catch up with her, but got tangled in the blanket and fell to the floor, cursing under your breath. When you went into the common room, no one was there anymore. Not a trace of anyone else's presence.

The morning greeted with the rays of the sun, which lay softly on your face. The smell of homemade pancakes wafted from the kitchen, the recently returned birds chirped on the tree branches as if they were wound up.

The phone was still lying next to you and the clock on the screen showed noon. Among hundreds of notifications overnight, you found a message from your friend Lily, which read: “I’ll pick you up at one o’clock in the afternoon.” Well, at least you had an hour to get ready. Surely, after those messages about the murder, your parents would lock you at home, and you wanted to have time to take a walk in the first days of spring.

While you were sitting in the kitchen and looking at one point, while finishing breakfast, your thoughts returned to this night. There was no doubt that the first thing that happened to you was sleep paralysis, but what happened then? How could someone sneak into your family home so silently and without a trace, why did this woman need to watch you, and even more so... You could write off the incident as another nightmare, but your forearm still stung. Raising your hand, you saw scratches that were already covered with a blood crust and were in the process of healing. Oh no, it wasn’t definitely a hallucination. When you got out of bed, the first thing you did was check your room for missing valuables, but everything was there. Apparently the only thing this strange woman touched was you. Today before going to bed you need to check all the locks in the house, all the windows and make an impregnable fortress out of it.

“Are you sure you want to go there?” The question hung in the warm spring air. Your friend was dragging you by the hand to the so-called Sleepy Valley. The children of your village were not allowed to go there, firstly because flocks of sheep usually grazed there, and secondly...

“Y/N, do you know why this place is called that way?.” Of the two of you, you knew more about local folklore, so you easily found the desired legend in the memory archives. The legend of the Sleepy Valley.

“My mother told me that there were always sheep grazing there, but one day a shepherd came into the valley and the whole flock was lying on the grass. It looked like someone had thrown cotton balls around. It looked as if the animals were simply asleep, but when the man approached one of the sheep, he realized that it was dead. They were all dead. Some maniac or animal ripped out the throats of the poor animals. This is where the name comes from.” You finished the story and were walking through the wild forest when you saw an opening. Perhaps there were such stories around this place, but there was no other place for walking cattle in the vicinity.

As the tall trees retreated, a majestic field stretched around, with a herd of fluffy white sheep as usual. Lily pulled you by the arms a little away from the animals to sit on the fresh green grass looking up at the sky. The two of you just lay there and listened to the chirping of tits, voluminous white clouds rushed above you, forming bizarre shapes. Life seemed unreal at that moment.

Only in the forest from where you came out it was watching you. Red eyes scanned everything that was happening, and acute inhuman hearing caught your conversation even at a distance of twenty meters. Your night visitor did not miss the chance to follow the first person whom she, for some reason unknown to her, did not kill during close contact. Wanda was patient, even too patient, and something about you caught her attention that night. Maybe your peace of mind or... No, it’s too early to think about that. In any case, she spent the rest of the night waiting for you to wake up and leave the house.

For so many years that she lived on this sinful earth, the daughter of the Maximoff family could tell a lot from a person’s blood. She drank dozens of people dry and each was unique in their own way, from the first sips one could understand what kind of life a person lived and what it was like, blood for her was a thing in which the essence of human nature was hidden. None of her victims had aroused an iota of interest or compassion in her, until that day.

Once every few months, Wanda’s family could afford such a delicacy as a few people from the village for whom no one would grieve. She liked to stretch out the pleasure and start with cattle, leaving human lives for dessert. Then she decided to watch the future victims and find the most tasty morsel in her opinion; in the end, her choice fell on a young beautiful girl like you. When life is in full swing, taking it away is many times more pleasant and sweeter.

That night, her plans included killing you, drinking to the last drop like everyone else before, but standing right next to you, she froze. Something was wrong. Why were your eyes open but you didn't move? She heard your heart that was ready to jump out, but it was not because of her. It seemed like you saw something that she didn’t see and she became curious. The woman walked into the darkness of the room, to the farthest corner, and watched. So you woke up, jumped out of bed and nervously turned on the light. Wanda sensed your fear, but did not understand what it was connected with.

Waiting for you to fall back into the world of dreams, she turned off the light that was blinding her and came closer, running her sharp nails along your arm to collect a small portion of blood for testing. When the first drops touched her tongue, her pupils dilated, covering the irises of the vampire's red eyes. The blood was saturated with adrenaline and was even sweeter than she expected and your personal taste. There was something about it that she couldn't place, something familiar. She took a closer look at your calm face, noticing what a cute little thing you were in her hands. No, killing you was too great a loss, she turned on her heels to hide as quietly as she appeared, but a rustling was heard behind her.

Wanda stood in the doorway and watched as you woke up for the second time that night. It’s surprising how you didn’t notice her right away, but when she saw your wet, rough tongue running over your palm, licking the scarlet substance, something clicked in her. “Did you do this?” your voice, hoarse from sleep, has long since become a spring deep inside her being. She needed to leave right now if she didn't want to kill you or take you by force.

The woman silently left the house and sat down nearby in the wild raspberry bushes. "She was beautiful, but who the hell was that?" Thoughts were heard in her head, but they were not hers. She heard your thoughts and her eyes widened, remembering what her stepmother told her many decades ago. If her memory did not deceive her, and it did not deceive her, then when sampling a person’s blood, if they arent killed, she will be able to hear all the thoughts associated with her. Then, being a recently converted vampire, Wanda did not attach any importance to this, because she did not think that something would happen that she would not complete the job. Apparently this was very arrogant on her part.

But since this has happened, why not entertain yourself for the first time in the last two hundred and ninety-seven years. From that moment on, she had her own personal human.

Part 2?

[fizzybin]

My immortal

⛧°。 ⋆༺𐕣 𖤐 𐕣༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。 ⋆༺𐕣 𖤐 𐕣༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。 ⋆༺𐕣 𖤐 𐕣༻⋆。 Paring | Vampire!Yunho x Human!female reader Word count | 5,778 Tw | This is not your normal lovely dovey vampire fic! or any of humanity. now on to the trigger warnings, Manipulation, implied love bombing well not implied its there, blood and biting (its a vampire fic what did you expect?), hypnosis ˡᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᶦᶠ ᵐᶦˢˢᵉᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶦⁿᵍ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᶦ ᵖʳᵒᵇ ᵈᶦᵈ Rating | NC-17 playlist if wanted (songs in order) | Romance - Varials Relay - Trauma ray prayers/triangles - Deftones Descending - sleep token ⛧°。 ⋆༺𐕣 𖤐 𐕣༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。 ⋆༺𐕣 𖤐 𐕣༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。 ⋆༺𐕣 𖤐 𐕣༻⋆。

Despite the fear that always lingered in the back of your mind, you couldn't help but love your boyfriend, who happened to be a vampire. He was still the same loving, protective and charming guy you fell for, even with his supernatural nature. Standing tall at 6'2", he towered over most and his striking features were undeniably beautiful. But what drew you in the most was the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at you, as if you were the only thing that mattered in his immortal life.

Despite his vampiric nature, he defied the stereotypical image of Dracula. His pale white skin may have hinted at his blood-drinking tendencies, but he could withstand the sun's rays for extended periods of time unlike other vampires. The myth of holy objects being able to repel him was just that - a myth. But what truly set him apart were his deep, piercing red eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. And his hands and forearms - they were black as night, with sharp claws that could shred through flesh like paper. But alongside his inhuman strength and speed, he possessed another gift - the ability to hypnotize and control the human mind, bending them to his will with a mere glance

You nestled comfortably onto his lap, seeking refuge from the mundane movie that played on the screen. Your fingers danced over his hand, tracing patterns and shapes as he watched with amusement. He noticed your lack of interest in the movie and paused it, turning his attention fully to you. With a gentle touch, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, a smile spreading across his lips at the sight of your playful expression.

“Is the movie not to your liking, darling?”

“Hmm? It’s ok you like it keep watching it”

His questioning gaze meets yours as you try to assure him that it's okay, that you're enjoying the movie. But he can sense your hesitation, knowing that you're just trying to spare his feelings. He sets the remote down on the coffee table and gently cups your face in his hand. His thumb traces circles on your cheek as he studies your expression.

“Darling, you were just playing with my hand and staring at the wall, I’m not that thick headed.”

“Yeah but you like this movie, watch it”

A heavy sigh escapes his lips as he shakes his head in disappointment, but he still pulls you closer to him. His warm breath tickles your skin as he speaks, "What's the point in watching it if you're not enjoying it?" His forehead meets yours, and a shiver of electricity shoots through your body. His sharp, black nails trail down your cheek in a gentle caress. "But…you like it, and that's all that matters," you said with a small smile.

He hums softly as his hand slides along your jawline and down to the curve of your neck, tilting your chin with gentle force. His eyes meet yours in a captivating stare, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You're the most important thing to me," he says with a low chuckle before leaning in to press light kisses along your jaw and neck. You can feel the faint scrape of his fangs against your skin, knowing he's intentionally teasing you with them.

He gently nips at the skin on your neck with his fangs before pulling away, a mischievous smirk on his face as he licks over where he just bit. He wasn't breaking the skin, of course.

"Oh? Have my fangs taken away my darling's words?"

"Are you feeling hungry or something?" you asked tilting your head a bit, he chuckles at your question. It's endearing how unaware you can be at times. The thought of being hungry does cross his mind as he runs his tongue over his sharp teeth, but he would never drink your blood without your consent. At least, that's what you think

“Perhaps, but that’s not why I’m teasing you darling,” he whispered seductively, his lips lingering on the curve of your neck. “I just can’t resist playing with you, my dear.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine as he pulled you in closer by your waist, his touch sending tingles through your body. He continued to gently nip at your skin, leaving kisses and tiny bites along your collarbone and shoulders. His sharp fangs grazed your flesh, a delicious mixture of pleasure and pain.

He bit down harder on a sensitive spot, his teeth sinking into your skin with a hint of force. You squirmed beneath him, letting out a soft whine as the sensations coursed through you. His hand moved to hold your chin up, his dark eyes searching for any signs of arousal.

He wanted to hear you moan, to know that he was affecting you in all the right ways. With each nibble and nip, he pushed you closer to the edge of desire. And from the way you responded to his touch, he knew he was succeeding.

A satisfied chuckle escapes his lips as he witnesses your reaction to his touch. It is one of his greatest pleasures, seeing how you respond to him - be it through his words, or the way he holds and plays with you.

"You told me to watch the movie, yet here you are," he teases, "a whining mess from my mere touch."

"Shut up," you retort playfully, unable to stop yourself from smiling as he continues to laugh. He pushes you down onto the couch, pinning you underneath him as his body hovers over yours. His smirk is evident on his face, revealing his sharp fangs in all their glory.

"Try me, darling," he growls, his eyes glinting with a dangerous gleam. You immediately regret your flippant remark as he advances towards you, pinning you against the wall with a force that takes your breath away.

"I-I didn't mean it like that," you stammer, trying to push him away. But his grip on your wrists is unbreakable, his strength overwhelming.

"Too late," he sneers, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. "I love seeing you scared and flustered, it's adorable."

Panic sets in as you realize just how much power he holds over you. You whimper and plead for him to let you go, but he only laughs at your distress.

"Not until I'm done playing with my little darling," he snarls, his grip tightening even more. You can feel his hot breath on your neck, sending shivers of fear through your body.

“No, I like you right here, under me, all while being a whining mess over me pinning you down, it’s cute, love.”

"No, no, I really mean it, stop!" He tilted his head and leaned in closer, his breath tickling your skin and sending shivers down your spine. "You can say one thing, but your body is saying something else, darling." He chuckled at your reaction as he continued to lightly nip and suck at your neck. "Yunho, please stop," you pleaded, but he only let out a small hum in response. He found that sensitive spot on your neck again and began to focus on it, wanting to hear you whimper once more - that sound that drove him wild with desire.

“And why should I? I like having you like this darling, and you sure do make it look like you’re enjoying it.”

You shook your head, attempting to appear calm and collected while your voice trembled with fear. You didn't want to act flustered or bratty, but you couldn't help feeling scared. "Y-Yu… please," you pleaded, your tone now soft and fearful. That seemed to snap him out of his teasing mood. He looked at you, his expression filled with concern.

He released your wrists and instead cupped your face gently in his hands.

"Please, my dear," he cooed, his grip tightening on your wrists. You whimpered, desperately hoping for a release from his grasp. But he could see the panic in your eyes, and it wasn't just because he was restraining you. He knew that his manipulative powers were fading, and soon you would return to your independent thinking.

His fingers move gently through your hair, trying to calm you and assure you that you are safe. He slowly moves away from you, allowing you to sit up. His gaze remains fixed on you, full of concern. You rest your head in his lap, reaching for the remote and pressing play on the movie again. "Let's just watch your movie," he says, not taking his eyes off of you. As he sits up more, he delicately cups your face and turns it towards him, making sure you are looking at him as he speaks.

His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as he spoke. His thumb caressed your cheek gently, leaving a warm trail in its wake. "Don't dodge my question," he said, concern etched into his features. "I thought you were okay with me pinning you down. Why did you act so scared of me? Did I go too far?"

You hesitated before answering, unsure of how to express your thoughts. He tilted his head, his worry growing as he tried to understand.

"It's not that…" You trailed off, unsure of how to continue. But he pressed on, his eyes searching yours for an explanation.

"Then what is it? What made you so scared?" His tone was gentle, but the concern in his voice was palpable.

"I don't know…you just did it so quickly and for a moment, I thought…" You stopped yourself, not wanting to finish the sentence.

He froze upon hearing your words, guilt washing over him. He knew how frightened you were of his true nature as a vampire. And here he was, trying to playfully tease you and ending up scaring you instead.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he gently pulled you onto his lap and held you tight against his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered, regret lacing his words. "I never want to make you feel afraid or used."

“It’s okay…do you want me to get you a cup of blood or anything?”

“No no, I’m alright….”

he gently runs his hands through your hair, just gently holding you against him, it was so rare to see you so shaken up, he could hear your heartbeat, still fast and clearly shook up from earlier

“Are you sure you’re alright love?…”

“Mhm..”

he still didn’t look away from you, looking down at you and noticing the way you kept your head down. He wasn’t stupid. he knew you were lying, He gently grabbed your chin, lifting your head a bit to look at him

“Doll, please don’t lie. I know you’re not okay“

"I'm just going to go to the bedroom, you can stay here and watch TV," You announced, getting up from his lap and making your way to the bedroom. He didn't say a word as he watched you disappear behind the closed door. As he leaned back on the couch, he couldn't help but feel guilty. He knew you were still shaken up, yet he couldn't bring himself to comfort you. Meanwhile, you laid in bed, trying to fall asleep despite the turmoil swirling inside of you. Should you be angry with him? Or should you understand where he's coming from? The inner conflict kept you awake for hours.

he ended up finishing the movie. He spent a few more minutes just sitting on the couch, he wasn’t in the mood to watch another movie. He slowly got up from the couch and walked over to the bedroom, opening the door, only to be met with the sight of you asleep, he couldn’t help but smile a. bit before gently crawling into bed with beside you and pulling you close to him

He lovingly brushed strands of hair away from your face before pressing his cheek against your neck. His hand tenderly caressing your arm as he pulled you in closer, fitting his body against yours. He had an intense desire to be near you, to have you in his arms and keep you safe. As you started to stir awake, you could feel his fingertips gently tracing your skin.

As his fingers delicately trailed over your skin, you stirred in his arms. He lifted his head and gazed at you with a tender expression.

"Hey…sorry, love. I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured softly.

Sitting up, you gently pushed his hand away. His face fell with confusion and a hint of hurt as he watched you retreat from his touch.

"Love?" His voice held concern as he too sat up, studying your face. "What's wrong?"

You hesitated before finally speaking up. "I want to sleep alone tonight. I'm just going to go to the living room."

His eyes widened in surprise at your unexpected words. "Wait, why? Did I do something?"

Shaking your head, you replied softly, "No." With that, you got up and left the bedroom, making your way to the living room. He sat there, perplexed and hurt by your sudden rejection. It was clear that he couldn't understand why you didn't want to share a bed with him or be touched by him. The gap between you seemed to grow wider as you retreated from each other's presence for the night.

With a deep, heavy sigh, he reluctantly rises from the bed and trudges after you to the living room. His heart aches with confusion and hurt as he watches you settle comfortably onto the couch.

"Yunho," you say, and he stops in front of you, bracing himself for whatever words will come next.

"Please," you plead, your voice cracking with emotion. "Let me sleep alone tonight." His jaw tightens as he battles the urge to protest, trying to understand why you would push him away like this. But ultimately, he nods in defeated acceptance and turns away, hiding the rejection burning in his eyes.

Upon hearing your words, Yunho's heart clenched as if in a vise. His mind raced, trying to think of how he could manipulate the situation to his advantage.

"Can you just tell me why at least?" he pleaded with desperation. "Why don't you want to stay in bed with me?"

But you remained quiet, avoiding his gaze. The look on his face shifted from hurt to confusing, and he waited for an explanation, silently begging you to open up to him. This was new territory for both of you - you had never asked to sleep alone before.

"I just can't tonight," you finally muttered, giving him a vague excuse.

Yunho felt even more hurt by your answer. This behavior was out of character for you, and he couldn't understand why you would suddenly reject him. He sat down on the couch next to you, feeling lost and unsure of what to do next. In that moment, he realized that his manipulation tactics had failed and he needed to find another way to salvage the situation.

“Love…. Please don’t be like this… just tell me what’s wrong…”

“You scared me too much today, I don’t wanna go to sleep paranoid that your gonna do something”

A flash of fear crosses his face as he hears your words, his expression contorting into a twisted mask of guilt and fake remorse. "Doll…please," he pleads, desperation creeping into his voice. But you can see the realization dawning in his eyes, a realization that fills you with dread.

As he debates using his power on you, you can feel the tension and fear building inside of you. You know that look all too well - the look of someone about to use their powers against your will. But you refuse to back down, determined to stand your ground.

"Don't you dare," you warn him, your voice shaking with anger and defiance. He freezes and meets your gaze, his eyes filled with conflict. You can sense his desire for you, for your safety, but also his hesitation to use his power because he knows how much it upsets you.

“Don't resist me, doll," he growled in a low, dangerous tone. "Come to bed and I promise not to do anything…unpleasant." But you shook your head, fear and defiance warring within you.

"D-don't make me-" you stammered, but he couldn't help himself. The way you looked, so vulnerable and helpless in his grasp, ignited something primal in him. He had to have you, no matter the consequences.

He leaned closer, his face inches from yours, his grip on your chin unrelenting. "What if I do?" he challenged darkly. "How will you stop me then?" You whimpered, knowing all too well that he could overpower you with ease. The thought sent shivers down your spine, both from fear and a twisted sense of arousal. This was exactly why you were scared of him - because he had a power over you that you couldn't resist.

A sinister smirk stretched across his lips as he watched you cower beneath him, vulnerable and powerless. He relished in the fear that radiated off of you, like a helpless prey trapped in his grasp. With a deep chuckle, he pushed you down onto the couch and loomed over you, his eyes gleaming with dominance.

Grabbing your chin forcefully, he locked eyes with you and spoke with a chilling command. "You will come to bed with me. You will forget all about tonight when you wake up tomorrow. All you want is to be in my bed right now."

Your mind foggy and confused, you could only nod weakly in compliance. He smiled wickedly, knowing that his hold on you was unbreakable. Tenderly, he caressed your cheek before pulling you closer to him.

"Of course, my dear. Let's go to bed…"

After he got up, you followed him to the bedroom and snuggled up next to him. He smiled as he watched you drift off to sleep. He wrapped his arms around you gently, holding you tight against his body, and rested his chin on your head. He never let go of you throughout the whole night, keeping you close. When you woke up in the morning feeling a little disoriented, you barely remembered what happened last night. But he was already awake, having spent the entire night watching you sleep, holding you close to his chest

The rustling of sheets and the creaking of a bed were the first sounds you heard as you slowly woke up. You felt a gentle touch on your face, pushing some stray hairs out of your eyes. Slowly blinking them open, you saw his face hovering above yours with a soft smile.

"Hey love," he said, his voice filled with warmth and affection. His hand caressed your cheek as he watched you come to consciousness.

Feeling disoriented, you attempted to sit up but he gently pulled you back down. "I feel weird…" you mumbled, tilting your head in confusion. His expression changed from loving to concerned as he studied your face.

"Weird? What do you mean love?" he asked, genuine worry now evident in his tone.

"I can't remember yesterday at all," you admitted with a frown. He couldn't help but smile at your words, his concern quickly turning into playfulness.

"You really don't remember what happened yesterday?" he asked, drawing out each word in amusement. When you shook your head, he pulled you closer to him, his voice lowering to a seductive tone.

"Not a single thing?" he asked, trailing his fingers along your skin. Your breath caught at the intimate touch, and you could feel yourself becoming even more flustered.

"No…" you whispered, feeling a bit embarrassed at your lack of memory. He let out a soft chuckle before continuing his actions of running his fingers through your hair and pulling you closer with his other arm.

"Hmm…are you sure love? You don't remember anything that happened last night?" he asked suggestively.

You tried to think back but everything was blank. "Maybe I just had too much to drink and can't remember," you offered weakly. However, he shook his head at this explanation and leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours teasingly.

"No no, I don't think you had anything to drink, love," he whispered hotly, sending shivers down your spine. You couldn't help but wonder what exactly happened last night.

“Oh..”

He lets out a predatory laugh at your response, his grip on the back of your head tightening as he forcefully pushes your face into the crook of his neck. His fingers dig into your scalp, pulling at your hair as he leans in closer.

"You don't remember anything? How convenient," he sneers, his voice dripping with malice. He relishes in the feeling of control over you, enjoying the way you are completely helpless in his grasp.

"No..I-I don't.." you stutter, struggling to speak through the pressure on your head. He presses his lips against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Well, let's put this behind us for now. I'm sure it will all come back to you later," he mocks before continuing with his true intentions. "But first, be my puppet and give me your blood. I'm quite famished."

Your eyes widen in fear at his request, but you know better than to refuse him. "B-but it's early.." you whimper, knowing that it doesn't matter what time it is to him.

He chuckles darkly at your feeble attempt to resist him. "Oh darling, when have I ever cared about time? Now be a good little doll and do as I say." You can feel his fangs grazing against your neck as he waits for your compliance, reminding you of the danger you are in under his control.

“And? I don’t care if it’s early, doll. I’m famished, and I won’t wait any longer…”His voice drips with menace as he towers over you, his sharp fangs glistening in the dim light. You feel a surge of fear and defiance rise within you as you once again deny his request for your blood.

His grip on your face tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he glares down at you with cold intensity. “Why are you being so stubborn, love? Just give me what I want. It's not difficult.”

You whimper and try to pull away from him, but he only tightens his hold on you, relishing in your fear. “Don't resist me, darling. I just want a taste of your sweet blood.”

Your heart races as you hear the menacing tone in his voice. “I can't today,” you manage to stutter out.

His irritation and impatience swell with each word you speak, and he grabs your chin forcefully to keep you from escaping his grasp. “Don't make me force you to give me what I desire.”

“I don't want to today,” you insist, trying to push back against him.

“You're becoming less and less cooperative, my sweet doll,” he growls, his tone darkening with each passing moment. “Are you truly refusing to give me your blood today?”

His patience had run thin with your constant defiance and sass. This wasn't the person he knew, who was always so compliant and respectful. But then you had to push him too far with that one word, igniting a blazing fury within him. In an instant, he slammed you down onto the bed and pinned you with his body, his eyes now glowing a menacing shade of crimson as he glared down at you.

"Say it again," he growled, his voice laced with a dangerous edge.

"I don't have to give it to you," you retorted, unyielding in your defiance. His eyes burned even brighter with anger at your response. He couldn't believe that you were challenging him like this, behaving in a way he had never seen before.

He forcefully grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. There was a mix of anger and something else in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

"Are you daring to challenge me?" His words were like venom dripping from his lips.

"M-maybe…" Your own boldness surprised even yourself as it took a moment for his question to sink in. Did you really just challenge him? The thought both terrified and excited you.

A low growl rumbled from deep within him as he struggled to contain his rage. "You are being incredibly disobedient right now. And I do not tolerate such behavior, my love."

Your heart raced as his grip on your chin tightened, bordering on painful. But still, you couldn't back down, not now. "If you truly love me, why must I always be obedient to you?"

The tension between the two of you was palpable as he considered your words. His anger and desire clashed within him, torn between punishing your defiance or giving in to the arousal that your boldness sparked.

"Because you belong to me," he growled, his voice laced with an aggressive edge. "You have no choice but to obey me, my love. So be a good doll and give me your blood."

His statement was met with unexpected resistance from you. "So you don't actually love me?" You asked, surprising him with your boldness yet again. Did you truly doubt his feelings for you? He looked down at you, hurt etched on his face at the thought that you could question his love.

"I'm giving you one last chance," he warned, feeling his patience wearing thin. "Do not use that tone with me again, and never question my love for you. Now give me what I want."

But instead of complying, you shook your head defiantly. He couldn't take it anymore. How dare you disobey and question his authority as your owner? Without hesitation, he released your chin and pinned your wrists above your head, leaning over you in a dominating manner. His face was inches away from yours as he spoke.

"Say that again," he demanded through gritted teeth.

"Yunho, please," you pleaded, using his real name for the first time since this confrontation began. Your pleading tone caught him off guard, but it only fueled his frustration even more. You were pushing him to his limits, acting out of line as his doll.

"Don't test me," he growled, tightening his grip on your wrists. "I am losing my patience with your disobedient behavior."

His eyes narrowed as he watched you, his anger simmering just below the surface. But then your pleading tone and the look in your eyes changed something in him. His anger transformed into a fierce desire, his gaze turning predatory as he gazed at you

He let out a low growl as he caressed your cheek with rough fingers, his grip on your wrists tightening. He couldn't resist you when you were like this, offering yourself to him with such vulnerability

"Doll… give me your blood," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding.

You finally gave in, defeated, and he smirked in satisfaction. This was how it always ended with you - giving in to him.

He leaned down to place a possessive kiss on your forehead before moving to your neck. He inhaled your intoxicating scent before kissing and nibbling his way towards the spot where he wanted to sink his fangs.

As he reached the spot, his kisses turned more heated and urgent. He could feel your body responding to him, shivering under his touch.

With a smirk, he sank his fangs into your neck, savoring the taste of your sweet blood. You yelped but he held you firmly, not letting you pull away.

As he drank from you, his demeanor became even more primal and possessive. He wouldn't let anyone take you from him.

Finally, he pulled away from your neck but kept a tight grip on your wrists. Your blood still pulsed through his veins, fueling the fire within him.

His eyes fixated on the deep bite mark on your neck, trickles of blood still dripping from it. With a twisted smile, he licked the blood off your skin, relishing in the sweetness of your life force. He leaned over you, his face becoming serious once again.

"Don't tell me what to do," he growled in response to your suggestion of him going out to hunt. He released your wrists and brought his face closer to yours, his eyes darkening with hunger.

Placing a firm hand on your cheek, he caressed it with rough fingers as he gazed into your eyes. "You are my possession, my doll. I don't need to hunt when I have you. Your blood is mine to drink whenever I please."

You tried to push back against his possessive words. "Just because we're dating doesn't give you ownership over me." His grip tightened on your cheek and he let out an irritated scoff at your defiance, now fully annoyed by your attitude.

"You're my possession. I own you completely and you will do as I say. You are nothing but a toy for me to play with and I have no qualms about using you however I please." His voice was harsh and controlling, his grip on your face unrelenting as he forced you to look into his eyes.

"You don't know me at all," you spoke up, feeling both scared and confused by the sudden change in him. But he didn't seem to care as he continued to tighten his hold on you, his anger only growing.

"You dare question me? You belong to me and it's your duty to serve me. Your blood is mine to take whenever I desire it. Do you understand?" he growled, his eyes blazing with possessiveness.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered, "I don't recognize you anymore." It felt like the vampire you fell in love with had been replaced by this cruel and dominating version of Yunho. But all he could see was his own power and control, too consumed by his anger to see the pain in your words or the tears in your eyes.

"No excuses. You are mine and I will do whatever I want with you," he declared coldly, not caring about the hurt he was causing you. This was who he truly was, a manipulative and possessive vampire who saw you only as an object to fulfill his desires.

He gripped your face harder, forcing you to meet his cold and emotionless gaze as he stared down at you

“I’ve been like this the whole time love, you’re just choosing to be blindly delusional and refusing to see how things really are. You exist to be my doll. You’re my toy. I own you.”

“So you don’t love me…? I’m just a toy to you?”

He let out a sharp scoff at your words, the sound dripping with disdain. It was clear he couldn’t be bothered to consider how his biting response might cut into you, how deeply it would sting. His eyes, cold and unyielding, barely met yours as if to make it known just how little he cared in that moment. "Love?" he repeated, his voice laced with mockery as a bitter laugh escaped his lips. The word seemed almost offensive to him, a ridiculous notion that didn’t belong in the space between you. He shook his head, his tone growing colder, his amusement more biting. “How can I love a doll. I only see you as a toy. You’re nothing more than a toy that I play with and use for my own pleasure and entertainment. And dolls don’t have feelings. So why would I love you?”

“W-what…?”

A cruel smirk played on his lips as he drank in the shock and heartbreak in your eyes. He reveled in the power he held over you, enjoying how much his words were cutting you deep. Your vulnerability was like a drug to him, fueling his pleasure at the harsh truth he was about to deliver.

"That's right," he taunted, relishing in your pain. "You're nothing but a toy to me. A mere plaything for my amusement. Dolls have no feelings, so it's absurd to think I could ever have feelings for you. You'll always be just an object, used for my pleasure and discarded when I'm done."

Your trembling voice spoke up, desperate for some shred of affection from him. "But you used to tell me you loved me…you said you LOVED me." His laughter rang out cold and hollow, mocking your naïveté.

"Oh, my dear doll," he sneered. "Did you really believe those empty words? They were nothing but lies, meant to manipulate and control you. I feel nothing towards you. You're meaningless to me."

The desperation in your eyes shifted to defiance as you spoke your final plea. "Then kill me." His smile widened into a sinister grin as he leaned in close.

"Oh darling, death would be too kind for you."

“If you really feel nothing towards me then kill me!”

His words hung in the air like a heavy stone, crushing any hope or self-worth you had left. You had never expected him to be so callous and cruel, ripping away any illusion of love or care. And as his rejection settled in your mind, a numbness took over until all you could do was give up on yourself.

For a moment, he was speechless. He hadn't anticipated the depth of your pain, the way his heartless words had completely shattered you. His grip on your face loosened, guilt and regret creeping in.

But then his voice turned cold and dismissive. "Fine then, give up. It doesn't matter to me."

As you gasped for breath, jolted awake from the nightmare of reality, you found yourself crying into Yunho's arms. The only comfort in this world of heartbreak and betrayal. But even as he tried to soothe you back to sleep, the haunting words echoed in your mind, a reminder that love can be just as cruel and unforgiving as it is beautiful.

once you fell asleep again, he says with a smile on his face, "Ah, such a hopelessly naïve mortal you are. Cling, if you must, to those fragile illusions that I love you, and let your pitiful cries fill the air—oh, how delightfully insignificant they are. Dream all you like, weep as much as you will, for it changes nothing. Love? No, I could never lower myself to such a sentiment. You shall never have my heart, for it is beyond your reach, and always shall be, though you will always come crawling back to me"

⛧°。 ⋆༺𐕣 𖤐 𐕣༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。 ⋆༺𐕣 𖤐 𐕣༻⋆。 °⛧⛧°。 ⋆༺𐕣 𖤐 𐕣༻⋆。

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Two

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This whole story will deal with dark and smutty themes. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 4.3k

A/N : Spoiler warning for anyone who hasn't read The Picture of Dorian Gray (though can I really spoil a book that's over 130 years old? idk).

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Two

This is going to be fun.

That was what he’d told you, and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. 

As you laid in bed that night, you wondered where he was, you wondered what he was doing. What had he meant when he told you that he liked you? Did you even want to be liked by him? The more you thought about it, the more you realised just how strange the conversation had been. At the time it felt like he was taking a measure of you, trying to understand you, but not necessarily trying to know you.

At the time you’d felt like you were on the back foot, too shocked by his sudden appearance to really learn anything about him.

But, again, you had to wonder if that was something you really wanted. After all, he was a vampire and there was still so much that you didn’t know about their world and the way that they lived.

You fell asleep that night thinking about his dark eyes and the way he’d looked as he’d sipped your blood.

The next morning you woke with a start, realising that you'd forgotten to set an alarm the night before and you’d overslept. Not that you had any reason to wake up before midday, but you were certain that if you didn’t find a way to keep some sort of structure in your life over the next year, you were going to lose your mind.

So, you got up and got breakfast before spending half an hour on the treadmill, taking a slow walk, imagining you were on your way to the Met. Every day you were going to imagine a new place you’d be able to see in the city once your contract was over. After your walk and a quick shower, you got dressed and headed out into the main penthouse. 

You weren’t surprised that he wasn’t out there - because, of course he wasn’t, it was the middle of the afternoon - but you still felt... something. Disappointment? No, loneliness. 

For a few seconds your eyes caught on his door before you headed into the library.

The next few hours were spent going through his books and his record collection, looking for something, anything, that might tell you a little more about him. But you didn’t know what you were looking for, and there was no way of telling which of the books, if any, held any real sort of value to him. Dorian Gray, you guessed, had to mean something because he’d noticed it was missing from the shelf, but there was everything from the classics to more recent books, spanning almost every genre you could think to name.

(Though you did have to wonder if he’d purchased Dracula before or after being turned.)

Your search for clues seemed fruitless; you couldn’t even begin to guess his age from his record collection. There was everything from classical music to records that you knew were only released last year. Everything was too eclectic. Normally eclectic was something that you liked, you hated the idea of being stuck with only one genre or type or music or book, but it was frustrating how little you’d been able to discover.   

What made it worse, you came to realise, was that he’d been able to read you as easily as he might read one of his books. He’d only had to look at you to understand that you’d taken this job to get away from something.

But you weren’t going to let your mind wander to thoughts of home.

That evening you sat and waited on the sofa realising for the first time that you could get an amazing view of the sun setting over Central Park and the city from there. You’d brought the battered copy of Dorian Gray with you, but every time you tried to focus on it, you found yourself distracted by the view.

To your disappointment, the clock struck 9pm and Mr Russo still hadn’t appeared, so you made your way back to your room.

It was silly to feel disappointed, but you weren’t used to feeling so completely alone. Back home there had always been someone around, even when you wanted nothing more than to be alone. And, the rest of the time, you’d had social media to slake your thirst for connection and companionship. Now there was nothing but the walls of the penthouse, TV and Mr Russo’s collection of books.

The next day passed similarly; you got up, you had a little walk on the treadmill before showering, then you picked out your outfit for the day.Then you headed to the library and started to make you through Mr Russo’s vinyl collection, listening to some of the albums that grabbed your attention, keeping the volume down in case the vampire was sleeping in his rooms.

That was the thing that was really starting to bother you - you didn’t even know if he was home. There was no way of telling if he was just beyond the door to his room, or if he was even in the city. Not knowing just made the loneliness more acute.

That evening, after you’d eaten and drawn blood, you found yourself on the sofa again watching the sunset, his book on your lap and a couple of the muffins you’d made, sitting on a plate on the table. Sugar seemed to help after drawing blood, though you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to it.

“Making yourself at home, I see,” his voice pierced the silence so suddenly that you started.

You turned from the window quickly, to find him standing by his door, smiling and very obviously impressed with himself.

“How long have you been stood there?” Not even trying to disguise the shock or annoyance in your tone. 

He didn’t answer, instead he started towards the kitchen, grabbing himself a glass before retrieving today’s blood from the fridge. 

“It’s quite the view,” he stated, his back to you, “I suppose someone should appreciate it.”

“You mean you don’t?” Curious. Why bother having a penthouse like this if he didn’t care about the view?

“Looking at the sunset isn’t exactly enjoyable for vampires,” he shrugged, turning and making his way towards the sofa.

“I thought the windows made the sunlight safe for you?” Or maybe you were just being stupid. You hated how little you know, how little you’d learned before taking the job. And, now, without the internet, you couldn’t even try to learn about it.

“They make it safe, yes,” he stated, sitting down, not directly next to you, but much closer than he had been the first time you met. “But seeing the sun and knowing that I’ll never feel its warmth on my face again, makes it a little unbearable.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t expect that to get a laugh.

“You apologise a lot for someone who hasn’t done anything wrong yet.”

Yet? You weren’t sure what that meant, but you didn’t think it wise to ask. As far as you were concerned, you weren’t going to do anything wrong while you were there.

“It’s just how I was raised, I guess,” you shrugged, your gaze dropping to his glass, to your blood.

Mr Russo gave a hum, his gaze still fixed on you, looking right through you. It was enough to make your heart beat a little faster, even though Lissa had warned you about such things, but controlling it was easier said than done. 

“Are you still settling in?” He asked. “I know that all of this can take a while to adjust to.”

“It’s -” you started and stopped, wondering if it was wise to be honest about it, “- a little lonely. I’m not used to going for days without someone to talk to. Normally I’d at least have the dog, but...” you trailed into a sigh, reminding yourself that this was what you agreed to. 

“I see,” he nodded, face offering the slightest slither of sympathy. “I’ll do what I can to help with that.”

Silence fell for a few moments before his eyes dropped to your lap, to the book that you’d started to tightly grip at some point after his sudden appearance. 

“Are you enjoying the book?” He asked and you looked down, noticing how white your knuckles were.

“Yes,” your cheeks started to warm, “very much.”

Your fingers flexed, releasing your grip on the book and, instead, you pressed your hands flat on your lap.

“Have you read it before?”

“No, it’s not -” you paused for a second, trying to think of the best way to explain it to him, “- it’s not the sort of book that was deemed acceptable where I’m from.”

“Ah,” he nodded, still looking very amused by everything, by you. “And you’re reading it now as - what? An act of rebellion against the way you were raised? Or are you just curious to see how bad it is?”

“No, it’s not that,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging, “I always thought it was a stupid rule. People should be allowed to read what they want and draw their own conclusions. That’s the point of art; it means something different to everyone that views it. And I don’t like being told how to feel about things.”

The amusement on his face slowly started to turn to something a little more genuine, something a little more interested. 

“What part are you up to?”

“He’s going to ask Sybil to marry him.”

He gave the slightest of nods. “And what do you think about that?”

It was a strange question, but perhaps that was because you weren’t used to people wanting to know your thoughts or opinions on things. You took a slow breath and he didn’t pressure you, giving you a moment to get your thoughts in order.

“I think it’s a bit soon. He hasn’t really known her very long and he seems more infatuated with who she is when she’s on stage than her as a person, but...”

“But?” He prompted gently.

“If he loves her half as much as he thinks he does, then maybe they could be happy together? It seems like he needs someone who’ll love him, someone who he can love more than himself, and someone who’ll get him away from Lord Henry.” Even though you were perfectly happy with your opinion, you still felt your cheeks warming again.

“You think he needs love?” Another unexpected question.

“Well... doesn’t everyone?”

“Do you think he really deserves it?”

“Does anyone?”

He paused for a second, looking ready to say something before obviously changing his mind. “So, do you believe in love at first sight? Like Dorian falling for Sybil?”

“I -” you faltered, looking down at the book on your lap, trying to escape the dark depths of his eyes for a moment, “- I don’t know. I find it hard to believe in anything I’ve not experienced myself.”

“You’ve never been in love?”

“I’ve never felt love at first sight,” you avoided the question, forcing yourself to look back up. “Have you?”

“No, not at first sight.”

At that, he seemed to relent, falling silent and letting his gaze drift towards the window again, lifting his glass and taking a sip. You reached for a muffin, almost gasping as his cold fingers suddenly wrapped around your wrist and pulled your arm towards him. Your lips parted, ready to ask the obvious question, but it fell dead on your tongue when his thumb ran over the bruising at the crook of your arm from drawing blood. He stared at it for a second before his eyes returned to yours.

“Do I need Lissa to come and help you draw blood in future?” He asked, and you couldn’t tell if he was concerned or annoyed.

“No, it’s fine,” you gave a gentle tug against his grip, but he didn’t let go. “I just bruise easily. I didn’t even notice it.” 

His fingers tightened a fraction.

“While you’re here, you’re my responsibility. I hope you understand that.”

“That’s not -” but he wasn’t finished.

“If anything was to happen to you, it would be my fault. I need to know that you’ll be more careful in future.” There was an edge to his words, something that made your stomach knot. Did he think that you were incompetent, that you couldn’t do the job? Or was he just worried  that he’d be blamed if something happened to you?

“I’ll be more careful,” you told him but, still, he kept hold of your arm, thumb hovering just above the bruising, a ghost of a touch that made your heart race.

“I might be your employer, but you should understand just how much power you have in this arrangement,” his voice turned almost soft as he let you go. Before you could even think to ask what he meant, he’d drained his glass, placed it down on the coffee table and was heading towards the elevator. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr Russo,” the words tumbled out of your mouth almost automatically, not sure what else you were supposed to say.

“You can call me Billy,” he told you as the elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside.

And, then, he was gone.

Again, he’d left you with more questions than you ever thought you’d get answers to. You wanted to feel frustrated, annoyed even, at the way he breezed in and out of conversations, as if you were a plaything, just there for him when he was bored, but all you could think about was his touch.

His hand had been so cold, like death’s icy grip and, when you looked down, you found your arm was covered in goosebumps.

Tomorrow, he’d said. He was going to see you again tomorrow. (Probably because you’d complained about being lonely.) Perhaps you’d be able to learn a little bit more about him, perhaps you’d be able to ask him what he meant when he told you that you had power here.

Before returning to your rooms for the night, you took a moment to move his empty glass from the table, rinsing it out in the sink and returning it to the cupboard where it belonged. The rest of the evening was spent trying to concentrate on reading, in part because you were invested in the book, but mostly because you wanted to have something to talk with him about tomorrow.

But, again, you found yourself distracted; by the conversation you’d had, by the things he’d said and the way he’d looked when he said them and, most of all, by the way his touch had felt on your arm.

It was silly. Ridiculous. You put it down to being trapped indoors for the last ten days and you having spoken to all of two people in that time. It wasn’t him. He could have been anyone and you’d no doubt have felt the same way. You were just starved for human contact.

(Only Billy Russo wasn’t human, was he?)

You kept thinking about his dark eyes and the way he laughed, the subtle way his lips curled up when he found something you said amusing. There was no shame in admitting that he was pretty. 

Pretty in a way that would never fade or alter. Just like Dorian Gray.

Though, as you continued to read, you realised that that comparison certainly wasn’t flattering.

The next day passed much the same as the days before it and, as the hours ticked by, you found yourself almost looking forward to seeing him. Though you didn’t allow yourself to feel excitement, in case he disappointed you by not appearing. You stayed in your rooms until it was almost sunset.

He was already there waiting for you when you stepped out into the penthouse proper, today's blood in one hand, a pack of cookies in the other, and the book wedged under your arm.

“Oh,” you stopped so abruptly you almost fell over your own feet.

“Good evening,” he grinned.

“Good evening, Mr Russo,” you replied, still not moving.

“Billy,” he reminded you. “If we’re going to be living together for a year, you might as well call me Billy.”

“Billy,” you repeated, nodding before looking down. “I have your - I mean, I’ve got today’s -” you struggled, eyes fixed on the sealed bottle of blood in your hand, fresh and still warm.

You could feel your cheeks start to heat, not sure what the protocol was in this situation.

“I’ll take that now,” he said but didn’t move.

For a moment more, you remained frozen, feeling utterly ridiculous - and you were certain that he was enjoying watching your confusion.

“Okay, I’ll - I’ll put this in a glass for you,” he didn’t object, so you made your way to the kitchen and set about pouring him a drink.

It was hard not to feel a little horrified - this seemed as close to offering him a vein as you ever hoped to get - but you forced down the discomfort.

“I hope the long sleeves aren’t to cover up more bruises,” he said softly when you finally approached the sofa and took a seat, near him but with enough space that another person would have fit between you.

“No, Mr - Billy. It’s just been cold today.”

“Oh, I can’t say that I noticed...” because of course he hadn’t. “The thermostat is in the library, change the temperature whenever you need to.”

You handed him the glass, a shudder running up your spine when his cold fingers seemed to deliberately graze yours. Your breath caught as you watched him lift the glass to his lips, his eyes closed as your blood touched his lips and you heard the softest sound from the back of his throat. Butterflies filled your stomach and your eyes fixed on the window, watching the sky slowly turn from blue to a progressively darkening pinkish-orange hue.

Billy lowered his glass and remained silent, his eyes following yours to the window, allowing the silence to linger until you chose to break it.

“I thought you didn’t like watching the sunset?” You asked, not daring to look his way.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen one and even longer since I had someone to watch it with,” he shrugged. “I thought I’d give it another go.”

“So, the others, the ones before me -”

“I don’t think they cared to notice it,” he cut you off. There was something clipped about his tone, something that told you he didn’t want to talk about them. His attention turned to the book and the packet of cookies resting on your lap. “Were you planning on reading?”

“Yes, or - I don’t know, maybe..." you sighed, finally allowing yourself to look at him. He gave you a questioning look, wanting you to elaborate. “You didn’t warn me about Sybil.”

“I didn’t want to spoil it for you,” a hint of amusement slipped into his tone. “Are you disappointed that they didn’t get their happily-ever-after?”

You looked at him for a moment and quickly found yourself feeling a little annoyed at the implication that you had expected it to be that easy, that you were some hopeless romantic looking for a happy ending in the most ridiculous of places.

“I’m not some naive child. I don’t know what I expected - not a happily-ever-after, but I definitely didn’t expect that,” you tried to explain. “I didn’t expect him to be so... so cruel to her.”

“She let him down, embarrassed him in front of his friends,” Billy offered, almost like he was defending it, “he was disappointed.”

“Disappointed that she no longer needed to act to feel wanted and loved, because she thought she’d finally found that with him?” You answer back, unable to keep yourself from noticing the way the glow of the sunset made his features seem softer. “He showed her what real love could feel like, then he snatched it away from her. It was cruel.”

“You’re right,” he conceded before hesitating a moment. “Maybe I should warn you that he doesn’t get any better. There is no redemption for Dorian Gray.”

“Oh,” At that you felt yourself deflate a little, an odd feeling of disappointment gnawing at your guts. While you’d told him that you weren’t some naive child, hearing that Dorian wasn’t going to get better made you almost want to give up entirely.

Again, he seemed to find some enjoyment in your simple disappointment - something that was starting to get to you.

“I take it you’re used to reading... happier stories?” He asked and you offered a shrug. “Heroes and romance and happily ever afters?”

“Books have always been an escape for me. So, yeah, I like things that I know will end well.” You answered and, for a second, you could have sworn his smile turned a little softer. “Why do you even like this book?” You dared to ask, wanting to understand why anyone could find enjoyment in such misery.

“I think you’d need to finish the book before we could have that conversation,” was all he offered before lifting his glass and, again, you heard that soft sound as he drank. Your heart started to beat a little faster. Billy carefully licked his lips, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting a single drop go to waste. The corner of his mouth curled with amusement again. “Are you sure I’m not your first vampire?”

Your lips parted and, for a moment you couldn’t force the words past the lump in your throat. You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or if he really wanted to know, just like you couldn’t tell if it was his intention to make you feel small. But he did make you feel small, he made you feel like you didn’t understand the world you’d found yourself in; like you didn’t understand vampires or the job you’d agreed to, and like you were too naive to understand his taste in literature.

“No. You’re not,” you answered tersely, trying to hold back your annoyance. “You’re just the first one that I’ve let drink my blood.”

“Good,” he replied without hesitation, seeming to completely ignore your change of demeanour.  

“Good?” What was that supposed to mean?

He shifted, turning so he could face you properly, his foot knocking against yours as he did. 

“Good,” he repeated, the corners of his lips still pulling upwards. “If anyone else had tasted your blood, I doubt they would have been willing to let you go so easily.” He licked his lips and your heart continued to stutter in your chest. His eyes closed for a moment, concentrating on the sound before muttering; “like a hummingbird...”

You didn’t dare move, even though every fibre of your being was screaming at you to pull away when his hand reached for you, fingertips ghosting down your cheek to your neck coming to rest above your rapidly pulsing carotid artery. Frozen, you sat there, his hand on your neck and his dark eyes seeming to stare right into your soul.

Does my blood really taste that good? You wondered.

“It does,” he answered and you realised that you’d spoken the question aloud. 

Something prickled in the back of your mind, a warning you’d been given a long time ago, about how some vampires could trick you and control you, how they could bend you to their will. But, you couldn’t tell if that was what this was, or if you were allowing this because you wanted it, because you wanted to understand. Regardless, you didn’t move. Even as he licked his lips. Even as he leaned closer. 

“What does it taste like?” You heard the question but it took you a few seconds to realise that it had come from your mouth.

“Like sunlight and innocence,” he muttered softly, “sweet, like warm honey. Like life...”

Closer and closer, the cold press of his fingers on your neck sending a shiver down your spine, and a heat in your belly. Your thighs gently pressed together. He made it sound so wonderful, so romantic, like it wasn’t some strange and sordid thing. He made you feel special, made you feel things that you weren’t sure you’d ever felt before.

Before you could even consider the possibilities of what might happen next, he was pulling away from you, and you very quickly returned to your senses, taking an uncomfortable breath.

“What -” you started to ask, needing to know if he’d done something to you, if he’d been trying to control you, but he was already on his feet draining the last of your blood from the glass.

“I’m afraid I won’t have time for one of our little talks tomorrow. I have a meeting just after sunset,” he explained and your eyes followed him as he first moved to the kitchen to put his glass in the sink, then started towards the elevator. He paused once he’d hit the call button. “Keep reading the book. I’m intrigued to know what you’ll think of the ending.”

“Yes, Mr Russo,” the words tumbled clumsily from your mouth, an automatic response to the man who was your employer, wanting to regain some sense of propriety.

“Billy,” he countered. “Goodnight, little hummingbird.”

The doors slid shut and you were alone again.

You didn’t move for at least a minute, your head spinning. A hand rose to your neck touching where he had touched you, your skin still feeling cold and prickled with goosebumps. Looking down, you realised that your thighs were still clenched together.

Gathering the book and the untouched packet of cookies, you quickly made your way back to your bedroom, locking the door behind you.

End Note : Thank you so much for the wonderful response to the first chapter of this story! I hope this lives up to expectations. I'm already really enjoying writing this one. Also, sorry as always that I'm constantly so slow at responding to comments, I'm trying to get better at that

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt.

Tag List:

@lincerad @vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @tortilla-chips-and-allioli

[captainsophiestark]

The Richmond Vampire

Damon Salvatore x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: TVD/TO

Summary: Damon's come to retrieve his SO for involvement in some Mystic Falls drama, but unfortunately for him, they're not willing to miss their favorite class at Whitmore, which just so happens to be covering vampires.

Word Count: 1,699

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Hey! Babe!"

I stopped short of the door to my lecture hall, letting my classmates go ahead at the sound of my boyfriend's voice from behind me. I turned to find none other than Damon Salvatore heading towards me, weaving through the undergrads with incredible impatience.

"Hey yourself!" I called out to him with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

Damon huffed at the last college student in his way as they wandered past, before turning his attention to me.

"I need your help. We've got... business we need to take care of."

The smile immediately dropped off my face. I'd been dating Damon long enough to know that 'business' was code for some supernatural problem that had somehow managed to follow us out of Mystic Falls. I shook my head.

"No. No way, Day. I have class."

"Oh, come on," he said, rolling his eyes a little before taking a step closer to me, into my space. One of his hands came up to play with the ends of my hair. "Don't tell me I'm gonna have to convince you to cut class with me."

He lowered his voice, teasing and flirting at the same time, but I just put a hand on his chest to stop him moving any further.

"You know I love you, and if it was you in trouble, I'd drop everything to help you in a second. But I'm not missing my favorite class, especially not the lecture I've been waiting for this whole semester, just to involve myself in the latest Scooby Gang drama. Whatever it is, it can wait, like, two hours."

Damon opened his mouth to continue making his case, but I just gave him a smile and a wink, then pulled out of his grasp. I slipped through the door of the classroom before he could stop me and headed for a seat near the front. When I sat down, I wasn't surprised to see Damon following right behind me, settling a moment later in the seat next to mine. I turned to him with a grin.

"Last chance to leave before class starts. I can call you when it's over."

He turned to me with a fake smile I knew well.

"Nope. If you won't leave, I might as well stay here with you. Then we can leave even faster once it's over."

My smile only widened. "Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Damon raised an eyebrow at me, but I was able to avoid answering him as our instructor began class, drawing my attention back to the front. Still, Damon didn't have to wait long to see what I was talking about.

"Alright, everybody, it's time for our much-awaited, headlining lecture for myths and folklore. Today... we're talking about vampires."

Damon didn't even bother to hide a snort, but I just grinned. Despite dating a real vampire, their place in mythology, folklore, and other storytelling had never lost its appeal for me. I loved reading and studying about them in all forms, and I'd taken this class largely for this part of the course. Having a real life vampire sitting next to me for the whole thing could only enhance the experience, as far as I was concerned.

"Everyone's heard a vampire story at least once in their life," the professor continued at the front of the class. "Whether it was Dracula, Anne Rice, or just second-hand knowledge of Twilight, as creatures, they're ingrained in our cultural conscious.

"However, not all vampires are the same. Stakes, crosses, cutting off the heads, garlic. Even whether or not sunlight will kill them, although sparkling is a bit of an outlier. Each myth of the vampire, or a vamprie-adjacent creature, has a slightly different description of exactly what makes a vampire. We even have our own local variety, with the myth of the Richmond Vampire existing for just over a hundred years now."

I leaned over to Damon, getting close enough to whisper in his ear.

"How many of these myths do you think you're responsible for?" I asked.

"All of them," he deadpanned, without even glancing over at me. "Except Edward."

Now it was my turn to snort. Luckily, my professor didn't notice.

"Today begins the unit of our class where we look at the permiation of the folklore not just of vampires, but of all the undead creatures that stalk the night. Is it simply a fascination with death that has led to most cultures telling a tale about some kind of undead creature, or is there something more? Something beyond the legends?"

"What do you think she'd do if you turned in a paper theorizing the vampire myths were mostly created and spread by this group of really old assholes we know?"

"Shh."

"Oh, so you're allowed to make little comments to me but I'm not allowed to make them to you?"

"Yes. That way I can make sure I don't miss anything I want to hear."

I didn't need to look at Damon to know he was rolling his eyes.

My professor continued her lecture, digging in a little on some specific examples of the vampire myth. I took dutiful notes, mostly blocking out the comments from my boyfriend, and eventually he settled for just doodling his own, much more sarcastic notes in the margins of mine. I smiled as he drew a particularly cartoonish fanged vampire. That'd make studying a little more fun in a couple weeks.

Damon managed to sit through the whole hour and a half class with me, all in all with much more patience than I'd been expecting. I should've known he was just waiting for his moment.

After class was dismissed, I quickly packed up, ready to head off with Damon to handle whatever ridiculous drama he'd wanted me to get involved with in the first place. When I stood with my bag, however, I found him heading for my professor at the front of the room. I frowned.

I walked quickly to catch up to Damon, hearing the tail end of his sentence as he shook my professor's hand.

"...incredibly interesting lecture to get to sit in on," Damon said, his voice dripping with charm and a fake smile plastered on his face. "Really, it was outstanding. The vampire myth is just so interesting."

I barely managed to stop myself from laughing out loud. For anyone who didn't know Damon, they'd likely be swayed by his apparently genuine interest, rapt attention, and dazzling smile. I'd seen him flip the switch to manipulative people-person enough that it didn't convince me anymore, although my teacher sure seemed to be falling for it.

"I'm glad you agree. It really is a most fascinating topic. You'd be welcome to sit in on future lectures, if you'd like."

"Thank you! I just might have to take you up on that. You know, I had a friend once who swore she saw a vampire in some small town bar around here."

My professor laughed. "I've heard of small town Bigfoot and Mothman sightings, but small town vampire sightings might be a new one."

"Right? I mean, I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but it's a little unbelievable to think a vamprie could be standing right in front of you, isn't it?"

I stepped up to Damon's side and discreetly elbowed him as my professor laughed. He just grinned at me in response.

"Well, it was almost as much of a pleasure talking to you as it was listening to your lecture," Damon said, holding out his hand again for a fairwell shake. My professor took it, and I caught the glint in Damon's eye as he shot the man a wolfish smile. "Take care. Don't let the vampires get you."

He chuckled again, giving both of us a smile as Damon finally dropped his hand.

"I promise, I won't."

Damon hummed and smirked while I fought through the most forced smile of my life as I hustled Damon out of the room, just barely managing to maintain a casual facade. The minute we cleared the classroom door, I turned to my boyfriend with a scowl.

"You laid that on a little thick," I said. Damon just scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You're the one who insisted on sitting through that class. I just decided to engage with the lecturer and the content a little more."

I snorted. "Yeah, sure. I take it you enjoyed yourself then?"

Damon grinned. "Very much."

"Should I be changing your name in my contacts to 'The Richmond Vampire'?"

Damon smirked. "That wasn't very subtle."

"Neither was a single word you said to my professor."

He huffed a laugh. "True. Then sure, if you really want to. Just don't ask me to help you test which vampire myths are true and which aren't. You already know real vampires burn in the sun."

"I promise not to use you as a vampire lab rat as long as you promise not to take a bite out of my folklore professor."

"Hmm..."

"Damon."

"Fine. I promise not to bite your folklore professor. At least not this semester."

I rolled my eyes, but decided to let that one pass without comment, at least for now. Damon gave me his real smile as he took my hand, and I sighed as I leaned into him, the two of us heading for the doors to the building together.

"So am I going to be hearing about your vampire mythology theories for the next few weeks?" he mused as we walked. I hummed.

"Probably, yeah. It's part of being there for each other, right? I get involved in your little brother's teen drama, you listen to me talk about vampires like they're not real, and like the Mikaelsons had nothing to do with the global spread of the myth."

"Sounds like a match made in heaven."

"I'll say."

Damon and I shared a smile, and as we reached the doors, he paused long enough to pull me to him for a long kiss. I smiled into it as one of his hands tangled in my hair. Damon could be absolutely ridiculous sometimes, but so could I. At the end of the day, we made a pretty damn good couple as a result of it.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

[sectumsempraaa]

Let the Right Girl In

Pairing: loser!Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Based on this request! Thank you :)

TW: use of fake/artificial blood and fangs, kissing

Summary: After months of secretly craving your attention, your friend Draco Malfoy finally finds the courage to overcome his crush-driven nerves by inviting you to the Halloween party of the season at Malfoy Manor. What he doesn’t expect is how quickly you turn it into a date at the suggestion of a seriously iconic couple’s costume.

A/N: There are of course some direct quotes and references from “Dracula” in this fic. It’s all very obvious with just a super basic knowledge of the story. No further research necessary :)

.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Move, you bloody oaf!” Draco yells as he shoves a third year Gryffindor into the nearest wall, hastily making his way down the corridor to Transfiguration class. Any class he shares with you is his favorite, but today is different. Today he’s extra eager to arrive early to grab a seat next to you.

Usually he waits outside the classroom until you’re about 10 feet away, stealing you away from whoever holds your attention at that moment. His confidence glows, but underneath are a thousand nerves, each one sparking like fireworks when you arrive.

Most people can’t get under Draco’s skin, but you aren’t most people. This boy has had eyes for you longer than he’d like to admit, and he’s spent each day of it absolutely craving your attention. In fact, it’s become sort of a game for him. Devising ways to bump into you, manipulating teachers to partner you on projects, whatever it takes to get even just a glint of eye contact, a brushing touch, or a subtle laugh from you.

And the fact is, none of it is for show. The payoff for him is the prolonged, palpable thrill that lingers from even just a fleeting moment with you.

Draco’s parents have decided to host a lavish Halloween party at the manor this year and the minute he caught wind of it, he was dead set on you attending. Hundreds of fancy invites have been created already, yours being the first delivered, of course.

McGonagall gives Draco a curious eye, suspicious of his unusual timeliness. “Class is not yet in session, Mr. Malf-” she stops abruptly, her attention turning to you in the doorway. She looks between the two of you, a knowing smile grows on her face as Draco’s unwavering stare follows your every step. He couldn’t blink if he tried.

“Hi, Draco” you greet him in your soft, bright voice. The sound of his name on your tongue sends a jolt of adrenaline through him, struggling to produce a coherent response.

“Precious, precious Y/L/N,” he responds, his heart quickening as you set your books down next to his own on your desk. He swallows, trying especially hard to maintain his cool facade. “Feel like being neighbors today then?”

You sit down next to him, smoothing your skirt out underneath you while doing so. You scan him up and down, making him wonder… are you… checking him out right now?

“Hmm, well I always did have a thing for the boy next door.” You joke, nudging him with an elbow. Your response alone is enough to break his brain, enough that he has to tell himself you were just playing around. He readjusts his focus, reminding himself of the task at hand.

“Then I suppose it wouldn’t be too difficult for you to find your way over, then?” he asks, extracting the invitation from inside his robe and presenting it to you, your intrigued features quickly relaxing into an excited grin.

The way your hand grazes his while accepting the card could have added years to his life. His gaze worships you, morphing into tunnel vision the longer you inspect the invitation. Your eyes note the black and orange borders and the lovely cursive handwriting that could only belong to Narcissa.

You look up to him, his breath still as he awaits your answer, the anticipation rendering his mind blank.

“Do we get to wear costumes? Or is this one of those classic Malfoy functions that requires classic Malfoy attire?” You inquire, each word drenched in playfulness.

He fucking loves riffing with you and pushing each other’s buttons. As long as you’re talking to him, it doesn’t matter. You could be publicly berating him and he would relish every single second.

“Costumes required, actually. But that won’t be hard for someone who already resembles an angel,” he says, resting his temple on a fist. To this, you break into a fit of laughter. He can’t help but notice the rosy hue developing on your cheeks, the way your eyes crinkle and your nose scrunches.

“An angel?! How positively daft,” you tease, shaking your head. He could have sworn you started to reach for him in your bout of giggling. “No, I’ve got a killer idea.”

He is just dying to know what you have in mind, his thoughts swimming with fantasies of you in his home, all dressed up. But it is quickly cut off by a room full of loud students and a yelling McGonagall, a sigh of frustration emitting from him. He’ll spend the rest of class imagining you in a range of costumes- cat, inmate… bride? Yeah, that’s his favorite one.

He watches you slip the invitation behind the cover of your textbook for protection. You throw him a wink, and it damn nearly kills him.

—

Not a day goes by where he isn’t secretly praying to fast forward to Halloween. Countless times now he’s imagined you meeting his parents, introducing them to his most favorite person. That is, until today.

Lately, Draco’s been deprived of your attention, shying away from fear of bothering you. Honestly, he is still recovering from his flirtatious interaction with you in McGonagall’s class, repeating and analyzing every sentence in his head over and over.

As he’s walking into the Great Hall for breakfast, he approaches the table and notices a book lying where he normally sits. Probably some delinquent student forgetting their belongings behind.

But as he gets closer, he’s hit by a wall of your perfume, a mist of orange blossoms and vanilla filling his senses, indicating your very recent presence. The fragrance causes him to look around for you, a burst of butterflies erupting in his chest as he finds your stare already on him from a few tables over.

You nod in the direction of the book at his place setting, urging him to take a peak. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t hard to break away from your entrancing eye contact, the boy desperate to keep your gaze on him as long as possible.

He manages to glance down, expecting a textbook or something he’s already read. Instead he reads the title aloud, his Slytherin friends listening in as his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Drac-ula? What is Dracula?” he asks to no one in particular, a hint of attitude in his voice. Pansy giggles, being in on your idea previously. She reaches across the table and opens the cover for him.

“It’s a famous muggle story, you git. A bloody good one, you could say.” She and Blaise smirk to each other in pride of her pun, but it earns no response from Draco. She turns the page for him again, this time revealing an illustration of the pale man with his fangs sunk into the neck of his damsel-like counterpart.

Draco’s eyes grow wide, the realization finally settling in. He jumps as you suddenly appear behind him, talking over his shoulder on your tippy toes with your hands on each of his upper arms.

“You already have half his name, and his personality,” you start, huffing a laugh to yourself. His eyes still linger on the drawing as he turns slightly towards you. “I figured you’d be perfect for the part.”

“And you?” he asks with genuine curiosity, his voice just barely shaking, his features softening at the sight of you. You caught him by surprise and now he’s a melting mess, your glow slowly hypnotizing him.

“Darling, we’re both in that picture.” You respond, throwing him another wink and a playful hiss before walking away with your friends. His brain can barely register this information, requiring a minute to fully process your idea.

Theo pokes fun at Draco as the gang gets up to leave for class. “Dear god, I’ve never seen it this bad. It’s like we���re not even here!” He sneers, snapping his fingers in front of Draco’s face, but to no avail.

Draco whispers to himself while scanning the illustration again, unaware that his housemates are in listening proximity. “It’s a couples costume. She wants to do a couple’s costume… with me.” A small smile forms on his face in the aftermath of your conversation.

“You ought to save that devilish smirk for your upcoming role,” Pansy jokes. He stows the book away in his bag and decides to skip his first class, opting to read the book that made you think of him, instead.

—

Draco stands utterly still, completely in awe, taking a mental picture of the image before him: you, sitting on his bed in his home. His actual real life home. He’s not sure if it’s disbelief or amazement or general arousal but it’s safe to say there’s a healthy mix of each.

You had brought over everything the two of you would need for your costumes, the nature of yours nearly sending him over the edge already. Normally, he’s praying for just a glimpse in his direction in class, but today, there’s no one else here to distract you from him.

“Come here, lovey,” you say, coaxing him over to you as you lay out the makeup and supplies on a small bedside table. He nearly falls over at the nickname, attempting to build his cold walls back up, but the blush on his cheeks says otherwise.

He sits on the edge of his bed facing you, and you notice how unusually quiet he’s been since your arrival. It’s hard for you to imagine the Draco Malfoy being… anxious?

You approach him, leaning slightly between his legs to get a better vantage point of his face. It takes every fiber of his being not to glance down to your cleavage, the Victorian style dress you’re wearing putting it on full display.

You run a hand through his hair, admiring his features as he looks up at you with eyes full of pure adoration. A slight pause has you realizing how truly weird this is- the coldest boy in school, the Slytherin prince himself, inviting you over to the privacy of his house, giving you the grand tour, letting you set up shop in his childhood bedroom.

Most people aren’t even granted permission to speak to him, and yet here you are, finally coming to the conclusion that… you really aren’t ‘most people.’

He let you in.

“Open your mouth, boy.” Your voice sultry, a teasing smile adorning your face as you place a hand under his chin, holding it in place. His body could ignite right now with how hot his skin is from your touch. He’s not sure he was ever prepared for this level of intimacy with you.

He parts his lips, granting you access inside. Suddenly, your fingers are in his mouth, working on attaching a set of fangs to his teeth. Is this real? Is this happening? How are you so comfortable right now while he’s silently screaming inside at your mere presence?

The limits of his self control are being brutally tested, something he didn’t foresee being an issue today. Electricity shoots through his body as the taste of you grazes his tongue. You can’t help but notice how perfect his lips are, how soft and supple they seem.

Your eyes go wide as the fangs click into place, something wild sparking within your stare. He notices and gives you a look tinged with intrigue.

“This may have been a very bad idea,” you joke, a hint of bashfulness lacing your words. “I didn’t realize you’d make such a handsome vampire.”

His grin grows instantly, his confidence rising ever so slightly as you share your vulnerability. His eyes still shine up at you with sheer infatuation as your posture caves in a bit, bringing your faces closer together.

It’s quiet for a moment as he lets you take him in. The weight of his kindness, openness, and hospitality is all starting to make sense. On top of that, there’s something quite serene about seeing him in this environment, one where he’s fully himself. The volume of your voice lowers to a shadow of a whisper as your hands clasp behind his neck.

“I need you to do me a favor, Draco.” It is incredibly difficult to keep his focus on anything but your lips and how little distance there is to his own. But he’ll do anything he can to keep his chance with you alive and well.

“Anything, doll.” He responds, sitting up straighter.

You reach for an item on the table and place it in his hand, his head barely registering anything outside his immediate concentration on you.

“I need you to make me your Mina.” His heart nearly explodes at the request, his every desire begging him to crush his lips onto yours. He looks from the illustration in the open book on the table down to the container of fake blood in his palm, a smirk thrown your way as he understands what’s coming next.

A hand on your waist catches you by surprise, the pressure guiding you to sit down on his thigh. Before you know it, he’s the one towering over you now, his arm secured around your waist to keep you balanced on his lap.

Don’t be fooled, he is still absolutely racked with nerves. But the girl of his dreams is sitting on his lap, and god damnit if he’s going to let this opportunity pass without making the most of it. He can be brave for you.

His hand makes its way towards you, the deep red substance dripping onto your dress. Your hand finds his back, gripping the material of his white ruffled shirt tightly in your fist. “Tilt,” he requests, needing more access to your neck. You do as asked, resting your head on his shoulder to expose more skin.

He wasn’t expecting you to do this, but god he’ll take it. In a swift motion, he lifts your legs over both his thighs now, giving you both maximum stability. The breath from your small laugh into the crook of his neck gives him chills, his eyes closing for a moment to relish it.

The hand around your waist lifts higher to gather your hair, laying it neatly behind your shoulders. The next thing you feel are his fingers dragging their way across the side of your neck, painting your skin with care and intention. Each stroke makes its way lower and lower towards your chest, the thumping of your heart picking up each time you feel him slide over you.

“Mind if I…?” Draco prompts, gesturing the packet of fake blood itself to your neck. “I’m feeling quite committed to the theatrics.” To this, he earns a joking eye roll of approval from you.

You adjust yourself on his lap, causing his hand to slip down around your hips. Whatever it takes to just keep you here forever seems necessary to him. His heart may be racing, his muscles aching from making sure you’re comfortable, but this is all he’s ever wanted.

You are all he’s ever wanted.

You feel the red liquid cascade down your neck to your chest, seeping into your cleavage, some of it staining the bodice of your dress. Just enough to make it look like a real vampire bite, without being excessive.

“You know,” you breathe, lifting your head to meet his stare, your noses practically touching. “There is one way we could make this… really convincing.”

Draco searches your eyes and for the first time, he finds the same unfiltered longing staring back at him. A needy, pulling desire fills the remaining space left between you. Your hand finds its way to the base of his neck, a slight pressure not unlike the one he used on you before.

“If… if you want, I mean.” Your bit of embarrassment lingers on your cheeks. He smiles, repeating his sentiment from earlier while his hand snakes its way underneath your knees, pulling you even closer to him.

“Anything, doll.” He replies, and this time you know he means it in every sense of the word.

Your hand applies the same pressure again, guiding his face to your neck, and from here he needs no further instruction. You feel the soft yet hungry impact of his lips on your neck, sucking on your skin lightly, his eyes closed as the vampire himself does what he does best.

A sigh escapes you, your fingers curling in his hair as his tongue enters the mix. His movements become more fervent as your response intensifies with each kiss. You let out a tiny yelp as you feel the fangs poke your skin, a mix of pain and pleasure enveloping you as his laugh graces your neck.

He quickly pulls back, resting his forehead on yours. “Sorry, love. Got a bit too into character there, didn’t I?” He winks, his head spinning from it all. You glance down to the mess of red displayed on his chin, admiring the work of art.

“No, it was perfect. You’re a spitting image.” You state, nodding to the book’s visual aid you were using to create this look. You both giggle, observing each other up close.

“And you, my Mina.” Draco tucks a stray hair behind your ear, beckoning you to him again. As the fake blood dries on his skin, he takes one last look in your eyes before you decide to be equally dedicated to your role. Your voice lowers to a mutter, your breath entwining with his.

“I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips.” He pulls back at the phrase, the realization hitting him like a vivid flashback.

“Chapter three.” He declares, earning a dropped jaw from you. He really read the damn book.

Within seconds, your lips are on his, his response having won your swelling heart. His hands travel around your waist, exploring every inch of you. His whole world seemingly shatters and mends itself as you get lost in each other.

Your lips dance together in a passionate, breathtaking crescendo. Your tongue slides in, claiming his mouth as his hand lifts up to cup and support your cheek. The urgency calms, settling back into a gentle, tender kiss. A kiss so painfully soft, it acts more as an expression of his intentions with you, pointing to a time where this was all but a day dream to him.

“Shall we?” He asks, gesturing his head towards the door. You smile, reaching for the last bit of his costume: a black velvet cape. You lay it around him, snapping the clasps together in the front.

He dives in for one last kiss, tugging your lower lip with his fictitious fangs, causing your hands to land on his chest.

“You know, I think I’m rather fond of these.” He says as he helps you off his lap back to your feet. He scans you up and down, drinking you in.

“Our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would beg to differ.” You joke, letting him spin you around, hooking an arm through his as you walk to the top of the stairs that lead down to the main hall.

You two make your way down the stairs, the guests turning in your direction in awe as cameras flash and fingers point at the prestigious Malfoy son and the beautiful girl on his arm. Draco stops abruptly on the last stair, giving you a blank, anticipatory look.

“What’s wrong, dear?” You whisper, a shadow of worry following your voice.

“You have to invite me in.” To this, you can barely control your immediate bout of laughter, your hold on him growing tighter the harder you laugh.

When you both finally come down, you release your arm from his, stepping in front of him. The crowd went eerily silent, enticed by your dramatic entrance.

Your black-gloved hand reaches out to his as you both put on a show for the entranced guests. He takes it and kisses the back of your hand, a small smirk displayed for your eyes only.

You oblige to his request, the pitch of your voice lying somewhere between innocence and a dark, desirable knowing.

“Enter freely, and of your own free will, my darling.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[ghostofhyuck]

Drawn to You

Vampire! Zhong Chenle x Human! Reader

Summary: You never thought that Zhong Chenle would like you, heck even go through measures of courting you just to show you that his intentions to you are genuine. Or is it? If you only knew about his real identity. 

Word count: 3.5k

TW: Contains blood, and noncon biting. Read at your own risk.

AN: I skimmed the Dracula plot just for this fic, if inaccuracies occurred, I’m sorry. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Everyone would think that you’re just a typical college student who studies literature at her local town college. 

“Oh my god, you have another one!?” your friend shrieks as she sees the bouquet of flowers on your desk. 

Except what makes you stand out from the others is that you’re being courted by Zhong Chenle — one of the most popular guys in your college.

Popularity isn’t just by the looks. Sure Chenle is one of the most good-looking guys in your town, but that’s just a small part of his popularity. He came from a family who runs a centennials-old business. The Zhong family are knit-tighted and are old money. They’re highly influential. Chenle being the second son of the Zhong makes him stand out. Aside from that, he studies business while being the captain of the college’s basketball team.

Girls would die to be noticed by him. But Chenle was dubbed as an “ice prince” due to his cold yet cool image. He rarely engages in conversations with anyone aside from his friends, and has been known to turn down confessions coldly. People’s impression of him as someone who’s untouchable. Even in academic projects, he's as formal as he can be. 

You think of him as someone who’s unreachable. You did find him ideal and handsome but not enough to throw yourself on him. 

That’s why you were surprised when one day he striked a conversation with you. You thought of it as merely a coincidence. You were part-timing at your older sister’s book shop when he entered the place. You never thought that the college’s star athlete would find himself going to a book shop. 

You stared at him unknowingly as he scans around the bookshelves that contain poetry books. You watch as he scans the books, finding himself engaged between the pages, and obliviously, you have your gaze lock on him. Everyone’s right. Chenle does have a strong aura that can make everyone turn their heads on him. 

And there, he started asking you questions. Keeping the conversation going on. You were surprised by the way he talks to you, casually. You always thought that he’s a bit cold who thinks highly of himself. That’s why you’re there, quietly flustered as he gives you a small smile before waving goodbye to you. 

That’s not the only thing that happened to you. The next day, the whole school is buzzing as Chenle drives you to school. They were shocked to see Chenle step out of the car and walk towards the passenger seat in which he opens for you. Due to embarrassment, you ran away without even turning around to look at the crowd. 

You knew that day, you'd end up being the talk of the town. The girl who managed to swoon Chenle. There were a lot of stories and gossip running wild as they tried to decipher how you managed to end up in that situation. Even getting strangers to ask you and ask you what’s your deal with him. 

It didn’t stop there. Everyday, you’d go out to your house and see Chenle waiting for you outside. He’s leaning on his car and has every plan of driving you to school. You told him that it’s fine, but he insists. Even during days where you have classes and he doesn’t have, he’ll still drive you to school. 

Then came the gifts. The foods he brings you, and small gifts that he insists that it’s nothing. You tried to ignore it but you knew where it would lead, and you were suspicious of it. 

“Whatever you’re planning, stop it,” you told him one day. 

Chenle glances at you, dribbling the basketball so casually as he throws it to the ring. It went straight to it and you only watched as he caught it. 

“What do you mean?”

“You can be honest with me, if your friends just made a bet to date me or something, you can now tell me because I don’t have any plans of making myself look like a fool,” you explained, letting out a small sigh. “If you’re doing this because you’re bored, find another girl.”

“You got to stop reading romance novels in your past time,” Chenle mocked instead. “I’m not that type of guy yn, if you want, fine I like you.” 

“Stop fooling around —”

“I’m not, and if you find yourself doubting me, it’s okay,” Chenle said with a serious tone. “Because I’ll prove to you that my intentions are genuine.” 

That’s how you ended up being courted by Zhong Chenle. You know that it’s some old-fashioned thing to do but it was Chenle’s decision to do so. He has every plan of making you his. While you’re just there, accepting all things he does to you. 

You bear no feelings for Chenle at first. You found it suspicious that he chose you out of all the girls in your college. But he explains so casually that he’s just drawn to you. Whatever that means. You think. 

But as day passed by, you slowly opened your heart to him. He’s not the ice prince everyone calls. Chenle also has a side that only he opens to you. He’s good with his words, can be straightforward but you’ll find yourself agreeing with him. He also likes teasing you, and you’d come to realize that you’re lucky that you hear his laughter on a daily basis. 

Soon, you find yourself thinking that maybe being courted by Chenle isn’t that bad at all. 

“Hey!” you looked up to see Chenle in front of you. He’s wearing a plain tshirt and jogger pants. Hair still dripping wet indicating that he’s fresh from the post-practice shower. His gym bag slinged on the left side of his shoulder. 

You only smiled at him as you grabbed your backpack and stood up from the bleachers. 

“Should we go now?” you asked, Chenle only nods. He helped you get down from the bleachers and as you two began walking, he grabbed your backpack and wore it on his left arm. You only smile at his gesture but shift to the book you’re reading. 

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing out the small book you’re reading. 

“Oh, it’s Dracula by Bram Stoker,” you answered, showing him the book cover. “It’s for my Gothic Literature class, I’m doing a novel analysis for it.” 

“About vampires?” he asked. 

“Yeah, why not?” you only smiled. “The plot’s interesting plus the writing style is different.” 

“Didn’t like the novel,” Chenle casually said. “There’s a lot of inaccuracies.” 

You raised an eyebrow, “inaccuracies?”

“About vampires.”

You laughed at his comment. “Okay nerd, are you a big fan of vampires? Next thing you’ll say, twilight isn’t an accurate representation of vampires.”

“You’re right actually,” Chenle pointed out. “Vampires can actually be exposed to the sun, it’s just that they’re just more active during night because they’re more connected to the moon rather than the sun.”

“Okay where did you even learn that?” you raised an eyebrow. “What’s next? they can actually eat garlic and can actually touch silver.” 

“Vampires can tolerate garlic, it’s a food preference just like how you don’t like some types of vegetables while they can touch silver but not those silver stakes that are blessed with holy water. That’ll kill them.” 

“You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not.”

“Then how come you know much about vampires? Wouldn’t be surprised if you’re secretly a vampire.”

But Chenle only laughs at your comment. He swings his arms around you pulling you closer to his stance. “What if I am really a vampire? And then I’m gonna eat you!”

You let out a small shriek as Chenle tickles you on your waist. You squirmed your way out of his touch, and as you catch your breath, you can hear the horrendous laughter from your suitor. 

“You’re such an asshole!” you shouted, playfully kicking his shin in which he was able to dodge it quickly. 

“Sorry, it’s just you’re just too cute!” Chenle squealed, squishing your cheeks before he steals a kiss on your nose. 

“That’s not going to work Zhong Chenle,” you said, sticking out a tongue. 

“Yeah I know, I just want to kiss you,” he smirks. “Come on, let’s just go get some iced coffee for you.” 

-

“Ugh, you reek of her again,” Renjun complained the moment Chenle entered the mansion. 

“Isn’t she sweet?” Chenle proudly said, making his way towards his room while his cousin was just behind his tracks. 

“Not for me,” Renjun pointed out. “She’s too sweet that I’ll get cavities just from a drop of her blood.”

“Well that’s a relief because I have no plans of sharing her to you.” 

The older one only lets out a sigh. “The full moon will be out in a week, if you don’t get the chance to drink from her —”

“Yeah I know, i’ll die from starvation,” Chenle rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about me, I can handle it.” 

“I just hope you’d do it in a decent way.'' It was the last thing Renjun said before leaving Chenle alone. 

As Renjun’s footsteps started to fade, Chenle could only laugh as he grabbed his phone, revealing a stolen photo of yours. 

“You don’t have to worry about that dear cousin.” 

-

Despite being courted by Chenle for months, you two never really had a proper date. You’re used to him taking you out to eat dinner or lunch just outside your college’s vicinity but the formal ones never really happened. 

So you were surprised when Chenle asks you if you’re free on Sunday night. 

“For what?”

“A date,” he said so casually and yet, it made your heart jump in joy. 

“A date?” 

“Yeah, I mean I’ve been courting you but I never really took you out for a date,” he said. 

“I mean, it’s okay with me but can I ask where?” you asked. 

“I actually wanted to invite you to my place,” Chenle pointed out. “The full moon’s happening tonight and my mother has a garden that’s full of moonflowers. It only blooms during the full moon and I want you to watch it bloom with you.”

“Oh Chenle,” you gasped. Flustered with his words. “That’s sweet of you but I'm scared that I might draw a wrong impression on your family.”

“Oh don’t worry about my family, they already like you,” he brushes it off. “I’ve told them how amazing you are and they couldn’t wait for you to be part of the family.”

You only let out a small chuckle. “Okay, I’ll be happy to watch the moonflower with you.” 

You watched as Chenle’s smile grew bigger to your answer. In a swift second, he gives you a hug and a kiss on the cheeks. “Thanks yn, you’re not going to regret it.”

“Those moonflowers better be worth it.” you teased. 

But you were only welcomed by a small pinch from Chenle. “Of course they will be.” 

When Sunday night arrived, you felt nervous. You tried your best to find the most appropriate dress you can find from your closet. 

With the help of your best friend, the two of you managed to find the most decent yet formal looking dress from your closet. It was a black sleeved dress that hugs your chest area and has an A-line skirt just above the knee. You paired it with short heeled sandals. You let your hair flow, curling the ends and doing light makeup. 

You let out a sigh as you wore the silver cross necklace that your mother gave to you. Adorning it with silver stud earrings to compliment your overall outfit. As the night deepens, you can feel your heart beating fast. The moment you heard the honk from Chenle’s car, you did everything at the last minute and grabbed the small bag that contained your things. 

As you open the gate, Chenle is there, leaning against his car’s hood. He looked exquisite in his black slacks and white sleeved polo, rolled down to ¾’s and two buttons undone. You were in daze, thinking that you indeed scored a good-looking guy as your suitor. 

Chenle glanced at you and did a double take, he was about to approach you when he stopped, you became confused when you noticed the sudden discomfort from his face. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked. 

“Oh I’m fine,” he said. “Your necklace looks nice.” 

You smiled, “really? I got it from my mom.” 

“It’s pretty,” he said looking away. “It’s a shame that I won’t be able to give you my gift.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “A gift?” 

From his back pocket, he grabs something and shows it to you. Your eyes wide at the silver necklace that’s adorned with a topaz trinket. 

“It’s beautiful,” you said, touching the topaz. 

“It’s from my mom,” Chenle answered. “I was hoping if you could —”

“Of course! I’ll be happy,” you only smiled. 

Chenle watched as you took off the cross necklace, he could only sigh internally as you placed it inside your bag. He then carefully places the necklace around your necklace. Clasping the lock before grazing his finger against your nape. 

“It’s beautiful,” you said once again. 

“Should we get going?” he asked, making you nod. 

The Zhong Mansion can be found on the outskirts of the town. It just sinked into you just how far Chenle drives just so he can pick you up. The gesture makes your feelings for him deepen. You watched as you trailed off to a more secluded part, turning left towards a dark road that seems endless to you. 

You would eye Chenle from time to time but it didn’t budge him, he kept on driving until you passed by huge bamboo stalks, swaying slightly against the wind. And from there, you noticed how there’s a few lantern lights from afar. You guessed that that’s Chenle’s place. 

After minutes of driving on the endless road, you found yourself in front of a white steel gate. Chenle honks for a few seconds before the gate opens slowly and from there, your jaw drops. 

A white mansion rests idly on a small hill. Chenle drove further until you two reached the entrance of the house. There, he shuts off the engine while you remain frozen from where you are sitting. You flinched as you felt his hands holding yours. 

“Nervous?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Your house is huge.” 

“I know,” Chenle only said. “Let’s go inside? Everyone’s waiting for us.”

Your worries disappeared when you were welcomed by warm hugs and laughter. There were only a few people and just like Chenle said, it was an exclusive party. They keep their life private, away from the prying eyes of the public. Only a few guests are allowed and you’re just lucky that they agreed to invite you over. 

Chenle introduced you one by one to his family, and just like what he said, they seem to like you. You only smile as they give you handshakes or hugs. You found it incredibly fascinating how they’re so pale and seem ageless. You guessed that that’s what happens to rich people. 

“Finally glad to meet you,” you turned around to see a guy around your age. He’s wearing a black sheer blouse that’s tucked in his black slacks. He’s insanely pale and pretty as he gracefully took a sip from the red wine that he’s holding. 

“And you are?” you asked while waiting for Chenle who went out to get you some food. 

“Renjun, Chenle’s cousin,” he introduced. “Care for some?” 

You only stare at the wine he’s holding and you shake your head gently. “Sorry, I don’t drink red wine.”

Renjun laughs, “who says it’s red wine?”

“Then what is it?”

He brings the glass closer to you, “why don’t you find out?”

You stared at him for a second, an innocent smile forming on his lips. You raise an eyebrow before accepting it when Chenle grabs your hands. 

“Chenle —”

“Auntie is looking for you Renjun-ge,” Chenle said with a cold tone. 

But Renjun wasn’t fazed by his cousin’s words. “Alrighty then, see you later yn,” he gives you a wink before leaving you two. 

Chenle lets go of your hand. You ignored the way it hurt you, Chenle placed the plates full of food in front of you and sat next to you. 

“Sorry about that, Renjun tends to be a prankster,” Chenle apologized. His hands make their way to your wrist as he lightly presses it. 

“It’s fine, I get it,” you assured. “What’s in that drink by the way?”

“Alcohol but not wine,” Chenle answered. 

You let it be. Giving him a sign that it’s fine now and you two can start digging in. The whole night, you two enjoyed mingling with his family. Dancing to the music and even talking to his parents. They were lovely people, despite the enormous teasing that you got from them for being the first girl Chenle has brought, you couldn’t help but feel at home with them. 

“It’s almost eleven,” Chenle pointed out. “Should we go see the moonflowers?”

“What about your family?” he asked. 

“I know a perfect spot to watch it, come on,” you weren’t able to say yes when he tugs you away. 

You two walked towards the backyard of their property. A wide grassfield that's a field with nothing but tall trees and wildflowers. You only hold on to Chenle as he finds the route towards the garden of moonflowers.

“Wow,” you mumbled as you two reached the garden. Chenle finds the marbled bench that’s beside a pillar where the moonflower vines crawled. You looked at the white buds, they’re twitching as the full moon slowly rises, gray clouds acting like a curtain opening slowly the bright gleam of the moon. 

You sat there in awe, watching the moonflower bloom slowly and beautifully. Your eyes widen in amazement because it’s the first time you have witnessed a flower bloom, let alone in the middle of the night. 

“This is amazing,” you only mumbled. “I’m so glad that you brought me here. Thank you Chenle.” 

“I’m happy too,” he smiles. 

Silently, you gaze on his eyes. That’s when you noticed how his eyes weren’t in the shade of black, more of a unique reddish brown. The two of you stared at each other for a second before Chenle leaned on you slowly. 

You couldn’t help but to close your eyes as Chenle’s lips crashed onto yours. It was soft, tasted like cherries, so sweet and addicting that you couldn’t help but to kiss him back. You can feel your heart beating fast, the feeling was something new yet blissful. 

Chenle’s arms trailed around your waist, you couldn’t help but to distinctively wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you two kissed each other under the bright moonlight. 

He breaks the kiss, leaving trails on your jaw, going down and down, earning a moan from you as you feel his lips on your neck, somewhere you’re sensitive the most. 

But your eyes widened as you felt something sharp — a deep sting stabbing on your neck. You let out a mute scream as you tried to grasp for air. The stabbed deepens more and as you try to push Chenle away, his grip on your arms tightens. 

“Chenle…w-what?” you stuttered, finally having the courage to speak. You let out a scream as you felt the stab being removed from your neck. As you come face to face with Chenle, you watch as he licks his lips in pleasure, blood dripping from his fangs — something that you were surprised that he had. 

“Fuck you’re so sweet,” he said. “I’ll never get tired of drinking your blood.” 

“What?” it was the only thing you could say. Your mind is turning hazy, feeling the blood dripping out of your neck. You feel pale and weak, watching Chenle cup your cheeks. His eyes turned red fully. 

“You’re driving me crazy yn, your blood is driving me crazy. You don’t know how much I endure taking you in whenever I’m with you,”

The truth was out. You can feel your tears flowing out from your eyes. No wonder he was drawn to you. It was your blood that he’s addicted to. Chenle’s eyes darken and yet, his thumbs swiped the tears away.

“Oh don’t worry dear, I still love you,” he said. “You’re going to be mine anyways.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked, heart beating fast. 

“It’s easy, you’re going to be mine,” Chenle said, resting his forehead on yours. Eyes gazing at you with every dark intention he had in his mind. From there, he smirks. “We’ll share the same blood and drink from it. You’ll be just like us.”

“No!” you shouted, pushing him away but he was just too strong. You struggled your way out of his grip but Chenle was just too strong for your weak body. He pushes you against the marbled bench, trapping you in between his arms. His left hands grabbing both your wrist to stop you from struggling.

“Don’t worry, it’ll just hurt a little,” he assured, gazing his hands on your cheeks. You watch as he leans close to you once again. 

And you could only let out a guttural scream as his fangs deepened on your neck once again.

[onestepbackwards]

Love That Bites Pt. 10

Hi there! Welcome to part 10 of my Dracula x Reader fic! It's a little later than I had hoped, but I hope you enjoy!

Summary: After waking up the next day, you contemplate your situation, trying to find a way to make the best of it. It all starts to come together until you get an unexpected visitor. At least Dracula seems insistent on taking care of you? CW: Injury mention, threats of harm, hints at an abusive situation Word Count: 5224 words! Like my work? Come check me out here: Link every little bit helps me out!

Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Tag List: @onewiththebeanbag, @starrlo0ver, @sleepyendymion, @dame-sunflowers, @sapphicsfordracula, @ursamajor17, @maorizon, @marshmelloe, @tinystarfishgalaxy, @rvautomatic,

First: Here!Last: Here!Next: Here!

Your dreams were surprisingly pleasant that night.

Given the fact you had actually even fallen asleep in your family’s enemy’s castle, it was something you were a bit taken aback by.

The dreams you had were confusing and odd, but almost comforting. Once again, like a few times before, you were in a comforting presence. As if being protected, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

Like something was holding you. Comforting you. Someone was whispering as they held you, too. However, no matter how hard you strained your ears to listen, you could not make out what they were saying.

You couldn’t see, it was as if you were wrapped in a blanket of darkness, but you did not feel worried. It was as if whatever was holding you seemed to scare off any danger that would consider hurting you.

It was arguably the most at ease you had felt in years.

Which is why you were so incredibly confused when you woke up.

“...What…?” you sleepily asked, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

However, you suddenly sat up, realizing you had no idea where you were. Your instincts screamed at you, and you had a moment of panic, before you felt a twinge of pain.

Looking down, you noticed your wrapped up injuries, and suddenly you began to remember just exactly where you were.

You were in Dracula’s castle. Castlevania.

Your heart still thudded in your chest, but you felt yourself beginning to calm down as you remembered everything that had happened.

Dracula was back, alive and presumably well. You had accidentally broken him free from his prison, with your own blood no less.

Good going, you. Bringing back the potential end of humanity while in a manic state!

Sighing, you turned to lay on your side.

What’s done is done.

But… you were surprised.

Dracula had every reason and means to kill you. By all accounts, he should have.

You were technically his greatest living enemy, or at least the living descendant of the clan that killed him over and over again. Your family has foiled his plans for centuries, killing him many, many times.

He had every right to want to kill you.

But he didn’t.

From the moment he was freed from his stony prison, he had done nothing but show you concern. It was incredibly jarring for you. Where his hand should have been sharp and piercing, his touch had been gentle and careful. He had carried you to a guest room and patched you up himself, telling you to rest.

The thought stirred feelings up inside you. When was the last time someone cared enough about you to ask you to rest?

Then he came back, with food for you.

It was more or less broth, sure, but he had taken time to have some made in a castle full of the supernatural, and gave it to you himself.

All while patiently listening to you mumble and talk while still in a frazzled state of mind, and answering a few questions you had.

You don’t remember much after eating. After getting something in your stomach, you remember growing increasingly exhausted, past the point of being able to fight it.

After everything you had been through, you weren’t entirely surprised you crashed.

Though you felt your face grow hot when you realized Dracula must have sat and watched you fall asleep, taking your bowl and tucking you back into the bed.

Some scary vampire hunter you were, when your ‘worst enemy’ was tucking you into bed.

You curled into the covers further, your face no doubt bright red.

Why did the thought of him caring so much please you? Make you feel warm inside? Were you really that desperate for positive affection after all these years, receiving it from the King of Vampires made you blush like a teenager?

“I must still be horribly injured. Easy.”

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t entirely true.

As much as you wanted to ignore it, you can’t deny you had gotten attached to the man when he had been trapped as a statue. It wasn’t healthy, and you knew there was always the possibility he would not have heard you, or would have killed you right away.

You had just been in too deep to stop.

His statue and castle had grown on you. You knew coming back over and over again would have consequences.

But…

Sighing, you pressed your face into the soft pillow.

You were so fucked.

Why did it have to be Dracula though that was taking care of you? Did fate like doing this to you, making you and your family its own personal chew toy? It was beginning to feel increasingly personal at this point.

With a groan, you looked over to the side, seeing your whip on the pillow next to you. Even when Dracula had carried you here, you had never let go of it, having it hang on your hip. Before you slept, you kept it next to your pillow, keeping it close for comfort.

After a moment, you reached for it, and pulled it close to your chest.

You weren’t anticipating any sort of attack, not really. However, your whip had always been a comfort for you, for as long as you could remember. It especially was an emotional crutch for you after your mother passed, being something she used all her life before handing it to you.

Even if you didn’t really have any real or close family anymore, you at least had the whip.

It was funny. Despite being deep in enemy territory, you were inclined to believe you actually didn’t need to use it.

At least, you hoped you wouldn’t have to. You’d keep in on you just in case.

You trusted Dracula’s word, yes, but you didn’t trust all his lackeys. Most of them had free wills of their own, and would probably love to take a shot at you.

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to set you up later if Dracula tells them they can only attack in self defense. If they can convince everyone you attacked first, then it was free game.

Perhaps it’d be best to keep your phone on you as well, and to keep it charged? You never know when you would need to take photos or a video.

You’d like to think Dracula would at least give you the benefit of the doubt, given he has been rather fair so far. But if several monsters ganged up on you and tried to provide false testimony? You wouldn’t blame the Lord of the Night for taking their side.

Gripping your whip tighter, you scowled.

Funny how you trusted the King of Vampires more than his underlings. Something you never thought you’d think. Maybe you should start a list, with how often you found yourself thinking that?

You stayed in bed a few more moments, before sitting up. Your stitches tugged, and you winced. No doubt you’d need to clean those soon.

Carefully, you swung your legs over the edge of the massive bed, and shakily stood on your feet. Whip loosely in hand, you walked over to a nearby chair.

Dracula had at some point, set your bag on the chair before tending to you. As much as you didn’t want to leave the warmth of the bed, you wanted to grab your phone in case you needed it later.

Gently picking up your bag, you turned around, and totally did not let out a short scream.

Death itself was hovering above the bed, staring down at you.

“U-Uh… Can I… Help you?” You asked, swallowing thickly.

The air had grown unsettling cold, as if the air itself was sapping your heat from your body. Your feet felt like they were stepping on ice from how cold the floor had become, and your heartbeat was pounding in your ears.

You had never encountered Death before, having only read descriptions of it from your ancestors in their journals.

None of the journal’s descriptions could compare to seeing Death in person, while you were critically injured, and very, very vulnerable.

The Deity looked down at you, and you weren’t sure if it was from curiosity, or disdain.

Just how long had Death been in here? Since you got up? Or had it been here the whole time and had been hiding its presence?

The answer didn’t really matter. It was Dracula’s castle, and Death was his most loyal lieutenant. For all you knew, he was assigned to keep an eye on you so you didn't do something stupid. Or, perhaps he wanted you gone. Who was to say?

Shaking, you forced yourself to keep your whip lowered. You were a guest, you reminded yourself.

You would not attack or threaten unless struck first.

Though it was hard to keep that in mind when literally staring Death itself in the face.

Death gripped its scythe tight, before floating close.

Your mouth went dry as you struggled not to panic and fight your instincts.

Not just your hunting instincts, but your survival instincts as well.

After all, it was only natural for any living thing to have such a reaction to seeing Death with their own eyes.

Death’s sockets were empty, besides two small glowing blue and white fires where each eye should be. They seemed to zero in on you.

“Little Belmont…”

Death’s voice felt unnatural, in a way that felt… inhuman. No vocal cords.

It was as if it were a mix of strings on an instrument untuned, while being nothing more than an echo in the wind. Your brain was barely able to grasp it.

It was speaking again, and the chill down your spine felt like someone pouring cold water on top of you.

“Just what are your intentions here? What are your plans with my master?”

Death’s question almost had you shocked out of your stupor.

Plans? What plans?

“Pardon?” you asked, a bit confused. Death looked at you closely, and you tried to ignore how your body was breaking out into a cold sweat.

“What do you intend to do to my master?” he asked. Despite the absurdity of the situation, his question had you thinking.

Just what were your plans? Challenge Dracula to a duel to the death? You wanted to laugh at the idea.

No. You still wanted to see what possibilities are ahead of you. Given Dracula wasn’t hostile towards you, perhaps the future wasn’t too bleak for you.

After a moment, you spoke up.

“I… Have no idea.” you spoke, the words slipping off your tongue. Death was quiet, and you continued speaking.

“If I’m being honest, I hope I don’t have to fight him at all.”

You turned away from Death, and sighed. It was the truth. You didn’t want to fight the Vampire King.

Death was patient, as if sensing your thoughts, waiting for you to continue.

“Not because I’m scared to, no doubt I’d be afraid if I were to fight him to the death. But…”

Lightning flashed outside the window, followed by a loud crack of lightning. You swore it was beginning to rain.

“...Ever since I entered this castle months ago, seeing Dracula as a statue, I have not wanted to fight him. If I had to, I wanted to make it an honorable one, not attack him when he could not fight back. Not out of pity, mind you.”

Gripping your whip slightly, you remembered how you felt that day.

“But when was the last time any of my ancestors talked to him? All my family has taught is that he is the ultimate evil to be killed. The journals passed down by my ancestors talk about his desire for destruction and how he would do anything to achieve it. My mother taught me to think otherwise.”

Death seemed interested in what you were saying. At least, you think he was interested. The deity was floating above you, and seemed to give you some space as it stared curiously. You looked it in the eyes.

“My mother taught me to ask questions if I can, that nothing is black and white. She didn’t know if I’d be fighting Dracula or not, but told me to question things. My family only paints one side of the picture, after all.”

It felt kinda weird admitting this to Death itself, you’d admit. However, it was most certainly the truth. Your feelings were very conflicted, and you felt like a broken record at this point with how often you have thought about it, and have stated this fact.

Thankfully, Death was considering your words.

“So you wish to find a common ground? A compromise?”

Death’s voice had gone from feeling like a scratch on a chalkboard, to a weird empty echo. Somehow you were getting the feeling Death had made its voice like that originally on purpose to intimidate you.

You were quiet for a moment.

“Yes. I’d like that.”

Once again, you felt by saying those words, something was stirring inside you. Like signing a contract, or making a vow.

Death tilted its head.

“I see…”

Another part of you was surprised the deity accepted your answer so readily, no longer seemingly cold and accusatory.

Then again, Death was a part of the divine, yes? Perhaps it could see your honesty? How unsure you were about the whole thing?

Death was silent for a while more, though it didn’t feel as if he was about to blast you off the face of the earth, or decapitate you with its scythe.

“How curious…”

Death seemed to study you, and the posture the deity carried seemed less hostile than before. You hoped that was a good thing.

“Young Belmont, honest to a fault, just like the rest of your ilk.”

You tried not to take offense to how he said that.

Death paused, as if considering its words, before speaking once more.

“I can see souls, you know. Belmonts can not hide from me. Your souls have a very distinct glow. Each and every one of them is different, but always have similar features unique to your family.”

Death suddenly leaned in, and gave you what you could only describe as a crooked grin. The air around the specter felt like it was sapping the warmth from your very core.

“Therefore, knowingly lying to me is pointless. So imagine my surprise that you seem to be telling the truth. Perhaps my master was right when he said he saw something special in you. Of course, I had to see for myself if you were going to cause trouble…”

That made sense. No doubt Death had its reservations about you staying in the castle. If you were in his shoes (cloak?), you would probably have checked it out too.

Seemingly satisfied with the conversation, Death hovered away from you.

“For now, I’ll trust your word and my master’s judgment. However, I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Little Belmont.”

The fire in Death’s eyes grew red hot.

“Just know this. If you betray him and his trust, I will personally be the one to devour your soul.”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded.

“Uh… sure thing, sir…”

The fire died down in the deity’s eyes, and he nodded. The room then slowly began to grow darker once more, as if the shadows were reaching out to Death.

“Till we meet again, Belmont.”

With a flash of darkness(?), the deity was gone, and your room began to warm up and brighten.

Slowly, as if in a daze, you walked over to the bed, and fell face first into it. You groaned into the sheets as your wounds throbbed from the sudden pressure, and you tossed your bag to the side.

“Fuck me.” you mumbled, and you felt the tension in your body release as you groaned into the sheets.

Death. You met Death. Death didn’t point at you and obliterate your entire existence.

That was a plus at least.

“My life is a fucking joke, and I’m the damn punchline.”

For some reason, you began to wonder if every Belmont before you felt the same way to various degrees for different reasons.

Though you’d admit, you think your situation feels like it takes the cake. What Belmont can say they accidentally freed Dracula after growing attached to a statue of him and get lightly warned not to fuck up by Death?

You had a feeling it was probably a pretty slim number.

Taking a deep breath, and letting out a long sigh, you forced yourself to sit up. Sitting now at the edge of the bed, you grabbed your bag and dug around for your phone. Pulling it out, you held it for a moment.

The last thing you wanted right now was to see any ‘concerned’ messages from your fraud of a family. It wouldn’t be the first time they had done so to get you back home and under their thumb again. No doubt guilt tripping you, to threatening you if you didn’t listen.

When you bit the bullet and turned the screen on, you were actually pretty surprised you didn’t see any messages. Not yet anyways.

For all you knew, they were actually giving you a few days before getting pissy about you being gone. You did throw them around a little, so perhaps they were also licking their wounds and their pride.

You’d take any bit of peace you could get.

As you sat there, staring at the screen, a sudden knock was at the door. You let out a yelp, and your phone slipped from your hands. Comically, you tried to catch it, but it merely bounced out of your grip a few times before smacking the floor.

The person waited a moment, before seemingly hesitantly knocking again.

“Come in!” you spoke up, trying to awkwardly reach for your phone from the bed, ignoring the twinge of pain. You glanced up, seeing Dracula entering with what you assumed was another first aid kit. Presumably to check on your wounds.

Looking back down, you try reaching for your phone again.

Just as you almost had it, you nearly jumped when a large, pale hand grabbed your phone for you.

Glancing up, your face was hovering just a few inches away from Dracula’s. All the while, amusement seemed evident in his eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be resting, and not straining your stitches?” He asked. It might have been your imagination playing tricks on you, but it sounded a lot like he was teasing you, rather than him scolding you.

You could practically feel your face blossom red, both from embarrassment, and just from how close he was in general as he teased you.

Sitting up quickly, Dracula rose next to you, and gently handed your phone out to you.

Looking between him and your phone for a moment, you carefully reached out and took it. His hand was cool against your own as he slid it into your hand, and you tried to fight back the shivers that went down your spine.

Just how touched starved were you?

“Thank you. The knock had startled me, and I dropped it. I… Reached for it without thinking.” you finally spoke, trying to get your blushing under control.

Dracula looked you over for a moment. You had a feeling he was still amused by the whole scenario.

“Perhaps it would be wise to remember your wounds ahead of time then.” He spoke, and again, you couldn’t help but feel he was lightly picking on you. His tone wasn’t scolding at all.

Walking over, he sat the medical kit next to you on the bed.

“Now, may I redress your wounds? It isn’t sanitary to keep such injuries in the same wrappings for too long, and I would like to see how well they are healing. The last thing you need is an infection to spring up, and with how far you pushed yourself, I would not be surprised if you were fighting one.”

Someone who actually cared about your injuries? A man after your own heart.

When Dracula barked out a laugh, you jumped, and felt heat rushing to your face once more.

Had you said that out loud?!

“Forgive me, that had caught me off guard. I was not laughing at you, honest.”

Your face was still warm, though you were a bit hypnotized. You must still be a bit out of it if you couldn’t watch your mouth.

His laugh had you feeling as if your brain was stuck in a loading screen.

This just was not fair. How can he be pretty, have a nice voice, and a hot laugh? Life was a game and somehow he had rigged it.

Just from that small interaction, it wasn’t hard to tell Dracula was now in a good mood. Somehow, he seemed a bit lighter, the air around him not as… suffocating? Intense? Drowning?

You weren’t sure what to call it, but hey, if he was in a better mood, that was better for you.

Dracula then tapped the top of the medical box, grabbing your attention while giving you an amused look.

“Now, you still haven’t answered my request. Would you let me redress your wounds? I wish to see if they are healing well, and if any need more attention in case of infection.”

With a sigh, you nodded.

“Yes, of course.”

May as well let him. He did an amazing job yesterday, and you figure he probably knew even more than you when it came to this stuff.

Sure, it hurt your ego a little bit, but you knew it was the truth. You wouldn’t get anywhere fighting him on it.

Though if you were being honest, the fact he still wanted to treat your wounds so much was very… touching.

Dracula didn’t waste any time after you gave him your consent to look over your injuries. He started with your head, once again summoning an orb of some sorts, and having you look at it.

“How is your head faring? Does it ache?”

You winced a bit.

“Yeah, a little. It’s throbbing a little bit. Though it hurts kinda often anyway.”

His eyes flickered to your face, before looking back at the wound.

“I see…”

He gently looked over the knot on your head for another moment, and you didn’t see his eyes narrow at your words.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why does it hurt so often? Migraines?”

Blinking for a moment, you thought as you registered his question. Was he making small talk?

“Ah… Yes? It has for a while, really. Since I was younger, though I started getting more a little over a year ago. I think it’s stress and past injuries.”

Dracula hummed, before pulling away. His face was neutral, though you couldn’t help but feel he didn’t like that answer.

Was it from the fact you had migraines so often? Or something else? You held back from shaking your head, almost unbelieving that Dracula cared that much.

He then kneeled down, hand hovering over your shirt. Dracula’s red eyes flickered to you, and it hit you he was waiting for permission.

“O-Oh, uh, here-”

You went to move your shirt, before his large, cool hand covered your own.

“Easy. I can do it, don’t push yourself.” He told you gently, his hand carefully over your own.

You had to hold back the shock you felt run down your spine from touching his hand.

After a moment, you let go, and he gently began to lift your shirt. You had to suppress the shudder that went through your body at his tenderness, or when his cool hand briefly touched your skin.

Somehow, he still noticed, though seemed to assume you were shuddering from his cool skin touching your own.

“Apologies.” he murmured, gently trying to peel back the wrappings.

“It’s okay… no worries…” you mumbled back, feeling your head swim. His hand actually felt nice against your skin, which was still incredibly warm. It may not have been as feverish as yesterday, but his cool skin still felt nice against your own.

You didn’t want to think too much about that, especially when your head and feelings were seemingly everywhere for some reason.

Now was not the time to have conflicting feelings about your enemy/savior. Why did your head insist on being weird about it?

When Dracula pulled back the wrap, you found yourself gasping when some of your skin tugged, and Dracula gently shushed you. His eyes softened as he looked at your wound, which looked irritated.

“Ah, as I thought. You are fighting an infection. I will clean the wound and help you rebandage it to fight the infection.”

Swallowing thickly at his words and the way he gently held your sides, you nodded.

“Okay.”

‘I trust you.’ The words almost fell off your tongue, before you clamped your jaw shut. Did you really trust Dracula?

That itself was a loaded question in itself, but right at this moment?

You watched as he pulled out some medicine, and began to tenderly tend to the wound on your side.

Perhaps you could trust him to at least genuinely take care of you.

Like last time, his movements were quick and precise, yet surprisingly gentle. When you felt him apply some medicine to a more tender spot and sucked in a breath, he hummed.

“Good. You’re doing well. I’m almost done.”

You didn’t know if you should be horrified or not to learn you seemed to have a thing for being praised while The King of the Night tends to your wounds.

He was faster than yesterday, not having to worry so much about patching you up so much as checking up on you. Throughout the whole time, you inwardly were fighting with yourself in your head as he would praise you for staying still when an injury stung.

Being in a better state of mind, you didn’t have as much of an excuse growing almost hypnotized to his voice.

So when he started asking you questions and making more conversation, you nearly missed what he was saying.

“...Ah, sorry… What…?” you asked, feeling your cheeks burn again, this time more in embarrassment.

His eyes bore into your own, though there wasn’t any sign of anger or annoyance like you were used to seeing from home. More like there was just underlying concern.

“How did you get some of these wounds? Was it… from a hunt?” He asked, seemingly curious. When he saw your eyes widen, he looked back down at your leg, which he was currently tending to.

“You do not have to answer that if you do not wish to, although I will not take offense if it was.”

You were silent for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer him. As it may, you didn’t exactly want to air out your dirty laundry to Dracula of all people. Why would he care about shit your family has done to you?

…But then again, why should he care about you at all? Here he was… tending to your wounds.

“Personal issues, that’s all.”

You didn’t feel like telling him everything. What would he even do? Try and talk to you to make you feel better? Ask your step family to stop? The idea almost made you want to laugh.

It was pointless anyway. It’s not like Dracula could do anything about your family issues anyway. You even wondered if he would find it amusing how far your clan has fallen from grace.

His eyes flickered to you, and you could practically see the curiosity in his eyes. However, he didn’t speak, simply going back to patching you up.

“I see.”

If only you knew how much Dracula wished to ask you more.

Ever since he had seen you injured, he wanted to destroy whatever had laid its hands on you. At least it wasn’t a random monster he would have to hunt down, though now he had to figure out how to get you to open up.

He couldn’t just go on a warpath without information, after all. Though he had his suspicions.

You telling him it was personal issues only had those suspicions grow.

But this was a step forward. You answered him this time, and gave him means to make deductions. Educated guesses, sure, but he had a starting point.

Right now, he was at least 60% positive it was family or friend related. Presumably family, if he had to make a wager.

You hardly talked about them when he had been a statue, though it was clear from what little you mentioned, you didn’t seem to care for them.

Why was that? What had the Belmont family become? What had they done to you to get your ire?

The only exception seemed to have been your mother, who he figures has passed. A shame, really.

He disliked Belmonts, but you seemed to get your wisdom from her, so she must have been quite the lady.

Dracula had to tread lightly here though. If this was a family matter, it no doubt was messy. As much as he didn’t like to think about it, he knew all too well how badly messy family relationships could end up.

The vampire lord knew he was a powerful player here, considering this was a Belmont of all people. One wrong move on the board could send everything into chaos.

He could lose you, lose your trust, and be thrust back into this needlessly endless struggle between ‘good and evil’.

Bah.

However, he couldn’t not do anything. Your injuries had been horrifying. With how bad they were, and how much you had pushed yourself, you were very lucky to be alive.

There were also the migraines you had mentioned having. He knew they could simply be chronic, but he had a feeling in his stomach that settled like a rock.

Sure, it was just as likely to be from stress from whatever you were dealing with, or from a past injury.

However… He couldn’t help but feel almost anxious. Something wasn’t right.

Hopefully, if he gained more of your trust, you would let him examine you a bit more. He worried that it may not just have been from some injury.

If presumably your family had done this to you, who is to say they weren’t doing more? The feeling in his gut burned, and he had to hold back his eyes from flashing black and red.

A part of him, the darker side to his mind, was snarling. It thrashed, tearing at the edges of his mind wishing to be freed. It was a piece of him that only came out when his wife had passed. A much darker part of his mind that wasn’t human, one that he had to put in effort now to lock away.

That shadow in his mind demanded vengeance. He wouldn’t admit it, not outloud, but he had grown possessive over his Little Belmont. Whoever had hurt you needed to pay. Vlad wouldn’t just let your fire be smothered. He considered you under his protection.

And Dracula was very protective of those he considered his.