#count orlok x female reader

[multific]

The Embrace of Immortality

Count Orlok x Reader

Summary: You wake in Count Orlok’s arms, finding comfort in his cold embrace as night begins, bound by eternal love.

The faint scent of aged wood and cool earth filled your senses as you slowly stirred from sleep. 

After the momentary disorientation, you let out a yawn.

The familiar chill of his presence, contrasted by the warmth of the thick woollen blanket wrapped around you, made you feel safe despite the dark. 

Resting against his chest, you could feel the faint, rhythmic rise and fall of it.

His breathing was deep and some would find it disturbing, but not you.

You have grown to love hearing the sounds he made. After all, every morning, you fell asleep to his breathing. 

You shifted slightly, your cheek brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt. Although he preferred to sleep naked, often he would wear clothing to shield you from the chill of his skin.

You buried your face into his chest as his arm draped over you tightened instinctively. 

He always held you close, even in sleep, as though afraid that if he loosened his grip for a moment, you might vanish.

The coffin beneath you wasn’t cold or confining as you’d once imagined it would be. 

It had become a place of comfort, where the world’s worries could not reach. It was more like a hidden sanctuary. 

A place where you found peace in the embrace of the one you loved most. 

Above you, the lid remained slightly ajar, letting in the last traces of twilight as the day surrendered to night.

You remember the first time you told him you wished to sleep next to him at all times. It worried him, but he had no desire to sleep without you or defy you of your request.

His suggestion to keep the lid slightly ajar was to keep fresh air coming in for you.

Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you turned your eyes upward to study his face. 

He looked peaceful, his pale skin glowing faintly in the fading light. 

“You’re awake early,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, carrying that accent you loved. 

His eyes opened to meet yours.

A soft smile played on your lips. “I can’t seem to sleep long when I’m with you. It’s as if something always draws me back to you even from sleep.”

His expression remained unemotional for a moment, but you knew him well enough to see the slight warmth behind his eyes. 

Slowly, his hand rose to cup your cheek, his cold fingers brushing against your skin in a gesture both familiar and tender. 

“Perhaps it’s because I cannot bear to let you go, even in sleep.”

You lifted your hand, tangling your fingers in his, holding his hand against your cheek. “And I wouldn’t want you to.”

A silence settled between you, comfortable and unbroken by anything beyond the distant wind that whistled through the high castle walls. 

You noticed the way you instinctively put your blanket around him. You smiled at the memory when he told you how silly and unnecessary it was.

After all, he was a creature of the cold. He didn't need a blanket.

But after a while, he gave up telling you about your strange habit. He found it rather endearing.

It was a way for you to show your love for him.

After a moment, you tilted your head slightly, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. 

“Do you ever regret it?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Living in darkness, tied to someone like me?”

He regarded you in silence, eyes glowing faintly in the night. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, a gesture so simple yet so full of meaning. 

“I regret only the centuries I spent without you,” he replied at last. “You are the warmth I never knew I craved, the light I feared but now cannot live without.”

Despite the cold of the night, despite his unnaturally cool touch, you felt an undeniable warmth spreading through your chest.

“You always know what to say,” you whispered, your eyes closing as you leaned into him. “It’s not fair.”

“Fairness is not something the world ever gave me. But I suppose, for once, I have been given something greater.”

The last of the sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, and as night fully descended, the castle came alive with shadows and whispers of the past. 

The vampire who had once terrified you but now meant everything.

He lifted the lid of the coffin and with his powers moved both of you out of it.

He held your blanket on your shoulders, lighting all the candles with one simple movement, waking the castle fully.

With one last kiss to your lips, you began your night with your Count.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[pascaloverx]

MINE

SNEAK PEEK

Summary: You are a journalist working for a modest newspaper, and for several years, you have been in a relationship with Friedrich Harding—a man of inherited wealth who is now embarking on a new venture in real estate renovations. One day, you are assigned to cover the story of a man known as Count Orlok, just as Friedrich is hired to renovate the Count's mansion.

Author's Note: This fanfic takes place in the Nosferatu universe but with several changes. First, it is set in the modern world. Second, instead of the reader being involved with Thomas Hutter, she is with Friedrich Harding. I’m not sure if I will continue the fanfic, so if you enjoy it, please interact and leave a comment. If not, my apologies.

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PREVIEW

A heavy rain reminds you of the night you lost your parents in a terrible car accident. Rainy nights bring back the loneliness that settled in your heart since their passing. You remember begging, on the night after their death, for someone—anyone—to come and keep you company. Someone you would have by your side, no matter what. At times, you recall kneeling by your bed, feeling the wind grow stronger and stronger. Since then, from time to time, a creature visits you in your dreams. You never see it entirely, but you hear it murmur, growling as it whispers your name, appearing only as a shadow behind the curtain.

"Darling!" Friedrich calls from the first floor of the house you share. You stand on the balcony of the master bedroom on the second floor.

"I have incredible news," he says, rushing up the stairs excitedly.

"My love, be careful! The last time you climbed these stairs in such a hurry, you spent two months in a cast," you say, moving toward him. But he is so thrilled that he lifts you off the ground, spinning you in the air.

"I've secured a once-in-a-lifetime work opportunity. This could change everything!" he exclaims, pressing several kisses to your face. You smile, happy for him, while waiting for the right moment to share your own news.

"I'm so happy for you that I almost feel bad for saying this now, but—I’ve been offered the chance to interview a Count. The catch is, it's outside the country. I told my boss I needed to discuss it with you first," you say as he gently sets you down.

"The renovation I'm about to start is also abroad," Friedrich murmurs, cradling your face tenderly. "It seems fate has already decided for us, doesn't it?"

"And what if we are sent to different countries?" you ask, worry creeping into your voice at the thought of being apart for so long.

Friedrich smiles, his gaze warm and reassuring. "I would travel the whole world just to see you," he says before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

For a brief moment, everything feels perfect—until a voice, deep and distinct, murmurs in the distance: "Come to me, sweet creature, come to me." The words slither through the air like an unseen presence pressing against your skin.

You tense, glancing around. "Darling, did you hear that?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Friedrich chuckles softly, leaning closer. "I can only hear my heart pounding for you," he murmurs near your ear. His breath is warm, grounding—but the sensation of another presence remains. The whispering fades, yet something unseen lingers, watching, waiting.

"You are a fool," you say, shaking off the unease as you playfully swat his arm. It is only then that you truly notice his attire—an old-fashioned ensemble, carefully tailored, complete with a hat that makes him look like he stepped out of another era. Your brows furrow. "And what exactly is this outfit?"

He turns slightly, adjusting the fabric with an air of pride. "The client wants us to dress like this when we visit his estate for the renovation," he explains, flashing a charming grin.

"You are quite the sight for sore eyes," you say, stepping closer and pulling him into a lingering kiss.

Friedrich laughs softly. "It’s amusing, really, that we’re both going to work for a Count." He pauses for a moment, as if trying to recall something. "Actually, my client has the strangest name… sounds like a clock, wait—"

"Orlok?" you interject, the name slipping from your lips before you even realize it.

Friedrich snaps his fingers. "Yes! That’s it—Count Orlok. Strange name, isn't it?"

A cold shiver runs through you. The name feels eerily familiar, as if it had been whispered to you in a dream. You glance toward the window, where the heavy rain distorts the world beyond. For a fleeting moment, you swear you see a shadow shifting behind the curtain—tall, gaunt, and unnervingly still. Friedrich, unaware of your unease, chuckles. "I suppose it adds to the mystery. Who knows what kind of man he is?"

You try to force a smile, though your mind lingers on the voice from earlier. "Come to me, sweet creature, come to me."

"The strangest thing is that we are both going to work for him," you say, shivering slightly as Friedrich's lips trail along your neck.

"All I hear is that I'll be with my beloved—traveling, working, and stealing every possible moment together," he murmurs before capturing your lips in another kiss.

In one swift motion, he lifts you into his arms, making you laugh softly before carrying you to the bedroom. Later, as you lie entwined in Friedrich's arms, sleep slowly claims you. But in the depths of your slumber, something else stirs.

"In the darkness, we meet again, my sweet creature," a voice—inhuman, neither fully man nor beast—echoes through the void.

"Who are you?" you ask, but your breath falters. The air is thick, heavy, suffocating, as if your lungs refuse to obey.

A shadow, faceless and towering, lifts its clawed hands toward you. Every instinct screams at you to run, to scream—but instead, you step forward, drawn by something far beyond fear.

"Come to me," it commands, and before you can resist, its grip closes around your throat. The claws nearly pierce your skin, and a sharp pain spreads across your neck as you feel the warm trickle of blood.

Then, the creature moves closer, its presence overwhelming. Cold lips press against your skin, and an unnatural stillness fills the air. A shiver runs through your spine as you feel sharp teeth sinking into your flesh, puncturing the delicate skin of your throat. The sensation is excruciatingly real—so vivid that you can feel the slow pull as your blood is drained.

A wave of agony crashes over you, unbearable and all-consuming. The pain burns through your veins, twisting deep into your core until— you jolt awake, gasping. Your hand flies to your neck, your pulse racing beneath your trembling fingers. The pain lingers, phantom yet undeniable. The room is dark, silent except for Friedrich’s steady breathing beside you.

[morgue-friends]

"A Maiden's Token" | Count Orlok x Female! Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, count orlok is his own warning, blood kink, penis in vagina sex, sexual tension, creampie, oral (f receiving), death is mentioned, no aftercare, reader probably has stock-holm syndrome.

Fourteen days, that's how long you've been here. That's how long you've been left on your own every daybreak and then expected to entertain death itself every evening. As the sunset on the snowy horizon, you made your way back into the castle, dragging your tattered dress by what remained left of it through the snow. Upon entry, you were shocked to see that the fireplace was still lit. Occasionally, it would flicker out during sunset as if the castle consciously knew a force of darkness would be awakening.

With a sigh, you lifted your dress and dropped down by the fireplace suddenly out of breath. Maybe it was the consistent blood loss or the freezing temperatures of the European mountains that you were succumbing to. As far as you knew, he hadn't given you any reason to believe that you'd have an extended stay at the castle. At the end of the day, your chances of reaching the next morning relied solely on the temperament of a man. Your mother had taught you well enough about men to know that when they get bored, they tend to move on.

You felt the presence of tears threatening to depart from your eyes as you thought of your poor mother. She must be so worried and heartbroken. Ever since the two of you arrived in Europe after leaving America, her overprotectiveness of you has grown enormously. When you told her of a Count from a neighboring country requesting your services for painting a self-portrait of him within his own castle, she warned you against going and you decided to shelve away her concerns as mere fairytales. You gripped the silver locket necklace hanging around your neck for security and sighed. Your mother had gifted you this locket on your most recent birthday, and holding it helped you think of all your fondest memories with her.

Now, here you sit, sleep deprived and undernourished. He left you only bread, some grapes, wine, and a bucket of water. You were thankful for the water as you refused to be inebriated in your current situation. It was almost shocking to see he had the decency to have the water refilled each day, but you knew it was only because he'd hate to let his food source run dry.

Suddenly, you were startled when you heard the pouring of wine into a goblet behind you. You hadn't even heard him ascend up the stairs of the castle, and yet there he was in his full glory at the head of the dining table. Now, whether he did ascend the stairs and walk right past you or he simply just appeared at the table was something only god himself would know.

"You have been crying." The Count's thick accent hung heavy in the air, his voice sending a rippling wave of goosebumps over your skin. The tone of his voice was accusatory and not at all sympathetic. Even with English clearly not being his first language, you could hear his overwhelming disappointment. Over the two weeks he's kept you here his English had somewhat improved either by hearing you speak it whether you were asking to excuse yourself to find somewhere to use the bathroom in the empty bucket he gave you. Or from your begging and pleading for him to just let you go home.

Your cold hands desperately wiped the tears from your eyes, and you stood to your feet. He watched you approach the elegant dining table, and you took your seat as far as you could away from him. It was painfully obvious that this night would go just about the same as every other night. You two would intensely stare at eachother while you'd ate your bread for dinner, he'd make you get up and walk to the guest bedroom where he'd make you strip naked and feed from you and then you'd pass out from the pain and awake in the morning to the Count missing and nowhere to be found.

It wasn't even like he needed to feed from you. From your understanding, as he explained it, he'd go into the nearby village and 'have his fill' after he had siphoned a small amount from you. It made you feel like some kind of appetizer or twisted desert for him to be keeping you alive this long. Even with his figure shrouded in darkness, you could still tell by his posture that he was growing impatient with waiting for you to finish your 'dinner'. It was almost like the flickering flame of every candle avoided his very figure as if the fire itself was scared of this entity.

When you finally finished, you stood up from the table and waited till he rose from his seat before you allowed him to lead you to the guest room. You had gotten so used to his grotesque heavy breathing that when he suddenly stopped, the silence was deafening.

"You are crying again." At least when he said it this time, he sounded somewhat amused. It was like he knew that you've accepted your fate and that there wasn't anything you or god could do about it. The door to the guest room opened slowly without him having to touch the handle, and you stepped inside, fingers already loosening the ties of your corseted dress. "Forgive my tears, my Lord." You cringed at the title you gave him. Of course, an entity this dark would be so egotistical to have you address him as a Lordship. You had wondered if this kind of evil was something that would come from inside someone or from the beyond.

"Why would I need to forgive such fragility? You are a human girl. It is in your nature to be weak and fragile." A vein could have popped in your forehead, and you wouldn't have even known it. His words made you seethe and boil with anger, you had to bite your tongue so hard not to say anything that would get him to eviscerate you on the spot.

"Ah, there she is, my cochetă, my minx, be angry so that all your blood may flow freely." Your body winced at the nickname he gave you. He had called you it frequently rather than your real name. Even when you had unknowingly signed away yourself to him in a contract, he addressed you only by 'cochetă' which he explained was romanian for Minx since you weren't at all fluent with the language yet. You dropped your dress and undergarments off in a chair away from that bed so that you may spare it from any more trauma. After taking your seat on the bed, you draped the blood-stained blanket over your shoulders in an attempt at making you feel like you haven't soiled your modesty.

"I have seen all you have to offer. You will not hide from my eyes." With in an instant, you removed the blanket, not from your own will but because he compelled you to do so. Another tear fell down the side of your face, and this one he wiped away with the side of one of his long pointed nails. Your head fell back onto the mattress, and the Count leaned over you and dropped his face to below your exposed left breast. His breath against your skin felt like ice, and you shut your eyes in order to brace for the pain that never came.

Instead of the feeling of two fanged teeth penetrating your heart, you felt the knuckle of one of his fingers brush against your clit and your back arched. Your eyes widened, and you sat up to meet his stare. There he stood, completely unafflicted by your reaction. In fact, it was almost as if you were the one who did something wrong. Impulsively, a heat pooled in your lower abdomen, it's warmth radiating down your legs. You squeezed your eyes shut in hopes to catch your breath and calm yourself down. What he did to you was only causing a natural response from your body, and you had no control over such responses.

Nonetheless, you still felt the urge to mentally shame yourself for being a such sinful whore who's body responds like that to the touch of something - someone so heinous. It was almost as if the devil himself had cursed you with such blasphemy with the way your nipples hardened to a peak and your thighs squeezed together, trying to prevent you losing yourself to sin any further.

You didn't even open your eyes back up when you felt his cold hand grab a hold of one of your thighs, you were then pulled further down the mattress closer to the edge of the bed and to him. A hand that was so cold that it felt like it was devoid of any life and any warmth worked it way up your chest and grabbed one of your breasts. You bit your lip to hold back a gasp when the peak of your nipple was rubbed back and forth by his thumb. It wasn't until you felt the contact of his mouth around one of your nipples that your eyes shot wide open.

You looked down to see that he had your left breast peaked in his mouth while he suckled on your nipple. Your body betrayed you once again, and that heat you were feeling at your core seemed to grow much hotter. A swipe of his cold tongue against your nipple made you look down again, and you got a good look at the head of the man doing this to you. He had since discarded his hat in the dining room, and now you have a much closer look at the spirit you were dealing with. The back of his head was rotten and decayed even under the several thin tufts of brown hair on his head. It felt like you were looking at a corpse of a man that should have been locked far away in a coffin in the depths of hell.

You weren't even paying attention when a hand parted your thighs and brought attention back to your clit, he pulled back the hood and started rubbing slow deliberate circles around it, being mindful of his claws. He switched to your right breast, and at this point, there was no use controlling your gasps and whimpers anymore. He was so gentle with you. Maybe this was foreshadowing that tonight would be the night he'd finally get rid of you, and this was just him rubbing salt in the wounds and making the evening last as long as possible. He'd never touched your nether regions before, but when he fed from the blood of your heart, he'd often rub his hands around your waist as if he was mockingly consoling you the way a lover would.

The hairs of his thick mustache tickled your nipple and you weren't ready for when he dragged downward a long lick from your breast, to over your stomach and then finally stopping at the mound between your legs. You exhaled deeply when he resumed and dragged his blackened tongue down your slit, getting a taste of your wetness in his mouth. This wasn't something you should be enjoying, just the symphony of approving noises that left your lips made you feel appalled with yourself. It wasn't until you felt his lips lock around your clit that you became heavy lidded and utterly defeated.

You settled with the idea that he's being so cautious with you because he's going to make you reap what you sowed when it was time for him to experience his own pleasure. And regardless of how good he made you feel in this very moment, you still hated him. He tricked and imprisoned you in this hellish imitation of a castle. He left you alone and unattended during the day, allowing a pack of wolves to ensure you never take your leave. It was because of him that your mother was a several weeks journey away, worried sick about you, and you weren't even sure if you'd ever see her again.

You were on the verge of crying again until he rose to his feet, his figure demanding your full attention. His clawed hands fiddled with the buttons of his trousers, and your breath hitched. The hefty fur cape he wore would frequently would drape over his frame and seculde him in almost total darkness. You never knew what his daily wear looked like since he seemed content in hiding in the shadows of your vision only to reveal slightly more of himself to you when he fed from your body. What came to your vision when he glanced back at you was the erect bulbous head of his cock. It was engorged and jutted upward toward the ceiling as if it demanded your gaze on it.

He crept closer to you, staring intensely as if trying to gauge your state of mind, trying to see whether you were going to fight or flee. Instead, you just allowed your head to fall back onto the mattress. It was pointless to do either of those, and deep down in the darker realms of your subconscious, this behavior from him was welcomed. When the head of his thick member prodded at your entrance, your breath hitched, and you closed your eyes tightly.

Instead of thrusting inside, he thrusted his shaft upward, dragging it along your slit to coat himself in your wetness. When the shaft slid up against your clit you couldn't help but mewl out, still feeling that knot in your lower belly that was just waiting to be undone. When he finally seized the moment to thrust inside you, your eyes shot open, burning and stinging with tears. The Count let out what sounded like an inhuman hiss as his length seeped into your heat, inch by inch. The stretch was almost unbearable. It felt like you were being split right down the middle into two halves of yourself, and you weren't sure what half you pitied more. Your mouth opened to make a noise, but nothing came out. Such an intrusion of this nature left your throat speechless and strained. He pulled his hips back, and a clawed hand shot up to your face and held you in place upon his re-entry.

Those pointed nails of his were so sharp it felt like you had needles digging into your skin. Beads of red came into your vision dripping down your face from how much pressure those thick claws of his put into your flesh. When you tried to snatch your face away from his hand, he only pulled out and thrust into you more harshly. The squelching noise your cunt made around his length felt nothing short of sinful. To your disbelief, you learned he still had more of his shaft left to give you when he pushed himself further inward to the hilt. The thick head of his cock struck your cervix like hammer and a painful cramping sensation followed behind it. He hummed a noise of satisfaction as if he was he was impressed you were able to take all of him to the hilt.

Your breasts bounced on your chest when he roughly pulled out entirely only to shove himself back in. You gave a whine in response, and it was only then that he had seemingly guaged a fine line of pleasure and pain for you. Adjusting himself, he started up a pace of feverent rutting that made your legs tremble pitifully around his waist. The pressure of his hand on your face left when he leaned over to get a taste of the clotted blood that dotted across your forehead. His body was so much larger than your own that he had to contort himself over you to be able to taste the crimson he created and be able to continue his rutting.

The frequent movement of your body from the impact of his hips against yours was beginning to loosen that knot you felt in your belly. Your moans grew louder, and so did the beating of your heart against your rib cage. Inducing this creature to feed from you because your heart enticed him was the last thing you needed right now. The pace of his thrusts harshened, and so did the primal look he had in his eyes. Having him over you and staring at you like this, as if he were a lion and you were a weak gazelle soon to be eaten. For such an entity of darkness, he had such expressive eyes, sometimes they were so black you could see your reflection. Sometimes, they were so white and cloudy, you'd wonder where he had come from, heaven, hell, or neither.

"Please..." You weren't quite sure what you were begging for, but in your heart, it felt like it was for release. Release from the built-up pressure in your belly, release from the castle, or even release from life itself. Your hand reached up, and you cupped the flesh of his face. His skin was so cold, so rotten, and yet there was a feeling of life as if there was perhaps a soul present, but you knew better. There wasn't any life within him, as he was death itself. There was no soul within him, as he claimed the souls of others.

The closer his body, his cock, brought you to this peak of of pleasure that you pleaded for, the wider the smile grew on your face. A smile that didn't go unnoticed as his lips claimed the skin of your neck in what felt like possessive kisses. Perhaps this union of flesh solidified the extent of your stay at the castle through your own submission and your yield to the power he had over you. Those kisses trailed up to your own lips, and you tasted death from his mouth to yours. You tasted your own blood from him, and you tasted his hatred and his darkness, and yet you no longer had fear for it. With a painful clench of your walls, you came undone, your release washing over you in thick waves.

The spasming, clenching, and squeezing of your canal made the already deep and ragged breaths he took erratic, as did his rutting a few quick snaps of his hips and you felt a spurt of cold fluid inside you. The chill of it rose up your spine as it felt as if death itself had released into you. A deep animalistic growl vibrated off of the stone walls around you and bounced around in your skull. When he removed himself from you, you felt the remainder of his spent coat your inner thighs.

You looked away as you sat up on your own elbows, trying to balance yourself, and when you looked up, expecting to meet the eyes of a starving beast, you were met with an empty room. He had left you, spared you even. You couldn't imagine the type of carnage and havoc he'd wreak upon those villagers tonight. Reaching up to clutch your necklace for security and your hands found nothing but skin. He was gone and had taken your necklace with him. He took it as if you had bestowed upon him the honor of having a maiden's token.

[taintandviolent]

that which terrifies ; Count Orlok x Reader

summary: You're a housemaid who is sent away by her employer to an estate nestled deep in the Carpathian mountains. On the first night, your dreams become very bizarre, and you are no longer so sure of your purpose at the Castle.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.7K | female reader, smut, period cunnilingus, vampire coercion, invasion of privacy, scent kink, technically dubious consent and somnophilia (cos Orlok likes to touch when reader is sleeping and it gets a little blurred there), blood mention, decay mention, monsters, vampires,, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering), possession kink.

a/n: I feel like I should apologize in advance because this one feels weirder than my last one. again, you either get it you don't. nevertheless, I hope it is as good! thank you for reading if you do!!! MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

With a sharp crack of a whip and a high-pitched whinny, you are alone.

It’s snowing when you arrive. You look back down the pathway, unable to see the carriage any longer; the flurries obscure your vision. The coach that brought you to the looming doors of the entrance is long gone, as is the safety of it. The only sound that can be heard amongst the deafening silence of snow is the fading squeak of hinges and the clip clop of the horses’ hooves as they return home, wherever that may be… far away from this dreadful castle. As you gaze skywards, looking up at the castle, you wrap your shawl around your frail shoulders, shuddering. There is something that roils in your stomach like a malady, twisting and turning your insides until they ache so. Foreboding…

You had been sent here by your employer, a ruthless man who lacked any empathy, only possessed an insatiable greed for fortune. He had requested that you be sent away, to tend to a man who resided deep in the Carpathian Mountains. He had a large estate – a castle in every sense of the word – and needed it maintained. Your darling mother fretted the entire night, feeling as though it was an unwise and dangerous proposition; a young, unmarried woman going into the dark and cursed woods of Transylvania, forced so under the pretenses of mere employment. Though, you had been promised riches. This man, Count Orlok, would reward you handsomely for your duties. Or so it was said. 

At first glance, the looming castle provides no welcome, nor does it beckon you inside. Though, the longer you stare, shivering in the snow like a lost child, the more inviting it becomes. As fearsome and ominous as it is, you know that within those stone walls, lies a comfort, a warmth of some kind. Another person to provide company. 

With footsteps crunching down into the snow, you approach the doors. Your fist raises to the doors, poised to knock as hard as you can to alert the occupant that you’ve arrived. As you do, your knuckles pounding against the wood but once, both the doors swing open slowly, revealing a grand, but barren, courtyard. White blankets everything, obscuring any foliage that might have greeted you.

“Hello?” Your voice is swallowed up by the snow. 

All at once, you hear scampering beside you, accompanied by a huff of breath from something and quickly pivot around, clutching your breast. When you turn back around, you’re met with a startling visual; a tall, intriguing silhouette, stands near another entryway. He’s stock still, the only movement is that of the furs that he wears, which blow delicately in the wind. After a moment, he turns, and disappears into another open door. 

“Sir! Please, I beg of thee, wait for me!” Gripping your satchel in one hand and holding your shawl shut with the other, you hurry behind him, praying to get out of the biting cold. He does not wait for you. 

Once inside, the castle provides little reprieve. It, too, is bitterly cold; the stone walls have absorbed the chill of the winter and seem to radiate out onto anyone who dares pass by, like long fingers, reaching out to pilfer any warmth that passes. 

The staircase is dark, staggeringly so. It curls around a column, trailing ever upwards. He is gone from your line of sight, until you climb the last step, and enter the main room. It is dark, save for a robust fire that consumes the left hand side of the room, drenching it in warmth. Dropping your belongings, you hurry over to it and quickly stretch your palms towards the glow, the heat licking at your frigid fingertips. 

Casting your glance over your shoulder, he stands near the table. You hum quietly to yourself, and turn back to the fire. 

“Count Orlok…” you start, your voice feeble. You stare at him now, desperately trying to discern his features. Though he is unmoving as he watches you, the shadows which dance across his face obscure him. You swallow.  “Pardon my –” 

“Thy lord…!” he bellows, startling you. Despite the volume, his voice was low, deeper than any man’s voice. It was almost a growl, carnal and demanding obedience. You dare not defy him, not when he sounds as such. You furrow your brow to the fire, looking deep into the flames to hide your shame.  

“My lord,” you started again. “I mean not to offend. I was only going to ask you to pardon my urgency in coming to the fire, I fear I may have caught my death had I been out in the storm any longer.” 

“You,” he booms, his voice seeming to vibrate the air around you. He gestures, extending his long fingers towards the table. “...are weak with hunger… eat.” 

You glance apprehensively at the expansive feast behind you; fruits, roasted meats, breads. It was enough to satisfy several men. “Are you not… not joining me, my lord? Surely, this is too great for my appetite.” 

“…I shall sate myself… later….” 

His response serves as nothing but confusion to you, for it is nightfall. Perhaps, you think, you are not accustomed to the habits of the area. You turn your attention back to the table; you are unable to deny the gnawing in your belly, and the enticing aroma of the food calls to your hunger, seducing you with promises of a full stomach, and a delightful, food-induced sleep. You get to your feet and approach one the chair, carefully setting yourself down upon it, smoothing out your petticoats as you do.

Wordlessly, you reach forward, plucking a single piece of fruit from the plate. Its glossy skin glistens underneath the flickering candlelight, and as you bring the succulent fruit to your mouth, its sweet nectar coats your tongue. You hum happily, and savor the taste, rolling it around on your tongue before gnashing it up with your teeth. Next, you reach for the fork that sits at the plate’s edge, and pierce the flesh of a morsel of meat. It’s tender; the prongs of the fork giving way, and the intoxicating aroma of herbs and spices fill your nose. 

Though the food is delicious, it does little to distract you from the fact that you’re being watched. The Count sits across from you, his presence an ominous shadow that threatens to swallow you whole. You chew once, twice, and raise your gaze to his. It’s dark and envelops you like an embrace, one you cannot deny. 

“My lord,” You say, swallowing the remainder of the meat. “Pray tell, who cooked this delicious meal? I was told that you resided here by thineself, hence your need for a ma–.” 

Before you can finish speaking, his words slice through the space between you. “No… more questions. Eat.” 

“I was only –” 

“Hush now. You are too weary to have such… conversations.” 

His words rang true; you were exhausted from the journey and the food was only increasing your fatigue. Now, with a full belly, you felt the first, soothing touches of sleep running its fingers through your tresses, beckoning you closer. You stifle a yawn, not wanting to appear rude in your present company. 

“I long to become familiar with you, my lord. I have many questions… but perhaps, I’ll rest…” You say as you wander over to the fire, longing for its warmth once more. You fold yourself to the floor, resting your arms and head on the seat of the ornate wooden chair that sits in front of it. “If only just for a moment.” 

With the crackle of the fire lulling you away, it isn’t long before the drowsiness takes you, your form drooping slightly in the chair as you nod off. It is not a restful sleep, however; it is a disturbed slumber, filled with bizarre dreams that feel like waking nightmares. 

Shadows claim your body and soul as you sleep, drifting farther and farther away from your consciousness. Slender, phantom fingers graze over your heartbeat, feeling it, tasting it with physical touch, and they graze the fullness of your breasts. Lingering touches chill every inch of your flesh; your neck, between your legs, and along the length of your arms. You dream of being intertwined eternally, though if asked, you couldn’t explain what that meant. Pain, braided with throngs of indescribable pleasure. 

You aren’t sure how long you sleep, but awake when the sun’s rays reach through a nearby window. You stretch your limbs as far as they’ll go, the muscles shaking with exertion. Then, unexpectedly, your palm flattens atop a cotton pillowcase, the tips of your toes feel sheets beneath them. A bed. The fire, you think. I fell asleep at the fire. He must’ve carried you to bed in the night – a thought that, while somewhat comforting in its thoughtfulness, concerns you. You remember not the feelings of him cradling you in his arms, carrying you to bed like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. You remember not the feelings of being tucked in like a child, delicate and small. But you remember your dreams. 

Pleasures that capture your sleeping body, controlling it so that you thrash and turn on your bed. Long, slender fingers ghosting over your jawline, desperately twitching to pull your mouth into a bruising kiss. The overwhelming scent of Earth, the irony scent of blood, paired with a sickly scent that you can’t place. Stinging pains as the shadow in your room consumes you. Whispers of promises, of ownership, of eternities. Things that you cannot comprehend, but wish to agree to willingly.

Your eyes open fully, having now adjusted to the light. The realization dawns on you; your lewd dreams had been about your new employer, the mysterious man who had only insisted you eat. Knowing not what time it is, you quickly throw the covers from your form, and get to your feet. You’re still clothed, but the buttons on the front of you are peculiarly undone. Your fingers work fastidiously to redo them, before you cross the small room to the door. 

Hurrying down the stairs, you return to the once warm dining room, now flush with sunlight, but still freezing. The fire has burned itself out, and the table remains full of food. The meat has likely spoiled, but the fruit and bread… You eye them both hungrily. 

“My lord?” You call out into the emptiness as your heart pounds in your chest, a staccato rhythm against your ribcage. You wait… but nothing comes, no response, nor sound. Satisfied that you are alone, you rush to the table, hurriedly taking up a piece of bread and some of the fruit. You scarf it down in a very unladylike fashion, but no guilt taints your urgency; you’ll need energy to do your duties. 

As you chew, you decide to meander some, and still, fail to find the Count. Your exploration yields very little aside from the discovery that this castle looks all but abandoned in the daytime. At night, at least there is a fire in the hearth to tell stories of the living craving warmth, but during the day… It is nothing but emptiness. The castle itself is so vast, so decrepit, that you have a hard time navigating it without feeling like you’re running yourself in circles. Most everything looks the same, and frustratingly, most of the doors are locked, try as you may to enter them. How is one intended to clean if they do not have access? 

~

After several hours of cleaning to the best of your ability; sweeping up leaves and dusting away long abandoned cobwebs that hung in the recesses, you pause to wipe your brow, and in doing so, catch a glimpse of the setting sun. Like an overripe fruit, it hangs heavy atop the silhouette of the castle, and disappears, sinking into the horizon as you watch it. Has it been that long? Or had you originally slept much longer than you’d thought? 

Gradually, the castle is submerged in darkness. You hum to yourself, retrieving the rag from the floor and return to the main room. The visual before is laid out as it was the night prior and you are equally as perplexed. 

The fire roars once again, and the Count, with his tall, menacing silhouette, stands in front of it. As soon as your foot hits the last step, he turns, gripping his fur coat at the side. His fingers seem to go on forever, only lengthened by his sharp, pointed nails. You bring your hands to your lap, shifting nervously.

“You have been hard at work, I see…” 

“I… yes, my lord. Though, most of the rooms are locked. Might I have access –” 

“No.” He says lowly, curtly. There is an unsaid warning, discouraging any persistence.

“My lord…” You quiver, fighting against your own nerves. “Might I ask… what is my purpose here then? If not to clean thy castle… why for?”

He is suddenly beside you, his tall frame dwarfing yours. “You will… provide me… company.” 

Your heart squeezes within your chest, tight, as though his hand had reached through your skin and gripped it with all his might. The rag drops from your grasp, falling to the stone floor silently.

“I’m afraid I don’t… I don’t understand.” 

But you do. You understand that you were sent here under a falsehood, an arrangement disguised as employment. As you recollect, the terms in which you were sent away were very sudden, very demanding and very specific – he had requested a young unmarried woman. You thought it to avoid any incessant mail, perhaps, but realize, the reason is far more personal. 

“Fret not,” he says, his fingers reaching up to brush across the warmth of your cheek. They are cold to the touch, frigid even, and you shudder underneath the gesture. His dark eyes suddenly seem to widen, his nostrils flaring. As he inhales sharply, he dips closer to you, his claws reaching towards your clothed hips. 

All at once, his long arms wrap around you, seizing you, pulling you into a desperate, hunger-driven embrace. He tastes your flesh, licking from the nape of your neck to the hollow between your full breasts. It is not tender, nor is it heartfelt. It is insatiable, it is dark, yet… your supple frame melts into his grip, allowing him to support your wilting body in his grasp. 

You feel the edge of his nails gently caress your body, fingers wrapping around the flesh of your arm with their length. Your lids flutter as his mouth nears your ear, his labored breathing hissing into the tight space between the two of you.

Deep between your legs, an incessant want pools. It is hot, greedy, and coils in your stomach like a venomous serpent. Your lids grow heavy with need. Above you, Orlok nears ever closer, dipping down until the bridge of his nose presses into your sternum. He inhales deeply, as though inhaling your very essence. He makes a sound akin to the low, warning growl of a wolf, though it’s tinged with something far more satisfied.

“That which terrifies you….” his full-bodied voice snarls above you, consuming you. “....pleases you.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize what he’s just done, what provoked such a bold claim from his lips. He had smelled your blossoming state, your throbbing arousal and inhaled deep into the confines of his very lungs. No man has ever done such a thing, and the thought leaves you reeling, shuddering in his grip. Because, you know… he is no man. 

“My lord,” you whisper. “I… I…” 

“Speak,” he urges, his voice thickened with lust, with hunger. You can feel his breath upon your breast, upon the exposed column of your neck. He nears closer. 

“I cannot! My words fail me, my lord… I know not what I speak of… what I feel deep within my chest.” 

He growls, considering that for a brief moment, before speaking again. “Your body speaks loud enough.”                                                                                                              

With your breath catching in your mouth, you quickly utter your next words. “I think I may retire… early this evening, my lord. I feel faint.” 

“If you are… unwell, it would be in your best interest to do so.” His words are strung together so laboriously, punctuated by wheezing breaths and his heavy accent. You swallow again, looking up into his unimaginably dark eyes. There is a hunger there, a flash of something that frightens, but moreso, arouses you, and you gasp, turning quickly on your heels, heading back up the nearby steps. “I bid thee goodnight!”  

You run down the corridors as though he is pursuing you. Hunting you. And as soon as you are in the safety of the room that he once carried you into, you shut the door, collapsing against the back of it. You pant, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but you cannot ignore the clawing lust that you feel.

You dress yourself in your nightgown, and quickly get into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as though that is some ward, some protection from the shadows which plague you. As before, it is not long before the warmth carries you off to sleep, the comfort of the bed acting as a tranquilizer for your nerves.

The dreams come again, wrapping themselves around your body and cradling you in their enticing embrace. They are heavy, like the weight of a lover atop of you, and they ghost along your legs, trailing along the curve of your thigh. You whimper, taking fistfuls of the sheets.

“I beg of thee… please…” you murmur, sleepily. Still, it is a call, a beckoning, and the shadow in your dream heeds it. Immediately. 

You shift, kicking your legs and thrashing your head to the side, whimpering pitiably in your slumber. The sheets are cold and seem to cling to your thighs, bringing you no comfort and do not free themselves when you move your legs. There is a pressure, a pulling deep between your legs. You whine again, bucking your hips. Against something.

Your eyes snap open, your body jerking with unimaginable arousal. The first thing you see is the ceiling, decorated with shadows and uncertainty. The second thing is that your nightgown is pushed up to your waist, exposing your lower half to the chill of the room. The third, and perhaps the most startling, is that Count Orlok is nestled between your thighs, his lengthy fingers gripping your hips tightly, not fazed by the rocking of them as you feel, feel deeply, what he is doing. He pulls you closer, and you immediately feel his cool tongue as it laps at your center. He swallows loudly, wetly, and you immediately smell the harsh, irony scent of blood. As he gulps, you feel an ungodly pulling sensation, as though the essence is being drained from between your legs.

Realizing, you yelp and push your hips into the mattress, pulling his mouth from your cunt with a slick sound. His mouth chases you, but in the second in which the moonlight hits his angular face, you see that the lower half is coated in blood. You wince, and tighten your grip on the sheets. You had heard stories as a child of a mystical, monstrous creature… strigoi, nosferatu, vampyres… many names for one being you’d never thought you’d meet. And certainly not in this way. But you realize, as his mouth hovers over your core, his cool, wheezing breath washing over you, you do not want him to stop. The nerves, the anxiety, it had all been because his aura had captivated you, called out to you like a beacon in the storm. 

“Give thyself to me…”

You nod once, unable to hide your true nature. Your hand drifts to his bare, decaying shoulder, urging him back between your legs. Orlok’s tongue snakes out once again, delving deep into your entrance and lapping up the viscous fluid that leaks from it. You nestle back against the pillow, allowing yourself to feel everything, to drown in the sensations. It is unclean, monstrous but you cannot contain your cries, the lascivious sound echoing off the stone walls. Your hips continue bucking into his mouth, your hand gripping his aged flesh with all the power you have left.

He laps at your cunt, starved for the sanguine nectar mixed with your sweet arousal, and your body quivers and shudders with each pass of his tongue. You feel the sharp points of his fangs grazing your swollen clit, a teasing, dangerous feeling. You dig your nails into his cool flesh, pulling him closer still and you feel that serpent return, coiling around itself until it threatens to burst. 

“Pl-please… my lord…! I’m… I feel as though I might…!” But he does not relinquish his feasting, nor does he slow. 

Your body seizes up, muscles spasming as your back arches desperately, the fire of your orgasm reaches a peak, crashing over you like waves on a shore. Your hips buck violently up into his greedy, hungering mouth, crying out. 

Finally, as the pulsing subsides betwixt your thighs, he is above you, lowering himself down upon your breast. His lithe fingers spread apart the pieces of your nightgown, exposing your skin to his waiting mouth. A white, hot lance of pain erupts over your sternum as his teeth puncture the waiting flesh there, the ache sprawling its stinging tendrils down the length of your arms and to your fingertips.

You gasp, your pupils dilating. The feeling is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, and you know, unlike anything you’ll ever experience again – a feeling, a craving that only he can sate. The room is filled with your weakening moans and the slick, gulping sound of Orlok as he drinks from you. Your menstruations were not enough, and yet, neither was a singular orgasm. Your hips writhe with a desperate plea, though he is too far buried between your breasts. 

A dark cloudiness rings the edge of your vision. No… not sleep. Not now…. I beg of thee…

The world fades from your grasp, like water through thine fingers, the only sensation is that of your skin chilling, paling as he drinks your sweet, warm blood. 

“M-my lord…”

[prose-for-hire]

Hellraiser

Pairing: Spike x anxious!fem!reader

Request: hello hello i have a prompt for you if you're interested-- for a spike x anxious fem!reader ficlet, with said reader being a horror movie fan and teasingly comparing spike to movie monsters/vampires to his ire

Requested by: anon

A/N: I’m more than happy to write more shy and anxious readers if anyone wants to request any more !! 💖

You were a horror fanatic. Any part of the genre, gore, supernatural, anything and you were already setting up the popcorn and turning off the landline so a serial killer couldn’t interrupt your viewing.

Most people expected you to hate horror, because you were an anxious person. But in fact, they were often the way that you coped. When you were enthralled in a piece of media you were distracted as much as you could be from the current worry plaguing your mind. The chill of the scene before you encapsulating your attention rather than unwanted thoughts that threatened to creep from the back of your mind.

You had walked in that evening, looking a little washed out. Spike could tell it was one of your worse days as your hands had been trembling slightly and you appeared to be stuck in your own mind. You had been his girlfriend for several years now so he knew what you needed when you were feeling like this. He moved to grab a stack of horror flicks that he had on hand just in case of this very scenario and offered you to pick some. He was willing to stay in all night and make sure you were okay, hoping you might fall asleep and give yourself some respite from your anxiety.

Sometimes you spoke about it and sometimes you didn’t straight away, but either way he was there for you. He took a soft blanket to wrap you in, bundling you up and sliding an arm on the headrest behind you. The film started and he spoke softly, commenting on the film and trying to help draw out the worry from your mind.

“Hello, what am I the invisible-bloody-man? Are you listening?” he asked eventually noting your eyes now weren’t moving from the tv, his soft chiding trying to keep it light for you.

“This is a good bit” You whisper, “But good reference” you praised him, kissing him on the nose and making him roll his eyes. You kissed him on the forehead distractedly before turning back to your video.

You yawn, becoming extremely tired now you were able to relax.

“Rest, pet… you look like you need it” He said softly, his voice dropped into such a soothing tone when he spoke to you like this. You could listen to him reading the phonebook and never get tired of it, it could be so relaxing. He knew you well, you became exhausted from some of your anxieties and as you rested against him, your eyes closing as the screams from the tv peaked his attention. He pulled you so that your back was resting against his chest. He dropped his voice again, telling you he’d still be there while you were dreaming. Telling you not to fight the sleep you so needed.

“What are you - Freddy Kreuger? You better not haunt my dreams” You giggle, eyes still closed as you melted into his chest, the contact making you both hum contentedly. But this didn’t last, Spike couldn’t resist.

“Watch your mouth, pet… the fangs aren’t just for show” you opened your eyes and faced him, he flashed his game face at you making you shove his shoulder away from you jokingly as you shifted onto the seat beside him on the couch.

“Okay, Dracula I get it I get it – you vant to suck my blood” you say in a horrific mock Dracula accent, your fingers curling into claws as he raised an eyebrow.

“Oi what did I bloody tell you about that ponce?”

“I know, I know. If I see him I have to ask for his wallet before I stake him” you say, getting up and looking through the stack of videos to select the next flick.

“Too bloody right - that’s my girl” he nodded, the ghost of a frown still on his face.

“If you don’t like being compared to Dracula, can you settle for Count Orlok?” You smiled, aware of his distaste.

“Oh, bloody brilliant – the budget Dracula” he muttered, clearly getting a little more annoyed, “Doesn’t bloody speak and has a right bloody face on the bugger” You smiled at exaggerated sigh, wrapping your arms around his middle and looking up at him as you lay your head on his chest. You smile softly, enjoying the comfort you feel from him. Even when he was sulking, he always wrapped an arm around you. Making sure you were cared for, happy, even despite the way you could tease him about his immortality.

“Your face is always bloody too.. except that’s not what you meant” You backtracked as he rasied an eyebrow, not able to stop smiling at his face, “Well, I could have always called you Frankenstein’s monster”

“That would make you the bride, love” he muttered, your eyes widening.

“W-what-? A-are you asking?” You said straight-faced, but a little grin appeared on your face at his panicked look. A soft giggle at his panic signalling that you had been messing with him.

“Bloody Hellraiser, ain’t you love?” He said, kissing your forehead.

“As long as I’m yours” You giggled, settling beside him as the next video played and you tried to get yourself to relax in his arms. You loved him so much, the smile still on your face as you both returned to the horror film you both enjoyed so much.

[multific]

A Love Beyond Time

Count Orlok x Reader

Warnings: murder, blood and grief

Summary: A Vampire's love is forever. No matter the centuries or lifetimes. He belonged to you and you to him.  

The castle stood isolated on top of the hill, its rough silhouette was framed by the moon's glow. 

A cold wind whistled as it met the ancient stones, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth. 

Inside those cold, towering walls, your life with Count Orlok had been hauntingly beautiful in its own way. 

Though the villagers whispered fearful tales of the vampire lord, you knew a different side of him. 

To the world, he was a creature of the night and blood. 

But to you, he was a caring husband, a being of depth and tenderness.

Evenings were your sanctuary. 

As dusk fell and shadows crept across the land, Orlok would rise, his pale form emerging without noise into the dim glow of the candlelit hall. 

He would find you waiting by the grand fireplace, wrapped in a thick woollen shawl and a smile on your face.

The fire’s warmth never seemed to reach him, yet he always sat close, drawn in by you. 

You would speak of simple things that happened during the day. While he listened to you talk, his sharp eyes would soften with affection.

He preferred to listen to you instead of talking. Your voice was as if angel's sang. His was deep and rumbly with uneven breathing.

The love you shared was expressed in the smallest gestures, the way he would brush a stray piece of hair from your face, the way you would smile at him despite the coldness of his touch. 

It was a love that transcended fear and mortality.

Yet happiness, especially in such a world, was delicate. 

One morning, just as dawn's first light came, a mob from the nearby village stormed the castle gates. 

They had grown bold, driven by fear and ignorance, they believed that by hurting you, they could weaken the dark figure they so dreaded. And they would be correct.

The Count's only weakness was you. But even in his weakness, there was strength.

You tried to hide in the upper chambers, but they found you. 

They broke down the door where you were hiding.

The plan to murder you was merciless.

Rough hands dragged you and even though you fought and begged, their numbers overwhelmed you. 

Pain shot through your side as they struck you down, and the world blurred into darkness. The last thing you heard before everything faded was the echo of their retreating footsteps.

They ran. 

While you were bleeding, right by the grand fireplace.

When night fell and Orlok awoke, he was met with the scent of blood, a metallic tang that hung heavy in the air. 

Panic filled him as he followed the trail, his heart, long thought dead, pounding with fear. 

He found you lying on the cold stone floor, lifeless and still. 

For a moment, he simply stared, as if refusing to believe what his eyes could clearly see. 

Then a cry tore from him, raw and primal, echoing through the castle's empty halls.

Causing the walls to shake.

He held your broken corpse in his arms, his cold hands trembling as he cried. 

Guilt and grief filled him, each time he opened his eyes, it became more unbearable than the last. Each time he saw the blood. His mind filled with the times when you willingly gave your essence to him.

Now those times haunted him.

Memories of your smile came to him as he cried. 

Tears falling from his eyes.

The one being who had brought light into his dark existence was gone.

His wife was dead.

And he knew exactly who did this. He knew exactly where to go.

The foolish humans living in the village.

Gently he placed your cold body on the floor and collected your pendant. The pendant, a gift from him at your wedding night.

Suddenly his grief turned to anger.

His vengeance was just as brutal and merciless as the villager's actions.

There were screams, people begged. But just as they didn't listen to you, the Count refused to listen to their pleas.

By dawn, the village that had dared to harm his beloved was no more, reduced to ash, blood and ruin. 

Yet even after his revenge, the void within him remained. He knew, nothing could fill that void.

He was alone once more.

He buried you the next night.

A grave right under your favourite tree. Your headstone, simple yet delicate. 

Every day, he visited your grave, speaking softly to the stone as if you could still hear him. 

And each time he brought a beautiful red rose.

He remembered the time when his castle had beautiful roses in its garden by the entrance, back when his castle was filled with light. It was a home not just some ruin.

The only thing he had left was your pendant. He always had that with himself, carried it, held it and even slept with it on his chest.. 

Centuries passed, and though the world changed around him, Orlok remained frozen in time, a ghost bound by sorrow and undying love.

He walked the halls with a simple rose in his hand, down to your grave, then he would tell you how much he missed you. As he touched the stone, he placed the rose down.

Then, one quiet evening, long after the world had forgotten the tale of the vampire and his lost bride, a knock echoed through the castle’s grand hall.

Orlok, now a creature of legend and mourning, moved toward the door, expecting only the wind. 

But when he opened it, he found something he had long stopped hoping for.

“I found you,” you said softly, your voice steady but filled with emotion. You raised your arms as if to hug him. But you stopped.

He stood frozen in disbelief. 

You looked different yet still the same. 

Young, alive and warm, but your eyes held the same familiar light. 

The light that was stolen from him.

You looked like the woman in his dreams, not his nightmares. 

“I remembered. One night, it all came back to me. Who I was, who you are. I knew I had to come and find you, My Love.”

Orlok’s hands trembled as he reached toward you, hesitant, as if he was afraid that you would vanish like a dream. A dream he had many times during the last centuries.

When his fingers met your face, and he felt the warmth of your skin, his eyes filled with hope.

“You’re real,” he whispered, his voice breaking at the end. “You came back to me.”

“I came home,” you said, tears filling your eyes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, you just allowed him to process everything. 

Then, suddenly, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if to shield you from the cruel world that had once taken you from him. 

For the first time in centuries, the cold emptiness within him was replaced with warmth.

A warmth he had lost but it came back to him.

Together, you entered the castle, the heavy doors creaking shut behind you. 

Later that night, as the fire crackled in the grand fireplace and the scent of pine filled the air, Orlok gazed at you with something that words could not capture. 

He traced your features with his eyes, saving every detail to memory.

“I never thought I would feel this again,” he said quietly. “For so long, I existed in darkness, bound by grief. But now…you’ve brought light back into my world.”

You reached for his hand, entwining your fingers with his. 

“I was always meant to find you again. Love like ours doesn’t end. It waits, even across lifetimes.”

"I have avenged you."

"I have heard, thank you" you whispered as he moved even closer to you.

When your lips met in a tender kiss, it was as if the centuries of despair and longing melted away. 

At that moment, time did not matter. 

All that existed was the love you shared.

A love which was ethereal. 

And so, in the heart of that ancient castle, where shadows once reigned, light and love triumphed once more.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief 

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @brevlada24

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

​​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[multific]

A Light in the Darkness

Count Orlok x Reader

Summary: In need of shelter you find an abandoned castle. Or at least you thought it would be abandoned.

The storm was ruthless, a howling windstorm that tore through the forest and drenched you to the bone.

You’d been travelling to the next village before the weather turned, but now, with no end to the storm in sight, you desperately desired shelter as you shivered.

A flicker of light through the trees caught your eye, and as you got closer a castle came into sight.

It towered above the forest like a sentinel of despair, its rough silhouette framed by flashes of lightning.

Hesitant but with little choice, you made your way to the massive door and knocked, your hand trembling as the sound echoed through the building.

The door creaked open, revealing a tall, lean figure.

The man, if he could be called that, stood in the shadows, his pale skin almost glowing against the darkness. His eyes, sunken but piercing, fixed on you.

“What brings you here?” he rasped, his voice as cold as the wind.

“I... I need shelter,” you stammered, clutching your cloak tighter. “Just until the storm passes.”

He seemed to consider this, his lips curling into something that was neither a smile nor a sneer.

“You would be wise to turn back. This place is not safe for someone like you.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” you said firmly, though your heart pounded in your chest.

With a sigh, he stepped aside.

“Very well. But do not say I didn’t warn you.”

The interior of the castle was just like its exterior, dark, cold, and filled with an eerie silence.

You couldn’t help but shiver as he led you up a couple steps to a small sitting room.

“I’ll find you something dry,” he muttered.

You watched as he walked away before disappearing into the shadows.

As you waited, uneasiness lurked up to you.

Something about him was deeply unsettling, and yet, there was an odd charm to his presence.

When he returned, his demeanour shifted.

He spoke little but watched you intently, his gaze flicking toward you whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

But you were and you noticed.

As the night continued on, his warnings became more insistent.

“You should leave at dawn. This place... it is not meant for you.” he said suddenly, his voice low and urgent.

It held a lot more darkness than before.

His tone was enough to send a shiver down your spine, and as you backed away from him unfortunately for you, your foot caught the edge of a step.

With a cry, you tumbled backward, pain flashing in your ankle as you landed.

He was at your side instantly, his movements unnaturally fast.

“Foolish girl,” he muttered, though there was no malice in his words. He knelt beside you, his long fingers hovering near your injured ankle. “I told you to be careful.”

“I didn’t mean to- You scared me.” you began, but your voice stuttered as pain shot through you.

“Don’t move,” he ordered. “You’ve injured yourself.”

Knowing that you couldn't leave with such an injury, he carried you to a room. It was old and very dusty but it had a bed.

At least you weren't freezing outside.

At least he didn't throw you out.

For the next few days, he tended to you with surprising gentleness. Though he rarely spoke, his actions revealed a quiet care that softened the fear you had felt before.

He brought you meals, ensured the fire never went out and constantly checked on your leg.

You did notice that he disappeared during the day. Locking his room to ensure you won't get in.

But during the night, he came out. As soon as the sun disappeared, you heard his door creak open and his footsteps carried him down the hallway.

As the days turned to weeks, the tension between you changed.

You found yourself drawn to this mysterious man, and he seemed less intent on pushing you away.

One evening, as he sat across from you, his eyes lingered on you longer than usual.

“Why are you so kind to me?” you asked softly as you continued your dinner.

He hesitated, his long fingers curling around the armrest of his chair.

“Because I caused your pain, I scared you,” he admitted. “And because... you remind me of something I thought I had lost.”

“What’s that?” you whispered.

“Light,” he said simply, his voice barely audible.

Your heart ached at his words, and without thinking, you reached out to take his hand. His skin was cold, but he didn’t pull away.

You took that as a good sign.

“You’re not as frightening as you think,” you said, smiling.

“I’ve spent centuries convincing others I am.” he replied. "Now eat up and go to bed." he replied before he stood from the table and left.

He never ate a bite.

In the days that followed, you began to see a warmth in him, one he tried to hide but couldn’t entirely.

He started smiling more, given that his smile was faint and barely noticeable if you blinked at the wrong time.

His eyes also softened with time whenever they met yours.

On the final night of your stay, as you prepared to leave, he stopped you in the doorway while you were packing your bags.

“You don’t have to go,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “This castle has been dark and cold for so long. But since you arrived, it feels... alive.”

"Only the castle? Is that why you want me to stay?" Tears welled in your eyes as you stepped closer to him.

He cupped your face with surprising tenderness, his sharp nails carefully avoiding your skin.

“You’ve given me something I thought I’d never feel again,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “It is not only my castle that needs you. I need you, Love. Will you stay here with me?”

"Yes. I will stay here with you."

Before you could say anything else, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was gentle and full of emotions.

A kiss that was filled with both said and unsaid words.

From that day on, the castle no longer felt like a place of shadows. Together, you filled it with light, warmth, and love.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief  

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen 

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[multific]

Bloodlines and Blessings

Count Orlok x Reader

Warnings: pregnancy

Summary: Love takes root in unexpected ways. A future neither of you could have seen coming when the unimaginable happens.

The castle stood tall within the mountains. A testament of time. 

Inside the castle, amongst its cold stone walls, life had long been absent. Without Count Orlok's immortal presence, the castle would have long been abandoned. 

Yet now, something had changed. 

You were here, and even if you were a mortal, your presence gave warmth to the ancient halls.

Orlok, who had spent centuries alone.

And yet, he found himself drawn to you in ways he could barely understand. 

Your courage, your compassion, your willingness to see past his monstrous visage. He loved you.

One night, as you sat by the great fireplace, he spoke of his dreams. 

“I never imagined I could want for more,” he said, his voice low and hesitant. “My legacy will be terror.”

You reached for his hand, your warmth a stark contrast to his cold. 

“You are not alone anymore, My Love. Your legacy will be whatever you make it. People remember names they feared more than the ones they loved.”

Weeks passed, and your bond deepened, you vowed yourself eternally to him, making you his wife.

Then came the moment that changed everything came with a cold wind. 

You had been feeling unwell, you were unsure what it could possibly be. When you told Orlok, he got extremely concerned. 

He just married you. He cannot lose you already.

And so, together, you looked for answers.

Then one evening, you realised what it was. The truth ran down your spine with a chill but your heart quickened with excitement. 

“A child?” Orlok’s voice trembled, his eyes wide with disbelief. “But how? Such a thing should not be possible.”

“And yet it is. Our love defies all logic, Orlok. Why should this be any different?”

His eyes searched yours, thinking you were telling him a lie so cruel. But he finds no lie, only love.

From that moment on, Orlok was filled with a new purpose. 

He became fiercely protective, ensuring your every need was met. Though he had walked the earth for centuries, he had never felt such hope, and he guarded it with all of his being.

As your pregnancy progressed, you shared such sweet moments. 

One evening, as the two of you sat together in the library, you felt the first flutter of movement within you. 

Gasping, you placed your hand on your belly.

“What is it?” Orlok was instantly on his feet, moving close to you, his eyes full of concern.

You grabbed his hand and placed it on your stomach, letting him feel the faint but unmistakable kick. 

“Can you feel that? He’s moving,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “Our son is alive and well.” You never knew such happiness.

For a moment, Orlok was utterly still. Waiting for another movement to confirm what you are saying. Just to be sure.

And then he felt the unmistakeable kick. 

Then, a rare smile broke across his face. 

“He is strong. Just like his mother.”

During the day, you slept in a comfortable bed, with your husband in his coffin. 

But during the nights when you both woke up, the air was filled with anticipation and pure happiness. 

Orlok would read to you from ancient texts, his deep voice a soothing lullaby for both you and the life growing within you. 

He would trace the curve of your belly with careful fingers, speaking softly to the child. 

“You will know no fear, little one. You will be loved, as I have never known how to love until now.”

But the world beyond the castle was not kind. 

Rumours of your pregnancy spread, reaching the ears of those who desired to destroy what they did not understand. 

Hunters, priests, and mercenaries conspired to end your ungodly union. One fateful night, the castle was surrounded. 

But Orlok was a force of nature, his supernatural strength unmatched as he defended you and your unborn child. 

Orlok fought them off. The smell of blood filled the castle as you hid in your chambers, doors locked, protecting yourself and your child.

The hunters fled in terror as they watched Orlok kill every last one of their friends. 

But they couldn't run far.

The Count's anger was greater than theirs.

All men were dead before the moon even reached the highest point in the sky.

When the danger had passed, Orlok returned to you as he knelt before you, his hands trembling as they rested on your belly.

“You saved us, thank you." you whispered as he pulled you close, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss filled with gratitude and tenderness. 

“I will protect you both, always,” he vowed. “Whatever it takes.”

Months later, the castle was quiet once more, but this time it was a peaceful silence. 

In your arms, you held your son, his tiny hand clutching Orlok’s long finger. 

"He is beautiful," Orlok said. "You gave me the greatest gift. A legacy."

You smiled, still rather exhausted, but you found the strength to stay focused.

The boy had your warmth and Orlok’s piercing eyes, a perfect blend of light and darkness.

The three of you were a family, bound by love that defied the laws of nature.

Outside the cold walls of the castle, the world wept for it had known, that the darkness now had a son. 

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[multific]

The Countess of the Dark

Count Orlok x Reader

Warning: death, blood

Summary: A traveller wanders too far. 

A new guest came to the village, tired and worn he sought shelter and food.

With a bag of gold, he paid the tavern handsomely for a bed.

With his dinner, he also received a story.

A tale.

He laughed at the villagers.

Telling them that vampires don't exist. Laughing at their traditions before going to bed.

The next day, when he awoke, the village was empty. No more children running around, no more dancing adults.

He didn't think much of it.

And so he left, heading for the mountains.

He followed the path until he reached a road.

He followed the road until he saw a castle. And suddenly, the story the woman told him the previous night filled his mind with a cold shiver that ran down his spine.

"Long ago, a Count lived in the castle nearby. He was a handsome man, but he was evil. He made a deal with the Devil so he could walk on the earth again after his death, but not as a man. A vampire!"

The traveller shook his head freeing himself from the thoughts.

And continued his journey.

Following the road, he heard wolves howl.

The afternoon arrived with a cold wind yet that wasn't enough to deter the man. He headed to the castle.

"The Count had a wife. A beautiful woman whom he loved very much. She had a fascination with flowers, her gardens were filled with roses, lilies and lilacs. The smell sometimes even travelled here. But then, she passed. No one knows what happened. She was young and healthy. Some say the Count killed her for the Devil."

Now, the traveller could see, the castle looked grey, dead yet still alive somehow. He wasn't sure how that was possible.

But he could almost see the windows and stone move as if the building was breathing.

He opened the gates, and while entering he nearly slipped on the ice. Letting out a yelp, he caught his balance on the stone and continued inside.

His intrigue carried him.

He saw a glimpse of the gardens, or at least what he believed once was the gardens.

Dead bushes and snow.

Suddenly there was a rumble in the sky and a heavy storm came down.

The storm made the traveller seek shelter in the castle.

The doors creaked open.

He walked up the stairs with slow steps. Almost as if he was afraid to make noise.

He noticed a fireplace and filled it with wood he found nearby.

He lit the fire with a match.

As light filled the room, he noticed a painting above the fireplace.

The painting was surprisingly clean compared to how much dust there was in the castle.

Even if the painting was slightly tilted, it caught his eye.

In the painting, a beautiful woman, had a small smile on her lips as she wore a pale pink dress, she was surrounded with roses and lilacs.

The traveller had to admit, she was stunning.

Was that the wife of the Count? The one he murdered? Yet her painting was immaculate.

Why have such a stunning painting but murder the woman in it?

The traveller fell asleep in the chair in front of the fireplace.

He woke up to the cold wind howling through a cracked door. He rubbed his eyes as he stood up and reached for his bag. He pulled out some food and began to eat.

His eyes wandered to the fire.

Who put wood there to keep it alive?

He felt a cold shiver run down his spine. As if death itself stood behind him, he slowly turned around but found no one there.

Then his eyes noticed the painting, now perfectly straight. Someone must have corrected it.

Or something.

He felt eyes on him. Evil eyes.

He needed to leave.

He grabbed his bag and rushed down the stairs, but at the end of the hall, right behind him, a door opened seemingly by itself.

Curiosity took over the traveller as he slowly walked to the door and opened it fully.

His breath stopped when he saw a room with a single coffin inside it.

"He killed her and kept her here?!" the traveller spoke to no one in particular. Little did he know, he was heard.

He found himself moving the lid of the coffin.

And there she was.

The beautiful woman from the story and the painting.

Yet, she looked alive, her cheeks rosy.

Suddenly her eyes opened, causing the traveler to scream and run for the door.

However, a huge dark figure stood right there.

The Count.

His long fingers wrapped around the door as he entered the room. The traveller moved back but he fell in fear. His eyes filled with tears.

"You woke her." the voice of the Count was terrifying. His breathing was uneven and his eyes were dead.

The traveller forgot to plead.

"My Love." the woman spoke.

The traveller could only watch as the woman walked past him straight to the Count.

He watched in terror as they kissed like old lovers.

Not a drop of attention was paid to the traveller, he wanted to run.

He knew he should run.

And yet, he was frozen in one place.

When their kiss ended, the traveller finally stood up and ran out the door. Both looked after the running man. They heard him try to open the front door.

The banging could be heard throughout the house as he banged the door begging for it to finally open.

"I never liked the stories the villagers told," she spoke as the traveller stopped and turned to look at her. She walked towards him slowly, she wore a dark dress, that fitted her perfectly, and her skin looked beautiful under the moonlight. It was her eyes, her gold eyes that scared the man to no end. "They believe, My Beloved Husband killed me. But that is the furthest from the truth. I will tell you since you will die tonight. I died due to illness. But my Count found a cure. Eternal life, eternal love."

The man watched her when he suddenly felt a presence.

She smiled at the traveller when his head was grabbed and the Count bit his neck. The man's neck cracked and broke under the pressure.

The man died, and the last thing he saw, was the Countess' beautiful smile.

Taglist: 

@castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou

@mandoloriancookie @deliciousfestsalad @lilliumrorum @asgards-princess-of-mischief  

@fallout-girl219 @dracaryxzs @snowtargaryen @brevlada24

@mel-vaz @akamitrani @ange-olras @nicholaschavezslut69

​​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[multific]

A Wedding Beneath The Moonlight

Count Orlok x Reader

Summary: Every girl's dream is to find a man and have the perfect wedding. But everyone has different meanings of perfection.

The night was still, and the air was cold, carrying the soft scent of pine from the nearby forest.

Above you, the full moon cast its glow across the darkened grounds of the ancient castle.

Tonight was the night of your wedding.

You stood alone in one of the upper chambers, looking at yourself in your reflection in a tarnished mirror.

The dress you wore was unlike anything mortal hands could create.

Crafted by Nosferatu himself, he insisted on making your dress.

The dress shimmered faintly in the moonlight, a fabric of deep midnight blue that flowed like a shadow around you.

Tiny silver threads were sewn into the material, resembling stars scattered across a night sky.

The bodice was fitted, embroidered with delicate patterns of ancient symbols, his symbols, while the long sleeves clung to your arms before flaring out at the wrists.

A faint breeze moved through the open window, causing the veil resting on your head to move gently.

It was sheer, as thin as mist, and it framed your face perfectly.

You ran your hands down the length of the dress, your fingers trembling slightly with anticipation.

This was the moment you had dreamed of, literally.

The moment you would bind yourself forever to him, the creature who had once been a shadow in the night but had now become the very centre of your world.

There was no priest, no audience. It would be just the two of you and the moon, as it had always been meant to be.

A soft knock echoed through the heavy wooden door, and you turned, your heart quickening.

When the door creaked open, there he stood, your beloved.

His pale skin seemed even more pale beneath the moonlight, his crimson eyes glowing softly as they locked with yours.

He was dressed in a long, dark cloak of velvet, the collar high and stiff, giving him an air of regal elegance. Around his neck hung an ancient pendant, a symbol of his lineage. His heavy breathing filled the room as your heart hammered against your ribs.

“You look…” He paused, his voice low and careful. “You look like the night itself, beautiful and eternal.”

“And you look like my forever.” you offered him a shy smile.

He extended his hand to you, and you took it, his cool fingers wrapping around yours. Together, you descended the winding stone staircase, your footsteps echoing softly in the silence.

The air grew colder as you stepped outside into the courtyard, you shivered slightly under the cold air.

There, beneath the open sky, the ceremony would take place. Just as you wished.

No torches or lanterns, the moon provided all the light you required.

Count Orlok turned to face you, his eyes locking with yours.

He held both your hands in his, and though his touch was cold, it brought you comfort. You could feel the strength in him, the ancient power that moved through his veins, yet there was something else.

A small humanity, only for you, remaining in him alive.

“I have lived for centuries. Through endless nights, I have wandered alone, never imagining that I would find something to make eternity enjoyable. But then I found you. You, who brought light into my darkness. You, who showed me that even a creature of the dark can love. I vow to you, to protect you, to cherish you, to honour you. You are my light, and I will spend eternity by your side.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. “And I vow to you, My Count, to stand by your side, through darkness and light. You are my heart, my soul, my love. I choose you, Count Orlok, for all eternity."

Slowly, he lifted your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss on your knuckles. His eyes gleamed with something more than love.

“There is only one thing left. A kiss to seal our vows,” he said, his voice a whisper.

With a gentle touch, he cupped your face in his hands. As he leaned in, you closed your eyes, you fully gave yourself to him.

When his lips met yours, it was as if the entire world disappeared, leaving only the two of you, bound together beneath the watchful eyes of the moon.

The kiss was long and lingering, filled with the promise of forever.

When you finally pulled away, your eyes still closed, you smiled up at him, heart full.

“You are my wife now,” he said, his voice soft but filled with possessive pride. “My empress of the night.” He slipped a beautiful gold ring on your finger.

“And you are my husband. My eternal love.” A ring for him too.

As the wind howled with fear. People living close by felt the coldness of the night. The dread. The world was scared.

And while others trembled with fear, under the same moon, Count Orlok and his bride began theirs forever.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[multific]

In The Heart of The Darkness

Count Orlok x Reader

Summary: A lost traveller is all you were until you met him.

The storm raged with an intensity that seemed almost unnatural.

It was as if someone above tried to warn you of the path ahead.

Telling you to turn around and never come back.

Wind howled through the dense forest, and the rain came down in relentless sheets, soaking you to the bone.

But you didn't listen to whatever force was trying to stop you. You just wanted shelter.

In the distance, through the mist, you saw the silhouette of a castle rising from the cliffs like an ominous sentinel.

Desperate for shelter and warmth, you made your way toward the structure.

The heavy iron gate creaked open with a groan as you pushed against it, the sound echoing into the night.

You hesitated for a moment before stepping into the castle’s courtyard, your instincts warning you that something wasn’t right.

That was another warning you ignored.

But with no other choice and the storm showing no signs of stopping, you crossed the threshold and knocked on the massive oak doors.

By the time you arrived, it was dark. If you would have turned around, you wouldn't have been able to see the gates you just opened.

To your surprise, the doors opened almost immediately, revealing a tall, pale figure draped in a dark cloak.

His features were sharp, almost skeletal, with deep-set eyes that gleamed unnervingly in the flickering torchlight.

A shiver ran down your spine.

“You are lost,” his voice rumbled.

“The storm… I needed a place to stay for the night.” You nodded, shivering from the cold.

The figure regarded you for a long moment before stepping aside.

“Enter, traveler. You may find shelter here.”

Reluctantly, you stepped inside. The grand hall was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long, distorted shadows across the stone walls. Despite the chill that seemed to seep from the very stones, it was a relief to be out of the storm. The door closed behind you with an ominous thud.

“You will be safe here for the night.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, still uneasy but too exhausted to question his hospitality.

You ignored all warnings. Whatever was coming your way now, will be your fault.

---

At first, your stay seemed ordinary enough.

Count Orlok was distant, appearing only at night and rarely speaking more than necessary.

The servants, if there were any, remained unseen, and the castle felt strangely bare of life.

Despite the strange atmosphere, you were grateful for the warmth and food provided.

However, as the days passed, things began to change.

You noticed how Count Orlok’s gaze lingered on you longer than before, his dark eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite point out.

Shadows in the corners of the castle seemed to shift and move as if watching you. Why were you ignoring all those warnings?

When everything around you screamed for you to run, to flee and not stop.

No matter the cold, the rain or the thunder.

At night, you would wake with an unexplainable sense of dread, as though something unseen was lurking.

One evening, as you dined alone in the grand hall, Orlok appeared silently beside you, startling you.

You never even questioned where the food came from.

“You are uneasy,” making you jump as he spoke.

“This place… it feels strange,” you admitted cautiously. “Like it’s alive.”

A faint smile played on his lips, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“The castle has seen many years. It remembers.” You frowned, unsure of what he meant, but before you could ask, he added, “You remind me of someone I once knew. Someone who was very dear to me.”

“I’m just a traveler,” you said, trying to dismiss the tension.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I believe you are something more.”

---

That night, you were unable to sleep, and you decided to finally leave.

The growing sense of unease had become unbearable, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that staying any longer would be dangerous.

You packed your belongings quietly and made your way through the dark corridors, the torches casting shadows on the walls.

But as you approached the main doors, you found them locked.

Panic set in as you tried to force them open, but it was no use.

“Leaving, Darling?” Orlok’s voice echoed through the hall, sending a chill down your spine. You turned to see him standing at the top of the grand staircase, his expression unreadable.

“I… I thought it was time for me to leave,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I must leave now."

He came down the stairs slowly, each step echoing ominously. “You cannot leave.”

“Why?” you demanded, fear creeping into your voice.

“Because you belong here,” he said simply. “With me.”

With a snap of his fingers, your eyes closed as you fell into a deep sleep.

---

Over the next few days, Orlok’s behaviour shifted.

He no longer tried to hide his fascination with you.

Wherever you went, you felt his presence, watching, waiting. Despite the fear that held you, there was something else, a strange pull toward him, as if some forgotten part of you recognized him.

One evening, as the storm raged outside once more, you just couldn't handle the building pressure inside you and you decided to confront him.

“Why are you doing this? Why won't you let me go?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He stepped closer, his pale face illuminated by the firelight.

“Because I have waited centuries for you. You are the one I lost. Fate has brought you back to me.”

“That’s impossible,” you whispered, though something deep within you stirred at his words. As if something deep down in you knew, he wasn't lying.

“Is it?” he asked softly, reaching out to touch your face. His fingers were cold, yet the touch was strangely comforting. “You feel it too, don’t you? The connection between us.”

“I don’t know what to believe.” your hands were shaking. You questioned everything.

“Believe in what you feel,” he said, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in your mind. “Stay with me, and you will understand.”

You wanted to know. You needed to know. You were desperate.

With curiosity building inside you, you stayed.

---

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, your fear began to disappear.

Orlok was still a creature of darkness, but he was also something more.

You learned that he was also a being capable of deep love and devotion.

Passion and obsession.

He showed you parts of the castle you have not seen during your stay.

He also shared stories of a time long gone.

You found yourself drawn to him in ways you couldn’t explain.

Perhaps this was why you decided to ignore all warnings. All the chills that ran down your spine, telling you to run.

One night, as you stood together on the balcony overlooking the forest, he turned to you, his eyes locking with yours.

“You have brought light to my eternal night.”

“And you have shown me that even in darkness, there can be love.” You reached out, your hand locking with his.

As the wind howled, you leaned in, your lips meeting in a kiss that sealed your fate.

You were no longer a traveller lost in the storm.

You were home, with him, in the heart of the darkness, where your love had found a way to bloom.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[multific]

In The Shadows

Count Orlok x Reader

Summary: He was in your dreams, but little did you know he watched you dream.

Under the cover of darkness, the village slept, unaware of the shadow that crept amongst the people.

Count Orlok had grown restless in his castle, seeking more than just blood, he sought something, someone, to fill the void that centuries had carved into his rotting body.

That night, as the pale moon cast its cold glow over the rooftops, he moved silently through the streets.

Houses stood in rows, their wooden doors shut tight. Hoping to keep out the monsters.

It was here, in the heart of the village, that he found you.

Through an open window, Orlok saw you asleep.

Bathed in the light of the moon, your peaceful form captivated him. He hadn’t meant to linger, yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Something about you stirred an emotion he had long forgotten, possessive longing.

From that night on, he returned each evening, standing in the shadows of your room as you slept, feeding his obsession with your presence.

He watched you as you slept.

One night, the air was different.

As he stood near your window, you stirred in your sleep.

A floorboard creaked beneath his feet, and your eyes opened. You sensed something in the darkness, a presence that made your heart race.

Your eyes searched for something in the dark.

“Who’s there?” you whispered into the night. You wished your voice was even.

The Count remained silent, frozen in place.

He didn’t want you to see him yet, not like this.

When you rose from your bed and began to move toward the window, he vanished into the night, leaving you with nothing but the cold wind and an unshakable sense of being watched.

In the upcoming nights, you felt his presence more but you never saw him.

No matter how tightly you closed the shutters or how bright the candles burned, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were never truly alone.

Dreams of a pale figure in shadows haunted your sleep.

One evening, he stood at the edge of your dreams, his patience now thin.

He could no longer bear the distance.

With his powers, he summoned you, drawing you toward him like a moth to a flame.

As if in a trance, you rose from your bed and made your way through the forest, the wind whispering his name as the castle appeared ahead.

When you entered the great hall, the chill of the night air made your skin cold.

This is when you wake up.

You looked around, heart pounding, until your eyes met his.

Count Orlok stepped from the shadows, his figure towering over you, his pale eyes gleaming with something otherworldly.

“You... It was you all along.”

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice low. “I have watched you. I waited for you.”

Instead of fear, you felt something else, something you couldn't explain.

“I dreamed of you,” you confessed, stepping closer to him. “I saw you in my sleep, every night.”

You could see in his eyes eyes he didn't believe you.

He had expected resistance, terror perhaps a chase, but not this.

“I didn’t come here unwillingly,” you continued. “I came because... I wanted to.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his pale features before he composed himself.

“You are not afraid of me?”

“I should be,” you admitted, a small smile playing on your lips. “But I’m not. I don’t know why, but something draws me to you.”

Orlok stepped closer, his cold hand brushing against your cheek.

For centuries, he had known nothing but darkness and hunger, yet here you stood, offering him something more special.

“Then stay with me. Be mine, and I shall be yours.”

You smiled at him.

Such a sweet and innocent smile.

Days passed in a blur of strange, dark bliss. Though the sun rose and set beyond the castle walls, time seemed irrelevant on the inside.

You and Orlok grew closer with each passing night.

He showed you hidden chambers and ancient halls, sharing the secrets of his world. In turn, you brought warmth to his long-dead heart and a smile something he was not accustomed to.

Then came the night of your union.

The grand hall was transformed into a place of dark beauty.

Black and crimson drapes adorned the walls, and flickering candles cast shadows across the stone floor.

You wore a gown which was deep red, the fabric shimmering like blood in the light.

It was perfect. You looked like exactly what you were, the bride of a vampire.

The Count stood, waiting for you.

His usual dark cloak was replaced by formal attire—still black, but adorned with silver embroidery.

His eyes watched you with an intensity that made your breath stop.

As you approached, he extended his hand, cold yet comforting.

You placed your hand in his, and together, you stood before the ancient altar.

The altar stood in the gardens, dark, cold and foggy. But the wind didn't reach your skin.

“Do you vow to be mine for all eternity?" even for him it was hard to hide happiness.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice steady, no hesitation. You knew you wanted nothing more.

“And I vow to be yours,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “For as long as the night exists, for as long as shadows fall, I shall love you.”

With those words, he bent down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

It was a kiss that sealed not just a union, but a promise, a promise of love that defied time and death.

In that dark castle, under the gaze of the moon, you and Count Orlok began a new chapter. Together, you would face the world, two souls bound by fate, by love, by the night and by blood.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

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/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[multific]

The Essence of Beauty

Count Orlok x Vampire!Reader

Summary: After years and years of looking, you believe you found what you have been looking for.

The dark castle stood in silence as the sun began to set.

You moved quietly through the grand hall, the hem of your black gown brushing against the cold stone floor. Clutched in your hands was a small vial, glowing faintly with an ethereal blue light—the potion.

You had spent years searching for it, a concoction crafted from forgotten alchemy, whispered about in ancient texts. When you started looking for it. You almost gave up.

Its power was said to be immense, a temporary reversal of decay, a momentary return to youth. 

Though you bore no scars of time, your beloved Orlok carried the weight of centuries on his shoulders. 

His once-proud visage had been transformed by the curse of undeath.

You found him in the chamber you both shared, seated by the wide arched window that opened to the forest below. 

The moonlight streamed through, illuminating his pale face. 

He just woke up. Since, unlike you, he cannot walk the earth during the day.

To you, he had always been beautiful.

"My love," you said softly, stepping closer to him. 

"You’ve returned," he said, his voice deep and echoing in the chamber. "Where have you been?"

"I went to find something for you. Something... I hoped might make you happy." you pulled the potion out of your pocket and showed it to him.

Orlok’s eyes narrowed. "What is this?"

"A potion," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "It can restore your youth. It makes you as you once were before the curse took hold. It won’t last forever, only for a short while, but... I thought you might wish to see yourself as you were."

He stared at the vial, an unreadable expression crossing his face. His clawed fingers brushed against the glass, but he did not take it. "You sought this for me?"

You nodded. "I know how the years have weighed on you, how the world has changed while you remained the same. And though I love you as you are, I thought perhaps this might bring you some joy."

Orlok’s lips curved into a faint, sad smile. "You did this because you pity me."

"No," you said quickly, placing your hands over his. "I did this because I love you. Because I cannot bear to see you in pain."

He lifted his gaze, searching your eyes for truth. 

For centuries, you had been by his side, his wife, his equal, his love. Unlike him, you had not aged. 

The curse had not marked you in the same way it did him. 

While he bore the scars of time, you remained untouched by its cruel hand. While he must hide from the sun, you are free to walk as you are.

"Do you wish me to be something I am not?" he asked quietly. His voice held no anger. 

"Never," you replied firmly. "You are everything to me, Orlok. I love you as you are. Not for your appearance, but for your soul. This potion is not something you have to take. It’s only something I thought you might want."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting back to the vial. He was deep in thought. "And you’ve tested it?"

You hesitated before answering. "Yes, of course. On myself. It worked... but only for a single night. By dawn, its effects faded, and I was as I had been."

"Then what purpose does it serve?" he asked, his voice tinged with sorrow. "To offer a fleeting glimpse of what once was, only to snatch it away by morning?"

You took his hand in yours, pressing it to your heart. "It serves no purpose beyond showing you what I see every night you emerge from your coffin. You think yourself hideous, but to me, you are perfect. This potion cannot change what truly matters, which is the love I hold for you."

Orlok leaned forward, his cold lips brushing against your forehead. "You are a fool to love me."

"I am the happiest fool in existence," you whispered, smiling through the tears that threatened to fall.

He studied you for a moment longer, then released a deep, shuddering sigh. "If this potion means so much to you, I will take it. But not because I seek youth or beauty. I will take it because you, my love, have given me a gift far greater than time, your heart."

Carefully, he uncorked the vial, the soft sound echoing in the silent chamber. 

The liquid shimmered as he raised it to his lips. You watched, your heart pounding, as he drank it in one swift motion.

For a moment, nothing happened. 

Then, slowly, a soft glow began to radiate from within him. His gaunt features smoothed, the pallor of his skin faded, and the deep lines etched by centuries disappeared. 

Before your eyes, Orlok transformed, becoming the man he once was.

He stood before you, tall and regal, his dark hair restored, his eyes gleaming with vitality. 

Yet, despite his changed appearance, he remained the same. He was still your Orlok.

"How do I appear to you now?" he asked, his voice lighter, hie breathing now even.

You smiled, stepping closer and placing your hands on either side of his face. "You appear as you always have to me, the man I love. This version of you is unchanged by time."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as the moonlight bathed you both in its glow. 

"And when this night ends, and the potion’s effects fade, will you still look at me this way?"

"Always," you promised, pressing your lips to his. "For in my eyes, you are eternal."

As the night wore on, you remained in each other’s arms, savouring the moment. You etched his young face into your mind for eternity.

When dawn approached, and the potion's magic began to weaken, Orlok did not mourn the loss of youth. 

Instead, he held you tighter as he once more laid down in his coffin, but he had you in his arms for this day.

"I must admit, it was nice to see the man I see in the paintings. You are quite handsome." you said as he closed the lid of his coffin.

"Even if I do not need such a potion, I must admit it was great to walk as a young man once more."

"I believe many women fell for you during your youth. But I'm glad I was able to bring back something like that for you."

"I do wonder, what did the potion bring back for you? You are already eternally beautiful."

"I looked like my teenage self. Younger but not as mature. But I believe once was enough. I prefer My Love as he is." his arms tightened around you as he slowly fell asleep.

"Thank you." he whispered before his eyes closed.

You were happy that in the end, he had a great time being young once more. It was a gift after all. 

Love was the only true eternity you needed.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[multific]

A Light in the Darkness 

The Countess of the Dark

A Love Beyond Time

The Embrace of Immortality

A Wedding Beneath The Moonlight

In the Heart of the Darkness

In the Shadows

Bloodlines and Blessings

The Essence of Beauty

Dreams in Velvet Shadows

[multific]

Dreams in Velvet Shadows

Count Orlok x Reader

Summary: In your loneliness, you called for him. And in your despair, you searched for him.

The dreams began when loneliness had taken hold of your heart, a gaping emptiness that refused to be filled.

In your dreams, he came to you.

A man with a haunting face and eyes as deep and dark as the shadows.

A man so haunting yet so beautiful.

He spoke in whispers, promising love, devotion, and a bond that would transcend everything.

“You will be mine,” he murmured one night, his voice smooth as velvet. “When you are ready, call to me, and I will come for you, My Beloved.”

But you couldn’t wait.

His promises stayed with you for the entirety of the day.

There was a pain in your heart, longing, which didn't disappear as the day went on.

You weren’t ready to wait, not when you could feel his pull even in waking hours. If he could come to you in dreams, surely, you could find him in the world of the living.

Your search began with whispers and legends, stories of a figure who resided in the ruin of a castle deep in the forest.

Though fear should have gripped you, all you felt was excitement.

Every step, you were closer and closer to him. So many sleepless nights finally paid off.

When you finally stood before the manor, the crumbling stone and overgrown vines felt like a sign of another world.

You were completely out of breath as your heart raced.

You entered the castle, the only light coming from the flickering candles you had brought.

You followed your heart and soon you found exactly what you have been looking for, an beautifully decorated coffin, carved with symbols you didn’t recognize.

The sun was setting as you looked out the window.

It was almost time for him to wake.

If you believed the words of the villagers, he awoke with the last rays of sunlight before crawling out of his coffin into the darkness.

You knelt before the coffin, your heart pounding in your chest with anticipation and joy.

“I couldn’t wait any longer. You called to me in my dreams, but I wanted to be the one to come to you. To show you, I want to be with you, My Nosferatu.”

The room fell silent, except for the faint crackle of the candles and the wind outside.

The coffin’s lid shifted with a creak, and you held your breath.

When it opened fully, he was there, just as you had seen him in your dreams. From the deep dark eyes, to his thin yet still strong frame, he was tall.

His eyes found yours.

For a moment, his expression was unreadable. You thought it to be surprise.

Then, slowly, his lips curved into a faint smile.

“You,” he said, his voice richer and more resonant than in your dreams. “You came to me.”

“I couldn’t stay away. I’ve been searching for you. I’m ready to finally be only yours.”

He rose from the coffin, his movements fluid and deliberate. Standing before you, he towered over you as he reached out, his long fingers brushing your cheek.

“You are not afraid?”

“No, I have no reason to fear you. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

For a moment, you worried. He might not actually want you. Maybe it was a childish dream after all.

Then, Orlok knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You were always meant to be mine."

You made your vow as the new moon rose in the sky, and wolves howled in the grounds.

"I willingly vow myself to you. For as long as you will have me, even in my death." he stood before you as his fingers lifted your head.

"You are mine forever. Thy flesh, bones and soul belong to me," he whispered as you took a breath in, your lips opening slightly.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and possessive, a seal on the bond that would tie you to him forever.

You felt the pain of your loneliness fall away, replaced by a love that would never fade.

In his arms, you were no longer a dreamer longing for connection.

You were his, and he was yours, bound together by the eternal night.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[rapturously]

𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞.

┊ count orlok x fem!reader.

✠⠀༷ ゜ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: intended to be a sacrifice for the strigoi haunting your village, your escape brings you face-to-face with death incarnate.

read part 2 here.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.4K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, dubious consent (mild hypnosis/dreamlike state), loss of virginity, monsterfucking, vampire antics (scent kink, bloodplay), stockholm syndrome, mild title kink (heavy use of my lord), shadow sex/fingering, female masturbation, voyeurism, extreme possessive/obsessive behavior.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is arguably the most enjoyment I’ve had writing a fic in a long time. I really hope that you love it as much as I loved writing it! any support is greatly appreciated! I would absolutely love to write more Count Orlok after this, for sure!

ICE-LADEN GALES NIPPED AT BARE FLESH, LIKE THE COLD PRICK OF A KNIFE — ONLY TENFOLD. ROPE CHAFED RAGGED AGAINST SOFT SKIN, AND YOUR FEET SEEMED TO CARRY YOU FAR AWAY, INTO THE DESOLATE HILLSIDES OF TRANSYLVANIA.

A sacrifice — a sweet, mourning lamb, given to the butcher, bound together to keep the darkness from devouring your village. That was what you were, some pious creature to be torn apart by a wolf that prowled through shadow.

Only the cruor of a virgin would expunge the evil that lay within the mountains, your blood, offered to the devil.

Many girls had come before you, maidens that willingly succumbed to their fate, screams snuffed out with the trees as their witness. There was not an ounce of subservience within you, no desire to meet your end alone, to become another notch on the post.

Tears stained your cheeks, liquid salt chilled as it settled upon your features, now steeped in dirt as you stumbled through forested wilderness. Winters were dangerous — the biting ice gnawed at your bones, threatening to rip away your extremities.

Before your fellow villagers could put you to the blade, you fled — naked, bitten by frost, alone with only monsters to nip at your heels.

Their desperate cries echoed into the night, the sound of begging — pleading to be spared without their tribute. Groomed to become an inevitable feast for the creature that tormented your village, you could no longer sit idly by and wait to die.

Beneath your breast, your heart clenched, pounding like that of a drum as it howled within your ears. The whiplike scratch of the wind raked across your body, leaving you heaving, fighting against encroaching exhaustion.

In the distance, torchlight grew dim — those who knew of Nosferatu did not dare venture into the woods or the nearby mountainside. Strands of garlic and crucifixes shrouded the borders of your village, superstitions workings to keep the creature at-bay.

Twigs and undergrowth beneath the snow scraped across your feet as you continued to blindly stumble through the forest, emerging onto the other side, where the bridge rested. Beside it, an obelisk — holy relics, strands of garlic, a sign.

‘TURN BACK, OR MEET DEATH’, it read, the script having weathered with the passage of time. The bridge led to a winding path, a path that could only lead to your inevitable demise. Blood began to ooze from your soles, flesh agitated, lips becoming chapped by the wind.

The Carpathian Mountains stood vigil, an impenetrable wall of ancient rock that kept you from the castle that lay between snow-laden peaks. Wisps of snow fluttered from dusky skies, illuminated only by silvery slats of moonlight.

A haze surrounded your vision — exhaustion coupled with the inevitable shroud of frostbite, and yet, something propelled your forward. Respite awaited you in the form of cold earth and maggots if you continued, the spectre of death hovering above you.

With weak steps, you crossed the bridge, hands still bound together, rope having ripped away at the velvety flesh around your wrists. Shadows became listless, alive, as if something moved within the forest, and still, you wandered forth.

There were worse creatures than wolves and bears in the forests, mere fodder to something archaic, an ancient evil feared by your village for decades. Old maids whispered tales of the Castle Orava, home to a den of monsters considered to be servants of the devil, a harbinger of hell.

Foul magic was at-work, they claimed — and yet, you felt drawn for reasons unexplainable. It was as if you were being lured into open waters, dark and treacherous, as black as a bottomless pit. Despite the heaviness of your body, you carried on, bare and blistered.

The path became even, a seemingly-endless stretch of black woodland that broke away to reveal a gate, as ancient as the landscape itself. Even through your blurred vision, shapes danced within darkness, as if they were grinning.

A wheeze of exhaustion bubbled up within your throat, parched and hoarse, flesh beginning to submit to the earth below. You could not recall when you had fallen, crawling toward the gate as if it would be your salvation.

Hoofbeats crackled against the dirt, a distant dream, like the wisp of a memory that soon dissipated — only, it was reality.

Before your body gave way to the blissful kiss of death, a shadow approached, casting its oppressive hand across you. It was veiled by darkness, a presence most enigmatic, something that you hadn’t experienced before.

Nails as sharp as talons ghosted above your satiny flesh, now marred by bruises and by nature’s cruel sting. Your breathing became shallow, strained by a sudden wave of nauseating terror as this shadow swallowed you whole, blanketing you in what you believed to be eternal darkness.

Oh, how you longed for it — for death’s final caress.

Dreams muddled themselves with waking nightmares — and you were trapped, the lamb screaming in the woods, unable to run free. It was the same stretch of dark forest, eyes following you from penumbra, a gloom so dour and terrifying that it rattled your spine.

Running, running, running — it was all you could remember, falling to your knees in the chilled earth, stone biting at your flesh, bones begging for rest. The gleam of torchlight and the shimmer of the blade still haunted you, the executioner preparing to give your blood to protect your village.

In the howl of your terror, the wood seemed to close in around you, like a wrought-iron cage, its thorns drawing blood from your ragged skin. You wanted to scream, to cry out, beg for a savior — and yet, no sound emerged, only ash.

There, in the endless obscurity of a long night, was he — the creature.

Claws that extended from ashen digits reached for you, took hold, and you felt his grasp close in around your throat. No pleas of mercy escaped your tongue, now turned to stone. Death was what you expected in the maw of this shadow — and it never came.

Its hands did not squeeze, with no intent to snuff the air from your lungs. It wasn’t the hold of one desiring death, like that of strangulation, but the embrace of lust. It was unfamiliar — cold, exhilarating, unyielding — and yet, you never wanted anything more.

No visage ever emerged, only the sheen of crimson-stained fangs that sought your breast, the stench of something foul permeating your surroundings. There was no pain — his bite was akin to the caress of a lover, lacking maliciousness, lacking the gnash and tear of a predator.

Hunger — you could feel it burning like an open flame within your throat, his famine. A creature that starved, with an appetite so unorthodox that it was your blood he craved.

With a strangled gasp, you awoke.

Woodlands were exchanged for the frigid, stone interior of an ancient castle, fixtures remarkably old, possessing macabre decor. Your gaze flickered to the ghoulish countenance of a gargoyle hanging above a roaring hearth, heart nearly leaping from your chest.

Whatever dream you awoke from, you could not discern it from reality, a thought that frightened you to no end. Surrounded by the thick, cured hide of a grizzly, you found yourself bare, still lacking a scrap of clothing. The hide was large enough to preserve your modesty, if you had any left.

The rope that had shackled your wrists together was no more, nonexistent — only raw wounds remained. This castle was cursed, a place of horrors beyond your imagination; you could not explain the semblance of reprieve that you felt.

Licks of comforting heat soothed your icy bones, the simmering fire bringing you a semblance of peace, no matter how threadbare. This newfound environment seemed haunted, decrepit — the furnishings were covered in a layer of dust.

It was luxurious, fixtures fit for that of nobility, a lifestyle that eclipsed your own existence back in the village. Now, you belonged to nothing, with no home to return to. Your traitorous actions would be met with punishment, if you were to return.

The floor beneath you was crafted of stone, covered in a layer of dust. Tangles of cobwebs stretched across the mantle above the hearth, roused only by the ghost of a draft that fluttered throughout the room.

Beside the hearth, sat a tub — the gold had tarnished, making it appear dilapidated, as if it were weathered by the elements. Steam rose from the water inside, as still as a silent pond.

A soft groan escaped you, body wracked with the frigid sting of agony, one that made your stomach turn as you approached the bath. It was unusual, the placement — your desire for cleanliness outweighed your skepticism.

Wobbling legs trembled like leaves upon a windswept branch as you sank into steaming water, causing you to hiss at the intrusion against your wounds. The heat did wonders, offering relief from the stab of ice, from the cruelty of the Carpathian cliffsides.

It was still dusk, the hour of the bat, a night that left you with a constant presence of dread. The creature, the man you saw — his shadow had not left you, as if pieces still lingered within your heart as you scrubbed yourself free of grime.

The groan of withered hinges gave way to the weight of the cast-iron doors, adorned with the heads of snarling hounds. Light pooled in from the crack in the door, causing gooseflesh to rake along your spine, followed by a shiver.

Something pulled you — like a puppeteer orchestrating a show, strings that bound you to some medieval presence beyond the doors. The flames within the hearth began to flicker, their light diminishing, waning to little more than smoldering embers.

Fear took root within your heart, its tendrils seizing within you, filling you with a wave of disquiet. Despite the warmth of the water, your flesh screams with an icy chill, throat growing thick as you reached for the bear’s hide.

Shame rippled through you, still bare and exposed beneath the mountain of fur. Firelight illuminated the next room, far more vast than the one you awoke in. Shuffling forward, you grasped at the edge of the door, benumbed iron firm beneath your palm.

A dining hall stretched before you, an ornate table lined with tall chairs that were made from the finest of pelts, yet worn by time. In another lifetime, this castle might’ve been beautiful — instead, it was a mausoleum of the damned.

An ornate candelabra sat atop the table, wisps of smoke drifting from extinguished wicks. A sizable pitcher sat beside a pair of wine glasses, glass contained within some metallic design that twisted around the base.

Two chairs had faced the roaring fireplace, a hearth that dwarfed the size of the one in your quarters. Your footsteps were feather-light as you crossed the threshold, carrying yourself closer to the table.

“Hello?” Whispers to an empty room stirred something within the shadows, accompanied by the garish bark of hounds. Icy dread coalesced within the pit of your stomach as you looked around, fearful of your intrusion.

A door opposite of you opened, moved by a nameless shadow, whose frame eclipsed all slivers of light — an ominous void, as black as pitch. Two hounds snarled at the spectre’s heels, leering through the corridor’s darkness.

Strigoi — the revenant of pestilence, now standing before you. You should’ve been terrified, thrown yourself at its mercy, but instead, you remained petrified where you stood.

For the briefest of moments, your eyes fluttered, and the shadow no longer occupied the space within the hallway. The door slammed shut, the thunderous crack of iron reverberating throughout the room.

The hounds paced forth, growling at you as they settled somewhere along the fringes, laying down alongside scaling stone columns. You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

Flames shuddered in the wake of an archaic presence, akin to an icy gale, and with it, the aura of something horribly foreboding. The shadow appeared at the head of the table, each ragged breath evoking a low, guttural growl.

“Sit.”

It was inhuman, his voice — akin to thunder shaking the mountains, like the roll of a dark tide, dragging sailors into its unforgiving seas. He spoke your native tongue, Dacian, and yet it sounded harsher from his lips, wrought with blades.

Through pools of dim firelight, you caught a glimpse of his visage — sharp and pointed, stone-faced and garish. His features, whilst gaunt, possessed all of the markings of a nobleman, attire bearing sigils of royalty, crafted of fine pelts.

With trembling hands, you lowered yourself into your seat, shrouded by the warmth of the grizzly’s hide, ensuring that you were concealed from his view. That pang of hunger you felt in your dream, a ravenous appetite — you could feel it again.

The plate placed before you is nothing more than a generous portion of bread, somewhat stale from constant exposure to acrid air. Your stomach gnashes with hunger, the sting of starvation — you dared not touch it.

“Eat,” His command reverberates throughout the hall, enough to cause a wave of gooseflesh to permeate your skin, dancing along your spine. “Thou shall refer to me as thy lordship.” You had not yet extended your gratitude — he must’ve plucked you from the snow.

Without an ounce of hesitation, your teeth greedily sank into bread, pulling it apart with the fervor of some wild animal. You were not a noblewoman, nor a maiden with any title or dowry — merely the daughter of a carpenter.

“My Lord,” What did one say to a creature that once terrorized your home, to a myth now manifested into flesh? “I — I must thank you, for your hospitality.” Reduced to a mere shrew in his presence, you chewed whatever piece of bread lingered in your mouth.

It was you, his lamb — intended to be his sacrifice, his sated hunger, sparing your village from the terror of his curse.

Another snarl emerged from him, accompanied by each rasp of his breathing, a noise that perplexed you to no end. Strigoi were dangerous — servants of hell itself, creatures born of dark sorcery, ones that had no place in the natural world.

Akin to a mere wisp of shadow, he manifested at your side, pouring a goblet of wine for you, the liquid a dusky crimson. Your gaze never dared to look him in the eyes, feeling the ghost of his finger dance across your cheek.

Such warmth, such feebleness — the beating of your heart only seemed to race with a pang of exhilaration. His flesh was akin to an endless winter, as cold as ice, like roughened leather, decaying beneath the earth.

“Drink.”

Your lips had not tasted wine as lavish as the chalice he presented you with, and it felt saccharine upon your tongue. Greed consumed you, prompting you to drink as if it were your lifeblood.

Long had this castle stood, many centuries of history contained within walls as old as time. A Count, a nobleman he had been in life, a black sorcerer. You, this enchantress, maiden of nothing — you would be his bride, his obsession, his unmaker.

From the rotten gloom of his fortress, he had preyed upon your village for years — years spent in-fear of this serpent, feeding upon the young and old. Blood was blood, and it did not matter the age, so long as his appetite was satiated.

“What do you intend for me?” Your voice was little more than a trembling mewl, expecting to be submitted to dark magics or something far worse. A low grunt stirred within his throat, nail dragging along the curve of your jaw.

With great restraint, his hand recoiled, leaving your warmth as he considered your inquiry in silence. You were intended for him — not as a sacrifice, but as something more, if you were willing.

Centuries spent in his eternal tomb, centuries spent waiting for you — Orlok had crossed oceans of time, wading through endless night to find you.

“Thou must rest — no blade shall find you here.” He rumbled, looming like some dark cloud above your head. It was your scent that drove him to madness, drowned within the concoction of oils placed into the bath. It was a scent he would covet fervently.

A hitch formed within your throat, and your terror had diminished, but only enough to keep you from shaking with dread. You did not understand what he wanted from you, why he did not tear you limb from limb, the fate that had befallen many of your kin.

No blade that wasn’t his own, you pondered, chewing at the inside of your cheek until the flesh was raw. Blood coalesced, sanguine drops attracting the sudden, sharp ire of your host, whose black eyes glittered with bewilderment.

“My Lord, I — I do not understand …” Uncertainty began to permeate your tone, cadence wrought with a newfound fright. Your blood ran cold, heart leaping into your throat as your chest tightened with a great and terrible worry.

“Rest.” His growl ripped through him, reverberating from his chest like the snarl of a feral beast. You skittered from the chair, still swathed in bearskin as you retreated to the room you came from.

Perhaps, he had mistaken your fear as something ungrateful. He had not slaughtered you yet, making you an unwitting guest within his home — you should’ve been offering your gratitude without protest.

The flame within the hearth had dissipated in one fell swoop, as if some storming gale had swept throughout the hall, stealing all light with it. Darkness swallowed your surroundings, and the Count had disappeared entirely, as if he had manifested into shadow.

A shudder coursed along your spine, sending you clamoring into the false comfort of your chambers. The door had shut before you, as if propelled by some unseen force, prompting you to move towards the bed behind you.

Not even the velvet curtains could offer you security, as if they were transparent, or nonexistent. You could still feel the chill of his breath against your cheek, the sensation of his claw tracing along your jaw — you should’ve been repulsed.

Instead of abhorrence, you felt a deep-seated yearning — a blistering desire that you hadn’t experienced before, a tether that anchored you to this being. You feared yourself, the amalgamation of sensations rousing within you as you crawled beneath the sheets.

Sleep would not find you — not here.

Your dreams were no longer yours, bound to him — whatever slumber you could find, you were subject to these visions, lascivious in nature. Whatever rest you could find was disjointed, interrupted by dreams so real that you were convinced of their tangibility, as if you could reach out and touch.

It was him you dreamt of, coming to you at an ungodly hour, claws raking across your bare flesh as he unraveled your sheets. The constant penumbra kept him concealed from you, and yet, you burned to see him fully.

He touched you in your dreams, appearing between your legs as you bared your soul to him, a figure so impossibly large and intimidating. It was guilt and trepidation you should’ve felt, laying with the scourge of your people, a baneful serpent.

Instead, it was euphoria — a desire to bind yourself to him, to cage yourself within his grasp. Spindly digits caressed along your body, nails ghosting above your breasts, traveling to the plane of your stomach.

Unclean — that was what you were, piety now stained in his shadow. Even that did not perturb you as you reached for him, wisps of air being stolen from your lungs as he leaned closer, teeth scraping against your sternum.

“Please,” You had begged him to continue, to bring you a pleasure that you had not yet experienced. “Do not stop.” Whatever pleas fell from your mouth had been for naught — and you awoke with sweat-slick skin and startlement.

As your eyes fluttered open, you were flustered to find the heavy warmth of arousal between your thighs, sheets tangled around your body. Embarrassment turned to frustration, throat dry as you adjusted yourself to the darkness of your chambers.

“Thine body yearns, starved for embrace,” Like the clash of thunder, his voice shook the room, emerging from the pitch surrounding you. You did not know where he was, but he was here with you — physically. “A lamb seeking the shepherd.”

An icy breeze fluttered throughout your quarters, moonlight glistening along the curtains surrounding the bed — and you saw his shadow beside you. Exposed, you drew the sheets around you, with a shame so sharp, and yet your skin gave so easily.

That familiar knot of dread bubbled within your stomach, gooseflesh crawling along your body as you wrapped your arms around you. “I feel your shadow upon me — I should not want you.” You whispered into the gloom.

A growl stirred from the strigoi, and he burrowed into your shame, settling into your bones. “Thine will is your own — it is in your nature,” He rumbled, and that was when you saw him, lingering at the foot of the bed. “Give thyself to me.”

It was your agonizing shame that kept you from crawling to him on all fours like some beast, starving for any scrap of touch. You wanted him, in your own twisted way — wanted him to shield you from your kin, to take you, to live within your ribs.

There was no life left for you in the village — the kin that amassed to put you to the blade, left in the woods for him were not your friends. Perhaps, that was what drove you all along, pushing you into his embrace.

His tendrils wrapped themselves around your mind, no thoughts left untouched, each crevice now surrendered to the Count. He could taste your burning lust, your desire to belong, to belong to him — and he craved such sentiments.

“What little life you had, now belongs to me. Give thyself, willingly — I shall satisfy this craving, and your flesh will be mine alone.”

In the slim fade of silver, you saw him — gaunt and pale, like that of an apparition. In life, he might’ve been called handsome, comely — your disgust should’ve kept you away, made you flee. You were rooted to the bed, able to meet his stare.

Hues as black as pitch, swirling with a hunger unending, an eternal appetite that demanded to be sated by you. He watched you hawkishly, his shadow descending upon you, the phantom sensation of fingers dancing across your collarbone.

Enraptured by the Count, your enticement only seemed to blossom, unfurling from your chest with a wave of want. Instead of hiding yourself from him, you sluggishly allowed the sheets to drop, breasts pebbling from the chilled air.

“I am yours — and only yours, my Lord.”

With a breathy declaration of your devotion, a snarl bubbled from his throat, a sound that sent shivers cascading down your body. Your legs untangled themselves from the sheets altogether, nakedness now exhilarating instead of humiliating.

It was as if you were eased down by some unseen presence, as clawed, shadowed hands bid you to recline into the feathered bed beneath you. The Count did not move from the foot of the frame, leering at you with an ugly obsession.

“Think only of me.”

Whatever supernatural abilities he possessed, he used them, as if you were placed back into the vision you’d had before. His tone rattles your insides, a booming timbre wrought with something dark and enigmatic.

Phantom sensations drift along your body, the touch of another foreign to you. You have used your own hand before, but this feels exhilarating, like a gale of frigid wind ghosting across your frame.

Arousal coalesces between your legs, a slick heat that oozes onto the sheets. It is your scent that vexes him so, the scent of a siren, the call of your sanguine soul.

Without a thought, your hand shyly drifts to your chest, kneading into one of your breasts. Your skin prickles when he makes a sharp, throaty growl of satisfaction. His ghostly claws rake along the supple flesh of your thighs.

A moan escapes you, one of delight as you begin to sink into his presence. For now, he is content to observe, his shadow partaking instead of his physical being — it will not be that way for long.

Soon, your flesh would join — you would become bound to him, and he to you, a union abhorred by many. He reveled at the thought of you, flesh eternal, revealing yourself to him like the unfurling petals of a flower.

No longer shrewd beneath his covetous glower, you freely touch yourself, squeaking out a myriad of sounds from your throat. “Take all of me, beloved.” You exhale, the pad of your thumb flicking across your swollen nipple.

The use of such an intimate title evokes a ragged, strained exhale from your paramour, whose obsession rages like that of a tempest. His phantom claws trace along your body, circling your unattended breast.

It kneads just as you do, sharp talons continuing to tease the pebbled bud, drawing out a mewl from your sweet lips. Gooseflesh erupts across the back of your neck, another wave of arousal flushing through your frame.

A heated ardor burned between your thighs, soon to be soothed by the ghost of gnarled digits. Spectral claws continue to revel in your velvety flesh, seeking your arousal as the shadow traces across your cunt. It makes you writhe, one hand grasping desperately at the sheets.

A strangled whimper emerges from you, back beginning to arch into his salacious embrace. He continues to watch from his place at the foot of the bed, breathing unnaturally hoarse, strained with a wanton need.

Warmth exhumes from you like the lick of an open fire, extinguishing his gravely chill. The Count’s gaze greedily consumes your contorting form, able to hear the erratic beating of your heart, your mouth torn open, his name upon your lips.

No curse had befallen you, save that of devotion.

Phantom digits find the pearl of your cunt, teasing the clutch of nerves before vigorously circling it. Your knees buckle, eyes fluttering shut as you succumbed to such unholy appetites.

“Give in to thine own desires.”

That gravelly purr coaxes you to seek your satisfaction, and you mechanically obey, as if transfixed by his voice alone. A sharp exhale splits your ribs, and the hand that once grasped the sheets soon finds its way between your legs.

An unnatural sheen permeates his black hues, one that seems appeased with your subservience. No dead heart could beat — his skeletal frame had not felt such fervor for centuries.

Again, you look to him, as if wanting him to witness your lust, fingers dancing along your swollen folds. Your digits seek to roll across your slit, eliciting a whine from you as you begin to touch yourself.

Dragging your legs against the sheets, you keep them parted, two fingers sluggishly rutting against your nethers. A phantom hand caresses along your stomach, nails raking from navel to sternum, and then to your throat.

The pressure sends a spike of adrenaline through your body, the sensation unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. You think of him in an untoward manner, unbecoming of a maiden, lascivious fantasies that make you sigh.

Ghostly caresses layer themselves across your chest, and you swear you hear him shift throughout the room, drawing closer to you. Your thumb languidly circles your pearl, teeth gnashing at your lower lip.

A throaty moan rips from your diaphragm, wrought with ecstasy as you pleasure yourself, one palm kneading at your breast. The other is spirited, ministrations laced with desire as your digits find your entrance.

His shadow is oppressive, a force that blankets itself across your body, and for a moment, you see a vision of him, crawling over your flesh. Your thoughts are molded to him, able to be toyed with — your Lord makes you see his own whims.

It became difficult to discern dreams from reality, imagining his hands roaming your form, claws sinking into your flesh, his brand. You call out to him, a whimpering plea that begs him for release.

Arousal mounts, burning heavy within the pit of your stomach as you squirm, pushing two fingers into the tight heat of your cunt. The noises are sinful, a myriad of strained moans intermingled with crass strokes of your digits.

The Count’s phantom hand continues to squeeze at your throat, nails digging into the silken flesh of your neck. A sharp exhale emerges from your lips, toes beginning to curl at the concoction of sensations assaulting your body.

You alone had grown intimately acquainted with your own body, and yet he handled you as if you had been lovers for centuries. Ghostly digits begin to toy with the pearl of your cunt, causing your muscles to twitch.

“Please,” A supplication to the shadows, wanting some release for your overwhelming pleasure. It swarms you from all around, senses invaded with his dominating presence. “My Lord, please!” Your cunt clenches around your fingers.

A growl erupts from the pitch, his gaze fixated upon you as he looms closer, hovering above your writhing frame. The scent of your cruor ensnares him like a wolf to a rabbit, and he finally moves to perch beside you.

His garb only makes him seem impossibly statuesque, hand hovering above you as his sorcery intensifies. Your back arches, feeling his shadow purse around your pearl, enough to make you fist at the sheets.

Ecstatic digits piston themselves in and out of your nethers, coated in a thin layer of slick, thighs shifting together in an attempt to relieve any ounce of friction.

Higher — you climb toward your release, chasing after it with a thinly-veiled desperation. Shadowy sensations move across your body like liquid smoke, squeezing beneath your jaw, continuing to circle around your clit.

You are temptation incarnate — his devotion to you is a powerful thing, just as yours is to him. Sharp, jagged teeth hover above your breast, and the Count succumbs to his hunger, at last.

Pain blossoms throughout your breast, and yet you hadn’t felt an ecstasy quite like this. It was blinding, white-hot as it consumed you whole, swallowing you within the abyss of lust. Teeth break flesh, tasting your cruor upon his tongue.

No drink could compare to that of your sanguine ichor, no sensation — the Count drank from your breast, a possessive snarl ripping through his chest. He bristled at the feeling of your warm palm cupping the nape of his neck.

A crescendo of moans tore through you as you approached your peak, digits continuing to dip inward, curling within your cunt. It became strained, body trembling with an onslaught of ecstasy.

Claws begin to stroke along your tresses, as if easing you into submission, coaxing forth a release that makes you scream. Your body curls toward him, cunt slick with your mess as you find your satisfaction, at last.

A warm rush of your essence soaks the sheets, the scent enough to drive your paramour to madness. It furthers his bloodlust in a way that entices you, another wheezing exhale leaving him.

A rough tongue slithers against your sternum, stained in crimson as he openly feasts from you, and you do not recoil. Your peak seems to work in-tandem with his appetite, feeling his claws ghost above your breast.

Muscles ache with spasmodic twitches, chest flourishing with the sting of agony as it spreads throughout your sternum. Instead, you invite him closer, digits stroking at the greying, decayed flesh, allowing him to sup upon you.

His gravelly voice seems to intensify within the recesses of your mind, speaking to you through a distant haze. “Thine flesh belongs to me,” He rumbles, and you hold him closer. “As this flesh belongs to thee.”

He does not touch you, leaving you with some aching void that can only be filled by him — he alone will satisfy the craving.