↳ the székely series*
summary: count dracula stays at your family's home in greece while doing business with your father, a nobleman owning a firm in which the count has taken a certain interest in. dracula soon takes in interest in you as well
↳ nsfw alphabet*
summary: you know it
↳ the blood patron [1] [2]—[discontinued]
summary: you've gotten addicted to donating blood
↳ wild ride*
summary: drac feeds on you while you come
↳ beauty and the beast [1] [2] [3]—[discontinued]
summary: a spin on the fairytale
↳ domestic dracula
summary: drac living his best life with you in modern times
↳ what that beard do
summary: babe's been gone for a trip and you can't help yourself when you see him with a full and luscious beard
↳ im a slave 4 u*
summary: he's such a slut for you, especially when you're on your period
↳ eyes on me*
summary: dracula tells you to touch yourself for him
↳ drac with asthmatic!reader
summary: you are a prisoner in his castle and have an asthma attack in the cell
Word count: 2,134
Warnings: none but please keep in mind this story will eventually delve into mature themes so go away if you’re not 18+
Pairing: Dracula x female reader
I’ll try posting a chapter per week. Any constructive criticism and feedback is very welcome (really, english is not my first language so I’ll take any help I can get). I’m waiting for ao3 to e-mail me an invitation so I can post it there, too.
He heard her footsteps long before she knocked on his door.
He stood sat on his armchair with a book on his lap, waiting. A loud song reached his ears, making him tilt his head. Hm. Interesting how humans could go around now with a tiny appliance that played music directly in their ears. The gramophone had lost its appeal and the wealth associated with it. Now everybody on the street carried one of those metal and glass slabs with strings attached to it, bobbing their head to their song of choice.
She was humming along with the song as she walked down the corridor to his building. Shifting in his seat, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A hint of perfume, coffee, strawberries and honey. Curious. Not a scent of her blood yet.
The clicking heels stopped as she paused the music and he rose. He took his time on the way to the door so she could adjust her belongings. Another deep intake of breath and he came to a halt, a sigh escaping his lips.
Oh, intoxicating.
He found that this new era had brought exquisite new flavours to his taste, but this one… ah, she was a mix of old european blood, found only in the hidden depths of the Carpathian Forest, and the lovely nuance of modernity. That old saying, you are what you eat applied to her as well. Whatever she was in habit of eating or drinking heavily influenced her scent. A nice, well preserved and safely kept bottle of wine, just for him. It quickly overpowered all the other scents surrounding her.
Knock, knock.
Throwing his head back to try and regain his composure, he opened the door. The door handle dented beneath his hand upon laying eyes on her. He expected her to pretty but he was met with far more than that.
“Yes?”, was all he could manage.
“I’m Y/N L/N,” she said as if it were explanatory. He stared at her blankly. “Renfield sent me, I’m from the lawyer firm? I brought you some documents to review.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” he stepped aside, opening one arm to invite her in and putting a smile on display.
She peered at him from the corner of her eyes as she passed him, quickening her pace as he took another whiff. He would have to be more cautious so as to not scare her away. But if she did flee that would only make him chase her and he would drink her down too quickly, without any appreciation whatsoever. And what a crime that would be.
“I brought you a cell phone, as well. Renfield mentioned you were stripped of yours when you were taken to the Foundation.” She placed her bag on a chair and her briefcase on top of large center table of his flat. She had her back to him, giving an opportunity to analyse her.
The tight clothes and missing fabric was still something he had to get accustomed with but he wasn’t complaining. If anything, he quite liked the fashion of this century.
The fact that he could see her stockings was outrageous, black with a seam running down the center of her legs. In his time, she would have been lynched for having her undergarments on display like that. The black high heels were a nice touch. And then the tight pencil skirt outlining her curves… It left just enough for his imagination.
She turned around to see him standing there like a statue, the door still open. Ah, pity. How unfortunate that those shirts were still in fashion. He couldn’t recall the name humans gave it in this era and suddenly he hated it. The collar covered her neck entirely. In fact, now that he realized it the only skin showing on her body was on her face and hands.
“Count? Are you alright?”
“Perfectly fine, my darling,” he replied, closing the door at last and swallowing down the saliva that had welled up in his mouth. He strode over to her, placing his hands on the chair closest to her. “I apologise for my manners. It has been awhile since I had a guest over, you must think me a terrible host. Please, take a seat. Unfortunately I have only water and wine to offer you.”
She looked derisively to the chair offered to her. Her lips fought a smile and he encouraged it by smiling in return, but, no, she refused to give it to him.
“Renfield was right,” she whispered under her breath but he caught it. Louder, she said “Thank you but I’ll stand. I’m in a hurry today. Don’t you worry about me,” she extended a white box with a picture of that metal slab on the front. A cell phone, she had said. “Here you go, there’s already a simcard in it, your new number is written in the back. I’ve taken the liberty to set it up for you. I placed Renfield’s number on speed dial should you need it, he’s registered as 6. You do know how to handle one of these, right?”
“I catch on fairly fast,” opening the box and retrieving the phone. “And if I need to contact you?”
“You have no need to contact me. I’m simply running an errand for my boss,” she stated dryly, averting her eyes. “Here, if you could sign these for me to release the rest of your assets,” a pen was offered to him. He plucked it from her small fingers automatically.
It was not often that he met someone that resisted his charms. He could count on one hand, in fact. The Van Helsings, Johnny and now her. At the very least Agatha and Zoe held some interest in him and Johnny had made himself a hero waging vengeance against him - especially now with the Jonathan Harker Foundation.
But not her. Not one sliver of interest.
“Are you signing them or should I come back another da- evening?” she corrected herself, one hand on her hip and another raising to push her hair back. He caught a glimpse of the skin beneath her ear, paler than the rest of her.
He took his time signing each of the documents. When he was done, he gathered the papers in his hands, holding them flush against his chest so she wouldn’t get them and leave. She bit the insides of her cheeks, meeting his eyes with clear annoyance on them. Oh, fiesty. She was an impatient one. Maybe he had caught her on a bad day but he had a feeling she was always like this. He could not stop his smirk, which only made her heart beat faster in anger.
“And if I want to contact you? I promise you I will make it worth your while.”
“I don’t do dates with clients.”
“I’m not your client.”
That made her scoff.
“Right. You’re Renfield’s,” her eyes traveled up and down him, granting him a little satisfaction. “Still, I don’t do dates.”
“What if it’s not a date? I am new to London and I would appreciate if someone could show me the sights.”
“I’m not a tour guide,” she replied, her expression hardening.
“No, you’re a lawyer.”
“I’m well aware. Can I have those back?”, one hand out to him with a raised eyebrow.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Both of her hands went on her hips and she huffed, trying to make herself bigger as if she was demanding respect. The movement made her breasts press through her shirt, giving him a delightful sight. She grabbed her purse, swung it over her shoulder and proceeded to close her briefcase.
“Fine. Keep them. I’m late to an appointment at court. I’m sure Renfield can send someone else to get those papers. In the meanwhile, enjoy life without all your money.”
“How insolent of you,” he shot back but he was smiling. He doubted she would address him like that if she knew just what he was.
“Yes I am. I don’t have time for games.”
“This is isn’t a game.”
“Isn’t it? I see right through you. God, and you must think you’re so innovative with all the european sophistication. I bet you’re used to having women throwing themselves at you as soon as you mention you’re a Count.”
“Usually, I don’t have to mention it at all, in fact,” he intervened. She was about to continue but he carried on. “What was Renfield right about?”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. He cocked an eyebrow, shaking the papers as if to say he would give them to her if she answered.
“That you are not from here and that you are old fashioned.”
Listening attentively to her heart and how it skipped a beat, he shook his head to the sides.
“That’s not all. What else?”
“He said that you would try and gain my affections.”
The Count offered her the papers.
“Perhaps I ought to change lawyers. He clearly speaks more about his own clients than he should. Would you be available?”
And with that she chuckled. Ah, so the façade could be broken… at least for a second.
“I’m afraid I have a long list of clients at the moment, Count Dracula. If you commit a serious offense you may call on me to represent you,” she took the papers, her fingers briefly brushing against his cold skin. Her eyebrows furrowed but she was quick to conceal her startlement at his temperature.
She was walking to the door as she stuffed the papers inside her bag and he accompanied her.
“I might just murder someone to take you up on your offer,” he said from behind her, in a tone much more serious than he intended. Still, she laughed at that, the sound ringing through the room.
He courteously opened the door for her and she turned on her heels, extending a hand for him.
“I apologise for being rude before but I will not apologise for setting boundaries. I hope you understand that, Count. And if you do decide to murder someone make sure to hide the evidence so it will be a good case for us.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
He grinned at her and she smiled back but without the warmth he presented her. A large hand slipped into hers and she shuddered. Gazing down unto her eyes he shook her hand which made her smile grow more confident. She had started to loosen her grip but he held her firmly. He bent forward and his lips caressed the back of her hand. She stared at him the whole time as if hypnotized and for a moment he thought he had gotten her in the palm of his hand but then she blinked and cleared her throat.
“Boundaries, Count Dracula, you should remember them if we meet again. Goodbye.”
“Bye now, my darling,” he called when she turned her back to him and started marching down the corridor, swaying her hips.
“Boundaries!” she repeated as she entered the elevator.
Before the doors closed he could swear he saw an amused glint in her eyes.
The Count sat on his armchair again, the book now forgotten as he thought about Y/N. He was still indecisive about what to do with her. Simply draining her would not only be a waste of good blood but as well of character.
She demanded respect with every step of her heels. He would bet that she could cower many men with that stare of hers. Dracula had never met many lawyers and those that he did meet were fascinating in different ways. Johnny was determined although slightly stupid. Renfield was a slave to his every wish. Should Dracula ask him to retrieve the fattest fish in the sea, the poor man would probably drown trying to get it. But she was an entirely different breed.
So strong-willed that it was a charm all on its own, without even striving for it to be as such. He had heard an expression on the television the other day that he thought might apply well to her - “my way or the highway”.
And such amazing beauty. Make up was far more popular in this century, he could tell, and he was quickly learning it could disguise many unwanted flaws but she used in such a way that it added to her beauty instead of covering it.
Beautiful, impetuous, resolute… and a sense of humour that was surprisingly dark.
Ah… She would make quite the bride if she could withstand the change. And if she did not, he would make sure to savour every curve and every last drop of blood in her body.
Just checking in to let everyone know I’m still obsessed. It’s been what, 30 days now? A whole damn month. In therapeutic speak, we call that the formation of a habit. FML
Summary: Count Dracula survives the events with Zoe Van Helsing, much to his displeasure, and so he journeys onward finding a small, luscious city called New Orleans. What happens when he finds a familiar face that he thought he'd never see again? A story of redemption, friendship, betrayal, passion, food, and, of course, quite a bit of death. He is a vampire, after all.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,411
There is a beat to New Orleans that reverberates in the soul of the city. It is felt in the sidewalks, the earth beneath constantly moving and writhing and creating cracks in the cement that bounce right up to meet the air. Feet dance around the crevices and move forward with a melodic thump, thump, thump. Like a heartbeat. It’s all around. Effortless.
Dracula took an unnecessary deep breath and exhaled with a grin. Yes, it reminded him exactly of a heartbeat - strong, thumping, certain, thriving. The humans walking all around him, each on their own rhythm and sequence, leading them all in different directions but somehow each one seemed to be pulsating towards the same thing.
He stood atop the steps near the river, across from the chapel of St. Louis Cathedral - the iconic towers peering down upon the people below and gleaming brightly in its false righteousness. A mimicry of the depravity that daily occurred below.
The strong current of the Mississippi River flowed steadily down and outward towards the gulf. It was rugged and muddled with red and brown. The Count reminisced of how much blood had helped taint the color. Tilting his head slightly, he briefly pondered how many people he himself had thrown into the unrelenting waters.
Speaking of which, he realized with a short huff that he was running late for a meeting with some potential clients. Adjusting his jacket against the unnaturally brisk winter air that settled in the city, his menacingly dark figure cut through the growing crowds with ease as he sauntered down the cobblestone road and into the courtyard of the old French Quarter apartment building. His lawyer, a descendent of Renfield and who conveniently had the same name, was waiting dutifully for his master’s arrival with three large decanters full of fresh blood.
“Ah hello there, dark lord, how was the Quarter this evening? The chill seemed to have driven away a lot of the tourists and locals alike - “ Renfield began his pleasantries, even though he knew it was futile but he loathed the awkward silence that loomed around whenever the vampire was near. The Count held up a dismissive hand and snatched up the closest decanter, taking a sip before his lips turned down. “Oh yes, that was a-“
“A local politician who did not know how to take care of himself. Seriously, Renfield, this is horrible - it’s even starting to congeal!”
“Apologies, sir, but he was the easiest specimen to acquire the knowledge of families you have been…researching in your endeavor to control the city.” The mousy little man stood and wrung his hands together nervously, he then motioned to the second decanter, “As a way to wash the filthy taste from your mouth, I found a fiery little salsa dancer and a philosopher from the university to perhaps appease your appetite a little more appropriately.”
Dracula rolled his eyes. As if he really wanted to ponder the insecurities of mortals who are so desperate to know why things are the way they are. He then shrugged, not in the mood at all to continue this conversation, and downed the decanters back to back. It had been a long day and he was rather parched.
Surprisingly, as far as palettes go, it was not a bad mix - almost like a little charcuterie board of mixed personalities. They blended together rather well, though he would never admit to his eager…assistant. Now armed with the knowledge he had been searching for the past few months, he also had a little pep to his step along with an optimistically insightful outlook on this previously bleak evening.
“Is it to your satisfaction, master?” Renfield tittered nervously on the outskirts of Dracula’s peripheral, close but not quite hovering. He knew better than that by now, which was worlds better than his predecessor. The Count raked a hand through his dark hair and licked his lips, a thoughtful look upon his face.
“I think tonight will be, ah, transcendent.” With a self-satisfied smirk, he threw his jacket back on and swept out of the room without another word. His oxfords hit the flagstone on Royal Street with a catchy little click-clack, the sweet sounds of a trumpet echoing through Jackson Square, and the cheerful chattering of people beginning their adventures in the French Quarter. Dracula felt invigorated, exhilarated, inspired. After waiting and planning for months, this night had finally come, and with it his way into the city’s cabal that not-so-secretly ran all of the happenings in New Orleans - including the supernatural order. Yes, it was going to be an interesting evening.
It had been a good few decades since the incident with Zoe. He wouldn’t lie, he was rather disappointed when he ended up surviving the event, not when he was ready to kick the proverbial bucket. However, it seemed like fate decided the world wasn’t giving up the great Count Dracula just yet. So he had the first Renfield contact the Foundation to take care of her corpse and then promptly disappeared before they arrived.
When faced with eternity, one must never stay stagnant. He decided that England was a tad too dull for his tastes. There was so much more in the world to see! Conveniently, he soon found the perfect opportunity in a city across the Atlantic called New Orleans. From what he gathered, it was a French and Spanish influenced area down in the south of the United States of America. It sounded exciting, but what he found was even better than he could have imagined.
The Big Easy was singularly the most debaucherous civilization Dracula had found thus far. Never in his life had he seen humans act so recklessly and uninhibited. It was thoroughly entertaining and he reveled in the illicit society. But there was something more to it than just the freely found recklessness. The city felt like a magnet pulling him in, the air settled around differently, smells and sights and sounds hit with a mysterious and warm glow. He was an unstoppable force and met his immovable object within the borders of this boisterous city.
There was more to it that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but Dracula shook his head as he turned into the garage. That was quite enough abstract thinking for the evening. With a content sigh, he clicked the key fob and the lights of his Rolls Royce Phantom flashed brightly back at him. Back to business.
He cruised down the streets and away from the ever-growing crowds of the downtown. Pulling onto St. Charles Avenue, he tapped his fingers along to some jazz song playing softly on the radio. Dracula had to admit he did enjoy the music scene here; he briefly wondered if Mozart would find the incongruity maddening or endearing. No matter. Dracula enjoyed the complexity and it suited this place.
As he drove, the buildings sank lower and lower into the Earth and started morphing into magnificent mansions hiding behind the towering oak trees. Their robust and impressive branches spread out across the road reaching out towards the others just across the street. Eventually, he turned and pulled up to the curb of a dark establishment, his sleek red car glimmered under the flickering gas lamps that illuminated the front entrance to the restaurant.
The valet opened the door for Dracula, and he gazed seriously at the young man while handing over the keys “Keep it close, would you? I’d hate for anything to spoil this evening.”
“Yes, sir, of course, it won’t leave my sight. I promise you that, sir!”
The Count leaned closer, glanced down at the name tag, and then back up to the nervous kid, “I shall hold you to it, Eric.”
His gulp was audible and Dracula relished the fear, the rapid thumping of a heartbeat music to his ears. The vampire flashed a pointy smile and spun towards the entrance, grasping the lapels of his suit to smooth out any wrinkles from the drive.
The lanterns danced light across the enormous front doors. the windows had long curtains darkening the frames for privacy, and the only hint that this was an establishment and not a residence, was the sloped cursive sign hung above the double doors. It was a dark maroon color, almost black, and elegantly spelled out the name, Sanguine.
