Night dress, white dress
Dracula x Reader
Sum: It always takes too long to realize something isn’t right. That something just might be dangerous.
AN: Don’t you hate it when you have time but the creative machine is broke? Instead you get a teeny-tiny Dracula one shot.
It’s hard to tell what weight is dragging you down anymore, was it the nightdress or gravity itself? It’s was only a few days, maybe a month, ago that the dress was tossed into the suitcase like nothing. Now the thing was restraining you to the chair. If you had bothered with the robe you might have been crushed to death. It’s a good thing you didn’t care about common decency anymore, better to let the world see the outline of breasts then be killed by fabric.
Oh, how very lady like of you to faint at a frightening sight. Just looking down the open window; following the curve of the castle’s wall. Whatever ailed you was causing the shadows to move in the shape of a large being crawling. If it weren’t for common sense, you might have mistaken it for a bear.
It was sharp fingernails penetrating brick, which was the final straw, leading to your fainting. Only a flash of that scene, then the landscape of woods, then the window frame, and finally the ceiling. Staring at it with a throbbing head until the darkness completely took over.
“You should be more careful. The air here is not as forgiving as your home.” Your host says from the other chair.
He’s different again. Although you’re the guest you’ve only seen him in bursts during your time here. First time he was the old man with unkempt hair and angry nails that you had imagined would live in solitary. Second he was walking straighter, seemed to have found a brush and probably used whatever expensive cream lords tend to buy. At the third, when his hair started to return to black, you decided to stop looking at him directly.
“The air isn’t the only thing unforgiving about this place.” You say, not bothering to look at him. Instead staring to the fire before you.
Everything that you’ve come across here is old. Including the chair your host sits in. It creaks from being pushed off from. The only indication that he was moving as his footsteps seemed to be silent.
His presence next to you was announced by the clicking of glass on the side table. Your head almost falling to the side to look at it. There was nothing special about the wine glass, staring at the liquid inside. It was too thick to be regular wine.
“And what, pray tell, have you done that needs to be forgiven?” He asks.
Although he’d gone through changes, the nails were the same. With almost their own personality that take you away from the man for the briefest of moments. Without the strength to travel up his arm the nails were your new host. They hold the rim of the glass while waiting for you to speak.
“That’s not wine,” You’ve seen that cup with thick liquid several times during your visit. Although he claims to not drink wine, it never occurred to think deeper into that statement.
The nails let go of the glass in exchange for your cheek. Tiny pinpricks you wouldn’t have otherwise felt gently scrap along your jaw. Gently guiding your gaze to look upwards, right to the beast.
“Now don’t change the subject. You know I don’t drink wine.” His thumb slides over your chin, point of the nail toying with your bottom lip. “What sins do need forgiven? For being unmarried at your age? Going to a royal bachelor’s castle in a foreign land? I can only wonder how they talked before you left. You haven’t spoken to your family in a while, will anyone look for you?”
“My cat.” You say, although he wasn’t really yours. Just a stray you fed and petted whenever he sauntered by.
Truth was no one would notice you were missing. When ladies leave their homes, follow their art, the parents are braced to never hear from them. The only one that would notice your absents would be the pastry vender. And he’s probably happy that no one is taking all of the tarts anymore.
Count Dracula’s smile is soft but changes his entire face. Tilting his head slightly, looking down the nightdress. “I’m afraid I haven’t received any letters from him.” His cupping hand slides down your neck, thumb rubbing the collar bone.
Past few nights there were dreams of a touch softer than this. Just like the shadow, just like your strength, and just like your host they started as something abstract. An unknown, unshaped, being behind you that wasn’t worth questioning. Just keep your face to the pillow and enjoy whatever it was reaching around and inside of you. Waking up to your forehead and thighs sweaty and a bite mark on that pillow.
Only now, looking and touching this man, that the being in the dreams had a face. Maybe if you had turned your head or opened your eyes you’d see him. See that slight smile replaced with open mouth breathing, watch it bite your back and drag along your neck.
“What have you done to me?” You ask, you’re already so weak you can hear death’s footsteps. What did it matter if you asked questions you shouldn’t?
His hand slides down from your neck. Towards the left of your chest, resting over the top of your breasts. “It appears I have overworked you. Your heart is barely pumping anymore.”
His hand slides through your nightdress. Chasing whatever little beats your heart was giving. Opening your dress to find the source; pointed thumb nail lightly pressing into the soft skin of your breasts. His touch wasn’t sexual, it was more medical. Like a doctor with a never-ending smug expression. When he finds the strongest point of your heart, he makes eye contact.
“Words like yours don’t come easy, Dearest,” He says, putting his hand behind your neck and kneeling next to the chair. “You should retire for the night. The sun will be up tomorrow, and you’ll work with new strength.”
“That’s not wine,” You say again, but he doesn’t reply. Just tilts his head and smiles. Holding your gaze until darkness takes you back into its arms.
0-0-0
The journey to this place of red and ruin, as with most dreams, was done instantly. Dreams never had a responsibility to make sense: replacing the world’s ground with a few inches of thick red liquid. Shifting and moving your weight makes little ripples but refuses to stain the bottom of your dress.
You don’t have to look up to know that he was approaching. Although silent, it’s hard to ignore him when he wants to be known. The breaking of nature’s laws cannot be ignored forever; the man with impossible height walking without sound, without sloshing the ground. It would have been better if he had been storming forwards.
“I’m your wine,” You state instead of asking. Daring to look forward at his final steps in front of you. “You’re eating me, aren’t you?”
It’s more concerning that you didn’t flinch when he reached forward then anything. Hardly a reaction when he tucks hair behind your ear.
“My dear, do you really think I don’t have a reserve? You are just a tiny bit of it,” His head cocks slightly again. Looking down to take your hand and back into your eyes. “But that will be just a memory. One you may peek into, after all this.”
“How long have you been killing me? Since the first night or did you need a taste first?” Life was fleeting the longer whatever this was spoke to you. What did it matter if you insulted him or not?
“I got my taste months before you ever came to me.” Your held hand is raised high to his mouth, “A sample simply isn’t going to do anymore. I want the feast.” Maybe he had started with a kiss, but all you felt was the bite.
