Bloody Moon [Bram Stoker x f!Reader]
Minors DNI
۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞
A/N: f!reader, mention of female genitals, smut, mentions of blood, Bram has his body
۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞
The entire settlement bypasses the old estate, which is only miraculously not called a castle. Various rumors circulate about that place, supposedly its owner is cursed. You used to hear from the locals that the owner of the estate is a servant of the Devil, or is one himself. But you weren't interested in the tales of frightened villagers. You were more interested in the opportunity to gain knowledge of healing in order to help people, and not to pretend.
And that's why you're here, making your way through the overgrown path to the estate late at night. You are not afraid of dry bushes and dead trees that cast evil shadows on the ground under the moonlight, you are not afraid of howling wolves somewhere in the distance. The nature of these lands seemed to have died long ago.
The estate welcomes you with a dead garden. It died a long time ago. Flowers died, if there were shrubs, they either turned into a pile of stabbing dry branches, or were so ugly that you can’t look at them without tears. In the center of this garden there is a large fountain with a decoration in the form of three girls holding jugs. You don’t know how long he hasn’t worked, however, you don’t ask yourself this question. You knock on the door. All this time, you have a strong feeling that you are being watched. Maybe that's how it is?
The heavy oak door opens on its own. At your own risk, you go inside, frantically look around to be sure for sure: you are alone. Most of the furniture is covered with white bedspreads, dust settles on the railings and window frames, in some places you can see cobwebs in the corners. This estate has been abandoned for a long time. Clearly no one has lived here for years. At least it creates that impression. “And why is everyone afraid of it?” You wonder at some point, and strange noises somewhere nearby distract you. As if someone is approaching. Frightened, you pull out a knife, but you hear laughter in response.
“And what do you hope for when you decide to use it against me?” The voice is deep, rough with a clear mockery of you and the whole situation. To a stranger you seem ridiculous in an attempt to protect your life. "Why did you disturb me?"
You look around, slowly moving forward towards the massive staircase leading to the second floor. Fear grips your entire body, causing every nerve ending to tense up. Each muscle is like a spring. The instinct of self-preservation is calling you to run as far as possible from this damned place, but you have come such a long way that you simply cannot return back with nothing. It is the only smoldering flame of courage in your chest. You have a clear goal with which you came to this estate, and you clearly do not intend to deviate from your original plan.
Your attempts in the twilight to find something or someone who addresses you are futile. And this only amuses the one who is watching you from the shadows even more. The way you cling to your life, the way you desperately try to see the source of the voice in the twilight. This someone could watch you for hours.
“But you should probably be commended for your bravery. Ignore the locals' warnings and come here... You're either too brave or too damn stupid. Haven't you been warned about who is the owner of this place?” You swallowed hard. Only one thing reassured you for sure: what you do not see, at least a human voice, is something that thinks, accordingly, not relying solely on animal instincts. With this “something” you can make a deal. After all, can you?
“Don’t you think that when guests come to you, you need to at least go out to them. I'm not talking about how to find out if you need help?” You are ready to almost curse yourself for those words. Who asked you to open your mouth, and even more so to talk back the obvious owner of these places? “There are a lot of conversations about you. What I just did not hear on the way here. even it was said that the devil himself lives here.”
Right behind you, you hear laughter, angry and a little judgmental. Icy hands, like those of a dead man, rest on your shoulders, and all your imaginary courage leaves your body at once, as if by a wave of your hand. The desire to run overcomes its own limits, but your legs do not obey you, you cannot even take a step forward, let alone escape. The owner of the estate is amused by such a reaction.
You slowly turn around, your heart literally swells with fear, pressing on your lungs and making it difficult to breathe fully. Before you stands a man in a black cloak. His pale, almost porcelain skin reflects the moonlight that enters the hall despite the slightly dirty window. The owner of the estate is dressed in a long black cloak, from under which a high standing collar of a white shirt sticks out. His eyes don’t have a vital luster. He carefully study your features, glare into your eyes. And you understand that your miserable life will end in the estate. You’ll not become a doctor in your small town, you’ll not be able to save other people's lives. You'll just die here in the clutches of this creature. However, his impossibly long blond hair grabs your attention.
“More than daylight and noise around, I hate impudent people like you. But your courage amazes me. Tell me, child, what's your wish? Do you really want to spend your whole life learning how to save people? What's the point?” The gaze of the scarlet eyes rushes to the blade of the knife that you hold in your trembling hands. It seems to you that if you were not killed in the first seconds, you were just lucky, or he’s playing with you.
“I was told that there is someone in this estate who can teach me the art of healing. They said that there is an incalculable treasure, an incredible amount of knowledge that will help humanity move forward and not die with a slight cough.” You seemed to be waiting for this question, because the fire of courage in your chest flares up with renewed vigor, driving out fear. You are confident in your aspirations, and now you are definitely not going to leave the intended path. “Please teach me. Share your knowledge. In return, I will do anything for you.”
The desire to learn, to learn something new attracts him. That is why the man's features soften, and he leads you along. The library on his estate was covered in dust. There is not a single book in it that the owner would not read, because they are all boring to him. But seeing genuine admiration and delight in your eyes, it seems that the one who is branded the Devil in the flesh is tingling somewhere deep, between the ribs, where the heart once beat. Years of loneliness in the estate make themselves felt, it is unusual for a man that someone is wandering in his library again, looking at the spines of books with interest, going through the letters with their fingertips, leaving their warmth and smell on them. Oh, you still don't fully understand who you're messing with. However, this thought does not occur to you.
"May I know your name, sir?" In the meantime, you are interested, taking out the book you need, as it seems to you. You’re not even afraid of the sudden appearance of the owner of the estate behind your back, ‘cause you are too keen on studying everything that catches your eye. Botany, medicinal properties of plants, tinctures making, chemistry. So much to learn, read and find out. The man himself does not notice how the smile touches his dry lips. It’s so interesting to watch you fussy, that he even forgets about your impudence in the first minutes of your meeting.
“Count Bram Stoker,” comes the reply. His scarlet eyes do not leave you for a second, while you study every page of the book you have taken with genuine interest. The question flickers in his thoughts: "Is there really such mortals in this world?" If it wasn't for your impudence, Stoker would have thought you were perfect.
A man forbids you to take books with you. Instead, he offers you one of the bedrooms on the second floor. At first, you shyly refuse, believing that it is not worthwhile to embarrass the owner of these places, which leads Bram to complete confusion. Almost from the threshold you showed a lively and impudent disposition, and now it’s like a different person in front of him. And yet you have to agree. Your long and difficult journey to this estate has exhausted you more than you thought.
“However, I should warn you in advance. Don’t go to the neighboring wing, otherwise even I, as the owner of this estate, will not guarantee your survival here.” Sounds ominous, but you agree to the terms with a quick glance at the door that leads to the next wing.
Your guest room is large. You could say that your whole house will fit in it. Carved canopy bed to the ceiling, large wardrobe and chest of drawers next to it, dressing table. On both sides of the bed there are bedside tables and a screen next to the wardrobe. Surprisingly, there is no mirror in the room, and the makeup table, which should have one, only has a frame. The mirror seemed to have been deliberately pulled out of there, or broken. You don't ask too many questions, you just thank Bram for his hospitality. Does the monster live on the estate, as they say?
You start to notice strange things after a while. The landlord often draws the curtains, doesn't eat with you, and only occasionally keeps you company while you chat about everything. You tell him about how things are outside the small town where he lives, what you saw while getting to his place. And Bram was listening to your monologues with interest.
“Mr. Stoker, may I inquire? - You're getting his attention. In the candlelight, his scarlet eyes gleam. They reflect a strange interest in you, not in your stories, not in what you saw, but precisely in your every gesture. It's like Bram is trying to devour you with just a look. It's getting uncomfortable. "Why aren't you joining the meal?"
The man sighs, his parched lips stretching into a strange, wry smile, as if he's trying to hide something from you. It sends chills down your spine. Dislike of daylight, lack of mirrors, strange hissing in his way of speaking. And this is far from the whole list of what you have noticed and continue to notice.
“You shouldn't worry about me. I already dined earlier,” does not sound very convincing, but you do not ask any more questions. In the end, the piercing gaze of blood-red eyes urges you to finish your meal, as if to say: “The food is getting cold.”
Oddity can also be called the complete absence of any servants. There are no butlers or maids on the estate, no cooks or gardeners either. And this is in addition to the door that leads to the neighboring wing. Apparently, it is tightly locked, and for some reason the instinct of self-preservation relentlessly insists that you should not even try to look for the key. However, you are not going to do it anyway.
“Last question, Mr. Stoker. Don't take it as impudence, but I want to ask you: are you married?” And then the devil pulled you to ask this very question. But you're really interested in his marital status. The answer seems obvious, but you can't take back the words. Bram frowns, rises from his seat and begins to pace thoughtfully next to a dusty fireplace, the ashes from which no one has raked out for a long time. Above the fireplace hangs a portrait.
And only looking closer you understand: it depicts the owner of the estate with a young woman. They look happy and in love. It makes you uncomfortable to know that you are most likely making Stoker remember the past, the traumatic past.
“She died three years ago,” the man sighs and looks up at the portrait, as if he has managed to follow your gaze. Appetite completely repulses because of the sucking feeling of sadness and longing. Of course, you don't know this girl personally, but Bram's grief seems to be transmitted to you. It fills the entire room, forcing out all the air. Approaching the man carefully, you look at him, then at the portrait. The look of the owner of the estate returns to you. “You look so much like her. Could this be fate?”
You never believed in the transmigration of souls, because you always thought it was something on the verge of mysticism and unreal. However, this time, looking a man eye to eye, you are ready to believe anything. And all his oddities that you notice for an extended amount of time disappear from your mind. You are literally drawn to Stoker, and he doesn't even try to push you away. Instead, he lets you touch his icy cheeks with symmetrical scars on either side. Its coldness doesn't bother you at all, instead you just breathe out:
“You're so cold, Mr. Stoker. Let me warm you up.”
You reach for his lips, and the man still doesn’t push you away, allowing you to touch his dry lips. A careful touch makes him close his eyes, clasp your waist with icy, like a dead man's hands, press you a little closer. In the dining room where you are, it is as if a vacuum is formed in which nothing is heard, and only in your ears you hear the beating of your heart.
It's amazing how quickly things change around. A moment ago you were standing by the fireplace in the dining room, and now you are surrounded by a guest room in which you sleep. And while graceful hands with long, thin fingers free you from the shackles of clothes, you reach for the buttons on Bram's vest. His lips never leave your warm skin for a second. Every part of your body that opens up is covered in kisses, soft and pleasant. The man silently asks, “Are you ready?” For him, this moment is an opportunity to escape from the loneliness that lives side by side with him for God knows how long. You are his chance to feel not alone again.
There is less and less clothes on your bodies. Kisses on your skin fan the flames in your chest, your blood feels hot like magma coursing through your veins. You bashfully cover your body with your hands, but Bram carefully takes your wrists and spreads his arms to the sides. His scarlet eyes, like rubies in the snow, burn out in your memory your well-made girlish figure.
“You are beautiful, my love,” comes out of his lips more involuntarily than consciously, but he does not think of correcting himself somehow. And that only makes it more embarrassing. The white sheets embrace you as Stoker continues to cover your skin with kisses. Having taken off your underwear, the man, to his surprise, finds that you are already wet enough to take at least one of his fingers into you. Not to mention that you are clearly untouched by anyone. “Are you ready?”
He waits for a rejection so he can just stop and pretend it never happened. He wants to suppress the growing thirst, although he understands that for you the current one everything will end on this snow-white bed. The thirst that Bram so desperately wants to quench lies in your blood, in its alluring scent, in the warmth of your body and your curiosity. Appearing impudent to him from the doorway, you charmed him afterwards. And now he won't be able to let you go so easily, his inky heart won't be able to survive this.
To his dismay, you agree. And his thirst is joined by the desire to get all of you, to make you his forever. His finger has a hard time getting inside your pussy. You’re wet, tight and warm that Stoker almost groans, anticipating how he will stuffed you completely, replacing his finger with his cock. The man moves it carefully, watching each change of your emotional spectrum with his eyes shining in the twilight. You bewitch him like a real witch. And as soon as your first moan breaks from your lips, Bram has to make every effort to restrain himself and frankly animal desires.
A second one joins the finger inside you. For the owner of the estate to work you like this, seeing you thrash around in his hands is real torture. Your rapid breathing, interrupted by moans, the way you bite your lips and tremble. Stoker is ready to die and be reborn for this moment. He asked you for the last time the question of your readiness to take him inside you, he still hopes to hear a refusal. But you nod, and he has no other choice but to follow you into the pool of pleasure.
He enters your pussy slowly, centimeter by centimeter. Surprisingly, you don't feel any pain. It's warm inside you, the walls wrap around his cock tightly, almost not allowing him to move inside you. And only when Stoker enters you completely, looking deeply into your eyes, he kissed your lips. In this position, you spend some time before your body relaxes underneath him, the walls no longer wrap around his cock so much, and he can move more or less freely.
Bram's movements inside you are slow, smooth, but deep. The man revels in your quiet moans and sighs. You grab his shoulders, arch your back, changing the angle of entry, but you only ask for one thing: “Don’t stop.” And it removes all restrictions from the owner of the estate, which begins to pick up the pace, leaning over the crook of your neck. The heat of your body, the intensified scent of blood beckons him, and who is he to deny himself pleasure.
Your blood is hot, filling his mouth and throat, dripping with rare drops on the white sheets under your especially loud moan. Stoker moves inside you faster now, bringing you to orgasm with more than just the feel of the fangs in your neck. And you can only remotely hear how he moans with you, cumming inside.
That night, the moon turned red.
