found this template on twutty a long time ago, the op name escapes me🫣

woe, drac faces upon yall🦇💨👋🧛🏻‍♂️

Hi ! I love your writings so much 🥺

If it's okay may I please have Dracula x reader ? Maybe the reader has a bad anxiety attack and they get to the point where the shut down and hold their breath and that ends up making them lose consciousness ? Thank you - 🤍✨

Hi, my love!💙 You absolutely can! I adore writing for this immortal idiot🥺💖 I’ve experienced anxiety attacks many a time but I’ve never had one so bad that I passed out so I apologise in advance for any inaccuracies!💜 I hope that you enjoy this, and thank you so much for your kind words, angel, they mean a lot to me, as does your support!💗

Also, a massive thank you to @arwyn-the-cyrptic-bisexural for helping me to work out Dracula’s reaction and how he would handle the situation! This piece wouldn’t be what it is without your guidance; thank you.🥺💙

Word count: 1, 410.

Something was wrong.

Something was really... wrong.

You knew not what it was, but there was a tension which had been gently simmering within you for the last few days and you had a sinking feeling, low in your stomach and one which you could not shake, that the roiling waters deep within would come to a boil soon. No longer was it a question of if but now was it a question of when and you could only hope, perhaps in vain, that you would be wholly alone when the lid finally came off the pot. Rarely were you able to fully bask in your solitude. Between your daily responsibilities, chores and the endless list of things you had to do, within which every item you ticked off seemed to be replaced with five more, any socialising you managed to do even around that, and your relationship with Dracula, you had very little real time to yourself. You wondered if that wasn’t half the problem in the first place. 

Over the last few days had your body felt heavy, your skin simply too tight. You couldn’t breathe and even the most basic of things were difficult to set about doing or completing. Your hands were unsteady, your grip looser than normal, and it seemed as though you had to concentrate even harder on doing things as you usually would because it seemed that your body was set on betraying you. It was difficult to speak, too, like your tongue was weighed down by your existence, and your jaw ached with how hard you were clenching it to keep yourself from crying out. You could barely speak, but, oh how you wanted to scream.

Yes, something was wrong, and you weren’t the only being in the vicinity who had picked up on the storm which was brewing deep within you.

So deeply intelligent and so intuitive was he that Dracula, too, had picked up on something off about you recently. Or, to be more specific, about your blood. Truth resided in the blood if one knew how to read it, and yours was practically screaming at him as it travelled through your veins, working to supply your body with what it needed to stay alive. You had always been a nervous little thing, anxiety, you called it if his memory served him well, but Dracula had never seen you like this before. Despite having been around for centuries was Dracula unsure of emotions and of the way they manifested within people. He only knew that something was wrong with you, his bride, and the same sinking feeling within you seemed to hold Dracula captive, too.

Neither of you would have to wait very long, in the end, for almost as if knowing that something was coming did your nerves only increase and it was all you could do to keep, for the very least, your body functioning as best as it could while your mind began to scream... though no thoughts were coherent. Your thoughts were a hurricane, words ran and bumped into one another in their haste to cross your mind, and those same thoughts repeated themselves as you lost the ability to think clearly. Your skin was itchy, too tight, your mind was too loud and yet too quiet, and you couldn’t - 

You inhaled suddenly, sharply, and the dam broke.

“Ooh, listen to that. Your heart’s a lively one tonight.” There was a question within Dracula’s beautiful and hypnotic eyes but you couldn’t speak. It felt like someone had stitched your mouth shut and there was no way for you to tell a very obviously confused Dracula, whose thick, dark brows were knitted together as his dark gaze seemed almost to will to look within you, what was happening. With the realisation that you couldn’t communicate, you choked on your next breath... and you began to spiral as with every inhalation did you try to ease the ache which started to build up in your lungs. It was when your blood ran cold that Dracula rapidly approached you, concerned was he with the state of your blood as it rushed through your veins and only further quickened the pace of your heart. When you didn’t respond, he said, “I need you to talk to me, Y/N. What is it?” He was very careful to keep his voice low, soothing; it was the way he spoke to you after you had had a nightmare and you needed him to help you get back to sleep. The truth was in your blood but for once in his very long existence was Dracula unable to read it. This wasn’t fear, or happiness or sadness... this was something altogether deeper and he had no name for it. He knew not what was happening and you did but you had no way of communicating your knowledge to the vampire who was desperately trying to piece the puzzle together. Dracula’s dress shoes made no noise on the carpet but you saw him coming, you saw him, and you reached out blindly for him even through the haze of tears. Your cheeks were itchy with the drying of tears and you couldn’t bring yourself back under control. You gasped for breath and even the callings of your name as Dracula bent to your height, his eyes holding your own, and tried so desperately to bring you home to him did nothing to help you. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t breathe.

You were too far gone.

Blackness overtook your vision as did the burning of your lungs become too much to take, and Dracula’s mildly shocked expression was the last thing you saw as you lost consciousness in his arms. He caught you before you dropped and with one arm around you to hold you up did he start to tap at your face; gently, gently, and it seemed as though your name was the only word Dracula himself knew how to speak. His hands were cold, dead was he, and after some minutes marked only by the clock on the wall which ticked your life away, you began to rouse in his arms. Dracula swept you up into his embrace and carried you through your home into the bedroom, where he laid you down upon the bed and ran his mind through the things you may have needed in that moment... water was good, it was cold. Bring something for your stomach to focus on. Food, perhaps? But what did you like? Should he put the moving picture box on? All of these questions and more raced through Dracula’s mind but in the end, you made his decision for him as your fingers curled into his waistcoat. 

Your eyes fluttered open and Dracula’s face was the first thing you saw, bent over you was he. You had come full circle and you managed to give him a small  smile. “Drac.”

Dracula smiled as relief swept through him and he chuckled softly. “Oh, Y/N, there you are. I thought we lost you.” A hand curved to your cheek and a clawed thumb stroked along your skin in soothing, slow motions. He was reassuring the both of you in this moment, not that he would ever tell you that. You knew him well enough to know that for yourself, anyway.

You shook your head and slowly sat up, maintaining your grip on his arm. “Just an anxiety attack. I’ll be all right.” 

Dracula sensed a discussion and he sank down beside you on the bed, his cool hand still on your face. It grounded you, as did his voice, and you knew that the worst was over. “That wasn’t ‘just’ anything, dear. You’re a silly little thing, why didn’t you tell me, hm?” 

“When it... when it’s bad, like that, I can’t talk.” You shrugged and leaned into Dracula as you sought him out for comfort now that you had weathered the storm. “It feels like dying.” With his face hidden from your view, for you had not yet learned never to trust a hug for the very reason that it presented an opportunity to hide one’s face, Dracula allowed his eyes to harden when you spoke the word “dying”. He swore to himself there and then that you, his finest and final bride, would never meet such a fate. Death came as a shock to mortals, but immortality would come as a shock to you.