draculasintern

[draculasintern]

Do you write for DC comics or any video games?

Transcript From DraculasIntern Internal file #V016-VII

I do have plans for DC, marvel and video game characters. Right now, I'm working on a oneshot. A Chemist!Miguel O'Hara x Painter!reader. Not sure how that'll turn out but it's more for a friend.

So yes, I do write for DC comics and video games.

-The Intern 🦇

[draculasintern]

Rebranded a bit. Hope it doesn't scare you guys off.

-The intern

Get to know the Intern🦇

Transcript From DraculasIntern Internal File #V016-VI

Note: ID card is stuck in Boss's office, he's not here.

Hi. I’m Viv— or V, Vi, Vivi, Vivienne, Enne (like Ian), or Enneiviv (if you’re dramatic about it).

I’m not supposed to be talking right now.

Technically, I’m on vampire secretary duty—sorting complaints about coffin temperature and cataloging ancient love letters no one should be reading (freakier than you would think). But the boss left to turn into mist or something, so I’ve got 15 minutes to kill and an doc draft open in another tab.

I’m the author of Odds and Additions, Letters to a Councilman, and once I survive the Viktor arc (Don't think I will) there's a Vander fic in the back of my mind. I don’t juggle five things at once—two fics max, otherwise I start emotionally disintegrating (and not in a cool way).

Writing takes energy. I put a lot of myself into it. You can probably tell.

If you’ve ever reblogged, commented, read silently at 3AM—I know you’re there.

I see you.

The purple? Oh, that's me.

At the beginning or end of a fic—if you see a comment in violet, that’s not a glitch. That’s just where I live now. Tumblr is the only place I can be that version of myself without anyone asking “why purple?” I don’t know. It just feels like me.

Requests

I write when I’m comfortable, and when I care. If I know the fandom and the character well enough, I’ll make something I’m proud of. I do research. I do rewrite. I do try to make it hit. Always (I think.) Call up "Desk 6" to request!!

Fandoms

Arcane, MLP (yes, still), COD, Avatar (both), Twilight, Castlevania, Star Wars, JJK, Death Note, Harry Potter, Teen Titans, Batman/Robins, Marvel/DC, Spidersonas, Sherlock (I’m still mad), and whatever else my skeleton heart decides to hyperfixate on.

What I won't write

R@pe, Dubcon, Noncon (I’m a survivor. I don’t touch that.)

Underage sexual relationships

Incest

Stereotypes or racial/cultural caricature

Romanticizing abuse or manipulation

Age gaps involving minors or grooming

Basically, if it's harmful, I'm not romanticizing it. Period.

What I will write

Fluff.

Angst.

Smut (if it fits).

Slowburns.

One-shots.

Found family.

Music I listen to while pretending to file the boss's blood

Interning at the castle playlist

Fun facts from Drac's intern

I can play four instruments (Being undead gives you time. Do recommend.)

I draw, clowns and circuses especially.

And My fics and oneshot are all kind of the same, things I loved too hard even after they died.

But that's what you get when you outlive most things.

If you made it this far, thanks for listening.

No really. I’m serious. You could’ve clicked off but you didn’t, and that kind of quiet loyalty means the world. Even when I don’t say it.

Boss is back, have to go pretend like I didn't touch the mic.

Catch you after dusk.

-The intern 🥀🦇

[draculasintern]

About to go into my Vampire radio show era, don't be surprised. 😼😼

[draculasintern]

Chat... Would it be weird if I wrote about my Clown/Circus Ocs. Like I love them and their personalities so but most of my stuff is arcane headcanons because I live off of validation. And Like.. I REALLY REALLY REALLY wanna talk and write about my silly clowns and circus performers 😞😞 They're so cool and fun and hot and sexy. I SWAR PLEASE

anyways goodnight

[draculasintern]

Hi so what if the reader was the one to find Young vi and young powder at the bridge and she was also the one to adopt Young claggor and Mylo instead of Vander what do you think would happen like would the reader be a more better influence on the kids than Vander and silco like I can see that the reader would be a better mother figure and parental figure for the kids including violet and powder and even the boys like the reader would just be a waitress or a restaurant owner and the kids would help her by doing some of the chores and helping with the customers not illegal stuff you know and then the kids accidentally bumped into Vander or silco or both it's up to you sorry to bother you and sorry this got a bit long.

HI HI! About to go to bed BUTT had to respond to this: If this is a Restaurant owner!reader, which would be very simple but a really big found family thing. I love found family. And with that I tend to lean towards having the oldest daughter be more like me (Im an oldest daughter), more skeptical, worrisome. Vi knowing that her parents are dead, leads her to know that she's on her own. No one's there to help her, no one's there to guide her away from that part of the bridge while little powder is clinging to her. Powder doesn't understand, she just repeats what she sees, she sees her older sister upset, crying, She'll start crying. And when reader does find them, it's almost like an accident. You weren't supposed to be there, weren't supposed to see the smoke, the kids. You take them in, treat them like your own, Mylo and Claggor come later but they are no less your own. And they help you. Not because they feel like they need to, but because they want to. And the food's the first thing drawing attention, it's almost too good to be Zaun food, sure Zaun had stuff but they were still recovering from a failed revolution. You don't get good food from a failed revolution. Making familiar faces show unexpectedly. You know the kind, broad shoulders, big boots. The kind that scare the kids with how big he looks. Vander. Viholds her rag tighter, powder gripping the edge of her apron hard. Claggor shifts ready to step in front, just incase, and Mylo doesn't even crack a joke. But you offer him a table, just the same as anyone else. Powder brings him tea, Claggor sets down a plate. And he doesn't eat much, but he leaves good coin. Too much coin, actually.. He comes the week after, and the one after that.. And you dont ask questions, you dont need to. But the kids watch him. Mylo curious, Powder wary. Claggor's polite like he always is. And Vi? Vi stays close to you. Fourth visit and he says something. Its a simple thing. "Youre good with them." You dont answer. Just nod and take his plate when its empty. And you dont know but he asks Benzo to keep watch on your little shop. Just incase something happens, not that anything would with how much he came by. But Vander wasn't the only one watching. Another face shows. Not kind. Not friendly or loud. Doesn't sit or smile. Just watches. Silco. Powder hides behind you, holding your sleeve, afraid. But he doesn't say anything. But you start to lock your shop doors tighter at night, just to calm your daughter down a bit.

Okay that turned into something bigger than intended. But I do like the idea of this.Also not proofread oopsie

[draculasintern]

Duke!Vander Headcanons

So.. like.. I need this old man. BAD. SO BAD. So I made more of him. And.. Im thinking of doing a bit of different fandoms soon...(Dc, Marvel, COD, JJK..) Duke!Vander X Magic!reader

Vander who didn’t want the arrangement either. But duty is duty, and his title carries weight. Tensions between Zaun and Piltover have been burning hotter, and your name came up in enough noble circles to make the match seem politically brilliant. Quiet. Magical. Obedient, they said. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he didn’t expect you.

You who walks like the wind doesn’t touch you. Not cold, not arrogant, just contained. You’re soft-spoken, never unkind, but you speak rarely unless prompted. And even then, your words feel chosen like rare herbs. Every sentence brewed to perfection. Vander watches you, the way one might watch a still lake they suspect hides something ancient beneath it.

You who doesn’t flaunt your power. Doesn’t need to. Others summon flame to impress. You pour wine without lifting a hand. Light candles with a flick of your breath. Heal wounds with a murmur you barely speak aloud. People gape. You just blink. You hate the attention. Hate the noise. Vander sees it. And for once, he doesn’t demand more of you. He gives you space.

Vander who keeps a hand on your lower back when the nobles stare too long. Not possessive. Protective. A silent reminder: You are not alone here. He doesn’t ask you to perform, doesn’t parade you through rooms like a prize. He knows what it’s like to be on display. He’s lived that life too.

You who startles him one night. Not with power, but with silence. You’re both at the manor’s long dining table, and he tries small talk. Politics. Weather. Wine. You finally say: “I didn’t want this either.” And the honesty cracks something open between you. For the first time, you really look at each other. Not as duke and spouse. But as two people who’ve had to make themselves palatable for survival.

Vander who starts offering you little kindnesses. Without expectation. A book in your preferred language. A quiet room in the manor where no one enters without your word. A new garden, even though he doesn’t understand a thing about herbs. Just lets you enchant the soil with your bare feet if it helps you breathe easier.

You who defends him once. Not with words, but with magic. Subtle. Precise. A Piltover noble lets their tongue slip too far, and their wine glass shatters in their hand, cutting deep. No proof. No flash. Just a warning. Vander notices. Doesn’t say a word. But that night, he brings tea to your chamber door and sits in the hallway until you tell him to come in.

You who starts choosing to sit closer. Not much. Just enough that your sleeve brushes his. Just enough that when he rests a heavy hand beside yours, you don’t pull away. And Vander doesn’t press. Doesn’t rush. He knows power like yours doesn’t come from noise, it comes from knowing when to wait.

You who will never be loud, never be showy, never be the center of the court. But in time, the court learns: when you speak, even Vander listens. And when you’re both in the room, there is no louder presence than the stillness between you. The kind that makes people nervous. The kind that builds empires.

Vander grows used to the silence. Not as something to break, but something to live in. You don’t chatter. You don’t overshare. But you listen. You pour tea into his cup before your own. You sit near him at court, not because you’re asked to, but because that’s where you belong now. And that small, subtle loyalty starts to mean more than any vow spoken at your wedding.

You tend to his bruised knuckles when meetings get heated. You leave a charm in his coat pocket when he’s away too long. You don’t ask where he’s been. You don’t need to. You just rest a hand on his forearm as he passes by, and he breathes easier.

Vander starts waiting for you at dinner, even when you're late. He asks your opinion in front of the court, not just behind closed doors. He doesn’t just protect your power. He respects it. Treats it like something sacred. Even when others don't.

You begin to laugh around him. Quietly. Not often. But when he mumbles something sarcastic under his breath, or gets flustered trying to describe a potion's smell — “smells like wet iron and burnt toast, what the hell do you mean ‘cursed’? That’s just dinner” — you laugh. And Vander goes still, because he wants to hear that sound again.

One night, curled in an armchair by the fire, book forgotten in your lap, you speak. He’s nearby, polishing a blade, eyes on the sparks. The words come out like breath. Not magical. Not political. Just honest. "You may take another lover, if that would… satisfy you. I understand I haven’t fulfilled my role."

The room stills. The fire cracks. He doesn’t speak right away. Vander sets the blade down. Slowly. Deliberate. He stands, steps quiet, heavy. He looks at you with something that isn’t anger, but disbelief. "Is that what you think this is?"

You don’t meet his gaze. You look at your hands instead, soft with shame. "I wasn’t chosen for love." And it’s true. You weren’t. This was arranged. Strategic. Cold.

Vander kneels beside you, one hand resting on the arm of your chair. Not touching you. Just steady. Just there. "You’ve kept me alive with words and magic I don’t even understand. You’ve made this place feel like a home. You think I’d trade that for warm skin and easy nights?"

You finally meet his eyes. And this time, he touches you. Just the side of your face, his thumb grazing your cheek like you might vanish if he presses too hard. "You are not a duty, love. You’re a gift I never expected."

He doesn’t kiss you that night. He just stays by the fire, one arm looped around the back of your chair, fingers brushing yours when you're ready. And when you lean into him, exhausted from carrying the weight of being "enough," he lets you rest against his chest. Warm. Steady. Real.

From that night forward, it’s no longer an arrangement. It’s a choice. And he chooses you. Every day. Quietly. Fiercely. Without asking anything in return.

I watched Bridgerton again..and Pride and Prejudice (2005 is my favorite). And I needed Vander as a Duke.. Forgive me if I have over stepped my power.

[draculasintern]

Mafia Boss!Vander Headcanons

So.. Someone asked for this and I was like "Chat this is fire. Keep the ideas coming" SO now ya'll get Maifa boss!Vander. And and and Mafia boss!Vander X Convincing!reader. All of SFW (Unless y'all want more of this)

Vander is known as “The Hound of Zaun”, not for rabid violence, but because once he gets your scent, you never escape. It's a hunt. You might not realize but you're being watched, followed, controlled. It's only temporary “freedom.” If someone steps out of line in Zaun, he gives one warning. Just one. After that, you’re not part of the city anymore. You're part of the stories they tell to scare kids into keeping curfew. You don’t hear from him often. He likes it that way. But the second you threaten his people, his business, or his peace—he’s there. Smoke on his breath, hands in his pockets, eyes hard enough to cut glass. “You done?” he asks. And when they aren’t, he makes them be.

Vander who’s respected–terrifying, even—but who walks through Zaun with kids clinging to his arms and shopkeepers calling him “Boss” with a smile. Vander who tips street performers with folded bills and a nod. Who makes sure no one in his circle goes cold or hungry. He doesn’t show it but he’s softness in the form of a rabid beast. He’s the kind of man who remembers birthdays, who sends warm food to widows, who stops to fix a loose board in a kid’s door on his way to bust a chem dealer’s jaw. But he doesn’t talk about it. He doesn’t want thanks. It’s just who he is. And maybe that’s the part he hides best—the part that still believes Zaun is worth saving.

Vander who doesn’t need to be called “boss” to be known as one. The way he walks, the way rooms shift when he steps in—it’s enough. He doesn’t shout, doesn’t bark orders. He just looks at you and somehow your knees know what to do before your brain catches up. There’s something about him that says earned, not stolen. That’s the part people forget—he built Zaun’s bones with his own hands. Bled for it. Buried friends under it. Every inch of power he holds? Paid for in full.

Vander who built The Last Drop as a sanctuary, not just a front. It’s the one place in Zaun where blood isn’t meant to spill. A ceasefire zone. A promise. You break that promise, you don’t just answer to him—you answer to everyone. And he’ll let you. He won’t even need to lift a finger. That’s power.

Vander who looks like a man who’s hard to reach. And he is. But not because he thinks he’s above anyone. He’s protecting people by keeping them at a distance. His softness is dangerous. His care is lethal. Every time he’s let someone in, he’s bled for it. So now he just nods. Offers help. Keeps the truth locked under layers of smoke, old iron, and a voice that could hold a city still.

Vander who doesn’t do romance—not really. Not at first. He’s had flings, nights blurred by smoke and warm skin, but they don’t stay. They never stay. It’s safer that way. No names. No attachments. He knows what kind of man he is—what kind of world he rules. Love, in his eyes, is a weakness people aim for. And he can’t afford to be soft. Not when so many depend on him to be iron. Not when his entire life has been built on sacrifice.

Vander who holds affection at arm’s length. Who feels it burn under his ribs but never lets it surface. He’s a man of restraint. Of quiet. You’ll never catch him confessing anything in words. But he remembers your favorite drink. Walks you home even when you say you’re fine. He’ll patch someone up without complaint. And when he thinks no one’s watching, his eyes soften. Just a little.

Vander who’s been offered love in strange forms. An arranged marriage—once. Political. Practical. He almost agreed, but something in him recoiled. He doesn’t want love that’s owed. He wants love that surprises him. Something real, even if it’s dangerous. Even if it breaks him. Even if it’s the last thing he ever does.

Vander who’s had lovers try to use him. To get close for power, protection, prestige. He can smell a transaction from across the bar. It doesn’t anger him—it disappoints him. He’s used to it now. Resigned. He lets them think they’ve got a hold on him. Lets them drink the good liquor and touch his arms like they’re theirs. And when they’re gone, he feels nothing but the weight of habit.

Vander who doesn’t think he deserves it. Love. Romance. Comfort. He thinks those things are for people who haven’t done what he’s done. For those who haven’t made peace with blood on their hands. He’ll protect it, fight for it, kill for it—but never admit he wants it for himself.

Vander who, if he ever truly fell for someone, would fall slow. Like an avalanche. Quiet at first. Then unstoppable. He’d hold them like he’s afraid to crush them. Say their name like a prayer he isn’t sure he’s allowed to speak. He’d still keep the city running. Still break knuckles in alleyways. He'd come home to them every time. No matter how late. No matter how bloody.

Vander who wouldn’t say “I love you” until it mattered. Until it hurt. Until it burned in his throat like truth. And when he did, it would be quiet, rough, and final. Not a promise. A vow. Something binding. Something real. Something that neither you nor he could escape from even if you wanted to.

Vander who first notices you at the bar—not because you’re loud, not because you’re flashy, but because the room shifts when you speak. You tilt your head just right, voice smooth, calm, persuasive. And people listen. You don’t ask—you suggest. You don’t demand—you guide. They follow before they realize they’re doing it. And Vander watches, unmoving, the way a wolf watches a flame.

Vander who doesn’t like smooth talkers, not usually. Too much noise, too many games. But you? You have precision. You reel people in like it's second nature, with nothing but timing and tone. You sell them ideas, choices, futures. And they leave thinking it was their own. He’s impressed, if not suspicious. Zaun’s full of liars. But this one? This one makes it an art form.

Vander who waits before approaching. He doesn’t interrupt your work. He studies it. He watches the subtle glances, the hand placements, the way you make even silence feel strategic. You don’t flirt. You charm. There’s a difference. You’re not here to impress anyone—you’re here to win.

Vander who listens more than he speaks. You talk like someone who’s used to filling in gaps, talking others into corners and guiding them out just the way you want. You pitch something, maybe business, maybe not—he’s not sure. He barely hears the offer. He’s too focused on how easily you hold the floor in his bar.

Vander who leans in, quiet, voice like stone: “You’re good.” It’s not praise. Not a warning. Just truth. And you nod once, the kind of nod people give when they’ve already survived worse and walked out smarter. You’re not intimidated. That’s rare. And it’s why he doesn’t dismiss you.

Vander who doesn’t usually keep names. Not until they matter. But he remembers yours. Remembers the sound of your voice, the way you make things move just by standing still. He doesn’t ask for a second meeting—not right away. He waits. Lets the tension hang.

And now I need this old man again. Bad. @coolgirl32 For you pookie <3

Also.. Check my page for a Duke!Vander x Magic!reader..

[draculasintern]

I just did 15 backflips in pure glee over your Vander headcanon continuation

There's more coming later today/tonight after I cook up something to eat. 😼😼 Currently watching The Aristocats while doing two different Au Headcanons for Vander.

[draculasintern]

Hi I just like to say how are you doing and mafia boss Vander mafia boss Vander mafia boss Vander HC please and thank you ☺️🔥😉💐🎊

Hello!! I'd like to say I'm good, but I stayed up all night. So, struggling to stay awake now. BUTT

Mafia Boss Vander HC 😼😼 Not opposed. Will probably start on it later in the day though, it's almost 10 am. 😞😞

[draculasintern]

Sevika Headcanons

AH MY WIFE MY LOVE FUCK I LOVE HER. Sorry. The voices. Sfw and NSFW

Sevika, who doesn’t do “nice.” But she does real. She won’t bring you flowers. She’ll bring you your lighter, your jacket, her last smoke. Doesn’t believe in promises, just keeps showing up. No matter what.

Sevika, who lets you patch her up.Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t wince. Just watches your hands move.Even when the blood’s fresh, she says nothing. “I trust you,” she mutters, like that’s normal.

Sevika, who doesn’t use pet names—until she’s buzzed. Usually calls you by your name. Or a grunt. But after a few drinks? “Babe,” “sweetheart,” maybe even a soft “mine.” She never remembers saying it, but she means every word.

Sevika, who fucks you like it’s the last thing keeping her alive. All teeth, hands, breath on your skin. Backed against the wall, head spinning, her voice low in your ear: “Take it.” And you do. Over and over.

Sevika, who makes you grind on her thigh just to see you fall apart. Sits back, one hand resting on your lower back, the other guiding your hips. “Go ahead. Show me how much you want it.”

Sevika, who takes control with a strap like she’s making a point. Gripping your waist, keeping you still, dragging sounds out of you that make her smirk. “You wanted this, remember? Begged for it.”

Sevika, who doesn’t say she misses you—but gets pissy when you don’t call. Won’t admit it’s about you. Just lights another smoke, glares at the wall. Then you walk in and she breathes again. “Took you long enough.”

Sevika, who tries to be soft, even if she’s not good at it. Let’s you sleep on her chest, even if she’s sore. Let’s you play with her hair, even if it annoys her. Let’s you cry. Doesn’t say much, just holds you tighter.

Sevika, who doesn’t sleep well unless you’re tangled up with her. She’ll act annoyed about it. Say you hog the bed. But if you roll too far away? She pulls you right back. “Right here. Stay.”

Sevika, who gets off on your strength—but still wants to ruin you. You fight her for control, and she lets you win—sometimes. Other times? You’re flat on your back, breath knocked out of you, her mouth on your throat. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

Sevika, who wakes up before you just to watch you sleep. Not in a creepy way. She just… can’t believe you’re real sometimes. Smiles at the way your lip twitches when you dream. Runs her fingers along your back so lightly you never stir.

Sevika, who gets very quiet when she’s about to finish. No loud moaning, no growls. Just a shaky breath, a clenched jaw, and your name. Sharp, low, like it hurts to say.

I love sevika. So fucking much. You guys have NO idea.

[draculasintern]

Caitlyn Kiramman Headcanons

I need her to boss me around, yell at me a little.

CaitxFem!reader Sfw and NSFW

Caitlyn who listens, really listens. She remembers your favorite flower, the name of your childhood pet, the way your voice changes when you're pretending to be okay. She reads between the lines. And sometimes she gently takes your hand and says, “You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know. Not with me.”

Caitlyn who surprises you with little acts of care. You come home after a long day, and there’s tea steeping, fresh pajamas folded on your bed, and your favorite book waiting for you.

“Rough day? I thought this might help.”

Caitlyn who blushes when you flirt with her. She’s composed, poised, trained in diplomacy and restraint, but you? You get her red in the face with one whispered compliment. And she tries so hard to play it off.

“You’re being… unfairly charming today.”

Caitlyn who likes to be in control, but lets you think you are. She’ll let you straddle her, grind down on her thigh, kiss her with desperate little gasps, but one hand on your hip and she flips it, just like that, pinning you under her with that smirk.

“Was that all for me, darling?”

Caitlyn who loves mutual pleasure. She’ll take you in her arms and pull you in, skin to skin, grinding together until you're both gasping, nails digging in, sweat-slick and trembling.

“Let go for me, love. I want to feel you while I fall.”

Caitlyn who makes you ride her thigh, her gun holster bumping against your skin. Eyes on you, half lidded. Gun tossed on the desk, gloves still on. Tells you to be quiet but still whispers in your ear. “Feels good, doesn’t it, Love?”

Caitlyn who shows her affection through quiet action.She doesn’t always say “I love you” outright, but she’s folding your laundry before you even realize it’s done, bringing you your favorite pastries from that bakery you mentioned once, slipping her scarf around your neck if the air turns cold.She doesn’t need words. She is the word.

Caitlyn who insists on walking closest to the street. It’s a tiny thing, but she always positions herself on the outer side of the sidewalk. If a cart rolls by too fast, she subtly shifts her arm in front of you. If someone bumps into you, her fingers tighten around your waist.

“Forgive me, it’s habit. I like knowing you're safe.”

Caitlyn, who makes you scissor her slow. She needs to feel all of you—skin against skin, that ache and friction and closeness. And she keeps whispering, “You feel so good..don’t stop, don’t stop..” like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Caitlyn, who always notices when something’s wrong. You don’t have to say it. You don’t even have to look at her. The shift in your voice, the hesitation in your step, the way you close the door a little quieter than usual—

"What happened?" she asks, already pulling you into her arms.

Caitlyn, who eats you out like it’s an art. Slow, practiced. Drawn out. She kisses your thighs first, murmurs praise into your skin. Laps at you like she’s learning you. Like she’s grateful for you. She doesn’t stop until you’ve broken once. Twice. Three times if she’s feeling possessive.

Caitlyn, who lets you ride her strap, eyes on your face, hands clinging to your thighs. She lets you control the pace, but her words don’t stop.

"That’s it, pretty. Faster. Don’t stop, you’re doing so well. I love watching you lose yourself on me."

And my pants are now gone. Cait the woman you are.

[draculasintern]

Vi Headcanons

My fav pink haired lesbian. She's for the girls. VixFem!reader.

Sfw and NSFW

Vi who acts cocky until you fluster her. You compliment her muscles? She flexes. You call her pretty? She stumbles. You kiss her cheek? Game over. Bright red ears, sudden silence.

Vi who walks on the outside of the sidewalk. She says it’s “so you don’t get hit by a carriage or whatever,” but really it’s just instinct to protect you. She doesn’t talk about it. She just does it.

Vi who gives you her jacket when you're cold. And won’t take it back, even if she’s shivering. “Nah, I’m good. I’m burning up, actually.” (She is not burning up.)

Vi who kisses you with her whole body. Grabs your waist. Your face. Pushes you into the wall but keeps the kiss gentle. It’s not about dominance, it’s about having you, just for a second.

Vi who doesn’t say “I love you” often but shows it. Fixes your bike. Brings you your favorite snack. Punches someone who talked down to you. Stands guard at the door while you sleep.

Vi who always puts herself between you and danger. Whether it’s a bar fight or a bad alley, she’s already in front of you. Doesn’t even look. Just instinct.

Vi who loves helping you dress. Especially if you wear something new. She circles you, tugs at zippers, adjusts your collar, runs her hands down your arms. “You know you’re killin’ me, right?”

Vi who gives head like it’s personal. Flat on her stomach, arms around your thighs, pinning you down like you might run. They’re not going anywhere, Vi, calm down.

Vi who lives for the way you whimper her name. She speeds up just to hear it again. “Say it louder, baby. Let ‘em know who’s makin’ you feel like this.”

Vi who’s a switch but has Dom tendencies. Loves being ridden, but absolutely takes over halfway through. “You look so fuckin’ good on top of me… Now let me take care of you.”

Vi who will not let you be quiet. If you try to muffle your sounds, she’ll pull your hand away. “Nah, sweetheart. I wanna hear you.”

Vi who gets real quiet when she realizes she’s in love with you. You’re mid-sentence, laughing, and she’s just... staring. Doesn’t say a word. Can’t. You ask what’s wrong, and she just says, “Nothin’. You’re just... a lot.”

Vi who doesn’t think she’s good enough for you. She’ll joke about it, deflect, brush it off with a wink. But deep down, she’s terrified you’ll leave her for someone softer, cleaner, easier.

Vi who lets you do her eyeliner. She sits between your thighs, head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, breathing soft. You mess up a little and she laughs. “Guess I’ll just look hot and uneven today.”

Vi who plays it cool when someone flirts with you, until they touch you. She’s all smirks and casual lean until someone brushes your arm or gets a little too close. Then her jaw flexes, and she’s stepping behind you, hand possessively resting on your waist. “Everything good here, sweetheart?”

Vi who loves watching your face while you ride her thigh. She holds onto you with her hands on your hips, guiding your movements as you grind against her thigh like you're starving for it.“Look at you… so fuckin’ desperate for it. Keep going, baby. Make a mess.”

She's so hot its actually embarrassing how badly I need her.

[draculasintern]

Silco Headcanons

Unfortunately..I like slightly toxic old men that look like they could kill me.

Sfw and NSFW

Silco who doesn’t believe he deserves softness, but finds himself craving yours anyway. He watches the way you pour tea, the way you sit beside him instead of across from him, and every time you reach for him without flinching, he shatters a little more quietly inside.

Silco who lets you touch the scar. The first time, it startled him. But now? He leans into your hand when your thumb grazes beneath his ruined eye. “Don’t look at it like that,” he grits, but his hand is gripping your wrist, not pushing you away.

Silco who lets you sit on the windowsill of his office while he monologues or plans. You hum or play with a ring on your finger while he talks about territory or loyalty. You always listen. Always. And he pretends it doesn’t matter… but he plans better when you're there.

Silco who remembers everything. Your favorite drink, how you like your collar straightened, that offhand comment you made about stars three weeks ago. He doesn’t bring it up but you’ll find his jacket over your shoulders, or a new constellation map pinned to your shared wall, and he’ll simply say, “It was nothing.”

Silco who never raises his voice at you. He commands rooms. He shouts at enemies. But never at you. If you argue, it’s cold, sharp, controlled, but he rarely ever lets it slip. Not with you. You’re the only person in the world he doesn’t want to frighten.

Silco who lets you take his gloves off for him. He could do it himself, but he waits, silent, watching you with sharp eyes while you peel the leather from his fingers like it’s something intimate. It is. He doesn’t say it aloud, but his breath always catches on the last finger.

Silco who listens better when you say things while straddling his lap. Something about your weight grounding him, your fingers in his hair or on his chest while you talk about your day. He nods slowly, his hands on your hips, thumbs rubbing little absent-minded circles. Focused. Tethered.

Sub!Silco who loves control, but adores the power you have over him. The way you can make him wait. Squirm. Beg, even through gritted teeth, pride thick in his throat. “You think I’ll fall apart for you?” he gasps but you already feel him trembling under your touch.

Dom!Silco who commands without raising his voice. A tilt of the head. A quiet, “Come here.” You obey not because you’re afraid, but because his presence wraps around you like smoke..thick, inescapable, and laced with desire.

Dom!Silco who marks you not with bruises, but with memory. Fingers tracing your jaw after he kisses you, lingering on your pulse like he’s branding it with the heat of his palm. He doesn't need the world to see the marks, you know exactly who you belong to.

Sub!Silco who can't help but whisper your name like a prayer when you touch him gently. Your fingers along his scar, your lips against his temple, his breath hitches like it hurts to be loved that softly.

Sub!Silco who trembles under praise like it’s something he's not allowed to have. "Good boy," and he whimpers. Just once. Eyes shut, mouth open, undone by two words like you tore down his defenses with a whisper.

Silco who switches mid-scene sometimes. When he’s on top, commanding, but you push him just right—he flips so fast, biting his own lip as you straddle him. “You really think you can—”

“Yes.” And just like that, he’s yours again.

I need this old man too. Vander and Silco AT THE SAME DAMN TIME. Sorry. The voices are getting to me.

[draculasintern]

Viktor Headcanons PT2

I need him. BAD. Sfw and NSFW

Viktor doesn't fall in love fast but when he does, he falls hard. He doesn't just love you, he studies the love while it happens. Rereads every conversation like research notes, Frowns at the idea that you were upset and he didn't catch on. You're the first variable in his life that he’s afraid of miscalculating and the first one he wants to. Viktor who stares at your hands. When you talk. When you type. When you touch him. Dozens of sketches of your hands littered in his notes. Viktor who speaks gently, calmly. But fucks you like he’s starved. He always asks first, with his eyes, his hands, his breath against your skin. And when you give him permission, he’s hungry. Even when you’re on top, when you think you have control, he’s guiding your rhythm. Fingertips pressed against the back of your thighs, voices raw against your ear. “Like that, drag it out…that's it, puso..good..”

Viktor who is silent when he’s jealous. Sharp eyes just..tracking. His hand on you more often. Later, he won’t speak of it. Just hold you tighter. Kiss you deeper, slow his hips or make you slow down, like he’s reclaiming you without needing to say a word.

Viktor who will absolutely ruin you with his mouth. His obsession is all you. He watches every twitch, every breath, every whimper, commits it to memory. He’ll tease you on purpose, flatten his tongue against you, holding your hips down. “I’m only halfway done.. Shh..”

Viktor who doesn't like when you apologize for being loud. He wants your sounds to each off the wants of the lab. Try to hide your face and he’ll kiss your neck, whispering how pretty you sound. Viktor who keeps one of your shirts in the lab. He won’t admit it. Viktor will never admit it. But it smells like you. And when he’s too deep in the work, too hollowed out to sleep, he holds it against his face and breathes. Viktor who isn’t jealous of your past lovers, he’s jealous of how they got to know you before he did. Not that they touched you, but that they made you laugh. That they got to see you tired, lazy, silly. That they held memories he’ll never be part of. He doesn’t say anything about it, but it makes his touches softer. His voice gentler. His love more thorough. “I want to know all of you. Even the parts that existed before me.”

Viktor who marks you slowly. He doesn’t rush to bite, to bruise, no, he wants the memory to bloom. Soft kisses that trail into tongue and teeth. Purple fingerprints on your hips the next morning. His handwriting on your skin in murmured promises. “You’re mine. If only for tonight… let me show you.”

Viktor who isn’t possessive, but he is territorial. If that makes sense. He doesn’t need everyone to know you're his. He just needs you to remember it. So when you come home with someone else’s voice in your laugh, someone else’s perfume in your clothes.. He reminds you. His kisses deeper. His grip firmer. His hips slower, more drawn out. Until you’re panting, saying his name like a mantra. “You remember now, don’t you, puso?” Viktor who whispers in Czech when he's too overwhelmed. He tries to keep it together. But when your hands are on him, when you’re telling him he’s good, he’s perfect, he’s yours— The words slip out. “Lásko… jsi tak krásný. Jsem tvůj. Celý tvůj…” (Love… you’re so beautiful. I’m yours. All yours.)

[draculasintern]

Vander Headcanons PT2

I need this Old man. NEOW. GIVE ME HIM. Sfw and NSFW

Vander who knows your moods by the weight of your footsteps. He can tell if you had a rough day before you even speak, calls you over with just a gesture, sits you between his legs, arms around you like armor. Doesn’t make you talk unless you want to. Just hums low in his chest and lets you exist there. Vander who lets you trace his scars. Lets you ask about each one. How old, where it came from, who left it. But only you. No one else gets to see him this soft. And when you kiss them, even the oldest ones, he has to bite back a noise in his throat.

Vander who doesn’t always take control. When you ask to ride, when you ask to lead, he lets you. Hands gripping your hips, letting you use him however you want, voice ragged as he tells you how beautiful you look above him. “Take what you need, love. S’what I’m here for.”

Vander who gets possessive when someone flirts with you. Not in a toxic way, but his hand will slide to your hip, his nose at your neck, whispering things only you can hear. And if you tease him about it later, he’ll make you prove who you belong to. “Oh, so you liked them looking at you? Say that again while I’ve got you like this—go on.”

Vander who teaches you to bartend just so he can watch you do it. Calls you “my little showstopper,” even if you’re awkward. Loves watching your hands pour, shake, wipe down the counter. And when you’re too slow? He steps behind you, guiding your arms with his own, mouth at your ear. “Easy now… steady hands. You’ve got it.”

Vander who will ruin you with praise. Won’t shut up when he’s touching you, won’t let you go quiet either. Makes you say what you want, what feels good, what he does to you. “Use your words, darlin’. Want to hear how much you need it.”

Vander who keeps a picture of you in his locket. Not because he’s sappy (okay, maybe a little), but because on the worst days—the ones that smell like gunpowder and grief—he needs the reminder. That someone is waiting for him. That someone believes he’s more than his past.

Vander who keeps your favorite drink behind the bar, no matter what it is. Whether it's something fancy or basic, hot or cold, he makes sure it’s there. Already poured before you even sit down. He wipes the rim with his towel and gives it to you himself, every time.

Vander who groans when you touch his hair. Big hands resting on your thighs as you run your fingers through it, maybe braiding a few pieces if it’s long enough. He doesn’t say much, but his eyes are half-lidded and he leans into your touch like it’s the only peace he knows.

Vander who is a deep sleeper, but only with you in his arms. Anyone else? He’s light, alert, always one ear open. But with you tucked against his chest, breathing even, he lets go for the first time in years. You can feel it, the way his grip loosens and his jaw unclenches.

Vander who lets you ride his thigh until you're shaking. And he doesn’t stop touching you. One hand around your waist to keep you grounded, the other sliding over your chest or jaw or hips. Whispering how good you look falling apart like that. “That’s it, ride it just like that, lovie. Take what you need.”

Vander who carries you to bed when you fall asleep somewhere else. Slips his arms under you gently, presses a kiss to your temple, and makes sure the blanket is tucked all the way up. Grumbles softly if you stir, “Shh, it’s just me. Go on, sleep, sweetheart.”

Vander who smiles when you mouth off. You throw something sharp at him, sarcastic, playful..and his lips twitch. He doesn’t always respond right away. But hours later, he’ll press you up against a wall and murmur in your ear, “That sharp tongue of yours… I’ll find a better use for it.”

I need him so bad. He's on my 'Old men I need' list.

[draculasintern]

Jayce Headcanons Pt2

My Baby Jayce. I have big plans for you.. New fic Idea. Ik I haven't finished the other one, it's not getting any attention so I might drop it. SO. I was listening to 'Don't Cha' by The Pussycat Dolls while writing his. Sfw and NSFW

Jayce who can't sleep unless you're there. He’ll toss, turn, trying not to text you in the middle of the night to come over. All because he can’t sleep without you. He’ll curl up next to the pillow that still smells like you, whispering words he wanted to say to you before you went home.

Jayce who loves the way you say his name, no matter how many times he’s heard you say his name. He always gives you his full attention.

Jayce who keeps trinkets from when you go on dates. The tickets from the train, the cheap bracelet you guys bought from a little girl from the market that broke the second he tried it on, the photo of the beach dock with you leaning over the edge looking at the sunset.

Jayce who can't handle seeing you in formal wear. Seeing you fix the crease in your clothing, fix your shoe, smooth out your pants/dress. Now he’s just making a fool of himself, staring like an idiot. Just seeing you in something elegant, sharp and clean, has him just a fool for you. Offering his coat even if it's not cold, asking if you’re comfortable, touching you without realizing. 

Jayce who panicked the first time you were sick. Jayce, I think has a strong immune system, I mean he’s in a lab all day and Lord knows what he did when he was a teenager. So he’s not used to being sick but when you get sick he panics. Fussing over you, cooking soup, making sure you take medicine, taking your temperature every hour.

Jayce who lives to serve. It's not optional, not a single step. It's his whole purpose. He needs to know you feel good, better than good actually. He’ll make sure to watch your face, listen to your breath hitch even if it's just a small change. Chasing your pleasure like a scientist unraveling divinity. Nothing in his life has ever been as important as the sound of you falling apart under his hands, his mouth, his service.

Jayce who begs with his mouth full. His head buried between your thighs. On his knees, mouth on your skin, trembling. “My Love, please.. Don’t close up yet, M’not done..” Looking up at you, making sure he’s doing exactly what you like.

Jayce who still gets flustered when you undress in front of him. Even after many times of undressing and changing, he still flushes a bit. Trying not to stare too hard but failing. “I swear you’re trying to kill me..” He’ll breathe heavier. “J..Just let me look at you..”

Jayce who gets so so so shy when you make the first move. The second one of your fingers slip into the waistband of his pants, lips on his jaw, he’s already trying to catch his breath. You press him to the wall, counter, bed, any surface he can’t just move away from you and he whines. Because he’s too big, too proud, too soft to admit that you undo him so much. “My love, slow down..W..Wait..”

Jayce who is a panter. He makes noise, yes. Moans like it hurts to feel this good, whines like a dog. But mainly, most importantly in my opinion, this man pants. Pants your name like a prayer. “Gods– You– You’re perfect..haa.., You feel s…so good..”

Jayce who gets jealous. Someone flirted with you? Someone looked at you for too long? Said he’s “So lucky to have them”? Now you’re both back at his, him in your ear, grinding against you from behind. Leaving bite marks, hickeys, anything. “Im..so lucky, yeah? So lucky..”

Jayce who gets overwhelmed when you call him a good boy or sweetheart. Absolutely destroys him, he forgets to form words. Nods dumbly, grinds into your touch like a dog in heat. Begs you to say it again and when you do, he whimpers. Shakes and cums way too fast, thanks you with stars in his eyes. “Again.. Please say it again– I need it, I need it..”

Jayce who loves being teased and falls apart when you deny him. You kiss down his stomach, getting ever so close to where he needs you the most, then stopping. Has him sobbing, sitting up, chasing your touch. But when you give in he’s so loud, it's almost embarrassing.

“What did I do.. Why’d you stop.. Baby, tell me what you want, I’ll fix it.. Ple- Ngh!”

Jayce who always wants to make you feel good first. It’s not a question. He’ll get off on the noises you make, the way your body moves, the way your hands find his hair and pull. He’ll go as many rounds as it takes. He doesn’t care if he’s sore the next day.

So..How we feeling.. Do we like these?

[draculasintern]

A lot of you wanted more Arcane headcanons so later tonight I'll be posting a lot of them. Including:

More jayce, more Viktor, more Vander, Silco, Sevika, Vi, Cait, And MAYBE Mel.

How excited are we! I've been starving y'all for so long 🙁😞 HOW HYPE ARE WE RN!!