#hellsing alucardxreader

You’d slipped only once on the cold walk back to the manor but had not fallen. As Alucard had promised, you weren’t met with cold, hard earth but a strong arm looping under yours, keeping you aloft. The vampire seemed rather proud of himself for catching you and you supposed that you had, after all, been proven wrong. Sly and villainous he may be — he was genuine in his desire to take care of you. 

He’d walked you to the edge of the forest, where the two of you parted for a short while to avoid him being seen by any of your family members. There, at the forest’s edge, he’d whispered a smug word or two into your ear, which you’d found yourself unable to ignore like you once had. Something in the way his breath sounded so close to your neck.

Lately, your ears had been more perceptive than you were used to. Once, you’d been able to drone out Alucard’s purring tone with relative ease. Now you find that even the slightest sound from him — a clicking tongue, rustling fabric, a short inhale — has your head turning and attention drawing to him. No other sound drew you quite like he did, though; not the crackling of the hearth in front of you, the low whine of storm wind at the window, or the clack of your mug of tea being set down on the coffee table by your own hand. 

You were sitting in the recently finished drawing room late at night. The fire was the only light in the room, casting a flicker of orange over your skin and chasing away the winter cold. There was a time when being in this room like it was now — dark, with hardly enough light to expel the inky black shadows — would have terrified you, lest a looming figure come creeping through the door to wick the fire out like a mere candle. That looming figure still lurks, only now you’re aware that it belongs to you. 

You curl your legs up on the sofa, leaning drowsily against the armrest as you watch the fire and listen to the shifting of fabric behind you. The air feels weighted and you look up only to find a pale face already peering down at you. It startles you a little; Aluard’s observational expression and the long black hair that trails down far enough to nearly tickle your cheeks. He smiles. It’s not a big smile, but you catch the glimmer of a snaggly fang in the firelight. 

“What?” you whisper up at him. 

Alucard tilts his head slightly, an eyebrow raising. “Am I not allowed to look at you?” he whispers in return.

You say nothing, eyes trailing along the shape of his teeth before turning your gaze back to the fire. Those teeth… You wondered how many had died from those teeth. Alucard was very old and had seen war and carnage you were positive you couldn’t even imagine. He’d killed with blade, hand, and jaw alike, you were sure. He could have slain you down in the basement, easily. But he hadn’t wanted to. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek. He hadn’t wanted to. Alucard had settled for licking up the blood from your wound instead of ripping you apart. Those teeth that were once so good for killing now rested patiently behind his lips and had never once broken your skin. 

“What are you thinking about, my master?” Alucard rounds the sofa, coat fluttering behind him. He comes to sit on the recliner at your right, crossing one long leg over the other and steepling his gloved fingers in his lap. 

Your eyes are drawn to the glimmer of his leather boots in the flickering light of the fire, travel up a dark, rumpled pant leg, up to the buttons of his suit, and then to those jagged teeth barely visible through the slight part of his lips. 

“You said you can go without blood for as long as I wish you to?” 

“Yes,” Alucard confirms with a slow nod. He raises a curious eyebrow at you but otherwise stays silent. 

One day, you knew, one day you really would have to feed him unless you wanted him to go back to being a dry, old corpse. What would you do when that day came? Would you prick yourself? Would you have the strength to break your own skin? You suppose you could simply permit him to go out and find blood as he pleased, but something about the idea of Alucard digging his fangs into who knows what struck a chord with you. He said he can go without blood for as long as I wish him to, but…

But what? You distract yourself by reaching for your mug of tea and settling back into the couch. Your mind swims as you take a sip and stare into the crackling flames in front of you. 

How would it feel? 

To be on the receiving end of a bite like that? 

You remember the feeling of his tongue well. It was strange then, cold, wet, and long. But how about his lips? His teeth? The brush of his nose on your skin? 

You swallow your sip of lukewarm tea and cough a little on it. You must have lost more than just your mind down there in the basement. Or maybe… you’ve gained something. Looking at Alucard now, your wonderings become less wondering and more concrete. 

“Are you hungry?” The words slip out before you even have half a mind to stop them.

Crimson eyes glitter for a moment, brought to life. Alucard’s lips twist into that villainous smile you’ve come to know well. “For you? Master, always.” He purrs and inclines his head in confirmation, lidded eyes staring at you through dark lashes. It's quick, but you catch the flick of a hungry tongue along his bottom lip. 

Your breath catches in your throat at that. Unable to look at him, you avert your eyes to the silver vase above the fireplace and clutch your mug a bit tighter. “I think…” You begin to get up from the sofa, hoping the walk to your room will calm your thrumming heart. “... I should head to bed.” 

“Oh, yes, It’s very late.” Alucard’s voice is filled with knowing. He too stands and follows behind you at an easy pace. 

“Why did you say that?” You ask when you’re in the privacy of your room after brushing your teeth and washing your face. Rummaging through your dresser for a pair of pajamas is your best excuse for not looking at him. Alucard’s answer to your question had been playing in your head since he’d said it.

“Say what, my dear master?” Alucard’s boots tap on the marble as he nears you. 

You watch his shadow move behind you, cast by the flickering light of a candle at your bedside. “You know what.” 

“Why did I say that? Hm… The same reason you asked it, I suppose.” 

You tense when two hands slide past your own and pluck a set of pajamas out of the drawer for you. No more excuses. You take the set and slowly turn to face him. The same reason I asked him? You weren’t sure what that was supposed to mean — no, wait — interest. Maybe a little more than interest. Yes, interest is a title you’re comfortable calling this feeling. You’re interested in those teeth of his. You’re interested in the ever-changing length of his hair, which seems longer when he's excited. You’re interested in his unusual clothes, in his eyes, in his purring tone, in the way he converses with you, and in the way he’s looking at you right now. 

“Turn around,” you order, spinning your finger in the air. 

Alucard turns, long, black hair sweeping in the air before settling in messy waves down his back. He’s so tall he blocks the candlelight from you. “You don't need my help getting changed, then?” 

Your grip tightens momentarily on your pajamas as you glare at the back of his head. “Since when did I ever need your help?” 

“I recall a time.” 

“A time that wasn’t your own doing?” 

“Touché.” 

You almost snort out a laugh while you also turn your back to him and begin to shrug off your clothes from the day. The set that Alucard had selected was more comfortable than they were flattering. Plain and unremarkable. You toss your old clothes into the hamper before brushing past him. 

A firm hand catches your arm, causing you to stumble before you turn to look up at Alucard. 

“Tell me what you were thinking about down in the drawing room.” He’s serious. You see no playful twinkle in his eyes. 

Part of you wants to come back at him with a cheeky remark about whether or not he should be making demands of you… but you want him to know. “I was…” you slide your arm out of his grasp, collecting your thoughts. “... Thinking about your teeth.” It sounds strange out loud, so you wince slightly.

Alucard looks vaguely confused. “My teeth?” He grins as if to show them off in all their sharp, jagged glory. “What, not white enough for you?” 

You scoff. Nothing would remove centuries of blood staining. Besides, he’d only be even more creepy if his teeth were pearly white. “Not that.” 

“Then what? Too sharp?” 

“No. I was only wondering what a bite from you would feel like.” You say it casually as your nerves build and your confidence in steering the conversation toward your unspoken end goal falters. You turn to climb into bed but are stopped by a hand gripping the back of your shirt. Again, you stumble to a stop.

“Ah? Now you have to elaborate. A bite from me? Master, is it possible that you… want me to bite you?” 

You feel heat rush to your cheeks, shoulders tensing where you stand. Alucard doesn't give you a chance to speak, though. 

“Ah, I can’t do that, now can I? I promised no harm would come to you. Unless you really want it.” The last few words are muttered right up against your ear. 

You shiver quite obviously and cross your arms over your chest. “Your coaxing won't work,” you mutter, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel a pair of hands ghost down your waist.

You both know it already has. 

Alucard whispers a word in a language you’re unfamiliar with. It sounds like a curse; quick, hissed, and heavy. The sound has your nerves tingling and your head tilting like you might catch it again. 

He sweeps you around with a firm hand and you’re quick to cling onto him. Fingers dig into the strange texture of his coat and you look up, bewildered, and standing on your tippy-toes. In a blur, you’re seated on your bed. Your weight sinks into it in time with Alucard sinking to his knees. 

Before you can even react with any amount of flusteredness, your hand is taken in Alucard’s and your eyes are captured in the deep crimson of his own. 

“I-it seems like you want it more than me,” you stammer, beginning to sweat due to your climbing body temperature. 

“So you do want it,” purrs Alucard, whose eyes go wide with excitement. Before you can speak a false objection, Alucard tugs your hand. “Where shall I bite, master? Here?” His lips brush against your wrist. 

You blink down at him quickly, your heart skipping a beat as you stammer some more. 

Alucard’s mouth trails higher, bottom lip dragging softly up to the meaty part of your forearm. “Here?” he whispers, like a demon in your ear. 

You gulp down a sigh and will yourself to think. It was as if your brain had turned to mush. There? No. You shake your head slightly and shudder as those lips trail higher. 

“Here?” He’s at your bicep. 

Through the hammering of your heart, you manage another shake of your head. No. 

When Alucard’s lips brush against your shoulder, you jolt and shift your dangling legs. Bare toes press into the warm fabric on his thighs. You feel the muscle underneath, strong, and undying. His body is between your thighs now, leaning ever closer. 

“Here?” 

“No,” you whisper, fingers gathering into the lapels of his coat, subconsciously pulling him in. 

Alucard leans closer, arms sliding past your waist to plant on either side of you. He rises higher on his knees and your legs slip further apart at the motion. Your nose is filled with the scent of him; strange, coppery, and somewhat sweet. 

There’s a tension there, palpable in the air. You felt like if you moved in any way that string pulled taut in the air would snap and the both of you would fall into a discordant mess.

Alucard noses gently into the crook of your neck and your eyelids flutter. His breath is hot and you catch the wavering of excitement in it. Soft hair tickles your cheek and warm lips ghost across your neck and you grab him. It's unspoken and instantaneous. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull him close, muttering ‘Right there.’ 

Alucard hums low against your skin, pressing up against you like a lulling tide. Chest to chest. His lips part and you feel the slow lave of that long tongue along the side of your neck. It makes you shudder out a gasp, a nervous jitter growing in your belly. Alucard’s teeth drag and then snag and he holds you against himself before he bites. 

“Ow, Oww!” You screw your eyes shut and crane your neck away, fingers digging into his hair. It hurt. You kick your legs out and bring them back in, digging your heels into his spine. It hurt bad. For a moment, with his teeth dug in deep, you wonder if pain alone can kill you. Tears spring at the corners of your eyes, only slightly soothed by Alucard gently removing his teeth to lick around the bleeding wound. 

Alucard hums a sound that makes you feel as if you’ve done a good thing. Praise. He gathers you into his lap, sliding you carefully off the edge of the bed and onto his thighs. There, he places warm, bloody kisses across your neck, occasionally stopping to suck lightly at the wound and swallowing with a shuddered breath. 

Your thoughts go from pondering death to nothing at all. You cling to him thoughtlessly, feeling no more pain. It had been replaced with a slow-building pleasure that seemed to spread out from your neck, where he laid a thousand affections. Your legs lay out haphazardly on either side of him and not even the chill of the cool marble on the soles of your feet is enough to distract you from his teeth and tongue. You’re crying, you think… but you’re not sad or in pain. There’s a feeling lulling in your chest, heavy and strong. It pushes at your ribcage like it knew his was right there pressed up against it; like if your chest could open up it would fill his with that feeling too. You wonder deliriously if Alucard’s heart beats so strongly too, or if it even beats at all. 

“There, there, master.” Alucard pulls away from your throat with a gulping sigh. He rocks you slowly, a soothing hand rubbing up and down your spine. “Have I satisfied your curiosity?” 

You nod your head faintly where it lays on his shoulder, wet eyelids drooping. 

The lack of a biting comeback or witty words from you has Alucard laughing deep in the back of his throat, like the purr of a dragon. He licks his lips, tilting his head to breathe in the scent of your hair. “My sweet, sweet, darling master.”

You feel weak in the morning. Dull, winter sunlight cast through your window, waking you from a deep, dreamless sleep. It had taken you just a couple of moments to realize your neck had been carefully treated and bandaged sometime in the night. There’s still a dull ache there, and a bruise, probably. 

The next thing you notice is that you’re entirely alone. This would be the first time since you agreed to Alucard’s deal that you’ve woken up alone. You frown a little — no, maybe it's more of a pout — as you sit up in bed and push the covers aside. He always said good morning. Sometimes you even let him fix your hair, but that was more recent. 

“Alucard,” you call him, sliding your legs so that you’re perched on the side of your bed. 

There’s no response. Usually, he’d appear before you within moments, saying something silly like yes, master? What can I do for you, master? You look especially lovely today, master. It makes you blink a couple of times before clearing your throat and re-adjusting how you sat. 

“Alucard,” you tried again, a little more demanding this time.

 Nothing. 

Your bottom lip twitches as you feel a pang not only on your neck but in your chest. Why aren’t you here? Momentarily, a thousand worries erupt in your mind; he only ever wanted my blood. He’s got it, now he’s gone. Maybe drinking my blood was his final wish and he’s gone off to some other plane of existence like a satisfied ghost. You shake your head and force the thoughts out, reassuring yourself that he must be off doing something else. What else?

There’s nothing you can do about it, really, so you get yourself ready on your own and head downstairs for breakfast. 

Your family is quick to notice the bandage wrapped around your neck, eyebrows raising. Your brother speaks first. 

“What the heck is that?” he points his fork, accidentally flinging a bit of scrambled egg across the table. Your mother reaches out warningly, pushing his hand back down. 

You chew on your bottom lip, pushing your scrambled eggs around the plate while frantically trying to come up with an excuse. With a blink, you find it. “I was… I took a walk yesterday in the forest and got scratched by a branch.”

Your mother sets her fork down and fixes you with a worried look. “You shouldn’t be walking about alone in the forest. What if somebody kidnapped you? This place is so large we wouldn’t even hear your scream.”

“That’s morbid, dear,” your father murmurs from behind his newspaper, earning a scoff and eye-roll from your mother. 

“At least take your bother with you next time.” She picks her fork back up and resumes eating, giving you the same worried look your brother’s giving you, though his looks more suspicious. “And how- how deep is it?” She lifts a hesitant finger like the ghost of this mystery branch that supposedly wounded you would whip through the air and get her too. 

You swallow a bite of egg. “I don’t know. I felt it when I got back so it must not have been that deep.” Out of the corner of your eye, you catch your little sister slowly tilting her head at you. Before she can say anything you shake your head the smallest amount at her. She closes her mouth, glancing at Mom before continuing to eat her cereal as if she hadn’t figured anything out. 

After breakfast, when you’re on your way to the garden to look for Alucard, you feel tiny hands grasp onto the hem of your shirt. Curious, you stop and turn around, pausing just before the two large front doors. Your sister’s looking up at you with a pouty bottom lip. You say her name sweetly and crouch so that the two of you are the same height. “What’s the matter?”

“Al bit you.” Her voice is wobbly like she might cry. “I told him to be nice to you!”

“Oh,” you sigh, heart clenching. “He is being nice to me.” Sort of. You glance sideways nervously.

“But he bit you!” Your sister reaches up to poke at the bandage wrapped around your neck. Thankfully, her jabbing fingers don't press on anything tender. 

You take up her smaller hand in yours. “I…” How does one go about explaining this to a seven-year-old? “... I let him. It’s alright.” 

Your sister scrunches her nose and tilts her head. “Huh?” 

Oh boy, you think with a sigh. “Well, Al um- he- uh- well, he needs blood to survive.” That was sort of a lie. Alucard just needed blood so he didnt turn into a rotten old raisin, but your sister didn’t need to know that. 

She gawks at you. “He’s a vampire?” 

“Well…” Really, you had nowhere else to go with this. “... Yes.” You wince, hoping you won't hear a shriek of horror or something similar. 

“Cool.” 

“C-cool?” You blink. 

“Yeah, cooler than a ghost.”

Wait, she knew he was a ghost? You decide not to ask her any of your boiling questions. You were sort of in the middle of something. Looking for Alucard. Speaking of which. “Have you seen Al at all today?” You steer the conversation away from his apparent vampirism and towards his whereabouts. 

Your sister shakes her head ‘no.’ “Have you?” She tilts her head. 

“No, I…” you stand to your full height, brushing off your knees. “... Haven't seen him at all today. Usually, he says good morning to me.” Looking towards the doors, you notice your sister hasn’t said anything in return. At her silence, you glance back down at her only to find her smiling like she knows something you don’t. “What?”

“Nothing,” she giggles. 

“You know something.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tell me.” 

“No.” 

“Tell me.” You wiggle your fingers warningly. Your sister bursts into laughter before you can even tickle her, backing a few paces away and holding her sides. 

“Okay! Umm… I think he likes you.” 

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. “Likes me?” You’d guessed that much after all the kneeling devotion, but it felt flustering to hear it acknowledged out loud. 

“Uh-huh. He asks me about you sometimes.”

“What… kinds of things does he ask?”

The small girl taps a finger on her chin. “Um… he asked me what your favorite book was but I dunno that. He also asked me your bedtime but I dunno that either. Oh, he asked me your favorite tea. I knew that one!” 

Ah, no wonder you’d find a cup of your favorite tea set out whenever you craved it. 

“Don't tell him I told you,” your sister gives you a worried look. “I don’t want him to be mad at me.” 

“Oh, I doubt he’d be mad at you.” You reach down and ruffle her hair. “From what I can tell, he cares about you very much.” 

You’d checked the garden, hoping to find Alucard amongst the hedges, but were met with nothing but frosted leaves and distant birdsong. You called, but nothing came. 

The dining room was empty and you found the overcast lighting too dreary and depressing to stay around for long. Months ago, you’d encountered him here in the dark of your lamp going out. Now, it was cold and empty. You called, but nothing came.

You checked many of the other empty rooms, most of them dusty and containing sheet-covered furniture. You called to Alucard in each of them but received no answer. 

The last place you could think to look was the basement. You still dreaded going near it even though every threat it possibly held had been removed; even the mold, which was what the inspector had commented on when your father called for one back when it was discovered. You were getting desperate, though, and your earlier fears of Alucard leaving you — which you’d previously dismissed — were starting to feel too real. So, you made your way down to the basement, into the part of the manor that was left alone despite it being fixed up — like that side had a permanent plague that permeated the air. 

The basement door creaked open underneath the push of your hand and with it, a gust of cool, damp air. “Alucard?” you call down into the dark, squinting into the strange darkness that allowed you no more than a few feet of visibility in front of you. Your voice echoed down into nothingness.

Like all the other places you’d looked; it was empty. You didn’t feel him here like you felt him when he was around. Alucard always filled up the room with his presence. At one point, that feeling had been choking and uncomfortable, but now, after weeks and weeks of his presence, you’d come to find it a comfort. 

Without it, you felt… cold and alone. 

It was nearly sundown now. The halls of the manor were a hazy orange as the sun dipped down the horizon and lit the clouds up like pink-tipped fire. You skipped dinner, feigning a stomachache, and made your way up staircase after staircase, heading to your room. 

You wouldn't cry. You told yourself you wouldn’t cry. It was stupid. He was only gone for a day. But he could’ve told me why. You don't know why it’s so upsetting. You should be overjoyed that he’s disappeared.

 No… I can’t keep lying to myself like this. You push the door to your bedroom open, wiping your wrist on damp eyelids. The truth was you’d been hoping to see him that morning after he’d bitten you. You were hoping for tender, cooing words. Hoping to be coddled a little, cared for, and looked after. Before you thought too hard about it and made yourself actually cry, you cut the thoughts off.  A shower should ease your mind. You were sweaty from walking up and down stairs and checking in every room of the manor for Alucard. Maybe that was part of the reason you felt so emotional. 

Pushing the door closed behind you with your heel, you look towards your dresser when you notice a shape in the corner of your room by your bookshelf. There Alucard stands, book in hand, flipping through page after page. You feel relief first, then joy, then anger. The latter comes out in a growl, like a wounded animal. 

“Where were you?” You stay put by the closed door, glaring at him and quickly wiping away whatever dampness still hung around your eyes. 

Alucard looks up from the book he was pretending to be interested in and snaps it closed. It disappears from his hand a second later. “Forgive me, I had something that needed taking care of.” His expression changes for a moment as he looks at you more closely. Long arms fold behind his back and he slowly makes his way towards you, head cocked. 

Your glare turns colder. “You could’ve told me before you decided to disappear for a whole day.” 

Alucard leans down, long, black hair sliding off his shoulder. “Were you looking for me?” His tone is surprised and he can't seem to help the quirk of a lip. A gloved hand reaches to capture your chin, tilting your head up. 

“Don’t change the subject,” you avert your eyes and pull your chin free from his grasp. “I don't believe your excuse. Why were you gone all day? Why didn’t you tell me?” You focus on the marble of the floor, inspecting the dull, swirling shapes within it. When Alucard doesn’t answer you, you look up at him, irritated and confused. 

He’s smiling down at you faintly, straightened up to his full height. “Hm.” His eyes flick down your body so fast you question if what you’ve seen was real. “I was out of sorts by morning, master, you see; your blood is very stimulating.” There’s a wild shimmer of glee in his eyes, which narrow as his jagged smile widens. 

You stiffen, watching him out of the corner of your eyes as he circles you. Stimulating? Alucard circles slowly, once, twice, and your eyes widen when he comes to stop in front of you once more. “You were…?” You gawk at him. 

Alucard bursts into laughter, deep and rumbling. The sound reverberates in your ribs and leaves you wide-eyed and shy. 

“Ew!” You shove his chest, ignoring the way he didn’t even falter, and rush to your dresser to pull out a change of clothes. “I’m showering. You stay here!” Flustered, you quickly make your way out of your room and to the bathroom. You didn’t want to hear any more, especially not when it made you feel… like that. 

The tile is cool under your toes as you strip and prepare the shower.

Your blood is very stimulating.

Alucard’s words echo in your head as you gently peel the bloodied bandage away from your neck. It’s already scabbed over. You're thankful for that as you step under the steaming stream of water. You cup your hands, letting them fill with water before splashing it on your face. It’s not very refreshing. The water’s hot and it does little to erase the image of him pacing around you in your mind. 

You think — rubbing water from your eyes — that your blood couldn’t possibly be so stimulating it put him out of commission for the entire day. Wasn’t he an all-powerful vampire? 

You open the lid to your soap and pour a little in your palm. 

No, that was just it, wasn’t it? Alucard had mentioned weeks and weeks ago how he found enjoyment in — as he put it — delicate things. Mortal things. 

Your hands rub the soap across your arms. 

Had he really been…? You can’t even bring yourself to think the words. Just imagining Alucard like that was too… too… mortal. Too human. 

Soapy fingers glide down your chest. 

He was an all-powerful vampire. Surely he didn’t have a need for mortal pleasures; unbuckled pants and slicked fingers. You see him for a moment, without the coat, with a few buttons undone, with a little more skin showing, glittering, sharp teeth, and heavy breath and you suddenly feel too hot under the water. 

When you return from your shower with damp hair and warm skin you can’t bring yourself to look at Alucard. He’s sitting at the foot of your bed. You can see the dark shape of him out of the corner of your eye but make no move to acknowledge him. 

He acknowledges you, though. The vampire rises from his perch, peering at you as you pass by to fluff your pillow and pull back your covers. 

You don’t want to look at him. Something’s changed in you — you see it now. The idea that he’d been so out of sorts because of you, well, what wasn't flattering about rendering an ancient vampire to that kind of state? Not only that, you realize; you’ve been rendering him to all sorts of states the entire time. How many times had he pledged his loyalty, dropped to a knee, and proven himself with unwavering patience as you try time and time again to wrap your head around your situation?  

“Is something the matter?” 

The low, steady tone of Alucard’s voice draws you out of your head and you catch yourself bristling like he might've been listening in. You know he hadn’t and that he wouldn’t. Not after you’d told him not to. 

You can’t seem to find words. Instead, you busy yourself with making your covers as wrinkle-free as possible, which is ridiculous, considering you’re about to climb in them. 

Alucard steps a little closer. You can practically feel him leaning over you. “Did you set the water a little too hot, master?” His voice lowers. “I can hear your heartbeat. It’s rather… fast.” 

You feel your skin prickle at his comment, side-eying his shadow in the candlelight with wide eyes. Even without reading your mind, he could find you out one way or another. You’re quick to try and change the subject. “There’s no way you’d be gone that long if you were doing that.” You bring your previous conversation back to light. 

“Doing what, master?” Alucard smiles something slimy and knowing for having such a coy tone. 

Flustered now, and desperate to avert his attention from your rising heartbeat and straying imagination, you stammer. “You… You… You know what.” You round to face him, eyes trailing quickly up each button of his coat until you’re looking into narrowed, gleaming, red eyes. 

Alucard hums softly and tilts his head to the side before leaning down in an unnatural fashion. “Touching myself?” His breath blows a strand of his dark hair against your burning cheek when he speaks. 

“You’re a pervert.” You quickly avert your eyes, confirmation making your head swim more and more. He was so close. So close you could feel his breath on your cheek. So close you could dig your fingers into the fabric of his coat and— 

“And why is that?” Alucard puts on a fake pout, tone dipping into something more condescending. 

What? You watch his puffed-out bottom lip move as his lips twist into a grin and catch yourself biting your own. You feel like you’re forgetting. Forgetting words, forgetting why you were even putting up a fight and trying to hide from him. Why is he a pervert..? You spin the question around and around in your mind but can't seem to even care enough to find an answer. All you know is that he’s teasing you. 

“No answer?” Alucard studies your face like one would inspect an interesting artifact. 

You can think of nothing to say. Nothing, until — amidst you clinging on desperately to the last strings of your resistance — a question comes to mind. One last test. Something that had been nudging the back of your mind for a short while.

“... Just my blood?” 

Alucard’s features twitch faintly with confusion. He turns his head a little, pointed ear closer to your lips. “What was that?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment before opening them and fixating on the topmost button of his grey suit. “Was it just my blood that made you feel that way?” You suddenly feel a little ridiculous for even asking, not wanting to seem like some lovesick fool in front of him. Were you? It scares you to confront it and you lift a hand to cover your eyes. 

There’s a ringing silence that makes you want, more and more, to sink into the floor and go to whatever dark room Alucard had pulled you into once so long ago. 

But then there’s a rustle of fabric and a gentle hand clasps your wrist, pulling your hand away from your eyes. You catch a glimpse of some tender expression on Alucard’s usually jagged features and quickly hide away from it with a duck of your head. 

He doesn't let it last, long fingers catching your chin and raising your eyes to his. “Look at me,” he urges you sweetly when your eyes try and dance away. A faint smile — something gentle — graces his features when he watches you struggle to maintain eye contact. “My little master, always so headstrong. Who knew you could get so shy? Is that what you’ve been hiding from me?” He leans closer and doesn't miss the way your bottom lip trembles. “It’s never been about your blood. Last night, when you gifted me a taste, I did not feel as if I was drinking blood; but you.”

His words feel tangible like they’re plucking at every rib in your chest. You’re sure he can hear your thundering heart. You can. You can hear it. That and feel a trembling need. Like some beast had just woken up in your chest, unafraid now of being seen. Your fingers tremble as they twist the hem of your shirt and you can no longer bear staring into his eyes. You turn your head sideways to hide once more but Alucard brings you back to him with a firmer jerk of his hand. You exhale louder than you’d wished to, heart spiking. 

You realize he wants you to say something but you feel like there’s cotton in your mouth. You try anyway, holding onto the lapels of his crimson coat. “I… I think…” Your head’s spinning and a thousand words buzz past you too quickly to select any. 

You make up your mind and Alucard seems to sense it just as you do. He drops your chin, weaving his arms around your waist just as you rise onto your toes and drape your arms around his neck. 

His hair’s like a curtain around you, long and soft. His lips are soft too, meeting you halfway and with a low purr that makes you dizzy. Your breath mixes sweetness, dipping into the saccharine. Sharp teeth graze your bottom lip, the blade of his nose pressing against your cheek as you both tilt your heads to get closer. 

Teeth and tongue.

 The tongue that meets your own is long and strange. It fills your mouth, curling against the roof of it. You should find it disgusting, but your panties are slick under your pajamas and your heart is racing so quickly it’s beginning to hurt. 

Alucard pulls away with a sigh, his long tongue slipping from your lips, leaving them wet and lightly swollen. You suck in a breath you didn’t know you’d been needing and wipe your lips with the back of your hand, disappointed.

“Too much?” Alucard queries above you, to which you shake your head vigorously, ‘No.’

You want it again. Some hungry beast claws at your lower belly and you stare, open-mouthed, at the man before you. “Kiss me,” you demand, and he does. He scoops his arms underneath you, adjusting only to deepen the kiss. 

While the methodical moment of his mouth distracts you, Alucard glides a bare hand down your belly. Cold fingers tickle at your waistband, lifting, sliding past. You can only sigh against him, arms tangling around his neck, subdued, and finally, finally submitting to this feeling. 

How long had you really felt this way? How long had you been suppressing it? You’re not sure. Somewhere along the way, Alucard had stopped looking like a monster—or rather—he’d always looked like one, been one; you’d simply fallen in love with him. Despite it? Because of it? You’re not sure. 

What you are sure about is that you’d suppressed it long enough to feel a longing ache deep in your gut when Alucard’s fingers trail lightly down, far past your navel. 

He pulls away again, leaving you breathless and wiping away spit once more. “So flushed,” remarks Alucard warmly. “Do you like it?” He tilts his head, lips curling to show off a toothy smile. “How I kiss you?” 

Embarrassed, you turn your head slightly to avoid his gaze. “I do.” Your voice is a little hoarse. 

“It’s messy,” he says like he’s trying to convince you to change your mind. Alucard tilts his head the other way, sliding his hand further into your panties. “Though, I suppose, stuff like that doesn’t bother you. Am I right, master?” 

You swallow thickly, eyes darting down to where his wrist disappears into your pajamas. “Don’t… call me that in-in bed,” you whisper, avoiding the question. It was startling to admit it. You were in bed together.

“Mm? What should I call you?” Cool fingers trace your slick lips, feather-light. It’s teasing. He’s driving you mad. “Darling? Dearest? My love?” Alucard leans in, his chest pressing down on yours. There, nosing against your ear, he whispers your name as a sweet question. 

You’d never heard it from his lips before. In fact, you’re pretty sure you never told him it. Though, it was no surprise that he’d learned it anyway. It makes you shiver, unable to hide your quick inhale. 

“That got a reaction from you. Should I say them all?” 

You nod, lifting your hips faintly, wanting more. 

Alucard indulges you with a low chuckle. Fingers—now warmed from your blazing skin—slide between your folds. They find your clit rather quickly and give a tender, experimental circle. 

You sigh as your eyes fall closed. You’d never felt his hands before. They were always thinly veiled by his gloves. But now, you felt them with dizzying clarity: long fingers, rough fingertips, and careful pressure. Alucard was slow and studying. 

You hear the sheets shift and a weight presses to your side. Alucard’s lain beside you, an arm sliding under your neck so you fit against that spot between his shoulder and chest. When your eyes open, you’re greeted with a crimson gaze narrowed at you lovingly. 

You dart away from the expression, shy, and glance back down to where his wrist disappears into your panties. The sight alone makes your thighs press together around his wrist, stopping his movements. You don’t want Alucard to stop. You want him to continue. Keep going. Slide further. 

“Is this your way of telling me to work harder?” Alucard hums against your temple, where he leaves a kiss. Two slicked fingers tap your clit once, twice, then you feel the blade of Alucard’s nose brush your cheek. 

“I dunno,” you answer honestly and barely above a whisper. Heart thrumming, you squeeze closer to his side, turning your cheek to bury your face in the collar of his shirt and his soft, thick hair. 

You didn’t know. You didn’t know anything right now, really. Should you be doing something? Thinking something? How could anyone think at all in a moment like this? 

“You’re nervous?” Alucard hums above you, copying your whisper, though far less shyly. 

You answer his question with a nod, burying your fingers in his vest. His coat had been left behind some time ago, sunk into the shadows, and gone before you could remember it. 

Alucard’s hand goes limp between your thighs where you hold it tightly and your heart drops for a moment, thinking he’s about to stop. 

“Alright.” The arm under your neck curls. You feel the muscle of Alucard’s bicep bunch underneath you as his hand lays over your head protectively, holding you there against his shoulder. 

You can’t see a thing. It’s just darkness and senses here—and the scent of him. You lean into it, twisting, sliding an arm across him to secure it on his opposite shoulder. Alucard chuckles above you, cheek resting on your forehead. 

“Yes,” he encourages you. “Hide from the world. Forget about all of it.” 

Something clicks in your mind and you tilt your head, pressing your lips against the side of Alucard's neck. You hear it then; a change in his breathing. What was once unnoticeable and so silent you wondered if he even ever breathed was now deliberately measured and audible. God, you want it. “Please, keep going,” you mutter so quietly you’re unsure if you’ve actually spoken at all. Hesitantly, your legs fall open. 

Alucard seems to have heard you just fine and his hand comes back to life, sliding two of his long fingers around and around your clit. It’s not enough to bring you near finishing, but it makes you want with a panting breath. You’re not sure you’ve ever gotten this soaked before. In fact, there’s a little worry that you’re leaving a wet spot on the comforter. 

You tug on the gray of his vest, hips lifting slightly, chasing his fingers, and then…you feel them slide lower. Words sing in your mind; yes, yes yes. One long finger—his middle—dips into your entrance. It’s gentle. He's feeling you, becoming familiar with the ins and outs of this very private place. And when Alucard seems properly acquainted with that silky velvet, he slides a finger in. 

You tense and make a quiet sound against him. It doesn’t hurt. Not at all. No; it’s just a little strange having someone else doing it. 

“There, there,” Alucard coos. He’s knuckle-deep and cups his palm over you. Something about the pressure, the safety of that motion, and of his words, has you moaning quietly into his neck. He swallows, shifting his hand to deliver slow, pressing circles. Alucard’s finger stirs you a little and you feel your skin go hot at the sounds such a simple motion makes. “You want another?” Alucard squeezes you tighter to him. “There’s room.”

“Mm-hm.” You nod, tilting your head to suck at his neck. He tastes human, though there’s a faint difference in temperature that just feels off. 

The hand that held the back of your head slides down to find a more clawing grip on your shoulder. Alucard’s breathing sounds—just for a moment—like some shuddering animal as he slides his finger halfway out to make room for the second. 

This time it’s a little uncomfortable. That is… until Alucard slides both fingers all the way inside of you and you find the slight burn of the stretch far more pleasurable than you’d anticipated. 

The pace he takes is a little faster than before. His palm meets your clit every once in a while with a little smack that has your hips lifting for more. 

“That’s it,” Alucard breathes above you, watching intently the way your legs spread just a bit wider. “Two with little trouble. You’re that relaxed around me, aren’t you?” It’s said as more of a statement than a question 

There’s a clawing need creeping up your throat. You’re getting desperate and every little hum of pleasure that you make isn’t enough anymore to express how you’re feeling. “Please, please, Alucard.” You claw at his chest, nudging your nose against his jaw. 

The claw-like hand that grips your shoulder tightens and you feel the prick of nails. “A third?” He breathes raggedly as his hand stills once more below your waistband. 

“Something,” you whine, frustration bubbling in the pit of your stomach. “Anything.” 

Alucard’s fingers start again, faster. For a brief moment, he seemed to have lost his composure. It makes you squeal and lift a leg as you nip your bottom lip. Like that. “Oh, yes,” you breathe him in, jostled slightly by his pace. Shyness melts away here, where you’re hidden in his darkness. It’s impossible to have it—that shyness—when Alucard’s long fingers are stroking the deepest parts of you. 

“Your voice is the sweetest thing I’ve heard in centuries.” Alucard’s tone sounds strained and he presses his cheek to the top of your head, slowly working you up to the precipice with every press of his fingers. 

“You mean it?” You breathlessly suck a mark against his jaw. It fades moments later. 

Alucard rolls his hips against your side and you feel something pressing into your hip. “Absolutely.” The hand gripping your shoulder shifts again to glide through your hair. He pulls it lightly, craning your neck back to capture your lips in a deep kiss. 

You hum into it as you grind on his hand which has gone still, fingers pressed deep inside of you. It pulls a needy whimper from you, to which Alucard returns with an affectionate hum of his own. When he pulls away, lips wet with your spit, it’s to smile with all his horrible teeth. 

“Are you feeling rather hot, my darling?” 

You were sweating. ‘Hot’ didn’t even begin to cover it. “Alucard.” Your rutting hips start to slow as a frustrated huff leaves you. “Are you having a lot of fun torturing me?” 

“Torturing you? Oh, my love, you wound me.” 

Vaguely, his words feel familiar. You can’t quite remember, though. “It is,” you whine. “This is torture. I want- I want…” You feel the press of him against your hip, heavy and hard through his pants. 

“What is it?” He leans in for another kiss and is surprised when you turn your cheek. 

You avoid his eyes, shy as you reach hesitantly to palm the bulge in his pants. One of his legs jerks slightly and you turn to look up at his expression. 

For a while, you wondered if vampires were capable of blushing. Now you know they most definitely do. Alucard’s pale cheeks are flushed crimson with the very blood you’d given him. His eyes are fixated on your hand and its circular motions. Slowly, he slides his fingers from you and wipes the slick on your pajamas. 

You fight a smile but Alucard does that for you when he thumbs the button of his pants. “This is what you want?” His eyes dart down to yours, curious, and gentle. He’s acting like he’d give you anything. Anything at all, if you asked.

 You nod. 

Alucard pushes the button out of its loop and you brush your hand aside to make room for his. The sound of a zipper greets your ears like music and you wonder how such a simple sound can make someone so aroused. 

Intently, you watch with your warm cheek pressed against his silky, red cravat. Alucard’s bare knuckles shift, pushing cloth aside to free himself and you suck in a breath through your nose at the sight of him. His cock stands flushed and twitching beneath a trail of dark hair. Your fingers fidget as you swallow, shifting your weight against him so that you can trail your hand along a sliver of bare hip. 

Alucard is patient, watching as your hand slowly pushes his shirt up above his navel before your fingers graze down along that trail of hair. Closer, closer, your fingers draw to that twitching length. 

You’re shy. He knows this. So he waits while trying to keep a set of claws sprouting from the gentle hand that cups your head. It’s a difficult thing to manage when your fingers wrap around him experimentally. 

“Warm,” you comment quietly, dragging your thumb over the slicked head.

Alucard purrs. “You should feel proud. Look what you’ve done to me.” 

You do feel proud. He was lifting into your touch just as you had done to his. Your hand squeezes just a little tighter as you drag it down and back up again. It draws a hiss between Alucard’s wolfish teeth, strong hips rolling upwards. 

Just as you’d been noticing, more and more; every sound he made, every movement felt magnified in your senses. You can’t help it. You really can't. Turning, you press a feverish kiss against Alucard’s lips. His hips pause, distracted and breathing heavily through his nose as you lick into his mouth, which he opens for you eagerly. He tries to say something, you think, but you’re too busy nipping his bottom lip to pay attention. Eventually, you pull away you catch your breath.

“Yes,” Alucard praises in a tone that borders on intense. “Take what you want. Show me what you’re made of.” His eyes look mad with lust and the gentle hand cradling your neck feels like it's made of metal; cold and sharp. 

Your muscles move on their own before you can even think, tugging off your pajama bottoms and your underthings with them. Alucard’s laugh rings in your ears, somewhat taunting, but mostly amused. 

He gazes up at you when you slide over him, hands planted firmly on his chest, and looks like he’s seeing the stars for the first time in an eternity. 

“Is that what you want from me?” You lower your hips only to slide yourself along the length of his cock. It twitches and Alucard’s lips pull into a snarl at the feeling of you. 

“That, and many other things,” he answers, laying a hand on your hip. It seems to be more for his own good rather than yours. 

You stammer around your words as you reach a hand below yourself and guide the head of his cock to your entrance. “What-what kinds of things?” You press down slowly, wincing a little at the stretch.

 Alucard’s reaction makes it all worth the sting. His hands grip your hips and his eyes glow in the flickering candlelight. He looks like he might cry, actually; eyebrows pinched together, drawn up, and his sharp teeth clenched tightly as he watches where your bodies join. “All the things,” he hisses. When he slides home, nestled deep inside of you, you sit on him fully with a moan. Alucard’s head falls back against your pillow. 

You watch, trembling with arousal as his long hair moves on its own, fanning out like a cobra in warning. It should scare you, the way his hands aren’t hands anymore; but jagged metal claws of armor jutting through his skin. It should scare you that the candle’s flickering wildly in some unseen wind, that the shadows are getting darker, and that Alucard’s restraint is about to snap entirely. You feel it in the air like a bow pulled taut, ready to let an arrow fly. But just like you always felt with him; you can’t bring yourself to care much about what you should be feeling. 

This— you think, as you rock your hips back and forth, feeling like you’re sitting upon some jagged, untouchable, dangerous throne—is the best you’ve ever felt in your life. It pulls a shameless moan from you and your fingers curl into the lapels of his wrinkled vest. “Oh, my god.” Breathless, you do exactly as he’d begged you to; you take. Grinding back and forth, feeling him press so deep you have half a mind to clutch your belly. 

“You… won't find that here,” chuckles Alucard lowly like the devil itself, looking rather proud to have you here in his lap. “Beautiful thing! Only for my eyes.” His claws curl around you, pricking your bare hip where they slip beneath your shirt. Alucard sounds like he’s preaching. The candle flickers more. 

“Please,” you moan, thighs burning. “Please, please, just fuck me.” You both know what sounds like whimpering begs are actually scathing, bratty orders. 

He loves it. That greedy fiend nestled deep in your heart. So human. Alucard plants his feet behind you and begins to roll his hips up into you, faster, until you’re letting him bounce you in his lap. 

You lean back on his bent knees like he really is your throne, moaning freely and without shame. Power sings in your veins. You’re drunk on it and he only gives you more. Each buck of his hips has you sighing, shivering, feeling satisfaction deep in your bones. When you look down at the man, the monster below you, he’s half-cast in trembling shadow, devouring the sight of you with hungry, glowing eyes. There’s more than just two. Your hazy gaze drifts to the shadows, where more glowing eyes watch you.

 It’s all Alucard, up to the hundredth eye that slides open along the tall, dark ceiling. It’s all him; the claws, the trembling candle about to go out, and the rutting hips below you. When you tense and arch your back, feeling your heart climb up into the back of your throat as you tell him you’re about to finish, Alucard does not waver. 

“Fuck, yes, yes,” your voice climbs higher as you tighten around him and lay forward, cheek pressing into the curve of his neck. It draws a shaky groan from Alucard, who wraps his arms tight around you and rolls his hips earnestly. Held tight, you shake, clawing at his chest beneath you as you reach your trembling peak. “Alucard-!”

“Yes, my love,” he moans, strained. “Yes, that’s it.” He sounds more monstrous as he continues to rut into you. Another pair of arms grasp your hips, this set feeling bony and cold as death. 

Shivering with damp, fluttering eyelashes, you moan brokenly against him. The candle's wild flickering wicks out and you’re bathed in darkness; swallowed by it. There’s a groan by your ear and then a long tongue laving over your cheek, then another, lower, across your jaw, and another down your neck. You smile faintly, drunken on the hips that roll into you and the hands that stroke and fondle. It's all him: every kiss, every touch, and every whisper in your ear. 

Hands hold you under your arms, lifting you, pulling you back against a monstrous chest. 

“Alucard,” you whimper in the dark. A claw of a hand cups your chin and cranes your neck back. You’re met with wide, glowing eyes and fingers that slide down your belly. With trembling fingers, you grasp the wrist belonging to that claw for stability.

“Oh, my love, you’re divine.” It sounds like a hundred voices speaking at once, all of them him. In Alucard’s own, horrifying way; he’s making love to you. It’s an all-consuming thing. Vaguely, you wonder if drowning you in it is part of the fun. 

You’re having fun, shivering where he holds you in this form which made no logical sense. But had he ever made any logical sense, other than his words? No, he hadn’t. Another sighing moan leaves your throat at every tender press of Alucard’s hips. It leaves your thighs trembling and you squirm, overstimulation buzzing your nerves. 

“I-I can’t take anymore,” you splutter as you stare up into those red eyes, which cast a hypnotic glow across your cheeks. 

“Oh,” he purrs condescendingly as he trails kisses down your throat and to your breast—metal clicks as those armored claws tug your shirt up and over your head. The voice by your ear continues. “You can. You’re a big girl.” Something soft laves over one of your nipples, wet and barely warmer than your own skin. The other is quickly occupied by a gentle, cupping hand. 

As if he was made of smoke, you feel yourself fall through the broad chest you’d been leaning against. Your back meets the mattress and you let out a thrilled sigh when Alucard gathers your legs to push them towards your chest. He slides deeper inside you, pressing against a part of you that has your mind emptying. 

“No one gets to see you like I do, right?” You can hear how wolfish his smile is as he bears his weight against you, his form tangible and mostly human once more. Alucard’s breath fans across your lips and his nose brushes your cheek as he grinds into you. He’s proud of himself, panting like a mutt above you.

Pressed up tight like this, your eyes roll every time his pelvic bone rubs against your clit. 

“Right?” He coos your name and you nod profusely, only able to drool and cry. 

“Iloveyou.” It bubbles out of your lips. You felt like your heart was climbing up out of your throat, tears tracking down your cheeks. 

Alucard goes rigid above you, hissing a curse under his breath before leaning down to kiss you hard. 

You can barely keep up but he doesn’t seem to mind, holding your face with tender, trembling hands. You can hear his breath shudder with emotion, hips flush against you as he finishes then and there inside of you with a quivering moan. 

“I love you,” he says between messy kisses. Alucard’s voice is thick in his throat and you feel something drip onto your cheeks. 

It’s warm, sliding down to the corner of your mouth where you wick it away with your tongue. Copper tangs your tastebuds and you blink your eyes open. 

Even in the dark, you can tell he’s crying. Salty tears weren’t something Alucard possessed, but bloody crimson ones. He presses his blood-slicked cheek to yours, shivering above you, holding you tight.

You can’t help but join him, leaning into him, burying your fingers in his hair as you let your heart bleed. 

When your blissful sniffles subside, the both of you settle in each other's arms. You’re sure you’re a mess, smeared in blood, tears, and the product of both yours and Alucard’s orgasms. 

He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing, despite all that. Alucard kisses both your eyelids, admiring you in the pale shaft of moonlight that appears only now that he lets it. 

You admire him too; sleepy eyes blinking open only to trail a finger along his chin. The movement is slow, muscles heavy with exhaustion. “I didn’t know you could do all that,” you hum, dragging the pad of your thumb across his soft lips.

They curve into a smile, parting so that you can run your finger over his sharp teeth. Alucard’s tongue lifts to greet you, sliding against the digit until you pull it away to wipe it on the tip of his nose. 

He laughs lowly—more of a hum—and caresses your cheek. “I can do many things. Surely, that’s not surprising.”

You smile and shake your head, leaning in to fit your head beneath his chin. “It’s not,” you hum. “But it doesn’t make it any less impressive.”

There, you fall asleep and there Alucard gathers you close to himself, humming a low and unfamiliar tune.

Sometimes, when the spring sun spilled through the rain-sprinkled windows of your apartment, you were reminded of the old manor’s creaky windowsills. Of your window latch unlocking itself and blowing wide. 

Your place had electricity, but you now made it a habit to move about by candlelight, as you had back then when walking through aged, groaning halls. Dust and rotting paintings. It affected you deeply. All of it. The madness, the fear, the dark, the rain and wind, those tall, looming ceilings and long staircases. The cold, damp, stench of its basement and the clawing hands that met you there—and pleasure.

You remembered the drive away from the manor. You’d watched it fade into the distance, swallowed by trees, and were distinctly aware that you’d stolen something from it. Something dark and cloying. It had made your heart ache to leave it. Still did.

In the dark, lit only by a flickering candle or two on the coffee table, you paged through a book on your couch. It was in a language you couldn’t read, but you knew who’d given it to you. He rose from your floorboards like an inky specter, figure hunched and batlike. When he moved, it was accompanied by the heavy thud of his boots on the hardwood. 

You smiled to yourself, turning another page as his cold hand cupped your cheek. A gentle nudge raised your chin, eyes lifting from the pages. 

Alucard dipped his head to your neck from where he stood behind the couch, breathing a string of words against your skin. “Oh, my love.” His long arms slid beneath yours, hands finding a comfortable resting place on your stomach.

Your fingers lift to card through his hair as you tilt your head. The book in your lap slides off onto the cushion beside you, where it’s left, forgotten. Alucard never failed to pull you from your moments of bittersweet nostalgia. “You want something,” you whisper, and his teeth press against your skin in response. Both hands buried in his hair now, Alucard takes from you what he had been taking for months—what you’ve been giving freely. 

You’d grown used to that stinging bite, the deep sinking of it, the fire, heat of your own blood spilling on his cold tongue until he wasn’t cold anymore. Until he was warm arms… sliding you from the couch, draping your head over his shoulder.

“I don’t want to go to bed.” 

“You work tomorrow morning, do you not?” 

You did, but you’d long since dreaded the morning, and the sun, and anything similar to good weather. Alucard didn’t come out as much when the sun was high in the sky and when the clouds were clear. You lived your lives in happy darkness, where you wanted to lay forever. 

He took you to your bed anyway, despite your little protest. Shed his cloak, left it to sink away like an unimportant memory, and pulled you free of your clothes one by one until you were bare and warm underneath the covers. 

“You kept your promise,” you whisper, lips barely above the comforter. Alucard crawls in beside you, equally as bare, adjusting a moment before pulling you to himself. You press your cheek to his chest, feeling his unnatural too-slow draw of breath.

“And which promise was that?”

“That you’d follow me anywhere.” 

“Of course.” He kisses the crown of your head, bare fingers smoothing down the nape of your neck and then your naked spine. “I’m bound to you by blood. Your blood, my sweet, and how I love it.” It was the truth. He knew no home but your blood and body and whichever bed you called yours.

The purr of his voice pulled you into a drowsy trance. Half-dreaming, you trace the scarred skin of his chest, up and over his shoulder, where you squeezed muscle. It earned a grateful groan from Alucard, whose bassy voice rumbled in his chest. 

“I love you,” you say without thinking, releasing your grip on his shoulder to play with his hair. You feel him playing with yours, too. It raises goosebumps on your skin. Pulls you deeper into dream. 

“You have consumed me…” he whispers. You loved it when he did that. It made him sound like a poet. In a way, you’ve come to realize that Alucard sort of was. “...and I will never tire of hearing those words. I love you, te iubesc la nebunie, draga mea.” The sound of his mother tongue stoked the simmering fire in your gut, which was always there when Alucard was doting on you. 

“Read me that book one day,” you request tiredly. “In your words first… and then mine.”

“Gladly, my master.”

And he did. 

He would. 

And shall… read it to you, for many, many years.

I might have cried a little. Don't tell anyone, okay? Thank you everyone for reading and following me through the journey of writing this. It was tough sometimes, and slow-going, but I learned so much about writing and I feel like this story has both improved how I write and healed parts of me I didn't know needed healing. Thank you to the incredible anon who shared this idea with me. It was a privilege to write and I'm so glad I took on the challenge.

You might as well have made a deal with the devil. There you sat, writhing on the lower step, which was cold and biting against the exposed skin of your back where your shirt had ridden up. Strong, gloved fingers held your hip tight. The only light down here in the dark was the faint red glow of the vampire’s eyes. You’d agreed to his proposition, and would rather have him tied to your hip than roam free, what with all he was capable of. All he asked for in return was a few more drops of blood, which you granted him. You felt that tongue — strange and long — glide along the underside of your forearm where you’d been cut. Wearing a grimace all the way while he took what he called a ‘few drops.’ You’d expected a bite… but maybe that wasn't how real vampires worked. His laugh makes your eyes flit about in the dark. 

“It has been so long… since I’ve had blood this sweet,” his voice is low in his throat, a purr. You feel his grip on your waist loosen again, only to adjust you against his lap. Your bare toes have long gone stiff from the cold of this dark place. Wigging again, you reach a hand out to grip the thick fabric of his coat, trying to sit up, get off the stairs, something. Instead, the vampire hums softly and pulls you up against his chest. You hiss in pain when his hand brushes the scrapes on your spine. You grab onto the back of his coat, preferring this to the harsh jagged stairs. “Humans are so delicate,” you hear him mutter, your weight slightly jostled as he stands with you. Gravity tugs at you, but his arms slide underneath you to keep you aloft. You hadn't been held like this in… well not since you were little. 

“Put me down,” you say, but the words are not as full of authority as you had wished. You’re exhausted. After having been tormented night after night without hardly a wink of proper sleep… you can barely hold a stern tone. Despite this, he does set you down, numb feet against cold stone. You can’t see a thing down here and hold your hands out as you try to climb the stairs and get out. A gentle hand rests just under your shoulder blades. He’s trying to guide you up. Somewhat thankful, despite your dislike for him, you manage to stumble back up into the light. When you reach the dusty carpet of the first floor, you sigh in relief. Moonlight trickles in through the cobwebbed windows and you think, just for a moment, that the light might chase away your nightmare. But he rises from the shadowy depths of the basement, boots a measured, dull, and patient tap tap on the carpet as he comes to stand beside you. You feel the heaviness in your eyes as you stare up at him. It really was him. From the dream… from everything. In all his horribleness, he was beautiful. Long, dark, wavy hair that stopped just at his chest. You stared up while he stared down, one crimson eye visible through those shaggy bangs. The shine of a sharp tooth caught your eye when his lip quirked up into a smirk. The vampire sucks in a breath to speak.

“I see the hostility in your eyes.” 

You remain silent. Knowing what he can do, you're not so sure you can say what you want to say.

“There’s no point in hiding your thoughts from me,” he urges you. 

“I… hate you.”

“You don't quite believe that.” The vampire leans down and catches your chin in his fingers. You jerk your head, slipping out of his grasp. It doesn't deter him. “No, rather, you’re torn. You should hate me — you think — but humans are so vain, are they not?” He steps forward, coat sweeping along the floor as he drops to one knee. 

“Are you saying that your beauty absolves you of your wrongdoings?” You glare, stepping back. Your anger fizzles like a fire trying to start on damp logs. You're sure that if he was not near you, you’d be able to feel the full burn of your frustration. But his presence has a dampening effect on your negative emotions. 

“I never said that.” The vampire smiles cheekily as if asking, ‘You think I’m beautiful?’ You want to smack him again, but you turn around instead. The empty hall slides past your vision slowly as you make your staggered way towards the door, clutching just above your elbow to try and stave the sting of the cut. 

The pink glow of sunlight through your eyelids in the morning rouses you. You blink them open slowly, lying limply under the covers which feel heavy and warm. You don't get up, only roll onto your side and gaze sleepily at the open window. A cool breeze makes the thin white curtains billow. Becoming aware of the press of a bandage against your elbow, you realize that the vampire must have helped you the rest of the way to your room and cleaned you up a bit. You didn’t know where he was now. With all his power, you’re sure sunlight was the same to him as it was to you. And yet, he's nowhere to be seen. 

You pay it no mind, getting up to go through your morning routine with a newfound exhaustion. Your parents take notice when you come down for breakfast and you make the quick excuse that you were feeling under the weather. There’d be no way you could tell anyone that you were bound to some ancient vampire that had lived in the basement. Luckily, your parents take pity on you and leave you to rest while they continue working while avoiding the first floor until someone comes to take a look at it. You’re somewhat grateful to have been the one to find the vampire. There was no telling what kind of mess would have happened had some inspector found an undead corpse. You shiver as some sort of nightmare apocalypse springs in your mind. Blood and countless news vans. It makes your spine crawl.

 You stow away, bringing with you a mug of warm tea to slide back under the covers with. However, right as you reach the top of the stairs and look down the hall that leads to your room, you watch the end of a red coat disappear through the doorway. You know then that you wouldn't be getting much rest today either. 

Stepping into your room, you give a sweeping glance. The vampire stood in front of the open window, looking out, arms folded behind his back. His coat is laid neatly at the foot of your bed. He looks quite different without it, you think. Thinner and less intimidating. Actually, he’s still intimidating, but now it is a different kind of intimidating. Instead of seeming big, like he took up all the space around you, he seems sophisticated. He turns to look at you, and you watch as his long hair rolls over his shoulder. “I never introduced myself.” He steps forward, one arm still folded behind his back as the other glides forward to clasp your free hand in his. “Alucard.” The vampire bows his head and you grimace when you feel his lips press a kiss to your knuckles. Dark eyelashes flutter open, and you’re met with patient yet expectant eyes. Your name. He wants your name. You sigh and give it with far less vigor than he gave his own. It pleases Alucard all the same. He calls it beautiful. You roll your eyes. 

“You’re not very original,” you tell him. It doesn’t bruise his ego in the slightest. He continues giving you that damned smile. 

“Tired?”

“Exhausted.”

“Rest, then. I won’t bother you.” Alucard steps aside out of your way. You don’t believe him.

“I don’t think I can rest very well with you hovering,” you tell him, brushing past to set your cooling tea on the bedside table. Alucard follows you, urging you to scoot aside. He pulls the covers back and once you sit in bed, he pulls them up over your lap, reaching behind you to prop your pillow up a bit more. 

“I think you will,” his voice is a little condescending, similar to the way he’d spoken to you last night. You give him a long glare before attempting to let your muscles relax. Rest hadn’t come to you very well in who knows how long. You stopped counting the days. Weeks? Months? It felt more like months. Your very bones felt sore from the terrors you’d endured thanks to the now-welcoming beast beside you, who slid your mug into your hands. 

“Why be nice to me now?” You stare down at the rippling rose-tinted water. The scent of it is comforting. Alucard doesn’t move for a moment, and then you tilt your head upwards to watch as he brings one curled knuckle to his bottom lip, thinking. He analyzes your face, his own impossible to read. 

“Why? Think of it this way: what sane girl would trot down into a mysterious dark basement? I realized this when you weren’t understanding my messages.” 

“Messages?”

“Stupid girl. I showed you where to find me in your dreams. I even drew you a map in that little book of yours.” You weren’t sure you enjoyed the tone he’d used when he called you a ‘stupid girl.’ Cooing, like you were a mere kitten he was having fun toying with. 

“So you opted to drive me insane so you could possess me.” You glare up at him. Alucard reaches down to tap your knuckle. Somehow, you understand that he’s telling you to drink, and for some reason, you do. The tea is mildly sweet but mostly refreshing. A warmth that spreads out in your stomach. It soothes the lulling tides of your anger. Alucard smiles faintly in approval. 

“It was quite difficult, I’ll give you that, and took far longer than I had expected. Your mind is…” He reaches out, but when you flinch away, so too does his hand. Alucard’s smile fades. “… Strong.”

“I’m tired.” You close your eyes, no longer having the energy to keep up with any form of conversation. You don’t know how strong a deal with a vampire is, or how true they stay to their stipulations, but you’re certain that he won’t hurt you. Something’s telling you that he won’t. You realize with a muted sense of worry, that it’s that same feeling you’d gotten when he slipped into your mind that night. “You’re still in my head!” Your eyes open and you sit upright, spilling a little of your tea on your fingers. 

Alucard’s eyebrows raise and you watch the sharp corners of his mouth twitch. “A little,” he says, taking the mug from your hands and setting it on the bedside table. “Don’t worry, I’m not listening.”

“How can I trust you?” You glare, and a part of you feels a little wash of some strange soothing emotion against your frayed mind. He’s doing that, you realize. You ought to be surprised but you’re not. You’d seen what he was capable of, and you’re sure you’d only seen a fraction of what he was capable of.

“That’s up to you.” 

You feel a prick of irritation, but another lap of exhaustion has you letting it go. A part of you wonders if that was him too, but you know it’s not. There’s a feel to him — like the warm steam of a bath — that’s vacant in your mind now. When you shut your eyes, you find that Alucard was right. You could rest with him here. Actually, it was quite easy.

When you woke up, the sun was setting. Your mother brought you dinner, which you’d devoured, having skipped lunch to rest. The benefits of being sick, you smiled. You weren’t sick, but you knew you needed this rest after all that had happened, and what your parents didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Setting your empty plate aside and stacking your mug of cold tea atop it, you lean back against the headboard of your bed and roll up your sleeve to trace your fingers along the nicely wrapped bandage around the cut on your arm. You’d pulled a long sleeve over your nightshirt before you’d left your room earlier this morning to hide it. You decide to take it off. Too hot. You’d begun to sweat.

“Any pain?”

You jump at the sound of Alucard’s voice and watch as he steps out of that dark shadow always lingering in the corner of your room. “No,” you say cautiously, watching him come closer with slow and careful steps. “You did this?” You toss the long sleeve to the foot of your bed, left only in your nightshirt once more.

“I did. There’d be no point in wasting good blood.” His smile is sharp and you look away from it, still unaccustomed to the strangeness of his being. Something about him made your head scream wrong. He looked almost human, but his features were slightly too long or too sharp and you found yourself unable to look at him for more than a few seconds. 

“Don’t expect me to forgive you after bandaging one wound that you caused,” you grumble. 

“Oh, don’t pout.” 

“Pout?! I am not pouting-,” You whip around, eyes shooting daggers at him, but are silenced with the press of one gloved finger to your lips. Alucard leans over you a little, his shadow cast across your lap from the light of the evening sun.

“I didn’t do it for selfish reasons.” Alucard pulls his hand away. He looks serious now. There’s no twinkle of that teasing emotion or that faint twitch in the corner of his mouth. “You were bleeding. That is all.” Rising again, his broad shoulder blocks the sunlight from your eyes.

You squint suspiciously at him and ponder believing him when he doesn’t falter. Having no biting words to give, you turn your head away from him. Using your ears to see now that you’re not looking at Alucard, you hear the rustle of his coat and the tap of his boots. He’s walking towards the window. You vaguely wonder why as you let your eyes close again. 

“You remind me of someone I knew a while ago before I was in that basement.” Alucard’s low rolling voice sounds far-off. You think, that when he’s not teasing you, his voice is quite pleasant to listen to. 

“How so?” You turn to look at him, immediately drawn to the thin bend of his waist. Your eyes dart away again and you feel a burn of irritation in admitting you found him a little attractive — strange and unnerving — but attractive. 

“You have her glare, her sharp tongue, that’s all.” 

“The painting?” You recall that rat-eaten painting that you’d taken outside to be disposed of. It was beautiful once. She was beautiful. 

“Yes, that’s her. My former master.” Alucard looks up fondly at the darkening sky. “I wonder… are you looking down on me, Integra?” 

Your eyes follow his up to the sliver of sky that you can see from your bed. “Did you kill her?” 

“No.” 

“How did she die?” 

Alucard turns to look at you with an expression pinched with some emotion you can’t quite place. He exhales through his nose, stepping closer with arms folded behind his back. “She got old, as all humans do.” 

You stay silent, watching. 

“As you will, too.” Alucard leans in.

You squint. 

“And I will be there at the end.”

Something in your mind rings, faintly, like a bell. You tilt your head at him curiously. “If I am suffering in the end, would you deal the final blow?” You watch Alucard twitch a little in surprise before he narrows his eyes at you in turn. He hesitates. You see it in the way his lips fidget before he speaks.  

“That depends.” 

You dig at him, not settling for a vague answer. “Would you?” He hesitates again. This time you fill the second’s silence with another, more direct question. “If I was suffering and I asked you to kill me, would you do it?”

Something in Alucard’s expression calms as he looks through you as if imagining the scene. When he comes back to the present, he looks at you a moment longer before giving his answer. “I would.” A gloved hand slips out from its folded position behind his back. It rests in front of you, held out in the air welcomingly. “I am, after all, your humble servant.”

You stare at his hand a moment, wondering if there was flesh beneath that white cloth or if all that was underneath was coiling black shadows. When you take his hand it is firm and warm and you find it very hard to believe that there is no flesh underneath. Alucard pulls you gently out of bed and to your feet. The smooth floor is cold under your toes and you look down, feeling small. Your feet looked small beside the leather point of his boots. It was strange. You’d never felt like this before. Proud. You look up at him. Alucard had the face of a sneering loping wolf. You were smaller than him, weaker than him, and yet, here he was, declaring himself your humble servant. From what you could tell, he had been a servant many times. “You are?” you ask. 

“I am.” Alucard bows his head and closes his eyes for a moment too long. When they open, he’s looking down at your body. You feel a slow-building irritation, assuming he’s thinking something perverted when he clicks his tongue and reaches out to pinch the shoulder of your nightshirt. “You’ve been in these for far too long.”

“Are you telling me I stink?” You glare at him and cross your arms over your chest defensively. 

“No need to phrase it so impolitely.” Alucard shrugs and you feel yourself once more fight the urge to smack him. 

Scoffing, you brush past him, making sure your shoulder bumps his arm extra hard. “Fine,” you growl, making for your dresser to gather a new set of clothes and prepare for a shower. You’re stopped by the strength of a looping arm against your belly and smell that copper sweet that clung to Alucard like perfume.

“Do be careful of that bandage of yours.” He leans in to mutter close to your ear. 

You feel heat creep down your neck and squirm out of his hold, turning to stare at him, shocked and red-faced. Alucard only stares back with that slightly amused twitch on his lips. He folds his arms behind his back and steps away — one, two, three — until he’s disappeared through the wall like a shadow. 

That still unsettled you. Perhaps you’d never get used to it, you think as you make for the bathroom. 

When you arrive, part of you is worried that he’s watching you somehow. That frayed part of your mind that had felt like it had gone through a blender. In your head, you picture a rope. It’s neatly braided and shiny too, but the ends have gotten chewed up by some pest, and now it's all in disarray. The upper half is still in perfect condition, but the latter half was an unruly mess, too overwhelming for you to even begin putting back together. That part of your mind was scared of that nasty pest you now knew as Alucard. 

Starting the water and letting it run until it goes hot, you shed your clothes. Looking down at your healing arm, you inspect the dressing. The bandage was expertly wrapped. It made you wonder — just what kind of experiences did Alucard have if he knew how to wrap bandages so proficiently? To be so powerful he had to be ancient as well. So, perhaps war. Perhaps many. When you ease into the shower, you're careful to wash around the bandage so as to not get it too wet. The cut wasn’t all that bad. You knew this. In fact, it was probably already scabbed over. Yet somehow you felt inclined not to destroy that pristine bandage job. 

“I didn’t do it for selfish reasons.”

His words ring in your head as you look down at the white wrapping. Selfish reasons… Alucard had been nothing but selfish since you’d first had the dishonor of interacting with him. You reminded yourself of that list of awful things when you felt the fray of your mind slip into the easy forgiveness it so often gave men. It wasn’t that bad, your thoughts ring. You bite at them with anger. Stalking, I’m pretty sure. Stealing, absolutely. Driving me actually insane, for sure — and possession! You glare down at the shower floor angrily. Well, angry at your lack of anger. You had all these things to hurl at him and more — but your emotions wouldn't budge. 

Your eyes flick over to the bandage again before you rip it right off. 

He’s waiting in the dark of your room, outlined by a single candle. You’re silent, as is he when you slip in and make for the hamper to put your dirty clothes. You know he knows. You can feel those glowing red eyes boring into your back as you feel the fresh cool air against your scabbing cut.

“I told you to be careful,” his voice is calm but you hear the faint scolding undertone. 

You drop your clothes into the hamper, avoiding looking at him for as long as you can. Alucard looked eerie in the dark, you found. His figure seemed to stretch with the shadows and the flickering light of the candle. You remind yourself that you’re an adult who shouldn’t be scared by moving shadows. However, you had never grown out of your active childhood imagination. You imagine Alucard twisting up into some disfigured horror and feel very uneasy in the dark with him standing at your bedside — blocking the only place you knew to hide and feel safe. 

In the weeks leading up to the current events, the dark had become a time of absolute terror that now left you feeling a vague rising of nausea. The threat of horror was gone — or at least Alucard had promised it was — and yet you still felt like a deep scar was worn into your mind that knew to ache when it was near what originally hurt it. There’s no threat, and yet your heart is beginning to race.

Alucard fixes you with a curious squint, moving slightly only to get a better look at you. He gestures with a light flick of his hand. “Come here.” 

You shake your head, mind still playing nasty tricks on you as you see him as that horrible corpse in the blink of a second. Alucard stands from the chair that was pulled up by your bedside and begins to approach you. You feel fear sink its claws in your mind, screeching at you to run, run, run, but your legs are heavy like they’re full of lead. Even as your muscles twitch to move, it’s as if your bones have turned to stone. “I- I’m scared,” you blurt, suddenly stepping back. 

Alucard doesn’t come any closer. Cautious. You notice the flick of his eyes searching your expression and your body. “I made a promise that no harm would come to you.” 

“How can I trust you?” You feel that this conversation is familiar. This time, it’s Alucard who is left in silence. He just stands there for a moment, staring at you. You realize he understands that there’s no possible way to tell you that his words hold value and watch as he takes to a knee. 

It’s a silent display of obedience, making oneself smaller. Alucard was a towering man… but you’re quickly finding he has a penchant for bowing down. You don’t know why he does it or why he seems to enjoy it, either. With a blink, you realize that single movement was enough to quell your fears. The beast was sitting politely at your heel. “You said you’re my humble servant, right?” You rub it in just a little. 

He lets you. “I am.” Alucard’s eyes twinkle as he looks up at you, red catching the orange flame of the candle. 

Looking down at him, you watch as the strong shadow cast by the candle wavers. It outlines the black of his hair in a faint copper halo and the glow of his eyes sets a light hue of pink on his pale cheeks. He reminded you of some villain. It was in the narrow set of his eyes and the sharp, almost crooked bend of his nose. That thin upper lip and his jagged-toothed smile that sometimes stretched a little too long. His voice, too. Low, breathy, and with a rolling masculine growl that you sometimes caught when he got too amused. 

Feeling your fear abide completely with him on his knee, you step past to climb into bed. Alucard’s boots tap on the floor and you hear him moving as you slip under the cool covers. 

“There’s one thing I don’t get,” you say as you watch him take a seat beside the bed. The chair creaks faintly under his weight. 

“And what’s that?” 

“Why didn’t you just kill me and run off or something? Wouldn’t it benefit you more if you had freedom?” You watch him closely again. Surprisingly, Alucard only yawns. You take note of every sharp, jagged tooth in his mouth before his jaw closes. 

“I have no interest in mindless bloodbaths anymore.” He looks bored, busying his eyes with the pattern of your sheets. You catch that final word ‘anymore.’

“Meaning, you once did?”

“A long, long time ago,” Alucard answers, and you begin to wonder if you were right in assuming that he was very old. “Fresh little vamplings have no respect for the blood they spill, thinking themselves above their prey,” Alucard continues, “but bloodsuckers are nothing more than cowards, afraid to face mortal truths. I was young once and devoured ravenously. However, there is a point in time when unbeatable immortality begins to drive you mad. Playing lapdog and dedicating yourself to something delicate and mortal keeps the mania away.” 

“So that’s why…” It makes sense now. Inescapable immortality was devoid of any unique experiences, except for experiencing a mortal having experiences. People were unpredictable, you knew that. So that must be why Alucard liked bending the knee for you. Something else irks you though. “Hey, I’m not delicate.” You wrinkle your nose at him. 

Alucard is silent, smirking as he gestures to the scabbing cut on your arm. 

Oh, you want to smack him so bad. “That’s your fault.”

“My fault or not, the delicacy remains.” 

You catch the double meaning of that word and hate the way your lips twitch. Right, because my blood is a delicacy to you. Your eyes roll. “You think you’re funny?” your words hiccup on a suppressed laugh. Alucard lets out a laugh of his own. The very sound of it feels sacrilegious — a low hum in his throat that complimented the sly, squinted smile he was giving you. You forget what you were going to say. 

Alucard fills the silence. “You do,” he says confidently. You smack him this time — only lightly and on the arm. Alucard laughs again, this time louder. You feel it rumble in your own chest and flush, able to do nothing but laugh as well, though weakly and distractedly. 

“It’s healing faster than I expected,” Alucard changes the subject back to your wound, which was bared to the world. “Perhaps some time in the air is what it needs.” He holds his hand out, palm-up, towards you. You stare at it a moment before understanding what it was he wanted, and place your wrist in his palm. Warm gloved fingers close around your wrist and he lifts your arm to inspect the cut closer. “And the ones on your back?” 

“What?” You recall that you’d gotten scraped on your spine but had forgotten because you’d felt no pain from them. “Oh, they’re…” you were about to say ‘fine’ but shot Alucard a glare. “How did you know about those?” Had he done something perverted after all? Looked up your shirt while you slept or something? Alucard dissuades your worries by tapping your forehead. Right. He’d been in your head that night. 

“They’re nothing to worry about then, I see.” Alucard hums and blows a bit of air on the raw skin of your arm. 

“Ow,” you hiss, feeling it sting where it had yet to scab completely. “Why did you do that?” You tug your arm from Alucard’s loose grip.

He gives you a toothy smile, leaning forward a little. “Delicate.” His tongue clicks on the word. 

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff and push his face away with a push of your palm. You knew you wanted to hate Alucard for what he’d done but were finding it hard to see through that dark, wolfish charm. Laying back, you watch him stand from the chair and wonder how long after he stood had it disappeared entirely. You don't remember him putting it away. In fact, you’d never seen that chair before. Alucard adjusts his coat, its end fluttering behind him. The motion makes the candle on your bedside table flicker wildly. He doesn’t seem to bend or shift with the shadows — at least not now. Now he seems solid and sure and faintly, you feel that misty presence in your mind grabbing hold of the frayed ends of your mind and begin to slowly, surely, twist it back into place.

Your mind will never be the same as it was before you were broken down to the brink of insanity. You realize that you may never be fully sane, as you decide that you do indeed trust Alucard.

“Sweet dreams,” he purrs and blows the candle out. You watch as those red glowing eyes remain, staring and unmoving before they too wink out of existence. 

—

As your father had said: the previously closed-off lower level was very much in worse condition than the rest of the house. The floorboards were covered in a layer of dust and water stains, the carpet had turned a soggy brown, and the wallpaper had begun to peel off the walls, yellowed and damaged. It was a grotesque sight. What a shame that most of the art in those halls had gotten ruined too. So many possibly historic paintings were rotten and unsalvageable. You felt bad when you’d had to carry a once beautiful portrait out to the dumpster that your father had rented. The portrait was of a young girl with hair so blonde it almost looked white. It was a shame the rats had eaten at the canvas. Only her head and portions of her chest remained. You gave her one last solemn stare, muttering, “You’re about in the same state as me,” before sliding the painting carefully into the bin. You felt like rats had eaten holes in your sanity. The unrealness of the night still brought on a bout of nausea every time you tried to comprehend it. You couldn't sleep and couldn't stay awake. Both options resulted in a horrifying outcome. Real nightmares. What were you supposed to do? He would keep coming every night, regardless of your state of mind. 

Your thought is interrupted by a shout. It was your brother waving you over from the front door. Was something wrong? You furrow your brows and tail after him into the house. “What’s the matter?” you ask.

“Dad found a staircase behind one of those big paintings.” He explains, legs working at a jogging pace around corner after corner until the hall opens up in front of the two of you. Your whole family is gathered around the right-hand wall of the hall, your father in the motions of setting aside the huge painting on the opposite wall. After propping it up and dusting off his hands, he returns to the right-hand wall. There’s a staircase there just as your brother had said. You stop short, staring at the dark gaping maw carved into the wall. The stairs were a steep decline into murky black shadows. The sight of shadows so thick has you taking an unsure step backward. Memories of being in a room that dark plague you. The events of last night are too fresh… and this darkness is too familiar. 

“It’s a basement.” You whisper. You had been right. This information had been cut out of the building’s plans. 

“I don't remember seeing this in the paperwork.” Your father mutters to your mother, who shakes her head cautiously, eyes glued to the darkness while she presses her knuckles to her lips. The sight of it seems to make her uneasy as well. “Alright,” your father places his hands on his hips, “No one’s allowed down there until I get some guys to check it out. Not disclosing a basement on the map of the house is a bit of a red flag. We don't know what’s down there.”

You did. As you stared into that thick wall of shadow… you knew. He was down there. Waiting. Waiting like a shark underwater. A trapdoor spider. A monster. The thought made you sick. You contemplated then, at that moment, running away, taking a train home, disappearing, dying, calling an exorcist. A million things and yet you knew you didn't have the time before night fell. The painting was no longer blocking the hole… and now you dreaded what awful thing would come clamoring out of it… hellbent on terrorizing you.

⛤

You’re beginning to worry that the death of the previous owner might have been less than savory. Perhaps it was this thing that had taken them, and not old age like you’d thought. You were never one to believe in ghosts. More accurately, you had not been. Now, you had no other explanation. You’d ruled out schizophrenia — those marks on your skin were real. A demon? Maybe. Were demons real? Has anyone ever seen a demon? You were on the fence about that. A vengeful ghost seemed like the perfect fit for this entity. But vengeful wasn’t the right word. Obsessive. This ghost did not torment any of your family members the same way it tormented you. That’s why… you couldn’t ignore its obvious obsession with you. Good or bad, you couldn’t discern. It seemed to swing on a pendulum. That thing seemed to gain equal pleasure from courting you in its strange, twisted way that it did terrifying you, sometimes doing both at once. 

Now, you stand beside your bed. The air feels cold, and your thoughts have come to an eerie stillness. This must be the silent quiet of acceptance. You don’t remember the day — gone by in a blur. You don’t recall what you ate for dinner or how late in the night it was. You don’t recall taking a shower, though your hair is damp and smells like your shampoo. Your muscles were sore too… so you must have gone about your day and finished helping your family clean out the lower level even after that discovery — the basement. As you think that… the memory fades. You realize that you’re exhausted. You can’t go on. You need to sleep. 

You have no recollection of lying in bed. Were you in bed now? The warm weight draped over you feels familiar — like your covers — and the softness beneath you as well. Asleep. Finally. You let your thoughts drift out of the limbo between consciousness and sleep — to fall deeper into the warm darkness of rest. 

…

“Someday, when I'm awfully low,” you hear the grain of your record player scratching through the fabric of sleep. “When the world is cold,” your eyelids shift, consciousness rising from a deep respite. “I will feel a glow just thinking of you,” your eyes open, and your heart sinks, yet you don't move. You stare up at the ceiling, unable to feel anything but the cold dead rake of dread. “And the way you look tonight,” Slowly, your eyes tick over to the record player, vinyl circling in a wobbly manner atop it. With a tremble of your lip, you begin to break down. Anger and fear give rise to the way you rip your covers off, grab your flashlight, and bolt over to the record player. You yank it from the vanity, vinyl and all, and take it to the window. You fumble with the latch in the dark and once you manage to get it loose, it flings open with a cold gust of wind. Letting out a cry, you throw the record player out the window, watching it splinter to bits on the grass far below. You’re trembling violently now, teeth chattering and eyes flitting about the room as you slip into mania.

Wordlessly, you're moving. Blown past the point of sanity, something else takes over. Invisible hands pushing you forward, out of the room, down the stairs, out into the cold, cold air of the night. Dewy grass slicks your bare feet, toes aching from the frostiness. It doesn't pull you from your trance. Someone else is pulling the reins now. The second your guard fell, the second your sanity broke, something slithered into your mind. You realize, by the time you're wandering hazily through the rotting halls of the manor's lower level, that you feel… warm. Not warm on your skin, but warm on the inside. Safe. The word rings in your head and in your weakened state, you accept it without question. You cling to that word, desperately, only yourself in a small portion of your mind. Your body’s no longer your own, not right now. But you know where you're going: to the basement. At that, a lick of fear spasms you momentarily back into control, just enough to halt your feet on the dusty carpet. It’s overwhelmed with another lapse of warm reassurance. You’re not hearing words… you’re feeling. Feeling… like a warm blanket wrapped around that sane part of you, the part that can still think, the part that can still see out of your own eyes. Feeling… that sane part of you placed carefully in the far corners of your mind, subdued, secure, warm. The part of you that is still able to comprehend watches through your eyes as if they were a distant window. Bleary vision and a too-far picture. It’s enough to make out the blackness of the stairs that envelop you as your body makes its way down into the basement. Down into the dark, the cold, the damp. 

And then the door. The door from your dream. You watch… motionless… exhausted… and far away… as its outside bolt shudders off the lock piece, which sends the door swinging open with a slow, grating groan. Real. This was real. Real! Real!! You snap out of the trance and forcefully expel whatever had possessed you, but not without it pulling your body into the dark room before relinquishing control. You’re panting, in a cold sweat, and panicking. You suddenly remember you were still holding your flashlight, its weight dangling in your hand. Breathing fast, you fumble for it and click the button over and over until it flickers on. Dust particles flutter through the beam of light, which barely cuts through the black air around you. You shine it around quickly, only for the beam to catch on a figure slumped against the opposite wall. You scream in shock. It takes a moment of staring before you even begin to flick through the possibilities. It was… a man. Or… what used to be a man. The corpse’s long legs are splayed out haphazardly in front of it, head bowed, white hair fallen over its face. It looks more like a mummified corpse. You can still make out the form of emaciated muscle under the clothing it wears — a red coat and a charcoal suit. It was him. He’d been pointing you here… all this time. To what? To free his soul? Was he looking for closure? You’re too scared to move forward, no, you shouldn't move forward at all. “So…” you shudder out with a heavy swallow, “You’ve terrorized me enough, haven't you? Are you satisfied now that I’ve seen your… corpse?” your bottom lip wavers, disturbed. You’d never seen a dead body before and even though you’re a good couple of feet away… it’s still unsettling. When you get no answer, you continue speaking in a jittery tone. “H-how’d you die…? Were you… trapped down here? Starved... to death?” You almost think you won't be given an answer again… but the corpse… twitches. The creak of leathery muscle and brittle bones under stiff cloth. You scream again and this time, stumble backwards. You’d forgotten the steps that had been behind you when you were forced into the room and stumbled backward onto them. Jagged concrete slices your elbow, and you feel the hot sting and warm trickle of blood down your forearm, dripping off your pinkie and to the floor. Yelping in pain, you drop your flashlight to clutch the wound. It clatters to the side, beam pointed at the corpse. It twitches again, this time to lift its head slightly with a disgusting crunch. You take in the sight of its face, your own an expression stuck in terror. It still had skin and muscle, but it looked dry, mummified, and plastered to the bone underneath. The lips had all but deteriorated, leaving behind crooked teeth. The canines looked… especially off-putting. Long and sharp, they were reminiscent of the fangs of vampire bats. The corpse pushes itself off the wall with an unpracticed jerking motion. You’re left stiff in terror, bleeding onto the stairs. How was this possible? No — you shouldn't even be surprised. You should have seen this coming. “P-Please, I can’t take anymore!” you throw your hand out in the air as if you might be able to prevent him from coming closer. It doesn’t do anything. The corpse continues, dragging itself slowly forward along the concrete, long, sharp nails scrabbling for a hold. “Go away!” you scream at it — at him, pushing yourself up a step. Your blood drips down onto the step below you, a few droplets splattering onto the concrete floor in front of him when you fling your arms about again to try and get him to stop. The corpse bows its head, and you watch with disgusted horror as a long, blackened tongue swipes up the blood. 

Then, it clicks into place. He wasn’t a corpse, or a ghost, or anything like that. He was… had to be… a starving vampire. Is that what this was? You were meant to be food? You were… going to die here?! Wide-eyed, a rush of adrenaline has you kicking out a bare foot, keen on shoving him away. But he catches your ankle with a surprisingly strong grip, gloved hand holding tight. You wail, trying to pull your foot away, but he doesn't release you. No, his other hand grips you just above the knee, pulling his weight closer to you. “NO!! Nonono! Please!!” fingers push and shove at his chest, which is beginning to feel more like the give of human flesh than stiff emaciated muscle. You screw your eyes shut, beginning to brace for death as you feel him move. Strong hands lift your thighs, pulling you closer to him. You wiggle, scrabbling at the concrete steps in a panic as you're pulled closer into the dark. The backs of your thighs are laid over strong ones, and you feel the weight of him underneath you. He’s sitting on his knees, reaching for your waist with gloved hands while he leans over you slowly. 

“Mhmhmm…” a low laugh, deep, coming from the corpse’s chest. You blink your eyes open, shocked to see that the face above you is no longer grotesque and mummified, but young, pale, and with sharp features. You stare. Even as his hair — now black — tickles your cheeks, you don't move. “... I’ve been watching you.” He hums, amused, his lips drawn up into a pleased smile. “Waiting…” the man in the red cloak ghosts a gentle hand across your bleeding arm, catching it by the wrist and lifting it to his mouth. He sighs, laving his tongue along the slowly drying stream of blood on the side of your hand. “... What took you so long? I didn’t think I’d need to encourage you like I did.”  

You continue to stare. This was the conclusion to all your questions. Sitting smugly with the weight of your thighs draped over his, was your answer. “You… have…” you slowly find your voice, blinking out of your stupor, “... Tormented me…!” lashing out, you land a slap across his face. He takes it with grace, turning his head to the side and letting his dark hair shield his eyes. “... Deprived me of sleep…!” you hit him again, “... And have driven me… to the point of insanity!” grunting through your anger, you brace your elbows on the stair behind you and heave your weight out of his lap. That, he’s not happy with. The vampire grips your hips, pulling you back down onto his lap with the faintest of growls. You struggle against his hold but for a moment. It’s futile, he’s as immovable as a mountain. At least he hasn't made a meal out of me yet, you think as you give up the struggle and settle again, glaring cautiously. 

“Hm,” you watch him frown, red eyes staring past you, “It seems you’re not very appreciative of my advances.” 

“Advances?!” you echo, disbelief plain on your face. “You’re sick in the head! Let go of me!” he grips tighter, leaning over you to sniff at your neck. You stiffen, hand shooting out to grip his bicep tightly through the thick fabric of his coat. 

“It’s been a long while since I've had the pleasure of tasting human flesh. Grant me this one delight, and I shall be yours until your final day,” he whispers close to your ear. The sound of it makes you shiver, leaning your head away with a grimace. 

“I don't… want you to be mine.” You try shoving at him again, but he doesn't move even a little. His hair tickles your neck again. 

“You don't?” he coos, “I’d make sure nothing but old age takes you. An eternal protector. Now, isn’t that enticing?” he worms his hands under your spine, holding you close. 

You’re surprised at yourself for even taking a moment to ponder his strange offer. “No,” you shove again, “Why would I want you as my… protector? You’ve done nothing but make my life miserable!” a click of his tongue grabs your attention. 

“I’m so very sorry.” He’s not. You can feel he has no remorse, but he continues to butter you up even after such a poor performance. “I’ll stop,” he whispers coaxingly, “I won't… tease you anymore. At least — not like that.” 

“You call that teasing?” 

“Would you prefer I call it something else?” he hums. 

"Torment," you respond. 

The vampire grins and leans away from your neck to look at you. His teeth are ever so slightly crooked. You might have found his smile more handsome if he wasn’t your tormentor. “I will never torment you again. You have my word, if — you grant me… a few more drops of your blood.” you watch the slight raise of his eyebrows, eager for your answer. He might as well be as insane as you felt. You notice the same manic look in his eyes that you see in the mirror. 

The deal was difficult to refuse. You’d seen what he was capable of — all while in a deathlike state. While being a corpse in this basement, he had visited you nightly, conversed with your sister, messed with your brother, and stole your mother’s things. Not to mention, he seemed capable of manipulating the very reality around you. You remembered that one strange night with a shiver, still able to feel those black rubbery hands tugging at your skin. You couldn't fathom what he was like well-fed. What you did know… was that you’d rather him be in your debt than free. So you agree. With a hesitant squint and a faint little nod, you agree. 

The flashlight flickers out.

—

Even though the electricity had gotten fixed again, you no longer kept faith in it. The light was a fickle thing here in the manor, and you’d grown over the weeks to rely on your other senses than just sight to tell you enough. The chores became less rigorous as everything in the habitable portion of the manor got fixed up. This gave you more time to explore. Unfortunately, there was yet another obstacle thrown in your exploration of the strange house. 

Your mother’s favorite vintage wine had gone missing, as well as two of her treasured glasses that had been passed down from her grandmother — your great-grandmother. You took note of it on your note page before joining the family in the search for the missing items. You and your sister (who wasn't much help) had checked both the dining room and the kitchen top to bottom and had come up empty-handed. Your brother and mother had looked in the garden as well as the upstairs areas. Nothing. Your father wasn't much help, though no one expected him to be. He kept insisting that they could just buy replacements, not understanding the importance those glasses held in your mother’s heart. So by lunchtime, when everyone seemed to give up, you had not. It had to be that ghost. You go back to check the spot in the kitchen cupboard where the wine and glasses had been… only to find your old sketchbook in their place. You stare forward at it, shocked. Pulling it from its place, you immediately flip through the pages to check if anything has been added or removed from it. At first, it seems like nothing is different. The pages are still lined with old and messy drawings — but one of those does not belong. You don't understand what the twisting, rectangular shapes of black lines that are scrawled out on one of the back pages are supposed to mean. 

You take it out into the garden to see it better in the sunlight. Whatever pen that was used to draw out those lines… is a type of ink you’ve never seen before. That's what you tell yourself to avoid recognizing that what looked black in the shadowy light of the kitchen was actually a deep crimson. You didn't want to believe that it was blood you were looking down at… but only time would tell for this mystery. Pacing the slow-growing bushes, you study the page closely while avoiding touching it — just in case. It looked… like a crude map. Of what, you couldn’t figure out. But you had a suspicion that the ghost was trying to tell you something. Was this a map of the basement? The drawing had a big splattered splotch at the end of its twisting shape. Was that your destination? Did it… want you to go there? Still… You didn’t know how to get to the basement — if there even was one.

A leaf, dry and browned, flutters onto the page and pulls you from your thoughts. You halt your pacing, allowing your shoes to come to rest on the grass as you gaze sideways. The hedge your mother had planted a week ago is dying. The browning leaves flutter off its twiggy branches in the wind. With furrowed brows, you reach out to pluck a still-healthy leaf off and inspect it. This could be normal. Plants die all the time, sometimes without any known reason. But a particularly cold chill rolls up your spine as the healthy leaf in your palm shrivels up before your eyes. You drop it quickly like one might drop an apple with a worm inside. With a swift motion, you close your book and abruptly turn around. The only movement you see is that of a shadow disappearing from your bedroom window. Your eyes were too slow to focus on it, and you were left wondering whether what you saw was the trick of a cloud above you or related to the haunting. The window, again, you squint. 

Just like the previous time this happened, there’s no culprit to be found in your room. This time, however, you’ve got a trick up your sleeve. You were going to have a chat with your sister’s imaginary friend. Hopefully, she could relay his thoughts and feelings to you on the matter — and you to him. 

You find her sitting on the window seat in the dining room, muttering to herself as she flips through a small chapter book. When her name is called, she turns her head and closes the book partially. “I have a question to ask your friend.” You stop beside her, leaning against the wall adjacent to the window seat. “Has he been sneaking into my room and messing with my stuff?” Your sister glances sideways at the air next to her and then back to you slowly, nodding. “Well, can you tell him to stay out of my business?” You let out an exasperated sigh. Something catches your sister’s attention, and she looks to the side again, mouth parting slightly like she was listening to something you couldn’t hear.

“Al says that he just wanted to get to know you better.” She relays. 

You weren’t sure that you were very flattered by being chased and scared nearly to death. You also weren't sure how that would help a person know someone better. All that you were learning about this ghost from his actions was that he was a rude, arrogant, nosy, asshole. “If he wants to get to know me, tell him to do it in a less creepy way.” You growl, turning on your heel, faintly hearing your sister whisper, “Scaring people isn’t very nice,” to her friend — your ghost. 

At the dinner table that evening, your father explained how he’d need some help moving the old paintings off the walls of the lower level and into storage for a while. They’d be renovating that area soon and would need most of the place stripped to make it easier for the crew. This was music to your ears. Finally, you’d have access to the area of the manor that might actually hold some answers to your questions. “Make sure you rest up for tomorrow,” he says when everyone is finished eating, “all that heavy lifting will be sure to wear you out fast.” 

You’re reminded then… that you have terrible luck in the realm of sleeping.

⛤

The covers have not been known to save you in the past, and they do not save you now. Jazzy trumpet blares loudly from your record player at an hour in the night that’s far beyond darkness. Autumn clouds cover the moon, leaving you gasping in the full-volume echoing of your room. “Nononono,” you choke out fearfully, heart burning with uncomfortable adrenaline as you stagger out of bed to turn the record player off as fast as possible. When it’s off, you’re left standing there, breathing raggedly in a cold sweat as you grip the vinyl and begin to cry. It’s a silent cry, eyes watering and bottom lip trembling as you shakily slide the vinyl back into its sleeve and take a step back. Wiping your eyes, you notice two distinct shapes sitting beside the record player. Blinking twice to clear the blurriness from your eyes, you shuffle a bit closer… only to make out the shape of your mother’s wine glasses sitting there, halfway full. 

At that, your stomach drops, and you feel that familiar tickle of eyes on you.  Not alone, not alone, not alone, the words ring in your head. You back away from the wine glasses. Away from whatever strange… offering this was. What did this mean? Was this ghost… fucking with you? He definitely was! What was this... an absurd imitation of something romantic?! You watch as one of the wine glasses lifts slowly. You are filled with awe as you witness undeniable evidence. Solid proof. The wine swirls in its glass, moving ever closer to you, advancing even as you back away. You shake your head, willing yourself not to see the form that’s slowly taking shape — the transparent form of a gloved hand that belonged to the arm of the man in the red coat. He seemed to shimmer between dream and reality, standing there in the hazy light of a covered moon. He had no shadow, and yet the glass did. 

"Don't appreciate jazz?" The words slither within the confines of your mind. You gasp fearfully, clutching your hands over your mouth as the backs of your legs hit the bed. At that, he lurches forward with a hiss, long, shadowy hair fanning out behind him like a cape that swallows up your entire room in darkness. You blink, pupils straining in the inky black nothingness, and notice that your bed is no longer below you. The floor beneath you is made of cold concrete. You stand up, desperate to find some sort of wall to find comfort in. Desperate to find a corner. A corner. Something to ground yourself with… wherever you are. You listen in the silence before moving. Heart racing, pounding loudly in your ears, you stumble forward with your hands out. It felt like you’d been walking for minutes before you felt the cold brush of brick on your fingers. Pressing yourself to it in relief, you follow along the brick quickly in search of a connecting wall. You find that much more quickly, and settle down with your knees clutched to your chest. There was nothing you could do. You didn’t want to call out for help. If there was something in here you didn’t want it knowing… and you didn’t want to run into it either. You were in survival mode. Comprehending this… this… insanity… would have to come later. You had to live. 

The moments tick by. You don’t know how long you’d been sitting in the cold dark before the constant nothingness changes. You can feel the brick against your back... shifting. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt. It was as if the brick was changing form, bulging, moving against your spine. With a yelp, you lurch away from it only for a hand to burst from what you’d thought to be brick… and grasp you by the collar of your nightshirt. As you're forcefully pulled against the wall, a button suddenly detaches from your shirt and clatters away in the dark. Now it’s not just one hand — or two — or three — but at least ten that grip you and yank at you and begin to pull you inside the brick, which now feels like disgustingly slick rubber. You scream out for help, clawing at the weirdly textured hands as they pull you inside the blackness. 

An echoed knock makes the walls of this strange, rubbery thing shudder. And then, like dust clearing with the wind, you’re laid in your bed, shocked, and listening to your mother call you on the other side of your door, telling you to get dressed and meet everyone downstairs. You give out a shuddered reply, lifting your hand to cup your slicked forehead. The daylight peeking through your closed curtain tells you enough; you’d been in there all night. If your mother had not interrupted… whatever that was… you might as well be dead. The part of you that still clings to your sanity wonders if it was all a complex nightmare, but one glance at the half-full wine glasses still sitting on your vanity tells you all you need to know. Whoever — whatever “Al,” was… he wasn’t just a simple ghost. He had the ability to… do… everything. This thing that was… stalking you… it had to be pushing at the seams of your sanity for its own benefit. Driving you mad with terror. 

You unbutton your wrinkled pajama shirt and notice the claw marks left behind by those hands. They drag along your stomach and thighs in jagged shapes. You tug off your pajama shorts to see them better. They weren’t deep enough that they’d drawn blood. Your breathing turns panicked as you reach down to graze your fingers along them. He was a material enough being to cause you harm. Actual, real harm. Not to mention… the swollen welts they’d left behind on your skin… made up to be a very interesting shape.

It was a heart. Only to you. But it was a heart. Carved out on the skin of your front, starting at the apex of your thighs and up to your sternum… was a massive, messy, crude heart. It might have been a coincidence. The shape just happened to look like a heart. But you couldn't shake the weird, strange, and downright creepy undertone that most of these events had. Everything that had happened was terrifying, sure. But now you understand that weird feeling it all had given you.  Either this ghost was mocking you in a peculiar and cruel romantic manner, or you had a ghost that was interested in getting to know you. And you were coming to the uncomfortable realization that it might be more interested in you than you originally thought.