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YOU WRITW FOR CASTLEVINA!?!?!?! OH MY GODD OH MY GOD IM SO HAPOY IASISBSISB. Anyway sorry I’d like to request a Alucard x reader fic 🥹 one where the reader is like a herbalist and meets him in a village and they slowly start developing a relationship. I’m so happy rn like🤤🤤🤤

Foxglove & Foolproof: Alucard x Reader

Synopsis: The village herbalist falls into the clutches of the local urban legend. Alucard never thought that he would fall into love, but something about his ‘little healer’ changes his entire perspective.

Warnings: Mentions of Blood, Smut, Semi-slow burn, Mention of death, Alucard is infatuated with you, loss of virginity, heavy aftercare, Squirting, Slight Dumbification, overstimulation, reader and Alucard think of virginity as sacred.

A/N: This is my first Alucard fic! I love him sm and tried to do him justice!

The village nestled at the edge of the Transylvanian woods was small but lively, its people wary yet resilient.

Among them, you were known as the quiet herbalist. Someone who moved like a shadow, always with a basket of fresh herbs over your arm and a gentle word for those in pain. The elderly trusted your remedies, mothers brought their feverish children to your cottage, and even the village skeptics softened when your salves healed wounds no one else could mend.

One evening, as dusk settled over the forest’s edge, you ventured beyond the village limits, searching for rare moon-blooming herbs that only opened at night. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine when you felt it. It was an eerie stillness, as if the very forest held its breath. Then, there was a presence.

Golden eyes glowed in the shadows, watching you from between the trees. Tall, regal, and otherworldly, Alucard stood half-hidden in the darkness, his sharp features softened only by the faintest tilt of curiosity. You froze, not out of fear, but caution, like a hare caught in the gaze of a wolf.

His kind were spoken of in hushed tones, tales of blood and shadows woven into warnings. Yet… something in his gaze lacked malice.

"You’re far from home, little healer," his voice was smooth as silk. His boots, polished and fine, crumple dried leaves under his heel. "These woods are unkind to wanderers."

You tightened your grip on your basket but didn’t retreat. "The night-blooming henbane grows here," you replied simply. "It helps with sleep, for those who need it."

His lips quirked, just slightly, at your lack of fear. "And do you often prescribe remedies to creatures who don’t sleep?"

You met his gaze steadily. "Pain comes in many forms. Even immortals bleed."

"…You’re unlike the others."

The forest exhaled around you both and so it began.

The seasons had turned since that first encounter in the woods, and though Alucard remained a shadowed figure,seen only in the hush of twilight or the deep velvet of night, his presence had become a quiet constant in your life.

At first, it was small things: a rare herb left on your windowsill, a fleeting glimpse of gold eyes watching from the treeline as you gathered yarrow by moonlight. Then, the visits grew longer. Lingering conversations murmured over steaming cups of tea you brewed from chamomile he’d brought, his voice like dark honey as he asked about your remedies, your patients, your hands as they worked.

But tonight was different.

Inside your candlelit cottage, the air was thick with the scent of lavender and the soft, fragile cries of the newborn cradled against your chest. The mother, a girl barely grown, had slipped away at dawn, leaving behind this tiny, squalling life. You’d sent the grieving family to rest, promising to watch over the babe through the night. Rocking the child gently, you hummed a lullaby older than the village itself, the firelight painting the walls in flickering gold.

The hair on your neck rose before you even saw him. There, framed in your open doorway, Alucard stood, his pale face half-lost in shadow, his golden eyes fixed on you with an intensity that stole your breath. He was closer than he’d ever dared before, one gloved hand resting against the doorframe as if holding himself back.

"You’re trembling,"

You hadn’t realized you were. Exhaustion? Cold? "It’s been a long night," you admitted, shifting the bundled infant in your arms.

Alucard’s gaze dropped to the child. The baby was red-faced from wailing, tiny fist clenched into tight balls in discomfort. Alucard seemed to war with himself but then stepped fully inside, the door clicking shut behind him. The distance between you was suddenly unbearable. He moved like mist, soundless, until he stood mere inches away, close enough for you to feel the unnatural chill radiating from him. His gloved fingers lifted, hesitated, then brushed a single strand of hair from your forehead. He was so careful, as if you might shatter.

"Let me help.”

Your eyes lift to his handsome face. “What do you know of children?” You humor leaning back in the old rocking chair.

Alucard's lips curved into a slight smile, the barest hint of amusement in his gaze. "More than you'd think," he replied, his tone dry wit as he watched the infant fuss in your arms. "I've had centuries to observe them, after all."

He pushed off the wall, moving closer to you, his eyes dropping to the bundle of blankets you rocked gently. "Can I?"

When you nodded, he gathered the infant into his arms, his cold fingers adjusting the swaddle with care. The child’s cries quieted almost instantly, tiny fingers curling around the silver embroidery of his sleeve.

Alucard chuckled, a sound so human it startled you. "Apparently, even monsters have their uses." His thumb brushed the baby’s cheek. "He smells like you."

Your breath stopped. The firelight caught the gold in his eyes as they flicked up to yours, holding your gaze. "You’re… different," you murmured, unsure what you meant by it.

He stepped closer, the shadows wrapping around you both like a secret. "I could say the same of you." The baby sighed, asleep now against his chest. His voice dropped to a whisper, intimate in the hush of the room: "Let me stay. Just until dawn."

Your eyes dance over his form. Shrouded in the finest silks you’ve ever seen. You want to deny him, to banish this ‘monster’ but your heart won’t allow you. “Fine….what tea will it be tonight?”

A corner of Alucard's mouth queried at your reluctant agreement. He could hear the hesitance in your voice, yet your heart told a different story. He looked down at the now-sleeping infant in his arms.

"Chamomile," he shifted the baby gently before turning to look at you. Golden eyes gleamed in the firelight as he added, "With a bit of honey, if you have it."

“Picky.” You tease. Lighting the hearth to warm the water. You look at the sleeping infant. “His poor mother died. His father will be back in the morning for him. Poor things. A soldier that barely makes enough to fill his own tummy.”

Alucard watched as you lit the fire, his gaze lingering on the dancing flames before shifting back to the baby in his arms. A flicker of sadness darkened his features as he listened to your words, his thumb gently rubbing the child's back in a comforting motion.

"Death is never kind," he replied. "Especially to the innocent." He shook his head then, his eyes meeting yours, shadows playing in the hollows of his face. "Poor child…

“His father knows hunger and loss. A cruel combination." The firelight caught the edge of his fangs as he spoke.

He stepped closer to the hearth, adjusting the sleeping child in his arms with effortless care. "You could ask the village for aid. A tithe of grain, a shared meal…humans cling to such rituals when grief strikes." Alucard smiles down at the infant when he coos. "Or I could leave game at his doorstep. Unseen."

He was no saint, but neither was he the monster tales made him out to be.

The kettle began to whistle.

You dust off your hands. “I do not know if that is the wisest.” You say carefully, plopping the tea bag into the cups. “But I do believe they would be…grateful.”

Alucard watched you prepare the tea in silence, his gaze never leaving your face. He studies your features, your expressions, as carefully as a hunter would a new quarry. He moved the now-sleeping infant into one arm, his free hand reaching to gently take the offered cup.

His palm brushed yours, the movement so casual it could've been an accident. But you felt the chill that radiated from his skin. It should've been strange, but… it wasn't.

He blew gently across the steaming surface of his tea before speaking again. "You do not fear me. Why?”

“If you wanted to kill me, you could have.” You stow away the goat milk and the breast milk a new mother was kind enough to give the infant. “You could also eat that babe if you wished. I know what you are.” You say simply. “Yet you haven’t divulged in our flesh. So I ask you the same thing-…” you stand up and slowly approach him. “Why?”

Alucard went very still as you stepped toward him, the firelight casting long shadows across his sharp features. The infant slept soundly in the crook of his arm, oblivious to the tension thickening the air between you. His golden eyes burned into yours, unblinking, as if weighing how much truth to spill or how much you could bear.

"Because," he said at last, voice so low it was nearly a whisper, "You do not smell of fear. You smell of earth, and chamomile, and something warm." His nostrils flared slightly, the predator in him momentarily betraying his fascination. "I have spent centuries surrounded by the stench of terror. You... are different."

Alucard sips from his tea, before turning his eyes to the precious fav of the baby. "And because I loathe being what I am when kindness is near."

"Does that satisfy your curiosity, little healer?"

It didn’t, but you simply lounge in the chair across from him and watch the fire until exhaustion takes over. When you awake, the babe is in the wooden cradle, and a bundle of furs are tossed over your shoulders for warmth.

~~~~~~~

Months slipped by like shadows lengthening across the village, silent and unnoticed. The babe thrived, his once-frail limbs now plump with health, his cheeks round as ripe apples whenever you saw him bundled against his father’s chest. The soldier, though worn thin by grief and labor, carried himself with a quiet gratitude, never questioning the game left at his door or the coins that appeared in his pockets like misplaced blessings.

You knew better than to speak of it aloud. Though sometimes, when you passed his cottage, you’d catch him glancing toward the treeline with an odd expression. Like he too saw the glowing eyes and long blonde hair for a mere second.

As for Alucard… he became a ghost in your life. No more moonlit conversations by the hearth, no more golden eyes watching from the forest’s edge as you gathered herbs. Only traces. A white wolf glimpsed in the distance, the faintest imprint of boots in the mud outside your window after a rain. Once, you woke to find a sprig of night-blooming jasmine on your sill, its petals still damp with dew.

It shouldn’t have bothered you. And yet…it did. It made your heart ache.

Tonight, the air was thick with the promise of a storm as you trudged home from the village square, your basket laden with bundled yarrow and a tincture for old man Havel’s aching joints. The wind carried the scent of damp earth. But something made your nose twitch. The scent was something metallic and sharp.

Blood.

Your boots carried you blindly through the woods. The very same woods you happened upon all of those months ago. The leaves and brush are trampled under your foot. You nearly trip over a massive root before coming upon the source of the scent.

There, slumped against the trunk of the ancient oak just beyond your cottage-line, was Alucard. His cloak was torn, his hair matted with gore that wasn’t his own. His eyes, when they met yours, burned with a feral intensity you hadn’t seen before. He was half-mad with hunger.

He pushed himself to a stance, pushing off the bark as he fumbled into your already open arms. You began to look him over, unsure of where to examine first on the beast.

He bared his fangs in what might’ve been meant as a smile. "I told you," he rasped, "-not to wander after dark."

And then he collapsed at your feet.

You cursed under your breath as you grabbed his arms, dragging him across the threshold of your home with a grunt. Damn him for being so damn heavy, his boots leaving streaks of mud and goop on your clean floor. The scent of iron hit you full force now, thick and cloying, and your stomach lurched as you realized just how much blood soaked his clothes.

"Fool man—No. Fool vampire," you hissed, heaving him onto your bed with one last desperate tug. His head lolled against the pillows, his breathing shallow, his skin nearly translucent in the dim candlelight. You wasted no time in tearing open his ruined shirt, revealing gashes that pulsed sluggishly. He wasn’t healing fast enough.

You scrambled for your supplies. You gathered bandages, yarrow poultice, the strong juniper tincture old Widow Marta swore by for sealing wounds. Your hands trembled as you worked, pressing cloth to the worst of the wounds, muttering all the while.

"Of course you’d show up half-dead. Of course. After weeks of skulking around like a brooding shadow—Oh, don’t you dare smirk at me, I swear—!”

His lips twitched, weak but unmistakably amused, even as his eyelids fluttered shut.

"You’re impossible," you snapped, dabbing the tincture onto a gash along his ribs, too close to the heart. He shuddered but didn’t have the strength to do much else. Your fingers danced across his hardened muscles.

“And you’re beautiful…” he crooned, eyes half-lidded with agony.

His years of swords dancing and battling had made him a weapon himself. You cleaned away the blood to get a better look at the wounds.

Outside, thunder rolled. The storm had arrived. And so, it seemed, had he.

"Be silent—" you hissed, tying off the last bandage with a sharp tug, "—or I'll stuff a rag in your mouth."

Your frustration grew with each moment his wounds failed to close properly. You'd seen the supernatural speed of his healing before. A scratch healed in minutes, a broken bone realigned in the span of a heartbeat. These, however, stayed stubbornly raw, bleeding sluggish dark and smelling sickly sweet in the humid air.

You swore under your breath, pressing harder with the bandages to stanch the worst of the flow. The scent of his blood was thick in your nose, dizzying. "Damn it—why won't you heal?"

He stirred at your muttered curse, eyes flickering open just a crack. He looked almost fragile at that moment, pale skin tinged with blue, blood staining the sheets. When he tried to sit up, the motion was jerky, pain etched into his features.

"It's... the silver," he rasped, breath catching as you pushed him back against the pillows. His eyes found yours, pleading behind the pain. "The... damned silver. It... slows the healing."

Your hands stilled mid-motion as realization struck like lightning. Of course. Silver wounds wouldn't close without fresh blood. His skin was too pale, his breaths too shallow, his fangs barely visible behind cracked lips.

He hadn't fed. And he was too weak to hunt.

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the damp cloth. The solution was obvious. Painfully, dangerously obvious.

"Idiot," you hissed under your breath, half at him, half at yourself.

Without another word, you reached for the knife on your belt. It was small, sharp, meant for harvesting herbs, and pressed the blade against the inside of your forearm.

Alucard's eyes snapped open fully, gold burning through the haze of pain. "Don't—"

The blade bit into your flesh with a sharp, stinging pain. Gods it was sharper than you'd expected and you gasped, fingers jerking open instinctively. The knife clattered to the floor as crimson welled up along the cut, thick and bright against your skin.

Alucard moved faster than he had in hours, his hand snapping out to grip your wrist. His other hand pressed a wad of linen hard against the wound. “Stupid woman—" he snarled, but his voice broke halfway through.

And then you saw it.

His pupils had blown wide, swallowing the gold of his irises into black voids. His lips parted, fangs fully extended now, trembling slightly as he fought to keep his jaw clenched. A thin line of saliva escaped the corner of his mouth.

He was drooling.

The scent of your blood filled the room, rich and intoxicating, and you could feel his fingers twitch against your arm like he wanted to pull you into his arms even as he tried to staunch the bleeding.

"Do not... tempt me... like this."

You tightened your grip on his wrist, pressing your bleeding arm closer to him despite his resistance. The sight of him starving, starving while your blood dripped uselessly onto the floor, was unbearable.

"Just enough," you urged, voice shaking. "Enough to heal. I cannot stand seeing you like this."

His nostrils flared, his entire body tensing as he fought against instinct. His grip on your wrist weakened, trembling violently. Whether from hunger or restraint, you couldn’t tell.

"You don’t... understand," he ground out between clenched fangs. "If I start... I won’t stop."

Your free hand cupped his cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours. "Then stop when I say stop," you whispered.

A ragged breath. A heartbeat of silence.

Then finally he surrendered.

His lips parted, and with a shuddering exhale, he sank his fangs into your flesh.

The pain was sharp, then sweet. Then there was nothing at all.

Your breath hitched sharply as his fangs pierced deeper. The pain melted into a strange, dizzying warmth, spreading like fire through your veins. A choked whimper escaped your lips before you could stifle it, and instinctively, you buried your face against the crook of his neck, muffling the sound against his cold skin.

His arm encircled your waist, pulling you flush against him as he drank. Every swallow sent a shudder through both of you. Your body felt like it was floating weightlessly, as if you were floating outside of your body.

You feel the moment his strength began to return. His body was warming incrementally against yours, his breathing steadying. Yet he didn’t stop.

Trembling, you tugged weakly at his hair. "Alucard—please…”

"Please, enough —gods, how much has he even taken? You were lightheaded, your heart thudding so loudly in your ears it seemed to drown out all other sound.

Finally, his fangs withdrew with an audible reluctance, leaving a trail of fire across your arm. His lips moved against your skin. It was like he was reluctant, apologetic.

The moment his lips left the wound, something shifted. His hunger twisted into something far more wanting. His mouth lingered on your skin, hot now with stolen warmth, before trailing upwards in slow, deliberate kisses along the curve of your arm. Each press of his lips was a brand, a question, a promise.

By the time he reached the hollow of your throat, your pulse was racing. It was wild and frantic and you felt the wicked curve of his smile against your skin.

"So loud," he murmured, the words vibrating against your jugular. "Your heart... it sings for me." His tongue flicked lightly over the frantic flutter beneath your flesh before his teeth grazed the spot, not enough to pierce your delectable flesh, but enough to make you gasp.

His hands slid up your back, pressing you closer as his voice smoothed over your ear.

"You taste divine…”

The candlelight gilded his form as he lowered you onto the bed with a reverence unfit for a creature of his nature. His hands traced the trembling arches of your ribs, the soft swell of your hips, as if committing every shiver to memory. He moved like dusk settling over the earth: slow, inevitable, swallowing every whisper of resistance with lips that knew only worship now.

The first kiss was overwhelming. It had been years since you shared a kiss. But he was patient, jaw and tongue guiding your mouth against his. You could feel the way his muscles moved beneath flesh as he regained his strength. The silver bullets plopped from his flesh and onto your floor.

“Are you sure?” He whispered when your fingers looped around his belt. You gave a single nod and a shaky ‘yes’.

His fingers and sweet words had made you crest. Your knees were to your ears and little tears had prickled into your eyes from the sensation. He guided your trembling legs dow and slotted himself between your thighs.

Your virgin blood clung to him, streaked along his thighs like sinuous ink where your bodies joined. It was a proof of surrender, of trust given blade-sharp and raw. He groaned against your mouth when he felt it, his restraint fraying into something desperate

“My beautiful girl," he groaned and you keened. Each roll of his hips sent his throbbing cock further inside of you. The wetness smeared down his length from preparing you so thoroughly dripped onto the sheets below. His thumb brushed away the tears clinging to your lashes.

He did not rush. Did not take. He let you rise against him like a tide, your breaths mingling in the space between kisses, until pleasure eclipsed pain and all you knew was the way his name broke from your lips—holy, unholy, his.

He moved like water, his voice a soft, soothing cadence against your ear. "Does it hurt, my girl? Does it burn?" He brushed a kiss along your jawline, his fingers tracing idle circles on your hip.

You shake your head slowly, shifting under his weight. He was like stone carved into the shape of a man. His blonde hair spilled over his shoulders and against your flesh. “I-it’s alright…hng….” You wince as his cock pulses in your tight heat.

Your breath hitched as his fingers slid between your thighs again, this time slick with something other than blood. He worked the swollen bud of your clit across his fingers, leaking down his long digits. He waited for a few moments so your walls could stretch, mold around his cock.

"Look at you…clenching around me, begging for me without words." A bite. just shy of breaking skin, punctuated the sentence. "Say it."

You shook your head, stubborn even as your hips twitched toward his hand. He laughed, dark and velvety, before burying all the way in. The fullness made you gasp, hips aching, he carefully guided your legs over his broad shoulders, lips tracing the inside of your calves.

Your cry shattered the quiet of the room. Tears pricked your eyes at the stretch, the ache too much, not enough and he drank every whimper from your lips like a man starved.

"Shhh," he soothed, rolling his hips just so, "I know, I know…" His free hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the frantic pulse in your throat. "But you’ll take it, won’t you? My good girl. My healer."

Words dissolved into breathless, delirious babble. Half-formed praises, fragmented pleas as he filled you gut deep, each thrust carving his name into your bones.

"So deep— oh god— how are you— ah!—everywhere at once?" You gasped, nails scoring down his back as he pinned your hips flush to the mattress, angling himself to drag against that sweet, hidden spot inside you with every roll of his body.

Alucard watched you unravel with rapt fascination, his pupils blown black as he cradled your face in his hands. "There—yes, just like that," he coaxed, voice rough with restraint. "Little human, taking me so well.” His thumb brushed your swollen lower lip, smearing the tears that spilled over. "Beautiful."

You shuddered, oversensitive and aching, as he murmured filth like scripture. “This sweet cunt will remember my shape.” His fangs ghosted over the peaks of your nipples, sharp tongue now lapping at the perked flesh like it was a delicacy.

You sobbed his name, arching off the bed as the pleasure crested. It was all too much, too bright, like staring into the sun. Your body clenched around him, desperate to keep him buried inside you even as your nerves screamed for respite.

Alucard groaned, fangs sinking into his own lip to stifle the sound, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release. “Christ—” he hissed, the blasphemy ragged between panting breaths. “You’re—ruining me.”

His hands found yours, interlacing your fingers and pressing them into the mattress as he fucked you through the aftershocks. It was slow, deep, deliberate, until every tremble subsided and all that remained was the sticky heat between your thighs.

Tears spilled freely now. Gods, you hadn’t expected this. Your body trembling as oversensitivity burned through you like wildfire. Every drag of his hips sent fresh shocks of pleasure-pain up your spine, your whimpered pleas dissolving into breathless hiccups.

Alucard whispered praises against your breast, across the blooming bruises over your collarbones.

"Did you think-“ he purred, fangs glinting in the low light, "-that I’d be satisfied so easily?" His tongue traced the shell of your ears "Sweet thing. I’ve waited centuries."

His sharpened thumb nail flicked across your pearl again. It was a smooth glide from the juices leaking between your puffy folds.

And you realized, with dawning horror, that he was far from finished.

His stamina was inhuman—merciless—and he explored every inch of your cottage with the same voracious intensity as he did your body.

It started aginst the hearth, your back pressed to the warm stone as he lifted your thighs around his waist, the firelight gilding the sweat-slicked planes of his chest while he fucked into you with slow, filthy rolls of his hips. "Wrap your legs around me. Goooddd girl.”

Then bent over the wooden table, herbs and vials rattling as he drove into you from behind, one hand fisted in your hair while the other pinned your wrist to the splintered surface. Your choked moans filled the air, his name a broken litany as your knees threatened to give way. His strength held you up, even when the puddle on the floor grew to an embarrassing size. He didn’t even laugh when you slipped in the pool of your own shame.

Then it was on your knees before the window, the cold glass kissing your fevered skin as he knelt behind you, his chest draped over your back, his mouth at your ear. "Watch." he commanded, forcing your gaze to your reflection, to the way your body trembled around him, the way his fangs grazed your shoulder.

“A-Alucard!” You cried out. Your breath fogged up the glass, cheek smushed flat on the material.

Finally he took you sprawled across the bed, his fingers interlaced with yours as he sheathed himself inside you once more. He was deep, so deep his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, "Once more, My Beloved."

Your limbs trembled as you tried to drag yourself away. You needed just a moment, just a breath, but his hand closed around your ankle.

"Shhh," he murmured, pressing kisses along the curve of your neck as you sobbed into the sheets. His fingers stroked your thigh in slow, soothing circles. It was a mockery of comfort. His crowded you like a beast over prey as his cock nudged against your ruined entrance again.

You whimpered, oversensitive and raw, but he only hushed you like he would a frightened fawn. The stretch into your raw walls had you choking out a cry. “I-I cannot-“

"I know, I know," he cooed, voice dripping with false sympathy as he pushed in, inch by agonizing inch. "But you’re still so wet for me, little healer. Your body begs even when your voice denies it."

“Tell me how it feels…”

Your words spilled out in a slurred, shameless mess. They were half-pleas, half-nonsense, as your body clenched around him, overstimulated and trembling.

"T-too much— too full, I can’t— ah!—feel you everywhere," you whined, drool slicking your chin as your head lolled back against his shoulder. His hand tightened on your hip, his thumb pressing into the bruise forming there, marking you.

"Is that so?" he purred, dragging his fangs along your pulse point. "Then why do you keep squeezing me like you never want me to leave?"

You sobbed as he bottomed out again, your toes curling against the sheets.

"P-please—"

"Please what?" He licked the tears from your cheek. "Be specific."

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, your mind dissolving into white-hot static as he fucked you through another brutal peak.

Your medical knowledge evaporated. It was useless as the sensation built to something unbearable, primal. Your thighs shook violently, muscles taut as bowstrings, and you let out a choked, confused whimper.

"I—I think I— I need the chamber pot," you slurred, squirming in his grip, face burning with humiliation. It felt like your body was betraying you. There was so much pressure, fullness, an ache that bordered on relief. But nothing like the pain you could name. The pain and pressure you could remedy with a plant or bug.

Alucard went still above you. Then he laughed, a rich, wicked sound. He pushed the strands of your sweat soaked hair away from your cheeks. He barely looked like he had broken a sweat the entire time. Still a pillar of strength.

"Oh, sweet thing," he murmured, kissing the shell of your ear, "That is just me." His hand slid down to press against your lower stomach where his cock stretched you deepest. You jolted, a sob tearing free.

"Your body doesn’t know what to do with so much pleasure," he explained, he’d lived a very long time. "So it translates into this." A slow, grinding thrust emphasized his point, and you wailed, fingers scrabbling at the sheets.

"Let go," he ordered. "I’ll catch you."

And you did.

Your muscles locked, instinct screaming at you to fight the unbearable sensation as your body arched violently against him. You clenched your teeth, a desperate, guttural noise tearing from your throat as pleasure snapped through you like a lightning strike.

Alucard’s arms banded around your waist, effortlessly holding you in place as you thrashed. “No—no, stop, I can’t—!” you wailed, but his strength was absolute. Your struggles barely fazed him, his grip unyielding as he fucked you through the convulsions. He murmured praise in languages you didn’t recognize. He stroked your hair, he didn’t tease or ridicule or scare you away.

Then you were rewarded with release. A hot, shameful flood spilled between your thighs, splattering against his cock, the sheets, your own trembling legs.

“Fuck—look at you,” he rasped, hips stuttering as your walls fluttered around him. “Ruining my cock with your greedy little spills.”

You whimpered, weakly pushing at his thighs. It was useless as he dragged you back onto his lap, your body still twitching with aftershocks.

“Hush,” he purred, biting your shoulder. “We’re not done.”

~~~

Dawn crept through the cracks of your cottage like a hesitant thief, painting the wreckage of the night in gold and rose. The scattered herbs, the overturned chair, the bed linens ruined beyond saving. Your body was limp, aching in places you hadn’t known could ache, every breath a shaky testament to his thoroughness.

Alucard moved like liquid shadow in the growing light. He was effortless and unhurried, his muscles flexing as he gathered you into his arms. The mess between your thighs glistened, proof of his relentless attention, but his touch was tender now as he cleaned you with a damp cloth, his movements precise.

"I hope I did not break you," he whispered when you winced, his thumbs massaging the tension from your inner thighs. "You did so well."

Alucard knew the pain of heartbreak, of betrayal. He knew the importance of the gift you had given him. He’d taken blood from too many to count, but something about the lingering pink between your legs made his heart throb, it made him delirious with the need to protect you.

He would not break this oath.

The morning caught the edges of his profile. It showed the sharp line of his jaw, the gold of his lashes. For a moment, he looked almost human. Then he smirked, pressing a kiss to your knee.

"Rest," he said, "While I rebuild your bed."

You groaned. "Monster."

His laughter was the last thing you heard before sleep took you.

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#ughhh feral adrian😩#he’s so nasty #gimme him #alucard x reader #alucard #adrian tepes #adrian tepes x reader #not sfw #castelvania

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