Your vampire master is the kind of guy that's easy to fall for.
Quite frankly, it's a bit infuriating.
Today, starts the grueling task of spring cleaning the townhouse. As a butler, it is truly your time to shine, cleansing the place top to bottom before the upcoming equinox.
And that is why you are currently at the top of a very tall ladder, tending to the big light fixture in the foyer, feather duster in hand.
"Well, don't you clean up nicely?" The vampire says as he watches from the balcony, clearly amused with his own pun.
You hum in response, too focused on your task to give much thought to anything but a direct order. After watching you dust for a few more moments, he casually skulks away to return to his study.
It's not until several minutes of fine detail work later that his words fully sink in.
That is- Was that meant to be flirting?
The thought takes up much of your focus.
So much so, that the heel of your ankle boot catches wrong, and you feel it glance off the metal rung.
Even with your enhanced reflexes, you're not fast enough to catch yourself. But, you are fast enough to reduce the damage.
After all, you're used to this. Falling is second nature by now.
In the mere seconds between you and ground, you twist to land on your non-dominant shoulder. It's better than your head, or your knee, or your ankle, and it hurts less to do your chores that way.
You'll heal fast, like a good, durable thrall always does- deep bruises blossoming from black to blue to sickly yellow, and fractured bone knitting back together over mere days- but that doesn't mean the time spent healing is pleasant.
But the sickening thud and crunch of joints doesn't happen.
There is an impact, but it is instead a dull, padded thump against soft cloth and muscle.
When you open your eyes, you see that you're in your master's arms, thin tendrils of shadow still trailing off his body like wisps of smoke. It's a clear indication that he's just used his vampiric powers to move all the way downstairs from his upstairs study in the blink of an eye.
You tend to forget what he's physically capable of, given that he spends most of his time at a desk.
He gives you a smile.
How did he- ah.
The sympathetic bond between vampire and thrall. He likely felt the adrenaline spike as you fell. How novel for it to be used to help you for once, rather than to gauge if harm was having its intended affect.
"You didn't make a single peep- falling from the second story," The vampire observes, incredulous, pupils wide. He sounds as if he'd be out of breath if he had any of those left in his undead lungs to lose. "How strange."
Of course you didn't. Why give a tormentor the satisfaction?
The man may not be physically here, but his shadow persists.
"My old master-" You almost croak out the beast's name, but you still can't bring yourself to utter it, too deeply and innately afraid that it might summon him from his second grave. "Used to find it entertaining to regularly push me off the castle balcony."
Sometimes you forget that not everyone is inoculated against such admission of casual cruelty. You are reminded by the face the vampire makes, a stormy mixture of shock, concern, borrowed anger. Pity.
"Well, I hope this has made my stance on you falling from a height clear." He fixes his face, playfully matter-of-fact, but still with genuine intent in his words.
Realizing that you're still being held like a bride with the feather duster for a nosegay, you hastily scramble out of his grasp, flustered.
"I didn't- I don't intend on falling like that again."
Thrall!reader who has been trapped in the basement of a vampire brood for months, fed off of almost daily to the point of death. In pain, in the dark, scared and alone
Thrall!reader who flinches every time the cage opens, who's covered on both sides with trails of dried blood they didn't even have the strength to clean off, what would they have cleaned it with anyway?
Thrall!reader who is visited by a new vampire for the first time. One that they genuinely don't recognise even in this delirious state. And one that is objectively extremely beautiful. Even outside vampiric standards
Thrall!reader who's too weak to shy away from the vampires touch, only to find it gentle. Not rough, and vicious and hungry. But caring and soft. At least for today this vampire leaves them alone. Crouching inside the cage with them for a little while, not feeding before leaving, without saying a word.
Thrall!reader who is entranced in normal means by this vampire. It's not some vampiric spell, they know what that feels like and this isn't that. It's some lonely need to connect to the only person who had been so gentle with them. They wait for this beautiful vampires return
Thrall!reader who finds the strength to even sit up a little straighter when they realise it's the beautiful vampire that's come to see them. They watch carefully as the vampire cleans away the blood that's been staining and cracking across their skin for weeks. Feeling suddenly so cared for the first time in ages that they almost break down in tears
Thrall!reader who is shocked at how soft the vampires voice is when they finally speak, how calm and quiet they are, but the charming tone their voice still holds. Not even afraid when the vampire tells them that the next time they come back they will feed off them.
Thrall!reader who doesn't want to continue this cycle but almost isn't upset knowing the vampire will feed on them, willing to exchange care and a mild sense of comfort for blood their body will continue to keep making anyway, they might as well get a friend out of it.
Thrall!reader who actually begins to enjoy when they see the beautiful vampire grace the entrance of their cage. Because the vampire holds them, cradles and comforts them through the feeding, cleans them and even feeds them. And when they can afford it, stays a little while after to lull them to sleep or keep them company. The first kind person they've met that whole time they've been held captive
Thrall!reader who overhears an argument down the hall from their cage, with raised voices, hissing and something that sounds like violence. Only to see the beautiful vampire with blood on their nails and a furrowed brow who doesn't explain what happened. Until they come back the next time and explain that they've staked a claim on you. That them and only them are allowed to feed on you.
Thrall!reader who can't imagine why, of all the thrawls they know are kept locked down here this beautiful vampire has chosen them. And decided they are more than a meal packet and an actual living being.
Thrall!reader and the beautiful vampire who build a symbiotic relationship based on survival, mututal respect and genuine care
Thrall!reader who has the vampire whispering in their ear that they are going to be taken away as the vampire overfeeds forcing them to pass out. Only to wake up in the outside world, free from the cage and with the beautiful vampire watching them diligently until they awoke
Thrall!reader who's given the choice to go free, and chooses to stay with the beautiful vampire. Their vampire.
(This is specifically for me and Holden but I wanted to make it acessible to everyone else so I wrote in this objective format)
Thinking about alucard and an abandoned thrall reader...
(956 words, grammar and capitalization changes halfway through sorry)
(servant reader[kind of, you're a thrall to an undescribed vampire], reader calls alucard and another vampire their master but not in a kinky way, frequent mentions of starving, blood, its vampires there gonna be blood sucking(as a very vague metaphor for peenar sucking ofc), probably ooc dont @ me)
(in my mind, thralls work sort of like a child at first. they have to feed off their master's blood (or any vamp blood but whoever feeds them is technically the master) until they are developed enough as a pseudo-vamp that they can drink human blood. their master has significant control over them but thralls still can make their own decisions. also, i am aware that alucard is a dhampir, just imagine his blood works for this if you would be so kind)
you've been walking the streets for hours. you know because the moon, which was just beginning to rise when you first left, is now high in the sky and painting the sky all sorts of deep blue.
but you aren't paying attention. you can distantly feel a deep ache in your legs, a gentle warmth on your face from the tears that you were shedding. But you couldn't truly feel any of this. Your senses were overcome with the red haze of hunger--something that had not been sated in many days. your master left his lair, leaving you behind while he was at it. he had told you to stay, and so you had for a while. until that gnawing pain of starvation forced you up and out the door. searching.
you hadn't found much yet, the scent of your master having long escaped your not-quite-fully-developed sense of smell.
you know that passerby are staring--how could they not? your clothing was glorified rags, stained with blood and dirt to the point you couldn't quite remember what color they were supposed to be anyway. But it didn't matter, all else was secondary to the fire of hunger that raged within you.
until you smelled it.
food.
it didn't smell like your master--the man who smelled of death and rot, like the cellar he kept you in thinking you would never leave under his command. no, it smelled like heaven compared to him. rich and warm like how you remember the feeling of sun on your skin. like the feeling of a hug from someone you loved. (not that you truly remembered how that felt, your family had died years ago, and you never had the chance to court someone.)
mindlessly, you sped up. you didn't know exactly where you were walking, these streets unfamiliar to you, you simply followed the scent. drool pooled in your mouth, wetting the tongue that had previously been bone-dry.
you sensed him before you saw him, a figure standing alone in the street. he positioned himself carefully in the shadows, poised to avoid the worst of the faintly dawning sun. you stumbled towards him without a thought.
he looked up from the stone road, golden eyes locking onto you like a hawk assessing danger. he seemed to sense what you were immediately, posture tensing. his expression went through phases of recognition, alarm, confusion, and then settled into a solemn caution.
you came at him fast, but he was faster. your hands reached for him weakly, hazy eyes focusing loosely on him. his hands stopped you in return, one covering your mouth that had bared your fangs, the other braced on your chest to stop you from coming closer.
he took his eyes off you for a moment to glance around, ensuring no curious onlookers were watching. he then dragged you further into the shadows, eyes glowing faintly as he fixed his gaze upon you once more. "Thrall," he murmured, face inches from your own. "Where is your master?" You, too busy attempting to chew through his glove in search of his blood with your barely-there fangs, did not respond for a long moment.
"I dunno..." You grumbled, voice muffled due to the leather you were currently attempting to get through. "he left." you said, one hand lazily resting on his wrist. "hungryyy..." you sighed, brows furrowing. Alucard huffed, shifting his weight.
"Left," He repeated slowly, like he was testing the word. He knew what that meant. An abandoned, starved thrall; practically free claim. A danger if it were to get into the wrong vampire's hands. He cursed under his breath. "Gods above..." He muttered in exasperation. He took his hand off you mouth and instead dragged your head towards his neck. He tilted his chin away with a sigh.
"Drink," he ordered calmly, holding your face to his neck. You immediately latched on, your stubby fangs digging into his neck until skin broke and blood vessels burst, rewarding you with the blood that tasted like sweet ambrosia. Alucard grunted lowly, and you sighed in relief at your hungry finally being sated.
Your body felt delightfully warm, the blood in your mouth sweet and rich and so much better than anything you had ever tasted before. Pure sunlight replacing the fire of hunger with something more pleasant. Alucard made quiet noises as you drank, the occasional huff or grunt slipping past your ears without a second thought. He leaned slowly back onto the wall behind him, allowing you to brace yourself on him while his head tilted back.
His hand lightly gripped the back of your neck, fingers twitching at every pull of blood from his veins. Your eyes fluttered shut, contented hums slipping past your lips and into the stagnant air.
Moments passed like a slow-moving eternity. Your stomach felt full for the first time in weeks. Your body warm and a pleasant feeling settled in your core. You lapped sluggishly at the open wound, your exhaustion finally catching up to you.
Alucard pulled you off his neck, with a hum. His cheeks were faintly flushed, mouth open slightly while he panted softly. "I am your new master," He said firmly, squeezing the back of your neck while he fixed you with his intense gaze. You simply nodded, sleep already pulling at the corners of your mind. You pulled against his hold until you were pressed into him, deaf to the world around you.
An amused voice called out from a short distance, but you weren't paying attention. It was quickly followed by a gruff voice in teasing, which garnered a response from Alucard. The words were lost on you. You were full, and had a new master who was currently holding you still while you rested.
-Former thralls taking refuge in Himring were nothing new to Maedhros. He knew what they went through, so he welcomed them after making sure they weren’t possible threats and spies heavily influenced by Morgoth’s corruption.
-He was no fool, so he was careful who to let in and keep out of his fortress despite the opinions of others who would rather see all of them out without giving them a chance.
-It was because of the darkness that touched their kin ages ago, and now they lingered as their mangled selves in the forms of orcs. It made the elves weary as they looked for the signs of the same corruption in the faces of the escapees.
-You were one of the refugees, seeking shelter and food after escaping from the iron hell and traveling by foot.
-Like all the other thralls, you looked scarred and tired and must have lived in Angband for a long time since you gained some grey strands of hair. Maedhros pitied you since you most likely suffered a lifetime in that place, and he knew too well how cruel and kind your captors were.
-He gained interest in talking with you after a rude confrontation with one of his people. They had begun insulting you while you were waiting on the side for some food. It was unprovoked, so Maedhros considered coming to your defense since you did nothing to deserve the slander until he noticed how other thralls came to defend you from the elf.
-They became aggressive and would have ended up in a fight if you didn’t interfere and tell them it was alright. Your fellow thralls calmed down, and you managed to persuade the elf to leave without trouble.
-How you interacted with other thralls gained his interest because they seemed to respect you and didn’t hesitate to come to your defense. You also bore a smile after the confrontation, like it was funny and nothing too big to get agitated about, even though they scolded you for being too soft to handle such rudeness.
-Maybe it was your calm and peaceful nature that attracted Maedhros to you as he soon found himself talking to you.
-You were respectful and soft-spoken. Your first thought you were causing trouble when Maedhros came to meet you. He assured you were not causing any problem, nor was anyone you knew, but you did make him curious and wished to converse with you.
-So you two began talking a bit.
-The reason you waited aside was to wait for others to take their share of the food before taking some for yourself.
-Maedhros thought you were too humble until you smiled and mentioned you couldn't care for others without horrible consequences, so you were glad you could now and not feeling guilty about it.
-He was curious what you meant, but he concluded you were forced to decide for someone’s fate like he once had. A terrible choice no one should have to make.
-You then mentioned you just simply enjoyed the food.
-You had almost forgotten how many flavors there were in the world, so you just want to enjoy it and savor every taste with no hurry.
-The distributed food was said to be tasteless and gross, but it was better than what you had eaten in years spent in Morgoth’s prison, so you thanked Maedhros for his kindness.
-Maedhros found somewhat enjoyment in your positivity despite what you went through.
-When he questioned about your connection with other thralls, you explained you helped them during the escape from the iron hell. You traveled together, so you grew some bonds and became protective of each other.
-He was impressed and managed to conclude a plan that might help the former thralls and his people to reconnect and heal, and you agreed to help him with it through your connection with your fellow thralls.
-Maedhros found camaraderie with you as time passed, and you two managed to help the refugees to live among the people of Himring. The skepticism somewhat managed to subside.
- Since you two shared the experience of being former thralls, Maedhros found enjoyment in your company, sometimes coming for a simple talk over tea. You were always very welcoming to him and sometimes shared new recipes you learned from others.
-You found a new hobby in cooking. It was relaxing and helped you cope with the things from the past. It was easy to control your restless thoughts in the soothing process of mingling flavors and textures. And it gave joy to others as a bonus since you often had dinners with those you considered close.
-Maedhros respected that since it showed you were gradually healing. He envied you since his way of coping was a bit unhealthy, and he had not really considered finding a new way to cope with his trauma. He had given up hope for peace and acceptance long ago.
-He was used to living with it, not talking about it to anyone, and trying to appear as a leader his people needed. Even though: he was still haunted by his experiences.
-He sometimes invited you to events so you could enjoy other delicacies of the culinary world. Seeing your smile and the expression of joy just felt right. The world felt brighter when you gushed about the slight citrusy flavor of the pie or the pleasant aftertaste of mint in the tea.
-Seeing you happy might have turned into his new way of coping.
-Even though: you two have grown friendly with each other. You did not share a lot about your past in Angband. You said it was hard to talk about, which he understood perfectly as he rarely spoke about his experiences.
-You did share that you were forced to survive the fighter pits where they threw the thralls to fight for their lives. It was a sick form of entertainment for them.
-You managed to fight the orcs and other monsters, but you got forced to fight your own people too, and you never truly healed from it.
-Maedhros knew what you meant. He had seen the arena and watched how his people were ripped apart by the orcs and many other types of monsters. He understood that you got forced to fight and possibly kill those you did not want to kill. It was something he respectfully did not inquire more about from you.
-Your soft-spoken demeanor and peaceful nature might have been misleading, but your scars and the callouses on your hands proved the truth in your words. He could sense the guilt that still bothered you to this day.
-It motivated him to help you heal from the dark past that you both shared.
-He thought he knew everything about you, but he was wrong when one day there was an ambush outside Himring.
-When he heard about the ambush and remembered you were on that group that got ambushed, he rallied his men and hoped it wasn’t too late.
-There were many dead, but you were standing before the orcs. Covered in blood and a sword in hand as the orcs ran away by the sight of you.
-The look in your eyes showed many things to him. Fear, anger, shock, and emotion to fight for your life. It looked like you had conflicting memories running through your mind. It was the look of someone forced to fight, trying to survive.
-Maedhros was glad, but he was careful to approach you and take you back to Himring since in your state you could have confused him as your enemy.
-It took time for you to calm down, but when you did. You confessed about your past in Angband. The ambush made you remember things and feel like you were back in the pits.
-You remembered all the orcs and monsters you faced and all the people you had killed because of your feeling of danger and urge to survive.
-There was a lot of blood on your hands, the blood of the innocents, and the guilt ate you alive when you were finally out.
-But this was not all…
-As one of the most surviving fighters in the pits, you received some special attention from the dark lord that still gave you nightmares. It was all because you refused to die.
-You swore you would never hold a sword again so you wouldn't hurt anybody, but now it happened again, and all you could remember are the pits and what the dark lord had done to you.
-Maedhros was understanding and couldn't do much but offer his comfort. One assuring thing he told you was that he was thankful that you saved his people from the ambush.
-Maedhros felt inclined to keep you safe from the world. He had grown to care for you and did not wish to see that look on your face again. In his eyes, you were another poor soul who had suffered too much by Morgoth’s hands.
Rog
-As a former thrall, Rog often welcomed former thralls to his house.
-The people might be skeptical and mistrustful, so he tried to help them get comfortable and rehabilitate after years of trauma.
-He did not expect to see you after the next group of refugees that arrived in Gondolin.
-You knew each other, so it was a happy reunion between old friends.
-Rog didn’t even mind that you came to hug him as he was just as relieved to see you alive and well.
-He welcomed you and made sure you were comfortable before you two decided to catch up on the events.
-You two had met in the mines. You two used to converse before you got taken away to fight in the fighter pits.
-No one ever survived for long in the pits, so Rog assumed you had died since it was technically a death sentence to anyone. He had no idea you had survived and lived long enough to escape.
-He apologized because if he knew you still lived. He could have come to rescue you.
-You did not blame him. You assumed the same thing when you didn’t hear about him for a long time. You were happy to see him alive and well.
-You two had spent some time, and Rog introduced you to many people.
-You found enjoyment spending under the sun in the gardens of his house. You would sit on the grass, close your eyes and just bask in the sunlight with a smile. Rog found your content beautiful and made sure no one would badmouth you for being a thrall and ruin your pastime of simply enjoying the sunlight.
-The only warmth you ever felt was the burning steel and the uncomfortable heat in the caverns of Angband. The cells were deadly cold, so the sunlight was a gentle welcome.
-You tried reading but soon figured your reading skills had diminished over the years in captivity, so you tried to ask for Rog’s help with embarrassment in your eyes.
-Rog was understanding and only chuckled, trying to assure you that you could ask anything from him. He employed Ecthelion’s and Penlod’s help in educating you again in reading and writing, but he enjoyed reading to you when it was just two of you.
-Sometimes you wandered into his forges, waiting outside with a book in your hand before finally mustering the courage to ask him to read to you in the garden.
-It became a habit, and you always apologized if you were disrupting him at an inconvenient time. He always had to assure you never bothered him in the first place. He found your behavior amusing since the group you came along with held you in high regard, yet you were shy to ask for his help or time.
-Your timid nature just made him more protective of you. You were short compared to him, and you confessed what you went through in the pits and how much guilt you still carried in your heart for taking other lives who were forced down there with you.
-Sometimes, you couldn't sleep properly and found comfort in his voice when he read to you.
-Rog understood your pain well. It pained him to know what you went through. He sometimes only wanted to wrap you up and keep you safe in his arms.
-One thing he and some people miscomputed about you was that you were a frail soul who suffered much, but the truth couldn't be more clear that you were still a pit fighter.
-Rog once accidentally tripped on his foot when he came back, and you were there to catch him with no problem. He was almost double your size, and there you held him asking if he was okay.
-The incident didn’t end there. Your strength became more apparent when you wanted to try arm wrestling against Egalmoth, who was one of the most powerful lords in Gondolin.
-Rog was worried about you since Egalmoth was one of the buffer elves too, but his concerns soon flew away when you managed to flip Egalmoth off the table, silencing everyone who watched.
-Rog couldn't help but laugh at the predicament.
-You apologized in panic. You might have gotten too excited and gone all out.
-Rog was to assure you that day Egalmoth would not hold it against you. He at least found a new rival in arm wrestling since his pride was damaged a bit, and so did his arm.
Glorfindel
-Rog introduced you to him. Glorfindel was curious about this old friend of Rog’s, so he took time to meet you and was kinda enamored with your shy and peaceful nature.
-He was welcoming and friendly, so you couldn't help but be charmed by him. He had been more welcoming than many others who had met you and known you were a thrall.
-Glorfindel showed you around and included you in engaging conversations, making you smile and giggle at his jokes and funny stories.
-He didn’t inquire much about your past in Angband since many would rather not talk about it, but you did share how you knew Rog and how you got forced to fight in an arena to survive.
-You were aware that your kind of thralls were perceived to be dangerous and killed without hesitation, so you thanked him for his generosity. You did not remember someone showing this type of kindness to you. In a place like Angband, kindness was a twisted thing that carried mangled promises of suffering and pain.
-Glorfindel was moved and could almost feel the pain in your heart, so he decided to try and make your life a bit brighter and happier.
-He would invite you to spend some time and join a party or a special event. He made sure you would have fun, and no one would criticize you for your scars.
-You didn’t mind the scars. People would see them as rather horrendous, but you liked to think they were your trophies of what you survived. You were not weak. You survived and proved to the dark lord you’ll be free one day.
-Glorfindel liked the way you thought and considered you as one of the strongest people he had ever met.
-He felt motivated to ensure your life would be filled with nothing but love and happiness.
-One peculiar quirk you grew was collecting tiny toys or stuffed animals.
-You explained there wasn’t a huge reason for it, except that it helped you to cope a little and maybe connect with the childhood you lost after being captured by the orcs.
-Glorfindel would feel heart touched by that and made sure no one would mock you for it since it helped you to cope and make you smile.
-One day, he invited you along to a festival. There was a stall where you could win prizes for hitting the hardest in the game.
-You wanted to try it because there was this fluffy toy you wanted.
-Glorfindel offered to pay for the trial and was slightly prepared to do it himself since he couldn't help but doubt you might fail.
-He slightly misjudged you because the next thing you did, you punched so hard the whole thing started to shake and broke apart.
-He and the stall owner were shocked to see the broken mess and you standing there with an awkward expression.
-You felt ashamed, but the stall owner was too amazed to complain about it and allowed you to have the fluffy toy since you did win it fair and square.
-You were happy but couldn't help but still feel bad for breaking the thing. Glorfindel assured you it was alright even though he couldn't help but wonder what other things you could do with your arm strength.
Even at the peak of the summer heat, this tiny manor in the city stays unnaturally cold.
Between dusting shelves, you take the opportunity to flex your uncomfortably chilled hands while your back is turned to where he sits at his desk. However, you can't do anything to warm the tip of your nose without drawing attention, you fear.
It's fine. It's far from the worse you've experienced.
You're used to the cold at this point. Your old master kept his manor much the same. Vampires tend to keep their crypts on the chilly side- no one likes the smell of rot, after all.
Your new master doesn't seem to notice. For all of today so far, his attention has been captured by the box that he sometimes makes the clacking sounds on.
All of the bookshelves besides the one directly behind him have been dusted by now. You saved that one for last.
As expected, as soon as you start on the last shelf, he speaks to you.
"Hmm. If my hands are this cold, you certainly must be." The vampire muses as he rubs out his stiff fingers. An empty gesture, since life won't be returning to those digits any time soon. "Would you like to turn the A/C down?"
What exactly is he referring to, you wonder? Icy? Certainly it isn't cold enough in here to be icy. Maybe an abbreviation of some sort?
Even with your old master dead for a second time, you're still too paralyzed by fear when it comes to mistakes to admit that you don't know what he's talking about. And despite him seeming much more forgiving, you're not about to invite punishment.
"Whatever Master desires," You reply robotically- a safe answer you long ago learned to default to when you would get too close to voicing an actual opinion.
You just hope that the telepathic connection isn't strong enough yet for him to know you're obfuscating the truth.
"You should feel comfortable in your own home," He says your name with equal parts concern and amusement. "You live here too."
You nod.
"Well. Actually," He preemptively chuckles at his own observation. "I suppose you're technically the only one living here…"
You can feel your mouth twitch a faint smile, but you otherwise keep your rigid expression.
He sighs, rises to his feet, and heads towards the door.
"Come over here, would you?"
You obey, as if you have a choice. That may not be a direct command, but it was close enough that the compulsion to follow your masters' orders is unavoidable.
Your steel yourself for incoming punishment. You're not aware if he has a favorite method- your old master cycled through methods, 'kept things fresh', as he would say. Certainly this new master's kind mask would drop eventually- why not now?
Instead of leading you into a torture chamber, though, he simply stops at that strange small box on the wall near the threshold.
"This is how you work the thermostat," He slowly and deliberately presses one of the buttons, a little beep sound playing as your eyes follow. "I usually keep it at 62, because it's good for the books. We'll put it at 70 and see how that works out."
"…Right."
"I apologize. I tend to forget you don't have much experience with modern conveniences."
You simply blink at him. It's all you can do.
Even if this manor is as cold as your old one, you new master doesn't seem to be, at least.
Your vampire master is very observant, despite not always seeming to be.
"Your hair is getting long," He comments from his seat at his desk and it sounds as if he's going to continue the thought, but it simply hangs unfinished in the air.
The comment alone is enough to strike cold fear into your heart, so much so you almost drop the candlestick you're polishing.
Your old master had very strict standards about your appearance- all of his thralls wore the equivalent to vintage butler garb, all black, of course- and most importantly, you had to keep your hair cut short and pinned back, with no exceptions.
Needless to say, all of his thralls looked exactly the same, save for hair and skin tone. Nothing more than pawns on a chessboard.
If you had joined a group of thralls here, at least you could take context clues from their styling. But you're the only thrall of your new master, and he hasn't exactly communicated any expectations.
"It is." You acknowledge, stiffness of your words masking any opinion on the matter.
More silence.
The only sound is the fast, seemingly random clicking of his fingers on that flat thing in front of his desk.
It stretches on for several excruciating minutes.
What sort of mind game is this, exactly?
Is he just leaving you to stew? If he dislikes it, the least he could do is say so.
Your last master was an awful monster; but in a way, at least you knew what to expect. Not knowing how your new master will react in these situations is driving you just slightly mad. You can't brace yourself for what's coming if you don't know what it is.
…Though, on the other hand, you have been here a long enough time now to notice that this is a fairly normal quirk for your new master. Sometimes he gets so absorbed in whatever work he's doing on that infernal box, time might as well stop for him.
On one occasion, there was a solid hour before he circled back around to finish his sentence. You had spent that entire hour anxiously cleaning and re-cleaning the same patch of the baseboards- that spot is still a bit more polished than the rest.
"It looks nice." The vampire finally completes his thought.
"That's fortunate." You respond, relaxing just enough to let slip a comment more bold than you would normally allow yourself; "As I have not been kept abreast of the dress code."
"That's because there isn't one." He chuckles in a way that would infuriate you if anyone else did it- but for some reason it does not, coming from him. "We can make you an appointment at a salon, if you'd like."
"I am capable of the upkeep myself."
"Hmm. I just shave mine when it gets out of hand. It doesn't grow very fast these days." He touches the top of his fade, as if to check if he's gone too long between shaves- a habit he probably picked up given his inability to see himself in the mirror. "But there may be some scissors around here somewhere…?"
"None of that is necessary, unless Master wishes it."
The vampire sighs, leaning his chin on his palm, and looks you directly in the eye.
He's an intelligent man, so you know he's caught on to your tendency to deflect whenever it comes to your own preferences.
"But do you like it?"
You hadn't really given any thought to it, until now. The time had simply passed.
Your vampire master is always a grateful recipient.
It's taken you a while to not bristle at his presence entirely. You're still wary, but these days, you no longer count down the seconds until he is gone.
You can feel his eyes on you from the other side of the kitchen, focused specifically around the veins in your exposed underneath your rolled up sleeves as you knead the dough in your hands.
After a bit of effort, you get it to an acceptable consistency. Before doing anything else, you pinch off a bit and set it to the side.
"Did that part not make the cut?" The vampire inquires, finally breaking his silent observation and approaching the counter.
You hesitate for a moment, fretting over how much detail to share without exposing any weak points.
"It's an offering." You finally say, opting to keep it simple as you separate the dough into three long strands.
"Interesting. A religious observation?" His curiosity is clearly piqued. "What will you do with it?"
It has been centuries since you observed, well, anything. It's hard to believe in anything now, after everything you've had to endure.
Regardless of that, you can still feel the obligation that started as soon as you began kneading the dough.
You certainly don't know any priests to give this to- the vampires that enjoy tempting fate in that way tend to not have a very long unlife, and you're lucky that your new master isn't the type to seek that sort of excitement. You don't even know where the closest earthen temple is, even if you just wanted to drop it off anonymously… You could just burn it…
"I suppose I'll just have to give it to you." You say, taking such a boldly casual tone that you surprise yourself. "You're the closest thing to a priest in the vicinity, if only in name."
Even if it wasn't a pun, it's nonsense, anyway- as his thrall, anything you make is already technically his.
"How clever," He says, seemingly so genuinely tickled by the thought that you can catch a glimpse of pearly white fang. "Do you think that still counts?"
"I don't see why not," You say, finishing the last twist with gentle but confident diligence. "This sort of thing only matters as much as you make it, right?"
"Then I'm honored to accept it." He says, seemingly amused enough to humor you.
You admire at the hills of your finished loaf with a deep sense of satisfaction. So much of your existence for so long has been in the service of others- it feels nice to do something a bit whimsical, that you alone made the choice to do.
"There is still the one glaring logistical issue..." He continues, predatory intention starting to show through the cracks. "Though, I can think of a fairly obvious substitute."
You smirk and hold out your arm over the counter, wrist up, careful not to hold over your work surface.
This isn't the first time he's fed from you, but a little shiver of excitement and fear runs up your spine anyway when his cold hands reach out to gently support your forearm and hand.
One cold fingertip needlessly finds your pulse, and his lips are just as cold as they grace the sensitive skin there, followed by the impatient puncture of hungry fangs.
You wince at the initial pain, but soon, rather than enduring the discomfort, the fingers on your other hand flex and grip the counter top tightly, bracing yourself through the pleasant flood of euphoria. It takes all of your restraint to not dig your fingers into his cheek.
He pulls himself away much quicker than usual, taking not even enough to get your head spinning- just a taste, rather than a full meal. The amused look still sits on his face.
Your vampire master is surprisingly helpful, even when he isn't trying to be.
As embarrassing as it is, your first attempt at doing errands on your own had you calling it quits and scurrying back to your master's brick townhouse like a wounded animal, too overstimulated by the noise, the lights, and the new, foreign nature of things to accomplish your task.
Everything is just so different from the way things were when you were taught…
You, of course, expected harsh punishment for your failure. It didn't come, and at this point you have to wonder if he is simply keeping track for some awful collective punishment later.
He has told you before that he dislikes going to the shops, and that is why he orders supplies to be delivered when left to his own devices. But handling inventory is meant to be your job, as head- well, only- servant of this manor, regardless of its small size.
To your surprise, the vampire insisted on coming along with you for your second attempt.
You tried to dissuade him. Despite you both being functionally immortal, you will be the only one eating the food. What is the point of being a servant if your master is joining you on menial errands?
It's simply embarrassing.
And what if it is some false kindness, just for the cruelty to hit harder when it finally appears? Surely he just wants to observe you for things to find fault in…
"It wouldn't hurt me to get some fresh air once in a while." He says while pulling on his wool coat on over his turtleneck. "Plus, it's overcast today, so it shouldn't cause me too much fatigue to daywalk."
You somehow survive both the walk to the grocer's and the initial sensory onslaught of the building's foyer.
…As much as you hate to admit it, the dull hum of the fluorescent lights and the flurry of people around you feel much less invasive with someone accompanying you…
After you pick over a few produce items, which he frustratingly has no opinions on despite the fact he will be tasting them secondhand eventually, you soon find yourself in the bakery.
"Thoughts?"
"A touch anemic looking, if you ask me. Probably too much alum, or plaster of paris. But it doesn't smell of sawdust." You sniff dryly in response, and then voice what's truly puzzling you; "And all of these loaves look exactly the same."
"Many of them do use artificial bleaching agents, these days… and I imagine the machine that makes them is probably quite consistent." The vampire says, and you suspect from the small chuckle and barely concealed smirk that his amusement is more derived from you than from the bread.
"Machine?"
He spends the next several minutes explaining the technical aspects of modern bread production.
Your face twists in disgust. You will make it by hand, you think.
The soft, tender braided loaf your mother used to make. You may not remember the details of her face any longer (and to be fair, she was not a particularly good mother), but you could certainly remember how to bake it.
That sounds perfect. Hot, slathered with butter and topped with poppy seeds…
Your fingers find the scarred puncture marks on your neck as your mind wanders.
…When was the last time you craved food? Certainly not in the last century…
"Might as well make it myself." You finally grumble, sensing your master's explanation about bread making machines has ended a bit too long ago for a polite response.
