Alucard x You | Married AU | Soft Obsession | Max Subtle Spice

The room was dim, bathed in gold from the dying fire. The world outside lay in snow and silence, but inside the castle — inside your shared chamber — the air was thick with warmth… and something else.

You sat in front of the mirror, brushing your hair. Slowly. Methodically. Your silk nightgown slid over your skin with each breath, clinging to your shoulders, sheer in the firelight.

“You always do that when you’re waiting for me,” came his voice.

Alucard. Leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes like a wolf that hadn’t eaten in weeks.

You didn’t turn around. “Do what?”

“Brush your hair like you’re unaware you’re the most tempting thing I’ve ever seen.”

You met his eyes in the mirror. “Is that how I look?”

He crossed the room in a few slow, barefoot steps. The silence between each one made your heart beat louder. His fingers touched the back of your neck, cold at first — then warm. Possessive.

“You look like sin wrapped in silk,” he whispered, “and I’m very, very devout.”

You laughed, soft and shy, but he didn’t. He pulled your hair to the side, exposing your bare shoulder, and pressed a kiss just below your ear. It burned.

“You wore this again,” he murmured, tugging slightly at the ribbon of your gown. “You always wear it when you want something.”

Your voice caught. “Maybe I just like the fabric.”

“Mm. And maybe I like that you pretend I don’t know your every little game.”

You turned to face him and the air shifted. His hands moved to either side of your chair, caging you in, his forehead pressing to yours.

“You smell like something I want to ruin.”

But he didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he lifted you — one hand at your waist, the other beneath your thighs — and carried you to bed with a kind of reverence only he could manage. The sheets were cold. He wasn’t.

“Lie back,” he said gently, and you did.

You reached up to touch his face, and he closed his eyes under your fingers.

“You undo me,” he breathed, voice thick with restraint.

Then he lowered himself slowly. His kisses weren’t rushed. They were deliberate. Slow. A map traced on your skin with his mouth. You gasped when he got to your stomach, and he chuckled — just once — the sound low and dangerous.

“Still so sensitive,” he whispered.

And the rest of the night blurred into nothing but breathless whimpers, long silences broken only by his voice, and the sound of silk slipping against skin.