Alucard Hellsing x male reader
Blood flows like a hidden river, carrying the warmth of life, a crimson thread stitching stories beneath the skin.
Credit to the person who drew the picture in the cover.
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Y/n lay sprawled across the floor of his room, a mess of sketch paper scattered around him. He was utterly absorbed in drawing, his legs kicking up in the air behind him in a carefree rhythm as he filled the pages with whatever crossed his mind. His pencil moved fluidly, sketching out whimsical shapes, landscapes, and even a caricature of Alucard himself. A grin tugged at his lips, and he added an exaggerated pair of sunglasses and a sly smirk to Alucard’s likeness, suppressing a chuckle.
Not far off, Alucard lounged in his usual chair, an amused gleam in his eyes as he watched Y/n. To him, there was something almost hypnotic about watching Y/n, the easy, unguarded moments when the boy’s concentration was wrapped around something as simple as a pencil and paper. Alucard let his eyes linger on the sketches, half-listening to the faint scratch of pencil on paper while his thoughts wandered toward tomorrow—Y/n’s birthday.
He knew Y/n hadn’t expected anything more than a passing “happy birthday,” but Alucard had taken the request seriously, despite the joking tone. He leaned back, fingers steepled thoughtfully. After all, birthdays were... well, he couldn’t remember the last one he’d had himself, but for someone like Y/n, he wanted this one to be something special.
The boy’s drawings were a kind of escape, a piece of innocence in a life that seemed to swirl with danger and strange occurrences. And so Alucard had prepared something—something he was confident would spark joy, or at the very least, surprise. It would be a simple but meaningful gesture. As he watched Y/n kick his legs in the air, oblivious to Alucard’s intentions, he allowed himself a faint, satisfied smile.
“Alucard, you’re staring,” Y/n said without looking up, his voice light and teasing.
“Am I now?” Alucard replied smoothly, unbothered. “Perhaps I’m merely admiring the artist’s dedication.”
Y/n glanced back over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Dedication? I’m just doodling for fun. There’s no great ‘art’ to it.” He grinned, blowing a stray hair out of his face and returning to his drawing.
Alucard chuckled, low and quiet, his gaze still lingering on the boy. “Fun is an art in itself.”
Y/n just rolled his eyes playfully, his focus already back on the paper. He started sketching what looked like a rough, animated figure of Walter, which he embellished with a comically large tea set and a stern expression.
“You’re quite entertained tonight,” Alucard noted, his voice dipping to that slow, knowing tone he often used.
Y/n shrugged, unfazed. “Mmm, I guess. Just killing time,” he murmured, half to himself. “No one’s told me anything, so I’m here with my paper army,” he added, waving a page dramatically in Alucard’s direction.
He didn’t notice the slight glint in Alucard’s eyes at that moment—a spark of anticipation hidden beneath the cool, crimson gaze. Alucard’s thoughts were already on the next day, the quiet plans he’d made, and the way Y/n’s face might look when he realized Alucard had taken him seriously. Of course, he’d play it off, let Y/n assume whatever he wanted. But to Alucard, there was no harm in showing he remembered... or cared.
