Stitched Up Hearts (Alucard X Fem! reader)

You Can't Sew

(Six years prior) 

"You did what?" Adrian held back a laugh, looking at me. We were sitting in his room, having spent a solid hour trying to figure out an activity that would keep us entertained. Wind was blowing so hard and fast outside that one could barely see their own hands, so we were constricted to indoor activities.

The most annoying thing is that no matter how hard I try not to think of him, my mind always comes back around to Adrian. It doesn't help that we spend practically every waking moment together, and it especially didn't help that less than a month ago he kissed me in the snow. That moment- whatever it was- was never spoken about again. Just like the time Adrian told me the reason he didn't turn into a wolf when we were caught in the rain was because he wanted to hold my hand.

"I broke his hand." I repeated, not understanding what he thought was so funny. I look up in front of the needle in my hand and give him a quizzical look. "What? Why are you laughing?"

"You're just strange, is all." he chuckled, his eyes not looking up from the stitch he was finishing, though rather messily.

"You're strange." I huffed back in annoyance, going back to sewing the white cotton together, with an invisible stitch. My stitches come out far more even and concealed than Adrian's, which are placed haphazardly.

"You can break a man's hand without so much as blinking, but you're scared of bugs. You fixed my clothes, while you were covered from head to toe in flour, and braid my hair while refusing to let me touch yours. you cut yourself of the blade of a knife by trying to catch it with your bare hands, yet your combat skills are as graceful as a dancer. You're one of the oddest people I've ever met. But it's something I love about you."

My hands went still at the last comment. How was I supposed to reply to that? I wasn't used to people talking that way about me, especially when the word love was used. It made me shaky, anxious. "Look." I shoved my finished project in his direction, quickly changing the subject. The doll I had made was a crude replica of Dracula, with white skin and clumpy yarn hair. His eyes were buttons, and his beard was made of thin yarn pieces. It was one of my better creations I admit, though I'm not sure how well Dracula would appreciate the likeness.

"When did you learn to make these?" Adrian asked, still struggling with the stitching on the doll he was creating. We were sitting in his room, legs crossed on the rug in his room. His window was open, allowing the daylight to filter through. It was raining outside, making slush and ice out of all the snow we'd normally play in.

"I used to make them for the young girls around me, when I was bored and had the time. Most of the people in the area I lived in were very poor, so they didn't have many toys to play with." I explained, remembering the ways that some of the little girls used rocks and gave them names, anything to keep themselves entertained. I'd make replicas of their family members, or characters from stories they made up. One of the girls, Mary, cried so hard when I gave one to her that she contracted hiccups.

I'd never liked children, really. They were dirty, and always somehow found a way to get themselves sticky. They were also loud, and they took so much energy. But when their parents were away, especially ones who were alone at night, I would stay with them. Children weren't so bad when they were sleepy, and I didnt hate playing with them. Synthia always adored children, and she loved playing with them. I was so infatuated with her I'd follow her practically everywhere, trailing along behind her pathetically.

She was always the center of attention wherever we went, valued like gold. She would enter rooms with her head up, gleaming at everyone who was blessed enough to look at her. I would trail behind like a shadow, or look at her from afar, appreciating her beauty but never daring to go close enough to touch it. I would watch her from corners as she stood gleefully in the center of the room.