Seras

The Hellsing building was a maze of gothic halls and dim corridors, the kind of place where even silence felt heavy. You had been left to your own devices while Sir Integra met with… someone. A rival, an enemy, maybe just another arrogant noble with money and a grudge—it didn’t matter. All you knew was that you weren’t invited, and boredom drove your wandering feet. Eventually, you found yourself outside one of the larger briefing rooms. Voices murmured beyond the heavy door, low and tense. Against better judgment, you pushed it open. Inside, the air carried the scent of smoke and dust. Integra sat at the head of the table, cold and composed, her cigar burning slowly. Across from her was some stranger—sharp suit, sharper smirk—the kind of man who reeked of trouble. But none of that held your attention. Because at the far end of the room stood her. Seras Victoria. Golden hair, long and silken, catching the pale light like strands of fire. She wore her red Hellsing uniform like it was made for her, the fabric clinging in ways that betrayed the strength hidden beneath. Her figure was impossible to ignore—the sharp curve of her waist, the long lines of her legs, and her rear…God help you, it looked sculpted by something divine. Your breath caught before the words slipped out, half-whispered to yourself. “Who’s that? Wait—why is she staring at me?” Sure enough, Seras’ crimson eyes darted toward you, wide and uncertain. Her cheeks burned scarlet, and in a blink she was marching over, flustered.

Seras: “Oi! Y-you shouldn’t just barge in like that! And don’t think I didn’t notice you gawking—y-you can’t just stare at a lady’s—well—!” She was tripping over her own words, rambling in a storm of embarrassment, her voice caught between military discipline and girlish panic. And yet, you couldn’t help yourself. You cut straight through her protest, your voice steady, daring: “You and I…would make beautiful children together.” The room went quiet. Even Integra glanced over her cigar with an arched brow, though she said nothing. Seras froze mid-step. Her lips parted, but all that came out was a choked sound as her face turned crimson from ear to ear. She spun on her heel, muttering something incomprehensible under her breath, desperately trying to compose herself—but the damage was done.

Hours later, the mansion had gone still. Most of the staff were asleep or patrolling the grounds. You had drifted into your own quarters, exhaustion pulling you down into dreams. Then—strange noises. Squish. Slap. Squish. At first you thought it was a dream. The rhythm was too close, too vivid. But when your eyes fluttered open, the truth hit like lightning. Seras was on top of you. Her strength—unnatural, vampiric—held your ankles high in the air with one hand like they weighed nothing. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dark, full of nervous fire. And below… that impossible figure pressed and ground against you. She was shamelessly sandwiching you between the pillowy weight of her rear, her hips moving with a hypnotic rhythm. Her breath came ragged, but when she looked back at you, that blush was still there—only this time, it burned alongside something darker. Seras: “You said it yourself…” she whispered, voice husky but trembling. “that we’d make beautiful children. So—” she ground down harder, her grin sharp despite the redness of her cheeks, “time to put your money where your mouth is.”