─ 𝘽

like seriously, what’s the point of the reader insert tag if the reader isn’t even inserted? a tag meant for readers where readers aren’t included, give me a break. and on ao3 it’s getting even worse.

these oc writers seriously need to get some shame, my god.

you have HUNDREDS of tags to use, and you choose the one that’s meant to insert and include as many readers as possible so they can feel represented.

does a secret, once uncovered, have the power to destroy the one who dared to look?

pairing — alucard x witchprincess!reader

synopsis — your connection with your lover is one for the books, but there is a shadow cast over your stolen moments of intimacy. a carefully guarded secret that alucard wears close to his heart. the passion he offers is intoxicating, yet an unsettling feeling persists: is he seeing you, or is he looking straight through you to someone else?

word count — 7.4k

content warning + tags — MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem reader, periodic au, angst, plot with smut, alucard having an ex for plot purposes (ooc)

Your laughter rang through the secluded room in the castle as you engaged in conversation with Trevor, rolling your eyes with a smile at another one of his insufferable remarks. Unbeknownst to you, irritation simmered just beneath the surface as Adrian watched closely, tightening his jaw and letting an unwavering frown sit atop his pretty face.

The hunter had the smuggest grin and Adrian’s lip curled up in disgust as he watched the banter, paying attention closely. Was he failing to see anything charming about him? He shouldn’t allow these thoughts to trouble him and yet he could not stop the tightness in his chest that refused to be ignored.

“What is it about him that I don't understand? Or is it just that you prefer the companionship of a crude hunter over someone who knows you?”

His words were sharp enough, cutting the tension you weren’t aware of. You turned around to face him, both of you now standing in the library, the fireplace crackling behind you as you placed down your book.

You sighed at his words, crossing my arms as your large dress pooled at your feet. “You mustn’t be so serious all the time Alucard,” You replied, furrowing your eyebrows and earning a silent scoff from him at the sound of his alias leaving your lips rather than his given name. 

“Trevor is funny. And brighter than you would expect,” You slowly paced over to the near bookshelves, glancing over your shoulder at the dhampir.

A humorless smile tugged at his lips as he watched your dress rustle with every move.

"Funny? Bright? Is that what you value now?" His voice was softer, but no less edged—like a blade wrapped in velvet. "He laughs too loud and speaks too much, yet you find light in him?"  

He stepped closer, golden eyes narrowing slightly. "And don’t deflect with that name—Alucard. You know who I am beneath it. And still… you choose jests over silence that understands you."  

A beat passed—quiet save for the crackle of distant firelight. "...Do I amuse you, (name)? Or am I simply... inconveniently intense?"

You swallowed softly, letting him speak and being utterly dumbstruck in return. Silence passed between you two before your eyes darted away but he simply stepped into your view, desperate to be seen by you. 

“You know why I call you Alucard. Your name is too intimate, too…important to be spoken in passing by just anyone.”

“You are not just anyone-” 

“It carries grief and sorrow.” Your voice broke out, interrupting his interruption as your eyes finally met once again. “Witches don’t take names like that lightly,” 

“And you do amuse me Alucard, I never said otherwise,” You looked at him with a huff. “What is up with you this evening? You are unusually…alarmed. Trevor is good company but so are you. 2 things can be true,”

The mention of his name, spoken in that soft tone, stirred something deep within him—a flicker of emotion he tried desperately to quell.  

“I do not need amusement, not if it means sharing your attention with fools like Trevor." 

His fingers curled into tight fists at his sides. "What am I, (name)? A distraction? Something to be set aside when better... options present themselves?"  His jaw tensed again, but he forced himself to take a slow, measured breath—an attempt to regain a measure of composure.

You quirked an eyebrow in confusion, taken aback, fully turning to face him as you took a step closer. “Is— is that what this is?” You questioned with raised eyebrows, an amused smile curling on your lips before you got rid of it at the sight of his embarrassed expression. 

“You are jealous. You. Jealous of Trevor?” It was almost laughable.

He stiffened at the accusation, the word jealous echoing in his ears. He opened his mouth to deny it, to deflect, but all his words died on his tongue.

Your heels clicked against the floor as you took strides towards him till your chests were touching and you grasped his long, pale hands in yours. 

“Alucard, you are my lover. When I said Trevor was bright and funny, I did not mean you weren’t,” Your lips formed a thin line, your eyes widening slightly in reassurance.

“You too are bright and funny. You make me laugh, and think. Deeply. Your humor is different from Trevor’s yes, but in a good way. You two offer different perspectives on things and that is fine,”

His eyes widened, surprise flickering in them as you spoke—he had expected an argument, for you to dismiss his concerns. But here you were…taking his hands, reassuring him, comparing him to Trevor of all people.  

His fingers curled around yours, gripping tightly. His voice was rough when he spoke. 

"I… I'm being foolish, aren't I?"

“A little. But I like it,” You squeezed his hands in yours before chuckling and kissing his cheek and a warmth bloomed across his features. 

“Calm down, Adrian,” His birth name uttered from your lips like an incantation and almost instantaneously he obeyed. Your hand rubbed up his arm and glanced at his golden eyes and locks, smiling softly.

He exhaled sharply—his name, that name, on your lips, was like sunlight breaking through centuries of storm. Adrian. Not Alucard. Not the warrior, not the weapon.

Him.

His shoulders dropped, his forehead reached forward onto yours, the tension melting from his frame as if you’d undone a spell with just a whisper.

"...You say it like it is sacred," he murmured, voice unsteady now—not from anger, but awe. "And when you do... I forget how to be anything but yours."

He lifted his free hand to trace your jawline with trembling fingers. "Maybe I needed to hear it. Or maybe I just needed you to remember that I am not made of stone." A rare, soft smile touched his lips. "Even if I act like it."

“And I need you to realize I am not made of porcelain,” A faint, knowing smile touched his lips as you pivoted, not bothering to check if he was trailing you. He was. 

You fluffed your dress, settling on the window alcove, gazing out over your kingdom.

“I’m not some fragile being you need to protect from everything bad,” You crossed your arms and ankles, eyes never surrendering his image. 

“I am a lady, yes….I am a witch princess, yes, but that is not all to me,”

His gaze was unyielding, steady now—no longer storming, but deepening like the quiet before dawn. He didn’t sit beside you right away. Instead, he leaned against the stone windowsill, arms crossed as if guarding himself from his own impulses.

"Fragile?" he echoed softly, turning his golden eyes to the moonlit towers below. "No... I don't see you as porcelain, (name)."

He turned his head slowly to meet your stare—intense once more, but not with jealousy this time. With recognition.

"I see a storm in you," he murmured. "A quiet hurricane wrapped in silk and firelight. You command roots and stars alike... yet still." A pause—he looked down at his hands briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"Still… I fear for you when others don’t understand your strength only because it doesn’t look like steel or fang."

His voice dropped lower.

"I know what it means to be more than one thing—half monster, half man—and yet expected to choose one nature over another." He stepped forward and knelt by the seat so your eyes were level again, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. You couldn’t hide the smile on your face.

"You're right—I protect too fiercely." A flash of humility softened his features. "...But not because I think you break easily."

"Because I'd burn the world before letting anything dull that light in you."

“You speak so poetically. I’m jealous.” 

A deep chuckle replied to your quip as you both silently got lost in the other’s eyes. His lips quirked in response, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. He'd expected a lecture, a tongue-lashing, a dismissal—instead you called him poetic? Only you.

With a single, fluid motion, you ascended, the subtle persuasion of your grasp and a soft, upward pressure on his hand guiding him to follow to which he wasted no time obeying. 

“Come, it is late,”

His hand tightened around yours as you pulled him to his feet. "Late?" He questioned, but didn't protest as he let you lead him away. "Do you plan on keeping me up all night again?" His gaze darkened, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glanced at him with a smile as you made your way through the long corridors, passing by knights who bowed. 

When the pair finally made it to your corridor, you pushed him into your chambers, barely shutting the door with his body as you pressed him against it, placing a kiss on his lips. A peck. Then another on one cheek and one on the other.

His arms encircled your waist as you peppered kisses across his face, savoring the sweetness in every soft touch. He gazed at you with nothing but pure love an adoration, one hand reaching to cradle your face, a thumb stroking your cheek while the other gently along your hips.

"Is this how you treat all your guests?" he teased, ducking his head to capture your lips in a real kiss this time, his hand moving up to thread in your hair.

You smiled into the kiss, gasping slightly at the surprise. You hummed at his question, parting your lips just slightly to respond. 

“Just the really handsome ones,”

He groaned, his grip on you tightening as you bit his lip, deepening the kiss. He'd meant the tease flirtatiously, but the way you'd responded awakened something more in him. Something impatient.

He pressed closer, moving his hand from your hair to your jaw and tilting your head back to expose the soft expanse of your neck. He pressed a trail of kisses down the column of your throat, his voice muffled against your skin.

"Mmm. I suppose I'm in good company then," he murmured in response.

Pushing you forward and keeping his lips locked onto yours, he didn’t stop till the back of your legs hit the frame of your bed to which he gently placed you down on. His eyes roved over body, nimble fingers moving quickly to push up your dress, crinolines and petticoat. How he despised these dresses during times like this.

“Forgive me, I am too impatient to fully undress you tonight,” He choked out, almost ripping off the rest of your undergarments to expose you to him.

“Marvelous,” Was all he could mutter out. His throat dried at the sight of how wet you were from barely his touch.

How did he get so lucky?

His fingers gently pressed against your folds, the stickiness immediately coating his fingers as he pushed in. A low groan left your lips as you bit them, keeping your gaze on him. He started a slow pace, pushing in and out, gently, as he always was with you. He took them out momentarily to lick his fingers and almost creamed in his pants.

“..y-yeah..” His hips stuttered just at the taste as he bucked them into the mattress, his cheeks already starting to glow a rosy shade. He was pathetic.

He dove his long fingers back in and your cunt could do nothing but clench around them, desperate for him just as he was for you. His tongue came to rub on your clit and you had to clench at your torso to keep yourself from cumming right there and then.

“Fuck…like that,” You moaned out, your eyes glazed over and so were his. Golden eyes staring at you like you hung the moon, adding pressure after pressure on the spot that he knew turned you into a dumb babbling mess.

He glanced up at you, as if giving you a moment to prepare yourself, running his hand up and down your thigh before finally leaning in and disappearing under your huge gown. You felt a small kitten lick on your folds and threw your head back at the contact.

His eyes widened as if he’d forgotten how you tasted on his tongue. More slow tentative licks followed and you could do nothing but whine out.

He wanted to see you, look at how ruined you became but this damned dress was in the way so he made sure you were extra loud. It was sudden how his tongue flicked over your clit and manic licks came afterward, quick like he was being chased.

Your legs wrapped around his neck, squeezing hard as you reached for his hair, tugging under all your extreme garments. Damn those.

You couldn’t even speak, lifting your hips and rubbing it in a circle, grinding all over his face as his nose hit your clit over and over again, his tongue lapping at you like a man dying of thirst.

He was ravishing you. Worshipping you.

“Adri-Adrian-” You cry out, clenching your teeth together as you felt that familiar squeeze in your core. “S-slow…slow..” You tried to sound out but every hushed syllable that left your lips fell on deaf tears.

“All over my face darling- want you…all over my face,” He gasped out, hands coming to clench around your thighs, pushing his face deeper as he humped the mattress, continuing his ministrations till you could do nothing but succumb to it.

Oh but he didn’t stop there, he never did. He let you ride out your high, continuing to lick and bite and suck. His fangs hit your sticky folds as he got started once more, not giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Thats it- please–” He moaned out, lapping up all of your juices, careful not to spill a drip.

You were barely awake when he finished, eyes fluttering, unaware of how many times you’d reached your peak, and so was he. 

It was almost pitiful how he was able to cum so easily by only giving you pleasure. He palmed himself through his pants as he took a step back, just watching you lay there, waiting for him. You’d touch yourself to give him a show too if you could.

His eyes fluttered as he added more pressure, rubbing his clothed cock over his hand. The sight was too intoxicating, you freed one of your breasts from your corset, moaning as your fingers circled the bud.

“I need you…”

“Need me where baby?” He shed his pants, now pumping himself, tightening his hold to mimic the grip of your gummy walls as he used the cum leaking out of his tip as lube.

“Need you in me…filling up my senses-”

“Fuck..” He murmured, groaning as he looked up, closing his eyes in euphoria, biting his lip. He stepped towards you with shallow breaths, leaning down and gently pushing himself in.

God you were so aroused and tight. His pupils dilated at the tight squeeze, almost cumming again. He paused to calm himself down before pushing in once more and you both moaned together. His forehead came to press on top of yours as your lips connected in a sloppy kiss and so did your hips.

The pace was unruly, slow, unorganized but it was deep, sensual and intimate. Every time his tip kissed your g-spot, you let out a matching moan. It was just nasty. The way your eyes stayed on each other as he fucked you.

“I love you…I love you…” He muttered in between thrusts and kisses, one hand coming to cradle your face as your bodies moved together. He squeezed his eyes shut but you held his chin to keep his focus on you.

“Fuck…I love you baby..” He whined, pushing up your garments to watch where the both of you were connected. A mess was made in between your thighs and he swiped some of the liquid, pressing it between his lips as he thrusted deeper and deeper.

“..So much..”

The sun pierced the stained glass in your bedroom, laying down bright streaks upon the floor, and landing on your face as you stirred in the bed, waking up from your slumber, your dignity preserved only by Adrian’s shirt and your blankets after the events of last night.

Reaching for Alucard, you noticed him already awake in all of his naked glory. He'd been lost in thought, golden eyes staring into nothingness as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Alucard?” You questioned, sitting up and letting the covers fall off your body. A hand found his elbow, a gentle, possessive tug meant to keep him wrapped in the sheets.

At the sound of his voice, he started, as if emerging from a trance. Your hand wrapping around his broke through the haze, and he turned. Your sleepy smile, your half-lidded eyes, the way his shirt hung loosely off your shoulders—it all tugged at the corners of his lips, pulling a rare, tender smile from him.

"...Good morning," he murmured, letting you pull him back under the covers.

“Good morning, you’re still naked,” you chuckled, bringing the covers up to his waist to shield him. You leaned over him, resting your head against his chest as your fingers slightly traced his abs. “How long have you been up?”

His arm curled around your shoulders, holding you against his bare chest. He let out a soft hum, a sound of contentment as he lovingly gazed at you. The early morning light cast a soft glow over your skin, and he found himself tracing your collarbone lazily with his knuckles.

"Not long," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Just thinking."

His other hand idly toyed with a loose strand of your hair, his thoughts already drifting elsewhere.

“Of?” You questioned, your fingers gently poking his cheek with a mischievous smile. He didn’t stop your absentminded trailing into his mouth, your fingers prodding and poking at his fangs. Instead, he continued speaking like they weren’t even there. He’d gotten used to your curiosity over the time he’s known you.

"You," he said simply, voice low and warm like embers. "The way you look when you sleep—like the world finally makes sense." His golden eyes flickered down to meet yours, amused despite the intensity in them. "And how foolish I was last night… letting jealousy twist my tongue."

He caught your wandering fingers gently between his own before they could drift too close to the sharp edge of a fang. Held them. Kissed each fingertip slowly. Your heart fluttered.

"...And how someone as fierce as you chooses to let a creature like me rest beside her." A pause—"Still baffles me, (name)."

The sound of his voice grew velvety, reflected in the newfound calm of his regard.

"You poke at my fangs like they’re toys… but forget I can tear through steel with them." He tilted his head slightly, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. "Yet all you do is trace them—like they belong in sonnets instead of bloodshed."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "...I suppose you make monsters feel... human."

You smiled softly, whispering a calming truth in return.

“They never poke me,” 

Anyone else’s fingers can’t get close without blood being drawn and still your daily attempts bear no fruit.

“You’re not a monster Adrian, and you are human,” 

He paused, your words bringing a quiet stillness over him. No one—not even his own father—had said them to him with such conviction. Hearing you call him 'human' without a shred of doubt in your voice… it touched a part of his heart he'd long thought gone.

Gold eyes locked with yours for a long moment. He let go of your hand and shifted closer, his forehead gently coming to rest against yours, his voice a soft hush against your skin. "I've done monstrous things, (name)," he confessed quietly.

“I have you now, it’s alright,” You offered a steady presence, running your fingers through his hair as a sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes.

He could feel the tension leaving his shoulders, bit by bit, as your soothing voice settled over him. God, he loved you.

He stayed like that for a long while, just taking comfort in the proximity of your presence—in the fact that you could see past his fangs, and the scars of his deeds, to touch the humanity beneath.

Then, finally, he spoke again.

"...Promise me something."

You felt the intimate realignment of his weight, and your gaze sharpened to meet his, one brow already lifting in recognition of his presence above you. 

A soft question of “yes?” escaped your lips as you gazed up at his unclad form hovering over yours, giving silent consent as his hands began the deliberate task of undoing the buttons of your borrowed shirt.

He gently peeled the shirt off your shoulders, his gaze darkening as you lay beneath him—all silken skin and long limbs. He'd been a fool to feel jealous last night, he thought, as he took you in. No one else could touch you like this. No one else had seen the soft, sleepy-eyed beauty he'd just woken up to.

His fingers traced the line of your collarbone, his eyes fixed on the place where your pulse beat in your throat. His voice was a low murmur against your ear.

"Promise you won't ever leave me."

His gaze was clouded a glassy sheen, their surface slick with an emotion that bordered on tears, while his voice possessed a brittle edge—a plea barely contained.

“I won’t. I promise,” 

His fingers traced the contour of your chest. 

“I’m not afraid of you,” 

He chuckled softly at your reply, your certainty reassuring like nothing else. His hand splayed across your hip, his thumb lazily tracing small circles there as he looked down at you, golden eyes still darkened with desire.

"Afraid?" he repeated, his voice dropping lower still. He leaned down to press his lips to the crook of your shoulder, the edge of a fang scraping gently against your skin.

"I know I don't scare you, (name)." He moved to kiss your throat—your pulse beating there, steady as your promise.

"But... do I…excite you?"

“Yes,” 

The silence was broken softly by your reply, your sight tracing his every motion until you were securely settled in the warm, private angle of his lap.

Your answer sent a shiver down his spine, and he pressed closer, feeling the heat of your thighs against his hip. His lips traced a path from the hollow of your throat to the soft edge of your jaw before he replied, breath hot against your skin.

"Good," 

He shifted, positioning himself against you. He could feel the way your body responded to him, and it was like a drug—your soft sighs and the way your pulse raced, everything that reminded him you were alive and his.

The fever of that moment finally burned itself out, leaving behind a shared, heavy stillness. You both lay tangled in the quiet ruin of the heat, listening only to the ragged rhythm of your breathing as the distant, wakeful sounds of the early day began to filter through the windows.

He held you close in the afterglow, watching you gaze up at the ceiling, your hair splayed like a halo around you on the pillow. His fingers lazily traced patterns on your arm, the gentle rhythm a soothing counterpoint to the intensity of what had just happened.

His golden eyes studied your profile, a quiet reverence in them. You were beautiful, always, but here in the dim lighting, it was almost unbearable.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple. "You're thinking."

Your lips compressed into a quick, defensive smile as you cast him a sidelong glance. A short, exasperated breath escaped, followed by a slight, negating turn of the head. 

“It’s nothing,”

"Liar," he murmured, voice velvet and knowing. He turned onto his side, propping his head on one hand as he looked down at you. His free hand slid over your waist, pulling you slightly closer.

"You always sigh like that when something's weighing on your mind." A pause. "Or when you're trying not to say something foolishly noble."

His thumb brushed your lower lip. "Out with it, (name)."

“...I was just..- thinking about everyone you’ve loved before me,” You suddenly said, fidgeting with your fingers. “You never told me but you were too much of a romantic to be single before me.”

He froze for a moment, eyes flickering with surprise at your sudden confession. He'd braced himself for something about the future, or about your own doubts or worries. Not... this. 

He was quiet and still for so long that you almost thought he hadn't heard you, but then he spoke, his voice unusually rough—like his throat was sandpaper.

"You want to know about the women I loved before you."

It wasn't a question.

“Do you still mourn anybody?…Love anybody?” Your curiosity was voiced, yet you kept your expression rigidly blank, the sound of my question betraying neither hope nor fear.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his gaze dropping to your necklace—anything to avoid your eyes, just for a moment. How did he even begin to answer that question? How did he explain the ache of losing everyone you loved, year after year, century after century, while remaining the same?  

He closed his eyes and let his head fall until his forehead pressed against yours, a rare show of vulnerability, even for you. His voice was barely a whisper when he finally responded.

"Does it matter?"

“Who was she?” 

The moment his words turned evasive, you already had the quiet answer: he was still bound by his endearing love for another. You drew back slightly, pulling your forehead from his to absorb the entire landscape of his expression.

He winced a little, his eyes still closed as if afraid to look you in the eye. The question echoed in his ears like the toll of a funeral bell—sharp and final. 

But he knew he couldn't lie to you, even if he wanted to. Not about this. So he opened his eyes and looked at you directly, the intensity of his golden gaze belying the tender ache in his voice.

"She was..." he started, and then paused—as if he couldn't quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth—"the love of my life."

Your silence was deafening, and his eyes flickered over your face, studying your expression—waiting for some flicker of jealousy, some sign of hurt. But your face was unreadable, and it only made his throat go even drier. He swallowed hard and continued, his voice rougher now. 

"She was... perfect. Smart, kind, fierce, beautiful." Every word tasted like barbed wire in his throat, but he pushed on, as if each syllable pained him.

"I loved her with everything I had."

“And you still do,” 

It wasn’t a question but a statement. You saw the truth plain as day, written in the unbidden flicker of brilliance that crossed his eyes upon her remembrance, and heard it in the unmistakable cadence of fondness that entered his speech. The evidence was overwhelming; there was nothing left to contest.

He didn't try to deny it. How could he, when you'd seen straight through him so easily? He let out a bitter scoff, shaking his head as the bitter taste of truth rose in his throat. "Yes," he said, his voice a rough growl. "I still do."

And there it was, laid bare between you, the ugly confession he'd never wanted to make. He still loved her. Despite all these years.

A line deepened between your brows as you fixed your stare on him. “Why didn’t you turn her?” You draped your blanket around your bare torso and immediately focused on tracing the familiar curve of your collarbone, a sudden need for distraction consuming your hands.

The question felt like a dagger to his heart, and he shifted to sit up as well, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"It's not that simple," he said, a mix of anger and helplessness in his voice. "You can't force immortality on someone, (name)."

He looked at you then, really looked at you—your face, your eyes, the way your fingers still fidgeted with your skin. Something twisted deep in his chest at the sight.

"She didn't want it."

The conversation shattered into stillness. You turned your gaze elsewhere, giving his statement space to hang suspended and absorb its full, difficult weight.

His own eyes dropped down to the bed, staring at the sheets that pooled around his waist. The memories of her that had long been buried under layers of time came rushing back all at once—every stolen moment, every touch, the sound of her laugh. The ache in his core, once dulled by years of solitude, flared to life in his chest like a fresh wound.

He hated this feeling—this weakness. He'd always prided himself on his self-control, his ability to endure anything, but she… she was the one weakness he could never overcome.

“What was her name?” 

He looked up again at the sound of your voice, the sound bringing him back to the present. He could see the guarded expression on your face, the way you were studying him. Part of him wanted to keep it to himself, to protect you from the memories that haunted him. But another part of him wanted you to know, needed you to understand.

"Cecilia." His voice was barely a whisper, the name like a prayer as it left his lips. "Her name was Cecilia."

The memory stopped you short. You suddenly recalled the ring pendant—the initial 'C' etched into its surface, worn like a second skin. That same faint, hidden 'C' marked the hilt of his sword and was subtly pressed into the leather of his gloves. The scattered pieces aligned, revealing the whole truth. “She was your wife?”

His fingers twitched, as if wanting to reach for the very objects you'd just mentioned. He nodded, a sharp jerk of his head in affirmation. "Yes," he said, his voice hoarse with the effort of holding back the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "We were married."

Your quiet hum was somehow worse than your questions, and it drove him crazy. The silence was deafening, each second feeling like an eternity as he waited for you to say something, anything. The way you kept your gaze fixed on the sheets, avoiding his eyes, only heightened the knot of tension in his stomach.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he broke the silence with a desperate, low whisper. "Say something, please baby."

Your teeth caught your lower lip, and a slow, quiet sigh escaped as you shook your head in utter defeat. Your face offered only silent confusion, brows arching high in stark, bewildered proof that your mind was utterly vacant of words he’d want to hear.

“I have nothing to say to you now, Alucard,” You finally admitted. 

His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek as he fought to keep his voice steady. Your words hit him like a punch to the gut—sharp and unexpected.

"Nothing to say," he repeated, his tone edged with disbelief. "After all the truths I've laid bare before you, you have nothing to say to me?"

His intense eyes fixed on your face, searching for some hint of emotion, some sign that the confession had affected you as deeply as it had affected him. But your expression remained unreadable.

“I need time,” 

You had just managed to utter the last word—the painful, final resignation—before a sharp, insistent rap fractured the fragile silence of the chamber. It was the signal: the court was awake, and the private morning was over. "Your Grace, it is time," one of the maids, likely Annelise, called through the thick wood of the door, her tone crisp and professional, instantly dragging you back to your official role.

You moved on instinct, the urgency a physical jolt. You snatched the nearest silk robe from the back of a chair, throwing its heavy weight around your shoulders like a shield. Without looking back, you unfurled from the bed, crossing the distance to the door in two swift motions.

"We must prepare the Royal Wardrobe immediately, there is an assembly at midday," another voice chimed in, rushing and anticipatory.

You didn't pause to offer a reply. As you pulled the heavy door inward, stepping past the threshold and into the bustling corridor, the last vision you allowed yourself was of him, solitary and motionless in the midst of the disheveled sheets of your bed. You left him suspended there, alone in the sudden quiet of your abandoned chambers, and let the heavy door swing shut on the conversation and the moment.

He didn’t move.

Sat frozen on the edge of your bed, bare shoulders hunched forward like a man struck down. 

The warmth of you still lingered in the sheets, in the air—but not on his skin anymore.  

Cecilia.  Wife.  Still loved.

All truths he'd buried deep beneath centuries of silence—and now laid bare before you, only for you to walk away with nothing but "I need time."

His hand found it then—the ring under his pillow. He pulled it free slowly and stared at the engraved C catching sunlight through the windows.

A bitter breath escaped him.

"...Time," he murmured to no one. "The one thing I have too much of."

And for once—he hated it utterly.

The day bled into twilight, and you finally returned to the solitude of your chambers. The elaborate, voluminous fabric of your dress seemed to float around you, a heavy, silencing presence. You paced the polished wood, the quiet click of your heels marking the slow, restless rhythm of your anxiety.

It was during one of these circuits that a single, sudden glint caught your eye—a stray spark of reflected light near the coat stand. Curiosity pulling you closer, you found the source: a sliver of polished gold peeking from the deep pocket of his discarded traveling coat.

You walked over, your sweeping skirt brushing the floor with a soft rustle, and reached in to retrieve the cool metal object. It was a locket, heavy and intimately worn. With a delicate press of the clasp, you opened it, and your breath hitched.

Staring back was your own image.

A soft, bewildered smile touched your lips. Your fingertip lifted, tracing the familiar lines of your face captured within the frame. You kept a picture of me in your locket, you thought, the sentiment sparking a low, soft chuckle in your throat.

But the gold slipped, falling from your careless grip and hitting the wooden desk with a muted thud. As you quickly retrieved it, the picture—your picture—slipped free. Your eyes widened, not at the accident, but at what lay revealed underneath.

Another image. Another woman.

She was your perfect, ghostly twin. The same jawline, the same precise curve of the mouth, the identical shape of the eyes—only her skin was a different color, and her hair a vibrant shade. You plucked the second picture out, your fingers trembling, and inverted it, finding a single name scrawled on the back.

Cecilia.

A chill, profound and sickening, trapped the air in your lungs. You stood perfectly still, rooted by disbelief, the sounds of the world receding—so much so that you failed to register the faint click of the door as it eased open.

He stepped inside, Alucard, his stride confident, only for the sound of his footsteps to falter abruptly when his gaze landed on you, frozen, his private locket in your hand.

For a moment, his golden eyes widened in surprise, a flash of something wary crossing their depths. He'd half expected to find the room empty, but there you were. Then his gaze dropped like a stone to the open locket, his eyes narrowing instantly at the photo of Cecilia you clutched.

"What are you doing with that?" he demanded.

You offered no reply; you didn't even turn your body toward him. Instead, you let the locket drop heavily onto the nearby desk, leaving it for him to claim. You took a couple of slow, deliberate steps forward, creating a chilling, measurable distance before you finally pivoted to face him, the visceral shock and disbelief a stark mask upon your features.

He felt the sudden, sickening twist in his stomach as he absorbed the full, wounded exposure of your expression.

He lowered his head, his fingers closing around the locket, securing the weight of the secret. His golden gaze flickered rapidly between your shocked face and the small, intimate pictures within—a complex, defensive mixture of bravado and naked vulnerability warring in their depths.

"So you found it," he finally stated, his voice a low, gravelly growl that scraped against the silence. "Are you going to condemn me for keeping a picture of my dead wife?"

A sharp, involuntary scoff escaped your lips, a sound of profound disbelief that lacked all humor. You had no words for the sheer audacity of his question. You simply stared, a deep, carved frown settling upon your mouth as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest, a sudden, defensive wall. You tried to speak—your lips parted twice, three times—but the faculty of language had abandoned you; it was as if your tongue had forgotten how to form sound.

Your silence was its own condemnation, a profound, icy slap across his guarded features. There were no tears, no dramatic outburst of anger he could combat—just that deep-set frown and a hard, unyielding stare that saw everything.

He took a slow, visible breath, his own jaw tightening to granite as he absorbed your reaction. Some of his earlier defensiveness seemed to crumble under the weight of your expression. His voice, when it came again, was quieter, raw, stripped of its bravado.

"Say something," he pleaded, the words now barely a whisper. "Anything."

"You need to leave," you stated suddenly, the words emerging cold and sharp against the sudden lump you were forced to swallow in your throat. You took another step back, increasing the emotional and physical distance between you.

The command felt like a physical stab to his core, and he flinched involuntarily, a quick tremor passing through his shoulders. The locket remained clutched tightly in his hand, but he did not move, his resolute golden eyes anchored fiercely on your face.

"Leave," he repeated, disbelief and hurt mingling in his voice. "Just like that?"

He dropped his gaze to the locket then back up again, a flicker of pain passing across his face. 

"You're kicking me out because I still hold a memory of a woman I loved and lost a century ago?"

A sudden, visceral heat ignited in your chest, a burst of righteous, consuming fury. Your voice was tight, strained with the effort to contain the explosion. "She looks like me. Exactly like me," you ground out, your head shaking slightly in a motion of stunned disbelief as your eyes locked onto his.

"Is that... is that what you see when you look at me? Her?" The question was a weapon, sharp and desperate. "That’s the only reason you ever approached me, isn't it?" You let out a short, harsh scoff of pure, acidic anger. "I was a blind, utter fool!"

The words spilled out, gathering momentum and pain. "You don’t love me, you simply love who I remind you of. You love who you can pretend I am when I’m in your arms. You made love to me in my bed, wearing a ring with her initial carved on it around your neck!"

The last remaining thread of control snapped. The final accusation was a raw, aching scream of betrayal. "You...." You searched for a word strong enough, finding only the simplest and most devastating. "Liar!"

His face drained of color at your words—each accusation like a lash across his soul. He staggered back as if struck, the locket slipping from his fingers to clatter against the floor.

"No," he breathed, voice cracking. "No, (name)—that's not—"

He lunged forward a step, but stopped himself when you flinched. His hands trembled at his sides.

"You think I chose you because of her?" His voice dropped to a raw whisper, grief and fury tangled in every syllable. "You think I looked at you and saw only Cecilia?"

He tore the ring from around his neck with such force it snapped the chain—and hurled it across the room.

The sound echoed through the chamber like thunder in silence.

"Look at me!" he demanded, eyes blazing with something desperate and unguarded. "Have I ever treated you like a memory? Have I ever called you by her name? Have I not learned your favorite flower—the way your breath hitches when you're trying not to cry? The way you bite my lip just before dawn breaks over us?"

His chest rose sharply with each ragged breath.

"I kept that picture because it was all I had left for centuries… but do not dare say that’s why I love you." 

A pause—he stepped closer slowly now, voice breaking. 

"I love you, (name)—not some ghost who died long before she could know what we are."

"You are no replacement. You are my present... my choice."

The raw honesty of his demand, the sincerity in his voice, did nothing to soothe the roiling inferno in your chest. Instead, it fueled a cold, terrible clarity. You looked at the man before you and saw not a reformed lover, but a creature whose love, however complicated, was utterly genuine.

"It wasn't fair," you stated, your voice low and dangerous, trembling not with sorrow, but with the effort of control. "The lie, the secret in my bed. You kept her there. You may say you love me," your voice cracked with pure scorn on his name, "but you made a choice to deceive me first, and that choice is all that matters."

Your body was rigid, burning with the sudden, crushing clarity of your decision. You looked past the pleading in his eyes, past the pain in his voice, and saw only the unassailable truth of the second picture.

"I am no one's second chance," you hissed, your words lacerating the air between you. You wrapped the unyielding authority of your title around your spine, letting it freeze the terrible love in your heart.

"You must leave this kingdom. Now." The command was a death sentence, delivered with an arctic finality that brooked no debate.

His eyes, wide and luminous, reflected the instant, devastating comprehension. He didn't argue; he didn't move to touch you. He only staggered back a step, the rejection a visible, physical force that knocked the breath from his lungs. He finally met your gaze, his own filled with a promise that this consequence would tear him apart for centuries more.

He lowered his head in a slow, sickening nod—the acceptance of his banishment. He didn't look at the abandoned locket; he simply turned and moved to the door, his form suddenly looking immense and utterly defeated.

You stood rooted, watching the heavy, defeated slump of his shoulders. You needed to hold the line, to be the princess. But the moment his hand touched the cool metal of the latch, the control shattered.

A soundless, ragged sob clawed its way from your throat. You whirled away from the sight of the closing door and stumbled toward the desk, your hands shooting out to clutch the edge of the polished wood as your knees betrayed you. The fine silk of your dress crumpled around you as you collapsed onto your heels, your body wracked by deep, silent, gut-wrenching sobs.

You had banished the one thing you loved, and the silence that settled over the chamber was the desolate sound of your broken heart.

The quiet room was now a vast, empty tomb for a love that had never truly been yours.

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”