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ruiniel · 1 year

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If you don't mind me giving you some inspiration to write, I've got a little scenario you could play with involving Alucard (Castlevania). Perhaps a great ball is happening and even though they aren't a couple, he invites our dear reader to accompany him. What follows is a tender if not very charged moment between the two as they help each other get dressed. It could end with a resolved note or perhaps linger with the promise of what could be...

And what inspiration it was! Thank you, here it be.

I chose the resolved note

Mirror

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x F!Reader

Count: 2.7k

Rating: T

Tags/CW: AFAB reader, oneshot, mutual pining, romantic angst, longing, unresolved sexual tension, angst again, unresolved emotional tension, confessions

All characters depicted are 18+

Mirror

mirror

the

wall

tell

lies

who we

are.

—Atticus

You should never have agreed to this.

Gazing in the mirror to ensure the trappings of your dress are fastened as needed, you realize that the person you see before you is a far cry from the one you knew, months ago.

Not the physical appearance that was altered as much, no.

Longing. Longing and friendship and the loss of both did this to you, and all and everything else that passed; now, there is an everpresent knot in your throat, a despondent voice in the back of your mind, always repeating the same.

Gone.

As you run a hand through your hair, thinking belatedly what to do with it for the night, you consider: he’d suggested this.

He’d put forward the idea that you move to the closest town, noticing your loneliness—and if there ever was a being in the world who knows the torment of its perpetuity, that would be him. But he was wrong. The times he walked in, catching you staring bleakly out the window; the times he’d seen you fastly wiping your eyes with your sleeve as he neared. If anything, loneliness was not the reason; but you were too much of a coward to tell him otherwise, weren’t you?

Weren’t you? You berate yourself, lip curling.

He wanted this. When you’d asked him to come with, to live, he refused on account of his duty. A legacy of ashes, he said, but a legacy still, and it was his alone to guard. But no one should ever be secluded like this, you’d offered, it was not fair, you’d said.

“Oh, but it is,” he’d murmured one chilly night spent watching the snowfall. “It is… only fitting, I’ve come to think.”

You reach for a comb, half-heartedly brushing through the strands, gazing at the cold, flat surface, seeing so many moments that are gone.

He’d wanted this, said it was not your obligation to remain a companion to someone like him.

“You belong with your own people. Not in this decrepitude.”

You fool, the bitter thought comes. That never mattered. I would have stayed. I would have stayed as your friend, even if there was no chance for you to look at me and see more.

But you didn’t. You didn’t want him to know, you didn’t want him to see. What was the point of sharing a depth of unrequited feelings, what help would it be to him, rather than another burden?

How strange. But maybe, you tell yourself, combing idly, after all, it’s merely devotion that you feel? An affinity and gratefulness you’re mistaking for something else, and maybe, maybe… you’re worrying for nothing. Maybe it’ll pass soon, and you’ll forget. You’ll attempt a life here, you will live, as humans must do. You hate the tears that sting your eyes.

“I can’t,” you murmur to your destitute self in the mirror. “I can’t…”

Two soft knocks on the door.

Swiftly you rub at your eyes with your richly embroidered sleeve, taking a breath. “Enter.”

You turn and feel a spike of jealousy, of hurt, of longing so deep you want to carve out your heart and throw it at his feet.

He looks so much like he belongs here, with his bright long hair and elegant shirt, that dark overcoat folded neatly under his arm.

Adrian blinks, staring at you as he closes the door. “You seem…”

“I’m not ready,” you mumble, turning back to your task, gazing at him in the mirror.

Another farce. He’d proposed you attend the yearly masked ball, to begin mingling and integration in this new society, in this foreign town you wish burned to the ground.

“I can see that,” Adrian says. “I merely wanted to,” he hesitates as you turn, then places his coat carefully onto an armchair.

Outside, the rain has begun to patter against the windows of the inn. He’d given you enough by way of means to live comfortably until you found your bearings here, until you found a means to live by. For the purpose at hand, he’d booked a room in the same place for the night.

He’s already donned his mask: black and gold, an embellishment that fades before the sheerness of his eyes. You blink as your stare is drawn to what he holds in his hand, then back to the grimace pulling at his lips. “I’ve tried all, but this cravat won’t do my bidding no matter what I do. I thought, other hands might be of more use,” he looks at you with a pale smile.

You snort. He could be wearing roughened hemp clothes and still look as perfect as he does in these sleek, elegant garments of black and white and crimson.

“Fine,” you shake your head, putting forth your own smile—it’s fake, but it’ll have to do. You rise and walk over to him, taking the fine cravat from his hand. You haven’t seen him in two weeks, not since you’ve made the town a permanent residence.

You look up at him. Unable to meet his eyes so close, you focus on the intricate gilded details of his mask. His hair is tied back from his face, a few strands straying over sharp cheekbones—are they more pronounced than before? You wonder at this and nothing, as you look back to fasten the cravat around his neck, your hands working slowly, your head spinning with the scent he’s using—something of lilies and lilac, certainly some rarity from the early years of his childhood travels with the castle and his now defunct family.

“How are you faring so far?”

You loathe him without a right to, but does he know? Does he even know how he twists the dagger? It seems not, and the sting in your eyes mellows. “It’s different, no doubt,” you speak softly, wanting to press your cheek to his shoulder and weep. “Many more people than I’m used to, but it… it looks safer than the wilds of the woods, for the most part,” you try a joke. “And you?”

Your fingers are nearly done with the knot, but when there comes no answer but the patter of rain against the window you pause, looking up at him again. His eyes tell you nothing. His face is expressionless no doubt, hidden behind that mask, as still as he is.

“As you say, it is different,” Adrian finally speaks. “But there were no other threats, and for now all seems quiet.” On the last word you think his voice cracked just a little; might be you imagined it.

“There,” you say, done with the knot, hands sliding slowly down his chest, over his fine white shirt, before they fall at your sides. You turn away and head back to your seat, burning from the closeness and feeling absolutely pathetic. You pick up the brush again, watching him in the mirror; staring at the ground—what is this?

“I must finish my hair, but have no inkling of what to do with it,” you chatter away to fill the emptiness, though the shallow topic makes you want to cry.

Adrian looks up; your eyes meet in the mirror. Then he’s nearing you, for some reason he’s still here—well, you are to go together, after all, he’d agreed to be your partner for the night, offered even.

“I know a plain one I used to help my mother with,” he says, having slowly neared until he stands behind your chair. “If you wish, I could help with the first steps, you can make something of your own liking out of it.”

“Now that, is a skill I did not expect of you,” you can’t help but smile at him, and when he returns it, you feel the bliss of past, comfortable moments together, before this wretchedness took roots inside you, curling so strong and deep nothing you’ve done so far helped free you of it.

“How so?” Adrian asks, head tilting to the side, then, “May I?”

You nod, then freeze when long hands are placed on the top of your head, gliding through your hair. You glance up at his reflection.

“Well, because…” you curse the sensations brimming at this barest of touches, at the slight pressure of fingertips on your scalp. Oh, but you truly are pathetic, aren’t you?

His long fingers are slow to sift through your hair, catching unwieldy strands; they feather over your cheek, your temples, the nape of your neck; you bite on your lip, hating him for all but casting you out in the guise of friendship and selflessness, wanting that same touch everywhere until you can’t breathe. “Because, you never mentioned it before, I suppose,” you add lamely, your head emptying of logic and coherent thought.

“I never had a chance to,” Adrian replies softly, and in the mirror, you see his eyes are on his task; he looks carefully down at his work, seemingly absorbed by it.

His hands are gentle, not a tug or a snag; you close your eyes, lips parting. If you’re being a wretch, you’ll take all you can get, at least make it worth it.

“Hand me that pin, please,” he says, and you do so, fingers brushing against his just barely.

He’s doing a fine job of it, and as you open your eyes, you must admit: your hair gains a semblance of satisfactory appearance under his care.

“There,” he says at last, looking at his handiwork, then meeting your eyes again. “How do you like it?”

“It’s,” you swallow as his hands alight on your shoulders. “It’s wonderful,” you say.

“I honestly never thought I’d do this again,” Adrian replies, hands sliding from your shoulders but—

There is sadness in his eyes, and something else, and it’s that with the beating of your heart that has you reaching, pressing a hand over his, trapping it on your shoulder.

You look up at him. “Adrian,” you must be mad, what are you doing? What do you think you’re doing? He’s never given any sign that… that he’d see you that way, but damn it, damn it, damn it all.

You stare at each other in silence. His hand presses into your shoulder even as your grip grows tighter. You’re panting, and the tears you’d so bravely kept at bay now tremble in your eyes. “It’s not the same,” you croak, “It’s not the same without you.”

His lips part, but he says nothing, gazing down at you in that mask, unmoving, his hand still warm on your shoulder.

“I don’t understand why you wanted to be alone, but I try. I know you feel so much guilt, and you… you might not have place for anyone else in your heart because of it, and you might never see me as anything else, but I… I’ll go mad if I don’t tell you this, and then… then you can do what you will.”

“You know why we agreed for you to leave,” is all he says; his lips press together in that way you’ve learned he does when uneasy, or vexed.

“Yes, but I… I’ve come to care for you, to feel things I never thought I’d feel for another,” your words leave your mouth even as you dread the outcome of your sudden, mindless outburst; you're shivering. “And you made me leave, you cast me away, I only wanted to… I wouldn’t have asked for more but to be your friend…”

You yelp when the chair is suddenly spun around with you in it, and Adrian’s staring down at you, a hand propped on each armrest. “I didn’t cast you away,” he says, and through your rapid heartbeat you hear the cracks in his words; as though he struggles to speak them. He looks to the side, eyes closing in a frown. “I… I did not want to tie you to me, I want…” he looks back at you, with a sadness and fire in his gaze that leaves you breathless, “I want you to be happy, away from… from my petty self-deprecation, my sleepless nights and empty days. What would you get from it? What could you possibly...” he trails away, shakes his head.

You must be dreaming, you want to scream. Instead, your voice comes like trickling rain. “... were you too blind to see, what happiness is to me?”

His head had lowered, but when Adrian looks at you again, his eyes burn. “Then tell me.”

“It is you,” you say, in agony. “You fool,” and your hands reach, slow to undo the lacings of his mask, and as soon as you remove it, you find his face twisted by the same emotion you’d seen on yourself in the mirror.

Miserable longing.

You smile, close to sobbing in relief, chest heaving. Placing the mask aside, you slowly reach to touch his face; his dark lashes shiver as Adrian gazes down at you, seemingly trapped there though you’re the one caged by him in the chair.

When you pull him down to you by his cravat he yields readily, sighs, nuzzling at your face.

“I’m a coward,” he whispers, eyes shut as you card fingers through his hair with barely contained urgency, feeling the softness, the slickness of it, the scent of it, of him.

He draws back, so close to your face you see the golden rims of his irises. “I did not want to be selfish, to keep you there though I… I didn’t want to think about what I’d seen, the change in you… but… “ his forehead rests on your shoulder with a sigh. His hand, warm and scarred, is gentle as he feels along your bare neck. “... but while you were there, I felt… a little more like me…” he admits, and you’re melting beneath the onslaught of sensation, the confession branded into your skin, his hair tickling and soft where it caresses your cheek.

He raises his head, and you stare at each other for moments; seconds; eternities.

“Come back,” he says, and through the burst of emotion you cup his cheek, and press your lips to his; he sighs; you whimper softly as he deepens it all, seeking more, an arm around your waist lifting you to him easily; you wrap around him with relish, not letting go even if the world were to crash down on you both, and his arms are vicelike around you.

Your feet barely touch the ground in his embrace, and you’re smiling now, actually smiling, shedding layer after layer of suppressed heartache and desire and protectiveness; a care so deep you can call it nothing else than what it is, though you dare not tell him yet.

He licks into your mouth with the thirst of one denied sustenance for years on end, crushes you to him so strongly you gasp; but you’re no different. Your arms are bonds around his neck, body pressing against him, leg curling around his hip as though trapping him for fear he’ll vanish; when you break away to breathe, you see his lips are bruised, his eyes so bright as though a dark veil had been cast off; his smile is the sun forgotten by the rains outside, and his long hand grips the skin of your bare thigh, holding your leg wrapped tightly around his hips. Clothes, crumpled. Your dress, wrinkled. His cravat, which you’d so carefully fastened, is slack around his neck, and his hair is a gleaming mess.

“Adrian,” you say, licking at his taste on your lips, unable to recall a state of drunkenness such as this. Without even realizing, your gaze slips briefly towards the bed, then back on his face.

“Will you?” he asks after another swift kiss, a tug of softness. “Will you come back with me?”

You gently pry yourself away only enough to take his hand, placing it to your breast; he gasps. “Yes,” you say, voice shaking with fear overpowered by need. You reach for his other hand and lace your fingers with his, slow to step back, closer to the empty bed. “But not yet.”

You fall and he follows, his features raw with all that you feel, your shadows melding together against the wall.

The mask lies forgotten on the table, shimmering in the candlelight.

MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

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Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

The line "I felt… a little more like me" is also inspired by Atticus

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