#10/10 recommend | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

buddie-buddie · 1 year

Text

be the lightning in me (strike relentless)

co-writer: @princessfbi 6x12 coda - 1.3k - g - read on ao3

“You died, Buck. You’re gonna feel a lot of different ways about that. Sometimes all at the same time. I found the best way to process it is to… allow yourself to feel it.”

“How do you feel about that?” The question’s been burning at the tip of Buck’s tongue since he first woke up, since he came out of the coma. Since he first saw the darkness hiding beneath Eddie’s relieved smile– lingering in his features, clinging to the shadows beneath his eyes and the stubble across his jaw.

Ever since, the question’s been swimming in his mind, itching at his skin, begging to be asked. To be answered.

Eddie sighs, suddenly very much occupied with trimming the crusts off of Christopher’s sandwich. “Buck–”

“No, I– I’m serious,” Buck presses. He has to know. He can’t bear it any longer. “E-Everyone keeps asking me how I feel. But who’s asking you?”

Eddie sets the knife down on the counter with a small huff. He walks over to the fridge, completely dodging the question. “You think Chris would rather have blueberries or grapes?”

“Grapes,” Buck doesn’t miss a beat. “Eddie.” Buck pushes because Eddie is the one person who pushes back and Buck doesn’t know why Eddie won’t even look at him.

“Don’t ask me that, Buck.”

It isn’t a request.

Buck’s breath hitches, trapped somewhere in the back of his throat because it isn’t a request. It isn’t a command. It isn’t anything more than a raw, unfiltered plea from somewhere deep in Eddie’s chest.

Buck doesn’t move. Moving feels dangerous. Like he’s waiting for lightning to strike again, but instead of him, it’s Eddie up on that ladder.

But he needs Eddie to push back. How else is Buck supposed to remember that any of this is real?

“Why not?” He asks, just as raw. Just as much of a plea. Maybe even a little more desperate.

There’s something unreadable in Eddie’s expression. His voice is quiet when he speaks, rough in a way it only ever gets when thick with emotion. “Because I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Then don’t.” He swallows around the dryness that’s suddenly appeared in his throat. “I died.” Saying it out loud, saying it seriously , for the first time makes his heart slam into his ribcage.

“Yeah.” Eddie draws in a long, shaky breath, He scrubs his hand over his face, his chest rising and falling slowly. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. A moment Buck clings to because he’s starting to understand just how much can be missed in a moment. Eddie braces himself against the countertop, fists clenching so tight his knuckles turn white. “It felt like a part of me died, too.”

The push. Buck feels it as the words nudge against his chest and find their way in between his ribs. The words are frank, strong. But they feel like they could shatter any second anyway.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Buck holds his breath. “Pretend I don’t.”

“Because when your heart stopped so did mine.” Eddie says, brave and heartbroken all at once. His gaze cuts to Buck and it’s like being struck by lightning all over again. “I love you.”

Eddie’s never said that before. Not without man or dude tacked onto the end of it. And never with such a softness to it. Never with the words dripping with reverence. Never like this. It sends Buck into a tailspin, his chest squeezing and his heart pounding as he replays the three words over in his mind. His pulse hammers in his ears.

“Eddie,” he breathes.

Eddie’s chin trembles before he bites his cheek and looks away. “You were just hanging there and I– I couldn’t pull you up.” His voice breaks.

“I’m sorry.” The shaky edge to Buck’s voice wasn’t there a minute ago.

The sound Eddie barks out is harsh and catches in his nose as he shakes his head. “You don’t—”

He stops himself with a hand to his mouth, pushing away the bite of his words. Eddie curls his arms around himself like he’s trying to hold himself from splitting in two and it makes something in Buck ache.

“You don’t have to apologize for being struck by lightning, Buck,” Eddie says, softer, gentler but just as certain. There’s forgiveness in his eyes all the same.

Buck rises from his barstool, walking around the island until he’s closed the distance between them. He reaches for Eddie’s hands, taking them in his own as he meets Eddie’s eyes. “And you don’t have to blame yourself for what happened to me.”

Eddie’s gaze drops and Buck knows what Eddie’s instincts were telling him. He knows because his own are screaming at him to do the same, begging himself to stop exposing the throbbing live wire of a nerve they’d bandaged and pretended wasn’t hurting.

Eddie barely gets the space to swerve before Buck is grabbing onto the first thing he can reach. Eddie’s hips are warm and soft beneath the harsh fabric of his jeans, giving to the slight pressure of Buck’s fingertips as he holds on.

Eddie swallows, trying to back away, but Buck follows because if he doesn’t, he doesn’t think he would be able to find this moment again. The counter keeps them pinned and Buck dips down to catch Eddie’s eyes again.

“Eddie,” he breathes. He’s too close. Close enough that he can count the number of endless lashes framing those hazel eyes. Close enough he can see the heartache swimming behind them. The hope, too. “I’m right here.”

Eddie’s mouth trembles. “But you weren’t.”

“I know,” Buck says. He has the sore chest and the bruises and the lightning branded into his skin to prove it.

“Three minutes, Buck,” Eddie says, his words wet and thick with emotion fighting to break free from his resolve. “For three minutes you weren’t here. And I-I-I can’t…”

“I love you,” Buck says. Pushes because maybe that’s what they both need. Eddie’s eyes flutter closed as he exhales and Buck pushes again. “I love you, too.” The words roll off his tongue effortlessly, like they’ve been waiting a lifetime for the chance. Maybe they have been.

Eddie’s face twitches before he opens his eyes again. Strong, shaky fingers tangle in his t-shirt, holding him there like Eddie doesn’t want Buck to float away.

Not even a hurricane could’ve made Buck move then.

Eddie’s eyes shine as his fingers brush against Buck’s cheek. He touches him like he’s special, not like he’s fragile. Like he’s something precious.

Buck presses his forehead against Eddie’s and a small breath from Eddie ghosts across Buck’s lips. The moment stretches between them like infinity and Buck breathes through the tension of it.

“Please,” Buck manages, the word hanging between them in the space between their lips.

Eddie kisses him and everything settles. The uncertainty snapping like static at the base of his spine softens and the low hum that’s been buzzing beneath Buck’s skin goes quiet.

His blood sings as he melts into Eddie’s touch.

A low sigh escapes his lips as Eddie pulls away too soon and Buck can’t help but chase after him.

“I love you,” Buck murmurs. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of saying it, doesn’t think he’ll ever lose sight of the wonder that comes from being in love with Eddie and from being loved by Eddie in return.

Eddie kisses him again and Buck’s breath hitches, warmth exploding behind his chest. He makes a tiny, contented noise in the back of his throat. He’s never felt more alive.

Buck was dead, but Eddie brought him back. In more ways than one.

Eddie breathes life into him in a way he hadn’t realized he so desperately needed, clinging to the inside of his lungs and permeating his soul on the deepest level. They’re two halves of one whole.

Eddie brings their joined hands to his lips and lets his lips ghost across Buck’s knuckles. And with that, the last of the ache in Buck’s chest ebbs away like the tide beneath a full moon, his heart called home to Eddie’s like waves to the sea.

634 notes · View notes

muse-oleum · 2 months

Text

Always & Forever

okay, hi, welcome, i'm really unsure about this because i've never written something quite so heavy or, in fact, anything Elejah at all so, um, be nice? pwease? and if you see typos, as always, no you didn't. this came about because i recently re-read two masterpieces of the Elejah variety: We Remain, by Anonymous Observer (@deathloveshischicagopizza on this platform, sure hope i got that right lmao) and She's Come Undone and Set Free, by @terapsina. and it got the brain juices flowing and the creative bugs going.

you can find me here on ao3. this has also been cross-posted over there.

WARNING: very brief discussion of non-con/rape (because Damon is a dick) but it's more implied than anything else.

as for my ElijahxOC fic readers (if there are any here) i swear to god i'm in the process of writing a new chapter, i promise.

Always and forever.

Looking up at the intimidating walls of the infamous Abattoir, Elena kept those words close to her heart, like a talisman against the dangers she knew lurked inside.

She wasn’t afraid of him. She never truly had been, aside from their first meeting, forever ago in that decrepit mansion in the middle of nowhere. But she was unsure about his brother, and the kingdom he ruled over. Even now, a mere hour after the sun had set, she could see vampires flitting in and out through the doorway, obviously on a mission for their evil hybrid overlord.

Elena took a deep breath, calming her heart. She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t think of him in those terms anymore. They were long past that, they had to be, for her own sanity. Besides, the moral high ground was no longer hers to stand on.

She took one step, then another, forcing her legs to move despite the fear. She knew she couldn’t stay the way she was, alone and scared. She knew who she could trust.

She always had.

Hyperaware as she was, she could feel everything. The stares on her as she made her way through a square courtyard, the back and forth glide of her purse against her hip, the smell of blood and bourbon—a scent she had come to associate with New Orleans—but most of all she felt the moment he saw her, as if ripples crashed against her chest in tiny little shockwaves.

A vampire zoomed in front of her, fangs out, eyes flashing red, no doubt trying to intimidate her; that’s how vampiric hierarchy worked (another thing they had neglected to teach her). He didn’t know she had known far, far worse.

She often wondered if the Salvatores knew the first thing about being vampires. She supposed she was lucky Rose had told her some things, the last time she was in town, such as how to act around older, stronger vampires before you inadvertently got your head swiped clean off your shoulders. Or else, she probably would have been long dead, again.

Still, she submitted, as she had always done. She cast her eyes down, her jugular on clear display, and waited. The vampire, a dark-skinned man with wide eyes, immediately stood back, cocking his head slightly. Then he straightened, a telltale look of fear in his eyes.

“I’d recommend not doing that again, Diego.”

His voice, soft and dangerous, just the way she remembered it. But the danger was never for her, not even when he’d cracked the earth open and abandoned her to his sister’s less than tender mercy in that underground cave he knew so well.

Elijah Mikaelson was dangerous.

To everyone else.

“Elena.”

She fought to keep her eyes open. She couldn’t help it, she’d missed the sound of her name on his lips. The way he accented the word a little differently than everyone else, how even when he was stressed or angry, he’d always said her name with a little bit of wonder, an awestruck tone she couldn’t quite understand. She had always been special, she knew—to her parents, their little girl; to her brother, his only sibling; to her friends, the listening ear; to the brothers, for her face; and then, to him. She didn’t understand how she was special to him, but she was, she knew it. His tone of voice gave him away, every time, the soft lilting of the syllables, pronounced with care, each of them a caress that soothed some strange part of her brain.

“Elijah.”

She met his eyes, wider and darker than she remembered them. Actually, no, that wasn’t right, they had been even darker in Willoughby, when he’d kissed her.

Not her. Katherine.

She forced the thought away, she couldn’t afford to dwell on that now. She had other, bigger, problems only an Original brother could help her with. She almost thanked Klaus and his godforsaken curse for bringing him into her life, however inadvertently, because she wasn’t sure what she would have done without him now.

Probably staked herself.

“Can we—” she faltered a bit, eyeing the vampires listening in, trying to pretend they weren’t interested in what a baby vampire could have to say to the king of the city that would warrant even a moment of his time. Because he was the king, she had no doubt about that. Klaus may be the face, but Elijah was the hand behind it all.

She swallowed, putting her blinders on, taking a deep breath. “Can we talk?”

He observed her, his head tilted to the side, a small frown on his brow. She could tell her demeanor alone puzzled him, but she wasn’t surprised. After all, the last time he’d seen her, she’d been on a rampage across the country, his little sister in tow, searching for a cure she obviously had not taken. He rallied quickly, turning halfway, gesturing to door behind him. It led to an indoor dining room area and she briefly panicked; It was too reminiscent of the boarding house.

“Not—not here, hum… Would you mind…?” She turned back towards the lobby, the doors still wide open.

He softened, his hands going back into his pockets. A clear message to her—an everyone else—that he meant no harm. She’d learned that particular tell of his long ago.

“Of course.”

She felt his hand at the small of her back as they walked outside into the evening air. She still felt slightly claustrophobic indoors, even in an open courtyard, the presence of a dozen vampiric eyes on her certainly not helping. It reminded her too much of the almost scientific fascination the brothers had when they were trying to force her back into a humanity she wasn’t certain she wanted anymore.

And therein laid her problem.

The switch was back on, she knew that; she could feel it, just as she herself simply… felt. But it wasn’t pushed back completely, there was a jam, a missing piece, a core memory she still couldn’t access. Part of her wondered if it was for her own good, the other part wanted to let everything back in and be done with it. As things stood now, she had only half the story behind her sudden emotion-free spree, and she knew there was more lurking behind that door.

But she wasn’t sure how to access it on her own, and she needed the help on the only other vampire she could trust to do it right.

This limbo state—on but not on; back to herself but not completely—made her incredibly vulnerable. She could feel the imbalance in her soul, as corny as that sounded, because she was missing something—something she needed in order to move on fully, to become herself again, even in this new skin.

Caroline couldn’t help her, although she understood what the problem was and it was ironically her who had suggested the solution that had been staring her in the face all this time. She needed help from someone who had studied vampirism better than anyone else, and that person walked by her side now, silent as he let her gather her thoughts. She took a breath, let it out, relishing the fresh air.

Well, as fresh as it could be in the Big Easy.

“Where are we going?” She asked, her voice still too small for her liking. She wasn’t afraid of him, dammit! She was simply afraid of every other man. But she didn’t know how to let him know that, and she could tell he was worried.

“What would you prefer?” He asked right back, ever the gentleman.

She shrugged. “You know the city better than I do.”

He smiled. “There’s a bar not far that my siblings and I like to frequent on occasion. Unless you would prefer dinner?”

She shivered slightly, either to the thought of “dinner” or his voice, she wasn’t sure.

“The bar will do.”

She wasn’t even surprised when he opened the door to Rousseau’s, she really should have known. He noticed her half-smile when they sat down, cocking an eyebrow in question. She shook her head, amused.

“That’s the first bar I stopped at when I first arrived in the city.” Figures you’d do the same, but she didn’t say that.

“Yes, it’s quite… quaint,” he replied, lips quirking up slightly, somehow managing not to make it sound like an insult, “it’s also where I first stopped by when I came back.”

Yeah, figures.

“Did you know it, back in the day?”

He shook his head, smiling a little more fully as a blonde bartender approached them. “Not very well, it was ran by a werewolf family my brother and I preferred to avoid dealing with whenever possible.”

“NOLA problems?”

“NOLA problems.”

The bartender, Camille, judging by her name tag, reached their table and Elena was surprised when Elijah engaged her in a short but clearly familiar conversation. Camille seemed equally surprised to find him here at this hour, seated with a woman. Clearly, it wasn’t a habit of his. She chose not to analyze how that made her feel.

“What can I get you?” She asked with a friendly smile. She really was quite beautiful.

Unsurprisingly, Elijah asked for bourbon. Elena stifled a laugh, asking her to make her whatever she fancied most. This time, it was Elijah’s turn to chuckle and Camille joined him, shaking her head.

“Family habit, I see.”

Elena froze, eyes growing wide, but Elijah didn’t contradict her and Camille went on her merry way back to the bar, only throwing one furtive glance back.

“Family habit?”

Elijah shook his head, rearranging his glass so it sat just so in front of him. She valiantly resisted the urge to push it back just to mess with him.

“I may or may not have told her the exact same thing when I first met her. She’s become somewhat of a friend of ours since then.”

“She seems nice.”

He nodded, pensive again. She managed to hold eye contact for all of three seconds before looking back down at her hands, fiddling with the string of her purse.

“Elena.”

She looked back up just as Camille brought them their drinks. Cautiously, she took a sip, surprised at the depth of flavors that exploded on her tongue. Her wonder must have shown on her face because Camille laughed.

“I’ve learned a thing or two about making vampires drinks. I hope it’s to your taste?”

Elena shot her a look, taken aback, but Elijah simply smiled.

“You can call me Cami, by the way. I hate my full name but Elijah still hasn’t fully internalized that yet.”

The man in question simply sniffed, the epitome of snobbishness, and Elena laughed. It wasn’t her laugh from before, but she had missed the sensation anyway.

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you but I don’t think he ever will.”

Cami sighed dramatically, tucking her tray under her arm.

“Yeah, I think I got that. Anyway, enjoy!” She gave them another smile and moved on to another table.

With her gone, Elena was once again confronted by her own feelings, bubbling up to the surface. The drink helped, turning down the faucet of emotions a little, just so she could breathe without it hurting too much. She brought her hands on the table, lowering her drink, her index finger running in circles around the rim.

“Elena?”

This time her name was a question, one she couldn’t hope to evade. She shouldn’t anyway, that’s why she was here in the first place but damn was it hard to force herself to look back up into his eyes.

“What happened?”

He asked the question flat out, the frown returning.

“How do you know anything happened?”

“Because I know that nothing would bring you within a hundred miles of my brother of your own free will.”

“I’m here of my own free will,” she said, too quickly. His frown deepened.

“Is anyone here with you?”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, I came on my own.”

His eyebrows shot up right into his hairline and she supposed she couldn’t blame him. After all, when had the Salvatores ever let her do something on her own, much less when it involved him?

“They…” she swallowed, “they don’t know I’m here. Nobody does.” She released a quiet laugh, but it sounded hollow. “I expect they’re all up in arms back home, wondering where I’ve gone.”

She looked back down at her drink, taking a sip. Her finger beat a restless rhythm against the glass. Slowly, Elijah reached over, giving her time to evade him if she wanted to, and brought his hand to cover hers.

“Elena, sweetheart, what happened?”

The endearment flowed from his lips seemingly without his own accord, if the slight widening of his eyes was any indication. His jaw clicked shut, his eyes flickered back down to their hands, but he didn’t take it back.

Elena rather liked the way it sounded.

She took a breath.

“You know my humanity was off a few weeks back, yes?”

Of course, he knew. She’d practically spat it in his face right before Katherine did a very Katherine thing and snapped her neck like a twig. Idiot.

He just nodded silently.

“Well, what I didn’t tell you back then was that I, hum… I—I was sired. To Damon. He—I… There was… a sire bond. Between us.”

Elijah went deadly still, the motion of his thumb running across the back of her hand stilling. His eyes hardened impossibly, but she knew whatever it was that he was feeling, it wasn’t meant for her. Or rather, it wasn’t aimed at her.

“You were sired,” he said flatly, tonelessly.

And here was the Elijah she remembered from that mansion in the fields.

“It was… a side effect, I just… I—” she faltered, her eyes dropping back to her hands. She tried to escape his grasp but he wouldn’t let her, resuming his caress. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and the tension bled from his shoulders.

“Did he know?”

No use disguising it.

“Yes.”

The air became even more still.

“He knew you were sired to him while the two of you were together?”

Elijah looked faintly sick, the tick in his jaw growing more intense.

“Yes.”

Another deep breath, deeper than the last. She felt his hand twitch over hers, but the soothing motion of his thumb never stopped.

“Did he attempt to free you, at least?” He asked. She shook her head. And then he asked the question she’d been dancing around for the past twenty minutes. “Did he demand you turn it off?”

Elena heard the unspoken question, the one she knew would tip it all over. But she couldn’t lie to him, she’d never been very good at it anyway.

“Yes.”

Everything went quiet, the air became electric, like the calm before the storm, right before the first rumble of thunder could be heard and the first lightning strike the sky clean in half. Right now, Elijah’s eyes were that sky, dark and stormy, a rage so potent in them she was strangely fascinated by it. The muscle of his jaw tensed impossibly more and she worried he might crack it entirely.

She had never seen him so angry.

If not for the soft contact between their hands, she might have been a little scared. Just a little. Because she remembered those words and in that moment, there was perfect clarity.

Always and forever.

She was quite certain that, should she ask him to end her sire, to bring her his head, he would. Happily, gleefully and without a hint of regret. She wasn’t sure she herself would feel any, and wasn’t that a nasty little surprise.

She should feel regret. She knew that even just bringing up the subject with him meant placing Damon (and by extension, Stefan) in the line of fire, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret anything. She’d waited so long to give voice to those feelings—the shame, the disgust, the loathing, the pain. She would not take them back now.

“Say the word, lovely Elena, and he will suffer.”

It really shouldn’t have been even remotely attractive, the way he said it. But it was, and she let herself feel it.

“I… I don’t know what I want.”

Elijah nodded, a tiny movement of his head, but full of understanding. She took a breath. One hard part was done, but there was still the larger question, looming in the back of her skull. She was more than a little worried, though. What she wanted to ask him—what she needed him to do… that would violate the terms of their friendship like never before. She didn’t want to ask it of him but she knew she needed to remember something else, and for the life of her she couldn’t remember what. But she knew it was important. Her brain was shielding her for a reason, but she—the Elena who had had her choices taken from her at every turn since her transformation—needed to know.

Or else how could she hope to feel whole again?

So, she straightened, automatically readying herself to launch into an x, y, z explanation of why that was the best choice—and why she was making it.

“There’s something else.”

Elijah tensed, she was surprised that she managed to notice it at all.

“But we can’t do this here…” she chewed on her lip, eyes flickering between him and the other patrons in the bar. “Is there somewhere… somewhere more…” she gestured wordlessly, tired already.

But Elijah had never needed words to understand her, certainly not with the way he was watching her now. It was strangely reminiscent of a hawk, but it wasn’t discomforting.

Maybe an owl. A wise, old owl trying to figure out the puzzle before him. Funnily, she had never before thought of herself as “puzzling” but judging by his look, she might have to reconsider. She was, in her honest opinion, an incredibly simple person: she loved her family and friends, was far too oblivious of things until it was too late, took her coffee ninety percent black, and never failed to help out when it was needed.

But looking at herself in Elijah’s dark brown eyes the reflection she saw was not one of simplicity.

“There is somewhere more discreet. I doubt anyone will be here at this hour.”

“Not even vampires?” She asked as he helped her out of her chair.

He smirked. Elijah Mikaelson actually honest to god smirked at her.

“They know better.”

She laughed.

❧

“A church? Seriously?”

Elijah made a show of ushering her in, suited up arm extended in invitation.

“It’s not even Sunday.”

“Thankfully.”

In the silence of the church, Elena repressed a giggle with great difficulty. It was quieter than a tomb, inside. Although, she really wasn’t sure who had first come up with this particular phrase, but she’d love to hear their explanation because in her informed opinion, tombs were anything but quiet. There was always the whisper of the wind, the pitter-patter of bugs and rodents foraging in the cracked stones paving the way to the afterlife.

Or maybe that was just her experience since she’d turned.

Huh.

She took in her surroundings. It was obvious that the place had sat deserted for a while but had just been opened up again. There were wood planks lined along the walls and several canvas sheets haphazardly thrown around on the pews.

“Where are we?” She asked, taking in the smell of dust, wood and stone.

Elijah’s footsteps echoed behind her. “St Anne’s Church. Our local priest seems to be out tonight.”

“You know the priest?”

He had been pagan, in his youth, right?

Elijah gave her his signature half-smile in response, dragging a finger through the dust that had settled on one the benches. “He’s Camille’s uncle.”

“Small world.”

“Welcome to New Orleans.”

Exhaling on a chuckle, Elena sat down on one of the benches, somewhere between the door and the altar, at the middle point of the nave. She didn’t know why but she didn’t feel good enough to sit at the front. Elijah took a seat next to her, their shoulders brushing together, his presence grounding her. On a whim, before she could think better of it, she grasped his hand, gripping perhaps a little too tightly. He didn’t complain, simply resuming his earlier soothing caresses on the back of hers.

“I need to ask you something, Elijah.”

“You can ask anything of me, lovely Elena.”

He was sincere. She didn’t have to look at him to know that.

“You probably won’t like it.” She warned.

He tilted his head in question; she heard the soft sound of his collar brushing against his jaw.

She took the plunge and braced herself for the ice cold rush of the water.

“I need you to compel me.”

❧

Whatever it was that Elijah had expected to hear, it certainly wasn’t that.

His shoulders tensed on instinct, his lips parting on a soft gasp. Elena’s hand gripped his tighter, perhaps afraid he would let go.

He never could have, anyway.

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, meeting the wide-eyed stare he couldn’t even begin to disguise. There was a pleading at the bottom of hers, pooling in the form of tears that gathered on her lashes before falling softly, tracing her cheeks with wet streaks. He fought against the urge to wipe them away.

“I need you to help me remember something. There’s… I—” she took in a breath, exhaled, completely oblivious to the feeling that ignited in him when heard the words “need” and “you” in the same sentence, coming from her. She tried again. “There’s something… something I can’t place, a… a darkness that lingers at the edge of my mind when I try to think back on what happened.”

He brought his hand up then, unable to face her tears and remain still. He caught a strand of her and brought it behind her ear, revealing more of her beautiful face. The wide doe eyes that met his could only belong to her.

“What happened when?” He prompted, gently running his thumb back and forth along her jaw.

She sighed, leaning into his touch. He marveled at being able to touch her so freely.

“When I was still sired to Damon.”

The way she bit out the words made his heart clench. There was indeed something in her eyes, a strange haunting of sorts. It darkened the edges of her eyes slightly, turning warm brown into dark chocolate. It would have been quite bewitching if not for her tears.

Centuries of instinct suddenly woke up in his chest, growling as it shook itself awake, unfurling from a long sleep.

“I just… I need to make sure of something.” She rushed on, “I know that my brain is likely trying to protect me but—” she growled softly, tugging her hair back, “but I don’t want to be protected. I want to remember it all.” He brushed his thumb under her eyelid, catching a single tear, making her sigh again. She seemed to shrink, releasing his hand and drawing her arms around herself. He recognized it for the protection mechanism it was.

The beast in his chest growled louder.

“I feel like half myself and I don’t even know why. It’s exhausting.”

She looked back up at him, her beautiful eyes full of unshed tears that threatened to fall at any moment. He was powerless to resist. He knew then he would do whatever it was she asked of him if only to never have to see her cry again.

“Tell me what you need me to do.”

The relief in her eyes was unmistakable. He realized with a start that she had expected him to argue with her. He pursued his lips, caressing her jaw again. These… children truly had worked a number on her.

“I need you to compel me to remember it all. Tell me to remember everything that happened while I was under the influence of the sire bond.” She said in as determined a tone as he had ever heard from her.

And so, he complied.

Gently, he took her face in his hands, holding her tenderly, like she was made of porcelain. He supposed, in his hands, she always would be. And he compelled her, her pupils dilating as she took in his order, body growing first lax and then as taught as a bowstring. Her hand shot out to dig into his thigh and the feeling would have registered as painful if his attention hadn’t been fixed on the utter devastation on her face.

She took a breath but it came out as a sob, a heart wrenching sound that tore him apart.

“He… oh my god, he—” she looked up at him, wide-eyed, and he felt the beast in his heart bare its teeth, “he… he didn’t… oh god—oh god, no, I—I didn’t want to! I didn’t! Oh my god—” she whimpered, and he finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Slowly, gently, he took her in his arms as she sobbed. She molded to him, her small hands gripping his shirt so tightly he was certain she would rip it off. She curled up, half in his lap, and buried her head against his neck, her tears soaking his collar.

He was certain of only one thing as he gently rocked her against him, wincing as the scream she let out into his shoulder tore though his heart.

Damon Salvatore would die a slow, painful death for what he had done.

❧

Elena wasn’t sure how long she cried in Elijah’s arms, only that he never once let her go. He was careful not to hold her too tightly, and she knew he had understood the magnitude of what she had just uncovered.

Damon hadn’t stopped himself from sleeping with her while she was under the influence of the sire bond. He hadn’t tried to free her from it, once he’d known, and he’d carried on as things were and she, helpless to do anything but please him, had done exactly just that.

But now, with the veil lifted, she knew in her heart that she hadn’t wanted to. It was too soon after Stefan, too early in her transition. The feelings of love had been heightened by her Turning and by the sire bond, turning into a deadly cocktail of dependence. If only she had known.

She whimpered, a broken sob wrenching its way out of her—how many did she have left? It couldn’t be many, she was so very tired.

Elijah’s arms tightened around her, his hand stroking her hair gently. She felt the ghost of his lips at the crown of her head, the touch doing more to calm her than anything had so far.

She hadn’t wanted to sleep with Damon. But she had anyway, forced by the sire bond.

And it should matter to her that he hadn’t known that. That he hadn’t known that she didn’t want him like that, not yet anyway, but it didn’t. It should matter that, technically, he had also been a victim of the sire bond, unable to stop it, but it didn’t. Because once he had known, he hadn’t taken steps to help her out of it and she wasn’t in a position to help herself.

He got exactly what he wanted.

A Katherine do-over.

Elena barely registered the anger before she was flipping an entire bench over, throwing it against the walls of the church. There was a vicious feeling in her chest, clawing its way out and she lashed out again, ripping the legs off of the bench and breaking them in half, the wood splintering into her hands, drawing blood from cuts that healed almost immediately.

Fury, that was the feeling.

It was so unfamiliar that she was momentarily stunned by the sheer force of it.

Her eyes flashed red, veins rippling on her cheeks and she flipped another bench on its head before collapsing on the floor, crying again.

She had loved him. Had been on her way to falling in love with him.

And he had betrayed her.

She was so very tired. Tired of feeling, tired of remembering, tired of existing. The pain of that betrayal, the shame that came with it, added to the duller, less pronounced pain of his hand in shutting off that part of her that made her her protruded from her heart in sharp edges and she distantly wondered if that’s what being staked felt like.

Until she felt Elijah’s arms around her once more. Effortlessly, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her like she was something infinitely precious to him. She barely registered the blur of movements and the wind in her hair that indicated he was running. She was so bone tired that the comforting warmth of the blanket he draped over her before running a hand down the side of her face barely registered with her either.

Through the haze of her tears, she saw his face, eyebrows drawn together in worry. He tucked the blanket a little higher under her chin and she managed to grasp onto the edges, burrowing under it.

“Is there anything you need?” His voice was pained, a small crack the dead giveaway to the unbelievable fury she could feel rolling off him.

She shook her head, sniffling.

“Do you want me to call your friends? Caroline, perhaps?”

All she could do was shrug, entirely unsure about everything. Her world had just toppled over. But Elijah hadn’t. He was here, as stalwart as he had always been and there was at least an inkling of hope that lit up in her at that.

She had been right.

She was right to trust him.

#now imagine when she discovers what Damon did to Caroline?#basically that's terapsina's fic and for that reason alone you should 100% go read it #the dynamics between Elijah and Elena here are heavily inspired by Anonymous Observer's fic #it's an absolute masterpiece my friends #10/10 recommend #anyway i might turn this into a series over on ao3 but no promises #elijah mikaelson #elena gilbert #elijah x elena #elejah #fanfic #tvdu #tvd fandom #the originals #to #my writing #Elena goes to NOLA and reunites with Elijah #who's still 100% whipped

30 notes · View notes