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[fanfic] until time is gone and wrong is right; the vampire diaries; elena/jeremy; r
title; rating until time is gone and wrong is right; r
fandom, pairing; count the vampire diaries, elena/jeremy; ~777
notes: spoiler for s3 finale, future fic
Elena always says that if enough time passes, a person can be convinced of anything.
"Person, vampire, hybrid, whatever. You know what I mean."
Jeremy didn't used to think so.
But he was younger then, and he could still remember the faces of the people they both grew up calling Mom and Dad.
Now, it's winter, and Elena wears pretty dresses and brings men home with her to feed on. Jeremy watches her dance naked with them in front of the fireplace, her nipples hard and her hair falling in loose curls when she sinks her teeth into their necks. She reminds him so much of Katherine in these moments, but he never tells her this.
Besides, she always shares.
Jeremy is always the one to compel them after. He takes his fair share, helps them dress and cleans the blood stains from their skin, and then he sends them back to their wives and children and lovers. Elena teases him for embellishing their lost memories, says he always puts a happy little spin on it, always gives them a little bit more than an empty gaping wound in their recollections to go home with. Jeremy wants to tell her it was her who taught him that, a long time ago, but Elena is no longer that girl, and he fears she may have forgotten, so he just lets her laugh.
She kisses him then, the two of them standing in the open doorway, a winter chill creeping up the back of his neck, and again he wants to remind her who she is, who they are, where they've come from. But Mystic Falls is about as far away as the moon, and Elena no longer cares for such distinctions.
They've crossed this line so many times that it may as well no longer exist, and Jeremy can barely recall the first time it happened. The memories are there, but they're a haze, like a dream interrupted mid-way through, like watching the room through a glass full of water.
-
What he knows is this.
They are in the library of an old house in a New England town he no longer knows the name of. The old man had begged for them to take his life, and the two of them had swallowed him down in gulps and later buried his body in the backyard. They don't plan to stay for long, but the house is so immense and meandering that they can't help but keep it to themselves for months.
Elena watches him over her book, her legs kicked up over the plush armchair where she sits. He sits across from her, a sketchbook in his lap, a half-finished silhouette across the page, when he catches her gaze.
"Hey," she says. "I know you..."
And in a way, that's what it boils down to. They're all they've got, and that's been true for years, so when Elena tosses her book onto the floor and climbs into his lap, pushing the sketchbook aside, it's easily the most natural thing in the world.
"What are you doing?" he may or may not have asked her, but her lips are on his then and she's got his charcoal-covered hand in hers, bringing it over her breast.
He doesn't remember if any other words were exchanged or what happened next, but he remembers thinking, Okay.
Okay.
-
For a long time it is Elena, and not Jeremy, who drags them over that imaginary line. But soon she becomes brooding and pouty and no longer wants to be the one to blame for their little trysts, and so she sticks out her bottom lip and refuses to talk to him, disappearing for days and coming back with her belly full and none to share.
This, he remembers with absolute clarity.
She's got her hair pulled back and hasn't even bothered to clean the blood from the undersides of her nails and she puts one hand on her hip. "What, cousin?" she says. "You're not hungry, are you?"
Jeremy crosses the kitchen in a flash, and he's got her pressed against the refrigerator door with one hand wrapped around her neck, the other at the back of her head, tangled in her hair, tugging ever just so. Elena grins, and in that moment, his cock hard against her hip, his lips a shy centimeter from hers, he thinks of that thing she's always saying, that thing about the passage of time and how anybody can be convinced of just about anything given enough of it.
He also thinks, as he crushes his mouth to hers, how very little he cares.
-fin
fandom, pairing; count the vampire diaries, elena/jeremy; ~777
notes: spoiler for s3 finale, future fic
Elena always says that if enough time passes, a person can be convinced of anything.
"Person, vampire, hybrid, whatever. You know what I mean."
Jeremy didn't used to think so.
But he was younger then, and he could still remember the faces of the people they both grew up calling Mom and Dad.
Now, it's winter, and Elena wears pretty dresses and brings men home with her to feed on. Jeremy watches her dance naked with them in front of the fireplace, her nipples hard and her hair falling in loose curls when she sinks her teeth into their necks. She reminds him so much of Katherine in these moments, but he never tells her this.
Besides, she always shares.
Jeremy is always the one to compel them after. He takes his fair share, helps them dress and cleans the blood stains from their skin, and then he sends them back to their wives and children and lovers. Elena teases him for embellishing their lost memories, says he always puts a happy little spin on it, always gives them a little bit more than an empty gaping wound in their recollections to go home with. Jeremy wants to tell her it was her who taught him that, a long time ago, but Elena is no longer that girl, and he fears she may have forgotten, so he just lets her laugh.
She kisses him then, the two of them standing in the open doorway, a winter chill creeping up the back of his neck, and again he wants to remind her who she is, who they are, where they've come from. But Mystic Falls is about as far away as the moon, and Elena no longer cares for such distinctions.
They've crossed this line so many times that it may as well no longer exist, and Jeremy can barely recall the first time it happened. The memories are there, but they're a haze, like a dream interrupted mid-way through, like watching the room through a glass full of water.
-
What he knows is this.
They are in the library of an old house in a New England town he no longer knows the name of. The old man had begged for them to take his life, and the two of them had swallowed him down in gulps and later buried his body in the backyard. They don't plan to stay for long, but the house is so immense and meandering that they can't help but keep it to themselves for months.
Elena watches him over her book, her legs kicked up over the plush armchair where she sits. He sits across from her, a sketchbook in his lap, a half-finished silhouette across the page, when he catches her gaze.
"Hey," she says. "I know you..."
And in a way, that's what it boils down to. They're all they've got, and that's been true for years, so when Elena tosses her book onto the floor and climbs into his lap, pushing the sketchbook aside, it's easily the most natural thing in the world.
"What are you doing?" he may or may not have asked her, but her lips are on his then and she's got his charcoal-covered hand in hers, bringing it over her breast.
He doesn't remember if any other words were exchanged or what happened next, but he remembers thinking, Okay.
Okay.
-
For a long time it is Elena, and not Jeremy, who drags them over that imaginary line. But soon she becomes brooding and pouty and no longer wants to be the one to blame for their little trysts, and so she sticks out her bottom lip and refuses to talk to him, disappearing for days and coming back with her belly full and none to share.
This, he remembers with absolute clarity.
She's got her hair pulled back and hasn't even bothered to clean the blood from the undersides of her nails and she puts one hand on her hip. "What, cousin?" she says. "You're not hungry, are you?"
Jeremy crosses the kitchen in a flash, and he's got her pressed against the refrigerator door with one hand wrapped around her neck, the other at the back of her head, tangled in her hair, tugging ever just so. Elena grins, and in that moment, his cock hard against her hip, his lips a shy centimeter from hers, he thinks of that thing she's always saying, that thing about the passage of time and how anybody can be convinced of just about anything given enough of it.
He also thinks, as he crushes his mouth to hers, how very little he cares.
-fin
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Would love to know what you thought of some of my TVD fics.
*hugs*
Keep up the AWESOME work!!
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Thank you! ♥
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And I agree with that first commenter - I love all those ways Elena kinda becomes Katherine.
PS THIS IS WAY HOT
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