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keepsdeathhiscourt · 8 days ago

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First Snow

Fandom: Castlevania Series (2017-2021)

Rating: G

Relationship: Alucard/Greta of Danesti

Characters: Alucard, Greta of Danesti

Count: 2.1k

Also on AO3

Additional Tags: First Kiss, Snowball Fight, Winter, Inspired by Castlevania, Post-Castlevania Season IV, Fluff without Plot, Pining, Greta POV

Summary: Published in 2021, from a time with winter #gretacard feels.

Wallachia, winter of 1476

Early December saw their first sweep of abundant snow as a sudden, restless winter took over the lands, but work and commotion never ceased. Greta walked among the people bundled in their fleece caps and winter coats, heading to and fro, milling about paths battered by frequent use. Thick smoke billowed in the air from newly built chimneys, and there were small fires started here and there, where spicy mulled wine frothed in dark cauldrons for all to share.

The winter holidays would soon be upon them, and the headwoman of Belmont looked gladly on their efforts, which yielded an already habitable location months after moving here and starting their lives anew. The fresh snow fallen in the night now clung like soft fluff to her leather boots, and her breath came misted white in the cold. She walked bundled in her own beige fleece coat, her hair braided back from her face and a green woollen cap pulled over her ears for added protection.

She sought left and right, searching for him — as she often did lately, it seemed. But, as with many other occasions, Alucard was the one who knew the details needed to help them move forward with another current predicament, namely designating which extra chambers they could convert to house some families whose dwellings were still unfinished. He repeatedly said his home was theirs, but she always asked. No one had ever given them so much, freely, without expecting a manner of recompense. It had always been so, from the monster hunters her people were forced to hire in times past to the communal authorities that never gave a damn about Danesti, a wide spot in the road to them where wandering people settled like driftwood.

Besides, Greta didn’t grudge the extra time spent in his presence, even for necessity’s sake. Some time had passed, and like those frightful bloodied nights spent reaching his castle, she’d seen Alucard change with the last, painful visions of his parents, the return of his friends, the deepening of their relationship. They were everything to him, and he had no blood relatives left to speak of. It was a particularity Greta shared, and one that made her see beyond his calm demeanor that grey, lingering sadness. It was in his smile, his eyes. She doubted it would fade for a while yet, but, as had been her thought at the beginning, Alucard did get used to them all being here. He thrived among them with every new spark in his eyes whenever a problem to solve presented itself, and Greta had learned he liked to be of use to others, to share, to create. It burned through his melancholy like embers through spider silk as they built fresh memories together, whether it was baby Simon hugging him and nibbling at his hair or the children asking to be flown around, or learning to make good polenta from the elder women. Greta smiled, and wondered again how much time had passed since her words to him that neither had ever acted upon.

I think I might like you.

She shook free of that admission, his wavering smile, the feel of his warm fingers on her skin. It was easy to brush it off as ephemeral attraction and craving spanning from a loneliness that had clambered over her heart and dug itself beneath her breast bones, and would not budge. Alucard had seen enough emotional turmoil that she wouldn’t, couldn’t, push for her own possibly one-sided needs and risk hurting him — and herself — in the process.

A sharp wind roiled across the skies, disturbing the clinging snow from the branches. It fell in ice sprinkles over her cap, dusted her shoulders. Her smile returned. It had been long since they had a peaceful winter.

It was a crisp day, and a pale sun was setting early beyond the frost-laced forest bordering the village, through limbs of bare oaks and heavy dark evergreens, setting the sky a cool blaze of blue, purple, and orange. Plunging her mittened hands into her pockets, Greta hurried to keep warm, and soon the unmistakable bubble of children’s laughter reached her.

She found them all at the base of a risen mound, watching as others barrelled downward from the hilltop on wooden sleighs. And there was Alucard.

He stood tall, arms crossed at his chest, a smile warming his pallid face. He was wrapped in his long black coat, his head uncovered, appearing completely unbothered by the chill. Greta raised an eyebrow at that — how he didn’t freeze to death was beyond her. The cool red sun shimmered on his golden hair, and he seemed a youthful ghost against the gleaming mass of white surrounding them.

That same yearning reared its needy head, and she smothered it down, instead relishing the way Alucard’s smile grew as the children’s laughter soared to the heavens. She then remembered he’d promised to build them all sleighs to ride out when the snows hit. And apparently, he kept his word. Now the woman understood the spark of glee in his eyes. Anda and Raul rushed off their new, polished wooden sleighs after they bound down the hill, giving Alucard a quick hug before rushing back to their games with the others. Soon they forgot all about the adult in their midst, busy with their own winter competition.

Alucard slowly turned on his heel, still smiling and shaking his head at their yelps and joyful cries and words of gratitude, a gloved hand waving the group goodbye. He looked so fresh, as fresh as the damn snow and something, something impish and sneaky brimmed at the back of her mind.

It must be the season, she thought; the relief, the throwback to similar times from the lanes of her own memories.

Whatever the reason…

Who cares?

Alucard hadn’t seen her yet, though he was striding back towards the same path, and Greta took the chance to hide behind the nearest tree. She knelt, slowly, and rolled a generous snowball in her hands. She straightened, hiding as Alucard neared, whistling — whistling! that was new — some old drinking song one elder taught him two nights before. She waited, and waited, until he was closer… closer still…

Alucard walked past the tree, and Greta rounded the trunk, snowball firmly in hand. Nearly there.

She aimed. Smiled; and struck.

Swiftly she hid behind her tree again, peering ahead and nearly bursting in laughter at the utterly confused and aghast look on his face as Alucard looked left and right, one hand still in his hair, clearing away the snow caught in his rich unbound strands.

If anything, she still had good aim, and as expected, Alucard turned, gazing suspiciously around the area.

Giggling heartily now, Greta crouched down and rolled another ball of snow between her hands, faster now, about to rise and deploy another projectile—

“I see someone’s… busy.”

Greta stood and turned so fast her head spun, and before she could think, hurled her snowball, hitting Alucard straight in that perfect face.

She was still cackling for some reason, of course he would have sensed another presence with his damn abilities and of course he’d beamed right behind her, like the smart aleck that he was.

Greta jumped back, laughing openly at his rapid blinking, at the frown slowly creasing his forehead. She was hyperventilating, and before she knew it, her legs were struggling away from him and she was grabbing another handful of snow, which ended up as a white splatter over his chest.

He’d still not moved, and Greta stopped some distance away, panting and smiling, watching the corners of his lips quirk upward; watching him lean down, his wolf-like gaze following her movements as he gathered snow and piled it between his gloved hands.

The first snowball missed her, and she yelped in shocked triumph. Greta stumbled back, turned and fled as another ball struck a tree to her left, dotting her cheek with icy sprinkles.

She ran again, and he was thankfully not using his powers, but good God his legs were longer than hers and soon a grip was on her arm, a hefty amount of snow in his other hand “Hah!” came an exultant hiss. “Got you—“

“Not a chanc— “ She stumbled on a rock hidden in the snow just as they were reaching the downward slope of a hill, and then she was crying out, and somehow they were both rolling down as the world turned and snow entered her mouth, her eyes, gushed beneath the collar of her coat. The downhill tumble was fast and confusing, and Greta moaned faintly, shaking her head as finally, everything stilled.

She was splayed over something hard, warm and tense.

Alucard.

Hair was in her mouth, and she raised her head, shaking the snow out of her vision. She sought leverage and rose, supporting herself on her arms.

Greta met his eyes. Those aureate beams that melted her knees, exposed her, sought through every nook and cranny of her soul. She concluded it was a good thing she was seated (in a manner of speaking). Her cap lay somewhere ahead of them, buried in snow.

Alucard was silent, his chest heaving up and down, watching her curiously as a deep red flush tinted his cheeks. Tiny snowflakes caught in his long, black lashes. He was trapped beneath her, his warm breath melting the ice on her lips.

She should move.

Shouldn’t she?

“Are you all right?”

His voice, usually soft and deep as an endless night, was hoarse, cautious.

“Yes,” Greta rasped. Well, she hadn’t expected this.

Her thighs were grasping either side of his hips as she straddled him, and it took an effort to soften her body, making to move; a gloved hand was on her hip, pressing down. Greta blinked, her eyes trailing to the uneasy quiver of his lips, regretting it promptly the moment she caught his gaze. Her chest seized.

He knew.

“What is supposed to happen now?” Alucard asked, his words barely above a whisper. Like he was asking her; actually asking her.

“Nothing,” Greta said, though the word felt like grinding sand in her mouth. She didn’t know what came over her, should never have started this. “Nothing happens now. I was searching for you, I had a question on…” she paused. “Let’s get back.” Get back… to what? To secretive glances when she thought no one was watching? To short, awkward moments of silence, where neither seemed to find the words or the will? Greta made to rise when his other hand pressed down on her other side, effectively keeping her pinned atop him.

“Greta.“

“No,” she shook her head, though the longer they sat like that, the more her body was melting against him like snow on warm skin. “No, we don’t have to… you...” His hand was on her shoulder, flowing to cup the back of her head, hedging her lower, down to him. “I didn’t mean for this... I…”

She didn’t resist, but she should try. Maybe he actually didn’t know what he was doing, and less so what he was doing to her. “We shouldn’t,” Greta mumbled, eyes closing as their foreheads touched. Warm. She shuddered.

Or was that him?

She dared not move as silence fell again.

“Is that your wish?” Alucard asked, very slowly. His eyes were mere slits of gold, the fall of his hair a halo around him in the snow. “Or you think it mine?”

He felt so good beneath her, his other arm bound around her waist, holding her closer still. She felt the press of his fingers keenly even through her layers, and he smelled so good up close, he felt… oh God.

Oh God.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Greta shivered as his fingers stroked circles at her nape. Well, all cards were on the table, as it were. She rose a little to see him properly.

What she saw left her raw on the inside, burning on the outside. She plunged her hands into his hair, brought her face closer, impossibly closer to his. Their noses bumped together — his was cold, so cold, and Greta could only smile, swallowing once before tilting her head just so...

She gave in. Gave more, gave everything, all the loneliness and entire months’ worth of pent-up want, gasping when Alucard met her just as recklessly, and she couldn’t move, he wouldn’t let go, deepening everything she offered, hungrily, messily and with abandon.

His lips were hot and soft, his mouth so welcoming, then seeking hers, so tender she wanted to weep. Her last coherent thought before the world melted away was how well his body fit hers, like…

Like she belonged. Like home.

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keepsdeathhiscourt · 16 days ago

Note

Elena goes to NOLA and Elijah learns the truth about the Salvatores and their creepy obsession with her (for the ‘i wish you would write a fic where’ prompt) 👀

Bonus points for hurt/comfort and feral Elijah (because I know that you know that I know that you love both these tropes)

(hurt/comfort, feral elijah— who me? Lol jk. You got me. This is ballooning out of control so expect a full one shot in the near future but here's a little sneak peek 😉)

-----

Elijah doesn't believe in ghosts. A strange stance for a vampire with a millennia under his belt, stranger still for one who has dallied with witches and dispatched his fair share of werewolves.

He prides himself on being a reasonable man and as such, concedes to the possibility that there are phenomena that defy belief. Perhaps vestiges of the departed may linger, imprints of energy left behind after living things shuffle off this mortal coil. Harmless, unable to reason or to touch. Because if they could, there would be a line outside the door seeking retribution against him and his siblings.

No, Elijah doesn't believe in ghosts. Not the type that takes on a familiar face and calls him by his name.

Until he steps out onto the balcony and sees Elena Gilbert standing there in the center of the courtyard.

She has to be dead, and apparition sent to haunt him, to punish him for his cruelty and his hypocrisy because there’s no logical reason she should be here, arms crossed over her chest uncertaintly.

But he hears her heartbeat, catches the rise and fall of her chest, and knows she's real. Alive–at least in a sense.

She doesn't see him at first, lost in thought and worrying at her bottom lip. He seizes the chance to observe her, to focus his thoughts—scattered to the wind in his confusion.

Long-legged. Dark eyed. Coy and innocent all at once. Like the other women who have worn that face. Like the other women he'd once loved and destroyed.

Despite this connection, he recognizes her at once. Just as he had when they'd kissed in Pennsylvania—as he always does.

It surprises him, the way she can look so much like she had the day he'd left Mystic Falls and yet be so transformed at the same time. It goes beyond the curl to her hair, the bold cut of her clothes.

There's a stillness to her that wasn't there before. The lines of her silhouette are hard. Not like stone, but in the way of a bending reed seconds before it breaks.

He grips the railing, grounding himself. “Elena?”

His voice echoes off the stucco walls and he watches her jump, eyes feverish as they flit about the room and then land directly on him, going wide.

#wip #elejah #ive somehow never written them and I hope this doesnt awaken something in me 👀#thanks for sending this in friend

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