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You shouldn’t be here.

Hi Violettduchess!!!!!!!! Just saw your blog!!!! Wow you're amazing!!!! I really hope you're having a lovely day today!!!

I was wondering if your requests are still open?

If not then please ignore and I'm very sorry!

I was hoping to perhaps request a fanfic of Faust from ikevamp! I've always wanted to request something about him!!!

I saw prompt 20 of the touches ask game which is bandaging/stitching up a wound! And I'd really love to see Faust do that for the reader if that's ok!!!!

But if that's annoying or difficult to do at the moment I completely understand!

And mostly I just wanted to come say hi!!! And say that you're amazing!!!

Hugs!!!

A/N: Thank you for the request @mcofthemansion!! I love Faust but this was my first time writing him! What a treat. I know this prompt usually takes you into fluff territory but this one took a bit of a different direction. I hope you like it anyway! 💜

TW: stitches/ needles

Angst with a dash of spice

Word count: 1518

The last thing you remember is the world upending itself. One minute, you were practically being lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the carriage. Rain was falling as steadily as a heartbeat against the roof. You felt safe and sleepy, a babe in its mother’s womb. 

The next thing you knew the entire carriage exploded with light. The horses pulling the carriage screamed in terror. And you tumbled into blackness.

…

Consciousness returns, insistently tugging at the curtain of darkness in your mind, yanking at it until you feel your eyes flutter open.

“You’re awake.” An accented voice. The smell of disinfectant. Mechanical humming. You try to focus on where any of these things are coming from, but it feels like a train is roaring through your head, its blindingly white headlight filling your vision.

“Nee,” the voice chides sharply and you feel strong hands pressing you back. Apparently you had been lying down. “Do not attempt to sit up. You will only injure yourself further.”

Pain and frustration leave your lips in the form of a heavy groan. You keep your eyes closed for a moment, willing the roaring to subside, the train to stop rumbling, the world to stop wobbling. You feel a large hand reach behind your head, helping you lift yourself slightly. It’s strength gives you a sense of comfort, of stillness. A glass is pressed to your lips.

“Drink.” It is a command, authority deeply embedded in a voice so rich it soothes. You part your lips and do as it says. Cold water fills your mouth and you swallow gratefully. You reach up to take the glass, to drink more of it but it is cruelly moved away.

“No. Enough.”

You attempt opening your eyes again. This time it doesn’t send you reeling. Slowly your eyesight adjusts, the world coming into focus, like when corrective lenses restore the world to faulty eyes. Speaking of eyes…you find yourself staring into a pair as green and sharp as broken pieces of sea glass. A tremor runs through you and you aren’t sure if it's from the accident or that viridian gaze.

“What happened?” Your voice feels sticky in your throat and your head is still pulsing. The man is seated on a stool by your side as you lay on some kind of examination table.  One sweeping glance around the room tells you that you’re in some kind of laboratory. You turn back to him. “Are you a doctor?”

He regards you a moment, then stands without answering. You take in his dark clothing, watch the movement of his broad shoulders as he prepares something at a counter. When he turns, he holds a metal basin with a cutting needle and thread. He moves back to his stool by your side, setting the basin down on the small stand by the head of the examination table.

“You were in a carriage accident.” His voice is smooth like polished brass. “Lightning spooked the horses. Unfortunately they panicked and ran right off the road into a ditch. You’re lucky I found you.” His words are crisp and short, relaying information and nothing else.

The news is too much for your addled mind to take in all at once. “W-what?” You start to push yourself up, panic rising like bile in your throat. The room begins to sway and again, his strong hands catch you, steady you. 

“Lie still. You have a head wound. It is foolish to attempt moving until I have closed it.” His voice is authority laced with displeasure as he again forces you back down. You try to collect your thoughts as he threads his needle.

“What happened to the driver?” The doctor, or at least you assume he is one, leans down, his fingers brushing your hair away from the cut on your forehead. His touch is cool, distant, as if he willed all warmth and comfort out of his hand the moment it made contact with you. 

“Be still,” he snaps as he leans closer. His face is now close enough that you can see just how green his eyes are, forests fringed by guardians of dark lashes. The lines of his face are almost aristocratic, high cheekbones,  sharp chin. He smells faintly of rubbing alcohol and valerian root. You can’t help but wince as the needle begins its work. But his hands are steady and after a moment, the stinging ebbs. In less time than you thought, he is finished. He leans back, placing the needle in the metal basin before reaching down again to hold your hair back and examine his work. His hand on your skin feels cool. An odd sense of relief fills you as his hand lingers, sharp eyes reviewing his stitching.

“Sehr gut,” he mutters more to himself than you. 

“Doctor….?”

“Faust.” 

“Dr. Faust, how is the driver?”

He stands up, movements abrupt and brisk. “He was killed. His neck broken in the fall.”

You inhale sharply. You can still see the driver’s kind smile, his white beard and blue eyes, framed by deep wrinkles as he waited for you outside the concert hall. You had been at one of Mozart’s concerts and the evening had run late. Much to your chagrin, it was then made even later by your being roped into a conversation with a very drunk, very insistent red-headed baroness. The driver had assured Comte he would get you back to the mansion safely before the storm arrived. 

You lower your head, heavy with sorrow, at the idea that the compassionate man with eyes like summer had died alone, in the dark, so suddenly.

Fingers suddenly grasp your chin and force you to look upwards. The doctor is looking down at you, his expression puzzled.

“Why are you crying? Did you know this man?”

A tear slides down your cheek, over Faust’s fingers. He doesn’t move them. If anything they tighten their grasp on you.

“No…I didn’t know him well. But he was a person. And he didn’t deserve to die.”

Faust is watching you, those hemlock eyes of his probing, looking for a way in. Like he would love nothing more than to break you into pieces and examine each one.

“Everyone dies. It’s not a matter of merit.”

You blink, unable to stop the tears. He keeps a hold on your face, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to let him watch you cry. His fingers are now damp with your heartache.

“But to die like that….without family? In the dark? Poor man….he was doing me a favor, staying so late. I…I can’t help but feel responsible.”

If you expect empathy or comfort, you are in the wrong company. What you get instead is a loud scoff from his sculpted lips.

“People rarely die in comfort. And everyone dies alone.” His words are curt, but there is something in them, a heaviness born of personal experience, a weight that pulls on your heart.

“You must have a lot of experience with death.” His eyes flash, the blinding glare of a lighthouse spotlight rotating into your field of vision. His fingertips press into your jaw as if to stabilize himself. More words spill out of you, a haphazard attempt at course-correcting.  “I mean, with you being a doctor and everything.”

Faust runs his poison-ivy gaze over you and you burn as if touching the real thing. His hand is still holding your face when he leans down, his face now very close to yours. His fingers loosen their grip, become cloying and gentle as they trace over the line of your jaw. They skim the planes of your cheeks, still damp with grief, until they finally reach the corner of your eyes. His thumbs wipe away the tears on the verge of falling. One hand tilts, cupping your face, holding it in his palm. The other travels back down, thumb boldly running over the curve of your lips. Your breath is a wisp, small and light, fluttering inside your chest. You hold it inside, afraid if you move, he’ll stop. Afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t.

“You must taste divine,” he murmurs. 

At his words, you instinctively jerk away and the moment breaks like cobwebs in a strong wind. His hands leave your face and he steps back, his mask of indifference briskly back in place.

“Another carriage is waiting outside to return you home. The storm has passed and your injury is mended.” He walks away from you, back turned, busying himself in front of several vials and glass tubing.

You push yourself off the examination table, your emotions a swinging pendulum between never wanting to see him again and inexplicably wishing you could stay.

“Good night, Dr. Faust. And thank you.” When he doesn’t turn around or answer, you collect your things and make your way to the door. 

What you don’t see is the way he turns, his green-eyed gaze following you as you leave, then lingering on the closed door for a long, long time after you’re gone.

*

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelier-maroron @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks

NONETHELESS

Your dandelion lips, sun-kissed complexion beneath my own fingerprints— empty of illusion. Natural curls of roses, soft to morning light touch; purely proud simplicity makes you unique enough. I'm no damsel in distress. But whether or not that's true, I've been in genuine acquiescence short time after meeting you. The rare humble eloquence is surely to blame— aside from the sweetest way you always say my name. All my ivory walls, you sledgehammered through; letting light kill all my shadows, and they were nothing new. I've kept the fort standing in narratives I've foreseen— was sufficiently safe, but hollow in between. Why the shoe hasn't dropped yet, I don't understand. Hate to stand on a rug again, only to return to my plans. If you are an illusion, how can the gods be so cruel? Nonetheless, joke's on them, honey, 'cause I'll never regret you.

x vera florence —an old poem under a different name

I- …I’m just left speechless

everything about this was just so beautiful. it made me tear up a little bit too, to be completely honest

365 Days Of Sorrow

Story Starts After The Break: Anon Req:  Natasha x reader ‘a year ago we stayed up till 3am talking. And today I don’t know how to even say hey.’ I saw this quote and it broke my heart

This one was actually hard to come up with an idea for, but here you go anon. Might have tweaked it a bit, but overall its the same concept <3

Thank you for the req, I hope you enjoy! This will be a wild ride, so grab you comfort food.

Warnings: Mention of Torture

————————————–

The stars looked amazing. It was astounding how much joy a twinkling orb, so many light years away, could excite. “There’s another one” Natasha hummed. You turned your head to glance at her, she wore an expression full of contemplation and concentration. She had made it her current mission to find all the stars in the sky for you tonight. You let a warm smile creep on your face as you followed her finger, to see where she was pointing. “I see it” you breathe as you noticed the barely visible dull gleam in the sky. Natasha had offered the two of you take a trip to the roof of The Tower, after she sensed you couldn’t fall sleep. Now the two of you lay with your shoulders touching, the nest of blankets plush against your backs. “They’re so beautiful” you spoke softly, maybe for fear that they would disappear in the darkness of the sky. The city lights always drowned out the stars, making it hard to go stargazing, but tonight those balls of hydrogen and helium were shining bright. Not being able to sleep had its advantages on this occasion. You let out a happy sigh, turning onto your side so you could look at Natasha. She was a whole other type of star. You grinned “I found one.” You declared, your gaze locked on her, your eyes gleaming. Natasha furrowed her brow, turning to look at you. She let out a soft laugh, you knew she was blushing. “Baby. ” was all she said, gentle and with a shy undertone. 

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