#internally screaming and yelling | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 1 year

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Can you write a fanfiction/bullet points or whatever makes you comfortable of Comte comforting a crying female MC? Thank you for your time. 💙☔️

This one is a bit (a lot 🤡) late, but hopefully it still brings some belated comfort to a wounded heart. Take care!! 💜

For whatever reason anything I write for Ikevamp always becomes half found family trope hours, so please pardon the wayward premise--

Below a cut because it's long!

When I hadn't emerged from my room before noon, Sebastian knocked--three quick raps--against my door.

I sat up in bed, setting my book aside. I'd done the bare minimum by then, thankfully: washed my face, made my bed, dressed in a nightgown with an appropriate robe for company. It was about all I could manage before deflating into a lethargic heap.

“Meli?” Curious slate eyes searched for me.

“Present,” I raised my hand, grinning sheepishly.

“Are you all right?”

Did I look pale? My head was killing me. And it was nothing compared to the ache from the waist down.

“In a manner of speaking,” I grimaced, “I’m sorry I was MIA all morning, I’m really not feeling well.”

He marched out and returned with a First Aid kit, and I gestured with flustered hands to stop him. “Whoa whoa, not quite like that. You don’t need to bring that weapon in here.”

One sharp eyebrow arched, side eyeing me dubiously. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“Phrasing,” I scrunched my features, before sighing. “It’s uh…a particularly female problem, if you catch my drift.”

He looked like he was about to say something smart again, until understanding dawned on his face. “Oh.”

“Yeah…I’ll keep the gruesome details to myself. Could I trouble you for some soup, though? I don't think I can keep much else down.”

He smiled, closing the First Aid kit with a crisp flip of the latch. “You’ll owe me one.”

“You can lord it over me as much as you want when I don’t feel like I’m about to snap in two.”

He frowned, skeptical again. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Oh don’t worry, every so often this stupid thing clocks me out mercilessly. It never lasts, it just sucks for the first few days.” I waved him away.

He nodded then, and I hoped the passé inflection would be enough to ease his mind.

What I didn’t expect was the entire rest of the afternoon.

“Meli?” A muffled voice came from the other side of my door about an hour later.

Was that? “Vincent?”

“May I come in?”

“Of course,” I laughed a little at how cautious he sounded, as if Vincent could be a bother to anyone.

White blonde hair poked past the threshold, wide eyes taking me in. I laughed again, unable to help myself. “Don’t worry, I promise I’m not contagious.”

His smile waned, but he stepped inside and approached the foot of the bed. “That’s not what I’m worried about. How are you feeling?”

I couldn’t help the way my features softened. There were so few people I had ever met with such a pure heart, but sometimes it worried me. He should look after himself more. “Just fine,” I smiled easily, patting the bed to let him know he could sit if he wanted. “Is something on your mind?”

A little color found his cheeks and he shook his head, “Mm-mm, I’m glad to see you’re doing okay. I’m heading out to town today with Theo to explore some prospective venues for art displays. Would you like us to bring anything back for you?”

I was…frankly a little shocked that he thought of me. “Sure,” I grinned, “An invitation, when you’ve finalized the time and place.”

He gazed at me intently, before resolve made that baby face solidify with determination. “I promise.” He nodded once, firm.

“Even when you’re sick, you’re the only person in this house who knows how to appreciate real talent.” Theo swaggered in as if we’d conjured him by the mere mention of the display. “This is all it takes to keep you down and out, hondje?”

“Remind me to sucker punch you when I’m better.”

“I’m busy enlightening the world about the greatest artist who ever lived, remember it yourself.”

“Dat is genoeg, Theo,” Vincent glanced at him, and it made Theo sulk and look away.

I giggled, unable to help it. “Don’t worry, Vincent, I’m happy you both stopped by. Don’t let me keep you from your errands today.”

Vincent seemed to hesitate, and it was at that moment when Dazai walked right through the open door with an apologetic Napoleon behind him.

“I tried to stop him, but he was surprisingly adamant about bringing it over himself. Sebastian gave him an earful,” Napoleon snickered, “How are you holding up, noyer?”

“Like I’m going to throw up all over him,” I couldn’t help myself as they all looked at me with wide eyes, but the exaggeration didn’t fool Dazai. He continued on, unperturbed as always when he was marching to his own drum.

Everybody chuckled when they realized I was just trying to deter his enthusiasm.

“Open wide, Toshiko-chan,” Dazai crooned, trying to guide a spoonful of soup to my lips. “Say ahh--”

Theo had him in a headlock in the next few seconds, scowling fiercely. “Give it a rest, dwaas, she’s not an invalid.”

Theo hoisted him away and waved, and Dazai surprisingly left without a fuss as Vincent scolded his brother for resorting to physicalities.

“He wasn’t the only one worried, you know,” Napoleon remarked, voice much quieter than usual--and I sensed it was because he was revealing some poorly guarded secrets.

“Ah, I’d visit them both if I could, but I’m afraid I’m a bit compromised at the minute.”

Napoleon seemed shocked to hear this bit of news, alarm clear as he approached me and looked for the signs of harm. I suppose Sebastian didn’t go into the gory details, for once. “What…?”

I smiled broadly, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right as rain soon--enough to spar with you without a problem.”

The confidence in my expression seemed to put him at ease somewhat, retreating back an appropriate distance. “Shall I extend the good tidings, then?”

“Of course, and tell Jeanne I expect to see entries in his diary regardless of whether or not I can teach him right now.”

Napoleon shook his head, and when I shot him a curious look he just shrugged, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Worry about yourself for the moment, noyer.”

I nodded solemnly, mock saluting, “Yes, monsieur, your will be done.”

“Well it’s good to see you have enough energy to joke, at least,” He crossed his arms, gesturing with his chin to the soup that was now at a proper temperature to consume. “Now eat before it gets cold.”

“The general,” I moaned with exaggerated woe as I reached for the bowl, “He’s relentless these days. Do you have any idea the last time I got to--”

“It’s a shame Shakespeare doesn’t have you perform for his little shows,” Napoleon was equal parts amused and exasperated as he moved to the door, “I never thought I’d meet somebody with more latent drama in their heart.”

“You really mean it?” I blinked rapidly and made doe eyes at him, and he rolled his in return.

“Get some rest, nunuche.”

When the door finally shut again I closed my eyes, willing the dull throb in my head to ease off. I tried to focus on the soup, hoping it would help me relax. It was only then that I noticed Sebastian had served it with a cold glass of oolong, and I sighed, suddenly grateful for his powers of observation. Hopefully it would help keep the food down--I didn’t want to throw up for real.

I took my time, eating slowly to thwart the nausea and stared at the ceiling. I wasn’t really expecting everyone to trickle in like that, but it was…a nice change. Back home, nobody ever knew I was sick because I didn’t tell them. I needed to work; there had been no time for rest and no safe haven to heal. I considered that for a moment, that for once I didn’t feel I had to push myself to my limits to deserve some respite.

The empty bowl stared back at me as I finished the last spoonful, the gold flowers inlaid in the china a reminder; it seemed I had yet more to thank him for.

I was braiding my hair absently--marveling that it was long enough for that now--when a single knock sounded, more wooden even than the door.

I found myself grinning before I could help it, “Come on in, Jeanne.” Wiry and lean, he marched inside and crossed over to my bedside, Mozart on his heels--though he looked cautious. I smiled wryly, “And welcome, Mozart. Don’t worry, I won’t get you sick--I promise.”

“As if anybody cares about that,” he sniffed, though I could see his shoulders visibly lower and I withheld laughter.

Jeanne got up close, examining me with eyes that missed nothing. “You look pale, mademoiselle.”

“At ease, soldat. It’s an old fight, I’ll be just fine.”

I was glad for the bravado, since it felt like my uterus was ready to pop right out of my abdomen, my entire lower half swollen.

“I still expect you to study while I’m recuperating,” I tapped his nose with the tip of my finger, and he leaned back as if he only just noticed how close he was.

Mozart sighed, “See? I told you she’d be fine. She even has enough energy to play school mistress.”

“I could play it with you too, Mozart.” I raised my brows, glancing at him.

He threw me a disgusted look, “Don’t be ridiculous. Only you two would do something so outlandish.”

Jeanne looked unable to follow, “But Arthur said that a woman who teaches you your letters is your mistress.”

Mozart and I grimaced, in agreement here.

“Don’t listen to Arthur.”

“Forget everything he says, in one ear out the other.”

“But…”

“Don’t forget about the shop, Jeanne, we were just stopping by.”

Jeanne’s violet eye widened, “Ah, that’s right. Be strong, mademoiselle.”

“You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.”

Mozart smirked, “Don’t we know it.”

“I’m perfectly well enough to get feathers in your hair, you silly little composer.” I lifted the pillow beside me and mimed chucking it at him.

I was stunned to see Mozart stick his pink tongue out at me, smiling as he followed Jeanne out the door.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to say, Mozart.” I could hear Jeanne’s muffled disapproval.

“She knows better than to believe something like that anyway.”

Warmth overflowed in my heart, and when I glanced over at my bedside table I was shocked to see that it was nearly evening; I likely had all the visits to thank for time passing so quickly.

“You still alive in here, cara mia?” The giant Italian entered without preamble, a stark and frankly hilarious contrast to the nervous Isaac behind him.

“For you? No.”

“You always knew how to break a man’s heart.” I closed my eyes as the smell of cigarillos reached me, the rich and smoky scent oddly comforting. If it wasn’t for the fact that it would be misconstrued, I resisted the urge to ask for a hug. He could make for a decent heat pad at his size. He sat mere inches from me unceremoniously--Leonardo was never one for personal space--leaning in and evaluating me with those amber eyes. The color always made me squirm a little, conjuring their parallel image in the house every time.

“We thought we’d bring you some cake,” it was only then that I noticed Isaac was carrying a tray, chocolate cheesecake drizzled with raspberry and coated in dark chocolate adornments. “We can’t take all the credit though, Vincent and Theo brought some for everyone.”

Trust Vincent to insist on a gesture like this. So that's what his determination had been about, finding a way to offer me something without fanfare. And, well, it was no secret I loved chocolate.

I kept my eyes on my lap, willing the slight film over my vision to dry and disappear. I knew Leonardo would never let me live it down if he noticed. That's probably why he came with Isaac in the first place.

I cleared my throat a little, "Thanks for bringing it all the way here, Isaac."

Isaac fiddled with his hair, tugging on the strands shyly. "D-don't worry about it. It's the least we could do, considering all you've done for us."

I accepted the tray and settled it in my lap, taking up the fork. "I can't eat it while you stare at me, Leo."

"Oh well."

"Correction, I won't eat it if you keep staring at me."

"I'm just enjoying the rare sight. House feels strange without you stomping and bustling around. The floorboards must be awfully lonely."

"You make me sound like an elephant."

"Well--"

"All right, come here so I can cough all over you--"

"But Sebastian already told us it wasn't contagious..." Isaac interjected.

"He lied," and I was about to continue when Isaac sighed.

It suddenly occurred to me that Sebastian probably sent Isaac along to make sure we didn't argue for the rest of the night.

"You two never change," his smile was conflicted, but fond.

"Ah, sorry," I leaned back, trying to relax.

"Bickering is healthy where we come from," Leonardo guffawed.

"Oh dear, an oncoming sneeze--" I mimed reaching over to sully his sleeve.

They both lingered a little as I finished my slice, making small talk until they seemed to silently agree to let me rest and take back both trays to the kitchen. I figured I'd be turning in for the night shortly after when I heard rapid footsteps crossing the hall about an hour later. It was nearly nine o'clock, who…?

"Meli?"

I knew that baritone anywhere, though there was an atypical urgency to his murmur.

"Come in, Comte."

There was a gust of air as the door twisted open, gold eyes zeroing in on the source of my voice. When they landed on me there was alarm clear in every line of his body, and he seemed to take a deep breath. He smiled, but something about it was wan--it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Bad day?" I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him so wrung out as he made his way over to me.

He averted his gaze to my bedside table, "Something like that." He shook his head before reaching a hand up to my forehead.

I bit the inside of my lip to keep from leaning in, the heady scent of him distracting. All of a sudden I felt like a little kid with my favorite stuffed animal again; I just wanted to curl up against him and close my eyes.

I laughed awkwardly, "Did, um, Sebastian not tell you?"

He seemed genuinely confused. "Tell me?"

"It's ah, not exactly an 'illness', per say…"

"Then what…?"

I glanced at my lap, then looked away.

"Oh. Oh, I see," he hefted the chair against the wall and placed it next to the bed, unhooking his tie and rubbing a thumb under his jaw. "Well that's a relief."

"That makes one of us," I grinned, unable to help myself.

I wondered if I looked as sparkly as I felt when he finally managed a small smile.

"Did you just get home?"

"I'm afraid so, I was a bit buried in meetings and errands today."

Not surprising, he had been rather busy of late. "And you raced over here? Don't be silly, you should go to your own room and rest. I've been well tended to, I promise."

There was something akin to a dry smirk on his face, and it was puzzling enough to give me pause. What did that look mean?

"Everyone’s so demoralized it nearly frightened a century of life out of me," he admitted and laughed in earnest, taking one of my hands in his own gently. Color stained my cheeks, and I cursed how it gave me away. “I had to come see for myself.”

"Drama queens," I muttered, mortified. I willed my palms not to sweat and embarrass me even further.

"It just goes to show how much they care about you," Comte offered me a pearly grin, and I couldn't manage to meet his eyes. So much for the headache going away, I could practically hear a pulse in my head just trying to make eye contact with him. "The house doesn't feel quite right without you."

Throughout the day I'd been wracking my brain to figure out what their little visits reminded me of, and in that split second it hit me like a train. Oh my god…they were like a bunch of children worried about their sick mother. Bringing trinkets and food, looking for any opportunity to help. Even Vincent perfectly fit the role of the oldest independent son, all insistence on being the adult for the day.

I squeezed his fingers just enough to convey my meaning. "They're very sweet," I bit my tongue against the rest. Wonder where they could have gotten that from. “But really, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Comte was unmoved. Did I really look that bad? His eyes sought out mine, gazing for a long moment. Instinctively I knew he was looking for something there, and if I looked away it would only make him more anxious--but it also made me so self-conscious.

“What can I do?”

His quiet voice, imploring all of a sudden, startled me. “Huh?”

“Everybody seems to have beaten me to the punch today,” there was a rueful touch to his smile that I didn’t quite understand. Almost…bitter? “Anything that would make you feel better, it’s yours.”

“You don’t have to--” I hedged, embarrassed.

“I insist.” He was smiling, but I knew that tone. There was no brooking argument when he got like this.

“Can I have a moment to think? Nothing really comes to mind immediately.”

This seemed to pacify him, and he leaned back to grab his long coat, folding it over and placing it on my lap over the blankets. I smoothed the fabric over with my hands, thumbing the collar absently. What was it about everything he did that conveyed so much warmth? Like my very heart was being enfolded in care and affection. I stared at it as he poked around the book on my bedside table, content to be awash in his colors. Despite feeling terrible and exhausted beyond belief, something inside me started to unravel and relax.

When I noticed him out of my peripheral vision, I suddenly knew what I wanted to ask.

My fingers curled around the bed spread, not wanting to wrinkle his nice coat. “I think I know what I want to ask now.”

“Oh?” he looked over, setting the book aside. He gave me his full attention, and I hoped he would attribute the blush that crept into my face from the scrutiny to illness. “Let’s hear it.”

“Would you read to me? Just for a little while. And only if you want to.” The words came out haltingly, and I already regretted that I’d spoken them aloud. Christ I felt so childish, surely he would think I was ridiculous.

There was a moment of silence, as I contemplated crawling into a hole to waste away in peace. This is exactly why periods were evil. They made me reveal things that I wouldn’t have said at gunpoint.

“...What would you like me to read?”

He was serious, expression inquisitive. I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

I hugged the pillow next to me for courage, refusing to meet his eyes. “...Would it be too childish to ask for a fairy tale?”

“Any particular one in mind?”

“...Rapunzel, if we have it.”

He nodded, “Rapunzel it is. I’ll be back shortly.”

When he was out the door on the hunt for a book of fairy tales, I shoved my face in the pillow and groaned. Well, so much for living that one down. I’d be the gossip of the mansion for the next five years let alone weeks.

I fidgeted and tried to read what I already had with me, but the pages might as well have been in another language for all that I managed to retain. I’d been interested in learning about recovered knowledge and expertise that had been lost to the ages, scouring old texts for tidbits of information and wisdom. The notepad on my bedside attested to all the curiosities I’d gathered up to that point, but the thought that I was troubling Comte was enough to leave me unable to work anything out.

Mercifully, he had returned as promised without much delay, a book on fairy tales in tow as he closed the door gingerly. When I spied the name Grimm on the spine, I laughed a little. “Good to know it’ll be a version I recognize.”

He indulged me. “I’m just glad it wasn’t buried somewhere in that mess Leonardo calls a room.”

I snickered at the jab as he removed the jacket of his suit, leaving him in his waistcoat and dress shirt. I pretended I hadn’t noticed, waiting patiently for him to start. I forgot that Sebastian had left a pitcher of water behind after he shooed Leonardo and Isaac out of the room, and I gestured to the desk across from him.

“Seb left me some water, but please help yourself.”

He poured a glass before settling in earnest, rolling his shoulders. I glanced here and there to gauge his disposition, a little perplexed. He didn’t look like he was waiting for the moment he could slip away, he looked prepared to spend the better part of the night. Surely he wouldn’t, he had more important things to attend to than me and he’d barely gotten any rest.

“Ready?” He looked to me, waiting.

I sat up straighter, “Go for it,” I prompted.

Though we started there, he ended up reading several since they were pretty short--expectation in his eyes when he looked up from the book to flip to the next one. I got caught up in his momentum all too easily, his even voice more soothing than I cared to admit. Or maybe it was the fact that I could tell he didn’t begrudge me this, or seemed to think it was silly. I was lulled and warm and comforted, which was more than I could say in nearly three decades of life. I tried to remember every little detail of the moment; the soft light of the lamps, the warmth of his coat, the gentle scent of him, the balm of his voice. Something to keep close to my heart when I’d be forced to leave his side someday and return to my own time like the stranger I was.

Tears burned in my eyes, baffling me. I swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath as surreptitiously as possible. I didn’t want to ruin this balance between us, this closely guarded secret of mine wasn’t worth making him dread coming home every day.

When we’d gone through all the ones I liked, he closed the book and set it on the bedside table. He was pensive, rubbing his palms together absently. I knew that look, so I spoke first.

“You can ask whatever it is you’re wondering,” I laughed, “I don’t mind.”

He seemed a little surprised that I’d noticed, before leaning back in his chair. “I guess I was wondering why you chose fairy tales, of all things. I did say anything you wanted.”

I covered my face with my hands, “Yeah, I know it was childish. Sorry.”

Patient hands drew mine away from my face, “That’s not what I meant.”

I shot him a dour look. "Jewelry is expensive. So are dresses."

"That's not what I meant either. Although that's an idea…"

I ignored his expectant look. “Oh,” I blinked, “Then what did you mean?"

“Why fairy tales?” His head tilted just so, trying to find answers in my impassive face as he gestured to the book on my bedside table.

“Well,” My eyes darted away, nervous. “It’s not really a short answer, and you’ve probably heard it before. I don’t want to bore you.”

“Would you tell me, all the same?”

Usually he’d be the type to change the subject and take the discordant note in stride, content to play smooth conversationalist. I wondered briefly what brought this on, but I didn’t have much time since he was looking for an answer. I tried to gather my thoughts.

“Fairy tales are the written--and in many cases--oral manifestations of human feeling and imagination.” I sat up a little, “They were told by the fireside, in sewing circles, to children who asked too many questions, whether appropriate or inopportune.” I gazed at the back of my hands, the faded burn that marred my left one. There was more grief in my smile than I would have liked, but I was too tired to entirely disguise what I was feeling. “Happy endings are afforded in situations where they seem unlikely and impossible. Justice exists and culls the selfishness of others. In some ways, they are time capsules of hope; buried, only to be found again by the weary in similar situations of entrapment or despair.”

“Sometimes they feel like a hand reached out across the ages, promising that we aren’t alone, not really. I guess it’s a nice feeling, to know that I’m not the only one who likes to dream.”

It was only when I realized that the outline of his coat in my lap was indistinguishable, voice wobbly, that I scrubbed at my eyes with my sleeve. Stupid, I always spoke too much around him. He was quiet and still for a long time.

“But then, I have a bad habit of wanting things to make sense more than I probably should.” I shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. “They’re just stories, at the end of the day. Just a way to keep the mind occupied.”

He took the book back into his hands, gazing at it with different eyes. “I think that’s a beautiful way to think about it,” His fingers traced the embellished cover, still shining nearly a hundred years since it was published. "And very like you.”

“W-well, it’s just one way to think about it. Most people would probably say it’s a stretch.”

“I don’t think it is.” Even though I couldn’t meet his gaze, somehow I could tell his eyes were tender as they lingered on me. I was just relieved for the lack of disgust.

After that he stood up, gathering his suit jacket over his arm. “I suppose it’s time we allowed you to get some proper rest,” he leaned over to brush a kiss against my forehead. “I’ll make sure everyone keeps out until you’re feeling well, other than Sebastian. They don’t seem to be able to help themselves.”

I was entirely distracted by that split second of warmth against my forehead, lamenting how quickly it faded. Joy bubbled up in an endless cascade, and I tried to conceal how sated and giddy I felt on the inside. He was halfway across the room before I could manage to speak again.

“I was pretty surprised, I was so sure the sound of plague would send Mozart running for the hills.”

“I can think of very little that would keep us away, plague or not.” He chuckled, and shook his head as he reached for the door handle. “Rest well, Meli.”

“Good night, Comte.”

I was so lovestruck I didn’t notice he’d left his long coat behind, with me. I brushed my teeth and turned out the lights, pretending to get ready for bed--but really, I wanted enough time to pass to know for certain that he wasn’t coming back for it. Content to know it was mine for the night, I hugged the folded parcel close to my chest, sighing. If being by his side was out of my reach, then it was enough to know he cared.