your voice still echoes in my mind (and I can't drown it out)
Title: your voice still echoes in my mind (and I can’t drown it out)
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Characters/Pairings: Caroline/Klaus, past Caroline/Damon
Disclaimers: I own nothing.
Warnings: Dark!Klaroline, compulsion, and spoilers for 3x15
Words: 2061
Summary: Sometimes she looks at him and all she sees is ice blue eyes staring back at her.
Author’s Note: Written for the Klaroline ficathon . It was written spanning several nights, mostly late at night, so hopefully it makes sense if you’re not in my head.
Sometimes she looks into his eyes and she sees Damon staring back.
“Are you going to kill me?”
(Mmhmm…but not yet.)
“Do you really think that low of me?”
His answer isn’t no.
She looks at the bracelet that Klaus gave her and she sees the scarves, expensive and designer brand, that Damon used to tie into bows himself. They came in shiny boxes too.
She sees a symbol of possession, a reminder of who she belongs to, of who she owes her life.
Klaus tells her sweet things, calls her beautiful and full of light.
Damon used to say nice things too. He called her pretty and pressed soft kisses on her skin. He told her things she wanted to hear.
They were all lies. And none of them meant he cared about her. None of them meant that he wouldn’t someday kill her.
They were just words.
She dresses meticulously, standing in front of the mirror for far too long after she gets Damon’s phone call. She wears blue remembering the dress Klaus picked out for her. She wears blue remembering standing in front of the same mirror, Damon lying on the bed behind her.
She stares her reflection down, remembering the girl that Damon first met, full of false bravado and a confidence she never really had. She remembers flirty smiles and promises of making everything worth his while. She remembers hating that girl. Remembers that girl never getting what she wanted. Remembers how lonely she was. She remembers that not much has changed.
She wears yellow underwear that no one else will see, but she knows and that is what matters.
She knows and that matters.
She spends an hour in the shower after everything is done, scrubbing the gel out of her hair, scrubbing off the perfume she had worn just for him. Trying to erase what she had done, erase their conversation, to erase him.
(I’m too smart to be seduced by you.)
The thing was, she knew she wasn’t.
Klaus finds her when she wanders off into the woods alone, unable to stay cooped up with Bonnie and her mother any longer, the situation far too familiar, far too different, far too confusing for everyone involved.
“Ahh Caroline. Pretty, pretty Caroline, what are we going to do with you?”
(Unfortunately, I am so over you now.)
He runs his hand down her face, and she flinches away from him, closing her eyes. She should be brave, should be strong, but she can’t bring herself to face death straight on.
He grabs her arm roughly with one hand, fingers digging into her skin, and pulls her hair harshly with the other, forcing her eyes open in surprise. He smirks back at her.
“The next time you find out about a plot to kill me or my family, you will find me and tell me.”
“I’ll tell you.” She repeats mechanically.
“You will not tell anyone that you saw me, anything about this conversation, or what you plan to do. You will do nothing but allow the guilt to eat away at you.”
She nods, a tear escaping before she can blink it away.
“That’s my girl.”
She thinks about killing herself. She thinks it’s what Elena would do, what Bonnie would do, what Stefan would have done before Klaus arrived in town and everything got so screwed up. She is a danger to her friends, to the town. She is on Klaus’ side now, unwilling or not, and she is a threat.
But she had never been as strong as Bonnie. Had never been as selfless as Elena. And she had never been noble like Stefan.
(I don’t want to die.)
She goes to him at the first hint of a plan. Hates him for it but she hates herself more, because she knows this is all her fault. That if it was anyone else, they would have found a way to stop this from happening, would never have allowed themselves to be in this position.
“Oh don’t look so glum, Caroline. You’ve done splendidly. I can even offer you a reward if that’s what you’d like.”
“I just want to go home.”
Suddenly he is in front of her again and she is up against the wall, her body far too close to his own.
“I can make you forget if you’d like. Forget that you hate me, forget that I am the enemy and they are your friends.”
She shakes her head vehemently, whispers ‘please don’t’ over and over again.
“Perhaps another day then, I rather like the idea of seeing what would happen if you didn’t hate me.”
She goes to the group meeting like she is supposed to, sits in the chair next to Elena, nodding and talking when she is expected to. She puts on a smile and ignores the guilt turning in her stomach as best as possible.
She notices Damon watching her throughout the meeting, looking at her intensely as though he is trying to figure something out. Stefan watches her too, though he is more subtle about it, and she sees the brothers share more than one look.
She does her best not to squirm, but worry starts to overtake the guilt.
(There’s something I need you to do for me.)
He likes to draw her still. She doesn’t understand why, she knows she must have lost her appeal the moment she became a liability to him, the moment Alaric drove a dagger through his brother’s heart.
But still, he requests for her to sit for him, to let him draw her, and she’s not stupid enough to think it’s actually a request.
She doesn’t do well under his scrutiny, she fidgets and worries and waits, wishes he could just take a picture and get it over with. Sometimes she thinks that’s why he does it, because he knows what it does to her. That it’s some twisted kind of torture disguised as art.
But when she looks at the drawings, sees the subtle details and careful lines, she almost hopes that it’s something more than that.
“You smell like him.”
Damon’s hands are around her throat and she can’t breathe. Some part of her knows she doesn’t have to, that it won’t and can’t kill her, but it’s Damon and that’s enough to send her into a panic, clawing at his hands.
She remembers what it was like when she was still human, the ease in which he had hurt her, no regret in his eyes, no sympathy. Looking into his eyes now she could find nothing but hate.
She sends a fearful look over his shoulder at Elena, who is standing there looking worried and confused, with tears in her eyes. But she isn’t taking a step forward, isn’t stopping him, and neither is Stefan.
“You smell like him.” Damon repeats like that explains everything. And it does. She knows exactly what they are thinking.
“I…”
She can’t explain. He won’t let her. He’s not even there, but he won’t let her and she can’t say anything, can’t do anything but cry.
(No, you are the only stupid thing here. And shallow. And useless.)
She shows up on his doorstep with tear stained cheeks and bloodstained clothes. Elena wouldn’t let him kill her, but that didn’t mean Damon let her go unscathed. He has never been the forgiving type.
She has nowhere else to go.
“My offer still stands you know, I can take it all away. All you have to do is ask.”
He drags her to the Grille, his hand clamped around her wrist and a smile on his face. She can see the Salvatores out of the corner of her eye, Alaric and Elena across from them, but she doesn’t meet their eyes. Instead she makes it her mission to look anywhere but at them.
It doesn’t take long for Klaus to catch on.
He takes her glass out of her hand and moves closer to her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “How about we put on a show?”
Her eyes dart over to their table, underneath the window and second to the right, before quickly darting away.
“Dance with me.”
“Klaus I’m here, I’m not fighting you, please don’t make me-”
“Dance with me.”
“Of course.”
He smiles down at her.
(Much better.)
She scrubs at her hands, purposefully ignoring her reflection, trying to get rid of the feeling of his hands on her. Warm hands that wandered too freely as he smirked over her shoulder at her friends. Warm hands that should have been harsh against her skin, but weren’t.
Soap and water doesn’t make the feeling disappear.
The door opens behind her and Caroline closes her eyes, knows it’s someone she doesn’t want to see.
“You know he’s going to get tired of you eventually, right? Bored. And you’re going to end up dead.”
Her eyes met blue ones in the mirror.
“I know.”
He had been the one to teach her that.
He kisses her, unexpectedly and for no reason she can understand, and for minute she lets him. Because in between the compulsion and the threats, he still whispers sweet things, still calls her beautiful. Because she’s already been condemned for the crime, so she doesn't know why she shouldn’t commit it.
(You liked it.)
She tears herself away from him, stumbles back, and turns away. She doesn’t want to look at him, is scared that if she does, she’ll end up kissing him again. Is scared that he won’t give her a choice.
“I don’t understand why you fight it, love. I’m all you have left.”
He isn’t wrong.
“They may not want you anymore, but I do.”
She wakes up to the same blue box on her bedside table in the room that he has designated hers. She remembers the story he told her, about a princess that was beautiful but not as beautiful as her. Remembers her thoughts the first time she had saw it, remembers comparing it to silk scarves.
She doesn’t think twice about slipping the bracelet on.
She has no reason not to wear it anymore.
She’s following Klaus out of his car and into the mansion when she feels eyes on her. She stops and turns around, searching for who it is. She expects a Salvatore, maybe even Bonnie come to see if what they had told her was true, instead her eyes connect with yellow ones, familiar even in this different form.
She wonders if Klaus realizes he’s so close, thinks it’s impossible that he does not, because he is Klaus and he knows everything. She wonders what is running through his mind right now, if he’s talked with Elena, if he hates her too.
She thinks that he should. She hates herself.
Klaus tugs at her arm, gesturing for her to follow him. Tyler turns and walks away, like Elena had, like her mother had, like she is sure Bonnie will if she ever sees her again.
She thinks she’s gotten her answer.
She remembers what it was like with Damon. She remembers knowing that he was going to kill her, that it was inevitable, and she remembers being okay with that. She remembers how easy it was with him to ignore the voice in the back of her head screaming that something was wrong, how easily he made her forget. How easy it was to get wrapped up in sweet kisses and false promises. How even with his hands wrapped tightly around her wrists and his teeth buried in her skin, she wasn’t afraid.
(You remember what I want you to remember.)
Sometimes she wishes she had that back.
She crashes her lips against his, harsh and unyielding, her teeth clacking against his.
“Make me forget” she whispers.
He pulls away from her and smiles. It doesn’t matter to him how he won her, or it doesn’t matter enough anyways, all that counts is that he won.
Sometimes she looks at him and all she sees is ice blue eyes staring back at her. Mocking her, haunting her. She doesn’t understand but she knows better than to ask questions.
(Don’t talk, please.)
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Characters/Pairings: Caroline/Klaus, past Caroline/Damon
Disclaimers: I own nothing.
Warnings: Dark!Klaroline, compulsion, and spoilers for 3x15
Words: 2061
Summary: Sometimes she looks at him and all she sees is ice blue eyes staring back at her.
Author’s Note: Written for the Klaroline ficathon . It was written spanning several nights, mostly late at night, so hopefully it makes sense if you’re not in my head.
Sometimes she looks into his eyes and she sees Damon staring back.
“Are you going to kill me?”
(Mmhmm…but not yet.)
“Do you really think that low of me?”
His answer isn’t no.
She looks at the bracelet that Klaus gave her and she sees the scarves, expensive and designer brand, that Damon used to tie into bows himself. They came in shiny boxes too.
She sees a symbol of possession, a reminder of who she belongs to, of who she owes her life.
Klaus tells her sweet things, calls her beautiful and full of light.
Damon used to say nice things too. He called her pretty and pressed soft kisses on her skin. He told her things she wanted to hear.
They were all lies. And none of them meant he cared about her. None of them meant that he wouldn’t someday kill her.
They were just words.
She dresses meticulously, standing in front of the mirror for far too long after she gets Damon’s phone call. She wears blue remembering the dress Klaus picked out for her. She wears blue remembering standing in front of the same mirror, Damon lying on the bed behind her.
She stares her reflection down, remembering the girl that Damon first met, full of false bravado and a confidence she never really had. She remembers flirty smiles and promises of making everything worth his while. She remembers hating that girl. Remembers that girl never getting what she wanted. Remembers how lonely she was. She remembers that not much has changed.
She wears yellow underwear that no one else will see, but she knows and that is what matters.
She knows and that matters.
She spends an hour in the shower after everything is done, scrubbing the gel out of her hair, scrubbing off the perfume she had worn just for him. Trying to erase what she had done, erase their conversation, to erase him.
(I’m too smart to be seduced by you.)
The thing was, she knew she wasn’t.
Klaus finds her when she wanders off into the woods alone, unable to stay cooped up with Bonnie and her mother any longer, the situation far too familiar, far too different, far too confusing for everyone involved.
“Ahh Caroline. Pretty, pretty Caroline, what are we going to do with you?”
(Unfortunately, I am so over you now.)
He runs his hand down her face, and she flinches away from him, closing her eyes. She should be brave, should be strong, but she can’t bring herself to face death straight on.
He grabs her arm roughly with one hand, fingers digging into her skin, and pulls her hair harshly with the other, forcing her eyes open in surprise. He smirks back at her.
“The next time you find out about a plot to kill me or my family, you will find me and tell me.”
“I’ll tell you.” She repeats mechanically.
“You will not tell anyone that you saw me, anything about this conversation, or what you plan to do. You will do nothing but allow the guilt to eat away at you.”
She nods, a tear escaping before she can blink it away.
“That’s my girl.”
She thinks about killing herself. She thinks it’s what Elena would do, what Bonnie would do, what Stefan would have done before Klaus arrived in town and everything got so screwed up. She is a danger to her friends, to the town. She is on Klaus’ side now, unwilling or not, and she is a threat.
But she had never been as strong as Bonnie. Had never been as selfless as Elena. And she had never been noble like Stefan.
(I don’t want to die.)
She goes to him at the first hint of a plan. Hates him for it but she hates herself more, because she knows this is all her fault. That if it was anyone else, they would have found a way to stop this from happening, would never have allowed themselves to be in this position.
“Oh don’t look so glum, Caroline. You’ve done splendidly. I can even offer you a reward if that’s what you’d like.”
“I just want to go home.”
Suddenly he is in front of her again and she is up against the wall, her body far too close to his own.
“I can make you forget if you’d like. Forget that you hate me, forget that I am the enemy and they are your friends.”
She shakes her head vehemently, whispers ‘please don’t’ over and over again.
“Perhaps another day then, I rather like the idea of seeing what would happen if you didn’t hate me.”
She goes to the group meeting like she is supposed to, sits in the chair next to Elena, nodding and talking when she is expected to. She puts on a smile and ignores the guilt turning in her stomach as best as possible.
She notices Damon watching her throughout the meeting, looking at her intensely as though he is trying to figure something out. Stefan watches her too, though he is more subtle about it, and she sees the brothers share more than one look.
She does her best not to squirm, but worry starts to overtake the guilt.
(There’s something I need you to do for me.)
He likes to draw her still. She doesn’t understand why, she knows she must have lost her appeal the moment she became a liability to him, the moment Alaric drove a dagger through his brother’s heart.
But still, he requests for her to sit for him, to let him draw her, and she’s not stupid enough to think it’s actually a request.
She doesn’t do well under his scrutiny, she fidgets and worries and waits, wishes he could just take a picture and get it over with. Sometimes she thinks that’s why he does it, because he knows what it does to her. That it’s some twisted kind of torture disguised as art.
But when she looks at the drawings, sees the subtle details and careful lines, she almost hopes that it’s something more than that.
“You smell like him.”
Damon’s hands are around her throat and she can’t breathe. Some part of her knows she doesn’t have to, that it won’t and can’t kill her, but it’s Damon and that’s enough to send her into a panic, clawing at his hands.
She remembers what it was like when she was still human, the ease in which he had hurt her, no regret in his eyes, no sympathy. Looking into his eyes now she could find nothing but hate.
She sends a fearful look over his shoulder at Elena, who is standing there looking worried and confused, with tears in her eyes. But she isn’t taking a step forward, isn’t stopping him, and neither is Stefan.
“You smell like him.” Damon repeats like that explains everything. And it does. She knows exactly what they are thinking.
“I…”
She can’t explain. He won’t let her. He’s not even there, but he won’t let her and she can’t say anything, can’t do anything but cry.
(No, you are the only stupid thing here. And shallow. And useless.)
She shows up on his doorstep with tear stained cheeks and bloodstained clothes. Elena wouldn’t let him kill her, but that didn’t mean Damon let her go unscathed. He has never been the forgiving type.
She has nowhere else to go.
“My offer still stands you know, I can take it all away. All you have to do is ask.”
He drags her to the Grille, his hand clamped around her wrist and a smile on his face. She can see the Salvatores out of the corner of her eye, Alaric and Elena across from them, but she doesn’t meet their eyes. Instead she makes it her mission to look anywhere but at them.
It doesn’t take long for Klaus to catch on.
He takes her glass out of her hand and moves closer to her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “How about we put on a show?”
Her eyes dart over to their table, underneath the window and second to the right, before quickly darting away.
“Dance with me.”
“Klaus I’m here, I’m not fighting you, please don’t make me-”
“Dance with me.”
“Of course.”
He smiles down at her.
(Much better.)
She scrubs at her hands, purposefully ignoring her reflection, trying to get rid of the feeling of his hands on her. Warm hands that wandered too freely as he smirked over her shoulder at her friends. Warm hands that should have been harsh against her skin, but weren’t.
Soap and water doesn’t make the feeling disappear.
The door opens behind her and Caroline closes her eyes, knows it’s someone she doesn’t want to see.
“You know he’s going to get tired of you eventually, right? Bored. And you’re going to end up dead.”
Her eyes met blue ones in the mirror.
“I know.”
He had been the one to teach her that.
He kisses her, unexpectedly and for no reason she can understand, and for minute she lets him. Because in between the compulsion and the threats, he still whispers sweet things, still calls her beautiful. Because she’s already been condemned for the crime, so she doesn't know why she shouldn’t commit it.
(You liked it.)
She tears herself away from him, stumbles back, and turns away. She doesn’t want to look at him, is scared that if she does, she’ll end up kissing him again. Is scared that he won’t give her a choice.
“I don’t understand why you fight it, love. I’m all you have left.”
He isn’t wrong.
“They may not want you anymore, but I do.”
She wakes up to the same blue box on her bedside table in the room that he has designated hers. She remembers the story he told her, about a princess that was beautiful but not as beautiful as her. Remembers her thoughts the first time she had saw it, remembers comparing it to silk scarves.
She doesn’t think twice about slipping the bracelet on.
She has no reason not to wear it anymore.
She’s following Klaus out of his car and into the mansion when she feels eyes on her. She stops and turns around, searching for who it is. She expects a Salvatore, maybe even Bonnie come to see if what they had told her was true, instead her eyes connect with yellow ones, familiar even in this different form.
She wonders if Klaus realizes he’s so close, thinks it’s impossible that he does not, because he is Klaus and he knows everything. She wonders what is running through his mind right now, if he’s talked with Elena, if he hates her too.
She thinks that he should. She hates herself.
Klaus tugs at her arm, gesturing for her to follow him. Tyler turns and walks away, like Elena had, like her mother had, like she is sure Bonnie will if she ever sees her again.
She thinks she’s gotten her answer.
She remembers what it was like with Damon. She remembers knowing that he was going to kill her, that it was inevitable, and she remembers being okay with that. She remembers how easy it was with him to ignore the voice in the back of her head screaming that something was wrong, how easily he made her forget. How easy it was to get wrapped up in sweet kisses and false promises. How even with his hands wrapped tightly around her wrists and his teeth buried in her skin, she wasn’t afraid.
(You remember what I want you to remember.)
Sometimes she wishes she had that back.
She crashes her lips against his, harsh and unyielding, her teeth clacking against his.
“Make me forget” she whispers.
He pulls away from her and smiles. It doesn’t matter to him how he won her, or it doesn’t matter enough anyways, all that counts is that he won.
Sometimes she looks at him and all she sees is ice blue eyes staring back at her. Mocking her, haunting her. She doesn’t understand but she knows better than to ask questions.
(Don’t talk, please.)