#elijah mikaelson fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katsuthelittlekitten · 1 year ago

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Women in distress

Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *

The morning in question, you didn't wake up because of the tender touch of your husband or because of the brightness of the sun. You woke up because of excruciating pain coming from your belly. It started as a gentle point that was uncomfortable, then it started to hurt a bit more until it was agonizing at a point that you could do nothing else but wake up in tears.

It was usual for you to have a really painful menstruation cycle and you knew what to expect every week that it started. Yet, this morning it seemed even worse and you had to keep yourself from groaning with pain. After all, Elijah was asleep just aside from you on the bed and your last desire was to wake him up.

Since you didn't expect to get your menstruation so soon after the last time, you omit to get yourself ready for it. Consequently, you felt something dripping down your legs faster than anticipated as you tried to stay on the bed. Your eyes closed shut tightly at this before a curse got out of your lips.

Fuck~

It was blood, it had to be and you felt so disgusting suddenly. You just hoped there wasn't any on the bed sheets for your own sake.

For a short moment, you considered your options as you look with tears to the ceiling. Then you concluded that you'd better move out of bed and get to the bathroom quickly.

Therefore, you slowly shifted toward the edge of the mattress as lightly that was possible without making too much fuss.

Unfortunately for you, however, Elijah that had overdeveloped senses as a vampire, woke up anyway and immediately searched for you with his dark brown eyes.

When he realizes that you were at the opposite end of the bed from him, he extended his arms toward you and circled them around your waist. When he was satisfied with his grip around your waist, the original thug you backward toward him again.

The only problem with that was the pressure of his arms circling your belly that brought you terrible pain as he got you back toward himself. It made you yell and a violent sob soon followed suit.

The second Elijah heard you, he let go and immediately straighten up on the bed. One of his hand came to your cheek and he looked in your eyes with worry.

Baby girl are you alright !? did I hurt you I'm so sorry.

A sweet whine left your lips and you cried even more tear as your cramps were getting worse. You were so desperate, you hated when it was getting this agonising and even if you wanted to try and explain the situation to Elijah, you literally couldn't think straight.

As you tried to get any type of relief in any possible position, your body just balled itself and you hide your head in your pillow.

To say that Elijah was panicking would be an understatement, he was very much horrified and he wanted to do everything that he could to help you out. He tried to calm down and focus on finding what was the matter. Therefore, the vampire gently looked around you and under the blanket, having his doubt and actually saw blood on the mattress.

His eyes soften immediately and he kissed your forehead before speaking sweetly.

It's this time of the week already, my poor angel. Let daddy help you out a little hum.

As soon that those words came out of his lips, Elijah vamp speed to the bathroom and got the bath water starting. After that, your lover left your shared bedroom in search of your pain killers and some heating pads for after the bath. Elijah just knew what you needed in those situation and he always made sure to have everything ready to brought you recomfort.

As he came back some minutes later with a glass of water and the pill, he gently placed them on the nightstand before starting to play with your hair in a recomforting manner.

Shhh, I know baby, i know it hurts but it's going to be alright i promise. Just take this pill for me please, it's going to help with the pain sweetheart.

Just as he said that, Elijah gently took the glass of water and the pill and brought them just asside of were you layed on the bed. He waited patiently for you to take them.

A little moment of silence followed after his words, before you actually moved and took the glass between your fingers. You literally could only think about feeling better and would do absolutely anything right now to released your poor body from the cramps.

After taking the pills and drinking the water, your eyes met Elijah's for a second before you sniffed cutely, tears falling down your redenned cheeks. He looked so sweet and gentle sitting there asside of you, the only thing in his mind being helping you trough your suffering. You loved him with everything you were and even with the deep and strong pain you felt, you seeked recomfort in his arms.

You gently moved closer to him and got into his lap, circling your arms around his neck and hiding your face between his chest and neck. His scent was making you feel a bit more relaxed despite the cramps and you clung to his body like a desperate animal.

Daddy it hurts, please make it stop...i cant~

You tried to say, before a strong cramps hits you and makes you groan and cry harder onto his neck.

Elijah's features showed sadness and worry as he made sure you stayed against him. His hand gently stroke your hair and his lips pressed kissed on your delicate skin. He stood up after you spoke, needing to relieve a bit of your pain. He kept you strongly in his arms and made his way to the bathroom with you. The moment you both reached it, Elijah delicately sat you down on the lavatory and kissed your face, his hand slowly starting to undress you as best he could with you struggling a bit in pain. His lips got closer to your ear and he gently spoke in a wispered like manner to you.

Sweetheart it's ok, I'm just going to finish undressing you and then you'll go in the hot bath my love. I promise it will help, listen to daddy.

After saying that, your favorite vampire just carried on with his task, trying to get it done has fast that he could. Luckily for you considering that matter, it ended up being a job of seconds before you found yourself compleatly bare in front of him. You felt shy but in your state it was the last thing that mattered in your mind. You hurriedly placed your arms back around Elijah's neck and waited for him to take you back into his arms and into the bath. Theirs was no way you'd walk and the original knew that really well. That's why he rapidly took you into his arms without a word and got to the warm and bubbly bath. In front of it, elijah slowly and delicately lowered you in it and your body rapidly felt much more relaxed.

The hot water made your tensed body and your belly cramps less unbearable, which caused a sweet relived breath to come out of your lips. Your feature immediately relaxed and your eyes met Elijah's brown chocolate one with a gratefull glimpse. He was kneeled asside of the bath tub observing you and making sure you were alright. Truly, he was the best boyfriend ever and you couldn't keep yourself from taking his chin between your fingers and kissing his lips gently.

A low growl left him when your lips touched and he moved one of his hand to play with your hair. For a moment, the kiss got a bit more heated but since he knew better than instigate something you weren't in shape to do, Elijah backed away and just leaned his head against yours.

Oh darling if you weren't in pain right now...

His voice sounded so deep and sexy and the desire in it was impossible to miss. You knew that Elijah wanted you and you actually wanted him too but you rather felt like taking your time in the bath to make sure that your pain desaper compleatly. After all the pills you had taken would be doing their effect quite soon. You kept your head against his for a second before biting your lips gently. You had a cute smile on when your eyes met again and your fingers were caressing his cheek sweetly with love.

I know baby and it's not the desire that is lacking believe me. It's just that I think It best for me to stay in the bath has long as possible. Maybe if I feel better after we could cuddle in bed watching a movie together hum.

This time after your words it was Elijah that smiled at you and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek. He nod gently at your words and then stood back up with his eyes on you still.

Don't worry my love the only thing that matter right now is you feeling better. We will see after your bath for the movie and cuddle. Just relax now, I'll get things settle during that time. He let you know with his tender voice before laying a last caress to your cheek and leaving you alone.

As Elijah closed the door behind him, he immediately got to work on the things he needed to do before you came out of the bath. He started by changing the bed sheets and covers, then he did it again with clean ones. After that, your noble boyfriend knowing you pretty well, tought that you'd probably desire some of your favorite snacks. Therefore, Elijah made his way to the kitchen and got all the little treats you love, bringing them all with him to the bedroom afterward. Following this instance, your vampire just prepared the space to make it cozier and ready for the both of you to watch a movie. Elijah placed soft blankets and pillows everywhere. He even brought your comforter and made sure your heating pads were ready to use.

At some point, everything was finally ready and he came back to the bathroom knocking at the door softly. A soft smile on his lips and your fluffy bath robe in hand.

Baby...are you ready to come out...?

On your side in the bath still, you had actually just tought about comming out because of the cooling water and got a bit taken aback by his soft voice.

Your eyes moved the bathroom door and seconds later it open revealing your perfect husband coming in gently with your bath robe in hand.

God he was so perfect! You tought before smiling at him and actually getting up slowly in the bath and coming out.

The second your feet landed on the floor, you felt two strong arms wrapping you into a soft material you knew was your bathrobe. The warth of it immediately brought you recomfort and shoots you a bit.

You could smell Elijah's soft perfume as he embraces you, making your heart a bit overwhelmed for a second. A soft breath left you and you turned around to face him and lay your head on his shoulder gently.

Your husband's hand at your actions came around your waist securely and his lips pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead as he hugged you back to him. You didn't speak up or say anything. After all you didn't dare because of how good you felt like this in his arms. Therefore, the first one to actually broke the silence was your original that wispered sweet little words in your ear.

Common sweety, I'll blow dry your hair, I don't want you to get sick.

After he said that, you didn't even had the time to move an inch before Elijah actually grabbed your legs and carries you to the lavatory counter. As he reached it, your vampire gently sat you down and took your chin between his finger. His eyes met yours and you whine when both your lips touched, sweetly but deeply.

He on his side let out a small growl and played with your wet hair for a good moment, just savouring your lips. When you actually part, you were breathing fast and you almost forgot about the cramps you had earlier and everything else around you. You could swear it was magical...Elijah always was such a good kisser. After all he had a thousand years of practice right. You looked deeply into his brown chocolate eyes and sweetly brought your hand to his jaw to caress it. He was controlling himself...you could see it. Yet, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you and you were really appreciative of it. He was always so careful and caring and you loved him for it.

I love you Eli...I'm sorry that I'm not feeling really well I know that you'd like to...

Your sentence was cut short by your husband's fingers tracing your lips, he was asking you silently to say nothing more.

Don't ever apologise for that babygirl, it's not your fault and I know it's not the moment or the time for this right now. I don't care about me love the only thing that matter is you. So now...I will dry your hair and we will get comfy in our bedroom together mh?

Your heart was hammering in your chest at how fucking lucky you were to have him. It felt so illegal and you couldn't say in words how much you love him. His words were soft yet serious and you just nod gently at them. You were more than willing for a movie and cuddle with him right now so you just sat there obediently as he started to blow dry your hair. It took a good ten minutes for him to be done and have your hair compleatly dry. You were really surprised at how good they turned up afterward thought. Elijah was apparently really talented at this too...even after so many years of marriage you were still learning things about him apparently.

Done princess. Elijah said sweetly as his eyes stare at you like a piece of art. Your cheeks reddened a bit because of the attention that you suddenly felt and you bite your lips shyly as you spoke.

Thank you daddy...

As you look away after saying that, Elijah layed his hand both side of your legs and angled his head to look at your eyes even thought you tried to prevent it. He had a sexy grin on his lips and a satisfied expression that you tought looked like Klaus for some reason. He didn't waist really long before taking your chin between his fingers and raising your head up.

Now now let's not be shy my perfect little love, it was my pleasure and you know that I love playing with your hair hum. Come now, let's get to bed babygirl.

You heard Elijah say before he picked you back into his arms securely and gently made his way to your shared room.

You sat down your chin on his shoulder and closed your eyes as he walk, the gentle rhythm making you calm and relax. At some point, none really long later you felt Elijah sat down and your eyes opened to look around you. That's when you actually realised everything he did to the room to please you. He tought of everything and it was starting to make you feel emotional. Honestly, what have you ever done to deserve a man like him.

Maybe your sudden sensibility was caused by your periods but you had no real way to know. The only thing you could say was that tears defenetly were getting down your cheeks by the moment Elijah sat you down on the bed beside him.

His expression instantly froze when he realise you were crying and his fingers softly came to your face to dry the tears off.

Sweetheart, what is it? Are you hurting again!? Can I do something to help? just please tell me love.

You sniffed a bit and couldn't help laughing a bit at his desperate need to help you. Elijah was the cutest really and you hated to worry him. Therefore, feeling the need to ease his mind, you immediately climbed on his lap and sat there comfortably. You circled your arms around his neck when you were against him and started playing with his short brown hair, your eyes looking deeply into his as you do. You could see your husbands feature relax a bit at your action and soon decided that you could say what you felt now.

It's ok, relax Lijah I'm fine I promise, it's just that...your so perfect with me. It makes me emotional to have a boyfriend like you that take care of me and love me like this...

A silence followed your words and after some seconds, you kissed his cheek and placed a gentle hand on his chest.

You didn't have to do all that Lijah...you trail off sweetly before looking all around the room with an unbelief expression on.

Elijah listened to your words attentively, never really letting go of your eyes. Then, when you stopped talking, he took hold of the hand you placed on his chest and kissed your wrist and fingers. His expression was soft and gentle, his touch sweet and caring.

At the contact, you moved your sight back to his and immediately met his deep gaze, feeling shivers traveling down your body.

Sweetheart...I would destroy the world if I needed just to make sure you are happy and well. This...he said as he gesture toward the room. This is absolutely nothing.

He was so sweet, you couldn't believe how much he was perfect it was still a mystery for you to understand why of all women he had chosen you to be his wife. You couldn't be happier and in love really, you would rather die than be parted from him. Right now as you sat in his lap and that your eyes were locked together it felt like paradise and you realised that your pain was gone, just like that. You sniffed a bit, tears slowly drying off on your pale face and then, as desperation hit you for more of him, you pressed your lips against his. This time, instead of being a passionate kiss, it was rather sweet delicate and full of love. It was perfectly depicting your feelings toward him right now and the hand playing with his hair just stopped as it moved to his cheek. You always thought that Elijah's lips were made to kiss yours and it was in those situation that this taught was confirmed. It all feels so good, so perfect calm, peaceful, you really didn't want to let go but at some point you had to. You shyly backed away from him a bit, breathing fast and apparently quite stunned. You looked like a lost little girl and Elijah was there to smile at you and kiss the tip of your nose. You are the cutest little thing my love. I can't stop looking at you.

His words made you blush and look away from him for a moment. Every time he was telling things coming from deep down like that you just couldn't stand it, it was way too cute and you felt like the first day you met him. It was so easy for Elijah to make you all flustered and you felt so weak when it comes to him. In an attempt to get back a bit of your sanity, you gently let your head fall on his chest and try to focus on calming your emotions. You took a bunch of deep breaths and between them you let some words slip out of your mouth. It was faint and weak but Elijah could hear it anyway.

And you are too perfect.

Following those words, you got yourself under control slowly and could look back into his eyes. A small but nonetheless adorable smile appeared on your feature and you gently moved a bit to come and sit on his lap. The second you did so, Elijah's hands came to the side of your face and laid soft caresses to your skin. It felt so sweet and soft that you let a shy whine out of your mouth. God he could have you under his charms so easily.

Thank you for all this daddy...I feel much better now.

You told him a bit childishly since you really couldn't help it. His sparkling brown chocolate eyes looking like diamonds and his love for you shining trough them was making your heart melt and cheek ablaise.

Elijah's arms circled around your waist and cuddled your body even closer to his when he saw how adorable you looked all shy and flustered. Honestly he just wanted to keep you close to him like this forever and watch a movie which he started preparing for by moving in the middle of the bed with you and laying down comfortably. After doing so, the original just kissed your lips quickly and placed a strand of your hair behind your ears while whispering something in them.

You are very welcome my darling, I love you so much and I'm glad you feel better sweetheart. Do you feel like watching our movie now ?

You let him lay you down asside of him and gently crawl even closer to him to press both your body together. As it was done, you nodded to indicate that yes you were indeed ready before laying your head on his shoulder. Elijah followed your indications by starting the movie and tidied himself with playing with your hair while watching. It was so appeasing and it felt so good that you started to feel sleepy quite fast. Elijah's perfume and his warth just added to this feeling and in no time you were asleep against him.

Elijah didn't realised it at first, he kept on watching the movie and playing with your hair until a mumble coming from you caught his attention. His eyes feel on your soft sleeping face and he sigh with a love sick look covering his eyes.

Awn my sweet little girl, falling asleep against daddy, you couldn't help yourself hum. Don't worry baby girl let's stop this now and just go to sleep.

Elijah said as he kissed your forehead and closed the tv that was still playing in the background. After doing so, the original gently lift you up a bit to place you under the cover making sure that you stay warm. He followed suit after you and joined you under the warm blanket, gently getting closer to you and engulfing your little body with his to sleep peacefully the rest of the night.

Good night my little girl, daddy will stay at your side forever.

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lis-likes-fics · 1 year ago

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A Night to Remember

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader Word Count: 5k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral sex (f!receiving, implied m!receiving), praise kink, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, language, slight dumbification (if you blink, you'll miss it), creampie, slight dirty talk/degradation (if you blink, you'll miss it), Elijah's species unspecified... A/N: This was originally called "Bad Habits Lead to You" bc I was writing it around the song by Ed Sheeran, but I changed my mind cuz I liked this more. ALso, I have not written for Elijah in forever, so this made me really happy to write. Nevermind that I started writing this in October 2022. Thanks and enjoy!

Your plum dress was tight against your skin. It was something you knew he'd enjoy, a dress you'd chosen specifically to please the man you were practically praying would arrive as you fingered the jewels of the fancy necklace around your neck. It was heavy, thoroughly bedazzled and way too expensive for anything you could ever afford. A gift from the gentleman himself.

Many faces were shrouded from view by masks of simple and extravagant designs of all kinds. Yours, like your necklace, was worth its weight in gold and more; another gift. Flitting through the party, grins and smirks were sent your way from men and women alike. Some were admiring, some hungry, others were strewn onto faces out of envy.

That envy would grow when they find who was coupled with this goddess in purple and gold. You spotted him at the center of the mezzanine, looking down at all the guests like he was the king of his own personal kingdom through the eyes of his mask, one that paired with your own. The look in his eyes certainly conveyed that superiority, lighting a match that lived in the pit of your stomach and between your thighs as you stared up at him with an adoring gaze.

He had already been watching you, a dark hunger taking you in. You made your way toward him, stepping up each marble stair to reach this man who decked you out like a queen. He was reaching out for your hand before you reached the top step, taking it and bending down to place a kiss to the back of your palm. “My dear,” he greeted affectionately.

Goosebumps shivered up your arm and into your bloodstream. Your body threatened to follow suit as you watched him handle you with such…care. “Elijah,” you responded.

“Would you care to dance?” He straightened his back, even took a small step closer and eliminated the personal space that had already been demolished the first moment you saw this adonis of a man.

You breathed a quiet breath at his question, “A gentleman, as always.” As always. You said it as though you’d known him for more than simply a week. In truth, Elijah was a fling. You’d met him a week prior, caught up in all of his grace and eloquence as he swept you across the dance floor of the extended masquerade ball and then into his arms to take you to bed.

It wasn’t normally like you, to be so taken by some stranger enough to sleep with him that same night. And then to sleep with him the next night, and the night after that, and so on, and so forth. But there was something about Elijah, something so captivating that you could not quite place.

As he swept you to the dance floor for yet another seductive venture across the marble, you accepted with little more than a simple nod.

And then, when he pressed you against a wall in a darkened nook in the large mansion of a home, you gasped into the unusually warm air of the late autumn night as his hot lips pressed to the heated skin of your chest and he devoured you.

Last night was supposed to be the last time, and the night before that, and the night before that. He was like some drug that you had all too quickly become addicted to—and with a face like that, how could you not?

You knew you shouldn't. At the very least, you should try not to. It was not as though he was the perfect man. No, your perfect man would still be there when you woke in the morning with aching limbs, a souvenir, and cold sheets that barely held enough warmth to convince you his departure was recent.

Your perfect man would not grant you a collection of late nights full of pleasure and desire ending alone in the morning with a handwritten note and a new little gift.

Or, perhaps, he was doing you a service. Showing you how impermanent this arrangement was—how impermanent it should be. If only you would listen, take his flight for what it was: a warning.

But as his warm lips slotted perfectly against the column of your throat, leaving you gasping and clawing at his strong arms, you knew once again that your lesson was not learned. He dipped down and secured your leg in his steel grip, brushing it up his side to rest along his hip. He pressed himself closer to your body and returned his lips to your own. He pulled back for a moment, towering over you as he stared with those dark, predatory eyes: a lure, a trap. “Would you like to carry this somewhere more intimate?”

There were two responses waiting on your tongue. A less sensible one, “What's the need? Let them hear us.” And a more sensible one, “Yes, I want you all to myself.”

The only reason the latter was more sensible was because it gave you the option of containing your ardor so you could speak sensibly. Hardly any sober words were exchanged when you were in the throes of intoxicating passion with this man. And there was a reason you came here tonight…

Other than your endless desire to find your body melding with his own, an entanglement of limbs and complicated emotions.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Let’s go.”

He carefully released your leg with a wolfish grin, readjusting your appearances so you didn’t look as frazzled as you were. One quick kiss to your lips and he was walking with you back into the crowds of the masquerade ball.

Dancing through the crowd was easy, getting out of the door was easy, getting into his car was easy. The hard part came when you were driving away in the silence of his sleek Mercedes-Benz.

“Elijah,” you found your voice, fiddling with your fingers as you tried to organize your thoughts. He glanced at you before returning his gaze to the road. He hummed deeply in his throat, and you cleared yours, turning your gaze on him and smiling to shield the nerves. “Why did you choose me? Of all the women you could have taken home that first night, the second, the third, all of it, why did you choose me?”

It had confused you since you first met at the beginning of the ball. Was he bored? Were you convenient? Just the first person he laid eyes on? Why you?

His gaze flitted between you and the road as his lips twitched. He licked his bottom lip slowly, shifting his hand to rest atop your own. He squeezed it gently. "You intrigue me."

"I intrigue you?" you echoed, tilting your head.

He nodded. "You're beautiful, you're clever, and you're asking the right questions."

You blinked, glancing away for a moment before looking back again. "I'm asking the questions?" You hated that you couldn't find your own words right then, you couldn't come up with a response (which led you to debate the cleverness he claimed you had).

His gaze lingered a little longer on you than it probably should have. "If I'd picked the wrong woman, she would continue our exploits with no regard for her own self-worth. She'd be content with being just another woman in my sheets."

"A whore?" you quirked a brow and smirked playfully. His smile grew and he shrugged, but did not confirm the choice of words you so elegantly put forth.

You sat back and felt the smile on your face shift slightly into a look of contemplation. "So I wasn't just easy?"

He shook his head, this time with a little chuckle. "Of course not." He leaned into your ear, and a shiver rushed through your spine at the closeness. "I don't like easy."

The sensibility was gone, and the arousal had returned as he pulled into the lot of his home. He rounded the car and came to your side, opening your door and offering his hand. Stepping out, your eyes locked as you rose to your feet, entirely invading the personal space which had stopped existing.

Your lips were inches apart as you lingered there before brushing past him and walking ahead toward the house. He followed behind you, for once leaving him mystified instead of you. You walked on toward the house, dimly lit and awaiting your company, until he was coming up behind you with his arms around your waist. He wrapped you up and carried you inside like a bride—no, not a bride. You can't even consider it in that way, lest you make the biggest mistake of your life.

He opened the door and listened to your giddy excitement as he smiled at you all the way up the expanse of the stairs. The way he burst through his bedroom door and dropped you onto the bed rivaled his gentlemanly behavior over the course of the past few days.

He kicked the door closed with his foot and stalked toward you, depraved and bloodthirsty. You'd been in this position before, staring up at him with hooded eyes. He discarded his blazer, looming over your body and ravaging your lips. His hands held you close to him as he dragged the zipper of your dress down along your back.

You gasped into his kiss, sloppy and without care to the intricate details of intimacy. You pressed your palms against his sides and pulled him closer to you. As his large hand cupped your throat, your back arched into him and his kisses lapped along your jaw. Shallow breaths fanned along your skin, and you welcomed it with short sighs.

You raised a hand against his chest, your fingers danced along his collarbone. Pushing him back, he sat on his knees as you followed, chasing his lips. You flattened your hand along the side of his neck, guiding him onto his back so you could straddle him. Your movement was slow and measured, taking one thing at a time to prolong your evening together as long as possible.

Your lips molded together once more, your hips moving to a slow grind. His eyes never left yours, a guile intimacy that urged your fervor to moan-filled kisses that set your skin ablaze. His hands gripped your waist, guiding your hips onto his. Your eyes shut as a delicate sigh passed your lips, your hands grasping onto his shoulders for support as he rocked you back and forth atop him.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, addicted to the feel of him touching your body. One of your hands moved to sit atop his own, holding him as you ground your hips. He watched you move with lidded eyes as your head fell back and your lips parted in a lustful ‘O’.

His hands trailed up your body and under the fabric half-forgotten on you until he was surrounding your chest, leaning forward just enough to allow you to sit in his lap as your dress rode up higher and higher along your thighs and hung around your shoulders. Despite his determination to undress you until you were bare before him, he wanted to take his time ravaging your body. Soon your dress was discarded and you were left in nothing but the lingerie that had been sitting idly by in your closet until this night.

He looked up at you with a smirk, teasing, “All for me?”

You scoffed, shaking your head at him with a playful laugh, “No, for the doorman at the party.”

He rolled his eyes a little. “Well, the doorman is fired.” You laughed and he silenced you with his lips upon your chest. You bared your neck for him, sighing gently as your hands played with the fabric of his expensive bowtie.

You attacked his lips as you did your best to fumble for the buttons of his shirt. They twisted and slipped from your fingers, and your patience had run out before long to send what felt like a million buttons shooting from his shirt and all around you. Your hands roamed the expanse of his broad chest, pressing your fingertips into his flesh. “Such an impatient creature,” he hummed.

“Shut up,” you sighed as you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him to your lips again. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled his body flush against yours, your tongue slipping into his mouth as his own joined in. Your hands shifted from his neck to his chest as you felt his warm skin beneath your palms. You huffed as you allowed your hips to grind down on him again, pulling a wavering moan from your throat and making you sound deliciously pathetic.

“I need you,” you whimpered against his lips, opening your eyes to grant him that needy look that you hoped would get you what you wanted.

He just smiled, as though he could read your mind. “Patience, my dear.” He shifted upon the bed so he was closer to the headboard as he began to lean forward, holding you to his body as he moved to lay you on the bed. You lay back with shallow breath, staring up at him as he gazed back, never breaking eye contact for a moment as he adjusted himself to tower over you.

He leaned in and you bared your neck to him again as he pressed a kiss to your throat, right on top where the muscles shifted as you moaned. He hummed deep in his own throat, his lips caressing your skin as he took his time with you. You held your breath when the tip of his tongue dragged along your skin from the bottom to the top as he traced a vein thumping there. You whispered his name and he rewarded you with the press of his knee into your needy core, just barely reaching your clit enough to make you sigh again.

His lips trailed along your body, spending too much time on every little patch of skin he could find as he traveled down, down, down. He pulled your legs over his shoulders, pressed his kisses into your thighs, and you whimpered when his teeth teased the flesh he grazed. He stared you in the eyes as he did it, moving closer to where you burned for him until his lips found your clit. You sighed gently at the feeling, but you were swiftly interrupted as it didn't last.

He dove into you, his lips and tongue and teeth attacking you. From here, with the way his hair fell over his forehead and his eyes grew dark and primal, he looked like a predator. His name stuttered from your lips, dropping the first letter as you gasp at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your pussy. His fingers dig into your thighs, his lips suck on your clit, his tongue licks into you. Your back arches off the bed and your fingers tangle in his hair. You can't help your whimper as he pleasures you, an expert, it seems, in everything he does.

He moaned into you, sending shivers up your spine as you tugged on his hair. His tongue flicked insistently at your clit, eager to taste you again as you whimpered deliciously.

The sound broke when his fingers prodded at your pussy, slipping the tips of them into your warmth and slowly working them deeper and deeper. Once buried inside of you, he thrusts them slowly at first, in and out and in and out, playing you like an instrument as he curls and pumps his fingers. His slow pace never lasted as he built you to the top, wanting so badly to watch you shatter with your release.

You cursed under your breath, feeling a knot in your belly as you clenched down around his fingers, your clit pulsing against his tongue. "I'm so close," you whimper, grinding urgently against his face.

He was so in tune with your body by now. It took past lovers so long to learn your stops and goes, what makes you tick, what makes you scream. You had known Elijah a week, and he had mastered it.

As the pleasure twisted in your gut and your chest filled with air, you could feel your release taunting you. You whispered his name just as you were about to come.

And Elijah pulled away.

The frustration built quickly in the pit of your stomach, and you clenched the bedsheets and your jaw flexed. You could feel your pleasure retreating like waves after they've licked the shore, spoiling inside of you. Elijah's lips found yours again, smirking against them as you reluctantly kissed him back, angry but still not immune to his charm.

"Fuck you," you breathed against his lips.

He shrugged a shoulder. "I'd rather fuck you."

You rolled your eyes, interrupted by his lips once more, his tongue licking into your mouth. He wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling them tight as he supported you to straddle his lap. His hands grabbed your ass, squeezing and smacking the flesh once. You yelped, your foreheads meeting as you breathed the other's air.

"Please, Elijah," you begged, too desperate to be shy, too enraptured in his skill to be ashamed.

His hand smoothed along your cheek, fingers tangling in your hair to move it back and away from your face. "What do you want, hm?" he hummed. "Tell me what you want, my dear."

You carded your fingers through his hair and sighed longingly. Between kisses, you whispered, "Fuck me. Like you did the first night." You braced your hands around the back of his neck, opening your eyes to look at the dark coffee brown of his own. "If this is my last night with you, I want to make it count."

His breath slowed for a moment as his eyes trailed over your face, like he only just now realized tonight would be the last night and he wanted to really look at you before he never saw you again. Yours did the same. This was the last night.

The moment, full of more intimacy than a couple of one week should be capable of, passed with only a few seconds more than there should have been. He took your hips in his palms, kneaded the flesh, and pulled you into a slow kiss just as desperate as the ones before.

A new passion took you as he rolled your hips in his lap, grinding your wet pussy along his dark slacks, ruining them for future wear as your arousal smeared all over the fabric. He didn't seem to care, especially not with the way he moved your hips to ruin them some more. You only paused his hands when you lifted one leg from their position on either side of him to begin undoing his slacks, slipping them down his legs until they were entirely discarded. Crawling back into his lap and taking his beautiful cock in your hand with an enthusiasm that made him chuckle, you stroked the thick length of him in your palm, up and down and up and down, as beads of precum slipped from the weeping tip and dribbled down the side of him.

"Fuck," he cursed with his forehead against yours, leaning his head to fall onto your shoulder as you moved your wet palm to a steady rhythm along his hard cock. "Look at what you do to me."

You moaned at his praise, working your fist faster until he suddenly grabbed your wrist to stop you. He gave you a hard, dark stare before lifting your waist. As you sat up on your knees, feeling the hard tip of him tapping against your slit, you bit your lip to contain your moan.

He lifted your chin to look at him, his eyes boring into your own as that silent question urged an answer. Do you want this? For the last time, do you want this?

No, you thought to yourself, flattening your palm against his chest. Not for the last time.

"Please, Lijah," you whispered. "Fuck, I need you. I want you."

Taking your hips, he lowered you into his lap, his eyes fluttering and his jaw clenching as he groaned deep on his throat, letting his head fall back to savor the moment. You moaned, feeling yourself flutter around his cock as you took him into your tight pussy. You whimpered his name through trembling lips, laying your head against his shoulder.

"Good girl," he breathed in a strained manner, his hands roaming your body as he felt you clench around him. Your lips pressed to his neck, your tongue tracing over a vein there, as you slowly rocked your hips on top of him. He groaned roughly as you did.

Slowly, your bodies built a rhythm, a steady pace setting as you moved in tandem, thriving off the other's lust as you grabbed and felt and moaned and kissed. The intimacy licked at your skin and sunk into your bones, coating you in lust thick and sweet like honey. It pulsed and pumped through your veins like blood, your very life force shifting to depend on his tenderness.

You bounced in his laps with a level of excitement that mirrored the pleasure on your face. His breath was heavy in your ear as he thrust his hips up to meet the roll of your hips to the best of his ability. As the desperation to feel you, to hear you, filled his blood, he wrapped his arms around you, engulfing you to pull your body flush against his own. He laid you once more on your back, reseating himself inside of you as one hand gripped your waist and the other propped himself up beside your head.

Easing some hair from your face, he pressed his lips to the underside of your jaw, right above a pressure point that made you choke, and began to move his hips in a steady rhythm. In and out and in and out and filling to the brim. Your breath was heavy in your lungs and your hands draped off his shoulders as he pumped his cock into you. He watched you whimper as your body bounced up and down in time with his thrusts, your breasts doing the same in their own dance as he brought a hand to grope them.

Again, his name slipped off your tongue as you gripped his waist, guiding his thrusts lazily. The soft sheets of the bed caressed your skin, his hands grabbed at you, his lips switched between licking, kissing, and speaking into your flesh.

Then, as he braced his arms at either side of your head, he steadied himself with the darkest look in his eyes. You choked on your own breath as his hips snapped into yours, a rough moan forcing from your throat as you grabbed at any skin you could find. His thrusts continued in the same manner, fast and rough as the tip of his cock knocked against the deepest part of you with every thrust.

You were needy, grinding your hips up to meet each powerful thrust as you moaned and whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut, intent on satisfying your desperation for relief.

"Look at you," he sighed. "Beautiful."

You whimpered, especially as his hands slid across your skin and hooked underneath your thighs. pulling them over his shoulders, he held them there as he leaned forward to fold you in half. The new angle sent a whole new array of emotions through you, your entire body tingling at the sensations he filled you with.

"Mmph, Lijah," you gasped.

His thrusts continued; hips snapping, fingers grasping, lips parting against a shuddering breath. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice thick as his words dripped like honey onto your skin.

You didn't respond, your trembling moan squealing in your throat and your eyes squeezing shut, too far away to properly heed his command. He pressed a hand to your cheek, lightly gripping your face and turning you to look at him, noticing the way your eyes droop.

"Come on," he urged darkly. "Say it again. My name. Come on, say it. You can do it." He spoke through heavy breaths and broken groans, bending down to even take your bottom lip between his teeth just to give his mouth something to do as he stared at your fucked out face.

You stuttered it out. "Lijah," you begged. "Elijah, please."

He was weak at your whimpers, his hips jerking slightly in the middle of a particularly rough thrust. "Please what? Tell me what you want, my dear."

Your answer was delayed—and for a moment, he thought he'd fucked you dumb (which was only partially true). "Please, harder. Lemme cum, I needa cum."

He held you tighter, his eagerness to feel you cum around him, your cunt already squeezing him so well, making him crazy. "You want to cum on my cock, dirty girl?"

"Yes!" you exclaimed. "Yes, please, Elijah."

He wanted to prolong this just a little while longer, loving the way you struggled to hold his gaze as the pleasure urged you to squeeze your eyes shut and grip him tighter. He loved the way your arms held his neck, he loved the way your legs twitched on his shoulders, he loved the sounds your cunt made on each impact of his hips, he loved the taste of your skin on his tongue, he loved the way your pussy fluttered around his cock, he loved the way your perfume wafted gently against his face, he loved the way you looked bouncing up and down with each rock of his hips.

His hand snaked between both of your bodies, the stickiness of your body, coming from both the arousal smearing all over your skin and his and the sweat building from the exertion of the pleasure. His thumb found your clit, rubbing circles into the bud with a dexterity that had you moaning loudly. The sensations sparked all along your body, filling you up bit by bit with the heat of his intimacy.

The rhythm of your bodies persisted, working together in perfect harmony, chasing both releases like your lives depended on it. "Elijah," his name fell off your lips like a prayer, praising him like a god meant to be worshiped.

"Again," he breathed, his tone growing darker and darker the closer each of you got to that point of pure ecstasy. "Say my name again."

"Elijah."

"Again."

"Elijah!"

"Say it again."

"Eli–!" You stuttered on the word, your breath catching in your throat as the pleasure suddenly hit you. It exploded in your belly and warmed your whole being as your muscles tightened around him. You moaned and gasped as your cunt clenched down around his pulsing cock, feeling your legs tremble and your breath shudder before kicking into a hyperventilation of a release. His cock twitched inside of you, the squeeze of your cunt too much as he continued to thrust into you, fucking you through your release as your vision went white and your ears rang.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," you announced when your lips could form the word, biting your lip so hard in reaction to your orgasm that you draw blood. A symphony of moaned "yes's" fell from your mouth as you felt the pleasure waning.

Elijah's hips jerked before you felt the hot release of him inside of you, a deep groan scratching in his throat as he buried himself deeply inside of you, as deep as he'd go. He rolled his hips as he came, his breath heavy and filled lust as he let himself succumb to your pleasure.

You whined as his cock pressed against the deepest part of you even after the oversensitivity has taken over and the feeling of him aches so well inside of you. "Elijah," you mewl.

It took a while before you both returned to the ground, easing out of your clouded pleasure. Your breaths mingled as you caught them.

As your hearts slowed and your muscles became so wonderfully loosened, he slipped out of you with a regretful sigh. You laid back against the bed, lazy and spent. His lips captured your own once more, molding in a lax embrace. His mouth slipped down your jaw and toward your neck, placing a kiss there and then easing farther down to your soft shoulder.

He eased off of you, rolling onto his side and pulling an arm over your midsection. He pulled you closer to him, sighing gently as his breath fanned over your skin.

You rolled your head over to him, smiling softly. He returned the smile. "You did wonderfully, my dear," he whispered.

Instead of responding, you leaned over and kissed his soft lips again. "So did you," you said.

You laid there and stared at one another, a longing gaze passing between the both of you as the reality of this being the last night sunk in. He would be gone tomorrow.

Your smile fell slowly and you sighed. "I don't want you to leave."

He smiled sadly. "Will you miss me?"

"I'll miss the mind-blowing sex," you smirked. He chuckled and rolled his eyes, finding it funnier than he probably should have. You laughed with him. As the giggles subsided, you frowned again, nodding. "Yes. I'm gonna miss you."

You stared again. His eyes were so beautiful. That tiny mole on the left side of his cheek was handsome. His chin dimple, alluring. You raised a hand to brush his stubbled face. He covered your hand with his. You kissed him again.

"I'm going to miss you, too."

You licked your bottom lip. You leaned forward. "So let's make this night one to remember."

"Again?" he laughed. "Are you not satisfied?"

You smiled, "Not enough to leave it at that." You kissed his lips once more before wandering down his chest, moving to straddle his body. You kissed down his body as he sighed deeply, a tiny groan leaving his chest. As your lips brushed the delectable space of his V-line, he groaned.

A night to remember.

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#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x you #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson x reader smut #smut #elijah mikaelson fanfic #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the originals #the originals fanfiction #elijah mikaelson x fem!reader #female reader #reader insert

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blackleatherjacketz · 6 months ago

Text

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 2

Elijah Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: Looking for information on Klaus, you find your brother in the library and run into another handsome stranger.

Warnings: Sexual Tension, Dark Themes, Dante's Inferno, The Phantom of the Opera, Literary References, Delicate Touches

Word Count: 2k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

You spent the next few days staring at the number written on your palm, the name ‘Klaus’ scribbled beneath it as the ink slowly began to fade with each wash. Putting the number into your phone for safe keeping, you continually fought the urge to call him and take him up on his tantalizingly generous offer. Just to be safe, though, you asked your brother to look up any information he could find on this playboy billionaire philanthropist, but he wasn’t answering his phone, which wasn’t like him. This either meant that he was buried in casework, that he was purposefully ignoring you, or something way worse.

You decide to go to the library and check his most likely location.

“Shit, sorry.” Austin looks at his phone to see your three missed calls and four text messages after uncovering it from his scattered papers on the library’s study desk. “I should have told you I couldn’t make it to your art show the other day, but Allan’s really kicking my ass with this one.” Your brother hurriedly takes the cup of coffee that you brought him, the bags beneath his eyes growing darker by the minute. “I really do plan on going to see it, I promise I will as soon as this case is over.”

Law school had really put your brother through the ringer, draining him of the light that used to shine bright within him. He’d said that once school was over, things would be better, but you’ll believe it when you see it.

“No, I get it. I just wanted to make sure you were okay when you didn’t respond. And you know what they say: ‘It can be pretty dangerous in the city after dark’.” You nudge him in the side, repeating one of his favorite phrases back to him in a mocking tone.

“Hey, I mean it when I say that!” He shouts in a defensive whisper, taking a sip of coffee with a grateful sigh. “If only I could show you half of the stuff I see at work without getting fired, I would…”

“I know, you’re just looking after me.” You ruffle his hair affectionately as you assess his messy work station. “You hungry or what?”

He rifles through his papers as if he’s lost something very near and dear to him, the crinkling sound seeming to drive him even more insane than anything. “Give me… forty-five minutes and we can get something to eat? Thai food?” He looks up at you, exasperated by the state of his workload.

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. “Forty-five minutes, and not a minute more!”

You turn away and leave him to his madness, silently exiting the most boring part of the library, walking through the science fiction and mystery sections in order to get to your favorite part; the horror section. You stroll through the alphabetized authors of terror, skimming past dozens of Stephen King novels before pulling out one of your favorites that had inspired a handful of adaptations over the years, all of them successfully paying it due homage. You’ve read it more times than you can even count, having collected a slew of copies of it at home, but none of them like this.

You admire the intricate cover of the hardback, smiling at the familiar sight of the white mask and red rose before tucking the tome lovingly into your chest. Knowing that the next forty-five minutes will surely fly by now, you turn down the aisle to find a quiet place to read, only to bump into a man you hadn’t seen there before.

He’s dressed in a three piece suit seemingly cut out of shadow and sin as an ancient aura surrounds him, almost as if he were as old as the city itself. His face, in turn, is just as timeless, reminding you of the old black and white Cary Grant movies you used to watch with your grandmother before she passed. Only he’s here now in living color, and it takes everything you have just to stop staring as a chill runs down your spine.

“Sorry,” you whisper shakily.

“Apologies are all mine,” his voice is deep and refined as he steps into your space, carefully placing the book back in its spot directly in front of you. “I wouldn’t want to create more work for the librarian.”

“This coming from someone reading Dante’s Inferno?” You finally say to break your awkward silence, noticing the famous title as he pushes it all the way in. “That’s a pretty heavy read for a Thursday night.”

He smiles with a low chuckle, eyes black as night glancing down at you before he deflects the attention away from himself. “And the Phantom of the Opera is such a light hearted story.”

“I find it comforting and romantic.” You defend the book in your arms with a grin.

“Is that so?” He tilts his head, taking the book from you without a hint of remorse before tracing the raised letters on the cover, almost as if to memorize the feel of them. “Two lovers obsessing over one incredibly talented beautiful woman? One driven mad with obsessive infatuation while the other truly has her best interest at heart?”

“So, you’ve read it?” You joke, noting the underlying bitterness in his tone despite his charming smile. This story’s personal to him, just like it is for you.

“Several times, yes.” He turns toward you, flicking through the pages as if he’s able to read them at superhuman speed. “Leroux really did know how to set the scene, didn’t he? A beautiful French city always seems to make it easier to fall in love.”

“Is that a fact?” You attempt to play it cool as he speaks so fondly of one of your favorite authors, drawing you in a little closer as he speaks.

“It’s a common literary device used in countless classics throughout the centuries, but I’m sure you already knew that.” He pauses, the dim lighting of the library making his dark eyes seem less imposing, almost sparkling as they look you over before scanning through the pages one more time. “Or maybe it’s the drama you prefer, the constant danger, the countless brushes with death that make you feel more alive than ever? Making the romance that much more palpable than if it were against any other monotonous backdrop?”

Jesus, is it written all over your face that you like a little bit of darkness with your romance? Is there a sign on your forehead that reads… What did the other man call you? Ah yes, ‘morbidly disturbed’? Was it so glaringly evident that you moved to this city to relish in the black magic you’ve heard so much about? Or maybe everyone else here is just as crazy as you are, no matter how elegant and put together they may seem.

“A little bit of both.” You decide to lean into the madness, slowly brushing your fingertips over his hand in order to catch him off guard just long enough to take your book back from him. “But what fun is romance without any stakes? It doesn’t make for a very good story, now does it?”

“I suppose not.” He smiles, the skin around his eyes wrinkling as he stares at you, warming you to the idea of opening up a little bit more.

“Or maybe there’s something to say about someone who is so in love that they’re willing to fight for it, willing to kill for that other person because they can’t imagine a world without it, without them.”

He raises his eyebrows as he considers your words, visibly tensing up as he clears his throat and shifts the weight in his hips. “The Phantom doesn’t kill for Christine, he kills despite her. It’s who he is at his very core before he even gets involved with her. He’s a ghost, a phantom, a monster.”

“A monster capable of love and empathy after he’s finally shown that in return.” You counter, now unsure if you came away with the correct message from the book.

“Ah, a truly hopeless romantic.” He grins, licking his lips before speaking again. “I didn’t think they still existed.” His eyes rake over your entire frame, taking in every inch of you as he allows the following silence to remain between you, hovering around you both in a heavy fog as the weight of it nearly takes your breath away.

“But enough about me,” you laugh nervously, changing the subject as you feel your cheeks begin to redden beneath his gaze. “What draws a man like you to The Divine Comedy? Are you the religious type, or are you just trying to figure out which circle of hell you’re doomed to spend eternity in?”

“Oh I already know that answer too well, I’m afraid.” He lets out a long sigh before leaning against the bookshelf. “But Dante’s work can be studied from a more worldly perspective on how the justice system deems their punishments worthy of someone’s crimes.”

“So you’re a lawyer like my brother. That explains the suit.”

He smirks again with a shake of his head, clearly amused by your failed attempt to figure him out.

“Well, a professor certainly wouldn’t get paid enough to wear a jacket or watch as nice as yours, so I think that Dante would place you in the… fourth circle, if memory serves me correctly.”

“A hoarder of wealth? Is that what you think of me?” He laughs, stepping in just close enough so that his smoky scent of cedarwood swims around the both of you, pairing perfectly with the musk of the leather bound books beside you. “And what other assumptions have you already made based on my appearance, young lady?”

Young lady?! Uh oh. Your eyes widen, the muscles in your abdomen tightening as his term of endearment triggers your brain to start trickling oxytocin into your bloodstream.

His answer, however, gives you pause, forcing your eyes to narrow as you take in everything about him. He’s not a lawyer or a professor, but he certainly carries himself like someone of equal or higher importance, like an executive of some major company that you know nothing about. He’s a mystery cloaked in a seductively elegant darkness, and you can’t help but want to get wrapped up in it.

“I ummm…” you trail off, fearing that the dim lighting is doing little to hide the deepening flush of your cheeks right about now. This man is way out of your league, and it’s only a matter of time before he realizes that you’re in uncharted territory.

“Well, as long as we’re going off of first impressions, I’d say you would fall into the first circle with the Greek philosophers… if you qualify at all.” Those onyx eyes seem fixated on you still, dropping down to your neck and chest before glancing back up at your face, spreading that blush up into your ears.

“The virtuous unbaptized?” You try not to laugh, wondering how it was possible that the man yesterday had thought you to be such a dark and tortured soul, while this one paints you as some sort of angel. They were both wrong in their own way, a single thread of truth holding each of their ideals together. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid that the second circle is where my most devious nature starts and stops,” you confess, feeling your heart race as he closes the gap between you.

“The sins of the flesh.” He smirks, clenching his jaw before delicately touching the spine of your book. “Unsurprising. I assume that a beautiful woman such as yourself is provided ample opportunities to get you into trouble there.”

“You assume correctly.” You let your mind wander about what he looks like underneath all those expensive clothes as he leans in further, the top of your book now pressing against his tie as his fingertips graze the back of your knuckles, forcing the hair on the back of your hand to stand on end.

“Alright, I’m done!” Your brother interrupts your conversation as he walks down the aisle, his messy work bag barely hanging off his shoulder when he spots your new friend. “Who the hell is this?”

The man gives you a somber look before clasping both of his hands over yours, finally looking up to address your brother. “Forgive me, it seems that I’ve lost my manners, I’m Elijah.”

#elijah mikaelson #daniel gillies #the originals #the vampire diaries #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson fanfic #niklaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #joseph morgan

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hyperactivewhore · 10 months ago

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hi I love your blog we have very much the same opinions in everything except klamille is my favourite klaus ship and klaurora is second

I have been trying to enjoying klaus fics or any tvdu fics on wattpad but every thing I have read so far doenst show the characters accurately which is very annoying

I was hoping and want to request if you could give me some recommendations on fics on wattpad that are good. (Mainly klaus but any love interest would be good)

could you please give a short summary/review so far of any recommendation you give so I don’t waste time starting one only to not like ir

sorry if I am sounding rude English is not my first language but I can read it fully thank I you very much

Don't worry, you're not sounding rude at all, if anything you actually sound really sweet. I'm glad we share some opinions and I'm really honored you came to me for some suggestions.

I haven't read long fanfictions in a while outside works in ao3, I left Wattpad a few time ago but I'll still try my best, tho I'm not very good at giving summaries. Fair warning these are mainly fanfics I've read in Archive of Our Own, not Wattpad, but I hope it's not a problem. If it annoys you, send me an ask and I'll give you some Wattpad recommendations!

Patisserie (ao3, poly Mikaelson siblings x original female character, no incest) by @wickedlyemma:

Stats: (published: 2020-12-29), (completed: 2023-03-12), (words: 154,943), (chapters: 45/45), (comments: 4,385), (kudos: 8,469), (bookmarks: 1,799), (hits: 279,967)

Tags: Polyamory, Sugar Daddy, Self-Indulgent, Explicit Sexual Content, No Incest, Slow Burn, Not Canon Compliant

Summary:

I think we've all read those kind of tvdu fanfics where the main character is a teenager, usually related to the Gilbert or the Forbes, still in high school and who suddenly stops trying to make a life for herself just because she gets dragged into the supernatural world. Well, Patisserie is the opposite of that. For once, the main character isn't a teen but an adult around her twenties, who works at a bakery and is completely unaware of the supernatural world until Klaus decides to change that.

The slow burn is is truly worthy of a chef's kiss, the way the author describes and writes the Mikaelson is just so on point it hurts. Their family dynamic is so entertaining to watch, but it's as fucked up as it is in the show, which it's something not many authors can accomplish. The way they behave around the main character, a simple human, it's so amusing because they truly know nothing despite their age and she's just so easy to relate to, because for once the oc is not ridiculously overpowered.

The way we perceive the Mikaelson and the vampire world from a human pov is truly interesting, how she copes with all of it and eventually learns to love all of them individually while being aware of the danger is so well done. Kol and her, as well as her relationship with Klaus, are particularly interesting to read, especially considering how they all behaved around her at the beginning and especially because both of them are the most dangerous members of their family. They are all selfish creatures, and I love how it shows the more their relationships with her develop.

Apotheosis (ao3, Klaus x original female character) by atriums;

Stats: (published: 2022-01-01), (completed: 2022-12-13), (words: 158,264), (chapters: 31/31), (comments: 606), (kudos: 1,817), (bookmarks: 491), (hits: 69,472)

Tags: POV Alternating, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sex, Sexual Content, Devoted Reader, Author Rejects Canon and Substitutes It with Their Own, Cannibalistic Werewolf Cults, Nobody Is Good But Also Nobody Is Evil, These Characters are Flawed and Problematic (Probably), This Fic is Not a Bastion for Healthy Characters and Relationships, Reader/OC Especially, Reader/OC can be any ethnicity

Summary;

You know those fanfics who fix (almost) everything problematic in canon? Apotheosis does exactly that. In this story, Klaus isn't a complete irredeemable character for once, but he also isn't half as bad as his canon version, and due to the oc being a werewolf, this fanfic does expand on his werewolf side a little more than The Vampire Diaries or The Originals ever did. His family and him actually have a healthy bond, and Finn gets the recognition he deserves for once.

The story is set in season three of TVD, exactly when Klaus and Stefan are trying to make hybrids for his pack, and in a ironic plot twist, Klaus decides to take you with him when you're still a werewolf after you say you're not worthy to be a hybrid, at least not yet.

Her devotion to him is completely endearing and I absolutely love how Klaus actually cares for his pack, especially because they're all canonical characters who were killed way too quickly. Her relationships with the members of their pack are so well written, and this fanfic it's the perfect mix of humour and seriousness. It has a ongoing sequel, which I just adore. I warn you though, all the characters have several differences from their canon versions.

Twisted Obsession (fanfiction.net, Klaus x original female character) by rocket-queen98;

Stats: Originals, M, English, Romance & Angst, chapters: 16, words: 59k+, favs: 1k+, follows: 1k+, updated: May 6, 2023 published: Aug 13, 2016, [Klaus M., OC] Elijah M., Hope M.

Summary;

Lola is one of the most adorable mc I've read. She is human and around nineteen, if I remember correctly, and just a sweet girl and adorable. She's introduced into the supernatural world thanks to baby Hope, who is just the cutest, due to her needing a mother figure now that Hayley wasn't present in her life thanks to the curse placed on her.

Her relationship with Hope is my favorite part of the whole fanfic. She doesn't suddenly turn into her mother, she doesn't intend to either, but rather becomes her best friend and Klaus and her develop a bond thanks to this. The way father and daughter interact is so heartwarming too, the subtle hints of them being werewolves, and seeing a main character having a good relationship with her father for once is a good turn, especially in tvd fanfics.

It's clear Klaus and Lola have something going on, even if they won't admit out loud, but for some reason the people around them give the impression they don't actually want them to date. There is implications something more fucked up than usual is going on with Klaus and his relationships, and I'm pretty sure him and Cami were a thing in this fic too. Surprisingly, Hayley and Cami aren't turned into absolute bitches, but there is Jackson bashing though.

The Girl in the Forest (fanfiction.net, Klaus x original female character) by noblecrescent;

Stats: Originals, T, English, Mystery & Romance, chapters: 30, words: 311k+, favs: 232, follows: 176, updated: Feb 19, 2017 published: Jan 23, 2016, [Klaus M., OC] [Elijah M., Camille O'Connell]

Summary;

This fanfic is a tetralogy of books set in The Originals, I read those fanfics a while ago so forgive me for any mistake. Maleny is a witch who was cursed, if I remember correctly, and was constantly body-jumping every short time.

In one of her lives, she met Klaus and they fell in love, but she died, if I'm not wrong, and they end up meeting again in New Orleans time later where he has a child on the way and a kingdom to conquer.

I can't remember a lot more without giving you spoilers, but it's worth checking it out!

Now, I'll give no more summaries because I honestly don't remember a lot of the next fanfics, but it's your choice if you want to read them;

A Veil Between Love and Hate (fanfiction.net, Klaus x original female character) by MandalorianHybrid;

Stats: Originals, T, English, chapters: 57, words: 200k+, favs: 609, follows: 359, updated: Sep 15, 2019 published: Jan 30, 2014, [Klaus M., OC]

Summary; Another five books set in The Vampire Diaries, with a story that eventually moves to The Originals.

Allure (wattpad, Klaus x oc x Stefan) by @viavolterra;

Stats: 575k Readings, 20,5k Votes, 34 Chapters

Summary;

I just could not not recommend this fanfic. Mia comes to Mystic Falls to seek revenge after Damon kills her best friend Lexi, but she of course gets dragged by the problems in that little town.

The thing I like the most about Via's story is how there is no cliché: no bashing towards Tyler or Elena, Mia actually befriends them, Bonnie gets the recognition and love she deserves, Klaus doesn't suddenly turn into a different person just because he loves the oc, he continues to be a piece of shit, and how sweet and empathetic she is, not like those reused badass mc who are just rude.

I would recommend some more, but it's kinda hard to find fanfics with a good Klaus depiction. I'm pretty sure I left out a lot of amazing fanfics, though.

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moowmoon · 1 month ago

Text

ELIJAH MIKAELSON MASTERLIST

"open your eyes, is it moon

or the sky and living is wise"

— paint the town, loona.

disclaimer: some of these stories will contain +18 content (which will be indicated with “+18” next to the title), so if you are underage or don't like the content, please don't interact with it! and I don't give anyone permission to rewrite, copy, or repost my work on any platform, plagiarism is a crime.

DRABBLES

ONE-SHOTS

HEYA — part of the "moowmoon playlist"

summary: elijah had only one thing for sure: it was the perfect date for the perfect night.

SERIES

#the vampire diaries x reader #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson fic #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #elijah mikaelson fanfic

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oh-goddess-of-chaos · 2 years ago

Note

can you make headcanons about yandere romantic Elijah mikaelson x fem reader

⠀ 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 – 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡 𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝒙 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ✧‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ (navi. & masterlist. & tag. )

「 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 」 somewhat suggestive thoughts, yandere themes such as kidnapping, controlling behavior, slight stockholm syndrome, forced affection, etc.

「 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 .⁺ ˖ ⌒ ah, elijah, our favorite older brother. this one took a little longer to write, but i don't mind the outcome.

Elijah was nothing like Nikklaus.

He was not brash nor impatient, nor was he selfish or cruel. Rather, he was noble and tactful, always putting the needs of his family before himself. His loved ones were protected so long as he roamed the Earth.

Which is why he had no idea why every instinct told him to take you away to some unpopulated and safe location the very moment he saw you. Elijah was no stranger to sudden impulses - this was of no doubt. Being a vampire made sure of this. But this desire, this want, it was stronger than even his craving for human blood. It ate at his insides when he tried to ignore it, mauled at his flesh when he pushed it aside.

You were an angel. A living, breathing angel. Elijah was sure of this when he first spoke to you. Your voice was like honey, and the expression that rested on your face - sweet and pure. You held yourself with a beautiful poise and walked with a powerful gracefulness. You were simply so innocent. It's no wonder he thought so highly of you.

When Elijah introduced himself, however, he was shocked to find that you seemed to know a bit about vampires. Your ears perked up upon hearing that you were speaking to a Mikaelson, but your confidence didn't waver. Your voice didn't quiver, your hands didn't tremble. You knew he was an Original, yet you felt no fear. And it intrigued Elijah to no end.

You're different from Elijah's family. As much as he refuses to admit to himself, he knows they use him, discarding him when he's no longer helpful. But you? He could spend hours talking to you - depriving you of free time, or he could be giving you the most expensive of jewels, but none of it seemed to matter to you. You treat him all the same, remain with him even when he doesn't believe he has very much to offer.

Elijah often catches himself daydreaming about you when you're not there, imagining what it would be like if the emptiness at the side of the bed was filled by you, what it would be like to be able to touch a figure as vulnerable as yours at the darkest point of the night and bury his fangs deep into your neck. What a pleasure it would be to hear soft little moans escaping your mouth.

The more Elijah finds out about you, the more worried he grows. His mind flashes with thoughts of what his siblings would do to you if they knew of your extensive knowledge on his family. And, as worry often does, it grows into fear, then paranoia.

As you and Elijah developed a close bond (perhaps more), he becomes more and more concerned for your well-being. He berates you with questions of your whereabouts when he doesn't know where you are or when you return from somewhere he could not find you.

But you construte it all for Elijah's protectiveness. Or, more specifically, overprotectiveness. So, in some sense, you appreciated it - his absolute desire to keep you safe. You appreciated feeling like you always had someone to look to for protection.

Elijah's concern gets to a point when he doesn't allow you out of your home, instead insisting that you live with him so he can keep an eye on you. And, even though you refuse at first, he manages to convince you that it's for the best, so you move in with him.

Things from there are quite domestic. Elijah enjoys having you around the house, being able to cook you dinner, provide you with a comfortable bed, and anything else of the sort.

It doesn't take long for Elijah to finally admit that he fancies you, and when he does, you just smile at him for what feels like an eternity before stealing a kiss from his soft lips. You simply couldn't deprive yourself of the opportunity.

The dynamic between the two of you then grows into one similar to that of a wife and husband.

He loves to feed on you, though he can never quite contain himself, so he feeds from your wrist, staring at your eyes the entire time so he can detect the faintest bit of tiredness in your eyes and stop immediately. These moments are quite intimate, nothing but silence and the presence of each other surrounding the both of you.

Whenever you do leave the house (no matter how rare this is), Elijah makes a point of having you feed on his blood. He loves seeing the way that a little human like you grips on his wrist tightly while feeding on him, how you look so dependent on him. It's utterly adorable.

Of course, Elijah tends to get jealous, more so than most men, but it's nothing you consciously suffer from - only the people foolish enough to touch you do. After all, you belong to Elijah, and he isn't intent on sharing you.

The more time spent with Elijah, the less you see your friends. At first, he simply persuades you that you should spend more time with him, but as you grow to miss them more and more, Elijah begins to plant seeds in your mind of your friends' toxicity and that they don't care about you, either way, since they obviously haven't come looking for you.

He, of course, leaves out the part where he threatened them that, if they were to reach out to you or look for you, they'd be dead before they could even think to utter your name. But it doesn't matter! They don't deserve you, either way - you were much too good for the likes of them. You deserved to be treated like a goddess, be worshiped at an altar, not slum around with mere mortals.

For the longest time you followed Elijah's advice. You hardly, if ever, spoke or engaged in conversation with even your closest of friends, only leaving the house if Elijah was with you or knew exactly of your whereabouts.

But, at some point, you decide that spending time with exclusively one person isn’t enough. You hadn’t even seen your family in person since you’d last moved in with Elijah. So, even though you feel horrible, you sneak out of the house to spend time with friends while Elijah is out. You knew he’d be angry if he found out, but you needed this. You just wanted to let loose without his looming presence. You loved him, but he could be overbearing.

When you come home late at night, however, you're mortified when you see Elijah sitting on the couch, clearly waiting for you, his demeanor eerily calm. At first you begin to apologize profusely and try to explain yourself, but Elijah is quick to cut you off and tell you to take a shower since you reek of alcohol.

Elijah beelines straight for the front door the moment you're out of sight. He's disappointed. He thought he’d taught you better than this. Sneaking out while he was away? It was a teenager’s act.

You had broken Elijah's trust - something he's never taken lightly. He had once thought he could confide in you and believe your word, but he was most obviously mistaken. So, locking the front door, he takes the necessary precautions to keep you safe. Even though this technically violates Elijah's moral code, he truly couldn't care less. Your safety is more important, your freedom be damned. Besides, if he gives you your freedom, you'll be dead within a matter of days, so it would be pointless. Elijah was sure of this. This way was better. You may get angry, but you'd get over it eventually.

Elijah is very, very patient with you at the start. He knows it's going to be hard for you to accustom yourself to seeing this new side of him, but he knows you'll give in eventually.

So he spoils you with jewels, dresses, and other priceless items - though he never gives you what you truly desire: your freedom.

From there, Elijah completely isolates you from the outside world. Your only social interactions consist of him, and when you give him an especially hard time, he locks you in your shared bedroom for hours. When he finally does come back, you find yourself unwillingly excited to finally be near him. Despite what he's done, he's the only social contact you have, leading you to become dependent on him quite quickly.

Elijah tries to make everything seem as though it's still normal. He still cooks for you everyday, still embraces you in his arms tenderly at night, still enjoys watching you go about your daily tasks whenever he's with you.

But, at some point, even the noble gentlemen loses some of his patience if you're particularly ignorant of his presence. So, the original forces intimacy on you - whether it be simply cuddling with you while watching a movie or making out with you when you're particularly defiant to his touch.

You escaping, if you were to ever try, would most likely be the single worst thing you could do to bring forth Elijah's wrath. He not a violent person by nature - not to the people he loves, at the very least - but trying to escape would, no doubt, easily rile him up.

He drags you back roughly, not daring to lay a finger on you though not making the journey very comfortable. After this, he isolates you for days on end, bringing in food without saying a word while you're asleep.

When he finally decides that your punishment is over, Elijah takes every opportunity to scold you and to tell you how bad you've been. He does not hold himself back by describing what could have happened had his family found you, and what a bad girl you'd been, as if you were a pet of his.

Even though you're trying to stay strong, as the days go on and on, you find yourself letting your guard down and warming up to Elijah. You simply can't help yourself. He's been the only one to provide with with solace on weary nights, to make your life feel somewhat normal.

And, besides, all Elijah wants to do is protect you! He's practically saving your life by keeping you in his home, safe from the dangers of the outside world. It's far too risky for you to go out there, anyway.

And Elijah truly does love you - his innocent, naive little human. And, if his end goal is merely to keep you alive, what could be so wrong with such a thing?

#elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #elijah mikaelson fluff #elijah mikealson one shot #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson imagine #yandere elijah mikaelson #yandere elijah mikaelson x reader #fanfic #elijah mikaelson fanfic #the originals #yandere the originals #elijah mikealson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson x y/n #elijah mikaelson x female reader

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madwomansapologist · 1 year ago

Note

elijah and cookies and cream

cookies and cream — are they protective of their lover?

⤷ with: elijah mikaelson

Elijah is your scary dog privilege. He's so polite, so observer. Many made the mistake of underestimate him. But those who know what Elijah really is, what he is capable to do for the people he loves, take effort to not be a problem for.

Elijah don't hesitate when you are the subject. It don't matter what happened, he will takes your side and defend you.

If you are mortal (and it time is the only thing separating you from a vampire life), then Elijah will never hesitate. Don't matter what happened, he will be there to support and protect you. He will take your side, and will kill whoever tried to hurt you.

Elijah will use them as vessels. Whoever tried to hurt you, scare you, kill you: they will not be a live being anymore, but just a way to send a message. Elijah will make it painful, and he will make everyone understand what happens when people try to mess with you.

If you know what he is, Elijah will prefer if you don't watch the things he will do. You can, he is not the kind of men to muzzle your freedoms, but he would rather you not seeing him as a monster. And if you do watch, nothing will make him feel better than your sweet embrace. Say you're thankful, that you feel so safe around him, that he's your hero: Elijah will feel held by you. You will feel like home.

But you know nothing about his long, long life, then it will be a little diferent. Elijah will be protecting you while making sure that you will only discover what he is at the right time. You will discover in a way that don't scare you that much, that won't be stressful, in a way that you can look at him without seeing a beast. Anyone who try to change that, or that actually can do it, will suffer.

And don't matter for how long you have been a vampire, no one will mess with you. You are strong, fast, resilient: Elijah will still be by your side. After all, that's what a real gentleman would do. Make sure that his partner is safe and sound.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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eddiemunsonappreciationsociety · 11 days ago

Text

Mutually Beneficial Dalliance

Chapter Two: "What do you want?"

Warning: smut below the cut. MDNI. Dom Elijah, sex worker storyline, vampire sex.

The crop coming hard on the skin of my ass cheek brings me back to now. He does it again harder and I groan into the bedcover. He begins on the back of my thighs and the sting is delectable. He stops to slide the end of the crop between my thighs, gesturing to me to open them. I do as I'm supposed to and spread my legs. He runs his fingertips over where he'd hit me with the cane and crop. It stings where he touches, I can tell he’s left me covered in welts.

"Do you need any respite, little one?" he asks, still touching the marks on my bum and the backs of my thighs.

"Not yet, sir." I whisper.

"I am glad to hear that, there is something utterly enticing about seeing you marked by me."

The crop hits me again and I take a sharp intake of air. He moves me easily into the centre of the bed and kneels beside me. He puts the crop down, and uses one hand to start spanking me, the other is around the back of my neck, pushing me down. He brings his palm down hard and fast against my ass. I feel my skin begin to bruise and soon I'm writhing in a mixture of pain and pleasure. My knees give out and I'm making noises with every smack.

As soon as I am about to say the safe word he stops and is in front of me. He bares his teeth, touching his fang to his thumb. He pushes his thumb between my lips and I begin to suck on it eagerly. The pain eases instantly, the heat gone from my skin. He watches me intently as I suck on his thumb. Before I can blink, I'm suddenly on my back, Elijah on top of me. He moves his hands between my thighs and feels me through the lace. I immediately buck my hips at him and he chuckles into my ear. He starts to kiss my neck, up and down, sucking on the skin ever so slightly. His hands slide into my pants, as soon as his fingers touch my clit, I'm a whimpering wreck.

He brings me close to the edge three or four times, each time knowing exactly when to stop to drive me the craziest I could be. As soon as my legs are quaking, he stops. I look up at him, my eyes almost frantic. He laughs deeply as he gets up, sitting back on his legs.

"Undress me." he demands.

I get up clumsily, legs and hands shaking as I go. He's knelt, so I mirror him. I take a steadying breath so that when I go to undo his shirt buttons, I'm not fumbling. I get the last button undone and run a hand down from his chest, down to his stomach. I lean forward and press my lips against his chest as I slide the shirt off his shoulders. His body is perfect, strong and defined. His arms wrap around me and pull my body close to his. I feel his hardness against me as I place wet kisses all along his throat, down his chest. I suck and bite on his skin and he groans. The sound sends waves of... something through me. I reach down between us and grab his cock through his pants. He gasps softly as I squeeze him.

"Do you want me to suck it, sir?" I whisper in his ear.

He lets out a low growl.

"It's been too long since I've been inside you, I'll have your mouth later." he says softly.

Once again, he has me on my back, I hear a rip and I'm naked apart from my heels. He lays on top of me, I reach down and push his trousers and boxers down enough to free his cock and he pushes himself into me. We both let out a guttural noise. He holds still for a second and I feel him press his lips to the pulse in my throat.

"What do you want?" his voice is demanding.

"Fuck me, please, sir." I beg.

He does as I ask and begins to move. His hips building a steady rhythm, I cling on to him, raising myself to meet his strokes. The speed, the arch of his hips hits me in all the right places. His arm snakes under my waist, lifting me to him but it's like it's not enough. He moves suddenly so we're both sat up, my legs wrapped around him. He's even deeper now and I can feel myself building once again.

His hands run up and down my back, pulling my hair. Suddenly they are on my throat and he squeezes gently. I moan again, he stares into my eyes as his hands tighten, my throat constricting. His eyes are darker now, almost black. Fuck.

"I'm getting close." I manage to gasp and he smiles wickedly.

"Cum for me, little girl." he croons into my ear, speeding up his thrusts, his hand tight on my throat right until I came. "Oh, such a good girl for me."

But he doesn't stop fucking me, he moves again and we're across the room, against the wall. His lips are at my throat again, I can feel the sharp fangs ever so gently run across the skin where my pulse is.

"Drink." I gasp.

He sinks his teeth into my throat and slams into me hard. Fuck. My nails scratch into his back and he moves and bites harder. I feel the warmth of the blood fall down the skin of my neck and I grunt. I hear him drink me down.

"Oh fuck." he gasps, licking the blood that had fallen over my breasts.

He takes a nail and scratches his throat, his blood spills slowly.

"Drink." he demands, and I listen.

I suck eagerly at his neck, then he kisses me again. Both our faces are covered in blood, as we kiss, we exchange ourselves with our tongues. His strokes become stronger, decisive. He shouts the word "fuck", followed by my name as he cums.

#elijah mikaelson fic #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikaelson fanfic #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson dom #elijah mikaelson smut #Elijah Mikaelson fiv #tvd #tvd smut #the originals #the originals smut

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velvetcloxds · 2 years ago

Note

looking for somebody- send me a gif of a character and I'll write a little baby blurb for it. — THIS :D

POPTARTS | E.M.

word count: 1k

warnings: just that idk how I feel about this, oh and also like some casual conversations about blood and vampires and murder and whatnot, eating

summary: elijah stocking up the cabinets with all of your favourite snacks

"I'm starving," you groaned, as you and Elijah walked into the kitchen, his arm still snaked around your waist, blazer around your shoulders, lips against your temple as he kissed you briskly.

"Leave it to Niklaus to ruin our dinner plans," he noted and you smiled, pouting slightly as he let you go, moving to get the wine glasses from the cabinet, slow in choosing a bottle, trying to decide what best fit the mood.

"He always does this, you know..." you kicked your shoes off, though you felt you'd spent too much time picking them out to be abandoning them so quickly. "Truly, couldn't you ask your brother to keep his death threats until after they served the main course," he breathed a laugh at that, looking over from where he'd finally found what he deemed the perfect wine, amused as you twirled around the island in the center of the kitchen, always in a world of your own.

"I'll have a word with him when he comes back," he promised, stealing one more lingering glance before pouring the glasses midway, walking over to the island to cage you in, a shy smile finding your lips as you looked up at him. "Did I get a chance to tell you how marvelous you looked tonight?" you took a glass from his hand, humming both in acknowledgement of his question and at the sweet taste of the wine as it settled on your tongue.

"I believe you tried to do so right before Klaus jumped onto a table to make a dramatic proclamation," you noted and habitually grabbed his shoulder for support as he hoisted you onto the counter, careful, efficient, not even spilling a drop in the process, raising a brow when you didn't let go, tugging his collar back into place. "And then again before you broke that rogue vampire's neck for spilling blood on my shoes," he was the one to hum, a guilty sound, the reminder a silent reprimand from you even if you didn't point it out. "And then again when you insisted on coming home instead of stopping at the corner store to get me poptarts."

"You could've simply said yes," he tutted and though you were happy for the little moment with him, you were still hungry, feeling slightly grumpy for looking forward to a fancy dinner and then having to come home to nothing. "And you know that if we went to that store we'd have left with bags full of candy, not just poptarts," he was right, you knew, he knew, but hell if you'd admit that out loud.

He pulled away too suddenly, leaving you with a frown as he moved to one of the cupboards, not even trying to ignore the way your frown twisted into a delighted smile when he opened it to reveal boxes of poptarts flavours and other snacks you'd on many occasions begged him for in the middle of the night.

"What flavour?" he asked very casually, pulling a clean plate from the drying rack hovering next to the sink, a knowing grin, an arrogant grin if he'd ever held one, on his pink lips.

"Surprise me," and he did, making a great show of hiding the wrapper from you, giving you one as is and slipping the other into the toaster, satisfied when you sighed happily at the first bite. "Cherry," you concluded and he nodded, as if proud you'd guessed, as if it was some big mystery. "Sweet, like the wine."

"I take the pairing process very seriously, you shouldn't be so surprised," he informed you and took the hot pastry when it jumped out, placing it in the plate with a little thud, holding said plate under your hand to keep you from messing on your dress. You offered him a bite of the one in your hand, thumb brushing a sprinkle from his cupid's bow and of course he stole the opportunity to kiss your finger, then your palm, all the way up to your wrist until you giggled at the feeling. "You look ravishing tonight, my love," and he nibbled, it was a daring thing, so close to your pulse, teasing himself just as much as he was teasing you.

"Slow down there mister," you shook your head, faux disapproval as you took another bite, not even bothered by the bit of icing that fell onto your lap. "Poptarts first, more of that later."

"Ahh, priorities," he agreed, moving both your wine glasses out of the way, content to wait, to watch, appreciate you in your little bubble of bliss.

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x you #elijah mikaelson x yn #elijah mikaelson x y/n #elijah mikaelson fluff #elijah mikaelson blurb #elijah mikaelson drabble #elijah mikaelson one shot #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #elijah mikaelson fanfic #elijah mikaelson fic #monique's writing events #right where queue left me

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frost-queen · 8 months ago

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Love doesn't expire (Reader x Elijah Mikaelson)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

Summary: Elijah and you get married in the 18th century. One day when you get hurt, your husband can't control himself, caving for blood. Rather fascinated by him, you aren't scared at all. Once your husband explains what he is, you ask him to turn you as well. Wanting to stay with him forever. Elijah does so, feeling guilty afterwards, making him leave you. In modern times you befriend Elena till one day you encounter your long lost husband once more. Demanding an explination from him. [ Happy birthday to you anon ask!]

Elijah watched as girls were holding hands, dancing in a circle. Spring was arriving so there was a celebration for the season. Amongst them a girl with flowers in her hairs. Her smile so radiant it captured Elijah to the bone. Unable to keep his gaze away from her. From you. You let go of the girl’s hands, spinning around breathless. Your eyes fell upon him, smiling whilst catching your breath.

A girl bumped into you, making you stumble forwards. Elijah rushed over as you had just stumbled a bit forwards. You took a hold of his wrist, smiling mischievous. Before Elijah could react, you pulled him with you into the circle of dancers around the big rooted tree. Grabbing him, you joined him in the dance.

Hopping around the tree with a constant smile on your lips. Elijah felt a bit shy at first, knowing his siblings were watching from somewhere. But soon his shyness faded away when he only had eyes for you. The village girl with flowers in her hair.

You gasped soft when Elijah pressed you against the wall in some alleyway. Smiling before he kissed your lips tenderly. Then forcefully. It was as instant as spring came. The love you were feeling for Elijah and the love he had for you. Not a month later, he introduced you to his siblings. Shared with them that you were going to get married. Niklaus was at first opposed to it. Telling Elijah it was wrong to love you. Rebekah had always been supportive.

Seeing the love you had for each other. Despite Niklaus’s interference, Elijah and you got married. It was a blissful day. You came to live with Elijah in the manor. His siblings lived in an estate nearby. Close, but not close enough to invade your private life. Life was good, life was wonderous with your husband. A husband who didn’t hold any secrets from you… or did he?

Elijah was working in the garden, unrooting a stomp. He paused for a moment, wiping some sweat of his forehead. From a distance he saw you, tending to the roses. He smiled seeing how gentle you were with them. You turned your head to look back at him. Raising your hand with a bubbly smile. Elijah blew you a kiss from afar. You pretended to catch it and pressing it close to your heart. Elijah returned to his work. Nearly having unrooted the stomp.

It stood in the way of the beautiful garden. Elijah grunted, easing in his strength to not draw suspicion to you. Then his eyes widened. The strong scent of blood filling his nostrils at it alerted his brain. He couldn’t help it, but the dark veins around his eyes started to show. Sharp fangs coming out, needing blood. It has been almost months since he last tasted human blood. Keeping his identity secret to you. He looked away, panting loud to supress his hunger.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw you were holding your finger. Most likely you had pricked yourself on one of the thorns. Elijah tore his gaze away, fighting the primal instinct inside of him. His head pounded with desperation for blood, making him press his hands against it.

Unable to control himself any longer, he went over to you. You looked up, noticing your husband suddenly close. – “Oh, Elijah.” – you said as he knelt down beside you, drawing your bleeding finger closer to him. – “It is but a small sting.” – you told him that it was truly nothing. He didn’t need to worry for a little prick. Elijah took in a deep breath, taking in the smell of your blood. – “Allow me.” – he responded bringing your finger closer to him. You smiled expecting him to wrap a handkerchief around it. Instead he brought your finger to his lips, sucking on the blood.

It made you furrow your brows, feeling his tongue brush over your finger. Elijah’s eyes darkened as he kept licking your bleeding finger. The blood wasn’t enough but it satisfied him. You reached out with your other hand to his cheek, touching the area just beneath his eyes. Fascinated by the dark veins. Your touch made Elijah pull away, suddenly aware of what he was doing.

He got up, rubbing his lips and strode off. – “Elijah?” – you said confused to why your husband was suddenly gone. Getting up, you went after him. You knew exactly where to find him. In the library. His hands firmly on the desk, his back turned towards the door. You knocked gently, entering.

“Elijah…” – you started not sure if he wanted you present. – “Go…go away Y/n.” – Elijah responded breathless. You ignored his warning, drawing nearer. Touching his shoulders, Elijah eased in. He slowly turned towards you, seeing those gentle eyes of yours. He couldn’t resist those eyes. He’d do anything for them.

You reached for his cheek again, seeing that the veins had disappeared. Elijah took your hand before it could touch him. – “Y/n please…” – he begged, not wanting you to saddle with his torment. – “Enlighten me.” – you asked. Elijah sighed not able to resist saying no to you.

He cupped your cheeks, explaining everything. Explaining to you that he was a vampire. Requiring blood. Once you understood, you offered him your wrist. Elijah stared confused at you. – “You need it to survive do you not?” – you asked as he nodded. – “I am offering it to you.”

Elijah gently took your wrist. You smiled with a soft nod, letting him know it was alright. You gazed wonderous at him when his fangs appeared. You quietly yelped when they bit through your flesh. The weird sensation it left on you, was unfamiliar and fascinating at once. Elijah grabbed you tighter to get his grip firmer on you. Seeing him feast on you was something that strangely didn’t bother you. Elijah let go, gasping loud. Blood dripping down your wrist as you stared at the wound on your wrist.

Elijah pulled out a handkerchief wrapping it around your wrist to stop the bleeding. – “Can… can you make me like you?” – you asked, catching Elijah by surprise. – “Why would you?” – he replied confused. – “Can we not be together forever than?” – you questioned. Elijah nodded. – “Don’t… don’t you love me enough for that? Am I just an insignificant small memory in your long life?” – you started to doubt yourself. Knowing he would love a dozen more girls after you.

Elijah held his other hand on the handkerchief around your wrist. – “You are not insignificant. Not even close.” – he answered with caring eyes. He kissed your knuckles, never taking his gaze off you. – “Then love me forever.” – you told him. Elijah let his knuckles brush against your cheek. He removed the handkerchief from your wrist, now stained with blood. Your wrist was still bleeding as Elijah took a bite in his own wrist.

He offered you his wrist. – “It will help it heal.” – he told you. You took his wrist, moving it to your mouth. It was strange tasting his blood in your mouth. You kept sucking it, drinking his blood till he pulled away. Looking down at your wrist, you saw the wound disappear. In wonder you stared at your healed wrist, letting your fingers brush over it. That night you prepared yourself for bed. Your words echoing in Elijah’s head. Then love me forever. He couldn’t shake them off. His love for you beyond describing. – “Elijah are you coming to bed?” – you called out from the other room.

Elijah closed his eyes before joining you in the bedroom. You paused, getting in bed. Sheet lifted up as one leg was already in. – “Is everything alright darling?” – you asked as he seemed a bit off. Distant. An impulsive thought crossed Elijah’s mind and he couldn’t shake it off. He rushed over to you, standing before you in a second. His hands around your neck as he turned it, snapping your neck in a split second.

Your body fell weightless as he caught your falling body before hitting the matrass. Looking down at your body, he came to a sense of what he had just done. Your colour fading. He carefully laid you down, hoping you would wake up again. Knowing he had to live with the consequences of his impulsive thoughts.

You awoke many hours later, feeling an emptiness in your stomach. Elijah knew what it was. The first hunger. He offered you his blood, before you could fully process what was happening. Knowing he had finalized the process of turning. The following weeks, Elijah had turned silent. Crawling back in his shell as he watched you. Watched you juggle your normal life with your new life. This wasn’t what he imagined. Not even close. One day after a decade, he vanished.

A car pulled over. You got out, slamming the door shut behind you. You had been touring the world for the past decades now and found yourself in a godforsaken town in need of gas. Mystic falls. Car broken down before you could reach a gas station, you had to walk. Taking out a flask from your trunk, you started the long walk in search for gas. For miles there was nothing but woods. Finally you reached a bit of town as it made you roll your eyes.

Great one of those towns that got stuck in the 1800’s. – “Now for gas, let’s hope you have it.” – you sighed out, doubting if a time stuck town like this even had a gas station. You neared a bar, deciding to head in and ask before you searched every corner of this town. The mystic grill. All heads turned when you entered. You ignored them, knowing they probably weren’t used to outsiders.

Heading straight for the bar. – “What can I get you?” – the boy behind the bar asked, cleaning his hands on a towel. You set the flask on the counter. – “I need gas, do you have a station around?” – you answered. – “Car broke down?” – he responded. It made you roll your eyes. – “Yes, now do you have gas?”

A girl came nearer as you noticed her. – “Not for a long drive. Where is your car at?” – she asked. You sighed soft. – “By the sign.” – you told her. She mouthed a wow. – “That was a long walk.” – she said making you hum in response. – “Well I can always give you a ride?” – she suggested. – “Elena.” – the bartender said with warning eyes. Elena ignored him. – “We’ll fill up there and I’ll bring you back to your car. How does that sound?” – she asked.

“Well that sounds awfully nice Elena.” – you responded. Elena got up taking her purse. – “I’m Y/n by the way.” – you told her. Elena led you to her car. You got in at the passengers seat. On the way to the gas station, Elena and you got talking. Sharing some interest as it felt nice to talk to someone. You had always been alone on your rides. It can be lonely from time to time with no one to talk to in the car.

Elena rode up to the gas station. You got out as you got your gas. Returning to her car, she drove to where your car was parked. You were filling up your car as Elena leaned against your car. – “Are you staying long or passing through?” – she asked. – “Passing through.” – you answered finishing.

“You know… it’s getting late… you should probably eat.” – Elena spoke making you quirk your eyebrow up. – “Is that an invitation to stay?” – you answered intrigued. – “Maybe.” – Elena responded shy. You laughed coming up to her. – “Are you cooking?” – you asked. – “Only for you.” – she chuckled in return. You got in your car, riding behind Elena to her house. A night, turned into a day, into three days, into almost a week now. A week now you got stuck at Mystic falls. Not leaving just yet. Elena and you had become great friends.

“I know this great place.” – Elena said pulling at your arm to get you to follow her. – “Let me guess another founding father thing?” – you teased her with. Elena shook her head. – “Something more modern.” – she laughed out. – “Now you are talking.” – you responded moving along with her. Elena had her arm locked around yours as you walked over the town square.

You saw a small café pulling Elena to a stop. – “Quick bathroom stop.” – you told her, running inside. Elena waited outside. – “Elena Gilbert.” – she suddenly heard. Elena’s eyes widened briefly till she narrowed them bothered. – “Elijah.” – she responded annoyed.

Elijah chuckled moving one hand in his pocket. – “Where’s your lousy brother?” – she asked looking around. Elijah smiled. – “My brother isn’t here so no need for you to be so tense.” – Elijah responded, sensing how tense her muscles were. – “Then what do you want.” – she called out. – “Can’t a man just say hello?” – he answered innocently. – “It’s never that innocent with you originals.” – Elena fired back.

“Elena I’m ready.” – you said getting out of the café. Coming to a sudden stop at the sight of Elijah. Elijah’s eyes widened, removing his hand from his pocket. Elena looked confused between the two of you. – “Y/n…” – Elijah breathed out. The shock in your eyes turned to anger. You rushed over to Elijah, grabbing him firm by his throat. – “Where have you been love?” – you told him bitsy. Elijah choked under your grip. – “Tell me how many years have it been? Decades? A hundred years?” – you called out.

Puffing annoyed afterwards. – “Y/n.” – Elijah grunted trying to catch his breath. You squeezed harder. – “Didn’t think you would see me again when you left me for dead!” – you spitted out pushing him off. Elijah stumbled to the ground, rolling over. He coughed loud, touching his neck.

“You know him?” – Elena asked. – “You mean my dear husband who vanished!” – you replied angered, wanting to have another go at him. Elijah held his hand out, slowly getting up. – “Y/n… please…” – Elijah started. You puffed mockingly, crossing your arms. – “Where the hell were you!” – you shouted. – “I waited days, weeks, years for you to come back. Wondering why you left me. Wondering what I had done wrong to be left alone like this. Tell me husband what did I say for you to pull the earth from around me and make me fall into a dark pit!” – All those years of anger, bubbling back up.

Elijah rushed over to you, grabbing you firm by your shoulders. – “I… I…” – he started not coming out of his words. – “What!” – you snapped at him. – “I felt guilty!” – he yelled. – “I… I shouldn’t have turned you. I wanted you to live a normal life. I took that from you. I couldn’t bear the guilt. Constantly reminded of it when I saw you. It was eating me alive.” – he confessed.

He exhaled deep lowering his head a bit. – “I never stopped loving you Y/n. I just couldn’t stop blaming myself for what I did. I regretted leaving you for all those years. I came back to our house, but you weren’t there. It only made the guilt worse that I couldn’t find you anymore.”

You blinked softly, staring back at him with those gentle eyes he had missed for so long. It made Elijah exhale adoringly that he could see them again. You grabbed Elijah, pressing your lips onto him. Your anger vanished in a matter of seconds. Elena swallowed nervously, looking away at the heated kiss between Elijah and you. Lips desperately on one another.

Needing to fill that longing. Elena eventually cleared her throat as she thought you were going to eat each other with the way you were kissing each other. Elijah and you pulled away, panting. – “Plan on leaving me again in a decade?” – you asked teasingly. Elijah shook his head. – “You are stuck with me for always and forever.” – he responded.

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muse-oleum · 8 months ago

Text

Beloved (Part I)

“She was the only woman who saw all of him—the good, the bad and the ugly—and wanted all of it. From the moment she arrived in our village, everyone else never really stood a chance. Honestly, I don’t believe anyone ever will.” OR Rebekah tells Hayley the story of the first and only woman Elijah Mikaelson has ever truly loved, and why he can never love her the way she wants him to.

Elijah Mikaelson x Witch!OC/10th century AU/Unreliable Narrator (mostly Rebekah, though)

Find it on AO3: here.

(+ so many more tags and nerding it out in the notes :) come say hi)

Hayley was sulking again, listlessly watching the fire crackle back to life as Rebekah poked at it, the scent of firewood filling the air as the flames soared higher, licking up at the blackened bricks. With a sigh, the vampire sat back into the leather armchair closest to the fireplace, occasionally prodding the heavy iron grate closer to the hearth, as if keeping the crackling embers from escaping would somehow prevent the werewolf from asking her the question she knew she wanted to ask.

Rebekah sank deeper into the comforting depths of the armchair, eyeing her companion from above the rim of her glass. The scowl on Hayley’s face was enough to indicate just what had transpired between her big brother and the young werewolf.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said, taking a sip of… whatever it was Nik kept around the study.

Hayley looked up, frowning. There was a world of hurt in her eyes that Rebekah knew all too well. She’d seen it time and time again in face after face. All the women who fell for her brother inevitably ended up wearing a similar expression on their face when they finally understood that Elijah would never give himself to them completely.

Honestly, had he been anyone else, Rebekah would have accused him of having serious commitment issues.

But this was her brother. Loyal to a fault, fiercely protective of those he loved, dotting uncle to his little niece. And so, as much as she’d rather be just about anywhere else right now, it was both her duty and burden to explain the situation.

Especially to this particular woman, seeing as she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon and her remaining in the dark would only cause more problems in the future; both for her and for the entire family.

Rebekah sighed again, downing the rest of her drink.

“Just so you’re aware: Elijah would have my head for even broaching the subject with him, let alone with you, so if you rat me out, I’ll make Mikael look like the easter bunny.”

The corners of Hayley’s mouth twitched, threatening a smile—an all too rare occurrence these days. It dimmed almost immediately, the kind of pain only unrequited love could bring swimming in her eyes. The werewolf sighed, propping up her chin on her knees, returning her gaze to the fire.

“I just—” she closed her eyes, taking a breath and letting it out before trusting her voice again, “I thought we could be going somewhere, y’know?” She shrugged, tucking her fingers inside the sleeves of her sweater, “But he’s just so… remote. It’s like I can’t reach him, or something. Every time I try, he just… closes off.”

Rebekah poured herself another drink, taking a fortifying breath.

“He wasn’t always that way.” Seeing Hayley’s eyebrows shoot up all the way to her hairline, she scoffed. “A thousand years is a very long time, you know.” Tilting her head, she decided to rip the band aid off in one clean swipe. Better to have it over and done with as quickly as possible. “When we were human, Elijah fell in love with a woman named Svala. She was…” she took a long breath, echoes of agonized screams clawing at her mind, losing herself to old memories as she gazed down at her glass. Rebekah watched them swirl in the dark amber liquid, swallowing the lump in her throat when she realized she couldn’t quite remember her face, sharp features and laughing grey eyes tangling together in soft hues, pulling her back in time despite herself.

“She was his wife, and the love of his life.”

Present-day Virginia, c. 990 A.D.

It was just after Álfablót, during the month of Haustmánuður, that the boats arrived, narrowly escaping winter at sea. Ayana had already foretold their arrival and entire families had left the village to go greet their loved ones from the old countries. The village itself waited, the old and the young, and all those whose kin had not been onboard the boats. New homes had been built—as many as possible—and there were still logs of timber scattered around in expectation for more, covered by pine needles and leaves to keep most of the coming ice at bay.

Preparations for winter were well underway by the time the first travelers were spotted, able-bodied men and women carrying young children in their arms or on their backs, with the more travel-weary stragglers lagging behind. Only the more adventurous children seemed to have any energy left, gazing at the welcoming party with wide eyes, tugging at each other’s sleeves.

The head of the village had gone with them and there was a collective sigh of relief at his safe return. Some of the werewolves had gone too, eager to see new faces—and to warn them of what life with them would entail.

Not that it mattered. After such a long voyage, all would have been glad of a simple meal, the warmth of a fire and the comfort of family they had not seen in years.

Carrying her pack on her back, Svala looked up at the tall pine trees, so different from the wide oak trees of her home. She didn’t know what to make of them—she didn’t know what to make of any of it.

Her mother had convened with her Sisters, sensing the dangers in the new religion that had made its way to their homeland, swaying their people and changing their ways. She had come back with a haunted look, telling her to pack whatever it was she loved most, and that they were leaving. Svala had raged and raged, tears in her eyes, refusing to leave and digging her heels into the ground until her mother had all but dragged her onto the boat.

It was a great hulking beast, larger than the ships she had grown up around. It was meant for a sea voyage that would last weeks, where storms would rage and winds would blow, threatening to drown them into seas she had only ever heard about in stories. Her mother’s presence had calmed her, the hand on her shoulder heavy enough to pull her from her thoughts.

No völva would let her people drown.

It still hadn’t been enough to save her, though, and Yrsa Anundottir had died a week before they reached their destination, leaving her young daughter alone, cold, and scared in a new world she knew nothing about.

A young couple, Ulf and Asta, had taken Svala under their wing. Asta, like her mother, was a völva; and quite good at it too, though she dabbled more in incantations and less in the art of divination.

Svala had always been thankful her own powers had strayed more towards healing than the more arcane arts. She had never envied her mother’s power and, as she stood looking up at the trees in her new home, all she felt was hatred for it. Divination had brought her here, all alone, without her mother. She couldn’t help but suspect Yrsa had known all along she would not make it this far, and it only made her angrier.

A small boy tugging on her skirts distracted her from her thoughts, his wide smile and big brown eyes warming her despite the autumn winds whipping her hair around her face. She tucked an errant curl behind her ear and smiled back, waving at him. He smiled even wider and ran back to those she assumed must be his family. He tugged on the sleeve of one of the older men, whispering in his ear something that made him laugh.

He was handsome, with shoulder-length dark hair braided back from his face, revealing balanced features, most prominent of which sharp cheekbones and an even sharper jawline. She averted her eyes when she inadvertently met his own, the same warm brown as those of his… brother? Son? He was old enough that it could be both.

Svala felt the pressure of Asta’s hand at the small of her back, guiding her to a clearing where an open fire pit had been lit, casting a warm glow on the charred ground beneath it. The village leader, a well-built man called Harald whom she had grown to respect over the past few weeks, had opened the welcome feast, and she noticed that those whose families had left their homeland years ago had at long last been reunited. She smiled, dropping her pack against the trunk of a nearby tree, as she observed Ulf greet his brother Magnar, the two men embracing each other. Magnar then turned to Asta, opening his arms to her and welcoming her, and Svala felt a small twinge of jealousy.

It was petty, she knew, but she wished someone was there to greet her like that. But all she had was her small pack and the memory of her mother.

Averting her eyes to hide the sting of tears she refused to spill for a woman who had abandoned her, Svala turned back to her meagre belongings, rummaging in search of something a little warmer. Earlier this week, they’d stopped at a stream to wash and repair their clothes, and she had taken the opportunity to refresh her winter clothes, not knowing when she’d next have the chance.

Still, fall here seemed milder than at home, where the first snows had surely already fallen. She was hit by another wave of sadness and tied the strings of her pack with such vigor that she nearly snapped them, biting back tears when a small hand braced itself on the bark of the tree in front of her.

“Mother says you can leave your belongings at our home. It’s not wise to leave them about like that.”

It was the little boy from earlier, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, observing her with a far more intelligent gaze then she’d come to expect for a child his age. Their speech differed slightly from hers, but she understood him well enough, and she thought she could actually make out the slight inflections of her homeland.

“Why? Would someone steal it?”

He shook his head and bent towards her, mischief in his eyes. “No, but the landvaettir might take it and hide it inside an old tree and then we’d never see it again.”

Svala blinked, then laughed. The boy’s eyes lit up, and she had the sneaking suspicion he had been trying to cheer her up. It certainly had worked—it felt so very good to express joy again.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She whispered conspiratorially, winking at him.

Elated, the little boy ran back towards his family, who had dispersed into the throng of people gathered in the clearing. She saw him gesture wildly to the same man as earlier, caught the amused smile on his face before he started to make his way towards her. She dropped her gaze back to her pack, tying it off with one final tug and hoisting it on her shoulders.

The man was tall; taller than she’d expected. He towered over her, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders. Instead of making her feel caged in, it made her feel safer, an odd sensation tingling up her spine.

Svala finally dared to meet his eyes, finding them darker than his brother’s but full of the same earnestness. He inclined his head towards her, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. It made him appear younger, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. She smiled back tentatively, her lips stinging, chapped raw by the wind and the salt.

Before she had even taken one step, he took her pack from her, swinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed next to nothing. The little boy grabbed her hand, tugging her along to meet the rest of their family, babbling happily about how he would take her to see the clearing tomorrow, before all the leaves had fallen and Svala couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Perhaps we should let her decide for herself what she would like to do first, little brother?”

The boy stopped, eyeing her as he would a particularly complicated puzzle, a little storm gathering in his eyes, and she knew enough of children to recognize the beginnings of a tantrum.

“I’ll be happy to come with you to the clearing, little one,” Svala said, smiling at the glee in his eyes, “on one condition.” He looked on with rapt attention, his eyes widening. She smiled wider, “I will go, but only if you tell me your name.”

She heard the man beside her huff out a laugh. The boy snuck his tongue out at him, narrowly escaping a smack upside the head as he danced around them, avoiding his brother’s hand deftly. He reminded her of a wood sprite.

“This impolite little imp is Henrik,” his brother said, giving up and tugging his little brother into his side, ruffling his hair. He turned towards her, warm brown eyes mirthful.

“I’m Elijah.”

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“And that’s how they met,” Rebekah sighed, getting up to refill her glass. It was a good thing she couldn’t get drunk easily; she had a feeling she would need that tolerance as the evening wore on. “Svala charmed Henrik as soon as she stepped foot inside our village and our little brother was the way to Elijah’s heart.” She took a small sip, fingers drumming on the table. “I honestly think it was instantaneous, at least on his part. I could tell he was smitten almost immediately.”

She sighed again, leaning back against the table. Hayley was silent, staring at her—although Rebekah was ready to bet the other woman wasn’t really seeing her at all. The Original suppressed another sigh. She disliked the idea of hurting her but it was unavoidable. Hayley was young, and on the cusp of love. She deserved to be pulled from the edge before she well and truly fell for her brother, a path which only ever led to heartbreak.

“Svala’s mother had died during the crossing,” Rebekah continued, seating down on the table, “and our own mother took pity on her, I suppose. I think she could also sense Svala’s powers, which were strong even for a völva, and—”

“You used that word before, but what does it mean?” Hayley asked, straightening up and tugging the fabric of her dress around her knees, visibly shaking herself from her thoughts.

“Völur—that’s the plural form—were witches (mostly), but also sometimes warlocks, who traveled the old countries, stopping here and there to dispense their services. Another term for a völva is seiðkona—wielder of seiðr, what you’d call magic.”

“So she was a witch?”

Rebekah hummed, taking another sip. “Yes, but also something more. You see, modern-day witches seem to have largely lost their powers of divination. At least the ones I’ve met.” She shrugged. “Kol’s been to the East, I’m sure he would tell you more about ancient magical powers, if he could.” Rebekah cleared her throat, pushing away thoughts of her brother. “But in any case, a seiðkona could, under the right circumstances, predict the future with reasonable accuracy.” She paused, eyeing the werewolf. “Svala was one such witch, although we didn’t discover that until much later.”

Hayley nodded pensively. “So your family took her in?”

“Early on, yes. She stayed with us for a while, helping our mother and myself with household chores—don’t give me that look, it was like that, back then—and we grew close.” Rebekah swallowed the lump in her throat as the memories came rushing back. “I always had wanted a sister.”

----------------

“I do believe my brother fancies you,” Rebekah said as they crouched near the frozen stream, their fingers red and stinging from the cold.

“Which one? You have many,” her friend answered with an impish grin.

“Oh, stop it! You know which one!”

“Why, Rebekah,” Svala stood, batting her eyelashes innocently in her best impression of Tatia, the woman who hung on Elijah’s and Nik’s every word, “I had no idea Henrik saw me in such a way.”

That earned her a handful of freezing water to the face. Shrieking, she kicked fallen leaves at Rebekah in retaliation.

The beautiful blonde, the only sister in a large brood of brothers, had been Svala’s salvation these past few months. They were around the same age, with Svala only a few years older than Rebekah, and of vastly different temperaments. That did nothing to stop the budding friendship between them as Rebekah helped Svala navigate life in her new environment, introducing her to their neighbors and helping her to make friends. In return, Svala had taken to helping the younger woman with her chores, lending a hand where she was needed.

Esther, too, had been glad of the help, saying jokingly that she wasn’t getting any younger, and thus welcoming Svala with open arms. She suspected that the older witch would have wanted more daughters. Together with Asta and Ayana, Esther had also taken to perfecting the young witch’s understanding of seiðr, the trio easily stepping into her mother’s shoes. Of the three, Svala was most at ease with Asta, given that they shared a common past—or as common as anyone around here, anyway. Ayana scared her a little, but she rather thought her mother and her would have been fast friends. As for Esther, she remained undecided.

She was grateful to the older woman—more than grateful, really—but there was still something about her that Svala couldn’t quite shake. She wondered distractedly if she should be worried that her mother’s power had managed to make its way to her, and what it was trying to tell her if it had.

“You know perfectly well which of my brothers I was referring to.”

She did.

Elijah was still somewhat of a mystery to her. A man of few words, the only signs of his partiality came in other forms. He would help her with the more physical tasks, such as carrying buckets filled with water and snow for washing and cooking. Or he would help her skin and tan the hide of the animals the men caught on their hunts, fashioning coats and pouches from the leather. He had introduced her to his friend, the smithy, a tall, muscular man named Leif, who showed her how he made the arrowheads and knives used for hunting.

These people did not raid, although, far from the sea as they were, she supposed it wasn’t all that unusual. They appeared to trade with some neighboring settlements, although most of these were nomadic in nature. The only other village near them was the one led by the werewolves—a people Svala had only heard her mother speak about very infrequently. There were some clans in the old country, but they lived far from towns and villages in self-inflicted exile.

This was not the case here, where the two villages cohabited peacefully. There was, however, an undeniable current of fear around the full moon, when those not afflicted by the Curse would withdraw to the cave systems underneath their village, magical boundaries and wards in place, to wait out the moon. She supposed she understood the high status that Ayana and Esther seemed to enjoy. When faced with fangs and claws, seiðr was an attractive defense.

She was pulled from her musings by the feeling of a strong hand on her arm. Elijah swooped in and took the heavy bucket from her, barely straining under its weight. He gave her a gentle smile and fell into step alongside her. Rebekah, the little minx, winked at her—in full view of her brother!—and escaped up the path, grumbling about how she too could use someone to help her with her own burden. As if summoned, Nik appeared at her side, easily bracing against its weight. Svala huffed a laugh when he threw her a long suffering look over his shoulder.

“Your brother seems to never be too far from your sister,” she told Elijah quietly, laughter brightening her dark eyes.

Those eyes of hers, the color of dark stormy skies, had been an object of fascination to him ever since he had met her. They seemed almost alive, wisps of grey and brown and blue all interweaving together, one peeking through more than the others depending on the weather.

Of course, her eyes were not the only beautiful thing about her. It seemed to him that the gods had crafted this woman solely to plague his dreams. She filled his mind so completely, he had began to wonder about his sanity. On one occasion, he had heard her sing quietly to herself as she gathered wood for the fire, her long brown hair tumbling down her back, framing her petite frame and highlighting the curves of her body; and Elijah had almost believed he’d been taken in by a forest spirit.

But such stories were the ones he told his youngest brother on nights he could not sleep, and he knew better.

He did not know what love felt like; at least, not that kind of love. He knew the deep devotion he felt towards his siblings, and the lust for a warm, soft, body; but this was uncharted territory. Every time Svala was near, Elijah lost the ability to speak, unable to string more than two sentences together for fear of appearing an utter fool. His silence did not seem to bother her, so he took it as encouragement to remain just as he was, comfortable with admiring from afar.

Which was exactly what he was doing right now. Svala was eyeing him curiously, no doubt wondering what was taking him so long. Little did she know (he very much hoped) that all he wanted to do was kiss her to find out whether her lips were as soft as they appeared.

“Rebekah and Niklaus have always been very close,” he answered slowly, returning his gaze to his siblings in front of them, “it used to make Henrik quite jealous.”

“Is that why he’s so attached to you?”

Elijah chuckled. “No, Henrik is rather fickle in his affections. One week, he won’t leave me alone, the next, he’ll be glued to Kol’s side.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a few octaves. “Although I think that’s mainly so he can learn new tricks and cause more trouble.”

Svala laughed. “Yes, he’s rather good at finding trouble.”

“Oh, I’m sure he would say trouble finds him.”

“An answer only a troublemaker would know to give,” she said, nodding sagely.

They had reached the village, passing through a denser copse of old trees, the scent of pine needles overwhelming. It was one Svala had taken time to get used to, but now that she had, it filled her with a strange sort of warmth. She wasn’t sure if she could call that feeling “belonging”, but it certainly felt close to it.

Between Rebekah’s freely given friendship, Henrik’s childlike love and Elijah’s quiet company, she had began to ease into this new life her mother had thrown her into. She still missed her home, and the wide, tall oak trees behind her homestead, but the ache was cooling, little by little.

Of the Mikealsons, only Finn and Kol remained a little aloof. The former because it was simply his personality and the latter, she suspected, was a little shy about talking to a völva. Svala wanted to tell him he had nothing to worry about: she couldn’t predict his future even if she tried, and she had no desire to do so. The topic hadn’t even been discussed by any of her three teachers yet, although she knew Asta, at least, had some knowledge of the divination arts. Ayana and Esther seemed to think it was best left alone and Svala would tend to agree, given where her own mother’s gift had led her.

Then again, she thought, chancing a glance at the man beside her to find him looking back at her with a small smile on his lips, perhaps that was not an entirely bad thing.

----------------

“They kept dancing each other for weeks,” Rebekah said, shaking her head fondly in an effort to drive away memories of her friend. “It drove Nik and I absolutely mad.”

The Original sighed, raking a hand through her blonde curls to briefly massage the back of her neck. Sitting still for so long rarely took a toll on her body anymore—she was, quite simply, too old to care—but she suspected the current topic of discussion drained her more than she’d like to admit.

Talking about Svala was forbidden. Everybody in the family knew it, and even Nik never ever dared to speak her name when Elijah was within earshot. Her death had been a blow their older brother had never recovered from and even now, nearly a millennium after he’d buried her, she would still catch him bracing himself against some pain she couldn’t see and she knew he was thinking of her.

“Their courtship was long, by our standards,” she continued, turning her back to Hayley as she refilled her glass for the umpteenth time that evening, “but that’s Elijah for you.”

“Why do you say that?” Hayley asked. “He’s always seemed like a man who makes up his mind quickly to me.”

Rebekah hummed into her glass. “Oh, his mind was made up, believe me. He was going to marry her, none of us—least of all him, at least at the unconscious level—had any doubts about that.” She turned back to her companion. “But you forget about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Eyeing her friend, the vampire sighed, looking down at her glass. “Our father.” She took a deep breath, hating that even now the man had such a hold on her as to make her afraid of speaking his name. “Mikael wasn’t a kind man, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” she said drily, smiling slightly at the werewolf’s quiet snort, “and he wasn’t then either. I think Elijah was afraid to bring Svala into a family with such a man at the head of it.”

Rebekah sat back into her original seat, bringing her forearms to rest on her thighs, rolling her glass between her hands. “Perhaps he was right to be worried, considering everything that happened.”

“Did Mikael hurt her?”

The Original chuckled bitterly. “Who didn’t he hurt? He hurt Nik, most of all, but he took it out on others too. Our mother never moved against him,” she bit out angrily, “and even back then, I didn’t understand why. He was strong, but she was a witch, so what was she afraid of?” She huffed. “Obviously, now, I know she was scared her little secret would come to light.”

Hayley nodded, shifting in her seat. “Klaus’ real father?”

“The leader of the neighboring village,” Rebekah answered, noting the disbelieving look the other woman shot her. “Yes, rather stupid of both of them really, but oh well.” She shook her head, willing herself to get back on track. “But no, Mikael never laid a hand on Svala. Elijah would probably not have stopped me from trying to kill him if he had.”

Hayley’s eyes grew wide. “You tried to kill your dad?”

Rebekah nodded darkly. “And I wish to god Elijah had let me finish the job.”

“That’s wild.”

“Welcome to the family, love.” Rebekah gulped down the rest of her drink, thinking that she might just have to slow down if she was going to survive waking up tomorrow. “Anyway, after a few months of tentative smiles and furtive glances, Elijah finally made the first move, to our family’s collective relief."

----------------

Midsommerblót was fast approaching and with it, the height of the summer months. Offerings for the landvaettirs had been prepared, crops stood tall or sprawled over and under the soil, birds were chirping in the tall trees and it seemed every living thing was bustling in preparation for the harvest months.

Svala herself had not been idle since the arrival of spring. With help from Elijah and Nik, as well as Leif and Ulf, she had moved into her own cottage, not too far from the Mikaelsons. It was small, but sturdy, the last of the new homes built for the newcomers.

She would miss Rebekah’s constant companionship and the easy routine she had fallen into amongst the family, but she was glad to have a space to herself. She’d never really had that before. The home she had shared with her mother was smaller than her new one, even if her youth had been spent mostly following her mother in her travels.

Besides, given the current climate in the Mikaelson home, Svala had no doubt Rebekah would end up sleeping here more often than not in the upcoming months, personal space be damned. Mikael had been in an even fouler mood than usual, and she had been glad to escape. Svala knew her friend well enough by now to know that her new home was about to become Rebekah’s new home too.

Unless her brother beat her to it.

The distance between Elijah and her was long gone, replaced by open smiles and slower touches; the kind that lingered a little too long and left her a little too breathless. As the summer solstice approached and Midsommer drew nearer, she’d began to feel the telltale pull of desire more forcefully every time he stood next to her. It grew so strong at times that she worried the others would feel it, like the current pushing her towards him. She was entirely powerless to resist it but felt no need to battle it, if only they could find themselves alone.

But, as things would have it, between moving into her new home and preparing for the festival—as well as her daily chores and Henrik’s and Rebekah’s constant demand for her attention—she had barely had any time to herself. Let alone with Elijah.

And yet, the infuriating man wouldn’t leave her thoughts.

Svala shook her head ruefully, spotting Nik down the path.

Gathering wildflowers was a task she and Nik enjoyed doing together. He always kept some tucked away for Tatia, she knew, and he’d give them to her tonight, at the feast. The others were for Rebekah, who’d just turned sixteen last week, a true child of summer.

Together, they kept an eye on Henrik, who amused himself by crafting what flowers they brought him into crowns and bouquets. Svala had a sneaking suspicion one of these was for her, but she wouldn’t ruin his joy at giving it to her tonight.

“So, has my brother finally kissed you?” Nik asked her out of the blue, just as they settled into the routine of their task.

She sputtered, her cheeks glowing red, and he had the audacity to laugh at her.

“Nik!”

“Svala!”

Speechless, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open, she rather reminded him of a fish before she burst into a fit of laughter.

“You haven’t answered my question,” he said shrewdly.

Looking down at the handful of flowers in her basket, Svala pondered how best to answer him, when she felt a hand settle on her shoulder. She looked up, momentarily confused by his sudden change in attitude. Gone was the impish grin, instead, he looked very serious.

“My brother is often too noble for his own good,” he said, somewhat cryptically (and here she thought Esther was the only one with a penchant for the mysterious), “and has a tendency to let that get in the way of his happiness.” He paused, blue eyes studying her. “But he’s in love with you, of that I have no doubt, and if he lets you go because of our father, I will personally make him regret it.”

Svala smiled back tentatively, before her brain catches up. “Your father? Why? Is he… opposed to me?” She couldn’t fathom what it was she’s done to incur the man’s disapproval.

She didn’t say that she was also secretly scared of not being good enough for Elijah.

Nik shook his head, bending to pick some more flowers. “No, as a rule, I don’t believe he is but he’s a difficult man…” he hesitated, debating whether or not to share something else with her, before sighing, lowering his eyes to the ground. “He’s… violent. And unforgiving of weakness. He views love as such, and has already told Elijah off multiple times for spending too much time around you. Not that it stopped him.” He shrugged, “I think Elijah is worried about you joining our family because of how Father is.”

Svala blushed at the mention of her ‘joining’ the family.

It’s not that the thought hadn’t entered her mind since she’d met Elijah, but völvas rarely married or had children. Asta and her mother were exceptions. And Svala herself had never met her father. All her mother would tell her was that he was a good man, a Dane, powerful, and that was that. She didn’t even know his name and probably never would.

Not that it mattered now. She was an ocean away.

“Is he that bad?” she asked quietly, redirecting her thoughts to the present. She knew Mikael was a hard man, but all of the men she’s met before, save for Elijah and his brothers, were—in one way or another—hard men as well. And yet, everyone seemed to tiptoe around the Mikaelson patriarch as if he was Hel* come to drag them all down to her realm.

Nik sighed, about to speak, but suddenly froze, catching sight of something she couldn’t see. Turning around, she saw Mikael looking at them, face unreadable but eyes like thunder. He truly did look like a Viking: cold and hard, like the ice. Svala wondered if it didn’t run in his veins. Nik sighed dejectedly next to her, no doubt expecting a humiliating tongue-lashing once they got back to the village.

No, Mikael did not seem like the type of man who would be pleased to see a son of his picking flowers with a woman.

She held the man’s gaze, daring him to come forward. She may not be her mother, but she could hold her own if he tried anything. She didn’t miss the way Nik tensed as his father’s gaze shifts to her. Svala was half tempted to send a little jolt of magic through the man, but stopped herself when Nik’s hand slid into hers. Glancing at him, she took her eyes off Mikael and in the time it took for him to glance back, his father was already gone past the tree line.

“Please don’t provoke him,” he begged softly, his eyes a little frantic, “Elijah would never forgive himself if Father did something to you.”

Svala stared at him, dumbfounded. Would he dare?

Nik seemed to understand exactly what she was asking, and shook his head. She relaxed slightly, until her friend sighed again, rubbing his neck. The motion dislodged the fabric of his tunic, pushing it aside. Horrified, Svala got a glimpse of what looked like the healed marks of a lashing, scarring the flesh across his upper back. She stopped herself from rushing forward, unsure whether he meant for her to see the evidence of his father’s abuse or not.

Nik might not share his father’s disdain for weakness but that did not mean he would welcome her pity.

----------------

“After that, when she wasn’t with Elijah, Svala rarely left Nik’s side,” Rebekah whispered, staring into the fire as if she could will her friend back to life. “I don’t think she ever told either of them she’d seen his wounds, but she told me.”

Together, the two women had tried to shield her brother from Mikael’s wrath as much as possible. But neither had been able to stop her parents from doing the unthinkable: binding his brother’s wolf form, denying him all ties to the man he would have been better off being raised by.

Standing up, the Original stoked the fire, watching as the flames soar higher, losing herself to memories of another fire, in another place, a thousand years ago.

----------------

A little off to the side, Svala watched as people danced around the bonfire that stood proudly at the center of the clearing she had arrived in only months prior. It was the biggest fire she’d ever seen, stacks and stacks of wood burning high into the night. Gathered around the clearing were the elders, amongst them Ayana and Esther, who looked on fondly as the young danced.

There was one more house on the far left side to where Svala stood and the ground was now littered with old pine needles and wildflowers. She could hardly believe it had almost been a year since her arrival in the village. So much had changed since then: the harsh bite of the cold winds was a distant memory, her loneliness was gone, and she hadn’t missed the sea for a few weeks now. There were still times were homesickness would find her, creeping into her heart when she least expected it, but those were growing few and far between.

The man largely responsible for such a change stood on the other side of the clearing, Rebekah by his side, her hair braided prettily in the style Svala knew she liked. Kol and Nik were arguing with each other, but judging by the fondly exasperated expression on Elijah’s face, it wasn’t anything she needed to worry about.

Her own hair was swept back from her temples in two braids, barely strong enough to contain the rest of her mane as it swept down her back. Svala rarely wore it down, preferring the tightly braided style some of the shieldmaidens had worn back home. It was practical, but Midsommer was not about being practical. It was about revelry and fun, partaking in the joys of summer and enjoying the fruits of a year’s worth of hard work.

She’d even worn her best dress, the one her mother had sewn for her back home, during one of those cold winter nights that felt like a lifetime ago. Yrsa had always been partial to green, for herself, as it highlighted her red hair, but red had always been Svala’s color, bringing out the color of her eyes and the warmer tones in her hair. But the pigments for red dye were expensive, even when supplemented with wild berries, and so this dress had only ever been meant to be worn on special occasions. Svala thought her first Midsommerblót in her new home was a rather good time to try it on.

She giggled when Henrik ran up to her, tugging Rebekah with him, and dragged them both to the center of the clearing, where the warmth of the fire was almost unbearable, to dance. The little boy spun around them in a circle, tugging at their skirts until Svala caught him, tickling him mercilessly. He shrieked with laughter, trying to escape her and drawing the attention of his older brothers. Absorbed as she was by her revenge, Svala completely missed the look of complete adoration that overtook Elijah’s face, but Rebekah certainly did not.

She hoped someone would look at her like that too, one day.

Bending down to swoop her little brother up into her arms, Rebekah tugged at Svala’s hand, drawing the older girl into the wide circles of the dance, turning around each other in turn as Henrik clung to her, tucked between them. Laughing, Svala came to a stop, her cheeks red from exertion, and disappeared briefly, coming back with two cups of ale. The beverage was more than welcome, a relief against the heat. Henrik clamored for a sip and Svala had all the trouble in the world keeping him off, her eyes widening playfully as she downed the rest of her cup, taunting him.

“That’s not fair!” Henrik whined, kicking his little legs, “I wanted some too!”

“Not just yet, little one” Svala said, swooping him up to let Rebekah enjoy her own drink in peace, “but there’s some very tasty berry juice over there.”

The bribe worked, as it always did on children. Pacified, Henrik allowed himself to be led to the large oak tables, bending under the weight of the harvest. While Svala poured him a cup of fresh juice, Rebekah saw her older brother approach and, in a moment of uncharacteristic generosity of spirit, whisked Henrik away from the couple the first chance she got.

Passing by Elijah, Henrik nearly thwarted her plan when he reached for him. Knowing her brother was powerless to refuse him, Rebekah twirled around on herself, laughing and drawing a giggle from the child, effectively distracting him from their older brother’s presence. She made her way to another table, sitting herself and Henrik down to let him pilfer the entire platter of wild berries, stuffing them into his mouth as fast as a squirrel, his eyes growing bigger by the second as he looked at the sudden influx of people dancing around the bonfire.

It seemed like the entire village had collectively decided to join in, couples dancing together and wider circles of people skipping together hand in hand, their chants joining the music, growing louder and louder. Had she not been familiar with Midsommer and its merrymaking, Svala would have thought herself addled by the ale. Eyeing her cup, she shrugged and took another drink, closing her eyes.

The thing she liked the most about Midsommerblót was the music and dancing. Everyone was happy, indulging in the warmth of the summer months, enjoying the fact that it would last for some more still before the return of the cold.

Autumns here were less colorful than in the old country. The pines did not shed their leaves and so they never turned into the bright yellows, oranges and reds Svala had known all her life, but the evergreens held a certain beauty to them. It was mostly noticeable in the winter, when everything else was dead and still, they held on.

The one tree she always found herself drawn to, no matter the season, was the one standing tall behind the fire, its branches sweeping over the clearing, full of the green of summer.

The villagers called it “white oak”, for the light finish of its wood when harvested, and it was magnificent. Svala thought it must have been the oldest tree here, allowed to grow into itself as the clearing was cleared of other trees some centuries ago. In the fall, its leaves turned as bright as the trees of her old home, and she never felt homesick in its presence.

Lost in thought, she jumped slightly when she felt the press of a strong hand at her back, relaxing almost immediately when a deep chuckle sounded from just behind her.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.”

She turned her head to the side, watching under thick lashes as Elijah’s profile came into view, his high cheekbones highlighted by the glow of the fire. Where they were standing, by the tables, its warmth was more distant, but the shiver that tingled down her spine had nothing to do with the chill. She felt the weight of his hand where it still was, pressed into her back, between her shoulder blades.

His eyes turned to her, taking her in.

Svala had always been beautiful, but tonight, in her red dress, her cheeks warmed by more than just drink, she was even more so. Her grey eyes sparkled when she looked up at him, shimmering in the low light. They were tender, excruciatingly so, wide and open. He felt like he could lose himself to her and it would still feel like home.

She caught her breath, noticing the way his hand slipped lower, pulling her closer until her back rested against his chest. She could still hear the music, but the sound was drowned out by the feeling of his hand caressing down her back, settling on her waist. She was pulled more firmly against him, a possessive touch to the way his fingers dug into her side.

Slowly, Svala finished her drink, setting it down on the table beside her. Seeing that everyone else’s attention was taken up by the feast, she allowed herself to rest against Elijah’s chest, his warmth a comforting presence against her back. Her head came to rest just above his heart. If she focused hard enough, she could feel its beat against her ear. It was steady; as steady as the man it belonged to, and she knew, in that moment, that she was the one who held it.

She felt his chin touch her hair, in a kiss or just resting there, she wasn’t sure. She simply savored the moment—the first one they’d shared since he had helped her down from the newly finished roof her house, preventing her from falling and catching her in his arms.

His arm snaked around her, ensnaring her, his finger splayed on her hip, close to where their bodies touched. She felt that pull again, the same one she always felt when he was near, begging her to bring him closer still, until it felt like she was going to meld herself to him.

Turning in his grasp, Svala brought their joined hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles. Elijah’s breath hitched above her and when she looked up, all she saw before his lips claimed hers was the devotion shining in his eyes.

----------------

“I was looking right at them,” Rebekah said, the mischievous look only a younger sibling could have written all over her face. “I never told Svala, but I couldn’t resist telling Elijah. I never saw him blush harder.” She laughed, shaking her head fondly. “Mostly, we were relieved he’d finally done it; their little courtship was exhausting to watch, honestly.”

The Original looked back at Hayley, eyeing the werewolf. She was calmer, now, less jittery, and more focused on Rebekah. She honestly was’t sure if it was because of her stellar storytelling, or because the other woman was desperate for any morsel of anything related to Elijah. She couldn’t fault her for that; she knew her brother was a hard man to forget, even when it was for the best.

She heard the telltale whoosh of another vampiric presence even before Hayley did, hybrid senses and all.

“I do believe your squeal managed to gather everybody’s attention, sister mine.”

Rolling her eyes, Rebekah looked over at her tyrant of an older brother, busy pouring himself a drink, and nearly snorted at the way Hayley’s own eyes rolled almost all the way back into her skull.

“Thankfully, by this point, everyone was too far gone to see what was really going on,” Klaus said, the twinkle in his eye almost fond as he looked back at her, “but, alas, I wasn’t.”

“Oh yes, because you were never one to indulge.”

Her annoying twat of a brother eyed the drink in her hand meaningfully—her sixth of the evening, she believed. Rebekah shrugged, and he softened. Of all of them, herself and Elijah excepted, Nik had been closest with Svala. She didn’t think her brother would have joined in on their conversation willingly—in fact, she rather thought he would have ran from it.

He did love to surprise her.

“You see, Little Wolf,” he said, the moniker falling easily from his lips, “our brother as he is today, noble to a fault and—if you squint—nearly caring, is revolting enough, but Elijah back then…” he shivered, “now that was positively nauseating.”

----------------

Elijah’s hand cushioned the back of her head against the wood behind her, his grasp there gentle even as his mouth did sinful things to hers, gliding against her lips, teasing her. He’d backed her against the side of house, away from the gathering, when neither of them had been able to contain themselves anymore.

As soon as they had been in relative privacy, Elijah had crusher her to him, framing her face with his much larger hands and kissed her with an urgency Svala had not thought him capable of.

She could not have been more wrong.

His hands were all over her, sweeping over her stomach up to her breasts, and all the way into her hair, tangling in the long strands, bringing her face closer still, his kiss growing more desperate. All it had taken was for her to arch into him, drawing the length of her body against his, for him to press her against the wooden wall, a low moan escaping him.

The tether between them was vibrating, the need to possess and be possessed urging them closer until all they could feel was each other. Her brows furrowed and Svala made a small sound of protest when Elijah pulled away, his breathing ragged against the side of her face. She felt the weight of his hips against hers, the evidence of his desire pressing deliciously on her stomach.

Feeling bold, she let her hands wonder, sweeping over his lean hips and around to pull him towards her, arching into him when he let out another low sound of pleasure. He settled into her embrace, letting her caress up and down his back, the touch more calming than it was meant to arouse and yet managing both at the same time.

She was so small, compared to him, he felt like he could pull her into his arms and no one would ever be able to harm her.

Svala nibbled at his jaw, letting her head fall back to allow him to press slow kisses all along her neck. Breathing in her scent, Elijah let himself fall deeper into her arms, resting most of his much larger weight against her, but she never made a single sound of protest.

They were both breathing more calmly now, letting the heat of their bodies cool before he did something unforgivable and made love to her for the first time right up against her house. Elijah would not let himself go enough to allow for anything else than absolute perfection whenever they did decide on sharing this moment together.

Kissing her collarbone one last time, it took all of his willpower to pull away from her. Svala allowed it, dropping her arms from around his neck until they rested against his sides. He smirked when he realized that she was just as unwilling to part from him completely.

Elijah let himself feel up her body once more, lingering on her soft breasts until he heard her breathing speed up again, and he knew that if she kissed him again, he would forget his resolve and drop to his knees in front of her, hide under her dress and make her forget any other name but his.

The thought alone was the sweetest torture.

For now, he felt contented enough to breath in her scent, pine needles and smoke mixed with the flowers she’d picked this morning, his thoughts turned to a future they would share together.

#the originals #elijah mikaelson #the vampire diaries #tvd #tvdu #elijah mikaelson fanfic #elijah mikaelson x oc #elijah mikaelson x female oc #original female character #vikings #10th century AU #the originals AU #tvd AU #(i guess?)#unreliable narrator

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lis-likes-fics · 9 months ago

Text

All the Things I Hate About You

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader Word Count: 11.5k words Warnings: Swearing, torture, violence, kidnapping, enemies to lovers... A/N: This was actually really fun to write. I forgot I had this idea for months until I was looking through my wips and saw the planning completely finished. Anyway, here it is and I hope you enjoy!

The bar is quite busy tonight. It's full of patrons talking and laughing and carrying on in classic New Orleans style. Nights like these are always nice, especially when it's between you and Klaus, this time with the added company of Marcel, as you bring the lip of your bourbon to your own, smiling around the glass.

You chuckle into the cup at one of Klaus’ quips, raising a finger at him and wiping your bottom lip. You're about to speak when your attention diverts to the door at the sound of a ringing bell.

Your face falls.

“Goddamn it,” you mutter, putting your hand down and wrapping it around your glass again.

Looking toward the source of your new frustration, Klaus can't help his chuckle. “Now, now, dove,” he bids, swirling the contents of his glass. “Do not let his intrusion sour your mood. I'm sure he has a good reason for being here. Don't you, big brother?”

You all look at the man in question as Elijah places his hand on the back of his brother's chair. He disregards you altogether, and somehow that's more frustrating than him showing up in the first place.

“Niklaus, we need to talk,” he says, turning his head toward him with a clenched jaw.

You whine, leaning forward and letting your head fall to the table with a dull thump. “But the night was just getting good.” Marcel laughs at you.

Amused, Klaus raises a brow. “About?”

Elijah finally spares you a sliver of attention as his eyes dart toward you, narrowed to slits. “Privately,” he insists.

Klaus rolls his eyes, uninterested and ready to shift his attention back to you. “We can talk about the eternal crisis of my soul’s redemption another day, Elijah. For now,” he looks at you, smirking devilishly, “we were just headed to this cute little place around the corner for a bite.”

You aren't a vampire, but you've never had an issue with encouraging his less-than-innocent activities. In fact, through the course of your friendship, Klaus has found that you enjoy indulging in vampiric lifestyles. He found that you lack a certain morality most humans tend to hold when it comes to the supernatural. It's one of his favorite things about you—you're not obsessed with saving his immortal soul.

But Elijah does not sympathize.

“I'm sure you've had plenty of ‘bites’ today,” he says, shooting you a glare.

Preening under his attention—however negative it may be—you continue. “Yeah, well, bite me. You're ruining the fun.”

His gaze unwavering, Elijah continues to glare. “Oh, I just might.”

You scoff, turning your body more towards him. “I'm not afraid of you.”

He's so used to being feared, but you've never feared him for a moment—it's another one of those things he hates about you.

He takes a step closer to you, and you have to tilt your head back to look up at him. You don't falter, even as he speaks. “I don't need you to be afraid in order to be lethal, sweetling.”

It's very derogative, the way he says it. All of his pet names toward you are. You're sure he thinks you hate it, but—of all his insults—it's one of your favorites.

Marcel and Klaus watch on, enjoying the scene as much as you as the both of you stare the other down. Your gazes are unwavering, a game of dominance which you have a clear disadvantage in—though that's never stopped you before.

“Uh-oh,” Marcel grins, bringing his glass to his lips. He chuckles as he glances at Klaus, who does the same. “It's gonna be a cat fight.”

But when nothing happens, and you continue to stare, Klaus sighs as he lounges in his chair. “What is it that cannot wait, brother?”

It takes a moment for him to finally respond, to tear his eyes away from you and look back at his little brother. “Supernatural business,” he says plainly.

“You mean supernatural drama,” Marcel corrects. “Spill.”

Raising a brow, Elijah's eyes, one again, fall back to you—as though he couldn't resist looking away for more than a moment. “You could probably ‘spill’ yourself, couldn't you?”

You sigh. “To be honest,” you stretch and turn back to your drink, “I'm just trying to get drunk, and your presence is unnervingly sobering.” You take a sip, your eyes still watching him as you do.

Taking every opportunity to spite you, he hums. “Good.”

Marcel refocuses. “What kind of drama?”

Again, Elijah turns away. “The kind that includes a vampire dead in the Quarter.”

You lift your chin, remembering as your lips form an “oh” and you return to your drink.

Marcel, ever annoyed by Mikaelson and Co. mischief, turns to you and Klaus with an immense amount of exhaustion. “You killed one of my guys?”

You raise your hands. “To be completely fair, he was just a tourist.”

“To be completely fair,” Elijah echoes, “he was visiting family, a group of residents here. Now they are threatening to break the peace.”

“That is…quite unfortunate,” Klaus sighs. He stands then, patting Elijah back in a chummy way. “However, I don't know how much I care. This place was becoming rather tedious anyway.”

Elijah is exhausted by all of this. “And I'm sure the same can be said for your human companion.”

You raise your hands in defense. “Don't look at me! He catcalled me, all I did was punch him really hard in the face.”

Klaus nods. “Yes, and I was the one to gut him and string up his corpse in a tree like a Christmas ornament.”

“Before I suggested that we leave him someplace not so out in the open,” you nod, “because humans tend to panic.”

Elijah clenches his jaw. “Of course.”

There are many reasons Elijah doesn't like you.

For one, you seem to have no care or respect for other people's lives. You're just as bad as Niklaus, you may as well be slaughtering these people yourself.

Your encouragement in his brother's misdeeds, entirely contrary to Elijah's attempts at helping his brother, are so frustrating. It makes his job a lot harder when he's got this other voice in his head telling him that it's okay to snap his neck, as long as you put some nice beads and sunglasses on him so he looks cool.

Then there's your sass. You always have some sly comeback, another thing to add to conversation that doesn't need to be contributed.

If it didn't stop there, your eyes. You're always looking at him, always challenging him. You stare him down, your gaze unwavering. You watch his every move just to find something to pick apart.

And you're never scared of him. Never. You have no problem with talking back to this man. He could kill you in a moment, and you could do nothing to stop him. But you don't even consider that possibility, you're too busy being–

“Okay, I'm calling it a night,” Marcel stands, pulling Elijah from his obsessive thoughts. “I've got business to take care of. Thank you for that.” He says the last part to you and Klaus, dipping his head as a goodbye as he leaves. He pauses by Elijah, not meaning his words but—fuck, he's tired. “Couldn't have waited a few more hours?”

You groan, looking up at Klaus. “We don't have to go, do we?”

Klaus shrugs. “So long as you don't get hurt, I don't see why we should.”

You stand, taking one last sip from your drink as you smile. “Great.” You link arms with Klaus, patting Elijah's chest, even as he rolls his eyes. “Buh-bye now.”

Elijah turns as the two of you are leaving, his firm voice stopping the both of you as he continues to glare. “Niklaus,” he says. “We need to talk.”

Klaus lets go of your arm and walks back toward his brother. “You need a drink, my friend,” he suggests. He puts an arm on his shoulders and points toward a woman at the bar. She's sitting on her own, a finger tracing the lip of her glass. “I'm sure that lovely lady there would certainly be happy to help you.”

He pats his chest, smiling slyly. “Cheers.”

Klaus takes your arm again, and you wiggle your fingers in goodbye at Elijah. He huffs gently, shaking his head and deciding he may actually need a drink.

“Niklaus!”

You groan, laying your head on the table as Elijah's graining voice reverberates through the courtyard. You lay a hand over your head trying to ease the pain throbbing in the back of your skull.

“Could you be any louder?” you grumble, the pain too great to add the malice you intend.

Elijah comes to a stop, not bothering to look at you as his eyes scan the mezzanine. “It's your own fault,” he mutters.

“How charming,” you sigh. He's the brother meant to have manners. You lean your head up to look at him through the dark lenses of your glasses.

“Where is Niklaus?” he questions, finally looking down at you.

You shrug, massaging your temples to ease your migraine. “Probably eating some wayward college girls to spite you.”

He hums, fixing the collar of his sleeve. “Oh, are some of your friends in town?”

Despite the pain in your skull, you laugh, looking up at him. “I like this narrative in your head that the bad influence in this relationship is the helpless mortal rather than the immortal big bad wolf who is literally known for murder and mayhem.” You smile, giggling lightly. “It makes me sound like a mastermind.”

He looks toward you. “The only mastery you've achieved is in ruthless schemes against my sanity.”

“Oh,” you nod. “All good things then.”

Rather than answer you, he yells. “Niklaus!”

You're abusing your temples at this point as you try to ease the pain. “Fuck you,” you spit, resting your head down again.

He smirks. “I'm sure you would love to. Fortunately, I have more interesting things to take care of.”

You hum, your voice muffled by the table. “Dunno what your problem is.”

He's growing impatient at Klaus’ tardiness to his calls, but it seems eased at the prospect of taunting you. “I've got only a handful of issues, and your name is plastered all over 98% of them. Ni-klaus!”

There are many reasons you don't like Elijah.

For one, he always seems to show up when you don't need him to. He's a buzz kill, a sour puss, and a pain in the ass.

And, for an Original, he seems to have a strange distaste for havoc. All you ever really wanted to do was have fun, and he never seemed to sympathize.

You grew up in this city, fully aware of the fact that it was crawling with the supernatural. You grew with it, and you grew into it, and now you hold ideals more aligned with that of the vampires of the Quarter, rather than the humans of the city, desensitized from death and pain and sorrow and indulging instead in the highs and adrenaline rushes of being freed from such moralities. You've never had an issue with that.

But for a woman who'd grown in the heart of the city he loved, Elijah seemed to hate your guts.

If that wasn't enough, his penchant for immaculacy drove you mad, there was no reason to find that much stress in being a little disorganized. Hell, your whole life was practically a disorganized mess, but he doesn't see you spiraling.

And his fucking face disgusted you. The way he watched you, so closely, tracking every movement. His eyes hardly left you, and when they did, it was simply to show you how little you were to him. But you just kept staring. He wanted you to be afraid of him, but you aren't. And you'll never be.

You want him to know that. You know it ticks him off.

Klaus comes to your rescue, but not without an infliction of his own as he arrives at the mezzanine. “Alright! Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm here.” He sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes as he looks down at the both of you in the courtyard. “Now what are you so insistent on telling me?”

Elijah squares his jaw. “Walk with me.”

Klaus groans. “Must we?”

True to his fashion, rather than answer, Elijah simply turns and begins walking. As he disappears, you lift your head, pushing your sunglasses further up your nose. “Good luck with that one,” you mumble, pointing in Elijah's direction. You look after him as Klaus descends the steps. “He's especially pissy.”

Klaus comes next to you, pushing some hair behind your ear. “Do you have something to do with that?”

You smile a bit. “Don't I always?”

Klaus laughs, tapping the tip of your nose with his finger and laughing some more when you wipe it. He fishes a little bottle of Tylenol from his pocket and sets it in front of you as he makes his way toward the front, leaving you to your misery as you rest your head back down on the table.

You snatch the bottle, clutching it like golden treasure.

Your migraine is gone by the time they return. You've still got your sunglasses on the bridge of your nose, but it's more for fashion than it is comfort now. Your music is practically blasting through the courtyard, and the brothers walk in to see you dancing to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys.

Why? Why not?

“Oh,” Elijah sighs, raising a brow and glancing away. “It dances.”

You turn, taking off the sunglasses and pausing your music. You point at him with the pair, “Aren't you supposed to be a feminist or something?”

Klaus laughs at your antics and simply brushes past you. You wave tauntingly at Elijah and follow Klaus up the steps as you both leave him by his lonesome.

“So what did you talk about?” you ask once he's out of sight. You weave your hand through his arm and smile up at him. “Was it little ole me?” You shoot him a charming grin.

He chuckles, “As always.”

He shrugs, continuing down the hall with you happily on his arm. You and Klaus have been joined at the hip since you met just a little after he moved back to the city. He's your best friend, as you are his. You adore this man, though many try to warn you of his danger.

But you like the danger. You practically live and breathe the supernatural. Whether you should be afraid or not, you aren't. It's in your veins as though you were one of them already.

“What about?” you hum.

“You and your terrible influence.” He turns into Hope's room, pushing the door open and walking further inside as he looks around.

“I'm just cool like that,” you say. Glancing around, you furrow your brow. “What are you doing?”

“Hayley called,” he says simply. He turns over a blanket to look underneath it. “Apparently she forgot one of Hope's favorite toys when she was last here. She refuses to take her nap without it, needs me to retrieve it for her.”

You walk toward the bed, picking up a powder pink pillow and seeing the little pastel blue bunny underneath it, its floppy ears lazy at the sides of its head.

“Isn't this it?”

You show it off to him, wiggling it to make its arms flop around. Klaus nods, taking the offered creature. “That, it is.”

He leans forward, lowering his voice to a whisper to avoid Elijah's prying ears. “Why don't you come with me, and we can ditch the police downstairs.”

You smile wide, whispering back at him. “I thought you'd never ask.”

He offers his hand. You take it.

The both of you take one of the many “secret” exits of the building, ditching Elijah in the courtyard to go have some real fun. He takes you to one of the back entrances, where it’s a little darker and you’re surrounded by brick. Klaus opens the gate and steps onto the street, and as you go behind him to cross the threshold–

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

You furrow your brow at the resistance that meets the toe of your shoe. Raising a hand, you reach forward…

“Klaus, I can't get out,” you say as you press it against air, and you press hard. But to no avail…

“What do you mean?” he asks.

You make a face ‘What do you think I mean?’ You slap your hand against the force again, and nothing. “There's something keeping me from leaving.”

Hoping your teasing, he reaches for your hand and is immediately stopped from doing so. “What the hell?” he mutters.

“You think it's trouble?”

Klaus sighs, exhaustion slipping into his tone. “When isn't it?”

A gush of air whips behind you and suddenly Elijah is at your side, facing his brother. “We're sealed in.”

You roll your eyes, “We kind of figured that out already.”

He furrows his brows at Klaus, raising a hand to the barrier. “You're not trapped?” he questions.

Klaus raises his hands and lets them drop at his sides. “As it seems.”

“Shit,” you whisper. You shake your head, turning to face both of them as you sink into your “something-is-wrong-how-do-we-fix-it” mode, well-versed in the world of Mikaelson drama by this point. “What do we do?”

Klaus retrieves his phone from his back pocket. “I'll figure something out. You stay here.” He turns to leave. You roll your eyes at his back.

“Don't have much of a choice.”

“Try not to kill each other before I get back,” he says as he leaves.

You groan, leaning against the barrier dramatically. “Don't leave me here!” He ignores you.

You sigh, grumbling as you turn to face Elijah. “Wonderful.”

“I'm not exactly thrilled myself.”

You turn to leave him, walking away back toward the courtyard where the stairs are. Elijah follows you, walking behind.

And as you reach the stairs, still he walks behind.

“You're following me,” you point out, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“I'm not following you.”

You pick up the pace up the stairs. “Yes, you are.” It's almost fun, the senseless bickering. Like children. If only it were that simple…

“We are going in the same direction,” he states, rolling his eyes when you keep looking over your shoulder at the top of the stairs.

“Go away!” you exclaim, disappearing into Klaus’ room. He continues walking, grumbling to himself as he carries on to his own.

Closing the door behind you, you're almost disappointed. But you remember that you don't like him. You aren't friends. He isn't going to humor you, and you won't humor him either.

You plop down on the bed, laying back with your arms sprawled out like a bird. You stare at the ceiling, trying to decide what to do trapped in the compound with naught to do but stare at the ceiling.

And you're bored.

You pull your phone out and tap on it, humming to yourself as you do. But that can only sustain you for so long. And you're right. Because it has been exactly five minutes since you closed Klaus’ door, and now you're standing in Elijah's doorway with your arms crossed over your chest.

He doesn't acknowledge you. He's perfectly content to sit there reading, paying you absolutely no mind.

But you can't have that.

“I'm bored.”

He hums, his finger tapping the top corner of his book. “Go do something.”

“I can't, wise guy,” you roll your eyes. You take a step farther into his room. “We're trapped here.”

He doesn't seem to care. “I'm occupied.”

For a moment, you wonder why he's so calm. If you're trapped in the compound, that means there's a witch involved. And if there's a witch involved, that likely means there's another dangerous issue that needs to be solved before someone gets hurt.

But then you remember. He's an Original. If there's an issue, let it come. It won't hurt him.

You look along the shelves in his room, lined with books and belongings. “I'm not,” you hum.

He rolls his eyes and sets his book down. “Why are you here?”

You shrug. You're bored, and you like messing with him. And that's what you tell him: “Because I'm bored, and I like messing with you.”

“You can't stand not being within my presence, is it?”

“Ew, gross!” you exclaim, feeling slightly giddy before you remember that you aren't friends and you, in fact, hate him as he does, you.

To distract yourself from the fondness in your chest, you take a small book off the shelf and toss it at him. He catches it with ease and sets it on the table next to him. Wordlessly, he shoots you a glare to tell you to stop. But you've finally been entertained.

To be fair, this was childish and unnecessary and you really shouldn't have done it. But you're stupid around Elijah, and you're childish and unnecessary because he entertains you and makes you upset and drives you crazy.

So you keep throwing things at him. First, another book. Then one of the expensive and, likely, old knick-knacks on his shelf. Then whatever goes in your hand because he keeps catching them like it's nothing.

“Leave me alone,” he says, his voice firm and final. But you don't listen to him. You never listen to him.

“I'm bored,” you tell him, bracing another book in your hands. If you knew he wouldn't catch it, you wouldn't throw it. “Do something funny.”

You toss it, he catches it. Like clockwork. “I am not here to occupy you. I am here because I have no other choice, as we are trapped. You said to go away. I left. And now you are here tormenting me.”

He's fed up, and you know he is. And it only excites you more. That means he'll react, he'll pay attention to you. He'll look at you. And you can look at him. You love the way he looks when he's frustrated.

“I am here to torment you,” you shrug. “Did you want another book, by the way? I think you might enjoy this one.”

You toss it. Like clockwork. “Stop.”

You should stop. A figurine leaves your hand.

“Stop,” harsher this time. “I will not tell you again.”

You smirk. “Do something about it.” The challenge leaves your lips just as the last book does.

He catches it, and then suddenly you're being pushed up against the wall, your wrists pinned at either side of your head in a tight grip that makes your fingers tingle. You wince as your head hits the brick, not hard enough to really hurt you but hard enough to sting as you bare your teeth.

Your eyes go wide as your gaze locks with his. He's furious, face inches from yours and eyes full of frustration.

For the very first time, you're afraid of Elijah Mikaelson.

“You are behaving like a child.” His voice is low and dangerous, his eyes are dark as they bore into your own, unflinching. But you flinch. Each little syllabus he stresses has you squinting your eyes and wanting to shrink away from him.

You truly understand now how someone like him can inspire so much fear in others.

“If you continue this nonsense, I assure you…” he leans even closer, his words caressing your face in a terrifying way, “I will put an end to it as quickly as it started.” You close your eyes and turn your face slightly away from him as you feel each letter in his words spell out on your cheek. “Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

Silence. Silence fills the air.

The only exception to the quiet suspense lingering in the space between the both of you are his steady breaths and your quivering ones. As you open your eyes and look at him again, you feel like he's stolen the air in the room and the adrenaline pumping through your veins is not out of the excitement of action, but the fear of actually being hurt.

Because he may actually intend on hurting you.

You definitely feel it in the tips of your fingers, going numb with his tightened grip. You feel it in the sting of the back of your skull after it met the brick of his bedroom wall. You feel it in the scrape of your skin against said brick. And as he's met with silence from you, you feel it in the clutch of his hands around your wrist, his thumb pressing into your pulse and forcing your fingers to curl.

You whimper. You actually whimper—a soft and nearly silent little slip of sound from your lips as you force them to part and whisper meekly to him.

“You're hurting me.”

The fog of frustration lifts from his eyes and he immediately seems to come to his senses. In the next second, he's let you go and take several steps away from you. His eyes are a tad bit wider, and his lips are parted.

He hadn't realized he was actually hurting you.

You wince, holding your wrists as you massage them. Elijah notices the way you actually sink into yourself, trying to play it down but so easy to read in his eyes, eyes that watch you at every point he gets.

“Ow,” you whisper. “Jesus.”

Your wrists really hurt. They'll probably bruise. You reach a hand to the back of your head, wincing once again when your fingers brush the tiny bump that may form there, but feel relieved when there is no blood.

You sigh, glancing up at him and taking a couple small steps back. You think you may be standing too close, even still.

Elijah watches you, swallowing thickly. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you.

“I need a drink,” you mumble without the implied, ‘away from you’. Then you roll your eyes, “Oh, wait.”

You hate the feeling being pumped through your system right now. Fear. Fear or Elijah Mikaelson. A man you've never feared in your life. Even for a moment. Suddenly, you're terrified.

Because he may actually hurt you.

Elijah licks his bottom lip and looks down at his shoes. He takes a step back, and then makes a slow and straight path to a cupboard in his bedroom. He opens it, and pulls out a bottle of bourbon he kept hidden away there. In silence he pours two glasses and leaves yours on the edge of the table for you.

Tentatively, you take it.

It takes a moment for the word to form, afraid to vex him again, “...Thanks.”

He hums and says nothing else.

There's another long silence. You bring the glass to your lips and take a generous gulp, letting the alcohol burn down your throat and warm your chest. Elijah does the same.

He holds his glass in his hands, and for a moment you think he looks almost...shy.

He taps his glass, the sound filling the air between you. Without looking up at you, he takes in a gentle breath and speaks.

“Forgive me.”

You look at him. He meets your gaze slowly, making no attempt to step closer but offering all his sincerity. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

You scoff lightly. “Your threat said otherwise.”

It's your own fault. You were being unnecessary, you were being stupid…

His voice, though firmer, doesn't betray the softness he'd utilized in his apology before. This is the gentlest you've ever experienced Elijah.

“I would not have hurt you to make you stop.”

“Wouldn't you?” you challenge lightly. You're afraid to provoke him some more.

But his reply is still just as firm. “No.” There's a gravity in his words that you don't have the capacity to dissect right now. “I would not.”

More silence. Longer silence.

You stare at him, taking in the sight of his face, which grows softer and softer as time goes on. Your fear slowly dwindles but it's still there, seemingly ever-present. You should apologize.

“You just…” you look down at the floor, “You just don't seem the type to feel bad about hurting me. You don't seem to like me very much.”

You don't want to sound as pathetic as you feel. Especially at the “don't seem to like me”. It feels so…childish, small, insignificant. You don't like me.

He shrugs, speaks matter-of-factly. “I don't. But I do not hate you, either.”

You scoff again, shaking your head lightly. You don't understand him…

Elijah sighs, moving slowly to take a seat again. He sits at the edge of his chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and he cradles his glass in his hands. “As much as your penchant for wreaking havoc with my brother frustrates me… You do remain his friend.” And he doesn't have many of those.

You chuckle, shaking your head, feeling the conflicts of your emotions and turning it to disdain to make it easier on you.

“Is that why you keep me around?”

“What?”

“You want your baby brother to have a bestie?” You bring the cup to your lips but do not drink yet. “Otherwise I'd have already been dead in an alleyway or something?” You take a sip then, to hide the hurt you feel.

He shakes his head, staring at the contents of his cup. “You say that like I've always hated you.”

You raise a brow. “Haven't you?” You don't understand him.

He actually smiles, shaking his head. “You're so stubborn, aren't you?”

Without missing a beat, “It's my best quality.” You don't reciprocate his smile. As he watches you, his slowly fades anyway.

He looks down at your hands. They're shaking slightly. “You're hurt,” he frowns. “Let me help you.”

You take a step back, “I don't need your help.”

“Please.” He sounds small, non-confrontational. He doesn't sound like him, he sounds almost weak—almost like you.

You think about it, and then you take a breath of courage and relent. “No blood, though,” you mumble, trying to sound light-hearted and failing. You're still a bit shaken.

“God forbid you were healed,” he mumbles as he stands and makes your trade places with him as he sits you with the gentlest touches in his chair. He crouches in front of you and takes your hands in his own, frowning in an almost pained way at the cuts and scrapes that litter the lengths of your forearms. He did this.

Elijah stands, disappears, and reappears with a first-aid kit in his hands. He kneels in front of you once more, taking your hands and covering your skin in ointment and wrapping your wrists carefully with deft fingers.

Almost like he cares about you.

A warm feeling swells in your chest, but you stifle it before it can get too familiar, too comfortable. You take your hands back, holding your wrists gently as you rub your fingers over the bandages. You try not to be sentimental.

“Thanks,” you whisper, hating how weak you sound. You clear your throat and stand. He stands with you, moving slowly so as not to scare you. He doesn't want you to be afraid of him. You are never afraid of him.

“Sorry…” you clear your throat, “about the…throwing things. I overdid it.” You can't look him in the eyes. “It was childish—I'm childish, and I'm sorry.”

“Careful,” the slightest smirk teases his lips. “Someone may think we were actually friends.”

Friends.

“God forbid,” you joke weakly.

As has become natural…there is silence. You're not used to so much silence with him. It's usually filled with petty insults and shallow jabs at the others shortcomings.

You look up at him, into his eyes. It's easier to see him a little more clearly in the silence. You can take in more information, like the depths of his eyes, the gleam of them, the richness of his brown irises…

“I'm gonna…” you break the silence as gently as you can, “go keep myself busy.”

He doesn't stop you. He doesn't salvage the strange, silent truce with a sly remark, he doesn't scoff or roll his eyes or walk away. He takes a step to the side and allows you to pass, watching you leave with tentative steps as you stare at the floor to keep from looking back at him. You don't understand him. He doesn't understand you. But you think that maybe, in this silent moment, you understand each other more than you ever have since the moment you first met.

You leave his room. He stands there, watching the open door, unblinking but thinking a million thoughts. He hears your gentle steps descend the stairs. Elijah sits back down, looking at your glasses, both still half-full and forgotten. He sighs. He's stupid.

He hears you downstairs. The soft steps of your shoes against the floor, the scoot of a chair.

He'd never meant to hurt you. As much as he threatens, as much as he remarks, he'd never lay a finger on you with the actual intent of hurting you.

He sighs, turning to take the books you'd thrown in his hands to set back on the shelf. He thinks as he arranges them into their original order. He thinks as he places his knick-knacks in their rightful positions.

He listens to your heart beat, a steady rhythm in the back of his mind. A few moments pass, and there is complete stillness in the compound.

But just as quickly as it settled, it was disrupted once more.

He hears your heart pick up, a fast and unsteady beat against your ribcage that all too suddenly disappears.

It only takes a moment to check every room in the compound. It takes only one other to check them all twice.

But you're gone.

His phone is in his hand and ringing in no time. He paces, unsettled as he bids his brother to answer quickly.

The dial tone ends. Klaus’ voice comes through, “I've just got the little witch. I'm sure being alone with her isn't as excruciating as you claim, broth–”

“Niklaus. She's gone.”

A pause. “What do you mean ‘she's gone’?” His voice is low, menacing. He's ready to draw blood.

“Her heartbeat raced, and then it disappeared.” He looks around again, in case he missed something the first two times. He hates to say that he feels like he may begin panicking. “She isn't in the compound, and I am still trapped.”

He knows. He checked. Three times.

“We're coming.”

He hangs up. Elijah lets his hand drop to his side, running the other through his hair and sighing. He closes his eyes, takes a breath.

It'll be fine.

There's a terrible pain at the base of your skull, and you wince when you become conscious enough to feel the pounding of it. Your neck is sore, but it's held back by something rather than left to hang freely. Duct tape, wrapped tightly around your throat.

Your fingers tingle with a numbing sensation spreading up to your wrist. Your hands are tied down to a chair, your ankles are restrained to the legs, and your back is sore from the very uncomfortable position you've been put in. The sticky adhesive hurts your skin.

You're not going anywhere.

You blink quickly as you open your eyes, a bright light flashing in your face and blinding. It's hot and humid, each breath you take is thick and sluggish. You look around, taking in your surroundings to try and see if you know where you are.

The walls are rundown with mold and cracks. The floorboards are weak and creaky. The light directed into your face is your only source of light. The sun has set, and it's a new moon tonight.

A groan slips through your lips before you can stop it.

“She's awake,” a voice announces. A woman.

The floorboards groan under the weight of someone's steps. You look up (as if you have much of a choice), your eyes still adjusting, especially with the pain becoming background noise in your mind.

“I heard.” A man, whose voice isn't particularly strong. After spending so much time with the Originals, you're sure to know the difference.

You'll be fine.

You watch him take his phone from his back pocket, holding up to your face. The flash goes off, and you wince as the tiny click of his phone sounds.

You groan, thinking quickly as you take in a breath. “Wait,” you say. “You didn't get my good side. You gotta do it again.”

Your voice is thick with exhaustion and dehydration, but it doesn't deter you. Just because you're the one in restraints doesn't mean you're the weak one here.

He bends down, moving his face into the light. He doesn't look very intimidating, though he tries to be. In fact, he looks terrible—tired and upset.

“So you're the little human Klaus keeps around?” he hums. His lip curls slightly into a scowl, and he shakes his head. “You don't look like much.”

You smile, shrugging as best you can. “I don't need to.” You tilt your head, “I have an endless supply of charm to work with.”

“That's funny,” he says humorlessly. He turns to the woman sitting in the corner. “She's funny.”

You assume she's a witch. After the incident at the compound and now the apparent kidnapping, that assumption isn't too far off.

You nod. “I'm hilarious.”

“All the time?” he wonders.

“24/7.”

He makes a face, one to say he disagrees. He stands straight up again, walking around your chair. His knuckles rap against the back of it, and you roll your eyes. His tactics are amateur. Even the witch is bored, because she stands up and leaves.

“I personally don't think so.”

You furrow your brows, mocking sorrow. “Really? Why not? Wait,” you think for a moment. “I don't care.”

His hands fall on your shoulder, and you scowl. He's actually touching you. That's disgusting. If you could bite his hand or something, you would. But that currently isn't an option.

“There was one joke that wasn't very funny,” he says, bending down once more so you can see him.

“I always love feedback on my work. How'd it go?”

He smiles, but it's a sour thing on his face. “It went up in a tree, gutted like a fish and hanged. Like he was nothing.” Realization hits you. “You got my brother killed.”

So that's why you're here.

“Is that what this is about?” You shake your head, raising an uninterested brow. “Look, bud, all I did was punch him. Klaus killed him.”

He shrugs, “You definitely didn't stop him.” His words drip with a pain you can no longer empathize with.

“I didn't, no,” you tell him plainly, “because I didn't care and your brother was a jerk—and also Klaus is freakishly strong and I don't stand a chance.”

He's losing his patience. Now he's just pissed, and he's losing his power—what little he had to begin with anyway.

“Being a jerk isn't a fair enough reason to be slaughtered like that,” he argues. “Otherwise you'd already be dead.”

“So you're not going to kill me?” you ask. “Oh, that's a relief. I have a massage tomorrow at two. My shoulders have been killing me.”

“I think tense shoulders are the least of your worries right now.”

“I'm getting mixed signals here. Am I in danger or–”

“Shut up!” His hand wraps around your throat, tighter than the tape he has secured there as he pushes you up against the chair.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, but it's well hidden as you watch him straight on. He's on the verge, you can tell. He might snap at any moment and it likely won't end well for you.

“You never stop talking, do you?” His voice is low and rough, his breath is thick with rage. “I don't know how anyone puts up with you and your constant blabbing, it's honestly pathetic.”

Your breath is thin but you won't let him have the last word. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you strain against his grip. “Nothing you say is really going to get under my skin. I've probably said it already.”

He leans in closer. You can feel his warm breath on your face, and you'd squirm if it wouldn't empower him. “You're a child.”

“I know. It keeps me young.”

He lets go of you, and before you can think of something else to say, the back of his hands smacks against your cheek. You grunt, your face whipping to the side as the tape cuts into your skin. It stings. He's very strong, and it shows in the dark stain arising in your cheek. You think his daylight ring clipped you because it really stings, and you think he may have drawn blood.

Your suspicions are validated when you see the veins in his eyes wriggling under his skin, his eyes darkening with the scent of your blood.

“Ah, shit!” you gasp, wanting to soothe the spot but being unable to. It really hurts. But you can't let him have the satisfaction. “I mean,” you catch your breath, “harder, Daddy.” You shake your head, wincing harshly. “God, that hurt, actually.”

He gets real close to your face again, but the pain of his smack makes it harder to show indifference. But it's not without trying. “You killed my brother,” he spits. “I'm going to hurt you really bad. And then…” he smiles, “I am going to kill you.”

Your breath is uneven, riled up with the anxiety of maybe not having the upper hand. If there's a witch, it means you're likely cloaked. The compound may still be sealed, so Elijah is still trapped—not that he would save you if he wasn't. Klaus, with all his power, may not be able to find you.

You might not get out of this alive.

Nevertheless. “You really shouldn't start with your big threat.” He turns away from you, annoyed. “There's no way to go from there.”

“I'm going to beat the shit out of you.

“See?” you ask, getting a little desperate now. Maybe you can distract him? “You already threatened my life. Anything else you say is significantly less impactful.”

“Shut up!” he shouts.

A gleam shines off a knife he pulls from his back pocket. Your eyes go wide with panic, and you try to react but there's nothing you can do. He raises it high, and in the next second, he's stabbed it into the meat of your thigh.

A scream tears from your throat. It's loud and rough and brings tears to your eyes as the pain rips through you like a fire. Your hands flex towards it, trying to soothe it in some way—any way—but to no avail.

He sneers, a dark chuckle leaving his throat. You watch his face change, his vampiric features creeping through again. “That's better.”

He pulls his phone out and snaps another picture. a wicked grin sneaks onto his face.

You're in full panic mode. You can't even attempt to be funny anymore, you've begin genuinely freaking out because there's a fucking knife in your leg.

“Okay, I'm sorry,” the words leave your mouth at the speed of light. “I'm sorry. I fucked up. I shouldn't have let Klaus do it. Granted, I can't really stop him when he's got murder on his mind, but I should have tried, and I didn't, and that's on me. I'm sorry. No, no, no, no, I'm sorr–!”

Another painful shout rips through you as he tears the knife from your leg. It bleeds, and it bleeds bad. Tears have begun pooling in your eyes, and dropping down your face and off your chin. Your screams stutter with sobs, and you gasp but there's too much air in your lungs to actually inhale each breath. The tape around your neck chokes you.

More flashes, more pictures

“You can scream as loud as you like, sweetheart. Your precious Mikaelsons are trapped in their house, and we're cloaked. No one's gonna find us until I'm done.”

Mikaelsons. Not Mikaelson. He thinks Klaus is trapped. If you can stall just long enough…

But your hope is running out and the blood is pooling. It's hard to think past the pain.

Klaus will save me. He always saves me.

This guy hates you and your jokes. He wants nothing more than to shut you up for good, but he isn't going to kill you unless he's broken you. He isn't going to take your life until your jokes have run dry and there's no more fun in stripping you of your depleted humor. If you want to live a little longer, you've got to keep them locked and loaded.

You just don't know how long you'll last.

“Well,” you stutter, whispering a confidence you don't have, “if I'm truly fucked, I guess I'm gonna have to use the rest of my good jokes on you.”

His hands wrap around your throat again. He squeezes, and your head feels hot and heavy. Every inch of your face tingles in a terrible way. Your lungs burn as the pressure builds. You flex your hands, you pull at the layers and layers of tape, you try to do something to get you out of here.

He watched you struggle, crude fingers digging into your pulse points. He watches the fight diminish to a dull scrape of your chair against the floor. When you begin to go limp and the life sinks from your eyes, he lets go.

You've never taken a deeper breath in your life.

Click.

A fit of coughs forces its way from your throat. It feels so good to breathe, a dull euphoria buzzing in the back of your brain against the horrible pain of your leg, but—fuck—you can't do it.

“Try speaking through that,” he huffs, satisfied with his method.

For a moment, you think, Maybe… Maybe I should just let him kill me and get it over with.

But Klaus would never forgive you, and if Elijah hadn't hated you before, he surely would then.

For the boys. Not for you. I'm doing this for the boys.

“C-Come clo–” You cough, the hoarseness of your throat too much to be coherent. “Closer.”

He relent, leaning down as his hands brace himself on your arms. It hurts as he transfers most of his weight on them, but you try not to wince.

“That was…” you take in a terrible breath, your voice is a squeak, “really hot.”

Apparently, he doesn't like your jokes.

Snatching up the tape, he presses it against your mouth in generous amounts to ensure not a single word comes out of you.

He picks up the knife, flipping it in his hands as he examines you. You pull weakly against your restraints—to no avail, of course—as he steps closer and closer. You mumble incoherently against your muffle. You try to say something, anything. You need to bargain, you need to joke, you need to do something.

“I'm going to enjoy this.”

The torture is too much. He slices and stabs and scrapes, his movements both swift and slow and ragged and clean. You scream, sob, choke, make all the noise you can. He cuts you in all the right ways, missing your major arteries to ensure you don't bleed out before he's finished with you.

You're lightheaded, and it's hard to see. The pain is so great, you're not even sure you're feeling all of it by this point. Your voice is so abused by your cries that they're hardly audible anymore.

Every time he lets up, taking your silence for defeat, you grant him a look with all the defiance you can muster and brace for the pain to come.

Klaus is going to owe you so much when he gets here.

If he gets here.

You don't know how much more you can take.

He takes a picture at every point. He's gotten so many photos on his phone by now. So many of you screaming and crying, so many of you hurting and so close to broken.

You don't want him to see them.

He grips the knife again. You feel another weak sob rising in your throat when suddenly–

He turns toward the door, his movements halting to listen. There was a rustle, leaves and twigs. Probably nothing…

“Witch!” he yells. No response. “Avaline!” Nothing. He grunts, shaking his head. His knuckles tighten around the knife. “She's gone.”

You mumble against the tape. He looks at you and relents. He rips the tape off, ensuring it hurts you. You cry a little.

“You gonna…” your mouth and your throat are dry, “go investigate that…suspicious noise?”

He smacks you. You make no sound. He looks over his shoulder. “It's just a possum,” he mumbles, not believing himself. “They're all over the place.”

There's another rustle, a possum. He turns to you, silent.

“What? No funny quip?��

You try to think of something, but you come up dry. You let your head lean forward, ignoring the way the tape strains on your throat. It takes so much strength to hold up your head, and you're tired. You're covered in blood and sweat and tears, and you just want to sleep.

When you remain silent, he smiles, triumphant. He checks the time, sighing almost regretfully.

Click. Click.

“Okay,” he says. “Time to wrap this up.”

He tightens his grip around the knife. You want to fight…but you've gotten nothing left. You think of Klaus, how pissed he'll be, the upset he'll feel when you're gone. You don't think of yourself as having a huge impact on others and their lives. You've always thought you were disposable, and you flitted through people's lives holding that ideal.

But Klaus. Klaus is the one person you know loves you, in his way. And when you're dead, he will raise hell. You want to smile at the idea, but it takes too much.

Elijah will be upset.

A choked sound catches in your throat when the knife slices through the flesh of your belly. It drives in, and you don't have the energy to scream. The satisfaction in his eyes beams.

I'm sorry.

He smiles, readjusting his hold on his knife. He goes to twist–

“Keep your filthy hands off of her.”

They move too fast for you to realize he's already pressed up against the wall, held by his neck by a curling hand intent on ripping out throats. A tiny blossom of hope swells in your chest.

You're too dizzy to pay attention to your hero, it's all so fuzzy.

“How did you get out?” he says, panicking as he claws at his attacker’s hand.

“You've got a poor witch.”

You know that voice. Don't you? Somewhere in your brain. He's familiar…

“Your brother killed mine,” he keeps trying. It's retribution. It's retribution. “I'm only repaying a debt.”

He gets close to his face, squeezing his throat even tighter as he begins to sputter and choke. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are black, his face is dangerous.

“So am I.”

A hand bursts through his chest, squeezing around his beating heart. And he holds it there, he ensures that this creature feels every last thing. His grip tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and he relishes in the feeling of his beating heart slowly failing.

He pulls it out, holding the useless organ in his palm with the same disgust he grants the man it belongs to. It falls to the ground with a splat, as does he.

Your savior steps into your line of sight, his dark eyes wide with intense emotion you can't quite place. And you would smile if you could find the will.

He came for you. Elijah.

His bloodied hand presses against the side of your face. You don't flinch, even as he takes hold of the tape and rips it apart like he's nothing. He takes care to remove it from your neck, and you slump forward with your newfound freedom. Your neck is so tight, it really hurts.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes falling on the knife in your belly.

“Do I look alright…” you struggle to gasp, adding on the end so he doesn't worry too much. You don't want him to worry. “...Genius?”

He tries to look calm. He doesn't want to worry you. “Well, you're still funny, so you can't be hurt that badly.” That's a lie. You look terrible. There's blood everywhere. It takes every ounce of control he's got not to vamp out. He's never seen you worse.

“Fuck you.”

“Another time,” he says. You like jokes. He'll joke for you. “Breathe for me.”

You can't breathe. If you breathe, the knife moves, and it hurts so much. The gears are building so much, you can't even see his face. It's too late. You feel it coming. You tried.

He places his hand on the knife’s handle and begins to move. Before he can do anything, a scream tears from your throat with an energy you weren't aware you still possessed.

You begin to sob, a weak thing that slips from your throat and breaks his heart. He's never seen you so…broken. You were as strong and relentless as his brother, and now you're sobbing in his hands.

“No, don't,” you cry. “Don't, please.” You babble incoherently, in too much pain to properly pronounce your agony.

“I know,” he bids as softly as he can, “but it must come out so I can heal you.”

But your sobs overpower his gentle pleas. “It hurts. Elijah, it hurts so bad.”

He's getting choked up. He can't stand seeing you like this but he refuses to look away. “I know.”

“Please make it stop. Please.”

“I will,” he says, rolling up his sleeve. Biting into his wrist, he forces it to your lips as the blood rolls down his skin. “But you must drink.”

You refuse, sealing your lips shut and turning away from him. He doesn't have time for this—you don't have time for this. “You are in no position to refuse.”

It's getting harder and harder to breathe, to think straight. You can't think straight.

You shake your head weakly, slumping forward still as you feel your body giving out. “I don't want…” You lick your dry lips. “I'm not ready…”

He hears what you can't say. You're not ready to turn…

“You have to drink,” he tries, sounding as desperate not as he feels. His hand braces around the back of your head, he holds your dearly. “You must drink.”

You can't breathe. You try to inhale, but your breath is shallow and quick, fast pulls of air that don't reach your lungs before they're being forced out again. He says your name, pleading.

It's coming. You have to say it before it's too late.

“Elijah…”

He shakes his head. “Save your strength.”

No. You can do this. You can spend the last of your strength on this. “I never hated you…” your voice is barely above a whisper. It's choppy and slow, and you try to say everything you need to. “Just thought…” you try to clear your throat, you can taste the blood in the back of your throat, “just thought…” just a few more words, “...you hated…” you take in a weak breath struggling, “...me…”

His eyes are so full, so full of unshed tears and words he wants to say but cannot. “I don't,” he tries, keeping you awake for as long as you can, though you're fading quick. “But I can't prove it to you unless you live. Now drink.”

With all the strength you have left, you smile. It's a tiny, weak, painful little thing, but you do it for him. You don't want the last thing he knows of you to be petty insults or weak confessions of truth. You want him to know that you died with a real smile on your face, one you've wanted to give to him for a long time.

He calls your name, you don't respond as your drooping eyes begin to close. Your heart still beats, your pulse is weak but it still beats.

And he refuses to let you die. You will not die.

“If you won't save yourself, I will.”

Elijah flicks through the photos he'd found of that bastard’s phone. He looks at them all, one by one. He sees your eyes, so full of fear and pain and anger and hopelessness. Through each picture, he watches the resilience in your eyes fade until there's nothing but the emptiness of acceptance. He hates it, and he punishes himself with every single photo, refusing to forget that he almost lost you.

He hasn't shown Niklaus. And he doesn't intend to.

Your steady breaths are the only thing keeping him sane. If not for those, he would be losing his mind, pacing around the room and wanting nothing more than to punish someone for his shortcomings.

You almost died.

You should have died.

The rhythm of your breath is disrupted by a long inhale. He looks at you, watching your eyelids flicker and your brows furrow. A tiny hum arises from your throat.

Elijah crushes the phone in his palm. It crumbles to the floor.

You open your eyes, immediately blinded by the daylight peaking through the curtains. He moves his chair a little closer, giving you a small smile.

“Hey,” he says. Not ‘hello’, not ‘good afternoon’, not some smart and quick-witted comment. Just ‘hey’.

You grumble your response. Your body is heavy but not nearly as painful as you should feel. The memories of the night before flood into you before you can even see properly, but you know something is off before you can even react to them. You shouldn't be able to move right now.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently.

You sit up slowly, rising onto your elbows and staying there. “Like there's no longer a knife in my gut.”

“Technically, it missed your gut. The luck you have astounds me.”

You hum and look around. “Where's Klaus?”

He sits back again, but not in any comfortable way. “Trying to locate the witch who got away.”

You're not surprised, though you'd hoped he would be at your side when you awoke. “So the normal murder and mayhem thing?”

He hums. “The normal murder and mayhem thing.”

You got to sit up some more, stopping when you feel the ache in your body keeping you from doing so. You grunt. “Well,” you sigh, “that answered my question.”

A gentle hand presses against your completely bandaged arm. “Sit back,” he commands softly. “I've healed your deep wounds but everything else is still very much in recovery.”

You state the obvious as you sit back against the headboard, not looking at him. “You used your blood.”

“I did,” he says, unashamed. “I'm so sorry to have saved your life.”

You glance away from him. “Yeah…”

You look around the room, thinking silently. You're alive. You're in his room in the compound, tucked in his covers, secured in bandages that you're sure he did himself, and you're alive.

It's confusing.

He could have been rid of you, but he's here healing your wounds and watching over you while you rest. He could have let you die and say he came too late, said good riddance and left you be, but he's here making sure you recover. He could have just healed you and left. You would wake on your own and come to terms on your own with the fact that you are still breathing air.

He could have let you turn. He could have let you turn and left you to deal with the life of a vampire on your own, not ready and completely lost.

But he didn't.

It's confusing.

“Why are you still here, anyway?” you ask, turning to him with a furrowed brow. “I'm fine, you don't have to stay.”

He clenches his jaw, sitting back. “You were under my protection, and I let you get hurt.” His voice is soft, but it holds a gravity foreign to you on his lips. “It's my fault this happened. I'm making sure it doesn't happen again.”

So he feels guilty.

“Elijah, I know the only reason you saved me is because of me being Klaus’ friend or whatever,” you hide how much it hurts to say it out loud, “but you really don't have to stay behind and watch my every move anymore.” You swallow thickly, “You can get back to your life.”

He scoffs. “I did not only save you because of your relationship with my brother.” He seems almost offended. “Has it ever occurred to you that I actually care?”

You answer honestly.

“Not really. Once or twice on a maybe.” He nearly winces. It actually hurts him to hear you speak so truthfully about it. Had he really been so terrible to you?

You almost died, and you would have died thinking he despised you. The thought makes him cold.

“We aren't friends, I know,” you whisper.

There's a long silence. You don't look at him, but he can't look away from you.

“Do you remember what you told me?” His voice is gentle.

“When?”

“Before you passed out.”

You sigh, looking down at your hands as you brush your finger over the large band-aid going across the back of your palm. Yes, you remember. You remember how hard it was to say, you remember feeling your heart gushing in your chest, you remember the dizzying sight of his saddened face.

“I said…I didn't hate you.” You breathe in, looking at him. “And I don't.”

He shrugs, as if that answers all your questions. “Neither do I.”

That makes no sense. Now more than ever, you need something to make sense. You want him to give you a straight answer, you want your heart to stop pounding, you want your head to stop hurting, and you just want to tell him the truth, rather than the sarcasm-coated taunts you've had prepared for him for years.

“I don't get this,” you groan, resting your face in your hands and ignoring the pain blossoming from the bruises.

You look at him, dropping your hands in your lap. “From day one, you've been glaring daggers at me, threatening me, proving constantly that you want nothing to do with me and that my life to you is petty and needless.” His lips part, but he says nothing. “Now you're healing my wounds and saving my life and telling me you don't hate me.”

You're still so vulnerable from the night before, your emotions are still so raw from the fresh wounds you'd accumulated and the desperate confessions you'd revealed. Your eyes burn with tears, glowing easily with all that practice last night. And it only frustrates you, because you're tired of crying. You're tired of feeling so vulnerable, especially in front of him.

“Telling me,” you sniffle, wiping at your face roughly, groaning at the pain but doing nothing to stop it, “you actually care about me.” You're so tired.

He's hurt you again. He can't seem to stop hurting you.

He sits forward, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Do you want to know why I treated you as I did?”

“Yes,” you nod definitely. “Yes, I do. As much as I'd love to deny it I really wanna fucking know why you're playing with me like this.”

You want the truth. So he'll give it to you. It's the only thing he can really give to you.

“Because I'm a stupid man who is unable to articulate my feelings.” You go silent ad he stares at you, his gaze unyielding and yet so comforting in the way he watches you. You love his eyes, always watching, always on you, even when you both pretended they weren't.

He speaks softly but with a sincerity you feel pulling in your chest. “I haven't felt the way I have for anyone the way I feel for you in hundreds of years. Do you know what happened the last time I did?” You don't answer him, knowing the answer. Always knowing the answer to that question. The life of an immortal, a painful existence. His voice nearly broke with unshed tears. “She died. She was taken from me, and she died.”

He looks away from you, collecting himself once more with a steadying breath. Slowly, he makes himself look at you again. You stare at him, eyes wide and…fond. He was so afraid to find fear there, ever since he first saw it in your eyes yesterday, he's been terrified of finding your gaze to be a horrified stare.

But you gaze.

It gives him the courage to continue on. “I don't want to feel that way again. I don't want to lose like that again.” He almost lost you. “I did it to protect myself, and you. It's just my luck you stayed. My luck you let yourself fight me, too. Because with every petty insult, every little name, my love for you grew, and I hated it because I was trying so hard to hate you.”

Silence. Complete silence.

You stare at him, eyes wide, brows pinched. He watches you with all the emotion brimming in his chest, and you have to take a long moment to yourself to think clearly.

You look down at your hands, your bottom lip trembling. You take a slow breath in, suddenly remembering to breathe as you cast your eyes upon him once more.

“You love me?”

He sighs, nodding, reaching out slowly and taking your hand. His are large and warm, and you could sit there holding his hand forever.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I love you.” This can't be real, surely. “I love you, and I'm sorry.”

Your breath shakes. He's sorry.

“I'm sorry, too,” you whisper, your voice weak but just as determined to tell him the truth: the cold, naked, selfish truth. “Because if I ever had to live without you, Elijah, I think I'd die.” You swallow thickly. “I'd rather spend my whole life pretending to hate you than spend the rest of it without you.”

You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I love you so much it hurts.” You hate that you're crying again, especially when he is not.

But then you watch a lonely tear slip down his cheek, and you start to feel a little better. He laughs, a startled thing that takes him by surprise as he looks down at your hands. A laugh of your own bubbles out of your chest, you're perfectly content to sit there, holding hands and laughing. God, you love him.

His thumb brushes the back of your palm. A watery chuckle escapes you as you shake your head and roll your eyes. You wipe your tears away, sick of crying and wanting to take the victory with a smile instead of tears.

“God forbid we handle our feelings like adults, though, right?”

He nods, flicking his own away. “God forbid.”

You lick your lip briefly. “Please come here and kiss me.”

He wastes no time in covering the distance between you, wrapping a hand carefully around the back of your neck as he cradles your head. He pulls you in to meet halfway, his lips pressing up against yours. It's a perfect kiss, a perfect fit. One you had certainly not imagined a million times between insults and remarks.

You love him, you love him, you love him. And he loves you.

It feels so nice to finally tell the truth.

Because there are many things to love about Elijah Mikaelson, and there are many things to love about you. And you do. You love them through and through, finally finding solace in all the wrongs and not-quite-rights you'd lived with all these years.

“If we do this,” he says, pulling away from your lips but keeping his forehead pressed against yours, unable to pull apart from you after finally building that bridge, “your life will always be in danger.”

You smile. “Klaus Mikaelson is my best friend. My life is already in danger.” Your lips softly peck his own. “Might as well keep it up.”

A smile of his own tugs at his mouth and he pulls you in yet again, already so addicted to the taste of him. You love the way he loves you.

“Well, I suppose you're stuck with me now,” he sighs between kisses.

You chuckle lightly. You have no problem with that.

“Back at you.”

Klaus will have a field day when he finds out.

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