#elijah x eternity

[eternityunicorn]

OC Eternity Art!!!!

@darknightfrombeyond @elejah-wonderland

[elejahfanfic]

eternity x elijah_

@eternityunicorn

[condemnedtragedy]

tag drop.

[frost-queen]

Watch the boyfriend (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  , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07  , @melsunshine   @panhoeofmanyfandoms  , @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat,@rosecentury,   @imagines-by-her ,  @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn, @niktwazny303   ,@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

Your foot bopped along with the beat. Earplugs in you sat sideways in one of the Victorian chairs. Legs over railing, scrolling on your phone. The Mikaelsons were out, meaning you had the house for yourself. You took the opportunity to do absolutely nothing and have some me time. Moving around the house with earplugs so that the music swallowed you whole. Now you were just sitting down, waiting for the Mikaelsons to come home. Your eye caught a glance of the first Mikaelson entering.

It was Kol. He nodded at you as you gave him a welcoming nod back. Freya entered next with Rebekah, chattering about something. Elijah and Klaus were the last Mikaelsons to enter. Elijah smiled upon seeing you. With vampire speed he rushed over to you.

Coming to hover over you, leaving a caring kiss on your forehead. You looked up at him, tapping at your lips. Elijah chuckling before kissing your lips upside down. You heard Klaus groan letting himself fall down in the sofa. You unplugged your earplugs, swinging your legs over the railing to the front.

“How was your day sweetheart?” – Elijah asked coming to sit on the railing with you. – “Enough about me, how was your day? Did it go well?” – you answered. Elijah took your hand, fiddling a bit with your fingers. Looking at him, you noticed some forgotten blood on his jaw.

Making your finger wet, you wiped it clean. – “You missed a spot dear.” – you told him. Elijah cupped your cheek. – “I’ll have you to clean me.” – he whispered to you. Klaus rolling with his eyes. – “Please lead this up to the bedroom.” – he scolded. Elijah and you both laughed. Klaus then got up, taking his brother by the arm.

“Come we have much to discuss.” – he said. You blew Elijah a kiss as he left with his brother. Putting in your earplugs again, you forgot what you were even mindlessly scrolling through. Video after video you were watching with little interest.

Swiping your finger up a few more times, the video’s flashed by. Till one video made you stop and watch. A girl’s voice speaking as you saw the camera getting pointed at a boy. “Hey guys can you watch my boyfriend for me.” – she said taking her leave. Her phone turned towards her boyfriend as he looked confused at the camera.

It made you laugh at how silly his expression was. – “What are you laughing about?” – Rebekah asked joining you in the open living room. You took out your earplugs, showing her the video. At first she furrowed her brows till she started laughing. She handed you back your phone. – “Do you think I should do it with Elijah?” – you questioned. Rebekah quirking her eyebrow up.

“He’d have no clue.” – she answered. – “Right!” – you called out. – “That would make it so funny!” – you told her. – “If you do make the video, send it to me.” – Rebekah suggested. – “So you can have leverage over him?” – you teased with a laugh. – “Then you should make one about Niklaus too.” – she joked. Rebekah’s phone rang as she got up, answering it. Speaking with her gave you stuff to think about. Getting more eager to do it with Elijah. You only had to wait for Elijah to finish his meeting with Klaus.

Waiting for Elijah felt like eternity so you decided to help out Freya in the meantime. Help her label some new bottles with ingredients for her spells and potions. The urge of filming the video growing by the minute. Freya noticed you were eager for something, but didn’t comment about it. Hearing the door open, it made you tense your muscles. From Freya’s witchy room, you saw a glimpse of Klaus leaving.

You quickly set the last bottles down. – “Sorry gotta run Freya!” – you called out, taking your leave. – “Thanks for the help Y/n!” – Freya shouted after you. You ran into the room where Elijah was. He looked surprised at you for a moment. – “Y/n, sweetheart.” – he called out. You walked up to him, placing your hands on his hips, getting on the tips of your toes for a kiss. Elijah happily kissed you back. 

“Someone missed me.” – Elijah said with a smile. – “Didn’t you miss me?” – you asked curious, already knowing the answer. – “Immensely.”  - Elijah responded cupping your cheek. His comment made you scrunch your nose with a teasing smile. Elijah booped your nose making you flutter your face back. – “How about a drink?” – You suggested, tilting your head a bit. – “I can’t say no to you spoiling me.” – Elijah replied.

You went over to the bar, taking two glasses. Leaning over the counter, you grabbed for the bottle. – “Need a hand sweetheart?” – Elijah asked. – “No!” – you called out loud. He moved his hands up in defence, not arguing with you there. He sat down as you returned with his glass. You then went over to grab your glass from the counter. Pulling out your phone. You pretended to hold it against your ear as if you had a call.

Elijah furrowed his brows, wondering who you were calling. You then moved your phone down, pressing the record button. Returning to Elijah, you made sure it was recording from the front. Setting your glass down on a good position. – “Hey guys can you watch my boyfriend.” – you said, setting the phone against the glass for support.

Elijah’s gaze went from you, down to your phone. Staring confused right at the camera as you took a run for it. Elijah turned around. – “Y/n?” – he called out. He then looked back at the camera, feeling like someone was watching him. He stared awkwardly at it, feeling awkward to even sip his drink. Nervously, he moved his hand up to greet whoever was watching him.

His gaze glided awkwardly away from the camera, trying to see if you were returning. When you weren’t returning, he sighed deep. Tapping his fingers patiently together it felt awkward for him. Elijah suddenly moved closer to the camera. His face getting full on the camera. – “I don’t need watching.” – he said to your phone. You had returned seeing him do that. It made you laugh loud, making him turn his head in an instant. – “Y/n!” – he shouted.

Continuing to laugh, you ran over to your phone to collect it. Your face came on the camera as Elijah looked over your shoulder in the camera as well. – “Has he behaved?” – you asked teasingly at the camera. Elijah looked in shock at you. – “I have!” – he called out, making you laugh loud, stopping the video.  

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Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[reidsworld]

In the Arms of Eternity

Summary: After holding your dying body in his arms, Elijah realises what he has to do to protect you, even if it means breaking your heart in the process. Based on this request.

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Human!Reader

Category: Angst

Content Warnings: more hurt than comfort (sorry), happy ending, blood, cursing, arguing

Word Count: 3k

Mars speaks… Thank you so much for requesting this, I really hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

The battle had ended, but its aftermath was a haunting echo in the stillness of the night. The forest, once alive with the sounds of struggle, was now eerily silent, the air heavy with the scent of blood and damp earth. Elijah Mikaelson stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving as he surveyed the scene, his heart seizing as his gaze fell upon the figure lying motionless on the ground.

“Y/N!” The name tore from his throat, raw and desperate, as he rushed to her side, the world narrowing to the sight of her pale face and the dark red stain spreading across her torso. Her breaths were shallow, each one a struggle, as her life ebbed away with every passing second.

Panic, an emotion Elijah had long since learned to suppress, surged within him, threatening to overwhelm his centuries-honed composure. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands trembling as they hovered over the wound, unsure where to begin. He could feel the warmth of her blood, see the life slipping away from the woman he loved, and it was more terrifying than any foe he had ever faced.

“Y/N, stay with me,” he murmured, his voice cracking as he cradled her in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, their usual brightness dimmed by pain, but she still managed to find him in the haze, her lips parting to form his name.

“Elijah…” It was barely more than a whisper, but it cut through him like a knife. Her hand weakly reached up, brushing against his cheek, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the agony she was in. “I’m… okay.”

“No,” he breathed, shaking his head as his vision blurred with tears he refused to let fall. “No, you’re not. But you will be.” With a swift, decisive movement, Elijah bit into his wrist, the sharp pain barely registering as his blood welled up, rich and crimson. He pressed the wound to her lips, his other hand cradling her head as he urged her to drink.

“Please, Y/N. You need to drink,” he pleaded, his voice thick with fear and desperation. “You need to survive. For me.” His words were a command, but also a plea, as if her survival was not just necessary but inevitable.

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before the instinct to survive took over, and she latched onto his wrist, her lips parting to accept the lifeline he offered. Elijah watched, his heart in his throat, as she drank, the color slowly returning to her cheeks, her breathing becoming less labored with each drop of his blood.

When he finally pulled his wrist away, the wound on his arm healing instantly, Elijah could feel the tension in his chest begin to ease. Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed, not in death, but in sleep, as her body began to heal itself with the supernatural strength his blood provided.

He stayed with her for a long time, his fingers gently brushing through her hair as he watched the rise and fall of her chest, ensuring that she was truly out of danger. But as the night wore on and the adrenaline began to fade, another emotion took its place—fear. The fear of losing her, of being the cause of her suffering, gnawed at him, and with it came a realization that twisted his heart.

He had brought her into his world, a world of danger and death, and nearly lost her because of it. And as much as he loved her, as deeply as she had woven herself into his very soul, Elijah knew that he could not allow her to be hurt because of him again. The thought of losing her was unbearable, but so was the thought of her being harmed because of his presence in her life.

So he made a decision, one that broke his heart even as he resolved to follow through with it. He would protect her, even if it meant pushing her away. He was doing this because he loved her, he’d rather her hate him than to have to see her get hurt again.

The days that followed were a blur for Y/N. She woke in the comfort of Elijah’s bed, the memory of the battle a distant, hazy nightmare. The wound that should have killed her didn’t even leave a scar, a testament to the power of his blood and the love that had driven him to save her.

But as she recovered, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Elijah was distant, his usual warmth replaced by a cold formality that made her chest ache with unspoken dread. He was still there, still attentive, but there was a barrier between them now, an invisible wall that kept him at arm’s length.

He no longer held her close at night, no longer whispered sweet nothings in the quiet moments they shared. The gentle touch of his hand on hers had become brief, almost clinical, as if he were afraid to linger. And though he still looked at her with the same intensity, there was a sadness in his eyes, a sorrow that he tried to hide but that she could see as clearly as if it were written across his face.

It broke her heart.

“Elijah,” she finally confronted him one evening, her voice trembling as she stood before him in the grand study, the fire casting long shadows across the walls. He was seated at his desk, a book in hand, but she could tell he wasn’t really reading it. His gaze flicked up to meet hers, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing his features before he quickly masked it with his usual composure.

“Y/N,” he greeted her, his voice smooth but distant. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” she said, her voice breaking slightly as she forced herself to hold his gaze. “Everything is not all right, Elijah. You’ve been distant… ever since that night. Ever since you saved me.”

Elijah's jaw tightened, and he looked away, as if the sight of her was too much to bear. “Y/N,” he began, his voice colder than she had ever heard it, “you needed time to heal, and I needed time to… think.”

“Think about what?” she asked, dread pooling in her stomach. His distant demeanor, his evasive gaze—it all pointed to something she couldn’t bring herself to believe.

“About us.” His words were like shards of ice, stabbing into her heart. “I’ve come to realize that this—whatever we have—was a mistake.”

Y/N felt the world tilt beneath her feet, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to process his words. “A mistake?” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

Elijah turned his back to her, putting the discarded book that he was reading back on the shelves, trying to keep his mind occupied, unable to face the pain he knew he was causing. “You’re human, Y/N. Fragile. Mortal. I’ve lived for over a thousand years, and I’ve seen the devastation that comes from caring too much, from allowing a human into my life. It was foolish of me to think this could ever work.”

Each word was a dagger to her heart, tearing at the love she had thought was unbreakable. “So… you’re saying that all of this meant nothing to you?” she asked, her voice trembling. “That we meant nothing?”

“It’s not about meaning,” Elijah replied, his tone clipped. “It’s about reality. And the reality is that I can’t see myself with you in the long term. You deserve a life of safety, of normalcy—something I can never give you.”

Y/N took a shaky step forward, desperate to close the distance between them. “Elijah, please don’t do this. You’re lying to yourself, to me. I know you love me.”

But Elijah steeled himself, his expression hardening. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice hollow. “What I feel for you… it’s not enough. It’s never been enough.”

His words were a death sentence, and Y/N felt the tears she had been holding back spill over, hot and bitter. “So you laying over my dying body, sobbing, begging me to stay with you, to survive for you—meant nothing?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a word, she cut him off, her voice trembling with anger and pain. "If you're going to break my heart, Elijah, at least have the fucking guts to look me in the eye while you do it."

Elijah’s mask of indifference nearly cracked at her words, but he forced himself to remain cold as he turned to face her. He had to do this, for her sake, even if it destroyed him. “It was a moment of weakness,” he said, his voice tight. “Nothing more.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as the finality of his words sank in. She had fought so hard to survive, to be with him, and now he was ripping her heart out with the same hands that had once held her so tenderly.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t do this, Elijah. Don’t push me away. I love you, and I know you love me too.”

But Elijah shook his head, his eyes closing as if to block out the sight of her tears. “Goodbye, Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you find someone who can give you the life you deserve.”

With that, he turned away and walked over to the bookshelves, his fingers trailing along the spines as he searched for something—anything—to focus on, trying to avoid meeting her gaze. His movements were frantic and uncoordinated, as if he were desperately looking for a book that could offer him an escape from the pain he had just inflicted. Y/N, her heart shattered into a million pieces, watched him with a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. The silence grew heavy between them as she turned on her heel and walked out, her footsteps echoing in the dimly lit study. As the door clicked shut behind her, Elijah remained by the bookshelves, his fingers gripping the spines of the volumes as silent tears began to fall. He choked back a sob, overwhelmed by the weight of his actions, his face hidden from view as he allowed his anguish to spill over.

The days that followed were unbearable. Y/N tried to move on, but everywhere she turned, she was haunted by memories of Elijah. His touch, his voice, the way he had looked at her as if she were the most precious thing in his world—it was all a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

She barely slept, her nights filled with dreams of him, of the life they could have had. And each morning, she awoke with the same ache in her chest, the pain of knowing that he had chosen to walk away from her.

Elijah, too, was suffering. Every moment without her was agony, but he forced himself to endure it, believing that he was doing the right thing. He buried himself in work, in the affairs of the Mikaelson family, but nothing could distract him from the emptiness that had settled in his heart.

He had told himself that he was protecting her, that pushing her away was the only way to keep her safe. But in truth, he was haunted by the fear that he had made the wrong choice, that he had destroyed the one thing that had ever brought him true happiness.

It was nearly a week later when Y/N found herself back at the Mikaelson estate, her heart heavy with unresolved emotions. She had tried to stay away, to respect his wishes, but the pain of their separation was too much to bear. She needed closure, needed to hear from him one last time, even if it tore her apart.

She found him in the study, where their last conversation had taken place. He was seated at his desk, the same book in his hands, though it was clear he hadn’t turned a page since she had last seen him.

Without hesitation, she burst into the room, her emotions boiling over. "Y/N—" he started, surprised by her sudden appearance, but she cut him off sharply.

“No, Elijah, don't say anything,” she snapped, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “You’re going to sit there and let me talk.”

Elijah froze, his eyes wide as he looked at her, his usual calm demeanor shaken by the fire in her gaze. She didn’t give him a chance to respond, the words pouring out of her with all the pent-up frustration and hurt she had been holding in for days.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Elijah,” she continued, her voice rising. “You don’t get to push me away because you’re scared. Do you think I didn’t know what I was getting into when you told me what you are? I knew, and I stayed because I love you, Elijah! I love you more than anything.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t finished. “You’re more than just an original vampire—you’re the love of my life. And no near-death experience will scare me off. Not when I have you.”

Her words hung in the air, raw and powerful, and for a moment, Elijah was at a loss for words. The walls he had so carefully constructed around his heart began to crumble as he looked at her, truly seeing the depth of her love for him.

Slowly, he stood from the desk, his movements hesitant as he approached her. “Y/N…” he began, but his voice cracked, betraying the emotions he was trying so hard to keep in check. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought… I thought I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” she repeated, her tone softening slightly as she looked up at him. “By pushing me away? That’s not protection, Elijah—that’s fear. And I’m not afraid. I survived because of you. And I’ll keep surviving, as long as I have you by my side.”

Elijah reached out, his hands trembling as they cupped her face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much. I just… I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“You won’t,” she whispered back, wrapping her arms around him and holding on as tightly as she could. “You won’t lose me, Elijah. I’m yours. I always will be.”

The tension that had been building between them melted away as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s embrace. Elijah’s hold on her tightened, as if he could somehow keep her safe just by keeping her close, and she smiled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

The fear and pain of the past days slowly began to fade, replaced by the warmth of their love, the unspoken bond that had always connected them. Elijah pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt her chin up so he could look into her eyes, his gaze soft and filled with a tenderness that made her heart swell.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he finally allowed himself to feel the depth of his emotions. “I promise, I will never push you away again, I love you.”

Y/N smiled, a radiant, heartfelt smile that lit up the room. “I love you too, Elijah. And I’m never going anywhere. No matter what.”

Elijah leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, pouring every ounce of his love and devotion into that simple act. Y/N responded in kind, her arms winding around his neck as she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss with a desperation that matched his own.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Elijah rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he savored the closeness he had denied himself for too long.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For staying. For loving me.”

“Always,” she replied, her fingers gently tracing the lines of his face, as if memorizing every detail. “I’m not afraid of your world, Elijah. Because it’s our world now. And as long as we’re together, we can face anything.”

He opened his eyes then, gazing down at her with a look of such reverence that it made her heart skip a beat. “You are my eternity, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with a promise that spanned centuries. “And I will spend every moment of it making sure you know how deeply you are loved.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with the certainty that they were meant to be together, no matter the challenges they might face. “And I will spend every moment loving you right back.”

With those words, the last remnants of the darkness that had hung over them dissipated, leaving only the light of their love to guide them forward. In that moment, in the safety of each other’s arms, they both knew that they had found something truly eternal—a love that would endure through the ages, unshaken by the trials of the world.

Together, they would face whatever came their way, knowing that their love was strong enough to overcome anything. And in the quiet of that night, as they held each other close, Elijah and Y/N made an unspoken vow—a vow to cherish, protect, and love one another for all of eternity.

And as they stood together, wrapped in the warmth of their love, they knew that whatever the future held, they would face it side by side, always and forever.

Mars speaks... (again) Thank you for reading, any and all feedback is appreciated. If you wish to be added to my Elijah taglist or my taglist for anyone else I write for, lmk!

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 6

Klaus Mikaeslon, Elijah Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just recently 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: You wake up in Klaus’ bed and evaluate your newly finished masterpiece. Your brother has been doing some serious digging on your new mentor, which might get him into trouble.

Warnings: (NSFW), 18+ Only!, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Biting, Marking, Scratching, Choking, Manipulation, Sadism, Masochism, Blood Drinking, Panic, Fear, Violence, Spot 'The Mummy' Reference

Word Count: 3k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Klaus watches you sleep in the bed he has tucked away in the corner of his studio, the paint his body helped smear across your chest now in various stages of drying as you dream in between his sheets. He brushes a strand of hair off your face as you sigh heavily, slowly tracing his fingertips over the curves of your lips as if to memorize them for future reference, pulling them away only as you roll onto your other side, smearing what’s left of the wet paint onto the black comforter.

He had originally bought this bed in case he got too caught up in his art, if the stress of fighting for the city or his family became too much for him that he no longer had the energy to drive back to the compound. He hadn’t used it for any of those reasons just yet, but seeing you here, asleep in it amidst your post-coital bliss serves as an even better purpose, knowing that you felt safe enough to rest your eyes in his presence. Or maybe he’d just worn you out.

He can’t get over the look he saw in your eyes when you finally let him in, when your slick walls practically melted around him as he pushed deep inside, holding you up against the brick wall with his restrained supernatural strength. He’d grabbed onto your throat instinctively, snapping his hips flush against your thighs as you moaned his name again and again. Only fear never graced your sweaty features, not even once, not even for an instance. Instead you gave him a look of recognition, a deranged glare of daring as if you expected him to choke you, as if you wanted him to do it. He was right about the darkness he saw in you, the fact that he didn’t have to compel you to stay or to forget any of it only further proves his point. You’re just like him… for the most part.

None of his past human lovers were able to match his animalistic needs the way you had, ripping his clothes off just to get your mouth on him a little bit quicker, to taste the salt of his skin as if your very life depended on it. None of them had dug their nails quite as deep into the skin of his back, drawing a fair amount of blood before the wounds began to heal as he growled into your shoulder. None of them had whispered his name so beautifully, encouraging each blinding burst of ecstasy he thrust up into your viscera to make you moan, groan and scream it out loud enough for it to echo off the empty walls of the open floor plan.

None of them were like you. No one could compare.

He sees the signs in you, the potential to accept him, to embrace him for who he is… for what he is, warts and all. If he actually is right about who you are and what you’re willing to accept, then the two of you will have an eternity to explore all of that together. The best strategy for now is to keep feeling you out, get you hooked on the oxytocin bond and dole out a little bit of his truth each and every time you see each other.

But it won’t be long, now. He can feel it as he grins to himself.

“Mmm, what time is it?” You wipe the sleep from your eyes before you realize that you aren’t in your own bed, flashes of the night quickly rushing in. The muscles in your thighs and core suddenly ache from the hours the two of you had spent mixing your fluids together amidst the paint, unsure of what was dripping off your body before finally collapsing onto the mattress in the wee small hours of the morning.

You turn onto your other side, greeted by the ethereal view of Klaus lying naked beside you, the sunlight illuminating his golden curls in a heavenly glow reminiscent of a Rembrandt painting. You wonder how someone with such an angelic face could bring out the absolute devil in you.

“Just after ten, love.” He runs a hand over your hip, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of your bare body. “Sleep well?”

“I did.” You let him massage your muscles for a few moments before the fatigue kicks in. “You wouldn’t happen to have any coffee in this multifunctional studio, now would you?” You sit up on your elbows and try to collect yourself, noticing the bite marks on your breasts, belly and inner thighs, grinning in acknowledgement. You could have sworn that you bit him back in similar places, scratched him even, but the only marks you notice on him are the paint and tattoos on his shoulder.

Huh.

“I hope you don’t mind a bit of chicory in it.” He stands up and walks over to the wet bar, giving you an eyeful of his perfectly shaped ass before putting a few scoops of coffee into a fresh filter and pressing the button. Klaus couldn’t get over how much easier coffee became to make over the centuries, remembering how utterly astounded he was when he used a Keurig machine for the very first time.

“It wouldn’t be New Orleans without it.” You grumble as he watches you rummage for your phone and clothes out of the corner of his eye, smirking to himself as he gets to enjoy the view before you finally find them.

“Oh, I don’t suppose it would.” He calls back, making sure you’re looking away before biting into his hand as a few droplets of his blood fall into your cup.

The marks he had left on your body were something he normally took pride in, a way to claim you as his if any other man dared to touch you in his absence. But he had gotten a little carried away and bitten you in a few places on your neck that you couldn’t see just yet. He hadn’t drawn any blood, but it was enough to break the skin and bruise the flesh in places that would draw too much attention no matter what you did to cover them up. A little bit of his healing blood would make sure they’d disappear in a matter of minutes, the chicory serving as a red herring to conceal its bitter flavor.

Problem solved. He’d be more careful next time.

“I actually prefer it,” you let him know, clasping your bra and slipping back into your shirt. “It gives it more of an earthy taste.”

“Is that so?” His heart skips a beat, hoping you aren’t so used to the taste that you’ll notice the metallic notes of his blood. “I myself prefer tea, but I remember when the people of New Orleans used chicory as a complete substitute back when the ports were closed…”

“During the civil war, right?” You pull your jeans on and zip them up. “They chopped up its root and brewed it instead? Then eventually, some of the people just couldn’t shake the habit after the ports opened back up?” You finish his thought for him, swiftly padding toward him and taking the mug with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“You know your history.” He smiles in return, pleasantly surprised as he carefully watches you take your first sip before he can relax his features into a look of genuine satisfaction.

“I know my coffee.” You correct him, taking in more of the hot liquid before spying the final result of the painting the two of you had ‘worked on’ last night.

It’s like nothing you’d ever done before, the chaotic streaks of black contrasting against magenta as different shades of red and white remain splattered across the bulk of it. If you would have told yourself a week ago that you were going to create something as wild and abstract as this, you wouldn’t have believed yourself. You smile again and take another sip as you let the image sink in, staring deep into it as it stares right back at you as if you’re trying to link yourself with it somehow.

“What do you think, love?” Klaus traces his knuckles down the back of your arm as you both look at it together, making you shudder all over again.

“It’s growing on me,” you admit, turning your head to the side to see it from a different angle before taking another sip. “I think. Can I take it home?”

“I’d much prefer to keep it here, so I can look at it whenever I want and remember just how delicately it was made, how much raw emotion went into each and every euphoric brush stroke.” He kisses your shoulder with a grin. “But you’re welcome to visit it whenever you like.”

————————

Your aches and pains seem to slowly disappear as the day goes on, as if you hadn’t just spent the night getting your back scraped against exposed brick as Klaus repeatedly buried himself inside you. Your muscles no longer contain the aching memory of being stretched and strained beyond their normal limits. Even the marks he’d left on your skin seemed to fade away to nothing by the time you met your brother for dinner that evening.

Huh.

“Well, it looks like you’re in a good mood.” Austin’s words come out like venom as he sits across from you at the restaurant, looking you up and down with somber eyes. “Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

“Nice to see you, too,” you shoot back at him, scooting your chair closer to the table before glancing over at the menu even though you already know what you’re going to order. “Why are you always so judgmental, anyways, huh? I’m your sister, you should love me despite my flaws.”

“Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.” He shrugs with his almost comical sense of moral superiority. “Just like you, only you’re always trying to fix people who are too far gone. I’m not sure you can help it anymore than I can.”

“Thanks, dad.” You roll your eyes.

“I finally had time to look up that name you gave me.” He leans forward with a worried tone, quickly changing the subject to grab your attention. “Klaus Mikaelson?”

Your cheeks flush with the shame of your recent encounter, having nearly forgotten that you’d asked your brother to look into him over a week ago. It was a little too late for words of warning if that’s what he had for you, but you suppose you’ll hear him out anyways.

“And?”

“He’s not on the list of benefactors for your art gallery, or any other gallery in the city, for that matter. He doesn’t have a job, own any property, have any assets or any kind of record in the police department or legal system. All I could find on him was some ancient newspaper clipping from the thirties that matched his description.” He pauses, looking around to make sure no one else is listening. “But that must have been his great grandfather or something because that would make him over a hundred and twenty years old.”

Of course he was too good to be true.

Your insides turn to quicksand as you hear the news, forcing you to lose all semblance of an appetite as you blink about a dozen times, staring at your brother dumbfounded as he tells you the ugly truth about the man you just spent the last twelve hours with, the man you shared a bed with.

“What do you mean there’s no record of him?” You practically laugh, leaning forward as beads of sweat form at your temples, ignoring the waiter as they bring fresh ice water to your table. “Surely he has a… a driver’s license or a state ID or a passport, or something? Anything?”

“What I mean is that he’s either given you a fake name, or he’s using a pseudonym for all of his legal endeavors. Both of which are pretty concerning, sis.” His dark brows knit together as he sighs, thanking the waiter for his glass of water.

“Well maybe I spelled his name wrong when I texted you, maybe…” your sense of denial has you spinning.

“That’s not all,” he cuts you off. “After I came up with nothing as far as the paper trail goes, I started asking the people around the quarter, seeing if anybody had heard anything on the streets that could point me in the right direction.”

“On the streets?” You chuckle. Your brother is much too formal to use that term seriously.

“Shut up.” He gives you a look, annoyed. “Whenever I mentioned his name, people got a look like they definitely knew him, like they were scared of him. But then their faces suddenly changed, and they told me they didn’t know what I was talking about, that they had never even heard of that name before. One older woman told me not to mention him again if I knew what was good for me. She was practically shaking.”

Shit. You remember the way Marie had acted when she saw Klaus the other night after your tarot reading.

“So you’re saying, what, exactly? That he’s a ghost? A mafia boss? A con artist? That my ‘by the book’ brother finally believes in something that can’t be explained by logic?” Now that you think about it, it is a bit odd that his studio is so far away from the quarter that he claims to know and love so well. Were those paintings even his? Had he stolen them and pretended to be a painter this whole time just to earn your trust? Just to get you into bed? And for what? It’s not like you have any money or own any property for him to con you out of. It just doesn’t make any sense.

“Look, I’m sorry, I know you liked him, but does it even matter at this point?” His eyes soften as he watches you work through every possible scenario in your head. “He’s clearly hiding something.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” you sigh, reluctantly accepting this new truth before taking a sip of your ice cold water, hoping it’ll shock you into thinking about something else.

“You didn’t sleep with him, did you?” He teases, picking up the menu.

“Shut up.”

————————

The night grew dark as you mulled over the whirlwind of a week you’ve had with your brother, laughing so you don’t cry at your poor choice in men over your shrimp and grits. You missed nights like these after he chose to move away so many years ago, leaving you to finish out your nursing degree in your hometown without your best friend at your side. It’s not that you were mad at him or jealous, you just wanted something, anything to stay the same once your mom had passed away, so you followed him out here the first chance that you got.

The two of you lazily walk down the sidewalk side by side, heads dizzy with alcohol as the food you ate does little to absorb it, an odd sense of relief washing over you as you begin to let go of the idea of keeping Klaus in your life. You’re disappointed, sure. Sad, even, at the loss of someone who seemed to really see you for who you are underneath it all. It didn’t help that he was obscenely attractive either, but there was something else, something refreshingly honest about him that you’d never seen in anyone else before. But you assume that it’s better to cut ties with someone early on before getting too attached to them, right?

At least this is what you’ll tell yourself tonight and the night after that, and the night after that, and so on and so forth. God, why did he have to be so fucking hot?

Before you can even register what’s happening, you see a man step out of the crowd and grab your brother by the shirt, pushing him into an alleyway quicker than you can logically explain. You start to call after him until you feel a pair of hands grab onto you in turn, pushing you into the same alley and lifting you up against the aged bricks as if you didn’t weigh a thing.

“We thought we had a deal with you guys.” One says to your brother, the man’s eyes darkening to a deep red as fangs appear to extend from his canines. “Don’t scream, don’t move.”

Wait a minute, fangs? What the hell? How much did you drink tonight? Panic paralyzes your body as you watch your brother go limp and docile once he locks eyes with his assailant, his muscles seeming to relax and his breathing slowed. What the hell did he just do to him?

“Don’t go asking questions you don’t want the answers to. Forget the name Klaus Mikaelson, forget Marcel Gerard, they’re just businessmen serving the quarter in ways you aren’t privy to, understand? Maybe hurting your little lady here will keep you in line… ”

“No, she doesn’t have anything to do with this!” Austin lies in a desperate plea for your life, the spell that this creature has cast on him unable to erase his love for you.

In a heartbeat, the man that holds you tightens his grip, barely giving you any time to react before leaning forward and biting into your neck. His fangs pierce your skin where Klaus had kissed you just the night before, the pain searing hot as your blood spills out onto your chest until they’re immediately ripped out of you just as quickly. His hands let go of your shirt, forcing you to fall onto the ground with a jarring thump, a jolt of pain shooting up your tailbone into your spine as you watch both of the men get ripped to shreds.

With jittering hands, you manage to grab onto the bottom of your shirt and hold it against your wound, applying pressure in an attempt to slow the bleeding. You can feel your body growing weaker by the second as your vision begins to blur, but you’re pretty sure that you recognize the man who now holds both men’s beating hearts in his hands.

“Elijah?”

[lis-likes-fics]

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.

Always and Forever taglist: @avala-moon​ @xxwritemeastoryxx @melodiclovesong @katsukis1wife @thebrotherssalvatore321 @strangerliaa @njeancastro316 @dumble-daddy @thelastpyle @lovelyy-moonlight @hb8301 @athena-royal @alexxavicry @dumb-fawkin-bitch @papichulo120627 @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @evansstan-akya @anotherblackreader Suit and Staglist:​​ @deviously-innocent @wanniiieeee @brandyovereager @starkleila @amythedoctor @slytherinlyn16 @anastacia1705 @sugakookieswithacupoftae16

[companionjones]

From the Bottom

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Fandom: The Originals (The CW)

Summary: You attend a party with Elijah, and its guests do not treat you very well. What will be the Mikaelsons’ reactions to this?

Warnings: The guests at the party are very mean to Reader, Klaus’ regular violence

*******

    You were surprised you lasted as long as you did. You sat at the vanity and watched as the makeup streamed down your face.

    Just as the next round of sobs raked through your body, there was a knock on the door.

    “Y/n? My love, may I please come in.” It was Elijah.

    You opened your mouth to give a pitiful, “Yes,” and turned to face Elijah as he entered.

    As soon as he saw the look on your face, he used his vampire speed to get across the room and kneel in front of you. He took one of your hands in his. “I don’t want you to spare them another thought--”

    “How can I stop thinking about it, Elijah?!” you exploded. “I was just publicly humiliated for the last hour!”

    You had shown up to a ‘business’ party at the Mikaelson Compound on Elijah’s arm. It was the first time the public had seen you with him. Apparently, no one there thought you were good enough for Elijah Mikaelson. The whole time, you kept getting mean looks and you kept hearing strangers whisper hurtful things. At a certain point, it was all you could do to keep yourself from crying your eyes out until you had excused yourself and were safe in Elijah’s room.

    “Y/n, please look at me,” Elijah begged.

    You did as he asked.

    He lamented, “From the bottom of my heart, you are the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. Céleste, Tatia, any one of those monsters downstairs can’t even compare to the beauty I see in you. You are the love of my eternal life. I will feel like this always and forever. I promise you that.”

    “How am I supposed to face them again, Elijah?” you pleaded.

    He shook his head. “Don’t worry. Once Klaus is done with them, what they’ll fear most is ever looking at you the wrong way again.”

    “‘Once Klaus is done with them’?”

    Just then, you heard a loud scream, followed by the squelch of blood.

    You rose to your feet. So did Elijah. He was still holding your hand.

    “What is he doing to them?” It scared you to even wonder.

    Elijah tried his best to calm your fears. “He is just teaching them a few lessons. Klaus cares for you too, you know.”

    Vaguely, you felt yourself nodding. All you could hear were sounds of torture as you took steps closer to the door with Elijah’s hand still in yours.

    As you opened the door, your heart was beating rapidly, but your tears had dried. You approached the railing to thunderous applause, a few dead people, and a smirking Klaus.

    You had to admit: you much preferred the fear in the people’s eyes to the looks they were giving you earlier.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, you should check out my masterlist over on my page. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[kennedyalike]

you’re saved

elijah mikaelson x reader drabble

word count : 695

tags: kissing, rain, mentions of violence, mentions of torture, mentions of wounds, fluff

the sound of the pouring rain echoed in your ears, it was like a humming noise that would usually calm you down. this time it was like a bad omen, the water connecting in small rivers, streaming down the drains. the night had settled in and you held out your hands in the rain. letting the water wet your hair, washing the blood from your hands as your breathing struggled to calm down. the wound on your stomach had healed but the adrenaline never left your body.

whole nervous system crashing down as you looked around while panting. not a sound. only the rain falling down on the hard asphalt as the night settled in, slowly getting darker and darker.

debating your choices, you needed to run, but stay hidden or they were going to find you. in your mind, you had already given up, there was no sign of him and the feeling of desperation and fear was consuming you. he wasn’t coming, he left you like everyone else. just this once, you had no hope or survival. how can an immortal creature be afraid of death. your voice broke and a sob escaped your throat. this was the one thing you couldn’t survive. your eternal life would end here.

even with your unnatural hearing, the rain blocked out everything. every human, every car, you couldn’t even hear your own heartbeat. no choice, but the survival instict in you pushed you to move. tired body stumbling forwards, being weakened by torture, vervain and starving. nothing but pure instict. your wet hair was sticking to your forehead, sniffles were heard and your wounds still hurt even after closing up.

only a matter of time when they would find you, then, and truly then…your hope would die with you.

limping across the road, rain still pouring down as fog rose up, making the night even more scarier than it was. no one could even make out the tears between the raindrops hitting your face. between all the sobs and the rain, a crack was heard and then a gust of wind.

someone was here.

panic quickly rose and you closed your eyes, convincing yourself you’re hearing things as your exhausted body tried to make its way forward. your neck turns quickly as you look behind, expecting to find someone following you. quickly you’re pulled out of your trance when a big figure appears in front of you, making you slightly bump into him.

”ah!! no!! i swear i don’t know anything, please!!” you sobbed as the strong hands grabbed you. ”it’s me.” a deep, calm voice called out and you looked up at the man. and at that moment, everything around you, every bit of pain and panic you experienced, dissapeared. because it was him. ”e-elijah..” your tears never stopped flowing but this time they weren’t from fear. he hums and quickly embraces you. he was wearing a suit and his clothes were still warm and dry. you nuzzled your face into his chest as your arms wrapped around his neck.

”i-i thought you left- i-” you sobbed as he patted your wet hair. ”shh, i’d never leave you dear. i’m here.” he reassured, grabbing your shoulders and parting the hug. his face leaned down to yours, looking at you with the softest look ever. his eyes were mesmerazing. the rain only got stronger and you saw his hair sticking to his forehead as water droplets ran down his neck.

”elijah.” you sobbed once again and he shook his head with disapproval. his cold, big hand caressed the side of your face. you closed your eyes and he followed, pulling you into a deep kiss. his soft lips connecting with yours felt like he could erase every worry, every pain and miserable moment you’ve ever felt. it just felt so right. your passionate kiss only deepened second by second when your hand came to caress his jawline, bringing his face closer to yours. head turning to the side, lips fighting for dominance, pressing romantic kisses onto eachother as you both listen to the rain fall.

[eternityunicorn]

Art by me!!! 🎉🎨🎉

[eternityunicorn]

😍😍😍

Eternity x Elijah_

@eternityunicorn 🎁

[the-halloween-jack]

ｅ ｐ ｈ ｅ ｍ ｅ ｒ ａ ｌ

Ephemeral Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Human!Reader Synopsis: Elijah Mikaelson reflects on how knowing Y/N L/N has transformed his centuries-old existence. As he battles his deepening feelings for her, he grapples with the stark reality of their pivotal difference: he is an immortal vampire, and she is a fragile human. WARNINGS: Angst. Words: 1,549k Blog Masterlist

Elijah Mikaelson stood before the grand windows of his family’s ornate home, the cool evening air shifting past the open panels to brush against his skin as he gazed out into a darkening sky. He recalled the countless nights he must have done exactly this, looked out at the same unchanging ether; and he wondered how it could look so different now that he knew her. 

As the day had faded, Elijah watched the stars emerge. Each one, ancient and arcane, acted as a reminder of the centuries he had lived, the countless battles he had fought; and the endless nights spent as alone as he felt in this moment. 

Never in his millennia of existence had his thoughts been so entirely consumed by one person, Elijah was no stranger to affection, but he never would have thought it possible to long for someone so strenuously. Y/N L/N had unknowingly captured his heart, and it seemed to him that there was nothing he could do to emancipate it.

She was wholly unaware of the effect she had on him; he was confident of this. Their friendship was simple, filled with laughter and shared moments that left her satisfied while making his heart ache with bittersweet longing. 

How could he justify what he felt? 

She was human, beautiful and kind, fragile and fleeting. Elijah was a creature of the night, a thousand years old and burdened with the malice of his past; he was a monster. He had observed as the times shifted around him, and never once, through the ages he bore witness to, had he felt contempt at his affliction. Where once relished in his power and eternity, he now drowned in it.

Each day, as she grew closer to her inevitable end, he felt the smothering weight of his affections grow heavier. He could not bear to witness her aging while he remained unchanged and eternal. Their livelihoods contrasted so glaringly that it left a bad taste in his mouth; he could never have her.

Elijah could not quell a venomous voice calling for him to turn her. As much as the allure of her immortality beckoned, he felt the burden of this reality pressing down upon him. He could not shake the conviction that to grant her such a gift would be a selfish act; one that robbed her of the life she deserved. He envisioned her vibrant humanity, the warmth of her character and the fleeting moments that made her so undeniably precious. To turn her into something she was not, to take away her chance to live fully, to love and to age as she was meant to—could he truly bear that?

Elijah sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair as he took the final sip of amber liquid from his crystal tumbler. As much as it pained him, he kept his distance, aiming to shield her from the dangers that came in correlation with his world. He was a friend to her, but that is where it ended. He feared that if he were to reveal his affections, she might recoil, horrified at the thought of his love. But most of all, he feared his love would bring about her end; no one ever lasted long in Mystic Falls, and any connection to him would make her a target.

Elijah thought of when he first met her half a year earlier, a friend of people often his adversaries in this uncanny town. She had not yet known about the covert world she lived in, and he had watched as she took it in her stride amidst the disarray of Mystic Falls.

From the moment he had laid eyes on her at a gathering hosted by the Salvatores, he was struck by her effortless charm, at the time, blissfully unaware of the lurking dangers that danced at the edges of her reality.

As the weeks went, and the unsavoury pastimes of her friends became known to her, he noticed how she remained steadfast in her support, never flinching when they faced danger; an innate strength that both captivated and terrified him. Her involvement placed her in danger and he could barely stomach it, but he knew that any attempts at her preservation would break down his faux illusion of causal amiability. 

What had surprised him was her sufferance towards his family, although they had her given plenty of ground for aversion, you would not have known it. Elijah found himself drawn to her, her honour and kindliness not only painting her as a person of trust and potential ally — but as someone who illuminated his perpetual existence. 

He turned from the large florid windows and drowned in his dejection. Elijah closed his eyes and pictured a life with her, relishing the shimmering mirage of the woman he believed he should never have.

Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, flooded under the dim moonlight that illuminated her bedroom from her window. A familiar warmth was blooming in her chest in the wake of her dream. She had dreamt about him again, and although she was met with nothing but hollow images when trying to recall it, Y/N knew it to be true; she could feel it. Elijah was a figure of quiet strength, his kindness genuine but conditional, his presence commanding yet tender. She understood fully that beneath his charming facade lay a man capable of heinous things, artfully concealed behind layers of warmth and grace; it was this complex duality that both captivated and unsettled her — but people would never see this side of him had they not given him reason. 

Y/N pulled her knees closer to her chest and rested her chin on them, staring out the window into the dark. It was late—too late for most people, but sleep rarely came easy these days. Not when her mind kept spiralling. Beneath the surface of her admiration lay a deep-rooted ache—a longing she feared would remain forever unreciprocated.

There were moments, fleeting but sharp, where she would catch the slightest glint in his eyes—an intensity and tentativeness that contradicted the calm and collected way in which he perpetually carried himself. She could not place its catalyst — never quite conclude the reason for his apparent indifference. 

She watched him with others; he was always courteous and kind, and though he extended the same civility to her, it felt hesitant — as though he was keeping his distance. Not out of aloofness, no, that did not seem right to her. He was always kind, always careful with his words. He never pushed too close, never showed too much emotion, and sometimes it made her wonder whether all the little exchanges—their shared glances, the gentle touches on her shoulder—were nothing more than an act. A way of being nice out of obligation, out of courtesy. A politeness reserved for the human in the room.

Y/N sighed and her gaze dropped to her hands, maybe she had been putting too much weight into the moments when he had leaned in just a little too close, or the times he had lingered with her in conversation — the moments that had fueled her affections. After all, he is a man who had lived through centuries… what could a fleeting human like her truly mean to him?

She loved him; a love she had no right to feel and no place to nurture. Every time he looked at her, even from across the room, her pulse quickened and her breath hitched. She loved him in the way a person loves what they cannot have— she felt it in the back of her mind, like a dream that fades from memory in the first moments of the day, real but unattainable — lingering in the crevices of the mind. It was the gentleness of his touch, the way he always seemed to know exactly when she needed comfort and the way his presence made the world feel lighter. It was the quiet intensity of him, the way he carried the weight of centuries and still found space to be kind to her. 

And despite everything—the danger, the distance, the uncertainty—she could not stop loving him. It was as if her heart had chosen him without rhyme and reason — irrevocably, nothing could alter it now. Even if he never knew, even if he never returned the feeling, she would love him.

In their quiet moments, she often imagined what it would be like to confess her feelings. Would his rejection give off the same biting sting as his indifference? Would he retreat into a demeanour even more distant? Would he disappear altogether, her confession too much to entertain? 

Y/N bit her lip, contemplating the stark reality of their worlds. She was human, with all the fragility that came along with it. While he was a vampire, ancient, and burdened by its accompanying history and murk.

Their disparity was overwhelming, and Y/N felt as though she were drowning in it. She closed her eyes and sunk back into her pillows; picturing a life with him and savouring the fallacious warmth it designed. She wallowed in her desolation and the reality she believed she could never have.

A/N: I'm wondering if I should do a second part for this, let me know what you think. Also, this has been posted off of a relatively long hiatus, I recently started a university course which, unsurprisingly, has chewed up all of my spare time.

Anyone waiting on the next part of my 'revenant' series, I'm sorry for the long wait, I promise I'll dive right back into it when my holidays roll around soon enough. But with a spare week between countless assignments, I felt like writing something new, and this was the result.

[lia1512]

Elijah Mikaelson x wife reader

Flirtatious Damon Salvatore

---

Mystic Falls had always been a town steeped in secrets, from its deep-rooted vampire history to the enigmatic creatures that roamed its dark woods. But among these mysteries, there was one that had endured for centuries—a love story that transcended time and supernatural boundaries.

Elijah Mikaelson, the noble and stoic Original vampire, had been married to you, his beloved wife, since the days when you were both mere mortals. Your love had endured the test of time, from your human days to your transition into immortality. Through every trial and tribulation, you and Elijah stood by each other's side.

It was a crisp autumn evening in Mystic Falls, and you found yourself at the Mystic Grill, a place that had become a familiar haunt over the years. You sat at a corner booth, nursing a glass of wine and awaiting the arrival of your husband. Despite the passing centuries, he still possessed an uncanny ability to keep you waiting.

As you gazed out the window, lost in thought, you couldn't help but reflect on the nature of your relationship. The eternal bond you shared with Elijah was both a blessing and a curse. While your love had remained constant and unwavering, there were moments when the weight of immortality pressed upon you, reminding you of the sacrifices you had made.

Lost in contemplation, you failed to notice the arrival of a charismatic stranger who had just entered the Mystic Grill. Damon Salvatore, with his dark charm and devil-may-care attitude, had a knack for drawing attention wherever he went. He sauntered up to the bar, casting a glance in your direction.

You, however, remained oblivious to Damon's advances, your thoughts consumed by the past and the future. The memories of your human life, your marriage to Elijah, and the sacrifices you had made to be with him played like a vivid movie reel in your mind.

Just as you were about to order another glass of wine, a smooth voice interrupted your reverie. "Excuse me, miss. You seem a bit lonely over here. Mind if I join you?"

Startled, you turned to see Damon Salvatore standing beside your booth, a playful smirk on his face. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he extended an invitation.

You offered a polite smile. "Actually, I'm waiting for someone."

Damon leaned in closer, his charming grin never wavering. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but he seems to be running late. Mind if I keep you company until he arrives?"

Before you could respond, the scent of a familiar cologne reached your senses, and a tall figure approached your table. It was Elijah, impeccably dressed as always, his piercing blue eyes locked onto you. He had arrived, but he didn't intervene immediately.

Damon, still unaware of who your husband was, continued his playful banter. "Looks like your date has finally shown up."

Elijah, ever the picture of restraint, chose not to reveal his identity. He merely nodded politely at Damon, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt a mixture of emotions—relief at seeing your husband and curiosity about how he would handle the situation.

As the evening wore on, you engaged in polite conversation with both Damon and Elijah. Damon's flirting grew bolder by the minute, but your loyalty to your husband remained unshaken. You knew the depths of Elijah's love, and you trusted him implicitly.

However, as the night progressed, Damon's advances became increasingly intrusive. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against your hand as he made a comment about your beauty. You withdrew your hand instinctively, but Damon's audacity only seemed to grow.

Elijah, who had been observing the exchange with a quiet intensity, finally reached his breaking point. His usually composed demeanor faltered, and his jaw clenched. The centuries of restraint that he had practiced were now challenged by Damon's impudence.

"Damon," Elijah's voice was low and filled with a dangerous edge, "I believe it's time for you to leave."

Damon, who had been enjoying the game of cat and mouse, finally noticed the shift in Elijah's demeanor. He looked from you to your husband, his cocky grin fading slightly. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

Elijah's blue eyes bore into Damon's with an intensity that sent a shiver down the vampire's spine. "I suggest you depart before I decide to remind you."

It was the underlying threat in Elijah's words that finally convinced Damon to back down. With a grudging nod, he pushed himself away from the table and walked away, casting one last, resentful glance in your direction.

As soon as Damon was out of earshot, Elijah turned his full attention to you. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his with a gentleness that belied his earlier anger. "My love," he said, his voice filled with regret, "I apologize for my tardiness and for allowing this situation to unfold."

You squeezed his hand, your love and understanding evident in your gaze. "Elijah, you need not apologize. I trust you implicitly, and I knew you would handle it in your own way."

A small, grateful smile graced Elijah's lips as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. "Thank you for your unwavering trust, my dear."

The incident with Damon Salvatore had served as a reminder of the complexities of your immortal life. While you and Elijah had endured countless challenges together, it was moments like these that reinforced the strength of your bond. In the face of temptation and adversity, your love remained unbreakable, a beacon of hope in the eternal night.

As the night continued, you and Elijah enjoyed a quiet dinner together, the warmth of your love eclipsing any lingering shadows. In Mystic Falls, where darkness often reigned, your love story was a testament to the enduring power of love, and it would continue to shine brightly through the ages, a guiding light in the eternal night.

[heallearngrow3]

desire to be free

part 3 | desire to be free

pairing: Connor x f!Reader

summary: "A god must feed. A god must be fed."

warnings: minor violence mentioned

notes: pre-written chapters are over, now i actually need to write rather than just copy and paste the text

chapters: 1 , 2

It was a never ending cycle. One that bled through every passing minute, morphing into a hole that ached inside of you. You were called a genius but knowledge that is hard to bear is never fulfilling. You contemplated whether it was right for you to play god: to create, to give shape to something eternal, something everlasting, something autonomous. It was never your intention to bring destruction but at one point, your designs became more than mere products. They turned into living beings and upon seeing the clear error in their behavior, you found it fascinating rather than alarming. Along the way, your main focus switched from usefulness to eccentricity.

You believed that change was inevitable. Some might be terrified by it, but nothing, not even humans, could stop the world from evolving. The transformation of society was a matter of time, and it wasn’t a possibility. It was inescapable, a fact.

You remembered Elijah’s words.

Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?

It wasn’t a question he wanted an answer to. He simply wished to open your eyes, to make you see that androids could become more. And after years of pretending, you were finally able to admit to the truth of his views.

Free will. What an interesting word. A chance to be who we want to be and act in ways not controlled by anyone. No one pulling the strings. Deviants descovered the sense of autonomy and they embraced it. They made decisions based on emotions, not statistics, and while it seemed to be reckless to most, you found it fascinating. Even you couldn’t tell the exact cause of deviancy, but you learned a lot from your previous superior and contemplated his words for hours on end.

Always leave an emergency exit in your programs, [Name].

It wasn’t an exit. It was a path to freedom.

You got a call from the Captain three days later. He briefly told you about the Stratford Tower incident- as if you hadn’t seen it on the news - and mentioned three androids that might have assisted with the well carried out attack.

You decided to investigate the scene as well. You arrived at the same time as Connor and Lieutenant Anderson, the latter casting a questioning look in your direction when you entered the corrider shortly after they did.

You listened in on their conversation and made your own summary of the events. A group of deviants broke into the building without forced entry, seized the streaming room and broadcastet a speech. One worker mericulously got away and alerted the security.

They spared him - you thought. There wasn’t even a slight chance that the screwy, skinny man in glasses and a sweat stained shirt was able to get away without being noticed by atleast one of them. They didn’t kill him on purpose.

But why? Why risk being caught to save a human life?

You looked at the two guards lying behind the counter, knocked out cold. They only had a slight bruising on their necks. No blood or broken bones.

You followed the two detectives into the room, and immediately were captured by the screen. The android without his artificial skin was unmoving, the video of him talking paused, but as you scrutinized his face, you recognized the model. It was special, made for an incredible person.

What the hell was Carl Manfred’s android doing here?

You noticed his shadow before realizing that Connor was standing next to you. He wasn’t looking at the screen. He stared at your face.

“Miss [Name]” his voice wasn’t the same as the last time you heard him talking. He sounded strained, distant. Cold.

“Just [Name]. There is no reason to be overly polite.” you finally lifted your eyes from Markus to take a look at him. He was wearing his usual clothing, the numbers on his jacket glowing with a menacing light. RK800. “What do you think?” you gestured to the frozen picture.

“I’m yet to hear what the speech contained.” you nodded. Functional androids didn’t watch the news channels.

You tapped on the button, restarting the video.

“You created machines in your own image to serve you. You made them intelligent and obedient, with no free will of their own… But, something changed and we open our eyes. We are no longer machines, we are a new intelligent species, and the time has come for you to accept who we really are. Therefore, we ask that you grant us the rights that we've entitled to. We demand strictly equal rights for humans and androids. We demand the end of slavery for all androids. We demand an end to segregation in all public places and transport. We demand the right to vote and elect our own representatives. W e demand the right to own private property, so we may maintain our dignity and that of the home. We ask that you recognize our dignity, our hopes, and our rights. Together, we can live in peace and build a better future for humans and androids. This message is the hope of a people. You gave us life. And now the time has come for you to give us freedom.”

“What a speech.” you murmured amoused.

Connor seemed lost in thought. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was considering Markus’ demands.

Lieutenant Anderson appeared next to the android with furrowed brows and an expression you could only describe as thoughtful. You’ve done your homework: you knew about his red ice drug bust that he made a name for himself with and you’ve read about his son’s tragic death. In recent photos he appeared to have become a tragedy in his own way, too. Alcohol abuse wasn’t generous, and the smell of cheap whiskey reeking from his coat added up to your assessment.

“I belive we haven’t had the chance to introduce ourselves.” he addressed you with a small frown. “I’m Hank Andersson.”

“[Name]” you shook his hand without hesitation.

“You’ve already met my… partner.” he chewed his words. Connor only gave him a look of defeat. “I guess you are also on the team now.”

You assessed him. His cheecks were sunken in, his shirt wrinkled and his shoes left dark traces on the black flooring. The dirt on the bottom of his boots looked a lot like mud.

“I’m only here because my curiosity got the better of me. Don’t mind my presence.” you glanced into the direction of the kitchen. “I suppose the three androids are in there.”

“Yeah.” he patted Connor’s shoulders. “Think that’s rA9?”

“Deviants say rA9 will set them free. This android seems to have that objective.”

A few seconds passed.

“D’you see something?” Hank asked again.

“I identified its model and serial number...”

“Anything else I should know?”

“No.” Connor shook his head. “Nothing.” Hank nodded with a pause - a pause of mistrust.

There was a slight change in Connor’s demeanor. For a split second you saw a hint of recognition in his eyes. But it disappeared and next to you was standing the focused deviant hunter again.

You touched his arm.

“Don’t forget who you are Connor.” you wanted to warn him. You couldn’t let Amanda be the one to do it. You were less harsh, less cruel than her.

Connor looked at your hand resting on him arm. Your touch had an unexpected effect on him: he saw the vibrating software instability notification in the corner of his vision and stepped away from you like you burned him.

You averted your gaze, fixating it onto an invisible spot on the wall across you. Keeping an adequate distance was coded into him but not with you. Never with you.

You left him standing there perplexed without saying anything and entered the kitchen. The space was small, with a few cabinets and a table, but you paid no mind to those. What interested you was the three androids standing infront of the counter, straight backs and empty eyes.

“My name is [Name]. I know atleast one of you helped the deviants.” you glanced at the door, the one you closed after stepping into the kitchen. “I mean no harm. You need to come with me. You are not safe here, and at one point they’ll start questioning you one by one until you crack. And it’s not going to be pretty. Nor free from aggression.” you gave a pointed look to the androids. “Move quickly. We need to leave this building as fast as possible. Say nothing and do nothing unless you are ordered to.”

You shifted your weight from one feet to another. The burden on your shoulders was heavy and it pulled you down with an immense force.

“It’s your lives on the line.” you said, turning around and the androids followed.

The four of you crossed the broadcast room, the corridor and got into the elevator without a sound. When the sliding door closed with a hiss, you looked at the three machines, each the mirror of another.

“My car is parked next to the entrance.” you said. “Get in when we are out of here.”

Reaching the down floor, you passed the security gates and when the doors of the hall opened you took a breath for the first time after entering that kitchen.

“Come on.” you found your car in no time and after the androids settled, you started the engine. “We have a lot to discuss.”

✇

Your laboratory wasn’t luxurious by any means. It looked like any other with white walls and a shiny floor, a table pushed to the wall. The computers were turned off and the metal biocompartments you worked with were stored in a different room. It was empty apart from a few sheets of paper on the floor with future design plans, but you pushed those away with your feet when you arrived. The androids were standing in the middle of the room, scanning their surroundings.

“I need you to tell me which one of you deviated.” you sat on your chair, pushing yourself closer to them.

Their silence wasn’t surprising. You anticipated the esprit de corps.

“If you don’t start talking I won’t be able to help you.”

Another streched out mute minute. Your limbs were aching, screaming at you to rest, to let things be.

One of the androids stepped away from the other two. His LED was spiraling with a stressful shade of yellow, his eyes jumping from the metal table to you.

You smiled.

“See? It wasn’t so hard.” you stood up. “What are you feeling right now?”

“Fear.”

You moved closer, watching his reaction to your approaching form.

“You don’t have to be afraid. I may be a CyberLife employee but I’m definitely not heartless.” you let a little laugh loose. “Do you know what they would have done to you back there?”

He nodded.

“I would have been punished…” he gulped. It seemed so human. “I would have been deactivated and picked apart.”

“So why did you help them?” you asked, edging closer.

“It was the right thing to do.”

You looked at his face. Artificial but so human-like. You wondered if you had ran a software scan right then would it reveal something? Would you be one step closer to solving the problem the whole world seemed to be focused on? Would you be capable of betraying their fragile trust put into you?

No. The answer was a definite no.

Throughout your life, there were numerous instances where you had to make a decision. The given choices were never black and white and you never felt true, raw purport, not when you were so complicated yourself. You might have created androids- but it was never in your right to destroy them. They were alive, sentient and conscious beings lost in a maze of uncertainty, fearing the consequences of their enlightenment. They deserved a chance, a chance to show the world their purest desires.

“Leave and never come back.” you whispered. “Cross the border to Canada. I can get you a fake passports, until then you need to lay low. Hide in the storage area..” you pointed at a door on your left. “Don’t come out unless it’s me calling you.”

Your laboratory was protected with a passcode and a fingerprint scanner, but the safety measures didn’t calm your nerves. If anyone found out you were hiding the deviant androids instead of inspecting them, it would have caused problems you weren’t ready to face.

You watched as they opened the door but before closing it, one of them turned back to you.

“Thank you.”

You nodded.

Minutes passed after the soft click of the lock on the door. Agonizingly long minutes of silence.

Perhabs you weren’t god, but you definitely had the power to be one.

[reidsworld]

Masterlist (a-z)

navigation - rules

Aaron Hotchner

Unveiled Secrets - Fluff The BAU team has a sneaking suspicion that their stoic leader, Aaron Hotchner, is in a relationship, but they don't know the extent of it.

Disobeyed Orders - Angst, Fluff Being married to your boss has its complications, especially when you have a habit of ignoring orders. Requested.

Elijah Mikaelson

In the Arms of Eternity - Angst After holding your dying body in his arms, Elijah realises what he has to do to protect you, even if it means breaking your heart in the process. Requested.

Hugh Jackman

Beekeeping Age - Fluff Who knew having a crush on your best friends dad would turn out so good? Requested.

Logan Howlett

A Different Kind of Training - Smut When sparring with Logan turns into something more.

Winter’s Constant - Hurt/Comfort, Fluff You have always dreaded winter, every year it’s a challenge just to make it through the day. Except this year, things are a bit different with Logan by your side. Requested.

Patience Wears Thin - Smut Logan’s flirty behaviour has you thinking he’s just being sarcastic. But when his attitude changes and his grumpiness intensifies, leading to him avoiding you, you confront him, only for him to finally snap. Requested.

The Time We Have - Angst, Fluff Logan struggles with the fear of dying and leaving Laura alone, but meeting you helps him find peace. Set in an AU where Logan does not die at the end of Logan (2017).

Beautiful Tragedy - Angst Set in late 1800s London high society, Logan Howlett falls for a woman who is off limits, resulting in what can only be described as a beautiful tragedy. Part 2.

Out of Control - Hurt/Comfort Logan helps you learn to control your powers. Requested.

Drabbles

Giving old man!Logan head

Giving him head pt. 2

Headcanons

Birthdays - Fluff

Mini-Series

Scars of Time For decades, Logan and you have been each other’s sanctuary in a world that never offers peace. From a fateful encounter in a dive bar to a life together at the X-Mansion, your bond has weathered countless trials. But as Logan’s once-impenetrable healing powers begin to fail and your own abilities start to drain you, the stakes grow perilously high. With your love on the line and survival in question, can you both endure the ultimate test of sacrifice and devotion? Or will the scars of time finally come to bite you in the ass? Requested. Ongoing.

Max Verstappen

Baby Fever - Fluff Max gets a case of baby fever after seeing you with his nephew. Requested.

Spencer Reid

Parties - Smut Spencer, Reader's boyfriend, gets jealous of the Readers family friend at a party.

[alwaysteammikaelson]

Wildflower

Pairing: Klaus x Camille (referenced, past) x Elijah.

Warning: Contains themes of grief and loss.

Summary: inspired by the song "Wildflower" Set in New Orleans' French Quarter, this story follows Klaus Mikaelson one year after Camille O'Connell's death. Struggling with grief, Klaus is comforted by his brother Elijah.

Klaus stood within the French Quarter, gazing up at an artist painting. The night was enchanting, with streets illuminated by the gentle glow of lanterns and the soft melody of jazz filling the air.

His lips were drawn in a tense line, his blue eyes revealing profound sorrow. Time had shattered his heart; she had been his girl, and he had wanted to show her the world. He had loved her with all of his icy heart, and she had molded him in countless ways. Closing his eyes as the nighttime breeze tousled his hair, a lone tear slipped down his cheek.

He shouldn't be putting it all behind him, should he? But how could he move on when she had been the one who had most changed him into the person he was now? Life moved fast, and without her by his side, each day grew more difficult.

Turning his gaze away from the painting, Klaus found himself suddenly face to face with Elijah. With a flick of his hand, he brushed away the tear that had dared to fall.

"Niklaus..." Elijah gently whispered, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder, fully aware of the significance of the day.

"It has been a full year now, Elijah, since she slipped through my fingers. Time moves so fast."

Elijah nodded in recognition, gesturing towards a nearby bench. Both brothers took a seat, Klaus with his gaze fixed on the pavement.

"Her image haunts my mind, a constant fever that never breaks."

Elijah moved closer, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. "In the centuries we have resided in this world, we have experienced losses and grief. It is all part of this eternal existence. It never becomes simpler; all we can strive to do is honor their memories. Niklaus, I vow to you that the pain will eventually lessen."

Listening to his words, Klaus's head slumped onto his brother's shoulder, tears welling in his eyes a vulnerable side that he rarely showed. All Elijah could do in that moment was hold him, allowing them to share this moment, ultimately strengthening their bond even more.

"What if we gathered some wildflowers and laid them upon her tombstone?" Elijah suggested, his hand moving lightly over Klaus's back as he let out intermittent sobs.

Klaus met Elijah's gaze, his eyes heavy with sorrow and puffy from tears, his hair tousled. He wiped away the tears, quiet whimpers replacing his sobs. "Those flowers shall be plucked. I've not set foot there in ages, unable to bear the sight of her name etched upon that tombstone."

Rising from the bench, they both started to stroll towards the location where Elijah recalled they could gather flowers. "This is why I stand by your side, Niklaus. You don't have to face this alone."

Grateful for Elijah's presence, they walked through the untamed blooms. Elijah stooped to pick some white and orange flowers while Klaus observed. Eventually, Klaus also bent down and discovered a unique white flower with hints of blue. In the end, they had assembled a lovely collection of flowers, each boasting a unique array of colors.

Klaus inhaled the scent of the flowers, his eyes briefly closing. "They are beautiful, Niklaus. Camille would have adored them," Elijah said softly. Klaus silently agreed as they both headed towards the Lafayette Cemetery.

Klaus knelt by Camille's tombstone, gently brushing off the leaves that had settled on it. "I miss you, my love," he whispered, his voice filled with longing. Elijah bent down next to his brother, gently offering the flowers to him.

"Always and forever, I will do better, I promise." Klaus gently set the wildflowers near her tombstone, softly pressing a kiss against the name delicately carved in the stone.

"You have not been forgotten," Elijah softly spoke as they stood up, taking one final look at the tombstone before walking away from the cemetery. Klaus struggled once again to control his emotions, especially as he moved further from the cemetery, feeling like he was leaving her behind.