Angel | K.M
One shot | Halloween Special | Masterlist | WC: 3.6K
Summary: Klaus encounters a drunk angel in the quarter, taking her home
>>> Part two here
The French Quarter pulsed with Halloween energy, the narrow streets filled with revelers in costumes ranging from the predictable to the bizarre. String lights crisscrossed overhead, casting a warm glow on the cobblestones below, while jazz music spilled from open doorways, competing with the laughter and chatter of the crowd.
Klaus Mikaelson moved through this chaos with practiced ease, his expression one of detached amusement as he observed the humans around him. He hadn't bothered with a costume. What was the point when most of the monsters these people dressed as were pale imitations of creatures he'd encountered over his long life?
He paused at the corner of Bourbon Street, considering his options for the evening. He could join his siblings at Rousseau's, where Rebekah had organized some sort of Halloween gathering, or he could find more entertaining prey elsewhere.
His decision was made for him when something, or rather someone, collided with his chest, nearly toppling backward before his reflexes kicked in. His hands shot out automatically, steadying the young woman who had quite literally fallen into his arms.
"Careful, love," he advised, his accent flowing smoothly as he kept her upright. "These streets can be treacherous, especially in those heels."
The woman blinked up at him, her eyes struggling to focus. She was clearly intoxicated, swaying slightly even with his support. Her costume, some sort of golden-winged angel with a flowing white dress, was slightly disheveled, one wing bent at an awkward angle from their collision.
"Oh," she said, her voice carrying the distinctive slur of someone who'd had several drinks too many. "Sorry 'bout that. I didn't see you there."
She made no immediate move to extract herself from his grip, instead tilting her head to study his face with exaggerated concentration. A small furrow appeared between her brows as she squinted up at him.
"Are you supposed to be dressed as Klaus Mikaelson?" she asked suddenly, the question so unexpected that Klaus actually blinked in surprise.
"I beg your pardon?" he responded, genuinely caught off guard—a rare occurrence for the Original hybrid.
The young woman nodded sagely, as if confirming her own suspicion.
"The vampire from the quarter," she elaborated, gesturing vaguely around them. "The Original hybrid. You've got the look down, but..." She leaned in conspiratorially, nearly losing her balance again. "I don't know, you should work on your accent more. It's not quite right."
For a moment, Klaus simply stared at her, torn between amusement and irritation. Then, despite himself, his lips curved into a smile that held genuine humor—another rarity.
"Is that so?" he asked, deliberately emphasizing his accent. "And what, pray tell, is wrong with my accent?"
The woman waved her hand dismissively, oblivious to the fact that she was criticizing the very person she thought he was impersonating.
"It's too... I dunno, forced? Like you're trying too hard." She patted his chest sympathetically. "But the rest is pretty good! The necklaces are a nice touch. Very authentic."
Klaus found himself unexpectedly charmed by her brazen critique and complete lack of self-preservation instincts. Most humans in the Quarter had at least heard rumors about him—enough to give him a wide berth, especially after dark.
"Perhaps I should practice more," he suggested, playing along. "What's your name, angel?"
"Y/N," she replied, attempting a small curtsy that nearly sent her tumbling again. "And I'm not really an angel. It's just a costume."
"I gathered as much," Klaus replied dryly, steadying her once more. "Real angels are far less entertaining."
Y/N's eyes widened comically.
"You've met real angels?" she asked, clearly impressed by his commitment to the role. "Wow, you're really in character. That's dedication."
Before Klaus could respond, Y/N suddenly lurched to the side, her face paling alarmingly.
"Oh no," she mumbled, pressing a hand to her mouth. "I think I'm gonna be—"
With vampire speed that she was too intoxicated to register, Klaus guided her to a nearby alley, just in time for her to empty the contents of her stomach against the brick wall. He grimaced but didn't leave, instead pulling her hair back from her face with unexpected gentleness.
"There, there," he murmured, his tone caught between disgust and reluctant sympathy. "Better out than in, as they say."
When she'd finished, Y/N straightened up shakily, looking mortified despite her drunken state.
"Oh god," she groaned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I just threw up in front of Klaus Mikaelson. Or, you know, a really good cosplayer. Either way, super embarrassing."
Klaus couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, one of the most feared creatures in New Orleans, holding back a drunk woman's hair while she vomited in an alley—and she thought he was in costume.
"I think we can safely say I've seen worse in my thousand years," he assured her, producing a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to her.
Y/N accepted it gratefully, dabbing at her mouth.
"Thanks," she mumbled, then added with a weak laugh, "A thousand years, huh? You don't look a day over 900."
Despite himself, Klaus found his smile widening. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him with such unguarded candor, without fear or ulterior motives.
"Where are your friends, Y/N?" he asked, glancing around the empty alley. "Surely you're not wandering the Quarter alone in this state?"
Y/N's face fell, and she leaned back against the wall, suddenly looking very young and vulnerable.
"They left," she admitted, her voice small. "We had a fight. Something stupid about... I don't even remember now. But they went to another bar and I stayed behind, and then I decided I'd show them I could have fun without them, so I had a few more drinks, and..." She gestured helplessly at herself. "Here I am. Angel with vomit on her dress. Super dignified."
Klaus felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy. He knew all too well what it was like to be abandoned, even if the circumstances were vastly different.
"Well, you can't stay here," he decided, taking in her disheveled appearance and unsteady stance. "Where are you staying? I'll escort you back."
Y/N looked up at him with wide, grateful eyes that made something in Klaus's chest tighten uncomfortably.
"The Hotel Monteleone," she said, then added with a hiccup, "But you don't have to. I'm sure fake Klaus Mikaelson has better things to do on Halloween than babysit a drunk girl."
Klaus offered his arm with a slight bow, his expression a mixture of amusement and something more difficult to define.
"As it happens, I find myself at loose ends this evening," he told her. "And it would be remiss of me to leave a lady in distress, especially one who's offered such helpful critique of my accent."
Y/N giggled, linking her arm through his with more force than necessary as she pushed away from the wall.
"My hero," she declared dramatically, then promptly stumbled again. "Oops. The ground is very...tilty tonight."
"Indeed it is," Klaus agreed solemnly, supporting more of her weight than she probably realized. "Perhaps we should find you some water before we continue. Sobriety is generally helpful when navigating tilty ground."
As they emerged from the alley back onto the crowded street, Klaus found himself strangely protective of the inebriated woman on his arm. It was an unusual feeling. He was far more accustomed to being the predator than the protector.
The walk back from the French Quarter was anything but direct. Y/N weaved unsteadily along the sidewalk, occasionally stopping to admire Halloween decorations or wave at passing revelers, all while maintaining a steady stream of conversation that jumped between topics with dizzying speed. It was an exercise in patience for Klaus, who found himself slowing his pace to accommodate her unsteady gait.
"You know," she announced as they turned onto a quieter residential street, her voice carrying in the night air, "I actually read about you. Or, well, the real Klaus. Not that you're not real! You're just...you know what I mean."
Klaus arched an eyebrow, genuinely curious despite himself.
"Is that so? And what exactly have you read about me—or rather, him?"
"Mmm, lots of things," Y/N nodded sagely, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk before Klaus steadied her. "He's supposed to be this super powerful hybrid. Half vampire, half werewolf. First of his kind."
She looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes.
"But the thing is, everyone talks about how dangerous he is. How scary. But I think..." she lowered her voice to a stage whisper that was likely audible half a block away, "I think he's probably just lonely. I mean, who wouldn't be after a thousand years? Everyone you love either dies or betrays you eventually."
Klaus's steps faltered slightly, caught off guard by her unexpected insight.
"That's...an interesting perspective," he managed, his tone carefully neutral. "Most people focus on the more violent aspects of his reputation."
"Well, yeah," Y/N waved her free hand dismissively, "but that's boring. Bad guy does bad things, news at eleven. I'm more interested in the why. No one just wakes up and decides to be the villain, you know? Something makes them that way."
She stumbled again, and Klaus tightened his grip on her arm to keep her upright.
"Careful, love," he murmured, the endearment slipping out automatically.
"See! That's good," Y/N exclaimed, brightening. "The 'love' thing. Very Klaus-like. You're getting better at this."
Klaus couldn't help the genuine laugh that escaped him.
"I'm pleased to have your approval," he said dryly. "I do strive for authenticity."
Before Klaus could respond to this observation, Y/N suddenly changed course, tugging him down a side street.
"This way," she announced. "I don't actually live at the Monteleone. That's just where my friends are staying. I have an apartment over on Dauphine. It's not far."
Klaus raised an eyebrow but allowed himself to be redirected.
"And you thought it wise to give a stranger, one dressed as a notorious vampire no less, your actual address?" he asked, genuinely curious about her reasoning.
Y/N waved dismissively, nearly hitting a streetlamp in the process.
"You're not a stranger anymore," she declared with drunk logic. "We've been talking for like...forever. Plus, you held my hair while I threw up. That's basically a friendship blood oath."
"A friendship blood oath," Klaus repeated, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. "I suppose by that standard, we're practically family."
"Exactly!" Y/N beamed up at him, her smile bright enough that it momentarily distracted from her smudged makeup and disheveled costume."Besides, I'm an excellent judge of character. You might be dressed as the scariest vampire in New Orleans, but you're actually nice."
Something flickered in Klaus's eyes at that. A brief unreadable expression that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"Am I now?" he asked softly. "You might be the first person in centuries to think so."
"It's this building," Y/N announced suddenly, gesturing to a three-story brick apartment building with a small stoop. "Second floor, apartment 2B. For 'Bee,' because I keep telling my roommate we should get a pet bee, but she says that's not a thing people do."
"A wise decision on her part," Klaus commented, helping her up the steps. "Bees generally prefer the company of other bees."
"You're smart," Y/N informed him solemnly as she fumbled in her small purse for her keys. "I like smart people. Everyone thinks I'm just a pretty face, you know? But I'm getting my master's in art history. Focusing on Renaissance portraiture. That's actually why I know about Klaus. There are rumors he was a patron of several Italian artists."
This revelation genuinely surprised Klaus. Most humans who knew of him focused solely on the supernatural aspects of his existence, not his contributions to art history.
"Is that right?" he asked, watching as she finally extracted her keys with a triumphant "Aha!"
"Mm-hmm," she confirmed, struggling to fit the key into the lock until Klaus gently took it from her hand and did it for her. "There are these paintings from the 1500s that some people think he commissioned. The brushwork is incredible. I'd love to see them someday."
Klaus turned the key, a strange warmth spreading through his chest at her words. Those paintings were currently hanging in the east wing of the Mikaelson compound, away from the prying eyes of visitors.
"Perhaps you will," he said softly, more to himself than to her.
The door swung open, and Y/N immediately kicked off her heels with a sigh of relief, wobbling slightly as she stepped into the apartment.
"Home sweet home," she declared, flicking on the lights to reveal a cozy, if somewhat cluttered, living space. Books were stacked on nearly every surface, and the walls were covered with art prints and photographs. "My roommate's out of town for the weekend. Visiting her boyfriend in Atlanta."
She turned back, confusion crossing her face when she realized Klaus was still standing in the doorway, one hand resting against an invisible barrier that prevented him from entering.
"What are you doing?" she asked, tilting her head in puzzlement. "Aren't you coming in?"
Klaus maintained his position, a small smile playing at his lips.
"I'm waiting to be invited," he explained, his tone deliberately light. "It's only proper."
Y/N stared at him for a moment before understanding dawned on her face, followed by a delighted giggle.
"Oh my god," she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Wow, you're really committing to this vampire bit, aren't you? That's dedication to the costume."
She made an exaggerated sweeping gesture toward the interior of the apartment.
"Please, come in, Mr. Mikaelson," she invited with mock formality, adding a wobbly curtsy for good measure. "My humble abode is yours to enter."
Klaus stepped across the threshold with measured steps, his eyes briefly scanning the apartment for threats out of long-established habit.
"Thank you for your hospitality," he replied, matching her formal tone with a slight bow that made her giggle again.
"You're funny," she informed him, swaying slightly where she stood. "I didn't expect Klaus Mikaelson to be funny. In the stories, he's always so serious and murdery."
"Perhaps the stories don't tell the whole truth," Klaus suggested, closing the door behind him. ""Let me get you some water," Klaus said, spotting the kitchenette and moving toward it. "You'll thank me in the morning."
Y/N waved a hand dismissively but didn't protest, instead making her way to the couch where she collapsed with a dramatic sigh.
"My wings are killing me," she complained, reaching awkwardly behind her back to try and unfasten the now-bedraggled angel wings.
Klaus returned with a glass of water, setting it on the coffee table before moving to help her with the troublesome costume piece.
"Allow me," he offered, deftly unfastening the harness that held the wings in place.
"My hero," Y/N sighed, relief evident in her voice as the cumbersome accessory was removed. "Those things are way heavier than they look."
She accepted the water when Klaus handed it to her again, taking a few reluctant sips before setting it aside. When she looked up at him, her expression had shifted, a hint of something warmer in her gaze.
"You know," she said, patting the spot beside her on the couch, "you're really handsome. Has anyone ever told you that you look like the real thing?"
Klaus sat beside her, maintaining a respectful distance that Y/N immediately eliminated by scooting closer.
"The real thing?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well what she meant.
"Klaus Mikaelson," she clarified, reaching out to touch one of his necklaces."The actual vampire. Not that anyone knows what he really looks like, I guess. But the stories all say he's hot."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Klaus's mouth.
"Do they now?" he asked, genuinely amused by this revelation. "And what other insights do these stories provide about the fearsome Original hybrid?"
Y/N's fingers moved from his necklace to trace along his jawline, her inhibitions clearly lowered by the alcohol still coursing through her system.
"They say he's dangerous," she murmured, her voice dropping to what she probably intended to be a seductive whisper. "Powerful. That he's lived for a thousand years and seen everything. Done everything."
Her hand slid to his chest, her intentions becoming increasingly obvious.
"But I bet there are still some things that would surprise him," she added with a clumsy attempt at a wink.
Klaus caught her wrist gently, stilling her wandering hand.
"Y/N," he said softly, his accent wrapping around her name in a way that made her shiver despite his rebuff, "you're in no state for the kind of surprise you're suggesting."
She pouted, the expression making her look even younger than she was.
"I'm not that drunk," she protested, the slur in her words contradicting her claim. "And you're hot, and it's Halloween, and—" She yawned suddenly, the action seemingly taking her by surprise. "And I'm...actually really tired."
Klaus chuckled, releasing her wrist to brush a strand of hair from her face.
"I believe that's my cue to help you to bed," he said, standing and offering her his hand. "To sleep," he added firmly when her expression brightened.
Y/N sighed dramatically but accepted his help, swaying slightly as she got to her feet.
"You're no fun," she complained, even as she leaned heavily against him. "But fine. Bedroom's through there."
She pointed toward a door off the main living area, and Klaus guided her toward it with gentle efficiency. The bedroom was small but neat, with a double bed covered in an array of pillows and a colorful quilt.
"I should change," Y/N mumbled, looking down at her costume with a frown. "Can't sleep in this."
Before Klaus could suggest he wait outside, she reached behind herself for the zipper of her dress, struggling with it for several seconds before looking at him with pleading eyes.
"Help?" she asked, turning to present her back to him.
Klaus hesitated briefly before stepping forward to assist, carefully lowering the zipper only as far as necessary for her to manage the rest herself.
"There you are," he said, stepping back immediately. "I'll wait outside while you change."
Y/N turned back to face him, holding the front of her dress in place with one hand while the other reached for him.
"Or you could stay," she suggested, her attempt at a sultry look somewhat undermined by another massive yawn. "Help me out of this dress properly..."
Klaus took her hand and placed a gentlemanly kiss on her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Another time, perhaps," he said smoothly. "When you're less likely to fall asleep mid-seduction."
As if to prove his point, Y/N's eyelids drooped heavily, and she swayed on her feet.
"I'm not going to fall asleep," she protested, even as she sat heavily on the edge of the bed. "I'm just resting my eyes for a second."
Klaus smiled, shaking his head slightly as he backed toward the door.
"Of course," he agreed. "Just call when you're changed."
He closed the bedroom door behind him, listening with enhanced hearing as Y/N mumbled to herself while presumably attempting to change. There was a thud, likely her dropping something, followed by a soft curse, then the unmistakable sound of her collapsing onto the bed.
After a minute of silence, Klaus knocked gently on the door.
"Y/N?" he called softly. "Are you decent?"
When no response came, he eased the door open to find her sprawled across the bed, still partially in her costume but with a t-shirt haphazardly pulled over the top, fast asleep. Her mouth was slightly open, her breathing deep and even, her earlier seduction attempt clearly forgotten.
Klaus couldn't help but laugh softly at the sight. He moved quietly into the room, carefully removing her remaining shoes and pulling the quilt over her sleeping form. He placed a glass of water and some pain relievers he found in her bathroom on the nightstand that she would undoubtedly need them in the morning.
As he straightened, his gaze caught on a sketchbook lying open on her desk. Curiosity piqued, he moved closer, examining the drawing that was visible. It was a surprisingly skilled rendition of the French Quarter at sunset, the detail impressive even to his discerning eye.
"Talented little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, glancing back at her sleeping form.
Y/N stirred slightly but didn't wake, her breathing already deepening into the rhythm of sleep. Klaus watched her for a moment longer, an unfamiliar protective instinct stirring in his chest.
He should leave now. He'd done his good deed for the decade, escorting a drunk human safely home. There was no reason to linger.
Yet something compelled him to take a piece of paper from her desk and scribble a brief note, which he left propped against the water glass he placed on her nightstand, alongside two more aspirin.
With one last look at her peaceful face, Klaus slipped silently from the room and out of the apartment, closing the door securely behind him. The night was still young, and he had his own affairs to attend to.
But as he walked away, he found himself smiling at the thought of Y/N waking tomorrow, reading his note, and realizing that perhaps her "fake Klaus Mikaelson" hadn't been so fake after all.
The note read simply:
Y/N,
Your critique of my accent has been duly noted. Perhaps next time we meet, I'll have improved it to your satisfaction. Until then, drink water, take the aspirin, and do try to be more careful about who you stumble into on Halloween night. Not everyone in the Quarter is as gentlemanly as I.
—Klaus Mikaelson (the genuine article)
🏷️: @ariesandwolves @idontknowwhatimdoinginiife
Part 2
