A Bloody Meet Cute - Stefan Salvatore x F!Reader
Summary: You have the pleasure of meeting the renowned Ripper of Chicago in your quest to alleviate your boredom. Set in 1910.
f!reader x Stefan, mentions of the originals, f!reader's cousin x Klaus Mikaelson, slight mentions of blood and daggering
The first time you had met him was around the time when your cousin had forced you to accompany her to meet Klaus again, and although you were tired of being the third wheel whenever they decided to meet mid-way through different adventures, you could never really say no to her. The joyous occasion this time was Rebekah's undaggering; the hybrid tyrant had a habit of making his siblings miserable, and while your cousin tried her best to step in, there was only so much she could do from the other side of the world.
So, you'd put on the black dress that fit you just right; the past 900 years had helped you splendidly with your fashion, and red lipstick that always managed to lure in the men, and stepped into the expensive bar. Your cousin stilled beside you, and you followed her gaze to find Klaus staring longingly at her from atop the balcony with Elijah and Rebekah beside him.
The two of you had sat with the Original siblings for hours before the happy couple inevitably left to satiate their desires. Elijah had insisted on dropping you home, but you, being bored out of your mind, had declined, hoping to find something interesting along the way, if not anything new, then perhaps a scum who you would enjoy toying with. Imagine your surprise to find a boy who looked no older than, say, 20, sobbing into his arms as blood-drained bodies lay around him, heads ripped off.
Ah, so this was the infamous Ripper of Chicago. Though you had no idea why he was crying. Wasn't the whole point of this to enjoy himself? Nonetheless, you had found the interesting thing that you had been searching for, and so, as your brother would say, against better judgment, you approached the boy. The light press of your hand startled him as he visibly flinched, recoiling within himself before he could even catch a glimpse of your figure.
Now your interest really had piqued.
"Don't come near me." His voice was but a murmur.
"Why not?" You asked, cocking your head.
"Because," His throat worked up and down with the effort it took for him to compose himself, "I'm a monster."
"No, you're not, silly." You laughed, crouching demurely next to him so as not to seem improper; these movements had been drilled into your head since you were but a child. "You're a vampire."
He looked at you then, his eyes shining with curiosity as he took in your figure, "You're not..." He began, turning his face shamefully, "Afraid of me?"
"God, I do love it when they underestimate me," You grinned, remembering the last time some man had thought you were just an innocent girl, oh, how wrong he was, but no matter.
"How am I not supposed to when I am a monster of the night?" He asked, his tone sincere, and your stone heart almost felt pity for him.
"You decided to become a vampire, so you should embrace it," You answered, staring at him.
His face was well chiselled, almost as if Michelangelo himself had carved him into stone, his jaw set tight with a straight nose and green eyes that pooled like a forest waiting to be explored.
"But I can't stop when I embrace it," He admitted, "And I feel horrible when I can't. Maybe I should, killing innocent people as if they are nothing at all."
The boy sounded so sincere; he was sincere, it was as if he could feel the pain of his victims himself. It was tearing him apart, and for reasons you couldn't explain (maybe his sincerity, which was something you hadn't seen in quite some time, or maybe his helplessness that so mirrored yours once upon a time), you decided to help him. Your cousin would be here for a while, so what better way to utilise this time than to get to know this boy they called the Ripper, though you had the faintest inkling that there was more to this boy than that.
"You don't have to live this life, you know," You said softly, barely restraining yourself from leaning against his shoulder.
He gave you a quizzical look, as if he couldn't quite comprehend what you were saying.
You told him your name, staring at him with intrigue as he wondered what someone so beautiful, so confident, as if God himself had sculpted you with the purest of golds, and the finest of stones, wanted with someone like him.
"Stefan Salvatore," He answered.
And there in a narrow alley with cobbled stone beneath and painted brick houses on either side, with your dress bunched up near your knees and his clothes rumpled and bloodstained, the stars lighting the sky as if this were a moment destined by fate itself, you met the love of your life, the man who changed your life for the better.
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