warnings | fluff, a lil bit of sadness but not too much, klaus being an ass
note: this is my first fic in this entire fandom, and i really do hope i do his amazing character justice. :)
masterlist
A marriage to a Mikaelson was unheard of. They did not love others, too concentrated on their own family to make it any bigger, and those unlucky enough to fall for one of them would surely find their demise rather quickly.
Rebekah was never able to keep a man, her brother, Klaus, always making sure of such. No man was good enough for his sister, you see, so therefore the only option for them if they were to suddenly fall for her, was to die. He did not see a grey area, where they might love her, be with her because of her, no. He was a man of black and white – one either loved or hated someone, and rarely did he see love as an option.
Klaus himself wasn’t one to love. He did not believe in such things, too selfish and arrogant to care for anyone more than he did for himself. It was a game of self-preservation, something he’d say when he tried to justify it, there was no time for such silly little matters. Family was the most important, anyway, and as far as family came for Klaus, they, too, were easily pushed out of the picture. If they bored him, got in his way one too many times, they were greeted with a dagger to the chest and a few decades in a box, carried wherever he went. He did not ever let them go, but he did not let them live alongside him, either. Truly, Klaus Mikaelson was the loneliest, most broken sibling of the family, and his case was a curious one.
As for the eldest brother, Elijah, he was the one that rarely fell. He did not try to jeopardize his connection to his family with such matters of love, but truly, there were times he could not help himself. A woman of perfection, a woman that absolutely held his immortal heart in her hands, a woman he would give his life for, would be one such occasion. There was one woman, though, that could not keep him. She was a human, from when he was a much younger vampire who had not yet lived through a millenia of torture and sacrifice and bloodshed, and he had fallen harder for her than he could have imagined. However, his brother, Klaus, saw to it that her life was a living hell, being so involved with the Mikaelson’s and their horrible past. He was the reason she died – blamed for murder, accused of witchcraft which she had no part in, and therefore burned. She was burned, and along with her, Elijah Mikaelson’s heart. For centuries after, the eldest brother did not connect with anyone. He did not care for anyone in that certain way.
Then, came along another woman, three centuries later. Once again, a woman of perfection, someone Elijah could not even compare Aphrodite herself to. She was beautiful, she was intelligent, she was everything that Elijah had ever asked for in a woman. Above all, though, she was recklessly in love with the Original, regardless of his true self, regardless of the baggage he carried in the form of a little brother. Elijah claimed her as his own, and for ten years, the two were inseparable, completely and totally in love. The family had taken a liking to her, fallen for her as a sister.
And then Klaus took that all away from him. A nasty fight, a blood-filled feed from the hybrid after she had touched a nerve. Elijah was unable to help, unable to do much to stop his brother because of his own ailments, and she was on the brink of death. Once Klaus had finished drinking from her, her body dropped, head falling hard against the ground. Elijah would not lose her to Klaus, would not lose another woman that he loved to his angry younger delinquent brother. He bit his own wrist, forced her to drink his blood. She would heal, he told himself, she would be able to get back up and he could take her away from all of this. But as soon as she was well, Klaus decided he was not finished. With no regard for his older brother’s begging to leave her be, to leave her out of his rage, he snapped her neck.
He solidified her fate, in only a moment. She awoke later that night, fed, and forever sealed the letter on who she was to become. Elijah mourned for her first, trying his best to calm her fear of becoming something like Klaus – a monster with barely any humanity left in the tiny, lifeless heart that beat in his chest. Another decade passed before she was finally okay with herself, another decade spent with the love of her life.
She proposed to him, one night under a dark, moonless sky, that they should marry, that she was tied to him and that his siblings saw her as family. He was… reluctant at first, for fear that she would be caught up in far worse, but she bargained, made him realize that she was already caught. So, on the twenty-second year of their eternal relationship, she took his last name. She became a Mikaelson.
She and Elijah were like a King and Queen above the rest of the family, regardless of her humility, her humanity that ran thick through her veins. They fed, yes, but she was in control, standing by the side of her love with the most powerful feeling surging in her chest. Pride. Pride in what she had, pride in who she was, pride in who she loved.
And then he was gone. For forty years, the King and the Queen, quick to forgive, loving, and violent when challenged, ruled with and over the small family, and then just like that, the Queen was alone and her King was shoved in a box with a dagger in his chest. Klaus had taken from her everything – her family, her love, her lifeline. He took her humanity, her forgiveness. And he ran.
Years were nothing when your life was eternal, this was true. Forty years were a mere four to a vampire. A century only a decade. For another century and a half, the lone Mikaelson stayed to herself, became nothing but a shadow. Her ring – a silver band with Elijah’s name engraved on the inside, with a blue gem in the center to allow it to be a daylight ring, was cold on her fingers, but never removed. She loved him. She would not leave him. She would be there the day he woke.
She tailed Klaus, followed him wherever he went, but never in person, and only with a locater spell. Once he arrived in Mystic Falls, she caught word of the havoc he wreaked, heard of the times he woke his siblings and then put them back down as if they were nothing. Then, he fled to New Orleans. When he arrived, she heard of it rather quickly. She was furious.
“What do you mean he’s back in New Orleans?” She yelled to Marcel, who stood against the railing of the upper level of the compound, a rather joyous party going on beneath them.
“He’s back, Y/n,” he said lowly, “I don’t know why, I just know that he is.”
“He will not live to leave,” she growled, fingers gripping the railing so tightly her knuckles went white. She took a breath in, soothing the anger that ran through her chest and made her blood boil. There was a moment of silence, and then she looked down at her hands, her grip loosening, “If he’s back, that means so is…” Tears burned at the back of her eyes, her lip quivering.
“That means so is Elijah,” Marcel finished for her, looking down at his hands. When he looked up again, she was staring out into the crowd, lost in her thoughts. A gentle hand fell on her shoulder and he gave a small squeeze, thumb rubbing against the bare skin of her collarbone. “You will find him again.”
She looked at Marcel and smiled, but it quickly faded. “Yes.”
A century and a half without her husband had left Y/n Mikaelson cold. She did not know love like she did with Elijah, did not know desire or want or passion. She knew happiness, yes, but it was a fleeting one that ran when she was alone to sleep in the bed she should have shared with her Elijah.
A tear slipped from her eye, and she shook her head, “I will not be weak.”
Marcel said nothing, looking over his trusted friend, something of a mother to him, gave her one last squeeze of the shoulder, and nodded. “I have to go speak with the reason this party is happening tonight,” he said, referring to the people who were very willing to deliver money into Marcel’s hands if they could have just a sample of what his empire held. “If you need anything, you come find me.”
She watched as Marcel walked into the party, blending well with the crowd. This was his element – had been since the first time Klaus had left New Orleans with his siblings, and was now. She smiled, briefly, at hearing his booming laughter, but it almost instantly faded whenever her focus shifted to who had just entered the party.
Elijah Mikaelson.
His hair was shorter than she’d remembered – a haircut that was not at all offensive to her. He looked healthy, not a day over twenty-two, as he always had. Her heart surged at the thought of hearing his voice again, at holding him again, but something in her made her feel cold, with a white kind of ice sitting in the back of her mind. She saw him, standing there, looking around, likely for Marcel, and she panicked. Just as his eyes turned to where she was standing, she was gone, having raced off somewhere that he wasn’t going to even bother looking. She noticed the furrow in his brow, the slight wrinkle that formed just at the top of the bridge of his nose in confusion, and she smiled, sadly.
He was gone by the end of the night, and Y/n had not been sure where, but she knew she could likely guess where Klaus would have gone if he did not have the compound to come back to. Marcel found her after the party was over, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared herself down in the mirror, thinking, hoping, hurting.
“You saw him tonight, didn’t you?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom.
“Yes,” she said quietly, rubbing the water from her face and sniffling. “He looks just as he did a century and a half ago. Handsome, but with a haircut.”
Marcel snickered, eyes falling down as he shook his head, “That is the perk of our curse, you know. The whole ‘never-aging’ thing.”
She laughed small, “Yes, I’m aware.” There was a beat of silence, “I’m… I’m afraid, Marcel.”
His smile had faded, a look of worry and care in his eyes as his eyebrows creased, “I know, Y/n. But you know he still loves you–”
“How am I supposed to know that, Marcel?” She asked, her voice no louder than a whisper, water pooling in her eyes once more. “How am I supposed to know that I even matter anymore. This is not the first he’s been awake in the last three years, it’s highly likely he found another woman to catch his–”
“Hey, hey,” he walked over to her vanity, crouching down beside her and placing a warm hand on her thigh, “enougha that. You wanna know somethin’?”
“Hm?”
“He had his ring on– the wedding band you showed me. He was wearing it,” his eyes bounced between hers, and she let out a breath, a sob almost, and she began to cry. He stood, pulling her into his body and holding her to the best of his ability. His hands stroked through her hair, and he planted a soft kiss to the top of her head, “He still loves you, Y/n. You have time to see him. Take the opportunity when it presents itself. Go to him.”
She would heed his advice. But it would take time. After the first night of seeing him, for three or four nights after, she could not bring herself to even leave the compound, for fear of seeing him bouncing about in the French Quarter. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him – no, God, never that. It was simply that she wasn’t sure he wanted to see her. What if he only wore the band because he’d forgotten to take it off, or perhaps it doubled as a daylight ring for him as well, and he was unable to locate the other one that usually resided on his middle finger.
Perhaps the latter scenario was a bit ridiculous, in hindsight. But, nevertheless, she was terrified, yet she yearned to see him again.
After a week, she finally found it in herself to leave, walking out onto the streets of the French Quarter. It was really to go to Rousseau’s, because she’d been craving one of Camille’s signature “secret” drinks, and she figured that it would be best if she owned up to the idea that she was going to have to face him at some point.
As she entered the establishment, her eyes landed on a man sitting at the bar, stealing Cami’s attention. The bartender smiled, looking up at whoever the mysterious man was through her lashes, and Y/n wore a devious but adoring smile. Then the man turned to the side, for just a moment, but it would take nothing more than a second for her to recognize such a profile.
Klaus.
Anger bubbled up again, thick in her veins and loud in her mind. She was going to hurt him, she was going to snap his neck and make him suffer for a second, even if it was just a minor inconvenience to him. And then Cami looked up over his shoulder at her, she waved, and Y/n was stuck. She was going to have to go to the bar and say something to her friend, and she was going to have to face Klaus.
Or she could act like she wasn’t Y/n, she could play coy, dumb. But it would never work. Klaus knew her too well.
Taking the agonizing steps to the bar, she let out a sigh and gave her friend a small grin, “Hey, Camille.”
“Y/n, please, what did I tell you about calling me that?” She laughed, throwing her towel over her shoulder. Klaus’s head snapped to the right at hearing the name, and he wore a devilish grin when he saw her.
Y/n pretended not to notice, continuing to smile and make small talk, “How’s it been?”
“Well, it’s been rather slow, to be honest. Customers in and out but only the regulars – must be something about the Quarter this time of year,” she laughed.
Y/n nodded, agreeing before Cami said she would be right back with the drink Y/n liked most. Sighing, she sat down and stared at her hands.
“Y/n Mikaelson,” Klaus muttered under his breath, accented words stabbing at her ears, “long time no see, sister.”
Her eyes flitted from her hands to the bottles lined on the wall in front of her, her jaw clenching tightly. She scoffed lightly, then turned to him with a sneer, “Spare me this conversation, Klaus. I do not wish to hear your dreaded voice.”
“But you do wish to see Elijah, yes?” He prodded. He always prodded.
“That is not your concern,” she said, voice flat. “Nothing I do is of your concern.”
Camille came back with her drink, and Y/n thanked her, asking for a to-go cup instead of a glass. Cami pulled one from behind the bar, taking the glass and pouring the drink in for her. She thanked her again, sticking a straw through the top of the cup and pulling away from the bar aggressively.
“I can take you to him, you know?” Klaus offered as she walked away, turning around in his seat.
“Yes, I know you can. But I would rather take a stake to my heart than trust you,” she said, words spoken over her shoulder.
“That can be arranged!” He called, standing from the barstool and following her to the door of the bar. “Y/n, you do want to see him don’t you?”
“Of course I do, Klaus!” She yelled, staring him directly in the eye and gripping her plastic cup, “But as I said – it does not concern you. Nothing about me concerns you. You made sure of that the minute you took the love of my life and shoved him in a goddamn box and ran,” she paused, her chest heaving from the words spat like venom to the blonde man in front of her, “like the coward you are.”
He scoffed, looking away from her, “I do apologize, sister, but I am sure Elijah would love to see you. He has missed you.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and her brows furrowed, her lips parting. It took her a second, but then she whispered, “I will see him on my own terms. You will not have any part in it.” She turned over her shoulder and walked out of Rousseau’s, tears beginning to well in her eyes once more. She was frustrated, that was for sure – she just gave up a solid chance to see her husband again, but if Klaus was involved, she would give it up again and again until the hybrid decided he was too bored to be bothered.
Another few days passed before she saw any of the Originals. It almost made her forget there was even a chance of seeing her husband again. Almost.
The compound was full of vampires needing guidance, freshly turned and older alike, confused and hurt and alone. The Nightwalkers were her favorite to deal with, for no other reason than they were still kids at heart, still young and wanting to live the life that no longer existed for them.
She had just sent them out to have their little soiree about the French Quarter, a once in a blue moon event, when she heard the whispers that were all too familiar. She did not see where he had gone, nor where he had stopped, but she knew he was there. She knew he was watching. Her heart leaped to her throat, and she thought of the ridiculousness of this meeting, but then she could not bring herself to keep the hopeful smile off of her face. Perhaps Marcel had had something to do with it, or Klaus – as much as she doubted the idea that he would help her in any way, shape or form.
Sighing to herself, she leaned forward against the railing, hands as far out as they could reach, her eyes looking up to the windows in the roof. A smile traced her lips and she said, quietly, “You know I was never one for a game of hide and seek.”
“And I have never been one to lose such a game,” he whispered in her ear, his hands ghosting over her hips. As she went to move back, he was gone again, and she laughed.
“Elijah,” she said, another giggle tumbling from her lips, “I am not good at this game! You know this!”
“All the more reason to keep playing,” he called from a different corner of the room, making her attention snap to it. He was not there, of course, but one could hope that they would beat Elijah at a game like this. She could always hope.
“My love,” she said, twisting the ring over her finger, “I have missed you.”
The whispers echoed through her mind again, and when she turned away from the rest of the room, he was standing at the window, back to her. Tears stang at her eyes, just like every other time she thought of seeing him, touching him, and she said his name quietly. He turned over his shoulder, eyes focused on the ground before he looked at her.
A smirk, the smirk she had grown so fond of, was drawn on his lips and his brown eyes were soft, staring at her through his lashes. She stood for a moment, staring, breath caught between her mouth and her lungs. She could not begin to describe the fluttering feeling erupting in her chest and her stomach, could not begin to understand why seeing him after so long made her start to cry. She could only comprehend that she needed to make sure this was real, that this was no dream or spell or hex from a witch.
Her boot hit the ground softly, her best attempt at closing the gap between the two. Elijah’s eyes dropped to the ring on his finger, his thumb subconsciously twisting it around. A nervous tick he was never able to break, something she found an intimate familiarity in. He matched her steps, slow and careful before he was almost chest to chest with her, his brown eyes dancing between her own, his hand ghosting over her cheek and his fingertips just barely gracing her skin. She craved his touch, craved feeling any contact from him.
“My love,” he said quietly, his voice deep and raw and vulnerable, “it has been… much too long.”
Her hand came up to his, pressing it to her cheek as she cupped it with her own. A breath escaped her husband’s chest, his thumb caressing her cheekbone as he admired each of her features – wholly unchanged, but entirely foreign to him, almost. “Yes,” she said smally, “yes it has.”
She stepped impossibly closer, cupping his face with her delicate touch and pulling him to her lips. It was small at first, the kiss they shared. But it quickly escalated, a century and a half of built-up tension and sorrow and longing and love releasing itself as quickly as it could. Elijah’s hands fell to her hips, then kept traveling, one planting itself on her lower back, the other on her head. Her own palms ventured, taking in the fabric of the suit he wore, the prickly fuzz of the scruff that had begun to grow on the side of his neck.
Her back hit the wall in a moment, her fingers in his hair and her legs hiked up on his waist. They did not say much – there was no need. Everything that needed to be said could be saved until later, until the matter at hand was resolved.
Desire was a beautiful thing between a couple that had lasted for over two hundred years.
It was not long before they found themselves in her bedroom, sweatied and naked in her bed, tangled in the sheets that were always meant for the two of them. Her head rested on his bare chest, his fingers tracing her skin in abstract patterns as he stared at the ceiling, and occasionally glanced at her beauty.
“I like your hair, love,” she said quietly, a giggle attaching itself to the last word.
He let out a huff of a laugh, head falling to the side before he looked at her as she propped herself up on his chest, “Why… thank you. I figured it would be more than fitting for the times.”
She smiled, placing a kiss on his chest, then another, then another, all the way up until she reached his mouth. “You do not know what it has been like without you, Elijah.”
“I am,” he breathed out, looking over her features as best he could, trying to memorize something he’d seen time and time and time again, “terribly sorry. You know I would never leave you, I gave you my word and I do not break my promises.”
“Yes,” she smiled smally, “I know this. I am not angry with you, my love. I have never been. But a century and a half does weigh on a woman, if you’d believe me.”
He laughed again, a smile that was intimate, especially for her, gracing his lips, “I’m afraid I do.”
She scoffed, hand flying to her chest in mock offense, “Are you saying I look old, Elijah! That is– that is unforgivable Elijah Mikaelson.”
He let out a rather loud chuckle, hand rubbing up and down her arm, “My darling, you haven’t aged a day – your beauty is as timeless as vampires themselves. Though,” he sucked a breath through his teeth, “a few wrinkles have presented themselves where they–”
“That’s it!” She called, climbing on top of him, grabbing the pillow she had been laying on and threatening to hit him with it. He only gave her his smug grin, and she quirked a brow before smacking it off of his face with her feather-filled weapon. He let out a grunt, trying to defend himself to the best of his ability but unable to sit up. “You may be immortal, but no one can survive an onslaught of pillow, darling.”
“Oh yeah?” He challenged, grabbing the pillow and stopping her swing, looking at her just underneath it. She tried to push against him, but it was no use – he had the upper hand. She ceded, letting the pillow drop as she took in her husband for the millionth time that night. He gripped her around her waist, pulling her into his torso as best he could with how close they already were. His lips fell to her neck, sharp teeth grazing the skin lovingly. She sighed into his touch, body almost jelly in his hands. Planting a few soft kisses along her collarbone and shoulder, he lifted his head and looked her in the eye, pushing a few strands of her from her face, “I love you, Y/n.”
She pressed a kiss to his lips as softly as she could, a promise to make to him, “I love you, Elijah. I will always love you.”
He looked so vulnerable at that moment, mouth slightly agape and eyes darting over every inch of her they could see, “Always and forever,” he muttered. Then he looked up at her again, seeking the approval, the affirmation that only she could give him, that he only ever required from her.
warnings | violence, blood, death. but also fluff. it’s all in there.
masterlist
The cool morning air licked her bare, exposed shoulder, enticing a hiss from her as she slowly stepped into the waking world. Pulling the duvet closer to her chin, she reveled in the warmth that it provided, turning just slightly to reach out and place a soft palm on the opposite side of the bed. Her fingers came in contact with something just as warm as the covers, a chuckle hitting her ears moments later.
Reluctantly, but happily, she opened her eyes and gave him a lazy smile over her shoulder, turning fully to lay on her side and stare up at him. It was obvious enough to her that he’d been up already, likely trapped in his own world of thought. The smile he offered her in return told her that those thoughts were vacating his mind, though, and for that, she took solace.
Her hand found his on the top of the duvet, her bare chest meeting the brisk air he had already been sitting in, but she ignored it. Their fingers tangled together, her eyes tracing each and every scar, line, and knuckle. She adored his hands, adored what they could do, adored what they could hold, adored that, no matter what activity he’d previously participated in, they were always soft in the center. When she looked back up to his face, she saw that his eyes were locked on her own hand, that lazy smirk having made a home upon his lips.
“How’d you sleep?” She asked in a low whisper, shifting in her spot so that she could lean against him, her free hand resting on his bare chest.
“As well as could be expected,” he sighed, eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he looked at her with adoration painted across his irises. “You?”
“Well,” she laughed, her eyebrows twitching upward, “I had this crazy dream where,” she took in a breath, “it was crazy, Elijah.” Her joking smile had relieved him of any worry the moment her sentence began, and he was already beginning to laugh with her as she giggled through her next few words, “I had this dream where you,” she poked his chest, “made me a cup of my favorite tea, and then you made me your signature breakfast─ I know, it sounds crazy!”
He was laughing with her then, bringing her hand up to his lips and placing a soft kiss on her knuckles, “That does sound quite… ludicrous, darling.”
The two of them chuckled quietly, staring at one another. Her eyes danced across his face, much like they had his hand, and she took in each part, each dimple, freckle, scar. She had never in her life loved a man such as she did Elijah, with so much passion, so much fervor it was hard for her to contain it all. How long it had been, at this point she wasn’t sure, nor was she sure of the exact moment she’d fallen in love with the man, but she was sure in saying that she’d never regret a day of it.
Leaning forward, her hand cupped Elijah’s face and she pulled him down to her level, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. His palm ran along her arm, fingertips pressing into her skin whenever she didn’t pull away and the kiss lasted a moment too long to be considered just a good-morning-kiss. He pushed forward, pressing into the kiss as much as he could.
She pulled herself down so that she rested on her back, head against the mess of pillows they slept on. A moment spared between their kisses, and then Elijah was meeting her again, on top of her and hands traveling anywhere they could reach. Her fingers tangled into the hair on the nape of his neck, tugging lightly whenever he’d touch a sweet spot on her bare skin. He pulled away from her with a sigh, hot breathing leaving a tingling path down her neck as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to every inch he possibly could. His teeth grazed against her skin, empty threats to pierce it hanging in the air between them.
“Elijah,” her voice was breathless, her neck tipped back and ever so exposed. She was taunting him, could feel his eyes focused on the vein that echoed with her heartbeat, knew just what she was doing. Usually, she would do this until she knew he couldn’t deny it anymore, couldn’t hold himself back, and then she would take the permission from him, to tease, to take pleasure in the denial of such pleasures to an Original vampire. But, now, as his fingers worked her skin, and his breath cascaded over her sensitive collarbone, she found that she couldn’t deny him this. “Don’t hold back.”
His hand came up from her ribcage, clutching the side of her neck he couldn’t see. He bit into her throat, a moan escaping his chest at the taste of her blood on his tongue. Any pain she’d felt at the initial bite was gone, replaced with only a feeling of almost sadistic pleasure paired with a sudden lightness she hadn’t felt beforehand. He stopped himself whenever an involuntary whimper echoed quietly, pulling back and kissing the puncture wounds, cleaning up the blood around it with his tongue.
His traced kisses all the way up to her ear, then down her cheekbone, to her lips, where he pushed harder into her. One hand grasped the back of his neck, the other sliding down his bare chest, over his ribs, as far as she could reach. He moaned at the feeling, forearms bracing himself around her head, hands tangling loosely into her hair. When he pulled away, his forehead rested on hers, his chest heaving just slightly for lack of breath.
She pushed him up and over, taking her own position above him as she sat on his abdomen. The adoration that flashed through his dark eyes, yet again, made her heart race and a smile light up her features. She was exposed to him, everything bared in front of him but neatly hidden to anyone that might walk in, and God, he loved it.
She was perfection to him, every bit of beautiful and worth every risk. He took the hands that rested on his chest in his own, looking up at her as he kissed each knuckle, a smile so clearly traced across his lips. He couldn’t begin to understand how he’d managed to become so enthralled in this woman, but he couldn’t seem to convince himself to give a damn. She was everything to him, and he let her in, and he was perfectly okay with that.
“I love you,” he said in a low tone, eyes narrowing as they danced between her own.
She bit her bottom lip, lowering herself down so that their chests were pressed together, “I love you, Elijah Mikaelson.” She pressed a kiss to his lips, to which he returned gratefully, and as she pulled away, he noticed the marks on her neck still angry and red.
He chuckled to himself, hand reaching up and lightly tracing the wounds, “Forgive me.” Biting his wrist, he offered to her, which she took without question, drinking just enough for her marks to fade with a quickness. His thumb traced away the remnant of blood left on her bottom lip and he smiled so genuinely, so softly, he was sure his thousand-year-old heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
────
Elijah had given her a kiss goodbye as he left the Compound, having to assist Niklaus in something he surely would garner no good will from. She wasn’t sure if assist was so much the right word as save the ass of, but she figured it would do her well to think of it as helping instead of the both of them being put in mortal danger. She was well acquainted with the idea that it came as part of the Mikaelson’s – pain, being shoved into life-threatening situations, disregard for personal health when faced with the doom of another member – but that didn’t mean she always saw it necessary for Elijah to be the one who picked up after his younger brother.
But as luck would have it, neither Rebekah, Freya, nor Kol, or Marcel for that matter, cared to give him much assistance in his endeavors, leaving the sole sibling to take care of it. With all of this in mind, she found herself quite alone at the Compound, traveling the halls and searching for things to do in her state of absolute boredom. She’d leave, but it simply required too much of her effort to want to get dressed and go out and talk with people, maybe even encounter those she’d rather not have anything to do with. So, with her almost egregious amount of time, she did absolutely nothing productive and busied herself with sweet nothings.
The past hour, she’d found herself in Elijah’s study, glossing over the books he kept on his shelf. She’d been with him for almost eight years now, traveled alongside him wherever Niklaus went, so she was more than aware of the literature he chose to indulge in, but these works were things she’d never seen him with before, let alone mention. They dated back to the earlier part of the fifteen hundreds, some even before that, and to imagine that he’d kept them so beautifully intact amazed her.
Her eyes found the trunk that sat at the corner of the room, just by the doorway, and without much thought, her feet took her to it. She sat down, opening the lid and pulling out the journal that had been tied and retied and retied a million times by none other than herself, as she always gave in to the guilty pleasure of reading what her Elijah wrote of in his times on the planet. He’d seen empires rise and fall, he’d seen countries burn, world wars, the likes, and yet he still managed to find a reason to love this place, to stay in it.
That fact amazed her almost as much as his fanatical-librarian alter ego that kept five-hundred-year-old books because maybe he might pick them up again someday.
A smile danced across her lips as she read the familiar handwriting, fingertips tracing over the paper and feeling the dips where his quill had pressed. Some words were deeper than others, scrawled in anger or sorrow, but others were barely a divot in the page, written with a light hand, happily, carefully. She could picture the very day he was describing in her mind’s eye, the look on his face as he gazed upon his siblings laughing, finally feeling as a family.
But the image was cut short by a rather loud thud from somewhere in the house, tearing her attention away from the words on the page and up to the doorway. Her eyes peered through the crack between the door and the frame, watching three figures clad in all back march through the levels, obviously looking for something and not giving a damn if they were caught. She closed the book softly, wrapping it up and tucking back in the trunk, letting the lid shut quietly.
Standing from her position on the floor, she padded over to the bookshelf, pulling two books that were too new, too vividly colored to match the rest of the old works. She set them on a lower shelf, grabbing the small dagger that was hidden behind them in case of emergency and tucking it behind her wrist.
Another thud startled her by its closeness, a sharp gasp leaving her mouth as she turned and looked to the doorway, where two of the three men stood. They were stocky, a mask covering their face and only adding to the element of wickedness the men held. There was barely a moment’s pause before one lunged at her, hands reaching for her throat. Fixing the dagger into her grip, she drove it into the side of his neck to the best of her ability, pulling it out and watching as he dropped, blood dripping from the black cloth that covered his body.
The other was quick to follow his lead, this time reaching for her wrist and pinning it against the bookshelf behind her. His thumb pressed on a pressure point, causing her fingers to relinquish the grip they had on the blade and a yell of pain to leave her. The dagger clattered to the ground, and the much bigger man subdued her with a quick strike across the jaw. She slumped against the bookshelf and the man picked her up by the waist, slinging her over his shoulder and shouting to the other assailant that he’d gotten what they came for.
––
She awoke with a start, pulling upward and being met with great resistance from her wrists and her stomach. She looked down, eyes tracing the tight rings of rope that bound her to the chair. Her stomach had been looped just the same, as well as her feet. A lingering coldness seeped through her nerves, and she noticed then that the bindings had been cutting off the circulation of blood to her extremities, and if she were to move, it would only make it tighter.
Chest heaving, she looked around wildly, trying to recollect the moments that lead up to this one in her racing mind. She remembered the men in the house, the dagger behind the bookshelf… the dead man on the floor, and then being struck. Her eyes became hooded as she realized there was likely no one aware that anything was wrong in the Mikaelson compound – she’d been the only one there, something she’d been rather unopposed to at the start of the day. Now, however, she found herself wishing she’d gone out somewhere; perhaps a drink could’ve stopped her and these… who were they? from crossing paths.
She could guess as much that they weren’t vampires – they didn’t speed when they came after her, and if she was any wise to how the blood-thirsty creatures were, any advantage they had they were sure to use. They could have been werewolves, but that would mean the wolves had even attempted to come out of the bayou and that just didn’t make any sense in her mind.
That left only the witches. Because of course, the witches would have something against her or the Mikaelson’s. She was not without her own guilts, this much was true, but they really did pale in comparison to the thousands of year’s worth of bloodshed that stained the hands of Niklaus, Elijah, the lot of them. An irritated tug to the ropes made her hiss in regret, her head hanging low when she realized she was practically powerless. She was not of the supernatural world – a choice she’d made when she first fell for the Original vampire. A life, she’s said, she wanted to have a life, and just the one would be quite enough for her.
A sinking feeling invaded her heart when she realized that life she’d so desperately wanted was going to end rather abruptly today, with none of her own say in the matter. Shaking her head, she let out a scoff, tears threatening to well up in her eyes, leaving a burning feeling in her head and the back of her throat.
Her gaze shot up as she heard the echo of footsteps, approaching her from somewhere she couldn’t see. She breathed angrily, her lip snarling upward as the person in question stepped into the light, a harsh shadow playing on his face.
“Y/n,” he grinned evilly, “so good for us to meet again.”
“I’m sorry?” She raised a brow, a bite to each word, “Am I supposed to know who you are?”
“I suppose not,” he gave a thoughtful nod, “but no matter. I know exactly who you are. And what you mean to the Mikaelson’s.”
The necklace that hung from his neck, something she’d seen tons of witches wear before, as well as the tan-colored pigment of his skin tone, sparked something of recognition in her mind, but she genuinely could not place where or when she’d seen him. Shaking her head, she let out a breath, “What do you want?”
“Answers,” he gave, as if it were simple.
“To,” she looked around, confusion written all over her features, “to what, exactly?”
“Well,” he smiled at her, walking over to the side of the room, shrouded in darkness. When he came back, he’d shrugged off his coat and stood in front of her, sleeves rolled up and palms clasped together. “You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”
────
Elijah stepped into the compound, tugging at the ends of his dress shirt and overcoat, fixing his now bloodied suit to the best of his abilities. It had been torn in his small scrap with the vampire variety, so he would have to discard it, but that did not deter him from keeping up a false pretense of management. Niklaus was not far behind him, storming in with angry sneer, and completely shattering that management Elijah clung to.
“I am tired of this city thinking it can rule itself,” he growled, turning and facing his older brother as he pointed to the door. “Don’t they see that they’re all fools! Don’t they see there’s no sense in challenging me! I’m the King!”
Elijah stared at his brother with a blank expression on his face, waiting for his usual tirade to end before drawing in a breath and letting it out, mouth hanging open as he processed the words he was about to let out, “Brother, might I say, you may be King, but this city does not take well to self-pronounced royalty.”
“They’ll fear me, Elijah,” he said in a final statement, though it hardly counted as a response to what the elder Original had said. With nothing else remaining, he stormed off into a different area of the Compound.
A sigh left the elder brother, his hands tucking into his pockets as he stood in the courtyard, closing his eyes and taking in the moment of silence.
Absolute silence.
His eyes cracked open again, and he looked up at the second level, listening for anything other than Niklaus cracking open a bottle of bourbon from the cellar. But there was nothing. He clenched his jaw, walking toward the stairs and continuing to listen for something he was beginning to fear he would not find. His eyes narrowed as he looked about, waiting to see if she would pop out from a separate room, or perhaps from their own. But the door to their room was wide open, likely with little regard to closing it, and he took sudden notice to the lack of closed doors.
Swallowing, he walked into their room, saw nothing, and then raced to his study. If Y/n hadn’t been there, she’d be in his other area, reading his journal or perhaps sleeping on the couch. But as he looked in, his heart rose to his throat and his breath ceased. A man lay on the ground, blood pooled around him, and the dagger presumably used to take his life lay next to him. Pulling his hand from his pocket, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground, folded into a ball.
His gaze bounced between the corpse and the paper, and that dread that had been gripping his mind now took up home in his stomach. He squatted down, unfolding the paper and reading the messily scrawled words along the paper.
Give back what’s mine, I’ll give back what’s yours.
He crumpled the paper in his fist, anger flaring up in his body. Standing, he left the study and stood against the banister, “Niklaus!”
His brother rounded the corner, having rid himself of his coat, “Must you yell, Elijah?”
“They took her,” he said lowly, not fearing Niklaus’s ability to hear him.
“What?” The younger brother suddenly stood alert, looking up at Elijah with a clenched jaw that mirrored his own.
“The damned witches,” he threw the paper ball down to the courtyard, Niklaus racing to grab it before it hit the ground. He uncrinkled it, reading the note and shaking his head. Elijah fixed his suit jacket, the fabric still slightly damp from the blood. “We have to find her.”
Niklaus pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing no doubt their older sister’s number, and explaining the situation very briefly before hanging up, “Grab something of Y/n’s. We’re going to Freya.”
–
The brothers stood behind Freya as she cast the spell, chanting under her breath and then watching as the grey substance traced its way across the city of New Orleans all the way to the edge. It stopped at what seemed like nothing, but the siblings knew better – it was likely whatever they’d hidden her in was underground or unregistered with the city. A safe spot no one would think to look if no one knew of its existence.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Freya shook her head, hands braced on the table, “it shouldn’t have been that easy. If it was the witches like you say, they would have used a- a cloaking spell, something.”
“So it’s a trap?” Klaus spoke up.
“Likely,” Elijah nodded, tone calm. His hands were tucked in his suit pockets again, gaze trained on the slats of the window as he thought of the possibilities that could greet them in that place. “Is it possible the spell isn’t tracing Y/n directly?”
Freya thought for a moment before shaking her head, “No. The spell doesn’t chase remnants – it either finds them or it doesn’t. That’s where she is.”
“Then we’re wasting time,” Niklaus growled, turning heavily over his shoulder and stalking out of the tower.
Elijah went to follow, but Freya turned and grabbed his elbow, stopping him in his path. “Be aware, Elijah. They wanted her to be found for a reason.”
Elijah nodded, giving one last look to his sister before turning on his heel and following his younger brother out.
────
Her head hung low, aching with a dull pain starting at her crown and descending to her collarbone. She was sure if they struck her again her head would fly off – a mercy killing, at this point. The blood from her mouth pooled in her lap and she cringed at the look of it, wishing she could make this all stop.
He’d started with telling her who he was – a New Orleans witch with a vendetta against the Mikaelsons. “They stole something from me, you see,” he’d shrugged, running his fingers down the length of an impressively long dagger, “and I intend to get it back.”
Y/n had asked what it was, and he explained rather simply that it was an important family heirloom, passed down through his bloodline, that was meant to increase the power of the possessor tenfold. But, of course, if any witch possessed that kind of magic and wasn’t the reagent, there was surely an innumerable amount of ways they could defile and abuse it.
He, who had not given a name for whatever reason she wasn’t sure of, asked her first if she’d seen it. When she answered that she had no idea what it looked like, he smiled tightly and sighed, asking again. She shrugged in the chair, hands reflexively pulling up against the ropes. Setting the knife down, he walked so that he was crouched in front of her, fingers ghosting over her kneecap. “See, love, this is going to work in one of two ways. You’ll give me what I need, I wait for the Mikaelson’s to rescue their pitiful human,” he sneered a little at the word, as if he weren’t one himself, anyway, “and then all will be well. Or,” his hand clasped around her leg, a searing pain emitting from his fingertips as he burned into her thigh, “you deny me what I want and I leave your dead body for your beloved Elijah to find.”
She grimaced slightly at the mention of Elijah – if he found out that anything happened to her, she was sure he would not hold back the part of himself kept behind the door, away from the world. “He’s going to kill you,” she growled lowly, fingernails digging into her palms.
“Oh I know,” he chuckled, “I count on it.” He grabbed her palm, slicing it open and letting blood spill into a bowl. With a few words chanted quietly, he looked up at her through dark lashes and grinned, “Should I meet my demise, sweetheart, so will you. But fear not – anything done to you doesn’t affect me. Magic is a wonderful thing.”
After that, every answer she gave him that wasn’t the exact location of whatever heirloom he was talking about, he’d do something that hurt just a little more. Then he’d cast a spell, heal her of the wounds, and do it all over again. What felt like hours had passed, her throat was raw from screaming, her head pounding, her body consumed in searing pain.
Lifting her gaze, just slightly, she tried to see something, anything. A person, hopefully not that bastard of a witch, a door, another light, anything that could tell her where she was. But the harsh light above her shrouded the rest of her surroundings in a deep darkness she couldn’t see through. Her breath escaped shakily, her head dropping again while tears began to roll down her cheeks.
What if they weren’t coming? What if this was going to be her end? What was going to happen if… if Elijah found her dead? He’d undoubtedly blame himself, push himself so far into a corner of his mind, and he’d never be the same. And, Niklaus, the poor man, would lose his brother, lose his best friend. He cared for Y/n, too, but he cared for her because she brought a happiness to his brother that hadn’t been evident in over a century.
The fear of leaving Elijah alone was what gripped her most, and the idea that it was going to be over something so trivial as a trinket, it broke her. She wished, she really wished she could give the location to the witch, to make this stop, but she couldn’t because she didn’t know what, or where it was – both key factors in giving him the answer he wanted. This was a fact she’d given time and time again and was called a liar for.
She sputtered a small heap of blood into her lap, the feeling of it tickling the back of her throat. Hurried footsteps echoed through the dark, and she looked up, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed, trying to see who it was that was coming back. Her mind told her it would be Elijah – he had found her, he was going to untie her, get her out of here. But her gut told her it would be the witch, coming back to do as much damage as he could.
Her gut had won out, and she screamed whenever he came into light, “No, please! Please!” Her voice broke and she sobbed, the rope around her stomach digging into her skin as she leaned forward, hyperventilating, “I don’t– I don’t know where, I don’t have it,” she murmured, shaking her head.
The witch said nothing, gripping the knife beside him and standing just in front of her, not even looking at her sorry heap in the chair. His gaze was hyperfocused on the darkness she couldn’t see past. A second and third set of footsteps, just as hurried as before, hit her ears, and she silenced her erratic sobbing, hoping to whatever god there was that it had been Elijah.
“Let her go,” she hissed inwardly, staring at the darkness with wide eyes, the ever recognizable voice of her beloved practically a melody. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, but she does,” the witch smirked, “in fact, she has everything to do with this.” Turning over his shoulder, he raised a hand in the air. The ropes around her loosened, and she lifted with his fingers, completely at the mercy of his magic. Any struggle she put up was quickly quelled by the power around her, so she was quick to simply give in to the force.
Elijah’s eyes widened as he looked on at her, stepping closer to the witch. Niklaus, who had been standing beside his brother, closed the distance further, coming right up to the witch’s face and asking with a growl, “What do you want?”
“My pendant,” he challenged the hybrid, staring him in the eye and snarling. His fist closed behind him, Y/n letting out sputtering noises as she choked on a magical force squeezing around her throat.
Klaus surged forward, holding the man up by his throat, hoping that would release his hold on Y/n. But, instead, his fist remained closed, pressing tighter and choking her more. Klaus clenched a tight palm around the witch’s throat, straining to fight against the magic that was protecting him. “We don’t have it!”
“Yes! You do!” The witch cried, pushing the knife into the hybrid’s chest then following with his free palm, sending him into a cement post behind them. Klaus sprawled on the ground, breathing heavily, angrily, gripping at the handle of the blade lodged in him.
Elijah sighed, stepping closer once more, “We don’t have it. We don’t care to take such trivial trinkets.” There was truth in every word he spoke, every syllable that passed his lips. They truly did not have it, had no idea of what he was talking about.
“I did a locator spell,” the witch growled, letting the grip he had on Y/n’s throat go just slightly, and she let out a breath, but nevertheless continued to claw at her throat, “it was at your home.”
“We have no care to know who you are,” Klaus said lowly, standing and letting the knife clatter to the ground, “why would we care to take something from you?”
Obviously, his words offended the witch, his brows furrowed and his eyes darkening. “You will care about who I am when I take something from you.” Looking to Y/n, he smiled and drew his thumbnail across his own throat, cutting hers in the process. She choked on the blood, holding her hands to her neck and trying to stop the bleeding. Elijah cried out, racing to her body as she dropped. He caught her, placing her on the concrete, and Niklaus raced forward, grabbing the witch by the collar and biting into his throat, ripping it out without a second thought.
The witch collapsed to the ground, and briefly, he wondered why he hadn’t done it earlier. But, he knew it was likely the witch had tied himself to her or made it so that if he died, she went with him. Klaus stared at the dead body a moment longer, then walked over to his brother.
Elijah cried into her shirt, gripping the back of her neck and pulling her as close to him as he could. A yell ripped through his throat, and Klaus clenched his jaw, ready to rip the entire coven to shreds for this. Placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder, he closed his eyes and listened for just a moment. There was no one else with them, they were quite alone in this warehouse. “She’s dead, Niklaus,” Elijah whimpered, looking up at him with lost, broken brown eyes. “She’s gone.”
Klaus’s jaw clenched, and he looked away a moment then returned his gaze back to his brother, “Let’s take her home.”
────
Freya had been the one to greet them at the door, a sorrowful look in her eyes whenever she saw Elijah cradling the love of his life against his chest, face absolutely stoic. Blood coated his already ruined suit, and from the ashen look of Y/n’s skin, it had been all of hers. Klaus said nothing as he walked up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door. Elijah looked at Freya, mouth open as he took a breath, eyebrows furrowed. Tears filled his eyes, but he just shook his head, walking past her and clutching Y/n as tightly as possible.
Laying her down on a couch in their room, he sat beside her and kissed her fingers, tears slipping down his face. This was never supposed to happen – she was never supposed to get hurt this way. He made her a promise, gave her his word that she would be safe as long as he loved her. He broke his promise. How could he do that to her?
His eyes trained themselves on the cut around her throat, and a shaky breath left his chest. He closed his eyes, shaking his head and wanting nothing more than to be back with her this morning, holding her, talking with her again. He remembered each moment of the morning with a vivid mind’s eye, smiling to himself at her jokes, at the feeling of her lips on his, her skin in his hands, the soft moan that left her whenever he’d bitten into her collarbone.
He stopped, stilling completely as he looked at her. His eyes widened and he looked down, eyes darting back and forth as he remembered seeing her atop him, drinking blood from his wrist to heal the bite he’d left on her neck. His sight was back on her, watching for any signs of movement, of something. But it would likely be hours before she came back – it wasn’t a quick resurrection.
She could’ve been drained completely of his blood, though; her state when they finally found her was battered, to say the least. Even so, the hope that she could come back to him made the tears dry and sudden desperation to kick in. Leaning forward, he whispered to her to come back to him, to wake up, and then pressed his lips into her cold forehead.
–
The Original hadn’t left the room the entire night, watching and waiting for her to wake. With each passing hour that she didn’t, that desperate hope vacated his much-too-old soul, and he briefly wondered if he’d be able to stomach life without her. At some point, he stood, making a trip to his study and pulling a book from his shelf that he’d read a thousand times over. A smile threatened this corner of his lips as he thought of what she might’ve said to see him picking up the ancient works again.
As he pulled back the cover, a gasp echoed in his ears, along with an erratic heartbeat. Dropping the book, he raced to his room to see Y/n sitting up straight, grasping at her throat with wide eyes and terrified expression. Elijah kneeled beside her, holding her face and letting her register that it was him before pulling her into his chest. His hands petted the back of her head, ragged breaths leaving the both of them.
“What happened?” She whispered.
“You died,” he answered simply, pulling away and looking at her with water-filled eyes, “you died, Y/n.”
“Then–” Her hands gripped his wrists, and for a moment she searched his face, looking for an answer to the question. Once she found it, she stilled beneath him for a moment, “I’m... I’m a–”
“Yes,” Elijah said, nodding to her and looking away for a moment, shame filling him. This isn’t what she wanted to be – she’d told him that from the beginning. “Forgive me.”
Her eyebrows furrowed, her head shaking, “Why?”
“This isn’t what you wanted, Y/n,” his voice was low, quiet, “you wanted a life. I took that from you.”
She waited a moment, letting out a breath and realizing that she didn’t care. She didn’t care if she no longer had that life to live – it had become plainly obvious to her she wasn’t going to have it if she loved a Mikaelson. Her eyes closed as she took in all the sounds around her, her thoughts slowly draining out of her mind and being replaced by hyper-awareness of her surroundings. She shook her head, “It’s too much. The sound– it’s too loud.”
“You need to feed, love,” Niklaus appeared in the doorway, surprising the both of them. Y/n looked at him, still holding Elijah’s arms. “That is if you want to.”
Her head ached, and from the look in Klaus’s eyes, she realized that he wasn’t really giving her a choice. “I don’t want to die.. again,” she cracked a joke with a shaky laugh, and Elijah’s mouth turned up just slightly before it fell again.
“Are you sure about this, Y/n?” His thumbs came up to her face, caressing her cheekbones.
“Yes. I’m sure,” she nodded, forehead falling against Elijah’s. She pushed a kiss to his lips and let out a breath, “If it means I never leave you again, I’ll do it.”
“I love you,” he whispered, kissing her forehead and letting her head fall into his collarbone. Klaus left to get the blood, and Elijah made a vow to himself then that he would never stop loving her. Never.
warnings | canon-type violence? but it’s a short lil cheesy fic so no worries
notes: this is based off a prompt from this list, “if i were you, i’d be quiet” that i randomly picked & then i knew i had to write it so here’s that
masterlist
Y/n had come to love the eldest of the Original siblings, and if she ever said she regretted it, she’d be lying to herself. Indeed, when he’d first revealed all that he was to her, she was stricken with a sense of absolute confusion, asking questions and being taken aback at the idea that her boyfriend was an immortal bloodsucker she’d only heard about in movies. They were definitely supposed to have long fangs and big noses and slicked back black hair with horribly receding hairlines — honestly, they all were supposed to look like Dracula.
And they were supposed to look like that because they were supposed to be scary bedtime stories, not real creatures that walked the Earth in search of a blood fix, nor were they supposed to resemble people, with humanity and the urge to create empires and be out with the real world and develop connections.
But there one was, standing in her kitchen after an eventful late night, shirtless and not as pale as she’d imagined, telling her his whole story. He’d even let her see, placing his palm to her head and speaking through the memories as they flashed in her mind. She felt everything that came with them, every bit of emotion, every blade of grass between her hands and at the soles of her feet. When he pulled away, she’d asked in a tiny voice, “How did you do that?”
He’d laughed at her, a small chuckle, looking at her with curious brown eyes through dark lashes, “That’s what you took away from everything I just bore to you? A curiosity for my abilities?”
Her brows furrowed, her lips parted as she thought, “Was I supposed to take something else away from it?” She tilted her head to the side when his gaze fell away, landing on the kitchen floor. Closing the small gap between them, she placed a cool palm on his warm chest, “Elijah,” her voice was softer than the breeze of the AC, “I’m not afraid of you. Your brother?” She debated for a moment, looking away and then smiling softly, “Maybe. But you? Never.”
After that, he’d asked her if she would be willing to be with him more. She knew he feared her having this knowledge, she knew that he didn’t want her to ever come in harm’s way. But she also knew he was going to let her make her own decisions, give her the freedom of figuring out what to do next. Her answer to his request was a simple yes, and from then on, it was like a letter with a wax seal.
The two had been together three years, now, and she never let the idea of eternity with him escape her mind. But that didn’t matter much right now — she was happy and human, and she intended to keep it that way until it was sure that she would have forever to spend with him.
All of that, though, led her to where she’d been then — in Elijah’s bed, tangled in the sheets, with a distinct lack of her boyfriend. He was likely down in the study, mulling over books and his mother’s grimoire, trying to solve another problem for his little brother that was likely never his own. She admired that about him, truly. But she also detested the idea that Klaus would always come before even Elijah in the vampire’s mind.
Sighing, she turned so that she was flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She debated, momentarily, just going to sleep and hoping to wake up with Elijah next to her, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. If he didn’t sleep, she didn’t either; if it did so happen that she fell asleep, it was because she simply could not outrun exhaustion, for she was no supernatural being.
Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she thought a second more, then shook her head. Being alone wasn’t going to work. Twisting so that she lay on her side, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and checked the time — 3:32 AM. “Of course,” she laughed to herself, pulling it closer to her face so that she could see what she was doing as she tapped the phone icon, scrolled to Elijah’s contact, and called. A moment or two of silence, then the dialtone came, followed by an intense vibration from the other nightstand across the mattress. “Of course!” She was in a fit of giggles at this point — luck would not be on her side tonight.
Sitting up, she threw her phone to the wayside and moved to get out of bed, sucking a breath through her teeth at the cold air nipping her legs. A shiver ran through her spine, but before she stood fully, a sense of unease settled in the pit of her stomach. Why had it been so cold? The window was shut, and she knew it was a summer night. The AC was a good one, but it wasn’t that good.
Looking over her shoulder, her narrowed eyes traced the folds in the sheets of her bed before traveling up the wall. Then she stopped, completely frozen. By the window stood a figure shrouded in black, his head ducked and his hands gloved. Her mouth opened to yell out for her boyfriend, but not a sound made it through. A hand flew to her throat, and she tried to make some kind of sound, anything, but nothing was coming of it.
“If I were you,” the figure spoke, his words growled from his teeth, “I’d stay quiet.”
She searched frantically around the room for something that could help her, that she could throw or use as a defense. A knife sat on the bookshelf by the door, reflecting the dull light of the lamp, and she raced to get it. However, the man whispered something in a language she didn’t understand, and she flew back against the wall, held up by her throat. Her fingers clawed at the invisible hand, scratching her own skin instead and leaving the area burning.
“You’re going to tell me where he keeps the grimoires,” the man said, stepping closer and starting to raise his eyes to meet hers. “But you won’t speak. You see, if he hears you, I’ll have to leave, and I won’t leave,” his wrist twisted, the grip on her throat impossibly tighter, “until I have what I came here for.”
Y/n continued to struggle against the magic, even though she knew there was truly no point. Her foot swung out then struck the wall with a loud thud, and the man, which she could safely assume was a witch, cringed. With one hand directed at her, he moved his other and hovered it over the doorframe, murmuring something before turning his attention back to the woman strung up on the wall.
“See,” he said, “he’ll have heard that. And he’ll likely wonder what it was.” He stepped closer, dragging her down the wall so that she was eye level with him, “And he’ll come for you. A pathetic little human who can’t defend herself.”
Y/n attempted to whimper against the strength of his hold, her toes numbing and her eyes wanting to close and pop from her head at the same time. He was crushing her windpipe, and if he succeeded, she wouldn’t come back. He was right — she was human. She got no second chances.
“Y/n? Are you alright?” She heard from down the hallway, starting to vigorously shake her head. Tears escaped her eyes and she tried her best to keep struggling, but her body was weak and her vision was spotty and there was absolutely nothing she could do in this moment except watch. “Y/n?”
Elijah was at the doorframe now, looking in without noticing her against the wall closest to the door. He wouldn’t have thought to look there, not at first. Instead, his eyes were trained on the bed, where there were crumpled sheets, and an absence of his girlfriend. “Y/n,” he said again, turning his head and looking straight at her, “Y/n, are you in here?”
Her eyes went wide, and the witch man below her smirked devilishly, but did not speak. He had used a spell to cloak them, though she wasn’t sure for why. Even in her hazy state, she was aware of what he came for, and if he thought she was going to be able to give it to him, why would he make them invisible to Elijah in the first place?
Her eyes fluttered as the witch’s magical grip twisted so that it was pressing against a different part of her throat, and her arms flopped to the side, smacking against the wall. Elijah’s eyes searched the area for some explanation, but he couldn’t see any reason why there were sounds coming from the room — if no one was in there, where were the sounds coming from?
Then he stepped in, and she could hear a breath leave the witch’s chest — he’d wanted Elijah to do exactly that. With a small chant, Y/n watched the vampire whip around, staring at the witch, then locking eyes with her. Her eyes were hooded, almost closed, and her skin had turned a rather sickly red, all the blood rushing to her face and throat.
“Good evening, Elijah,” the witch’s tone was cocky, so confident that he had the upper hand, “it’s so nice to see you on such a lovely evening.”
“Well I’d invite you in, but it seems you’ve made yourself quite,” his eyes left his girlfriend’s, his head tilting to the side, “comfortable.”
“Ah, yes,” the grip on her throat loosened, just enough for her to be able to take in a labored breath, the tingling in her body stopping just at the top of her kneecaps. “You have a truly wonderful home, I must admit.”
Elijah gave him a tight smile, one hand tucking itself into his suit pants. The other hung by his side, cuffed sleeve brushing against his hip as he looked down at the sheets, then locked eyes with the witch again, “I would love to have a proper conversation with you, but it seems you’ve got my,” he breathed in, gesturing to her, “Y/n stuck against a wall. Would you mind bringing peace to my mind and letting her down?”
The witch returned the grin, lowering her so that her feet hit the ground, then letting his grip on her throat go. With no blood in her limbs, she collapsed, gasping out for much-needed oxygen. Elijah’s lip twitched, lips parting as his tongue darted out across them. “You said to let her down,” the witch gave a shake of his head then gestured to her weak form, “I obliged. Now, I never said I would release her from my spells.” He shook his finger at Elijah, backstepping and lifting Y/n by the arm, then throwing her to the bed. “So, until I get what I came for, she won’t be able to utter a word, nor will she be able to move from that spot!”
Y/n sputtered soundlessly against the mattress, falling into the sheets and taking deep breaths. Her limbs were burning, her eyes were heavy and her vision was spotted and dizzy. Elijah stepped closer to the mattress, fingers steepling on top of it. Lazily, her hand reached for his, weak fingers wrapping themselves around three of his own. He took in a breath, then gave another tight-lipped smile, “And what is it, pray tell, that you came for?”
“Esther’s grimoires,” the other man’s tone had darkened, his lip pulling into a snarl and his brows drawing upward in challenge.
“Oh? Is that so?” Elijah asked, stepping forward and feeling Y/n’s grip slip away from his. “Well, right this way.”
The witch looked him up and down, blinking like the vampire was stupid, “You think I’ll fall for that? You think I’m an idiot?”
Elijah’s hand untucked itself, finger twirling the daylight ring that sat on his middle finger, “I prefer to keep my opinions of certain people to myself. Makes for easier negotiation.”
The witch let out a growl, stepping forward and closing a distance between him and the vampire. Elijah’s chin lifted as he stared down his nose at the slightly shorter man, taking in breath. “The grimoires. Now.”
With a lifted brow, Elijah looked away, then over his shoulder to Y/n, whose face was buried in the sheets, eyes closed. With one more look at the witch, he snarled, then pushed his hand forward. His fingers passed the skin, the muscle, the ribcage, and gripped around the heart of the witch, holding it with such a grip that if the man moved away, he would move without his organ.
“I don’t take kindly,” he growled, “to people coming into my home and putting the people I love in danger. Now,” he squeezed, and the man gasped out, eyes wide with fear, “I assume you’re a smart man. Or, rather, smart enough to know when you’re no longer going to achieve your goal. Am I correct?”
The witch didn’t move to answer, and truly, Elijah’s question was entirely rhetorical.
“But,” he breathed in, his eyes moved down to his arm in the man’s chest, “smart doesn’t describe your actions tonight. And for that,” he gave a thoughtful frown and nod, “you lose your life.”
Then he pulled his hand out, gripping the witch’s heart and watching as the man stood still for a moment, then fell to the ground in a mess of blood and coats. Looking at the heart in his hand, he let it drop and shook his head in disgust, wishing now that he’d had his handkerchief on him. The blood was truly gross to look at.
Without much other thought, he turned around and walked to Y/n on the bed, leaning on the mattress with one knee and touching her with the hand that lacked blood. Pulling her face from the covers, his pinky rested on her pulse, weak but there, and the rest of his palm cupped her cheek. The blood was returning to its proper places, and any spell the witch had cast was now void, seeing as it depended on his life force and Elijah had ever-so-kindly stripped him of such a burden.
Letting go of her face, he pushed himself off the bed and walked into the bathroom, washing his hand. He unbuttoned his dress shirt, pulling it off his torso and discarding it to the basket of dirty laundry. Next was his shoes, then his socks, then his belt and pants, which were changed out for a pair of shorts for the time being. He then walked back out to Y/n, picking her up and fixing her position on the mattress.
She stirred a few minutes later, after Elijah had tucked himself into the sheets, turned off the lamps and held her form against his chest. “‘Lijah?” She asked in a small voice, drawing in a heavy breath, “I think I just had the worst dream. Something about a witch and your mom.”
Elijah chuckled lightly, leaning down and placing a soft kiss to her head, “It’s alright, darling. You have nothing to worry about.” She didn’t reply, only tucked herself further into his chest. He situated them so that they lay comfortably, kissed her head once more, then let himself begin to relax. He wasn’t going to sleep, no; if a witch had so easily been able to sneak into the compound and come for Y/n, there was things that had to change. For now, he would stay alert, in case the first witch had come with any friends, and ensure that they would have no way of bringing harm to her.
The man that lay on his floor would have to be dealt with come morning, however. He was sure Y/n would start to smell something.
