Upon the Mikaelson's return to New Orleans, they each had their worries.
Klaus was focused on his pregnant werewolf and the deep rooted need to be a king.
Rebekah desperately wanted her past lover, Marcel back but also felt the need to protect her niece to be.
Elijah was supposed to be concentrating on his brother and Hayley as they expected their child, or the mess that the divided factions of supernaturals in New Orleans was but instead, he was thinking of her.
Y/N.
He hadn't seen her since leaving New Orleans a hundred years ago.
She and Marcel had been presumed dead, nothing had prepared him for seeing her face again.
Feeling her palm cup his cheek and her thumb stroking the prickle of stubble left on his skin.
She was so similar and yet so different to the last time.
Before she had been a princess, now she was a Queen.
Even when the Mikaelson's moved into the abattoir and his room was just beside hers, she still felt too far away.
Elijah felt as if he were just watching her life go by without him, it made him sick.
He lacked the usual hunger of a vampire, the need to kill or hurt.
He lost his passion to protect and guide.
He just wanted her.
Everyone knew that, except her.
Nobody understood the pain she and Marcel went through.
They waited day in and day out for their family to come home, to tell them that it was okay and that Mikael wouldn't torture them again, that their nightmares weren't real and they were safe.
They rebuilt the city brick by brick, cleaning away the ashes left behind but they still didn't come back.
So they moved on.
They worked together and they got stronger and they earned their power and their places and then they finally came back and just took it from them like it was nothing.
And Elijah had barely said five words to her.
He just stared, but whenever his lips parted no words would leave him.
Elijah didn't realise she took that as something else.
But for Y/N, she had been hoping to hear his voice for a century, crying for him in her sleep and now he was here and she felt like he didn't even care enough to talk to her.
She could have thought he didn't care at all if it weren't for the way he looked at her.
The look of love in those deep eyes of his.
That same look she used to see each morning and night.
Y/N wanted him to know that she still wanted him to look at her like that, she still wanted him like that.
So she tried to show him.
A lingering touch hear or there, just on his arm or his shoulder.
Or she'd bring him a cup of tea the way he used to like it, ask him about the literature he was reading most currently but he could barely get five words out.
So she tried not to focus on words, instead she gave him a kiss and hoped it was enough.
It was.
Elijah hadn't exactly been expecting her to suddenly grab his face and push her lips against his but most definitely wasn't complaining.
Both hands lifted and cupped her face like all those times years ago, kissing her deeply like he'd craved to for so long.
He needed her hands in his hair, to ruin the perfect facade he'd been wearing.
His tie was clutched into her palm and tugged gently, leading him with her to his room. He followed her mindlessly onto his bed, crawling over her and keeping his tongue with hers.
The desperation was so strong.
Elijah could feel the fabric of his tie slip from his neck.
The buttons on his shirt slowly revealing more and more of his chest, he wanted to rip the clothes from her body but he couldn't stop holding her beautiful face.
It was when his belt was unclasped that he finally pulled away, looking down at her with lust blown pupils.
His eyes swirled with that darkness that she enjoyed, her fingers traced the veins beneath his eyes before her thumb slid over his fang.
"I really missed you." She confessed to him and he softened, his hands finally dropping to her hips to pull her close.
"I missed you too, every day." He uttered, eyes flicking between both of hers.
"But you never came back..." She whispered and he looked down.
"I thought you were gone...I saw you, you looked...you didn't look alive. I couldn't bare coming back to the place that did that to you. I couldn't stand the memory of your body strung up like that." He told her shakily, his hands desperate to keep her with him this time.
"Marcel and I had to rip ourselves free of those nails, Elijah. I could hear you, you would have ran whether I was alive or not-"
"Don't you ever think that." He whispered, his hold tight now, both arms round her waist and her body in his lap. "I would never knowingly leave you for dead." He promised.
Her body rest against him, her face against his broad chest and warming his cold skin.
"I love you, Y/N. I loved you from the second I laid eyes on you." He murmured, lips kissing her shoulder gently after.
"You mean more to me than anything. You're family."
"Don't lie to me, Elijah. I know I'll never be your family, I don't think anybody can truly become a Mikaelson. Hayley's the closest anyone can get and that's because she had Klaus's baby and we both know I can't give you a child." She practically whimpered.
Elijah just looked at her for a short while, guilt in his gaze.
He could remember when she was human, when she didn't yet know he was vampire. She wanted them to have three children, when she found out he couldn't she thought maybe there could be a spell, there was still hope. However when she turned too, she knew that it was a useless thought and gave up altogether.
They had considered adoption but Y/N worried that if the child wasn't biologically a Mikaelson that they wouldn't truly love or protect the child. Not any of the Mikaelsons.
Of course she'd never verbally expressed that fear but Elijah could tell.
Knowing that Klaus could procreate and he couldn't was difficult for him, just like he knew it was difficult for Rebekah knowing her brother could have a baby but she also couldn't.
But seeing Y/N hurt by it too was an extra hit to his heart.
After all these years, he still dreamt of their family.
He'd be a much better father than Mikael, and she'd be a much better mother than Esther.
"It's not you who can't give me a child, Y/N." He murmured. "It's me, my fault. You can't blame yourself, I turned you and I took that possibility away but it will not ever change how I feel for you. You are my family, I'd carry you with me for eternity."
It was just difficult to believe with how that family behaved towards outsiders.
"Okay." Y/N whispered, it was clear she was only relenting to try not form an argument and Elijah wanted to be more reassuring but he knew it would only escalate things.
His hand reached to touch hers, hold hers.
"Allow me to court you again." He murmured, wanting to show her their potential again but she laughed softly and shook her head.
"I don't want us back at square one. I want it to be how it was before." She told him, smiling softly. It warmed him.
"I'd like that." He nodded, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "But I still want it to be special, I haven't been able to cherish you for so long now."
"I suppose I won't stop you from a gift or two." She teased and he hummed.
She looked back down at his bare chest and sighed, she'd missed this.
He pulled her back to his chest, coddling her to him and stroking her back lovingly.
The skin to skin wasn't something Elijah experienced often, he only allowed it when he truly loved someone. His mind and body craved it.
Y/N knew how deprived he was right from childhood.
So, just like she used to, she pulled her shirt from her body and let the skin of her upper body lay against his.
"You know that I love you?" He whispered and she nodded.
"I just wish you'd talk to me more, I can't be with you if you can't even hold a normal conversation with me Elijah..."
"I know, my sweet. I was just so struck when I saw you and I feared that you could have moved on...with Marcel." He hesitated and she scoffed.
"Oh? And after he was making out with Rebekah? That didn't clue you in, no?" She teased and he looked down with an embarrassed smile.
"I was shy I suppose." He admitted and she smiled.
"You used to be shy all the time." She whispered, stroking his hand and leaning up to kiss the corner of his lips like she used to.
He leaned forward and leant his forehead against hers, a warm smile on his face.
PAIRING | Kol x Reader, Father figure!Elijah x Reader
GENRE | idk tbh
WORD COUNT | 2k
WARNINGS | The word ‘death’ and ‘dead’. I think that’s all.
SUMMARY | After endless years of mischief with Kol by your side, it wasn’t long before you caught feelings. And although you never admitted it to each other, Elijah was determined to make the world know.
A/N | This was drafted for a while. I don’t know how to feel about it, or if I should make a part 2.
You were told from the beginning that involving yourself with the Mikaelson family would only bring harm to yours, but how could harm be brought if they were already dead? As far as the years have passed, the Mikaelsons were your family – although minus the blood, they did everything to protect you. Especially Elijah, who thought you to be like his daughter.
Since the invasion by corrupted witches into your home, you were left an orphan, and it wasn’t long before you came across a famous Original vampire. Elijah Mikaelson, whom gave you his word to protect you with all he had, also gave you a home – another family. Back then, you were merely nine years old. And since, you’d been taught every martial art known to man – not that it really came in handy considering you’d been guarded every second of your life. Elijah wanted you to learn as a precaution.
Wherever you went, one of them had to come along. Even at school, whether it be Kol, Rebekah, or even Klaus himself, Elijah promised to never leave your perimeters unprotected. But one day, the family had made a mistake – they left their guard down and invited a pawn of the enemies’ into their home. You were taken and Elijah never let himself live it down.
Of course, it wasn’t long before they found you; will is a strong thing. But that one mistake left Elijah paranoid. No matter how much you tried to convince him of your strength and capability to look after yourself, he wasn’t convinced. Even if you shared the most atrocious words with the enemy as if you shared the surname of the Mikaelson’s, Elijah thought it to be foolish, and made you promise your detachment to their disputes. No matter how strong he thought you were as a human, you were nothing compared to a supernatural.
You knew it was his way to keep his word in protecting you, but you couldn’t help but feel underestimated. Rebekah promised you that it was his nobility that kept him stubborn. Sometimes, she believed you to inherit his stubbornness as if you were actually his own. Because once, even after one of Elijah’s lectures about your safety, you and Kol still snuck out of your home to investigate the reasons to your blood family’s death.
You were obviously caught a half an hour later. Elijah’s timing was impeccable, and Rebekah, who was too concerned about your safety, couldn’t sit back and watch as Kol snuck you out the back of the Mikaelson’s property. You’d learnt that the investigation was a waste of time anyway, for your father figure had already known the chain of events that lead to your family’s death. He told you the reasons were too hard to bear for a mere thirteen-year-old. You trusted him and gave your word to back off until he thought you were old enough.
Spoiler alert: you were never old enough. Even as an eighteen-year-old, he wished to never tell you the truth of your family. So as his compensation for not giving into your curiosities, he finally backed off his overprotectiveness and allowed you to sneak out with Kol every night.
Even as Kol hid you behind the bushes as he searched the outside premises for any prying eyes, Elijah pretended not to notice – often, his disguise was sleep. And when he heard his brother’s voice declare the clear, he stood and watched through the window as Kol picked you up and sped you to wherever you wished to go.
Kol sat beside you at the bar, a drink in hand as his eyes gazed over the crowd for any potential blood bags. A smirk played on his lips. His eyebrows were furrowed as if he’d been picky of his next meal. But known by everyone, he had never been so; food was food. And in that moment, all he had been doing was mask the butterflies that fluttered in his stomach as you stared at him.
You, obviously, didn’t know of that. You’d been convinced of a little change in Kol and his sudden interest in a good blood diet. “If you must know, my blood type is red,” you told him, a joking smile on your lips. You finally pried your eyes away from his face and his stomach settled.
“I know, darling,” was all he said before he took another sip of his drink.
You coughed. “Well, if you must know, it also pains me that you won’t take my offer,” you admitted, and he peered at you. He didn’t miss the way your eyelids fluttered down for a second before landing on the crowd once again.
He sighed. You had told him of your wish before: you wanted to experience the feeling of being drank from, but he didn’t want to hurt you. Never in a million years. “I can’t drink from you love,” he told you and you looked at him, an idea blinked in your head.
“How about from a glass then?”
Your little schemes with Kol landed you a good spot in his heart and it wasn’t long before he began to kneel at every word that fell from your lips. So often, he was by your side annoying you out of your days. Together, you continued your little schemes and time and time again, you found yourselves causing little mischiefs with random couples at the bar.
But once you hit twenty, the schemes became boring and all you wanted to do was stay home, relax, and hang with your Mikaelson family. But relaxing was always an issue with them for the household always had disputes with the whole of New Orleans. You’d learnt that they were cursed with their rising anger over the years; so, one day, when you were feeling nostalgic, you ran into Rebekah’s room and convinced her to throw a little get-together.
“Honey, please be a darl’ and put this over there,” she told you as she handed you the empty esky.
It was the same day you convinced her to throw the gathering – only, a few hours later (you ran into her room at 2 in the morning). The two of you decided to bring the party to yours and Rebekah’s shared home you had bought earlier in the year when you’d begun to get tired of the boys’ riffraff. You decided the location was suitable for the get-together as Freya had cast a cloaking spell around the house right after your purchase, just in case if the boys wanted to disturb you further. It was the perfect place for an enemy-free zone. You just had to ask Freya to cast the spell down for a few minutes to let the boys in.
After you’d put the esky beside the grey cushioned couch, the door flung open and Kol stood outside of it. He stood still with a smile on his face, “well, are you going to be a darl’ and let me in, or are you going to just stand there and be pretty?”
His compliment made your heart flutter; you almost wanted to tease him. But as far as you and Rebekah had set up, the place was still too organised for a Mikaelson ‘bonding’ time. So you invited him in and he assisted you with filling the esky up.
Once three eskies had been full of alcohol, and Rebekah had set the snacks on the coffee table, it wasn’t long until the famous duo of the family trudged through the front door with more snacks and drinks in hand. With no surprise, Elijah arrived in his familiar attire of a formal suit whilst Klaus wore a tight-fitted grey shirt and plain jeans. Freya and Finn were a no-show as they went out of the city for business.
The time was spent just talking amongst each other as you drank the night away before Rebekah came up with the idea to place Truth, Dare, or Drink. You had to disagree with the notion as the game had a history of turning for the worst, but it was four against one and you had to play. So for the game, you moved from your original spot on the floor and sat on one of the couches, in between Kol and Elijah.
Then, it began. The person to ask the first question was Rebekah since she requested the game. She asked Klaus the first question and it wasn’t long before the male got tipsy. For the rest of the game, Niklaus always seemed to be at the receiving end of disgusting and controversial dares and truths, before he decided to eventually take a nap beside his sister.
“I’m afraid I may have asked too many questions,” Rebekah joked as she caressed her older brother’s blond curls. “Shall we continue?”
And continue, you all did. But this time, Elijah was at the receiving end of the ridiculous truths and dares, and unlike Klaus, he had no secrets to tell and no reputation to uphold. He practically stayed sober that night.
“How would you feel to answer a question?” Elijah smiled at you as he pulled a stray hair behind your ear. You smiled in response and nodded. “Truth, dare or drink, my dear?”
“Truth,” you answered, and the older male smirked. In his eyes, you saw a glimpse of light where an idea was formed. As if he contemplated his decisions, he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth for a second, before he took a deep breath.
“Have you caught feelings for my brother?” He asked you, an eyebrow raised in a curious manner. He had been meaning to ask the question for months but never found the chance to.
“I…” you stuttered. His curious gaze had you tear yours away from his. It felt as if the air was getting thinner, and you weren't too sure what to say. “I guess Klaus is okay,” you told him, shakingly. You hadn’t answered the question properly and Elijah was peeved.
“You know well that’s not whom I speak of,” he told you, tilting his head to catch your lowered gaze. “I meant Kol.” His voice was hard – set in stone, he was so determined to get you to answer. If only you hadn’t answered the question in the first place, you wouldn’t have gotten in the situation.
Beside you, Kol smirked and gave his brother a thankful nod, but Elijah merely kept his strict façade and didn’t react to his younger brother’s gestures. Although Elijah wanted you to be happy, he wished Kol wasn’t at the interest of it. Out of everyone in the world, he wished Kol wasn’t in the top three for the causes of your happiness. He loved his brother, but he didn’t like the fact that you loved his brother.
With a hesitant nod, and your voice shaken, you told him, “Yes, I like Kol.” The couch against your back was suddenly the most comfortable piece of furniture you’d ever sat on, and you wanted nothing more but to be swallowed whole by it.
Elijah wasn’t surprised with your confession, nor was he happy. He was merely neutral with his expression as he stood. And with his head held high, he turned to his brother, “very well. Kol, truth or dare?” The eloquence in his speech only added to his intimidating nature.
But Rebekah wasn’t fazed, she was more so annoyed. As she raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes, she stood to shout at Elijah, “that’s not fair! It’s not your turn!” Still, Elijah didn’t peer at his sister, and kept his hard glare at his brother.
Kol wasn’t one to be easily intimidated, but Elijah was his older brother. Anyone smart should know that when Elijah is mad, you should be scared. So, with a shaky, quick glance to you and back to his brother, he almost whimpered, “dare?”
Elijah cracked a smile. “Very well, I dare you to leave.”
(I haven’t watched TO or written anything in ages so sorry if this is awful! Let me know what you guys think!)
Anxious and infuriated by Elijah’s ultimatum, you strode towards the door in question. However, just as you reached the threshold, you paused, foot hovering over the line. Did you really want to give this all up because of a pointless argument? After all the sacrifices you had made to be with Elijah, was this argument worth losing it all? Then again, were those sacrifices worth it? You were so tired, of fighting, of putting up with all the baggage that came with the Mikaelson family. But, you had never explained all this to Elijah. Maybe, you should give this one last go. Meanwhile, Elijah was holding his breath, waiting to see what your decision would be. After hesitating for another moment, you slowly turned to face him, a little afraid of what you would see in his face. It seemed worryingly blank, as if he was blocking you out. “I,” you began, but realised you didn’t know how to continue that sentence. Your eyes darted anxiously around the room, latching onto anything other than Elijah’s piercing gaze. You sighed, frustrated with your inability to articulate your feelings. You weren’t used to trying to explain what was going on in your head to him. “I shouldn’t have argued with Klaus like that, not today, and I’m sorry. It was a pointless argument,” you finally admitted. Elijah gave you a single curt nod in response, perhaps sensing that you had more to say than just this. “But...,” you started,” the thing is... I just...”
Elijah’s face softened upon noticing your obvious nerves, and the way you were struggling with whatever it was you wanted to say. “You can talk to me, Y/N. You’re supposed to be able to talk to me.” Even Elijah’s voice lacked its usual strength.
You took a deep breath. “I just feel like I’ll always be second to your family. No matter what I do, no matter how much I love you, and how awful they are and how many people they kill, they’ll always be a hundred times more important than me. And I just wonder whether you even want me here, or whether things would be easier for you if I just left and left you to clean up your siblings’ messes, as that’s all you seem to do anyway. It’s all you seem to want to do; I barely see you anymore.” You refused to meet Elijah’s eye during this whole speech, and let out the breath you had been holding as you finished. Despite being unsure of Elijah’s reaction, knowing that this could well be it for the two of you, you did feel better for finally saying what you had been wanting to say for so long.
“Y/N,” began Elijah, walking closer to you. You still avoided his gaze. “My family will always come first. I can’t help that. I made a vow.”
“Yeah, I know,” you muttered under your breath. You turned to leave, as Elijah had only confirmed what you already knew, but he reached for your hand and pulled you back to face him.
“But, that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. It doesn’t mean I don’t want you here. I am so sorry that you’ve felt like that, and I am being entirely honest when I tell you that I had no idea that you felt that way. The love I have for you isn’t outweighed by that I have for my siblings, they are entirely different. I choose to be with you, I enjoy being with you. Please, forgive me. Please. I would never wish to drive you away.”
You finally raised your eyes to meet Elijah’s, noting the sincerity you saw there. “I just want to know you care,” you admitted softly.
“Of course I care. Of course I do,” said Elijah, sadness tainting your voice. “Please, will you stay? I promise that I’ll make more time for you.” You nodded your assent, and Elijah folded you into a comforting hug, placing a kiss softly on your cheek. “I love you so much,” he whispered.
Request: Can u pls do some angst elijah mikaelson+reader where he fall out of love with her? He now has feeling for some other girl. He broke ur heart. U get drunk, crash a mikaelson party n make a mocking toast for the 'new' couple. Whatever happen after that is up to u. Thanks. -Anon
Words: 1,420
Warnings: Angst, cursing, drunk reader
A/N: I apologize if there are any mistakes, but I just wanted to have this posted in order for me to begin writing the next request.
⌑ Gif is not mine, and The Vampire Diaries/ The Originals characters don’t belong to me, but to their rightful owners
Two people strolled down the streets of New Orleans, hand in hand as they talked and laughed with one another. The busy streets were filled with life, groups of people walking along as they enjoy their night with festivities and what not. Lights hung from posts to posts and the quiet sounds of trumpets echoed through the streets.
Elijah decided on taking Y/N out to the parade, knowing that his girlfriend was fond of parades. Anything that seemed like a party was fine with her. The two stopped near the sidewalk to see people walking down the streets with costumes, masks, accessories and so on. Music echoing loudly against the buildings along with the crowd of people hollering and laughing.
Suddenly, Y/N threw some colorful beads around his neck and gave her vampire boyfriend a teasing smile.
“Those colors suit you. You should try more colors.”
Elijah blinked, his fingers grabbing a hold of the green and red beads around his neck before looking back at the (H/C) haired female. He reached down and placed a kiss onto her temple before wrapping his arms around her waist, nestling his chin on her shoulder.
“It’s the suit, isn't?”
Although the young female kept quiet, he knew her answer. She then turned her gaze upwards towards the sky, her eyes widen in wonder while a small smile spread across her face. The vampire took noticed of this and looked above them as well.
Despite the pitch black that covered the sky, the only thing that captured their attention were the bright objects that littered across the midnight sky. Stars of all shapes and sizes danced along in various patterns, causing a smile to form from Elijah.
“Aren’t they beautiful, ‘Lijah?”
He stayed quiet for a few seconds as he averted his gaze to look at his beloved before speaking, “Yes, you are.”
Y/N turned to look at her boyfriend, a look of confusion etched onto her face. Before she could even utter a word, Elijah reached down and pressed his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. Soon, they pull apart, though they rested their foreheads against each other and he began to speak,
“Stars can’t ever compare to your beauty, Y/N.”
As soon as that dream came, it ended. It’s been haunting you for months now, and you just never knew how to forget about it. Then again, memories shouldn't be forgotten.
You spent yet another day in your apartment, letting yourself cry in order to let out the pain that you’ve been enduring.
Ever since Elijah left you for Hayley, you were a sobbing mess. You constantly felt the ache in your chest grow and each breath you took felt as if it was your last one.
You hated this. You hated him, or so you thought. Despite the hurt he’s caused you, you could never hate him.
You suddenly stood in front of your mirror, your puffy eyes slowly trailing towards the edge of the object where you spotted a picture of you and Elijah. Immediately, you recognized that special day and the sudden realization brought you back to the darkness.
He took me to the beach... for my birthday.
That photo was all it took for you to finally break as your tears broke through their restraints. You clutched onto your baggy shirt and dropped to your knees. salty tears streaming down your cheeks yet again.
Why was it that the happiest memories hurt the most?
You found yourself at the Mystic Grill yet again for the.. how many times was it? Doesn't even matter anymore, you bitterly thought to yourself as you situated yourself onto one of the stools at the bar. You immediately raised your hand, knowing that the certain blonde haired friend of yours was expecting your arrival.
“I’m done with this, Y/N. You need to get over him and stop drowning down your feelings with alcohol,” Matt spoke as he placed his hands against the counter, his blue eyes starring straight at your (E/C) orbs with all seriousness.
“So, I’m taking it you don’t need the money then?”
It was silent between the both of you before he gave a small sigh and prepared your drink, reluctantly. With a smirk, you passed him a twenty dollar bill, knowing that he’d keep refilling your drink.
So, after a few drinks you were completely flat out drunk, yet you couldn’t stop. Your hands had gripped onto the glass cup, your eyes swiveling towards the back of your head in a distressed sense of a headache. Tilting your head back towards the edge of the seat, you allowed a long swing of the dark substance that affected you.
It didn't take long for Matt to step in to try and stop you from drinking, despite all the yelling that was coming from you.
“I need to go and you’re making this very difficult for me,” Matt growled and successfully took away the bottle from you.
Despite this, you blinked a few times to focus on him before letting out a small hiccup and asking, “W-Where are you going?”
He stayed quiet for a few seconds before he spoke, “The Mikaelson family is holding a party.”
He didn't want to have to tell you, but he knew you were going to find out sooner or later since the residents of Mystic Falls were invited.
You stayed quiet before letting a smile slip by.
“A party? Hm, well have fun.” You all but grumbled out drunkenly, standing up on your unsteady feet and leaving the bar.
They’re holding a party?
All right, you weren’t planning on attending the damn party, but here you were despite the state you were in.
While everyone wore formal clothing, you wore a pair of ripped jeans with your black boots, a white tank top and a black leather jacket.
You were calm, but deep down you felt anger bubbling in you like lava. You found yourself entering the house, your feet stumbling every so often, bumping into people but you ignored them.
Suddenly, your eyes spotted a certain person standing there in all their glory. You recognized it was Elijah, but he wasn’t alone. Hayley was beside him with her hands intertwined around his arm, and it made your blood boil even more.
Out of fury, you grabbed whatever cup of alcohol you could find before drowning the burning liquid.
You couldn’t help but glance over at the two from time to time. It hurt to see that Elijah was happy with someone else, and because of that a void grew in your heart.
Suddenly, all of the family stood on the staircase while addressing their thanks to the public. You bit your lower lip as a sudden idea came to you. It may not be a good one, but you didn't give a shit at that point.
You found yourself moving through the crowd, pushing people out of your way until you reached the staircase.
“Y/N -” Elijah questioned with wide eyes once you noticed you, but you simply turned to face the crowd and raised your cup of wine.
“I-I’d like to make a toast...for the Mikaelson’s and to welcome them to Mystic Falls, but -” You smiled, a small burp leaving your lips as you pointed a finger towards your ex-boyfriend and his girlfriend, Hayley.
“I want to c-congratulate this man for making me realize what an asshole and a-a lying piece of shit he is.” Your voiced hissed out in hatred and your eyes began to cloud with tears.
The room was quiet, shock written in everyones faces except for Elijah. He still managed to keep his stoic expression, though deep down he felt guilty.
He knew what he did hurt you, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself. He couldn’t keep lying to you.
You inhaled sharply and flickered your eyes back to Elijah with your pearl-shaped tears streaming down your red cheeks.
I still love you.
“I hope you have a great, shitty life together.”
I still love you, Elijah.
You ran to your apartment after that. You didn’t want to have to see his face another minute, but you knew that it was time to put yourself together.
It wasn't fair for you to feel like this, and you decided enough was enough.
So, here you were packing all your things and placing them in your car. This was going to be the beginning of a new chapter for you and for once you felt happy.
!Elijah is left defending what is his. With witches prying and wolves circling, how far will he go to protect the woman he loves and the child they created?
For a time, the violence settled into silence.
The bodies disappeared. The whispers softened. Mystic Falls returned to its practiced denial, as though bloodshed were merely an inconvenient rumor. But inside the quiet of Elijah’s home, something had shifted into something softer.
He did not leave you alone anymore.
Not in a suffocating way. Not in a way that felt like confinement. But he was present in the small, deliberate ways that mattered.
He insisted on cooking for you, even if he only pretended to taste what he prepared.
He ran baths before you asked for them, adjusting the temperature with careful precision before guiding you gently toward the tub.
He would kneel beside the tub sometimes, sleeves rolled just enough to keep the fabric dry, his fingers tracing slow circles along your arm as you leaned back against porcelain and heat.
Later, when you stood wrapped in a towel, he would help you dry your hair with slow, attentive movements, his touch gentle but certain. His lips would brush your shoulder absently, then linger just slightly longer the next time.
He began touching your stomach absentmindedly, as though it had become an extension of you he was instinctively guarding.
“You’re staring again,” you teased one evening when you caught his gaze fixed on the curve of your stomach beneath one of his borrowed shirts.
He stepped closer instead of denying it.
“I am memorizing,” he said quietly.
“Memorizing what?”
“This.”
His hand settled flat against your abdomen, thumb sweeping slow arcs across the fabric. The contact was not clinical. It was intimate. As though he were grounding himself in the existence of something he had once believed impossible.
You covered his hand with yours. “You do that a lot.”
“I find it… centering.”
"You can't feel anything yet."
His thumb moved in slow circles anyway. “That does not mean I cannot sense it.”
You leaned back against the pillows. “Sense what?”
He paused.
“Presence.”
The word lingered.
You studied him more closely then. “Are you scared?”
His gaze lifted to yours.
“I am vigilant,” he corrected softly.
That wasn’t the same thing.
Later that night, when he thought you were asleep, you felt his hand rest over your stomach again. You felt his lips brush lightly against your temple. You felt him murmur something too quiet for you to catch.
For the first time since the attacks began, you allowed yourself to believe you might be safe.
One night, as rain tapped gently against the windows, you found him standing close behind you near the bedroom mirror. His reflection loomed just behind yours, hands resting at your hips, his fingers splayed gently as if confirming you were real.
“You are tired,” he observed.
“I’m fine.”
“You are stubborn.”
You turned slightly in his hold. “You like that.”
The corner of his mouth curved faintly. “Immensely.”
His hand slid slowly from your hip to the small of your back, guiding you closer without force. There was no urgency in him — only intention. He lowered his mouth to your shoulder, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just where your neck met your collarbone. The warmth of it traveled through you instantly.
“Elijah,” you murmured, breath unsteady.
He did not answer immediately. Instead, his lips traced a careful path upward along your neck. His hand tightened fractionally at your waist when you leaned back into him.
“You should tell me if you wish me to stop,” he said softly against your skin.
“You’d know,” you whispered.
His mouth brushed just beneath your ear, and you felt the faintest hint of a smile against your pulse. “Humor me.”
You turned fully toward him then, your hands sliding up the front of his shirt. The fabric was crisp beneath your fingers, familiar now. He looked down at you with that steady, composed intensity — but there was warmth beneath it. A hunger he refused to let rule him.
Your fingers caught in his lapel and pulled him closer.
This time when he kissed you, it was slower than before, but deeper. His hand cupped your jaw gently, thumb brushing along your cheekbone before sliding into your hair. The kiss wasn’t frantic — it was thorough. He tasted you like he was committing the moment to memory.
When your breath faltered, he adjusted instinctively, his other hand spreading protectively across your stomach as if even in intimacy, he remained aware of what you carried.
“You are remarkable,” he murmured softly when he pulled back just enough to speak.
“That’s bias,” you replied, breath still uneven.
“It is certainty.”
His lips found yours again, and this time the kiss lingered longer — warm and deliberate. His hand traced slowly down your spine, anchoring you against him, careful not to press too hard, careful not to forget your condition.
Even in desire, he was restrained.
Even in restraint, he was consuming.
When he finally rested his forehead against yours, his breathing steady but deeper than before, you felt it — the shift from protector to something gentler.
The next afternoon, the rain had cleared.
Sunlight filtered cleanly through the trees, washing the house in pale gold as though nothing violent had ever touched it. The air felt lighter, almost deceptively calm, and for the first time in days you woke without tension sitting heavy in your chest.
Elijah was already awake when you opened your eyes.
He stood near the window, jacket on, posture straight, watching the quiet street below with the stillness of someone who did not trust silence. When he turned toward you, his expression softened instantly.
“You slept,” he observed.
“I did.”
“That is reassuring.”
You pushed yourself upright slowly, stretching carefully. “It’s nice out.”
His gaze lingered on you a moment longer than usual. Assessing.
“It is,” he agreed.
“I want to go for a walk,” you added.
There was the faintest pause.
Not refusal.
Calculation.
“I will accompany you.”
“I don’t need an escort.”
“I am not escorting you,” he replied evenly. “I am joining you.”
You studied him for a second, then smiled faintly. “Fine.”
He crossed the room and helped you stand, his hand settling instinctively at your waist. Not restraining. Not controlling. Just there.
Outside, the world felt ordinary again. Birds returned to their branches. The breeze carried the faint scent of damp earth. For a few moments, it was easy to forget the way the supernatural world had begun circling you.
Elijah remained at your side as you stepped onto the trail near the tree line, his presence steady, watchful — though he said nothing.
If he felt the shift before you did, he did not show it.
But the woods had grown very quiet.
Not calm — just quiet.
The werewolves did not announce themselves with magic or curiosity.
They announced themselves with instinct.
You felt them before you saw them.
The woods grew unnaturally quiet. Not the stillness of calm, but the stillness of something waiting.
You stopped walking.
A low growl sounded from somewhere behind you.
Your stomach tightened immediately — sharper than before.
Three figures stepped out from between the trees.
They weren’t transformed. Not fully. But their eyes glowed faintly, and their posture carried that unmistakable predatory tension.
One of them spoke first. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
“That line’s getting old,” you said, though your voice trembled slightly.
“You don’t understand what you’re carrying,” another said. “That thing disrupts the pack.”
“I’m not a thing,” you snapped.
The third wolf moved faster than the others.
You barely had time to step back before his hand wrapped around your wrist and yanked you forward.
Pain flared instantly where he gripped you.
“Let go,” you demanded, struggling against the unnatural strength.
“We’re not going to kill you,” he said. “We just need you somewhere contained.”
Contained.
The word hit colder than anything else.
Your stomach twisted violently, and this time the pain was sharper — sudden and pulsing. It wasn’t just defensive.
It felt angry.
The wolves flinched almost in unison.
“What the hell was that?” one muttered.
The one holding you tightened his grip and pulled harder, dragging you toward the tree line.
You stumbled, panic surging fully now.
“Elijah!” you screamed in horror.
The sound tore from you before you could think.
The wolf didn’t make it three more steps.
He flew backward so violently that the crack of his spine against a tree echoed through the woods.
Elijah moved like something unleashed.
He did not speak.
He did not warn.
He was on the second wolf before the first hit the ground, fingers curling around his throat and lifting him clear off his feet. There was no hesitation this time. No measured threat.
The snap of bone was immediate.
The third wolf attempted to shift, bones cracking mid-transformation.
Elijah did not allow it to complete.
He grabbed him mid-movement and slammed him into the earth hard enough to fracture it. The violence was not theatrical — it was controlled brutality.
When it was over, the woods were silent again.
Too silent.
Elijah stood in the center of it, breathing unnecessarily hard, his control visibly fractured in a way you had never seen before.
He turned toward you.
For a second, he didn’t move.
As though confirming you were still standing.
Then he crossed the distance between you in an instant and pulled you into him so tightly it almost hurt.
“Are you harmed?” His voice was no longer perfectly steady.
Your hands clutched his jacket. “No, but they were going to take me.”
His jaw flexed.
Your stomach still ached faintly beneath his hand.
He noticed immediately.
“Does it hurt again?” he asked.
“It’s fading,” you whispered.
His hand spread protectively over your abdomen again, and this time it wasn’t gentle reverence.
It was possessive.
“They will learn,” he said quietly, though his tone held something darker now.
You pulled back slightly to look at him.
His eyes were darker than you had ever seen them.
“You scared me,” you admitted softly.
His expression shifted immediately.
“I frightened you?”
“No,” you said quickly. “The thought of losing you.”
That landed.
Something in him steadied.
He brushed his thumb gently across your cheek, wiping away tears you hadn’t realized had fallen.
“You will not be taken,” he said quietly. “Not while I am breathing.”
And this time, it did not sound like a promise.
It sounded like a warning.
The house was too quiet.
After the violence in the woods, after Elijah had returned with you in his arms and refused to release you for nearly an hour, exhaustion finally caught up with you. Not the kind that sleep fixes. The kind that settles into your bones after adrenaline leaves your system.
You lay curled on your side beneath heavy blankets, the room dim except for the soft glow of a single lamp. Elijah sat beside you, jacket discarded somewhere near the door, sleeves rolled, one hand resting instinctively over your stomach.
He had not moved it once.
“I’m fine,” you murmured for what felt like the tenth time.
His thumb traced a slow arc across the fabric of your shirt. “You were nearly taken.”
“But I wasn’t.”
His jaw tightened faintly.
You shifted slightly, and that was when the pain began.
It wasn’t sharp at first.
Just pressure.
Low and tightening.
You frowned.
Elijah felt it before you spoke.
His hand stilled. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” you said quietly. “It’s just… tight.”
The pressure deepened suddenly, stealing your breath.
Your fingers gripped the sheets.
“Elijah.”
He was on his feet instantly.
The tightening became something else — deeper, insistent. Not the defensive flare you had felt before.
This was different.
“Elijah,” you repeated, panic creeping into your voice now. “It hurts.”
He knelt in front of you, both hands bracketing your face gently. “Breathe.”
“I’m not supposed to— it’s too soon.”
His eyes darkened.
“How far along?” he asked quietly.
You swallowed hard. “Too early.”
Another contraction seized through you, and this one made you cry out despite yourself.
Elijah did not panic.
But something in him sharpened to a dangerous degree.
“I will call a physician,” he said.
“No hospital,” you breathed immediately. “They’ll— they’ll ask questions.”
He knew you were right.
He pressed his forehead briefly to yours.
“Then we will manage this here.”
The next hours blurred.
Pain.
Pressure.
Elijah’s steady voice anchoring you every time your breathing fractured.
“You are stronger than this pain.”
“You are not alone.”
“Look at me.”
He never left your side. Never faltered. Even when you gripped his shirt so tightly the fabric tore, he did not move.
And then—
Silence.
The pain vanished as abruptly as it had come.
You heard it before you saw him.
A cry.
Sharp.
Strong.
Alive.
Elijah froze.
You barely registered the tears sliding down your temples before he was lifting the small, impossibly warm body into his hands with a reverence that bordered on disbelief.
For a second — just a second — he did not speak.
He simply looked.
Dark hair.
Tiny fists.
“He’s breathing,” you whispered weakly, almost as a question.
Elijah swallowed.
“Yes.”
He brought the baby to you slowly, carefully, as though the world might fracture if he moved too quickly.
“He is… perfect,” he said quietly.
You let out a shaky breath as the weight of your son settled against your chest.
“He’s early,” you murmured. “Is he okay?”
Elijah’s hand hovered over the child, not touching at first — sensing.
“He is stronger than he should be,” he said softly.
That sounded like relief.
The baby’s cries softened almost immediately when Elijah’s finger brushed lightly against his tiny hand.
The grip that followed was instinctive.
Strong.
Elijah went very still.
Your son’s small fingers wrapped firmly around one of his.
The room seemed to narrow around that contact.
“He knows you,” you whispered.
Elijah’s composure fractured for the first time that night.
His free hand came to rest over yours and the baby’s both, enclosing the three of you together.
“You are extraordinary,” he murmured, but this time the words were not meant for you.
They were meant for him.
You watched him carefully.
“You’re crying,” you said softly.
He did not deny it.
The tears were silent.
Unapologetic.
He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead before lowering his lips gently to the crown of your son’s head.
“I will burn the world before I allow harm to come to either of you,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t a threat.
It was a promise.
And in the stillness of that room, with your newborn son curled against your chest and Elijah’s hand resting protectively over both of you, the balance of the supernatural world shifted once more.
Not because of violence.
But because something impossible had taken its first breath.
