#klonnieweek2025

[original-szajnie]

Klonnie Weekend 2025: Fake Dating

It starts, as these things often do in her life, with a threat.

Bonnie is on her way home from her first actual date she’s been on since Jeremy kissed a ghost. Probably her first actual date, period, she considers with a twinge. Nothing special, just burgers and fries at the Grill—but she’s feeling kind of good. Lip gloss still intact. Curls still bouncing. And then—

“Witch.”

She freezes, one hand tightening around the strap of her purse. There’s mace inside, but she knows that won’t do any good. The night air had been warm against her skin, scented with honeysuckle and the last ghost of spring rain, but now she feels a shiver run up her spine.

“Witch,” he repeats like she hadn’t heard him the first time. Like her fight or flight hadn’t just kicked into overdrive and he can’t hear the frantic tattoo of her heart. She takes a breath, turning slowly.

And, yup, there he is.

Klaus ‘kill everyone you’ve ever loved’ Mikaelson standing beneath the shadows of a broken street-lamp, calm and terrible and annoyingly unruffled for midnight.

“Hybrid,” she greets in return, because why not.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

For a moment, he says nothing more. Just lets his gaze sweep her from head to foot in an indolent appraisal that has her spine snapping tight and magic humming beneath her skin.

That twitch becomes a smirk. “Relax, little witch. I’m not here to fight.”

“Then what are you here for?” She asks.

“I need your assistance,” he says, like it was a favor, like he hadn’t attempted to murder her best friend less than a year ago and threatened to dismember her in at least three different ways.

She folds her arms. “Why would I help you?”

Klaus opens his mouth—almost certainly to offer some graphic promise of death or dismemberment—but she cuts him off. “You know what, don’t. I get it. Carnage, pain, everyone I love in pieces. Classic. What is it this time? Linking spell? Did you lock Elijah in a coffin and lose the key?”

She has no idea where this sass is coming from and the survival instinct in her brain is screaming at her to ‘shut up’ but every time she quips, that mouth twitches and she can see the faintest hint of…dimples?

“Nothing so terrible,” he replies, tone light. “A bit of your witchy blood, a small incantation, and then—poof—you’re free to resume whatever terribly dull life you’re leading.” He holds an arm out as if to usher her along.

She blinks. “What? Now?”

”No time like the present.”

Bonnie grumbles, under her breath, just the teeniest bit defiant, because damn it, she’s tired, and she wants a good night’s sleep, and really was it so much to ask that date night not be a bust—when Klaus’s next words stop her mid-ramble.

“You smell like grease.”

She looks at him, eyes narrowing. “I smell like Daisy.”

“Yes, your floral perfume is there, as is your usual, inviting earthy scent. But you do smell like grease and burgers.”

She had an earthy scene? It was ‘inviting’? Nevermind that. “I was at the Grill.” Why is she explaining herself to him?

”The Grill.” His lip curls. “For a date?”

“Uh, yeah.”

He pauses again, looks at the empty street, then back to her. Then, disdainful: “And where is this date of yours?”

”Trevor has practi—“

”Trevor?” Klaus seems positively revolted by the name. “Trevor?” Klaus repeats, like the word itself is offensive. “You let a boy named Trevor take you on a date?”

Bonnie crosses her arms tighter. “It’s not that serious.”

“Clearly,” he mutters. “He abandoned you at the curb and didn’t even walk you to your door.”

Bonnie scowls. “Like I was saying—he has practice in the morning.”

Klaus’s eyes narrow. “So he left you alone. At night. After burgers. In Mystic Falls. Where half the population seems to be supernatural and the other half perpetually under threat.”

She blinks. “…Are you lecturing me right now?”

“No,” he says, too quickly. “But if I were, it would be well deserved.”

“Oh my god.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is not happening.”

Klaus takes a deliberate step closer, hands clasped behind his back like some academic lecturer about to give a lesson. “Dating as a concept emerged in the early 20th century, particularly in the 1920s. This shift was influenced by factors like women's increased participation in society, and their involvement in selecting partners without familial obligations.”

Oh. Shit. It is a lecture.

“A date should be a celebration of that choice,” he continued. “Something more than meat and mediocrity. A date, when done right, is the art of showing appreciation. Of anticipation.” He let his gaze wander over her face, lingering on her lips before back to her eyes. “The beginning of seduction.”

She ignores the way heat creeps up her neck, into her cheeks. the way her pulse is still racing, but not from fear…more like the anticipation he’s told her about. And she absolutely ignores the way her mouth feels heavy under his gaze, lips wanting to part.

“No wonder we couldn’t tell you apart from Alaric,” she comments, taking a step back. “Giving lectures nobody asked for.” She turns toward her front door. “Look, it’s late. Some of us aren’t nocturnal, so if it’s not life or death, I’m going to bed. You’ll get your blood and your spell tomorrow.”

He doesn’t grab her arm. Doesn’t halt her, so she takes that as permission. She barely makes it up the step before his voice halts her again, lower now, silk-wrapped iron: “Let me show you.”

She holds the key in the knob, but doesn’t turn. “Show me what?”

“What it should be. A date. Not a sloppy imitation done by the likes of boys named Trevor.”

Bonnie glances at him over her shoulder, trying to decide if he’s actually serious. He is. Of course he is. His expression is maddeningly sincere, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that feels a little too close to temptation.

“You want to take me on a date?”

“Not a real one,” he clarifies. “A demonstration. A model. One you can hold up against future offers and reject them accordingly.”

She sighs, turning the key. Honestly, she doesn’t have the energy for this. “You’re doing this to mock me.”

“I’m doing this,” Klaus says smoothly, “because it is offensive to the very concept of courtship that someone like you doesn’t know what it should feel like.”

“Goodnight, Klaus.” She steps through, closing the door behind her. She locks it for good measure.

He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t press. Which, in hindsight, should’ve been the first clue.

The next evening, Bonnie lights a candle on her nightstand, just like Grams taught her. Mugwort and bay for clarity, lavender to soothe. She’s in an oversized Metallica T-shirt, hair twisted up, just beginning to cue up an old episode of Criminal Minds when she feels it—the subtle flex of power against her magic.

There’s a knock.

Polite, for once. Which is exactly why it unnerves her.

She debates on ignoring it.

She’s already sent him her blood, cast the spell—a simple binding on a grimoire—preventing anyone but him (and oddly, herself) from opening it.

He knocks again. Three short, evenly spaced raps.

Bonnie sighs, blowing a curl from her eyes and opens the door. She’s tempted to tell him that she’s going to start charging by the hour. He can afford it. But all of her snark dies in her throat the moment she sees him.

Klaus stands on her porch in tailored dark clothes—not quite a suit, but deliberate. Dark slacks, a crisp open collar, sleeves rolled to the forearm. In his hands: a lush bouquet of dusky red peonies and soft white jasmine. They smell like twilight and stolen things.

“I said no,” Bonnie says automatically, though it lacks any heat.

He tilts his head. “Odd. I didn’t hear ‘no’. I heard: ‘Goodnight, Klaus.’”

He’s technically correct, which is her least favorite kind of correct. She’s about to tell him no, in no uncertain terms, when he continues.

“I’m already here, love. Terrible form to deny me now.” He holds the flowers toward her.

They are gorgeous, full, flawless blooms and rich heady scent. It’s the first time anyone has ever gotten her any.

She should toss them into the bin.

Instead, she takes them with a muttered, “You’re insufferable.”

He grins. “Still not a no.”

”You’re not going to let this go are you?”

He doesn’t respond, but it’s on his face.

Bonnie shakes her head. “Fine. Wait here.” She’s not about to invite him in.

When she returns, it’s in a cream-colored blouse edged in lace, tucked into a flowy patterned skirt that swirls when she walks. Her hair is down, loose, natural, around her shoulders. She doesn’t bother with make-up or jewelry.

This isn’t really a date.

It’s a lesson.

She’ll treat it as such.

Which turns out to be harder than it sounds.

Because when Klaus sees her—his expression shifts. Not his usual appraising calculation—something quieter. A little softer. Like the sight of her in moonlight and lace might actually be beautiful.

“Ready?” he asks, voice dipped low.

Bonnie inhales and exhales a deep breath. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He offers his arm.

She doesn’t take it—not at first—but then he cocks his head, eyebrow raised in challenge.

She tosses him a look, but links her elbow through his, annoyed at how natural it feels. The scent of his cologne is faint—spiced woods and something wilder. She breathes it in before she can stop herself.

She expects a car, chandeliers, a compelled maître d’. Something grotesquely extravagant, probably featuring a string quartet and gold utensils. Something that shows how unlimited his influence actually is. A show of arrogance.

So she’s surprised when Klaus walks her two blocks down the street, cutting across a small wooden bridge near the edge of town. He leads her through a narrow, pebbled trail behind the old library. When the path opens up, her breath catches.

It’s a clearing tucked beneath a canopy of weeping willows, their branches sweeping low and silver in the moonlight. It smells like crushed herbs, clean earth, and something sweet—berries, maybe. Or honey.

The grass is soft and wild, the ground scattered with dandelions and moss. In the center is a picnic blanket—thick, deep red, clean despite the earth—and set atop it are small lanterns glowing like fireflies.

On the blanket: fresh bread, a jar of dark jam, cold chicken sliced and wrapped neatly in wax paper. Cheese. Tiny peaches. A bottle of wine, no label, no cork—sealed with wax.

Bonnie stops short.

Klaus watches her reaction the way a painter watches a canvas take color. “The Grill is beneath you,” is all he says.

She really doesn’t know what to say to that so she keeps her silence.

He holds her hand as she lowers herself to the blanket—keeping her steady. After that it’s a handful of small things that ripple through the night.

He pours the wine for her. Offers a cloth napkin. Cuts the peach with the knife she was eyeing but didn’t want to reach for.

“This,” Klaus murmurs, handing her the fruit, “is only one form of appreciation.”

“Food as appreciation? I can see that,” she says, biting into a slice.

He hums. “Most people don’t.”

She hates that she kind of agrees with him. Most people overlook the little gestures.

They eat slowly. The chicken is seasoned with something fragrant—rosemary or maybe thyme. The bread is soft. The cheese, sharp. Bonnie lets herself enjoy it, a little. She hasn’t had a meal that hadn’t involved a microwave in longer than she can remember.

When they talk, it’s not about the usual things. No magic. No threats. No blood.

Klaus tells her about Florence in the 1500s and how Italian peaches used to be bitter until witches started grafting sweetness into the skin. She listens in spite of herself. Finds his occasional biting commentary both snobbish and amusing.

She thinks, briefly, he looks almost human like this.

So when he asks, “What do you think about?”

She answers.

Maybe because it’s not real.

There’s no pressure to perform. No masks to wear. No expectations to meet.

She doesn’t have to be the strong one for him. The one who doesn’t ask—who gives.

She tells him about Grams. About how quiet the kitchen feels now and how sometimes, the smell of jasmine makes her cry without knowing why. She tells him that she used to dream of traveling the world, but now she just dreams of finding a small place in it.

He listens. Like she’s the only thing that matters.

And that, more than anything, is what undoes her.

Not the wine. Not the food. Not even the way the moonlight threads silver through his lashes.

It’s that he sees her. And seems to like what he sees.

She doesn’t trust it.

But, for tonight, for this moment, she lets herself have it.

By the time he walks her back into town, the moon is low and the shadows are long. The wine has left her warm. Drowsy.

He doesn’t leave her at the curb. He walks her all the way to her porch.

“Well,” she says, clearing her throat. “Thanks for the fake date.”

Klaus arches a brow. “Fake?”

“I mean—model. Example? Lesson.” She settles on.

His eyes gleam. “The night’s not over,” he tells her, stepping forward, just close enough for her to feel the heat of him. “And for clarification—this part,” he says, voice velvet-dark, “is very real.”

He leans in, slow and deliberate. And he kisses her.

Not a demand. Not a possession. Just a touch—warm, slow, reverent.

Like she’s something precious.

Like he’s tasting the possibility of something he hasn’t dared name.

And Bonnie…Bonnie lets him.

For a second too long, maybe. Or maybe just long enough.

He tastes like peaches and wine.

When she finally pulls back, it’s not with a slap or a spell or even a warning.

It’s with a soft exhale. A breath they both feel.

She opens her eyes, and he’s still watching her—closely. Carefully.

His expression isn’t smug. It isn’t triumphant. It’s something… else. Almost hesitant. Like he was expecting the slap or the spell.

A heartbeat passes, then another, and finally he whispers, “Goodnight, Bonnie,” quiet and sure.

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t trust her voice.

Just steps back through the door and closes it quietly. She doesn’t lock it.

[thebennettdiaries]

Klonnie Weekend 2025: Forced Proximity

No one said working with your enemy was easy. In fact, Bonnie has conjured up at least one hundred ways to kill him before they even reach their destination. She blames her overactive imagination on the fact that she has been stuck in this car with him for nearly six hours. That is far too much time --- especially when she catches him smiling at her obvious irritation. Before this is said and done, she's putting hands on him. That's for sure. (she just doesn't understand that when it finally does happen, she will be desperate to tear at his clothes as his mouth finds her pulse point --- that she will be so far gone to even care at that point; no, she doesn't know that yet)

[klonnieshippersclub]

Just Nik

It’s Day 3 of Klonnie Weekend, and the prompt is “Arranged Marriage!” Inspired by Queen Charlotte, Bonnie's already planning her escape from a marriage she never wanted. But when she runs into a handsome stranger in the garden, things take an unexpected turn.

The gown was too tight, the jewels too heavy, and the garden wall far higher than it looked. Bonnie hiked up her skirts, braced her foot on the ivy, and scrambled over with a graceless thud into the grass below. She ran away from the palace, the altar, and the judgmental eyes of the court.

Then, from the hedges, a figure emerged. He wasn’t a guard. Or a royal. Just boots, an open shirt, and eyes that watched her in confusion.

“Forgive me,” Bonnie said breathlessly. “Are you lost?”

The man chuckled. “That depends. Are you offering directions or looking for a companion?”

“I’m offering nothing.” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless you know of any women nearby willing to take my place.”

“Your place?”

“In this gown. At that altar. In that life.”

The man looked her up and down, slowly. “Doubtful.”

“Doubtful?”

“I doubt any woman would look half as good in that gown as you do. A beautiful woman,” he said, “is not so easily replaced.”

Bonnie was startled by his flattery. “That’s not even the point!”

He smirked. “Oh, forgive me. What is the point?”

“This was never supposed to be my wedding. Or marriage. My mother left years ago—fled the country, left her debts behind. And now I’m the one meant to pay for it all. With this.” She gestured to the palace behind them.

“I see,” the man said quietly.

“You’re handsome,” Bonnie said bluntly. “Surely you know women—young women—who would gladly marry a king.”

“Most women,” he said, “would give anything to be a queen.”

“Well, I don’t care for titles.” She crossed her arms.

“Strange sentiment. Why do you care so little for power?”

“Because I’d rather have freedom.”

That gave him pause.

He tilted his head. “And where have you not been free?”

Bonnie sighed. “Everywhere. My entire life, I’ve been the one who cares. Who gives. Who cleans up. Who stays behind. Now I’m meant to marry a man I’ve never met, live for him, breathe for him, bear his children, and what do I get in return? Nothing. I don’t know anyone here. I have no allies. No way out.”

She took a breath. “Running away is an act of treason. But staying feels worse.”

The man folded his arms, thoughtful. “Power,” he said, “is freedom. You could have anything you wanted. No one would force you to do anything. Not as queen.”

She looked at him. “And what if the king doesn’t agree with what I want?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Then the king would be a fool.”

That startled a laugh out of her.

“You’re kind,” she said. “But it’s still a terrible idea to go back.”

“Perhaps.”

“There has to be another woman who’d take this life. This crown.” She looked at him. “What do you think of the name McCullough?”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

“Or Annie. Annie McCullough. I’ll need a new name if I’m to disappear. Something… plain. Easy to forget. I’ll have to be comfortable never seeing my family again.”

“It’s a fine name,” he said carefully. “But not as fine as Bonnie Bennett.”

She smiled, barely. “You like alliteration?”

“Quite.”

“Shame,” she said, voice quieter. “I don’t want there to be a wedding. I’ve heard things about the groom.”

He arched a brow. “Things?”

“Terrible rumors. That he’s cruel. Cold. Aggressive.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “He might be a monster.”

“Mm,” he said. “He might.”

“You already know my name. Shouldn’t I know yours?”

He hesitated—just for a moment. Then offered a hand.

“Klaus,” he said. “But you can call me Nik. Just Nik.”

Bonnie took his hand, and he placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For the kindness. I know I’m… dramatic.”

He bowed his head. “Not at all. It’s not every day a beautiful woman runs away from marrying me.”

Bonnie stiffened. “What?”

“I mean,” Nik added casually, “a mere hour before the ceremony, no less. Very theatrical.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. “I—what?”

He smiled wider now, teeth flashing. “Cold feet, was it?”

She gasped, face flooding with heat. “I didn’t mean—I was joking! I mean—of course I wasn’t really leaving. That would be treason! Beheadable treason!”

Nik chuckled. “Relax, darling. You weren’t wrong. Most people are terrified of me.”

She stared at him. “So… you’re the king.”

“I am.”

“And you let me ramble about fake names and treason?”

“I liked hearing what you had to say.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t speak to me like a king.” His gaze softened. “You spoke like someone who wanted something real.”

She examined him with uncertainty. “And what do you want?”

“Someone who challenges me,” Nik said. “Someone who doesn’t bow unless she damn well chooses to. Someone who tells me when I’m being a nightmare.”

Bonnie studied him. “You might regret saying that.”

“I might,” he agreed. “But I don’t think I will.”

[cancerian-woman]

A late KlonnieWeek post for the MatchMaker day.

KLONNIE AU|Cruel Chemistry: Katherine wants to ruin Elena’s life. First, step is going after Elena’s favorite Bennett-witch and pushing her into someone darker’s arms.

Teaser:

“Bonnie!” Katherine yelled, knocking harder on the witch’s door. She could hear her tiny feet pit-patting on the floor.

Bonnie peaked out her windows from her living room and sighed. Curly bouncy brunette hair, cleavage out and a leather jacket? This was Katherine, ruining her leisure time. That consisted of popcorn eating, drinking expensive wine and watching tv. Bonnie purposefully distanced herself from her friends after finding out Jeremy cheated. She understands they are not to blame, but she isn't ready to confront the situation yet.

Bonnie rolled her eyes, pulled her robe closer to her body and opened her front door. “What do you want?”

“Klaus is going to seek you out soon,” Katherine said, looking over at the witch who wasn’t fazed by the comment. Looking at Bonnie in her robe made her seem smaller than usual. “You should give him a chance.”

“A chance to what?” Bonnie questioned, leaning on her front door. “Beg for a spell?”

Katherine facepalmed in annoyance. “He has a little obsession with you. You’re powerful. You tried to kill him, and you don’t fall for his tricks. I am merely telling you your advantage.”

“Yeah, it’s my magic he and everyone else wants,” Bonnie said, dryly. She folded her arms looking Katherine up and down. “Why tell me this? What are you getting out of this?”

Katherine grinned deviously. Ruining Elena’s life starts with taking out her friends. Caroline’s insecurities were fun to toy with but Elena didn’t hardly feel as much for the blonde as she did the Bennett witch. The love, loyalty, and admiration from a Bennett witch was a luxury. One that Katherine is intended to destroy for Elena.

“Klaus likes witches and helping him get a pretty little Bennett witch clears my problems with him,” Katherine said, flipping her hair.

Read the rest: here

[mythorhuman]

Spell & Vow

The Vampire King of New Orleans stood bored beneath a crystal chandelier. Klaus half-listening to a werewolf envoy drone on about territory lines. The immortal hybrid, royal menace, charming bastard, was many things—but tonight, he was a prisoner in silk and shadows.

Until she walked in.

Not walked—glided. Like smoke, like spellwork.

A woman in black. Magic humming around her like a second skin. Her gaze skimmed the room with detached interest before landing on him. For one breathless second, Klaus thought the world had slowed.

He abandoned the envoy mid-sentence.

“Let me guess,” he said, appearing at her side, “you’re the goddess they sent to put me out of my misery?”

The woman barely spared him a glance. “If I were, you’d already be ash.”

Klaus laughed. “Deadly and beautiful. Do all the witches from Salem flirt with murder?”

She sipped her drink. “Only when charmed by narcissists with blood on their breath.”

Undeterred, Klaus leaned in. “You’re new to New Orleans. I’d remember a face like yours.”

“That’s the thing about powerful women,” she replied coolly. “We leave an impression without even trying.”

He was officially intrigued. She was nothing like the simpering vampire socialites craving attention. She was no desperate witch aching for favor. This one was steel wrapped in lace, and she looked at him like he was a mosquito.

“Tell me your name,” Klaus said, voice low, seductive.

“No.”

“No?”

“You’ll learn it soon enough.”

He tilted his head. “Are we playing a game, love?”

“Only if losing bruises your ego.”

Klaus smiled. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

She met his eyes, unflinching. “I have no reason not to be.”

“Then let me give you one.” His voice dropped. “Dance with me. Let the room watch.”

She laughed in his face. Her face full of disbelief.

“You think a dance is all it takes? That because you’re the Vampire King , women just melt at your feet?”

“They usually do,” he admitted.

“Well, handsome,” she said, stepping back, “I’m not usual. And you’re not nearly as charming as you think.”

Klaus was halfway between insulted and enamored. “You wound me.”

“I’d aim lower,” she said. “But I don’t want to damage your pride too early. We’ve got a long engagement ahead of us.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

She tilted her head, all innocence. “Oh. You don’t know.”

“Know what?”

She held out her hand, palm up, magic sparking like a whisper of thunderclouds. “Bonnie Bennett. Firstborn heir of the Salem witches. Ph.D. candidate. Fluent in Latin. Terrible at compromise. Your betrothed, apparently.”

Klaus stared. Openly. Speechless.

Bonnie smirked. “Surprise.”

He recovered with a slow, incredulous smile. “Well. That is… unexpectedly delightful.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Because I’m still deciding whether this whole marriage thing is a political disaster or just a cosmic joke.”

“I’m sure I’ll grow on you,” Klaus purred.

“Like fungus?”

He chuckled. “You’ve got teeth, love.”

“Good. You’ll need thick skin.”

She turned to walk away.

Klaus called after her, amused and aroused, “You know, I’m suddenly much more excited about this union.”

She looked back over her shoulder, eyes glowing faintly. “Don’t be. You’re still the last man on earth I’d choose.”

[deadlyflames]

Klonnie Weekend – Arranged Marriage (From strangers to soulmates?)

I was slacking this weekend! I’m sorry Klonnie fam! This one shot is based off this post . Hope you guys like it!

AO3

Xxx

It was always the same dream, ever since she was a child.

She’s a little girl, standing in the middle of a meadow of purple flowers.

A young boy stands in front of her. She watches his dirty blond hair turn to gold in the sunlight as he bends down and ties something around her wrist.

He pulls back quickly once he is finished and his hands drop to his sides in clenched fists. The boy’s stormy blue eyes regard her with trepidation as she examines the bracelet he had tied off.

The design of the wooden pendant never changes and the details remain clear in her mind even after she wakes up. It’s shaped like a butterfly with the intricate designs carefully carved into the wings, attached to a simple leather strap.

No matter how many times she sees it, the bracelet makes her insides burst with a flurry of butterflies.

She can’t stop herself from smiling.

“It’s beautiful!” she declares as she holds her wrist up and admires the bracelet. “I love it.”

The boy looks up at her then with wide nervous eyes, a furious red blush staining his cheeks. “Really? Then you will accept it?” he asks her, and she can hear the tremble in his voice. He steps forward then and clutches her hands in his, almost desperately. “I know I’m no great warrior, but if your mother accepts the betrothal, I… I promise that I… I…”

Giggles bubble up from her lips and a warmth spreads through her as he fumbles through his declaration. “She already accepted it, silly. I heard her talking about it with your mother last night.”

Somehow, his stormy blue eyes get even wider and a small breath of leaves his lips.

“Oh.”

She giggles again. With his stunned state, she manages to slip her hand from his and holds her wrist and the bracelet protectively against her chest.

“You couldn’t take this back from me if you tried,” she says with a wide teasing smile as she starts to bounce on her toes. “Now I am yours and you are mine.”

He still holds her other hand in his and he squeezes it tightly as her words ring in the air. The wind picks up and the flowers and grass rustle with the breeze. A severity falls over his features and something both dark and vulnerable shines in his eyes.

“Do you promise?” There was no blushing or fumbling, and his voice seems darker and deeper. The words coil around her like a snake, and something about them feels binding.

The sky above them grows darker and the wind howls around them. The grip he still has on her hand becomes almost unbearably tight. He holds her hand as if she's a lifeline; as if he might float away if he lets her go.

“I promise,” she answers in a whisper. Despite the dread that knots in her stomach, she knows that she means it.

There is a relieved smile on his face, showing off his dimples, when he finally releases her hand.

Her fingers tingle slightly from how tightly he held them. She ignores it though and uses her fingertips to trace the wings of her butterfly pendant, while a soft smile curves at her lips.

She doesn’t know how the thought comes to her, but she knows he carved the piece himself. Just for her.

But when she looks up again the blue sky has been replaced by dark storm clouds and the boy’s face has changed. Like the sky above them, the blue of his iris turns black. Red veins crawl out around his eyes. Blood gushes from his mouth when his jaw jerks open in a silent scream and reveals his teeth have been replaced by horrible jagged fangs.

She reals back in horror and screams.

And that was always the moment when Bonnie would wake up.

Even though it doesn't repeat every night, she dreams of the scene often enough that she knows it has to have some kind of meaning.

When she’s a child, she doesn’t really understand it. The boy from the meadow is not someone she has ever known nor is his face one she has ever seen. The pendant never appears anywhere besides her dreams. The words were ones she never remembers saying (Betrothal? Who still talked like that?).

Bonnie thinks it might have been a scene from some movie she might’ve seen, though that doesn’t really explain why the dream keeps recurring.

Things change when she finds out she’s a witch. And when she sees a vampire’s face for the first time. She recognizes that the boy from the meadow had the same black eyes and fangs that Damon Salvatore shows her right before he rips out her throat.

Later, Bonnie finally brings the topic up with her Grams. The frown never leaves Sheila Bennett’s lips as Bonnie explains the dream from beginning to end.

“Some believe that dreams are memories,” Grams tells her after a long silence. “From another life.”

Another life. Could that have been the answer? Bonnie never really believed in past lives, but she supposes anything is possible in a world full of witches and vampires.

She idly wonders what that life had been. Who that boy had been to her.

“Do you believe that?” Bonnie asks.

Grams stares at her then with a strange look in her eyes. She looks at Bonnie in the way someone would look at a stranger they just barely recognized. Her gaze shifts over Bonnie’s face, as if she is searching for something in her features. Bonnie shifts uncomfortably under the stare.

Her Grams blinks and the strange look is gone as soon as it appears. She smiles softly as she brings her hand to Bonnie’s cheek. “When you get to my age, you start to believe a lot of things.”

Later, Bonnie convinces herself that her Grams had just been drunk. Though, a part of her still wants to ask her Grams what she truly thought the dream had meant. Bonnie knew there was something more she didn’t tell her.

But she never had the chance to get an answer. With her Grams taken away from her and a bunch of 200 year old vampires released from their tomb, her cryptic dream seemed so much less important. The dream returns to her every so often, but she has less and less time to ponder on it as her life becomes entrenched in the supernatural.

That is, until she met Klaus.

Xxxx

Bonnie is almost certain that Alaric is drunk. That’s not exactly new for him, but he at least usually makes an effort to be sober when he’s teaching.

After having to ask one of his students what they were learning, he looks about ready to just leave the classroom when he finds out they're still covering the 1960’s.

“Right, the sixties.”

Ric starts to turn towards the chalkboard, and his eyes scan the classroom. His gaze slides from Stefan to Elena and then towards Bonnie.

He freezes mid step and nearly stumbles, his eyes still locked on Bonnie. The slight smirk that was on his lips falls. For a second, he just stares at her, frozen, with his eyes wide and his mouth just barely agape. There’s confusion in his eyes which turns to horror.

For some reason, Bonnie thinks of her Grams and the strange look in her eyes when Bonnie had told her about her recurring dream. That same feeling, when someone who she knows stares at her in a way she had never seen before. Unlike Grams, Alaric doesn’t look at her as if she’s a stranger. He sees her and he knows her, but he still looks at her like she isn’t supposed to be there.

He looks at her as if he’s looking at a ghost.

“Oh, fucking hell.”

There are scattered giggles among the students when their history teacher curses under his breath. He recovers quickly from the outburst, turning back to the chalkboard. The chalk piece in his hand scratches loudly on the board from the way Alaric aggressively writes ‘the 60’s’ in large messy letters. Bonnie swears that she hears the chalk crack in his hands from how hard he grips it.

Even when released from his eerie stare, Bonnie glances around self-consciously, wondering what could have made him look at her the way he did. Is something wrong with him? Is something wrong with her?

When he turns back to the class, there is no sign of the haunted look he had before. Just a lazy smile on his lips as he goes on a very odd rant about why the 60’s were terrible. All the while, he never once looks in Bonnie’s direction again, making her wonder if she had imagined it.

She reassures herself that Ric’s bizarre behaviour is because he is definitely drunk.

Xxx

Alaric calls in sick the next day. And the day after that.

Bonnie might have been more concerned about him if she wasn’t dealing with her own stressors. Between the overwhelming power flowing through her, Jeremy hounding her, and the imminent danger that seems to cling to Elena. Bonnie has plenty to focus on besides Alaric and whatever the hell is going on with him.

She doesn’t see him again until the night of the 60’s decade dance.

He shows up while she is alone, after Jeremy sulks off. Her boyfriend isn’t exactly pleased about the danger that came with harnessing the magic of 100 dead Bennett witches.

“Bonnie. Can I talk to you privately?” Alaric seems more like himself, though she isn’t sure why he would want to talk to her privately. Maybe it has something to do with the way he stared at her during history class. Or maybe Jeremy had told him about her potentially deadly boost in power.

Bonnie casts a quick glance at Elena, making sure she is still dancing with Stefan, before turning to follow Alaric into the hall.

Alaric leads her through the school, further and further away from the dance.

“Where are we going?” she asks, having to jog in order to keep up with his stride.

He doesn’t stop walking. He doesn’t even turn to look at her. “Just a little further.”

Bonnie can see the doors to the cafeteria are just ahead of them. They are practically on the other side of the school from where the dance is being held. Far from the safety of the crowd. Far from any of her friends.

Bonnie stops in her tracks. “What’s going on, Ric?”

Alaric stops walking when she stops following him. When he turns towards her, she can see the glassy quality in his eyes, as if he’s not fully there.

“I have to bring you to him,” he says, not even a trace of emotion in his voice.

Slowly, the realization dawns on Bonnie that he's been compelled.

“He’s waiting for you. In there.” Alaric points to the cafeteria doors.

Bonnie knows in her bones who he’s talking about and her insides twist so violently she thinks she might throw up on the spot.

Klaus.

He’s there. He compelled Alaric to lure her to him. He knows about her and he is going to kill her if she goes through those doors.

Suddenly, her situation becomes far too real.

Before, she was able to convince herself that she could handle it. That she could find a way to survive whatever massive spell was needed to take down someone like Klaus. And if she didn’t survive, at least she would be doing something good. Saving her loved ones and ridding the world of an ancient evil vampire who seems to be regarded as history’s greatest villain. It would be a good death. A noble death.

But now that death is far too close to her, only a few small steps away, and all she can do is remain rooted in place.

She’s only seventeen years old. She never graduated highschool. She never went to college. She never got married or had a family.

She didn’t want to die yet.

Alaric moves and Bonnie finches violently when he starts walking towards her. She knows she can snap his neck with a flick of her wrist, but she doesn’t want to hurt him. But if Klaus has him compelled, she might not have a choice.

Instead of trying to grab her and drag her towards those doors as Bonnie expects him to, Alaric walks straight past her. Back in the direction of the dance.

When he is out of sight, Bonnie whips around towards the cafeteria entrance again. But no ancient vampire emerges to try and kill her. Despite her shaky breathing and how her heart hammers against her ribcage, everything stays painfully quiet and horribly still.

He’s waiting for her.

The primal urge to run rises up from deep in her gut and nearly chokes her.

Instead, Bonnie steps forward.

When she peers through the open doors, there is only one person inside. A young man leans back in one of the chairs with his feet propped up on the table, fiddling with something in his hands. She knows he can hear her footsteps with his vampire senses, but he doesn’t even look up at her as she enters. Whatever he has in his hands has his full attention.

When he does finally look at her, Bonnie is struck by how young he is. And how pretty he is, with his sandy blonde hair and wicked grin. Like the college boys she used to flirt with when she would visit her Grams at Whitmore.

“What took you so long?” he asks, and she immediately notes his soft voice and accent.

Bonnie doesn’t answer. She just stares at him as he swings his legs off the table and stands to his full height.

“Hello Bonnie,” he greets her with a wide smile, clasping his hands behind his back. “I assume you already know who I am.”

Her eyes narrow and every muscle fibre within her becomes as taught as a bowstring. “Klaus.”

“Surprise,” he beams, a cheerful lilt in his voice as he takes a step towards her. “I heard you’re planning to kill me.”

Bonnie takes a step back and clenches her fists. She can feel the magic crackling in her palms and the lights around them flicker. ”Is that why you compelled Alaric to bring me here? So you could kill me first?”

“No,” he counters. ”I had your history teacher bring you here so we could chat.”

Bonnie’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion and suspicion. “About what?“

“I need to kill the doppelganger,” he asserts, his voice unyielding and his eyes as cold as ice. “I’ve waited far too long to break this curse and I am not going to back out now. Not even for your sake.”

Not even for her sake? What is that supposed to mean?

Despite her confusion, Bonnie doesn’t waste time pondering his words. “I’m not going to let you hurt her. If you come after Elena, I will kill you.”

Klaus tilts his head and a strange smile settles on his lips. ”What if I offered a compromise?”

This time, Bonnie is stunned into silence, unsure of what kind of compromise he could be suggesting. Her confusion must be evident because he decides to keep elaborating.

“There’s a loophole. A way for Elena to survive the ritual,” he explains, almost casual in his tone. He seems to be amused by the shock his words elicit, because his smile grows even more wide. “An elixir my brother had made for Katerina 500 years ago. One that will allow the curse to be broken while ensuring the doppelganger doesn’t die.” He pauses. “At least not permanently.”

All Bonnie can do is stare at him as his words echo in her skull. He has a miracle elixir that will ensure Elena doesn't die? He has a brother?

This confrontation is turning out to be infinitely more bizarre than she had anticipated. Bonnie assumed this guy would be trying to kill her as soon as he set his sights on her. Why is he trying to bargain with her instead?

She shakes her head in disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Klaus says, and his simple denial nearly drives her into a fury.

“Why would you do that?” she asks, and her frustration slips into her voice.

As her anger rises, the power simmers under skin and the lights around her flicker and stray flyers flutter. Klaus remains annoyingly unfazed by it all, seeming to be more interested in her power than threatened. This bastard has kept her spiraling since he started talking, while she slowly loses the nerve she had worked up in order to kill him.

“Because I know it would hurt you if she died. And that’s the last thing I would want.”

What the hell is this? What is this guy’s game?

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” Bonnie hisses through gritted teeth, regarding him with suspicion.

Klaus simply shrugs with that irritating, dimpled grin still plastered on his face. “You'll just have to trust me.”

“Or I can just kill you now,” she says, her voice as cold and hard as steel even as her heart stutters in her chest. “Before you hurt anyone else.“

Klaus stops smiling, but he doesn’t falter. “We both know that using the amount of magic it would take to kill me, would also kill you.”

Bonnie nods at his statement, because she knows it’s true. ”But no one else would need to die. Just you and me.”

She can see it, the moment his composure cracks like an egg. Her steadfast assertion that she was more than willing to die in order to kill him seems to grate on his nerves. There is a stormy rage in his eyes for a second, and she thinks he might actually try to attack her. Instead, his livid expression is smothered and replaced with a smug smirk.

“Hmm. Just you and me,” he echoes and his voice is soft as velvet. “That’s almost romantic.”

This finally sets Bonnie off, and her magic flares. The lights overhead surge with electricity until the bulbs burst. Sparks shower down on them and scattered papers whirl around the room.

Klaus isn’t bothered by her display of power. “You’re not going to kill me.”

”You think I can’t?” she challenges as more lights surge and shatter in the hallway

”Oh, I know that you can,” he chuckles. “But you won’t. And I have no intention of killing you.”

Before she even has the chance to blink, he rushes her. She’s pinned against the wall, one hand holding her waist while the other grips her wrist. Klaus’ face is so close that she can see the stormy blue colour of his irises.

For a second, she thinks he’s going to bite her, but instead he just leans down and presses his forehead against hers. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, as if he is trying to steady himself. As if he is a ship lost at sea that has finally found his anchor.

Bonnie knows she should attack him. She should use all her magic, all the power of her ancestors, to throw him off of her and crush his heart until it bursts. But the tender way he holds her and the vulnerable, agonized look on his face stays her hand.

He pulls her hand up to his chest and presses her palm over his dead heart.

Bonnie almost finds herself forgetting everything - where she is and who she is with - when she sees the raw pain in his eyes when he opens them again. Those eyes that she suddenly registers as familiar.

Those same blue eyes. That same sandy blonde hair. That same dimpled smile.

She is too stunned to move. Too stunned to speak. She doesn’t even rip her hand away when he releases the hold on her waist and her wrist.

Her palm stays pressed against his chest.

She only starts to come to her senses when she becomes aware that he is tying something off around her wrist.

“I’m yours and you’re mine. Just as you promised.“

Klaus pulls away then, slowly. On instinct, Bonnie draws her arm protectively to her chest. Her skin still hums from where he held her. There was that feeling of death that came with the touch of every vampire. But there is another feeling beneath that. A warm and familiar tingling in her fingers.

“I won’t kill you,” he says, though Bonnie can barely hear him. “And I know you won’t kill me.”

Bonnie looks down at the bracelet he tied around her wrist and her stomach drops like a stone. A wooden pendant, shaped like a butterfly, attached to a leather strap. The same pendant that had been floating in her dreams for years.

The one he had carved himself. Just for her.

Klaus steps away from her. “Once you’re ready to accept that, come find me.”

When Bonnie looks up again, Klaus is already gone.

[24kmagiic]

Dearest Gentle Reader,

As the Social Season approaches, marked by its most anticipated opening soirée, all eyes are on a certain duchess whose legacy is as wild as the magic in her blood—the Enchanting Duchess Bennett.

Her Grace Bonnie Bennett is expected to appear this evening at the Hall of Ancestors, accompanied by the ever-controversial His Grace Niklaus Mikaelson—a pairing that has raised more than a few finely arched brows in the past.

Sources claim the two were seen exchanging animated words in the East Garden just days ago. And if this author knows anything about romantic tension, it’s that passion and provocation are often indistinguishable from a distance.

The question, dear reader, is: when the storm breaks, will their reputations remain unweathered?

With keen observance,

—Lady Mistledown

The Cottage Scandal

May 2: Forced Proximity The Kingdom of Mystic Falls Spring 1812 AD (Regency Era)

"A spring storm. Sharp tongues. And a cottage built for one. What could possibly go wrong?"

Bonnie Bennett and Klaus Mikaelson stood beside one another, examining the broken carriage wheel. Klaus looked only mildly annoyed; meanwhile, Bonnie was in full theatrical distress. Klaus listened to her complaints for as long as he could stand them before softly interjecting.

“You’re yelling like I snapped the wheel on purpose. You’re the witch—fix it,” he spat.

"Don't you think I would have done that already if I could? I told you not to take this route! It's dark and filled with holes. And I'm not entirely convinced your spooky night vision didn't see this hole. It's massive!"

"I would have seen it if you weren't chewing me out about what happened earlier."

"That's because you caused all of this! You provoked me like always, and now, Lady Lockwood's roof is burnt!"

"Take some accountability, love. I only provoke you because you let me."

The sky lit with lightning as thunder roared above them as if on cue. Klaus glanced toward the sky, noticing the sudden storm clouds on an otherwise clear night. He glanced down at Bonnie and watched her with amused interest.

“I don’t want to hear a word…”

“Great, because I have several.”

Bonnie huffed and groaned beneath her breath as the first pelts of raindrops hit her cheeks. “There’s a cottage,” she pointed ahead of them. “Let’s wait there until this storm is over.”

“This storm is a manifestation of your will.”

 ‘And so is this cottage,’ he failed to say aloud. “This entire night is the machinations of your beautiful mind, yet you blame me for everything.”

Bonnie gritted her teeth. “Inside now, please! Thank you.”

Inside, the cottage was warm and cozy. Despite its rough exterior, it looked lived in. Bonnie resisted questioning the cottage’s origin, though the magic coiling through the air felt achingly familiar.

She peeled off her shawl and hung it neatly on the coat rack fashioned from the finest oak, frowning when Klaus purposely dropped his wet overcoat on the only piece of furniture: a single bed.

“You’re making a mess!” She snatched his coat from the bed, hanging it on the opposite side of the rack. “You’re so uncouth. Can’t you practice some common courtesy for once in your life?”

“You have enough for both of us,” he muttered dryly. He sat on the bed with an unceremonious thud, slowly peeling off layers of clothing; shoes first, then blazer. When he began unbuttoning his shirt, Bonnie panicked.

“My Goddess. What on Earth are you doing?”

His perplexed expression nearly made her chuckle. “I’m getting comfortable.”

Bonnie’s eyes flittered around the cabin before landing on him. “Not in here, you’re not! I’m without a chaperone, and if anyone sees us—sees me with you, I’d be disgraced and stripped of my title!”

“So?”

Bonnie choked on her breath. “So?! Is that truly all you have to say for yourself?”

Niklaus shrugged. “You have nothing to worry about. I’d make an honest woman out of you if need be.”

Bonnie spun away from him, unable to hide her flushed expression. “You are impossible.” 

“And you need to relax. The longer you’re upset, the longer this storm will persist, I’m sure.”

She exhaled slowly, squaring her shoulders as she found the strength to turn around.

...And instantly regretted it.

“Your Grace,” she stuttered. “This is grossly inappropriate.”

Seated before her was a shirtless Klaus, smirking at her with golden irises that glowed with mischief. He rose slowly, each step toward her deliberate, unhurried, confident, and dangerous, reminding her that he was, indeed, an apex predator. With each step, Bonnie followed with a step backward until her back hit the wall behind her.

A muffled shriek left her lips. She averted her gaze and slowed her breathing. She didn't want or need to see or smell him. “Kindly, I ask you to take a step back, please,” she whispered.

“Or what?”

Bonnie’s throat tightened around everything she planned to say. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply—another mistake.

His scent had always intrigued her, yet she’d never been this close enough to... appreciate it. She released a shuddered exhale before strengthening her resolve. When her eyes opened, she stared straight into him, careful not to show any signs of intimidation.

“I know what you're doing and it’s not going to work,” she told him. She hated how soft her voice sounded.

“I think it’s working just fine,” he countered. Her heart skipped a beat, and, judging by how his ear twitched and the smile on his face, he heard it.

“I think it’s best if I take my chances in the storm,” she countered, hastily turning away from him to place necessary distance between them. She ignored his chuckles as she made her exit, pulling on the door's handle once. Then twice. She tugged on the handle a third time, but it didn't budge.

She spun on her heels with an angry huff to face him. 

“What did you do?”

Klaus’s face splintered into a full grin. “Here we go again,” he chuckled. “If blaming me for everything is your version of foreplay, then I’ll allow it.”

“You mind your tongue when you speak to me,” she growled, sounding every bit of Sheila Bennett. Klaus's grin only deepened as he reached for the door. Bonnie ignored how his skin brushed against hers as he pulled at the door and how his muscles bunched and flexed with each tug. She pushed him out of the way when his grunts became too much.

“You’re not trying hard enough,” she dismissed, hoping to end the show he was clearly putting on for ‘her’ benefit.

“Your magic is preventing us from leaving,” he said as he examined the hinges. “Which tells me that despite your tantrum, you don’t actually want to leave, do you?”

He was practically pressed against her back now. And shirtless. Bonnie squirmed away from him, moving to the other side of the room where only the bed separated them. 

She slipped out of her heels, shrinking several inches—but not, she hoped, in dignity. Klaus watched silently as she moved about her side of the room tersely in an attempt to get ‘comfortable’. 

“I’m taking the bed,” she said authoritatively. You can sleep on the floor.” She threw a pillow at him, which he caught with ease before launching it back at her. The pillow hit the stone hearth with a thud. Bonnie gaped, narrowly avoiding impact. Klaus raised a brow, smirking like a schoolboy who’d pulled her pigtails and dared her to hex him for it.

“That almost hit me!”

“Precisely my intent. What do you expect to happen when you launch something at someone?” 

“You weren’t supposed to throw it back that hard!” She laughed, both amused and annoyed by him.

“You give, but you’re awful at taking it.” He watched her flush with thinly veiled amusement—and smiled like he meant it. “That’ll have to change.”

She pursed her lips, ignoring the slew of innuendos littering his speech.

As if he would take the bed before she could claim it, Bonnie peeled back the covers and climbed modestly, ensuring her ankles remained covered. “There is only one bed and I wouldn't be caught dead sharing it with you.”

“You’d make a beautiful corpse. Slide over,” he instructed as he pulled the covers on his side back. Bonnie pulled the blanket to her neck, looking stiff and rigid with only her head visible.

“No. You don’t even need to sleep,” she pointed out.

“Being around you is exhausting. There are always exceptions to the rule,” he countered. The two glared at one another before she finally relented.

“Stay on your side.” She reached for the forgotten pillow he’d thrown at her and placed it between them. Curling on her side to ensure no parts of her touched him. “And turn away from me,” she demanded.

Klaus chuckled. “Or else?”

“I’ll liquefy your spleen.” His laughter echoed against the walls. Loud and unapologetic. “I mean it, Niklaus.”

Klaus felt something inside him stir at the mention of his full name. “Oh, I know. That’s half the thrill.”

She remained quiet before finally speaking, needing to get the last word. It didn’t work. “Keep your distance.”

“I have. You’ve made it abundantly clear I’m not to cross the invisible line of impropriety.” He paused, then added, “But you’ve inched closer three times now, love.” Bonnie’s jaw went slack.

She turned sharply. “That’s because this mattress is slanted! You’re bigger than me! There’s an imbalance.”

Klaus also turned to face her—his face suddenly inches from hers, expression unreadable in the firelight, neither of them was aware of until that moment. “Is that what it is?” he murmured.

Bonnie stared at him, lips parted, breath caught in her throat. His gaze dipped briefly to her mouth, then back to her eyes, causing her to go still. Neither moved as the air around them pulsed. Then Klaus did the unthinkable.

He retreated.

He rolled back to his side, giving her the full distance she demanded. He released a self-satisfied exhale that somehow made her stomach twist. It’s what she wanted, what she’d asked for. Yet for whatever reason, she felt…

Rejected…

“Good night, Bonnie,” he murmured. She said nothing.

She wasn’t sure what she’d say if she did.

“And while the storm raged against the cabin’s walls, something far more dangerous began to simmer inside.”

...Stay tuned.

Find the 2nd installment here...

Read Also On FF.Net

[original-szajnie]

Klonnie Weekend Day 1: Forced Proximity

Bonnie Bennett knew this flight was going to be a mistake the moment her gate changed three times in under fifteen minutes.

Now, as she stood just inside the plane’s narrow entrance—shoulder bumped by a harried flight attendant, suitcase wheel dragging like a limp limb—she caught sight of 12B and froze.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

There he was. Reclined like the world owed him something. Which, knowing him, he probably believed it did.

Klaus Mikaelson.

Neat black button-up. Ridiculously tailored coat folded on his lap. Glass of sparkling water already in hand, as if this were his private cabin and not a commercial flight full of crying toddlers and stale air. He looked… amused.

“Witch.” His tone was pleasant in the way of someone who fully intended to enjoy watching you suffer. “What a surprise.”

Bonnie blinked. Looked at her boarding pass. Then at him. Then back at the pass.

No. No no no. The universe would not do this to her.

“Don’t you have a private jet or something?”

His expression remained unchanged, but an amused slant curved his mouth. He opened a book on his lap. “Or something,” he replied.

Bonnie turned. She wasn’t even subtle about it. She waved down the flight attendant. “Hi—yeah—there’s been a mistake. I can’t sit here. This seat’s taken by Satan.”

“I’m afraid this flight is full, ma’am,” the attendant said in that dead-eyed voice only retail and aviation could inspire. “If you could just take your seat so we can begin the safety demonstration—”

Bonnie was still standing. Still glaring. Still calculating how much magic it would take to teleport herself out of this hell-tube of recycled air and supernatural smugness.

Klaus didn’t even look up from whatever overpriced history book he was pretending to read. “There’s always your broom,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

Her jaw twitched.

Bonnie Bennett did not slap people on airplanes. It was probably a federal offense. Probably.

With a tight smile (that promised murder), she shoved her bag into the overhead bin—aggressively, on purpose—and dropped into the seat beside him with all the grace of a guillotine.

Not looking at him. Not talking to him. Just existing beside him like they hadn’t attempted to kill each other multiple times.

“This is fine,” she muttered to herself. “I’m fine.”

Bonnie buckled in with unnecessary force.

Click. Yank. Set.

Klaus didn’t say a word. Just continued flipping a page every thirty seconds, clearly for show. She could feel the amusement radiating off him like heat. Of course he found this funny. Of course the universe thought this was character development.

The flight attendant began the safety demonstration. Klaus didn’t look up.

Bonnie, on the other hand, was suddenly very invested in the proper operation of a seatbelt.

“…in the unlikely event of a water landing—”

She swallowed. Hard.

Ocean crossings were always the worst.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the armrest. Not panicked. Not yet. Just… present. Just trying not to imagine a freefall.

She popped in her earbuds. Music on, volume high. Not loud enough to block everything—nothing ever was—but it gave her something else to focus on.

She could feel him watching her. Briefly. A flicker in her peripheral vision.

But he didn’t say a word.

The engines whined, the cabin rattled. The nose tipped up, pressed her back against the seat. She closed her eyes. Focused on breathing.

Klaus shifted beside her. Not a fidget—he didn’t fidget—but a subtle shift, like he was cataloging everything. Or maybe bracing for her to hex the oxygen masks.

Then the plane leveled out.

The seatbelt sign chimed off. People began talking, moving, laughing again. She exhaled through her nose.

It was fine. She was fine.

“You’re tense.”

She opened her eyes, barely tilting her head toward him. “I’m sitting next to a homicidal psychopath.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. Just looked at her for a moment longer than necessary.

“Let me guess—big, bad Bonnie Bennett prefers portals?”

She narrowed her eyes. “At least portals don’t shake.”

He leaned back, ever so slightly. “Mm. Shame. I never figured turbulence might be more powerful than you.”

She stared.

He smiled.

She turned away, muttering under her breath, “If we hit a sudden drop, I hope your ego cushions the fall.”

Fifteen minutes later, the drink cart rattled down the aisle like salvation on wheels.

Bonnie sat up straighter the moment she heard the squeaky roll of those little plastic tires. She yanked her earbuds out—not gently—and threw a look at the approaching flight attendant like a woman parched in the desert.

Klaus raised a brow. “Thirsty, love?”

“I’m being proactive,” she muttered. Then before he could speak again, a warning: “Don’t start.”

The attendant stopped beside them. “What can I get you?”

“Vodka. Two, please.” Bonnie held up two fingers, just in case.

The woman blinked. “A double?”

Bonnie smiled sweetly. “No, two bottles.”

Beside her, Klaus huffed a laugh under his breath.

“And for you, sir?”

Klaus offered his best impression of a civilized man. “Nothing for me, love, thank you.”

“Of course you’re abstaining,” Bonnie muttered as she unwrapped the world’s tiniest bottle like it owed her something.

He angled his head. “Some of us manage our existential dread with grace.”

She downed the first vodka mini-bottle like it was NyQuil. No chaser. Just burned it down.

“Some of us don’t have a hybrid metabolism,” she countered, opening the second bottle immediately.

The attendant, wisely, moved on.

Klaus said nothing for a beat. Then, with an almost amused curiosity: “Are you actually afraid of flying?”

Bonnie didn’t answer right away. Just sipped. Stared out the window like the endless blue of the ocean might offer a better conversation partner.

“It’s not flying… it’s the part where we drop out of the sky,” she said finally, voice low and edged with that rare thing he almost never got: honesty.

He didn’t smile this time. “Point taken.”

They resumed their mutual silence.

The cabin settled into its mid-flight lull. Lights dimmed. Window shades half-lowered. The couple across the aisle was snoring in unison. Klaus thumbed his book—not that he’d read more than five pages—while Bonnie stared out the window, jaw clenched so tightly her molars ached.

She hadn’t spoken since drink service — just drank her vodka, crossed her arms, and tried to pretend the sky wasn’t breathing weird around them.

Then came the shift.

The plane rocked, not violently, but enough that her empty plastic cup slid an inch along the tray table. Her hand shot out instinctively to stop it.

“Relax, love,” Klaus murmured beside her. “It’s just a little turbulence.”

She didn’t respond. Just focused on keeping her shoulders from rising too high.

A second tremor passed through the plane, stronger than the last. The overhead bins creaked. Someone let out a nervous laugh three rows back.

Bonnie’s fingers curled into her armrest.

Klaus cast her a sidelong glance. He was smiling. Barely. But it was there.

“Surely you’ve faced down worse things than a bit of weather.” His tone was low. Amused. Dangerously close to smug.

She glared at him. “That was the woods. On the ground. Not in a metal tube over the ocean.”

He chuckled, quiet, indulgent, like he couldn’t decide what was more entertaining: the storm, or her.

Then the plane dropped.

It was sudden and sharp, like the floor vanished. A collective gasp rose through the cabin—someone shouted, another screamed, a baby cried—and Bonnie…Bonnie clutched his arm.

Not lightly. She grabbed him, fingers digging in deep enough to bruise. Her breathing turned fast, shallow. One heartbeat away from cracking.

Klaus stiffened.

The amusement drained from his face in a breath.

He turned toward her, fully now. No smirk. No arrogance.

Just immediate focus.

“Bonnie,” he said, quiet but firm. “Look at me.”

She didn’t. Her eyes were locked on the back of the seat in front of her like she could burn a hole through it.

Given who she was, she probably could.

Another lurch. She flinched again.

“Bonnie,” he repeated, his hand rising—slow, deliberate—to cover hers. His palm was steady, anchoring.

She finally looked up, eyes wide and wrong.

That was fear.

Real fear.

Not frustration, not anger. Not even her usual simmering disdain for him.

This was her body betraying her. This was survival panic.

And Klaus, well, Klaus knew that feeling too well.

“Breathe in,” he said softly. “Through your nose.”

She tried. Failed.

Tried again.

He nodded at her. “Good. In. Hold it. That’s it.”

The plane shuddered, but she didn’t flinch this time. His hand tightened slightly over hers—just enough to say ‘you’re not alone’.

He could feel her magic humming under her skin, wild and scattered. Like a hive of bees. Not dangerous, not yet. But if she lost control…

“You’re fine,” he said. Low. Reassuring. Real. “The plane’s not crashing.”

“How do you know?” she managed to whisper.

“Because I’m on it,” he replied, with absolute certainty.

That startled something close to a breathless laugh out of her. She let her head fall back against the seat.

The plane dipped and shuddered for another ten minutes.

Her grip didn’t ease.

And Klaus didn’t move once.

After what felt like forever to Bonnie, the turbulence passed.

The plane steadied.

The engines hummed their usual white noise, the overhead bins stayed shut, and the flight attendants resumed pretending they weren’t two seconds from pressing the panic button.

Bonnie exhaled—finally. Slow. Unsteady.

Her fingers were still curled around Klaus’s arm, knuckles pale against his coat. She blinked, realized it, and drew back like she’d touched fire.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t comment.

Didn’t smirk or raise a smug eyebrow or say something infuriating like ‘Was that so bad?’

He just sat there. Quiet. Steady.

Bonnie shifted in her seat, brushing her hands against her jeans like it might scrub the moment off her skin. She reached blindly for her water bottle, took a too-long sip, then stared ahead as if the seatback TV held the secrets of the universe.

“I’m fine,” she said eventually when she could still feel his eyes on her. Her voice was rough. A little hoarse.

Klaus finally looked away from her. “I know.”

That was it. No teasing. No pity.

Just fact.

And somehow, that comforted her more than anything else.

She let out a breath—this time less shaky—and sank lower into her seat.

Silence stretched between them again. But it was different now. Not cold. Not sharp. Something slower. Easier.

Bonnie folded her arms, pulled her hood up, and let her eyes drift shut.

She didn’t mean to fall asleep.

But she did.

Two bottles of vodka and an adrenaline rush would do that to you.

And Klaus? He didn’t move the entire time. Not even when she drifted sideways and her head found its way onto the curve of his shoulder.

Her breathing had evened out, arms tucked beneath her hoodie like she was hiding from the world.

Or maybe just from herself.

Klaus didn’t look directly at her, but he didn’t stop watching either.

Not in the obvious way. Not like she’d accuse him of. Just enough to note the faint twitch of her fingers as she slipped deeper into rest. The way her foot was still tapped faintly, like her body hadn’t quite gotten the message that the danger had passed.

She had been afraid. Genuinely.

And it shouldn’t have rattled him.

He knew that she could do impossible things. Snap necks with a thought. Tear open prison worlds. He’d watched her bleed and burn and rise again, over and over.

But this? A plane. A little turbulence. Something she couldn’t control?

That was the kind of fear that lived under the skin. Quiet. Deep-rooted. The kind that didn’t scream—it whispered.

The insidious kind of fear there was no defense against, and he found himself wanting to take it from her.

Even now, her head had drifted slightly to the side, resting on his shoulder. Close enough that if he breathed too deeply, her curls would stir against his sleeve.

He didn’t move.

Wouldn’t dare.

Because then she may wake and feel it again.

Instead, he returned to his book and stared at the same sentence for forty-five minutes.

Eventually, the captain’s voice crackled overhead, muffled by static and disinterest. Something about beginning their descent, local time, seatbacks upright.

Bonnie stirred.

Her brow twitched first, then her fingers, curling slightly as if remembering the shape of fear. Then her eyes opened, lashes fluttering before she blinked fully awake.

Still on the plane.

Still next to him.

Still alive.

For a second, she didn’t move. Just… assessed. The weight in her chest had dulled. The vodka was gone, the panic had passed, and her skin no longer felt two seconds from splitting open.

Then she caught the way her body had drifted—closer to his than she remembered.

Her spine straightened fast.

Klaus didn’t react.

Didn’t glance at her.

Didn’t so much as twitch.

Which, of course, made her feel even more watched.

She cleared her throat. Pushed a hand through her hair. “Did I drool?” she asked dryly, chin lifting just a little.

“Not even a snore,” he said, perfectly even.

She looked at him. He was staring out the window now, all serenity and civility like she hadn’t clutched his arm like a drowning woman a few hours ago.

It was… oddly generous.

A beat of silence passed. The kind that hummed with everything unsaid.

Then the plane gave a tiny lurch.

Not a drop. Not even a wobble. Just a mild nudge of turbulence as they descended through a bank of clouds.

Bonnie’s hand twitched, a reflex. Her fingers lifted slightly from her lap like they remembered the motion. Remembered reaching for him.

But she didn’t reach.

She breathed through it.

She kept her hands in her lap.

And Klaus? He saw it. She didn’t need to look to know.

He said nothing, but there was the faintest curve to his mouth now. Something… proud.

The plane dipped lower. The seatbelt light flared on.

She rolled her shoulders, re-snapping. “Tell me we’re almost there.”

“Landing gear’s down,” he told her, glancing toward the wing. “You’ll be kissing solid ground in under ten minutes.”

“Better than kissing some other things,” Bonnie muttered.

And Klaus—just barely—smiled.

The wheels hit tarmac with a dull thunk.

Bonnie let out the breath she’d been holding. Not a shaky one. Not this time. Just… measured. Intentional.

Klaus shifted in his seat, casual and composed as ever, coat folded neatly over one arm. If he was waiting for her to say something—acknowledge something—he didn’t show it.

Which was almost worse.

The seatbelt light blinked off. Everyone scrambled like the plane was sinking, but Bonnie took her time. She stood only when she was ready, tugging her carry-on from the overhead bin with a practiced yank.

Klaus stood behind her. Close, but not touching.

The jet bridge air was stale and humid. The terminal was louder than she would have liked. Too many voices, too many announcements. Too many fluorescent lights after the half-dark cocoon of the plane.

Still, she moved through it like nothing had happened.

Then—

“Bonnie.”

His voice stopped her just short of the exit.

She turned.

Klaus stood a few feet behind her, an expression on his face she didn’t quite recognize. Like he was weighing something in his head and had decided—just barely—to say it aloud.

“Have you ever seen the Belladonna Gallery? The one with the lost Rossetti?”

Her brow lifted. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Mm. It’s on loan to the museum here. Only for the next month.”

Bonnie crossed her arms, but felt her lips twitch. “That’s subtle,” she said. “Is this your idea of a post-panic pick-up line?”

His own mouth quirked. “Hardly. Consider it an educational opportunity. If you’re up for it.”

“You’re really gonna pretend this isn’t you asking me on a date?”

“I’m not pretending anything.” A pause.”You were brave up there.”

“I’m always brave,” she countered. Then, hardly believing the next words out of her own mouth, continued, “Which is why I’m accepting this not-date you’re pitching.” She turned, pulling her suitcase behind her, hair bouncing slightly across her shoulders as she moved, but she didn’t rush.

Klaus huffed, but fell into step beside her. “The Death of Breuze Sans Pitié has hardly ever been seen in public outside of the 1850’s…” he began.

Bonnie slanted him a look. “I’m going to at least need dinner and wine, too, if I have to actually listen to this.”

Klaus laughed.

And Bonnie, despite herself, decided she liked that sound.