{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader}
A spell meant to poison vampires backfires, turning your blood into something far more dangerous. Now the entire Mikaelson family is unraveling in your wake… Elijah shaken, Klaus threatened, Kol obsessed, Rebekah tempted, and every enemy in New Orleans hungry for the weapon you never meant to become.
♡♡ Hello my beautiful readers!! Its been a while since I posted, and I meant to take a writing break , but instead I wrote an entire series.... I decided to just split it into two big parts instead of doing half a dozen separate posts.... because ya girl is lazy (I still made lots of banners tho) xoxo ♡♡
17k words {& that's only half lol} - Warnings: little bit of smuttt (at the end), animal sacrifice, blood magic, guilt, panic, Elijah kidnapping and interrogating you (hot), drug use, Kol experimenting, a sketchy shopping trip with Rebekah, piano time && the faintest sprinkle of stockholm syndrome...
{Part Two}
ACT I
PART ONE
Tonight was the night, whether you were fully ready or not. You took the steps up to your flat two at a time. The old wood groaned under your boots. The air inside was thick and humid, smelling of dust, melting wax, and the sharp scent of herbs boiling in a pot on the stove.
The ritual waited in the center of your main room, laid out on the worn floorboards. You cleared the space for it, a perfect circle of salt glinted white in the candlelight. Inside it, a tarnished silver dish. Within the dish: crushed vervain seeds, torn up parchment from an old grimoire, a single drop of your blood from a week ago, now dried black, and the final piece was about to be added...
Something you loved. Someone you loved.
You heard him rattling around in his cage, covered with a velvet cloth in the corner. The sounds were faint: a ruffle of feathers, a quiet coo.
He was your father's beloved owl, a mottled gray thing named Poe… a joke your dad made once about the bird being 'a proper little critic.' Poe had been with you since your family died. Your only friend in this world.
You had known this would hurt, that was the point. A true sacrifice of life had to have weight.
You opened the cage, your hands trembling. "I'm sorry, my friend," you whispered.
A gasping shudder worked through you and you forced yourself to reach for the owl. His feathers were soft against your skin. He tilted his head, his big dark eyes regarding you without fear. That only made it worse.
"You will see Dad soon, remember him? How he always fed you the best mice." Your voice was a raw whisper, a pathetic attempt at soothing both him and yourself. A tear slid down your cheek and landed on his head, glittering in the low light like a tiny, perfect pearl.
Then you did it. You drew a thin silver blade across his throat.
It was over in a second. He didn't struggle. Perhaps he knew. Perhaps he was just that good. Either way, the last breath left his body in a tiny, warm puff against your palm.
It broke you. A wave of hot shame and regret washed through you, so potent your knees buckled. You fell to the floor beside the circle, a raw sound tearing from your throat. Dark blood spilled from your clenched fists onto the floorboards.
You held his body above the dish. You squeezed his tiny neck, willing the lifeblood to fall. Each ruby-red drop hit the other ingredients with a soft hiss, like bacon hitting a hot pan. The air grew thick with the coppery scent.
There was no moon in the sky that night, no starlight. The world outside was all velvet black. It was a night for endings. A night for curses.
Your hands hovered over the dish. Muttering the words with unshed tears burning behind your eyes, words in a language older than the crumbling city around you. "May this blood be poison, may my flesh become ashen to them. May my touch be death..."
All the candles in the room went out at once. A deep silence fell, broken only by your own ragged breathing.
You reached for the silver dish. It was cold. So cold it burned, a flash of searing frost that shot up your arm and buried itself deep in your chest. But you held on to it, bringing it to your lips, tilting your head back and letting the thick liquid slide down your throat.
It tasted like regret.
The magic hit you then. Not like a shield, but like a current of dark water pulling you under. It was inside you, rewriting your blood, settling into your marrow. A cold, heavy presence, humming with a low and hungry power.
You rose to your feet, stumbling back a step. You looked down at your hands. They looked the same. But they didn't feel the same. They felt... charged. Dangerous.
There was only one way to test this. One way to know if you had succeeded.
You knew that it was time to go hunting.
PART TWO
It was a morbid little scene, curling your hair with a dead owl cooling on the floor behind you. Sweet Poe who had always kept you company. The cheap drugstore hairspray didn't quite cover the faint, iron tang of blood that still clung to the air. You wiped a stray smudge of mascara from under your eye and appraised yourself in the wavy mirror. You looked a little sick. Your eyes wide and shadowed. But you also looked like exactly what you were meant to be: easy prey.
The dress you picked out was old, a tight little red number that clung in all the right places. It had been a hopeful gift a lifetime ago. Your sister had given it to you for a date you never went on. You spritzed on some cheap perfume that smelled like roses and chemicals, a mask for the scent of blood and brewing herbs.
Then you left, stepping out into the thick soup of the New Orleans night. The city was alive. Music spilled from open doorways, laughter and shouts bled into the street, the air was thick with the smell of fried food and stale beer and, underneath it all, that sweet, cloying scent of decay.
The bar you chose was a local hot spot for tourists, a place designed to look charming and disreputable. It was all cheap neon signs and sticky floors. You slid onto a barstool, crossing your legs, letting the dress ride up just a little. You ordered some red wine and pretended to watch the band playing on stage.
You felt eyes on you within minutes. You didn't turn. You just let him look. You let him see the pulse beating in your throat, a frantic little butterfly against your skin.
"Can I buy you a drink?" a voice whispered in your ear, smooth as silk. It was a voice that promised things. Dangerous things.
You turned, and he was exactly what you expected. A little too eager, a little too sharp. But the predator glint was undeniable.
"I already have one," you said, taking a slow sip. You let your gaze linger on his mouth, just for a second too long.
He smiled, a slow, lazy curve of his lips. "Then perhaps I can buy you your next one."
He took the stool next to you, ordering you another glass of wine. You talked about nothing. About the music, about the heat, about all the silly things people who don't intend to see each other again talk about. He had a name, you learned it, but it meant nothing.
It didn't take long for him to ask you to come home with him, but you didn't intend on going that far. And neither did he.
"Maybe we could just... get some air," you suggested, your voice a little breathless. You put your hand on his arm, your fingers tracing a line on his sleeve.
He knew exactly what that meant.
The alley behind the bar was a different world. It was dark and it was quiet, the sound of the band and the crowd a distant, muffled beat.
His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. He kissed you, a little rough, a little hungry. You could taste the whiskey on his tongue, something else too, something ancient and powerful. It was a battle, but you let him win.
His mouth moved down to your throat. You tilted your head, a silent invitation. You wanted him to sink his fangs in and drink deep, to taste your cursed blood. To taste his own death.
But that's not what happened.
You heard a sound, a quiet little gasp. You felt pull back, he reached for his mouth and stared at his hand, where he'd touched his lips. "What..." he started, his voice a little hoarse.
"What's wrong?" you asked, your voice calm, steady, but your heart was racing. Did he smell the poison in your blood? Did he sense the danger?
He looked at you, and for the first time, you saw something other than confidence. Something else was in his eyes, you saw something... fragile.
His face was pale, but it wasn't the pale of a vampire. It was a sickly, sweating, human pallor. He took a deep, shuddering breath.
"I .... I don't feel..." he started again, his voice thin, reedy. "My fangs…"
He reached for the wall for support, leaning against it heavily. He looked down at his hands, turning them over and over as if he had never seen them before.
Then his eyes went wide with a panic that was purely, utterly human.
"What is happening to me ... " he said, looking at you again. This time, there was no hunger, there was no power, there was only raw, naked fear.
A wave of your own panic hit you. This wasn't what you wanted. This wasn't a deterrent. You had expected him to feel pain, to die in agony. He was just... Human.
You stumbled back, your boots scraping against the grimy pavement.
"What did you do to me?" he whispered, his voice cracking.
He reached out and grabbed your arm. His grip was weak, his palm was clammy, but he was still able to hold you, to pull you closer. "What did you do?!" he repeated, his voice rising.
Your own breath caught in your throat. You watched his eyes go black, dark veins spidering under them. His vampirism was returning. You had not broken him, you had only bent him temporarily. And if you let him hold on to you any longer, he would win.
You raised both hands and pushed on his face, trying to keep his fangs away from you. "Get off me!" you snarled, and the moment your skin made contact with his, you felt that charge again, the crackle of energy in your hands, like a static shock but deeper.
His grip loosened, and he just stared at you, all hints of his true nature gone, replaced by a stunned look of a man whose world had just been shattered. It was a look of utter disbelief.
You didn't wait to see what would happen next. You shoved him again, hard this time, and he stumbled back against the wall, sliding to the ground in a heap.
And then you ran.
You ran out of the alley and into the crowd, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The neon lights of bourbon street blurred into a kaleidoscope of color as you pushed your way through the throngs of tourists. You didn't look back. You couldn't.
Because now you knew. Your blood wasn't poison.
It was a cure.
And for one minute. one impossible, ruinous minute…you had unmade a vampire.
PART THREE
One minute you were in your apartment, cleaning blood off the wooden floor, worrying about your rent deposit, bags ready to go. Ready to do the only logical thing you could: run for your life.
The next you found yourself chained up and gagged in an old abandoned church, its vaulted ceilings shrouded in cobwebs and dust. The stained glass windows were dirty, the pews overturned. An entire new, fresh set of terror was dawning on you.
A man sat opposite you, on one of the only pews that wasn't damaged. His back was straight. His hands were folded in his lap. He wasn't old, at least he didn't look it. He was young, maybe your age. His hair was dark, combed back from his face, and his eyes were nearly black. He had the kind of stillness that spoke of immense, coiled power. He wasn't watching you, not at first. He was watching his own hands, as if he could read a story in the lines of his palms.
"You know," he said, his voice low and calm, a voice that was used to being obeyed. "I'm not really the gossiping type... It all seems so trivial to me. And yet, I do so enjoy a good story. Especially one with a truly surprising ending."
He stood up and walked toward you, his steps echoing in the empty space. He stopped just in front of you, crouching down so he was at eye level.
"Two nights ago, one of mine went out for a bit of fun. A simple indulgence." He leaned in a little closer. "He came back with a story. A truly fascinating one. About a girl who... broke him." He let out a small, dry laugh. "He said, for just a moment, he felt human."
He watched you, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"I didn't believe him, of course. I thought he'd simply had too much to drink." He reached out and pulled the gag from your mouth, tossing it aside. "But I was curious. You seem like a curious person too."
"You have the wrong person," you said, your voice a raw whisper.
He shook his head slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "No. I don't think I do." He reached out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, not quite touching your skin. "Lots of cameras around bourbon street, you were easy to track. Even easier to find your flat. That poor owl was a particularly grim touch."
You flinched at the mention of Poe, a fresh wave of grief and guilt washing over you. Your magic stirred at his touch, a low hum under your skin, a warning.
"You know," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "What you've done... It's not just an anomaly. It's a threat. To everything we are. To our very existence. So you can understand my interest." His smile faded, his expression turning hard. "One touch, and we are as vulnerable as... You."
"So shut up and kill me then," you said, looking him in the eye. Your heart was a wild, frantic drum against your ribs, but you forced the words out.
He laughed then, a real laugh this time, full and deep, dimples flashing. "Why would I do that? You made yourself into a weapon. My family loves to collect such things."
"You're one of them… an old one." You said it as a realization, the words a puff of air. You could feel it in the room now, the weight of his age, the sheer, unadulterated power that rolled off him in waves. This wasn't some two-bit vampire.
"Elijah," he said simply, as if it were a name any schoolchild would know. He straightened up, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive jacket, dusting off a bit of nonexistent lint. "I find your unique situation is something I simply cannot allow to wander about. It's far too messy. Vampires don't act well under threat. So I am left with two choices."
"Kill me, or cage me." You finished for him, your voice flat.
"Precisely." He said with a small, approving nod. "And I am rarely in a messy sort of mood. So I'm choosing the cage."
He leaned down, his hands planted on the armrests of your chair. His face was inches from yours again, and you could smell the faint scent of aftershave and mint on his breath, a mask for innocent blood he likely drank by the gallon. "The only issue is you are a bit of a feral thing, aren't you? Killing a poor, innocent animal just for a bit of attention and power." He tsked.
You whipped your head forward, colliding with his. It sent a white flash of pain through your own skull, but it was worth it for the sharp hiss of surprise that escaped him.
He stumbled back, genuinely stumbled. His fingers came away from his bleeding nose, looking at the living red, human red blood on his hand. For a long heartbeat he just stared at it, transfixed. The air seemed to thicken between you.
"Oh," he breathed. "That's… interesting."
Something changed in him. You couldn't name it, but you felt it ripple through the room like a shift in gravity. His eyes unfocused, his chest lifted in a startled inhale, then another.
He looked up at the stained glass windows, light spilling in dusty columns, and laughed softly. A sound that wasn't elegant or rehearsed, but wild and startled, as if had been pulled from the depths of his soul.
For one impossible minute, Elijah Mikaelson was human.
His gaze darted to his hands, flexing them open and closed. You caught the faint tremor there, the wonder of a man feeling warmth for the first time in centuries. His voice, when it came, was almost reverent.
"The air… do you feel it? It moves. I had forgotten how good it once felt."
You didn't answer. You didn't understand what you were seeing, only that he seemed suddenly human in a way that frightened you more than his power ever had.
He pressed his palm flat against his chest as though testing the rhythm beneath. A shudder went through him, not pain, but something closer to weeping. Then the awe shifted; his jaw tightened, the miracle retreating behind discipline.
"Fascinating," he murmured, the word a prayer and a threat at once.
He straightened, every trace of that tremor vanishing into the posture of a man who would never admit what he just felt. He dabbed at the blood with his handkerchief, looked once more at the light, and said quietly, "It's lovely."
"It's not." Your voice was rough, the words tasting like ash. You thought of Poe's soft weight in your hands, your parents' cold in the ground. This wasn't some miracle. It was theft.
The faint glimmer in his eyes vanished. The cold superiority slammed back into place like a vault door. He was no longer a man marveling at the air; he had returned to being a vampire, a king in this city, and you were his new, terrible problem.
He took one step closer, then another, deliberate and predatory. He stopped inches from you. Then he did something you did not expect. He leaned forward and placed his hand on your cheek, taking another shuddering breath, closing his eyes as if the touch was a drug.
"You're not a cure, little dove... You are the end of us all." His voice was quiet, a death rattle of wonder.
In that moment, you broke the very idea of him. He could have anything he had ever wanted, power beyond comprehension… and it wouldn't mean a thing compared to this quiet second of human awareness he just stole.
It was your one and only advantage. It was his one and only fear. And in that cold and ruinous church, you both knew it. The end of everything had just been chained to a chair, wearing a cheap red dress.
And its name was you.
ACT II
PART FOUR
Elijah insisted on nightly dinners, as if ritual will make captivity polite. You were a guest, not a prisoner. But the compelled guards outside your door and the endless daily experiments told another story.
You sat at one end of a long oak table, silk gloves climbing all the way up your arms, at this point they felt like a second skin. Klaus, Elijah and Kol sat opposite you. They were quietly drinking and chatting, their voices a low murmur of civility that felt utterly unreal.
You got up to grab some more wine that was at the center of the table, but the moment you got to your feet, all three of them went silent. The air seemed to crackle.
"Sit down," Klaus said, his voice was low and calm, but it was full of a warning.
"What can I possibly do with the three of you here?" you said, grabbing a bottle of red a little too aggressively. "Touch you, Elijah and Kol at the same time? Then fatally stab you all in less than a minute? Do you think I'm some sort of super assassin?"
Your sarcasm was a cheap shield, but it was all you had. Klaus didn't laugh, just watched you, his eyes calculating. He was thinking about it. Of course he was..
Kol grinned a wolfish grin, "It would be fun to see you try."
You poured your wine, and downed the cup in one go, before pouring yourself another, glaring at him over the rim of your glass.
"Please, sit down," Elijah said, his voice a gentle command. "We wouldn't want any…accidents." He wasn't smiling.
You sat. The moment you were back in your chair, the tension in the room eased. Elijah signaled for a compelled waiter to bring you your own bottle. You let him. You were learning to let them do these things. It was easier.
"You've been drinking a lot more lately," Kol said, a sly smile on his face. "It's not healthy."
You knew better than to respond to that. You just took another sip of your wine and looked away, pretending to be interested in a painting on the wall.
The silence stretched on for a moment until the sound of heels clicking on the floorboards broke it. Rebekah swept in, bright and beautiful, smelling like something expensive.
"Evening, boys," she said, sliding into the room like she owned the air itself. "And our favorite little science experiment."
You didn't bother to respond. She never expected you to.
Rebekah came up behind your chair and with casual grace she brushed her bare fingertips against your cheek.
It was nothing, a swipe of skin on skin. But it changed the air. You felt it. She felt it more.
Rebekah exhaled, eyes fluttering shut, color blooming faintly in her face.
"God, that never gets old," she murmured.
Klaus looked up sharply. "Rebekah-"
She waved him off, already moving to pour herself a drink.
"Relax. I didn't faint or burst into dust, did I? It's harmless."
She smiled at you, that lazy Mikaelson smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "She's just a fun party trick, that's all. A little indulgence."
Kol snorted. "You sound like an addict describing her poison."
"Maybe I am," she said, lifting her glass in a mock toast.
Elijah's voice, quiet but firm. "That will be quite enough."
Rebekah took a sip of her wine, eyelashes fluttering at the taste. "Wine tastes so much better after."
Kol snorted.
Rebekah raised a brow, lips curling in a smile. "Don't pretend like you don't enjoy it Kol. I know what you get up to with your little experiments."
He grinned. "Of course I enjoy it. But that doesn't make me act like a junkie."
"Neither of you should be indulging." Elijah said, his voice quiet and calm.
You looked at him, the way jaw was set, the way his knuckles were white around the stem of his glass. What a little liar he was. You knew he liked it too.
"Strix are in town, by the way." Rebekah said, dropping the bomb casually as she crossed the room and took her seat. "They heard rumors that there is a new weapon around, one that can kill us."
Klaus's expression darkened. "Of course they have."
"As long as she is under out control, they should have no reason to concern themselves." Elijah said.
"She would like to have a say in her own fate," you snapped, your voice was louder than you intended. "I'm not an object."
All four vampires turned their gaze on you. For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Elijah leaned forward, his expression softening. "I am doing everything in my power to keep you safe."
"By keeping me prisoner?" you asked.
He smiled. "Yes."
"I'd rather die."
Kol let out a short, hard laugh. "Darling, is it so bad here? You have food, shelter, and the best wine money can buy."
You looked away, your jaw tight. "That's not the point."
"I'll be more than happy to snap your neck," Klaus offered. "Then we can call it a day."
"No." Elijah cut in. "No, we have already decided this. She's here until we know exactly what we are dealing with. End of discussion."
"How very noble," you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm.
"I think it's time we do some more research, right darling?" Kol said, turning to you. His eyes were lit up with a kind of dark excitement.
"Rebekah has inspired me to try a new test," he continued, standing up and grabbing another bottle of wine. He held it in his hand. "Can I get drunk while touching you?... And how fast do I sober up when I return to my vampire state?"
"You're not serious."
"I assure you I am. This is a purely scientific inquiry."
"This isn't a joke, Kol," Elijah said.
He ignored all of them and held out his hand to you. "Shall we?"
You sighed, and put down your glass. "Fine."
PART FIVE
Kol had constructed a little research room up in the attic, which was filled with various herbs, books, and the stink of old blood. He dragged up an old sofa, a coffee table, even a few mismatched lamps. It was almost charming, if you ignored the pile of vampire corpses in the corner.
He said the space needed ambience. You thought it needed ventilation.
He tried to make it feel less like a torture chamber and more like a study, but it didn't work. Nothing about Kol Mikaelson's curiosity ever felt academic. There was too much pleasure in it.
The vampires had been low-level drifters, half-feral things pulled off the streets. Each one had been used to test a new theory. Could a vampire starve while touching you? Could they heal? Could they be killed?
So far, the answers were yes, no, and yes.
Kol kept notes on everything. He scribbled observations on a chalkboard propped against the far wall, the surface already a maze of white smears and half-erased equations.
Subject 6: can be compelled as a vampire and stay compelled as a human. Cause of death: me :)
Subject 19: apparently diabetic as a human. Cause of death: sugar crash, lol.
Subject 35: as human I turned the subject, fed my blood, and snapped their neck. Usual protocol. Witch touched them the entire time. They stayed dead. Conclusion: can't be turned twice. Cause of death: me once again :)
Below those, he'd started a new section labeled CONFIRMED.
Transformation lasts exactly sixty seconds from contact.
Maintaining physical contact sustains human state indefinitely.
Compulsion, vamp-speed, and advanced healing all suppressed during human period.
Deaths in the human state are permanent.
"So..." He set the bottle on the table and took a seat beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
"Are we going to have a fun time or a terrible time?"
"It depends," you said. "Are you going to drag another vampire in here and torture them in front of me?"
He chuckled. "I thought you hated vampires, darling."
"I do. But I'm not a big fan of torture."
"You're a strange little witch," Kol said, leaning back against the sofa and taking a long drink from the bottle.
"You're a sociopath," you replied.
"Nawww, that's my brother Finn. You would have gotten along great. He's dead now."
"That's a shame," you muttered, grabbing the bottle from him and taking a long drink.
"Cheers to that."
He pulled the bottle out of your hands, his expression suddenly serious.
"Take them off now, darling," he said, nodding towards the gloves. "The real test begins now."
With a sigh, you did, laying them out on the coffee table in front of you. You looked back up at him, the two of you watching each other for a moment.
He held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation, you took it.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, like he was enjoying a particularly decadent dessert. "That's nice."
He opened his eyes and looked down at the bottle. "Right then."
He took another swig, then another, and another. He drained it completely, setting the empty bottle back on the coffee table.
"Oh," he breathed, his free hand going to his stomach.
"That feels odd."
"Good odd or bad odd?"
"I'll have to get back to you," he said, pressing his palm to his belly.
He fell silent. Then his shoulders started shaking. You leaned closer, frowning, unsure what was happening.
"Kol?"
He looked up. He was laughing. "I think I might have a tummy ache," he said, a grin spreading across his face.
"Congratulations?" you said, unsure of the correct response.
He was still chuckling, a soft, genuine sound. "My god, I feel so bloody awful," he said, his words slurring together.
You watched him in utter bafflement. "You're drunk."
"I might be," he agreed. "I can't remember the last time I was."
"One thousand years?" you asked, the sarcasm coming naturally.
"Closer to eleven hundred years, but who's counting?" He collapsed back onto the sofa beside you, one hand still clutching yours, the other waving the bottle dramatically. "Fuck Klaus, I'm not letting him kill you. I'm keeping you around just for this."
You stared at him, your mouth dropping open.
"I'm sorry, did you say … not letting him kill me?'"
He laughed again, louder, almost a giggle.
"You are such a strange girl. So angry. Like a little ball of fire. I don't get why you want all of us dead so badly. Surely you understand you are in more danger out there than with us."
"Because vampires are the epitome of safe." You said flatly.
He grinned, leaning in, his voice dropping lower. "Admit it, you like me."
You let out a long sigh. "You are tolerable."
"Tolerable! I'll take it!" he said, giving your hand a squeeze. "I'm also a catch."
"Oh yeah?" You asked, an actual smile creeping across your lips.
"Oh yes," he said. "I have been thinking about one certain experiment I would like to try... With your permission of course."
"Permission for what?" you asked, a bit wary.
"The most human thing two humans can do."
"Which is?"
He leaned in, his eyes fixed on yours, his voice low. "Making a baby."
"You've lost your fucking mind," you said, immediately letting go of his hand and jumping up, heading towards the door.
He grabbed your wrist and stopped you, pulling you back. "Come on darling, I said with your permission. Don't get all offended now."
You glared at him, snatching your hand away. "You have a lot of nerve."
He gave a shrug, that shit eating grin back on his face. "It was just a suggestion."
"It's not funny, Kol."
"A bit funny."
You reluctantly sat back down, not meeting his eye. He held out his hand. "Come on, don't leave me hangin'."
After a long pause, you took it.
"I'll tell you a secret," he whispered. "I like holding your hand."
You glanced over at him, continuing to glare, but saying nothing.
He took another sip from the bottle, looking up at the ceiling.
"Witches, god I love them so much, the lot of you are beautiful, powerful and deadly... " He began to giggle again, and it was an oddly endearing sound. "I miss being one, I really do."
He suddenly sat up and got to his feet, pulling you with him.
"I wonder..." He began to lead you into the middle of the room, setting the empty bottle down and holding both of your hands.
He closed his eyes, and you felt it, his magic humming to life all around you. His dried herbs turned green again, full of life, the air crackling.
He hummed, swaying back and forth, still holding your hand, the alcohol making his movements a little sloppy.
"I can feel it." His voice was quiet, but excited. "I can feel it, my magic… It's been so long since I've done this."
A small smile crept across your face. This was the first time he smiled in a way that actually seemed sincere.
"Not many witches can do magic while drunk," you murmured.
"I was a bit of a prodigy in my time," he said, opening his eyes and winking.
"Of course you were," you muttered.
"Dance with me." He said, the words not a request, but a demand.
"What? No, absolutely not," you said, trying to pull away, but he held your hand tight, and pulled you closer, until you were chest to chest, his face inches from yours.
"Come on, we are both humans, this is what we do. Dance. Flirt. Make love. Eat. Get drunk. Have children. Die."
"You make it sound so awful."
He laughed, "I would have agreed with you a thousand years ago. But now I'm not so sure."
"KOL," Elijah's voice, sharp and angry.
Both of you turned your heads. The eldest Mikaelson was standing in the doorway, a look of pure disappointment on his face.
"Oh, good evening Elijah, do come in, join us."
Elijah didn't move, his arms were crossed, his jaw clenched. "Are you... Drunk?"
"Yes, I believe so," Kol said, not seeming phased in the slightest. "This is delightful. I would highly recommend it."
"Enough." Elijah's voice was sharp, cutting. "You're done for the night."
"Ohhhh, am I? Did someone call the fun police? I think the fun police are here. He is the fun police," he stage whispered, nodding his head at his brother.
Elijah just glared. "Kol."
Kol sighed. "Fine, fine."
He let go of you and stepped back, grabbing the bottle, taking one final sip of his wine and then causally smashing it on to the floor. Then he walked towards the chalkboard, his steps a little unsteady. He picked up a piece of chalk, twirling it between his fingers like a knife. "Let's see," he muttered, squinting at his scrawled notes.
CONFIRMED
Can get drunk.
Can do magic :)
He added a smiley face at the end and stepped back to admire his work. "Brilliant," he said softly. Then he turned toward you, still beaming, eyes glazed with mischief. "You see, darling? Science. Progress. And all it took was-"
The air shifted. It was a small shift, but you felt it. The tether between your skin and his snapped.
Kol froze. His smile faded. The veins reappeared under his eyes in a ripple of black. He blinked once, twice, then exhaled sharply.
"Oh, bloody hell."
"Sober?" You asked.
"Unfortunately," he muttered, his face twisting into a scowl.
He glanced toward the door where Elijah still stood, silent and disapproving. Kol gave him a lazy salute, eyes dull again.
"Don't worry, brother," he said, voice suddenly sharp. "Experiment's over. Fun's dead. Back to being monsters."
With that, he strolled out, his shoulders rigid, his footsteps loud. Elijah watched him go, his expression one of pure disappointment.
Then looked at you and his gaze softened. "You've had a long day, may I escort you to your room?"
"Sure," you said, putting your gloves back on.
Elijah held out his arm and you took it, trying to ignore how nice his cologne smelled.
The two of you walked out of the attic, and down the stairs. It was a quiet, awkward silence between you.
"I hope Kol isn't... too much," Elijah said. "His behavior is highly undignified."
"It was fine," you said. "He's not terrible when he's not killing people."
"That is true," he murmured, glancing down at you. "But the line between fun and murder is very thin for him."
"Isn't that true for all vampires?"
Elijah smiled. "Touché."
Your room was in a small corridor that was tucked away from the rest of the mansion, and guarded by a vampire at all times. There was a sitting room, a bedroom, a bathroom and a balcony, which was a nice touch.
The vampire outside the door gave Elijah a quick nod and departed, leaving the two of you alone. He opened the door, and gestured for you to step inside.
"Thank you," you murmured, letting go of his arm and stepping through the threshold. "For what it's worth."
"It's worth a great deal," he said softly, from behind you.
You turned around to find him staring at you, his hands in his pockets. He looked… sad. For a fleeting second.
"Elijah," you said, your voice quiet.
He took a step into the room, then another, closing the distance between you, until you had to tilt your head back to look at him.
"I apologize," he said quietly. "For all of this."
"Then let me go," you said, your voice barely a whisper.
He raised a hand, his fingers ghosting over your jawline, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"If I let you go," he murmured, "someone else will find you. And they won't be as kind as me."
His fingers brushed against your skin.
The world tilted. It was quiet. There was only you and him, and the sound of your own heart beating in your chest.
For a split second, the predator was gone. In his place was a man who looked lost, haunted. He looked at you not like you were a weapon, or a cure, but like you were something he'd been searching for, for a very long time.
He pulled his hand away, letting out a deep breath, as if surfacing from deep water. He took a step back and adjusted his cufflink, the mask of composure sliding back into place.
"That was inappropriate of me, I should have asked your permission." He said, his voice calm and measured again.
"Your siblings seem to think that's optional." You said, your voice tight.
"They are indulgent," he said. "I am not."
You weren't sure if you were angry, or scared. Or something else entirely. You couldn't trust this feeling, couldn't trust the pull, or the pity, or the strange, fragile connection that was weaving itself between you and your captor.
"Goodnight Elijah." You said, trying to keep your own voice steady.
"Goodnight," he replied, then he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
PART SIX
Days blurred into weeks, that soon turned into months. The Mikaelsons had settled into a strange kind of routine with you. You would eat your meals with them, go for short walks around the courtyard with Rebekah, and then every second day you would be dragged up to Kols lab to test another one of his macabre theories. He was especially proud of the one where he proved a vampire could get sunburnt while touching you.
At night you couldn't sleep, restless nightmares of being attacked by owls with the faces of vampires waking you up in a cold sweat. You knew the guards always switched at midnight, and there was a small window where no one was at your door. So you began to sneak out and explore, finding little hiding spots in the vast compound. A small library full of old poetry books, a dusty attic full of old clothes, and a closet full of torn-up half finished paintings on the third floor.
There was one locked door that particularly interested you. Every night you saw the glow of light seeping from underneath it. It was down the hall from Kol's lab, far from everyone's bedrooms. Sometimes you heard music through it.
You had almost knocked once, then thought better of it. Klaus could very well be on the other side, and you rather not test your luck.
Tonight, as you passed, the latch wasn't completely closed. A sliver of warm light and a low, melodic hum spilled into the hall.
Your curiosity won. You nudged the door, it swung open silently.
It was another library, cozy and small, a fire crackling in the hearth. And there, sitting at a grand piano, was Elijah.
His fingers moved over the keys with a fluid, natural grace, weaving a melody that was beautiful and incredibly sad. His back was to you, his shoulders hunched in concentration. He looked so different from the composed, untouchable man he pretended to be. He looked... real.
You took a step inside, listening. The music was so full of a longing that was so profound it almost hurt to listen to. You could hear a thousand years of loneliness in every note.
His playing slowed, then stopped. The sudden silence in the room was deafening.
He didn't turn. "Is there something you need?" he asked, his voice quiet.
Your breath caught. "I... no. I heard music. I was just curious."
He turned then, and the firelight caught the planes of his face, highlighting the exhaustion etched around his eyes.
"I apologize if I disturbed you."
"You didn't," you said, taking another step into the room. "It was beautiful."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "An old habit. It helps to quiet the noise."
He patted the empty space on the piano bench beside him. An invitation.
You were a prisoner. He was your captor. Every instinct screamed at you to run.
But you walked over and sat down, leaving a careful, deliberate space between you. You saw a stack of sheet music beside him. A book of Chopin nocturnes. Your mother had loved Chopin.
She had tried to teach you once, but you had no patience for it. Music flows from your heart, not from wooden hammers and strings, she had said. The memory was a sudden, sharp pang of loss.
"It is an interesting paradox," Elijah said, almost to himself, as if he were following your thoughts. "To create something so fleeting. A moment of sound, and then it is gone forever. Yet it can continue to play in your mind for eternity."
"Isn't that what life is?" you countered softly. "Fleeting memories?"
He looked at you then, truly looked at you. "Yes," he said, his voice husky. "It is."
He turned back to the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys. "Do you play?"
"No," you said, a little too quickly. "No talent for it."
"Talent is often just persistence in disguise." He started playing again, a different piece this one, but just as melancholic. "Tell me," he said, not taking his eyes off the keys, "when did your magic manifest?"
You were used to their questions, to Kol's invasive experiments and Rebekah's casual prodding. But Elijah's questions felt different. He wasn't testing you, he was trying to understand you.
"I was nine," you said. "I set the curtains on fire because I wanted my sister's doll."
A small, genuine laugh escaped him. "Did you get the doll?"
"No. My mother made me apologize to the curtains."
You were both smiling now. The absurdity of it all. The lines felt blurred, the room too warm, the firelight too soft.
"May I try something? With your permission, of course."
Your stomach tightened. "What?"
He gestured to your gloved hands. "May I?"
This was the core of it. The constant, unrelenting ask. To be touched, to be prodded, to be used. You were exhausted from fighting it.
Slowly, reluctantly, you nodded.
He peeled off his glove with an almost reverent slowness, his dark eyes never leaving yours. He didn't lunge. He didn't grab. He simply turned your hand over, palm up, and laid his bare hand against it.
The change was instant, but subtle this time. The room didn't tilt. The world didn't fall away. Instead, it just gently softened.
He made an almost imperceptible noise, a soft sigh of release. He closed his eyes. "It never becomes less extraordinary."
He placed his other hand back on the keys, the one touching yours resting in your lap. He began to play.
This music was different.
Where before there was sorrow, now there was a fragile hope. It was a bit less refined, a touch clumsy, the way a human might play. He was no longer the vampire who had practiced a thousand years to achieve perfection. He was just a man, playing a song to a girl in the firelight.
You listened, mesmerized, watching him play with one hand while the other held yours. You looked at where your skin met his, a strange intimacy that felt more dangerous than any threat.
"Here," you said softly, letting go of his hand and reaching up to touch his cheek. Maintaining the contact and freeing his hand in one fluid motion.
He smiled, both hands now finding their place on the keys. The music swelled. More complex, more complete.
"I've always respected the classics, but I do have a soft spot for rock music. Queen, Bowie, Nirvana..." He confessed into the quiet room, the notes of the nocturne transitioning into the raw opening chords of a Nirvana song, played with a strange, classical elegance.
A laugh burst from your lips, unbidden. "Nirvana? Really?"
He was actually smiling now, a real, open-mouthed smile that transformed his entire face. "What?"
"Never took you for a grunge fan," you teased, your body instinctively leaning closer.
He played the opening riff, a little slower, with a mournful gravity that made it sound like a funeral dirge. "The dissonance speaks to a certain existential ennui." He winked. "And the chorus is rather... cathartic."
You were both laughing. "Okay dude, stow the pretentiousness, that's literally the opposite point of Nirvana." You said, playfully poking him in the shoulder.
He stopped playing, turning his body on the bench to face you fully. The laughter faded, replaced by something else. Something warmer.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"For what?" you asked, your own smile faltering slightly.
"For letting me play for the first time as a human," he clarified. "Pianos didn't exist when I was mortal."
"Oh," was all you could manage. A wave of something washed over you. A strange mix of pity and affection.
You were aware of the fire, the closeness of his body, the scent of him, and the weight of a thousand unsaid things hanging between you. He gently pulled away, your hand no longer touching his cheek.
He stood up, straightening his jacket, the vulnerable musician slowly retreating into the composed vampire.
"It's late, you should try and rest."
"Right," you said, getting to your feet, the brief bubble of normalcy popping.
He walked you back to your rooms. The vampire standing guard looked a bit sheepish at seeing you outside of it.
"Your job is to guard her," Elijah said in a low, hard voice to the vampire. "Not to allow her to wander."
The vampire looked down at the floor. "Yes sir."
You frowned at that, giving Elijah a disapproving look. Like all that you just shared was an oversight, a security breach. "I was just exploring."
"Perhaps it is best if you refrain," he said, as he looked down at your gloved hands.
Without another word, he opened your door and waited for you to step inside. You did, your heart sinking.
You stood there for a long moment, just looking at each other. The memory of the laughter, of the music, hung in the air between you, a fragile, beautiful ghost.
He gave you a curt nod, then closed the door without a word, leaving you in the familiar, suffocating silence of your room.
ACT III
PART SEVEN
Kol dragged you by the elbow towards the living room, a grin on his face. It was entirely unsettling, you knew it meant he had an idea. Most of Kol's ideas started with him being bored and ended with you being exhausted.
"Rebekahhhh!" He sang out, letting you go when you reached the archway. "I've got the stuff, I hope you are prepared."
She was sitting on the sofa, a giant spread of desserts and sweets on the coffee table in front of her. She had clearly compelled an entire bakery to close up and work just for her.
"Took you long enough," she said, not even looking up from the cake she was cutting.
Kol scoffed dramatically and plopped a plastic baggie onto the table beside a plate of pastel macarons. "It is surprisingly difficult to find quality MDMA in this city."
Rebekah rolled her eyes. "How would you know what's quality?"
"I... may have compelled the dealer to try his own supply," Kol said, pulling you down onto the sofa, in-between him and Rebekah. "His review was positive."
You looked between them. Your life had truly reached a new level of weird.
"I also got this!" He pulled out a baggie of rolled joints, the pungent, earthy smell of marijuana filling the room.
"Not to sound like a PSA... but is this really what you want to do with your temporary mortality?" you asked, trying to pull away from him to no avail.
"Absolutely," Rebekah said, finally looking at you, her eyes sparkling with a kind of manic joy. "I got all these desserts just for this. We are going to taste. Really taste."
Kol grinned like a man unveiling a masterpiece. "Right then. Witchy, gloves off."
You froze. "Absolutely not."
"Oh, come now," he said, nudging your shoulder with his. "Just a touch. A teensy brush of skin. Enough to make us feel something for once."
"I refuse to be your party trick." The words were flat, a lie you told yourself every day. You were already their trick, their weapon, their curiosity. This was just a new, more pathetic version of the same arrangement.
Rebekah sighed. "Must you be so melodramatic? We aren't going to torture you... We're just asking to get high."
"And Kol wants to study the human-high-vampire-sober metabolism," you added.
"I am a man of science!" he declared, puffing out his chest. "It is my duty."
A small, bitter laugh escaped you. "Is it worth it? You'll just sober up in sixty seconds. The moment you let go."
"That's the best part," Rebekah said, leaning forward, pulling the gloves off your hands for you. "No consequences. No hangover. Just the fun."
They both looked at you. The sheer, pathetic boredom radiating from them was its own kind of weapon. You were a balm for a wound you couldn't even see.
"Fine," you said, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "One hour."
"Brilliant!" Kol cheered, capturing your left hand in his, pressing your palm against the inside of his wrist and Rebekah took the right with equal fervor. "Just maintain contact, okay darling?"
The air shifted, the familiar slight softening of the world. Kol let out a blissful sigh, and Rebekah's eyes fluttered closed.
"That's the stuff," she murmured.
Kol popped an MDMA pill into his mouth like it was a candy. Rebekah followed suit.
"So... do you swallow it like a human or does it just dissolve?"
"Swallow," Kol said, "now shush, I'm focusing on the come-up."
A few minutes passed. Kol turned on some music and Rebekah began to dig into the pastries, her movements a little less fluid than usual. Even when reaching for food, she kept your hand pressed against her thigh, pulling you with her every motion.
"Do you feel it yet?" he asked.
"I don't know... maybe my teeth feel fuzzy," she said.
Another few minutes. Rebekah suddenly gasped.
"Oh my god," she whispered, staring at her hand, which was still holding yours. "I can feel the ridges of your knuckles."
"Fascinating," Kol said. Then he stopped. He blinked. "Oh."
"Oh what?"
"It's... it's started," he said, his eyes wide with wonder.
A slow, brilliant grin spread across Rebekah's face, her pupils blown to the point of swallowing her irises. They looked at each other, then at you, their faces lit with a kind of idiotic glee.
"Well, this is fun," you said, the sarcasm barely even registering.
"Love is all," Kol said with great profundity.
"We should smoke the weed," Rebekah said. "Science."
"Naturally," Kol agreed.
He let go of your hand for a split second to fumble with the lighter. Rebekah immediately began to count down, making his expression flicker into panic, going as fast as possible
"49...48...47..." she chanted.
Kol managed to light the joint and grabbed your hand again, letting out a little breath of relief.
"This tastes like shit," he said, coughing as he took a deep drag from it. He then offered it to Rebekah, who took a similarly deep drag before handing it back.
"What do you feel?" Kol asked, turning to you.
"Like I'm trapped in a very strange, very old house with two immortal toddlers," you replied, deadpan.
He giggled again, and handed the joint to you. "Here. For your troubles." Then he seemed to think of something. "Will it affect you?"
"Yeah, it will affect me," you said, your patience wearing thin.
"Good. You need to loosen up."
You took the joint, more out of spite than anything else, and took a long drag. The smoke was harsh in your lungs, but the familiar warmth that followed was a small comfort.
"You've definitely done that before," Kol observed.
You didn't answer, just took another drag and handed it back to him.
"What came first? The witch or the pothead? It's a chicken and egg scenario," he mused, staring at the glowing ember of the joint.
Rebekah had a sudden and intense fascination with a single cream puff, which she held up to the light like it was a flawless diamond.
"The texture," she breathed.
"What about it?" you asked.
She broke it open and gasped again.
"Oh, the cream! How do the bakers do it? They must be magic." She looked at you, her expression suddenly earnest. She squeezed your hand to her chest, clutching your skin like a lifeline. "Are you a baker? Do you have that kind of magic?"
Kol burst out laughing at Rebekah's question. "Bex, what the fuck are you talking about?"
A genuine smile finally reached your lips, and the weed started to soften the sharp edges of your anger. This whole situation was so monumentally stupid it had circled back around to being funny.
"I just want to taste it," Rebekah said, her eyes filling with tears. She took a delicate bite, and her face went slack with bliss. "I think... I think this is love. This is what love is. A cream puff." She locked eyes with you, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm sorry for being a bitch to you."
You blinked. "Okay."
"No, I mean it," she insisted, reaching out to touch your face. "You are just... stuck here. With us. It must be awful. We're awful."
Rebekah sniffled, mascara smudging as she leaned fully into your space, palm cupping your cheek with devastating sincerity.
"We're awful," she repeated, lip wobbling.
Kol nodded solemnly, as if this were a funeral. "Monsters, really."
"Absolutely terrible. We're horrible hosts. Kol, get her a tart," Rebekah commanded, pointing a finger at the dessert table.
Kol was already halfway over the dessert table, shoving pastries around like a raccoon hunting treasure. "Which tart though? The raspberry one? Blueberry? Lemon? Lime?!"
Rebekah placed both hands on your shoulders. "We don't deserve you."
"The lemon one looks good," you offered.
"Excellent choice," Kol replied, picking it out of the pile.
He collapsed onto the carpet at your feet, dramatically resting his head against your knee, reaching up to place your hand on his cheek. "You are our angel," he declared, then tried to feed the tart to you.
Rebekah giggled at that, and then couldn't stop. She was laughing so hard she was crying, actual tears running down her face, as she patted the top of his head. "I love you so much brother," she wheezed.
"Love you too, Bex," he said, muffled by your dress.
You took the tart out of his hand and took a bite, it was utterly delicious. Sweet, just the right amount of lemon, the crust a perfect shortbread.
"This is good," you said, the words coming out lazy and mellow. "You guys might be onto something."
"I love you more Kol, like you don't even understand," she said, leaning her head against your shoulder, sandwiching you between them.
"No, listen," he reached out and cupped Rebekah's cheek. "I love YOU more. What other sibling could I do this with?" He wiggled your joined hands. "Literally who else?"
"Finn." Rebekah said deadpan.
Kol paused, then absolutely howled with laughter. He collapsed sideways against your knee, shoulders shaking, while Rebekah folded into your side like a drunk swan.
You barely had time to breathe before the living room door suddenly opened.
Just a soft click. But the sound was enough to shatter the hazy, sugar laden bubble. Elijah stood there, dressed in a sharp suit, his expression carved from disappointment.
He didn't speak.
He didn't move quickly.
He didn't need to.
The laughter died in a single instant, like someone had sliced the sound out of the air.
Rebekah froze mid-giggle, hand still wrapped firmly around your wrist.
Kol blinked up from the floor, your ankle in his grip like he'd forgotten he was holding it.
And you… you just stared, your stomach dropping.
Elijah's eyes took in exactly three things: them, you, and the undeniable fact that he was the only sober person in the room.
Something in his expression flickered, not rage, not shock, but something quieter and sharper. Something you had only seen when Klaus pushed him too far.
He said one word. "Enough."
Rebekah flinched.
Kol actually straightened, like a child caught with stolen candy.
Neither of them let go.
Elijah stepped forward. "Release her."
Calm. Level. Final.
Rebekah dropped your hand. Kol hesitated, and then with a heavy sigh, he let go and climbed back onto the sofa.
Rebekah attempted a weak smile. "We were just having fun."
"Your fun ends the moment it endangers her." he said, picking up your discarded gloves and handing them to you. He kept looking between you, them and the drugs on the coffee table.
"Lighten up, brother. The most tragic thing that happened tonight is that we have to sit through you telling us how disappointed you are." Kol said, standing up and stretching.
You didn't speak. You just stood up and started pulling on your gloves, each finger finding its home, re-building your armor.
"Weed has never killed anybody," Kol added with a sigh.
Elijah walked over to the coffee table and picked up the baggie of joints, holding it delicately between two fingers like something distasteful. "No," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "But they could have been laced, same with the... pills." He gestured at the other baggie.
Rebekah sank into the sofa with a pout. "They weren't."
Elijah didn't dignify her with a response, just reached out his hand to you. "Come." It was not a request.
You looked at Kol, who gave you a lazy, half-hearted grin and then to Rebekah who was munching on another cream puff, looking thoroughly disappointed.
You took Elijah's arm, feeling the familiar strength in it, the rigid control.
"Ughhhhh." Kol let out a dramatic groan, flopping back down onto the sofa. "I'm sober again."
"Me too," Rebekah grumbled, swallowing her bite, and putting the rest down. "Now I just want blood."
"It was brilliant while it lasted," Kol muttered, closing his eyes, a look of pure bliss still on his face. "That's a memory I will cherish forever."
Elijah let out a long sigh and guided you out of the room. He was silent all the way to your door, dismissing the guard with a wave of his hand.
He followed you into your rooms, closing the door behind him, his footsteps nearly silent.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He just looked at you, taking in the slight redness in your eyes, the way you swayed just a touch, the faint fog still clinging to your expression.
His voice, when it came, was low and unbearably gentle. "Are you alright?"
You blinked up at him, surprised. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
There it was, that annoying, lovely, concern of his. Real, unguarded, unmasked. And something in you, softened by weed and exhaustion, snapped just enough to let the truth slip out.
"I'm surprised you care."
His brows drew together, a small, wounded crease forming between them. "Why would you say that?"
You gave a small, humorless laugh. "Because last time we spoke you couldn't get away from me fast enough. You walked me back to my room like I was a problem that needed storing away. So yeah. I'm surprised you care."
A flicker of guilt crossed his face quick, almost invisible, you were too tired to notice it.
"That is not true," he said softly. "I do care, more than is wise."
The room went very quiet. You were left standing there in your pretty, gilded cage, and he was your jailer, suddenly admitting the keys were heavy.
You didn't know what to say to that, you just turned to face him fully, your head tilting.
He took a half-step closer, reaching out, but stopping himself before he could touch you.
"Their indulgences are… irresponsible," he said, changing the subject, but not really. "They treat you like a toy. An amusement. I do not."
"But you want to touch me too," you countered, your voice losing its defensiveness.
His mouth twitched and he looked away from you, as if the floor had suddenly become fascinating.
"It would be nice," he finally admitted.
"Just nice?"
"Very nice."
You sighed, a little looser than you would've been an hour ago, the lingering warmth of the weed still smoothing out your edges. You began pulling off the gloves, one by one. The last fingertip caught for a second, and you had to focus more than you should've.
Elijah watched the whole time, his face a careful mask of control. You took a seat on the edge of the bed and held out your hand.
"Go ahead," you murmured.
He reached for it, his movements slow, careful, like he was afraid he might frighten you away. His palm slid against yours, and you felt the tension leave his body in one long exhale. His eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his cheek briefly to the back of your hand, like he was memorizing the warmth.
Then he sat down beside you, still holding on.
"I didn't realize how much I missed it," he said quietly.
"Being human?" you asked.
"Yes."
You studied his face in profile, the dark lashes, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. He looked younger like this. Softer. Tired.
"What's nice about it?" you asked. "I hate being human."
His eyes opened, turning to you. "Do you?"
"Of course," you said, the words coming out sharper than you meant. "Being human makes you vulnerable in this world. Humans are weak, stupid, and fragile."
"But they're not only that," he said. His thumb brushed absently over your knuckles. "They're resilient. They endure. They heal."
"Aren't we just all food to you?" you muttered. "Why do you care?"
Elijah looked down at your joined hands. "Younger vampires can turn it off," he said. "That tether to their humanity. They can shut it away to survive. Feel nothing at all."
You frowned. "Yeah, I've heard. Why would anyone want to do that?"
"So they don't break," he said simply. "But it doesn't last. Not for us. The longer we live, the harder it is to stay numb. It creeps back in. The guilt. The grief. The… hope." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Whether we want it to or not."
"Sounds like a punishment," you said.
He let out a quiet huff of amusement. "Knowing my mother… perhaps."
He tipped his head back, gaze unfocused on the ceiling. "I forgot so many little things about being human," he admitted. "How everything smelled, and felt, and sounded. But now it's all so clear again when I touch you."
You stared down at his hand, watching his thumb move in slow, soothing circles over your skin. Your chest ached with something you didn't want to name.
"I like it when you touch me," you said softly, the confession slipping out before you could catch it.
His head turned, eyes meeting yours. "I like it as well," he said. There was a faint flush along his cheekbones now. "May I ask another favor?"
"What's that?" you asked, your voice quieter than before.
His cheeks were slightly pink. "I would very much like… a nice human sleep."
You blinked. "That's all? Just a nice human sleep?"
"If you are amenable," he said, his hand squeezing yours, the smallest hint of nerves in the gesture. "Nothing more."
Your stomach flipped. "As long as you don't expect anything more," you said, suddenly very aware of how close he was, how warm his hand felt in yours.
He chuckled, his face softening. "I'm not Kol. I know how to behave."
"Okay then," you murmured. "Just…let me change."
You slipped your hand from his and crossed the room to your wardrobe. You could feel his gaze on your back for a second before he caught himself and turned around.
You pulled out a soft nightgown and shrugged out of your dress, then folded it over the chair by habit before tugging the nightgown into place.
Behind you, you heard the faint rustle of Elijah moving, the subtle clink of cufflinks, the low slide of a belt being pulled free. When you turned back, he had already loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, his back still turned.
You looked. You couldn't help it.
Your gaze tracked the line of his shoulders, the exposed expanse of his back. He glanced behind just in time to catch you staring.
His brow lifted, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Would you prefer I remain fully clothed?" he asked.
Heat crept up your neck. "No, I just..." You cleared your throat and looked away. "Nevermind."
He let the smile linger for a heartbeat, then finished unbuttoning his shirt, folding it with the same care he gave everything. He draped it over the back of the chair beside your dress, then stepped out of his trousers. By the time he reached the bed, he was down to his boxers and a thin undershirt, as proper as undressed could possibly look.
The mattress dipped as he settled beside you. You lay on your back, stiff and awkward for a moment, the room suddenly too quiet.
He reached for your hand again, his fingers sliding between yours, and you felt him relax. You shifted closer, resting your head against his shoulder.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," you murmured.
"Good,"
Silence settled over the room, but it wasn't suffocating this time. The only sound was his soft breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. The world felt muted, like someone had turned the volume down on everything except him.
You turned your head to look at him. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful in a way you'd never seen when he was awake and guarding himself.
You lifted your free hand and brushed your fingers across his cheek. His stubble was soft against your skin. He smiled, leaning into your touch, but didn't open his eyes.
Your heart rate slowed, your body sinking deeper into the mattress. The lingering warmth of the weed and the solid weight of him beside you wrapped around you like a blanket.
The last thing you saw before sleep pulled you under was his peaceful face, and the gentle, human smile on his lips.
PART EIGHT
Dawn crept in, and sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, the air turning warm. You woke first, your neck stiff, your mind cloudy.
Elijah was still sleeping, his head heavy on your shoulder, his hand still intertwined with yours. You looked down at him, a smile creeping across your lips, feeling... peaceful.
You watched him for a while, running a finger over the lines on his palm, feeling the warmth of his skin.
His eyes blinked open, unfocused at first. Then the realization hit and he sat up abruptly, jerking his hand away.
"Oh... Forgive me. I..."
"It's alright," you said, reaching over to touch his arm, but he moved out of reach.
He cleared his throat, a hint of color rising on his cheeks. "I... Don't remember the last time I woke in such a manner."
"It was just a sleep, Elijah."
"I'm aware. It is merely... disorienting."
He got out of the bed, and started picking up his clothes. Silence stretched heavy between you, the only sound was a clock ticking on the wall. Counting down the seconds until he turned back into a vampire.
You watched him dress, a ritual so precise and practiced that you felt a pang of something you couldn't name. When he finished, he turned to face you. He looked like he wanted to say something else, maybe something about how nice it had been, or how he wanted to do it again. But he didn't, instead he seemed to harden his features, becoming more distant, more like a thousand-year-old man than your human bedmate.
"I shouldn't have asked that of you," he said, walking toward the door. "It was... an error in judgment."
"You don't enjoy sleeping with women?" You teased, a little bit of fire coming back into your voice.
"No, I don't. I mean of course I do… It's just... You are a prisoner here... It's not right." He floundered, his usual composure in tatters. He looked like a teenager, and you had to bite your lip to keep from grinning.
"Oh. So that's where you draw the line? Interesting moral code you have."
"I apologize. It seems I am... Unsettled this morning."
"It was a human thing, Elijah," you said, standing up and walking towards him. You didn't put your gloves on, instead, you reached out and placed a bare hand on his cheek. He flinched but didn't move away, letting himself be human for a little longer. "You don't have to apologize. It was nice for me too."
He let out a slow breath and you felt him relax. "Thank you."
"You can be human with me," you said softly. "It's not a weakness."
He smiled, a real, genuine smile, "A dangerous offer."
His hands found your waist, and he pulled you closer. You could feel the warmth of him, the steady beat of a borrowed human heart.
"I fear... I am beginning to enjoy this cage more than I should," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
You tilted your head up, and you were so close that you could feel his breath on your lips. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the longing warring with his duty. For a split second, you thought he might kiss you, a human kiss, slow and soft. He leaned in, and your eyes fluttered shut.
Then he stopped. He pulled away, and you felt a sudden chill where his body had been.
"We should go, get dressed and put your gloves on, we are expected at breakfast." He straightened his tie, not quite meeting your eyes.
"Elijah..."
He shook his head, "This is a complication we cannot afford. Not now."
"Fine," you muttered, turning away from him and going over to your closet, trying not to show the heartbreak on your face.
You turned to say one more thing, but Elijah was gone.
PART NINE
Rebekah was sitting at the breakfast table when you arrived, a bloody mimosa and a plate of eggs in front of her. She was wearing a bright yellow sundress, a huge smile on her face.
"Good morning, darling," she smiled, snapping her fingers at the servants to grab you a plate. "Come sit, you must be famished. The sun is beautiful this morning, we should go out today."
"Absolutely not Rebekah," Elijah said from the head of the table, not even looking up from the newspaper.
"Oh Elijah, come off it, she's been trapped inside for months, she deserves a little shopping trip."
"She's not to leave the compound, those are Niklaus's orders."
You were silent, listening to them talk about you like you weren't even there. The servants placed a cup of coffee and plate of eggs in front of you, but your stomach was churning.
Rebekah gave a dramatic sigh, stabbing at her eggs.
"Honestly, you and Nik are both being ridiculous. She's a witch, not a toddler. Let her see the bloody sun." She looked at you, her gaze speculative. "Unless you're afraid she'll run?"
"I'm not afraid she'll run," Elijah said smoothly, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. "I'm afraid she'll be stolen."
"Stolen... Like I'm some sort of object?" you asked, finally finding your voice. "A party favor? A pretty little thing to be passed around and argued over?"
"No, not like that," Elijah said, his gaze softening. "Like a secret. A secret that cannot get out."
"Uh huh," you said, taking a sip of your coffee.
"You and Kol are indulging far too much," Elijah said. "I fear what could happen if she is outside of these walls, where we can't control the variables."
Rebekah froze mid-sip of her bloody mimosa, eyes flicking toward you, then back to him. "Are you seriously going to pretend like you didn't stay in her room last night?"
Elijah didn't respond, his body went still, and a smug smirk appeared on Rebekah's lips.
"I wonder what Niklaus would be more upset over? Taking the witch for a walk or... sleeping with her."
Elijah was glaring at her now. "I did not..."
"We didn't have...," you interjected. "We only slept. That was it."
Rebekah laughed, delighted. "Oh Elijah, the way you blush, one would think you've done something worth blushing for."
He ignored her and reached for his coffee, jaw tight enough to crack porcelain. "I'm done with this conversation."
"Of course you are," she said lightly, turning her grin on you. "Cmon, let's go get some fresh air, Elijah will only slow us down, the old stick in the mud that he is."
"No." Elijah's voice was a sharp whip-crack, a command, not a suggestion. "If she leaves this house, she doesn't go alone."
Rebekah arched a brow. "She won't be, I will be with her?"
"You will also take Marcel."
The word landed like a dropped glass. Rebekah's smile faltered. "Seriously?"
"Would you rather I accompanied you?" Elijah asked, a challenge in his tone.
Rebekah held his gaze for a long moment, then threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll bring your precious soldier. But if he lectures me, I'm snapping his neck and leaving him."
Elijah's mouth curved almost imperceptibly. "He'll manage."
Rebekah pushed back from the table and stood, smoothing her dress. "Come along, sweetheart. Before my brother thinks of another rule."
You rose, hesitant. "You mean we can go out? You're serious?"
"Yes, and you get to meet my ex, how fun."
You glanced at Elijah, but his face was blank, and he refused to meet your eyes.
"Go," he said. "Just be careful."
Rebekah rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "Always am."
PART TEN
You were already sweating by the time you turned onto royal street. Brass drifted lazy over rooftops; something sweet fried in oil wafted through the air.
Rebekah looped her arm through yours like you were girlfriends on a spree. "We're buying you something frivolous," she said. "Elijah can scowl at the receipt later."
"Hey now," Marcel said from your other side, sunglasses on, smiling and nodding at the local vendors. "Can't the man have a hobby."
You couldn't help but chuckle at that accurate statement.
"Why don't you go fetch some cold drinks, it's dreadfully warm for our little witch and I'll take her to find a fresh pair of gloves."
Marcel paused, and his smile slipped, a hint of hesitation in his eyes.
"Don't worry, we'll stay right in this area, promise."
"Alright, be careful," he said, giving her a quick nod. "And don't touch her, you never know what could happen."
"I'll touch what I please," Rebekah said, amused, and brushed her finger along your cheek.
Her breath went human in an instant, shoulders loosening as color warmed the high points of her cheeks. You pulled back, she smiled, small and private and a little wicked.
Marcel saw it. Of course he did. "Rebekah."
"Relax," she said, already drifting toward the door of a narrow shop tucked between a voodoo boutique and a gallery. The sign above the door was so faded it barely clung to the wood, the word ANTIQUITÉS in gold leaf.
The bell gave a small ring when she pushed the door open. Inside smelled like must, lavender and old books. Every surface was crowded: crucifixes, lace, porcelain dolls with missing eyes. Mirrors leaned on mirrors, reflecting the two of you from every angle.
An elderly woman looked up from behind a glass counter. Her hair was silver-white, braided and pinned, her face carved into lines and her eyes were a striking green.
"Miss Mikaelson," she said, the name shaped like a sigh. "It's been some time since you darkened my door."
"Della," Rebekah said, her voice suddenly devoid of its earlier lightness. "You're still here."
"It's my shop," the woman replied simply, her gaze settling on you. "And you've brought… a guest."
Della's eyes lingered on you, and you had the unnerving sensation she wasn't looking at your face or your clothes, but straight through your skin to the thing humming beneath. You shifted on your feet, the floorboards groaning in the silence.
Rebekah let out a long sigh, you could feel her vampire nature returning, the color fading from her cheeks, the sixty seconds from when she last touched you now up.
Della eyed her suspiciously, and you realized she was a witch too, could she feel it? Could she feel the change in the air, the static that surrounded Rebekah.
"Is there anything I can help you find today?"
"Actually," Rebekah said, smiling sweetly. "I was hoping you could recommend a pair of gloves, for my friend here."
"Hmm," Della glanced at the silk gloves that traveled all the way up your arms. "Rather warm for gloves,"
"She has a skin condition, absolutely dreadful thing, fakes everywhere," Rebekah lied.
Della looked back to you, her expression still suspicious.
"Right this way," she said, leading the two of you further into the store. She ran her fingers over a display of gloves in a glass case. "We have lace, we have silk, we have leather."
"They are all so beautiful," Rebekah said, picking up a pair of white lace gloves, holding them out to you. "What do you think, dear?"
You took them, the lace was soft and delicate, but thin. Not enough of a barrier.
"They're a little thin," you murmured.
"You're right," Rebekah said, her gaze scanning the room, landing on a pair of dark red ones, made of silk. "What about these?"
Della watched the whole exchange, her hands now folded neatly on the counter. "The gloves are lovely, Rebekah, but they won't work."
Rebekah's smile tightened. "I beg your pardon?"
Della stepped out from behind the counter, moving with an uncanny quiet. She didn't look at the gloves. She looked at you.
"What you are hiding," the old woman said, her voice low and steady, "it isn't a skin ailment."
She reached out, pushing your hair back from your shoulder. Her cool fingers brushed the bare skin of your neck, a quick, impersonal touch. You flinched, but it was over before you could react. She held your gaze, and you saw not fear, not horror, but a dawning of something ancient and knowing.
Before she could say another word, the bell over the door chimed again, and Marcel stepped inside, a trio of sweating bottles of water in one hand. He took in the scene in an instant: Rebekah's stiff posture, the old witch's penetrating stare, the glove on the counter between you.
"Everything okay in here?"
Della pulled her hand back, an unconvincing smile on her lips. "Just admiring the girl's aura. She has a very... interesting energy."
"I'm sure," Marcel said, his gaze shifting between you and the old woman, a warning in his eyes. "We should be going."
Rebekah grabbed the red silk gloves and slammed a handful of cash on the counter. "We'll take these."
Della didn't even glance at the money. "Come back anytime," she said, her eyes still fixed on you.
Rebekah didn't say another word. She just grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the door. Marcel opened it for her, and the three of you spilled back out onto the sun-baked sidewalk. The air felt different now, charged with an unspoken tension.
"What was that about?" Marcel asked, handing you a bottle of water.
"Nothing," Rebekah snapped, her good mood completely evaporated. "Just a batty old shopkeeper." She pulled the tags off the new gloves and practically shoved them at you. "Here."
The silk was cool against your heated skin, and you fumbled, pulling them on as Rebekah turned on her heel and started marching back the way you came. Her stride was longer, angrier.
"What the hell was that, Rebekah?" Marcel's voice was low, for your ears only, as he fell into step beside you.
"She's a crone. A nosy old biddy who sells junk to tourists," Rebekah said without turning around. "She sees one little sliver of magic and thinks she's an oracle."
She stopped in her tracks, making you both halt. "Don't tell Elijah."
You and Marcel both nodded.
Rebekah's smile was grim. "Good. Now, let's go home."
PART ELEVEN
You spent the rest of the day reading in your room. Hiding away from everything and everyone. You didn't want Kol to come find you, wanting to test out another theory. You didn't want to see Elijah's guilty face as he tried to explain away last night. You just wanted to be left alone with the words on a page, and a world that was not your own.
You had just finished a chapter when a soft knock echoed through the room. You tensed, debating on whether or not to answer. You didn't have to.
The door clicked open, and Elijah stepped inside, closing it softly behind him. He was dressed down, in just a t-shirt and jeans, and the casual look was so disarming that it took you a moment to register. He was holding a tray with a teapot and two cups.
"I brought you some tea," he said, his voice quiet, and it felt like he was invading your space in the most gentle way possible.
"Thanks," you said, closing the book and setting it aside.
He placed the tray on the small table in front of the sofa, and sat down in the armchair opposite you. He poured a cup of tea, and pushed it across the table.
"How was your trip with Rebekah?"
"Fine," you said, taking a sip. The tea was chamomile, but it did little to soothe your nerves. "She bought me new gloves."
"I see that," he said, his gaze lingering on the dark red silk all the way up your arms. "They are... a nice color."
The two of you sat in silence for a while, the only sound was the clinking of your cup against the saucer.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" He finally asked, breaking the quiet.
"Depends on what it is," you said, trying to sound casual.
"Why did you do this to yourself? Surely you knew it wouldn't end well for you." He gestured vaguely at you. At your hands, at your power.
You stared down into your teacup, watching the steam rise and dissipate. "I was tired of feeling vulnerable," you said. "I'm a witch, but I'm not a very powerful one. Not like the rest of my family was... I couldn't protect myself, so I had to get creative."
"What happened?"
You set down the teacup, your hands trembling slightly. "Oh you know... The usual... Witch pisses off vampire, vampire kills witch and then her entire family… Classic story."
You said it with a smile, but your voice was tight, and you could see the pity in his eyes, and it made you want to scream.
"So you found a way to even the odds," he finished for you.
"The intention of my spell was to make my blood poisonous, so any vampire who tried to bite me would die. I just... miscalculated." You said, letting out a self deprecating little laugh.
"What you did was a true anomaly, Kol has been trying to recreate it for months. A sacrificial spell of that magnitude…" He said, shaking his head. "It shouldn't be possible."
"My sister was the prodigy," you said, a bitter note creeping into your voice. "But she's gone. So it was just me and a grimoire full of spells I only half understood." You looked up at him, forcing a smile. "And now I'm a prisoner to the very monsters I created the spell to destroy. The irony is not lost on me, I assure you."
"I do not wish to be your jailer," he said softly.
"Then what are you?" You challenged him. "My guard? My therapist? The good cop who's supposed to make me feel... special?"
He let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair. "I don't know what I am." He ran a hand over his face, a gesture of such profound weariness that it made your chest ache. "I just know what I see when I look at you." He paused, choosing his next words with care. "Potential. Not just for a weapon, but for something else entirely. But Niklaus ..."
"He sees a weapon," you finished. "A gun with a funny trigger. He always has."
He looked up at the ceiling, a muscle in his jaw working. He was weighing his words, balancing the family loyalty he wore like armor against the fragile new thing growing between you.
He leaned forward again, his gaze intense and unwavering. "I see redemption, not just for my family but... For whatever drove you to this." He gestured to you, to your gloved hands, to the power humming beneath them. "A gift like yours, it isn't born from a place of peace. It is born of fury, of loss, of sacrifice."
You didn't want him to see your pain. You didn't want him to understand you. It was safer when they were just monsters. It was easier to hate them when they were just the enemy. But Elijah… he kept stripping away the layers, peeling back the armor you had so carefully constructed.
"The owl... The one I used in my spell... He was my fathers, his name was Poe. I killed him because it was the only thing I had left of my family..." you admitted, the words catching in your throat. "I knew the spell would probably kill me, but I was just so angry and afraid…"
"Of the ones who killed your family?"
"It was just one," you said, your voice cracking. "He was my sister's boyfriend, we all thought he was so charming and thoughtful... but he wasn't. He got bored and then he killed them all... I only survived because I wasn't home."
Tears streamed down your face, and you didn't bother to wipe them away.
"What was his name?" Elijah asked, his voice dangerously calm.
"It doesn't matter. He's gone." You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself. "He just collapsed a few years ago... Along with scores of other vampires all over the world. I never found out why, and it didn't stop me from being scared of every single one of you."
"Sirelines," Elijah said softly. "He must have descended from Kol or Finn... When an original dies, everyone they have ever sired and turned over the last thousand years... Dies with them. A domino effect of death."
"Oh ..." you said softly, the idea settling over you. "But Kol is... alive..."
"He can't seem to stay dead for long, he's like cat with nine lives..." Elijah paused, a thoughtful expression on his face.
You chuckled at that, wiping away the last of your tears. "It's nice to finally have the answer to why my family's killer died... I always assumed it was some sort of karma or a curse... I guess it was a bit of both."
"You have my sympathies," he said, rising to his feet, and picking up the empty tea cups. "And you have my word, no one else will hurt you. Not while I'm around."
He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, you called after him.
"Elijah..."
"Yes?" He said, turning around, his gaze questioning.
"Stay," you whispered, the words slipping from your mouth.
"I... It's not a wise idea..." he hesitated, his gaze flicking to the bed, and back.
"Why? Because you might fall asleep with me again?" You asked, a slight tease to your voice. "Or... something more than sleep?"
His throat bobbed. "Yes. Exactly."
Silence hung between you, heavy and charged. He was still looking at the bed, and you knew, with a sudden and complete certainty, that you were both hurling towards the same inevitable conclusion.
You rose, and crossed the room, until you were standing right in front of him.
"I want that too," you murmured, reaching up to push his hair back from his forehead, the silk of your glove brushing his skin.
"We can't..."
His eyes closed, and a quiet, hungry sound escaped him. It made the heat coil in your belly. His lips parted, as if he were going to say something else, but you were too lost in the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him.
You rose on your toes, pressing your lips to his. It was a slow, achingly soft kiss, and it took his breath away. His hands slid up your arms, fingers tracing the bare skin above the gloves, then hooking under the fabric and slowly pulling them off. He let the gloves fall to the floor, and then his hands were back, tracing your forearms, the curve of your shoulder, the column of your throat.
"Every time I touch you... I don't want to stop, to go back..." He breathed the words against your mouth.
"So don't," you murmured, tugging him closer.
His arm looped around your waist, and he lifted you, and the two of you tumbled onto the bed, your bodies slotting together like pieces of a puzzle.
He pulled up your dress, peeling it away until his hands were sliding over the bare skin of your thighs. His mouth was on your neck, and the heat of his breath sent shivers through you. Your hands slid under his shirt, feeling the planes of his chest, and the way his heart stuttered when you dragged your nails down his stomach.
He let out a strange little gasp, and you laughed, and the sound made him smile. His lips ghosted over yours, a whisper of a kiss.
"I fear I haven't done this as a human in a long, long time." He said, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
"How different is it?" You asked, tracing a finger along his lower lip.
"Quite different," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your finger. "Right now I feel... warm."
"Warm?"
"Like my skin is burning... And my heart is beating too fast," he murmured, and he looked so serious and sincere, that you couldn't help but smile.
"I think it's called being turned on," you teased him.
"Vampires know that feeling quite well," he countered, his hands trailing up your sides, pulling your body flush against his. "This is different."
"Oh really?"
"Mmhmm," he said, nipping lightly at the shell of your ear.
You laughed, pushing his shirt up, and he sat up, stripping it off, and tossing it aside. His jeans quickly followed. He was kneeling, hovering over you, his body silhouetted by the dim light, his face a perfect mask of shadows and desire.
"I think perhaps my... nevermind," he trailed off, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.
"Finish the sentence," you challenged him.
"I think my human side... Very little stamina," he confessed, a shy little smile on his face.
"What a tragedy," you teased, sliding your hand down his chest and resting it on the band of his boxers.
"You're mocking me," he said, his voice low, but his eyes were bright, and his smile was playful.
"Maybe a little," you whispered, dragging a finger along the inside of the band.
"I haven't lost my skills sweetheart, I can promise you that."
He leaned down, kissing his way down your neck and over the swell of your breast, his hand dipping between your legs.
You let out a startled gasp, and he smiled against your skin, his fingers stroking slowly. "You're very sensitive."
"Shut up," you said, tangling a hand in his hair and pulling him back up to kiss you.
He moved his fingers in small circles, your hips bucking against his hand. He trailed kisses down your neck, across your chest, his hands never leaving your skin as he moved lower.
When he settled between your thighs, he paused, looking up at you from under dark lashes. He didn't say anything, just watched you as he lowered his head.
You jumped as the flat of his tongue lapped against you. The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you heard a soft moan from deep in his chest, a human sound of satisfaction. He took his time, slowly parting you with the tip of his tongue, savoring every taste, every shudder of your body.
It was a slow, deliberate exploration. He wasn't rushing toward a goal, but simply learning you. His hands held your hips, not with vampire strength, but a firm, human anchoring that spoke of possession, of reverence. He would pull back slightly, his gaze lifting to watch your face, to read the arch of your back and the way your hands fisted in the sheets. Then he would dive back in, a new tactic, a different pressure, finding the rhythm that made your breath hitch.
"Elijah," you whimpered, your hand finding his hair, and tugging lightly.
He moved back up your body, his fingers taking over the movements of his tongue, his thumb finding a new rhythm, and you felt a pressure building inside you, a heat coiling in your stomach.
"You have to be quiet for me," he whispered, his mouth hot against the shell of your ear. "We can't let anyone hear us."
You nodded, biting down on your lip. He was watching you, his expression focused and intent.
"Good girl," he said, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
The praise sent a new jolt of pleasure through you, and a soft sound slipped from your lips, even as you tried to swallow it.
"That's cheating," you panted, tugging him down to kiss you.
He smiled against your lips, but didn't say anything, and the smugness of the gesture made you laugh.
His fingers picked up speed, and the pressure inside you reached a fever pitch, your entire body shaking. He pressed his mouth against yours, swallowing the sounds of your release. Your back arched, and he held you there, his fingers slowing as the waves of pleasure ebbed.
"Beautiful," he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth.
Your body went limp, your breathing shallow, and you couldn't find the words to respond.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he teased, kissing your forehead, and shifting his weight.
You reached for him, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him closer. "Not so fast," you said, pushing him onto his back.
He stared up at you, eyes wide and unguarded. His expression was full of awe, of reverence. "You actually pushed me," he said, sounding delighted.
"Yeah, well... You don't have super strength, so it was pretty easy," you teased him, tugging off your bra and tossing it aside.
"First time I didn't have to let someone have the upper hand," he murmured, sitting up and capturing one nipple in his mouth.
His teeth scraped lightly, and a soft moan escaped you.
"Shhhh, we can't be too loud," he teased, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass.
You pushed his boxers down, and wrapped your hand around his cock, slowly pumping your fist. He hissed a breath, his eyes falling closed.
"Shhhhhh," you mocked him, moving to straddle him.
You shifted your weight, slowly sinking down, inch by inch. He held your hips, guiding you as you took him all the way, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Are you alright?" He whispered, his gaze searching yours.
"Mmmhmmm," you moaned, rolling your hips experimentally.
His lips parted, gently tugging your head down, kissing you softly. You rocked slowly against him, the motion sending little shocks of pleasure through you.
"I'm not going to last," he said, the words tumbling out, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and you were struck, once again, by how human he looked. "You are too good at that."
"Me? Too good?" You laughed, and it sent a ripple of pleasure through him.
"I'm only a man," he said, a smile curving his mouth.
"Mmm, yes you are," you agreed, grinding down on him harder.
"Shit," he swore, his grip on your hips tightening, and then he moved, rolling the two of you so he was hovering over you.
The sudden shift sent a new wave of heat through you, his hips pressed flush against yours, his weight pinning you down. He didn't pull out, he just held you there, his hips moving in tiny circles.
"'lijah," you murmured, reaching up to cup his face.
He kissed the palm of your hand, grinding into you slowly, making sure to fill you completely with every pass.
"Right there," he breathed, and you weren't sure if he was talking to himself or to you.
He had found a rhythm now, a slow, deep grind that was maddening. His eyes locked with yours, making you feel all too vulnerable under his gaze.
A breath shuddered through him. A human breath, mortal and fleeting. He wanted to watch you, to keep his eyes locked on you. He wanted to see your face, to witness the pleasure blooming in your eyes as he filled you. But the human instinct, the deep, rolling tide of it, was pulling him under.
You felt it too, something was happening between the two of you, something ancient and primal.
He started to move faster, a little more desperation in his movements, and he buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply, as if he could breathe in the scent of your skin and keep it there.
You were right there with him, lost in the slow burn, the building pressure.
"Come with me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, his hands moving to lace with yours, pinning them on either side of your head. "I want to feel you."
His words sent you over the edge, and you gasped, your back arching as the waves of pleasure washed over you. He groaned your name, and you felt him tense as he found his release, a warmth spreading inside you.
He rolled onto his side, keeping your bodies connected as you both lay there, panting. His head was still buried in your hair, and you could feel the still frantic beat of his heart.
He pulled back, and you turned your head to look at him. He was watching you, his expression a mix of awe and... terror?
"Are you okay?" you asked, your voice soft.
"Of course," he said, but he wouldn't meet your eyes. He carefully pulled out and rolled onto his back, running a hand over his face. "I'm fine."
"Elijah." you said, sitting up, pulling the sheet around yourself.
He was quiet for a long moment, and you could see the thoughts chasing each other behind his eyes.
"Being... human... with you. The feelings... They are so much... more." He finally said, sounding almost ashamed of the confession. "I always believed it was the other way around, that vampirism heightened the senses, made everything so much more... intense. But I was wrong."
You didn't say anything, you just watched him. He looked away, as if he couldn't bear to see your expression.
"I'm not used to feeling so..." He trailed off, searching for the word.
"Vulnerable?" you offered.
He nodded, pulling you close. "Yes," he whispered, his voice thick. "It's terrifying."
You knew exactly what he meant. You had spent your entire life building walls around yourself, trying to find a way to feel safe. And now here you were, in the arms of a man who was supposed to be your enemy, feeling more exposed than you had in your entire life.
"You know what they say about hard drugs," he murmured. "One taste of that perfect numbness, and you spend your life chasing it. This feeling… when I touch you… I'm chasing it."
You looked at him, trying to understand what he was getting at.
"That's what this is like," he said, his voice barely audible. "This feeling when I'm touching you... I'm chasing it."
His confession hung in the air, a fragile, dangerous truth.
"The vampire in me knows that this feeling is a liability. A weakness to be exploited. But the man... the man wants to drown in it."
"Have you considered that the man is stronger than the monster?" You whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
"No." He answered, the word immediate and absolute. "The monster always wins. It has for a thousand years." He sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist. "But this human weakness... I fear it will cost me everything. My family... my duty... you."
"Then we're both trapped, aren't we?" You said, a bitter smile touching your lips.
He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. "I love you, you know," he said, the words so quiet, you almost didn't hear them. "That's the man speaking. A foolish, reckless, human declaration."
Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, wild bird beating against its cage. You wanted to say it back. You wanted to tell him that you understood, that you felt the same way. But the words wouldn't come. All you could do was lean in and press your lips to his, a silent answer to his confession.
The kiss was slow, and gentle, and full of a quiet despair. There was no heat in it, no urgency, just the simple, desperate act of two people clinging to each other in the dark.
"You don't have to say it back, I don't want you to…it's too new and you are a prisoner here … I don't want to put this pressure on you," he said, pulling back slightly.
You shook your head, "I'm a prisoner to my magic, I am a prisoner in this house. And now I'm a prisoner to the thought of you leaving this bed." You finally said, the words tumbling out in a rush.
His breath hitched, and you could see the raw emotion in his eyes. He kissed you again, and it was a promise and a warning all at once. He was telling you that he felt it too, this impossible, terrifying connection. And he was also telling you to run, to get as far away from him as you could before it was too late.
Soft! Klaus Mikaelson x Fem Reader Headcanons pt 2
Random nuzzles. He'll come up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist and bury his head in the crook of your neck. No words just slightly swaying as he holds you.
The way he taps or holds your leg when you sit next to him. Like it's reassurance that your really there.
Giving you silly names outside of love. Names that rhyme with your real one just to pester you.
He has clothes tailored specifically for you. Just so you can wear it on a date that he has planned. No compromise just a note that tells you to be ready.
If you catch him alone or calm he'll sometimes do small things of affection like paint your nails or brush your hair. Even if it's just tracing your skin as you sit on the couch.
Whenever he's absolutely pissed he runs to you. Not speaking just huffing as he tries to calm down. Just being in your space allows some avenue of eventual relief.
Humming into your hair while in bed. Arm wrapped around you. Lips at your temple just humming softly to sleep.
Writes poems for you. Some sweet and sincere. Some only your eyes can see. Ultimately you have a drawer of just his letters and poems.
If you are away for a long time he'll spritz your perfume to remember your smell. Or smell your clothes to catch your scent. Looks at photos of you that he has stashed away.
Takes you to the country side in an overly expensive car to vacation at one of the homes he has. Sometimes it's other states or even countries.
Okay, first of all, sorry for my bad English, but could you maybe write a story with Kalus where you are all together (his siblings and Elena, Damon, Stefan etc.) in a room and spend time together, or rather solve another problem. Klaus notices how absent you are and how quiet you are the whole time. And later you disappear to a quiet place where you can be alone but then he shows up? The story need to be sweet😪
Description: gets overwhelmed and needs some time to relax
Warnings: she/her pronouns, fluff, swearing
*Requests are open, please send through as many requests as you want, check my character list and requesting rules.*
Thank you for requesting this! I hope you enjoy it!
Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Last name, POV = Point of view, f/ice/c
Word Count: 1,013
First Person's pov
Everyone was here. Bonnie, Elena, Damon, Enzo, Stefan, Elijah, Rebekah, Caroline and Niklaus. My house was normally the meeting place, today was no different. I couldn't tell you what the issue was this time, I've been out of it for the past week. It's been hard, at the start of the week, I nearly got badly hurt while the next big-bad came along and after Stefan saved my butt, I got reprimanded by him for being so reckless and stupid.
I hated being yelled at or being near someone being yelled at. Ever since I was little, I've hated loud noises, so that incident at the start of the week just became a series of things building on top of each other. It was late, I was already overwhelmed and overstimulated, everyone was shouting at each other, demanding they be heard and that they were right.
"Dammit Damon! You cannot just expect us all to run around your agenda!"
"What else can we do?" Damon roared, I stared at my hands in my lap, fiddling with the skirt of my dress. I could feel Niklaus' eyes on me, they have been for the last little while, I have no clue what he was thinking or what he wanted but having him look at me, analysing me and my every move.
"Love, are you alright?" Niklaus softly murmured, I simply hummed in response, not meeting his eye or the disapproving hum that came from his lips. Everyone kept yelling, hitting my furniture in frustration, I could feel the tears bubbling and the prickling in my throat, If I didn't get away now then I'd breakdown in front of everyone.
While everyone was gathering around the table, writing out a plan for stopping this big bad, I slipped away and sat in my bedroom. I let out a shaky breath, letting the tears slip from my eyes and sobbed into my hands. I curled into my mattress, clutching my teddy bear to my chest and hoping all the chatter in my brain would fade away.
"So, this is the great Y/n L/n's bedroom." I sat up, rubbing my eyes, watching as Niklaus sat on the edge of my bed and turned to face me. I took a deep breath, pushing myself up and rested my teddy bear in my lap, watching him as he gazed around my room before his eyes landing me again.
"I am going to ask again... love. Are you alright?" His voice was smooth, gentle and even caring. On any normal day I could listen to him talk for hours on end, he had such a pretty voice.
"No... no, I'm not alright."
"Tell me what's wrong, love." It was a gentle demand, something I wouldn't fight against.
"I've just been feeling very overwhelmed and overstimulated. Got too much." Niklaus simply nodded, took my hand into his and rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. Niklaus hummed, his face scrunching up in thought before it relaxed and his eyes gazed upon me soothingly.
"I will kick them out from your home. They can take this to the Salvatore manor."
"Thank you." He nodded and looked at my teddy bear.
"What is this lovely thing's name?" I was grateful for the distraction, clutching to the arms of the bear a little tighter and smiled.
"Her name is Pebbles. I got her when I was a baby. I know it's silly... not being a kid anymore and having a teddy bear still." Niklaus shrugged, seemingly not bothered by this.
"Does it bring you comfort?" I nodded.
"Then why should it matter?"
"I suppose you are right, Niklaus." He chuckled once I said his name, I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep my own smile at bay from his sweet laughter.
"You always call me Niklaus. I don't think I have ever heard you call me Klaus."
"I like calling you Niklaus. It sounds nice, it just rolls off the tongue." He chuckled nodding, turning his body to face me better. I took another breath, finding the uneasy feeling fading away the longer I sat in Niklaus' presence. It was quiet up here, I could just here the others and every time I would react to the group becoming more vocal, Niklaus would bring my attention back to him by asking about something in my room.
My cat walked into the room, jumping onto Niklaus' lap, curling into him and hitting his hands with her paw to get him to pet her.
"She's a sweet thing, I'm sorry, I'll call her off."
"It's okay, I do not mind, your cat and you are quite welcome to my lovely presence and comfort whenever." I chuckled at the light sound of arrogance in his voice. He continued petting my cat for a little while until she jumped off and he took that as his moment to stand up and held out his hand.
"Y/n, I think you need some time away from these headaches. Do you trust me?" I nodded, I really did, not once had Niklaus used me for his gain, he hadn't betrayed my trust once and I don't believe he ever would.
"Yeah, okay." He picked me up, then sped out my window. Niklaus took me to a look-out in a couple towns over, it overlooked the water and no one else was nearby. The water brushed up against the rocks, soothing and peaceful. Within a blink he disappeared and within another he had a cup full of f/ice/c.
"Thank you. Y-you didn't need to do this."
"You are feeling down, a sweet treat can always help. As I am told." I took small spoonfuls of the ice cream and started swaying to the gentleness of the violin.
"You know my favourite ice cream, my favourite instrument and my favourite song. How?"
"I have my ways, love." He whispers, letting me bask in the peace of the music.
There’s a lot of reasons Klaus hated Tyler but the real one is Tyler dared to do what Klaus never could. Stand up to his own abuser even if it means death. The Mikaelsons are hyped for power scaling, messy behaviors and a plethora of reasons but when it came to Mikael in the plot. They ran. Hell, Klaus ran from Silas to NOLA it isn’t talked about as much. To be transparent everyone has a right to fear an abuser on their life. Yet, Klaus never once had to face Mikael alone. He may be the one experiencing it the most. In the end when it’s time to face him. Klaus had his family in TO. Then in the short-lived TVD arc of Mikael, the Salvator/Katherine are all mixed up in the demise of Mikael. Klaus doesn’t have to do it alone. In those human mikaelson years somebody stepped in eventually. The abuser wasn’t much of a secret.
People hate Tyler so they don’t think too much on him or Richard. But a big fraction of why Tyler was such an asshole was because of Richard and that untapped wolf side. The show doesn’t have Tyler outright admits why he doesn’t want to be that guy again which was because of Richard. All of this was AFTER Richard died. Yeah, Tyler doesn’t wanna be that guy anymore that was a jerk but he also doesn’t wanna live his life controlled by someone else. Which Tyler tries telling Caroline quite a lot but it gets ignored by the fandom.
The reason Klaus liked Marcel upon meeting him the first time was because Marcel fought back to his slave master father aka his abuser.
If Tyler was fighting back anybody else that abused him Klaus maybe would’ve liked him for it. The fact that Tyler fought Klaus back who’s used to having his way and controlling everything is the problem.
Tyler might’ve fled from Mystic Falls when Klaus told him too, but he came back daring him every single time, he went to NOLA knowing he could die for his cause and he was okay with that. Klaus never once stepped to Mikael knowing that could be his last day. If I’m honest… Klaus didn’t have too. He had his family backing him up all the time. Tyler was a lone wolf.
