synopsis: Freshman Sukuna thinks he can charm a third-year. You say no. He’s stunned, frustrated… and somehow more obsessed than ever.
@claudrina
“You’re a freshman.”
You say it like an accusation.
Sukuna just smirks.
He’s leaning against the wall outside your lecture hall, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, earbuds still dangling like he pulled them out at the exact second you appeared. He’s big for a first-year tall, broad, sharp-eyed with a streak of troublemaker energy that practically radiates from him.
But still.
“A freshman,” you repeat.
“Yeah,” he drawls, “and what? You gonna arrest me for it?”
You raise a brow. “Shouldn’t you be in, I don’t know, Intro to College Skills?”
He grins, teeth flashing. “I’d rather be here.”
“Harassing an upperclassman?”
“Flirting with an upperclassman,” he corrects smugly. “There’s a difference.”
He steps closer, not enough to touch you, but enough that he’s definitely in your space.
“You look good today,” he says bluntly. Freshmen have no shame. None.
You blink. “You don’t even know what I normally look like.”
“I’ve been watching,” he says, and when you give him a look, he adds quickly, “Not like that. Just… you’re hard to miss.”
You snort. “Smooth.”
He shrugs. “Did it work?”
“No.”
“It definitely worked.”
You sigh, turning to walk toward your next building. You’ve got a project meeting, a quiz to review for, and zero time for a freshman with too much confidence.
But Sukuna falls into step beside you anyway, a half step behind like he’s trying not to push his luck.
“You know,” he says, “you never answered my question.”
“What question?”
He smirks. “Your number.”
“I don’t remember you asking.”
“Oh?” He scoffs, dramatic. “So I gotta be formal? Fine. Can I have your number?”
“No.”
Sukuna stops walking like you just stabbed him. “What? Why not?”
You glance at him over your shoulder. “Because you’re a freshman.”
“I’m nineteen!” he protests, catching up quickly. “Nineteen is practically—”
“A child.”
“I am not—” He groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re, what, twenty? Twenty-one? I’m not that young.”
“I’m twenty-one,” you say.
Sukuna’s eyes darken like you just made things worse. “Even hotter.”
You roll your eyes. “Please stop.”
“Can’t.” He grins. “I like you.”
You open your mouth, ready to shut that down — but then he says something that throws you off completely.
“Let me prove I’m worth your time.”
You actually pause.
He shrugs, trying too hard to look casual. “I’m not asking you to date me or anything… yet. Just give me the chance to show I’m not some dumb freshman.”
You study him.
“You really don’t take no for an answer, do you?”
You ask it lightly, slinging your bag higher on your shoulder.
Freshman Sukuna stands in front of you, cocky grin in place, arms crossed like he’s convinced genuinely convinced that you’re about to say yes to him.
“You haven’t given me a good reason to stop trying,” he shoots back.
“Oh, I have plenty,” you say. “You’re just not listening.”
He steps closer. “Then say one I can’t ignore.”
You sigh, amused despite yourself. He really is trying. In a reckless, bold, freshman way.
“Fine. Ready?”
He leans in like you’re about to confess some devastating secret.
You smile.
“You’re cute,” you say simply.
Sukuna blinks. “That’s not— wait, that’s good.”
“And cute freshmen,” you continue, “aren’t my type.”
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
You reach up, rising a little on your toes, and before he has time to react, your hand lands on top of his head.
Sukuna freezes.
Actually freezes.
You give his hair a gentle, almost patronizing little pat.
“Try again in a few years, okay?” you say sweetly. “When you grow up.”
His face goes red so fast it’s almost impressive.
“I— w-wait—” he stammers, completely thrown off his axis. “I’m not— I’m not a kid—”
But you’re already stepping around him.
“Take care, freshman,” you say, walking off like your world hasn’t just imploded his.
reader was kinda inspired by maomao lol. comments are appreciated!!
Summary: Vampire y/n returns to Mystic Falls after finding out her friend Stefan Salvatore has gone off the rails with blood, what she doesn’t expect to happen is find out her deep rooted connections with the Michaelson family, in particular – Elijah.
Word Count: 926
Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, Damon Salvatore x Reader, Klaus Mikaelson x Reader
Warnings: just ya basics
A/N: hopefully this will turn into a series (?)
MASTERLIST FOR THIS STORY,
MASTERLIST
The air of Mystic Falls would always feel a little heavier and a little thicker than anywhere else. All other times that y/n had stayed here she had found herself muddled in some kind of supernatural drama usually started by her good friends the Salvatore brothers. Although, it seems they had already found a problem for themselves before she had even arrived.
The young woman strode boldly down the barren streets, the sky but a navy pulse above her, her blood-red heels clicking as she walked, her legs flicking in and out of her tight woollen coat.
Burying her chin and lips into her tall collar she allowed her mind to wander back to the Salvatore brothers. From rumours she’d heard, Stefan had gone off the rails again and they both were once more fighting over a girl – Elena Gilbert. She knew people closely in Mystic Falls, people who never left, and from them, she had heard whisperings of Klaus Mikealson, hybrids and of course, The Originals.
That was, in fact, the reason why she was here, the reason why she was walking up the stone steps to the Salvatore home. Y/n had questions, and simply not enough answers to keep her satisfied.
But maybe, just maybe there was more to it than that. Maybe after all these years she simply couldn’t sit by and listen to rumours of her friend ruining his own life, maybe she heard of the doppelganger and the worth of her blood and cared a little too much about strangers to see them turn into a blood bank, maybe she just needed to check in on her blue-eyed friend with self-destructive tendencies. So many reasons, such little time.
She lifted a hand to push on the familiar tall wooden door, but before she could even touch it she could already feel the resistance of something a little bit more than ordinary. There was a block on the door, she wouldn’t be able to get in until invited.
“That’s new,” She murmured softly before knocking clear and loud on the polished wood. Using her heightened hearing she concentrated until she heard whisperings from inside.
“Who the hell could that be?” y/n heard the familiar snarky comment of Damon ring distantly around her ears, she couldn’t help it, she began to smile.
“Don’t look at me,” She heard the half-hearted sigh of a voice far too familiar, Katherine? Then the door swung back, and warm light pooled into y/n’s vision slightly blurring the familiar face of the friend in front of her.
“Hello Damon,” She spoke softly, her head slightly cocked, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
It was only a few minutes later and y/n was standing in front of the snapping fire in the main room of the Salvatore mansion, slowly unbuttoning her jacket as the warmth of the fire spread across her skin.
“So, y/n, what brings you back into town?” Damon snarked, half-glaring as his nose disappeared into his whiskey glass.
“Why are you being pissy Damon?” y/n glared at the flickering embers before turning to the raven-haired man, “We were on good terms when I left.”
“I’ll take that from you,” A small voice spoke up, turning, y/n smiled at the inquisitive Elena who was holding her hands out for her jacket.
“Thank you, Elena,” y/n smiled at the girl as she handed over the folds of dark fabirc; she was after all the one that let y/n in, she then sipped from her own whiskey glass and eyed Damon with a raised eyebrow.
“You still left y/n,” He said suddenly, his voice overly serious, “Nothing can change that,” y/n didn’t move, she didn’t speak for a full minute.
“I’m sorry Damon, I really am. But, you should know by now what it means to be a Vampire, you can’t stay anywhere for too long…and…I used up all my time here,” It was a poor apology, but it’s hard to apologise for something that’s not your fault. Damon didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on his glass. “I heard about Stefan.” y/n eventually said, moving onto what she really wanted to talk about.
“Ah,” Damon rolled his eyes, “So you wanted to show up like the guardian angel you are and help him become ‘normal’ again…sounds like you,” A pause of silence, Elena had walked back into the room however remained behind the russet couch, her eyes touched with curiosity.
“Don’t talk to me like that Damon,” y/n murmured quietly, her eyes fixed on the glowing rim of her glass.
“Like what?” Damon spat.
“Like I’m not supposed to care,”
“You’re not,” Damon chirped sarcastically standing up, a forced smile on his lips, “That’s the price people pay when they walk out on their friends,”
“I didn’t walk out on you,” y/n muttered, hating how quiet her voice sounded compared to his.
“Then what the hell did you you? Why did you leave?” Damon shouted.
“Because I had too!” y/n yelled back, “Because Damon, I know it’s hard to believe but there are elements of my life that even you don’t know about, things I did and do still need to figure out!” A heavy silence settled on the room and Elena glanced between her friend and the mysterious young woman who was now trying to regain some composure.
“I am…sorry for leaving.” y/n said after a beat and Damon looked up into her eyes, “I really am.”
“Come on,” Damon murmured after a minute of heavy silence gesturing to the couch opposite his, “There’s a lot you need to catch up on.”
Summary: When the Mikaelsons return to New Orleans, Elijah is the only one determined to restore their lost legacy. However, a chance encounter with a beautiful antique shop owner turns out to be his greatest reward.
Since his family's returning to New Orleans, Elijah was probably the only one to realize how many of the old Mikaelson antiques were gone from the compound. While Klaus was solely focused on regaining his empire and Rebekah kept getting on and off the wagon, it fell on him to try and search for their family heirlooms.
The weather wasn't welcoming that night. The cold air of the French Quarter brought the smell of forbidden magic and a forgotten past. The lashing rain caused tourists to stay hidden from view, leaving the streets empty for people of Elijah's kind. This time, however, he did not come to the quarter for a war, he came for a memory of a life he once had.
You were sitting in an old, dusty armchair in the back of your shop. The dim glow of the nightstand lamp being the only source of light in the small room. You weren't stupid, you knew no one was coming that night. The only people who visited nowadays were those mindless tourists who hoped to find a lost, magical artifact. It was all that was left of New Orleans history.
The faint, ringing sound of the bell hanging above the front door was almost lost to you in the rhythmic ticking of hundreds of grandfather clocks. Your brows furrowed in surprise as you set your tea pot aside and stood up to meet the client.
His eyes were the first thing you noticed. Stark, dark, carrying a weight of centuries-old history. His long coat and neatly styled hair were soaked, the water dripping to the floor in even sounds. He scanned through the shelves as if looking for an old friend. Only after that he noticed you, his eyes pausing on your figure hidden in-between the shelves.
"I apologize for the intrusion," he spoke, his voice a mixture of velvet softness and aristocratic calmness. "I trust I am not interrupting anything of great importance?"
You smiled at him, your features enchanting in the content of potential profit. The man did not look like a tourist, not in the slightest.
"Not at all." You shook your head. "We are open for five more minutes."
"I see..." He paused by a shelf, observing one of the trinkets.
You immediately made your way to him, standing nearby and offering him a charming smile. You glanced at the cufflinks that seemed to pique his attention. They were silver, with small symbols engraved on them.
"They're beautiful, aren't they?" You started, gaining his interest. "It was made in 1740, ordered by a noble woman named Sofia Lescheres for her husband, Quentin."
You felt proud, coming up with such a story right on the spot. You knew nothing about the cufflinks, but the mysterious man seemed to be one for old stories.
"Actually," he picked up the topic, a small glint of amusement glancing at his face. "It dates forty years earlier, you see, Quentin Lescheres died in 1704."
You paused, completely caught off guard by his correction. You felt panic rise inside yourself, your cheeks flushing red at being caught mid-lie.
"Yeah, I might have messed something up. Sorry." you mumbled.
To your surprise, the men let out a warm, noble laugh. As much as you wanted to pretend otherwise, you had to admit it was the most captivating sound you heard in your life.
"Pray, tell me your name, darling." He smiled at you with a hint of amusement still hidden behind his eyes.
"I'm Y/N, Mr...?"
"Elijah Mikaelson, it's a true pleasure to meet you, dear Y/N." He replied, gently taking your hand and pressing a soft, graceful kiss to it.
Your already red cheeks blushed even more, if that was still possible at that point.
"Forgive my natural boldness, but this place is filled with exquisite craftsmanship." He praised, letting go of her hand. "Perhaps you could find it fitting that..."
You frowned when he suddenly paused. Your eyes followed his gaze, landing on an old, expensive medallion with the letter 'M' engraved on top. Your lip corners rose shyly, letting him admire the antique.
"I've had it since I opened this place," you admitted. "I honestly think it's charming."
It took you a long while in silence to understand that he wasn't listening. You frowned, surprised by his stillness.
"Elijah?" You spoke his name slowly, your hand covering his.
You could feel him step back immediately, his eyes drifting from the medallion to you. You felt extremely stupid, offering him comfort he clearly didn't need nor want. His eyes softened when he noticed your shameful posture.
"Forgive me, darling." He smiled at you. "This piece is just magnificent, it possesses a soul modern things lack."
You returned his smile, shame still burning your cheeks. You looked at the trinket, your features softening. You slowly picked it up and offered it to him.
"Thank you."
When his hand touched yours around the medallion, you felt his breath slower. He paused, his eyes locked on the spots where your skin met. You looked up, searching his expression, and he offered you a slip of his mask, a peek into vulnerability he hid from the world. Slowly, you took your hand back, making him snap back to his usual demeanor.
"Forgive me," he spoke, taking a step back. "It's been a while since I felt such... peace."
Your breath hitched on his words. You watched as his fingers gently checked the medallion. You noticed how well he fit into such a place, like he was older than anything in the shop.
"I can pack it for you." You offered, your voice shaking slightly.
He glanced up at you and offered you a smile.
"That would be wonderful."
This time, you made sure your skin didn't get into contact. You turned around, your back to him so you could hide the effect his presence alone was having on you. You began carefully wrapping the piece with a dark foil.
"You have a remarkable eye for detail, Y/N," he noticed suddenly.
You felt his presence closer, his chest mere inches from your back. His breath grazed your skin like a lover's kiss, making goosebumps rise on your body. Your hands trembled as you tried and failed to prepare the medallion. Finally, when the ribbon you picked stayed on the packaging, you turned to him.
You quickly regretted your move. Out of a sudden, your chest was pressing against his, your eyes locked on each other, and your breaths mingling. Your lips parted, wanting to say something, but you kept quiet, not sure which thought should be voiced first.
"You are a dangerous distraction, Y/N." He whispered against your parted lips. "Your company is... refreshing. A rare quality in this city."
You could feel your whole body flushing, your mind losing control and your gaze becoming dizzy. You never felt like that before, no man had ever managed to make you experience something like this. For Elijah, it took mere seconds.
"Stay a moment longer. The world outside can wait for its monsters."
You felt his nose brush against yours gently, almost making you lose it. The closed area in between the shelves wasn't helping calm down your burning body. You were sure your temperature had already risen to a dangerous level.
Your breaking point came when you heard the quiet shift of the ribbon. You looked down, seeing him unpack the medallion. His fingers caressed the graver, his posture relaxing. You watched as he gently unclasped the old fastening and brought it to your neck, closing it around it. Your eyes met his with pure shock, not understanding his movement. He took a stack of money, much more than the necklace cost, and placed it in your trembling hand, closing your fingers around it. You tried to speak, but no words would leave your parted lips.
"This should cover the expense." He said calmly, a slight smile adoring his lips.
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, leaving your mind in a state of mess you couldn't even name properly. You weren't even sure if you could still speak.
"Your shop is full of beautiful things, dear Y/N." He whispered against your ear. "I most definitely won't let it slip my mind."
Just like that, he took a step back and left the building. He offered you one last, long glance before disappearing into the cold night. You stood there, still frozen with shock, sweetly unaware of the protection he just offered you. Only after a few seconds a small smile formed on your lips. You knew it wouldn't be your last time seeing him.
klaus mikaelson tumblr are we ALIVE or am i just a ghost haunting my childhood hotties
blink twice. like once. scream into the void. something.
because i am this close 🤏 to posting a multi-part klaus mikaelson fanfic series, and i need to know if anyone is still out there before i emotionally commit and start dropping chapters at 2am like it’s 2014 again.
this is a serious inquiry (it is not serious at all):
do we still read klaus fic?
do we still thirst over emotionally unavailable immortal men with trauma?
do we still follow long, angsty, slow-burn series that WILL hurt us?
or will i simply be whispering “always and forever” into the abyss?
about the fic:
klaus-centric (obviously)
set in the The Vampire Diaries / The Originals universe
multi-part because i don’t know how to be normal
angsty, romantic, dramatic, emotionally unwell
written with love, chaos, and unresolved mikaelson trauma
reimagined from a fanfic i wrote as a teenager TEN years ago, titled Battles, which i accidentally deleted off wattpad
based on ✨ vibes ✨ and memory ✨ so pls bear with me while i resurrect my own lore
if you are:
still here. still feral. still emotionally attached to klaus mikaelson.
LIKE. REBLOG. COMMENT. POSSESS ME.
i need a sign from the universe before i press post.
—
tags because tumblr tags are basically summoning circles. pls let me know if i should add any
getting fixated on something is funny because the first like week i have an insatiable need to tell everyone i know about it and spread the good word but by weeks 2 and 3 it becomes so intense and personal that even hearing it mentioned in public makes me sweat as if a dark secret was alluded to
Carlisle regretted drinking the coffee as soon as it hit his tongue. After over three hundred years of never tasting human food or drink, he'd forgotten how vile it was. Instead of the tart warmth of the roasted beans and the sweetness from the sugar that he smelled, the only flavor that his tongue found was mud, all thick and bitter and heavy on his taste buds.
But through the mud, Carlisle tasted something lighter that was faintly familiar, like a distant memory from when he was human. Sweet-tart and floral; a pomegranate. Sophronia.
The next time he brought the cup up to his lips, he didn't drink from it but instead let his tongue lap at the lipstick print that his mate, his Sophronia, left on the cup. And Doctor Carlisle Cullen couldn't care less that he was walking through Forks General Hospital, licking lipstick from a cup that belonged to a woman he had no outward, human, relationship with.
No, all he cared about was savoring the taste of the pomegranate on his tongue before he made it to his patient's room. By the time he reached the room, all of the lipstick on the rim of the cup was completely gone, and Carlisle felt both satisfied with himself and slightly repulsed.
── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──
Alice was there the moment Carlsile walked through the front door. She was there, and the sparkle in her eyes said it all. It said that she saw him.
She saw him and the coffee cup and the lipstick print, and while he didn't regret what he did, he did regret coming home.
I shouldn't have come home.
"Alice, please." He wouldn't beg, but he would pray that his daughter hadn't told anyone else in his coven what she saw him doing. He wouldn't be able to look any of them in the eyes if she had.
"I wasn't watching her, I promise, I was watching you. And I didn't tell anyone. I promise." He only had a second to feel relief relax his shoulders before Alice spoke again, "But Edward did. "
"Carlisle, you freaky frog!" Emmett's voice boomed from his and Rosalie's room upstairs, and his laughter followed right behind.
I shouldn't have come home.
Both Emmett and Edward came down the stairs together with Rosalie and Jasper following only a second behind them. Esme wasn't even home to attempt to defend her brother from the younger vampires.
"Emmett, please."
"Please, what Carlsile? Do you want me to go find out what lipstick she uses so you can have it for breakfast tomorrow?" Emmett laughed the entire time he spoke, and Jasper, who felt the full force of Carlisle's embarrassment, elbowed Emmett in the ribs.
"Emmett, leave him alone."
"Nah, Jasper, he needs to leave his mate's coffee alone. He's got beeswax and desperation on his tongue, and I'm the one that needs to leave something alone?"
Carlisle couldn't even say anything to truly defend himself, even if he wanted to. He didn't. Emmett laughed at the situation as if Carlisle were a pervert, and honestly, he kind of was. No normal, sane, civilized man would even think of tasting the lipstick of a woman he'd barely spoken to.
"Rose, babe, come here, let me taste your lipstick. Carlsile's got me feeling left out!" Rosalie rolled her eyes as Emmett wrapped his arm around her waist and tried to pull her into him. He had his tongue out and wagging like a dog, and chuckled the entire time while Rosalie pushed at his chest with her face full of feigned disgust.
── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──
Sophronia sought Carlisle out two days later when she found out that their shifts ended at the same time. She stood outside the hospital's main entrance smoking a cigarette as she waited for the doctor to walk out of the building.
When he did finally emerge from the building, the moment he noticed her waiting, he made a beeline for her. Carlisle didn't have a clue whether or not Sophronia had found out about him and her coffee cup, and again, he couldn't care less.
Not when she looked in his direction with the smallest smile gracing her lips, and held her hand out in his direction, beckoning him closer.
"Sophronia, hi." He greeted her as he walked closer and had to think twice about reaching forward and taking her hand that was still slightly outstretched. Instead, he nodded towards the cigarette that dangled from between her lips, "You know those are terrible for your lungs."
She laughed at his words and proceeded to push the cherry of the cigarette into the hospital's concrete wall to put it out. "I know, but I rarely use them anyway."
"Cigarettes or your lungs?" Although his steps slowed considerably, Carlisle still found himself walking closer, especially as Sophronia's smile widened.
"Both. I know it's late, but I was wondering. Would you walk with me? Only for a moment to talk about our–" There's a brief pause as she considers her next word. "Our afflictions."
Affliction seemed like a fitting word to describe whatever it was that made both of their existences differ from everyone else around them, especially since Sophronia didn't know that Carlisle was a different species entirely.
The Sluagh never uttered the word vampire. Just like Sophronia would never name them aloud, nor would she name herself.
There was a different kind of power when it came to names. Grimshaw held enough weight when the right people heard it, and anything more specific would be dangerous before it would be helpful or enlightening.
"Of course, I'd love to walk with you." Carlisle smiled at the woman, the reaper, who stood in front of him, and motioned towards the walking path surrounded by pine trees with his hand.
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